#and my mom’s stupid boyfriend keeps turning the heat on

[boag]

It is constantly a million fucking degrees in my house 😭😭😭

[nichuuu]

Paper Houses

Cho Miyeon x M reader

(1st instalment of The View Between Villages)

Word Count: 18k+ Special thanks to @defmaybe for helping to draw out the best version of this fic.

(All the details? Really? Oh wow. Okay…)

(I’m gonna dissociate myself from this so… “you” is gonna appear a lot. Don’t sweat it cupcake—you’re not actually the one in this mess. 

It’s just a bad habit of mine, that’s all.)

--

(You’re lucky. You get the sweet start to it all. For what it’s worth: sweetness is a fucking deceiving concept when you have rose-tinted lenses.)

“You know: out of all the men I’ve dated, you cook the best.”

You raise an eyebrow as you flip the grilled cheese in your skillet. Frankly, there’s nothing to be impressed about over grilled cheese and tomato soup. Cheese sandwiched between two evenly buttered slices of bread, grilled till golden brown and served with a side of hot tomato juice in a bowl. Literally everything has been prepared for you and packed neatly into some package in a grocery store. All you did was heat it up and add a few of your own ingredients.

“Is that a compliment or a flex?” you ask, turning your gaze away from your skillet momentarily to look at Miyeon as she replies. Her face isn’t gonna add value to her answer, but you just like looking at her. She is hot after all. 

She scoffs and takes a sip of her coffee. “Jeez… Can’t a woman compliment her boyfriend in peace?”

You’ve had this conversation before, but you like to entertain her.

“This woman can’t,” you tell her, making sure she can see the smirk on your face as you turn back to the sandwich. You wave your spatula in the air as you speak, almost like you’re referring to PowerPoint slides. “She’s too weird about everything. Never take her seriously.”

“Oh, so we’re just gonna call me weird and neglect the fact you keep your butter in that?” she exclaims, pointing at the butter bell on top of your fridge. It was a Christmas gift from your mom last year, and even though you did think it was weird at first, you have not gone back to keeping your butter in blocks. 

“You keep my fucking butter bell out of this,” you warn, and it’s half joking and half serious. 

(No one fucks with your butter bell.)

Miyeon chortles. You don’t need to look at her to know that she’s raising her hands in the air when she says, “jeez man. Didn’t know you guys were tight like that…”

And it’s stupid exchanges like this that make you appreciate her company by bounds. It’s lonely in the apartment when she’s out being famous; really nice to have her around for the holidays, albeit for a short time. It’s been a while since she’s been back. There’s much to catch up on over an 11 am brunch. You don’t know why she’s up so damn early today, cause normally you guys sleep till the late afternoon, then go figure out what to eat for dinner before lazing around in the apartment.

So with cheese falling from the corner of her lip, she gives you the latest developments in her life. Then it’s your turn, and you're glad to say that nothing’s really of interest in either of your updates. That’s usually for the better: sometimes the news you give each other can be a little heart-attack-inducing, so it’s better that your lives are pretty bland.

“You know,” she says as she wipes her mouth. “I might just keep dating you for your food,” she tosses her tissue onto the dining table and lets out a sigh. “Fucking delicious.”

You scoff and sip on your coffee. “Bet you told that to all the guys,” you reply wryly. “Probably gets them real excited, huh?”

She grins. It’s cheeky, mischievous, maybe even a little naughty. “Not telling.”

“You don’t tell me a lot of things,” you chuckle, and you’re low-key unsurprised to hear a little bit of unintended bitterness in your voice. “Not that it matters or anything… I just value communication.”

Oh, you’re petty. So fucking petty that it makes your skin crawl a little.

Miyeon’s unfazed. 

“Don’t get your tits in a tussle, pretty boy,” she muses. She folds her arms and leans into the table. “You’ll know more when I trust you more. For now: I’ll give you information as I please.”

And you kick yourself because you forget she can be a bit of a handful herself.

“Ugh, what will I ever do with this mysterious woman?” you smirk, resting your elbow against the table as you lean in as well. To be perfectly clear: you’re not mad at her. Her secrecy just bugs you out a little, and she knows it. “Such little knowledge on such a hardened beauty… must be tough to really crack her open and figure her out.”

You love her eyes, and you love to make them roll (in multiple contexts). They kinda gleam as she tilts her head. “Fine… I’ll give you something since you’re so damn desperate,” she drums her fingers against her cheek while her chin nestles itself into her palm. “What I’m about to give you is gonna change your life in so many ways. It’ll probably redefine your whole damn existence.”

You express your interest by leaning in a little more. Miyeon checks her six—like she isn’t in the comfort of her own home—before leaning in. She’s all clandestine. You have no idea what for. 

“You ready?” she checks. And you know she isn’t expecting an answer, but you nod nonetheless. She checks her left and right for good measure. You never know: maybe your lamp is listening.

“I’m aching for cock right now.”

And you guys don’t even make it to the couch.

It’s on the floor next to your table where she has your face in her hands, and she’s kissing you aggressively. She’s properly kissing you, and it makes you knock the back of your head against the floor a little, but it’s really not too big of a deal. 

She lifts her lips off yours and smirks. “For the record: it’s your fault that we aren’t fucking on the couch.”

“Yeah, and I actually paid rent early for once,” you shoot back sarcastically. “And would you mind helping me clean the yacht I most definitely own on my luxurious salary? Thanks a bunch, honey.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. She knows you’re full of shit, but she’s full of the same shit as you. Form a shit pile or something, maybe even a shit mountain if you feel like it. You could really go on for a while about how you two can talk for hours, but that’s not the main event.

The real deal comes when she has her hand beneath the waistband of your pants, slithering down to the very thing she aches for. She has that smile on her face, the one that kinda says “Oh I’m gonna love this” or “you’re gonna love this” or maybe even both. There are ways to distinguish the messages by looking at her eyes, but you’re a little too lazy to go figure it out right now. And before someone calls you a bum, you can’t help it: she has her hand on your cock and a piercing gaze trained on you. How about you try and focus on discerning implicit messages when there's a hot woman touching you in the right places?

“How are you hard already?” she asks, a hint of a giggle in her tone as she presses your shaft against your body. There’s barely any space down there, yet she makes it work so easily. “I didn’t even, like, do anything yet.”

“Well,” you hum, just as she starts to squeeze your member, appling that toe-curling pressure to your tip and smiling as you strain a little. “I can kinda see your tits through your shirt.”

Miyeon raises her eyebrows. She doesn’t even look at her shirt. “Oh?” and she starts to pump. “I didn’t notice that…”

“Totally,” you grunt. “Like how you don’t notice that your shorts are barely shorts?” you continue, but there’s something more bugging you. “And at least pull my pants down if you’re gonna jack me off, would you?”

Miyeon snorts, but compiles nonetheless. She gets your pants and boxers off with ease. It’s one swift motion (it’s practiced grace really), and she gets back to the task at hand before she was so rudely interrupted. 

“What does seeing my tits have anything to do with you?” Her motions are languid and fluid, steady and flowing like a stream. She doesn’t need to look. She doesn't need to guess. She knows you like the back of her hand. “Does it turn you on? Excite you?”

You have it in you to roll your eyes before they shut. “Stop asking these fucking ridiculous questions.”

“It's a basic inquiry.” She laughs in this aloof tone that you know is paired with the most devious of smiles. “So you won’t let me compliment you and you won’t let me ask questions? Tsk. Chivalry is dead.”

Miyeon goes a little faster, adds a twist of her wrist. This is just her hand, mind you, and it’s already ruining you in a way that only she is capable of. The tender touch of Cho Miyeon is something no woman you’ve met could ever replicate, and it takes you to places that you can only visit with her. Those fingers are magic, that mouth is magic—hell, everything about her is magic. 

“Please,” you manage to quip past the jolts of magic being sent through your system. “We both know that you have the answers to all the questions you just asked.”

She giggles—playfully, you might add. This is all a part of the game you play with her; this is the way Miyeon’s cookie crumbles. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Who cares?”

You care: not a lot, but enough to make this as humorous as you want it to be. You kinda only give two shits because it lets you be kinda petty with her, but not that you externalise it or anything. You just have it pent up in you for the fun of it.

“Anyway,” she muses, halting the strokes of her hand to your cock. “Have I told you about how much I wanted you to fill me while I was filming?”

You take a moment to breathe. “No… But do tell.”

And gets to that, but not before ridding herself of her shirt first. By technicality, it’s your shirt, but it shrunk in the dryer at some point, so it just became hers. She gets into the details, the nitty gritty; tells you exactly what she’s imagining during the filming of her Music Video all while you kind just sit there and ogle at her chest. She takes her time, covers the stuff that you don’t really need to know but it’s kinda hot to know — things like “ugh, I needed you to bend me over the hood of that car and just fuck me at that point…” — because you admittedly get off knowing that she ever thinks about you that way and… God, you’re rambling aren’t you? Still pretty fitting though: it’s the way Miyeon talks when she’s thinking nonsense.

“Ugh. Now I’m wet,” she mutters. She speaks as if it’s your fault that she went on rambling about her fantasies with you. “You know you make me like, really horny right?”

“Oh no… Whatever will I do?” you’re really just rolling with it. Not because you want to, but because you want to get this bit where you tease each other over and done with. It’s kinda like marinating meat in the way it makes the sex a little hotter. Truthfully: you’re aching for her. Really: you want nothing more than to just get her pinned beneath you and writhing on your wooden floor. 

And frankly? You could do all of that right now.

So it’s with a bit of grace (and some dexterity) that you flip the positions: now you’re kneeling over her while she is the one that lies on the floor, if that makes any sense. Miyeon isn’t shocked by your sudden movements, more so delighted by the fact that you finally gave in to your carnal urges and just went for it. She smiles, knowing full well that she’s done something that's gonna give her that fuel she needs for the week. You know: sex that’s the opposite of soft; some shit that fulfills some wild thoughts. 

“Gotta say, you’re quicker than usual,” she has that cocky smirk on her face. You wanna wipe it right off her face, and you know just how. “Normally you’re all talk, no– Oh…”

You like that it really only takes a finger pressed against her panties to shut her up. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make her shut her eyes and shut up for a moment. The spot you press on is damp, soaked in that sweet slick. Gently, you trace the outline of those swollen folds. “You were saying?”

She has it in her to laugh—a breathy chortle. “Fuck you.”

“I’m working on that,” you fire back. Your cock twitches a little when you see her jolt in response to your touch. Your finger pressed down on that one spot that makes her weak, and it really works wonders: an airy gasp slips past those thin, luscious lips. The number of times you’ve kissed those lips swollen is not a number countable with 10 fingers.

Miyeon sighs, and it’s a mix of pleasure and frustration in her breath that humors you. She relaxes into the floorboards, her hips rock, her cunt rubs against your fingers. She's searching for some friction — sweet release in lewd movements. You let her move for a bit, watch her shake like the bough of a willow tree as she pleases herself against your fingers. 

“Enjoying yourself?” you quip. 

“Yeah..” she hums. “Passing time while you’re still not taking these shorts off me.”

Of course… How could you be so forgetful?

You stop for a moment to help her wriggle out of her clothing. It isn’t one of her most graceful moments, but it quickly passes. The shorts join your pants on the floor. Her panties are pink — not that subtle shade of pink or even like a darker version of pink. It’s Barbie fucking Pink.

“So we’re feeling loud today, huh?” you ask, letting your finger trail the lacy parts of the fabric. Miyeon smiles.

“Sana gave them to me,” she explains, not the least bit sheepish that her damp spot is visibly darker than the rest of her underwear. “Hope this doesn’t affect you in your work or anything…”

You feel the corner of your lip turn up. “No, no… Of course not,” you assure her, all while you let your hand slip between the fabric and her skin. You can feel her shudder, then you feel the heat of her cunt at the tip of your fingers. “You caught me on the right day actually… Pink’s in my rotation of favourite colours this fine morning.”

“Right,” her voice has a lilt. It’s shuddering a little too. “I knew that… Definitely had that in mind.”

You laugh. Your index fingers slip between her folds. She moans. 

You lower yourself, capture a swollen, taut nipple in your mouth. The sweet suction you deliver makes her gasp. Her hand finds itself in your head.

It’s all quite rhythmical, almost like a routine for the two of you. The way your bodies react to each other feels so natural that you think it might just be second nature at this point. You know her body: you’ve memorised the dips and curves and tender spots; the hot spots, the warm parts and the best parts. She knows you—the way you think, the way you talk; the way you play with her and the things you want to do with her. It would be safe to say that you guys practically have PhDs in the subject of each other, but that’s not a fair statement because you’re both a little more complicated than you let on. That keeps the sex exciting; it makes you crave each other a little more than last time. 

“One or two?” you whisper, letting your finger dip in and out of her lips and getting it all wet in her slickness. She takes a moment to think, or maybe she’s taking a moment to really soak in the teasing. Either way: she takes some time to reply. 

“Two,” she shifts herself a little lower, her clit pressing into the base of your middle finger. It makes her sigh — a low, kinda sonorous escape of air through her lips. “I hope you trimmed your nails this time.”

“That last time was a minor mishap,” you admit. You kinda want to pull your hands out to double-check, but you’re too mired in the moment to assuage your worries. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it all under control.”

She beams like the damn sun. “Good. I like it when you’ve got the reins.”

And that makes you suck in some air through your teeth. 

(God, does she know how to try you on.)

Your digits push themselves inside of her. They’re wrapped in her tight warmth, snug as a bug in a rug or whatever. You love the way her abs kinda flex as your fingers introduce themselves to her insides. It makes the best parts of her pop. Her chest rises a little more than the last time, her breaths becoming a little longer and more drawn out as your fingers explore her like always. The way she jolts when you get to that one spot at the roof of her pussy tells you that she has been primed and ready for this moment, loaded up like a shotgun and the trigger is really just any part of you that makes her cum. It could be your fingers, your tongue, your dick, your thigh—any part of you that can get her to that sweet high. Of course: you’re more than happy to assist. And so your mouth latches itself back onto her breast, tongue licking and swishing and flicking the swollen nipple atop her small yet generously sized breast. You relish the way it feels in your hand as you cup it—not too firmly and not too gently—and give it a squeeze, enjoying how the flesh spills out a little between your fingers but still fits in the palm of your hand.

“How do you only get better at this?” she hisses through her teeth. “I mean, I just saw you last week but… Oh god…”

You remove her nipple from your mouth. “Art is honed. This is art.”

She laughs, then throws her head back to let out a moan. “Well I’ll be damned,” her eyes close as she speaks, resting themselves for a bit so that she can enjoy the feel of your fingers in the best part of her slick. “Paint me like one of your French girls then.”

And you kinda have to kiss her after that. It’s a good line… and she’s, like, smoking hot right now.

You can’t track the exact moments where she starts to blue screen on you, but you can guess it's somewhere between you pinching her nipple and when you slide a third finger into her. The pressure, the stretching—it’s, like, everything she wants as of right now. She lets out this choked-up cry that you like to hear, the supple curve of her back growing more defined as she arches just a little more. She doesn't hold back, she never does. When you’re making her feel good, you can bet some good money that she’ll let you know. She’ll find her own way to express herself, be it through sound or action or words—sometimes a combination of all three. 

The way she feels around your fingers—delicate squeezing and sweet pressure around your digits as they stretch her to new lengths—is nothing short of enthralling. You can feel her pulse around you, the dull throb of her heartbeat as it beats for the sole purpose of getting all that blood rushing into the right areas. Your hand is kinda messy, fingers coated down to your knuckles in the sweet substance from her heat. Miyeon starts to writhe, squirm. A whine leaves her mouth. It’s followed by another, and another, and another—keeps going till the whiny stream ends with a guttural moan. 

Her legs close around your wrist. Her throat bobs.

“Mmph… baby…” her hand flails a bit as she tries to search for you. She catches your shoulder and her nails dig in. “Your mouth… I want your mouth on me.”

You always loved how forthcoming she is. 

“Miyeon…” you drawl, and this next bit is really just for the fun of it. “What’s the magic word?”

She laughs softly through the pleasure, lets a smile grace your eyes. She doesn’t fight it; she wants it—wants you. She just wants you in any shape or form. Any version of you will do; she’ll take all the different sides of you in a heartbeat. All she needs is you. “Please.”

You’ve never found so much delight in hearing that word. Kinda makes you want to hear it again.

“I can’t hear you,” your thumb presses down onto her clit. Her thighs start to twitch. 

“Please!” she yells that magic word in the form of a shout this time. Your cheeks hurt from how widely you’re beaming.

You retract your fingers. They come up to your mouth so you can taste her off of them. She’s nothing short of delicious, and you can kinda tell that she knows it because she’s smirking as she watches you clean off yourself.

“How are we feeling about the samples?” she has that proud gleam in her eye. “Pineapple’s been in my diet as of late… Just wondering if anything’s different.”

You smack your lips. “Picking up on a little tang here… Can’t be sure though.”

Her hands slide down to her hips, thumbs hooking into the band of her panties and pulling them down her thighs. “No worries. There’s more where it came from.”

The gall of this girl is insane, you’re thinking, smirking as you assist the journey of her underwear down her slim, milky legs. Like all your other clothing, it’s tossed aside. 

Miyeon spreads thighs, bends her knees so that her feet are flat on the floor.  You get in position, let your palms slide down her body with careful consideration: run your hands over the sensitive parts of the stomach, skim that one portion of her inner thigh that makes her shiver. She watches—waiting and anticipating while failing to keep her excitement off her face. 

She is glistening, swollen and plump to your eyes, kinda far ahead considering that you just used your fingers. She’s eager, unashamed and more proud than embarrassed about her arousal. Her legs shift a bit. She looks at you, a fingernail between her teeth as she exhales sharply when your thumb traces the outline of her pussy, careful in its endeavor as you feel the muscles around her slick tense up in response. Oh she’s so damn impatient right now, but she lets you get away with all of this because it gets her off a little harder; the teasing is just part of the show and the climax will probably follow pretty soon, fast and hard

“You’ve been looking forward to this, huh?” you remark, watching as her eyelids flutter when you put a little pressure with the pad of your thumb. 

“Mhm…” she replies. It’s a low hum, one that resonates in her throat rather pleasantly. “You have no idea…”

You laugh. Your eyes roll towards the ceiling then set themselves back on her. “Please… We both know I have some idea,” you stop your thumb on her clit, and you begin to draw small circles around it. “You did tell me” —and you have to pause for a bit to use your other hand to press down on her pelvic area, stopping her from jolting her hips up to get that sweet sensation of your thumb rubbing her swollen nub. She whines a little, a soft plea following suit— “about all the things you wanted to do with me.”

She desperately tries to shift herself, press herself a little more against you. The smooth wooden floor hinders her, the lack of friction failing to aid her. Her brows furrow. She’s frustrated. “Yeah, well, if you know what I want so much, why aren’t you fucking getting to it?”

You wink. “Relax. I’m just letting the meat tenderise.”

“Oh shut it you fucking—  Mmmph!”

And the way you part her with your tongue, it’s like she’s butter and you’re a hot knife slicing her open. You're slow with it, and you don’t stop when Miyeon’s thigh stiffens against your palm, or when she squirms a little and almost got your tongue derailed from its track. You know what makes her tick, what makes her hit the octave and gets her nice and messy for you. If anything gets Miyeon going more than actually fucking—it’s definitely gotta be when you get your tongue on her folds. 

“You’re never gonna let me finish my sentences, are you?” she laughs breathily. You watch her abdomen as it rises and falls together with the quick breaths she takes.

“Dunno…” you nuzzle your face in her folds for a little, giving her time to say whatever she wants for a bit. “You did say that chivalry is dead.”

From your bottom up view of her, you can tell that she just rolled her eyes. “No comment. You won’t let my finish it any— oh my fucking god.”

Now it’s the flat of your tongue against her clit that stops her dead in her tracks. Her juices have begun to lather your tongue in their addictive taste, drawing you into her just a little more with each lap of your tongue. You suck on one of her folds, then your tongue is inside her, and she moans, her hand finding a spot on the back of your head that she can grip on to. She calls you crazy, calls you baby, runs her fingers through your hair. Your tongue dips in, circles, laps; your nose brushes against all the right spots of her skin and it draws out these almost sob-like, quiet sounds from her chest and she’s… Fuck, she’s amazing.

“I might take a while,” she whispers to you. You call malarkey, but play along nonetheless.

“Fuck yes,” your tongue swipes the entirety of her in a long, broad stroke. “Please, by all means princess. Take your time,” you don’t think you could ever sound as enthusiastic as you did right now. She pushes you down a little harder onto her slit, and you delight in how she squirms when you push your tongue a little deeper between her folds.

Her nails start to dig into your scalp a bit, and she starts pushing you down onto her cunt a little more.

“You know,” she speaks with this half-whisper-half-gasp, the type of tone that tells you that she’s fighting to stay in control of her own body. “I— mmph… Sometimes I lock myself in the changing room and just get off to the thought of you eating me.”

You suck on the other fold that you neglected earlier. “Oh yeah?” and you get a finger inside of her. She cries out, abdomen flexing deliciously as she turns pliant under the pressure of your finger getting a hold of that sweet spot. You can feel the heat—it feels like your skin is gonna melt. “Bet you get off real hard to it, maybe even harder than you will in like, two minutes.”

“Two?” she tries to sound a little defiant, but her voice is cracking and it’s really not working out in her favour. Your finger is barely pushing up by the way, yet it seems like she’s got thousands of pascals of pleasure weighing down on every part of her being. “Don’t put yourself on a fucking pedestal… I am nowhere close.”

You hum in reply, saving your energy to suck on her clit. And it’s almost like she’s spring-loaded in the way her thighs clamp around your ears immediately after. Her fingers eat into your scalp, a light, searing pain growing across your head as you kiss her right fold, then her left. You can tell that there’s liquid burning heat running through her body, spilling all over her. Miyeon tries to hold on, tries to prolong this for a little more by getting her nails deep in your scalp. But she’s falling apart, coming undone with each second.

“Baby.”

“One minute left,” you put your lips back around her clit. Her head thumps against the floorboards.

“I—can’t.”

“Ugh. Hate it when you lie.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Just fucking cum.”

And she ruins herself. She loses sense of the world for a bit—convulsing and twitching on the floor while you continue to lick her. No cry leaves her mouth; a strained, choked up phonic gets caught in her throat and refuses to dislodge. Her back arches, her thighs flex. Her world fades for a bit. 

Give or take: she takes a minute or so. When she gasps for air, you know she’s come back down to earth. You welcome her with a kiss to her abdomen as you rise up. Her cheeks are rubicund—flushed and making her glow as she smiles at you. She softly captures your cheeks in her hands.

“Okay,” she huffs, taking deep breaths as she strokes your face with her thumb. “Out of all the men I’ve dated: you can cook and eat the best.”

“Twenty dollars says that you’ve said that to at least four guys,” you muse. “Maybe five if I’m generous.”

She closes her eyes for a moment. Inhales. Exhales.

“Hand on my heart,” she uses one hand to push some hair out of her face. “I’ve only said this to you.”

Ignorance is bliss. Believing her is a sort of ignorance.

You willfully let yourself be blissful because you can.

--

(Then fast forward a little. Maybe like, three hours? Or however long it takes for you to have a nap and a shower to get ready to go out.)

“Are you seriously going out in that?”

And you have to stop at the door. You know that tone all too well.

“What is it this time?” you grumble, turning around to face the bed so that she can get a full biopsy of your outfit. It isn’t a bad outfit in your honest opinion, and you’re no stranger to horrible (unintentional) attempts at making fashion statements. Colour-blindness is a hereditary curse; it’s not your fault that you can’t tell that this shade of blue doesn’t work with that shade of grey and whatnot. “I swear I wore this a week ago and you said nothing.”

Miyeon slips out from under the covers. In your T-shirt, she saunters with purpose and urgency as she makes her way over. She stops in front of you and takes your tie into her hands. “It’s either you lose this tie or do something else to this already god-forsaken outfit.”

You consider the options for a hot minute. You’re kinda proud of this outfit—it took a lot of time and vetting through Miyeon to get it planned out and everything. The tie was kind of a staple piece—as important as the shirt or trousers. To hear that (in essence) you looked like shit admittedly dealt a blow to your ego, but why be petty when you can be cavalier?

“Whatever,” you reply, making no effort to stop her from trailing a nail up your shirt. “I couldn’t really care less about how this woman perceives me tonight. Not even into her anyway.”

Miyeon chuckles. The finger on your chest wraps itself around the top of your tie. “That’s an option as well,” she adjusts the knot, though it doesn’t look like she’s doing it to make you look better. “But can I give you one more alternative?”

“By all means, princess.”

She tugs on your tie, pulls you close. Your lips are just centimetres away from hers. You get a whiff of her scent. She’s using the shampoo you bought her. 

“Stay home,” she makes sure that her voice is kinda breathy, tickles your face as she lets the phonics dissipate into warm air. “Skip the date. You have a smoking hot girlfriend to fuck anyway.”

Oh and it takes you just about everything to stop you from grabbing her by the face and just kissing her. It's so easy: reach forward, get her face (or waist) in your hands and just smash her lips against yours. You know she’s thinking the same thing; but she’s waiting on you, anticipating what you’re going to do next. It’s a sick little game the two of you play, but it’s fun as hell and really doesn’t get boring in the near future.

“You know what my mom would say…” you begin, and you know she’s gonna stop you.

“Say you're sick”—bingo motherfuckers. She owes you five bucks—“tell her that you got the cold and so you can’t show up.”

“Expended on that one… And the work emergency one too,” you regretfully inform her. “And no: I will not be telling them that we’re actually a thing—“

“Cause you want to protect me and blah blah…” she interjects yet again, her fingers moving up and down, closing against her thumb in mimicry of a mouth moving. It’s petty, kinda frustrating—but it’s Miyeon. She’s a handful to deal with at times, but at least she’s your handful to deal with. “Been running the same jig for a little too long, tiger. I know your game.”

“I know,” you admit. “I’m a one-trick Pony and my carrot is you. What’s new?”

She chortles at that, and you take that moment to really get a good look at her because by god is she beautiful. Head-turner, eye-widener, heart-racer — not to be a bore, but again: it’s Miyeon. There’s a lot more about her that you could synthesize into words, but you won’t (not because you don’t want to or anything; but it’s more about the fact that you probably don’t have enough time to get someone to understand her.)

Cause here’s the thing (about her, you and both of you): she’s just as human as anyone, and that means she’s just about as complicated as anyone. You’ve got a story, she’s got her’s, and the two cross somewhere to form a midpoint before they start running parallel to each other before meeting again and running together and… You get it, don’t you?

No? Fuck. 

Okay. She may or may not be able to hold down a relationship; and you may or may not have been able to secure a relationship. You kinda get drunk with her over this revelation one night and you may or may not have joked over the fact that maybe you should get together. And then you may or may not have had the hottest sex you’ve had in years before you may or may not have realised that she’s the best thing to happen to you. It’s all kinda hypothetical to you cause you’re still processing the fact that this is all real. Still wondering if it’s a fling cause it’s only been about 3 months since this started.

(Calm down cupcake, no one likes a party pooper who prods on details in the midst of a story. It’s just… Ugh. The story behind how the two of you know each other is so boring and complicated—full of unnecessary exposition like this whole bit really. It hurts to retell it, so here’s a summary: she used to date your roommate, roommate moved out after they broke up, she stayed and hanged around you, here you are now. Fuck the details, there’s no room for it really. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.)

“Save the charisma,” she tells you, really putting on some breath behind her words. “I prefer it when you use it in bed.”

And you kinda have to kiss her after that. It’s a good line… and she’s, like, smoking hot right now.

The kiss kinda blurs the line between passionate and sweet (if there even was a line to begin with). It’s quite aggressive, a little tender but also a wee bit emotional. It makes you a little bitter, but don’t get it twisted: you love this girl with all your heart and you’d do anything to stay with her. It���s just that you’d love—more than anything—to lose the shirt and pants you’re wearing to make out with her, and then let things flow as they do. Unfortunately, your parents really want you to meet this girl, and you have to get going or you’ll probably get cut from the will or something.

She tries again. “Stay…”

“Miyeon—”

“I fucking need you… Please.”

It’s just so fucking tempting…. But there are only so many lines you can cross before you find yourself in trouble with border patrol. And if there's anything you hate more than lectures, it’s lectures from your mother.  

Her lips graze yours, hovering just millimeters away. She wants to kiss you—bite your lower lip and pull you into an undoubtedly sloppy lip lock. That will end with your hand somewhere on her body that gets the ball rolling (and we all know where that ball goes). She has it in her to do it; she has the right, the means and the fucking autonomy (and audacity). She’s just waiting on you, seeing what happens when she plants the seed of an idea in your head and waters it a little. 

Unfortunately for her, you’re too damn terrified of your parents to let that seed grow.

“I‘ll see you later,” you whisper, albeit a little reluctantly. “Call me if anything comes up.”

She understands that she’s lost. Doesn’t stop her from giving you that kiss though. “Don’t keep me waiting tonight… I love you.”

Ugh. She’s one hell of a woman, isn’t she?

--

So get this: this woman that your mother found for you is possibly the most boring person you’ll ever meet. She’s beautiful and all, but she has the personality that has just about the same amount of flavour as food in the west before spices.

She spends the meal talking about her job, and you kinda just fix her with a hundred yard stare and tune out. You couldn’t give a shit about computer security really—never was and never will be into that shit. It doesn’t help that your phone is kinda blowing up at the moment. It’s buzzing all over your thigh in your pocket. Pretty trippy, kinda makes you wonder if Miyeon had just slipped one of her vibrators into your pocket.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom at some point. You’re not sure how long she’s been yapping your ear off for, but it kinda doesn’t matter. All you’ve gotten from this meal is really just a handful of nonsense and a migraine. 

Anyway: it’s in the confines of the bathroom store that you check on the ruckus in your pocket. The screen lights up and you find that the spasming of your phone was caused by a combination of posts from a news outlet and from Miyeon. She takes precedence over the news.

Miyeon//8:01 pm: I swear to you I have no idea what’s going on 

Miyeon//8:01 pm: I’m getting this at the same time as you

Miyeon//8:02 pm: I don’t know what’s happening. Please come home.

And the way you open your news app almost instantly makes you feel like you’re all too familiar with this. It’s not a headline, but it might as well be from the way it makes your eyes widen and your breath stop for a second. 

You blink. You blink again. 

The words don’t change. 

Suddenly, you have a valid reason to get out of this dinner.

(How you get home is a little fuzzy, but that’s not really the important part. 

What? The headline? Oh you know it, don’t you cupcake? It was literally the only thing on people’s minds for some reason, as if an idol dating an actor is something unheard of.)

“What the fuck?” you ask when you step through your apartment door.

She sighs as you remove your coat and hang it behind your door. “Look… I’m just as confused as you are—”

“An actor?” you interject. You’ll admit that it’s a little rude, but you’re really just trying to make sense of this as fast as possible. “How long have you known this guy?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t,” she huffs. “I swear to you, hand on my heart and the other on the bible, I am not in love with that man.” She says. “I barely even know the fucker, never talked to him in my life.”

It’s a little hard to look at her right now. You have lots of things to say; lots of feelings and lots of thoughts. If you’re really gonna be honest with yourself: you’re scared, hurt and a little confused. Miyeon’s good at lying—a little too good for your liking. Pair that knowledge with your insecurities, and congrats: you’ve just given birth to multiple insecurities. They’re like little demons running amok in your chest. It’s suddenly hard to breathe.

You can’t do this with her now. Not when all this is all so fresh and new. 

But she catches your arm as you try to walk past her. Her grip is firm, pleading. 

“Please,” she utters, letting her hand slide down your arm to let her fingers wrap around your hand. “Trust me on this.”

You want to. You really want to. And so it hurts you to ask, “Am I just another fling?”

You can see it in her eyes when she realises the motivation behind the question. She doesn’t take long to come to the epiphany—just a little less than a second before her eyes soften and her lips part a little. Her expression scares you. You want to run from this all together and leave it to another day, but God knows that you won’t be getting any sleep with this weight in your head. It’s comical, almost hilarious if it weren’t for the fact that it’s your relationship with her on the line.

You like to think that she can’t express her answer into words, so she kisses you instead. You’ll never know why she chose to kiss you, but it's sweet and so powerful that you can kinda live with that gap in your knowledge. You may or may not have teared a little, and you may or may not have melted into her lips a little too quickly. What you can say for certain: when you find yourself back in those eyes, panting with your face between her hands—the words ‘I love you’ escape your mouth faster than you can think. You don’t say it for the sake of it; you say it cause you mean it. You want her to know that you’ll fight for this relationship, that you’ll fight for her.

And it makes her smile. 

“I’m like, in love with your goofy ass,” she mutters, thumb tracing a path along your cheek. “So don’t you ever think that I’d drop you for some slick-back fuck face.”

That’s more than enough for you. Her smile is contagious as you hold her waist. “Crude. I love you, Miyeon.”

“Yeah. I heard you the first tim—”

Of course: you don’t wait for a finished reply to kiss her. It’s a practice, almost a common tongue at this point.

Miyeon lets her hands fall, gets her arms around your neck while you reacquaint your lips with hers. She’s lovely, fucking divine and maybe even a little addictive—straight up dangerous if you’re to sum it up. You wonder, for a second, if you’re being manipulated, and it’s really only for a second because she’s got her teeth in your bottom lip and she’s dragging them towards her. She wants more—more of you and less of this need to prove her love. She touches your chest, palm flat against your flesh as she deepens the kiss. Ignorance is bliss. Believing her is a sort of ignorance. Kissing her deepens that ignorance, makes you all the more blissful.

“I need you,” you breathe, unashamed by your blatant desire to have her right now. Really: you can’t get enough of her smell right now. “Please Miyeon… Let me be the only one.”

She smiles softly. She runs her fingers through your hair. “Baby, you already are.”

You press your forehead against hers. “I know. But can we just…”

You can’t really verbalise what you want out of this. You want Miyeon, but you don’t just want the idea and concept of her. You long for that connection with her, that union and that closure, not just some fleeting, superficial feelings. This woman is quite literally one of your dreams. It’s selfish to say this, but you want that security—something tangible to know that you’re really hers and she’s really yours, a piece of her that you can hold on to that helps rid your heart of those little demons. You hope she can understand this through your closed eyes.

And something about the way she fixes your hair tells you that she does.

“It’s okay,” she assures you, her other hand finding that one spot on your chest. It feels like it’s touching your heart directly, calming it. “I get it,” her fingers wrap around the knot of your tie, loosening it till it unravels completely. “You’re hurt and scared. Frankly, so am I.”

Miyeon wraps the tie up neatly in her fist. Her hands cross over each other as she reaches down to grab the hems of her shirt. It slips off her, a layer peeled away. Then the tie rolls down from her hand. 

“I want you to know”—she drapes the tie around her shoulders, the thin portion ever so slightly shorter than the broader portion as they hang on either side of those perky mounds—“I will do everything I can to protect you and us.”

She tosses the smaller end across her body, cloth flying over her left shoulder and dangling behind her arm. The broader end is wrapped around her neck—once, twice. 

Miyeon steps closer and takes your hand. The broad end of the tie gets slotted into your palm. 

“And even though I might have to be seen with him,” she coos, and she’s a little clumsy as she reaches for the thin end behind her, but she gets it on her second or third try. “Even though I might have to hold his hand in public,” she slips it between her skin and the loop she’s made, ties it off. “You should know: I am yours.”

She shocks you into silence as always. You know what she’s insinuating. You know that she knows what she’s insinuating. Your eyes search her for consent, and you find that it’s the only thing you can make out behind the veneer of a tender gaze. She checks the makeshift leash she’s made. It’s not coming off anytime soon.

You wrap some of the tie around your hand. Your fingers close around the silky fabric. 

(Just so we’re clear: the tie may look horrible on you, but she looks amazing in it.)

You pull.

And it’s just that. 

Clothes come off, lips meet, sighs fly through the room. Her hands explore you, grab you, pump you; your kisses find the best parts of her, the parts you love the most and the parts she loves attention at. The tie never leaves your hand, and you give it a tug or two when you get your digits in her on the couch. You’ll never forget the way she looks when her head is forced up just after it whips back, the glassy look in her eye as she begs for you, keens for you. Never in your life has anything this debauched been so intimate. You’ve never heard sighs out of you and her so luscious. 

“Princess,” you quite literally growl as you address her. It’s not necessary, but the squelching of your fingers in her slick brings out something in you—a part of you that’s wild and somewhat untamed. “I fucking love the way you moan.”

Miyeon bites down on her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. “Yeah? She husks, her eyes going half-lidded in pleasure when you get your fingers in the same, soft, tender spot on the roof of her pussy. “It’s all for you. Ngh— A-All yours…”

And you don’t know how you can not believe her at this point.

You pull at the tie. She almost straightens completely. You kiss her. Her moans send pleasant vibrations down your windpipe.

It’s all so perfect. And it somehow gets even more perfect when she cums—waves of heat burning through her system; eyes shut and mouth agape; hands around your neck and your name spilling from her lips in a mix of curses (that mostly contain the word ‘fuck’); body convulsing and twitching in ways that make a low grunt emerge from the depths of your chest as you watch her. She’s beautiful—your beautiful princess.

When it’s over, you let the tie go slack. She crashes against the couch, forcing air back into her lungs with deep breaths. There’s sweat on her face, her body. Your hand finds its place on her tummy as you place small kisses on the corner of her lip, her jaw. Her skin is moist and sticky.

“Have me,” and it’s more so of a demand than a request. “Take me. However you want, wherever you want,” she runs her hands through your hair, “You’re the only one I want.”

You let out a low hum. It lightly vibrates at the base of your throat as you catch her earlobe between your lips. 

“Has anyone told you how fucking beautiful you are?” you can’t help but ask. She searches your face or a minute, then she chortles.

“About half the world,” she replies. “But it means the most coming from you.”

(Oh… That line really means the fucking world to you.)

You kiss her, hard. It’s messy, sloppy, and at some point you guys are scrambling to get on top of each other. She wins at one point, and so she rides you—dropping and rising hard and fast on your cock like a lewd merry-go-round carriage. She’s relentless, letting your cock fill her while she blanks out and just lets herself cry and moan like you don’t have thin walls in your apartment. You let her please herself, throw herself down onto your cock again and again till you decide that it’s your turn to have some fun. The tie is your friend, and you use it to pull her real close to not too kindly hiss your instructions into her ear. 

You’d kill to see the look in her eyes again.

And so you have her against the nearest wall in less than a minute, her back flushed against it and one of her legs bent in the crook of your arm. She reaches between your bodies, grabs your throbbing shaft and rubs your tip against her slit. You feel the heat of her pussy—the desire and depravity that burn in her core. You can’t believe she’s yours.

“I’m gonna put this in me,” she narrates her course of action, all breathy and silky. “It’s gonna fill me, fuck me… Maybe even cum in me.”

“I wouldn’t get ahead of ourselves here,” you whisper, your hand wrapping itself back in the fabric of the tie. “That last part? I dunno… Seems a little optimistic, don’t you think?”

She pushes your head in between her folds—not all the way, but enough to part them. “And why is that?”

You pop your hips, push yourself in a little more. She inhales sharply. 

“I only cum inside good girls.”

The smile that creeps its way onto her face is wicked.

“Trust me,” her hand finds purchase on your shoulder, pads of her fingers digging into the muscle. “I’ll be the best you ever get.”

She puts her weight onto the leg in your arm. You slide into her.

And you both take a moment to enjoy the unity—the feeling of the two of you being joined as one; your out of sync heartbeats that feel like pattering raindrops around your shaft. You want to say something witty, a quip that will get a nice chuckle out of her.

All you can really manage is, “Fuck.”

And in response: “Talk less. Fuck more.”

You draw back, push in. There’s the sopping sound of your shaft going in and out of her, wet pushing into warm flesh. You groan. She sighs. 

Tight, hot, wet, divine.

And it goes without saying: when you pick up the pace, she lets you know that she loves the feeling—the stretching, the filling, the push and pull. It comes to you in the form of pure filth: words that have very little consideration for propriety and no room for decency, something along the lines of “I can’t believe you feel this good. I can’t believe this cock is mine” or “That’s it. Keep filling me. Keep fucking— Oh” or maybe even a mix of both. You can’t be certain, because between you and her, you both know that the undulating of your cock into her tight, creamy heat and the almost torturous pressure around your dick is taking you under by the second. It’s not hard to lose yourself in her when she’s basically a little piece of you. 

Like always, she let her pleasure be known through desperate noises and choked up words. “Keep going, please, fuck—don't stop,” and it sounds like it hurts but you know it’s the other way around. Her pleasure coated tongue makes the lust in her words undeniable, her half-lidded eyes ruining the argument that she’s in any pain whatsoever. You yank on her tie, her body curves closer. You need a better look at that face.

(Trust me, it’s a face you don’t want to forget. 

For lack of a better word: it’s porny as fuck.)

It's a blissful dance – the rhythmic, almost metronomical give of her thighs as you slide yourself home again and again steadily and firmly. The smacking of sweaty and sticky skins colliding is almost evenly paced, sighs and grunts filling the spaces between slaps. She follows your lead, rocks her hips accordingly, angles herself and adjusts so that she can feel you in the deepest parts of her cunt. You lift her leg a little higher, spear yourself a little deeper. You listen to your body, she listens to hers. You give in to your desires.

You don’t mean to blurt it. You don’t mean to make the sex more complicated than it already is. But it happens—it fucking happens and you can’t stop it. 

“I love you,” your voice is nothing more than a rasp. She feels so fucking good around you — squeezing, pulsing and doing every little thing that makes your jaw tighten and you legs tense. “I fucking love you, Miyeon.”

She holds your gaze, then smiles, then nods. She nods vigorously, enthusiastically. “I know… It’s all I’ve ever known.”

Your hand on the tie releases it from your grasp. You catch a bouncing breast in your hand, squeeze the tight and taut nipple with your fingers. The tie shakes violently like a snake writhing, bouncing and swaying with each firm impact against Miyeon’s skin. She mewls, pulls you in, kisses you. She lets herself come undone with her chest flushed against you and your hearts aligned as she lets the cries transfer from your mouth to hers. You pump yourself faster, harder, faster, harder. Your finger digs into the flash near her knee. Your blood is boiling, molten metal spilling over and washing over you—gold rush, acid flux, saturating you in this bliss that numbs you out. You can’t tell where your thrusts start and end. They’re blurred by the heat washing over your eyes. You can’t get enough. The way you fuck her—it feels relentless, merciless, a fire that only burns brighter and can’t be put out, fuelled by the heat of Cho Miyeon flushed against you and the sublime squeeze of her slick heat. Everything about this is hot; everything about her is hot. 

“Don’t you ever let me go,” she hisses. “Fuck— don’t ever leave. This cock is mine. You are mine.”

“Princess, I’d never,” you nuzzle yourself into the crook of her neck, pepper her nicely with kisses. “You. Only you.”

“Yeah,” and her breath is hot on the nape of your neck. “Cause I can’t ever fucking imagine anyone else filling me this fucking good. No one has ever filled me this good.”

And her fricatives feel like acid: Aqua Regia—melting straight through solid gold just to get to you. It makes you burn a little hotter, fuck her a little harder. Your heart burns at the thought of her; your brain melts at the sight of her—glassy-eyed and mouth agape while cock pumps her full of pleasure and want. She finds a spot on your shoulder, whispers her proclamation of love— “I love you I love you I love you— Fuck—”—before she buries her face into your shoulder blade. Her love is an animal call, cutting through the darkness and bouncing off the walls, reaching a soft spot in your heart that you hold for her. Nothing in this world is gonna stop you from turning her into a messy little fucktoy. 

It’s hard to think. It’s hard to breathe. She’s become your world, the only thing you ever want to think about. Anything that isn’t her tight little pussy is irrelevant; what isn’t her thin lips pressed against your shoulder is invalid; no pair of eyes will ever match the glassy, lust-fogged ones that Cho Miyeon possesses. Your pulse is rushing, your head is reeling, your face is flushing. You want her—all of her. You suck hard on the milky skin you’ve caught between your lips, marking her, claiming her. She has no qualms nor worries; she tilts her neck to give you better access to that lovely patch of skin that becomes your canvas. She mewls, presses her forehead harder into your body, grounding herself in the sensation of her skin on yours. 

“I’m gonna fucking fill you, Miyeon,” you drawl. “I’m gonna cum inside this pretty little pussy and make a mess out of you,”

“Yeah, yes,” she’s barely holding it together at this point. “Please. Oh god please.”

Your hips move on their own now, taking liberties without signals from your fried brain as you pump yourself into Miyeon with the sole goal of piping her full of your hot seed. For long, wordless minutes, you're thrusting into her in a mindless, fervent fashion, giving in to your desires and your depravity and fucking her like she’s a doll. You relish the feel of her skin in your palms; the feel of her hands pressed against your chest; the sheer, strained phonetic atrocities that rise from the depths of her throat. Your shaft glistens in the light of the room, slick with her sweet juices as it slips in and out of her hot cunt, spearing into her with depth, making her legs weaker by the second. Miyeon cups your cheek, moans your name. You bury your nose deep in those silky locks of jet black hair. You need every last part of her to be close to you.

She's whimpering, eyes squeezed shut, toes clenching; she’s a coiled up spring, a bundle of nerves waiting to be released. Her bottom lip is between her teeth, her throat bobs. She's coming undone, breaking a little more with each thrust of your cock. You know that she’s cumming before she announces it, and when you fuck her over the point of no return, it’s bliss.

Miyeon melts, head whips back and thumps against the wall, positively combusts on the spot and ceases to hold on to the last bits of herself. She lets herself fall through the pleasure, orgasm almost ripping through her system as she shakes in your grasp. She’s such a precious thing, yet she can look like lust itself when she’s busy cumming all over your cock and whining like her life depends on it. She’s tighter, wetter, even better to fuck. 

She really is the best you’ll ever have.

“Miyeon–”

“Just fucking cum.”

Your line; same effect. You fill her, make a creamy mess of her cunt because you can. You fuck her through it, push your load deeper with each thrust. Your cock pulses, spasms, shoots load after load after load into her pussy till you can’t take it anymore and jitter to a halt, and there’s nothing left but a filthy mess flowing out at the base of your cock where her lips are splayed the widest. It’s a sight for sure. 

(And there really isn’t a word for the moment that the two of you share in that wrinkle in time, that moment where it’s just all warm and fuzzy and you have your forehead pressed against hers.)

You cradle her in your arms, kiss her chest, her jaw, her lips. It’s tender, it’s gentle.

“We’ll figure this out,” she pants through closed eyes. “I promise you: you and me, we’re gonna figure this all out.”

Somehow, you don’t doubt it.

--

(Still here? Great. We’re getting to the good part. Get your special sock out or something.)

So the newest rage of the K-pop scene is the photo of Miyeon kissing him in a car.

It's a publicity stunt—the whole damn relationship. They are supposed to appear in love according to Miyeon, and it was his idea to kiss her. She never consented and he just did it. It’s a pretty lewd photo: up close and personal and all. You can see his lips on hers, his hand on her breast and they’re like, clearly getting it on in three. Pretty steamy if you do say so yourself,

(...)

Oh fucking hell. Who are you kidding describing this photo like you’re just viewing an artwork. It makes your blood boil, and speaking to her after seeing this photo feels like dancing to alarm bells when you feign ignorance and just talk with her like it’s a normal Wednesday. You’re gonna hurt yourself at this rate, but she really means too much.  

She told you that he forced his lips on hers, you believe her to the best of your ability. You kiss her, tell her it’s okay, that she’s doing what she has to do to protect the two of you. She says she’s sorry, that she feels like she’s failed you. You kiss her again—albeit a little half-hearted—and assure her once more that it’s okay. You want to nurse her pain, but you also have your own problems to deal with.

And as if this fucking actor hasn’t interfered enough with your relationship, he has the audacity to call during the make up sex.

Her phone starts to ring when she’s on her hands and knees on your bed, and you’re fucking her into the mattress like she’s some pliant plaything. There's a rage inside you that hasn’t been quenched, and you don’t realise that it’s bringing out that dark side of you till you spank her ass a little harder than you intended to. It doesn’t help that you kinda twitch when you hear her yelp, and it really doesn’t help when she tightens after the second spank. The phone only continues to vibrate next to her head.

“Baby,” she rasps. “My phone…”

“Pick it up,” you hiss. “Pick it up and let whoever the fuck it is hear how you’re being fucked like a slut.”

Degradation has never really been a kink of yours, but you know she’s kinda into it. Even so, you’re not calling her a slut because you consciously want to. You feel like an asshole for being angry, kinda hate yourself a little for not being able to accept that she’s doing what she needs to do. And then you kinda hate her for making you hate yourself and— Ugh. It just gets more complicated the more you try and rationalise it. You can’t stop the hot blood from coursing through your system, fuelling your firm strokes into her tight heat like you’re trying to inject all the hate in your body into her. 

Her hand that was once clawing at the sheets now reaches for her phone. You keep thrusting as she flips it over, keep thrusting as she shows you the caller ID, keep thrusting as she looks back at you with a gaze that says “are you sure?”. You hope she isn’t met by that dark look you often see when you look at yourself in the mirror after a new headline about them hits your screen. It’s funny how one person can flip the idea of make-up sex on its head—turn it from something so tender and beautiful to a spite-fuelled fuck fest that’s gonna make things more complicated. She hasn’t even picked up the fucking phone, but you can hear his sick voice in your head as you drive yourself deeper into her cunt, fuck her harder and faster than you knew you could. She’s in no state to answer the phone, yet her finger taps on the ‘accept call’ button. 

(She would’ve rejected it if she could, but she got into some deep shit the last time that happened. Must’ve been threatened or something for her to pick up the phone while she’s getting fucked.)

“Hello?” she does her best to steady her voice, and she’s doing pretty well considering how loud the smacking of skin against skin is. She presses the phone a little tighter against her left ear. You don’t intend on stopping. Let him hear her being owned by you for all you care. “T-This is a bad… a bad time.”

Damn straight it is. 

Your hand caresses the curve of her ass. You spank her again, making sure that it’s loud and it leaves a red patch on her smooth, creamy skin. She contacts around you, gasps a little as you bend down and pin her down with your weight on her back.

“W-What?”—and it feels like she’s talking to both of you. You hiss into her other ear. “I’m going to fuck you like this,” your voice is actually a snarl, a dark one. Your body is energized by the promise of taking and ravaging the helpless, prone woman beneath you, your words dripping with loathing and your thrusts brimming with spite. “I’m going to fuck you hard and rough, and you’re gonna keep him on the fucking line so he can hear it.”—“No I’m… Jogging.”

She’s terrible at lying. You let her know through each thrust—hard and deep, uncaring for her pleasure or her comfort or anything other than your need to bury yourself again and again inside her body. There’s the need to dominate her, the need to make her yours. You hope this guy can act like he doesn’t care that his supposed girlfriend is being prone-boned by another guy, act like he isn’t totally aware of the fact that Cho Miyeon’s body is never gonna belong to him at any point as long as you’re alive. 

(Keep this between us: but with the way you're going down on her, it feels like the message is being transferred to her and not him.)

You hear indistinct chatter. Miyeon bites down on her lower lip, undoubtedly holding back the stream of cries and sighs and lyrical monstrosities that threaten to burst forth. With her eyes she begs, challenges you to do more. You could be reading her wrong by like, a hundred percent. Doesn't matter, not when you can take every liberty with her body because you couldn’t give more of a shit. There’s more indistinct chatter on the other end of the phone; Miyeon says something along the lines of “no. Don’t buy the choker for me”. You give her a choker—raise yourself up and reach around her to wrap your fingers around her throat. Her whole body tenses when you apply pressure around her windpipe. In no universe does this guy not know what’s going on right now.

Cause she’s there—right there, all choked up and struggling to breathe while the fucker keeps yap-yap-yapping away like he’s some fucking guard dog. It irritates the hell out of you. At some point, he kinda has to hear a squelch or smack or two, maybe even a moan or a cry as well. But he stays on the phone, and not once does Miyeon ever have to address the question of whether she’s being fucked on the other end of the call or not. You thought you were ignorant, but this guy is a whole new fucking level of blissfully ignorant. It feels like his sole purpose is to drive a wedge between the two of you, to make you hate her because you hate him. Again: it’s kinda complicated to say exactly what it feels like to be in this situation. 

And you can imagine the moans she wants to let out. They’ll tumble out of her lips like water down a waterfall, and they’ll mix with the sound of your lips smacking against her skin as you lean back down to kiss her neck, stopping at one spot that you know will be good to mark her and sucking hard. It feels like getting back at her—doing all the things you want to do while she can't speak her mind freely (and you know how tortuous it is for her when she can’t moan while she’s being railed like this). You’re not sure why you would ever need to get back at her when she’s done nothing wrong, but I guess it helps to synthesise and dumb down the emotions you’re feeling at the moment.

“Tonight?” she asks. Then she buries her head into the sheets because she can’t hold back this moan that almost explodes from her chest. You’re not squeezing really hard around her throat, mind you—only enough to make her a little uncomfortable, like a tie has been wrapped around her neck. She's getting off on it though: her walls squeeze you a little tighter; her breaths become more ragged and short. Honestly, she's taking your cock so well, and you communicate this to her with a growl. It makes her shudder a hell lot. 

Her other hand clutches the sheets, spasms. She’s pliant, she always is, but it feels like you can wrack her tiny body with so much more pleasure as you keep a hand around her throat and keep your dick pumping in and out of her. You wish you had a mirror to see that pretty face warping under the heat of her lust. You kinda forget that she’s still calling him when she speaks again, cause she follows up with, “I can’t— I can’t believe…”

And if that damn phone call wasn’t happening, she’d be saying something along the lines of “I can’t believe that you’re fucking me this good”.

“Sorry. I got cut off,” she pants. “Yeah… It’s harder to hear me when I’m running.”

Now she's talking to you. The reply is to him, but she’s addressing you. You take her up on it, and the slapping and squelching start to ricochet off the walls and ceiling. What you’re doing should be considered as a whole sin in itself. Technically, it’s adultery, but you’re not too sure if you can even classify this as something that simple. This is jealousy, hate and love mashed into one—a mix of things that kinda shouldn’t go together when you have a woman who’s quite literally like putty beneath you. It doesn’t help that she's this hot, this tight, this wet. She’s straining her moans, and it’s so cute that you want to choke her a little harder. You don’t do it (just clarifying some doubts here), but you almost do. 

“R-Really?”—you’re almost certain that what comes next is gonna be addressed to you. You can imagine her signing your name off on it—”wow… That must be so fucking good.”

Bingo. Gotta say: she’s kinda smooth with it.

“I’m fine. Out… Out of breath” you don’t know how she manages to keep her voice steady. “Y-yeah… I’m gonna come… Don’t worry.”

You hope that she can hold on.

You don’t know how long more you fuck her for while she’s on the phone. It’s a blur; you kinda only see red and you’re still choking her out even after she hangs up. It’s only when she goes, “Oh, fuck, daddy—!” with this breathless, perverse, pleading tone and a voice that’s so loud; her body unable to do anything other than gasp and moan and urge you to really give it to her, and when she says “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” like you’re not doing just that (and only that) at the moment that she’s hung up on him. Now she has every facility available to focus on the rock hard meat she’s receiving. You feel filthy, like you’re doing something wrong.

But hey: the sex is hot and Miyeon’s kinda into it, so you keep going. You keep fucking her into the bed—the same way you would if you were fucking her against the wall or in the shower or against any flat surface, really. It’s twisted, it’s dark, it’s hot; the angle her body is at lets you drive yourself deeper and faster and harder into her wet, tight and hot pussy like you never have before. You’re experiencing a novelty, a new chapter.

(Caveat: is it kinda messed up that you call her a cocksleeve? Not really? Huh.)

“God Miyeon…” you feel like the voice that comes from your throat is not your own. “You’re such a good fucking cocksleeve for me,” and you may or may not be tightening the grip around her throat as you speak. “So tight and wet for me. You’re such a good fuck.”

“Oh daddy, fuck you’re so big and deep in me,” she gasps. She has lots to say, even though air is like a fucking luxury for her. She rarely calls you Daddy, yet she’s using her precious air to do so now. “Fuck, fuck me as hard as you can, daddy! Do whatever you want with me! Own me! Take me!”

You barely recognise the woman she’s become: depraved, sordid and one hell of a hot mess. You love it. It’s fantastic. Fucking fantastic.

And she falls apart under you not long after, writhing and moaning and twitching as this beautiful mess of a woman you’ve made out of her. You want to cum in her, really own her; but your thoughts are fueled too much by the hate in your heart that they're wilder than anything she can ever imagine. 

You pull out of Miyeon, your shaft glistening in the dim light. You get off the bed, pull her away with you. Her mouth opens to say something. You kiss her—shut her up. She moans into your mouth, and you swallow it, bite her lower lip, and it's not rough, but enough to get her attention.

“You’ve gotten enough loads inside your pussy,” you husk. “Get on your knees. I want your mouth.”

She nods, and you relish the disappointment in her eyes. You push down firmly on her shoulders. She goes with the motion, and you're not sure if you can ever get over the image of Miyeon on her knees with her pretty little princess face staring at you with anticipation. You think about fucking her face, letting your cock thrust into the back of her throat over and over and over till you paint her face in a messy spray of cum. 

And you know what? You’ll do just that.

Of course, Miyeon perfectly understands what has to be done. You step up to her. She parts her lips and takes your cock right into her mouth, grasping the base of your cock and pumping it with one hand while she gently cups and squeezes your balls with the other. The pace she launches into is hard and fast; blurring her chocolate hair and your vision—taking the top half of your cock in and out of her wet mouth with rapid urgency while her fingers work your shaft in a corkscrew motion. The suction of her mouth is almost lethal, the seal sublime; and the audacity she has to look up at you while she takes your cock in and out of her mouth is so exhilarating that it makes you weak in the knees. She’s gorgeous, even more so when she’s got cock in her mouth.

Your hand finds a clump of her black, sweaty hair, and you close your fingers around it, holding them in your fist. You push her head down onto your cock, pop your hips and start thrusting with firm, slow strokes. She exceeds every expectation you ever had, adapting to you, changing to please you. Your eyes shut involuntarily. Your brain blocks out all sensations that aren’t the wet, hot cavern of Miyeon’s mouth sealed tightly around your shaft. With the first entry into her mouth her wet tongue is pressed tightly against the underside of your shaft, lathering it with her spit. The backstroke is somehow even better, that pretty little mouth endeavoring to suck you right back in when you draw yourself back out. It feels like time stands still, but Miyeon’s still in motion, and she’s the one making you feel like all the natural laws in the world are being defied.

A small part of you knows that you have to see it happening in order to truly believe it’s all real, so you force your eyes open to watch the spectacle unfolding between your legs. Smoky eyes glazed with pure lust staring right up at you, watering, projecting perverse pleasure with a gaze; hollow cheeks and a seemingly unhinged jaw to accommodate your length; spit leaking from the corners of her mouth, dribbling down her chin.

“Fuck I—” is all you manage to say (or maybe ‘grunt’ is a better word) before your orgasm takes the reins to your body. It overwhelms your senses, but you force your eyes open to watch as you pull Miyeon off your dick just in time. Thick, glistening cum erupts from your tip to land on Miyeon’s face, on her cheeks and nose, painting her smoky features with pearlescent, warm ropes. You paint her face with your hot white seed, and it’s far from an elegant piece of art. She doesn’t look anything like one of the French girls she wanted to be painted like, but the look of utter lust on her needy features is still breathtaking—mouth open, tongue out, eyes closed in delight and bliss.

Ugh, she's one hell of a woman, isn’t she?

And when it’s all over, she takes your cock in her hand and licks off the drops that she’d been deprived of. 

“If you ever do that again.” you love the raspy touch to her voice. The lilt in it is doing wonders too. “I’m gonna make sure that you’ll be calling your mom the next time I blow you.”

You roll your eyes and sigh. “Whatever you say, princess…”

The hate seems to fade. Your heartbeat slows.

Maybe this relationship is salvageable. Maybe you guys can last.

You talk to her about it afterwards and apologise sincerely. She says that she didn’t think much of it when it was happening. Then you guys are at peace again.

(What do you think? How long does the honeymoon last? A month more? 

Two?

Generous.

Try one. Fucking. Week.)

--

“Okay. Hands down: this is the best Jjamppong I’ve eaten.”

The growing pile of clam shells beside her bowl tells you that you did something right. It’s the first time you've made this dish, and there’s always that lingering worry that you fucked up somewhere along the way when you eat it for the first time. The soup seasoning is a little off in some places (you don’t know where exactly), but it’s nothing a dash of fish sauce and some chilli flakes can’t fix.

“I mean,” Miyeon continues, speaking between small yet generous mouthfuls of noodles. “You only get better and better at cooking. I don't know how you do it.”

You give a half-hearted smile. Your noodles have kinda gone cold by now: you’ve been stirring them around with your chopsticks for the past five minutes or so. Appetite has become a luxury for you these days, and it’s one of those days where a new article about him and her comes out, one of those days where you both agreed to put a pin on it and just enjoy life. “Well… It’s a lot of love and care, I guess.”

“You can say that again,” she smiles. “Thank you for making dinner. No one cooks like you.”

“Thank you for cutting scallions,” you say. “No one cuts them like you do.”

She laughs and waves it off, then takes another slurp of her noodles. “I honestly don’t know if I like your tomato soup over this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. My tomato soups have always been the peak of my cooking prowess.”

“I really don’t know!” she tells you, grabbing another clam from the centre of the table. “This stuff is all smoky and tasty… It just feels like home and I—”

You drop your chopsticks into your bowl. Soup splashes onto the table.

“How do I keep living like this, Miyeon?” you ask. There are only so many pins in your possession and you feel like you’ve used all of them. “I’d love to sit here and talk to you about how I made this meal like everything’s okay, and this is just Thursday and maybe we’ll get ice cream later… But it’s not like that right now.”

Miyeon takes your hand in hers. 

“I can’t pretend like things are the same when everything’s… different,” you close your eyes, take a breath. “I love you, Miyeon. You’re like, the best thing that’s ever happened to me and… I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

You can hear her take a breath to start speaking. You really want to let her, but there’s too much on your chest. 

“I know you’re doing what you have to, for me, for us,” you want—oh so badly––to just bury your face in your hands right now. But once you do that, the tears will inevitably come and your ability to speak your mind will disappear faster than you can regain yourself. “But it hurts. It hurts to see you holding his hand, walking around and… and kissing him.”

Your heart stings when you see the tears welling in her eyes when you find it in you to look at her. The last thing you want is to see her in pain. This next bit hurts you even more to say, but you know that it’s better to tell her how you feel.

“I feel like I’m an open wound… and you're just pouring salt on me,” and you start to choke up a little. “I’m sorry to put it that way but—”

“No,” she interjects. “No. I get it… I-I understand.”

And for a moment, it feels like everything's okay for a bit.

Then she comes around the table to kiss you, and hell’s bells start ringing all over again. It hurts to kiss her, but it feels so right.

Miyeon leans into you. She kisses you. She pulls you close. She lets you run your hands across her body, down her back. You stand. Your tongue pokes into her mouth. One of you says I need you and you don’t know who it is.

And like when things were okay: you guys don’t make it to the couch.

You get naked. She gets naked. The sex isn’t about pleasure or thrill. It’s the aching within the both of you that drives your shaft into her cunt, rocks her hips as you fuck her. You quite literally make love with her, your strokes passionate and fervent; her cries are earnest and wanton, full of longing. For long moments when her chest is against yours, your hearts are aligned. You wish that you could fuse them together, take away the pain by making the two of you one singular person there on the floor. It feels possible when your dick is throbbing inside of her, pumping her slick with rock hard meat again and again and again.

But the thing that sucks the most is that you can’t do that. You’re two separate people with two separate problems that kinda overlap at the same point.

You have her bent over the counter, propped up on the kitchen sink—anywhere you could reach was a surface for you and her. And normally you’d be a bit of a party pooper about fucking on these surfaces, but today you really can’t give more of a shit. You want to feel like everything’s okay again, like you’re not fighting for your life to hold on to this relationship that’s being torn apart day by day, night by night.

And you may have pieces of each other deep within your souls, but they don’t seem to fit anymore.

When it’s all over and you’re panting against the dishwasher, reality hasn’t changed and you’re still torn. You have a wound that only you can heal through acceptance, yet you can’t find it in you to accept that this is the life you have to lead. You want to love her. You want it so bad. But you can’t find the will in you to love her when there’s another man in the picture, albeit that her love for him isn’t even minimally a concept. You can’t nurse her injuries either, and it hurts to know that as her delicate hands cradle your cheeks. Her touch is perfect, her breaths are soft on your skin. The two of you have tried so hard to make it work, yet you’ve only come so far. The solution to this problem is like thousands of hot fire pokers stabbing you simultaneously, and it only hurts because it’s the only way forward for the both of you. 

“Miyeon,” you can’t quite believe what you’re about to say. The tears streaming down your  cheeks aren’t making anything easier. “Let’s break up.”

(And this isn’t for pity: but you cry yourself to sleep after she leaves that night. Ain’t it fun being heartbroken? You would know how it feels, right cupcake?)

--

Three months, two weeks and one day (about 105 days if you really want to be fully accurate. Go write that down somewhere) pass uneventfully—and by that you mean, you never picked up any of the 138 calls that came from Miyeon. It would have been 140 calls if you hadn’t picked up two of them when you were drunk. But hey, she was drunk too. So it kinda cancels out… at least you like to think that it does. It does, doesn't it? Two negatives make a positive? 

(No?)

Ah well. Anyway,

(Okay, caveat, again: you’re thankful that she hadn’t showed up to the apartment once throughout this period. You’ve been stuck between your anger and a blame that you can’t face because you don’t know if you blame yourself or her or him. Drinking doesn’t help to lighten the ache in your chest, so you tried exercising: running, swimming, even pilates; you tried to pick up music—bought a guitar and everything. Your fingers still hurt when you play chords, and you’re considering giving up at some point; you tried to learn how to make those pain in the ass French desserts, and now you have a fire extinguisher permanently installed in your kitchen because you somehow managed to set fire to macarons; and you tried to write. That didn’t go well. 5 Wattpad users politely asked you to kill yourself. Not fun.

One way or another, your thoughts would end up drifting back to Miyeon, and you’d have to sit in place and kinda stare into the distance for a little. And yes, you did question your choice to end things with her many times if anyone is asking. You kinda hate yourself a little for not trying to make things work, and you also kinda hate her for not insisting on staying to make things work. 

It took two of the three months for you to realise that you were both kinda in the wrong. But it’s already too late by then.

You couldn’t get a grip of yourself and fight off your internal demons; she couldn’t stop doing what she thought was right to protect the two of you. Net-net: it’s a loss for the both of you in the business of love. Now you have to look for a way forward through this grey-area mess that you’ve made, learn to live with the fact that maybe you guys just weren't meant to be in the grand scheme of things.

The updates on Miyeon’s relationship with that damned actor kept coming, but it stopped as of late. But for a while, they were all the rage for gossip blogs. Every now and then, a shitty title like “Cho Miyeon stuns with her visuals on her date” would pop up, and you have to swipe away quickly before you accidentally tap on the notification and see her holding hands with him. You’ll admit that you opened some of the articles just to get a look at her face, then smile to yourself for a bit before you fight the urge to punch the spot next to her where Squid Game wannabe is smiling. You’ve succeeded so far.

You kept away from Jjampong and tomato soup with grilled cheese too. It’s hard to take your butter bell down from the fridge without tearing a little, and the fish sauce and chilli flake panacea for food doesn't apply to a broken heart by the way (it’s just really salty and spicy. You don’t know what you were thinking. Probably drunk. 0/10, please, please, please do not try). The two dishes are too homely; their tastes remind you of her.

Okay. Let’s ‘anyway’ for real this time.)

Yeah, so uh, remember how you said that sometimes the news you give each other can be a little heart-attack-inducing, so it’s better that your loves are pretty bland? Yep… Sad to say that the same confirmed hypothesis still stands, even when you guys are on day 106 of your break up.

This time the news comes in another headline—and you mean like front page, breaking news headline—on Tuesday night. Wonderwall isn’t treating you too well. You’re pretty sure that your finger tips might be turning purple. Your phone buzzes next to you like crazy, just like it did that night, and it’s like having an iPhone seizure. You don’t think too much when you put down the guitar and pick up your device. 

And you only read the first six words to give yourself a valid reason to reset your miscall streak with Miyeon.

Idol Cho Miyeon Slapped In Public…

(The title was a lot longer than that. You should know it since you’re here in the first place.)

It’s in moments like this when you kinda wish that speed dial was still a thing. (I mean there's siri and all, but do you really have time for that right now?) In a blur of great clumsiness, you open your contacts and experience no difficulty in locating her number again. She’s on the top of your miscall list, so it really takes no wizard to figure this out.

You hate that she’s letting it ring for so long. Every brr brr makes you tremble a little more in your seat. If your mum could see you now, you’d probably get an earful for your bad habit of biting your nails.

She finally picks up the phone. It’s good to hear her voice. “Hey…”

Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. Now you realise that in your hurry to check on her, you’ve yet to rehearse what to say to her. The debate between your head and gut almost tears you in two. 

“You okay?” you finally manage to blurt after some struggle. “I saw the news… Just wanted to check if, you know, you’re still up and kicking…”

You hear that familiar scoff from the other side of the phone. “Please. You know that it takes more than that to take me down.”

If your ears don't deceive you, you can hear a bit of a strain in her voice. She hates it when you jump to conclusions though, so you leave it as it is for now. “That’s… That’s great.”

And it’s silent again. If you were in the business of losing her interest, you’d be making crazy profits right now. Okay, better end this fast.

“Well uh,” you begin, stopping for a second to swallow some saliva to soothe your semi parched throat. “I guess—”

“Can I come over?” 

Like she always does, she shocks you into silence. Your throat dries up. Your mouth is the Sahara. 

“I… I miss you… if my miss-calls weren't clear enough about that,” she chuckles. You swear you hear a sniffle. “I’d like to see you again,” and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears, “for closure of course… and maybe tomato soup?”

Your heart joins the debate between your head and gut. It wins.

Minutes later, your butter bell is open, a knife scraping out the last bits of creamy butter out of it so that it can be used to evenly butter the other side of your bread. You’re moving on instinct, with glee and excitement. You’re not sure why you’re happy. You’re just happy—happy that you’re gonna see her; happy that you can prepare this dish again without the knowledge that you’re not gonna see her when you turn. It isn’t till the doorbell rings that the joy fades, and in its place comes that familiar tension of a two tonne weight wrapped around your chest. 

You aren’t sure why she rings the door when you haven’t changed the passcode to the lock. If she’s trying to be polite? You appreciate it. If she just forgot the pin? Well… you wouldn’t put that past her either, really. Your gut, head and heart agree you that it’s most likely the latter, and you kinda have to remind yourself as you open the door that she's just as forgetful as anyone else.

“Hi,” you catch yourself staring at her. You don’t mean to look at her dress first, but it’s the first thing your eyes are drawn to; it's been a while since you’ve seen her in anything other than a t-shirt and shorts. The white dress she’s wearing is bedazzled out, the light that’s reflected off of it catching you and making you a deer in headlights for a bit. Then you snap out of it. Your gaze travels up to her face and… “You look… Fucking terrible.”

You love her eyes and you love to watch them roll. “Thanks. You look not bad yourself. Gained some weight?”

You try not to stare. You fail—horribly you might add. 

But in your defence, it’s hard not to look at the purple spot on her milky skin. 

Miyeon covers her cheek. She looks down at your feet like there's something really interesting about them. “Are you, you know, letting me in? Or are we just gonna keep standing here?”

You blink. “R-Right.”

And soon she’s settled into her usual seat, nibbling on some grilled cheese while you ladle out her tomato soup into a bowl. It feels like nothing has changed, but you know that’s not true. Both of you know that everything’s different, that you can’t just give her tomato soup and peck her on the cheek.

“So you play guitar now?” she catches you off guard as the bowl makes a small thunk against the table. It’s in the same spot she always places it, and you know because a woodring has formed in that area. You follow her gaze and see that she’s spotted your Fender on the couch. 

“Sort of?” you reply, a little uncertain in how to rate your abilities. “Just basic stuff, you know?”

She smirks and picks up her spoon, starts chipping away at her soup “So you’re finally digging up the singer-songwriter in you… Good on you, man.”

Again, you find yourself staring at the bruise. It’s a deep shade of purple, splotchy and a sight for sore eyes. From the looks of it, he hit her hard. There’s a burning in your chest—a mix of grief, pity and anger as you watch her eat her food. You wish that you could’ve been there to stop it. You wished that you could’ve just dated her under different circumstances so that maybe, just maybe, you could’ve gotten that ending you wanted. You don’t know how she’s ever gonna cover that up when—

“If you’re gonna get something for this thing, go do it,” she mutters. “Chivalry hasn’t died completely, right?”

You nod and scuttle off. It’s easy to lose track of how long you’ve been staring when you’re lost in your thoughts. Is it scary how this feels like just another conversation between you two? 

The ice pack from when she bought that ice cream cake was still in the freezer, and it’s chilly in your hands as you grab it and return to the table. She has finished her soup—not a single scrap left inside the bowl. She must be starving.

Her grilled cheese is half eaten in her hand; she stares into the distance as she chews. 

(And she’s as beautiful as she can ever be, by the way. A lot of people haven’t seen her the way you see her, and you’re kinda glad that you get to witness that tender part of her that she rarely shows to cameras. It’s… It’s hard to describe what it means to know that someone like her finds it this easy to be herself around you, but you know it’s an honour and a blessing.

But when you're looking at her with your rose-tinted lenses stripped away from you, the notions you hold towards vulnerability become contradictory, because on one hand you know that she’ll never hurt you the way she did, but on the other you know that she’s not the same person when she’s not around you. So at the end of the day, you’re just kinda left figuring out which side of her is the real her. Do you believe what the Cho Miyeon you know tells you? Or do you believe what the Cho Miyeon the world knows? It gets confusing, makes you wonder why she ever has to put up two fronts in the first place. 

Then again, it’s not exactly her fault: she does what she has to so she can stay afloat. No industry is free from dirt. Some are just filthier than others.

I guess what I’m getting at is that… she’s this contradiction in my mind. I want to believe her, but I can’t, yet I still love her like she’s just a regular human and our lives are just a little messy. I know there's this whole argument about the fact that idols are humans too and all, but I guess it’s kinda… undermined? Yeah—undermined by the fact that they can’t exactly lead ‘normal’ lives once they’re famous. Look at me, using these big words.

So I guess… I guess dating her was like the worst of all blessings and the best of all curses. Does that make sense?

…

Ugh. I’m blabbering. 

Sorry cupcake, I’ll get back to it.)

And maybe you forget that she isn’t your girlfriend anymore, or maybe you just kinda blank out in the moment, or maybe you just wanted to do it. For whatever reason: you call her name, and when she turns, the ice pack in your hand is gently applied against her face. You don’t think much of it for like, three or four seconds. But when her wide eyes finally register in your head, there’s a moment where your breath is caught in your throat. 

This is important, so you should know: the silence is fucking deafening. 

She swallows the bit of sandwich in her mouth. “I refused to sleep with him, and he hit me like a girl. Fucking embarrassing on his part,” and there’s that smile on her face as she speaks, the same one that she loves to flash your way when she told you that she loved you. “Barely felt it. Light work.”

You can’t resist—your other hand cradles her unblemished cheek. “Miyeon…”

She closes her eyes. She knows that tone you’re using, the one that’s like ‘don’t lie to me’ or ‘it’s okay, you can tell me’. “Look: when the man that loved you the way no one else loved you breaks up with you, nothing can be more painful than that,” she whispers. Her throat bobs a little. She furrows her brows as her eyes squeezed themselves shut themselves a little tighter. “And that man is you by the way…” her voice cracks, her eyes open, “don’t know if I was clear enough.”

And you kinda have to kiss her after that. It’s a good line… and she’s, like, smoking hot right now. She always is.

The familiarity of her lips against yours almost makes you melt. The ice pack drops from your hand, your palm taking its place on her face. You kiss her like you used to. You kiss her like you want nothing else but her. You kiss her like you want nothing else but her because you want nothing else but her. She’s home – Jjamppong and Grilled Cheese with Tomato soup — and you don’t ever want her to leave again.

“I’m sorry,” she croaks, and you wipe the tear trailing down her cheek. “I should have never… We should have never—”

You shush her with your lips. She lets herself melt into you, her hands running through your hair the way she would sometimes when she called you crazy or baby. You don’t realise how much you’ve missed her touch till now.

“We were both wrong,” you tell her once you break away (rather reluctantly). “So how about we just call it a truce?”

She nods, and she does it enthusiastically. “If it’s cool with you…”

You scoff. “Why would it not be?” and your thumb gently caresses her bruise gently. You want to kill him, but you’ll save that for another time. “I’m the one who suggested it… Guess Chivalry is not all dead, huh?”

And it’s good to hear her laugh again.

“Come here you big idiot,” she giggles, and she kisses you again. 

Then you dive down to her collarbone when you can’t take it anymore. And the rest is history repeating itself.

You know: it feels like you’ve been picked up from the ground. Miyeon has come to get you… she's come to get you.

Maybe everything’s okay after all.

--

(And uh… The media covers the rest. What was it? Like, two weeks later? 

Ah whatever. You know what happens, don’t you? It’s pretty crazy, made headlines and all.

CUBE has some really good lawyers… And liars. Almost the same thing.)

--

“So that’s the story?” 

Nursing your third bottle of cider, you chuckle. You’d thought by fleshing out whole smuts in verbal form would have chased her away by now, yet here she is. Then again: she is an old friend of yours, so you guessed that she’d be rather adjusted to your bullshit. “Are you sure you’re an investigative journalist?” you question her, “I thought you’d ask something more along the lines of ‘what happens after?’.”

From across the booth seat, Chou Tzuyu shoots you a smirk. 

“The news covered it. Why should I pour salt into old wounds?” she admits. Her glass of wine swirls, manipulated expertly by her delicate fingers. “Anyway, I think I got… The main gist of it. Unless you have more information regarding the restraining order filed against you by CUBE, I have no further questions.”

You roll your eyes. No, you do not have any new information about why CUBE decided that you were a danger to Cho Miyeon, and you’ll never know if Miyeon knows either. She was out of town when it happened, and all she knows is what the news reported: you’re allegedly a stalker and hence a threat. You only know that she called and texted you frantically after, but…

You know what? Maybe you’ll think about this another time.

“You do know that, like, you're kinda bad at this right?” and you set your cider bottle aside, letting it join the almost empty whiskey bottle you bought yourself. You fold your hands and lean into the table. The world spins a little. “I don’t know why you’re prying, but I’m guessing that you heard something from the grapevine that you were itching to hear more about. Either that or you’re just… Could it be that you’re desperate to get something fresh, Miss Chou?”

She sips on her wine, leaves the question hanging in the air for a little as she swallows. 

“Keep this between us: I can’t trust Shuhua sometimes,” she muses. “If I’m gonna write about this, I’m gonna have to make sure that all the information I’ve gotten from her can be corroborated,” she pushes a wisp of hair behind her ear. “And for the record: I am not bad. I do my research as thoroughly as anyone else would—enough to know that you are someone who tells the truth.”

“So you’re saying that you trust me as a source?” you can’t help but scoff. “Me, the very guy that got fucked over by CUBE? I could be bigoted and biased for all you know. Or even worse: I’m lying.”

She smiles knowingly. “Respectfully, you have too much… personal voice in this recount that I might as well write an autobiography on your behalf.”

And she stuns you into silence. It occurs to you that you're a little drunk, and you’re pretty sure that you called this woman ‘cupcake’ multiple times. You’re not too sure; you don’t even have half a mind to know what you’re doing or saying.

Tzuyu gulps down the rest of her wine before she rises from her seat. 

“I best be going,” she opens her purse and fishes something out of it. She hands you a card, an address and a phone number handwritten onto it in what looks like a felt pen. “If you want your story to be heard, give me a call… Or a text. Whatever strikes your fancy. I’ll need a version of this that doesn’t include all the fucking and your drunk blabbering,” she shoulders her purse and smiles. “Can’t promise that I’ll buy you a drink to make you talk again, but I can treat you to some really good Chinese dumplings. Maybe we can catch up a little too. It’s been a while.”

You stare at the card, tracing the hooks and curves that form numbers and letters. Your eyes fix back on her. “Why are you doing this?”

She shrugs, and it’s not a “I dunno” type of shrug, but more like a “the proof’s in the pudding, open your fucking eyes” type of shrug. 

“I want to report the truth, and I know you well enough to know that you want that too.”

That's right. Another series. I know I'm doing everything but finishing up Beats Me, and you can go cry a river in my asks if you want. Just kidding, I love all of you, but I want to write what I want to write. Let me have my fun, would you? Also, for the record: I did not finish this 5 days after Beats Me 7. Beats Me 7 was finished before I vanished from tumblr for a bit. This has been brewing since December. You can thank long drives and Noah Kahnan for this.

Anyway, another big thank you to @defmaybe for being such a great sport and reading through the 39 page document that showed up in their discord DMs one fine day. This fic would have been full of typos and horrible grammatical errors if it weren't for them.

Stay safe, Nichu

[arabaka]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ miguel o'hara x spidey!fem!reader. CONTENT WARNINGS: oops, all berries (i.e. angst) no smut but minors/ageless blogs go away. depictions of traumatic events. insinuations of anxiety and ptsd. WORD COUNT: 1.4K PSD CREDIT!!! ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ love note from the author: this is PART 2 to PURGATORY but you can read this by itself ig... i'm not your mom ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Okay, let’s actually try to get through this, shall we?

My name is – Actually, not important. 

I was bitten by a radioactive spider… But something tells me you already knew that. Wait, how many of these have you sat through? Holy shit– that many?!

But can any of those guys say they’ve been through space and time, universe after universe, only to get stranded in a total vacuum void? 

You try to bang your head in exasperation but with nothing to cushion you, you end up pulling enough full-body revolutions to make an Olympic acrobat jealous.

Cut to a stretch of groaning that follows you around like a white flag.

Because it sure as hell feels like it’s high time to give up. He always did say you never knew when to quit. You didn’t see it as a bad thing then but now… With a little zero-gravity perspective… 

No, no, no– the last thing you want is to give him the satisfaction of being right.

This phase comes and goes. You call it the I-can’t-not-hate-you-you-sent-me-here-in-the-first-place stage. 

Grief is fluid, okay?

You despise it all the same. Because when you’re like this, all you can think about is him. Him and the last time you looked into those jaded crimson eyes. 

There’s the silver lining you were looking for when it comes to your multiverse communicator finally giving out.

At least you never have to see how heartbroken he looked ever again, perfectly recreated pixel-by-fucking-pixel.

Now if only your actual memory would degrade the same way.

Because you still see it when you close your eyes, you see it all. The strike of terror flashing like lightning in the reflection of his dilated pupils, having come as a harbinger of a terrible, terrible, irreversible decision. The taut coiling of the fists he keeps at his sides, his claws coming in– not because he can’t help it but because he feels he deserves it. 

“Miguel !!!! What the fuck?! How could you do this to me!?” You wail, lungs rotted with rage as you punch haplessly against the cocoon swiftly crystalizing around you. Panicked and like a caged animal, your eyes frantically scour the ceiling for an escape but you can only see your wild desperation repeated back to you in the many rubied eyes of the Going-Home-Machine.

I knew that was a stupid fucking name for you.

You never thought you would be on the other end of this wretched thing, be the little fly caught in its web and when you look at Miguel, eyes wrought with a pain too much for even Spider-Woman to bear, you look pitiful like prey too. Your chest spasms with a choked, “I…” Your fists, weak with emotion, unfurl and give way to open palms. Your breath ragged, when you pick your head back up at Miguel you let him have it.

“I loved you.” You say it with canines bared with poisoned malice, rage finally boiling over into heated rivets of tears down your cheeks. 

And Miguel, he’s never looked more destroyed. 

You swallow a sob, gulping so hard it rocks your chest. Your bottom lip warbles. You’re not good at this tough guy routine.

You never were.

“You can’t let it get to you.” Miguel’s voice, direct and to the point, precedes him in echoes as he makes his way to the high corner you’ve wedged yourself in.

Angling your body away from him, you avoid your superior’s gaze. Superior, because right now he’s not your boyfriend. He’s your commander. 

“You’re terrible at comforting, has anyone ever told you that?” You call back, deadpan tone as good a deterrent as any. You sniffle, your throat clenching when you try to stuff the remainder of your cries down. When you finally wad up all your feelings for later, you turn back to face him with a mock look of happiness on your mask. “Who said I’m letting it get to me? I’m not letting it get to me. Sounds like you’re projecting.”

And because he’s your boss right now, not your lover, he sighs in frustration. “Mierda... I’m trying to help you.” He says with two fingers pinching the skin between his knitted brows after his headgear dematerializes. “You’re going to get burnt out at this rate. You know we can’t save them all. We’ve been through this.” 

Your body coils into itself, trying to self soothe but it’s not working. Miguel’s voice starts to fade into the background, the cacophony of architecture collapsing and screaming, my god the screaming, overtaking your everything just then. 

“You need to get past this–”

“Fucking hell, Miguel– Could you stop acting like my boss for one fucking minute and just be my boyfriend?!” There’s no denying how savagely ragged the last mission made you now that you’ve ripped your mask off. Your eyes are red and puffy, swollen from the tears you thought were safe to shed. Your lips are littered with little slivers of cuts from biting down too hard when you first tried to keep the devastation from bubbling up to the surface. 

His body stills, as does yours.

You’d never seen Miguel cry. Not until that day.

It wasn’t bawling. It wasn’t even whimpering. It was a single drop that ran down one cheek, you saw it for a fleeting second before he rushed over to hug you, his hulking body cradling yours in what you thought was love.

But you’ve realized since then that it wasn’t out of love. It was out of grief. Grief because he had to let you go. You weren’t strong enough for this.

And he wasn’t strong enough to watch you go through it again.

Or so he thought. But no, true agony was watching you now, jailed in a prison of his making. 

True agony would be spending a lifetime away from you.

“Stop the machine!” Miguel’s order rasps in his throat, a prominent vein down its column bulging and only worsening when Margo doesn’t move as fast as he would like. Frustrated and scared, Miguel rushes to the maze of computer mainframes, his hands a blur as he hopes just one, any one will abort a process already…

94% of the way in.

“Miguel!” Margo’s voice finally comes into focus, “Miguel, you have to stop– the machine–”

“You can either help me or get out of the way.” 

Margo stops but that isn’t good enough either.

Big hands, far too roughly, grab at her shoulders and toss her aside in a frenzy. He can fix this. He can. 

“Miguel!” 

Even the whites in his eyes are splotched red when he turns back to you but finds you weren’t even looking at him.

Your face to face with a machine on the fritz, the massive technological arachnid drawing too many strands from too many places, mixing timelines to override another– corrupting the chrysalis it had nearly finished making.

“I can fix this, Miguel but you have to– Miguel, stop!” Margo’s screams are devastating, shrill and choked as she tries to remedy the situation but her fingers go limp. Limp because she knows. 

There’s no fixing this.

The spider’s arms start jerking sporadically, its long limbs with metal claws ripping the timelines it just crossed. The connected strands start to glitch, the bot’s failsafe commands trying to pull through but it can’t fix what it can’t stop.

You watch in horror, too scared to move much less breathe, as the glowing lines stretch and tear, their dimensions ultimately being warped by…

A black hole.

“Miguel, wait–”

Your hand instinctively reaches out, memories of all the times he’s caught you just like this flashing in your mind like a flipbook animation. Only, he can’t save you this time. 

No one can.

Thaaaaattt’s enough emo for one day, I think.

You tuck your knees in, slowly folding into yourself as your spin cycle finally comes to an end. Your chest is wound up tight, your heart drumming so loud you feel it in your eardrums. You just want this to end.

A sob creeps up the column of your throat, your eyes already seared red with the tears you refuse to cry. In a rush of emotions, far too many for you to isolate, you rip off the communicator band around your wrist and send it flying to nowhere.

At least, that’s what should have happened.

Instead, your accessory’s open-ended trajectory, well–

Meets an end.

A black hole appears from what looks like a ripped stitch, its growth unstable and its edges weathered. You have to investigate, it’s the first anomaly you’ve seen in this vapid world and possibly your only way back home.

Home. 

You imagine Miguel.

So you dive, not knowing where this will take you but…

The bad thing’s already happened. How much worse can it get?

[crappymixtape]

love will keep us alive

BONUS V2 OF A REQUEST → ❝ angst prompt: “do you regret it?” this has been sitting in my drafts for LITERAL MONTHS and i just need to set it freeeee | ( 1.3k – a sprinkle of angst, a sprinkle of fluff, all the feelings, established relationship, eddie x reader )

L O V E W I L L K E E P U S A L I V E 🎶 love you, flowerovlove

You knew money was always a dealbreaker for relationships. You watched it happen with your own parents. Watched them go through it all and in the end get divorced because your dad spent too much money and your mom couldn’t handle it. You promised yourself you wouldn’t get into the same situation, not with Eddie, but here you were.

Paying for rent and utilities had been fine, you put a little gas in the car when you could, and you were even able to buy a six pack of beer every now and then, but somehow this month you were short. Somehow the water bill came and there wasn’t enough.

The statement came in the mail with big red letters stamped across the front, OVERDUE, but Eddie waved you off.

Don’t we have it on autopay, babe? Must be a mistake.

So you left it alone, but when you woke up in the morning to take a shower before work? Nothing came out of the shower head.

Towel tucked under your arms you stormed out into the living room, cold and angry, to find Eddie posted up on the couch. So casual. Reading a Thrasher magazine with the TV on in the background.

“So. The water’s off,” your tone was short, clipped and sharp enough to pull Eddie’s attention away from the magazine. Brows pinching together in confusion as he swung his legs off the couch to look at you properly.

“Huh? Sweetheart, what d’you mean off?“ he asked, looked up at you with those big brown eyes and you bit your lips in to try and stop yourself from raising your voice.

“The water is off, as in the water company turned it off,” you said again, frustration swelling in your chest, “I thought you said it was on autopay?”

“Well, yeah,” he started off confidently, so sure. “We set that up when we moved in and put it in your name and–” but he drifted off at the end of his sentence and his cheeks grew warm. Hot and embarrassed and he buried his face in his hands with a groan.

You’d split the utilities up when you two moved in together, especially since you had separate bank accounts, and as Eddie ticked them off in his head – internet, garbage, phone – he realized the water wasn’t under your name. It was under his. And this month had been tight.

Working at the bar was decent most of the time. Tips were good and Eddie’s regulars took care of him, but lately? It has been really slow. Slower than usual and it was hard for Eddie to remember to save during times like that.

No grabbing coffee on his way out in the morning. No beers with Steve after he got done at family video. No buying the kids new dice or a playbook for Hellfire, but he always got caught up in the moment and shit. This time he’d lost track.

“I’m so sorry babe,“ his voice was muffled as he spoke into his hands, tentatively lifting his head to look at you, “Can we maybe cover it from your account this month?“

You felt your cheeks grow hot, heat spreading from your chest across your neck and up to your ears. Your lips twisted with a frown, a deep scowl, so damn frustrated and tired of looking at your bank account and seeing five dollars left.

“No! We can’t! There’s no money there either,” you sighed, emotions starting to get the better of you as your throat grew tight and it just felt so off.

You were standing in the living room with nothing but a towel on. Any other time Eddie would’ve been on you in a second. Wrapping his arms around you and pulling you down into his lap. Pressing his lips to your neck, your collarbone and the curves of your hips, but instead you were arguing.

Eddie felt his chest squeeze with guilt, with the weight of all this stupid responsibility and the fact that it was all his fault. He was your boyfriend! He was supposed to take care of you! You were in this together and yet he wasn’t holding up his side of the deal and you were so upset and late for work and fighting and–

He swallowed thick, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, chewed his bottom lip between his teeth and held his breath.

“D’you regret it?” he asked, deep, brown eyes, flicking up to meet your own so hurt and sad, so fucking sorry.

Your stomach twisted. Flipped over with his question and your expression softened, “Regret it?“

“Yeah. Do you regret me?“

And with those four little words you felt your anger start to ebb.

Yeah. You were standing in your living room with just a towel on. No running water. Late for work and five dollars in your bank account, but the way he was looking at you made you hesitate. Had you sounded like you were done? Done enough that he thought you didn’t want to be with him anymore? And that’s when something in you shifted.

Your parents weren’t good for each other and your dad spent too much money and it made your mom so angry, but that wasn’t the only thing.

He didn’t listen to her.

Didn’t stay up late when she was worried and couldn’t sleep.

Didn’t run out to get a box of tampons when she got her period.

Didn’t ask her about her day and didn’t rub her feet and didn’t surprise her with pizza after a shitty day at work.

Didn’t tell her how much he loved her every single day. Didn’t kiss her once as he went out the door and again when he came back in to say how much he already missed her.

Eddie loved you, and yeah you were short on money, but you weren’t short on love. And at the end of the day? Even though love didn’t pay the bills, it sure as hell would help you figure it out. Because while money came and went, this kind of love didn’t.

Crossing the room still in your towel, you sat down next to Eddie on the couch. Took his hand in yours and held it tightly in your lap. “Eddie,” you said softly, taking his chin in your free hand and tilting it up so you could see him. “I would never regret this,” you said, hoping he understood just how serious you were. Hoping you heard every word you said, knowing that you meant it. “I just wish I could take a shower,“ you half-joked and he snorted, but then dropped his gaze back down to your hands.

God, the guilt was heavy.

“I’m really fucking sorry, babe.”

“S’okay,” you smiled, pressed a hand to his cheek and pulled his eyes back up to meet yours. “You just can’t buy the kids any more dice and you definitely don’t need any more manuals for hellfire. And maybe you can start learning how to brew your own beer?“ your tone teased him at the end and it pulled a little laugh out of him. “We’ll figure it out, right?”

“Yeah. I can pick up extra shifts at the bar and I’ll start putting my tips in a jar under the bed. A little savings in case the water gets turned off again,” he gave you a half-grimace, half-smile, “Too soon?”

“Too soon.”

“Sorry–listen–I’m part of this relationship too and I just wanna take care of you, honey,” and the way he was looking at you told you he couldn’t have been more serious.

“You always take care of me,“ you said leaning into him, resting your forehead against his and those unruly curls, “And I don’t regret it, Eds. Not even a little bit. “

And then Eddie closed the gap between you. Pressed his lips soft to yours in a quiet promise. Felt something plant itself in his chest and start to bloom and in that moment he knew he wanted to grow and not stay stagnant.

“I love you, sweetheart. I love you so damn much."

crappymixtape™ • eddie munson masterlist // stranger things masterlist

[marvelobsessed134]

hii, how are you? can i request nikki sixx x fem reader as highschool lovers? like, him being completely and madly in love with her? have a good day:))

I’m only me when I’m with you

I thought this song fit perfectly with the high school vibes.

Requested: By anon

Pairings: Nikki Sixx x Reader

A/n: Heavy AU. This is not accurate to Nikki’s actual high school experience.

Warnings: Just a little bit of making out

Summary: You and Nikki are 17 and madly in love.

To say you and Nikki Sixx were in love is an understatement. No, you two are madly in love. You really only spend time with each other, despite having other people to hang with.

You’re known as the couple whose always together at school, and outside of school as well. And you being the prettiest girl in school and him being one of the most handsome boys in school, people always cast envious glances your way. But you don’t care, because you have each other.

Nikki changed his name to Nikki Sixx not too long after he turned 18, said it was more rockstar like and would separate him from his abusive mother. Which makes total sense and honestly, you like the name Nikki a lot better. It suits him so well. He’s also grown out his hair and dyed it black, which makes him go from just cute and attractive to hot. The two of you have been friends since middle school and got together sophomore year of high school.

You opened your locker to get your books out for your next class when it was slammed shut. You jumped but looked to see your boyfriend leaning against the locker next to yours. You blushed and laughed, “Nikki!” You playfully squealed, “I need to get my books.”

The bassist leaned in to kiss you, and you of course kissed him back. Once the two of you pulled away, he said, “You won’t need them because we’re not going to class.”

“But baby! I skipped yesterday and the day before, my moms gonna kill me if she finds out.” You chuckled.

Nikki brushed a strand of hair behind your ear and caressed your cheek, gripping your chin to meet his eyes.

“Come on, just one more time?” And how could you say no to that face.

You sighed, your shoulders sagging in defeat, “Okay, one last time.”

~Time Skip~

You giggled as he pushed you against the wall of the empty locker room. This one was unused, so there’s no way you two could get caught.

He kissed you passionately on the lips and you moaned into his mouth as he kissed you back. Fisting and pulling at each others clothes, you cheeks became flushed and your knees were giving out. Noticing this, Nikki picked you up, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist. He pushed you back further against the wall, kissing your jaw and neck. It was getting heated, however the two of you would never have sex in school, that was a no-go. Your mom would kill you if she found out her precious daughter was having sex with a rockstar at school. She didn’t know your relationship existed, and you’d like to keep it that way. All she knows is the two of you are friends. And she trusts you enough not to do anything more with him.

Oops…

The two of you pulled away, breathless, staring into each others lust blown eyes. Your boyfriend placed you back down. And just in time, the bell rang. “Saved by the bell, sweetheart.” He smirked and you laughed fixing the buttons on your shirt and smoothing out your skirt. You also fixed your lipstick real quick before letting Nikki walk you out of the locker room. You walked through the empty halls until you made your way to your classroom. You kissed him goodbye before walking in class with a stupid smile on your face.

[timespaceandfilm]

Reinventing the Wheel - Ch 15: Metamagic

Author: timespaceandfilm

Fic Rating: E - this fic gets NSFW in later chapters, 18+ only

Chapter Rating: E

Pairings: Sebastian x Female Farmer

Chapter Word Count: 7k

Chapter Warnings: Neck kisses, Masturbation

Chapter Summary: Sam, Seb, and Charlie play some tabletop RPG. Seb is still a tease. Charlie takes matters into her own hands.

Blurb:

Sam leaves soon after, grumbling about Jodi’s stupid curfew. I stay behind to help Seb clean up.

“You did really well by the way.” Seb looks at me, arms folded and a smile on his face.

I shrug, feeling the flush come to my cheeks. “I guess so. There's still a lot I don't know or need to relearn. It's been awhile.” I stand once I finish placing the minis in their respective slots and put the lid on the box. 

I gasp as Seb wraps me in a hug from behind, his breath hot against my ear. “Don't sell yourself short darling. You clearly know your stuff and you make smart moves.” I shiver as his voice shifts to sound more like his Xarth impression. “It's kind of hot.”

“Yoba, Seb!” I pant. How do we keep ending up here? I wiggle in his grip a little. “What is with you lately?”

“Whatever do you mean?” He asks coyly. His grip on me loosens a little, but his head stays where it's stationed next to mine.

“You know what I mean.” I turn around in his arms. Big mistake. Now I'm looking right into his eyes as they shine with mischief. “The teasing, the uh, physical stuff. You're acting like we're dating already.” I pout.

“Hmm. So you want me to stop?” Seb's voice keeps that deep tone to it. He moves both his hands to my shoulders.

“I-I dunno. I mean it just feels like maybe it might get confusing.”

“For who? Because honestly Charlie, if we were dating I wouldn't be doing this right now.”

“You wouldn't?” My voice becomes a whisper as I watch his pupils blow wide.

Seb shakes his head slowly, that pink tint slowly coming to his cheeks. “Charlie, if we had our shit figured out and I thought you'd let me? I'd have you up against a wall right now.” There's that almost growl I heard yesterday. Fangirl bot grabs a pitchfork and a torch, setting a searing heat alight below my belly. 

“Fuck.” I whisper. Seb's grip on my shoulders tighten. “Well if that were the case.” I look right up into his eyes. “I'd probably let you.”

I watch as he drifts closer, closer. His eyelashes flutter. I smirk and pull away. Seb lets out a frustrated groan as I begin packing my stuff to leave.

“Gods Charlie. Why do we keep doing this to ourselves?” He scratches the back of his neck as he watches me.

“Hmm. Good question.” I sling my bag over my shoulder. “Maybe because we like it?” I smirk and wiggle my eyebrows, doing my best to mimic that stupid Seb face he always does.

Seb chuckles and draws closer to hug me goodbye. “Hmm you might have a point.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders and once again murmurs into my ear. “So if I keep doing this?”

My eyes flutter closed. The hand I have placed against his torso clenches around his T-shirt. Fangirl bot continues her riot in my abdomen and grabs for the mic before any other part of me can stop her.

“I'm not going to stop you.” I sigh, then shake my head to regain some control over the rampaging bot. “As long as it doesn't get out of hand,” I add on.

If I'm being honest with myself, I am enjoying the extra physical affection. Some of it maybe a little too much.

As if to prove my point, Seb mutters, “Of course,” and lands a peck right between my ear and the hinge of my jaw.

I slap my free hand over my mouth as an actual goddamn whimper tries to escape. It's all in vain apparently as Seb chuckles menacingly at my reaction. My face is on fire and so is the area between my legs.

“Okay!” I push his face away and he lets out a giggle. “That!” My index finger is right in his face. “That is boyfriend behavior!” I struggle to keep a straight face as he grins like an idiot. “Don't forget I'm your mom's favorite client asshole!”

“Alright, alright!” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I'm sorry. Boundary noted. No neck kisses.”

Read the Full Chapter on AO3

[surveysand]

twenty-eight.

Things I Don’t Like 1. Cold weather. 2. People who think they’re better than everyone. 3. People who wear their retainers out in public. 4. When people say that hate someone who they’ve never even talked to. 5. Body hair.

6. Girls that are obsessed with Miley Cyrus and the Jonas Brothers. 7. Teachers that favor certain students. 8. People that only listen to one genre of music.  9. When someone buys something you have right after you get it. 10. When people match their shirts as the same color as their pants. 11. When I dye my hair and it doesn’t turn out like the color on the box. 12. People who make a huge deal about Xanga “jocking”, it’s just Xanga, get over it. 13. Ice cream. 14. When random guys from different countries add you on MySpace/Facebook and always try to talk to you. 15. Having the hiccups.

16. When my stomach growls when it’s completely silent. 17. When someone says they’ll call me back and they don’t. 18. Racist people.  19. When little 6th and 7th graders have Facebook/MySpace. 20. Rude people. 21. People who are smart but act dumb to get attention. 22. Yellow skinny jeans… they make you look like a banana. 23. When people try to shove their beliefs down my throat. 24. My hair in the morning. 25. People who don’t wear deodorant. 26. Broccoli. 27. People who lie about stupid things. 28. People who think they’re HILARIOUS but they’re really not. 29. Girls/guys who tell their boyfriends/girlfriends they love them after going out for like a week. 30. Hypocrites. 31. When people constantly use “lol”. 32. When someone says they’re going to pay me back but never do. 33. Bugs. 34. Going out in public without makeup on. 35. Skinny girls that complain about being fat. 36. Not being able to get alcohol. 37. When people walk into my room without knocking. 38. When I’m taking a shower and the hot water runs out. 39. Not having my license. 40. Knees. 41. When I feel hungry but nothing sounds good. 42. When people try to tell me what to do. 43. Radio stations that play the same songs over and over 44. The smell of fresh cut grass. 45. How everyone is obsessed with Twilight. 46. Chainletters. 47. PEOPLE WHO TYPE LiKE THiS. 48. Surveys that ask what my favorite color is. 49. When people type words like cool and can with k’s. 50. When the wind messes up my hair. 51. Funerals. 52. When people take out their feelings on me. 53. My eyes. 54. The taste of food that’s been re-heated in the microwave. 55. Tinfoil. 56. Slow drivers. 57. People who fake drunk. 58. When I have a phrase/word I always say and everyone else starts saying it. 59. People who can’t take a joke. 60. Lemon flavored things. 61. Humidity. 62. Fat chicks that think they’re hot shit. (surveys& addition: wtf? who made this shit?) 63. When someone tries to add you on facebook/myspace and you reject them and they keep trying to add you. 64. Not having anything to wear. 65. People with bad teeth. 66. Feeling dirty. 67. When people flip their eyelids inside out. 68. The sound of knucks/back/necks/etc. cracking. 69. People who think the number 69 is funny. 70. Guys with longer hair than mine. 71. The fact that my mom favors my brother sister and she makes it obvious too. 72. People that could be pretty but don’t try. 73. When people can’t spell simple words right. 74. People who can’t take a hint. 75. When someone thinks they can sing but they really can’t. 76. How everyone is obsessed with the show American Idol. 78. …And Gossip Girl. 79. …And The Hills. 80. When people underestimate me. 81. People who pretend they smoke to be cool and make it obvious that they really don’t smoke because they don’t inhale. 82. Nosy people. 83. The fact that I’m extremely impatient. 84. Show-offs. 85. When I spend all money on food and then when I really want/need something I won’t have any money. 86. Remixes. 87. When my nail polish starts chipping off and I’m too lazy to fix it. 88. Having a bunch of pennies. 89. When people don’t put the cap back on the toothpaste. 90. Cleaning up other people’s messes. 91. Dress codes. 92. Closed-minded people. 93. That I have to wait till I’m 18 to get a tattoo. 94. Online dating. 95. The fact that my room can’t stay clean for over a week. 96. Bratty little kids. 97. Having to wake up early. 98. When people come in the bathroom when I’m taking a shower. 99. Know-it-alls. 100. Wet socks.

[jessie-writes-things]

untitled bullshittery

Started getting ready for work. Had a breakdown. Wrote this intead.

Don't have any expectations.

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy and abortion (no actual abortions happen, just Adrian is a compulsive lier).

‘Your boyfriend’s cheating on you.’

Everything stopped.

Hand gripped tightly around the water jug, you slowly turned to Danny, trying to keep your face neutral like you had no idea what he was on about.

He shouldn’t know about Adrian, let alone if he was cheating on you.

As if he would ever cheat on you. ‘What?’

‘Chase.’ Dan grabbed another bin bag. He couldn’t sound less interested in the conversation if he tried. ‘Saw him dancing outside. He boasted about how him and his girlfriend are having an abortion. Thought you should know before word spreads.’

‘Adrian? I’m not…We’re not-‘

‘I saw two of you kissing by his car earlier.’ Something close to realisation took over his face. He turned to you, slowly, eyes wide. ‘Shit, unless-‘

But you were already off, storming through the kitchen towards the fire exit at the back. ‘Never getting pregnant, dickhead.’

Adrian was still in the bin alley, fists punching the air with swinging hips. You waited for him to notice you leaning against the door but it quickly became clear that was never gonna happen.

‘Secret’s out.’

He whipped around to face you, not knowing whether he should smile or be confused. ‘What secret? Shit, did someone find out I’m Vigilante?’

‘What?’

A pause, and then. ‘What?’

‘You’re Vigilante?’

‘No.’

Now that you thought about it, and really you didn’t need to think that deeply, it made sense. All the late nights out. How he’d cancel dates out of the blue. The random bruises that apparently came from his mom’s dog when he was walking it. Why he was oddly fit for a nerd that only wanted to play DnD and Skyrim in his spare time.

Really, you were stupid not to see it. ‘Guess that actually makes a lot of sense.’

‘No. No it doesn’t.’

‘The two of you have the same voice.’  In any other circumstance, you wouldn’t laugh at the panic on his face. But honestly, with him and Dan nearly giving you a heart attack two minutes ago, you think you deserved a little fun. ‘And you both do that cute head tilt thing.’

As if to prove a point, Adrian swept his head to the right, a cheeky smile erasing any panic left. ‘You think I’m cute?’

Well, duh? Who wouldn’t find this fucker cute?

But that was a distraction for another time.

‘Be cuter if the whole kitchen didn’t think I was getting an abortion.’ You shot back, batting away his advances as he tried to grab your waist and pull you closer. Even then you couldn’t stay mad, your own laugh peaking through the fake scowl.

‘Technically, I didn’t say it was you.’

‘They all know we’re dating. Dan saw you groping my ass in the carpark before your shift.’

‘Damn, and I thought I was being sneaky.’ This time you let Adrian at you, large hands firmly pressed into your back so your front pressed against his. You wrapped your arms around his neck before you could fully crash into him. The stupid cap seriously was a crime hiding his fluffy curls from your wanting fingers. ‘Does that mean I can kiss you at work now?’

The fuckers had planned it, you swear. Something loud and metallic went crashing inside the kitchen followed by a chorus of groans and colourful swears. ‘No, I’m meant to be your manager. I’d get us both fired.’

It was like he put himself in some kind of daze, pressing his goofed up smile to your lips and making you laugh into the half-kiss he was attempting. ‘I’d let you manage me any day.’

‘What the fuck does that even mean?’

‘I don’t know. It sounded better in my head.’

Footsteps drew closer with yells of your name echoing through the chaos inside. Dan popped his head around the corner, eyed the two of you frozen like a deer in headlights, groaned, then promptly dipped back inside.

You knew Adrian wouldn’t feel embarrassed because apparently the guy didn’t have emotions like other people, but you could already feel a suns worth of heat soring through your blood.

‘I need to go sort out whatever they fucked up.’ Though you weren’t ready for the multitude of heckling about to come your way, you peeled yourself away from Adrian to drag yourself back into the hell hole that was work. ‘We need to talk about the whole Vigilante thing tonight.’

‘I’m not-‘

You rolled your eyes, honestly not believing he was still trying to pull the wool over your eyes. ‘Stop fucking lying, Chase.’

[rafescoke]

New Girl ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Just as Rafe thought his life couldn’t get any worse, a new girl moved into town. 

Warnings: Straight smut! Mentions of trauma, extreme love-hate relationship, fluff

A/N: thank you so much for 600+ followers wtf ily <33

p.s; you know the drill. . . send requests!

One thing that Rafe was sure of; he was no tour guide, or anything of the sort.

Sure, he got himself into trouble; vandalising the principal’s office and destroying school’s properties, but that was it. He didn’t try to include the part where he goes to parties to get high and wake up the next evening with a painful headache, that was more to his personal life and he believed no one in the education system could have the advantage to be mad at him for it. 

“I simply just won’t do it,” Rafe shrugged, sighing against the chair. “Look, why don’t you ask Topper to help this new kid? He��s good in class.” 

“You answered yourself, Mr. Cameron,” the counsellor sighed, placing a file on top of the table lightly. “He’s good at school work, and you’re not. That’s why we’re going with you.” 

So that was the core reason as to why Rafe was waiting impatiently for the arrival of the new student, whom he didn’t even care about to know the gender. All he wanted was to sit at the back of the school and light some joints. 

“Mr. Cameron, this is Ms. (Y/L/N).” 

Rafe took a look at her. He bit the insides of his cheeks, thinking how she didn’t even make an effort to dress properly for her first day in a new schoolz 

An oversized tee and denim shorts. Really? 

“Hi,” she smiled, extending her hands. “I’m (Y/N).” 

“Rafe,” was all he said, before handing her her timetable for the semester. 

She scanned the paper, nodding slightly and pointed at a word. When she realised how Rafe wasn’t listening, she cleared her throat. 

“What?”

“I got Biology with Mr Garcia. Where’s Room 3?” 

Rafe scooted closer next to her, and the smell of strawberry cheesecake wafted into his nostrils. He took a step back, seething. 

Who would even wear a cakey perfume? 

“Uh, that’s like, at the end of the hall?” He answered, but it was more like a question. He looked at the direction he was noting, and nodded again. “Definitely the one at the end of the hall.” 

“You really don’t care, do you?” She asked, crossing her arms. “Where’s my locker?” 

Rafe took another look at her timetable, searching for her locker number. 

372. 

He turned to look at his own locker, finding the number, and letting out an ‘oh’. “Yours just 4 lockers away from mine.” 

“Thanks.” She muttered, and Rafe sighed before fixing the left side of his bag strap dangling from his left shoulder. “Is that it? Can I go?” 

“Not so fast, Rafe,” the counsellor sighed, stopping him by his chest. “You’re supposed to stay with her for the week. Help her get around. And you’re supposed to show her around the school compound now.” 

Rafe looked up to the counsellor with a pained expression and then back to (Y/N), his chest heavy. “Fine. Let’s go. What do you call yourself again?” 

Right before lunch, Rafe stayed over in his class for a few minutes before going out to the hall. He didn’t want to see the new girl, and he didn’t feel like being her assistant anymore. 

But the world wasn’t that fair. 

(Y/N) grinned, walking towards him. “Can you show me the cafeteria?”

“How do you even know my class?” He muttered, keeping a distance between them. The last thing he ever wanted was to let the news of him being with the new girls circulating around the school, or worse, the whole island. 

“My class is directly in front of yours. We parted just now.” 

Of course she would remember that. 

. . . 

A week went by quickly, and before Rafe would know it, he didn’t see (Y/N) anymore, and he was content with it. 

Until her family decided to become neighbours with his. 

“What do you mean the (Y/L/N) bought the house next to us?” He groaned, watching as Rose and Ward prepared to greet themselves to the new family.

The last thing he wanted was to show her around the fucking island like he was some kind of a hotel worker. 

She was in a yellow sundress, and Rafe couldn’t help but notice the way her (H/C) glowed under the sunlight. She looked similar to her mother, both bringing pastries as a way to introduce themselves. 

“Hi, we just moved next door,” Mrs (Y/L/N) said, showing the Camerons her pearly white teeth. Rafe wondered if she ever got them done, because it’s not possible for a human to have such white assets. 

“Hi, welcome to Obx,” Ward gushed, accepting the pastries happily. “Rafe, take the other cake.” 

(Y/N) looked up at the sound of his name, and to Rafe’s amusement, began gritting her teeth. He took the cake with a smirk, happy that he got her all worked up. 

He would definitely have the best time of his life taunting the shit out of this girl. 

. . .

“Hey, wanna ride a boat?” 

“Topper, leave her alone,” Rafe sighed, fixing his cap so it was facing backwards. “She’s not interested.” 

(Y/N) perked up at this invitation, never actually riding a boat alone if it wasn’t during a holiday since she was originally from the city. She walked towards her neighbour’s deck, her skin illuminating the golden sunrays. 

“Sure.” 

Rafe mentally groaned, having to deal with the girl now, but he wasn’t sure if he was angry or jealous. It wasn’t him to be jealous easily, but after a week of becoming her tour guide, he guessed he deserves some kind of a credit from her. Topper didn’t do anything, but she was gladly accepting his invitation. 

Their usual stroll along the stream of the island was not like usual, since the air was now filled with the annoying chatter between (Y/N) and Topper. Rafe could never relate with them, only wanting to relax his mind and sleep it off. 

“So you’re a city girl? That’s great!” 

“Sure Tops,” Rafe wondered, smiling delightly. Anything to get into a girl’s pants. . . 

“You know what, (Y/N)?” He called from the place he was resting, and he waited a few seconds before continuing his speech. “If you’re looking for a boyfriend, Topper’s not the guy. He hasn’t moved on from his ex-girlfriend.” 

Sure, he would get a lot of shit from Topper for saying that, but he was done with the pointless flirting between them. 

“What about you?” 

Rafe opened his eyes, watching her from behind his sunglasses. He shifted his position, “What about me?” 

“Have you moved on from your ex-girlfriend?” 

Has he moved on from Kie? He wasn’t entirely sure. Their relationship was brief, but she was all Rafe had. When she decided to go all full-pogue, he knew there was nothing left of them. 

“I don’t date.” 

“I can see why,” she said, and Rafe swore he heard some kind of mirth behind her tone. 

“Have you?” 

“Moved on from an ex?” 

Rafe nodded, opening his eyes slightly. 

“I guess.” 

“Good for him.” 

“Excuse me?” She gasped, pushing him lightly. “You’re an asshole.” 

She leaned closer onto him, and for a second Rafe thought about letting her in his bubble, but he quickly shoved her away. “Watch it.” 

“I’m just trying to tell you about that fucking fly on your face.” 

“Yeah? Liar.” 

(Y/N) huffed, stomping back to Topper, and Rafe laughed silently. 

1-0.

. . .

Fuck. 

If he would’ve known about the police raid in Topper’s party, he wouldn’t have come to his house at all. But here he was; all pushed up against the metal chair of the police station, his hair messy and his eyes bloodshot. 

“We’re taking a urine test, son,” Shoupe said, sighing. “There’s always something wrong with you.”

Rafe thought about (Y/N) suddenly, and how she was probably back home and watching some kind of a rom-com. That’s totally her; all cuddled up with a pink teddy bear probably named ‘Bear-bear’, constantly wiping the tears off her face over the sad breakup scene of a movie. 

Rafe was forced to strip out of his shirt and jeans before entering the small cubicle, and having to go through this same procedure for quite a few times now, he didn’t mind giving a show to the workers. 

He quickly zipped his jeans bag, handing a female worker a cup filled to the end with his urine. He yawned, already knowing the results, so there was no use being nervous about it. 

He was picked up by an angry Ward an hour later. He groaned, getting in the car to prepare himself for the same lecture about his future and how he shouldn’t jeopardise it, but he was shocked when Ward didn’t utter a word at all. 

It was very uncomfortable, but he guessed he was just tired. 

“Good morning.” 

Rafe rubbed his eyes against the bright sunlight, feeling the pain from his head slowly soaring throughout his body. He squinted his eyes at the figure in front of him again, trying to blink the blurriness away. 

“What the fuck?” 

“Your mom told me to call for you,” (Y/N) said, looking away from him. Rafe looked down to his body, seeing his shirtless self, and laughed.

Of fucking course she would be uncomfortable with him being shirtless. 

“She’s not my mom,” he grunted, removing the covers off of him and checking his phone for the time. 

12.43p.m. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, and his eyes turned to her again. “What are you doing here again? Leave.” 

“Waiting for you.” 

“I’ll be downstairs in a few seconds,” he muttered. He didn’t need her to be some kind of maid for him. 

(Y/N) muttered some curse word, hoping that riled him up, but she would be stupid if she thought a random curse word would make him Rafe Cameron angry.

It would take a lot more to raise an expression from Rafe Cameron, and a curse word definitely wouldn’t. 

. . . 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

His boat was not working, but he had just filled her up the night before. This was the newest model too, and he couldn’t afford asking Ward to fix his boat again. Not when he was caught with being on drugs from his urine test last week, and the only reason he got out of the trouble was because of Ward again. 

“Is it not working, Rafey?” 

Rafe looked up to the sound. (Y/N) was watching him with a sly grin, shielding her eyes with her hands from the sun like she was some goddamn queen that would melt from the heat. 

“What did you do to my boat?” He groaned, trying to turn the ignition again. 

“What did I do? Come on, why do you always think so bad of me? That’s kinda ru—”

Before she could continue her taunt, Rafe climbed the deck, inching closer towards her and smeling that goddamn cake smell again. 

Hell, he’ll buy her a new perfume to stop breathing in that fucking smell. 

“That’s kinda what?” He whispered. He was so close to her now, and he could hear her breath hitching. He smirked, his heart soaring. 

“You’re kinda dumb for a kook, Rafe,” she sighed. She dangled a familiar key in front of him, and when Rafe took a closer look, he noticed it was the key to his boat. 

She threw the key into the water and Rafe watched it plopped, moving straight towards the deep end. His eyes flared at her again, his chest heaving. 

“Hope you have a spare key.” 

1-1. 

. . .

That should be good, he guessed, for being in a tie with (Y/N). But he doesn’t like someone being in the same league as him, so it must be 2-1. 

And the 2 from him. 

But that was for another day, because Kiara Carrera was in front of him. He fixed his cap so it was facing backwards again, and then putting his hands into his pockets for good measure. 

“Hey,” he greeted her. She smiled at him grimly before looking back at the menu, clearly uninterested. “How’re you?” 

“I’m. . . great,” she breathed. “Why?” 

“Just asking,” he shrugged, “Do you wanna go out for some drinks sometimes? Like the old times?” 

Rafe curled his toes, waiting nervously. 

“Um, I have to check with my parents first,” she replied. “But, Rafe, you know, it’s been. . . a year.” 

“Of course,” he laughed, trying to hide the sudden emotion inside him. “I meant hanging out as a friend.” 

“Of course!” She suddenly exclaimed, “If you would bring (Y/N) with us.” 

“Oh, I don’t-”

“You don’t?” 

“I- fine. I’ll bring her with me. Is tomorrow okay?” He sighed, already foreseeing the future. 

And it’s full of shit. 

“Tomorrow.” 

. . .

“Wow, I am not going to third wheel you and someone, Rafe,” (Y/N) laughed, resting her back against her chair. 

“Please,” Rafe begged, sighing. He didn’t know how much begging he could do anymore, not when he had so many things to do. He took a deep breath again, “I’ll do anything for you back.” 

“Including hooking me up with JJ?” 

“Yes- no. No. What the fuck? Where did you even know this guy?” He expressed, his eyebrows furrowing. He was not going to let her a pull a Kie, though they weren’t dating. 

“He helps mower the lawn.” 

Of course. JJ Maybank would never pass the chance to get some money while checking out girls. 

“I’m not helping you to get together with JJ,” he sighed. “Can we go for a better option? Like Landon? He’s rich.” 

“I’m richer,” she yawned. “Okay. Fine. Topper.” 

“No,” he shook his head. “Not going to happen.” 

If she ever thought about him allowing her to date his best friend, she has to be a lot smarter than that. 

He didn’t know why he wouldn’t allow it. Maybe he was scared of Topper hurting her. 

Or maybe he just couldn’t imagine her with someone else.

“Then we have no deal,” she replied simply, gazing at her newly painted nails. She gazed at Rafe who seemed to be thinking hard from the top of her sunglasses. 

He groaned. “Fine. I’ll help you with Topper. But I’m warning you; he. Has. Not. Moved. On.” 

“Oh, he will.”

. . .

Kie was all up on Rafe.

He didn’t know what had gotten into her, because she was never this. . . strong-willed. 

Kie had her hands placed against Rafe’s chest, kissing him tenderly and sometimes running her fingers through his hair. 

Rafe sucked in a breath, watching as she part. Her mouth formed into a grin, and Rafe couldn’t help but grin back. 

“Wanna do it?” 

Did he? Of course he wanted to “do it”. He had been wanting to do so since forever. He would be crazy to say no to that invitation, and he was definitely sane. 

He looked at (Y/N), who was awkwardly perched up on the sofa, tucking her legs under her and watching some kind of a movie on her phone. Her eyes looked up to Rafe, and she quickly looked away. 

“In one of the rooms?” 

Kie seemed to look around the boat for a while, like he was looking for someone, but there were only two of them. And (Y/N). 

“Fine,” she huffed, and pulled him towards one of the rooms by his wrist. 

Kie pushed him onto the bed, and Rafe wondered how she got this side of her. Throughout their 6 months of dating, she never showed him this, so this was a bit of a shock to him. 

“Hey, hey,” Rafe gripped her wrists, holding her still. “We don’t have to rush.” 

“I want to,” she said, and leaned closer. “I thought you wanted this?” 

They began making out, his hand slipping down her back to grab her ass, only to be met with her vibrating phone in her back pocket. 

“I’ll get it,” he mumbled against the kiss, and pulled her phone out.

A picture of JJ Maybank’s smiling face right next to Kie greeted him, and his name was perched on top of the screen, signalling his call. 

Of course. She never wanted to fuck him. It was always to make someone jealous. That explained the gritted teeth Kie would make when he mentioned JJ earlier. 

He sighed, pushing her away so she ended up by his side. “I gotta go.” 

“Huh?” Kie sat up straight, looking from Rafe to her phone. She saw the caller, cleared her throat, and held up a finger to tell him to wait. 

He should’ve known. 

. . . 

Rafe never liked the annual Obx’s drive-in movie theatre, because he really didn’t get the hype of watching a mainstream movie that he had watched with Wheezie a lot of times before in his car. 

This year, it was way worse; they decided to have some kind of a horror themed drive-in movie theatre, and the best part of all; (Y/N) was going with Topper. 

Rafe groaned for the thousandth time at the rapping of a clown against his car window. He gave the clown his middle finger, telling him ‘watch it, you’re scratching my car’, and moving his attention back to the screen. 

Annabelle had disappeared from the room the two nurses had placed her in, and the volume quietened before booming again when the doll had appeared in the living room, perching on top of the sofa. 

He rolled his eyes, and took a look at (Y/N) and his best friend laying in the back part of his jeep from the rearview window. 

They were cuddling. 

“Fuck off,” he grunted, throwing his hands into the air. A human-sized Annabelle pulled on the shotgun’s door now, and Rafe gave the actor another middle finger before yelling a ‘fuck you’.

“This is ridiculous,” he said to no one in particular. He stepped out of the vehicle, knowing damn well he would be the target of the ghosts now, but he couldn’t care less. All he wanted was to step away from all of this and maybe refill his soda. 

He made his way to the back of the lot, getting his money out beforehand. Some type of a wannabe Michael Myers came up, to which he quickly put a hand up to stop him. 

“Don’t. I’m not in the mood.”

Michael Myers seemed to get him, because he left to scare someone else. 

“Refill,” he sighed, giving the worker his cup. “Coke.” 

“You mean like literal coke?” 

Rafe looked behind him, surprised to see a red-faced (Y/N) holding a popcorn bucket. He licked his teeth. “Why? Have you tried it before?” 

(Y/N) went up beside him, muttering about putting more caramel in her popcorn to the worker before looking at him. “You seem mad.” 

“I’m not.” 

“You are.” 

“That’s because you’re all up in my business,” he scoffed. He turned to look at his coke, but the worker was still filling the cup up. 

Good. Did the machine break or something? 

“Where’s the girlfriend?” She asked. She was clearly amused by his sudden tightness, but he quickly softened, as to not rile her up. 

“Where’s the fuckbud- I mean boyfriend? Sorry. It just slipped.” 

(Y/N) nodded, her mouth forming into a grin. “If you’re jealous, you can just say that.” 

“Wait, wait, of what, exactly?” 

She shrugged. 

“Yeah, exactly. No. For all I care, you guys can get married and move to fucking Antartica and have mini (Y/N)s and Christophers running around.” 

The worker placed the newly refilled coke and caramelised popcorn on the counter, and Rafe wondered why she would receive her food at the same time as his when had come here first.

He rolled his eyes, grabbing the drink and walking back towards the car. 

(Y/N) jogged to catch up with him, her popcorn bouncing against her chest. “You’re rude, do you know that?” 

“Jesus Christ, we’re still on this?” He mumbled. He was still walking, but he wanted her to catch up so he slowed down. He guessed it would be the perfect ending to his night to taunt her until she’s all worked up. 

“I just can’t think of a reason why you’re acting so fucking rude to me.” 

“Yeah? Think again.” Rafe sipped on his coke, feeling the carbonated drink sloshing down his throat. He felt content, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the coke or from the girl beside him. 

“This is—”

A nurse with a bloody front suddenly appeared before them, using some kind of a spray to maximise the size of the fire from a lighter. (Y/N) screamed, turning away from the heat, and Rafe quickly caught her before she could end up on the floor. 

“Fuck, fucking move,” he yelled to the nurse, who seemed to be satisfied with her work. Rafe turned to (Y/N), trying to check on her state. 

“Yo, yo, you good? Why are you shaking?” 

She was trembling really hard against him. She had her arms around Rafe’s neck, her popcorn splattered on the ground. She jolted when a scream came from the speaker. 

“Come on, let’s get you to the car,” he mumbled, helping her walk. She kept her face hidden in the crook of his neck, and Rafe had to try his best to balance both of the girl and the Coke in his hands back to the vehicle.

Topper was no longer in the back seat, perhaps looking for Sarah (Rafe wasn’t a bit surprised at this). He was glad his best friend wasn’t there, because the last thinf he needed was two people freaking out on him. 

“Okay, chill, I got you,” Rafe grunted, placing the Coke in the cup holder before seating the girl beside the driver’s seat. He sighed before climbing into the driver’s seat and locked the door in case some kind of a crazy maniac tried to freak her out again. 

“What’s wrong?” 

She didn’t answer, not that Rafe expected her to. She looked like she was reminded by some kind of memory, but Rafe didn’t want to dwell so much on it. 

If he could, he would reverse his car out of this lot back to their homes, but he was one of the first cars to arrive at the drive-in theatre, so it was impossible to get out. 

He sighed, placing his hands against his lap. “You can tell me, you know.” 

She finally looked up to him, and Rafe’s breath hitched from the sight of her red eyes. He softened. 

Whatever it was with that fire, it had triggered some kind of a memory in her. 

He placed a hand against her lap, but not moving so; just a splat of his hand against her soft skin. He had meant for that as comfort, but he realised how creepy the situation was. He pulled away, clearing his throat. 

So they stayed until the end of the movie, just the two of them, and Rafe was sure she wasn’t even watching the remaining parts of the movie. He pretended to watch, but he was really just staring at her the whole time. 

Will she ever let her hair down like this again? Because he liked it. 

When the movie ended and the cars were starting to move, Rafe slowly reversed the car so as to not shake her awake. But she was a light sleeper, and she woke up as soon as he hit the brakes. 

She rubbed her eyes, “Where are we going?” 

“Home,” he answered. “You’re okay?” 

She didn’t answer, and Rafe knew she wasn’t.

. . .

Two weeks after the incident, they never spoke of it again. 

Rafe tried to get an answer out, but to no avail. He didn’t get why he was trying his best to help her, because he, too, needed help. 

“Nah. I won’t invite her. If you want (Y/N) to come, then you’ll have to invite her yourself.” 

Wheezie’s shoulders slumped, “But you’re close to her!”

“I’m not, and she hates my guts,” Rafe replied honestly. Because that was the truth, right? She didn’t even want to tell him about why she was so scared of fire. 

“Invite me to what?” 

“(Y/N)!” Wheezie ran to hug her, to which (Y/N) laughed before patting her on the crown of her head. “Tell her, Rafe!” 

Is she fucking serious? 

“Tell me what?” (Y/N) looked up to Rafe strangely. 

“Wheezie wants to have a movie night, and she wants you to watch with us.” Rafe sighed, hating how he couldn’t just ignore Wheezie. She was definitely Rafe’s favourite, being so close to her brother ever since she was born. 

“Oh, is that true?” She smiled, looking at Wheezie. “Should I come and wear my best pajamas?” 

“You’re not sleeping over, your house is literally 5 minutes away. 2 if you run.” Rafe rolled his eyes. He went up to the counter to pick up a sandwich before biting into it, tasting the creamy eggs and ham. He licked his lips. 

“She can sleep with Sarah, right, (Y/N)?” 

“If she wants me too. . .” 

Rafe rolled his eyes again, “Sarah won’t be with us for tonight’s movie night. She’s starting to hang out with the pogues.” 

“Why are you so against the pogues?” (Y/N) asked, when Wheezie left to write a reminder of tonight’s event in her diary. 

“Why can’t you just shut your mouth?” He sighed. “It’s all bla bla bla bla. Can’t you see you’ll be happier without having to open your mouth every few seconds?” 

(Y/N) bit her lips, and for a second, Rafe had to look away from the look she was giving him. 

Shit. Why was he even looking away? 

She turned to go away, but was halted by Rafe’s fingers around her wrist. She groaned, turning her attention back to him. “What?” 

“You still haven’t told me about the night of the drive-in theatre.” 

“Good,” was all she said, before she went back by the sliding door to her home. 

. . .

“Rafe would be mad if he saw me watching this.” 

“It’s rom-com! And it’s totally PG-13. Trust me on this, okay? Anne Hathaway, yeah, that girl, yes, she’s going to get prettier throughout the movie.” (Y/N) smiled, popping popcorn into her mouth. 

Wheezie sighed, placing her head against (Y/N)’s shoulders and yawned. “Like what? Princess Diaries?” 

“Yes, but this is The Devil Wears Prada. You’ll love it!” 

A beam of light filled the mini movie theatre of The Camerons, signalling the late arrival of Rafe Cameron. He brought two chocolate bars, a Coke (again) and some chicken nuggets. 

“Move,” he said, motioning to Wheezie. 

“There are more seats around here!” Wheezie hissed, crossing her arms. “I’m not leaving (Y/N).” 

“You’re not leaving her, silly, you’re just scooting more to the right.” 

“What’s in it for me?” She raised a brow. 

“Nuggets?” 

She scooted to the side, giving more space for Rafe to place himself beside an annoyed (Y/N). 

Out of all 7 medium-sized sofas in the theatre, he decided to pick the one the two girls were sitting on. 

Rafe handed Wheezie the plate full of chicken nuggets, looking at (Y/N) before watching the screen. He groaned, “What’s this? Trash?” 

“A masterpiece, so shut up,” (Y/N) replied. Rafe huffed, amused, and unwrapped the chocolate bar. 

“Want some?” 

“No.” 

“Come on,” he cooed, placing the chocolate before her eyes. She grunted, pushing his hands away. 

Rafe took that as his final warning. He didn’t want to annoy her even more, knowing that she will probably not talk to him anymore. He decided to wait until half an hour later, just to taunt her again. 

“I’m going to get more popcorn,” Wheezie suddenly said after an hour into the movie. She excused herself to the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone. 

(Y/N) sighed. Great, just like how she wanted. 

“What do you want from me?” Anne Hathaway’s voice blared from the speaker, and Rafe looked at (Y/N). 

“What do you want from me?” He asked, repeating the dialogue. (Y/N) watched him from the corners of her eyes, not getting any delight from this. 

“For you to shut up.” 

“Really? That’s boring,” he sighed. “Do you want to know what I want from you?” 

“Sure.” 

“I’m thinking of a few things. Maybe you, on my lap.” 

(Y/N)’s breath hitched, but she tried her best not to look disturb. She shifted in her seating position. 

Rafe leaned closer, feeling her heat. “Your turn.” 

You know what? Fuck it.

(Y/N) turned to look at him fully in his face, leaning even closer that a part of her was practically on top of him. “Do you know what I think of you, Rafe?” 

His eyes dropped to her lips, and he swore his heartbeat quit beating. 

“I think about you, Rafe,” she whispered. “All pressed up against me in my bed, whim-”

“More popcorn!” 

(Y/N) returned to her previous position, bewildered. She fixed her hair, and her eyes were back to the screen. 

If Wheezie were to hang out with a pogue right now, Rafe wouldn’t give a fuck. 

“Well, the ending’s shitty,” Rafe exclaimed, clapping his hands. He watched as the end credits rolled, and took a look at Wheezie. 

He nudged her, sighing. “Wake up, Wheeze. Go to your room.” 

She groaned, searching for her fallen glasses. Rafe helped her to put them on, and gave her another poke. 

“I want to watch the movie.”

“The movie’s finished. It’s time to sleep. Go.” 

Wheezie groaned, muttering how it’s not fair that her brother could stay up with (Y/N) to watch more movies, but she guessed she was too tired for another round of movie anyways. 

“What’s the next pick?” 

“Horror.” 

“Nah.” 

“Why?”

“‘Cause you’re going to freak out on me again.” 

“I won’t,” she assured him. “Let’s go with Hereditary.” 

Rafe’s fingers and (Y/N)’s were almost touching. He was still bothered by her comment before Wheezie came barging in, and he was still desperate to hear her reply. 

“(Y/N)?”

“Hm?” 

“What were you trying to say?”

(Y/N) stopped watching, and looked at him. “What?” 

“About you thinking of me.” 

She blushed. “Nah.” 

“Come on,” he nudged. When she didn’t move, he tried placing his hand against her thigh. 

(Y/N) stood up suddenly, and for a second, Rafe thought he had fucked up. He watched as she went to the door, locked it, and went back to their place. 

“You locked the door.” 

“Yeah.” 

Rafe licked his lips, smirking slightly. “Ah, I see the game you’re playing.” 

“What game?” She raised a brow, only turning to the screen when a scream blared from the speaker.

“Hey, look at me.” Rafe tugged on her chin, forcing her to look at him, and his eyes actually looked into hers. He noticed the (E/C) colour of her eyes now, and he swore he had never looked at something more appealing. “Tell me.” 

She stayed quiet, not moving a muscle. 

Rafe sighed, getting impatient. He leaned closer now, this time his lips merely an inch away from her cheeks. He could feel the heat radiating from her. 

“Tell me, baby.” 

“You getting all close to me isn’t helping, Cameron,” she sighed, laying her head against the sofa. 

“Still playing hard to get?” 

“I’m not playing anything.” 

Rafe slowly placed a kiss against her temple before trailing down to her cheeks. She sucked in a breath, and Rafe smiled. 

“Still playing?” 

She nodded. 

Rafe’s lips touched hers by a bit, and she let out a moan she had been trying her very best to contain. Rafe chuckled, pulling away. 

“Still playing?”

“Shut up.” 

“That’s a yes? Or a no?”

“That’s a fuck you.” 

“Oh,” Rafe smiled. “Thought you never asked.” 

His kiss was gentle. So soft, and (Y/N) had never felt something like that before. The kiss deepened when she let out a soft moan, riling Rafe even more. 

He pulled her up onto his chest, letting her hands rest against his chest before pulling her away. Her lips were red, and there was a string of their saliva hanging from both of their lips. 

“What do you want, (Y/N)?” 

“You.” 

“Huh?” 

“You.” 

He smiled, tugging on her shirt. “Off.” 

She wasted no time to remove her shirt, exposing her new black bra she ordered online a few days before. Rafe sat back, his eyes dark. 

“Jesus Christ.” 

He kissed her neck, trailing down to her collar bones before stopping directly on her chest. His fingers fiddled with the bra clip, being so used with this already, and removed the piece of clothing with ease. 

(Y/N) instinctively covered her chest, her chest heaving. 

Rafe looked up to her, his eyes softening. “What’s wrong?” 

“Am not comfortable.” 

“Oh, that’s alright, we don’t have to do—”

“No, Rafe, I want this. I just don’t think I’m perfect enough for you.” 

Rafe let out a breath, placing a soft kiss against her stomach. She closed her eyes, throwing her head back. He guided her hands away, exposing her perky breast to the entire theatre to see. 

Rafe was glad he was the only guy present. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” 

“Shut up.” 

He looked up into her eyes, wetting his lips. “I’ll do anything to fuck you right now.” 

(Y/N) grinded against him, causing a groan to escape from his throat. He held her waist in place, not wanting to trigger his release. 

“Do it,” she whispered. 

The movie became a background noise as he fumbled with her shorts, grunting when he couldn’t figure out the knot. 

He positioned himself before her, and looked up into her eyes again. Her chest was heaving, and she looked nervous. 

“You’re okay?”

“I’m a virgin.” 

Oh fuck. 

Why would she even say that? He couldn’t even contain himself anymore. 

He pushed himself into her, letting her get used to the feeling. He waited for her nod, signaling that she was okay and hadn’t changed her mind, and thrusted into her again. 

His hands stayed around her waist to guide her, watching as her mouth slightly parted as he deepened inside her. She bit her lips, her nails clawing onto his shoulders. 

“Oh my god.” 

“Fuck,” he groaned, feeling his own forehead clammy. He didn’t notice her hands that had left his shoulder. She cupped his face, placing wet kisses against his cheeks. 

“You’re so good for me, baby,” he whimpered, allowing her hands to guide his. She placed them around her breast as she rode him, and Rafe had never felt better. 

If he has to taunt and annoy her more to get into this level again, he’ll do it again. Without any hesitation.

“I’m so close, baby, fuck,” he groaned. He gave her another longing kiss, looking down to where their bodies connect, and moaned loudly. 

Just before he reached his end, he pulled her away, not wanting to plant himself into her. (Y/N) tried to wrap her fingers around his penis to which Rafe jerked at for  being so sensitive. He pulled her hands away, his chest heaving. 

“Don’t,” he grunted. His load shot out of his member, wetting the sofa underneath them, and Rafe quickly slapped his shaft against her core to get her to reach her end. 

“Rafe, I-”

“Let it,” he whispered, watching as she tilted her head back, exposing her neck. “Let go, baby.” 

She trembled slightly, finally reaching her high, and collapsed on top of the heaving boy. Rafe stroked her hair, pulling her into a lying position, and planted another soft kiss against the back of her head. 

“The movie’s still on.” 

“Watch the next part, it’s amazing,” Rafe whispered, still holding her close. They were both naked, still coming down from their highs, but Rafe had never felt better. 

(Y/N) turned to look at him. “You’re still an asshole.” 

He placed a soft kiss against her lips. “Your asshole.” 

-

@okayshoto @joselyn001 @onceuponateenagetrash @dyingsleeping @iwannabeapogue @meaganjm @rafesobxs @flossy2929 @unfortunatekiwitrash @scottybitch @asimpwriter @amaya124 @tommy-tommo @thatshithurted8 @fallincindy @marvelwhor3 @rafeswh0ree @kookap @supernaturallydc-blog @blank-velvet @alaniskauany @kiiim8 @witchywrter @kaitlyn2907 @heyimflo @overcookedpastasause @tsukkiswifeey @spidey-d00d @anonymousobxfan @gotmeinloveagain @chicagoblackhawkslover96 @lexi-writes @classydragonthingknight @belongtoyou-u @badbussylol @savannah-elliott @angelreyesgirl100 @haterpenny @beehappyyy @alwaysclassyeagle @maybankslut @kayleea122 @clearbolts @lovelyxtom @christianaevans @jemimah-b99 @opierdalacz @dangerdolns @wildflowerliv @classygirlything21 @pogueslandia

[koushisatori]

if you can't believe in others, at least believe in us

kyoutani x gn!reader

genre: as ordered: a bit of angst w a touch of comfort

warnings: one (1) big jealous idiot, miscommunication

word count: 5.4k

note: this is smth an anon asked me to do (but like...nearly a year ago, I'm not sure if anon is still there or if they remember and my dumbass deleted the ask so I just beta-ed through whatever I had but I know they called me out on enjoying jealous characters so here we go) I'm sorry, mysterious anon, I'm stupid </3 Anyway, that's that. I don't remember if reader was supposed to be female or not so I made it gn!reader (but if I forgot to change something, pls tell me so I can fix any errors c: It's also my first attempt I apologize in advance)

In the beginning, you weren't sure why your boyfriend is ignoring you

You can't remember doing something that would annoy him, nor do you remember an instant of anger in his eyes that would give you a hint about his reasoning to stay away from you

He explained early on that sometimes he just needs a day of distance because Kentarou could feel the anger simmering right under the surface, enough that something small could tick him off already, and he would hate if you were on the receiving end of this unexplained fury

Both of you also made sure to promise each other to clearly communicate, the relationship between the two of you would not last long if you're not properly telling each other what might be bothering or hurting...just in general cross a boundary

Communication probably was one of the most important aspects of your relationship

cue to the actual situation: your boyfriend avoiding you

So, Monday evening you think maybe it's this overwhelming sensation of unexplained anger and that something at morning practice ticked him off completely

But then Tuesday comes and goes, and your boyfriend had avoided you all day long, did not even bother to read your messages,

on Wednesday, you try to talk to him, but all he does is glaring at you with a look that leaves you speechless and kind of heartbroken,

Thursday is the day you're replaying everything you did on Monday, trying to find something that he could have misunderstood, yet no matter how hard you think about it…your brain won't come up with a reason that explained why Kentarou was so upset with you!

So you decide to make him talk to you on Friday

Enough is enough, right? For gods' sake, he is your boyfriend! You miss him and his strong arms that give hugs so warm that you melt right into them

You don't get a second alone with him until school ends

you practically sprint out of the school building over to the gym, knowing that he had a free hour, which means that he is probably the first person there - your only chance

There he is, sitting with his back to you, aggressively chewing on a bun filled with chicken - his usual that reminded him of his favorite dish - glaring holes into the ground

After taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you carefully aks: ''Kentaro…Ken…?'', slowly stretching out your hand, wanting to rest it on his shoulder to maybe help to soothe him a bit

he flinches instead and his heated, agitated gaze meets your eyes, making you recoil in return

''…will you talk to me, I miss you…'' you say softly, realizing how it hurt being ignored by him

''Ah, suddenly you miss me…'' he spits, narrowing his eyes ''…didn't fucking seem like it the last time I saw you…''

''Kentaro, baby, I have no idea what you mean,'' you plead, keeping your voice low to hide the desperation lacing it, confusion written all over your features

all Kyoutani does is growl, hopping down from where he's sitting while shouldering his gym bag

''...shouldn't have been so flirty with Shittykawa like that then-'' he grumbles - ''Ken, I didn't-'' you insist, but he continues ''twirling your hair, batting your pretty eyelashes at him, fuck you Y/N, if you want him, then feel free to take a fucking leave" Kyoutani cusses, not even listening to you

You shake your head, ''Kentaro, no, you totally misunderstood the situation,'' you follow up, panic seeping into your voice now that you knew what he referred to, ''I love yo-''

''Tsk'', he moves to leave

you try to take his hand but, instead of turning around, Kyoutani just rips it away from you, tucking it into the pocket of his jacket

from behind you, you hear Yahaba and Oikawa approaching (talking about Volleyball and Captains duties)

once they guessed what must have happened, they offered you their help (they both swear that Kyoutani will never ever find a ''cute s/o as you are, y/n-chan, I'm worried for my little angry pomeranian kohai'' )

Usually, you would try to talk to him, but after enduring a week of radio silence and now this treatment, you were tired of upholding something that seemed like a lost cause

you just wave both setters off and leave the school grounds, a frown plastered onto your lips and tears swimming in your eyes

Kentarou had not listened to you, did not even really look at you, and the few seconds he did, his eyes were filled with rage instead of the warmth he had usually reserved for you (and only for you)

If your boyfriend thinks avoiding you for a week and blaming you for something ridiculous without hearing you out is how you handle a relationship…maybe you would have to consider not pursuing it any longer

Which is easier said than done

The whole night you wait for a message, anything, and then all Saturday morning

you still had hope left

You get one from Yahaba, who tells you that Oikawa tried to clear up the situation as well after the reason for your fight dawned on him (Kyoutanis piss poor mood and behavior towards him a strong indicator) but Kentaro, again, just ran off

The future team captain even called you after your lackluster answer, listening to you getting the frustration and sadness out of your system

It didn't matter, right? Your boyfriend decided to unofficially call it quits by implying that your feelings for him were not genuine instead of using his mouth to talk to you and disregarding everyone involved

as if he wanted to ignore the truth as a convenient excuse to get out of your relationship

that's the conclusion your brain came up with

You softly sniffle in the privacy of your room, clutching a pillow to your chest (which has seen more tears in the last two days than in the past three years), deciding that it would be a good idea to go into the city to treat yourself

knowing that your mother has a hair-dresser appointment somewhen today, you go and announce that you would join her to finally buy the latest season of your favorite series

once there, you additionally get microwave popcorn, chocolate, and ice cream, as well as a pretty shirt you saw on a mannequin while window shopping

you feel a lot better after spending some money and ignoring the lingering sadness of your presumable break up with Kyoutani (who you love ok, it is not that easy)

In between your stops, you meet Iwaizumi and Oikawa munching on fatty burgers (celebrating your cheat days like a holiday and indulging in whatever your heart desires, is what makes it easier to stick with healthier habits the rest of the time was the questionable explanation coming from the brown-haired setter, pointing at you with a soggy potato fry)

after a moment, the setters eyes turn sad, a frown replacing the smile on his lips

he wraps his fingers around your wrist to stop you from going just yet, apologizing for being the cause of your fight and for being unable to talk some sense into him

(you assure him that it is not his fault, knowing that your friend will probably brood over it otherwise, which wouldn't be fair)

Iwaizumi adds that Kyoutani will come around and that his cooldown time is just longer than those of other people (and if not, he will give him one of his famous volleyballs to the head and use his status as only truly respected senpai to talk some sense into him) but you again decline their suggestions

after saying goodbye (and seeing Iwaizumi give his best friend an assuring gentle pat on his shoulder, the secret softy in the usual harsh ace shining through)

If Kentaro was willing...able to throw away your relationship this easily, he can't possibly really love you, and you'd accept this even if it's hard and painful

Now remembered of what you had attempted to forget about, you feel your eyes sting with unshed tears (you thought there was no possibility of you having more tears to spill, yet the impossible seemed to be the case) you look down at your phone to text your mom and frown

Kentaro 🥰: we need to talk. Kentaro 🥰: meet me there [location]

For a second, you hesitate, biting your lower lip harshly…you really want to go and talk to him but…

The tears still sting in your eyes and blurring your view reminded you of what you had gone through the whole time, and that it was his turn to finally come to you

break up or makeup, the ball was in his court now

so while walking to where your mother would be waiting for you, you begin to type

You: No.

You: I waited for you all week, even though you ignored me, and now you expect me to run the moment you choose to stop being a childish idiot?

You: if you decide to speak to me then comqjdkn

Kentarou wouldn't say he feels particularly bad. Not at all! If someone was to ask him, he would probably answer fucking peachy, what the fuck are you asking for or growl angrily. No one would bat an eye and further question him, nor guess that maybe he wasn't as great as he pretended because he missed his gorgeous better half, but…it was his fault, wasn't it?

Of course, he originally thought he had a valid reason to be upset. And if he had just spoken to you about it, everything would be solved now. Instead of being a decent boyfriend, though, his pride overtook his thinking processes once he realized that his behavior wasn't even the slightest bit justified. Not that he knew this when he saw you speaking with Shittykawa right before school. All he could see was his gorgeous s/o shyly fiddling with her fingers, conversing with a leaned forward, very involved Oikawa Tooru. He would have fetched you away from the brown-haired setter. He had no qualms about showing his possessiveness. God, Kentarou wouldn't have hesitated to growl at the tall, brown-haired boy if not for the question he heard coming from the Captain.

''Y/N-chan, how is it that you, an adorable, charming individuum, is with a brute like Mad Dog-chan? I really-'' Well, that's where he decided to leave you with the setter. He didn't need to hear your answer. Didn't want to witness an excuse or maybe the truth. If both of you were so fucking smitten with each other to flirt this blatantly, why don't you just go and cheer for him, hold his hand, and kiss his cheek goodbye? It was his choice to distance himself.

Kyoutani couldn't help the feeling of betrayal and hurt washing over him. Maybe you just used him as a stepping stone to get closer with Oikawa, and Kyoutani has been too blind to see it. He never doubted you or your relationship before, but it's not a secret how eruptive Kyoutani could be. It has always been beyond his imagination how someone so cute and sweet like you could love a person like him. Your friends thought so. The teachers. The whole school! Everyone questioned your poor judgment. And when you came running up to him, you're cheery voice calling out for him, everyone present looked at you like you grew a second head. It's the reason why seeing you with Trashykawa ticked him off so bad. It catered to his biggest insecurities and fears. He knew that all those skeptics would be delighted to see you, everyone's darling, with the schools' star setter. They all would agree that the pretty, handsome young man is a better fit than the always hostile-looking troublemaker.

While Kyoutani didn't take Oikawa seriously in most cases, he undoubtedly was one of the most devoted people Kentarou had ever met. If Oikawa wanted to get a new serve right, he wouldn't stop trying and repeating it until his legs gave in, and Iwaizumi dragged him out of the gym. When he wanted to find more advanced players to practice with, so he could, in return, give this new knowledge to his team, there was no way he would not manage to make it happen. Even if his ideas, wishes, and plans cost him blood, sweat, and tears (like getting Kyoutani to actually train), Oikawa never backed down. Kentarou had heard that Oikawa's last girlfriend dumped him because of his passion for Volleyball. Yet Kyoutani couldn't help but think that, in you, the ambitious setter would have found someone that would be able to handle it. You usually came over to watch the team when you knew that Kyoutani was there to play. You sat on the stands with your homework in your lap and a Seijoh-coloured pencil wiggling between your fingers, not bothered by the noises coming from the court. You play with your earlobe while you frown at whatever problem you came across. You patiently wait for practice to finish. Kentarou was sure that you'd be someone Oikawa would actually try for. You weren't one of his squealing fangirls, hanging from his arm on every opportunity, but his friend. You didn't pester him to take selfies with you while pushing cute bentos into his hands. When you bring food to practice, then it's for the whole team to share. If he wanted you, Oikawa would probably have to win you over and make sure that you'd stay. Courting and all that jazz. In all seriousness, Shittykawa would be a fucking idiot if not.

The dyed-blond wing spiker had been so sure that he was rightfully mad that he didn't stop to think twice before he reacted this coldly towards you. But, and this made it even worse, Kentarou knew that he was wrong the moment you asked what happened after an entire week of enduring his silent treatment. The second he heard your shaky voice and saw the tears welling up in your eyes, his brain rebooted, and suddenly he wasn't so sure of his own reasoning. You two were together for about half a year. Kyoutani - by now - was confident in his ability to identify most of your expressions. All he could decipher in your eyes was pain, paired with a need to understand, but…if he was in the wrong…it would mean that he had hurt you the whole week, which in conclusion implied that Kentarou had been the world's shittiest boyfriend. Fuck, he thought, I don't deserve y/n.

His situation didn't get any better the moment Oikawa entered the gym. The person Kyoutani thought he had a real reason to despise now tried to mend the rift between the two of you.

''Mad Dog-chan, I think you misunderstood something there. Well, no, you decided to not listen-'' The taller male says, hands gesturing wildly. While his voice still had that annoyingly cheery tone, it had something commanding hidden underneath. And oh, how Kentarou hated when someone demanded something of him, even if it was for his own good. ''Don't want to hear it.'' the blond mutters, already aggravated. The brown-haired setter resolutely puts himself in the way again. ''Oh, but you have to! That morning, Y/N-chan literally declared her love for yo-'' - ''I don't fucking care.'' Kentarou barks, not looking Oikawa in the eyes.

After another fruitless attempt to get properly into the gym, he growls and turns to leave. Already on his way to grab his stuff and take a leave, he hears Oikawa yelling. ''You answered and justified why I asked Y/N-chan to begin with!" And then louder, even though he could make out Iwaizumi trying to wrestle his childhood friend back into the gym, "APOLOGIZE, YOU IDIOT! YOU BETTER GROVEL FOR Y/N'S FORGIVENESS! THEY DESERVE BETTER THAN THIS SHOW YOU'RE PUTTING ON, AND YOU KNOW IT!"

This happened on Friday evening, and the guilt was gnawing away on him ever since. On his way home, Kyoutani had automatically taken the detour to your house. Kentarou enjoyed bringing you home (and more often than not, you pulled him inside with you, making him cuddle you!). It makes him feel like a good boyfriend, and he knew that you arrived there safely. He would never tell anybody and deny it if you ever decided to share this, but Kentarou relished in the feeling of your hand holding his all the way while going on about your day. He admired that you'd pet every cat and every dog you meet on the trip home together with him. You were perfect for him…why again did he act like this?

What caused Kyoutani's attempt to apologize - in his usual overly blunt and partly aggressive kind of way - was Yahaba, though. Both boys denied being remotely something beyond 'not really enemies'. But his future team captain was definitely one of the very few people that could and would tell him to his face that he fucked up without real repercussions. He would presumably even help Kyoutani to get it together.

After Yahaba had called you and listened to your heartbreaking rant, the setter realized that you, his friend, and his 'not really enemy' needed to talk ut out. Totally immersed in your tirade, you accidentally let slip that you couldn't endure Kyoutani's treatment any longer. That being pushed over by your boyfriend with brash and hurtful words after handling the cold shoulder was too much. That you expected Kyoutani to break up with you on Monday either way. In-person, if he had mercy on you or continue his treatment as a silent method of doing so. While you told Yahaba about your planned ''get over it-self-care'' weekend (involving tons of ice cream, movies with crying guarantee, lots of blankets, and no smartphone), the setter had already put on his jacket, shooting a message to Kyoutani.

From Yahaba: get your stupid fucking ass outside to meet me, or I'll bench you the complete season next year

Even though the wing spiker was sure that Yahaba's words were nothing but empty words, Kentarou allowed himself to accept this threat as an excuse to put his pride aside. Because, even though Yahaba annoyed him to no end - not as bad as Oikawa but still - Kentarou was also aware that you and he were friends. If someone could help him gaining your forgiveness, Kyoutani had to accept and admit that it was Yahaba. Meeting his light brown-haired teammate was kind of awkward. Kyoutani was unsure what he had to expect, though he should have seen the rough treatment coming. Yet, getting told that you, the person Kentarou was undeniably in love with, felt so neglected and hurt that you deemed this relationship to be as good as over allowed the guilt monster in his chest to grow. Shitty Oikawa was probably right ordering him to grovel and beg on his knees for you to even hear him out.

Your answer to his message was partly unlike you. Well, the last sentence. You usually were pretty forward with him to avoid miscommunication and uncalled-for moping around. And while you sometimes send keyboard smashes to express the chaos you felt, they were always in a separate message and not so…random. The text definitely meant something like ''then come to me'' but somehow, Kyoutani had an uneasy feeling about the whole thing.

Besides, he couldn't just wait till Monday and hope that you'd accept his apology! You may send him away today already, but he still had a teeny-tiny bit of hope. If he let the thoughts of him leaving you or the other way around fester in your mind for two whole days, though,…you'd probably realize that leaving him wasn't that bad of a decision. You'd come to the conclusion that all your admirers could treat you better than Kyoutani did. And he was too selfish to let you leave. Even though all he did the whole week was being self-centered and stuck up, he would be damned to begin being a saint now and let you go. That you at least were willing to talk to him was…a relief, to say the least. Kentarou hoped that this translated to you being willing to put up with him a little longer if he apologized correctly. That you're not opposed to giving him another chance to make things right.

At your house, he was greeted with darkness. Not even a single light illuminating any of the rooms he could see from his spot on your front lawn. And the ones he saw were your and your mom's most-used rooms. Your room window, your mothers' workroom, and the living room area with an adjacent kitchen. All of those rather significant rooms and the lack of light in them seemed to be a dead giveaway for Kyoutani that no one was home. Kyoutani guessed that you were probably out with your mom, glancing over to the empty spot in front of the garage.

Oh god, your mother had been the only supportive person of your relationship. Maybe it's in your family to see the best in everyone, even in shitty people like him. But if you told her about his behavior, she'd most likely not welcome him with a smile ever again, no matter if you forgave him.

There weren't many things Kyoutani could do in this situation, but it wasn't as late as nature let it on, and after a few seconds, he had decided to sit down at the front door and wait for you, hoping that it wouldn't take too long for you to come home. As if fate wanted to tell him something, the wing spiker had put on the jacket with the half-full power bank. He had worn it to the shelter when he visited it this week while distracting himself from your absence in his daily life. You had gifted him the piece of clothing, which is probably why he unconsciously had decided to wear it to everything he did after school in the first place.

Kentarou passed the time by snarling at people eyeing him for a moment too long to not be judgmental, petting the neighbors' cat wandering over to him, and watching videos. Every time he thought ''Y/N would like this'', his heart stuttered guilty.

To Kentarou, it felt like an eternity until your mother's car finally drove up the entry. To avoid your mother's potentially deadly stare, he nervously checked his mobile, realizing that he had waited for a little more than 3 hours. Yet, the wait had done nothing to soothe his nerves. They instantly spiked up again while his heart threatened to jump out of his throat.

She will hate me. Your mother would hate me, she'll hate me, she'll ha-

''Ah, Ken-chan! Good evening.'' Your mother greets him with a tired, yet still gentle smile. Oh. The blond blanches. He'd never admit it, but he enjoyed the treatment he received from your mother more than he should. Being spoken to without suspicion and receiving a warm smile every time without fail was a welcome change to his daily life. Your mother didn't listen to people trying to bad-mouth him. To her, he simply was the boy that - normally - treats her child the way a mother wished for. Even if he pulled a face as long as a fiddle.

''I didn't know you were coming, Ken-chan, or I would have messaged you…but now that you're here, maybe you can assist us out and help Y/N inside? It would help a lot.'' His gaze immediately flitted over to you on the passenger seat. With your arms crossed in front of your chest and that stubborn but endearingly cute pout on your lips, he nearly missed the tiredness your body emitted. Kentarou wanted to rush over to your side immediately but was stopped by your mother again. ''I don't know what you two are fighting about…but please talk to each other. I don't want my baby to be this sad. Especially now, and…'' she rests a hand on his shoulder, her eyes kind and comforting ''…I also don't want to miss you here, alright?'' He stiffly nodded and watched your mother carrying in plastic bags filled with various medicine packages and food.

After coming back to his senses, Kyoutani finally stumbled over to your side, practically ripping open the car door. This new perspective revealed a plaster cast wrapping your whole left leg and a removable wrist brace on your right hand. ''Bab- Y/N…what the fuck…happened?'' His honey-brown eyes continued to wander over your injuries, and with every second, he found more. Scratches and scrapes, bandaids and bandages peeking out from underneath your clothes. ''I'm so sorry,'' he whispered, hanging his head low.

All your intentions to fight his helping hand and limp over to the door by yourself disintegrated into nothing. You never witnessed such a devastated, beaten expression on his face before. Instead, you settle for ''Will you help me?''. A question asked quietly to your fingers picking at a loose band-aid edge on your arm and pressing it back onto the irritated skin.

After you loosened your seatbelt, he waits for you to carefully place your arms around his neck. It is followed by Kyoutani lifting you out of the car so gently as if he was afraid you might break. This whole situation in itself already contradicting his brash appearance and usual behavior. It would give whiplash to all the people pretending to know him. But he was always caring in his own way when it came to you. It's why you loved him after all. Because you usually knew that he loved you, too.

For a few moments, the atmosphere between the two of you felt awkwardly tense, both of you unsure how to interact with each other. The mostly blonde wing spiker breathed out a sigh of relief when you fully leaned into his chest once he stood upright, resting your head against his shoulder. A bit of maneuvering through the front door eventually lead to Kyoutani passing through the hallway and taking you to your room, where he was gently lowering you down on the bed.

It was a now or never kind of situation. For the both of you. While Kentarou was trying to find out where to begin his apology, he took a few steps back in case you wanted space until everything was cleared up.

You unconsciously helped him making a decision by impulsively grasping onto his shirt the moment he started to withdraw, stopping him in his retreating movement. Kentarou saw your lower lips wobbling, teary eyes looking up at him pleadingly.

''Please stay,'' you say weakly, which is enough for him to throw the whole thinking process away and simply sit down next to you, intertwining both your hands. ''I'm staying. I'm not leaving. Not now nor this relationship if you still want...an ''us''. The wing spiker took a deep, shuttering breath. '' I'm sorry, Y/N…'' he finally manages to say, honey eyes locked onto your linked your hands. ''I have been fucking stupid all week. 've been a fucking terrible boyfriend, the worst to ever exist.''

As if to encourage him...to show your boyfriend that his apology was not for nothing, you shuffled around until the last bit of distance between the two of you was closed. You hum, acknowledging his words while leaning your head on his shoulder.

''I didn't think you're cheating or something, …'' Kyoutani immediately assures you. There was no way he would allow you to think that he would accuse you of something like this. ''I had no reason to be jealous, but I was insecure. Let it get the best of me. Despite our promise to communicate, I was sulking. 't was easier. I'll do whatever the fuck you want for you to not give up yet…'' he says, taking his time with every sentence.

With a sigh, you squeeze his hand. ''It will probably take a lot of cuddling and attention from you...'' you say thoughtfully ''...but I forgive you…if you promise to not do this again…'' you murmur, tilting your head upward to press a chaste kiss to his jaw. ''Otherwise, I'll accept Iwaizumi-san's offer to get your thinking process restarted.'' For a moment, your voice had its usual joking edge. But you knew talking out everything was necessary. ''But, in all honesty, 'Tarou....please, never do this again. I am honest. I will not endure this a second time. When you tell me that you need a day or two for yourself then that is totally fine. If you feel yourself giving into whatever insecurity, talk to me about it. I am sure there will be an explanation or a solution but don't leave me in the dark. Don't treat me like that. I love you. Only you and no one else. But the time love can withstand straight-up ignorance by your partner is limited.''

Slowly, your boyfriend nodded, squeezing your hand to tell you that he understood. You would probably cling to him for a while but were sure that he would survive the extra closeness. Not even half a second later, his head leans onto yours cautiously.

''…and try being nicer to Oikawa-san, Tarou, he hasn't done anything to you.'' You add humorously before small giggles started to erupt from your lips. ''Also...Baby…'' you start, being interrupted by choked-up hiccups and giggles. By using your nickname for him, you take away another persistent fear of his. What he does not miss, however, is how you wince in pain before you continue, ''…who helped you put this into words? I mean…I loved it, but…,'' You leave unsaid that words usually are not his strong fort.

Biting back a smile, he frowns, huffs, and puffs…, but the way you are looking up at him, eyes shining with relief and adoration, allows him to admit defeat. He sighs ''…it's how Yahaba said I should say it…'' It usually would be an odd enough statement to make you throw yourself all over him with laugher. As a slight replacement, you squeeze his hand a bit, still shaking with suppressed laughter. ''I promise…that I will talk to you. Can't promise the Shittykawa part.'' Another soft chuckle leaves your lips before you look up at him again. ''I hope you try nonetheless. You should not let Iwaizumi-san hear you calling Oikawa-san that, though, I don't think this would turn out well for you…so...maybe stop this at least.'' Kentarou rolls his eyes at you, but in the end, he nods.

You wait for another second to clearly distinguish the two topics before you continue. ''…Thank you…for coming and finally speaking with me instead of break-'' A hand on your lips muffles your words.

''Don't say these words. I'd never break up with you,'' Kentarou grumbles, a light, uncharacteristic light pink settling on his cheeks. You stick your tongue out, which leads to him taking his hand off of your face with a surprised noise, rather dumbfounded that you had licked his hand. It gives you the chance to lean up and finally press your lips against his. ''I'm not leaving you either,'' you murmur, feeling his lips twitch upwards slightly. You decide to leave the teasing for another day.

Moving back into your previous position was enough of a hassle to hiss in pain. It brought back Kyoutani's awareness of the second problem at hand. ''What did happen to you?'' Kyoutani asks in an attempt to tamper down the excited, happy beating of his heart.

''Oh, this...uh, when I answered your text, I got driven over by a dude on a bicycle,'' you casually drop. It was kind of entertaining to watch his expressions change at an unequaled pace while processing your words. In the end, it settled into something akin to passive-aggressive worry. The way he was immediately fretting over you while cursing and cussing out the bicycle dude was his own way of caring. As you watch him retrieving the food your mother bought, while mumbling about how you're a dumbass for not paying attention to your surroundings, how he'd come over every day until you could go to school again to bring and teach you the stuff you would miss and how he would fucking murder the bicycle idiot if he ever finds out who dared to drive you over, you can't help the smile forming on your lips.

Once again, you are proven that loving him - while occasionally troublesome and demanding - was everything but wrong.

[psychdelia]

steve knows he’s being fucking stupid. that he should grab his stupid scoops ahoy hat and shirt and put them back on.

but he’s never been too bright, especially when he’s in love.

“open the door.” he meets shaky breaths and silence. “open the door!” he snaps at the kids behind him, eyes locked on his boyfriend, rocking back and forth in the sauna.

these damn kids were about to get themselves killed. he has to save them yet again, but it’s not just their asses on the line. billy is in there, possessed, and max couldn’t get through to him so now it’s steve’s turn to try. shirtless, scared steve who has no idea if he’ll make it out of there alive. running on love and adrenaline, he doesn’t care.

eleven cracks the door open just enough for him to slip in, locking it again.

steve starts sweating immediately. it’s hot. billy is just sitting there, rocking back and forth, knuckles white as they grip the bench he sits on.

steve slowly drops to his knees in front of billy, keeps distance between them as he stares up at his boyfriend. his expression is blank, lost, but his eyes. fuck, his eyes. they’re so sad. exhausted and glazed over, wet with unshed tears. he doesn’t know if billy’s all there, or even there at all.

“billy.” he murmurs softly, hands hovering above his knees, not quite touching him. too scared of what might happen if he does. “billy, baby, it’s me.”

steve doesn’t have the time or energy to deal with the shocked and confused gasps that come from the kids, not when billy’s eyes finally meet his. they brighten just a touch with recognition, still red rimmed and teary.

“hey.” steve smiles sadly. “i-i know you’re in there. i know you’re probably so fucking scared, but you gotta be strong. you’re so strong billy, you just gotta fight.” steve’s hands finally land on his knees, not daring to squeeze or startle him. or the mindflayer.

a tear rolls down billy’s cheek, face unmoving.

“i know.” steve frowns sadly, smoothing circles over billy’s knee with his thumb. “i know you’re tired of fighting and hurting. please, billy, it’s just one last time. i’ll keep you safe and make sure nothing - no one ever hurts you again.”

more tears roll down his cheeks.

“i promise.” steve adds softly. “i know you’re in there, i know you see me, hear me. come on, billy, talk to me. please.” steve begs. he doesn’t realize how the sauna has gotten significantly hotter.

doesn’t have time to worry about it when billy finally cracks and breaks, broken sobs and whimpers leaving his throat. he chokes out a broken “steve.”

the clarity comes back into his eyes, sadness and fear written all over his face.

“he made me do it,” billy cries, shaky hands grabbing onto steve’s and squeezing so tight.

“who? what did he make you do?” steve climbs up onto the bench beside billy.

he should be scared, shouldn’t be pressing their sides flush and ridding of any distance between them. but with billy back to consciousness and seeking his comfort, well he has a little glimmer of hope and lots of love to give.

“i don’t know he-he’s like a shadow. he made me hurt people. i don’t wanna hurt people, steve, please forgive me. i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.” he’s crying freely now, slumping against steve.

“it’s okay, it’s okay. it’s not you, baby, you’re not doing this. none of this is you, but you gotta stay with me. you can’t let it take you again. we’re almost done, just. please stay.” steve’s voice breaks off at the end, holding billy up as his shoulders shake through sobs.

“heather.” billy whimpers. “she’s in m-my trunk. i don’t wanna hurt her anymore but he’s making me.”

“we’ll get her out, okay? she’ll be perfectly fine, just like you. just breathe and stay with me.” steve rubs billy’s back, catches sweat on his fingertips and palm. he glances up to find max tossing lucas the key to the camaro before he sprints out. he comes back with heather, looking shocked and scared and sad.

“it hurts.” billy whines through gritted teeth. “it’s so hot. he-he likes the cold.”

“i know. we’re gonna get him out of you soon. you just gotta keep fighting. gotta stay with me. then everything will be okay. i can’t lose you.” relief washes over steve as billy nods weakly, shaking and crying in his arms.

steve pulls billy even closer and tighter. he’s starting to burn up too, skin sweaty and prickling. he can’t even imagine how billy feels, burning from the inside out. he sneaks a glance out at the kids, catches their shocked and sad eyes. he finally finds eleven’s, big and too strong for a kid her age. she must read his mind because then she’s nodding and reaching toward the thermometer. her eyes are shut tightly, face contorted in pain and determination. it takes a second, but the room gets impossibly hotter.

“too hot.” billy hisses, his skin burning up beneath steve’s hands. they’re both too hot, skin red and sweaty and on fire.

“we’re almost there.” steve reassures. “you love the heat. the california sun and beaches and warm water. this isn’t any different. i’ll take you back. take you to all the beaches and your favorite stores and restaurants and try those street burritos you always talk about. i’ll burn under the sun while you get golden tan and hot to the touch. i wanna give you the world, billy.” steve rambles.

billy cries harder, so scared and in so much pain.

“i love you so much, fuck. too fucking much it hurts. i don’t want you to hurt. not anymore. please just fight him out.” the room feels like it’s getting hotter, steve’s chest getting tight.

he thought he knew love. thought he had already gone through the trial and error of being in love with nancy.

that’s nothing compared to this right now.

“what if i can’t and-“

“you can.” steve cuts him off fiercely. “you can and you will.” the room feels like it can’t get any hotter, feels like it already it.

steve’s moved on from love and sadness and grief. he’s angry, now. so hot and sweaty and irritable. he wants billy to get angry.

“fuck him.” steve spits. “fuck all of them. your mom for leaving you, your dad for hurting you. all the teachers and adults in your life who failed you. fuck this shadow. fuck them! don’t let them win. you’ve been through so much, too fucking much. you can’t give up now. can’t prove them right.”

billy just weeps, shaking his head.

steve gently grabs his face, such a contrast from the anger running through his veins. he coaxes billy into looking up, making eye contact with him.

“listen to me. you’re billy fucking hargrove. you’ve been fighting your whole damn life and you’re so close, so close to winning. to being free and letting me drag our asses back where you belong, under the stupid fucking sun on the stupid fucking sand. you lose now, there’s no more beaches. there’s no more warm water and burritos and sand stuck in your hair for days. you let him win - your dad, the shadow - you lose so much worth fighting for. you hear me?”

billy nods. he’s stopped full on sobbing, left with a quivering bottom lip and leftover tears wetting his cheeks.

“so be my strong, stubborn hardheaded asshole boyfriend and fight this thing out. NOW.”

billy clenches his jaw, nostrils flaring as the fire simmers underneath blue.

“NOW!” steve yells.

the room is as hot as it can get, eleven’s screaming at the thermometer about to break through the fucking wall. max is crying in heather’s arms and the boys are chanting and yelling, cheering billy on.

billy’s eyes and veins are turning black, body twitching before he’s screaming in pain and agony, the black shadow leaving his body and crashing through the sauna ground. it feels like it goes on forever despite it only being a minute, the mindflayer fucked up entity finally leaving billy’s body and leaving a hole right in the middle of the ground.

billy gasps for air and slumps against steve once the room stops shaking and lights stop flickering and the black hole looks more like layers of cement and foundation. he coughs and heaves, throwing up black goo. steve holds him upright, makes sure he’s gotten everything out of his body and system.

steve gently pulls billy back up when he’s reduced to groans and whimpers, beyond relieved when he finds billy’s eyes and skin have returned back to normal, no traces of black or mindflayer left behind.

“hey, hey, hey. billy, you there? look at me.” steve cups his cheeks in his hands, forcing billy to look up at him.

he looks like shit. red and sweaty but worryingly pale at the same time. his hair is damp and flat, sticking to his face. steve can’t imagine that he looks much better himself.

“tacos.” billy finally speaks. he looks up at steve. “they’re street tacos. not burritos.” he grins, sideways and tired but still billy.

steve smiles so fucking wide, heart too big for his chest as he pulls billy into the tightest fucking hug, peppering kisses all over his face and head.

“let’s get you out of here.” steve helps him up, guides him around the hole in the ground and out of the sauna after el opens the door for them.

[umblackness]

needy

pairing – harry styles x reader

warning – humiliation. exhibitionism. daddy kink. cockwarming. degradation. dumbification. hella lot cringe. crawling? 18 +

summary – you aren't needy, no. but that doesn't mean you will let go the opportunity of harry fucking you.

request – And one where Harry takes you to Italy to a Beautiful villa with an infinity Pool and get cought by paparazzi having sex there haha !

author's note – this is shitty and not proofread so I am so sorry !! also, sorry for the wait too . . .

neediness.

it was the only thing that you were completely and utterly foreign. being a middle child, your needs weren't never really taken as needs. you didn't know what it felt to need something.

the first time when you needed something, was when you were a teenager and hadn't studied for your exam. you had fucking squealed when the results had come out and you had passed.

the second time was when you were going to confess your feelings for harry ; you just needed him to like you back. which, for the record, he did.

the third time was your art competition in school. the fourth was when you had revealed your kinks to harry. the fifth was when you got into a fight with your best friend. the sixth was when your favorite sneakers were on sale. the sixth was your fight with your mom. the seventh was when your boyfriend asked a homeless you to move in with him.

quite frankly, after that, you lost the count because after that, you needed him with you. on every day, every minute, every second, you just needed him with you.

You walked towards the changing room, a towel in hand because 'baby, the towels are all dirty!' or so he had claimed.

He had taken you to a heavenly villa in Italy, for your second anniversary. and apart from the pizza store down the street, that sold cauliflowers in pizza, the whole vacation had been brilliant. till now.

you had been sitting in the living room, sipping your coffee in peace, while he was swimming in the backyard. suddenly and completely out of the blue, he had called for you to bring a clean towel.

so, being the good girl you were, you had abandoned your coffee and now here you were. you were snapped out of your thoughts, when you felt someone push you into the water.

and since you and harry were the only one in the mansion, you had take a wild guess.

you emerged from underwater, letting out a shriek dramatically. however, your not-so-intense-glaring session came to an end as he jumped into the water too, before swimming closer to you.

"I don't want the towel, baby, you know what I want?"

He wrapped his arms around you, making you drop the things in your hand.

kissing your lips softly and passionately, he let his tongue dominate your mouth. he moved a bit so one of his hands moved to caress your cheek as the other one slipped lower, until it was gripping your ass.

quite frankly, you did know what he wanted. it was hard to forget when he talked about it throughout the flight. however, you couldn't help but tease him so the next words that came out of your mouth were filled of playfullness.

"What, daddy?" A growl that could make everyone and anyone drip with arousal vibrated through his chest. He quickly walked you backwards to the edge, flipping you so that your back met his chest, once you guys were there.

"I wanna rearrange your guts and turn you into a stupid mess." He paused, the hand that was on your cheek, was now fisting your his shirt. "I wanna fuck you, make you cum again and again, until you are blabbering for me to stop. "

"You want that, don't you?"

You managed to nod shakily, feeling your heat become wet and this time, it wasn't because of the water . His finger ran up and down your pussy, finding it vulnerable and bare, just like he expected.

one of his stupid rules said that you weren't allowed to wear any panties when you two were alone and of course, as much as you acted like you hated it, the truth was that you loved it ; you loved allowing him to have easy access to your body.

"Fuck, kitten. been such a good girl, deserve a reward, don't you?"

your eyes met his darkened ones and almost as if on queue, a moan left your mouth, followed by another choked moan, as two of his fingers slid in your pussy, not giving you any time to adjust.

Harry leaned down, his hand leaving your ass to open your mouth for him. He collected his saliva, holding eye contact as he spat in your warm mouth.

the groan he had let out as some of it fell on your jaw, was intoxicated and you craved more.

The sight was addicting to him as much as it was to you. he couldn't help but add two more fingers, wanting you to really fall apart underneath him.

"Daddy!" You screamed, the pain from the stretch already fading to a barley there sting.

"Aw, I know, whore. It feels good, doesn't it?"

Your ears burned from his mocking tone, you could feel the blissful feeling, your pussy felt so good that it hurt and yet, you couldn't help but nod pathetically.

Harry sighed, mocking disappointment. "Use. Your. Words. Slut."

"Y-yes, d-daddy! feels so good, can I cum please?" you whined.

As if to punish you for breaking his rule, he begun rubbing your clit, knowing how much that drives you crazy. You moaned, your own hands moving to your hair. You felt your eyes close, only for them to snap back open a second later.

"Look at me when I am" Harry sped up his moments, collecting his spit again but this time he spat right on your face. "destroying your tiny fucking pussy, you cum rag. fucking cum now."

reaching your high quickly, you let out the loudest moan of his name. he slapped your pussy, making you realise your mistake. panting, you were still in your post orgasm phase when

your gaze moved to his cock, his boxers felt like they couldn't burst anytime and you felt proud. your smugness was short lived though because he quickly took his fingers out of you.

He gave you a quick wink before slipping the soaked fingers in his mouth back and forth, he groaned, making you suddenly aware of the wetness between thighs.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, cockslut?" Fucking shit, your pussy throbbed at that.

"C-can I ride you please?"

you peered up at him through your eyelashes, hoping to appear innocent—it was all for nothing though, when he just landed another slap on your pussy.

still not saying anything, harry let go of you and walked out of the pool. your green eyed lover looked at you once again before slipping in the sun lounger by the pool.

Harry relaxed back in the chair before beckoning you forward with a finger and you, ever the good girl, go with it. you ignored the confusion and frustration in your mind as you climbed out of the pool.

As soon as you took a step forward, a tsk came from harry. "crawl for me like the good little slut, you are and can be."

you stared at him—it wasn't like you weren't comfortable, you and harry had discussed the limits months ago but what surprised you, was how much you wanted it.

you were broken out of your thoughts when he sighed mockingly. "I said crawl for me or is that too much to understand for your stupid little baby mind?"

you whimpered, dropping to your hands and knees. keeping your head up to maintain eye contact with harry, you crawled over.

once you were there, he was quick to manhandle you on his lap. his hands moved to your neck, where they caressed your collarbones. Harry's mouth replaced his hands soon, sucking hickies in your neck.

"good girl, maybe your not just a set of holes for me to use, after all." he spoke against your skin, making you shiver at his words.

"d-daddy, wanna make you feel good." you moaned, just wanting to please him like he pleased you.

"oh yeah?" he spoke and you could feel him smirk in your neck. "there's my good little cockslut, always so fucking eager to please her daddy. go on, baby, use your hand, since there's no way in hell I am going to grace that little throat with my cock."

nodding pathetically, you quickly lifted yourself up and lowered his boxers, just enough to take out his cock. one of your hands grabbed his cock, while the other swiped over the angry red tip.

your eyes moved to find his, only now taking in the fact that he had lifted his head from your neck. he hissed quietly, making you smile proudly.

your hand that was around his cock, fastened his pace and so did the one that was playing with his cock head. "I am your good girl, your good slut, right, daddy?"

"my best slut, so good to me." he regretted his words when he saw your proud smile change into a cocky one. "but that doesn't change the fact you are a slut, yeah?"

you nodded, letting out another whimper. wanting to make him feel good, you gave attention to his balls and his cock head more. he twitched, indicating that he was close.

and then, suddenly, he took your hand away.

"Gotta save daddy's precious cum for your little tummy, hm baby?" Harry whispered, squeezing your hand before his demeanor changed back to dominance.

"y'wanna have Daddys cum in your tummy?" he began, noting the eager glint in your eyes as you nodded way too fast. "Then earn for it. use your dumb little baby mind to make me cum and I would consider letting you cum again. Ride me."

a broken moan vibrated from your chest, only making him more amused. your lifted yourself before lowering down on his cock slowly.

you placed your hands on his shoulders for support, once you had taken half of him. you begun bouncing on his cock, trying to create a rhythm.

a scream of his name left your mouth, your body finally getting what it wanted. you looked up at him, only to whine at the sight— harry was relaxed back, his hands beside his head and he looked completely disinterested.

"does that feel good, daddy?" you asked, knowing that he had make fun of you—after all, that was what you needed.

"does that feel good, daddy?" he mocked, his lips set into a subtle smirk, even though you knew he was going soft inside. "look at my good cumdump, so eager for her daddy's pleasure."

you whined, bouncing harder on him, going completely in the rhythm you had set. you leaned to kiss him, sighing. after not even two seconds in the kiss, he bit your lip roughly, demanding entrance.

your passionate kiss went on for ten more seconds—seconds that consisted his tongue dominating your mouth and playing with yours—before he pulled away, with your bottom lip in his mouth.

harry leaned back a bit before letting go of it and watching it snap back into your place.

you smirked at the action, fastening your pace. however, it wasn't fast enough for your lover because the next thing you knew, he had thursted up into you, breaking youd rhythm and smirking harder at the broken moan you let out.

he went still again, making you do all the work. sighing lazily, harry moved to rub your clit, making your release come faster and so you bounced harder on him, tightening your pussy every once in a while.

he groaned, making a proud smile appear on your lips.

"d-daddy, can I cum?"

"hold it, yeah?"

before you could reply, he smashed his lips against yours. he rubbed faster at your clit, making you let out a small gasp. he took the opportunity as his tongue entered your mouth.

his tongue played with yours instantly, making you moan against his mouth. his tongue pushed yours back down before exploring your mouth.

harry pulled back, uttering a single growl of "my good girl" before diving in for another long passionate kiss.

feeling his dick hit your g-spot, you moaned loudly. he pulled back again, this time to breathe. he watched with darkened eyes as you threw your head back and screamed his name.

"cum with daddy, baby. let go, yeah? wanna soak daddy with your juices?"

as soon as his permission reached your ears, the coil in your stomach tightened before breaking completely. you screamed his name again, letting out a few curses.

he followed soon after, filling your pussy fully with groans and growls of your name.

you relaxed against his chest, both of you relaxing for ten or so minutes before he carried you back inside, his now softening cock still buried in you.

he laid the both of you on the bed, smiling when you started playing with his hair. Harry nuzzled your neck, laying soft kisses on your neck, smirking whenever he came across an hickey.

the sheets around you were soft and like dreams. however, the man that was covering you with his arms now, was softer.

you stared at him, admiring his beauty and even though it sounded a little creepy, you didn't care. who wouldn't admire this God of a man.

you cuddled against his bare chest even more. you guys had slept while you were cockwarming him—actually, he had carried you around yesterday, since your legs had felt like jelly. you wouldn't have it any other way though.

you closed your eyes, almost falling back asleep when the sound of your phone buzzing snapped your eyes spoken. Harry groaned, tightening his arms around you.

you patted his hair softly, watching as the tension left his body and his eyes softly opened. you gave him your signature smirk, he shook his head, burrying it in your hair afterwards.

his hand gave a small squeeze to your ass, though his hand moved back to your waist, when you shot him a glare.

the cute moment was interrupted by your fucking phone buzzing. he groaned again, nuzzling his head in your hair even more.

you pulled back to blindly grab your phone from the bedside table, smiling at the one direction lockscreen before quickly typing in his name for password.

you looked over your notifications, your disinterest quickly changing into dread as you came across one particular twitter notification.

"no, nope, this can't be happening." you muttered, clicking onto the notification.

Harry furrowed his brows at that, sitting up with you in his arms quickly and accidentally thrusting up in you. "Is it a other hate comment, angel? I told those assholes to not bother my baby but no-"

"shut up, h." you smacked his chest as he raised one eyebrow. "Sarah just messaged me and our photos got leaked. it's breaking the internet."

"what?" he took your phone and sure enough, there were four blurred paparazzi photos of you two from yesterday.

the first one was of him kissing you in the water, the second was of him spitting in your mouth, the next was of him sucking his fingers and winking at you, the fourth was of you crawling for him.

"baby, these are all blurred. the ones with me spitting and you crawling for daddy are even more blurred. management is probably going to do something so don't worry, yeah?"

he wasn't wrong though — you thought, nodding at him. now that you were reassured, maybe you didn't need the earth to swallow you now.

you smiled a little before he leaned forward to whisper in your ear.

"besides, the world and your little friends now know about how you are a filthy slut for daddy, yea– OW, I AM SORRY!"

[randomperson351]

Imagine! Xavier plympton x reader where reader is daughter of Margaret booth and is a very shy person! On top of which Margaret never really lets her out of sight.! So.. Somehow.. Don't know how.. Xavier and reader fell in love.. So.. Reader when finds out what her mom is doing in the camp she kills both jingles and Margaret (before jingles could burn him in the oven) and they both get the money of her and live happily ever after! I know I elaborated it alot but please could you make a story out of it?

Thank you for this ask, I’m sorry it took so long! I haven’t watched AHS:1984 in a while so this may not be completely accurate.

We can rule the world - XP

Do not repost or rewrite any of my work. Minors and ageless blogs get blocked.

Masterlist           Asks

"Finished your Bible study yet?"

"Yes mother."

"Good. Off you go then."

Your mum, Margaret, dismissed you from her office and sent you back to your shared cabin. Since it was nearing 8:30pm you knew she'd do her final checks of the camp grounds and then be in to do a final prayer and call it bedtime for 9 o'clock sharp.

That gave you about 10-15 minutes of privacy before she'd be back. Maybe you'd finish reading the magazine you bought and kept hidden from her, or finish the last of the marshmallows or-

"Boo!"

"AHHH!" You screamed, spinning around to a hand clamped over your mouth and being pushed against a wooden beam.

"It's just me, faint heart."

"What are you doing here?" You whipped your head around and checked for any signs of Margaret. "Are you crazy?" You screeched.

"Crazy about you."

Xavier's comment made heat rise up your neck to your face and stay silent for fear of embarrassing yourself, he frustratingly knew exactly what to do or say to make you turtle into your shell.

“Oh come on, what’s that little scowly face for?” He said with a faux frown.

“You know what it’s for.” You mumbled, blush stuck to your face as you looked away from his cool blue eyes.

“I’m just teasing darlin’-” Xavier hooked a finger under your chin and lifted your hot face to sweep a kiss across your lips-”I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You need to go Xav.”

“What? I just got here!” Your boyfriend exclaimed incredulously. 

“And if my mum catches you here, we’ll both be dead.”

Xavier stepped away and shook his head, hands on hips. You couldn’t help but feel guilty. You two had been together for just over two years now and you loved him dearly, always trying to include you in coversation with his friends and get you out of your comfort zone and into the world that your mother so desperately shielded you from. But no matter how much he tried, you just couldn’t leave your mother; she was all the family you knew and you didn’t want to turn your back on her, no matter how strict and unfair she could seem. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, tracing cracks in the floor with your eyes.

He softened at the crestfallen expression on your face and brought you into his arms, resting his head atop yours. 

“I’m gonna take you away from here one day. Just the two of us, maybe go on a roadtrip so I can show you all the greatest arobics classes.” That made you snort. 

“Y/n! Who are you talking to?” Margaret shouted through the door that Xavier locked after you walked in. “You know you’re supposed to keep this door open at all times.”

“Go Xavier!” 

He scrambled across the room and leaped up and out of the window.

“Y/n! Open this door, now!” Margaret was forcefully turning the doorknob to no avail. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming just a second!”

You stood the desk that was placed under the window and waved him out. Xavier stopped from where he started running, blew you a kiss, then disappeared into the bushes.

You smiled to yourself and quickly ran over to the door, unlocking it to your very disgruntled mother. 

“Sorry.”

“And so you should be. What happened if someone broke in, or climbed in throught that window and you locked me out you stupid girl? What if someone tried to attack you and I couldn’t get inside?” 

You bit your lip and sat on your bed. “I’m sorry.” You whispered to the floor. 

“Why did you lock it?”

You looked up but didn’t answer.

“Well?”

“I was confessing, to God. And I didn’t want to be disturbed in such a conversation so I locked the door. I’m sorry.” 

The wind seemed to go out of Margaret’s sails and she sagged a little, turning around to get herself ready for bed. 

“Alright, fine. But don’t ever lock that door again.”

“Yes mother.” 

“Lights out.”

Oh how you missed Xavier.

~~

“...That is why, while still grieving my sweet husband Walter’s death I took a small portion of the large fortune he left me to buy this camp and create a safe, pure, Godly and decent place for the children of this country to escape for the summer. It is a dream come true. Now there aren’t many rules but I expect each and every one of you to follow them without exception. Now, this is my daughter, Y/n.”

You had heard your mother talking to some people and wandered over to investigate, only to find a smug looking boyfriend and his equally smug looking friends on what seemed like a tour of the camp. You tried to keep the surprise off your face when she introduced you but weren’t sure how successful you were.

“You are not to interact with her. You are here to be Camp Counselors, not a groupie.” 

Margaret walked away and the others followed, giving you a discreet smile as they walked past, all except Xavier who stayed behind.

“What blew up her nose?” 

You looked at him harshly and tugged him around the side of the cabin out of sight. 

“Are you crazy?”

He arched an eyebrow and smirked. “About you.”

You rolled your eyes. “If Mum finds out I know you, she’ll kill you and then me!” 

“So she won’t find out.”

“Xavier-”

“Just trust me, please? I’m taking you out of here at the end of the summer when we go, I want you to come with me.”

You hesitated and Xavier could see the doubt crawling into your mind.

“Let me handle Margaret. Just promise me you’ll come at the end of the summer. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” You repeated mockingly.

“Y/n, please?” 

You sighed and kicked a stone around on the floor.

“Okay.”

“Really?” 

You looked up at him and nodded, tucking a hair behind your ear.

Xavier reached forward and grabbed your face in his large hands, pulling you nose to nose. “I love you, my little munchkin.”

You smiled. “Love you too.” You closed the gap and kissed him, just something gentle, a touch of lips, but enough to make heat rise all the way to your ears.

“Y/n!”

You broke apart abruptly and stepped back.

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologise, go babe.”

You went to run off, and to this day Xavier claims he defintely did not give you a pat on your ass as you went.

He totally did.

~~

Xavier was screwed. Completely and totally screwed. He was hidden under the table as Jingles ate Bertie’s sandwich, until Xavier tried to crawl away and made a noise.

His eyes met Jingles and he bolted, crawling as fast as he could to get to the end when Jingles grabbed him. Fuck.

He was held up by his collar, unable to get away when a gunshot rang out and the grip around his neck got released. 

He panted and swiveled around, only to see you stood there like a deer in headlights, smoking gun in hand, covered in blood. Oh baby.

Xavier stood as fast as his jelly legs would take him and hobbled over to you, saying your name and shaking your shoulders but it was like you were in a haze.

“Y/N!” 

You looked around and saw Xavier stood there looking worriedly at you as he slowly reached out and took the gun from your hand, lowering it from its position.

“Bubbsy, are you hurt?”

You shook your head and started trembling.

“Who’s blood is this?” He asked as softly as he could.

“M-my mothers.” You could barely whisper through the shivers. “She was going to kill you, and send Jingles after the rest.”

Understanding dawned on Xavier as he guided you out of the room to car where all his friends were waiting, mercifully alive although injured and probably scarred for life.

~~

“So how’d it go?” Xavier asked as soon as you got in the van.

“Good, no one quibbled about the estate or will, everything should be transferred over within the week.”

He hummed, pleased, and leant across the seat to give you a kiss. Now that he could without prying eyes, you can guarantee he’s been making up for lost time.

“So what do we do now?” You asked as Xavier started up the van. 

“Bubbs, we can do whatever you want. Hell, with the fortune you’re gonna be getting, we could rule the world.”

You laughed and relaxed back into the seat, content to go wherever life took you, as long as you were together.

[totiredtowrite]

Hey can I pls request an Asahi x reader where We agree to go to our house as a casual hang out after practice but what he doesn’t expect to see in our room is this creepy looking plush(appearance up to interpretation) that’s turns out to be yn’s childhood toy that they adore very much.

So like the whole fic would be Asahi’s internal struggle to either leave his crush’s house or stay with the terrifyingly petrifying abomination that yn has no problem hugging and kissing.Hed try to stay strong and continue talking to us but at times he would take bathroom breaks so he could build up his courage again lmao.

Maybe our mom would notice the amount of bathroom breaks Asahi would take and idk make some assumptions 🤨(she could become important if you decide making her ask Asahi what’s wrong and the whole silly conflict would be resolved by her telling us to bring the toy to another room so poor Asahi doesn’t have to be petrified)

Anyways thank you!💕

Rico

Warnings - Asahi being afraid of your bear :(

Note: Sorry I didn't get this out yesterday oml. This was one of my favourite requests so there's no way I could let this sit in the ask box any longer. The gif has noya in it cause why not and I couldn't find any other ones that fit ig :'). Little thing about the bear, I tried to describe it in a way that makes it seem like it looked cute as some point in time, so let me know if that was good <3

Male Reader

'Oh my god, did it just move?'

There really wasn't a good way to describe Asahi's predicament right now. Seated curtly on the floor of your room, while you were talking about something and pulling a video up to show him on your laptop.

There shouldn't be a problem here. In fact, Asahi should be nervous for completely different reasons. He honestly wasn't even sure how he got here in the first place.

~~~

"Azumane!"

Asahi turns at the sound of your voice, his face heating up as he spots you sprinting towards him. He slows to a walk to allow you to catch up, growing increasingly more fidgety. Why were you you approaching him? You don't talk to him too much outside of practice or class, so why were you running towards him with such a bright smile?

Then a horrible thought struck him. Did you find out? Were you going to make fun of him? You, the most beautiful, handsome, gorgeous boy he'd ever met? No no no, that couldn't be the case right? Somehow the smile on your face looked more sinister to him.

He was still worrying when you took up a place at his side. "I was wondering," you huffed, "if you wanted to hang out?"

His eyes widened, nerves fading quickly. "Sure! I- sure." He stammered out. He really had a habit of making something out of nothing, didn't he.

~~~

Oh yeah, that's how.

On any note, he should be nervous because he's sitting in his crushes bedroom. Not because of the absolutely terrifying bear seated in your lap.

There really isn't any other way to describe it accurately.

It looked like a normal bear from the back, the matted patches of fur and occasional stitches being normal for any childhood toy. You had walked in after him and saw him staring at the bear, so you had picked it up and showed him the front, beaming.

"Meet Rico!"

What was he even supposed to think? The bear had a little animal skull where it's face should be. The matted fur was a reoccurring thing, but in the front there were little patches of leather that looked dangerously like human skin sewed in to keep the bear from falling apart at the seams. There were little red threads sticking up in random spots, and Asahi was 100% sure there was an all too realistic eye in one of the skull sockets.

When he asked you about it in the most non-threatening, meek voice ever, you said that his other eye fell out a while back, and the leather actually did very well with not ripping or tearing. You also explained that your uncle helped you patch Rico up before he passed away, as he was good with leather.

So, here he was in the present. You were talking happily about something that interested you, sitting cross-legged with Rico on your lap. It was everything he had hoped for, but for some reason Asahi just couldn't focus on your angelic voice. Well, he knew the reason full well. He seriously thinks Rico was watching him. It felt like his weirdly realistic eye was glancing at him no matter where he moved, and oh god did its leg just twitch?

"... ahi... asahi... Azumane?"

He jumped and tore his attention off of the bear, instead opting to meet your (e/c) eyes. "You were spacing out, are you okay?" You asked with a warm smile.

"I- uh- yes! ...Could I ask where the bathroom is?"

~~~

Really it's pathetic. This is the fourth time he's gone to the bathroom in an hour, and he was sure you were starting to notice. He can't even think of any reason to defend himself, aside from the fact that the longer he stayed by the bear, the heavier the tension fell on him.

Taking a deep breath and meeting his own eyes in the mirror, he steeled himself to head back to your room. What's the worst that could happen right? At the very least, the bear wouldn't decide to off him while you were in the room.

Asahi, now determined and ready, opened the door and prepared to head back down the hall to your room when he was stopped by a woman's voice.

"Oh! You're (y/n)'s friend, right?" He stopped, turning around slowly, only to relax when his eyes landed on a friendly looking woman. She held a smile clad with a bit of concern.

"Yes! I- yes, that's me," he quieted down, bringing a large hand up to scratch the back of his neck. There truly was nothing more awkward than meeting your crushes mother. Alone.

She smiled a closed eyed smile at him, before opening her mouth to speak once more. "I can't help but notice that you've been taking quite a few breaks?" She was clearly trying to ask him about it in the most non-confrontational way possible, like approaching a scared animal.

And she was starting to get a little suspicious. More often than not has she spotted Asahi making a run towards your bathroom with a red face, and she at least wants to know what his relationship with you is before assuming anything crude.

"Well- I- Can you keep a secret?" He blurts out in defeat. She nods. "His bear- Rico- kind of scares me." The deflated aura around him was almost funny. In Asahi's mind, that bear was definitely not normal. After all, you mentioned that your uncle patched it up before passing away. As stupid as it was, he swears that bear is haunted.

Before anyone else could say anything, you chuckled from Asahi's back. "That's all? I really thought you hated me!" You laughed, Rico under your arm. He turned bright red and your mother chuckled.

"Well," she said, "How about we move Rico to another room so that our guest doesn't get too scared." She smiled softly. You nodded with a grin, and took off to set Rico down somewhere else.

Once you were out of earshot, your mom turned to Asahi.

"I always thought that bear was creepy too."

~~~

In the end, Asahi supposes, that awkward little encounter was worth it. You had your head on his lap, going on about something that you learned about earlier in the day. Maybe he was still a bit afraid of your weird childhood toy, but it kind of did help him get a boyfriend.

While his adoring eyes were on you, he failed to notice Rico's arm shifting, his little sewn mouth turning up to smile just a bit wider.

[mercy-burning]

Win Me Back

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: When Reader’s ex-boyfriend comes back to town, he finds a way to make amends— with a little help from her niece.

Category: FLUFF

Warnings: None other than a few swears :)

Word Count: 3k (I barely made the limit, folks, that was hard lol)

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This is my entry for @homoose ‘s 2k Celebration!! And if this fic seems familiar, that may be because it’s a re-telling of the car-wash scene from Ramona and Beezus 🤭😂 It’s one of my favorite movie scenes of all time, it never fails to make me squeal, and I had SO MUCH FUN writing this!

Also! I tried very hard to find the scene for you to watch incase you haven’t seen the movie, but the ones I did manage to find on YouTube cut out THE BEST PARTS, so I’m sorry 😭 But in case you want to know the ~vibes~ I tried to capture and don’t feel like watching the movie, I made THIS post last night with some dialogue/background from the scene if you’d like to read it! Obviously it’s not required since what I’ve written is quite different, but it is encouraged 😊

I hope you like it!! And if somehow you haven’t followed Moose yet, you should! She’s the sweetest ❤❤❤

***

Y/N found an abundance of upsides to taking neighborhood walks with her niece. For one thing, it gave her a distraction, something to focus on as she made sure eight-year-old Piper wouldn't wander too far from the sidewalk. She found solace in quizzing her on the multiplication table as they made their way around the block, an activity in which Piper enthusiastically flaunted her love of numbers.

It was also nice to stay outside and take in the warm sun and soft rustling of the trees, though every once in a while all of it wasn't enough to keep the memory of Spencer at bay.

After all, it was kind of hard when he was back in town, and after all these years he was reaching out to her like he hadn't broken her heart in the first place.

"You seem sad, Auntie," Piper said, grabbing Y/N's hand as the turned the corner.

Y/N swung their arms together gently, smiling down at her with a tilt of her head. "Why d'you think that, hon?"

Piper gave a little shrug, her ponytail blowing softly behind her. "You don't smile as much. And you always smile when you're with me... And you asked me the same times equation 3 times in a row just now. You're distracted."

Y/N couldn't help the breathy laugh that escaped her. You sound just like Spencer... Instead, she told her, "Aw, I'm sorry, Kiddo. My mind is just in a... confusing place right now. But I'm very happy that you got to come stay with me this weekend, you always brighten my day." She punctuated her sentence with a little boop on Piper's nose, to which she giggled and asked for another math equation.

The two of them continued around the block a few rounds, though on their fourth and final one, Y/N noticed very familiar car parked just outside her house.

Heart jumping into her throat, she stopped in her tracks, and Piper kept going only to be pulled back slightly. The girl turned to her aunt and furrowed her brow. "Auntie, why did we stop?"

"Um... I just wasn't expecting any company today besides you..."

Y/N certainly wasn't ready to discuss everything that was going on with Spencer to anyone, let alone her eight-year-old niece who wouldn't probably understand or care anyway. So she explained it the best way she could, quickly coming up with a plan to avoid him as long as possible.

"See the car parked over there?" Y/N asked, and Piper nodded. "Well, that's an... old friend of mine... And we haven't talked in a long time because we don't really get along anymore. So when we get up to the house, he might try to talk to us, and I'm going to tell him that we're busy."

"He's not mean, is he?"

Sensing Piper's reservations, Y/N reassured her while letting her own contempt for her ex fuel the conversation. "No, but... He broke my heart. And he—"

"Y/N... Hi..."

She nearly jumped, mostly from surprise, but also at the fact that hearing her name coming from his lips and his voice and just him brought back a flood of feelings she'd rather have forgotten. Still, she turned to him and cleared her throat. "Spencer... Hi."

Piper suddenly let go of Y/N's hand, a small scoff escaping her. "Oh. Spencer..."

The two adults turned to look at her with surprise, though it was Spencer who spoke up. "You... know me?"

"Mhm," Piper returned with a nod, crossing her arms. "I heard Mom and Auntie talk about you yesterday, and she says you have a stupid, beautiful face."

"Piper!" Y/N screeched, heat rising to her face. "I... You can't tell people that, I— That's not... I..."

"Oh... I'm sorry, Auntie," the little girl said quietly.

Y/N was fully prepared to dig a hole and stay buried in it forever, and her embarrassment grew even stronger when Spencer spoke up again. "It's okay," he reassured gently, a small laugh sounding from his throat that regrettably gave Y/N butterflies. "You're auntie's definitely right, I do have a stupid face."

Before Y/N could stop the conversation altogether, Piper cut in quickly, being sure to add, "And beautiful."

Spencer's eyes flicked up to Y/N, drawing her in with amusement and charm, a fact which she hated to her core. Because it was working, and that was annoying as hell. "Yep," he said, never taking his eyes off of her. "And beautiful."

And then the corner of his mouth turned up slightly, flashing her the most amused, stupidly perfect smirk.

Piper started talking again, and for the second time that day, Y/N wished she hadn't even said anything at all, keeping this whole situation to herself.

"But we can't talk to you, because you broke Auntie's heart, and we're busy. C'mon, Auntie. Let's go." Piper grabbed Y/N's hand and led her up the rest of sidewalk until they got to the driveway. And even though it might have been childish to completely ignore Spencer as they walked past, not giving him a second glance, quite frankly she was quick to abort the situation as soon as possible.

Unfortunately for her, Spencer was persistent.

They were almost to the steps up to the door when he called out. "Piper! Can I ask you something?"

The little girl turned around, losing grip of Y/N's hand and greeting his gaze without batting an eye. "Sure."

Damn kids and their willingness to be nice to strangers, Y/N grumbled in her head.

"I know... your auntie is an important person to you, right?" Spencer inquired, walking up the driveway with his hands in his front pockets. Y/N swallowed, most certainly not noticing how the sun perfectly highlighted him in a glow that made him look more beautiful than stupid.

Piper nodded.

"Well... She's important to me, too. And I really hurt her feelings, but I want to make it up to her. Would you be kind enough to let me try?"

Damn him, Y/N grumbled yet again. Damn him, damn him, damn him to hell... Why was he so charming?

He'd always known that kids were a soft spot for her, and when they'd dated, they talked a lot about having some of their own  one day. Every time they took a walk in the park and they passed a kid, they always gravitated to Spencer, giving him the biggest smiles, and in turn he would give them a high five or perform a little magic trick to make them smile even wider. And Y/N melted into a damn puddle every time.

He knew exactly what he was doing, using Piper as a means to win her back, but even still, she knew that because of his gentle nature, most of it was... well, nature. Deep down, as much as she hated to admit it, she knew that he was a kind person. They may have ended things on bad terms, sure, and Y/N could pretend he was cruel all she wanted— The truth was that no matter how their relationship ended, he was a good man at heart.

And that's why it hurt so much.

Y/N thought for sure Piper would fall into his web, but she was pleasantly surprised when the girl responded with, "I don't know... I don't know if I trust you yet."

You and me both, Kiddo, Y/N thought to herself.

Spencer laughed again. "That's fair. Look, you can say no, but... How about I give you something in return?"

"Spencer, that's no—"

Piper crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side, interrupting Y/N before she could finish protesting. "How much we talking?"

"Piper!"

"Well, I was going to offer to show you a magic trick, but I suppose I could work you a deal... I only have a hundred bucks on me, would that be enough?"

Sure enough, Spencer pulled a one-hundred dollar bill from his pocket, and the young girl's eyes went wide. Y/N's did, too, but more likely than not it wasn't a means of excitement.

"You have yourself a deal!" Piper squealed with a jump. She ran over to take the money, meanwhile Spencer looked up at Y/N with a smile.

She didn't return it.

"Is there somewhere we can talk?" he asked softly. Kindly.

"Well, I'm babysitting Piper today, so you'll have to come back another time," she returned a little coldly, hoping that she and Piper had just scored a free Benjamin to pig out on ice cream while Spencer was left waiting forever for a conversation that was never going to happen.

Funny how eight-year-olds always had a way of making things more difficult for you.

"Auntie, Spencer and I made a deal. He gave me money, and now he has to make it up to you. Remember?"

Y/N groaned. "Yeah, yeah, I remember..."

"Well, how about I... take you guys out for lunch? My treat? If it's alright, we can go to McDonald's..."

"The one with the play place?" Piper gasped, immediately turning to Y/N. "Oh, Auntie, please can we go? Please, please, please?"

She looked up at Spencer, shaking her head in exasperation as he smiled at her, those sparkling honey eyes reeling her in whether she wanted them to or not. Then she turned to Piper and sighed.

"How fast do you think you can eat?"

***

Y/N was surprised Spencer didn't try to talk to her more on the drive over. Though, Piper did most of the talking, telling Spencer about how much she loved numbers and math, and he even quizzed her on some multiplication equations on the way.

If she wasn't so annoyed with him, Y/N would have melted completely.

It was the getting into the restaurant that worried her the most, though. She knew that once Piper ran off to play while they waited for their food, he would spend whatever short amount of time he had trying to win her back. And she was afraid of two things, mostly that she would end up crying in the restaurant, making a scene and wishing she'd never agreed to go, no matter how heart-broken Piper might have been. But there was also a small part of her, nestled deep into her heart, that was afraid she'd fall for him all over again.

He certainly made falling easy.

When the three of them stepped into the restaurant, it was easy to see how excited Piper was to be there. She gently tugged on Y/N's sleeve before looking up at her. "Nuggets, fries, and Sprite?"

"Apples, too, and you've got yourself a deal," Y/N said.

Piper nodded, not really caring but eager to go and play. So she sighed and nodded, leaving her with a, "Be careful!" as she saw the girl quick-walk over to the play area. There was a decent crowd that day, but thankfully no one in the restaurant seemed to have any grievances or knacks for trouble.

Spencer on the other hand... Y/N scoffed to herself, thinking how he was the most troublesome person in the area.

He proved her point by nudging her with his elbow. "She's a fun one."

"Yeah, she's somethin' alright," Y/N grumbled. "I can't believe you bribed her just to talk to me... If I didn't know better, I'd have thought you were being romantic. But I do know better, and you're just stubborn."

Spencer laughed, but she refused to look at him. "Aw, come on, give me some credit. You know I can be a little of both."

This time Y/N did look at him, squinting in a glare, like she was contemplating. "Eh... five to ninety-five. Leaning in favor of stubborn, of course."

"Obviously." The amusement in his voice made her hate his stupid, beautiful face even more than usual.

Thankfully he kept the conversation short after that, at least until they ordered. Since it was Spencer's treat, she milked his wallet for as much as she could afford to on fast-food. She ordered a large chocolate milkshake and enough food for her and Piper to share for dinner later— and probably lunch the next day, too. The amused chuckle Spencer let out as she was ordering did have her believing maybe she was being a bit childish. But the longer she thought about it, the more she stood by her actions.

He did break her heart after all. The least he could do was compensate through chicken nuggets and French fries.

The only thing she didn't count on, though, was how long it was going to take to make all her food, not to mention getting things done for other people. As she and Spencer made their way to the table, she realized she'd have to talk with him longer.

Spencer took advantage of this, naturally.

"So... How've you been?"

Y/N scoffed. "You show up out of the blue five years after you break up with me, and then have the nerve to ask me how I've been, in a McDonald's? Yeah, I've been great."

He sighed, his eyes flitting down to the table. "I know, I'm... I'm sorry. And I know I should have—"

"Spence, please don't... Look, I know... I know why we broke up, and I came to terms with the fact that your job was just to dangerous for us to be together, but... I mean, you weren't even willing to work it out, you just... ran away. That hurt."

"Y/N... I'm so, so sorry that it happened that way. I think about it almost every day and how much I wish I could have changed it..."

"But you can't change it. And now you... you show up here after all this time to—to what? Win me back? Use your kindness and your charm to reel me back in, like that'll somehow make everything better?"

He looked up at her through his eyelashes, the sight almost breaking her. "Maybe..."

"It's not that I don't appreciate the thought, Spence, because I do... I've dreamt about the day you'd come back and apologize, begging me to take you back... But I can't get hurt again. And you have to understand that."

"I do... Just..." His hands reached out across the table, gently touching hers. The feeling sparked something in her, something nostalgic and warm...

Something that felt a lot like home.

He was going to continue his speech, but a knock on the glass separating them from the playroom on the other side jolted them apart. It was Piper, a stern look on her face. "Don't try anything, Mister... You're still on thin ice."

She turned away then, running back to the slide when Spencer sighed. "I thought we had a deal."

Y/N laughed, nodding at Piper through the glass. "Even a hundred bucks and free food isn't enough to win someone's trust." Spencer looked over at her and waited, visibly swallowing. But Y/N flashed the smallest of smiles before finishing, speaking quietly, yet with all the truth and firmness in the world. "You have to work harder than that."

"Duly noted," Spencer replied, his gaze never straying from hers. "Looks like me and my stupid, beautiful face have some work to do."

Y/N rolled her eyes, leaning back in the chair as Spencer grinned like a fool... A stupid, beautiful fool. "Oh, alright... You know what... If you weren't paying for my mountains of food and giving me a ride home, that thin ice you're on would have just shattered under the weight of that comment."

"Oh, come on, it was funny."

"No, it really wasn't."

"Yeah, it was."

He stared at her, smiling until her forced frown slowly and reluctantly transformed into a smile of her own.

***

"Thank you for lunch, Spencer! And for the hundred dollars!" Piper skipped past him and up the driveway, stopping to turn and wave with her Happy Meal toy in hand. Y/N was carrying a bag of leftover food and half a milkshake, her stomach already regretting every choice she'd ever made.

"You're welcome, Piper," Spencer said, smiling at the girl. "And thank you for letting me get a chance to set things right with your auntie. You really helped me out today, I appreciate it."

"Sure thing. Just don't break her heart again, or I'll break your stupid, beautiful face. It'll turn into a stupid, ugly face then."

Y/N mentally face-palmed herself, turning to Piper and telling her to go inside and wash up. The girl gave Spencer one final wave and a smile as she did so, leaving the adults alone once again.

"Thank you..." he said quietly, shifting on his feet. "For giving me a chance. I really want to make things right with us... Make up for the way I hurt you, and... try harder. You deserve that much."

Years of heartache and trying to get over him begged Y/N not to believe it, but deep down she knew he was being truthful. He wasn't the type of guy to come around like this—especially with all the work travel he did—just to manipulate her into heartache again, with empty promises and hurtful intent.

She knew he was really willing to try to make things right, and that was a big start.

"Thank you... for saying that... And for making Piper's day. I know you didn't really mean to bribe her, but the fact that you did it anyway is absurd, so... I guess I have to give credit where credit's due."

Spencer laughed, and this time Y/N didn't hate the feeling of the butterflies in her stomach fluttering at the sound. "Well, I'm glad I could at least amuse you today. Does... this mean my romantic to stubborn ratio shifted a little bit?"

Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately, taking a sip of her milkshake. "Hmm... twenty to eighty."

"Still leaning in favor of stubborn, I suppose..."

The smile they shared in that moment felt more like the ones they used to share back then, officially kickstarting the slow, meticulous mending of their love.

"Obviously."

***

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[watchyourbluesturngolden]

you are my home

this started out as a little concept, and then i thought it might be fun to write a whole fic out of it!

(side note: I know we have no idea if sarah and mitch are having a boy or girl, so i just went with girl ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

warnings: angst, relationship struggles, arguments

word count: 11.5k (the longest thing i've ever written :) )

"Just an eighth of a cup?"

"That's what it says," Harry shrugged, looking at the recipe on his phone. "Look, one eighth cup of milk. Right here-" He tilted the screen toward you.

"I believe you, it's just weird, it doesn't seem like a lot," you mused, but followed his instructions anyways. You were making chicken parmesan, and the two of you had a rather long history of butchered recipes. It was usually because you were too wrapped up in each other to read the recipe properly. Or because Harry would start kissing you while the food was cooking, murmuring against your lips that "we have plenty of time". Unfortunately, he usually got carried away, leaving you with a flushed face and burnt food.

Not this time, though. You were determined to make this one right. You stirred the milk into the mixture, watching carefully and turning the heat down when it began to bubble.

"Now... we just have to wait while it simmers for a few minutes," you said, setting the spatula down in the spoon rest. "So far, so good."

"I can think of something for us to do for a few minutes," Harry grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist. He leaned down, beginning to kiss your neck, but you quickly squirmed away.

"Nope, not this time," you grabbed the spatula again, brandishing it like a weapon. "Stay back. We're not taking any chances with this one. I'm tired of throwing out charred food and ordering pizza."

"Pizza is good, though," he argued, stepping closer again as you moved farther away.

"Not as good as our homemade chicken parmesan will be if you can just be patient for three minutes."

"Three minutes?" He practically whined.

You rolled your eyes. "You will be fine for three minutes. Wait until the food is done."

He huffed, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. "Can't believe you're depriving me of your love like this."

"Yes, you're so terribly deprived," you said sarcastically. "it's not like I've been by your side constantly for the past 72 hours."

"Well, time flies when you're with the love of your life."

You smiled, stepping forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek. Just one. He grabbed at your forearms, trying to keep you close, but you jumped back.

"No," you said sternly. "The food is almost done and I'm not burning this one too."

"Fine," he groaned. "But speaking of 72 hours... I was wondering about something."

You hummed questioningly, stirring the sauce.

"I was just kind of thinking... I mean, we're together all the time. When we're in the States we're together at your place, and when we're in London we're together at mine. So do you think... maybe we should just... officially move in together?"

You froze, suddenly feeling your heart thudding. It's not like you hadn't thought about it before. You had; a lot, actually. Of course you wanted to live with him. You hated being apart from him, and you knew he felt the same about you.

But still, moving to a whole different continent is a pretty big step. You didn't know how that would work for your job, and you weren't exactly excited to be so far away from all your friends and family.

"You don't have to answer right now," He was quick to interject, seemingly noticing how worried you looked. "Not at all. I just... I think it would be nice to have you with me. I just hate all the back and forth, and I'd kind of like to have a place we can call home together."

A small smile spread over your face as you thought about how nice it really would be. You thought of waking up on a rainy morning, cuddled into his side as you listened to the raindrops patter on the window. You thought of baking cookies in the kitchen with him. Taking bubble baths together. Going on walks in the park every evening. All of that would be so much better if it didn't have an end date lurking around the corner. If you knew you wouldn't have to fly back home in a few days or weeks or months.

"It would be really nice," you agreed. "I just... what about my work and stuff?"

"We can figure that out," he said. "We can do it however you want. I'm sure they could set it up so you can work remotely, or you could get a different job in London, or... you don't actually have to work if you don't want to."

"What, just be your little housewife?" you teased, looking over your shoulder at him.

"No," he grinned. "Well, maybe-"

You turned and snapped a hand towel at him before he could finish that sentence. He jumped away, grinning boyishly and holding his hands up in surrender.

"That's not how I meant it, and you know it. But seriously, if you don't want to work you don't have to."

"I would like to be there with you, and know I don't have to leave anytime soon," you said thoughtfully.

"Like I said, you don't have to decide right now. Why don't you just think about it? As much as I want you to, it is a big decision and I don't want you to rush into anything you're not okay with."

Before you could speak again, the timer on your phone went off.

"That's the sauce," you said, turning around and turning the gas off. "See? It's not so hard to keep your hands off of me for long enough to cook a meal, is it?"

He scoffed. "Speak for yourself. I nearly died. Of lonliness."

-----

In the next few days, you thought about Harry's offer a lot. You couldn't deny that you really liked the idea. What could be better than living with the love of your life? Never having to leave to pick up more clothes, never forgetting something important at home, always being in the same country as him. There were just a few things you worried about. Your job, for one. Yes, Harry had offered for you to quit working, but you weren’t sure if that was the best idea. You liked your job, and being able to earn your own money.

Harry was probably right; it probably could be done remotely. But you would kind of miss seeing your coworkers, at least the few you had been close with.

Then there was the matter of your friends. You would really miss having girls' nights, and gossiping about their boyfriends, and getting mani-pedis every month. Sure, you knew you would be back to visit. But you also knew it would be different.

Then, the thing you were most worried about: your family. You had always been close with them, especially your mom. You went to see her and your dad every week, and you called them almost every day. You weren't sure how well you would cope with being so far away from them.

But at the same time, you were incredibly excited by the idea of moving to London. You had been there before, of course, but never for longer than a few weeks. You wanted to get the full experience. You wanted Harry to show you around, take you to his favorite places. You wanted to go to the town he grew up in, see the bakery he never shut up about. You wanted to be a part of his life, in every way.

So, a week after he first asked you, you made up your mind. You were laying on the couch with him, tracing over his tattoos with your fingers while some cooking show played. He was pretty involved, every so often groaning or shaking his head or tsking at the contestants' "complete lack of skills." You weren't paying any attention, though. You were trying to decide how to bring up the conversation from earlier.

Eventually, you decided to just go for it.

"Harry?" you asked, not looking up from your fingers on his arms.

"Hm?" He replied, peeling his eyes away from the screen to look at you.

"I was thinking... about what you said the other day."

"Yeah?" He sat up more, muting the TV. "What about it?"

"I just think- I mean, there's still some stuff to figure out, but I would really like to move into your place in London."

"Really?" His face lit up.

You nodded. "I'm a little worried about my work, and leaving my family and friends, but... I want to be with you. I hate when one of us has to leave. I just want to go to sleep next to you, and wake up next to you, and not have an end date hanging over my head every time we're together."

"I like the sound of that," he smiled, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. "And like I said, we'll figure out your work. And we'll come back to visit whenever you want to. It's only like... a nine hour flight."

"Right, basically nothing," you laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder.

"Right," he smiled. "But really. Any time you need to see your people, we'll come see them."

"We?"

He nodded, seeming confused by your questioning tone.

"You wouldn't have to do that," you shook your head. "I don't want to make you-"

"I want to." He cut you off. "I'm not going to just let you fly for 18 hours all alone. Plus, I'd miss you too much while you were gone."

"That's sweet," you said, a light flush heating up your face. "Also, my family might be disappointed if I came back and you weren't with me. I think they like you more than me at this point."

"That was the plan all along," he grinned.

You hit his arm playfully, but didn't move your head. "So what would that look like?"

"Well, really we could do whatever you want to. We could just move all your stuff into my place, or if you wanted, we could maybe find somewhere new? Somewhere that's just ours."

"Harry, we are not buying a whole new house when you basically have a mansion. That would be stupid."

"I'm actually really glad you feel that way. That mansion was bloody expensive."

-----

"How much longer until your lease is up?" Harry's impatient voice came through the phone.

"One less day than when I told you yesterday," you rolled your eyes. He was worse than a kid waiting for Christmas. He asked nearly every day if he could just pay off the lease for you and have you move right then. Your answer was always no; you had decided to finish it out on your own. Kind of like closing one chapter of your life before you start another.

There were just two weeks left now, and the evidence was all around the place. You and Harry had started to box up your smaller items, and the space already felt much less like home. You had taken pictures off the walls; cleared trinkets off the bookshelves. In the next few days, you were going to go through your clothes and decide what would come with you and what would be donated.

Harry had been excited to help with the whole process, but he had to go back to London a week earlier than he planned. Of course, you weren't happy about this, but you kind of liked having some time alone to say goodbye to the place you had called home for the past five years.

So you did just that. You wandered around, smiling at the patched spot in the wall from when Harry had knocked over a lamp stumbling around in the dark. You ran your fingers over the slight scorch mark on the table from when you made dinner, but forgot to set down a potholder. Your toe scuffled over the nail polish stain on the rug, from when Harry had tried to paint your nails.

All these little things made your little apartment feel like your home. You would miss them, but you had realized something as you thought back to all the memories. Most of them had been with Harry. Yes, you were leaving some memories behind, but you weren't leaving HIM behind. You would make new memories together, wherever you lived. As long as it was together.

"It's just two weeks, baby, and then we'll be together."

"Two weeks is so long," he sighed.

"It'll go by fast," you promised. "It is for me. I'm keeping busy over here."

"Me too," he took on an offended tone. "Very busy. I'm doing lots of things."

"What have you been up to?" You asked, settling back onto the couch. It was weird to see how empty your space was, but it was nice to be able to put your feet on the coffee table without knocking over the various decorations that usually adorned it.

"Some work stuff, but mostly clearing out space for you. You have a lot of stuff."

"I do not," you scoffed. "I probably have less hair products than you do."

"Hey," he cried. "Rude. My hair is luxurious. It takes a lot of upkeep."

You smiled, shaking your head.

“I moved a lot of stuff into the guest closet, so you can have half of the one in our room."

"Really?" You asked, a little surprised. You knew how well organized he kept his closet, so it was a little shocking that he was willing to just move everything.

"Of course. You'll be living here too, you need someplace to keep your clothes."

"I don't think I'll be able to fill half of your closet, though," you laughed.

"Guess we'll have to go shopping, then!" He chirped.

"I guess," you agreed with a smile.

You heard muffled voices in the background before Harry spoke again.

"I'm sorry, love, but I have to go." he sounded frustrated. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Okay. Love you!"

"Love you too."

-----

"Today's the day!" Harry practically yelled through the phone.

"I know!" You said, trying to match his enthusiasm. You were slightly less excited. After all, you still had a nine hour flight ahead of you. But you knew that by this time tomorrow, you would officially be living with Harry, and that made it worth it.

"Do you have everything packed?" He asked.

"Pretty much. I'm just throwing the last of my stuff into my bag."

"Did you make a shopping list for when you get here?"

"I was gonna do that on the plane. It'll be something for me to do," you said, turning on the speakerphone so you could move around more freely.

"Yeah, good plan," he agreed. "I've said this a few times already, but I'm so excited for you to be here with me."

"Have you? Have you really said it a few times? I wasn't aware," you laughed.

"Be nice to me, I'm just happy," he said, and you could practically hear the smile in his voice.

"I know, I'm sorry," you shook your head with a smile. "I'm excited too. But I have to go now, I have to finish packing."

"Ok," he replied sadly. "See you soon!"

-----

You spotted him right after you got off the plane. He was standing near the gate, searching the crowd expectantly. Once he locked eyes with you, his face lit up in a huge smile. He made his way through the crowd, meeting you with open arms. He acted like he hadn't seen you in weeks, even though it had only been four days.

He buried his face in your neck, holding you tightly against him.

"I missed you," he murmured.

"I missed you too," you breathed deeply, inhaling his familiar scent. "But I'm here now. And now we can go home."

"Yeah," he grinned. "Home."

-----

"Harry, the movers can carry some of it, that's their job," you reminded him as he grabbed one of the boxes.

"Yeah, but it'll go faster if I carry some stuff," he argued, motioning to the door with his head. "Open that for me?"

You did as he asked, shaking your head as he brought the box of books inside. He insisted on helping, even though he had hired a team of movers to do this for you.

"Where do you wanna put these?" He asked, looking around the living room. "They can go on the shelf in here, or the one in our room."

"I'm not sure, I think I want some in here and some in the room. Why don't we go through them later?"

"Sounds good," he nodded, setting the box down in front of the bookshelf. "Another box!"

You shook your head again, going into the kitchen as he went back outside. You started going through the cupboards, checking to make sure you didn’t have any duplicates on your shopping list. He already had quite a few of the items you needed, so you could remove several things.

Once the last few boxes had been brought in, and Harry had thanked the movers profusely, he collapsed on the couch.

"I told you you shouldn't have done so much, now you're all tired out," you joked, going to sit next to him.

He nodded. "You were right. I need a nap after all that." He got up, pushing you to lay down and then crawling on top of you. He laid his head on your stomach, sighing contentedly when you ran your fingers through his hair.

"Oh wait," he lifted his head, already sounding half asleep. "We didn't even get groceries yet. We have to-" He began to get up, but you stopped him with a gentle hand on his face.

You shook your head, running your thumb over his cheekbone lightly. "We can do that later, baby. Just go to sleep for a while."

"Yeah," he nodded slightly. "I'm just gonna go to sleep for a while."

"Okay," you smiled. "Sweet dreams."

-----

When Harry woke up, he was alone on the couch. He frowned at the lack of warmth, grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and pulling it around himself. He wasn't sure how you had managed to get out from under him without waking him, but he wasn't happy about it.

He planned to go back to sleep, but sighed when his phone buzzed. He reached for it, but then paused for a minute. He decided whatever it was could wait. He retracted his arm, pulling the blanket tighter around himself and snuggling into the back of the couch.

Just as he was about to drift off, his phone began buzzing again. This time, it didn't stop. He groaned, but grabbed it this time. He squinted at the bright light, trying to make out who was trying so hard to contact him.

It was Jeff. There were two missed calls and a text. He swiped on the text, his frown deepening as he read the message.

Jeff: I'm sure you're going to see this soon enough, but the moving van was spotted outside your house. There's already a few articles out, and I'm sure there'll be more. Just wanted to let you know so you don't have to hear it from some trashy website, and maybe you should let Y/N know to stay away from socials for a while. Sorry about this.

Harry groaned, throwing his arm over his face. He had known this was likely to happen, but at the same time he had hoped it wouldn't. He was so happy right now, and he didn't need that to be tainted by rude articles and crazy fans and speculations about his relationships. He just wanted to sit back and relax with his love for a few days, but apparently that was too much for him to ask.

Normally, he wouldn't even look at the articles. He knew they would only be upsetting. This time, though, he felt like he should. He wasn't sure how you would react to this, and it might be easier if he knew what you would be seeing all over the internet for the next week.

So, he opened google and searched "harry styles". Instantly, his screen filled with pictures of the moving van outside his house. There were even a few pictures of him carrying boxes, and one of your back as you walked inside. He huffed angrily. This was supposed to be a happy day, and now he was in a bad mood. His privacy had been violated yet again, and it was hard for him to stay positive after that.

Then he began scrolling through the article titles. He rolled his eyes at the baited language that was clearly meant to create negative responses.

"HARRY STYLES seen MOVING BOXES? Is he going out... or is someone coming in?"

"Harry Styles spotted with NEWEST GIRLFRIEND"

"ANOTHER GIRL? HARRY SHARES HIS HOUSE... YET AGAIN!"

"Just a friend? Or Harry's latest lover?"

"Guess which FORMER ONE DIRECTION STAR is shacking up with his SECRET GIRLFRIEND!"

Against his better judgement, he clicked on one of the articles. His heart sunk further with every sentence he read.

"It's no secret that Harry Styles has been with a lot of women (read about each of his past relationships here). But is there someone new for the Watermelon Sugar singer?

A moving van was spotted outside of Harry's house today, and the star was seen moving boxes into his 8.7 million dollar mansion.

As if that’s not enough, there was a woman seen heading into the house with Harry. Could this mean a new romance for the Grammy winning artist? Well, don’t be too sure. There are many possible explanations for these new living arrangements. Maybe she’s a friend going through a hard time, or even just a family member who needs a couch to crash on.

Or maybe she’s Harry’s newest conquest. Yet another notch in the bed stand! Way to go, Styles!

However, we can’t help but notice: she doesn’t seem like Harry’s type. Come on girl, leggings and a hoodie? And that hair? Apparently, she’s not trying too hard to impress him.

We don’t know all the details yet, but stay tuned! We’ve reached out to Harry’s management for more information. Check back for more updates, and subscribe to our email list so you don’t miss anything!”

Harry clicked off his phone with a sigh. He stood up from the couch, keeping the blanket wrapped around him as he made his way into the kitchen.

No matter how upset he was, he was sure the sight in front of him would always bring a smile to his face. You were wearing one of his t-shirts, dancing slightly to your music as you stirred the pot in front of you. Harry leaned against the door frame, giving himself a few minutes to take this in. He couldn’t believe he would get to experience this every day from now on.

With a fond smile still on his face, he walked over to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, adjusting the blanket so it draped over your shoulders as well.

“Hi,” you smiled, leaning back against him. “Did you have a good nap?”

“Would have been better if you didn’t get up,” he pouted, resting his chin on your shoulder to look into the pot.

“Oh please, you were totally dead to the world. I’ve been in here for half an hour now, and you only just woke up.”

“Still,” he said, turning his head to kiss your cheek. “What are you making?”

“Mac ‘n’ cheese,” you explained. “I wasn’t in the mood to do any real cooking.”

“Sounds delicious,” he smiled. “S’it almost done?”

“Should be like five more minutes,” you glanced over at the timer on your phone. “Want to get the plates?”

“No, just want to hold you,” he said, pressing his face further into your neck. “I’m not awake yet.”

“Fine,” you said, setting the spoon down. “Then you gotta walk with me, because I need to set the table.”

“I can do that,” he said, his voice muffled.

You smiled, moving around the room to get everything you needed while Harry clung to you like a koala. The smell of food seemed to perk him up, because within a few minutes he was lifting his head and leaning less of his weight on you.

“Smells really good, love,” he said, finally pulling himself away from you.

“I know, I’m an amazing chef,” you grinned, lifting the pot off the stove and bringing it to the table. This time, you remembered to set down a potholer. You didn’t really want to ruin this table that probably cost more than your entire apartment.

“You are,” he agreed, pulling out your chair before sitting down next to you. He scooted his chair closer, moving the blanket again so you were both under it.

His mood seemed to change suddenly as he was piling the food onto your plates.

“I have to tell you something,” he said, looking more upset than you had seen in a while.

“What?” You asked, turning slightly to face him.

“I don’t really… there’s no nice way to say it,” he said, avoiding your eyes. “Someone took pictures of the moving van and us bringing stuff in, and there’s some pretty nasty articles.”

“Oh,” you said quietly. You weren’t quite sure how to respond to that. It’s not like you didn’t expect this, but you had hoped to have a few peaceful days with Harry before being attacked by the media. “Is it- how bad is it?”

“It’s... not good,” he sighed. “I wouldn’t recommend looking at it. That stuff is terrible, always has been. They always seem to know exactly how to tear people down; make you feel bad about yourself. You might wanna stay off social media, just for a few days until some of the crazies calm down.”

You nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” he looked up quickly. “Why are you sorry? I’m the one that should be sorry, they’re writing terrible stuff about you, and it’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” you were quick to shut him down. “And I’m sure it bothers you too. I know you don’t like when they get personal information.”

“No, I really don’t,” he agreed. “But I wish they left you out of it.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now,” you said, leaning your head on his arm. “Because now I’m here, and we’re together, and I don’t have to leave anytime soon.”

-----

After dinner, Harry decided you should get some more of your things put away. He brought your bag to the bathroom, dumping everything out onto the vanity.

“Why do you have so many bottles?” He asked, picking up the closest one.

“Because,” you said, grabbing it out of his hands. “They all do different things. This one is moisturizer, this one makes sure my skin doesn’t get too oily-”

“So why don’t you just not use either of them? Seems like they cancel each other out anyways.”

You shot him a glare. “That’s not how it works. Anyways, this one's for dark spots. These glass ones are mineral oils. This blue one is for wrinkles- you know, gotta get ahead of those- and this one is rose water. It doesn’t really do anything, it basically just smells good. Then that’s my hair stuff- and I was right by the way, you do have way more than I do. And this is a face mask, and that one close to the sink is a hair mask, and this little tub is an exfoliator, and this cloth is a makeup remover, but it’s better for the environment than individual wipes. And then my makeup is here- so liquid foundation, setting powder, blush, concealer, mascara, eye shadow, eyeliner, and the brushes. I actually don’t have that much stuff,” you shrugged, looking at the bottles splayed everywhere.

“Right… not that much stuff,” he said, his eyes wide. “It’s a good thing I asked Gemma how she organizes all her stuff, because she told me to get one of these things.” He opened the cupboard under the sink, pulling out a spinning makeup organizer. “Hopefully all of your million bottles fit on this.”

“You got this for me?” you asked, smiling. “That’s so nice of you.”

“Well, I don’t think your stuff would have fit in the drawers,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

“Oh, shush,” you rolled your eyes. “Help me get all this organized, will you?”

-----

The next week was pretty smooth, minus that little hiccup with the press. You did as Harry suggested, and stayed off Twitter and Instagram. You didn’t think it would be too bad, but you had gotten a few texts from concerned family and friends that made you wonder how bad it really was.

Either way, you didn’t really want to look. You and Harry were essentially honeymooning, and you weren’t about to let a few nasty articles ruin it.

“We haven’t gone for groceries yet,” Harry reminded you, coming up behind you as you did your morning skincare routine.

“Yeah, I kind of forgot about that,” you said, closing the bottle of moisturizer. “We can go whenever, just let me get dressed.”

He nodded. “What all do we need?”

“I don’t think there’s too much, but we need some fruit. Most of yours is bad at this point.”

“Yeah, that happens.” He laughed. “I usually buy a whole bunch and then end up having to leave, so then I come home to a fridge full of rotten fruit.”

“Lovely,” you joked. “I also need some chips, all your snacks are healthy.”

“I have no idea what chips are, but we can buy some crisps, if that’s what you meant,” he smiled at you in the mirror.

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes, hitting his arm playfully. “I’m not going to call them crisps just because I live here now. I’m still American.”

“Fine, but when we have kids, they will not be using your American words. I’m not letting you corrupt my children like that.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“Well then, it’s too bad you moved in with me, isn’t it?”

-----

“Ooh, we need these!” Harry said, grabbing a bag of brownie bites.

“Why do we need those?”

“Because they’re delicious,” he said, looking at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“If you say so,” you shrugged, pushing the cart forward after he threw the bag in. “Where is the pasta?”

“Aisle 17,” he answered immediately.

“Is it really?” You asked, a little surprised he had the aisle numbers memorized.

“I have no idea,” he laughed. “It’s just the first number that popped into my head. I think it’s that way? Or maybe over here…” he trailed off, like he was trying to remember where to go. “I actually have no idea.”

“Wow, you're so helpful.”

“I know,” he grinned. “I don’t know, just start wandering around and we’ll find it eventually.”

“What a plan,” you shook your head, but followed him anyway. It’s not like you were in any rush, and you were both having a good time.

“Oh look!” You said, turning into an aisle. “I found the chips.”

“The what?” Harry called from the next row over. “I thought you said something, but I must have heard you wrong.”

“No, I just said I found the chips,” you repeated. “You know, little cooked potato slices?”

“I’m sorry love, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” He said, joining you in the aisle. “Oh, silly me. You meant crisps!”

“Nope,” you grabbed a bag of Doritos. “I meant exactly what I said.” You placed the bag in the cart, turning back to Harry. You leaned up on your tiptoes, moving closer to his face. “Chips,” you whispered, before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek and then turning around again.

“You can’t seduce me into calling them the wrong name,” he scoffed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shrugged, pushing the cart away. “Did you find the pasta yet?”

“No, but I did find the ice cream,” he said, easily catching up to you with his long legs.

“Ooh, I think that’s where we need to go next.”

“I agree,” he grinned, steering the cart in the right direction. “I think we should probably just get all of them, ya know? That way we won’t miss out on anything good.”

“Harry, there’s like thirty different flavors here,” you laughed. “We are not getting that much ice cream, we don’t even have that much space in the freezer.”

“No, that’s just because I have a bunch of frozen food in there. It’s mostly vegetables. Not that important. I can just throw that all away,” he argued, already opening the freezer door to reach for some ice cream.

“We are not buying thirty cartons of ice cream,” you shook your head. “We can get, like, ten, at most. Even that-”

“You already said ten!” he said, pressing a finger against your lips. “You can’t go back on that now. So pick some flavors!”

-----

“Which one do we want to try first?” He asked, looking at the large selection you had bought.

“Um… I think the salted caramel core,” you decided, picking up the carton of ice cream.

“Oh! You know what we need with all of this?”

“Insulin?”

“No,” he rolled his eyes, grabbing one of the bags from earlier and pulling out the brownie bites. “I told you we needed these, they’ll go perfect with the ice cream.”

“Ooh,” you nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

“I know,” he said proudly. “I’m full of good ideas. Actually, I have another one. Let’s go watch The Office while we eat our delicious brownie bites.”

“Ok, but if you put on the UK version I might have to leave.”

“I would never,” he said in an offended tone. “I’m not a monster.”

-----

“I don’t want to go back to work,” he sighed. “I just wanna stay here with you.”

“I know,” you said, tracing patterns on his chest. “But I have to start working again too. I don’t think my boss is too happy about this whole arrangement, so I have to make everything twice as good so she’ll let me keep doing it this way.”

“Yeah,” he said, running his fingers through your hair. “I’m saying again, you could just quit.”

“I’m not quitting,” you shook your head. “I like my job. And I can do it all from the house, so it’s a really good deal.”

“I wish I could do that,” he sighed again.

“That wouldn’t work,” you smiled. “If we were both here all day, neither of us would get anything done.”

“You might be right,” he laughed. “You’re very distracting.”

“Oh, I’m distracting?”

“Very,” he grinned. You recognized the look in his eyes, and you knew if you didn’t get up soon you wouldn’t any time in the next hour

So before he could move too far and start kissing at your neck, you rolled off him.

“I have to get ready for work,” you said, getting out of bed.

“What do you mean get ready? You don’t have to go anywhere, we have all the time in the world,” he pouted, reaching out his arm for you.

“I don’t, but you do. Jeff has been texting you nonstop, and Sarah called the other day and told me she’s getting restless at home. So I’m taking the baby today, so all of you can get some work in.”

“You are? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because, if you knew we were having the baby here, you would come up with some excuse to stay here.”

“Maybe,” he smiled, still making no moves to get up. “She’s just so cute.”

“Well, sometime we can offer to babysit so Sarah and Mitch can go out for the evening or something. But you have to go in today, so you should probably get dressed.”

He groaned, flopping his head back into the pillows.

-----

“Harry! They’re here!” You called, opening the door and inviting Sarah and Mitch in. “Hi guys, Harry’s being a drama queen today so I’m not sure when he’ll be down.”

“When isn’t he?” Sarah smiled, stepping into the room with the baby in her arms. Mitch was carrying the diaper bag, which he set down on the bench next to the door.

Sarah handed the baby over to you as Harry came down the stairs.

“Aw, can I hold her?” He asked, not even greeting his friends.

“No,” all three of you said at once.

“Why?” He whined before smiling at the baby in your arms.

“Because you won’t be able to put her down,” you said, laughing when the other two nodded. “See, they know I’m right.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But Mitch, you’re taking Sarah out tomorrow night and we’re babysitting.”

“I’m alright with that,” Sarah smiled. “Y/N, you should have everything you need in the diaper bag. There’s enough formula for a few bottles, but she won’t need to eat for an hour or so. Other than that she’ll probably sleep most of the time, she’s a pretty quiet baby. She takes after her dad.”

You nodded, bouncing her lightly. Harry was already in her face, smiling and cooing and offering his finger for her to grab. She seemed to like the attention, and was smiling right back at him.

“Harry, we have to go,” Sarah said with one hand on the doorknob.

He huffed. “Just when I start to make a connection with the child, I’m ripped away.”

You rolled your eyes. “We’ll have her tomorrow night. You can connect with her then.”

“It won’t be the same,” he said. “You know- why don’t we just take her with us? She can just come with us-” he was already moving toward you again, but Mitch grabbed his shoulder.

“No, Harry, we actually have to get some stuff done today.”

“Fine,” he groaned. “But you better send me pictures if she does anything cute,” he pointed at you.

“Everything she does is cute,” Mitch argued.

“You’re really not helping,” Sarah said, hitting his arm. “I thought I had one child, but turns out I have three.”

-----

The next few days were not very productive for Harry. He was having a hard time getting back in the swing of things, and it felt like everything he did was bad. He couldn’t write or play anything he liked. He just felt stuck.

They went over some old stuff, just so he didn’t feel like they totally wasted their time. Still, he couldn’t help but feel incredibly frustrated. He didn’t usually have issues with writers’ block, and he expected to be even better now that you were with him all the time. He had always been more productive when he got to see you, so he thought living with you would give him an extra boost. Apparently not.

Then, to make everything worse, more pictures and articles came out. Pictures from the day you had gone grocery shopping had been captured by some fan, but for some reason hadn’t come out until today.

But they were suddenly everywhere. There were even more articles than before, and this time it was worse because there were full pictures of your face. Before, there had only been one blurry shot of your back, and that alone got enough criticism. Now it was like the floodgates had opened. Every aspect of your appearance was being ripped apart, along with Harry’s “decision making”.

He saw the first article when they were taking a break for lunch one day. They had ordered some pizzas, and everyone was spread out on the couches across the room.

Harry unlocked his phone, ready to call you and ask about your day, but was instead met with another text from Jeff. Like the one before, he had advised Harry to keep you off social media for the next few days and apologized that it got this out of hand.

Sighing, he decided to see what they were saying this time.

“Harry Styles goes on a shopping spree- But who’s that with him?”

“Harry’s “new girlfriend” shops with him?”

"DID SHE MOVE IN?”“

“MYSTERY GIRL and HARRY STYLES search for the necessities!”

He clicked on one of the articles.

“Harry Styles and his mystery lady were seen shopping last week. We can’t help but think things might be getting more serious!

The former One Direction star was spotted moving boxes into his house a few weeks ago. What we thought may have just been a favor for a friend might be something much more juicy!

Maybe she’s not just another notch in the bed stand- maybe this one will stick around!

But really, if she wants to stick around- maybe she should watch what she eats. The Sign of the Times singer was searching for healthy snacks, while his newest girlfriend filled the cart with ice cream and chips. Seems like a recipe for disaster between the two!

Again, she’s seen wearing a very simple outfit. And no (or at least, very little!) makeup. Come on girl, you couldn’t have at least used a little concealer for those eye bags?

It seems like she’s just not trying very hard! We have to wonder- how long can this last?”

“Fuck’s sake,” Harry groaned, grabbing the pillow next to him and chucking it across the room.

“Harry, what’s going on?” Sarah asked. Everyone had noticed how on edge he had been lately, but no one was quite sure how to address his moodiness.

“Another article just came out,” he sighed. “It’s worse than the last one. I’m so sick of this.”

“Does Y/N know?”

Harry shrugged. He didn’t feel like talking about it anymore, but he knew they wouldn’t just leave it without knowing if you were ok.

“You should probably call her, so she doesn’t hear it from someone else,” Sarah advised. “I would want to find out from someone I loved.”

“I can’t- I really don’t want to talk to her right now.”

“Did something happen with you two?” Mitch asked, confused. The two of you had been inseparable lately, so this was strange.

Harry shook his head.

“I just- can we just not talk about it?”

He could tell they didn’t want to drop it, but one of the assistants came in with the pizza, and Harry was clearly done talking.

His mood only got worse for the rest of the day. He still couldn’t make anything new, and he was even having trouble with things he already knew. He struggled to hit the higher notes, and his throat was getting sore from trying to force it. By the time people were starting to head home, he was ready to throw a lot more than a pillow.

Harry dropped his keys when he was trying to unlock the door, and then his coat fell off the hook when he tried to hang it up. By the time he got to the kitchen, his jaw was clenched and he was fuming.

“Hi,” you said tentatively, noticing how angry he looked.

“Hi,” he said shortly, opening the fridge. “Is there anything to eat?”

“I didn’t make anything,” you said, still typing on your computer.

“You didn’t-” He shut the fridge aggressively, the bottles and containers in the door clinking against each other. “You couldn’t make supper for one night?”

“Excuse me?” You looked up, crossing your arms defensively. “I’ve been working.”

“So have I!”

“And I don’t expect you to make supper after you’ve been working all day!”

“It’s different, you’re home all day!”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not busy, Harry. You know that.”

“Well what am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, you could stop yelling at me for starters! I didn’t do anything wrong and you're acting like you hate me.”

His face softened immediately, and he stepped forward. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I don’t hate you, I could never. I just-” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I’m having a terrible time with work. I can’t do anything right, nothing is working, and all these articles-”

“The articles came out weeks ago, Harry. It’s not that big of a deal anymore.”

“No,” he shook his head. “There’s more. A lot more, and they’re worse than before.”

“Oh,” you said quietly. “I didn’t know that.”

“I know,” he replied. “I should have told you earlier, I just- I don’t know. I don’t want you to have to deal with this.”

“Well, keeping it a secret from me and then yelling at me isn’t going to help anything,” you said, arms still crossed. “I know you’ve been having a hard time lately, Sarah told me. You can talk to me, you know. You don’t have to just keep everything in.”

“I didn’t want to put this on you,” he admitted, looking down.

“I want to know,” you told him. “I want to know when things are upsetting you or you’re having a hard time at work. You can tell me those things.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn't have raised my voice. Please forgive me?”

“Of course I forgive you,” you said, moving around the table and closer to him. He looked up, opening his arms and smiling as you stepped into them.

“It will get better soon,” he promised. “It won't be this hard for long."

-----

Despite his hopeful words, your situation didn’t get any easier. More articles came out, most of them attacking Harry for his past relationships and wondering how long this one would last. His writers’ block showed no signs of easing up, and he was getting more frustrated with every day that passed.

On top of all this, you had started missing deadlines for work. The difference in time zones made it more difficult than you had anticipated, and your boss was not happy. You’d already had to sit through three Zoom meetings this week, with her lecturing you on “the importance of timeliness and responsibility.”

You were not in the right state of mind to deal with Harry’s moodiness, and the atmosphere between you was painfully tense.

That is, until it all boiled over one day.

Harry came home angry, again. He slammed the door shut and basically stomped to the kitchen. Your day had already been stressful enough, and you weren’t about to let him take out his frustration on you.

“Don’t even start with me today, Harry,” you shook your head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, immediately getting defensive.

“I know you probably had a terrible day, but so did I. I’m sick of us fighting.”

“You think I want to fight? I’m so sorry for being stressed,” His voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“And I’m not? It’s not like you’re the only one in the world having a hard time, Harry!”

“What do you have to be stressed about? I’m the one who can’t get any work done, and I’m the one getting ripped apart by the media,” he huffed.

“Excuse me? Have you been on ANY social media lately? Are you the one getting called ugly for not wearing enough makeup? Or accused of being “Harry's newest slut”? Because that’s that they’re saying about me!”

“And how do you think that looks for my reputation?”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault that people are attacking you?”

“No,” he sighed, dropping his face into his hands. “I don’t want to fight about this. I’m just really stressed right now, and-”

“Again, Harry, so am I! I changed my entire world to come and be with you, and it’s like you don’t even care, or appreciate all the sacrifices I made!”

“What sacrifices? You don’t-”

“You did not just say that,” you breathed. “Are you kidding me? I gave up everything! I left all my family and friends. I can’t go out in public without people taking pictures of me, and posting them, and saying terrible things about me. I’m trying to figure out my new work situation, and my boss is pissed at me all the time. I’m probably going to get fired if I don’t figure something out. I-”

“You act like you’re the only one with work troubles!” he exclaimed. “My entire career is on the line if I don’t start writing again soon. And all this shit in the press- it’s not exactly motivating.”

“It’s affecting my job too. Do you think my company wants to be involved with all the drama about us? It doesn’t look good for them. All the more reason for them to fire me.”

“But it’s worse for me!” he raised his voice to match yours.

“Why is it worse for you, Harry?”

“Because-” He stopped himself, seemingly knowing he had gone too far.

“No, say it. Say why it matters more to you. Because everything about you is more important, isn’t it?”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“But it’s exactly what you meant! You care more about your career than you do about me.”

“That’s not true,” he said, an intense look in his eyes. “You know that’s not true.”

“Really? That’s not how you’ve been acting lately.”

“It’s not like that-'' he exhaled a frustrated sigh. “I’m just saying, all this bad press is really getting to me. I’m going to lose support, and it’s going to be hard for me to get it back.”

“Oh please, you’re Harry Styles,” you spat. “You’re the golden boy of the music industry. You’ll be fine. Other people, like me, are actually in trouble here. I’m actually at risk of losing something!”

“You can just find another job!” He threw his hands up. “I’m more in the public eye, it affects me more. That’s all there is to it.”

“I can’t believe you!” you were on the verge of tears now, simply from how frustrated and angry you were. “It affects you more? You’ve been dealing with this for years. How do you think it feels for me? I’m new to all of this, and you’re acting like I should know how to handle everything.”

“You knew it was going to be like this when you first started dating me!” he argued. “I told you, and you said you didn’t care.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it would be this miserable!” You said, the first tear rolling down your face.

“Well if you’re so miserable, maybe you shouldn’t have agreed to move in with me.”

This stopped you in your tracks. Everything the two of you had said so far was angry, and in the heat of the moment. But this felt different. It felt like he had crafted this sentence specifically to hurt you, not to voice his feelings about the situation.

“Fine,” you stood up, grabbing your laptop and charger. You walked right past him, out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

“Where are you going?” He called.

You didn’t answer. You went into your closet, pulling out the backpack you used to use for traveling back and forth between your house and Harry’s. You began shoving clothes into it, but made sure not to include any of his shirts or hoodies.

“What are you doing?” Harry came into the room, speaking quietly.

“Packing,” you said shortly.

“Don’t do that,” he frowned. “You can’t just leave.”

“Yes I can,” you shot back, still not looking up at him. You zipped up the bag, brushing past him as you went back downstairs.

“Where-” he followed you quickly. “Where are you going?”

At this point, you realized you didn’t have anywhere to go. You didn’t have any close friends; most of your friends were also Harry’s. And you needed to be with people who didn’t remind you of him right now.

“I’m going home,” you said, finally turning to look at him.

“What?” His face fell.

“I’m leaving. I’m going back home. I can’t be here right now.”

“No- you can’t leave!” he said, his face paling. “You can go stay with Sarah and Mitch, or with Jeff and Glenne- or I’ll get you a hotel room or something, but you can’t-”

“Yes I can, Harry,” you cut him off, repeating your sentence from earlier. “I need my family. I need to see my mom. I- I have to go.” You reached for the door handle, but he stopped you, placing his large hand against the door.

“You can call them,” he said, beginning to look desperate. “Or- or we can even fly them out here. But please don’t do this.”

“You’re the one who told me to leave if I was so miserable here,” you said, trying to stop your chin from wobbling. “So that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“I didn’t mean that! I’m so sorry, I should have never said- I don’t want you to leave. That got way out of hand, I went too far, I’m so sorry.”

“It did. And I can’t be here right now. So let me-” you tried the door again, but he kept it firmly shut.

“Please don't do this,” he whispered. “Please just… stay here tonight. I’ll sleep in the guest room, I won’t bother you if that’s what you need. Or if you really can’t be here, go stay with-”

“No,” you said decisively. “I need to go home. You’re making me feel worse by forcing me to stay here, can’t you see that?”

He dropped his hand away from the door, pressing his lips together. He gave a short nod. “If you have to-” his voice broke, and he quickly cleared his throat before speaking again. “If you really have to leave, then I’ll drive you to the airport. It’s not safe to be out alone this late.”

You shook your head. “I can get a cab, I’m not going to make you-”

“Either I drive you, or you’re not going,” he said firmly. “I need you to be safe.”

You sighed, but nodded, knowing he wouldn’t give in. He was just as stubborn as you were.

-----

You were both silent for the entire drive. Harry didn’t even try to argue with you, which you were grateful for. He seemed to understand that this was what you needed, and he couldn't change your mind.

-----

“Please don’t do this,” he said one final time, watching you walk toward the gate. His heart broke a little more with each step you took.

Even though you wanted to, you didn’t look back. You knew that one look at his sad face would be enough to break you, and you couldn’t let that happen. You needed to go home. You needed your family.

Harry stood at the large window, watching with crossed arms as the plane took off. Once you were officially gone, the first tear slipped down his face.

He made his way out of the busy airport in a daze. He barely registered that he had made it back to his car until he was sitting in the driver’s seat. He reached for the keys, but his hands were shaking so much he couldn’t manage to start the vehicle. Instead, he dropped his head to rest against the steering wheel, and he cried. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried this hard. He felt like he couldn’t breathe; there was a huge weight on his chest.

Had he just lost the love of his life?

-----

He didn’t know how long he sat there, but eventually he realized he needed to get home. He needed to figure out what to do.

As soon as he pulled in the driveway, he pulled out his phone and called Mitch.

“Hello?” Came his friend’s tired voice. It was the middle of the night, after all.

“I need you to come over right now,” Harry rushed. “I fucked up, I fucked up so bad and I don’t know- what am i supposed to do? I can’t do this- I need her!”

“Wait, slow down,” Mitch instructed. “What happened?”

“I- just come over right now,” Harry said, hanging up the phone.

-----

When Mitch arrived, he immediately knew something was very wrong. He had never seen Harry look so torn up. His eyes were red, and he was pacing back and forth while running his hands through his hair.

“What happened?” He asked again. “Where’s Y/N?”

“She’s gone,” Harry said. “She fucking left. She went back home.”

“Is she ok? Did something happen with her family?”

“No, Mitch,” Harry said, scrubbing his hands over his face. “She left because of me. We had a fight- a really bad one. I said some really shitty things, and it got way out of hand, and now she’s gone. I don’t- what am I supposed to do?”

“What did you say? Was it about the articles that came out?”

“Somewhat,” Harry nodded. “She said it was starting to affect her job, and I said it was affecting mine too, and she said she was miserable, and I… told her if she was so miserable she shouldn’t have agreed to move in with me in the first place,” he looked down in shame. He felt terrible as soon as the words left his mouth the first time, but going over the fight with someone else felt ten times worse.

Mitch took a deep breath. “Yeah, that’s... pretty bad.”

“Yeah, no shit it’s pretty bad!” Harry snapped. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he groaned, falling back on the couch. “I just- what do I do?” He leaned his elbows on his knees, cradling his head in his hands.

“I don’t know,” Mitch admitted. “Did she say when she’s coming back?”

“No,” Harry said miserably. “She just said she needed to go home. I tried to get her to stay, I really did. I said I could get her a hotel room, or ask if she could stay with Jeff or something, but she said she needed her family. The worst thing is… she said she needs to go home. I thought she saw this as her home now. I thought she wanted to be here. I thought she was happy here,” his voice broke, and he dropped his head again. “I don’t… I don't think she loves me anymore.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mitch shook his head. “Of course she loves you. Do you know how many fights Sarah and I have had? You just have to give her time.”

“Yeah, but did Sarah ever leave the country after you fought?”

“...No,” Mitch sighed. “No, it never got that bad.”

“Exactly,” Harry said, another tear falling down his face.

“She will come back, Harry. She loves you way too much to stay away for good.”

“Not this time,” Harry shook his head. “I think it’s different this time. I honestly don’t know if she’s coming back. I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Well, you have to apologize,” Mitch said. “As soon as her plane lands, call her. Tell her what you told me. Tell her how sorry you are and that it got out of hand and you didn’t mean anything you said.” He paused before speaking again. “You didn’t mean it, did you?”

“Of course I didn’t,” Harry snapped again. “I was just… I’ve been in such a terrible mood, and I took it out on her.” He shook his head, whispering, “I’m so stupid.”

“I’m sure it will work out if you just-” Mitch was interrupted by his phone ringing. “Yeah, he’s alright,” he said into the phone. “I’ll explain when I get home." He paused before sighing. "Again? Ok, I’ll be there in a few,” he said before hanging up. “I’m really sorry, I have to go. The baby’s sick and apparently threw up all over her crib. I have to go help Sarah clean up. Just… tell Y/N the truth, okay? Make sure she knows how much you love her.”

Harry nodded, still looking awful as he raised his head. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

-----

Harry started calling you as soon as Mitch left. He knew you were still on the plane, but he wanted you to hear his apologies as soon as you landed.

“Hi love… I’m so sorry. I don’t even know how to explain how terrible I feel. I didn’t mean anything I said. I was completely out of line, and I shouldn’t have let it go that far. I love you so much and I never wanted to hurt you. Please call me when you get this.”

Then he sent a quick text.

Harry: Let me know when you get to your parents’ house so I know you’re safe. Love you.

After that, he knew there wasn’t much else he could do. He wandered back up to his bedroom, looking at all the pictures the two of you had hung on the walls together. He thought back to the day you had moved in, and how happy you had both been. He remembered when he tried to put a nail in the wall, but swung the hammer at the wrong angle and put a hole in the wall instead. He remembered how shocked you had looked, covering your mouth for a second before you both burst out into laughter.

He remembered sitting on the living room floor and eating Chinese food while you played scrabble. Sure, you had ended up dropping lo mein all over the board, but it was worth it.

There were still traces of you all over the house. Your coffee cup still sat in the sink from this morning. Two of the cabinets were still open, because you always forgot to close them. There was a purple scrunchie on your bedside table, and a blue one on the bathroom vanity, and a white one hooked over one of the kitchen cabinet knobs, because “I never know when I’ll need to put my hair up!”

He couldn’t look anywhere in the house without thinking of you. He didn’t want to be in this big empty space all alone. The only way he could think of to make all the painful memories stop was to go to sleep. So, he did just that. He pulled your pillow against his chest, cuddling it like it was you in his arms. There was the faint smell of your conditioner stuck to the fabric, and he buried his face in it to just breathe you in.

The next two days were the worst Harry had ever been through. He didn’t know what to do with himself. You weren’t answering any of his calls, and your voicemail inbox was full. He kept texting, but you weren’t even reading any of them. He paced all day, trying to occupy himself. If he didn’t think of something to keep him busy, he would just keep texting, and he was sure you were pretty annoyed at this point.

But he couldn’t help himself, so he quickly unlocked his phone and started typing.

Harry: I’m so sorry, I can’t even put it into words. Please just let me know when you’re coming home?

He scrolled up through his previous messages, sighing when he realized how pathetic they sounded.

Harry: Please stop ignoring me, I need to talk to you.

Harry: I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I love you so much, please come home.

Harry: I sound like a broken record, I know, but I just need you to know I feel awful for everything I said.

Harry: I don’t even care how pathetic I sound with all of this, I can’t lose you.

He decided he couldn’t wait anymore. He didn’t even care if you weren’t ready to come back to London yet, but he needed to see you. He stood up from the couch and marched to the front door. He was going to get the next flight out to you.

He whipped the door open, ready to run to his car- and stopped abruptly in his tracks when he was met with your apprehensive face, one hand raised as if you were about to knock.

His eyes went wide, and he froze. He didn’t say anything, and you could hear him breathing heavily. His gaze flickered all around your face, almost as if he couldn’t believe you were really here in front of him.

“Hi,” you said hesitantly, lowering your hand. You opened your mouth to speak again, but he pulled you inside and against him before you could say anything. He held you tightly, arms wrapped against you as if you were going to disappear right before his eyes.

You reached up, putting your arms around his neck as he rocked you gently. His face was buried in your neck, and you could feel his chest shaking.

You just stood there with him, letting him hold you until you could feel his breathing evening out again. After what seemed like hours, he pulled away to look at you. He put his hands on the sides of your face, his eyes flicking between yours desperately as if he still didn’t believe this was real.

“Are you- are you home? Are you staying?” He whispered. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked like he hadn’t slept since you left. The sight was enough to make guilt stab through your chest.

“I’m staying,” you nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhaled shakily, pulling you against his chest again. Your head was turned so you could hear his heartbeat, and it still seemed dangerously fast.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmured. “I should never have left.”

“It's ok,” he shook his head. “You’re here now.”

“It’s not ok,” you lifted your head to look at him. “I was angry. But I never should have let you think I was leaving you. That was unfair of me. I said awful things to you too, and I didn’t even say I love you before I left.” Your eyes were watering again, but you blinked back the tears.

“I didn’t… I didn't know if you were going to come back,” he admitted, voice thick with emotion. “I thought I lost you for good.”

You shook your head. “Of course not. I’m here, I promise, and I'm never going to do that again.”

“Good,” he laughed shakily, bringing up a hand to run through his hair. “I was terrified.”

“I know,” you said sadly. “And I feel like such an ass, coming back and just letting you welcome me with open arms. You should probably be really angry with me-”

“I’m not angry,” he quickly shut you down. “I was scared. I was so, so scared. I was about to get on a plane and fly out to you. And of course I’m welcoming you with open arms, I love you. You can always come back to me.”

You nodded, this time letting a tear slip down your face. “I love you too.”

He smiled, wiping the tear with his thumb. “What made you decide to come home?”

“I got there and I expected to feel better. I drove all around town, going past all the spots I used to love. It made me… nostalgic, I guess, but it didn’t comfort me like I expected it to. I went to my parent’s house, and they were great, but all I could think about was the times you’ve visited there with me. I went up to my room, and all I could think about was the time we stayed in there and my bed was way too small so I was basically sleeping on top of you. And how we couldn’t get to sleep because we kept laughing, because your hair was tickling me or I would hit you with my knee. Everything I did made me think of you. And I realized- that town isn’t my home, and neither is that house. This is my home. You are my home.”

His eyes were shining just like yours, and you both reached up to wipe the other’s tears away.

“You’re my home too. And if you want to move closer to your family, we can do that. I don’t care where we live. We can go anywhere in the world, as long as I’m with you.”