#and i might not even talk about it again ever

[pencil-n-pen]

YOUNGBLOOD

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ . ۫ ꣑ৎ . ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

rafe x fem! black cat! pogue!reader

masterlist | kofi

wc: 9.3k (sorry)

summary: summary: You’re the girl. Every guy who asks you out gets the same answer: No. You don’t do dating anymore. But as your reputation grows, so does the challenge. And when Rafe Cameron gets you in sights, he’s not about to give up.

cw: Rafe and reader are both assholes (hers is justified bc to me women are always correct) but it works out. oh also this one is a little spicy !! ofc not full smut but this is Rafe Cameron we’re talking about i can’t NOT include a LITTLE. ward jumpscare for like two seconds, references to past shitty relationships

tags/tropes: he falls first and harder (seriously he wants her BAD) black cat x doberman, kind of how to lose a guy in 10 days vibes, at first Rafe wants her bc of the challenge but eventually he just WANTS her, mild hurt/comfort, dom! rafe but also he does whatever reader wants (except stop trying to date her)

a/n: in this fic i imagine reader being one of those super fluffy feral black cats and then rafe is this doberman sitting behind her. walk him like a dog sis walk him like a dog

i’m so glad i finally finished this i’ve been writing it for ages but here it is !! hope u guys like it <3

songs i listened to while writing: Youngblood by 5 Seconds of Summer, Meddle About by Chase Atlantic, Champagne Coast by Blood Orange, Salvatore by Lana Del Rey, Brooklyn Baby by Lana Del Rey, Sad Girl by Lana Del Rey, sex money feelings die by Lykke Li, Angel by Massive Attack and Horace Andy

title taken from Youngblood by 5 Seconds of Summer aka this fics anthem

. ݁₊ ⚜️ . ݁˖

He meets you in, of all places, a fucking Barnes & Nobles.

There’s one Barnes & Nobles in the entirety of Kildare Island; it’s on the North side.

Rafe is only there because one of Kelce’s current flings is obsessed with reading those smutty books. Race doesn’t get the appeal. Apparently, the fling is at home sick and Kelce wants to get her something to make her feel better.

Rafe and Topper both think the partying might seriously be affecting his brain chemistry.

But anyway, Kelce asked Rafe to help because he’s “got a way with wooing women” and then since Rafe was going he said fuck it and invited Topper, who will surely be the voice of reason in all of this.

(He seriously doubts it, since Topper almost died in a burning building for the sake of his girlfriend, but whatever. Rafe just doesn’t want to deal with pussy-whipped Kelce by himself.)

They’re on their third go around the store and Rafe is beginning to contemplate the pros and cons of just grabbing the nearest book of the shelf and telling Kelce to just fucking pick something when he spots you:

Straining to reach a book on one of the top shelves. Looking perfectly and immaculately delicious.

“Yo,” He smacks Topper’s arm, getting his attention, “Who the hell is that?”

Topper follows his eyeline, landing on you.

“No fucking way, dude. No chance.”

He frowns, turning and looking at Topper, affronted.

Topper shrugs. “No offense, man. I tried once. All the guys in the island got this stupid-ass nickname for her, too.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Mhm. The Pogue Princess. She’s turned down every single guy to ever ask her out. Even the Kooks.”

Rafe snorts. “So she’s arrogant?”

“I wouldn’t call it that. I totally thought she was a bitch when she turned me down, but honestly, it makes sense. People only ask her out because she always says no.”

“So?” He scoffs. “She’s fucking hot. She should be flattered.”

He looks her up and down again. “I’m gonna ask her.”

He can picture it exactly: having the one and only Pogue Princess hanging off his arm. The girl no other guy has banged— she’d be his, and his only. He’d have those lips and that face— he’d have you.

And you’d have him, of course. Not many girls can say that.

“Suit yourself man. Don’t come crying to me when she turns your ass down.”

He strides over to you, sidling up next to you, leaning against the shelf.

“Hey,”

“No.”

He blinks. “What?”

“No. No I don’t want your number, no I don’t want to sleep with you, no I don’t want to go out with you.” You say, not looking over at him once.

“Well, how come, doll?” He says, leaning down a bit so he’s closer to your height. “We could have a good time, you and me.”

“First of all,” You start, pulling a book off the shelf. “It’s a known fact that Rafe Cameron doesn’t date Pogues. Secondly, I can tell you exactly how this relationship would go. We’d date, and then after a few weeks you’d grow sick of my Pogue-ish ways or something like that. We’d break up, and then I would be seen as even more of a social pariah than I am now. I’d be unwelcome in Pogue spaces because I’d forever be the girl who dated Rafe Cameron just to get her heart broken like all the others, and I’m already a stain on this side of the island, but I’m willing to bet your groupies and fanclub would increase their ridicule if I was ever seen here. So no.”

He lets out a low whistle. “You’ve thought this out.”

“No I haven’t. It’s predictable.”

You re-shelf the book you were holding then walk away, stalking deeper into the store.

He looks back at Topper once, flashing his best friend that dangerous smile.

Topper groans in the distance, all too away of the effect a challenge has on Rafe Cameron.

—

You have to say. You’re a little surprised to feel his continued gaze on your back, even more displeased to hear his footsteps trailing behind you.

“You won’t better your chances by annoying me.”

“I haven’t even said anything.”

“You don’t have to,” You slow your walk, reaching out to tap your hand on the spine of a book you’ve been eyeing for awhile. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“And what does my reputation say about me?”

“That you’re an asshole and a heartbreaker,” You turn and look back at him over your shoulder. “You’re not exactly selling me, here.”

Your eyes latch on something tucked under his arm. It’s the two books he saw you eyeing. His gaze catches yours and he gives you a cocky smirk.

You roll your eyes and turn back around. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, Rafe Cameron.”

He trails after you the entire time you’re in the store, picking book after book off the shelf that he sees your eyes even linger on.

“What’s your plan here?” You ask, turning a book over in your hands and scanning the blurb on the back. “Buy the entire store? Woo me with your credit card? You’re not the only guy on the island with a piece of plastic.”

“Pretty sure I’m the guy with the most on his plastic, though.”

You sigh loudly through your nose. “I’m not interested in men who are only interested in me as an object. You want the trophy you get from ‘bagging the Pogue Princess.’ So fuck off.”

You’re so sick of this. Sick of every guy being the same— only being interested in you as an ego boost. No guy has ever been interested in you for you.

And they never will be, so long as you keep turning them down. Every man wants what he can’t have.

“You’re seriously not going to get anything?”

You pause in your storm off, turning around to look at Rafe. “What?”

His arms are laden with a thick stack of books, muscles flexed at the weight of the stack, straining at the sleeve of his t-shirt.

He gestures to the shelves around you. “You must have looked at the entire store. You’re really just going to leave?”

“I’m a Pogue, Rafe. You do the math.”

Your hands clench and unclench on the strap of your bag. You never thought you’d catch the attention of Rafe Cameron. If Sarah’s the Kook Princess, then he’s the Kook Prince. Dating him would give you some major points on the North Side of the Island.

…And ruin your relationship with 90% of the Pogue’s on The Cut.

Besides. Even if you did date him, he would stick around. No way in hell he would. And then you’d be back right where you started.

Your fumbling with your keys out in the small parking lot, groaning as your ancient beater car key once again refuses to turn in the lock when you hear footsteps behind you.

You rub a hand over your face and turn around.

“Can you please leave me alone? Seriously.”

He’s got that stupid smile on his face again and he’s holding something out to you.

A book. Just one.

You take it from his hands cautiously. “You had a whole stack. Why downgrade to just one?”

He clasps his hands behind his back. “Cause you looked at all those other ones once. You stopped at this one three times. Figured you might’ve wanted it.”

You chew your lip. “I’m still not going out with you.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d change your mind right now.”

He leans down, reaching forward, breath fanning your face. You screw your eyes shut, bracing.

A loud click behind you. He pulls away.

“But you will.”

With that, he turns, walking back into the store. At the doors, he flashes you one last smile.

You take one breath. Two.

You climb into your now unlocked car, tossing the book onto the passenger seat.

When you get home, you won’t be able to stop thinking about how in the moment, you kind of wanted him to kiss you.

—

He finds you at the Boneyard, because of course he does.

You’re sitting on one of the drift wood-slash-benches near the bonfire, pretending like you’re not shivering.

“You know, most people come to beach parties to let loose and have fun. That includes me. Having fun and letting loose does not include you.”

“Oh, come on. This is neutral territory, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What am I allowed to call you?”

“Nothing. Go find another girl to stroke your ego. Or your dick. I don’t care either way.”

He leans down into your space. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

“Fuck. Off.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I only came over to give you this.”

This time, instead of holding out a book (that you had, in fact, read in a matter of days. It was as good as you’d thought it’d be) he holds out a jacket. One of those expensive North Face fleeces.

You scrunch your nose. “And why are you giving me that?”

“You’re cold.”

“So?”

“So, I’m being a gentleman.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you knew what that word was.”

He drops the fleece on your head. “Take the fucking jacket.”

You slide it off your head, putting it on and glaring at him all the while.

“I’m only putting this on because I’m cold.”

“Sure you are.”

“This has nothing to do with you. I’m still not dating you.”

“Mhm.”

“I hate you.”

He cracks the same smile he gave you at the bookstore. “Sure.”

He takes a swig of his beer, walking backwards towards his group of friends. “You look good in my clothes, princess.”

You flip him two fingers, and he flips them straight back.

You’ll deny it later that you smiled after the interaction.

—

He shows up at your job. This time, Topper’s with him.

You close your eyes and count to ten, mentally picturing fleeing the country and never having to deal with men again before speaking.

“You know, there’s a term for you right now.”

He smiles that same stupid fucking smile, tapping his fingers on the table of the cafe you work at. He’s seated outside in your section. You highly doubt it’s by mistake.

“Determined? Persistent?”

“A repeat offender,” You say flatly. “Now will you please order and get the hell out here?”

To his credit, Topper looks vaguely uncomfortable with his own presence. Though that might be because you did turn him down particularly brutally. You wince internally. It wasn’t his fault, per se. It was just… not a good day.

Rafe is perfectly capable of handling your top-notch bitch-ery, and secretly, you enjoy the chance to be as openly angry as you want to be.

Rafe pretends to read over the menu. You know he’s only pretending because you watched him read it for five straight minutes when they first arrived. He probably has it memorized.

“I’d like a blueberry muffin,” He says, still smiling. “Just one.”

You scribble it down on your order sheet, then turn to Topper. “And you?”

“Uh,” He clears his throat, “Just a water, please.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Seriously? You came all the way to my job to harass me and that’s what you order? One muffin and a water?”

You write the water down anyway, clicking your tongue. “And the asshole-ery continues.”

“And what would you have us order, then?” Rafe asks, eyeing you from his position at the table.

It’s scary how well he commands a space just by being— he’s Rafe Cameron and he knows it. He exudes power and control.

He’s the exact kind of man you turn down hard. No chance of anything.

“Something actually worth bothering me for,” You slip the notepad into your apron pocket and spin on your heel, “I have other orders and tables to wait. Don’t expect to get your muffin and water soon.”

As you wait and bus the tables that need to be dealt with before your orders are ready, you begin to wonder if you’re going too far.

This isn’t just any Kook. This is Rafe. He could completely and utterly destroy your life if he wanted to.

Maybe you’re better off agreeing to go out with him. Just to be safe. Women don’t turn a man like that down.

Finally, you get their orders out to them, setting them on the table a little less harsh than you were originally planning.

“There,” Can’t quite stop your mouth, though. “Do you want the check now?”

Rafe picks up his muffin, shrugging. “Sure.”

You slide them the bill— you had it ready the second you got the chance. You’d rather not have them here any longer than you have to.

It was hard enough to get a job outside The Cut. You don’t need to give your boss any more reason to fire you.

Rafe tosses a few bills onto the bill and you take it, counting the money.

“You overpaid.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Your total was nine dollars and twenty six cents. You just handed me two hundred dollar bills.”

He tilts his head at you like he’s confused. “I thought you were supposed to tip waiters and shit.”

You blink at the bills. “Yeah like, five dollars. Not two hundred. I don’t even think we accept hundred dollar bills.”

“Tell your manager I’m the one who paid. Can’t take issue with a Cameron.”

“You’re the worst,” You tell him, but take the money back to your manager. He isn’t happy, but like Rafe said— can’t take issue with a Cameron. He gives you the change you need and bores holes into your back with how hard he’s staring as you walk the money back.

“Here.” You thrust your arm out, handing him the change.

Rafe crosses his arms. “I said that was your tip.”

“I can’t accept this. I don’t accept pity money.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not pity money.”

“Then what kind of money is it? Cause it sure feels like pity money. Oh wait, is this you-owe-me-now money?”

He groans. “Can’t you just take the fucking money?”

“Not if there’s a consequence.”

If Topper looked uncomfortable before, he looks almost nauseous now. You kind of feel bad for him.

Rafe scrubs a hand down his face. “Will you just take it? No consequence.”

“Why?”

Topper chokes on his water.

“Why?” Rafe asks, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “Because it’s what I do. You’re the Pogue Princess, yeah? I’m giving you the princess treatment.”

“But why? What do you gain from this?”

“I’m just gonna go wait at the car,” Topper says, getting up so quickly he bumps the table.

Rafe’s eyes never leave you, the money still clutched in your hand. “You know what I get out of this? The prettiest girl on the island in my clothes. The prettiest girl on the island spending my money.”

The bills start to crinkle in your grip. “I’m a Pogue. You don’t date Pogue’s.”

He stands, pushing back his chair in a much more controlled manner than you were expecting, given the look on his face. “Have you ever considered that you’re the exception?”

“No, because I’m not. The only part of me that’s an exception is the challenge. That’s all you want.”

Something flashes in his eyes. His gaze is dark where it scans your features, something calculating in his eyes.

“Some guy fucked you over, huh?”

Your near full body flinch is a dead giveaway. “Fuck you, Rafe. You’re an asshole.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Probably. But I’m gonna keep showing you what this,”

He gestures to the both of you. “Could be like. I’m not that kind of asshole. Not to girls who look like you.”

He stands, taking all the change out of your hand except the $100 bill.

“Hold onto that for me,” He says, voice husky as it brushes your ear.

His hand comes up for one second, two, and then he lowers it. Like he’d had to restrain himself ok touching you.

An involuntary shiver runs down your spine. He smirks at the reaction.

And then, he’s gone. Now you’re just some waiter standing at a table with a $100 clutched in your hand.

You shake yourself out of your stupor, getting busy bussing the table. You notice something fluttering under his plate.

An old receipt with a number scribbled on it.

And a $20 bill.

“Son of a—“

—

You’re having a really bad day. One of those thirty-million-minor-inconveniences-in-a-row days. With one last fuck you from the universe on top.

You couldn’t get your hair right no matter how many times you tried, your makeup is rushed and bad because you spent too much time on your hair, once again one of your neighbors pulled out of their driveway without looking and almost killed you, a guy tried feel you up during your shift and your manager told you it was your fault for wearing revealing clothing (you were literally wearing your uniform) and then top it all off, your car won’t start. It won’t even try.

You slam your head against the steering wheel. Your boss made you stay late because of the incident so it’s getting dark now. You’re not walking all the way back to The Cut. But you don’t know how you’re getting home. It’s not like you can just call a mechanic. None of your pogue friends have cars and only person who does you’d… rather not call right now.

So that just leaves one option.

A really, really, terrible option.

A horrific one.

You curse as you rifle through your purse, pulling out the old receipt. Your phone’s almost dead, so you have to make this count.

You dial the number, pulling your knees to your chest and sinking low in your seat.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Rafe.”

“I was wondering when you’d call me.”

“I’m sure you were,” You say flatly. “Listen I… I need a favor.”

“Spill.”

“I’m at work. My car won’t start. I just—“ You break off, frustrated tears welling in your eyes. “Can you please come pick me up?”

“I’m on my way. Sit tight.”

He hangs up the phone and you sigh, scrubbing your face and willing the tears to just go away. You press the heels of your hands to your eyes, probably smearing your makeup past the point of return, but you can’t find it with in yourself to care.

You sit there for what feels like minutes, hands pressed to your face trying desperately to stop the tears that keep flowing when you hear a car pull up next to you.

You sit up, hands lowered, eyeing the sleek Range Rover that just pulled up next to you.

You manage to climb out of your car, hugging your waist in an act of self-soothing and a sad attempt at getting warm. It gets cold in Kildare at night.

Rafe rounds the front of his car, expression pinched.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine, really, just…” You trail off, gesturing vaguely to your car. You sniff hard, rubbing the back of your hand across your face. “It’s just been a long day.”

He looks over your shoulder, assessing your car before looking back to you. “Get whatever you need from your car.”

You rush to gather the items from your car, piling them in the backseat at Rafe’s direction. You turn, facing him when something is thrown at your face.

It’s disturbing that you recognize it by deja vu alone.

“Rafe—“ You say, taking the jacket in your hands.

“You’re cold. Put it on.”

“But—“

“Listen, princess, I’m perfectly satisfied waiting here all night until you put that on.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the car.

You squeeze the jacket in your hand. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“That.”

“Mmm,” He hums. “That’s a tough one. Probably cause you look pathetic when you shiver.”

“I do not.”

“You totally do. You get all hunched. Like an old lady.”

“Is this your idea of flirting?”

He smiles. “Put the jacket on.”

You do. It’s just as warm as last time.

He nods his head towards the car and you climb into the passenger seat, clicking your seatbelt.

He climbs in after you, putting his seatbelt on and pulling the car out of the parking lot. After a moment, he reaches across the console, turning on your seat warmer and cranking the heat up.

“Thank you,” You say after a moment.

“I told you I’d show you what life would be like if you were mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah,” He says, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. “Mine.”

“So you’d have me, what? Caged? Chained to you.”

“Spoiled, is the word I’d used.”

“I’m not an object, Rafe. I’m not going to be some kind of kept woman.”

He snorts. “Who said anything about that?”

“That’s what you want, is it not? Want me to have no personality, no nothing. You want me to hang off your arm and laugh at everything you say—“

“Fuck no,” He says so vehemently you pause. “You’re so fucking mouthy. And stubborn. If I wanted some brainless fangirl, I’d go find one. I wouldn’t pick her up from her job and drive her home. Probably wouldn’t give her my fucking jacket.”

You look up at him. “You wouldn’t?”

He shrugs. “None of those girls tell me to fuck off.”

“So it is the challenge. That’s all.”

“That’s not all. You’re making shit up.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Come on. No guy has ever given you his jacket? You seriously want me to believe you look like that no one’s ever spoiled you?”

“No,” You say curtly, “You want me to believe that every guy just enjoys spending a bunch of money on a girl?”

“Not a girl. Their girl. There’s a difference.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Cause it’s not your job to get it. It’s your job to be spoiled. Now where the hell am I going?”

You give him a vague address— just the street name and how to get there. You’re not stupid enough to give him your house address.

You don’t talk for the duration of the drive, you begin to shrug out of his jacket when a hand on your thigh stops you.

“Keep it. You can give it back to me the next time you see me.”

“There’ll be a next time?”

“If I have anything to say about it.”

You slowly put the jacket back on, then hastily climb out of his car, barely remembering to grab your stuff from the back.

You pause by the window. He rolls it down.

“Um. Thank you. Again.”

His lips twitch. “Don’t mention it.”

—

You don’t see him for a full two weeks after that.

After the first week, you figure he’s busy.

After the second week, you assume you scared him off.

You’re out on your old, busted kayak on the water, enjoying the early evening sun.

“Afternoon, princess.”

“Don’t call me that,”

You look over, eyeing Rafe and Sarah on one of the Cameron’s smaller boats. Sarah waves at you kindly. She’s always been fairly kind to you—

“Princesses have to stick together.” She’d said to you once, an easy smile on her lips, her face bathed in an orange glow in front of the bonfire.

A similar smile is on her face today. But the one on Rafe’s is nothing but mischief.

“Why don’t you come over here?” He calls.

You flip him a certain finger.

“Come on!” Sarah yells. “We’ve got beer!”

Well. Who are you to say no to free alcohol?

—

You should’ve said no to the free alcohol.

“You know what Rafe?” the words tumble out of your mouth, clumsy. “You’re really hot. It’s not fair. How am I supposed to hate you when you look so hot?”

You’re sitting on one of the benches on the boat, half leaning on the back of it and half leaning on Rafe.

You might have forgotten to take into account the fact that you’re a lightweight.

He raises an eyebrow. “How many beers did you have?”

“Don’t worry about that,” You slur, attempting to shush him but failing halfway through, your hand falling harmlessly into his lap. “I like beer. I like drinking. How come I don’t drink often?”

You pause, squinting at him. “How come you’re so hot?”

“Yeah,” He sighs, “You’re drunk.”

“Who cares? I like being drunk. Drunk me is fun. Like that one song. Release your in-hi-bitions— feel the rain on your skin!”

He gives you a pained look. “Please don’t try to start dancing. You don’t have the coordination for it, and I’m not going into the water when you tip overboard.”

“Pshhh, yeah you would. You like taking care of me. Cause you’re weird.”

You turn to face the other side of the boat, where Sarah is watching you with an amused expression. “Sarah! Did I tell you that he drove aaaaaaaallllllllll the way to my job to pick me up cause my car wouldn’t start?”

She tilts her head, looking at Rafe. “You told Dad you were going to go pick up Topper and Kelce from a party so they didn’t drunk drive.”

You make a so-so motion with your hand. “That’s like. Basically the same thing.”

“It is not. You really are a lightweight, huh?”

You squint at Sarah. “Did John B. tell you that?”

She splutters. “No, I—“

You cross your arms, frowning. Then you turn to look up at Rafe again. “I should’ve called John B. to pick me up, cause he’s the only Pogue I know who’s got a car. But I didn’t. I called you.”

“Mm,” Rafe says, his jaw tensing and un-tensing. “And why is that.”

“Cause he’s being a dick. He’s all upset ‘cause I’m hanging out with you, keeps telling me I’m gonna get hurt again and blah blah blah, but then, it turns out he’s been dating Sarah for weeks and he didn’t tell me! It’s the same thing! And we’re not even dating.”

Rafe looks at Sarah. “You’re dating him? That’s who you broke up with Topper for?”

She glares right back at him. “There is literally a Pogue in this boat right now who is only here because you want to date her. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

“She’s different.”

“How?”

“How?”

You and Sarah ask the same question at the same time. Rafe sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“She’s not just some random Pogue I picked up off the street.”

“I could have been.”

“You’re not helping.”

You frown, staring at your feet.

He gazes at you for a moment. “She’s just… different.”

You blink up at him through your lashes. “You should kiss me.”

“No.”

“Why not?” You whine.

“Because when sober-you remembers all of this, she’s already going to kill me.”

“Not to mention I would.” Sarah grumbles, taking a sip of her own beer. “Come on, Rafe. You should bring her home. It’s getting late anyway.”

“Mm,” He hums, glancing at you up and down. “You wanna go home?”

“No. There’s no beer and Rafe there. S’ boring.”

“I’m pretty sure sober-you likes it that way.”

“Then she’s boring,” You poke the muscle of his bicep. “Do you work out?”

“Yes.”

“Are you buff?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Could you carry me?”

“Probably.”

“Hmm,” You sink lower on the bench, kicking your feet. “Okay. We should go home before sober-me figures out what’s going on.”

Sarah brings the boat back to their little dock while Rafe makes various attempts to keep you awake during the journey.

You whine, batting his hands away as he pokes your face.

“We’re here, so you’re gonna have to get up.”

You groan. “You’re a big strong man. Carry me.”

You hear a huff, a sigh, and then arms come around your middle and you let out a half-aborted scream as you’re hefted into the air, stomach landing on a muscled shoulder.

“I was joking,” You mumble, your arms dangling. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“I swear to fucking— here.”

He slides you off his shoulder and you wobble as you land, vision swimming.

“I think I’m a lightweight.”

“You’re just now figuring that out?”

“Why are you so mean?”

“I was told by a certain princess that it was my brand.”

“I wanna go home.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you going to walk then? Towards my car? So you can go home?”

You turn (slowly) and squint at his car in the distance. “That seems really far away.”

“It’s not.”

“I don’t wanna walk that far.”

The muscles in his jaw jump. “Just this once, because I need to get you home, and you are drunk, I am going to offer you a piggy-back ride. Got it?”

“Hmm. Okay.”

He stoops a little so you can hop on, then hooks his arms under your legs with only a mild grunt, your arms crossing —not too tight— around his neck.

He makes his way across the deck and up the path, silently, your cheek pillowed on the side of his neck.

When he makes it to the car he opens the passenger side door and slides you into it, clicking your seat belt on when your fingers fumble with it.

He’s silent the entire drive, jaw clenched and hands white knuckled on the steering wheel.

The silence practically thrums with anger, the charged air prickling your skin.

“Are you mad at me?”

He works his jaw. “No.”

“It seems like you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Then how come you’re upset?”

He sighs out through his nose. He doesn’t respond right away. Waits until he pulls over at the front of your street, sets the car in park. His hands don’t leave the steering wheel.

“You’re… squishier than I thought.”

“You think I’m fat?”

“No- fuck. I’m saying you’ve got a convincing stone-cold-bitch act. Then you go and get drunk and turn into this. Makes me feel like a piece of shit.”

You cross your arms. “You don’t like it. Me.”

He finally looks over at you, his eyes hooded. “I never said that. It’s one thing for us to have this back and forth assholery, as you put it. But now I know this is also who I’m being a dick to.”

You look down at your lap. “You know, I wasn’t always a stone-cold bitch.”

He cuts you a look. “Stop talk—“

“No, you shut up, I’m not that drunk anymore,”

You’re totally lying, which he knows, but he lets you talk.

“There was… this guy. I really liked him. He really liked me. Well, I thought he did. He was a Kook, too. Everyone warned me against getting with him, but I thought what we had was real,” You clench your hands on your thighs. “It wasn’t. Turns out his friends had dared him to sleep with ‘the prettiest Pogue he could stomach.’ That’s all I was. The only Pogue he could stand to fake it with. He told me the morning after. We broke up.”

“Who—“

“It doesn’t matter. I’m telling you this so you understand that I am a frigid bitch, but I’m also… this. So you better not fuck this up.”

He chuckles. “What do you want me to do, then?”

You shrug. “Prove me wrong. And I’m not made of glass. You just gotta… take it.”

Rafe raises a single eyebrow. “Take it?”

“Look, I already told you I think you’re hot. You’ve got a brain. Put the pieces together.”

He rubs a hand across his jaw. “And if I go too far?”

“I’m not that fragile.”

He crosses his arms, biceps flexing. “You sure about this?”

“Right now? Yes.”

He hums. “I should say no. You’re drunk. You’re not in the right mind to make these kinds of decisions.”

“But?”

“I’d rather test this and see,” He leans down, across the middle console, eyes hooded and hungry as he stares down at you. “You’re on, pretty girl."

—

When you wake (in your own bed, shockingly) it’s to the sound of a chainsaw right next to your ear.

Oh. It’s actually just your phone buzzing.

You hit the accept button and roll over onto it instead of doing all the effort of lifting it onto your face.

“H’llo?”

“Morning, princess.”

You groan. “Why the fuck are you calling me?”

“You don’t remember last night?”

“You’re on, pretty girl.”

You groan again, this one long and drawn out. “Why did you let me drink? You should’ve thrown me off the side of the boat after the first beer.”

You’re utterly mortified at how you acted. There’s a reason you don’t really get drunk anymore.

“And get rid of my free show like that? Please.”

You huff, head pounding at the effort of remembering the night before and speaking. “Why’re you calling me?”

“Had to make sure all that drinking didn’t kill you. We’ve got plans tonight.”

You sit up a little in bed. “No we don’t. I have work tonight.”

“That’s your only dispute?”

“I figured I didn’t have to state the obvious ones.”

“Come on. It’s just a little party—“

“I don’t do parties, Rafe.”

“I recall seeing you at the boneyard more than a couple times.”

“Bonfires on the beach don’t count as parties.”

“So you’d come if it was on the beach?”

“No, I—“ You tap the speaker button, dropping the phone into your lap. “What’s the point of this party, exactly? You want to be seen in public with me? Want everyone to know I’m off limits?”

“Yes,” He says it so easily, though his voice a little rough, a little gravelly, “But you also need to lighten up. I’ll pick you up from work. Bring clothes to change into.”

You open your mouth to respond but the hang up tone beeps steadily in your ear.

Of course you had to go blab your tragic backstory to Rafe fucking Cameron.

—

Work is long as usual, and you’ve contemplated quitting several times by the time you’re changing into your ‘party’ clothes in the bathroom, ignoring the fact that Rafe has definitely been parked and waiting for half an hour.

Your boss kept you late. Again.

You rush out to his car, cursing. He’s leaned up against the passenger side door, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his phone. He looks up when you approach, the corners of his lips twitching.

He pushes off the car, opening the passenger side door and nodding towards it.

“You look good.”

You pause, shouldering your work bag. “That’s it? I keep you waiting for thirty minutes and that’s all you say?”

“Did you want me to get upset?”

“Well, no, but—“

He shrugs. “Don’t care. Get in the car.”

He closes the door after you then climbs in himself, cranking up the heat and driving towards the boneyard.

You notice his eyes flicking down to your thighs every now and then. When picking an outfit for the party/bonfire/whatever, you’d decided to go simple. Having Rafe follow you around would be attention enough.

Still, the jeans you’re wearing are tight. A bit more form-fitting than your usual attire.

He seems to notice.

You shift in your seat, a little self conscious under the heat of his gaze crossing your legs and angling them towards the car door.

He sighs. “Mm-mm. None of that.”

He reached a hand across the console, deft, strong fingers effortlessly hooking and curling over your knee and dragging your legs back over and closer to him. Once he resituates you, his hand travels a little higher, squeezing and rolling the plush flesh there in his hand.

Your breath hitches. “What are you doing?”

“Taking.”

You swallow heavily, nearly choking on the lump in your throat. “You better not act like this at the boneyard.”

“And what if I do?“

“I’ll leave.”

He snorts. “I’m your ride. You gonna walk home? In the cold?”

“It’s not cold out.”

“It is to you. You’re always shivering. You better have brought the jacket.”

He doesn’t have to say which jacket for you to know which one he’s referring to.

You cross your arms, firmly ignoring the hand still intermittently squeezing your thigh. “I did. But i’m serious, Rafe. You have to back off when we get there.”

“Mm,” He hums. “Then at least let me have a little now.”

There’s something in the way he says it. The timber of his voice, the low, almost croon to his tone. He says it like you’re in control. Like you have power over him.

Even just the idea of it is exhilarating.

You push your thigh up into his hand, just a little bit.

“Only cause you’ll be insufferable if I don’t.”

He curls his hand under your thigh, palm pressed to the side and fingers pressing into the muscle through your tight jeans.

“Thanks, baby.”

“I’m not your baby.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You pull up to the beach, party already well under way.

People cheer as Rafe climbs out of the car, but he ignores them in favor of walking over to your side of the car and offering you a hand, which you swat away.

“I’m not an invalid.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re really hard to be polite to?”

“You’re just—“

“For the love of god, don’t start with that shit. Get over here.”

He snakes an arm around your waist, tugging you to his side. He starts towards the beach and you squirm, not wanting to be seen tucked under his arm.

This is the exact scenario you’d wanted to avoid with this whole thing. Showing up with Rafe Cameron —literally climbing out of his car— and having his arm around you is the perfect way to be ostracized by almost ninety percent of your circle.

“Will you chill the fuck out?” Rafe says, slowing to a stop a little ways away from the party, turning you to face him. “We’re just going to a party.”

You attempt to shrug his arm off your shoulder, but it holds fast. “You don’t get it. You have money, so you don’t need a community to fall back on. We’re poor. All we have is each other. So if I walk over there with you, i’ll lose it. I’ll be a traitor.”

His expression twists. “You’re blowing this so far out of proportion it’s not even funny.”

Anger begins stirring in your chest. “Rafe—“

“Who cares? No seriously, who the fuck cares? Everyone on this island is a piece of shit in their own ways. No one gives a shit if I got you under my arm. No one’s watching you. You’re not a fucking celebrity. You’ve got a reputation for turning down guys, you’re not fuckin’ Taylor Swift.”

The anger fades and your skin prickles in its absence. “I don’t think that I’m famous or anything.”

Rafe’s features smooth into something a little calmer. “I know, I know. Is this cause John B’s being a dick?”

“He has a point—“

“No he doesn’t,” Rafe snorts, “He’s dating my sister. He doesn’t get to say anything.”

You sigh. “They’re just worried about me making the same mistakes again.”

His arm leaves your side and you resist the shiver that threatens to overtake you at the sudden loss of the warmth and stability you hadn’t realized you’d been reliant on during the length of the conversation.

Rafe slides a gold ring off his pointer finger— the gold ring. The Cameron signet ring. The ring he never takes off.

He takes your hand, turning it palm side up, and drops the ring in it.

“There. My dad would probably murder me if anything happened to that ring. If I become a real and serious dick to you, chuck it in the fucking ocean.”

You stare down at it. “This is real gold. It’s a family heirloom. You can’t just give it to me.”

“I’m not,” He says easily, “This is a loan. When you decide that I’m not gonna fuck you over, you can give it back.”

You close your fingers around the ring, still warm from his finger. You tilt your back, looking up at him through your lashes. A small smile starts to spread across your face.

“I’ve really got you wrapped around my finger, huh?”

He huffs a laugh, tucking you under his arm again and walking you towards the party. “Took you long enough.”

The party honestly is fun after that. You drink (not much, Rafe carefully watches your alcohol intake and makes sure you toe the line of tipsy, but don’t fall over into drunk territory. He spends the night nursing one beer, claiming designated driver whenever someone gives him shit for it.

“Never stopped you in the past.”

“Didn’t have precious cargo before.”

He stays true to your earlier agreement and remains fairly hands off, but follows you around the party like some sort of guard dog, lingering just over your shoulder and successfully scaring off every guy who even looks in your direction.

Some of the pogues do give you the occasional glare or judgmental look or two, but Rafe was right. No one cares.

It’s… nice. For once you’re not hoping no guy approaches you or praying a Kook doesn’t start some shit with you. With Rafe trailing behind you, one hand in his pocket and jaw set, you truly are free to just enjoy the party, for the first time in your life. No one’s trying to hit on you, no one’s trying to making a spectacle of trying to convince you to date them, no one is making snide comments.

It’s weird, because you’re accustomed to a certain kind and amount of anxiety that comes with going to a mixed party, but everytime you start wondering how things are going to go wrong, Rafe is there with an arm around your waist or some stupid comment or other about somebody at the party whispered in your ear.

You manage quite a bit more socializing at the party than you usually do. Unfortunately, between this and the alcohol, you tire pretty quick.

You trip over your third stick when Rafe settles a hand on your hip with an “Think it’s time you went to bed.”

You groan. “But I’m actually having a good time for once.”

He steers you in the direction of the car. “Well, you’re in luck, cause if you think you’re going to parties alone from now on, you got another thing coming.”

Rafe at your side —a seemingly permanent arrangement now— you stumble your way towards the car.

“Isn’t that boring for you?”

“If it was, I’d say something. Besides. There’ll be different parties. Stop worrying so much about shit.”

His words seem harsh, but his tone is nothing other than low and fond.

“I’m cold.”

“I told you to grab the jacket—“

“I did bring it—“

“Then why aren’t you wearing it?”

“It didn’t match the outfit!”

“Are you being serious right now?”

"Is it a crime to want to look good at a party--"

He chuckles, fingers flexing on your hip as he tugs you closer to him. "You're so stupid."

"Rude."

"Not rude if it's true."

You elbow his side, but he just laughs louder.

Unsurprisingly, he warms the car for you when you get in.

—

Storms are a common thing in Outerbanks. Everyone's used to them. Monsoons, thunder storms, even the occasional hurricane. So you're not surprised to get the warning, not surprised when it hits.

You are a little surprised to wake up pelted with rain, a tree branch in your room, and part of the roof missing.

"Shit," You gasp, pushing the fallen debris off your body and rolling out of your bed to assess the damage.

It's bad. The branch is big and long, probably from that stupid tree your neighbors refused to cut down that you said was going to be a storm hazard. They'd refused, and now there's a huge tree branch that's caved in your roof and part of the wall that separates your bedroom from the living room.

No one is home but you. No one ever is, but right now it causes tears to rise to your eyes, because there's a branch in your room, and the roof is in pieces, and now that you've stopped moving, your legs and arms and torso actually hurt quite a bit, and something warm and wet is running down your temple and when you touch your fingers to it, they come away wet and scarlet.

You're out of your depth and you're scared. You can't stay here, obviously, but you don't know what to do. No one else is home. You don't even know who to call. JJ is out, because who knows if his dad is home and he doesn't even have a phone right now, Kie's out too because her parents didn't like that you were a Pogue with a reputation, you and Pope aren't that close, and John B is... John B. He has a car, at least, and you grew up together, so he'd probably overlook everything between the both of you if you're in danger.

You snatch you waterlogged phone off your dresser, shaky fingers scrolling through your contacts, thumb hovering over John B's.

You should call him. You've been neglecting your friendship with the group recently, working around the clock and Rafe whisking you away. Everyone's busy in their own way, what with the treasure and everything, so this could be a moment to reunite, bond over how shitty the storms make life on the Cut.

There's one other person you could call.

You shouldn't. Should stick to the friends you know, call John B.

But if you called Rafe, he'd come. He'd come get you, and probably take you back to his house and you wouldn't have to worry about anything, because for some reason, he's serious about doing that.

You could call him. He probably wants you to.

You press call before you can talk yourself out of it.

"Do you know what time it is--"

"A tree branch fell on my roof and now I don't have part of my roof and I'm really cold and wet and please come get me."

"Jesus— okay, yeah, yeah I'm coming. Shit, okay. Are you hurt?"

"My head is bleeding and I'm battered all over, but I don't think I need to go to he hospital."

"You're bleeding from your head and you don't think you need to go to the hospital?"

You can hear the sound of a car door slamming and an engine turning over.

"I don't want to go because then I'll be stuck in these clothes and they'll poke and prod at me and it'll take ages and—"

"Alright, alright. Calm down. How bad is the damage to the house. Look around for me."

"Um," You turn in place, scrutinizing the disaster and chaos around you. "I think most of the roof is intact, just the portion that covers my bedroom and some of the living room are uncovered. The branch took out most of the wall that seperates my room from the living room."

"Fuck. Okay, what about the rest of the house?"

"Um, I don't think I can get to it. The tree branch and other house... pieces are blocking my door."

"Can you get out? At all?"

"Yeah, I think through my window."

"Don't move. Take what you need from your room. I'll be there soon."

“Please don’t hang up.”

The line goes silent and you think he has hung up, that you didn’t say it fast enough or he just didn’t care, but then he speaks.

“Would you rather I sneak you in my house or walk in through the front door?”

“…What are the pros and cons?”

“Well, getting in the front door is easiest, but then you risk seeing my parents and my Dad won’t have questions, but Rose will, and I never want to answer her questions anyway.”

“She can’t be that bad.”

“She is. Sneaking you in is harder, but then we avoid conversations, but if we get caught, conversations will probably be worse. Might become a whole lecture.”

“They’d lecture you for taking in a girl who needs help?”

“Rose would.”

He keeps talking the entire way to your house, his voice speaking in low tones as you gather up the things you need to spend an indefinite amount of time away from home.

He eventually does hang up when he arrives, so you turn your attention to prying your window open and climbing out of it.

You can barely get it wedged open enough to fit through, so you toss your bag through first and shout a quick “over here!” before beginning to crawl through.

You hear footsteps slow to a stop in front of you. “You know, usually when this scenario happens, you’re facing the other way around.”

You swat at his leg. “You’re disgusting. And I’m not stuck. You just arrived at an in-opportune moment.”

He curls a hand under the window and pulls up, making the gap wider. At the sudden release of tension you yelp, tumbling out of the window.

“You’re such a mess.”

“You didn’t warn me!”

He helps you to your feet and leads you to his car, the hand on your waist keeping you distracted from the wreckage behind you.

—

You do decide in the end to just walk in the front door, because you’re cold and wet and tired.

Ward does wake up and meets you at the staircase (you’re pretending not to notice the sheer opulence of the house) looking rumpled and confused.

“Who’s this?” The man asks, gesturing your rather pathetic looking form.

“My girlfriend,” Rafe says smoothly, “Branch fell on her roof. Place is a mess.”

You wave hello. “Sorry for waking you, Mr. Cameron.”

His gaze flicks to you for a second, then back to Rafe.

“Girlfriend?” His tone sounds… off. “How long has this been a thing?”

Rafe shifts, squaring his shoulders and stepping a little more in front of you. “A little while.”

Ward hums again, eyes flitting to you, taking in your appearance.

“Make sure you get the first aid kit. That head wounds looks nasty.”

Rafe nods. “We got it. Thanks, Dad.”

Ward just dips his head once, then steps back into the bedroom.

You let out a long sigh, pressing a hand to your chest.

“I thought he was going to throw me out.”

“He wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let him, anyway.”

You snort. “Yes, yes, you’re a big strong man. Can we attend to my wounds now? And get some dry clothes?”

Cleaning your wound doesn’t take long, mostly because your head is the only one that really needs cleaning. The rest is taken care of in the shower. The most luxurious and amazing shower of your life. Seriously. You didn’t even know showers could be this relaxing.

The warm water soothes your aching muscles, and Rafe has weirdly good taste in bodywash.

He’d left you a change of clothes and a spare towel even though you said you brought your own.

You change into his anyway.

They’re more comfortable. Better quality than your ratty pajamas.

Your underwear is a different matter. Your dresser is old and broken —as most things in your house are— and the drawer you picked to store your underwear in doesn’t close all the way. This normally isn’t an issue, but when your roof is suddenly no longer attached, it means the a good portion of your underwear got soaked and muddy.

Except the ones at the bottom of the drawer. So the only underwear you had to bring to Rafe’s that was clean and dry is the tiny, lacy stuff you bought from Victoria’s secret and only wear when you’ve taken an everything shower and need a little pick-me-up. When you want to feel like a hot piece of ass. Girl things.

So you look at yourself in the mirror, clad in your own tank top (it’s actually warm enough in his house to wear a tank top to bed) and a pair of his pajama pants, the draw-string pulled tight, the fabric sagging low on your hips, showing off a thin little strip of lace.

Your face flushes. You look like his girlfriend. Dressed in his clothes, lacy underwear peaking through, skin freshly washed and smelling of his body wash.

When you step out of his bathroom, old clothes clutched in your hand, he stills.

He sits back on the edge of his bed, leaning back on his elbows as you slowly saunter over, steps quiet.

His eyes flick down to the lace, pauses on the sight, then back up to your face.

The air is charged, thick with tension.

You pull away from it, tossing your clothes in your backpack and ignoring the heat of his gaze on your back.

“Come over here.”

You straighten, hands behind your back as you walk to him.

“Closer.”

You step forward, now standing between his legs.

His hands come up to the back of your thighs, tightening, before moving to your hips. His thumbs ghost over the edge of the lace, and he rumbles something deep in the back of his throat.

“I like these.”

“Do you?”

“Mhm.”

He presses his face forward, pushing your tank top up with his nose pressing his lips to the now exposed skin of your stomach.

You gasp, then feel him smile against you. He tugs you closer, face pressed to you and hands gripping your sides, just above the edge of your ribcage.

Tentatively, you reach a hand down, sliding from the top his head, down the side of his face, then slowing to a stop at his jaw, pushing your palm up. His head lifts, his eyes a little glassy, chin resting on your stomach.

“You introduced me as your girlfriend.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you are.”

“I am?”

You stroke a thumb over his face, sweeping over his cheekbone and under his eye. He leans into the touch, pliant.

“You think I let just any girl in here? You think I give any girl my clothes?”

“Yes?”

“Come on, baby. We’ve been over this.”

He presses another kiss to your stomach, mouth hot and lips firm.

He lifts his head up again. “You can make me yours anytime you want. Just say the word.”

“I’m scared,” you whisper, words barely even a breath.

“Mm,” He hums, hands running up and down your sides. “You think too much.”

You pause for a few moments, taking everything in.

You grab his hand, leave it palm side up in front of you, then reach into your pocket and drop something into it.

The ring. His ring.

He stares at it for a beat, then closes his hand around it, slipping it back onto his finger.

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He grins.

Your drop your hands around his neck and he moves his hands to the back of your thighs, effortlessly lifting you onto his lap, wrapping your legs around his middle.

He doesn’t waste any time kissing you. It’s hot and full at first, a roaring flame licking in both your chests, like he’s been holding himself back all this time and finally let it all out. He pushes up into you, and the kiss deepens before it mellows out, slowing down to a few cracking embers.

He pulls back, your noses brushing. “Been wanting to do that since the fucking bookstore.”

“That long?”

“Mhm. You were wearing those cute little pants and you couldn’t reach the top shelf. Wanted to have you right there.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“Mm. Only when it comes to you.”

You fall into each other again, and again, and again.

“Baby.”

“Hm?”

“I really like you in lace.”

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

[comatosebunny09]

helpful | sylus

— summary: you can’t sleep because aunt flo is a bitch. sylus decides to help. — cw: female reader, female anatomy described, dry humping, riding, menstrual cup mention, period woes, mild language, praise, incredibly self-indulgent, bro this is a hot mess, i wrote this instead of carpe noctem ‘cause i wanted sexy time, mdni — now playing: monster - irene & seulgi

For the umpteenth time that morning, you fidget. 

Stupid restless leg syndrome. Stupid cramps. Stupid period. 

Man, fuck!

He stirs behind you, and you stiffen. He groans something abrasive. Brushes his lips against the outer curve of your ear, his hold around your waist tightening the slightest bit. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

You wince at the grit of his tone. Feel shitty because he sleeps like shit as it is. With your added squirming, you’re only making things worse. 

“Nothing,” you sigh, hoping he won’t pursue it and fall back asleep. 

“Can’t sleep?” 

You shrink. Of course he’d press.

“Cramps again?”

You nod wordlessly, smoothing an apologetic thumb over his wrist and rubbing his ankle with your toes. He shifts against you, curled around you like a clingy feline, legs entangled, body a warm, calming pressure at your back. 

“How can I help?” purrs your love, rooting his nose against the sensitive space behind your ear. Inhales, taking in the warm scent wafting off your skin, leaving a shudder and goosebumps in his wake. 

“Dunno,” you return with a pout. “Maybe take my uterus out.”

His chuckle is throaty. Sleepy. Alluring. 

He eases a hand beneath the hem of your shirt, battle-worn palm smoothing over your belly. It’s soothing. Like your own personal heating pad, somewhat easing the gnarl of your gut.

“Unfortunately, I can’t do that, sweetheart. You might need it later. Any other way I can assist?”

You chew on your lip, listening to your pulse thrum. To the sound of his even breaths, the slide of his hand over your stomach, and the wrens singing their morning hymnal outside your window. 

You’re too lazy to grab medicine for the pain. And you don’t want Sylus leaving the bed, either—you’d miss him too much, no matter how briefly he’d be gone. 

You recall once reading up on other methods to ease cramps. 

Your cheeks warm with the memory of one particular bullet point that stood out.

You clear the phlegm from your throat in an attempt to redirect your thoughts.

Sylus, the observant bastard, senses your evasiveness. He lifts his chin from the hollow of your neck, snowy strands tickling your skin. You don’t have to glance back to know he’s looking at you with those dangerous duel flames and wariness pulling at his sleepy face.

“Talk to me,” he coaxes, patting the meat of your belly. 

You swallow past the barbs in your throat, fidgeting once more. Your voice is small. Tentative. “Well, there is one way.”

You picture an inquisitive brow lifting. “Enlighten me.”

Quietly, you shift around on your bed in his arms until you’re faced with a mop of white. With drooping eyes glistening like the sun refracted off sea waves. 

You take his warm cheeks in your palms, sliding your thumbs along the scratchy stubble residing there. Trace over his bottom lip, entranced by its elasticity. Its fullness. He groans something soft and bitten-off, tugging you closer until your chests meet.

You look down between your bodies, a hot wash of embarrassment flooding your insides. A dismissive smile rounds your lips. “It’s stupid. Go back to sleep. Don’t worry about me.”

His hand slinks down your side, settling on your hip. He pitches himself forward, stealing the taste of your lips with a sticky, languid kiss. Nuzzles your nose with his beautifully sculpted one, a youthful quirk to his mouth. 

“Nothing is ever stupid when it comes to you. Tell me. I want to ease your pain.”

You worry your bottom lip again with your teeth, mulling over your next words. You burn hot when, in your peripheral, his eyes darken whilst following the action.

“I read somewhere that, um…”

Sylus strokes reassurance into your waist with his thumb. Wordlessly encourages you to continue, painting an attentive line between your mouth and lashes. 

“Orgasms…help.” 

“Oh?”

You flinch at how his voice rolls like thunder in his chest. You shut your eyes tight, to which he chuckles, dragging you impossibly closer until your pelvises acquaint themselves with each other. He traps your legs with his, mooring you to the spot. To him. 

Gentle digits pinch your chin, guiding your gaze back up. The look on his face makes your stomach twist, contending with your cramps. He kisses you once more, pressing that devilish smile to your lips. You relax after some time, letting him guide you through the languorous waltz of your tongues.

Your arms snake about his neck, and you pour the deftest little sound into his body, allowing him to plunder every ridge and crevice of your mouth. He pulls away with a sticky click, and the smolder of his gaze is unmistakable. 

Lust. Playfulness. Danger.

“Allow me to help,” he says, voice warm milk and honey. 

Your stomach flips. 

There is no warning. No preamble when he effortlessly maneuvers your body until you’re straddling him, legs bracketing either side of his devastating hips. His fingers burn like cinders, clasped around your waist. The seam of his pants digs something harsh against the inner cut of your thigh. You throb, blinking dumbly down at your love.

He tugs with a chuckle, and you careen forward, catching yourself on palms perched on his virile chest. With a smirk canting one corner of his mouth, he pillows the back of his head with his palm, watching you expectantly, the pinnacle of smugness.

“Use me.”

Your face contorts with confusion, a hot thrill shooting through you. “Huh?”

“To get off,” he returns as if it’s as obvious as the night’s transition to day. 

He lightly swats your ass, and you release an indignant sound, bowing forward, a warm, dizzying pressure pushing against the seam of your cunt.

Is that—

Sylus scoffs at your indecision. “Do I have to do everything for you, sweetie?” 

It’s a tease, a challenge. Yet, before you’re granted the time for a response, his hand is firm and possessive on your hip, sliding you forward, and—oh, fuck.

You pulse at the pleasant glide of your cunt against his awakening bulge. He repeats the motion, this time sliding you back on his lap. And spurred by your pleasured response, he begins undulating your hips like the lazy pull of a tide receding into the sea. The friction brewing between your thighs is enough to make your eyes roll and your head loll back, your mouth falling open with a silent gasp.

His lips part slightly, his unoccupied hand clasping around your other hip to keep you in rhythm. “Just like that,” he rasps, watching the strings of your resolve fray slowly. 

He knows what his voice does to you. How his tender instruction curls in your stomach like smoke, unfurling upward to scorch your chest. 

When he’s convinced you’ve caught on, he releases your hips, blistering palms closing around your wrists to keep you anchored to him. To keep your palms pressed firm against the rigid pane of his chest for leverage. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Use me. Take what you want from me.” His voice is murky. Gritty. Intense. Strained as if he’s enjoying the steady wind of your hips, the union of your bodies, just as much as you are.

Something twists low in your belly. You peer down at him with half-slit eyes, not once relinquishing the pleasurable knock of your hips. He studies you with equal fervor, pelvis slowly surging off the bed to meet you rock for rock. He’s goaded by your pleasure. By the soft, pathetic keening sounds leaving your lips, and his grip on your wrists is almost bruising.

“Take me, sweetheart. Take me.” He groans something heady, throaty, and it puddles in your core, searing hot like magma. 

Your walls quake around the menstrual cup nestled within, amplifying the sparkling sensation threatening to wholly take hold of you. 

“Don’t stop,” he urges on a groan. “Take your pleasure.”

You’ll lecture him later on his obsession with being used like something disposable. For now, you chase the tingling sensation stewing between your bodies, riding him a little faster than before. 

Your mouth hinges open as your hips paint a rhythm of their own accord, driven by feeling alone. Your orgasm creeps up your back like spindly, spidery limbs, and the world falls away, making way for a blinding surge of white. Your hips stutter. Stiffen, your tongue wrapping around his name. 

You barrel forward, falling into Sylus’ embrace, and you laugh as the final vestiges of your orgasm wade over you, leaving you a shaking mess of tendons and sweat. 

He smooths a hand over the notches of your spine as you come down, humming low, whispering dulcet words of encouragement into the crown of your head.

“That’s my girl. So good for me. So sweet.”

His heartbeat is mollifying beneath your cheek. You smile, breaths evening out, sleep beckoning you with her feathery call. 

That’s one way to combat menstrual pain.

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

nanami kento and his certified yapper of a girlfriend, whom he loves very dearly <33

nanami has perfected the art of the “hm.” it’s his go-to response when you’re on one of your enthusiastic tangents. but don’t be fooled—there are different versions of his “hm.” there’s the supportive hm (when he agrees with you), the tired but still listening hm (when he’s too drained to fully engage but doesn’t want to ignore you), and the you’re absolutely ridiculous but I love you hm (his most common one).

he may seem like he zones out, but he retains the important things. you could talk for ten minutes straight about which nail color you should get, and he won’t remember a word. but if you offhandedly mention that you really love those matcha cookies from that one bakery, guess what’s waiting for you the next day?

he’s the only person who can actually get you to shut up—for a moment. whether it’s pulling you into a sudden kiss, placing a warm hand over your mouth, or just giving you that look, he has his ways. you’ll still continue after the interruption, though. always.

sometimes he just lets you talk because he enjoys how animated you get. you’re waving your hands, switching between different tones, going off on dramatic tangents—he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t cute. sometimes he just sits back and watches you, letting the sound of your voice fill the space around him. and you’re so absorbed in your own storytelling that you completely miss his lovesick gaze and his warm smile.

he has definitely fallen asleep to the sound of your voice. you don’t even take offense anymore. it happens often enough that you’ve just accepted your voice as a lullaby for him. sometimes, he’ll wake up to you continuing your story, completely unbothered by the fact that he passed out halfway through.

when he’s in a bad mood, you’re the only person who can make him laugh. sometimes, all it takes is a well-timed, ridiculous comment. other times, it’s just your sheer determination to get a reaction out of him. if he tries to stay grumpy, you’ll narrate his emotions out loud, complete with a fake dramatic voice: “behold! the great and brooding nanami kento, burdened by the weight of existence. will he ever smile again? will he ever—oh wait! there it is! a smirk! ladies and gentlemen, we got him.”

he gets oddly worried when you’re quiet. if you go more than twenty minutes without saying something, he immediately assumes something’s wrong. “are you okay?” “yes, why?” “you’re quiet.” “…so?” “so, it’s suspicious.” if you get quiet for too long, he’ll gently nudge you. not because he doesn’t enjoy silence, but because he knows something might be wrong. “what’s on your mind?” he’ll ask, and when you start rambling again, he knows things are back to normal.

he absolutely refuses to take you grocery shopping anymore. the last time he did, you spent fifteen minutes analyzing which brand of rice was superior, picked up random items purely because they “had cute packaging,” and got distracted by the tiny honey jars again. now, he just goes alone and comes back with everything he knows you like. (or he relents to your endless begging and tells you to not give promises you won’t be able to keep— like you sticking to his side and not prolonging the trip.)

he loves your voice, even if he pretends it exhausts him. he may act like you talk too much (which, to be fair, you do), but if you ever go away for a few days, or if he has a long, quiet work trip, he finds himself missing the constant sound of your chatter. the first thing he does when he comes back? sit down and listen to you ramble about everything he missed.

he’ll never admit it, but he secretly finds your endless talking comforting. it makes the world feel less heavy. it reminds him that, no matter how chaotic things get, you’ll always be right there, filling the silence with something only you would say.

he’s developed a high tolerance for your rapid-fire conversation shifts. most people would struggle to keep up, but nanami has learned to expect the unexpected. you could be talking about your dinner plans one second and then suddenly ask, “do you think sharks are self-aware?” without missing a beat. he doesn’t even flinch anymore—just calmly responds, “if they were, they’d probably be very concerned about their reputation.”

he has a hidden soft spot for your random facts. sure, he’ll sigh when you start a sentence with, “did you know—” but deep down, he’s actually listening. later, he’ll casually use one of your weird facts in conversation, and when you catch him, he’ll just adjust his tie like it never happened.

he’s learned to predict the exact moment you’ll start talking during movies. without fail, right when an important scene starts, you will have a thought. every time. and somehow, nanami just knows when it’s coming. he’ll pause the movie right before you open your mouth, giving you an expectant look. “go ahead.” and you’ll happily share your insight before he presses play again.

nanami secretly finds your over-explaining adorable. sometimes, you’ll start explaining something completely unnecessary—like why a certain restaurant’s menu design is superior to another’s—and he’ll just watch you, arms crossed, pretending to be unimpressed. but inside? he thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world.

he loves when you talk about your day, even if it’s just the small stuff. you could spend twenty minutes telling him about how the barista at the café made your drink slightly different than usual, and he’ll still sit there, listening, occasionally nodding and asking questions. because no matter what you’re talking about, it’s you, and that’s enough.

he will not—under any circumstances—let gojo encourage you. if gojo hypes you up for talking even more, nanami is done. he’ll literally drag you away before you and gojo can start bouncing off each other with endless nonsense.

he may sigh, roll his eyes, and pretend to be exhausted by your constant talking, but if anyone else ever told you to “be quiet,” they’d get a very cold stare from nanami. no one—no one—gets to dull your spark except for him, and even he doesn’t really mean it.

[mingi-s-dimples]

「 Size Matters, right? - Yungi 」

"Tsk.. you don't even know whose cock you’re taking, do you?"

~ "Reader makes a joke about their sizes so they play a game to see if reader can tell who's fucking them" - req. by anon

pairing: yungi x fem!reader

genre: 18+, filth

summary: you just love testing these two... until they test you to the verge of snapping, making you beg.

wc: 4.9k

warnings: rough!yungi, teasing, blindfold, multiple orgasms, lots of cum, kissing, fingering, double penetration, double fingering, dirty talk + degrading (slut), possessiveness, intent of free use, let's say they're fwb, they switch way too many times, begging, multiple rounds, unprotected (boo use protection irl!!!), completely consensual, for sure forgot something, might edit later.

Author's Note: tysm anon for this request hello... i need holy water now ty 🤡 it was *insanenly intense*. hope to see you again around !!!! if you request again lmk if it was up to your expectations ^^ or simply lmk in the request form love youuu

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the members in any way.

The night had started out innocent enough—at least, as innocent as things ever got between the three of you.

You were wedged between them on the couch, Yunho on your left, Mingi on your right, warmth seeping from their bodies into yours. A movie was playing, but none of you were watching. Not with the way their hands had started to wander.

Yunho’s fingers were tracing slow, absentminded circles on your thigh, just barely under the hem of your shorts. Mingi was less subtle, his palm resting on your hip, fingers occasionally squeezing as if reminding you of his presence. You could feel the tension crackling in the air, thick with anticipation. It was always like this with them—slow, drawn-out teasing before one of you finally snapped.

But tonight? Tonight, you were feeling bold.

You shifted, letting your hand drift casually onto Yunho’s lap. His thigh tensed beneath your palm, and you smirked to yourself. Without hesitation, you let your other hand move to Mingi, your fingers pressing lightly against his inner thigh. The way he stiffened under your touch made a spark of satisfaction flicker through you.

"Mm," you hummed, nails lightly scraping over Yunho’s clothed thigh before giving Mingi the same treatment. "I don’t think you guys understand just how well I know you."

Yunho exhaled sharply, his grip tightening around your leg. "Oh?"

Mingi raised a brow, his hand pressing more firmly against your hip. "Is that so?"

You bit back a smirk, fingers inching higher on both of them. "Mhm. I know you both so well… I could probably tell who’s fucking me with my eyes closed."

Silence.

Then Yunho laughed, the sound dark and low. "Oh, really?"

Mingi scoffed, tilting his head. "That’s a bold claim, sweetheart."

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance as you lightly squeezed their thighs. "It’s not a claim, it’s a fact." You leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something more sultry. "I’ve been fucked by you two enough times to know the difference."

That got their attention.

Mingi’s grip on your hip turned bruising, his fingers digging into your flesh. Yunho’s hand slid further up your thigh, pushing the fabric of your shorts higher. They shared a look above your head, something dark and knowing, before Yunho turned back to you, his smile slow and dangerous.

"You sure about that?"

Your smirk widened. "Positive."

Mingi hummed, his fingers trailing up your arm. "That so?"

Yunho exhaled, amusement laced with something far more sinister. "Then we should test that."

You blinked, the weight of their words settling in. "Test—?"

Mingi’s lips brushed against your ear. "If you’re so confident, baby, let’s see you prove it." Yunho’s other hand came up, fingers gently tracing your jaw. “Let's… blindfold you.”

Your breath caught, but neither of them gave you a chance to react.

"Then we’ll take turns fucking you," Mingi continued, his voice dropping lower. "And you’re gonna guess who’s inside you."

Yunho’s lips curled into a smirk. "And only when you get it right will we let you cum."

Your stomach clenched, heat pooling low in your belly.

Mingi chuckled at your silence, his palm sliding down to squeeze your thigh. "Oh, what’s wrong, sweetheart?"

Yunho tilted his head. "You were so confident just a second ago."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Mingi and Yunho didn’t stop smirking at you, their amusement growing as Yunho leaned closer. Before you had a chance to react, his hand slipped down your body, moving with a slow confidence that made you shiver.

"Jesus, you’re already so wet…" Yunho’s fingers slid past the waistband of your panties, the soft fabric brushing your sensitive skin before diving straight between your folds. He barely gave you a chance to adjust, slipping two fingers in slowly, stretching you open just enough for him to feel your heat.

You gasped, your body tightening at the sudden intrusion. "What’s the matter, baby?" Yunho’s voice was low, almost smug, as he dragged his fingers deeper, forcing you to grind down onto his hand. "Did you think you could just tease us and get away with it?"

Yunho’s thumb moved up to circle your clit, pressing firmly and teasingly as he kept his fingers deep inside you. "So, you were saying," he purred, his gaze flicking to Mingi, then back to you. "You think you can tell who’s fucking you, huh?"

You couldn’t stop yourself from whining, the pressure building in your core. You blinked up at Yunho, trying to focus, but your head was spinning. "I-I’m sure…"

"Sure about what?" Yunho taunted, curling his fingers inside you to make you jerk against his hand. "That you’ll know exactly who’s who by our cocks?" He added, his voice turning darker, rougher. "We’ll see about that."

Mingi chuckled, the sound deep and amused. "She thinks she knows? Interesting." he said as his hand slipped beneath your shirt, cupping your breasts.

Yunho started pumping his fingers in and out, each stroke rough and punishing as he continued to work you open. "You think you can guess?" he growled, his lips curling into a twisted grin. "Because if you’re wrong… we won’t let you cum.."

You moaned softly, squeezing your eyes shut, your hips moving of their own accord. "I’ll guess," you said, breathless. "I can tell."

Mingi moved closer, dragging a finger lightly down your jaw, tilting your face so that you had to look at him. "Tell us, then," he purred, the challenge clear in his voice. "Tell us how badly you want us."

Yunho’s fingers slid in deeper, harder, his thumb circling your clit in rhythmic, relentless movements. "Tell us, sweetheart," he grunted. "Who’s got you this wet, hm?”

Your answer was nothing but a soft gasp, your body moving involuntarily as Yunho fucked his fingers into you, curling them at just the right angle.

"You don’t even know, do you?" Yunho hissed, suddenly pulling his fingers out of you, leaving you wanting more. “Such a little slut… Guess you’ll have to find out the hard way."

Mingi’s eager hands gripped your waist as he effortlessly lifted you off the ground, spinning you around and throwing you onto the bed with a slight chuckle. Your breath caught as you bounced on the mattress, heart racing in anticipation of what was to come. He towered over you in an instant, a hunger in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Ready to play, sweetheart?" he growled, a wicked grin curving his lips.

Before you could respond, Mingi reached over to the nightstand, his movements swift and practiced, pulling a black silk blindfold from the drawer. He was already stripping it open, his eyes never leaving yours as he tied it around your head, blocking out all sight and plunging you into complete darkness.

A soft, teasing chuckle escaped Yunho’s lips as he leaned against the doorframe, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Look at you, Mingi," he teased, "as eager as she is. I guess she’s rubbing off on you."

Mingi shot Yunho a playful, half-resentful glare before positioning himself on the bed. "I can’t help it," he muttered, hovering over you as his hands roamed your body. "She’s so fucking irresistible."

You could feel the heat of Mingi’s body hovering just above yours, his breath tickling your skin as Yunho slowly walked closer, smirking at the scene unfolding. Mingi slid his hands to your hips, pinning you down, his fingers digging into the soft skin. "Don’t worry," he murmured, his voice low and full of promise, "we’ll get this game started real soon."

Yunho chuckled again, shaking his head, but the amusement in his gaze was unmistakable. "You think she’s ready for what we’re about to do?" he teased Mingi, his voice soft but dripping with intent.

Mingi smirked, his hands gently trailing up your thighs before resting on your hips. "Oh, she’s ready. Isn’t that right, baby?" he whispered, before planting a gentle kiss against your neck, moving slowly, deliberately.

You shivered, nodding your head even though you couldn’t see them, feeling your pulse quicken as the tension between you three thickened. The anticipation, the waiting, was almost too much to bear. But then, Mingi’s fingers traced over your body, touching you everywhere, making you ache for more.

"Tell me, sweetheart," he teased, voice dipping low. "You ready to play along? Guess who’s fucking you?"

You swallowed thickly, already trembling under the touch of their hands, knowing the game had just begun.

The rustling of clothes fills the room, each piece hitting the floor with a soft thud. Even blindfolded, you can hear them, sense the way they move around you like predators circling prey. Then, Yunho’s hands are on you—strong, demanding.

"Up." His tone leaves no room for hesitation. He manhandles you with ease, lifting you into his lap as he leans back against the headboard. Your back presses against his firm chest, his legs spread wide beneath you, forcing yours open. His hands grip your thighs, keeping them in place. Trapped.

"There we go, baby," he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement. "Right where we want you."

Then there’s Mingi.

Settling between your legs, he lets out a low groan at the sight of your soaked panties. He presses two fingers against the damp fabric, dragging them up your slit slowly, teasingly.

"Look at this mess, Yunho." His voice is thick with mockery. "She’s already dripping onto your thighs."

Yunho chuckles, his breath hot against your ear. His hands move up, palms grazing your stomach before sliding to your chest. He cups your breasts, thumbs flicking over your already sensitive nipples.

"Of course she is," he muses, rolling one nipple between his fingers, tugging just enough to make you whimper. "She loves being used."

Before you can protest—not that you’d ever dare—Mingi hooks his fingers into your panties, dragging them down your thighs. The cool air barely has a chance to touch your soaked core before he pushes two fingers inside you, knuckles deep without warning.

A gasp rips from your throat, your body jerking, but Yunho tightens his hold, keeping you locked against him.

"Tsk, tsk," Mingi murmurs, curling his fingers inside you. "So fucking tight, and we haven’t even started."

"She can take more," Yunho says smoothly, his free hand sliding down your stomach. Before you can even process it, his fingers press against your entrance, slipping inside beside Mingi’s.

Your body tenses—overwhelmed, stretched, full—but neither of them give you a moment to adjust. They move in tandem, pushing deeper, working you open with no patience, no mercy. Your moans come in breathless little sobs, hips twitching between them.

"That’s it," Mingi coos mockingly, his thumb rubbing slow, taunting circles over your clit. "Take it like the desperate little thing you are."

Yunho’s lips graze your ear, his voice dangerously soft. "Who’s gonna break you first, baby?"

Mingi smirks, watching your body tremble.

"Doesn’t matter." His fingers pump harder, faster, sending shockwaves through you. "She’s gonna take us both anyway."

Yunho’s fingers keep working inside you, matching Mingi’s pace, stretching you open without an ounce of patience. The two of them are relentless, their movements synced—one thrusting deep, the other pressing against that sweet spot inside you that has your legs trembling.

Your moans are ragged, breath hitching every time their fingers push deeper. Mingi’s thumb flicks over your clit, teasing, taunting.

"She’s getting close," he murmurs, watching the way your body reacts. "Think we should let her cum?"

Yunho only smirks, locking eyes with him. A silent message passes between them.

Who’s taking her first?

Mingi tilts his head, considering. Then, he chuckles darkly. "Go ahead.” he signals.

The second the decision is made, they pull their fingers out at the same time. The sudden emptiness makes you whimper, thighs twitching as your walls clench around nothing. But before you can even process the loss, Yunho is already moving.

He grips your waist, lifting you with ease before placing you on the bed, your body sinking into the mattress. Both men hover over you, their eyes dark, predatory.

"Fuck, look at her," Mingi murmurs, raking his gaze down your body. "Completely ruined, and we haven’t even started."

Your chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, the blindfold still robbing you of sight. But you can feel their eyes on you—devouring, consuming. The way they hover, the heat radiating off their bare skin, the way Yunho’s weight dips the bed as he moves between your legs.

Then, a soft metallic clink.

One. Then another.

They’re taking off their rings.

Your lips part, realization hitting you hard. They’re making it impossible for you to tell who’s inside you.

"That's fucking mean," you whisper, barely audible.

Mingi clicks his tongue, fingers tracing over your trembling thighs. "Aw, baby, you look so nervous." His voice is laced with amusement, but there’s nothing comforting about it. "What’s wrong? Can’t tell who’s about to ruin you?"

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but then one of them moves between your legs.

No warning. No words.

Just the thick, aching heat of a cock dragging through your soaked folds, teasing, testing.

And then—he thrusts in.

Your body shatters around the stretch, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as he sinks in deep. No patience, no hesitation—just one smooth, brutal thrust until he’s buried to the hilt, your walls tightening around him as you struggle to adjust.

He doesn’t make a sound.

No moans, no teasing, not even a sharp inhale. Just the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress, the heavy grip on your thighs keeping you spread wide.

Your lips part, breathless and dazed. "M-Mingi?"

A dark chuckle comes from beside you, but the man inside you? Silent.

Mingi’s fingers brush your jaw, tilting your head towards him. "Is that your guess?" His tone is smug, knowing. "Are you sure?"

Your mind is foggy, thoughts scrambled from the way he’s filling you—slow at first, dragging back just enough to make you feel every inch before slamming back in. Your breath hitches, nails digging into the sheets.

It has to be Mingi. Right? The way he’s holding you down, the way he—

Your thoughts disintegrate when he moves.

The next thrust is ruthless. Deep. Precise. The kind of stroke that knocks the air from your lungs, that makes your back arch off the bed as a cry rips from your throat.

You can’t even think straight.

You try again, voice barely a whisper. "Y-Yunho?"

Silence.

No confirmation. No denial. Just another brutal snap of his hips, deeper this time, dragging a moan from your lips before you can stop it.

"Tsk," Mingi coos, his fingers sliding down your throat, pressing just enough to make your head spin. "You don’t even know whose cock you’re taking, do you?"

You try to focus—on the grip on your waist, the way he moves, the way he stretches you. But it’s useless. He’s fucking you too hard, too deep, your body bouncing with each thrust, your moans breaking into incoherent little sobs.

And the worst part? The man between your legs still hasn’t said a damn thing.

Just fucking you into the mattress, watching you come undone, knowing you’ll never guess right.

And you don’t.

Because at this point, it doesn’t even matter.

The man inside you—Yunho (you think, you hope)—doesn’t hold back. His thrusts are deep, brutal, every stroke sinking to the hilt before pulling back just enough to make you feel the loss, only to slam back in harder. Your body jerks with every movement, helpless beneath him, completely at his mercy.

And he still doesn’t make a sound.

No moans, no taunts, nothing but the sound of skin slapping against skin and your breathy, desperate whimpers filling the air. You hate how easily you’re unraveling, how your body is already tightening, clenching around him, the pleasure coiling low in your stomach. You’re close—so close—your fingers gripping the sheets, legs trembling as your orgasm creeps up fast.

"P-Please," you whimper, not even sure who you’re begging. "Let me cum."

You can feel Yunho smirk against your skin. But he doesn’t answer.

Instead, he pulls out.

A sob rips from your throat at the sudden emptiness, your walls clenching around nothing, the pleasure fading into sharp frustration. You try to squeeze your legs shut, to chase something, but a firm hand grips your thighs, spreading you wide again.

Then you hear it.

The subtle shift of bodies. The rustle of movement.

And then—a new cock presses against your entrance.

Mingi.

Or at least, you think it’s Mingi. You don’t even have time to guess before he thrusts in, just as deep, just as brutal, splitting you open like you were made for this.

A strangled moan escapes your lips, your brain scrambling to figure out who it is, to recognize the way he moves, the way he fills you. But it’s impossible. You can barely focus with the way he’s pounding into you, each thrust hitting exactly where you need, dragging you right back to the edge of pleasure.

Your body tenses, tightening around him, ready to snap—

And then he pulls out too.

"No," you cry, voice breaking.

A deep chuckle. "Poor thing," Mingi murmurs, but you can’t tell if it’s him who was just inside you or if he’s sitting back, watching.

Your head is spinning, your body aching, but there’s no time to think—because once again, a new cock presses against your entrance.

Yunho.

Or maybe Mingi.

You have no idea.

The stretch is immediate, the fullness almost unbearable after being denied twice, but you can’t even bring yourself to care anymore. Your mind is nothing but static, your body trembling as they take turns with you, switching again and again, keeping you on the edge but never letting you fall.

Your thighs burn, your skin slick with sweat, your voice hoarse from begging.

But then—

When the next body presses against you, when the next cock slides inside, you feel it.

The way he angles himself. The way his hips roll slightly different.

Your body is trembling, every nerve alight with overstimulation, your mind fogged by the endless cycle of pleasure and denial. You don’t even know how many times they’ve switched, how many times they’ve pushed you to the brink only to rip it away at the last second.

But this time—this time, you know.

The second he thrusts back in, the stretch, the curve of him—it clicks.

"Yunho," you gasp, your voice wrecked from begging, from moaning, from taking.

For the first time, he makes a sound. A low, dark chuckle rumbles from his chest, and his grip on your waist tightens.

"Finally," Mingi muses from beside you, his tone laced with amusement. His hand ghosts over your jaw, tilting your face towards him. His lips brush against your ear, breath hot. "You really are a good little slut, huh? Figuring out who’s using you like this?"

A wave of heat washes over you at the praise, your thighs twitching, desperate for friction. But before you can get lost in it—before you can even think of chasing that pleasure—Yunho pulls out.

Your whole body jolts from the loss, a strangled sob escaping your lips.

"Shh," Mingi soothes, though there’s nothing gentle about the way he grips your throat, forcing your head back. His thumb strokes over your pulse, feeling how erratic it is. "You don’t think we’d let you cum that easily, do you?"

You whimper, shaking your head, because you already know the answer.

"Good girl," he purrs, pressing a slow, taunting kiss to your jaw before pulling back.

Then, his next words make your stomach drop.

"Yunho. Pick her up."

A rush of air fills your lungs as strong arms hook under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. Your body is weightless, dizzy with exhaustion, but you feel the way Yunho settles back against the headboard, the broad expanse of his chest supporting you as he spreads your legs wide over his lap. And then—Mingi moves between them. Your breath stutters.

You barely have a second to react before Mingi’s hands grip your thighs, pushing them even wider as he presses himself against you. The slick drag of him against your already stretched entrance makes your head spin, the reality of what’s about to happen sinking in.

"Oh," you whisper, voice shaky.

Mingi smirks, dragging the head of his cock over your swollen, ruined cunt.

"Oh," he mocks, his voice dripping with amusement. "She finally gets it."

You barely get a chance to prepare before Yunho tightens his grip on your waist, and the pressure between your legs doubles.

And then—

They sink in together.

Your vision whites out, your body convulsing from the impossible stretch, the overwhelming fullness, the way they force you open, taking everything they give.

"Fuck," Mingi growls, voice strained. "She’s taking us both so fucking well."

Yunho doesn’t say a word. He just moves.

And the last coherent thought you have is that they still haven’t let you cum.

And you have no idea when they will.

The world outside your body seems to disappear as they continue, the overwhelming sensation of being stretched in both directions, filled and claimed in ways that make your head spin. The steady rhythm of their thrusts has your body writhing beneath them, and your chest rises and falls erratically with each deep push. They’re relentless. Neither one of them lets up, their hips slamming into yours with a force that has you gasping for air, your nails digging into the sheets beneath you.

You can barely keep track of who's inside you anymore. Your body’s giving itself over completely, the pressure building relentlessly as both men move in perfect harmony. Their pace never falters, pushing you to the brink of overwhelming pleasure, but they don't let you reach it. Not yet.

Every thrust is deeper, harder, until it feels like you’re being driven into the mattress, your body lifted slightly with each savage movement. The relentless pounding has you gasping for breath, your legs trembling with the intensity of their touch. You’re on the edge—so close—but then it happens again: they pull back.

You whimper, lost in the pleasure and the frustration, your body trembling with need.

"Please," you beg, your voice breaking, barely able to form the words. "Please... let me... please..."

Mingi chuckles low, his grip tightening around your hips. "Begging already? You’re a desperate little slut, huh?" His words are a mixture of praise and command, teasing you with the harsh edge of his tone.

Yunho doesn't respond with words, but the way he drives into you next, the sheer force of his movement, speaks louder than anything he could have said. You cry out, tears filling your eyes from the overwhelming sensation. The sounds of their movements and your moans fill the room, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge. But still, they don’t let you tip over.

"You're gonna beg for it, aren't you?" Mingi murmurs, voice hushed but full of dark amusement. His hands roam over your body, touching, teasing, leaving you desperate for more. "Beg for us, baby. Beg us to let you cum."

You shake your head in disbelief, the frustration building to an unbearable point. "Please, please... I need it," you beg, voice trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks. "I need to cum... please."

Yunho grits his teeth, his hips snapping faster, deeper, forcing you to take every inch. The way he pushes into you, the way his body moves against yours—there’s no stopping it, no controlling it. You can feel the tension coiling tighter in your stomach, every thrust driving you closer to the edge, but the denial is unbearable.

Then—finally—they relent.

Mingi leans down, his lips crashing against yours in a rough, passionate kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming you as he thrusts harder. At the same time, Yunho’s hand slips between your legs, finding your clit, and his fingers begin to work it in tight, controlled circles.

Your body jolts at the touch, the sudden rush of sensation overwhelming, and without warning, the pressure in your core snaps. You’re spiraling, tumbling over the edge as they push you past every boundary. Your body trembles beneath them, your cries of pleasure swallowed by Mingi’s kiss, the heat and the relief washing over you in waves.

Yunho doesn’t stop, his fingers never ceasing their movement as your orgasm wracks through your body, leaving you gasping, panting, writhing in the aftermath.

Mingi pulls back from the kiss, his grin dark and satisfied. "That’s it," he murmurs. "Good girl. You did so well."

Your body is trembling, raw from the intense pleasure and the overwhelming teasing, but they’re not done with you yet. You’re spent, but still, the deep, relentless pounding continues, pushing you to the edge again. The air is thick with their dominance, their control over you, and it leaves you gasping for breath, struggling to keep up with their relentless pace.

Mingi leans over you, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re taking us so well, little slut,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips as he drives into you harder, deeper, pushing you further into the bed. The sensation is almost too much, and yet, you can’t help but want more. Every inch of you craves it—more of them, more of their control, more of the feeling of being filled and used like this.

But then—Yunho.

You hear the soft click of a drawer beside him. You can’t even process it before he pulls something small from the drawer—a vibrator. A small, sleek bullet, cold against your skin for a split second before he presses it against your clit.

You gasp. The sensation is too much. Your body tenses, already sensitive from the constant stimulation, and Yunho doesn’t waste a moment. The tiny vibrator buzzes against you, sending shocks of pleasure that make your body jolt. You can barely think as Mingi keeps fucking into you with no mercy, your body being pounded relentlessly, your mind spinning with the overload of sensation.

Yunho’s fingers work the vibrator over your clit with precision, each pulse sending you closer and closer to the edge. You’re shaking, completely at their mercy, unable to do anything but moan and beg as they continue. Your walls tighten around Mingi, and the pressure is almost unbearable.

And then, as the vibrator presses harder, the combination of the pounding and the stimulation hits you like a wave. Your body tenses, and a cry escapes your lips as your orgasm crashes over you. It’s intense, overwhelming, and your entire body clenches, the sensations rippling through you as you come.

But they’re not done yet.

As you tremble, still recovering from the overwhelming wave of pleasure, Mingi growls in satisfaction, his grip tightening around you, forcing you to stay in place as Yunho never stops, his fingers still pressing the vibrator against your clit. The pressure builds again, too much to bear, but you can’t pull away—you're trapped in this endless cycle of pleasure and denial.

They move together, pushing you past every limit you thought you had. The intensity is almost cruel, and they’re relentless in their control over you, taking their pleasure while you give in to theirs.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, they both cum, filling you up with their warmth. But even then, they don’t let up. Yunho pulls the vibrator away, but only for a second, making you shudder at the sudden absence before he presses it back, causing another wave of pleasure to pulse through you.

After everything, the room is thick with the weight of what just happened. Your body feels heavy, spent from the overwhelming pleasure. They both stay still for a moment, allowing the warmth of their thick cum to settle deep inside you. You can feel the mess, but neither one of them makes you move just yet.

Yunho pulls out first, his release dripping from you onto the mattress beneath. Mingi watches closely, his gaze dark with satisfaction. The moment is quiet, but the tension in the air is palpable.

“Look at you,” Mingi says softly, a slight smirk on his lips. His hands move to your thighs, gently soothing the tense muscles, his fingers gliding over your skin in slow, comforting strokes. “You did so well, baby.”

Yunho leans down to kiss your forehead, his lips soft against your skin. His hand brushes away the stray strands of hair clinging to your face. “You’re amazing,” he murmurs, his voice low, soft, and full of praise. “You handled us better than we expected.”

They give you a moment to breathe, their hands gentle against your skin. Yunho slowly reaches for the blindfold, carefully pulling it from your eyes. As the fabric slides away, you blink against the light, your gaze meeting theirs. Your eyes are still teary, and they drink in the sight of you—exhausted, yet somehow still aroused.

Mingi leans in, his fingers softly tracing the outline of your jaw. “How are you feeling, baby?” he asks, his voice laced with concern despite the teasing edge. He’s still watching you carefully, his fingers gentle as they rub the tender skin of your inner thighs. “We didn’t go too far, did we?”

Yunho smiles at the sight of you, his thumb brushing over your lips. “Good girl,” he says, his words soft but full of meaning. “You’re so beautiful when you’re completely ours.. completely for our own use.”

They both stay close, offering tender aftercare, letting the intensity of the moment fade as they care for you. Their hands, their words, their presence—everything about them is gentle, grounding you after the storm.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @atiny1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @atzlordz @chai0tea @miyaluvvsyou

[miabebe]

My Girlfriend Faked Her Amnesia (Wen Junhui)

Reverse Trope Series Installment 4

It wasn’t always that life gave one the chance to hit reset, but now that Jun had gotten it, he didn’t have long before time ran out - 10 days to valentine's day which meant 10 chances to make his amnesiac girlfriend remember him again. But it wasn’t going to be a cakewalk - after all, how could one be reminded of the past if they were only pretending to forget?

Pairing - Wen Junhui x afab! Reader

Word Count- 29k

Genre - Heavy angst, romance, hurt comfort, mild humor and as usual, yes, smut - This piece is lowkey inspired by the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind!

Warnings - Car accident, mentions of blood, memory loss, hospital setting

A/n - Hello my loves! This is my bit for the Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab hosted by the wonderful @camandemstudios, my first ever collab! Please do also check out the stories by all the other writers - everyone has been working super hard on this! I hope you enjoy this piece and leave your thoughtsss :) To be added to the reverse tropes taglist, please comment under this post :)

Smut warnings - This is only the first half (12k) of the story and there is no smut in it yet. Warnings will be added for the second half!

The End: 27th December 2024 

"Careful!" 

You quickly swerved to the side of the road, the car screeching to a stop as the honking truck zoomed past you.

Fuck. Gripping the steering wheel tight, you let out a sigh of relief, your wandering thoughts returning to the present. That was close. 

The man beside you mumbled something under his breath as he unbuckled his seatbelt before alighting the car and opened your door, wordlessly asking you to get out.

You complied, allowing him to take over your role as the driver and quietly slid in the passenger seat.

Adjusting the mirror he glanced up and down the snow clad road before driving off into the darkness. Again, without saying a word. 

That's how things had been between the two of you for a while now. Silent. 

Some might say that after nearly 10 years of being together, the two of you didn't need words to communicate anymore, you just understood each other so well. But only you knew the reality - there was nothing left to say. Everything was at the edge of falling apart. 

You glanced down at your hands, fingers fidgeting. Yes it was cold but it was the emptiness that bothered you. 

Your boyfriend shot you a look before his hand hovered over the controls of the car. 

"Are you feeling cold?" 

See, he didn't understand. He never seemed to understand. And you were tired of explaining but a tiny voice in your head said to try just once more. 

"My mum was asking why there's no ring yet?" Caressing the fingers of your left hand, you looked up, far off at the skies where the morning sun still hadn't made its way up. 

“And what did you say?” 

You turned to him, not hiding the incredulous expression donning your face, “What am I supposed to say Jun?” He looked straight ahead, eyes more focused on the road than required. “How does one answer a question like this?” 

His Adam's apple bobbed with his gulp. “That....we’re not ready?” 

“And looking at us, who will buy that?” 

Jun kept quiet again, perhaps because he knew you were right.

The two of you had been together for the majority of your lives which meant your families, friends, colleagues all were a consistent witness of your relationship. Even over the last week, when you were spending Christmas with your family at the ski cabin, your sister wouldn’t stop talking about how you two were perfect for one another. She didn’t know that behind closed doors, in the privacy of your room, the two of you slept with your backs facing each other.

Jun sighed, noticing you were getting lost in your thoughts again. “Why do we have to justify ourselves to anyone anyways Y/n? This is our life-” 

“You’re right, there’s no need to justify anything to anyone. But you can tell me why, right?” You half turned towards him, leaning against the car door. “You and I can talk about why we’re nearing our thirties and still haven’t made any decision about getting married?” 

“Jesus, twenty five is not considered thirties Y/n." He rolled his eyes exasperated. "Besides, what does age have to do with marriage? Getting married should be something that we decide because we want to spend our lives with each other.”

You blinked at him. “Then do you not want to spend your life with-”

“I did not say that.” He glanced at you before quickly looking back at the road. “Of course, I do. Baby, you and I live together, we do everything together, we are as good as married-”

“So then a wedding would just be a formality right-”

“No, it would be a show!” You flinched a little as he raised his voice, annoyed. “It would be to show the world something, to prove to others that we are committed and will last through it all, as though signing a few documents is a guarantee of that.”

“Marriage isn’t just about that Jun. Do you have any idea how many things will become easier - buying a house, getting loans, so many logistics-”

He scoffed, shaking his head slowly. “That’s what marriage is to you? A practical, logical, legal binding?” 

Biting your lower lip you let out a deep breath. “If you think it should mean much more or that it should be made purely on emotions then what’s stopping you? Or do you not love me anymore-”

“Why would you say that?” He groaned, like he was tired of this conversation. “I do love you, more than anything. Which is why I want you to be able to focus on yourself without taking the burden of a marriage. I want you to fulfill all the dreams you have for your career, for your professional growth-”

“Jun, I can do all of that while being married too-”

“Marriage changes people! It changes priorities, it changes expectations-”

“So that’s what you’re afraid of? Expectations? Because I expect you to be a bit more responsible? To get your act together-”

“It won’t stop at that will it?” He sighed. “This is all our life is going to be - First it’ll be about dividing household chores, who’ll do dishes, who’ll take out the trash. Next it’ll be about finding the perfect house and having children-” 

“We’ve talked about this and you said you didn’t have a problem with having children Jun.” You snapped at him, triggered at his words. “I’m not getting any younger here-”

“And I’ve not grown up!” He slammed the wheel with his hand. “I do want to have kids someday but not now, not any time soon. I… I can barely look after myself, how am I going to look after a child? And if I’m incapable it will mean that you will have to carry the burden of it all - of raising the child, of me and of yourself and I don’t want that for you.”

You fell silent again, realising that the conversation was going just like it always did.

You would go on to insist that you were ready for whatever was to come and the time was right now, Jun would insist that he isn’t willing to let you take on so much and that marriage shouldn’t be about timing, it should be about wanting to be with each other. You would then claim he’s being too emotionally driven about this and he would claim that you were being too practical and the conversation would just be about the two of you justifying your point of views, reaching no conclusion. 

This is what happened every single time. This was what was going to happen again now. And frankly, you were tired of it. 

“When did we start wanting such different things?” You glanced at the road that disappeared into the darkness. The early morning light was not enough to illuminate the path ahead. “I thought…. we were perfect for each other, that we were meant to be. After nearly ten years, where did it all go wrong?”

You didn’t mean for it to sound hurtful, but Jun had always been the sensitive one.  

“Just because we’re not in the same frame of mind right now, doesn’t mean all the years we shared mean nothing.”

“But what does it mean?” You smiled sadly. “We aren’t growing, we aren’t able to help each other grow, what was the point of it all? Ten years and…. we achieved nothing.” 

It was like you were leaving arrow after arrow to pierce his heart - he knew you were the reasonable kind - always planning, always making lists, always marking milestones. Whatever you were saying now, had to be the result of a moment of frustration, not because you were questioning the love that you had for each other…. right? 

You weren’t regretting this, were you? 

He let out the breath he was holding. “Then maybe it would have been better if the last ten years didn’t happen at all.” 

Please say I’m wrong Y/n. Please say prove me wrong, please say we’re worth it. 

Although you were never really one to be driven by emotions, Jun always was. The one who never forgot anniversaries, the one who always tried to make every moment special, the one who always reminded you that you were not each other’s habits but each other’s love. Had things gone so far that the man who savoured every moment of being in love with you, thought it was better that you never met? 

“Is that what you really think?” You whispered, ignoring the feeling of something pricking the back of your eyes. 

Jun turned to you surprised. How could you even think that? Of course not-

“Careful!” 

Headlights beamed from right across, but this time, Jun’s quick swerve was not enough. 

As the car skidded wildly, with a sickening crunch it slammed into the side of the oncoming truck, the momentum sending it toppling over, rolling violently onto its roof with a screech of metal. As it came to a stop, the sun rose from above the clouds far away and steam rose from what was remaining of the crumpled vehicle. In the heavy stillness that followed, alongside the eerie whisper of the wind, streams of red mixed with the white of the snow. 

Your boyfriend’s hand extending towards you was the last thing you saw before everything went black. 

The Afterlife: 31st December 2024 

Pain. 

Unbearable pain. 

That's what was searing through his body, over and over again. Everywhere, in every inch…. Just pain. 

Perhaps because he hadn’t stopped running. 

Jun had been running in the forest for what seemed like forever. Where to? He had no idea. Where from? He didn’t know that either. 

All he knew was he was looking for something he had lost. Something clearly precious to him. Something he couldn’t live without. 

Yet ignorantly, he kept running. Until....

Jun.

Your voice echoed around him like a soft whisper. Finally stopping by the lake, he looked around, frantically trying to find you. 

It was then, across the frozen crystal clear waters he saw you - beautiful as ever, the only bright thing in the dark, daunting woods. 

He wanted to go to you, he wanted to be with you but the slippery ice didn’t let him take a step forward. 

Instead, you took a step back. 

Then another one. 

Then another. 

Jun continued to call out your name, trying to stop you from receding into the shadows but in vain. Slowly you disappeared into the darkness, the black of the woods engulfing you as Jun fell to his knees, the ice cracking under him. 

Shutting his eyes, he attempted to stop the pain but it only got worse. It was just pain, pain, pain. 

When he opened them, white flickering lights were strangely swaying above him. 

Blinking, Jun tried to see clearly but just then, the ice finally gave away, submerging him into the cold waters. 

As the icy waters of the lake dragged him down, Jun felt his eyes slowly shut again and your name was the last thing he remembered.

The Awakening: 27th January 2025 

The blur flickering light of the ceiling became clear as the rhythmic beeping of machines slowly pulled him from the depths of unconsciousness.

Head throbbing and body aching, an unsettling sense of disorientation washed over him, like he had been asleep for too long. Slowly raising himself on his elbows, Jun looked around, eyes finding the strange setting of a hospital room, the overwhelming smell of antiseptic finally hitting him. 

Shutting his eyes again, he tried to recollect what happened, how he ended up here……

“Y/n…” 

The argument. 

The crash.

The sight of your eyes fluttering shut as blood trickled down your face. 

“Fuck.” He mumbled, looking at all the tubes and wires attached to him, holding him back. Without an ounce of care, he tugged them off, triggering the loud alarms of the machines but before his feet even touched the cold tile of the floor, the doors flung open and a handful of people donning impeccably white coats spilled in, looking worried.

“Sir, please don’t-”

“Where’s Y/n?”

“You need to calm down, you’re not ok-”

He grabbed the collar of the man before him. “Don’t tell me to calm down. Where is Y/n?”

“We…” The doctor looked terrified. “Who is Y/n?”

Annoyed, Jun tugged on his shirt harder. “The car crash, there was a woman with me in the car, in the passenger seat, where is she?” 

“What woman?” The man stuttered, looking at his team confused. “You were brought to our hospital alone.” 

Shocked, Jun loosened his grip, allowing the doctor to quickly move back, putting himself at an arm’s distance. 

Alone?

“That’s not possible….” He muttered. “She was with me, she should be here…” 

“The accident happened in the countryside so you were taken to the nearest emergency care but your injuries were too severe so they shifted you here, to the city hospital.” The doctor looked at him slightly hesitating. “Maybe there was a woman with you, but she wasn’t brought here. Either her condition wasn’t serious enough or she didn’t….”

Eyes narrowing, Jun looked at the shivering man before him. “She didn’t, what?”

“S-she didn’t make it-”

“How dare you?” He spoke between gritted teeth, charging towards the doctor, only to be quickly held back by the nurses around him. “How dare you even suggest something like that-”

“Mr. Junhui, I was only stating the possibility-”

“What you’re saying is not possible-”

“Sir please, your heart rate is getting erratic-”

“I don’t care, I need to find her-”

“You can’t leave.”

“Stop me if you can.” Jun pulled himself free from the grip of those around him, leaving for the door, glaring at the crowd challengingly. 

Only one of them dared to step forward - a woman, one not wearing a doctor’s coat, looking at him with sympathy rather than fear. 

“Sir please….” She whispered softly, slowly approaching him, ignoring the worried looks of those around her. “I understand your worry and I’m so sorry for this but you need to calm down…. I have no other choice.” 

Jun frowned as she neared, maintaining a strong, unavoidable eye contact, the contents of her hands completely missing his vision. Before he could understand what was happening, there was a prick in his arm, hands reaching out to him and the flickering light blurred again as his eyes shut. 

28th January 2025

“Let me go.” 

The events from about 24 hours ago had repeated again. 

The fluttering lights, the machines, the wires, the tubes, the doctors - everything happened in the same sequence except there was one difference this time. When Jun tried to pull on the wires and swing his legs off the bed, he found all four of his limbs restrained. 

“Please.” He whispered. “I need to find Y/n.”

“Sir, there really was no woman brought along with you.” The woman’s eyes reflected the same sympathy they had since the day he had been wheeled in. “We got your records from the emergency center you were taken to.” 

Pulling out a bunch of papers from a file, she placed it on his lap. “There was a woman with you but she was discharged from there within a week.”

“A-a week?” Jun stuttered, looking around. “How long has it been since the accident?” 

“Almost…” She looked at the papers thoughtfully. “Almost a month. You’ve been unconscious all this while, you sustained a traumatic injury to your-”

“What about Y/n?” 

Stepping up and reading through the papers, the doctor from earlier spoke with his expertise. “She had a severe injury on her head too but she gained consciousness about a week after the accident and she…. just left.” 

“Just left?” It felt as though something cold was just dumped on his head. “Just left me?” 

“Mr. Jun, we’re not sure what exactly happened but….” The woman looked at him uncertainly. “The last few weeks that you were here, no woman has come to visit you. Y/n hasn’t been around.” 

Jun let out a shaky breath, “She probably didn’t know I was here. She… she must be looking for me, she must be so worried. I should go to her-” 

“You’re not well enough to leave.” The doctor spoke from behind the woman, worried even though Jun’s movements were restrained. “I wouldn’t suggest-” 

“I don’t want your suggestion. I want you to open these-” He tugged on the belts. “-so I can go.” 

Everyone exchanged looks, shifting in their places.

“Open them!” 

“Again, I’m sorry Mr. Jun.” The woman approached him slowly, an injection clearly visible in her hand this time. “This is for your good.” 

Once again, everything became blur before it all went dark. 

31st January 2025

“She didn’t pick the call.” The woman without a coat, who’s name Jun learnt was Mira, walked up to him. “Again.” 

Sighing, Jun looked outside the window. The streets were busy - cars were going up and down, people were walking about, some laughing, some stressed. But everything was moving, everyone was moving. Only his life had come to a standstill. 

“Do you remember anyone else’s number?” 

Jun shook his head. “Who even memorises numbers these days? Everything is stored on my phone-”

“-which broke in the accident.” She finished for him. 

“I only remember my girlfriend’s number because she forced me to remember it in case of emergencies like these.” He chuckled softly, walking up to the wall with the pictures of the two of you stuck all over. He ran his fingers over the picture of you hugging him from behind, head resting on his shoulder. “She was always so well prepared, always a step ahead….. except now.”

When Jun woke up 3 days ago, Mira had been there to tell him you were nowhere to be found. She had looked for you at home, which had been abandoned for over a month, at the library where you often worked on your projects, at the stores where you preferred to shop, at the park where you jogged every morning. You were nowhere. 

Your family was nowhere to be seen either - the house was locked and the neighbours claimed they had gone somewhere overseas. There was no trace of you at all - it was like you had vanished into thin air, like you were just a mirage, a dream. 

“I wish I could help Jun.” Mira walked up to him, placing her hand on his shoulder, looking around his apartment. “I’m sorry the only thing I could assist you with is getting you back home. But I had someone clean up the place so it should be more habitable now.” 

“Thank you Mira, for everything.” He muttered, slowly moving her arm away, tearing his eyes away from the photographs. “I’m sorry, I… I think I should….. shower, I smell like the hospital.” 

She nodded as Jun disappeared into the washroom, wordlessly asking her to leave. Grabbing her bag, she shot him one last sad look as she hesitatingly made her way out. 

Standing before the mirror, Jun sighed at his reflection - he had never seen himself look this lifeless. Wincing in pain, he removed his shirt slowly, pulling it over his head - almost healed gashes and wounds were littered all over his torso. 

The memory of an injured you flashed behind his shut eyes.

“Where are you Y/n?” He whispered, trying not to let his voice shake. “Come back to me.” 

Jun glanced at the small coffee shop across the road, one he had never seen before, the hanging sign board slowly swaying in the cold wind - Lonely Hearts Cafe. 

So many things had changed over the last month. He, who was the biggest homebody known to mankind, could not bear to stay in his house for another minute. Not where every inch of it was filled with the essence of you, where everything was a reminder of you. A part of him was relieved that there were pictures and traces of you were everywhere - that meant you were real, not a figment of his imagination…. but that also made your absence hurt more. 

He had spent the last few hours wandering the streets mindlessly, trying not to let everything outside the haven the two of you built together remind him of you too. 

But there you were, in your favourite pizza shop on the corner of the street, munching on a slice. Just as he approached, shocked and frantic, you disappeared, like you were never there. And then he saw you again, at the hairdressers this time, getting just the ends trimmed, like always. And then you were by the butchers, petting that little dog you adored. And then by the lake, glancing at the frozen waters, vanishing as usual when he approached to stand by you. Even though you weren’t really around, his eyes found the memories of you everywhere - it was like he didn’t know a life without you. 

There was no life without you.  

The cafe he was currently staring at was perhaps the only place that Jun knew he wouldn’t see you. It looked new, like a business that had just freshly found itself in this vicinity but something about it was also whimsical and fairytale-like, as though it was someone’s old dream came true. Jun had never been a coffee kinda guy - Chinese tea was usually his go-to beverage so it didn’t make sense why he felt this strange urge to go in. Maybe because he knew he wouldn’t be haunted by your absence there.

At first, he took a step ahead, attempting to go towards it but he was unable to take another - he didn’t want to not see you. Even though it hurt, he’d rather see the memories of you everywhere than familiarise himself with a life without you. 

So shaking his head, he turned away, heading back home, going back to everything that reminded him of you when…… something caught his eye. 

At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him again because there was no way…. 

Inching closer, ignoring the oncoming traffic and the screaming drivers, he crossed the road, standing right before the large glass windows of the shop. Slowly raising his hand, he wiped the condensation off the frosted glass, catching a clear sight of what was inside. 

You. 

There you were, walking about in a little checkered apron, placing cups of coffee on the table as you flashed your bright smile at those who were seated. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jun turned around, fists tightened painfully. You’ll disappear again, just like all those times before, you’ll disappear again, he was just imagining this, projecting his innermost desire. You weren’t really here….right? 

But the sound of your laughter told him he was wrong. Quickly turning back, he caught sight of you again, making your way to the counter, putting cash into a large glass jar on the wooden shelf. 

As though in a trance, Jun walked over to the door and pushed it open, eyes not leaving you as you laughed and scribbled something down on a notepad before walking to the tables with a bounce in your strut he had never seen before. 

Just as your name found itself on the tip of his tongue, you stopped your tracks and turned around, eyes finding him walking in, lips curling with a wide smile. 

“Hi sir, welcome to Lonely Hearts Cafe.” Clutching the notepad to your chest, you beamed at him. “Do you want to take a seat or get a drink to go?” 

“Y/n…” He whispered, barely able to hear himself, taking a small step ahead.

“Oh I almost forgot,” You softly smacked your head. “If you’re interested, we’re having a small valentines special event, for singles. Any two people who get the exact same drink will be paired to sit at the same table. It’s kind of a ‘if your tastes match, maybe you guys will too’ sort of concept?” 

Given he was staring at you with a vacant expression, you blinked at him like you weren’t quite sure if he understood. 

Jun didn’t understand. Why were you behaving like he was a stranger? Like you didn’t know him. 

Maybe…. this wasn’t you.

“So…” Tucking your loose fringes behind your ear, you tried searching his face for an answer. “What would you like?” 

Jun’s eyes flickered to the healing gash on your forehead, the night of the accident, flashing in his mind again. 

It was you. There was no doubt it was you. 

And so without a second thought, Jun took two big strides, pulling you towards him, wrapping his arms around you tightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Excuse me?! Sir-”

“Where have you been?” He muttered, not realising you were struggling to break free from his grip. “I’ve been looking for you-”

“Get off me!” Using all your strength, you pushed him off you, causing the man to take a few staggering steps back, shocked. 

All heads in the cafe turned towards the two of you, a strange silence descending upon the room before hushed whispers broke out. Flashing a fake smile at everyone, you quickly grabbed Jun by his wrist, leading him out of the cafe, shutting the door behind you. 

“What the hell was that?” You glared at him. “Sir, I don’t know who you think you are, but that was unacceptable.” 

Jun blinked at you confused. “I thought….I thought-” 

“I don’t care what you thought.” You crossed your arms looking stern, all the warmth from earlier having left your being. “If I ever see you in my cafe again, I swear to god I will call the cops.”

“You…” Jun looked at you incredulously. “You’ll call the cops on me?” 

“Most definitely.” 

It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. Why would you call the cops on him? Were you mad at him about something?

Jun’s racked his mind, trying to think of the last conversation the two of you had. The night of the accident. He couldn’t remember all too well, but the image of you glancing at your empty ring finger flashed in his mind. 

“Is this about….getting married?” You frowned as Jun ran his hands through his hair. “If it really means this much to you then, fine, let’s get married. I just wanted it to be-”

“Married?” You looked at him like you couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Why on Earth would I marry you? I don’t even know you-”

“Jun!” 

At the sound of his name, Jun turned around, only to find himself being slammed into the familiar chest of a tall, lanky man. The fragrance of expensive perfume immediately told him who it was - His best friend Minghao. As Jun tried to break free from his friend’s untimely interruption, Minghao held him tight, whispering in his ear. 

“Don’t say a word.” 

“Mr. Xu.” You glanced at the intertwined figures of both men, eyebrows furrowed. “You know this man?” 

“Y/n.” Breaking free, Minghao threw his arm around Jun, flashing a hard smile. “This is Jun, he’s a dear friend. Sorry if he said anything or got out of line - he was just discharged from the hospital after a big accident, he’s a bit disoriented.” 

“Oh.” You looked at him up and down as though it all made sense and you were unable to decide whether to feel sympathetic or stand your ground. “Mr. Jun, I’m sorry you went through all that but whatever you did, that was not appropriate at all.” 

“Y/n what-”

“Yes of course.” Minghao squeezed Jun’s shoulder, shutting him up. “He won’t be troubling you again.” 

“If you really do need a cup of coffee, there are a lot more shops down the street that I’m sure will suit your taste.” You took a step back, reaching for the door again, expression unreadable. “Please don’t come back to me.” 

With that you pushed the door open and disappeared into the cafe allowing Minghao to finally let go of his friend who turned to him, beyond confused. 

“What…. What was that?” He pointed at you, waiting the tables again inside, like nothing happened. Like he didn’t exist. 

“Jun…” Minghao let out a shaky breath, looking carefully at his friend. “Let’s go home, I’ll explain everything.”

“No.” Shaking his head frantically, he reached for the door again. “I’m not going anywhere without Y/n.” 

Moving quickly, Minghao put himself in between, blocking the way. 

“Please.” He held his hand out. “Y/n, she…. she won’t come with you.”

Jun looked at him incredulously. “Why not?” 

“Because she doesn’t remember….” Minghao spoke slowly, watching his friend’s face carefully. “She doesn’t remember you.” 

The throbbing pain was back. 

Actually, it never left. The pain was always there, it was him who had suppressed it under everything else. But with the revelation of things, it became unhinged, freely coursing in his being, hurting everywhere. 

Minghao poured Jun another cup of tea as the two men sat at the dining table, the latter still clutching a photo of you, trying to make sense of all that he was told. 

“She….she doesn’t remember me at all?” He frowned, still confused. “Because of…. you?” 

“Because she doesn’t want to.” Minghao corrected his friend, yet again. “Jun, it was her choice to do the procedure.”

The procedure. 

Minghao had spoken all about it in great detail for the last half an hour. It all went over his head though, Jun didn’t register a single piece of the information thrown at him except one thing - the procedure was to remove memories. 

Yes apparently that was a thing. A new initiative by Minghao’s company - a simple medical procedure in which one could choose to erase their memories of a certain period of time. A process straight out of the sci-fi books - one so ridiculous, Jun would have never believed it if it weren’t coming out of his best friend's mouth. 

That his girlfriend had gotten all her memories of him wiped from her mind. 

“It makes no sense.” Jun shook his head. “Why would she want to forget me? Why would she choose to…”

Minghao looked at his friend staring at your photo sadly. He had always known Jun to be someone full of life - he was ambitious, passionate and always bursting with energy. But now he looked like the whole world had come crashing around him. 

“I’m sorry Jun.” Minghao could feel the guilt eating him on the inside. “All of it happened in my company, right under my nose but I had no idea Y/n had gotten it done till it was all over. Maybe if I had reached the clinic just a little earlier, I could have stopped them from injecting the serum-”

“No Hao, whether you could stop her or not, it won’t change the fact that Y/n wanted to….” Jun swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “She didn’t want to just leave me or walk away from this relationship, she wanted to erase its entire existence from her life. To pretend like it never happened. But why…”

“I wish I knew Jun.” Minghao shook his head softly. “All I know is that this choice mustn't have been easy for her - to forget you she had to have the last 10 years of her life removed. That’s how far she was willing to go to…”

Minghao's words rang in his ears. 

10 years….

Maybe it would have been better if the last ten years didn’t happen at all.

The night of the accident…. that's what he had said. 

Oh god, was that why you….

What had he done? 

“Jun?” Minghao snapped his fingers before his friend's face. “Where are you lost-”

“This was a mistake.” Jun shook his head. “This was all a horrible misunderstanding. I didn’t mean…”

“Mean what?” 

Jun couldn’t even recall why he had said that. It was like his brain was suppressing the stupidity from recurring. 

“I need to talk to her. I need to fix this.”

“How exactly-”

“I’ll marry her, right this instant if that’s what it takes-”

“Jun no-”

“Hao, yes.” He turned to his friend, determined. “I can fix it. I can talk to her and sort this out. Just help me put her memories back again-”

“That’s not-”

“-and I’ll make her see how much I love her-” 

“Jun, that's not possible.” Minghao raised his voice, interrupting his friend’s rant. “Dealing with memories isn’t child’s play. It's one thing to remove them, but to restore them? That’s impossible.”

It felt like everything around was shattering. “You mean she won't ever….”

Minghao shook his head, delivering the final blow. “She won't… ever.” 

Jun stared at the photo in his hand. 

Minghao, who had insisted on staying the night, had hit the shower, his tea sitting cold in its cup. 

Cold draft was blowing in through the open kitchen window. The tips of his fingers were frozen but they were not colder than the thing wrapping around his heart, eating it away.  

Minghao’s last words as he was lingering by the door rang in his ears. 

“Y/n chose to forget you Jun, she chose to restart her life. Maybe it’s best that you do too.” 

Restart his life? Pretend like you didn’t exist and move on? How on Earth was he supposed to do that? 

He glanced at the room around him - at the pictures of you on the walls, at the vase you brought back from your trip to spain, at the coasters you always made sure to use, at the rug you specifically had made to match the couch, at every single thing in his life that was a testament of you. How was he supposed to forget all of it? 

But the truth was, you had forgotten it all. You had walked out of his life, your home and everything the two of you had built together over the last 10 years. None of this around him meant anything to you anymore. 

You had built a new world for yourself, one which Jun had reached, lost in his thoughts. The cafe, the coffee, the customers, the infectious smile on your face, the little bounce in strut, the way your hair fell over your shoulder as you’d turn - you had built something that had no trace of him but more importantly, you looked so happy. Jun couldn’t remember the last time he saw you smile this wide, or even laugh at something stupid. The winter was harsh on the city outside but everything around you seemed so warm. 

Maybe Minghao was right. Maybe it was best that he forgot it all too. 

1st February 2025 

“Where do I put this?” 

Jun turned to Mira who was holding up a bunch of books in her arms. 

“They're all cookbooks, but I'm not sure whether to put it in the box with her law books or in the one with magazines.”

“We can just leave these out.” Taking them from here, Jun walked into the kitchen. “We don't have to put away everything.” 

Sighing Mira followed him. “Jun, boss said everything. Everything that belongs to her, everything that reminds you of her.” 

Jun stared at the books in his hands. Two hours ago, he was sprawled on the couch half asleep, your scarf wrapped around his hand, a frame with your photo in his arms. Much to his annoyance, the consistent ringing of the bell forced him to drag himself to the door and standing on the other side was Mira. 

Jun didn't think he would ever have any reason to see her again but apparently, Mira wasn't just a random hospital staff who helped him - she was in fact Minghao's employee, a psychiatrist who worked in his Memory Wipe project and was asked by him to look after Jun till he came around, as a favour. That day when she left the apartment, she had immediately told Minghao about all that happened - that's how he found his friend declaring he was ready to marry you in front of the coffee shop. Mira though, had no idea about you or that you had your memories wiped - she only found out when Minghao, who left early in the morning for a meeting, sent her over to Jun’s house with a new phone and a contract. A contract to obliterate the last 10 years of his memories. 

“You want me to erase her existence?” Jun furiously muttered into the phone. “How did you even think-” 

“Will you be able to survive with her memories?” Even though he couldn't see his face, Jun knew Minghao was donning a sorry expression. “It'll kill slowly you, Jun. Not being able to be with her, not being able to forget her, not being able to move on. If I had to name something worse than hell, this is it.”

For long after the call ended, Jun stared at the contact papers on the coffee table, his mind disturbed. As much as he didn't want to distance himself from you, could he really live with the fact that you'll never be his again? It had been barely 2 days since he was awake and he was already at the verge of losing his mind. Maybe it was better he too forgot it all. 

But it also pained him to think that if both of you forgot everything, then there was no one who truly knew the kind of pure and unwavering love the two of you shared over the last ten years. At least for the sake of those, he had to stay strong, he had to live with this. But could he really? 

And it was thoughts like this that had him rooted to his chair for over an hour. 

“You don't have to decide now.” Mira interrupted his cycle of thought, tired of watching his unmoving figure. “The procedure is simple. I already have the 10 year formula ready in your name. All you have to do is just come by the centre when you're ready - one injection and it'll be done.” 

As much as Jun was grateful for the time, there was one thing Minghao wanted him to do immediately - clear the apartment of anything and everything that belonged to you. That's what the two of them were in the middle of right now as Mira glanced at the cookbooks in his hands. 

“Jun, whether or not you want to get the Memory Wipe, you need to get rid of all these things. You won't ever move on otherwise-” 

“They're cookbooks.” Jun rolled his eyes, placing them on the shelf of the kitchen. “Has it not occurred to you that I might use these myself?”

Mira stared at him like she didn't believe him but Jun ignored her. There was no way he was going to get rid of every last bit of you. What would be left of him then? 

All your clothes were packed and stashed in the store room, all the pictures of the two of you were taken down, your books, your things, everything was sealed and locked away. Except a few that Jun refused to let go - the lavender cream you used every night, the harmonica you loved to play, the cookbooks you swore would make you a better chef than him. Jun didn't have the heart to walk away from all of it just yet. 

Giving up, Mira began walking away. “I'm going to put her shoes away.” 

“Wait.” Aligning the books hurriedly, Jun quickly ran over to the closet. “Maybe just leave those heels.” 

Mira looked exasperated. “What use could you possibly have of women's footwear?”

Nothing. Jun just loved those black stilettos you wore to work - the sound of them against the wooden flooring was what told him you were home everyday. 

“Jun, this whole thing isn't just about you getting over Y/n. If you plan to do the Memory Wipe, you especially need to do this” Mira stood up sighing. “Imagine losing 10 years of your life and coming home and finding a woman's things all over. You won't remember her, you won't know what happened, you won't have any answers, it'll drive you mad. Please, listen to me, you need to get rid of it all.”

Jun turned away, peeling his eyes from the closet as Mira put the last of your footwear in the boxes, looking at him sadly. 

“How did Minghao even design this procedure?” Jun glanced at the contact papers fluttering on the table. “I knew he was indulging in some biomedical R&D, I had no idea it was this intense.” 

Mira chuckled. “Biomedical R&D barely covers the scope of what he does. Let's just say the Xu enterprises dabble in a lot of things and the Memory Wipe is their latest project. Actually its just undergoing it's last clinical trial - it’s not even advertised or available for the public.” 

“How did Y/n get to know about it then?” Jun frowned like it didn't make sense. “Minghao never talks business with me and I'm sure he's never mentioned it to her either. Then…”

“There were a bunch of lawyers involved in the legal aspects of the clinical trials.” Mira confessed, shrugging. “Maybe she heard from someone in the fraternity.” 

“Funny.” Jun smiled sadly. “Y/n has never been one for office gossip. She just liked to get her work done and head straight back home. It was always about efficiency and not wasting time.”

Mira smiled. “That's an admirable work ethic.” 

“Right? I wish I had that.” Jun glanced out of the window at the snow tumbling out of the sky. “Maybe she wouldn't have had to work so hard if I did.”

“What do you mean?” 

Jun glanced at Mira who had joined him, before continuing to stare out. 

“Y/n always believed in working hard. For her, a job was simply a means to make money. She didn't associate it with dreams or passion, it was just… survival? Me on the other hand, ever since I was a child, all I wanted to do was be an actor. I spent the last, god knows how many years, chasing that dream, picturing myself before the cameras, walking down red carpets. If I look back at my life, all I see are auditions and rejections and more rejections.” 

“It's not wrong to want to live your dream.” 

“No it's not but I don't know how right it is to live with your head in the clouds. Y/n always had her feet on the ground - that was the only reason we survived through it all.” 

“So your story is the ‘opposites attract’ kind?” 

“I guess.” Jun laughed softly. “We were polar opposites actually. She hates talking, I'm always chatting away. She's a mess, I'm neat. She hates doing household chores, I love doing them. Even in food, she loves sweet things, I like them spicy. Our preferences in anything, be it music or movies or where to go or what to wear, they were always so different but I guess….that's what made things fun. Sometimes she'd adjust for me, sometimes me for her, and though things weren't going our way, we were happy because we were making each other happy.” 

“Wow.” Mira let out a breath. “I always thought being in love with someone entirely from me would be difficult to handle.”

“If I'm being honest, there were times it did get difficult.” Jun wiped the condensation off the window with his hand, catching sight of your cafe across the street. “Y/n lived life like it was a checklist. Graduating high school at 18, then law school at 23, first job at 24, marriage at 25, three kids by the time she's 30, retired by 55, starting an organic farm business at 57 and then dying whenever - she had her whole life planned. Me on the other hand, I… live in the moment, go where life takes me. Everything around us is so uncertain, think about the accident”

Jun’s voice shook as fragments of it flashed in his head.

“We could have died, life as we know could have ended, so what's the point in deciding everything so prematurely? I take life by the day, I enjoy every moment - one day I'm doing martial arts classes for kids, one day I'm teaching old women some Chinese dishes, one day I'm doing a modelling contract. End of the day, I still make money to feed myself and pay my bills, I just don't go to bed having the next 10 years of my life planned and somehow….. I think that's what drove us apart. That's why she…” Jun let out a deep breath. “That's why she decided to start afresh. Her practicality and my emotional disposition just… didn't find any middle ground.” 

Mira softly placed her hand on Jun's shoulder, caressing it with her thumb. Clearing his throat, he took a step back, tearing his eyes away from the coffee house. 

“We should probably continue with the packing.” 

Mira nodded as she followed him, the two of them sorting things silently this time. Normally Jun wouldn't ever let go of a chance to talk about you, but now, given he had to speak about you in past tense, Jun couldn't bring himself to talk about you over and over again. Minghao was right, it was all just getting harder and harder.

And so, the next few hours were navigated in mostly silence and occasional questions. By the time the sun had begun to set, the two of them were done - all of your things had been neatly packed and put in the store room, the door locked, keys stashed in Mira's pocket for safe keeping. A couple of things had been piled by the door to be thrown out, Jun's take out dinner had arrived and Mira was lingering by the door, ready to leave. Yet the contract papers were sitting on the table, like an elephant in the room. Unable to hold herself back anymore, Mira sighed. 

“Jun, I know Minghao left the choice to you but as a professional and as someone who cares about you, I think it's best you…. " She gulped. "sign the contract. I've seen some couples after the clinical trials, trust me, you don't want to live this weight-” 

“Mira,” Jun’s voice left him between gritted teeth. “It's been barely 2 days since I got to know about what Y/n did. I haven't even decided if I am to be sad or angry or stay or move on.” He shut his eyes, running his hands through his hair. “The only reason I agreed to keep her things away or allowed someone else to even touch them was because one, I trust Minghao more than anything and two, if I really want to, I know I'm strong enough to break the door of that storeroom and get everything back. But what you're asking of me, is a permanent change. Please just…. Let me think things through at my pace.” 

Mira blinked at him, her hand on the handle of the door, unmoving. 

“Thank you for your help yet again Mira, but I think it's time you go.” 

And before the apology even left her mouth as she stepped out, Jun shut the door behind her, leaning against it.  

He just needed some time. That’s all.

Or at least that's what he thought but in just a few hours, he realised he didn't. 

Yesterday was perhaps bearable because Minghao, although he didn't speak much, was there in the house. Today though, heating up his food all alone, sitting at the table by himself, walking around his house in the dimness of the night lights, staring at the empty walls and empty shelves - it was all too much. Jun couldn't bring himself to go another day like this, forget the rest of his life. 

Taking a deep breath he sat on the couch, pulling the papers towards himself, then pen in his hand shaking. 

He wasn't strong enough for this - he couldn't go on without you. 

Finally making up his mind, he gripped the pen tight and signed the contract. There was no other way. 

But the universe said otherwise. 

If Jun had just turned around and gone to his room, things would've gone down very differently. Maybe if he decided to sleep instead of clearing the dishes and throwing the trash, he would've never thought about clearing all the boxes that Mira left by the door. Maybe then he wouldn't have come across that box. 

At first glance when he opened it, it seemed like odd bits of trash - there were pieces of paper, little trinkets, bills and what not. He was just about to throw it when his eye caught the familiar logo on one of the bills - the Lovers Cavern. The first Michelin star restaurant that Jun had taken you to on a date. Frowning, he ran his fingers through the contents of the box, recognising them one by one. Carnival and movie tickets, the crinkled wrapper of the ice cream he loves, the magnets from your first road trip together, the dried corsage from your first dance together…. everything was a thoughtful piece of the time the two of you spent together. 

You had been carefully saving them over the last 10 years. 

Jun stared at it wordlessly, lost in thought. He had never taken you as one for sentimentality. Hell you didn't even like taking photos or recording videos of your time together, he was always the one who had to pull you in, forcing you to smile. He had always assumed those small moments meant nothing to you but this box told him a different story - you had been treasuring them all these years in your own way. This relationship wasn’t just part of a checklist, you had been emotionally invested in it since the beginning, since 10 years. 

Jun could only imagine how much his words must have hurt you that day…. Clearly enough to make you take such a big step. You didn't walk away because you wanted to. You walked away because of him. His words made you…. it was his fault. 

Walking over to the window, Jun glanced at your cafe, watching as you stepped out with a couple of bags in your hands, turning off the lights and locking the door. As you balanced your things in your hands, waving for a cab, Jun slowly realised….. Minghao was wrong. 

His only options weren't to either live with your memories alone or forget you and move on. There was a third one. One that Jun was about to choose. 

He was going to get you back. He had done it once and he could do it again. 

Jun was going to make you fall in love with him all over again. 

2nd February 2025 

Rubbing the back of your sore neck, you sat down at the benches outside the cafe, enjoying the cold. 

One might think you were stupid for sitting in the snow clad street in just a small dress and an apron but the heat of the coffee was getting unbearable. Sipping on your own coffee, you glanced at the hustle and bustle down the street. Everyone looked so busy, like they were navigating life with a purpose. This coffee shop had always been your purpose, the dream you had been living for almost a month now yet something felt unfulfilled. Something was missing. Before you could figure out what, a voice broke you out of your reverie. 

“Is the same drink, same table offer still going on?” 

Raising your head, you let your eyes find the man who interrupted the few minutes of your me-time.

“Mr. Wen Junhui.” You cleared your throat, letting the annoyance show on your face. “I believe I had asked you not to enter my shop?”

“You did.” Jun nodded, sitting down beside you, a few feet away. “And I did not enter your shop - technically I'm outside.” 

You glared at him, eyes narrowed. 

“Well since you're such an ardent follower of what I say, you shouldn't be sitting with me either because-”

“Because I need to have the same drink as you, right?” Jun cocked his head at you, raising his cup. “And I do.” 

“There's no way.” You chuckled, taking a sip. “I can assure you, you don't.” 

“Correct me if I'm wrong,” Jun took a sip, smiling to himself because he knew he was not wrong. No one knew you better than him. “But I think that's a caramel macchiato with hazelnut cream.”

Lips slightly parted in surprise, you stared at him. 

“M-maybe.” You muttered, taking a sip yourself. “But I still don’t think it’s the exact same-”

“Yeah, it might not be exact.” Jun shrugged nonchalantly. “Not like I’m lactose intolerant or anything but I felt like taking it with oat milk today.” 

The cup nearly slipped from your hand. You were lactose intolerant. You always took your coffee with oat milk. 

Choosing not to tell him that, you simply continued to stare at the busy crowd. Jun let out an inward sigh of relief knowing he had earned the place to sit next to you. 

“Y/n…” Clearing his throat, he corrected himself. Baby steps Jun. “Ms. Y/n I uh actually wanted to apologise about that day.”

You turned to him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. 

“I had actually just gotten out of the hospital that day and I don’t think the anesthesia wore off completely so I was apparently just going around and…. proposing marriage to various women.” 

You raised your eyebrows like you didn’t believe him. 

“It’s true, I spent the whole day today saying sorry to every business owner on this street…. And drinking the same coffee order as them. I think I’m going to have a tough time in the bathroom tomorrow….” 

Scoffing, you turned away from him and if Jun didn’t know you better, he wouldn’t have known you were hiding a tiny smile. 

“Again I’m really Ms. Y/n, I wish that didn’t happen and that we could have a fresh start. I was really looking forward to having coffee here.” 

Letting out a deep resigned breath, you stood up, chugging the last of your drink. Tossing the cup in the bin, you turned to him, clasping your hands before you politely, giving him a small smile. 

“Mr. Wen Junhui, welcome to Lonely Hearts cafe. We’re a small business that opened just a month ago so we’ve got some really good deals on coffee and cake. We even have a Valentine’s day event - you get to share a table with the person who has the same drink as you. I hope we see you around.” 

Returning your smile, Jun got up, giving a small shrug. “That Valentine’s day event is interesting - I would love to… be seen around.” He chuckled, holding his hand out. “It’s nice knowing you Ms. Y/n.” 

Glancing at his outstretched hand, you slowly took it, wrapping your fingers around it. Somehow on the cold winter day, there was a strange warmth radiating between the two of you. 

“It’s nice getting to know you too Mr. Jun.” 

3rd February 2025 

“You know, you don’t look like someone who enjoys coffee.” 

Jun turned at the sound of your voice, finding you right beside the door he just walked in. You had a tray in your hands and an amused smile on your face. 

“What makes you say that?” 

“The face you made yesterday?” You laughed as you walked in, Jun following behind you. “I’ve never seen someone look so disgusted while drinking coffee.” 

Jun suppressed a smile as he leaned against the counter. “Oh so you were watching me.” 

Rolling your eyes, you walked towards the machines. “I happened to see.” 

“The one yesterday was just too sweet.” He shuddered, recalling the taste. “My taste buds were dying.” 

“Well obviously it was sweet, it’s caramel.” You pulled out a piece of cake, putting it on the counter as a waitress walked over, taking it. “Did you expect it to taste like Malatang?” 

Oh Jun would love some Malatang right now. 

“No, but something told me your coffee would taste much better than that one.” 

You chuckled, pulling up a cup. “Is that going to be your order for today?’ 

“Nope.” Jun shook his head. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.” 

“What I’m having?” You frowned, confused. 

“How else will I be able to share a table with you?” 

Jun could tell you were holding back a smile. “And why would you want to do that?” 

“I thought coffee with a side of conversation would be nice.” 

“I’m working.” 

“I’ll wait.”

“I only get off at 5.” 

“I’ll wait.” 

“And then I need to head straight home.” 

“I just need 10 minutes.” 

You raised your eyebrows like you were trying to figure out what his intentions were. Meanwhile, he looked at you determined, like he’ll wait for a lifetime, if that’s what it took. Sighing you pulled out a piece of cake and set it before him. Then changing your mind, you quickly swapped it for a couple of lemon biscuits and slid it to him. 

“They’re on the house.” 

And with that you tightened your apron and walked away, leaving Jun staring at his favourite biscuits on the counter. 

“Do you need any help?” 

You looked up from the table you were cleaning at Jun who was still here, his coat discarded, cheeks flushed red and eyes tired. 

“I have staff Mr. Jun.”

“She left.” He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Told me to inform you.” 

“Huh.” You frowned. “She always stays till I close for the extra ten I hand her every day.” 

Jun remained silent, looking away.

“You paid her.” 

“I was just helping her go home fast.”

Sighing, you straightened yourself, crossing your arms. “Okay what is it, what do you want?” 

“I told you, a conversation.”

“Well that’s what we’re having right?” 

“Right…” Jun cleared his throat, unsure how to frame his sentences while you continued to look at him expectantly. When he didn’t say anything, you rolled your eyes and continued cleaning up. 

“I was thinking…” You held out the tray, making him quickly free his hands to hold it as you began stacking plates and cutlery on it. “You’re a woman.”

“Are you doubting it?” Frowning, you walked over to the trash can, Jun right behind, struggling to balance everything. 

“No! I mean I wasn’t thinking if you were a woman, more like I was thinking since you’re a woman and I’m a man….” 

Jun trailed off completely lost about where he was going with this till you relieved him of the weight in his arms, placing the tray in the sink. 

“Mr. Jun,” You untied your apron, tucking it on the rod of the drawer. “You only have 10 minutes.” 

“Okay okay.” Jun recomposed himself, watching you pack up your things for the night.  Looks like he just had to get straight to the point. “Yes I have 10 minutes right now, but my worry is, we only have 10 days.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“It's Valentine's in 10 days….” Jun muttered below his breath trying to gauge your reaction. 

“Are you…” You narrowed your eyes at him unsure. “Is this your way of asking me out?” 

“No god,” Jun groaned, running his hands through his hair. “I swear I planned it so much better in my head-”

“Don’t.” 

And with that one word, you crushed everything. All the hope, the longing, the yearning.  

“Look Mr. Jun, normally I wouldn't go into the details but I don't want you to think I'm blowing you off but about a month ago, I got a Memory Wipe. I lost the last ten years of my life and I’m still trying to come to terms with how much things have changed.... I’m just not ready for any kind of commitment.”

“But….” Jun blinked at you confused. “You smiled…”

“Sorry?” 

“Yesterday and today…. I thought, you might also…” 

“Mr. Jun.” You sighed, donning your jacket, zipping up. “You’re a good looking man, you’re sweet and I can tell you’d be a good conversation but I didn’t mean for it to be more than that. I just assumed it would be some harmless flirting.” 

“I don’t want it to just be harmless flirting.” Jun shook his head. “I want something more. I like you and I want to-” 

“Like me, why?” You looked at him confused, grabbing your bags. “We’ve barely spoken more than 5 sentences to each other.”

We’ve been in love for more than 10 years Y/n. 

“I can’t explain it, it just…. feels right.” 

“Well I can’t function based on your whims and feelings, can I?” 

Jun stood frozen as you turned off the lights and opened the door, stepping out. Grabbing his jacket he followed you, watching you lost in thought as you locked the door before you turned to him. 

“Look, you seem like a nice guy and I’m sure you’ll find someone. It just can’t be me, I’m not in the space for it.” Adjusting the bags in your hands, you shot him an apologetic look.  “I’m sorry Mr. Jun.”

And with that you walked away, your figure moving further and getting smaller as cold winds returned to the city. For some stupid reason, Jun hadn’t anticipated this - he didn’t think about the possibility of you rejecting his advances. He just assumed the two of you would fall into the comfortable pattern of dating each other and everything would slowly return to normal. Your disappearing self was telling him otherwise….

No. 

Jun couldn’t allow this to happen. He couldn’t lose this chance.

“Wait!” Pulling his jacket over his shivering body, he ran to you, half tripping on the way. “Wait, please.” 

And you did, looking at his panting, coughing self standing in your way, trying to catch his breath. Searching your bags, you handed him a bottle of water but Jun ignored it, looking at you questioningly. 

“If whatever happened to you a month ago, didn’t happen, would you agree to go out on a date with a guy like me?” 

“I….” You looked around confused. “I don’t know.” 

“Do you have any other reason not to give us… to give me a shot?” Crossing his fingers, Jun tucked his hands in his pocket. “Any other reason to say no?” 

“Not really, no.” 

Bingo. 

“I’m sure the aftermath of the Memory Wipe hasn't been easy but life won’t stop just because you want things to pause.” Gulping he looked at you expectantly. “Look Y/n I too am in a space where things are difficult where I want to hit rewind, but I realised maybe it’s better to hit restart and I want to try that with you.” 

“Jun I…” 

“Here’s my suggestion, just hear me out.” He clasped his hands, ignoring the cold drafts. “Give me 10 days, just 10 days to change your mind about us. I know I can do it, I know I can make you see I’m worth it, that we’re worth it.” 

“You’re really not going to take no for an answer are you?” 

Jun shook his head, his face falling. “No I…. I don’t want to force you. I was just suggesting-”

“What if I’m not convinced in 10 days?” You sighed, looking at him unsure. “Will you leave the idea of ‘us’ behind and not pursue me anymore?" 

“It won’t come to that-” 

“If it does.” 

“If it does,” Jun took a deep breath. “Then you’ll never see me again. I promise.” 

And with that you went silent, like you were considering it. Jun prayed to all possible forces in the universe - please say yes, please say yes, please say yes. 

“Okay.” You agreed, slowly nodding your head. “You have 10 days. If I’m not convinced, then on the 10th day,  we’re done and we’re never seeing each other again, deal?” 

Smiling on the inside, Jun ignored the little victory lap his head was doing. “Deal.” 

“And you’re sure this will work?” 

Phone against his ear, Jun nodded confidently.

“Positive.”

“What if you’re just setting yourself up for heartbreak again?”

“I’m not.” Jun rolled his eyes. “I know I can get her back. This time I’ll be better-” 

“Haven’t you noticed?” Minghao voice was filled with caution. “She’s somehow not the same. The Y/n you knew was a hard core, cut throat lawyer. This Y/n is a barista who sells coffee and the idea of love.” 

Jun hummed in thought. “Maybe. But deep down, she’s still my Y/n and I’m her Jun. I know her better than anyone else, I can do this-”

“And if you can’t?” 

“Then I’ll live with it. But I can’t let her go without trying.” 

“And what if it still doesn’t work?” 

“I don’t want to consider that possibility.” 

“Jun be realistic. How on Earth do you plan on convincing a woman who thinks you’re a complete stranger, is struggling with her amnesia, and more importantly doesn’t want any commitment, to date you?” 

Jun sank into his couch, staring at the ceiling.  

“I have no idea.” He confessed.

“Exactly, what if things get worse for you-”

“Can you just for once be a tad bit more positive?” Jun sighed. “Look at the bright side of things. Like for example, Y/n knew I didn’t like coffee-”

“-you make the most disgusting face known to mankind when you drink it, anyone would know-”

“-and she knew I like malatang-”

“-you’re Chinese Jun. I think that was a safe guess-”

“-and she knew lemon biscuits were my favourite dessert.” 

This time Minghao went silent. 

“Nothing snarky to say?” 

When Minghao continued to keep quiet, Jun frowned, sitting up. 

“Hao do you think she… remembered?” 

“That’s not possible....” 

"You don't sound as sure as last time." Jun noted.

Minghao let out a deep breath, like he was frustrated. “Theoretically, a memory restoration is not possible but hearing you I.... I can't tell for sure - we're also still not done with the clinical trials so I cannot exactly negate the possibility."

"So,,," Jun's eyes widened. "You're saying there is a chance she might remember everything?"

"A really really small chance.....” Minghao emphasised. "Or it could just be that since Y/n has known you for ten odd years, some her actions are just reflexive - ingrained in her subconscious after years of habit." 

"But you're saying there's a small chance she might remember me again?"

Minghao sighed. Clearly, his friend wanted to just hear one thing.

"Yes. Perhaps if she's repeatedly exposed to you or to something of her past, she might remember certain things again-"

"Enough to make her want to come back to me?"

"I cannot promise that-"

"But I can try." Jun whispered, the cogwheels in his mind turning. "I have to try and Hao, I think I know exactly how."

"How-"

Cutting the call Jun tossed his phone aside and quickly grabbed the box he had stashed below the tea table, opening it. He ran his fingers again through all the memories you had saved, a small smile forming on his face.

Jun had 10 days to win you back - that meant he had 10 chances to remind you of all the good days the two of you shared. 10 memories he could recreate, ones that you yourself had stored in this very box. 10 ways he could prove 'us'..... was truly worth it.

And just like that, Wen Junhui knew exactly how to make you fall in love with him all over again. 

You stared at the photo hanging on your wall, arms crossed, eyes slightly damp.

You look so happy,....he looks so happy. 

Just like he did when you agreed to give him 10 days to woo you. 

Sighing you tore your eyes away and stared at the ground, blinking the tears away. 

“Just 10 days," You whispered, voice shaking. "….. and all of this will be over.” 

A/n - This fic is tbh very long and overwhelming so I thought its best to have it out in parts? I hope you enjoyed this part and stay tuned for the next too! Thoughts in comments and reblogs are very much appreciated my loves <3

[wosospacegirl]

And they were roommates - part 4

Summary: Y/n gets injured and has to stay in recovery for 8 months. It's a good thing her friend and teammate Kyra is more than willing to move in with her. wink wink

Warnings: kissing!!making out!! idiots falling in love!! team banter!!!

Word count: 4.7k

MASTERLIST

| PART 1 HERE | | PART 2 HERE | PART 3 HERE |

..

Kyra thought that last night had been a product of her dreams. She had kissed Y/n, her long-time friend and roommate while watching ‘But I’m a Cheerleader’. And when she woke up, she was cuddling with Y/n, which made everything even better.

Kyra’s arm was spread out on the mattress while Y/n slept on top of it, mouth slightly open as she breathed quietly. Her cast was on top of a pillow and her other–and good – leg was intertwined with Kyra’s. Kyra didn’t want to get out of bed, especially when Y/n’s sleeping face looked so cute, but it was 6:30 in the morning and both girls had a big day ahead of them.

The girl enjoyed a few seconds of Y/n’s warm body against her, but before Kyra could say anything, Y/n began to move slightly, pushing her face closer to Kyra’s body until she was lying on her chest, her left arm hanging on Kyra’s shoulder.

The physical touch was welcomed by Kyra. She gently ran her hands over Y/n’s scalp. “Good morning,” Kyra said in a hoarse morning voice.

“Hmm,” Y/n murmured, not opening her eyes, feeling the softness of Kyra’s shirt against her cheek. “What time is it?”

“Almost 7.”

“Too early, wanna sleep more.”

Kyra stroked her cheek. “I know, but you can take a nap after we get back from Arsenal, yeah? You have physio today.”

“I forgot about that,” Y/n said, finally opening her eyes to look at Kyra. “You’re pretty, did you know that?” she said smiling, still a bit dazed from the deep sleep she had been in.

Kyra blushed slightly, but hid it with a grin “Is that why you kissed me yesterday? Because I'm pretty or something?”

“Yeah… or something.,” Y/n said, kissing Kyra softly on the lips.

Kyra froze for a moment, but quickly melted into Y/n’s kiss.“We're just doing this now, aren’t we?” Kyra asked, smiling. “I mean, I'm not complaining.”

“What? Kissing? I guess so if you still want to.”

“Great, I do, I wanna do it a lot.”

“A lot?” Y/n giggled. “Won't even make me work for it” she said teasingly.

“If your leg wasn’t broken maybe, I might not be so nice,” Kyra said, tapping her chin. “But since I'm still your caretaker, then yes, you get free kisses.”

Y/n smiled, cupped Kyra’s jaw and brought her face closer, their lips touching. and Y/n deepened the kiss, neither caring if the other had morning breath or not.

“You’re the best caretaker, ever” Y/n whispered against Kyra’s mouth.

“Glad you like it, I might put it on my resume for when I retire,” Kyra said. She hesitated at first, but gently placed her hands under Y/n’s shirt, feeling the skin on her waist. “So I can get a job afterwards, or whatever.”

Y/n shook her head and kissed Kyra some more. “No, I don’t wanna share you with other sad and injured footballers, I just want you for myself.”

“So are you admitting you like having me around?” Kyra said.

“I mean, you give great kisses and you always remind me to take my medicine, so yeah, maybe I do.”

Kyra loved hearing that she gave great kisses. The thought of being complimented by Y/n made her brain go fuzzy. It was quite an overwhelming and new feeling. So Kyra turned to what she knew best: jokes.

Kyra pumped her fist dramatically in the air “Yey! Would you mind repeating that again?” She picked up her phone and opened a recording app.

“Oh fuck off,” Y/n pushed the phone away, laughing. “We were having a moment.”

“Sorry, couldn't help myself, let’s just kiss some more,” Kyra said before filling Y/n’s face with kisses.

..

They didn't talk about it.

They didn't talk about any of the kisses they had shared. They hadn't mentioned whatever it was they were doing, not because they didn't want to, or because it was awkward, it was just because it felt normal. As if they'd been in this domestic routine for ages.

Kissing Kyra; telling her she was pretty; cuddling up with her at night…it was all normal, comfortable and serene. Their routine didn’t change, they continued to do the same things every day, except they kissed.

Y/n was always very focused on football. So focused that she simply did not care about other things, like romantic relationships. She put everything she had into football because she knew it was up to her and no one else. She didn’t really open up to people, especially those who weren't her friends, so it was hard to build any type of romantic relationship.

However, after all these weeks of living with Kyra, she’d realised that her friend had meant a lot more to her, and she wasn’t afraid to show it. It felt good to finally let go and relax, to put football and her long-standing fear of vulnerability aside for a moment.

This wasn’t Y/n’s first time being with someone, she had one-night stands before, but they’d been very…awkward. In the mornings, she and random girls Y/n had met in London’s nightlife would dance around ‘good mornings’ and ‘see you’ or even ‘we should do this again’. But it was all very superficial, as it had to be.

Y/n was not sure what Kyra thought of their thing but she seemed to enjoy it. Y/n didn’t want to put a label on it. She just wanted to kiss Kyra some more, cuddle with her through the night and overall just enjoy their little domestic, and pretty much, ordinary life.

They didn’t have to rush into it, or overthink it. Just live in it for a while. There was no big elephant in the room that needed to be discussed. There was just Kyra and Y/n, and she was grateful for that.

After a few minutes of lying in bed and doing nothing, the girls left the bed and went to the kitchen to start their day.

“You can add the mushrooms and onions now, but let it cook before you add the salt and pepper” Y/n said. She sat on the kitchen counter while Kyra stood by the stove, wearing Y/n's apron with the saying ‘I love stirring things up’. It looked cute on her, but the size wasn’t right.

Y/n made a note to buy an apron just for Kyra. She didn’t really enjoy sharing her things. Red flag, yeah.

Kyra had a frown on her face, if Y/n hadn't known they were only making omelettes, she would have thought Kyra was being sent off to war.

“I hate cooking,” Kyra muttered, stirring the mushrooms uninterestedly.

“We can't live off of cereal for the next months to come,” Y/n said, without looking at Kyra, concentrating instead on the recipe book in her hand. “Can you also chop the spinach for me when you're done?”

Kyra grumbled so that was a yes.

Y/n took the eggs and the bowl that were already on the counter and started beating the eggs with a whisk.

Y/n loved to cook. It was one of the most therapeutic things for her. She loved cooking for herself and for others. She took pride in eating something and being able to explain, step by step, what she had done and what ingredients she had used.

When she got injured the doctors had told her that she wouldn't be able to stand for long periods of time, so cooking and baking was promptly removed from the list of things she enjoyed, but couldn't do, along with football and morning runs.

This was the first day she had cooked since the injury. She had tried cooking standing up in her crutches but this had led to her falling over while trying to pick up ingredients from the pantry. She had cried her eyes out of anger before Kyra found her on the floor, a mess of tomatoes and beetroot down with her.

She felt frustrated and pathetic, but there was nothing she could do about it except accept that she was fated to eat Kyra’s bad food for a while.

A few weeks after that incident, she tried another strategy, the one she was doing right now: sitting on the counter while giving instructions to Kyra, but, of course, she got frustrated again because Kyra couldn't follow instructions and Y/n was too much of a control freak, so she gave up cooking one more time

However, something had happened between Kyra and Y/n–they kissed! Y/n hoped that since they shared quite a few kisses, they could successfully share a kitchen as well, so she tried cooking again.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Y/n shouted from the other side of the kitchen.

Kyra stopped putting whatever spice she was adding to the food and looked at Y/n confused, holding the spice jar in the air.“What? You told me to add salt and pepper on it after it was cooked!” Kyra said, defending herself.

“That's not pepper, that's paprika!” Y/n pointed out, hands down her face. “Now our omelette is ruined!”

“No, it's not,” Kyra made a face. “It's just paprika, not cocaine. We can eat it just fine.”

“Here, pass me the eggs,” she demeaned. “Are they frothy already?”

Y/n took the bowl from the counter, and put it behind her, trying to get out of Kyra’s reach. “We're not putting my eggs on that. I hate paprika, it makes everything taste horrible.”

Kyra was silent for a moment, her face stoic. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Yes.”

“Why the hell do you have paprika if you hate it, then?” Kyra questioned.

“You can't be a real cook and not have paprika in your kitchen.” Y/n shrugged.

Kyra tried to take the bowl from her again, but Y/n was quicker and got it out of the way, holding it to her body for dear life.

“I'm being serious! Maybe we can throw the anions, mushrooms and spinach mix away and you can make it again, using the right and correct seasoning this time.” Y/n suggested.

“You want me to chop the onions again?!” Kyra said with a gasp. “I just cried, chopping them.” She pointed at the onions as if they had hurt her.

“Maybe you can try wearing sunglasses this time?” Y/n pointed.

Kyra didn't respond. The girl just turned away and opened one of the upper cupboards, taking out three boxes of cereal with one hand and two bowls with the other.

She placed the cereal boxes and the bowls next to Y/n and pointed At each box. “Do you want Coco Pops, Raisin Oats or Weetabix?”

Y/n stared at the cereals, disgust on her face. “What?!”

“Cereal. Which one do you want?” Kyra pointed at each of the boxes again, repeating its brand name.

“I don't want cereal,” Y/n said, more sassy than she liked to admit it.

“Well, but I do,” Kyra said, picking up the Coco Pops one, and pouring it into a bowl.

Before taking a spoonful, she took a step closer and kissed Y/n on the nose, then packed her on the mouth. "You're way too bossy in the kitchen–my cortisol levels are through the roof,” she explained, taking a bite of her cereal.

Y/n pouted defeatedly, picked up the Raisin Oats and poured it into her own bowl, without saying a word.

Kyra tapped the spoon against the bowl in her hand. “Wow! That's actually so good,” Kyra said mouth=-full.

“You say that as if you haven't done this every day for the last week,” Y/n said grumpily, taking a spoon of her raising. It tasted so processed.

Kyra shrugged. “Well, at least your Raising tastes better than paprika anyway.”

Y/n and Kyra could share kisses and a house, but they couldn't share the kitchen, or even the same cuisine taste.

..

Kyra and Y/n arrived at Arsenal half an hour before the training. Which was plenty of time for Y/n to say hello to all the staff members and Win on her way in. Y/n didn’t realise how much she had missed the people she used to see every single day. All the staff members made sure to tell her how much they missed her too and wished her a recovery.

Y/n felt strange at first. In the changing room, everyone was wearing their training kit, and boots and had their hair up, ready for training, everyone except for Y/n, who stood in the middle of the room, and couldn't help but feel like the odd one out, even though all the girls assured her that she was still very much part of the team.

It was still difficult to be surrounded by such amazing players, and friends, while Y/n had only just learned how to walk on her crutches without stumbling.

“Look who's here!” Leah was the first to see Y/n, greeting her with a hug. “How have you been? Giving that pest over there a hard time?”

“Always,” Y/n said, winking at her captain.

“Y/n! I didn't know you were coming in today.” Alessia said, being the next one in line to give Y/n a warm welcome.

Y/n hugged Alessia as she waved at other teammates, who were just as happy to have her back, even if it wasn't for playing or training.

“Kyra didn't tell you that I've been cleared to start physio with our physiotherapists here at Arsenal?” Y/n asked, turning to look at Kyra, who was sitting on the bench, putting her boots on.

“I did tell them!” Kyra said, defensiveness in her tone “But they didn't believe me.”

“Easy there, little pest,” Steph said behind Kyra, patting her on the back. “This is what happens when you think it's funny to make up stories, and now we don't believe you when you tell the truth.” Steph walked past a stunned Kyra, coming to greet Y/n. “But it doesn't matter anymore because Y/n is actually here!”

“Bloody hell! Is this still about the loose screws?! Have some mercy and let it go!” Kyra said, pulling her hair into a ponytail.

The team laughed at Kyra and for a few seconds Y/n felt what she used to feel before her injury, a sense of belonging to the people around her and to her club… After all the girls chatted with Y/n, they left the changing room and headed onto the pitch, leaving only Y/n, Kyra and Alessia still chatting, just like old times.

“And then Kyra tackled Renéé to the ground, can you believe it?!” Alessia said, having just finished telling her the story of how Kyra was responsible for getting Renée–aka their head coach–in the infirmary a few days ago.

“She told me to treat her like any other player,” Kyra mumbled. “I felt bad though, but she said she wasn’t angry.”

“I would give anything to see Renée get tackled,” Y/n laughed.

“I think Steph actually got it on video,” Kyra said.

Y/n’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Really?!”

Kyra smiled. “Nah, I’m joking.”

“I hate you,” Y/n muttered.

Alessia interrupted the two girls by putting one arm around Y/n, but not quite leaning over her so that Y/n wouldn't lose her balance. “Did you know I’m gonna be your physio-buddy today?”

“I fell hard on my shoulder yesterday, Mary wants to have a look at it.” She added.

Mary was Arsenal's upper body physiotherapist. Y/n wouldn’t be doing any sessions with her, instead, Clare would be the one to keep up with Y/n's injury. But both physiotherapists did the physical therapy in the same room, so Alessia and Y/n would spend the whole morning together.

Alessia led Y/n through the door of the changing room, heading to the opposite direction of the pitch, where the physio room was. They quickly noticed someone walking behind them.

Alessia smiled softly, “Aren’t you doing drills with the team today, Ky? Or do you also have an appointment with Mary too?”

Kyra blushed slightly as she shook her head. “No, I don't have an appointment. It’s just that–” Kyra turned to Y/n. “–don’t you want some help? I always help you walk around and… I can stay with you and Alessia during physio today too, I’m sure Renée won’t mind.’

“Thanks, Ky, but it’s ok.” Y/n looked down at her crutches then at Alessia and smiled softly at Kyra. “Lessie here will help me, you don’t need to worry about me now, just focus on your training.”

Kyra listened to Y/n but didn’t move. Kyra had spent most of her free time with Y/n. The only time they had been apart since her injury was when Kyra was at training, so it felt strange not to be by Y/n’s side when she could.

She knew Y/n would kill her if she ever knew how much Kyra was worried about her and her injury all the time. Y/n absolutely didn’t like people fussing over her, so Kyra was having a particularly hard time today.

She needed to give Y/n some space away from her, maybe it would do her some good, and make her feel more independent too.

“I'll keep an eye on her, Kyra, ” Alessia said, placing a comforting hand on Y/n's back. “Don't worry, go on, if anything happens I'll come get you, yeah?”

Y/n smiled and Kyra a thumbs up, reassuring her that she could leave

Kyra just nodded her head, a small smile on her face as she turned around and walked away.

Y/n would be fine. Why wouldn't she be fine? She was only doing physio, for God’s sake. Kyra thought, a mix of emotions on her mind as she left the two girls alone.

“She seems very concerned about you,” Alessia said. “Did you fall or something? When Leah was injured she fell down the stairs of her house, remember?”

“Yeah I do remember that, I was the one that had to come to her house to help her” Y/n said. “I fell too, twice actually, once in the bathroom and once in the pantry a few days ago,” Y/n pointed to her crutches. “I still haven't got used to using them.”

“Was Kyra the one who helped you?”

“Yes, she was very nervous, but she didn’t wanna show it,” Y/n continued. “So she just kept saying I shouldn't try to kill myself trying to walk on my own because people would think I died because of her.”

“I think she was trying to hide how much she cared for you with her jokes,” Alessia said. “Did you know Clare and Mary had to ban her from getting into the physio room because she kept interrupting the other girls ’sessions to ask about your injury, and if there were any kind of new treatments around.

Y/n stopped and laughed at Alessia. “She did that? That’s so Kyra honestly.”

“Yes, but I think her ban was lifted a few days ago,” Alessia said jokingly as she opened the door to the physio room and helped Y/n to one of the therapy tables.

Thankfully the room was empty, so Alessia and Y/n were able to talk about whatever they wanted freely.

“It’s a little funny watching you and Kyra,” Alessia said, putting up a chair next to Y/n’s table. “I think we’re so used to seeing her acting as a menace and treating her like a little sister that we get a bit shocked when she acts more responsibly.”

“It’s adorable, really,” Alessia added.

Y/n smiled, thinking of Kyra’s soft face. “Yeah, she is.”

Y/n almost blurted out that she had never seen Y/n as a little sister, especially now. Y/n and Kyra weren’t exactly hiding that they were…kissing? snogging around? But Y/n still didn’t want to talk about it too much. It still felt too intimate. It was something that belonged to them.

“Kyra’s been treating me really well,” Y/n continued. “I mean she always jokes and teases me a lot, but she’s also very patient when I’m mad about my injury, and she always drives me around, so that’s a plus.”

Y/n wanted people to see Kyra the way she saw her. Not just someone who plays around, but also someone who’s very caring and generally loving.

“Well, I'm glad to know you have someone like Ky on your side right now.” Alessia smiled. “It makes me worry less about you and her, I feel like you act as her voice of reason sometimes. ”

“Please, I don’t need more people to worry about me, I promise.” Y/n rolled her eyes playfully. “This whole recovery is going slower than I thought it would be but I’m just learning to be patient.”

“You’ll get there,” Alessia said reassuringly.

“Now please let’s talk about something other than my stupid injury, please!” Y/n said dramatically, making Alessia laugh.

“Ok, so let me tell you what happened in the tunnel in our last game–” Alessia started the story, and both girls were busy while waiting for physio to begin.

..

“I'm never coming back here again,” Y/n mumbled as she sat on the bench, wind in her face, watching her teammates do running drills on the pitch. Physio had taken up two hours of her and Alessia’s morning and it was hard; Y/n even considered just cutting off her leg and leaving it there.

“Yes, you're,” Leah murmured from her side, drinking her water and watching her surroundings “Physio honestly sucks but you’ve just gotta do it, mate” The captain shrugged. “It’s good that you’re feeling pain, it means your nerves aren’t screwed up.”

“Yeah, but it fucking hurts!” Y/n complained, crossing her arm “

“Breaking a bone hurts, what made you think growing them back wouldn't,” Leah said condescendingly.

“Have people ever told you how much you suck at supporting others in need?”

“Have people ever told you how annoying you are when you whine?” Leah bit back.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Hey, share your water with me, I left my bottle in Kyra's car.” Y/n made grabby hands, but Leah shook her head rather dramatically.

“Ew, no.” Leah said, “I hate sharing water, grab one from the cooler.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow at Leah, signalling at her cast. “Could you please get me some water, then?”

Leah complained all the way to the cooler and back, but finally handed Y/n her water bottle. “Are you like this with Cooney-Cross at home too?”

“Like this what?” Y/n asked, taking a sip of her cold water. Damn, she was thirsty.

“Demanding,” Leah said teasingly, taking the spot next to Y/n again.

“I wasn’t at first. I didn’t like asking for help,” Y/n answered, her eyes searching the pitch for Kyra in the pitch. “But she cracked me.”

“I think you cracked her too,” Leah said nonchalantly, watching Kyra as well.

“What?” Y/n asked, turning her head to Leah.

“She’s different.” Leah continued. “She’s not acting so much like a pest lately, she’s been more responsible, less reckless on the pitch too.”

Y/n didn’t answer.

“I wonder if it’s because of you,” Leah added.

Wow, Leah, always the straightforward one.

“She’s a young player, we’ve all been like that once,” Y/n said, trying to steer the conversation, sensing something suggestive in Leah’s voice, but not wanting to give in to Leah, not.

“I wasn’t,” Leah said proudly.

Y/n laughed sarcastically. “Oh yeah, because you were always so calm and collected.”

“I beg your pardon? I have the least yellow card ib from this team,” Leah bit back, rolling her eyes “Anyway, I’m just casually, very casually, letting you know that I’m sensing something different in Kyra.”

Y/n didn't answer again.

“So I’m just leaving the door for this conversation open,” Leah continued, trying to sound chill, but Y/n had known her for a few years now. The captain had thought this whole conversation through. “If you ever want to talk about it, I mean, I’m here.”

Leah honestly could give two shits about other people’s lives, so Y/n was rather amused by Leah’s way of showing that she was interested in her life and in whatever she had to do with Kyra’s change in behaviour.

“Is this your way of trying to be casual? Because you failed, bro.”

Leah furrowed her eyebrows. “I’m just trying to be a good friend. Alessia told me I should be more welcoming, and more…emotionally available, so this is me trying. If you prefer my old version I can bring her back”

“Please bring back my old Leah,” Y/n said, playfully putting her palms together as if in a prayer.

“What happened between you and Cooney?” Leash asked bluntly.

This was the Leah she knew.

“Nothing happened between me and Kyra,” Y/n said. “We just got closer, we’ve been sharing a house for the last one to two months, in case you don’t remember. ”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it was the best Y/n could tell Leah right now.

Y/n and Kyra weren’t even dating, but Y/n couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if they disclosed whatever they had going on to the team. It wouldn't be anything new, it was very normal to date with your teammates.

Arsenal itself had a lot of couples that were brought together through the club, it wasn’t something unusual. But of course, when new couples formed the dynamics of the team changed a bit.

If they started dating, would people stop seeing Kyra as their little sister? Would the team stop seeing Y/n as this tough player who only had eyes for football and maybe a nightstand here or there?

When she thought about it Y/n realised that she really didn’t care about what her teammate thought about it. When Viv and Beth started dating, everyone just moved on with their lives, it was the same with Katie and Caitlin.

Y/n and Kyra just weren’t the type to make a big deal about it, they would probably just notice the shift between them and accept.

“I’ll pretend to believe you if you tell Alessia I tried doing the whole talk your feelings out with you,” Leah mumbled next to her, pulling Y/n out of her thoughts.

“So Alessia was the one who sent you, then? That little minx was with me the whole morning, she could've asked me.”

Leah shrugged, getting up from the bench and starting to warm up. “She didn't want to intrude.”

“So you intruded on her behalf?” Y/n asked, finding the whole situation funny.

“Yeah, I mean, you get closed off sometimes and it’s hard to reach out to you,” Leah said, more firmly now.

“It takes one to know one,” Y/n said, smiling at Leah.

Both women had been friends for a very long time. But the friendship between Leah and Y/n was different, they didn’t text every day, and they didn't plan to meet every week.

It was the kind of friend shared by two reserved people who enjoyed their privacy but still knew they could always count on each other

Y/n and Leah had the same faults, they were proud, stubborn and overly independent. So they knew each other, they knew how the other reacted to the world. And of course, they knew how hard it was for them to open up.

“Well, you know where I live if you ever feel like talking about why your eyes haven’t left Cooney for a second,” Leah patted Y/n’s back before running back to the pitch.

Maybe people would realise that she and Kyra were together sooner than she thought. Especially since Y/n was bluntly staring at Kyra while she played.

So what if she actually cheered a little when Kyra scored a goal?

..

Notes: Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D

Read more of my work here -> Masterlist

[janeyseymour]

Two Roads Diverged In A Wood

summary: a great valentines day prompt for @jeridandridge

WC: ~2.25

When Melissa broke up with Gary, you couldn’t necessarily state that you were shocked. Were you happy this might mean that you could have your shot with the gorgeous redhead? Perhaps. Did you enjoy seeing the shift in her attitude since very publicly rejecting his proposal of marriage? No. It was quite clear to you that the second grade teacher was miserable. Did she regret her decision? Not in the slightest. Did that make it any easier on her heart? No.

“For what it’s worth,” you lean in and tell her softly. “I think you did the right thing following your heart.”

“Thanks,” Melissa sighs, lips quirked to one side. “Doesn’t make it any easier.”

“I know,” you pat her arm affectionately.

“I gotta pay for the vending machine now too,” the second grade teacher grumbles. “You know how much I was saving not having to pay?”

You can’t help but laugh at that question. Melissa Schemmenti could quite possibly be the only person who would think about something as trivial as paying for her snacks and iced tea after going through a breakup.

“Probably a lot,” you chuckle.

“My body is used to having at least two iced teas a day now,” the redhead rolls her eyes. “I can’t afford that.”

When there’s an iced tea sitting on her desk for the next two weeks when she gets in, she just smiles softly to herself and thanks you quietly once she enters the staff lounge. 

As it would be, breaking up with somebody you’ve been in a relationship with for a few years sucks. It sucks even more when Melissa remembers that Valentine’s Day is just around the corner. The redhead is only reminded of this when everyone is talking about what they’re doing for the holiday.

“Melissa, you’re always more than welcome to join Gerald and me,” Barbara offers kindly, although she knows Melissa won’t take her up on it.

“I ain’t crashin’ your Valentines,” the second grade teacher quips. “I’ll do a lot of things, but I ain’t doin’ that.”

“You always know that you’re able to,” Barb tells her best friend. 

“I… uh, I don’t have any plans other than to paint and watch television if you just wanted to come over and veg out with me,” you offer quietly. 

“That’d be really nice,” Melissa says softly, and she nudges you gently as a thank you.

Once lunch is over, Barbara practically swarms her work wife. “You’re really going to go over to Y/N’s?”

The redhead shrugs. “I think it’ll be a nice reprieve from all of the hectic-ness of Valentine’s Day, especially this year.”

“You think that’s a smart idea? To go over to her house when she’s part of the reason you broke it off with Gary in the first place?”

Melissa bites her lip nervously, but she doesn’t say anything. Again, she just looks to her friend and gives half a shrug in response. 

Valentine’s Day, as it always is, is chaotic as ever. The Abbott crew just barely manages to avoid another Halloween candy fiasco again. You send the sugar-high children off to reign hell on the streets or with their parents with a relieved sigh. Over lunch, you had told your redheaded guest she could head over anytime after 5. And now that you’re leaving, you figure that maybe you should stop by the store to make this significantly more difficult holiday easier to bear for the second grade teacher.

It’s not the most difficult thing in the world to shop for Melissa. You know she prefers red wine, so you grab a bottle of that. Flowers are easy- she likes anything pink, red, or white. You grab a bouquet of roses dotted with a few baby’s breath and hope that she likes them. Chocolate is always a hit with anyone. You do opt for some of the nicer chocolate and grab a pack of strawberries. Maybe the two of you can decorate some together. With a sigh, you throw a bag of white chocolate chips into the basket. If that doesn’t seem like the right move though, you do place a container of tiramisu in your cart as well. As for dinner, you had told her that you were planning on just ordering takeout, and you stick to your word.

By the time you get home and haul your groceries into the house, the clock is reading 4:50. Ready to be out of your work attire, you tell yourself you’ll put everything away while you’re waiting for the redhead. A few moments later, you’re descending back down the steps and into the kitchen with your pink sweatpants on and a comfortable hoodie. Sliding your slippers on as you go, you go about putting everything away. You’re interrupted a few minutes later to the doorbell ringing, and your phone going off with a text to let you know that Melissa had arrived. 

“It’s open!” you call as you finish putting everything away. No sooner do you hear the front door open, and your colleague is kicking off her shoes at the front door. “Kitchen!”

Footsteps approach, and when you turn with the flowers that you had bought for the woman, Melissa smiles softly.

“Those are gorgeous. Who got you those?”

“They’re for you, dumb ass,” you smirk as you hand them over. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” 5She instinctively smells them, the smile on her face only getting sweeter.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Melissa whispers, although you can tell the small act practically made her day.

“I didn’t,” you chuckle. “Now, what do you want to order for dinner?”

Once the two of you have finally decided on dinner (it ends up just being Chinese takeout), you reach for the wine glasses and the bottle of wine that you picked up for the occasion.

“You don’t like this wine,” Melissa notes softly as she watches you expertly open her preferred drink and pour her a serving.

“I don’t,” you chuckle. Then you reach for the cabinet again and pull out your own glass of wine. “But you do, so…”

“Did you pick up this bottle specifically for me?”

You shrug with a smile and lead the redhead to the couch. On the table, there are a few different canvases for the two of you to pick from, different brushes, paints, and old takeout containers filled with water.

“You paint?” the second grade teacher raises a brow.

A bit shy, you point to the elegant landscape above your television. “I painted that.”

Green eyes widen and turn to you with shock. “So what the hell are you doing being a teacher?”

“It’s just a hobby of mine,” you chuckle. “All for fun.”

“Well, I sure as hell can’t paint like that,” the redhead looks to you.

And as supportive as ever, you just give her an encouraging smile. “That’s the great thing about art and painting. It doesn’t have to look like that. As long as you, or someone who is lucky enough to see it, feels something when they look at it, it’s art.”

“You would say something like that,” Melissa rolls her eyes playfully. “And mean it so earnestly too.”

You just continue to smile as you pick up a brush. You silently push your coworker to pick up her own brush, which she does.

“What are you planning on painting?” Melissa asks you.

“I don’t have much in my kitchen, so I’m thinking just some little canvases to hang… think silly home goods sayings,” you chuckle. And with that, you reach for a canvas, reach for a bottle of paint, and get to work.

You only work for a few minutes on one canvas, painting cow-like spots in pinks and browns on it, before moving to another and doing the same to another canvas. And while you’re waiting for your work to dry, you see that Melissa is simply watching you.

“I thought we were doing this together,” you note as you reach for your wine glass and take a sip.

Red hair swishes from one side to the other. “I- the way you work is… wow. I could never do that.”

Your brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“So freely… in silence.”

If silence is the issue, you can sure as hell fix that. “I’ll be right back.”

You miss the way those striking green eyes are trained on your ass. But you’re back in a  few seconds with a guitar in one hand and a ukulele in another. Perfectly drawn on brows lift.

You don’t give her a verbal answer, only sit down, silently instruct her to pick up her brush again, and begin to play a soft tune on the guitar. Your voice begins to lay over the instruments beautifully, and after a few minutes, Melissa’s canvas is covered in beauty- that’s the only way you can describe it. You set your instrument down with a satisfied smile.

“See? You just needed some inspiration. That’s beautiful,” you compliment quietly.

Your colleague rolls her eyes. “It’s a bunch of colors.”

“But you felt something while I was singing, right?” you ask. “You were moved and let it all flow through you?”

The redhead glances down at her canvas. And it looks… she’s somewhat impressed with how nicely she blended the colors. “Yeah. But now I don’t know what to do.”

It’s then that the doorbell rings, and your dinner has arrived. The meal is pleasant, conversation flowing easily between the two of you. It also gives you a chance to let your partially finished painting dry.

Once you’re finished cleaning up your takeout containers, you smile at the redhead and pour her a bit more wine. Then you pick up your paint brush.

“You’re adding more?” she asks.

“Just the last few details,” you chuckle softly. On one canvas, you paint a few vines before pulling out your sharpie and writing “Love Grows Here” in your loopy script. On the other, you paint a simple line art espresso cup before writing “I like you a latte” underneath of it. You set the two pieces of art down with a satisfied look on your face.

“How?” Melissa asks simply. “How do you just… know how to do that?”

You shrug before looking at her canvas. “What are you going to add to yours?”

“I- I don’t really know,” she admits.

You give it another glance before suggesting softly, “Maybe you could add a few little vines and flowers and write a quote on that underneath.”

Those full lips quirk to the side in thought before it’s clear that an idea strikes her. The woman picks up a brush and gestures for you to pick up your guitar again. You oblige her request, although you’re a bit confused. And then you begin.

By the time you’re finished the first song, Melissa’s tongue is poking out of the side of her mouth in concentration as she paints… two paths?

“I’m just going to start getting dessert ready,” you promise her as you set your instrument down.

You’re able to heat up the chocolates that you bought earlier, bring out the strawberries, and carry them on a tray out to the coffee table when you see that Melissa has now picked up the sharpie and is writing a quote in the middle of her canvas. 

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I- I took the one less traveled by. And that has made all the difference.-Robert Frost

“Frost?” you ask softly as she finishes crossing the ’t’.

Two shoulders shrug up and down. “I always liked that poem.” Then her eyes catch a glance at what you’ve brought into the room. “Chocolate covered strawberries?”

“They are,” you laugh. “But I figured it might be fun to be able to decorate them, or at least dip them in ourselves while we watch a movie or something.”

Green eyes light up as you settle in next to her.

The both of you end up eating your fair share of dessert before relaxing into the couch together. The way that the cushions lay, you’re sitting quite close to each other. Your hip is practically on the edge of her thigh. The blush creeps into your cheeks quickly.

You sit there quietly, as does she. The movie plays softly until you feel a soft cheek rest itself on your shoulder. When you look down, you expect the redhead to be asleep, or at least dozing. But she isn’t. She’s fully coherent and watching the movie with full attention. You can’t help but smile to yourself, your cheeks feeling ever so slightly warm.

“You good?”

“Just… relaxing,” Melissa mumbles into your shoulder. “And you’re warm.”

You can’t help the soft chuckle that falls off your lips as you wrap an arm around her and pull her closer. After a few minutes, you feel an arm delicate drape itself over your waist.

Melissa would never admit it, but this is the first time she’s been held in a long time- longer than she would’ve expected, with the feeling of being safe. Her guard is down, and she has not a care in the world as the movie quietly drones on around the two of you.

At some point, the two of you must fall asleep because the next thing you remember is glancing at the clock and it being two in the morning.

“Lis,” you mumble as you shake her shoulder gently.

Her eyes peel open, and she looks enraged at being woken up before she realizes she’s still with you- she’s still in your arms. “Hey. Sorry I fell asleep.”

You smile. “Nothing to apologize for,” you whisper. “I fell asleep too.”

“Well, I guess I should get out of your hair,” Melissa mutters as she tries to disentangle herself from you. But you keep your hold on her.

“Just stay the night. It’s two in the morning, and I don’t want you out there this late.” Yeah… that’s why you want her to stay the night; it definitely isn’t because she’s warm and loving and…

“Okay.”

And so, the two of you stumble your way up the steps for the night, falling onto the bed unceremoniously as the exhaustion truly seeps its way into your bones. Her head rests in the crook of you neck as the two of you fall asleep tangled together for the first time. You can only hope that it won’t be the last time. Maybe, by next Valentine’s Day, you’ll actually be a couple- not just two coworkers with lonely souls longing for each other. 

[strwberri-milk]

Good Day dear and I hope this message finds you well; Let me first thank you for the Fanfics and time you dedicated to each one, trust that I read most of your content and feel very grateful for it.

I hope you get to have times of ample rests, roof over your head, heartiest of meals and warm kind-hearted souls come your way.

I am not one to boldly ask but for this once I shall; May you perhaps write and angst for the love and deepspace boys about a reader who has died in line of duty as Tara presents them a burial flag from the Hunter’s Association?

I read your terms prior requesting and hope I was able to abide by it; You may decline should you find it distasteful, if it does make the cut please take your time crafting it should it pique your fancy.

🥹🥹 I love you dear and hope for your best wellbeing.

thank you!! im glad you like mt stuff that much <333 very flattered

He will never forgive himself. Even if he knows logically (Rafayel, Sylus, Zayne) there was nothing he could have done to save you from your death just the fact that he wasn't there will always haunt him. Xavier takes your death hard as well, constantly replaying the day over and over in his mind.

When a flag is presented at his door, Tara's face tearstreaked as she mumbles the softest apology she can manage he definitely feels his knees go weak. He doesn't say anything at all at first, simply staring at the fabric that was meant to be some poor facsimile for you before looking back up at Tara in sheer disbelief.

Denial hits him hard. He can't help plan your funeral or even acknowledge the fact that you've died. Instead, he stays in your bed all day and tries to rationalise the hell he's living in, convincing himself that this is all just a bad dream. The funeral itself is awful for him. He doesn't really respond, staring despondently as they lower your casket into the ground. He can barely speak as people try to offer him their condolences, focused more on just how...cold he feels.

Xavier and Rafayel respond with anger. Xavier shuts down even more, becoming incredibly anti-social and honestly, might just quit being a formal Hunter totally. He doesn't need the team to achieve his goal after all and now he's basically waiting out his days until his body gives in to the strain of life. He hunts Wanderers with a vengeance, totally AWOL as he tries to honour your memory through sweeps of his blade.

Rafayel has always been cold and aloof but after your death even more so. Thomas can't talk to him, people can't even enter his exhibitions - he stops hosting them. He'll just waste away in his home, painting your likeness over and over as he tells Thomas to just leave him alone. He fully isolates himself, devoting his entire being to his goal of saving Lemuria because thinking of you hurts far too much. He almost acts like you've never existed but it's a lie - his entire being burns with need for you and every time he looks at his chest he sobs with the memory that his bond will never light up again.

Zayne and Sylus will never stop mourning. Zayne throws himself back into work, doing nothing but research and surgeries. He casually pulls 72 hour days, not bothering to sleep because whenever he closes his eyes, all he sees is your body being lowered. He seems calm and collected on the outside but his normally immaculate office is a mess, papers strewn about as various pills and drinks meant to help him stay away litter every surface.

Sylus gets more brutal with his means, not caring what people say or do. There's no more begging for his forgiveness or asking if he'll go easy on you. Nothing in his life matters anymore because you aren't there to hold his hand. He's cold and callous, and nothing is spared from the sadness that leeches his entire being. The N109 Zone is more terrified than ever, knowing that there's nothing sparing anybody from certain death if they come face to face with Sylus.

[cloudyluun]

Epilogue: Home. | single-parent!harry

Summary: Life with Harry was already perfect—but now, it’s getting even bigger. Between lazy mornings, chaotic family dinners, and one very unexpected but very wanted baby on the way, you finally have the life you never thought you’d get. Telling Theo and Lily is a disaster (obviously), Harry won’t stop touching your belly, and somehow, your home is even louder, messier, and more full of love than ever before.

And you wouldn’t change a single thing.

A/N: Listen. I know what I did. And I’d do it again. 😌

Was this entire epilogue an excuse to write Dad!Harry in his domestic, protective, lovesick era? Yes. Did I also write it because I got this request that literally said “This will make you feral and want Harry’s babies”? Also yes.

But honestly, was I wrong?

Harry cooking breakfast with Theo and Lily while Y/N waddles around pregnant and happy?Harry whispering sweet nothings to Y/N’s belly every night like a lovestruck fool?Harry completely wrecked over pregnant!Y/N, praising her like a goddess, and making sure she feels worshipped?

No. I was absolutely correct. And I stand by that.

Anyway, I hope you love this, I hope it makes you emotionally unstable, and I hope you walk away knowing one universal truth:

Harry Styles was made to be a husband and a dad.

Love you. Mean it.

Wordt Count: 3k

Warnings:

Sickeningly sweet domestic fluff (read at your own risk)

Pregnancy (planned but unexpected, lots of soft moments, protective!Harry in full force)

Theo and Lily being tiny menaces and taking full credit for everything

So much baby talk, you might want to start nesting yourself

Harry’s hands permanently attached to Y/N’s belly

Bonus smut: Pregnant sex, praise kink, filthy but loving, Harry being absolutely wrecked for his woman

Aftercare that will make you cry

The phrase "I love our baby so much" whispered like it’s the most sacred thing in the world

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

You never thought this would be your life.

Not the lazy Sunday mornings tangled in Harry’s sheets, his body warm and solid beside you.

Not the quiet evenings where you cooked dinner together—where he stole bites of food off your plate and kissed your forehead like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Not the mornings filled with coffee and pancakes and laughter, where Lily and Theo sat on the floor with their coloring books, bickering over which one of them was the better artist while Harry rolled his eyes fondly.

You never thought you’d get to have this.

But you did.

And God, you wanted to hold onto it forever.

--

It had been months since that night.

Months since you’d stopped running.

Since you had let him in.

And in that time, everything had changed.

Not in the loud, dramatic way you used to fear.

Not in the way that left you panicked and breathless, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But in the quiet way. The sure way.

In the way that made Sunday morning grocery runs feel like an adventure, because Harry let the kids pick out ridiculous snacks while you pretended to scold him for sneaking extra things into the cart.

In the way that made movie nights feel like home, because Theo would fall asleep halfway through, and Lily would always insist on using Harry’s shoulder as a pillow, and you’d end up curled into his side—his arm draped around you, fingers tracing lazy circles against your skin.

In the way that made your chest ache, because this wasn’t temporary.

This wasn’t something fragile.

This was real.

--

You realized it fully one evening, standing in Harry’s kitchen, watching him without him realizing it.

He was helping Theo with his homework, brow furrowed in concentration as he leaned over the table, listening intently while Theo explained something about a science project.

And Lily—Lily was sitting beside him, doodling absentmindedly in the margins of her own worksheet, occasionally nudging Theo and smirking when he huffed in annoyance.

It was so simple.

So mundane.

And yet, something inside you broke wide open.

Because this wasn’t just Harry’s house anymore.

It wasn’t just his space.

It was yours, too.

A place where your daughter laughed freely. Where you left your books scattered on the nightstand. Where there was a drawer of your clothes in his dresser, your toothbrush beside his in the bathroom.

You had slipped into his life.

And the most shocking thing was that…

You fit.

Perfectly.

Completely.

Like you had been meant to be there all along.

--

You didn’t say anything that night.

Didn’t mention the realization, didn’t try to put it into words.

But Harry noticed.

Because he always did.

When the kids had finally gone to bed, when you had curled up beside him on the couch, his fingers tracing absentmindedly along your thigh—he looked at you.

And just like that, you knew.

He knew it, too.

This was it.

This was forever.

--

The first time Harry called you his girlfriend was at Theo’s soccer game.

It was casual, slipped into conversation without a second thought.

One of the other parents had asked about the two of you, smiling in that knowing way people did when they’d already assumed the answer.

And Harry—**without hesitation, without looking at you first to check if it was okay—**had just said, "Yeah, Y/N’s my girlfriend."

Like it was obvious. Like it was something he didn’t even have to think about.

And the best part?

It didn’t send you into a spiral.

Didn’t make you want to run.

Because, for once…

You weren’t afraid of being someone’s.

Not when it was him.

--

The first time you said it back, you didn’t even realize you had.

It was late.

You were all piled onto the couch, the kids asleep between you, the credits rolling on some animated movie none of you had really been paying attention to.

Harry’s hand was resting low on your back, his breathing even, the room quiet, still, peaceful.

And you—**without thinking, without hesitating—**had whispered, "Love you."

Not as a grand declaration.

Not as something huge or dramatic.

Just as a fact.

As something that had been true for longer than you’d been willing to admit.

And Harry—still half-asleep, still groggy and warm and impossibly perfect—had hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of your head.

"Love you, too, sweetheart."

Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Like it was inevitable.

Like he had never once doubted it.

--

The first time you talked about forever, you were cooking dinner.

Harry had been chopping vegetables, Theo sitting on the counter beside him, chattering about his day.

And Lily—with zero warning, with the blunt force of a child who didn’t know how to sugarcoat things—had just said, "Mummy, are we ever gonna live here?"

You had frozen.

Harry had paused.

And Theo—completely oblivious to the weight of the moment—had just shrugged.

"Yeah, you basically already do."

And Harry—

Harry had just looked at you.

Not with pressure.

Not with expectation.

Just with certainty.

Like he knew the answer already.

Like he was just waiting for you to catch up.

--

So, you did.

Three months later, you packed up the apartment you had built your new life in.

And you moved in with him.

With Theo.

With your family.

And you didn’t second-guess it.

Didn’t overthink it.

Because for the first time in your life, forever didn’t feel like something that could fall apart.

It felt like something you could hold onto.

Something that had been waiting for you all along.

--

One night, long after the kids had gone to bed, long after the house had settled into comfortable silence, you curled into Harry’s side, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder.

"Did you ever think we’d end up here?" you murmured, voice soft, sleepy.

Harry hummed, pulling you closer, fingers threading through your hair.

"Yeah," he said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You smiled against his skin. "Really?"

"Mmhm." His lips curved against your forehead. "Theo and Lily decided for us, remember?"

You laughed, shaking your head.

Harry pulled back, tilting your chin up until your eyes met his.

His expression softened.

"Best thing that ever happened to me," he whispered.

And you—

You kissed him.

Because there was no doubt in your mind anymore.

He was it.

Forever.

Your life was full.

It was good.

And soon, it was about to get even bigger.

--

You’d known for weeks.

The first sign had been exhaustion—more than usual. You’d chalked it up to late nights, to work, to trying to keep up with two chaos-wielding children and a ridiculously affectionate boyfriend who didn’t know how to keep his hands to himself.

Then came the mood swings.

The tears over a burnt pancake.

The sudden, undeniable craving for oranges at midnight.

And finally, the truth had stared you in the face in the form of two pink lines.

Pregnant.

You had sat on the bathroom floor for a long time, staring at it, heart pounding, head spinning, stomach flipping.

Because you were happy.

Really, truly, unbelievably happy.

And that was the part that scared you the most.

Because happiness like this? It felt too good to last.

But when you finally told Harry—**voice shaking, heart in your throat, fingers twisting nervously in his t-shirt—**he had just smiled.

And then he had kissed you.

And then he had knelt in front of you, hands on your waist, pressing his forehead against your stomach.

And then, voice thick, barely a whisper:

“We’re having a baby?”

And when you had nodded—when the words had finally settled between you—he had wrapped his arms around you, held you like he never planned to let go, and laughed.

Like he couldn’t believe his luck.

Like you had just given him the world.

--

Telling Theo and Lily was another story.

Because they were menaces.

Because they would absolutely take credit for this.

And because you had no idea how they were going to react.

You and Harry had spent an entire week going back and forth. How do we tell them? When do we tell them? Should we make it fun? A surprise? A game?

But in the end, the kids decided for you.

Because of course they did.

--

You were sitting in the living room, curled into Harry’s side, your hand resting lightly over your stomach as Theo and Lily played a game on the floor.

And then, out of nowhere, Theo looked up and said—

"When are you guys having a baby?"

You choked on your tea.

Harry tensed beside you.

Lily scrunched up her nose. "Theo, you can’t just ask people that!"

Theo shrugged. "Why not? They’re obviously in love. People in love have babies."

Harry pressed his fist against his mouth, shoulders shaking.

You glared at him. Don’t you dare laugh.

Theo looked between the two of you, suspicious. "Wait a second…"

Lily gasped. "ARE YOU HAVING A BABY?"

Silence.

Harry turned to you, one brow raised, a smirk tugging at his lips. Your call, love.

You sighed, setting your tea down before glancing at the kids.

And then, softly:

"Yeah. We are."

For a second, nothing.

And then—

Absolute chaos.

Lily screamed.

Theo cheered.

Lily launched herself at you, hugging you so tightly you thought you might fall over. "I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT! I’M GONNA BE A BIG SISTER!"

Theo, meanwhile, turned to Harry and held out his fist.

"Nice one, Dad."

Harry barked out a laugh, bumping his fist against Theo’s. "Thanks, mate."

And then, just like that, the room was filled with laughter, excitement, a million questions.

When is the baby coming? Can we pick the name? Do we get to help? Are we sharing a room? Is it a boy or a girl? Can we have a puppy, too?

Harry pulled you against him, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"See?" he murmured. "Told you they’d take it well."

You smiled, watching as Theo and Lily started making a very dramatic list of possible baby names.

"Yeah," you whispered. "You were right."

And for once—**for the first time in forever—**you weren’t afraid of being happy.

Because this?

This was home.

And now, it was just getting a little bigger.

--

Life after that was loud.

It was chaotic.

It was perfect.

Mornings were a blur of sleepy kisses and coffee and Harry pressing a hand to your stomach every time he walked past you.

Afternoons were spent at doctor’s appointments, picking out baby clothes, letting Theo and Lily argue over whether they wanted a little brother or sister.

(Theo wanted a brother. Lily wanted both. You and Harry were mildly terrified.)

And nights—nights were yours.

Wrapped in Harry’s arms, his hands tracing over your belly, his voice a soft murmur against your skin.

"Can’t believe we’re doing this.""You’re so beautiful like this, love.""I’m gonna love this baby so much. And you. Always you."

And every single time, you felt it—the weight of what you had built. The life you had made. The family you had created.

You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

And neither would Harry.

Because ever since you told him you were pregnant, he had been soft with you—softer than ever before.

Not that he wasn’t always soft with you—but now?

Now, it was different.

Now, it was gentle hands on your stomach whenever he passed by. Now, it was offloading all the housework, refusing to let you lift a finger. Now, it was pulling you onto his lap at night, rubbing slow circles into your back until you melted against him.

It was sweet. Perfect, even.

But tonight?

Tonight, you needed more.

And you could tell, by the way Harry was looking at you—dark eyes flickering between your lips and the swell of your belly—that he needed more, too.

So when you shifted against him—**rolling your hips just slightly where you straddled his lap, teasing, testing—**he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Careful, love," he murmured, his fingers tightening on your thighs.

You tilted your head, running your hands up his chest. "Why?"

His jaw ticked. His grip tightened.

"You know why."

You smirked.

And then, deliberately—slowly—you rolled your hips again.

Harry groaned. "Fuck, Y/N—"

"You’ve been treating me like I’m fragile," you whispered, pressing your mouth to his jaw, kissing along his neck.

He exhaled sharply, his hands trembling against you. "Because you are."

You pulled back, meeting his gaze, your fingers tracing the edge of his t-shirt. "Harry. I’m pregnant. Not breakable."

He swallowed hard, eyes flickering down to where your belly pressed against him.

You could see the hesitation in his face. The battle between wanting you, needing you, and being afraid of hurting you.

So, you leaned in—pressing your lips to his, slow and deep, whispering against his mouth—

"Please, Harry."

And that?

That was all it took.

Because in the next breath, he had you on your back.

Mouths crashing together, hands desperate, his body pressing you into the mattress.

"You want me like this?" he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck, over your collarbone. "Like this, baby?"

You whimpered. "Yes. Yes, please—"

He groaned against your skin, one hand sliding between your legs, teasing you through your underwear.

"Fuck, love," he rasped. "You’re soaking."

You gasped, arching into him, thighs trembling as his fingers stroked over you, teasing, torturing.

"Been neglecting you, haven’t I?" he muttered, his voice thick, wrecked.

You couldn’t even respond—not when he was slipping his fingers beneath the fabric, not when he was spreading you open, groaning when he felt how ready you were for him.

"Christ," he hissed, pressing a finger inside you, curling it just right.

You cried out, gripping his biceps, barely able to breathe.

"More," you begged. "Harry, more."

And fuck—

He gave it to you.

Another finger, stretching you, working you open, his mouth hot against your neck, his breathing heavy.

"Love having you like this," he murmured. "All soft and warm and—fuck—taking everything I give you."

You whined, grinding against his hand, so close, so close—

But before you could fall, before he could push you over the edge—

He pulled away.

You gasped, nearly sobbing. "Harry—"

"Shh, sweetheart," he murmured, kissing your belly before sitting back on his heels, shoving his sweats down, fisting himself in his hand.

Your mouth went dry.

Because—fuck—

You had felt him against you before, had been with him countless times, but somehow, seeing him like this—

Hard and desperate and completely wrecked for you—

You clenched around nothing, whimpering, needing him inside you, needing everything.

"Harry, please," you whispered.

And he gave you exactly what you asked for.

He pushed inside you in one slow, deep thrust, groaning as he sank into you, his head falling forward, his hands bracing on either side of your head.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he muttered, his voice wrecked.

You gasped, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him closer. "Harry—"

"Christ, love," he panted, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, your lips. "You feel so fucking good."

And then, he moved.

Slow at first. Deep. Precise. Like he wanted you to feel every single inch of him.

And you—fuck, you were drowning in him.

The way he touched you, the way he filled you completely, the way he kept murmuring the sweetest, filthiest things into your skin—

"Love you like this." "Never been more beautiful." "Carrying my baby, taking my cock so fucking good—"

You were gone.

It didn’t take long.

Your body was already buzzing, already so close from the way he had touched you earlier.

So when he slipped a hand between you, rolling his fingers over your clit, whispering, "Come for me, sweetheart,"

You shattered.

Your entire body clenched around him, your orgasm crashing through you, pleasure rippling through every inch of your skin.

And Harry followed.

With one last deep thrust, one last ragged moan of your name, he spilled inside you, his body shuddering against yours, his forehead pressed to your shoulder.

For a while, neither of you moved.

Just heavy breathing, warm kisses, whispered I love yous.

And then—

Harry pulled back, gazing down at you, eyes flickering between your face and your stomach.

And softly, reverently, completely wrecked:

"I love you, and I love our baby so fucking much."

You exhaled, cupping his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

"I love you, too," you whispered.

And then, you kissed him.

Because this was it.

This was everything.

--

One morning, months later, you woke up to find Harry already gone from bed.

Frowning, you padded into the kitchen, only to find him standing there—Theo on one side, Lily on the other, all three of them squinting at a pan of very questionable-looking pancakes.

You raised a brow. "What is happening here?"

Harry turned, smirking. "Makin’ breakfast for my girl."

You snorted. "For me or for the baby?"

Lily gasped. "The baby wants pancakes!"

Theo nodded sagely. "Yeah. Mum’s gotta eat double now. She’s basically a superhero."

You bit back a smile, stepping closer as Harry handed you a plate, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Morning, love," he murmured.

You exhaled, looking around at them.

Your people.

Your home.

Your everything.

"Morning," you whispered.

And then—

You smiled.

Because your life?

It was exactly how it was supposed to be.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry

@mema10

@angelbabyyy99

@iloveharrystyles04

@cinemharry

@drwho06

@donutsandpalmtrees

@panini

@mads3502

@imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa

@one-sweet-gubler

@rizosrizos26

@ciriceimpera

@everyscarisahealingplace

@hello-heyhi

@sexymfharriet

@lizsogolden

@hannah9921

@chicabonitasblog

@huhidontknowstuff

@berrywoods1245

@jennovaaa

@angeldavis777

@prettygurl-2009

@almostcontentcreator

@run-for-the-hills

[octaneink]

Wait, you didn't know?

Will Lenney x Fem!Reader

Summary : The Reader really likes Will. Like, really likes him. She spends all their time together, she just need to ask him out, becuase they weren't dating yet...right? Warnings: Suggestive undertones towards the end Notes: I hope people enjoy this!

It all started on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. You were running late and the world seemed determined to make your day worse. Your umbrella had decided to betray you, flipping inside out the moment you stepped out the bus, and by the time you reached the coffee shop, you were soaked. Your hair was plastered to your face, your clothes were clinging uncomfortably to your skin, and you were pretty sure your mascara was halfway down your cheeks. You were a mess, and all you wanted was a large coffee and a quiet corner to hide in.

You’d were supposed to meet your friend Mel here, but as you shook the worst of the rain off your jacket and pulled out your phone to check the time, a text notification lit up the screen.

Mel: SO sorry, something came up. Rain check? Literally? (It's pissing out there.)

You sighed, disappointment settling in your chest. Mel's cancelled last-minute three times this month already. Still, you’d braved the storm for this hangout, so you might as well treat yourself. You shuffled toward the counter, your wet shoes squeaking against the floor, when—

Thud.

You collided with someone. Hard. The impact sent you stumbling backward, and you would’ve fallen if not for the strong hands that shot out to steady you.

“Whoa, careful there,” a voice said, and you looked up to see the most unfairly attractive guy you’d ever met. He had messy brown hair, a lopsided grin, and eyes that seemed to sparkle. Unfair. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you mumbled, feeling your face heat up. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“No worries,” he said, still grinning. “I’m Will, by the way.”

You introduced yourself, and he gestured to the counter. “Let me buy you a coffee to make up for almost knocking you over.”

“You didn’t knock me over,” you protested, but he was already walking toward the counter, and you found yourself following him.

You’d planned to grab your drink and leave, but Will slid into the seat across from you at the tiny corner table you’d claimed, his coffee in hand. “So, what brings you out in this monsoon?” he asked, nodding at the rain streaking the windows.

“I was supposed to meet a friend, but she bailed,” you admitted, stirring your coffee absently. “You?”

“Nothing much, really, just fancied a coffee,” he said with a laugh. “And hey, her loss. More time for me to annoy you.”

That was how it started—with a cancelled plan, some coffee, and an awkward introduction to a guy who seemed to have a permanent smile on his face. You sat together that day, talking for hours about everything and nothing. By the time you left, the rain had stopped, and you had his number, a promise to meet up again, and a strange, giddy feeling that maybe Mel’s cancellation hadn’t been such a bad thing after all.

The text comes through on a Thursday afternoon, just as you’re debating whether you should make plans for the weekend or just spend the evening buried under a blanket. Your phone buzzes, and you glance at the screen to see Will’s name.

“So, I know I already bought you a coffee to make up for almost knocking you over, but I’m thinking I owe you a proper apology. How do you feel about arcade games and terrible prizes this weekend? My treat.”

You stare at the message, your thumb hovering over the screen. The arcade? That feels like a date. But before you can overthink it, you type back: “Only if you’re prepared to lose at air hockey.”

His reply is almost instant, a winking emoji and an address.

When you arrive at the arcade, he’s already there, leaning against the wall near the entrance with his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. He’s wearing a cream jumper that looks soft and well-loved, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and a hat sits snugly on his head. The clothes gives him a cosy, approachable vibe, and you can’t help but notice how it brings out the warmth in his eyes. He spots you immediately, pushing off the wall with that lopsided grin of his.

“Hey, you made it,” he says, his voice warm and teasing.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you reply, and you’re surprised by how much you mean it.

The arcade is loud and chaotic; everywhere you looked, there were flashing lights, beeping machines, and the occasional triumphant shout. Will leads you straight to the air hockey table, rolling up the sleeves of his jumper even further, revealing toned forearms that catch your attention. Your eyes follow the motion, lingering for a moment before you quickly look away, hoping he didn’t notice.

“Ready to get destroyed?” he asks, his grin wide and teasing as he grabs a paddle and slides it across the smooth surface of the table.

“In your dreams,” you shoot back, picking up your own paddle and positioning yourself at the opposite end.

The first round is intense. Will’s competitive side comes out in full force, his reflexes sharp as he slams the puck back toward you with surprising precision. You manage to block a few shots, but he scores the winning goal with a flick of his wrist, his face lighting up with triumph.

“Beginner’s luck,” you say, though you can’t help but smile at how pleased he looks.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” he replies, already resetting the puck for the next round.

The second round is your chance to shine. You focus, your movements quick and deliberate, and soon you’re the one scoring points. Will’s competitive grin falters as you block his shots one after another, and when you score the winning goal, he throws his hands up in mock defeat.

“Okay, okay, I see how it is,” he says, leaning on the table, his jumper riding up slightly at the waist. “I’ll admit it. You’re better than I thought.”

“Thought I’d be an easy win, huh?” you tease, feeling a rush of satisfaction.

“Maybe,” he admits with a shrug. “But I like a challenge.”

By the third round, the competitive edge has softened into pure fun. You’re both laughing too hard to play properly, the puck flying off the table more than once. At one point, Will reaches across to retrieve it, his arm brushing against yours, and you feel a jolt of electricity at the contact.

“You’re cheating,” you accuse, though you’re grinning too much to sound serious.

“How am I cheating?” he asks, feigning offence.

“You’re distracting me,” you say, gesturing to his exaggerated paddle movements and ridiculous facial expressions.

“Oh, so now I’m distracting?” He says, his tone playful but his eyes holding yours for a beat too long.

You feel your cheeks warm and quickly look down at the table, resetting the puck to hide your smile. “Just play the game, Will.”

He laughs, that warm, easy sound that makes your chest tighten, and the game resumes. By the end of the third round, neither of you is keeping score anymore. You’re too busy laughing, the sound blending with the chaos of the arcade around you.

When you finally step away from the table, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and your sides ache from laughing. The machine spits out a handful of tickets, and Will grabs one before you can, holding it up like a prize.

“What are you doing?” you ask, laughing.

“Keeping this,” he says, folding the ticket neatly and tucking it into the pocket of his jeans.

“Why that one?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs, his grin softening into something almost shy. “To remember the day I met my air hockey nemesis.”

As you move on to the racing games, he casually rests a hand on the back of your chair, leaning in to point out the controls. “You’ve got to drift on this curve,” he says, his voice low and close to your ear. You try to focus on the game, but your heart skips a beat when his hand brushes yours as he reaches for the joystick.

At one point, he drags you to a photo booth. “Come on, we need evidence of this historic day,” he says, pulling the curtain shut behind you. The booth is cramped, and you’re both laughing before the first photo even snaps. In the first frame, his arm is slung around your shoulders, and you’re both mid-laugh. In the second, he makes a ridiculous cross-eyed face while you pretend to punch him. The third is your cheek pressed to his, his grin wide and unguarded, your eyes crinkled with laughter. The fourth is just him, staring at the camera like he’s about to say something, soft and sincere.

When the strip prints out, he grabs it before you can, holding it up with a triumphant grin. “I’m keeping this. For blackmail purposes,” he jokes, tucking it into the pocket of his jeans.

“Blackmail? For what?” you ask, laughing.

“For when I need to remind you that I’m way cooler than you,” he says, his tone teasing.

“You wish,” you shoot back, but you don’t push for the photos. There’s something about the way he looks at them before pocketing them—like they’re more than just a silly keepsake.

The first time you noticed it—really noticed it—was when you found yourself sitting cross-legged on Will’s bedroom floor, surrounded by a mountain of his laundry. He’d begged you to help him for five minutes, which somehow turned into you folding his shirts while he haphazardly tossed socks into a drawer. The room smelt like his cologne and the vanilla candle you bought him as a joke—the one he insists he hates but burns every time you come over.

It wasn’t the laundry or the mess that made you pause. It wasn’t even the way he grinned at you, sheepish and unapologetic, as he lobbed a balled-up pair of sweatpants in your direction. No, it was the way it all felt so normal, so right. Like this was just another Tuesday, another moment in the rhythm of your lives together. And then it hit you—this wasn’t just friendship. Friends didn’t spend their afternoons folding each other’s clothes, didn’t memorise the scent of each other’s cologne, didn’t keep candles burning just because the other person liked the smell.

You froze, a shirt halfway folded in your hands, as the realisation washed over you. This wasn’t just friendship. This was something more. And the scary part? You weren’t sure when it had started—or if it had ever been just friendship at all.

Your chest tightened, the weight of it pressing down on you, but before you could spiral too far, you forced yourself to focus on the shirt in your hands. It was inside-out and backward, and you held it up like evidence, raising an eyebrow at him. “You know,” you said, your voice teasing but soft, “this is why you can never find anything.”

“Hey, oraginsing is your superpower, not mine,” he replies, lobbing a balled-up pair of sweatpants at your head. You duck, laughing, and it hits the wall behind you with a soft thud.

As you reach for another shirt, his wallet slides off the bed and lands at your feet, spilling receipts, loose change, and a crumpled arcade ticket. You start to shove everything back inside when something catches your eye—a faded strip of photos tucked behind his gym membership card. Your breath hitches.

It’s from the arcade. Months ago.

You trace the edge of the photos, the corners worn from being handled. Your throat tightens. You hadn’t even realised he’d kept them—let alone carried them around.

“Hey, have you seen my—” Will freezes in the doorway, his eyes darting from your face to the photos in your hand. His ears turn pink. “Oh. Uh. Those.”

“You kept them,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly fascinated with the carpet. “Yeah, well. It was a good day.”

You want to ask more—why did you keep them? What do they mean to you?—but the fear of ruining whatever this is stops you. So you just smile, tucking the photos back into his wallet. “It was a good day.”

He hesitates, then sinks down onto the floor beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. The air feels charged, like the moment before a thunderstorm. “You know,” he says, his voice soft, “I was thinking… we should do that again. Go to the arcade. Or, I don’t know, something else. Whatever you want.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He glances at you, his cheeks still flushed. “I mean, if you’re not sick of me yet.”

You laugh, but it comes out shaky. “Not even close.”

He grins, and for a moment, it feels like he’s about to say something more. But then he stands, grabbing the laundry basket. “C’mon, let’s finish this before I lose the will to live.”

You don’t push. You don’t ask. Because as much as you want to know what this is—what you are—you’re terrified of the answer. Terrified that if you name it, it might disappear.

The next week, the two of you were wandering aimlessly at the shopping centre when Will grabbed your hand and pulled you toward a photo booth. “C’mon,” he says, grinning. “Let’s make some new memories.”

You don’t argue.

The booth is cramped, your knees knocking together as the screen counts down—3… 2… 1…

The booth is cramped, the curtain barely closing behind you as you squeeze in beside Will. His shoulder presses against yours, warm and familiar, and the screen begins its countdown. On instinct, you both stick out your tongues, your laughter bubbling over as the flash goes off. The sound of his laugh fills the tiny space, and you can’t help but grin, even as you pretend to groan at his antics.

The second flash catches him mid-grimace, his face twisted into a ridiculous cross-eyed expression that makes you burst into laughter all over again. You playfully raise your fist, pretending to punch him, but your smile gives you away. He’s always been like this—silly, unguarded, effortlessly pulling you into his orbit.

By the third flash, the mood shifts. Your foreheads press together, your eyes closed, the world outside the booth fading away. It feels intimate, like you’re sharing a secret no one else could understand. His breath mingles with yours, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, suspended in time.

The final flash captures something you didn’t expect. His lips brush your temple, feather-light, and your smile softens, surprise flickering across your face. But it’s his gaze that stops you—his eyes locked on you, steady and unwavering, like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at. The moment feels too big, too real, and you’re suddenly aware of how close he is, how quiet the booth has become.

When the strip prints out, neither of you says a word. He tears it carefully, handing you the half with his solo shot. “Now we match,” he says, his voice quiet, almost shy. You don’t mention the way his fingers trembled when he handed it to you. You don’t have to.

It’s Friday night, and you’re sprawled out on Will’s sofa, the glow of the TV casting flickering shadows across the room. The movie is some action flick he picked—something with explosions and car chases—but neither of you are really paying attention. The bowl of popcorn sits half-forgotten between you, and his arm is slung over the back of the sofa, his fingers absentmindedly playing with your hair.

The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, a warm ripple that starts at the nape of your neck and spreads through your entire body. You try to play it cool, keeping your eyes glued to the screen, but the truth is, you couldn’t tell anyone what’s happening in the movie. The explosions and car chases blur into a meaningless haze of noise and colour, your attention entirely consumed by the way Will’s thumb brushes against your skin.

It’s not the first time he’s done something like this—little touches that feel intentional, like he’s testing the waters. His hand on your lower back as he guides you through a crowd. His knee bumping yours under the table at dinner. The way he always seems to find an excuse to be close, to linger, to make you feel like you’re the only person in the room.

His fingers trail lightly through your hair, the pads of his fingertips grazing the sensitive spot behind your ear. You bite your lip to keep from smiling, but it’s a losing battle. Your heart is racing, your thoughts spiralling out of control.

Does he know what he’s doing?

The question echoes in your mind, louder and louder, with every pass of his thumb. You steal a glance at him, but he’s staring at the screen, his expression unreadable. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe he’s just being friendly.

But then his fingers tighten ever so slightly, tugging gently on a strand of your hair, and your breath catches.

He has to know. He has to.

Your mind races, flipping through every interaction, every moment, like you’re trying to piece together a puzzle. The way he always saves the last bite of dessert for you. The time he showed up at your door with cold medicine when you were sick. The way he says your name, soft and deliberate, like it’s something precious.

What does it mean? What does it mean?

You’re spiralling, your thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of hope and doubt. What if he feels the same way? What if he’s just waiting for you to say something? But what if you’re wrong? What if you ruin everything?

The movie fades into the background, the sound of gunfire and screeching tires drowned out by the pounding of your heart. You’re hyper-aware of every detail—the warmth of his body beside yours, the overwhelming scent of his cologne, the way his fingers have stilled in your hair, like he’s waiting for you to react.

Say something. Do something.

But you don’t. You can’t.

Instead, you lean back against the sofa, your shoulder pressing into his chest. He doesn’t pull away, and neither do you. The silence between you is heavy, charged with something unspoken, something you are not ready to name.

And so you sit there, your thoughts spiralling, your heart racing, and his hand still tangled in your hair.

“You know,” he says suddenly, his voice low and thoughtful, “this kinda feels like a date.”

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat. The words hang in the air, heavy and loaded, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is, how his fingers have stilled in your hair. “Does it?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” he says, shifting slightly so he can look at you. His eyes are soft, his usual playful grin replaced with something more serious. “I mean, we’re sitting here, sharing popcorn, you’re stealing my hoodie…” He gestures to the oversized hoodie you’re wearing—his hoodie, of course, because you’re always stealing his clothes. “Sounds like a date to me.”

You glance down at the hoodie, your fingers fiddling with the drawstrings. It smells like him—like his cologne and something uniquely Will—and you feel a warmth spread through your chest. “Maybe it is,” you say, trying to sound casual, like your heart isn’t pounding in your ears.

He smirks, that familiar lopsided grin returning. “Maybe it is.”

The movie continues to play in the background, the sound of gunfire and screeching tires filling the silence between you. But you’re not paying attention any more. You’re too focused on the way his hand has moved from the back of the sofa to your shoulder, his thumb tracing small circles on your arm.

“Do you…” you start, then hesitate, your courage faltering. “Do you want it to be? A date, I mean.”

He doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, you regret asking. But then he leans in, his face inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. “What do you think?”

You don’t have a chance to respond before he pulls back, his smirk widening as he grabs a handful of popcorn. “Relax,” he says, tossing a kernel into his mouth. “I’m just messing with you.”

But the way his hand lingers on your arm, the way his eyes keep darting to yours—it doesn’t feel like he’s messing with you. It feels like he’s waiting for you to say something, to make the first move.

You don’t.

Instead, you lean back against the sofa, your shoulder pressing into his chest. He doesn’t pull away, and neither do you. The movie fades into background noise, and for the rest of the night, you stay like that—close, comfortable, and just a bit unsure.

The party is in full swing, the air thick with the hum of conversation, laughter, and the bass of the music thumping through the walls. You’re surrounded by people, but it feels like it’s just you and Will. He’s been by your side all night, his presence a steady anchor in the chaos. His hand rests on the small of your back as he guides you through the crowd, his touch light but deliberate, sending a shiver up your spine every time his fingers brush against you.

At one point, the heat, and noise become too much, and you tug on his sleeve. “Can we get some air?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the music.

He nods, his hand sliding to your waist as he leads you through the throng of people. The cool night air hits you like a relief as you step outside, the muffled sounds of the party fading behind you. You lean against the railing of the balcony, staring up at the stars, and for a moment, everything feels still.

Will stands beside you, close enough that his arm brushes against yours. You can feel the warmth of his body, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the crisp night air. You don’t say anything, and neither does he. The silence between you is comfortable, familiar, but there’s a tension there too—something unspoken, something electric.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, and your breath catches. He’s already looking at you, his gaze soft but intense, like he’s seeing something no one else can. His eyes drop to your lips, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The noise of the party—the laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses—fades into a distant hum, muffled and unimportant. Even the stars above seem to blur into a haze of light, their brilliance dimmed by the way he’s looking at you.

All you can focus on is him.

His face, so close you can see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his lips part slightly as if he’s about to say something. His eyes, dark and steady, holding yours like they’re trying to tell you something words can’t quite capture. The way his chest rises and falls with each breath, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to steady himself.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your pulse racing so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. You lean in ever so slightly, drawn to him like a magnet, like there’s an invisible thread pulling you closer. His hand moves to the railing beside yours, his fingers brushing against your own, and the touch sends a jolt of electricity through you.

Is this really happening?

Your mind races, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions crashing into each other. You’ve imagined this moment a thousand times—what it would feel like to close the distance, to finally know what it’s like to kiss him. But now that it’s here, now that he’s so close you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, you’re paralysed.

What if I mess this up? What if I read this all wrong?

His fingers twitch against yours, and you swear he’s leaning in too, his head tilting ever so slightly. Your lips part, your mind screaming at you to just do it, to stop overthinking and let yourself have this. But the doubt creeps in, relentless and suffocating.

What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if this ruins everything?

But then his hand shifts, his fingers curling around yours, and the touch is so deliberate, so sure, that it knocks the air out of your lungs. His eyes flicker back up to yours, and for a split second, you see it—the same longing, the same hesitation, the same fear.

What if he’s just as scared as I am?

The thought hits you like a lightning bolt, and suddenly, you’re not just spiralling—you’re free-falling. Your mind is a chaotic mess of what-ifs and maybes, and you’re teetering on the edge of something you can’t quite name.

What if this is it? What if this is the moment everything changes?

You’re so close now, so close that you can see the faint freckles on his nose, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. Your breath mingles with his, and for a moment, it feels like the world has stopped spinning.

Just kiss him. Just—

“Will!”

The voice cuts through the moment like a knife, sharp and jarring, shattering the fragile bubble you’d been wrapped in. You both freeze, your breath hitching in unison, and you pull back, his hand still resting over yours on the railing. For a split second, neither of you moves, the weight of what almost happened hanging heavy in the air between you.

Then he clears his throat, the sound rough and awkward, and steps away, his hand slipping from yours. He runs a hand through his hair, the motion quick and nervous, and you notice the faint flush creeping up his neck, staining his cheeks a soft pink.

The spot where his hand had been feels scalding, like his touch had left a brand on your skin. You flex your fingers, trying to shake the sensation, but it lingers, a phantom warmth that makes your heart race all over again.

“We should probably head back in,” he says, his voice softer than usual, almost apologetic. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the ground, and you wonder if he’s as thrown by the moment as you are.

You nod, your throat too tight to speak, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and something else you can’t quite name. You’re not sure if you’re relieved or disappointed—relieved that the tension is broken, or disappointed that the moment slipped away before you could figure out what it meant.

Before you can overthink it, his hand finds yours again, his fingers lacing through your own like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The touch is grounding, steadying, and you squeeze his hand without thinking, grateful for the anchor.

As you walk back inside, the noise of the party hits you like a wall—laughter, music, the clinking of glasses—but it feels distant, like you’re underwater. His hand stays in yours, his thumb brushing against your knuckles in a rhythm that feels deliberate, like he’s trying to tell you something without words.

You don’t pull away.

The warmth of his hand is a stark contrast to the cool night air still clinging to your skin, and you can’t help but wonder if he feels it too—the weight of what almost happened, the promise of what could still be.

You’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask him out for weeks, but every time you get close, you chicken out. The words stick in your throat, your fear of ruining what you already have outweighing your desire for something more. But tonight, you’re determined. You’re at his place again, the two of you sitting on the floor with a pile of board games between you. Monopoly is spread out in front of you, though neither of you has been paying much attention to the game.

The room is warm, lit by the soft glow of the fairy lights strung across his walls. His hoodie—your hoodie now, really—hangs on your frame, and the familiarity of it gives you a small boost of courage.

“Will,” you say, your voice trembling slightly.

He looks up from the Monopoly board, his brow furrowed as he counts his fake money. “Yeah?”

“I… I need to tell you something.”

His expression softens, and he sets the money down, giving you his full attention. “What’s up?”

You take a deep breath, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. “I like you. Like, really like you. And I know we’ve been doing this whole… thing… where we act like we’re together, but we’re not, and I just… I want to be. With you. Officially.”

There’s a long pause, and for a moment, you’re terrified you’ve ruined everything. Your mind races, replaying the words over and over, wondering if you said too much or not enough. Did you sound desperate? Did you make it weird? The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, and you’re about to backtrack, to laugh it off and pretend it was a joke, when he smiles—that stupid, beautiful smile that makes your heart melt.

“Wait,” he says, his voice laced with amusement, “you thought we weren’t dating?”

You blink, your brain short-circuiting. “What?”

He laughs, the sound warm and familiar, and shakes his head like you’ve just told the funniest joke he’s ever heard. “I thought we were already together,” he says, leaning back on his hands, his grin widening. “I mean, we do everything couples do. We hang out all the time, we text constantly, you steal my hoodies…” He gestures to the hoodie you’re wearing, the one you “borrowed” weeks ago and never gave back. “I just figured we were, you know, a thing.”

You stare at him, your mind racing. “So… we’re dating?”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone light but his eyes serious. “Unless you don’t want to be.”

“No, I do!” you say quickly, your voice louder than you intended. He laughs again, the sound warm and familiar, and before you can overthink it, he pulls you into a hug.

His arms wrap around you, strong and steady, and you bury your face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne. “Good,” he says, his voice muffled against your hair. “Because I’m kinda crazy about you.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your cheeks burning. “You are?”

“Yeah,” he says, his grin softening into something more sincere. “Have been for a while now.”

And just like that, the unspoken becomes spoken, the no-labels become labels, and you realise that maybe, just maybe, you’ve been his all along.

You’re curled up on Will’s sofa later that night, the board games long forgotten. His arm is slung over your shoulders, your head resting against his chest as some random movie plays in the background. You’re not really paying attention—your mind is still reeling from the conversation earlier, from the way he’d laughed and pulled you into a hug, from the way he’d said, “I’m kinda crazy about you.”

But there’s one thing that’s been nagging at you, one question you can’t seem to shake.

“Will?” you say, your voice soft.

“Yeah?” he replies, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the ends of your hair.

You hesitate, your heart pounding as you gather your courage. “If we’ve been dating this whole time… why haven’t we kissed yet?”

He stills, his fingers pausing in your hair, and for a moment, you’re terrified you’ve ruined the moment. But then he shifts, pulling back just enough to look at you. His expression is soft, almost hesitant, and he runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit you’ve come to recognise.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he admits, his voice quiet. “I mean, we never really talked about it, and I didn’t want to assume… I guess I was waiting for you to be ready.”

You blink, surprised by his answer. “You were waiting for me?”

He nods, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Yeah. I didn’t want to push you into anything. I figured you’d let me know when you were ready.”

The honesty in his voice takes your breath away, and for a moment, you’re speechless. You think about all the times you’ve wondered if he felt the same way, all the times you’ve hesitated, too scared to make the first move. And now, hearing him say this, it’s like a weight has been lifted off your chest.

“I’m ready,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, but the words feel like they echo through the room.

Will looks at you, his eyes searching yours, and for a moment, neither of you moves. The air between you feels charged, electric, like the world has narrowed to just the two of you. His hand cups your cheek, his touch warm and gentle, and you can feel the faint tremor in his fingers.

“Good,” he says, his voice soft, almost reverent. “Because I’ve been waiting for this for a really long time.”

And then he leans in, slowly, giving you every chance to pull away if you want to. But you don’t. You can’t.

His lips brush against yours, tentative at first, like he’s testing the waters. It’s soft, sweet, and achingly gentle, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You lean into him, your hand finding its way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

The kiss deepens, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. His lips move against yours with a kind of certainty, like he’s been thinking about this moment just as much as you have.

And then, just as you’re melting into him, his fingers scratch lightly at the base of your scalp, the motion so subtle but so deliberate that it makes you gasp against his lips. It’s a move you’ve seen him do a hundred times—when he’s nervous, when he’s thinking, when he’s trying to play it cool—but this time, it’s different. This time, it’s for you.

The sensation sends a wave of warmth through you, your body responding instinctively as you press closer to him. His lips curve into a smile against yours, and you can feel the faint rumble of his laugh in his chest.

“You like that?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, his fingers still moving in slow, deliberate circles.

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nod, your cheeks burning as you bury your face in his shoulder. He laughs again, the sound warm and familiar, and you can feel the vibration of it against your skin.

The world outside fades away, the movie forgotten, the room silent except for the sound of your breathing and the soft rustle of fabric as you shift closer to him. His touch is warm, his kiss tender but insistent, like he’s trying to tell you something words could never capture.

When you finally pull back, your forehead rests against his, your breaths mingling in the space between you. His eyes are still closed, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, and you can feel the faint tremor in his hands as they rest on your waist.

“Wow,” he murmurs, his voice rough, and you can’t help but laugh, the sound soft and breathless.

“Yeah,” you agree, your voice just as unsteady. “Wow.”

He opens his eyes then, and the look he gives you makes your heart skip a beat. There’s something in his gaze—something soft and tender and utterly sincere—that takes your breath away.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Me too,” you say, your cheeks burning but your smile unstoppable.

He grins, that stupid, beautiful grin that makes your heart melt, and pulls you into another hug. His arms are warm and steady around you, and you bury your face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne.

“Good,” he says, his voice muffled against your hair. “Because I’m not planning on stopping anytime soon.”

And just like that, the world feels brighter, warmer, like everything has finally fallen into place.

Ugh I hope people like this, Im giggling about the hair thing...😏

[thezombieprostitute]

The Prey

A/N: Follow up to The Hunt. Entirely written on my phone.

A/N2: Reader is big, tall and female.

Warnings: Implied smut, Implied violence, Self-deprecation, Stalking. Please let me know if I missed any.

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

It feels like you've been on edge the entire week. Like you're being stalked, but every time you look, there's no one there. Figuring you could use a break you decide to eat at your favorite place for dinner. You're sitting in a booth at the pub, reading a book and eating some dinner when a man you don't know sits across from you.

"Damn you're cute," he says.

"No I'm not. And I really don't appreciate lying."

He gives you a confused look, "what do you mean?"

"I am, objectively speaking, unattractive. The way you said I was cute indicates a feeling of attraction and, let's be honest, that's not possible."

"You don't even know me but you really think I'm that shallow?"

"Look, it's not your fault society dictates attractiveness. Maybe it's just not something you ever had to deal with because you are very much an ideal. You've got beautiful eyes, a physique that is tall, muscular and healthy. And it just makes me wonder what's wrong with you that you're not already taken and you're slumming it with someone like me."

"Slumming it?" he asks incredulously.

"Yes," you nod. "All my curves are disproportionate to each other, too much here, too little there. I've got chin hairs and regularly get acne. My eyes are, at best, normal and boring. And let's not even get started on my hair. It's also a fact that men do not care for women as tall or taller than them. I am, objectively, physically unattractive. So when you call me cute, I have to believe you're lying."

"You are very weird," he shakes his head.

"I am," you agree. "Then again, you're the one who interrupted my dinner."

"Just trying to give you a compliment," he groans as he gets up.

"And all you accomplished was interrupting my reading."

You pick your book back up and pretend to read. Your eyes follow him as he heads back to his buddies. Your suspicions are confirmed when you see him hand some cash over to one of his buddies.

It's not the first time bets have been placed at your expense and it won't be the last. It's always a game of getting the ugly girl's hopes up. String her along and then break her heart while leaving her with the tab.

Maybe you'd have been nicer about it if you hadn't been so on edge lately.

Across the bar you don't notice Kraven watching you. It took all of his strength to not step in and punch the bastard so hard he'd never breathe right again. And when you kept talking down about yourself he quietly growled with rage. When you're his mate, he'll make sure you never feel less than gorgeous.

And you will be his mate. He's been following you, trying to find flaws, reasons to walk away, but he can't. You've picked up on him following you, indicating an alertness beyond most humans. Despite obviously being upset, you still helped anyone and everyone at the library without them even guessing you weren't feeling well, indicating your suitability for raising offspring.

And when you tried to release some of that stress in the privacy of your apartment? He breathed in the scent the next day when he broke into your apartment. It was all over your panties that now reside near his bed. It isn't quite "bitch-in-heat" but it still gets him going.

But first, he's going to follow those assholes who messed with you and make sure they never do so again.

Soon he'll have everything needed for your new home. He's determined to show his quality as a mate, as a provider, by building you a dream den. It'll have everything you've ever wanted and needed. Perfect for raising your children.

The only thing you might not like is his rule about no outside contact. At least not until you're fully his. But he's sure it won't take long. You're incredibly smart, kind and you'll know it's meant to be.

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Tagging: @alicedopey ; @delicatebarness ; @hederasgarden @icefrozendeadlyqueen ; @irishhappiness ; @kmc1989; @lokislady82 ; @ronearoundblindly

[motheroffeline]

Infatuation (pt. 3)

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, extremely dark, overstimulation, P in V, oral (m receiving), violent sex, hair pulling, crying, dubious consent, dom! dark! egoistic! Aaron Pierre x photographer!OC!(Ari), some voyeurism, de@th threats, usage of the N word, and spanking. Summary: Ari finds her own plan backfiring against her in a tremendous way; tied and fucked on her own bed she decides that she has reached a low point in life but somehow Aaron Pierre forces her to go even lower. Ari's friend calls her wanting to know how the event went but she can't find the words to describe it. Why? He's fucking her while she's on the phone with her lifeline.

Word count: 1600+

  Alyssa talked and talked away to Ari but she might as well have been mute because of how hard her guts were being dug out. This was the second longest time she had been in the bed – the first time being because of catching pneumonia. It was a fucking so good that it had Ari crying out his name wanting so much more and so little because of how his dick was fucking right into her g spot, barely scraping against her cervix. He was fucking her like he hated every inch of her and he probably did. 

 “Ari, you still here? I was asking you last night went with that fine ass man you work for. Girl you on the other line? I'm hanging up then!” She sighed as the call ended because there were more important things to focus on because the fine man she had dreamt about for years was fucking her. His eyes were looking right into her soul, dissecting every piece of her with that piercing stare. 

 Her head was yanked back even further as he forced her to stare into her eyes, “Ari, look at how good I’m fucking you. Any nigga ever had you speechless before? I thought so. I’m so glad you decided to give yourself to me; baby I didn’t even have to try for fuck’s sake. Mmmmm you squeezing it so good just cum for me.” His mouth was so filthy that everytime he said something Ari felt herself on the verge of something life changing and then she came so hard she almost fell flat down on her face, but he kept her suspended with his arm clutching her stomach. 

 He was quite literally growling as he came inside of her. This Aaron was different from the man who had that childish smile, the man that was so curious about her different ideas, and the man so afraid of her that he got on his knees to please. No, this Aaron was angry, furious about how he had been betrayed that he could kill her right now. A silence hung heavy in the air of the room but the animals stirred outside just the same. Pulling himself out of her reluctantly, he got off of the bed with a devious smirk on his face. 

“From now on, that blackmail shit won’t work when you want to threaten me. A picture of me naked? Send it on any platform and I’ll be even more famous than I already am. You think I’m scared of you of all people? Got so cocky that you dragged a grown ass man back to a secluded house not even having the common sense to know that I could have overpowered you at any time.” There was a knowing in his voice and that knowledge sent a chill down Ari’s spine: everything had gone wrong in every inconceivable way. First of all, she had got more than what she had bargained for and there was a possibility that she would never leave her house alive again. 

“What can I do to make you forget about all of this? I-I… you can have anything in this house and all of my money I’m just fucking sorry about everything…Look, I always had this crush on you and I took it too far and I’m sorry. Please, don’t hurt me, I’m not even in my 30’s yet I’m just 25 years old and I haven’t even started my li-” Aaron busted out laughed as Ari pleaded for her life not caring about the tears running down her face or the way her voice trembled instead it gave him a sick satisfaction to have scared her so badly. 

“Ari, instead of running your mouth and spewing dumb shit out of it, come use it to suck my dick. You gonna start liking this shit and I got this hunch that you already do. What happened to the bold moves you pulled on me?” He shoved his dick in her mouth, choking her and Ari couldn’t say a word if she wanted to. The man had fucked the living daylights out of her and now he was fucking her mouth? Porn stars had this type of stamina. 

Ari tried to talk but her words came out as jumbled nonsense as he forced more of his length into her mouth. It was like he was trying to kill her with his dick and if it was possible he would have. “Ari, them damn lips feel so good around my dick you don’t even know… Mmmmm that’s it let daddy have his way with your mouth. Ohhh yes… gonna cum and you better not spit it out either.” Throat fucking was an understatement compared to what was happened to Ari it was like his dick was hitting the roof of her mouth and touching the back of her uvula. His balls slapping against her chin and she could only whimper as he groaned and came into her mouth. 

In a blur, she was on her bed again with him hovering over her like the antichrist himself with how formidable and evil he seemed. But, Ari could not believe that the man she wanted who she came to know as someone who seemed to be only into vanilla shit had carved her body out like this. And because she did not believe what was happening to her she decided to test his resolve: “what you gonna do now spank me? Fuck me? I don’t believe this shit you just putting on an act. Ha! Why I didn’t think of the shit sooner? In a moment, we’re just gonna walk away and act like we don’t know each other…” There was doubt evident in every word she said and he could see right through it. 

“Half of that shit you said was wrong, Ari but I am going to fuck and slap this ass so…” He flipped her over on her stomach and plunged into her pussy from behind and they both moaned from how tight Ari’s pussy was. His palm collided hard with Ari’s ass cheek mixing with the wet sounds of his dick sliding in and out of her pussy. It was a macabre symphony of flesh clapping against flesh and new sounds being brought out of each other’s chests that they didn’t even know they could make. 

He moans and reaches down to catch Ari’s lips in a dominating kiss, swallowing her moans as he continues his relentless assault on her pussy. Ari just babbled away incoherent nonsense from how good everything was beginning to feel. His dick was hitting spots inside of her that was making her brain go blank and she pushed against his chest but he just slapped her hand away. 

“Uh-uh, don’t make me stop fucking you. Tell daddy whose pussy this is…” Ari mewled as he slowed down only to push himself in deeper. “Fix that arch before I make this shit hurt…” He said while gripping her hips. She quickly did as he said while trying to think of what to say.

“This pussy yours daddy. Mmmm, hahhhh, all yours because you touch me so much better than I touch myself. You in so deep fuckkk.” Ari whimpered out every word as Aaron’s face glimmered with sadistic love for how he had corrupted her.

“This pussy is mine. You hear me? No other nigga gets to taste this, touch this, fuck this… I think I’m gon’ have to keep you locked in the bedroom, keep this pussy all to myself.” The deepness of his voice sent Ari over the edge, and she slammed her ass on his dick as she lost herself in complete and utter pleasure. Something warm felt like it was spewing out of her as he continued to thrust into her and her eyes rolled back. 

“Oh shit…I’ll be a good girl daddy just fuck me… yesss.” Aaron laughed as he took in the completely blown out face of Ari. Aaron pushed Ari on her back and said, “I know you’ll be a good girl because you not going outside again and if you escape I’ll fuck you up. Me? I don’t even gotta act to bring in money, I can just post pictures of my face and shit gets done. You? Probably lonely and you only got one friend out here so tell me why you need to leave.” Ari’s breathing came out in huffs as she tried to formulate an answer that would explain why she needed to leave her house and why everything was coming undone around her. 

“Please, let me go… Aaron. I know you don’t wanna hear what I gotta say but I think you’ll like this… Use my body however you want, hell, I’ll even delete the pictures! Don't do this to me...” Tears were rolling down her face again and fear seemed to be becoming her new normal even though she was only two days into his torture. But, isn’t this what she wanted? Ever since she started collecting enough stuff to ruin his private life, she was doing it to force him into her arms and now that she had been forced into his arms she didn’t know how to escape. 

Aaron smirked, getting off of the bed while staring at Ari with those stunning eyes of his, and said “this is how it’s gonna go: you’re gonna come with me to my house so I can get all of my things to live here with you for a while; when I get tired I’m dumping you in a lake somewhere; also, you better start prepping yourself from the moment you wake up to the very hour you go to bed because if I want it then I want it ready for me. Don’t look at me like that… you wanted me and now you got me. Love, how someone appears on social media is different from the real them, don't you know that? Guess you do now…” There was a slow drawl in his words, probably exhaustion finally settling into him, but it was apparent through his demands that Ari’s life would now be on someone else’s terms.

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

Taglist: @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @fairygoround @notapradagurl7 @secretlifeoofmarpessa @alonahh @fakxmbj @writingsbytee @blackpinup22 @nayaesworld @jniyaa @ovohanna24

[kaiyunsim]

all i want —

pairing : popular boy!jay x gn!reader

summary : your main objective is to gain the attention of the popular boy, park jongseong, and once you do some things don't go to plan.

warnings : angst, ANGST, like quite literally the littlest amount of fluff, college au, featuring heeseung and jake, huening kai from txt, yunah from illit, yunjin, chaewon, and sakura from le sserafim.

a/n : BACK TO DOING REQUESTS !! this was the modren au of the pierrot request (i hope it turned out like you liked anon!)

queueing : all i want - olivia rodrigo

[requested]

— wc : 3.9k — not proof read ! —

you don’t think you’re in love with jay park...

really, you don’t.

but there’s something about him that makes you pay attention. the way he walks through campus like he belongs everywhere, always greeted by someone, always flashing that effortless, lopsided grin that seems to make people forget whatever they were talking about before he arrived. he’s just that kind of person, the type everyone seems to like without him even trying.

and maybe that’s why you notice him.

you wouldn’t call it an obsession, not even close, but you do find yourself looking for him in crowded lecture halls, in the dining hall, at whatever random student event yunah drags you to. it’s not on purpose. not really...

“it’s a little on purpose,” kai says one afternoon, shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth as he gives you a knowing look.

yunah snickers beside him, chin propped up in her hand. “a lot on purpose, actually.”

you roll your eyes. “you guys are exaggerating.”

“sure,” yunah says, dragging out the word like she doesn’t believe you at all. “so you just happened to sit right in his line of sight at lunch yesterday?”

“it’s not my fault that’s where the only open seats were.”

kai snorts. “right. and you just accidentally wore your nicest jacket that day, too?”

you huff, turning your attention back to your food as heat crawls up your neck. okay, so maybe you put a little effort into your presence around jay. but can you be blamed? it’s not like you’re the only one who notices him. half the school probably has a crush on him, and why wouldn’t they? he’s good-looking, confident, and way too charming for his own good.

but unlike everyone else, you want him to notice you. so try and you make it happen.

it starts small, passing by him in the library and making a quick comment about whatever book he has in his hand. holding the door open for him when you both leave the same building. sitting just close enough in class that he might overhear you cracking a joke to yunah or kai, just in case he finds you funny.

and eventually, he does notice.

the first time jay actually acknowledges you beyond a passing glance, it’s in the middle of a group study session for one of your shared classes. the conversation shifts to a ridiculous debate over the best late-night snacks, and when you confidently declare that convenience store ramen at 2 a.m. is objectively the best, jay raises an eyebrow at you.

“that’s the most broke college student thing i’ve ever heard,” he says, but there’s amusement in his tone, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

you shrug. “i never claimed to be high-class.”

he laughs at that. a real laugh, not just the polite kind. and for the first time, his full attention is on you.

it feels like a win.

after that, it’s easier. jay doesn’t just glance past you anymore; he acknowledges you. he returns your passing comments with witty remarks of his own, sometimes even initiates conversation. he’s not overly warm, not the kind to suddenly become your best friend overnight, but you can tell he enjoys the back-and-forth. and that’s enough.

for now.

yunah, of course, is convinced this is all hilarious. “you’re playing a dangerous game,” she warns one evening as the two of you walk across campus. “this whole ‘subtly inserting yourself into his life’ thing? it’s a lot.”

“it’s not a lot,” you argue. “it’s casual.”

“right,” she says, dragging the word out again.

kai, when you recount the conversation to him later, just shakes his head. “i give it a month before you start actually falling for him.”

you scoff. “i am not falling for jay park.”

but kai just gives you a knowing look, and something about it makes you uneasy.

because if you’re being honest, completely honest, you’re not sure if he’s wrong.

you don’t expect jay to start texting you.

sure, he acknowledges you now. you exchange jokes in class, he actually meets your eyes when you speak, and sometimes... sometimes. he even leans in when you say something, like he actually cares about your words. but that’s different from texting.

so when his name pops up on your screen for the first time, you nearly drop your phone.

jay park: did you get the notes for today’s lecture?

it takes you way too long to process those six simple words, and even longer to figure out what to say back. because, sure, it’s a normal text, nothing special, but it’s jay. texting you. on purpose.

your fingers hover over the keyboard. do you play it cool? act casual? should you tease him about it? no, that’s too much. you settle on something neutral.

you: yeah, want me to send them?

the read receipt pops up almost instantly.

jay park: yeah, thanks. appreciate it.

you send a picture of your notes and lock your phone, setting it face down on your desk like that will stop you from overanalyzing the situation.

“you good?” yunah asks, raising an eyebrow at your suddenly frozen state.

kai, always observant, glances between you and your phone and immediately narrows his eyes. “no way,” he says slowly. “don’t tell me—”

“jay texted me,” you blurt out, then slap a hand over your mouth like you just confessed to a crime.

yunah’s eyes go wide. “shut up.”

kai looks like he’s waiting for a punchline. “you’re lying.”

you flip your phone over, showing them the screen, and instantly, yunah grabs your wrist to pull it closer while kai gapes at you.

“oh my god,” yunah breathes. “he has your number?”

“i—yeah?” you laugh, feeling a little dizzy. “i mean, i didn’t give it to him, but i guess he got it from someone.”

kai groans, leaning back in his chair. “this is it. this is how it starts.”

“how what starts?” you ask, even though you think you already know the answer.

“you, falling headfirst for this guy.”

you scoff, but the warmth in your chest betrays you. “it’s just a text.”

yunah smirks. “for now.”

—

the texts don’t stop.

it’s nothing excessive, mostly casual messages about class, sometimes the occasional comment about something that happened that day. but then it starts shifting.

jay sends you a meme once, completely unprompted. you stare at it for a full minute before sending back a laughing emoji, unsure of what reaction is expected.

jay park: thought you’d appreciate that one.

you: oh, so now you’re studying my sense of humor?

jay park: maybe. gotta keep up with you somehow.

and just like that, it starts to become something more.

it’s little things at first. he responds faster, starts teasing you more, even initiates conversations that aren’t about class. you notice how his friends start giving him looks when he talks to you, how heeseung nudges him in the ribs when he passes you in the hallway, how jake smirks every time jay lingers near you after class.

one night, you’re sitting in your dorm scrolling mindlessly when your phone buzzes.

jay park: we’re getting food. you in?

you blink at the message.

you: we?

jay park: me, heeseung, jake. maybe a couple others.

it takes you a second to process. jay park, who you’ve spent weeks trying to get to notice you, is inviting you out. voluntarily.

you don’t even hesitate before typing out a response.

you: where?

—

when you show up at the burger place jay mentioned, it’s easy to spot their table—mostly because jake is laughing way too loudly at something heeseung said.

jay catches sight of you first, raising an eyebrow. “didn’t think you’d actually come.”

you scoff, sliding into the open seat across from him. “why invite me if you thought i wouldn’t?”

he shrugs, smirking. “figured i’d give you a chance to prove you’re cool enough to hang with us.”

“and if i’m not?”

“then we’ll kick you out, obviously.”

heeseung snorts. “nah, you’re fine. we need someone to humble jay every now and then.”

“i don’t need humbling,” jay says, rolling his eyes.

jake just grins. “sure, man.”

the night is surprisingly easy. conversation flowing effortlessly, laughter coming naturally. you don’t miss the way jay leans back in his seat, arms crossed as he watches you banter with his friends, like he’s assessing you. but he doesn’t seem bored. if anything, he looks amused.

and when the night ends, as you’re heading back to your dorm, your phone vibrates again.

jay park: not bad. you might actually survive in our group.

you bite back a smile.

you: gee, thanks for the approval.

you don’t think too hard about the fact that jay park, who could easily ignore you, who used to barely acknowledge you, now texts you first. now invites you out. now looks at you like you’re someone worth paying attention to.

but maybe, just maybe, you should.

you don’t hesitate when jay invites you to the party.

it’s casual. the way he mentions it, the way he shrugs like it’s no big deal. but the moment he says, you should come, there’s no question about whether or not you’ll be there. you tell yunah and kai immediately, mostly so they can’t talk you out of it.

"this is a terrible idea," kai groans as you drag him toward the house, music already thudding through the walls.

"but we're already here, so you have no choice," you grin, nudging him forward.

yunah, always up for chaos, just laughs. "it's one party, kai. let them live a little."

"yeah, yeah," kai sighs. "just don’t say i didn’t warn you."

you roll your eyes but don’t say anything. because tonight—you know tonight is going to be different and it starts off exactly how you want it to.

jay finds you fast, like he was waiting. he’s got that easy grin, a drink in hand, eyes bright under the dim lighting.

"look who actually showed up," he says, bumping his shoulder against yours.

"what, you didn’t think i would?"

he tilts his head, considering. "nah. i figured you'd follow me anywhere at this point."

you scoff, shoving him lightly. "you're delusional."

he just laughs.

but the thing is... he doesn’t leave your side.

he finds ways to stay close, to lean in when he talks, to rest an arm on the couch behind you like it’s second nature. every little thing. every glance, every smirk, every low-spoken joke, feels intentional. like he’s choosing to focus on you.

yunah shoots you a look from across the room, eyebrow raised, like shes saying 'oh, so we’re winning now?'

you grin, triumphant. maybe you are.

and then the door opens, and everything changes.

you don’t see her at first. but you feel it. the shift in energy, the way jay stiffens slightly beside you. you follow his gaze, and there she is.

huh yunjin.

she steps in like she belongs here, and maybe she does. kura and chaewon are right beside her, laughing at something she says. she’s glowing, not literally, but she might as well be, because suddenly, it feels like she’s the brightest thing in the room.

jay notices. of course he does.

but it’s how he notices that gets you.

his body shifts, attention snapping to her completely. he doesn’t call out to her or wave her over. he just watches, eyes sharp, focused. you recognize it instantly. it’s the same way you’ve been looking at him.

"ah, shit," kai mutters under his breath, low enough that only you hear.

yunah catches it too. her expression hardens slightly, but she doesn’t say anything.

you swallow down whatever weird feeling creeps up your throat. "it’s fine," you say, even though no one asked.

because it is fine. yunjin doesn’t even notice jay yet. she’s too busy greeting people, laughing with her friends, tossing her hair over her shoulder like she’s in a movie. she’s effortless. natural.

jay shifts beside you, sitting up a little straighter, like he’s bracing himself.

and then, as if the universe is playing a joke on you, she looks over and jay moves before you can process it.

he doesn’t leave entirely, doesn’t abandon you completely, but he leans forward, elbows on his knees, suddenly more present. more intentional. his usual laid-back smirk fades into something more composed, like he actually cares about the impression he’s making.

it’s subtle, but it’s there. and you notice.

you always notice.

because it’s different from how he is with you.

yunah squeezes your wrist under the table. you barely realize you’ve gone quiet.

you breathe in, slow. force yourself to smile.

"i need another drink," you mutter.

kai frowns. "you good?"

"yeah," you say quickly, already standing up. "i’m fine."

but the thing is, you’re not so sure anymore.

and the next thing you know, you wake up with a headache and the vague memory of kai shoving water into your hands last night, telling you to drink this before you pass out on my couch.

turns out, you did pass out on his couch.

the ceiling above you is unfamiliar, but the weight of a blanket over your shoulders and the distant sound of yunah humming in the kitchen reminds you where you are. kai's apartment. safe.

your head is pounding. maybe you drank a little too much last night. maybe you just needed an excuse to forget the way jay looked at yunjin like she was the only person in the room.

kai walks past the couch, arms crossed, unimpressed. "so, you really wanna do this to yourself?"

you groan, pulling the blanket over your face. "what are you talking about?"

"you know exactly what i’m talking about," he deadpans.

yunah walks in, placing a bottle of water and a slice of toast on the coffee table. "you were quiet the whole walk home. that’s never a good sign."

you peek out from under the blanket, blinking at them. "i was tired."

"you were thinking," yunah corrects. "about him."

you don't answer, but the way you hesitate says enough. yunah and kai share a glance, then sigh at the same time.

"this is bad," kai mutters.

"this is really bad," yunah agrees.

you sit up slowly, stretching out your sore limbs. "guys, it’s not that deep."

kai gives you a look. "not that deep? he spent the whole night staring at someone else while you were right there. and you still think it’s not that deep?"

you shrug, even though the memory stings. "i never expected anything from him."

"that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck," yunah says gently.

you don’t answer. because what are you supposed to say?

yeah, it sucks. yeah, i noticed the way he changed when she walked in. yeah, i feel like an idiot.

instead, you just take the water bottle and sip slowly.

—

the thing is, jay doesn’t ignore you after the party. if anything, he starts texting more.

but the texts aren’t what you expect.

hey, do you know where yunjin usually gets coffee? i feel like she mentioned a favorite café before. any idea what it is? does she have a type? just wondering lol.

the first time it happens, you stare at your phone for a long time before answering.

the second time, you laugh to yourself, because of course this is how it’s going to go.

the third time, you almost don’t respond. but you do.

because if this is what it takes to stay in his orbit a little longer, isn’t it worth it?

you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. you tell yourself this was never supposed to be serious. you tell yourself it’s fine.

so you text him back. you tell him what you know. you play along.

you pretend it doesn’t hurt.

—

"this is pathetic," kai says.

you scowl at him over your laptop. "you’re dramatic."

"no, you’re dramatic," he argues, pointing at your phone. "you’re literally feeding him intel on another girl."

yunah sighs, flopping onto the couch beside you. "kai’s right. he’s using you."

"it’s not that serious," you mumble, pretending to focus on your screen.

"then why do you look like you wanna throw your phone into the sun every time he texts?"

you don’t have an answer for that.

yunah reaches for your phone, and you yank it out of reach. she glares. "just admit it. this sucks. he sucks. and you’re letting it happen."

"it’s not like i thought this would go anywhere," you mutter, picking at the corner of your laptop.

kai softens. "yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay to let yourself get hurt."

yunah nudges your shoulder. "you deserve better than this, you know?"

you force a smile. "i know."

but deep down, something bitter curls in your chest. because maybe you don’t.

the first time you notice it, you don’t think much of it.

jay’s replies come slower, a little shorter. instead of texting you back immediately, minutes stretch into hours. sometimes, he doesn’t respond at all.

it’s fine. you’re not obsessed with him or anything. you have your own life, your own friends. it’s not like you’re waiting by your phone.

but then it happens again. and again.

soon, the texts stop altogether.

"just say it," you sigh, stirring your iced coffee with the straw.

yunah doesn’t even pretend to be subtle. "he’s ghosting you."

kai, always a little softer, presses his lips together. "maybe not ghosting. just… phasing out?"

"wow, that makes it sooo much better," you roll your eyes.

kai shrugs. "i’m just saying, he’s not the type to cut people off all at once. he’s probably just—"

"getting closer to yunjin," yunah finishes, rolling her eyes. "as if we didn’t all see that coming."

you glance down at your phone. still nothing.

you shouldn’t care this much. you really shouldn’t.

"are you gonna text him?" kai asks.

"why would i?"

"because you obviously want to," yunah says, propping her chin in her palm.

you hesitate. you could text him. ask if things are still cool. act like you’re totally unbothered, like you haven’t noticed the way he’s been pulling away.

but would it even matter?

the things is... eventually, you give in.

you : are we still cool?

the message sits there, unread, for a while. long enough for you to regret sending it.

jay park : of course. just been busy.

busy.

you stare at the words, feeling something uneasy settle in your stomach.

maybe that’s true. maybe you’re overthinking. maybe he really has just been busy.

but a part of you knows better.

—

you see him at a party a few nights later.

he’s not alone.

yunjin is next to him, laughing, her hand brushing against his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. kura and chaewon are there too, but you barely notice them. all you can see is jay. how he leans in when yunjin speaks, how he looks at her like she’s interesting, like he actually wants to be there.

like the way he never looked at you.

"busy, huh?" yunah mutters beside you, sipping her drink.

kai watches you carefully. "we can leave if you want."

"i don’t care," you say, forcing a smile. "it’s whatever."

but the drink in your hand feels heavier than it should.

and you tell yourself you won’t text him. kai and yunah would kill you if they knew you were even thinking about it.

but after days of nothing,no accidental run-ins, no random messages, not even a halfhearted like on your instagram stories, you cave.

you don’t overthink it. you just type and hit send before you can regret it.

you : hey, been a while.

it’s casual. easy. something a normal, unbothered person would send.

you wait. five minutes. ten. an hour.

then—

he reads it.

and then—

nothing.

no reply. no reaction. just silence.

—

you stare at your phone, blinking at the message screen like if you look long enough, maybe it’ll change. maybe he’ll say sorry, just saw this or been meaning to text you.

maybe he’ll say something but the hours keep stretching, and your phone stays quiet.

your throat tightens. you don’t cry. you don’t even feel angry, not at first.

just... hollow.

because this is it. the final confirmation.

you weren’t anything to him. just a convenient distraction. a means to an end.

the next time you see him, you almost don’t recognize him.

he’s sitting outside the student center, laughing at something yunjin says. his arm is draped over the back of the bench she’s sitting on, close but not quite touching. heeseung and jake are there too, but they don’t seem to notice you standing a few feet away, gripping your coffee cup a little too tight.

jay doesn’t notice either.

doesn’t glance your way, doesn’t react. it’s like you’re invisible.

like you were never there at all.

—

“he’s an asshole.”

kai is pacing your dorm room, voice sharp with irritation. yunah sits cross-legged on your bed, scrolling on her phone, but you can tell she’s only half paying attention to whatever’s on the screen. she’s been sneaking glances at you all night, eyes careful, like she’s waiting for you to break.

but you don’t.

“he’s not an asshole,” you mumble instead, leaning back against the wall. “he just… lost interest.”

kai stops mid-step. “lost interest? you’re acting like he was interested in the first place.”

yunah shoots him a look. “kai.”

“no, really.” he throws up his hands. “we all told you this would happen. you knew this would happen.”

you let out a breath, staring at the ceiling. “yeah. i did.”

kai falters, like he wasn’t expecting you to agree. “so why does it still bother you?”

yunah elbows him. “subtle.”

but he’s right. it does bother you. more than you want to admit.

because it’s not just that jay cut you off. it’s how he did it. no explanation. no confrontation. just silence, like you never mattered enough to even deserve a proper goodbye.

like you were always disposable.

—

the following week, you try to move on.

yunah drags you to the campus café, pulling you into conversations about professors and weekend plans. kai forces you into game night at his dorm, playing aggressively just to get a reaction out of you.

and for a while, it works.

you laugh. you focus on other things. you tell yourself you don’t care anymore.

then you see him again.

it’s late, and you’re leaving the library, rubbing at your tired eyes when a familiar voice reaches your ears.

jay.

he’s walking ahead of you, talking to yunjin, their steps in sync. the sight of them makes something twist in your stomach, but you ignore it. you don’t have the energy for this tonight.

but then she laughs at something he says, and he turns to her with that same easy smile, the one he used to give you.

and something inside you snaps.

you don’t even know why, but you take your phone out and open your messages. your last text is still there, still unanswered. for a second, you think about deleting it. erasing any evidence of your own stupidity.

but instead, you just type out one more message.

got your answer loud and clear.

then, before you can think twice, you hit send.

and block his number.

~

ty for reading and enjoying !

enha taglist :

perm taglist : @s0shroe

[for-your-modesty-dude]

As Long As You're There

A/N: AHHHHHHHH This is SO intimidating. My first ever fic posted. I don't feel like it's my best work, but if I don't post this now, I'm going to chicken out, and never write anything ever again. I hope you don't hate it, since I refuse to have my first piece beta read for fear of chickening out from that, too. So... no beta, we die like Jason. Feedback appreciated, but please be nice, LOL. I'm sensitive and very new to this. Love you all! - Hy

Warnings: Reader uses she/her pronouns, not beta read, tenses might jump around (i got nervy), generally nervous author, was supposed to be angst/fluff but I honestly don't know how to describe this one, folks

Synopsis: Eddie is sure Chrissy Cunningham is the girl for him. What happens when he is shown she's not?

It is undeniable. Eddie Munson thinks he likes Chrissy Cunningham - especially after that drug deal before the championship game back in high school. He doesn't really, though. Deep down, what it really boils down to is that he craves to be known and liked by the people who torment him. He sees kindness in her, and thinks that maybe - just maybe - if Chrissy can see past the flaws, even a girl like her could come to have feelings for a guy like him. After all, he's always been funny, charming, and larger-than-life. Sure, he talks a lot, he goes on emotional rants, and always has something to tease his friends about. And okay, maybe he's a little bossy. But at the end of the day, he's just a guy with a lot of affection to give and not enough friends to give it to. He tries, he does, to keep his temper tamed and attitude in check, but it's hard for someone with a past like his. He's a little angry at everything. He wants to get out of Hawkins, sure. But most of all, he just wishes he could feel normal. He likes being different, likes being who he is. But he doesn't like what comes with it. The jeering, the nasty looks, the fear - it's all so stupid. Because despite all of his attitude and temper and hardened look, Eddie Munson is a complete dork with a heart of gold. After all, the jocks and preps don't have a care in the world to take those who look like they've got no one and give them a place and a group to be a part of. No, only Eddie does that. He's done it since he was young, and even now, in his mid-twenties and having completed his Associate's degree to make his old man proud (the one who cared for him, not the one who left him), he still finds himself constantly looking out for people who may need a group. All the while, he keeps one eye open in search of Chrissy Cunningham - the girl who went off to college, got her fancy Bachelor's degree, and then, for some reason entirely unknown to Eddie, returned to her hometown to teach at the very same high school they'd both graduated from.

Eddie, meanwhile, had been stuck working at the auto shop since he'd graduated. Wayne had sat him down and insisted he needed to find real work, lest he get arrested for his extracurricular activities. The conversation, of course, had been prompted by Wayne finding a stash of pills his nephew had hidden (and then forgotten) in the bread box. He hadn't been happy, and had told Eddie he would not be going down for 'having them damn pills in my home.' Eddie had been a little embarrassed, but agreed to get a real job- so he'd chosen the shop. Luckily for him, it was in a perfect spot. It was on the street Chrissy Cunningham passed every morning on her drive to school, and every afternoon on her drive home. In the spring through the fall, she even walked most days - which gave Eddie the chance to say hello. He always tried to be as grease-free as he could, but some stains really just stuck, and he had a habit of wiping his face after changing the oil in his customers' cars... it didn't go well for him in the looks department. 

What Chrissy thought of it, no one was the wiser. None of Eddie's friends really interacted with her. Half the kids were still off to college, Dustin being the furthest and at an Ivy League, so no one could spy or find information. Sure, El was still around, choosing to go to the local college with Max, but they definitely didn't speak to Chrissy. Mike, Will, and Lucas had their own college woes. And Steve and Robin... well, they'd gotten through community college too, eventually, but they stayed within their comfort zone. They didn't make new friends, and they certainly didn't hang out with the likes of Chrissy Cunningham. Nancy and Jonathan had done what they'd always said they'd do - they took the settlement money from the government and went to NYU together, staying in New York City to work at the Times, as journalist and photographer, respectively.

All of these things meant that Eddie was on his own. Except, of course, for his best friend. One of the craziest things about community college to him was that he met people from other towns. Imagine his shock when he met a girl there from a small town not 45 minutes away from Hawkins, studying music history for fun. He was a lover of music, sure, but he was taking the class for the sake of his liberal arts degree. This girl? She was finishing her Bachelor's at the local university and taking courses for fun at the local college. He'd found her fascinating, to say the least. It helped that she was, like him, a little different from the rest. They had similar (though not quite identical) music tastes, and fashion that made their conservative towns uncomfortable. It sparked an instant bond. He'd invited this girl out to Hawkins once, and they'd never looked back. They'd become inseparable. She'd moved out to Hawkins, somehow a nicer town than her own, especially as its commerce grew, and helped Eddie out of his slump. When Wayne had given him that talk, it was Eddie's new best friend who'd helped him nail the interview at the auto shop. It was she who helped him find his new apartment (conveniently a 5 minute walk away from her own), and it was she who listened as he gushed about good ol' Chrissy Cunningham.

So here you were, once again seated at the register at your job, listening to Eddie go on about Chrissy's outfit that day on her walk home from teaching at the school. Did it bother you? Absolutely not. There was no reason for it to bother you. He was just a friend. Your best friend. But... then why did your stomach sink whenever he brought her up? Why did your chest feel tight? Why did it feel hard to smile when he laughed about how cute she was when she'd dropped her purse, or whatever book she was carrying? Why did you-

The ringing of the bell above the door pulled you out of your spiral, if for but a moment. You looked up, never more grateful in your life than to see the likes of Steve Harrington, who'd been introduced to you early on in your friendship with Eddie. He was a good friend of yours now, and often came to visit you at work, as with the others who’d stayed behind, when they had the time. Often, he wanted to talk about the latest gossip to someone who wasn't Robin (after all, he couldn't very well tell Robin half of the things he experienced, because she was usually there to experience it with him). He gave Eddie a good, friendly slap on the back as he approached the counter, leaning his forearms on the counter and leaning forward to greet you. Eddie made a face, annoyed at having been interrupted, but not annoyed enough to voice it.

"Hiya, Stevie," you greeted him with a smile, eyes communicating your relief at his arrival.

"Hey!” He responded brightly, but your relief was short-lived, as Steve took this opportunity to smile suspiciously sweetly at you, "so, any chance you want to take my shift later?"

Your eyes narrowed at him, "so that's why you're here? To ask for a favor? Even though you still owe me for the last shift I covered?" He had the decency to look at least a little apologetic about that, and nodded.

"I swear I'll pay you back for both. But... remember that girl who's been coming in every week to see me? I ran into her today while getting lunch, and she actually agreed to a date tonight. I swear, I'll more than make it up to you if you just please help me out today. I'll beg, do you want me to beg?"

You put your hands up in surrender, "woah, okay. No need to tarnish your dignity like that. I'm good, I'll stay. It's not like I have plans anyway, so one of us might as well get a date. God knows we could both use the romantic luck," you rest your chin on your hand with a huff, and he thanks you about seven times before running back out, leaving just you and Eddie once again (and, well, the three customers browsing the aisles of the store).

"So..." Eddie started, trying to keep the conversation from awkwardness. "No luck on the dating front, then?"

You couldn't help but to shoot him a dirty look, before you rolled your eyes and sighed. "No. There's no- anyone in this damn town. No one interested, and no one interesting. Maybe I need to expand my horizons and take a road trip out to Indie," you huffed. Eddie shrugged, turning to lean his back on the counter as he continued chatting with you, picking at his nails all the while.

"I think I might ask Chrissy to go out tomorrow night. Think she'll say yes?" For some reason, the fact that your misery led to him talking about his hopeful date sparked anger in you, but you didn't let it show. Did you think Chrissy would go out with him? Maybe. She was so sweet, you didn't think she had any reason to say no. She'd give him a shot, at least. But that was the trouble, wasn't it? If she gave him a shot, she'd see how wonderful he was. And then, maybe, you'd lose him for good. Was that something you were cool with? It wasn't like you were together. It wasn't like he'd ever looked at you the way he looks at her. It wasn't like you were in love with him... was it? 

That realization had you smacking your forehead lightly against the countertop behind the register, and Eddie turned around to look at you with a puzzled expression. "You good over there?"

You just managed a frustrated groan and the excuse, "just commiserating that everyone else has successful romantic lives and I'm stuck behind this register. Of course she'll say yes, she's too sweet to reject you, and you're awesome. Anyone who doesn't see my best friend's potential as a boyfriend is stupid and also rude." You finally looked up at him with what you hoped was a convincing smile. He couldn't help his own grin at that, feeling proud.

"It's totally settled, then. I'm going to ask her. What do you think she'll say to going to the new diner that opened up where Benny's old place was?" He asked, and you had to plaster on that fake smile again.

"Eddie, as long as you're there, she'll have a great time. Trust me." At least, it was true for you. If Eddie was present, you knew you’d have a great time. At least, most of the time. When he gushed about Chrissy, you had… less of a good time. But your compliment seemed to work, because he lit up like a christmas tree. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he gave you a beaming sort of smile, leaning over the counter to kiss your cheek. “I think I’m gonna go see if I can catch her on her lunch break. I’ll call you if it goes well!” He turned tail and ran, clearly excited. Luckily, he was gone so fast that he missed the way you deflated entirely. 

You were happy for him, and would continue to be if he managed to date Chrissy. But it didn’t change that you’d be jealous of her. A relationship - especially with Eddie - was time-consuming and all-encompassing. He would spend his free time with her, and you’d be left behind. It was natural, after all. What girl would want her boyfriend hanging out with another girl one on one? The thoughts plagued you, until a customer called into the shop asking about whether a certain book was in stock or not. After that, your day managed to go by a little quicker. 

You didn’t realize how late it had gotten until you were reading a book behind the counter and heard the bell ring as someone entered the store. Eddie slammed his hands down on the counter with a big grin, “guess what?” You peered up at him over your book and your heart sank, but you kept your expression clear for him.

“Hm… you’re a huge nerd?” You joked, and he made a face in response. 

“She said yes! She’s actually going on a date with me!” His eyes were bright and excited. “She said she’s cool with diner food, so… tomorrow night, I’ve got a hot date with Chrissy Cunningham. Will you help me choose what to wear?” And he just looked so hopeful, that you couldn’t possibly say no to him. So you agreed, and he sat around with you until the end of your shift. 

You wound up going back to his place that night, to help him in his search for an outfit. He even threw it in the wash so that he could smell good for his date. That night when you went to bed, you couldn’t help but to stare up at the ceiling and seethe for a few minutes, before letting sleep overtake you. Your dreams were the same as they always were - some shenanigans you got into with Eddie. Only tonight they held a different meaning, and when you woke up you were forced to reconcile with the information that was news even to you:

You were in love with your best friend. 

You went into your shift early that morning, stopping for coffee at your favorite place before starting your day at the store. You were able to distract yourself then, as Saturdays were particularly busy days for book-buyers. You hadn’t thought about your revelation since you’d had it. You had refused to acknowledge it, in fact. Eddie was your best friend. And he was going on a date with Chrissy Cunningham tonight. There was absolutely no point in thinking any more about potential feelings that may or may not exist. So you spent the day working, and maybe pouting. A couple of your friends stopped by to say hi throughout the day, but noticed your demeanor and ended up just letting you mope. 

Before his date, Eddie stopped by your job - and God, did it hurt. He looked so handsome. His curls were freshly washed and styled, his leather jacket hanging off of him like it was made for him, and his freshly washed jeans making him look more cleaned up than ever. When he opened up his jacket, he was proud to show off the button-up you’d helped him choose. ‘Dressy enough to be on a date, dressed down enough for jeans’ was what you’d told him. And his usual worn combat boots looked - almost good as new. When you asked about those, he was proud to say he’d spent his morning cleaning them with carpet cleaner and a toothbrush. Your heart ached that he’d never put that much effort in for you, not in that way. 

Before he could leave, you approached him to fix his collar and a stray curl, making sure he looked his absolute best. You refused to meet his eyes for your own sanity, and if he noticed, he didn’t comment. He just let you work your magic, and when you finally stepped back, you gave him your most convincing smile, and wished him well. “Call me if you need anything at all. I’ll be home tonight, and tomorrow morning. I want to hear all about it,” lie. “She’s going to have a great time, not a doubt in my mind,” truth. “I’ll be rooting for you,” lie. “You’re gonna do great,” truth.

He smiled proudly, and thanked you before giving you a big hug. The smell of his good cologne (only brought out for funerals and weddings) threw you for a loop, and nearly strangled you, but you managed to squeeze him back. When he ran out with a quick “love ya!” you just fell back into your seat behind the counter for the last hour of your shift. 

If you had any idea what was going on in Eddie’s head…

He’d only stopped by because he figured he should share in this exciting moment with his best friend. But something about your excitement had him feeling a little odd about the whole thing. And then you’d come up to him to help him straighten his shirt and fix his hair and you just wouldn’t look at him. He couldn’t understand why, but honestly, he was too focused on the fact that you were wearing your favorite perfume that day. He could tell you’d washed your hair that morning, too, because he caught a whiff of the shampoo you so loved. So when you didn’t look up and meet his eyes, he had to push down a weird feeling of disappointment. But he’d hugged you goodbye and you’d wished him luck, and that was that. 

Or so he’d thought. He showed up to Chrissy’s to pick her up, a cute little townhouse near the center of town, and did all the gentlemanly things he was supposed to do. He’d brought her a small bouquet of daisies, and walked her to the car and opened her door for her - it was all pretty textbook. She smiled and laughed during the drive, and it had Eddie feeling like he was already on the right track with this girl. 

Things did take a turn, though, when they actually got to talking after they’d ordered their meals. Because it would seem that Chrissy knew him better than he ever imagined she would. 

“Can I ask you a question?” She’d asked him, hands folded in front of her as she leaned close in curiosity. 

“Shoot,” he’d leaned back against the back of his seat, smiling. 

“I know you mentioned yesterday that you’ve had a crush on me for years, and I found that so sweet of you, Eddie, but… aren’t you in love with - well… you know…” She didn’t say your name, but only because it felt a little major to bring up your name if he hadn’t considered it. But he blinked at her, puzzled, and she realized she had no choice. So she finished her question with your name, which made Eddie’s eyes go comically large. 

“Sorry, what?” Was all he managed. His eyebrows slowly rose to his hairline, when she gave him a shy smile. 

“Eddie… you hear yourself when you talk about her, don’t you?” She asked, a soft giggle in her voice. “I’m flattered, I am. And I think you’re really amazing, and would love to date you. But only if I thought you actually liked me. I’m not accusing you of lying, I just don’t think you realize just how you sound.”

Eddie was not a man often brought to speechlessness, but Chrissy’s question stopped him dead in his tracks. You? That wasn’t possible. You were his best friend. Comfortably listed in the “friends” category in his brain… or were you? Chrissy, sweet Chrissy, pointed behind him to the entrance, and said “oh, I guess her shift must have ended! She’s here now with someone!”

The speed at which Eddie whipped around to look was nearly breakneck. When he saw you were, in fact, not there, he turned back to Chrissy with a blush and an embarrassed look in his eye. She just gave him that warm smile and sweet giggle, “I’m sorry, Eddie. But that’s not something someone does for just a best friend. Have you ever thought about that?”

He took a moment to rewind and think about his conversation on the drive here. Admittedly, he’d told Chrissy a lot of stories about you. He started by telling her all about how he would gush to you about his crush on her, but then devolved into just telling her about the times you’d hung out, and the fun things you’d done together. When she’d mentioned a restaurant or fun activity, he’d talk about a time you’d discussed the same with him. So, okay, maybe he talked about you a lot. And sure, he had thought about how much he preferred your perfume over Chrissy’s when he’d picked her up at her place, but that didn’t mean anything, did it?

And then he thought about how he’d felt so off when you hadn’t met his eyes when fixing his date night outfit. He’d never voice that one out loud to Chrissy, but he’d wanted you to look up at him and smile, and see how handsome he looked. He’d tried hard. The more he thought about it, the bigger hole he felt he dug himself. 

He blinked at her and groaned, burying his face in his hands in shame. “Shit. I think I’m in love with my best friend.” 

Chrissy, to her credit, took it so sweetly. She giggled and just encouraged him, telling him he should tell you and get it out in the open. Eddie, however, was so afraid. Afraid he would be wrong about the whole thing and you wouldn’t be interested in him in return. It didn’t matter, in the end, because his date (and now friend) was rather persuasive, and convinced him to do it as soon as he saw you next. And before he knew it, he was paying for their date, and driving her home. He liked being friends with Chrissy, he realized, and didn’t exactly desire any more than that. He’d always wanted her to like him, and now he knew she did - in a more important way than romance. She liked him for who he was, and wanted him to be happy. She wanted to be his friend. 

As soon as he dropped her off, she gave him a warning look and told him not to stray from his plan. It would work, and you’d be together in no time. He just thanked her and got back into his truck, driving home. His autopilot must have broken, however, because next thing he knew, he was pulling into the parking lot at your apartment. He sat there and stared at your door, the automatic light coming on and making his heart race. When he looked up, he saw the lights in your apartment were still on, signalling that you hadn’t quite gone to bed just yet. With his last hope of an excuse entirely extinguished, he got out of his car and stood at your front door for a few moments. Luckily, since you lived on the second floor, he got a minute to breathe before you saw him lingering at the door and freaked out about a stranger. So he took a chance, breathed, and did his special knock. 

You had been wallowing in self-pity all night, watching your favorite romcoms and snacking on your favorite chips and dip combo. Anything to try and forget about the realization that you were in love with Eddie. It was the worst possible timing, really. After all, he’d been hopelessly single for so long. You had to realize the day he wanted to ask his longtime crush on a date? You spent a long while beating yourself up about that, but eventually accepted your fate and tried to think about literally anything else. Hence, movies and snacks. You’d even tried to pick up a book at one point, but you realized that even that had a romantic plot, and ended up throwing it onto your bed and returning to the movies. At least romantic comedies had comedy. You’d even cried during one of your all-time favorites, which was infuriating - you could hear Eddie’s teasing voice in your head about how crying over a dumb boy was so not metal. If only he knew. So naturally, when his signature knock came from your front door, you were puzzled. 

You descended the stairs to the front door with your brows drawn together in confusion, opening the door in your pjs - soft pajama pants and a hellfire t-shirt you’d stolen from Eddie years prior. He was standing there, hands stuffed in his pockets as he stared at the apartment number next to your door. “Uh… hi? Shouldn’t you be on your date right now?” You asked, but opened the door further for him to enter. He shrugged and toed his boots off before heading up the stairs, leaving you to lock up behind him and follow - more confused than ever. “Eddie, is everything okay?”

He fell onto your couch and pulled the bowl of chips onto his lap, putting a chip in his mouth just to avoid answering the question. But you were too stubborn, standing in front of him with your hands on your hips. “Edward. What the hell?” He finally looked up at you with his big brown eyes at that, and had the decency to look a little shy. 

“‘M not in love with Chris,” he mumbled with his mouth full. You didn’t quite understand (or, you thought you didn’t) so you made a face at him, and he waited until his mouth was no longer full to repeat “I’m not in love with Chris. She’s- great. But I’m not in love with her.”

Your self-pity melted away for a moment at his ridiculousness, “Eddie, you’ve been on one date. You’re not necessarily going to fall in love over burgers, dude.” You looked at him like he was only slightly insane, which he appreciated. 

“Yeah, no, I know that,” he tugged at a strand of his hair. “I know that. I just… I am in love, y’know? Just- not with Chrissy.” And if that doesn’t confuse you even further. Your chest tightens for a moment, but he’s not making any sense, and you really just need him to stop being so cryptic. 

“Honestly, Ed, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Can you please just tell me what’s going on?” You sat next to him, facing him with your legs criss-cross. He refused to turn and face you, just setting the bowl of chips on the coffee table and staring down at his lap, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. You stared at him expectantly for a moment, and when he stayed quiet, you lightly punched his arm. “Speak, nerd.”

“Hey,” he finally pouted at you, rubbing his arm as if you’d punched him much harder. “I dunno! Chrissy had some enlightening shit to tell me. Apparently she knows me better than I thought she did. Actually, better than I know me. Which was super weird, by the way. I didn’t like feeling so exposed. But uh… She just opened my eyes. Turns out, I’ve been in love with someone for, like, a stupid long time.” When he stopped there, you almost punched him again, for leaving you on such a cliffhanger. He put his hands up in defense when he noticed. “Hey! Okay! I’m talking!”

He took a deep breath, “so, you won’t totally hate me for this, will you?” He felt he had to ask, and you made another face at him. 

“I mean, depends on who you’re in love with. If you have really bad taste, then yeah. I might,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood a bit. He gave you his most unimpressed stare and rolled his eyes, before tugging at his hair again, a nervous habit you found annoyingly cute. 

“Uh- well. You, actually,” he said simply, with a nervous, almost self-deprecating chuckle. You blinked at him for a moment. 

“I’m sorry, me? Me what?” You asked, the possibility simply not computing in your mind. 

“You. I’m in love with you. Apparently been in love with you for awhile. Just didn’t notice because my head was too far up my own ass,” he said, finally meeting your eyes again, this time looking more sincere than he had in awhile. But you were skeptical, and afraid of having your feelings hurt. 

“Eddie, where is this coming from? You’ve always had feelings for Chrissy. It was like, a fact, at this point. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Eddie Munson has a crush on Chrissy Cunningham. You don’t like me, you never have. Not- like that,” you told him, a little insecure. He didn’t really seem to have an answer except to lean over and kiss your cheek, his own cheeks bright red. Your eyes went wide and you stared at him for a moment, fighting your own thoughts. You stared at each other, equally wide-eyed, until you finally blurted out “I’m in love with you too. And it’s so weird because I never knew I felt this way until yesterday, and I finally understood why it irked me so much when you wouldn’t shut up about Chrissy.”

The admission caught you both off guard, and neither of you really knew how to respond. Eddie let out a curse under his breath before leaning in and capturing your lips in a hasty kiss, just quick and short but enough to have both of your hearts racing. You let out a squeak, and just stared at him again, before throwing your arms around him to hug him close, enjoying the smell of his shampoo, and his good cologne. You had no idea where this would take you, or if it would last. All you knew was that as long as he was there, you’d be just fine.  As it turned out, Eddie Munson does not like Chrissy Cunningham. At least, not in the way he thought he did. He liked her as a friend, sure. But his real feelings could be found around the one person who’d been by his side since his first day of his music history class at the local community college. The girl whose nerd matched his, the girl who never needed him to be anything except what he was. A girl to whom he wasn’t too much, or not enough. Instead, he was just enough. Just loud enough, just obnoxious enough, just bossy enough, just funny enough, just clingy enough, just affectionate enough. And now that he had her for real, he would never ever let go.

[women-in-ssports]

FOREVER AND A DAY

Chapter 8 | Unspoken

The shrill sound of Aubrey’s voice cut through the air during basketball practice, as she counted again for what felt like the hundredth time. Azzi was starting to feel like she might lose her mind. Aubrey's voice, sharp and unrelenting, echoed in her head like an alarm that wouldn’t stop ringing.

“That’s 32!” Aubrey called out, eyeing Azzi with a knowing smile.

Azzi, already exhausted from running drills and working on defense strategies, furrowed her brow. “What do you mean, 32?”

“Flirting,” Aubrey added, almost too casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Azzi froze for a moment, trying to force the blood from rushing to her face. Flirting? Was she really doing that? She glanced over at Paige, who was on the other side of the court, chatting with Nika. But then it hit her—those moments weren’t in her head. Those subtle touches when they passed each other, the lingering glances, the way they talked and laughed just a little too closely.

“Shut up, Aubrey,” Azzi muttered, trying to sound nonchalant, even though her heart rate was suddenly offbeat.

Aubrey shrugged, smirking as she picked up her basketball again. “You know it’s obvious, right? I mean, come on. You two are practically joined at the hip these days.”

Azzi gritted her teeth but didn’t respond. She focused on her feet, moving into position for the next drill. There was a strange feeling settling in her chest—something between excitement and dread, like the edge of a cliff that you were about to fall off of, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to.

PARTY

That night, the team attended a huge house party at Ethan’s place, one of the most popular spots for everyone in their social circle. It was the kind of party that was too loud, too crowded, and too full of people from different circles to feel comfortable, but still, everyone showed up. Caroline and Nika had dragged Azzi along, even though she wasn’t much of a party person. She didn’t want to seem like a buzzkill, so she went, if only to keep up appearances.

The music was loud enough to vibrate the walls, the smell of alcohol and smoke hanging in the air, and the strobe lights flashing in every direction made it hard to focus. But Azzi couldn’t get past the tension that had been building up inside her all week.

Paige had been acting strangely. They barely exchanged a word as Azzi walked through the door with her friends. When she did see Paige, her eyes were glued to Joseph, her ex.

As Azzi sipped her drink and tried to make small talk with Aubrey and Caroline, she kept noticing the way Paige and Joseph seemed to slip into their own little world, just like they used to. Every time Azzi looked for Paige, she was right there with him, laughing, talking, and looking as comfortable as she ever had. It made something twist uncomfortably in Azzi’s stomach, a feeling she couldn’t quite put into words.

“You good?” Caroline asked, nudging her shoulder.

Azzi blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. “Yeah. Just... I don’t know.”

Caroline didn’t need to ask further, her knowing glance falling on Paige and Joseph. “Is it just me, or are those two acting a little...” “.. To cozy!” Azzi said cutting off Caroline. Caroline looked over at Azzi with a knocking look that she knew Azzi would ignore.

Azzi avoided looking over at them again, but the fact that Caroline noticed made her feel a little less crazy. She shook her head, trying to laugh it off. “I don’t know. It’s probably nothing.”

But in the pit of her stomach, Azzi felt like it wasn’t nothing at all.

At some point, Caroline had the brilliant idea to play a round of ding-dong ditch—the ultimate schoolyard prank. Azzi hadn’t played it since she was younger, but something about the opportunity to escape the house and the tension made it seem like the perfect idea. They slipped out the front door, running down the steps to hide behind some bushes, trying to stay unnoticed.

But then Azzi froze.

There, on the front lawn, stood them.

Her heart sank, and she immediately turned to Caroline. “I—I need to go.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow, but before she could ask why, Azzi turned and ran. She couldn’t explain it, but watching them together—hearing their laughter, seeing how at ease they were with each other—was too much. She barely made it a few steps before she doubled over, the sick feeling in her stomach finally taking over. She vomited onto the grass, her body shaking with the force of it.

“Azzi, are you okay?” she asked, concern creeping into her voice as she reached out to hold back Azzi hair

“C’mon,” Paige’s voice called from behind her, softer than expected. “Let’s go.”

Azzi wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to hide the sting of her emotions behind her usual humor. But the feeling of being left out lingered as they walked away, the laughter from Paige and her ex still echoing in her ears.

TAKING AZZI HOME

Back at Azzi’s house, the night became a blur. She couldn’t remember how they got into bed, or when they’d changed into their pajamas. But Azzi lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling a strange tightness in her chest. Her thoughts were all over the place—about Paige…

Paige had settled in on the bed, just as she had so many times before. They always kept their distance, each girl on her own side of the bed, a safe space between them. But tonight, the silence felt different. Paige shifted closer, her body instinctively curling behind Azzi. Azzi could feel the heat of Paige’s skin against her back, the soft rise and fall of her breathing.

Azzi blinked, confused, as she woke up, feeling something was... off. It wasn’t just the awkwardness of last night, but something deeper—something more pressing.

She didn’t remember when they had gotten so close, or why her heart was racing now. She could feel Paige’s hand around her waist, drawing her in, and before she could stop herself, she turned, meeting Paige’s gaze.

Paige’s eyes were wide, vulnerable in a way Azzi had never seen before. Without thinking, Azzi leaned in.

The kiss was slow at first, tentative. But then, it deepened, both girls finding the rhythm they never realized they had.

It lasted longer than either of them expected, but eventually, Paige pulled away, her face flushed, her eyes clouded with confusion.

“I—Azzi, I... I’m sorry,” Paige murmured, her voice shaky. “We shouldn’t have done that. You’re still drunk. Let’s just get some sleep, okay?”

Azzi’s heart thudded painfully in her chest as Paige rolled away from her, leaving her in the cold space of the bed. She didn’t know what to say—how to explain the mix of emotions she was feeling, or if she even had the right to.

PAIGE POV

“You know, Paige, we were good together. We could be good again. I miss us.”

I rolled my eyes, pretending to laugh it off, but inside, I felt a pang of frustration. Why couldn’t he just get it through his head that we were done? That I wasn’t going to go back to him, no matter how much he pushed?

“I’m not in the mood for this right now, Joseph,” I said, trying to keep my voice light, but I felt the heat of annoyance creeping up my neck. I needed to get away from him. Needed to be anywhere but here with him.

He stepped closer, a soft, pleading look in his eyes. “Come on, Paige. We had something special. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it too.”

The words felt like they were pressing on me, each one weighing heavier than the last. I couldn’t deal with it. Not here. Not now.

“I’m fine, really. I just need to go talk to my friends,” I said, turning to leave, but his hand reached out and grabbed mine.

“Paige,” he said, his voice low, but firm. “We should talk. Really talk. I know you’re not over it. I know you miss me.”

I jerked my hand out of his grasp, a little too harshly, but I didn’t care. The space between us was too much, and I needed air, needed to breathe without him crowding in on me.

“Joseph, please,” I said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “We’re not doing this.”

I finally pulled myself away, walking quickly toward the door, hoping to escape the conversation before it spiraled further. I needed to get outside. I needed to breathe. The house felt too small, too stifling, with Joseph lingering around me, trying to pull me back into something that wasn’t even there anymore.

Once I was out in the yard, I took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill my lungs. It was quieter out here. Less pressure. I just wanted to be alone for a moment to clear my head. But before I could even take a second to process, there he was again. Joseph, standing right in front of me, looking entirely too comfortable, like he belonged here.

“Paige,” he started, his voice that familiar mixture of sincerity and manipulation. “We can’t just pretend nothing happened. I miss you. I really do.”

I blinked, caught off guard. I hadn’t been expecting him to follow me outside. I had hoped I could at least escape the conversation for a little while longer, but no, Joseph wasn’t going to let me go that easily.

“I think you’re mistaken,” I said, my voice tight. I crossed my arms, hoping the gesture would make me seem more confident, like I had everything under control. I didn’t. Not at all. “I’m not interested in getting back together. I’m happy with where I am now.”

Joseph took a step forward, his eyes narrowing, his tone shifting. “Who is it that you’re with then, Paige? Is it that girl?” He raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with something I couldn’t quite place. “What’s her name again? Azzi?”

I froze at the mention of Azzi’s name. Of course, he would bring her up. He had always been possessive like that, trying to control every part of my life, even the people I spent time with.

“What about her?” I shot back, trying to keep my voice even. I didn’t want to let Joseph see that his words bothered me, that his jealousy was digging under my skin. “Azzi is just a friend. And I’m not yours anymore, Joseph. I told you that already.”

His expression darkened, and for a brief moment, I almost regretted standing my ground. I could feel the tension building between us, thick and heavy, but I refused to back down. This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have with him. Not now. Not ever.

“I’m sorry, Joseph,” I said, my voice more resolute now, “but I don’t want to talk about this anymore. We’re done. Please respect that.”

I turned to leave, determined to put some space between us, but as I walked away, I could feel Joseph’s eyes on my back. He wasn’t done trying to get me back, but I had made up my mind.

But just as I walked further from the house, a voice broke through my thoughts.

“Paige?”

I froze, and for a second, my heart sank, thinking it was Joseph again. But when I turned, I saw Azzi. She was standing there, her face pale, her eyes wide, looking like she was about to say something. Then, without warning, she staggered forward, clutching her stomach.

“Azzi?” I gasped, watching as her face contorted in discomfort. She barely got a few steps before she bent over and threw up violently onto the grass.

My heart dropped. “Oh my god, Azzi, are you okay?”

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looking embarrassed but barely able to stand. “I… I think I just drank too much. Ugh, I feel terrible,” she muttered, swaying slightly.

Without thinking, I rushed over to her, gently placing a hand on her arm. “You need to get home. Come on, let me help you.”

Azzi was barely coherent, and I could see she wasn’t really in any state to get back to the party, let alone drive herself anywhere. She looked at me, eyes glassy, and nodded, too exhausted to argue.

I led her back to the car, helping her into the passenger seat. I didn’t care that I didn’t want to be at the party anymore, either. My concern was solely for Azzi in that moment.

When we got to her house, I helped her out of the car, feeling an unexpected sense of protectiveness rise up in me. I knew she wasn’t drunk in the usual sense, but she was definitely unwell, and she needed rest.

She stumbled as we made our way inside, and I guided her up the stairs to her bedroom, where she collapsed onto her bed, groaning softly.

“You should sleep it off,” I said, my voice gentle as I sat next to her on the bed. Azzi gave me a tired, half-smiling glance, and I couldn’t help but feel a little closer to her in that moment.

I pulled the covers over her, making sure she was comfortable, and then took a seat in the chair beside the bed, trying to figure out what to do next. There was a strange warmth between us, an unspoken bond that made everything feel more intimate than I expected.

Before I even realized it, Azzi shifted over on the bed, tugging at the covers. “Paige, just... come here,” she said, her voice barely audible.

I blinked, surprised, but before I could respond, Azzi patted the space next to her. I hesitated for just a second, then, with a soft sigh, I crawled into the bed next to her.

It felt natural, like I was meant to be there. Azzi’s body was warm, and she instinctively curled up against me, resting her head on my chest. I could feel the steady rise and fall of her breath as she snuggled in close, her hand landing on my waist. I didn’t think about how this might seem, how it might change things between us. I just let myself stay there, my heart beating faster in a way I couldn’t explain.

I knew we were both exhausted, emotionally and physically, and the quiet of the room, mixed with the comfort of each other’s presence, made me feel safe. The feeling of her close to me—of our bodies fitting together so easily—was so comforting that I couldn’t bring myself to move.

She pulled me even closer, and I let her, my body reacting to the closeness without fully understanding why. I felt her fingers gently tighten around my waist, and something shifted inside me. The moment felt charged, but I didn’t know how to label it, whether it was simply a physical connection or something deeper.

I didn’t say anything at first. I just stayed there, with her nestled into me, letting the minutes slip by. But then, as time seemed to slow, I turned my head slightly, catching her gaze.

Azzi’s eyes were closed, her face relaxed, but there was an underlying tension that I could feel. She shifted again, this time so she was facing me fully. I could hear her breath quicken, but she didn’t move away. Instead, her gaze locked onto mine, and for the briefest of moments, it felt like everything around us disappeared.

The sound of my heart pounding in my chest grew louder, filling the silence.

Slowly, as if drawn by some magnetic pull, I leaned in. The kiss was soft at first, tentative. But when Azzi’s lips met mine, I felt a jolt of energy rush through me. The warmth between us surged, and the kiss deepened, slow and hungry, as if we were both trying to figure out what it meant.

It lasted for a while, with neither of us pulling away, caught up in something neither of us had expected. But then, just as quickly as it had started, Azzi pulled back, her eyes wide with a mix of confusion and something else—something I couldn’t quite place.

“Paige,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “I… I don’t know if I should have done that. We are drunk let’s go back to sleep.” Paige almost whispered touching Azzi cheek and turning her in her arms.

I could barely form words, my mind racing to catch up with what had just happened.

The air between us was heavy, both uncertain and filled with a new kind of tension I hadn’t known was possible.

The night stretched on in quiet, awkward peace. But as I lay there beside her, her hand still resting lightly against my waist, I couldn’t shake the feeling that things between us had changed in a way I didn’t understand yet. What had just happened? What did it mean?

But for now, I would just stay by her side, letting everything settle until I could figure it out.

NEXT MORNING

The next morning, the team had a youth event to attend, and the tension between Azzi and Paige was palpable. Azzi kept her focus, hanging out with the girls, even going with Caroline on the golf cart to grab signs for the event. She was trying to act normal, trying to push aside the mess of emotions from the night before.

Paige, however, was distant. She barely looked at Azzi, and when she did, her eyes were guarded. Azzi didn’t let it bother her. She had her friends, and she was going to enjoy the day, no matter how awkward things felt with Paige.

But then, something changed. Paige’s face went pale, and she rushed off, practically panicking.

“Aubrey, have you seen Azzi?” Paige’s voice was sharp, and everyone looked around, confused. No one had ever heard Paige raise her voice like that, especially not at Azzi.

Caroline exchanged a glance with Azzi, both of them on edge.

“No, I haven’t seen her,” Aubrey replied, clearly concerned.

“I’m right here,” Azzi said moving into Paige’s view. “I have to go home.” Paige said matter of factly.

The whole group piled into Azzi’s car to drive Paige home as the event wrapped up. The tension in the car was thick, but Azzi couldn’t help but wonder—why was Paige acting like this?

DROPPED PAIGE OFF

As they pulled out of Paige’s driveway, Azzi noticed something odd—Paige had left her phone in the car. “I’ll take it to her,” Azzi said, trying to sound casual as she grabbed the phone and headed up the walkway.

When she looked up, though, she froze. Through the kitchen window, she could see a girl—around their age—sitting at the table in Paige’s house. The sight made Azzi’s heart race for all the wrong reasons. Just as she was about to turn and leave, Paige emerged from the front door.

Azzi froze, feeling caught in the middle of something she wasn’t sure she understood.

“Thanks, Azzi,” Paige said as she reached out for her phone. “I’m sorry for yelling earlier. I had an unexpected guest—my ex,” she said, gesturing toward the house. “My dad was calling me to come home, and I just lost it.”

Azzi swallowed hard, ex?, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. “No problem,” she said flatly, her voice a little too cold.

Paige gave her an apologetic smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll talk to you later?”

Azzi nodded, her heart heavy as she turned to get back in the driver’s seat. Paige went back inside without another word.

As Azzi drove off, the silence in the car felt heavier than it ever had before. She couldn’t shake the image of the girl in Paige’s kitchen. Was it just her ex, or something more? And what did it all mean for her and Paige?

For the first time in a long time, Azzi wasn’t sure where she stood.

PAIGE POV

As Azzi pulled out of the driveway, I couldn't help but feel the familiar stir of annoyance bubbling up inside me. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at my house, my fingers tapping against my sides in frustration. The air around me felt too thick, too suffocating, and I was doing everything I could to ignore the uncomfortable knot forming in my stomach.

What the hell was Bianca even doing here?

I hadn’t spoken to her in ages. Not since the last game of my freshman year, the one that still lingered in my mind like an unhealed wound. The one where everything had come crashing down around me. I couldn't forget the way the whole thing played out. I had watched, helpless, as my girlfriend at the time—Bianca—had kissed a girl from the opposing team. The moment I saw it, I felt the ground beneath me shift, like the universe itself had just betrayed me.

I’d known something was off between us, but that... that had been the final blow. Bianca had tried to deny it, of course. She tried to tell me it wasn’t what it looked like. But how could she deny it when I had seen it with my own eyes? The way their lips had met, how it felt like everything I thought I knew had just shattered.

I didn’t say anything to Bianca right then. Not at the game, not afterward. It felt like there was no point. We didn’t need words anymore. I could feel it in the way she avoided me, in the way she couldn’t even look me in the eye the next day. The trust had been broken beyond repair.

The worst part was that Bianca had made it clear she wasn’t sorry. She never apologized for what she did. Not once. And Paige still stayed with her right up to the day she moved here to her new school.

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy VI

a yandere art professor Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... (also featuring Matt from River's Edge) ->chapter map

VI.

-Stewing in agony after the awkward ending to your otherwise pleasant encounter with Professor Wick, you spend the whole rest of the weekend working on a miniature diorama of a little girl living in the desert with a pet jackalope. It’s actually been a while since you made one, and by the time it’s done you do feel a little more sane. 

A psychologist might have said something about reclaiming the innocence from a conversation you wish had gone differently, or perhaps a longing for girlhood in which you did not have to worry about every conversation with a man turning into a sexual pitfall. Either way, the end result is cute, and weird, and you add it to the shelf with all your other little scenes. 

You are aware that most of your art comes from the bottomless well of dissatisfaction inside you. A part of you fears that if you ever did manage to get your shit together, you might not make art anymore. Maybe someday you’ll beat the game, retire to a cottage in the countryside, and fill your time with paint by numbers and talking to your numerous cats…

Until then, you’re currently living the glamorous life of No Sex In The City…and you have to go to work. 

-A week later, it seems Matt has decided to ignore Wick’s directive, or at least has decided they’re not mutually exclusive. He is meeting your eyes again, even shooting you a shy smile before class begins. It’s silly, what a thrill this gives you, like a glitter bomb gone off inside your heart. Perhaps after spending all weekend torturing yourself over Professor Wick, it just feels good to flirt with someone who is almost your own age. 

Or perhaps you’re a fickle creature in need of an intervention. 

Matt sits with you again under your maple tree, and even though you’re both quiet souls, it is surprisingly easy to talk to him. You talk about where you’re from and your families. You learn he moved here from out of state with his band mates, and that he never really had a happy home life.

He lets you flip through his sketchbook, and with every page you feel yourself softening towards him by the second. He really is very talented, and on top of that his drawings have a dreamlike quality that sucks you in. 

You pause on a two page spread filled with dark black lines and color. It’s a Chagall-esque bird’s eye view of a little town, houses and businesses, people going about their day, a bridge, a forest by a rolling river. It’s a seemingly happy and complex composition, until your eye settles on a pale form by the river bank far in the corner, a woman lying naked and alone in the cold. For some reason an uneasy, icy feeling creeps through your veins. Is she dead? 

“What is this, Matt?” you ask, taking in the details again. 

He seems to panic a little, reaching out to take back his book, closing it and tucking it into his backpack. “It’s just a dream I had,” he tells you, shaking his shoulders like he’s got the creeps. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

So you change the subject, but you still wonder. 

-Maybe Professor Wick was unfairly harsh to Matt, but you’re heartened to see the young man seems to have decided to rise to the challenge. He doubles his effort in his drawing, taking Wick’s direction and then some–the result would be stunning, but he runs out of time. The study is only half finished after three hours, and you can tell from your elevated place in the center of the class that he is miserable about it. 

“Wick is going to fucking annihilate me,” he mourns as you stand beside him looking at the drawing, now dressed in your robe. 

Critique is at the end of the week, and the students are allowed to work on their drawings on their own time until then, but they’re not allowed to take pictures of you for reference for obvious reasons of privacy. You’re afraid he’s right, and your heart goes out to him. He seems like such a sweet young man, and you don’t understand why John seems to have it out for him. 

“How much time do you need?” you ask under your breath, conscious of the man in undertaker’s black at his desk across the room. 

“I dunno. A couple hours?” he laments, and you elbow him to keep his voice down. 

“I could help you.” Finally understanding, he shoots a look with those wide dark eyes over at the teacher, before returning his attention to you. Those plush pink lips part with surprise, and you tell yourself that you’re not offering to do this because he’s the prettiest [and the saddest] boy you’ve ever seen. 

“You’d do that?” 

“You’re really talented, Matt. I want you to succeed.” 

He looks at you through his long hair like no one has ever said anything like that to him before. “That’s…really nice of you.” 

“Maybe I’m just vain,” you deflect. “This is going to be your best work...if you finish it.” You think you can tell that he has it in him to be great at this–maybe no one has ever given him that last nudge before. 

Maybe Wick knew what he was doing, being tough on him? 

Could be, but mostly, it felt like he was being a jerk, and you don’t want Matt to have to go through it again.  

----

TBC...

___

->chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits