#everything blurs and blends and tangles together.

[chimerafeathers]

Loop’s dialogue has so many facets and potential interpretations…when they are talking about or to Siffrin, exactly how much of it is a direct reflection of how they view themself, either now or in the past?

how much of it is it a deliberate projection—things they wish they had been kinder to themself about and make an effort to verbalize now that they have this external perspective, or things they still hate themself for and can’t help but deride when it’s thrown in their face by this copy—and how much is subconscious, an instinctual reaction to seeing their own traits in “another”?

and conversely, how much of what they say is an attempt to draw a hard line in the sand between them, this is you and this is me, the success story and the discarded failure? coming from the same origin point but diverging beyond reconciliation, the differences cementing their stations as the favored and the forgotten?

they were they same but they aren’t anymore but they are still but they’re different now but they are and aren’t and are and aren’t—

how often do they feel like they’re talking to a mirror, a glassy, empty reflection of their own flaws and mistakes, rather than a whole and complete person who shares their love and pain? how much does the line between those perceptions blur and shift from moment to moment, how much do they let themself be aware of it, how much do they agonize over it?

they’re just. such a mess of contradictions and complications. i need to lie down.

[astrcmoni]

୨♡୧⁀➷cupid’s kiss ୨♡୧⁀➷

MASTERLIST

synopsis: the city hums around you, a fleeting backdrop to roses, laughter, and the heat of her gaze. by night’s end, only tangled limbs and breathless whispers remain—fragments of a valentine’s you’ll never forget.

pairing: fem!reader x billie eilish

genre: fluff, smut

wc: 12.2k

warnings: car sex, cunnilingus (r! receiving), sexual teasing, talk of cum, making out ( let me know if i missed any)

authors note: i know this is coming out late but take it anyways. hope you enjoy this, happy valentine’s day everyone 💋

the soft melody of an old r&b song drifts quietly throughout your room, threading through the warm glow of the bedside lamp. the air is thick with the scent of vanilla and shea butter, settling into your skin like a second layer, like something familiar. your body sways slightly, hips moving in time with the slow rhythm, a motion so natural it feels like breathing.

your fingers find the lip liner with ease, wrapping delicately around its sleek body before lifting it to your mouth. the deep burgundy wax blooms against your skin as you trace the curve of your bottom lip, slow and steady, like painting something sacred. your cupid’s bow follows next, the tip of the pencil pressing just enough to carve out the shape, to sculpt without effort. your ring finger grazes the edge of your lips, the warmth of your skin melting the pigment just enough to blur the lines. slow, deliberate strokes soften the burgundy, blending it inward, fading like dusk into the fullness of your mouth. the color settles into something effortless, something lived-in—like you’ve been kissed, like you’ve kissed back.

your hand drifts to the tube of clear gloss lying discarded on your vanity, the light catching its sleek surface as your fingers wrap around it. you twist it open, pulling the wand free with a quiet pop before guiding it over your lips. the gloss drenches them in liquid shine, turning the deep berry into something richer, something decadent. it clings to every curve, catching the light with every slight movement. you part your lips just a little, watching how the gloss gleams, how it makes your mouth look fuller, softer—irresistible.

you lean back in your chair, eyes locked on your reflection, watching the way the gloss glows under the soft light. the burgundy, now hugged by gloss, looks like wine under candlelight—deep, warm, and impossible to ignore. you smack your lips together slightly, the wet sheen catching for a moment before settling again. satisfied, you reach up, fingers curling around one of the pinned rollers, sliding out the clip that holds it in place. the strand unfurls, falling in a soft wave against your shoulder.

this motion repeats, fingers working with practiced ease, unpinning each roller, letting the fresh blowout cascade around your face. the weight of your hair feels different now, lighter, freer. the song shifts, a familiar melody slipping through the speakers, and without thinking, your voice joins in—barely above a whisper, tracing the lyrics with quiet ease.

you reach for your black comb, running it through your hair, each strand slipping over the wide teeth like silk unraveling. the motion is rhythmic, soothing, a quiet kind of ritual that settles you further into the warmth of the moment.

the song playing is familiar, comforting—a melody wrapped in nostalgia, threaded with slow, honeyed vocals that make you feel like you’re sinking into something soft and golden. everything about this moment feels unhurried, like the night itself is waiting patiently for you to step into it. the scent of your perfume lingers in the air, a quiet presence mixing with the rhythm of the music, and for a second, you close your eyes, letting it all settle over you like a second skin.

nights like these make getting ready easy, slipping into the three-hour routine you’ve perfected over the years. there’s a tranquility in it, in the way you take your time, in the way you indulge yourself with each step. so when billie had told you earlier this week that on friday—valentine’s day—she was taking you out, you’d immediately started planning. appointments were booked, outfits were considered, and questions were asked, most of which she refused to answer, a teasing smile playing at the corners of her lips. “can’t give up the surprise,” she had murmured against your cheek, her breath warm, her fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. she did love to entertain your excitement, though, only telling you what she wanted you to know—just enough to keep you on edge, just enough to make you anticipate. dress cute but comfortable, that was all she’d given you, and somehow, it was enough.

the sound of keys jingling snaps you from your reverie, followed by the quiet creak of the front door unlocking, then locking again. a smile tugs at your lips, your heart picking up its pace just slightly as you hear the familiar weight of her footsteps approaching.

billie’s socks slide against the hardwood floor, the sound soft but distinct, accompanied by the light jangle of her keys in her pocket and the faint rustling of bags in her grasp. you don’t turn around just yet, but the curve of your lips deepens at the sound of her voice.

“baby, where are you?” her voice carries through the house, warm and familiar, wrapped in something easy, something tender.

“in here,” you call out, still running the comb through your hair, smoothing out the last few strands.

a few seconds later, she appears in the doorway, still bundled up from the february cold. the soft glow of your vanity lights catches the flushed pink of her cheeks, the tip of her nose slightly red from the chill. the red roots of her hair peek out from under her beanie, strands slipping loose beneath the hood of her sweatshirt. her eyes find yours instantly, flickering with something warm, something knowing.

she steps inside the room, making her way toward you, the scent of winter clinging to her clothes—cold air and something faintly sweet, like the bakery she always stops at on her way home.

your head tilts slightly to the left as you notice her hands hidden behind her back, her body language giving her away before she even speaks.

“hi, mama,” she starts, her voice soft, threaded with something breathless, like she rushed home just to give you whatever she’s holding.

she reveals her hands, stretching them toward you, and your breath catches just slightly. deep red roses, wrapped in crisp black paper, petals full and velvety to the touch. the contrast is striking—the darkness of the wrapping making the red stand out even richer, deeper. it’s intentional, you know that. billie has always had a way of making things feel like more than just gestures.

you turn fully to face her, your hands lifting as you take the bouquet, your nails grazing over the back of her hands in the process, a fleeting touch that makes her fingers twitch slightly. your fingertips brush the petals in quiet admiration, feeling the delicate texture beneath them. the scent fills your nose, heady and intoxicating—rich yet soft, like something meant to linger.

billie watches you, studying your reaction, the corner of her lip twitching like she’s holding back a smirk. there’s something in the way she looks at you—like she’s memorizing every detail, like she’s already picturing you in her arms later tonight. the warmth of it spreads through you, slow and deliberate, settling in your chest like a steady flame.

“these are gorgeous, babe. thank you.”

you tuck the flowers against your arm before reaching up, fingers finding the familiar warmth of her face. her skin is cool from the outside air, but she leans into your touch instinctively, eyes half-lidded, lips curving into something soft.

“it was nothing much, but you’re welcome.”

she inches closer, her breath warm against your lips before they finally meet—soft, lingering, unhurried. the kiss is brief but enough to send a slow shiver down your spine, enough to make her chase your lips when you pull away. her mouth parts slightly, instinctively, like she wasn’t ready to let you go just yet.

you chuckle under your breath, running your thumb over her lips, the smooth acrylic gliding over her plump skin—slightly sticky from your gloss. she lets out a soft hum at the touch, and just as her hands start to settle on your waist, you gently push her back.

“actually,” you start, rising from your vanity with ease before walking toward your side of the shared closet. “i have something for you too.”

billie watches you with open curiosity, shifting her weight, eyes following every move you make. she tugs at the hem of her hoodie absentmindedly as you crouch down, disappearing slightly into the closet’s dim interior.

your hands glide over folded sweaters, past stacked shoeboxes, feeling your way toward the back until your fingers brush against the satin ribbon-wrapped handle of the basket you’ve been carefully putting together for the past few days. you lift it gently, pulling it into the light, and stand, turning toward billie with a small smile as you stretch the basket toward her.

her eyes widen slightly, face lighting up as she takes it, fingers tracing over the red bow with something reverent. she shifts the weight of it in her hands, eyes scanning the contents nestled carefully in soft pink tissue paper—the little details that only you would think of, the things you know she’d love.

a candle that smells like vanilla and warm musk, the kind she always lights the second she gets home. a handwritten letter, its rose-colored envelope sealed with a kiss of your burgundy lip liner. a small plushie tucked beside her favorite snacks, something soft, something sentimental. and at the very center, a small box tied with a silk ribbon, holding a delicate bracelet that catches the light just enough to glint, subtle but intentional—just like her.

her smile spreads into a grin, the small gems on her teeth catching the glow of your vanity lights. she lifts her gaze back to you, something playful settling in her eyes.

“are you trying to one-up me?”

“always.” your response is immediate, your voice carrying the same playful lilt as hers.

billie exhales a soft laugh before setting the basket down carefully on your vanity, her fingers lingering on the ribbon for a moment before she turns back to you. without hesitation, she steps in close, arms slipping around your torso as she pulls you into her warmth.

you melt into it, arms looping around the back of her neck, fingers instinctively tangling together as your thumbs rest against her skin. her red roots brush against your knuckles, the smaller pieces of hair swaying slightly as you rub slow circles into the nape of her neck.

she leans down again, lips finding yours in a kiss slower than the last—soft, sweet, deep enough to make your breath hitch. it’s just enough to leave you wanting more before she pulls away, a quiet smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“i gotta shower,” she murmurs, eyes flicking over you with something unreadable, something lingering. “but thank you for the gifts.”

her hands slide from your waist, moving with purpose, fingers trailing over each curve of your body as she makes her way up to where your hands rest against her neck. carefully, she unlaces your fingers from each other before cupping them in her own, holding them between you like something precious.

she squeezes once, gentle but firm, like a silent promise.

“i’ll be quick,” she adds, voice low, almost teasing. “don’t miss me too much.”

she takes a step back, her blue eyes raking over you in slow, deliberate strokes, like she’s committing every inch of you to memory.

your brow quirks in light confusion. “what? do i have something on me?”

billie huffs out a small laugh before reaching for your hand, lifting it above your head with gentle ease. “nah,” she murmurs, spinning you slowly. the skirt of your dress fans out as you move, fabric catching the soft glow of the vanity lights. when you come back around to face her, her smile has deepened, something playful tugging at her lips. “just admiring, that’s all.”

your eyes roll instinctively, but the warmth spreading across your chest betrays you. placing your hands on her chest, you give her a gentle push, the fabric of her hoodie soft beneath your palms. “will you hurry and go clean up so we can go?”

“pushy, pushy,” she teases, but she leans in anyway, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, her lips lingering for a second longer than necessary. the hum she lets out vibrates against your skin before she pulls away, fingers already toying with the hem of her hoodie. she strips down with ease, leaving a trail of discarded clothes as she makes her way toward the connecting bathroom.

you shake your head at the mess she leaves behind, turning your attention to the bouquet still in your arms. you place the roses in a vase, arranging them carefully, the deep red petals almost glowing against the dim light of the room. the scent of them mixes with the faint traces of billie’s cologne still clinging to the air, something warm, something familiar.

the sound of water rushing through the pipes fills the space, followed by the muffled slide of the shower door.

“so, are you excited for tonight?” billie’s voice carries over the hiss of the water.

“i would be if i knew what it was, billie.”

“the whole point of a surprise date is so that it can be that—a surprise,” she teases. “just trust me, babe.”

you hum thoughtfully, bare feet padding softly against the carpet as you make your way to the bathroom. heat rises to greet you, steam curling around the glass shower door, clinging to the mirror. you lean against the doorframe, watching as billie’s figure shifts behind the fogged glass, her movements slow and unhurried.

“should i be worried?” you ask, voice laced with playful suspicion.

“no, not at all,” she says smoothly. “but you might wanna wear something cute and comfortable.”

“so, no heels then?”

she hums, considering. “mm… not tonight. your boots would look really cute with your fit.” a pause. “but you’ll still look fine as hell no matter what you decide.”

you shake your head, grinning. “flatterer.”

billie laughs, the sound soft and unfiltered, mixing with the warmth of the room. you stay there, talking about everything and nothing, letting the conversation weave between teasing remarks and familiar comforts.

soon enough, the water cuts off, the steam thick in the air as billie steps out. a towel is wrapped loosely around her torso, droplets of water still clinging to her skin, trailing slow paths down the curves of her body. the scent of her vanilla body wash wraps around you as she moves past, something rich and sweet, something undeniably her.

your eyes follow her, drawn to the way her damp hair drips against the towel slung around her shoulders, how her fingers comb through the strands with ease. she moves toward her side of the dresser, pulling out pieces of clothing with the same quiet deliberation she does everything else.

she hums softly as she gets dressed, a song that’s been playing faintly in the background, one you hadn’t even realized she was paying attention to. your gaze lingers as she buttons up her black shirt, her fingers sliding each button into its designated slot with ease. the fabric molds against her frame, and your focus catches on the slight flex of her biceps as she adjusts the cuffs, rolling them up just enough to reveal the lines of ink along her hand.

her eyes flick up toward the mirror, lips twitching into a smirk when she catches your gaze in the reflection. the soft glow of the vanity lights frames her features, turning her crystalline blue eyes into something almost ethereal, something impossible to look away from.

“you getting distracted?” she teases, slipping rings onto her fingers with practiced ease, the metal gliding against her skin. she picks up a delicate chain next, fastening the clasp at the nape of her neck, all without breaking eye contact.

“what? no, shut up,” you mutter, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. the warmth in her stare makes your stomach flip, but you ignore it, turning your attention to your jewelry box instead.

the sable black wood is smooth beneath your fingertips, the hinges sighing softly as you lift the lid. inside, nestled among delicate chains and glinting rings, rests a golden watch—slim, dainty, timeless. the light catches on its polished surface, tracing over the fine links of its bracelet, the minimalist face gleaming under the glow of the room.

with careful fingers, you lift it from its place, the cool metal whispering against your skin as you drape it over your wrist. the clasp clicks softly as you fasten it, the weight settling against you like it was made to be there. the gold catches the light, warm and radiant, an understated elegance that feels like a quiet kind of power.

you reach back into the box, extracting a necklace, its chain the same golden shade as your watch, its charm a simple letter. the ‘b’ sways lightly between your fingers, gleaming under the soft light. before you can put it on, billie stretches out her hand, palm up, a silent request.

you don’t hesitate. you never do.

stepping behind you, billie takes both ends of the necklace, the cool metal hovering just above your collarbone as her fingers slide over the clasp. her touch is featherlight, the brief brush of her knuckles against your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. she hooks the clasp into place, then adjusts the necklace so the charm rests perfectly at the base of your throat.

but she doesn’t step away just yet.

her hands skim down your sides, fingertips grazing the fabric of your dress before settling on your hips. her eyes meet yours in the mirror, a silent moment stretching between you, filled with something unspoken, something deep.

your own initial rests boldly against her neck, a silver version instead of gold, the contrast striking yet complementary. a matched set, tied together in quiet devotion.

billie breaks the silence first, her voice soft but sure. “c’mon, we better go before we’re late.”

her fingers lace through yours, warm and familiar, and she leads you downstairs without another word.

you both move in sync, slipping on your shoes, grabbing your belongings with the kind of effortless ease that only comes with time. the door swings open, and the cool night air greets you, crisp and full of promise.

and just like that, you step out into the night, hand in hand.

the restaurant hums with low chatter and the soft clinking of silverware, but in your little corner booth, the world feels quieter, smaller—just the two of you wrapped up in each other. the dim lighting bathes the table in a soft amber glow, reflecting off wine glasses, the edges of flickering candlelight, and the soft sheen of your girlfriend’s silver jewelry, each little detail seeming to highlight the intimacy between you.

dinner feels like a secret, just the two of you tucked into the booth, close enough that your thighs press together, the warmth of her body a constant against yours. the room is alive with the sounds of the evening, but here, it’s just you two—the scent of rich food and something faintly floral lingering in the air, heavy with comfort and quiet affection.

instead of sitting across from each other, billie pulls you in beside her, her arm draped casually around the back of your seat, fingers lightly grazing your shoulder.

“you look so pretty,” she murmurs, her voice soft but sure, fingers tracing lazy, comforting patterns over your thigh, each stroke a promise, a reassurance.

you turn your head slightly, catching the fond smile tugging at her lips, the way her eyes soften when she looks at you. “you’ve said that three times already.”

she shrugs, her lips curling into an easy smile, unfazed by your teasing. “and i’ll say it again and again. and again.”

you roll your eyes playfully, but your heart flutters at the simplicity of the compliment. the sincerity of it makes the moment feel like something sacred, tucked away just for the two of you.

you lean into her side, your head coming to rest on a familiar shoulder, and breathe her in. her scent is intoxicating—vanilla with something deeper, more complex, something both soft and strong, feminine and masculine in perfect harmony. it clings to her skin, lingering in the collar of her shirt, curling into the space between you both, the scent threading through the warmth that lingers in the air.

“you smell so good,” you murmur, voice soft, just above a whisper, letting the words dissolve between your lips and her neck, filling the space around you with the quiet, tender intimacy of the moment.

billie huffs out a small laugh, fingers still toying with the lace of your stockings where her hand rests on your thigh. “i sure would hope so,” she teases, the smirk evident in her voice even before she presses a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of your head, her lips warm against the crown of your hair.

“why can’t you ever just accept the compliment?” the back of your hand meets her chest in a gentle hit, teasing but full of affection.

a soft chuckle escapes billie, her fingers still tracing idle patterns along your thigh. with a shift, she pulls out her phone, the screen lighting up in the dim atmosphere as she angles it to capture the moment. she snaps a few pictures—one with your faces close, the other where she leans in just enough to plant a kiss on your temple. her lips curl into a playful grin as she murmurs, “i hope you know that you’re really pretty.”

the phone is set aside, forgotten, discarded in favor of the quiet moment shared between you, the flashes of her smile and the soft hum of her voice lingering in the air, more cherished than any photograph could ever capture.

not long after, your plates arrive, the scent of rich spices and warm dishes curling into the air, drawing you both back to the present. you straighten just enough to reach for your fork, but billie’s arm doesn’t leave your side, her fingers still tracing small, absent patterns over the lace of your stockings.

dinner is slow, unhurried. you steal bites from each other’s plates, laughing at the most random things, exchanging soft kisses that feel like nothing and everything all at once—moments so small but somehow monumental in their own way. the world outside this booth fades into the background as you talk about everything from childhood memories to plans for the future.

the night is intimate, effortless—woven together with the kind of love that doesn’t need grand gestures or fireworks, just the softness of shared space, quiet compliments, the lightest touches, and the way your scents linger together in the small moments.

by the time dessert arrives, the last remnants of dinner sit on the table—half-empty glasses, a shared dessert plate with only a few crumbs left behind. the warmth of the evening lingers still, like the soft, steady beat of her heart beneath your palm. billie’s arm is still around you, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles against your hip, the world outside the restaurant fading into something almost dreamlike.

billie reaches for the black checkbook the waiter left behind, flipping it open with a practiced flick of her wrist. her gaze lingers on the receipt for a moment, brows lifting slightly at the total, before she hums in approval, a quiet, satisfied sound that melts into the warm, dim atmosphere of the restaurant.

with your head still resting on her shoulder, you tilt your chin just enough to steal a glance at the numbers, your lips curling into a playful smirk. “not bad,” you murmur, your voice low, teasing, the words slipping out like a secret only the two of you share.

she lets out a soft chuckle, nudging you gently with her elbow. “you got a pen?” she asks, tapping the checkbook with her fingertips, the quiet request cutting through the gentle hum of the restaurant. “they forgot to bring one.”

without hesitation, you reach for your purse, fingers sifting through its contents, the familiar feel of soft leather under your fingertips grounding you in this quiet moment. you pull out a sleek, black pen, placing it in her waiting hand, watching as she takes it with a quick, fluid motion.

you watch as she signs the tip portion first, the ink gliding smoothly over the paper in practiced strokes, the sound of the pen scratching against the paper almost melodic in the stillness. then, with a small flourish, she signs off at the bottom—B.E. the letters are clean, effortless, holding a quiet confidence, the kind that’s always been so distinctly her. the way she carries herself, even in the smallest gestures, leaves an imprint on everything she touches.

after capping the pen and handing it back, your girlfriend slips a hand behind her phone, pulling out her sleek black american express card tucked safely in its case. the metal glints in the dim lighting as she slides it into the pocket of the checkbook with a satisfying tap, the motion final, almost ceremonial, as if everything is in its place now.

“there,” she leans in, her voice low and smooth against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “all taken care of. so, are you ready for part two?” the waiter comes back around to your table, taking the little black book and slipping away to the back.

your hands wrap around her forearm, pulling her a little closer as you lift an eyebrow, brows shooting up in surprise at her question. “there’s more?”

“baby, there’s always more.” she grins, lips widening into that familiar, knowing smile of hers. she shifts slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, the gesture tender, the warmth of her lips lingering.

your eyes wander around the restaurant, your mind spinning with endless possibilities of what could be next, the anticipation building. “where are we going?”

she smirks, slipping the black card back into her phone once the waiter returns, the subtle click of the card’s return echoing between you. “that’s for me to know and you to find out.” her tone is teasing, playful, as if she holds all the answers, but she’s not giving anything away just yet.

you purse your lips, trying to stop yourself from rolling your eyes for the thousandth time that night at her crypticness. but the corner of your mouth lifts, betraying the smile that threatens to break free. sliding out of the booth, billie stands, offering her hand to help you out of your seat, the warmth of her palm a comfort against yours. you take it without thinking, the connection between you electric, her hand soft but firm in yours.

she pulls you into a quick kiss, a soft press of her lips to yours, pulling away with a small hum of satisfaction before intertwining your fingers again. without missing a beat, she pulls you toward the door, your steps in sync, the cool night air just beyond, waiting to greet you both.

turns out, part two is top golf.

you burst out laughing as soon as she parks the car, the sound echoing into the quiet night. “seriously?” you ask, incredulous.

she grins, unbuckling her seatbelt with that familiar confident flick of her wrist. “what? you thought i was gonna take you to some bougie rooftop?”

“i don’t know what i thought,” you admit, still chuckling. “wasn’t expecting this though. but just so you know, i’m gonna win and whoop your ass in the process.”

“if you say so,” she replies, her voice laced with playful arrogance. “we all know i’m the real mvp when it comes to this.” the competitive fire in her voice sparks yours, and just like that, the trash talk begins.

the night air is crisp as billie opens the car door and steps out, the neon blue and green lights from the towering topgolf building ahead casting a vibrant glow that dances across her face. you pull your jacket tighter around you, feeling the cool bite of the night, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of your competitive banter. billie jogs around to your side, opening the door for you with a proud little smirk.

“chivalry isn’t dead, i see,” you tease, taking her hand as she helps you out of the car, your fingers intertwining effortlessly.

she winks, that signature glint in her eyes. “not when it comes to you.”

you round the car, making your way to the trunk. with the press of a button, the trunk pops open, and you dig around until you find what you’re looking for—a pair of random sneakers that somehow always end up in each other’s cars. you quickly slide off your boots, switching them out for the more comfortable pair of shoes before slipping your hand back into billie’s.

together, you make your way to the building, your footsteps light but purposeful.

inside, the atmosphere is buzzing—low music hums over the speakers, filling the space with an easy energy. the scent of fresh food and warm pretzels hangs in the air, mixing with the excitement that pulses through the crowd. billie leads the way, her fingers laced through yours, guiding you toward a private bay on the upper level.

you step out onto the platform, the cool breeze kissing your skin as you take in the sight of the open-air range stretched out before you. small targets glow in various colors across the field, the soft thrum of the city’s skyline flickering faintly in the distance. the air is crisp and clean, nipping at your skin with the promise of something new.

“i won’t lie, this is pretty cool,” you admit, leaning against the railing, your voice quieter now, soaking in the moment. “didn’t expect this for valentine’s, though.”

billie grins, grabbing a golf club from the rack, her fingers curling around it with the same ease she handles everything else. “you know i like to keep you on your toes.”

she moves toward the tee, rolling her shoulders like she’s about to do something serious. you cross your arms over your chest, watching her with a mixture of admiration and amusement. she plants her feet, squares her shoulders, and grips the club with entirely too much confidence, as if she’s the queen of golf—never mind that she’s never swung a club in her life.

“you’ve never golfed before, have you?” you ask, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“nope,” she replies confidently, rolling her shoulders again, a small huff escaping her. “but i’ve watched golf before. can’t be that hard.”

you stifle a laugh, shaking your head. “famous last words. okay, we’ll see.”

“watch and learn, baby.” she takes a deep breath, a focused look crossing her face as she swings the club—

—and completely misses the ball.

a laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, and you quickly cover your mouth to stifle it, but the sound escapes anyway. she straightens up, staring down at the untouched ball with a look of pure betrayal, as if it’s personally offended her.

“that was practice,” she mutters, giving you a look of mock annoyance.

“uh huh, sure it was,” you tease, barely holding back another laugh.

she tries again—this time, she makes contact, but the ball barely rolls off the tee, a soft, unimpressive nudge that doesn’t go anywhere near the target. you double over laughing now, unable to hold it in, while billie pouts, gripping the club like she’s debating throwing it across the range.

she tries once more, swinging with more force this time, the ball barely rolling off the tee again, stopping embarrassingly short of the edge.

“oh wow,” you say, feigning awe, crossing your arms. “real impressive, tiger woods.”

billie groans, dragging a hand down her face in exasperation. “this shit is so annoying.”

you step toward her, shaking your head fondly. “here, let me help.”

“okay, first of all, that’s not how you hold it,” you say, sliding in behind her, your voice warm against her ear. you wrap your arms around her waist, gently guiding her hands to the club. billie relaxes against you, her body fitting perfectly with yours as she tilts her head just enough for her nose to brush against your cheek.

“this is just an excuse to be all over me, isn’t it?” she murmurs, her voice dropping low, just enough to send a shiver down your spine, making your heart beat a little faster.

you smirk, letting your hands linger longer than necessary as you adjust her grip. “maybe.”

her breath is soft on your skin as you guide her through the motion, adjusting her stance, speaking in a calm, steady whisper. she listens intently, her usual cocky confidence melting into something else—vulnerable, trusting. you pull her arms back with yours before swinging forward together, your hearts aligned for just a moment. when she swings this time, the ball sails smoothly through the air, slicing the cool night sky before landing in one of the further targets.

billie gasps, her eyes wide in disbelief, and then she breaks into a triumphant cheer. “did you see that?”

you laugh, clapping along with her, unable to stop the smile from spreading across your face. “okay, i’ll give you that one.”

“i’m such a natural,” she says smugly, grabbing another ball with a flourish, her pride practically radiating from her. “bet i can do it again.”

she tries. and she fails.

you don’t even bother hiding your laughter this time, the sound spilling out freely, echoing in the open space. billie glares at the club, as though it’s personally betrayed her, before she sets it down with a dramatic sigh, her shoulders slumping in mock defeat.

“alright, your turn,” she declares, grabbing your hand and pulling you forward, her fingers warm and confident in yours.

you smirk, stepping up to the tee. “are you sure? i really don’t wanna embarrass you more than i already have.”

“girl, please,” billie scoffs, crossing her arms with a raised brow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “let’s see what you got.”

“don’t say i didn’t tell you so,” you warn, your voice playful, but with a hint of challenge. billie rolls her eyes but can’t quite hide the smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

grabbing the club from her hand, you turn back to the tee, adjusting your stance, lining up your shot with precision. the cool air brushes against your face, but all you feel is the steady calm in your chest. you take a steady breath, the world slowing down as you pull back. and then you swing—watching as the ball soars effortlessly through the air, its trajectory perfect, landing dead center in one of the smaller, harder-to-hit targets.

you smile to yourself, turning to billie, who’s staring at you with wide eyes and a mock pout. “well, i guess i did warn you,” you say, voice light but triumphant.

billie crosses her arms over her chest, her grin impossible to suppress. “alright, alright. you’re good. but i’m still gonna beat you next round.”

billie lets out a low whistle, her gaze lingering on you with a mischievous smile. “well damn. look at you.”

you grin, turning toward her, an eyebrow arched in playful challenge. “what, impressed?”

she gestures lazily toward the club in your hand, her lips curling into a half-smirk. “nah, just realizing i have no shot at winning.”

“it’s all love for the game, baby. all love.” you tease, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek before handing her back the golf club, your fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

the night stretches on, the air growing cooler but the energy between you two never faltering. playful bets are made, stolen kisses shared, and competitive spirits run high, but it’s never about the score—it’s the moments in between, the laughter, the teasing, the way your fingers always seem to find each other in the quietest moments.

at some point, billie decides she’s had enough of golf and just wants to watch you play. she leans against the railing, her chin resting in her hands, her eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing worth looking at. her smile is soft but mischievous, and every time you line up a shot, she can’t resist making sly comments.

“bet you can’t hit that red target.”

you take a breath, steady your stance, and with a smooth swing, you nail it. the ball rips through the air, landing right in the center of the red target.

billie’s eyes widen, a laugh escaping her lips. “i mean, okay, but can you do it again?”

you don’t even hesitate, stepping up and lining up your shot once more. this time, you hit it even more effortlessly, the ball flying through the air with a perfect arc, landing in the same spot.

billie’s mouth drops open in awe, a laugh escaping her. “oh,” she says, blinking rapidly as if she’s trying to process what just happened. “so you’ve clearly done this before.”

you glance at her, a smirk tugging at your lips as you shrug casually. “i told you i was gonna win. all them summers working at the country clubs are finally paying off.”

her gaze softens as she looks at you, something between admiration and amusement twinkling in her eyes. “you’re a showoff, you know that?”

“maybe,” you reply with a wink. “but you love it.”

when the game winds down and the competitive fire starts to fade, the two of you pack up the equipment and make your way back to the car. hand in hand, you walk in comfortable silence, the sounds of the night around you soft and distant. the car sits idly in the driveway, the engine’s hum now silenced, but neither of you makes a move to get out just yet.

the warmth of the evening clings to you both—the laughter, the touches, the shared moments. you lean into one another, heads resting against the soft leather of the car seats, letting the night wash over you. the radio hums low in the background, filling the quiet space between breaths, the soft melody a perfect contrast to the silence surrounding you.

billie traces lazy circles on your knee, her fingers moving with an absent rhythm as she speaks in a softer tone, her voice barely louder than the hum of the radio.

“i just can’t believe…” she begins, her voice trailing off as she drops her head against your shoulder, pressing a soft smooch against the exposed skin of your neck. you feel the warmth of her breath, the weight of her presence, before she continues, her voice playful but with an edge of disbelief. “i got hustled on valentine’s day.”

you chuckle softly, a grin tugging at your lips. “i told you that i would beat you, did i not?”

“you did, you did.” her body shakes with laughter, the sound rich and deep, filling the car with warmth. the vibrations of her amusement carry through her body, against yours, and you close your eyes for a moment, letting the sensation wash over you. she tilts her head slightly, looking up at you with that familiar glint in her eyes. “did you have fun?” she asks, her voice soft, almost tender, as if she already knows the answer.

you glance at her, caught in the way the streetlights reflect in her eyes, the way the soft curve of her lips pulls at your heart. something about this moment, about her, feels like it’s suspended in time.

“yeah,” you murmur, leaning into her, feeling her warmth seep into your skin. “i really did. thank you.”

you shift slightly, turning towards her. your hands find her face, cupping it gently, your thumb brushing over the soft skin of her cheek. you tilt her chin upward with your fingers, and she meets your gaze, her lashes fluttering slightly as if she’s still processing the moment. you don’t rush it. you take your time, breathing her in, feeling the weight of her in your arms. you brush your nose against hers, the tip of your lips grazing her skin, before closing the space between you.

when your lips meet hers, the kiss is slow, tender—a stark contrast to the fiery ones you shared earlier in the night. it lingers, soft and sweet, and when you pull back, your hand still rests gently on her jaw, your breath mingling with hers. your eyes trace over her face, soaking in the small details—the way the moonlight dances across her freckled skin, the cool acrylic of your nails making contact with her soft skin beneath her eyes. her blue eyes meet yours through thick lashes, steady and knowing.

you push a stray lock of hair behind her ear, admiring the vibrant red gradient in her hair. the soft, colorful streaks stand out against the dim light, adding to the allure of the moment. “my pretty lady,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath, your words falling into the quiet void of the night.

billie’s lips curl into a small, knowing smile, her eyes soft and full of affection. her hand drifts to the side of your neck, cupping it gently. she pulls you closer, bringing your lips back to hers in a kiss that’s even more lingering, more desperate this time. her fingers tighten slightly around your neck as she murmurs, “c’mere.”

her voice is soft, but the way she tugs you forward, the way her fingers press against your skin—there’s no hesitation in her touch. no second-guessing.

you shift your body, moving onto your knees and climbing over the center console, settling yourself into her lap like you’ve done it a hundred times before. the familiarity of her body beneath yours feels like home. billie tilts her head back, her eyes heavy with desire, and she looks up at you, her hands already smoothing over your hips, guiding you closer.

you lean down again, kissing her once more. this time, it’s deeper, slower. no rush. just the two of you, lost in the quiet space of the night, in the warmth of each other. her fingers trace over your body as the kiss deepens, and everything else—the world outside, the night, the distractions—fades away, leaving only the feeling of her lips, the softness of her touch, and the rhythm of your hearts beating together.

billie’s fingers slip under the hem of your dress, tracing slow, teasing patterns along your hips, the light touch sending electric shivers up your spine. her lips move against yours with a quiet urgency, each kiss deepening, pulling you closer into her orbit. the taste of her—of warmth, of something sweet and just a little dangerous—lingers on your tongue. she sighs softly as your hand slides into her hair, your nails grazing her scalp just enough to make her shiver beneath your touch.

the moment stretches, pulling you both deeper into it, a world of soft breaths and whispered sighs until you finally break apart, just enough to catch your breath. the air between you feels thick, charged with something both tender and intoxicating.

and then you notice it.

a faint tint of your lip gloss smudged against billie’s mouth, glistening faintly under the dim light, a soft shimmer against the dark of the night. you blink, your lips curling into a small, knowing smile. then, you let out a quiet laugh, the sound soft but playful.

she frowns slightly, brows knitting together in mock confusion. “what?”

you swipe a thumb over the corner of her lips, smirking as you catch the gloss. “you got a little something there.”

billie blinks, feigning confusion, her eyes wide as if she’s innocent in all of this. “huh. weird.”

you tilt your head, the corner of your mouth twitching into a grin. “oh my god, were you kissing a girl?”

billie gasps, her eyes widening in mock horror, hands rising to her face as if she’s genuinely scandalized. “what? no, ew. i would never. didn’t even know you could kiss a girl.”

you narrow your eyes playfully, dabbing at the smudge again with your thumb, a sly grin creeping onto your lips. “mhm. sure. then where’d this lip gloss come from?”

her lips twitch, fighting the urge to smirk. she tilts her head slightly, the glint of mischief in her eyes as she leans closer. “i don’t know, maybe i just like the taste.”

you snort, the sound escaping before you can stop it. “i knew you liked wearing my lip gloss. every time i put a new coat on, you’re there to take it off.”

billie hums in amusement, letting her hands slide lower over your thighs, her touch warm and possessive as she pulls you closer. “i only like it when it tastes like you.”

her fingers tighten slightly around your hips, pulling you just a little closer as her breath warms the space between you. she murmurs, her voice low and teasing, “what flavor is this, anyways, hm?”

you barely get the word—cherry—out before she’s leaning back in, her lips pressing to yours in a kiss that’s slow, deep, and all-encompassing. she tastes the answer for herself, her mouth devouring yours with an intensity that makes your pulse race.

billie’s lips are warm and insistent against yours, a steady rhythm pulsing between you. her hands are firm on your hips, guiding you closer as she presses you down against her lap. it’s like she can’t get enough, pulling you closer still, urging your bodies to align. the teasing, playful pace from earlier has shifted into something heavier now, something more desperate, more urgent. a charge fills the air, and you know there’s no turning back from this.

her hands move with purpose, effortlessly sliding your jacket off and tossing it into the passenger seat. she crawls back up, fingers slipping under the hem of your dress, tracing the sensitive curve of your spine as she leans in, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses down the line of your jaw. your breath hitches, and you tip your head to the side, exposing more of your neck as she continues her slow descent, her lips brushing over the sensitive skin there.

billie hums softly against you, the sound vibrating against your skin, before her tongue flicks out, teasing before she sucks gently at the spot. her teeth graze your skin lightly, just enough to send a jolt of heat through you. the sting is subtle but enough to make you shudder, and she feels it, her grin widening as she pulls back slightly, knowing she’s marked you.

you hesitate for only a moment, fingers fumbling at the buttons of her black shirt, your freshly done acrylics not quite cooperating. you huff, frustration creeping in as you try again, but each button seems to taunt you, stubborn and unyielding.

billie notices the shift, the slight furrow of your brows, the barely-there frustration in your movements. she chuckles softly, her lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your throat as she murmurs, “i’ll let you rip off my shirt,” her voice low, almost playful. “if you let me rip off your stockings.”

you immediately shake your head, a small, defiant smirk tugging at your lips. “hell no.”

her teeth graze your collarbone, a teasing bite that sends a shiver down your spine. “why not?” she asks, her voice dripping with mischief.

“because i like these stockings,” you argue, fingers still fumbling at her shirt. “you’ll ruin them.”

she raises an eyebrow, her smirk only deepening. “you’re literally about to ruin my shirt.”

her hands slide lower, smoothing over the sensitive skin of your thighs, and your resolve weakens. you bite your lip, still determined to win this little battle, but the buttons refuse to cooperate. billie watches you for a moment longer, her breath warm against your skin, before she lets out a soft laugh.

“just rip it, baby,” she whispers, her voice slipping into something softer, something more inviting. it’s a command wrapped in honeyed sweetness.

you glance at her, lips parted, hesitating for just a heartbeat before you finally give in. gripping the fabric of her shirt in your fists, you yank, feeling the fabric tear free with a satisfying rip. the buttons scatter across the floor of the car, a soft clatter lost beneath the hum of the engine. her shirt falls open, revealing the lacy red bra beneath, the smoothness of her skin glowing under the dim light.

billie groans, a low sound that sends another wave of heat rushing through you. her smirk widens as she takes in the moment, teasing, “see? that wasn’t so hard.”

you exhale, half amused, half breathless. “you’re ridiculous.”

she hums, hands sliding back up your thighs, fingertips brushing the tops of your stockings with a deliberate slowness. “mmm. and you still have these on,” she says, her voice soft with amusement.

you barely have time to react before her fingers hook under the thin material of your stockings, pulling with a sudden, almost greedy force. they rip apart with a sharp sound, fabric tearing easily, and you’re left breathless at the sound of it echoing between you.

“billie—” you gasp, your words cutting off as she grins at you, the heat in her eyes unmistakable.

she leans in, kissing you again, her hands gripping your bare thighs now, her touch firm and possessive as she pulls you closer, pressing you flush against her. she’s got you exactly where she wants you, and in that moment, you realize she always has.

the car feels smaller with every passing second, the space between you two shrinking with each touch. billie’s hands are everywhere—on your hips, your thighs, your back—and it only takes a slight shift for her to pull you closer. her lips find your neck with a hunger that leaves you breathless, pressing kisses along your pulse, each one lingering, tasting, claiming you. you can feel the heat of her body radiating against yours, the way her chest rises and falls with each steady breath, the rhythm syncing with the soft hum of the car, vibrating the air between you two.

billie’s lips tease your skin in that slow, deliberate way she knows drives you crazy. she finds a tender spot along your collarbone, sucking gently, and you can’t help but gasp. your hands slide into her hair, fingers gripping the strands as you pull her closer, your body melting into her touch, giving in to the way she makes you feel.

you want to tear away every last bit of space between you, want to feel every inch of her pressed against you, but there’s something intoxicating about how she keeps you on the edge, never letting you get too comfortable, too settled.

billie’s fingers trail over your bare thighs, skimming dangerously close to the places you crave her touch, but always pulling away before you can get the release you want. your hips shift, grinding ever so slightly against hers, the movement subtle but enough to make her gasp, her lips parting against your mouth as she leans into you.

“billie,” you murmur, voice strained, thick with desire.

she smiles against your skin, that familiar mischievous grin tugging at her lips, before pressing another soft kiss to your pulse. “i know. i know,” she breathes, her voice low, full of that dangerous teasing she knows you can’t resist.

your hands run over the half-ruined buttons of her shirt, the black fabric hanging off her shoulders, and your fingers graze the warmth of her skin underneath. billie shivers under your touch, her breath hitching as your nails lightly scrape down her chest, sending a shiver of her own through you.

restlessly, you shift in her lap, pressing your hips against hers again. the friction makes your breath catch, your body aching for more, and billie groans, her hands sliding down to your back, trying to pull you even closer, her grip tightening around you.

“baby,” you breathe, nails dragging lightly across her chest. “we’re still in the car…”

she laughs softly, the sound rich and low as her lips brush over yours, pulling you closer still. “i know,” she murmurs, her voice thick with desire. “but we’re already here, and you’ve been driving me wild all night. i want you, so bad, babe.”

a beat passes, the tension building between you two. you glance at her, debating whether you really wanted to do this outside, but the temptation is too strong, and you can’t resist any longer.

“fuck it,” you say with a smirk, pulling away slightly. “get in the back.”

you climb off her and crawl into the back seat, billie following you, her movements fluid, eager. she climbs on top of you as soon as she’s in, her lips crashing against yours with a renewed hunger, a fire that’s impossible to put out now. the world outside doesn’t matter anymore—only this, only her, and only the eternal burning need that’s been building between you two since the moment you met.

“you look so pretty laid out for me,” billie murmurs, her voice thick with desire as she leans back in to catch your lips in a searing kiss.

the movements are slow at first, deliberate, like neither of you want to rush, to break the fragile moment. but the tension is undeniable, building with every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath shared between you two.

she’s intoxicating, her lips leaving fiery trails along your neck, her hands roaming over every inch of skin they can reach. each caress feels like it burns, leaving you desperate for more. and you… you’re lost in it, every brush of her fingertips sending jolts of electricity through your veins, something wild and uncontainable awakening inside you.

the heat of the car presses in on you, the soft hum of the radio playing a low, almost forgotten tune, the scent of billie’s perfume mingling with the natural, heady mix of your bodies—it all swirls together into a dizzying, intoxicating fog, until all you can focus on is the way her body fits so perfectly against yours, the way she makes you feel like you’re being consumed, like you’re everything to her in this moment.

her fingers trail up your sides, grazing the sensitive skin of your breasts, and you shiver under her touch, your body aching to get closer, to feel all of her pressed up against you. the heat in your chest swells, that ache becoming almost unbearable.

you can’t take it anymore. your hands find the fabric of her shirt, fingers tugging at it, desperate to get it off, to feel her skin against yours. but billie’s already one step ahead, her hands slipping beneath the fabric of your dress, her fingers finding their way to the waistband of your underwear. the feeling of her pressing against your skin has you gasping, your hips bucking instinctively, the intensity of the moment overwhelming you.

“billie,” you breathe, eyes locked on hers, your voice trembling with need.

she looks down at you, eyes dark with hunger, her lips curling into a grin. “gonna make you feel so good, mama,” she promises, her voice rough and low, sending shivers down your spine.

you nod without hesitation, your breath catching in your throat as your heart races in time with the pulse between you.

with that, billie’s hands slide up to your shoulders, pushing the straps of your dress down, revealing the soft skin of your breasts beneath. she kisses her way down your neck again, her lips moving with purpose, each kiss leaving a trail of heat in its wake. you gasp, unable to focus on anything but the way her mouth worships your skin, the way she makes you feel like you’re the center of her universe.

you can barely keep up, barely focus as her hands move expertly, slipping the dress further down your body, inch by inch, until it pools at your waist. billie pauses for a beat, her hands resting on your bare thighs, and she looks up at you with a grin that sets your pulse racing, her eyes dark with anticipation.

“god, you’re perfect,” she breathes, her voice raw, full of desire as she continues to trace soft patterns on your skin.

you bite your lip, a mix of excitement and need building inside you, ready for whatever she’s about to do next.

before you can respond, billie’s lips are back on yours, kissing you with a hunger that feels almost desperate, as if she can’t get enough of you. her hands roam over your body, caressing every inch of exposed skin, making you shiver with the intensity of her touch, the contrast between the warmth of her skin and the coolness of the car’s air intensifying the need coursing through you.

billie’s fingers trail slow, lazy circles over your thighs, her touch featherlight, teasing, like she’s savoring every second. the dress is bunched around your waist now, exposing more of you to the cool air, but the warmth of her hands keeps you grounded, keeps you tethered to the moment. you shiver beneath her touch, anticipation humming in every inch of your skin, every nerve ending on fire, alive with the promise of what’s to come.

your hands move quickly, eager, tugging at the last of her clothes. you want to feel all of her, need her as much as she needs you. as soon as her shirt is off, her skin exposed to you, she slides her hands to the band of your underwear, her fingers tracing the wine-colored elastic before she moves lower, teasing your pussy through the fabric, sending waves of heat rushing through you.

her touch is maddening, and it elicits a gasp from you, your hips rising instinctively as you try to rub against her fingers, desperate for more.

“billie, please,” you breathe, voice strained with need, the word a plea, a quiet demand for more, for her to finally give you what you’ve been aching for.

she leans back slightly, her eyes flickering over you with a predatory gleam, lips curling into that smug, knowing smirk she wears whenever she knows she has you exactly where she wants you. her hands slide lower, fingers tracing the outline of your panties, grazing over the fabric that clings to your skin, but she doesn’t push any further—just lets her knuckles skim over you, her touch barely there, a slow, teasing build that has you aching with need.

you whine softly, shifting against her lap, trying to press closer, but billie tightens her grip just enough to hold you in place. “patience, baby,” she murmurs, voice low and dripping with amusement, each word a promise that makes your chest tighten. “i’m taking my time with you.”

her lips find your inner thigh, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the sensitive skin. the warmth of her mouth sends a shiver through you, a tremor that runs deep, and you exhale shakily, fingers gripping her shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of her shirt. billie hums at your reaction, pleased, and kisses you again—this time, her lips linger, her tongue flicking out ever so slightly against your skin.

you let out a soft gasp, tilting your head back against the cool leather seat, trying to hold onto some semblance of control. “baby…” you breathe, the word thick with the need she’s ignited in you.

“hm?” she muses, feigning innocence, before pressing another kiss a little higher, her thumb brushing teasingly over your panties. the wet patch grows beneath her touch, your breath hitching with the frustration of wanting her to go further, her fingers never quite where you need them. her teasing is maddening, and it’s almost too much, yet somehow, it makes you crave her more.

she continues like this, slow and deliberate, working her way up your skin with open-mouthed kisses, sucking gently at certain spots, her teeth grazing over the tender flesh just enough to make your breath catch. each movement is calculated, like she’s drawing you into a pattern of her design. when she pulls back to admire her work, a dark mark blooms against your warm skin, and you realize she’s left her mark on you—not just physically, but mentally, too.

a pleased hum vibrates against your thigh as she starts again, her lips mapping out a pattern you can’t quite understand yet. your body twitches under her touch, a restless energy coursing through you, your legs instinctively trying to press together, but she huffs a laugh and nudges them apart again with ease, her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as she does.

“don’t be shy now,” she teases, her breath hot against your skin, fingers inching closer to where you need her most. “you were just begging for my fingers a second ago.”

you shoot her a glare, but it melts into a shuddering sigh when she presses another firm kiss against the inside of your thigh, sucking just enough to make the sensation linger, leaving a burning heat in its wake.

she’s careful with it—meticulous, almost—as if she’s an artist, and you’re her canvas. every kiss, every mark she leaves, is deliberate, calculated. you barely notice at first, lost in the sensation of her lips on your skin, each touch pulling you deeper into a haze of want, but then she pulls back slightly, running her fingers over the fresh bruises she’s left with a satisfied smirk, her eyes dark with desire.

“there,” she murmurs, her voice low and breathy, eyes flicking up to meet yours, a quiet challenge in her gaze. “a little love note, just for you.”

your chest still rises and falls in uneven breaths, and your stomach flips at the sight—small, darkened spots forming an unmistakable shape. a heart. billie had kissed a heart into your thigh, the skin bruised with passion, marked by her deliberate touch. you can almost feel the heat of her lips lingering there, the soft press of her mouth still tangible against your skin.

your heart stutters in your chest as you look at her, something warm and fond flickering beneath the haze of desire that clouds your mind. it’s impossible to ignore the way she makes you feel—alive, adored, cherished. she grins up at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief, her thumb brushing lazily over the top of your underwear, still teasing but softer now, gentler, almost playful in the way she traces patterns over you.

“you like it?” she asks, her voice dripping with a knowingness that only adds to the fire in your veins.

you bite your lip, your hand coming up to run through her soft hair, the strands slipping through your fingers like silk. “yeah,” you murmur, your voice hoarse with the weight of your feelings. “you’re ridiculous.”

billie laughs, the sound light and melodic, but there’s a tenderness to it, an affection that tugs at something deep inside you. she presses a final kiss to the center of the heart she’s left on your thigh, her lips soft but lingering, marking you with something that feels like ownership, like love. “only for you, baby,” she says, her words a promise, a whisper just for you.

she pulls herself back up, lips brushing against yours, and you kiss her slow, deep—tasting her like you need her to breathe. your hands tangle in the fabric of her shirt, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens, as you lose yourself in the warmth of her body against yours. the heat of her touch, the press of her chest against yours, is enough to make your head spin, but it’s the lingering sting of her love bites against your skin that keeps you grounded, reminding you of the way she worships you—takes her time with you—tenderly, patiently.

her fingers trace the edge of your underwear, teasing at the waistband before slipping underneath, slowly peeling the fabric down your thighs. the pace is maddeningly slow, deliberate, as if she’s savoring every second of it. you inhale sharply as the cool air grazes your skin, the shift of temperature making every nerve stand on edge.

a soft smile curls on billie’s lips as her gaze flickers up at you, dark and heavy with desire, before her middle finger traces the line of your slit, gathering the slickness of your arousal.

“mm, you’re so wet, baby,” she murmurs, her voice thick, resting her head against your thigh as she watches you squirm beneath her touch, delighting in your reaction.

you moan softly, hips instinctively lifting, desperate for more. “billie, please… just… fuck,” you whine, your body aching with need. your hand slides down to grasp hers, trying to guide it, but she gently moves your hand away, a teasing glint in her eyes as she watches your frustration grow.

“stop it, just tell me what you want from me mama.” she continues her lazy strokes on your slit as she speaks, her knuckles occasionally brushing against your clit.

“i want your mouth, billie come on, please..”

“see that’s all you had to do. just had to be nice and patient.” she plants another kiss to your inner thigh before removing her fingers from your core. wrapping her slick covered fingers around your thighs, the coldness of her rings contrasting against the warmth of your skin, while moving her face down to where you craved for her the most.

she plants a kiss on your mound right above your clit before moving lower, each smooch slower than the last. her lips move against your flesh in open mouthed kisses, sending fluttering butterflies all throughout your body, before stoping at your dripping hole. darting her tongue out, she licks from there all the way back up to your clit, moaning at the sheer taste of you.

you gasp as her lips press against your cunt, a shiver running through your body. your hands instinctively find their way to her hair, fingers curling around soft strands as she kisses you with slow, deliberate movements. her touch is tender yet full of intent, each kiss a promise of more, but also savoring the moment.

her fingers gently trace the curves of your thighs, the warmth of her hands sending waves of anticipation through you. she takes her time, exploring you with a patience that only intensifies the longing building inside you. every kiss, every gentle press of her lips, feels like it’s drawing you closer to something almost ethereal, the world around you fading as you lose yourself in the sensation.

you feel the weight of her affection in every movement, in every deliberate, lingering touch. the softness of her lips contrasts with the fierceness of the emotions she evokes within you. you cover your face, overwhelmed by the way she’s making you feel—utterly cherished, completely in tune with each other. her presence surrounding you.

“uht-uht,” she murmurs, pulling back slightly, her breath hot against you. she places your arm gently back at your side, her eyes locking with yours. “i need to see you, my love.”

you nod, unable to speak, lost in the intensity of the moment. billie leans forward, her lips leaving soft, lingering kisses against your stomach, each one sending a shiver through you. her gaze is steady, her eyes dark with intent, as she watches you closely.

with a delicate touch, she traces the line of your slit, her fingers grazing over your clit, sending waves of warmth and desire in their wake. her movements are slow, almost reverent, while she slides her tongue in your soaked cunt, as if she’s savoring every inch of you. each kiss, each touch, each caress, makes you feel as though time has stopped, and it’s just the two of you, locked in this tender, intimate connection.

you can’t help but moan softly as she continues, your body responding to the feeling of her tongue filling up your spongy walls, every nerve awake and alive. your breath comes in shallow gasps, and your legs clench shut around her head as you arch into her touch instinctively. billie moves her fingers from around your thigh and over to your stomach, pressing down against the pressure that’s built up in your tummy and that’s enough to make you snap. her lips curling up into a soft smile as she watches you unravel beneath her, her hands gently massaging your thighs, grounding you.

when she pulls away, you lean up slightly, watching her, your eyes searching for her every movement. you can feel the lingering warmth of her touch, and the space between you seems to throb with a quiet intensity, each second stretching longer, pulling you deeper into the moment.

leaning on your elbows, you study billie, captivated by the way she savors every drop of you, her movements slow and deliberate. she’s taking her time, and you can’t help but marvel at the tenderness with which she handles you, as if she’s savoring a rare treasure. her fingers graze your thighs, soothing you in the aftermath, the cool air brushing over your skin contrasting with the warmth of her touch.

“you’ve got a little something on your face,” you murmur teasingly, your voice soft and still shaky from the intensity that’s passed between you. your chest rises and falls in rhythm, trying to catch its breath, the air thick with the memory of her.

billie’s eyes twinkle with a playful glint, her lips curling into a smile that promises more. “oh, do i?” she replies, voice smooth, teasing. the faint traces of you on her skin glimmer softly beneath the streetlights, each speck a reminder of the connection that’s left its mark on both of you. she leans in, her breath warm against your lips, and plants a kiss that’s gentle at first, but deepens as her tongue dances with yours, lingering just long enough for you to feel the passion she still holds for you, every movement deliberate and drawn out.

breaking away with a soft sigh, you reach down, fingers brushing the cool floor as you retrieve her torn black shirt. the fabric still holds the heat of the night, the memory of everything you just shared, and with a playful smile, you bring it to her face, wiping away the traces of your cum off her chin. billie’s laughter bubbles up, soft and content, mingling with the quiet hum of the night air. she nestles into your chest, her head resting against you as her fingers lazily trace patterns along your hip. each touch is soothing, almost reverent, as though she wants to savor every moment, every last bit of you.

“you always get me so messy,” she murmurs with a teasing smile, her lips brushing your skin as she speaks. you can feel the warmth of her breath, the sweet weight of her words hanging between you two. her fingers continue their gentle path, her touch warm against your bare skin.

“well, you’re not exactly innocent in all this, billie,” you reply with a smile, still catching your breath. the air between you is thick with affection, soft and gentle, the aftermath of everything you’ve shared unfolding around you in the stillness. the quiet of the night feels like a cocoon, wrapping you both in a peaceful, contented embrace.

billie grins at you, her gaze catching the dim light of the room. “true,” she says, her voice playful yet soft. “but now i have to clean it up.”

you laugh, the sound light and carefree, the weight of the moment easing into something warm and familiar. the two of you begin to gather your clothes, the movement slow and deliberate, as if the night didn’t have to end. the warmth between you both lingers even as you pull your jackets on, the fabric settling over your shoulders like a soft blanket.

the quiet hum of the world outside seems too peaceful, too perfect, as you both step out of the car, your hands intertwining as you walk toward the front door of your home.

the house is dark and quiet when you enter, the warmth inside wrapping around you both as you kick off your shoes, your jackets still draped over your arms. the night feels like it’s been stretched out in the best way, the both of you in sync as you move through the space.

you both pause in the hallway, your eyes meeting for a brief moment that holds more than just a glance. a slow, lingering kiss follows—gentle, soft, yet carrying the weight of everything you’ve shared tonight.

“happy valentine’s day,” billie whispers against your lips, her voice tender as she pulls away just enough to look at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

you smile back, warmth flooding your chest, knowing that this night, this moment, was exactly what you both needed. “yeah. happy valentine’s day indeed. it’s been nothing short of perfect,” you whisper, your arms wrapping around her as you hold her close.

and with that, the night continues on, the soft hum of the house surrounding you both as you settle into the quiet comfort of each other’s company. the world may continue outside, but in this space, with billie in your arms, you know that no moment could be more perfect than this one.

astrc’s tag list: @zendayasredbottoms @bilsdillldough @billiesrighthand @watercolorskyy @bilssturns @47lake @vijaxx @natbelovasblog @hopingforgoodblogs @thefeverburningalive @st0nerlesb0 @blohshlover11 ; hit my asks saying “add to taglist” if you want to be on my regular taglist for all billie content

[notlongtolove]

joy sneaks in

you're chosen to host the BAU's annual christmas party at your apartment, where spencer's books line your shelves and his sweaters are tangled in your laundry. the days leading up to the party are a blur of stuffing his things into every drawer and cupboard you can find. it’s your mess. your life together. and it’s everything.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: domestic! and also a christmas party! less on the party and more on how spencer and bau!reader suck at lying though; which make for some humorous moments.

word count: 3.8k

note: i wrote this awhile back and felt like posting it too. honestly a tad bit dramatised for comedy's sake but whatever i love domesticity and nervous!spencer. and it was fun writing them flounder about.

a line: For the first time, the thought of being home doesn’t feel like a concession; it feels like choosing happiness.

joy does not arrive with a fanfare on a red carpet strewn with the flowers of a perfect life joy sneaks in as you pour a cup of coffee - donna ashworth

It starts innocuously enough—a draw from Hotch's coffee mug, a simple slip of paper pulled out in front of the team, the scrawl of your name on it in black pen, and the pause before your name is announced in his unmistakably measured tone. “Looks like you’re hosting the Christmas party this year.”

Derek grins. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” he drawls, shooting you a look that’s practically dripping with amusement.

You feel all the eyes on you, and the weight of it sinks into your chest. Your first instinct is to swallow it down, play it cool, try not to look at Spencer. Hosting a party means opening up your space— the space that’s been shared with Spencer for the last six months. Your apartment, which has slowly morphed into a mix of the two of you, a messy blend of both your lives—where his books spill off your shelves and his sweaters are tangled in your laundry, where his favourite mug has a place in your cupboard.

Derek leans back in his chair, arms crossed, smirking. “Better start tidying up, huh?”  You laugh it off, aiming for nonchalance but his teasing lands squarely in your chest. Your heart does that familiar flip when your gaze slips, unbidden, to Spencer who to your dismay, is standing there with his eyes ever so slightly widened like a deer caught in the headlights. You can feel the team’s teasing smiles from every corner of the room, their unspoken questions hanging in the air. But beneath their teasing, there’s an edge. Suspicion. They’ve been suspecting for weeks, piecing together the small clues you’ve been desperately trying to keep under wraps. 

And why wouldn’t they? The truth is, you’ve been dodging their invites lately, throwing out flimsy excuses about “errands” or “early mornings” that didn’t quite stick. At first, it was the occasional “I’ve got other plans”, but it became more frequent, more noticeable until even Derek had started to raise an eyebrow. He’d started poking at the seams of your alibis weeks ago, slouching against your desk with an eyebrow arched in pure disbelief. “C’mon, pretty girl,” he’d said. “What gives? You’ve gone full hermit mode on us.” You’d brushed it off, offering up a half-hearted excuse about how you’ll definitely join them next week, but Derek didn’t look convinced. And neither did the rest of the team. They weren’t blind, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that there was something—or rather someone you weren’t telling them about. 

Then there was Garcia, sidling up to you with that twinkle in her eye that only ever meant trouble. “Spill,” she demanded, hands on her hips. “Who is he? And when do I get to give him the Penelope Garcia Official Seal of Approval™?” You had laughed, and tried to deflect with a vague answer about how busy things had been. “Whoever he is, he better be worth it, because you”—she jabs a finger at you with exaggerated flair—“never skip a night out. Ever. We’re talking borderline-unbreakable attendance!” 

You bite back a smile, your mind flickering to those wild nights—sweaty dance floors, drinks flowing, laughter that echoed until dawn. It’s still a little surreal to think you’ve turned into one of those girls—the kind who would happily trade a night out with friends for a quiet evening in with their boyfriend. That was never your style. It was always a point of contention with past boyfriends. They always wanted more of your time, wanted more of your presence, but the idea of slowing down for someone else always felt like a compromise.

But somehow, with Spencer, it doesn’t quite feel like you're giving up anything at all. The simple, quiet moments with him have a gravity you never expected. Cooking dinner together while music hums softly in the background, curling up on the couch with a movie you’ve both seen a dozen times, or just sitting in comfortable silence as he reads and you scroll through your phone. The domesticity, the softness, the ease of it all—it feels complete. With Spencer, those quiet evenings aren’t boring. They’re grounding. For the first time, the thought of being home doesn’t feel like a concession; it feels like choosing happiness.

Honestly, you don’t really know how the team hasn’t put two and two together yet. Maybe it’s because you and Spencer had always been close—it was easy for them to chalk it up to that. Since you’d joined a year ago, it just felt natural to click with him, the two of you always slipping into the same rhythm. You were closest in age, after all, and the team had seen you trading inside jokes over takeout on stakeouts, hunched over books in the quiet moments after cases. In their eyes, it was harmless, a friendship born of long hours and shared exhaustion—Not that that came without teasing. 

The question was always there, floating just beneath the surface of their casual remarks. Words unspoken, a line uncrossed. That is, until a tense night in Texas where you had gotten far too close to an unsub. The team had gotten to you in time of course, they always do. But that didn't help shake off the lingering memories of the encounter as you stared out the window of the jet. It was so simple—a quiet look, his hand slipping into yours, his thumb gently tracing over your trembling fingers as you looked out the window trying to dispel the the thoughts of whatever had happened just hours ago—and suddenly, it was like every wall you’d both put up had just vanished. His touch held a weight that words couldn’t carry, and in that touch, something between you shifted, settling into a place neither of you had been willing to acknowledge before. Looking back, maybe you’d both felt it coming long before, but neither of you had dared to say it out loud. 

You and Spencer had made the decision together—keep things quiet a little while longer. It wasn’t the right time. Not yet. You wanted to savour the privacy of your stolen moments: his hand brushing yours during late-night coffee runs, your head resting on his shoulder as you both tried to survive the tail-end of a grueling case. It was fragile, precious. You could already hear the laughter, the surprise, the “We knew it!” and the endless questions about how long it had been going on, how you kept it from them, how you didn’t tell them sooner. And you could already feel the weight of that—how you’d both be under a microscope in a way you just weren’t ready for. You liked the privacy, the simple, quiet moments that only the two of you shared. It was yours, together, something no one else needed to know about just yet.

The days leading up to the party are a blur of frantic cleaning, shoving Spencer’s belongings into anywhere they can fit. “Emily’s a hawk with this stuff,” Spencer mutters, half-buried in a pile of mismatched socks and paperbacks. It had started with a few quick attempts at tidying up, but soon it turned into a frenzy of stuffing things—his things—into every drawer and cupboard you can find trying to make your place look like you’re just you. 

You hold up a pair of slippers with a dubious look. “Do these scream, ‘man secretly living here’?” You hesitate, then stuff them into your wardrobe anyway. “Hotch will see the shoes. He’s thorough.” At one point, Spencer just starts throwing random clothes into a duffel bag with a kind of desperate determination, muttering something about how “Derek knows way too much about my wardrobe”. Despite the chaos, there’s laughter—giddy, shared moments, like when Spencer hisses in horror at your attempt to cram his gift—an English copy of War and Peace—under the coffee table. “That’s sacrilege,” he whispers furiously, clutching the book to his chest as if shielding it from harm. You have to bite back a grin.

There’s a particular moment though, when you’re crouched beside the couch again, frantically trying to shove a few stray novels underneath the coffee table hoping they’ll blend in with the meticulously arranged stack of Architectural Digest magazines you’d placed there purely for ‘decorative purposes’. Spencer suddenly peeks out from the bedroom, his eyes wide with alarm, his expression a mix of disbelief and panic. “Hey, can you, uh, maybe not put those under the coffee table?” he whispers urgently. 

You pause, halfway through your task, and blink up at him. “Why?”

“It’s just—” He looks around frantically as though an ominous presence has settled around you. “They will know. They’ll know,” he repeats, shaking his head, the weight of some unspeakable doom settling over him. It’s all you can do not to burst out laughing. You try to keep the situation light, but then you see the look in Spencer’s eyes. This is serious business. 

And you nearly lose it, stifling a laugh so hard it hurts. The sheer absurdity of the situation.  Yet, beneath the humour, there’s something grounding about it—in the middle of the chaos, the intimacy of it all hits you harder than you expected. This isn’t just a mess; it’s your mess. Your life together. And it’s everything.

By the time the day comes and the team arrives, the apartment looks borderline staged. You feel a little more prepared—almost confident even. You breathe a little easier, relieved that all the obvious signs have been concealed. You act casual, ushering them in with drinks and snacks, but the sharp-eyed profilers in the room are already picking up on things you’ve missed. Rossi’s gaze flickers to the second set of keys on the hook. JJ raises an eyebrow at the coffee machine by your counter. You don't drink coffee. And Derek? He’s grinning like the cat that caught the canary, leaning against the wall and watching it all unfold.

“Nice place,” he says smoothly, his tone loaded. Rossi’s eyes fall on the meticulously organized bookshelf, your heart stutters. “War and Peace,” he says, picking up the hefty copy with a raised brow. “Yours?” 

You freeze, your stomach sinking, silently cursing yourself for giving in to Spencer’s insistence that it was too precious to be shoved under the dusty coffee table. It had seemed fine at the time, but you should’ve known better. 

“Yes,” you say too quickly. “Mine. I’m really, uh, passionate about Tolstoy.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Since when?

You flounder, trying to remember any of Spencer’s ramblings about the book that you may or may not tune out at times. Your mind races as you remember brief mentions about symbolism and war and societal constraints. “Since, um…well, you know, Tolstoy is…deep. About…symbolism. And…life.”

Spencer, bless him, is standing behind them in your kitchen, making desperate hand signals to help you out. He subtly taps his chest, mouthing “individualism,” then points at his head, clearly trying to convey something intellectual that’s just not coming through. His hands flutter around like he’s illustrating the grandness of Russian literature, and you do your best to follow his cues. You latch onto it like a life raft. “Individualism and thinking about—uh—society!” You nod vigorously, wishing you could disappear into the floor. Emily eyes you, smiling a little too knowingly. Spencer, meanwhile, is practically acting out War and Peace like a mime in the background, pretending to hold a musket, then making exaggerated ‘thinking’ gestures, trying to help you navigate this act. 

“I just love Tolstoy’s exploration of, uh, individual identity within societal constraints…” you manage, brows furrowing as if trying to convince even yourself of the words spilling out. Rossi’s brow lifts, skepticism dancing in his eyes, but he says nothing, clearly amused as he watches you scramble, letting you dig yourself a little deeper. He’s David Rossi for a reason—The man’s silence is practically weaponized, making you ramble on and on, as if you’ll somehow stumble your way into a believable explanation. You’re nervous-rambling now and you can feel yourself grasping at threads, scrambling to remember something—anything—that sounds remotely convincing. You start stumbling over a vaguely remembered plot point and that’s when Spencer starts making his way towards you from the kitchen, grimacing as you butcher the story. He walks toward you almost as if to steady you, a silent plea for you to stop digging yourself a bigger hole than you already have. “Yeah, well… it’s, uh, definitely a classic,” he says, stepping in.

Spencer subtly coughs behind his hand, catching Derek’s attention for just a second—enough to let you scramble for closing line. But the team’s smirks only grow. “Well,” Emily says with a laugh, “if you’re such a big fan of this Tolstoy guy, why don't you tell us your favorite passage hm?” You try not to cast a desperate look Spencer’s way. Spencer opens his mouth like he’s about to cut in, but Derek catches his attention with a look that says, Don’t even think about it, Spence.

Their eyes dart between the two of you, waiting for something. You can feel the tension building. Spencer stands there looking on, probably trying to telepathically send you the correct Tolstoy quote—or any Tolstoy quote at this point, but you’re lost in a sea of flailing words and desperate thoughts.

“Uh, no, actually, I don’t have a favorite passage,” you finally stammer. “It’s just, you know, the themes are really profound.”

Emily crosses her arms and gives you a once-over, clearly reveling in whatever spectacle just unfolded. “Uh-huh.” You roll your eyes, but before you can fire back, Rossi smoothly redirects the group’s attention to the kitchen, likely throwing you a lifeline to salvage what little dignity remains. You and Spencer exchange glances, his lips quirking in the faintest hint of a smile. It’s a private little conspiracy you two have shared for half a year, but now, as the night wears on, it’s starting to feel like the universe has other plans.

It doesn’t help that your team is sharp—they catch everything, a roomful of profilers who thrive on details, and tonight, every small habit, every casual touch seems magnified. Garcia narrows her eyes when she spots Spencer absentmindedly reaching to fix the crooked frame on the shelf. “You know where that goes, huh, Boy Wonder?” she teases, winking, and Spencer mumbles something about “aesthetic consistency,” looking thoroughly flustered.

You try to brush it off, laughing along with her, but then there’s Hotch, eyeing the stack of board games in the corner, the ones you both picked out last month on a whim. “Didn’t know you were into game nights,” he comments. “Oh, yeah. Huge fan of… Scrabble,” you say, your voice a little too high, trying not to look at Spencer, who’s doing everything he can to stifle a laugh. 

You can practically hear the thoughts running through his head, probably remembering the night you’d blown up at him after he beat you four times in a row with a ridiculously pretentious winning word—quixotic, no less. You’d been so mad, you’d tossed your tiles and stormed off like a petulant child. Now, judging from the way he's trying to hide his grin, the twitch at the corner of his lips, it's clear he hasn’t forgotten the fiery aftermath either. You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile. 

Your life with him has become this strange, endearing mix of shared routines and accidental collections. Where he’s meticulous, you’re spontaneous, always flying by the seat of your pants and, at times, leaving him with a resigned sigh when you’ve left your keys in places you never should. It’s a quiet chaos, but it works. And now, as you stumble through the evening, every little piece of your life— your lives are flashing under the team’s increasingly suspicious gaze. 

JJ picks up a scarf lying casually on the floor, half-tucked beneath one of your jackets. She holds it up with a curious look. “Hey, Spence, this yours?” Spencer’s heart skips a beat, and he quickly tries to school his expression, but the wide-eyed panic is hard to hide. He looks at the scarf as if it’s just been resurrected from the depths of his lost belongings. “Oh thanks!” he says, dramatically, “I’ve been looking everywhere for that!” He reaches for the scarf with an eagerness that betrays his attempt at nonchalance, fumbling with it awkwardly. “I thought I’d lost it,” he adds, his words tumbling out in an over-explained rush as his fingers fuss with the fabric.

JJ doesn't buy it. Not for a second. “Funny, I thought you brought it with you today,” she says, a knowing smirk creeping onto her face. “Since, you know, it’s right here by the door.”

Spencer freezes again, scrambling for a response. “Right... yeah, that—that makes sense. Of course.” He forces out a laugh, the sound more nervous than casual, and wraps the scarf around his neck with an exaggerated flourish. “Good to have it back,” he adds weakly, trying and failing to look composed.

JJ just shakes her head, her grin widening. “Sure, Spence. Whatever you say.” She watches him for a moment longer, clearly amused by the whole thing, before finally turning away, letting him stew in his overdramatic act. As soon as she’s out of earshot, Spencer breathes a sigh of relief, but his cheeks are still tinged with pink, and he can’t help but glance nervously over at you hoping you’re doing a better job than him at keeping this increasingly bad act up. 

By the time Garcia corners Spencer in the kitchen, her grin is practically predatory. “You guys are terrible at this, you know.” Spencer looks all too comfortable setting dishes away for someone who has only ever been to your place 'once or twice'. Spencer sighs, defeated, but there’s a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches you across the room. “Yeah,” he says, more to himself than to her. “We are.” Spencer, at least, seems resigned, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he watches you across the room, fumbling as you desperately try (and fail) to explain away a forgotten pair of mismatched socks by the door—somehow "yours" now, despite them clearly being too big.

You can feel your cheeks burning as the night progresses, their eyes catching every little detail—his fingers brushing against yours when he hands you a drink, the way you absentmindedly drape your arm behind him on the couch as the night winds down after one too many said drinks. The team exchanges knowing glances, soft chuckles bubbling up around you as they take in every stray look and subtle movement between the two of you. 

As you say your goodbyes and thank yous, it’s clear you’ve been thoroughly caught. Emily snickers, shaking her head as she slips on her coat. “You two are adorable,” she murmurs, grinning without trying to hide it. You clear your throat feigning innocence, trying to look casual. She turns back with a sly smirk, her voice laced with amusement. “So Spence," she asks, challenging, "You staying the night?”

The room falls silent. They all know. You both know they know. Spencer, ever the professional, tries to brush it off. “I’ll help clean up,” he says nonchalantly, but the team is already rolling their eyes, clearly seeing right through the act. They’ve been in this business long enough to recognize the signs.

You try to come up with something clever but Spencer knows it’s game over. He steps in beside you and there’s that look on his face, that soft, earnest expression he gets when he’s about to confess something—whether it’s a fact about astrophysics or a half-hidden truth he’s been holding close. “Alright, alright” he says, glancing at you for reassurance. “You got us.”

Spencer slips his hand into yours, his fingers warm and steady, grounding you in this moment. A round of knowing laughter echoes through the room, with Derek clapping Spencer on the back, Garcia gasping dramatically, and Rossi chuckling, muttering something along the lines of “about time”.

Spencer squeezes your hand. You squeeze back.

The team leaves you with a final round of cheers and teasing winks, and as the door clicks shut, you turn to Spencer, his smile mirroring your own. You hear the unmistakable whoops and cheers from outside. A laugh bubbles up inside you.

Once the house quiets and the last footsteps fade away, Spencer pulls you into his arms. The soft glow of the christmas lights he'd helped you put up yesterday creates a warm halo around him as he looks down at you, that adoring smile still tugging at his lips. “Guess the secret’s out,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek.

You shake your head, a little amused at how badly you’d tried to cover up something everyone already knew. “We really are terrible at this,” you admit.

“Well,” he replies in a low voice, “it could’ve gone worse.”

You laugh, resting your head against his chest. “Think they bought it, even for a moment?”

“Not a chance sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “But it was fun watching you try.”

You lean into him, the warmth of his touch, his presence grounding you in a way you never expected but now can't imagine living without. You look around the room, taking in the space you’ve shared together. Sure, most of his belongings are still hidden away, tucked somewhat haphazardly in the cupboards or behind closed doors, but there are traces of him everywhere. It’s in the small things—the little hints of Spencer imprinted into the fabric of your life.

There are hints of Spencer in the kitchen sink, the one he fixed when it started leaking a few months ago. You had been ready to call a plumber, but Spencer had insisted he could handle it. He always does.

There are hints of Spencer in how you've stopped arranging your plates a certain way just for aesthetics because he'd proven how much more convenient it was to stack them according to how often you used them.

There are hints of Spencer in the stain on the couch from pasta night three weeks ago, a mishap that still makes you both laugh whenever you catch sight of it.

There are things only the two of you can understand. A code only the two of you can decipher. Small, unnoticed details that no one else can see—No matter how observant they are, no matter how well they think they can read you. 

And so maybe it's okay that the secret you’ve shared for months now belongs to the people who matter most. Because as you think of these little hints of Spencer—the way he’s subtly woven himself into your life and you into his—you realize that some things do get to stay your own little secret after all. And in that, there’s something beautiful, something that’s just yours.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[ange1heavensent]

An inch away from more than just friends

:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:

Pairing: loser!ellie x loser!fem reader

Content Warning: making out, mentions of sex scene in film, fic loosely based on Naked in Manhattan by Chappell Roan

w/c ≈ 1200

:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:

Jackson had a way of making the world feel still. Days came and went, each one blending into the next with the simplicity of routine. For you, that routine often involved ending your day at Ellie’s place, curled up together watching whatever strange or offbeat movie she’d dug up. Tonight, like so many nights before, you’d settled into that rhythm, expecting nothing more than the usual.

Ellie greeted you at the door, her hair messy from what you imagined had been a lazy day of reading or sketching. You stepped inside, shrugging off your jacket, trying to shake the feeling that something was a little different tonight.

“Everything alright with you?” Ellie muttered, hands in her pockets. Her voice was casual, but you noticed the tension beneath it, something unspoken in the way she barely met your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved her off, following her into the “bedroom” where she’d already set up the movie Mulholland Drive. You threw yourself onto the bed while Ellie stayed standing, fiddling with the remote. She seemed more on edge than usual, fidgeting with her sleeves, avoiding looking at you for too long. You tried to shake off the weirdness, focusing on the movie as the opening credits rolled. For the first half, things were mostly normal. Ellie made the occasional comment, and you both laughed at the more bizarre parts of the plot. But then… the scene happened. A sex scene hit the screen, and the air between you two shifted in an instant.

You felt it immediately, the awkwardness that spread like wildfire. Ellie stiffened beside you, eyes glued to the screen but not really watching. Your heart pounded as your mind raced, hyper-aware of how close your bodies were. The heat from her leg brushing against yours suddenly felt like too much, like it was burning through your jeans. 

You weren’t exactly a stranger to sex scenes in movies, but this time it felt different, more intimate. Too intimate. You risked a glance at Ellie and saw the tension in her jaw, her hand gripping the bedsheets tightly. She wasn’t handling it any better than you were.

God, why did this feel so… charged?

You looked away quickly, trying to focus on literally anything else. But the room was filled with an uncomfortable silence. When the scene finally ended, it left an awkward tension that lingered long after. The rest of the movie passed in a blur. You weren’t paying attention anymore. All you could think about was Ellie, how her hand was so close to yours, how your heart was still racing even though the scene had long since ended. 

When the credits rolled, Ellie jumped to her feet like she couldn’t handle sitting next to you any longer. “I, uh- I’ll get the couch ready for tonight,” she said quickly, moving toward the closet. You frowned. “The couch? You’re not coming to bed?” Ellie paused, looking over her shoulder, clearly flustered. “I just thought… maybe I’d sleep there instead.”

That didn’t sit right with you. Sleepovers had always been the same, you’d sleep together, limbs tangled in the small bed. The thought of sleeping apart felt wrong, but you didn’t argue. Not with things already feeling this weird. You crawled deeper into the bed while Ellie busied herself with blankets, but neither of you seemed able to sleep. The room was too quiet, too still, and you found yourself lying on your side, facing her direction.

After what felt like an eternity, you broke the silence.

“Ellie?” You heard her groan, and then she shifted, turning over to face you. Even in the darkness, you could sense her eyes on you, wide and uncertain. “What?” she asked, her voice strained. You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. This had been eating at you all night, maybe for longer than that. “What’s going on?” Ellie didn’t respond right away, and you could practically hear the gears turning in her head. Finally, after what felt like forever, she sighed.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. The answer didn’t surprise you. It didn’t make things easier either. You bit your lip, unsure of how to put into words what had been slowly building between you two for weeks, maybe months.

“You’ve been acting… weird tonight,” you said, feeling vulnerable. “Is it because of… the movie?” Ellie groaned again, this time louder, like she was frustrated. “No… yes… I don’t know!” She exhaled sharply. “That movie just… it got me thinking, okay?” Your pulse quickened. “Thinking about what?”

Silence filled the room again, thick with tension. Ellie seemed to be wrestling with something, and you held your breath, waiting for her to speak. When she did, her voice was soft and uncertain. “Us,” she whispered. “Are we… are we more than just friends?”

There it was. Out in the open. The question hung between you like a heavy weight. It was something you had never allowed yourself to think about, not really. But now, with Ellie lying there, so close yet so far, you couldn’t avoid it anymore. Your heart hammered in your chest as you sat up slightly, your voice shaking. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

Ellie shifted on the couch, and suddenly, she was standing. She climbed into the bed beside you, moving slowly like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to be there. Your breaths came out shallow as she lay down next to you, her face inches from yours, her expression unsure.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You just stared at each other, and you swore you could hear both your hearts racing in the silence. Then, finally, Ellie leaned in, her lips brushing yours tentatively, like she wasn’t sure this was real.

The kiss was soft, hesitant, but it sent a rush of warmth flooding through your veins. You kissed her back, your hands instinctively finding their way to her hair, pulling her closer. The dam had finally broken, months of tension spilling out in that one kiss.

Ellie’s hands slid to your waist, and she pulled you against her, deepening the kiss. It was soft but intense, the kind of kiss that left you breathless and wanting more. You didn’t know how long it lasted, time seemed to blur as you lost yourself in the feel of her lips, her hands, her warmth.

When you finally pulled back for air, your foreheads pressed together, your breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. “This is… weird, right?” Ellie whispered, a nervous laugh escaping her. You smiled, your thumb brushing gently over her cheek. “Yeah,” you admitted, your own heart still racing. “But good weird.”

Ellie grinned, her hands still firmly on your waist, as though she was afraid to let go. “I don’t know what this is,” she said softly, “but… I like it.” You leaned in and kissed her again, the warmth of her smile still lingering on her lips. “Me too.” The rest of the night passed in a blur of soft kisses, whispered words, and gentle touches. Whatever you and Ellie had now, it was real, and for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to question it.

:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:

Thank you for reading! If you liked this fic, check out my masterlist for more :)

[esouliie]

that’s when i could finally breathe.

(wandanat x reader)

summary | you didn’t know having the best surgeons in the world as girlfriends usually meant being the loneliest person.

tags | hurt/comfort, poor mental health, hospital au, wanda is so gentle with reader, fic is inspired by taylor swift!!

Summer had always been your favourite season. The heat of the sun, the taste of ice cream melting on your tongue, and the sensation of warm sand beneath your feet—it was when you felt most alive. Your wardrobe was a testament to this: light dresses, miniskirts, and shorts that flattered your sun-kissed skin. But now, it had become your favourite for a different reason. It was summer when you first moved in with Natasha and Wanda. Their beach house was like that of a dream, larger than anything you’d ever lived in before. It stood tall and proud on the beachfront, its white shell-coloured walls and soft blue accents blending seamlessly with the surrounding environment. Inside, the house was open and airy, sunlight flooding in through the large windows, which offered an unobstructed view of the shimmering ocean. The seagulls' calls echoed in the distance, a constant reminder of the peaceful life you'd found here with your girlfriends.

You remembered how that first week had been pure bliss. The three of you had spent days "christening" each room, the laughter and love you shared echoing off the walls as you tangled in each other’s embrace. During the day, you would lounge together on the beach, Natasha daring you to swim out farther into the ocean while Wanda kept a watchful eye, her smile soft and affectionate. It was everything you’d ever dreamed of—a home filled with love, a future filled with endless possibilities.

But that summer felt like a lifetime ago.

The days passed in a blur, each one blending into the next. You went through the motions, but your mind was elsewhere, lost in a fog you couldn’t seem to shake. Natasha was out more often than not, her career as a cardiologist taking her away for long hours, sometimes even multiple days at a time. Up to becoming the next Head Chief of Surgery, she was a force of nature at work, tirelessly moving from one critical case to the next. Wanda, a neonatalogist, was around more often, but recently her presence was like a ghost in the house—she was always preoccupied, her thoughts wrapped around the delicate lives she fought to save every day. Her latest case being quadruplets with their own unique life threatening disorders that required assistance from doctors all over the hospital. You could see how exhausted she was, her eyes sunken beneath her glasses for when she’s been straining her eyes too much.

And you understood the importance of their work, you really did. They were saving lives, making a difference, and that was something you had always admired about them. But lately, admiration had been replaced with a growing emptiness that gnawed at you. The house felt colder, larger, and the silence between you three had become almost unbearable. Meals together were rare, but even when they did happen, you felt like you were dining alone. You sat at the table, picking at your food, barely tasting it, while Natasha and Wanda exchanged brief conversations about work—medical jargon that you used to find fascinating, but now only served to remind you how far apart you were growing. You wanted to speak, to tell them how you were feeling, but the words never seemed to come. Instead, you would just nod, smile when appropriate, and try to pretend everything was okay.

It wasn’t.

Tonight was supposed to be different, though. It was the night before your semester started again, and they had promised to be home early for dinner, with no work talk. You had spent the afternoon preparing a meal, something simple but special—your way of bringing back a piece of normalcy, a piece of the life you missed so much. As the clock ticked on and the evening slipped away, hope slowly faded. You sat at the dinner table, the food untouched, candles flickering softly. The silence was deafening. No texts, no calls—just empty chairs where Wanda and Natasha were supposed to be. You forced yourself to eat, each bite tasting like ash in your mouth. You kept glancing at the door, hoping to hear the familiar sound of their voices, the comforting click of the door unlocking. But the only sound was the distant crash of waves and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

By the time you realised they weren’t coming, tears were already blurring your vision. You cleaned up in a haze, your movements mechanical. You packed away the uneaten food for them when they come home, put the dishes in the sink, and blew out the candles, the scent of melted vanilla wax mingling with the salt of your tears. You didn’t even bother with dessert, your appetite gone along with the last shred of your hope for the night. This was it. Your relationship slipping away from underneath you. Heading to bed, you felt like a ghost drifting through the house. You crawled under the covers, curling up into yourself, the loneliness a cold weight on your chest. Sleep didn’t come easy, and when it did, it was restless, filled with dreams of empty spaces and silent room.

Weeks passed like this, with you becoming more and more of a shell. Your thoughts spiraled downward, a mixture of poor mental health, the overwhelming work load from school, and the crushing loneliness that came from being around the people you loved who seemed to be slipping away. They didn’t notice. Or maybe they did, but there was always something more pressing—an emergency at the hospital that had them leaving in the middle of movie night, or a case that couldn’t wait as they left you lonely at the dinner table. And so, you sank further into yourself, your once vibrant spirit now dulled by the weight of it all.

One afternoon, Wanda came home early – a rare occurrence that would have made you happy, once. She walked into the house, the usual tension in her shoulders softened by a rare quiet day at the hospital. She called out for you, her voice echoing through the silent rooms, but you didn’t respond. Maybe you were still at school she initially thought, but something tugged at her, an intuition she couldn’t ignore, and she followed it outside.

The sight of you on the beach, sitting alone with your knees pulled to your chest, caught her off guard. The waves lapped at the shore gently, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside you. You didn’t hear her approach; you were too lost in your thoughts, the tears streaming down your face as you sobbed freely, salt stinging as the wind whipped at your skin.

“Hey,” she whispered, kneeling beside you, her voice gentle but laced with concern. You looked up, startled, and quickly wiped your tears, but it was too late. She had already seen them, “why are you crying?”

You tried to find the words, but they were tangled in your throat. Wanda reached out, her hand cradling the back of your neck, before wiping away a stray tear you missed. That simple touch was enough to make you crumble. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Wanda’s eyes softened, her usual composure cracking as she realised just how much she had missed. “Do what, honey?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Everything. All of it. I feel like I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to stop it. I know you and Nat are busy, I understand and I’m so proud of you both, but my head won’t stop telling me all these things, that you don’t love me anymore, and I’ve been so lonely, Wands- I miss you,” you hiccupped, “and Natty.”

You met her gaze finally, noticing the gloss of her own eyes as she holds back her tears. Her heart broke at your words, guilt washing over her like a tidal wave. She had been so consumed by her work, by the endless demands of her job, that she hadn’t seen what was happening right in front of her. She pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly as if trying to piece you back together.

“My baby,” she whispered into your hair, trembling as she kept her emotions at bay, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t notice you were hurting. I love you. So much.”

You wanted to tell her it was okay, that you understood, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you just cried harder, the weight of all the loneliness, all the pain, finally spilling out. You clung to her, the warmth of her embrace a stark contrast to the cold emptiness you had been feeling for so long. “It’s not your fault,” you choked out, “I hid it from you guys because I didn’t want to be a burden. You both have so much going on, I didn’t want to add to that.”

Wanda shook her head, pulling back enough to look you in the eyes, delicate hands cupping your cheeks. “No, sweetheart, you’re never a burden. We’ve been so focused on work that we’ve neglected the most important thing to us —you. I promise you, this stops now, okay?”

You went to reply, a rebuttal already ready at the edge of your tongue, when Wanda’s phone rang. The sound cut through the moment like a knife, and she sighed, pressing a long kiss to your forehead, before pulling away out to check who was calling. Her eyes softened as she looked at the screen, showing you a picture of the three of you together. It was one of your favorites—a candid shot of you asleep with your head on Wanda’s lap, her fingers playing with your hair, while Natasha grinned at the camera, her arm wrapped around the both of you. “It’s Nat,” Wanda said, her voice gentle. She stood up, keeping one hand on your shoulder. “Stay right here, baby. I’m just gonna tell her she needs to come home, okay?”

You nodded, watching as she stepped away to take the call, her voice low and urgent. You could hear bits and pieces of her conversation—something about coming home right now, about how you needed them both. It made your heart ache, but in a different way this time. Wanda returned a few moments later, her expression determined. “Nat’s on her way,” she said, taking your hand and pulling you up to stand with her. “Let’s go inside, alright? We’ll wait for her together.” You let her lead you back inside, the warmth of her hand in yours a small comfort. As you sat down on the couch, Wanda wrapped an arm around you, holding you close. The two of you sat in silence, the only sound the distant crash of the waves and your favourite tv show low in the background.

That evening, when Natasha returned, the three of you sat together. She listened intently as you and Wanda explained what had been happening, her eyes filled with regret as she realised how distant she had become. How she could’ve been a better girlfriend to you. She reached out, taking both your hand and Wanda’s, her grip firm and reassuring. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, my love.” Natasha said, her voice raw and broken, “I promise to do better by you. I love you. We’ll figure this out together. I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re alone in this. We’re a team, remember?” Wanda squeezed your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, before she said, “We’ll always be a team.”

And they meant it. The following weeks, they took time off from work, dedicating their days to you, to each other. It wasn’t a magic fix, the path to healing rarely is, but it was a start. You spent your days together, and when you weren’t in classes, you were rediscovering the small joys that had once been the foundation of your relationship. Walks on the beach, movie nights curled up on the couch, late-night talks that stretched into the early hours of the morning, slow kisses under the stars as you undressed each other, declaring your love to one another once again.

At night, you lay in bed between them, their arms wrapped around you, the weight on your chest finally began to lift, the crushing pressure easing as you drifted off. The path ahead was still uncertain; you knew there would be hard days, especially as they were soon to return to work, but for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again. And upon your girlfriend’s chest, you realised you didn’t have to carry the burden alone, because they were here with you.

You weren’t alone anymore, and that made all the difference.

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔒𝔲𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔱

Mike Munroe x male reader

Summary: Being in a secret relationship with Mike Munroe was equal parts intoxicating and excruciating. The stolen touches, the nights spent tangled together in secrecy was addictive. But the weight of hiding it all was suffocating, and one night, when the tension between you reached its breaking point, you finally confronted him.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. No use of Y/N. Sensual tension. Jealousy. Friends to lovers. Cute interactions between Mike and the reader. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Bottom male reader. Blowjob (reading giving and receiving). Anal sex.

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words count: 5500

You hadn't expected Mike Munroe to notice you. Why would he? You had spent most of your life mastering the art of blending in. If Mike shone like fireworks against the night sky, you were the quiet flicker of a candle in the corner, soft and unassuming.

And you were okay with that. At least, that's what you told yourself.

You'd met Mike through your shared group of friends—Chris, Ashley, Sam— and while he had always been polite, his attention had always seemed elsewhere.

You'd found comfort in your little corner with Chris and Ashley and their easy banter and grounded energy. Chris, especially, had become your closest confidant. He was the kind of friend who could pull you out of your head with a single sarcastic comment, who didn't mind when you sank into moments of silence. You'd never had to fight for Chris's attention; it was just there, freely given, and that simplicity made him feel safe.

But lately, you've noticed something strange.

Or rather, someone.

Mike's eyes lingered on you in ways that made your skin tingle, the hairs at the back of your neck standing on end. At first, you thought you were imagining it. But then there were the moments you couldn't explain away: the sharp way his gaze would cut across the room whenever Chris slung an arm around your shoulder, the tightness in his jaw when you and Sam leaned in close, lost in conversation.

Something in the way his eyes lingered on yours that made your stomach twist in knots.

It was moments like those that made your stomach twist, a confusing mix of excitement and fear. Because the truth was, you wanted Mike's attention. You wanted it in ways that scared you, in ways that left you aching in the middle of the night, your mind replaying every stolen glance, every accidental touch.

The night of senior prom was where everything changed.

The gym was a blur of colored lights and pounding bass, the air heavy with the mingling scents of cheap cologne, perfume, and sweat. You'd been nursing a cup of punch on the sidelines, watching everything unfold with a mix of amusement and detachment. Chris and Ashley were off somewhere being grossly adorable and Sam was deep in conversation with Hannah and Beth. No sight of the rest of the group.

When Mike approached you, it was impossible to ignore how good he looked. His styled hair was now tousled, as though he’d run his hand through it one too many times. Sharp jawline slightly shadowed with the hint of a five o’clock stubble and cheeks faintly flushed, whether from the alcohol or the warmth of the crowded room, you couldn't tell.

The first few buttons of his dress shirt undone to reveal the smooth line of his collarbone and just a hint of skin beneath. The crispness of his tux jacket was gone, replaced by a relaxed slouch that was somehow just as captivating.

The faint scent of his spicy and woodsy cologne mingled with the smell of booze on his breath as he leaned closer to you. His hand was already reaching out as though the decision had been made long before he got there.

“Hey,” he started, his voice lower than usual, carrying a huskiness to it. He licked his lips quickly, almost absentmindedly, before continuing, “You’re not really just gonna stand there all night, are you?” He tilted his head, his fingers flexing in the air between you as if urging you to take his hand.

There was a flicker of something in his gaze that felt equal parts curious and dangerous. His eyes were locked on you, and for a split second, they flicked downward long enough to make your lips tingle like he'd touched them instead of merely looked.

It hit you that this wasn't just some half-hearted attempt to mess around. Mike Munroe, who could have anyone in the room, was standing there, looking at you like there was no one else worth noticing.

You started to stammer a weak excuse but he cut you off with a breathless laugh, shaking his head like he couldn't believe you were trying to resist him.

"You're not gonna make me ask twice, are you?" he continued, "Dance with me."

Your heart skipped a beat, your mind scrambling to process his words. Was he serious? Or was this just another one of his jokes?

"C'mon, don’t make me beg. It's embarrassing." There was something in his eyes, a flicker of curiosity and eagerness that made it impossible to say no.

Not that you had much of a choice.

He grabbed your hand and tugged you onto the dance floor, his grin widening when you stumbled slightly.

The next thing you knew, his hands were on your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush against each other.

The song was slow, unhurried, and so were his movements. His hips swayed lazily in time with the music, as if he wasn't in any rush to let the moment end. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs brushing small, languid circles against the fabric of your suit. His head tilted slightly as he watched you, his lips curving into that lopsided smile of his, like he was soaking in every detail of your reaction.

His hands lingered on your waist, his grip firm but gentle. Every subtle move he made, from the shift of his hips to the way his thumbs pressed just a little harder into your sides, felt deliberate, like he was testing the limits of the space you shared.

When he leaned in slightly, his breath brushing against your jaw, it was almost instinct to pull away, but his hands held you in place. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, "Let's get out of here."

Next thing you knew, he was pulling you through the crowd without waiting for a response, his hand gripped yours firmly as he navigated through the throng of swaying bodies. He glanced back over his shoulder every few steps, his eyes locking with yours like he was silently checking to make sure you hadn't changed your mind.

The thrill of it all sent a heady rush through your veins.

You didn't know where he was taking you until you were outside, the cool night air biting at your skin as he led you to his car, parked in a darkened corner of the lot. The sounds of the party faded into the background, leaving only the echo of your own footsteps and the pounding of your heart.

The space between you was nonexistent, pinning you lightly against the side of the car. His gaze roamed your face, expression unreadable but intense. It was dizzying, the combination of him so close and the way his eyes kept flickering down to your lips, like he was fighting some internal battle he didn't entirely understand.

His lips parted slightly and you could see the faintest tremor in his breath as his gaze dipped to your mouth again, lingering there for just a moment too long.

And then he moved.

It was sudden, almost desperate, the way he closed the gap and kissed you. His lips crashed against yours with a force that made you gasp, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulled you flush against him. There was nothing soft about it, his mouth moving against yours like he'd been starving for this.

He trailed kisses along your jaw, down the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

You could feel him, hard and insistent through the thin fabric of his dress pants. Your own hands found their way to his chest, clutching at the open collar of his shirt as he pressed closer.

He pulled back for just a moment, his breathing ragged as he rested his forehead against yours. "Get in," he murmured, his voice low and strained, pulling you toward the passenger side. You barely registered the cold as you clambered into the cramped interior, the car doors clicking shut behind you.

He was already on you the second you crawled inside the car, his body pressing you down against the leather seat. His weight pinned you there as his lips crashed against yours, hot and insistent, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip just hard enough to make you gasp.

And God, the low, guttural sound he made that rumbled deep in his chest, sending vibrations through your entire body.

The sharp nip of his teeth on your lower lip pulled a muffled gasp from you and he took the opportunity to press his tongue into your mouth, deep and insistent.

Your head tilted back as his mouth moved, trailing a messy line of kisses down your jaw and neck, biting down just hard enough to leave marks.

He broke away from your neck just long enough to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly aside before his mouth was on you again, tracing the line of your collarbone. His tongue flicked over sensitive skin, followed by the scrape of his teeth while his hands were unbuckling your belt. The metal clink echoed in the small room, followed by the hiss of fabric sliding down your hips.

Your knees buckled when he finally dipped his hand beneath the waistband, his fingers curling around you with a grip that was firm, stroking you slowly at first, his thumb sweeping over the tip.

His other hand found your thigh, hooking it around his waist as he pressed closer, grinding against you with ferocity. His hands stripped away the last barriers as you lifted your leg higher, opening up for him.

When he entered you, it was with a single, unrelenting motion that left you breathless, your head sinking into the soft material of the seats. The stretch was almost too much, a sharp, burning ache that quickly gave way to a fullness that left you trembling. He didn't stop, his hips driving forward, each thrust forcing a broken sound from your lips.

The tight space of the car was filled with the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies colliding. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he drove into you again and again, each motion more forceful than the last.

The car windows began to fog with the heat of your shared breaths, your nails dug into his shoulders, legs tightening around his waist as you clung to him.

His teeth grazed over your skin, leaving marks that would bloom into bruises by morning, his lips sucking hard enough to leave you dizzy.

When you came, it was sudden and overwhelming, your body convulsing around him as you cried out, the sound muffled against his shoulder. He followed moments later, his movements growing erratic as he buried himself deep, his whole body tensing as he came with a low, guttural groan.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips curling into that familiar lopsided grin. But there was something softer there that made your chest tighten.

From there, things escalated quickly.

It was like once the dam had broken, neither of you could stop.

At first, it was stolen moments like a quick kiss outside the lodge when the others were distracted, his hand slipping under your shirt while you made out in the backseat of his car after a late-night drive. He'd corner you in quiet rooms at parties, lips crashing against yours before you could say a word.

He’d plop down beside you during group hangouts, his thigh pressing against yours under the table and a hand sneakily resting on your thing.

But as time went on, the moments became longer, more intimate.

You started spending more time alone together, under the guise of "studying" or "hanging out." He'd show up at your dorm unannounced, pinning you to the bed, body pressed against yours as he kissed you like he was trying to devour you.

It wasn't long before it started to feel like a relationship.

Like you were his and he was yours.

But neither of you ever said it out loud.

There was an unspoken understanding between you, a mutual agreement to keep things quiet. It was easier that way.

Safer.

After all, Mike had a reputation and you weren't exactly eager to put yourself under a microscope either.

Still, there were moments when the secrecy felt unbearable.

Like right now at the lodge during one of your usual hangouts for the weekend with everyone else. Mike was sprawled out on the couch with Jess perched dangerously close to his side, her manicured nails brushing against his arm as she laughed at something he'd said. Emily sat nearby, leaning forward with that sharp, appraising smile of hers.

You stood near the kitchen, nursing a drink you didn't really want, watching the scene unfold like some kind of slow torture. Mike's boyish grin was firmly in place, his posture loose and relaxed as he soaked up the attention.

Jess was in full matchmaker mode for her bestie, her intentions painfully obvious to anyone paying attention. She leaned closer to Mike, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that made him chuckle.

You had no reason to be jealous, not when you knew the truth. Not when you'd spent countless nights tangled up with him.

Watching him now, seeing him turn on that same charm for them to keep up the facade, still hurts in a way you couldn't quite describe.

You told yourself you understood why he acted this way, why he kept the two of you a secret. You'd seen the way people talked, how they whispered and stared whenever someone stepped outside the lines of what they considered normal.

You weren't ready for that, but that didn't make it any easier to sit here, watching him laugh and joke like nothing had ever happened between you.

Sometimes, in your weaker moments, you wished everyone else would know the way he looked at you when it was just the two of you. Maybe then you wouldn't have to sit here, watching him flirt with Jess and Emily like it was nothing.

A small, almost wicked smile curled on your lips as your thoughts betrayed you, pulling you into memories that no one else in the room could even begin to imagine. What would Jess and Emily say if they knew about the nights Mike would sneak into your room?

You could still feel his hands threading into your hair, tugging as his lips claimed yours in a kiss anything but polite.

His tongue would sweep against yours, hot and insistent, leaving you breathless and clinging to him.

And that low, desperate rasp of his voice as he pleaded with you to let him take you right there and then.

The room felt too warm now, the air too thick as you forced yourself to look away from the scene on the couch. You told yourself it was fine. This was the arrangement you'd agreed to. You told yourself that this was enough.

Even though it wasn't.

The kitchen was silent, save for the faint hum of the fridge. You leaned against the counter, nursing a beer that had long since lost its chill, swirling the amber liquid in lazy circles as you watched the bubbles rise, burst, and disappear.

You checked the clock again. 2:12 a.m. Mike had texted to meet him at 2. He wasn't here yet.

You hated how used to this you were. Loving Mike felt like holding onto smoke. You could feel it curling through your fingers, soft and warm, but it was always slipping away, impossible to grasp fully.

Still, you waited impatiently and finally, arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you back against a familiar warmth. Lips, hot and wet, pressed rapid-fire kisses to your neck and jaw.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice rough and breathless, the word catching against your skin as he kissed you again.

The tension melted from your body in an instant, replaced by that overwhelming warmth only he could bring. A smile broke across your face, unbidden and unstoppable, as your chest filled with that dizzying, beautiful ache.

"You're late," you murmured, your tone half-scolding but soft, the words barely audible over the sound of his lips trailing lower before he bit down lightly and sucked like a wolf savoring its prey.

He hummed in response, the sound vibrating against your skin as he pressed his teeth lightly into the curve of your shoulder, biting down just enough to make you hiss.

"Sorry," he mumbled, his voice muffled by your flesh as his hand turned your face to meet his lips. "Had to make sure everyone was out cold. Can't have anyone interrupting us, can we?

His lips slammed against yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a bruising force. The sharp taste of whiskey mingling with the faint tang of beer still lingering on your tongue.

Hands hooked under your thighs, lifting you off the ground with a grunt and hauling you onto the counter, the cold surface shocking against your skin. His grip on your thighs tightened, rough and unyielding, as he spread your legs to step between them.

His mouth was on you again in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, messy and relentless. His stubble scratched against your skin, leaving a pleasant burn and his hands gripping hard enough to leave bruises.

You moaned softly against his mouth, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, to keep him where you needed him.

Mike's breath was warm and ragged against your neck as he pulled away, his lips brushing the shell of your ear with a husky whisper. "Path clear," he murmured, the words dipped in humor, a callback to the running joke the two of you shared during these secret, stolen moments.

Normally, it made you smile, but tonight, the reminder of your relationship's stealthy nature stung more than it amused.

You slid off the cold counter, his large hands steadying you by your hips. Without thinking, you reached for his hand and laced your fingers with his as you guided him toward your room.

Your thoughts swirled as you walked. The want you'd been carrying for months now sat heavy in your chest, threatening to spill over. You were tired of sneaking around, tired of pretending this was nothing more than casual fun. You wanted him, all of him in the open, without fear or pretense.

But with that hope came the sharp edge of fear that he wouldn't feel the same. The idea of losing him, of pushing him away by wanting too much, gnawed at you, silencing the words before they could even form.

Your thoughts were cut off when his hand slipped from yours to slide down to the curve of your ass, giving it a firm squeeze, a low chuckle coming from him as he pulled you closer, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you against him again and let his lips trail down to the side of your face.

You reached for the doorknob with trembling fingers, your breath hitching as his teeth scraped lightly against your pulse point.

By the time you pushed the door open and stepped inside, he kicked it shut behind him without missing a beat, his hands finding your waist again as he pressed you back against the wall. His lips were on yours instantly, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

You clutched at his shoulders, your fingers digging into the soft fabric of his shirt as he pressed closer, his body pinning you to the wall.

But then you pulled back enough to break the kiss, your chest heaving as you dropped your hands to his. His grip loosened, allowing you to sank to your knees in front of him.

The air shifted, thick with anticipation as you looked up at him, his dark eyes blown wide and locked on yours. His hands twitched at his sides, his jaw tightening as he watched you reach for his belt, undoing the buckle and sliding the leather free before moving to the button and zipper of his jeans and tugging his pants down his hips. His boxers followed and your breath hitched as he sprang free, hard and already dripping with arousal.

His hand came to rest on your head, fingers curling lightly into your hair.

"You're fucking perfect like this," he murmured, his voice rough and dripping with heat, his thumb brushing against your scalp as if in encouragement.

You didn't respond. You couldn't. Your throat was tight with need as you leaned in, your lips parting to take him into your mouth. The first touch of your tongue against him drew a low, guttural groan from his throat, the sound vibrating in the air between you like a spark.

He tasted like salt and heat. Your tongue swirled around the tip, slow and deliberate, savoring the weight of him on your tongue as your hand gripped his thigh for balance.

Mike hissed through his teeth, his fingers tightening in your hair as you took him deeper, your lips stretching around him as you worked him with slow, deliberate precision. The texture of him was smooth and hot, the hardness of him pressing against the back of your throat as you hollow your cheeks.

"Shit, that's good," he muttered, his voice rough and strained as his hips rocked forward slightly. His free hand braced against the wall behind him, fingers flexing as he struggled to keep himself in check.

It spurred you on, your tongue pressing against the sensitive underside of his cock as you moved, your lips slick and swollen as you worked him over with unrelenting focus.

His breaths came heavier, more ragged, each exhale punctuated by a low groan or curse as you pushed him closer to the edge. You took him deeper, swallowing around him until he hit the back of your throat, the motion drawing a sharp gasp from him as his hips jerked forward.

"Just like that," he groaned, his hand tightening in your hair as his head tipped back, exposing the strong line of his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he fought to keep from losing himself entirely.

Your mind spun, your thoughts a jumble of desperate emotions. You wanted him to see how devoted you were, how much you were willing to give him.

But more than that, you wanted him to let you in, to let the world see what you saw in these quiet, stolen moments. You wanted him to hold your hand in the daylight, to kiss you where anyone could see.

Mike leaned back against the wall, his head tipped back, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths as you worked him over.

He was lost in the heat of it, his world narrowing to the slick warmth of your mouth, every nerve alight with pleasure as you brought him closer and closer to the edge.

Something was bugging him.

He couldn't ignore the way your movements felt too precise and mechanical, like you were going through the motions rather than reveling in the moment.

His brow furrowed, hips faltering as he looked down at you. His body screamed for him to let it go, to keep chasing that high you were so good at giving him. But his brain had other plans.

Mike's fingers flexed in your hair, his jaw tightening as he tried to focus on anything but the gnawing unease creeping into his chest, biting his lip as another surge of pleasure rolled through him.

Your brows were slightly knit together like you were concentrating too hard, weren't looking up at him with that mixture of lust and devotion that always made his heart stutter.

Shit.

"Alright, hold up," he said suddenly, his voice rough as he tightened his grip on your hair and pulled you back.

Your lips left him with a wet, obscene sound, your eyes flicking up to meet his in confusion as you knelt there, your cheeks flushed and your lips swollen.

God, you looked so damn good like this. It took every ounce of composure not to just push you back down onto his aching dick.

"Yeah, sorry, I know," he said, letting out a strained, humorless laugh as he ran a hand through his hair. "Not that I don’t appreciate the A-plus performance down there, but seriously… the hell’s going on with you?"

You blinked at him, your brows furrowing slightly as you started to shake your head. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"Bullshit," he shot back, his lips quaking into a lopsided grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're too quiet. Not in a sexy way, especially when you’re down there looking like you’re plotting an escape instead of sucking my dick."

"I'm not plotting anything," you said softly, avoiding his gaze as you moved to stand.

"Then what is it?" he pressed, his voice still light as he crouched slightly, his hands gripping your shoulders. "Talk to me, babe. Now it’s in my head and I can’t exactly enjoy myself. You're freaking me out a little here."

"I told you, I'm fine," you said again, more forcefully this time, though the crack in your voice betrayed you.

Mike's eyes narrowed, his smirk fading as he studied you. "No, you're not." His voice softened slightly, his hands moving to cup your face, tilting it upward until you had no choice but to look at him. "C'mon. Spill. What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

You hesitated, your throat tightening as you tried to push the words back down, but his gaze was steady, warm and unrelenting, and before you knew it, the truth spilled out in a quiet, trembling voice.

"I'm tired of sneaking around."

His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but no sound came out. He let his hands fall to his sides, his fingers twitching restlessly before he dragged them through his messy hair. His expression was a mixture of surprise and guilt, and he let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh but there was no humor in it.

"Okay. Wow. That's… yeah." he said finally, his voice low and uneven.

"That's all you have to say?" you asked, your voice was sharper than you intended, but the frustration that had been building inside you for months refused to stay bottled any longer.

Mike flinched at your tone, his usual cocky demeanor faltering for just a second before he plastered on a lopsided grin. "I get it. You're right. Totally. But, uh…" He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "It's not like it's that simple, you know?"

"Isn't it?" you shot back, your voice tinged with anger and exhaustion. "You're either with me or you're not. You're either proud of us or you're not."

"Whoa, okay," Mike said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. His grin turned sheepish, but there was a flicker of guilt, maybe, or fear in his eyes.

"I didn't say I wasn't proud of us. Don't twist my words, alright?"

"Then what are you saying, Mike?" you asked, stepping closer, your voice dropping to a quieter, shakier tone. "Because I'm tired of feeling like I'm some dirty secret you're ashamed of."

"Ashamed of you?" he repeated, his eyes widening in genuine disbelief. "No. No way. That's not—Jesus, no." He let out a sharp, exasperated laugh.

"Then why, Mike?" you pressed, your voice breaking slightly. "Why do we have to sneak around like this? Why can't we just—"

"Because people talk," he interrupted, his tone sharper than he intended. He winced, rubbing a hand over his face before looking back at you. “Maybe they'll stop talking to me. Or you. Or both of us. Maybe it'll get weird with the group and we'll lose—"

"Them?" you interrupted, your voice rising. "You're more worried about losing them?"

"No! That's not what I'm saying," he snapped, his voice breaking slightly. "Stop twisting everything I'm trying to say."

"Then say it, Mike." You whispered through clenched teeth, your chest heaving as tears stung your eyes. "Say what you actually mean instead of hiding behind all this bullshit."

"I'm scared of what it'll mean if everyone knows. Of what we'll lose." He admitted, the words barely above a whisper. "But then I think about how you've put up with all my bullshit without ever asking for anything in return. And I hate that I've made you feel like you're not enough," he went on, his voice growing stronger, steadier.

His hands found your face, pulling you closer as his lips curved into a small, rueful smile. "You are fucking amazing. So, you know what?" He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours as his voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Fuck everyone else. Seriously. I don't care anymore. They're gonna know. All of them. Because you're mine and I'm not hiding it anymore."

Your chest tightened at his words, your breath hitching as tears slipped down your cheeks. Mike wiped them away with his thumbs, his touch gentle as he cupped your face.

"Soon," he said softly, his voice full of warmth and promise. "Soon, everyone's gonna know. I'll make sure of it."

The kiss that followed was as consuming as it was desperate, lips devouring yours. His hands were firm on your shoulders as he pulled you back on your feet and guided you onto the bed, his body following close behind. The weight of him was grounding, his solid chest and broad shoulders pinning you in place as his lips worked a path down your neck, each drag of his stubble leaving a pleasant burn in its wake.

His teeth scraped against the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, making you gasp. The sound only seemed to spur him on, his lips and tongue leaving the spot until it throbbed with a dull ache.

Your chest tightens with an overwhelming mix of love, relief and desire that coils tight in your stomach, threatening to snap.

When he pulled back, his lips were slick and swollen, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his hand slipped lower, cupping the curve of your ass, the rough pads of his fingers squeezing hard.

"You're needy tonight," he teased, his grin sharp and wolfish. But the slight tremor in his voice betrayed just how much he was affected, too.

Your reply was cut off by the sound of your belt being unbuckled, the metal clanking loudly in the stillness of the room. Mike's movements were impatient as he yanked your pants down, leaving you exposed to the cool air. His hands were on you again in an instant, one gripping your thigh to spread you open while the other pressed firmly against your entrance.

His fingers pressed against you, teasing, before one finally slipped inside. The stretch was sudden, sharp, and you bit down on your lip to stifle a sound.

"Don't you dare hold back," Mike said, his free hand sliding up to grip your jaw. "Let me hear you, babe."

You couldn't help the soft whimper that escaped as he added a second finger, the stretch making your toes curl. He moved with purpose, his fingers scissoring and curling inside you, hitting that spot that made your vision blur.

"Fuck," Mike hissed, his breath hot against your neck. "Still so goddamn tight. How is that even possible with how often I've been inside you?"

You had no answer, your brain too scrambled to form coherent words. Your back arched off the bed as his fingers pressed deeper, his pace quickening until the sound of his movements was obscene.

Just when you thought it couldn't get more intense, he shifted, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down your chest and stomach until your length was engulfed in his hand with a firm grip. He stroked you in time with his fingers, his thumb swiping over the head to smear the precum leaking there.

His mouth replaced his hand soon, tongue swirling around the tip before he took you in, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked hard. The sensation made your whole body jerk, a shaky moan escaping your lips.

His mouth working you over with the same frantic energy as his fingers. Occasionally, he'd pull away to kiss the inside of your thighs or murmur something against your skin.

When he finally pulled his fingers free, you whimpered at the loss, but soon you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

His eyes met yours, searching for any sign of hesitation.

You nodded with zero hesitation and his lips twitched into a crooked grin.

He pushed in slowly, he was big and the feeling of him filling you completely burned in a way that made your breath hitch.

"Shit," Mike groaned, his voice strained as he bottomed out.

Mike didn't move at first, his hips flush against yours as you took the sheer, overwhelming weight of him inside you. His thick cock throbbed against your inner walls, stretching you wide.

"Fuck," Mike hissed, his voice low and broken, the curse dragged out like he could barely handle the way you gripped him.

The burn of the stretch began to fade, replaced by a maddening fullness that had your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He grunted, the sound deep and animalistic, his body trembling with restraint. "You feel that?" he growled, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his hands gripped your thighs tighter. "Feel how hard you make me? How much I want you?"

You could only nod, your head falling back against the pillow hissing through clenched teeth.

Mike's restraint snapped. He pulled back fully this time, the drag of his cock against your walls slow and deliberate, making you feel every ridge, every pulse. Then, with a sharp thrust of his hips, he buried himself again, harder, deeper.

The movement ripped a sound from your throat that you couldn't suppress. Mike's hand clamped down on your thigh, spreading you wider as he found a punishing rhythm, each thrust hitting a spot so deep and devastating that it made stars burst behind your eyes.

"Goddamn," he groaned, his voice raw and wrecked, his head dipping to press his lips to your throat. He bit down, his teeth scraping against your skin, and you arched into him, your hands clawing at his back, anything to keep yourself grounded.

Your walls tightened around him with every thrust. "I can feel you, babe. You're close, aren't you?" Mike murmured, his lips curling into a wolfish grin. He looked at you like you were a prey pinned beneath him, helpless yet tantalizingly willing to be devoured.

You tried to deny it, tried to hold back, but the relentless pace of his hips made it impossible. He adjusted his angle, tilting your hips up slightly.

Mike's voice was a guttural growl in your ear, vibrating through your entire body as his teeth skimmed the sensitive skin of your neck. "Say you're mine," he demanded, his breath hot and ragged, his lips brushing the shell of your ear with each word. The deep timbre of his voice shot straight through you.

You couldn't respond. The words were trapped in your throat, strangled by the relentless rhythm of his hips as he drove into you again and again.

"Isn't that what you want?" Mike's voice dipped lower, rough and edged with frustration. He nipped at your neck, his teeth scraping over your pulse point before biting down hard enough to leave a mark.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, hands clutching at the muscles there as you struggled to ground yourself. His cock filled you completely, the long, thick length of him stretching you.

"I asked you a question," he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His dark eyes were blown wide with lust, his jaw clenched tight as he watched your expression twist with pleasure all because of him.

"Stubborn," he said, almost to himself, his tone laced with dark amusement. "Guess I'll just have to fuck it out of you." He adjusted his angle slightly.

The next thrust hit so devastatingly deep, that your voice broke. His cock filled you completely with every thrust, the drag of him against your walls driving you closer and closer to the edge.

You tried to talk back but Mike thrust into you again before you could speak, rough and unrelenting. You bit down hard on his neck in retaliation.

Mike's reaction was immediate. A throaty grunt rumbled from his chest, the deep vibration rolling through your body as his thrusts became rougher, more erratic. "You wanna play like that?" he growled, his voice tinged with dark amusement. "Fine"

He grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head as he loomed over you.

He chased your lips, kissing you with a bruising strength as his thrusts grew erratic, his pace quickening as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His cock dragged against your walls with every movement, the thick length of him filling you completely, relentlessly and forcing your body to adjust to the girth of him as he drove into you.

"You're so close," he muttered, his breath hot against your ear. "I can feel it. You gonna come for me, babe?"

You could only nod, your head falling back as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter until it finally broke. Your entire body tensing as you spilled over his hand and your stomach.

Mike wasn't far behind. The way you tightened around him as you came had his rhythm faltering, his movements becoming erratic. "Fuck," he groaned, his voice strained and guttural, his hips snapping against yours one final time as he buried himself deep.

You felt the heat of his release as he came, filling you completely, his body trembling against yours. His forehead pressed against your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm.

The bed creaked loudly beneath Mike's weight as he flopped down next to you, sprawling out like a man utterly spent. He let out a low groan of satisfaction, running a hand through his damp hair as he caught his breath. "I think I might've broken something… and I don't just mean the bed." He muttered, his voice still rough from the intensity of what had just happened.

You snorted, turning on your side to rest your head on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. His skin was warm and slightly sticky, but you didn't care. The comfort of his solid presence was enough to lull you into a blissful haze.

"You okay down there?" Mike asked, his tone light and teasing as his hand came up to rub slow circles on your back. "Or did I ruin you for life?"

You smirked against his chest, rolling your eyes even though he couldn't see it. "Pretty sure you ruined me the first time we did this. This is just the aftermath."

His laugh was loud and genuine, his chest shaking beneath you. "You're welcome, by the way." He said, his hand slipping lower to give your ass a playful squeeze.

You hummed, too content to come up with a snarky reply and closed your eyes as his fingers trailed up and down your spine.

"So," Mike said suddenly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. "When do you wanna tell everyone about us? You know, the big reveal. 'Hey, everyone! I've been banging the hottest guy in the group and now he's with me, so hands off!’ That kind of thing."

Your face heated, but you couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of you. "Wow. Real subtle there, Mike."

"We gotta make it dramatic. Catch them off guard. Keep it spicy." He replied, his grin turning mischievous.

You raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly did you have in mind?"

Mike's eyes lit up with a devilish glint as he shifted to rest his hands behind his head. "Breakfast. Tomorrow morning. We wait until everyone's settled in, you know? Then, right as they're mid-sip or mid-bite, we drop the bomb."

You couldn't help but laugh at the image he was painting. "So your plan is to potentially choke someone with the news?"

"Exactly, fewer people to deal with if they can't breathe for a minute. It's efficient."

Shaking your head, you pressed a hand to his chest, giving him a mock shove. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, but you love me," he shot back, his grin softening just enough to let a hint of sincerity slip through.

You smiled despite yourself, the warmth in your chest spreading. "Unfortunately for me, yeah. I do."

Mike chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer. "Good. Because I'm not letting you go. Now, get some rest, babe. You're gonna need your energy for round two later."

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest remained as you settled against him, your fingers idly tracing patterns on his skin.

[palmersluvr]

Do you think you can write a drabble based on Sunday Morning by Maroon 5 with Lu? Every time I hear that song I think of him

sunday morning

warnings: smut, p in v, breeding

summary: you and luigi have morning sex while you talk about your plans for the day :,)

notes: i dedicate this to miss flowerluvr because you sent me the request and omg tumblr will not let me tag you for some reason AND ALSO to the queen herself @diors002 because i know how much you love the idea of cuddlefucking with lu in the morning while talking about your plans for the day 😣

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sunday morning, rain is falling

steal some covers, share some skin

clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable

you twist to fit the mold that i am in

sunday morning melts into a hazy glow, the world shrinking to the heat of luigi’s body pressed against yours, face to face, your breaths tangling in a shaky, intimate cuddle.

his cock glides slowly inside you, slick and gentle, each careful thrust a warm pulse that makes your breath catch.

“sleep good?” luigi whispers, his morning voice low and rough, lips brushing softly against your shoulder. he presses deeper, the warm, full stretch of him filling you completely, drawing a quiet sigh as your bodies mold together, perfectly aligned.

“mmm… dreamt about the ocean.” your words are soft, fraying at the edges as his hips roll, the slick heat of his cock gently nudging that sweet spot inside of you, sending a quiet shiver through you. “what about today? whaddya wanna do?”

luigi hums, his breath warm against your neck as he thrusts gently, the motion steady, intimate, like he’s savoring every inch of you. “hmm… breakfast first, maybe? we could walk down to that cafe you like.”

“sounds perfect.” you hum, voice trembling as you moan, taking him deeper, the slow stretch blooming into a soft ache.

“fuck, you feel so good… it’s such a nice day… mmh.. we could walk through the park after breakfast…” he moans, his tongue licking the sensitive spot on your neck, his cock driving into you, sending shudders through you. his voice carries a soft smile as he fucks you, his hips speeding up, thrusts turning faster and rougher, deepening the raw, electric connection between you.

you open your mouth to answer, but a sharp cry escapes instead as his cock hits your g spot again, the angle dead on, the sensation igniting a fiery burst of pleasure that makes your toes curl. “luigi… oh f-fuck!” you whimper, words splintering as another deep thrust hits the same spot, flooding you with ecstasy that drowns out everything else.

you wrap your legs around his torso to bring him even closer, pressing your forehead against his, too overwhelmed by the blinding bliss to string a sentence together. “park.. i-mm…” you try, but it collapses into another breathless moan, your body surging toward him, craving the searing heat as he keeps slamming into you, each rough thrust unraveling you more, your mind swallowed by the pulsing, electric tide of pleasure.

luigi’s lips twist into a teasing smirk, eyes gleaming as he senses your trembling surrender. “aww, what’s wrong? too dumb on my cock? huh?” the playful taunt drips with smug confidence as his hips slam harder, blurring your vision as ecstasy floods through you.

a laugh escapes from you, blending with another trembling moan. “you’re… one to talk.” you manage, voice breaking under the weight of bliss, a mischievous glint in your eyes despite the consuming heat.

his thrusts turn feral, hips snapping with a frenzied rhythm, his cock slamming into your soaked, throbbing cunt, each stroke harder, deeper, with the wet, filthy slap of skin on skin filling the room. your moans grow louder, desperate and unrestrained, as the pleasure surges to a breaking point, your walls clenching tight around his thick shaft.

“fuck-baby… gonna cum inside you” luigi groans, voice hoarse and cracking, his forehead still pressed to yours, eyes burning with raw hunger as he fucks you hard, his cock stretching you out so good, throbbing inside you. your nails rake his back, legs trembling as you pull him closer, body writhing under the merciless onslaught, the heat coiling tighter, ready to snap.

“i’m close too,” you sob, “please lu, cum with me, fill me up!” the words tumble out between moans, raw and urgent, as you press into him, pussy gripping his cock, pleasure spiking to a blinding crest, poised to crash as you both hurtle toward release together.

luigi’s thrusts turn wild, his cock pounding into you with desperate speed, stretching you out so good, each stroke driving you to the brink.

your moans escalate into screams, sharp and uncontainable, as the coil in your stomach snaps, pleasure erupting through you like a storm.

your pussy clamps down hard around his cock, spasming in fierce, shuddering pulses, slickness gushing as you cum, your body trembling violently, nails carving into his back, legs gripping him tight. the intensity sears through you, leaving you breathless, quaking, consumed by the overwhelming heat.

his deep groan rips free, his hips faltering as your orgasm pulls him under. “fuck-“ he gasps, slamming deep one final time, his cock pulsing as he cums inside you, hot, thick waves flooding your cunt, coating your walls as he grinds against you, emptying himself completely. the warmth of his release spills within, blending with your own, your bodies fused in the raw, messy bliss of it all.

as the tremors fade, luigi melts into you, curling up close, his body molding against yours in yet another cuddle. he tucks his head into the crook of your neck, breath warm and uneven against your skin. your fingers run through his curls, softly combing through his sweaty, disheveled hair. he lets out a gentle whine, his face still tucked into the crook of your neck, but he shifts, lips trailing to the slope of your breast. he kisses it lightly, his breath hot against you.

“when can i finally get you pregnant?” he asks, voice deep and warm, a playful edge mixed with something sincere, his eyes flicking up to yours, searching for an answer.

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previous work

[tiiraameesu]

The One That Got Away Pt. 2

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

PART ONE

Synopsisજ⁀➴ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojo’s aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotions—unsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojo’s side, or if it’s time to move on.

tagsજ⁀➴ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, eventual friends to lovers (maybe), gojo is dumb af

NOTESજ⁀➴ hi everyone! here's the next chapter of TOTGA ❀ to stay updated with new chapter releases, you can follow the tag #tiiraameesuTOTGA, or leave a comment below to be added to the tagline♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

wcજ⁀➴ 7.8k

taglineજ⁀➴ @kaemaybae @laviefantasie

The practice room was a blur of noise—normally something you’d lose yourself in, but today, it felt distant. The hum of the synthesizer, the steady beat of Choso’s drums, the rhythmic pluck of Nanami’s bass—they all blended together into background noise. You weren’t really hearing any of it.

Your fingers dragged across the strings, the notes flat and hollow as you strummed through the song again. The chords meant nothing, and you didn’t even know why you were still holding the guitar.

Iori’s voice cut through the music, soft and steady, but it barely registered. Naoya, hunched over his equipment to your left, twisted knobs and layered beats into the track with quick, precise movements. The flashing lights of his console pulsed, but the sound was just another thing happening in a vacuum—detached and distant.

Your thoughts drifted, tangled in the events of last night.

Gojo, his laughter echoing above the party’s music. Gojo, dancing with Mina like it was the most natural thing in the world. Gojo, pulling her close, his hands on her waist.

And then the kiss.

The memory hit you like a crashing cymbal. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was passionate, intentional—the kind you’d only ever dreamed of sharing with him. It was the kind that told you exactly where you stood: on the outside, looking in.

Your fingers faltered on the strings, and the wrong chord echoed sharply, cutting through the music like a wrong note on a piano.

Iori stopped singing, turning to you immediately. “Hey, you okay?”

You flinched, realizing everyone was now looking at you. “Yeah, sorry. Just slipped up,” you said quickly, trying to adjust your grip on the guitar.

Iori frowned, her dark eyes soft with concern. She set her microphone down, resting her hand on her hip. “You’ve been off all morning,” she said gently. “What’s going on?”

“I’m fine,” you said too quickly, your voice tight.

Iori didn’t press further, though the look she gave you said she knew there was more. She straightened, brushing her hands on her jeans. “Alright, everyone, let’s take five before we start the next round,” she said, her voice light but firm enough to get the others moving.

The band began to disperse, Choso heading to grab water, Yu fiddling with his synth settings, and Naoya muttering something under his breath as he checked his laptop. Nanami leaned his bass against the wall and quietly stepped outside, likely for some air.

You made a beeline for the couch, slumping against it with a sigh. The soft cushions were a brief reprieve from the weight sitting heavy on your chest. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone, only to be greeted by a flood of notifications.

Gojo.

You hadn’t replied to his last five attempts to contact you, each message growing more puzzled, more curious. The first few had been typical Gojo banter. Then the messages started asking if you were okay. By the fifth, there was a shift—an underlying concern.

"Is everything okay?"

You could practically hear his voice in your head. His obliviousness, the way he never thought twice about things that might actually matter to someone else. Part of you wanted to throw your phone across the room just to stop seeing his name pop up again. But you didn’t. Instead, you sent a simple reply back, not giving him anything he could really latch onto.

"Busy with band practice. Catch you later."

It was the perfect excuse. You were always "busy." With the band. With your gig. It was enough to get him off your back, for now.

You threw your phone down on the couch, face down, determined not to let Gojo’s messages ruin this moment. As much as everything about him felt like an ache you couldn’t ignore, you wouldn’t let it distract you.

Time seemed to fly during the short break, but soon Iori’s voice cut through the silence as she clapped to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, let’s get back to it. From the top, everyone!”

You lifted your guitar, the weight familiar in your hands. You should’ve been able to just lose yourself in the music, but today wasn’t one of those days.

The first few bars went smoothly, and for a moment, you thought you were breaking through the fog. But then the chorus hit, and everything fell apart. Your fingers faltered, the sound wrong, the chords foreign. The song didn’t flow, like trying to speak a language you once knew but had forgotten.

The music grew hollow, pulling your mind back to Gojo—his carefree laugh, that damn kiss. You thought of the way Mina had melted into his arms, the kiss that had felt so natural. It wasn’t supposed to hurt, but it did. Each thought dug deeper.

The worst part? You couldn’t even make yourself hate him for it.

Your fingers froze on the strings. Another missed note.

“Stop.”

Naoya’s voice sliced through the tension in the room, louder than the failed chord ringing in the air. “What the hell was that?”

You looked up, startled by the sudden harshness in his tone. Naoya’s eyes were fixed on you, brows furrowed, his lips curling in a scowl. The intensity in his gaze made your stomach twist, a feeling of unease creeping up your spine.

“What do you mean?” you asked, though you already knew the answer. It was obvious you hadn’t been playing your best, but the sting of his words made you defensive.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he snapped, stepping closer, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke. “You’re distracted, and it’s fucking up the whole song. This isn’t the time to be spacing out. We have a gig coming up, remember? This is supposed to be our shot.”

You could feel your chest tightening, the weight of his criticism hanging in the air. You didn’t want to feel this way—not with Naoya. He was always blunt, but something about the bite in his words felt like a punch to the gut.

“Give it a rest, Naoya,” Iori’s voice cut in, her tone quieter but still firm. “We all know she’s having a rough time today. Lay off.”

But Naoya wasn’t having it. He shot her a quick glance, then turned back to you, his expression hardening. “She’s having a rough time?” he repeated, his voice rising. “We all have rough times, but we still show up and do our part. This is important, and you—” He pointed at you, his finger trembling with frustration. “—are holding us back.”

Your fingers tightened around the neck of your guitar, a dull thrum of anger mixing with the frustration already brewing inside you. How could he possibly understand?

Naoya’s words hit you harder than they should have, stinging deep into a part of you that you couldn’t ignore. Your grip on the guitar tightened as if it could somehow steady the storm brewing inside you.

“You’re holding us back,” Naoya repeated, his voice sharp like a knife. “We can’t afford to have you slacking off, not now.”

Yu, who had been mostly silent up until that point, shifted uncomfortably. He adjusted the dial on his synth, casting a glance at the rest of the band before speaking up. “Naoya, maybe dial it back a bit, yeah? We all know she’s not in the best headspace, but yelling isn’t gonna help anyone.” His words weren’t defensive of you, but they weren’t exactly in Naoya’s corner either.

Choso, seated behind his drums, tapped one of the cymbals lightly with his stick before speaking in his usual low, rumbling voice. “We all have our days, man. Doesn’t help to turn this into a fight. Just play the damn song.”

But Naoya wasn’t ready to back down. He narrowed his eyes, his jaw tightening in frustration. “You two are just gonna let this slide? We’re on the edge of something big, and she’s acting like she doesn’t care. She’s messing up, and it’s dragging us all down.”

You could feel the heat of his words burning through you. The anger swelled in your chest, mixing with the ache in your heart that you’d been trying to ignore. What right did he have to criticize you when he didn’t know what was really going on?

“Maybe if you didn’t make everything sound like the end of the world, I’d be able to focus,” you snapped, voice cold and sharp, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Naoya’s eyes flashed with irritation, and for a moment, you both just stared at each other. His lips curled into a sneer. “Yeah? Well, maybe if you actually gave a damn about this band, you’d stop fucking around. You think your problems are more important than the rest of us?” His words were venomous, laced with anger and something deeper—something raw.

But before either of you could escalate it any further, a voice rang out, clear and authoritative.

“Enough.”

The sharpness of Nanami’s tone cut through the tension in the room, freezing everyone in place. All eyes turned to him as he stepped forward, his expression unamused but not angry—more like someone who was simply done with the drama.

“Naoya, you’ve said your piece,” Nanami continued, his voice calm but heavy with authority. “Now shut it. This isn’t helping anyone. And you,” he continued, not softening his voice, but not harsh either, “stop letting whatever’s going on in your head mess with this. We’re all here for the same thing. If you’re going to be here, then be here. Focus.”

The weight of his words settled on you. He wasn’t yelling, wasn’t trying to drag either of you further into this mess. He just spoke like it was a simple matter of fact.

“This isn’t the time for personal drama,” Nanami added, his tone still clear but without a trace of malice. "We’ve got a gig to prepare for. Get it together."

The room fell silent. Naoya, though still visibly irritated, seemed to recognize the finality in Nanami’s words and stopped pushing. You took a breath, your chest feeling a little lighter. Nanami wasn’t sugarcoating anything, but he wasn’t piling on either. He was just being direct, reminding you all of why you were here in the first place.

Yu and Choso exchanged glances, both of them letting out quiet sighs of relief. The tension was still there, but it was more manageable now.

The silence hung in the room for a moment longer before Nanami broke it with a more relaxed, but still authoritative tone. "Alright, take a 15-minute break," he said, his eyes scanning the band. "Everyone take a step back, get your nerves settled. We’ll come back to this in a bit, but it’s clear we need to cool off before we get back into it."

There was a collective sigh of relief. Yu and Choso both took a step back, leaning against the wall and quietly talking amongst themselves. Iori fiddled with her mic stand, clearly giving the rest of you space, while Naoya just stood there, his posture stiff, but he didn’t say anything else.

You didn’t wait for the others to move. With your nerves still frazzled, you found the couch and collapsed onto it, running a hand over your face. You hadn’t even realized how tight your jaw had been until you released the tension with a soft exhale. Your mind was racing with everything that had been said, and despite the anger you felt bubbling beneath the surface, it was all a bit much.

Instinctively, your hand reached for your phone. You unlocked it without really thinking, the screen lighting up in the dim room. There was a missed call from Gojo. You cursed softly under your breath. The last thing you wanted was to talk to him right now—not with everything that had been going on. But you couldn’t deny the pull to hear his voice, even if the sting of seeing him kiss Mina still burned in the back of your mind.

Without thinking much further, you pressed “Call.”

The moment his voice came through the speaker, a part of you immediately softened. “Hey, hey! Finally pickin’ up, huh?” Gojo’s voice was a little more hyper than you’d expected, as if he was bouncing off the walls, and for a second, it caught you off guard.

“I was startin’ to think you’d forgotten about me or something!” he continued with a playful pout. “You left the party early last night, no goodbye, no nothing. What’s up with that? Did you not like my dancing or was the music not up to your standards?” He chuckled, as if teasing you, completely unaware of the unease swirling inside you.

You swallowed hard, forcing a light, breezy laugh. It’s fine, you told yourself, trying to shake off the knot in your stomach. It doesn’t matter. Just act normal.

“Ah, you know how it is,” you said, your voice coming out a little too bright, a little too cheery. You could practically hear the smile you were trying to fake. “I wasn’t feeling the best, you know how I can be with loud crowds.” You even threw in a little chuckle for good measure, hoping it’d cover up the sting that still lingered in your chest.

But Gojo didn’t pick up on the forced tone, of course. He never did.

“Aww, that’s a shame,” he said, his voice playful. “I thought you were having a good time! You should’ve told me, I would’ve saved you a dance. You know, I’m the best dancer at those things. You really missed out.” There was a cocky grin in his voice, and it made you want to roll your eyes even though you couldn’t help but smile despite yourself.

You sat back on the couch, trying to focus on Gojo's teasing, but your mind kept drifting back to the images of him with Mina. The playful tone of his voice almost seemed to mock the knot in your stomach, and no matter how hard you tried to push it down, you couldn't shake the way your chest tightened at the thought of them together.

With a quiet sigh, you leaned forward, your phone still pressed to your ear.

"Well, I didn't plan on staying all night, anyways," you said, trying to keep your voice light. "You know me—crowds and I don't always get along."

Gojo’s laughter rang through the phone, a little louder than before. "Next time, I’ll save you a dance," he teased. "You missed out, for real."

You chuckled softly, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, next time,” you repeated, trying to keep the lightness in your tone, even though your mind immediately flashed back to the sight of Gojo dancing so close to Mina. The way he moved with her, effortlessly, the chemistry between them so obvious—it made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t ignore.

Stop it, you thought to yourself. It’s none of your business. You’re just being dramatic.

But no matter how hard you tried to shake it, the image lingered. You couldn’t help but picture him spinning Mina around, laughing, his hand low on her back, pulling her in close. There was something so… easy about the way they were together. So natural.

Gojo, however, didn’t seem to notice the shift in your mood. He was too busy playing the charming fool, oblivious as always.

You stood up slowly, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts, and made your way to the door.

As you walked toward the door, the sounds of the studio felt distant, like you were drifting away from them, seeking the brief peace of the hallway.

But then, just before you stepped out completely, you heard Naoya's voice from inside the studio. It was low, almost under his breath, but sharp enough to catch your attention.

"Yeah, maybe if you spent as much time on your notes as you do chatting on the phone, we wouldn’t be here all day," he muttered, the words barely loud enough for you to ignore, but sharp enough to get under your skin.

You froze, your hand on the door handle.

A surge of irritation bubbled up inside you, but you forced it down, knowing it wasn’t worth responding. You didn’t have time to get caught up in one of his petty comments, especially not now.

With a quick glance back at the studio, you let out a quiet breath and stepped outside, closing the door gently behind you. You leaned against the wall, just for a moment of peace—just enough to breathe. Gojo’s voice was a stark contrast to the tense silence of the studio, his words carefree and oblivious to everything that had been bubbling under the surface.

“So, are we still on for later?” he asked, completely unaware of the knot still sitting in your chest. “You know, after practice like usual? I thought we could grab dinner or something—at the convenience store. You in?”

You hesitated, biting your lip. The last thing you wanted to do right now was spend time with Gojo, especially after everything that happened last night. But despite the hesitation, the thought of seeing his face, the way his smile always managed to make everything feel lighter, pulled at you.

You could already imagine his playful grin, the way his eyes lit up when he saw you, and the stupid, unexplainable flutter in your stomach every time he spoke to you.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice sounding a little too quiet, a little too unsure. But you pushed it down. “I’m in. I’ll see you after practice, okay?”

“Great!” Gojo’s cheer was immediate and overly enthusiastic, like you’d just agreed to go on an all-expenses-paid vacation with him. “I’ll be there in thirty. That should line up with when you’re done, right? I know your schedule better than you do.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile creeping across your lips. “Stalker much, Satoru?”

“Am not! M’just a great best friend.” He replied and you could hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke. “Anyways, I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Be ready to bask in my greatness.”

“Sure, can’t wait,” you said dryly, though his excitement chipped away some of the tension still lingering in your chest.

The call ended with a playful beep, leaving you alone with the soft hum of the hallway. You tucked your phone into your pocket, inhaling deeply before making your way back to the practice room.

You took one last deep breath, steadying yourself as you pushed open the door to the practice room. The chatter and clatter of everyone getting ready for another round immediately filled your ears, the energy in the room buzzing as usual.

Naoya caught sight of you as you stepped in. His eyes narrowed briefly, the usual smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, look who finally decided to rejoin us,” he said with a tone dripping in sarcasm. “I figured you’d still be out there, busy on your phone with your friend, instead of keeping up with your notes like you should.”

You clenched your jaw, the irritation from earlier creeping back. Before you could open your mouth to retort, Iori, who had been nearby, shot a sharp jab to Naoya's side, sending him stumbling a little.

“Knock it off, Naoya,” Iori muttered, her voice low but firm. “Not everyone spends their whole life under a microscope like you.”

Naoya shot her an irritated look, but Iori’s usual no-nonsense attitude had managed to shut him up for the moment.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. As much as you hated to admit it, you appreciated Iori’s timing.

Just then, Nanami glanced up from where he’d been tuning his guitar, his gaze turning toward you with that calm, almost calculating look he always had. “Ready for another round?” he asked, his voice steady and even. His presence had a way of grounding you, always somehow making things feel just a bit more manageable.

You nodded quickly, your breath steadying as you mentally prepared for another round of practice. "Yeah," you said, your voice coming out a bit breathy but confident. You grabbed your guitar, adjusting the strap over your shoulder. The familiar weight of it brought you back to your element, where everything else faded into the background.

Nanami, bass in hand, gave you a small, reassuring nod as his fingers started to slide over the strings. The deep, rich tones of the bass filled the room, grounding everything, and Iori, standing front and center with her mic, was already singing a few warm-up notes under her breath.

Choso, behind the drums, cracked his knuckles before taking his seat. He glanced your way, offering a brief smile before letting the sticks rest lightly in his hands, ready to hit the snare. Yu, standing by his synthesizer, was already tapping at the keys, humming along quietly to himself as he adjusted the sound levels. Naoya, being Naoya, was fiddling with his DJ equipment, testing out the next track or whatever his role was this time.

As always, you were the one to bring the electric spark to the group. You adjusted your fingers over the strings of your guitar, a sense of focus washing over you as the rest of the band began to sync. Maybe it was hearing his voice just now, or maybe just the familiarity of the music, but it felt a bit easier to let go now. The chaos of the day and the undercurrent of frustration faded as your hands moved over the fretboard.

Iori caught your eye for a brief second and, with her usual fiery energy, nodded toward you. She shot a quick wink as she raised her mic. "You ready, guitar hero?" she teased, her voice still smooth as silk, but with that playful edge you were all too familiar with.

You gave her a small grin and strummed a chord. "Yeah, let's do this."

Nanami's bass throbbed, the beat of Choso's drums kicked in, and Yu’s synth melodies began to echo through the room. Naoya hit the button on his DJ equipment, the crisp sound of beats layering over the instruments as the song began to take shape.

With a few final adjustments, you let your fingers fly across the fretboard, the strings vibrating with each strum. Music filled the air, and for that brief moment, everything outside of the band—the tension, the distractions, the stress—vanished. The only thing that mattered now was the sound.

The music built steadily, each layer blending effortlessly with the next. Nanami’s bass pulsed like a heartbeat, steady and sure, while Choso’s drumming added sharp, driving energy. Yu’s synths shimmered in, wrapping around the melody, and Naoya’s samples wove through it all, giving the track its signature edge. Iori’s voice soared above the instrumental, smooth and steady, like it had always been meant to blend with the rest. You leaned into the groove, the guitar feeling like an extension of yourself, as if the music was pulling you forward with every note.

When the last notes faded, silence settled over the room, broken only by the soft hum of the equipment. The band had done well today. And for the first time, the guitar had felt right, the strings humming under your fingertips, as if they were just a little more in tune with you than they had been before.

You didn’t think you’d played it perfectly—there were still moments where you stumbled, where your fingers missed a beat, or the rhythm wasn’t quite right—but it felt like you were getting closer. Maybe it was the focus you had finally found, or maybe it was the call with Gojo that had calmed your nerves, but your playing had finally come with a little more ease. For once, you felt like you could actually breathe while playing, instead of getting caught up in the pressure and self-doubt.

“Well done, everyone,” Iori said, her voice bright as always. She flashed a grin your way, nodding with approval. “That sounded killer.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Yu added, his voice soft but content. He adjusted his headphones, his fingers tapping out a rhythm against the synth keys, a gesture of satisfaction. “We’re getting there.”

Choso, pulling himself out of his seat, stretched his arms above his head before chiming in. “I think this is it. We just need a bit more polish,” he said, his tone casual but upbeat. “Great work today, though.”

Nanami gave you a brief, silent nod as he packed away his bass, his expression calm but pleased. It was rare for him to show much outward emotion, but you could tell he was satisfied.

Iori grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, looking toward the door. “Well, I’m off. Got plans with the crew later,” she said, giving you a wink before heading toward the hall. Yu followed shortly after, adjusting his jacket with a content sigh. “Same here. See you at the next rehearsal,” he said with a smile, his voice still carrying that laid-back ease. Choso stood, picking up his drumsticks and slinging his bag across his shoulder. “Bye,” he said simply, before heading out the door.

Nanami was the last to leave, offering you another silent nod before grabbing his own things and following the others down the hall.

The usual warmth of the band lingered in the room, but the energy shifted the moment they were gone. The chatter of their plans faded as the door clicked shut behind them, and the room felt quieter, more still.

As you reached for your bag, you heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind you. You turned, expecting to see Naoya packing up, but instead, he was still standing near his DJ setup, his eyes locked on the equipment in front of him, his posture tense.

Naoya’s posture was rigid as he leaned against the DJ equipment, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His usual smug expression had been replaced with something sharper, his eyes narrowed as he took you in. His voice cut through the silence, harder than you expected.

“Honestly, it’s hard to take you seriously when you can’t even pull it together for a gig that actually matters. Are you even all in on this band, or is this just some hobby for you?” Each word came out tight, like it was a challenge you weren’t quite ready for.

Your chest tightened. His words stung more than you'd like to admit, especially after everything. You stood there, waiting for him to keep going, unsure if the barb was meant to break through your tough exterior or if it was just his frustration spilling out.

But then, something in his posture shifted. The tension in his shoulders seemed to drop, and he let out a long, exhausted sigh. The harshness melted away as he spoke again, softer this time, his eyes losing that sharpness. "Look... I just wanted this gig to be our big break," he said, his voice quieter, laced with something you hadn't expected: real frustration, but also a hint of desperation. "We’ve been grinding for months to get noticed, trying to make something out of this. You know how important this is to the band, and to me." His gaze softened just a bit, like he was trying to make you understand without saying too much.

He paused, running a hand through his hair, his fingers brushing against his forehead in an almost tired gesture. "I just… don’t want to mess this up. Not now. We can’t afford to fall short, especially now that we’ve got a real shot at making it big."

His eyes flickered briefly, and for a second, you saw that familiar wall of stubbornness break down just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the person behind it—the one who was just as worried about everything falling apart as you were. He exhaled deeply, then added, quieter than before, "I just want this to work. I want the band to finally get the recognition we deserve. That’s all."

You could see it in the way his shoulders slumped, in the slight softness in his gaze—he wasn’t just angry, he was invested. This wasn’t just about you being off tonight. This was about the band, about him putting everything he had into something that had the potential to change everything.

Naoya let the silence settle between you for a moment before he gave a small, almost resigned nod. "Just... don’t make me regret it, alright?" And with that, he turned, not waiting for a response, but his voice had lost its bite. It was still firm, but it carried an unspoken weight—he was hoping you'd understand.

You stood there for a moment, taking in the weight of his words. The sharpness of his earlier jabs still echoed in your chest but hearing the shift in his tone—hearing the real concern beneath his frustration—left you at a loss for words.

You couldn’t deny the pressure. You’d felt it too, the stakes of this gig, how important it was for the band. But his harsh words still stung, especially after everything that had happened. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat.

After a moment of silence, you let out a slow breath. “I’m not trying to mess this up, Naoya,” you said, your voice steady, though there was a tightness in your chest. "I know how much this means to all of us." You met his gaze, trying to show him you understood, even if you weren’t sure how to fully express it. "I’ll… get it together. You don’t have to worry about that."

You paused, the space between you feeling more fragile now, like the air had thickened with everything unspoken. "I get it, though," you continued, a little softer. "I just... need a minute sometimes." You forced a smile, though it was tight at the edges, trying to lighten the mood a little. "But I’m here. I’m all in, okay?"

Naoya didn’t immediately respond, but you could tell by the slight softening in his eyes that he was hearing you. Maybe he didn’t fully believe it, but the tension had shifted just enough for him to nod, as if satisfied—at least for now.

With a short, almost reluctant glance your way, he walked off, leaving you standing there, feeling the weight of his words lingering in the silence.

You turned off the lights, the dimming of the room a final sign that practice had officially ended. The buzz of lingering tension in the air still clung to you, but you pushed it down as you headed toward the exit. The familiar echo of your footsteps against the floor was the only sound now, and you let it soothe you, clearing your head as best as you could.

You made your way down the stairs slowly, each step carrying the weight of the conversation you’d just had with Naoya. The band’s words, his frustration, the unspoken understanding—it all swirled in your head, a mix of emotions you couldn’t quite sort out. The usual hum of the building felt muted now, the buzzing energy from practice having faded into something heavier, something more uncertain.

As you reached the bottom of the staircase, you spotted him.

Gojo.

He was standing near the door, arms casually crossed, his signature grin stretched wide across his face. The moment his eyes landed on you, the grin only grew brighter, as if your arrival had somehow sparked his whole mood.

"Took you long enough," Gojo called out, his voice teasing but warm. His eyes twinkled with that usual spark of mischief, but there was something else in his gaze, something softer, like he was actually waiting for you—like he’d been expecting this moment.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips despite the weight of everything that had just happened. There was something undeniably comforting about Gojo’s presence, like he was a small oasis of calm in the middle of all the chaos. His grin, that ever-present playfulness, had a way of easing the tightness in your chest, even if just for a moment.

You offered a tired smile, feeling a small amount of the tension lift at the sound of his voice. “Had a lot to wrap up.”

Gojo pushed off the wall and stretched casually as he started to walk off. “Well, now that the hard part’s over, you’re free to hang out with me. Sound good?”

You shrugged, a teasing smile curling at your lips despite the exhaustion weighing on you. “I guess.”

Gojo stopped in his tracks, feigning offense, his hand clutching his chest dramatically. “I guess?” he repeated, his tone incredulous, “Is that really all I get after I graciously offer to spend my valuable time with you?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the exaggerated pout that tugged at his lips, his usual playful confidence now tinged with mock hurt. His act was so over-the-top that it almost felt like a personal insult—except it was hilarious.

“C’mon, you’re lucky I’m even agreeing to hang out with you,” you shot back with a smirk, trying to match his theatrics as you turned to walk beside him.

Gojo’s pout deepened for a moment, but then his grin returned, wide and knowing, like he had won some small, unspoken victory. He waved a dismissive hand. “Fine, fine, I guess I’ll take what I can get. But next time, at least give me a ‘thank you’ or something,” he said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you chuckled. “You’re insufferable sometimes, you know that?”

“Yep,” he said with a grin, stepping up beside you, his playful demeanor as natural as breathing. “But you still love me.”

The words hit you like a sudden wave, and for a moment, everything else around you seemed to fade into the background. You froze, caught off guard. But you still love me. It felt like your heart had skipped a beat, the words coming from him so casual, so light. But in that moment, they resonated deeper than you expected. You couldn’t help but feel a pang in your chest, knowing it was just him teasing—but the reality was, it wasn’t entirely untrue. You did love him.

But you couldn’t let that show, not now. Not when he was being his usual playful self. You let out a soft exhale, the moment passing as quickly as it had arrived.

“Love you?” You shot him a look, the teasing smirk back on your face. “Not sure about that. But I guess I’ll let you stick around a little longer.”

Gojo laughed, clearly not picking up on the slight shift in your tone, and nudged your shoulder. “A little longer? I’m wounded,” he said with exaggerated drama. “But I’ll take it. I guess that’s as close to love as I’ll get from you, huh?”

You chuckled, shaking your head, the tightness in your chest still lingering, but you'd buried it under the sarcasm. “That’s about the best you’re going to get.”

You both walked to the convenience store, your footsteps in sync, though your mind felt a little distant. Gojo's usual teasing banter floated around you, but you couldn’t help but feel the familiar knot in your stomach. It wasn’t the first time you’d hung out with him like this, but tonight, everything felt… heavier. You pushed the thought aside.

Inside the store, the familiar warmth and low hum of the lights made you feel grounded. You grabbed a cup of instant noodles and a couple of snacks, trying to focus on something as simple as preparing food. The act of cooking your noodles in the microwave seemed to calm your racing thoughts.

Gojo, naturally, was in a good mood as he picked out a drink and snacks, then casually plopped down next to you. As you set your bowl of noodles in front of you, you couldn’t help but notice the way his shoulder brushed against yours as he sat—just a little too close for comfort, but you didn’t pull away.

Gojo took a sip of his drink, leaning back casually against his seat, his usual carefree demeanor in full force. The silence between you two was comfortable, yet your mind was all over the place. You were trying to keep your thoughts in check when, out of nowhere, Gojo dropped his usual carefree remark.

“By the way,” he began, his voice casual, almost as if he was talking about the weather, “I’ve got a girlfriend now.”

And for a split second, the world seemed to freeze.

Everything—the soft hum of the convenience store, the clink of distant cans, the faint rustle of plastic bags—vanished into the background. Your breath hitched in your chest, and the next few seconds dragged by like slow-motion, the words echoing in your mind.

Girlfriend?

Your fingers gripped your bowl of noodles so tightly that it almost slipped from your hands. Your vision blurred slightly, and for a heartbeat, you couldn’t remember how to breathe. A heavy weight settled in your chest, like you were sinking into an endless pit.

The memories of last night—the soft hum of the afterparty, the way he’d danced with Mina, their kiss, the way she smiled up at him—came crashing down all at once. It was like someone had grabbed your ribcage and squeezed. You blinked, feeling a tightness in your throat, a flood of heat behind your eyes.

How did things advance so quickly in the span of a night?

You’d seen them together, you knew it was coming, and yet—this? Why Mina?

Why her?

Out of all the people, why had it been her? You’d watched the way he looked at her, the laughter that came so naturally as they danced, the way she’d fit so effortlessly into his orbit. The kiss had been a final confirmation, one you had tried to pretend wasn’t real, but now, hearing the word "girlfriend" spill from his lips—it felt like a punch to the gut.

You thought you understood him, at least enough to know that he wasn’t one for commitment. He’d told you that himself. You’d heard it countless times: "I don’t do relationships. Too much hassle, too much commitment."

But here he was, talking about Mina like it was nothing. Like the man who had sworn off ties, who had never seemed interested in anything beyond his casual flings, had suddenly—and without warning—shifted completely.

It didn’t make sense. You blinked rapidly, fighting the sting behind your eyes. How did this happen? How had his stance on relationships changed so fast, so suddenly, without any hint of it? And why now? Why Mina, of all people?

You felt your grip on the bowl tighten, your knuckles turning white. The ache in your chest wasn’t just about him moving on—it was about the sudden shift, the betrayal of all those times you’d tried to convince yourself he’d eventually come around, that maybe he’d see you as more than just the friend who always tagged along.

And now this. Her. A girl who seemed to get him, who was everything you weren’t: confident, carefree, like she belonged beside him.

For a fleeting moment, you felt that familiar, hollow pang again. What did she have that you didn’t?

The thought lingered, gnawing at you, but you pushed it aside. You couldn’t afford to indulge in that kind of self-pity—not right now. Not in front of him.

You took a breath, steadying yourself. Don’t let him see it. Don’t let him see how badly this hurts.

You swallowed, forcing your chopsticks to meet your noodles again, but it felt like your throat had gone dry. "Mina, right?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, and you instantly regretted it. Your voice was too quiet, too unsure, but you couldn’t take it back.

Gojo didn’t seem to notice the change in your demeanor. He flashed you that usual grin, the one that always made you feel like you were the only person in the room. "Yeah, that’s her," he said, a little more animated now, clearly pleased with himself. "She’s awesome. Thought you’d like her."

You didn’t expect the surge of pain that hit you at his words, but it was sharp and unmistakable. You kept your eyes trained on the noodles in your bowl, afraid they’d betray you if you looked up.

Gojo continued, clearly not picking up on the shift in your mood. “Honestly, she’s just... everything I never knew I needed. She’s got this energy, you know? It’s like—everything about her just makes sense. The way she talks, the way she laughs, the way she looks at me, it’s like she sees me—really sees me, you know?”

You could feel your heart tighten at his words, the little cracks in your chest deepening with every praise. His voice was full of that certain warmth, the one that made everything he said feel like it was wrapped in a soft, golden light. It was a tone you had never heard directed at you.

You swallowed thickly, your stomach twisting with each word that slipped past Gojo’s lips. He didn’t notice, of course—he was too wrapped up in whatever glow Mina had cast over him.

"It’s like she really gets me, y'know?" Gojo continued, the edge of his smile softening into something more thoughtful. "Like, every little thing I do, she just understands and… and we’re on the same wavelength. No effort. No trying. It’s just… natural."

You blinked, and for a moment, everything went blurry. Your hands tightened around your chopsticks, but you barely noticed.

I get you too, the thought screamed in your head, but you swallowed your voice down your throat, forcing out a smile instead. Why doesn’t that matter?

The words you didn’t say swirled around you, a dull ache in your chest that refused to quiet down. You’d spent years trying to understand him, trying to be the person who got him—the way he looked at the world, the jokes he made, the way his mind worked at a million miles a minute. You’d always been there, hadn’t you?

And yet here he was, saying Mina was the one who got him.

In that split second, the words stung with a cold finality. It wasn’t about the girl. It wasn’t about Mina. It was about how effortlessly Gojo had found someone else to fill that space in his heart that, for so long, you thought maybe—just maybe—was reserved for you.

He continued, unaware of the quiet storm in your mind. "She just gets me, and I don’t have to explain anything. It's so easy with her. I can't even remember the last time something felt so right, you know?"

Your mind went blank for a moment, and you couldn’t stop the thought that broke through: But I get you. I’ve always gotten you.

You blinked and cleared your throat. The sting was still there, but you couldn’t show it. You forced a smile, even though it felt like your lips were glued together. "I’m glad she makes you happy," you said, the words coming out smoother than you felt. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything more.

Gojo’s grin widened. "Yeah, she’s great," he said, leaning back in his seat, completely unaware of the quiet battle going on inside you. “I’m really lucky.”

As he went on, your thoughts circled back to that question—Why her? Why had he found someone who fit so effortlessly into the life you’d imagined you two would share? And why wasn’t it you who had earned the privilege of being the one to "get him"?

For a moment, it felt like the world outside the two of you faded into the background. The convenience store, the noise, the bustling sounds—everything felt far away.

It was just you, Gojo, and the words he couldn’t take back.

You continued to stare at him, your gaze flickering over every little thing—the way his eyes lit up when he talked about her, the almost reverent tone in his voice, the soft, almost dreamy expression that crept onto his face. He wasn’t just saying it; he was feeling it, every word a reflection of something deep inside him, something he couldn’t hide even if he tried.

His smile, usually so playful and confident, was softer now. His eyes were full of that familiar warmth, but there was something new—something brighter. It was a look you had never seen before.

Your breath hitched again, and for a brief moment, it felt like your chest was tightening around you, the world shrinking as his words continued to wash over you, louder and louder.

He was in love.

The thought hit you with a quiet finality, and you swallowed hard, feeling something inside you crack just a little more. You couldn’t look away, even though you wanted to. Even though everything inside you was screaming to pull back, to stop pretending, to let it all show.

But you couldn’t.

Not now.

You could feel the ache swelling in your chest again, but this time, you forced yourself to hold it down, to swallow it back where it belonged. You have to be happy for him. He deserves this. The words rang in your mind, a mantra you tried to hold on to. You had never been selfish with him, not once. And no matter how badly it hurt, no matter how much you wished it was you sitting there beside him, you couldn’t let him see it.

You have to support him.

You blinked, trying to clear the sudden haze in your vision, and when you looked at him again, you made sure your smile was there—genuine, warm, and kind, just like always. The lump in your throat made it difficult, but you forced it down.

"She sounds amazing," you said, your voice steady, even though your heart felt like it was breaking with every word. "I’m really happy for you, Satoru."

He didn’t seem to notice the subtle strain in your tone. His eyes brightened further, the love for Mina practically glowing in them. “Yeah, she really is. I really think you two will get along well once you meet. She’s easy to talk to, you’ll see.”

You nodded, forcing a bit more enthusiasm into your voice. "I’m sure we will."

But as he continued to talk about her, the way his voice softened with affection every time her name left his lips, something inside you cracked again. You tried to push it down. You had to. You had to be supportive, even if it felt like the air was being slowly squeezed out of your lungs.

Because he was happy. That was all that mattered.

And as much as it hurt, you couldn’t be the one to hold him back from that. PART 3

[christopherisfoive]

Cold Burn (Chapter 9)

!idol reader x Seungmin; enemies to lovers

Word Count: 3.5 k

a/n : sigh, days are blending. ty for reading <3

The days blurred together, each one slipping seamlessly into the next. The energy of the tour remained high—constant rehearsals, interviews, and performances—but for Y/N, everything felt distant, like she was trapped in a space where nothing truly reached her. The excitement of the fans, the adrenaline of the stage, even the camaraderie of the team—it all seemed to exist in a world separate from hers, one she could no longer connect to.

The moment she had opened herself to Seungmin, letting him into a part of her life she had never shared with anyone, something shifted. At first, she convinced herself it was just her nerves, the vulnerability of exposing her past. But it wasn’t just that. There was a distance, subtle but undeniable. A coldness that seeped in like a draft in a warm room, turning what once felt familiar and safe into something unrecognizable.

He was there, but not really there. His presence was always tangible, yet it felt as though he was moving in slow motion, drifting just beyond her reach. Every time she thought she’d bridged the gap, he pulled further away.

Y/N tried to tell herself it was just a phase—that maybe Seungmin was distracted or tired from the tour. But the days dragged on, and the silence only grew, stretching between them like a chasm she couldn’t cross. The weight in the air was suffocating, a heaviness that followed them everywhere. And every time their eyes met, the gulf between them widened.

She found herself searching for any sign that things weren’t as broken as they seemed. Anything. But when she watched him, it was as if Seungmin had completely shut down. Even the smallest exchanges—glances, brief conversations—were clouded by awkwardness, by something missing. A distance she couldn’t touch.

By now, she had hoped things would feel normal again. That Seungmin would come to her, explain, apologize, or at least make it clear that he hadn’t intended to push her away. But the apology never came. His eyes avoided hers, and his smiles—if they came at all—never reached his eyes.

Y/N had spent so much of the past few days watching him, trying to decipher the subtle changes in him, trying to understand what had happened. But no matter how hard she tried to piece it all together, nothing made sense. His behavior wasn’t just a phase—it was something deeper, something more complicated. And she needed to know why.

Seungmin could feel the walls he’d built around himself cracking, piece by piece. Each day, each rehearsal, each fleeting moment with Y/N pulled at him, the weight of his actions gnawing at him relentlessly. The guilt was suffocating, pressing down on his chest, refusing to be ignored.

He had spent so long hiding behind his mask of indifference—pretending that competition was just a game, that being cold and distant was easier than being real. But now, every time he looked at Y/N, saw the questions in her eyes, the hurt on her face, the mask became unbearable. It was no longer just a protective shell. It was a cage.

He had seen the way she looked at him—how she watched him when they were close, how her hand would linger near his before he pulled away. She didn’t say anything, but the weight of her silence was louder than any words.

How did I get here? Seungmin thought, his hands running through his hair, frustration building. I should’ve told her. I should’ve told her long ago.

But the longer he waited, the harder it became. The truth seemed to weigh on him like a dead weight in his chest, each moment growing heavier, until he felt like he might crumble under it.

He remembered the first day of the tour—the excitement, the teasing, the way he would try to get under Y/N’s skin just to see her react. It had been playful, at first, but somewhere along the way, something had changed. Then Mira had entered the picture, and everything had become tangled. He let himself be caught up in something he should have seen for what it was: manipulation.

Now, when he looked at Y/N, he didn’t see the girl he had been teasing—he saw the consequences of his decisions. And the guilt, the weight of what he’d done, was unbearable.

I need to tell her, he thought, but the knot in his stomach twisted painfully. But how? How do I fix this when everything I’ve done is just… hurt her?

It had been another long day, and the exhaustion weighed heavily on Y/N as she stood in the hotel lobby. The physical fatigue was nothing compared to the emotional exhaustion she’d been carrying for weeks. The tension—the silence between her and Seungmin—had been eating her up. She couldn’t ignore it anymore.

She glanced around the lobby, her eyes landing on Seungmin. He stood off to the side, arms crossed over his chest, eyes on the floor. It wasn’t just the physical distance between them—it was the emotional distance that hurt the most.

Y/N made her decision in that moment. She couldn’t keep waiting for him. She was tired of the silence, tired of the emotional push and pull. She needed answers, and if he wouldn’t come to her, she’d go to him.

Her footsteps echoed in the quiet lobby as she moved toward him, her breath shallow, her heart pounding. For a fleeting moment, their eyes met—just a brief second. But it was enough to make Seungmin freeze, his gaze lingering longer than usual before he quickly looked away, as if the contact burned.

Y/N stopped in front of him, her presence filling the space between them, but still, the silence stretched on. They stood there for what felt like an eternity before Y/N spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Why are you doing this, Seungmin?” she asked, her words heavy, filled with all the frustration she had been holding back.

Seungmin’s face softened, but there was no explanation in his eyes. “I can’t fix this,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “I don’t know how to make it right.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. She was ready to break, but she wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easily. “What can’t you fix?” she pressed.

Seungmin’s shoulders slumped, and he stepped back, his face falling into shadow. He stared at the ground as if the weight of the truth was too much for him to bear.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “But I can’t.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there in the stillness of the lobby, her heart pounding in her chest.

The sound of his footsteps faded into the distance, and Y/N was left alone. For a moment, she didn’t know where to go or what to do. It felt like the floor had dropped from under her. Nothing made sense anymore.

She stood there, struggling to catch her breath, unsure if she was angry, heartbroken, or just numb.

Seungmin had walked away—again. And she had no idea if she could ever trust him again.

Y/N sat alone in her hotel room, the weight of everything that had happened over the last few days pressing down on her. The exhaustion from the tour was nothing compared to the emotional toll of trying to make sense of Seungmin’s actions. She was tired of waiting, tired of trying to piece together a puzzle that seemed intentionally scrambled.

Her fingers clenched into the sheets, her thoughts still tangled. She had been so patient, so understanding. She had tried to give him space, time to come to her, to open up. But after everything she had shared with him, the silence felt louder than ever. He was still hiding something. And now, with the truth hanging just out of reach, she felt like she had been left standing in the dark.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

Y/N looked up, her heart heavy in her chest. She knew who it was before she even stood up.

Lee Know stepped inside, his usual easygoing smile faltering when he saw the tension in her eyes. He had seen that look before—the one where Y/N was on the edge, unable to keep the weight of it all inside anymore.

"Everything okay?" he asked, sitting down beside her. His voice was soft, but there was an underlying concern there, something he didn’t try to hide.

Y/N ran a hand through her hair, the frustration pouring out before she could stop it. "No. Nothing is okay, Lee Know. I’ve been trying to figure it out for days, and I can’t get anything. It’s like… he’s pulling away again. After everything we went through, we started getting along, and now it’s like we’re back to where we started—further apart than before."

Lee Know stayed silent for a moment, his eyes studying her with an intensity that made Y/N uncomfortable. He didn't immediately respond, and that silence was enough to make Y/N's frustration bubble over.

"I don’t know what’s going on with him," she continued, her voice trembling now. "I just want him to be honest with me, to tell me what’s really going on. But he won’t. And now, every time I try to talk to him, it’s like he’s shutting me out again."

Lee Know sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the floor. "Sometimes people shut down when they don’t know how to deal with things. Especially when they’re carrying something heavy inside."

Y/N shot him a skeptical look. "What do you mean? What is he carrying?"

Before Lee Know could answer, the door creaked open. Jeongin stepped inside, glancing between them, immediately sensing the tension in the room.

“What are you guys talking about?” he asked casually, though his eyes were filled with curiosity.

Lee Know hesitated for a moment, giving Y/N a brief, questioning look before responding. “Seungmin.”

Jeongin raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Oh, did he finally tell you about the Mira thing?"

Y/N froze. The room seemed to still around her as Jeongin’s words sank in. "What Mira thing?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, a mixture of confusion and disbelief creeping into her words.

Jeongin, oblivious to the weight of his statement, continued, "The mess with your performances. Mira and Seungmin—he was involved with her making things harder for you…"

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. Making things harder? Her mind raced as Jeongin’s words pierced through her. She couldn't make sense of them. “What are you talking about? Seungmin... was involved with Mira? I’m having a hard time understanding.”

Lee Know shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to his hands as he spoke. “Seungmin didn’t realize how far it had gone. He thought it was just a way to challenge you, but Mira took it too far. He… he was caught up in it before he even realized how much it was hurting you.”

Y/N’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, her voice shaking with a mix of anger and disbelief. "Why didn’t he tell me? Did you guys know this whole time?" The words spilled out of her, each one cutting deeper. "I’ve been working my ass off, trying to figure out what’s going on, and you both let me struggle while keeping this from me?"

Jeongin swallowed, his face apologetic. "I didn’t think he’d keep it from you for this long. I thought… I thought he’d tell you sooner. But everything you’ve struggled with on stage—your mistakes, the missteps, the things that didn’t feel right—it was all part of what they were doing. Mira was pushing you in ways that weren’t fair, and Seungmin... he helped her."

Lee Know held his breath, waiting for the explosion he could sense was coming.

Y/N stood up abruptly, her heart pounding in her chest. The anger surged. "I trusted him," she said, her voice a razor’s edge. "I tried to make things normal between us while he had this whole elaborate plan?"

Lee Know stood as well, trying to offer comfort, but Y/N wasn’t having it. "I know this is hard," he said softly, but his words didn’t land. "Seungmin is trying to deal with his own guilt. He doesn’t know how to fix it, Y/N. He doesn’t want to be fighting with you every other day."

But Y/N wasn’t listening anymore. She needed answers, and she needed them from Seungmin himself. "I don’t care about his guilt. He should’ve told me. He should’ve trusted me enough to let me in."

Without another word, she turned and walked out, her mind set on one thing: finding Seungmin and making him face what he had done. The truth had come out, but it wasn’t enough—she needed to hear it from him.

Her footsteps echoed through the hotel hallway as she walked, her chest tight with emotion. She wasn’t sure what she was angrier at—the fact that Seungmin had been involved, or the fact that he’d kept it from her for so long.

The hallway felt cold, distant, and empty, as though everything had shifted in that moment. How long had this been going on? How many times had he let her believe it was her fault? The questions swirled in her mind, and with each step, they became more unbearable.

Her fingers curled into fists. He had used her trust. He had taken it and manipulated it—twisted it to play this game, all while she had opened up to him, trying to understand, trying to make things work.

She stopped in front of Seungmin’s door. Her breath was shallow, her pulse quickening. This was it. She needed the truth, and she was done waiting.

Just as her hand reached for the doorknob, the door swung open. Seungmin stood there, his face a mask of surprise that softened almost immediately. But the tension was palpable, thick in the air between them.

“Y/N…” he began, his voice unsure, almost hesitant.

Y/N took a deep breath, the lump in her throat barely contained. She wasn’t sure what to expect from him anymore, but there was no room for hesitation now.

“You need to tell me everything, Seungmin,” she said, her voice steady, though the anger was still there. "I know what happened. I know what you did."

Seungmin’s eyes widened, and she saw the guilt flash across his face, but his expression quickly shifted into something else—resigned.

“I... I didn’t want you to find out like this,” he began, his voice quieter now, almost apologetic. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Well, now I know,” Y/N replied, her tone cold. "And I need you to explain. Why? Why did you let it go this far? Why didn’t you tell me? I trusted you."

Seungmin’s face tightened. “I was afraid… I thought if I told you, it would only make things worse. I didn’t know how to fix it. I still don’t.”

Y/N shook her head, her anger rising once more. “I’m done with excuses. I don’t want to hear it anymore. I need to know why you did this. Why did you let Mira use you? Why didn’t you step in?”

Seungmin’s shoulders sagged, and for a moment, Y/N thought he might say something more. But then he just looked at her, his eyes filled with guilt and regret.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you. I was just... I was so caught up in it, in trying to be better, in wanting to win, that I didn’t stop to think about the cost.”

Y/N felt the fury rise in her once more. “The cost? You think this was just a game? You think messing with me was just part of some competition?”

Seungmin flinched, but there was nothing he could say.

Y/N’s chest tightened, and the tears she had been holding back finally broke free. “I thought we were getting along. I thought maybe we could... fix things. But now, I can’t even look at you the same way. How am I supposed to trust you again?”

The silence between them was deafening. Seungmin didn’t move, didn’t speak. Y/N realized then that she didn’t need him to explain anymore. She had her answer. And it wasn’t the one she wanted.

With that, she turned and walked away.

Her breath was shaky, her heart racing in her chest. The anger was there, but so was the pain. She could barely process it all, but there was one thing she was sure of now—nothing would ever be the same.

Her thoughts were too loud, too overwhelming. The betrayal she felt cut deeper than she had ever imagined. She had trusted Seungmin. She had opened herself up to him in ways she had never done before, and he had used that trust to hurt her.

As she rounded the corner, her steps faltered when she heard the sound of a door opening. Mira stepped out of Seungmin’s room, her expression smooth, almost too pleased. She didn’t acknowledge Y/N at first, just walked past her, her steps deliberate and self-assured.

But when she did glance at Y/N, there was no guilt in her eyes. There was nothing but a taunting confidence, as if she had won. And she had.

Y/N stood frozen, unable to move. Mira didn’t stop to speak to her. She didn’t even seem to care. But as she walked away, Y/N heard her mutter something under her breath, too soft to make out at first. And then, a word hit her like a punch in the gut.

“Good boy.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. The words were an insult. Seungmin had chosen her—he had let Mira control him.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Why was he still with her? Why had Seungmin let Mira take control of their lives, while Y/N had tried so hard to reach out?

Mira didn’t spare her a second glance as she continued down the hallway, leaving Y/N standing there, her chest tight and her hands clenched into fists. Everything was falling apart.

Taglist:

@seungminnieinthebuilding @11glitch11 @victoriaaf @mirophobic @minhosprettywife @peskybirdysya @littlewolfieposts @leewritesstuff @m0onl1ghtsblog @lveegsoi @captainchrisstan @vixensss @lov3rachan @hhwangsmoon @equipoise-blog-blog @casperlynn23 @hungryhobbit815

[tanjamikaelson]

BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER - CHAPTER 18

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 18: | FUCK YOU RAFE |

You didn’t go to school for three days. Those days blurred together as you retreated into your room, wrapping yourself in the familiar comfort of your favorite show, the only escape from the weight pressing down on you. The outside world seemed far away, and the four walls of your room became your refuge. Even eating felt like a chore, and every time your mother coaxed you out to have a meal, it was more out of necessity than hunger. The food tasted bland, just like everything else lately. You were too consumed by the storm of emotions raging inside you—grief, confusion, and loss all knotted together in a painful tangle that you couldn’t unravel.

Your mother’s suggestion of seeing a therapist only added to that pressure. She meant well, wanting to help you process the loss of Sarah, but the thought of sitting down with someone and talking about everything you felt... It terrified you. What if you slipped up? What if the therapist saw right through you and all the lies you had told to protect Rafe? What if they pieced together the truth? The thought alone made your stomach twist with anxiety. It wasn’t just Sarah you were grieving, after all—it was Rafe too. The ache of losing both of them felt unbearable at times.

You didn’t want to admit it, but Rafe had broken your heart. He hurt you and pushed you away with the coldness in his eyes and the sharpness of his words. And yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. His face haunted your thoughts, especially the moments when he wasn’t angry when his blue eyes softened in ways that made you feel loved. You missed him—missed the way his touch could melt all your fears away, the way he looked at you as though you were the only thing that mattered. But those memories were tainted now, mixed with the way he had shut you out, blaming you for things you didn’t even do.

As much as you wanted to just go and see him again, to tell him how much you still cared, you held yourself back. He was the one who had pushed you away and told you to leave. If he wanted you back, he would have to make the first move. The ball was in his court now, and no matter how badly you wanted to reach out, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Not this time.

•°•°•°•°•°•

The day when you had to return to school finally arrived, but thankfully it was a Friday. You only had to survive a few hours before the weekend gave you a reprieve. As you walked through the halls, trying to blend in with the sea of students, a couple of girls approached you. They offered their support, telling you that you could hang out with them if you ever needed to talk. They even invited you to a beach party that evening. The offer was tempting, but after everything you’d been through recently, you weren’t sure if a party was what you needed.

An hour before the party, one of the girls sent you a message, asking if you were planning to come. You hesitated, sitting on your bed, weighing the decision in your mind. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad—maybe a party could help you forget about everything for a few hours. Getting drunk, laughing with others, and dancing until you were dizzy might just dull the ache that had settled deep in your chest. After a few minutes of thought, you decided to go. You replied, telling her to pick you up.

The process of getting ready distracted you from the thoughts that had plagued you for the past few days. You styled your hair into soft waves, applied subtle makeup to enhance your features, and chose a short dress that hugged your figure just right. For the first time in what felt like ages, you felt a spark of confidence as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

When you arrived at the party just after sunset, the sky was painted in vibrant shades of pink and purple. You didn’t want to be too early, so you timed your arrival perfectly, just as the party was hitting its stride. The girl you came with pulled you through the crowd, her hand gripping yours as she led you toward a group of people near the bonfire. You quickly took a cup of beer from one of the coolers, drinking it fast in hopes that the alcohol would kick in and help you loosen up.

As the beer started to take effect, you joined the girls in dancing by the fire, feeling a sense of freedom you hadn’t felt in weeks. The music thumped through the air, the heat from the flames warming your skin, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to just let go.

“Hey, you want some?” One of the girls asked, lighting up a blunt and taking a hit before offering it to you.

You hesitated, unsure. You’d never smoked before, but tonight was about escaping reality, wasn’t it? A little weed couldn’t hurt. Nodding, you took the blunt from her, inhaling deeply, only to cough as the smoke-filled your lungs.

“First time?” The girl asked with a smile.

You nodded, still coughing. “Yeah.”

“Sorry, it's a little strong, but trust me, you'll feel great,” she said with a reassuring grin.

You returned the smile, your cough subsiding. “I hope so.”

The night wore on, and you lost yourself in the rhythm of the party. You took a few more hits, feeling a dizzy but pleasant buzz in your head. Everything felt lighter, and you laughed more easily. The crowd shifted, and you and the girls moved away from the bonfire to a new spot. That’s when your eyes landed on Rafe.

He was sitting on a fallen tree, and your heart clenched as you saw a girl perched on his lap, kissing him, grinding against him. It felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs. Time seemed to slow down, the laughter and music around you becoming muted. You couldn't move, your feet rooted to the ground.

Before you realize it, you find yourself standing in front of them, your mind racing, your chest tight. You wanted to speak, to scream, but all you managed was a small cough. Rafe’s head snapped up at the sound, his hands immediately flying off the girl’s waist as soon as he saw you. His eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, the high haze clouding his expression cleared.

He pushed the girl off his lap and stood up, his tall frame looming over you. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice louder than usual to be heard over the music. You noticed the dilated pupils—he was definitely high.

“It’s a party. Anyone can come,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, refusing to let him see how much this was tearing you apart.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” Rafe said, almost defensively.

“So, you thought it’d be a good idea to replace me with some random slut?” Your words were sharp, slicing through the air between you. You didn’t care about holding back. “I thought maybe you’d realize you made a mistake when you pushed me away, but clearly, I was wrong.”

Rafe’s expression hardened. “What did you expect me to do? I pushed you away because of your wrong decisions,” he growled, his voice low but filled with anger. “The only person you should be blaming is yourself.”

Without thinking, your hand shot out, and you slapped him hard across the face. The sting on your palm mirrored the pain in your chest. “Fuck you, Rafe. I defended you in front of everybody,” you whispered harshly, your voice trembling with emotion. “If you don’t believe me, ask anyone—Kelce, Topper. They’ll tell you.”

Rafe’s eyes darkened with anger, his face reddening from the slap, but he didn’t say a word. The silence between you felt suffocating, his anger simmering beneath the surface.

When it became clear he had nothing more to say, you turned on your heel and walked away, your heart shattering with each step.

You moved to the opposite side of the party, trying to escape the crushing emotions and the memory of seeing Rafe with someone else. The music, the people laughing and chatting—it all felt like background noise, muffled under the weight of your thoughts. As you wiped away tears that wouldn’t stop falling, you didn't notice Kie calling your name, her voice lost in the hum of the night.

When Kie finally reached you, concern etched in her face, she placed a hand on your arm. "Y/N, are you okay?" Her tone was gentle, but it was clear she could see you were far from fine.

You forced yourself to stop crying, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I’m fine," you said, but your voice betrayed you, shaky and fragile.

Kie frowned, knowing better than to believe you. "You clearly aren’t. What happened?"

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you struggled to gather your thoughts, your emotions raw and exposed. "It’s just Rafe," you finally admitted, your voice quiet and full of hurt.

The look of disdain was immediate on Kie’s face. "Don’t cry because of that psycho," she said, not missing a beat. You knew she would react this way. She hated Rafe, just like Sarah had. Neither of them understood why you cared about him, and sometimes, you weren’t sure you fully understood either.

"I can’t help it," you whispered, your voice breaking as more tears threatened to fall. "I like him—" you shook your head, correcting yourself, "No, I love him, Kie."

Kie’s eyes softened with sympathy, though her dislike for Rafe remained. "What did he do?" she asked, her concern overriding her distaste for the conversation.

"He replaced me so quickly," you said, the pain evident in your voice as you tried to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. "I thought he would try and make things right between us, but he blames me for being with you and the pogues." The words spilled out of you in a rush, your chest tightening with each confession.

Kie frowned deeply. "You don’t need him, Y/N. You can do so much better." Her words were meant to comfort you, but they felt hollow. No matter how true they might have been, they didn’t soothe the ache in your heart.

You shook your head again, the tears starting to fall once more. "I don’t want anyone else," you admitted, and that truth, above all, was what hurt the most.

•°•°•°•°•°•

Meanwhile, after you stormed off, Rafe felt like a storm himself—one of anger, frustration, and guilt. He didn’t care about the girl sitting on his lap moments ago. She was nothing more than a distraction, a fleeting attempt to forget what he had with you, but it hadn’t worked. He had taken her hand after you left and driven away from the beach, but not far. His mind was elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of you. He was miles away emotionally, trapped in the suffocating weight of his actions.

Once he was far enough from the party, Rafe pulled over and told the girl to get out of the car. She protested, confused, but he was firm. He didn’t want her. He had never really wanted her. The only person he wanted, the only person he needed, was you. But how could he look past everything that had happened? His feelings for you were overwhelming, and suffocating, and a part of him knew he was partly to blame for the mess between you two. If he hadn’t killed the sheriff, none of this would have happened.

But admitting that was too much for him. It was easier to push you away, to blame you for choosing Sarah and the pogues over him, rather than face the reality that his own actions had created the distance between you. And so he pushed you away, again and again, even though every time he did, it hurt him just as much as it hurt you.

TAGS: @wearemadeofstardust0 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @thepopcultureaddict @deeznuggetsbebussin@wtfdudesblog

[annafayeink]

Canvas of Lies

summary: Cate’s life is a careful balance of paint-splattered sweaters, rejection emails, and dreams too big to fit in her tiny apartment. Lu’s life is all charm, designer sneakers, and family obligations that come with impossible expectations. They’re best friends, polar opposites—and suddenly fake dating to help Lu survive a high-stakes family dinner. What starts as an improvised act becomes a whirlwind of tangled stories, unspoken truths, and moments that blur the line between pretend and reality. In the chaos of lies they craft together, Cate and Lu might just uncover the truths they’ve been avoiding all along.

warnings & tags: best friends to lovers; fake dating; mutual pining; slow burn; emotional hurt/comfort; fluff, angst & humor; eventual romance & smut;

Read on ao3

Chapter Five

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and I stepped out first, adjusting my grip on the grocery bags to shift one to my hip. Lu followed close behind me, enveloped by the delicious smell wafting out of the takeout containers.

“You know,” I said, as we walked down the hallway, “we could’ve done two trips.”

Lu, effortlessly carrying twice as much, smirked. “What, you don’t like feeling like a pack mule?”

Glancing over my shoulder, I shot him a look. “Sorry I’m not built like a freight train like you…”

Lu chuckled. “You sound jealous.”

“Ya, totally.” I leaned against his door, reaching for him with a free hand. “Keys.”

“Where are yours?”

“Bottom of my bag, buried under everything.”

He chuckled, setting down one of his bags just long enough to grab his own keys from his pocket. I unlocked the door and shouldered it open, arms straining under the weight of too many grocery bags.

“You are way too confident in my upper body strength,” I mutter, stepping into his apartment.

The place was sleek and understated, the kind of place that whispers wealth but doesn’t flaunt it. The open floor plan blended the kitchen and living room seamlessly, making the space feel even larger. Half-finished robotics projects sat waiting for his attention between the neat piles of books stacked on the shelves of a tall bookcase, a notebook and his laptop had been left on standby on the coffee table, and the small remote-controlled car he built himself in high school rested next to the TV. It wasn’t cluttered, but it was a quiet rebellion against the minimalism. 

And then there was the scent—his scent. It was always there, clinging to the air no matter how long he’d been gone. Clean, warm, something with the faintest edge of spice. His favourite cologne.

“Consider it strength training,” he replied, kicking the door shut.

“Great. Looking forward to my next accidental workout.” I dropped the bags on the kitchen floor with a dramatic groan, shaking out my hands. My fingers ached, tingling from the weight, and flexed them to get the blood flowing again. “Hope it doesn’t involve near amputation again.”

“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” he said, placing the takeout on the kitchen island. “You were the one in charge of the grocery list.”

I arched a brow at him. “You asked me to write it.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to plan for the apocalypse,” he muttered, unloading a ridiculous amount of snacks. “Who needs this much popcorn?”

I smirked, almost innocently. “We’re watching a movie. Popcorn is mandatory.”

“Okay, but three different kinds?” He held up a bag labeled extra butter supreme and gave me a pointed look.

“Uh, you’re welcome!”

Lu just shook his head and chuckled under his breath.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling as I started unpacking. "Yeah, well, next time you can carry the ten-pound bag of oranges."

"You picked them out," he pointed out.

"Because you insisted you needed fresh orange juice in the morning."

Lu grinned, completely unapologetic. "And I do. The apartment just feels richer with a bowl of oranges on the counter. Very aesthetic."

I grabbed two beers from his fridge and twisted off the caps before handing him one. “So, are we setting up at the table like civilized adults, or are we having a floor picnic like reckless, lawless heathens?”

“Cate, since when are we civilized adults?”

“Floor it is!”

Within minutes, we’d kicked off our shoes, shoved the coffee table aside, and settled on the floor with a pile of pillows and our food spread out between us. 

Lu had his legs stretched out in front of him, easy and relaxed, while I sat with mine draped over one of his, leaning into him like we always did. The scent of the food mixed with the faint, clean smell of his laundry detergent, a familiar comfort.  

"You’re not gonna eat this, are you?” I asked, waving a piece of chicken in front of him with my chopsticks.

He barely glanced at it. “You already know the answer.”

“Come on, live a little.”

“I am living. Without eating something that used to have a face.”

I rolled my eyes but grinned, popping the bite into my own mouth instead. “Your loss.”

He reached for the naan, tearing a small piece with his fingers. “You get to have your food, I get to have mine. It’s called balance.”

I smirked. “Fine. Here.” I grabbed a vegetable dumpling and held it up to his lips. He shot me a smile before biting into it.

The movie played on, and we made casual, half-distracted comments between bites of food. Lu had seen it before, but I hadn’t, and he was fully taking advantage of that fact.

“So they’re, like…writing letters through time?” I asked, frowning slightly as I watched Sandra Bullock unfold another impossibly convenient note.

Lu nodded, chewing. “Yep.”

“And they just…accept that?”

“Yep.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t buy it.”

He smirked. “You’re watching a romance movie, Cate. Suspend your disbelief.”

I pointed my chopsticks at him. “You were just complaining about the logistics of the mailbox thing ten minutes ago.”

“That’s different.” He held out his fork, and I leaned in, letting him feed me a bite of whatever mildly spicy dish he’d ordered. 

“Everything about this is nonsense,” I said, still chewing.

“You mean romantic,” he countered.

“No, I really mean nonsense,” I chuckle. “They live two years apart. You’re telling me he just waits? No dating, no moving on, no nothing?”

“That’s the point,” he said. Then, with a shrug, he added, “It’s love.”

I shot him a curious glance but he was just staring at the TV. So I picked up a piece of tofu from my container and lifted it towards his mouth. He took it without argument, chewing while still watching the movie.

We fell into an easy rhythm—eating, trading bites, making offhanded comments about the movie. It was normal. Comfortable. 

The movie continued playing, the tension between the leads building, and then suddenly, the inevitable—Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock’s characters finally kissed at a party.  

Lu made a small noise. "Look at them—like the fate of the universe depends on this one kiss."  

I laughed, shaking my head. "I mean, considering the time-travel weirdness, maybe it does. It’s totally dramatic." 

I glanced up at him, expecting to find him smirking or rolling his eyes, but he was already looking down at me.  

The playful energy in my chest stilled.  

We weren’t that close. But we were close enough that I could feel his breath against my lips, could see the slight parting of his mouth, like he might say something—but didn’t. 

For a second, the world shrank down to just this.  

The scene on the screen faded into nothing and my heart gave a sudden, unwelcome kick as I remembered.

The way he’d kissed me. The way it had felt.

Like he was holding something back. Like maybe I was.

I didn’t move. Neither did he. He lingered—just for a second too long—like he was caught in the same invisible pull I felt.

Then, almost abruptly, he looked away.

A quiet beat passed, the air between us heavier than before.

And then, as if flipping a switch, he cleared his throat and nodded at the TV. “Can you imagine how much shorter the movie would have been if they were relying on emails?” He asked, forcing lightness into his tone.

The tension snapped, breaking like a thread cut too soon. I blinked, momentarily disoriented before I caught onto his deflection. Then I had to exhale a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

"Yeah," I said, matching his tone and huffing a laugh. "Their lives would’ve been a lot easier with a basic group chat."  

He stuffed a bite of rice into his mouth like nothing had happened. But his grip on the fork seemed just a little too tight.

I exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I leaned back against him, pretending like I hadn’t just felt the world tilt for a second.

We didn’t mention it.

And maybe that was for the best.

The knock at the door came unexpectedly, right in the middle of a quiet moment between bites of food. Lu and I exchanged a glance.

“You expecting someone?” I asked.

“No, not really.” He pushed himself up, brushing crumbs off his sweatpants before heading towards the door. “It’s probably Mike wanting to borrow my record player again.”

I chuckled and turned back to the movie, but as soon as he opened the door, I heard it. A sharp intake of breath, a pause just long enough to let displeasure settle in before a single word cut through the room like a knife.

“Luigi."

Lu’s mother.

His posture straightened instinctively. “Mamma, what a nice surprise,” he said, with a tone that didn’t seem at all like it had been a nice surprise.

I couldn’t see her from where I sat, but I could hear the distinct tone of disapproval in the silence that followed. 

Her voice was clipped but polite. “Where are your manners, Luigi? Aren’t you going to let me in?”

“Sure, I’m sorry.” Then the door closed a few seconds later.

I had just started gathering the takeout containers to at least make the floor look less like a college dorm room when her heels stopped clicking against the hardwood.

“Are you… eating on the floor?” I twisted around and there she was—poised, polished, and very clearly unimpressed.  

Behind her, Lu hesitated for half a second. “It’s, uh… comfortable.”

“Is it?” The judgment in her voice was subtle but unmistakable. “Well. It certainly looks… cozy."

Lu cleared his throat and stepped around her to stand by my side. “Mother, this is Cate. Cate, this is my mother, Marina.” 

“Oh,” she paused. “The artist.”

There was something about the way she said it—just the slightest hesitation before the word, the faintest lift of her chin. Like she was trying to decide whether to say it at all, as if it were some dubious title rather than a profession.

I smiled, polite, but sharp, pretending not to hear the sheer distaste in her tone. “That’s me.”

She pressed her lips together in a way that might have been a smile if you squinted. “Luigi has mentioned you before.”

“All good things, I hope.” I tried keeping my tone light, even though she was making it hard.

Marina gave a noncommittal sound. “That depends on your definition of ‘good’, I suppose.”

My smile didn’t falter, but I felt Lu shifting slightly beside me, as if he was already bracing himself for something.  

Her attention turned to him. “So, what time should I tell Anastasia you’ll arrive to pick her up tomorrow?”

Lu tensed, jaw ticking slightly. "I told you, Mamma, I’m bringing Cate."  

His mother made a show of adjusting her bracelet. "Yes, I heard. I was just wondering if you were sure."  

Cate felt Lu’s hand on hers before she even realized she had reached for him. “He’s sure.”

Marina’s eyes snapped to me just as Lu’s fingers tightened around my hand. The corners of her lips curled into a bitter smile. "Anastasia is such a lovely girl.” Her gaze fell on him again. “It’s a shame she isn’t your date to the event."  

“Cate is my girlfriend,” he replied, with a sense of finality to his words. “She’ll be my date.”

As if she hadn’t heard him at all, his mother continued, her eyes flicking towards me with a well-practiced air of casual dismissal. "It’s just that Anastasia has always been such a wonderful match for you. She comes from a respectable family, she understands our world, and she knows how to present herself in certain… circles." She let the words hang in the air, a thinly veiled implication.  

My lips curled into a slow, sour, deliberate smile. "You mean she’s rich."  

His mother’s expression didn’t shift, but her eyes sharpened. "I mean she’s fitting."  

Lu exhaled sharply, his grip on my hand tightening. "Mamma—"  

His mother lifted a perfectly manicured hand. "I’m only saying," she continued, with the same delicate precision as someone setting a chess piece, "that some relationships make more sense than others. And I just want to be sure you know what makes sense."  

I could feel the irritation prickling at the back of my neck. But more than that, I could feel Lu’s frustration barely held in check beside me.  

My voice was light, but edged with something razor-sharp when I met Marina’s gaze. "You don’t have to worry about Lu. He knows exactly what he wants." 

His mother’s lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile. "I’m sure he thinks he does."  

I probably should have let it go. But something about he way she looked at him—like she had already decided his life for him—made it impossible.

So I smiled. And I twisted the knife.

"It’s sweet that you’re concerned, really. But I think your son is perfectly capable of being in control of his own life.” Without a second thought, my fingers interlaced with Lu’s. “After all, he grew up to be an exceptional man, despite… everything.” 

It was my turn to leave the not-so-thinly veiled implication hanging in the air between us.

Lu’s mother regarded her for a long moment. Her expression was nearly unreadable, if it weren’t for the way her chest rose and fell quicker than normal—the only telltale sign I was getting to her. Maybe this wasn’t the best course of action but I could not resist.

She started it. 

After a long moment, she let out a quiet, almost amused exhale, like I was some intriguing little novelty she hadn’t expected to be sharp enough to draw blood.  

“You know, Cate,” she said, keeping her irritation perfectly contained, “Luigi has always been drawn to… interesting people. He enjoys passion. Creativity." Her lips pressed together in a semblance of a smile. "It’s charming. For a while."

My spine stiffened like I was unconsciously preparing for war, but I forced myself to stay relaxed, tilting my head with a polite, questioning expression. "For a while?"

Lu’s mother gave a small, almost pitying shrug. "Oh, I just mean… some people are lovely in the moment, but they aren’t always practical long-term." 

I understood exactly what she was saying—and I knew Lu did too. I wasn’t practical. I wasn’t stable. I wasn’t, and would never be, one of them. Nothing that surprised me coming from her, but the thorns still prickled.

Lu’s hand tensed in mine again, but before he could say anything, I leaned forward slightly, and offered his mother a perfectly pleasant smile. "That’s true. But I think passion and creativity make life worth living, don’t you? Otherwise, it’s all just heartless business deals and frigid social maneuvering. That sounds extremely… ordinary."

Lu let out a quiet breath next to me, like he was holding back a laugh. His mother, however, only smiled in return, though the air between us had become thick enough to be cut with a knife.

"Well," she said, her tone barely polite and laced with something acidic, "I suppose some people can afford to think that way." She looked pointedly at Lu. "But relationships require stability, direction. A foundation that isn’t just built on impulse."

“Absolutely agree with you, mother," he replied in a light, conversational tone. "In fact, I think there's no better foundation than five years of close, loving friendship. Wouldn't you agree?"

Lu’s mother’s expression didn’t shift, but I caught a faint flicker in her eyes, the quick calculation of how to respond.

"Friendship is important," she acknowledged, her voice as diplomatic as ever. "Though, of course, friendship and a partnership aren’t always the same thing. One must think carefully about whether both people truly bring equal value to a relationship."

I didn’t miss the implication, so I could not let it go unanswered. Leaning on Lu and placing a hand gently on his arm, I smiled wider. "That’s why I’m lucky. Lu’s never been one to base a relationship on status or titles. He actually values the person, not just their background. It’s so rare, isn’t it?"

Beside me, Lu exhaled through his nose—so faint it almost sounded like a laugh.

His mother’s lips twitched. I could almost feel the restraint it took for her to keep her composure, and that was sweeter than honey.

"Yes," she said at last, the hint of steel beneath her words. "Luigi is certainly unique."

"That’s why we work so well," I replied, throwing in a small, affectionate glance at Lu for good measure. "We get each other."

As I spoke, I raised my free hand to thread my fingers through his curls, twisting a lock absently before letting my touch trail down. My fingertips grazed his cheek in a soft, deliberate caress. 

It wasn’t all for show. It was comfort. A quiet way to let him know I had his back, always, in our usual, easy, casual intimacy.

Lu didn’t flinch or pull away. Instead, he leaned in, closing the space between us until his nose brushed against mine. I held perfectly still. My breath caught as our lips nearly touched.

Suddenly, the air between us felt charged with something neither of us had time to name in the moment.

Then, with a slow, knowing smile, Lu tilted his head just slightly and pressed a small, fleeting kiss to the tip of my nose before finally turning away.

His breath ghosted over my lips for half a second longer than necessary. The moment his warmth disappeared, the rest of the world rushed back in too fast—like stepping off a moving train. My legs wobbled strangely beneath me, but I didn’t let it show. Instead, I remained poised, turning back to his mother, who watched us in careful silence.

Marina didn’t frown, didn’t scowl—she simply observed, letting the moment stretch before finally smoothing the sleeve of her blazer, an unspoken dismissal of the entire display.

Then, unhurriedly, she pivoted. "Luigi, don’t forget we have a family engagement next week. You will be there, won’t you?"

Lu was silent for a beat too long, and I knew. I felt it before he even spoke. The nearly imperceptible shift in his posture, the quiet calculation behind his eyes, the way his fingers brushed over mine like an unspoken warning.

His tone was steady, firm. "Yes, mother. We will be there."

I didn’t blink, didn’t falter. I kept my smile in place, despite the surprise his statement brought. Under any circumstance could I give her even the slightest idea that this was news to me.

Lu’s mother held his gaze for a long moment before exhaling lightly, as if she had expected as much. Without another word, she turned, moving towards the door with the same effortless grace as when she arrived.

Only when the door clicked shut did I finally exhale, letting my forehead rest against his shoulder like the whole thing had exhausted me.

We stood somewhere between the kitchen and the living room, the glow from the TV casting soft shadows across the space. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone that far,” I said. I still hadn’t looked at Lu—not fully.

When I finally did, I found him already staring at me.

Not just looking—really staring.

Like I’d just walked on water. Like I’d pulled off something impossible, something he hadn’t even realized he needed to see.

Then, with a breathless chuckle, he shook his head and squeezed my hand. "Girl, I love you."

He said it like it was nothing. Like he’d said it a thousand times before. But something in his voice—something so warm and effortless—made my stupid heart skip a beat before I could tell it not to.

Before I could respond, he lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to my knuckles, soft and deliberate. His grin widened as he murmured, "I think my mom has met her match."

I smirked, tilting my head smugly. "You think this is the first time someone underestimates me?"

Lu huffed a laugh. "Nah. But I bet it’s the first time someone regrets it this much."

"Maybe." I let out a short, satisfied hum. “You’ve been dealing with her for twenty six years on your own. It’s time someone helps you share the load.”

His fingers remained loosely curled around mine. Like neither of us had quite remembered, or actually wanted to let go. The atmosphere between us wasn’t as heavy as it had been earlier, but there was something else now—something unspoken lingering beneath the humor.

I exhaled, glancing away for half a second before looking back at him. "So," I said, keeping my voice deceptively casual. "We will be there?"

Lu blinked, as if he hadn’t expected the shift, then smiled. "Yeah."

"You said it like it was a given."

"Wasn’t it?" His head tilted slightly, his tone easy, but there was something knowing in the way he looked at me.

I narrowed my eyes. "You didn’t even ask me."

Lu grinned. "Would you have said no?"

I pursed my lips, knowing he had me there. Of course I wouldn’t have said no. "That’s not the point."

He laughed, nudging my shoulder with his. "Relax, you’ll love it. Fancy food, free drinks, and all the fun of pretending we’re in a fairytale romance while my mother watches in barely concealed horror."

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the smirk from tugging at my lips. "Fine. You got me at free drinks. You’re so lucky I’m that easy to convince."

Lu’s grin softened into something quieter. His thumb kept tracing over my knuckles absently, like he hadn’t quite decided if he was still holding my hand on purpose or not. "I’m lucky, period."

And just like that, the moment stretched again into something deeper, nearly too big for that apartment. His thumb brush one last time against my knuckles before he finally—finally—let go of my hand.

--

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[brattyfics]

Swampbound VIII

Adla drifted into sleep fitfully, the remnants of her panic attack still hovering just out of reach. The warmth of Terry’s hand had grounded her, anchoring her to the present, yet as she sank deeper into slumber, another world unfurled around her.

She found herself standing in a dense fog that seemed to wrap around her, chilling her skin. Shadows stretched in every direction, shifting and curling like they were alive. The landscape was strange but somehow familiar, its jagged trees and twisted branches the stuff of old memories that weren’t her own.

A figure emerged from the fog ahead, its form only partially visible in the swirling mist. Though her features were blurred, they bore an unmistakable resemblance—a woman dressed in simple, homespun attire, her hair forming a thick halo around a solemn face that mirrored Adla’s own. 

The woman raised her hand, beckoning Adla forward with a thin, weathered arm that spoke of time and resilience.

“Adla,” the woman whispered, her voice carried on a faint breeze that prickled Adla’s skin. “The shadow... it still walks among us. You and the protector must face it as one."

Adla’s heart raced as the woman’s gaze turned from solemn to sorrowful. 

“To save him, you must face the dark,” she murmured, her voice fading as the fog began to thicken.

In her vision, the ground crumbled beneath her, and Adla found herself teetering at the edge of a gaping pit, a darkness so thick and stifling it seemed to swallow every flicker of light. Within the chasm, bodies lay twisted and piled atop one another—human legs tangled with fur-covered arms. Their eyes glowed amber but lacked the warmth, frozen open in haunting stares.

She felt a pull, something in her blood responding to the abyss below, yet her instinct screamed to back away.

A warm hand landed on her shoulder, and she turned to see Terry standing beside her, his expression steady, unwavering. He looked to her, a silent assurance passing between them. She felt his presence steady her, like a tether to the earth, the strength of him keeping her rooted even as the pull from the dark deepened.

The image blurred, fading slowly, leaving her with the steady beat of her heart, the warmth of Terry’s hand, and a lingering echo of her ancestor’s words: You and the protector must face it together.

She woke, her breath shallow, heart pounding in the darkness. The words clung to her mind like cobwebs, fragments of a forgotten past stirring something deeper in her.

They needed to find Mike.

But as she replayed the vision, the urgency now felt even greater, like something far more sinister lurked in the shadows, waiting.

She pulled on Terry's arm.

He jolted awake, muscles tensing instinctively as his eyes snapped open. The bright light spilling through the window made the room feel disorienting. He blinked a few times, struggling to shake off the lingering drowsiness.

“What is it?” he murmured, his voice a low growl, a blend of protective instinct and fatigue. “Everything alright?”

“No,” she said, her voice trembling. “Something ain't right. I keep seeing things.”

"Like what?" Terry rolled onto his side, squinting as he searched for her gaze in the bright light.

She struggled to put it into words—the vivid flashes of scenes she’d never known, yet felt deep in her bones like they belonged to her. They started the moment she laid her hands on that book, and they hadn’t let up since. They lingered in her mind as she drifted off to sleep and jolted her awake. It felt like she was teetering on the edge of madness, but in some strange way, they were guiding her too.

"They’re whisperin’ to me—faces I ain’t never seen, voices I don’t recognize. But it’s like they know me… like I should know them too. It’s all mixed up in my head, and it’s scaring me something fierce.” She admitted, wrapping her arms around Terry.

Terry’s hands were on her then, stroking her back with his long fingers and grounding her in the chaos swirling in her mind. His voice was low and steady, wrapping around her like a soft quilt. “What are they telling you?”

“I… don’t know,” she stammered, the images of the trees, that woman, and the pit filled with twisted, lifeless bodies clawing at her mind—half human, half beast. People like Terry and his cousin Mike. What did it all mean?

She needed answers, and right now, Terry was her only lifeline. Her heart hammered in her chest, each question spilling out before she could hold them back. Each one was a thread pulling her further from the darkness closing in around her.

“They're haunting me,” she decided, desperation creeping into her voice. “What brought you here? Before you lost Mike, before everything went sideways?”

Terry went quiet, his eyes drifting off somewhere far away.

“Terry?” she asked, breaking the silence. He shifted beside her, leaning back against the headboard with a soft sigh. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment as if bracing himself for the conversation he clearly wanted to avoid. Yet he understood it was something he had to face.

"My daddy passed too," he said, and she felt a sharp ache bloom in her chest. "Just a few months ago. He was the last of his brothers. So many losses in our family lately. Lost one brother to a heart attack, and Mike's dad in a freak accident. My daddy went peacefully in his sleep. Wasn't sick or nothin’, just didn’t wake up one morning."

What were the odds that she and Terry carried the same burden? Everything about them seemed to fit together like pieces of a puzzle—two sides of the same coin, destined to be intertwined.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked softly. Terry shrugged, a hint of discomfort crossing his face. “It ain’t exactly something I like to discuss.” She got that, but given the circumstances, he should’ve mentioned it. Adla felt a knot of frustration in her stomach; this was important. “We got a letter in the mail two weeks back, saying we had some family property here in Shelby Springs that now belongs to us. Mike and I came to check it out.”

“We never even made it there; Burne caught us as soon as we rolled into town. Don’t know how he got the drop on us—what we were up to, when we’d be here—but he was waitin’. Ready.” Terry’s gaze drifted into the distance, lost in thought.

“He had his boys run us off the road. My truck flipped, and I had to climb out through the window. They were firing shots and some kind of mist to keep us from seeing. Now that I think about it, I couldn’t smell a thing either.”

Adla leaned in close, hangin' on his every word like it was gospel.

"A couple of them grabbed me, held me down like I was nothing. I could hear Mike hollerin’, but I couldn't get to him.” 

The memory was a dark cloud casting a shadow over him. Mike had always been his little cousin, the one who turned to him for strength and safety. For the first time in their lives, Terry had let him down. 

“That bastard carved those marks into my back—the ones you helped clean up. The knife was real silver. It burned like fire and left me paralyzed."

She caught sight of his pulse quickening, dancing just under the skin of his neck.

“They dragged Mike off somewhere; I couldn’t see or turn my head to catch a whiff of him. It was pure mayhem.” He recalled their mistake. “Burne got cocky, backed off to let one of his boys have a turn at carving me up. But then something took hold of me—a surge of strength, determination I didn’t know I had left. I broke free. It was slow going, but I managed to escape, and I put a hurtin’ on two of his men pretty good too.”

She pictured a misty road, the sharp burn of gun smoke still thick in the air.

"I broke off into the woods and shifted to protect myself better. I didn’t stop; I couldn’t." That fact clearly bothered him; it was written in the tension of his shoulders. "My instincts led me to the swamp back there," he pointed toward her window. "I drained a deer and whatever else I could scramble up just to regain my strength. But whatever was on that knife kept burning, like I was getting cut over and over again. So I came to you."

“Why me?” Adla asked, the question weighing heavy on her mind since Terry had shown up.

“I saw you out there in the woods, clearing up after the storm. There was something about the way you moved—like you were part of the swamp, like you had a deep respect for it. It felt better to trust you than to be out there by myself.”

Adla found that she felt the same inside. It’s better to trust you than to be alone. Whether it was a spark of romance or just a response to the chaos swirling around them, she felt the truth of it resonate in her core.

“Mike’s not at their police station; I stood outside for hours, but there was nothing. Burne won’t go home either—I waited there too. They’re keeping busy, moving as a pack to make sure I can’t get to him. Burne knows I’m coming for him.”

“And that’s where Jesse fits into this,” she said, filling in the gaps.

“Yeah, there ought to be a spell in that book—probably more than one—to help track down Mike. I’m not sure what he’ll need or how he’ll pull it off, but that’s our only way to find him.”

Time was slipping through her fingers like grains of sand. Adla couldn’t let another moment slip away; she had to push through her own heartache to ease Terry’s pain. “I’ll be back,” she told him with a soft smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She pushed herself up from the bed and made her way to the living room, determination guiding each step.

Adla gripped the phone tightly, her heart racing as she dialed Jesse's store. Each ring reverberated through the stillness of the room, heightening her anxiety with every echo.

“Jesse,” he answered, his voice gravelly and sharp, cutting through the tension.

“Hey, it’s me,” she replied, fighting to keep her voice steady despite the tremor creeping in. “I—I need to talk to you.”

“Adla? What’s wrong?” His tone shifted, now laced with concern.

“I know you’ve been keeping things from me.”

A heavy silence fell over the line, and she could practically hear the gears grinding in his mind. The air between them crackled with unspoken truths. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t lay it all out right now,” she pressed, urgency spilling over into her voice. “I just know I’m in way too deep, and I need you.” Her words rose, trembling with emotion. “I know you’re a witch, Jesse.”

She heard something clatter to the floor. “Adla, you don’t know what you’re talking about. That was just a game Granny ran on folks who didn’t know any better. You know that,” he replied, his voice a low rumble tinged with caution. 

“Game? Don’t play with me, Jesse—I know what’s really going on. You’ve been lying to me!” Her anger flared, but she took a deep breath to steady herself. She couldn’t afford to lash out at him and then turn around and ask for a favor. “I already know part of the truth, so there’s no point in hiding anymore. I need your help.”

He let out a heavy sigh into the receiver.

“What do you need?”

“A spell.”

“What sort of spell you mean?”

“It’s a locating spell, I reckon. I need to find someone.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know him.”

“So how you know him?”

She dodged his question with one of her own. “What do you remember from earlier, when you stopped by?” She heard some rustling on the other end, like he was shifting in his seat.

“Not a whole lot. Why? What did you do?” His tone dripped with suspicion.

“Nothing!” she insisted, though doubt crept in, gnawing at her confidence. “What do you remember, Jess?”

“Just bits and pieces,” he replied, frustration lacing his words. “I remember pulling up, seeing you outside. Then it goes blank. Next thing I know, I’m waking up on the porch with a sore head and neck.”

He truly didn’t remember. She didn’t know what to make of it—could a whispered chant over his head really wipe his memory clean like that?

“What did you do?” he pressed again, the weight of his words hanging heavy between them. Jesse's heart raced as he braced for the answer he feared would shatter everything they had built. Years spent shielding Adla from the truth, all in the name of her safety, now felt futile—like trying to hold back a tide that was always destined to wash over them.

Adla took a deep breath, her gaze turning toward the bedroom where Terry remained in her bed. 

“I didn’t listen to your warning. I opened the door, and a shapeshifter walked in.”

Chapter 9.

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[letsgetrowdy43]

Take Me As I Come (Rowan's Version)—

Nico Hischier x Angie Chandler

Warnings: A lot of angst, some undersage drinking and partying, swearing, if you notice anything else please lmk!

Based on the song "Take Me As I Come" by Evan Honer and Wyatt Flores

Au Masterlist!

Another day, another regret, try to remember how the night went Oh, this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, tells me it didn't go well

Angie woke up to a harsh beam of sunlight cutting through the gap in the heavy hotel curtains. Her head throbbed with a relentless, pounding ache, and her mouth felt like sandpaper. She squinted against the light and groaned, slowly piecing together the events of the previous night.

The draft. The endless anticipation. The crushing disappointment.

It all kinda felt like a blur, it was two days fuelled by nerves, and then ending with the downfall of her dreams.

he tried to sit up but immediately regretted it as a wave of nausea swept over her. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and she winced as she reached for it. "Congrats to all the draftees! The future of hockey looks bright!" read one of the many notifications that flooded her team's group chat.

She threw the phone back onto the bed beside her, the notifications a cruel reminder of what she'd lost and what she would never accomplish. All of her best friends had been drafted in the past two days. She remembered the moment vividly: Jack's name being called, the roar of the crowd, the tears of joy streaming down Ellen's face. Angie had clapped and cheered, forcing a smile as her next teammate was called, and then another, and then another, and so forth.

She was proud of her boys, but it still felt like the world was quickly collapsing around her.

After that, everything had become a blur of congratulations and celebrations. The league had thrown the families of draftees a party and Angie had been pulled into the center of it, the designated best friend, expected to share in their joy.

She’d taken shot after shot, each one a futile attempt to drown her sorrow. The night devolved into a haze of loud music, laughter, and her own silent despair which ultimately led her to now, in pain both physically and mentally, staring at the roof of a hotel room she was even sure was hers.

"Angie, are you okay?" Trevor's voice startled her from her thoughts as she looked to the other bed in the room that was crowded with a hungover Jack, Trevor, and Cole, all still clad in their draft jerseys. "Yeah, just... so happy for you guys," she’d lied, her smile filled with hurt.

Angie dragged herself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face, hoping to wash away the remnants of last night. The girl staring back at her in the mirror looked as broken as she felt, red-rimmed eyes, tangled hair, and a vacant expression.

She needed to get out of this room, out of this headspace.

★★★★

Lost a couple of my friends, and in the morning try to mend Can't fix what's in pieces for my selfish reasons, tryna run from myself

Angie lay in her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The room was dark, the air seemed thick, and the curtains were drawn tight to block out the sunlight.

Days had blended into nights in a haze of grief and self-pity. Her phone lay discarded next to her, the battery almost dead from lack of use. She had ignored countless calls and messages, isolating herself from the world outside.

Her body ached from inactivity, her muscles stiff and sore. She knew she needed to get up, to do something, anything, but the weight of her disappointment kept her pinned to the mattress.

this was truly peak bed-rotting.

The draft had been a week ago, but the heartbreak felt as raw and fresh as ever. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the names being called, and felt the sting of her own failure, she could've worked harder, could've pushed herself to be better, be better at interviews, and be more welcoming like all of her teammates.

In a moment of restless boredom, she picked up her phone and scrolled aimlessly through social media. Highlights from the draft, celebratory posts from her friends, and news articles all seemed to mock her failure. She switched to YouTube, hoping to find something to distract herself. As she scrolled through recommended videos, a familiar thumbnail caught her eye, one of her interviews with ESPN, her shy smile next to Jack's bright one staring right back at her as she chewed her lip with anxiety.

Angie hesitated, her finger hovering over the screen as she thought back to that fateful day.

That Angie was pathetically naive.

She remembered that interview, how excited and hopeful she had been. The reporter had asked her about her dreams, her journey, and her expectations for the draft.

She clicked on the video, and her own face appeared on the screen. She looked so young, so gullible. The Angie on the screen was full of optimism, talking about her rigorous training schedule, her supportive family, and how much it meant to her to be on the brink of her NHL dream.

It was such a load of bullshit.

People must have watched this and laughed at how hopeful she had been, how big-eyed and almost greedy she was to think that she was worthy of achieving the unimaginable. her heart crushed a little knowing that this version of Angie would never get to have her moment, never get to be the best, or even amongst the bests.

"I've worked so hard for this moment," she heard herself say. "I know I have what it takes, and I'm just so grateful for the opportunity."

Angie felt a wave of nausea as she watched. How could she have been so sure of herself? How could she have believed that everything would go perfectly? She had been so confident, so certain that her name would be called. It was almost laughable now, seeing how wrong she had been.

She shut her phone off, unable to stomach another second of humiliation, that video was a whole life time ago, she was not that Angie anymore, that version of Angie had never felt the pain of not being good enough before. This current Angie had felt that hell, and to think that she could go from so hopeful to so crushed felt so morbid.

★★★★

I let a lot of people down, they're not surprised this time around They say I'm a ticking time bomb, way too fucking far gone to probably get some help

Angie was startled as Quinn burst through the door of her room, his brows furrowed with worry as he walked up to the window and ripped the curtains open. "Shouldn't you be at the rink," she groaned as the light hit her face, rolling over to be face down into her mattress. "You be at the rink as well," he said with a snappy tone and a face of concern.

He didn't wait for a response. Instead, he kicked off his boots and collapsed onto the bed beside her. The mattress sank under his weight, and she rolled into his side for comfort as they lay there for a second of silence.

Quinn sighed, running a hand through his messy curls. "Dad's been asking about you," he said, his voice gentle, "Jimmy misses your face around the gym, he's been complaining that his favourite girl isn't there to show all the boys up." Angie closed her eyes, the mention of Jimmy pulling at her heartstrings.

Jimmy had been like a second father to her, always pushing her to be her best, always believing in her when she didn't believe in herself.

The thought of him missing her stung deeply.

But the thought of lacing up her skates and never being considered worthy of being the best stung even more

"I don't know, Quinn," she whispered as her hand played with the bracelet on his wrist, one she had given him as a souvenir after her first U18 Woman's Worlds, her voice barely audible, "I don't think I'm cut out to be a failure, its all too much for me." Quinn turned to her, his expression unreadable as he shook his head, "you're not giving up. You've worked too hard, and come too far to let this setback define you."

Angie shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes as she dug the heels of her palms into her eyes trying to stop the burning, "I don't even know where to start. I've lost all my confidence. I can't face them, Quinn. Do you know how embarrassing it is to be so naive and thousands of people got a front row to witness it?" Quinn sat up, leaning over her so she would look him in the eyes "Listen to me. You're one of the strongest women I know. This... this is just a bump in the road. But you need to get out of this bed and start moving forward before you're stuck in this rut forever."

She let out a sigh as she pushed his face out of her line of view, a smile on his face as he watched her lips turn up into a grin at the sight of him hanging off the side of her bed.

"Promise me you'll try?" he asked, standing up to finally leave for the rink. She nodded as she sat up and pulled her knees up to her chest, "we'll see," she pressed her cheek against her knee as he mumbled a quick goodbye followed by an apology for his short visit before he left to head to training. With that, Quinn left the room, leaving Angie alone with her thoughts again.

A few moments later, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She reached for it, her heart dropping to the pit of her stomach as she saw the caller ID, "Jimmy".

With a shaky breath, she pressed the phone to her cheek and answered, "Hey, Jim." "Angie," Jim's voice boomed through the phone, warm and a little surprised at the quick response, "what's going on, kiddo?"

Angie swallowed hard, tears threatening to spill over, "I'm sorry, Jim. I just... I don't know if I can do this anymore." "You are not a quitter Ange," he said kindly, the sound of skates on the ice slowly disappearing as he headed into one of the dressing rooms for some privacy, "you've got a hell of a lot more fight in ya', and so much more hockey to play."

Angie took a deep breath, feeling a flicker of the old fire reignite within her, "I don't know where to start. I feel so lost." "Start by getting up," Jim said, "come back to the gym. Let us help you get back on track. You're not alone in this, Angie. We’re a team, remember?"

A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she listened to the hope in his voice, "Okay, Jim. I'll be there tomorrow." "That's my girl," Jim said, pride evident in his voice. "We'll see you then."

Tomorrow, she would face the world again. She wasn't done yet.

★★★★

Take me as I come, or don't take me at all I'm gonna let you down, I'm gonna lead you lost

The University of Minnesota's hockey arena buzzed with the energy of pre-season training. Angie walked through the doors, her heart pounding with a mix of nervousness and excitement. It had been months since she had felt this way, a spark of anticipation that she had almost forgotten.

The door to the girl's locker room creaked open, and Angie was greeted by a chorus of voices and laughter. The University of Minnesota women's hockey team was in full swing, getting ready for their first practice of preseason development camp. The air was thick with friendship, and for the first time in a long while, Angie felt excited.

"Hey, you must be Angie Chandler!" a girl with long brunette hair and half of her gear on said, stepping forward with a bright smile. "I'm Taylor. We've heard so much about you." Angie smiled back, though her nerves still tingled. "Yeah, that's me. Nice to meet you."

The rest of the team gathered around, each one introducing themselves with genuine warmth. A wave of relief washed over Angie, this was gonna be good, these girls didn't look at her with pity or judgement; they looked at her with admiration and curiosity.

"We've been dying to meet you," another girl, Amy, said. "The trainers have been bragging about you for weeks. Says you're the best player they've ever seen." Angie's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as her smile grew shy, "they're just being nice." "No, seriously," Taylor chimed in, "We've all seen the highlights. You're incredible. We've all been talking about how cool it is that you're joining us."

Angie couldn't help but smile as she was pulled into a hug by two of her teammates before they showed her where her locker was. The acceptance and praise from her new teammates felt like a balm to her wounded spirit. For so long, she had felt like an outsider, her place on a team had always been conditional, with the expectation of being the greatest, her confidence shattered by the draft's rejection. But here, among these girls, she felt a sense of belonging she hadn't experienced in months.

As they chatted, Angie found herself opening up, sharing stories about her experiences, the US boys, her training, and even sharing a little about her draft. The girls listened, asking questions and expressing their admiration. They made her feel welcome, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she was part of something bigger than herself.

★★★★

Darling, I mean well, I won't leave 'til I'm gone I'm the maker of hell, Burn every bridge I've known

Angie laid in her bed, phone pressed up against her ear as she listened to Quinn's rambling on the other end. Her muscles were sore from practice, but it was a good kind of sore, the kind that reminded her she was moving forward. However, Quinn’s voice on the other end brought back a wave of frustration.

"Have you talked to Jack?" "Briefly," she mumbled as she flipped through her notebook, "I kinda snapped on him so we haven't talked since... I'm a shit friend"

Quinn let out a sigh, "your not a shit friend, maybe a little Hotheaded, but he understands, you're both going through changes right now," Angie bit her lip, feeling a pang of guilt. "I don't know, he’s struggling, and instead of being supportive, I just made it about me." "You're only human," Quinn said softly, "you’re allowed to feel hurt and frustrated. But you need to talk to him, clear the air."

sometimes Quinn was too kind for his own good.

"He misses you, you know." "I miss him too," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "It’s just hard to hear about his struggles, knowing that could've been me. It's like a constant reminder of what I lost." "I get that," Quinn replied. "But Jack looks up to you, you're his best friend, and he needs your support, even if things didn’t go the way you planned."

Angie closed her eyes as her hands rubbed small circles into her temples, "I know. I just... I feel so angry all the time. It’s like I can't control it anymore." "You’ve been through a lot," Quinn said gently. "But you’re stronger than all of this."

She sat there tears in her eyes, silence settling between them as she wiped her tears and let his words really sink it.

★★★★

Another night, another mistake, and I wound up at the same place In a cheap hotel room with the parking lot view, still not sure where I am

If there was one thing she learned in her first year of university it was that parties were fun in moderation, but too many made the nights blur into her days and it all felt a little mind-numbing.

Her lips pressed against some random guy, the only things she had learned about him being that he was a pledge in the frat that was throwing the party she was currently at and that he was majoring in business psychology. His kisses were rough, his poorly grown mustache kinda scratchy, and his hands pinching a little too hard at the skin of her hips.

She pulled away, head spinning as she watched his face pull into a frown, “you okay?” His hands found her shoulders to steady her as her eyes glazed over with drunken haze. “I don't know,” she mumbled, wiping the beer taste from her lips as his hands kept her grounded, “I need to go home.”

She pulled away from him without another word heading towards the door but not before he followed right after her, “you can't walk home alone," his hand reached out for hers, but she pulled away and walked even faster. “I'm fine, I'm not interested in you coming to my dorm with the intention of fucking me, I don't even know you,” she stated not even looking back at him.

“Thats not what I'm trying to do!” “I'm fine!” she yelled out as she left him on the lawn watching with a concerned look on his face as she stubbornly and drunkenly headed in the direction of the university.

She miraculously made her way back to her dorm unharmed and in one piece, her head spinning and tears brimming her eyes as she collapsed on her bed. Her gaze landed on the photo of her and Jack huddled around a campfire, it was 4th of July the summer going into senior year and life seemed so set at that time.

Her lips trembled as the palms of her hands dug into her eyes, trying to stop the tears before they started. She hadn't spoken to Jack in weeks, the last time they had called she yelled at him for complaining about hsi rookie year. She was loosing everything, loosing herself to a rejection that happened months ago.

Her phone vibrated as a notification, Jack had liked the spam post she had posted a few hours prior on her finsta. The account a little photo album of her life that was only shared with the closest of friends.

She stared at the notification and then dialled Jack's number, her head beginning to pound as the effects of the liqour began to wear off. Without giving herself time to overthink it, she dialed Jack's number.

He picked up by the second ring. "Ange?" "I miss you and I'm sorry for being a bitch," she blurted out, her voice cracking.

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Jack spoke, his tone gentle as he listened to her ragged breaths, "Angie, it's okay. What's going on?"

Tears welled up in her eyes as she tried to find the words. "Everything's just so messed up, Jack. School, hockey, the media... I feel like I'm drowning, and ive ruined our friendship by taking it all out on you." "Hey, take a deep breath," Jack said softly, "I'm not going anywhere, you were upset and i know you didnt mean it. Just talk to me."

Angie took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself as she laid an arm over her eyes to block her vision, needing the room to stop spinning, "I thought I could handle it all, you know? But it's just too much. And I pushed you away because I didn't know how to deal with everything." "I get it, Ang," Jack replied, "You've always put so much pressure on yourself. But you don't have to do it alone. I'm here for you, no matter what."

His words were a soothing to her nerves, and she felt a bit of the tension in her chest at ease, "I just... I miss how things used to be. Before everything got so complicated. I miss michigan and living with you and getting to see you everyday." "Me too," Jack admitted, "but we're still us."

A fresh wave of tears spilled over as she heard the sincerity in his voice. "Thank you, Jack. I really needed to hear that."

They talked for a while longer, Angie pouring out her heart as Jack listened. He shared stories from his own life, making her laugh and reminding her of the bond they shared. By the time they hung up, she felt more grounded, more like herself.

As she lay back down, her phone buzzed again. This time, it was a message from Jack.

"Always here for you, Ange. Get some rest. We'll talk more tomorrow."

★★★★

I left my heart in the car, and I parked it real far So she wouldn't notice or ever gain focus, of who I am

Almost a year and a half had passed since that night, and life had gotten a little easier as time went on, but the scars of the draft still remained, a distant memory that she couldn't seem to shake.

She was now a junior at the University of Minnesota, and her life had taken on a new rhythm. The demands of college hockey, coupled with the growing media attention around her breaking barriers in the sport, had kept her busier than ever.

But tonight, she was trying to take a break from it all.

She was gonna have a boy over.

She sat on the edge of her bed in her dorm room, laughing at something a boy named Aaron had said. They had met in one of her elective classes, a painting class they were both taking for some art credits, and he seemed genuinely nice, a refreshing change from the usual attention she received.

He took her out for a nice dinner, opened all the doors for her, and even paid for their meal, and now they were lounging around in her dorm. Laughter filled the air as he shamelessly flirted with her, tucking her hair behind her ear and whispering about how pretty she was before pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

A look of an unwanted question took over his expression as he stared at her for a second.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

He blinks for a second, "I'm trying to figure out where I've seen you before, I feel like I've seen your face even before this semester" Her cheeks redden as she brings her knees up to her chest, cheek pressed against her leg. "I don't know what you're talking about," she laughs a little nervously as he squints, obviously picking up on the uncomfortable energy between them.

"You just look so familiar," Aaron insisted, his brow furrowing as he tried to place her, "Wait a minute... You're the Angie Chandler, as in the girl who tried to break into the NHL but didn't get drafted?"

Angie's stomach dropped.

She had hoped he wouldn't recognize her, that for once she could just be a normal college student without the weight of her past hanging over her.

She forced a smile. "Yeah, that's me." "It all makes sense now," he let out a laugh, "I remember watching that video of you after the draft, and thinking about how pretty you were," he said it so casually as if that wasn't the most traumatic moment of her life.

Aaron's expression shifted to a mix of curiosity and something else she couldn't quite place.

"Must be tough, huh? Being good enough to get all that attention but not quite good enough to make it." Her heart sank, and she felt a surge of anger, "excuse me?" He shrugged, seemingly oblivious to the impact of his words. "I mean, it's gotta sting a little, right? All that hype and then... nothing. That's some deep shit."

She already knows that. She lived through the humiliation

Angie stood up from her spot on the bed, her eyes flashing with anger, "You need to leave." "What? Angie, come on. I didn't mean it like that." "I don't care how you meant it. Get out."

Aaron stood up, confusion and annoyance on his face. "Fine. Whatever. I was just being honest." "Get out!" she yelled, pointing to the door.

He left without another word, the door slamming behind him.

A dramatic exit for a man who had just unburied a feeling that she had spent a long time trying to cover up.

Angie stood in the middle of the room for a moment, her chest heaving with emotion as the heels of her palms dug into her eyes to stop the stinging of tears. She felt tears prick at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Not for someone like him.

★★★★

And take me as I come, or I'll take me at all Gonna let you down, gonna lead you lost

Angie remembers every single second and feeling of the moment she got called up to the league.

The feeling of sitting next to her roommate, the two of them working on their sports management presentation as her phone began to ring in her jeans pocket.

She remembers the furrowing of her brows as she looks down at the random number on her screen.

The shakiness of her voice as she finally answered the call.

how she had hesitated for a moment before answering, a quiet "Hello?" followed by a "Hi, is this Evangeline Chandler?" a professional-sounding voice asked. "Yes, this is she." "Ms. Chandler, this is Tom Fitzgerald from the New Jersey Devils. We’ve been following your progress and would like to discuss a potential opportunity with our organization. Would you be available to come out and meet with us later this week?"

Angie's heart skipped a beat at the offer, she sat up straight, her eyes wide with disbelief as she elbowed her roommate, "Are you serious?" "Absolutely. We believe you have a lot of potential here and we’d like to see if you’d be a good fit for our team. We’d like to fly you out this Thursday to discuss this in more detail."

Angie was at a loss for words.

She looked at Taylor, who was watching her with a curious expression, clearly sensing something big was happening.

"Um, yes, I can definitely come out. Thank you so much for this opportunity." "Great. Our team will email you the details shortly. We look forward to meeting you, Ms. Chandler." "Thank you. I look forward to it too." Angie hung up the phone, her hands trembling. She turned to Taylor, her face a mixture of shock and excitement as the tears began to run down her cheeks.

she needed to call her parents, to call Wllen and Jim, to speak to everyone who had helped her get to this point in her life

"What is it?" Taylor asked as she ditched the project sitting in front of them.

Angie took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, "That was the New Jersey Devils. They want to fly me out to talk about a potential spot on the team." Taylor's eyes widened, and then a huge grin spread across her face before she flung herself into Angie's arms, "Oh my God, Ange! That's incredible!"

"I know!" Angie practically shouted, the reality of the situation starting to sink in. "I can't believe this is happening!" Taylor pulled back, holding Angie's shoulders and looking her in the eyes. "You deserve this. You've worked so hard, and you're amazing. This is just the beginning."

Angie looked down at her phone, her screen blowing up with texts from Quinn, Luke, and Jack.

Angie felt tears of joy welling up in her eyes, "I don't even know what to say. I'm just... so happy."

She especially remembers how spent the next hour calling her parents, the Hughes', and the coaches she was still in touch with. Angie was finally accomplishing her dreams, and there wasn't a person out there who she wasn't gonna tell, she needed people to know she was truly enough.

★★★★

And darling, I mean well, I won't leave 'til I'm gone I'm the maker of hell, burn every bridge I've known

Amanda Stein, the Devils’ dedicated reporter, had seen many players come and go through the organization. But today was different.

Today, she was sitting down with Evangeline Chandler. The first woman to be seriously considered for a spot on the New Jersey Devil's roster.

The excitement in the air was palpable as she set up her equipment and prepared her notes. Angie, as she preferred to be called, was an extraordinary athlete with an inspiring story.

Angie walked into the room, her nerves carefully masked by a determined smile. She wore a sharp, professional outfit, yet her eyes held a warmth that made her instantly approachable.

Amanda stood up to greet her.

“Hi, Angie. I’m Amanda Stein. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” “Hi, Amanda. The pleasure is mine,” Angie replied, shaking her hand firmly before taking a seat.

Once they were both settled, Amanda turned on the recorder and smiled reassuringly at Angie. “Let’s just have a conversation. I want to hear your story.” Angie nodded, taking a deep breath. “Sounds good. Where should we start?” Amanda glanced at her notes briefly. “Let’s start with the last few years. I know they’ve been a rollercoaster for you.”

Angie laughed softly, nodding. “That’s an understatement. It’s been quite a journey.” “Can you walk us through it? From the draft disappointment to now?” Angie leaned back in her chair, her gaze distant for a moment as she recalled the past. “Sure. Well, not being drafted was one of the hardest things I’ve ever gone through. I had put everything into preparing for that moment, and when it didn’t happen, it felt like my world had crumbled.”

She paused, collecting her thoughts. “I questioned everything—my abilities, my future, whether or not I even belonged in the sport anymore. But, as time went on, I realized that setbacks don’t define you. It’s how you respond to them that matters.”

Amanda nodded, her pen moving swiftly across her notebook. “How did you respond?” “I threw myself into college hockey,” Angie said. “I wanted to prove to myself that I still had what it took, and I just wanted to play more hockey. I worked harder than ever before, both on and off the ice. I also had an incredible support system—my family, friends, and coaches. Not to mention the girls on the team, they really had been my rocks while I was dealing with the come down from the draft. They never let me give up on myself.”

“And now, here you are, on the verge of potentially making NHL history. How does that feel?” “It feels surreal,” Angie admitted, her eyes lighting up. “But it’s also incredibly motivating. I know I have a lot to prove—not just to the Devils, but to myself and to everyone who’s ever doubted me. I want to show that I deserve this spot, and I’m ready to work harder than ever to make New Jersey proud.”

“What would you say has been the biggest lesson you’ve learned throughout this journey?” Angie thought for a moment. “Resilience. Life is going to knock you down, and sometimes it’s going to knock you down hard. But you have to get back up. You have to keep fighting and be willing to put in the work, no matter how tough it gets.”

Amanda nodded, sensing the passion in Angie’s voice, “What do you hope to achieve if you make the team?” “I hope to inspire others,” Angie said without hesitation. “I want young girls to see that they can achieve anything they set their minds to, regardless of the obstacles. I want to be a role model, not just in how I play, but in how I present myself both on and off the ice.”

Amanda smiled warmly, “You’re already well on your way to doing just that, Angie. Is there anything you’d like to say to the Devils’ fans?” Angie turned to the camera, her expression sincere. “I want to thank everyone for their support. It means the world to me. I promise that I will give everything I have to this team. I’m here to work hard, to learn, and to help bring success to New Jersey. Thank you for believing in me.”

Amanda closed her notebook and turned off the recorder. “Thank you, Angie. That was wonderful.” “Thank you, Amanda. I appreciate the opportunity to share.”

★★★★

And take me as I come, or don't take me at all I'm gonna let you down, I'm gonna lead you lost

The air in the Prudential Center was electric the night of her first game. Fans packed the stands, waving red and black Devils flags and cheering loudly.

Angie Chandler stood in the tunnel, her heart pounding in her chest. Tonight was the night she had dreamed about for years—her first NHL game.

And it wasn't just any game; it was against the New York Rangers, the Devils' fierce rivals.

Angie adjusted her helmet, trying to steady her nerves. She glanced over to Jack and Jesper, who smiled at her widely and gave her pats of encouragement on the head. She took a deep breath and skated out onto the ice, the roar of the crowd echoing in her ears as she completed her rookie lap, confidently waving to the crowd as she looked around at the thousands of people in the stands. The spotlight followed her, illuminating her as she took her position at center ice before the rest of the team came out behind her.

The game started with a fast pace, both teams eager to establish dominance.

Angie felt the adrenaline surge through her veins as she skated hard, keeping up with the intense speed of the game. This was unlike any hockey game she had ever played before. Her focus was razor-sharp, her eyes scanning the ice for any opportunity to make a play, to prove herself.

Midway through the first period, Angie found herself in a pivotal moment in the game. Jack passed her the puck from the blue line, and she intercepted it cleanly. She glanced up, seeing an opening. With a burst of speed, she charged towards the Rangers' net, her stick handling the puck with precision. The defensemen closed in on her, but she deked around one, then another, and found herself one-on-one with the goalie.

Time seemed to slow down.

Angie took a quick breath, pulled her stick back, and snapped a shot. The puck sailed past the goalie's glove and into the top corner of the net.

The red light flashed, and the crowd erupted in a deafening cheer. Angie's teammates swarmed her, their faces lit up with excitement.

She had scored her first NHL goal.

Jack slammed her into the board a grin on his face as an excited cheer left his mouth as he hugged her before another teammate slammed into the side of them, and then another, and another, before all of them headed to the bench.

This is what she was meant to be doing with her life, she thought to herself as she came back to reality and looked around at the rowdy crowd. This was worth the fight.

★★★★

Darling, I mean well, I won't leave 'til I'm gone I'm the maker of hell, Burn every bridge I've known

The first season had been a whirlwind.

Many ups and downs, many media dilemmas and challenges, but also so many amazing memories. This was a dream that she wasn't willing to wake up from.

The New Jersey Devils had made it to the playoffs, and though they didn't win the Stanley Cup, Angie’s contributions were undeniable.

The off-season had arrived, bringing a much-needed break which meant in just a few short days she be back in Texas with her parents for a few weeks, then Europe for a short vacation, and then back to Michigan for training.

But for the time being Angie was in New Jersey, giving back to the hockey community for the last time in her rookie season. Today she was at a community event hosted by the Devils, where fans could meet their favourite players, get autographs, and take pictures.

As she stood near a booth, signing autographs and chatting with fans, she noticed a little girl in a Devils jersey standing off to the side, clutching a poster of Angie. The girl looked shy, her eyes wide with admiration as Angie smiled and waved her over.

"Hi there! What's your name?" Angie asked as the girl approached hesitantly. "I'm Lily," the girl replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's nice to meet you, Lily. Would you like me to sign your poster?"

Lily nodded eagerly, handing over the poster and a shiny gold Sharpie, Angie signed it, adding a little heart next to her name. She handed it back to Lily, who beamed with excitement.

"Thank you!" Lily exclaimed, her shyness momentarily forgotten. "You're my favourite player. I want to be just like you when I grow up."

Angie felt a lump form in her throat. She knelt down to be at eye level with Lily, her heart swelling with pride and emotion. "That's wonderful, Lily. Do you play hockey?" Lily nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! I'm on a team, and I play forward, just like you. I want to be as good as you someday."

Angie smiled warmly as Lily slipped one of the friendship bracelets on her wrist and handed it over to Angie, "that's amazing. Keep practicing, work hard, and never give up on your dreams." Lily's eyes sparkled with determination. "I will! My mom says you're a trailblazer. What does that mean?"

Angie chuckled softly as she ran her fingers the her hair, "It means that I'm one of the first to do something, and hopefully, it makes it easier for others to follow. I want to show girls like you that you can do anything, even if it seems impossible." Lily nodded, her expression serious. "I'm going to be a trailblazer too, just like you."

Angie felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, she reached out and gently squeezed Lily's hand. "I know you will be, Lily. And I'll be cheering you on every step of the way."

Lily threw her arms around Angie in a spontaneous hug, catching her off guard. Angie hugged her back, feeling a deep sense of fulfillment.

This moment.

This connection made everything worth it—the challenges, the setbacks, the hard work. She had inspired someone, and that was the greatest victory of all.

-

-

-

[ginxyy]

The first kiss

The first kiss that shouldn’t of happened but did..

The evening air draped itself over us like a soft blanket—warm, inviting, and tinged with the scent of blooming jasmine wafting from the nearby garden. I remember how the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue that danced upon Minghao’s features, framing him in a glow that turned him into a figure straight out of a romance novel. The world around us faded, and for that moment, it was just the two of us Minghao and I, caught in an invisible web of tension and unspoken desires.

We had been spending so much time together friends, yet something about our connection bordered on something deeper. I was dating Hoshi, and while my feelings for him were genuine, there was something intoxicating about Minghao, something that pulled at the strings of my heart, beckoning me closer. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once, the kind of chemistry that sent shivers down my spine and made my heart race with reckless abandon.

“Do you remember when we first met?” Minghao asked, his voice low and teasing, breaking the comfortable silence that had enveloped us. I nodded, the memory bright and vivid. It was a warm spring day, and I had been fumbling with my books when he came to assist me. The way he had smiled so genuine, eyes sparkling with mischief had left a lasting impression. Yet here we were, standing on the precipice of something thrillingly unknown.

“Yeah,” I breathed, the heat of his body radiating toward me. “You were so sweet, helping me pick up my things. I thought you were just a nice guy.” The teasing lilt in my voice didn’t go unnoticed. I caught a flicker of something in his eyes a challenge wrapped in warmth.

“Maybe I was just trying to impress you,” he countered, stepping closer, tilting his head slightly to meet my gaze. The space between us shrank as our shared glances sparked electricity in the air, rendering the world around us indescribably still.

My heart raced, not just out of excitement but also with an unfamiliar trepidation. I could feel the pull of our connection surging, the boundaries we had previously held so carefully intact, quivering on the brink of shattering. I could hear the soft rustle of leaves, the distant laughter of friends mingling at the bonfire nearby, but all of it melted into a distant hum. It was as if the universe had conspired to create this moment solely for us a chance to explore what lay beneath the surface.

“Minghao…” I started, uncertainty creeping into my tone. The truth was, there was a complication. Hoshi. Sweet, endearing Hoshi who had a way of lighting up the room with a single smile. But Minghao he was different. The way he looked at me set my soul on fire, igniting something that had been lying dormant for too long.

“Minghao, I…” My words faltered, a mix of conflict and longing swirling uncontrollably within me. His proximity was intoxicating; I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, the subtle scent of his cologne a blend of citrus and something earthy that made my heart skip. I was caught in a maelstrom of emotions.

“I know, I know,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair back behind my ear as he stepped even closer. “But I can’t help how I feel, and I wonder if you feel it too.” There was an intensity in his voice that made my breath hitch. It wasn’t just a question; it was a gentle dare a challenge wrapped in vulnerability.

I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening with each passing second as I searched his eyes for answers I wasn’t sure I was ready to uncover. “Minghao, we can’t…”

But before I could finish, he leaned in, and the world slipped away. The moment his lips brushed against mine, everything around us vanished into a blur, leaving only the sweet taste of longing and something deliciously reckless.

The kiss was soft at first, a tentative exploration that surged with an undercurrent of urgency. I melted against him, feeling the warmth of his body press into mine. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as desire ignited within me like a roaring flame. It was intoxicating the way he caressed my cheek, the way his lips moved against mine so effortlessly, sending jolts of electricity dancing across my skin.

With each passing second, the kiss deepened, and my heart raced faster, pounding in sync with this newfound whirlwind of emotion. I could feel his heartbeat, a frantic rhythm against my chest, mirroring the chaos inside me. Reality was fading; I was lost in an abyss of sensation, inhaling his essence, forgetting all about the world and, momentarily, about Hoshi.

As our kisses grew bolder, the air crackled with passion, every brush of our lips igniting a fire that fed on the secrets we’d held too close for too long. I could feel the weight of desire pulling us deeper into this moment, the outside world disappearing in a swirl of stars and the soft murmurs of the night enveloping us like a warm cocoon.

“Minghao…” I gasped breathlessly, breaking our kiss for a fleeting moment.

“Shh,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against mine, his warm breath mingling with the evening air. “Just let it be let us be.”

But how could I? How could I let go of thoughts of Hoshi, the one who made me laugh, the one who knew my quirks and loved me for them? Yet, in that very moment, standing cheek to cheek with Minghao, I was enveloped in something so intoxicating that it felt reckless to hold back so blissfully, deliciously reckless.

As our lips found each other once more, the kiss grew heated, filled with an urgency that hinted at the depths of our mutual longing. I could feel Minghao's hands roaming, exploring the contours of my back, igniting sensations I hadn’t felt before. A shiver coursed through me, and I yielded to the moment, my reservations fading into oblivion.

In those stolen moments, the line between right and wrong blurred as passion consumed us. We were lost in a world of our own making, one where nothing else mattered but the connection we were forging in the heart of the night. A new chapter flickered to life, and though the path ahead was uncertain, for this brief interlude, I allowed myself to get lost to embrace the burning truth of our first kiss with Minghao.

[mizuissad]

tw: stockholm syndrome, yandere, manipulation, gaslighting, abuser comforting, kidnapper

time to fuel my repetitive fantasies once more

The days blend together now. Every morning you wake to the same sterile room, the same soft light filtering through the window, and the same voice waiting to greet you.

He’s been more careful lately. Gentler. Less forceful. He’s stopped talking about escape, stopped reminding you that you can’t leave. Instead, he fills the silence with meaningless chatter about how the weather looks outside, what he’s made for breakfast, how he just wants to make you comfortable.

And in some twisted way, you’ve started to believe it.

Today, as you sit curled up on the couch, he enters the room with a small tray. There’s tea on it, steaming, along with a few biscuits arranged neatly on the side. “I thought you might like something warm” he says softly, setting the tray down in front of you.

You glance up at him. You’ve grown used to his presence but that doesn’t make it any easier to accept. He’s always so calm, so composed, as if the weight of what he’s done doesn’t exist.

He sits down beside you, close but not too close. His knee brushes yours, sending a shiver through your body, and you instinctively pull away, though not as sharply as you once did.

“You’re quiet today” he comments, pouring the tea and handing you a cup. You take it with trembling fingers. It’s easier to accept the little things than to fight all the time. But you still don’t speak.

He watches you for a moment, his eyes searching yours. “I can tell you’re thinking about a lot,” he says quietly. “You always have that look when your mind’s somewhere else.”

You stay silent, staring into the swirling steam rising from your cup. Your thoughts are a mess, tangled between anger and exhaustion, hope and despair. You know this isn’t right none of this is right. But the fight inside you feels duller now, harder to hold onto.

He reaches out, his hand brushing over yours. You flinch, but don’t pull away. His fingers are gentle, tracing the back of your hand. “You don’t have to hide from me,” he murmurs. “I know you’re scared. I know you don’t understand this yet. But I’m here for you.”

The words twist something inside you, making your stomach churn. You know what he’s doing. He’s been breaking you down, piece by piece, trying to make you dependent on him. And worst of all, it’s starting to work.

A part of you craves the comfort he offers. The reassurance. The idea that, despite everything, someone is there, taking care of you. It’s terrifying.

But as much as you hate it, you find yourself leaning into his touch just a little. The warmth of his hand, the soft cadence of his voice it’s easier to fall into it than to keep resisting.

“I don’t need you to be strong all the time,” he says, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “I know this is hard. But you don’t have to carry it alone. Let me take care of you.”

Your chest tightens, and your vision blurs with tears. You want to scream, to tell him to stop, to push him away. But instead, you sit there, letting the warmth of his touch seep into your skin.

“I’ll always be here for you,” he continues, his voice soft, soothing. “No matter what you feel, no matter how hard it gets. I’ll never leave you.”

The tears spill over, sliding down your cheeks. You don’t want to believe him. You don’t want to let him in. But the weight of your loneliness presses down on you, crushing your resistance.

You take a shaky breath and close your eyes. For a brief moment, you let yourself imagine that maybe, just maybe, this could be enough. Maybe you don’t have to fight anymore. Maybe you can find peace in this strange, twisted version of love he’s offering.

But as soon as the thought crosses your mind, you pull back, withdrawing your hand from his. You wipe your tears quickly, biting your lip to keep from sobbing.

He watches you, his eyes dark with understanding. “It’s okay,” he says softly. “I can wait. I know this is hard for you.”

You nod weakly, too tired to argue.

As he stands and leaves the room, you curl back into yourself, clutching the cup of tea in your hands. You tell yourself you won’t give in. You’ll keep fighting. You’ll never let him break you.

But deep down, you know the truth. your resistance is fading.

[roseandxanderfics]

“Calm in the Storm” - Killian Jones x autistic!reader

Summary: Killian Jones becomes the steady anchor the reader needs to gain control over their telekinesis, guiding them through emotional overload and helping them find peace in their own strength.

—————————

In the quiet town of Storybrooke, the supernatural and the mundane collide, leaving behind a web of secrets and power. Among its many residents is someone often overlooked, someone who blends into the background as much as possible—a person with incredible power, but one who struggles to control it.

You had always been different. From a young age, you had felt the hum of the world around you, the pull of objects and people in ways others couldn’t understand. The ability to move things with your mind had always been there, like a quiet whisper in your thoughts. But for as long as you could remember, it had also been a storm, a tempest that swelled inside you when emotions became overwhelming. Fear, stress, anxiety—all of it churned in your chest, and the resulting explosion of telekinesis would send objects flying, walls crumbling, windows shattering. It was something you could never quite control, no matter how hard you tried.

The world seemed too loud, too bright, and your emotions, too sharp. Every small shift in the atmosphere, every subtle change in the room, hit you like a wave crashing over a fragile shore. Socializing was a minefield—words tangled together, faces and voices blurred into a cacophony. People didn’t always understand you. They saw the calm, collected you, but the truth was much more complicated.

Then, you met him—Killian Jones.

He wasn’t like the others. He saw you, truly saw you, even when you tried to keep to the shadows. In his eyes, there was no judgment, no rush to fix you. He never pushed, never questioned, just observed. And somehow, without even trying, he made you feel safe.

At first, it was his pirate persona that caught your attention—his bravado, his sense of adventure. But it was his quiet understanding that kept you tethered to him. Killian had a way of moving through the world with a kind of grace that seemed effortless, despite the chaos that always surrounded him. He moved through Storybrooke like it was a battlefield, and yet, when he turned those eyes on you, there was nothing but calm.

It wasn’t until one particularly chaotic afternoon that you first realized how much of an anchor he had become. You’d been in the woods, a place where you often retreated to clear your mind. The world was always too much, too fast, too loud. The rush of voices from the town, the constant bombardment of the world pushing in—it would suffocate you if you didn’t get away. So, you ran.

But the moment you stepped into the clearing, you could feel it. The tension in the air. The anger from a few villagers, their voices raised in heated discussion. The fear in your chest started to swell, and you felt the power inside you begin to build, like a dam about to burst. You knew it was coming. Your fingers twitched, and the air around you rippled with the first signs of an impending storm of force.

“Hey,” a calm, familiar voice called out from behind you.

You spun, startled, and there he was—Killian, standing in the clearing, his brow furrowed in concern. He wasn’t far off, but somehow, his presence alone made everything feel more manageable. Safe.

“I—I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling as the air grew thick, and objects began to float, the force of your emotions leaking out in small bursts. “I can’t control it. I can’t—”

He stepped closer, slowly, carefully, his hands raised in a gesture of non-threat. “It’s all right, love,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll help you. Just breathe.”

You wanted to protest. You wanted to run away, to retreat into yourself like you always did, but something about him, about the steady calm in his voice, made it feel like maybe you didn’t have to hide anymore. He took a few more steps, his eyes never leaving yours. “Breathe with me,” he continued, his voice grounding you in a way you hadn’t felt before. “In and out. Slowly. I’m here. It’s all right.”

You did as he asked, forcing your breaths to slow. Slowly, the tension in your chest began to ease, and with it, the power that had threatened to burst free began to settle back into its rightful place. The air became still again, the objects that had floated in your wake dropping gently back to the ground.

When the storm inside you had passed, Killian was right in front of you, his eyes warm and patient. “You’ve got a lot of power, don’t you?” he asked gently. There was no fear in his tone, just curiosity and understanding.

You nodded, your breath still coming in ragged gasps. “It’s hard,” you said quietly, almost ashamed. “It’s hard to keep it in check when everything feels too much. I don’t know how to—”

“Then let me help,” Killian interrupted, his voice firm with a kindness that was at odds with his usual roguish charm. “I’ve learned a thing or two about controlling the chaos. You’re not alone in this.”

That day marked the beginning of a shift. Killian became more than just a figure in the background. He became your anchor. Slowly, carefully, he learned how to read the subtle signs when you were on the verge of an overload. A twitch of your fingers, the tightening of your jaw, the brief tremor in your voice—he understood them all. He was there, by your side, every time you struggled, every time the weight of the world felt too heavy.

In the quiet moments, he would sit with you, allowing the peace of Storybrooke to surround you both. His presence was a comfort. It was like the storm inside you could finally be calmed, not by force, but by his quiet steadiness. He never demanded, never expected. He simply was, and that was more than enough.

Over time, you found yourself gaining more control. Small bursts of power became easier to rein in, the weight of your emotions no longer felt like an uncontrollable force. When you faltered, Killian was there to steady you, guiding you back to center without judgment or frustration.

In turn, you began to trust him more, allowing yourself to lean on him in ways you had never done with anyone before. You learned that you didn’t have to be perfect—didn’t have to keep it all together all the time. With Killian, it was okay to fall apart and put yourself back together again. He was there, through it all, steady and true.

It wasn’t just your powers that began to change—it was you. With his support, you learned to embrace your differences, to see your abilities as something powerful, not something to fear. And with Killian at your side, you felt like you could finally face the world, not as someone broken or invisible, but as someone strong.

And in his eyes, you were exactly that—strong, powerful, and more than enough.