#do you get me. do you get [gestures vaguely]

[chelseeebe]

girls on film

18+. mdni! smut, so much smut. p in v, eddie is a munch! alcohol mentions. pornstar!eddie munson x reader. no use of y/n! modern au.

eddie munson makes porn. you make it. only, eddie doesn't much like the sounds of that.

a/n: happy valentines day my loves! spend some time with our favourite nerd eddie instead of a real man that'll only disappoint. i am so guilty of always giving eddie a breeding kink and then just never giving him any children oopsie hehe. i've been writing this on and off for months now, i already have a p2 and p3 the question is whether i'll finish them or not lol

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

when anyone asked, you’d tell people you were a set assistant. 

what they didn’t have to know was that you were a set assistant for pornstars. 

it wasn’t ever a dream of yours, nor something you’d have ever pictured yourself doing, but it paid the bills and hey, sometimes you met cool people through it too. 

today’s no different to any other, waiting for the talent to arrive as you prep the scene. it’s something ludicrous, metal guy meets friends innocent younger sister, something along those lines. 

you never really paid attention to much of that stuff, at some point it just became so much noise and frantic movement that the script never really mattered. 

he’s late. you’ve heard whispers of his nonchalance before. only hoping that you’d still get home on time. 

when the elusive man finally decides to bless you all with his presence, you’re taken back. not ever expecting the lanky guy that had shuffled through the door. all hair and denim. 

his charm makes up for his tardiness. flowing out of his mouth in droves, shaking hands and sharing hugs with the crew until he gets to you. 

“hey,” the man grins, pulling you in for a half-hug, “i’m eddie, super excited for today now that i’ve seen you.” 

you stare back in confusion, you’d be running towels and telling lighting what to do, why would he ever be excited about that? 

“anything you’re not comfortable with?” he asks, squeezing your arm gently. 

“oh.. what? i’m not- sorry, i just work on set,” shrinking into yourself although flattered that he’d thought you were starring opposite him. 

“oh,” sounding almost disappointed, “that’s a real shame,” the thick smell of his cologne and cigarette smoke wafting towards you. 

your cheeks burn, averting your gaze to the ground, finding solace away from his heavy stare. 

“who is the lucky lady?” eyes gliding around the women in the room, choosing to once again settle on you. 

“she’s.. um, she’s getting ready,” gesturing towards the small dressing area you had. 

you were never this bumbling, a thousand handsome men had stood before you and had never, ever had this impact upon you. 

“cool.. okay,” he nods, “where d’you need me?” his leather jacket tightening around his strong arms, knocking the wind out of your chest. 

“over here,” gesturing vaguely at the empty makeup chair, losing any and all composure when he pats your arm on the way past. 

christ. 

you needed to get a grip and get it fast. 

-

a lick of fresh air would help pull you from this disgustingly down bad headspace he’d plunged you into. 

or not. 

eddie’s hand curls around your arm just before you reach the door, “i’ll join ya,” cigarette already poised in between his lips. 

you can only nod, stepping out into the cool air though it does nothing for your flushed cheeks, edging away despite his efforts to keep close. 

you’re a little intimidated by his hardiness and hardness. struggling to keep your eyes above the waistband. 

“you ever thought about doing this?” he asks, blowing the smoke from the side of his mouth. 

“not really.” 

“that’s a shame,” he smirks, “i think we’d make something beautiful,” keeping his gaze steady on your flustered face. 

“stop it,” brushing him off coyly, he didn’t have to be so sickly sweet, his smirk had clearly already worked its magic on you. 

“you don’t agree?” eddie’s eyebrow raises, taking a slow, drawn-out toke of his cigarette.

you shake your head, “there’s a reason i’m behind the camera and not in front of it,” staring out at the bleak, grey parking lot. 

“well i think we should change that,” stepping in front of you, leaving you no room to not look at him, “i’m in town for the week, i’d love to see you again.” 

this didn’t happen to you, ever. the girls you worked with were otherworldly in terms of their beauty, no one ever really paid you any attention at all. 

eddie can sense your hesitation, assuming that he’d scared you away already, “look, take my number. you don’t have to call but i’d like you to,” slipping his cell from his pocket. 

you nod almost on your own, retrieving your own phone to hand off to him. he’s slick in the way he taps the number in, cigarette balanced on his lip as his eyes flicker between phone screens. 

“there ya go,” placing your phone back in your clammy palm, “do what you want with it, i go back to chicago on thursday,” making it clear that whatever this may be, would be temporary. 

“o-okay,” nodding quickly, there was a high likelihood that his number just sat there for the rest of eternity, never to be used or clicked on again. 

you don’t take eddie as the type of guy to pressure you, in fact, he seems quite the opposite. so much so that if you don’t take him up on his offer, you’ll never hear from him again. 

it’s truly an offer you really shouldn’t refuse, but yet you’re hesitant to even accept his advances. mixing work and pleasure like this, especially with someone like eddie, could only end one way. 

“i better get back in, y’ready?” holding the door open, a real gentleman, making you flustered of the most common of decencies. 

you were fucked. 

-

it’s hellish watching him perform. 

not just seeing everything his tight jeans had hidden away but also the way he truly cared about his partner. 

all the gentle touches to her face, cradling her body while completely disrespecting it too. globs of spit leaving his mouth to coat her cunt, making your thighs press together with indescribable want. 

he glances back between takes, making sure to catch your eye every single time. running his tongue over his bottom lip, knocking the air from your lungs without fail. 

you’d bore witness to many overdramatic, frankly fake orgasms in your years on set. very rarely did anything ever make you feel quite like you did today. screaming jealousy at her disappearing eyes, the way his lips brush against her ear, guiding her through her second orgasm of the session. 

it’s not loud, or irritating, just soft mewls accompanied by his soothing voice, making sure you were soaking right through your jeans. 

when eddie cums, his lips fall apart, head thrown back as his hips stutter, using her back as a canvas, jaw gritted together. 

“that was great!” tom yells, your makeshift director. ushering for you to hurry up with the towels and cold water. your fingers trembling as they brush against eddie’s. 

he offers a sweet thank you, quickly slipping back into his robe as you try to regain some semblance of control over yourself. 

you’re ridiculous, a giggly teenage girl more than a grown woman who watches people fuck for a living. this had solidified your position on ever calling him, and simply put, you couldn’t. 

in fact, you’re not certain you can even speak his name again, destined to live a life of perpetual wondering about what could have been. 

-

one glass of wine seemed to have been all it took to get eddie fucking munson back into your head. 

you’d done so well so far, managing to push the disgraceful thoughts way, way to the back of your mind, only for one measly glass of sauvignon blanc to destroy all of your progress. 

it’s not like you were actually going to call him, just toying with the idea, hovering over the button. a little foreplay, if you will. 

maybe you should. 

if one glass of wine was enough to have you already breaking the promise you’d made to yourself, who’s to say what years and years of unknowing would do? 

eddie was interested first, he came onto you first. there’s no doubt he’d be as eager as you were, but you still can’t help the niggling sounds of apprehension. 

the tone is dialling before you can second guess yourself and end it, fingers trembling around your phone, as if it were a ticking time bomb awaiting detonation. 

it rings a couple times before it clicks, connecting the call, “hello?” his voice echoes, thick and as intoxicating as the first time you heard it. 

your lips move yet produce no sound. reluctantly hoping he’ll think it’s a prank call and block the number. 

“eddie,” the first word to form on your tongue, potentially the worst thing you could’ve said. 

“it’s you,” his smile evident, even through the phone, “i was hopin’ you’d call,” you can hear the hustle and bustle of the restaurant now, he mumbles something to a passing waiter about the bill and now suddenly you feel immensely guilty about calling him on a saturday night.

“i’m sorry- am i interrupting something?”

“not at all,” and you can hear him smile all over again.

but what you don’t see is him glancing over at the busty redhead still at the table, waving back at her innocuous wiggle of the fingers. 

“what’re you doing tonight?” he asks, leaning back against the cool brick wall. 

“nothing really.. i mean, if you’re not busy, maybe you could.. or we could do something?” wanting to die the second the words leave your lips. 

“that sounds good to me,” his audible grin unwavering, “how ‘bout i come over?” 

you freeze, looking around at the mess surrounding you, piles of paperwork and clothes litter the floor, resembling somewhat of a dumpster rather than an apartment. 

“..you don’t want me to, that’s okay,” answering his own question. 

“-no!” interjecting before he could change his mind entirely, “you should come over,” turning into a desperate little slut before he’d ever even touched you. 

eddie pauses, his feet shuffling in the background, “okay,” voice intoxicatingly thick, “give me thirty minutes and i’m all yours.” 

all yours. 

christ. 

you can feel your knees buckle, turning into putty in his hands. 

“o-okay, i’ll send you the address,” ending the call before you fumble this any further. 

immediately springing up from the mattress, deciding that the one and only time you’re going to mix work and pleasure must be perfect. you work on grabbing piles of clothes, shoving them back into the closet they belonged in. 

eddie wouldn’t care, would he? 

perhaps keeping stuff to the living room would be better, the tiny couch would make do. 

-

thirty minutes practically on the dot, there’s a knock on the door. 

oh god oh god oh god. 

this was a mistake. 

you should shut off all the lights and just pretend you’re not home. 

don’t be so silly. 

cursing the self-sabotaging thoughts, damned to make you second guess every single thing about yourself. 

your head peaks around the open gap, eyes falling on his chest to rise up and meet his daunting eyes. there’s a bottle of wine tucked beneath his arm, the half bottle you’d downed beforehand completely unbeknownst to him. 

eddie blinks, his lips cocked to the side, “well hello,” dressed far too nicely for a drunken booty call at your apartment. 

“hi,” utterly meek and pathetic, swooning over his suave greeting. 

“you look good,” gaze trailing down to your bare legs. you hadn’t expected him to be so put together, now regretting your choice of what was essentially just pyjamas. 

“tha-thank you,” pulling the door open wider, “come in, please,” stepping back to let him inside. 

the air thickens immediately, your clothes suddenly too tight and your palms clammy. if you ever wanted eddie to stay interested in you, you’d have to get ahold of yourself quick. 

“nice,” he saunters around the room, looking at your pictures and the other piles of accumulated artefacts ok your shelves. settling just before the couch to turn and smile. “you live alone?” 

you nod automatically, the air sucked from your lungs at the sheer sight of him in your apartment. it felt like some strange crossover dream that really should’ve stayed unexplored. 

“that’s good to know,” helping himself into the kitchen, opening cabinets to presumably find two wine glasses. 

you brush off his comments, it was no secret as to what he was here for. “top left,” arm brushing against his as you make your way into the small space. 

musk and a hint of lingering cigarette smoke waft your direction, decidedly not turning to sniff his jacket like you so wished you could. 

“care to join me?” offering the bottle out in your direction. 

if you were even just an inch braver, you’d create some witty come back, some utterly irresistible flirty banter that’d surely have him crawling on his knees for you. 

but you aren’t, so instead you nod, hoping you won’t resemble such a wallflower all night. 

-

“can’t believe a pretty girl like you was gonna spend a saturday night all alone,” eddie gushes, a quarter of his wine sipped away. 

it’s incredibly hard to remain stoic when his eyes are crescent-moons, lashes cascading shadows over his cheeks and his tongue periodically wets his plump bottom lip. a routine he's no doubt mastered the art of by now.

“i’m always..” gesturing into thin air, unfortunately aware that whatever came out of your mouth next would make you look like a pathetic loser, “i mean, i go out sometimes..” making matters worse tenfold. 

“really?” 

why’d you open your mouth? 

“no.. i work a lot so..” clearing your throat in a bid to make him forget you’d ever spoken. “i hope i didn’t interrupt anything..” shrugging softly, though you’d already known you had done. 

“i was out for dinner.. nothing important,” brushing you off, “she wasn’t exactly.. uh, great company,” laughing into his glass of red. 

the cogs turn, sudden realisation that you had interrupted a date. and he’d let you. 

“you were on a date,” cringing at yourself, frustratedly embarrassed for no good reason, “i’m sorry- fuck, you should’ve said,” wanting to die a thousand deaths. 

he looks utterly perplexed, “if i wanted to be there, i’d be there, alright?” patting your thigh, the first of his daring moves, “i wanted to see you,” thumb circling the soft skin. 

already making you melt half an hour in. you were toast. there’s positively no way you’ll make it out of here with your dignity in tact. 

“..okay,” bashfully nodding along to his heavy words, seldom to back down so easily. there’s just something about eddie munson and his doe eyes that turns you into a submissive mess. 

his hand doesn’t move from your knee, tracing circles around the bone, “you’re so beautiful and you don’t even know it, do you?” trying his hardest to meet your averted gaze. 

fuck. 

your cheeks burn, pussy already throbbing and he had scarcely touched you yet. how was it possible for him to be so sweet? his words thick like molasses, dripping, leaving their mark all over you. 

“i’m just..” what has gotten into you? this was pathetic. “you’re very kind eddie,” smiling gently, as if his words hadn’t sent you into cardiac arrest. 

he hums, a deep noise from the bottom of his chest, “say my name again sweetheart,” purring, toying with coming closer, “i like it better when you say it.” 

you’d scream it if he wanted you to. let all your neighbours know who was making you act like such a fool. 

“you don’t have to sweet talk me.. you’re already sat on my couch,” finding the last lingering ebbing of confidence to bite back. 

eddie laughs, deep and rumbling, “but i like seeing you squirm.”

oh god. 

had he trained in this? he’s so quick witted, bouncing off of whatever you say immediately. 

“you’re so..” trailing off into silence as you meet his heavyset gaze, intimidated and fazed all at once. 

“so.. what, sweetheart?” cocking his head to the side, alongside his lips. 

you hate him. 

his overwhelming confidence, his gaze that has your heartbeat in your throat and your fingers clawing at your thigh. there was something so intimidating and yet oddly charming about his presence.

“so annoying,” biting back, only really annoyed that he had successfully woo’d you. and without much effort at all.

eddie looks vaguely hurt for a moment, only for his grin to spring right back onto his face, “i don’t think you mean that,” sucking on the backs of his teeth. 

you’d been caught out immediately, bowing your head to hide the inevitable flush. 

just fucking do it. 

the same nagging voice that had made you call him in the first place starts up again, louder this time. if his brazen flirting wasn’t enough to get you to make a move, what would be? 

choosing to grasp the moment as it is, refusing to allow him any more power over you for tonight.  

you charge forward, chest bashing into his equally as heaving chest, attempting to straddle his thighs until you’re stopped by his large palm groping your thigh. 

he breaks apart, the back of his hand brushing against your cheek, “it’s real sweet that you think you’re in charge,” quickly taking your wrists into his grasp, pushing against your pouncing stance to press your back against the couch instead. 

you let him, sinking into the cushions as he moves atop of you, hands skilfully skirting over your hips, tugging at your loose-fitting shorts. 

“oh darlin’, i’ve been waitin’ for this,” running his hands back up your doughy thighs, squeezing the pliant flesh on their way. 

you just about melt under the pressure of his sweet talk, allowing him the power to manoeuvre your body any which way he wanted. there’s a soft thunk as your sweatpants hit the floor, his hand spreading your legs to give him full view of your sodden panties. 

you’re not sure you’ve ever been as wet as you are now, positively drenched just by the feel of fingertips against your skin. 

eddie hums, large hands skirting your thighs, a soft squeeze to the doughy skin, “i really thought you’d never call,” slowly sinking down, leaving a trail of peppered kisses on his way, the tank top you’d slung on gives him perfect view of your hardened nipples, tugging the fabric until your tits fall out. 

“wouldn’t that have been such a shame?” continuing on, making you squirm with every lick of his lips, every last syrupy sweet word. 

his lips attach to the overly sensitive skin as his free hand palms the other, tongue twisting around the bud forcing the pathetic whimper from your throat. 

you can feel him smile against your chest, mouth popping off just to lock around the other, continuing his descent down between your legs. 

he pries your thighs apart, looking up at your skittish eyes, jumping from object to object as the pressure in your clit worsens. 

his lips startle you, warm and wet on the pliant skin, sucking and nibbling until he reaches the hem of your shorts. “you dressed up f’me,” hooking his fingers into the waistband, a short tap on your hip has them jumping up to help him. 

eddie glides them down your legs, holding onto your ankle as the fabric hits the ground. his pretty pink lips curve upward before pecking the soft cotton clothing your cunt. he’s a genius, a master of his craft. you’re not at all shocked that women were lining up to have their turn. 

you quiver when he pulls away, thighs pressed together in a bid to satiate the ache left in his wake. 

his thumb traces your clothed slit, pressing into your hole just to come right back up and circle your clit. it’s almost as if you can feel your brain chemistry changing with every single touch, destined to haunt every other encounter you’d have after this. 

no one had nor would ever touch your body with such sincerity and care again. it just wasn’t possible. 

arousal seeps out, turning the gray coloured cotton darker, literally dripping with want for him. 

your hands come up to hide your warm face, covering your eyes, mostly as an excuse to cut the weighted eye contact he hadn’t once broken. 

but his hands are fast, faster than yours. coming to pull yours right back down again, scolding you for even trying it. “don’t do that.. please don’t do that.”

you nod, vowing to do nothing to piss him off again. eddie’s a professional at best, a whore at worst. he knows what’ll get you whirring, knows where to lay his fingers and in what tone to whisper his words. 

sickening. 

he smirks, one-sided, “i like that you don’t fight it,” trusting you enough to let go of your wrists, delving back between your plush thighs. 

words fail to form, overcome with such horniness that you can’t think straight. 

enough of the games, you want to bellow. 

touch me touch me touch me. 

you’re aching, clenching around nothing. the hollow emptiness driving you further and further into craziness. 

“can we..” sighing softly, losing your train of thought as quickly as it came, “i need you,” digging your nails into the poor couch. this cruel and twisted routine had to stop. 

“nuhuh,” eddie huffs, his warm breath splaying across your cunt, “i’m takin’ my sweet time with you,” using his middle and forefinger this time to dance tauntingly over your pussy, grinning manically to himself. 

“but-,” cut off when his fingers curl around your panties, the cool, harsh air hitting your cunt, sending a shiver down your spine. 

“wow,” he marvels, looking lovesick at your slick folds, “she’s so pretty,” in awe of the sight before him. 

your self-consciousness had faded, losing to your disgustingly eager lust. he could do whatever, however he wanted to you. he just needed to do it quickly. 

his tongue peaks out over his lips, preparing for his feast, “you’ve been so patient,” stubble brushing against the inside of your sensitive thigh, “i think you deserve this.” 

with that, your panties come down, he doesn’t even need you to move, expertly manoeuvring them from your skin. he cradles the damp fabric between his fingers for a moment before sliding them into the back pocket of his jeans. 

you can’t protest, you don’t even want to. he was welcome to take whatever he wanted or needed. 

eddie wraps a hand around your calf, resting it upon his shoulder, repeating the motion as your feet settle on his upper back. his palm finds your thigh next, looping his arms around for leverage. 

he hums with pure sick, adulterated satisfaction, one last glance at your glistening cunt before meeting your gaze. “keep your eyes on me sweetheart,” kissing lazily at the skin, antagonistically slow to make his way up. 

your fingers lay on the couch, scared for what you can and can’t do. 

his tongue meets your folds, pulling you out of your worry and into the real world. fuck whatever his rules were, you needed to touch him. weaving frantic fingers through the curls on top of his head, receiving an encouraging hum of approval, his throat vibrating against your cunt. 

“oh my.. fuck,” panting into the abyss, unable to stop your hips from moving against his face. you’d fuck his face and any other time, he’d let you, but that wasn’t the plan. 

he clamps down on your wriggling hips, keeping them pressed to the couch, refusing to allow you any control over the situation. 

eddie’s lips attach to your poorly neglected clit, sucking gently at the bud, forcing the not-so-quiet moans out of your throat, fingers curling around the strands just to tug on them with every flick of his tongue. 

the knot in your stomach is tight already, threatening to snap at any moment. especially trying when the tip of nose nudges at your clit, sitting right on top while his tongue makes you see stars, circling around your hole and right back up between your folds. 

you’ve never been this wet in your life, arousal dripping from his chin to your ass and thighs. when he pulls away just briefly, his puffy lips gleam in the dim light of your apartment. it’s only momentary though, quickly diving back in to pull you over the edge. 

his tongue swipes thick stripes over your cunt, aching for something him to just fill you up. “shit,” you hiss through gritted teeth. your eyes struggle to stay open, he’d forgive you, right? it was no fault of yours that his tongue felt too good, drawing you to the edge just to rip it from under you. 

lolling your head back against the arm of the couch, no longer able to abide by his arbitrary rules. your thighs were trembling, fingertips entangled in his locks, nothing except your impending orgasm mattered. 

eddie voices his displeasure through a low grumble, only twisting the knot further as his tongue laps at your pussy. a ravenous dog of sorts, refusing to let up until you came on his tongue. 

“fu-uck eddie- i can’t.. i’m gonna cum,” vibrating against his ears, feeling his smile against your core. a sick, perverted man that had you exactly where he wanted. 

the band snaps, throwing you over the edge with a twist of the stomach, shaking legs that struggle to stay perched on his shoulders and a verse of soft pleas and eddie’s that resemble a hymn. 

“.. jesu- shit,” shuddering breaths and mewls that fill the room, letting him lap away at your spent cunt. your limbs mimic jelly, letting go of your hold on his hair to clasp his face. 

eddie re-emerges, licking his lips like a cat that got the cream. self-satisfied and completely smug. 

coming up to rest his chin on your heaving stomach with inquisitive eyes, his rough stubble catching on your tired skin, “worth the wait?” as if he doesn’t already know the answer. 

you nod, rather enthusiastically, “definitely worth it,” playing with the tufts of hair that make up his choppy bangs. 

“good,” biting down onto his bottom lip just to pull himself back up, “but i’m not done with you yet,” prying your legs open once more before peeling his shirt from his body, a sight you’ve seen and yet can’t behold. 

eddie presses his already stiff cock to your cunt, toying with his prey. there’s nothing left in you to fight it, laying back on the couch with a soft sigh. 

no man would ever live up to this, you were now cursed to an unsatisfactory life with whomever you settled for. 

his pants come off next, your eyes falling to the outline of his length immediately. eyeing the tiny dark patch and certainly not thinking about him cumming in his pants while eating your pussy. 

you’ve seen his cock, and yet, your lips still fall open when he tucks his boxers underneath his balls, fisting his throbbing piece while you go googly-eyed. 

“shit,” he remarks, one hand on your knee while the other glides his leaking tip through your slick folds. “no one’s ever been this wet f’me before,” practically purring, his tone thick and full of an animalistic need you had thought was only reserved for porn. 

the pleasure rumbles around your nervous system, only to land in your stomach, squeezing the already-snapped muscle once again. 

eddie’s hand slides from your knee, up to your thigh, giving your hip a well-meaning pinch before settling beside your head on the couch. your bodies melding into one as he comes down to meet you. 

his cock nestles in between once more, slipping inside with a harsh gasp and a visceral grunt. you settle for a grip of his taut shoulders, fingers curling around the muscles and smudgy black tattoos. 

this time, eddie buries his face into your neck, suckling at the soft skin, daring to leave his mark when his teeth come out to graze. you hope they last forever, marked by him for eternity. 

the sensation is all too much, struggling to stay afloat once more, pushed further and further to edge when his tongue swipes over the violet markings that littered your collarbone. 

“holy fuck princess,” he grumbles, partially muffled, “y’gonna cum again already?” breathing heavy and stuttered, struggling with his own premature orgasm. 

words don’t appear, and honestly, at this point they didn’t mean a thing. 

instead, you nod, squeezing his shoulder in a bid to communicate. you unravel all over again, drawn out moans that get cut off by his lips, thighs shaking around his midriff. 

eddie was drinking it all in, intercepting the sweet noises from your mouth with his own, rolling his hips at a more subdued pace as you cum again. 

you were spent, utterly exhausted though he doesn’t let up. once you’re over this climax, his rhythm finds pace again. soft palm caressing your cheek while his lips attach to your jaw bone, planting a hundred quick kisses along up to your ear. 

with one knee dug into the couch, the other leg holding him up from the floor, it couldn’t be very comfortable for him like this. your pleasure was first and foremost his priority, a real man. 

he grunts, driving into your cunt with little consideration for the creaky old couch or your neighbours just trying to enjoy their saturday evening. 

“oh god eddie,” you cry. tugging at his scalp, pathetically rutting back against his hips begging for your third? fourth? orgasm to take over. 

his carefully groomed pubes catch your clit, dampened by the sheer amount of your arousal. 

you were just about ready to sleep for forty days and forty nights, both exhausted and overstimulated by his cock, the weight of his body on top of you and smooth words flowing from his mouth. 

“one more sweetheart,” speaking between rugged grunts, panting with every sloppy stroke, “gimme one more,” he coos, hand sliding down to find your clit for the last time. 

his cock twitches inside when you buck back against him, fingernails leaving harsh strips on his back, leaving your mark for the next girl. 

“shitshitshit,” you rush, coming completely undone again, trembling around his cock, babbling what must sound like pure nonsense to eddie. no doubt letting all of your deepest secrets loose in your third moment of weakness.

“mhm that’s it,” letting his cock slide all the way out, just to reach the hilt over and over again. “inside?” was all he needed to huff for you to get the message, too incoherent to ask any further questions. 

“ye-yes please,” not quite understanding the weight of your words until they leave your mouth. a problem for tomorrow. 

with that, eddie topples over, his orgasm rippling through his limbs and his cock pumping thick ropes of his release inside your exhausted pussy. your cries intertwining in the hot air to create a chorus line of pleasure. 

“jesusfuckingchrist,” he heaves, collapsing in a fit of exhaustion. a sticky pile of limbs that starts with you and ends somewhere with eddie. 

everything feels surreal, the light is gleaming and you sort of feel as if you’re floating, watching him pepper your skin with quick kisses and slot himself comfortably on the cramped couch. 

eddie cradles your body, fixing your top to give you back the tiniest bit of dignity you had left. 

he hums, contemplating something, “‘m glad you called,” swooning, “i don’t know what i’d have done if you hadn’t,” positioning himself underneath your body, a strong arm coming to wrap around your shaking shoulder. 

“you would’ve just had to live without me,” chuckling into the sweaty skin of his chest, embracing the lingering arrogance. 

eddie hums before shaking his head, “nuhuh, we would’ve met again somehow,” running his finger up and down the length of your arm. 

“oh, you think?”

“no, i know,” oozing with confidence. you simply can’t hate it because he’s right. 

there’s no instance that your soul would’ve let you rest until this had happened.

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

it was an ordinary afternoon—nothing extravagant, nothing particularly special. nanami was sitting at the kitchen table, his sleeves rolled up as he flipped through a book, occasionally taking slow sips of his coffee. the golden sunlight streamed in through the window, catching the sharp lines of his jaw, the soft furrow of his brow, the way his fingers rested against the ceramic mug.

you were supposed to be doing something productive—cleaning, answering emails, anything other than staring at him. but you couldn’t help it. he looked so effortlessly handsome, so calm, so nanami.

and before you could stop yourself, the words just… slipped out.

“we should get married.”

nanami froze mid-page turn. his eyes lifted, slowly, meeting yours with an expression that was unreadable at first.

you blinked.

oh.

oh no.

his fingers tapped against the book’s spine as he carefully set it down. “pardon?”

your mouth opened, but no words came out. why did you say it like that? you hadn’t planned this. there was no ring, no romantic setup, no speech prepared—just you, sitting there in pajama shorts and an old t-shirt, blurting out a marriage proposal over coffee.

“um.” you swallowed, suddenly very aware of how intently he was watching you. “i just—i mean—you look really nice right now, and I was thinking about how much I love you, and then I thought, ‘wow, I could look at him like this forever,’ and then—” you gestured vaguely. “—that happened.”

a beat of silence. then—

nanami let out a small breath, something almost like a laugh—soft, barely there, but unmistakably fond. he leaned back slightly, tilting his head as if taking in the moment.

“that,” he said, setting his coffee down, “is the most unceremonious proposal I’ve ever heard.”

“i know,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “forget I said anything. I can’t believe I just—”

but before you could spiral further into embarrassment, you felt the warmth of his hand, gentle and grounding, as he reached across the table to take yours.

“no,” nanami said, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin. “say it again.”

your breath hitched as you peeked at him from between your fingers. “what?”

his lips curled just slightly at the edges—something too small to be called a smile, but there was warmth in his expression, something soft and unbearably tender.

“ask me again.” he murmured.

your heart stuttered in your chest.

you took a shaky breath, gathering the courage to meet his gaze fully.

“kento,” you said, this time with intent. “will you marry me?”

nanami exhaled, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. for a moment, he said nothing—just looked at you, his gaze steady, deep, full.

and then, in that same calm, even tone, he answered.

“yes.”

you blinked. “yes?”

“yes.” he lifted your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “i’d planned to ask you myself, but… this works too.”

you stared at him, feeling warmth bloom in your chest before breaking into a breathless laugh. “this is the worst proposal ever.”

“perhaps,” nanami hummed, brushing his thumb over your ring finger as if already picturing the band that would soon be there. “but it’s ours.”

[wendichester]

₊˚⊹♡ swipe right,

summary. dean winchester doesn’t really do dating apps. but then, he matches with you.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 928

You almost didn’t swipe right.

His profile was suspiciously vague—just a single, grainy picture of him leaning against a sleek black Impala, wearing a worn leather jacket, a confident smirk playing on his lips. No bio. No interests. No cheesy pickup line.

Just Dean, 35 and a damn good smirk.

You stared at it for a moment, finger hovering over the screen. This guy could be anyone. A serial killer. A scam artist. A catfish. But something about that stupid smirk made your stomach flip.

So, against your better judgment, you swiped right.

And to your surprise, you matched instantly.

Now, you’re sitting across from him in a dimly lit bar, a little buzzed from your second drink, trying to process that yes, this is real, and yes, he is even hotter in person.

Dean Winchester is a flirt. A charmer. He’s warm whiskey and cocky grins, all easy confidence and smooth one-liners. But there’s something else, too—something genuine beneath all that bravado.

“So, tell me,” you tease, swirling your drink, “do you always meet women off Tinder, or am I special?”

Dean huffs, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, I don’t even know how I ended up on that damn app. My brother set it up.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He takes a sip of his beer, lips curling around the bottle in a way that makes your stomach flip. “Said I needed to ‘get out there’ more. Thought I’d just get a bunch of bots, but then—” He gestures at you with his bottle. “Lucky me.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I prefer charming.”

“Debatable.”

His grin widens, and God, he’s got a nice smile. It’s not just his looks—it’s the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing in the room worth paying attention to.

And maybe it’s the drinks, or maybe it’s the way he keeps looking at your lips, but there’s a charge in the air, crackling, electric.

Dean leans in, forearms resting on the table, voice dropping just a little. “You’re a lot cuter than I expected.”

You arch a brow. “Expected?”

He shrugs, smirk playing on his lips. “Well, you never know with these apps. Thought I’d get catfished.”

You scoff, pretending to be offended. “You thought I was the catfish? That’s rich, coming from a guy with one blurry picture and no bio.”

Dean chuckles, eyes twinkling. “Okay, fair.” He takes another sip of his drink, gaze flicking over your face, warm and amused. “But if I’m being honest, I almost didn’t swipe on you either.”

Your heart dips slightly. “Oh?”

“Yeah. You seemed…” He searches for the right word. “Too good to be true.”

The words catch you off guard. Your lips part slightly, and Dean holds your gaze for a moment longer before glancing down at his drink, almost like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

The air between you shifts—less playful, more charged.

You tilt your head, giving him a soft, teasing smile. “So, is this the part where you ask me back to your place?”

Dean hums, tapping his fingers against his glass. “Tempting. But I’m a gentleman.”

You snort. “Oh, really?”

He leans in a fraction closer, voice dropping lower. “Yeah. Which means I’ll at least walk you to your door before I start thinking about how bad I wanna kiss you.”

Your breath catches. His tone, his expression—it’s all heat, all smoldering intent.

And suddenly, you’re not so interested in finishing your drink.

It’s a blur after that. The way he keeps his word, walking you to your door like some old-school gentleman—until you pull him inside, pressing your lips to his the second it closes behind you.

Dean groans, hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. His mouth is warm, insistent, and when his fingers slide into your hair, tilting your head back, you let out the softest sigh.

His body is solid beneath your hands, strong, radiating heat. And when he backs you against the wall, pressing his hips into yours, you feel just how much he wants this.

“Jesus,” he pants against your lips, forehead pressing against yours. “Tell me if I need to slow down.”

You shake your head, fingers curling into his jacket. “Don’t you dare.”

His chuckle is dark, rough, as his hands skim down your sides, settling on your hips. “Bossy.”

You grin, dragging your nails lightly down his chest. “You like it.”

He makes a sound low in his throat, then lifts you easily, guiding your legs around his waist. You let out a surprised laugh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Show-off,” you murmur.

Dean smirks. “Told you, sweetheart. I’m charming.”

And then he’s carrying you toward your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

Later, when you’re tangled together in your sheets, breathless and warm, Dean lets out a satisfied sigh, fingertips tracing lazy circles on your hip.

“Gotta say,” he murmurs, “best damn Tinder date I’ve ever been on.”

You laugh, stretching against him. “Oh, so you’ve had others?”

Dean pauses, then smirks. “Nope. Just wanted to mess with you.”

You swat his arm, and he catches your wrist, bringing it to his lips. The playfulness fades slightly as he looks at you, something softer in his gaze.

“Glad I swiped right,” he admits quietly.

Your heart does a stupid little flip. “Me too.”

Dean’s smirk returns, but it’s warmer now, fonder. He pulls you closer, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Told you,” he murmurs against your skin. “Lucky me.”

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @img14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ⋆ @aerinu

[rafeyssugar]

So this'll be my last request for the night but first I wanted to say that the ones you've done so far are absolutely amazing 🥰 the way you've written them is exactly like how I imagined it and thank you for putting up with me and filling them 🤭 /srs

Okkk so this time we got Rafe and pogue!Reader. Rafes love language is gift giving and when Reader is suddenly bombarded with a bunch of gifts she gets a lil uncomfortable because she doesn't have the money to give Rafe something return and he reminds her that she doesn't have to get him anything, and that he's doing it to make her happy ^^

aww, that seriously means so much! 🥹 im so glad you love them!! and don’t even worry—im having just as much fun writing them as you are reading them 🤭💖

gift-giving rafe & a stubborn pogue

you weren’t used to this.

the expensive-looking bracelet that now sat on your wrist, the brand-new sneakers that you knew cost more than your rent, and the box in front of you—wrapped in sleek black paper, tied up with a silk ribbon—only added to the growing discomfort in your chest.

rafe watched you with that lazy smirk of his, like he was waiting for you to tear into the box. you could feel his excitement radiating off of him, but all you could do was fidget with your fingers, glancing around the room like a way out would suddenly appear.

“what’s wrong?” his voice was softer now, that smug look faltering as he tilted his head at you. “you don’t like it?”

“no! no, it’s not that,” you rushed out, feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of disappointing him. “it’s just…” you sighed, staring down at the unopened gift. “rafe, i can’t keep letting you do this.”

his brows furrowed. “do what?”

“this,” you gestured vaguely at the collection of gifts. “you’ve been giving me all this stuff, and i… i can’t give you anything back.”

there it was. the real reason behind the uncomfortable knot in your stomach. rafe had money—obscene amounts of it, if his spending habits were anything to go by—and you… well, you were a pogue. and pogues didn’t have money to throw around like this.

rafe blinked, then let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he stepped closer. “y/n,” he said, voice laced with amusement. “that’s not how this works.”

he crouched down in front of you, resting his hands on your knees as he looked up at you. “i don’t get you things because i expect something in return.”

his thumb traced small circles on your skin, grounding you as he spoke. “i do it because i like seeing you happy. because you deserve nice things. and because,” he smirked, “i can.”

you huffed, crossing your arms. “rafe.”

“what?” he grinned, squeezing your knee. “it’s true. and if it makes you feel better, you do give me something in return.”

you raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “oh yeah? what’s that?”

“this.” his fingers tilted your chin up, guiding you into a soft, lingering kiss. when he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, smiling. “you. that’s all i need.”

your cheeks burned, and you groaned, shoving at his shoulder. “you’re so annoying.”

he just laughed, pressing another kiss to your cheek. “yeah, yeah. now open your present.”

[rose24207]

can I get one with prompts 6,8 and 18 together

Love isn’t always enough

Summary: Your love with Lando falls apart as unresolved pain drives you both away from each other.

Genre: angst, sad

Lando x reader

6. "I begged you to stay... and you still walked away." 8. "You say you love me, but love shouldn't feel like this." 18. "I told you not to touch it, and what did you do? You touched it!"

TW: break up, hurt no comfort

A/N: I’m sorry I was so inactive for a while. Needed to get rid of the author curse for a few days but I’m back!

Masterlist pt.2

The room was silent, save for the muffled sound of Lando’s erratic breathing. He stood by the door, his hand gripping the edge of the frame as if the weight of the moment was too much for him to carry. His chest rose and fell, anger and sadness battling for control over his emotions. You were seated on the edge of the bed, your hands tightly clasped together in your lap, refusing to meet his gaze.

“I begged you to stay,” Lando said, his voice cracking mid-sentence. He took a step forward, and you flinched as if the distance between you didn’t already feel like miles. “I begged you not to leave, and you still walked away.”

Your head shot up at his words, eyes blazing with the same fire that had ignited every fight between you for the past month. “I walked away because I had no choice, Lando!”

His eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. “No choice?” he repeated, his tone sharper than he intended. “You say you love me, but love shouldn’t feel like this.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, his hand trembling. “It shouldn’t feel like I’m suffocating, like I’m never enough for you!”

“That’s not fair.” Your voice wavered, the fight leaving you as quickly as it had come. “You’re twisting everything. You’re acting like this is all on me, like I’m the villain here, but you—”

“But I what?” he interrupted, his voice rising. “What have I done that’s so terrible? All I’ve ever wanted was for us to work, for us to fix whatever this is.” He gestured wildly again. “But you don’t want that, do you?”

Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to speak. “I wanted us to work too, Lando. But every time I try, you shut me out. You bury yourself in your career, in your friends, in everything but me. And then you come back, expecting me to pick up the pieces.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. You had hit a nerve, and you both knew it.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face. “I can’t keep holding on when it feels like I’m the only one trying.”

Lando’s jaw clenched, his own eyes glassy. He hated seeing you cry, hated knowing he was the reason for your pain. But his frustration was boiling over, and he couldn’t stop the words that spilled from his lips.

“If you can’t do this anymore, then why are you still here?”

The question hung in the air like a dagger poised to strike. You recoiled as if he had physically hit you.

“Is that what you want?” you asked, your voice trembling. “For me to leave?”

Lando ran a hand through his curls, tugging at the roots in exasperation. “No! Of course not. But what am I supposed to do when you act like this? When you shut me out, when you won’t even try to see my side of things?”

“You don’t get it, Lando,” you said, your voice breaking. “You never have. And I’m starting to think you never will.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Lando stared at you, his expression a mixture of heartbreak and disbelief.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I told you not to touch it, and what did you do? You touched it.”

You frowned, confused by the sudden shift in conversation. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about us,” he said, his tone heavy with despair. “About this relationship. I told you from the beginning that I was scared, that I didn’t know if I could do this—if I could give you everything you deserved. But you... you insisted. You said we could make it work, that I just needed to trust you.”

“And I did trust you,” you said, your voice rising again. “I trusted you with my heart, Lando. But you didn’t trust me with yours.”

His face crumpled, and for the first time, you saw just how broken he was. “I wanted to,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “God, I wanted to. But every time I got close, every time I thought I could let you in, something stopped me. And now... now I’ve ruined everything.”

You stood up, your legs shaking beneath you. “You didn’t ruin everything, Lando. We both did. But I can’t keep doing this—this cycle of fighting and making up and pretending everything’s okay when it’s not.”

“So what?” he asked, desperation creeping into his voice. “You’re just going to leave? Throw everything away like it meant nothing?”

“It did mean something,” you said, tears streaming down your face. “It meant everything. But sometimes, love isn’t enough.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He staggered back, his hands gripping the doorframe for support.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Don’t go.”

You looked at him, your heart shattering into a million pieces. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice trembling. “But I have to.”

With that, you turned and walked out the door, leaving Lando alone in the silence.

For a moment, he stood frozen, staring at the spot where you had been. Then, as the reality of your departure sank in, he collapsed onto the floor, his sobs echoing through the empty room.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[brookediamonds]

your love is my drug | Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Summary: After a rough day at school and it being that time of the month, you head to the empty dojo to release some stress. Luckily your boyfriend is there to brighten your day.

based off this post

Word Count: 737 Warnings: none, cute fluff!

pic cred: me and my laptop lol

You let out frustrating breaths as you laid harsh strike combos into the punching bag sending it flying all around you.

Today ran through your head, keeping a heated tension coursing through you.

"Kiah!" You yelled finishing your routine off with a roundhouse.

"Damn," you hear from behind you. Axel steps around the white bag, placing a hand on it to keep it steady. "Glad I'm not the punching bag."

You huffed blowing a stray of hair away from your face, before punching the bag again.

"Bad day," you mutter, your eyes never leaving the bag in front of you.

"I see that," Axel acknowledges coming up to hold the bag for you. "What happened?"

Taking a step back to catch your breath, you rest your hands on your hips, recaping your day to him.

"I got a C-minus on that history essay from last week, because I procrastinated," you begin to count your fingers. "Spilled half of my very hot coffee on my jacket this morning."

Axel grimaces at your mentions knowing you hated getting anything under an 'A' in school and remembers your jacket is a light shade of grey.

"And to top it off, I got my lovely visit from mother nature today," you vaguely gesture to the lower bottom of your body. "So there's that."

Your boyfriend frowns letting go of the bag to walk over to you. Unable to stop the tight feeling in your chest, tears sprung up to your eyes as your hormones got the best of you.

"I'm sorry, my love," Axel reaches out for you, gently pulling you into his warm embrace. You fell into him, arms wrapping around his backside as you laid the side of your face on his chest.

Axel strokes your back softly, letting you shed a few tears from the day you've had, gently pecking the top of your head.

Pulling back slightly in his arms, you tilt your head up to meet his concerned gaze.

"Thanks," you whisper with a small sniffle. He reaches up, cupping the side of your face, his thumb wiping away at your stray tears.

Axel smiled tenderly, his hand lingering on your cheek for a moment before his expression shifted. You furrowed your eyebrows as he takes a step back from you.

"Alright,” he announced, cracking his knuckles dramatically. “There’s only one way to fix this."

"What are you?—" You begin to ask as Axel grabbed his phone, tapping at the screen a few times before setting it down on the sparring deck next to you.

The song 'Your Love is My Drug' by Kesha blared from his device, Axel bringing his arms up to move oddly, his body swaying in an uncoordinated yet oddly determined manner

"Axel....what the hell are you doing?" You can't help the snort that fell from your lips.

He stops mid hip-thrust stopping to look at you with a huge grin. "Cheering you up by dancing the bad day away!"

"You look like you're having a stroke," you giggled watching as he continued to dance ridiculously around you.

Your laughs filled the air, Axel smiling in satisfaction as he spins around one last time.

"There she is," he cooes, stepping forward to pull you back into his arms.

You sighed, but this time, it wasn’t out of frustration. Leaning into him, you let your arms wrap around his neck as his warmth surrounded you once more.

"Feel at least a little better?" He asks looking down at you with his adoring gaze, lazily swaying you both back and forth.

You nodded with a small grin on your face. "Definitely"

Axel gives you a soft peck on your lips, squeezing your hips lightly.

"How about some donuts and a movie at my place?" Your boyfriend suggests sweetly. "You left your heating pad there from last time."

It's like the sun came out when the proposition left his mouth, your gathering your school bag and phone from the ground immediately.

"I'm ready," you grinned up at the tall blue eyed boy, taking his hand that he held out for you.

As you and Axel walked hand in hand to your cars, a comfortable silence settling between you, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink, he suddenly glanced at you with a smirk.

"You know," he mused, squeezing your fingers, "if you're ever feeling down, my dance services are always available. I do take requests."

You chuckled, shaking your head at his silliness. "Good to know, baby."

-------------------------------------------------------------------

@obsidian-fury

(A/n: Sorry it's short, I'm trying to put this one out fast and want to come up with something cute for valentines day, and then need to start working on the continuation of 'who's the cute boy.' Y'all, I'm sick, I'm un-well, did part 3 seem kind of rushed? Still processing everything that happened. ALSO TANNER AND MARY?? I used to love watching Mary's youtube videos and thought they were so cute, I love that they're together!!)

[oskea93]

Kansas Anymore (4)

Tyler Owens x OC

Summary: In which Riley Owens, the ex-wife of the infamous Tornado Wrangler, has 36 hours to come to terms if moving to a whole new country with their small daughter is something she truly wants to do.

Warnings: Cursing, angst, suggested smut, fluff. ✶ Chapter One ✶ ✶ Chapter Two ✶ ✶ Chapter Three ✶

■ A/N: You guys are amazing! I just want to say thank you so much for loving this story and following the tale of Riley and Tyler ❤️ ■ Taglist is available - just drop a comment! Would love to hear your thoughts, questions, or maybe just drop by to say hello! Can't wait to hear from y'all

Word Count: 11491 ( super long flashback!)

TL:  @ellesmythe @18lkpeters @hookslove1592, @djs8891, @smoothdogsgirl @queenslandlover-93 @imjustamehbleh @love2write2626 @lt-jakeseresin @starcrossedtrek @kmc1989 @lauraseresin @freyagallileaevans @silscintilla

November, 2022

“Nicholas needs those prints on his desk no later than six tonight so he can get them sent to the designers in Japan.”

I nodded my head as my assistant rambled off the various tasks that awaited me as we walked back to my office. “Neve is asking that you meet her for lunch tomorrow around noon and then you have that meeting with the fashion head at the London branch at 2:45.”  

As we rounded the corner to my office, the rhythmic click of my heels against the polished floor came to a sudden halt. My breath hitched, my heart skipping a beat as my eyes landed on the uninvited and unannounced visitor who had made himself far too comfortable on my couch. There he was, lounging as though he owned the place, one arm draped casually along the backrest, the other holding a phone he was in the process of slipping into his jacket pocket. 

His sharp, green eyes found mine immediately, lighting up with a glint of amusement. A slow, knowing smile crept across his face, curling at the edges like he had been waiting for this exact moment. If he noticed the way my grip tightened on the folder in my hands, he didn’t let it show. 

“Hello, darlin’,” he drawled, his rich voice filling the room with a warmth that felt entirely out of place in the cool, professional space of my office. 

I didn’t move. Couldn’t, really. My brain was still processing the audacity of him sitting there, legs crossed, exuding the kind of confidence that bordered on arrogance. The faint scent of leather and something smokier—cologne, perhaps—lingered in the air, mixing with the faint hum of the heating system. 

“I wasn’t aware anyone was waiting for you, Ri—” Charlotte’s voice faltered, her nervousness evident as her eyes darted quickly between the two of us. “Clara didn’t mention anything about a meeting or a visitor.”

“It’s fine, Charlotte.” My response was clipped, my tone distracted as I glanced toward Tyler, who stood there with a self-satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “If you can just give me a minute to deal with this—” I gestured toward him, my hand vaguely waving in his direction, as though dismissing an irritating inconvenience.

“Deal with me?” Tyler interjected, his voice sharp with mock indignation. “Gotta handle me like I’m some dog and not her husband.” His sarcastic tone dripped with bitterness as he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Not like we weren’t together for seven years or anything.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened considerably as the weight of his words sank in. “This is your husband?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper, her gaze flitting back to me, searching for confirmation and clarity.

I turned sharply to face Charlotte, who now looked as though she'd accidentally walked into a war zone. Her fingers hovered nervously over the clipboard she always carried. The poor girl was still new, and this was far from the kind of situation I wanted her to deal with on a Tuesday afternoon.

“Yes, Charlotte,” I said briskly, trying to maintain my composure. “This... is my husband. Ex-husband, technically.”

Tyler’s smirk widened as he leaned back comfortably on the couch, his arms stretched along the top of it like he owned the place. “Ex-husband, current headache. You know, same difference.”

I shot him a glare before turning back to Charlotte, who looked as if she were trying to decide between fleeing or melting into the floor. “Why don’t you take an early coffee break,” I suggested with a tight smile. “I can handle this.”

“But the prints—” she started, glancing between Tyler and me like she was weighing whether leaving me alone with him would be a mistake.

“I’ll have them done on time,” I interrupted, my tone firm. “Just give me a minute.”

Charlotte hesitated for only a second longer before nodding and scurrying off down the hall, her clipboard clutched protectively to her chest. Once she was out of earshot, I turned my full attention to Tyler, who was now making himself at home by casually flipping through one of the glossy fashion portfolios on the coffee table.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, crossing my arms.

“Good to see you too, darlin’,” he said, not bothering to look up as he flipped another page. “I like what you’ve done with the office. Very... you. Cold, professional, and just a little intimidating.”

“Cut the crap, Tyler,” I snapped. “How did you even get past security? Last I checked, my assistant doesn’t schedule appointments for ghosts from my past.”

He finally set the portfolio down, his expression softening just enough to make me suspicious. “Relax. I told the guy at the front desk that I was here to surprise my wife. Guess they’re suckers for a good romance.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “Romance? That’s rich, coming from you.”

His smile faltered, just for a second, but it was enough to remind me that underneath all his bravado, Tyler was as human as the rest of us. Not that I was about to let him off the hook.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I pressed. “Why are you here?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked up at me. For a moment, he seemed almost... serious. “I needed to see you.”

I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, I sighed and moved behind my desk, needing the physical barrier between us. “If this is about the divorce papers, I already signed them. You should’ve gotten them weeks ago.”

“It’s not about the papers,” he said quietly.

“Then what?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care. “Because unless this is about something important, I really don’t have time for whatever game you’re playing.”

“Would it be bad for me to say that I fucking miss you? That I miss my fucking kid?” His voice cracked slightly, the anger bubbling up but laced with something raw—pain. He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident in the way his shoulders rose and fell with heavy breaths. “I mean, when you take a guy’s daughter away from him, make it near impossible to see her in person, and then act like I’m the bad guy for feeling this way, what do you expect? You can’t blame a guy for trying to see his own kid. For trying to see the woman he—” He stopped himself, closing his eyes for a second as if steadying his resolve. “The woman he loves. But obviously, she doesn’t love him back.”

His words hit like a series of punches, each one sharper than the last. I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, more for protection than defiance, my nails digging into my skin as I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. “Tyler, this isn’t fair,” I said quietly, trying to keep my voice steady even though I could feel the cracks forming. “You don’t get to just show up here and make this about you.”

“Make this about me?” He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “How the hell is this about me? This is about her. About the little girl who barely gets to see her dad. About the family we had—” His voice broke on the word, and he quickly cleared his throat, trying to mask the vulnerability that had slipped through. “The family we were supposed to have.”

I felt my chest tighten, guilt mixing with anger in a way that made it hard to breathe. “You think this is easy for me?” I shot back, my voice rising despite my best efforts to stay calm. “You think I wanted things to end up like this? That I wanted to—” My voice caught, and I had to pause, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears threatening to spill. “You don’t know what it’s like, Tyler. To feel like you’re constantly the one holding everything together while someone else gets to just… walk away.”

“Walk away?” His voice was louder now, the anger fully surfacing as he took a step closer. “You think I walked away? You think I wanted to lose everything? To lose you? To lose her?” His green eyes burned into mine, the weight of his words settling heavily between us. “I didn’t walk away, Riley. You pushed me out. You built a wall so high that I couldn’t climb it, no matter how hard I tried.”

I shook my head, unable to look at him, because if I did, I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep the tears at bay. “This isn’t the time, Tyler,” I murmured, my voice barely audible. “This isn’t the place.”

“When is it ever going to be the time, huh?” he challenged, his voice rising again. “When are we ever going to talk about this? About us? Or is this just how it’s going to be? You pretending like I don’t exist, like I’m some stranger who doesn’t have the right to see his own family?”

“You don’t get to stand here and act like you’re the victim,” I snapped, the frustration spilling over despite my best efforts to keep it contained. “You don’t get to show up out of nowhere and throw this all in my face, like I’m the one who ruined everything.”

“Then who did, Riley?” he shot back, taking another step closer. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t just me.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. I didn’t have an answer—not one that I could say out loud, anyway. Because the truth was, he wasn’t entirely wrong. But admitting that felt like opening a door I wasn’t sure I’d be able to close again.

Tyler let out a bitter sigh, running a hand down his face as if trying to collect himself. “I just… I just want to see her,” he said, his voice softer now, the anger giving way to something more vulnerable. “I just want to be her dad. That’s all I’m asking for. Is that really too much?”

“It’s not up to me to decide—that’s what the courts are for, and that’s what the lawyers are going to discuss in a couple of weeks.” My voice was steady, though I could feel the strain in my chest as I spoke. I didn’t want this conversation, not here, not now. “I’ve never stopped her from talking to you, Tyler—”

“It’s not the same as seeing her in person, Riley!” he snapped, his voice rising before he caught himself. He glanced around quickly, realizing we were in a public space, and lowered his tone, though the frustration still simmered in every word. “Seeing her on a computer screen is *not* the same as seeing her in person. You know that. I’m not going to let her grow up without a dad—no matter how many miles are between us.”

I sighed, trying to keep my composure, but his words hit me in places I didn’t want to acknowledge. “You think I don’t know that?” I hissed, leaning in slightly so our conversation wouldn’t draw the attention of the people nearby. “Do you think this is what I wanted? For her to have a relationship with her dad through a screen? For us to be having this fight in the first place?”

“Then why?” he demanded, his voice lower now but no less intense. “Why does it feel like I’m the only one fighting for her? For us? Why does it feel like I’m the one who has to jump through every goddamn hoop just to be a part of her life?”

“That’s not fair,” I shot back, my voice trembling slightly, though I wasn’t sure if it was from anger, guilt, or a mix of both. “Do you think this is easy for me, Tyler? Do you think I wanted to uproot her life, to make her live in two different worlds? I didn’t make these decisions lightly, and you know that.”

“Yeah? Well, it doesn’t feel like you thought about me at all,” he said bitterly, shaking his head as he leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “Or about what it would do to her, growing up without both of her parents in the same place. You say you didn’t make the decision lightly, but it sure feels like you didn’t think about anyone but yourself.”

I flinched at his words, even though I tried not to let it show. “That’s not fair,” I repeated, though it felt weaker this time, less convincing even to myself. “You don’t know what it was like for me. You don’t know what I had to weigh, what I had to sacrifice—”

“And you think I didn’t sacrifice anything?” he interrupted, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward slightly, his voice growing more intense despite the quiet. “You think I didn’t lose everything the day you left? You took her, Riley. You didn’t just take my daughter, you took my family, my home, my—” He stopped, clenching his jaw as if the words were too heavy to say out loud. “You made the decision for both of us. You didn’t even give me a chance to fight for us.”

“I gave you plenty of chances, Tyler,” I said sharply, my own anger bubbling to the surface now. “But you didn’t fight then. You didn’t fight for us when it mattered.”

His face fell, and for a moment, I thought I’d managed to shut him down. But then he let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he stood up fully, towering over me. “That’s rich, Riley. That’s real rich. Blaming me for something that was just as much your fault as it was mine.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he held up a hand, cutting me off. “You know what? Forget it. I’m not here to argue with you about the past. I’m here for her. I don’t care what you think about me, or what you think I deserve. She deserves to have her dad in her life, not just on some damn screen. And I’m not going to stop fighting for that.”

“You think I want to keep her from you?” I said, my voice shaking now, the walls I’d built around myself beginning to crumble. “You think I want her to grow up without her dad? I’ve done everything I can to make this work, Tyler. I’ve tried to make it fair, to give you access to her even from a distance. But this—this isn’t just about what you want. It’s about her. It’s about what’s best for her.”

“And you think what’s best for her is growing up with her dad as a visitor in her life?”

I shook my head, exhaustion heavy in every movement. “I’m not going to continue this here. Not in my office. Not in front of all these people.” My voice was firm, but the weariness bled through despite my best efforts to keep it together.

Tyler didn’t even flinch. He stood there, arms crossed, his jaw set in a way that told me he wasn’t letting this go. “No,” he said, his voice calm but resolute, “but we are gonna continue it tonight when you get off.” He spoke as though it was a fact, not a request, his tone leaving no room for argument. “There’s a bar down in the lobby of my ho—”

“No,” I interrupted sharply, shaking my head and holding up a hand to stop him. “I’m not meeting you at some hotel, Tyler.”

“It’s not—” He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to keep himself calm. “It’s not about the hotel, Riley. It’s about having a damn conversation where we’re not surrounded by your coworkers or random strangers.” His voice softened slightly, but the frustration was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. “Somewhere neutral. Somewhere we can actually talk.”

I crossed my arms, my stance defensive, but it wasn’t enough to mask the crack in my resolve. “We don’t need to talk. Everything that needs to be said is being handled by lawyers. That’s the whole point of this process, Tyler.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Lawyers? Really? You’re going to let lawyers decide what’s best for our daughter? For us?” His green eyes burned into mine, and for a moment, I had to look away. “You can’t just hide behind them forever, Riley. At some point, you’re going to have to face me. You’re going to have to face this.”

“I’m not hiding,” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended. “I’m doing what I have to do to protect her. To protect us. You think this is easy for me? That I enjoy dragging this out in a courtroom?”

“Then stop dragging it out!” he countered, his voice rising again before he quickly brought it back down, mindful of the people nearby. “Stop making this harder than it has to be. Just meet me halfway, Riley. That’s all I’m asking.”

I let out a shaky breath, my arms dropping to my sides as the weight of his words settled over me. “I have been meeting you halfway. I’ve done everything I can to make this work. But you—” I paused, swallowing hard as I fought to keep my emotions in check. “You’re the one who keeps pushing. You’re the one who keeps showing up like this, making demands, acting like you’re the only one who’s hurting.”

“You think I’m just making demands?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “You think I like showing up here, practically begging to be a part of her life? I’m trying, Riley. I’m trying so damn hard, and it feels like no matter what I do, it’s never enough for you.”

“It’s not about me,” I said, my tone softening despite myself. “It’s about her. It’s always been about her.”

“Then start acting like it,” he said bluntly, the words cutting through me like a knife. “Because right now, all she’s seeing is two parents who can’t get their shit together. And if we don’t figure this out—if we don’t fix this—she’s the one who’s going to pay the price.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of his words settling heavily between us. I glanced around the room, noticing the curious glances from a few of my coworkers, and felt a fresh wave of anxiety wash over me. This wasn’t the place for this. He was right about that, at least.

“I’ll think about it,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m not promising anything.”

Tyler studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded, though it was more out of resignation than agreement. “You’ve got my number,” he said simply before turning on his heel and walking away, leaving me standing there with a knot in my stomach and a thousand emotions I didn’t know how to process…

I pulled the umbrella closed as I stepped through the door, the soft patter of rain fading into the background as the sound of muted voices and gentle laughter floated through the lobby. The warm light of the space contrasted sharply with the chill I’d carried in from outside, but it did little to ease the knot in my stomach. The signs leading to the bar area guided me forward, my footsteps slow and deliberate despite the tension urging me to turn around and leave.

From the time Tyler had walked out of my office earlier that day, up until twenty minutes before I finally left work, I’d been locked in an internal battle with myself. My thoughts had spun in circles, bouncing between anger, guilt, and reluctant understanding. I didn’t want to be here—didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d won, that his persistence had cracked my resolve. But deep down, I knew this wasn’t about winning or losing. It was about Caroline.

Tyler was her father. The man she adored. The man she looked up to with those bright, wide eyes that lit up at the sound of his voice. No matter how much history there was between Tyler and me, no matter how much bitterness lingered in the spaces we couldn’t seem to bridge, I couldn’t deny that bond. And I couldn’t deny that she needed him.

I never wanted to be one of those moms who cut their child’s father out of their life just because the relationship had ended on a sour note. It wasn’t fair—to him, to her, or to the family we’d once tried so hard to build. Caroline didn’t deserve to pay the price for our mistakes. She didn’t deserve to grow up carrying the weight of our failures.

This wasn’t about me. It couldn’t be. My relationship with Tyler, as complicated and fractured as it was, was between him and me. Caroline didn’t ask to be caught in the middle of it. She didn’t deserve to feel the tension that lingered in every strained phone call, every awkward handoff. And no matter how much easier it would have been to keep him at arm’s length, to shield myself from the pain of reopening wounds I hadn’t fully healed, I couldn’t do that to her.

As I stepped into the bar area, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses greeted me. The warm amber glow of the overhead lights made the space feel inviting, but it didn’t calm the nerves that twisted in my stomach. My eyes scanned the room, searching for him, and it didn’t take long to find him seated at a small table near the back, his posture tense but his gaze steady as he watched the door. He saw me before I saw him, and as our eyes met, I felt a flicker of something I couldn’t quite name. Relief? Sadness? Maybe both.

He stood as I approached, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. “You came,” he said simply, his voice low and careful, as though he didn’t want to push me away before the conversation even started.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak just yet. Instead, I slid into the chair across from him, setting my umbrella against the side of the table and brushing a few stray droplets of water off my coat. The silence between us was heavy, but not unbearable. It felt like an unspoken truce, a tentative step toward something neither of us could quite define.

“I wasn’t sure if you would,” he admitted after a moment, his gaze flickering down to the table before meeting mine again. “I half-expected you to blow me off.”

“Believe me, I thought about it,” I said, my tone dry but not unkind. “But this isn’t about you or me, Tyler. It’s about Caroline. It’s always about her.”

He nodded slowly, his expression softening as he leaned back in his chair. “I know. That’s why I asked you to come. I’m not trying to make this harder on you, Riley. I’m not trying to pick a fight. I just… I just want to figure out how to make this work.”

I studied him for a moment, searching for cracks in his sincerity, but I didn’t find any. He looked tired—more tired than I’d seen him in a long time—and the weight he carried was written in the lines around his eyes, in the way his shoulders sagged just slightly.

“I want that too,” I said quietly, surprising even myself with the admission. “I want her to have both of us in her life, Tyler. But this… this isn’t easy. You know that.”

He nodded again, his jaw tightening slightly as he processed my words. “I know it’s not easy. But nothing about this has been easy, Riley. Nothing about losing you, losing her, has been easy. I just…

“I don’t want to talk about us—that’s not why I came.” My voice was firm, though I could feel the tension in my chest, the strain of holding back everything I wanted to say but knew I couldn’t. I watched Tyler as he nodded slowly, his jaw tightening for a moment before he exhaled and leaned back in his chair.

“Fair enough,” he said after a beat, his voice quieter now, more measured. “I didn’t ask you here to dredge up the past, Riley. I just… I needed to talk to you. About Caroline” His eyes softened as he mentioned our daughter, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through the frustration that had been so present earlier in the day.

I nodded, forcing myself to stay grounded, to keep the walls I’d built firmly in place. “Good,” I replied, my tone clipped but not harsh. “Because that’s the only reason I’m here. For Caroline.”

Tyler’s lips twitched into something that was almost a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I figured as much,” he said, his voice tinged with a mix of resignation and understanding. “I know where we stand, Riley. I’m not delusional.”

I raised an eyebrow at that, leaning back slightly in my own chair. “Do you?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended. “Because showing up at my office like that didn’t exactly scream ‘I know where we stand.’ It screamed ‘I’m going to bulldoze my way through every boundary you’ve tried to set.’”

He flinched slightly at my words but didn’t back down. Instead, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he met my gaze head-on. “I’m not trying to bulldoze anything. I’m just trying to be heard. You don’t make it easy, Riley. You’re so locked up in your own head, your own plans, that it feels like there’s no room for me in any of it.”

I clenched my jaw, my fingers curling into fists beneath the table as I fought to keep my emotions in check. “This isn’t about you,” I said quietly, though the edge in my voice was unmistakable. “It’s about her. It’s always been about her.”

“And that’s exactly why I’m here,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself and glanced around the bar. His tone dropped again, calm but laced with frustration. “Because I want to be a part of Caroline’s life, Riley. Not just some guy she talks to on a screen once a week. I want to see her. I want to know her. I want to be her dad.”

“You are her dad,” I said, my voice soft but firm. “No one is taking that away from you, Tyler. I’ve never tried to take that away from you.”

“Maybe not intentionally,” he said, his tone gentler now but no less pointed. “But that’s what it feels like, Riley. Every time I have to fight to see her, every time I have to go through you or a screen or a lawyer just to talk to my own daughter, it feels like I’m being pushed further and further away.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I muttered, my voice low but steady, though I could feel the tension building in my chest. “But if you just saw things from my point of view, you’d understand where I’m coming from.”

Tyler’s jaw tightened, and he let out a quiet, bitter laugh as he leaned back in his chair. “Your point of view?” he repeated, his tone laced with frustration. “Riley, I’ve been *trying* to see things from your point of view for years. I’ve been trying to understand why you keep me at arm’s length, why you make it so damn hard for me to be a part of her life. But no matter how much I try, it feels like you’ve already made up your mind about me.”

“That’s not true,” I said quickly, though the words felt hollow even as I said them. “I haven’t made up my mind about you. This isn’t about you, Tyler. It’s about her. It’s about what’s best for Caroline.”

“And you think you’re the only one who knows what’s best for her?” he shot back, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself. He glanced around the bar, his shoulders stiff as he leaned forward again, lowering his voice. “You think I don’t want what’s best for her? That I don’t lie awake at night wondering if I’m doing enough, if I’m ever going to be enough for her?”

I looked away, unable to hold his gaze as his words hit far too close to home. “I know you love her,” I said quietly, my fingers curling into fists beneath the table. “I’ve never doubted that, Tyler. But love isn’t always enough. She needs more than that. She needs stability. She needs routine. And your job—”

“Here we go again,” he interrupted, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossing over his chest. “My job. The big, bad storm chaser who can’t possibly be a good dad because he doesn’t punch a clock in some office every day.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended. “Don’t twist this around to make me the bad guy. You know exactly what I mean. Your job is dangerous, Tyler. It’s unpredictable. You’re constantly on the road, constantly chasing storms and putting yourself in harm’s way. How am I supposed to feel comfortable with her being around that?”

“You think I’d ever put her in danger?” he asked, his voice low but cutting, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward again. “You really think I’d be reckless with my own daughter? That I’d ever do anything to hurt her?”

“I’m not saying you’d do it on purpose,” I said, my voice trembling slightly, though I tried to keep it steady. “But accidents happen, Tyler. No matter how careful you are, no matter how much you plan, things can go wrong. And I’m not willing to take that risk with her.”

He stared at me for a long moment, his expression a mix of anger, hurt, and something else I couldn’t quite place. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair as he looked away. “You act like I don’t know that,” he said quietly, his voice softer now but no less intense. “Like I don’t think about that every damn day. You think I don’t know the risks? That I don’t lie awake at night thinking about all the ways things could go wrong? I know, Riley. I know better than anyone. But that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve to be in her life.”

“I never said you didn’t deserve to be in her life,” I replied, my voice softening despite the frustration simmering beneath the surface. “I want you to be in her life, Tyler. I want her to have her dad. But it’s not that simple. You can’t just show up whenever it’s convenient for you and expect everything to fall into place.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” he said quickly, his tone defensive. “I’m trying, Riley. I’m trying to figure this out, to find a way to make this work. But you make it so damn hard. You keep putting up walls, and no matter how much I try to break through them, you just build them higher.”

I swallowed hard, his words hitting a nerve I didn’t want to acknowledge. “I’m not putting up walls,” I said quietly, though even I could hear the uncertainty in my voice. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for her. That’s all I’ve ever tried to do.”

“And you think I’m not?” Tyler asked, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself again. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as his eyes locked onto mine, our faces mere inches apart. His frustration simmered under the surface, but there was something else there too—something raw and desperate that made it hard to hold his gaze. “Remember our dream?” he continued, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. “Two or three kids, a house with a picket fence and a wraparound porch. We used to talk about it all the time, Riley. Don’t act like you don’t remember.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes as I blinked away the tears that were beginning to well up. I hated that he could still do this—still drag me back into the past, to a time when things were simpler, and the weight of reality hadn’t yet crushed the dreams we’d built together. “Of course, I remember,” I muttered, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “But that was a long time ago, Tyler. What we had is over.” I forced the words out, each one feeling heavier than the last, as though saying them out loud would somehow make them easier to believe.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said softly, his tone shifting as he reached across the table, his hand brushing against mine. The gesture was small, almost hesitant, but it was enough to send a jolt through me. My instinct kicked in before I could think, and I jerked my hand back as though his touch had burned me.

“Don’t,” I said sharply, the word cutting through the space between us like a blade. My heart was pounding in my chest, a mix of anger and something I couldn’t quite name. “You don’t get to do that, Tyler. You don’t get to sit here and act like we can just go back to the way things were. Like nothing happened. Like you didn’t—” I stopped myself, my voice catching as the words threatened to spill out. I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady myself before continuing. “What we had wasn’t enough. It’s not enough now, and it���s not going to be enough for Caroline either.”

His expression shifted, the hurt flashing across his face so briefly that I almost missed it. “That’s not fair,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to sit there and tell me that what we had wasn’t enough when it was enough for me. When it still is enough for me.”

I shook my head, my hands gripping the edge of the table as though it was the only thing keeping me grounded. “You don’t understand, Tyler,” I said, my voice cracking under the weight of my emotions. “You’re still holding onto this idea of us, this picture-perfect version of what we were supposed to be. But that version doesn’t exist anymore. It hasn’t for a long time.”

“Why not?” he asked, his voice louder now, his frustration boiling over. “Why doesn’t it exist anymore, Riley? Because you gave up on it? Because you decided it wasn’t worth fighting for?” He sat back in his chair, shaking his head as he let out a bitter laugh. “You talk about me not seeing things from your point of view, but have you ever tried to see things from mine? Have you ever stopped to think about what it felt like to lose you? To lose my family? To lose the life we were supposed to have?”

His words hit like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to argue, to defend myself, to tell him that he didn’t understand what it had been like for me either. But the truth was, he wasn’t entirely wrong. I had made the decision to leave. I had been the one to walk away, to tear apart the foundation of the life we’d built together. And even though I knew, deep down, that it had been the right decision, that didn’t make it hurt any less.

“I didn’t give up,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t walk away because I stopped loving you, Tyler. I walked away because I couldn’t keep pretending that love was enough. We were falling apart, and no matter how much we tried to hold on, we couldn’t stop it. I had to make a choice—for me, for her. And it was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

Tyler stared at me, his jaw tightening as he absorbed my words. For a moment, I thought he might argue, might try to convince me that I was wrong. But then he let out a heavy sigh,

“This was a mistake,” I said abruptly, my voice shaking as I scrambled to my feet. The chair scraped loudly against the floor, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables, but I didn’t care. I needed to get out of there. I could feel the walls closing in, the weight of Tyler’s words pressing down on me like a storm I couldn’t escape.

I grabbed my purse and umbrella in one swift motion, fumbling slightly as my hands trembled. “I shouldn’t have come,” I muttered, more to myself than to him. My heart was pounding in my chest, a whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. Anger, sadness, guilt—they all swirled together, making it impossible to think clearly.

“Riley, wait,” Tyler said, his voice steady but tinged with urgency as he stood too. His movements were slower, more measured, as though he was afraid that pushing too hard would make me bolt entirely. “Don’t do this. Don’t just walk away.”

I shook my head, avoiding his gaze as I clutched my purse tightly. “I can’t do this, Tyler,” I said, my voice cracking despite my best efforts to keep it together. “I thought we could have a conversation, a civil conversation, but it’s always the same with us. It always comes back to this—to you and me and everything that went wrong.”

“Because it’s not fixed, Riley!” he shot back, his own frustration bubbling to the surface. He ran a hand through his hair, his green eyes blazing as he looked at me. “We can’t just pretend it didn’t happen, like it doesn’t matter. You think we can just keep sweeping it under the rug and everything will magically work itself out? That’s not how this works. That’s not how we fix this.”

I let out a shaky laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Fix this?” I repeated, my voice bitter. “There is no fixing this, Tyler. What we had is broken. It’s been broken for a long time, and no amount of talking about dreams or the past or what could’ve been is going to change that.”

“It doesn’t have to be broken,” he said, his tone softening as he took a step closer. “Riley, I know things weren’t perfect—hell, I know I wasn’t perfect—but that doesn’t mean we can’t try. For us. For Caroline.”

I flinched at the mention of her name, the knot in my stomach tightening. “This isn’t about Caroline,” I said quietly, though the words felt like a lie even as I said them. “This is about you not letting go. About you refusing to accept that sometimes, love isn’t enough. Sometimes, it’s not enough to fix what’s broken.”

“I’m not refusing to let go,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “I’m refusing to give up. There’s a difference, Riley. I’m fighting for my family. Because I still believe we can make this work, even if you don’t.”

I stared at him, my chest tightening as his words hung heavy in the air between us. For a moment, I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that it was possible to go back, to rebuild what had been lost. But I knew better. I knew that some things couldn’t be undone, no matter how much you wished they could.

“This was a mistake,” I repeated, my voice steadier now as I took a step back, putting more distance between us. “I shouldn’t have come here, Tyler. I thought we could talk like adults, but it’s clear that we’re just going in circles. And I can’t keep doing this. I won’t.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but I shook my head, cutting him off before he could say anything. “Don’t,” I said firmly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Please, don’t. I can’t do this right now.”

“Can I at least see my daughter before I head back to Arkansas?” Tyler’s voice was quieter now, but the weight of his words lingered between us. He wasn’t asking out of anger this time, or frustration—it was something softer, more vulnerable, and it stopped me in my tracks. His green eyes, usually so sharp and unrelenting, were pleading now, searching mine for any sign of compromise.

I froze, my hand tightening around the strap of my purse as I stood just a few steps from the door, the rain still pattering faintly against the glass. My heart felt like it was caught in a vise, squeezed between the exhaustion of this entire conversation and the guilt that his request stirred up. I wanted to say yes, to tell him he could see her, to give him that moment with Caroline that I knew he was desperate for. But another part of me hesitated, unsure if giving in would open a door I wasn’t ready to walk through.

“Tyler…” I started, my voice wavering as I turned slightly to face him. “You know it’s not that simple.”

His jaw tightened, and he let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the edge of the table. “It should be,” he said softly, his voice laced with a mix of sadness and frustration. “She’s my daughter too, Riley. I shouldn’t have to beg just to see her.”

I let out a heavy sigh, the weight of the conversation pressing down on me. “I’m not trying to keep her from you,” I said softly, though my voice carried the exhaustion of repeating the same thing over and over. “It’s just… it’s late, Tyler. She doesn’t even know you’re in town. You showing up now will only get her hopes up, and then, come tomorrow, when you go off with the wind again, she’s going to be another sad kid who has to deal with her family not being together.”

Tyler’s face twisted, a mixture of frustration and hurt flashing across his expression. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped, running a hand through his hair as he took a step back. His hands clenched into fists at his sides before he let out a slow breath, forcing himself to loosen them. “That’s not fair,” he said finally, his voice low but steady. “You make it sound like I just swoop in and out of her life without a care in the world, like I don’t think about what it does to her. Do you think I don’t know how hard it is for her? Do you think I don’t feel it every time I have to say goodbye?”

“I’m not saying you don’t care,” I replied, my voice softer now but still firm. “I know you do. I know you love her more than anything. But that doesn’t change the fact that your life isn’t built for this, Tyler. It’s not built for her.”

He flinched at my words, and for a moment, I thought he might lash out, but instead, he just shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “You keep saying that,” he said, his tone quiet but sharp. “That my life isn’t built for her. That I’m not built for this. But do you-“

"Fine!" I snapped, my voice cutting through the hum of the city like a whip. My frustration with the entire conversation tipped over, spilling out before I could stop it. "Fine, you can come see her, Tyler. Because I’m done. I’m done having this same talk with you over and over again. I can’t do it anymore."

Tyler blinked, clearly caught off guard by my outburst. For a moment, he just stared at me, his lips parting slightly as though he wanted to say something, but no words came out. Then, slowly, his expression shifted, the anger and frustration melting into something softer. Something more cautious.

"Riley…" he started, his voice low, almost hesitant. He reached out as if to steady the situation, his hand hovering in the air between us. "I didn’t mean to push you like this. I just… I just want—"

"No," I interrupted, holding up a hand to stop him. "Don’t. Don’t try to justify it. I know what you want, Tyler. You’ve made that perfectly clear. And you know what? I want it too. I want Caroline to have her dad in her life. I want her to know you, to love you, to feel like she has both parents who care about her. But this…" I gestured vaguely between us, my hand trembling slightly. "This isn’t working. This constant back and forth, this fighting—this isn’t healthy for anyone. Least of all her."

Silence enveloped us for the first time tonight, thick and heavy, like the calm that settles just before a storm. Neither of us moved, the weight of everything we’d said hanging in the air between us. I could feel Tyler’s eyes on me, his gaze filled with something I couldn’t quite decipher—relief, frustration, desperation, maybe all of it at once. My own emotions were tangled beyond recognition, a mix of exhaustion, guilt, and an aching sadness I couldn’t seem to shake.

Finally, I broke the stillness, my voice low but firm. “You already have my address,” I said, not looking at him as I adjusted the strap of my purse on my shoulder. “Just meet me at my place, and we can go from there.”

I turned, my heels clicking softly against the floor as I started to walk away, eager to escape the intensity of his presence. But something made me stop, something deep in my chest that wouldn’t let me leave without one last parting word. Slowly, I turned back to face him, catching the faint flicker of surprise in his expression as I met his gaze head-on.

“You have an hour, Tyler,” I said, my tone sharper now, the edge of frustration creeping back in despite the exhaustion weighing me down. “I’d make it count if I were you.”

His brows furrowed slightly, as though he was trying to read between the lines of what I’d just said. For a moment, he didn’t respond, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, only to close again. It was rare to see Tyler at a loss for words, and for some reason, it made the knot in my stomach tighten even more.

“Riley—” he started, but I cut him off with a small shake of my head.

“Don’t,” I said quickly, my voice trembling slightly despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “Just… don’t say anything. Not right now. Just show up, okay? If you really mean what you’ve been saying tonight, if you really want to make this work—for her—then prove it. Be there.”

For a moment, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, his jaw tightening as he seemed to steel himself. “I’ll be there,” he said quietly, his voice steady but laced with something raw. “You have my word.”

I nodded in return, not trusting myself to say anything else. Without another word, I turned and walked toward the door, my steps quick and purposeful even though my chest felt like it was about to cave in.

This wasn’t how I’d wanted things to go. I’d come here tonight hoping for clarity, for some kind of resolution that would make everything feel easier, lighter. But instead, I felt more conflicted than ever. Tyler’s words echoed in my mind, his frustration and pain mingling with my own until I couldn’t tell where his ended and mine began.

An hour. That’s all I’d given him. It wasn’t much, but it was all I could give right now. And as much as I hated to admit it, a part of me was scared—scared that he’d show up and prove me wrong, or worse, that he wouldn’t show up at all.

I took a deep breath, the cold air stinging my lungs, and started toward my car. One hour. That’s all I had to wait. And yet, it already felt like an eternity…

“Daddy has to go, but I love you so much, Sugar pie,” Tyler’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, as he rocked Caroline gently in the chair. The sound of the creaking rocker echoed faintly through the quiet house, blending with the muffled hum of the rain outside. He cradled her close, her small arms wrapped around his neck as if she could keep him from leaving just by holding on tight enough. The sight of them together in the dim glow of the nightlight was enough to twist something deep in my chest, but I stayed hidden in the hallway, my back pressed against the wall as I eavesdropped on their final moments together tonight.

The rocker creaked again; a sound I’d grown so used to in those first sleepless months when Caroline was just a newborn. Tyler had spent hours in that chair, rocking her back and forth, humming softly under his breath when she couldn’t settle. He’d struggled to put the chair together the week before she was born, insisting that he didn’t need the instructions, and I’d laughed as he cursed quietly under his breath every time he got a piece wrong. Now, watching him rock our little girl in it, I wondered if he remembered those moments as clearly as I did. If they hurt him as much as they hurt me.

“Why can’t you stay with me, Daddy?” Caroline’s small voice broke through my thoughts, and I felt my heart shatter into a thousand pieces. Her words were so innocent, so full of the pure, unfiltered honesty that only a child could have, and yet, they carried a weight that neither of us could bear.

Tyler froze for a moment, his arms tightening around her as if he could shield her from the pain of the question. He pressed his lips to her hair, his eyes squeezed shut as he took a deep, shaky breath. “Oh, Sugar pie,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You know I’d stay if I could. I’d stay with you forever if I could.”

“Then why can’t you?” Caroline asked, her small voice cracking with confusion and hurt. She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him with those wide, tear-filled eyes that always seemed to cut straight through to his soul. “Why can’t you stay here with me and Mommy?”

I covered my mouth with my hand, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as I listened from the shadows of the hallway. I knew this moment would come eventually—the moment when Caroline would start asking the hard questions, the ones we didn’t have easy answers for. But no amount of preparation could have made this easier. Hearing her little voice tremble, seeing the way she clung to him like her life depended on it, was almost too much to bear.

Tyler swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggled to find the right words. His hand came up to gently stroke Caroline’s hair, his fingers trembling slightly. “Sometimes, grown-ups have to live in different places,” he said finally, his voice soft and careful. “It’s not because I don’t love you, or because I don’t want to be with you. It’s just… the way things have to be right now.”

“But me and Mommy miss you,” Caroline said, her small voice trembling as she clung tighter to her father. Her words were simple, but the weight they carried was immense, heavy enough to make my breath hitch in my chest.

She was right—I did miss him. I missed him more than I ever wanted to admit, even to myself. Tyler wasn’t just Caroline’s father; he was my husband—well, ex-husband now—but that didn’t erase the years we had spent building a life together. The memories, the laughter, the love—it was all still there, lingering in the quiet corners of my heart, no matter how much I tried to push it away.

I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes as I fought the tears that threatened to spill over. I had loved him. I still loved him. And that was the hardest part of all of this. I never thought that our happily-ever-after would turn into a bitter divorce hearing, full of accusations and tears and lawyers who didn’t care about the life we had built together. I never thought we would end up here, two people who had once promised to love each other forever now struggling to figure out how to co-parent a little girl who didn’t understand why her family had fallen apart.

Tyler had been my everything at one point. The man who knew me better than anyone, who could make me laugh even on my worst days, who had held my hand through every high and low. He was the only man I had ever truly loved, and watching that love slip through my fingers had been one of the most painful experiences of my life. It was like trying to hold onto water—no matter how tightly I tried to grasp it, it always seemed to find a way to escape.

And now, as I listened to Caroline’s innocent, heart-wrenching questions, I felt that pain all over again. But this time, it wasn’t just my pain. It was hers too. She had been caught in the middle of something she didn’t ask for, something she didn’t deserve. And that broke me in a way I couldn’t even begin to describe.

“I miss you and Mommy too, bug,” Tyler said softly, his voice cracking ever so slightly as he cradled Caroline closer. He brushed a stray curl from her forehead, his hand lingering as though he couldn’t bear to let go. “But I promise, just because I’m not here with you in person, doesn’t mean I’m not with you. I’m always in here.” He tapped her chest gently with his finger, right over her heart.

Caroline tilted her head, her big, tear-filled eyes locking onto his as she asked, “In my heart?”

Tyler nodded, a small, tender smile breaking through the sadness etched into his face. “Yep,” he said, his voice warm and reassuring. “Every time you miss me, or feel sad because I’m not here, just remember that I’m right there in your heart. And nothing—*nothing*—can ever change that.”

Caroline sniffled, her little hands clutching at his shirt as though she might fall apart if she let go. “But what if I need to talk to you?” she asked, her voice trembling. “What if I want you to hug me and you’re not here?”

Tyler’s expression tightened for a moment, the pain of her words flickering across his face like a shadow. But he quickly steadied himself, his hand moving to gently stroke her back. “You know what?” he said softly, leaning in a little closer. “If you ever need to talk to me, all you have to do is ask Mommy to call me. She can call me anytime, bug, and I’ll answer. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, I’ll stop everything to talk to you. I promise.”

“Whenever I want?” Caroline asked, her voice brightening just a little, though her tears still glistened on her cheeks.

“Whenever you want,” Tyler confirmed, his smile growing as he kissed her forehead. “You’re more important than anything else, Caroline. There’s not a single thing in this world that matters more to me than you.”

Caroline seemed to consider this for a moment, her little brow furrowing as she processed his words. Finally, she nodded, her grip on his shirt loosening just slightly. “Okay,” she said softly, her voice still hesitant but a little steadier now. “But I’m still gonna miss you, Daddy.”

Tyler’s smile faltered for a split second, and I could see the sheer effort it took for him to hold himself together in that moment. “I’m gonna miss you too, Sugar pie,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I already do. But missing someone just means you love them a whole lot, and I love you more than anything.”

Caroline seemed satisfied with that answer, her head resting against his chest as she let out a tiny sigh. Tyler rocked her gently in the chair, the motion soothing both of them as the room fell quiet for a moment.

I took that as my cue to step back into the kitchen, retreating quietly so Tyler could have a few more moments with Caroline. My footsteps were light, careful not to make any noise that could pull either of them out of their private moment. As much as I wanted to stay rooted in that hallway and soak in the tenderness of their exchange, I knew this wasn’t my moment to intrude. This was for them—just a father and his daughter, sharing a goodbye that neither of them truly wanted to say.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, I exhaled slowly, the tension in my chest refusing to loosen. I had been holding my breath since this conversation started, and even now, with the faint sound of Tyler’s voice drifting down the hall, I couldn’t seem to relax. My emotions were too tangled, too raw.

I busied myself by tidying up the already clean counter, wiping away crumbs that weren’t there and straightening the edge of a dish towel. It gave my hands something to do, gave me a distraction from the ache that lingered deep in my chest. But nothing could drown out the quiet hum of Tyler’s voice or the occasional soft murmur from Caroline. Every word, every sound, seemed to wrap itself around me like a thread, pulling me back into a web of emotions I wasn’t sure I could untangle.

The rocker creaked faintly again, the noise carrying through the stillness of the house. I imagined Tyler holding her close, whispering reassurances that he would call her soon, that he loved her more than she could possibly understand. I imagined him tucking her back under her blankets, smoothing her hair, and kissing her forehead like he’d done a hundred times before. And I imagined the look on his face—the mixture of love and pain that always seemed to linger whenever he said goodbye to her. It was a look I knew all too well, one that had been etched into my memory from the day we decided to end our marriage.

I leaned my elbows on the counter, covering my face with my hands as I tried to steady myself. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. None of this was supposed to happen. We were supposed to be a family, raising Caroline together, making memories in the home we’d built. But somewhere along the way, things had unraveled, and now here we were—two people who used to love each other, trying to figure out how to co-parent without breaking her heart in the process.

The sound of Tyler’s footsteps pulled me out of my thoughts. I straightened quickly, brushing my hands down the front of my shirt as though that could somehow mask the fact that I was barely holding it together.

He appeared in the doorway a moment later, his shoulders slightly slumped and his hands stuffed into his pockets. His eyes met mine, and for a brief moment, neither of us said anything. The silence between us wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It was heavy, filled with all the words we couldn’t say, all the emotions we couldn’t bring ourselves to admit.

“She’s asleep,” Tyler said finally, his voice low and quiet. “Knocked out as soon as her head hit the pillow.”

I nodded, my throat feeling tight as I tried to find the right words. “Thank you,” I said softly, my voice barely audible. “For being here. For… for making time for her.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, but he didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe, his gaze drifting toward the hallway where Caroline’s room was. “I hate leaving her,” he admitted after a moment, his voice cracking slightly. “Every time I walk out that door, it feels like I’m leaving a piece of myself behind.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. “She knows you love her,” I said, my voice trembling. “She knows how much you care, Tyler. And that means the world to her. Even if she doesn’t always understand why you have to go.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he looked down at the floor. “I just wish I could do more,” he said quietly. “I wish I could be here for her the way she deserves. The way you’ve been.”

My eyes drifted to the floor, unable to hold his gaze any longer. The faint sheen of pink nail polish on my toes caught my attention, a distraction so small yet so necessary in this moment. My chest felt tight, my emotions threatening to spill over as tears pricked at the edges of my vision. I blinked rapidly, willing them away, but the lump in my throat only grew heavier.

I didn’t want to cry—not now, not in front of him. Not when I’d spent so much time building the walls I needed to keep myself steady, to protect myself from everything this moment was dredging up. But the weight of the evening, of his words, of everything was becoming too much.

Seconds passed in silence, the air between us thick with unspoken emotions that neither of us seemed brave enough to confront. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw his boots step into view. Worn, scuffed, and familiar in a way that made my chest ache, they stopped just inches from my bare feet. I froze, my breath catching as I felt the distance between us shrink to nothing.

And then his hand—calloused, warm, and unmistakably his—came into view. His thumb hooked softly under my jaw, the rough pad of his finger just brushing my skin as he tilted my face upward. The gesture was gentle, unassuming, but it carried a weight that made my heart stumble in my chest. I resisted at first, my instinctive defenses kicking in, but his persistence was quiet and steady, and eventually, I gave in.

When my eyes met his, the floodgates I had been so desperately trying to hold back threatened to burst. His gaze was steady, searching mine with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. For a moment, neither of us spoke, but the silence was deafening. His green eyes—so familiar, so full of emotions I couldn’t quite name—seemed to reach straight into the parts of me I’d been trying to bury.

“Riley,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. It was the way he used to say my name, back when things were simpler, back when we were still us. Back when the love between us was enough to drown out the noise of the world. Hearing it now, like this, felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

I blinked, a single tear escaping down my cheek despite my best efforts to keep my emotions in check. His thumb shifted slightly, brushing the tear away with a tenderness that made my breath catch. “You don’t have to do that,” he murmured, his voice tinged with something I couldn’t quite place—regret, longing, maybe both. “You don’t have to hide how you’re feeling. Not from me.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as I tried to find the words that would make this moment less unbearable. “It’s not that simple,” I managed, my voice trembling as I spoke. “None of this is simple, Tyler.”

“I know it’s not,” he said quietly, his thumb still resting gently against my jaw. “But that doesn’t mean you have to carry it all on your own. You don’t have to be so strong all the time, Riley. It’s okay to let someone in.”

I shook my head, the motion small but firm, as though it was the only thing keeping me grounded. “I can’t let you back in, Tyler,” I whispered, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to steady it. “Because if I do… if I let you back in, I won’t be able to get back out.”

The words hung between us like a fragile thread, the truth of them raw and exposed. I looked away, my gaze dropping to the floor as I tried to ignore the way his presence seemed to pull me in, like gravity refusing to let me go. My chest felt tight, my breathing shallow, and I could feel the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill over if I wasn’t careful.

Tyler didn’t respond right away, but I could feel him—feel the weight of his gaze on me, the way his towering frame seemed to close the distance between us without him even moving. A moment later, I felt the heat of his breath against my skin, warm and steady, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. His body was now mere inches from mine, close enough that I could feel the faintest brush of his presence, yet still far enough that he wasn’t crossing the line. Not yet.

“Riley,” he said softly, his voice low and rough, like the sound of distant thunder. It wasn’t just my name—it was a plea, layered with all the things he wasn’t saying. The sound of it sent goosebumps racing across my arms, and I hated myself for the way my body reacted, for the way my heart betrayed me by pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

It happened so fast that I didn’t even realize it until we were both connected, his lips on mine as our bodies moved together in a rhythmic, unspoken harmony. The tension that had been building between us for so long finally cracked open, spilling out in waves of heat and desire that neither of us could contain. His hands gripped my waist, firm yet tender, as if he was afraid I might slip away, and I found myself pulling him closer, desperate to feel every inch of him against me.

The world around us seemed to dissolve, the noise, the chaos, the rational thoughts—all of it dimmed until there was nothing but us. His breath mingled with mine as his lips trailed from my mouth to my jawline, down to the sensitive hollow of my neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Each touch, every movement, felt like a spark igniting something deep within me, something I hadn’t realized was there until now.

We moved together, our bodies speaking a language that words never could. It was raw, electric, and unrelenting, as if we were pouring every ounce of the unspoken tension we’d carried for so long into this moment. Hushed moans escaped between stolen kisses, the sound of them reverberating in the stillness around us. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, grounding myself in the reality of what was happening, even as it felt like we were floating somewhere far beyond the confines of this world.

For a fleeting moment, I opened my eyes to look at him. His gaze met mine, dark and intense, filled with something I couldn’t quite name but felt in every fiber of my being. It wasn’t just passion—it was something deeper, something that terrified and thrilled me all at once. And just like that, his lips captured mine again, drawing me back into the storm of us, where nothing else mattered but this connection, this release, this undeniable pull that had finally consumed us both…

[bradleysass]

Minerva McGonagall - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 531

James Potter had acquired a shadow. A small, scruffy, grey-furred shadow with sharp green eyes and an uncanny knack for appearing whenever he least expected it. It had been two weeks since the stray cat first showed up on the Hogwarts grounds, and for some unfathomable reason, it had taken a liking to him.

"It’s McGonagall," James insisted, flopping down onto the Gryffindor common room couch, the cat hopping up beside him with a regal air. "She’s finally had enough of my nonsense and decided she needs to keep an eye on me at all times."

"McGonagall has plenty of ways to spy on you without turning into a stray cat, mate," Sirius said, flicking a balled-up bit of parchment at the feline, which ignored him entirely in favor of butting its head against James' hand.

"I dunno," Peter mused, watching as James absentmindedly scratched behind the cat’s ears. "The way she looks at you does feel a little...judgmental."

Remus snorted. "That’s just how all cats look."

James, however, wasn’t convinced. The cat had appeared out of nowhere, was oddly intelligent, and always seemed to be present when he was getting into mischief. It followed him to class, waited outside the Quidditch changing rooms, and even somehow ended up in his dormitory on multiple occasions despite the Fat Lady swearing she never let it in.

And, most suspiciously, whenever he was with Regulus Black, the cat became even more persistent.

"She doesn’t trust me," James muttered under his breath one evening, standing in a tucked-away corridor as Regulus leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed. The cat sat primly by his feet, watching them with a critical gleam in its green eyes.

"Who doesn’t trust you?" Regulus asked, raising an eyebrow.

"McGonagall."

Regulus blinked. "What?"

James gestured at the cat. "She’s been following me around. I think she knows about—" He gestured vaguely between the two of them. "You know. Us. And she’s waiting for me to mess up."

Regulus rolled his eyes, but there was a faint flush on his cheeks. "You’re an idiot, Potter."

"Am I?" James pointed at the cat. "Look at her! Tell me that’s not the expression of a professor who is very, very disappointed in me."

Regulus sighed, crouching down and holding out a hand. To James’ utter shock, the cat immediately walked over and rubbed against it, purring. Regulus scratched its head, looking entirely unimpressed. "This is a normal cat. An actual cat. One that happens to like you because you feed it and let it sleep on your bed."

James frowned. "But—"

Regulus stood, stepping closer, his voice quieter now. "If McGonagall was keeping an eye on you, do you really think she’d just sit there and watch you try to kiss me in an empty corridor?"

James opened his mouth, then shut it as Regulus smirked, leaning in just a little bit closer.

The cat flicked its tail.

"Right, okay, so maybe not McGonagall," James admitted. "But I swear, she’s up to something."

Regulus just rolled his eyes, pulling James in by the collar. "Shut up and kiss me, Potter."

The cat, despite all of James’ prior concerns, did not intervene.

[zeroseuniverse]

Got Your Back

Word Count: 500 Summary: “I have hobbies,” he replies, scrolling on his phone. “Sleeping doesn’t count.” Pairing: Park Jisung X Reader

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“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, barely glancing up from where you’re wrapping a patient’s wrist.

Jisung, your partner of two years and the only person you trust to have your back in a moving ambulance, blinks at you. “Like what?”

“Like I’m a ticking time bomb.”

“To be fair, you kind of are.” He gestures vaguely to your whole existence.

You huff. “One emotional outburst during a high-stress call does not make me a liability.”

Jisung makes a thoughtful noise. “Wasn’t just one.”

You glare at him, but your patient—a teenage skateboarder who thought he was Tony Hawk—snickers. You press a little harder than necessary on the bandage. “And you, hold still.”

Jisung wisely suppresses a smile and helps you secure the gauze. When the call is done, and you’re back in the ambulance, he tosses you a protein bar.

“Eat.”

You take it but glare at him anyway. “Stop parenting me.”

“I’m not parenting,” he says easily, adjusting his seatbelt. “I just know you get even more insufferable when you’re hungry.”

You make a noise of protest but tear the wrapper open. “Why are you so annoying?”

“Born this way.”

The radio crackles, dispatch calling out another emergency. Jisung looks at you. “Ready?”

You grin, already securing your gloves. “Always.”

Being a paramedic isn’t just a job—it’s your whole life. It has to be.

You and Jisung have seen it all. Car crashes, heart attacks, burns, shootings. You’ve saved lives together, and you’ve lost them together.

The first time you lost a patient, Jisung sat with you on the station steps, handing you a cup of gas station coffee. He didn’t say anything, just let you process.

“I should’ve done more,” you had whispered.

“We did everything we could,” he had replied, quiet but firm. “And we’ll keep doing it.”

You had looked at him then—your rookie partner who had somehow become your closest friend.

And now, two years later, he still looks at you the same way. Like he gets it. Like he gets you.

After a grueling 12-hour shift, you and Jisung collapse onto the couch at the station, your legs propped up on his lap.

“We need hobbies,” you mumble into your hoodie sleeve.

“I have hobbies,” he replies, scrolling on his phone.

“Sleeping doesn’t count.”

He considers this. “Then no, I don’t have hobbies.”

You laugh, too exhausted to keep your eyes open. “One day, we’re gonna retire, and what then? We’ll have nothing to do but drink bad coffee and reminisce about the good old days.”

Jisung hums. “I mean, as long as you’re still around, I think I’ll be fine.”

It’s said so casually that it takes you a second to process. When you do, your stomach does something annoying.

You peek one eye open to look at him, but he’s still scrolling, unfazed.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. You’ll think about it later.

For now, you’re just grateful that through all the chaos, through all the emergencies—you have him.

[waynes-multiverse]

Oh, I'm so giddy to read this chapter, I'm squealing 😆😆😆

Dean had kissed you back. And not in some startled, accidental way. No, he kissed you like he meant it. Like one of those cocky heroes in the guilty pleasure romance novels you kept hidden on your bookshelf. Hands gripping you like he couldn’t bear to let go. Like he wanted to devour you. Your stomach flipped. For a second—just a second—you let yourself remember the way his lips had felt, the roughness of his stubble, the way he had pulled you closer, like— Nope. Absolutely not.

I loved this entire inner monologue and her reliving everything (plus that nasty hangover lol)! I'm glad she realized Dean kissed her back, though. Wondering if their first meeting will be awkward as hell or if they get over it quickly. Since there's smut in this chapter, I'm guessing the latter 😂🫶

You’d had too much to drink. You were disappointed, frustrated, and let’s be real—desperately overdue for a good lay. And Dean? Well, he was there. Familiar. Safe. Willing.

Yes, but what were his motivations, you fool!!! I yell at the screen, into the void where these idiots will never hear me...

It wasn’t some deep, long-suppressed thing.

Uh... Yeah, it is!!! I swear, Abbie, I will not survive this series. The amount of times I wanted to slap her in this scene... 😂🤌

Dean was already there, leaning against the counter with a mug in hand, his gaze unfocused.

Oh, homeboy's been brooding, I see 😆

I absolutely love this little tidbits about their past and their friendship and their families. You can feel the familiarity and love between them 🩵

Your eyes lit up when you pulled out a tub of rocky road ice cream.

Always rocky road! That's the hill I die on! 🫶

And just then, as if on cue, the TV blared Joey Tribbiani’s infamous line: "Joey doesn’t share food!"

10/10 for Friends references 😆⭐️ (And I saw your gif at the end – this scene has been living rent-free in my head since it first aired lmao)

His expression was raw, wrecked—like you had all the answers, and he was desperate for them.

Loved this line!

“I don’t want to think about politics right now,” you confessed breathlessly against his lips.

This wasn’t about feelings or what-ifs. This was heat and need, two people chasing a high neither of them was willing to resist.

Oooof, that smut was deliciously hot, friend 😮‍💨🔥 And still so sweet and loving and caring in between 🥹 Their connection and chemistry is undeniable. Get married and have kids already lol

“The way I see it, neither of us wants the hassle of a relationship,” you continued, keeping your tone light, matter-of-fact. “I mean, you’ve said it yourself—you don’t do relationships. And I’ve kind of… given up on the idea.” You gestured vaguely between you. “So why not just—enjoy this? No strings, no expectations. Just… fun.”

I knew it was going there obviously from the title of this story, but Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I wanna kill these sweet little idiots 😂😂😂

I'm done (for now lol). It's been a great pleasure yelling at you this week, Abbie! Can't wait to do it next week all over again 😆🩵🩵🩵

The Arrangement - Part Two

Pairing: Dean x reader

Summary: It's the morning after, you and Dean are both reeling, respectively, from the previous night. Can you both overcome the incident, or is more trouble awaiting?

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings/Tags: SMUT!!! (18+ONLY!!!) The usual angsty thoughts, will these two ever get it? Swearing

AN: Happy hump day! 🐫 We're still only just brushing the surface with these two, but I hope you enjoy ☺️.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist < Catch up here!

The next morning, you woke with a painful groan, the pounding in your skull like a jackhammer. Even with your eyes still shut, you could feel the dull, relentless ache radiating through your entire head. When you finally pried them open, you grimaced at the sticky sensation of last night’s makeup clinging to your lashes.

Rolling onto your back, you immediately regretted it—your stomach lurched in protest, reminding you exactly why you were never drinking again. Not this time. Not after this hangover. The night felt like a blur, fragments slipping through your fingers as you struggled to piece them together.

The first thing that came back was your awful date. Monday was going to be awkward as hell at work, but you didn’t regret a damn thing. The look on his face after you ruined his expensive white dress shirt with that tasteless glass of rosé— the one he ordered for you—was worth it. A smirk tugged at your lips at the memory.

Then you remembered heading to the bar to see Jo and Ellen. Like always, you and Jo went one drink too far.

Something nudged at the back of your mind, a strange pulse in your chest as you reached for the rest of the night. The fog lifted slightly as your phone buzzed on your nightstand, but it wasn’t the screen that caught your attention. It was the bottle of Tylenol and the glass of water sitting beside it.

And just like that, everything came crashing back.

Oh God.

You kissed Dean.

Your headache surged as if your body was punishing you for your stupidity. You kissed your best friend. Were you really that desperate? That starved for affection that you had to go and make a move on Dean of all people?

But then—amidst the spiral of regret and sheer mortification—another thought surfaced.

Dean had kissed you back.

And not in some startled, accidental way. No, he kissed you like he meant it. Like one of those cocky heroes in the guilty pleasure romance novels you kept hidden on your bookshelf. Hands gripping you like he couldn’t bear to let go. Like he wanted to devour you.

Your stomach flipped. For a second—just a second—you let yourself remember the way his lips had felt, the roughness of his stubble, the way he had pulled you closer, like—

Nope. Absolutely not.

You shook your head, pushing the thought away. It wasn’t a big deal. It couldn’t be.

You’d had too much to drink. You were disappointed, frustrated, and let’s be real—desperately overdue for a good lay. And Dean? Well, he was there. Familiar. Safe. Willing.

That was all.

It wasn’t some deep, long-suppressed thing. It wasn’t because you’d been secretly wondering about him for years, how the way he touched you, kissed you, made every single rumour you’d heard about him feel a hell of a lot more believable. 

The whispers. Those hushed conversations in the school hallways. The restroom stalls where Karen Jones once gushed about your best friend’s talented mouth and fingers.

How on the rare occasion Dean had brought someone home, well… you weren’t proud to admit that the muffled sounds through the walls had left you pressing your thighs together, wondering just what he was doing in there to make them moan like that.

No. Nope. Dean was your best friend. That was sacred.

The idea of being anything more? Terrifying.

And besides, he’d been drinking, too.

That’s all it could be.

Dean didn’t look at you like that. Not really. He would’ve done the same with any other girl, right? It wasn’t special. It didn’t mean anything.

And the best thing to do now? Pretend it never happened. If Dean brought it up, you had the perfect excuse—"I was drunk, I had no idea what I was doing."

Yeah. That would work.

You sighed, scrubbing a hand over your face before reaching for the Tylenol. The mirror across the room reflected the mess you’d become—wrinkled dress, tangled hair, smudged makeup making you look half-raccoon.

First things first. A hot shower.

Then, you’d figure out how to face Dean without losing your goddamn mind.

Stepping out of the shower, you felt marginally more human—though your headache still throbbed behind your eyes, and the exhaustion clung to your bones. You wrapped yourself in a towel, rubbing at your damp hair with another as you padded into your room. Every movement felt sluggish, like you were wading through molasses.

Maybe coffee would help.

You threw on a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, too drained to care about much else. The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted into your room as you cracked open the door, coaxing you toward the kitchen like a siren’s call.

Dean was already there, leaning against the counter with a mug in hand, his gaze unfocused. The sunlight filtering through the blinds cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the faint crease between his brows. He looked deep in thought, his fingers curled around the ceramic like he needed something to hold onto.

Then he spotted you, and just like that, the quiet weight in the air lifted. A slow smile tugged at his lips, easy, familiar—but there was something behind it. Something you couldn’t quite place. Uncertainty? Hesitation?

"She’s alive," he teased, breaking the silence.

You rolled your eyes, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. See? This is fine. It’s normal. We can handle this.

"Barely," you muttered, shuffling toward the kitchen island.

Dean pushed off the counter, already reaching for another mug. "Figured you’d need this."

He poured you a cup and slid it toward you as you climbed onto one of the barstools, elbows resting on the counter, head in your hands. You let out a low groan, still feeling like death warmed over.

"I swear to God, I’m gonna kill Jo for encouraging my alcoholism," you grumbled.

Dean huffed out a chuckle. "Yeah, good luck with that. She’d take you down first.”

"That’s fair," you sighed dramatically, taking a careful sip of coffee. The warmth seeped through you, dulling the sharpest edges of your hangover.

Dean leaned his hip against the counter, watching you over the rim of his mug. “Sam messaged me this morning, reminding me. Is Ellen still making her famous stuffing for Christmas next week?"

You perked up slightly, grateful for the normalcy of the conversation. Okay, good. This is good. Normal.

"Yeah, of course. She said she’s already prepping. Swore up and down she’s gonna outdo last year."

Dean smirked. "Doubt it. That was peak stuffing."

"You say that every year."

"And I mean it every year." He took another sip of coffee before tilting his head. "Bobby still threatening to deep-fry the turkey?"

You snorted. "Always. But Ellen put her foot down after the ‘grease fire incident of 1999.’"

Dean laughed, shaking his head. "Man, that was a hell of a year."

"It was a hell of a mess," you corrected. "We were still finding soot in the kitchen in February."

"Yeah, but it was worth it. Best damn turkey I ever had."

"You say that every year, too."

"And I mean it every year," he shot back, grinning.

For as long as you and Dean had been friends, your families had celebrated Christmas together. It started when you were kids, when Bobby and Ellen realised how much easier it was to combine everything into one big gathering.

Every year, you’d alternate whose house hosted—one year at the Winchesters’, the next at your place. It became tradition, something that felt as much a part of the holiday as presents under the tree.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched. The back-and-forth was easy, natural—like it always was. The conversation wrapped around you like a familiar blanket, momentarily pushing away the lingering awkwardness from last night.

See? This is fine. It’s fine.

Then the silence settled.

And suddenly, you were aware of everything.

The space between you—too small, too charged. The way his fingers curled around his coffee mug, his knuckles flexing just slightly. The way his shirt stretched over his shoulders, like you hadn’t already memorised the broad shape of him years ago.

Your eyes met his, and the second they did, your stomach twisted.

Dean didn’t look away.

And neither did you.

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to stay still. No sudden movements, no giving anything away. But then your gaze betrayed you—just for a second, barely a flicker—dipping down to his mouth.

Shit.

Because now you could feel it again.

The way he kissed you, rough but deliberate, like he had wanted it. The taste of whiskey, the heat of his hands, the way his fingers had curled into your hips like he was holding on for dear life.

Dean cleared his throat. Stepped back.

"I’m gonna head to the store," he said, too casual.

It took a second for the words to register. "Oh. Yeah, okay."

He hesitated—like he might ask you to come with him—but then he smirked instead, lips twitching. "Would’ve invited you, but, uh… You kinda look like the walking dead. Don’t want you cramping my style.”

Your head shot up, glare locked and loaded. "Ass."

Dean just grinned. "Try not to die while I’m gone."

Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Your fingers tightened around the coffee mug as you exhaled, long and slow, staring at the door like it might offer some kind of answer.

Yeah. You were so screwed.

By the time Dean strolled back in through the front door, the afternoon sun was already dipping beyond the horizon, casting the sky in deep hues of amber and violet—a telltale sign of the short winter days.

In his absence, you'd done your best not to dwell on the events of last night. Dean hadn’t brought it up, and you figured it was best you didn’t either. Did that stop your mind from running through every why, how, and what if on repeat? No. But for now, distraction would do.

So here you were, sprawled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, watching reruns of Friends while feeling sorry for yourself in more ways than one.

“Hey,” Dean greeted, kicking the door shut behind him, hands full with grocery bags. He dropped them on the island, his keys clinking against the counter. “Sorry I took so long. Had to deal with a work emergency before I could hit the store.”

You peered over the back of the couch, blinking sluggishly. “S’all good. I crashed for a bit after you left anyway.” You stretched, groaning. “I am starving, though.” 

After Dean had left, for a much-needed grocery run - as you too discovered the disastrously emptiness of your fridge, all you’d eaten were two pop tarts you’d found in the back of the cupboard. 

“Well, if you’re up for it, how about I whip us up some burgers?” Dean smirked, already putting things away. Your stomach growled at the suggestion. You practically salivated at the thought. Dean could grill a mean burger, and he damn well knew it.

“Oh My God, yes.” You practically moaned. Dean chuckled as you hopped up and shuffled to the kitchen, immediately snooping through the bags. Your eyes lit up when you pulled out a tub of rocky road ice cream.

“Ohh, heck yes!” Dean turned just in time to see you clutch it to your chest like treasure. Rubbing the back of his neck, he shrugged it off. 

“Yeah, well… figured you’d want it. Hangover ritual and all.”

It was such a simple thing—something so Dean. But it made your chest squeeze a little tighter. Maybe it was in light of recent events, but for some reason it touched you more than it should have. And in that moment, you realised just how much Dean had always taken care of you.

Whether it was remembering your favourite ice cream, patching up your scraped knee when you fell off your bike as a kid, or offering you a shoulder when you needed one.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “Thank you,” you murmured, and you meant it.

Dean just smiled.

You cleared your throat, shaking off the sudden wave of emotions. “Need any help? I may be half a step into the land of the dead, but I am still good with my hands.” You wiggled your fingers in his face, only for Dean to swat them away with a laugh.

“Nah, I got it. But in exchange, you could give me a scoop of that.” He nodded toward the ice cream.

Your grip on the tub tightened. “But—”

Dean arched an amused brow.

And just then, as if on cue, the TV blared Joey Tribbiani’s infamous line: "Joey doesn’t share food!"

You pointed blindly in the direction of the TV. “What he said.”

For a second, there was silence—then both of you burst into laughter.

“Alright, alright,” you relented, wiping at your eyes. “You can have one tiny scoop.” You winked and left him to it. 

Dean rolled his eyes, but his grin never faded as he got to work on dinner.

“Seriously, dude, you should open your own burger bar or something,” you groaned, sinking into the couch as you took another blissful bite.

Dean snorted around his own large mouthful, shaking his head. He watched as you practically melted into your seat, eyes fluttering shut, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. It was equally parts disgusting and endearing.

You had no shame when it came to food. Talking with your mouth full, letting sauce smear your chin, completely oblivious to how you looked to others. It warmed him at how comfortable you must be in his presence to not care about such things. 

Like right now, you sat cross legged on the couch, your hair thrown up in a messy bun, a worn-out, oversized t-shirt, that looked vaguely familiar, hung off your figure, and you had on a pair of sweats one size too big. Your face was makeup less but even so, you were beautiful. 

After devouring your burgers, you moved on to dessert, despite claiming minutes earlier that you were “way too full.” 

“Theres always extra room for something sweet.” You’d claimed, giving Dean a proper bowl of ice cream instead of the pathetic spoonful you'd originally offered. 

You sat side by side watching some comedy, he didn’t remember the name of. But it was all the same, a storyline he’d seen a million times but, even so, there was the odd chuckle-worthy moment. 

Not long after, you reached over, setting your now-empty bowl down beside his on the coffee table and as you sat back, he noticed it.

“Hey, you got a little—” He gestured to the corner of his mouth.

“Hm?” You wiped at the wrong side.

“No, here.” He pointed again. You missed it.

Dean huffed before leaning in, swiping his thumb against the chocolate smudge himself.

You stilled.

Your wide eyes flicked up to meet his, and suddenly, he realised just how close he was. His hand still cupped your cheek, thumb lingering at the corner of your lips.

The air thickened. Your breath mingled with his.

Dean’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips out of habit. Your gaze flickered down to the motion, and his stomach clenched.

And then—he wasn’t sure who leaned in first but suddenly, your lips were pressed to his, soft and warm, more confident than last time.

Dean didn’t think—he just reacted. 

One of his arms wrapped around your back, the other tilting your chin as he deepened the kiss. You melted into him, fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. 

A low, guttural groan rumbled from his chest at the sensation. You tasted like chocolate and marshmallows, sweet and sinful, and fuck—he was already addicted.

Then, as if kissing you wasn’t enough, you shifted, climbing into his lap, pressing yourself against him like you had no idea what you were doing to him. Had he died? Was this some fever dream?

Before he could fully process what was happening, before he could stop you, before he could stop himself, you settled in his lap completely. And there was no hiding what you’d stirred beneath his jeans.

But you didn’t pull away.

Instead, a soft moan escaped your lips, vibrating against his own, and fuck.

He was done for.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly close, and then you moved. A slow, testing rock of your hips, then another, then a third—more confident, more deliberate. Dean groaned, eyes dark and hazy with lust.

Alarm bells blared in his head, warning him to stop, to think—to rationalise what was happening, why it was happening again. But how the hell was he supposed to think straight when you were rubbing against him like that?

Fuck.

His hands slid down your back, gripping your hips like he was holding onto his last thread of restraint. And then you did it again. A shudder ran through him at the friction, his head tipping back against the couch as he looked up at you. His expression was raw, wrecked—like you had all the answers, and he was desperate for them.

Your movements slowed as you leaned in, your lips grazing his jaw, then his ear.

“Are you down for some fun, Winchester?” you husked, your voice dripping with temptation. You nipped at his earlobe, making his eyes snap shut, his grip tightening on your hips.

“What kind of fun?” he asked, playing dumb, but mostly because he needed to hear you say it.

“The naked kind.”

Dean exhaled sharply, fingers flexing against your hips, his cock aching beneath you.

“I’ve always been curious about you,” you murmured, your lips trailing back to his, teasing, just brushing.

“You have?” His voice was rough, uneven. His heart pounded, not just with lust but something deeper—something dangerously close to hope.

“I grew up with the rumours,” you admitted, pressing a slow, torturous kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ve heard the women you’ve brought home… wondered.” Another kiss. “I’m curious.”

Dean nearly groaned. The idea of you—you—wondering about him that way, thinking about what it would be like between you… Jesus.

And then you kissed him, slow and deep, and Dean was gone.

“I don’t want to think about politics right now,” you confessed breathlessly against his lips. “I don’t want to think about consequences, or what’s right or wrong. I just want you—right now. If you want me too?”

Dean knew there should be a pause, a moment to reconsider, but the second the words left your lips—combined with the way you were looking at him like he was something to be devoured—every logical thought went out the window.

Fuck it.

Instead of answering, he kissed you—hard. And when you moaned appreciatively against his mouth, all bets were off. This wasn’t about feelings or what-ifs. This was heat and need, two people chasing a high neither of them was willing to resist.

With a firm arm around your back and the other gripping your thigh, Dean stood effortlessly, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. You gasped, clinging to him, arms around his neck, legs wrapped tight around his waist. He felt everything—every inch of you pressed against him, driving him insane.

Your lips never broke apart as he carried you toward your room—the closest out of the two.

And maybe, deep down, there was a nagging voice whispering about consequences. About what this meant. But right now?

Right now, he wasn’t listening.

And neither were you. 

Your mind was screaming at you.

What are you doing?

This is Dean.

But you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. You were too wound up, too sexually deprived, too drawn to the way he looked at you—like you were something sacred, something he had to taste, to touch, to have. And he was right here. Willing. Eager. His hands gripping you tight as he carried you into your bedroom, lips never leaving yours.

The door barely clicked shut before he was lowering you onto the bed, his weight settling between your legs, pressing you down into the mattress. His mouth moved over yours with aching precision, slow but deep, savouring, like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to take his time.

It was intoxicating.

Dean groaned as you arched up into him, his hands skimming down your sides, exploring, memorising. His lips broke from yours just long enough to kiss a trail down your jaw, your throat, sucking lightly where your pulse pounded against your skin. It made your head spin.

And then lower.

He lifted your shirt inch by inch, his calloused fingers dragging over your heated skin as he peeled it up and over your head. His breath hitched.

“Jesus.”

Dean’s eyes darkened as he took you in—bare from the waist up, nipples hardened from both the cool air and the sheer intensity of his gaze.

“Fuckin’ knew you’d be perfect,” he murmured, running his hands over your stomach, thumbs grazing just beneath your ribs.

Then his mouth was on you again.

Soft, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, a flick of his tongue just above the waistband of your sweatpants, then back up. Slow, torturous. His lips followed the curve of your ribs, his nose brushing against the underside of your breast. 

Your pussy throbbed, desperate and aching, as he finally took one of your breasts into his mouth, sucking lightly, swirling his tongue around your hardened peak. Your back arched, a needy sound escaping you. He took his time, learning every sensitive spot, making you squirm, making you need.

And then he was moving again.

Dean took his time undressing you completely, peeling away your sweatpants, your panties, his hands exploring each new inch of bare skin like he was memorising a damn map. 

He wanted to remember this, wanted to carve the image of you into his mind—the way your body responded to him, the way you trembled under his touch.

He shoved down any nagging thoughts, anything that whispered about how this might mean something. Not tonight. Tonight, all he cared about was this.

You.

Dean settled between your legs, kissing his way down again, teasing at your hip bone, the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You gasped as he nipped at the sensitive flesh, as he breathed against your aching core, so close yet so cruelly far.

“Dean,” you whimpered, hands threading through his hair, nails scraping lightly at his scalp.

He groaned at that, and then—

His mouth was on you.

Your whole body jerked as his tongue flicked against your clit, hot and wet and perfect. He took his time, using slow, deliberate strokes before sucking you into his mouth, making your thighs twitch, your fingers tightening in his hair.

You had never felt anything like this.

But now you understood.

Now you knew exactly what all those women had meant, why they couldn’t stop coming back for more.

Dean Winchester could ruin a girl.

And right now, you were happy to be wrecked.

Your thighs threatened to squeeze around his head, but his hands gripped your hips, keeping you open, keeping you at his mercy. He worked you relentlessly, alternating between slow, teasing licks and firm, dizzying pressure. The coil in your stomach tightened, higher, hotter—

“Dean—”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he muttered, voice husky against your slick folds. “Let me taste it.”

That was all it took.

Pleasure crashed over you in waves, stealing the air from your lungs. You cried out, arching off the bed as your climax ripped through you, your entire body shaking. Dean groaned against you, drinking in every last bit, licking and sucking you through the aftershocks until you were trembling beneath him, completely undone.

When he finally pulled away, his lips were slick, his pupils blown wide.

And then he was kissing you again, deep and desperate, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he pressed you back into the mattress.

All too soon he pulled back, shifting onto his knees. You blinked up at him, dazed, still trembling from your release, but your breath hitched when he removed his t-shirt in one fluid, over the head motion. And then you watched in anticipation as his hands move to his belt.

He made quick work of it, the metal clinking softly in the quiet room before he popped the button of his jeans, dragging the zipper down. He didn’t look away from you as he shoved them down his hips, along with his boxers.

Your mouth went dry.

Dean Winchester was beautiful.

Broad shoulders, toned stomach, strong arms lined with freckles and old scars. And lower—your thighs instinctively pressed together at the sight of him, long and thick, already so hard, flushed, the tip glistening.

Heat surged through your body, desire burning anew.

Your hands moved on their own, reaching for him, fingers wrapping around his length, feeling the weight of him in your palm.

“Jesus,” you breathed, stroking him experimentally, watching how his abs tensed, how his jaw clenched.

Dean groaned, low and guttural, but his hand shot out, gripping your wrist and stilling your movements.

“Don’t,” he gritted, his eyes almost wild as they locked onto yours. “Not now. I—” He swallowed thickly, exhaling a shaky breath. “I won’t last.”

The admission sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, and the way he was looking at you—so desperate, so wrecked—made you dizzy.

Dean inhaled sharply, trying to compose himself, then rasped, “You got a condom?”

You nodded, reaching for the drawer in your nightstand. Your hands fumbled slightly as you pulled one out, but before you could tear it open, Dean’s fingers brushed yours.

“Let me,” he murmured, his voice like gravel.

You swallowed hard, watching as he ripped the foil, rolling the condom down over his length with practiced ease.

The sight alone had you clenching around nothing.

And then he was over you again, bracing himself on his forearms, his lips hovering just above yours. His eyes searched your face, softer now, less frantic.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice quieter, rough with restraint.

Your heart thundered.

But there wasn’t a single doubt in your mind.

“Yeah,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his.

Dean didn’t hesitate.

The first push was slow, stretching, filling, overwhelming. A deep, strangled groan rumbled from his chest as he sank into you completely, his forehead pressing against yours, his arms trembling as he held himself still.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “You feel so good.”

You clung to him, breathless, nails digging into his back.

He gave you a moment, then started to move—slow, steady rolls of his hips, pulling out just to push back in, his cock dragging against all the right places. The pleasure was immediate, sharp and electric.

Dean’s lips ghosted over yours, his hands gripping your hips, his movements deepening.

You could feel everything.

Every inch of him, every shuddered breath, every lingering trace of restraint slipping away with every thrust.

Your body arched into his, overwhelmed by the way he filled you, stretched you. The heat coiling in your stomach wound tighter and tighter, your nails digging into his shoulders as he drove into you at just the right angle.

“Oh, God—” you gasped, head tipping back against the pillow, eyes screwing shut.

Dean groaned, dipping his head to press his lips to your throat, sucking at the sensitive skin.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, his breath ragged against your neck. “You feel so fucking good. You—” His sentence cut off with a sharp inhale when you clenched around him.

Your whole body was alight, buzzing, your mind a mess of sensation as he thrust deep, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Dean—” His name tumbled from your lips, needy, desperate, and that was all it took.

Like a snapped tether, pleasure crashed over you, stealing the air from your lungs. You clenched around him, back arching, hands fisting the sheets as wave after wave of ecstasy ripped through you.

Dean groaned at the feel of you squeezing him so tightly, his rhythm faltering.

And then he was right behind you.

His movements turned erratic, rough, as he buried himself deep with a strangled curse, his muscles going rigid. His breath stuttered, and then he was gone, undone, spilling into the condom with a deep, shuddering groan.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breaths, your hammering hearts.

Then, Dean collapsed on top of you, panting hard, his body heavy and warm, his face buried against your neck.

You felt like you were floating. Like something inside you had fundamentally changed, but you shoved the thought away, fingers absently trailing through his damp hair as you both struggled to come back down to earth.

Dean let out a breath, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. After a moment, he shifted, bracing a hand on the mattress and rolling onto his back beside you.

A beat of silence.

And then you exhaled a breathless laugh.

“Wow.”

Dean chuckled, running a hand down his face. “Yeah.”

You turned your head to look at him, still gloriously naked, his chest rising and falling steadily, his skin flushed, his hair thoroughly mussed.

There was a something beginning to bubble in your chest, something unwanted, as you looked at him and so you forced yourself to push it down. And then a thought came to mind, a very reckless, possibly disastrous, thought, but you went with it. 

“So…” you started, rolling onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow.

Dean turned his head toward you, his expression unreadable. His hair was still a mess from your fingers, his skin warm where it brushed against yours. Too close. Too easy to want more.

“What now?” he asked, his voice rough, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

You swallowed. Don’t think about how it made you feel. Don’t think about what it meant.

“Well,” you said carefully, forcing a smirk, “that was… really fucking good.”

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, mirroring your smirk. “Not gonna argue there.”

You hesitated, fingers tracing idle patterns against the sheet beneath you. Then, before you could lose your nerve, you pushed forward.

“I have a thought,” you murmured, glancing at him from beneath your lashes. “A proposition, if you will.”

Dean’s expression didn’t shift, but he hummed in acknowledgment, silently urging you to continue.

You bit your lip, playing it off like it was nothing. “We’re obviously… good at this,” you said, your voice light, teasing—though the weight in your chest begged to be acknowledged. “And we’re friends. We trust each other, right?”

Dean frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Yeah?” he drawled, curiosity flickering in his gaze.

You shrugged, forcing yourself to sound casual. “I was thinking… maybe we don’t have to stop.”

His brows lifted in surprise. That was not what he was expecting. Hell, what was he expecting? This whole situation was... He didn’t even know at this point.

Dean didn’t say anything at first, and the silence made your stomach twist. You felt the need to fill it—to justify.

“The way I see it, neither of us wants the hassle of a relationship,” you continued, keeping your tone light, matter-of-fact. “I mean, you’ve said it yourself—you don’t do relationships. And I’ve kind of… given up on the idea.” You gestured vaguely between you. “So why not just—enjoy this? No strings, no expectations. Just… fun.”

The words felt wrong in your mouth, but you ignored it.

Dean’s fingers flexed where they rested against the mattress. His gaze stayed on you, unreadable, and for a second, you thought he might laugh in your face. Call you crazy. Tell you this was a terrible idea.

Instead, he exhaled softly, nodding.

“Yeah. Okay.”

You let out a breath, relieved. Ignoring the tiny voice in your head screaming this is a mistake.

Dean didn’t want more.

And if you pretended you didn’t either, you could have some part of him, at least.

Better than nothing.

You had no idea he was thinking the same damn thing.

AN: I hoped you guys enjoyed this part, things are really stating to get moving 😅, there is a lot more of this story to come, more of these two idiots not realising what is so obvious! 🥲 As always I'd love to hear what you all think? ❤️

Side note: The scene I had in mind 😂 👇🏻

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @fangirlingfromdownunder @cevansbaby-dove @star-yawnznn @piptoost @shadysoulangel @deansimpalababy @megara0224

Next time...

Slowly, you padded across the floor, stopping just outside the shower door. With one last exhale of doubt, you pulled it open and stepped inside. Dean startled, his head whipping toward you, eyes wide with a mixture of alarm and surprise. “What the—” Before he could finish, his expression twisted in pain, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Shit.” He hissed, rubbing furiously at them as soap trickled down into his lashes. Biting back a laugh, you reached for his arm and guided him under the spray, watching as the water rinsed the suds away. Okay, maybe this wasn’t quite as sexy as you had planned. When he finally blinked his eyes open, he turned to you, first in disbelief—then in something far more dangerous. His gaze darkened, sweeping over you from head to toe, and fuck. He could never get used to this. To you. Perfect. “Well, this is somethin’,” he smirked...

[nanamineedstherapy]

Seven Minutes in Heaven (Chapter Two)

F!Reader x Gojo Satoru

Previous Chapter 1 (Tumblr/Ao3)

Summary: It was supposed to be a normal frat party. Just a stupid game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Just him, king of never taking anything seriously, getting shoved into a closet for a dumb dare. And yet. Now, he can’t sleep. Can’t think. Can’t stop thinking about you. And one by one, his friends are starting to realize—Whatever happened in that closet? It never really ended.

Outside in the garden, Toji mocked. "Man got a straight-up haunted hard-on."

"Wait, wait, wait," Sukuna wheezed. "Tell me why bro just made out with a ghost so hard he got a fucking boner."

"Can we not call it that?" Satoru groaned.

"That’s exactly what it was," Hiromi confirmed, shaking his head. "You got seduced by a fucking spirit."

Shiu, lying on the grass scrolling through his phone, barely looked up as he added, "Even in the afterlife, women aren’t safe from your dick preceding your reputation."

"I'm gonna kill myself," Satoru muttered, running a hand down his face.

"Ghost girl might be into that," Choso said thoughtfully, sipping a beer.

"Yo, shut the fuck up," Satoru snapped.

"You were rock hard for a literal corpse." Shoko was almost rolling in the grass, clutching her bottle.

"FOR THE LAST TIME, I DIDN’T KNOW SHE WAS A GHOST!"

"And yet," Suguru drawled, gesturing vaguely at the still-very-visible problem in his jeans.

Satoru made a strangled noise, willing his soul to leave his body.

“If I see your haunted dick in my nightmares, I’m suing." Yuki yelled.

"I have hater friends. At least she thought I was beautiful." Satoru smirked.

A collective groan echoed through the garden.

Kento dragged a hand down his face. "I hate him. I hate him."

"Fucker just got ghosted in every sense of the word, and he still has the audacity to make it about his looks." Kashimo jeered, leaning on Haibara, who was barely holding himself up.

"Kill yourself," Sukuna muttered.

"Honestly, yeah," Hiromi agreed.

Satoru just grinned. "Jealous much?"

Suguru physically sighed. "Let's go, you delusional horny disaster."

---

Satoru couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Not the way your lips had felt against his, or how you made him laugh, or how you got flustered easily but still kissed him first like a paradox he couldn’t solve—though that haunted him, too.

No, it was the way you had looked at him.

Like you had been starving.

So, Satoru did what any rational person would do.

He spent an unhealthy amount of time at the library.

Gojo Satoru. At the library. Voluntarily. His friends thought he was having a crisis.

At first, there was nothing.

No students matching your description in the recent records.

No tragic accidents or ghost stories written in the university archives.

It was like you had never existed.

But then—

One night, while flipping through the school’s oldest records, something caught his eye.

An envelope stuffed with papers.

He pulled out a diary first.

Diary of Miss L/N

(Archivist - Leather-bound, gold-embossed. Found in the ruins of the university, its final pages splattered with what appears to be dried tears. Handwritten, ink fading in places. Some pages torn. Final entries nearly illegible—written in a shaking hand, desperate and uneven.)

January 3, 1914

There is a new litter of kittens in the old courtyard! I counted five, all squirming and mewling, their mother, a thin little thing who watches me with wary eyes. I left some bread soaked in milk, though I do not think she trusts me yet. Perhaps if I sit quietly tomorrow, she will let me closer.

(If I were a cat, would I be loved more easily?)

The groundskeeper scolded me, said I am too soft-hearted, that I let animals take advantage of me. As if a kitten could be cunning! I told him there is no harm in kindness. He only shook his head.

Satoru sat back, staring at the first entry, his thumb tracing your handwriting. He didn’t know much about you—hell, he didn’t even know you were alive a hundred years ago—but he could picture you, kneeling in the courtyard with kittens, trying to be kind. He imagined the faintest smile tugging at your lips when you saw them squirming in the dirt. The idea of you feeding a stray mother cat made his chest tighten in an odd, unfamiliar way. He ran his fingers along the edge of the paper, almost as if trying to feel your presence through it.

That groundskeeper? He was an idiot. He didn't get it. Satoru couldn't help but feel a spark of frustration. You didn’t need anyone’s permission to be kind. He almost laughed at the idea that someone might scold you for being soft-hearted. If anything, he wished he could go back and tell you not to worry about those around you. He would’ve probably looked at you the same way—the way he did when you kissed him, not knowing why or how, but unable to stop himself from caring just a little too much for someone so—soft.

January 10, 1914

I do not think they like me.

Not in the way they like each other.

They are polite, of course. They smile. They call me ‘Miss L/N’ with syrupy sweetness, but their eyes flicker. I see the way their lips press together when I speak. The way their laughter dies when I enter a room.

But it is alright. Not everyone has to like me.

I just wish they did not hate me, either.

Satoru skimmed the next entry, his eyes narrowing. You were already noticing the tension in the air, weren’t you? The polite smiles, the murmurs. The fake sweetness they showed you—he could practically hear the insincerity in their voices. He frowned, shaking his head. You didn’t deserve that. Nobody should ever make someone feel like they didn’t belong.

For some reason, even though you were long gone, he found himself angry on your behalf. He didn’t understand why they treated you that way. You were probably just too good for them, weren’t you? Too pure, too gentle. He shook the thought off, the sharpness of the moment still biting at him. It made him wonder if maybe he would’ve been one of the few who would’ve actually liked you.

January 25, 1913

Viscount Salvatore looked at me today. He did not merely glance—he looked. I was in the library, carrying too many books, and he leaned back in his chair, all effortless indifference, and drawled, "Planning to read all of those, Miss L/N? Or are you building a fort?"

(He thinks I am ridiculous.)

(He noticed me.)

I almost dropped Wuthering Heights on my foot.

A frown burrowed on Satoru’s face when he read about Viscount Salvatore. You noticed him. He noticed you.

He flipped your yearbook with his other hand to find any Salvtores; there had been two in your class who’d gone to become Army officials in the first World War and then died there. Your description fit the blue-eyed one with a cocky smirk. Like Satoru? Did you have a type?

He felt a slight sting in his chest at the thought of this Viscount—some guy who probably had no idea what to do with someone like you. Still, he couldn’t suppress the bitter taste in his mouth. Jealousy? Was that what this was?

A sigh slipped from his lips. It was stupid—he was more than a hundred years too late. He didn’t even know if you’d ever seen him the way he now imagined you looking at the Viscount. The thought of another guy noticing you—really noticing you—made him want to jump from a boat. But instead, he read on.

February 2, 1914

It was a joke. Just a prank.

"She'll cry and beg to be let out," one of them whispered, giggling behind her lace glove. "Let's see if Miss Perfect is still so polite in the dark."

The door slammed. The lock clicked.

The dark swallowed me whole.

I did not beg.

I bit my tongue until I tasted iron and waited. And when they let me out—smirking, triumphant—I smoothed my skirts, fixed my hair, and walked past them as if I had not spent the last hour choking on the thick, dusty air.

They did not like that.

"A little too perfect, isn’t she?"

(They will do it again.)

Satoru’s eyebrows furrowed as his gaze lingered on the next entry. You were trapped. Locked in a closet by the very people you probably thought were your friends. It was sickening. He almost couldn't finish reading—his stomach lurched with disgust. The way you didn't beg... it said so much about you. You must’ve been used to pain by then, used to being pushed aside and ignored. But still—you walked out of there like nothing had happened, like you didn’t carry the weight of what they had just done to you.

Satoru shook his head, muttering to himself, “Cowards. All of them.” He clenched the paper tighter in his hand. He hated the idea of you facing that kind of cruelty alone, without anyone there to stop it. He could feel it—your loneliness, your frustration, your unwillingness to break. And somehow, it only made him want to be there for you more. He'd never admit it, but there was a strange urge within him to make it right—even if it was a century too late.

February 10, 1914

Today, I found a sparrow with a broken wing. I named him Edgar (after Poe, of course).

I should have left him alone. Mother says I should not dirty my hands with such things. But he was shivering—how could I leave him?

Viscount Salvatore saw me, kneeling in the grass, my gloves stained with dirt. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Then, just as he passed, he murmured, "Don’t name it. You’ll only make it harder."

He has such an awful way of speaking. Always so practical. So cold.

(He was right. Edgar did not make it through the night.)

Satoru didn’t expect to feel as deeply affected by this entry. You found a broken bird and tried to help it. Just like the kittens. Just like everything else. He read about the sparrow, Edgar, and that bitter, practical remark from Viscount Salvatore.

He rolled his eyes. That guy was cold, wasn’t he? It was almost like he couldn't even understand that you just wanted to do something kind. His jaw clenched slightly at the thought of this Viscount, cold and indifferent. Did he not understand the pain of losing something you tried so desperately to save?

“You deserved better than that.” Satoru muttered quietly to himself. He could barely comprehend it, but it stung to think of you, caring for something so fragile, and yet not having anyone there to help you when you needed it most. He could almost hear the sadness in your voice, like you were speaking not just about the bird, but about yourself.

February 13, 1914

Razor blades in my book bag today.

I did not see them in time.

A sharp sting—red seeping into my gloves, blooming against the pale silk like a dying rose.

A girl gasped.

One of them. The one who used to call me her friend.

She reached for me, hesitated. Opened her mouth—closed it.

Did nothing.

(They are all cowards.)

I smiled at her anyway.

(It is getting harder to smile.)

The entry made Satoru stop in his tracks. Razor blades? What the hell...? He had to reread the paragraph twice, the sharpness of the words sinking into him with every line. It was hard to stomach—knowing that someone, one of the people who had once called you their friend, did this to you. Left you bleeding and didn’t even care.

He felt a fire burning in his chest now, a rage that was foreign to him. A strange protectiveness, something darker, almost suffocating. He didn't know how you had kept going through all this. And yet, you had. You smiled through it all, even when everything in the world was trying to break you.

Satoru stood up suddenly, pacing around the room. He was aware of how ridiculous this was—he didn’t even know you. But damn it, you deserved someone who would’ve fought for you. Someone who would’ve taken those blades from your hands and never let you feel alone.

February 14, 1914

Viscount Salvatore pulled out a chair for me today.

The smallest thing. A flick of his wrist. A glance in my direction. A murmured, "Miss L/N."

But I have not been spoken to kindly in so long.

For a moment, my eyes burned. My throat ached.

But I said nothing. I only sat.

And when I looked up—just for a second—he was already watching me.

(What a strange, strange man.)

Satoru’s fingers lightly brushed over the paper. He didn’t know what it was, but something about that entry—Viscount Salvatore pulling out a chair for you—made him pause. He didn't react outwardly, keeping his face carefully blank, but internally? There was a slight stir of discomfort. It was such a small, insignificant thing, yet it meant so much to you. A simple gesture, something that should’ve been normal.

He imagined the quiet moment, your surprise. The thought that such a little thing could make you feel seen, even for a second, gnawed at him. A frustrated sigh left his lips. Why did it have to be like that? If he were there—if only he were there, he would’ve shown you kindness, not just with gestures, but with actions. But that was a thought he quickly pushed aside, frustrated by how much time had slipped through his fingers. He kept reading, though.

February 20, 1914

I have decided. I loathe Viscount Salvatore.

He is insufferable. He speaks in riddles and always looks as if he is laughing at me. I do not know why I bother thinking of him.

(He held the door open for me today. Said nothing. Just waited.)

(I hate him.)

A faint chuckle escaped his lips as he read the next entry. You’d decided to loathe Viscount Salvatore now. "Insufferable," you called him. Satoru almost wanted to agree, though he couldn't completely share your sentiment. He had a feeling there was more to him—more that was left unsaid. Still, it was a funny thought. Viscount Salvatore being that frustrating, mysterious figure. Satoru was intrigued by how you wrote about him with such sharpness, but the words seemed like a cover for something deeper. He wasn’t sure what, but the tension between you two was palpable.

“Is it really that bad?” he muttered, flipping the page, knowing he wasn’t going to get an answer. He felt a flicker of something, but the rest of the entry, especially with the way he “held the door open,” left him feeling... unsure. He wasn't exactly proud of it, but maybe there was some part of him that didn't want you to find comfort in anyone else.

March 2, 1914

I found a dead rat in my desk.

Its body bloated, eyes staring.

Its tiny mouth open, frozen in a silent scream.

There was a note pinned to its belly. Still feeling generous?

I swallowed back the nausea and took it outside myself.

(It is getting harder to breathe here.)

Satoru’s expression hardened as he read about the dead rat in your desk. He closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to focus. The cruel games they played—it disgusted him. He could almost feel the sickening weight of it, as if it were happening right there, in front of him. Who does that? He set the paper down and ran his hand through his hair, trying to keep his composure, though his jaw was tight.

You didn’t even flinch. You simply took it outside. There was an odd kind of resolve in the way you wrote that. No begging. No breaking down. Just... handling it yourself. It made him uneasy—how much you had to endure, and how little anyone had cared. He couldn’t imagine what you went through, not yet, but the pieces were starting to come together. The cruelty. The silence. The isolation.

June 20, 1914

I am tired.

No, not tired. Weary.

I wake up with my body braced, waiting for something—waiting for the next whisper, the next cruel trick, the next unseen hand that will shove me down the stairs when no one is looking.

I have not eaten all day.

(They will not break me.)

The word “weary” hit Satoru like a punch to the gut. He could picture you, slumped in exhaustion, never having the chance to recover. He could almost hear the quiet panic that sat beneath those words. The next cruel trick, the next shove—it was too much. His hand tightened around the paper as he read on.

He didn’t need to know everything to understand that what you were going through wasn’t just physical. It was something deeper. Something that made your bones ache and your heart heavy. And yet, here you were, still breathing, still defiant. He let out a breath, annoyed at the powerlessness he felt just from reading your words.

July 24, 1914

I am going to the party.

They said they want to start over. That it was all just foolish jealousy. That they want to be friends.

I should not believe them.

I know I should not believe them.

But I am so, so tired of being alone.

Just for one night, I want to pretend I belong.

Satoru frowned, eyes narrowing. The truth was already in your words before you even said it. He felt an odd mix of sympathy and frustration as you told yourself you were going to the party—hoping, wishing to belong, even for just one night. He had to read that part again, swallowing a lump in his throat.

He flipped the page; the diary ended. Satoru immediately scrambled to pull out another stack of papers from the binder.

Final Entries – Found Scribbled in the Dark on Stationary available inside the closet

(Archivist - Stray pages, ink smudged. Words scratched over and rewritten as if she could not make her fingers hold steady.)

July 25, 1914

They lied.

Of course they lied.

The music was loud. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and laughter. For the first time in years, I thought—maybe.

Then hands.

Grabbing. Dragging.

"Let’s see how perfect you are now."

They locked me inside.

A closet. Small. Cramped.

The door will not open.

It has been hours.

(Or has it? I can’t tell.)

No one is coming.

The change in tone was abrupt, and Satoru’s pulse quickened as he read about the party. He could feel the shift, the claustrophobia, the betrayal seeping through the paper. The scribbled words—he could almost hear you gasping for air, trapped in that small closet.

“They lied.” That one line stung. It was so raw. He couldn’t make sense of it. He couldn’t make it right. But he had to know—he had to understand why you were forgotten. He had to keep reading, even if it made his heart feel like it was crumbling under the weight.

???, 1914

How many hours has it been?

They will come back.

They must come back.

Please, please, please—

My throat aches.

I screamed until my throat bled.

No one heard.

No one wants to hear.

(They have forgotten me.)

Satoru’s hands clenched around the papers. They had broken you in ways that even time couldn’t erase. And he could do nothing. He gritted his teeth, struggling to stay composed, but it was impossible to ignore the ache that had settled in his chest. You’d screamed until your throat bled, and they had... forgotten you.

Satoru sat with his elbows on the desk, his fingers steepled against his lips as he read the next entries. He was quiet now, the usual restless energy in his body drained away, leaving only a tense stillness. The words on the page felt heavier with each line.

???, 1914

I am thirsty.

I am so thirsty.

If I press my ear against the door, I can hear the music.

(Another party?)

They are still dancing.

They are still laughing.

They are still living.

And I am here.

Satoru’s throat felt tight. He swallowed against it, as if somehow that would make up for the dryness that must have burned through yours. He could picture it too clearly—the way your lips must have cracked, your voice reduced to a rasp.

And yet, they were still dancing.

Satoru exhaled sharply. You were still there, forgotten, while life carried on just outside the door. The thought made him nauseous.

His fingers flexed against the paper. If I had been there... But he hadn’t been. No one had. That was the entire tragedy of it.

???, 1914

It is quiet.

No music. No voices.

Something has happened.

Why won’t anyone come?

Satoru’s breath slowed. You didn’t know. You had no idea that while you were trapped in that suffocating darkness, the world outside had shifted.

They left.

No one had opened the door. No one had checked. It wasn’t even malice at this point—it was worse. It was indifference.

His jaw clenched. You weren’t even aware that the world had moved on without you. You were just waiting. Waiting for a help that would never come.

July 28, 1914

Sirens.

War.

The halls are empty.

They have all gone home.

No one remembers I am here.

No one remembers at all.

Sirens. The first world war. The absence. His hand trembled. The emptiness of the halls. You had been forgotten amidst the chaos, the madness of the world falling apart. He hated the feeling of it. The helplessness. The way everything—everything—slipped away, leaving only that quiet, sickening silence. He muttered a curse under his breath, feeling a heavy weight in his stomach.

You had been alone. And it wasn’t just the physical isolation. It was the fact that no one even cared enough to remember you.

???, 1914

(Archivist - The ink is uneven, pressed too hard into the paper—her hand must have been shaking.)

I dreamed of Viscount Salvatore.

He pulled out a chair for me again.

Only this time, when I sat, he turned to me and said, "I see you."

I woke up crying.

(He will not remember me either.)

Viscount Salvatore was back in your dreams. And now, Satoru was reading about how you woke up crying. He shook his head slowly, his eyes closing briefly. Even in your lonely moments, he was there, haunting you—both a comfort and a torment. He could almost see it in his mind, the way Viscount Salvatore's distant gaze would have held some measure of regret, maybe even longing. But none of that would ever matter now.

“Damn it,” Satoru cursed under his breath. He didn't even know what he was mad at—himself, the Viscount, or fate. The whole damn situation. You didn’t deserve any of it.

???, 1914

There is no light.

I am afraid to sleep. Afraid I will wake up and it will still be dark. Afraid I won’t wake up at all.

I think I can hear something scratching. Or maybe it is just my own heartbeat.

Satoru shut his eyes for a brief second. That sentence—it was worse than the others. It wasn't just physical anymore. It wasn’t just being locked inside. It was the fear creeping in.

Afraid to sleep. Afraid to wake up and still be in the dark. Afraid to never wake up at all.

He felt sick. You weren’t even sure if you existed anymore. If you were real.

He let his head drop forward slightly, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. It was just a diary. Just words. So why did it feel like they were clawing at something inside of him?

???, 1914

I had a Mother?

Satoru’s eyes flicked back to the page, scanning the sentence again.

His stomach twisted.

You were unraveling.

That was what this was. Not just hunger. Not just thirst. Your mind was fraying at the edges, breaking apart piece by piece.

He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable, a strange, suffocating weight settling in his chest. You had been alone for so long that even memories were slipping away.

You were forgetting yourself.

???, 1914

I dreamed of the kittens.

They were hungry. So was I.

I woke up biting my sleeve.

Satoru closed his eyes again. That dream—it wasn’t just a memory. It was your body crying out, pulling at whatever fragments of warmth it could find.

And when you woke up, you were biting your sleeve.

His lips pressed into a tight line. He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to picture you curled up in the dark, trying to trick yourself into feeling full.

He ran a hand through his hair, swallowing hard.

???, 1914

I have started whispering my own name.

I am afraid I will forget it.

Satoru blinked. The words blurred for a second before coming back into focus.

You were losing yourself. The last thing you had—the only thing left. Your own name. And even that was slipping.

His grip on the paper was too tight now. He forced himself to relax his fingers before he crumpled it.

You had been so, so alone.

???, 1914

I do not want to die like this.

I do not want to die in the dark.

Satoru’s shoulders tensed, but he forced himself to read it again.

You knew. By then, you knew.

It was no longer just fear. It was a final, quiet understanding.

Satoru’s hand came up, fingers pressing lightly against his temple. He had read countless things in his life—reports, records, confessions. But this?

This was someone—you—begging the universe for something it had already denied you.

???, 1914

Did he ever think of me?

Did Viscount Salvatore ever notice that I was gone?

(I am so, so cold.)

???, 1914

I can hear it raining.

There is no hunger anymore.

No thirst.

Just cold.

So, so cold.

???, ????

(Archivist - Final entry. Ink smeared, nearly unreadable.)

If someone finds this—Please—Please remember me.

Satoru didn’t move.

He stared at the words, his vision blurring for a moment before sharpening again.

His throat felt tight.

His grip on the page softened, and he slowly, carefully, set it down.

Satoru wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with this—this aching, gnawing thing in his chest. He didn’t have the words for it. But as he reached for the next stack of papers.

Newspaper Articles

(Archivist - Yellowed clippings, brittle at the edges. No one speaks of her anymore.)

DAUGHTER OF L/N FAMILY MISSING – UNIVERSITY REFUSES COMMENT (July 27, 1914)

Miss L/N, the only daughter of the esteemed L/N family, has been reported missing for over a week. The university has declined to comment, insisting that Miss L/N likely departed of her own volition.

Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. L/N, have offered a sizable reward for any information regarding her whereabouts.

SEARCH FOR MISSING HEIRESS ENDS IN TRAGEDY – PARENTS DECLARED DEAD (December 3, 1916)

After two years of relentless searching, Mr. and Mrs. L/N have perished under tragic circumstances. Their estate, heavily in debt from the investigation, is to be auctioned off.

Miss L/N’s disappearance remains unsolved.

RENOVATIONS UNCOVER HIDDEN CLOSET – HUMAN REMAINS FOUND (March 5, 1957)

Construction teams working on university renovations discovered a sealed-off closet in the west wing. Inside, they found skeletal remains, still clad in a deteriorated silk gown. A diary was found nearby, though much of its ink had faded with time. Officials report that the identity of the remains is unknown, as no records exist of any missing student matching the description.

No further investigation is planned.

THE DAILY GAZETTE

Est. 1896

Thursday, March 7, 1957

PRICE: 10 CENTS

MYSTERY OF THE FORGOTTEN GIRL: REMAINS DISCOVERED IN UNIVERSITY WALLS

Renovation Workers Uncover Skeleton, Raising Chilling Questions About the Past

By George L. Whitmore

SHIZUKA CITY—A routine renovation at one of the country’s most prestigious universities took a macabre turn last week when construction workers stumbled upon a hidden closet sealed within the walls of the East Wing. Inside, they found the skeletal remains of a young woman, her body curled as if she had simply lain down and never risen again. The discovery has sent shockwaves through the academic community, raising unsettling questions about how she came to be there—and why no one ever looked for her.

The identity of the deceased remains unknown. No records exist of a missing student from the time period estimated by forensic specialists—likely the early 20th century. But one thing is certain: she was left there. Forgotten.

A Name Erased

The East Wing, once a grand structure funded by old money and aristocratic influence, had been largely abandoned for decades before renovations began last fall. The university, now bearing the Gojo family name, was once under the patronage of another dynasty—one that, curiously, has all but vanished from historical record.

Researchers digging into archived documents found faint traces of a once-powerful benefactor: the L/N family. According to a 1907 university registry, the L/Ns were among the wealthiest patrons of the institution. From Arms dealings, their contributions were responsible for much of its early expansion. And yet, no descendants remain. No estate. No legacy.

A mere decade after their peak, the family seems to have disappeared altogether. Their name erased. Their wealth scattered.

And now, this girl—the girl in the closet.

A Harmless Prank Gone Horribly Wrong?

The discovery has sparked whispered theories among university staff and alumni. Some recall long-forgotten stories, rumors passed down like ghost stories in dormitory halls. Stories of a girl. Beautiful. Intelligent. Kind. Too kind.

“She was perfect, too perfect,” said one retired professor, who wished to remain anonymous. “People resented her for it. The way the faculty admired her. The way she carried herself. There were whispers, of course—ugly, jealous things. But back then, the school was different. There were rules about what could and could not be spoken aloud.”

While no official reports exist of bullying, former students who attended in the early 1900s recall the cruel pranks that were common among the elite circles of the time. Stolen books. Torn dresses. Whispered mockeries disguised as etiquette lessons.

Then there was the incident at a party—a party that took place just before the world changed forever.

“She went missing that night,” said another source, a woman in her seventies who had attended the university in the years following the First World War. “There were rumors, of course. But no one ever spoke of it directly. And then the war came, and everything was forgotten. Just like that.”

What started as a childish prank—locking a girl in a storage closet—became something else entirely when the world was plunged into chaos. Sirens screamed. Students fled. The university shut its doors. And no one, not a single soul, remembered to let her out.

A Legacy Stolen by Time

The timing is chilling. The L/N family vanished not long after. Their once-glorious estate burned to the ground under mysterious circumstances. With their wealth depleted in a desperate search for their missing daughter, they faded into obscurity, lost to history. Meanwhile, the university found a new patron—one with deeper pockets, stronger influence. The Gojo family.

“Nothing stays empty for long,” remarked historian Dr. Henry Carrington. “Power abhors a vacuum. One name disappears; another takes its place. That’s how history works. The question is whether it was simply fate... or something more deliberate.”

What Comes Next?

For now, the remains of the forgotten girl lie in the care of forensic specialists, who will attempt to identify her and, perhaps, grant her the dignity she was denied in life. The university has yet to release an official statement, though sources indicate there are plans to memorialize the discovery.

Still, the air remains heavy with unspoken truths. A legacy buried beneath floorboards. A name erased. A girl left to die in the dark, her existence fading from memory even as the institution she was meant to inherit flourished without her.

And now, decades later, she has returned. Not as a scholar. Not as an heir.

But as a skeleton in the walls of a university that no longer remembers her name.

Satoru understood what had happened.

---

1914

The first time they locked you inside, it was supposed to be a joke. A harmless prank.

“You’ll cry and beg to be let out,” one of them whispered, a cruel giggle curling around her words as she hid her smirk behind a lace-gloved hand. “Let’s see if Miss Perfect is still so polite in the dark.”

You cried.

But you didn’t beg.

Not that night.

Not yet.

It didn’t surprise you. You’d always known people resented you. You were the only child of the L/N family—their legacy was carved in the very stone of the university. Wealth, power, influence, all wrapped in a name that commanded respect. Your family had funded these halls, shaped them. Built them.

And you were meant to carry that weight forward, to live up to expectations that came with being the heir of such a name. You studied hard, spoke softly, helped others without a second thought. You tried to meet the world with grace.

But you had made one mistake.

You were kind. Too kind.

You didn’t wear your last name like armor. You didn’t command respect with a gaze sharp enough to cut or a voice cold enough to freeze. You didn’t move like royalty among commoners. You spoke gently, smiled too much, helped without expecting anything in return.

And that, apparently, was enough to make them hate you.

They called you perfect. A fraud wrapped in silk and sweetness. A girl born to wealth, yet untouched by cruelty. It made them sick to their stomachs. They told themselves your kindness was a mask. That you were pretending. That behind your soft smile, you looked down on them.

The whispers slithered through the hallways, filled every corner of every dormitory, echoed between the benches in lecture halls. “She must think she’s better than us.” The rumors crept, fed by jealousy and disdain, each one sinking deeper, until they made it their mission to tear you down.

It started small. Stolen assignments. Ink spilled all over your uniform. Books knocked from your arms as you passed, their laughter trailing behind you like a shadow.

But then the pranks grew worse. Razor blades slipped into the lining of your bag, waiting to slice your fingers. Your tea, laced with ink, stained your lips and tongue black for hours. Dead rats left in your desk drawers, bloated and stinking, their decaying bodies a cruel reminder of their hatred.

You had friends—or you thought you did. But when you looked to them, their smiles faltered. They said nothing. Did nothing. They looked away.

So, you endured it all alone.

Then came the night of the party.

You hadn’t wanted to go. But one of the girls, the one you still foolishly believed to be a friend, begged you. She said everyone wanted to start over, that they regretted their childish jealousy and were ready to put it behind them.

You wanted to believe it. You wanted so badly to believe that people could change, that cruelty wasn’t the default. You wanted to believe that if you just endured long enough, they would see you for who you really were.

So, you went.

The music was loud, thick with the beat of drums and the pulse of electric guitars. The air was heavy with smoke, alcohol, and the scent of youth gone wild. Laughter rang out, spinning around you as people twirled under lantern light. For the first time in years, you thought maybe—just maybe—you weren’t so alone after all.

But then, hands grabbed you.

They pulled you, dragged you away from the laughter, from the light, down the dim hallway that felt colder with every step. You struggled, but there were too many of them. Nails dug into your skin, and their breath reeked of whiskey and sweat.

They laughed. “Let’s see how perfect you are now.”

The closet was small. Cramped. A tiny, forgotten storage room in the corner of the building, filled with old books and dusty supplies. They shoved you inside.

You stumbled, tripping over the rough wooden floor, your hands scraping against the splintered walls. The door slammed behind you, the sound of the lock clicking echoing in your chest. You barely had time to press yourself against the door before it shut you in complete darkness.

“Let’s see how sweet you are after this,” they jeered, and then they were gone.

At first, you thought it was a joke. Any second now, they would open the door, laughing, saying it was just a prank. The music outside was still loud. The sounds of celebration filled your ears, muffling your screams and your frantic banging against the door.

They would let you out.

Of course, they would.

Wouldn’t they?

You banged harder. Screamed louder.

But no one came.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. Two.

Your fists were raw, your throat burned from the screams, but still, nothing.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep. When you woke up, your mouth was dry, your body stiff and cold. You were still in your party dress, but your shoes were gone. You had lost them somewhere, in the chaos of being dragged.

You banged again. Screamed louder.

Nothing.

More hours passed. Maybe a day. You tried to count the time, but it blurred. The darkness stole all sense of it.

Then, one night—though you couldn’t tell if it was day or night anymore—something changed.

The university went silent.

The once-bustling halls were empty. The voices, the laughter, the music—gone.

In the distance, you heard sirens. A sound that felt like the last thread of the world unraveling.

The world was at war.

Overnight, everything collapsed. Students fled. Professors disappeared. The university shut down.

And no one, not a single soul, remembered that you were still locked in that closet.

The hunger was unbearable at first. You pressed your hands against your stomach as it twisted in agony, but after a while, even hunger faded into the background. The thirst, however, never left. Your lips cracked, your throat burned, your vision swam.

But you were too weak to scream now.

At some point, you stopped feeling anything at all.

No one remembered the girl in the closet.

Days passed. Maybe weeks. Maybe months.

But in the end, it didn’t matter.

There was only silence.

When they finally reopened that part of the university—years, maybe decades later, during renovations—the workers found a hidden closet behind the walls. They found a skeleton, still curled on the floor, clutching the remains of a tattered dress.

No one knew who you were. Your records were gone.

The L/N family was erased from history.

Your parents had searched for you. Desperately. They spent every penny, called in every favor, tore the world apart looking for their only child.

But war doesn’t care for grieving parents.

They died before they could uncover the truth. Your home burned. And with them, the name that had once shaped this university disappeared from the records.

The buildings once funded by your family were renamed. The university you were supposed to inherit now bore another family’s name.

The Gojo family.

And you?

You had simply ceased to exist.

---

Present Day

Satoru stared at the newspaper article in his hands, the words blurring as his chest tightened. It felt like someone had reached into him, squeezing the air from his lungs until he couldn’t breathe. His vision wavered, the paper in his hands turning into nothing more than a smear of ink and empty noise.

He had spent the entire night digging. Searching. Prying through the layers of forgotten history no one had cared to remember. And now—

Now, he wished he hadn’t.

His chest ached. His stomach churned with the weight of it. He hadn’t expected to find this. He hadn’t expected to feel the crushing blow of reality, the terrible, suffocating guilt that twisted through him like a knife.

You had smiled at him.

how your fingers had trembled in his hands, how your wide, nervous eyes had held so much uncertainty, yet a quiet hope. And when you kissed him, your lips soft and warm against his, it had been the kind of kiss that felt like it was long overdue—like you’d been waiting a lifetime for someone to touch you.

And now he knew why.

You had been waiting for a hundred years.

A hundred years of silence. A hundred years of darkness. A hundred years of loneliness so deep it suffocated you, a cruel weight on your chest that no one had ever bothered to lift.

He thought about the closet. The cramped, suffocating space. The darkness. The silence that stretched on for years, unbroken. The pain of realizing no one was coming, no one cared.

The students who had shoved you inside. The laughter as they walked away, their voices fading into the distance while you were left to rot alone in a forgotten corner of the university. The friends who had seen it happen and did nothing. The ones who had turned their backs when you needed them most.

Satoru’s chest tightened further, a sharp pain stabbing through him. His teeth ground together, his jaw clenched so tight it felt like it might crack. His hands shook, trembled violently, as if they could somehow undo what had been done, erase the horror of it all.

He wanted to break something. Throw something. Tear through this cursed world and go back, back to that night, back to when he could’ve stopped it. To rip open that damn door and pull you into his arms, to tell you that you were never alone. That he would have fought for you. That someone—anyone—should have fought for you.

But it was too late.

One hundred years too late.

He sucked in a shaky breath, but it didn’t help. His lungs felt tight, and his throat closed up, like something was blocking the air. His hands shook as he traced the edges of the photograph in front of him. A group of students stood there, stiff and formal, their faces solemn in that black-and-white world of the early 1900s. They were so... distant. Detached. Like they were living in a world completely untouched by joy, by life.

And then there was you.

At the edge of the group, standing out like a ghost, yet so very present. Your soft features. Your gentle eyes. Your delicate, hopeful expression that somehow still managed to look so... lonely.

Beneath the photo, in delicate cursive handwriting, the caption read: "Class of 1914. Including Miss Y/N, the only child  of  the  L/N  family—our university’s first founding patrons."

Satoru’s breath caught in his throat.

Your name should have been everywhere. It should have been on every plaque, in every building, carved into the very bones of this place. Your family had built this school, laid its foundations with their blood and wealth. You had been the heir, the future.

And yet—

No one remembered your name.

Satoru’s pulse pounded in his ears, a frantic rhythm that seemed to echo in his chest. His fingers curled into the paper, the fragile edges crinkling beneath his grip. His heart hammered in his chest as he clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to scream.

This school, his school, had been built on the L/N family name. Your family’s legacy was supposed to be immortal, etched into the very structure of the place. And yet, all he saw now were the names of the Gojo family—his family—everywhere. The library. The dormitories. The lecture halls.

Your family had been erased.

A sickening wave of anger washed over him. He wanted to scream, to tear the world apart. He wanted to shove the truth in their faces, shove it into the faces of everyone who’d forgotten you. Everyone who had abandoned you. But more than anything—he wanted to go back.

He wanted to go back to that night.

He wanted to break down that fucking door, drag you into the light, and tell you, "You weren’t alone. You’ll never be alone again."

But he couldn’t.

It was too late.

One hundred years too late.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but the image of your face lingered. You, the girl who had been forgotten. The girl whose name had been erased from history. The girl who had waited for someone to remember, to fight for her. The girl who had suffered alone.

No one remembered you now.

But Satoru did.

A/N: Did you get who Viscount Salvatore was?

Next Chapter 3 - (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

[hy6erion]

Can you write something about taking care of Omar Marmoush's curls? Like he isn't happy with it and his girl is buying everything to make him pop

𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐬 & 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞 - 𝐎𝐦𝐚𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐎𝐦𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭- 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡, 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.

You sat cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through your phone while Omar paced back and forth in front of you, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. His dark curls were slightly frizzy, flattened in some areas, and puffed up in others. It wasn’t that they looked bad—he never looked bad—but you could tell he wasn’t happy with them.

“I swear, my hair just hates me,” he muttered, dropping onto the couch beside you. “Some days it looks alright, and then others… this.” He gestured vaguely at his head.

You tilted your head, reaching out to run your fingers through the strands. “It’s not that bad, baby.”

He huffed. “It’s bad. I look like a damn broccoli.”

You giggled, but when you saw the way he slumped back, rubbing his face tiredly, your amusement softened into something more affectionate. He’d been complaining about his hair for weeks now, always fussing with it before games, after showers, every time he passed a mirror.

“Okay,” you said, locking your phone and setting it aside. “Enough complaining. I’m fixing this.”

His brows pulled together. “Fixing?”

You stood up and stretched. “Yes. Clearly, whatever you’re doing isn’t working. So I’m stepping in.”

He gave you a skeptical look. “You know how to take care of curls?”

“No,” you admitted, “but I’ve been doing research.”

His lips twitched. “Research?”

“Yes, Omar,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I’ve been reading about curl types, porosity, hydration, protein-moisture balance—all of it.” You gestured toward the hallway. “And I may or may not have bought a few things.”

He groaned. “How much?”

You bit your lip. “…A reasonable amount.”

“Which means you went crazy.”

You grinned. “Just trust me, okay? I promise I’ll make your curls pop.”

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “Fine. Go ahead, hair doctor.”

You clapped your hands together. “Great! First, we’re washing your hair properly.”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You say that like I don’t already wash it properly.”

“You don’t.” You patted his cheek. “Come on, to the bathroom.”

—

Ten minutes later, Omar sat on a stool in the bathroom, his hair soaked and his legs spread lazily apart. You stood behind him, rolling up your sleeves as you grabbed the sulfate-free shampoo you’d bought.

“Okay, head down,” you instructed.

He leaned over the sink, and you worked the shampoo into his scalp, using your fingertips to massage in slow, firm circles. He let out a deep sigh, muscles loosening under your touch.

“Damn,” he murmured. “That actually feels good.”

“See?” You smiled, continuing the massage. “Your scalp needs love too.”

Once you rinsed out the shampoo, you moved on to conditioner, coating his curls generously. You grabbed the wide-tooth comb and began detangling from the ends up.

“Ow.” He flinched.

“Don’t be dramatic,” you teased, raking your fingers through his hair after the comb. “You just need patience.”

He made a face but didn’t protest further, letting you work through the tangles. Once his curls were detangled and soaking in the conditioner, you let it sit while you explained your plan.

“So, I bought a curl cream, leave-in conditioner, and an oil to seal in moisture. Oh, and a microfiber towel because regular towels make your hair frizzy.”

He glanced up at you with a smirk. “You’re really taking this seriously.”

“Of course I am. I want my man to have healthy curls.”

He reached up, curling his wet fingers around your wrist and pulling you down slightly so your faces were closer. “You’re cute when you get all serious about me.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you kept your composure. “I’m always serious about you.”

He grinned. “I know.”

You rolled your eyes playfully before rinsing out the conditioner. Once his hair was damp but not dripping, you raked your fingers through his curls with the leave-in conditioner and curl cream, scrunching them gently. You noticed the way his curls were already forming better, the frizz reducing as the product absorbed.

Finally, you took the oil, rubbing it between your palms before applying it to the ends of his curls. Once everything was set, you handed him the microfiber towel.

“No rubbing,” you warned. “Just scrunch gently.”

He did as you said, then sat up, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He touched his curls experimentally, his fingers trailing through them before looking at you.

“Damn. This actually looks good.”

You smirked. “Told you. Just wait until it air-dries fully.”

He turned on the stool, gripping your waist and pulling you between his legs. “Thank you”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “Always.”

He kissed your stomach through your shirt before leaning back with a grin. “So, do I have to do all this every time now?”

You laughed. “Yes, unless you want me doing it for you forever.”

His hands slid down to your hips. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

You shook your head, smiling. “Omar, you’re impossible.”

“But you love me.”

You kissed the top of his head. “I do.”

And as his curls dried into perfect, defined coils, he decided that maybe—just maybe—this whole hair care thing wasn’t so bad after all.

[alejandro-ask]

Alejandro. I may or may not have Snuck something onto Base. But don’t get mad yet…please. (A tiny White Fox walks out behind Sparrow, The Name Tag Reads Snowflake.)

Listen, I can explain Hermano…I found it when i was on a Mission, It was hurt and i had to help it, I brought it to base in secret to my Room when you and Rudy were on a mission, I Helped it but now it’s gotten clingy to me and now i have a pet Fox.

(Pls don’t get mad, I don’t want to release for it to get hurt again in the wild..)

Alejandro crosses his arms, his jaw tightening as he stares down at the tiny fox sitting at Sparrow’s feet. He drags a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath before leveling Sparrow with a deadpan glare.

"¿Me estás jodiendo, cabrón?" His voice is flat, exasperated, and dangerously close to a groan. He gestures vaguely at the fox, then at Sparrow, then back at the fox like he’s trying to process the sheer audacity of the situation.

Scoffing, he pinches the bridge of his nose and inhales sharply. "You mean to tell me—" he points a finger at Sparrow, voice rising slightly "—that while Rudy and I were out handling shit, you were here, smuggling a whole-ass fox onto base?"

Sparrow opens their mouth, but Alejandro cuts them off with a sharp shake of his head. "No, no, don’t even start. I don’t wanna hear the ‘it was injured’ excuse. Do you know how many rules you broke? Do you know how many reports I’m gonna have to deal with if this becomes common and someone inevitably finds out about this? that i have been letting mi vaqueros KEEP LITTLE PETS?"

The fox stretches, lets out a tiny yawn, and blinks up at him with innocent eyes. Alejandro stares at it, his lips pressed into a thin line.

A long silence. Then, a dramatic sigh as he rubs his temples.

"...You know what? Fine. But if this thing chews up a single boot, shits anywhere near my office, or makes a noise when I’m trying to sleep, tú lo manejas. And if it causes any major problem? No me llames para cubrir tu trasero, entendido?"

He softens his gaze and kneels petting the fox, then get up and leaves grumbling under his breath. "I swear to God, this pinche equipo is gonna be the death of me..."

[angelinheadlights]

Sae Itoshi As Your Boyfriend (Part 1)

A/N: first time writing for bllk; pls spare me if i mess up his character :,) requests are welcomed!

I. Confession

Sae does not admit his feelings until he’s absolutely sure it’s reciprocated. He makes note of how you react when he leans in just a little too close for comfort, how your face practically lights up when he mentions he’s free, and how you’ve always looked away when his teal eyes locked onto yours. Although he could be tad bit slow when it comes to reading the room, he wasn’t completely stupid. He has encountered a plethora of fangirls that were way too obvious with their affection, and he simply had grown rather wary of it.

The confession won’t be dramatic or filled with fanfare. Sae has been told he’s quite direct and blunt, but why beat around the bush when he can get the point across in a few words?

It was a frigid winter night. The two of you were walking down a quiet part of town, the warm lights of the street lamps acting as a guide through the darkness. He walked beside you with his hands tucked in the pockets of his sleek, designer coat. Nothing could be heard besides the sound of footsteps on the thick snow and the occasional sweeping of the winds. The silence wasn’t deafening; it was comforting. There was no need for the exchange of words, and you were content with that.

Suddenly, Sae declared something that made you stop dead in your tracks, “I like you.” However, he had just stated this in the most monotone voice and deadpan delivery with absolutely no context.

You immediately whipped your head around, blinking a few times to process what had just left his mouth.

“What..?” You muttered in confusion.

“I like you.”

There it was again, those three words. Those words that made your heart furiously pound against your ribcage in anticipation, those three words that made your brain short-circuit for a good second, those three words that ignited a scorching hot feeling bubbling up inside your body. You gulped, trying to not misinterpret the situation. Sae did have this habit of being easy to misunderstand due to his lack of context.

You try to look for something in his eyes that could help you grasp the situation better, but to no avail. He had this unreadable stare, accompanied by classic neutral face that you’ve gotten way too used to. His brownish-red hair was illuminated by the lamp straight above of where the two of you stopped, seemingly frozen in time.

“Well?” Sae tilted his head slightly, as if waiting for an answer.

“Wait, so you’re saying that you—” you gestured vaguely into the air, attempting to regain your composure, “like me?”

He sighed dramatically, as if you had just asked the most obvious thing in the world. However, there was a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “What do you think?”

You opened your mouth to reply, perhaps something snarky or sarcastic to lighten the tension brewing between the two of you. You couldn’t. Your mind was completely fogged, and you were at a loss for words. The man you’ve been secretly (it was obvious, actually) pining for is now confessing? Was this a dream? Are you about to suddenly get interrupted by the irritating ringing of your alarm?

“Sae,” you managed to choke out, voice barely above a whisper. He had somehow managed to step closer, leaving merely inches between the two of you. You can smell the strong scent of his cologne from this angle and feel the heat radiating off of him from how close the two of you were.

“Say something, idiot,” he finally smiled, breaking that calm facade of his.

“This is all so sudden, Sae. You can’t just expect me to be totally unfazed by this.”

“It’s easy. Do you like me?”

You took one deep breath, trying to calm the way your heart was breaking 120BPM.

“Yes,” you chuckled lightly, “I do.”

“Knew it,”

Without another word, Sae leaned in, closing that bit of gap between you. The kiss was gentle, soft, but it was so desperate at the same time, like he’s been waiting to do this since forever. His hands cupped your face, thumbs caressing your jaw as he tilted his head to deepen it. As you pulled away for air, you finally get to see a rare sight: Sae having a genuine smile on his face, one that could probably replace the sun from how it made you forget about the cold around you.

[nameless-jamie]

Mornings

Drabble - Jamie Tartt x girlfriend reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x girlfriend reader

TW: cursing, suggestive scene/language, kissing

A/N: Just something small I've written in between fics. Some fluff to clear my head.

Y/N woke up to the distinct scent of something burning.

Her first thought was that maybe it was a dream. The second was that, no, this was very real, because the smell was getting stronger, and there was an alarming amount of clattering coming from the kitchen.

Then she heard Jamie curse. Loudly.

Throwing off the covers, she hurried out of bed, her heart thudding as she rushed toward the kitchen. “Jamie?”

There was a crash. A bang. And then—

“Shit, shit, shit—”

She turned the corner just in time to see Jamie standing in front of the stove, a fire extinguisher clutched in his hands, looking guilty as hell.

A thick cloud of smoke hung in the air. The toaster was charred beyond recognition. Something that might have once been eggs was sizzling ominously in a pan, and there were eggshells everywhere—on the counter, in the sink, somehow even in Jamie’s hair.

Y/N blinked.

Jamie stared at her, wide-eyed, like a child caught doing something very stupid. Then, after a beat, he cleared his throat.

“…Mornin’, love.”

She didn’t even know where to start. “What—” She gestured vaguely at the chaos around him. “What the hell happened?”

Jamie shifted on his feet, looking sheepish. “Right, so. I was makin’ you breakfast.”

She gestured harder. “With a fire extinguisher?”

He glanced down at the canister in his hands like he had forgotten he was holding it. “Bit of an overreaction, in hindsight.”

“Hindsight?” She gaped at him. “Jamie, I woke up thinking the flat was on fire!”

“Yeah, well, technically it was only a small fire,” he muttered. “Barely even counts.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Jamie.”

He sighed dramatically and set the fire extinguisher down on the counter. “Look, baby, it was meant to be a nice thing, yeah? Breakfast in bed, all that. But then I might’ve, uh… forgot the toast was in the toaster. And then when I cracked the eggs, I thought they looked weird, so I added another one, but then the shells kept fallin’ in, and I tried pickin’ ‘em out, but they was slipp’ry, and then—” He waved a hand at the crime scene that was now their kitchen. “—y’know. This.”

Y/N just stared at him.

Jamie gave her his best please don’t be mad at me, I swear I’m adorable smile.

She exhaled. “I literally don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

Jamie perked up. “So you’re not mad?”

“Oh, I am mad,” she assured him, stepping over what looked like a broken egg carton. “But I also don’t trust you alone in here anymore, so move.”

He grinned and obediently shuffled aside as she grabbed a pan and started cracking fresh eggs into it.

Jamie watched her for a moment before sidling up beside her, chin resting on her shoulder. “So, does this mean you’re makin’ me breakfast now, baby?”

Y/N shot him a look.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll just… set the table or somethin’.”

She turned back to the stove, shaking her head as he started humming behind her, making a big show of fixing up the plates.

Despite the absolute disaster he had caused, she felt a small smile tug at her lips.

Jamie Tartt, domestic menace.

Maybe, just maybe, she was in trouble with this one.

Y/N sighed as she cracked an egg into the pan, carefully avoiding the war zone Jamie had left in his wake. From behind her, she could hear him moving around, clinking dishes together in a way that made her deeply concerned for the well-being of their kitchenware.

Jamie, being Jamie, couldn’t stand the silence for long.

“Y’know,” he mused, sidling up behind her again, “this is kinda sexy.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t look away from the stove. “Me, cooking?”

“Mmm.” He hummed, sliding his hands onto her hips, warm and steady. “More like you, bossin’ me around first thing in the mornin’.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Oh yeah? You into that?”

He squeezed her waist playfully. “Oh, so into it, babe. ‘Specially when you’re all feisty, throwin’ your hands around, givin’ me that look.”

She twisted just enough to glance at him over her shoulder. “What look?”

“The one that says, ‘Jamie, you’re a menace but I still fancy you,’” he teased, grinning.

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, but I live to be flattered, love,” he said dramatically, pressing his lips to her bare shoulder.

She shivered but kept her expression even. “Well, in that case, you’re rubbish at cooking.”

Jamie gasped, clutching his chest like she’d just wounded him. “You take that back, angel.”

“Not a chance.” She turned off the stove and plated the eggs, shooting him a smug look. “You should stick to what you’re actually good at.”

Jamie smirked, stepping in close again, voice dropping into that lazy, knowing drawl. “Oh yeah? And what’s that, sweetheart?”

She scoffed, but her breath hitched when he ran a hand up her side, fingers trailing along the hem of her oversized sleep shirt.

“Dunno,” she mused, feigning nonchalance as she carried the plates to the table. “Football, I guess?”

Jamie let out a deep, exaggerated sigh. “Football, she says. Football.” He followed her to the table, arms crossed, shaking his head. “Here I was, thinkin’ you were about to say something else, but no, just football. So disappointin’, babe.”

Y/N set the plates down and gave him a slow, deliberate once-over. “Well, you are good with your legs.”

Jamie’s smirk was instant. “Oh, now you’re talkin’.”

She rolled her eyes and plopped down into her chair, grabbing a fork. “Eat your eggs before I change my mind about feeding you.”

Jamie plopped into the seat across from her, watching her with far too much amusement. “Y’know, if I was thinkin’ straight, I’d be proper offended by all this slander.”

She arched a brow. “And if you were cooking straight, I wouldn’t have woken up thinking the flat was on fire.”

Jamie just grinned and took a bite of his food, kicking her lightly under the table.

“Whatever you say, babe,” he said, voice muffled from chewing. Then, with a wink, “But you did fancy wakin’ up to me, though, yeah?”

She threw a piece of toast at his head.

[cigarettesaftersae]

i'll like you - 08 seven minutes in heaven

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Series: reo mikage x f!reader | contains : fluff, angst, jealousy, academic rivals, fake dating

masterlist

WN: emotional talk, friendship lost, no smut (ik the title is supposed to be freaky but no freak)

(erm about 5k words but nothing too serious:p)

Naomi stumbled upon Yuna’s desk the moment the bell rang, her usual nosy, insufferable self on full display. Gorgeous, smart, kind, and, of course, rich—yet somehow, she managed to be as obvious as ever.

“So… Yuna,” she drawled, tilting her head with feigned innocence. “Did Y/N like Reo?”

Yuna barely blinked. “No. Do you like him?”

Naomi let out a breathy, nervous chuckle. “Heh, well…” The girls around them giggled, feet shuffling in anticipation. Everyone knew what was coming next.

“I mean, we practically grew up together and everything,” she continued, voice laced with a sickly sweetness. “But I… I guess I can’t really like him anymore since he has a girlfriend, right?”

Yuna resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Maybe if Naomi got bangs, she’d be a perfect Lila Rossi knockoff.

“I was just curious,” Naomi added, feigning nonchalance. “I didn’t know Y/N had a thing for him at all. It’s so… sudden.”

A dramatic sigh escaped her lips, poisoning the air with artificial sorrow. “I just thought Reo and I had something special,” she murmured, voice trembling just enough to sell the act.

Right on cue, the girls around her swarmed with words of comfort, clinging to her faux distress. Yuna, however, kept her hands to herself.

She knew.

She knew Naomi’s perfect-girl act, her fake sweetness, the way she wove a flawless love story with Reo like it was destiny. She also knew that Naomi was planning something—something that involved you.

Yet, here she was. Being her ��friend.’

It wasn’t like her at all. But then again, lately, nothing felt real. Not Naomi. Not Reo. Not herself,

not even you. Everything was a lie.

He’s frying your brain, you figured that he was a yapper and such but WOW did you not expect this. Maybe if you just close your eyes—

“Y/n! Are you trying to sleep? I’m still talking to you.”

“Yeah, no, you’re sending extra epic echolocation straight into my ears,” you grumble.

Reo only grins, completely unfazed. “Do you have a favorite chocolate? Or did you like the ones I got you last time? Are you allergic to anything?”

“Peanut butter.”

“Wait—really?”

“I don’t know.”

His brows furrow. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

You groan, turning to the only person who might save you. “Nagi, take your boyfriend or something.”

“eh?…I thought he was your boyfriend,” Nagi mumbles, barely looking up from his phone.

Reo huffs, undeterred. “Come on, why won’t you tell me anything?”

“Because if I do, you’ll buy some overpriced $1000 junk like you did for me and my mom earlier. No more questions, I already answered enough.” You drop your head back down, finally able to close your eyes for a whole second—

“Do you have a favorite animal?”

“Reo.”

“My love, you’re hurting me.” Reo pouts, acting heartbroken

Lifting your head, you meet his gaze, his violet eyes gleaming with curiosity. “What if I get to know more about you instead?”

Reo grins. “Alright. I play the guitar, I play soccer, I speak multiple languages, and—”

“I meant know you. Not the version you project to everyone else.” Your voice lowers slightly. “I hated that version of you anyway.”

He raises a brow, amused. “So… are you saying you don’t hate me anymore?”

“I didn’t say that, Barney.”

An offended scoff escapes Reo’s lips as he clutches his chest dramatically. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Look at you, purple head.” You gesture vaguely at his hair, but the longer you stare at him, the more a strange guilt settles in your chest. It creeps in like thorns growing on the stem of a ripe red rose—unseen at first, but impossible to ignore.

A sigh escapes your lips before you ask, softer this time, “What do you actually like? Not what you show off to others—what do you really like? Or hate? Your friends? Your favorite flowers?”

Reo pauses, tilting his head in thought. Seconds tick by. Thirty. Forty. A whole minute.

Finally, he exhales, a small frown tugging at his lips. “…I don’t know.”

You blink, caught off guard by the quiet admission. But you get it. His whole life has been a performance, shaped by expectations, by a lie he never really chose.

“Well,” you murmur, leaning forward just a bit. “Don’t you like soccer? Tell me about it.”

“Here, first edition by way.” Reo’s delicate hands extend a book toward you. One that you’ve been dying to read but never could find it but there it was. Just another item placed around in the 50,000 book—or maybe more, library in the Mikage house— or whatever that building was. How is that a house?

You hesitantly take hold of the book, you’re still spellbound to see it in person, right in front of your two eyes. A star so bright, and full of glitter yet this time it wasn’t out of your hand’s reach. “Is this the only thing you got me?”

“Did you want more?” Reo’s eye light up

“No. You better not have gotten more.”

The hand tucked behind his back slowly reaches out to expose a small keychain and before he could open his mouth in protest you stop him, “ah- no. Why did you even get that?”

“I just..saw it at the store and it reminded me of you.”

“I told you to stop spending things for me, this relationship isn’t even…real” You say softly, avoiding your gaze as you rub the back of your neck

“Well, yes. But our friendship isn’t right?”

It takes a good moment before youre able to gaze into his eyes and respond “It isn’t”

“Oh— and uh dinner with my parents this Friday.” His subject change wasn’t the thing that surprised, it was the fact that it was tomorrow!

“What— wait you didn’t tell me it was this week, I thought we started the Friday dinners next week!”

A chuckle. Just a nervous childish chuckle paired with a cute smile was all you received from Reo as he shy's away. He knew this would make you angry, you weren’t exactly ready to meet one of the richest families on Earth. “Well… They actually found out before I could tell them and then they just arranged to meet you Friday— or tomorrow I guess”

“Reo! I don’t even know what to wear! Have you seen my wardrobe? It’s not Mikage fancy like”

“I like your wardrobe” His happy little smile paved the way through your stress

“But Reo-” His hand softly brushes through yours in reassurance.

“Y/n, I already arranged everything for you. I’ll pick you up at 6 after school, and if you want I’ll pick something out for you to wear. You just need to sit and look pretty and eat. I’m sure the look pretty part is easy for you though.”

The last sigh allowed you to finally breathe normally, stress out the window as Reo continue to rub the sides of your shoulders and soft knuckles. His touch ever so hazy, a kiss of gentle, and melodic “I have practice today so…” Reo stopped mid-thought, gaze lingered, unreadable. He wanted to kiss your cheek a nice goodbye before heading off but he stilled. “I’ll see you tomorrow” His figure began to fade.

As Reo left, there was no point in staying at school any longer. With a sigh, you picked up your feet and headed toward the gates. The sun dimmed down, hueing it’s lucent colors on your radiant skin. Warm, you felt. Just from the touch of it’s lingering kiss, a gift from the Sun was like a gift from Reo. But the moment passed to soon, now it seemed like the dark night had conquered the sky but it didn’t. It was just Yuna.

She looked at you for moment till she started walking, speeding up to avoid you at all cost. “Wait—” it slipped out of your mouth, you’re desprate, hungry, starving—don’t leave. please

She stopped in her tracks the moment she heard your voice, her head turning back to look at you, but her eyes didn’t carry the same look she use to give you.

“I never really liked Nagi…” You try to reason, you could even break down on your knees, bruise it as it may— please, please forgive me.

“Ok..” The shatter on your heart couldn’t get any worse, you knew how angry she was. But did she know how miserable you are. How wretched of the nothing you are without her?

“Yuna—”

“Why are you dating him? Reo. You barely even talked to him, and Naomi and him are soon to be lovers one day.”

“He’s…gracious and caring”

“Is that just another labyrinth lie”

“What— no no it isn’t”

“You’re all a bunch of liars.” Naomi and her personality? Fake. Your and Reo’s relationship, a facade. Her head look down at her feet, avoiding your heavyhearted gaze. One look into your eyes and she’ll give in.

“I don’t want to talk you anymore” And with that, makes Yuna the biggest liar. She loved to talk to you right now. About how she’s having trouble understanding the math assignment, or the new boy on the streets, the spider she saw in the shower, the haircut she’s been wanting to get, but mostly just talk to you. Be with you. But her body takes control of it’s own and wanders away from the very one she die for.

Arriving home after that was nothing more than depressing, all this time you thought Yuna was avoiding you but it hit you the moment you saw her. You were the one avoiding everything, using Reo as a way to function with Yuna gone, pretending like there weren’t nasty gossip about you and Reo and now you have to meet your fake-boyfriend’s parents. Your life is a mess. You wipe away the small tear dripping down your cheek once you heard the door creak open, your mom entered. Gently setting herself next to you. “Is something wrong?”

“No…well…yeah?”

“Is it about your boyfriend? Is he treating you wrong”

You softly chuckle, her motherly humor filling the room’s warmth. Engulfing you with love

“Kinda. Tomorrow I have to go to dinner with his parents.”

“Oh…yeah… I wanted to talk to you about that.” Your mother grew in a deep breath. “I know that the choices I did in my past wasn’t…necessarily good and it can effect you gravely, but never let anyone talk you down on that. You are the greatest gift I can have.” She kiss you on the head, her hand wraps around yours “He must really like you if he’s willing to face the consequences. You know, when I went to school with his parents, they were such bitches.”

“Mom!”

“I know, I know—one dollar in the cussing jar.” She waves a hand dismissively. “But I meant it. If there’s anything bothering you, you’d tell me, right?”

You nod, offering a small smile as she leaves the room.

But the truth is—he wasn’t the problem at all. If anything, he was the reason you were still here, still happy. The weight in your chest wasn’t because of him. It was because of her.

Yuna.

The mess you made, the way things fell apart between you two—it haunted you. How could you ever forgive yourself for what happened? For the hurt you caused?

After she left, it was like the world lost its color. You spent a week drowning in your own thoughts, sinking deeper into something you couldn’t quite escape. The sky stayed gray no matter how many times you looked up, hoping for a change.

But then, when you lifted your head again, it wasn’t Yuna standing there.

It was Reo.

And for the first time in a long while, the sky didn’t seem so gray.

The next morning you’re greeted with a limo, again. Reo exits the car to say hi, but his great smile was already good enough to fill you with warmth. He almost looked like Yuna in a slight moment. “Y/n! Good morning.” He moves to the side to let you in first but quickly stops you, “Are you sure you can come to school, you look sick.” He starts to worry, hands feeling your forehead for any high temperatures, he’s looking around you if any bones or muscles are sore, or if you’re limping. “It’s okay, I’m not sick.” You reassure him, a small laughter leaves your lips as you see him worried so quickly

”Your eyes are really swollen, are you sure?’ He leaned in more close, more worried. His breath making whole contact on the hair on your skin.

“Uh— yeah you know I just got makeup in my eye so…” You try to excuse yourself and look away, rubbing the back of your neck.

“…Were you crying? Was it because of me? If you don’t want to see my parents today I’ll tell them no.”

“No it’s not that… um lets just get in the car and head to school first.” Before you could slip into the limo, his hand lands on your shoulder

“You can tell me if anything is wrong, you’re my friend y/n”

You sigh with a soft smile “Stop worrying and let’s go. We’re gonna be late”

“Late— Oh shoot we need to hurry!”

“You go ahead Nagi, we’ll meet you.” Unhurried, Reo insists his other duo to go first which was quite obvious to you what his intentions was. His heel quickly turns to face you fully, still carrying that angelic smile. “Soo…” He started off slowly, building, rhyming into your ease, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable. “Are you sure you’re okay?” You both start walking towards the school, students in their uniforms, some messy, some neat, some— are something, pass by as you walk with your ‘boyfriend’ and to your measure girls and boys gather around to admire Reo Mikage and the flowers that following behind him as he walks. “Yeah…—well, I don’t know maybe.” Your breath hitched just for a second before saying her name, it felt impossible to say. It felt like you didn’t deserve to say her name for how horrible you were to her. You did lie to her, and you still are by playing around with the Mikage boy. “I spoke to Yuna yesterday.” Your voice steady, soft, and low. Eyes on the ground, avoidant on everything around you even the pink petals following on your shoulders and the thins between your hair. You couldn’t see but Reo’s attention shifted all upon you, and only you.

“Oh…” Reo softly caresses the side of your shoulder “I know it seems hard…I mean you’re going to meet my parents today, and you’re arguing with Yuna, but you’re never alone. You have your mom, whose nice and always seems like the type to fight for you. And you have….me. So cry or don’t cry, whatever happens from now on. I’m here.” You crane your neck up, embracing all the details of his beauty. He looked more dreamy up close. The soft pads of his thumb caress your dumpling cheek, wiping away your tear. You start to tear up even more, your nose speeding it’s way to breathe. Reo starts to panic, his eyes widen in fear Did I say something wrong?!—Was I too insensitive? Gah, I’m so stupid!

“Y—y/n! Is—is it because of me? I’m so stupid, I’m so sorry—” He quickly hugs you, comforting your head in his chest as you sob. His hand swaying back and forth in the locks of your hair. His touch smooth and caring. His other arm wrapped around you, feeling evermore secure then ever. “I’m sorry…”

Oh, and let’s not forget the crowd. Yeah, they’re still here—watching, wide-eyed, as you and Reo share what might just be the most intimate moment of your life. Their gasps are barely audible, breaths hitched in awe, eyes locked onto the quiet intimacy unfolding in the middle of the field. The world around you feels like it’s slowing down, wrapped in the warmth of his touch, his words, him. And yet, the weight in your chest lingers.

The longest seven minutes of your life. That’s how it felt—wrapped in Reo’s warm embrace, his hand smoothing over your hair as if trying to silence every unspoken fear inside you. Your breath steadies, the tear-stained ache in your chest easing, and yet… he doesn’t let go. Even with the crowd long gone, leaving only the two of you beneath the gentle breeze of the afternoon, he still holds you. "Reo…” Your voice is quiet, but it’s enough to make him straighten, body instantly attentive, as if ready to spring into action at your every word. You hear the nervous gulp in his throat. "Yes?" His response is soft, cautious. You take a breath. "Thank you. Sorry I’ve been a whole mess lately." Reo scoffs playfully, his grip around you not loosening. "It’s no problem," he mumbles, barely above a whisper, like he’s scared his words might make you crumble again. For a moment, there’s only silence—comfortable, but filled with something else. Something unspoken. Then, Reo gently pulls back just enough to see your face, he brushes your hair out of your face and gazes at you a little too long. “Reo” You say softly again

“Hmm?”

“I think the bell rang already”

WN: emotional talk, friendship lost, no smut (ik the title is supposed to be freaky but no freak)

Naomi stumbled upon Yuna’s desk the moment the bell rang, her usual nosy, insufferable self on full display. Gorgeous, smart, kind, and, of course, rich—yet somehow, she managed to be as obvious as ever.

“So… Yuna,” she drawled, tilting her head with feigned innocence. “Did Y/N like Reo?”

Yuna barely blinked. “No. Do you like him?”

Naomi let out a breathy, nervous chuckle. “Heh, well…” The girls around them giggled, feet shuffling in anticipation. Everyone knew what was coming next.

“I mean, we practically grew up together and everything,” she continued, voice laced with a sickly sweetness. “But I… I guess I can’t really like him anymore since he has a girlfriend, right?”

Yuna resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Maybe if Naomi got bangs, she’d be a perfect Lila Rossi knockoff.

“I was just curious,” Naomi added, feigning nonchalance. “I didn’t know Y/N had a thing for him at all. It’s so… sudden.”

A dramatic sigh escaped her lips, poisoning the air with artificial sorrow. “I just thought Reo and I had something special,” she murmured, voice trembling just enough to sell the act.

Right on cue, the girls around her swarmed with words of comfort, clinging to her faux distress. Yuna, however, kept her hands to herself.

She knew.

She knew Naomi’s perfect-girl act, her fake sweetness, the way she wove a flawless love story with Reo like it was destiny. She also knew that Naomi was planning something—something that involved you.

Yet, here she was. Being her ‘friend.’

It wasn’t like her at all. But then again, lately, nothing felt real. Not Naomi. Not Reo. Not herself,

not even you. Everything was a lie.

He’s frying your brain, you figured that he was a yapper and such but WOW did you not expect this. Maybe if you just close your eyes—

“Y/n! Are you trying to sleep? I’m still talking to you.”

“Yeah, no, you’re sending extra epic echolocation straight into my ears,” you grumble.

Reo only grins, completely unfazed. “Do you have a favorite chocolate? Or did you like the ones I got you last time? Are you allergic to anything?”

“Peanut butter.”

“Wait—really?”

“I don’t know.”

His brows furrow. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

You groan, turning to the only person who might save you. “Nagi, take your boyfriend or something.”

“eh?…I thought he was your boyfriend,” Nagi mumbles, barely looking up from his phone.

Reo huffs, undeterred. “Come on, why won’t you tell me anything?”

“Because if I do, you’ll buy some overpriced $1000 junk like you did for me and my mom earlier. No more questions, I already answered enough.” You drop your head back down, finally able to close your eyes for a whole second—

“Do you have a favorite animal?”

“Reo.”

“My love, you’re hurting me.” Reo pouts, acting heartbroken

Lifting your head, you meet his gaze, his violet eyes gleaming with curiosity. “What if I get to know more about you instead?”

Reo grins. “Alright. I play the guitar, I play soccer, I speak multiple languages, and—”

“I meant know you. Not the version you project to everyone else.” Your voice lowers slightly. “I hated that version of you anyway.”

He raises a brow, amused. “So… are you saying you don’t hate me anymore?”

“I didn’t say that, Barney.”

An offended scoff escapes Reo’s lips as he clutches his chest dramatically. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Look at you, purple head.” You gesture vaguely at his hair, but the longer you stare at him, the more a strange guilt settles in your chest. It creeps in like thorns growing on the stem of a ripe red rose—unseen at first, but impossible to ignore.

A sigh escapes your lips before you ask, softer this time, “What do you actually like? Not what you show off to others—what do you really like? Or hate? Your friends? Your favorite flowers?”

Reo pauses, tilting his head in thought. Seconds tick by. Thirty. Forty. A whole minute.

Finally, he exhales, a small frown tugging at his lips. “…I don’t know.”

You blink, caught off guard by the quiet admission. But you get it. His whole life has been a performance, shaped by expectations, by a lie he never really chose.

“Well,” you murmur, leaning forward just a bit. “Don’t you like soccer? Tell me about it.”

“Here, first edition by way.” Reo’s delicate hands extend a book toward you. One that you’ve been dying to read but never could find it but there it was. Just another item placed around in the 50,000 book—or maybe more, library in the Mikage house— or whatever that building was. How is that a house?

You hesitantly take hold of the book, you’re still spellbound to see it in person, right in front of your two eyes. A star so bright, and full of glitter yet this time it wasn’t out of your hand’s reach. “Is this the only thing you got me?”

“Did you want more?” Reo’s eye light up

“No. You better not have gotten more.”

The hand tucked behind his back slowly reaches out to expose a small keychain and before he could open his mouth in protest you stop him, “ah- no. Why did you even get that?”

“I just..saw it at the store and it reminded me of you.”

“I told you to stop spending things for me, this relationship isn’t even…real” You say softly, avoiding your gaze as you rub the back of your neck

“Well, yes. But our friendship isn’t right?”

It takes a good moment before youre able to gaze into his eyes and respond “It isn’t”

“Oh— and uh dinner with my parents this Friday.” His subject change wasn’t the thing that surprised, it was the fact that it was tomorrow!

“What— wait you didn’t tell me it was this week, I thought we started the Friday dinners next week!”

A chuckle. Just a nervous childish chuckle paired with a cute smile was all you received from Reo as he shy's away. He knew this would make you angry, you weren’t exactly ready to meet one of the richest families on Earth. “Well… They actually found out before I could tell them and then they just arranged to meet you Friday— or tomorrow I guess”

“Reo! I don’t even know what to wear! Have you seen my wardrobe? It’s not Mikage fancy like”

“I like your wardrobe” His happy little smile paved the way through your stress

“But Reo-” His hand softly brushes through yours in reassurance.

“Y/n, I already arranged everything for you. I’ll pick you up at 6 after school, and if you want I’ll pick something out for you to wear. You just need to sit and look pretty and eat. I’m sure the look pretty part is easy for you though.”

The last sigh allowed you to finally breathe normally, stress out the window as Reo continue to rub the sides of your shoulders and soft knuckles. His touch ever so hazy, a kiss of gentle, and melodic “I have practice today so…” Reo stopped mid-thought, gaze lingered, unreadable. He wanted to kiss your cheek a nice goodbye before heading off but he stilled. “I’ll see you tomorrow” His figure began to fade.

As Reo left, there was no point in staying at school any longer. With a sigh, you picked up your feet and headed toward the gates. The sun dimmed down, hueing it’s lucent colors on your radiant skin. Warm, you felt. Just from the touch of it’s lingering kiss, a gift from the Sun was like a gift from Reo. But the moment passed to soon, now it seemed like the dark night had conquered the sky but it didn’t. It was just Yuna.

She looked at you for moment till she started walking, speeding up to avoid you at all cost. “Wait—” it slipped out of your mouth, you’re desprate, hungry, starving—don’t leave. please

She stopped in her tracks the moment she heard your voice, her head turning back to look at you, but her eyes didn’t carry the same look she use to give you.

“I never really liked Nagi…” You try to reason, you could even break down on your knees, bruise it as it may— please, please forgive me.

“Ok..” The shatter on your heart couldn’t get any worse, you knew how angry she was. But did she know how miserable you are. How wretched of the nothing you are without her?

“Yuna—”

“Why are you dating him? Reo. You barely even talked to him, and Naomi and him are soon to be lovers one day.”

“He’s…gracious and caring”

“Is that just another labyrinth lie”

“What— no no it isn’t”

“You’re all a bunch of liars.” Naomi and her personality? Fake. Your and Reo’s relationship, a facade. Her head look down at her feet, avoiding your heavyhearted gaze. One look into your eyes and she’ll give in.

“I don’t want to talk you anymore” And with that, makes Yuna the biggest liar. She loved to talk to you right now. About how she’s having trouble understanding the math assignment, or the new boy on the streets, the spider she saw in the shower, the haircut she’s been wanting to get, but mostly just talk to you. Be with you. But her body takes control of it’s own and wanders away from the very one she die for.

Arriving home after that was nothing more than depressing, all this time you thought Yuna was avoiding you but it hit you the moment you saw her. You were the one avoiding everything, using Reo as a way to function with Yuna gone, pretending like there weren’t nasty gossip about you and Reo and now you have to meet your fake-boyfriend’s parents. Your life is a mess. You wipe away the small tear dripping down your cheek once you heard the door creak open, your mom entered. Gently setting herself next to you. “Is something wrong?”

“No…well…yeah?”

“Is it about your boyfriend? Is he treating you wrong”

You softly chuckle, her motherly humor filling the room’s warmth. Engulfing you with love

“Kinda. Tomorrow I have to go to dinner with his parents.”

“Oh…yeah… I wanted to talk to you about that.” Your mother grew in a deep breath. “I know that the choices I did in my past wasn’t…necessarily good and it can effect you gravely, but never let anyone talk you down on that. You are the greatest gift I can have.” She kiss you on the head, her hand wraps around yours “He must really like you if he’s willing to face the consequences. You know, when I went to school with his parents, they were such bitches.”

“Mom!”

“I know, I know—one dollar in the cussing jar.” She waves a hand dismissively. “But I meant it. If there’s anything bothering you, you’d tell me, right?”

You nod, offering a small smile as she leaves the room.

But the truth is—he wasn’t the problem at all. If anything, he was the reason you were still here, still happy. The weight in your chest wasn’t because of him. It was because of her.

Yuna.

The mess you made, the way things fell apart between you two—it haunted you. How could you ever forgive yourself for what happened? For the hurt you caused?

After she left, it was like the world lost its color. You spent a week drowning in your own thoughts, sinking deeper into something you couldn’t quite escape. The sky stayed gray no matter how many times you looked up, hoping for a change.

But then, when you lifted your head again, it wasn’t Yuna standing there.

It was Reo.

And for the first time in a long while, the sky didn’t seem so gray.

The next morning you’re greeted with a limo, again. Reo exits the car to say hi, but his great smile was already good enough to fill you with warmth. He almost looked like Yuna in a slight moment. “Y/n! Good morning.” He moves to the side to let you in first but quickly stops you, “Are you sure you can come to school, you look sick.” He starts to worry, hands feeling your forehead for any high temperatures, he’s looking around you if any bones or muscles are sore, or if you’re limping. “It’s okay, I’m not sick.” You reassure him, a small laughter leaves your lips as you see him worried so quickly

”Your eyes are really swollen, are you sure?’ He leaned in more close, more worried. His breath making whole contact on the hair on your skin.

“Uh— yeah you know I just got makeup in my eye so…” You try to excuse yourself and look away, rubbing the back of your neck.

“…Were you crying? Was it because of me? If you don’t want to see my parents today I’ll tell them no.”

“No it’s not that… um lets just get in the car and head to school first.” Before you could slip into the limo, his hand lands on your shoulder

“You can tell me if anything is wrong, you’re my friend y/n”

You sigh with a soft smile “Stop worrying and let’s go. We’re gonna be late”

“Late— Oh shoot we need to hurry!”

“You go ahead Nagi, we’ll meet you.” Unhurried, Reo insists his other duo to go first which was quite obvious to you what his intentions was. His heel quickly turns to face you fully, still carrying that angelic smile. “Soo…” He started off slowly, building, rhyming into your ease, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable. “Are you sure you’re okay?” You both start walking towards the school, students in their uniforms, some messy, some neat, some— are something, pass by as you walk with your ‘boyfriend’ and to your measure girls and boys gather around to admire Reo Mikage and the flowers that following behind him as he walks. “Yeah…—well, I don’t know maybe.” Your breath hitched just for a second before saying her name, it felt impossible to say. It felt like you didn’t deserve to say her name for how horrible you were to her. You did lie to her, and you still are by playing around with the Mikage boy. “I spoke to Yuna yesterday.” Your voice steady, soft, and low. Eyes on the ground, avoidant on everything around you even the pink petals following on your shoulders and the thins between your hair. You couldn’t see but Reo’s attention shifted all upon you, and only you.

“Oh…” Reo softly caresses the side of your shoulder “I know it seems hard…I mean you’re going to meet my parents today, and you’re arguing with Yuna, but you’re never alone. You have your mom, whose nice and always seems like the type to fight for you. And you have….me. So cry or don’t cry, whatever happens from now on. I’m here.” You crane your neck up, embracing all the details of his beauty. He looked more dreamy up close. The soft pads of his thumb caress your dumpling cheek, wiping away your tear. You start to tear up even more, your nose speeding it’s way to breathe. Reo starts to panic, his eyes widen in fear Did I say something wrong?!—Was I too insensitive? Gah, I’m so stupid!

“Y—y/n! Is—is it because of me? I’m so stupid, I’m so sorry—” He quickly hugs you, comforting your head in his chest as you sob. His hand swaying back and forth in the locks of your hair. His touch smooth and caring. His other arm wrapped around you, feeling evermore secure then ever. “I’m sorry…”

Oh, and let’s not forget the crowd. Yeah, they’re still here—watching, wide-eyed, as you and Reo share what might just be the most intimate moment of your life. Their gasps are barely audible, breaths hitched in awe, eyes locked onto the quiet intimacy unfolding in the middle of the field. The world around you feels like it’s slowing down, wrapped in the warmth of his touch, his words, him. And yet, the weight in your chest lingers.

The longest seven minutes of your life. That’s how it felt—wrapped in Reo’s warm embrace, his hand smoothing over your hair as if trying to silence every unspoken fear inside you. Your breath steadies, the tear-stained ache in your chest easing, and yet… he doesn’t let go. Even with the crowd long gone, leaving only the two of you beneath the gentle breeze of the afternoon, he still holds you. "Reo…” Your voice is quiet, but it’s enough to make him straighten, body instantly attentive, as if ready to spring into action at your every word. You hear the nervous gulp in his throat. "Yes?" His response is soft, cautious. You take a breath. "Thank you. Sorry I’ve been a whole mess lately." Reo scoffs playfully, his grip around you not loosening. "It’s no problem," he mumbles, barely above a whisper, like he’s scared his words might make you crumble again. For a moment, there’s only silence—comfortable, but filled with something else. Something unspoken. Then, Reo gently pulls back just enough to see your face, he brushes your hair out of your face and gazes at you a little too long. “Reo” You say softly again

“Hmm?”

“I think the bell rang already”

“Wh—What already!? We have to hurry before they take attendance”