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undressrehearsal · 1 year ago

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dare to be stupid

summary: a drunken game of truth or dare overtakes your study session

tags: NSFW, tlou au, college!ellie/reader, mentions of drugs, alcohol, drunk sex, oral (r receiving)

a/n: listen idk how this turned into 7.5k. idk what happened. also this is my first time writing smut. idk if the sex is good but it was already so long. if y'all like this one i'll write a sequel or something idk

part 2

“Truth or dare?”

It had become a tradition for the two of you shortly after moving in together. It was common for the air in your tiny apartment to grow heavy, the stress and anxiety tangible in the air - often around midterms or finals, or if your roommate had a particularly infuriating project. During these times when the bags under your eyes grew too heavy to carry or the lines around your roommate's mouth deepened into canyons, one of you would barge into the other's bedroom - frequently in disarray with notes and textbooks strewn across every surface - slam a bottle of vodka down on the desk, and utter those stupid, little three words, and the game would begin.

And so you didn't even jump when you heard your bedroom door slam against the wall, heavy boots against the carpet. You had been bent over your desk for so long that your neck ached, your eyes swimming with letters that didn't quite make sense and didn't fit into any of the medical terms laid out on your flashcards. When Ellie slammed the bottle of vodka on your desk, you blinked your eyes clear and looked up to meet her eyes.

She smirked when she said, “Truth or dare?”

You didn't waste time in clearing off your desk, shoving your books and cards aside into a toppling pile. Ellie, without waiting for permission, set a shot glass down in front of you, kicked off her boots, and plopped back onto your bed.

Scooting your chair closer, you propped your feet up against the mattress, pursed your lips, and said, “Truth.”

Ellie groaned, flopping over onto her side and propping her chin in her hand. She had stripped off her jacket, leaving her in a dark t-shirt that almost made her skin look pale in the low light from your desk lamp. “You're such a fucking pussy.”

You rolled your eyes even as a grin pulled at your lips. “I've known you for too long, Els, and I know that I need a few shots before I'm willing to shove anything anywhere for your amusement. So, respectfully, eat my ass.”

“You'll have to dare me to,” she quipped back immediately. She wrinkled her nose as you choked back a laugh, tapping a finger against her lips. You tried to ignore how endlessly cute it was as she said, “Where's the weirdest place you've pissed?”

Another sound burst from your lips, some mixture of a laugh and a shout. You gaped at her, watching as a laugh crept up, a smile tugging at her lips.

Shaking your head, you said, “Weird, but that's a pretty tame one. Not gonna ask me about my favorite sex position or if I ever snuck drugs into our dorm room last year?”

Ellie only shrugged. “Gotta warm you up a bit first, babe.” You ignored the way your heart jumped at such an innocent word. After a moment's pause, she added, “But have you?”

“You'll just have to ask me. One truth per round, bitch.” You pretended to think about it for a moment, though you already had your answer. “Okay, so you remember when we first signed the lease here and we were a bit short on rent?”

Ellie nodded, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“Like, a week before it was due, some girl on Tinder hit me up. She was passing through town and only staying for the night, and she was bored. So, she paid me.”

Ellie's frown deepened. “To, what, have sex with her?”

Laughter bubbled up your chest as you said, “No, she paid me to piss in her mouth.”

There was silence for several long moments. Ellie’s jaw hung loose, her eyes wide as she simply stared at you. Several emotions flashed across her face like a movie reel - confusion, shock, disbelief - before finally landing on pure, unfiltered amusement. The corners of her lips quirked up, her open mouth turning up at the corners until a loud, sharp laugh burst from her throat. When Ellie laughed - really, truly laughed - she did it with her chest, a sound so fathomless and full it filled up whatever room she was in.

In your small bedroom, her laughter bounced off the walls, echoing in the alley outside of your open window. You couldn’t contain your own giggles, muffling your laughter with a hand over your mouth, snorting as Ellie buried her face in your mattress.

When she finally looked up, her eyes filled with tears, she only said, around her subdued giggles, “How much?”

You grinned. “$200.”

Ellie’s mouth fell open again - you’d have to pick it up from the floor at this rate. “Dude, you’re fucking with me.”

“I swear,” you said, holding up your hand like a scout. “I’ll show you the Venmo if you don’t believe me.”

Ellie fell back against the bed, throwing her head back. “You have to go find this chick on Missed Connections, she can help with the rent.”

You threw one of your pens at her. Catching it in midair, she stuck the end in her mouth to chew on it. You wrinkled your nose at her, but she only grinned, the pen hanging from the corner of her lips.

“You're so gross,” you said, though you were still giggling.

“Bold words from you, Piss Girl. That's, like, the worst superhero name in existence.”

You threw your hands up, trying your hardest to glare at her and failing miserably. “Hey, $200 is $200. I'm not one to kinkshame.” Ellie threw the pen back at you. You grimaced when it hit your arm, leaving a small spot of spit on your sleeve before clattering to the floor. “God, it's your turn. Truth or dare, bitch?”

Propping herself up on her elbows, Ellie said, “Dare.” A grin pulled at her lips, her voice low as she added, “Because I'm not a fucking pussy.” You stuck your tongue out at her, ignoring her when she mockingly said, “Mature.”

Your desk was pressed up next to the only window in the room, cracked open to let the cool autumn air in. Your curtains fluttered in the breeze, the dying sunlight creeping in, casting light like liquid gold over Ellie’s skin. As you thought, scrambling to think of a suitable dare, you could not control how your eyes grazed over her exposed skin, the sunlight dipping in her collarbones like pools of ichor.

Blinking, you met her eyes once more, your throat tight. Your words came out almost choked when you said, “Okay, I dare you to make a spicy two-sentence story about something in this room.”

Ellie scoffed, sitting up and kicking her legs over the side of your bed. “I’m gonna take a wild guess that your drawer of sex toys is off limits?”

You sputtered, stammering over your own tongue as you felt heat rush to your ears. “Yes, that’s off limits. You don’t even know what’s in there!”

Ellie hummed, standing up from the bed and taking a few steps around the room. She didn’t look at you, but you could hear that fucking smirk when she said, “That’s what you think, babe.”

You watched her, tracking her movements as she slowly stepped around your room, scanning for inspiration. Your bedroom was about what you’d expect from a broke, overworked college student - aside from the furniture that came with the place, it was pretty barren. Ellie scanned the little touches you did have - her finger traced over the Funko Pop of Zuko on your bedside table, her eyes lingering on the pile of fantasy books you kept atop your dresser. She smiled at the posters hung crookedly on your walls, depictions of your favorite video games. She hummed again, looking back at you over her shoulder.

“So many options to choose from,” she murmured, running her finger along your jewelry box. She had her face turned away, so you could only see the corner of her smirk as she lifted the lid, pulling one of your necklaces from its home. You watched her warily as she approached you, the chain dangling from her slim fingers. She stepped behind you, out of your line of sight, and slipped the necklace over your head, the cold metal resting against your collarbone.

“She looped the chain around her lover’s neck like a collar,” Ellie said. You felt her cool fingers against the back of your neck, hooking around the chain and pulling it gently against your throat. You coughed against the awkward silence; your roommate had always been a little handsy, but this was something else entirely. What the fuck is she doing? you thought. “She pulled it taut against her throat and leaned in to whisper,” you felt Ellie’s lips against your ear, her rough voice sending a chill up your spine when she murmured, “good girl.”

Reaching back, you shoved Ellie’s head away; her laughter echoed through the room as she rounded in front of you, sitting back against your bed and grinning.

“Oh, you’re so fucking proud of yourself aren’t you?” you teased, trying - and failing - to keep your cheeks from turning red. Your skin felt aflame, a tingle lingering right where Ellie’s lips had pressed to your ear. You rubbed at the spot under the pretense of scratching your head, willing the feeling to go away.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could hardly hear her when she said, “Hell yeah, I am. I should’ve been an English major. I could write a whole fucking slutty novel and get famous. I'm an expert - I've done enough research.”

You rolled your eyes at her cocky smile, but Ellie only winked at you.

This is how your truth or dare games went - with Ellie being far too cocky, prancing around doing whatever dares you could think of and asking any outrageous questions that popped into her pretty little head; and you, simply trying your damnedest to keep up with her. You flailed, flustered, when she asked you about your toy collection, and begrudgingly relented when she dared you to bring out your favorite. Ellie took a shot before you had even finished daring her to text her last hookup (“I’m not reopening that bag of crazy,” she said, scrunching her nose at the taste.) You took a shot when she dared you to go mix all of the liquids in the fridge (which included pickle juice, old broths, and orange juice) into one amalgamation and chug it (“I’d rather chug the rest of the vodka, Els.”)

“Truth,” you said before Ellie could even ask the question. You were three shots in and could feel that lightness pressing against your temples, just at the threshold of tipsy. You had moved to join Ellie on your bed, where you sat with your back against the headboard and Ellie’s head on your thigh. The vodka bottle was balanced precariously between you.

Ellie rolled her eyes, but looked up at you and asked, “Out of our friend group, who have you fantasized about the most?”

She had not even finished her sentence before you served yourself a shot, a few drops splattering on your shirt. Wincing at the taste, you looked back down at Ellie; her eyes were lit up like a Christmas tree, her jaw slack.

“Don’t-”

“You have to,” she interrupted you, pinching your thigh and grinning when you squirmed away. “You have to tell me. You can’t leave me hanging here - you didn’t even let me finish the question!”

“Why did you even assume I’ve fantasized about any of our friends-”

“Because I know you.” She was scrambling up now, unsteady in her movements as she came to her knees in front of you, leaning back against her heels. She planted a firm hand on your thigh - your skin was still warm where her head had been - leaning into it, her eyes drawing so close you could almost see every speck within the hazel. “And I know that bitches like us always have somebody in the group they fantasize about. So, who is it?”

“Bitches like us?” you repeated, raising your brow. You were sure each line of her palm was going to be branded into your thigh. “So, there’s somebody you think about too?”

Ellie’s smile was on the very edge of teasing, a small quirk at the corner of her lips that screamed at you just how wrapped around her finger you were - and, somehow, she didn’t even know it. Her voice was low, nothing more than a murmur that you could practically feel in your own chest when she said, “You really wanna know?” You didn’t answer - couldn’t, really, not when her fingers dug into your thigh and you could count each freckle across her nose. You couldn’t answer when she leaned in closer, her warm breath brushing against your cheeks, smelling of the weed you knew she had smoked that afternoon. You could hardly hear her over the rush of your own heart when she whispered, “You’ll just have to ask me.”

Maybe it was the vodka warming your chest, tingling in your fingers - or maybe it was the way the light from your lamp cast sharp shadows across Ellie’s face, turning her skin into liquid gold - but you did not push her away. Your grip tightened around the neck of the bottle, but you held her gaze when you said, “Truth or dare, Els?”

Her voice was soft, her half-lidded eyes holding yours as she said, “Truth.”

“Who have you fantasized about?” The words rushed out of you before you could hesitate.

And for a moment, you believed she would answer. You let yourself believe that she would give you the answer you craved. It prickled at your skin, raising goosebumps along your arm, spreading warmth through your stomach. But your roommate had never been so straight-foward - had never given you an easy answer. She wet her lips, drawing your eyes to her mouth involuntarily, but she only pried the vodka bottle from your fingers. She held your gaze as she raised it to her lips, drinking straight from the bottle without even wincing.

“I can play that game too, baby.” She backed away, finally giving you a moment to breathe. She settled back against the wall, laying her arms over her knees, the bottle dangling from her fingers. The skin of your thigh still burned, branded with her fingerprints.

You looked away, huffing out a laugh that you prayed sounded sincere. You could feel her eyes on you when you leaned your head back against the wall, counting the cracks in your ceiling like they were the most interesting thing in the whole world. “It’s getting late, Els,” you said, even as your phone flashed that it wasn’t even nine yet and here you were, too many shots in, your roommate’s presence like a fire blazing in your room. “I should get back to studying.”

“Do you want to, though?” There was an edge to Ellie’s voice, as though that question was a dare itself. You lifted your head to look at her and found that she was already watching you, her eyes soft in the dim light.

You took a deep breath - and the vodka must have reached your brain, because before she could ask, you said, “Dare.”

You could see the vodka in the lazy tilt of her smile, in the way her head lolled against the wall. Her eyes were half-lidded, and yet there was something hidden behind her slow, sleepy gaze, something you were too afraid to name - something you were sure was only the imagination of your tipsy fantasies.

“Close your eyes,” Ellie said, words lazily falling from her lips, as deep and rich as the strings of a guitar.

It took you several moments longer than usual to process what she had said. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, as if the two of you were underwater. You shouldn't have felt like this after a few shots - you'd usually only be tipsy at this point. But something about the way the shadows dipped into Ellie's collarbones and the way her shirt rode up, exposing her boxers and the sharp cut of her hips, was intoxicating on its own.

So it took you several long, heavy moments to say, “What?”

She chuckled, but there was no malice behind it. There was something soft in the tilt of her head, the way she tilted her chin down to look at you through her lashes. Her hair fell in her face, brushing against her nose; you fought the urge to brush it away, knowing that if you did you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from running your fingers through her hair. You wouldn't be able to stop yourself from grabbing a fistful of the auburn strands-

“Close your eyes,” she repeated in that same honey-thick voice, breaking you from your thoughts. “For thirty seconds. And don't open them no matter what.” When you only stared at her for several silent moments, she added, “How long have we been friends? Don't you trust me?”

And the thing was, you did. You trusted her with your entire heart, and so you closed your eyes, and you waited.

You felt the bed shift next to you but you did not open your eyes. You did not open them when you felt her long fingers grip your shoulder as she struggled to steady herself. You felt her hair first, fine strands brushing against your cheek, smelling of sweat and her shampoo. You did not open your eyes, even when you felt the gentle press of a warm mouth against the side of your neck. You hardly dared to even breathe, your hands tangling in your sheets, afraid that you would not be able to control yourself otherwise. You counted the long, torturous seconds, biting down on your lip when you felt Ellie’s mouth part, the warmth of her tongue pressing against your pulse.

You had counted to twenty-six when she pulled away, a chill settling over your skin where that warmth had been only seconds ago. When you got to thirty, you opened your eyes to find that Ellie had settled back into her spot, leaning back against the wall. The only sign that she had even moved was the thin sheen over her lips, wet with her own saliva, and a small, pleased smirk.

You did not allow yourself to think about it, ignoring the way your skin burned where she had touched you as though she were a wildfire. You sounded breathless even to your own ears when you said, in barely more than a whisper, “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What are we doing here, Ellie?” The words were out before you could stop them, slipping from between your teeth and hanging in the air like helium. The words felt almost tangible, and yet you couldn't grasp them, couldn't draw them back into your throat.

For a moment, you thought Ellie would grace you with an answer. She opened her mouth, and you thought maybe she would finally stop playing this game and let you breathe. Instead, just like before, she brought the bottle to her lips and held your gaze. You tried not to watch the way her throat moved as she swallowed.

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and recapped the bottle, settling it between you. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” You felt you could no longer trust yourself with any dare she gave you. Your hands were already shaking from clenching the sheets.

“How would you rate your last kiss?”

You squinted at her, confused by the innocence of the question after everything that had happened in the past hour (had it only been an hour?). “My last kiss was with that one girl I met at the bar a few weeks ago. She was drunk and way too sloppy, but she was hot. I guess I'd give it,” you paused, trying to remember the moment past the haze; you couldn't even remember the girl's name, “a six.”

Ellie raised her eyebrows, her eyes widening. “A six?” She shook her head, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “You’ve got to be fucking with me. A girl like you deserves more than a six.”

“A girl like me?” Your voice sounded deafening in the quiet. You thought it had started to rain; you could hear the pitter patter on your window, could see the way it broke up the streetlamps outside like a mosaic.

Ellie was nodding almost absently, watching the rain. Her lips parted, and you didn’t expect her to hesitate before she said, “Yeah. A girl like you… deserves to be kissed like it’s the last gasp of air to someone drowning.” You watched her mouth as she spoke, even as your mind screamed at you to look away. You scolded yourself, screaming to end this now, but your body refused; it ached to draw her near, a tangible pain in your chest. “A girl like you should get one of those movie kisses - you know, like when the hero saves the day and shit and he kisses his girl and it’s like the world didn’t matter as long as he saved her. The kind that has the whole fucking theater holding their breath. A girl like you…. Fuck….” She trailed off her rambling. Ellie ran a rough hand through her hair, making the strands stick up at odd angles, and finally looked at you. There was a fire in her eyes, blazing in the dim light. “You deserve to be kissed like they’ll die if they can’t have you.”

Something had stopped in your chest - maybe it was your breath, maybe it was your heart. Your blood rushed in your ears, and you feared the thrum of your heartbeat was so loud it filled your entire bedroom. Your traitorous heart pressed at your bedroom walls, filling up the space and leaving room for little else.

Your voice was only a whisper, and you wanted to kick yourself when you said, “We should really go to bed. I have an exam tomorrow.”

Your roommate pressed her lips together, and she did not break eye contact as she said, “Dare.”

You shook your head, looking away from her to try, desperately, to break whatever spell had taken hold of you; but your eyes were drawn back to her as if she were the only fucking light in the dark. You had to get a hold of yourself before you did something you’d regret, but you felt intoxicated with something far stronger than the cheap vodka you had bought from Walmart.

“You’re drunk, Els,” you said, and you sounded so breathless you may as well have given up then and there.

Ellie leaned closer, holding your gaze, and you could see the exact shade of desire in her eyes. She was so fucking warm - your head spun from it, heat radiating from her skin when she planted a hand on the bed right next to your hip. Her wrist brushed against the bare skin under your shorts, and you felt her voice vibrating in your chest when she said, “Dare.”

And it was like she had finally pulled the last fucking thread that made you unravel, because you couldn’t stop yourself - didn’t even think to - before you said, “Kiss me.”

You only had a second to register the smile pulling at the edges of Ellie’s lips before she grabbed your face and pulled you in to smother it. You had never imagined what kissing Ellie would be like - had never allowed your imagination to wander so far over the edge - but she did not kiss like she was drowning. She kissed with the same slow gentleness as when she played the guitar, her long fingers plucking at the strings with the careful deliberation of a lover.

And she felt so fucking warm. You were high with it; high with the heat radiating from her fingers pressed to your cheeks; high from the way her breath snaked past your parted lips, gentle huffs of warmth against your skin. Your head swam as you pressed into her, your hands tangling into the fabric of her shirt, fingers unsure even as you ached to pull her closer.

Ellie pulled back for a moment - for only a moment, but each second her lips weren't on yours caused an ache in your chest. Her eyes hovered inches from yours, so fucking green it was dizzying - though you couldn't see much of the color passed the eclipse of her pupils. Her cheeks were flushed - from the vodka, from something else entirely - her freckles popping against the color. You could only imagine how you looked, could feel the desire written across every inch of your face.

Your fists tightened in her shirt, and you used the leverage to pull her back into you; and suddenly, it felt like you were the one drowning. You couldn’t breathe as Ellie devoured you, the gentleness replaced with a hunger you hadn’t known lived inside her. She pressed her tongue against the seam of your mouth until you relented, opening up to her, a soft sound escaping your throat when her tongue ran along the roof of your mouth.

That sound - nothing more than a breathy sigh - ignited something in Ellie. Suddenly, she was all teeth and tongue and hot, hot breath in your mouth, sucking your bottom lip between her teeth. She bit down when a shaky sigh forced its way from your throat, soothing it with her tongue and swallowing the moan it elicited. Her hands were in your hair, the strands twisted between her fingers, and when you bit down on her lip, she pulled - you gasped at the sharp pain on your scalp.

“Fuck,” she cursed against your lips, and you could feel that single syllable, hot breath in your mouth that you wanted to swallow. She didn’t continue for a long time, couldn’t form any other words past the way her lips made you unravel. Her hands trailed down your shoulders, fingers grazing lightly over the bare skin of your arms, before finding your hips, gripping them in a vice and tugging you closer. “Fuck, come here,” she said, her voice nothing more than a low growl that you felt in your chest.

And you were drunk - from the cheap vodka and sleep deprivation and Ellie. You were drunk on the way her eyes were eclipsed, her lips red and bitten and swollen, parted so you could feel each exhale against your cheeks. Her eyes were dark, hooded. Her fingers dug into your hips, and you were drunk, but shit, how the hell could you say no to her? How could you possibly say no when she was looking at you like she was starving?

Her hands guided you closer so you swung a leg over her hips and settled in her lap, your hands braced on her shoulders. She leaned her head back against the wall and just looked at you for several long moments, biting down on her lip. You couldn’t stop watching her mouth, mesmerized as she said, “Fuck, look at you.”

And then she was kissing you again, her hands gripping your hips like it was a lifeline. Your hands found their way to her hair, curling your fingers in the short locks, using it as leverage to pull her closer. You could feel how each point of your body fit into hers; your thighs against her legs, her hands curling perfectly over the swell of your hips. You could feel the swell of her breasts against your chest, and you so badly wanted to feel her skin against yours. You felt like you’d go crazy from the raw want radiating from your body.

Ellie’s lips traced a map across your cheek, down your jawline. You tilted your head so she could kiss the hinge of your jaw, the spot right below your ear. She paused there, planting hot, open-mouth kisses across your neck, before her teeth bit down on that sensitive spot, pulling the skin into her mouth, and you practically melted into her. You couldn’t control the sounds falling from your lips like honey, gripping at her hair as she soothed the bruise with her tongue.

“Ellie….” Your voice was nothing more than a whimper; you swallowed hard and tried again, pressing a hand firmly at her shoulder. “Ellie.”

She only hummed against your skin, and you could feel the vibration against your pulse. The sound went straight to your stomach and dipped even lower when she bit at your collarbone.

The next time you said her name, it came out as a moan; you cleared your throat. “We can’t do this - you’re drunk, Els.”

Your roommate hummed again, but she relented, leaning her head back against the wall to look up at you. And - fuck. Her lips were red and swollen, still wet from the kiss. Her cheeks were flushed, and - God, her eyes. You had never understood the term bedroom eyes, but Ellie looked at you as though she wanted to devour you. Like any second her hands weren’t on you was torture. Like she wanted to bite and kiss and taste every inch of your skin.

“Truth or dare,” she said, her voice so hoarse you had to clench your thighs around her hips.

“What?”

“Truth or dare,” she repeated, her eyes never leaving yours. And this wasn’t part of the game, but you played along anyway, unable and unwilling to tell her no.

“Truth,” you sighed.

One of Ellie’s hands traced up your side. She ran her fingers across your collarbone, up your throat, before stopping to cup your jaw, her skin rough against yours. “Do you want this?”

You nodded, the vodka making it impossible to feel shy.

“How long have you wanted this?” Ellie’s thumb pressed at the seam of your lips, and you let your mouth fall open. She watched, hypnotized, dipping just the tip of her thumb between your lips before withdrawing.

It was against the rules - two questions for one truth - but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. “A long fucking time.” Your voice was weak and breathy, and you couldn’t bother to be embarrassed about that either. Your attention had narrowed in on Ellie, and the way her fingers skirted across your chest, the way her other hand gripped your hip - how you could feel the warmth of her thighs between your legs.

Taking your chin in her hand, she drew you closer, and you could feel her lips moving against yours: “So what the hell is stopping us?”

This time, when she kissed you, you did melt into her. You gripped her hair in your fists and swallowed the moan it drew from her, shivering when her teeth caught on your lip. She had both hands on your hips again, and she gripped them so hard you were sure you’d find bruises there in the morning in the shape of her fingers. She pulled you closer, pulling your hips down into her; the friction through your pajama shorts made you moan against her lips.

And you decided to play her game.

“Truth or dare?” you said, drawing away just enough to see the eclipse of her eyes.

Ellie, always stubborn, murmured, “Dare.”

You tugged at the hem of her shirt, your fingers brushing the warm skin beneath; you marveled at the shiver that ran through her body. You ducked your head to kiss along her jaw, pressing the words into her skin. “Take this off.”

She didn’t waste any time tugging the shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor before skidding her fingers over the bare skin above your shorts. You lifted your arms and let her pull your shirt over your head before realizing you weren’t wearing anything beneath. Who wears a bra to study in their own apartment?

But you didn’t have a moment to cover your body in embarrassment before Ellie’s lips were on you again, as if it pained her to not taste you for even a moment. Her hands spread across your back, pulling you into her as she peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses across your collar; you hissed when her teeth bit down over your collarbone, soothing the pain with her tongue.

“Tell me to stop and I'll stop,” Ellie said, her voice muffled as she kissed down over your chest; you shivered when her teeth sank into the skin of your boob, sucking another bruise there. She certainly loved leaving her signature on any inch of your skin that her mouth could reach.

You groaned low in your chest, your fingers tugging at her hair, pulling a gasp from her lips. You almost didn’t recognize your own voice - breathy and thick with desire - when you said, “Please don’t stop.”

The next thing you knew, Ellie was shoving you off of her lap; your back hit the mattress, your head just barely missing the headboard, but you couldn’t even think about that. Your roommate was crawling over you, and you were hypnotized by the way her muscles tensed, her arms caging you against the bed. Her skin was fucking obscene, smooth plains stretching for miles, cast in liquid gold in the lamplight.

“God, look at you,” she said again, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. Her hand was like worn clay when it traced a teasing line over your hip. Her voice was muffled against your skin, but you caught the end of her sentence: “- so fucking pretty.”

Your only response was a choked gasp when Ellie pressed the flat of her tongue to your nipple. You gripped her shoulder, feeling her lips close around you as she sucked your skin into her mouth; you winced when she released it, feeling her teeth graze maddeningly over your nipple.

“Truth or dare?” she said into your skin, her voice vibrating in your bones.

You groaned, gripping her shoulder when she licked a line over your other nipple. If you had thought about this (which, if anybody asked, you didn’t), you never would have imagined your roommate being such a fucking tease.

She hummed, and you could feel the vibration in every nerve. For a moment, you couldn’t find your tongue, your voice caught in your chest until she released your skin with a pop of her lips. She looked up at you, batting her eyes, and dammit if your body didn’t arch, searching for her mouth again.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched you through her lashes, an intoxicating smirk across her lips; they were still shining wetly. She broke you from your thoughts when she murmured, “Use your words, angel.”

Your thighs clenched around her words, automatically and unconsciously. You were sure you could get drunk on the way her voice filled the room, rough and rich as the chords she played. It was through clenched teeth that you said, setting your pride aside, “Dare.” Your cheeks burned when it came out as a moan.

You could feel her smile against your skin as she kissed down your stomach, silent for several long, torturous moments. You felt her teeth sink into your hip bone briefly, your hips jerking at the sensation. It earned you a chuckle before you felt Ellie’s hands pressing your hips into the mattress, holding you still. You groaned low in your throat when you felt her tongue against the skin over the band of your shorts, licking a stripe right above the fabric before taking the elastic between her teeth and tugging. You jumped when she released it, the band snapping back against your skin. You didn’t have to look at her to see the sparkle in her eye.

You swore your heart stopped completely when she murmured, “I wanna go down on you.”

Despite this game she was insistent on playing, it wasn’t said like a dare; it was said like a question, or a request. There was no expectation behind it. Ellie was asking, you realized with dizzying satisfation, for permission.

“Fuck.” It came out as only a breath, a whisper against your tongue. Your fingers ached from gripping the sheets and she hadn’t even touched you yet. “Fuck,” you tried again, and it was a groan this time but at least it was louder. “Yeah. Yeah, please, fuck.” Words were just falling from your lips because when you looked down, Ellie - your roommate, your friend - was watching you, propped between your legs with that fucking smirk, and how could you possibly string together a complete sentence?

And Ellie… didn’t. She didn’t follow up on her dare. Not immediately, at least. No, she took her sweet fucking time - always so damn precise, taking her time in hooking her fingers over the band of your shorts. She pulled them down so slowly you could feel every inch down your legs. And then you were lying beneath your roommate in nothing but your underwear - and dammit, if you had known this would be happening, you would have opted for something a little sexier than a cotton pair with constellations on them.

Ellie smiled. “Cute,” she said, before sinking her teeth into the flesh of your thigh. You were thankful it was cold out - you’d have to wear layers to hide all the places her mouth had been.

Your roommate ducked her head, and you gasped when you felt her press a featherlight kiss against the fabric of your underwear, right where warmth pooled between your legs.

You huffed, twisting the sheets between your fingers. “God, you’re such an asshole - fuck-” You were cut off when Ellie licked a stripe up your panties, warm tongue pressing against your throbbing clit. You moaned at the relief, feeling the wetness of her mouth through the fabric. It wasn’t enough - you needed to feel her against you, needed her tongue to unravel you piece by piece. You pressed your hips down against her lips but her hands held you in place.

You huffed out a breath, her name slipping from your lips when you moaned. “Ellie….”

And then she was yanking your underwear down your hips; you gasped, lifting your ass to help her shove them down. She had only gotten them just below your knees before she was pressing back in, too impatient to finish the job.

And - fuck, her mouth. Ellie’s mouth was fucking magic. You moaned into the quiet room when she pressed the flat of her tongue against your pussy, licking a stripe between your lips. You couldn’t control the curses slipping between your teeth when her tongue made teasing circles around your clit until you were whimpering, aching for her. She had released your hips to dig her fingers into your thighs, nails digging in, and you’d surely have crescent-shaped bruises there tomorrow - even more to cover up. You pressed your hips down against her, groaning, her name only a whisper: “Fuck, Els-”

And then she finally, finally, gave you what you wanted.

Ellie ate pussy like it was her fucking job, like she was clocking into a shift and working her ass off for those tips. She lapped at your clit like she was starving, pressing her lips against you until you were dizzy, your entire body tuned in to the warmth of her tongue and the gentle graze of her teeth. You shuddered when you felt that tongue press into your core, a brief pressure that pulled curses from your lips, words tripping over each other: “Ah - fuck - fuck, Ellie - oh my God, fuck-”

It didn’t take long for tension to build in your stomach. You were intoxicated; you were tipsy, yes, but something about the way Ellie moved her tongue - long, slow circles around your clit, using the flat of her tongue to draw you closer to the edge - was like a damn drug. You got what you wanted: She unraveled you with her tongue, tugging curses from your lips. You could hear your own moans echoing against your quiet bedroom and you couldn’t even feel embarrassed about it.

Ellie took your clit between her lips and sucked, pulling you into her mouth and-

A long, low moan pulled at your throat when you came. Your hand came up to grip at her hair, fingers twisting in the soft strands. She moaned when you pulled, and the vibration against every nerve pushed you further; you could feel your orgasm in your chest, could feel it trembling in your thighs.

Ellie worked you through it, her tongue dancing against you as you rode out your high. She didn’t stop, pressing her lips against you, dipping her tongue into your core again, until you were shoving against her head, your hips bucking at the sensitivity.

When she raised her head, she was grinning, that wicked, infuriating grin she always had when she was pleased with herself. She rested her head against your thigh for a moment, watching you as you blinked the stars from your eyes. You relaxed your fingers in her hair, smoothing your thumb across her temple.

The only thing you could say, breathless and dizzy, was, “Fuck, Els. What the fuck?”

Ellie laughed, the sound unarming the silence around you, the anxiety of what this meant. She pressed a kiss to your thigh, right over the little indentations where her nails had dug into the flesh, and just said, “Yeah?”

You giggled, tugging at her hair gently. You looked down at your roommate - and you didn’t know what this meant for the two of you, but that could be a problem for tomorrow, when you weren’t drunk and sleep-deprived and naked beneath your friend. For now, you only said, “Truth or dare?”

Ellie blinked, raising an eyebrow, and said, “Truth.”

You considered not asking for a moment, unsure if you wanted to know, but curiosity pressed at you until you asked, “What do I taste like?”

The grin spread wider, Ellie’s eyes sparkling as she pushed herself up. She crawled up your body, taking a moment to press a kiss to your stomach, to the bruises she had left littered across your chest - you moaned when she took a nipple briefly into her mouth. She kissed her way up your neck, across your jaw, sucking at the skin beneath your ear - another fucking bruise to worry about. God, it was like she wanted her signature on you, branded in every inch of your skin.

Her face hovered an inch above yours, propping herself up on her elbows, smirking. She leaned in close, leaving room for you to turn away if you wanted. Instead, you tilted your chin up and kissed her again.

You wrinkled your nose at the metallic taste of yourself against her lips. You didn’t like it, the way your own scent wafted over you. But fuck if you didn’t open your mouth when you felt Ellie’s tongue pressing at the seam of your lips. She moaned when your tongue ran along the roof of her mouth, pressing into the taste of you.

When she pulled back, her eyes were soft, her cheeks flushed. “Like that.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your face away; you had to admit, even if you hated how you tasted - tasting yourself against her tongue sent a wave of heat between your legs all over again. You only said, “Gross.”

Ellie leaned in again, and you felt her lips ghosting against your jaw. You felt her breath against your skin when she whispered, “Truth or dare?”

You lifted your chin to give her access to your neck, sighing when she pressed a kiss against your pulse. “Truth.”

Her breath huffed against you when she chuckled before raising her head to meet your eyes again, that same cocky smile spread across her lips. “Was that better than a six?”

“Oh, fuck off.” You shoved against her until she rolled off of you.

She flopped back against the mattress, still laughing, but she was holding her arm out for you. You only hesitated for a moment - but even if she was your roommate, she just made you see stars, so it’s not like cuddling would push against the boundary you had already broken. You curled into her, laying your head on her chest, the sports bra she was still wearing soft against your cheek.

You sighed, skimming your fingertips against the warm skin of her stomach. “Yeah,” you whispered before you could stop yourself. “Definitely better than a six.”

You were starting to fall asleep, your eyes growing heavy, your study notes effectively forgotten. You burrowed into her further, wrapping your arm around her and pressing your fingers against her hip. You briefly wondered where the vodka bottle had ended up in the mess, but Ellie didn’t seem in any particular hurry to untangle herself from you, so you figured it could wait - surely it would be okay if she slept in your room for one night.

Just before you dozed off, you heard Ellie murmur, “You left the window open.”

#listen i'm writing a novel rn so i forgot how to write short things #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #lesbian smut #ellie x you #ellie the last of us #ellie williams tlou #tlou smut #idk man #tlou 2 x reader #i might change the title idk i couldn't think of anything #i haven't written fanfiction in. like 8 or 9 years i think lol

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sglossmin · 1 month ago

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Muse | MYG

Plot: What happens when the man you practically simp over in high school, is right now, sitting across you after almost 10 years of not seeing him? Worse? You're here for an appointment for therapy and he's your psychologist.

Pairing: SeniorStudent!Yoongi x JuniorStudent!Reader ---> Psychologist! Yoongi x Artist!Reader

Genre: Fluff, slight age gap, slice of life, a bit of angst, schoolmates to lovers(?)

Warnings: talks about mental and death...erm lemme know if you found any disturbing heh

Word count: dunno

A/N: This is...actually some sort of based irl looll (only the high school scenes, most of it) This is my first one shot work! Let me know if I'm lacking something. The current series that I'm still working rn is still not even half finished T_T T_T So I thought I might give it a try---write a oneshot heh I just started here to write in tumblr so I still don't know that much stuff. Feel free to comment so I can improve!! Ik some of those thing weren't even a thing at that time...

"Shit..." I muttered right as I saw the man in a white coat, a clipboard in his arms while his hair softly falls down in his brows, reading his next patient's data. Just like the last time I saw him. Weird, huh? It's been years, yet... he still looks just the same.

Our eyes met, for the first time in a while. He frowned, it was so subtle and fast, no one would even know. But I did. Every little actions that he did, I always notice it. No matter what. I keep saying that the Y/n who just hit her puberty is no longer me, yet with my emotions right now, I can feel like my hormones are all over the place.

"Sit down," he smiled, gesturing the seat across him.

His voice so deep it sounds like soothing lullaby... Eyes so tired that I can tell he works so well... The warmth in his smile makes my heart skip a beat, forgetting why am I here in the first place...

Snap of it!

It took me a second to realize that I stared at him for too long. I cleared my throat, wishing my embarrassment would also go away. I smiled as I took the seat.

Our session ended without him saying that he at least recognize me. Did it made me upset? Yeah... sort of. I mean, I didn't go there and paid him to reminisce our high school days, but still...

I huffed as I crumpled a paper.

"Ugh! Really? Y/n? Still drawing him?"

I uncrumpled it and stared at the newly drawing for a while. I leaned back in my chair and sighed... "I'll give it to him. He looks hot in that coat." I chuckled and stuck the paper back in my notebook. "I'm keeping it because I drew him too good, not that I still like him or anything. That would be just so stupid."

Ha! Right! Nothing else. I smiled, pleased with how I gaslight myself.

I stretched my back and arms. My body ached for having a shrimp position for a long time.

And before I know it, I fell asleep (again) in my studio.

Summer 2010

Our last subject just finished and it's still raining heavily. I have no umbrella so my friends and I were forced to run. Reaching the covered court, I groaned. "Why call it summer when it rains this heavy??"

"Do they really think—us—high school students are waterproof?" Exclaimed by Sana while Chaeyoung just chuckled beside us. Our clothes were pretty wet but not that drenched.

We went upstage since there's some chair in there. Putting our bags down, we wait for the rain to stop. Us juniors only have to spend half day in the campus. Lucky, huh?

"Stay here, hm? You both can't leave me just because you guys have umbrella to share and your house are close." I glared at the both of them while they just snickered. They won't leave me otherwise, I know that.

It's been an hour, yet the rain don't seem to plan on stopping. It's about 1 now, we think. Seems like we're the only junior students in the campus. Suddenly, the seniors from the front building went outside. They went in the cover court. They were wearing some sort of costumes. It was ridiculous—Okay, not really. They seemed like they're going to dance.

We sat still from above across them and watch them prepare.

"Hey, Chae, wanna play?" I grinned as I whispered. Sana was too occupied with her phone that's why it was just the two of us who played.

We played Smash or Pass with every senior guy that I pointed. Until finally, I pointed it to the guy who's wearing a Thai hat(?) The gold ones, it seems like part of their costume.

"Hm... Smash!" Chaeyoung laughed and I did too. Cause miraculously, SAME.

We had a great laugh realizing we'd say smash.

We watched them dance and sing along with the music that were playing. Thinking about it, we might actually look like idiots. They can practically see us sing and dance with them since we're upstage.

After a while, I asked Chae, "What nickname should we give him?" It's our thing. Giving nicknames to people whether they look good or annoying. I think it's every friend groups should do.

"He looks like a cat and his eyes disappear too when he smiles... Kitty?"

"Kitty...?" Sounds weird so I proposed to change it. "What about Neko? Same meaning but doesn't sound weird." She agreed and since then, we called him Neko. With his sharp eyes and pale tone, he does looks like a kitty.

Few moments after, we planned a scheme. We went down to compare our height to his. We walked towards him as if we were just passing by and about to go to the canteen instead.

My and Chae's eyes went wide open. Gasping and staring at each other, the signal were sent.

Gosh, he's tall.

Oh gosh, he is.

A day or two passed since that. We randomly saw him when we went to buy in the canteen.

Then again.

And again.

Untill a few days have been passed and I keep on seeing him. To the point that... maybe... just maybe, it wasn't really a coincidence anymore.

New character unlocked?

When we were about to go back in our room, we met Hani. My bestfriend in elementary days.

"Y/n! Come here! Imma show you something. Actually—no—It's a someone." Hani dragged me and Chae went along with me.

Hani rant about how this guy looks so good, that in the first time in a while, they found someone who actually looks good in this campus.

Chae and I eyed each other. Were we thinking who we're thinking?

As we reached the third floor of the first year's building, across it was the senior's building. We stopped our track right in front of the exact room. The windows were open and from our spot, we can literally see him studying.

"Neko?"

"You know him?" Hani asked in which I nod.

I think we just found our sweet spot.

Chae and I sometimes went up there just to catch a glimpse of him. It was stupid and fun.

Until that day came.

As usual, Chae and I went to the third floor once again. We stayed in the balcony that faces their room. It was break time so everyone was all over the place. Then I felt it. Chae poked my side and pointed my front. I frowned and followed her finger. There was it, his teacher raising her brow at me. Then his classmates turned their heads toward me... 'till lastly, he did. Everyone was looking at ME. I noticed Chae was hiding on the wall divider of the balcony. I looked back at the teacher who's still looking at me.

"Do you need anything, Ms?" We were quite far but it was still audible.

"H-huh..?" That was all I could muster. It was even barely a whisper. My mouth was slightly open due to not knowing what to do nor say. It lasted like that for a few more seconds. Until I mustered all the courage and pride I have left in my body and shrugged it off and walked away. Frowning as if they got it wrong and I was simply hanging out there.

Walk

RUN

I went back to our room as soon as I noticed Chae was following me. When we get back, we were panting and sweating. Our classmates looked at us with weird looks. Not that I can blame them. One of our classmate asked us and we did tell the story.

It was our last time going in there.

I felt someone flick my head. I groaned in annoyance.

"Noona, wake up!"

I grumbled as I sit up straight, realizing I fell asleep in the studio again.

"You know you don't have to flick me. Between the two of us, I'm the light sleeper." I mumbled while my eyes were focusing on the big guy in front of me.

He rolled his eyes at me. Up to this day, I wondered who did he got it from. "Eomma wants you to eat lunch with us."

I chuckled. "Your mother did? Wow, what a pleasure." I sassed.

He groaned and plopped himself at the couch. "Can't believe you still resent her."

"Kook, what kind of a daughter am I if I don't?"

Jungkook threw a pillow to me as he stood up. "Still. Eat with us."

And just like that, he walked away.

Life goes on, that's what they say.

I must've been nuts for going to therapy yesterday. It's not like, I'm seriously depressed.

Right..?

Living alone in the house that came from the paycheck of my drawings must be really the best accomplishment I've had. Who would've thought the high achieving in academics girl would end up in this job. It was pure mystery.

I stared at my empty fridge. I smiled. The only thing that kept me sane nowadays is this...

"Looks like, I need to go... shopping."

I grinned ear to ear while I spent my fortune.

"Who needs therapy, when you can go and do your grocery."

I picked out the foods I knew I'd eat while I finish the new dramas. I was about to get the last stock of my fave gummies until someone practically snatched it. Fast.

"H-hey-" I cut off myself from shouting when I realized who it was.

It was him. In normal clothes. Am I dreaming? Impossible. He wouldn't have clothes in the first place if I am.

"Oh, Ms Jeon." He smiled.

Smiled?

He has the nerve to smile after taking that gummy?

But... then again, who need those gummy bears when his gummy smile is practically the sweetest.

He cleared his throat. "Seems like we'll be seeing each other more often."

Uh...what? Is he trying to say that I have a severe mental illness so we'll literally see each other more?? This fucker...

He probably noticed my frown as he chuckled and shook his head. "Uhm, that might've come off the wrong way. I meant, I just moved in in this neighborhood."

Sorry, what..?

I laughed my nervousness away. It's not like we'll be neighbors. This neighborhood is way too big for us to see each other.

Is that why it was my first time seeing him in this grocery store?

"Well, welcome to the neighborhood." I chuckled, probably awkwardly and excused myself.

Damn it. It could've been my chance for us to talk and stuff, but I refused. I mean, with my looks right now? No thanks.

I skipped my lunch and didn't go to our family's house. I plopped myself on my bed and took out my old sketchbook.

Staring at my old drawings of him, it sure did bring back of the memories.

2010

It's been a month yet we still don't know his name. We already did a lot of different shenanigans just to know it. He must be really like having a low profile. We found his classmate's account yet his are nowhere to be found. Maybe he doesn't go online...

I was staring at my computer, scrolling on whatever stuff pop up, then it hits me. Her sister. Hani's sister!

They're in the same year, so maybe, just maybe, she knows his name.

I quickly typed in to ask her. A girl from our year had a picture with him posted. I sent it to her.

"Hi eonni, can I ask u a question? Is there a chance that you know him?"

*Photo sent*

It took a while for her to respond.

"Uhm yeah, he's from our year"

"Can you tell me his name?"

"Min Yoongi"

"I think that's his name"

Min Yoongi... cute. It suits him.

Hours and hours later, I still couldn't find his account. Then as I was searching, there was this account, he was friends with Hani.

My eyes widen. "Min Suga? Could it be?"

I stalked the account and it was really him. No wonder I couldn't find his account—he wasn't using his real name! Likes to keep a low profile? Bullshit. He has more than 5k followers!

Moreover...he really...looks good.

I wonder if his face reflects his personality.

I added him as a friend and waited for the request to be accepted. I told Chae that if he didn't accepted it within 24 hours, I'll delete my request. I still have pride you know. Don't want to be one of those girls in his inbox.

It hasn't even been an hour and I got the notification. He accepted it! I squealed and danced in my room.

This is what being a youth, right?

I clicked my tongue as I chuckled bitterly. "Youth is never coming back."

As I turn the pages more, my bell ringed. Jungkook never ring first, he just comes in whenever he wants to. I should really change the passcode. As for my mom, she never really bother coming here.

Expecting no one, I opened the door, only to gape at the man in front of me.

"You...like pies?"

Min Yoongi, in front of me, holding a pie, not just holding, but giving..?

"Uh...how close is your house exactly?" I didn't mean to sound rude, but rather genuinely curious.

He hesitatingly pointed the house across me.

The Kim's house?

"It was my friend's grandparents who lived there. He took them to take care of them and then he sold this house to me." Yoongi explained. His face going like this :]

"So you really did mean that we'll see each other more often..." I mumbled in which he caught. He laughed and gave me the pie.

"My mom kept on nagging me on giving pies. She really worked hard on it. Hope you like it!"

She's here?

I nodded and thanked him. He went back and I did too. The smell of the freshly baked peach mango pie really did things to my stomach.

For the first time, Min Yoongi gave me something.

Spring 2011

"Let's go hoomeee. Forget it! I'm not going to give it to him!" I murmured while we wait in the senior's balcony. A few steps away from him, we waited. "I knew it I shouldn't have contact him." I mumbled. "He didn't even read my text..." I mumbled. Chaeyoung was practically dragging me. "Look, he seems busy too."

"Would you rather let your drawing and efforts be wasted then?" Chayoung argued.

Then for the meantime, we waited. We walked towards his classroom but he was nowhere. He was just right there few seconds earlier.

"Stupid text."

A week ago...*

Should I really text him? The classes have been cancelled. I'm not sure whether it's a good idea to do it now. Should I make myself known? Or should I keep it anonymous? But I really wanna take a picture with him...

Ugh! My head hurts. Forget it, I'm just gonna do it.

"Hi uhm... So I just randomly draw one of my mutuals and it happened to be you.."

*Photo sent*

"Perhaps you like it?

"I was about to give you this at school tomorrow but they cancelled the classes so... Hope you like it<3

Was I too formal?

It took him hours to reply.

"Oh wow, what a nice piece!"

"Yes I like it, thanks!"

HE REPLIED!!! I muffled my squeal with my pillow as I looked back at his text. It took me hours to see the message and reply too.

"Guess... I'll just give it to you when we bump into each other, maybe(?)"

"Ugh goshhh how am I going to give you this at schoolT^T"

"Just don't give it yet if you're still not ready^^"

End*

I went home feeling defeated. Not able to give him the drawing.

I stared at my bedroom's ceiling before deciding to go online.

2+messages

It was sent an hour ago. I quickly opened the message. He replied to my text earlier in the morning, when I told him to meet up.

"Sorry, I just saw your text message"

"I don't have an internet at school, that's why"

"It's fine, so,I'll just give it to you tomorrow?"

"Okay, sure"

Saying it was fine when I was literally sulking in my room like a child. But that's when I haven't read his message.

Min Yoongi apologized to me.

I giggled like an idiot in my room as I stared at the text messages we shared.

The next day...

"AAHHHH! Let's go hoomeee. Forget it! I'm not going to give it to him!" I whined, it wasn't just Chae and Sana was there for me, but some of my classmates too. They were waiting for me—like usual, we go home altogether. "I knew it I shouldn't have contact him. This is really a stupid stupid idea!!" I ran around the court in attempt to go home.

We're here, in front of the senior's building. Waiting...again.

One of my classmate proposed that they'll just call him to go down. Two of them went upstairs to his room.

Why does he always keeping me on waiting. Does he think he's some sort of a king?

I huffed and were literally losing all my shits. Till I heard them.

"He's here!!" They squealed. Too much of an opposite, I composed myself and cleared my throat. Thank God he's tall so when I'm looking forward all I can see is his chest. I gave it to him and our hands brushed. It was so quick and subtle, yet it already made my heart warm.

As practiced, Chaeyoung smoothly asked him if we can take a picture—for business purposes. I felt too stiff. This is too good to be true. Then I felt it, he leaned closer. Our arms touching, he smiled to the pic.

My heart was about to get off my rib cage. My insides were going crazy, yet, thankfully, I look completely normal outside.

When I got home, he texted me, thanking and saying that he really appreciates it. A warm feeling spread across my whole body.

The next day, my classmates and I talked about the event yesterday. They were bitching about how Yoongi didn't even thanked me and just left. I laughed so hard when I heard that. Because he did. Yoongi did thanked me before leaving, it just happened that it was loud enough for only me to hear it. Now, it felt more special.

"Have you ever thought of the probable major reason for what you're feeling?"

Here we go again.

How can I focus on what's wrong with me, when you're right here? Worse, as my doctor.

3 more appointments with him. I paid for this, I should at least gain something.

"Maybe... because up to this day, I still blame myself for his death." My head hung low as I mumbled it.

Why do you always have to see my flaw, Min Yoongi?

This infatuation is slowly turning to hatred...

"You know it wasn't your fault."

I turned my head to him with a frown. So, he does remember me?

A tear fell from my cheek. I wiped it before he can even notice. I turned my hands into fist. 6 words. It was only 6 words yet he can already open my bare self.

"I-if I wasn't stubborn. He'd still be here. He followed me. You saw that. If only he didn't. He'd still be here."

I felt a lump in my throat. Those memories. It was too vivid as if it just happened yesterday.

Spring 2012

"I told you, I don't want to!"

Another day, another argument to have with my mother.

Why is she so pushy on making me go to states?

"It's for your own sake! Studying here at this campus will let you go nowhere."

"What? So eager to get rid of me?!" I yelled while we drive to campus.

"Jeon Y/n! Don't you dare shout at your mother." My father said sternly as he drives.

As we were near the campus, I lost it.

"Drop me off." 1.. 2.. 3... "I said, drop me off, dad." Keeping my voice low yet so stern it could cut apples.

My father stopped the car and I get out of it.

I was mindlessly crossing the road that I didn't notice a four wheeler truck coming at me.

Then I felt a pair of hands pushed me hard, and before I knew it, screams were heard. My mom's loud cries were ringing in my ears. Tears were coming out of me uncontrollably. Blood all over him. I crawled, oh so slowly and trembling. Before I could even reach him, my mom pushed me aside and called for help.

Minutes later, I heard the sirens of the ambulance. I was just there. Staring at him. No words coming out.

It started raining. It was a light rain, yet even with those subtle touch, it made my whole body flinch and freeze.

Till I felt someone's embrace. Someone was covering me with their jacket. Who could possibly care for me if it wasn't my father.

Slowly, I turned my head towards the person.

Why it has to be you?

"Everything's gonna be okay. The ambulance is taking your father already."

He spoke in a soothing tone. Yet no matter how warm or soft his voice is, I can't somehow get out the ice cage I'm in.

"Do you think your father would want you to think that way? It's been years Y/n, what happened that you're back at this again?"

part 2 read here^^

A/N: okay, I lied. Maybe this isn't gonna be a oneshot... maybe I'll have 2 parts? 3 maybe? I just cut this off here cause I think it was too long. So readers can have breaks hehe. Gonna post the next part tomorrow maybe...

Comment your @ if u guys wants to be added on the taglist^^

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bunny-norris · 10 months ago

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TEENAGE DREAM, L. NORRIS.

Word count: idek but it’s long af (oops)

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids) i also can’t write smut too well so enjoy this monstrosity.

In which, his best friend was there all along, he just never realised it until it was almost too late. Best friends to lovers.

From the moment you were a little girl, motorsport was a big thing in your life. Your father and brother grew up being Formula One fans; it ran through your family. Your brother had decided he wanted to go karting, and ultimately you wanted to join him, wanting to compete against him.

It was on one of those early Saturday mornings at the local karting track, the air buzzing with excitement and the smell of petrol filling your lungs, that you first met Lando Norris. He was a scrawny kid with a mop of dark hair and a cheeky grin, looking just as eager to hit the track as you were. At first, you thought nothing of him, just another competitor in the line-up. But as the weeks turned into months, and the karting sessions became a regular part of your routine, you began to notice him more.

Lando was fast, really fast. But more than that, he was kind. In a world where everyone was trying to get ahead, he was the one who’d stick around to help you with your kart when it faltered, or share a laugh after a particularly tough race. Despite your fierce competitiveness and tough exterior, Lando seemed to see right through to the part of you that loved the sport not just for the thrill of victory, but for the pure joy of racing.

One rainy afternoon, after a particularly grueling session where you'd spun out twice and felt like giving up, it was Lando who came over and offered you his umbrella and a hug. "You'll get them next time, I believe in you, always." he said with that infectious grin, he wrapped his arms around you and whilst Lando was not the tallest boy you had ever seen, but he was much taller than you were, to the point that you hid your head in his neck as he hugged you.

"I'll never be as good as you Lan, you'll be a Formula One star one day I just know it." You told him, even though it was a tough day for you, you were happy for Lando, who had succeeded in winning the race.

"You're better than me, Y/N. And even if I do ever get into Formula One, i'll take you to every race, we'll always be together, always be best friends, I promise."

And just like that, from being just 11 years old, Lando kept his promise to you.

At just 18 years old, Lando Norris found himself catapulted into the world of Formula One as a driver for McLaren and you were with him every single step of the way. You were always his plus one to everything, every event he would beg you to go with him. Many people thought you were his sister, following him around everywhere, you were in every family photo, every red carpet photo.

But as you both grew older and Lando's career skyrocketed, your relationship began to shift. It was subtle at first, the way his touch lingered a bit longer, the way his smiles seemed warmer. Lando had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room, his blue eyes locking onto yours with a kind of intensity that made your heart race. He would cling onto you like you were his anchor, hugging you from behind, holding your hand in crowded places, and giving you soft kisses on your temple that left you breathless.

It felt like he was treating you like his girlfriend, and for a while, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, he saw you that way too. But then, there were the other girls. Lando was charming and handsome, and the attention he got from the opposite sex was impossible to ignore. He would bring home different girls, be seen with someone else on his arm, and every time it happened, it crushed your heart a little more. You tried to bury your feelings, to forget about the way he made you feel, but it was easier said than done.

Max, Lando's other best friend, was one of the few people who saw through your façade. He knew how you felt about Lando, and he never missed an opportunity to encourage you to go for it. "You should tell him," Max would say, his eyes serious. "You never know, he might feel the same way." But the thought of risking your friendship with Lando was too much. The fear of losing him completely if things went wrong kept you from saying anything.

So, you focused on your work, throwing yourself into your career and avoiding getting involved with boys. It was easier that way, not having to deal with the pain of seeing Lando with someone else. But deep down, there was always that glimmer of hope that one day, he would see you as more than just his best friend.

Your life revolved around him, and as much as you tried to deny it, your heart belonged to Lando. Every time he took the wheel and raced around the track, your heart raced with him. You were there for his triumphs and his defeats, always cheering him on from the sidelines. And through it all, he was your constant, the one person who made everything better just by being there.

You remember the nights spent talking until the early hours of the morning, sharing your hopes and dreams. Lando would often tell you how much he appreciated having you by his side, how he couldn't imagine doing any of it without you. Those words kept you going, even when it felt like your heart was breaking.

One evening, after a particularly grueling race, you found yourself alone with Lando in his hotel room. The exhaustion was evident on his face, but so was the relief of having you there. He pulled you into a tight hug, resting his chin on your head. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he murmured, his voice heavy with emotion.

You wanted to tell him right then and there how you felt, how much he meant to you, but the fear held you back. Instead, you held onto him a little tighter, savoring the moment and the warmth of his embrace. It was moments like these that made it all worth it, the pain and the longing. As long as you had him in your life, even as just a friend, it was enough.

But Max's words lingered in your mind, a constant reminder of the possibility that things could be different. "You're always going to wonder 'what if' unless you say something," Max had said once, his voice gentle but firm. And he was right. The fear of losing Lando was strong, but the fear of never knowing if he could love you back was even stronger.

—

The 'what if' thought became true though, soon enough you still hadn’t worked up the courage to say anything to your friend. You carried on as normal and that normal turned into him getting a girlfriend. Sure, Lando had been out with girls before but nothing serious, it was never serious, until now.

She was beautiful, kind, and perfect for him. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Lando still acted like your best friend, still hugged you from behind, still gave you those soft kisses on your temple, but it wasn’t the same. You could feel the distance growing, a subtle shift in the way he interacted with you. He wasn’t as close to you anymore, and while you respected his boundaries, it saddened you deeply.

You tried to be happy for him, to support him in his new relationship, but the pain of seeing him with someone else was too much to bear. So, you started to distance yourself. You didn’t go to his races as much anymore, making excuses about work and other commitments. You told yourself it was for the best, that you needed to give him space to focus on his new relationship.

One night, after a race in which he made the podium, there was a knock on your door. Surprised, you opened it to find Lando standing there, still in his race suit, his face flushed with emotion.

“You weren't there, why weren't you there?” he demanded, his eyes searching yours for answers. “I wanted you there, I needed you there.”

Your heart ached at the frustration in his voice, but you couldn’t hold back any longer. "It's not a big deal, Lan. I've missed other races before, I'm sorry I wasn't there but i've been busy." You told him, but he didn't want to accept that.

"You haven't been the same recently, Y/N, have I done something wrong? Please baby, just stop avoiding me."

You know deep down that you weren't everything to Lando, yet he treated you like a princess and treated you that way all the time. You'd had enough of the heart-stopping leap that occurred each time he called you "baby," "darling," or "sweetheart." He was using sweet nicknames for you, ones he should be addressing his lover, not you. Even though he may consider you to be his best friend, the nicknames weren't meant for you; they were for the people he loved.

You turned to face him quickly, something in your mind snapping with hurt. "You can't call me that anymore, Lando, do you not understand that? You have a girlfriend now, we've always been close, but maybe it's sometimes too close for me, it gives people the wrong impression."

"But you're my best girl, Y/N, we've always been like this, I don't understand what the issue is. It doesn't change anything between us."

“It changes everything between us, don't you understand that? You have a girlfriend now, Lando. You don’t need me following you everywhere. I have my own life, and I don’t want to get in the way of your relationship with her.”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “You can’t have it both ways,” you said, your voice trembling. “I can’t act like your girlfriend when I never will be. I can’t keep pretending that it doesn’t hurt to see you with someone else. I love you, Lando, and I understand that you’ll never love me back, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep breaking my own heart.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Lando’s face twisted with anger and hurt. “You love me?"

“What does it matter now, Lando? It never has done before, so it doesn't need to matter now."

Without another word, Lando stormed out, slamming the door behind him. You stood there, your heart shattered, believing that your friendship was over.

You watched him leave, the weight of unspoken words and broken dreams pressing down on your chest.

Weeks passed in a blur of heartache and regret. You buried yourself in work, trying to forget the look on Lando's face when he stormed out of your apartment. The silence between you two was deafening, a constant reminder of everything left unsaid.

One Friday night, Max invited you out. “It’s just going to be a few of us,” he said, his voice casual over the phone. “No Lando, I promise. Just me, my girlfriend, and some friends. Come on, you need a break.”

Reluctantly, you agreed. Max’s girlfriend, Pietra, was one of your closest friends, and you missed her company. Besides, a night out might be exactly what you needed to get your mind off things.

When you arrived at the club, the music was loud and the lights were dazzling. Max’s girlfriend greeted you with a warm hug, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to relax. You didn’t see Lando anywhere, and for that, you were grateful.

You joined your friends on the dance floor, letting the music and the rhythm wash over you. For a little while, you felt free, lost in the moment. A man approached you, charming and handsome, and you found yourself dancing with him. He was a bit too close, his hands lingering a bit too long, but you tried to enjoy the attention, anything to distract from the ache in your heart.

Meanwhile, across the club, Lando stood at the bar with Max. His eyes scanned the crowd, and when he finally spotted you, his heart clenched. Max noticed the shift in his friend’s demeanor and followed his gaze.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Max said, his voice cutting through the noise.

Lando tore his eyes away from you and glared at Max. “What are you talking about?”

“You love her,” Max stated bluntly. “You’ve been stringing her along for years, being best friends for years without telling her how you really feel, treating her like a princess but never actually telling her how much you want her. And now, you’re losing her.”

Lando’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Max sighed, shaking his head. “Yes, you do. I've been both of your friends since we were young, i've lived through every looking look, every pda sessions. And now look at her.” He nodded towards you, now laughing as the man you were dancing with moved even closer. “She’s trying to move on, and you’re just standing here like an idiot.”

"You're delusional," Lando says, rolling his eyes, sipping some of his drink. Max just huffs at him, "sure mate, really explains why you're just burning holes into the back of that blokes head that she's been getting quite close with tonight."

"He just shouldn't be touching her like that," Lando mumbles. "I think actually, if she consents, he can touch her how she and he wants him to. Looks like she'll be getting lucky tonight, at least one of us will." Max smirks, turning away from his friend, knowing his words will light a flame under Lando's arse.

And it does, before Lando even knows where his feet are taking him and stands just feet away from Y/N, and before he knows it, he's pushing the guy she's been dancing with all night. As he pushes the guy away he turns to Y/N cupping her face and pulling her lips onto his.

For a moment, the world seems to stand still for both Y/N and Lando. Y/N's mind went from dancing with a man she had met that night to now all she could think about the fact that Lando's lips were on hers in a way in which she never could've imagined.

Lando put his hands up in your hair and swiped his tongue across your lips, pleading for permission to enter, which you granted. You held onto his waist and drew him in closer, unable to let go of this moment. The fact that there were people around—both familiar and unfamiliar—did not concern you. You wanted all of him right now, so nothing else mattered. You never wanted this to end.

"My girl," Lando mumbled in between kissing you, going back to your lips, bruising them a little more with his mouth.

"Yours, always yours."

Lando let your lips breathe, learning his forehead against your own, his hands making their way up and down your back, getting close to below your waise almost towards your backside. "I love you, i'm sorry I stormed out, i'm sorry for everything. I've been in love with you since the moment you stepped onto that karting track, I never thought you'd ever want me so I never asked, and that was cowardly of me. But please believe me when I tell you that you truly are everything to me." He breathed, as you just stared at him, not quite sure what to say.

"What about your relationship?"

"The moment you told me you loved me, the moment I walked out your door, I ended it." Lando stared into your eyes, he chuckled slightly. "You think i'm going to stay with someone who I don't love when the girl i'm been dreaming about since I was a teenager told me she loves me. Do you know how many time I layed in bed thinking about you, about what I would do to you if I had the chance. I'm not letting that opportunity slip through my fingers."

Your eyebrow perked up at his revolation, wanting to know more. "You thought about me? In bed? Were you having some naughty thoughts, Mr Norris?" You joked, your hands going up to the back of his neck.

"All the damn time, I thought about your body every single moment, whenever you came to the races I would see you in those summer dresses, you have and always will be the most gorgeous person in the room. You have no idea what I want to do to you."

At Lando's words you felt a sensations rush right to your core, you had made him feel that way. Every touch he had ever given you, every kiss on the shoulder, on the head, every time he had wrapped his arms around your waist was now meaning something different.

"Then show me, you want me, I want all of you."

"Are you sure?" Lando asked, always the gentleman, wanting to know you were okay before anything else.

You felt brave, a new sense of confidence surrounding you. You weren't the most confident when it came to men, you never spoke your true feelings to them, you never spoke about your sexual desires with them. But now, something had lit a fire in you and you wanted nothing more than to have everything with Lando. "Positive."

You had both made a swift exit from the club and back to Lando's apartment, a place you knew so well, you had spent endless nights there, together as friends, cuddled up to one another. Some nights you would even join him on his stream, laughing with each other. But tonight was different, his apartment was no longer a hangout place.

The ride back to the apartment was full of sexual tension, and you felt it immensely. Whilst you felt surges of confidence, you couldn’t help but feel nervous. Lando’s hand stayed on your thigh the whole time, making small shapes with his fingers, every so often getting higher and higher. Every time he would get to the point where you hoped he would finally touch you, he moved his fingers away from you.

You let out a whine, desperate for his touch. After all these years of pent up desire, you needed him to do something, anything. He rubbed your thigh, smirking at you. “Soon baby, just be patient, i’ll give you what you want soon enough.”

“Don’t wanna wait Lando, want you now.” You weren’t quite sure where what you were saying was coming from, but the way he spoke to you made you want more, you wanted more than what anyone else had ever given you during sex.

You pouted slightly as Lando just raised his brow, “carry on with that attitude and you won’t be getting anything.”

“I’ll just get myself off then, been doing it for years, i’ve gotten pretty good at it, you know.” Now it was your turn to smirk, though it seemed Lando didn’t find it too funny, his possessive side coming out even more.

He slapped your thigh slightly, making you gasp. “You’ll never do that to yourself again, the only person making you cum will be me, whether it’s my mouth, fingers or dick, only me you understand?”

“Only you.” You nodded, as he kissed you lightly, smirking knowingly to what his words did to you.

Arriving at his apartment, you both practically ran to his floor all the way to his door.

Opening the door, he pushed you up against the wall, slamming the door behind him, his hands cupped to your face, kissing you like it was your last night on earth.

His hands were everywhere, as were yours. His hands made their way to your breasts, spilling them out of the dress you were wearing, pinching your exposed nipples. Every piece of you he wanted to feel, and you wanted to feel all of him.

“Please Lando, want you inside me, please.” You moaned as he kissed down your neck, making sure to leave little marks in each spot he kissed.

“So needy,” he mumbled, but you just huffed again, trying desperately to get out of your dress. You felt hot, like your skin was on fire, wanting to feel your skin against his.

You pulled on his clothes, pulling his shirt over his head, finally being able to touch him after longing to for so long. You weren’t new to seeing Lando without a shirt, it was common when you both went on holiday or even in the gym, but this time it was different, you knew he was now yours and you were his.

Lando led you to the bed, pushing you on your back as he climbed on top of you, getting rid of the last of the clothing on you. “Dreamed of you for so long, dreamed of your pussy, how you’d feel, filling you up.”

His words spurred you on, you had never expected him to be like this, but god, this was better than you ever could’ve imagined.

He wasted no time in attaching his lips to you, something you had never really had the chance to experience. His tongue moved in ways you never knew were possibly, sucking on your clit, dipping his tongue inside your pussy. You felt like you could practically explode, coming close to your release.

Arching your back, gripping the sheets, Lando finally came up for air. “Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined.”

Before you could even think, he flipped you over so he was on his back and you were on top of him. “Gonna fuck you so good, darling, gonna treat you so right.”

You felt practically drunk at this point, you lined up his cock with your core, sinking onto it slowly, feeling him fill you just right.

“Fucking shit,” Lando cursed, not being able to take his eyes off you, mouth slightly agape unable to find the words to say from the pleasure.

You started moving slightly as you got use to him inside you. Your breasts bounced as you moved, Lando’s eyes never leaving yours.

“Can’t believe I never did this sooner, so many years I could’ve had you all to myself, had you like this every night. Never fucking letting you go, gonna fuck you everyday, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” Lando purred, encouraging you to go faster.

You nodded, barely being able to form the words to reply. “Yes, yes, please.”

“Good girl. My dream girl, so good for me.”

Lando’s pace quickened, making you both come close to climax. Both saying incoherent words of love and pleasure, Lando chanting over and over again about how good you felt and how he never wanted to let you go.

“Lan, i’m gonna..” You said, as his hand gripped your backside, you knew there would be marks there in the morning.

“Me too, baby. Come with me,” he said as you both looked in each others eyes.

Coming together, you fell against his chest, exhausted.

“I love you,” Lando said, pushing your hair out of your face, kissing the side of your head. Even after everything that had just happened, he still managed to treat you like the princess he always had done.

Your teenage dream had turned into something real.

do i know how to finish fics? no. Bon Appetite.

#formula 1 #formula one #lando norris #formula 1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one imagine #lando norris imagine #formula one smut #lando norris smut #smut #lando x reader #lando imagine

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chanandlersstuff · 15 days ago

Text

Director and Actor

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x Reader.

Summary: The timeline of how Hayden gradually fell in love with her until he was madly in love, to the point of no returning.

Word count: 9.464

Warnings: Not much actually, age-gap and devastation, like someone opened your chest and ripped your heart out.

Author’s note: Hello hello again, thanks a lot for the paitence, again, and the love I've been reciving for the series.

It's been a while, since...I actually don't remember, almost a year I think, but better late than never I guess (?.

As I said before, I strugle a lot with writing when I don't have the right motivation and I start and left fics, I finished one in my native language, I picked up fics that were long forgotten and two days ago all the inspiration in the world hit me all at once and I finished this part and gave enought fuel to start the next one.

With that being said, enjoy, don't hate me too much, nor them, hehe. Lots of love, ME.

gif credit @hayden-christensen

← Previous part

Beginning of August 2021. The show must go on.

The air on set was electric, but no in the way it used to be. It was heavier now. Dense. Suffocating. Every word spoken felt too loud. Every silence lingered too long.

The tension was thick enough to slice with a lightsaber and everyone felt it. The director and the star didn’t speak anymore. Not like before.

There was no more coffee waiting on her desk, nor tea waiting to be brewed in the kitchen. No shared breakfast. No jasmine scent wafting from his coat after he dropped by to say hi. No quiet laughs between takes, no whispered “Bubble” or “Starboy” in the quiet spaces between chaos.

Now, there was silence. Awkward. Cold. Unforgiving.

They hadn’t spoken properly since the training session in the stunt room, the one where she almost kissed him. Or he almost kissed her. Or maybe they both did. It didn’t matter, because he pulled away.

Since then, everything has been different. But it wasn’t like they didn’t see each other, because they did. Every day. Every take. Every meeting. Every briefing. They were professionals after all.

He showed up on time, hit his marks, delivered every line. And she directed with surgical precision, addressing him only when it was absolutely necessary.

Hayden looked at her. All the time. Even when she wasn’t looking at him. Especially then. His eyes found her without thinking, searching for something familiar, some sign that she was still there, that she hadn’t completely closed herself off.

But she had. Not out of cruelty. Or pride.

She avoided him because it hurt too much to not avoid him. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t meet his eyes, not since that day, the day she felt everything shift.

The day she let herself believe that maybe… maybe he felt it too. Maybe it wasn’t just the stolen glances, the lingering touches, the late-night talks and the thoughtful gifts. Maybe it was real. Maybe it was something worth risking.

And then he pulled away.

Not violently. Not harshly. Just gently. Like a door softly clicking shut.

And he hadn’t said a word since.

She tried to hold on to her pride. To the professionalism she’d worked so hard to master. She was the youngest director Lucasfilm had ever trusted with a project this big. She was a woman in a world where that still meant fighting harder to be heard. She couldn’t fall apart. Not here. Not now.

But her heart was broken.

And worst of all, she was ashamed of it.

Ashamed that she let it happen. Ashamed that she cared so deeply. Ashamed that despite everything, a part of her still wanted him to look at her like he used to. Still wanted to hear his voice say her name, soft and warm like tea on a cold day.

And he did look at her.

That was the worst part.

She could feel it.

Across the set, in the silence of production meetings, during takes, his eyes found her, heavy with guilt and something else. Something she didn’t dare name.

But he kept his distance. Because she did. Because her silence was sharp, and her avoidance louder than any confrontation. And he honored that space, even if it killed him.

The crew noticed. Of course they did.

It wasn’t just the absence of laughter or private jokes. It was the way she stood a little straighter when he walked into the room, how his eyes tracked her every move with sadness on them. The static electricity that sparked when they were accidentally forced into the same space. Everyone tiptoed around them now, like something fragile was about to break.

“You two good?” Ewan asked one afternoon, voice low, brows raised as he stood beside Hayden after a particularly quiet rehearsal.

Hayden didn’t answer right away. He watched her across the room, where she was giving the DOP some notes, her voice soft but her shoulders tight. “We’re fine,” he muttered eventually, jaw clenched.

Ewan didn’t believe a word of it. Neither did anyone else because it was a lie, one he told too easily now.

The day had been heavy for her, everything that could go wrong that day, it did. So as she sat in front of her screen, her headset buzzed with feedback, and her clipboard was shaking slightly in her hands.

She just needed to sleep, to properly sleep, which she had not been doing lately. Because every time she closed her eyes, she was back in that training room, heart pounding, lips parted, breathless, right before it all fell apart.

The AD called, the actors took their places, her eyes glued themselves to the monitor and his on her.

“Rolling.”

She took a deep breath. “Action.”

But moments later, she had to call it.

“Cut,” she called sharply. “Let’s go again.”

Again. And again. And again.

They did six takes. Each one more unbearable than the next. By the fourth the actors started to feel it. Her voice cracked a little by the fifth. By the sixth, the cinematographer glanced her way with a quiet, almost pitying look.

“Let’s take five,” she said, spinning on her heel before anyone could speak.

She disappeared into the narrow corridor beside the soundstage. Bracing herself against the wall, her head hung low and her breathing was shallow, she pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. She hadn’t cried in months. She wouldn’t cry now. Not for a scene that didn’t seem to work. Not for the wrong delivery of lunch for the crew. Not for the fucking cold bitter coffee she drank in the morning. And definitely not for a man who pulled away.

Not for a man who looked at her like she meant everything, then acted like she was nothing.

No matter how hard she tried to act like she didn’t care, she did. She cared too much. Still. And that infuriated her.

Her heart was bruised and swollen with everything she didn’t say.

Why did you pull away? Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you make me believe in something you weren’t ready for?

Her hands trembled, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to go back where they came from.

“Hey.” His voice came from behind her, quiet. Hesitant.

She froze. Her shoulders tensed.

“You need something?” she said, voice sharper than she meant, brittle like glass. But she couldn’t help it. She was too full.

Of sadness. Of anger. Of everything.

Hayden exhaled. “We need to talk.”

She turned slowly, eyes red-rimmed but defiant. “Now you want to talk?”

He ran a hand through his hair, looked down at the floor. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well, you did.”

Silence stretched between them. He looked at her like she was the only thing he saw and she…she glared at him.

The coldness in her eyes stopped him mid-breath, freezing every word in his throat. Because whatever he had come there to say, whatever apology, confession, excuse, died on his lips the moment her eyes found his.

She didn’t have to say a thing. He felt it.

The hurt. The betrayal. The disappointment.

And still, she didn’t look away.

She held his gaze like the lightsaber he taught her to wield.

And somewhere beneath the ache in her chest, beneath the heat rising to her cheeks and the storm of emotions fighting to spill from behind her ribs, she reminded herself of something.

Of him, actually.

Of one of the most beautiful gifts she had ever received, wrapped in silence and sincerity months ago when everything was still soft and new between them. The perfectly placed frame in her bookshelf.

"The show must go on. Come rain, come shine, Come snow, come sleet. The show must go on."

And so it would.

She blinked once, and the emotion in her eyes vanished like smoke.

He watched, helpless, as the woman he missed, the one who laughed with him over tea, who tucked pens in her hair and called him Starboy and Moose, was replaced by her again.

The director. Professional. Precise. Unshakable.

“The five minutes are up,” she said, tone clipped and unreadable. And without another glance, she stepped past him, steps firm on the floor, head high, spine straight.

She didn’t look back and he didn’t stop her.

Because how could he, when she was doing exactly what he reminded her to do? Putting the show first. Carrying on. Even when it broke her.

Even when it broke him.

He turned to watch her disappear down the hall, swallowed by shadows and silence. Not being close to her was punishment, one he knew he deserved every second of it.

Mid of August 2021. How did it end? I can’t pretend I understand.

The set was stripped bare, props cleared, lights off, the chaos of production long gone for the day. Only the golden spill of late afternoon sun filtered in from the open bay doors, warming the edges of the metal scaffolding and stretching shadows across the concrete floor.

She was still there. Alone in her chair.

Her legs were curled underneath her, hands resting in her lap, a red pen twirling idly between her fingers. The black canvas of the director's chair framed her like a quiet portrait, serene on the outside, storming on the inside.

Hayden had only come back to grab a script he’d left behind. At least, that’s what he told himself. But the second he spotted her, still and soft in the quiet, something in him shifted.

He shouldn’t but he did.

His feet moved on instinct, slowly across the floor. Easy, careful. His steps were light, like approaching a skittish animal that might bolt if startled. He didn’t want to spook her. He didn’t want to cause her any more pain.

He just wanted to be near her.

“Hey,” he said gently, voice low enough to not echo. “You alright?”

She startled slightly, lifting her head from the open binder in her lap. Her expression was tired, guarded. “What? Why?”

“You’re scrunching your nose.”

Her hand moved before she could stop it, fingers tracing the slight curve between her brows. “So?”

He gave a soft, almost sheepish smile. “That usually means you don’t like something.”

She frowned. “How do you know that?”

With a slight shrug, he said, "I notice things about you."

That silenced her.

The pen in her hand stilled. Her eyes dropped to the binder again, but the blush rose to her cheeks anyway, subtle, but real. She hated that her body still reacted to him like that. Hated that after everything, he still saw her so clearly.

“I didn’t sleep much last night,” she finally admitted. “I stayed late working… and just ended up crashing here.”

“You didn’t go home?” His brow creased, concern breaking through the soft edge of his voice.

“No. I had a lot to do,” she shrugged, brushing it off. “Got up early, too, to finish.”

This woman. Taking a few steps closer to her, his hand hovered over her back and quietly, decisively, he said, “Come on.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I’m taking you home,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Her laugh was dry. “I can take an Uber, don’t worry.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, stepping closer now, voice firmer. “I’m taking you. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Hayden…” she started, already shaking her head.

Oh how much I missed you saying my name.

“You don’t have to,” she said, shaking her head. “Go home, get some rest. I’m fine.”

“Please.” His tone softened again. “For my sake. I’d like to know you got home safe and sound.”

That got her.

Her lips parted as if to argue, but she sighed instead, and with a defeated smile she nodded. “Fine.”

The drive was quiet.

The soft hum of the radio filled the space between them, some soft song playing faintly as they glided down empty streets. The city was winding down for the weekend, orange light casting long shadows over the dashboard.

But all Hayden could focus on was her.

The jasmine. It was back, her scent, delicate and intoxicating, curling through the air like memory. He hadn't realized how much he missed it until it hit him all at once, warm and bittersweet and so her it almost hurt.

She was tired, he could tell. Her head leaned against the window, eyes half-lidded, but she wasn’t asleep. Just still. And maybe that’s why she accepted the ride. Maybe exhaustion had lowered the wall just enough for him to slip in.

There was so much he wanted to say. Too much. But he said none of it.

When he finally pulled up to her house and shifted into park, she reached for the door, but paused, hand frozen on the handle.

She exhaled deeply, like she was making a decision. “You wanna stay and eat?” she asked, not looking at him. “We can order something.”

“Nono—” he said, almost too quickly.

She still.

The silence that followed felt sharp.

Nodding slowly, she opened the door. “Okay, thank you for the ride” she said, but her voice had gone small, her mouth twitching in a quiet, disappointed smile.

“No—I mean,” he backtracked fast, eyes wide, leaning in slightly. “No to the ordering part. I would love to eat with you.”

She looked at him again then. Really looked. And her lips twitched again, this time upward. “Oh. Okay.” A beat. “Come in.”

He opened his door, already grinning, but he grabbed her hand, stopping her. “With one condition.”

She looked at their hands and then at him. “Which is…?”

“Let me cook for you.” A smile drew itself on his lips. “I owe you a pizza date, if I recall correctly.”

How much he was cherishing her hand in his could not be explained, and when her eyes softened, just a little, and he caught a glimpse of Bubble, his heart almost exploded

“You do,” she said, smiling a little. “And pizza sounds perfect.”

“Great,” he said, smile blooming too.

And for the first time in months, something in his chest breathed.

She opened the door, stepping inside first, and he followed close behind. Her place was quiet and warm, not in temperature but in feeling, lived-in, loved, her. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and old paper and something sweet lingering from the morning.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said softly, tossing her keys into a bowl near the door and slipping off her shoes. Her voice was still careful, but there was something softer in it now. Something that sounded a little like hope.

While she disappeared down the hall to change, he wandered quietly through the space.

The living room walls were painted a soft cream, scattered with paintings, some abstract, others dreamy watercolors. On a side table, a small stack of Polaroids showed her with her niece and nephew: one of her with icing on her nose, another where the kids clung to her like koalas. There were little drawings pinned to the fridge too, crayon portraits signed with crooked handwriting. "The best aunt in the whole wide world."

Next to the bookshelf stood a low cabinet filled with records and candles. But it was the tall bookshelf in the corner that drew him in.

He wandered over to it, his fingers skimming over spines and worn scripts and film biographies. Tucked among them, pieces of her, real pieces.

Her world was here, tangible and intimate.

There stood the frame with the Singing in the Rain phrase he’d given her for Christmas. And next to it, still perfectly intact and neatly displayed, was the little card he’d attached to the bouquet of jasmine flowers for her birthday.

He reached for it carefully, his heart slowing and then racing all at once.

Happy birthday, Miss Director. I wish you the best and hope you are utterly and incandescently happy in your day.

He remembered writing those words. Remembered how long he stared at the card before daring to write incandescently. It sounded like her. They were her words.

She’d kept it and his chest ached.

And he wished he could reach back in time and change that day in the training room. God, he wished.

“You found my treasure trove,” her voice said gently from the doorway.

He turned. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants, bare-faced, hair tied up messily. She looked tired. And beautiful.

“I didn’t mean to snoop,” he said quickly, placing the card back exactly where it had been.

“You weren’t snooping.” She stepped forward. “You were looking.”

He swallowed. “You kept it.”

“I keep things that matter,” she said simply, then added, “Do you need anything? I can—”

“No,” he cut in, smiling gently. “Let me cook for you.”

She hesitated, but nodded.

The kitchen felt like a dream. A fragile, aching dream.

He stood at the counter, chopping tomatoes with quiet concentration while she leaned against it, arms crossed, eyes fixed on him with a look she couldn’t quite name, part disbelief, part yearning, part self-defense.

She watched the way his hands moved, the precise rhythm of his knife, the absentminded way he whistled under his breath like it didn’t break her a little to hear it. Like it hadn’t haunted her in the silence these past few weeks.

He stirred the sauce slowly, the scent of garlic and tomato winding around them, as he murmured something about her not owning a garlic press. He found basil, crushed red pepper, her dwindling olive oil supply. She had three kinds of hot sauce and none of them were what he needed, but he made do anyway.

She watched in silence, hardly breathing. It was too much and not enough all at once.

And while he rolled the dough, glancing at her every few seconds, just to make sure she was still there, she stood frozen in the middle of it all, surrounded by the ghost of what they were, what they could’ve been.

She couldn’t believe how natural it felt. How domestic. How easy. And it shouldn’t have felt easy. Not after everything. But it did.

Something bruised and tightly coiled inside her chest began to slowly, painfully unwind.

They laughed, quietly, carefully, as the scent of bubbling sauce and browning dough filled the air, as melted cheese hissed in the oven. Her laughter wasn’t as open as it used to be and his was laced with nerves. But still, it was laughter.

For a moment, it was like the cracks between them didn’t exist. Like they were still them.

When they sat down to eat at her small table, knees almost brushing beneath it, the silence between them wasn’t cold or tense, it was warm, comfortable. Safe but tentative.

But it didn’t last. It couldn’t. Not with everything unsaid, humming between them like a wire pulled too tight.

She watched him take a bite, eyes closing with exaggerated delight. He said it was good. She said it was better than expected. They smiled. Softly. Carefully. Like holding a glass heart between them that could shatter with one wrong word.

She placed her crust down and looked at him, the smile on her lips fading into something quieter. “Can I ask you something?” she asked, voice hushed and raw.

He hesitated, but nodded. “Yeah.”

“That day…” Her voice caught. “In the training room. Did you…” She stopped herself, shaking her head, backing out of it. “You know what, never mind.”

“No,” he said, quickly. “Say it.”

She looked down at the table, at her empty plate, her fingers twisting in her lap.

“I thought you felt something. That day.” She swallowed hard. “In the training room. I thought we were… I thought you were going to kiss me.”

“I did,” he said instantly, like it had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for months. “I wanted it, more than anything.”

Her eyes snapped to his. “Then why?” she asked, her voice cracking wide open. “Why did you pull away?”

He looked at her like the question physically hurt. His jaw clenched. His eyes softened. And still, he struggled to speak.

“Because I felt too much,” he said finally. And that was the truth of it.

Her breath hitched, her chest clenched and her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the chair.

“I panicked,” he admitted, voice low. “I shouldn’t have. I knew what I wanted. I wanted you. But… I was terrified.” He looked down at his hands, useless now, aching to touch her but too afraid she’d flinch away.

“You’re younger. I’m… me. This industry, this set, it’s yours. It’s your dream. And I didn’t want to be the one to take that away.”

“You wouldn’t have taken anything away,” she whispered. “You didn’t even ask.”

“I know,” he said, broken. “And that’s on me.”

He finally looked up, and she nearly lost her breath at the way he looked at her, eyes full of regret, of love, of everything he never said.

“Loads of things could go wrong, Bubble,” he said softly. “But what I cared about the most is your career.” His gaze was heavy, pained. “People would twist it, me and you, eleven years between us, director and actor, favoritism, headlines. If it ended badly, if anything happened… your name would be the one they dragged. Not mine. You’d become hers, not the director who built something incredible.”

“You didn’t let me decide if I was willing to risk it,” she said, her voice cracking.

His heart broke. “I couldn’t do that to you,” he said, voice firmer now. “You’re too good. Too talented. You deserve to be praised for your work, not whispered about in back rooms. This is your dream. You earned the place you are in.”

“I love this job,” she said, and her voice trembled. “I love what I’m doing. But I loved being near you, too. And you made me feel like I imagined all of it when you pulled away. Like it didn’t matter to you.”

“It did,” he said, breathless. “You didn’t imaginate anything, but…I was scared,” he admitted. “Of how much I felt. How fast. Of how deep it ran.” He wanted her to look at him. “It matters so much it’s killing me.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him. And despite everything, despite the pain, the hurt, the silence, her eyes were soft. Full of longing.

“I missed you,” she whispered. “Even when I was angry. Especially then.”

“I missed you too,” he breathed, shifting closer, his knee brushing hers. And then, because he couldn’t help it, Hayden reached for her, his hands cupping her face like she was something holy. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth. “I miss you so much. Every day. I miss talking to you. Laughing with you. Seeing you smile.” A shaky breath. “I miss us, whatever that was becoming.”

Her hands didn’t push him away. But they didn’t move to touch him either.

She was still caught in the in-between.“You looked like you belonged here tonight,” she said, barely audible. “Like this was where you were meant to be. In my kitchen. Cooking for me. Laughing with me. And it felt so right it scared me.”

His throat closed and his heart thundered in his chest, because it felt right to him too. So painfully, impossibly right and that was the problem.

Because this wasn’t just a crush. This wasn’t fleeting, or temporary. It was deeper than anything he’d felt before, profound and terrifying. It hit him like an avalanche, an elephant sitting on his ribs, stealing the breath from his lungs, suffocating him with the weight of it.

But still, he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t let it live.

Because if he did, and it went wrong, like the rest of his relationships did, she would pay the price. Because what if it ruined her? What if it tarnished her?

And he couldn't live with that, couldn’t risk that. Not her. Not her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice trembling. “For all of it. For not being brave enough.”

She didn’t answer.

She just nodded, tears clinging to her lashes, biting the inside of her cheek like it was the only thing keeping her together.

He stood slowly, gathered the plates like a man trying to delay the inevitable. “Let me help you clean.”

“No,” she whispered. “Just… leave them.”

A beat passed.

And then she added, “I’m tired.”

He nodded, already backing away. Like he seemed to always do with her.

She walked him to the door, and when he turned to say goodbye, she was already hugging herself, like she was trying to keep from falling apart.

“I had a nice time,” she said, and her voice broke with words. It sounded like goodbye.

She didn’t mean for it to slip out like that, not with that quiet ache, not with that finality, but the moment felt like sand slipping through her fingers. She could already feel the after of it pressing in.

She watched him nod, his posture tight, his expression unreadable.

“So did I,” he replied softly, the hollowness in his chest echoing with every syllable, like saying them was a lie.

Because how could it be a nice time when all he’d done was want her, and still choose to walk away?

She turned to open the door, fingers brushing the lock, but before she could twist it, his hand found hers. Warm. Firm. Desperate.

She froze. Her breath hitched. Her pulse screamed in her ears.

Don’t do it. Don’t look at him. Don’t make this harder.

Slowly, gently, he stepped closer, his presence a quiet force and her body betrayed her, turning to look at him in those ocean eyes that she wanted nothing more to drown into.

And when she turned to look at him, something cracked between them, something soft and tragic and too full to hold.

His gaze was glassy, and she could see it now, the grief. The love. The regret. It gutted her.

He reached up with both hands, cradling her face with aching care, as though she were something rare and fragile and slipping through his fingers.

I’m going to remember this. This moment. This version of her, tired, beautiful, sad as hell, and still the strongest person I’ve ever met.

His fingers were gentle against her cheeks. She could feel them trembling. His thumbs hovered by her jaw like they wanted to memorize the shape of her, like he was trying to hold on just a little longer.

She wanted to lean into him so badly her body ached with it, but she stayed still because she knew this wasn’t a beginning. This was the end.

And then, without a word, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Soft. Lingering. Devastating. Full of everything he didn’t have the right to say aloud. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was an apology. A confession. A promise. A goodbye disguised as something tender.

I’m sorry.

I wish things were different.

You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

When he pulled back, slowly, reluctantly, her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly, breath caught in her throat like she was afraid to let it out.

Please stay. Please choose me. Please be brave.

He gave her one last look, gentle, devastated, and then stepped back.

Hayden didn’t want to go. God, he didn’t want to go, but staying meant risking her and he’d rather lose her than be the reason the world tried to take her down.

She opened the door. Neither of them said another word.

And when the door closed between them, neither of them moved for a long, long time, the silence it left behind felt unbearable.

Because now she knew for certain, Hayden loved her, but he wasn’t going to choose her.

Because they knew, they had shared something real. Something that still lived in the air around them, but they had no idea how to hold it without letting it destroy everything else.

Beginning of September 2021. The looming end.

The set was a controlled storm.

Stage lights blazed. Wind machines whirred. Crew members darted like shadows in a well-oiled dance. Sparks flew, literally, from props and visual cues, casting brief flashes of light on every surface.

Today, they were filming the final scene between Vader and Obi-Wan.

The scene.

The one that would break fans apart. The one that would define decades of conflict. The one she’d spent sleepless nights fine-tuning, scribbling notes on the margins of scripts, fighting for silence in moments where words weren’t enough.

And now it was here.

But her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

She paced the perimeter of the set, headset looped around her neck, heart pounding so loud she could barely hear the chatter through the comms. Every corner of her body buzzed with static. The kind of anxiety that didn’t ask permission. The kind that gripped you and whispered, You’re not ready.

She should’ve been thrilled. The little girl in her, the Star Wars fan who grew up drawing lightsabers in the margins of school notebooks, was ready to explode.

But the grown woman, the broken-hearted one, was holding too much.

Because he was here. Because they were a week away from goodbye. Because this scene wasn’t just the end of an arc. It was the end.

And the thought of not seeing him like this again, half-lost behind the Vader suit but still him, tightened something so deeply inside her, she had to excuse herself before she lost it completely.

I need air, God, I need air.

She pushed through the double doors of the soundstage, stepping into the golden hush of early afternoon. Her boots hit pavement with a shaky rhythm, her arms wrapped tightly around her own torso as if she could keep everything in.

She leaned back against the wall. Closed her eyes and let herself slide down on it.

Breathed in. Breathed out.

The footsteps approaching were lost to her, but when the sun was covered, she opened one eye slowly and saw him. Not him him, but Obi-Wan.

Ewan. In full costume. Robes, beard, calmness and kindness wrapped into one gentle presence. He stood in front of her like he knew, like he sensed what was breaking inside her without needing to ask.

“You’ve done something special here,” he said, voice low and even. “You know that, right?”

She tried to nod, but her throat closed.

Ewan glanced up at the sky, like he was borrowing some of its steadiness. “You put your soul into this story. I’ve worked with dozens of directors in my time. But you? You bled for this. And it shows.”

Her lips quivered.

“You’re allowed to feel it,” he added. “This moment… it’s not just an ending. It’s yours. It’s your beginning, too.”

Tears blurred her vision. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. But Ewan just gave her a soft pat on the shoulder, like Obi-Wan himself, quiet and sure.

“You’ve got this, darling,” he said in that thick accent of his.

And with that, he walked back inside, his robes trailing behind him like the last note of a symphony.

She stayed out a few more minutes, letting the sun kiss her skin, letting the words settle deep in her bones.

Then she wiped her eyes, squared her shoulders, and walked back inside.

The set was alive.

Every corner was in motion. The makeup team prepped the final touch-ups on Vader’s cracked helmet. Sparks hissed from the VFX rig. The lighting team ran final checks. And at the center of it all stood Hayden and Ewan, suited and still, ready.

She didn’t sit. She couldn’t. Her body was buzzing, nerves, anticipation, love.

“Rolling!”

“Quiet on set!”

She took a deep breath.

“Action.”

And they began.

Hayden, Vader, was thunder. Ewan was fire contained by grief. Every word they spoke, every breath between lines, every step in the battle, it all landed like poetry. Like pain made physical.

The camera glided around them, catching sparks and shadow and soul. Every crew member was silent, frozen, as if afraid to even blink.

She couldn’t look away.

And when it came, the line, the one she'd rewritten a dozen times and cried over at 3AM, when he said it, voice cracked through the vocoder, eyes visible through the shattered mask, she forgot how to breathe.

“You didn’t kill Anakin Skywalker. I did.”

It was perfect. It was everything. It was him.

And Ewan, her heart, her Obi-Wan, delivered the reply with a broken whisper so raw it echoed through everyone present.

She didn’t even remember saying it. “Cut.” The word came out of her, barely above a breath.

Then, applause, like a wave crashing over the set. Technicians, grips, costume artists, assistants, everyone clapped. Some even cheered. Not because of the spectacle. But because they’d felt it.

Ewan turned, gave a solemn, satisfied nod.

Hayden bowed his head, chest heaving inside the suit.

And she? She stood there, frozen, the applause around her fading into static, like the world had turned to fog. Her lungs tightened. Her throat burned.

It’s done. That was it.

Pride surged in her chest. The scene had been everything she dreamed of and more. But so did grief, sharp and immediate, because it was also the end.

The last scene. The last time I’ll see him on set. In character. In front of me.

She didn’t realize she was crying until her vision blurred and her knees gave out. She crumbled where she stood, arms curling tightly around her legs, forehead pressed to her knees as the sobs came, wild and unfiltered, the kind she’d tried so hard to keep locked away.

The noise of the crew faded. Voices muffled. Only her heartbeat and her breathing remained, sharp, jagged, real.

I’m supposed to be professional. I’m supposed to hold it together. But I can’t. Not now. Not when this is goodbye.

Heavy footsteps, measured and familiar, approached her, the kind only one man in the entire world could make in full Vader gear, but she didn’t look up. She couldn’t.

“Bubble,” his voice came, muffled by the vocoder but unmistakably him, “I need you to stand up, 'cause I can’t crouch down in this suit.”

His voice hit her like a jolt, absurd and gentle at once. Even now, he was trying to make her smile.

A wet, messy laugh bubbled out of her, half-choked by tears. “No,” she mumbled into her knees.

Please don’t make me. Please don’t see me like this. Please don’t be kind, it’ll break me.

“Please, Bubble,” he said again, softer this time, like a plea. “Come on.”

She sniffled, dragging a sleeve across her face. “I’m ugly crying.”

“I know,” he replied, warmth curling behind the vocoder, behind the mask. She could hear the smile in it. She could feel it.

“Let me console you.”

God, stop being so you. So gentle. So kind. So patient. I can’t take it.

She lifted her head just enough to look up at him, towering, half-Vader, half-Anakin, but Hayden, 100% Hayden.

And even with all that plastic and armor between them, the look he gave her was all heart.

Please let me hold you. Please let me stay.

He offered his hand, gloved, massive, comical in a way, but his fingers curled with careful care, like he was afraid of breaking her further. And she was weak, of course she was, because she couldn't say no to him.

And the moment their hands touched, a shudder went through her. Not fear. Not embarrassment. Something else.

Relief.

And as he gently helped her to her feet, pulling her into the softest embrace he could manage with all the armor and wires between them, she didn’t hesitate and collapsed against him again, this time with her arms around his waist, forehead resting against his chestplate.

She just needed him and he held her. Tightly. Tenderly. Like he never wanted to let go.

I can’t do this again. I can’t keep saying goodbye like this and pretending it doesn’t destroy me.

For a few precious seconds, there was no set. No crew. No goodbye hanging in the air. No scenes left to shoot.

Just them. Hearts bruised. Bodies trembling. Still holding each other like it meant everything. Because it did.

Now that it’s over, I still want you. Still in love with you. And I don’t know what to do with that.

Mid of September 2021. Grow a pair.

The sun was gone, the air crisp and the silence heavy but not with tension, but with the weight of everything Hayden was carrying in himself.

He sat low in a weathered Adirondack chair, hoodie on, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, a bottle of beer untouched at his feet. He hadn’t said much since Ewan handed it to him twenty minutes ago. The sky above them had shifted to navy, the stars faint but flickering overhead. Somewhere behind the fence, a neighbor’s dog barked.

Exhaling slowly through his nose, the smoke of his cigarette clouded his face, though it did little to match the fog in his brain. The ember glowed at the tip, mirroring the heat that simmered low in his chest.

Ewan glanced at him, his beer resting on his knee, and he looked carved from stillness, like if he stared long enough, he might turn to stone.

“You holding up?” the Scottish asked finally, tone light, casual.

Hayden shifted a little in his chair. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

“Long months of shooting,” Ewan nodded. “Emotional scene the other day.”

Hayden didn’t answer. Just nodded once and stared into the distance.

Ewan took a sip of his beer. “Lot’s of feelings moved.”

The brunette exhaled, half-laughing, bitterly. “Yeah.”

“The suits, the props, the set,” Ewan enlisted, looking at him from the corner of his eyes. “The director.”

That one landed.

Hayden’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t look over. His cigarette burned low between his fingers, its ash long and untouched, like he’d forgotten it was there.

“Yeah,” he said finally. Just that. A single syllable packed with regret.

Ewan watched him carefully. “She really gave it everything, didn’t she?”

Hayden nodded once, slowly. “She always does.”

“She’s the real deal,” Ewan added softly. “Knew it the second she walked on set. The story mattered to her. Every shot. Every word.”

“She never treated it like a job,” Hayden murmured. “She treated it like it was hers. Like it meant something.”

Ewan tilted his head. “And it did.”

Another long pause.

“Still does,” Ewan added, watching the ember of Hayden’s cigarette fade. “To you too, yeah?”

Hayden said nothing. He was quiet, but not still. His leg bounced, almost imperceptibly, and his free hand flexed open and closed on the armrest. And Ewan knew, he felt too much.

“You want to talk about it?” Ewan asked, not pushing. Not yet.

“No,” Hayden said hoarsely.

“I figured,” he muttered, then took another sip from his beer. “But I will.”

Hayden finally looked at him, brows furrowed.

Ewan didn’t flinch. “Look, I don’t want to pry, actually, I do. I’ve been watching you two walk around set like ghosts since July, absolutely miserable and I can’t bear it anymore. It was much more fun watching you both give each other heart eyes like a pair of lovesick kids.”

Hayden’s jaw clenched. He looked down, elbows on knees, the heels of his palms pressed into his eyes like he could push the ache back inside.

“Before, every time you were together, it was smiles, laughter, inside jokes, cute nicknames, breakfast meetings that ran an hour too long. Now? You only look at each other when the other is not looking. Like something’s broken between you.”

Hayden’s brows drew together, guilt flickering across his features.

“And I’ve known her,” Ewan continued. “She’s sad.”

“I know,” he said, voice low.

“And I’ve known you longer. And let me tell you something, mate, you’re sad too.”

Hayden looked at his cigarette, now down to the filter. “It’s not that simple,” he said, pressing it out with the sole of his shoe.

“No, it never is,” Ewan said. “What happened between you two?”

Hayden sighed through his nose. “A lot. And not enough.”

Ewan waited, tilting his head to the side.

Hayden looked down at his hands. He hated how exposed he felt. “I fucked up.” He confessed. “It seems like all I do is hurt her feelings.”

“I figured that,” Ewan deadpanned. “Thanks for the confirmation. What’d you do?”

Hayden exhaled sharply. “We almost kissed. A few months ago.”

“And?” The Scottish pressed.

“I pulled away,” he said, voice low and slow.

There was a pause and then a slap on his arm. “Are you an idiot?!”

“Thanks, man,” Hayden said flatly, glaring at him.

Ewan patted his back. “Anytime. What else?”

Hayden hesitated, then said, “A few weeks ago… she stayed late at the studio. I found her still there, hadn’t gone home. I took her back to her place. One thing led to another, we ended up eating together. I cooked her pizza. She smiled. It felt like before, when everything was easy. She was tired enough to let me in a little and there was nothing more than I wanted to do than to apologize. I wanted to make it right. But I just,” he exhaled heavily. “I said everything wrong, hurting her even more.”

Ewan groaned and covered his face. “Oh God, you are an idiot. No question this time.”

Hayden shot him a look. “Appreciate the support.”

“I’ve been watching you, man,” Ewan said, turning toward him. “Sulking. Drooling. Making googly eyes at that woman since the third time you met her. But I’d bet money you were already hooked before that.”

Hayden blinked and looked away, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself. “Maybe…”

Ewan rolled his eyes dramatically. “And you pulled away when you were about to kiss her?”

Hayden nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“Then you are definitely an idiot.”

Hayden gave a tired laugh. “Thanks, man. Again.”

“But you like her,” Ewan said, watching him closely now.

Hayden sighed, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

“Then why didn’t you tell her?”

Hayden let out a sharp, humorless laugh, eyes pinched shut for a moment as if it could block out the regret clawing at him. “Because I’m a fucking coward.”

Ewan raised an eyebrow, questioning him silently.

“I told her I couldn’t,” Hayden continued. “I told her all the reasons why we shouldn’t work. The age difference. The job. The spotlight. Because I’m me. Because she’s everything. That if it went wrong, she’d be the one who paid. Not me. And she just looked at me… like I’d kicked the breath out of her.”

Ewan exhaled quietly.

“And then she thanked me for the food,” Hayden said, bitterness in his throat. “She was sad and tired and still polite. Like I hadn’t just broken something sacred.”

“She likes you,” Ewan said simply.

Hayden shook his head. “And I like her, but I couldn’t give it back. Not the way she deserved.”

“You could,” Ewan said. “But you chose not to.”

That silence was louder than the rest.

“And then on set,” Hayden whispered, eyes shining now, “when we filmed the last scene… she crumbled. Right there. All of it, everything we never said, everything I held back, came out in that scene. And when she cried, I held her.”

Ewan nodded, remembering. “You didn’t want to let go.”

“I still don’t.”

Ewan leaned back slowly. “Then grow a fucking pair and tell her.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?! Because she’s the director of the series? News flash, not anymore!”

Hayden flinched, already exhausted by his own excuses.

“The show’s almost done. The lines have been said. The shots are in the can. And she’s still here. Still hurting. Still hoping, probably.”

“I hurt her, Ewan,” Hayden said, his voice rough. “More than once.”

“And yet she let you hold her like that,” Ewan replied gently. “Do you really think that means nothing?”

Hayden swallowed hard.

“You’ve been in this business a long time,” his friend said. “You’ve seen how rare something real is. And this?” He gestured with his beer bottle. “This is real, Hayden. What you have with her. That little moment of peace, of home, in the middle of chaos. That was real. Don’t let it rot because you were too afraid to open your mouth.”

Hayden looked down at his hands again, like they could still feel her skin, her tears.

“She’s younger,” he said, quieter now.

“She’s a grown woman,” Ewan countered. “Who knows what she wants. Who’s run a damn Star Wars series with more grace than most directors three times her age.”

The brunette cracked a broken smile. “She is kind of a genius.”

“She is,” Ewan agreed. “And she’s also in love with you. So what are you going to do about it?”

Hayden didn’t answer right away. He just stared into the night sky, chest heavy, heart racing.

“You deserve to be happy. And from what I’ve seen, because I’ve been watching, you were never more yourself, more alive, than when you were with her. She makes you happy.”

Hayden ran a hand down his face, cigarette forgotten now, heart in his throat. “She does,” he whispered. “She really, really does.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” Ewan said, his voice quieter now, but no less urgent. “You two are meant to be. So get a clear thought through that thick head of yours and tell her. Before the chance slips away”

Hayden blinked back the sting in his eyes. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His throat was too tight.

But inside him, something shifted.

Because Ewan was right. And he already knew it.

He could feel it in the center of his chest, under the stars, in the quiet of a friend’s backyard, something inside him stopped fighting. Because he was tired of the distance. Tired of pretending. Tired of living in the “almost.”

“I don’t want to hurt her again.” he confessed, slowly.

“Then don’t,” Ewan said simply. “Choose her. All the way this time.”

They sat in silence again, smoke curling up into the dark.

Then Ewan added, softly, “Choose each other, you both deserve to be happy. So do it. For her. For you. For that Bubble of yours you’re so damn in love with.”

Hayden closed his eyes. And for the first time in months, he let himself imagine what it might feel like if he just… gave in and chose her.

Ends of September 2021. What is this thing that builds our dreams, yet slips away from us?.

The music hummed low from the speakers, warm bass pulsing through the soft glow of string lights overhead. The room was buzzing, crew and cast gathered with drinks in hand, laughter echoing through the space like the fading heartbeat of something once grand.

It was done. Filming had wrapped. They'd all made history.

Everyone was celebrating. Everyone but them.

She smiled when she had to. Laughed at the right moments. Nodded, accepted praise. The series was wrapped. The series she put so much into. She should have felt pride swelling in her chest, but instead, there was a hollow spot where something else had once lived.

Her glass of wine was cold in her hand as her eyes drifted, once again to the far end of the room.

There Hayden was. Dressed in all black, button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The kind of outfit that made him seem even taller than he already was, like the darkness clung to him in reverence. His curls were swept back, golden under the light. His jaw was freshly shaven, but there was something tired in his eyes. Something heavy.

He laughed at something someone said, but to her, who had heard the real thing, who knew the warm, full sound of it, was off. Hollow. Foreign, because it sounded too practiced, like someone doing an impression of him. His smile didn’t quite reach and it felt criminal.

She looked at him the way you look at a memory you’ve been trying to forget. The way you glance at someone you still love but know you can’t have. Her fingers tightened around her glass.

Because of course she still felt it. Every aching, unwanted, impossible part of it.

Hayden, for his part, felt like something had been left unfinished, like the final page of a script had been ripped out and folded away in someone else's pocket.

Across the room, was his end, sad or happy ending, bathed in amber light from the chandeliers, she stood in conversation with one of the editors. Her red velvet skirt skimmed the floor as she shifted her weight, black corset hugging her frame with a quiet confidence, silver rings catching the light every time she lifted her glass. That worn leather jacket, clearly not hers, too big on her shoulders, added just enough edge to offset the elegance.

Her hair was slightly messy, but on purpose. Like she’d spent just enough time not caring and yet still managed to look like a dream, his dream.

Hayden had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from staring.

She was heartbreakingly beautiful, and she hadn’t looked at him once.

He stood near the back corner, drink in hand, and there wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t ache for her, his brain hadn’t stopped thinking about her for a second. And still hadn’t figured out how to say any of it right.

So when she finally stepped outside, maybe for air, maybe to escape, he followed. Not like a man with a plan. More like a man being pulled.

The balcony was quiet, lights dimmer. Away from the buzz of clinking glasses and studio talk, the air was sharp with night, as if to remind her she was still real, still here. Her wine glass dangled from her fingers.

Then the door opened behind her and she didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Her back was to him, hands gripping the edge of the railing, her wine glass still mostly full.

He cleared his throat gently and she turned, slowly. Their eyes met. Something inside his chest fractured and in hers twisted.

“I can give you space,” he said softly, the words hesitant, almost hopeful. “If you’d rather be alone.”

“It’s alright,” she said. Her voice was low. Tired. But sincere. “It’s a big balcony.”

He nodded, cigarette between his fingers and walked towards the railing.

They didn’t speak for a while. Just existed, breathing the same air, in the same silence. The laughter from the inside acted like background music, but it felt odd, off to a scene so sad, so full of tension.

The silence wasn’t comfortable, like before, it itched, it burned, it was like a punch to the gut. But after he smoked half of his cigarette and she drank her wine, something cracked.

“I know I probably don’t get to say this,” Hayden said suddenly, words tumbling from his chest, “but you look… absolutely beautiful.”

Her breath caught. Not visibly. But enough that the glass trembled in her grip before she set it on the railing.

“Thank you,” she finally said. “You look good too.” Her heart was pounding too loudly to trust her voice.

Hayden watched her from the corner of his eye, the ember of his cigarette flickering between his fingers.

The silence was fraying.

“I really don’t know what to say here,” he admitted, voice cracked open. Broken.

She gave a breath of a laugh. Bitter. “You said plenty,” she replied, lifting her glass again. “Just not what I needed to hear.

He ran a hand through his curls, suddenly flushed with nerves and stepped a little closer, not too much. Respecting space. But God, Hayden wanted to fall at her feet.

God. Say it right. Just once.

“I wasn’t lying, back then,” he said quickly, like the words were a dam bursting. “When I said I was scared of what it could do to your career. I meant it. You’re… you're brilliant. And I didn’t want to be the reason people looked at you like…like you were anything less than the genius you are.”

Her brows pulled together. That familiar twist in her chest returned and he kept going.

“And maybe I overthought it. Maybe I overcorrected. I always do that. I always find a way to fuck up the one good thing.”

Her fingers tensed against the railing, her jaw clenched and then loosened.

“But I didn’t mean to hurt you. God, I never meant that.” He exhaled, fast and sharp. “You have to believe me.”

She turned then and looked up at him, really looking at him. The way he held his cigarette like it steadied him. The way he stood like he might break apart at the joints. The way he had his brows frowned, his jaw tightened, like he was holding something back. He looked wrecked. All of it, written in the fine lines of his face.

He was so close now. Close enough that the scent of him hit her: tobacco, and the cologne that lingering in her office, in her clothes after a whole day together. It still lived on that sweater of his he leant her on a particularly cold night and she never had the heart to wash, nor give it back. In her house after he cooked for her and then broke her heart, more than what he already did.

“I do believe you,” she said softly.

He blinked. “You do?”

“I do,” she nodded. “I know you. That’s the problem.”

Those blue as ocean eyes looked down at her with softness, unsureness and devastation.

“At this point,” she whispered, voice thin, “if you were anyone else, I’d think all you want to do is hurt me.”

He shook his head fast, lips parting. “No, I would ne—”

“I know,” she cut in, tiredly. “Because you’re you and I know that’s not what you want.” Her voice cracked, barely. “But it does hurt.”

His mouth opened, maybe to speak, maybe to say the thing he should’ve said all those months ago.

“Every time you open your mouth and say something trying to protect me, or fix it, or be noble, it just… chips away at me a little more.”

Hayden looked like he was in physical pain.

She stepped closer, her hand almost reaching for him. Her fingers hovered right above his chest, just inches from touching him with trembling fingers, and then, she moved it back. Like the contact might burn her. Like if she touched him, she wouldn’t be able to let go.

Because she wouldn’t and she couldn’t afford to fall again.

He wanted to catch her hand, pull it to his chest and press it there, over his heart, right where it hurt the most. Right where her absence lived. But he was frozen in place.

Her lips parted like she might say something, but she didn’t. Just exhaled through her nose, trembling. She wouldn’t cry. Not here. But he could see her breaking in real time, fracture by fracture.

“So just… stop talking,” she said, no, she pleaded.

Stop hurting me.

Hayden’s heart broke right in his chest. She was so close now, closer than he had any right for her to be. Close enough that he could see the shimmer of unshed tears clinging to her lashes. The ache. The longing. The love that hadn’t gone anywhere, not even after all the silence.

And he stood there, aching too. Wanting to reach for her. To fix it. Hands itching to touch her. But he just couldn't. But his mouth had betrayed him too many times. Now, even silence felt safer.

“I’m so-” his voice broke. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and it shook.

She just nodded, blinking the tears away before they could fall. “I know.”

Because it was true, she knew it, he knew it, but it changed nothing. They couldn’t be together. Not now. Maybe not ever.

So they did what they seemed to always do now since July. They said nothing, letting the moment pass, letting the silence settle again. But this time, it wasn’t angry. It was exhausted. A truce made of ache from two people who wanted each other more than anything.

Next Part →

TAGLIST: @frommywindow17 // @lillianacristina // @shyartisanvoidwagon // @watersquirtpewpewboomm // @yomommaandyogranny // @shqwqrma // @florence-vikander // @bryjohn98 // @its-sappho-biotch // @mysardencut // @fan-goddess // @weallhaveadestiny // @hueanhdang // @ittybitty-rt // @fromasgardandback // @mmb-09 // @elisamoons // @harryisacuties // @little-diable // @angie2274 // @fallinlovewithevil // @mrsmikaelsxn // @naginithemage // @maleahcastro3 // @gwendolyngonzalez // @drawingdroid // @darkestnite // @ooostarwarsfandom501st // @lonelywitchv2 // @chixnugg22 // @moni-cah // @hesvoid34 // @princessvader15 // @nevess // @ilovenarrystoran4ever // @mecrazybish // @blueeyedbesson // @syko-juice // @thetinylittlebird // @b4b3tte // @lily-strnlo // @leahdrads // @niclove // @bloatedandalone04 // @dream-this-nightmare-overnightmareover // @lonelyreadergirl // @sweetcheesecakesblog // @risas-bajo-el-arcoiris // @xangelicangel // @hannis93 // @vikilinda // @ohamilton614 // @tiffsbagels // @nutellanja // @myede // @dessxoxsworld // @kollover24 // @freyagallileaevans // @nostappenn // @tammyjackson50-blog // @4-everm-0-re // @qualitynerdbouquetstuff // @tired-ass-show-girl

#Hayden Christensen #Hayden Christensen x reader #Hayden Christensen x you #Hayden Christensen x y/n #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker imagines #director!reader

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throwawayhero · 9 months ago

Note

could you give more hcs or a drabble about bakugou with a crush on reader!! pls i feel like ur fics are the closest ive seen to canon... i need more

No problem, and thanks! I try to make them seem canon, but sometimes it's difficult T-T. Just realising now that a few of these sound stalker-y and I'm sorta regretting writing this but oh well. I hope this is satisfactory!! c/w; social media au, buzzfeed, eminem (idek), karaoke, not proof read

!Katsuki who unintentionally catches himself playing with his hair while talking to you. Not in an obvious way (that's what he thinks at least), but more so absentmindedly fiddling with his side burns and such. It's kinda funny when he accidentally curls them and leaves them like that for a while. He also has a habit of playing with his baby hairs on the back of his neck.

!Katsuki who "accidentally" managed to copy your handwriting style down stroke for stroke? He doesn't really know how it happened, to be honest. He just noticed it one day during a group project after Jirou pointed it out to the two of you. You found it funny, but he found it outrageous and claimed that you had been the one to copy his handwriting.

!Katsuki who allowed you to tag along on one of Kirishima's and his study sessions. He beat the shit out of Eijirou and was gentle with you, more or less. He wouldn't hit you of course, but he certainly wasn't scared to yell. At least the first time. The look you gave him made him writhe with guilt, so he shut the fuck up out of embarrassment.

!Katsuki who heard you talking about a band you loved and decided it was his god given right to go through their whole discography and criticise it in his own time. But turns out, you have good taste, so he keeps to himself about it. "Accidentally" bought a spare ticket to their next concert and offered the spot to you. No big deal, right?

!Katsuki who did extensive searching for your socials, scrolling through his friends friends following, mutuals, and genuinely just word of mouth. When he did find your accounts, he stalked the SHIT out of them. When you requested to follow him, he freaked out and accepted straight away. He didn't follow you back until a week later, "just to be safe".

!Katsuki who unironically took one of those "Do I have a crush on my friend?" quizzes when he started to feel things towards you. 100% went down a rabbit hole on buzzfeed. He wanted to call his "crush" ANYTHING other than what it was. Mentioned it to Kirishima once and was left even ore confused than what he had originally been.

Unrelated but he just looks like he would listen to Eminem. Probably gets a good chuckle out of the whole "You gonna cancel me, yeah? Gen Z me brah?!" thing. Don't ask me to explain why I think this, it just makes sense.

!Katsuki who more often than not is watching you out of the corner of his eye. Not in an overly-creepy way, he's just "aware of his surroundings". He says that to anyone that mentions it, which is literally just his paranoia.

!Katsuki who secretly loved the fact that you hung out with him and his friends almost daily. Because then he wouldn't have to initiate hangouts and look as desperate as he really was. It gave him a plausible excuse to absorb every single opinion you uttered. It gave him an excuse to get even closer to you.

!Katsuki who freaked the FUCK out when everyone (besides the two of you) got sick and couldn't do the bi-weekly hangout everyone had played a part in organising. The group had settled on doing karaoke, so you can imagine how it went down with just the two of you there. Although, the two of you did make an amazing duet. (No one was really sick, Mina just mentioned Katsuki's behaviour and put 2 and 2 together. She also wanted to see if he would take initiative for once.)

!Katsuki who went out of his way to make changes to his hero costume that he knew you would like. Small details here and there, for both style and practicality. While it was cold he would use the neck warmer to hide the smirk that creeped onto his face when he saw you checking out his new look. He also started to make himself look nicer in general, indulging in a bit of jewellery (stud earrings, a ring or two, and a silver necklace), nicer shoes, wearing the uniform properly and such.

!Katsuki who has your number pinned in his contacts, as well as giving you your own message & ring tone sound. He has everyone but you, Kirishima, and his parents on silenced. He also has your contact saved as a nickname he assigned you without you knowing with a heart emoji. It's simple, but endearing.

#mha #bnha #katsuki bakugo #mha bakugou #bakugou x you #bnha bakugou #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #throwawayhero #headcanons #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #dynamight

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writesvani · 2 months ago

Text

coming down | 04

collegestudent! gojo x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: You and Gojo Satoru were once everything to each other, but now, the space between you is filled with nothing but silence and resentment. College is just a reminder of how far you’ve drifted apart, and every encounter only adds fuel to the fire.

You avoid him like the plague, but it doesn’t matter. You can still feel him in the shadows, always there, always watching, as if the past was never really gone. So what do you do? You (try to) keep your distance, pretending it’s easy to forget the history that’s weighed you down for so long.

But deep down, neither of you can let go. And as the tension between you grows, you’re forced to confront the truth: some things are never truly buried, no matter how hard you try.

best friends-to-friends with benefits-to-enemies-to-enemies with benefits-to?

TWs (for this chapter): manipulation, toxic friendship dynamics, arguing, back handed compliments, making out, sexual tension, substance abuse, explicit language, mentions of past trauma, emotional conflict, jealousy

comment HERE for Coming Down taglist;

SERIES M. LIST

— previous chapter // next chapter

wc: 7k // date: 17th of March

CHAPTER FOUR – In The Night; proceed with caution...

AN: okay listen. i know this was a slow burn chapter. but every single part of it was necessary. EVERYTHING is important. do you think i just write things for fun? no. every sentence, every stare, every word exchanged between gojo and y/n is intentional. calculated. y/n and yumi? the way they showed up wearing almost matching outfits? not a coincidence. the way y/n interacts with yumi and vice versa? telling. the way the toxicity seeps through her conversation with gojo? NECESSARY. you need to understand where they stand right now to fully grasp what’s about to happen next. there is a reason they are all still in each other’s lives. trust me.

and finally. GETO. HELLO. WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT. he had no business being that hot this chapter. NONE. i was writing him like sir please be serious for once but no. he had to say things. he had to look like that. i hate him (i love him).

next chapter; after 100 notes <3

love, vani 🩷

You can feel the weight of your wallet in your bag, but it’s not a burden; it’s an opportunity. The mall hums around you, the fluorescent lights overhead making everything feel a little more artificial, but also a little more alive. You take in the scent of expensive perfumes mixed with the fresh leather from the bags on display. It’s like a hit of dopamine straight to the system, and you can almost taste the excitement on your tongue.

Yumi walks beside you, her eyes already scanning the racks, her steps slow but deliberate. She's in the same vibe today, quiet, but her attention sharp. You two aren’t talking much, but it doesn’t matter—sometimes, silence is just another form of conversation.

“Do you think it’s wrong to just...buy things for the sake of it?” Yumi asks out of nowhere, glancing sideways at you, her lips curling up in a half-smirk. “Like, not because we need it, but because...it feels good?”

“Fuck no,” you reply almost immediately, your voice louder than it probably should be in the middle of the mall. You catch a couple of people glancing over, but it doesn’t matter. “Anyone who says that is lying to themselves. Spending money is like hitting the reset button, a little personal therapy session in each swipe. I mean, have you seen these shoes? They're practically begging me to buy them.”

Yumi chuckles, her eyes falling to the rows of trendy sneakers on the shelf. She moves towards them with purpose, but you know she's not just here to buy. She's here to feel something, just like you. The thrill of walking out of the store with something new, the satisfaction of a decision that is all yours.

“Sometimes I feel like...if I just have something nice, it’ll fix everything. Like, if I buy this jacket, maybe everything will feel okay,” Yumi says, her voice soft, almost hesitant. You look over at her, catching the slightest crack in her usual nonchalant expression.

"Yeah, I get that," you reply, your hand brushing along a velvet dress on display. "It’s like, a temporary fix. But sometimes? It’s all you need to get through the day. You can’t tell me there’s a better feeling than slipping into something new and realizing you just made your own mood for the day."

Yumi glances over at you, her face breaking into a grin. “I knew I wasn’t the only one who thought that way. Let's make the most of this ‘therapy’ while we can.”

You both laugh, the sound mixing with the distant chatter of other shoppers as you continue to roam, leaving your cares and worries at the door with every step you take. Today is not about making decisions, it’s about feeling. And right now, you’re both just trying to feel good.

You and Yumi are dressed in the kind of outfits that could easily be mistaken for "mom chic"—but in a way that feels intentional and effortless. Think muted tones, soft fabrics, and the kind of casual elegance that says, "I don’t have to try too hard, but I still look put together."

You’re both wearing beige-colored pieces, like a warm, oversized cardigan layered over a simple cream blouse. The cardigan drapes off your shoulders just so, perfectly slouchy, like you didn’t even think about it. Your pants are wide-legged, a soft taupe color, with just enough volume to make them look chic but still comfortable enough to lounge in. You're not exactly pulling off a runway look, but you’re definitely pulling off an “I’m casually rich but low-key” vibe. You’ve opted for simple, white sneakers that look like they’ve been through a lot, but still hold their own in the aesthetics department.

Yumi mirrors you in a similar way. She’s got a beige trench coat hanging loosely around her shoulders, the kind of piece that makes you look like you’ve got your life together, even if you don’t. Her pants are slightly more tapered, a light khaki shade, but still relaxed enough to give off that effortless vibe. A simple beige scarf is wrapped loosely around her neck, adding just the right touch of elegance. You notice she’s wearing matching beige slides, the kind that click softly against the floor with every step, but they have a casual, almost lazy feel to them, like she couldn’t be bothered with heels today.

Both of you have your hair pulled back into sleek, tight buns—nothing too fancy, just neat and low-maintenance. It’s a look that says you’re not trying too hard, but still trying just enough to feel put-together. It’s a mood. The kind of aesthetic that screams understated, but the more you look at it, the more you realize just how much effort went into making it look so effortless.

At some point, you break away from her, your eyes landing on a store that’s been calling your name for days. You head straight for the jeans section like you’re on a mission from God. And there they are. The perfect pair. The jeans. They practically shine in your peripheral vision, whispering your name. “Buy me, buy me, buy me,” they seem to scream. You grab your size with the kind of urgency that only comes from knowing destiny has just called your name, then practically launch yourself into the fitting room.

Once you’re inside, you slip into the jeans and instantly fall in love. They hug you just right, shaping your body in that effortless way that says, I’m so stylish. You glance in the mirror, nodding to yourself like you've just discovered fire.

“Yu!” You yell, probably a little louder than necessary, but you’re too excited. “Come here, I found something.”

“Girl, where’s here?” Yumi calls from outside, clearly in the middle of her own shopping-induced trance.

“The fitting room, hurry up!” You tug at the waistband to make sure it’s sitting just right. You can already feel the high of this purchase.

You hear Yumi’s footsteps approach as she huffs impatiently. “Step out, c'mon!” she calls. You laugh, rolling your eyes as you open the fitting room door, spinning out dramatically to show off your catch of the day.

“What do you think?” You strike a pose, a mix of sass and excitement.

Yumi blinks. It’s not the reaction you expected. Her eyes flick up and down you, but there's something off about her expression—something you can’t quite place. She pauses, the kind of pause that always means she’s about to say something she thinks will sound nice but isn’t. She twirls a lock of her hair around her finger and scratches at her trench coat like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“Oh,” she says, her tone flat.

“Is something wrong?” You squint, suddenly sensing the tension in the air. She can’t even look you in the eye.

“No, no, they’re great,” she says quickly, but it’s too fast. Too... fake.

You raise an eyebrow, giving her the look—the one that says, Really, girl? “Come on, be honest.”

She chews her lip, eyeing you again. “Well, I mean…” She lets out a breath, eyes sweeping over you. “I don’t think they suit you,” she says, as if it’s a casual observation. “They’re not really... the model of jeans for you. But hey, we can totally find you something else. Like, better.”

Your whole posture goes rigid. That familiar sting of frustration bubbles up, your brow furrowing as your stomach tightens. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you shoot back, holding her gaze with a challenge in your eyes.

Yumi’s smile falters just slightly, but she hides it quickly, brushing a non-existent hair from her forehead. “Nothing,” she says, the fakest sweetness lacing her words. “Nothing at all. They’re still good... for you, I guess.”

You shake your head, the irritation trying to creep in. “Well, I don’t care,” you say, a little too firmly. “I’m buying them.”

Yumi’s expression softens, but there’s still that tiny edge to her smile. “Okay,” she says, giving you a shrug. “But don’t be all broody and moody when you realize there’s better stuff out there for you. Like, I’m just saying.”

You roll your eyes, tossing the jeans into your bag with more force than necessary. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” You’re not sure if you’re more frustrated with her or with the fact that her words still got under your skin. But you don’t care. You’re buying them. End of story.

Yumi gives you one last look, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at her lips. “Alright, drama queen. Whatever you say.”

You slip the jeans off quickly, tossing them over the little bench as you grab your regular clothes, avoiding your own reflection in the mirror. The tightness in your chest isn't from the jeans; it's from something else—something Yumi always manages to plant inside you without even trying. It’s that lingering feeling, the one that makes you question if you really know who you are.

You slide your old clothes back on, pulling everything back into place, but that knot in your chest only seems to tighten. Yumi’s words replay in your head, and they sting, a little too much. “They aren’t exactly the model of jeans for you.”

You don’t know why it hurts, but it does. Maybe it’s the way she always acts like she’s doing you a favor, like her opinion is the only one that matters. You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t stop the sinking feeling. You’re not going to let her get to you. You won’t. Not this time.

You’re pissed – pissed at Yumi for acting like she has the right to call the shots when it comes to your life. Pissed at yourself for letting her get away with it for so long. The usual irritation bubbles in your chest as you grumble under your breath about her condescending attitude. This weird dynamic between you two – it’s been building for a while now, and it’s starting to wear thin.

You glance down at your phone, desperately hoping to distract yourself from the heavy tension in the air. And then you see it.

The notification.

Geto Suguru has just accepted your follow request.

Geto Suguru has sent you a follow request.

Your breath hitches. Your heart skips a beat. This is it. This is the moment. Like a schoolgirl in the throes of her first crush, your hands shake as you try to process it.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” you squeal in disbelief, all thoughts of Yumi and her annoying behavior forgotten in an instant. It’s as if the universe just dropped a bombshell into your lap.

“What’s going on?” Yumi’s voice cuts through your excitement, her tone mixed with amusement and curiosity. You barely hear it. All you can do is stare at the screen, your mind racing between accepting the request immediately or savoring this moment for a bit longer.

“Geto accepted me and followed me back on Instagram!” You burst out, your voice a little too loud as you shove your phone in Yumi’s direction, too giddy to care about anything else. Your face is flush with excitement, like you’ve just won some major prize.

Yumi blinks at you, looking genuinely confused. “You followed him?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. Her disbelief only makes you smile wider.

“Yeah, like three weeks ago,” you say, your words tumbling out in a rush. “He never followed me back…until now.” You shove your phone even closer, practically forcing her to examine the screen like it holds the answers to the meaning of life.

“And you never told me?” Yumi’s voice is dripping with mock hurt as she places a hand dramatically on her chest. “Ouch. I thought we were friends!”

You roll your eyes. “Chill, Yumi. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” you reply, trying to brush off her dramatics. But you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. You’ve been waiting for this moment, and now that it’s here, you’re just too damn happy to care about anything else.

“Well, you should’ve told me,” she says, crossing her arms and feigning disappointment. “I’m feeling so betrayed right now.”

“Just let me have my moment, Yu,” you snap back, your patience thinning. You don’t have the energy for her attitude right now. “I gotta call Ren. This is huge.” You murmur the last part mostly to yourself, your fingers already lazily scrolling through your contact list. Yumi’s voice rings out, suddenly sharp with curiosity.

“You told Ren and not me?” she asks, raising an eyebrow in mock offense.

“Yeah, because he was there when I followed Geto. This conversation is pointless,” you say, your eyes not leaving the screen as you look for Ren’s name. “If this is a real problem for you, then I don’t know… Maybe touch some grass or something.”

“Whatever, forget it,” she mutters, her earlier drama fading away like it never happened. “So, are you gonna accept him or what?” Her voice now bubbles with excitement, the tension dissipating as she realizes what’s happening.

You look at your phone, a mix of excitement and nervousness swirling in your gut. You hover over the “accept” button, the thrill of the moment almost making you dizzy.

Without thinking twice, you tap the button.

Yumi gasps. “Oh. My. God. You actually did it,” she says, her voice filled with awe. She watches as you sit back, your heart still pounding. “You’re officially in. Ren’s gonna lose it when he finds out.”

A laugh escapes your lips, a little breathless. “I know, right?” You feel like you’re floating. This is it – your moment. Finally.

But before you get lost in your own excitement, you dial Ren’s number, your fingers moving with practiced ease. This is big. And you’re definitely calling him first.

You dial Ren's number, heart pounding like a jackhammer on a caffeine binge. The phone rings twice before he picks up, his voice muffled as if he's speaking from the depths of a swamp.

"Yo, what's up?" he says, sounding distracted.

"Ren! You won't believe what just happened!" you exclaim, barely containing your enthusiasm.

"Hold up," he interrupts, the unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing echoing in the background. "I'm on the can. Give me a sec."

You stifle a laugh, picturing him mid-transaction. "Take your time," you reply, tapping your fingers impatiently against your phone.

A few moments later, he returns, his voice clearer now. "Alright, I'm back. What's got you so hyped?"

"Geto Suguru accepted my follow request and followed me back!" you blurt out, unable to keep the excitement out of your voice.

There's a brief silence on the other end before Ren erupts. "No way! That's insane!"

"I know, right?" you giggle, pacing your room. "I can't believe it!"

Ren's voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "Okay, okay. We need a plan. Like, a full-on strategy to get you two together. I'm talking meet-cutes, accidental run-ins, the whole shebang."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Ren, you're crazy."

He ignores your comment, already deep in his own world. "Picture this: you and Geto, a chance encounter at a coffee shop. He spills his drink on you, you both laugh it off, exchange numbers—classic rom-com material."

You roll your eyes, amused. "And what's next? The meet-the-parents montage?"

"Exactly!" Ren responds enthusiastically. "And then, plot twist—you both end up on a reality dating show together. The drama, the tension, the undeniable chemistry."

You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach. "Ren, you're out of control."

He pauses, then adds thoughtfully, "Okay, but real talk. This could be your big break. You and Geto, taking over the internet. The content would be insane."

You sobered slightly, considering his words. "Yeah, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. It's just social media."

Ren snorts. "Just social media? Girl, this is the 21st century. Social media is everything."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "You're incorrigible."

"Hey, I'm just saying," Ren replies, his tone light. "The lore we could build around this—people would lose their minds."

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Thanks, Ren. I needed that."

"Anytime," he says. "Now, go accept that follow request before he changes his mind."

You laugh,"Beat you to it bestie, it’s already accepted."

"Atta girl," Ren says approvingly. "Now, keep me posted. I want all the details."

"Will do," you reply, feeling a flutter of anticipation. "Talk to you later."

As you finish up your chat with Ren, you spot Yumi by the counter, already making her purchase for the shirt she couldn’t resist the second she laid eyes on it. You toss your jeans beside it, ready to pay for your own haul. “Yo, Yu,” you hum, flashing a playful grin at the cashier as you hand over your cash. She bags up your purchase with a smile, and you nod your thanks, slipping out of the store.

"So, what's the deal with Geto and his girl?" you ask, picking at your nails as you walk beside Yumi. There's a slight flutter in your chest—yeah, you definitely want him, but are you really ready to totally shake up his relationship? You can’t decide.

Yumi's expression shifts, her lips curving into a devilish grin that screams, I know something you don’t. "They broke up last week," she drops the bomb casually, her eyes practically sparkling with the excitement of sharing the gossip.

"Wait, seriously?" you blink, caught off guard.

"Yep," she says, her tone smug, like she just delivered the best news ever. "The man’s single now. Time for you to make your move."

A flutter of nerves rushes through you, but you push it aside. "I want to, but... where do I even start?"

Yumi taps her chin, the wheels turning in her mind. "Easy. Post a pic of yourself. See if he’s gonna like it. If he does... it’s game time."

You raise an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips. "Not a bad idea, actually."

“I know, I’m a genius,” she says, almost too smug.

You scroll through your gallery, your finger hovering over the screen until you find the one. There it is—your mirror selfie from a few days ago. Your hair is perfectly curled, a soft cascade of waves that look effortless but just polished enough to make heads turn (courtesy of heatless curls hack you found on TikTok). You’re wearing the perfect balance of casual and seductive—oversized denim jeans slung low on your hips, paired with a black tube top that clings just enough to highlight your curves.

But the real magic? Your finger, softly grazing your lips, the tip of your manicured nail pressing ever so lightly against your full, plump pout. The angle's just right to capture the soft curve of your neck, and your eyes? Locked straight at the camera with that playful, irresistible spark.

You glance at Yumi, a devilish grin creeping onto your face. "Game on, Geto Suguru. Let’s see if you can handle this."

The rest of the day flies by in a haze of impulse buys, mindless chatter with Yumi, and forcing down yet another overpriced green smoothie that tastes like regret. You nearly block out Yumi’s oh-so-inappropriate remarks about you as you finally step into your apartment alone, shutting the door behind you with a sigh.

Silence. Finally.

Tossing your bags onto the couch, you make a beeline for the TV, flipping on Netflix like it’s muscle memory. Without hesitation, you scroll straight to Gossip Girl. The Thanksgiving episode is on, and before you know it, you’re gasping at every twist and betrayal—as if you don’t already have the entire script engraved in your soul. (But seriously, with every rewatch, it just gets better. No one can convince you otherwise.)

Mid-scene, you reach for today’s most questionable purchase—an unnecessarily fancy ashtray you bought for no real reason other than, well, aesthetic. You light a cigarette, placing it between your lips, the flicker of the lighter casting a brief glow against your face. Smoke curls around you as you stare at the screen, completely locked in, like Blair Waldorf’s next move is life or death.

Then, your fingers move on autopilot. Check story views.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Geto Suguru hasn’t even seen it.

Your eye twitches. Excuse me?

Dozens of likes, a couple of fire emojis in your DMs, and even a "damn who let you be this fine??" from someone you don’t even know. But the one person you want? Nowhere to be found.

“Dude,” you groan, flopping back against the cushions. “Throw me a bone here.”

With a sigh, you toss your phone onto your lap, take another slow drag of your cigarette, and let the smoke swirl lazily around you. The air in your apartment is thick with it now—probably should crack a window before your living room starts smelling like a nicotine shrine, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.

Then, just as you start spiraling into a self-pity session, your phone rings.

Ren.

You stretch your arm lazily, phone tucked between your cheek and shoulder, eyes glued to the screen.

“Hey, babe, you home from your little shopping spree?” Ren’s voice comes through, smooth and familiar.

You sigh dramatically. “Mhm. Just watching Gossip Girl.”

“Again?”

“Yeah. I have commitment issues, and this is the only way I know how to work through them.”

Ren lets out a knowing laugh. “Whatever keeps you sane, babe. But listen—it’s Friday, and I was thinking… I kinda want to go out. And you know Aiko—”

You half-listen, stretching your neck until it cracks in a way that probably isn’t good for you. 'Ouch. Love that for me.'

“—her roommate’s throwing a party, and Aiko invited me. And obviously, because I’m the best bestie to ever exist, I told her I’m not going anywhere without my ride-or-die.”

You let out a soft laugh, but your brain is already at war.

On one hand, you had the perfect night planned: sinking into your couch, rewatching rich people make messy life choices, rolling a joint (or two), and falling asleep in a haze of smoke and Blair Waldorf’s superiority complex.

On the other hand… getting a little reckless with Ren? That sounds dangerous. And fun. And exactly what you haven’t done in a long time.

You and Ren don’t party together. Your social circles barely overlap, and that’s always worked in your favor. But maybe, just maybe, it’s time to shake things up.

And it’s Aiko. Ren’s childhood bestie, who goes to a different college but still lives in town. No drama, no nonsense—just good vibes. And honestly? New faces, new energy, and new distractions sound pretty damn tempting.

Because, let’s be real—who needs Geto Suguru to like their story when there’s a whole party full of questionable choices waiting for you?

A slow smirk tugs at your lips as you finally answer, voice dripping with mischief.

“Let’s go cause some chaos.”

The party is exactly your kind of chaos—loud, reckless, and just dangerous enough to make you feel alive.

You catch a shift in Ren’s energy beside you, and when you glance at him, it clicks—this is definitely not what he was expecting. Poor thing probably thought he was signing up for a casual little get-together, a few drinks, maybe getting a little too tipsy and ending the night puking out Aiko’s window.

But instead? This.

Bodies packed tight, unfamiliar faces blurring together, the thick haze of weed curling through the air like a heavy fog. The bass from the speakers thrums beneath your skin, rattling in your chest, making the world feel electric. Someone spills a drink nearby, but no one cares. There’s a girl perched on the kitchen counter, her fingers tangled in a guy’s hair, pulling him in like she’s starving.

And—oh my God. Is someone actually moaning out loud?

'Alright, that’s a little much, even for me. Jesus. Please, for the love of God, take it to a bedroom. I don’t need to be reminded that I haven’t gotten laid in two months. Thanks.'

Still, the rest of this? Perfection.

You flick your gaze back to Ren just in time to watch his soul physically leave his body. He looks like a deer caught in headlights—half-hiding behind you, half-frantically scanning the room for an escape route.

And then—just like that—he’s gone.

Your eyes track his movements lazily, following him as he weaves through the crowd with surprising determination. Interesting. You watch as he approaches some guy—tall, broad shoulders, an easy grin. You don’t know him personally, but recognition sparks.

Aiko introduced them a few weeks ago and he is the one Ren showed you a picture of.

Oh.

Ohhh.

So this is why Ren wanted to go out so bad.

You roll your eyes, but there’s an amused smirk tugging at your lips. Cute. Puppy love.

Hopefully, the guy rails Ren by the end of the night.

You scan the room, taking in the dizzying mix of sweaty bodies, half-baked stoners, and preppy girls pretending they don’t secretly love this mess.

And then—you spot it.

Aiko has a bar. Or at least, something that resembles one. A sleek blend of wood and cool gray marble, standing out like a beacon of class in the middle of this absolute shitshow.

And—oh, look. An empty stool, practically begging you to claim it.

You mentally pat yourself on the back for securing the perfect spot—close enough to the action to people-watch, yet tucked away just enough to avoid being in it. A strategic retreat. A throne.

You already know the marble is going to be a dream for rolling, so you settle in, pull out your weed, and get to work.

Your fingers move on autopilot—muscle memory kicking in like a well-rehearsed performance. You unfold the paper, pluck at the small green bud, and absolutely massacre one of your cigarettes, so you could mix your joint with tobacco. A brutal sacrifice for a higher cause.

Once it’s done, you sit back, admiring your work of art for a solid thirty seconds. A true masterpiece. Leonardo da Vinci could never.

Then, rummaging through your bag, you fish out your lighter. Flick. Flame.

And just like that—the first hit of the night is here.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting there. Time has melted away between the slow drag of your joint and the burn of nicotine on your tongue. One joint down, two cigarettes deep—it’s time for round two.

You bring the joint number #2 to your lips, ready for round two, when—

"Look at what we got here."

The voice is rich, velvety, dangerous. It spills down your spine like warm liquor, and then—the heat of his breath, so close to your neck, so intimate, you nearly shudder.

Fingertips ghost over your shoulder, then trace a slow, lazy path down to your waist. Barely there, yet enough to send a pulse of electricity through you, enough to make your breath hitch and your thighs press.

You inhale, slow and steady, masking the effect he has on you with a drag from your joint. “Didn’t think the place I’d see you again would be here,” you murmur, blowing out smoke in a smirk.

But then—fuck.

His fingers skate down your ribs, a teasing tap, so faint it shouldn’t do anything, but it does. A single touch, and your stomach tightens, heat pooling low.

You’re acting like a starved divorcée. Embarrassing.

“So you thought about seeing me again,” he says, stepping forward, pressing closer.

And ohhh, the way he moves—fluid, predatory, his body heat licking at yours like an unspoken promise. His elbow lands on the marble counter, muscles flexing, jaw sharp enough to cut.

Black shirt, grey joggers—so simple, so effortless, yet you know how dangerous that combo is. How easy it would be to just… tug the waistband down.

Then—the worst part. The part that makes your fingers twitch with the need to touch.

His hair—tied up in that messy, infuriatingly perfect bun.

You want to pull it loose.

You want to fist your hands in it.

You want to ruin him.

He flicks his tongue against his cheek, and your brain short circuits.

That tongue. That thumb. Fuck.

“Mm,” you hum, shifting slightly, just enough to brush against him. “What if I did, Suguru?”

His smirk deepens, something dark flickering in his eyes.

“Already on a first-name basis?” His voice drops—low, thick, laced with amusement and something even filthier. “You’re bad, peach.”

Peach.

Oh, he’s playing dirty.

“I can be a lot worse,” you counter, dragging your tongue over your lips—slow, intentional. And just as expected, his gaze snaps to the movement. His jaw tenses, his Adam’s apple bobs, and—ohhh, there it is. That tiny flicker of restraint slipping.

He’s so sexy it’s infuriating.

“Wanna prove it sometime?” His voice is like silk, wrapping around you, daring you.

You barely breathe out, “Yeah.”

And then, stupidly, recklessly, you extend your arm to hand him the joint.

Big mistake.

Because the second he takes it, that hand—the one burning your ribs, teasing, lingering, driving you insane—is gone.

And now?

Now it’s wrapped around the joint instead.

Your lungs seize.

Your thighs press tighter.

You’re already losing this game.

But even without his hands on you, he’s still too much for your own good. The joint rests between his lips like it belongs there, lazy and effortless, the smoke curling around his face in slow, deliberate swirls. His eyes—dark and low—trace over you, dragging like the lazy pull of a bowstring, like he’s memorizing every dip, every curve, every flicker of emotion that crosses your face.

He takes a slow inhale, lets the smoke pool in his lungs before releasing it in a sigh that feels too intimate, too heavy, settling between you like an invitation.

“So,” he murmurs, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, “what brings you here?”

Your fingers twitch at your side. Why does he have to be so fucking pretty?

“I’m here with my friend. He’s friends with Aiko,” you mutter, tipping your chin toward Ren—who, at this exact moment, is devouring THE guy in the corner like he’s trying to consume his soul. His hands are buried in the guy’s hair, nails digging in, like he’s trying to make sure this man never forgets him.

Geto follows your gaze, lets out a short, amused huff. “Subtle.”

You snort, then—maybe to distract yourself, maybe just to fill the space—ask, “What about you?”

“Jen is Yuji’s girl,” he says absently, fingers tracing the cotton of his shirt, and—oh.

So that’s the connection.

And then it hits. Yuji's girlfriend is Aiko's roommate. A slow-building dread that curls in your stomach and coils around your ribs, tight, suffocating—because if Geto and Yuji are here… then so is Gojo.

Your chest feels too tight. Your blood feels too hot.

You don’t want to think about him. You can’t think about him. Because the last time you saw him, he ruined you. Because his words are still a wound in your chest, still raw, still bleeding.

You flex your hands, swallow hard. Keep your voice even. “That’s cool.”

But Geto is too fucking perceptive for his own good. His eyes are on you, watching, picking apart every microexpression, every breath, every slight shift in your body language.

“Are you okay with that?” His voice is smooth, careful.

“With what?”

“C’mon babe. I know you already realized Gojo is here and last time I saw you and Gojo in the same room, there were fangs and claws.”

“I’m fine.” The words come out clipped, a little too quick.

Geto hums. He doesn’t believe you. You don’t believe yourself.

“As long as he doesn’t talk to me, I don’t give a shit.”

A pause. A twitch of his lips. “You sure about that?”

You shoot him a look. “I said I’m fine.”

His gaze lingers, heavy with amusement and something else you don’t want to name. The silence stretches, thick and charged, something unsaid crackling between you like static electricity.

And then you do something dangerous.

With slow, deliberate movements, you reach for the joint between his lips, plucking it free with a feather-light touch. His breath hitches—so quiet, so subtle, you almost miss it. But you don’t.

You never do.

You bring it to your lips, inhale deep, the taste of him clinging to the filter. Let the smoke swirl in your lungs before you exhale, slow, deliberate, watching as it curls between you like something intimate.

You learned a long time ago how easy it is to make a man forget about everything but you. A touch, a look, a well-placed breath—and they’ll unravel at your feet.

Geto is no different.

His pupils dilate, his eyes flickering between your lips, the joint, and back again.

“So,” you murmur, voice dipping into something just shy of teasing, “you think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

A lazy smirk tugs at his lips. His fingers—deft, warm, deliberate—trace over yours where they rest against his chest. His heartbeat is fast, just a little erratic, but his voice is steady when he hums, “Mhm.”

You tilt your head. “Then tell me—” You lean in, just close enough that you can make sure he tastes the next inhale of smoke, “—what am I thinking about?”

Geto pauses, the corner of his mouth quirking up, eyes dark and knowing. His fingers tighten over yours, just barely.

“You’re thinking about me,” he murmurs, voice velvet-soft, rich, dangerous. “On top of you.”

And fuck—maybe you are.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, your lips part—just slightly, just enough. And then you close the distance.

The second your mouth touches his, something electric shoots through you, like a live wire sparking against bare skin. You exhale the smoke into his mouth, letting the heat of his lips, the weight of him, consume you. Geto doesn’t hesitate. He inhales it all, deep and slow, before letting the smoke curl lazily from his nostrils like a fucking dragon.

And then—then the hunger wins.

Your fingers find his hair, twisting into the dark strands, yanking hard enough that he groans into your mouth—a sound that shoots straight down your spine, settling low in your stomach like molten heat. The joint slips from your fingers, forgotten, hitting the floor with a dull thud. It doesn’t matter. This is more important. So much more important.

Your lips press harder, claiming him, devouring him, like you’re trying to carve yourself into his bones. His hands are everywhere—sliding down your waist, gripping the curve of your hips, fingers sinking into your ass like he’s staking his claim right here in the middle of the fucking party. And then—smack.

A sharp slap against your ass echoes through the room.

A few people glance over, but you don’t care. You barely notice. Your brain is nothing but static, buzzing with the way he’s touching you, how his body is pressing you into the cool marble counter. You get it now. You understand all the couples you were rolling your eyes at earlier, making out like they were the only two people on the planet. You judged them, and now here you are—worse.

(You mentally apologize to them. You were wrong. You get it. You so get it.)

Geto licks into your mouth, deep and slow, like he’s savoring you. His tongue tangles with yours, his hands guiding your body against his in a way that feels almost too easy, too practiced, like he already knows exactly how to unravel you.

And he does. Fuck—he does.

"Real classy. Real, real classy, babes."

A voice cuts through the haze like a blade, slicing right into the heat of Geto’s lips, his hands, the taste of him still lingering on your tongue. Your breathing is erratic, your body still pressed against his, and when you finally tear yourself away, the hunger in his eyes mirrors your own.

But of course—because the universe hates you—there’s only one person bold enough, obnoxious enough to cockblock you like this.

Gojo Satoru.

His arms are crossed over his chest, lips curled into a smirk so sharp it could cut glass. His eyes gleam under the dimmed lights, twinkling like he’s enjoying every second of this. His white hair is a mess, like he just rolled out of bed—or worse, someone else’s bed. The thought alone makes your stomach turn, and you hate that it does.

"Did you really have to?" Geto groans, tilting his head back with a deep sigh, like he's asking the heavens why they let this happen.

Gojo's smirk only widens, his ears perking up like a damn cat that just found something new to ruin. "Well, sorry," he drawls, voice laced with insincerity. "Yuji disappeared somewhere with Jen, and I'm bored. I don’t wanna be alone."

He even pouts—full-on juts out his bottom lip like an overgrown, spoiled child. You swear he gets off on being the most insufferable person alive.

"Then go somewhere. Socialize," Geto deadpans, sounding like he's already debating walking out of this conversation.

Gojo scoffs, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. "Please. Let’s just chill,” he says. “Plus, I’m saving you from her, dude. As if anyone actually wants to be near her."

You snort. "Please. You’re projecting, baby."

His sharp blue eyes snap to yours instantly, and that goddamn smirk deepens, crawling into something more dangerous.

"You sure about that, sweetheart?"

"Well sweetheart, you’re the one wandering around all alone here. I have company."

Your fingers curl around Geto’s bicep, slow and deliberate, like a claim, like a shield, like you’re daring Gojo to say something about it. And he does. Of course, he does.

His smirk deepens, something sharp lurking beneath it. "Yeah? And your company just so happens to be one my best friends. What, you don’t have any of your own anymore?"

The words hit exactly where they’re meant to. Right where it hurts.

Your lips part, but there’s no quick comeback—because he’s not wrong. Not really. There was a time when your circle was bigger, fuller. But it collapsed. You burned bridges, walked away, let it crumble without a second glance.

Except for Ren.

So you nod toward the far-right corner of the room, where Ren is, mouth pressed against that guy’s neck, hands tangled in his hair. Your Ren. The one person you still have. The one person who still believes in you.

"I came here with Ren," you say, voice light, nonchalant, as if the words aren’t a loaded gun pointed at Gojo’s chest.

And then you fire. "It appears as if all your friends always choose me."

The moment the words leave your lips, you see it.

That flicker of something—something real, something raw—pass through his eyes. His jaw tightens. His fingers flex at his sides. You got him.

Because you and Gojo and Ren were everything once. A trio. A home. And then it all shattered, and when the dust settled, Gojo was left standing alone.

And Ren? Ren chose you.

Gojo stares at Ren a second too long. You watch the gears turn in his head, watch the muscle in his jaw tick, watch his body betray him in a dozen little ways. His throat bobs. His foot starts bouncing—an old habit, one you recognize. He’s pissed.

"Well," he finally says, voice low, strangled at the edges. "Looks like Ren’s occupied at the moment."

"He is," you agree, voice dipped in honey, in poison. You lean in, just a little, just enough to let him feel it. "But he’ll come back to me."

And there it is. The moment the knife twists.

You see it happen—see the way something dark passes over his features, the way his lips press into a thin line. His stare burns into you, unreadable and blistering and dangerous.

You crossed a line.

And you meant to.

The silence between you is thick. Suffocating.

Geto clears his throat, a nervous chuckle escaping him. "Okay, guys, let’s not kill each other, yeah?"

He glances between the two of you, trying to gauge what the fuck is going on. But he doesn’t know. He can’t.

All Geto knows is that you and Gojo slept together in high school.

That’s all he knows.

"Let’s…" Geto sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let’s drink something. Satoru, why don’t you bring us some drinks, hmm?"

For a moment, Gojo doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. His eyes stay locked onto yours, an invisible war waging between the two of you.

And then, like flipping a switch, he smiles.

It’s fake. It’s so fake. A bright, easy-going grin spreads across his face, his body relaxing, his tone suddenly light, playful, effortless.

"Sure thing," he chirps, eyes glittering with something unreadable. "I’ll be right back."

Then he turns, walking away like none of this mattered. Like you didn’t just tear him open.

But you know better.

You watch him disappear into the crowd, your pulse still thrumming in your ears.

Because you finally hurt him.

And knowing Gojo Satoru?

It’s going to hurt for a long, long time.

"Don’t miss me too much," Gojo quips, his voice light, teasing.

But something about it feels… off.

You watch as he bounces toward the other room, easy, effortless—like none of this meant anything. Like you mean nothing.

And yet—

He turns. Just for a second.

His eyes meet yours, and for the first time tonight, they’re stripped of their usual bravado. No cocky smirk, no playful glint—just something heavy, something raw. Something that doesn’t belong to Gojo Satoru, the golden boy, but to Satoru, the boy who used to be your best friend.

For a split second, it looks like he wants to say something.

Like he needs you to understand.

And for that split second, you want to. You want to reach out, sift through the weight in his stare, get it the way you used to.

But those days? The days of understanding each other without words? The days of you and Gojo?

They’re dead. Long buried.

So you do what you’ve gotten so good at.

You turn away.

You laugh at something Geto says. You act like Gojo was never here. Like his presence wasn’t just buzzing against your skin.

But he was here. And you feel it.

Gojo Satoru might have walked away. But you know—deep in your bones, in the pit of your stomach, in the quiet part of your mind that still knows him—

He’ll be back.

Soon.

taglist: @zeunys @charmstarr @ovela @kur0mii3 @dabisdolly @17362939 @krispywhisperswhispers @mintcheery @kazupop @heh123321 @hanakotateyama @choppersworlds-blog @eneiyri @suniloli @44ina. @s4ikooo1 @blushedcheri @dishs0pe @rhea-sylvea

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adoremio · 4 months ago

Note

tasm! Peter pushing reader away bc he realized his deep feelings for her. He doesn't want another Gwen situation to happen, but reader reels him back and they make up?

wc: 1400 tw: g-dawg's death, peter imagines you dying, me trying to write like donna tartt and failing pretty badly

When Gwen died, it was deep into October, and New York City was at its most obscene––a cityscape draped in ochre leaves, gilded in morning frost, and stained by the cloying sweetness of pumpkin spice wafting from every corner cafe. That autumn, the sky was bright and brittle as shattered glass everywhere Peter went and the leaves fell in ghastly similarity to her.

Gwen’s death was his fault. He knew this. Knew it with the startling clarity of remembering a fever dream, and the dizzying weight of his own body pressing into the mattress on sleepless nights. Unable to outrun the guilt, he made a promise. Never again.

And then, of course, there was you.

🕷

It was early September when you walked into the chemistry lab, sunlight from the high windows casting a halo around your head. You’re not like Gwen. You don’t have her hard edges and sharp wit, more a soft kind of presence, like how the warmth of a fire hugs snow-bitten knees through a blanket. Peter had watched you drop your bag onto the bench beside him, casual, almost careless, and wondered why it made me feel like someone had struck a match inside his ribcage.

The teacher paired him with you, and you smiled like a whisper. "Peter, right?" you said. His name sounded strange in your mouth, too certain, too right, and it made him feel fourteen again, clumsy and stupid, trying to keep up.

Your voice was perfect. This thought was a wild, unwelcome one, but all the same drawn by the irrefragable veracity of his heart.

“Um, I- yeah, that’s, uh, me.”

That was the first time he embarrassed himself in front of you. Not the last, though—God, not the last.

🕷

Falling for you was a slow-motion car crash, inevitable and excruciating. He told himself it wasn’t happening. He told himself he wouldn’t let it happen. But every week, there he was—sitting across from you at the cafe near school, your laugh wrapping around his ribs like wire, your smile making him forget, if only for a moment, the constant thrum of shame in his chest.

He can remember one instance clear as day.

“You ever wonder, like, if the universe is infinite, are we already dead?”

Peter chokes a little on his coffee. “Way to have arbitrary thoughts fit for a study session.”

“No, it is though, because, if this isn’t real, then I shouldn’t-”

“Study? Yeah, I’m sure that will help your grade. ‘Mrs. Hornstock,’ I didn’t study because the universe is infinite.’”

“I don’t sound anything like that.”

“Oh my god-” He’s finally torn away from his computer to where your third finger is perched on the top of your mechanical pencil. “Don’t hold it like that, are you a psychopath?”

He tugs it out of your hand. “You click it with your thumb, see?”

He looks up when you don’t respond, seeing the lock of your eyes on where he’s still holding your fingers. He drops you like he’s been burned and you snap out of your stupor.

“Oh,” you rasp, quickly returning to your ramble with a frenetic urgency. “I just meant, like, what day is it? I don’t know, October-something, right? So-”

Peter doesn’t hear anything after that. It’s October. That hits him like a blow to the stomach, his ears ringing. It’s already been a year. He feels a nauseating sense of deja vu.

“-so like, in a hundred Octobers, when we’re both dead, today will have barely been real, you know? In the context of infinity. Are you listening?”

Peter is startled slightly. “Today will always be real.”

Nothing is scarier.

🕷

One day in February, Peter realized he liked you. And not in the safe, distant way he kept telling himself. No, this was something worse, something unbearable. Something with teeth. He liked you in a way that felt like betrayal.

That night, he dreamt of you dying. He saw it all, clear as day: the blood, the scream, the stillness afterward. He woke up gasping, the sheets twisted around him, Gwen’s name—or was it yours?—caught in his throat like a splinter. It was always the same in the dreams. The same unbearable ending, the same awful, whispering refrain: your fault.

You were waiting for him at the cafe the next afternoon, sitting at your usual table by the window. You had your phone in one hand and a paperback in the other, your bag slung carelessly over the back of your chair. The light caught in your hair, turned it into a crown of fire. He stood outside, his breath clouding the glass, and knew what he had to do.

He walked away.

The next week, the lab partners were reassigned. You ended up with someone else—a boy who always smelled faintly of Axe body spray and wore his backpack slung over one shoulder like a badge of honor. he sat across the room, meticulously measuring chemicals into a beaker, pretending not to notice the way your gaze flicked toward him every few minutes.

"Peter," you said, catching up to him in the hallway after class. "Peter, wait."

But he didn’t wait. He kept walking, his shoulders hunched against the tide of students, his heartbeat loud and erratic in his ears. He didn’t have the strength to look at you, let alone explain. What could he have said? That he was trying to protect you? That he was trying to save you from a fate you didn’t even know was possible?

You called after him one more time, your voice breaking slightly on the last syllable of his name. And then he turned the corner, and you were gone.

🕷

One day, after class ends, you corner him in the exit you knew he would take out the cafeteria.

His name escapes you, hurried like he could disappear at any second. “Peter,"

His eyes are fixed on the ground as he fidgets under the ten-ton weight of your stare. "Uh, yeah?"

Fuck. He thinks. Don't look at her, don't look at her, don't look, don't-

You shake him a bit and he reflexively lifts his head, but that’s what he’s been trying not to do, and-

Oh. You look perfect.

"Where- where have you been?” You ask quietly. “I haven't seen you since october, I’ve-"

His big brown eyes snap up to meet yours and you have to stop talking for a bit as you register how close he is. His freckled nose is just a nose away from your own, and his lips look soft and pillowy.

His lips quirk to the side in nervousness.

You’re sure if anyone else were still in the room they’d yell at you two for blocking the doors, but it’s just you and Peter. Alone in the big open space of your school's underfunded cafeteria, flickery lights highlighting him.

“Peter?” You try again.

"Huh?"

"Are you okay?” You’re not sure why that’s the question you choose, not for lack of interest in the answer but mostly because it’s really not the point of the conversation. Except maybe it is. Something in the widening of his eyes tugs at your chest.

"I- yeah. Yeah, no, I’m, I’m great.” There’s a rawness to his tone that scares you slightly, even as his mouth breaks into a fake smile.

Your thumb presses the little dent in his inner elbow in a slight indication of worry and he flinches.

His head drops into your shoulder.

“Hey, Spidey, look at me.”

His head springs up in shock.

There’s a beat of silence. He watches you, fidgety.

“You know?” “Of course I do. I know you. You think I haven’t noticed all those bruises, and the fact that you never sleep, and the fact that he looks like you?”

“Under the suit?”

“Yeah. He looks like you. Your shape, and how you move.”

“I swing from buildings like how you would expect?”

You nod, and he laughs but there’s a tremble in his lips.

“Everything’s gonna be okay.” You slide a hand over the leather jacket on his back.

“You can’t know that,” and as you’re pulling him in all he can think of is Gwen, and-

“I love you, Peter Parker.” He can hear your heartbeat. “We’ll be okay.”

🕷

omg this is my first fic i hope you like it :)) please send requests if you did

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker imagines #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #spiderman #spiderman x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm spiderman #tasm #tasm peter x reader

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omensandwonders · 6 months ago

Text

best friend!noah headcanons

a/n: not proofread word vomit i hit out in 15mins because FUCK i need a man like noah (if not noah) in my life

sfw:

♤ you guys probably met online through streaming or gaming, or maybe at a con who knows

♤ after a few months of friendship you moved in with noah and the boys

♤ life is chaotic but so much fun with them (i wouldnt be shocked if that house gets almost set on fire multiple times (has already happened on stream))

♤ late night gaming and deep talk sessions

♤ blasting music at full volume because why the hell would either of yall want to listen to your own thoughts HELL nah

♤ if you have long hair, he's stealing your hairties and clips. deal with it

♤ makes sure your favorite ice cream is always at the house

♤ even if you dont help him write music too often, you usually just lounge around somewhere in the background while he works, ready to give feedback when he wants it

♤ im coping ik BUT HES THE PERFECT CUDDLE BUDDY. istg look at him he is BUILT to cuddle and be cuddled-

♤ a hug from him would fix me

♤ sorry im getting off track

♤ if you havent seen star wars, hes forcing you into a marathon

♤ late night horror movie marathons

♤ within days of living with each other yall catch each other staring. regularly (i mean i would tf)

nsfw:

♤ the sexual tension rises until it finally snaps one night when the other boys are out and you both smoked a joint together

♤ long story short yall end up on his bed, clinging to each other and lazily fucking the night away, limbs tangled and hands grabbing whatever they could reach

♤ after that, his casual touches increase ten fold, gently grabbing your hips to pass by you, putting an arm around your waist or shoulder, holding your hand to pull you through crowds

♤ LOTS of jealousy sex

♤ youre not dating, but a guy flirts with you? even worse, you give him his number? the second youre home youre getting bent in half and pounded through the mattress

"gonna fuck that attitude out of you, make you remember who you belong to- even if you dont, that fuckin pussy will, gonna ruin you for anybody else-"

♤ would fuck you on every surface in both of your rooms

♤ eats you out on the couch, casually rubbing lazy circles on your clit while watching a movie, grinding into you first thing in the morning when he wakes up

♤ kinda perverted with it, grabbing a handful of your ass when nobodys looking

#bad omens #bad omens smut #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian #word vomit #he would fix me #i just know it #sigh

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callmeagardengnome · 9 months ago

Text

˚ʚ sore thumb ɞ˚ | CHOI SAN

pairings ᯓ idol!san x boxer! fem!reader

genre ᯓ soulmate au, one-shot

synopsis ᯓ tied by emotions and injuries, you and your soulmate have been through quite a roller coaster - especially when he can feel each and every punch you receive.

c.w ᯓ SLIGHTLYY angsty but it does have hella fluff. also this is during the BOUNCY era!

w.c ᯓ 2.6k

author’s note: sorry for the kinda late upload! took me a while to write this.. also ignore the weird ass timeline, this story is definitely not really true to the actual irl events

not proofread!

masterlist

you’ve always known that boxing was your calling. the thrill of getting in the ring, the sounds of gloves hitting the bag - the adrenaline that you got from the sport was.. addictive.

from the moment you stepped into the gym, you were hooked. while you weren’t that good at first, you continued to work day and night, training and perfecting your technique.

fortunately enough, you managed to climb the ranks. you became a pretty big name in the boxing world. people loved watching your matches, not just calling you a boxer, but an entertainer.

san, on the other hand, experienced your matches in a different way.

for years, san had been dealing with the sensation of getting punched in the face, or if it wasn’t that, his fists were the ones feeling the damage. not only that, he was completely oblivious to you and your job.

the both of you found out about your soulmarks early in life. frankly, it was pretty obvious. you started to feel emotions that weren’t your own and had sudden bursts of pain that came without warning. when your parents brought you to various specialists, all their answers were the same - it was a soulmark.

while san felt happy that he had an easy-to-spot soulmark, he couldn’t help but feel.. annoyed.

he often found himself wincing during rehearsals, clutching his sides as phantom pains shot through his body. san had been reasonably concerned and confused when the punches first started. there would be days when mysterious bruises would appear out of nowhere or where he would feel the sudden urge to dodge an unseen pinch flying towards him.

this led to san wondering - what were you doing? why were you getting into fights so often? were you a criminal? or could it be martial arts?

san eventually came to the conclusion that you were in some form of combat sport. after all, the punches that you received seemed controlled, and the bruises that you got were repetitive.

“again?” san would mutter under his breath, rubbing his sore ribs. this would happen almost every day, each time feeling as though it was happening to you for the first time.

though, sometimes, he would roll his eyes, somewhat amused, as if he was speaking to someone directly. “really? you couldn’t dodge that one?” he said, shaking his head with a smile.

as time passed, san found himself growing more attached to you. though he didn’t know who you were, he felt your emotions. he felt the anxiety you felt before every match and the rush of victory you experienced after a successful fight. he became oddly protective of you, even if he didn’t know why.

unfortunately, everything changed when you trained for an upcoming championship match. you were having a pretty intense training session, pushing yourself harder than before. as you landed a powerful punch on the punch bag, you felt a sharp pain shooting through your hand, making you drop to your knees.

“shit- what did i just do..?” you mumbled to yourself, staring at your twisted hand in shock. the pain was unbearable and overwhelming, throbbing in waves and spreading up your arm. the realisation hit you - something was wrong. not only for you, but your soulmate.

at the very moment, san felt the pain explode in his own hand. he was in the middle of rehearsal, practicing the choreography for ATEEZ’s new comeback. the sudden pain caught him off guard, making him shout in surprise.

“woah, what happened?” hongjoong rushed over immediately, his face laced with concern.

“i don’t know, hyung-“ san winced, his hand shaking. “my hand feels like its broken.. i- i can barely move it.” the other members gathered around him, completely stopping their rehearsal.

“san, that looks pretty bad. do we need to get you to the hospital?” seonghwa asked, kneeling beside him.

san shook his head, trying to catch his breath. “i think i’m fine.. just give me a moment.”

he was far from fine. the pain felt too real, too intense. you must have really injured yourself - badly. his mind started to race with worry. what happened? why did this feel 10x more painful than anything he’s ever felt? and most importantly, were you okay?

“come on san, we should at least get it checked,” wooyoung insisted, helping him to his feet.

meanwhile, you rushed to the hospital, cradling your injured hand. the both of you were left with the same diagnosis - a broken hand.

for you, it was devastating news. boxing was your life, your soul. putting in on pause meant that your whole life was on pause. the injury meant months of recovery and falling behind in the sport you love.

you also felt extremely guilty. not only did you cause yourself pain, your soulmate was definitely experiencing the consequences of your actions.

“great,” you sighed, running your fingers through your hair. “i just injured two people.”

despite your friends and trainers trying their best to support you, you couldn’t shake off the sadness you felt. what you hated though, was the fact that your soulmate could feel the range of emotions your were experiencing.

“why am i so careless,” you thought to yourself as you lay in your bed. “he must think i’m a mess.”

while he didn’t think you were a mess, san was struggling with the new injury. with the new comeback approaching, he needed to change the way he danced, finding ways to work around his broken hand.

sure, it was a inconvenience, but all san could think about was you. during this period of time, he constantly felt waves of sadness crashing over him. san could feel how guilty and depressed you were over your hand. the only thing that made it worse was that san could do nothing to help you.

san desperately wanted to reassure you, tell you that he’s fine and that you shouldn’t worry about him. but since neither of you knew one another, all he could do was imagine what he would say if he could reach you.

“whoever you are,” he whispered to himself. “don’t be too hard on yourself. we’re in this together.”

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

a few months go by and you eventually recover from your injury. you started to slowly ease back into boxing again, regaining the spark that you temporarily lost in your life.

KQ soon decided to postpone the comeback to a further date, wanting san to have a speedy recovery. the pain eventually subsided, allowing ATEEZ to continue with their promotional activities for the comeback.

with the group entering the ‘BOUNCY’ era, KQ wanted san and wooyoung to watch some boxing matches to try and get a realistic shot for their music video.

the two men sat at their dorm’s living room couch, scrolling through the different videos on their tv.

“which one should we watch..” wooyoung said, clicking the remote controller. “ooh.. how about this one? it’s live streaming right now.”

san shrugged, not really caring on what’s on the screen. his mind was elsewhere, thinking about the recent preparations for the comeback. he was about to reach for his phone when he suddenly heard the commentator’s voice booming through the tv speakers.

“and now, stepping into the ring, the undefeated boxer making her much awaited comeback after a hiatus - ‘____’!”

san froze mid-reach, but it wasn’t your name that caught his attention - it was the sudden surge of energy and adrenaline coursing through his veins. it was a familiar feeling that he felt all those times whenever you were in the ring.

wooyoung noticed san’s focus on the screen, giving him a look. “hey, you okay?”

san nodded, his eyes glued to the tv as he watched you step into ring. “yeah, i’m fine. i just feel like i should watch this match.”

you stood in the center of the ring, hearing the crowd cheering your name. it felt surreal to be back, reclaiming your place in the boxing world.

when the match began, you moved with precision, every punch given with the techniques that made you a popular boxer in the first place. the first few rounds were intense, with neither you or your opponent giving in. you wanted to show the world and your soulmate that you were no longer held back by your injury.

as san watched the match unfold, he felt every jab, every dodge, every emotion that you were feeling. it was as if he was in the ring with you, experiencing the fight through your eyes.

and then it happened - the moment that confirmed san’s questions. you landed a strong uppercut on your opponent, making her fall back. the crowd erupted with applause and san felt an immense pride that wasn’t his own.

he realised then, that you were his soulmate.

san took a deep breath, facing wooyoung in surprise. “i think.. i just found my soulmate.”

wooyoung’s eyes widened. “what? you mean-“

“yeah,” san said, leaning back into the couch. “it’s her. i can feel it. i’ve been feeling it the whole time.”

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

the fight ended with your victory, with various sponsors and offers reaching out to you afterwards. while you appreciated it, you felt that maybe it was a good idea to take a few breaks from boxing every now and then.

one day, your manager told you about an interesting offer. a company called ‘KQ Entertainment’ reached out to you, wanting you to help choreograph a fight scene for their music video.

“why me?” you asked, genuinely curious. “i’m a boxer, not a choreographer.”

your manager shrugged, a smile appearing on her lips. “they mentioned wanting authenticity and your name came up. they said that the scene could benefit from your expertise.”

you paused, taking in the proposal. the idea of working with a k-pop group intrigued you. it was something different from your normal routine. a break from boxing didn’t mean that you had to step away from it completely. you finally made up your mind, accepting the deal.

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

“wait, what?” san exclaimed, getting up from his chair.

“yeah, your soulmate’s going to teach us some boxing moves,” hongjoong said with a grin.

san began panicking, not expecting to meet you so soon. he didn’t expect his company to reach out to professional boxers, let alone you, to help choreograph the scene. he eventually calmed himself down, preparing himself on what to do when he finally meets you.

the day of meeting ATEEZ arrived and you found yourself entering the lively building. you were introduced to the staff and the directors, who eventually led you to the studio where ATEEZ were. while you have heard of them before, you didn’t know what to expect, feeling slightly nervous.

the both of you started to feel anxious, both just from your own emotions, but from each others. when you entered the studio, san couldn’t even believe that you were real.

as more introductions went around, one of the members caught your eye.

“hi, i’m san,” he chuckled nervously, extending his hand.

the moment you shook his hand, you felt an intense wave of emotions that wasn’t yours. it was as if the world paused for a moment, allowing the two of you feel each other’s feelings.

san, too, seemed taken aback. his eyes widened slightly as his hand started to shiver in shock.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you managed to say, trying to keep your composure. after all, you didn’t want to seem unprofessional in front of celebrities.

“likewise..” san muttered, his grip lingering longer than necessary. “i’m really looking forward to working with you.”

“booo just kiss already,” wooyoung shouted playfully.

you raised an eyebrow, looking between san and wooyoung.

“sorry about that, he loves to make things awkward,” san said, turning to you with an nervous smile.

the both of you stared at each other for a moment, unable to take your eyes off each other. there was something about him that made it difficult for you to look away.

you laughed, ignoring the blush rising up your cheeks. “it’s all good.”

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

the rehearsal for the scene went by quickly, with san and the other ATEEZ members eager to learn the different moves.

“san, try to keep your guard up here,” you instructed, demonstrating the move. when you reached over to adjust his arms, you felt the same wave of emotion crashing down on you once again. was this a coincidence?

you eventually let them do their own thing, wanting them to try out the moves without guidance. yet, there was still something at the back of your mind - the weird feeling between you and san. it was unlike anything you’ve felt, almost as if it was.. meant to be.

as you started to think about the implications, you thought of an idea. sure, it was a little silly, but it would confirm your suspicions of san being your soulmate.

you decided to bite your tongue, slightly harder than needed, seeing if you could get a reaction out of san. as expected, he yelled out an ‘ow!’, looking at you briefly before quickly returning back to practicing.

that was it - he was your soulmate.

you waited for the rehearsal to be over, walking over to where san was. he turned as you approached, his eyes lighting up with an excitement that made your heart skip a beat.

“hey-“ “hi-“ you both said at the same time, sharing a small laugh.

“thanks for helping us today, we really appreciate it,” san smiled.

“of course, no problem,” you said nervously, trying to cover the flustered state you were in. no matter what though, san definitely knew how you felt in that moment.

you took a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak. “can we talk..?”

san’s eyes softened, looking around for places to talk at. “absolutely, let’s go somewhere quieter.”

he led you to a quiet corner of the studio, away from the hectic noises of the building. san leaned against the wall, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought about the right words. “i think i know what you’re going to say,” he began. “you felt that earlier too right? that whole emotions thing?”

“yeah..” you nodded. “are you thinking what i’m thinking..?”

san smiled, his gaze holding yours. “i think we’re soulmates.”

hearing him say those words filled you with joy you didn’t expect to have. it was one thing to suspect him of being your soulmate, but it was another thing to have him actually confirm it.

“i’ve known for a while,” san admitted, scratching his head. “but i didn’t say anything at first, i didn’t want to scare you away.”

“well, i’m glad you told me,” you chuckled.

his smile grew, “and i’m glad you understand.”

standing there, you felt a peace wash over you. the bond you shared was no longer an unspoken part of your lives, but a truth.

“so what happens now?” you asked.

“i’d like to get to know you better,” he replied, leaning closer to you.

his words were sincere, making you feel flattered that someone like him wanted to know you, or even spend time with you.

“i’d like that too,” you said, a smile spreading on your face.

san leaned even closer to you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “i think we have a lot to learn about each other..” he said trailing off.

“mhm,” you agreed, grabbing the collar of his shirt. you pulled him in for a gentle kiss, which he gladly reciprocated more fiercely. the both of you could feel each other’s emotions, even the sounds of your heart beating.

the both of you pulled away, laughing, feeling weak and giddy from the kiss. “we’re going to have so much fun together,” he smiled, whispering it into your ear.

any and all feedback appreciated <3

other fics

series taglist [OPEN] - @cara-rey @hwasbabygirl @chngbnwf @passerbyforfun @butterfliesinthenightsky @ismelllikechlorine247 @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @forever-atiny @arki-sha

#gnomeo 🥫#gnomeo🥫writes #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez x reader #atz #atz fic #atz x reader #ateez fan fic #ateez san #san x reader #ateez san x reader #soulmate au #ateez ot8 #ateez soulmate au

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pullupinarari · 7 months ago

Text

Lean your weight on me [LH]

8. Take your eyes off of me so I can leave

Summary: a 9 chapter series where you are a famous singer, living the career of your dreams. But your chaotic schedule makes your body give in, making you lose your memory and forget (almost) everything.

Author's note: I can't believe this series is coming to an end 🤧 last but one chapter, hope y'all enjoy this!! mwah

wc: 4596 - English is not my first language! Feedback is always appreciated

all chapters here

As soon as you got to your parents house, something felt different inside of you. You already had a memory of how their house looked, but seeing it in person made your brain start to work faster, rushing to encounter the lost images of all the moments you’ve spent there.

At first, you were supposed to spend four days with your parents, but as soon as your memory started coming back to you, you decided you couldn’t leave the place that was helping you so soon. So, four days turned into two weeks already, and it’s incredible how your memory is coming back so fast now.

You started to remember everything about your old life, and it felt like a ton of bricks hitting you each time. You remembered the pain you felt in the lowest phase of your life, the agony of feeling alone and helpless, you know now why it all happened.

But you also remembered all the happy memories, how your life made you feel fulfilled, how you felt grateful for your marriage, and you even remember how badly you and Lewis wanted to start trying for a baby, once your tour was over.

You haven’t spoken to Lewis since you left, it’s hard for you to deal with the whirlwind of emotions erupting through you for the past couple of days. You see all the missed calls, the messages he leaves you, but you just can’t bring yourself to deal with him right now. You know he sees all the posts you’ve been doing on your social media, and the thought of being seen by him - in any way, makes you feel uncomfortable, so you decide to private all your posts, so he can’t see them anymore.

You feel bad for doing this, for putting him to the side like this, but you have to be selfish now. You have to put you and your mind first, and you can’t stop all the memories from coming back now.

Your fingers tap fast on your phone, reaching for every single person that comes to your mind now, feeling like you have so much to catch up on with everyone. Your brain engines keep spinning, and you collect all the lyrics and songs you’ve been writing for the past months - wanting to share your story more than ever now.

The vlogs don’t do it for you anymore, so you decide to call your management team. As days pass by, your creative side gets brighter, and your manager comes up with an idea: put all your vlogs together and film a documentary about what happened to you.

Your days are filled with calls, with writing sessions in your childhood bedroom now. You are dedicated to your craft again, wanting to tell your story to the world, after being quiet for so long. The feeling of getting your memory back so quickly after leaving Lewis’ house, really makes you feel lighter. The huge sensation of relief in your chest, reminding you that you don’t need anyone anymore, you don’t need to rely on people to tell you how to live your life. You’re finally yourself again, you have control over your mind and your life.

Waking up every morning, opening your eyes and knowing where you are, who are the people having breakfast downstairs, what are your plans for the week, is something priceless to you - it might seem like nothing, but it is a big deal for someone who had lost their memory, someone who couldn’t even remember the smallest details about themselves for months.

Now, you feel like a social butterfly. Every day, you scroll through your phone, text your team, call your friends, you want to make up for all the time when you didn’t feel capable of talking to them. You want to apologize for being absent for so long, for not remembering them - making sure you tell all those people how grateful you are for them, how much you love them.

You make sure to call Grace, facetiming her, a bubble of anxiety growing in your stomach while you wait for her to pick up. And when she does, you make sure to tell her everything that has changed so drastically in your life in the last two weeks. It’s the way your friends react when they find out that you got your memory back, that lets you know that you are surrounded by the right people. Seeing your best friend in tears after explaining everything to her, makes all the anxiety go away - she doesn’t care about the rough days when you hurt her feelings before, she’s just happy to have her best friend back.

“And how is Lewis feeling after all this? I bet he’s so relieved that you finally remember everything!” - Grace says, innocently believing that Lewis is staying at your parents’ house too.

You go silent for a few seconds. “Lewis didn’t come along with me here. In fact, he doesn’t even know that I have my memory back already” - you quietly answer, knowing how badly all this sounds.

Your friend gives you a puzzled look. “What?” - she questions, not believing your words. You sigh.

“Grace, listen. I had to leave that place, I wasn’t doing well there. It came to a point where me and Lewis weren’t helping each other anymore. So I had to leave, and I came here while he stayed at his house. You see how I got my memory back so fast here? Everything seems so simple here, maybe it’s a sign that I don’t belong there anymore, I don’t belong next to Lewis anymore” - you try to explain, taking a deep breath after those words leave your mouth.

And you already know what she is about to say, when you notice the disapproval look on her face. “Y/N, I understand that you wanted to go to a different environment and all, I really do. But I think you’re being very very unfair towards Lewis now. No matter what, he was the one that stayed by your side through all this, during all this time. He was there when no one else was, not even me, and here you are, calling everyone you know - most people who didn’t even give two shits about your health, creating a new project with a team that pushed you to your limit, that put you in that hospital bed. And still, you don’t even give Lewis a ring? Not even to let him know that you remember everything now? I’m sorry, but I need to be honest with you. You can’t do that to him, especially if you remember everything about your marriage and your story together now” - Grace lectures you, growing annoyed by how you don’t seem to care about your husband anymore.

You sigh once again, staying silent after hearing what she had to say. She ends up hanging the call, giving you time and space to think about her words.

You know it’s bad, you don’t feel better about this either. But the truth is, even after remembering everything about your relationship with Lewis and everything that you two have been through together for the past eight years, your heart can’t help but see him as a friend now, and nothing more. Truth be told, you haven’t worn your wedding ring for some weeks now, you don’t feel the need to call him, to talk to him, and not even to be close to him anymore.

Either way, you decide to put your thoughts and feelings to the side, focusing on work again. Your team is doing everything they can to make that documentary come true, and you’re almost done with your new songs, picking up every detail very carefully, already imagining everything about the new album’s aesthetic. When you check the time, you notice that six hours have passed by already, and your head is hurting now - a thudding pain, feeling a big migraine starting to form, almost reminding you that you are overworking yourself again.

“Just because you got your memory back, it doesn’t mean that you are healed and ready to work for incessant hours again” - you could almost hear Lewis’ voice in your head, knowing him all too well to even guess the words that would leave his mouth, and that’s why you don’t want him to know about any of this.

The pain will eventually go away - you hope. Your eyes are burning because of the screens, your head is hurting because you slept bad last night - you try to convince yourself. Or maybe you’re just feeling down now because Grace’s words are still playing in your mind, echoing so hard that it makes your body hurt.

You can’t deny that you feel guilty - of course you do. It does hurt to know that you are pushing Lewis away, especially after remembering everything about you two. You know how happy you were with him, how special your connection was, and your mind keeps playing tricks on you, making you dream about having babies with him every single night. You can’t deny that it does feel lonely when you’re in bed alone at night. You loved the feeling of turning to your side and having him there, seeing how his face would show you a warm smile, how he would kiss your features so gently before cuddling your body, lulling you to sleep. And even if you do miss him, there’s a stronger feeling in your chest, a voice in your head that says “you don’t want him”.

The confusion in your brain mixes with all the different feelings erupting in your heart. You rub your temples, silently praying for some clearance in your mind, wishing that life wasn’t so hard for you right now. You still need your time, you just want the world to stop for a second, so you can recover from all this, and get back on track. Your priority now is your upcoming project - the most personal one you’ve ever released. But you know there’s something that you need to do, something that you can’t keep on postponing.

So you get inside your car, driving to Lewis’ house. Technically, it’s still your house as well, but you are preparing yourself to change that in a bit. All the lights are out, except for the light in his bedroom. You check the time - it’s 9:26pm, maybe he already had dinner, and he probably just had a shower, your memory knows his routine by heart.

You have the key to the front door, but you decide to take a deep breath, before ringing the bell - you don’t want to invade his safe space. You see how the lights turn on while he walks downstairs, reaching for the handle to open the door - and it’s impossible not to note his surprised, yet confused and hurt expression when he sees you, standing in front of him.

“Y/N?” - he asks, as if to confirm if it’s really you, like he can’t believe his eyes now. He can’t help but to look at you, into you, inspecting your figure - noticing you don’t have your bags with you, that no one else is here besides you two.

“Hi, Lewis” - you quietly say, feeling how your nerves are making you feel like a coward now, like you can’t do what’s going through your mind.

He sees how you immediately go silent after saying his name, like it’s poison in your tongue. How your eyes dart to the floor, not daring to make eye contact with him, not even looking anywhere in his direction. And seeing you stings a bit, makes a puddle of agony grow in his chest. But it’s like he can’t feel anything besides that, so he keeps a cold expression on his face.

Lewis clears his throat, as a way to catch your attention. “So, your dad drove you here?” - he asks, genuinely curious as to why are you standing alone in his front door, at night.

You finally look up, gulping before you start talking. “Ehm, no. I drove here, actually” - you reply, pointing at your car. Lewis’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion - you didn’t remember how to drive, when you left his house, two weeks ago.

You know you have to explain this to him - he, of all people, deserves to know. It’s not fair for you to keep him in the dark.

So you take another deep breath, and you get ready to talk, when you are interrupted by him. “Do you want to come inside? It’s a chill night, you look like you’re shaking a bit” - he offers, at the same time that he curses himself mentally: no matter how hurt and upset he is, it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t care about you. Unfortunately, he still does, and he can’t stop.

You walk in, weirdly standing in the middle of the living room, not feeling comfortable enough to sit down or anything. The conversation you need to have with Lewis is far too serious for you to be given any source of comfort, at this point.

He mirrors your body, putting his hands in his pockets as he stands in front of you, waiting for you to say something, but you don’t open your mouth, you lost the courage you were gathering just some minutes ago.

“Why are you here, then?” - he says, trying to break the ice. His tone comes out way more aggressively than he intended, making it seem like he’s feeling far too impatient to deal with you tonight. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see you - he’s just way too done with you playing games with him. And judging by your body language, and facial expressions, he just knows that you won’t be in his arms anytime soon - that’s not why you’re here. So he prepares himself psychologically to hear what you have to say.

You are taken aback by the way his voice shakes your fragile senses, but you know you deserve it. After everything you’ve done, and everything you have to tell him, you would deserve a lot worse.

So you finally open your mouth. “We need to talk, Lewis. That’s why I am here. We need to have a very serious conversation, regarding everything that happened during the last few months” - you explain.

He just gulps, not saying a word. Instead of speaking, he stares deeply into your eyes, like he’s watching your soul - making you feel vulnerable in front of him, almost as if you’re naked.

You try your hardest not to panic, taking deep breaths and organizing the thoughts in your head. “So, the good part is that I finally got my memory back” - you say, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Really?” - he quietly questions, his mouth slightly agape as he is not really sure of what this means. Does it mean that your old self is back? The sweet girl that he fell in love with, the woman who dreamed of having a family with him, is right in front of him again? Or does it mean that you remembered everything, and you still don’t feel an ounce of love for him running in your veins?

“Yeah” - you show him a small smile. You start fidgeting with your fingers, not knowing how to continue the conversation.

“How do you feel, after remembering everything again?” - he asks, curious to see how you’ve been feeling now.

You feel like you have to rethink what you’re gonna say four, five times, before actually speaking. You are walking on fragile eggs, measuring your words, not wanting to feel like you’re punching Lewis’ gut. “I feel very relieved, actually. It feels good to know who I am again, to have my life back without depending on anyone anymore” - he nods at your words, afraid to get his hopes up now.

“Everything was very simple and fast when I got to my parents’ house. It was just a matter of hours until I started getting most of my old memories back and I-” - this is when you fucked up.

“What?” - Lewis interrupts you. “Wait. As soon as you got to your parents’ house?” - he repeats your words, an incredulous expression on his face now. His eyes grow darker, his stare gets more intense, making your body tremble harder, as you realize how you should've just kept your mouth shut.

You stay silent, guilty washing over you now, as some tears threaten to spill from your eyes. “... yes, Lewis. It’s been two weeks since I’ve gotten my memory back” - it’s all you can say, while you stare at the floor now, feeling way too embarrassed of your actions to face him now.

He scoffs, he can’t believe what he’s hearing right now. His hands aren’t in his pockets anymore, they are fumbling with his hair, wrapped around his head as he tries to keep calm. “And you didn’t tell me anything?! I thought you were here to tell me that you got your memory back today, yesterday at max, not two weeks ago!” - his voice raises, even if he doesn’t mean to, but his blood is boiling now.

“I really don’t mean shit to you, do I? You don’t call me back, you don’t even bother to text me so I can know that you are alright. I had to look into your instagram profile to see what was up with you, and you even privated your posts so I couldn’t see them - you just forgot to add my friends to that list” - his words are harsh, like he’s spitting fire into your soul now, making you feel as bad as you deserve, after everything you’ve done. Tears run down your face silently, but the salty water in your face isn’t enough to cure the burning inside of your heart.

“And now it doesn’t even cross your mind letting me know that you’ve got your memory back? After everything that happened for the past few months?! What have I done to you, Y/N? What have I done that was so bad for you to treat me like this?” - he questions, and his hurt expression makes you feel like someone just buried a knife straight to your heart.

He sits on the couch now, and you watch how his face is in his hands as he breathes heavily, trying not to cry, trying to keep some calm inside of his body - even after all this.

The truth is, you have no excuse - no excuse at all. You are just simply not good for him anymore. “I’m sorry” - it’s all you can whisper as you try and get closer to him, your hands trying to clean the tears that don’t seem to stop falling.

He doesn’t answer you, he just wipes his face with his hands, really trying to calm down, not wanting his feelings to explode even more.

You watch his movements, sniffing as you try to calm down as well - this conversation isn’t over yet.

“I know it doesn’t matter how many times I say I’m sorry. You won’t forgive me, and you truly shouldn’t give me any more opportunities. I fucked up really bad, Lewis. I don’t deserve you” - you manage to say, even if your words are sounding choked from all the crying.

He sighs. “What does that mean? What are you trying to say?” - if you’re going to break his heart once again, just do it, rip the band-aid once and for all.

“I can’t be with you anymore, Lewis. I am not good for you anymore, and I don’t want to feel stuck in a relationship where we are basically destroying each other emotionally, at this point” - you explain, your thoughts looking clear as water to you now.

He closes his eyes, letting your words sink in his brain. He already saw this coming, he can’t deny it. But he can’t lie to himself - there was always that last bit of hope for him, and he’s sure that there will always be.

He is defeated. It doesn’t matter how badly he tries to win you back - it’s just not happening. He just looks at you, while you two decide to stay silent. He tries to memorize your features one last time, and he can’t help but replay all the happy moments that he had by your side for the past eight years. All the songs you sang and danced to, all the laughs, the movie nights, the adventures, even the cries you both shared. It was all too special, something that Lewis never thought it would end, he was sure that he had found ‘the one’, and he would never lose you. You were the stability that he needed, the one certain thing that he could always hold himself to when things would get hard. And now, it’s like his boat has capsized, and he’s alone in the middle of the ocean. He feels cold, lost, drowning.

“So, this is it?” - he can barely get any words out now, he doesn’t have the courage in himself to talk about this, to put an end to everything you had together.

You nod your head, letting all the tears speak for themselves now. “It’s for the best, Lew” - you say, using the pet name that he loves hearing from your mouth so much.

Lewis’ head is hanging low for some seconds, before he looks at you again. His expression is blank, like he’s emotionless. He doesn’t know how to cope with this, even if a side of him was already expecting this. And then, after mentally arguing with himself, he just nods his head at you. “Be at peace with the things you can’t change” - the phrase echoes in his head. There’s no point in trying anymore, your relationship has reached the point of no return, now.

He gets up from the couch, his body getting closer to yours, but never daring to touch you - he doesn’t want to give in, for his own sake. Instead, he looks at you one more time. He reads your eyes, records your scent, your features, every little detail that you hold in yourself in his mind.

“I need to focus on myself, and on my career. I’m working on a new album and a documentary, to talk about everything that happened” - you let him know, not wanting him to be surprised once you start announcing your projects. It’s also a way for you to keep talking, the deafening silence making you uncomfortable.

“Go live your life” - he says, looking so unsurprised, like he truly is trying to let you go without any remorse. “I truly hope you get what you’re looking for. I’ll try to find my path again as well, from now on” - he says quietly, breaking your heart into a million pieces. Lewis will always be the love of your life, no matter what happens, and you better believe that your heart has never felt so heavy as it does right now.

“If you ever feel like falling in love, I can only hope that you will fall in love with me again” - he shrugs slightly, his voice croaking as some tears fill his eyes now, finally showing you just how broken he is too.

“I’m so sorry for everything, Lewis. But you deserve so much better” - you cry, feeling the need to hug him more than ever now, but the way he keeps his distance lets you know that it’s just better if you don’t do it.

“If you ever want to come back home, this place will always be yours as well” - he lets you know, mentally referencing that ‘this place’ means that he will always be yours too. As these words leave his mouth, he beats himself up in his mind: there he is again, holding himself to something that doesn’t exist anymore, trying to find a glimpse of hope in the middle of the dark, giving you the security and the understanding that you could never give him back.

Your heart is beating so loud, you bet that he can hear it as you two make eye contact for the last time, before you leave his house, noticing how he immediately closes the door behind you, not even waiting for you to get in the car - as he used to do before.

But nothing is as it was before, anymore. You can’t help but sob in your car, not having the will to drive away, silently not wanting to leave. You want to go back inside, you want to hug Lewis - but instead, you just see how every light in his house turns off. You can’t help but wonder if that’s a sign - telling you that your own light has dimmed a bit now as well.

Lewis immediately starts sobbing as the front door closes. He finally lets the tears roll, adorning his face, covered in pain - the realization of the end could kill him now. No matter how many times he had thought about this already, hearing it from you always hurts the most. He’s completely lost, fucked out of his mind, trying to make sense out of all this, trying to find a meaning to his life now. For the next couple of days, he is sure that he will just spend his time crying his eyes out, mourning the loss of the love of his life.

You fucked up the best thing you had in your life. Your life was a dream, and now it’s just this tragic roller coaster, a mix of bad decisions that lead you here. You could’ve gone back, you could be lying with Lewis now, making up for all the lost time, cuddling and planning your life together. You look at your finger, noticing how it still has the ring mark - another sign of how your love is still very present inside of you, even if you just decided to put an end to it.

You can’t explain it, it’s like the memory loss corrupted your feelings, confused your mind. Now, you are way too focused on your job to be falling in love all over again, you need to set your priorities, you’ve lost a lot of things already for the past three months.

And if you needed help to do every single thing before, you sure as hell never needed any help to be destructive: that’s all that you’ve done during this time. You sabotaged everything you loved the most: your health, your career, your friends, your marriage.

You can’t help but feel like a villain, feeling so brutal and selfish, you too should never forgive yourself after all this, but this is where your life decisions have taken you, and you need to accept your new path. It’s like you have a monster inside of you, eating your old feelings, giving you ache and unfairness in return - so that’s what you give to everyone around you.

The little voice in the back of your mind still tells you “you don’t want this”, “you don’t want him”, as you slowly drive away from Lewis’ house, hiccuping as your sobs grow louder, your vision blurry from all the tears. Your brain is replaying the disappointment splattered on his face, making it evident how badly you destroyed him. And you wish you could go back and fix it, but you can’t. This is your life now, and you should proceed your tragic path, alone - it’s the only way to prevent you from hurting anyone else.

———

taglist: @illalwayswaitforyourlove @literallegendicon @goldenroutledge @scenesofobx @irishmanwhore @forza-charles @felicityforyou

#lean your weight on me series #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton oneshot #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine

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h-170 · 6 months ago

Note

gurl ur writing skills are wow :0

im literally a WHORE for sakura so can i plz request a sakura fluff-smut? so basically reader and sakura are like professional partners (reader is a producer and sakura is sakura obviously) but they are close ASF and it's all lovey-dovey until sakura asks for advice to confess and WABAM wild sex bc why not :3

can i be ⭐ anon? thx! take ur timeeee

THANK YOU SO MUCH :D

its been two fics and ive been getting so many conpliments<33

and ofc you can be ⭐ anon!! we alr got an anon yippiiii

anyways lets start

✩₊˚.⋆☾ ✩₊˚.⋆☾ ✩₊˚.⋆☾ ✩₊˚.⋆☾ ✩₊˚.⋆☾ ✩₊˚.⋆☾ ✩₊˚.⋆

“Saki’s producer”

g!p Sakura Miyawaki x female reader

Fluff & smut + ¼ of depressed reader and Sakura

Dirty talk

Making out

Unprotected sex

Overstimulation

Mention of almost getting hit by a car

Mention of getting hit by a car

Mention of death

Indirect mention of suicide

Mention of masturbation

kkura has a big dick :3

‼️NOT proofread‼️

✩₊˚.⋆☾ ✩₊˚.⋆☾ ✩₊˚.⋆☾ ✩₊˚.⋆☾ ✩₊˚.⋆☾ ✩₊˚.⋆☾ ✩₊˚.⋆

Gosh, this is exhausting.

Being a producer isn't the best job when you are constantly busy with your personal life, having no one to talk to, always running late for your meetings and other reunions with staff...

But what was the thing that kept you going?

Sakura, obviously.

Okay, okay, the other members are really nice too but Sakura's a different case. Like, an entirely different case.

Every member has a personal producer, (other than the ten thousand they have), and luckily enough, you were paired with Sakura. You thought at first it was probably gonna be awkward since you guys lost connection before meeting back again in LE SSERAFIM, but it wasn't, at least for Sakura.

You two got along very well and very quickly, catching up with everything that happened; good and bad. But there was one bad thing you didn't tell Sakura, and wasn't planning on doing so, but little did you know she was going to discover it later on.

Sakura had a very busy schedule, just like you, and you had to help her with her lessons, obviously, so you decided to stick to late-night practicing sessions, just you and her, no one else. It was kind of romantic if you think about it, but no, you couldn't think about it, this relationship is supposed to be professional.

Then one night, after everyone left, you found Sakura already waiting for you in the room, headphones on and everything. You smile and she smiles back, but there was something about her that was off tonight. However, you brush it off. You sit down on the desk between many and put your stuff there. You look up at her, still with the smile on your face.

"So, ready?" you ask her.

"Yeah..." she replies, a bit unsure.

"O-kay, so let's start from the beginning, yeah?"

"Okay."

She puts her glasses on and looks at the screen in front of her where the lyrics were written, holding her stylus tightly. She sighs, takes a deep breath and starts singing.

You listen to her carefully, preparing yourself to note anything down if needed. As you listened, you couldn't help but feel your heart beat slightly faster; her voice was something you could always recognize, and something you could always listen to.

But then, she stops, a groan escaping her which snaps you out of your thoughts.

"Sakura?"

She looks at you, silent. She sighs again.

"I'm not satisfied with how this is turning out..."

"What are you talking about?"

You hear her dropping her stylus on the desk, watching her disappear behind the desk as she flops back on her chair.

"My voice sounds horrible, Y/N, I don't know what to do. It's exhausting, it's tiring, it's..."

She trails off as she turns to her left, looking at you as you stand there. You take a few steps and rest yourself back against her desk, facing her.

"I don't think your voice is bad."

"Key word: 'Think'. It IS horrible, I just think I should quit-"

"Sakura, what am I here for?"

She looks up, slightly hesitant.

"Let me rephrase that: What am I or... What is my role in this company?"

"A producer..."

"Okay, and what do producers do?"

She pauses, knowing what you were going to say anyway. She chuckles and smiles, that smile making your cheeks burn.

"I know... But I just... It's hard."

"I know it's hard, but I'm here to help you. All the other producers are here for you."

Sakura stands up, facing you, then pulls you into a warm hug. You flinch a bit but immediately hug her back.

"Maybe I'm overreacting... Sorry."

"You're not, it's okay. It's okay to be scared, but you shouldn't let that affect you in a way to stop doing what you love."

She nodded, pulling away, even though she did want it to last longer, but she didn't want you to think she's super clingy.

"So... Again?"

"Yeah... Yeah, let's do it."

"That's the spirit, Kkura."

With a thumbs up and a wink, you return to your seat. But Sakura was still not present.

Kkura, gosh, it sounded so beautiful coming from you.

She pushes these thoughts aside and you two get back to work.

Two hours passed, and it was midnight now. You pack your stuff up and stand, stretching your arms above your head. Now (ahem) your black top slides up, revealing your abs... And Sakura couldn't help but stare (😭). She immediately turns away though, afraid that this might give her a few thoughts...

"Okay, let's go."

"U-Uhm, yeah..."

You two start walking in the hallways, then you remembered something.

"Hey, isn't your house far from here?"

"Kind of..."

"How about you stay at mine? We can have a girls' night!"

Sakura liked the idea, so she nodded with a smile. She adjusts her cap so nobody recognizes her and heads home alongside you. You walked, talked, laughed, your voices echoing in the busy streets. After a while, you point at a building on the other side of the road, saying this is your apartment. Sakura nods and you look on both sides of the road, then walk first. That road was so long... It was also dangerous. Sakura followed you, but then...

"Y/N! WATCH OUT!"

You look back quickly just to see Sakura running towards you and pushing you aside, both of you falling on the sidewalk, your eyes watching the car speed by with a police car right after it. She stands up, taking your arm and trying to lift you up.

"Y/N, are you okay? Y/N? Y/N!"

But you couldn't respond, your brain still processing that you were almost going to get hit by a car. Sakura didn't know that THAT was your worst trauma; after your father got hit by a car just to save you, your mother never recovered from it. She didn't try to put the blame on you, in fact, she tried to take care of you on her own, but the pain was too much for her to handle. One morning you woke up to a letter on your bedside table. It was an apology. She... left this world. Your aunt then took care of you, and you were never the same.

Sakura didn't know that.

But were you gonna tell her?

"Y/N... Come on, you're okay, let's go home before it starts raining..."

You snap back to reality, getting up with effort. Your eyes were still wide with shock and disbelief, making Sakura slightly suspicious as this incident hurt you more than it should have.

"Right..."

You turn and walk towards the building, entering your apartment. It was completely silent, no words were exchanged either. As you settle down and put your stuff away, change your clothes and everything, you break the silence by joining Sakura in the living room with a t-shirt and shorts of your own.

"Here, this is for you."

Sakura blushes slightly and smiles, getting up and taking them from you.

"Thank you. I'll be back, give me a minute."

You nod and sit down on the couch, still thinking about what happened. By the time Sakura got back, you made up your mind; you were gonna tell her. You call her name and explain everything, and she listens carefully without saying a word. Eventually, when you were done, your eyes were filled with unshed tears, and you were doing a great job at holding them back, but the second she put her hand on your shoulder comfortingly, you just burst out crying, your face in your hands as you sob uncontrollably. She pulls you onto her lap, hugging you so tightly, shielding you from the evil outside world.

"Shh... It's okay, Y/N, it's okay..."

"I...I...I... just w-wish I could b-bring them back..."

Her heart clenches as she sees how sad you were. She never saw you like this. You were always so optimistic and teasing and... Happy. But she never knew you were carrying all that weight behind a smile, and she felt guilty not to notice.

You stay like that for a while, just crying and nothing else, until eventually you both fall asleep due to exhaustion.

[...]

The next morning, there was a delicious smell that woke you up from your sleep. You rub your eyes and sit up, your eyes locked on Sakura, who just finished cooking eggs. She smiles warmly at you and places two plates on the counter.

"Good morning."

"Good morning..."

"I made breakfast. I didn't know what to make at first so I cooked some eggs, hope you didn't need them for anything..."

"No, it's fine. Thank you."

You leave the room to do your routine in the bathroom, making Sakura eat on her own for a moment. You come back, sitting next to her as she almost finished her plate. You hum in approval at the first bite, taking another, and a third, stuffing your mouth with the delicious food given to you. Sakura laughs, watching you.

"Is it really that good?"

"Mhm."

What a nice morning, right?

After all that, you get ready and go back to work, preparing for your next session later.

Day after day, your relationship grew stronger, and your feelings for each other even more. But who was bothered the most? You thought it was you but, actually, it was Sakura.

After that day when she saved you and discovered your past, she couldn't help but think about it and how much you went through, as well as how strong and independent you are, all your goods and all your flaws, literally analyzing you. But it was too much to bear. She was going to explode soon...

Later on a sunny day, she invited Chaewon and Eunchae to her place, going to open a conversation she never thought she would have.

"Ding-dong!"

"Coming!"

Sakura opens the door, revealing a very excited Eunchae and a confident Chaewon (as always). They all settle down and Chaewon turns to her unnie.

"So..."

"Before all this, anyone hungry?"

They both shake their heads with a smile. Sakura takes a deep breath, calming herself down.

"This is... About Y/N."

"Huh, weird. What about it, Kkura-unnie?"

"You see, Chaewon, I'm just going to go straight to the point; I'm in love with Y/N."

Chaewon doesn't seem too surprised, but Eunchae however squeals in excitement.

"Really?!"

"Yes... And I need advice. Please?"

Chaewon smirks.

"I have an idea..."

[...]

Sunday night, last day of the week. You and Sakura normally don't work, but she asked you for a late-night practicing session. Just once because she told you it was important. But this time, it was different. This time, the tension was thick.

You enter the room and Sakura is already there. However, she didn't have her headphones on, her stylus wasn't between her fingers, and the screen wasn't even on. There was just a nervous Sakura, standing before you.

You smile, putting your stuff on the floor.

"Hey."

"Hey..."

Before you could do anything else, she calls you over.

"Could you come here for a minute?"

You comply, walking towards her and behind the desk. You place one hand on it to support your weight, the other one on your hip.

"So..."

"Ahem..."

She clears her throat and faces you. You take a moment to look at her, seeing that she dressed up nicer than last time, and the one before, and also the one before... The pieces sticking together in your head. Her nice clothes, the requested session, her unusual behaviour... It was all clear; Sakura wanted something from you.

"Y/N, I hope I didn't bother you by asking you to come here so late, and on a day off..."

"It's alright, but is everything okay? You seem off."

"The thing is... I didn't exactly call you to practice."

You pause, processing her words, but there was no sign of annoyance in your voice, rather understanding and a crumb of confusion.

"What did you call me for, then, Kkura?"

My God, please stop calling me that. Actually, no don't stop...- She sighs, maintaining her composure.

"I have to talk to you."

"...go on."

She looks away for a moment.

"I'm going to be honest with you. Y/N, you're a great person, and I've always admired you for who you are."

"...That's..."

"You don't have to say anything, but please hear me out."

You nod as she turns to you.

"Y/N, I... Really don't want to ruin things between us, as well as I don't know how to stop my selfishness for having you all to myself all the time."

"What do you mean...?"

"You see... I had a hard time finding out what I was feeling all this time. You made me suffer. A lot."

You feel guilty, unsure of why you are feeling this way. Suffer?

"I have developed feelings for you over time. Maybe not when we were young back then, but now... I suppose... I'm not sure, but either way, I do like you."

You stay silent, eyes widen and rosy cheeks. You look at Sakura's embarrassed figure, her hands held tightly together as she talks. You swallow, and you can't help but smile.

"You know... I'm not good with words, but..."

"What is it?"

"I like you too."

"...wha-"

She cuts herself off by rubbing her eyes with one hand.

"Sorry, I'm kind of sleepy-"

"I like you."

The second time you said it made it more sincere, and she smiled uncontrollably, looking away with flushed cheeks.

"Was that what you called me for?"

"Yeah... Sorry, I should've just texted you or something."

"But I can't do this if you just confessed by text or call."

She turns to look at you, unsure what you define as 'this', but she very quickly discovers what it means. With a gentle tug on her wrist, you pull her close and you find yourself closing the gap between you and your crush with a kiss. It wasn't rough or passionate, it was all gentle and soft, also short.

"It's hard to believe you've never kissed someone, Kkura."

"I'd say the same to you."

You both giggle before kissing again, pinning Sakura against the wall as she wraps her arms around your neck, pulling you closer. Your bodies were glued together, and none of you were willing to let go. Both of you were kissing loudly, the sound of your wet lips filling the room even more than your moans.

There were so many things going on at once; your mouths locked together, your lips getting soaked, your tongues getting sucked in and doing a wrestling match, drooling all over yourselves, not even caring about the mess, then your hands roaming everywhere.

It was crazy, but it felt so good, so right. Even if both of you were breathless, you didn't stop, you couldn't stop. Never in your life did you think that your dream of making out with Sakura will come true, but here you were.

But, wait a minute...

You pull back, wiping your drool with the back of your hand before looking down, and- Oh...

"Y/N- I can explain..."

"You... Have a dick?"

The way you made it sound was so hot, Sakura's dick twitched against your core. Gosh, that felt good.

"So, are you planning on putting that cock to work?"

Sakura's eyes widened as she sees you weren't bothered, yet in fact impatient to see Sakura use her cock on you. Or it would probably be best to say in you. She smirks darkly.

"Well, I mean... You aren't going to leave me with a raging boner, right?"

You chuckle, and you both know what to do. Giving her a large trenchcoat from the staff closet, you both run out, knowing exactly where to go.

[...]

The door busts open and you drag Sakura inside, closing the door shut without even locking it. Sakura doesn't even wait for you; running upstairs to your bedroom as if someone was chasing her to murder her.

You follow her next, closing the door behind you as you lean back against it, giving Sakura a smirk.

"You always boss me around, Y/N. Now, it's my turn."

She charges at you, literally ripping your clothes off as you watch them fall to the floor. In less than a minute, you were already naked and ready to be completely destroyed by your now-girlfriend. You give her a peck on the lips teasingly and walk towards the bed, sitting on the edge. In a flash, she takes off her clothes as well, and you see her hard cock flopping before you.

That thing was at least 6 inches, already dripping with precum and swinging back and forth with every step Sakura took towards you.

"Like what you see? Very big, huh?"

"Very. Now... Enough chitchat and shove that dick inside me already."

You crawl back until your back hits the headboard, watching as Sakura crawls towards you menacingly (in a hot way). As soon as she spreads your legs, she raises an eyebrow.

"Hm, why's it gaping a bit?"

"Hah, funny, but... Let's just say I finger myself a bit..."

You blush in embarrassment as you answer, making Sakura smirk even more.

"Thinking about me, I hope."

"You have no idea."

"I gotta admit, I get myself off just by watching you dance."

"Damn, really?"

"Yeah, so that means I can go fast, right?"

"Oh yeah, fuck me hard."

"Good, because I don't think I can hold myself back when I see how delicious your pussy looks."

You couldn't help but clench around nothing because of her words, she saw that, and she likes that. Her juicy tip pushes inside you, your only response being the action of arching your back.

"Oh my God..."

"Thank goodness you're not tight, I can fuck you with ease."

Her thrusts don't start slow, but fast, making you grunt at how good it feels. You were already so wet, helping Sakura pump in and out of you. You grind back against her dick, desperate to keep her deep inside you. Her balls slap against your ass cheeks with every thrust, the sound is literally music to your ears.

"Hah~ Hah~ Ugh~"

"Yeah, good girl, uh-huh~"

"Ugh- Fuck...~"

You LITERALLY hold her hips and force her deeper, spreading your legs even wider as she fucks you. Your pussy lips meet her pelvis so many times, smearing slick all over it and making a mess.

"You're so deep~"

"That's what you wanted from me, no?~"

"F-Fuck yes!~"

She places her hand down on your stomach, then goes lower and lower, eventually presses down on that spot right above your pussy, making you cum hard.

"Ah! Ah!~ AH!~"

Your body squirms violently on the bed, forcing Sakura to hold you in place.

"You're so cute~"

"F-F... Ugh!~ Again! Again!~"

Sakura speeds up, hitting even deeper places. You feel the heat building up inside you again, then leaves, cumming again. She overstimulates you again. And again. Damn, how many times?

"I'm gonna cum soon, pretty."

She literally starts fucking you so hard, you feel numb, and then for the moment you've been craving all your life; she buries herself as deep as she could inside you and then she cums hard. Thick ropes of cum filling you up, her hot semen making you feel all warm and somewhat safe.

"Hah...~"

Her sigh was probably the most beautiful (and sinful) thing you've ever heard, and when she starts stirring the cum inside your stuffed pussy with gentle thrusts, you couldn't help but moan in satisfaction.

"Finally..."

"I've been waiting forever..."

"Mm... Feels so good..."

"Very good..."

She caresses your stomach, then finally pulls out, watching cum flowing out of you while your gaping hole is connected with the tip of your lover's cock by a thick string of cum. You spread your arms, inviting her for a hug, both of you snuggling close.

"Thank you. So much, Kkura..."

"Thank you... I love you."

"I love you more~"

✩₊˚.⋆☾ ✩₊˚.⋆☾ ✩₊˚.⋆☾ ✩₊˚.⋆☾ ✩₊˚.⋆☾ ✩₊˚.⋆☾ ✩₊˚.⋆

THIS IS SO LONG (tolerate me pls)

#sakura miyawaki x reader #sakura x reader #sakura miyawaki x female reader #sakura smut #sakura miyawaki #g!p sakura #g!p #sakura fluff #fluff #smut #kpop fluff #kpop smut #sakura miyawaki fluff #sakura miyawaki smut #le sserafim smut #⭐ anon

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