#but they are smiling and there’s just the text of you promised. I know

[madamechrissy]

Just Friends!?

-Art in the banner from nek0zuu_ on X-

Pairings- Former Nerd! Gojo and popular F! reader

Summary - Satoru Gojo was the biggest nerd EVER in high school with you, next door neighbors, study buddies, you were the best friends in the world. Never having the courage to ask you -the 'popular girl' out- you never knew he felt for you. He ended up leaving town, moving to the big city of LA- getting famous with a modeling career, and lost touch with everyone from his old life. While you're working the family pub to help out your parents, years later, he finally comes back to visit, just to have you making his drink. Everything about him is different, aside from those pretty blue eyes and the sweet grin. You feel he's so accomplished now, and you're just a small town girl, but little do you know, you've never left his mind.

Warnings - Nerdjo turned famous and cocky, but he's still just a Nerdjo deep down hehe- this chap - lots of tension, angstyyy, misunderstandings, emotional, some kissing and heavy desire but mostly this chap is sfw, mutual pining, lots of feelings - Tag list closed

Based HEAVILY on the 2005 Rom com Just Friends - part of my amazingg moot @indiewritesxoxo's Friday night flicks! 🌙

<<<Part Four - Masterlist - Part Six>>> (coming soon)

Part Five

It’s been two hours since Satoru said he’d meet you, and you are as dressed up as you have been in years, hair curled to perfection, beautiful dress that’s hugging every inch of your body, pretty and dark red, long sleeves with lace all over them, and black tights underneath with thigh high boots. Your parents had been gushing over you when you’d walked out, doing a little spin and giggling.

That was two hours ago.

Now you’re touching up your highlighter, blinking mascara coated lashes that are far longer than you’re used to. He was used to models, so surely your skills wouldn’t be that level, but you wanted to at least try to look pretty for this… date. Yes it was going to be a date. He's only seen you casual so far, you're literally wearing lace panties and not Sailor Mars this time too.

The thoughts of last night make you blush, even as the moments tick by. To feel like that underneath him, so fucking beautiful and desired, with the boy you adored? It seemed worth whatever hurt that was coming when he went back home. You want to believe him, that he won't forget you again, but as the clock ticks it's hard to know if he's staying true to his word.

You call again, it's the third time in two hours, you hope it's not too much but now you're almost a little worried, shooting him a text instead, biting your lip as your fingers dance across the cool screen. 

Satoru, are you okay? It's fine if you can't make it! Just let me know you're safe, the roads are covered in snow.

You sigh, setting down the phone as your mom walks in where you're sitting by the window, watching the snowfall gently. “Hey honey, are you staying for dinner?”

It's your mom's sweet way of distracting you. “He might still come, mom.”

“Absolutely! But I am getting ready to cook, you know.” She puts a hand on your shoulder, gentle now. “You're so stunning.”

“Aw, mom...” You look back to see her blinking emotions, making your heart ache.

“He'd only be so lucky to see you like this. You know that?”

You look down shyly. “You see him. He's a whole model.”

“And you're you. And that's special too. Don't get too upset if…” She trails off a bit no. “Just, seeing you like that after he left was really hard for me is all.” You stand now, hugging her and inhaling the familiar scent of her as she blinks back emotion.

“You're scared I'll get hurt again.” She nods, sniffling now as you brush aside a tear.

“That was worse than watching any breakup. I'm really scared for you, it's not that I don't still love Satoru. I promise it's not that. But you're doing so good now.” you smile sadly, remembering the days you laid in bed after, crying and not leaving your room for weeks aside from essential needs.

You wouldn't get that way again. Even if he…

“Just watch your heart, it's a million sizes too big.” You smile tremulously up at her, holding her hands now.

“Get that from you two.” You both smile now, and a knock sounds at the door, making you jump in excitement, rushing to where your dad was opening the door now, and then pausing.

“Sukuna how have you been!?” Your dad says, and Sukuna chuckles, coming into view as he puts his hand on your dad's shoulder.

“I've been good, how about you, old man?”

“Old man!? I'll show you ‘old man’. Got a football you know!”

“Oh yeah? I'm down for a challenge.” He grins, and your mom blinks in surprise, looking at you, then at the door, when your dad invites the tall man in, and his ruby eyes catch you, making him falter, his lips parted.

“Sukuna…” You trail off, while his gaze drifts over you, heating you up with his look, before clearing his throat, walking over to you.

“I was right in the neighborhood and thought I'd say hi to the family. You look… beautiful, shit.” He rubs the back of his neck as he murmurs it, and your dad shuts the door to the cold, leaving you all basking in the warmth of the well heated home.

Beautiful, Sukuna had never said that sort of thing when you dated - maybe sexy, hot or whatever ridiculously horny statement he used to make, but then he had changed a lot. So had Satoru Gojo, and here you were, still the same girl, with two famous men back in town showing up, the doubts creeping as you realize how excited you were for it to be Satoru at the door.

“Are you going out or… getting back?” He asks then, you watch as snowdrops dissolve on his black overcoat, he brushes some off his pink locks, just a little damp from them melting.

“Thank you, I’m so delayed in my responses.” He chuckles as you get just a little flustered, he’s eyeing you so intensely right now, while you’re fidgeting with your hands in front of your lap. “I had a date but… he hasn’t um, showed up or answered the phone. So I don’t know my plans.”

“Idiot.” You glare, and he sighs. “Sorry, but only an idiot would not show up.”

“He could be… caught up with the show, or something. So I don’t know, he should still come. But for now, um… I may help mom cook?”

“Looking like that?” He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear, as your parents walk up now, and your dad has busted out his football, Sukuna chuckles over at him - he’s much thinner than he probably remembers, but he’s so much stronger than he was years back. “You’re ready to get your ass kicked, old man?”

“You’re a pro, but I’m old school.” Your dad winks over at you, and you giggle just a bit. He’d always loved Sukuna, where your mom was not his biggest fan, they had some weird male football bond happening.

But you haven’t seen your dad so excited in forever, he was a huge fan of Sukuna’s team, so you’re sure this is a trip for him. “You came to see my parents, or me?”

Your soft question earns a raised brow and an arrogant smirk, smacking you right back to the girl fawning over him in high school. “Both, I didn't know if you’d be home or not, but I was hoping. But also I wanted to… see him too, if that’s cool?”

“Of course it is.” You grin now, a hand on his broad shoulder, and he exhales, leaning a little low. “How are you two gonna play in the snow!?”

“Tch, it’s nothing brat.”

“Brat!? No, no. Not calling me that again.” You shove at the big man, as your dad starts bundling up, and you look at him with concern. “Dad are you okay to…”

“Honey, let him. He needs this.” Your mom whispers, and you nod then, smiling as your dad looks at you curiously.

“You worried about your ‘old man’?” He teases, kissing your head affectionately, and you’re so thankful for Sukuna then, something you’d never thought you’d say.

“Don’t catch a cold, now! Sukuna, take it easy on him.”

“Psh, no way.” Sukuna grins deviously as the two men run outside in the cold like psychos in the darkening sky, you stand by the door and giggle as you watch them, the sky a snowy mix of purples and pinks as nighttime comes.

“You’re awfully popular again, I feel like I need to make these boys ask permission again.” Your mom teases, you roll your eyes, hugging your arms as the brisk air hits, then peeking back at your phone.

No response.

But your text was read.

You swallow a bit, feeling sick to your stomach - was he… with Samantha? He said he wasn’t interested, but they had a history. This morning you’d laid in his bed for longer than you should have, inhaling his scent, lingering memories flitting through your mind until you’d finally left - and it took far, far too much effort, that room really felt like you and Satoru’s personal snowglobe.

“I’ll call one more time,” you say, and your mom nods understandingly, bundling up in her jacket now. “You headed outside?”

“I gotta see your dad like this for a few. Then we can cook dinner together, maybe Sukuna can stay?” You nod and smile at her, hand shaking when you’re left alone, pacing nervously. Your heels click on the old hardwood floors as you do, as it rings and rings and rings.

Did Satoru break his promise?

*****

“Shit, shit, shit. No reception. Fuck, do you have any, Samantha?” The blond model pouts, brushing back her blong locks.

“No, I wish! Ugh this town is so fucking stupid! Why aren’t we moving!?” She leans out of the window then, screaming out - “Move, townies, I have to take a fucking piss!”

He’d been stuck in this car in traffic for an hour with her, barely moving inch by fucking inch from some really bad accident, a four car pile up according to the radio - which is the only thing that’s working. Neither of them have reception, and no internet access on any of their devices in this particular area, maybe because of the storm, he’s not sure.

But this is hell.

You’re going to think he broke his fucking promise, you’re probably already giving up on him coming, and he had everything perfectly planned, for it to all start to fall apart, and now in this car with a psycho brat and nothing to pass the time, just the windshield wipers and the fucking heat blasting, with some fuzzy radio. He peers at his phone again, glaring at it.

“Boring, so boring! Ugh this whole trip! I can’t wait to fucking get back home, out of these backwoods.” She rolls up her windows and pouts, pressing closer over to the heat that’s blasting from the vents.

“Yeah, yeah I know. You’ve hated being in a ‘small town’ you yap about it enough.” She scoffs, crossing her slender arms and scowling at him.

“Well you’re no fun, all fucking broody over the little girl from the bar.”

“Yeah we are not talking about her.” His jaw clenches, blue eyes flashing, and she rolls her eyes.

“You’re just gonna fuck her, so do it and get on with it.”

“What!?”

“It’s what you do - fuck women, leave them. Or fuck them when you feel like it if they’re cool with sharing. Lucky for you, I didn’t give a fuck, because I had my own roster,” her words are the first serious things he’s ever heard from her, while she looks out the windshield, hugging herself under her jacket. “But that girl won’t.”

“What are you even on about, you didn’t want more than sex,” Satoru trails off then, when her eyes meet his again, softer than he’s used to. “You were fine just fucking, we never dated.”

“Well yeah, you don’t date, everyone in the industry knows, you have serious issues, you know?”

“Me, issues!? Samantha-”

“No. You do. Soon as we fucked you had a ride waiting for me as if I was some… escort? And all my friends say you did the same. Ever think it made any of them feel shitty?” Satoru’s stomach twists, looking back down at the phone and then at the road, avoiding her gaze. “Well, it did.”

“You felt great under me, all of you did. I’ve never had a complaint in the bedroom, okay?” She laughs a bit, sighing.

“You are a superb fuck, but if that’s all you’re gonna do to her, leave the poor girl the fuck alone.”

“You don’t know shit of how I feel for her.” He scowls at her, and she just shrugs a narrow shoulder, a nasty smile on her face.

“I know you, I know men like you, you’re an industry standard.”

“And so the fuck are you.” She snorts now, rolling her eyes again.

“Sure am, but I know what I am - you’re trying to act like you’re any better. Go fuck her then, and leave her like you do. Think that’ll be good? She’d be better off with me.”

“With you!?”

“Mmm, yes. At least I’d give her some affection after.” Satoru’s heart races as her words hit. “I kept fucking you because I liked you, I really liked you - until I realized you’re shallow.”

“You are not calling me shallow, you tell everyone in the city they’re poor because they don’t wear designer clothes. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“You’re as shallow as me.”

“You know, shut the fuck up please.” He keeps peering at the road, as the cars finally start moving, he checks the time and curses.

“Best you don’t make it, save her the heartbreak.”

“You’re suddenly really deep, Samantha. I don’t like it anymore than you being annoying as fuck.” She looks out the window, shaking her head.

“You don’t know any of the women in your bed. You don’t bother to.”

Satoru can’t argue it, he knows Samantha is right, and she’s read him like a fucking book, her words swirling through his mind - would he just hurt you? No, it’s different, you’re different, you’re the reason he became this way. The hurt that day, the rejection he thought he was going to get, along with Sukuna and everyone, it had made him high tail it and run.

And he changed.

Fuck who was he? Sometimes he’d look in that mirror at his perfect features and contemplate just that - who was he? Satoru Gojo, a model, a famous man on the runway with endless women, or was he that nerdy boy, the one who laughed with you till your tummies hurt? Who made popcorn and oreos for the two of you - the weirdest thing ever but you loved it - and watched movies in your room?

Could he ever be that boy again truly, was last night any sort of real attempt, or would he fuck it all up and hurt you again?

He can’t live with himself if he does.

“You’re right,” his murmur brings her attention to him, he’s exhausted from the shoot and the drive, and so is she, but her eyes soften a bit. “I was a dick to you, and everyone.”

“Understatement.” He just sighs, clenching the wheel with tight hands.

“Were you different before you were famous?” He asks, he’s never asked shit about her, it’s true - she was just fun when he wanted a psycho in the bed, he didn’t even see her as a person.

Sure she was indeed insane, but he didn’t have to treat her like shit.

“No, I’ve always been this way honestly. I didn’t change because I got famous, but I grew up rich.”

“Ah.” It’s quiet, as he takes a breath now. “I feel a lot for her.”

“I know, it’s written all over your face when you talk about her.” He looks at her once more, before focusing on the road again. “If you feel something, say it, I never hold back shit I want to.”

“No you don’t.” He laughs a bit and so does she, shifting a bit, eyes brightening now.

“I have internet, oh fuck yes. I can drown out your moody ass.” He sticks his tongue out, and she returns it, slipping in her ear buds as they come to a red light, and he pulls up his phone finally, seeing your missed calls come through and texts.

Shit, shit, shit.

He picks up the phone, calling it finally, but it keeps ringing, and he hangs up and tries again, only for it to do the same thing, making his stomach twist in knots. Did you think he wasn’t coming!? Were you upset, or mad? Were you ignoring his calls- god a million what ifs occur as he tries to focus on driving, to get Samantha back to the hotel so he can see you.

*****

“Oh god, yeah I remember that! So embarrassing!” You’re covering your face as your mom starts getting the plates ready and you have busted out your old pictures, Sukuna and you in football and cheerleader gear.

“You sucked at cheer, you were only allowed because you were so pretty.” He teases, and you gasp, shoving at him playfully.

“Oh whatever!? No way!” His hand comes to the small of your back as he grabs the plates you can’t reach, pressing him too closely against you.

It’s been another half hour or so, and at this point your phone was just by the entryway, you couldn’t keep calling and texting, you would come off super pathetic, so you’re just enjoying the ambience of being with your parents and Sukuna. He’s made your dad damn near giddy, and you’re thankful for that, but your mind keeps drifting to Satoru.

“I think everything is ready! Drinks?” You say then, and Sukuna smiles a little. “Let me guess, beer?”

“I’ll drink whatever you’ve got.” His tone and eyes make you tremble just a bit, as you remember being with him - sex was never your problem, your problem was Sukuna was a little shit then. He was your first, and the memories hit your mind a little too vividly, and he seems to notice, leaning low. “What ya thinking about?”

“Nothing!? Nothing. Um…” The doorbell rings now, you figure at this point it’s a neighbor, your hopes of Satoru are just shoved back so it doesn’t hurt as much.

“I’ll go get it.” Your mom says then, smiling over at you two, when Sukuna brushes his rough, calloused fingers against your delicate cheek.

“Kuna…”

“There’s that nickname?” You glare, and he just chuckles, tilting your chin up to make you look at the tall man then. “What is on that mind? Memories?”

“Of you being a dick.” He sighs, dropping his hand then.

“Yeah, I was. A big dick to you. An idiot.”

“No, I mean, look at your life? It’s amazing.” His jaw clenches a bit, hands gripping the counter a bit tightly as you hear murmurs coming from the living room, but your heart is hammering in your ears, blocking it out.

“It’s not all amazing, okay? I thought of you alot. I wanted to reach out-”

“Satoru is here, honey.” You blink in shock, as you turn to look at Satoru Gojo, for once a complete disheveled mess, breathless almost as he smiles at you and then it falls, as he sees your proximity to Sukuna. “Sukuna came over and is having dinner, do you want to join us?”

Satoru wants to kill him, he wants to rip his arms off for being near you - which is irrational, it’s stupid, but it brings back every memory of longing and need while he watched the girl he loved in Sukuna’s arms. When Sukuna dated you he stopped being an ass to Satoru, it wasn’t until after the split he started being a dick again - a big dick to many people too, just particularly Satoru.

The hatred and resentment burn him so badly, he hardly notices you until he blinks it away, sighing, seeing your gorgeous dress. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, you’re so fucking beautiful tonight, dressed to go out and dressed to kill, that dress hugging every curve he was dying to touch, to hold, to kiss upon. Earrings dangle off your pretty ears, reflection against your dress as you look at him.

“I am so sorry, I… can we talk?” He asks then, softly, and you nod, trying not to let your hurt or worry make you angry at him, you need to hear him out.

“Sure. Just a minute, Sukuna.” He nods then, and you walk out to Satoru, he takes your wrist gently, pulling you over by the stairs, exhaling as he eyes you up and down slowly, as if he was caressing you with his blue eyes.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, my god.” You look down nervously, biting your lip a bit, and he tilts your chin, leaning low, making you vividly remember his kisses. “Absolutely stunning.”

“Oh, thank you Satoru. I didn’t know where you… were… taking me.” Your pause speaks volumes, and he sighs, pulling out his phone now.

“I called so many times after I got service, there was a horrible accident and we got stuck for hours. I’m so sorry.” You hear it then, the desperation, as he shows you his phone. “Your messages didn’t come until then, I am so fucking sorry, I tried to get here as quickly as I could. But… I guess I’m too late.”

“What, no, no. You’re not too late.” You step closer, and he exhales, pulling you against his chest now, resting his head against yours. “Sukuna came to see my parents, we’re not on a date or anything.”

“Fuck…” His relief makes his shoulders slump.

“Were you… worried about that?” Your whisper makes him laugh softly, pulling back to look into your eyes, cool hand cupping your face.

“Yeah. I was.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He repeats, while your hands cling to his soft sweater under his black jacket. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“How serious can we get if you leave soon?” Your voice is full of hurt, full of worry, and he can’t blame you one fucking bit, especially after soaking in what Samantha said.

“I will never just abandon you again.”

“Will you forget me again?” Your tears swim in your eyes, and you step back, shaking your head. “Fuck, ignore me, I’m tired I guess.”

Your words crush his heart, he feels it, the pain he put you through now, blinking back his own emotions. “I never forgot you, how could I?”

“You did.” You look away, and he turns you back to him, you fall again and again, over and over, body reacting, heart gravitating toward him against any better judgement you should have.

“No, I never fucking did.” His husky declaration is met with your mom peeking out now, concern on her face.

“Are you all going out or staying for dinner? There’s plenty, Satoru.” He clears his throat, watching you rub your arms nervously, a million things he’s dying to say to you, to tell you, all stuck in his fucking throat.

“We could just hit the movies and eat here, what do you think?” You say to him then, looking back up, as he runs a hand through his white locks.

“Think you look too beautiful not to take to a fancy restaurant, but I also think I’d love your mom’s cooking again.” You smile tremulously at his answer, sighing and trying to compose yourself.

“Then let’s go.” You take his hand, it feels too good, your little one engulfed in his warm palm, while Satoru sets his jacket and pulls out a chair for you, glaring over at Sukuna, who just smiles.

“Satoru, I should… say sorry for being a dick.” He says then, making Satoru blink in surprise.

“What?”

“I was a dick. Football makes us go to therapy, it’s really making me a little bitch but, here it is. I’m sorry.” He blinks once more, while he sits on the other side of you.

“Shit um, thanks I guess.” He mumbles, he still hates him, but he’s not going to keep the tension at the family table. Sukuna reaches around you to pat his shoulder, smiling a bit.

“It’s like a reunion huh?” Sukuna says teasingly, hand now finding your thigh under the table, making you look wide eyed at him, burning over your black tights. “It’s kind of nice being here again.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Satoru’s hand comes to your thigh now too, and you shift just a bit, Satoru’s is higher, thumb brushing circles on your soft inner thigh.

Some reunion.

“It’s nice to see you all getting along, and seeing you all again. I know she really missed you a lot, Satoru.” Your dad says then, and you hear it, the tone. Your dad was very protective, and he was never cool with his daughter being hurt - with Sukuna you both mutually broke up, but Satoru…

He really just left.

Satoru feels it in his gaze, sighing now. “Yeah well, certain people made High school shit for me. So I left.”

Sukuna looks away, sighing, and you feel the pain in his voice. “Not everyone was so bad.” You say softly, he nods then, hand on your thigh squeezing as Sukuna’s eases off.

“No, someone was amazing, and I shouldn’t have just left her.” His words are said in front of the room, and the tension eases, your dad smiles just a bit.

“She is amazing, you know.”

“Dad!”

“She is.” Satoru agrees, then he nibbles on the food in front of him, sighing. “I’m losing my abs this week.”

“You are not, silly!” You giggle with him, as all of you begin to reminisce, to talk softly, until food is done, and you’re going to help your mom clean up, but she stops you.

“You have a movie to get to, go on.” You smile at her knowing gaze.

“Satoru, have her home safe.” Your dad says, and you roll your eyes.

“I’m twenty six!”

“Still!”

“I’ll have her home safe. Unless she… wants to stay at my place again. But we’ll let you know, promise.” He nods then, hugging Satoru firmly.

“Please do, the roads are slick, be careful you two.”

“We will be, dad.” You look to see Sukuna saying his goodbyes as well, and Satoru glares at him, he can’t help it, the jealousy raging.

“Let me warm up the car, mmkay sweets?” He says softly, and you nod, but he shocks you by planting a kiss right on your cheek in front of everyone, making your skin heat up against his lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Thanks, Satoru.” You go to grab your jacket, but Sukuna has already gotten it, gently placing it over you as you two step outside into the cold, and you look up at him in the now dark night, just the porch light illuminating his silhouette. “Thank you so much for coming over, Sukuna. Truly.”

“I had fun catching up, your old man’s strong, he’ll be fine.” He pats your head affectionately, when you hug him tightly.

Satoru watches from his car and feels sick. He can’t hear a word you fucking said, but Sukuna showing up when he was supposed to already left him one step behind. Sukuna wraps his arms around you, you literally disappear in the big man’s embrace, while he gets the heat going, looking away before he does get sick.

He wants you to be his.

Is it selfish, is it fucking foolish? What future could you two even have? And you were a girl who needed a future, security, loyalty. You weren’t a girl he could just have and ever let go, but all he can think of is having you, over and over. All he can imagine is his lips bruising and marking every inch of your skin, not leaving the bed for days and just ordering food when you need it, fuck he’d hand feed you.

Shit Satoru Gojo has never thought of doing.

“You’re welcome, brat.” Sukuna says softly, after you thank him for spending time with your father.

“No, it meant alot. Truly. You’ve changed so much, but you weren’t all bad back then you know.” You tease, he chuckles then, sooty pink lashes lowering over those ruby eyes as his breath comes out in a puff of condensation.

“I fucked up with you. If you ever… figure out… all that.” He gestures his head to the car, and watches as you blush furiously. “And it’s not what you want, you have my contact info now. I’ll always answer your call, okay?”

“Sukuna, that's corny!”

“Fuck off, I know.” He glares, and you giggle again.

“That therapist should be famous.”

“Bye, now, brat.” You giggle and smack a kiss on his cheek, up on your tiptoes, watching a blush form on his cheeks. “It’s an open offer.” He says, husky toned, you nod then.

“Please drive safe!”

“You too, be careful tonight.”

“I will. Good night, Sukuna.” He nods with a half turn of is lips and walks over to his own sports car as you get inside the warmth with Satoru, smiling and then gasping as he yanks you against him. “Satoru?”

“I’ve been dying to do this all day.” He whispers huskily, before pressing his lips against yours, holding you against him in the warm confines of the car. He drinks up your sighs as you melt in his embrace, those shocks coursing through your veins from his plump lips, from his touch.

“Mnh…” Your soft cry makes him throb in need, but he tries to hold back, taking a breath instead, looking down at your now swollen lips, caressing them with his thumb.

“I never forgot you.” He repeats what he said earlier, you kiss him again, eagerly, tenderly, and he moans as you do, tongues dancing as lips keep pressing, melding against each other. “How could I?”

“Toru, I’m scared.” Your whisper makes him pause, he pulls back a bit, hands on your face now, shaking his head.

“I know. And I’m sorry you are. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing when I forgave you long ago, just… don’t hurt me again. Okay? I can’t handle it.” He nods, feeling your vulnerability, and you then relax, kissing him over and over, until he presses you against the door, leaned over, his hands dragging down your body, you whimper so sweetly he almost devours you there in that car.

“Shit, shit. I need to…” He backs off, watching your breasts rise and fall, he has never felt this, the insane need, once you all kissed he knew it was over, but every kiss drives him more out of his mind, as he falls just as bad as he had then. “I’ll fuck you right here if we don’t go.”

“In front of my parents!?”

“Full high school nostalgia.” You laugh then, and so does he, to break the tension, as you shakily put on your seat belt.

“None of that, gonna give my dad a damn heart attack. He has enough shit to deal with.” He presses one more kiss before he backs out of your driveway, an arm over the seat, brushing against the back of your neck.

“He looks healthy and good, I was really glad to see that.”

“Sukuna cheered him up playing football.” Your words are innocent and sweet, but he feels it hit - the inadequacy. He was supposed to be your best fucking friend in the world, and an ex had a better connection and was more involved.

The pain and guilt eats at him, and it’s quiet then, as the snow lightens up, and Satoru drives carefully in the night, you put a hand on his thigh, and his falls right over yours, squeezing it tightly. “Thank you for even going out with me tonight.”

“Of course, I want to… spend as much time as we can.” Your soft voice hits his ears, as you lean close, pressing a kiss on his neck.

“Me too, I was so stressed out, god being stuck in the car with Samantha was torture.” You laugh a bit, but he can hear it’s tense. “Sweetheart,” you two come to a stop, and he looks at you now, the streetlights casting a red glow over him while the snow finally stops falling, and the look he gives you makes your breath catch. “I only want you, okay?”

“Satoru you don’t-”

“No, I do. There’s nothing between me and her alright?” You nod then, swallowing nervously, as he kisses your forehead far too sweetly. “I used to sleep with her. But we never dated, I… never dated anyone.”

“Never?” You asked quietly, and he laughs without humor, looking back at the road now.

“Never. I guess I had someone in my head. I guess I had someone’s faded picture in my pocket.”

“You… what?” He taps his pocket, and you reach down now, emotions hitting your throat when you see it, the last picture he’d taken of you. You’re bright, cheerful and so, so happy. “You kept this?”

“You didn’t like it, and were gonna throw it out, remember? I got mad about it, so I swiped it. It was beautiful.” Your tears fall on the faded, crumbled up polaroid, taking several shaky breaths now as the meaning sinks in.

“I didn’t like it then, but… now I do.” He smiles, the weight off his chest while you put it back in his pocket. “Why didn’t you reach out?”

Satoru sighs, pulling up to another light, hand on yours gripping tightly as he studies you with that lidded gaze, with his plump lips parted just so, eyes that you have always loved looking into. But now they’re different, they’re jaded eyes yes, but there’s so much unsaid in them, so much it makes you falter, when he takes your hand and kisses the back of it, lips brushing your knuckles.

“I was terrified of feeling it all again. Every feeling I had for you, I just… thought it was best to shove down. But, I guess they never left.” The words in the yearbook flash across your mind now.

Did he mean them?

“I guess I never shared all my feelings, either.” You say softly, he is driving once more, but keeps your hand up by his lips.

“You have no fault in anything, here. You were just… you. And I love that, how you’re you. You are still you.”

“You’re still you, too, Satoru.”

He blinks a bit, sighing again. “Am I?”

“I think so.”

You hope so.

You wish it so.

You have never felt what this is, even with him before, the intensity of just being near him enough to drive you insane, every breath and motion leading you deeper into the abyss that is Satoru Gojo. Opening your heart to someone who could so easily crush it all over again, who can tear it all apart so casually, but it’s as if you would take it all if it meant having him for just a bit.

“What movie are we seeing, hmm?” Your whisper breaks him out of his thoughts, of how the fuck he could make this work, of how he could express everything that’s been bottled up inside. Of how he could be that Satoru for you again.

He looks over at your gorgeous face, bathed in moonlight, as beautiful as the day he first met you in school, the inner beauty just radiating with your kindness, your heart, all too much to even look upon. Momentarily stunned he doesn’t compute your question at first, instead just drinking in the love in front of him, the love of his life that he shoved aside like she was nothing.

He’s not even sure he deserves you near him, but he’s not going to fuck this up, aside from life literally already fucking the first part of the evening up.

“It was your favorite, they’re doing a whole re-run of it. And we have time to catch the last showing.”

You bounce just a bit in your seat, so cute then, he fucking melts, he aches, your smile so precious he can’t fathom how he lived with just the memory of it. You’re brightening up his heart, his world, as he just stares at you, so enamored that he has to get honked at to drive at the light again.

When the two of you arrive in that movie theater, he can hardly focus on anything but your laugh, your glittery eyes as you two settle with your snacks in the old theater, that hasn’t changed one damn bit. He’s so lost in you he can’t remember what the movie is called, or what it’s about, an arm wrapped around as you nibble on popcorn, snuggling up.

It feels too perfect, and Satoru can’t fuck this up. Knowing he’s had you for years existing across the country and could have had this the entire time makes every bit of money he’s had feel hollow. His phone keeps going off, he keeps ignoring the vibrations until you pull back curiously.

“It may be important, Satoru, check it.” He sighs, looking now that it’s his manager. “Go ahead, take a call, I'll be fine.”

“Fuck it, he can wait.” He says then, checking the texts and his heart drops as he sees it.

He has a shoot coming up tomorrow night and then he has to get back to Hollywood for a magazine interview and photo shoot for Vogue. One more measly day with the girl he’s been missing like a piece of his heart? How the fuck could he even tell you?

“What’s wrong, Toru?” You whisper, he just turns the screen off, leaning close and kissing you, tasting salty popcorn on your lips and licking it, making you laugh breathlessly.

“Nothing, it can all wait.” His words reassure you, despite the lingering concerns, as he pulls you back against him and reclines the big black leather seats, the two of you snuggling under the blanket he’d brought as you fall into your favorite movie.

But you also fall deeper for him, for the boy you knew and the man you’re trying to learn, who’s heart thuds steadily under your cheek.

Could you handle him leaving you again, or just enjoy this while it lasted, savor every moment, could you let him go again?

Next chap will be smutty AND emotional AND angsty, yayyy hehe

taglist #1- @pinkyvomit @saitamaswifey @kachowness @vraiao @artbligh @psychoartiste @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @bsenpai @simp-for-wanderer @rjreins @emonaculate @myahfig4 @casua11ycrying @psycren @blushedcheri @ureuphoriasworld @frozenmallows @kanaojacksonofc @rcveriees @xlilycoco @yukimaniac @sypnasis @tokina @sharkubi @tztuoo @hyori2 @yesdere @gradmacoco @gamerhere @seikamuzu @xinsonyax @vvaoo @angie420 @ria54sworld @blue-musingss @mysticmyth @asimpinamillion @arabellasolstice @ilovebeansyay @notme000 @emochosoluvr @iv-vee @heh123321 @fushikamo @danilovesboba @spookyy-gracee @satorusleftnut @clqxuds @femaholicc

[wileys-russo]

(Ik it’s not a player but I love them) Solfresa “I could just take a tiny nap?”

oc x oc from my filling the void universe and @girlgenius1111 family line series

world class II fresa putellas + solstråle engen

"sol, no mi amor you cannot sleep now." fresa returned to the bedroom and noticed the norweigan starting to drift off, shaking her ankle as she groaned and opened her eyes.

"why?" the brunette sighed deeply, rubbing her face and crossing her arms over her chest with a small scowl, fresa pausing the nature documentary her girlfriend had been falling asleep to.

"the point of the schedule is to train your sleep pattern so you are well rested at all times, so you are fit to work once you start nights. which means no naps and only sleeping at the times you are supposed to mi amor." the younger girl smiled sympathetically as the norweigan groaned louder.

it had been a long grueling process for the tattooed firefighter to become qualified as so, one that the spaniard currently shaking her awake had not always been supportive of.

solstråle had failed fitness testing twice, both her sister and girlfriend trying to talk her into what they deemed a much less dangerous career path.

but solstråle had never wavered, only spending more hours in the gym and less time talking to those who she didn't think were helping her along the way.

so with a wall of silence in response to the pushback, and the lack of belief only driving solstråle harder into her training and to start developing some unhealthier habits, fresa and ingrid changed tune.

both had come around to helping solstråle instead of wasting time trying to change her mind, but the help wasn't without constant reminders that she needed to be at her most prepared as to avoid any sort of injury while on the job.

so now with fitness testing complete and all of her training finally starting to feel as if it was paying off, the girl was set to swap over from shadow shifts to a real roster, which included staying two nights a week at the station on call.

"fres, baby i could just take a tiny nap? then i will still sleep early on time tonight!" solstråle tried to bargain, pinching her thumb and pointer finger together to make a minuscule gap as fresa firmly shook her head. "not part of the plan amor." fresa smiled in amusement at the girls persistence, gesturing for her to sit up.

"you are no fun today putellas. first you have to study and i have to sit here alone to watch my show because i 'distract you'. now you come back and i am tired but you will not let me sleep?" solstråle huffed with a deepened scowl as the younger girl shook your head.

"you might not think i am fun engen, but is it fun cleaning the big trucks all day because your sister or your chief hears you are too tired to be cleared for the real work?" fresa warned lightly quirking an eyebrow and crossing her arms, solstråle's eyes widening a little in response.

"you wouldn't!" the norweigan sat up properly now with a scoff. "i would, if it meant you did not get hurt bebé." fresa promised softly, her girlfriend sighing and running a hand through her hair.

"snitches get stitches." solstråle mumbled grumpily, laying back down as her eyes began to once again feel heavy. "well you are great company today. go to sleep then, i do not care!" fresa rolled her eyes, knowing just how stubborn her girlfriend could be but not having the patience for it today, turning to leave as a hand quickly grabbed the back of her top.

"sorry! i'm just tired, and i missed you. i hate when you have exams and you have to ignore me." solstråle huffed, pulling fresa down onto the bed with her and trapping the shorter girl in between her arms and legs in a tight bear hug.

"i do not ignore you solstråle, i answered all your texts today amor, and there was a lot of them!" fresa laughed at the sudden switch in attitude from the girl, twisting her neck to sweetly peck her lips which were grumbling some sort of moody comment in norweigan.

"will you play fifa with me? i thought i was good but they have a tournament going at the station, and i haven't won a single game!" the brunette huffed, forever hotheaded and fiercely competitive as much as she could also be the softest sappy pile of mush at times too.

"do we have to? i do not have a clue how to play. in fact you and alexia told me no more playing because it was...what did you say? eh 'too hard to watch' remember?" fresa narrowed her eyes as a guilty smile curled into her girlfriends features.

one of the rare times her eldest sister actually spent any time with sol was playing fifa after a family dinner, granted that was silent bonding as alexia still refused to say more than a few words in response to solstråle's chatter.

"fresa that was ancient history, i am a much more patient woman now." solstråle grinned as the spaniard in her arms let out a loud sarcastic bark of laughter and tapped at her forearms to be let up.

"it was last week engen." fresa sat up and hovered over her girlfriend with a shake of her head, suddenly pulling back as sol tried to sit up and connect their mouths. "hey! give me a kiss." the norweigan demanded impatiently, tapping her puckered lips expectantly.

"no." fresa smiled sweetly, standing and heading out of the bedroom to make some food, not at all surprised at the sound of footsteps hurrying after her, her mami on an evening shift at work meaning the pair of them had the house to themselves for a couple more hours at least.

"solstråle!" the younger girl squealed as a body barrelled into her, almost taking her down to the floor before the well built norweigan grabbed her girlfriends hand, spinning and dipping fresa, holding her up just from falling to the floor as her heart raced.

"don't do that! its not funny." fresa hit at her girlfriends hoodie covered chest with a loud smack as she only laughed and the youngest putellas merely scowled.

trying to move past her before fresa could take another step a mouth was pressed against hers, feeling the firefighter to be smile into the kiss when fresa made no move to push her away

"you are a child sometimes. tonta!" fresa finally broke away and bonked her girlfriend on the head with a magazine that was handy within reach on the counter, only causing solstråle to smile wider, clearly proud of herself.

"food can wait, one game? it will help keep me awake." the norwegian tugged fresa gently away from the pantry with her best puppy dog eyes as fresa sighed.

"if you are turning down food, it must be serious." "please?" "fine. one game engen!"

~

"joder! how do you defend? i forget the controls!" fresa cursed in annoyance, only having had possession for about two seconds this entire half as her girlfriend knocked in goal after goal.

"solstråle!" she protested as the norweigan made her player do a backflip after another goal and cheered loudly in fresa's ear, kissing her cheek apologetically from where fresa lay between her legs, elbows resting on her knees and her back pressed to solstråles front.

"you said this would be easy." fresa complained as the game stopped for half time. "no, babe i said i would put the match settings on easy." her girlfriend corrected as fresa pinched her thigh unimpressed with the answer.

"amor you are winning 8-0 you can give me five fucking minutes to show the controls again?" fresa demanded before sol could click to resume play. "i like when you swear in english." her girlfriend mumbled, a lazy kiss pressed to her jaw as sol dropped her remote and her hands settled over fresa's.

"when you attack you click this to pass, this one to sprint. you click this one for a head pass or a short ball, and this to shoot." solstråle explained slowly, pointing out the different buttons as fresa nodded, eyebrows furrowed with concentration.

"when you defend it is this one to chase, this one to tackle, this one to slide tackle, this one to clear. then when it goes to your goalkeeper, just click this or this." the taller girl explained as again fresa nodded, doing her best to follow along but she'd already forgotten half of what was said, making a mental note to just button mash and hope.

"so does this mean you will let me have a pity goal mi vida?" fresa asked hopefully as the girl pressed behind her grabbed her own control and chuckled.

"not a chance elskling." sol stole a kiss and clicked play again before fresa could bite back with a remark, eyes widening as she hurried to rapidly click at any buttons she could reach on the controller much to her girlfriends amusement.

the second half fresa played a little better, but still failed to score and conceded another five goals making it so solstråle won with a whopping 13-0, the final whistle blowing meaning she let out a war cry of victory.

"eso fue humillante!" fresa scowled tossing the remote to the side onto the lounge and rolling her eyes, arms crossed and shoulders slumped.

"that is life no? you win some, you lose some. i feel a lot better about my games at the station now! thank you baby." the norweigans large hands settled either side of fresas face and tilted her head back so she could press kisses across the flushed skin.

"you are welcome." fresa rolled your eyes, gently tugging her hands away and sitting up, glancing to the screen only for a moment as her head snapped back to it and she frowned.

"world class? you said you put it on beginner sol!" fresa turned to glare at her girlfriend who shrugged, quickly turning off the tv and sitting up on her knees.

"did i? guess i must have clicked the wrong one babe, sorry." the norweigan grinned, pushing the shorter girl to lay down again as her smug face hovered over her girlfriends, not an ounce of remorse in her eyes.

"mentirosa! i cannot believe i like you." fresa grumbled with a scowl, solstråle pressing her face into her neck, lips scattering kisses across the warm skin.

"only like?" the norweigan whispered teasingly, tugging on fresa's earlobe with her teeth as her fingers danced across bare skin where her shirt had rode up.

"barely tolerate." fresa mumbled but all of the fire had dissapeared from her tone making solstråle smile against her neck.

"oh now what happened to love?" "maybe if you were not a dirty tramposa, you might get some engen."

[jaesblogstuff]

You know where home is at, don’t you now. (RAWR)

⸻

You don’t text him. You just show up.

You knock twice, the way he taught you, before slipping into the apartment like it’s your own. It isn’t. But that’s never stopped you before. Nothing about this should work. But here you are.

Same black hoodie. Same Glock under the pillow. Same grin he doesn’t bother to hide when he sees you in that skirt.

“Thought you had plans with your man,” Simon mutters, kicking the door shut behind you.

“I do,” you say. “They just changed.” He laughs once, low and sharp. Pulls you in by the waist and slaps your ass like you’re late to something.

“He know you wear that shit for me?” You hum against his mouth. “He don’t need to know everything.”

Simon Riley came from chaos. He never hid it. Said he was born somewhere hot and broke and loud. Said he had a couple acres out there, some fake papers, and a name that didn’t exist on any real record. Told you in that lazy, deep tone, like it was nothing. Like surviving shit like that was just how it goes.

“Heartbreakers,” he called them. “Women like you.”

But you were the one who stitched him back together. Drove him to court dates. Held his phone when he couldn’t stop shaking. Slept beside him when he woke up screaming from the past. You took him to Belgium once, just to say you did. Showed him a world where no one knew what he’d done. Or who he’d killed.

You made him feel safe. And that’s dangerous. Because now he needs you. And Simon Riley does not like needing anyone.

He doesn’t say much when you push him back onto the mattress, straddle him with nothing on under the skirt. He just grips your hips and grinds up once, slow and cruel, watching your mouth part around a breathless little sound that isn’t a moan but close.

You ride him until your legs shake. Until the room smells like sweat and smoke and that damn hoodie is halfway off and his tattooed arm is flexed around your waist. Until you’re ruined. Gutted. Fucked open and sore. And still, it’s not enough.

Later, when you’re on your back and the sheets are wet and the cigarette’s burning slow in his hand, he doesn’t pass it. Just lets it dangle from his lips while he stares at the you from the chair.

“You still fuckin’ him?” he asks, casual as sin. You don’t answer. Not right away. Just stretch like a cat, long and slow, letting him watch every inch of you shift under his gaze.

“Why?” you murmur. “You jealous?”

He scoffs, eyes half-lidded. “Nah. Just like knowin’ who I’m takin’ it from.” And maybe that should sting. But it doesn’t. Not from him. From him, it drips like honey. Dark, possessive, and thick with truth.

You slide off the bed, sore between the legs, and you make him wait. You don’t speak. Don’t ask. You just start to crawl. Palms to the cold floor. Eyes locked on his knees. You move slow, deliberate, like every step is a confession. A promise. A surrender.

Simon watches, legs spread wide, smoke curling around his face like a crown. “You done actin’ like you got options?” he mutters, voice rough and low. You smile up at him, teeth bared like a threat. “You scared I might?”

He leans forward, catches your jaw in one hand, thumb pressing against your lip. “Nah,” he says. “I know you won’t.” He slips two fingers into your mouth—down your tongue, past comfort. Until you gag just enough to make his eyes gleam.

“That’s my girl.”

And God help you, but you like the way that sounds. You always have.

You crawl into his lap, straddle him again. The cocky tilt of your mouth dares him to keep playing. “I didn’t fuck him,” you finally answered. “But you were thinking it.”

Simon doesn’t even blink. Just grips your waist like a man anchoring himself. “I was thinkin’ you’ve got a smart fuckin’ mouth for someone who crawls back to me beggin’.” You laugh, breath hot against his cheek. “That's why you kept beggin’? Couldn’t take not having me?”

“Beggin’?” He grabs your ass, lifts you, and drops you on his cock in one rough motion that punches the air from your lungs. “Sweetheart,” he growls, deep and close, “I own you.” And the sick part? You love how true that feels.

You fuck like it’s the last time. Like this is a war and he’s claiming the only piece of ground that ever meant anything. Your body is his battlefield, and he doesn’t just win—he conquers.

“You like when I crawl to you,” you whisper. Simon grins. “I like remindin’ you where you fuckin’ belong.”

You bite his shoulder. “Then remind me.”

He flips you, fucks you harder.

And you never forget.

[eraserbread]

gojo's holding back // megumi's babysitter x dad!jo

gojo's home this morning. you don't know how or why, but he's smiling, watching you take megumi by the hand to drop him off at school. It's just a seven-minute walk towards the city, but you still spend extra time kneeling in front of him at the doorway, buttoning his coat high and pulling gloves over his small, delicate hands.

he's pouting, hating the way his coat sounds when he walks. he always has, and he always complains to you, but you won't budge. in the middle of winter, the least you can do is make sure he's warm on his way to school.

"leaving without telling me first? that's harsh. " gojo's been back in his bedroom all morning, napping with one eye open after a long night at work. when he emerges, he's spikey-haired and sleepy—a reflection of his sweet son.

you smile in his presence, turning around to say your goodbyes. long, lanky legs only have him taking four big steps until he's crowding you two.

he's sweeping megumi up on his hip, hugging him with one arm. "look'a my handsome bundle. you warm, 'gumi?"

"put me down." megumi deadpans, but you can see the way he nuzzles a bit deeper in gojo's shoulder.

you feed gojo a laugh he's throwing at you, tight-lipped smile so familiar as you watch the two of them. "thought you were asleep."

"i was, but that's okay. I never see him off, so i wanted to be awake." his voice is so soft, genuine, and persuasive as he gives you unyielding blue eye contact. you have to look away just to maintain some mystery.

"dad, we're gonna be late." megumi whines, crisp white sneakers kicking in gojo's thigh. "tsumiki said she'd meet me right at 8."

"punctual and only six years old." gojo pinches megumi's nose, breathing out a laugh. "alright, kid. i won't keep you."

when megumi is back on his feet, he pouts and reaches back for your hand to tell you, 'i'm ready to go. ' you squeeze him back.

"i'll be asleep when you're back." he catches you just as you start to pull open the door. "make sure you're quiet for me!"

"'course." you turn back down to megumi, raising your eyebrows as he stands with a less-than-entertained look on his face. "c'mon, baby. i know you're eager to head out."

when you get back to the house after dropping megumi off, gojo isn't asleep like he promised—well, hardly—he's limp-necked, dozing in and out on the couch with the television on.

you don't notice his reflection at first as you shrug off your coat and shoes. all you had to do before your six-hour break was clean up after breakfast and start some of megumi's laundry, then you're free to leave.

you're texting a friend back when you round the back of the couch, phone clicking incessantly with your ringer on. it's hardly noisy, but it stirs the giant from his rest. he twitches.

"megumi get to school safe n sound?"

you stop just before you leave the room, heart pattering in your chest because his deep voice scared the hell out of you. "of course."

"that's my girl."

then, you're blushing like an idiot when he groans and stands up. "w-what?"

"when i adopted him, i was always insecure about his lack of a mother figure. it's why I hired you, and I'm so glad I did... i mean, you're just angelic."

he's definitely trying to tell you something—you're not stupid. you know he likes you—too much, as more than a transactional partnership. he was just too professional to say.

but never too professional to pin you to his couch cushion, hot and breathless against your skin as he kisses your neck. it's so embarrassing, so needy and pitchy when you whine his name, crying for more. he fucking loves this, he could just eat you alive.

"the need for you is just... it's suffocating, i apologize."

"don't." you bite, fist all bunched up in the back of his loose shirt. it's frightening just how many times you've stewed over this situation. how many sleepless nights and traffic lights you've endured with visions of crystal blue eyes. the guilt eats you alive, but it's like he said, the need is suffocating. it's insurmountable, you have to let him in.

you crane your neck for him, willing him to take his fill.

you feel so innocent under his big hands, so ethereal and motherly and downright delicious to satoru, that he has to stop.

he can't let himself have you, yet. you're far too pristine, his mind wouldn't allow it. even now with your sexed hair, blown pupils, and panting lips, he wants to pull you apart.

then, he asks. because he's nosey, yes, but more because of the way you're shivering underneath him right now. "are you a virgin?"

"no! i'm not a virgin." you're already overcome, so hot and overwhelmed under his headlight-gaze.

"because you're flailing like a newborn foal," he smirks, a gentle laugh behind his tone. his plush, pink lip drags through his teeth. fluffy white hair tickles your forehead as he kisses you again.

you conjure up every single piece of resilience in your soul to suppress a needy whine. he's been edging you for weeks now -- pulling you away to stare deep into your eyes or to suck your lips off. but that's always as far as it ever goes, you can tell he's rearing up to stop.

"please..." you're begging, not quite whining. fists digging in the back of his shirt to keep him close. "please, don't... stop this time."

"it's just so inappropriate," he hums, breath so hot and clean over your pouting lips. he's staring at them, tasting your flavor when he darts his tongue.

then, he's sitting up, ruffled shirt, fluffy-haired, and flushed pink. he's so godly, you could cry.

so, you do, palms pressed into your eyes as he stares down at you.

"oh - i'm sorr-

"don't even."

[thumblemina]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ content warnings: 18+, mdni, fem!reader, oral, dirty talk, praise, atsumu being a lil dumbass + tease

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ word count: 1.6k

fwb!asumu who is unreliable in a way that should easily pull apart the casual strings holding together your entire precarious situation. because if he’s not playing volleyball, he’s conditioning to play volleyball, or struggling to pass classes so he can play more volleyball, or just thinking of volleyball really, and that means those ridiculous u up? texts are sporadic at best.

at worst, his responses to you slipping into his messages after two too many drinks are more often than not hitting his screen when he’s snoring at an ungodly volume.

fwb!asumu who follows up your Friday post-last-call booty call attempt the next morning at 7AM with a crying face emoji and a sweaty ab pic (that you’ve never asked for, but he always provides, and you happily return to later under your covers).

only for him to slide into your messages a week later on a Tuesday at 6PM (it’s still light out, and that should be sacrilegious, but that’s just how you both work) begging for a taste of you, waxing bad poetic about your thighs when you send the unfortunate reply that you’ve got a paper due at midnight that you need to pass your infuriating statistics class. and maybe you send him a picture of those aforementioned thighs, since it’s only fair, and then put your phone on do not disturb to ignore the 20-part emoji breakdown that follows.

fwb!asumu who when the stars do end up aligning, somehow, will still end up stumbling into your apartment after midnight an hour later than he said he would, at least with the decency of looking a bit sheepish, but that’s the only decent thing about him. his cheeks are flushed and his words are slurred, thickening his dialect in a way you’ll never admit tickles you somewhere deep in your core when you herd him inside, swatting away the sloppy kisses he’s already planting along your throat.

fwb!asumu who's kicking off his shoes next to yours when you finally shove him off to disappear for a small bathroom break, and he’s shooting you that hooded look that you expect will have him naked and warm in your bed when you return, but he’s not.

when you pass by your kitchen on your way to your room, he’s leaning against your marbled counter, taking up more space than anyone ever seems to do in your place, with a takeout container in one hand and a fork shovelling pad thai into his mouth with the other.

your pad thai.

fwb!asumu who just blinks when you spit his name, staring him down deadpan.

“this ain’t mine?” he manages through rice noodles and beansprouts, sending you that cheeky smile that knows better. he earns an eyeroll when he lies so easily, “swear it was mine.”

“that’s supposed to be my dinner tomorrow,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest, somehow both surprised and not at all with how much he’s been able to devour in the three minutes you left him unsupervised.

you even splurged for the 3 dollar shrimp surcharge. now three dollars poorer and somehow the fact that you know he eats the tail too makes it even worse.

he sets the takeout down, roughly wiping his mouth with his forearm in a way that should give you the ick but never does. that easy, magnetizing grin is digging into his cheek. “lemme make it up to ya, princess. promise you won’t even remember ya had it in the first place.”

fwb!asumu who is infuriating and unreliable and honestly such a bad fucking idea, but he’s consistent where it counts. in his serves, in his sets, and in the way that he already has you panting when he’s grinding your hips into your mattress, a well-conditioned thigh pressing between your legs at just the right angle that has you arching into him, his tongue is swirling in that sinful way against your throat.

“fuck, sweetheart, you keep moaning in my ear all desperate like th’t, i ain’t gonna last.”

“who’s desperate?” you breathe out, but the way that it falls like a prayer off your lips betrays you, and the smirk nestled against your skin hears it too.

fwb!asumu who tastes like cheep beer and your fucking pad thai, but when those pretty setter fingers are rolling your swollen, puffy nipples between them, tugging the precise amount that stings in that pain-please wire-cross way that makes your head spin, you are having trouble remembering anything beyond his touch. you’re gasping, but it wavers into a needy moan as soon as he ducks his head and soothes the sting with the wet heath of his mouth.

it’s sloppy in a way that he only is in bed- the obscene smack of his lips, his spit, his fucking tongue. you never understand how he can make you fall apart with just his tongue.

“ah, tsumu, more, i need more,” you’re begging, you know it and you should be embarrassed but your brain has been replaced with radio static and want. the only thing you know is the friction between your thighs, your soaked panties, and his hands roughly grabbing all over you but somehow, it's still not enough. "fuck, c'mon."

fwb!asumu who presses his thigh harder into your core, those calloused fingers moving to grab the plush of your hips and grind you down onto him in that delicious way he knows you love, voice rough when he’s saying, “think i might wait till yer desperate, though.”

you’re rolling your hips, arching your back for more, cursing the futile barrier your damp panties provide between the skin-to-skin contact you're craving. and when his teeth lightly brush against your already too-sensitive nipples, pulling a gasp from your lips, you feel the smirk before you look down to see those dark, molten eyes and see it.

“get the fuck down there, pretty boy,” you grind out, suppressing the shiver that threatens when you grab a fistful of his dyed hair, something you know he loves by the low groan that escapes him, and shove him further down your body.

fwb!asumu who’s grinning when he teases, “so demanding,” and shifts your legs on either side of his broad shoulders.

but with atsumu the teasing never stops there, because even when those pretty setter fingers are hooking your panties to the side, exposing your glistening folds to the air in a way that makes your breath hitch, and you’re rocking your hips up for more, he’s still just pressing sweet, wet kisses to your inner thighs. even when you all but whine when he runs a thick thumb along your slit, pressing meanly into your clit, puffs of hot air from his mouth close but not close enough, he still isn’t getting close enough.

“tsumu,” you huff, frustrated, threading your fingers through his hair. “stop fucking playing around.”

and he’s sucking a filthy kiss right next to your cunt, murmuring, “but you’re so fun to play with.”

fwb!asumu who will tease you and play with you and make you arch your back and fucking keen in the most infuriating way possible, who will miss your texts and eat your pad thai and show up an hour fucking late, but when he finally, finally presses that filthy mouth over your clit, it’s all suddenly so worth it.

because he’s running his broad tongue through your dripping folds, dipping his tongue to tease your entrance, collecting all that slick just to suck your clit into his mouth, and your mind fucking breaks. your eyes clamp shut, and all you can see are stars and galaxies, your ears are drowned out by the obscene wet noises he’s making or you're making you're not sure, his hands digging into the fat of your thighs, and the most pathetic little noises are leaving your mouth.

he’s nudging a finger into your entrance, soaking as he slides in so easily, and in that coarse, sexy fucking voice saying, “yeah, you’re my good fuckin' girl, aren’t ya?” in a way that you can only whimper and rock your hips into his face, any words stolen from your lips as his tongue and fingers synchronize in that way he knows to make you fall apart.

fwb!asumu who seems to know all the soft spots to unravel you, curling his fingers just right, tongue swirling and sucking just right, until there’s no arguing that you are that desperate mess. you’re only broken sobs and bucking hips and whining for more, more, more.

you're tugging at his hair now, digging your fingers into his scalp in a way that you know must be painful but when it has him groaning, raspy and wrecked, right into your pussy you absolutely can't care. the tighter you tug, it seems to spur him on even more, he's getting even sloppier with it.

and it’s that timber as he’s murmuring in that almost mocking voice, “i know, baby, i know,” when you’re clenching around his fingers that has you tumbling right off the edge, falling into the abyss, overwhelmed by white hot need.

fwb!asumu who dutifully helps you ride through the aftershocks, nudging that spongy spot inside you until your legs are limp and liquid, and then is slipping his fingers out of you and licking them clean. despite your chest still panting, and that boneless quality you know is written all of your body, you roll your eyes. “didn’t i feed you enough?”

he’s grinning down at you, and you can see his erection straining against his briefs, a promise of more to come. “can’t help it, you’re so fuckin' tasty.”

you sigh. “oh? better than my pad thai?”

fwb!asumu who laughs in a way that settles right into your core, before crawling back up your body and capturing your mouth in a searing, wet kiss. “guess i’ll just have to fuck ya harder if you still remember.”

fwb!asumu who absolutely does.

until the next day, when you’re opening what’s left of your takeout for dinner, and realizing that he absolutely did eat all your shrimp, including the fucking tails, that freak.

╰┈➤ a/n: genuinely don't know what this even is (me craving pad thai???) but he is so fucking cute omg. itching to make a follow up but have no idea where it would go lol. divider by @cafekitsune

[iydiamartinx]

SCREAM FOR ME

( slasher au )

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune & @iydiamartinx word count: 1.1k synopsis: The mask was his secret. But you were always his obsession. a/n: Again I know this is more suited for Halloween but I don't care, we're close enough lol

You’d always thought there was something magnetic about Dick Grayson.

People flocked to him wherever he went. He had that kind of pull that didn’t announce itself—just was. It lingered in the soft curl of his smile, the easy tilt of his head when he listened, the way his laugh lit up the room. He moved through the world like nothing could touch him, like he existed half a step above the rest of Gotham’s grime.

And somehow, he made you feel untouched too.

You remembered the first time his eyes found yours: blue as a summer sky, steady as a heartbeat, and so achingly gentle you forgot how to breathe. He made you feel like the only person in his world when his blue eyes found yours. 

He was the kind of man who helped old ladies cross the street without waiting for thanks. Who kissed your knuckles like it was instinct, not performance. Who memorized your coffee order down to the syrup pumps and never once had to ask again.

So when the murders started—when Gotham became a hunting ground, and bodies began to turn up staged like something out of a macabre film set—you never once looked at him.

Why would you?

He was Dick. Gotham’s golden boy. The good one of his brothers.

Even when your neighbour turned up dead, blood-soaked and sprawled across their own welcome mat like a grotesque greeting card, you didn’t question him. Not when the news anchors said the killer was still out there. Not even when your friend Celia stopped answering her texts and you found her apartment door kicked in days later.

No. You didn’t connect the dots.

You were too busy clinging to the comfort of his arms, to the way he made you feel safe when the city outside promised only shadows. Too busy drowning in kisses that tasted like promises. Like safety.

Until the drawer.

You hadn’t meant to find it. You were just looking for your charger. But when you tugged open the third drawer in his dresser and felt the bottom shift under your fingers, instinct took over.

A false panel.

Underneath it: a sleek, black hunting knife. A small voice changer. And a stack of photographs bound by a crimson ribbon—Photos of you.

Some were candid—taken while you walked home from work or stood in line for coffee, smiling at strangers who had no idea how close danger lurked.

Others were… different. Intimate. Vulnerable. Through your bedroom window. From the alley across the street. One from inside the stairwell of your building, looking down on you as you unlocked your front door.

Your fingers trembled as you flipped through them.

Your throat tightened. You didn’t want to believe it. You tried to tell yourself it was for protection. That maybe someone else had been stalking you—and he just hadn’t told you yet because he didn’t want to scare you.

But deep down, you knew. And then you saw it.

Scrawled across the back of one—your face blurred slightly in motion, head turned mid-laugh—was a single word. Written in familiar looping script you’d seen a hundred times in birthday cards, notes on the fridge, the labels on your shared spice rack:

Mine.

You turned the photo over again, as if the word might vanish under your gaze. As if staring hard enough might twist its meaning into something else. Something harmless.

But it didn’t.

Because there was no protecting this. no innocent explanation for the hunting knife. No misunderstanding that could explain the surveillance photos. The voice changer. The false drawer. No explanation that made sense—except the one you didn’t want to face.

A dull roaring filled your ears. Your hand trembled. You didn’t even realize you were backing away until your shoulder bumped the wall. You had to get out. You had to—

You turned to run.

And froze.

“I was really hoping you wouldn’t find that.” He drawled.

You swallowed.

Dick stood in the doorway, one hand braced lightly against the frame, the other in the pocket of his jeans. Golden light spilled in behind him, bathing him in the warm glow of early evening. He looked like he always did—relaxed, unbothered, beautiful.

But there was something in his eyes. Something cold. Like ice beneath the surface of a still lake. You wouldn’t notice it at first. Not unless you were already sinking.

He took a step inside, letting the door click shut behind him.

“Is this a joke?” you asked, voice breaking. “Tell me it’s a joke.”

He tilted his head, almost amused. “Why would I joke about something so personal?”

Your heart pounded in your chest like a war drum. “You killed them.”

“I did.” He said it without pause. No stutter. No remorse. “But in my defense…” he began, stepping forward with the easy grace of a man who had no reason to run, “they were getting too close.”

You stepped back instinctively. Your legs hit the edge of the bed. You didn’t sit—you didn’t dare—but your escape was cut off, your breath coming fast now.

“Too close to what?” you whispered.

“To you.”

Your stomach twisted.

His gaze flicked down—just for a moment—as if seeing you now was almost painful. “Do you know how many people looked at you?” he asked, his voice like velvet rage. “How many touched you? Smiled at you like they had a right to?”

He took another step. You didn’t move.

“You think any of them could’ve loved you like I do?”

His smile softened again. Sweet. Unsettling.

“I couldn’t let them have you.”

You couldn’t breathe. “You lied to me.”

“I loved you,” he corrected. “Still do.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

“You lied to me,” you finally managed, and it felt like a betrayal just to say it out loud.

“No.” His voice was gentle now. Almost tender. “I loved you. I still do.”

He was in front of you now. Close enough to touch. Close enough to—

No.

“But now you know,” he murmured. “So what happens next depends on you.”

Your heart thrashed in your chest, adrenaline kicking like it wanted to tear itself free. You stared at him. At the man you’d kissed goodnight. The man who made you laugh until your ribs hurt. The man who—

Slipped something into your hand.

You looked down.

The mask. Smooth. White. Featureless except for the empty, mocking grin.

Ghostface.

“You can scream,” he said, voice soft, almost coaxing. “Run. Tell them what I did.”

Then his smile shifted—just slightly. Enough.

“But then I’d have to kill you.”

You swallowed hard. Your fingers tightened involuntarily around the mask.

He leaned in, eyes never leaving yours.

“Or… you can stay. And never have to be afraid again.”

He loved you like a prayer. But maybe he prayed in blood.

So what would you choose?

To run from the devil in disguise…Or put on the mask—and stand at his side?

[itdontmatter283472374]

What are we? Chapter 3

It was the night before her birthday, and Paige was about to pretend she was going to sleep early—mostly so she wouldn’t have to sit in the quiet of her thoughts—when her screen lit up with Azzi’s name.

She hesitated for a second—thumb hovering over Accept—before answering.

Azzi’s face appeared, dimly lit by the glow of her desk lamp. Her hair was longer now, or maybe just messier, falling in front of her face like it always did when she was distracted.

“Hey,” Paige said, adjusting her phone against a pillow.

“Hey,” Azzi replied. She sounded tired but not in a bad way—just worn in. Familiar.

There was a beat of silence.

“Happy almost birthday,” Azzi added, softer this time. “Are you gonna do anything tomorrow?”

Paige shrugged. “Nika is dragging me to Ted’s. She likes a guy who's gonna be there tomorrow, apparently.”

Azzi nodded. “Fun.”

“Hopefully.”

Another pause. Azzi shifted on her end, leaning back against a wall covered in new posters Paige didn’t recognize. Her room looked lived-in. Different.

Paige hated how that made her feel.

Azzi said, “I was thinking I could come visit. Just for the weekend.”

Paige’s heart did something annoying. “Seriously?”

Azzi nodded, eyes flicking to the side like she wasn’t sure how serious she was until just now. “Yeah. I mean… if that’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Paige said quickly. “Of course it’s okay.”

Azzi smiled. Small. Tentative. “Cool.”

Another silence, but this one felt warmer. Familiar. Dangerous.

“You still like burrito bowls?” Azzi asked.

Paige laughed. “You think I’ve changed that much?”

Azzi tilted her head. “You never know. College changes people.”

The smile on Paige’s face flickered, something unspoken passing between them again. She looked away from the camera for a moment.

“Some things don’t change,” she said.

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. I guess we’ll see.”

It was officially Paige’s birthday, and Azzi didn’t know how she was supposed to feel.

So much had happened since that night in May. They’d promised nothing would change, or at least pretended like it hadn’t—but of course, it had. Their friendship still existed, technically. But it felt quieter now, thinner around the edges. Not broken, just… edited. Cropped.

They still talked—memes, updates, half-hearted check-ins—but the real stuff slipped through the cracks. Paige hadn’t told Azzi about the night she got drunk for the first time, stumbling back to her dorm with glitter on her cheek and someone else’s jacket draped over her shoulders. And Azzi hadn’t told Paige about James—how it wasn’t supposed to mean anything, how she told herself it didn’t, even when it felt like it did.

Then there was the bigger stuff. Like how Paige had come out to her teammates. How it wasn’t just whispered anymore, or something she only acknowledged in the dark. Azzi had found out through someone’s Instagram story—a blurry shot from a party, loud music in the background, red cups and grinning faces. But what made her stomach twist was the way Paige had her arm draped casually over a girl’s shoulder, their bodies close, their smiles too comfortable to be just friends. The tag said something stupid like “sapphics only 💋💅”, but it was the image that stuck with her. Paige looked free. Unapologetic. Seen.

Azzi hadn’t double-tapped the photo. She hadn’t said anything at all.

It was real now, public in a way it hadn’t been when it was just them, tangled in sheets and silence.

They hadn’t fought. There was no dramatic falling out. Just a slow drift, like two satellites caught in different orbits.

She told herself it was just what best friends did. But even that label felt wobbly now, like it didn’t quite fit the way it used to.

And that scared her more than anything else.

Paige, meanwhile, was being bombarded.

The texts were already rolling in—group chats lighting up, a dozen notifications from people she barely knew tagging her in blurry photos and stories with 🎉 emojis. Nika had already yelled "Birthday bitch!" in their kitchen before 9 a.m. and promised tequila later, and Paige had smiled like that felt good.

But underneath it, something was missing. Or not missing, exactly—just quiet.

Azzi hadn’t texted again. Not after the FaceTime. Not since saying she was coming.

They still talked, technically. Still sent each other TikToks and inside jokes and the occasional “miss your face” when it got late enough to say things without really meaning them. But the real stuff—the stuff that used to buzz between them like a live wire—had started slipping away sometime over the summer.

It was like trying to hold water in her hands. No matter how tightly she cupped her fingers, it leaked out.

She hadn’t told Azzi about the first time she got drunk, about how the city lights had blurred into streaks and she’d kissed a girl she didn’t even know the last name of. How afterward, she’d cried in the stairwell, not from guilt or regret, but from this weird ache she couldn’t quite name.

She hadn’t told Azzi about coming out to her teammates, either. Aaliyah had asked casually at a party—“So you’re, like, gay-gay?”—and Paige had just nodded, like it wasn’t a big deal. And then it wasn’t. Word spread. No one cared. It was freeing, in a way. But also lonely. Because Azzi wasn’t part of that version of her. Not really.

And then there was the photo. The glitter, the arm around the girl’s shoulders, the tag, the smile. It was harmless. Fun. Paige hadn’t thought much of it—until she saw that Azzi had viewed the story.

But she never said anything.

And neither did Paige.

Maybe that was the worst part—not what they said, but what they didn’t. The way their friendship had morphed into something polite. Something safe. Like they were both afraid of stepping too close to the edge again, just in case the fall this time actually broke something.

Paige didn’t know about James. She didn’t ask. Didn’t press. But she could feel it—something in the tone of Azzi’s voice, the way she’d started talking around certain topics, the way her laughter felt more like a defense than a reaction.

They were still best friends. But only in the way people still call their childhood house home, even when someone else lives there now.

And yet, Azzi was coming.

She’d texted the night before, like it was just a casual visit, not something that made Paige’s heart twist itself into knots.

“Still cool if I come visit this weekend?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

Paige didn’t know what it meant—that Azzi was coming. That they were going to be in the same room again. That for the first time in months, they wouldn’t have a screen or a phone call or a hundred miles of distance between them.

But she knew how it felt.

Dangerous.

And a little bit like hope.

She had arrived.

Azzi pulled into the parking lot just outside Paige’s dorm complex, the hum of her car engine softening as she shifted into park. The campus stretched out in front of her—wide sidewalks winding between old brick buildings, students crossing the quad with coffee cups and headphones, the faint clang of someone shooting hoops nearby. It looked alive. Bigger than she remembered. And maybe, if things lined up, it could be hers next year.

She sat behind the wheel for a moment longer, taking it all in. The place Paige called home now. The place Azzi might soon belong to.

She was supposed to meet with Geno and CD later that afternoon—an unofficial but important check-in to talk about the decision she’d been circling with her parents all week. No commitment yet, not officially. But it was close. Close enough that her stomach flipped every time she thought about it too hard.

She hadn’t told Paige.

Not yet.

Part of her wanted it to be a surprise—a birthday gift that wasn’t wrapped or posted online. Just… her. Showing up. Fully present. Not as the girl who used to share a bed on weekends and text cryptic one-liners about feelings at midnight. But as someone who was maybe, finally, ready to be part of Paige’s world again. More than just a visitor.

She glanced at her phone, thumb hovering over the text that said “I’m here”, and paused. Her reflection stared back at her in the rearview mirror—slightly windblown, eyes wide with something that felt a lot like nerves.

This wasn’t just a visit.

It was a beginning.

Maybe.

She hit send.

And then she stepped out of the car.

“Wassup, big head,” Paige called out, pushing through the stairwell doors with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly where she stood—in her space, in her body, in this moment.

She was wearing a loose UConn t-shirt, sleeves rolled up slightly, and a pair of navy athletic shorts that showed off the familiar strength in her legs. Her hair was pulled back messily, still damp from the post-lift shower, and a faint sheen of sweat clung to her skin like proof of how hard she’d just been working. Azzi felt her breath hitch—just for a second—because, damn. Paige looked good. Strong. Like herself. Like the version Azzi sometimes still dreamed about, even when she swore she was over it.

“Not much,” Azzi said, her voice almost too casual, squinting slightly in the sunlight as she looked Paige over. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, unsure where to put the weird mix of nerves and nostalgia twisting in her gut.

Paige crossed the short distance between them in a few easy strides, her sneakers quiet on the concrete. Before Azzi could say anything else, Paige pulled her into a hug.

It wasn’t tight, or long. Just enough to register. Warm arms around shoulders, the smell of laundry detergent and whatever body spray Paige always used—vanilla and something faintly citrus. It should’ve felt familiar. And in some ways, it did.

But Azzi stiffened, just slightly.

Not enough for Paige to notice, probably. But enough for Azzi to feel it in her own bones. The way her body flinched inward—not from Paige, but from herself. From the weight of what she hadn’t said yet. From the secrets lodged somewhere between her chest and her throat.

She hadn’t told Paige about James. Or about how she’d been thinking—seriously thinking—about committing to UConn. That she’d be walking into a meeting with Geno and CD in a few hours that could change everything. It had all seemed like part of the birthday surprise, part of the gift. But now, standing in Paige’s orbit again, it just felt like too much unspoken.

And the thing was… Paige didn’t know Azzi wasn’t the only one keeping things close to the chest.

Because Paige was carrying guilt too. The kind she didn’t name out loud, but that still haunted her in quiet hours—like the night she kissed someone new just to see if it would feel like Azzi. Like the day she came out on campus without so much as a warning text. Like the moment she saw Azzi had viewed that Instagram story and never said a word.

The hug ended.

Azzi stepped back with a faint smile, trying to fold her emotions into something more manageable. “You smell like sweat,” she said, teasing just enough to cover the tension.

Paige grinned, unfazed. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

Azzi nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. She was here now. The hug had happened. The weekend had officially begun.

But the real conversation?

That was still waiting.

And it wasn’t going to stay quiet for long.

“So, how’s senior year been so far?” Paige asked casually, her voice light but genuinely curious as she carried Azzi’s duffel bag on her shoulder. They stood at the back of Azzi’s car, the trunk now closed with a soft thud, the early afternoon sun still bright overhead. Azzi had just finished unloading her stuff, but the silence between them lingered for a moment before Paige broke it again. “Decided to commit to UConn yet?” she added with a playful smirk, but there was a confidence behind her words—as if she already knew the answer.

Azzi hesitated, a little caught off guard by the question. She felt her pulse quicken, the weight of what she was about to say hanging in the air. “Yeah, actually,” she said, but paused. The words felt heavier than she’d expected. “I was gonna tell you at dinner, but since you brought it up… I texted Geno last week that I’m gonna be up here and want to talk.”

The second the words left her mouth, Paige stopped dead in her tracks. Her jaw dropped, and she stared at Azzi like she had just announced she was moving to Mars.

“No way, bro, stop playing with me.” Paige’s tone was incredulous, her eyes wide, not fully processing what Azzi had said. She shifted her weight, clearly still trying to make sense of the statement.

Azzi squinted against the sun, lifting her hand to shield her eyes as she shrugged, the weight of the moment suddenly feeling very real. “No, I’m serious.”

Paige stood frozen for a second longer, then repeated herself with more disbelief. “Seriously?”

Azzi gave a small nod. “Seriously.” She could feel the weight of the decision pressing in on her chest, but there was also something in the air between them that made her heart race—something deeper than just the surface-level exchange.

Without warning, Paige dropped the duffel bag to the ground with a thud, her hands shooting out to grab Azzi, pulling her into a tight, unexpected bear hug. Azzi felt the sudden force of it, a mix of warmth and surprise, as Paige’s arms wrapped around her like she was holding on for dear life.

“Paige,” Azzi gasped, feeling slightly smothered in the embrace. She tried to laugh, but it came out strangled as she struggled to breathe, a mix of emotions swirling inside her.

The hug lasted a beat too long, and when Paige finally pulled back, Azzi could feel something damp on her neck. Her heart skipped a beat. “P, are you crying?” she asked, her voice softer now, a little more tentative. She could tell something was off, but didn’t know how to address it.

Paige wiped at her eyes quickly, as if to cover it up, but when she spoke, there was a smile fighting through the tears. “No, bro, I’m just happy.”

Azzi stood there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. She felt the pull of something deeper between them, but she couldn’t figure out if it was just the joy of the moment or something more complicated. “P,” she said, a soft smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Are you really that excited to spend three years here with me?” Her laugh was light, teasing, trying to defuse the sudden rush of emotions that had taken over.

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin that stretched across her face. “Bro, stop trying to make fun of me.”She reached down to grab Azzi’s duffel bag, hoisting it back over her shoulder as if nothing had happened. She started walking toward the dorm stairs, her pace casual, though the smile on her face was wide and genuine.

Azzi stood there for a moment longer, watching Paige walk away, a bemused smile still playing on her lips. “You’re impossible,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head at the ground. Despite the way her heart was still beating fast, she followed Paige up the stairs, the weight of what was coming next settling between them like an unspoken promise.

P.S. Sorry for posting this so late been out of town, but I also will posting chapter four and maybe five tonight depending on how much time I have.

[calebscrybaby]

the things I love about you in my mind

♡ ship: rafayel x reader

♡ about: professor rafayel helps sober up a drunk college mc after one too many drinks.

♡ warnings: possessive behavior, intoxication, implied stalker rafayel, kissing under the influence.

based on this cute fanart by kori

Rafayel is hardly paying attention.

Not to the Turkish coffee that’s going cold on his desk, nor to the texts his agent has been sending him and definitely not to the work he’s supposed to be grading.

Despite that, he doesn’t need to pay much attention to write down the critiques of what he’s seeing. It’s second nature at this point, for his eyes to see flaws. Shadow placement is illogical. He writes down halfheartedly, a hand on his cheek as his free one writes clipped sentence after sentence. Anatomy needs more work. Pose is too stiff. The lighting is all over the place.

He doesn’t mean to sound so dry and severe. The students this year are actually promising, for once. Bright and imaginative as they clumsily try and paint their way to the visions that exists in their young minds.

He sighed as he put the pen down, leaning back over the leather chair and rubbing his eyes under the frames of his glasses. Rafayel assumed he’d be fine enough to work on grading to get his mind off of what’s bothering him, but apparently not.

It was a simple comment that managed to ruin his mood for the long awaited break from classes.

“Any plans for the weekend?” He had asked you when you ‘accidentally’ ran into him after your last lecture. 

“Uh-huh. I was invited to an after school party today!” You said with an excited smile plastered on your face.

Oblivious to how the corners of his mouth froze.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, really. College students go to drinking parties all the time, some spend more time in them than their actual classes. He just—somehow wished his bride would be exempt. You were hardworking and tended to be extroverted, preferring to spend your free time away from rowdy places. The friends you had (decent people, or else they wouldn’t have been near you) did arrange a lot of activities together between classes, but hardly any that involved partying. Something that he was thankful for.

Until now.

Were you pressured? You didn’t seem to be, by the excited smile on your face. But you did seem nervous. Was it your first drinking party? He’s a bit pissed he never found out the type of drunk you are. He wouldn’t be as worried if he was sure you knew how to stay safe in those kinds of parties—

Rafayel huffed through his nose, reaching out to grab his phone. Ignoring the multiple pleading notifications from his agent.

No text. No call.

“Have fun. I’m going to be in my office grading and working on my next project. Once you’re done, call me and I’ll get you back home safe.”

“Oh! I don’t want to trouble you, Professor…”

“Cutie,” he gave her a hard smile as he leaned down in that way he knew made her flustered. The wall next to them shielding the scene from other students. “It’s no trouble. Call me, okay?”

He was debating doing something about it when his phone vibrated in his hand, getting him out of his reverie.

cutie ♥️: sjxjdbajskdnanws

…?

cutie ♥️: audybqnsdn?!?? 1622

🐟: hey, what’s wrong?

♥️: didi here here

(lhttps://tinyurl.com/dz8xhjj7)

🐟: ���cutie are you trying to order a car?

♥️: i am?

🐟: You are

♥️:oh

♥️: don tell professor

His mouth twitched, finger moving through the screen to call. It was a few too long seconds before you picked up.

“H-hello?”

She was slurring so hard he was surprised he couldn’t smell the alcohol from the screen.

“Didn’t I tell you to call me?” He asked calmly (or so he hoped).

He heard some rustling before you continued sheepishly, “I didn’ wanna bother you…”

He sighed, knowing you’d feel reprimanded even if he didn’t say anything. “Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.”

“Y-you don’ have to—“

“Honey,” he interrupted in an overly sweet tone. “Be a good girl and send me the location, okay?”

He could hear her choke on the other side of the line before you meekly complied.

The drive to and fro was quiet. You seemed to be alright, thankfully, only stumbling a bit and not as drunk as he thought you’d be. He assumed you’d protest more or insist on calling a car again, but you were quiet as a mouse. Which was good.

Rafayel took you back to his office, much closer from the bar that was conveniently close to the campus. While he would have loved taking you back to his home, he was still mindful of your reputation. Keeping your relationship under wraps was the best way to continue the normalcy you seemed to enjoy. So instead, he took you to his office to rest before going to your dorm room.

You stumbled your way inside his office as he held you by the waist. Gently, he took off your jacket and sat you down on the leather couch.

Thankfully, his worries were somewhat allayed as he asked about the party in the car. You had fun, you didn’t get bothered by anyone nor drink enough to make yourself get sick. He nodded to himself proudly as he put your jacket on the hanger. His bride was a smart, competent woman. He didn’t need to be worried at all.

…it did concern him how quiet and flushed you were, but he would take care of that in a second.

Rafayel got a cool water bottle from the mini fridge and made his way back to the couch, when he sat next to you, he tugged your hand, pulling you closer until you were forced to move with a surprised yelp. With his other hand, he wrapped an arm around your waist and yanked you onto his lap, settling your soft curves against his thighs. 

Your face flushed harder, as if that was possible. He tried not to stare at the beautiful sight in front of him, your face a beautiful red up to the tips of your ears, mouth slightly open as your breathing got heavier. 

His hand unconsciously moved to touch your lower lip, unable to resist. “Drink some water, it’ll sober you up.” He murmured, acting like that was the only reason. You nodded in a haze, your hand shakily moving to grab the glass bottle from his hand, your fingers pausing as they touched his before you hastily pushed it to take a big swing.

“Careful,” he instructed as he started tugging his sleeves up, revealing his forearms. He only did it because with you so close, your close, heated body made him warmer. But it only caused you to choke on the water. He raised his eyebrows in amusement as he rubbed your back. “Better?”

You nodded with your head bowed. You clearly had something on your mind, the alcohol making your emotions much clearer than usual. “Professor, I didn’t drink too much, even when they kept pouring. I was careful and safe. A-and I called you when you said you’d pick me up…”

You didn’t do the last part, actually. He tilted his head as he wiped your mouth and chin from the water you coughed. There seemed to be a point with the pause at the end. “Yes?”

You had a hard time making your brain work, apparently. He slyly noted. “S-so I must be a good girl, right?”

“Be a good girl and send me the location, okay?”

Oh. You must have been waiting to be praised since he called you. And I’m supposed to be the sober one here.

He smirked, normally he wouldn’t mind lavishing his cute bride in praise until you were a blushing mess, but he wanted to get himself a little payback for the worry you caused him.

He hummed nonchalantly as he nuzzled into your neck, breathing in the sweet scent of your hair, now slightly mussed from the party. “Well, that depends on your performance today, cutie.”

Rafayel only meant it as a slight tease, he held a chuckle back as he saw the gears rapidly turn in your pretty little head.

He immediately regretted it as soon as tears sprang in your eyes. Making his eyes widen.

“I’m n-not a good girl? I’m not?” You cried out as hot tears streamed down your cheeks. “Y-you don’t like me? You don’t l-like me!”

….How did your drunk mind reach that conclusion?

His hands were hovering helplessly, unsure of where to start comforting you. He must’ve underestimated how drunk you are. Rafayel finally settled on holding your cheeks and wiping them with his thumbs. “No no. I'm sorry,” he apologizes easily as you continued sobbing into the crook of his neck, his hand started petting her head gently, “you are my good girl, my best girl ever. I love you, really!”

When you kept hiccuping, Rafayel frowned. No matter how much he liked teasing his bride, a light punishment all things considered, he never wanted to upset her. His hand reached for her cheek and maneuvered her face, peppering it with soft kisses as her crying calmed to sniffles. “I even waited for 800 years for you. I love you. I'm sorry, baby…”

His tone turned from placating to vulnerable. None of what he’s saying is untrue, it’s the same mantra that repeats with every beat of his heart. Over and over across lifetimes.

“No. My bride, my only bride.”

You won’t remember it, like you don’t remember so many things. But still, he gives himself this.

Once you were calm enough, he smiled gently. Wiping the remnants of your tears from your reddened cheeks. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?” He offered with an apologetic smile as he lifted your face to meet his.

You sniffled, eyes puffy. “…I wanna—want a kiss!” You whined your demand out loud, too buzzed and upset to feel self conscious.

“But I already gave you plenty,” he said with feigned confusion, unable to help himself.

You groaned petulantly, “not like that!”

He smiled, impossibly fond. “Well, I can’t kiss you with my glasses on, honey.”

“T-take—“ you slurred as you tried to do it yourself, growing more frustrated as your uncoordinated hands couldn’t get them off his ears. “Off!”

Rafayel tutted, not bothering to hide the grin on his face when you couldn’t focus on anything to recognize it. He couldn’t resist continuing to tease you. “Can’t? Maybe you just don’t want to. Maybe you actually don’t want your dear Professor’s kiss…”

His poor bride whined, trying harder. Even when you managed to get it off, it fell back on, askew on his grinning face. His hair was now mussed from his failed attempts, the tidy slick back he had since this morning gone with every try of your warm hands.

“See?” He tutted, the old familiar Disappointed Teacher Tone™️ slinked back into his voice. “You don’t really want one or you would have managed to get them off.”

“No—no no no.” You shook her head, immediately stopping when you clearly made yourself dizzy. God, you were adorable. “I want to!”

Rafayel laughed, light and easy as you huffed at him. His hand went up to grab his glasses and casually threw it on the other end of the couch. Your hazy mind registered it and brightened, leaning in and clumsily trying to kiss him before he laughed against your mouth, his hands reaching to cup your cheek as he took over and gave you one decent kiss. Your warm breaths mingled together as he broke it, the soft gaze of his ocean blues mixed with lemurian fire making your heart thump in your chest.

“Now, how about a nap to sober you up?”

[sodaneko]

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇 (𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫) ❦ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟖: 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

♫ ratbag - look what you're doing to me

I don't bite my nails when you're around It's something that I have just noticed now You talk to me in your sleep, do you know? Do you know what you're doing to me?

✰ 𝐜𝐰: one (1) kms joke, a few slightly suggestive texts between Osamu & Y/N (it's always them isn't it)

⭅ back to m.list

It’s only temporary, just until they fix the burst pipe and the water damage that came with it over at your apartment, but oh, if this doesn’t feel oddly domestic. Two toothbrushes sitting on the bathroom shelf, matching tea cups you brought home from the Okinawa trip on the kitchen table, one set of pajamas but shared (Osamu got the pants, you the shirt). It’s a small apartment above the soon-to-be opened restaurant downstairs and the name on the door bell says Miya, but someone scribbled yours below his as well. 

A home. 

It’s still a little spare compared to your room and Osamu’s place in Osaka, but it’s coming together more with each passing day. There’s now plants in mismatched pots on the windowsill and a big carpet you once bought while traveling which you never had the space for until now. Framed photos with memories you made together over the past couple of months lean against the wall, waiting to be hung up. In the fridge are leftovers from last night’s dinner and two brands of soy sauce because you’re still bickering about which one is best. When the sun sets, the living room is dipped in warm orange hues.

Most importantly there’s a big comfy bed with the one who has your heart in it that makes getting up nearly impossible every morning. Osamu grumbles quietly in his sleep when you feel for your phone in the dark to shut the alarm off. The mornings are still chilly around this time of the year and you search for his warmth under the blanket before you inevitably have to get up. This quiet hour of the day is reserved for just the two of you. 

Osamu finds you, a big calloused hand on your waist tugging you towards him until your back meets his chest and your form melts against him. His arm wraps around your middle and keeps you close, his lips finding your nape and pressing sleepy kisses against your skin, a deep laugh rumbling in his chest when you tilt your neck to give him better access. He spells out an entire love letter with his fingertips against your skin, making sure you remember word for word by the time your lips find his in a soft kiss. Neither of you could get enough of the sweet nothings you shared in this tiny universe of your own. 

A lot has changed since you first met. Osamu and you found a language to translate your love into–words, gestures, touches. The fear in your heart has subdued, not fully gone but quieter, less overwhelming. There’s someone who holds your hand now when you’re scared, someone who catches you in his arms when you trip and stumble. 

“You got me now,” Osamu murmured against the shell of your ear, something between a plea and a promise, back then in Okinawa. The sound of the rain was drowned out by your beating heart when his lips brushed against your knuckles before kissing your palm, his face nuzzling into your touch. You felt like drowning in his warm, honest eyes, never so sure of anything before. 

“I love you,” you whisper now against the crook of his neck when you roll over, basking in his warmth for a few moments longer before you have to get up. Osamu lets out a small weary sigh, unwilling to let you go but there’s still a smile tugging on his lips. He takes your hand and places it on his chest, right above his beating heart which stutters your name out in morse code. With one last kiss to your forehead he lets you peel away, the three words falling from his lips like a good luck charm for the day.

•┈••✦ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬

so. they did elope after all

the kind of thing you keep saying as a joke until it isn't a joke anymore huh

all of Akaashi's wedding planning down the drain

Omi kept crashing out for six consecutive hours

wedding photo credits to kemmiethecat. obsessed with her work

this chapter is very special to me and i kept delaying it because i'd start crying whenever i tried to beta read it (they're just very precious to me and knowing their story is coming to an end two chapters from now is playing with my heart)

anyway. another day of pining after osamuyn. i wanna thirdwheel them sooo bad you have no idea

congrats to the happiest couple ♡

✰ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

@brithedemonspawn @giasssslife @yuminako @krissiekris @evilari111

@ottocre @kentocalls @maybespiderman @uncovered-mad-man @honey-deku

@yukichan67 @dailyakira @morgan-lowell @angee444 @aldebrana

@ellouisa17 @toges-cough-syrup @mahalsuya @itsdragonius @bakingcuriosity

@nekomasmngr @tojirin @nymphsdomain @thatprettybunny @joseimukeaddict

@writing-for-the-hell-of-it @honeytwo @estreya05 @jisookdays @blueballslock

@lonelycrystal-star @weezerbby @iluv-ace @s777athv @kameyyy

@localgaytrainwreck @mirkaaaluv @elliesndg @mollysmovingcastle @weirdgirlbrina

@nobodybutnnoorr @blueflamebimbo @softpia @pet-plasma-bubble @meekydeeks

@mythblossoms @manhattanstrawberry @sunahyejin @arattaaki @anniewings

taglist full, sorry! fill out this form to be removed or added in case a spot clears up. mdni!

[savyindeepspace]

Colonel’s Return✈️

Tags: fem reader x Caleb, couple, angst, romance, smut, mentions of death and being experimented on, slow burn, praise, aftercare

Description: Caleb has been away on a mission and you haven’t heard from him in months. What awaits you when he finally comes home?

•••••••••••••••••••••••

You were beginning to forget how his chest felt against your back while you were sleeping, that is if you slept at all. The warmth of his arms around you fully evaporated from your skin and you felt…incomplete. Days felt like years, minutes like hours, just waiting for him to call or write. Hunting wasn’t distracting you anymore and completing missions felt less rewarding. Caleb left with the Farspace Fleet for an assignment five months ago with no formal details about his plans to return. Millions of questions ruminated in your mind. Was he safe? What was he looking for, or whom? More importantly, when was he coming back? Every phone call or text you received was met with disappointment when it was anyone other than his contact. But you would wait for Caleb, you always did. Your reunion with him all those years ago when you infiltrated the Fleet finally brought him back to you and that wasn’t about to change.

•••

After several heavy work weeks, you came home and decided to treat yourself to a long soak in the tub. Caleb always had the best epsom salts, candles and aroma therapy stocked for you and tonight you were taking advantage of it. Your muscles ached and head throbbed, it was the least you could do for yourself. Sinking into the milk and honey scented basin, you felt your tense body soften. The temperature was hot enough to ease the pain you felt from head to toe. You sank deeper and deeper until your head floated above the surface. Just as your eyelids grew heavy, you heard the doorbell echo from the other room. Who could be here at this hour? You reluctantly climbed out of the warm sanctuary of the bath, threw on a robe and went to the living room. Peaking through the bottom of the door was the corner of an envelope. You bent down and slid the rest of it inside. It was addressed: “Pipsqueak”, and your heart plunged to your stomach. You frantically tore the paper to get what was inside. It was a letter from Caleb.

•••

“Hey, Sweetheart. I know I’ve been gone for a while now…just give me a few more days to sort all this out. I promise, I’ll be home soon. There’s just…some things that need to be handled that I can’t get into right now, but don’t worry. I’m safe. I’m alive and kickin’. Most importantly, I love you. -Caleb” Your grip on the letter was tight, making the skin on your knuckles taught and pale. He even sprayed the inside of the envelope with cologne, what torture. But this was something, an answer you had been so desperately waiting for. A few days, he said, you hoped he’d keep his word. You knew he was investigating Ever for what felt like ages and worry loomed over you like a storm cloud. He said he was safe, don’t assume the worst, you thought. Sealing the letter away, you sighed and hid it safely in a desk drawer. If you had a way to write him back you would in a heartbeat, but for now you felt reassured. Just a few more days.

•••

The end of the week was nearing and your anxiety only got worse. Staring at the monitor at work, each line of text began to blur as you zoned in and out of focus. “Hey, are you alright?,” Tara’s mousy voice rang in your ear. “I’m just a little distracted since receiving Caleb’s letter the other day, I’m sorry,” you admit, slowly rubbing your temples. Tara’s light touch warmed your shoulder, “please, don’t apologize. I don’t know how you still make it in here every morning. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.” You mustered a smile, “thank you, I really should finish these reports though, it’ll keep my mind busy.” She nodded and patted your back, “don’t work too hard, okay?” You hummed in agreement. The sound of clicking keys rattled in your ears as you finished each document and eventually you press send. The day was finally over.

•••

Your drive home was quiet, even the radio wasn’t appealing at this point. The thoughts in your head provided plenty of noise. You pulled into the driveway slowly and parked, retrieving the key from the ignition. A deep gust of wind blew from your lips as you prepared to return to an empty house. The keypad to the front door was glowing green, did you leave the door unlocked all day? Your hand hesitated over the doorknob before you twist it open and step inside. All the lights were on and you saw a tall figure with their back turned. Were your eyes deceiving you? Was the dark uniform the one Caleb always wore staring back at you? “C-Caleb?,” you choked, a lump rising in your throat. He finally turned to face you, his eyes were grim and his lips were pulled into a forced smile. “I told you I’d be back.” Everything fell from your hands and you ran to him, slamming into his tight embrace. He held you as close to his chest as possible, quieting your muffled sobs. “It’s okay…I’m here…I’m right here,” Caleb soothed, lightly petting your hair. Even while digging your fingers into the rough fabric of his Fleet uniform, you couldn’t discern if this was a dream or reality. Finally, your eyes meet. His deep amethyst irises bored into you with blown out pupils. “When did you get back?,” you whisper. Caleb swept the tears off your cheeks, “The Fleet dropped me off here maybe thirty minutes ago.” You withdraw from each other but Caleb takes both of your hands, gently stroking them with his thumbs. His leather gloves were cold against your skin. He smiles again, this time it was warm and genuine, “you hungry, Pips?”

•••

Before you speak, he was already in the kitchen, scanning the fridge for ingredients. For now, you just wanted to enjoy a meal together, so you’d save any questions for later. Caleb made your favorite braised chicken wings that you’d tried to replicate while he was away. It didn’t matter how closely you followed his recipe, Caleb had the magic touch. After dinner you made your way to the living room. The colonel reclined on the couch and let out a deep sigh. You laid on top of him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. Your heartbeats began to match paces and you felt whole again. “Caleb…,” you murmured. “Mhmm?,” he hummed quietly. Lifting yourself on your forearms, you looked into his eyes and leaned forward. You stared at him for a moment, studying his features to make sure he was real. His gaze fell to your lips, they were just barely touching his before he gave in. Electricity surged through your body as you kissed. Caleb sat up and leaned against the back of the couch, pulling you into his lap by your waist. Your hands traveled up his chest, tugging away at his jacket. It made an audible thump when it hit the carpet. You hated that uniform, the Fleet and this unnecessary time apart. All you wanted was Caleb to yourself, without any interference from the entities trying to harm him. His breath grew uneven as the kiss deepened. Your tongues tangled between parted lips and you began grinding against Caleb’s crotch.

•••

“I hated being away from you, I need you…right now,” he rasped, digging his fingertips into the flesh of your thighs. You laced your arms around him, “then take me...” Caleb’s arms tucked under your legs and he lifted you off the couch with ease. You grazed your lips down his neck, then sank your teeth into the flesh as he made his way to the bedroom. The soft mattress sunk in as he laid you down, caging your body between his arms. Desperation painted your face and your legs began to part. Touching yourself became a tiresome task after the first month of Caleb being gone. It had been so long since you felt his hands wander over your curves, pausing occasionally to grope your breasts or ass. He put his gloved hands to your mouth and you pulled them off with your teeth. You gasped when you felt two deft fingers move your panties and press into your pussy. “As wet as I remembered,” he exhaled, rubbing your soaked folds. Eagerly he dove inside, pumping in and out as he warmed you up. “Mmm…Caleb,” you whined. He quieted your pleasured moans with a kiss, “Sssh I’m right here.” In one swift movement, your skirt and panties were pulled off and tossed to the floor. You reached for the zipper on the front of your top and the teeth buzzed as it ripped downward.

•••

Caleb’s eyes flickered at the sight of your breasts spilling over your black lacy bra. He unhooked the clasp and they bounced upon release. His mouth ghosted over your hardened nipple and you writhe impatiently. “Please,” you beg. The sensation of his wet tongue gliding over the peak made your back arch off the bed. “You like that, don’t you?,” he teased. “Y-yes, w-want more,” the words tumbled clumsily from your mouth. Caleb chuckled before pressing his lips against your stomach, then both hips and inner thighs. “It’s been so long since I’ve tasted you, let me refresh my memory,” he groaned, burying his nose into your warmth. “Mm!,” your fingers tangled in his hair “don’t stop.” His mouth enveloped your clit and gave it a harsh suck, leaving the nerves vibrating from stimulation. He dragged his tongue through one last time before pulling away. “Do you remember how amazing you taste? I think I should jog your memory,” he said before you tasted yourself off his lips. Caleb stripped away the remains of his uniform, his muscles glistened with sweat. You traced his abs with your fingertips, curling them into the waistline of his briefs. Your eyes found his in the dimly lit room, they glowed with anticipation as you pulled down on the elastic, releasing him fully. He hissed through gritted teeth when your hand feathered over his cock. “I missed him…,” you cooed, tightening your grip. Caleb groaned as you began to stroke, his breath coming out in ragged huffs.

•••

Caleb lowered his hips and lined up with your entrance, gliding his cock through your folds. “Fuck…,” he whispered. Sinking in inch by inch, he gifted you with the fullness you’d been longing for. Your eyes rolled back when he bottomed out and your core pulled him in eagerly.“Goddamn,” he moaned “she missed me, didn’t she?” Blush crept across your face, but he was right, your pussy welcomed him deeper just from the sound of his voice alone. Caleb started to rock his hips into you, the languid dragging of his dick made your toes curl. “Feels….s’good,” you panted, clawing at the muscles on his back. Whimpers and moans fell from your lips as he dug into you. “I missed those pretty sounds you make,” Caleb whined. You could only hum in response. Your mind felt like putty trying to focus on anything but how each roll of his hips sent you into a spiral. “Why didn’t you–mmm..call me? I was so–ah… worried,” you confessed, digging your heels into his lower back. “I’m so…,” thrust “sorry,” thrust “for making you ah–wait,” thrust thrust thrust. The way he laid into you made your mouth fall slack, broken moans and squeals burst from your throat. Heat began to pool between your legs as your climax approached. “Mmmyes right there,” you keened, pulling him in as deep as your core would allow. Caleb cradled your head in his hand, violet eyes boring into you with desire. His strokes were spaced out but heavy and the bed frame creaked under the weight. “I’ll never leave you again,” thrust…thrust “I promise,” he whimpered. Desperate lips crashed into yours leaving you gasping for breath. The tight coil in your gut could hold no longer, “Caleb–I’m…I’m..” “Do it for me, baby, please. Make a mess all over my dick. I missed you. I need you. I love you so much,” his ramblings brought you over the edge and you came, hard. Your release ran fluidly down his abdomen, leaving a puddle on the sheets and a mess where you were connected.

•••

Caleb’s resolve began to fade at the sight of you, skin flushed and damp with sweat, breasts heaving deeply and the look in your eyes begged for more. Your walls clamped down around his length, begging for friction, movement. He knew your body well and spent years memorizing every reaction you gave to his touch. His thrusts grew faster and more erratic. The way you ached and throbbed around him made Caleb never want to leave you again. He fell apart as he came, his muscles trembled trying to hold his body upright. Overwhelmed by the pulsing sensation inside you, a second orgasm rippled through your body. “Yes, just like that, I love it when you cum with me,” Caleb praised. He smoothed his thumb across your cheek and leaned in to kiss you. His soft lips swept over yours slowly, bringing the energy to a calm stop. You still felt him move, but it was steady, just enough to emulate slight tingles down your legs. When he pulled out the emptiness made you wince. Caleb held you in a close embrace, the feeling of his skin against yours again was something you worried about losing forever. It was like he could hear your thoughts and sense the unease in your muscles. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he murmured into the crook of your neck. “Okay…,” you breathed.

•••

Caleb carried you to the bathroom and sat behind you on the edge of the tub. He gently brushed the tangles out of your hair, occasionally stopping to plant kisses along your shoulders. Torrid bath water surrounded your intertwined figures. You leaned into Caleb as he massaged shampoo into your scalp. The colonel always served you like a goddess, taking his time to worship every curve, scar and dimple on your body. “You’re perfect,” he whispered low in your ear. Your pulse fluttered as his hands smoothed over your skin with a washcloth. “Don’t leave me for that long ever again,” you playfully demanded. A laugh shook Caleb’s frame, “you’re so bossy, Pips.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, letting his lips linger for a moment. “I won’t.”

•••

The answers you wanted didn’t come easily. Every detail about Caleb’s voyage was classified to Fleet personnel only. “It’s complicated, Pips, but I promise I’ll tell you everything once I get to the bottom of this. I won’t let them hurt you again,” his voice was clear and direct. You wanted to trust him, but there were too many things he’d kept hidden, “who is them?” A pained sound caught in Caleb’s throat, “Ever.” A chill ran down your spine. Ever had been quiet for a while now, but that wasn’t a good sign. Their obsessive research and inhumane experiments in regard to immortality were getting out of hand. So much so that the Farspace Fleet’s authority over the cause far surpassed yours as a Hunter. “If they so much as touch one hair in your head, I’ll kill them all,” his threat sounded more like a promise when he spoke. His clenched fists loosened from your touch, “I won’t get hurt—,” “you don’t know that,” he interrupted. Caleb exhaled sharply from his nose, “I’m sorry, I just…can’t watch you die in front of me anymore.” Memories from the lab were never clear in your mind, you could only remember fragments at a time, but seeing the look on Caleb’s face confirmed enough. You cupped his cheeks with both hands, “I know you’ll always keep me safe. I’m not going anywhere.” He nuzzled into your palm and you felt a strain in your heart when you noticed his wet eyes. “Let’s just focus on right now. You’ve come back to me and that’s what matters.” Caleb meets your gaze with a smile and nods. You wipe his tear-stained cheeks and pull him into your embrace. “Kiss me, Caleb.” He did, taking his time as to not forget the shape of your lips. Again and again and again…

*~*~*~*

End.

Readers note: thank you so much for reading! This one is a little more angsty but I love where the ending leaves off. Hope you enjoyed. :)

Edit: fixed the text size

[beom-s-author]

txt reactions- they are seeing you with children/baby

choi soobin

Soobin had actually been imagining you secretly with a baby. But seeing you for real was really different. That day, when you went to visit Soobin, you ran into your manager’s little daughter. You actually bumped into her while walking down the stairs. The little girl was walking around with a box of fruit juice in her hand. When you bumped into her, she dropped it on the ground. You quickly ran to get her a new one so that she wouldn’t cry. When you entered the practice room with a little girl in your arms, Soobin looked at you in surprise. “Where did you see Soonmin?” You smiled at Soobin, “We ran into her on the street. She loves cherry juice just like me.” Soobin laughed at what you said and turned to you. “You look so beautiful.”

choi yeonjun

Yeonjun hadn’t expected this sight when he came home from practice. Despite that, you had promised to do it and take a nice shower. However, Yeonjun had found you at home, playing with 3 little kids on the couch and tickling them. Your hair was messy, and you were playing with 2 boys and 1 girl, wearing baggy sweatpants. Small toys were on the floor. Yeonjun turned to you and said, “Baby, who are these and why are they playing with you? What’s their secret?” You laughed when Yeonjun said that. “My cousin dropped off her kids. She’ll be back in a few hours. I couldn’t say no.” Yeonjun smiled at you. “Then I’ll join in on the little game.” You nodded and when you came back in 10 minutes, you saw Yeonjun following the princess crown and sipping tea. You couldn’t hold back your laughter.

choi beomgyu

Beomgyu had been texting you for the past hour. But somehow you weren’t returning his texts. You answered when he called you back worriedly. “Honey, finally. You scared me so much.” However, the person who answered was your 4-year-old nephew. “My aunt is sleeping.” Beomgyu chuckled at the answer he got. You had come from work and you were pretty tired and taking care of a 4-year-old hyperactive boy had really tired you out. After Beomgyu hung up the phone, he went back home. Your nephew was lying down next to you sleeping. You woke up with the sound of keys and looked at Beomgyu. “Beomie?” Beomgyu smiled. “Yes, I’m here. Go back to sleep. I’ll fix something for you.”

kang taehyun

Your boyfriend knew that you were going to take care of your sister's baby today. Your sister had been dealing with the divorce case for about a month and the case was finally coming to an end and you were taking care of your little boy to support her. The baby was very quiet and it seemed perfect to you that he wasn't naughty. Taehyun was buying small toys to distract the baby. You were feeding the baby. When you lifted him onto your shoulders to relieve him, Taehyun turned to you. "I know it's too early for these but if one day we're still together, I'd like to start a family with you because you already seem like you're ready for it. If you want it too, of course..I guess I was being ridiculous." You laughed at Taehyun's words and gave him a small kiss on the cheek.

Hueningkai

You were going to make a home visit with Lea and Hiyyih. However, at the last minute, you decided to take care of your daughter upon your friend's request. Hueningkai came home from the market after receiving your requests. There was a lollipop and a candy bracelet in the small bag. You smiled and gave one to the girl. When the little girl silently took it and started licking the lollipop, Hueningkai asked the quiet and shy girl what she wanted to do. The three of you played hide-and-seek, dodgeball and all the other games for an hour and the little girl fell asleep in Hueningkai's arms due to exhaustion. "You're so natural. She fell asleep right away. She didn't whine at all." Hueningkai touched the back of her neck in embarrassment. "Yeah, I guess."

[jacksonekennedy]

"You don't have to hold me to anything. I already know what dress I'm gonna wear for dancing."

Oh. She knew what dress she’d be wearing. Jack tried imagining it, but before he could get too far, his mouth blurted out:

“What dress?”

He’d asked the question before the words had even formed in his brain. It had been a selfish, impulsive thing, and he regretted it as soon as he’d asked.

Jack snapped his mouth shut, as if to make a point that he’d spoken before thinking. He offered a sheepish smile, before thinking about his words a little more cautiously.

“Don’t answer that. I want it to be a surprise, actually.”

It would be torture. Who knows when they’d go dancing? With Alice’s schedule, and Jack set to return to D.C. in the next few weeks for a (likely) disciplinary or investigative hearing. He’d do whatever it took, though. Spend the thousands of dollars just to fly to New York. Just to dance for one night.

Just to see her in that dress, whatever it looked like.

It would definitely be a date, Jack thought. He would make sure to clarify as well, the closer the time came. Or, well, he’d ask. Surely he wasn’t reading this whole thing wrong.

For some reason, the realization that Jack and Alice were both aware of where this was heading was … exciting. A little embarrassing, but in a sweet way? Maybe embarrassing wasn’t the right word for it though. It felt very … innocent at times. The exciting part of meeting someone new and realizing that the feelings go both ways.

If Jack had any doubt, well, Alice had put those fears to rest by suggesting that maybe they hold hands.

“Oh, one hundred percent. It’s probably worse than plastic surgery and the dentist. I really don’t know if hand holding will be enough, but we can give it a try.”

What else could there be?

The promise of a kiss, maybe?

Jack didn’t want to push it though. It was late, and talking about kissing Alice would only make him wade through the water until he was staring up at her, silently pleading for her mouth.

His phone buzzed again. Jack sighed. It was his mother. Was that the third or fourth text of the day?

“You have no idea how badly I want to stay out here and keep spending time with you, but I promised my mom that I’d call her tonight.”

Jack realized how … stupid that sounded. And childish. He felt the need to offer up an explanation.

“I’ve kind of been ghosting her. Everyone, really, since you’ve been here, but before that, too.”

Jack was sure that she could guess why. Things hadn’t been good, but they felt so much better now. At least, in that moment they did. Jack was on a high that no one could bring down. Maybe he’d even make plans to see his mother the weekend after Alice left. That would make her happy.

“She threatened to drive up tomorrow if I didn’t. So.”

Jack offered an apologetic smile. He felt like it was a good place to end the night, though. The promise of seeing each other after the week was over. Already, Jack felt a bit of relief that he’d see her again. He’d see her in that dress, in that Yankees hat — or even a Yankees t-shirt… but maybe that was pushing it.

“I had a really nice day with you though.”

Jack smiled. He really meant it. Enjoying coffee together, swimming, the trip to the falls, dinner. Getting to learn about Alice’s family and their little traditions. Her parents dancing in the living room. And Alice’s voice. Her beautiful, perfect voice that he was certain he’d dream about.

“One of the best I’ve had in … a really long time.”

God. It was really good that there was a body of water between them. Jack wanted to kiss her goodnight.

“It was really perfect, actually.”

Okay. Okay, he could stop talking now. The more that he hung around, the more difficult it would be to leave. The more he talked, the more he'd be tempted to ask about the dress again. Jack didn't want to spoil anything.

“Alright. If I don’t leave now … anyway.”

Jack stood, legs dripping from the water. He scooped up his shoes with one hand. He paused for a second, and his mouth almost did that thing again. There was almost an offer to walk her up to her bedroom, but ... that wouldn't have lead anywhere good. Jack was glad he managed to regain some self control (but not really, because he still turned around).

One last look. He smiled at Alice, very softly.

Isn't this what had turned Lot's wife into a pillar of salt? Or what had condemned Eurydice back to the underworld?

Jack was glad that there was no biblical punishment for this. And, even if there was ... fuck it.

"Sweet dreams, Alice."

Alice bites her lip for a long moment while observing his smile— a part of aims for composure, but, alas.

She's fairly certain it's a losing game.

Jack simply looks too handsome like this. He looked too happy, about the prospect of seeing Alice again.

It makes her neck hot. Her hands feel all fidgety too, like they're too flighty to rest in her lap, too twitchy to skim the water. Like she needs to touch something. No. Not something. Jack. She really just needs to touch Jack.

And there was flickering between them right now too; something bright and new and exciting, but it wasn't flimsy, it felt, especially now ... substantial.

What she felt for Jack felt substantial.

'I’m gonna hold you to this. The Yankees game and the dancing,'

'Like, the day you leave, I’m sending you a calendar invite with different days to pick from.'

Alice shakes her head and smiles.

"You don't have to hold me to anything. I already know what dress I'm gonna wear for dancing."

It was black— not too long — and the hem of it had layers, pretty ruffles that moved like rippling water. She hopes Jack will see her in it and feel something. She hopes Jack will see her in it and feel compelled to twirl her, to dip her, maybe even pull her close to her chest and rest his forehead against hers and—

Well.

Alice would really like a kiss.

More than anything, she wants piano music to float above their heads as they stand on weathered hardwood, nicked by years and years of footsteps and dance steps, and she wants Jack to kiss her, and she wants to feel that fire rear up in her belly again like from tonight.

She really wants Jack to want that too.

And when it does happen, she wants Jack to want it again, and then there's another Yankees game, and another dance night on the calendar, and then another set of those, and another, and she's Scheherazade, extending their time together in a never-ending story of stadium seats and slow dances.

Again and again and again.

'We should go to the museum anyway. Get it out of the way so you can’t threaten me with it. And — well, there’s no way you could’ve known this, and if you repeat this … I’ll be very hurt by it — but dolls creep me the fuck out. So… apple dolls? I don’t know. I’m willing to go though. Face my fears.'

Alice smiles like the cat that got the cream.

Willing to face apple dolls for her? Willing to go this creepy ass muesum all because she'd suggested, jokingly?

"Apple dolls are scarier than normal dolls, I think— they look extra wizened."

"It might be a dentist or plastic surgery kind of situation. Where you might need to hold my hand."

Yeah. They definitely should hold hands there.

[urlocalmultigroupfan]

ʏᴏᴜ & ɪ 𓂃⋆.˚ (양정인)

pairing: yang jeongin x fem!reader

summary: based off of you & i by d4vd

tags/warnings: kinda angsty ngl... not fully proofread, bear with me

a/n: hihi guys!! this actually might be my last post before summer starts 🥲 i really want to be active but i can't! if i end up ignoring u but keep posting yk why 😓 love yall! @sirloncelot-of-bananas ill get the part 3 posted by the summer, soz for the delay babes

credits to @hyuneskkami for dividers!!

masterlist!

You don’t remember the first time you saw him clearly.

Maybe it was the way the autumn wind wrapped around your sweater that day, your fingers clutching your books tighter as you ran across campus, heart a fluttering mess of caffeine and nerves. Or maybe it was the way his laugh broke through the noise of the world like a window cracking in sunlight — soft, sudden, and strangely warm.

Yang Jeongin had a way of existing like that — not loud, but unforgettable. Not in-your-face, but carved somewhere behind your ribs.

You met in a haze of orange leaves and cold fingertips. He was sitting on the steps outside the music hall, humming something too pretty to be nameless. You paused, not because you wanted to talk — you weren’t that bold — but because there was something about the way he sat there, the air brushing through his dark hair, eyes closed like the whole world was inside the song.

He opened his eyes, and smiled. Just like that.

And just like that, you were caught in his gravity.

You’d call it slow.

Not the kind of love that crashes like waves — loud, tumbling, violent.

No, this was the kind that grows in silence. In soft glances exchanged across library tables. In playlists shared over late-night texts. In the way he’d steal fries from your plate with the most innocent look on his face, like he was the one being wronged.

You were always the quiet one, the thinker. Jeongin, the dreamer — always chasing melodies, voice notes scattered across your phone like pieces of a secret song only you understood.

He’d say, “You get me, you know that?” in the dark of your shared rooftop hideout, eyes on the stars. And you’d laugh, maybe nudge him with your shoulder, say something like, “Of course. I always will.”

You believed it then.

You wish it had stayed true.

It started slipping through your fingers like smoke.

The missed calls. The half-smiles. The way his eyes stopped meeting yours when he laughed.

You told yourself it was just the stress. The exams. The music showcases. The growing pressure to be something, someone.

But deep down, you knew.

You weren’t enough to keep him from drifting.

One night, under that same sky where he once whispered promises like lullabies, you asked him the question that had been clawing at your chest.

“Are we okay, Jeongin?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stared out at the horizon, like if he looked far enough, he’d find a version of himself that didn’t have to choose.

“I think…” he said slowly, “I think we were something beautiful. But I don’t know if we still are.”

And you — fool that you were — just nodded. Like your heart wasn’t breaking in real-time.

You didn’t cry that night. Not when he walked away. Not even when the door shut.

But your chest ached like something sacred had been pulled out of it. Like you were half a song with no end.

Time passed. As it always does.

You’d catch glimpses of him — on campus, in photos, sometimes on stage — smile as effortless as ever, eyes still soft. But they weren’t looking for you anymore.

You dated other people. You tried. But none of them knew how you liked your tea too sweet, or that you hummed when you were deep in thought. None of them ever made the silence feel like a place to rest.

It was always him. Still.

Still.

Tonight, you're back on the rooftop.

The city below is lit like a thousand distant promises. You lean against the railing, eyes searching the stars like they owe you answers. Maybe it’s closure you’re after. Maybe it’s just the past.

And then you hear it.

A quiet set of footsteps behind you.

You don’t have to turn to know it’s him.

“Jeongin.”

Your voice is softer than you expect.

He stops beside you, a little older now, a little more worn. He looks at you like you’re a memory come to life.

“I didn’t think you’d be here.”

You shrug. “Neither did I.”

Silence falls — not heavy, not light. Just… familiar.

He clears his throat. “I’ve been thinking about us.”

You look over. He’s still staring at the stars.

“We were good,” he says. “Weren’t we?”

You nod. “The best.”

Another pause.

“I ruined it, didn’t I?”

You smile — not bitter, not sad. Just… true.

“No. We just stopped running in the same direction.”

He finally looks at you. And for a second, for a heartbeat — it’s like nothing ever changed.

Like you’re still you and he’s still him and the world still waits with open arms.

But it’s not real. Not anymore.

You see it in the way he doesn’t reach for your hand.

And you don’t offer it.

Because sometimes, love doesn’t die. It just stops being enough.

And that’s okay.

You don’t cry until he leaves again.

But when you do, it’s not the kind of cry that breaks you.

It’s the kind that cleanses.

Because for the first time, you let go of the what ifs.

And hold on to the truth: you loved him. He loved you.

And that… that was real.

Even if it didn’t last.

Even if it’s only a song you hum now and then, when the wind feels like fall and the stars feel close enough to touch.

You & I.

You’ll always carry it.

Even as you learn to let it go.

hope yall enjoyed <33

no playlist today!

taglist: @rockstarkkami @sirloncelot-of-bananas @jisunggy @me-on-a-archive @hyunjiiza @hyuneskkami @hvseunq143 @highway-143

taglist is open! please comment if you would like to be added <33

[daeniradraconis]

Right Where You Left Me

Hey, Lovelies! ✨

Sorry I’m a little late — my Mac decided to quit on me today 😅, and I spent the whole night saving my files. But all is well now! Everything’s backed up, so here’s hoping no more tech issues in the future. 🌙

Before we get into the first chapter of William and Eli’s story, I want to share something fun. For each chapter, I’ve chosen a song that I think fits the mood or foreshadows something ahead. If you play the song while reading (hit play on the video above the text), it can add a little extra layer to the story — sometimes you might even catch a hint of what’s coming next! 🎶

Anyway, here’s the first chapter of William and Eli’s story! I hope you enjoy! 🫶🏼

Themes/Warnings: Hannah Elise Hughes x William Nylander, love at first sight, weddings, pure fluff, mentions of a car crash and injury

Chapter 1: A Promise Under the Stars

June 27, 2014

The sun’s been sitting heavy all afternoon, warm and lazy, the kind of heat that makes the grass smell sweeter. You’re stretched out on the lawn, elbows propped, legs kicked out in front of you, pretending to read Greek and Roman History of Art — a book you’ve read so many times it might as well be your diary. But you’re not really reading. Not today.

Your brothers are at it again.

You don’t even have to look to know what’s happening. Jack’s yelling, Luke’s trying to keep up, and Quinn’s probably rolling his eyes while doing everything better than both of them. The clatter of rollerblades on the driveway, the slap of sticks, the crash of a puck hitting the side of the garage — it’s like background music you never asked for.

You glance up anyway.

Yup. There they are. Jack’s already got his shirt off like he’s playing for the Stanley Cup instead of sweating through another backyard game. Luke’s copying him, all limbs and attitude. And Quinn, steady as always, holding it all together with that calm “old soul” energy he’s had since birth.

You roll your eyes and let out a sigh. Loud enough to be heard if anyone was paying attention.

You love them. You do. Jack, all wild energy and reckless chaos, like a storm that never quite settles. Luke, the baby of the family, all big eyes and easy charm — a golden retriever in human form. And Quinn, the quiet one, steady and serious, with a calm kind of passion that runs deeper than he lets on. They’re your brothers, and they’re home. But some days, it feels like you were dropped into the wrong family by mistake. A Hughes who can’t skate? Blasphemy.

You tried once. You really did. At 11 years old, bundled in gear three sizes too big, wobbling on skates like a baby deer. Quinn held your hands, patient and kind, while Jack chirped from the bench and laughed when you hit the ice face-first. You lasted maybe half an hour before you ripped off the helmet and declared hockey the enemy.

Ellen — your mom — just smiled. “Stick to your books, Eli,” she said, brushing ice shavings off your coat. “That brain of yours will get you further than a slapshot.”

So you did. You built your world out of stories and soil — history textbooks, dog-eared art guides, a garden full of stubborn tomato plants you refuse to give up on, no matter how many times your brothers trample them chasing after a ball.

“Eli! We need a goalie!”

Jack’s voice cuts through the afternoon like a fire alarm. You don’t look up.

“We’re down a man!”

“Don’t care,” you mumble.

“Get over here, nerd!”

Luke. Of course.

You flip a page, even though you’re not reading it. “Yell one more time, and I’m snapping your sticks in half while you sleep.”

Jack snorts. “You’d probably cry if you chipped a nail.”

“I’d cry if I had to live with you forever,” you shoot back, deadpan.

Luke gasps dramatically. “She doesn’t love us.”

“Fix your helmet, Luke,” you add. “It’s halfway off your head, you walking concussion.”

From the garage, Quinn’s voice cuts in, flat and amused. “Jack, you couldn’t score on an empty net. Luke, stop trying to be Jack. And Eli, please don’t murder them before dinner.”

You smile. Just a little.

Quinn’s always been the balance. The one who sees you when you go quiet, the one who reads the room without needing a single word. Maybe it’s because you’re closest in age, or maybe it’s just the way he sees the world, but you’ve always felt closest to him. Like he just gets it — gets you — in a way the others don’t.

Still, it’s exhausting sometimes. Being the only one who doesn’t speak “sports.” Like you’re a guest in your own home.

You pull your knees up, rest your book against them, and stare out at the garden. Your basil looks droopy. One of the tomato cages is crooked. You think about moving it, but—

The sound of tires crunching gravel stops you.

You look up.

Your dad’s car is pulling into the driveway, and for a second, everything feels normal. You expect him to step out, maybe toss Luke a water bottle, ask if Jack’s broken anything today.

But then the passenger door opens.

And someone else gets out first.

He’s tall. Really tall. His golden blonde hair almost looks white under the sun, and his eyes — blue, clear, like the ocean on a perfect day. There’s something about the way he walks, the smooth confidence in his stride, that catches your breath. He looks… different. Like he stepped out of a storybook. Like the version of Prince Charming no one told you actually existed. And for a second, you honestly wonder if you’ve just imagined him.

He glances around, and then — he sees you.

Just for a second. A flicker of a glance. But it hits like a lightning strike.

You forget the book in your lap. You forget the sun on your shoulders. All you can think is: Oh.

Your heart, which was perfectly fine a minute ago, starts doing something weird. Like it’s trying to crawl up into your throat.

“Kids!” your dad calls out. “Come say hello! This is William Nylander. He just got drafted, and he’s staying with us for a bit while he settles in.”

The name clicks, vaguely. Hockey. Leafs. But honestly, your brain is busy with other things.

Like the way William is walking toward you, easy and sure, hands tucked in his pockets. Like he’s stepping straight into your daydream and bringing it to life.

Jack drops his stick. “No way! He’s a Leaf?! That’s so sick!”

Luke’s already bouncing. “Wait, like on the team team?!”

William laughs — soft, polite, a little bashful. But his eyes haven’t left yours.

And then, he stops in front of you. You.

He flashes a grin — just crooked enough to feel dangerous.

“Hi,” he says, voice low and smooth. “I’m William.”

He says it like it’s obvious. Like of course that’s who he is. And maybe it should be — with that smile, that hair, that confidence like he already knows you’re staring.

Your stomach flips so hard it might do a full somersault. Words? Gone. Logic? Useless. All you can think about is how warm your face feels and how suddenly awkward your hands are, just sitting there like they forgot how to be hands.

You manage to squeak out, “Hi.”

It’s quiet. Too quiet. You sound like someone just rewound your whole personality and left it on mute.

He looks amused. Not in a mean way — in a charming, "this is cute" kind of way. Like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you.

Your dad’s saying something — something about him staying here for a couple of weeks until his apartment’s ready. But it’s background noise now.

He’s going to be living here.

With you.

You’re pretty sure your soul just left your body.

You glance up again, and he’s still looking at you, still smiling, like this is all some kind of inside joke he hasn’t let you in on yet.

And that’s when it hits you. You’re in trouble. Like... real trouble.

Because this isn’t just a crush. Not even close.

You're in love.

And he hasn’t even made it through the front door.

—

The next two weeks are a blur. Not in a busy, chaotic way, but in a dreamlike, everything-is-new kind of way. William’s presence feels like an added layer to everything you’ve known. He’s in your house, under your roof, sharing your space, and it’s almost surreal how easily he slips into your world.

He’s still the same charming, confident guy from that first moment. He talks with that easy, magnetic confidence that makes everyone gravitate toward him. But what surprises you the most is how he makes space for you in the midst of it all.

Every morning, he’s in the kitchen, making coffee, and when you shuffle in — hair a mess, sleep still heavy in your eyes — he’s always there with a quiet “Good morning,” and that crooked, too-perfect-for-him smile. It’s like he knows exactly how to make you feel like the only person in the room, even if Jack’s already rambling about his latest skateboarding tricks and Luke’s stuffing his face with cereal. William doesn’t mind. He just listens. Really listens, in a way that makes you feel like you could tell him anything.

And you find yourself telling him things. Little things. 

Like how you started gardening because it felt like the only thing that could grow in the chaos of your family. How Ellen once tried to teach you to skate and you cried on the ice. How you’ve read Greek and Roman History of Art so many times it’s basically your second language. How you despise salted caramel with such passion that you believe its fans deserve a short, contemplative exile in purgatory.

He doesn’t laugh. He just nods like it’s all valuable information.

“You really like art, huh?” he asks one night on the porch.

It’s late — one of those velvet-sky summer nights where time slows. You’re in your usual spot, knees pulled to your chest, hoodie sleeves over your hands. He’s next to you, hoodie half-zipped, legs stretched out, hair still damp from his shower. He smells like clean soap and warm skin.

You nod. “It’s not just that I like art. I love it. And not just paintings — I mean the whole thing. Art history. Architecture. The stories built into stone.”

He glances over, intrigued. You go on before you can stop yourself.

“I read about the Pantheon when I was thirteen. This giant, ancient Roman temple in the middle of the city — still standing. I’ve never even been to Rome, but the pictures? Unreal. The dome is a perfect hemisphere — same diameter as its height. They built it without modern tools, and no one even knows exactly how. The concrete they used? Still hasn’t cracked. The oculus — that giant hole in the roof — it’s open to the sky. Rain falls right through it. But the floor is sloped, with invisible drains, so the water just disappears.”

You pause, but he’s still looking at you, listening.

“It’s not just architecture. It’s—” You shake your head, smiling a little. “It’s art. The kind that makes your chest feel too full. It was built to honor all the gods, but they made it feel like it could touch the universe. Like they wanted to bring the heavens into reach.”

You hug your knees tighter. “And it’s still there. People walk into it every day. Into something made almost two thousand years ago. You can feel the history pressing in around you. It’s like standing in a heartbeat that never stopped.”

William is quiet for a long moment.“That’s… amazing.”

You laugh a little, embarrassed. “Sorry. I get carried away.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I think it’s incredible that you care about something that deeply.”

You glance over, unsure. But he’s smiling — that quiet, thoughtful smile he doesn’t give out easily.

“I think that’s what art’s supposed to do,” he says. “Make you feel something you can’t really explain. Even if it’s just a building or a painting. Doesn’t matter. If it moves you, it matters.”

You blink. That’s… not what you expected. William Nylander — hockey guy, professional athlete, and also someone who actually gets art? 

“You’re full of surprises,” you murmur.

He smiles, sensing your surprise. "What? You didn’t think I was all hockey, did you?"

“I mean… kind of.”

“Wow,” he says, mock-offended. “I’m layered, Eli. Deeply complex.”

You laugh, but it sticks in your chest, warm. Because somehow, it’s true — he’s funny, confident, ridiculous… and he sees you. Not as one of the Hughes siblings. Not as the quiet one. Just…you.

That’s how you end up here. Most nights, side by side on the porch while the house buzzes behind you.

Tonight is no different — quiet air, cicadas in the trees, stars overhead like someone scattered glitter across navy velvet. Your bare toes brush his knee by accident, but he doesn’t move.

You look over. He’s fiddling with the cap on his water bottle, uncharacteristically quiet. The kind of silence that makes you want to fill it with something soft.

“I always wanted a dog,” you say.

He turns, eyebrows raised slightly. “Yeah?”

“Since I was five. Every birthday, every Christmas. I begged. Once I even made a Power Point on why a dog would help with my emotional development.” You snort. “Didn’t work.”

“What’d they say?”

“That I already had three brothers and that was enough chaos for one household.”

He laughs — that warm, low sound that always makes your stomach twist. “Fair. But brutal.”

You smile, leaning your head back. “I even had this whole Pinterest board. His name was going to be Pablo. He’d wear a little bandana and sleep at the foot of my bed.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Pablo? That’s kinda badass. Like a mob boss or something.”

You giggle, nudging him lightly. “Exactly! Super manly, right?”

William hums like he’s really considering it. “I’ll get you one.”

You blink. “What?”

“When I get my place. You move in. I’ll get you a dog.”

You snort a laugh, but your face feels suddenly way too warm. “William. I’m seventeen.”

He smirks. “So? It doesn’t have to be today. Just… someday. I mean—” he stretches his arms over his head, all long limbs and relaxed confidence “—I’m just saying, I could see it. Me, you, a golden retriever with too much energy. Maybe a garden. I’d build you a whole greenhouse if you wanted.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leans in closer, just enough that you feel the heat of him, his voice suddenly lower, teasing. “Nah. I’m serious. I think you’d look really cute walking a dog in one of those oversized sweaters. Maybe wearing my hoodie. Nothing underneath.”

“William.” You choke on a laugh, heat crawling up your neck.

He grins like he’s just scored a goal in overtime. “What? I’m a romantic.”

“You’re a menace.”

“And yet,” he says, leaning in just slightly, “you’re still sitting right here.”

You roll your eyes, but your pulse is loud in your ears. The porch feels smaller, the air charged.

He shifts closer. Not suddenly — slowly, deliberately — like he’s checking to see if you’ll stop him.

You don’t.

His hand lifts, brushing a piece of hair from your cheek. But it’s not just a gesture. It’s careful. Intentional. His fingertips graze your skin like he’s memorizing it, like this moment matters. And maybe it does. Maybe it always has.

You can’t think. Can’t move. The world narrows to the space between you — to the heat pulsing there, to the way your lungs forget how to work.

“I meant it,” he says softly, his voice a low thrum against the quiet night. “I’d get you that dog. Or anything you wanted.”

You look up at him — and this time, you don’t look away. Your voice is barely a breath.

“I just want you to kiss me.”

And then everything shifts.

He leans in — slowly, like he’s giving you every second to change your mind. But you don’t. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to. And then his lips are on yours.

It’s not fireworks. It’s not chaos.

It’s warm.

Soft at first — almost hesitant, like he’s learning the shape of you, tasting the moment. His lips are tender, sure, and it’s careful — not rushed, not greedy, but full of something deeper. Something real. The kind of kiss that makes time slow down, stretch thin. Like your heartbeat just synced to his.

You breathe him in — soap, skin, sun-warmed cotton — and everything else disappears. No porch. No summer night. Just the quiet pull of it, of him, of this thing you didn’t see coming but somehow always knew was meant to happen.

His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers tangling gently in your hair. You melt — literally melt — into him, into that touch, into that kiss, like your body finally understands what safe feels like.

When he finally pulls back, it’s just an inch — enough for his eyes to settle on yours, lingering, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail. His thumb strokes your cheek, slow and deliberate, like he's tracing the very shape of you in his mind.

His gaze dips to your lips, his voice low, thick with something that makes your pulse race.

“Your dad’s probably going to kill me, you know that, right?”

You laugh softly, the sound escaping with more ease than you expected. You shake your head, the playful glint in your eyes never fading. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m his favorite. I’ll handle him. Just…don’t break my heart, okay?”

For a beat, his smile falters, just a fraction, before his eyes soften with an intensity that makes your heart skip. He leans in, his breath warming your lips, and for a moment, the world goes still.

“Never,” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper, just before his lips brush against yours again — slow, gentle, as if he’s savoring the very moment, the very feeling of you against him.

—

The August sun spills gold across the edges of the white tent strung with fairy lights and swaying eucalyptus garlands. Toronto’s late-summer air hums warm and bright, the breeze from the lake brushing against the skin like a soft kiss. Laughter rises from the open bar, mingling with the clinking of glasses and the soft murmur of conversation. The light is honeyed, slow — the kind that wraps itself around memories, preserving them in warmth and shimmer, like a pressed flower between the pages of a well-loved book.

You’re dancing.

Barefoot now — your heels long since abandoned under the table — you move slowly in William’s arms, your wedding dress whispering around your legs with every step. His hands are gentle at your waist, your palms resting over the slow thrum of his heartbeat beneath the crisp collar of his shirt. His jacket is off, tie loose, hair a little messy. And still, he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

The world fades. It’s just him, you, and the music curling softly through the late summer air.

And you can’t stop smiling.

You let your eyes sweep across the crowd — the blur of people clapping, slow-dancing, talking over champagne and cake. Familiar faces beam back at you. Jack is on the dance floor, leaning in a little too close to one of William's cousins, flashing a grin that says I’m about to charm you out of your penties — and she’s laughing, probably rolling her eyes, but clearly amused. Quinn, a little too tipsy, is dancing with your mom like he's auditioning for Dancing with the Stars, spinning her around with moves you didn’t know he had. Your mom's laughing, loving every second, teasing him about how he's killing it. Meanwhile, Luke’s found Banksy. The two of them are tucked in a corner, and you swear Luke’s sneaking him bites of something he shouldn’t be eating — probably pastry crumbs. Banksy looks up at him, wide-eyed, like he’s in on the secret. Luke’s giving him a soft smile, whispering to the dog like they’re plotting something together. It’s one of those moments that makes you laugh because Luke’s too pure for his own good.

And then there’s William’s side — Michael, laughing over drinks with your father like they’ve known each other forever, probably arguing over hockey plays and statistics. Catherine, poised and glowing in a soft sea-blue dress, watches you both with misty eyes and a smile that says she always knew her boy would find this kind of love.

His sisters — Michelle, Jacqueline, Stephanie, and little Ella — are huddled near the dance floor, swaying and giggling, clutching glasses of something sparkling and non-alcoholic for the youngest. Ella looks especially radiant. She's grown so much, but you still remember the quiet, sweet girl who lived with you and William for a while, who left tiny mugs half full of tea all over the apartment and asked you questions about plants like you were a walking encyclopedia. She studies in Toronto now, living in her own dorm, but she never stopped feeling like your little shadow. Your heart squeezes at the thought.

And then there’s Alex — standing near the dessert table, deep in conversation with Auston and Mitch, probably trying to talk them into some ridiculous offseason challenge. He loves those. He was your temporary roommate, too — shared takeout dinners and hockey talk on the balcony, late-night dishwasher debates and all. He winks when he catches you looking and lifts his glass in a silent, smiling toast.

It hits you slowly — not like a wave, but like sunlight through a window. Quiet. Warm. Certain.

This is your life now.

Not just his, not just yours — but something you built together. Layer by layer. A life that started on a quiet porch, with a kiss under the stars when you were seventeen and trembling and unsure. A kiss that said, I see you. A promise he never stopped keeping.

When William moved out to play for the Marlies, it wasn’t far — just across the city, but it felt like the start of something new for both of you. A few months later, you started your degree in Environmental Science at the University of Toronto, throwing yourself into early mornings and long lectures, lab reports and field work. Your days were full of discovery; your nights, often spent curled up in his apartment, surrounded by textbooks and half-eaten takeout, with him brewing you tea and soft music humming low in the background. He never made you feel like you were chasing your dreams alone. He was there — not just beside you, but behind you, making space for your ambition and cheering it on like it was his own.

Then came the day your family packed up and moved back to Michigan. You still remember standing in the driveway, watching them go, feeling a crack form right in the center of your chest. But your parents saw it — the way William looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense in the world. The way you spoke about your classes, your city, your life here. You had already started putting down roots.

And somehow, they understood.

You stayed behind.

Not out of rebellion. Not out of stubbornness. But because your heart had already chosen a home. And he was here.

So, you and William moved in together — and he made good on another promise. Just a few months later, Pablo came bounding into your life. Curly-haired, floppy-eared, endlessly sweet. He slept at the foot of your bed and carried around his stuffed pig like it was his life’s purpose. A year later, chaos arrived in the form of Banksy — pure mischief and boundless energy, a lovable menace with paws too big for his body.

Somehow, the two of you built a life — dogs and houseplants and a garden that spilled from the balcony like your own little jungle. William, who kissed you every morning like it was the first time. William, who never once made you feel like you were orbiting his world — because you had created one together.

And then, 2019 arrived. It was Christmas Eve — your favorite night of the year. Lights strung across the living room, cinnamon in the air, your mom crying before anything had even happened — you swear she knew. William cleared his throat and then — of course — launched into a speech. Classic Willy: heartfelt, a little cocky, and so completely sincere it made your knees weak.

He turned to Jimi first, asked for his blessing like a man raised right. And Jimi — naturally — acted all serious and intimidating… before pulling William into a hug so hard you thought he might break a rib. Your mom sobbed so intensely she forgot to record the moment — something she still brings up every single Christmas, like it’s your fault she was too busy crying to press the red button.

Jack wasted no time. “Biggest simp I’ve ever seen,” he declared loudly, shaking his head, but grinning so sweetly at you. 

Quinn just smiled. Then, without a word, hugged William like he was his own brother. When he finally pulled back, he said, “It always felt like you were part of this family… but now it’s official.” You think William nearly cried at that part, though he’ll never admit it.

And Luke — sweet, sentimental Luke — tried to play it cool. But the moment the ring box opened, his chin wobbled. He stood up clapping and wiping his face with his sleeve at the same time. Of course, Jack immediately took a picture of Luke crying and has printed it every year since to hang as an ornament on the tree. “The emotional support elf,” he calls it.

That was the moment everything shifted — not just for you and William, but for all of them, too.

They saw what he meant to you. What you meant to each other.

And now, here you are.

Married. His wife. Barefoot under a Toronto August sky, the sun sinking low over the lake, the air thick with roses and summer and laughter.

And through all of it, William watches you like he still can’t believe you’re real. Like he’s still that boy on the porch, blinking stars out of his eyes, wondering how the hell he got lucky enough to end up here — with you.

“You okay?” William murmurs against your temple, his breath warm, his lips brushing your skin.

You nod, your voice thick with emotion. “Better than okay.”

His fingers shift slightly at your waist, pulling you just a bit closer. “You were worth every second of waiting.”

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze. “You kept every promise.”

He grins, that soft, crooked smile that undid you back then — that still undoes you now. “Told you I’m a romantic.”

“Yes, you are. I’m a pretty lucky lady,” you tease, eyes glinting.

His hand brushes along your spine, and suddenly, you’re both laughing quietly, breathing each other in. It’s strange, really — how something can feel brand new and completely familiar all at once. How love, real love, doesn’t feel like butterflies. It feels like sunlight — constant and warm and always finding its way back to you.

A microphone crackles, and then a voice rings out — someone from the band, smiling into the mic.

“Alright, everyone, if we could have your attention—our bride and groom are about to head out for their honeymoon! Let’s give them all the love they deserve!”

The room erupts in cheers, whistles and applause. Champagne is lifted. Glasses clink. You blink back the sudden blur in your eyes as William leans down to whisper against your ear:

“You ready to go, Mrs. Nylander?”

You laugh — a bubbling, joy-soaked sound as you nod. “With you? Always.”

And as you walk hand in hand through the crowd, showered in petals and love and laughter, you look back once — just once — at the people who built you, held you, shaped this life. And then you look forward.

—

The doors of the car close behind you with a soft thud, and suddenly, the world feels quieter. The buzz of the reception is replaced by the sound of the engine, the warm night air drifting in through the cracked window. William’s hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in the way they always do — familiar, steady, grounding you.

He starts the car, and as you pull away from the venue, the streets of Toronto slipping by in a blur, you glance over at him. His eyes are still full of that joy, that soft, warm look that has been there since the moment he slipped the ring on your finger. There’s a relaxed, almost goofy grin on his face, the kind that only comes after a long, perfect day.

You turn the radio dial, and suddenly, the opening chords of “Take Me Home, Country Roads” fill the car. It’s the very song you and your brother used to sing at the top of your lungs on long summer road trips. A surge of excitement hits you, and you can’t help but start belting it out, loud and carefree, your voice rising with every word.

“Almost heaven, West Virginia…”

William glances over, his eyebrows lifting in mock horror. “Oh, no,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Not this song.”

You don’t stop. “Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River…” Your voice is full of energy, all the joy and excitement of the day flooding out of you in the form of music.

William laughs beside you, one hand on the wheel, his hair still a little messy from the dancing. “You’re unbelievable,” he says, grinning. “I marry you and now I’m stuck with a country music soundtrack for life.”

“Oh, come on, it’s a classic!” you tease, singing louder, not even trying to stay on key anymore. “You just don’t get it.”

William gives a dramatic sigh, shaking his head with a grin. “No, I definitely don’t. I never understood how anyone could love country music this much.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “Take me home, country roads…” you sing, your voice rising with the chorus, throwing your head back as you belt it out, carefree and happy.

He watches you for a moment, shaking his head but clearly entertained. “Okay, okay,” he finally says, the teasing in his voice softening. “I get it, you’re killing it. But I still don’t get the appeal.”

You grin, leaning over to nudge him playfully. “You’ll come around one day,” you tease, eyes sparkling.

The song continues, and you sing your heart out, your joy filling the car. It feels right — this moment, this life, this love — everything wrapped up in the sound of a song that’s been a part of you forever.

William starts laughing softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as you hit the high notes with all the conviction of a true country fan. “I don’t know how you do it,” he says, still chuckling.

You’re lost in the song now, the road stretching ahead of you, the glow from the dashboard casting a soft light on William’s face. His focus is on the road, but every so often, his smile flickers as he glances at you.

You throw your head back, still singing — louder now, on purpose. “To the place I belong…”

He shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

Then it happens.

A flash of headlights.

A horn blares.

The scream of tires on pavement.

Metal.

The impact slams through you like a punch. Your body jerks, flung forward and snapped back by the seatbelt. The airbag explodes, the sound impossibly loud — like a bomb detonating in your ears.

You can’t see.

You can’t breathe.

You hear glass shatter, the car twisting, spinning — and then stillness.

Pain hits you all at once, hot and sharp — blooming in your ribs, your shoulder, your head. Your vision sways like a curtain of water. You try to move, try to sit up, to find William, but your limbs feel heavy, unreachable.

You hear him.

Faint, but frantic.

“Elise—”

You try to answer. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You want to reach for him. You want to tell him you’re okay, or ask if he is — but everything is fog.

His voice grows sharper, full of panic.

“Elise! Elise, stay with me! Please—”

You try. God, you try.

But the pain grows thick and distant, your head lolling as the dark swallows the edges of your sight. The world fades — his voice, the night, the music — all pulling away like waves retreating from shore.

And then—

Nothing.

Just black.

[greeniegirl23]

Isn't It Lovely..? (Chapter 4#)

(Trigger Warning ⚠️: Shitty Dad/ Abuse/ Physical Harm/ Cursing/Gore Etc.)

(Welcome to the final chapter of "Lovely." I'm not even gonna lie, I'm not too happy with how this last chapter turned out. I feel like I did Alastor slightly OOC, so look out for that...

However, I won't have much time to write soon considering the fact that my education is being elevated towards my dream career. I'll try to write here and there when I feel like it but no promises. Anyways I hope you enjoy this last chapter! 💜)

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It has been two weeks since Alastor appeared in your bedroom and humoured you in a game of Uno. Two weeks since you had revealed your Mother's date.

Two weeks since you had last heard from him…

The first day it happened you gave him the benefit of the doubt. Pretty sure that he was busy with Overlord activities that interfered with his visits to you, he had told you once that demons don't really need sleep but that doesn't stop them from becoming tired at certain points, so you assumed that he was just too tired to check in that night.

Until he didn't check in the next day…

Or the day after that…

By the end of the first week, it was safe to say you were worried about him. You hadn't received anything from Alastor and there wasn't any other form of communication to see if he was alright.

As the second week rolled around, you did your best to push your worries of Alastor to the side as you had to lock in on your studies. Mid-Terms were coming down the pipe and you were already stressed with the fact that you were waiting to hear back about a scholarship from your dream school. If you were granted such a large sum of money, you could be rid of your Father by next semester. You already had a plan to sneak away, moving out in one day while he was at work only to come back to find nothing but a letter on your bed that said, “Fuck you.”

Just the thought of it filled you with a sense of hope you hadn't had in a long time. Finally, your life could be yours again and you would make sure he would never ever come near you again.

Monday came and went, Tuesday was irritating, Wednesday was filled with some self care, and Thursday was the big day. At this time, you still hadn't heard from your favorite host. Sadness began to creep in your mind as you thought that Alastor may not have been true to his word and may have abandoned you for not making a deal fast enough. Anxiety licked at your soul from the thought of him deciding to drop you for being no longer of use to him.

The plush that you restored became your anchor, reminding you that such a miraculous thing happened because of it. That you were chosen to meet him, speak to him, and hold some value to him. You placed it in your bag for good luck when you left for class on Tuesday morning, praying to God for his favor as you were pulled out of class by your guidance officer.

As you walked into her office, you began to chew the dead skin off your lip as she handed you an envelope. A thin layer of sweat covered your palms as you thanked her and took it, opening it and unfolding the piece of paper inside as your eyes skimmed the text.

You got accepted…

A sigh left your lips, one you didn't even know you were holding as you re-read the acceptance letter.

You got it!

Tears wield in your eyes as you hug the letter to your chest. This was more than a scholarship, this was life changing, this was liberation!

This was your chance to be free.

The rest of your day was filled with nothing but smiles. That bully that pushed you when you found your Alastor plushie? You told her to kick rocks.

The science teacher that always looked at your ass when you walked outta class and tried fucking your grade up so you'd have to stay for ‘extra credit’? Told him that you had a recording of him and would report him if he tested you like a free sample ever again.

You practically skipped home that day, laughing and smiling as the sun shined down on your face. For the first time in a long time, you smiled at the world and the world smiled back.

You entered your home and did all your chores happily, listening to music and actually singing along for once. As the night fell, you hugged your plushie tightly, thanking God as you say cross legged and began to go over the plans of your escape once again. You had saved up just enough money to cover your basic expenses for at least 2 years on campus, clothes and shoes that you couldn't fit anymore would be sold for more profit.

Sitting your Alastor plushie down on your bed for a second, you turned to his station, hoping he'd show up this time so you could tell him the good news. Sticking your hand underneath your bed frame, searching for a familiar box. A smooth material graced your hands as you pulled out your savings, ready to count how much you had and how much you could add to it over the next semester.

Popping off the lid, you opened up the old shoe box and got struck with a sinking feeling…

Your heart seemed to pause as you looked down into your once filled box, only to see now that it was completely bare.

Fear pounded heavily at your heart as you began to slowly panic. Where was your money?! You never used it or touched it for anything so why was it empty?!

Part of you already knew the answer, but the other part of you dreaded coming to such a realization. Quickly, you reached for your phone and made a call at the bar your Dad liked to visit.

“Hi Donnie, it's me.” You said with a trembling voice, speaking to the manager who remembered you from when your mom was alive. He was a family friend that would come and grill with your Dad during the summer.

“Oh hey!” He replied. “Fancy you to call me today, I was worried about your Pops getting home safely. Is he there by any chance?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, your heart pounding louder and louder.

“Well…” Donnie sighed. “He came in earlier today with a bunch of cash. Ordered drink after drink until I had to cut him off out of concern, he cussed me out to hell and back of course, but I couldn't let him keep going. He said something about going to the strip club downtown even after I told him to just go home.”

Time damn there stopped as you processed the man's words. Your deepest fears were confirmed..

Your deadbeat, no good, scumbag of a father stole the money you had worked so hard for. Every penny you scraped together, every can you picked up to exchange at the dump, the plushies you restored and sold online, the homework you did for other classmates all were supposed to add up to you getting away from him and he stole it..

You didn't realize how angry you were until the sound of the door opening and slamming shut broke your silence. A deep growl left your lips as you politely responded to Donnie’s worries. “He just walked in actually, thanks Donnie, I'll make sure he's fine for the rest of the night.”

You didn't even give him time to respond as you hung up the phone and waited calmly for your Dad to come up the stairs. To say you were pissed was an understatement, to say you were livid was gentle, to say you were going to fucking kill that man? It was your only reason for even putting in the energy to breathe right now.

It didn't take long, about ten minutes for him to come up stairs and practically kick your door in with a complaint. “Hey you little brat!” He slurred, stanking of alcohol and cheap perfume from some floozy you knew he just got done screwing.

“You were supposed to take the trash out, why is it still in the kitchen?-”

“Three thousand, eight hundred and ninety two dollars and sixty five cents…” You said calmly.

“Bitch, don't cut me off-”

“Three thousand, eight hundred and ninety-two dollars and sixty five cents.” You said once again, rising up slowly from your bed as you stepped closer to him.

“Do you have any idea how long that took for me to save? Do you have any clue how much of my work and my time you just threw away on whores and booze?”

Your Father seemed taken back for a second, you had never stood up to him in all your years of living, but now you were furious beyond belief, so much so that you had no concept of fear in this moment. His shock didn't last long however, because he leaned on the door frame and chuckled.

“Yeah, I spent your little savings account. Next time you should try and hide it in a better place. I got fired last week because I kept showing up late and since I allow you to live in my house, I figured I'd see what I could find in here as your payment towards the only thing keeping me from putting you out on the streets.”

Rage filled your mind as your vision seemed to literally turn red as he continued to talk, unbeknownst to him that the only thing keeping your grounded was a twitch in your arm.

“By the way, I also took some things for me to pawn from that ugly ass jewelry box your Mom gave you. Grandma’s ring and your Mother’s jade earrings all went towards this month's rent. Those things are under my roof meaning they belong to me, that includes you too little girl. So unless you want me to break that little face of yours, you'll start treating your old man with some respect--”

It all happened so fast. One second your arm was at your side and the next, your Dad was standing in front of you with a growing bruise on his cheek. It took a moment for you to realize that you had punched him square across the jaw, with all your might you had managed to give him a nasty right hook. So much so that it took both of you staring at each other to realize what had just transpired.

“You little bitch!!” He yelled, pouncing on your and pinning you against your restoration vanity. His hands tight around your throat as he sought to choke the life out of you. You clawed at his hands, garbling out syllables of Alastor's name as your vision went blurry, feeling around the wooden table, you felt something cold and smooth. A strangled battle cry left your lips as you aimed right for his eye, stabbing him with a needle.

He hollered in pain, letting you go to cradle his injury as you tumbled to the ground gasping for breath. Curses left his mouth as he saw you on the floor, blood pouring from his wounded eye as welts formed in his hands from your nails. Reeling back his foot and swinging it right for your stomach, he knocked the wind smooth out of your lungs as he kicked you again and stomped your face.

“You fukkin’ brat! Stabbin me in my eye! After all I've done for you!?” You curled into a ball to protect your face. “ALASTOR!” You yelled, only for your Dad to grab you by your clothes and throw you out of your room against the wall. Your head made a sickening crack against the surface, the force was enough to break the drywall, leaving a fair sized hole.

Quickly, you tried to get up only for him to shove you hard. Forcing you to take a brutal tumble down the steps. “You're an ungrateful little cunt just like your mother! I was glad when that bitch was dead! I know how much you miss her, so I can help you join her six fucking feet under!”

You wanted to cry, so badly as you stood up to defend yourself. Thinking of your Mom’s dying body as you stumble into the kitchen, his steps hot on your trail, you grab the nearby cast iron pan, still decently warm from you cooking dinner, and swung it like a baseball bat. Hitting him right on the side of his head with a digusting THUNK, causing him to fall down, taking some counter items with him as you screamed insults at him, continuing to beat the everloving shit out of him with the pan.

“YOU ARE THE WORST FATHER EVER!! (WACK) YOU WERE NEVER THERE FOR ME!! ALL YOU DID WAS DRINK AND HURT ME!! I WANTED TO SAVE YOU!! (SMACK) TO LOVE YOU LIKE I DID WHEN I WAS YOUNGER!! (WHAM) But you were too far gone for me to have that back..!”

Strength left your body while sobs left your lips, blood pooled on the kitchen tiles from the nasty number you had done on his face. He laid there groaning, but conscious. Large bruises and bumps already began to grow as you stepped back to cry.

You bawled like a baby, dropping the iron skillet far away on the floor. You cried for the love of your Father, for your Mother to be here, for Alastor to come and save you, for anyone to come to your rescue.

But of course, that was too much to ask for…

Your sobs were quickly replaced by a scream of pain. Looking down at your stomach, you saw a large steak knife implanted in your abdomen. A garbled whimper left your body as your Dad yanked the knife out of your skin and let you fall to the ground. It stung like hell and you choked on your tears as he stood over you, looking like the real incarnate of the devil himself.

“One rule of life baby girl,” He said, standing over your body as you bled out. The blood from his eye, dripping in your face. “Never ever take your eyes off of someone your plannin' to kill.”

You watched helplessly as he walked away from you, discarding the steak knife as you mumbled under your breath. He grabbed a beer and an ice pack from the fridge and pulled up a chair, looking down on your slowly dying body as if you were another TV show.

“Do me a favor sweetheart,” He took a sip before sighing. “Say hello to you Mom for me in Hell.”

“..As…stor..” You mumbled.

He leaned forward in his chair in a feign attempt to hear you better. “Come again?”

“Alastor!” You screamed with the little bit of strength you had left in your body.

Your Father laughed. “Callin’ for your boyfriend or something? No one will save you, just like no one saved her.” He took a swig of beer and placed the ice pack over his wounded eye. “This kinda works out though, I've got time to live off of your insurance money for a good while before I’d have to get another job. Then again I might not have too, thanks to you I'm now half blind. Disability checks should be easy to file for."

As you laid on the floor, slowly being soaked with your own blood, you cried and cried as much as you could without causing yourself even more pain. He was right, you were all alone, even in dying breaths, you were alone. A prayer formed in your mind, ready to accept your fate until you noticed the shadows on the walls seemed to be moving.

You chalked it up to your tears blurring your vision until the lights began to flicker and the TV in the living room turned on by itself. Relief swelled in your heart, already knowing who was here.

You watched as your Dad began to look around in confusion. The lights continued to flicker before turning from a warm yellow into an ominous green. Shadows began to trail across the ground towards your body, through your blood as they seemed to stack into a tall, lanky figure.

“The fuck!?” He cursed. Jumping from his chair and backing away as fast as possible.

You let out a dark chuckle. “Looks like I'm not the only one going to Hell, Daddy…”

Slowly, you watched as fear took over him. Static licked at your skin in an almost soothing way while the shadows used your blood to form symbols on the walls and around your slowly dying corpse. Once they were finished the lights went out completely, covering you in a darkness so deep that you wouldn’t be able to see your hand in front of you if you could find the strength to lift it.

It didn't matter though, because as quickly as the darkness came, a bright yellow smile appeared, followed by two crimson red eyes popped up right over your dad’s shoulder. “WELL HELLO THERE!!” said Alastor’s loud, boutrous voice. Your father jumped, running away from the deer’s seven foot stature screaming, “Who the hell are you?!!!”

Alastor sneered. So this was your pathetic excuse of a guardian? He wasn't even close to a man, much less a father figure. A deep anger struck Alastor in the heart at the sight of you on the kitchen tiles. You weren’t going to last much longer in this state and he regretted the fact that a big chunk of it was his own fault.

However, this wasn’t the time to be in his emotions. It was time to finally deal with this repulsive sack of shit the way he wanted to. A dark chuckle left his lips, “The name is Alastor and the displeasure of meeting you is all mine.”

Dad froze.”You mean--?!”

“Yes! That name she kept repeating was my very own and it seems you weren’t…aware of how dangerous my name is.” You listened in the dark as he spoke, hearing the low-growl in his voice as his irritation and displeasure grew. “You see, I know all about every horrible, unsightly, revolting thing you’ve done to her, down to the very last detail.” A scraping sound slowly echoed in the kitchen, paired with the metal taps of Alastor’s shoes as they stepped closer and closer towards your Dad’s buckling knees.

“S-Stay back!” He yelled, only for Alastor to laugh in his face. “I’m afraid you're going to have to try harder than that to keep me away.” Quickly, the man realized that this wasn’t a dream, joke, or hoax. How in the ever loving fuck you mangaed to summon a demon to protect you? He’d never know, but what he did know was that he had to get away as fast as possible from this smiling bastard.

With his body feeling like it was about to give out, he tried to race towards the front door. Running as fast as he could to get away from the deer’s glowing grin. His fingers brushed the cool metal of the doorknob before he felt something slimy wrap around his ankle, tripping him and effectively catching him mid-stride. “Nonononono!!--” He screamed, slowly being dragged back to the kitchen while Alastor chuckled manicaly. “You stupid fool,” he hissed as the man yelled and called for help. “You're not going anywhere until I say so..”

“Let me go, you bastard!” He yelled, struggling in the tendrils grip as it held him upside down by his ankle. Your ears picked up on the sound of scuttling, as shadows morphed into ragdoll servants. Jumping up and down enthusiastically as Alastor dangled your Dad’s body over them. “What the hell are those?!”

“Why, those are my children of course!” Alastor said, using the tendril to hold your father in the air, just enough for the ragdolls to jump and scratch at him. “And as their father of sorts, it is I who has to be the one to provide them with the essentials that any child would need. Love, care, and most importantly…”

“Food.”

A gasp left your Dad’s lips as he dangled helplessly above the large group of demonic ragdolls. He was suddenly aware of their skinny frames, sharp claws, and various sized maws. They giggled as they made otherworldly nosies, jumping up to try and bite at his fat fingers. Even going so far as to climb on top of each other to try and reach him, but everytime they got too close, the wrap around his ankle would yank him up and out of their grasp.

“As I'm sure you know, children can have the most insatiable appetites. With constantly learning, growing, doing my evil bidding, the poor things seem to get famished rather quickly.” Alastor’s voice and footsteps grew louder as he approached your body. You were going pale, as he scooped you in his arms. Even being barely awake, you could sense the sliver of protection omitting off of his person. Placing one of his hands in your pool of blood, he was glad to see that it was still wet, as held you with one arm, he approached the hanging man. Commanding the tendril to bring them face to face, as your essence dripped lazily from his claws. “For the longest time I had been feeding them what I could, but it seems the souls of the damned have just grown old to them. However…” He took a moment to look at the little minions, such egar little things. “It seems they’ve found a new favorite…”

Alastor watched in amusement as he failed around pathetically. Begging like a smoker on the street, hoping that someone would spare him a dime or dollar. Alas, Alastor had no room for mercy, when he thought about how many times you begged for the same thing and got nothing except more pain. You reminded him of himself really, when he was a child and his own father did the same thing to his mother. He remembered her screams for help, for mercy, and how no one ever came to his rescue. It wasn't until his mother had left to go to work that day that he decided to save himself, putting an eight year old nightmare to rest.

You groaned in his ear. Reminding him that he didn’t have much time left before you slipped away entirely. So with a quick swipe of his claws, he wrote out a few symbols on your fathers skin. On his forehead, the other on his hand, he struggled as the man cried and tried to flinch away in pain. It didn’t matter to Alastor though, he was purposely digging deeper into his flesh than what was necessary. Desperately, he wanted to string this man up and rip out his organs one by one. Showing them to his victim while giving a brief synopsis on each one. He was a fat, lazy, coward that drank too much, so chopping him up and boiling him in a stew was out of the question. 

“As much as I hate to cut our fun short, I have some business I must attend to.” Alastor smirked, watching as the tendrils grip was weaning thin. “But fret not! We shall meet again,” With a blink, his eyes had turned into radio dials, his teeth on full display as he stretched his neck forward. “that, I can guarantee.” 

With a turn of his heel, he went upstairs to your room. He’d be damned twice if he let your last moments be on the kitchen floor. Especially since he turned up so late. 

As he placed you in your bed, a funny feeling pulled at his heart. He had set up many of his victims to rest when he was alive, he was extremely particular with women if he had to do the unfortunate to one of them and you got the same treatment. He fluffed the pillows behind you, pulling the duvet over your body to hide the stab wound. He even grabbed the plushie that had been strew on the carpet during your fight for survival, the one you worked so hard on and that brought you together. He placed it in your arms, watching as you gave it a weak squeezee. 

“Darling? Can you hear me?..” He asked, placing his hand over the one you managed to move. You twitch your fingers in response. 

“That's good.” He sighed. Looking around your messy room with guilt. Placing his hand on your cheek, he cradled it with a gentleness he sometimes forgot he possessed. “You did good, Cher…” He whispered. “ I apologize for being late, had I been here sooner. If it wasn't for that blasted, box-headed television..” 

He paused. Placing his fingers over your pulse point, only to find none. He sighed again. Rude of you to leave while he was in the middle of apologizing. Even ruder for you to leave before hearing the sounds of your father’s karma downstairs. He could leave his minions here to shred him down to his very soul, then do as he pleased once he had fallen.  The runes would help with the search. 

As for you? He wasn’t sure if you’d fall or not. If you did, it’d be an injustice. As far as he knew, you’d never so much as killed a fly. Part of him hoped that you had ascended to the pearly gates. That you would have the chance to see your mother again, unlike he did. He hoped you were up there in her arms, happy and protected.

These thoughts clouded his mind as he returned back to the hotel and sat in his office to somewhat morn the loss of you. Despite your short time, he had thought of you to be a breathe of fresh air in a sense. Not too much to where he was blown away, that was Charlie. But just a light refreshing breeze of sorts. A laid back entertainment that he had grown attached to. 

But he had an afterlife to return to. Business to attend, responsibilities to maintain-- a screen to crack--, and things to do. For three days he allowed himself to have a drink for you, to think about you, your charm, and your individuality before snapping back to his normal self the next day. 

Every so often he’d look up at Heaven from the balcony. Wondering what you were doing up there. By now he had found your father, enjoying his time making that man suffer for all eternity. He squealed like a pig and cursed like a sailor. One time he had gone so far as to curse your name, there was a stop put to that immediately though. With a snap of his fingers, your father was being flayed and eaten by his minions. When they were done, the sigel on his forehead would restore his body before being put through that same torcher again.  

He was disgusting, but Alastor knew that you knew that all too well. 

A week had gone by before he knew it. It occurred to him when Angel Dust so enthusiastically asked him if he could bring Uno again for the hotel’s weekly bonding exercise activity. “Charlie may not like it, but I do! Dis time, I’m hopin’ to make ole Whiskers put down some dough. I mean da game is too good not to gamble on.” 

Usually, Alastor would tell the spider to get lost. But at the thought of you, he decided to be nice this time. Bringing the game back as requested. It was a rainy night that night, acid rain to be precise, and true to his word, Angel Dust did manage to back Husker into a corner with money. Now there was a mess between the two and the Princess who was desperately trying to get them to either gamble for snacks or work together to get more money. Vagatha was with Charlie, in trying to calm the two down, while Nifty was zipping around taking a peek at everyone’s hands. Giggling happily about all the tiny pretzels she would win. 

It was a chaotic mess as he expected. He so wished you had told him about more games like this from the land of the living. He smiled, half facade-half genuine as he sipped his coffee with a hand full of +2, +4, skips, and a wild card. Just as he was about to ruin the pair's pockets. There was a frantic knock at the door. 

“Who da hell could be out there so late?” Angel Dust asked. While Charlie gasped, squishing her cheeks. “Maybe it’s a new patron that heard about the hotel?! Let ‘em in, hurry up!” 

Nifty, ever the swift little one, did as Charlie asked and opened the door. Quickly, a young woman ran in with a hooded dress on. “How strange..” He thought. 

“Uh, Hi! Hello!” Charlie cheered. “Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! The place where redemption is possible. Through hard work and dedication we can help you be redeemed! But all that aside, are you okay? Even for Sinners walking through acid rain can sting alot.” 

Everyone watched as the girl took off her hood, revealing a thick head of puffy wool. “I know, my arms and legs are burning like crazy! But at least this new form protected my face from getting it.” 

Alastor’s ears perked up. That voice sounded familiar, but there’s no possible way. 

“Oh! Did you happen to fall recently?”

“Yes, its been about a week I think. I was trying to get here as fast as I could, but I had fallen all the way on the other side of the city. Asking for directions was a nightmare, but once I got to Cannibal Town, I was directed by Rosie from the Emporium.” 

“Damn toots, you came a long way for some one shot redemption that we don’t know if it works or not.” Angel Dust teased, before being whacked upside the head by Vaggie. 

“Oh I didn’t come just for redemption, I came looking for someone who lives here.” 

“Look, I’ve told you weirdos that I don’t do autographs of da clock!!--”

“Not you!” She yelled. Turning around to finally reveal your face under all that wool. Your species was different and you were a bit taller, but Alastor knew it was you. Those eyes and your facial features had mostly stayed the same, but he was shocked a bit to find out that you had taken on the characteristics of a lamb. 

He chuckled with something that almost sounded like relief if one listened closely. Before standing up from his seat and walking over to you. “Well my dear, it seems we meet again--” 

Alastor's sentence was cut short by the sound of you backhanding his right cheek. It was a perfect struck too, he had bent down to meet your eye level. Everyone gasped as he stood in shock, reeling over what you had just done. Shaking off the hand you whapped him with. You huffed, “I've been wanting to do that since I've gotten down here. Do you have any idea how stressful my week has been?!” 

“First I fell all the way down Mulberry Lane and had to figure out how to get here. I had nowhere to go in the meantime and no money so I had to sleep in the alleyways for a bit, sooooooo many creeps kept cat-calling me! I had to grapple with the fact that I'm a sheep for crying out loud!!” 

While you proceed to rant and scold Alastor as if he was a child, everyone else was trying to figure out how you just pimp-slapped the Radio Demon and survived. 

“Um, Alastor..” Charlie whispered. “Are you sure you know this girl..?” 

He blinked twice before standing back up to his normal height. “Yes, I do and given the fact that she seems to have gone through a lot these past few days, that slap was somewhat expected.” 

“Yeah but still..” 

“And now you're ignoring me!!” You yelled. 

“Alrighty then! Please resume the game without me, I'll return with our new guest in a moment!” He announced, firmly directing you towards the library. 

“Darling, please. Relax for a moment.” He asked, once you arrived. Trying to quell your anger before you made more of a scene. “You must understand, I thought that you had ascended to Heaven. Had I known you were here, I would have done everything in my power to find you.”

You gave him a flat expression. “I made a deal with you to kill my Dad and you thought they were going to let me into Heaven with that..?” 

He shrugged.”It's a technicality, but still. I didn't take your soul, so you being here is an issue all on its own.” 

You curled your lip in frustration. “Yeah well, I didn't go there besides, I would have had to come down here anyway.” 

“Whatever for?!” He asked. Trying to figure out why you said it as if Hell was a pit stop during a road trip. 

“Because..” You mumbled. “I never got to thank you and you never got to say goodbye. Don't get me wrong, this week was terrible. But regardless of you being late or not, you still saved me and made sure I died comfortably.” 

Tears started to trickle down your face as you wept silently from the stress, the relief, and trying to calm down after being in survival mode for a bit too long. “I was scared Alastor, I was really really scared..” 

“I'm aware my dear, but had I known you were in Hell I could have--” 

“No, not just here. When I was still alive..fighting my Dad. I thought I was gonna die alone, I was calling for you and I thought you weren't gonna show up…” You hiccuped. “I never felt so terrified and so free at the same time, but then I got down here and I didn't know what else to do but to find the hotel. I was alone again and it was-!” 

“Terrifying?” He finished for you. Watching as you sunk into yourself and nodded your head. It was then he realized that you've never had anyone reliable to protect you. For so long you've been protecting yourself, but now? He was seeing the breaking point of that and from his failure to keep his word. 

“I understand what your saying, but look around you. You made it here, alive and in one piece. As long as you stay here, this hotel can be your fortress. I will keep an eye on you myself and be there for you whenever you need me. I meant it before, but I certainly mean it now. Besides, there are no dimensional boundaries to keep us apart and you make quite the charming little lamb.” He poked your nose in the middle of your sobs. Finding it funny how you crossed your eyes to follow his finger. 

“I may have failed you before, but I promise it will not happen again.” 

You grinned. Before looking at him with a teary eyed smile, filled with hope and determination for something better that what your life was. Greater than it would ever be. 

“There's a beautiful sight.” He said. It was like watching a rainbow blossom on your face. “You may be sad but you're still smiling.” He placed his hand on your cheek, watching as you nuzzled it.

“Now, isn't that lovely?..” 

--------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you everyone who has read and supported me through this story. I'm not the best at writing gore, so I had to try and make it work the best I could. If there was something you didn't like or can help me improve on, leave a comment below. Despite the fact that this was a short series, I enjoyed writing it and even with it's mistakes and imperfections, I'm proud of it!

I do plan to continue writing when I can and I hope you all enjoyed this last chapter until my next work comes out. Dunno if it'll be a one shot or a series but, I'm ready to do what I can!

Once again thank you all and I hope to see you next time! Be safe, stay hydrated, and happy! 💜

Taglist: @twistedvanillacoffee @diffidentphantom @boldlyenchantingfox22

[maudie-duan]

Series Summary: Harry has been fighting to keep his relationship with Olivia afloat for nearly two years. At what point do you choose to either endure or let the strain of the world defeat his ambitious hopes of a lasting relationship? Or will a single night and a fleeting encounter be enough to change the projection of Harry’s path? Maybe our ‘Mystery Girl,’ Shiloh, will just happen to be in the right place at the right time. 

Word Count: 5.2K

Warning: SLOW-BURNER, Strong Language, Major Angst, Eventual Smut, Emotional.

H: I know you said you were busy, but is there any chance we could see each other before the premiere? Surprisingly, my schedule is wide open.

S: I’m sorry, but I really can’t. I’m filming today and have a meeting with some sponsors tomorrow…plus a team meeting with my team to go over the details for the next month. I’m super booked. I’m already tired.

H: That’s quite a list. Figured it would be a stretch, but I had to ask.

H: I’m dying to see you, if we’re sticking with honesty. I know I’ve told you already.

Shiloh didn’t get back to me until later that night. I must have caught her right before a live because thirty minutes later, I was watching her and Florence live on Instagram, wondering if she would ever ask me to be on the show or if that would spark too much chatter.

I’m not sure how I would handle myself. I kept re-reading the message I sent, wondering if it was too forward and needy for her already, but I couldn’t help myself. We’ve only really been able to text since we started talking, Shiloh giving me her nights, long phone calls into the late hours. Giving me time, I know she'll be hurting for later once her day catches up, so I can’t really complain. Whether we’re texting or talking on the phone, she’s found a way to have me there with her.

“Is it boring listening to us edit?” Shiloh speaks up. She has me on speaker phone while she and her friends edit videos. This is the second night in a row, but I’m happy to do it, to listen to her thoughts: every idea, every comment, the suggestions she takes from her team. She’s all hands on deck, and it’s so refreshing. She has complete control of her image, and it’s impressive, motivating, and at times, I even find myself taking mental notes.

“I’m not bored, I promise, I’m taking this opportunity to send out some emails myself,” I tell her, the smile on my face stretching when her laugh fills the line.

“Well, look at us, being worker bees…” Then she laughs again, “I think we’re almost done, if you don’t mind hanging tight?”

“I have no other obligations but to lie in bed and talk to you. Although it is getting close to my bedtime…” Another laugh sounds, but it’s not hers. It must be her friend Annie, the super fan, and I laugh to myself, wondering what it must feel like to be her friend in this situation—a situation so random that even I don’t know how it happened.

“I’m sorry, old man…are you going on a run in the morning?” She asked, with a casual sarcasm that seemed to drip from her mouth, something I’ve witnessed from watching her videos, but she’s quick on her feet, and sometimes even I can’t keep up.

“I was thinking about it…what’s your address, and I’ll run by your house.” I poke.

“Yeah, right, sir, like I would give you my address that easily.”

“It was worth a try…” I tell her, “You’d probably be sleeping anyway…”

“I do cherish my sleep…” and then she shifts back into work mode: “What if we cut six minutes here…and then if we absolutely have to, I can refilm the last three minutes?” That outro was weird even for me…”

“I really like what Kevin said about the intro. I think we should stick to that idea for sure.” She tells them, “And when I was looking at the calendar, it looks like we could actually mark off—”

She sighs, “Damn…these six days…wait…do we really think six days in NYC?”

I sit up then, pressing the phone into my ear harder. “I think I want to cancel this. I kind of want to stay here for a bit. We’ve been on the go for a while now.”

“I’d be down to cancel if that’s what you want?” Annie tells her, “We could fit another interview in here instead—”

Shiloh interrupts, excitement spilling from her tone, “Oh my gosh! I forgot to tell you who freaking reached out to me.”

“Who?” Annie asks, and I stay quiet even though I’m curious myself.

“Billie!”

“No way, dude, shut up!”

“No, I kid you not. I had to like check the profile like six times.” She laughs, “I messaged her back and was like girl…of all the people to slide into my DM’s…”

They both share a laugh, but I’m dying to see her face, see the excitement, memorize the way I know the smile would reach her eyes, witness it firsthand. I want to be the person making her this excited, and now I’m dying to know what she thinks of me, of us, dying to know if she wants the same things.

Is it insane to want forever already? Because there’s never been a person I’ve felt this drawn to, the others were mere place holders; they had to have been. “As in Billie Eilish?” I ask, just to soothe my own curiosity.

“Yes, Harry! There are no other Billies in my world.” And then Annie speaks up, “That’s her wife.”

“Her wife?” I repeat.

“Yeah, that's my baby. I would marry her in a heartbeat...Well...actually only if Kristen Stewart didn’t ask me first.” She says.

“Hmm…” I hum, mulling over this new bit of information, “So, then I don’t stand a chance, huh?

And this draws a giggle from both ladies, then Kevin lets out a loud groan, “Bro, you’re the only option in this household, don’t worry…trust me.”

“Oh my god, Kevin…” Then there’s a shuffle on the line, and when Shiloh talks, this time her voice is the only one I hear.

“Alright, guys, I’m calling it a night.” She huffs, “I’ll be in my room…”

I laugh, my tone rasping through the mouthpiece of the phone, “I'm the only option in the household?”

She scoffs, “Don’t let that go to your head. I have options, trust me.” I know she’s joking, but there’s a serious undertone. She, in fact, has many options, but I want to be the only one.

I let the phone go silent, and the sound of a door closing behind her is prominent, and for some reason, I’m finding myself sulking in her comment, even though I know it wasn’t meant to harm.

“Harry…” Shiloh speaks, cutting through the silence, “Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” I breathe, a knot forming in my throat.

“Tell me what you’re thinking?” she asks, and her voice echoes, “Sorry, I’m putting you on speaker phone. I need to get ready for bed.”

“I'm thinking we should FaceTime while you're getting ready?” I joke.

“Ha. Ha—maybe after I change…” she tells me, and I can hear the smile in her tone, and all I can do is picture her getting undressed.

"You know all you have to do is pull up the pictures from our photoshoot, and you would have all the images you want." She pokes, "Alex sent me every single picture."

"Wait, what?" I force out, nearly choking on the words with a new sense of excitement coursing through me.

"Did you not ask for them?" She questions.

"No..."

"Hmmm..." she hums, and now I'm in my head, reeling over the idea of having every SINGLE picture.

She was quiet for a moment, and then the sound of running water pulls me from my thoughts. “I’m going to brush my teeth real quick. I’m sorry, it might be loud.” Her voice reverberates around the bathroom, but then she switches us to FaceTime, and my entire body surges with a whole new energy- a new curiosity itching at my brain.

This is the third night in a row that she’s taken me to bed with her, walking me through each of her routines. The first time I watched her, I couldn’t believe it was happening. It felt like my very own personal live. Her casual demeanor as calm, as if she was filming for her channel.

The night seemed to bring on a whole new persona for us both, dreamlike, the two of us able to let our guards down. Each conversation seemed to flow without effort, the phone a vessel as she seemed to float into my world. She was no longer a daydream, but a real person on the other end of my screen; it was the closest we had been since that night I called her and made a fool of myself.

But I think we’re finally past that.

There’s so much I’ve already learned about her. Stuff that hasn’t made it to the screen trust me, I’ve seen everything I could get my hands on, and yes, I’ve told her—she said she’s done the same, except she's had the upper hand because my whole life is practically out there for the entire world to unpack.

And she’s not wrong.

Every new detail that seems worthy of remembering, I’ve listed in my notes app. I don’t want to forget a single thing, big or small, I want her to know I’m in this a hundred percent—it’s scary, but I don’t want to push it. Everything feels fragile, a delicate balance, and I don’t want to tip the scales before I ever get a real chance.

“I’m so tired…” she whispers, pulling the blanket up to her chin. She looks cozy, peaceful, on the verge of falling asleep, but I’m not ready to let her go.

“Don’t fall asleep, yet Shi…” I tell her, my voice low.

Her green eyes are trained on me, the side of her face buried into her pillow, “It sounds really sweet when you call me that…”

“Do you like it?” I ask.

“I like it a lot, or maybe it’s your accent…I don’t know. I like your voice; it makes me tired,” she says, her eyes flitting shut, a soft smile playing on her lips.

I let out a quiet laugh. “It makes you tired?” I question.

“Yeah…” she breathes, and she doesn’t open her eyes. " Like it’s cozy…” A smile stretches across her face then, and just as it’s almost at full mass, her eyes flutter open.

“I could listen to it all night.” She adds.

“You can listen to it anytime you want,” I tell her.

And this keeps the smile on her face, “We finally get to see each other tomorrow,” Shiloh says.

“I know…crazy, right?”

“Are you nervous?” She asks.

“I don’t know…maybe a little, are you?”

“Yes, what if I’m not the same in person…” she says with a shy, breathy laugh.

“We’ve technically already met in person, twice, kind of…”

“Twice?” She repeats

“Once at the Gucci show and the photoshoot,” I explain, knowing the Gucci show doesn’t count, but it counts for me.

“Harry, to be honest, I was trying to avoid you at that Gucci show.”

And this is news to me—I told her that I was drawn to her, but we never really got into the details of it, just that it was a mutual thing. Now I’m curious. “Avoiding me?” I ask.

“Yeah, you felt–” Then Shiloh laughs again, covering her eyes, as a huge grin stretches across her face, “I don’t know. If I tell you, will you promise you won’t think I’m weird?

My heart picks up at this, a thousand questions already circling in my mind. What if she didn’t feel it, the draw, what if this had all been entirely one-sided, the depth in which I’ve felt her, longed for her since the moment I saw her, because that’s what it was, longing.

And when she uncovers her eyes, her smile drops, and she smooths her lips together, the mood shifting in a single breath. “Harry…” she says her tone low.

“That night…I was really nervous, and you like kind of became my lifeline. I don’t know how to explain it. Like if I felt myself freaking out, I would find you in the room…well actually, you were kind of in my line of sight the whole time. It was crazy, but I would look at you, and something just felt right, I don’t know…I know that sounds crazy, but I just felt it...” She finishes, and my heart is fucking soaring, and as I take in her face, I see tears welling in her eyes.

“It’s not crazy…I promise, does this upset you?” I whisper, my throat tightening, but I feel it too, the unexplainable emotions that have seemed to follow us, circle us like vultures, haunt our every thought, because it's evident that she feels it too, and it’s everything

“I don’t know…” She chokes out, then the first tear is running down her cheek, leaving a glossy trail, and it’s breaking my heart because I want so badly to reach out and touch her, to have been able to wipe away any tears that I’ve brought her, because even if she hasn’t told me, I know I’ve already hurt her; and the pain of that has been like crawling through the desert, praying for rain.

“I’m scared,” she tells me.

These are the moments he seems to take over my mind.

Always when I least expect it.

One moment, my mind is swirling with the madness at hand, my life, my task, everything that is entirely mine, and suddenly, I'm thinking about those green eyes, his smile–and then the next thing I know, I'm spiraling through memories we haven't even made, imagining him in moments that don't even exist, dreaming of how his hand might feel against the small of my back guiding me through a crowd, or the sound of his laughter in the early morning, rough with sleep, but honest and raw. The way his name might taste on my tongue in the heat of a moment I'm too scared to initiate. What are we when the phone no longer serves as our lifeline?

It's terrifying how quick my mind is to race ahead, building our future from tiny details, while mindlessly conjuring a life around a person I barely even know. And yet I can't stop the flood, this rush of wanting that sweeps me from one thought to the next like I'm caught in a current too strong to fight, because there's no resisting, because the moment I fight is the moment the current takes me under--to a place where I'm fighting for the past, fighting for the old me, but she doesn't exsist anymore.

And I keep telling myself to be careful. I keep telling myself that fantasy rarely survives reality, and maybe this is just another daydream I'm trying to breathe into life, another moment of wanting something so bad that I begin to shape it into something that isn't real–these are the moments I want to pull back, to protect myself, but now I'm thinking it's too late, because I think I've been falling since before I even uttered his name from my lips, and now I'm just waiting for the impact, for the storm overhead.

“Okay, I think we’re set,” Kevin confirms, handing me the mic. My makeup artist is touching up my lipstick, right before we go live for Vogue, and it feels like pure fucking chaos, but all I can do is grin and bear it.

“Shiloh, make sure you’re on your mark…okay, now shift right, okay, just like that. I think you should hold the mic in your left hand, it looks better on the screen—”

Annie is in “go mode,” and thank God she’s such a powerhouse because she has been my saving grace in these big moments. Not a single thing seems to shake her, and every time I look at her, I try to embody her energy because she is my rock in this moment.

“Okay, give us a quick intro before we roll, the countdown begins now, in 5…4…3…2…1…and NOW—!”

Then we were off to the races, and in no time I was slipping into my filming persona like a glove that fit perfectly–people coming and going, jokes being made, all smiles, all the while wondering when I would see Harry.

"My darling, Shiloh," Florence coos as she approaches, "It's crazy...It's like we've just done this..."

“Floooo! Oh my god, I’m obsessed with your look, I kid you not! Tell us what you’re wearing…” and just as she’s about to answer, Harry’s name is being shouted, tossed around in the background over and over, and Florence turns to look.

“I guess our star has finally made it,” She laughs out, her tone laced with sarcasm, and I can’t help but laugh.

“You may not get a decent interview with all that noise…of course no hate Vogue…” she says, turning to the camera, but she’s right, the fucking crowd is roaring, even though the real star of the movie is standing next to me, and that's when it hits me that Harry will be standing before me in just minutes.

“Oh my gosh, Shiloh, let’s not talk about my dress, lets talk about yours, holy fuck…wait am I allowed to say that?”

“You are now,” I laugh out, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh my gosh, can I just say, you have to be the most gorgeous person here tonight, like I cannot, get over this dress, is it glued to your body, like I’m so obsessed.” Then her hand is moving to my waist taking in the dress.

“That’s so sweet, but really, who are YOU wearing, it’s freaking stunning my friend. Black is so classic, but it’s perfect on you.”

"Darling, it's Louis Vuitton...Oh no...I think I'm being called...I'm sorry to cut our interview short, love, I'll see you tonight, yeah?" She rushes, reaching in for a hug, and when I look over her shoulder, Harry was approaching faster than I imagined.

And that was the moment the panic set in.

Like standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down, wondering how you got here in the first place, and my heart slams against my ribs like it's trying to escape, my body already reacting, trying to reach him before I could, yet instead of fighting, a piece of me wanted to surrender. There was an interviewer between us, but it might as well have been an ocean for all I cared, because the thought of him nearing was terrifying, but God, I wanted to dive into every aspect of him.

I could feel the mic in my hand beginning to slip, and I wondered if the camera was picking up on my shaky fingers. How could time both stretch and contract at the same time? How could the world spin and stop on its axis in the flash of a heartbeat? There he was, standing only a few feet away, and I was next–and he would be mine for a few minutes.

The closer he got, the more the noise of the premiere seemed to fade into a distant hum, as an eager pulse raced under my skin, blood rushing to my ears, my heart pounding so hard that I could feel it in my throat. It was all happening so quickly, a whirlwind of thoughts crashing over me while I talked at the camera, me playing my part. Still, my mind was only on him, the moment playing out like a fucking fever dream–the haze of his presence was pulling me under. I have no control, because it's him, he's my person, and I know with every fiber of my being that I have to have him in my life, that I could not go another moment without him.

It was that fucking gravitational pull that seemed to break all the rules the moment our worlds collided. The feeling was surreal as my mind tried to fill the gaps, the gaps of time when he was merely a collection of memories pieced together–Fragments of conversations, glances stolen from across the room, the cadence of his voice, now a script written across my bones, and this is terrifying, my whole body tremebling, and I risk a glance at Annie who gives me a slight nod–and I know I need to pull it together.

When my eyes dart back to Harry, his eyes find mine across that impossibly short distance. Something thrums between us humming over my flesh, like my body is trying to recall all those late-night conversations, all those whispered confessions over FaceTime—they suddenly feel like nothing compared to his actual presence, and the air that floods my lungs is thick, growing heavy, making it harder to breathe, crushing me as if the universe itself was trying to condense every memory into this single moment.

Because I swear I rehearsed this meeting a thousand times in my head, trying to think of the perfect lines, standing in front of the mirror practicing a casual smile, one that wouldn't give me away, but now my mind is blank, wiped clean by the reality of him. This was Harry, actually Harry, not just a voice through my phone or a face on my screen, and his smile—dammit, that smile—there it is, curving slowly, private like it's just for me, like we don't have thousands of eyes on us right now, like the world hasn't been waiting for this very moment.

And then he closes the space between us, two heartbeats of time becoming one. And then I remember I have to speak, have to somehow function like a normal human being when everything inside me is pure, fucking chaos.

"Hi," I whisper into the mic, dazed in a giddy fit of panic, and I can feel the muscles in my cheeks stretching.

Then he's smiling, matching my energy, because I can tell he's just as taken, but he had already warned me this morning that he knew he wouldn't have any control, and when I hand him his mic, our fingers brush, making my whole body tingle. Then my eyes dart to the fucking ground like an idiot, giving myself away entirely because I cannot stop smiling to save my life, and then I look into the camera, to seal the deal, and I kid you not Annie snaps her fingers and I have to reel it in.

"Hi," is all he says, and we share a glance, a tiny sliver of time that is ours. It is both terrifying and exhilarating, and I wonder if this is the closest to magic I'll ever get because the man has me under a spell, and I am bound to him.

"Your dress is extraordinary. You look stunning. That's all the crowd could talk about back there, and honestly, I couldn't agree more." He gushes, and I definitely blush. I can feel the heat rushing to my face.

"You don't look half bad yourself, are you wearing Gucci?" As Harry looks down to peek at his suit, he rubs a hand down his torso, and my eyes snag on his ring-clad fingers.

"Yes, yes, Gucci has so kindly taken care of me this evening..." He confirms, but I just figured out my next angle, so I take it.

"Okay, so I've only ever heard about the rings, but it's different seeing them in person. Can we get a little view for the camera?"

Then, I spread my fingers out in front of me to urge him to do the same, and he does, switching hands with his microphone to give us a view of each hand. When my eyes sweep to my own hand, my fingers are trembling, and I have to stretch them, each finger splaying wide. Then my eyes flick to his for the briefest second, and suddenly, there's a sense of relief that washes over me.

Looking back on that red carpet interview now, I realize I was the one who hard-launched us before we even had a chance to figure it out, but that's for another day, because I wasn't even thinking, I was just doing it, grabbing her outstretched hand on full display for the world. Her perfect, delicate hand shaking before me, making my heart drop to my stomach. I wanted to take the pressure off the moment–I wanted to touch her and let her know that it was okay, that it was just us, just me and her, nobody else.

"I didn't realize you were a ring, girly," I laughed, taking her hand in mine, and it wasn't true, I knew this about her, after all I had seen every image of her I could ever find, now cataloged in my mind like a flipbook, moving through my minds eye every time her name is mentioned. I had seen every ring that had been on her finger on screen, but there was only one that I ever wanted to call mine, and in that split second, it changed our whole reality.

"I love this one..." I tell her, swiping my finger down the smooth stone of her ring. The one from the photoshoot, the one that caught my eye before, the one that had me in a daze, the one that reminded me of a bumblebee perched on her finger–a constant thought buzzing around my ear every time I saw it.

She seemed to never take it off, always on her index finger like an extension of her flesh–she had become the honey bee of my world, her presence dripping like honey before me, so close I could taste the sweet scent of her perfume, like wildflowers with a hint of vanilla, warm like basking in the glow of the sun.

"It's my favorite ring," she says, her voice distant as we both gaze down at the ring between my fingers, ready to wiggle it off.

Then the interview becomes a blur of motions as soon as I say, "I'll trade you?"

And when she peers up at me, a slow smile spreads on her face, and it's like the crowd, the cameras, all the noise dissolves into white noise, and I'm sinking, a peculiar kind of drowning–willingly letting myself float into her essence, the very being of her existence, moving between my fingers like water through a slow moving stream. It was like nothing I could explain; it was everything all at once. It was only her real and solid after existing for so long as pixels on a screen, only a lush voice in my ear.

I knew I had to keep my composure, and we played out our bit accordingly, each moment carefully constructed, holding a sense of calm for the public even though we both knew what was happening beneath the surface. "Pick any ring..." I nudge her, holding out my hand, and her eyes flit over each one.

And with each second that passed, that careful composure threatened to crack, my practiced smile nearly coming undone. Every second was me fighting the urge to reach out to her, to collapse the space between us, that paper-thin veil crafted to keep us both in check. "Okay, so you're like serious—Harry Styles is offering me a ring y'all–" she joked, playing up the camera.

She saved us both that day, her professionalism unwavering, even though I could see it in her eyes, "I like the teddy bears in this one," she tells me, pointing to my Grateful Dead ring.

"Take it...it's yours..." I push ahead of myself, and she laughs, but my heart is racing out of control, and I know I'm giving myself away, completely–my want a desperate need aching inside me.

Then she slides the stone ring off her finger and looks up at me, and I'm holding my breath as she smooths the smile from her red-painted lips. "This is the first piece of jewelry I've ever bought myself," she explains, biting her lower lip.

"I promise to take care of it...which ring did you choose?" I ask, calmer this time, knowing that she's going to do it, give me a tiny piece of her to take with me, and I know it will be the only thing that will get me through this night, keep me sane when the distance has to stretch between us again.

As we both peer down, the world around us falls away. It's like time seems to stretch into something tangible between us, a charge building as the possibilities hum at the tips of our fingers so close that they're almost touching—a tender moment that's ours and ours alone as Shiloh's eyes trace each ring on my hand, and then my eyes flick to her face, watching as she smoothes those perfect lips together.

"That's time, guys!" Someone shouts out, but it's faint. When Shiloh's eyes meet mine, there's a moment of understanding, unspoken and clear—suddenly, this is just jewelry; it's about the sense of belonging we both seem to crave. It's a reminder that even when the cameras stop rolling and we have to return to our separate lives, something will stay with her, with me.

Another tether, a reason to come back.

For a breath, neither of us moves, caught in this fragile moment, aware of every camera documenting this sacred exchange, but suddenly unable to muster the will to care. How strange that such an intimate gesture could happen under the harsh glare of a spotlight, the world watching, speculating, already hungry for whatever narrative they were going to spin from these seconds.

Yet in that moment I didn't give a single fuck.

"Harry—Shiloh--" Annie's voice cuts through, professional but gentle. "We need to keep moving."

Then Shiloh taps the silver band of dancing bears on my finger, and I slip it off with a smile, pushing it onto her finger. All the while, Shiloh's eyes never leave my face, and when I glance up, she's smiling.

"That's time, guys!" Someone shouts again, roaring the world back in motion around us, and I nod, my eyes locked on Shiloh's face as something unfinished lingers between us.

When I reach out an empty hand, she drops her ring in my palm. "I'll take care of it," I promise her, leaning in to whisper in her ear, "Until later..." I finish trying to move past her, and ever so slightly, she tugs on the sleeve of my jacket, and this time, when I meet her eyes again, her face is only inches away, and as I move away, her eyes never leave mine.

She doesn't say a word, just stares back at me, her big green eyes glazed over with a look of wonderment, a dazed smile playing at her lips, and I wink, pushing the mic into her hand, right before I turn away.

And when glance back over my shoulder, Olivia is filling the empty space in front of Shiloh, and my heart drops. 

A/N: Man, the slow burn almost feels worth it. Now the ball is rolling, friends! Can't wait! Tag List is always open for future updates. Let me know in the comments! So sorry for the crazy long delay on this one guys, but we're back, for good, seeing this one through, so please put your faith in me and jump back in. It will be fun I promise!!

LET'S TALK ABOUT IT: FINALLY they've come face to face! it could only go up from here, right?

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Tag List: @howling-wolf97 @sassamanda77 @babegoalsreads @palmettogal508 @indierockgirrl @lizsogolden @sexymfharriet @pologoonies @amateurduck

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