#even their breakup was announced in the press

[rootedinrevisions]

Religiously

Summary: Jake’s world is turned upside down when he learns that the woman he once loved is getting married to someone else. Struggling with the weight of his past mistakes and the emotional fallout of their breakup, Jake is deployed on a mission that nearly costs him his life. What happens when he returns home to recover from his injuries and comes face to face with her?

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader (No Use of Y/n)

Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Religious References, Violence related to military action and combat, Combat Related Injury, Mentions of near death experiences, Discussions of emotional and physical pain, PTSD like themes, Possible triggers related to medical and emergency situations.

Word Count: 6,664

A/N: So it's been a little bit since I posted anything. But here is a little something I've been working on for a few days. Hope you guys enjoy xx

**Flashbacks ared indicated by italics**

Jake shifted the phone to his other ear, stretching his legs out on the hard, thin standard issue mattress that the Navy offered in the barracks. The air conditioning unit rattled in the background, barely cutting through the Southern California heat.

It was late, and he was tired. But he knew he couldn’t miss his usual Sunday night call with his mom. No matter where the Navy sent him, Mama Seresin always expected him to check in.

“Your dad finally fixed the fence,” his mom was saying. “After I reminded him for the hundredth time.”

Jake smirked, rubbing a hand over his face. “Took him long enough.”

“That’s what I said, honey! But you know how he is. Stubborn as a mule.”

“Guess I know where I get it from, then.”

His mom scoffed. “Oh honey, that’s all from your daddy’s side.”

Jake chuckled, the familiar back and forth easing some of the tension in his chest. These calls were a tether to home. Something steady in a life that seemed to never stop moving.

But then his mom’s tone shifted, just slightly. “Oh, did you see the picture of the paper? Your sister said she was going to send it to you.”

Jake frowned. “What paper?”

“The Gazette. They had an engagement announcement in last week’s edition.”

He didn’t think much of it at first, just let her words settle in the background as he reached for the beer on the nightstand. 

And then she said your name. 

Jake’s fingers froze around the bottle. His heart punched once, hard, against his ribs.

“She’s getting married next month. Can you believe it?”

His throat suddenly felt tight and dry. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice even. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm. Big wedding from what I hear. Out at that fancy vineyard in Hill Country. Her mama must be over the moon.”

Jake could only nod, even though she couldn’t see him.

You. Married.

He should’ve expected it. It had been years since he’d last seen you, since he’d walked away and let you go. But still, something about it didn’t sit right.

“Anyway, I always thought you two would end up together,” his mom added casually. Like she hadn’t just knocked the wind out of him. “Guess life had other plans.”

Jake let out a breath through his nose, gripping the bottle tighter. “Yeah. Guess so.”

A silence stretched between them, heavy with everything he didn’t say.

“Jake?” His mom’s voice softened. “You okay, sweetie?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure, honey?” his mom pressed. “You sound—”

“I’m good, Ma,” he cut in, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. He ran a hand over his face. “Just tired. Long day.”

His mom didn’t push, but he could hear the doubt in the way she sighed. “Alright, well, get some rest. And call me next Sunday, you hear?”

“Yeah. Love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

The call ended with a soft click, but the silence it left behind was anything but peaceful.

Jake let the phone rest against his chest for a second, staring up at the ceiling. The AC hummed steady but weak, barely making a dent in the sticky air.

He shut his eyes. Tried to push the thought of you out of his head. Tried to forget the way your name had felt like a punch to the ribs. Tried not to picture you in a white dress, smiling at some other man.

Jake sat up abruptly, cursing under his breath. He ran a hand through his hair, restless. His pulse was too loud, his thoughts running too fast.

He told himself to leave it alone. To let it go, the way he had years ago.

But his fingers moved before he could stop them, unlocking his phone and pulling up his photos. He scrolled fast, past images of deployments, blurry bar nights, old squadmates. 

Until he sees it. A picture of you.

The two of you, tangled together on the dock that summer. Your legs draped over his, your head tipped back in laughter. The setting sun had turned your skin golden, your hair wind-tousled and perfect. He remembered the exact moment he took the photo.

“You’re staring,” you’d teased, nudging his arm.

“Maybe,” he’d admitted, grinning. “Can you blame me?”

Jake swallowed hard. His thumb hovered over the screen. He should put the phone down. Delete the photos. Move on.

But instead, his mind pulled him under. Back to that summer. Back to you. Back to the moment everything changed.

Jake kept scrolling. Past the dock. Past the bonfires. Past the blurry, stolen moments that still felt too sharp.

And then he stopped. The picture filled his screen, pulling the air straight from his lungs.

You, standing in the middle of the river, the water lapping at your thighs. Your arms stretched out, face tipped to the sun, eyes closed like you could soak in the warmth forever. That stupid blue swimsuit he used to tease you about, the one you insisted was your favorite.

He could still hear your laugh from that day.

Could still feel the moment everything changed.

“You coming in, or what?” you called, twisting toward him, your hair dripping down your back.

Jake sat on the riverbank, forearms resting on his knees, watching you wade deeper into the water. “I don’t know. You sure it’s not freezing?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s Texas in July, dumbass.”

Still he didn’t move. Just sat there, watching the sunlight catch in your hair, the way the water curved around your legs.

You sighed, dramatically, and turned to face him fully. “Okay, fine. I’ll come to you.”

Before he could react, you lunged forward, hands cutting through the water, sending a wave straight at him.

“Damn it—”

It was too late. Cold water splashed over his legs, soaking the edge of his shorts.

Your laugh was loud and reckless. “Guess it’s not that cold, huh?”

Jake shot to his feet. “Oh, you’re real funny.”

“I try,” you quipped, grinning as you stepped back, deeper into the river. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

He didn’t think—just moved. Sprinting forward, he hit the water fast, the shock of it stealing his breath, but he didn’t stop. You yelped, spinning to escape, but he caught you easily, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“Jake. Don’t you dare—”

Too late.

He lifted you effortlessly, slinging you over his shoulder before spinning in a circle. You shrieked, kicking your legs, but he only laughed.

“Apologize,” he teased, tightening his grip.

“Never.”

“Suit yourself.”

And then he dropped you. You disappeared beneath the surface, the splash soaking him completely. He barely had a second to gloat before you popped up, hair plastered to your face, eyes blazing with mock outrage.

“Oh, it’s on,” you warned.

Before he could react, you launched yourself at him, pushing him under.

He surfaced a second later, shaking water from his face, only to find you already laughing.

You looked happy. You always looked happy, but today there was something different about it. About you.

Jake’s breath caught, something unfamiliar curling in his chest. He wanted to keep you like this. Wanted to see you like this every damn day.

And that’s when it hit him. Like a punch to the ribs.

He was falling for you. Maybe he already had.

Jake blinked, the memory dissolving like mist.

His chest ached, his grip tightening around the phone.

He should’ve told you. He should’ve said those three little words that summer.

But he never did. And now? Now you were marrying someone else.

Jake exhaled sharply and closed out of his photo album. Before he could think better of it, his fingers moved on instinct, opening his social media app and typing your name into the search bar.

The first picture hit him like a gut punch.

You standing in front of a wall of pastel balloons, champagne glass in hand. The caption read Bride to Be in swirly gold script, matching the sash draped over your shoulder. Someone had tagged you in the post a few weeks ago

Jake swallowed hard, his eyes dragging over the details.

The white dress clung to you in all the right ways. Your hair was curled soft around your face, your smile wide and effortless.

You looked happy. Really happy.

The sight of it made him sick.

His stomach twisted as he swiped through more photos. You, laughing with friends. You cutting into a cake shaped like a wedding dress. You leaning into your fiancé..

Jake’s jaw locked at the sight of the guy.

He looked…fine. Some clean cut, polished type. A little too put together. A little too perfect.

Your smiles with your fiance were poised and practiced. Pretty but forced. The kind of smile you put on when you knew a camera was on you. It was the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Jake scrolled back to one of your old pictures together. A blurry shot from a summer night. You were sitting beside him on the tailgate of his truck. Your head was thrown back in laughter. No perfect angles. No careful posing. Just you, caught mid laugh, so lost in the moment you didn’t care about the camera.

And maybe Jake was just torturing himself, but he swore you looked happier then. Happier with him.

He scrolled back up, staring at the image of you in white at the bridal shower. Maybe you smiled like that now. Maybe you convinced yourself this was what you wanted.

Jake exhaled sharply and shut off his phone, dropping it onto the bed beside him like it burned. But the image of you in white was already seared into his mind.

Marriage. It was what you always wanted. Hell, he wanted it too…just not as soon as you. He told himself he wasn’t ready. That he needed more time, that he had things to figure out, that forever could wait a little longer.

But you weren’t willing to wait for him to decide that he was ready. And now time was up.

His jaw clenched. He ran a hand over his face, dragging it down to his mouth as if that could stop the ache clawing at his chest.

He should be over this by now. You were.

He stared at the ceiling, willing himself not to care.

It had been a couple of years. He’d had his share of short lived relationships, other break ups. He went through the motions. First dates, good mornings, empty conversations that never quite filled the space you left behind. Some hurt for a while, some didn’t even register, most faded into nothing more than a name or a fleeting memory.

But yours? That breakup was different. It wasn’t just another failed relationship. Yours was the one that gutted him. The one that still sat heavy in his chest, refusing to be buried no matter how much time passed.

It was the only one that still got to him. He could barely remember the details of his other breakups. Who ended things first, the reasons why, the words exchanged. They were all just echoes of something that was never meant to last.

But you? He remembered everything.

"I love you, Jake. I love you so much, but I can’t keep waiting for you to decide if you want this...if you want me."

Your eyes had been glassy, your hands clenched into fists at your sides like you were holding yourself together by sheer will alone. He’d stood there, jaw tight, arms crossed, refusing to let himself break. Refusing to admit he was terrified.

"It’s not that simple," he had said, voice rough, exhausted from the same argument you’d been having for weeks.

"It is for me," you whispered, voice cracking. "I want a life with you. A future. A family. But if you don’t know if you want that with me, then I—" You sucked in a sharp breath. "Then I can’t do this anymore."

The way your fingers trembled as you slipped the key to his place onto the counter nearly undid him. It was such a small movement, so quiet, but it hit like a gunshot. Final. Permanent.

Even then, even when you turned to go, he could have stopped you. He could have said Wait. I love you. I want this. I want you. But his own stubborn silence kept him frozen, hands fisting at his sides as he watched you walk to the door.

And everything in him screamed that he should run after you.

But he didn’t. And that was the moment he lost you.

And now, years later, the weight of losing you hadn’t lessened. If anything, it pressed down harder, knowing you’d moved on while he was still stuck here trying to pretend he wasn’t.

Jake’s thumb hovered over the screen as he scrolled, then stopped. A picture of you with a guitar.

You were sitting on a blanket in the grass, laughing at something just outside the frame, fingers curled around the neck of the instrument like it was second nature. The sight of it pulled at something deep in his chest. And just like that, he was back there.

Back on your front porch that summer night.

The cicadas hummed in the background, a lazy breeze rolling through, carrying the scent of honeysuckle and warm earth. You sat cross legged on the old wooden swing, your guitar balanced on your lap, the porch light casting a soft glow over your face.

"Come on, Jake," you teased, strumming a few easy chords. "You know this one."

He grinned, leaning against the railing with a beer dangling from his fingers. "I know it, but I’m not singing it."

"Fine," you huffed dramatically, but there was a smile playing on your lips. "Guess I’ll just have to sing it for both of us."

Your voice, soft and sweet, wrapped around the melody, carrying the words into the warm night air. And Jake just watched you. The way your fingers danced effortlessly over the strings. The way your nose scrunched slightly when you hit the higher notes. The way your eyes flicked up to meet his like you were singing just for him.

And that was the moment.

That was the moment he knew, or at least thought he knew, that he was going to marry you.

It hit him so fast, so unexpectedly, that it nearly knocked the breath out of him. He’d never believed in fate or soulmates or any of that, but sitting there, listening to you play your song under the Texas sky, he’d never been so sure of anything in his life.

But that was a lifetime ago.

And now, that life the one he thought he’d have with you, belonged to someone else.

Tomorrow he was leaving for deployment. Another stretch of time spent oceans away, filling his days with routine and responsibility. Pushing everything else, everything going on in his personal life to the back of his mind. 

That was usually the easy part. But this time?

This time, he wished you were here. He wished you were the one standing by giving him that last lingering hug before he boarded the plane. The one pressing a kiss to his lips and telling him to stay safe, to come home in one piece. You used to say it with a teasing smile, but he knew you meant it with every part of you.

And if he was being honest with himself, if he let himself sink into that dangerous, aching place in his chest, he wished you’d be the one waiting for him when he came home too. 

But he knew better than that. By the time he came back, you’d be someone else’s. You’d moved on. You’d found what you needed with someone who didn’t keep you waiting for him to be ready.

And tomorrow, as he stood on the tarmac, duffel slung over his shoulder, staring out at the horizon before takeoff…he’d have to find a way to make peace with that.

* * * * *

The days leading up to the mission had felt like any other. Straightforward. Jake had been briefed, run the practice drills. He knew the routine, knew the threats, knew the risks. But he wasn’t worried. He’d been through this before. He was trained for moments like this. His crew made up of Phoenix and Bob had his back, and he trusted them.

It wasn’t a difficult mission. Two planes. Simple intel. Minor threat from enemy aircraft, but it wasn’t a serious risk. That’s what they had been told, and Jake believed it.

They took off that morning, the cool January air crisp as the planes cut through it. Jake was leading, flying in formation with Phoenix and Bob close behind. The adrenaline buzzed in his veins, but he kept it steady. They had their plan, and nothing was going to go wrong. Or so he thought.

The radio crackled in his ear, Phoenix's voice cutting through the static. "Enemy aircraft, five o’clock!"

Jake didn’t see them. Not at first. Everything was too smooth, too easy. But as Phoenix and Bob called it out, the world shifted. He glanced over his shoulder just as a shadow broke through the cloud cover.

Before he could react, there was a burst of red hot fire tearing through his right wing. The impact hit like a freight train, and then… everything went wrong. His plane jolted violently, and the warning lights flashed in his cockpit.

"Shit!" Jake muttered under his breath, fighting for control.

His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the sky. Phoenix and Bob were calling over the radio shouting commands, but everything was a blur of panic and noise.

The next thing he knew, the plane was spiraling, falling. And then came the gut wrenching sound of metal meeting the surface as his plane hit the water.

It was cold, too cold.

His body hit the surface with an intensity that felt like concrete.

Pain exploded in his chest, knocking the wind out of him, the world spinning around him as his plane began to sank. He struggled to keep his head above water. The saltwater burned against his skin, but it was the cold that was most unforgiving.

His breath came in shallow gasps. He could barely keep his eyes open. The pain radiated through every nerve in his body, but his thoughts didn’t linger on the physical agony.

All he could think about was you.

Your face, your laugh, the way you smiled at him like you were the only two people in the world. The warmth of your touch when he held you close. The way your eyes sparkled in the light.

God, he missed you.

It didn’t even feel like life anymore. The sun was still shining above, but it was too bright, too distant.

For a moment, Jake wondered if this was what death felt like. If the coldness of the ocean would be the last thing he ever felt.

He was there drifting, and staring up at the sky, each passing second slipping further and further from him. The world was fading. He wasn’t sure if it was the water filling his lungs or the weight of the loss that was dragging him down.

And then, in that haze of fading consciousness, a single thought pierced through the fog.

He would never see you again.

The pain from the crash didn’t compare to the ache in his chest at that thought. The empty, hollow feeling that consumed him, knowing he’d never get another chance to hold you, to tell you he loved you, to fix the mess he made.

His eyes closed again, the memory fading as darkness closed in, but not before he whispered one last time, "I love you."

Jake didn’t know how much time had passed. But suddenly the world around Jake was nothing but noise and shadows, a blur of voices he couldn’t quite make sense of. His body felt like a weight, every inch of him burning with pain, yet somehow, it was as if his mind was disconnected, floating somewhere far away.

He was still in the water. The coldness had a grip on him, sinking into his bones, but now... now there was warmth, a sensation that almost didn’t feel real. He blinked slowly, the light above him flickering, and then it was the sound of helicopters. The deep, reverberating thrum of blades slicing through the sky.

“Lieutenant Seresin!” a voice called, familiar yet distant. “Stay with me.”

He couldn’t focus on who was speaking, but the words reached him, distant echoes that seemed to tug him back from the abyss. 

He heard his call sign then, as if it was the only thing tethering him to the world: “Hangman...Hangman, we’ve got you.”

A sharp pain ran through his body, and he hissed in response. His eyes tried to focus, but the world kept shifting, pulling him further under, as if the ocean itself was calling him back.

“Hang in there, Hangman!” another voice barked, this one more frantic. “We’ve got you. Just hold on.”

But he couldn’t hold on. He couldn’t keep his grip on consciousness. His eyes closed again, darkness threatening to take over.

And in that quiet, fleeting moment before everything faded, one thought echoed in his mind, louder than any of the voices around him, louder than the chopper blades, louder than the pain. 

One name.

Your name.

The sound of your name coming from his lips was barely audible. But the weight of it was everything. It was the only thing his heart could hold onto.

The darkness began to press in around him yet again. But the voices around him wouldn’t let him go.

“Hangman, come on. You’ve got to stay with us.” Someone urged, and Jake could feel the pressure of someone's hands on his chest. He could tell he was being moved. 

But even as he was pulled away from the brink of death, all he could think about was you. And the painful truth that you weren’t there. You weren’t going to be there waiting for him if he woke up.

* * * * *

The steady beeping of a heart monitor was the first thing Jake registered as he drifted back to consciousness. He blinked against the bright overhead light, his vision adjusting to the sterile white walls of a hospital room. His body felt heavy, weighed down by pain and exhaustion, but he was alive.

Alive. The word should’ve meant something. Should’ve felt like a victory. But all he felt was numb.

He didn’t know how long he lay there staring at the ceiling, letting the reality of everything settle in. The mission. The hit. The cold. The pain. The fact that he should be dead, but somehow wasn’t.

And you. You had been the last thing on his mind before he hit the water. The last thing before everything faded. 

And now lying here alive when he shouldn’t be, he didn’t know what to do with that.

* * * * *

Jake stepped off the plane, the humid Texas air wrapping around him like an old familiar embrace. The warmth should’ve felt like home, but it didn’t. Not really. Maybe nothing would after everything.

His ribs ached from the long flight, but he ignored it as he grabbed his duffel bag and made his way through the small Austin airport. His mom was waiting for him near baggage claim, standing on her toes to scan the crowd. The second she spotted him, relief softened her face, and she rushed forward, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Jake," she breathed, her voice thick with emotion. "Oh, honey, it's so good to see you."

He gritted his teeth against the pain of her embrace but didn’t pull away. "Good to see you too, Mama."

She held him for a moment longer before stepping back, her hands lingering on his arms like she was afraid he’d disappear if she let go. Her eyes scanned his face, taking in the bruises, the exhaustion still clinging to him. "You look tired."

"Yeah, well. Almost dying will do that to a guy."

She swatted his arm lightly. "Don’t joke about that."

He gave her a tired smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Not joking."

Her expression faltered for a second, like she wanted to say something else, but instead, she just squeezed his arm. "Come on. Let’s get you home."

The drive back to the house was quiet, save for the occasional updates from his mom about family, neighbors, the latest town gossip. But Jake wasn’t really listening. He just stared out the window, watching the familiar Texas landscape roll past.

When they pulled into the driveway, his mom turned off the engine but didn’t get out right away. Instead, she looked at him carefully, her hands still gripping the wheel.

"You settling in okay?" she asked.

He frowned. "I just got here."

She nodded slowly, her lips pressing together like she was debating saying something else.

"What?" Jake asked, narrowing his eyes.

His mom hesitated, then gave him a small, knowing smile. "Nothing. Just…I have a feeling you're gonna find your time home a little more interesting than you expected."

Jake’s stomach twisted, but before he could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, she grabbed her purse and stepped out of the car, leaving him sitting there, wondering why the hell she suddenly looked like she knew something he didn’t.

The next morning, the house was quiet. His parents had already left for work, leaving Jake alone with nothing but the old family dog and his own thoughts. He sat on the porch, the Texas sun warming his skin, a coffee cup resting on the arm of the wooden chair beside him.

His ribs still ached with every breath, and even the smallest movements sent sharp reminders through his body. But the worst pain wasn’t physical.

Beau, the aging golden retriever, lay at his feet, tail thumping lazily against the wooden planks as Jake absently scratched behind his ears. The dog was content. Jake wished he could say the same.

He leaned back, closing his eyes, listening to the rustle of the wind through the trees. It was peaceful, but peace didn’t reach him the way it used to. Not with everything in his head. Not with everything in his chest.

Then he heard it. Gravel crunching under tires.

His brows pulled together as he opened his eyes, turning his head toward the driveway. A car he didn’t recognize was pulling in. His stomach tightened, his mind automatically running through the possibilities. Maybe it was a neighbor. Maybe someone looking for his mom or dad.

Then the driver’s side door opened. And you stepped out.

Jake’s entire body went still. For a second, he wondered if the pain meds were making him hallucinate. Because there was no way you were here. No way you were standing in his parents’ driveway, looking exactly the same and somehow completely different all at once.

His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out everything else.

You shut the car door gently, standing there for a beat, like you weren’t sure if you should take another step.

Jake swallowed, but his throat was dry.

You take a slow step forward. Then another. The crunch of your shoes against the gravel is the only sound between you. Beau lifts his head, watching you curiously, but Jake didn’t move. He just watches you come closer, like he isn’t sure if you’re real or if you’ll disappear before you reach him.

And then you stop at the edge of the porch. Close enough that he can see every flicker of hesitation in your eyes. Close enough that he can tell you’re nervous.

Neither of you speak at first. You just look at each other. For a moment, it feels like the whole world holds its breath.

Then you break the silence. "How are you?"

Jake almost lies. The words 'I’m fine' sit on the tip of his tongue, easy and automatic. But when he looks at you—really looks at you—he can’t bring himself to say it.

Instead he exhales, shifts slightly in his seat, and admits, "Everything hurts like hell."

Your lips press together, your gaze flickering down, and for a second, he wonders if he shouldn’t have said that. If maybe you didn’t want to hear the truth.

Then you go quiet. Your fingers fidget at your sides, like you’re debating something.

Jake watches you, waiting. And then, finally, you lift your gaze and say softly, "I was scared when I got the call."

His brow furrows slightly. "What?"

You let out a breath, shifting on your feet. "They…couldn’t get ahold of your mom after the accident. And I guess..." You hesitate. "I guess I was still listed as a contact on your paperwork."

Jake's stomach tightens.

"They called you?" His voice is quieter now.

You nod. "Yeah." A small, almost breathless laugh leaves you, but it isn’t amused. It’s tired. "I was the one who had to tell your mom what happened."

Jake stares at you, something unreadable flickering through his expression.

He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to process the fact that you were the one who got the call. That you were the one who had to break the news to his mother.

And that when it came down to it, you still picked up the phone.

Jake lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head as he looks away. "Hell, maybe it would’ve been easier if I didn’t make it."

Your breath catches in your throat. "Jake—"

"I’m serious," he mutters, still not meeting your eyes. "Would’ve saved everyone a lot of trouble. You wouldn’t have had to get that call. Wouldn’t have had to show up here now, feeling like you owe me something." He exhales sharply, jaw tight. "Would’ve been easier for you."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Your arms drop from where they’d been crossed over your chest, the weight of his statement sinking deep into your bones.

"You think that?" Your voice is quieter now, but there’s an edge to it. Sharp and laced with something close to anger. "You think it would be easier for me if you were—" 

You can’t even say the word. It makes you sick.

Jake finally looks at you then, and for the first time since you stepped out of your car, he sees it. The hurt in your eyes, the way you’re gripping your hands into fists like you’re trying to hold yourself together.

"God, Jake." You shake your head, blinking hard. "You really think I’d want to live in a world where you don’t exist?"

He swallows, but he doesn’t say anything.

"I don’t care what happened between us. I don’t care how much time has passed." Your voice wavers, but you push through it. "I would never, never be okay with losing you."

Jake looks away again, his throat tight, his chest heavier than it already was. He wasn’t expecting this. He wasn’t expecting you to still feel anything close to this strongly.

Jake clears his throat, shifting on the porch steps. He winces as the movement sends a sharp pain through his ribs. The weight of your words still lingers in the air between you, heavy and unspoken. He doesn’t know what to say or how to navigate this. So he reaches for the one thing that’s been at the forefront of his mind since you pulled into his driveway.

"So, uh...the wedding." His voice is rough, uncertain. "It’s soon, right?"

You let out a dry scoff, shaking your head. "Not anymore."

Jake frowns confused. "What do you mean?"

You cross your arms, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. There’s a moment of hesitation before you say it out loud. "I called it off."

The words hit him harder than they should. His fingers flex against his thigh, his pulse kicking up just slightly. He searches your face, trying to piece it together.

"Why?" he asks, voice quieter now.

You let out a breath, looking down at the ground. "Because it wasn’t right."

Jake watches you carefully. "Did he do something?" There’s an edge to his tone now,something protective, almost territorial, that he doesn’t even mean to let slip.

You shake your head. "No. He was...he is a good man." You look up then, meeting Jake’s gaze, and there’s something unreadable in your expression. "But he wasn’t you."

Jake just stares at you, completely floored. His mind races, trying to process what you just said. You still love him. After everything. After the years apart, the breakup, the almost marriage to someone else…you still love him.

Jake watches you, waiting, hoping, praying that this isn’t just some cruel dream that he's going to wake up from. 

But then you take a shaky breath, and your eyes drop to the wooden porch beneath your feet. "Something happened when I got the call," you admit quietly.

Jake tenses, his stomach twisting. "What do you mean?"

You shift, wrapping your arms around yourself like you’re bracing for something. "I was with him. My fiancé." You hesitate, voice barely above a whisper. "We were at our bachelor and bachelorette party."

Jake sucks in a sharp breath, his jaw clenching. He doesn’t say anything, just watches as you force yourself to meet his gaze again.

"My phone rang. I saw the number, and I just…I knew it was about you." You let out a small, bitter laugh, shaking your head. "He asked me not to answer. Told me that whatever it was, it could wait. But I couldn’t do it, Jake. I couldn’t ignore it. Not when I knew it was about you. I knew that the Navy would only be calling for one thing. And that I needed to know if something had happened."

Jake’s chest tightens, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"That was the moment I knew," you whisper. "I couldn’t marry him. Because no matter how much I wanted to move on, no matter how much I tried to convince myself that I had—" You trail off, exhaling shakily. "I don't think I ever did."

Jake’s breath catches. His entire body aches, but nothing compares to the way his heart clenches at your words.

"Then let me be yours again." His voice is rough, pleading, desperate. "Please."

You stare at him, eyes wide, like you weren’t expecting him to say it. To fight for this.

Jake leans forward, wincing slightly from the pain still radiating through his ribs, but he doesn’t care. Not when you’re standing in front of him, looking at him like that, like part of you is still afraid to believe this is real.

"I lost you once," he says, voice raw. "And it damn near broke me. I’m not making that mistake again."

Your breath shudders as you exhale, and for a moment, neither of you speak. The air between you is thick with everything unsaid, years of heartbreak and longing hanging in the balance.

"Jake—" You hesitate, pressing your lips together like you’re trying to stop yourself from saying something you’ll regret. "I don’t know how to do this again."

"Then we figure it out together." His voice is steady this time, sure.

"I was so scared," you whisper, shaking your head. "When they called me, when I had to tell your mom-" You break off, inhaling sharply. "Jake, I thought—"

He doesn’t let you finish. He reaches out, his hand covering yours where it’s clenched into a fist against your side. Your fingers tremble under his touch but don’t pull away.

"I’m here," he murmurs, squeezing gently. "And I don’t want to waste any more time pretending like this doesn’t still mean something."

Your eyes search his, and he sees the war inside you, the part that’s still afraid to let him back in. But then, slowly, your fingers uncurl. You turn your hand over, letting your palm press against his.

"Okay," you whisper.

Jake exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, relief crashing over him.

"Okay," he echoes, squeezing your hand one more time before pulling you down onto the porch beside him.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. There's only the sound of the wind and the soft rustle of the trees around you. Then, without a word, Jake pulls you into his arms, his hold tight but gentle, as if he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go.

You bury your face in his chest, the familiar scent of him grounding you in this moment, in a feeling you thought you lost. His arms tighten around you, and for the first time in a long time, you both breathe.

It’s like the world slows down, and in each other's arms, the years, the mistakes, the heartache fade into nothingness. There’s no need for words, no need for anything else. Just the comfort of being together again.

* * * * *

A few days later, things are still a bit new between you and Jake, but it feels right. You're taking it slow, giving each other the space to rediscover what you once had. Things are easier now, the awkwardness slowly slipping away as the days pass. Jake is at your place sitting on the couch while you make coffee in the kitchen. There’s a comfortable quiet between you, no pressure, just the two of you spending time together.

When you come back into the living room, he’s standing by the corner of the room, his fingers lightly brushing over the strings of your old guitar that’s resting in the corner.

"You still play?" he asks, his voice soft, almost like he’s unsure of how to approach it.

You give him a playful shrug, leaning against the doorframe. "Sometimes. Not as much as I used to."

Jake tilts his head, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "You take requests?" he teases, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You chuckle, the familiar feeling of teasing him making something warm stir inside you. "You think you’re funny, huh?" 

You walk over, picking up the guitar, and sit down on the couch, strumming a few chords to warm up your fingers.

"What's your request?"

"Our song," Jake says, sitting down beside you, the familiar weight of his gaze on you.

Your heart skips at the words. You start to play, the chords coming back to you like second nature, the rhythm flowing through you like a memory you never quite forgot. The song, the one that’s always been yours and Jake's song, fills the space between you. And with every note you can feel something stirring again.

By the time you reach the last line of the song, your fingers move with a gentle certainty. It feels like this is the way it was always meant to be. The two of you here in this moment, coming back to what you never should have left behind.

When the last chord fades, Jake’s hand finds yours, his fingers gently curling around yours. He looks at you for a beat, and then without a word he leans in.

The kiss is slow, sweet, and soft, like everything that’s been building between you has finally found its way out. It’s not rushed, not desperate, but full of all the things you’ve both been holding back for too long. When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, and you can’t help but smile.

"I missed this," he whispers, his voice rough with emotion.

"Me too," you say, heart full, the world around you fading away until there’s only Jake, and you, and the love you’re starting to believe in again.

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

Iam waiting for tkkrs to turn on him when he reveals his real partner. He has to some day, doesn't he? Let's see then.

Girl, the Jennie Kim erasure!

[formula-ghost]

Wildflower (OP81 x fem!reader x LN4)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER SUMMARY: In the aftermath of Oscar’s breakup, he realizes there’s only one thing he needs to start feeling better. 

WORD COUNT: 9.4k

WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI. Reader has AFAB anatomy. Rough sex (choking, biting, hair pulling), oral (m and f receiving), fingering, P in V, use of protection, praise, degradation/name calling, no aftercare (literally this entire chapter is them fucking, I’m sorry. I promise that all the smut has plot value haha). Mentions of cheating, reader is haunted by the narrative, hints of angst at the end. Also if a man treats you like Oscar treats YN in this story, LEAVE HIM. 

TAGLIST:  @at-a-rax-ia  @henna006 @linnygirl09 @cassielikereading @judelina  @supertrashbread @fastandcurious16 @widow-cevans  @czennieszn  @irisesinthegarden @wierdflowerpower  @sweetwh0re @reginalaufeyson-holmes @honethatty12 @suns3treading @obxstiles

A/N: The amount of love that everyone has shown me on this fic has been so overwhelming. You all have ignited my passion to create again. Thank you <3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Oscar stayed at your apartment for 4 days. 

There was a lot to be done; Lily had to arrange housing back in the UK and move her things. At some point, Oscar would have to tell his family. Potentially, an announcement would need to be made on social media. 

It felt like a to-do list, rather than the breaking of what once was something beautiful. Now, just boxes to check off. 

And Oscar wasn’t up to the task of any of it; you couldn’t blame him. It was hard enough for him to eat and sleep, let alone think about the upcoming races or the logistics of the breakup.

You let him talk when he wanted, but as the days between the breakup and the present grew, he seemed to settle. The shock was gone, replaced by a void, a thick grief that weighed down on him like a ton of bricks. There were a lot of quiet moments. 

Of course, you at least made sure that he had his basic needs taken care of. It was the least you could do.

On the afternoon of the fourth night, he got a text from Lily.

I’ve finished moving my stuff. Can you stop by in 15 minutes so I can drop off the keys? 

You read it aloud, because he couldn’t even bear to see her words with his own eyes. He stared at the wall ahead of him.

“Do you want me to go with you?” you asked.

“No,” he said, “I’ll be okay.”

He was silent then, the only sound from him being the jingle of his own keys as he got up to leave your apartment for the first time that week. As he walked out, you exhaled, throwing out a silent wish that he’d be okay seeing her again so soon. 

Oscar made the same wish as he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment that only days before he’d shared with Lily. He felt like a robot in all of his movements; getting out of the car, pressing the elevator button, walking down the hall until he rounded the corner and saw her. 

“Hey,” she greeted him, to which he just gave her a small nod. 

“Here are the keys,” she said, and handed them to him. “I got all my stuff out, so, the apartment is all yours.”

“Where are you going?”

“Back home. For now, at least.” 

“You know you didn’t have to do this. You could have stayed here. Or I could have gotten you a place here in Monaco.”

“Don’t,” Lily said, softly, as if her tone of voice could change anything about the grief that the man before he felt. 

“It didn’t have to be like this, Lily,” he continued. “I told you, I’d quit it all. I’ll go to therapy. Whatever you want.”

“You’re living at her place. You’re sleeping in her bed.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Don’t make this any harder than it already is, Oscar.” Tears welled up in Lily’s eyes. “Let’s just wish each other the best and go on with our lives.”

“Is this really what you want?” Oscar pushed. “You really just want to throw away 5 years? Over what? I can change, Lily—”

“Goodbye, Oscar,” she said, walking away whilst he was still talking. He just watched her form get smaller and smaller down the hallway until she was gone. 

There was nothing he could do but stand there. She wasn’t coming back. 

Back at your apartment, dinner was almost ready. The clock on your phone told you that Oscar had been gone a little longer than anticipated. 

Maybe they were talking. Hell, maybe they had made up and Oscar wouldn’t be coming back. You were never the type to worry so much, but you had to admit that your thoughts were racing a little faster than usual.

That was, until you heard your door knob jiggle and felt the vibration of Oscar’s footsteps through your entryway. You heard him sigh and sink down into the sofa, running his fingers through his hair out of nervousness. 

“Food,” you softly called, walking out of the kitchen with two bowls, handing one to him. He accepted it wordlessly.

“D’you want to put on a movie or something? Or…talk about it?”

He just shook his head. So you obliged him, allowing him to have a quiet dinner.

As you ate, you admired him from across the couch. Even with his tousled hair, eye bags, and hunched shoulders, he was beautiful. And one day his smile would return—that sweet bunny-toothed smile that you had fallen in love with so many years ago. 

Your love for him had changed, though. You’d never have him. You knew that. And some would call it pathetic to stay in a man’s life solely because you loved him, when he didn’t love you in the same way. 

And maybe they were right. But you didn’t need the approval of others. You just needed your friend. 

And from Oscar’s side of the couch, he was thankful for the silence, but he was tortured by his own thoughts. The implication of what Lily had said; you’re sleeping in her bed, as if he had gone straight to you for a comfort beyond just home cooked meals. 

It pissed him off. How could she think so little of him? Accusing him of cheating, getting angry at him for wanting to spend time with his friends? 

Oscar was a man that was slow to anger. But when he got pissed, truly pissed, there was only one thing that really let him get that anger out.

If Lily thought that little of him, then maybe he’d just have to prove how horrible he really was. 

When dinner was done, you silently washed the dishes and cleaned up around the kitchen, stretching the sore muscles in your back and grimacing as they burned with the contractions.

“Your back hurting?” Oscar asked, leaning on the counter as you cleaned.

“A bit, yeah,” you confessed. “It’s fine.”

“I can take the couch tonight.”

“Oh no, you keep the bed. You need it before that flight tomorrow, anyway.” 

“I can sleep on the plane.” He paused. “Or, you know, the bed is big enough to share.”

Your hand paused as you wiped down the counters. You didn’t look up at him. The last time you had shared a bed with Oscar was when you lost your virginity. 

“I think that’s a bad idea.”

“We did it all the time when we were kids.”

“We aren’t kids anymore,” you said, reaching up to put away the clean plates. Your back burned with the stretch of your arms, and you winced. 

“I don’t mean it to be weird,” he said. You let the silence speak for itself. 

But when you were done cleaning up, you glanced at the couch and sighed, knowing that you really, really wanted to sleep in your warm and comfy bed.

So you slipped into the bedroom quietly, not acknowledging Oscar when you got under the covers and turned on your side, exhaling deeply as you felt the soft cushioning mold to the familiar shape of your body. 

Both of you were still awake, unable to sleep with the presence of the other, filling the room with a thick tension. 

“Are you still hurting?” Oscar whispered, laying flat on his back, staring into the void of the ceiling.

You, on the other hand, layed on your side facing away from him, staring into the void of your curtains that were only barely blocking out the light from the city outside. “Yeah,” you answered. 

You heard him shuffle, placing his hand on the small of your back, gently pushing you down to lay with your stomach against the bed. You let him, though the intimacy of the moment was…odd. 

“Trust me,” Oscar assured, as if he could read your thoughts. “Relax.”

You did, letting out a long breath as he began to massage the knots in your back, firmly pressing his strong hands into the dough of your flesh.

He slid his hands under the hem of your shirt, but you did nothing to refuse the contact, having practically turned into a puddle at the relief he brought your soreness. 

But when he was done, he just slid your shirt back down and sat back up in the bed, as if nothing had ever happened.

“Better?” he asked. You gave a strong exhale as you got up and stretched your arms above your head.

“So much better,” you said, giving him a soft smile. 

“I’m sorry for taking your bed.”

“Don’t be.”

“I guess I’ll go back to my place when I get home from Japan,” he said. 

“You can stay here as long as you like,” you assured him. 

“Thank you,” he said. In the darkness, the room was only barely illuminated by the lights of the city, but you could see Oscar's frame sitting before you; his tousled hair, his broad shoulders, his perfectly sharp jawline. 

Then the words came spilling out of you, in a way you couldn’t control. “I’m… so sorry, Oscar. For everything.”

“For what?”

“For ruining your relationship with Lily, for always being in the middle of everything—”

Oscar cut you off by kissing you. That familiar feeling of warmth and safety came to rest in your chest, a strange deja-vu. 

“Oscar…” you whispered as he pulled away.

“You didn’t ruin anything. I wanted you there. Always.”

“Lily thought you were in love with me.”

“I know. She thought you were in love with me, too.”

You paused, looking at him again. You couldn’t see his eyes in the dark, just the faint outline of your face. But the floodgates of your honesty had already been opened. 

“Was she right?” you asked. 

“Was she?” he responded, putting the question back on you. 

You didn’t answer. You loved him. He knew you loved him. You knew that he knew that you loved him. But you couldn’t bear to say it aloud, not knowing whether he’d say it back.

To end the silence, he just kissed you again, deeper this time, holding your waist. But you pulled back.

“We shouldn’t,” you said.

“Why not?” 

“Because you’ll regret it in the morning.”

“No I won’t,” he said, kissing your neck. You inhaled sharply. “Besides, it’s not anything we haven’t done before.”

“You’re not thinking clearly, Oscar.”

“I know what I want.”

You pulled away, catching his eye in a sliver of light that snuck in between the curtains. 

He continued, “I know what you want, too.”

He was right. You wanted him. And if you had really pulled away from him, he would have let you go. But he knew you wouldn’t.

So you let him bring his arms up under your shirt, holding you now with a force that was rougher, more refined, than when you were two nervous teenagers exploring each other’s bodies. 

He quickly pushed you down on the bed, pressing his weight on you as his tongue slipped past your teeth to explore the warmth of your mouth. His hand found yours and he intertwined your fingers, pinning you down with the tender gesture.

His lips roamed down, finding their way to your neck to leave marks as he roughly bit and sucked into the tender flesh, causing you to softly gasp. His unoccupied hand roughly gripped at your thigh, holding onto you with a frenzied lust that you’d never seen before.

All his movements were twinged with this agitated desire, as if your body could take all his anger and frustration away through just his touch. 

His lips left your neck for only a moment, as he freed his hands and removed your shirt, revealing your bare chest, nipples hardened from the cool air in the room. He quickly removed his own shirt and began to fondle you, pawing at one side as he brought his mouth to suck at the other. Your head fell back on the pillow, overwhelmed at the rough sensations—Oscar’s bare skin against yours, the coolness of the room, the warmth of his wanting. 

His breath got more ragged as you felt his hardness pressing against you, the full extent of his longing held back only by the fabric of his sweatpants. It wasn’t like years ago, hesitant and gentle. Now, he was dark and still devoid of any love. 

But love was the furthest thing from your mind right now, your body overwhelmed with the sensation of Oscar’s hand around your neck, his fingers pressing down the side to keep you still as his other hand moved lower down to the hem of your shorts. 

He slid his hand under your panties, finding your pussy, slick and already craving him. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet already,” Oscar murmured. 

All you could do was whimper as his fingers teased your entrance and he went back to kissing up and down your neck. It was like he couldn’t waste a second with your body, or else the reality of what you all were doing would catch up to him. 

But neither of you were thinking of anything other than the growing lust you had for the other as his fingers pumped in and out of you, filling the quiet room with sinful noises.

“Fuck, Oscar,” you said, your voice breathy. “Slow down.”

“Why?” he questioned, obeying your request anyway. “You can’t handle it, huh? How are you gonna take it when I fuck you?”

“Osc…” you exhaled. All you could do was moan his name as he sped back up. 

“No, you can take it, can’t you?” he taunted, his fingers sprinting in and out of you, hitting that perfect spot inside of you that made your stomach burn with pleasure. 

“Yes,” you whispered between breaths.

“Good girl,” he said, curling his thumb to circle your clit as he pumped his fingers faster, causing you to see stars.

The praise and the sweet burn of his touch pushed you over the edge. You threw your head back on the pillow and let out a low moan as you clenched around his fingers.

You felt him grab your chin with one hand, taking his other from your dripping pussy and forcing his fingers in your mouth. You instinctively closed your mouth around him, curling your tongue along the digits, tasting your own cum on his fingers.

His eyes traced the edges of your lips as he pulled his hand away and kissed you, mingling tastes until you forgot where you stopped and he began. 

He pulled away and removed the last layers of clothing until you both were bare, shielded only by the darkness of your room.

There was no love making, no tenderness, just animalistic desire, as he wasted no time putting on a condom and sliding himself inside you with a long groan. 

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he said, leaning his weight on you as he stuffed you with every inch, filling you with the sweet burn of pleasure. “Yeah, you can take it, can’t you?”

You didn’t answer, instead balling up the sheets in your fist as he fucked you. To hold him would be too intimate.

He closed his eyes and buried his head in the pillows next to you as he desperately rutted into you, taking it slow to savor every second of blissful escape that your body could give him. You could hear every frenzied noise that escaped his mouth, and you responded in turn, doing nothing to hold back the sounds that rose from your stomach to your throat and passed through your lips. 

“Oscar,” you breathed, “I’m close.” With every movement, the knot in your stomach threatened to release, flooding your body with pleasure. 

Oscar sped up his pace, chasing his own release more than yours. Still, you broke, coming apart beneath him, shuddering as he continued to press in and out of you. 

It wasn’t long until his own moans increased in pitch and intensity, signifying that he was nearing the edge. You rocked forward on him, fucking him as he fucked you, getting him closer quicker. The sweet friction of your bodies was too much; he pulled out and removed the condom, pumping his length furiously. He bit his lip and groaned expletives, cumming on your stomach, painting your skin with the evidence of your lust. 

Oscar’s breath slowed as he rummaged around for his discarded clothing, handing you a towel to clean up. As he almost immediately re-dressed, you felt…exposed. Self-conscious. As if this wasn’t your best friend, the man you’d given your virginity to so many years ago.

You felt… used. 

Even after you had dressed yourself, and both of you had turned opposite each other to get some rest, the feeling didn’t go away. Because, after all, hadn’t you used him, too?

I know what you want, he had said. You had wanted this—at least, in theory. But now, days after the love of Oscar’s life had left him heartbroken? 

No, not this. This couldn’t be what you wanted. But then why had he been right? 

Oscar may have said that he wouldn’t regret it, but you definitely were already.

You fell into a tense sleep, only to be awoken by Oscar’s alarm a few hours later. He groaned and slapped his hand over your nightstand to shut it off, grumbling as he turned back over and buried his face in the pillow.

You sat up, giving up on a good night’s rest, and went to the kitchen to make some tea and watch the sunrise from your balcony. You could hear Oscar from the bedroom, groaning as his snooze went off for the second time and he heaved himself out of bed. 

You wordlessly handed him a mug and walked out of the kitchen to the balcony. It was too early in the morning; there would be no sunrise for another hour or so. You sighed. 

“Aren’t you cold?” Oscar asked as he walked up behind you, mug in hand. 

“I wanted to watch the sunrise. Didn’t realize it was still so early.” You took a sip.

“You’ll get sick if you stay out here too long.” 

You hummed, relishing the warmth of the mug between your fingers. He was right—it was freezing. 

“When are you flying out?” he asked. 

“I’m not,” you said, staring off into the water in the distance. You took another sip. “They’ve got that new guy doing the photos this weekend.”

“You should,” Oscar said, walking forward to lean on the balcony next to you. The closeness felt like a mockery after the distance you’d felt hours before.

You let out a chuckle. “I think the new guy probably cried when we told him he’d get to do Japan. I can’t take that away from him.”

“I meant, like, with me.”

It wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last, that you’d gone to a grand prix as a personal guest of Oscar’s. It was something that shouldn’t be weird at all. Then why did it feel so wrong?

“I just…don’t wanna be alone,” he said as he turned his head to look at you, but you avoided his gaze.

‘I don’t know, we’re already behind on the merch orders—”

“You can work remotely.”

“Not from the pit wall,” you said, a faint smile tracing the edges of your lips.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re stubborn?” he teased. A smile came to his lips—the first smile you’d seen in days. 

“Never,” you said, your voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Well, if you wanna turn down authentic sushi and seeing your favorite McLaren driver, be my guest.”

You cringed at the reference—ever since Lily had tried to set you up with Lando, you and Oscar had jokingly started referring to him as “your favorite McLaren driver,” even though you both avoided each other like the plague due to the awkwardness of it all. 

But authentic sushi sounded great. 

“You drive a hard bargain, Osc,” you laughed. 

“And I drive an even better Formula 1 car. Which you could see, in Japan,” he joked, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows in that familiar dry expression.

Oscar felt…normal again. And yes, you had been so busy tending to him that you had fallen behind on your work. But it was worth it, to banter with your best friend again, even if only for a moment.

“Fine,” you acquiesced. “You got me. Let me inside so I can pack, it is fucking freezing out here.”

One torturously long flight later, you were checking into a hotel in Japan with Oscar.  

Since the trip had been planned so late—your ticket literally bought over the phone in the Uber on the way to the airport—the hotel was fully booked by F1 employees. You and Oscar would have to share a room. 

Your stomach sank at the realization, as if you hadn’t slept with him the night before anyway. 

Up in the room, as he unpacked a few of his belongings, Oscar’s phone rang. You glanced at the caller ID: Mum.

He saw it too, but ignored it, continuing to set out his clothes for the next morning. 

But your phone rang, too, the same name and number, even the same caller ID. Nicole was practically your mom anyways.

“Do you want me to answer it?” you asked, and Oscar sighed.

“I haven’t told her yet.”

“I figured.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it. Not even with her.” He slung a shirt over his shoulder, walking towards the bathroom.

“She’s not gonna stop until she gets one of us on the phone.”

“I know.”

“Do you want me to lie?

“No,” he began. He knew you. You could pull off a small white lie if you really had to, but it tortured you inside. He wouldn’t ask that of you. “I guess… do you mind telling her? I just don’t have it in me.”

“I can.”

“Thank you,” he said, giving you a flat smile, a genuine attempt at thankfulness. You just nodded and took a deep breath as you heard the shower knob turn and water droplets crash against the floor.

You called Nicole back.

“Hello, darling,” she began. “How are you?”

“I’m alright. A bit jet lagged,” you admitted.

“Where are you off to now?” she joked, a smile surely on her face.

“I’m in Japan with Oscar, actually. Kinda last minute.”

“Ah,” she said. “Are you with him now?”

“No,” you lied, unable to admit that you were currently sharing a room with her son. “I can pass it along, though?”

“Oh no, I was just wondering how he was doing.”

“Well, I can tell you, he’s not great, unfortunately. Erm… he and Lily broke up.”

“Oh, God…” she sighed, “That’s horrible.”

“Yeah,” you replied, unsure of what else to say. “I’m not entirely sure what happened. I guess they just weren’t happy anymore. He’s heartbroken, though. So, if it seems like he’s avoiding your calls, that’s why.”

“You know, I figured something was wrong. Things were just…off, when you all were here, weren’t they?” 

Your heart rate increased. “Yeah, I guess they were.”

“Can I ask you something, YN?”

“Of course.”

“Did you know anything about this?” Her tone wasn’t at all accusatory or scandalous; as usual, she was kind.

“I mean, I knew they were having some problems. I think Lily wanted them to spend more time together. I never thought it’d end, though.”

Nicole hummed. She knew you couldn’t quite tell her the full truth. There was something deeper there, something from far before your visit to the Piastri family home. She’d get it from you eventually. 

‘Well, I’m sure you all are busy in Japan, so I won’t hold you any longer. But tell Oscar I love him and to call me when he’s ready. And I love you too, YN.”

“Love you, Mum,” you said as you hung up the call. Her voice felt like a warm hug through the phone. 

As if on cue, Oscar came out of the shower, the white towel wrapped around his waist leaving little to the imagination. He roughly tousled his wet hair in a smaller towel. God, he looked good. If it were up to you, you’d push him back on the bed and fuck him right then and there.

But something felt…wrong. You’d been with him just the night before, but an unfamiliar guilt had made its way inside of your chest and made a home there.

It didn’t make sense. You, not Oscar, had warned against it; he had worn down your carefully built defenses, the ones you’d meticulously created over the years, until no excuse could protect you from the truth anymore. Yes, you wanted him. You had wanted him for years. Every second that he had been with Lily, you had wanted him for yourself. 

But you had never done anything about it. Always been respectful, reading the room, leaving when you knew you weren’t wanted. You hadn’t done anything until she finally left—and did you have every right to, then?

You guessed so. Then why did it now feel so fucking wrong?

Oscar’s voice broke you out of your spiraling. “What did she say?”

“She just wanted to check up on you. I told her.” He hummed in response. “She was asking me about it, but I didn’t really know how much you wanted to share. She just said she loves you and to give her a call when you can.”

“Thank you. For… doing that. I’m sure it was awkward.”

“It was fine,” you lied. It had been incredibly awkward—you could sense that Nicole suspected you were far more involved in the breakup than you had admitted to being. But was it really your fault? What had you done wrong? You continued, “It’s the least I can do.”

Oscar got quiet then, thinking about what, you’d never know. 

“Well, I guess I promised you sushi?”

“That you did,” you replied. You were more thankful for a break in the awkward silence than the promise of dinner.

So you ended up at Oscar’s favorite hole in the wall sushi restaurant in Japan, as if nothing in the world was amiss. 

Still, the feeling of something being deeply wrong, though now shoved to the back of your mind, wouldn’t leave you alone. It was odd—there had never been an F1 race in which Oscar and Lily weren’t together. Of course, she couldn’t come to every race, and with you working for him, you often ended up in positions similar to this.

But it felt like your entire world had been tinged a bizarre shade of blue, like Lily’s absence was a grief that you felt too, though you two had never been particularly close. And if you could even feel this crushing weight of her absence, you didn’t even want to begin imagining what Oscar felt. 

So, you’d have to excuse the awkwardness, the quiet moments, and even his concerning desire for you last night. He must be losing his mind. 

All of this, while also attempting to keep up the appearance of normalcy; he snapped a photo of you throwing up a peace sign and posted it to his close friends story, playing as if nothing was amiss. 

As you ate, his phone vibrated. A message from Lando. 

Oh, you all didn’t invite me? I see how it is. 

The message, dripping with Lando’s usual cocky sarcasm, was typical of the Brit. On any other day, Oscar would have smiled to himself and playfully rolled his eyes at his teammate’s antics. Today, though, the message only brought forth a flood of frustration. 

In the midst of Oscar’s heartbreak, something darker had been brewing; a championship battle.

He knew it was too early in the season to call. It was only the third race, and McLaren was known for the teamwork between himself and Lando. But Oscar was nothing if not competitive. You had to be, to get this far in F1. 

His legacy so far has been polite teamwork. Papaya rules, or whatever the fuck the strategists wanted to call it. Getting gifted wins by Lando or giving him the wins that Oscar rightfully deserved—he was willing to do it, of course, for the team. But he couldn’t be sidelined forever in favor of the golden boy of Formula 1. 

So Oscar knew that this would be his season. Lando had a close call in the 2024 season with Max Verstappen and was being hailed as the favorite for this year’s championship. But Oscar was determined. Oscar had nothing left to lose. 

He was getting that championship if it killed him. And that meant that there was no more room for friends.

Oscar opened the message, just to get the notification bubble to go away, annoyed by the friendly pestering of his competitor. He left Lando on seen.

But Lando wouldn’t let his teammate get away from him that easily. 

“Hey, Oscar,” he yelled ahead of him, as they walked into the paddock the next morning for media day. “Morning, you muppet,” he said, playfully clapping Oscar on the back. 

“Morning,” Oscar murmured. 

“Tired?” he asked. Oscar nodded. “Well, makes sense, because you were so busy going out without me. And then you had the nerve to leave me on read.”

Lando’s tone was clearly playful, but Oscar was still having none of it. “We got sushi.”

“Ewww. But as your unofficial fourth wheel, I still would have appreciated an invite.”

“It was just me and YN,” Oscar said, absentmindedly fiddling in his bag for his ID. He had truly been tired—too tired to really organize his bag before he left the hotel this morning. 

“Ah. Well,” Lando smiled, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, “wouldn’t want to interrupt that.”

Oscar looked up, making an unamused face at Lando. “What are you saying?”

“What? I know a side chick when I see one. But that’s none of my business, I know when to keep my mouth shut.” 

Oscar yanked his pass out of his bag, zipping it up aggressively. “YN isn’t my side chick.”

“You’re in a sour mood. Did you not sleep well or something?”

Oscar wanted nothing more than for Lando to leave him alone. “No, I didn’t. Lando, you know we’re not friends, right?”

“Sure we are.”

“Outside of the track, maybe. But I’m here to beat you. Not invite you out to sushi.” 

“Oscar, you’ve got to relax. You’re letting all this get to your head, mate.”

“I have somewhere to be,” Oscar said, abruptly ending the exchange there.

Lando wasn’t offended. He knew that when stakes were high, you said things you didn’t mean—God knows he had done that himself too many times to count. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something beyond just the stresses of Formula 1 racing that was causing Oscar’s hostility. 

Contrary to what one might think, Oscar was actually very easy to read. And it hadn’t exactly been top secret that he and Lily were having issues. Maybe Lando had just hit a nerve with the implication that Oscar had been unfaithful. 

But was he so wrong? To any outside viewer it seemed plain as day that there was something between you and Oscar that Lily seemed in denial about—at least, she had been, until Lando was caught in the crossfire during the Italy trip. 

God, the Italy trip. He cringed just thinking about it. Even after clearing the air with you, he just felt so…disgusting. Not at you, but at himself, the way he had dismissed you as if you were meaningless. But what else was he meant to do, when Lily had pushed you far beyond your comfort zone, and he knew you didn’t want anything like that with him?

He hoped that you wouldn’t hold it against him. He certainly wouldn’t hold whatever Oscar was dealing with against him. 

And that was fortunate, because Oscar’s foul mood followed him throughout the day, and into the next morning too. It was like the Aussie was followed by his own personal raincloud of annoyance, unable to escape his own thoughts. 

He was quickly learning that, even at Formula 1 speeds, he couldn’t outrun his heartbreak.

But it wasn’t sadness that he felt. It was anger. It was determination. It was a giant fuck you to everyone and no one in particular. Gone was the polite cat, the veneer of civility and sportsmanship. He needed to win, just to feel something again. 

Sessions one and two of free practice seemed promising. The third session was even better. 

But before qualifying, he felt that now all too familiar feeling bubbling up within him. The pressure to perform.

He needed to get pole. He needed it. 

In the paddock, he passed the commentators box. He could hear them talking about him. 

“For this afternoon’s qualifying session, all eyes are on Oscar Piastri! The McLaren driver had an amazing 2024 season, and so far this year, he’s already clenched a home win. But, somehow, he has never secured pole position at any Formula 1 Grand Prix qualifying session, only having done it for two sprint races. Compared to his teammate Lando Norris, who has historically dominated qualifying…”

He couldn’t listen any longer. 

He stomped back to his driver’s room, the words spinning in his head. It wasn’t just the commentators. It was Lando, it was the crowds, it was Lily. 

No. Not now. 

He grabbed his phone and sent a text.

You were oblivious to all of this, having spent Thursday and Friday in the hotel catching up on all your work that couldn’t be ignored for any longer. You’d come to the track today to support Oscar, and to help the new guy, who you had quickly realized most definitely wasn’t ready to be working an entire grand prix weekend on his own. 

But as you once again reminded him of the most basic functions of spell check on Instagram captions, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. A text from Oscar. 

Come to my room.

A second message.

I need you. 

You felt your heart drop. Even if you didn’t know the details of what exactly Oscar was feeling, you could tell that it was slowly eating away at him, making him a shell of his former self.

In the few days since your last night together in Monaco, you had kept your distance, unsure of where you stood since that one regretful night. But soon, you’d find out exactly what Oscar needed from you.

You practically sprinted to his driver’s room, only knocking once before he opened the door, his face just as flushed as yours. He peeked his head out, looked both ways to ensure the hallway was clear, and pulled you by the waist into the room.

He closed the door and locked it.

In one motion, he grabbed your waist, pushing you against the wall and overwhelming your senses with a fierce kiss. 

You were left breathless as he refused to let you go, bringing his free hand to your chin to hold you still against him. His kiss deepened, devouring your taste, as if he’d never get another chance again. 

When he finally did pull back, you could see his eyes clouded with wanting, looking you up and down like he’d die if he didn’t get more of you.

“Oh, “ you exhaled. “That’s what you needed.”

“Is this okay?”

You swallowed back your nervousness at his loaded question. “Yeah. Just wasn’t expecting it.” 

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I just can’t fucking drive like this.”

You both held your breath as you heard a set of footsteps approaching, then fading off into the distance. 

“We don’t have time. Can you do something for me?”

You nodded at him, your innocent eyes staring at him with anticipation. God, you were fucking perfect. And he was going to ruin you, right here and now. 

“On your knees,” he commanded, and you obeyed. 

He gently pulled your hair back before wrapping around his hands in a fist, pulling you back to look at him. “You’re so good for me,” he cooed.

But that was the end of his gentleness. He was going to prove to you how much he needed you.

You started slow, taking as much of him into your mouth as you could, sinfully dragging your tongue along his sensitive tip. But there was no time for teasing. 

He held your head and pushed into the back of your throat, letting out a soft, low groan as the blissful feeling of your lips around him. 

“That’s it, love. You can take it, right?” he teased, and you let out a muffled “mhm” as an answer, your mouth being preoccupied with much…bigger things. 

“Yeah, you take me so well, you’re so good for me,” he said, pushing your head back and forth to guide your rhythm. “Like you were made for me.”

You couldn’t help the gagging noises that came out of your mouth as you pressed your hands into his thighs for support. He hit the back of your throat, and you felt your eyes roll back from the relentless pace.

“Good little whore,” he said, his voice wavering from pleasure. “Letting me fuck your mouth in public, whenever I need it. God, fuck—”

You dug your nails into your thighs as you took every inch of him one last time, until you felt the sweet stickiness of his release coating the back of your throat. He let out one final groan as he let down your hair and fixed his race suit.

You swallowed and wiped your mouth as Oscar leaned down to kiss your cheek, an odd tenderness after the intensity of your encounter. 

“I’ll see you back at the hotel, yeah?” he asked, and you just nodded as he walked out the door. 

You watched from inside the paddock as Oscar got his first pole position. 

Neither of the McLaren boys won the grand prix, though. Max Verstappen, in usual fashion, had to remind everyone who was the 4 time world champion and who were the two children in comparison, fighting over the shiny toy of a trophy. 

A double papaya podium was good, though. That’s what you thought, at least. You’d hadn’t talked racing with Oscar in a while, knowing that it caused him more harm than good to be constantly reminded of the stakes at hand. 

But after the grand prix, you couldn’t stay with him for the next two races of the triple header. You had truly been neglecting your work in favor of being there for Oscar, and you needed to focus to catch up on all the beginning of season chaos. 

So, having sufficiently trained the new guy to hold down the fort in your absence, you reluctantly went home to Monaco.

But on the road, your absence hit Oscar like a ton of bricks. 

He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat. He paced the lobby of expensive hotels like a zombie. Everything was just…wrong. 

Oscar had always been the type who didn’t like to be alone. That wasn’t new. But this…thing, that felt like it was tearing him apart from the inside? He couldn’t name it. 

You could, though. It was heartbreak.

“I miss you,” he admitted, his voice quiet on the other side of the phone. It was the middle of the night in Bahrain, but you were just laying down for bed. 

“I miss you too, Osc, but you’ve got to get some sleep.”

“I can’t. It’s too quiet here.”

“Why don’t you put on some music?”

“It’s just… not the same.”

You sighed, empathetic for your struggling best friend. “What do you usually do when you’re alone on race weekends?”

There had been plenty of weekends where neither you nor Lily were in attendance, but those days seemed foreign to him now. “I don’t even fucking remember.”

“I’m so sorry, Osc. Do you wanna…talk about it?”

He knew the “it” you were referring to. The more accurate pronoun would be “her.”

“No,” he said, the word feeling final and solid. “But has anyone asked about it?”

“No,” you echoed. “You’ll have to tell them eventually. People can tell that you’re not doing too well.”

“Great,” he sighed. 

“If anyone asks, I can tell them.”

“Thank you.” He paused. “I think I’m gonna sell the apartment. Get another one.”

“It might be nice to have a new start.”

“Yeah,” he continued, “I just don’t even want to go back there. But I know I can’t keep hogging your place.”

“You can stay with me as long as you need, Osc.”

“I’d rather you stay with me. The guest room is practically yours already, anyways.”

“I could do that,” you said. 

“Are you sure you can’t come out for Saudi Arabia?”

“I wish I could. But your fans order too much merch and we’re drowning in orders,” you laughed. 

“Good problem to have.”

“Yeah.”

The silence on the lines was thick, an electric current running through the fragile stability of what was unspoken. The breakup, all the emotions he had refused to talk about since it happened, and the…new hobby the two of you had been indulging in. At some point it would have to be addressed.

But not now. Oscar yawned, “This is awful. I’m exhausted all the time but I can’t sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. It was all you could say; it was true. 

“Will you stay on the line until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.” You could never say no to him, even though you knew you should be focused on getting your own sleep. It was an unusual power that Oscar had over you; if anyone else asked this much of you, you would have left them a long time ago. But Oscar? You wished that you could do nothing more than hold him until it didn’t hurt anymore. 

But, for now, you’d have to settle for talking him to sleep from a few thousand miles away. And, evidenced by his soft snoring, it was working wonders. 

In the days before his return, it seemed like Oscar’s anxiety was rubbing off on you, even from so far away.

You couldn’t hardly sleep, always anticipating his call or texts in the odd hours of the night. You settled into an uneasy routine in his absence, your schedule practically becoming his so you were always available to call or watch his races. 

On the surface, it wasn’t unusual; plenty of fans woke themselves up at ungodly hours to watch every interview or free practice session. But in light of everything else, it felt like more of a commitment. 

And the fact that Oscar wanted you to essentially live with him in his Monaco apartment when he got back? Again, it shouldn’t be so odd. You would live with the Piastri family for months at a time when you were younger and your parents traveled for work. 

But you knew this time it was just different. You knew you couldn’t get attached to this new life you had already begun to settle into. At some point Oscar would heal from his heartbreak, and things would go back to normal.

How could life continue as normal, though, with Lily being gone? She was so integral to the fabric of both of your lives that neither of you could imagine one without her in it. 

It was this topic that came up the night before the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix, on a facetime call with your best friend. 

You hadn’t pushed him to talk, knowing that he’d come to you when he really needed it—and he did.

“I just…I hate being on the road, but I don’t want to go back. Being in Monaco without her just feels wrong.”

“I know. It’s weird for me too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just, you all were endgame, you know? I never imagined this would happen.”

He hummed, clearly not expecting that answer. 

“I didn’t either,” he responded. “I know you said it would get better, but I can’t imagine it right now. How did you do this?”

“You want the truth?” you asked. He shifted in bed, bringing his arms up under his head to lay on them, like a child curled up next to his mother.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think I ever really loved any of my exes. I was just trying to convince myself that I did.”

“I don’t believe that. Not after how devastated you were when you found out about the last one.”

You huffed at the nickname ‘the last one.’ After you discovered that your ex had cheated on you. Oscar was still so pissed that he refused to call him by his name.

“No, I didn’t love him. I think I was more upset about the fact that I had finally convinced myself that I did love him, and then he did that. I thought it was finally over, like…it was a game I had won. I tried to stay because I didn’t want to start all over with someone else. But I realized it was a waste of time, so I might as well just stay single.”

“YN, that’s…really sad, actually.”

“I guess,” you said, smiling and exhaling. “But you live and move on, right?” Through your screen you saw the faint sheen of teardrops on Oscar’s eyes. You looked away.

You continued, “But it’s different for you and Lily. You all really loved each other. I don’t know how you heal from that.”

“I don’t either.” He sniffled. “You’ve really never been in love?”

“That’s… it’s complicated.”

Even from a screen thousands of miles away, the implication of your statement was unmistakable. But you didn’t want to go there. Not now. 

Someday, maybe. Someday you would be able to tell Oscar directly to his face that you had been in love with him for nearly a decade.

But first, he had to come home. 

When he landed in the airport in Nice and caught an Uber to his apartment in Monaco, heartfelt confessions of love were the last thing on his mind.

Lando had won the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. Oscar was now losing. 

He couldn’t win them all. It was the beginning of the season. He was going through a rough time. All these excuses swirled around his mind. And that’s what they were—excuses. He hadn’t performed. He needed to be better.

He didn’t want to be better right now, though. He wanted to go home and collapse in his bed and sleep for a week straight. But his apartment would be cold and empty without Lily there.

Well, at least he’d have you.

And since you knew coming back would be hard for him, you had gone out of your way to make his homecoming easier. Using your spare key, you moved a few things into the guest room, did his laundry, lightly cleaned up, and had his favorite dinner set up and ready on the table with a lit candle rounding out the cozy scene. 

He thought he might cry tears of joy when he walked in and saw what you had done. 

Still, it was…different. When he would come home to Lily the house felt more lived in. Now it was clean and cozy, but too much so, evidence that the once binding force of the apartment’s atmosphere was gone. 

He wasn’t complaining though. Few people were lucky enough to come home to a clean home and a warm meal made by someone who loved them. And after the dinner, he certainly wanted to make his appreciation known.

“The least I can do is return the favor,” Oscar said, leaning against the wall behind you as you cleaned up the remnants of the meal. 

You playfully scoffed. “Since when do you cook or clean?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, wrapping his arm around your waist and bringing his lips to your neck.

“Um…oh,” you exhaled, unsure of what to make of his advance, but nevertheless relishing his touch. 

“You’ve just been so good to me,” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers up your spine.

“I’m just…being a good friend.” Your voice was breathy and tense.

“Do you not want to?” he asked, spinning you around to look at him.

“Well I just—” you exhaled, looking away from him. God, yes, you wanted him. Under eye bags and messy hair, depression and vulnerability, you wanted all of him. “In your apartment?”

“Would you rather I fuck you out on the street?” he joked. You would have smiled wider if you didn’t know that he was intentionally dodging the implications of your question. 

You couldn’t not bring it up, though. “In her apartment? In her bed?”

Oscar’s expression got colder. “It’s my apartment. She took all her shit and left.”

“It just feels wrong. I mean, Oscar, what are we doing?” You hadn’t intended for this conversation to happen now, but you both knew it was inevitable. 

“What we are doing is talking, when there are far better things our mouths could be occupied with,” he answered. “But if you don’t want to, that’s fine.”

He pulled his arm away from your waist and turned away from you, but you couldn’t bear it. The thought of him sleeping alone broke your heart.

So you pulled his arm back and hissed him rough. He pushed you back into the counter, asserting dominance, as one hand came up to wrap itself around your neck and the other snaked its way underneath your shirt. 

“Jump,” he instructed, and you hopped up onto the counter and he took off your skirt and panties before spreading your legs apart. 

“I owe you one, no?” he teased before his mouth found your clit and sucked.

“Fuck, Osc,” you said, putting a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans.

“Stop that,” he said, pulling your hand down before bringing his lips back down to your pussy. 

“Osc, I’m trying to be quiet and you’re making that….very difficult,” you said. 

“Quiet? If the neighbors aren’t putting in noise complaints after I’m done with you, then I’m doing something wrong,” he laughed.

You all never made it to the bedroom, too caught up in the moment to even move a few rooms away. He fucked you right there on the counter, whispering filthy nothings in your ear.

“My perfect little toy, aren’t you? Disgusting little girl,” he moaned. “Wanted me so bad you couldn’t even make it to the bedroom. How long have you wanted me to fuck you like this? Days? Weeks? Years?”

You couldn’t even respond, too lost in the heavenly feeling of him filling you with every inch. 

“God, you’re fucking filthy. I know how badly you wanted this, for so long. Fuck,” he moaned, “I’ll take care of it now. Just let go, cum for me.”

You obeyed.

But later that night, as he slept next to you, his words haunted you. It wasn’t the degradation—you liked that—but the deeper implication. He fucked you on the counter that he and Lily had once made dinner on together. You slept in her bed, next to her boyfriend. And he knew that you had wanted him so badly for so long. He teased you with it.

But you had never done anything, right? Oscar was right—he wasn’t her boyfriend, he was her ex. This wasn’t her apartment, not anymore at least. She had left.

Then why didn’t the guilt that was now eating you alive leave with her?

That guilt, powerful as it was, wasn’t enough to keep you from fucking Oscar on every surface of that God-forsaken apartment. You both were insatiable, and soon enough, the sounds of your pleasure echoed through every room, every day. 

Her counter. Her kitchen table. Her couch. Her shower. Her bed. 

The entire place, though now devoid of her belongings, was still Lily’s. And you were defiling it.

But you couldn’t stop. The feeling of Oscar’s hands wrapped around you, his lips on yours, was like a drug. You had waited so fucking long to have him—in every place, in every way. So why did it make you feel like you were going to puke every time you thought about it for too long?

And the question that you and Oscar were still avoiding hung thick in the air. 

What are we doing? The unanswerable question still haunted you.

As good as his touch felt, you knew it was wrong. And eventually, you’d have to talk.

It seemed that you weren’t the only one with that question.

After another night tangled between the sheets with Oscar, he checked his phone. A call from his mother. Fuck.

He had been avoiding her for weeks now. He couldn’t do it any longer.

While you cleaned up in the shower, he finally gathered up the courage and called her back.

“Hi mum,” he greeted as she immediately answered.

“Well hello, son. It’s nice to finally hear from you,” Nicole replied, her voice tinged with annoyed sarcasm.

“I’m sorry. There’s just been a lot going on.”

“I know. I talked to YN a while ago.”

“Yeah, I told her she could tell you. She’s, um, been helping me out a lot lately.”

“That’s good. How is she doing?”

“Oh, great,” he said. It was true. Oscar was making sure you were well taken care of, to say the least. 

“Been spending a lot of time with her?” his mother asked, bringing his thoughts back down to earth. 

“Yeah, she’s been helping me a lot with the apartment. I’m probably gonna sell it, but all the paperwork is ridiculous. I don’t have the time of energy for any of it,” he sighed.

“That’s not what I was getting at, Oscar.” He could hear his mother’s frown through the phone. 

“What?”

“You seem to have her around quite a lot for a man who’s newly single, don’t you?”

“It’s not like that, mum.”

“Oscar, do not lie to me.”

He sighed. “God, mum, I am not with YN! I would never do that. She’s just a friend. Besides, I don’t think I ever want to date again.” 

From behind the closed door of the bathroom, you heard him. You stopped in your tracks.

Nicole refused to give it up. “I raised you better than this, Oscar.”

“Seriously, mum?”

“Under the assumption that you’re being entirely honest, which I know for a fact you’re not, you know damn well how that girl feels about you.”

“How are YN’s feelings my problem?” Your ear pressed to the bathroom door, you heard every word. You thought your legs were going to give out. 

“Son, I know you must be heartbroken. But don’t do that to her.”

“I’m not doing anything. And thanks for asking how I’m doing, mum. A scolding is actually the perfect thing I need after the love of my life just up and left me a month ago.”

“Don’t get that tone with me—”

“I’ve got to go.”

“Fine. Do you think you’ll be able to come home at all before the summer?”

“I don’t know, mum. I’ll call you later.” 

The two hung up the call, and you heard Oscar huff as he put his phone back on the nightstand. You didn’t want to come out of the bathroom. In fact, you didn’t even want to be in this apartment, or the principality of Monaco, or on the same planet as Oscar Piastri right now.

But where else would you go? Your own apartment, the one that he had purchased? Back to his family’s house in Australia?

Where else was home?

Once, you had hoped that home would be Oscar’s arms. All you wanted now was to be held by him. But there was never much tenderness from him after your lovemaking. He always just turned over to the other side of the bed and fell asleep.

And that’s what he did now, clearly grumbling to himself about the phone call, though you didn’t say anything about what you’d heard. 

You sighed, a noise of frustration rather than contention. Oscar just ignored you.

You grabbed your own phone off the nightstand, hoping to distract yourself in work or endless scrolling.

But while Oscar didn’t want to talk to you, it seemed someone else did. Your eyes glanced over the screen:

Accept message request from Lando_Norris?

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° please don’t ruin this for me

♡ a/n — for my childhood friends to lovers series!

♡ word count — 2.3k

♡ content — eita otoya x fem! reader, fem! reader, childhood friends to lovers, SPOILERS FOR the NEL arc, goes from childhood to NEL, mentions of cheating ( both otoya and reader ) , slight nsfw ( mentioned but not explicit ) , slight playboy otoya, miscommunication, longest thing i've ever written, lmk if i missed anything!

♡ synopsis — Whether you were together or not, you'd always been eita otoya's. And he had always been yours, no matter what.

The first time Otoya told someone you were dating, you were seven years old, sitting on the swings during recess, kicking your legs back and forth as he proudly made his announcement.

“We’re in love, duh,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His hand, warm and slightly sticky from the juice box he just finished, was firmly holding yours.

You didn’t question it. Instead, you nodded along enthusiastically. “Yeah! We’re gonna get married and have a big house and eat candy for dinner every night.”

Your teacher, overhearing the conversation, sighed as she handed back your coloring pages. “That’s… nice. But please sit down now.”

It was silly. Just one of those things kids did after watching too many fairy tales and dramas.

But a week later, Otoya made a big show of breaking up with you during lunch.

“I don’t wanna marry you anymore,” he declared, arms crossed like he had thought long and hard about this decision.

You gasped, clutching your chest dramatically. “Fine, because I don’t wanna marry you either!”

The kids sitting around you both let out a collective, scandalized gasp, as if they were witnessing a tragic romance unfold before their very eyes.

You didn’t speak for the rest of lunch. Both of you sat in exaggerated silence, chewing your sandwiches in a way that made it very clear you were upset.

For about five minutes.

Then Otoya nudged your arm. “Wanna play tag?”

“…Yeah.”

And that was that.

You were still best friends, still inseparable, still attached at the hip.

That was how it always was. No matter what happened, Otoya always found his way back to you.

Until one day, he didn’t.

By the time you both entered junior high, the jokes about dating slowly faded away, replaced by real relationships.

Just never with each other.

Otoya had girlfriends now. A lot of them.

It wasn’t surprising—he was easygoing, charismatic, and could make anyone laugh. Girls naturally gravitated towards him.

What was surprising, though, was how effortlessly he let them go.

None of his relationships lasted long, but he never seemed heartbroken. If anything, his exes didn’t even seem bothered by their breakups. He’d flash them a lazy grin the next day in class, crack a joke, and just like that, everything was fine.

You never once saw him cry over a girl.

And for the first time since you’d met him, you were just his friend.

There were no more playful declarations of love, no more jokes about getting married.

Maybe you’d outgrown all of that.

Or maybe, just maybe, it had stopped feeling like a joke.

The first time you kissed Otoya, you told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

It was an accident.

Or at least, that’s what you wanted to believe.

It was late. His soccer practice had run long, and he had shown up at your house afterward, climbing through your window like he always did, flopping onto your bed like he owned the place.

You had been talking about everything and nothing at all, laughing over some dumb inside joke, when suddenly, he leaned in.

His gaze flickered to your lips for just a second before he closed the space between you, pressing his mouth to yours in a way that was soft, slow, and entirely too familiar—like he had been waiting for this moment forever.

When he pulled away, he grinned lazily, his voice just above a whisper.

“That was your first kiss, huh?”

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing. “…Yeah.”

His expression softened. “Guess we just made a good memory together.”

That was how it started.

A kiss turned into two.

Two turned into nights spent tangled in sheets, your hands in his hair, his mouth tracing patterns against your skin.

When you finally gave yourself to him completely, he had laughed against your collarbone and murmured, “I’ll keep it safe for you.”

Good friends did this, apparently.

Good friends walked home together after his soccer practices, hands lazily intertwined.

Good friends fell asleep in the same bed, limbs tangled like it was natural.

Good friends still slept together—even when Otoya had a girlfriend.

And everyone thought you were dating.

But you weren’t.

At least, not officially.

Then one day, one of Otoya’s nameless girlfriends pulled you aside after school.

“You need to stop hanging around him so much,” she snapped, her arms crossed tightly. “It’s pathetic how you just follow him around like a lost puppy.”

You blinked, startled. “I—”

She scoffed. “You really think I don’t notice? Every girl who dates Otoya knows about you. We all know we’re just fillers until you decide you actually want him.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but nothing came out.

Because deep down, you weren’t sure she was wrong.

That night, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Maybe this wasn’t normal. Maybe, in trying to feel something, you had hurt people in the process.

So you stopped.

No more late-night visits. No more whispered secrets.

And strangely, Otoya didn’t stop you.

You thought maybe he’d notice. That maybe he’d say something.

But if he did, he never said a word.

And the girls beside him kept changing.

The first few days without Otoya were… strange.

You told yourself it was normal—people drifted apart all the time. This was just a natural part of growing up, right?

But the silence was loud.

There was no more tapping at your window late at night, no lazy texts asking what you were doing, no sudden arms slung over your shoulders as he teased you about some random thing.

It was quieter.

At first, you thought you were the one keeping the distance, that it was your choice. That if you ever wanted to hear from him, all you had to do was reach out.

But weeks passed, and you didn’t hear a word.

No texts. No calls.

Nothing.

Then, one afternoon, the realization came crashing down in the most mundane of ways.

You were in the school bathroom, washing your hands, when a girl burst into the stall next to you, her voice thick with frustration.

“He just left for some soccer training camp—‘Blue Lock’ or something! Didn’t even warn me,” she cried, sniffling.

Your stomach dropped.

“What?!” one of her friends gasped. “Wait—like Otoya? He’s gone?!”

The girl let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Yeah. Just poof. Didn’t even bother saying goodbye.”

Your breath caught.

The cold water from the sink ran over your fingers, but you barely felt it.

He left?

He left?

Your mind raced. There was no way that was true. Otoya wouldn’t just go without saying anything. Right?

You fumbled for your phone, hands shaking as you scrolled through your messages.

His name sat there, undisturbed, with your last conversation from months ago.

And suddenly, it hit you—

You hadn’t noticed.

He had vanished from your life, and you had been so convinced you were choosing the distance that you didn’t even realize he was already gone.

You gripped the edge of the sink, feeling sick.

This was Otoya. The boy who had been with you since childhood, the boy who was always by your side. How had you not seen it?

Had he even wanted you to notice?

The thought made your chest ache.

Because if he had, he would have said something, wouldn’t he?

And yet—he hadn’t.

He had left without a word.

Without a goodbye.

Like you didn’t matter at all.

Blue Lock was exhausting.

Physically, mentally, emotionally—it took everything out of him. But Otoya thrived in chaos, so he never let it get to him.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

But sometimes, in the rare quiet moments between matches, when the adrenaline faded and there was nothing left to distract him, he’d find himself scrolling through his phone, staring at your contact.

The urge to text you was unbearable.

Should he?

Would you even care?

He thought about the last time he saw you—the way you had started pulling away, the way you had stopped looking for him.

Had you already decided he wasn’t worth keeping around?

That thought made something bitter settle in his throat.

Maybe this was for the best.

Maybe, if you had wanted him in your life, you would have noticed he was gone.

So he locked his phone, tossed it onto his bed, and pretended it didn’t bother him.

That you didn’t bother him.

That the ache in his chest wasn’t loneliness, but just another part of the game.

And in the end, he never pressed send.

You didn’t even know why you were here.

Well. That was a lie.

You knew exactly why you were here.

It wasn’t for the game, and it sure as hell wasn’t for Japan’s future in soccer.

You just wanted to see him.

Even after everything, after months of silence, after the way he had left you behind without a second thought—

You still wanted to see him.

The moment the match started, your eyes found him instantly.

Otoya was different.

Stronger, faster, sharper.

But more than that—he belonged here.

And for the first time, you wondered if maybe this was why he never looked back.

Because he didn’t need to.

The game was intense. You barely processed the score, the plays, or the tension in the stadium. All you could do was watch him.

And then, it was over.

Your breath was unsteady as you weaved through the crowd, pushing past people, trying to make your way down to the field before you lost sight of him.

And then—

You saw him.

Standing there, laughing, his expression relaxed and carefree as he spoke to a red-haired girl.

She was smiling, leaning close.

And just like that, something inside you snapped.

You stopped in your tracks.

You shouldn’t have been surprised. Otoya had always been like this, right? Easy. Charming. He moved on from people without a second thought.

And yet, it still hurt.

Because while you had spent the last few months feeling his absence like an open wound, he didn’t even look like he missed you at all.

Your hands curled into fists.

You weren’t going to do this to yourself.

You turned on your heel and walked away, not looking back.

And this time, you swore—

You were really going to leave him behind.

Time did what it always did—it moved forward, dragging you along with it whether you wanted it to or not.

You went to university. You got good grades. You found new friends, new routines, new ways to keep yourself busy.

And somewhere along the way, you convinced yourself that you had moved on.

You weren’t the same girl who spent sleepless nights staring at her phone, hoping for a text that never came. You weren’t the same girl who walked away from that stadium feeling like she had lost something she didn’t even realize she still wanted.

You were fine.

And you had a boyfriend now.

He wasn’t Otoya—he wasn’t playful or reckless, didn’t make your heart race with a single look—but he was steady. Reliable. Safe.

And for a while, you told yourself that was enough.

But then came the nights when you found yourself alone, flipping through channels until you landed on an FC Barcha match.

And every single time—without fail—your eyes found him.

Eita Otoya.

Older now, sharper, wearing that signature smirk like it had never left his face.

He moved across the field like he owned it, like he was made for this. And watching him, you felt the same ache in your chest that you had buried for years.

You were fine.

That’s what you kept telling yourself.

But if that was true, then why did it feel like your heart stopped every time you saw him on the screen?

The night Otoya came back, it was supposed to be simple.

You had movie plans with your boyfriend. He was supposed to come over, bring takeout, sit next to you on the couch, and pretend not to notice when you inevitably got distracted by your phone halfway through.

But when the knock came, and you opened the door—

It wasn’t him.

It was Otoya.

And he didn’t say a word.

He just stepped inside, grabbed your face, and kissed you.

Your heart stopped.

Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing—

But your body betrayed you.

Your fingers curled into his jacket, pulling him closer as his hands found your waist. He kissed you like he had been starving for it, like he was trying to make up for every lost second, every wasted moment spent apart.

And you let him.

You kissed him back like he was oxygen, like you had spent years trying to convince yourself you didn’t need him—only to realize, in this moment, that you still did.

That you always did.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips, his forehead resting against yours. His voice was lower now, rougher, like he had spent years trying not to say those words. “You don’t even know how much.”

You felt dizzy.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

But before you could say anything, before you could even think—

“What the fuck is this?”

You froze.

Otoya’s lips left yours, his gaze flicking over your shoulder.

And there, standing in the open doorway, was your boyfriend.

The takeout bag in his hand was slipping, forgotten, as his face twisted into something between disbelief and rage.

“What the fuck, Y/N?”

Your stomach dropped.

You hadn’t even heard him come in.

Otoya didn’t move.

Didn’t look guilty.

Didn’t even seem bothered.

He just blinked lazily, like he was barely interested in the whole situation, and then—

With absolutely no hesitation—

He walked to the door and shut it.

Right in your boyfriend’s face.

Then, just as easily, he turned back to you, smirking.

“You don’t need him,” he murmured, brushing his fingers over your jaw. “You have me now.”

And when he kissed you again, you let him.

Because the truth was—

You had always been his.

slight comeback but really just bc i had to get this out of my brain

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[fluentmoviequoter]

The Memories Get to Kickin' In

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!singer!reader (former cop)

Summary: Tim gets roped into going to a concert. He doesn't expect to have his heart broken during the first song, or to apologize to his ex-fiancée.

Warnings: r's stage name is OFCR, angst, breakups, lots of feelings, vulnerable Tim, fluff, Nyla and Angela, I changed the lyrics to 'Nobody Gets Me' by SZA and made up an album title/additional songs

Word Count: 3.2k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Rules/Info

“Where’s your boot?” Angela asks Nolan.

He looks around quickly, frowning as he answers, “Uh, I know exactly where she is. Do you need her?”

“Yes, we do,” Nyla replies. “So maybe we should find her.”

“Who?” Lucy inquires.

“Celina,” Nolan says.

“Oh, she’s in the bullpen. She got a call or something right after roll call.”

Nolan, Angela, and Nyla follow Lucy to the bullpen. Celina paces back and forth with her phone outside the roll call room. She rubs her thumb against her lip before she slows to type.

“What are you doing?” Lucy asks as they approach her.

Celina startles but doesn’t look up from the screen as she answers, “I’m trying to get concert tickets.”

“This is not the time or place, Juarez,” Nolan chides.

“Wait, Nolan,” Nyla commands, raising her hand toward him. “We have lives outside of police work. What concert?”

“Uh, OFCR,” Celina answers carefully, flitting her eyes quickly between Nyla and her phone.

“Wait, tickets are on sale again?!” Angela exclaims, pulling her phone from her pocket.

“Second presale,” Celina explains. “If you’re on her email list, there’s a code to get in but there’s a waitlist and the site keeps reloading.”

“What’s the limit?” Lucy asks. “I’ll send you money right now to get me a ticket.”

“Five, I think,” Celina answers. “If I ever get through, I’ll get tickets for all of us.”

“Officer?” Nolan repeats.

“Yeah, but it’s o-f-c-r,” Lucy explains. “Bailey listens to her music; you’ve probably heard it.”

“This is the second sale for the LA show, but we couldn’t get tickets the first time,” Angela adds. “They sold out in like 90 seconds.”

“You guys talking about OFCR?” Aaron interjects.

“Yeah, we’re trying to get tickets,” Celina responds.

Aaron unlocks his phone and says, “I got it.”

“Don’t tell me you have a guy for concert tickets, five minutes,” Nyla deadpans.

“No. Well, I do, but I also know OFCR, we’ve been friends for years. How many tickets am I asking for?”

“Can I bring Bailey?” Nolan requests.

“Of course.”

“Then, six- seven if you want to go, Aaron,” Angela says.

“What is going on over here?” Tim demands.

“Eight it is,” Lucy announces with a smile. “Tim, you’re going to a concert with us.”

“Wasn’t a question, Bradford,” Nyla says before he can oppose.

“Alright,” Aaron says. “VIP tickets will be emailed within the hour. I’ll forward them to everybody.”

“VIP?” Celina repeats. “Aaron, you are the best!”

“Me, pssh,” he responds playfully.

“Can we get to work now?” Tim asks.

“Yes, yes,” Lucy answers.

“Bailey is going to be so excited,” Celina tells Nolan as they walk toward the shop.

“Thorsen, wait up,” Tim calls. He approaches Aaron and drops his voice to ask, “Wanna use my ticket for a date or something?”

“No, you’re going. I’m not getting on Nyla’s bad side again.”

“I don’t even know her music, Aaron. Or when the concert is, what if I have plans?”

“Start with Streets of LA, it’s the album she’s touring right now, and if you do, change them.”

“Nyla can’t protect you forever, Thorsen.”

“Yes, I can!” Nyla yells from her desk.

Tim hesitates but presses play on the album Thorsen mentioned. He flexes his fingers under the wrap protecting his knuckles, preparing to hit the heavy bag to clear his mind. When OFCR starts singing, however, Tim freezes. At first, Tim thinks maybe it's because the voice is impressive, but as he listens to the words and finds himself relating to them a bit too much, he turns the music off.

“I’m not going to that concert, Thorsen,” he grumbles as he shuffles his usual playlist and strikes the bag.

Tim asks Wade to be given desk duty the day of the concert so he doesn’t have to hear the others gushing about OFCR all day.

“No,” Wade answers immediately. “You have a job to do. Besides, the girl can sing.”

“It’s not about whether she has talent, it’s that I’d prefer to do my job without hearing speculation about what color her shoes will be.”

“Luna thinks blue,” Wade says with a smile.

“Oh, come on.”

“Have a good day, Bradford.”

When Tim finally gets home, he sighs and sags against the front door. However, someone knocks on the door before he can think about what he wants for dinner. He opens it and sees Angela and Nyla standing in matching shirts bearing the letters OFCR in a font that looks like painted roads.

“Let’s go,” Nyla demands.

“Maybe you should change first, actually,” Angela interjects. “Do you want help picking an outfit?”

“I am not your child, Lopez,” Tim snaps.

“Then stop acting like one, Timothy. You have two minutes to change, spray cologne, whatever it is you do.”

Tim considers arguing briefly, then nods and disappears down the hall. He dresses quickly, feeds Kojo and ensures he has water, then follows Nyla and Angela to the car.

“It’s a limo,” he realizes aloud.

“Oh, yeah, when Hollywood said they were great friends, he meant it,” Nyla muses.

“Apparently Lincoln helped her get in with a label and a producer buddy of his, and since she and Aaron are pretty close in age, he introduced them. They hit it off and have been friends ever since,” Angela adds.

“Is that why you listen to her music? Because of Thorsen?” Tim inquires.

“No,” Nyla says. “We listen to her music because it’s good.”

“And she sings about things we can relate to. She seems pretty amazing.”

“So did Charles Manson,” Tim grumbles as the driver pulls away from the curb.

From their VIP seats, they have a clear view of the stage without any screaming fans blocking the stage. Lucy records one of the songs performed by the opening act while Bailey, Nyla, Angela, and Celina talk about which songs they are most excited to hear OFCR perform.

“Nobody Gets Me is probably my favorite,” Bailey says.

“Oh, yes!” Celina agrees.

“So good,” Angela adds.

Aaron returns with a bag of OFCR merchandise and smiles. “Showtime.”

The lights dim, and the crowd silences. Tim watches, growing restless as he sits between Angela and Nyla like they think he’ll run. At the sound of OFCR’s voice, however, he’s frozen just as he had been in the gym, yet he still doesn’t understand why.

“Los Angeles!” you call into the microphone, looking out into the dark arena. “I need you to sing this first song with me.” The crowd roars, and you smile as you continue, “It’s about my ex-fiancé. He will not talk to me, so we’re gonna sing this for him. You ready, LA?”

The lights come up, and you stand in the oversized flower display the set designer built specially for this performance. It’s an inverted version of the last bouquet your ex got you, and it means nearly as much as the song.

“Took a long vacation, no uniform, just sandy. You kissed me, now we silent, Los Angeles was ours to rule then. So tired, screamin’, ‘What now?’ Love me, but I’m anythin’. Hurry now, baby, kiss me ‘fore the memories get to kickin’ in. It’s too late, I don’t wanna lose what’s left of you,” you sing, standing from the flower petals as the sold-out arena screams the lyrics with you.

Tim watches you from the VIP section to your right with no discernable expression. His breaths are uneven, but he can’t look away as his chest tightens, feeling as if his heart will rupture from the pressure. He suddenly understands why he related so much to the song he heard. Like this one, it was about him.

Angela and Nyla stand with Lucy to sing together. Tim only watches you, listening to every word you’re saying and wondering if knowing you felt this way would have changed what he did. What he’s still doing.

“How am I supposed to tell ya? I don’t wanna see you with anyone but me, Nobody gets me like you. How am I supposed to let you go? Only like myself when I’m with you. Nobody gets me, you do,” you sing with the crowd.

When you step away from the inverted bouquet, which Tim recognized the moment you became visible, Tim watches you. His lips pick up at the corner at the sight of you, but he knows.

“Took me out to ballpark, you proposed, I went on patrol, you was feelin’ guilty, so you left me, now I’m stuck dealin’ with a deadbeat,” you sing.

If Tim had any doubt left, that would have eliminated it. You’re not OFCR, the singer his friends love, you’re you, Tim Bradford’s ex-fiancée. The woman he would do anything for; the woman he left because he thought it was what was best for you. The woman he thinks about every night and the woman he now realizes isn’t a better police officer without him.

“If I’m real, I deserve less. If I was you, I wouldn’t take me back.”

At that line, Tim stands and pushes his way past Angela. He exits the arena, and though he can still hear you singing inside, it’s muffled, and Tim can breathe.

Aaron rushes out behind him and raises his arms as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s stuffy in there,” Tim lies.

“Sure,” Aaron agrees slowly. “Is that all?”

Tim narrows his eyes and says, “Yes.”

“Okay. Because I know her. But I’m guessing I don’t know her like you do.”

“You don’t know anything, Thorsen. Leave it alone.”

Aaron remains silent for a moment, then asks, “If you did something similar to the guy in the song, maybe listening to it can help you find a way to fix it.”

“Not everything can be fixed, Aaron. There won’t always be a rich friend ready to get you things you couldn’t get otherwise, there isn’t always a second chance, and people fall out of love. It’s the real world.”

“Despite what you think about me, I know the real world too well. And it has taught me that when it comes to doing the right thing, there are second chances, even if they aren’t exactly what you want them to be. Sometimes an apology doesn’t take things back to how they used to be, but it’s something. Come back whenever you’re ready.”

Tim doesn’t acknowledge Aaron, but deep down, he knows that he is right. If he can get through the concert, listen to your songs, maybe he can unblock your number and send you a text to apologize. And then you can both move on with your lives.

“I see your sign,” you call with a smile as Tim returns to his seat. “I’m going to sing it later, I promise. What I want to do right now, though, is tell you guys that half of the proceeds from our merchandise sales tonight are going back to Los Angeles. I’m sure some of you know that I was a police officer here for a while, and I still love LA, despite all the scars it gave me. So, what you buy tonight is helping this city. There are also some LA-specific items, which I already see some of you wearing, and 100% of those sales are going directly to the LA Police and Fire departments. So, thank you for all of your support, and let’s sing another song.”

At the end of the concert, Aaron tells the others that there’s a back exit they can use to bypass the crowds. As they follow him down a hallway, Angela, Nyla, Lucy, Bailey, and Celina talk about how amazing the show was and how great your second outfit looked on you.

“Did you decide to do something?” Aaron asks Tim under his breath.

Tim nods, and then Nolan asks everyone if their favorite song has changed after hearing so many live.

“Aaron!” you exclaim as you walk into the hallway from your dressing room. You hug him and say, “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Thanks for hooking us up,” Aaron replies. “You were amazing, as always.”

“You dad tell you to say that?” you joke. You realize that his friends are staring at you and wave as you say, “Hi. Thank you so much for coming, I hope you enjoyed it.”

“Enjoyed?” Angela repeats. “This was the best day of my life, and I have kids.”

“Agreed,” Nyla adds quickly.

“You are incredibly talented,” Celina compliments. “All of your music is so heartfelt and meaningful but also sounds great.”

“You’re all being way too nice to me,” you interrupt with a laugh. “And I am terrible at accepting compliments, so please stop. Are you all cops?”

“We are,” Nolan replies. “Mid-Wilshire.”

“I know it well.”

“I bet,” Aaron murmurs.

When you glance at him with your brows pinched, he cuts his eyes toward Tim, who is standing against the wall on the other side of the hall. Your eyes meet Tim’s, and you immediately look away.

“Hi,” you whisper, keeping your eyes down.

“Hey,” he replies softly.

“Well, guys,” Aaron says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s go. Tim, I’ll send a car for you.”

“Thorsen,” Tim warns.

“Can’t hear you,” Nyla interrupts. “We’re going. He’ll send a car.”

Angela nods at Tim, then pats his arm as she passes. Though Aaron is the only one who has an idea of what is happening between you and Tim, his friends can tell that he isn’t himself.

“I didn’t know you knew Aaron,” you say once you’re alone.

“Yeah, they, uh- they made me come,” Tim explains.

You scoff and say, “No one can make you do anything, Tim.”

“I didn’t know it was you. Didn’t know you were OFCR.”

“That I believe. Look, I’m sorry this is awkward, but you don’t have to stay, you can catch up to your friends and-“

“I’m sorry,” Tim interrupts. You look up at him, your expression shocked and confused but soft. It takes every bit of willpower Tim has not to reach out to you.

“Don’t,” you plead.

“I thought I was doing what was best for you,” he continues. “I thought breaking off the engagement would make you be a better cop, give you less to lose.”

“I lost you anyway,” you remind him, your voice breaking. You shake your head and look away from Tim as you add, “Tim, that hurt worse than anything else I’ve ever dealt with.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. There- it’s over, and now you know who I am and that I wrote a bunch of songs about you because… because nobody gets me anymore and I couldn’t even talk to you about it.”

Tim remains silent momentarily, but then he pushes off the wall to be a few inches closer to you. “Why’d you leave the force?”

“Are you serious? How was I supposed to go to work every day knowing I would see you? The week after you left made me question everything. I couldn’t stand not knowing what would happen each day, and the idea of seeing you with someone else was more than I could handle. There wasn’t any reason to keep serving when I couldn’t even take care of myself.”

“I never intended for it to be like that.”

“But it was.”

You look at Tim with tears in your eyes, and he takes a step closer.

“I didn’t want to,” he admits. “You were… I thought I was a distraction, that if you weren’t worried about me and us that you’d be able to protect yourself and do your job.”

You nod, trying to understand.

“In the song, you said you deserve less. You don’t really believe that do you?” Tim inquires.

“I don’t know what I believe anymore. You hurt me Tim, and there are days where I don’t think I’ll ever get past it.”

“Can I say anything to make this better?”

“Are you happy?”

“I haven’t been happy since we left the Dodgers game and you had a ring on your finger,” Tim confesses.

“Why didn’t you just talk to me then? Why did you walk out of my life and then make sure I couldn’t get back in? I know you blocked me on everything because after I left I tried to talk to you.”

“I don’t know. At the time, it seemed like a clean break would be better for you.”

“All this talk about what’s best for me, but you never once stopped to ask yourself what I might want? I have never been happier than I was with you, and there is only one you.”

“I-“

“You should go. Aaron’s driver is probably waiting for you.”

You turn and walk to your dressing room, and Tim watches you go. He doesn’t reach out to you, doesn’t say your name or ask you to wait, he just lets you go again.

In your dressing room, you drop your head into your hands and let your tears fall. You expected the show to bring back some unpleasant feelings but seeing Tim Bradford brings back everything you’ve buried over the years, and the hurt feels fresh.

Someone knocks on your door, and you call, “Just a minute.”

“No,” Tim replies from the other side. “This can’t wait.”

You open the door slowly, and Tim doesn’t let you speak before he says, “You deserved more. I thought it was best for you, but I realize that I was wrong. Listening to you sing about what I put you through… broke my heart. I can’t leave you again with you thinking that I deserve more than you or that I don’t care about what I did. I’ve loved you since before I first told you.”

“Tim, please don’t do this,” you plead.

“Do you really believe that nobody gets you like I do?”

You tell yourself not to answer, but you nod regardless.

“Then let me show you I still do. One more chance, and if you want to walk away, I’ll let you.”

“We can’t just pick up where we left off, Tim, it doesn’t work like that.”

Tim raises his hand toward you, palm up, and you step toward him. When his hand meets your jaw, you sigh and pinch your eyes closed, pushing fresh tears down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You smile and admit, “I never stopped loving you, either.”

“May I?”

“Kiss me.”

“Let the memories in,” Tim tells you. “We can do this, but not if we forget where we – I – messed up, we don’t stand a chance.”

“Tim, if you don’t kiss me, I’m going to start singing about how much I cried when I recorded these songs.”

Tim drops his hand from your face, but before you ask what’s wrong, he pulls a chain from under his shirt. It has your engagement ring band on it, and you lay your hand on his chest.

“And I thought I was sentimental,” you murmur.

“I have a lot to make up for,” Tim says before he brushes his lips against yours.

“Maybe we should just start over,” you suggest, wrapping your arms over his shoulders. “I could use a new muse to sing about.”

“As long as you don’t tell Aaron he was right.”

“I’m not done with my tour yet,” you remind him, pulling back.

Tim catches your arms before they fall to your sides and holds you close. “I’ll wait,” he promises. “As long as it takes.”

“I love you, Tim Bradford,” you murmur.

“You move fast,” he jokes before you shut him up with another kiss.

[caitified]

OMG YAY ! i don’t see much content for azzi here it’s kind of sad💔 it’s my first time requesting but maybe azzi and reader used to date but broke up because reader went abroad for some time. so azzi starts dating paige after a while but reader comes back and azzi gets confused/conflicted🙏🙏

confused

azzi fudd x reader

warnings:none, but i didn’t read abroad when i first saw your request so sorry about that!

the last night of high school had a bittersweet magic, like the twilight of a long, perfect day. azzi leaned against your car, her eyes a warm blend of laughter and anticipation as she looked at you under the stars.

“we did it,” she said softly, her hand reaching for yours. “after all these years, we’re finally here.”

you squeezed her hand, the familiar warmth of her skin sending a rush through you. azzi had been your everything since middle school, the kind of love people wrote about. and even though she was going to uconn and you’d soon be on the other side of the country at stanford, there was something fierce and hopeful in both of you. you’d make this work—long distance, time zones, anything. you both promised.

but in the weeks that followed, distance crept in slowly, like shadows at dusk. phone calls turned shorter, text messages went unanswered longer, and instagram kept you updated more on her life than she did herself. it was paige who started appearing in those updates the most. paige, laughing with her. paige, meeting her after practices. paige, cheering her on from the stands. paige, who understood her world of basketball in a way you couldn’t.

months passed. your heart grew accustomed to the ache, hoping it would be worth it. until, finally, you’d had enough.

it was a late saturday night when you texted azzi, a small hope sparking that she’d call back. an hour went by. then two. you waited until her online status disappeared into nothing. the silence pressed against you, suffocating.

the breakup was long overdue, yet when it happened, it still felt sudden. you sent a simple message: i think we both deserve better than this. i love you, azzi, but i can’t keep pretending that i’m okay. maybe it’s time we let go.

she responded with a long, agonizing pause. and then, one final text: i understand. i’m so sorry.

for a long time after, it felt like your world had shrunk. but you focused on school, throwing yourself into new friendships and routines. azzi stayed in the background of your life, just out of sight. you saw the news when she and paige became official, saw their faces together across sports feeds, but by then, you were already halfway to moving on.

three years later, standing in the crowded arena in san francisco, you didn’t expect to see her. the golden state valkyries had just announced azzi’s draft, and the crowd buzzed with excitement as she jogged out, looking as stunning and determined as ever. seeing her was like a shot of adrenaline straight to your heart.

as she moved through the crowd after the event, signing autographs and hugging teammates, your eyes met hers. time seemed to freeze. she looked at you as though she was seeing a ghost, her face a mix of shock, wonder, and something else.

“hey,” you managed, stepping forward. “congratulations, azzi. you… you made it.”

azzi blinked, regaining her composure. “hey yourself,” she said, her voice soft. “i didn’t think i’d see you here.”

“i live here now,” you replied, forcing a casual tone. “life happened.”

a soft chuckle escaped her lips. “yeah, i guess it does.” she glanced over her shoulder, where the crowd still buzzed, and then back at you. “do you have time to catch up? maybe coffee?”

a moment’s hesitation flickered within you. but then you nodded. “sure. coffee sounds good.”

the cafe was quiet, a small place nestled into the heart of the city, far enough from the hustle of the arena that it almost felt hidden. azzi had chosen a table in the corner, a place where the dim lighting and soft music blurred the line between memory and reality.

you sat across from her, stirring your coffee absentmindedly, catching glimpses of her across the table. time had changed her. she was leaner, sharper somehow, the softness of high school replaced by something refined. but there were hints of the girl you once knew—the curve of her smile, the way she fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. little things that made your heart clench.

“so… stanford, huh?” she broke the silence, her voice careful, like she was stepping over broken glass.

“yeah. decided to go all in with the academics,” you replied, trying to keep things light. “and you… uconn and now golden state? i knew you’d make it big.”

she laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “it’s been a wild ride. sometimes i still don’t believe it.”

a silence settled between you two, one that felt almost comfortable. it was strange, sitting there with someone who once knew you better than anyone else, and yet now felt like a stranger.

“i saw you with paige,” you said, finally breaking the silence. you kept your tone steady, not accusing, just… curious.

she looked down, her hands wrapped around her cup. “yeah. we… got together after you and i broke up. she was there for me when i was struggling, you know? uconn was intense, and i didn’t know anyone. she made it feel like home.”

there was no bitterness in her voice, just honesty, and somehow that made it hurt less. you had seen it coming; even back in high school, there was something between azzi and paige that was easy and natural, something that used to make you feel like you were on the outside.

“i’m glad,” you said quietly. and you meant it, even if part of you wondered what might have happened if things had been different.

you talked about everything that night—your time at stanford, her life at uconn, the struggles, the triumphs. it was as if the years between you faded with each word, each laugh. and as the hours stretched on, that familiar warmth started creeping back in, like a flame rekindling.

when it was finally time to go, azzi walked you to your car. there was a soft breeze, and the night felt impossibly still.

“it was really good seeing you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. there was something in her eyes, something that made your heart race, but you pushed it down, reminding yourself that she had someone waiting for her.

“you too,” you replied, giving her a small smile. “congrats again, azzi. you’re really… amazing.”

she looked like she wanted to say something more, but she just nodded, stepping back as you got into your car. you watched her in the rearview mirror as you pulled away, her figure growing smaller until she disappeared from sight.

days turned into weeks, and despite your best efforts, azzi slipped back into your life. she’d text you every now and then, little messages that felt casual on the surface but carried weight in every word. saw something that reminded me of you, she’d write, or remember that time we got caught in the rain? each message was like a breadcrumb, pulling you back toward her.

one evening, you got a text from her. hey, got an extra ticket to the game tonight. want to come?

you hesitated, knowing it could open old wounds, but in the end, curiosity won. you arrived at the arena, slipping into your seat as the lights dimmed. the game was intense, and azzi was incredible—fast, focused, completely in her element. watching her, you felt that old pride swell up, a pride that only grew when she scored the game-winning shot.

afterward, she found you outside, her face still flushed from the game. “thanks for coming,” she said, her smile shy, almost like she was back in high school again.

“i wouldn’t have missed it,” you replied, feeling your heart race as she held your gaze a little too long.

that night, she drove you home. you could feel the tension in the car, thick and electric, the air filled with words unspoken. as she parked outside your place, you hesitated, hand on the door, before you turned back to her.

“this… this feels like old times, doesn’t it?” you asked softly.

she looked down, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “yeah,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “i didn’t realize how much i missed it. missed… you.”

your heart hammered in your chest, but you knew there was someone else, someone who had been there for her when you hadn’t. “azzi… what about paige?”

she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “i know. it’s just… i don’t know what to do. paige has been amazing. she’s my best friend, and she’s… she’s everything i thought i wanted. but being around you… it’s different. it’s like i’m back where i belong.”

you reached out, gently taking her hand. “i don’t want to be the reason you hurt someone. but… i also can’t pretend that i don’t feel the same way.”

for a long time, she didn’t respond, her hand warm in yours, her gaze fixed on the street outside. when she finally looked at you, there was a hint of tears in her eyes. “i just need time,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“okay,” you replied softly. “take all the time you need.”

the weeks that followed were torturous. azzi would text, call, ask to meet up, and each time felt like a step closer and a step further away all at once. you knew she was struggling, caught between two lives, two loves, each one pulling her in a different direction. and as much as you wanted her, you didn’t want her to feel forced, didn’t want her to carry the guilt of hurting someone she cared about.

one evening, she showed up at your door unannounced, her face pale, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion. without a word, you stepped aside, letting her in.

“i ended things with paige,” she said, her voice hollow. “i told her the truth. that my heart wasn’t all hers. that part of me… was still with you.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and fragile. you took a step closer, reaching for her hand. “are you okay?” you asked, even though you knew the answer.

she shook her head, her shoulders trembling. “no. but i know this is right. i can’t keep pretending. you… you’re my past, but you’re also my future. and i need to be honest with myself.”

you pulled her into your arms, holding her as she clung to you, her body shaking with the weight of her decision. you knew she would need time to heal, that her heart would need to piece itself back together. but for now, you were here, together, ready to face whatever came next.

[tavolgisvist]

… we always had that thing that our names would go on songs even if we didn’t write them. It was never a legal deal between Paul and me, just an agreement when we were fifteen or sixteen to put both our names on our songs.

(John Lennon, 1980, All We Are Saying by David Sheff)

1969

September, 9

-John, Paul and George held a meeting at Apple

John then addressed the agreement under which he and Paul had worked since 1962, in which any song written by either of them was credited to Lennon-McCartney. They rarely collaborated anymore, and most fans could tell who wrote what. John proposed, with no objection from Paul, that their future songs be published under their individual names. Notably, Lennon made a point of saying that they had to find a way to announce this compositional de-linking in a way that would not lead to “Beatles Splitting” rumors.

(The McCartney Legacy Volume 1. 1969-73 by Allan Kozinn and Adrian Sinclair, 2022)

September, 13 -the Plastic Ono Band’s debut in Toronto

September, 19 -ATV bought shares from the Consortium and reached just under 50% ownership of Northern Songs

September, 20 (16?) -John tells he had decided to leave band

Klein asked John to wait until the contracts were finalized before he started talk that the Beatles were disbanding. But that didn’t keep John from enjoying the satisfaction of telling Paul. Shortly after John’s return from Toronto, he demanded a meeting at Apple. Paul arrived, his usual magnanimous self, full of plans for new Beatles projects. But no matter what Paul suggested, John kept saying, “No, I don’t want to do that,” or “No, I’m not interested.” The discussion finally dissolved into a mean argument, which Paul finally recovered from by launching into one of his Beatle-pep talks, one of those “Toppermost of the Poppermost” things. “When everything is said and done,” he summed up, “we’re still the Beatles, aren’t we?” “Aw fuck,” John said, “I ain’t no Beatle.” Paul wouldn’t hear it. “Of course you are—” “I’m not!” John shouted, “Don’t you understand? It’s over! Over! I want a divorce, just like the divorce I got from Cynthia! Can’t you get it through your bloody head?” The meeting ended shortly after with John rushing down the stairs, Yoko right behind him, shouting, “It’s over! Finished!” Still, John said nothing to the press, and when he and Yoko left Savile Row that afternoon in their white Rolls-Royce, Paul still somehow believed that John would calm down and there would always be the Beatles.

(The Love You Make by Peter Brown, 1983)

Klein persuaded John to remain silent until the EMI deal was ratified by both sides. John’s news was no more welcome to Klein than it was to the other Beatles. But that was not the only reason Klein wanted John to keep mum. He knew that John could be volatile, and he thought there was a chance that John would reconsider once he’d weighed the pros and cons of going it on his own or continuing as a Beatle. But that was only likely to happen if John kept the plan to himself for a while. <…> Klein’s only option was to swear all the Beatles to secrecy for some indeterminate amount of time after the new EMI deal was in effect. The four Beatles signed the EMI contract on September 20, 1969, but it still had to be ratified by EMI. But John added a proviso.

(The McCartney Legacy Volume 1. 1969-73 by Allan Kozinn and Adrian Sinclair, 2022)

'John had made it clear that he wanted to be the one to announce the split,' Linda McCartney explained years later, 'since it was his idea.' 'He wanted to be first,' her husband confirmed. 'But I didn't realise it would hurt him that much or that it mattered who was first.'

(You Never Give Me Your Money. The Beatles: After the Breakup by Peter Doggett, 2009)

September, 25

-ATV increased its shareholding to 54%, effectively controlling Northern Songs -John recorded Cold Turkey

October, 20 -(US) and 25 (UK) - Cold Turkey released as a single, the first song for which John took sole credit, not Lennon-McCartney

October, 22 -Paul had flown from London to Scotland with Linda, Mary and Heather

1970 April, 9

- was published press release 'McCartney' (all songs with sole writing credits to Paul)

Q: "Are you planning a new album or single with the Beatles?" PAUL: "No." Q: "Do you foresee a time when Lennon-McCartney becomes an active songwriting partnership again?" PAUL: "No."

_________

And then a year later, Paul announced it, right? [laughs; bleak] Good ol’… That was a great trick, you know. Because maybe that’s how when he – [very quiet] He felt that’s how he had to do it. So.

(John Lennon, January 1st, 1976, interview with Elliot Mintz)

[slttygeto]

༉‧₊˚. PLAYLIST

༉‧₊˚. episode 04: lonely star

preview: ". . .He knows a part of him is right, what he said wasn’t wrong. Perhaps, he could’ve said it in a different way—whenever he remembers the dejected expression across your features, the attempt at covering up the hurt behind your eyes by pulling away from him as though he was fire—his heart sits heavy.

And then the two of you didn’t talk again. He didn’t bother to try to text you, and you would never text him first."

content warning: cursing, hanma owns a strip club, oral s.ex, unprotected s.ex, choking, hair pulling, no aftercare.

word count: 7k

➜ ┊: @softshuji @mitsuwuyaa @kariatenoh @reiners-milkbiddies @citrusteaa @bejeweled-night-33

➜ MASTERLIST

༉‧₊˚. reblog + comment!

Tokyo was a bustling city. People escape from the mundane using any source of entertainment allowed. From going shopping to partying, the city provides numerous remedies for any challenging moment a person might experience. There, in the depths and labyrinth streets of Tokyo and its lively nightlife, exists a world that only unravels to those who dare seek it. Hidden between tall buildings and colorful signs, paradise on earth stands proudly.

A black car pulls up in the alleyway, parking right outside the back entrance of a disheveled looking building. The door opens and cigarette hits the dirty floor. A foot crashes the bud, adorned in squeaky clean shoes that do not fit the vibe of the creepy alleyway. Golden Glow reads in bright neon light right above the back door. The man’s slender fingers push the wooden door open, stepping into a vibrating world of sensuality and allure where reality and fantasy blur for hours on end at night.

The air is thick with perfume and anticipation, a line of rich men of all backgrounds sitting on the deep red plush seating facing the focal point of the strip club. Murmurs of who will be performing next fill the room and the tall man makes his way towards the VIP table.

“You’re late.” Kisaki doesn’t pull his eyes away from the curtains waiting to unravel tonight’s star, more or less used to this kind of behavior from his right hand.

“I had to take care of something.” Announces Hanma as he pulls his seat back and grabs a cigarette. The relationship he had with smoking was more of a toxic affair—a continuous tag of war between depending on the small bud and desiring a whiff of the substance when things get a bit too hectic. With each inhale, he feels a momentary release from existing. He’s never enjoyed it, not fully at least. Existing meant he had to abide by rules, which he never did. Breakups were nasty, women lashing out insults towards the man they called a God only a few nights prior—they should’ve known better, is what he tells them every time. He never claimed to be a good person, just a good—no, an amazing fuck.

Hanma’s dick serves as a distraction from his violent nature, he momentarily hypnotizes those women with each sharp and angled thrust from his hips. Deliciously dragging out moans, whines and profanities, proclaims of how godly he feels and how they’ve never had better. He is good at using and not giving much in return, he shows it through prioritizing his orgasm, only speaking when the dirty talk tips him over the edge. Shuji doesn’t budge as a pillow is thrown his way, ‘asshole!’ sounds from behind the door he’s just closed and he swears he could feels his fingers twitch. He’ll spare the cleaning staff of the hotel a blood bath tonight.

“You took too long,” Nahoya adds his two cents as usual, and the tall man wonders what the orange haired even provides for him to remain alive and attending special nights like these.

“It’s your club, you’re supposed to get here first.” Kisaki presses and the lights dim as the curtains open, revealing tonight’s a woman clad in a gorgeous set of deep red lingerie. She commands attention with the way her body carries her across the stage, each step is like a soft whisper, beckoning more people to look at her—admire her. She embraces the power she holds over the spectators, feeling a surge of dopamine push her to do better.

“You’re not my fucking dad. I’ll get here when I want to.” His fingers tremble as he drags the cigarette away from his lips, resting his wrist on the table as his whole hand shakes. You would think that years of smoking would get the man used to the motion, familiarized with the aftermath of each whiff—somehow, it doesn’t. Through furrowed eyebrows and behind framed glasses, Kisaki notes the unusual behavior from the man. He is far too moody, perhaps more than usual. Hanma took pleasure into killing, coming back from missions was almost as euphoric as an orgasm after being denied for so long. As far as his report went, the mission was done and Toman’s men were able to discard of the dead body rather easily. So what was wrong?

The younger man doesn’t say anything, he waits until the show wraps up and for people’s attention to drift elsewhere to speak to the taller man. As Hanma, not so quietly, slips away from the table and onto one of the VIP rooms upstairs, Kisaki soon joins him.

“So, wanna talk about what’s up your ass lately?”

“What do you mean?” Hanma’s voice is devoid of any emotion, but he still looks unimpressed as he casts half a glare towards Kisaki.

“You know what I mean. Something’s up your ass, you need to fucking pull it out and do your job. I don’t need a moody bitch as my first in command.”

Hanma’s heard worse over the years, he knows what it meant to be involved with someone as nasty and as disgusting as Kisaki. However, he was having a bad week and Kisaki came to him at the wrong moment.

“This moody bitch will blow holes into your brain and make it seem like it was a pathetic attempt to kill yourself. Don’t fuck with me.” The tension rises between the two men, silence engulfs the room that’s hidden to the rest of the audience. They’ve had to fight before, the scars littering Hanma’s arms a reminder of Kisaki’s knife slashing the man’s skin. The shorter man’s own scarred hands a grim testament to what Shuji was capable of doing. The two of them don’t speak another word.

Kisaki sits on one of the soft chairs facing Hanma, placing his gun on the tiny glass table. The other man does the same, and it feels like a silent agreement that neither of them was going to harm the other.

“I went to her place.” There’s no question about who he is referring to. Kisaki knows all too well who you are. He’s seen you from afar when you were all young, unknowingly grasping the heart of a delinquent who’s never known what the feelings he had for you even meant. His face twitches as he remembers the conversation he had with the man a couple of weeks ago.

“You found her?”

“She’s back in Shinjuku.” Kisaki doesn’t miss the way Chifuyu’s body tenses up when the two men mention your name. He’s managed to keep you away from this mess for years now, his plan was coming crashing down from a single interaction with Hanma Shuji. Like domino pieces lined up, the tattooed man blows on them and watches them tumble just for fun. He was after you just for fun, Chifuyu fears.

“And? What do you wanna do now?” Kisaki’s busy rummaging through papers in his drawers, he doesn’t lift his gaze as he continues. “Do you want the men to take her away or?”

Sensing his silence, Tetta raises his eyes and notices the deadly look on Hanma’s face. Had it not been Kisaki, a man who’s known him for years and was desensitized to his glares, he would’ve most likely fallen from his chair. His eyes became storm clouds, hiding their usual golden color and crackling with the threat of lightning. Hanma’s never cast him a look similar to this before, usually blessed with an emotionless face.

“No. I don’t want any of them near her.”

Kisaki leans back against his seat. He’s seen Hanma get riled up over things like missions going wrong, people pissing him off, testing his patience—this was a different kind of negative emotion he was displaying. Dare Kisaki say that it was fun to witness? Perhaps even unexpected from the tall man? But he doesn’t say a thing, only gives a curt nod and proceeds to finish the task at hand.

“Why is that?” he asks, curious to know what lead the man to end up in your place.

He glances towards his fingers which had long ago healed, he could still feel your fingertips against his skin, warm breath fanning over his wrist as you tended to his wounds with so much care, as though you were stitching a tiny tear in a delicate fabric.

“She cleaned me up.” Kisaki has to blink a couple of times, but he notices how Shuji keeps his gaze fixated on his fingers. He chews on his bottom lip out of habit. The band aid wrapped around them is unfamiliar, the man’s never taken care of himself this way—oddly enough, Kisaki feels that Hanma had a strange attachment to the adhesive strip keeping his healed cuts safe. It has been days since that incident, he most definitely did not need to cover his hands that way.

“Cleaned you up?” Kisaki pours himself and the other man a glass of whisky, pushing one of the glasses towards Hanma.

“Saw my hands and thought that I was in pain.” The taller man mumbles as he brings the glass of whisky up to his swollen lips. Downing the liquid like rapid fire, he slams the glass on the table and leans in his chair, head thrown back as he grunts.

“I think I fucked up.” Hanma admits, his hand covering his eyes. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you or your touch since that night. So soft, offering him what he has deprived himself of for years—you were so gentle with his hands, treating him as though he was made of glass. Your beautiful eyes witnessed the harm he is capable of causing to others, yet your soul set that aside to make sure he was okay.

Only for him to mess it up.

He knows a part of him is right, what he said wasn’t wrong. Perhaps, he could’ve said it in a different way—whenever he remembers the dejected expression across your features, the attempt at covering up the hurt behind your eyes by pulling away from him as though he was fire—his heart sits heavy.

And then the two of you didn’t talk again. He didn’t bother to try to text you, and you would never text him first.

He was growing impatient with each passing second. He wasn’t an expert at solving this kind of problems, let alone when it involved him in the equation. However, one thing was for certain; his insatiable need to feel you again made every moment apart from you feel like he’s been cursed with damnation.

--

October comes to an end, you start to accept the atmosphere of loneliness that settles like a heavy cloak over the landscape. The days grow shorter and the nights longer, there are Halloween decorations displayed along the entrance of every apartment door. It’s adorable. Pumpkins, bats, and your most favorite—cats are all over the fronts of every store. You look up and find paper lanterns with spooky designs, themed displays in shopping malls, and themed merchandise in stores. You find yourself yearning for the celebration to linger a bit longer.

As the days turn into weeks, Hanma’s absence becomes palpable. You cannot ignore that the lack of his pestering feels strange and foreign, when you had only started speaking to the man again for a couple of days only. Like a shadow retreating to darkness, it feels like he never existed in your life. You’re back to living life the same way that you did before he suddenly reappeared in your life—you don’t know why you’re disappointed. After witnessing murder with your two eyes, you thought that Shuji would scare you. He should. Such an unpredictable man with a history of violence that remains unknown to you should instill a deep fear in you. Then why do you find yourself craving the presence of a man whose ruthlessness carves a path of destruction? A man whose words made it feel like walking through a field of thorns?

You pay your feelings no mind as you drown yourself in chores, making sure there was no speck of dust left on each furniture of your apartment. A shower soothes your nerves afterwards, the motion of scrubbing the dirt off of your skin a subliminal attempt at getting Hanma’s aura off of you. You make yourself a cup of hot chocolate, top it off with some marshmallows as you settle on the comfortable couch with a soft yet heavy blanket draped over your shoulders. The movie you picked for the night is nowhere near comforting, but you brush it off for the sake of Halloween vibes.

However, those feelings melt away as soon as ears pick up on the sound of footsteps near your door. It was pretty late for anyone to be visiting you, let alone on Halloween night. You set your hot chocolate down and walk towards the door in quiet footsteps, praying that you don’t make a noise by accidentally breathing too hard.

Behind the door, Hanma stands looking almost apologetic. His head hangs low not out of shame, but because he sees your shadow from under the door. He holds back a chuckle.

 “It’s me.”

When he hears no reply, he pushes himself off of the wall and walks away from the door. An uncomfortable feeling gnawed at his chest, but he refuses to acknowledge any of it as his hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. He lets one dangle between his lips as he reaches for the lighter. Until he hears the creaking sound echoing in the hallway.

Glancing back, he sees that your door was no longer closed, but he couldn’t see you either. His feet slowly drag him towards your doorstep once again and the moment he attempts to peek inside, your face pops from behind the door. The both of you pull away at the same time, you almost close the door in his face but his foot stops it before you could close it shut.

“I had to hide my cat. He likes to escape when I open the door.” You announce with a tone that appears to be protective, very used to your fur companion’s habits. Hanma nods, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. It wasn’t until you break eye contact that he realizes he’s been staring at you without uttering a single word.

“Are you alone?” He can see inside your apartment, he towers over you with so much ease. You shift your weight from one foot to another, eyes avoiding his as you stare back at the TV screen and the obviously empty living room.

“Yeah,” you pause, glancing back towards him. “Why?”

“I was thinking you could—“ he wiggles his fingers. “See if they’re okay.” You stare down at the band aids wrapped sloppily around the skin and have to fight back the urge to smile. “I tried to do it myself but I don’t think I did as much of a good job as you did,” which was true and very apparent.

You take a moment to consider your options, chewing on your bottom lip as you fixate your stare on his hands. It was relatively late at night, you were wearing a light sleep dress—this could either go right or horribly wrong. For now, you don’t mind taking the risk.

Pushing the door wide, you see the way his eyes glimmer as they scan your entire body from head to toe. He doesn’t hide that he is checking you out, even as he steps inside your place, he chooses to stare at you instead of scanning his surroundings like last time. You refuse to crumble under his gaze nor change what you were wearing, you close the door and make your way to the kitchen without uttering a single word.

Hanma suddenly thinks of something and he bites back the urge to smirk as he makes his way towards the kitchen as well. This is the farthest he’s been in your place, your kitchen is rather small compared to the one he has in his apartment, but he appreciates how full it is. From the fruit sitting on the counter, the coffee machine, the magazines, the small board where you have what looks like a to-do list written there—it feels homey. It feels like you.

You glance behind you, noticing the pair of shoes in your kitchen and don’t bother to look back, but you feel a tad bit annoyed.

“No shoes in my house,” no response. Surely, he wasn’t going to ignore you when you were about to take care of him.

“I said—“ your stomach flutters and your breath catches when you feel something land on your shoulder, hot breath fanning the tiny bit of skin exposed from your sleep dress falling to the side. You hold your breath for what feels like an eternity, body frozen in place.

“No shoes in the house?” his deep voice sends chills down your spine, his hands resting against the fridge instead of gripping your hips.

His fingers twitch when the smell of sweet vanilla and coconut hits his nostrils, your scent is intoxicating and he struggles with himself. Every instinct urges him to break free and surrender to the intoxicating allure, yet the tether of restraint holds Hanma firmly and keeps his impulse in check. He doesn’t want to upset you again, but he thoroughly enjoys seeing you like this. So flustered.

As he pulls away from you, you turn to face him and use the first aid kit to put space between the two of you, like a shield. If you were trying to appear intimidating with the scowl on your face, Hanma’s smirk tells you that you were failing miserably.

“What the hell is your problem?” you don’t even sound mad, just completely and utterly embarrassed. You were fighting a war between your brain and your needs—the warmth of his body lingered on your skin for far too long, and although his breath reeked of cigarette and something minty, it made you feel dizzy.

“You’re red in the face, doll.” He purrs, making his way towards the couch. This time, you were certainly not going to get down to your knees and treat his cuts. Not after the stunt he pulled.

“Shut up.” You groan, sitting on the couch.

“You’re like, totally vermillion in the face—“

“I will kill you!”

He snorts and comfortably settles on the couch right beside you. One glance at his hands and you can tell that it really isn’t that serious. You bring his hands close to your face, inspecting them as soon as you take off the adhesive strips. There are a few faint scars, but they’re all healed and he only needs to apply ointment to them for extra measure. You put them back in his lap for a few seconds, leaning forward to grab the ointment you placed on the small coffee table in front of the both of you. You don’t realize that you had both gone awfully quiet after that moment, for a few seconds you almost forget what his touch felt like until you feel a pair of eyes burning holes in your face.

“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” you blurt out, never meeting his eyes. You want to appear unbothered by all of this, by his intense way of giving you attention. But god knows how loudly your heart was thumping in your chest.

“Would you let me do it?” oh my god.

You don’t respond, you want to focus on the task at hand and step away from him as quickly as you can. The longer you felt him near you, the harder it was to contain yourself from matching his energy, his flirtatious comments. You were supposed to be mad at him, why did you cave into his request of having his minor cuts treated once again when the man ruined your mood the other night?

“No, I wouldn’t.” You say firmly, although your touch against his skin is very soft. Hanma can tell that you’re fighting an inner battle, you’re not good at hiding it. Your furrowed eyebrows make his own skin burn, his thumb craves to smoothen the skin of your forehead, get you to relax that jaw and melt against him the same way he does when the tip of your finger grazes his skin. He snaps out of his thoughts when he sees that you were already putting everything back in the white box, golden eyes staring between your hands and face.

“We’re done?”

“Yeah, you should be fine now.” You get up and head back to the kitchen, leaving Hanma alone with his thoughts once again. He notices that the movie you were watching was paused only 20 minutes in and the hot chocolate sitting on your coffee table was starting to go cold. It seems as though your night was just getting started and him showing up put it on hold.

However, Hanma doesn’t want to leave just yet. He can’t put his finger on why he feels the need to stay, perhaps the idea of going back into his car, driving to his empty place made him feel a little bit sick to his stomach. It was an unspoken rule for Hanma to never visit his place unless he really needed something. Clothes, money—he always packed those in a bag and left it in his car. His place—located in the heart of the city's shadows, is nestled within a towering skyscraper, its imposing structure casting long, foreboding shadows over the streets below. Whenever Shuji inserts the key card, he is greeted by an atmosphere steeped in mystery and menace. Dark, rich tones dominate the décor. Nothing about the 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms apartment made it feel homey. So Hanma avoided it like the plague.

He thinks he can find an excuse to stay a little longer with you. Should he take you out? He can’t. You were far too comfortable in your sleep dress to change into something else. The movie seemed interesting, perhaps a few sweet words would convince you to let him stay a little longer before he has to depart—

“Have you had dinner yet?” You break his chain of thoughts so easily, Hanma is a little taken aback at first. Glancing back towards you, he sees you holding two white ceramic plates in one hand. The pot, which he assumed had warm, homemade food in it, is sitting on the stove with a ladle inside. Were you offering him a meal?

“Not yet,”

“I figured you skip meals,” you say with a frown. You forget the grudge you’re supposed to hold against him, it nestles itself somewhere in the back of your head the moment you see Hanma lost in his thoughts. You glance at his face—not as full as it was when the two of you were kids. He’s never had chubby cheeks, but you could tell when the man had a good meal and when he hadn’t eaten properly in a while. You naturally find yourself reheating the food you made for yourself, grateful you decided to cook more than a singular portion.

“I don’t do it on purpose,” he clarifies, as though he needs you to understand where he is coming from but then his lips are sealed shut. He’s never had to explain himself to anyone, it’s a little foreign for him to be doing it with you.

“You forget?” you guess, your back facing him as you serve him a good portion of the katsu curry you’ve made. You make sure to give him a bigger portion than yours, assuming that the man has probably skipped lunch as well.

“Mhm.” With the way he engulfed you in his arms previously, you shouldn’t trust him so blindly and have your back facing him again. But you don’t seem to care as much, maybe even wishing he does it again. Instead, you hear a chair creak from behind you and see that the man has made himself comfortable in your kitchen. You hand him his food before sitting across from him, then the two of you dig into the food.

Hanma hasn’t tasted something this good in—14 years. Ever since his mother stopped cooking him a decent meal. You made a dish that’s such a delightful harmony of textures and flavors, engulfing him with a warm velvety blanket he would never throw over his own shoulders. He glances towards you and you’re focused on your food—at least, you look like you’re trying to focus. He sees that some habits never really left you. You ate fast, way too fast, never truly savored your food. You still had a habit of bringing the food close to your nose and inhaling the scent (he never understood why you did it). He can remember the last time you tried to smell something he was about to eat—a sandwich he had bought that had a weird mixture of ingredients, you leaned down to inhale its scent and Shuji swears he hasn’t laughed as hard ever since. The face you made was of pure disgust, pushing the bread back into his hands and away from you. You’ve always had such an expressive face—either that, or Shuji stares at you a bit too much.

The present situation mirrors your date at the ramen shop in sad ways. It is obvious that the two of you have grown apart, no longer needing to be so close to one another at any given moment. The person who sits across of Shuji Hanma is someone he recognizes but doesn’t fully know—he recognizes certain habits that even time couldn’t tear away from you. But your touch, your body and soul feel different. On them lingers this love and care you still held for the man along the years, but never to a full extent. It seemed as though even whilst with him, you were thinking of something else—somebody else. He could be mistaken and you’re just trying to push him away, but Hanma’s gut feeling never betrayed him.

His stomach twists in knots when he sees you reach for the jewelry adorning your neck—a necklace with a golden heart pendent. You hold onto it with so much care, cautious not to break the fragile accessory.

He is reading too much into it.

He pulls his eyes away from you once he’s done with his curry, polite enough to put his plate in the sink and wash it off for you. You stare at his large back in silence, contemplating your next words.

“Tonight’s Halloween.”

Hanma turns to look at you, his raised eyebrow an indication that he didn’t know where you were going with this.

“Yeah? You got a costume you want to show me?” he teases, bracing himself against your kitchen counter. You have to pull your eyes away from his hands and arms, ignoring the way your pussy throbs at how large he looks in your tiny kitchen. You realize what he says and make an offended face, standing up with your own plate and utensils and walking towards the sink.

“Over my dead body.” You nudge his side with your elbow, he moves away from the sink but still stands next to you.

“Okay then?” he questions as you turn on the water.

“You could stay and watch the movie.” You offer without looking at him. You were scared that your face would betray you, you almost slipped and said ‘with me’ and that would give him the upper hand, another thing to tease you about.

“Like a date night?” you halt your movements, quickly turning off the faucet and turning to stare at him. Your breath hitches when you see his face so close to yours. He isn’t trying to intimidate you, the playful glint in his eyes give away his true intentions. However, you can’t deny that having him so close to you was starting to be challenging for your self-control.

“I… I don’t know.” your voice is barely above a whisper. You try to build a wall between the two of you, put some distance, but it’s useless. Hanma stares at you with golden orbs that mimic lanterns lit up in the night, evoking a sense of nostalgia that felt so strange to you—

Up until now, Hanma was a mere teenage crush you had parted ways with on less-than-great terms. There wasn’t a single time during those twelve years where your heart yearned for the man, remembered the way he would make your stomach leap and be like a light at the end of the tunnel—why let such silly feelings resurface so unexpectedly? You could blame it on your celibacy, not having been out on a proper date for a couple of months now—but even as you look at it, you haven’t been this interested in anyone for a while.

What was Hanma Shuji doing to you? What was so different about him? Could it be that the man’s touch messed you up?

He steps closer to you, tall figure looming over your smaller frame in an attempt at caging you between him and the sink. He’s got a million things to say and yet, his lips remain frozen. Yearning to feel the warmth of your own softer, plushier ones. As you confess shakily, although your hands far too comfortable holding onto his shirt for it to sound convincing, he chuckles and you smell his minty breath.

Everything about him looks…inviting. You cannot look away from his neck, or his jaw or his lips. You’re lost in a trance, on this terrifying journey where you wish to be able to hear something other than your own heartbeat. Deafening, muting the world around you for a split second as Hanma leans down and captures your lips in a fiery kiss.

It’s different than the one shared at the ramen shop—there was no waiting, no longing for your touch for twelve long years. You were at hand reach, so close to him like a dream. Hanma needed you like the moon needs the stars, promised himself to tattoo the feeling of your lips against his for years to come—they fit perfectly against his, like a mold made specifically for his body. It’s surreal. The initial kiss is short, gently easing you into the sea of his passionate and intense loving, because when his lips reattach to yours, you’re being pinned to the wall.

His hands grab your face, they hold you in place like he’s been craving to breathe again for an eternity. You can smell him, feel him on you everywhere even with layers of clothes stuck to your skin, set ablaze like a furnace. His electrifying touch leave goosebumps in their wake, trailing from your cheek down to the back of your neck. There, his hand grips your nape before his fingers dig into your scalp.

When you gasp at his touch, Hanma’s heart leaps. Like a ticking bomb, it was only a matter of time before he unleashed a side of him he wasn’t sure he wanted to offer so early on. You’re such a tease, he thinks. Why were you giving him those eyes as he pulls away from the kiss? Why are you biting your already swollen lips if you didn’t want him to bury himself so deep inside you?

“Ask me to leave.” He says, voice firm as he tries to catch his breath.

“Shuji—“ you go for his face but he grabs your wrist mid-air.

“Ask me to leave, doll.”

“No.”

“This is your chance,” he leans down, close to your face and brushes his lips against yours. “—won’t stop if I start.”

“If I touch this,” his hand gropes your boob over your dress. “If I kiss this,” he yanks your head back, brushing his lips against your throat. “I promise you. I won’t be able to stop.”

At this point, you’re more than fed up with his teasing and crash your lips against his. You push yourself off the wall as get on your tiptoes to reach for his lips, and he decides to end your struggle and picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. You kiss him harder, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip as he marches towards your room.

“Didn’t take you for a biter,” his words are muffled against the skin of your neck as he kisses there. You throw your head back, allowing him more room to work with and you feel your back hitting the familiar soft mattress. The bed was made, but the blankets are quickly discarded to the floor as Hanma’s mess of limbs loom over your figure and plant hungry kisses on the skin that’s showing.

Thanks to your choice in outfit, Hanma finds it easy to strip you naked. Skilled fingers undo your bra to reveal your breasts in full display, but his hands are busy groping at your mound. You gasp at how rough he is handling your body, but the wet patch forming in your underwear indicated just how much you’ve been craving this kind of attention. His lips attach to your hardened nipple, whilst his left hand twists and fiddles with the other one. It feels like he is attempting to nurse on you with how hard he sucks, golden eyes staring deeply at your fucked out face. Messy hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, and your eyes barely able to stay open as he gives your erogenous zones the right amount of attention.

“Mmm you’re so soft,” he teases the nipple with his teeth and chuckles when he feels you try to squeeze your thighs together from under him.

“Shuji,” you breathe out, as soft as a silken thread.

Pulling away from your breasts, he admires the hickeys he’s painted across your skin—branding you as his on your very first night together. Sure, he’s done this before but never this passionately. He wants those bruises to never go away, glued to your skin like a tattoo and a constant reminder that this is what being his meant. He attaches his lips to your skin again, this time on your torso—he travels down to your stomach, passes your belly button before kissing right above your panties. He notices how drenched they are and hisses.

“Fuck, you’re fucking dripping.” He says as he moves them to the side and his mouth falls open, drool threatening to spill. “All for me, doll?” his thumb teases at your engorged clit and you whimper.

“Don’t tease, fuck—!”

You react almost immediately as he attaches his lips to your clit. Your legs try to close around his head but he is having none of it as he grips your thighs and forces them open, continuing his assault on your pussy.

“Shit, shit!” you gasp as he lays his tongue flat against the bud before moving his head from side to side while watching intently as you writhed and twitched under his touch. There was no way you could escape his mouth, tongue moving down to lap at your folds while his fingers pinched your clit. Hanma craves to exist between your thighs for the rest of eternity, a place so warm and so wet, offering him the best of both worlds.

He pushes two fingers past your folds, grinning from ear to ear when he sees the way your body tenses up. Curling them upwards, the combination of his rough finger fucking and his mouth’s continuous assault on your clit makes you cum hard. You’re writhing, crying desperately for the man’s head to leave your thighs. Soft “I can’t—I can’t!” resonate through the room, but soon die down when he spares your pussy and instead, litters soft kisses over the inner of your thighs.

“You did so well, took me like a champ,” it seems as though the only time Hanma shows any emotion beside boredom, is when he has you under his mercy like this. It’s when he makes you blush, flustered, angry or in this case, cum so hard that you have to take a moment to remember your name—that’s when he feels alive, as though life is worth living again.

Your heart thumps loudly when you hear him fumble with his belt. A sound that makes your ears perk up, eager with anticipation. You push yourself up with your elbows, licking your lips when you see the obvious bulge in his pants. It makes your mouth water, and your hand reaches down to palm him through his pants. A rough hand grabs your wrist, you look up at the man hovering over you with lustful eyes. You stare at him through your lashes, neither of you uttering a single word—he is telling you not to touch, not right now, and you are craving his body like earth needs the sun.

You squeeze the bulge, lips parting when he closes his eyes and leans down towards you. You hear a soft groan emitting from the back of his throat, and it’s your sign to do it again and even go further. Hanma puts a halt to your attempt with a rough kiss against your lips, pushing you back against the soft mattress until you are whining against his lips.

“Oh what is it?” he says, almost mocking your sounds. “Do you need something?”

“Shuji—“ you are way too embarrassed by how he is speaking to you, staring to the side. But he doesn’t seem to mind your bashfulness, rather indulging it by kissing your cheek and then your pulse. The kiss on the cheek is a stark contrast to how roughly he finger fucked you, and when he finally releases his cock and you see the way it jumps—your stomach twists in knots.

That thing will reach spots your own fingers haven’t been able to.

You panic when he starts to tease your folds, hands pushing at his shoulders to remind him to use protection. You did not want to have a kid running around anytime soon.

“I’m clean,” he says and a part of you can’t help but not fully trust him. He sees the expression on your face and chuckles, leaning down to kiss your neck as you melt back on the mattress.

“I get tested frequently.”

“I’m not on the pill—“

“Don’t worry, I can’t get you pregnant.”

You don’t have time to question what that could possibly mean, lips forming an ‘O’. You are forced to lay back and take it as Hanma’s cock keeps going deeper and deeper—you feel full of him. A sob erupts from your chest as you feel him pull his hips back and then—thrust.

He repeats the motion a few times, piercing eyes scanning your face like a hawk. He wants to memorize your body like the back of his hand, wants to tattoo the feeling of your warm and soft cunt at the forefront of his mind—you are so soft and pliable, making sweet noises that he easily swallows by kissing you deeply.

“Fuck you’re so sweet,”

You moan into his mouth when he angles his hips a certain way, Hanma grins victoriously against your lips and uses his hands to grab the back of your knees. Pushing them to your chest, he enjoys the sight of you taking his cock like a sweet girl. You’re so cock hungry, practically begging him to fuck you silly with those glossy eyes staring deeply into his.

“Yeah? You like that?” he purrs, his deep voice sending chills down your spine. He removes one of his hands from the back of your knee and wraps it around your neck in a possessive grip, watching as the early signs of your orgasm start to creep in on you like a shadow in the dusk.

“Such a nasty fucking girl—“ filth continues to spew out of his mouth at the same rate as your loud whines. Your eyes can barely stay open as he quickens his pace, jaw going slack when his thumb brushes over your sensitive bundle of nerves. He shamelessly leans back to stare at your pussy as he continues to fuck it, watching as his cock slides in and out of you. The room is filled with wet noises, the sound of skin slapping against each other reaching Hanma’s ears as he takes in the sight before him.

You were so pliant beneath him, no longer putting up walls in his presence. He loved it. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as the tip of his cock keeps nudging at that one spot that makes you dizzy. Your hand wraps around his wrist as he continues to pin you to the mattress by the neck, you stare up at him with glossy eyes, thighs twitching and your back arching off as you finally cum.

Hanma swears he has never seen something as magical. You feel like a magnetic force, pulling him closer with an irresistible allure that ignites a fire in his stomach and sets his senses ablaze. It tips him over the edge, he empties himself inside you with a loud groan as he lets go of your neck and holds onto your boobs as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

Now what? It’s not like he’s never had sex before, he was in fact very good at it—but usually, he gets up and leaves the moment he empties his balls inside. Now, he worries that you would get the wrong idea, that you’d think he’s using you—does he want to use you?

Isn’t this what he wanted all along? To fuck you senseless the moment he saw you run towards the metro station in your tight skirt. His mind was reeling with all the possibilities of what could be underneath the fabric—perhaps a matching set, or if you wanted to be a tease, nothing.

He starts to wonder what his intentions were with you—he wanted to be your friend without getting too close to you. He couldn’t afford having you near him at all times, that came with a cost he wasn’t sure you could afford. In your arms, he didn’t feel as though he needed to prove anything to you—not his existence, nor his power. And for a man who lives his life in pure chaos, a house that didn’t have a mess isn’t one where he belongs.

His hands pull away from your body, his eyes scanning your face only to find that you were fast asleep. He could wake you up and tell you to go pee, but like a puppet, his own fears pulled on the strings as they desired—his feet carry him towards your door in speed record. Glancing one last time at the pot you left outside, he closes the door.

Even as he drives back to his place, Hanma can’t brush off the burning sensation sitting heavy on his chest.

2024 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[darcytaylor]

Are people mad that Luke Newton has a girlfriend? Or is it something more? A deep dive. Part 2 of 3.

In my previous blog I talked about the mistakes that Luke has made with his relationship and why fans cannot, will not, do not want to like his girlfriend. (Do you guys see what I did there?) - Most people wouldn’t care if he had a girlfriend (or they wouldn’t even know) if he didn’t make a few mistakes along the way.

Mistakes previously stated in last blog:  

Making dating life public. Befriending Antonia on Instagram. Always saying he was most like his character. His friends. Social media presence.

Now onto Part 2:

Luke should have been more active when it came to booking new jobs. He seemed to take the summer off before the Bridgerton press tour. While it does make sense that he wanted some time off before he was going on a months long press tour. He floundered in opportunities. 

I can’t say for sure if he was sending in tapes and auditioning for anything. Maybe he was and he just never booked anything. But it seemed like all he was concerned about was hanging out with friends and spending time on boats. 

I do get that he had just gotten out of a long term relationship and everybody takes that different ways. Breakups are hard and take time to get over. His way was to completely change everything about himself (and yes some of that had to do with getting into character) - from body to personality. 

(Personally I prefer when he had a bit more weight to him, he lost all of his ass!) - He was too focused on working his biceps than his glutes. 

So now because he doesn’t have jobs booked and the only time he does go do something (LA and Paris), he brings Antonia. This is another mistake! It seems like he just wants to take trips with her and not actually put in the work. Fans don’t want to see his dates, they want to see his talent. 

I think everybody and their mothers have had enough of Soho Farmhouse. 

All of the outrage could have been avoided if he had just kept everything secret from the beginning or avoided some of the key mistakes that were stated in Blog one. He should have reigned in Antonia and gotten her to stop posting about said trips/dates. People already hated them together and he was apparently content on digging himself even deeper. 

Which brings on the InStyle stunt that happened in LA (this was a cluster fuck mistake). People knew that they were together in LA. That would have been fine if Antonia didn’t then post the pictures on social media. It’s one thing to speculate, it’s another to have concrete evidence. 

It’s okay to not let people know everything. It’s okay to keep those memories to yourself. It’s okay to post these pictures (that they knew people would be mad about) on a private account. 

It’s like Luke thought that since people were already mad, it couldn’t possibly get any worse. He was wrong!

They were posted out of spite, that’s the only logical reasoning why the InStyle pictures happened. Antonia doesn’t have the comments turned on, if she was a kind person, she would delete them, like what is the point of them now? But both of them wanted to make their relationship known, they have wanted to announce their relationship for a long time and they weren't allowed.

The next thing that is completely insane is telling people in interviews how he was young and naive in his early 20s in interviews. This one is a huge mistake and a mistake that I’m not even sure Luke has picked up on. During those interviews people already knew about Antonia, and one of the issues people have, is her age. 

It seems like Luke may in fact still be naive. Because the lack of judgement to even say those words out loud is astonishing!

I think Luke has forgotten how to cater to his fans, which in turn has made them question everything about his decisions - which includes who he is dating. 

Because of the MULTIPLE mistakes and actions at every turn,  people will never accept Antonia/they weren’t ready to accept her yet. He has made her look like a ‘mean girl’, with no job, flaunting her not-so-secret relationship. 

(It sounds mean but it is what it is)

Ultimately the fans were not ready, they weren’t ready for him to go date a much younger girl. They weren’t ready for him to completely go 180 from his character of Colin. 

He should have taken a step back after New Years. He saw the backlash and should have stopped and thought about what he wanted to put out into the world/how he wanted to be perceived. Instead he went head strong into it and now I can’t see him ever being able to make Antonia a fan favourite. 

It’s like the Harry Styles and Olivia Wilde situation. People hated that relationship because of how it started out. They were never able to get the fans on board, all hope was lost when it came to that. 

But his next relationship with Taylor Russell, people loved. Because it had a good foundation. It didn't have the drama. It was brought out with care.

Luke and Antonia’s foundation to the public is non-existent. The foundation literally exploded and they kept on laying bombs. 

I don’t think people are ultimately mad that Luke has a girlfriend. I don’t even think they are mad because it’s not Nicola. They are mad because of the ongoing cluster fuck of actions that were made. 

If you have again made it this far, thank you so much for reading!

I could probably make a part 3! Hahah 

I do want to say that this isn't a hate blog on Luke. I think that he can be redeemable in the eyes of the fans he has lost today (because he has lost some fans). But all of his actions up until this point in regards to his relationship have been wild! It's just mistake after mistake after mistake.

[disneyprincemuke]

my name on your ribcage

charles leclerc x reader — series masterlist

800.

charles brought you back to life in one date. realistically, you shouldn't even be dating anyone right now, fresh out of the relationship with a guy that you thought you would end up marrying. yet here you are, swinging your arms with your hand in his as you navigate the tourist attraction together, with the widest and most genuine smile you've sported in weeks.

following your breakup, you had shut everyone in your life out. you've just been going through the motions while the grief of your relationship consumed you every waking moment.

until you decided to pick yourself up and put yourself out there again. it wasn't supposed to develop into anything serious: it was just to get your mind off your ex-boyfriend.

yet here you are.

"are you hungry yet?" charles turns to you with a smile, squinting slightly from the sun shining down on you. "you haven't eaten all day."

the tingling sensation in your stomach has not left you in days since you went out on your first date. that night, for the first time in three weeks, you would find yourself finally talking to your friends normally and laughing when you were in school with them.

but you still have not gotten your appetite back yet. which, is very visibly worrying for the monegasque. he had tried to get you to eat a full breakfast meal, getting you a small muffin from a bakery not too far away from his apartment. he ended up eating more than the majority of it after you announced that you were full after about two and a half bites.

you shake your head, squeezing his hand. "i'm not hungry yet."

"seriously?" he asks you, eyebrows knotted in concern as he turns to look at you. "we've walked for hours. you are still not hungry?"

you press your lips together and a small laugh. "not yet. thank you for asking, though."

you hear him sigh, prompting you to turn your head to look at him. he pulls you into his body and slings an arm over your shoulder. "you know, you've got to start eating properly. this isn't healthy, you know?"

you smile and lean into him, resting a hand on his chest as you walk. "i'll get hungry eventually. don't worry about me. let's just enjoy our date?"

"fine," he smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "so, what do you feel like doing now?"

"anything, as long as i'm with you."

he laughs, eyes crinkling when he throws his head back. he grabs your cheeks, squishing your face slightly, as he bends down to press a loving kiss on your cheek. "you make me feel so much."

you shriek and try to pull back. you didn't spend almost an hour doing your makeup only for it to be grabbed and ruined by the touch of his hands. "my makeup!"

"right, i'm sorry," charles laughs, immediately tearing his hands from your face. "i couldn't contain myself. you make me feel so in love."

you look up at him, cheeks hurting from the smile that has not left your face since you started terrorising him on tinder with your antics. nothing has ever felt so right standing here with him.

for some reason, within the short amount of time you have known him, you're convinced that your heart fits right with his. even when you were going on and on about the heartbreaks of your previous relationship, he was somehow able to make you feel like it would all be okay.

even your pain fits in the palms of his warm hands.

he reeled you in with his sweet smile and played his cards right. he has, over and over again, told you his true intentions with you: treat you like you've never been before.

but there's always this nagging voice in the back of your mind that's telling you that it will end up falling apart and will leave you in the rubble of memories and remnants of the relationship by yourself.

like every other time you've let yourself fall in love.

but another voice's been added to the archive of voices in your head: charles' voice telling you that he will make you happy.

and you're only slowly starting to believe him. he speaks to you so tenderly, consistent with his claims to treat you the way you deserve. it's hard not to believe a man when his eyes looked at you like you brought about the meaning of life to him when he met you.

for once in your life, you feel like you're finally in the right place at the right time. like this could finally be it for you.

charles had filled in the void in your chest, shaped exactly like him.

gen taglist: @cashtons-wife

[babydollmarauders]

WYD NOW? — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem!singer!reader

summary: in which y/n writes a song about her ex-boyfriend, 3 years after their breakup, and it gets back to him, leading to their reconnection

notes: inspired by the song WYD Now? by Sadie Jean. ending kinda sucks, but ehh i did my best. pretty sure i lost motivation for this halfway through it, but i tried to power through.

not my gif

*** JUNE 17TH, 2018 ***

“i bet, at this time in a few years, we’ll be painting the walls of our shared apartment.” my boyfriend’s whisper rings through my ears as i turn my head to look at him.

heat rises to my cheeks, Jack’s blue eyes gazing into mine.

“yeah?” i laugh, running a hand through his hair, still damp from the shower he took before coming over.

“mhm.” he hums in confirmation, his hand snaking up under the stolen shirt that adorns my body, gripping my waist and pulling me closer. “i’ll be playing hockey, and you’ll be a big pop star, my little songbird.”

i bury my face into his neck in attempt to hide the redness on the apples of my cheeks from the nickname.

“you gonna write songs about me?” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the side of my head.

“i already do.” i murmur, my lips brushing against his collarbone, causing him to shiver.

*** JULY 30TH, 2019 ***

“i don’t think i understand.” it feels like my head is underwater, my lungs burning for oxygen, but unable to receive it.

“we can still be friends, y/n. you can call me whenever.” Jack sits on my bed, gripping my hands in his hold. “the future is just, so far away and we don’t know what’ll happen.

“i don’t want my dreams to hold you back from achieving yours, y/n. you may not see it right now, but this just seems like the best option for now. and maybe, down the line, once we’re both at a stable place in our careers, if we’re both single, we can revisit us.”

my head is bobbing ‘yes’ but my heart is screaming ‘no!’

it’s like my brain understands where he’s coming from, that he’s being logical and that he’s doing this for the greater good of both of us; no matter what we’ve always thought, we’re still just kids, we were dreaming. but my heart isn’t getting that message. all my heart knows is that it’s being crushed into a thousand pieces and it feels pretty unsalvageable right now.

“are you okay?”

it’s my instinct to tell him ‘yes’. my instinct to not let him know how much he’s really hurting me. how much i want to scream that we’ll be fine. that i would give up my dream to be by his side while he accomplishes his. but i know that would just hurt him; because that isn’t what he wants.

he may be hurting me, but he’s doing it for all the right reasons. he doesn’t want me to push my dreams aside for his, because he wants to see me living them. he wants the best for me.

“yeah, i’m okay. i understand.”

*** PRESENT: SOCIAL MEDIA ***

y/nonthegram

liked by tatemcrae and 246,517 others

y/nonthegram in your faded t-shirt

that i’ve kept this long

i still hear you laughing

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user13 NEW LYRICS??

user92 that’s what i was thinking too! seems too poetic to just be a caption

trevorzegras hey that looks familiar

user57 OH MY GOD NEW MUSIC?

user04 AHHH ANNOUNCE A NEW ALBUM PLEASE

user6 I’LL EVEN JUST TAKE A NEW SINGLE! I JUST NEED NEW MUSIC

tatemcrae my best friend writes the best captions

y/nonthegram MY best friend writes the best songs

tatemcrae says you!

user83 new love song? break-up song? both?

colecaufield what’s this 👀

y/nonthegram

liked by trevorzegras and 283,752 others

y/nonthegram surprise! ‘WYD Now?’ out tonight at midnight.

wholly written in my bedroom at 2am, this song means the absolute most to me, and i hope some of you can find comfort in it like i have <3

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user04 OH MY GOD! THANK YOU FOR BLESSING OUR EARS TONIGHT!

colecaufield so proud of you!

y/nonthegram thank you, coley ♥️

user94 since when does she know nhl players?

user63 she went to high school with some of the 2019 draft class

user72 I CAN’T WAIT OMG

user18 SHAKING, CRYING, THROWING UP! I’M SO EXCITED

_alexturcotte our little melody makin’ munchkin, making moves!

y/nonthegram oh god please don’t bring back “melody makin’ munchkin”

_alexturcotte too late

tatemcrae GO BEST FRIEND THAT’S MY BEST FRIEND

y/nonthegram LEMME KISS YOUR FACE!! MWAH!!

user55 i’m so curious to hear these lyrics 😭 how am i gonna wait 8 more hours?!

jackhughes

liked by y/nonthegram and 352,850 others

jackhughes 3/3

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user77 hey wait, didn’t @/y/nonthegram date Jack in high school? is the new song yesterday about him?

user55 yess! it’s gotta be!

trevorzegras dizzyyy

user91 you should go listen to y/n’s new song 👀

user02 have you heard ‘WYD Now?’ ???

user36 omg he remembered to post 3/3

colecaufield same time next summer? 🫡

subbanator 🚀

y/nonthegram

liked by jackhughes and 227,951 others

y/nonthegram i’m so grateful for all the love on ‘WYD Now?’ these past couple days! thank you all! <3

here’s some photos @/tatemcrae took at our song celly night last night to celebrate the release of WYD Now? and greedy!

in celebration, i’ll be answering some questions in the comments!

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user74 is the song fictional? or was it inspired by someone?

y/nonthegram not fictional <3

user99 is this a single off the upcoming album? or just a normal song?

y/nonthegram the album is still being written, so i can’t confirm or deny if this is a single because i’m not sure yet if it’ll be on the track list! <3

colecaufield omg y/n please come to Montreal! i love you so much! you’re my idol!

y/nonthegram hey remember that time i bumped you with my car? i think we should do that again! i’ll stomp on the gas this time!

colecaufield omg you noticed me!!

user42 at 18, where did you imagine yourself being at this age?

y/nonthegram New Jersey <3

trevorzegras where did he set the bar?

y/nonthegram above the moon

user28 if the song isn’t fictional, then who’s it about?

user96 it’s 100% about jack hughes. if you scroll way down on her page, there’s pics of her and jack in high school, but they stop when they were 18. then he moved to new jersey and now he’s playing hockey, like the song states “you finally got the job you like”. that we’re all aware of, she didn’t have any other boyfriends in high school. she and jack seemingly dated from ages 16-18 until he left for the NHL

liked by y/nonthegram

_quinnhughes 💙

user10 this song was amazing! i really related and it made me feel so seen!

user88 big question is: has jack heard the song yet?

jackhughes call me?

user98 @/user88 if he hadn’t, i’m guessing he has now

*** PRESENT: REAL LIFE ***

my heart races as the notification comes through.

i wasn’t sure if he listened to my music, or if the song would get back to him. i just needed to get my feelings down on paper, and then it turned into a song, and then i liked it too much to not release it.

the night i wrote it, i had played a small show in New York, and i could’ve sworn i saw him in the back of the venue. of course, i knew it wasn’t, but it had rattled me; bringing all my feelings for him back to the forefront of my brain.

“call him.” my head snaps up to face my best friend, her eyes soft as she looks at me from the doorway.

“i-” Tate cuts me off with a shake of her head.

“don’t make excuses, y/n. call him.” she repeats, “you deserve to be happy, and from what you’ve told me, he makes you happy.”

she doesn’t stick around; instead bidding me goodbye and heading back to my guest room to give me some privacy.

i pace my bedroom, iphone clutched in my hand. his contact is pulled up, but i can’t seem to build up the nerve to call him. though, it seems i don’t have to, because my phone begins to ring instead, Jack’s photo displaying on the screen.

“hi.” i breathe out, pressing the phone to my ear.

“hi.” he repeats. “i heard your new song. i’m so proud of you, my little songbird.”

my face heats up, blood rushing to my cheeks. i haven’t heard that nickname in almost four years.

“thank you.” my words come out a whisper, still in disbelief that i’m talking to him again.

“did you mean it?” the question causes a panic to erupt in me, swarms of butterflies erupting in my nervous system.

“did i mean what, Jacky?” i need him to say it.

“what you wrote,” he clears his throat, “in the song. did you mean it all? do you still think of me? do you really wanna try again?”

laying sprawled out on my bed, i stare up at the ceiling as i speak.

“i wouldn’t have written it if it wasn’t true.”

“oh- okay. so, uh,” he stutters, but i can hear the smile on his lips, causing the same reaction upon my own face, “where are you right now?”

“um, my apartment?” my brows thread together in confusion, but he just chuckles.

“i mean like, are you living in LA? are you home in Michigan? what state?”

“oh.” i bite my lip, squeezing my eyes shut in embarrassment. “i live in New York, Jack.”

“really?” his voice is emotionally distant and seemingly hurt. “so close?”

“yeah.” i nod, although he can’t see me. “i’ve gone to a few of your games.”

“you did?”

“mhm.” i hum in confirmation. “i just- i didn’t wanna be the one to reach out and then have you think oddly of me or have you already be in a relationship or something. i’m sorry i didn’t tell you, i just didn’t wanna be seen as that clingy ex-girlfriend or anything.”

“that’s not what you are, y/n.” he sighs, “would you wanna meet up soon? catch up? i’d love to hear about your glamorous new pop star life.”

“i’d love to. although, i wouldn’t call myself a pop star, Jacky.”

“you are to me.” i blush at his words, glad he can’t see how much of a mess i am at the moment. “are you free on saturday? i have practice in the morning, but after that, maybe we could go to lunch?”

“yeah, i can do that.” i confirm.

“okay great, i’ll text you on friday to hash out details?”

“sounds great!” my cool hand rises to press against my heated face in attempt to cool myself down.

“great. i gotta go, Luke and i are going out with the guys. i’ll talk to you soon, yeah?”

“yeah. bye, Jack.” i wait for him to repeat a goodbye before hanging up, burying face in my pillow and letting out a muffled scream.

***

my knee bounces underneath the table of the New York City diner, my hands clasped together on the table.

Jack should be here any minute, and saying i’m nervous would be an understatement. my palms are clammy, my legs won’t stop shaking, and i’m eighty percent sure that i have no skin left on my bottom lip because i’ve chewed it all off.

the little bell above the door rings and my head snaps up to look, but it’s just a young couple with their toddler. i send a friendly smile to the tired looking mother before looking back down at my hands that won’t stop fidgeting.

i zone out, retreating back into my head and all the thoughts that have been plaguing me since we planned this meeting.

what if he doesn’t like me anymore?

what if he has a girlfriend and he’s just trying to be nice?

or worse, what if he’s just asked me here so he could tell me to leave him alone? to stop writing songs about him.

“hi.” i’m pulled out of my thoughts by Jack sliding into the booth across from me, a gentle smile on his face.

his hand snakes across the table to hold mine, and i can’t help but feel like a teenager again, back when we used to have dates like this all the time; where he would hold my hand over the table and we would laugh and joke around for hours.

“hey.” i smile back, giving his hand a small squeeze in return.

“how are you?” he questions. he brings his hand back in order to hold his menu, but his focus remains on me, not even glancing down at the menu yet.

“i’m good!” i nod. “how are you?”

“good, i’m glad. i’m good too.”

we’re interrupted by a waitress, taking a second to look over our menu’s before giving her our orders.

once she retreats, i squirm from the small talk, never having been any good at it. which Jack seems to remember.

“so, how’s the pop star life?” he smirks teasingly, and i giggle.

“not a pop star.” i remind him, shaking my head. “but it’s good. i like where i’m at right now in my career. i like having a strong fanbase but still being unknown enough that i’m not being hounded on or followed like, say, Taylor Swift.

“i’m able to just write my music and put it out, go on small tours, interact with my fans on a more personal level; it’s really nice. i don’t know if i would want it to be more than that.”

he nods in understanding, a wide grin on his face as he listens.

“i get it. and i’m really glad you’ve achieved what you wanted. i’ve always rooted for you.”

“what about you? mr. ninety-nine point season!” he blushes at my words, shaking his head and looking down at his hands, which rest on the tabletop. “how’s that?”

“it’s good! really good.” he looks back up at me, and i have to fight myself from getting lost in his eyes like i would when we were seventeen. “i love it. it’s hard, it’s a lot of work, but it’s amazing. and honestly, i’m pretty glad i’m not on a canadian team. i like that i can go out and still have a pretty normal life outside of hockey, ya know? not be stopped on the street a bunch.”

“yeah, i get it.” i tell him. “i’m so glad you’re happy though. you play great, as you always have.”

he releases a ‘thanks’ before a silence settles over us, neither of us sure what exactly to say next.

i begin to play with the paper wrapper from my straw, winding it around my finger before sliding it off and gently pulling it straight again.

“so, Cole sends me your songs.”

snap! the paper wrapper breaks in two as i look up at him.

“he does?”

“yeah. you know i don’t get on social media too much, so i don’t always know right away when you put one out, but Cole sends me all of them. just in case i miss one.” he explains.

my head bobs up and down as i try to display a level of cool, “oh.”

“that doesn’t bother you, does it?” he asks. “that i don’t always listen to them right away?”

“not at all! i didn’t really think you listened to them at all.” i confess, sinking lower into the booth. “not really your genre.”

he smiles gently, reaching forward to hold my hand tightly in his.

“y/n, you could write a children’s nursery rhyme, and i would still listen to it.”

my head tips back against the booth, joyous laughter spilling from my lips. my nose scrunches, resulting in a small snort, which cause him to laugh as well.

“you’re just saying that.” i choke out, and he shakes his head.

“no! i’m serious! i would!” Jack insists, right as the waitress arrives with our food. she sets our food in front of us, making sure we’re all set before she retreats.

a comfortable small talk takes over as we eat; discussing our friends and their accomplishments since graduation.

“you remember that time,” Jack starts through broken laughter, “that you hit Cole with your car because he said he didn’t think it would hurt?”

“yes! and i barely even tapped him, but the big baby whined that it hurt so bad, i may have crushed his NHL dreams!” my face hurts from smiling so big, but i can no longer fight it.

“and then he was fine and back to practice that afternoon! not even a bruise left on him!” he retorts.

“ever the dramatic, Cole is.” i sigh, sitting back in my seat from position slouched over the table.

“since we’re walking down memory lane, do you remember how i said that maybe down the line, we could revisit us?”

i’m sobered up now, my smile gone as i eye him. he’s playing with his bracelets, a sign of nerves from him, and i just now realize that he’s still wearing the string friendship bracelet i gave him at eighteen; just before his draft.

i swallow the lump that built in throat, nodding, “yeah.”

“you think maybe now would be a good time to do that?” he asks. “start slow; go on dates again, maybe you could come over sometime for movie night with Luke and i, come to a few more of my games, where i actually know you’re there this time. and then see where that could take us?”

butterflies swarm my stomach, my heart beating rapidly in my chest, and my teeth sink into my lower lip, biting back a smile.

“i’d love that, Jack.”

[wolfjackle-creates]

Carry Your Heart: Danny's Arc Part 1

So I've collected all my snippets from the 1000 follower ask game (and added 800+ words). So enjoy the next part of Carry Your Heart!

Story Summary: Danny meets a ghost, Jason, in the Realms one day when cursing out Chaucer and Mr. Lancer both. Jason is determined to make him see the error of his ways.

And it turns out he can offer his help in more than just English.

They get closer and closer. Then they have their first kiss. Jason, still haunted by his own death, isn't willing to date Danny if he can't grow up by his side. He doesn't want to hold his boyfriend back or face their inevitable breakup when Danny gets too old for him. And he misses his family more than he can say.

He goes to seek out Desiree to make a wish.

First, Previous

Word Count: 2.6k

-----

Danny floated back and forth—pacing without legs—in front of the door to the examination room. Frostbite was in there with Jason. Other yetis rushed in and out, most able to spare him nothing more than a sympathetic look as they hurried off to get some medicine or another expert or a new device.

He just wanted to know.

What had happened to Jason? He’d been fine the last time they’d seen each other. It’d been perfect. Jason had enjoyed the date and even kissed him and he was supposed to be there again today. He just wanted his boyfriend.

He landed heavily on the floor, and buried his face in his knees, back pressed against the wall just waiting for someone, anyone, to tell him anything.

But it was hours more before Frostbite came out. And when he did, his face was grim.

“I’m sorry, great one. We cannot determine what has happened to your companion nor how to help him.”

Danny core stuttered, and he launched himself at the yeti, wrapping him in a hug. “No, you have to be able to do something. Please. He can’t—” His breath caught. He wouldn’t finish the sentence. Voicing it would make it true.

Frostbite hugged him back, his thick arms and fur made his hugs the most comforting ones Danny had ever felt. “We will, of course, continue to research Jason’s condition and try new treatments. However…”

Danny tensed and sniffed, trying to keep himself from succumbing to tears again. “However?”

“Jason is a fire core. The Far Frozen is not an appropriate environment for him while he is in such a delicate state. A few hours, even a day or so, every few weeks will not hurt and will allow us to try new therapies. But he will not thrive if he stays here longer than that.”

Danny lost the fight and cried into his mentor’s chest. Where else could he take Jason? Where would he be safe? What would happen if he brought him home and his parents found him? Would they even recognize what he was?

Before too long, though, Danny pulled away. “Will he be safe here for just a bit longer? I need to go home. See if, see if I can keep him safe.”

“Of course, Great One. We will watch over your friend for as long as you need us to. And we will prepare a heated chamber for him to rest in. But I urge you to return quickly.”

Danny nodded. “I will. Will he… Does he understand what’s going on? Can I say goodbye?”

Frostbite stepped back and placed a giant paw on Danny’s back. “We do not know what he may be aware of while he is in this state. But you are, of course, welcome to say your goodbyes. If he is aware, I am certain he will appreciate them.”

Frostbite led him into the room. Jason, appearing as a mostly blackened coal, his fire only barely visible deep in his core, was floating over a pedestal, three other yetis around him taking notes on tablets.

“The Great One wishes to speak to his suitor,” announced Frostbite when they entered. “Please give them some privacy.”

The yetis all murmured their agreements and filed out, each wishing luck and good health and condolences to Danny as they did.

“I shall be just outside. Take as long as you need.”

“Is there anything I should know? Will I hurt him if I touch him or anything?”

Frostbite shook his head. “Be gentle, of course, but there is little you can do by accident that will worsen his condition.” He patted Danny on the head, then followed his people out of the room.

For a minute, Danny was frozen. Jason was just a few feet away, but Danny couldn’t bring himself to move closer. He didn’t want to do this. Why did this have to happen now? When things were finally going well for him?

Danny sniffed again and floated forward. “Hey, Jay,” he started. “Um, Frostbite says that he and his yetis can’t figure out what happened or how to help you.” Danny’s voice cracked, but he kept going. “I’m… I’m gonna do what I can to help you. Find the people or medicine that can help.” He reached out a hand and gently brushed the edge of Jason’s core. “I just… I need to make sure I can keep you safe, first. I’m gonna, I’m gonna tell my parents. And if, when, they accept me, I’m gonna come back for you and bring you home.

“And then my parent’s can help find a cure for you, too. They’re brilliant, you know,” Danny choked back a sob. “With them and Frostbite working together? We’ll have you fixed up right away. So hang tight, okay? I’ll be back for you soon.” Danny leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to Jason’s core. The surface was rough; after pulling away, he rubbed at his lips, half expecting to see soot on his gloves. But they were clean. With a sigh, he turned and left the room, only glancing back once when he got to the door.

“Great One, are you ready to depart?” asked Frostbite from the hall.

Danny peeled his eyes away from his boyfriend and nodded. “Yeah. I am. I’ll be back soon, though. I promised.”

“I have full faith in you. I wish you safe travels.”

Danny gave a half-smile. “Thanks. I just need to make sure I have a safe place to take him. Once I confirm that, I’ll be back to collect Jason.”

“I shall have sentries posted to watch for your return.”

With one last thanks, Danny left.

The trip to the portal seemed both endless and like it was over in no time. Rumors had spread from the mad dash he’d taken to the Far Frozen and no one bothered him on his return.

And then he was in front of the portal. With a deep breath, he turned invisible and crossed over. His parents weren’t in the lab. Good. That meant he had a few minutes. He could get Jazz, let Sam and Tucker know what had happened. Prepare for what was going to come next.

He transformed and made his way upstairs. No parents in the living room or kitchen.

“Jazz?” he called out.

Footsteps echoed from upstairs, then Jazz was hanging over the railing. “Danny! Welcome back. You were gone quite a while. Get up to trouble with your boyfriend?” she grinned at him.

Danny didn’t know what expression he made at her innocent question, but Jazz’s smile disappeared.

“What’s wrong?”

Danny opened his mouth, then closed it again. Where did he even start? He rubbed at his eyes and focused on just breathing. “Jay, he’s… Something happened, Jazz.”

Suddenly Jazz was in front of him and hugging him tight. “It’s okay, Danny. We’ll figure it out. What happened?”

He clutched at her shirt, just trying to keep from breaking down in tears again. “Jason, he… He’s in a coma, Jazz. Frostbite and his doctors can’t figure out what happened or how to fix him.”

Jazz ran her fingers through his hair. “Oh, Danny. I’m so sorry. I’m sure they’ll figure it out, though. They’re the experts.”

Danny shook his head. “They can’t keep him there. It’s the Far Frozen and Jason has a fire core. It’s not safe for him to be there when he’s so weak, Frostbite said.”

Jazz let out a steady breath and squeezed tighter. “What are you going to do?”

Danny pulled away. “Jason is trapped as just his core. I can’t leave him in the Far Frozen and there’s no one else I trust to be able to keep him safe. I have to keep him here, with me.”

Jazz bit her lip. “Danny…”

Danny held up his hand. “I know what you’re thinking. If mom and dad found a ghost core in my room or my backpack? No. I’m not going to risk Jason like that. So I have to tell them. Once they know, they’ll accept me. And I’ll convince them that Jason is harmless and it’ll be fine. It’ll be just fine.” Danny clutched his hands into fists and crossed his arms to hide the fact that he was shaking. His parents would accept him.

They had to.

Jazz stared at him for a long moment and Danny had no clue as to what she was thinking. But then she sighed and ran a hand through her own hair. “Okay. Okay, we’ll do this your way. It’ll be fine. You’re right. But we’re getting Sam and Tucker here first and we’re putting together a go-bag. We’re not going to need it. But we’ll have it.”

Danny forced a smile. “We’re not going to need it.”

“Now, text your friends. Mom and Dad will be home in an hour or two.”

Danny did as told. As soon as he hit send, his phone started vibrating with two incoming calls. He hesitated just a moment before answering as a three-way call. “Jason’s been hurt,” he said, interrupting their shouted questions. “He’s been forced into his core. Frostbite can’t figure out how to help him and since he’s a fire core, he can’t stay in the Far Frozen. I want to bring him back here and keep him safe with me—”

“But your parents,” finished Sam.

“Yeah.” Danny closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “So I’m gonna tell them. Can you come?”

“Of course, dude!” exclaimed Tucker. “Almost out the door now. I’ll be there in ten.”

“It’ll be twenty for me,” said Sam. Then she hummed. “Maybe thirty. There’s some things I want to get, just in case.”

“Thanks, Sam, Tucker.”

“You should know by now,” said Tucker, “you don’t even have to ask with us.”

“Yeah, dummy, we’ve got your back. Be there soon as I can.”

Danny hung up and gave Jazz another shaky smile. “They’re on their way. Tucker will be here in ten, Sam might take a bit longer because she wants to grab some things.”

Jazz nodded. “Good. I’m going to start putting together your go-bag. Is your backpack in your room?”

Danny nodded and Jazz ran up the stairs. He followed her at a walk, trying to ignore the way his heart was beating hard in his chest or the way his knees felt like they were going to give out with every step. His parents loved him, they did.

It was going to be fine. He’d tell them, they’d hug him, and he’d go get Jason and come home.

When he got to his room, Jazz had dumped all his school books and binders and papers out of his backpack and was raiding the first aid kit under his bed to transfer as much of it as she could into the bag.

“There you are, get two large water bottles and all the breakfast bars from the pantry. And whatever other food you can find that is both high-calorie and easy to pack.”

He turned and walked back downstairs. Nothing felt real, he almost felt numb and he couldn’t muster up the urgency Jazz had as he sifted through the pantry and grabbed the water bottles.

That was how Tucker found him, staring at the pantry with a stack of snacks on the counter next to him.

“You doing okay?” he asked.

Danny just shrugged and pulled out a box of cereal. He tasted some; it was stale. He put it back.

Tucker pulled him into a hug. “Hey, there, Danny. It’s going to be okay. Frostbite will be able to help Jason, and we’ll be by your side as you talk to your parents.”

Danny hugged Tucker back, trying to just keep his breath steady and his hands from shaking. “Jazz is upstairs. We should go.”

“I’ll help you carry everything. And I’ve got some jerky to add to the pile, meat is the most important food group, after all!”

That finally caught his attention and he pulled away with a small smile. “I won’t need it, you know. Jazz is just being paranoid.”

Tucker frowned, but didn’t contradict him. “Then let’s go make her feel better.”

“Okay.”

“Also!” exclaimed Tucker. “I’ve got a new phone for you. This one uses ectoplasm to connect to my devices and from there, can connect to anyone else. It should work even in the Realms.”

That finally broke through some of the numbness surrounding Danny. He cracked a small, but sincere, smile. “You’ll have to explain to me how you managed that.”

Tucker laughed and immediately launched into his explanation as they brought the food back upstairs to join Jazz.

Jazz gave them a tight smile when they walked in. “Hey, Tucker. What did you get, Danny?”

“Like you said, all the protein and breakfast bars. Tuck’s got some jerky he can add to the pile.” And last, Danny dropped the box of cosmic brownies. “And I grabbed these, too. No one else will eat them.”

Jazz stared at the brownies for a long time, and Danny thought she was going to scold him for grabbing something frivolous. But she shook her head and packed them without comment. “Thanks, Tucker,” she said when she grabbed the bag of jerky next.

“Tucker made me a phone,” said Danny. “One that should work, even in the Realms. He was just telling me about it.”

This time, Jazz’s smile was much more genuine. “Really? How’s that work?”

“So, as I was telling Danny, the phone is connected to my computer through ectoplasm. It took a long time to figure out how to do it, but they will always be connected to each other now. Then, through my computer, it can connect to other computers or even the phone network. Gives it access to the internet and cell towers and your service will be as good as mine.”

Jazz shook her head. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Tucker blushed. “Uh, well. It’s really not a big deal.”

Jazz held up a hand. “No, it is a big deal. Thank you.”

Danny looked around his room, cataloging all his belongings. His skateboard leaned against the wall next to his bed. The model rockets on his bookshelf. Then his eyes landed on his old, beat-up copy of Canterbury Tales. He walked over as Jazz and Tucker continued to talk and took down the book.

He flipped it open and was faced with the comments Jason and he’d written in the margins. Jason, cheering on the Wife of Bath or scoffing at the Knight. Jason, using modern slang to improve the old-fashioned translation. Jason, doodling a little star when Danny finally got something on his own.

He blinked and a tear tracked down his face, then another. He wiped at his cheeks and closed the book. “Jazz,” he said as he sat next to them on the floor, “pack this, too.”

“Danny…” she started as she saw the book. But then she took in his expression and she sighed. “Of course. I managed to get two outfit changes in your bag, four pairs of boxers. A good amount of medical supplies. And all the food you brought up. We’ll get the book in there, too. Anything else you’ll need?”

Downstairs, the front door slammed and all three of them tensed.

“Just me!” shouted Sam, followed by the sound of her combat boots echoing on the stairs.

Jazz let out a relieved laugh and the rest of them relaxed.

“I got what I wanted to give you!” said Sam as she pushed her way into the room, slamming the door shut behind her. She tossed a wallet to Jazz who opened it and gasped.

“Sam, this is too much!”

Sam shrugged. “I’ve been saving it up. My parents won’t even notice, just had to stop by an ATM on the way here.” She flopped onto the ground and wrapped an arm around Danny’s shoulders. “So how are we gonna do this?”

-----

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[callmelyc]

Twitter loves hockey Keith soooo

Au where Lance is dating the captain of Keiths hockey team so he's around a lot

He'll bring snacks, be at any hangouts, help host cookouts and celebrations when they win games. He's the teams biggest fan with the biggest heart and most fiery passion.

Lance has been around for years now, he's a team staple. Even the press knows who Lance is, their fans, their families.

So it's only fair that the entire team loves having Lance around even if Keith was initially reluctant....

Here's the thing. Keith likes lance alot actually, probably too much. He isn't blind to Lances beauty or how kind the man is or how smart, funny, ever so slightly annoying he is.

But he also isn't blind to the annoyed sighs their captain gives when lance texts him sometimes. He isn't blind to how little free time Lance has because the captain always wants lance around as a little trophy bf.

So when lance excitedly announced to everyone he's going on a half year, once in a lifetime, research trip stationed at sea? The first person Keith looks at is their captain.

The man has his press face on. It's thoroughly painted with fake joy for Lance and the news he'd be out of his sight for a long period.

It irks Keith enough that he asks Lance genuine questions about his trip he was clearly so excited for. The other team members follow suit best they can since most don't fully understand what exactly it is Lance does.

And look, Keith knows Lance isn't stupid. He knows Lance can see his long-term boyfriends distaste at the idea. He still finds himself worrying about the man when he sees them leave together, a clearly purposeful space between them as they go.

On the day Lance leaves he finds out the couple had had an argument about the entire thing that day Lance told them about it. Against his wishes Keith feels his blood boil on Lances behalf. It's that moment Keith decides. When Lance gets back he could use a genuine friend on his side of the ice and Keith is gonna make sure that's him.

So when Lance returns a week early after many long months away Keith jumps at the opportunity to help him.

Lance,like the sweet saint he is, said he'd wanted to surprise his bf so he hadn't told the captain he was back yet. Though Keith is bitter at the thought of the two reuniting he tells Lance they have a big team party tonight to celebrate their path into finals. He also tells Lance he can help sneak him right up to the captain.

Lance is understandably excited. The entire way there he's telling Keith how thrilled the captain will be since he'd never wanted Lance to go to begin with.

Despite it all Keith can't help but smile at Lances excitement. They're close to the back halls by then so Keith tells Lance to stick close and follow his lead.

Which he does.

Which he also regrets.

There's no romantic welcome home or happy surprise waiting for Lance. Instead, Keith leads him right up to the captain that's actively cheating on him with a woman in public.

Keith sneaks Lance right back out after he takes photos for evidence in what Keith can only assume is for a future fight. He takes a horribly silent Lance right back to the couples shared apartment. He guards the door as Lance packs and goes through their security system only finding more evidence of & confirmation of the cheating.

Keith escorts Lance to a trusted friends place and listens as Lance breaks down into sobs behind the front door as he leaves.

Their team doesn't see Lance again for a long time after that.

Their press team fought to keep the cheating scandal under wraps, claimed the breakup was due to mutual decisions. But Keith knows, the team knows.

They no longer trust their captain.

And as things continue through a rough patch of plays it turns out the cheating wasn't the only thing the man had lied about. Gambling, things that could be considered sabotage, outright lying to all their faces. Word was kept under lock and key least they be disqualified and have all their reputations destroyed. They had one final game to play.

So they do.

Winning doesn't feel the same without Lance watching the ice they skate on. It doesn't feel the same without his loud cheers and insistence on celebrating afterwards.

The only one happy with it is their captain who sits gleefully at the bar with his newest girl.

The rest of the team doesn't know how to feel. It doesn't feel like a win at all.

~•~

The next time Keith sees Lance is during his standard practice between seasons. He's alone on the ice today and is surprised to see those blue eyes looking at him through the glass.

Keith comes to a stop right Infront of him.

"Can I talk to you?" Lance blurts before Keith can even say a word.

Lance doesn't know this yet, but Keith could never deny him anything "yeah sure, I was done anyways"

He finds Lance waiting patiently in the locker room once he's done putting everything away.

"What's up?" He asks, watching lance look at him in question "You haven't been around. So I guess you have a good reason to be here now."

"I was looking for you actually."

"Me?"

"Yeah, I never got to thank you with all that happened....it-" Lance pauses looking down at his hands "it meant a lot to have a friend like you in the moment. I'm sorry for cutting contact."

Keith sits next to him bumping his shoulder playfully "you don't have to apologize for that, I get it. We all do."

"All....?"

"Yeah. The rest of the team, we all miss you but we get it."

Lance looks at Keith like he's surprised to hear such a thing "really?"

"of course? Lance- you do realize how often we hung out right? We all consider you a close friend and we were all furious with the captain for what he did to you."

"I-" Lance finally smiles, small but none the less genuine "and here I thought I'd be unwelcome."

Keith stands, holding out his hand to pull him up "your never unwelcomed Lance, not here, not around me. Why don't we grab some lunch and you can tell me about that trip you went on."

He pretends he doesn't see the tears filling Lances eyes as the man takes his hand and instead Keith focused on the joy radiating off him in waves

For the first time in almost a year Keith finally feels like he's feeling the sun again.

~•~

Keith sits through days and multiple lunch and dinner tales of Lances incredible research trip. It's thrilling to watch the man's eyes glitter in genuine happiness as he does so.

Keith realizes he's the first to genuinely ask after these details since everyone else simply wanted him distracted from the cheating fiasco. So Keith soaks up every detail, every stray insignificant video and piece of data lance is willing to give.

He's so greedy with it Lance laughs, thrilled someone was willing to finally listen. He actually sends Keith the initial drafts for the research (the non nda ones) along with the short writings that followed.

Keith is blown away by how hard Lance had worked. He's so incredibly proud of him, so thoroughly impressed by his intelligence and made Lance promise he'd send the published pieces once they're publicly available.

In return Lance starts attending Keith's hockey practices.

It starts with any that the ex isn't there and eventually spirals to any at all as the season grows nearer.

Lance diligently sits in the stands watching and critiquing the plays just how he used to if with a little more care.

The guys are thrilled to see Lance around again even if he's still reluctant to hang in the locker rooms and after.

Their captain ignores him in full and Lance does the same in return.

Once the games pick back up Lance slowly becomes Keith's personal cheerleader from the stands. It never fails to send a sharp spike of adrenaline through Keiths spine when he hears lance scream his name in support.

He roots for the entire team, minus one man, of course. But the team notes with amusement how Keith seems to be his favorite now.

And, well....Keith can't help but smile at that.

Lance is seen around almost all the time again with his focus mostly on Keith and Keith is smug the more it infuriates their captain as time passes.

He's enraged his ex is around again, he's enraged Lance had taken interest in someone else, he's enraged that that someone isn't him.

What the man doesn't know is Lance and Keith see way more of eachother that anyone knows.

Their captain doesn't know how Lance sometimes spends the night as his place and vice versa. How Lance text him everyday now and how Keith doesn't find it one bit annoying like he had.

He doesn't know how hard they'd fallen for eachother.

And when Keith wins their final game of the season he publicly dedicated it to Lance in their interviews afterwards.

Everyone but their captain follows in his steps saying that Lances support has been monumental to their moral as a team.

And Keith knows he's truly won when Lance pushes through the crowd and gives him a big kiss the moment he reaches him.

Lance smiles into that kiss with all the joy a ray of sunshine can provide and Keith makes sure to smile back just as big.

They go on their very first date the next day.

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - Chapter 4

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 1000

Masterlist

———————————————————————

"And then, she hits me with a 'I hope I didn’t throw you off!' Can you believe it? She’s a woman who wants to control everything and enjoys provoking people—provoking  me  specifically!"

“Well, this sounds promising,” Alessia teased. “I didn’t think she was like that; she seemed nice at the kids' Christmas party at the hospital.”

“Oh yeah, the Dragon has two faces! They’re the worst kind. She’s a real actress.”

Sitting in Alessia’s living room, we’d just finished a platter of sushi. She was laughing. Alessia, with her Italian roots, had long blond hair and bright eyes. Her laughter and infectious joy made her even more beautiful.

“The Dragon isn’t so bad to look at; you can always admire her if it helps,” she replied with a playful smile.

“Sure, with that personality, I almost didn’t notice her at all,” I replied, with a hint of bad faith.

I leaned in and pressed my lips against hers. Our tongues met in a lively dance as my hands moved along her back and then under her shirt to touch her soft, warm skin. She suddenly pulled away from my embrace.

“Is something wrong?”

“No… it’s just… we talked about this, how we should stop if we want to move on.”

She said it in a weary voice, and I frowned.

“Did you meet someone?”

“No, it’s not that. But how can we move on if we keep ending up in bed every few days?”

We’d been apart for almost a year now, without drama but with a lot of sadness. She was in a surgical program that would take her to Canada in a year, and her schedule was relentless. And with my own demanding schedule, our lives had gradually drifted apart. After yet another breakup and the usual reproaches, we’d separated. We hadn’t been in touch for months until I reached out a few weeks ago. Her scent, her voice, her laughter—I’d missed it all. And, of course, we ended up in each other’s arms, which maybe wasn’t the best idea. Since then, although neither of us considered getting back together, rarely a week went by without us finding ourselves together again.

Her comment stung. Sarcastically, I replied, “Excuse me, but the sushi and candle setup made me think this was going somewhere else tonight.”

“Come on, don’t take it that way. It’s complicated; I want to see you too. But where are we going with this? The first one of us who meets someone just leaves? Since we’re not getting back together, right?”

She threw this at me, challenging me with her deep brown eyes, almost black.

“Are you planning to work fewer than 150 hours a week? And not going to Canada?”

I’d hit a sore spot—Canada, the real cause of our breakup. She’d accepted the program without consulting me, and I’d felt left out of her life as she forged her own path without me.

“Do we really have to talk about this again? You know my workload will be much lighter in a year, and you could have come to Canada!”

“Oh sure, like I was so well included in your great plans! I’d just bought my firm, and then you announced all this! So no, let’s not talk about it. Anyway, after today, I’m done here. I’m leaving.”

I grabbed my coat and headed toward the door. She followed me immediately, grabbing my arm, pushing me against the wall, taking my face in her hands, and leaning in close to my ear.

“Stay. It’s too hard. I need you.”

Her words electrified my entire body. I let my coat drop and kissed her passionately. Our tongues joined in a fierce rhythm as I leaned against the wall, breathless. Alessia unbuttoned my blouse, letting it fall immediately. She began to kiss my neck, moving slowly down to my breasts, which she caressed gently. Her tongue circled my hardened nipples, aroused by the waves of desire flooding through my body. Her hand wandered along my thigh, moving dangerously close to my lower belly. She unbuttoned my jeans, slipping them down; I was at her mercy now, in only my black thong, standing before her. As she continued to tease my nipples, her hand gently stroked me through my underwear. She began applying pressure to my clit, making me moan even louder. She then moved lower with her mouth. I decided to shed the last barrier between us. She started kissing my intimate area, licking my lips while lightly touching my clit. She knew me by heart—my body, how to make me feel pleasure. Feeling my excitement, she slid one finger, then two, inside me, moving them faster and faster, while never stopping her tantalizing strokes with her tongue. The pleasure built within me like a sudden fire. My moans grew louder, my hands in her hair. I moved my body to feel her tongue, her fingers,  her , even more deeply within me. I finally climaxed, shuddering with pleasure. She slowly moved back up, covering my body with kisses until she reached my lips and gently bit them. I felt so vulnerable, naked in front of her while she was still fully dressed. I smiled.

“What are you smiling about, miss?” she asked, with a mischievous grin.

“I think I’m standing naked in a hallway in front of a fully clothed person; we might need to remedy this. Would you happen to have a bedroom?”

We laughed heartily. I took her hand and led her to her bedroom—our former bedroom—ready to put her through the same wonderful torment.

[takami-takami]

Stray Dogs Will Crawl Home.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. angst (with a happy ending).

warnings— gn!reader. breakups. keigo's trauma because i can't give this man a break and he needs to heal.

For better or for worse, Keigo has always been thrust into the role of decision maker.

Sure, on the inside, his emotions pick and chew at his open wounds; but the man has driven the proverbial and literal knife into far too many backs to hesitate when he leaves you.

He can do what needs to be done. It's for your own good. You deserve more than half a man, more than the scraps of whatever is left crawling to your door after another day of putting his goals of building a peaceful society before you.

The night before he left you, stone-faced to contrast your tears and begs of 'why' on the cold of your doorstep, he lay on his side and watched you sleep. Tracing the bridge of your nose with the tip of a finger, he wondered, throat tight, what you'd think of him if you knew the truth of what he's done.

He can't bear to offer you a man who's already sold himself. You shouldn't have to shoulder the weight of his sins. He tells himself it's for the greater good, but under the cobwebs of his bed, he knows a smaller, childlike voice is telling him you deserve someone who isn't dirtied by a life counting shades of moral grey.

It aches like he's dying, sure, but that's what hero work is for, right? He can throw himself into the trenches, hour after hour, until the sun looms over the horizon and the lovebirds' chirps announce the arrival of another morning without you.

For what everyone in the media says about him being a 'golden boy', he just doesn't feel the sun without you.

His subordinates ask more than a few questions about the bags under his eyes, why his glowing smile has fizzled to a mere plastic performance. It's even easier to brush them off than it was to brush off you, to smile wider and turn the question on them— an unspoken order to fucking drop it.

But Keigo's kryptonite, the deep burn that itches under the layers of his skin, is that he's well aware of what happens after someone like you becomes single. The thought crawls under the remains of his bones, and as he perches on the highest point of the city, he makes the mistake of allowing himself to entertain it. If he wasn't weighed down under the drags of sleep deprivation, he'd curse himself for being so weak.

Deep down, he knows what happens after the weeks of digging through tubs of comfort food on the couch are over. You'll stop sobbing over the phone with your best friend. You'll probably start scheduling little dates with people who remind you less and less of him with each passing one.

You're going to move on.

Someone else's fingers will press against your skin. Someone else's quips will cause you to laugh into your sleeve, someone else will hear your shaky breaths under the cover of the night, someone else will whisper promises they can't keep.

Someone else is going to make a spouse of you.

He winces. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he takes a single stride off the ledge and surges upwards with the beat of his wings.

He makes a note to add another shift to his schedule. Maybe two.

Are you thinking of him? If you were here, he knows you'd tell him to be open with you, to stop 'being so goddamn stubborn'. You'd tell him he deserves a break from pushing his emotions down, that you knew damn well what you signed up for when you decided to be his, and to just trust your judgement for once.

To make matters worse, you'd frame it sweet, hook the words around his heart like a taffy lasso, make it so he can't resist. You do know how much he likes it sweet.

It picks at the anger thrumming in his veins. You expect him to lay himself bare? To expose the rawest parts of him, despite the commission's repeated orders not to? You expect him to be selfish?

Why does he want so badly to be selfish?

He should definitely add two more shifts to his schedule.

His phone begins to ring, startling him from his musings. He knows exactly who it is from the first note. Your favorite song plays on his speaker; the one you confessed reminds you of him, with your thumb swiping over the raised hairs on his skin. His heart hammers in the cavity of his chest, pleading to be let out.

He can't be fucking rid of you. Keigo's heart, his mind, his very bones crackle with the fire he frantically tries to put out. God, he wants to burn, wants to drag himself by his fingertips to the door of your chapel and beg you to just finish him off. He wouldn't mind serving as the ash of your incense. He'd do anything for a chance to fill your lungs.

Shit. He scrambles to dig his phone from his pocket, nearly dropping it like hot coals when he attempts to pick it up.

"H-Hey, sweetheart!" He cringes at the puppy-like excitement in his voice at the mere sound of yours. "I'm s-sor— I," he stutters for far too long before he finally gives up. Sighing into the speaker, resigned, he squeezes his eyes shut and says exactly what his mind is screaming he shouldn't.

"Can we talk?"

[blushedarmybunny]

After his Shadow || Jeon Jungkook x Fem Reader

♡ Pairing: Athlete!Jeon Jungkook x fem reader

♡ Word count: 2.6 k

♡ Genre: Angst (m), toxic relationship.

♡ summary:

He is the most loved athlete in Korea, and you are just his girlfriend until after four years you decide to leave him and is the best and at the same time the worst thing you could have ever done.

♡ a/n: I hope you like it, anon that requested this piece i made it angsty bc that is the vibe i got, idk but I maybe write a part 2 please comment if you want.

PART 2 IT'S UP

There is no feeling to describe how dysfunctional your personal relationship with Jeon Jungkook is and how it casts so many shadows on your own personal demons. You can barely recognize yourself even when you are detoxicating from all the shit you had to put up in the past 4 years. After breaking up with him you supposed to feel free but instead a sense of dread crept out behind you every day leaving you with lack of sleep and shakings all over your body, or as they call it anxiety.

You’d been hiding from everyone, deep rooted in your grandfather lake house which you had the spare key, that’s where you had been laying in bed for the past week and a half, just answering your mom’s text and eating less to not have the necessity of going out for groceries. Yes, you were far from Korea but you know that they will find you, they always find you.

The press, the obsessive fans or just about anyone that follows up the sports stars in the world of football, because Jeon Jungkook is big, more than that he is a superstar well loved by the public especially, his fans. He is very young but also very talented and has too much fame and power to the point he is almost untouchable. In his own country he is almost a god, no Korean football player can dream to become as big as him, whenever he is outed somewhere the traffic literally stops while crowds of people gather following his pace, after all he is the team leader who brought South Korea their first world cup, his team mates were now globally famous because of this and after the absolute pandemonium that was taking the glory to his country Jeon Jungkook became an athlete legend.

Every girl would throw herself at his feet, so everyone was shocked when he publicly announced his relationship with you four years ago, you had no idea what were you doing back them, all you can do now is regret your naivety. You had some idea that your new boyfriend was wealthy but everything progressed fast, too fast, to realize the extend of his fame. You suddenly were kissing for the first time and next thing you know is him posting on his insta that you two are boyfriend and girlfriend and then it hit you. You blame yourself for not google him before accepting going out with him after a casual party in a bar, it was so stupid but not more than the face the press photographed the day after the post, you were cluelessly walking down the street trying to grab some coffee and then some people run to your side with cameras in their hands, flashing lights all over, such a confusing situation that you ran back to your apartment and demand explanations from him.

From there it was a wild ride, crazy calls from every person you knew, your 3-digit following account rising up to the six digits on the same day, Jungkook stopping by so casually that it must have raise an alarm inside you but it didn’t, it fucking didn’t.

So that brought your path to what is your life in this moments, a full grown women hiding under the blankets deleting every picture on her phone, dried eyes, no tears just dark circles and a undecipherable expression. Suddenly you came across a blurry picture from way back, cheeks fuller and a bubbly smile, it was cute at the moment but the people had tore apart every single detail of your face that you can’t  longer find anything nice about that moment of your life. That’s why you didn’t bother to check any of your socials, the aftermath of the breakup was too ugly and you were the villain, you were always the villain.

Because Jeon Jungkook was Korea’s national treasure, not only nationals but his fans all over the world would defend him before anything and anyone, fame was a weapon that could be used against you and he realized that very soon into the relationship, you did something that made him upset? He can post some pathetic tweets leaving some hints. You try to push back from his ‘love’ and ‘protection’? he misses goals at an important match and points out to press after that he has been feeling ‘emotionally unstable’. God forbids you ask to take some time from the relationship because he would cancel a match making a social media circus and you being guilt tripped and publicly shamed back to him.

All of that just to everyday being gaslighted by everyone in how lucky you truly are for being his girlfriend, it was a sick joke.

“And what the fuck is this? Are you out of your fucking mind, Yn?” Jungkook yelled at you while he showed you a picture of you in your best friend’s boyfriend birthday, you had know him since uni, your best friend and him were engaged, you had known him for so many years that you greeted him with a hug  and that was exactly what you were doing in the picture, but the angle, oh that damn angle made you look like you were kissing each other.

“You tell me you are in a trip with your friends and this is what you fucking do? I look like the biggest fool in the news!” Jungkook sentenced while you look at him with concern.

“I was just hugging him!” you fight back, his eyes made an imponent statement at your direction.

“Why are you hugging another man? How is that proper, tell me?” his ironic tone made an echo through your head.

“You really baffle me, I hugged him because he is my friend and because I wanted to? Who you think you are to control me?” you snapped back at his rhetoric but he didn’t seem pleased at your response.

“You rub your tits in another man’s chest and when I don’t like that you are the one who gets mad? You truly are something…” Jungkook scoffed  “Can you see that you and your so called ‘friend’ is making me look bad?”

“This is so fucking tiring, what are we exactly discussing here? I told you I was hugging a friend end of conversation”

“Is that so? You don’t care then? When people laugh in my face and later call you a slut?” Jungkook said bitterly, he was mocking you, because he knew how things worked in his world.

“You know this is exactly why I think we don’t make sense, you seem to take pleasure in making me doubt myself and making everyone dislike me!” you can feel the tears wanting to come out but have to be strong.

“You need to know your place, Yn, you know you are in the wrong when the crowd it’s calling you out, if they are calling you a slut then…”

You hit him across his face, it was no use because your strength could not really hurt him, but it did caught his attention.

“it’s not fair, and never will be, they are on your side always and you know that!” you exclaimed clenching your teeth, Jungkook at the sight of your frustration he smiled.

“that’s right it’s not fair, knowing that information and you still dare to slap me? Don’t you know my next match is in two hours I have to leave this apartment in a few minutes and when they see the pictures leaving this apartment upset, a mark on my cheek and later a low performance on the match, what they will think of you?” Jungkook asked still smiling, you gasped in horror.

“Yeah exactly, now apologize to me and I will consider to put a mask when I go outside” there he  was being in control again, he had you cornered, he made you small.

“I’m sorry” you murmured, his hands grabbed your face making you look up to him, his eyes scanning yours, he leaned over and kissed your lips, you move your move lazily corresponding to his more passionate kiss.

“That’s right, baby, I know you are sorry”

You rolled over bed and kept deleting all you could, the memory has left you with a bitter taste in the mouth that quickly made you nauseous you run into the bathroom to throw up, while you wash up you look at your pathetic reflection in the mirror the same pathetic expression of that time when you actually tried to left him thanks to his very public indiscretion.

The aftermath of all that mess is threatening you with a head ache but the mind still goes to that specific place.

“How dare you, huh?! You bark at any man that glances at my direction but you go to a fucking yacht party kissing every model on sight!” you throw the tabloid at his face, he looks up with his big doe eyes, parting his mouth like he was just exposed without any warning, he blinked a few times perplexed “You pathetic scum I should had neve-“

“I know you are mad” he simply said and you can feel your eye twitching in disbelief. “Can you calm down a bit”

“Calm down?!”

“Look I’m sorry okay, it won’t happen again it was a stupid mistake” he brushed off the whole situation like it was nothing and you were starting to lose it.

“Mistake? Are you fucking kidding me? There are videos, Jungkook, you seem pretty fucking chill while those bitches are sitting on your lab…”

“Yn…”

“Then you kissed them like it was the most fucking natural thing to do…”

“Oh my god, stop, it’s not that big of a deal, I apologized!”

“And you expect me to accept it?”

“Those girls nobody knows them, but you are my girlfriend, aren’t you?” he asked with an irritated expression.

“I don’t understand you, Jungkook, I really don’t, let’s just break up that way you can kiss all the models you want” you responded completely tired of his bullshit.

“You are still mad, I see” he said standing up and walking towards you.

“Don’t go near me!” you warned him but he keeps coming close until he is in front of you then he takes your hips and pulls you down while he takes a seat in the couch, you end up in his thigh.

“I know baby, you must be angry” said affirming you in his leg, you were only wearing a skirt so your underwear was the only barrier against his muscular thigh, you got nervous. “You don’t have anything to be jealous about, you want this don’t you? You saw me in the video doing this and now you want me to take you in that way?” he asked looking at your eyes and your lip trembling he grabbed your hips and move you hitting that precious spot making you pant.

“that’s right baby” Jungkook said an erection forming in his shorts “I know you want to move” he said to you with a cheeky smile you closed your eyes and nodded you felt how he spank you with dry sound, the wetness now lubricating Jungkook’s thigh, he always looked good in uniform.

“how do you call me?” he asked while pulling up his shirt showing his abs and taking out his growing cock jerking it a few times, he spanked your ass once again when you didn’t respond.

“…Daddy” you managed to say between moans, now fully moving your hips in his thigh while he jerks up, you did not last much longer and while you had your orgasm the grin that Jungkook gave you was enough to sink you after your high, back into humiliation.

“You fucking slut, ugh you’re so hot” he said between his heavy pants, his seed spilled all over his abdomen soon enough when you were washing up in the shower, he turned you over to wash your hair with shampoo then he suddenly whispered in your ear:

“While I’m right here taking care of you I still can’t bother to remember those girls names or faces” he said while he continued to massage your head “ you have nothing to worry about” you closed your eyes trying to believe in his words, that’s all you wanted in that moment.

Your stomach growled screaming for food, you walked to the kitchen making the laziest thing you could and swallowing it, then back to bed, that has been your routine the past week, you felt disappointed in yourself, at the end of the day that’s what Jungkook has done to you, he left you so empty.

Because of both of your natures your relationship continued to be unstable and the public was right there to enjoy the circus, every single time.

It didn’t matter how many more indiscretions Jungkook had, the media crucified you no matter what, not attending to his matches was more than enough to enrage his crazy fans. You didn’t have the basic right to be mad whenever he doesn’t do his part.

Jungkook just likes to take and take from you, his jealousy was a problem but his cheating was not.

His sexual needs mattered but your emotional needs were ignored. He acted like the perfect boyfriend in public just to treat you like you don’t exist every time his friends call him on the weekends.

Being in a relationship with Jeon Jungkook was a state of constant confusion. And it all did not make any sense on why he kept insisting in continuing the relationship, he would do anything, get mad, act upset to the public, put at risk an important match, even cry whenever you tried to bring up your need of wanting out, but with his actions Jungkook has made very clear he wasn’t done toying with you, and you had no say on it.

At the end you hit the bottom after four years of this so called ‘relationship’ and once you snapped back out of your submission you did not look back. Took your stuff and while he was busy in another freaky party in Japan, you flew back home taking serious steps into going incognito. Yes, Jungkook called you like a thousand times but nothing that a block can’t resolve. You announced him your break up  in a letter that you send him via text before blocking him, then you made it public via twitter simply putting:

Jungkook and I are not in a relationship anymore, please respect my privacy.

And after that you had been trying to hide from the rest of the world, you had a vague notion of how the rest of world reacted at least in the first days, Jungkook fought with a photographer outside of a bar completely drunk, he made very alarming tweets, it was all over the news, but you did not know the details or bother to dig deeper, his fans almost throwing a celebration party but at the same time blaming you for everything wrong that is happening to Jungkook.

You did not judge yourself on how you ended things with him either, you were kinda running away, but it was the best option in where he didn’t get to manipulate you or black mail you.

At the end of the day you were the only person who can pick yourself up from the ground, and make whatever you want your life to be, and with Jungkook out of the way, who can stop you?

There is only one way up, right?