#first time since I became a fan though

[kiankiwi]

Hi guys HEADS UP/PSA:

I am going to go on a vacation! To GRACELAND! So Idk if I will have wifi for about 2 weeks! I will be here and check in when i can (uploading pics and stuff to show you guys!) BUT if you guys have sent me a request or an ask in the last few days, I hope you will be patient with me because I will not be able to get those up until after I get back (and I will be back in the first week of DECEMBER!)

I just hope you will be patient with me and not just up and leave because I might not be able to answer for a few days

I am so grateful that you guys read my fics and enjoy them so much and I'm so happy to pump out fics for you but I'll be gone for a while. I'll still check in when I get wifi

LOVE YOU GUYS!! Thank you for being patient with me!!!! <3

@bellanotchewrites @mooodyblue @arianatheangel-girl @elvisthesillygoose

@ everyone who sends me anon asks too!!! <33333

[deus-ex-mona]

anyways! it’s herohei hours~~~~~~

[totalswag]

hii, I’m not sure if you take request still but if so is there a possible way you can do a drew x singer!reader one shot take on how Sabrina “arrests” her fans before performing Juno for being too hot but the reader does it to Drew during her shows please 🫶🏼

arrested for being too hot — DREW STARKEY

authors note THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING THIS!! my request box is still open so feel free to send me any ideas regarding singer!reader or regular fic ideas you’d like me to write. this was so much writing too. thank for all the love on my last fic lovies <3

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summary "arresting" drew, your boyfriend, during your show before performing your song from your new album.

warning(s) none!

You are on tour for your new album in-front of thousands of fans almost every night. You worked hard on this album and it turned out wonderfully. If it weren’t for the amazing fans of yours, you don’t know where you’d be in your career— they are the reason you are doing this.

Half way into the show— going amazing. The crowd tonight isn't disappointing you. Everything you've hoped for on this tour. You've performed eighteen songs and about to go onto your nineteenth. Played musical spin the bottle not long ago which was really fun.

Before Juno, you begin with a small "skit" where you call someone out in the crowd, arresting them for being too hot. This became a thing after your first show of the tour and doing it ever since. Plus, fans absolutely love it. Interacting with your fans has always been something you did and create those bonds.

Drew, your boyfriend, is attending the show with Madelyn Cline, a mutual friend and cast-mate of Drew's. You told him earlier today you wanted to arrest him in the middle of the show to get the audience excited and it would be fun.

Drew was all for it, and he didn't want you to tell him what you were going to say—he prefers surprises.

Your pink, glittering, dazzling clothing was sparkling in the lights. You pressed your free hand to your brow as though you were looking around for a call. With security, you could see Drew and Madelyn making their way to the front.

You begin by adjusting your earpiece while moving around the stage in your long skirt. "You guys know that moment when you are in a room filled with such beautiful looking people that you start to feel overwhelmed?" When fans applaud, you smile.

"Oh, girls, I think I just seen my future husband in the front row! Oh my god, girls, come here, come here," you say anxiously into the microphone, beckoning them over and waving your free hand.

You turn to face Drew as the girls approach you, asking, "Do you see that gorgeous looking man over in the front row with his arms crossed in the tan shirt?" You speak into the microphone aloud, pointing to Drew in the crowd.

Your girls joyfully waved at Drew while placing their hands on your shoulder. As Drew blushes on the big screen, the crowd reflexively turns up the volume in the arena. 

"What's your name handsome?" With your head cocked slightly to the right toward your shoulder, you inquire in jest. 

"Drew!" You can hear him when he places his hands on the side of his lips. He gives you a childlike smile and a flushed face.

You say, "I'm sorry I couldn't get that?" as though you couldn't hear him. Leaning forward more, you place your free hand behind your ear.

He shakes his head and utters "Drew!" a little louder. 

"Oh my Drew, I must say that you must be a magnet because you drew me in" brings a smile to your face. Your tone indicated that you were trying quite hard not to laugh, yet you kept your calm brilliantly.

Fans had their phones out, capturing the entire interaction. Nobody would have expected Drew to be the person arrested at your gigs since the tour began.

"Drew, you are under arrest for being too hot," you say aloud, smiling and pointing at him— fanning yourself, moving your hips side to side as the sound of sirens going off with blue and red lights behind.

You put your left elbow against your girls shoulder, "guys do you ever just see someone so good looking that you just don't know what to do and all your clothes fall off in that moment" your long skirt slips off smoothy.

"Like your brain just like malfunctions and like I just wanna handcuffed to you now like," one of your girls puts the pink fluffy handcuffs into your hand, you kneel down, "do you know what I mean? Will you take these from me?"

Drew is overwhelmed in this very moment— it's very obvious how much you are affecting him. Drew gives you a gimme me gesture with his fingers, ready to catch the hand cuffs.

He takes them in his hands, looks down, and feels the smooth texture of the fuzzy. He tilts his head to the side before slowly glancing up at you with a smirk—keep in mind that he's still on the big screen.

"We're gonna sing this one to you, Drew."

Juno's song intro starts playing. You wave goodbye to Drew and Madelyn as you return to the center of the stage. You could hear the two begin speaking to fans in the distance.

Drew and Madelyn met you in the dressing room following the show. After giving Madelyn a hug and thanking her for attending the event, you moved to approach Drew and put your arms around his neck while grinning.

"That was insane," Madelyn exclaimed, pulling you into a hug. "What about the full call-out and the handcuffs? Iconic! "You're the talk of the night; everyone is crazy about it."

You giggled as your face heated up. "It seemed right." "You should have seen his face!"

She laughs, "I got the whole thing on video, I'll send it to you later."

"I'm going to give you two some alone time, but you did such an amazing job tonight and looked so hot doing it," Madelyn adds, taking your hands in her and wiggling her brows. 

"Thank you, babe. I love you always," you say, hugging her before she leaves you and Drew alone. 

When you close the door, Drew comes behind you, placing his arms around your waist and kissing you on the cheek, making you laugh with the tenderness of his lips.

"I'm so proud of you baby, you did such an amazing job on stage and looked unbelievable in your outfits made me feel like the luckiest guy in the entire world." He expresses emotionally, which uplifts you. 

"Coming from you, it warms my heart baby. Forever grateful to have you in my life," you smile softly, leaning against his chest, feeling that sense of warmth you always feel whenever you are with him.

"And I'm forever grateful for you" he quietly responds, kissing the top of your head.

"So what are we gonna do with those pink fuzzy handcuffs?"

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[smutoperator]

Training My Daughter

Seol YoonA (Sullyoon), Minatozaki Sana x Male Reader

Part 2 of 4 of All In Family

Tags: alternative universe, assgasms, belly bulging, choking, daddy kink, deepthroating, dirty talking, facesitting, facefucking, finger-fucking, floor sex, leg-locking 69, mating press, messy and sweaty, mother and daughter, multiple creampies, plot twist, rimming, (very) rough sex, (lots of) spanking, squirting, star wars

Word count: 8027.

Sullyoon is one of Dankook University's most popular students. Yesterday, she celebrated her 21st birthday with a crazy party involving members of her sorority and the neighboring fraternity.

However, although she's getting increasingly popular, she still has a way to go before catching her mother.

"SANA, SANA, CAN YOU PLEASE GIVE ME AN AUTOGRAPH?" a university student screams as Sullyoon's mother slowly climbs out of the passenger's seat of a very luxurious car. As soon as Sana walks in her daughter's direction, the campus becomes a Twice fan meet, with many students rushing for the unique opportunity to meet Sullyoon's celebrity mother. Even though many years have passed since her idol career ended, lots are still aware of her viral moves like the iconic "shy shy, shy".

Despite the massive crowd, Sana displays the professionalism she's well known for, while never losing sight of her daughter either. After a few selcas and autographs for some lucky students, she picks up Sullyoon as the two climb into the car and head home.

Sana starts asking questions about Sullyoon regarding her on-campus birthday party. The two chat a lot as Sana is really happy about her daughter being able to go to one of the top colleges in Korea after all her hard work as an once young girl who came from Japan in search of her dreams and became one of the biggest foreign celebrities of Korea in the process. But after a while, the spiciest questions finally arrive.

"How many guys have you fucked in that party, YoonA?" Sana asks her daughter. "T-two," Sullyoon answers, hesitating to tell her mother. But Sana knows she is lying.

"It was at least double that, right, YoonA?" Sana asks again. "Yes, Mother," Sullyoon answers sincerely. "And how are you feeling about that?" Sana keeps launching questions. "A bit sore," Sullyoon answers.

"Looks like you need some training, YoonA. Taking on that many guys at once can be a challenge. I may be shy about lots of things, but sex was never one of them, you know you can always ask me for advice, right?" Sana asks. "Sure," Sullyoon responds, blushing a bit.

"Do you want me to train you for those occasions? I know a guy that will be perfect for you to handle those situations. Should I call him, YoonA?" Sana tells her daughter. "It's your call, Mother, I'll do it as you please," Sullyoon answers.

"Alright, let's head home and prepare ourselves," Sana tells her daughter they dress themselves in very casual clothes that expose their midriffs, Sana taking a top plus Yoga pants while Sullyoon dresses herself in an undersized t-shirt and booty shorts. "Your tummy is so beautiful YoonA, I envy it so much," Sana says. "Thanks, Mom," Sullyoon says as her face turns red again. Both of them are wearing high heels, as Sana gives Sullyoon the first lesson. "The heels always stay on, YoonA," she tells her daughter.

Sana arrives at your house, greeting you with kisses. "Meet my daughter, YoonA," Sana presents Sullyoon to you. "Wow, she's beautiful, but knowing her mother, that's no surprise," you say.

Sana smiles as she enters your living room, full of sculptures and paintings with sexual undertones. She stops right by one that depicts a nude woman and her curves. "That's your mother too," you tell Sullyoon, pointing at the painting. "It's called 'The Perfect Woman', the artist drew its inspiration from Sana and later gave it to me," you say.

"But let's get to the point, every time your mother comes to me, I know she's looking for sex. We know each other since before you were born and that's always been the case," you tell Sullyoon. "Are you excited to be part of a mother-daughter threesome, YoonA?" you ask the young girl.

"Yeah," Sullyoon answers, still a little shy. "Then let's start, I want to worship this beautiful body, I can see you've got the perfect genetics from your mother," you tell her. "Well, she's taller and bulkier, she's got the beauty from myself, but the strength from her father," Sana says, grabbing her daughter's ass.

"Sana, can you show me your ass too?" you ask her as she turns around and displays her nice backside covered by her yoga pants. Sullyoon's cheeks on the other hand already have her cheeks fully in the open. "Damn, your daughter got a great ass," you tell Sana.

"My mother said you are very rough fucking girls, is that true?" Sullyoon asks. "Well, there is a difference, I'm not like the guys at your birthday party yesterday that you had and Sana told me about, who are rough but don't know what they are doing. I'm different, I'm rough in a way that makes girls push themselves to the edge," you say.

"Alright girls, enough of talking and let's start fucking," you tell them as you immediately pull Sana's top down, displaying her beautiful erect nipples. Sana smiles as you put your mouth in her perky tits and suck them in front of her daughter.

"Your turn, YoonA," you say as Sullyoon pushes her top up and lets you suck her tits next. "They are so cute," you say as you press them. You quickly start showing up your credentials, pinching Sullyoon's tits and giving a little tap to her legs that make her let out her first moans. Sana just watches, letting you handle her daughter all by yourself.

"She's so sexy," you say about Sullyoon as you start choking her. "Turn around, let me see that ass," you order as Sullyoon obliges. "Damn, it's really plump," you say, praising her backside. Quickly, you pull her shorts down, unveiling Sullyoon's white panties under it, which are quickly gone in seconds too.

"Damn, she's got a really meaty pussy, are you sure she's your daughter, Sana? Because yours isn't meaty like this," you say, quickly diving to eat it. "Hmmm, so tasty," you say, diving your face between Sullyoon's ass cheeks. "Beautiful ass, meaty pussy, pretty face, damn, Sana, your daughter is a full-course meal," you say, pleasing Sullyoon's meaty cunt and making her moan again.

Sullyoon shows you she's not so innocent, grabbing your head and pushing it against her fuckholes. "Does my daughter taste good?" Sana asks, taking the initiative herself and grabbing your head as well. "Oh, she tastes amazing, just like her mother," you say.

"How about you, Sana, are you gonna let me taste that delicious ass?" you ask her as you push Sana in your direction and pull her pants down in one go. "First lesson, YoonA, horny sluts like your mother don't wear panties when they are horny," you tell Sullyoon.

You spread Sana's ass and dive right on her folds, licking her delicious asshole and her pink pussy. "YoonA, your mother must have the most beautiful and flexible asshole ever, I fucked it countless times and it always goes back to this tight, small hole every time," you tell Sullyoon as you tongue Sana's anus.

"Open that asshole for me, YoonA," you command as Sullyoon spreads her mother's ass. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, you lick my ass so good" Sana moans as you tongue her strawberry-flavored butthole.

But you were far from done, lifting Sana as she clings herself to her daughter while you lick her ass with her up in the air. "Shake that ass in my face, slut," you tell her. Sana does it perfectly even though she's way up in the air, even reaching her legs to caress your clothed cock while Sullyoon kisses her mother's perky tits and jerks herself off to the scene.

"Your mother is such a great slut, YoonA, she lets me do anything I want to her, I hope you're like this too," you say to Sullyoon as you eat Sana's pussy with her body lifted. Sana takes things up a notch, showing she's no slouch and hitting your face with her ass while you try to eat her out. "Damn I didn't think my mother was this crazy," Sullyoon thinks in her head.

You kiss and worship Sana's pussy as you slowly bring her back to the ground. "Best pussy in the world, if yours is half as good, we are in for a treat," you say to Sullyoon.

"Come here, YoonA, worship your mother's pussy, it's where you came from after all," you tell Sullyoon, grabbing her head and shoving it against Sana's perfect cunt. Sullyoon's skill impresses Sana. "Wow, she's very good at that," she says. Needless to say, Sullyoon has been training to lick pussies in her sorority since she joined it, so, of course, she's already well-versed in the art of coochie eating.

You kiss Sana and worship her body while Sullyoon remains glued to her mother's pussy. "Wanna suck my dick, horny bitch?" you ask her, taking your clothes off and displaying your muscular body and your cock. "Yes, I do," Sana enthusiastically answers.

Sana gets on her knees and sucks her favorite big fat cock. "Looks like you already trained your daughter to be nasty, my job will be really easy then," you tell her as you start sensing Sullyoon's tongue rimming your asshole. You grab Sana's head, fucking her face and watching her choke on your cock, the only guy that can truly tame that crazy slut.

Sana worships your balls but you quickly stop her and pound her face, the move of your hips sweeping your ass all over Sullyoon's face. You quickly grab both girls' heads and push them against your both, making them choke all over your cock and anus. "Come on, you nasty bitches, show me how much you want it," you tell them as Sana and Sullyoon's faces turn red.

"Push that dick deep in your throat," you tell Sana, bending her over and spanking her ass before manhandling her throat until she gags again. "You nasty Japanese bitch," you say to her as saliva drips out of her chin and you slap your cock in her face while Sana gives you a radiant smile. "I know you like that, I know you go crazy when I'm your nasty bitch," she tells you, deepthroating your cock shortly after.

"Your mother is a tough bitch to tame, YoonA, but she always falls on her knees for me," you tell Sullyoon as you go really rough on Sana, fucking her face like a fleshlight while turning her ass cheeks red with countless spanks. "You should have a safe word for those occasions, YoonA, I know not every girl is as tough and slutty as your mother," you instruct Sullyoon as you destroy Sana's mouth with all your might, her asshole winking at every thrust you give her.

"Look at your mother's asshole, so beautiful and small," you tell Sullyoon. "Can't deny I would love to fuck that but today your mother said it was going to be all about pussy and I'll respect her," you continued as Sana jerks your cock and spit on it before you shove it back in her face balls deep and put her back in her place.

"Come here, YoonA, now you're gonna watch your mother get fucked like a proper slut," you say as Sana bends over and you start pushing your cock in her pussy. Like every single time, you struggle to fit your thick meat in her tight, very small entrance, needing to make a big effort just to push it inside her. "Oh my Gosh, oh fuck," Sana moaned as your cock shaped her walls like a sculptor shapes his work of art.

"AHHHHHHH," Sana screamed as you quickly switched pace, her hair getting messy and falling all over her face while her cheeks got clapped from behind. You grabbed her slim waist, using all the support you needed to drill her pussy. Sullyoon had flashbacks of some guys doing the same at her party and fucking her from behind, but this looked far more intense, as Sana just closed her eyes and took your cock deep in her pussy repeatedly.

"OH MY GODDDDD," Sana yelled as her pussy got completely rag-dolled. Sullyoon was in awe, watching her mother get completely obliterated in a way she had never seen before, your thrusts at very high speeds clapping her cheeks as you and Sana looked at the painting she inspired, you more convinced than ever she was truly the perfect woman, or, better yet, the perfect fuckdoll for you to freely use.

"Fuck, that fucking dick is so big in my pussy," Sana says as she starts getting wetter and wetter down low. Sullyoon is hyper-fixated, amazed as she looks right at her mom's tight pussy being stretched out at an insane pace, your full nine inches going in and out of it like a piston. But what would come next would surprise her even more.

You give Sana's ass a big spank, which triggers a reaction that shocks the cute Sullyoon. Suddenly, despite being drilled like crazy, her mother fights back, moving her hips in the direction of your shaft and taking control, hitting her cheeks right against your muscular belly. "OH FUCK," Sana screams with a very angry voice, ready to unleash her slutty self to the fullest.

"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," Sana repeats endlessly as she keeps moving her hips like crazy, turning you into a passenger of her insanity. Sullyoon smiles as both of you fuck like animals now, as you grab Sana's hair and try to tame her, spanking her butt countless times and answering her moves. "YEEHAW," you say, pulling her hair with one hand as if she was your pony toy, while your other hand takes care of spanking her ass and grabbing her waist. "Holy fuck, I want this for me," Sullyoon thinks.

"OHHHHH, OHHHHHH, OHHHHH," Sana screams, clinging to a handrail as you freely use her body, moving it at your will with violent thrusts deep in her tight cunt that make her cheeks clap. Sana answers it, moving her hips even more frenetically. Sullyoon is baffled at what she's watching, her mother getting plowed like the good slut she is.

"Look at me licking my squirt, YoonA, I'm such a greedy whore," Sana tells her daughter as you briefly pull out of her and let her bend herself over on all fours. But not for long, as soon as Sana drops to taste her juices from the floor, you mount on top of her and quickly go back to plow her pink pussy relentlessly, your balls smashing hard against her clit.

"OH MY GOD, FUCK, THIS DICK IS SO DEEP IN ME, DADDY, HOLY SHIT" Sana screams as you keep drilling her pussy in front of her daughter. Sullyoon fingers her pussy, getting heavily turned on as she watches her mother lower her head to the floor while you stomp on it. "Taste that pussy," Sullyoon says as she starts squirting on the floor, Sana moving her immobilized head to reach for her daughter's juices.

"Kiss your mother's ass," you order to Sullyoon as you finish pounding Sana, giving her pale butt a few spanks. Sullyoon obliges, going further and licking Sana's butthole. "I said kiss her ass, not lick her asshole," you tell Sullyoon, spanking the disobedient vixen's face. "Harder," Sullyoon begs as you hit her face before she dives back to lick Sana's strawberry-flavored anus again.

"Are you sure you want it harder?" you ask Sullyoon, spanking her again. "Yes, Daddy, I want to be your cockslut, just like my mother," she tells you as you choke her and spank her whole body, especially her fat ass, making the young slut moan. Sana just watches, still recovering from the pounding you delivered to her as you push your face to eat Sullyoon's ass. "Get your fucking face in there," the young slut demands, pushing it against her body as she starts shaking her ass.

"Damn, YoonA, you're so fucking dirty," Sana says as she watches her daughter go full slutty and gives Sullyoon a big smile. You bring both girls side by side, taking turns kissing and worshipping their perfect pussies. Sullyoon is so excited she grabs your head and pushes it against her cunt, before moving it towards her mother's slit, doing it back and forth.

You choke Sana and give her face a few hits. "You're such a nasty whore, you said your daughter needed training but she's a big slut just like her mother," you tell her as Sana smiles. "Now I'm gonna teach her a lesson," you tell Sana.

You put Sullyoon on all fours on the floor as your cock invades her meaty cunt. You start plowing her a little slower than Sana, Sullyoon gleefully moaning as your cock hits deep in her wet pussy. "It's so big, fuck," she moans as you steadily fuck her, your hips hitting Sullyoon's fat ass nonstop. "Oh yeah," Sullyoon moans and ducks her head down, closing her eyes trying to cope with the heat you put in her pussy.

"OHHHH SHIT," Sullyoon lets out her first scream while Sana comes in, you sucking her tits while pounding her daughter. "Are you gonna destroy her pussy in front of me?" she asks as you keep moving your hips and sucking Sana's tits. "OH FUCK," Sullyoon screams as you hit her cervix. "You're gonna make me cum so fucking good, fuck me harder, daddy" she then begs, getting her ass hit in response.

"Can you make me squirt all over my daughter's body?" Sana asks. You promptly follow, reach to finger her cunt as her juices drop all over Sullyoon's back. "Harder, Daddy, harder," Sullyoon keeps begging. You put Sana's high heels on her daughter's back as you make Sana rain all over her daughter's back and pick up the speed. "YEAH, LIKE THAT," Sullyoon screams as she gets showered with squirts and pounded like a slut.

"Please, Daddy, don't stop, I'm gonna cum, don't stop," Sullyoon says as her face starts turning red. You grab her waist and push further deep into her pussy, Sullyoon 's long legs shaking. "Give it to me Daddy, don't stop, I'm so close, fucking take it, please," she begs as she creams all over your cock before you handle the duties to her mother. "You're such a pathetic slut, look at you," Sana says as she disciplines her daughter.

"SPIT IN MY FUCKING MOUTH," Sullyoon begs her mother as Sana follows. "I saw how hungry you were for that dick, you want more?" Sana asks. "Yes, I want more, please," she says. "Then spit on my hand," Sana orders. "Yes, rub it on my face," Sullyoon begs. "Don't be so greedy, YoonA," Sana answers as she does it.

"OH YESSSS," Sullyoon screams as you let her and Sana play with each other a little. Sullyoon sucks her mother's tits and dives into her pink pussy. "I wanna taste it, it's the best-flavored pussy I've ever seen," Sullyoon says. You just masturbate to the scene, watching this lovely affair between mother and daughter as you slap your cock in Sana's greedy face and she licks your balls.

"Rub those sweaty balls all over my face," Sana tells you as Sullyoon moves to watch as Sana worships your big cock. Soon, you turn your attention back to Sullyoon. "Looks like she's hungry for that cock too," Sana says as you hit YoonA's pretty face again. Sana laughs as she watches her daughter get spanked multiple times all over her body.

"AHHHH, YEAH," Sullyoon moans as you keep hitting her ass, before going back to mount on top of her. "FUCK, YES, AHHHHH," she screams. "Open your legs," you tell Sullyoon, pounding her much harder than before. "YES, DADDY," she screams.

But you have different plans, fully committed to humiliating that young slut, quickly pulling out and sitting on her face. "Lick my dirty ass," you tell her as you and Sana team up on Sullyoon, you getting rimmed while Sana eats her daughter's pussy, Sullyoon barely able to breathe as you suffocate her with your ass and Sana bends over to suck your cock.

"Your fucking ass tastes so good all over my face, so fucking sweaty," Sullyoon says while Sana chokes on your cock. You put your feet in Sullyoon's mouth, putting the young vixen in a fully submissive position. "She loves my feet like her mother loves my dick," you say as you spit on Sana's sweaty face while she rubs her face on your cock.

"No wonder YoonA already knows so much, look at the fucking slut that her mother is," you tell Sana, hitting her face. "Yes, I'm a fucking slut for this big fucking dick," Sana answers as she hits back, you two trading kisses, chokes, and spanks on top of Sullyoon's body. You then grope Sana's tits and suck them while she jerks your cock off, Sullyoon moaning and tasting your feet.

"Sit on my dick," you order Sana, who is promptly ready, opening her legs and descending that big pole with ease. "Oh my Gosh, holy shit," Sana moans as she bounces on your cock under Sullyoon's watch, impressed with how fast her mother moves her hips and fingers herself while getting impaled by your massive meat.

"OH MY GOD, THAT FUCKING DICK FEELS SO FUCKING GOOD," Sana moans just as Sullyoon spits in her mother's pussy. She looks at her mother with naughty eyes, pondering how can she be such a good cock rider, as Sana's cheeks clap against your crotch nonstop, her legs fully open as she bounces so fast your cock pops out of her pussy a few times, but quickly putting it back on. "YOUR FUCKING DICK HITS SO FUCKING DEEP," she moans.

"You're stretching her pussy out so good, Daddy," Sullyoon says as she watches your cock go balls deep in Sana's cunt. You start pounding Sana from up top, the Japanese slut holding herself against the wall to not lose balance as her insides get drilled. "OH YEAH, YEAH," she moans.

"Let me taste that fucking cock," Sullyoon begs as she pulls it out of Sana's pussy, ready to suck all her mother's juices. "Hmm I can smell it," Sullyoon says as she sniffs your cock while you share kisses with Sana, deepthroating it to the fullest. "I wanna gag on it so bad," Sullyoon says. "Throat this dick, learn from your mother," you tell her, as Sana helps Sullyoon engulf your cock balls deep.

"Hold your breath and take it all the way deep," Sana instructs Sullyoon as her daughter tries to take your full nine inches plus your balls in her throat. Sullyoon gags multiple times but keeps pushing anyway. "Spit all over his dirty fucking dick," Sana says, pushing her daughter's head against your pole. "Make it fucking bulge on your throat, dive your slutty face on that dick," Sana keeps instructing, Sullyoon making gagging sounds and losing her breath.

"Let me teach you," Sana says as she grabs your cock to herself, quickly bobbing her head hard on it as she pushes deeper and deeper with ease. "It's so fucking sexy watching you choke on that dick, Mom," Sullyoon says as Sana stays focused, taking your length down her mouth, all the way down to your balls. "Give it to me," Sullyoon begs as she lets her mother spit on her face afterward.

"I love this so much," you say as you watch mother and daughter duel like two nasty sluts for your cock. When Sana takes her next turn, you decided to show Sullyoon how far you can push the limits with her mother, locking Sana's small face between your legs and making her choke on your dick, Sullyoon enjoying the graphic image of her mother's beautiful face turned into a mess as she gags on your cock.

"Oh my God, one day I promise I'll be as much of a slut as my mother," Sullyoon tells you as she watches Sana's face get pancaked between your strong legs and your big cock, getting behind her as both of your team up to eat Sana's pussy, the Japanese slut almost puking in your cock with the pressure it exerts in her naughty throat, Sana not looking like a mess, her hair completely ruined as she still manages to take that cock in her mouth all the way deep.

"Are you getting it wet for me, mom?" Sullyoon asks Sana, spitting on her face as you unlock her. Sana is so cock drunk she doesn't want to let it go, but Sullyoon is ready to add her spit to it, both girls now fighting for every inch of your cock, Sana taking your balls while Sullyoon impales her mouth on your shaft. "Oh my God," Sana says with a smile as she watches her daughter tries to match her sluttiness.

"You feel so good down there taking care of our little holes," Sana says as you take turns licking both their pussies and anuses. You then climb back on top, fingering Sana's butthole. "Look how tight your mother is," you tell Sullyoon as Sana's anal cavity refuses to give up. "OH MY GOD FUCK, SHITTTT," Sana starts screaming as you attempt to give her an anal orgasm, her belly moving with your thrusts in her butthole.

"SHITTTTTT," Sana screams as your fingers up her anus make her cum. "Taste it," you tell her as soon as her cunt squirts, Sana swallowing up your wet fingers. "OH MY GOD," Sana keeps screaming as you go back to finger-fucking her asshole. "If she's already cumming like that with just my fingers, can you imagine what she does with my cock in there?" you ask Sullyoon. "I can't wait to see it," Sullyoon answers. "I promise next time she brings you here you'll see, now I need to fuck your beautiful pussies more," you tell her.

You feed your fingers from Sana's butthole straight to Sullyoon's mouth. "Your mother is all sweaty but her ass still tastes like strawberries," you tell Sullyoon. "Yes, you're right, Daddy," she tells you as you fist her mouth, making Sullyoon spit all over her pussy. You two team up on Sana, as Sullyoon eats her mother's cunt while you keep fisting her anus. "That slut is so tight, I can put my whole arm up her ass and her hole shirks back to normal as soon as I pull out," you say.

"OH MY GOD, FUCKKKK," Sana keeps moaning as your finger stimulates her asshole, making her squirt all over her daughter's face. "You're gonna have many anal orgasms like this in the future, YoonA, even better if you can do it just with hands instead of a cock like your slutty mother," you tell Sullyoon as she licks Sana's pussy to the fullest. "OH FUCK MY ASS IS GETTING USED SO WELL," Sana screams as she gets one last anal orgasm.

"You wanna watch how you were conceived, YoonA?" you ask Sullyoon. "Of course, Daddy," the young slut answers. You warm Sana up with some dirty talk and choking. "Who's the biggest slut on the planet?" you ask Sana. "I am," she answers. "That's right," you tell her.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Sana, the perfect woman," you say as you start licking her pussy. Sullyoon is right to her side, masturbating to the hot scene. You give Sana a little anal tease, putting the tip of your cock in her butthole before pulling out and switching to her cunt. "I'll save it for another day," you say.

Despite getting pinned to the floor, Sana moves her hips to meet your cock as soon as it gets in her pussy. You spread her beautiful legs as Sullyoon is already creaming herself watching her mother getting drilled. You drive Sana to the floor, pounding her on an anime-esque mating press position. "OH MY GOD, OH SHIT," she moans as you stretch her pussy out, pounding it balls deep, her asshole winking every time your cock hits her cervix.

You choke Sana and talk dirty to her. "I'm gonna put a baby in that womb, give YoonA a sister that will grow up to be another big slut just like her mother," you tell Sana as you keep drilling her pussy, pressing her cheeks against the floor at each thrust while Sullyoon watches.

"Oh my God, show me the slut I am, breed me, give YoonA another sister," Sana begs as she looks at you with sexy eyes, letting herself get completely stopped in front of her daughter as your rough but very passionate thrusts in her pussy keep mounting. Sullyoon is bemused, watching your cock bulging under Sana's belly. "That woman looks so cute but is so nasty, how does it feel to have the perfect nympho as your mother, YoonA?" you ask Sullyoon. "Well, she's for sure a good mother to me," the young girl answers.

Sana manages to move her hips even pressed to the floor. "AHHHH, FUCK, FUCK, HOLY SHIT," she moans. You let her spin on your cock for a bit, you two trading sexy stares as Sana bounces on your cock while on the floor. "I'm gonna fill this fucking slut pussy," you tell her, getting completely on top of Sana and drilling her harder than ever, making loud noises as your bodies collide with each other at each thrust you give her.

"Watch this YoonA, learn how babies are made," you tell Sullyoon as you slow down, passionately kissing Sana and letting her walls squeeze your cock to the fullest until you fill her womb to the brim. "Your mother said she was not on the pill, hope you can get a younger sister over 20 years later, YoonA," you tell Sullyoon as your semen oozes out of Sana's tight pussy onto the floor. "You wanna go next, YoonA?" you ask the young girl. "Of course," Sullyoon answers.

"Then let's get to the couch," you say to Sullyoon as she follows you. Sana stays on the floor a little more as scoops your cum from it and licks it, while you turn your attention to her daughter.

You shove your cock balls deep in Sullyoon's mouth. "Get me hard again," you tell her. Sullyoon quickly obliges as she lets you fuck her face, but this time shows more willingness to fight back, bobbing her head hard as Sana is already back there to give her daughter instructions. "Keep your eyes open, take it all the way in, get him hard again for that meaty young pussy," her mother says.

Sullyoon grows more and more accustomed to your cock, filling it full of her saliva as deepthroats it hard. "Keep going, YoonA, get it wet for your pussy," Sana tells her as Sullyoon keeps choking on your already hard meat. You push it balls deep once again, her trying to last longer with it deep in her mouth, enjoying the string of saliva covering her pretty face.

"Open your eyes," Sana keeps saying as Sullyoon struggles to gag on your meat. "Louder, keep choking," her mother commands. "Here, let me teach you," Sana says, giving you a no-hands blowjob in front of her daughter. "Learn it, YoonA, I want you to take on that cock by yourself," Sana says as soon as she pops your cock out of her mouth.

You take turns fucking their throats and slap your cock in Sullyoon's face, letting both girls fight for your cock. Sana rubs your shaft all over her daughter's face while Sullyoon dives for your balls. "Come on, YoonA, you can do it," she says.

Sullyoon coughs all over your cock as Sana keeps telling her to keep her eyes open. You grab Sullyoon's pretty face and fuck it, the young girl struggling with your meat being much larger than her university colleagues. "She's still young, she's gonna be a great slut soon," Sana says.

"Follow your mother and lay on the couch," you tell Sullyoon as they get themselves lying upside down on the couch, their faces in prime position to get pounded. You tease both girls, taking turns between their mouths, before turning to Sullyoon, enjoying your cock bulge under her cheeks while Sana licks it.

"I think it's wet enough, turn around YoonA, and let me fuck your pussy," you tell Sullyoon as she follows your instructions. "Open your legs," you tell Sullyoon as you dive to eat her meaty pussy out while Sana sits on her face and starts squirting again over her daughter's body. Sullyoon eats Sana's pussy out, her mouths's lips perfectly interlocking with Sana's pussy lips.

"Look at her, getting my pussy wet so good, I think she's learning quite well," Sana says as you keep herself occupied with Sullyoon's pussy, pushing your head in the direction as you tongue all over her meaty clit. "Spread those lips for me," you tell Sullyoon, while Sana grinds her cunt in her daughter's mouth.

"Oh that feels so good," Sullyoon says as you two team up on her. Sana pushes harder, grinding her pussy all over her daughter's face. "AHHHHH," Sullyon suddenly screams as you shove your 9-inch cock back in her throbbing pussy without warning, Sana gets out of Sullyoon and lets her scream freely. "You're on your own, kid," she tells her daughter.

You drill Sullyoon's pussy hard, her moaning softly while Sana masturbates and goes back to squirting over her daughter. "Do you think she's learning how to take that big fat cock?" Sana asks you. "Yes, she's a good learner, just like her slutty mother," you answer, pushing harder into Sullyon's throbbing cunt.

"Spread it all over me, AHHHH, YEAHHH, THAT'S SO FUCKING HOT" Sullyoon begs as Sana gives her the biggest squirt shower yet. You keep pounding Sullyoon and instructing her. "Drink it, taste your mother's slutty juices," you command as you pick up the pace, grabbing Sullyoon's tits and enjoying her skin turn redder and redder the more you pound her.

Sana squirts all over Sullyoon's toned midriff, turning her daughter into a wet mess as your cock bulges under her fit belly. Sana goes back down, licking her juices from Sullyoon's belly and tasting your cock before you push it back inside her cunt. "Let me see that meaty cunt taking it all the way deep," she says. "AHHH, YEAH," Sullyoon moans up top.

You drill Sullyoon's pussy faster and faster, Sanna enjoying the bulge under her daughter's belly, licking the tip every time it pops under Sullyoon's navel. "Can you squirt like your mother?" you ask Sullyoon as Sana rubs her daughter's clit while you fuck her.

"I'll try, Daddy," Sullyoon answers you as her pussy starts getting wetter and wetter. "I LOVE HOW HARD YOU FUCK ME, DADDY," Sullyoon screams as you push harder and harder in her pussy. "Lick my ass, YoonA," Sana demands as she gets back to sit on her daughter's face, as Sullyoon obliges and puts her tongue deep in Sana's strawberry-flavored anus.

Sullyoon's legs tremble as you spread her long legs further and keep drilling her cunt nonstop. "Don't cum yet," Sana commands to her daughter, who tries to deal with it by pushing even harder into her mother's asshole.

But you have different plans. "Stay there," you tell Sullyoon, pulling out of her and fisting her cunt all of a sudden. "AHHHHH FUCKKKK," she suddenly screams, your massage in her cunt pushing her to the verge of orgasm. "Don't move YoonA, stay strong," you tell her. "FUCKKKK, DADDDY, I CAN'T TAKE IT YOU'RE GONNA MAKE ME CUM, OH MY GOD" Sullyoon screams as she explodes in the most mind-blowing orgasm she has ever had in her life, her cheeks getting completely covered with juices.

"It smells so sweet," Sana says as she licks her daughter's squirt. "Just like her mother," you tell her. "You told her not to cum, should I punish your daughter for not following your instructions?" you ask Sana. "Well, she's all yours, do whatever you want to her," Sana answers.

You put Sullyoon on the top of the couch, putting her under a mating press just like you did to her mother. "Should I cum in her pussy just like I did to you?" you ask Sana. "Of course," she answers, letting you have total control over Sullyoon.

"Look at this nasty bitch," you say as Sana comes from behind to watch you fuck her daughter and starts rimming your asshole, making you push harder against Sullyoon's meaty cunt, your ass rubbing all over Sana's sexy face. "AHHH, YEAHHH," Sullyoon screams as you punish her, spanking her red face and choking her hard as her cunt keeps getting drilled.

The couch creaks with the intensity of your pounding, you are now in total control of Sullyoon's sexy young body, pushing it against the couch as your whole weight is on top of her. Sana doesn't give a shit about her daughter getting choked to the extreme, just staying entertained licking your asshole. "I'm gonna cum so hard for you, Daddy," Sullyoon says as she can barely breathe with your strong hands wrapped around her neck, her body getting pushed harder and harder as you fuck her at full speed now.

"Oh right there, right there, Daddy, PLEASE, PLEASE" Sullyoon begs as you ramp up the intensity. She's just your fucktoy now, the only thing you care about now is fucking her meaty young cunt until she can't walk, destroying her hot sexy body to the maximum like a horning raging bull. "OH YEAH, OH FUCK," it's your turn to scream as you can feel Sullyoon's walls tighten around your cock, her whole body trembling and her moaning out of breath as you feel it's now or never.

You empty your balls in Sullyoon's meaty cunt, but your cock gets hard again as soon as your cum finishes painting her walls. "Look what you made me do, you dirty slut, you made me cum inside you in front of your mother," you tell Sullyoon. "I didn't do anything Daddy, you wanted," she says.

You grab Sullyoon's neck once again, plowing her even harder than before the creampie. "Why did you have to be so hot? Why did you have to be such a dirty slut just like your mother?" you keep asking her, massacring her pussy and choking her almost to death.

"Spank on her face, spit on it, be a good mother and discipline your daughter," you tell Sana. "Are you ready to cum on his dick, YoonA?" Sana asks. "YES, MOM, I WANT TO CUM ALL OVER DADDY'S COCK," Sullyoon screams, her face completely red as you and Sana watch from above. Sana disciplines Sullyoon, hitting her daughter's body as she is ready to orgasm. "My daughter is such a dirty slut, I'm so proud of her," she says.

"FUCK, AH, AH, AH, AH," Sullyoon starts to scream. "Cum on his dick," Sana orders, spanking her daughter more. "You want more?" you ask Sullyoon as you feel her walls tightening again. "YES, DADDY, CUM IN MY PUSSY AGAIN," Sullyoon begs.

You spread Sullyoon's legs again and go back to drill her cunt hard. Sana spanks her daughter's feet as you too discipline Sullyoon with countless spankings. "You want more?" you keep asking Sullyoon as you choke and fuck her. "YES, DADDY," she emphatically answers every single time.

"USE ME, DADDY, USE ME PLEASE," Sullyoon begs as she can barely think straight. "Dirty fucking slut taking his filthy cock," Sana says of her daughter as her legs start shaking and you two cum at the same time. "THIS IS SO GOOD, THANK YOU, MOM, YOU'RE THE BEST, THANK YOU FOR TRAINING ME LIKE THIS," Sullyoon says as she's completely overwhelmed, that experience will make her never see sex in the same way she once did. All the nights with those fraternity bros at her university will look tame and vanilla now compared to Daddy's 9-inch thick cock.

You and Sana massage Sullyoon's meaty pussy, signaling you two aren't done torturing the young girl with pleasure. "I'M GONNA CUM SO HARD, FUCKKKK, YESS" she screams as your hands touch her cum-filled folds and her legs shake. "YoonA, your pussy is still so tight it can break my little hands," Sana says.

"Oh my God it's so intense," Sullyoon says as she cums again. But you aren't done with her. "Easy, please," she begs as you put your finger up her asshole and then feed it to Sana to taste. "You want to have an assgasm like your mother?" you ask Sullyoon. "Yes, Daddy, anything you want," she answers.

You massage Sullyoon's asshole as Sana watches and laughs. "Ohhhh it's so intense," she says. "Next time we meet I'm gonna fuck your ass and you will think twice to find this intense," you tell her as you make her taste her butthole. "That's it. "Yes, Daddy, fist my ass like I'm a fucking whore, a fucking slut, I love being used like this and treated like a whore," Sullyoon says.

"AHHHH I'M GONNA CUM AGAIN," Sullyoon screams as you manage to give her an anal orgasm. "Daddy, I never felt so good like today, thank you," she says as you two share passionate kisses, Sana watching on the side as you make love with her daughter after giving her the nastiest possible orgasm. "That's why I love him so much, YoonA, he's the only dude who can finger your asshole and then hug and kiss you a second after," Sana says.

"Cum in me again, Daddy, turn me into your cum dump," Sullyoon begs as Sana smiles watching her daughter begging for more. "She's turning into such a good slut," she says. "You like that, you dirty slut? The more you get, the more you want," you say, enraged as you spank Sullyoon's face and tying to find more cum in your balls to give to her.

Sana gives you more naughty stares, pleased with the way you fuck her daughter and happy her training was successful. You keep spanking Sullyoon's face. "You're getting on my nerves, slut," you tell her, choking Sullyoon. "Sorry, Daddy, I'm just a needy girl who wants cum," she says, her face completely red as Sana kisses her. "You're so beautiful taking all this cock," Sana tells her as you lift Sullyon's right leg and put both your feet in her face. "YES, PLEASE, PLEASE," Sullyoon begs as she gets used like a toy,"

"Here's the cum you wanted, bitch," you tell Sullyoon as Sana gets up, watching her daughter get filled up again as her body is completely under your control. "That's fucking amazing," Sullyoon says. "My daughter is such a beautiful slut," Sana says as Sullyoon collapses on the couch, exhausted as your drilling sucked all her energy. But you still have one other horny woman yet to be fully satisfied in the room, all sweaty and ready to be pounded once again even as your cock was so drained by Sullyoon you might be shooting blanks at this point.

But Sana is not like the other girls, she always has a move up her sleeve.

"YoonA, I know you're all dizzy over his cock, but I need to teach you one final move, it's called 'The Snake Enchanter,'" Sana says as she starts kissing you.

"Carry me, let's do it," Sana says as you grab her from the couch and start bouncing on your cock while you lift her. "Holy shit, my mother is insane," Sullyoon says as she watches the way Sana moves her hips, getting you hard once again as she does her signature riding moves. "You're gonna empty your balls in my pussy just like you did to my daughter," she tells you.

"AH, AH, AH, AH," Sana moans as she works on your cock. Sullyoon tries to be a good student just like in her university, watching her mother with her eyes wide open as you carry-fuck Sana all over your living room, getting close to the mirror. Sullyoon is exhausted but comes close to watching her mother bounce on your dick. "So fucking sexy," she says, looking from below as Sana's pussy moves up and down your shaft in a perfect rhythm.

You grab Sana's ass and spread her cheeks in front of Sullyoon, as her mother continues to moan every time she reaches the bottom of your cock, her hips grinding to perfection on your big fat cock. "Squirt on me," you beg Sana as you put her back on the ground, sitting on your chair and letting her finger her pussy right in your face. "Watch this, YoonA," she tells her daughter, covering your face with a geyser of juices.

Sana grabs your head and rubs her pussy in your face. "Yes, baby, worship my juicy pussy," she says as Sullyoon comes back to the scene and jerks your cock off. "Good girl, preparing this cock for your mother to sit on," Sana praises her.

"Sit on my dick," you tell Sana as Sullyoon keeps moving her hands around your cock, lining it up to her mother's entrance and watching her bounce on it. "Pay attention YoonA, this is how you milk a cock dry," Sana says, moving her hips in an insanely fast manner, grinding on your cock to perfection with very fast and strong bounces, her asshole wiking as she moves.

"OH MY GOD, PLEASE, CUM IN MY PUSSY, AHHHH," Sana begs, driving you insane, you grab her and start pushing upwards against her cunt. "OH MY GOD, FUCK," she screams, Sullyoon watches as your thrusts push her mother's body up in the air. "Holy fuck, he's gonna split my mom in half," she thinks.

"AH, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," Sana screams as you thrust so hard you nearly send her flying against the wall. As you pull out of her pussy, your cum oozes out of it and drops to the floor. "Taste it, YoonA," Sana tells her daughter, who crawls into the stains of semen on the ground and licks them to perfection. "From my pussy too," Sana commands as Sullyoon obliges.

The three of you are exhausted after nearly an hour and a half of rough fucking. "I can't wait to see you again, fucking sexy girls," you tell Sana and Sullyoon, giving them some kisses as they head back to their homes full of sweat and cum.

Sana and Sullyoon arrive home, taking a shower together. "What did you think of your training?" Sana asks her daughter. "It was amazing, mom, thank you again," Sullyoon answers. She's so tired that she goes straight to sleeping after finishing the shower, while Sana sends you some texts.

"My daughter really liked it," she says to you. "It was a pleasure," you text back.

On the following morning, Sana wakes up to her routine. As she heads towards Sullyoon's bedroom, she doesn't find her daughter in there. "YOONA, WHERE ARE YOU?" she screams as she searches all over the house before her motherly instincts kick in.

Sana drives to your house, opens the door, and gets shocked as she watches her daughter naked on all fours on the floor getting her ass fucked while her head gets stomped and she begs for more.

"YES, DADDY, PLEASE, FUCK MY ASS HARDER," Sullyoon screams before she sees her mother right beside her and gets shy as the fucking session comes to a halt.

"You really like your father's cock, don't you, YoonA?" Sana asks her daughter. "My, what?" Sullyoon asks, confused. "Your father," Sana answers. "Mom, you must be joking," she replies to Sana. "No, I'm not, I know it's hard to resist but you really need to contain the impulses of fucking your father," Sana answers.

"Are you really my father or is she joking?" Sullyoon asks you.

"Yes, YoonA, I am your father," you affirmatively answer, only to receive a very unexpected answer from your daughter.

"That's so hot."

[pohyuck]

where pretend becomes real

lee donghyuck x reader — a variety show marriage. a fake spouse. cameras in your face every day. (5.9k)

• in celebration of our fullsun’s birthday!! this story is inspired by the show we got married, though please note that it may contain some inaccuracies, as it’s not strictly based on the show’s actual format or segments

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

you almost didn’t sign the contract.

the offer had come out of nowhere. an email from your manager, phrased with cautious excitement. 'we got married' was being rebooted after years off air. you’d be one of the main couples, if you agreed.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

you reread the email several times before closing your laptop and calling your best friend. “do i look like i have time to fake a marriage right now?” “you’ve literally been single for two years,” she said flatly. “yeah, but at least that’s authentic.”

the truth was, your agency thought it would be good exposure. and part of you, deep down, was curious. about what it would feel like. to pretend to fall in love. about whether pretending might start to feel real.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

donghyuck said yes because he thought it’d be funny. the managers barely got the words out. “they want you for we got married” he started laughing before they finished. “you’re joking. that’s the show where idols act in love for strangers, right?”

but later that night, lying in bed, he scrolled through old clips of the show. something about the way those couples looked at each other in the last episodes stuck with him.

he could fake chemistry. easy. he’d been doing that for stages and fan signs since he was fifteen.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the camera lens captured everything.

your nervous fidgeting, the way your eyes darted around the unfamiliar set, the tiny puff of breath you let out when the PD said, “action.”

you weren’t a stranger to the industry, but this was different. this wasn’t acting. this was you, paired with someone you’d never met, pretending to be newlyweds on national television.

and then he walked in.

lee donghyuck. better known to most as haechan—nct’s infamous sunshine with a mischievous streak and a smile that could disarm even the toughest senior idol.

you have seen clips of him before: teasing his members and turning charm into a weapon. and now, he stood in front of you, grinning like he already knew all your secrets.

“oh?” he said, head tilting slightly. “they really blessed me with a pretty wife.” you blinked. “they told me my husband would be cute, but i didn’t expect him to flirt five seconds in.”

he laughed, hand coming up to hide his mouth. “gotta give the fans what they want. don’t worry, i’m not always like this.”

“…actually, i am”

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the first few shoots were awkward, as expected.

you learned quickly that haechan had no shame in front of the camera. he was a professional flirt, tossing out compliments and jokes with effortless precision. every time you thought you had the upper hand, he’d flip the script.

"you’re not wearing your ring," he pointed out during episode two, eyes flicking to your bare finger as the two of you sat across from each other in a café.

"i forgot," you said, deadpan. "i left it next to the dignity i lost when they made us do couple yoga yesterday." he cracked up, but you caught the flicker of something behind his smile. maybe he hadn’t expected you to match his energy.

after that, it became a rhythm. witty back-and-forths. glances that lingered a second too long. moments that should’ve been harmless, like sharing an umbrella, decorating your "married" apartment, brushing flour off his cheek during a baking segment, but somehow weren’t.

you told yourself it was the cameras. the setting. the editing. they were supposed to make it look romantic.

still, you couldn’t help but notice the way haechan’s teasing softened when the staff weren’t around. how he started remembering the smallest things about you. how, during the fourth shoot, when your heel broke and you stumbled slightly, he caught you with an ease that felt too natural.

he blinked down at you. you blinked up at him.

then someone yelled "cut" and the moment disappeared like smoke.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

it was around episode six when things started to shift.

you were filming a camping trip. just the two of you, a tent, a rented suv, and several production crew members pretending not to exist.

after the marshmallow roasting and scripted couple games, you found yourselves sitting by the fire, wrapped in matching blankets. it was one of those rare lulls where neither of you felt like performing.

"are you always like this?" you asked. he glanced at you. "like what?"

“like you’re constantly trying to win some imaginary flirting competition."

haechan smirked. "would it kill you to admit i’m charming?" "i think the entire population already knows that," you said flatly.

his smile widened. "so you do think i’m charming." you groaned, pulling the blanket over your face. "regret. immediate regret."

but he didn’t tease you further.

instead, he sat in quiet beside you. the fire crackled. you could hear distant rustling, maybe a staff member adjusting the camera angle, but the world felt oddly still.

you peeked out from under the blanket. haechan was watching the flames, his expression unusually unreadable.

"you know," he said after a moment, voice low, "i thought this would be easier."

you turned to him. "what do you mean?"

he didn’t look at you. "i thought i’d be better at pretending."

you didn’t answer. you weren’t sure you could.

because the truth was, you were struggling too.

not because you didn’t like him.

but because maybe you did.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the next few shoots blurred together.

the couple trip to busan. the matching outfits. the accidental hand-holding that neither of you pulled away from. the unscripted glances. the too-long hugs. the inside jokes that the cameras didn’t catch.

you still called it acting. he still called it fan service.

but the way his hand always found the small of your back? the way you leaned into his shoulder when you were tired between takes?

that wasn’t in the script.

neither was the night he texted you after filming, a message that simply said:

"are you okay? you seemed quiet today."

you stared at it for too long before replying:

"yeah. just tired. thanks."

he didn’t say anything else.

but the next shoot, he brought you your favorite coffee order without asking.

you didn’t thank him. he didn’t mention it. the moment passed quietly, like all the others.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

it happened on an off day. no cameras. no script. just the two of you, killing time between schedules.

your manager had dropped you off early at the company building. haechan’s studio was just a floor above, and somehow you ended up in the practice room together. music played low from the speakers, nothing specific, just some playlist on shuffle. you were stretched out on the wooden floor with a water bottle pressed to your cheek, eyes closed.

"you know you’re allowed to sit on the couch," haechan said, voice light.

"i’m cooling off," you mumbled. "this floor has healing properties. don’t question them."

he laughed, sitting cross-legged beside you, watching as the sunlight through the window caught the edge of your hair.

for a while, neither of you said anything. it was easy, being quiet with you. easier than it should’ve been.

he leaned back on his hands, eyes tracing the outline of your face.

you were still in your casual clothes, makeup faded from earlier, a faint sheen of sweat on your skin from dance practice. there was nothing particularly special about the moment.

you opened one eye, looking at him sideways.

"what?"

"nothing," he said, too quickly.

you sat up a little. not fully, just enough to look at him properly.

"do i have something on my face?"

"no," he said again, quieter this time. "you just... look different when you’re not acting."

you blinked. "we’re not acting most of the time."

"aren’t we?" he asked. and then smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "sometimes i forget what’s real."

you watched him carefully, the air going still between you.

"i don’t think it matters anymore," you said eventually, voice soft. "real or fake. you’re still here."

he looked at you like you’d said something too big. like he hadn’t expected you to cut through him so cleanly.

you turned away after a second, brushing your hair out of your face. he didn’t move.

and that’s when it hit him.

not with fireworks. not with a romantic soundtrack or some grand emotional monologue. just a quiet, breathless awareness that settled into his chest like gravity.

he liked you.

he thought about you even when he didn’t have to. texted you jokes late at night, rehearsed conversations he wanted to have with you while waiting in traffic. his mood shifted depending on whether you smiled at him that day. he’d started looking forward to filming, not because of the exposure or the paycheck, but because it meant he got to stand next to you for a few hours and pretend you were his.

and it wasn’t pretend anymore.

haechan looked down at his hands. his palms were a little sweaty.

he was in trouble.

he stayed quiet after that, afraid that if he opened his mouth, the truth might spill out too fast.

you didn’t notice the way he looked at you after that.

but he did. and he didn’t stop.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

he didn’t flirt as much anymore.

at least, not in the same way.

it was subtle, the way things shifted. haechan still joked, still teased, but his words started landing softer. less edge, more care. the things he used to say to get a reaction out of you—calling you pretty just to see you roll your eyes, leaning too close just to fluster you— were all starting to feel real.

you didn’t notice.

or maybe you did, but refused to mind it.

when you got a sore throat from overworking and showed up to set with a raspy voice, he handed you a warm honey drink without a word. you assumed a staff member gave it to him.

when you forgot your phone charger during an overnight shoot and muttered about your battery dying, he offered you his without hesitation.

"don’t you need it?"

"i can live without my phone for one night," he said, smiling.

when your hands were cold in the middle of winter filming, he tucked one of them into his coat pocket with his.

you laughed. "you’re just doing this for the cameras." "yeah," he said. but he wasn’t looking at the cameras.

you brushed it off. he was haechan. playful, dramatic, full of unnecessary skinship. you’d seen him flirt with microphones, charm auntie fans, do aegyo on command like it was second nature.

so when he started waiting for you after your other schedules, just to walk you out, when he started sending you good morning texts before call time, and good night ones after wrap, when he got weirdly quiet whenever someone on set joked about you two being a real couple, you didn’t think too hard about it.

because thinking too hard would mean acknowledging that it felt different now. that he felt different now.

you told yourself it was still fake. that he was just that good at his job.

you didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered on you when you weren’t looking.

didn’t catch how he started memorizing your moods, your habits, your silences. how he stopped filling every silence with jokes and started letting you be.

you stayed blissfully, stubbornly unaware.

and haechan let you.

because even though he wanted you to see it—even though his feelings were starting to rise up like a tide, impossible to hold back—he was still scared.

scared that if he said it out loud, the spell would break. scared that you didn’t feel it too. scared that you’d laugh, like it was just another punchline.

so instead, he kept showing you in all the quiet ways.

and you, heart fluttering in ways you still refused to name, kept calling it coincidence.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

episode thirteen.

you weren’t nervous, exactly. but you did reapply your lip tint twice in the van on the way over.

the producers had teased a surprise guest for today’s shoot, and variety shows loved nothing more than forced love triangles. you braced for awkward. but you didn’t brace for him.

cha sungwoo.

tall. handsome. charming in that effortless, trained-for-this way. you’d filmed a drama together almost two years ago, and for a brief moment, fans thought the on-screen chemistry might have spilled off-camera. it hadn’t. but the rumors stuck anyway.

"look who it is," sungwoo said as you stepped onto set, voice warm. "didn’t think i’d get to see you again on a fake honeymoon."

you smiled automatically. "long time no see."

beside you, haechan shifted his weight.

he didn’t say anything at first. just watched. his expression was unreadable, but his silence was louder than anything.

finally, he spoke.

"should i be worried?" he asked, light tone cutting sharp beneath the surface. "or is this just good tv?"

"depends," sungwoo said, amused. "are you the jealous type?"

haechan smiled. not the usual, teasing kind—the one that reached his eyes. this one was smaller. flatter.

"only when i have a reason to be."

you laughed, trying to brush it off, but your fingers tightened slightly around the sleeve of your jacket.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the shoot moved on. it was supposed to be funny and competitive—three of you cooking dinner together like a sitcom setup.

you were chopping vegetables when sungwoo leaned in behind you, his hands brushing yours.

"still bad with a knife?" he said, voice low near your ear.

you didn’t even flinch. "i’ve improved."

but behind you, haechan dropped the spatula he was holding.

you turned. "you okay?"

he bent to pick it up, muttering, "yeah. slipped."

but when he stood again, his eyes didn’t meet yours.

they were still on sungwoo.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

later, the three of you sat at the low table, eating what barely passed as a meal. the cameras were still rolling, but things had turned quiet.

sungwoo was telling a story—something about a late-night shoot and a prank. you were laughing, loose and warm in a way you hadn’t noticed before.

and haechan was watching you.

his chopsticks hung in mid-air. his shoulders tense. his jaw set like he was biting back words.

you looked at him. "what?"

he blinked. "nothing."

you tilted your head. "you’re acting weird."

"just tired."

"you sure?"

he didn’t answer right away. then he leaned in, low voice meant only for you.

"you act like none of this matters," he said quietly.

you stared at him. "what?"

"this." he gestured, vague. "the show. the pretending. him."

you searched his face, unsure if this was part of the bit or something else entirely.

"we’re just filming, haechan."

his eyes didn’t leave yours.

"maybe you are."

the words hung there. suspended between you, fragile and real.

you opened your mouth to respond—but the PD clapped, announcing a break, and the spell broke with it.

haechan stood up without another word and walked off set.

you sat there, blinking, unsure why your chest felt so tight.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

you didn’t call haechan after the shoot.

you almost did. twice.

once, when you got home and dropped your bag on the floor like something was missing.

once more, in the middle of the night, when you were staring at your ceiling and couldn’t stop replaying the way he looked at you before he walked off set.

you didn’t call. you couldn’t.

so instead, you called her. your best friend. the one who knew the before version of you, before the show, before the cameras, before him.

"hey, everything alright?" chiya asked, her voice quiet over the line. soft with sleep but already worried.

"can i come over?"

"always."

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

her apartment was warm. messy in the way homes should be. you sat on the floor wrapped in an old hoodie you’d left there months ago, your fingers curled around a mug of tea neither of you remembered making.

you told her everything. not just about today, but about all of it.

the way filming used to feel like a joke, like a role you could slip into and out of without thinking.

how that changed.

how he changed.

how you changed.

"today… he looked at me like he didn’t recognize me," you said. "like he was hurt, and trying really hard not to be."

she didn’t speak, letting the silence hold space for you.

"and when sungwoo showed up, it felt like the air shifted. like i’d stepped into a room i didn’t belong in anymore."

"because of haechan?" she asked gently.

you nodded.

"he didn’t say much. just… one thing."

"what’d he say?"

you swallowed.

"he said, ‘you act like none of this matters.’"

the words still echoed in your head. they’d been soft, almost careful. like he wasn’t trying to pick a fight. like he was asking you to see him.

"and i didn’t know what to say. because i didn’t know how to tell him that i think it does matter. more than it should. more than i want it to."

your voice shook.

"and i’m scared. i’m scared that maybe this isn’t just acting anymore. not for me."

your best friend moved closer, resting her chin on your shoulder like she used to when you were both teenagers, crying over things that felt too big for your hearts to hold.

"have you ever been in love before?" she asked quietly.

"not like this."

you weren’t even sure it was love. but it was something. something that blossomed slowly, and then all at once, when you weren’t looking.

"he makes me feel like i’m being seen. not the version of me that the cameras want. just... me. and when he looks at me, sometimes i feel like he’s about to say something he doesn’t know how to say."

"and what do you want him to say?"

you paused. the answer hurt to admit.

"that i’m not just imagining it."

your friend reached over, squeezing your hand.

"you’re not," she said. "i don’t even need to meet him to know. you’re not the kind of person who gets confused about this stuff. you’d never fall for someone unless it was real. and it sounds like you already have."

your eyes stung.

"i didn’t mean to."

"you never do."

she pulled you into a hug, and for the first time since you wrapped that scene, you let the weight of it press down on you. not the confusion. not the fear. just the feeling.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

episode fourteen

you weren’t sure how to act around him now.

you told yourself you’d just play it cool. do what you always did: slip into character, smile when you were supposed to, laugh when the producers gave you a cue, go home.

but when you saw haechan waiting on set, leaning against the kitchen counter in the little “home” you’d built together over the past months, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp from styling, something inside you stilled.

he looked up when you walked in.

and then he smiled.

small. real. tired, maybe. but his eyes softened the way they always did when he looked at you.

"hey," he said, voice gentle.

"hey," you replied, and the word felt different in your mouth. too small for how much you’d missed him in just a few days.

he opened his mouth like he was going to say more, but the PD clapped loudly and called for standby.

you both moved into position like professionals.

but you couldn’t stop glancing at him.

and he didn’t look away when you did.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the day’s concept was domestic bliss.

folding laundry. grocery shopping. making dinner together. things that looked boring on paper but, somehow, felt like the most intimate parts of the fake marriage.

just pretend it’s real, the writer joked before you started rolling.

you wanted to say, it’s getting harder to pretend it’s not.

you were standing beside haechan at the sink, rinsing vegetables, when your fingers brushed under the running water. you flinched slightly.

he didn’t.

his hand stayed against yours just for a second too long.

your heart skipped, and you hated how noticeable it felt. how loud it became in your own chest.

"you okay?" he asked, voice low.

you nodded too quickly. "just cold water."

he didn’t call you out on it. but his eyes didn’t leave yours for a long time.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

after filming, you stayed behind for a bit. the cameras were off, the crew busy packing up equipment. haechan was still in the kitchen, stacking plates to be returned to props.

you didn’t know why you lingered. only that you didn’t want to leave yet.

he looked up, sensing you there.

"you didn’t call," he said quietly.

you froze. "what?"

"after the last shoot. i thought maybe you would. or… maybe i hoped you would."

you opened your mouth. closed it again.

"i didn’t know what to say," you said eventually.

he nodded, like he understood. like he’d expected that.

then, after a long pause

"you don’t have to say anything," he murmured. "but i need you to know… i wasn’t acting. not with that."

you met his eyes. for once, there was no smirk. no sarcasm. nothing playful to hide behind.

just him.

just the truth.

your breath caught in your throat.

but before you could speak, a crew member popped their head in.

"you guys done? we need to lock up soon."

haechan glanced away. the moment passed like a held breath.

he nodded slowly. "yeah. we’re done."

but as you walked out of that little house, your fingers still tingling from the brush of his, you knew something had shifted for good.

you weren’t just playing pretend anymore.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

it was the last shoot before the final week.

the set felt more quiet than usual, like the whole crew was holding their breath. maybe because everyone knew this was the last stretch—the end of the show, the end of pretending.

you and haechan moved through the day’s scenes with practiced ease, but the easy rhythm from before was gone. now, everything between you felt heavy, like invisible strings tugging tighter with every look and every touch.

you were sitting on the couch, pretending to scroll through your phone, but you weren’t really looking at the screen. your eyes kept flicking to haechan, who was sitting beside you, hands folded awkwardly on his lap.

he glanced at you once, then quickly looked away, face unreadable.

the silence between you stretched longer than usual, thick and uncomfortable.

finally, you broke it, voice barely above a whisper.

“are you okay?”

he didn’t answer right away. then, without meeting your eyes, he said, “i’m fine.”

you didn’t believe him.

he shifted in his seat, fingers twitching like he wanted to say more but couldn’t.

the director called “cut,” and the crew buzzed quietly as they reset the next scene, but you and haechan stayed still, caught in a space where neither wanted to cross the line first.

he looked over, voice low, almost rough.

“this… all of this. it’s harder than i thought.”

you swallowed, heart racing.

“yeah.”

“i don’t want it to end,” he said, eyes finally locking with yours.

you felt your breath hitch. everything inside you was screaming to reach out, to tell him you felt the same, but the words stuck.

“me neither,” you whispered.

he gave a small, sad smile.

“what do we do now?”

you looked down, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“i don’t know.”

but maybe that was okay.

maybe the not knowing was the start of something real.

the cameras might have been off for the moment, but the space between you was alive with everything you couldn’t say—and everything you both desperately wanted to feel.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the last day of filming felt like the end of something you weren’t ready to lose.

the set was buzzing with energy, but for you and haechan, it was heavy. heavier than before. the playful teasing, the easy smiles—they were all there, but beneath them was a current you could no longer ignore.

during a break, you found yourselves alone in the quiet corner of the studio. the noise of crew and cameras faded, and suddenly the space between you felt too small.

haechan looked at you. his usual grin gone, replaced by something softer, vulnerable.

“i’ve been a coward,” he said, voice low, almost breaking.

you blinked, heart pounding.

“me too,” you whispered back.

he took a slow breath, stepping closer, hands trembling slightly at his sides.

“i was supposed to be the one who didn’t fall,” he said, “but it’s me. it’s always been me.”

you swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in.

“why didn’t you say anything?” you asked, voice barely audible.

“because i was scared,” he admitted. “scared you wouldn’t feel the same. scared it was just me.”

your eyes stung. “it’s not just you.”

the silence stretched, thick and full of everything you hadn’t said before.

finally, he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “can i.. hold you?”

your breath hitched, but you nodded.

as he pulled you close, the world outside the studio ceased to exist.

for the first time, pretending wasn’t enough. this was real.

and somehow, it left you feeling both lucky and appalled.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the studio emptied quickly, the usual noise fading until you and haechan were left alone. the silence between you felt thick, heavy with everything neither of you had dared to say.

he led you to the rooftop garden, the soft glow of string lights wrapping around the space like a secret only the two of you shared.

you sat close, shoulders brushing, every tiny movement sending sparks you could feel deep under your skin.

his fingers found yours, slow and deliberate, thumb tracing lazy circles on your palm. the warmth of his touch spread, setting fire to nerves you didn’t know you had.

he tilted his head, eyes dark and searching. “you feel it too, right?”

your breath hitched, heart pounding. “i do.”

his hand slid from your palm, fingers grazing your wrist, then up your arm, light as a whisper.

“this,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “this isn’t just for show.”

you swallowed hard, the heat in your chest rising. his gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, daring you to say no.

instead, you leaned in, letting your breath mingle, the space between you crackling with anticipation.

when he finally closed the gap, his kiss was slow, teasing—like he was savoring every second.

his hand cupped your neck, thumb stroking softly, sending shivers down your spine.

you curled into him, the world narrowing to the press of skin on skin, the heat of his breath, the ache building in your chest.

he pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, “i’ve wanted this for so long.”

your voice barely a whisper, “me too.”

the night wrapped around you, every touch, every glance loaded with a promise neither of you was ready to say out loud.

but both of you knew.

this was only the beginning.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

soft light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room.

you stirred slowly, the weight of haechan’s arm draped over your waist anchoring you in place.

for a moment, everything was still, the world outside paused, and there was just this—the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the quiet rhythm of breath and heartbeat.

you turned your head slightly, catching his profile in the morning light. his eyes were closed, lashes resting softly against his cheeks, peaceful and completely unguarded.

a gentle smile tugged at your lips.

careful not to wake him, you traced lazy circles on his arm, memorizing the feeling of skin beneath your fingertips.

he shifted slightly, murmuring something unintelligible, but didn’t open his eyes.

you let yourself soak in the quiet intimacy, the kind of closeness you hadn’t dared imagine before.

finally, haechan blinked open his eyes, meeting yours with a soft, sleepy smile.

“good morning,” he whispered, voice rough but warm.

“good morning,” you replied, heart fluttering.

he tightened his arm around you just a little, as if afraid you might disappear.

“last night was… real,” he said, voice low, full of something like awe.

you nodded, feeling the same weight of it.

“yeah,” you said softly. “it was.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke, just held onto the fragile newness of what had started between you.

and in the quiet of that morning, everything felt possible.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the studio was buzzing again, crew rushing, cameras rolling, but for you and haechan, the world felt different.

you caught each other’s eyes across the set more times than you could count, every look loaded with a secret neither dared say out loud.

during a break, haechan slipped beside you, voice low enough that only you could hear.

“you okay?” he asked, thumb brushing lightly over your hand.

you nodded, heart pounding. “yeah. just… tired.”

he gave a small, knowing smile. “me too.”

the silence between you felt full, like an unspoken understanding.

filming felt harder now. not because the scenes were difficult, but because the line between acting and feeling was thinner than ever.

when the director called cut, you both lingered, reluctant to step back into the roles you’d played for so long.

haechan caught your gaze, eyes searching.

“we need to talk,” he said quietly.

your breath hitched.

“about us,” he added, voice softer now.

you nodded, the weight of it settling in your chest.

“after this is over,” you whispered.

“of course,” he agreed.

the cameras might have been rolling again soon, but in that moment, the world outside could wait.

because finally, you were ready to stop pretending.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the days after filming ended felt like a strange in-between.

you and haechan were no longer pretending, but everything else still felt like uncharted territory.

text messages came more often now, sometimes just a good morning or a meme that made you laugh, other times long, quiet conversations about fears and hopes.

you met up after practice one evening, somewhere quiet—a small café off the main streets where no one knew your names.

he was a little awkward, fumbling with his words like he was nervous all over again.

“i’m not great at this,” he admitted, stirring his coffee.

“neither am i,” you said, smiling softly.

he reached across the table, taking your hand. “guess we’re both beginners.”

some days were easier than others. sometimes, a glance or a touch spoke louder than any words.

other times, the weight of schedules, the constant eyes watching, made it hard to find space just for the two of you.

but slowly, you learned to navigate the new rhythm—stealing moments between rehearsals, quiet calls in the middle of the night, little jokes shared just between you.

there were missteps, too—missed calls, misunderstandings, moments where the fear of losing what you had made you both pull away.

but every time, you found your way back.

because beneath it all was something real, something neither of you wanted to let go.

and as the days turned into weeks, you realized that maybe, just maybe, this was more than just a story.

it was your story.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

it started with a headline.

nothing scandalous, but enough to stir the internet—a fan account posted a blurry photo of you and haechan leaving a café, the caption dripping with speculation.

are they dating for real?

fake marriage turned real?

what does this mean for their agencies?

the messages flooded your phone—some from friends, some from fans, some from strangers.

you stared at the screen, heart pounding.

haechan was beside you, phone in hand, face tight.

“they’re going to spin this into a mess,” he muttered.

you nodded, biting your lip.

it was the first time your private feelings had become public territory, and neither of you knew how to navigate it.

that evening, you met at haechan’s dorm, wanting to face it together.

“what do we do?” you asked, voice trembling.

he took your hands in his, eyes steady and fierce.

“we don’t let rumors define us,” he said. “we keep being honest. with each other, and when we’re ready, with everyone else.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the weight of the moment.

“i’m scared,” you admitted. “of losing what we have.”

he pulled you close, forehead resting against yours.

“me too,” he said. “but whatever happens, i’m not walking away.”

in that quiet room, surrounded by the noise of the world outside, you found a promise that felt stronger than any headline.

you weren’t just partners on a show anymore.

you were something real.

and you would face whatever came next—together.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the room was tense as you and haechan sat across from your agencies. the conversation was careful, cautious, filled with questions you’d both anticipated but dreaded.

“are you sure this isn’t just for publicity?” one manager asked.

“this is real,” haechan said quietly, eyes locked on yours. “we want to take this seriously.”

your own manager nodded slowly, “then we’ll support you. but you need to be prepared for everything.”

the words hung heavy in the air, a mix of relief and new pressure settling over you.

once the meetings ended, you didn’t speak much on the way back. the city lights blurred past the windows, your hands finally finding each other’s in the quiet.

as soon as you stepped inside haechan’s apartment, the tension broke.

he pulled you close, fingers threading through your hair, lips pressing soft and sure against yours.

“no matter what they say,” he murmured between kisses, “this is ours.”

you traced his jawline, heart pounding in your chest.

“ours,” you echoed.

the night wrapped around you, a sanctuary from the world.

in the quiet between heartbeats, you’ve found a place—a fragile world where pretend becomes real.

[ohmy-gojo]

i gave a second chance to cupid!

or arranged marriage with nanami kento

– nanami was told that he has to get married by his parents

– since no one caught his eye he just let his parents choose for him

– nanamis secretly a hopeless romantic, so he cant help but be dissapointed in the setting. now all he hopes is that his partner is kind

– he was shown your picture and well, he found you really pretty but he also knows looks are not everything. if youre nice and understanding than he could live the rest of his life with you

– a date was set prior your marriage as to help you get to know each other

– nanami and you showed up at the spot. you were even prettier in person. and when you both started talking, it seemed like you were a little shy so it was mostly him leading the conversation

– he asked about your likes and dislikes, your dreams, your hobbies, what food you like and even your favorite color

– your mannerisms and the way you talked was very endearing to him

– you also asked about him and got to know about his dangerous life as a sorcerer, it worried you to know the man youre marrying has to constantly put his life in risk

– all in all the date went pretty well and he was happy that he got a partner like you and vice versa.

– you both went on multiple dates before the marriage. sometimes you chose the places (amusement parks and fairs) while sometimes he chose (museums and aquariums)

– during that time you both became comfortable with each other. nanami now genuinely enjoyed spending time with you rather than thinking of it as merely a duty. now he can say that hes a little excited to marry you and live with you

– after your marriage everything was the same except you saw each other everyday. you both wake up and make breakfast together, eat and leave for work together

– you also broke out of your shy phase, now you always fill nanami about your day. sending him texts on his lunch break about how hes doing and if he ate

– you make his house more lively bc of your creativity. theres a new cover you handmade for the table and stickers even on the fans

– slowly you both start to fall for each other. it was you who fell first tho and how could you not

– and when you realized you loved him well, you were never good with words so you became more affectionate with him

– shyly giving him pecks on the cheek (first time you did that nanami was frozen, you were afraid he was uncomfortable then you saw the tips of his ears reddening) from then on, you were unstoppable. kissing him when he leaves for wokr and when he comes back home. you also loved to run your hands through his hair.

– even though you fell first, nanami was the one who fell harder

– now he really cant imagine a day without your presence. hes slowly getting used to you and your mannerisms. you fussing over him when he's overworking, always making sure he ate, taking off his glasses and pecking his forehead when he fell asleep reading a book (he could feel you doing that) and your late night conversations

– you made his house a home. it took him some time to realize that he has fallen for you

– now you both cant keep your hands to yourselves lol. he always has to have a hand in your waist

– nanamis love is shown in the way he protects you. from glaring at people who randomly touch you in the crowed train to making sure you dont hit your head in the corner of table

– he also spoils you. remember on the first date you told him about your likes, hobbies and dreams? he remembers all that and gets you whatever you wished

– you guys still hadnt gone in your honeymoon so he and you visited malaysia after the shibuya incident. that was when nanami confessed his love for you. you replied that you love him too with tears in your eyes. it was really the perfect moment for both of you, away from all the sorcery and tensions of the world.

– nanami kento, the hopeless romantic is now getting the love he deserves in this arranged marriage with you

[dollyichi]

YOUR BIGGEST FAN!

pro-hero katsuki bakugou x actress f ! reader ᯓ★ he finds out who the main admin is of his biggest fan page. 1.4k words. fluff / established relationship / not proofread / little smau at the end

spin-off from ‘a little mystery never hurt anybody’ [m—dni]

katsuki never cared about his image at all. nor did he care about what people post about him online. aside from his own beliefs, he only cares about what you think, and if you think he’s ‘fucking cool’ then he’s fucking cool.

he only ever checks social media and posts something that you’re a part of. if he had the chance to have all his platforms with a picture of you both or even just you, he’d do it—but you would scold him and tell him that he should just have a photo of himself. which you had to do instead since he’s stubborn and wouldn’t know what photo would look the best.

well fortunately for you, who has an album of pictures of him whether you took it yourself to gate-keep, from his fan sites, or his modeling / commercial projects just picked one portrait that would match his overall style. not too much, not too zoomed out, but still would exude that cool side that you loved so much.

and the moment you changed his profile you’re already switching to your verified fan account to notify your followers of his new profile photo. multiple notifications spawn at your lockscreen, the tweet already blew up too.

your co-admins don’t even know that it was the ‘dazzling actress y/n’ running the account in the first place, and it was for the better. you always had this account the moment katsuki was in his third year in UA. usually posting threads about how amazing of a hero he is, or his rankings in the recent fan polls such as ‘hottest hero’ or ‘most powerful rookie hero quirks!’ and your favorite, ‘heroes i wanna get in bed with.’ just from that, anyone other than you knowing your identity would be real bad.

pro-hero dynamight always had a loyal fanbase anyway. and you were always the first account they’d come to for any news on him.

when you started dating you had to ask for some help which is why you had some of your followers (who have been supporting your blog for so long too!) to assist you when you couldn’t post as frequently as you used to. it was easy to juggle the fan account while you were starting as an actress, but when you started dating katsuki, manning the page is a big challenge. he’ll definitely find out in no time since personal space was thrown out the window when you became his.

you wanted to keep it a secret since you were still such a big fan and it felt like a waste deleting the account since you worked so hard on it—pouring so much passion on it despite being with the main source. there were even times when you begged your staff to get him to sign your merch, which you happily post on the fan page too, wearing thick gloves because you figured katsuki would recognize you immediately.

sometimes you would slip and mess up. your co-admin posting about katsuki taking a photo of your new digital billboard by the station. and you accidentally quoted the tweet on your fan page that reads ‘he really likes me~’ and you immediately take it down before the viewer count goes up.

it was a very close call, and when someone did ask you about it since some of them had notifications on for your account you just made up an excuse like ‘i mean y/n! sorry it was a typo.’

sometimes you’d get katsuki to look at the fan page when you both have free time. and he only ever likes the tweets when it involved you. like when you’re both spotted on a date, or a quote from an interview of him promoting your own projects.

you begged him to follow and he didn’t really think that much of it. shrugging and pressing the button and going back to indulging himself beside you.

you never really post any updates on the pro-hero that’s related to you though. and when you do find out about it, you had your co-admins to thank. especially for that one video clip of him struggling to take a picture of another billboard you had in the middle of the city.

until one day, the two of you were apart for a bit. he was out on a mission, and it’s sad that he couldn’t spend the first few days of your break with you.

nonetheless, you are currently working with his fan sites near the area for some updates on him at the time. you end up missing him too much when they send you the photos in your direct messages. though, “he looks really good,” you think to yourself. up in the air with that pretty grin of his whenever he wins.

on your fan page you always have that certain ‘watermark’ when you make a post. ending the tweet with ‘admin ⭐️💥’ to indicate that it was you posting.

quickly, you make a new post about his new feat, scheduling to have it posted on the next day.

you didn’t think much of it, just happy that your boyfriend was safe and he could come home earlier to you.

when you wake up, katsuki’s already back home seated on his side of the bed. but what was unusual was for him to be on his phone this early. concerned, you reach out to him, hoping there wasn’t an emergency or anything bad that happened.

then he starts laughing that goofy laugh of his that you love. which gets you to giggle yourself, “what’s so funny?” you give him a kiss on his cheek as a morning greeting. it’s nice waking up to him so happy, until you feel your own face drop in horror on the screen.

it was your tweet, with that exact format that you always used—not on your fan page, but at your own main account with already thousands of engagement. you feel yourself sink in your spot on the bed.

you did it now, you knew you shouldn’t be posting when you’re sleepy. now you fucked up, big time. you don’t even want to know the replies on that post, and you couldn’t even face your boyfriend who’s already crying from laughing so hard.

“you’re such a dumbass no wonder you kept pestering me about this fan account.”

you groan, hiding yourself under the covers. you couldn’t even imagine what’s going to become of you and how your manager’s going to react. it’s not like you could just abandon your following either! “it’s different as a fan!”

you take your phone from the bedside table and delete the tweet immediately. it’s been 30 minutes after you scheduled it, but there’s nothing you could even do to remedy the mistake. not when thousands have already seen your tweet. you don’t even know how to tell your co-admins who probably found out your real identity.

“just kill me!” you say, wrapping the comforter around you which leaves nothing for him anymore. he puts his phone down and wraps an arm on you. “don’t be so fuckin’ embarrassed babe. if it helps i’m your number one fan too.”

you won’t budge, staying still in your self made blanket burrito with a pout. facing away from him and with a huff. you were so embarrassed that your whole body freezes, and your mind goes blank. “hey come on, i’m happy about it!” you hear him say.

you could already feel the scoldings of your manager, you just hope this is mainly good publicity if it resurfaces—because you’re damn sure a lot of your shared fans are going to spread it all over the net.

“don’t fuckin’ ignore me babe! i’m really damn flattered here!” and he’s laughing again. he really couldn’t take it seriously, and you really wish this was just a really bad dream. it’s not like you wanted to keep it a secret forever! but you didn’t think he’d find out this way, bummer.

he pulls you on top of him, kissing all over your pouting face that’s sticking out from the thick comforter. “ah fuck this is so good! i bet when we get married you’re just on your phone posting live updates or some shit.”

you’re never going to hear the end of this. especially not when he digged a little deeper and found your ‘thirst’ postings from years ago. oh well, at least he knows you’ve always loved him. it was honestly such an ego boost learning his girlfriend just ‘as obsessed’ as he is towards you. besides, his page was almost a fan page of you in itself. whatever, you’re gonna laugh it off next week anyway.

at least you’ve given him another new thing that has him head over heels for you again.

bonus!

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : aaaaa this was so funny to me idk T^T it’s really stupid

[moonlightwritingf1]

What Remains of Us | LN4

𓆩❤︎𓆪 summary ━━━━━━━ A week after their divorce, Y/N and Lando find themselves back in the home they once shared, haunted by the memories of their love. When Lando arrives to collect his belongings, he finds Y/N crying over their wedding photos, and the weight of their heartbreak pulls them back into each other’s arms. In the quiet intimacy of their old bedroom, emotions overflow, leading them to seek comfort in each other one last time. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader, Lando Norris x ex-wife!reader

𓆩❤︎𓆪 word count ━━━━━━━ 4.8k

𓆩❤︎𓆪 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie,

Based on this request.

A heavy silence settled over the house—the kind that felt almost alive, pressing against the walls, lingering in the empty spaces where laughter used to echo. This had been their home once, a place filled with warmth and whispered confessions, but now, it was just a shell of what it used to be. The echo of each footstep seemed louder now, even as the sun streamed in through half-drawn curtains. Dust particles drifted lazily in the late afternoon light, and the faint hum of traffic outside was the only reminder that a world still moved on beyond those walls.

A week had passed since the divorce became final. The silence between them had been deafening since then. Y/N tried to live in the emptiness of the house, haunted by the memory of his laughter in the living room and the ghost of his touch in the hallways. That day, Lando came by unannounced to collect more of his belongings. Neither of them had explicitly planned this moment, but deep down, both must have known it was inevitable.

He let himself in quietly, the spare key still working in the front door’s lock. The hallway seemed so much smaller than before, or maybe it was the weight on his heart that made everything feel drawn in, claustrophobic. He called her name softly—“Y/N?”—but received no answer. There was only a slight shuffle behind the bedroom door.

When he pushed it open, he found her there on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging beneath her slight weight. She was in her old pajamas, hair bundled into a haphazard knot. Spread across her lap were photographs from their wedding day—prints and polaroids that captured stolen smiles, playful kisses, the promise of forever. Tears streaked her cheeks, and she made no attempt to hide them.

Lando’s heart clamped painfully in his chest. He set down the cardboard box he’d brought for collecting a few more of his things. “Y/N,” he murmured. Guilt and longing rippled across his features.

She swallowed hard, forcing a small, shaky smile. “I thought I’d be okay,” she whispered, gesturing to the pictures. “I—I thought…maybe looking at them would help me move on.”

He moved toward her slowly. His voice quivered, reflecting the same heartbreak in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything… for how it all ended.”

She shook her head. “No. I share in that fault too,” she managed, though her voice cracked. “I keep wondering if I could’ve done something… something more to keep us from losing each other.”

He lowered himself beside her on the bed, not quite touching at first. She was close enough for him to smell the faint traces of her shampoo and the salty tang of tears. The photographs fanned across her lap were so bright and happy—Lando spinning her around under fairy lights, Y/N laughing while Pietra and Max teased them with wedding games, the radiant grin on Lando’s face when he first saw Y/N walk down the aisle.

Softly, tentatively, he placed a hand over hers. “I never wanted to lose you,” he said, his voice tight with emotion.

Her eyes snapped up to his, that old electric connection burning between them. “I know,” she replied. “Neither did I. But we lost sight of each other somehow.” A sob hiccuped in her throat, and tears welled up anew.

Gently, he brushed a tear from her cheek. “I gave you the house because… because it always felt like yours more than mine. You made it a home. Even after I moved to Monaco, it was here—your laughter, your warmth—that felt real to me.”

She closed her eyes at his touch, the memories threatening to pull her under. She remembered how she used to crave every teasing text he sent before they dated, how she’d make him work for her affection back when they first met. She recalled the way his dimpled grin and flirty remarks would make her heart race. And there had been that moment—the night she finally gave in to all the tension brewing for months—when he had taken her into his arms with such absolute certainty. Through everything, the heartbreak, the anger, and the distance that followed, this man was still the one person in the world who made her feel undeniably alive.

Lando could see the flicker of those memories in her tear-filled gaze. He let out a slow breath, feeling the heaviness in his own chest. “We had good times, didn’t we?”

“Some of the best,” she whispered.

Silence settled again, but this time it hummed with an undercurrent of unspoken words, bottled-up confessions and regrets. Cautiously, Lando’s fingers laced through hers, and she squeezed back, a tentative acceptance of a comfort she had missed more than she’d ever admit.

He slid closer, so their knees touched. “You look so tired,” he said softly, eyes scanning the faint shadows beneath her eyes. “Are you sleeping at all?”

She shook her head. “Not much.” Her gaze drifted to the wedding photo at the top of the stack—she was wiping cake frosting off Lando’s nose while he laughed with boyish delight. The memory tugged at her, and her throat tightened.

As though drawn by an invisible force, he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. It was a delicate gesture, one that lacked any presumption or expectation. She let her head tip forward, resting it against his shoulder. Her tears seeped into his shirt, and he wrapped an arm around her, breathing in the faint hint of vanilla and rose that always clung to her skin.

“I miss you,” he admitted in a raspy whisper.

She looked up, eyes shimmering with tears. “I miss you too,” she breathed. Her grip on his fingers grew firmer.

The swirling storm of emotions crested inside them, and Y/N felt her heart leap into her throat. She remembered the ache of pushing him away back when he first chased after her. Now it felt like a cruel parallel—pushing him away all those months, only to watch them separate in an even bigger, more painful way.

“Do… Do you want me to leave?” he asked gently, stepping into the role of caretaker again, the way he used to.

Her voice was unsteady, but her gaze was unwavering. “No. Stay. Please… stay.”

That was all it took. The tension that had once pulled them apart now drew them together like a magnet. He cupped her face gently, his thumb grazing away the stray tears. She closed her eyes at his warmth, surrendering to the comfort of his presence. Every doubt, every regret, every moment of anger seemed to dissolve the second he pressed his lips softly to hers.

It was a kiss filled with heartbreak and longing—a sudden rush of desperate affection that built upon itself with each passing second. She clung to his shirt, pulling him closer, not wanting to let go. Heat spread through her, a reminder that once, they had loved so fiercely it consumed them both.

He broke the kiss to breathe, and his forehead fell against hers, their breaths mingling. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

She shook her head, blinking away fresh tears. “Don’t be,” she replied. “We’ve… we’ve both made mistakes. But I just… I can’t…” A sob caught in her throat, not fully forming a sentence.

“Shhh,” he soothed, pressing a series of featherlight kisses along her temple. His hands moved to her arms, shoulders, back—tentative at first, ensuring she welcomed his closeness. She melted into him, the sadness and passion colliding in a swirl of emotion that felt raw and overwhelming.

They found themselves lying back on the bed, the same bed they had once shared so many quiet mornings and late-night laughter in. The photographs fell off Y/N’s lap onto the floor, scattered like fragments of their memories. In the hush of the moment, their fingertips traced over familiar curves and contours, reacquainting themselves with a map they knew by heart.

Lando’s breath shook as he leaned down, capturing her lips again. This time, he took his time, a slow, deliberate exploration that coaxed a soft whimper from her. She welcomed him, hands roaming across his shoulders to feel the solidity of him, reminding herself that this was real—he was here. The heartbreak of the past weeks, the messy swirl of the final divorce papers, the swirling pain in both their chests—it all pressed them closer together, desperation singing in their veins.

He murmured her name, voice thick with a trembling need, and she answered with a kiss to his jawline. Each brush of their mouths was a plea for forgiveness, each touch an apology for what they lost, each whisper a promise they had once failed to keep. Yet in that moment, it seemed like all the anguish had forged a new kind of closeness between them.

He helped her ease out of her pajama top, trailing gentle kisses along the path of newly bared skin. His hair tickled her collarbone, and she shivered, clinging to the warmth of him. She pressed her hands against his chest, recalling that night years ago when she had finally given in to all the build-up of their flirtation. Back then, it had been exhilarating—wild, passionate, and overwhelming in the best way. Now, it was a softness born of sorrow and yearning, but no less intense.

Y/N’s breathing grew uneven as he continued, each movement carefully checking her comfort. At one point, they paused, eyes meeting in a fragile moment. “We don’t have to do this,” he said. “I just want to hold you if that’s what you need.”

She answered by pulling him down for another kiss, deeper than before. Her body arched beneath him, and his hands slid around her waist, bringing them flush against each other. They gave in, letting the storm of sadness and desire carry them further. In the hush that followed, the memories of their happiest times filtered through her mind—his grin on the day he first asked her out in London, the jokes they shared when he teased her about being shy, the flicker of longing in his eyes every time they parted ways when his racing schedule took him abroad.

A softness spread through them now, the moment free of words, replaced by gentle sighs and murmured names. His lips skimmed along her neck, her gasp answering the unspoken question in his eyes. She slid her arms around his neck, drawing him closer, every nerve in her body alight with the need to feel him near. The bed creaked beneath their shifting weight, echoing quietly in the still air.

When the final barrier of clothing slipped away, the warmth of skin against skin felt familiar and right, as though no time had passed since the last time they touched. What started gently soon built in intensity, fueled by the pent-up longing that had tormented them both for far too long. She found comfort in the press of his body, his lips seeking out every part of her that still remembered him like a cherished secret.

“Lando,” she whispered, voice low and trembling. “I—”

He silenced her with another kiss, but his expression was laced with the same heartfelt intensity. “I know,” he breathed.

They lost themselves in each other, passion and tenderness entwined. It was a soft collision of two broken hearts trying to mend for just a moment in time. Each caress soothed an ache, each kiss a gentle reminder of how deeply they had once loved. 

Their breaths mingled in the quiet room, the air thick with unspoken emotions and the faint scent of vanilla and salt. Lando’s lips lingered on hers, soft and searching, as if trying to relearn the way she tasted. His hands trembled slightly as they traced the curve of her waist, his touch featherlight but deliberate, every movement a question. She answered with a sigh, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, needing him to feel her longing.

Y/N’s heart pounded, a chaotic rhythm that mirrored his. The bed creaked softly as he shifted, his weight pressing her deeper into the mattress. She could feel the rapid beat of his pulse against her skin, his warmth seeping into her, chasing away the cold emptiness she had carried since the divorce. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. The intensity in his gaze was unmistakable—regret, desire, and something deeper, something that made her chest ache.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, a plea wrapped in vulnerability.

“I want this,” she breathed, her voice trembling but certain. “I want you, Lando.”

His exhale was shaky, a mix of relief and something else—something raw and unfiltered. He leaned down, capturing her lips again, this time with more urgency. His kiss was warm, familiar yet new, a collision of past and present that left her dizzy. She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands gripping his shoulders, anchoring herself to him.

His hands roamed her bare skin, the warmth of his palms a stark contrast to the cool air that had settled in the room. Her body lay exposed before him, every curve and contour familiar yet achingly new in this fragile moment. She shivered, not from the chill but from the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes traced her with a mixture of longing and reverence.

Lando’s touch was slow, deliberate, as though he was memorizing her all over again. His fingers brushed along her hip, then trailed upward, leaving a path of tingling warmth in their wake. She closed her eyes, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and leaned into his touch, needing to feel him, to remind herself that he was here, really here. His hand paused at her ribs, the pad of his thumb tracing the delicate curve, and she felt the faint tremor in his fingers—the same vulnerability that had always made her love him even more.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and raspy, heavy with emotion. The words were soft, but they carried the weight of everything they had lost and everything they might still find.

Her hands found his face, her thumbs brushing against the stubble on his jaw. “Look at me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with the same intensity that pulsed between them. His eyes met hers, and in that moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had melted away. There was no divorce, no heartbreak, no regrets—only the two of them, raw and unfiltered, relearning how to exist in the same space.

His lips captured hers in a searing kiss, his body pressing closer, his warmth enveloping her. She arched into him, her hands sliding down to clutch at his shoulders, anchoring herself in the moment. His touch was soft yet insistent, every movement a silent promise, a plea for forgiveness, a reminder of what they had once shared and what they might still salvage.

In the quiet of the room, their breaths mingled, their heartbeats synchronized, and for the first time in weeks, she felt whole.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured again against her neck, his lips brushing over her pulse point. “I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

She closed her eyes, her body arching into his as his mouth trailed lower, leaving a path of fire in its wake. His breath was hot against her skin, and she could feel the way his body trembled above her, the way he was holding himself back, trying to keep this soft, gentle, even as the tension between them grew.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice cracking. Her hands found his face, gently guiding him back up to meet her eyes. “I need you. All of you.”

His gaze softened, and he nodded, his forehead resting against hers. “I’m here,” he said simply, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands roaming over her body with a familiarity that made her heart ache. She remembered the way he used to touch her—confident, playful, full of adoration. Now, there was a hesitancy to his movements, a cautiousness born of their shared heartbreak. But there was also a raw intensity, a need that matched her own.

When their bodies finally came together, it was slow, almost achingly so. Lando paused, his breath shallow, as he pressed the tip of his cock against her entrance, feeling the warmth and wetness of her. Her chest rose and fell in unsteady waves, her eyes fluttering closed as she braced herself. He lowered himself further, his hips pressing forward with deliberate care, allowing her body to adjust to him inch by inch. She was so tight, her walls clenching gently around him, as though welcoming him home after a long, painful absence. For him, it was an overwhelming sensation—the velvety heat of her, the way she embraced him so perfectly, as if they were made to fit together. For her, it was a mixture of relief and pleasure, the fullness of him stretching her just enough to make her gasp, her nails digging into his back as he slid deeper.

“God, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice trembling with emotion. His name fell from her lips like a prayer, soft and broken, and he couldn’t help but press his lips to her temple, murmuring words of reassurance. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Her pussy felt like heaven to him—warm, slick, and so familiar yet new, as if he was rediscovering her for the first time. For her, his cock felt like a missing piece, sliding into place with an ease that made her heart ache. She could feel every ridge, every inch of him as he filled her completely, the pressure of him both comforting and electrifying. It had been months since they had been this close, months since they had shared this intimacy, and the sensation was almost too much to bear. She could feel the tremble in his body as he held himself above her, the effort he was making to keep this slow, soft, and tender.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes was overwhelming—a swirling mix of love, pain, and hope that mirrored her own. “I’m here,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “I’m here.”

They moved together, their bodies falling into a rhythm that felt both new and achingly familiar. It was slow, deliberate, and devastatingly soft, each thrust a gentle exploration of their connection. Her walls tightened around him with each movement, pulling him deeper, and he groaned softly, his forehead pressing against hers. Every stroke was a wave of warmth, a gentle friction that built steadily, making her thighs quiver and her breath hitch. For him, it was the perfect balance of pressure and pleasure, her pussy gripping him in a way that made his chest ache with emotion.

This was the first time they had been together like this in months, and the weight of that knowledge hung heavy in the air between them. Yet, in this moment, it didn’t matter how long it had been or how much had changed. All that mattered was the way they fit together, the way their bodies moved in sync, the way their breaths mingled as they clung to each other. It was a reunion, a rediscovery, a promise that they were still here, still connected, still capable of this kind of closeness.

The softness of it all was what struck her the most. There was no rush, no urgency—just the quiet rhythm of their bodies moving together, the sound of their breaths, the occasional whispered word or gentle moan. It was romantic in a way that made her heart swell, a reminder of what they had once shared and what they might still reclaim. His hands were tender as they roamed her body, his touch careful and reverent, as though she was something precious he was afraid to break. And she held him just as gently, her fingers tracing the muscles of his back, her body arching into his with a quiet need.

Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was a balm to the wounds they had inflicted on each other. The world outside didn’t matter—not the divorce, not the heartbreak, not the years of silence. In this moment, it was just the two of them, rediscovering what they had lost. 

Her hands roamed over the familiar surface of his back, tracing the contours of his muscles as they tensed and relaxed beneath her touch. She could feel the strength in him, the way his body worked to keep their rhythm steady, yet there was a softness to his movements, a tenderness that made her heart ache. His breath was hot against her skin, each exhale sending a shiver down her spine as his lips brushed over her shoulder, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She could feel the heat building between them, a slow, simmering fire that threatened to consume them both, and yet, there was a gentleness to it, a carefulness that spoke of the love they still shared.

“Lando,” she gasped, her voice breaking as her fingers dug into his back, pulling him closer, deeper. Her legs wrapped around his hips, drawing him in, her body arching into his with a desperate need to feel every inch of him. “I—I can’t—” She didn’t finish the sentence, her words swallowed by the intensity of the moment, by the way his body moved against hers, by the way his breath mingled with hers in the quiet of the room.

He kissed her again, his lips claiming hers with a desperation that matched her own. His hands threaded through her hair, holding her close as their movements grew more frantic, their bodies moving in perfect sync, as though they had never been apart. The tension coiled tighter, a palpable force that seemed to hum in the air between them, and she could feel it in every fiber of her being, in the way his body shook above her, in the way her breath came in short, uneven gasps.

She could feel the way he trembled, the way he held himself back, trying to keep this soft, gentle, even as the need between them grew. His name fell from her lips again, a broken plea, and he answered with a kiss, his lips moving against hers with a quiet intensity that made her chest ache. His hands roamed her body, touching her with a reverence that spoke of the love they still shared, of the pain they had endured, of the hope they still held onto.

Their movements grew more urgent, their bodies moving together with a rhythm that felt both new and achingly familiar. She could feel the heat building inside her, a slow, simmering fire that threatened to consume her, and she clung to him, her nails digging into his back as she gasped his name. He held her close, his body trembling above hers, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps as they moved together, finding their rhythm, finding their way back to each other.

In that moment, it didn’t matter how long it had been or how much had changed. All that mattered was the way they fit together, the way their bodies moved in sync, the way their breaths mingled as they clung to each other. It was a reunion, a rediscovery, a promise that they were still here, still connected, still capable of this kind of closeness.

When the wave finally broke, it was quiet, almost reverent. Her body tensed, her thighs trembling as a soft, rolling heat spread through her. Her pussy clenched around him, a rhythmic pulsing that felt like a warm, velvety embrace, pulling him deeper with each wave. “Lando,” she gasped, her voice breaking as her nails dug into his back, anchoring herself to him. The sensations were overwhelming— a mix of warmth, pressure, and an electric pleasure that radiated from her core, leaving her breathless and trembling. “I—I can’t—” she whispered, her words swallowed by the intensity of the moment.

For Lando, the feeling was almost too much to bear. Her pussy was impossibly tight, her walls fluttering around him in a way that made his breath catch. “Oh, God, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice trembling with emotion. Her body was warm and slick, her pulse throbbing around him, and it felt like she was drawing him in, wrapping him in a cocoon of heat and love. He could feel every ripple, every tremor of her climax, and it sent a shiver down his spine, his own need building with every second.

His cock throbbed inside her, the sensation of her orgasm making him feel complete. For him, her pussy was a perfect fit, a warm, wet haven that seemed to cradle him with every movement. As she came, her walls tightened around him in a way that was both soothing and electrifying, and he could feel the way her body trembled beneath him, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “You feel so good,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “So, so good.”

For her, his cock felt like a missing piece, sliding into place with an ease that made her heart ache. She could feel every ridge, every inch of him as he filled her completely, the pressure of him both comforting and electrifying. The warmth of his release followed, a soft, pulsing heat that spread through her, making her feel whole in a way she hadn’t felt in months. “Lando,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I missed this. Missed you.”

For him, the sensation of coming inside her was overwhelming. His cock throbbed, the release intense and all-consuming, and he could feel the warmth of her pussy enveloping him, pulling him deeper. She felt like home, like the missing piece he had been searching for. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he held her close. “I’m here. Always.”

As they lay there, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room, the world outside seemed to fade away. In that moment, it was just the two of them, rediscovering what they had lost. The softness of it all was almost too much to bear—a quiet, gentle reminder of the love they still shared, the bond that had never truly broken. “Stay with me,” she murmured, her voice barely audible but filled with a quiet intensity. “Please, just… stay.”

He kissed her temple, his lips brushing over her skin with a tenderness that made her heart ache. “Always,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “Always, Y/N.”

And in that moment, as they clung to each other, the softness of it all felt like a second chance—a quiet, gentle reminder that even after everything, they could still find their way back to each other.

Slowly, Lando shifted, adjusting his position so he could lay beside her, his arms instinctively wrapping around her. He pulled her close, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head as he buried his face in her hair. His warmth enveloped her, a silent promise of comfort, and she curled into him, their bodies fitting together as though they had never been apart.

When at last they fell still, they remained wrapped in each other’s arms. Her cheek rested against his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm that lulled her. Neither found the words to define what had just happened or what it meant for them.

Eventually, Y/N lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest to look at him. Tear tracks still glistened on her cheeks. “Do you regret it?” she asked hesitantly, fearing what his answer might be.

He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, gazing at her with an achingly tender expression. “I could never regret being close to you,” he said, voice husky with emotion. His own eyes were bright, an unnamed sorrow lingering there. “We might be divorced, but… part of me will always love you.”

She closed her eyes at his confession, pain slicing through her all over again, yet also a warm reassurance flooding her heart. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you,” she admitted softly, tears threatening once more.

He pulled her against him again, arms tightening protectively around her. “I didn’t come here expecting this,” he said in a strained whisper. “I just… I needed to see you.”

She nodded, pressing her forehead against his collarbone. “Me too. I was so afraid that this house would be a reminder of everything lost. But now, for a moment… it feels like the old times.”

They lay there in the fading daylight, the curtains glowing gold as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the floor and the scattered wedding photos. A gentle breeze fluttered the curtains, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire world held its breath in respect for the heartbreak and fleeting joy they shared.

[jezebelblues]

𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 | 𝐇.𝐒 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬—𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞.

𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭, 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲.

𝐂𝐖: smut18+ fingering, penetration (p in v), a smidge of spanking, mommy issues, 2016!harry, angst, i guess. all in upper case if that gets u goin. fem!reader, unedited cause i fell asleep writing this. gn. mwah :*

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 17k

❏ burning hill by mitski teehee !! was the main inspo for this

not my gif. if u have the info of the original creator, lmk so i can appropriately credit them.

masterlist

It’s been fifteen months since the group announced their hiatus.

Phone calls became scarce, and so many words were left unspoken, drifting into that space where they might never find their way back. For the first time in years, he felt free—untethered from the rhythm of living intertwined with three other lives. At first, the quiet felt unbearable, like the silence after the crowd fades and the lights go down. But slowly, the loneliness began to feel like home. A strange sort of comfort in the quiet. He found a semblance of privacy—at least a bit more than he had in the band.

Harry felt that, since the hiatus, the fans had grown older with him, their wide-eyed fascination dulled by time and reality. There were fewer frantic moments, fewer desperate hands pulling at him. Now, on a good day, he could stroll through his hometown, maybe get stopped for a polite photo. Occasionally, there were still shadows trailing him—paparazzi or a fan trying to be invisible but failing, always just out of reach. He didn’t like it, not really, but he’d learned to live with it. It’s what came with the territory, a price he thought he’d long accepted.

But it was the writing that kept him grounded. Kept him real. The one thing that still felt like his own. His debut album was close to finished now, though the mixing, the rewrites, the constant tweaking—it never felt like enough. There was this tightness inside him, a knot of anxiety that refused to unravel. Would anyone like Harry styles, the solo artist? Or would they always only care about Harry, the boy in the band?

He wasn’t ungrateful, not for a second. But deep down, he craved something more. He needed the space to finally figure out what he wanted, to break free, to become something else entirely. Something new.

It’s been eight months since he met YN.

It was happenstance, through his manager—though sometimes Harry liked to imagine it was fate. It was one of those coincidences that felt too deliberate to be real, like something out of a half-finished song. She was Jeff’s goddaughter, on the periphery of his world, but until then, she’d been just another name mentioned in passing.

YN started her internship at the recording studio in the beginning of April of this year. She moved to New York with a close friend shortly after her twenty first birthday, saving up for what felt like forever, and Jeffery instantly had the idea of corroborating with the studio about an internship. He knew of her uncertainty about the future. He knew about the interest in music YN had, and he wanted to give her a chance.

Jeff had told her it was a paid internship, though it really wasn’t. He was the one who was paying her through check, under the guise of the studio. She would freak if she found out, turning it all down—Jeff knew that all too well.

Her first month was moreso about passing time. She’d work on any logistics, learning about the soundboard and how it worked hand in hand with the recording aspect, not to mention the process of remastering, mixing, finalizing. Harry was in and out those first three weeks, still finishing up a few interviews and whatnot. YN talked to him a few times when he’d pop in before taking off again, he was sweet. Still, she needed something to do until he was finally able to settle down to focus on one of the last stretches of the album—and giving her busywork was just that.

She wasn’t supposed to be at the office that day in May, but Jeff made her come along before they would continue their constant work at the drawing table, in the booth. It was the day he decided to cut his hair—and there she was, sitting quietly on the edge of the room, trying not to be seen, caught up in the swirl of conversations she didn’t quite belong to yet. There was something about her, something he couldn’t put his finger on. The way she observed everything, but didn’t feel the need to make herself known. A quiet confidence, maybe, or just a complete lack of pretense.

When she offered to help with the cut, everyone laughed, but he said yes. He didn’t know why, maybe because she didn’t treat it like this big, defining moment. The whole world was making such a fuss about his hair, like that was all he was, all he’d ever be. But YN? She just smiled, grabbed the scissors, and got to work. No ceremony, no theatrics—just a few careful snips, and suddenly he was lighter, like he could breathe again.

Afterward, they’d joked about how she should switch careers. But she’d only smiled that same quiet smile and said she was more interested in being on the other side of music. She was learning everything she could. At first, she was just there, hovering at the edge of things. But before long, she was everywhere. Quietly slipping into conversations, offering up ideas that stuck with him long after she’d left the room.

She wasn’t like the people he usually worked with. She wasn’t starry-eyed, wasn’t afraid of him or the idea of him. YN spoke to the brunette like he was just a guy making music, figuring things out. And maybe that’s what drew him in, slowly at first, then all at once. She didn’t see Harry Styles, the soloist. She saw Harry—the restless, uncertain man who wasn’t sure if he was running from his past or trying to carve out a future. He was human, an equal, not an enigma.

He caught himself thinking about her more than he should, replaying their conversations in his head when he was alone in his flat, the silence pressing in around him. She had this way of getting under his skin without even trying, making him wonder if he’d been doing everything wrong up until now. Or maybe, just maybe, she was the first person to make him feel like he didn’t need to have all the answers.

There was something magnetic about her, a pull he couldn’t quite shake. He’d see her in the studio, headphones on, scribbling notes on a track they’d been working on, her brow furrowed in concentration. She cared about the music, really cared, and he respected that more than he could say. In the rare moments she’d look up and catch him watching, she’d smile—soft and unassuming, as if she wasn’t at the center of this storm he was slowly getting lost in.

He’d thought about it, late at night when the studio was empty, and all he had were his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if it was the music that kept him coming back, or if it was something else entirely.

But the truth was, ever since she walked into his life, the world didn’t feel as heavy. It didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

YN had a quiet way of carrying herself, something light and untouchable, like she’d mastered the art of being present without ever fully giving herself away. It was part of what made her so magnetic, Harry thought, but it also kept her at arm’s length—just out of reach. The more time he spent with her, the more he sensed there were pieces of her story she wasn’t ready to share, things she held onto with a grip so tight, it almost hurt to watch.

Her father had been older when she was born, older than Jeff was, at least—a man who had already been through his share of mistakes and regrets by the time he met Jeffery in college. YN’s dad had been trying to start over, to build something solid for himself after years of wandering. They clicked right away—two guys who didn’t have much in common on the surface, but who understood each other in the ways that mattered. Jeff was young, still wide-eyed and ambitious, while YN’s father had lived a little longer, seen more of the mess the world had to offer. They bonded over that, and when YN was born, Jeff had been right there, practically family.

YN’s mother had left when she was just a baby. No warning, no messy custody battle, just gone. Her dad was the moon, always there—faintly during the day when he worked, but always present by night. Her mother was a solar eclipse, popping up in certain areas every now and then, but never staying. Maybe she’d call and wish her a belated happy birthday, or send a card for Christmas that year. She was always fleeting. And YN thought herself the stars, always there, always ever connected to the two despite time and space.

So, her father had raised her on his own, doing his best with what little he had. Jeff had been named godfather not long after her birth, and though he didn’t say much about it, YN knew he’d always carried a quiet kind of guilt. Like maybe if he’d been around more, her life might’ve been different. She never blamed him, of course—she adored Jeff, looked at him like he was some kind of anchor in her life, a second father figure, someone she could always count on. But there was no denying that a part of her had been shaped by absence, by the cold reality of her mother’s abandonment.

She didn’t talk about her mother much. When they’d first started getting to know each other, Harry had asked her once—offhandedly, without thinking—and the way her expression shifted, the way her walls shot up so quickly, he knew not to push. He’d seen it before, in himself, the instinct to hide away when the past felt too close.

Harry didn’t know much about her. They hadn’t talked about personal things, not really. Her past wasn’t something she talked about, not with anyone, and especially not with people like Harry—people who had the world’s attention, people who might think she was just another girl with a tragic backstory. But he knew she was Jeff’s goddaughter, that she was interning at the studio, trying to figure out if music was the career she wanted. He knew her favorite artist and color, knew her favorite subject in school and her best friend’s name—Marisol. He knew she preferred sunsets over sunrises, mountains and forests over beaches. But it felt superficial, barely scraping the surface. He wanted to know more. She seemed talented, driven, but there was something else—something in the way she held herself back.

There were moments when he’d catch her smile, but it was always soft, fleeting. Like she was offering a glimpse of something deeper but never letting him get too close. It intrigued him, the way she could be so kind yet so guarded, as if she’d learned not to give too much away. It was a look he recognized, one he saw in himself sometimes, when the weight of expectations and the uncertainty of his solo career pressed too heavily on his shoulders. But with YN, it felt different. It felt like something that had been there long before she ever stepped into the studio.

Moving to New York had been her way of starting over. She’d wanted to escape the weight of her past, to carve out a life that was her own. Jeff had given her that opportunity, and even though she hadn’t been sure it was what she wanted at first, she found herself falling into the rhythm of it. The work was hard sometimes, but it felt good, like maybe she was finally building something of her own. But even here, in this new city with new faces, YN still felt that familiar pull—the instinct to keep her distance, to protect herself from getting too attached.

He wasn’t sure she’d let him in, anyway. YN was like that—careful, cautious. Maybe she always would be.

In June, a little over two months since YN started working in the studio, she and Harry had formed an easy, steadying friendship. YN wasn’t like most people in his world. She understood his music in a way that felt rare—intimately, deeply, as if she could feel the weight of each word before he even sang it. It touched him more than he could admit.

But as much as he was drawn to her, Harry could sense the distance she kept between them. It wasn’t obvious, not in a way anyone else would notice, but there was a part of YN that stayed hidden. She had a warmth to her—she was kind, smart, and always knew exactly what to say when he asked for her help. But when it came to the deeper parts of herself, the parts Harry desperately wanted to know, she stayed locked away. He saw it in the way she smiled when something hit too close to home, or the way she never let conversations stray too far from the task at hand. It was as though she’d built an invisible wall around herself, and no one—not even him—was allowed through.

But he knew better than to push. For now, their connection revolved around the music.

Sometime in early June, they were hunched over in their usual studio chairs, working on the final track of his debut album. The song had taken weeks to perfect, but they were close now—closer than they had been. From the Dining Table was raw, achingly personal and YN, somehow, had helped him shape it into something even more honest than it had started.

“What if you lean into the third verse more?” She suggested, her pen tapping the page thoughtfully. "The emotion's there, but it's like you're not letting yourself feel it fully. Especially in that second verse–maybe one day you’ll me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too. You're pulling back right when you should lean into it."

Harry stopped playing with the strings on his guitar and looked up at her, brow furrowed. "What do y’mean?"

She hummed, biting her lip as she considered the words, her fingers brushing the edge of the paper. “Maybe drop the keys lower in the last chorus..” She trailed off, lost in her own thought process. She shifted in her chair, leaning forward slightly as she studied the lyrics. "It's heavy, but it could be even more vulnerable. You're singing about something really personal here, about the kind of loneliness that feels like it's eating you alive. But in the melody, it feels..safe. I think you need to make the vocals feel a bit more broken, like you're barely holding it together. Let the silence in the song do some of the work. Think about pulling back on the production, too–keep it more stripped down.” She laughed lightly, a bit sheepish. “If that makes sense.”

Harry nodded slowly, the words hanging in the air between them. She got it. She always got it. The lyrics had been twisting inside him for weeks, and it was YN’s careful guidance that had finally helped him pull them into something real, something tangible. He picked up his guitar, adjusting the chords she mentioned, and played the verse again. The notes hung heavier in the air this time, more space, more quiet.

“There.” YN murmured. “That’s what it needed—the space between the words, the silence. That's where the emotion is."

For the next few hours, they went back and forth, fine-tuning the melody and adjusting the lyrics. YN suggested cutting down the instrumentation, making it feel more intimate, like a conversation Harry was having with himself. And as the song started to take shape, Harry felt a weight lifting. It’s what he wanted for the song, it deserved this rawness, this vulnerability.

Over the next two weeks, they worked tirelessly on the track, tweaking the lyrics, adjusting the production. YN had suggested subtle changes in the arrangement—adding faint background harmonies, letting the piano take the lead in certain sections. It was her idea to introduce a low hum in the final chorus, something atmospheric that made the song feel like it was dissolving into the empty spaces of the room. Harry trusted her instincts completely by now, her intelligence and understanding of the music so sharp that he barely needed to question her advice. She had a way of knowing what the song needed, even when he couldn’t see it himself.

By the time they reached the last day of recording that track, the song had transformed into something that felt like a piece of his soul, laid bare for the world to hear. It was time to play it for the team, to record the final version that would make it onto the album. She didn’t hear it in its entirety yet, only the parts Harry would reveal that he wanted insight on.

The band was ready, gathered behind their instruments, and the rest of the team sat in the control room, waiting to hear what he had spent weeks perfecting. The studio felt heavier than usual, the air thick with anticipation. Harry glanced over at YN, who was standing by the glass that separated the studio from the control room, her arms crossed loosely in front of her. She was watching him, as she always did, but there was something different in her eyes tonight. He couldn’t place it—something softer, more vulnerable than usual.

Harry picked up his guitar, gave the band a nod, and stepped up to the mic. The first notes echoed through the room, soft and haunting. His voice followed, low and steady, each lyric pouring out an isolation he had written into the song, each verse dripping in melancholy. The room around him seemed to blur, and for a moment, it was just him, the music, and the truth of what he was singing.

“Maybe one day you’ll call me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too.”

His voice cracked slightly on the word sorry, just as it had in practice. But this time, it felt different. More real. More final.

As the song continued, Harry’s gaze flickered over to YN. She was still standing by the glass, but something had changed. Her arms had fallen to her sides, and her eyes were fixed on him, wide and shimmering with unshed tears. It was subtle at first—a quick blink, a shift of her expression—but then he saw it. A tear slipped down her cheek, and YN quickly brushed it away, trying to hide the emotion that was overtaking her.

But she couldn’t. Not this time.

By the time the song ended, the room was filled with the soft, fading echoes of the final notes. Harry stood still, the guitar resting against his chest, his breath uneven. He watched as YN slowly stepped forward, closer to the glass, her eyes still glistening. She rested her hand gently on the pane, the only thing separating them, and gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod.

It was all he needed. That nod, that single moment of unspoken approval, meant more than words ever could. She understood—she always had. But seeing her moved by the song, seeing the tears she tried so hard to hide, told Harry more about her than she’d ever let on.

For the first time, Harry felt like he had reached her core, even if just for a second. And as the team buzzed with quiet admiration for the track, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from YN. Because in that small, fragile moment, she had let her walls down. Just enough.

And Harry realized, standing there with the music still humming through his veins, that maybe he wasn’t the only one who felt something more between them. Maybe YN wasn’t as unreachable as he had once thought.

July had seemed to’ve breeze past, almost gone in a daze. It was Friday, and there would only be two more Fridays left till they would have to flip the colander pages to August. The heat of the day still mingled in the air as the studio settled into its usual weekend quiet. The crew had all left for the night, tired but satisfied after wrapping another long day of recording. The album was nearing completion, and the tension that had built up over the past few months was finally starting to lift. Harry could feel it—the sense of relief, of something monumental coming to an end—but there was still so much hanging in the air between him and YN, at least that’s what he felt.

They were alone in the lounge now, the soft glow of the low lights casting faded shadows on the walls. YN sat on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she sipped from a recently topped-off flute of champagne, her eyes tired but content. They had opened the bottle to celebrate finishing another track, Two Ghosts. YN wasn’t there when the production first started for this song, only there for the finalized remastering of it that finished today—and she had insisted he must celebrate, the fizzy sweetness a small reward for everything he’s been pouring into the album.

"Cheers!” Harry had laughed, clinking his glass against hers with a lopsided grin. "One more down."

He didn’t quite remember what glass he was on, but he could feel the familiar buzz of being tipsy, like he could float. Besides the lounge, the rest of the building was dark, only light seeping through was from the city outside. Harry leaned back against the arm of the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, the remnants of his drink swirling lazily in his glass. He felt relaxed—more relaxed than he had in weeks. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe it was the fact that they were finally nearing the end of the album. But it wasn't just that. It was YN, too.

And god, she looked gorgeous.

She dressed down for the day, knowing it was Friday and she could fall into bed as soon as she got home. A hoodie hung loosely over her frame, the pair of lounge shorts coming a little bit above her mid thigh. The alcohol seemed to give her eyes more of a sparkle, her skin flush—Harry wondered if alcohol could make him look as pretty as she, but he ended up on the conclusion of probably not.

“I know I said this already.” She giggled, taking a sip of the bubbly. Her smile was hazy, eyes clouded over. “But the song sounds great.” She enthusiastically sent him a thumbs up, the bottom of his feet against the bend of her knees as his legs remained sprawled out over the couch. The curly haired boy already asked if he should move to give her more space, but her dismissal was a shouted, pleading whine of no, stay! “You should be famous or something.” She sent him a wink, and he couldn’t stifle the laughter that escaped him from how slow and exaggerated she’d done it.

The lightness in the air was contagious, and they both seemed to be floating, untethered and free from the usual tension. He rested his temple against the back cushion of the sofa, his lazy grin seemingly impossible to wipe off. “Dunno, sounds like a lot of work. Maybe I’ll jus’ start a bakery instead.” He shrugged, taking a swig of what was left in the flute after parting ways between his head and the cushion beside him. “Styles’ Pies, what d’you think?”

YN snorted, nearly spilling her champagne as she pictured it. “You? In a bakery? I don’t even think you can make toast without burning it.”

Harry’s eyes widened in mock offense. “Hey, m’great in the kitchen. You’ve just never seen me in action.”

“Oh really?” YN arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. She set her glass down on the table, waving her hand as if conducting an imaginary cooking show. “Alright, Chef Styles, what’s your signature dish? Burnt toast with a side of undercooked eggs?”

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I? That was one time!”

“Ah-ha!” She teased, biting her lip to hold back another laugh. “You know, they might not even let you into the bakery with that track record. Health code violations, and all.”

“Oh, come on!” Harry huffed, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll have you know, I’m actually a master at making..” He paused, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Pancakes.”

YN burst into laughter again, this time nearly doubling over, gently clasping her fingers around his ankles for support. “Pancakes? Oh god, I bet you’d flip them right onto the floor.”

“Oi, that’s not true!” Harry was laughing now too, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the easy back-and-forth. YN had placed her hands back into her lap after grabbing her glass again, legs still tucked underneath her. “I’ve got skills. Just wait. I’ll cook f’you one day, and you’ll be begging for more. You’ll never want to leave m’kitchen.”

She wiped away a tear from her drunken laughter, a banter that probably would not be as entertaining if she was sober. “We’ll see about that. I’ll be your taste tester—but don’t be mad if I spit it out.”

“Oh, y’ruthless tonight, huh?” He nudged her playfully with his foot, legs still draped along the sofa. “Well, if pancakes don’t win y’over, I’ll just serenade you with some of m’songs. You won’t stand a chance.”

YN’s laughter turned into a snort as she brought the flute to her lips, taking another sip before grinning at him. “Woo me with your guitar? Play a little ditty about burnt toast?”

Harry leaned forward, dramatically mimicking strumming an invisible guitar, his expression serious as he sang, “Maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two..”

YN feigned a cringe, holding her ands out in front of her as if to block the very sight of him. The tune was cute, but she would never admit that. Harry could barely keep it together as he leaned back against the sofa’s arm, rolling his eyes as she finally lowered her hands. “And I’ll have you know I worked n’a bakery in Holmes Chapel, favorite employee, too.”

“My god, aren’t you a prodigy?” She smiled, tilting her head to the side as if pretending to be bashful. “Singer, songwriter, baker of the month.”

“Y’damn right.”He tipped an imaginary hat on his head, “I contain multitudes.” He winked, a better one that YN had sent earlier, his grin wide and a little bit tipsy.

They sat in the comfortable silence that followed, both of them still chuckling under their breath, the champagne buzzing through their veins like a soft lullaby. Harry glanced over at YN, her face flushed from laughter, her body relaxed in a way he hadn’t seen before. She looked free. Happy. And it did something to his chest, a tug he couldn’t ignore.

“Hey.” he said softly, stretching his ankle ever so slightly to gently nudge her knee with his foot. “Y’having fun?”

She nodded, her smile softening as she glanced at him. “Yeah. I am.” Her voice was quieter now, the playful energy of a moment ago still lingering, but with something else creeping in. Something softer, more intimate.

Harry smiled back, his heart doing that stupid fluttering thing it always did around her. “Good, m’glad.”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, her words coming out slower, as if she was trying to steady herself. “You’re..not what I expected.”

Harry tilted his head, a curious smirk tugging at his lips. “What’d y’expect?”

She hummed, “Don’t know.” She said with a shrug, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on the cushion. “Someone a little more, I don’t know–untouchable? Like, y’know, the harry styles,’ the big deal. But you’re just harry styles, my friend.”

He laughed softly, playing with the hem of his bright pink shorts. “Jus’ me, huh? Guess that’s not s’bad.”

“It’s not.” She smiled, her eyes locking with his, and for a moment, something passed between them. Something heavier, like an acknowledgment of everything unspoken.

Harry shifted, suddenly aware of how close they had gotten during her revelation. His hand, which had been resting on her knee, slid a little higher, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her thigh. The playful banter was still there, but it was quieter now, replaced by a tension that neither of them could deny any longer.

“Y’know.”she said, breaking the silence with a small smile. “I still don’t believe you can make pancakes.”

His eyes darkened with a mixture of amusement and something deeper as he leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “Maybe I should make you breakfast tomorrow morning then.”

YN’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening at his words, and she opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, Harry’s lips were on hers. She instantly melted into it, as if an instinct. However, after a beat, the palm of her hand pressed against his shoulder. Their lips slowly separated, strings of saliva snapping at the middle from their mutual departure. Her breath rose and fell rapidly, a small smile on her lips. “How are you gonna make pancakes at the st–.”

Harry had cut her off with a groan, but it was humorous, mixed with his giggles. “Y’stopped that t’get technical?”

YN shrugged before pulling him back into the kiss, unwavering, still. It was tentative for a moment, as if he was waiting for her to push away again, but she didn’t. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his t-shirt, lips in sync as she deepened their kiss.

The taste of the fruity champagne lingered between them, intoxicating and heady. It grew hungrier, more desperate as if months of unresolved tension had finally snapped. YN’s tongue found itself swiping a soft stripe against his bottom lip, a heavy sigh emerging from him as his fingers brushed along the hem of her hoodie, slipping his hands underneath, his palm resting on the warm curve of her waist.

“H–” She whispered against his lips, her voice breathy, almost a plea. But it wasn’t a plea to stop—it was a plea for more.

His name on her lips drive him mad. With a low grown, he shifted, pulling her into his lap in one fluid motion. Her legs straddled him, holding herself as close to him as she could, their kisses turning feverish. His large hands pulled her even closer—not a centimeter of space to be left. He parted his lips, a broken breath tumbling from his mouth as she started to roll her hips against his growing cock stuck underneath the hot pink shorts.

His ring clad fingers slip father up her hoodie, the coolness of the medal a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off the both of them. Harry tugged on the fabric, pulling it over her head in a rush, revealing the thin bralette underneath. “Fuck–” He mumbled, breath caressing her skin as his lips skimmed the bone of her jawline, placing a slow, tentative kiss right at her pulse point. “So beautiful.” He was drunk in the moment that was her—figuratively and literally—his voice distant and light, like a voice breaking through a daydream.

She rolled her hips harder against him as his hands slipped under the hem of her shorts, lips sloppily trailing her chest, her nose buried in his curls. A soft moan is drawn from her as Harry’s hands grip her ass, aiding her movements of dry humping his cock. His tongue grazed the fleshy part of her breast that threatened to spill out of her bra, a shuddering exhale brushing from her lips, right into his disheveled locks.

She hastily cups his chin, pulling him from her chest to messily kiss him again. She wanted to taste the faint peach on his tongue from the champagne, to feel the stubble above his lip tickling against her. They both moaned into each other’s mouths, her fingers running down his shirt, tugging at the hem. He smiles, parting from her to pull his shirt off. It was rushed, his chin getting caught in the collar which made laughter sit between them comfortably. YN gently helps him pull the shirt from his head. It was discarded somewhere on the floor, its whereabouts not a priority.

Their cheeks are flush, lips plump and vibrant as they fall into each other’s eyes—their giggles fading out and their heavy breaths replacing it. “I want you.” She whispered, her gaze trailing from his eyes, to his lips, along the markings of his torso, then back up again.

He nodded, pressing his forehead against hers with a shaky breath. “Yeah?”

She hummed, though it sounded similar to a purr—a divinely feminine melody that made him twitch under the fabric that held him from her. “Yeah.”

He gives her a quick peck before tapping her thigh and guiding her off his lap. He looks at her as his thumb slips under the waistband of both his shorts and boxers, his glance expectant of some sort of approval or denial.

Her hands reach back behind her, unclasping the bra and letting the straps fall from her shoulders; to which he took that as his go ahead. Harry bucks his hips from the couch, tugging the clothing down his legs and letting it fall onto the floor. His cock slapped against his abdomen from the sheer force of how quickly he freed himself. It was bigger than she had expected, the head a pretty pink that glistened with precum.

He didn’t give her a chance to react for herself as he pulled along her bare waist, ushering YN back onto him. He planted kisses along her breast, the hem of her shorts sitting right against his chest, his large hands holding her inches above the cock she so desperate to fill herself up with.

His tongue encircled the bud of her nipple, one hand still gripping her ass to keep her pressed against his chest, above his length—while the other fell a tad lower, his index and middle finger slipping underneath the leg of her shorts and panties, brushing along her wet folds.

She could feel his lips spread into a smirk before he began to suck on her nipple. She buried her face into his curls, grasping onto the roots as his digits sat at the entrance of her core, heat radiating from her cunt as her arousal soaked the tips of his fingers. She whimpers, wanting to grind down on them and fill her up until his knuckles sat harshly against her folds, but he held her in place—the grip on the soft part of her ass feeling rougher. He looks up at her through his eyelashes, though her face is hidden in his hair, he still revels in it. “Y’that desperate for it, hm?”

She nods against the top of his head, eyes squeezing shut. “Yes, Harry.” She whined, fingers tightly laced between his locks. “Fuck–please, I need it.”

His mouth finds its way back to her tits as he eases his thick fingers into her cunt, tauntingly slow. Her walls fluttered around him, a soft moan escaping her as he pumped his fingers in and out, the sound of her wetness was hot, filthy—the way it bounced around the room. It only made him harder knowing that no one else will know what happened here besides them.

He curls his digits into a spot that makes her hips buck harder against his chest, a yelp emitting from the top of her throat, which he takes as a moment to smack the fleshy part of her ass, it wasn’t very hard, as if he was testing the waters to try to understand what she needed. Judging from the noises she made, and how her bum seemed to push a slight wiggle into the palm of his hand, he figured she liked it.

He pumps his fingers faster, his knuckles almost pounding against her core as he sneaks the opportunity to spank her again. A string of profanities and whiny pleas fell from her, her hands falling to a grip on his shoulders as he coaxed her to the brink of coming on just his fingers alone.

His lips are sloppy against her chest, more focused on how his digits buried themselves into her pussy. Her words aren’t coherent, a ringing faint in her ears as she tightens around him, her hips erupting into a shudder as she rides out her orgasm. He lightens the grip from her bum, allowing her to roll her hips with his fingers still deep inside her, basking in how she tried to milk herself of every drop she could.

Once her movements still, he slowly pulls out of her, the two making eye contact as he brings the two fingers to his mouth, wrapping his lips around them prettily, licking her arousal from the source.

Her breaths were heavy, eyes darkened as she watched the dirtiest thing play out in front of her. His eyes flutter to a close, a smirk speaking across his lips as if it was the most heavenly thing he’s tasted; she already feels the knot in her tummy tightening again.

She pulls him into a kiss, meeting each other harshly as she tastes herself from his lips. His hands brush along the small of her back, then to her hips, slipping the shorts and panties down her legs and off her ankles with an awkward, momentary shift in position to do so. She lowers herself as much as he’d allow, his lips stilling as he feels her heat against the head of his cock. He pulls away slightly, forehead against hers with a small flicker of disappointment on his features. “I don’t have a condom.” His voice low and raspy, thick with lust as he held her against him once again, unable to fill herself as she desired.

Her chest rose and fell heavily, eyes meeting his. “M’on the pill.” She whispered, voice breathy and light from her previous orgasm.

His eyebrows furrowed, gaze unwavering in hers. This is something he normally would never do, fucking someone unprotected. But the way his cock ached for her was damn near painful, and he trusted her. A friend he’d come to cherish, although in the back of his mind, he wanted her more than a friend. He darted his eyes between hers and the way her tummy fluttered with heavy breath. His glance was expectant again, silently needing approval to even think of continuing.

She wiggled her hips in his grasp once more, her a whiny plea a soft mutter—and it’s all he needed to hear. She sank onto his length, a slow strain befell them from how he had to ease his cock into her pussy, stretching her out with every upward motion of his hips.

The feeling of him filling her was addicting to both, pleasured sighs and moans emitting from each of them as she adjusted around his length, sinking down the shaft completely. Only a beat had past before she started to roll her hips into him, adjusting to the feeling of him. One hand sat sprawled against her back, will the other remained on her ass. Harry’s head leaned along the edge of the couch, watching through half-lidded eyes at the way her tits moved as she began to bounce on his length, having him draw sharp inhale at the feeling. “Jus’ like that.” He groaned, the hand on her back and bum guiding her movements. “Good girl–y’feel so good, jus–” He cuts off his own sentence with a moan, his head falling forward now, just a bit. His forehead grazed along her shoulder—barely—every time she’d bob up the length of his cock. “Like that, bunny–fuck.” His voice was breathy, listening to the pretty moans that escaped her and the way her cunt sounded riding his cock.

His hand slid down her back, both gripping her ass a bit roughy as he guided her movements with more force. Her lips fell agape, a whimper falling out now and then as Harry held her weight as if it was nothing, moving her up and down his thick cock with an ease that made her cry out his name.

He pushed and pulled her onto him greedily, her head falling onto his shoulder as he rested his chin on hers, watching as he pounded her onto the base of his length. The sharp sounds of skin against skin mixed in with their moans, a cacophony of their pleasure filling the lounge.

He loosened his grip from her bum, smacking her ass as his other hand gathered her hair into his fist, jerking her head back to force a semblance of eye contact. The palm of his other hand rested over her thigh, continuing to guide her movements though the momentum from her own hands against his shoulders was enough.

He knew he was close, and the way her noises got louder, how her cunt tightened around him—Harry knew she was close, too. The tiny fraction of him that held an ounce of logic through his drunken pleasure told him to pull out, but it fell to the back of his mind, silenced with the sound of his own moans and the way his length twitched, the knot in his belly rounding tightly. “Look at me.” He forced through a grunt, his toes curling against the carpet and his jaw tightened as he tried to stall his release.

The grip on his shoulders was lethal, though the only thing he could feel was her pussy fluttering around him. Her hair was still balled tightly in his fist, craning her head into a position where their foreheads were only a few inches away—the only thing that would keep her from looking if she closed her eyes. She wouldn’t though.

His hand pushed harder against her thigh, both of their skin flushed a pink from the force of the contact of the way her ass and thighs slapped along his pelvis. “Say my name–” His groan was guttural, as if he was teetering on the edge of losing his composure. With his grip still in her hair, he pressed her forehead into his, both slick with a gleam of sweat. “When you come—say it.” He grunted, eyes meeting hers once again. “Or I won’t let you.”

She felt her legs to tremble, her lips parting as the cries and whimpers of his name escaped her like a mantra. His chest rose and fell unevenly, pressing her forehead into hers further as they met their release simultaneously. Thick ropes of come fill her cunt to the point where it drips out around him. Their breaths are heavy and quick, his hands soft against the skin of her legs as they tremble, pressing his lips atop her shoulders as she sinks into his chest.

*

The next morning arrived in a hazy blur. The sky was gray as it prepared itself for a summer thunderstorm. The pitter-patter of rain hitting the window caused him to stir first, a wince from feeling the stiffness in his neck before anything else. His back was pressed awkwardly into the couch, his arm draped around something soft and warm. He blinked his eyes open, the dull light from the stormy sky offering not very much of anything as it bled through the blinds. The familiar scent of the studio mixed with something more intoxicating—YN.

He nudged his chin down to glance at the girl curled up on his chest, his shirt from last night adorning her frame as soft snores fell from her mouth. Their legs were tangled together underneath a thin throw blanket with Christmas patterns he didn’t remember grabbing before passing out. The events of last night came in a rushed haze from the smell of the champagne on his own breath. He shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable, but the movement pulled YN from her slumber. She let out a small groan before nuzzling deeper into his bare chest, not wanting to let go of the warmth.

The smell of Harry’s cologne caused her eyes to peel open, her brow furrowing in confusion as she took in her surroundings.

“Morning.” Harry had rasped out, voice still thick with sleep.

She blinked, and then placed her palms against his chest to push herself up. She glanced around the studio with the turn of her head, then back at Harry with an unreadable expression. Her hair was disheveled, Harry’s discarded shirt hung loosely around her—she could feel the thickness of his come seeping out of her, pooling in her underwear and forming a dampened spot. “Oh my god.”

He winced involuntarily, and this time it wasn’t from the ache in his neck. “Um.” He paused, voice cautious. “Yeah.”

YN bit her lip, sitting up fully as she slipped into a spot between his thighs. The cushion was soft against her bum as she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “Yeah.” She echoed his words, unsure of what to say.

Harry had scoot up slightly, the small of his back against the arm of the sofa. He rubbed his neck, sighing from the crick he developed for sleeping in such an awkward position. “Are you okay?”

She looked at him, her eyes still a bit dazed from the remnants of sleep and the weight of their shared moment. YN offered him a small smile, “Mhm.” She hummed, but an uncertainty glimmered along the edge of her pupil, unsure of what came next. “Not exactly used to waking up like this, I guess–but I’m okay.”

He nodded slowly, though a frown threatened to spread across his lips. He reached out hesitantly, palm resting on her knee as he sighed. “You regret it?” He asked, though it sounded rhetorical.

Her face seemed to soften at his words, sincerity and a hint of hurt evident in his expression. A furrow formed in her forehead as she shook her head, placing a hand on top of the one he sat on her knee. “No, H. ‘Course not.” She paused, shifting in her seat before forcing herself to stand, his hand slipping from her knee back into his own lap. It felt cold, and he knew she was pulling away. She very quickly stripped Harry’s shirt off—to which he averted his eyes to the ground—shrugging back on her own hoodie and shorts.

“YN.” Harry mumbled, his voice shaking as he pulled his shirt back over his head. She seemed distracted, slipping her shoes back on and putting her phone into the hoodie pocket before she trailed back toward Harry, gazing down at where he sat on the couch. He had looked at her the way he always seemed to look at her, eyes full of things that would stay unsaid. “What does this mean?”

She kneeled before him almost immediately, combing her fingers through his hair in a moment of comfort. “Doesn’t have to mean anything.” Her voice was soft, kind, as if that was the thing he wanted to hear. “We’re friends, this won’t make it weird, okay?”

He could feel his heart sink into his stomach as he nodded with slight trepidation, wishing she would just open herself up and allow him to hold her, to show her that he wouldn’t let go. “I don’t regret it, never ever.” She murmured, ducking her head down a bit to meet his gaze that seemed to lower at her words. “I swear it.”

He forced a smile, her hand pulling away from his curls—the curls she previously moaned into, the hair that she tangled her fingers in from an orgasm that crashed over her like a wave. He swallowed dryly as she back stood up, still not looking away from him. A defeat settled over him, an impatient longing as he realized if he was ever going to have a chance with the woman before him, he’d have to wait. He didn’t know what pain she held, the things she guarded so strongly, but he knew she would have to admit to herself first that she was worthy of something good. Harry parted his lips, taking a deep breath to keep his voice steady. “Stay friends?” He asked expectantly, holding out a pinky to her.

She smiled, a sad one, however. She wanted to wrap him into her arms and apologize for making the choice to walk away, but she felt it was best. YN believed she wasn’t what he deserved, and it would be in his best interest to pretend like everything went back to normal. She lowered her hand, intertwining her pinky with his. “Stay friends.”

On August fourth, The studio was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the late afternoon sun filtering through the one window in the control room. Everyone, besides YN and Harry, went out for their lunch break. Harry had asked if she would help her tweak the soon-to-be third track on the album, Carolina.

Since waking up from the sex they had in the lounge, they hadn’t brought it up—though it didn’t disappear. There would be moments where it loomed over them, heavy and unrelenting. It took everything in them not to bridge that specific gap, took everything in Harry not to bend her over the soundboard to feel her again, took everything in him not to fall to his knees before her, hugging her legs while he cried about how he was helplessly falling for her.

It was the hottest day of the year, and though the air conditioner was humming in a low buzz, the air was thick with warmth. The kind of still, lingering heat that made everything feel slow and hazy, like time itself had paused for a moment. Harry picked up his guitar, fingers brushing over the strings, testing the familiar weight of it in his hands. The sound of the first strum seemed to melt into the air, easy, relaxed, as if the room itself was humming along to the rhythm.

She kneeled down, across from the spot Harry sat on the floor, guitar in lap. She pressed on certain strings on specific parts of the neck, eyes flickering between Harry and the instrument expectantly. They both knew the notes and the chords, the tone it could give. “Try those notes.”She murmured, moving Harry’s Hand from where it sat on the neck to where she wanted his fingers to be. Her touch was delicate, and if Harry didn’t reground himself he would’ve forgot what was happening all together. “Lean into the groove more?” Her words were laced with a light chuckle as she stood up, looking back down at the brunette on the floor. “Loosen up a bassline, could add some layered harmonies, something subtle, but it'll give the track more depth."

Harry's eyes lit up, a spark of excitement that always seemed to come alive when YN shared her thoughts. She had this uncanny way of making the most complex ideas sound simple. He nodded eagerly, strumming a few playful chords, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty studio. "Yeah, that's it.” He whispered to himself excitedly, already hearing the song in his head. He began playing, the cords, melody bright and carefree, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the strings.

The atmosphere shifted almost instantly—no longer weighed down by deadlines or pressure, but filled with something light. Harry stood up without a word, the grin never leaving his face as he strummed the revisioned tune, the guitar hanging casually from his shoulder as he waltzed across the room, his voice bouncing with the light-hearted lyrics. The brunette’s footsteps were lazy, carefree, his long legs carrying him in wide, exaggerated circles as he moved with the rhythm, his laughter spilling out between the lyrics. It was easy—so easy—that the line between the song and the moment blurred.

“She’s a good girl.”

his voice bright and full of mischief as he twirled past her, catching her eye. He wiggled his eyebrows, a playful challenge, daring her to join in.

YN couldn’t help herself, he was infectious . She laughed, the sound so genuine and pure it filled the air. She pushed away from the soundboard, and before she could even think of hesitation, she was dancing and hopping around in time to the music, letting herself get lost along with him.

“Such a good girl”

She really was, like when he buried himself between her legs a few weeks ago.

The hem of her dainty sundress swept around her shins in a slow, lazy twirl. Her laughter mixed with the sound of the guitar, light and unguarded, like the weight of the world had lifted, just for this one moment.

Harry’s voice followed her as he floated around, his fingers never missing a beat. The melody was effortless, the chords bright and warm like the fading summer light that filled the room. His gaze flicked toward her every few seconds, catching the way she moved, her arms outstretched as she spun in gentle circles, her hair catching the golden light in soft waves.

The whole scene felt like something out of time, like they had stepped into an old, grainy film reel—faded sun, carefree laughter, and the kind of simplicity that made everything else fade into the background. There was no rush, no pressure, just the music and the way they moved through it together.

Harry kept playing, his voice growing louder, more animated, as he circled back to her, his laughter echoing in the small space. He swayed, leaning into the guitar as he strummed, almost tripping over a cable but catching himself at the last second with a dramatic flourish. YN continued her movements, her arms floating through the air, soft and unhurried, like she was dancing with the music itself.

And then, in one smooth motion, Harry waltzed closer, standing just a few feet away from her as he played the final chorus. His smile was wide, eyes bright with the joy of the moment, and YN met his gaze with the same carefree energy, spinning one last time before she collapsed against the stool, breathless from her giggles.

The last chord hung in the air for a moment longer, lingering like the final rays of sunlight spilling through the window. The room was still humming with the energy they’d created, the echoes of their laughter and the bright notes of the guitar lingering in the walls. Harry let the guitar slide gently to his side, leaning against the stool as he caught his breath, his chest rising and falling in time with YN’s, her face flushed and glowing. He was grinning, the kind of grin that reached his eyes and made his dimples crater.

For a second, everything felt perfect, untouched by the noise of the outside world. It was just the two of them, the fading summer light, and the echo of a song that hadn’t yet been recorded but already felt like it was carved into their shared memory.

All he wanted to do was kiss her again.

She was perched on her chair now, her legs crossed, still smiling from their little impromptu dance. She glowed with the warmth of the sun filtering in through the window. The carefree, playful energy between them began to settle, but the air didn’t lose its charge. Instead, something softer slipped into the space between them, a kind of comfortable quiet as they both let the last traces of laughter fade away.

Harry wiped a hand across his forehead, pushing back a few stray curls as he looked over at her, the easy grin still tugging at his lips. The guitar rested against his knee as he sat down, but he didn’t play, didn’t move. He was just watching her now, the way her fingers traced absentminded circles on the edge of the stool, the way her gaze was still bright with that unguarded laughter. It was rare to see her like this—unguarded, fully present—and Harry found himself caught in the moment, not wanting it to end.

Just as that night in July, when we pulled her into her chest to sleep for the night—when it felt like he could call her his as he wrapped his arms around her, basking in their afterglow.

YN let out a soft sigh, the last of her breathless laughter leaving her, and when she looked at him, her expression shifted. Something quieter, more serious. The playful glint in her eyes softened into something almost reverent, like she was seeing him—really seeing him.

“You know, Harry.” She smiled, her voice gentle but firm, like she was about to say something important. “This album–” There was a pause as she exhaled through her nose, but it was light from her enthused realization. “It’s going to go down as a classic. It’s real. You’re real. Your talent, the rawness of it—it’s something people won’t forget.”

The words landed between them like a weight, soft but undeniable. Harry felt his heart skip, his smile faltering just slightly as her words settled in. He’d heard compliments before—so many, often thrown around casually—but this… this was different. The sincerity in her voice, the way her eyes held his, unflinching, unwavering, as if she wasn’t just saying something kind, but something true.

For a moment, the room seemed to shift around him. It was like the air grew thicker, the light softer, the world quieter. He felt exposed, in a way he hadn’t expected, like her words had peeled back a layer he’d been hiding under, a layer he hadn’t even realized was there. The compliment wasn’t just about the music, wasn’t just about the work they’d been doing. It felt personal, like she saw him—not the version of him the world saw, not Harry, the soloist, but him, Harry. The guy trying to figure it all out, pouring every piece of himself into this album, hoping that it would matter.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight, and for a second, he wasn’t sure what to say.

He thought about telling her thank you.

He thought about remaining speechless.

No one had told him something like that in a long time—not like this, not with this kind of weight. He could feel his chest tightening, his pulse thrumming a little too fast, the gravity of her words sinking deeper than he thought they would.

He thought about her words.

He thought about her.

“YN, I—” He started to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, he wondered if maybe she understood him more than he’d ever realized. Maybe that was why her words felt so heavy, why they struck him in a way nothing else had. Because they came from her.

He thought about how much he wanted to say he was starting to fall in love with her.

But before he could say anything else, the door to the studio swung open with a loud creak, breaking the moment like a pebble dropped into still water. The team was back, their voices filling the room as they filed in, the soft hum of conversation and the shuffle of papers cutting through the silence that had wrapped around him and YN.

“Alright, alright, back to it.” Jeff chuckled, ever the dad friend, clapping his hands as he made his way toward the control board. The mood shifted, the studio returning to its usual buzz of activity, the easy rhythm of work settling back into place.

Harry blinked, the spell of the moment breaking as he straightened up, shaking off the sudden heaviness in his chest. YN gave him a small, knowing smile, her eyes still holding a trace of the warmth from before, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She’d already said what mattered.

She knew the look in Harry’s eye.

She had thought about how much she missed him.

She thought about how much that scared her.

With a soft sigh, Harry adjusted the guitar on his lap, nodding as the team gathered around, discussing admin details, technical tweaks, and publicity strategies for the album’s release. The room was buzzing again, the easy laughter and lightness of earlier replaced with the steady hum of work. But Harry’s mind was still lingering on what YN had said, the quiet sincerity of her words looping in the back of his mind.

As the evening stretched on, the work became more mechanical—emails, calls, planning—but Harry’s thoughts kept drifting back to her. He couldn’t shake the way she drifted around the room earlier, like a dandelion wisp dancing in the wind. How her laugh sounded so pretty he wanted to put it in a song. How real it had felt when she’d looked at him and told him what his music would become. It was a compliment, sure, but it was more than that. It was a belief. And for the first time in a long while, Harry felt like someone saw him exactly as he was, and believed in him all the same.

That day at the studio soon began to draw to a close, the golden light from earlier now softening into deep ambers and long shadows. The room, once buzzing with activity, had fallen into a more relaxed rhythm as the team packed up their things, saying their goodbyes with tired but satisfied smiles. The project was moving, inching closer to the finish line.

Harry leaned back, watching from the corner of the room as the last of the crew made their way to the door. The sounds of zippers closing and bags being slung over shoulders filled the space, each member of the team calling out their see-you-laters, their voices fading as they spilled out into the hallway. One by one, they disappeared, until the door swung shut with a final, quiet click, leaving just Harry and YN behind.

The silence settled in slowly, wrapping itself around the room like a warm, familiar blanket. It was the kind of silence that felt more like a presence than an absence, thick and heavy with something unspoken. Harry ran his fingers over the neck of his guitar one last time before placing it back on its stand, the metal strings catching the fading light. His movements were slow, almost deliberate, like he was trying to hold on to the quiet a little longer.

He glanced over his shoulder, noticing that YN was still at the small table near the edge of the room, shuffling her things about. She was moving slower than usual, her hands hovering over her notebook, lingering on the scattered papers like she wasn’t quite ready to leave. Harry chuckled softly, the sound breaking the stillness.

“Need help with all that?” he asked, his voice airy, teasing in a way that felt natural between them.

But YN didn’t respond right away. She kept her eyes down, focused on her things, but her movements were stiffer now, less fluid. There was something different in the way she stood there, something quiet but undeniably present—an undercurrent of tension Harry couldn’t quite place. He felt the air shift, that familiar warmth between them suddenly giving way to something more solemn, more guarded.

“YN?” Harry asked, his voice softer now, his smile fading as he stepped toward her. “Everything alright?”

She looked up then, her eyes catching his for the briefest moment before she quickly glanced away again, like she couldn’t hold the gaze for too long. Her expression was calm, but there was a tightness in her jaw, something held back, something she wasn’t sure how to say. She let out a soft sigh, the weight of whatever was on her mind finally beginning to show.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you.” She started, her voice low and measured, like she was carefully choosing each word. “August thirty-first.” She bit the inside of her lip momentarily. “It’ll be my last day here. My internship—it’s ending.”

The words landed between them like a quiet echo, reverberating in the space left behind by the day’s fading energy. Harry felt the weight of them settle in his chest, heavier than he had expected. He knew the internship wouldn’t last forever—of course, he’d known that—but hearing it out loud, hearing it from her, made it feel real in a way he hadn’t prepared for.

For a moment, Harry didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at her, trying to make sense of the sudden tightness in his throat. It felt like the air had been knocked out of him, but he didn’t quite understand why. She was still there, right in front of him, but the idea of her leaving, of this chapter ending, hit him harder than he thought it would.

“Your last day.” He repeated quietly, more to himself than to her, his brows knitting together slightly.

YN nodded, but she didn’t look at him. She busied herself with the papers in her hands, though it was clear she wasn’t really doing anything—just moving things around to avoid the heaviness of the conversation. The atmosphere had changed, charged with an unsaid emotion. It reminded Harry of the way people talk about those long, hot August nights, the kind where the sky is still bright at 9pm, but you can feel autumn creeping in around the edges, making the warmth feel both infinite and fleeting.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet breath as he leaned against the control board. He wasn’t sure what to say.

Part of him wondered if it was because of the sex. A part of him wanted to ask her to stay, to find some reason to keep her there, keep things as they were. But he knew he couldn’t. That wasn’t the way the world worked, no matter how much you wanted to freeze a moment in time.

“How come?” He finally asked, his voice quieter now, softer in a way that mirrored the dimming light of the room.

YN shrugged slightly, her shoulders barely moving. “I’ve known for a bit. It’s temporary, only a summer internship.”

Harry nodded, understanding, though the weight in his chest hadn’t eased. It was hard for him, realizing that after all the late nights, the music, the moments shared, things would change. And YN—who had always kept that quiet distance, who never let anyone too close—wasn’t just leaving the studio. She was leaving him, even if she didn’t mean it that way.

The room felt smaller now, the silence between them growing heavier with every passing second. Harry looked down at his hands, tracing the worn edges of the soundboard with his thumb, searching for something to say that wouldn’t feel like an end.

“I’ll miss you.” He admitted solemnly, the words simple, but honest. They hung in the air like a truth too big for him to admit, they hung in the air like three words she wouldn’t have believed if he said it.

YN smiled then, a small, bittersweet smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She still looked guarded, her walls firmly in place, but there was something soft in the way she glanced up at him, like maybe she felt it too—the finality of the moment they were both trying to avoid.

“I’ll miss you, too.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

And for a brief, fragile second, it was just them again, standing in the soft glow of the studio lights, the world outside forgotten. The weight of time, of change, of things left unsaid—all of it hung between them, heavy but delicate, like a glass teetering on the edge of a table.

Harry opened his mouth, wanting to say more, to ask her something, anything to keep her there a little longer. But before he could find the words, the moment slipped away, the weight of reality settling back in as YN turned away, gathering the last of her things.

The light from the hallway spilled into the room as she reached for the door, casting a long shadow across the studio floor. Harry watched as she stepped toward it, his heart heavy with the knowledge that everything was about to change, whether he was ready for it or not.

YN hesitated in the hallway, every nerve in her body begging her to leave. Her heart sat heavy in her chest, tongue in cheek as she turned back around, opening the door back up with trembling fingers. She stood in the doorway, cracked enough for her frame to linger. A stripe of the nauseating white light of the hallway waned over him and he remained in the same place she had left him moments ago. “Harry.” She muttered, her voice low, almost weary. There was something in the way she said his name, something different—like maybe she wanted to say more but didn’t know how to.

He perked up, his tummy doing flips. The pearly glow behind her made her seem ethereal—angelic. “Yeah?” His tone gentle but searching, like he was trying to pull something unspoken out of the quiet between them.

She looked at him then, fully, her eyes catching the last remnants of the dim light in the studio. For a moment, the guardedness slipped, just a fraction, and Harry could see something underneath—something vulnerable, something that felt a little like goodbye.

“I’m really glad I got to work with you.” YN’s voice was delicate, her words carrying a weight that made it threaten to crack. “This–this has been more than I ever could’ve asked for.”

She was referring to more than just the music and the internship.

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He didn’t know what to say to that—didn’t know how to tell her that she wasn’t just some random, throwaway intern to him, that these past few months had meant more than just music and late-night studio sessions. She had become a part of his world in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and now that she was leaving, it felt like something vital was being pulled away, leaving him standing on unsteady ground.

“Me too.” He confessed, though he could’ve said more. Harry’s voice was quieter than he intended, his hand running over his face from a feeling he couldn’t admit.

The words hung in the air, soft but honest. YN had seen parts of him that few people did—had understood his music, his vulnerabilities, in a way that made him feel seen. And now, the thought of her not being there—of her walking out that door and leaving all of this behind—made him feel strangely untethered.

YN’s lips curved into a small, almost wistful smile. She looked down at her shoes for a moment, the tip of her sneaker nudging a stray cable on the floor. “I didn’t mean to stay so late.” A weak attempt at lightening the moment. But her eyes betrayed her, the flicker of something deeper still lingering behind her words.

Harry took a step closer, closing the distance between them just slightly. “You know.”Harry mumbled, his tone lighter now, though the heaviness between them still lingered. “This feels a lot like a goodbye when y’have a few weeks still.”

YN glanced up at him, her smile fading into something more thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess we do.” She let out a breathy chuckle, though her voice sounded distant, like she was already somewhere else in her mind.

Silence settled between them again, thicker this time, like the room itself was holding its breath. Harry wanted to say more—wanted to ask her what came next for her, wanted to tell her that maybe things didn’t have to end here—tell her to stay. But he didn’t. The words caught in his throat, tangled up with all the emotions he wasn’t sure how to name.

After a moment, YN shifted her bag on her shoulder and let out a soft breath. “I should get going.” She sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s late.”

Harry nodded, but his chest felt heavy, like he didn’t want her to leave just yet. “Yeah. Right. Let me know you got home okay.”

YN’s smile was small, almost bittersweet. She began to turn in the doorway, her movements slow, like the action of leaving pained her. He sent her a small wave as she gave him one last glance, the door softly clicking shut behind her.

The summer had begun to slip away quietly, the August sun sitting lower in the sky at earlier hours. The air was different that day—thicker, heavier with the weight of something ending. There was a finality to the way the light filtered through the studio’s window, soft and hazy, like the last days of vacation in an old photograph. Everything felt suspended, as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable.

Harry had known this day was coming. He’d tried not to think about it, tried to focus on the album, on the music, on the thousand little tasks that came with putting it all together. But today was different. No matter how much he had tried to push it out of his mind, the date had circled back around, staring him in the face.

August thirty-first.

YN’s last day.

He arrived at the studio earlier than usual, the streets outside still quiet, the early morning light pale and soft against the burning. The usual buzz of excitement—the thrill of working on his debut album—was muted, overshadowed by the knowledge that by the end of the day, YN would be gone.

As he set his guitar in the corner of the room, he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. She was already there, sitting at her usual spot by the control board, her notebook open in front of her, a pen poised between her fingers. She was focused, scribbling something down, but her movements were slower, more deliberate today. Harry could tell. She knew it too.

The room was quieter than usual, the hum of the equipment the only sound as he walked over to her. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either. It felt like there were a hundred things left unsaid, hanging in the air between them, waiting to be acknowledged. But neither of them said anything. Not yet.

“Morning.” Harry said softly, settling down into his chair across from her. He didn’t dare to greet her with good morning, because it really wasn’t. Not today. He didn’t know when it would be again.

“Morning.” She murmured, voice almost resigned, not looking up from her notebook. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Harry felt his chest tighten.

They spent the morning working in the usual rhythm, going over the last details of the album. It should have been a day like any other, but there was a tension under the surface, something neither of them could quite shake. Every moment felt like it was leading up to something, like the end was creeping closer with each passing minute.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, the studio had filled with the usual buzz of people—producers, assistants, technicians—all busy, all focused. But Harry’s mind was somewhere else. He kept glancing over at YN, watching the way she moved around the studio, the way she interacted with everyone, like it was just another day. But he could see it in the way she lingered on certain tasks, the way her eyes scanned the room as if she was memorizing it.

It was nearing the end of the day when the rest of the team began wrapping up, gathering their things, making plans for the next session. The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, casting the room in that soft, golden light that made everything feel both beautiful and bittersweet. Harry watched as the others said their goodbyes to YN, one by one, thanking her for her work, telling her to stay in touch. She smiled, gracious as ever, but there was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were already one foot out the door.

And then, it was just the two of them.

The door clicked shut behind the last person, and suddenly the room felt much bigger, the space between them much quieter. Harry stood by the window, his hands in his pockets, watching the light fade as the day slipped into evening. YN was still by the control board, slowly packing up her things—her notebook, her pens, the little scraps of paper she’d scribbled ideas on over the past few months. Her movements were slow, deliberate, holding onto to the moment just a little longer.

Harry turned to face her, his pulse thrumming a little too fast. He wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t prepared for this moment, not really. He had spent the last few weeks trying to avoid thinking about it, but now, standing there in the dimming light, he realized he still didn’t want her to leave.

“Are you all set?” He asked quietly, his voice sounding too casual for how much dread he felt inside.

YN glanced up, her eyes meeting his for the first time all day. There was a flicker of something there—something that matched the weight in his chest—but she quickly looked away, zipping up her bag with a small nod.

“I guess so.” She forced a smile, standing up from her chair. “I think that’s everything.”

The silence that followed felt as if nails scratched an old chalkboard, stretching out between them like a line drawn in the sand. Harry took a slow breath, trying to steady himself, trying to find the words he hadn’t been able to say all day. He watched as she slung her bag over her shoulder, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the soundboard one last time, like she was saying goodbye to something bigger than just the room.

Harry wanted to ask her to stay, wanted to tell her that things didn’t have to end here—that maybe, just maybe, there was more for them beyond this room, beyond this summer. But he couldn’t. He knew her too well by now, knew that she had already made up her mind.

“I guess this is goodbye then.” She frowned, eyes glasses over.

His stomach lurched. She had his number, of course, but Harry didn’t know if she would keep in contact. He didn’t know she would erase the summer from her mind to ease her heart. Harry swallowed hard, the lump in his throat causing him to wince. “Goodbye, YN.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The room was bathed in the last traces of sunshine, everything feeling suspended in time. And then, slowly, YN stepped toward the door, her fingers brushing the handle. She paused, glancing back at him one last time, her expression unreadable.

And he caught himself. The all too familiar lump in his throat at a dull ache, the tip of his nose tickling as he felt tears well up. His feet moved faster than he could think, just a blink of time, and his hand was wrapped around her forearm, pulling YN away from the door. “That’s it?” He asked, his cheeks flushing red and his voice cracked. “That’s all?”

She frowned, her nostrils flaring as she willed away her tears. She adjusted the tote on her shoulder, averting her gaze from Harry to the wall behind him.

“Stay.” He pleaded, she only shook her head.

Stray tears fell from his eyes, heartbroken. “I can have them extend your internship, or something—please.”

Her eyes met his again, stomach twisting at his tears. “Harry that’s a hand out.” She muttered, sighing with a sadness she tried to push away. “I have to move forward.”

He sniffled, lighting placing his hand on her cheek as he brought her into a kiss. His tears made his lips wet, nose too stuffy to breathe through it—but he didn’t care. He figured this was goodbye, for a while.

Her lips were stilled against his until she melted into it, but it was fleeting. She placed her hand upon the one he had on her cheek, removing it as she pulled her face away. She intertwined her fingers with his, placing a few soft kisses to his knuckles.

He only stood there, lips quivering with tears that were unable to stop. As she began to loosen the grip on his hand, putting his arm back to his side, an audible cry left his mouth. It wasn’t loud, barely above a whisper, but it was there. “Y’pinky promised me.” He shook his head, “That we would stay friends.” He took a deep breath, wiping away some of his tears. “But I know you’re gonna disappear on me.”

This time she let her tears fall, taking a step away—the guilt was allconsiming. “Take care of yourself, H.”

And just like that, she was gone as quick as she came.

But that was two months ago, and Harry was right—she barely kept in contact with him. He tried not to take it personally for a while, seeing as she didn’t update her socials as much either. She disappeared just like a snuffed out flickered flame of a candle.

She would respond occasionally, curious to know if he was okay, how the album was going. It was always fine.

Fine, fine, fine.

But he wasn’t fine, it wasn’t fine. He missed her, Harry felt that she broke their promise. And he wanted to be angry, to block her from his mind, but he couldn’t.

He was planning to fly to LA to finish the rest of the album in late September, but couldn’t do it. He remained in New York, not ready to let go of the many things created in that studio.

It was two in the morning as he stared at the bright glare of his phone, the recently sent attachment of the final cut of Carolina staying the dismal state of delivered.

He knew she had her read receipts on, which is why he didn’t swipe away from their messages—heart thudding against his chest as he waited to see if status would ever change to read.

Of course, undeniably so, the song was about another girl. But now it felt like a contradictory, because the only thing he thought about when listening to it was YN.

He knew now that he loved her, that he was in love with her the minute she sent her nod of approval for the From the Dining Table recording.

He was a walking joke to the saying of, she fell first, he fell harder—because he fell first, and then fell even harder.

Harry groaned, shutting his phone off and letting it slip into his lap as he leaned back onto the bed. The heel of his palm sat against his eyes, the pressure allowing for the kaleidoscope of colors and patterns to play on the inside of his eyelids.

He wondered if slamming his head against the wall would feel better than the ache of heartbreak.

However, he didn’t want to test that theory out. He’ll let it remain as a hypothesis for now.

His hands brushed down to his sides, his vision fading back to normal as he stared at the ceiling. He wanted to see if he could go to sleep, maybe even watch a movie—but his phone vibrated against his thigh and he swore the world stopped spinning on its axis for a beat.

He hesitated to look, if it was another weather notification he would probably lose his mind.

But he sat up anyway, grimacing as he clicked the power button, dreading the possible sight of the familiar blue icon.

Yn: everything i imagined it to be and more

Yn: forever proud of you harry styles

His shoulders faltered, a frown settling upon his lips.

h: I miss you.

YN stared at the message, lips parted. She still sat on the bathroom counter where she had been for the last ten minutes, smooshed close to the mirror in attempt to shape her eyebrows.

But as soon as she saw the song attachment pop up three minutes ago, the tweezers remained in its clattered state in the sink.

When the song emitted from her phone she couldn’t help but smile, she swear she could’ve floated. And then she cried.

h: I have 2 more songs to finalize before we send it through to be released next year.

h: Miss picking your brain.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, a pause in her breath. She wasn’t sure what to say. Part of her wanted to respond right away, to fill the silence with words, to close the gap between them that had grown wider with every passing day since she left. But the other part of her—the part that had been protecting her heart all these months—wanted to stay distant, to keep things as they were, safely tucked away in the past.

YN sighed, running a hand through her hair as she glanced at herself in the mirror. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her. The one who had walked out of the studio with a heavy heart and the quiet resolve to move forward, to start anew. But that resolve was wavering now, and Harry’s words were making it impossible to ignore the ache she’d been trying to avoid.

Her phone buzzed again. Another message.

h: Still time to come back, you know. We could finish the album together.

Her heart clenched at the invitation. She could picture him, sitting in the dim light of his apartment, maybe lying in bed, the soft glow of his phone the only thing lighting up his face. She imagined the look in his eyes as he typed the words, that same softness she had seen in him so many times before—when they worked late into the night, when he caught her staring too long, when he let his guard down just enough for her to see the vulnerability underneath.

But she had walked away for a reason. She knew what it would do to her—how easy it would be to fall back into the rhythm of working with Harry, of getting lost in his music, in him. And she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. She wasn’t sure if she could handle the intensity of what lingered between them, the unspoken connection that had grown stronger with every conversation, every glance, every laugh shared.

She didn’t know if she wanted to take the risk to be left again.

h: Please. Just think about it.

Her fingers trembled as she typed, mouth ran dry. She didn’t know what to say, but she knew she couldn’t leave him hanging.

Yn: i’ll think about it

It was short, maybe too short, but it was all she could offer in that moment. She stared at the message for a long time before hitting send, her stomach twisting with the uncertainty of what came next.

On the other end, Harry stared at his phone, his heart sinking as he read her reply. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. It was something in between, something that left him in limbo, waiting for an answer he wasn’t sure would ever come.

He sat there in the silence of his apartment, the city outside moving on as it always did. He wanted to see her again, wanted to finish what they’d started, not just with the music, but with whatever had been building between them all those months. But he knew he couldn’t push her. YN was careful, guarded, and he had learned that the hard way. She had her reasons for keeping her distance, reasons she had never fully shared with him.

But still, he hoped. Hoped that maybe, just maybe, she’d come back. That maybe, for once, she’d take a chance.

And so he waited, the phone resting in his lap, the weight of the unsaid words heavy in the room around him.

The days passed slowly after that, each one blending into the next as Harry focused on finishing the album. He threw himself into the work, pouring all of his energy into the final tracks, refining the sound, changing some lyrics, adding new elements.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. The songs were good—great, even—but without YN’s input, without her presence in the studio, it all felt a little hollow. He missed her—missed her laugh, missed the way she’d furrow her brow when she was deep in thought, missed the way she made him feel like he didn’t have to be Harry Styles all the time. With her, he was just Harry. And that was enough.

He loved her.

He hadn’t heard from her since that night. No messages, no calls. It was like she had disappeared all over again, slipping out of his life as quietly as she had entered it.

It was November sixteenth when his phone buzzed again, a message lighting up the screen. The sky was dull, a harsh breeze whipping around the branches of trees—gearing up for a downpour. His heart raced as he saw her name, his fingers fumbling to unlock the phone.

Yn: you’re in ny still?

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected to hear from her again, not after weeks of silence.

h: Still here. Why?

There was a long pause before her next message came through.

Yn: i’ve been thinking about you

It was as if the system his body needed to stay alive had paused, his mind racing with possibilities. He couldn’t believe it—after all this time, she was finally considering it.

h: If you ever feel ready, I’m right where you left me.

Another pause.

Yn: it was ever just about the album h

Her message hit him like a punch to the chest, the weight of it settling in slowly. He had known—of course, he had known—but seeing it there, written out in front of him, made it all the more real.

Harry stared at the message for a long time, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he tried to find the right words. But what could he say? He felt the same way, had felt it for months, but he hadn’t known how to tell her.

He attempted to, the day she left, cried even. But she walked away before he had the chance to continue.

h: I know.

It was simple, but it was true. He did know. He had known all along.

Yn: are you still recording at the same studio?

Harry’s heart leapt at her words, a surge of hope flooding through him.

h: Yeah, actually here right now. Brainstorming by myself for a bit.

Yn: buzz me in. i’m outside

Harry blinked, rereading the message a few times, the tips of his fingers all pins and needles

Outside.

She was there—outside, in the cold, waiting. Without thinking, he shot out of his chair, the legs scraping the studio floor with a harsh screech. His phone almost slipped from his hand as he fumbled to send her a quick reply. His movements were so frantic he had forgotten to press send.

He grabbed his jacket, threw it over his shoulders, and bolted for the door, his mind racing. She was here.

He wondered if he should slow down, would it be weird to greet her breathless at the door?

He rolled his eyes at himself. stop overthinking.

The hallway lights flickered slightly as he made his way down the corridor, his steps fast. He wasn’t sure what he would say, wasn’t sure what she would say, but none of that mattered. All he knew was that she was here, and that was enough for him right now.

When he finally reached the front entrance, he paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the buzzer. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions bubbling inside him. There was a weight to this moment—something bigger than just a simple reunion. He could feel it, like the air had thickened with all the unsaid words between them.

He pressed the button.

A soft buzz echoed through the small space, followed by the familiar click of the door unlocking. Harry pulled it open, stepping out into the crisp November air. The wind whipped around him, biting at his skin, but it didn’t matter because there she was.

YN stood a few feet away, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, her hair tousled by the wind. Her face was partially shadowed in the dingy light from the streetlamps, but he could still see her eyes—those same eyes that had watched him in the studio all those months ago, the ones that saw more than most people ever did.

The eyes of a girl he fell so pathetically in love with.

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other in the cold, neither of them moving. It was like time had paused again, just as it had so many times before when they were alone in the studio, surrounded by music but drowning in something deeper. Harry’s breath caught in his throat, unsure how to break the silence.

Finally, YN spoke, her voice quiet but steady, cheeks flushed from both her deepening blush and the cold. “Hi, Harry.”

The sound of her voice hit him like a wave, familiar and comforting, and all the tension he’d been holding onto seemed to unravel at once. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and smiled, though his heart was still racing. “Hi.”

It was such a simple exchange, but it felt like everything. For weeks, Harry had been caught in this strange limbo, not knowing if he’d see her again, not knowing if the distance between them was permanent. But here she was, standing right in front of him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like things were finally shifting.

“It’s cold.” His voice is light, jutting his chin ever so slightly to the outside that existed around them. “Come in, please.”He felt unsure of how much to say, how much to push.

YN hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering toward the door behind him. She shifted on her feet, the wind catching the ends of her coat and lifting it slightly. For a second, Harry thought she might say no, that maybe she was having second thoughts. But then, she gave him a small nod, a barely-there smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Harry held the door open as she walked past him, the familiar warmth of the studio wrapping around them both as they stepped inside. It was quiet—just the two of them now, the usual noise of the team gone for the night. He led her down the hallway toward the control room, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, thoughts spinning with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t quite figure out how to.

When they reached the room, Harry gestured toward the seat she’d always occupied—the one by the soundboard where she’d spent so many hours offering ideas, tweaking lyrics, helping him make a few songs what they were. YN paused for a second before sitting down, her hands resting in her lap as she glanced around the room.

“It feels the same.” Her laugh was breathy, a sadness to it. Her eyes lingered on the equipment, the scattered notes, the half-empty coffee cups that still littered the space. “Like nothing’s changed.”

Harry sat down across from her, his fingers brushing absently against the neck of the guitar that leaned against the chair. “Not much has.” He admitted, his voice quiet. “Except for you not being here.”

She looked at him then, searching his face, and Harry felt that familiar pull—the one that had always drawn him to her, even when she’d kept herself at arm’s length. There was something in her gaze, something heavy with unsaid words, and he wondered if she could feel it too.

A beat had passed. “I missed this, she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I missed you, H.

His cheeks felt hot, the words landing between them like a confession. He swallowed, his chest tightening with the weight of everything he wanted to say in return.

“I missed you too.”Harry murmured, the truth of it echoing in every syllable. And for the first time in months, the silence between them didn’t feel so heavy. It felt like maybe, just maybe, things were starting to fall back into place. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.

She shifted on her feet, eyes falling to the floor. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was sincere, dripping with the guilt she’s battled for months. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I needed to take some time, figure things out.”

He nodded, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. He would’ve tried to look better if he knew he’d be seeing her today. “It hurt.”

She pulled her lips between her teeth, eyes glossed over as she nodded. She had to look away, not able to face him. She knew she had done to him the same thing she was so afraid of—she just left. It gutted her for a while, wanting to reach out and apologize. She had this anxious feeling he wouldn’t forgive her. Rightfully so.

But it’s Harry.

He ran his hand down his face, a swirl of emotions becoming a cyclone within him. He frowned, seeing how spaced she was—as if she wasn’t here. “You need to tell me what’s on your mind.”

His tone was a bit more straightforward than he originally intended, but it was the truth. She showed up asking to be buzzed in, he felt as if he shouldn’t be the one digging.

She shook her head, trying to blink away some of her tears. “Guilt, sorrow, you.”

He nodded, looking at her expectantly to finish. He wished she could say her feelings as fast as she could walk away from them, but she was trying at least, and it felt like a start.

She inhaled shakily, running her fingers through her hair as her lip continued to tremble. “Guilt for leaving you the same what I feared being left.” Her voice had a tremor, her breaths a bit quicker. “Guilt for not saying sorry sooner. The pain of missing you—.” She whimpered, the same as Harry did the day she left.

“The guilt and sorrow will fade.” Harry murmured, his heart aching at the sight of her tears. “Y’just to work through it, don’t ignore it.”

YN wiped her cheeks, fingers shaking as she tried to regulate her breathing.. “And you?” Her voice was small, fragile, afraid of the answer.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Me?”

“Have I lost you?”

He frowned, the words caught in his throat. The question felt like it knocked the air from his lungs, and for a moment he didn’t know how to respond. The silence stretched between them, unbearable. He let his shoulders falter, “I love you, YN.”

The words hung between them, raw and unfiltered. It was stripped of all pretense, just the truth he carried with him for months. He watched her for any sort of reaction, and she just kind of stood there. He wondered for a moment if he even said anything, if it was just loud in his head but he actually had just left her hanging. “I love you.” He repeated, just in case.

"I–” She tried to speak, but her voice cracked.

She swallowed hard, tears still clinging to her lashes as she searched his face. The pain, the guilt, the regret—it was all still there, but beneath it, there was something else, something softer. Something she had kept hidden for so long, she wasn't sure how to let it out. “You do?”

He nodded, remaining vulnerable. He had no clue if she would reciprocate, or if she’d just walk away if met with the familiar fear. “Think I always have.”

For the first time, it didn't feel like there was a barrier. It felt like something was breaking, something that had been keeping them apart for far too long.

Without thinking, she reached for him, her fingers brushing against his arm, tentative at first, but then firmer as she closed the distance between them. He didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. She melted into him, her face pressed against his chest as the tears flowed freely now, the weight of months of separation, guilt, and pain finally slipping away.

Harry held her tightly, his chin resting on top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body against his. This was what he had been missing—this. Not just the music, not just the friendship. It was her. All of her.

"I love you," he whispered again, the words soft and full of promise. "I’m here."

It was them, just them—like she’d never left.

[punkbarbarian]

for folks who don’t follow them on instagram— ally beardsley wrote part of an op-ed in the washington post for the 50th dnd anniversary about a moment playing dnd that really stuck with them and i wanted to share it here!

“a character’s journey — and my own”

I was an aspiring comedian in Los Angeles and had just landed a salaried job at the comedy website CollegeHumor. My co-worker and friend Brennan Lee Mulligan was looking for six comedians to create a show that would be like an at-home game of D&D. Why not? “Dimension 20” became a weird punctuation to my day.

I remember there being too many rules to remember. I kept turning to my friend, Brian Murphy, to ask which dice I should be rolling. I wasn’t paid overtime, but I loved the group and was having a lot of fun.

For the second season, I had my sea legs. I created a character for the campaign who was transgender. I had started going by the gender neutral they/them pronouns at work and among friends, but sourcing hormones or getting surgery seemed equal parts expensive and invasive. A fun thing about fantasy is stripping away the crunchy, real-world limitations and asking yourself: “What would I do if I could do anything?”

That season’s arc for my character, Pete, was extremely euphoric for me. I had described him as a trans cowboy you might see at Burning Man, and the artist drew him dressed as a freaky Hunter S. Thompson in an open shirt to show his top surgery scars. He has wild magic — uncontrollable and dangerous in the game mechanics — which we used to explore the painful chaos of leaving a family that doesn’t accept you.

Since then, I’ve started testosterone HRT and had top surgery. It’s funny to listen back to myself playing a character who had transitioned in ways I hadn’t. It’s full of inaccuracies that make me smile. Pete takes a testosterone pill every day; I now know it’s a weekly injection or a topical gel. I see my face, one wrapped up in playing something so new but instantly right. It was like an oracle. A near-future me who has health insurance! Who’s talked to their mom about being trans and even spent a week post-top surgery on that mom’s couch in Temecula, Calif!

As I started transitioning my appearance, seeing that in front of the camera felt raw. I was starting hormones, and my voice was cracking. Realizing it was all being recorded felt naked at times, but it has been really nice to talk to fans and friends about how important it is to see someone that looks like you taking a big risk on themself.

With Pete, it was really important to me to tell a story other than the dramatic lead-up to a medical transition. So we started with him having just gotten out of surgery, but that’s all you see of that process. Part of his backstory is that he doesn’t have a relationship with his transphobic parents, and before shooting the first episode, I felt sick to my stomach. I’ve been on a journey with my parents, and our starting place didn’t have much common ground. When my character meets with his father, it felt as though I was actually running into my own on the street.

Brennan could sense that discomfort, and as my character’s dad was about to call Pete by his deadname, Brennan shut the interaction down, surrounding his dad with bubbles that carried him into the sky. Magic is the power and freedom to manipulate your reality, and you can banish the awful voices in your life — let them swirl away into the air.

[bratbarzal]

Let It Happen (LH43) 1/3

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

WC: 17k

If you're ready, all I mean is we could go, I've never craved someone's attention as much as yours.

General Warnings: an almost unbearable amount of sarcasm and snark, even more idiotic shenanigans, many affectionate empty threats of murder/violence, fluff, mentions of golf 🤢, cursing and I'm pretty sure that's it for this half

A/N: in line with the general consensus lmao this has been split, part two will be posted as soon as it's finished (lol) but it's best read as one whole fic, it isn't a multi-part situation really!! it was originally supposed to be my submission for the eras tour fic challenge (hence the graphic I'm too attached to to change) but took a different direction to the song I was given, and I missed the deadline, and I pretty much listened to the secret of us exclusively while writing this whole thing. also dropping an overwhelmingly summery fic in december might actually be my brand. keep your eyes peeled for a christmas fic in july.

very special shoutout to shea @sleepretreat I made a random comment one day that luke gives seth cohen energy, and she fanned that flame like a full time job. ily shea!! I hope this lives up to any expectations and I owe a lot to your instigating!!

AS ALWAYS!!! never proofread!! I'll probably get around to it when the thought of a spelling mistake keeps me awake at night. and also!! please let me know what you think I am like a teeny tiny little plant that can only thrive under the constant shower of validation and you don't want me to wither and die do you? (I’m kidding) (I’m not)

You kind of, sort of, think you might hate summer.

You haven’t always felt this way, though. Growing up, it had always been your favourite time of the year. 

No school? Check.

Going on vacation, sometimes multiple, all expenses covered by your parents? Double check.

Getting to do all the cool things you don’t have time for in the school year with all your friends? Concerts, festivals, beach days, bonfires on the evenings. Check, check and check again.

But 4 years ago, your whole world as you knew it was torn apart, and summers have never been the same, since.

A season that was once filled with light and companionship, never ending plans and joviality, became darker - isolated, getting yourself out of the house even if everyone else was busy, driving just to drive and making the best of your own company. 

School ended up becoming your escape, especially since you had started college - your studies and the chaos of Greek life distracting you from the calamitous state of your home life, making new friends that became like family and sticking to them like glue, where possible, clingy and possessive to the point of ruin, almost - and so the lack of it in the summers now actually sends you into some sort of warped spiral.

It’s manageable in the winter and spring, the breaks no longer than a few weeks at a time, but going home for summer is somewhat of a nightmare.

It’s hard to go back, hard to ignore the mess your mind has become when it’s just you and your mother - or, you, your mother and whatever bottle of pinot she’s 3 glasses deep into at any given time of the day - and you’re sat in a house that’s a cold reminder of the warmth that once filled it. 

But when Ellie - your best friend since moving to college, the girl who took the sister part of sorority sister to the next level at all possible opportunities over the years - found out you’d put your name down to be the caretaker for your sorority house instead of going home, she had put her foot down on your summertime sadness session.

Which is how you end up moving into her family home - spending the first few weeks integrating yourself into their routine while trying to grip desperately onto some form of your own - trying not to get too used to the feeling of such a big family when you know it won’t be forever.

You braid her little sister’s hair everyday, kick a soccer ball around with her little brother when he needs someone to stand in goal, wash the dishes with her mom, talk sports with her dad, and before long, you blend like a chameleon into their dynamic.

You pick up a summer job at the country club to cling back onto your independence. Your commute provides the solitude and quiet you‘ve grown accustomed to in the years before, a bus journey through town with headphones on, watching the scenery and admiring the greenery until you get to work, donning your navy blue polo and tucking your little notepad into your hip apron as you serve tables at the clubhouse restaurant and bar. 

It’s a much needed escape from Ellie, if you’re honest.

You love that girl with all your heart, appreciate her housing you more than you’ll ever be able to say, but if you have to hear her sit and mope about how hopelessly in love she is with Jack Hughes for even a second longer, you’re going to vomit. Or scream. Or both.

Jack and Ellie grew up together - their families close, Ellie’s dad best friends with Jack’s uncle, or something - and she’s been into him since he had teeth missing - a point she loves to hammer home when it comes to you always listing that as one of his (many, if it’s up to you) cons. Considering his job, and the fact he already lost one, not too long ago, a toothless boyfriend seems like a massive ick, if you’re honest. 

But Ellie is beyond reason when it comes to him. She worships the ground he walks on - talks about him non-stop, messages him every day, regales you with stories you, awfully, but realistically, couldn’t care less about - and it’s the only real problem about living with her.

Even beyond the summer, you two had shared a room your first two years in college, still live in the same house - and it’s a year round problem.

But being unable to escape, having your days tied to close to hers, and knowing that it’s bound to be worse with proximity, Jack back in Michigan for the summer, himself, she’s starting to drive you up the wall.

It wouldn’t bother you if you had never met Jack, but the two of you don’t exactly get along. He’s rude, and self-absorbed, and had looked down on you the first time he ever laid eyes on you, and you really shouldn’t let it get to you, but you do - the thought that your best friend is in love with an asshole, and that she won’t let you hear the end of it. 

Won’t stop whining about how he’ll never feel the same, or that she can’t handle another summer of biting her tongue, of being around him, feeling the way she does, and not being able to do anything about it.

She deserves better. 

Ellie has a heart of gold, and she deserves someone who handles it with care. If Jack Hughes doesn’t like her back, that’s his loss - but you’re kind of getting sick of telling her that.

Getting through a whole summer of it is going to be hard, you think, but it’s better than the alternative. Better than being entirely alone. So you put on a brave face, use work as your escape in the same way you usually do with school, and avoid blowing your top for as long as you can, suffering through the late nights and heart to hearts where Jack is the sole topic of discussion, and bask in the good stuff.

In the chaos of her siblings, in the closeness of her family, and the way they’ve welcomed you with open arms.

This summer could be okay, you’ve just got to give it a chance. 

Luke Hughes loves summer.

He loves being back home in Michigan, spending his days out on the lake, or making the trip out to parade around Ann Arbor, catching up with all his college buddies, making the rounds at all the UMich sporting events he now gets a VIP pass to thanks to his last name.

The routine of it all is familiar, and warming, and it restores a sense of normality that playing in the NHL for the past year has so brutally ripped from him, already. 

He had enjoyed starting his summer overseas - making the team for the world championships and competing beyond the abysmal end to his rookie season - had enjoyed the time away from his brothers, if he’s honest. Quinn and the Canucks making it a few rounds into the playoffs, and Jack back home recovering from getting surgery on his shoulder - and it’s the latter he needed the reprieve from.

He does love living with his brother.

Jack looks after him in ways he’ll never really be able to make it up to him for. He always has, Quinn has too, but ever since Luke got drafted to the Devils, Jack has helped him adjust to the chaos of his career without much fuss or hardship.

And he really is grateful for that.

But, God, can he be annoying.

Especially when it comes to his infatuation with his best friend, Ellie.

Jack and Ellie have always been close - despite the fact she’s Luke’s age - and grew up thick as thieves, spending summers together, especially when the family moved to Michigan, and Ellie’s family were just on the other side of town. 

He’s always been obsessed with her, even if it hasn’t always been love - but these last few years have been different. Like a switch flipped in his head when Jack saw what Ellie was like when he came to visit Luke in his freshman year of college.

A version of Ellie that was no longer just his - no longer exclusive to their summer bubble, and lived in a world beyond lounging by the lake and hanging out with the Hughes family.

A version of Ellie who liked partying, liked schmoozing and charming everybody she came into contact with, liked being the centre of everyone else’s attention, not just Jack’s.

And it’s that version of Ellie that has driven Luke’s brother crazy, which has, in turn, started to drive Luke crazy. He talks about her non-stop, and it was those much needed weeks away in Czechia that almost had Luke forgetting just how stupid his brother has gotten about the whole thing.

Until he came home to Michigan, and Jack, in all the commotion with his shoulder, with ending his season early and starting his summer off alone, has worked himself into such a stupor about the whole thing that merely a week into his return, he has driven Luke up the wall. 

He’s grumpy, all the time - which leads to him being snarky, all the time. He huffs and puffs around the house so much Luke is starting to think he might need an inhaler, and he really can’t take any more.

Not when he’s making such a show of his irritation, stomping around with heavy feet and slamming doors that don’t need to be shut in the first place. 

“What crawled up your ass and died there?” Luke frowns as he follows Jack into the kitchen upon his return from therapy, holding out for the doors he swings open with a little too much vigour so that they don’t swing back into his brother’s slinged-shoulder. “I thought the physio is going alright?”

“It is,” Jack huffs, storming over to the fridge and yanking it open, the jars and bottles in the door clanking together in a way that makes Luke cringe. “I’m fine.”

“Tell that to all the hinges you’re testing the limits of.” 

“Don’t start with me, Luke, I’m not in the mood.”

“You just said you’re fine.” Luke rolls his eyes as he starts to scroll through his group chat with his friends from college, trying to check who said they might be free today to get him out of this vicious circle.

“It’s nothing.”

“Clearly not.” It’s interactions like this that confirm to Luke just how annoying Jack has become - because what reason does he have to be so evasive? Luke is handing him the opportunity to air out his grievances on a silver platter, and he’s rather slam cupboards and create creases in his forehead from frowning 24/7.

“Fine, it’s Ellie.”

Luke wishes he never bothered asking, although he has been wondering why he’s been seeing way less of her already this summer. He had figured Ellie was away with family until he saw her at the gas station the other night - had watched from the car as Jack had what seemed like a heated conversation by the entrance. 

“She’s refusing to hang out with me.”

“Has she said why?” Luke asks, although he doesn’t really care. He’s just asking to get it out of the way in the hopes that Jack talking about it might lighten the load, might make his own life a little easier. 

It’s the bitter muttering of your name that captures Luke’s full attention, his neck audibly cracking at the speed in which his head shoots up, no longer caring what could possibly be going on with the boys in the group chat. 

“She isn’t going back to whatever fiery hell pit it is that she comes from for the summer, and she’s staying with Ellie’s family, therefore Ellie isn’t staying with us.”

Luke hasn’t heard your name in a while. Not since he left college last year, not since he got caught up in the whirlwind life in the NHL, when a schoolboy crush on a girl he interacted with once in his entire college career became the least of his worries.

But one utterance of it has his spine straightening, just like it would have done just over a year ago.

You’re in Michigan. You’re at Ellie’s, on the other side of town. You’re barely two degrees of separation from him.

“Why can’t Ellie bring her here?” Luke asks, throat dry and voice breaking so subtly that he hopes Jack doesn’t notice. That could be fun. Would make up for the hell his brother has been putting him through since he got here. 

Maybe a little glorious sunshine might finally get you to notice his existence. He wouldn’t mind third wheeling Jack and Ellie if you were there, too. It would give him the perfect opportunity to prove he’s worthy of your attention - too shy and too scared to do so, back in college, but he’s different, now. Confident, almost. More sure of himself.

“She hates me.” Jack huffs, “Last time we met she was giving me the stink eye all night.”

And of course it would be his brother to ruin his plans, yet again. You’ll probably hate him, too - a hatred so strong for Jack that it seeps through his entire bloodline, because Luke of all people knows he can be annoying like that. 

“Trust me, she probably doesn’t care enough to hate you,” Luke scoffs, not realising the spool of information he’s just given Jack to unravel. 

“You know her?”

“We had a class together. I know of her.”

Not the truth, but not exactly a lie.

Luke knows a lot about you. It’s borderline creepy, the observations he can still remember, even after so long.

He knows you like only like coffee if it’s iced, had seen you with too many clear plastic cups to count, had watched plump lips chewing at straws by the time you had finished the drink. He had even, one time, tried to zoom in on a picture of your order printed on the side in one of his many states of delusion where he had been trying to build himself up to ask you out. 

He knows you can hold your own in an argument, had watched you debate with the best of them in your business comms class, has watched you shoot down most guys that approach you with a sharp tongue and even sharper wit, and has watched you take down a frat guy or two, usually in defence of your sorority sisters - who Luke noticed you’re the most protective of. 

He knows you match your perfume to the colour of your outfit, had notice you smelled citrusy like lemons in yellow, floral like roses in pink, sweet like candy in purple, and clean like fresh cotton in blue. 

He knows the pieces of hair that frame your face curl when wet from the rain. Knows you used to volunteer at the pool on the weekends it was open to the kids of the community, would teach them how to swim. He knows you listen to Taylor Swift and has heard you humming just about every song of hers he knows.

But he doesn’t really know you - not on the level Jack is assuming, when his eyes widen and hope flashes across his crystal irises.

“You know how I’m your favourite brother?”

“No,”

“And I let you live with me all year?”

“My name’s on the lease.”

“Maybe you could talk to her for me?”

Luke sighs, shoulders heavy and eyes rolling practically to the back of his head. “I already told you, I don’t really know her like that.” 

“C’mon, you could at least try! I’m dying here, Luke! She’s hogging all of Ellie’s time, and she won’t give me the time of day if I try!”

If only Jack knew how much time you’d ever given Luke, he wouldn’t be asking him such an absurd request.

You’re so out of his league, it isn’t even funny. He probably couldn’t convince you to light a candle in a power cut, much less to give his annoying brother a shot to prove himself.

“You’re wasting your time, Jack,” Luke responds, “I’m gonna meet Dylan at the club. No, you can’t come.”

And by the time Luke makes it out to his car, he’s relieved to have ditched that conversation, entirely. He knows what’s waiting when he gets home, what his brother is going to be like for the next few months to come, but a temporary relief is all he needs.

He had already been planning on getting a few late morning holes in at the club, and meeting up with Dylan had been a white lie, needing some alone time away from Jack’s incessant whining to think about how he was going to survive the summer - and seeing you on your break, perched on the edge of the fountain in the courtyard by the clubhouse bar, basking in the sun and talking with your co-worker, he feels like he might have just struck gold.

Since when do you work here?

He supposes since you decided to spend your summer with Ellie’s family - it only makes sense. Ellie doesn’t live too far from the club - not as close as the lake house, but closer than Ann Arbor, at least. She’d worked in the club shop last summer, even when Jack insisted he’d pay for whatever she needed while she was staying with them - had said it was nice to pass the time with something else while they all went off doing whatever - and he assumes you’re doing the same. 

It’s the first time he’s seen you in a while, outside of coming across your pictures on his Instagram feed occasionally, or the flash of your figure in Ellie’s stories. 

He had thought that, after the year he’s had, he’d be over schoolboy crushes like this - would be over the way his breath catches just at the sight of you, over the way the hairs on the back of his neck prick up and stand to attention, over the way his throat goes dry as he watches your eyes crinkle from afar, watches your lips curve up into a heart-stopping grin.

But it’s like he’s picked up straight from where he left off at the end of his college career, pining after you from afar with hearts in his eyes and feet that start to shuffle at just the thought of approaching you.

If he’s going to do this, though, he needs to be clever about it, he thinks.

Approaching you on your break, limited to the amount of time he can use to put his point across, wasting yours, doesn’t seem like something that will work.

Which is how he finds himself bypassing you completely and walking straight into the bar, offering a friendly nod to the guy stood at the front of house, and letting him point him toward the right section to be served in. 

It isn’t long before you’re in front of him, sidling up to his booth, and he had almost forgotten how pretty you are up close. Hair clipped up with loose strands framing your face, chewing at your plump bottom lip as you scribble on your notepad to get your pen to work. And your honeyed voice settling deep in the pit of his stomach, warmth spreading throughout as you introduce yourself, like he has no clue who you are, and tell him you’ll be his server, “What can I get for you?”

“Five minutes of your time?”

The Luke that spent his college years obsessing over you might have stuttered - his voice might have broke, squeaked or choked in your presence - but while his throat does feel a little dry, he’s able to maintain his cool now, even when you look up from your scribblings to meet his eye. Maybe he can do this. Maybe he has matured.

His heart might jump in his chest, his mouth might tingle, his spine might stiffen, but he holds your gaze, hoping if you see a reflection of confidence that you might give him the time of day.

He’s seen you interact with guys before, has familiarised himself with the ten-foot walls you have in place, has seen others fold and try find a long way around, but he thinks that maybe matching your energy is the way to break through. 

Who doesn’t love a shortcut?

Your eyes narrow back at him as pouted lips form around a response, looking him up and down before tilting your head, and coming back with, “I all of a sudden feel the need to inform you we do have security here,” you point the tip of your pen to the entrance, where he was greeted on the way in. “I meant a drink.”

“Water’s fine,” his gaze flickers to the movement of your wrist as you click the other side of your pen, not even writing it down. “Maybe with a side of conversation?”

“I’ll go get your water,” you offer a smile, and the insincerity of it does little to cool his bravado, even if you head off with mutterings of why do I always get the creeps?

He watches you as you make your way over to the bar, not creep-like whatsoever, and he channels the nerves that sneak up on him, now that you’re distanced, through fiddling with his fingers on the table, pinching at the tips of them when you glance back over your shoulder, probably telling the girl behind the bar just how lucky you were to once again get the weirdo in your section.

It surprises him how little he cares, possessing more of your attention now than he ever has before, and if he could tell the Luke from two years ago, who spent every shared Principles of Marketing class ritualistically watching you chew on the end of your pen, that he’d be able to make eye contact without dribbling and breaking out into full body sweats, he’d have lost his mind.

He embodies a strange level of dislocated arrogance that manifests itself in his body language, sinking into the booth with arms outstretched across the back, a dangerous smirk teasing the corner of his mouth when you return, placing a pitcher of water down on the table and a glass with ice. 

“I’m Luke,” he tells you, placing a hand on his chest and doing his best to ignore the thudding he feels beneath it. “Hughes. Jack’s brother,” and when you look back over to him with a raised brow, he adds, “Ellie’s Jack.”

“And who’s Ellie?” You ask with a tilt of your head, your voice dripping in teasing sarcasm. 

“Funny,” he quips, biting back the urge to call you what he actually means. He can hardly call you cute, you’d probably pour that water straight over him. “I went to UMich, we had a couple classes together.”

Your eyes narrow again, and he knows it’s an intimidation tactic, a way to make him feel smaller than he’s acting, shrinking him down to a version of himself you can stamp your authority on, but he finds himself being resilient for once, carrying on like he isn’t affected.

He is. Massively, in fact. Just not in the way you probably want. Your indifference drives him in a way that presses into his spine, an inner voice pleading, notice me, I’m breaking through!

“Bauman’s class, Business Comms, you sat in the second row, I sat in the third, you dropped your pencil one time and I-,”

“I know who you are.”

So he’s been yapping on at you for no reason? Fantastic.

He can’t let his momentum slip, though, so he forces the corners of his lips into a victorious smile, and counters, “So you know I’m not a creep.”

“You literally memorised my seat in a class from 2 years ago, so…” 

“I have a good memory,” he’s quick to defend, fighting the urge to let his eyes linger on your pouted lips.

“Right,” you roll your eyes, “What is it you want, again?”

“I came to talk about Jack and Ellie.” He nods to the other side of the booth, and has to roll his shoulders so that his chest doesn’t inflate with misplaced hubris when you shuffle into the seat with a huff, discarding your notepad to the side as you level him with another raised brow.

“What about ‘em?”

“About how they’re hopelessly in love with each other and doing nothing about it.”

“You got hopeless right. What’s that got to do with us?”

Us. Oh, he likes that.

“I’m thinking they need a little shove in the right direction. And maybe we could be the shovers.”

You presses your lips together in faux-apology, a lopsided, patronising, adorable frown taking over your expression. “No can do, I don’t shove, I’m a pacifist.”

“A nudge, then?”

He isn’t giving up easy, no matter how much sarcasm you try to throw his way. You wouldn’t have sat down if there wasn’t something about this situation that irks you, too.

If Ellie is being only half as annoying as Jack is, he knows that you’re having a bad time of it. And you’re supposed to spending her summer with her - it can’t be easy, having your friend constantly pining over someone and refusing to do anything about it, if anything, making it your problem.

“Are you here to eat or annoy me?”

“Both,” he smiles, “I just figured a problem shared is a problem solved, and all.”

“How profound.” 

“C’mon, you sat down, you at least agree they’re into each other, and I know you’re staying with her this year, so I know you’ve been getting the same grief I have.”

“I’ve been on my feet 4 hours, I wouldn’t look too deep into me sitting down.” 

“Jack’s been moping around about her for years, I can’t listen to it anymore, he’s all, she’ll never like me back, this, and, I’ll never find a girl like her, that,” he whines, imitating his brother’s voice in the most annoying, high pitched tone he can muster, “I can’t take one more breakdown of her snap stories, especially not if it’s all summer if she’s not gonna be staying over, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“How supportive,” the sarcasm in your bite does little to hide the beginnings of your smile, your glare softening into what he hopes is the start of some sort of bond, a shared feeling of exasperation. Finding your footfall in common grounds.

“It’s relentless, we can’t go a single conversation anymore without him bringing her up,” he sighs, slumping into his seat, finally giving in to all the ways this is starting to grate on him. “I don’t get why neither of them do anything.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, too, relenting a little. “She talks about him so much it kind of makes me nauseous.”

“How supportive,” he mimics, nerve endings set alight when your eyes meet his over the table, and narrow in a different way, almost appreciative, almost respectable.

“Can it, Hughes,” you scoff, “Me even entertaining this conversation right now is support enough, I’ve had it in my ear for months about how she doesn’t know how she’ll make it through another summer.”

“That’s what I’m saying. If we can get them together this summer, then we’re both better off. No more whining or crying or earaches for either of us.”

“I’d hope you didn’t make your way out here with the mere promise of no more earaches, Luke.” He tries not to preen at the way you say his name. “What’s in it for me?”

“You and Ellie can stay at our lake house.” He suggests, straightening up before he leans onto the table, elbows extending so that he can rest on them, “It’s closer to the club than her family’s place, it’s gotta be better than having her siblings running around you all the time, I can even drive you to work when I’m free, if you want?”

You blink at him slowly, as if to say, and? “So I can stay at your glorified frat house, and you can be my chauffeur?” You ask with an unimpressed raise of your brow, before letting out a humourless scoff of, “What more could a girl want to do with her summer?

“What do you want?” He asks, leaning further forward.

“To go back to work and not worry about strange guys propositioning me, funnily enough.”

Luke laughs, a deep, breathy laugh that rises from the depths of his chest and comes alive in an almost-bark, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes flicker to his mouth when it comes out.

This is fun. 

There’s no way he’s letting you leave this table without agreeing - just the thought of one more singular interaction keeping him on his toes.

“Why don’t we make it interesting, then?”

“It’s about time you tried.” The quiver of your lip tells him everything he needs to know - and that’s without the entertained glint in your eye that accompanies it. You’re enjoying this, just as much.

“We could make a competition out of it.”

“A competition?” You ask, with a curious tilt of your head.

There it is, he thinks. Interest: piqued. He practically has you in the palm of his hand. Who would ever have thought, the way to a sorority girl’s heart would be a friendly little wager?

“Whoever actually gets them together, wins.”

It’s all he can think of in the moment - petulant and part-planned, but it seems to be enough.

“Wins what?” You lean onto your elbows, your gaze levelling his as he mirrors your positioning, having to slouch a little further forward in his seat to meet your pretty eyes. 

“Whatever you want.” He doesn’t intend it to come out as low as it does, doesn’t realise how close the two of you have gotten over the table, but he sees the flicker of something cross your features as your head tilts again, eyes still locked on his as yours begin to narrow, still just as pretty even when they’re glaring at him.

“It’s what you want that concerns me.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” he jibes, watching the way your lips part in preparation of another witty comeback. “What do you say?” He asks, not giving you the chance, seeing the way it makes your skin crawl that you weren’t quick enough, for once. “Are you in?”

You heave out a sigh, shoulders slumping - a tell-tale sign that you’re about to acquiesce - and Luke starts to feel his chest puff out in victory. This feels like a shut-out. It feels like the best performance of his life. 

“You’re gonna make me regret this, aren’t you?”

“Oh definitely,” he smirks, eyes tracking you as you lean back into the booth, retreating from him in defeat, a hand running through your hair as he promises, “You’ll warm up to me soon enough, though.”

“I can’t see that happening.”

“I can,” he shrugs, leaning back too. “I’ve been told I’m inevitable.”

Luke can remember, like it was yesterday, the first time he ever saw you.

Freshman year, the week he moved into his dorm at Michigan, Jack had sent him across campus to check in on how Ellie was getting on. He had arrived with some extravagant gift basket in tow, plastic wrapped, a giant blue bow tied around the top and an assortment of snacks inside, and was left knocking for at least five minutes before you showed up.

“Please tell me you’re not another stripper-gram.”

If his throat hadn’t gone so dry all of a sudden, he thinks he would have had more wits about him to have questioned the use of another - a concept that had stuck in his head for weeks until he caught wind of a story of pledges for Pike being sent around campus and forced to lure girls to their house through way of humiliating song. 

But God, you were pretty. 

Siren eyes narrowed toward him, glossy lips pouted pensively, long lashes blinking impatiently as you awaited some kind of response that didn’t come in the form of an open, drooling mouth.

“I’m Luke.”

“Right.” You had sighed, pretty eyes rolling at him. “You’re blocking my door."

“Oh, I’m-,” he stuttered, immediately stepping to the side for you to come forward and insert your key into the lock. “Does Ellie live here?” He asked, confusion etched into his features as he watched you swing the door open, turning in your place to look him over again.

“Depends who’s asking.”

“I’m Luke.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I know her.”

“Clearly.”

“This is her basket.”

“Does she need to sign for it?”

“No, I-,”

“I’ll make sure she gets it, thanks, Lu!”

And when you had taken the basket from his hands, he had been too distracted by the way your skin brushed against his to properly respond, or worry if you had called him that as a nickname or had already forgotten his name, entirely.

He then spent days thinking about you, looking for you - at parties, in the campus coffee shop, online, despite not knowing your name - trying to commit to memory the way your eyes had sparkled when looking his way, until his first Business Communications class.

He had been a little early, first week nerves playing out and his constant craving for positive validation coming to the forefront, and was watching the door waiting for the professor to arrive. He had been slouched in his seat, chin in the palm of his hand, foot tapping rhythmically against the floor, and he had almost given himself whiplash when you walked in. 

He learned your name from there, learned a lot just from watching you in that class, but never really captured your attention.

And if the Luke that has been driving you to work every few days, who has been living with you for the past two weeks - who sits around the same dining table, laughs at the same jokes cracked when you’re all lounging around the house, sits out under the same sun, drinks from the same carton of orange juice in the morning - could tell the Luke that sat pining after you all that time, all the little ways in which he’s captured your attention lately, he’d probably have an aneurysm. 

When you and Ellie moved in, Luke had been the only one allowed to touch your stuff - and there’s a part of him that knows it was mainly because you enjoyed watching him work like a packhorse, hauling your cases up the stairs and dropping them in front of you with a huff, but there’s a larger, more delusional part that thinks you preferred him to the others, maybe even trusted him.

He’s taking credit for how quick you’ve adapted to the dynamic of the house, too. Of all the different faces coming in and out - Quinn’s friends, Jack’s friends, his friends, sometimes even his parents. If you’re around, you’re pleasant. You abide by house rules, some of them stupid, but set by the brothers so long ago that they just work now - like no phones outside of your rooms so that you can be more present. You insert yourself comfortably into conversations, you form your own relationships with everyone - you and Quinn trade book recommendations, you and Jack bicker while Ellie mediates. You do your fare share of chores - laundry, dishes, cooking, even. 

And he’s so caught up in just sharing space, just being around you, even, that for those first couple weeks, he forgets why you even agreed to be there in the first place.

At least, he forgets the incentive part - because he watches mindlessly as you interfere in Jack and Ellie’s dynamic, without a care in the world for the fact that it means he’s losing.

He watches you push one of them out of the way to claim whatever seat at the table or in the car forces them to sit beside each other. He watches you taunt Jack to just the right point where Ellie interferes, coos at him protectively and he melts into her affections. He watches you agree to plans he knows you wouldn’t in a million years follow along with, just to get them together - and all he can do is admire how easy you make it seem. 

He admires when you come out wakeboarding with the group, when you let him fasten you into a vest and don’t flinch when his fingertips brush against bare skin. Watches you bite your tongue over the fact you just got your hair blow dried - a fact you have no problems relaying back to him when he drives you to work the next day, and you’re muttering in his passenger seat about lake water giving you frizz - just so you’re not dampening the mood.

And when you agree to tag along to the golf course on your day off, despite the fact it’s so close to work if could be considered triggering, and you stick by Luke’s side so that Ellie can feign some sort of incompetence until Jack takes it upon himself to correct her form.

You stand by Luke’s side, the two of you watching with mirrored expressions of almost-disgust as Jack wraps his arms around Ellie’s body, and send a shiver down his spine when you lean in for only him to hear as you say, “I’d ask if you’ve put any more thought into what you want out of our bet, but I so have this in the bag.”

The bet.

Luke hasn’t thought about it since that day in the restaurant, if he’s honest, but he had known what he wanted then.

He’s hardly going to tell you, now, though. 

If he’s ever going to take you out on a date, he doesn’t really want to force your hand - not that he has a chance, he’s fallen so behind with this Jack and Ellie thing that it isn’t even funny.

He needs to up his game, if only for the fact that you’ll no doubt catch on to his lack of efforts, soon.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he taunts, because it’s what he does best, “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“And how long do you plan on keeping them up there?” You call him out so easily, tilting your head when his eyes meet yours, mischief highlighted by the sunshine that speckles in your irises. 

“Maybe I’m luring you into a false sense of security,” he shrugs, “Maybe I’m letting you do all the heavy lifting so I can swoop in when those weak arms get tired.” He pokes at your side, basking in the way you scowl like you pertain any sort of threat to him.

He has you figured out, by now. 

“I didn’t have you pegged as being lazy, Hughes.”

“You spend a lot of time thinking about me, huh?”

“You wish,” you scoff, shoving when he dares to get too close, and it’s when Luke is biting back a full-blown grin that Ellie comes back over. 

“This sun is crazy, I think I left the sunscreen in the locker room and Jack’s nose is going all red, would you come back with me?”

You smile sweetly at your best friend and agree, only glaring at Luke over Ellie’s shoulder when she’s distracted with saying her brief, temporary goodbyes to Jack, and once you’ve turned and made your way over to the cart, he lets his eyes linger on your figure as you retreat.

The soft sway of your ponytail, the expanse of smooth skin along your legs, he’s completely hypnotised, and he needs to pull himself together, he thinks.

He tries to regain focus as he and Jack work their way through the next couple of holes, caddying their clubs around without the cart, and chatting mindlessly until Jack sighs heavily, like he’s been waiting to bring something up.

“I want to take Ellie out on the boat tomorrow,” He states as Luke tees up, resting on his club as he squints against the sun to watch his little brother, “Just the two of us, so we can talk about stuff.”

“Sounds riveting,” the disinterest in Luke’s tone is amplified by the lack of attention he’s giving overall, looking out across the green and trying to measure his swing before he takes it. “Have fun.”

“I was thinking I’d need your help for it to work.”

“I’m not being your boat-butler again,” Luke scoffs, mind immediately going to all the times their parents would make Jack take Luke out with him and his friends, and all the times he was made to wait on his older brother hand and foot to make up for crashing his hang-outs.

“I’m not asking you to tag along,” Jack scoffs, “You third-wheeling would be the ultimate buzz-kill. I thought you could be of use elsewhere.”

“You’re making whatever it is sound so fun.” 

Luke takes his swing, driving the ball and watching it soar to his desired point with a hand shielding his eyes from the sun. Jack watches too, stepping to Luke’s side to measure how far from his own ball it lands.

“Nice,” he mutters appreciatively as the two of them load their clubs into their stand bags. “I need you to keep Regina George busy, distract her or something, she’s stuck to Ellie like glue, it’s beyond annoying.”

If only he knew, Luke thinks, a worry in the back of his mind about how his brother owes more to you than he even realises. 

“You worried she’s gonna make her see sense?”

Jack swats at his arm and rolls his eyes.

“I’m worried she’s gonna ruin the good vibes like she usually does and I won’t be able to bite my tongue from saying something and looking like the asshole.”

Distracting you isn’t the worst thing he could be doing with his time, Luke thinks. It’s not like he has to go all out, you’ll no doubt be hanging out around the house and the two of you can hang together. All he has to do is keep you off your phone. Shouldn’t be too hard. You’ve adapted pretty well to mimicking the guys when it comes to staying off theirs.

It ticks off the box of trying to fight for a scrap of your attention. With no one else around, you’ll have no choice but to entertain his company.

And it puts him in front of your little race - lending a helping hand to Jack’s plans to talk to Ellie is surely the same as getting them together. It’s all falling so perfectly into his lap. He isn’t being lazy.

But he can’t let Jack know that, so he heaves out a sigh and offers a slow shake of his head for dramatic effect. “Fine,” he groans, “But you owe me. Big time.”

You’re starting to find it harder and harder to pretend like you don’t want to be at the Lake House.

If you’re being honest, you don’t entirely know why you’re even trying to keep up pretences, but using your disinterest as armour has become like second nature over the years, and you’re hardly going to stop now.

Even if there are already so many little things about being there that are starting to wear you down.

Quiet, early mornings, for one - birds chirping just outside your open window, sun rays pouring in through sheer curtains that flow in the slight breeze, that light feeling that blows through your chest when you’re sat out on the deck behind the house with a fresh cup of coffee, looking out over the still lake and basking in the peace of it all.

And even when it’s not so peaceful, when the kitchen is full of bodies swerving around each other to try and throw together some sort of breakfast spread - pastries and fruit, bacon and eggs, various boxes of cereal on the counter. Quinn had even made a whole batch of pancakes one morning, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t come down every day since hoping to see him donning that same frilly apron that Cole had draped around his waist and working his magic with a pan. 

You’ve never really been a part of such a full house. You had been an only child for so long - and by the time your parents split, and it was just you and your mom, on the days she wasn’t already at work when you got up - and were so ingrained in your own routine in the morning that you think you might actually need the chaos to function better. The rush of bodies, the arguments over who drank the last of the juice, the bickering over who’s turn it is to do the next grocery run - it’s a kind of entertainment you haven’t been privy to in a long time. 

Being kind of disconnected from everything else isn’t as bad as you thought it would be, either. You’re not attached to your phone, checking socials to see what everyone else is doing, to see if your dad has sent any messages yet this summer, and you find yourself connecting a little more with the people around you and leaving your family stress on the back burner. You’re more focused on what’s in front of you, and your relationships with other people. With Ellie, with some of the guys in the house, with your friends at work, even.

And it’s nice to be closer to work too. You don’t have to rush around trying to make the bus - Luke has been keeping his word and driving you to the club most days, and where he can’t, either somebody else has offered, or you’ve just ridden one of the bikes in the garage that the boys said were free to use - the helmet hair is an easy fix when you have access to the locker rooms.

It’s an adjustment, for sure, getting used to being in a full house. Especially this one - with a constant revolving door of faces, friends of the brothers switching out week by week to come and stay, departing just as you’ve started getting to know them with a promise of dropping by again soon.

So far, you’re almost at double-digits for the names you’ve had to memorise. Some of them you were already familiar with, guys from Michigan who you already knew or knew of, but others were more Jack or Quinn’s friends that you’d never had the pleasure of meeting before now.

Cole Caufield being one of them. 

He had arrived a couple of days after you and Ellie moved yourselves in, closer to Jack than the other two brothers, you had noticed, and was going to be staying longer than any of the other visitors - having his own designated room in the house, similar to you girls.

You like Cole - he’s good fun, can take a joke unlike his supposed best friend, and has the kind of smile that almost gives you a buzz whenever it’s flashed your way. Your first few interactions with him were seemingly pleasant, despite Jack constantly in his ear with a hardened glare pointed your way and no doubt unsavoury words uttered. Cole would just shrug him off, laugh, meet your eyes and drop a wink your way - a gesture you’d usually squirm and cringe at, but Cole kind of pulls it off. 

He joins in when you chirp Luke, too - which, if your honest, is your main source of entertainment since arriving, so your interactions with him grow day by day.

You haven’t really spent any one-on-one time with Cole yet, though. You were hoping to, before he left to visit home for the weekend - for no other reason than to get the scoop on something you’d happened upon at work last week - and had planned on asking him to hang out on your day off. But with Cole now gone for a few days, Jack and Ellie off doing god knows what, Quinn and Luke working out wherever, you have no choice but to spend your free Sunday lounging around the house, trying to find something to suppress your growing boredom.

You start with your nails, painting them a summery orangey-red and doing your toes to match, then do your laundry, abiding by house rules that you rotate the loads between the machines, and fold out whoever’s clothes were last in the dryer and place them in the hamper on the side. 

You’re hoping you haven’t had to fold Jack’s underwear but you decide to live in blissful ignorance - trying to identify the load based on the rest of the clothing in there is impossible when they all share, so it kind of works in your favour. 

You FaceTime your mom for almost an hour, getting an update on what she’s been up to with work, and giving her updates on how your summer is going, trying to focus on your time at the club and Ellie so she doesn’t worry too much again that you’re spending your summer in a house filled with boys. 

And by the time Luke and Quinn come back from their workout, you’re in the lounge, 50 pages deep into a book you really couldn’t care less about, but there’s something in you that refuses to beg one of them for company, so you suffer in silence.

Even when Luke does join you, throwing himself down onto the opposite side of the couch you’re occupying and pushing your feet off his side like it’s his sole purpose just to annoy you.

“I was comfortable there, asshat,” you frown, lifting your feet back into their previous position and using one to give him a light kick to his thigh.

“Yeah, well, I hardly want your feet all up in my business while I’m trying to relax,” he sighs, sinking into the cushions with hands clasped behind his head, biceps flexing and tightening the arms of his t-shirt in a way that momentarily catches your eye. You’re thankful for his closed eyes, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you divert your attention back to the mundane words on the pages in front of you.

“And yet here you are when there are 2 other couches.”

“Yeah, well, I know how much you like to be near me.”

You try to ignore him, pulling your feet a little closer to your body and focusing back on the book, but it’s hard when Luke has such a presence. You feel the little looks he keeps sending your way like a physical touch, and the couch shifts with every slight movement he makes, so when he constantly shuffles, you start to think he wants your attention.

Of course he wants your attention. This is Luke Hughes.

“Are you just sitting down here to annoy me?”

He lights up, like he’s just been waiting for you to ask, and shuffles in his seat to face you, fully, bouncing in place like a puppy being teased with a tennis ball. 

“I’m actually trying to distract you, if you must know.”

“Bold of you to assume you have enough of my attention to be distracting in the first place,” you scoff, trying not to react to the way he smirks in your peripheral, the words in front of you all blurring together. If you were actually focused on them, you’d have lost your place, already.

“I think you pay more attention to me than you’d like to admit.”

“That’s some ego you’ve got on you, Hughes,” you narrow your eyes as you look above the edge of your book, “Is that what you spend that big NHL paycheque on, charisma classes? How to flirt for dummies?”

“Oh, is that what we’re doing? Flirting?”

Damn. You walked yourself right into that one. 

Sometimes biting back at Luke comes like second nature, words first, thoughts after - and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it that way. It’s easy, the back and forth, and you can’t really think of an instance with him where you’ve sat in a lingering, awkward silence. You’ve really grown to hate silence, lately.

“You wish.”

“You think I’m charismatic,” he teases in a sing-song voice, knocking at your knee and wiggling his eyebrows when you glare at him. 

“I think you’re an idiot.”

“You’re not gonna ask what I’m distracting you from?”

“I don’t really care,” you lie, eyes darting back down and diverting the attention he so desperately craves away from him.

“Jack wanted to take Ellie out on the boat.” He says, ignoring your attempts to ignore him - pushing your buttons like a full time job. Like an operator for your last nerve.

“Good for her.”

“Alone.”

“No shit.”

“To ask her out.”

“Whoop-de-doo.”

“Whoop-de-,” Luke straightens up, like a whack-a-mole with his head positioning itself over the top of your book, and you kind of wish you had one of those soft mallets right about now. It would be so satisfying to bonk at his head, you think. “What do you mean, whoop-de-doo, is this not what you agreed to be here for? To get them together?”

You scoff, flicking to the next page of the book in feigned disinterest. “He isn’t asking her out today.”

This is the exact something you had wanted to talk to Cole about - whispers in the staff lounge at work earlier in the week doing the rounds would imply otherwise, but your main source is kind of a gossip, and you’re not entirely sure of their reliability, despite the few degrees of separation to the subject at hand. 

Mutterings of Jack and Cole and their little country club connections. 

You can hardly ask Luke of all people if his brother is as much of a man-whore as everyone is making out. Cole was a safe bet - he’d probably just tell you straight up what they’re up to, wear his pride like a shining gold medal. He’s upfront about his promiscuity, at least. Luke is more protective. Of himself, of his family, you’re not entirely sure. There haven’t been as many whispers about him. 

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because he’s a spineless idiot,” you retort, eyes flicking up momentarily to take in his furrowed brow. “No offence,” comes out of nowhere, and you surprise yourself with the instinct to lessen the blow of your words for the first time in forever.

“None taken, he’s only my flesh and blood,” Luke huffs, “You’re just jealous I’m winning our bet.”

“Sure,” you drawl, eyes widening to emphasise the sarcasm as you make a point of angling your head to the next page, like you’ve taken a single word in for the past five minutes. “He’s been talking to one of the girls from work. There’s no way he’s doing that and asking Ellie out, unless he’s completely brain dead.”

And when you look back at Luke, that furrowed brow has shifted into a full blown frown, pouted lips and eyes cast down as if he’s trying to figure everything out in his head. 

It’s probably the pout that has you cushioning your words, once more.

“Again, no offence, I doubt it’s in your DNA.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m no bio student but I don’t think there’s a genetic marker for being a fuckboy.”

“No, about him talking to one of the girls at the club. He didn’t tell me that.”

Why does he have to sound like that? Let down and unsure, quieter than you think you’ve ever heard him. It’s like the tone he carries goes straight to your fingers, clasping the book closed without marking your page - because what business do you have carrying on that charade?

“Do you guys tell each other everything?” You ask as you throw the book until it lands on the coffee table with a gentle thud, shuffling until you’re sat against the arm of the couch with knees bent in front of you, giving him your undivided attention and feeling guilty that it might not be enough.

“I thought we did,” he scratches at the back of his head, nervously, “He literally told me yesterday he was taking her out to talk about stuff, why would he make a point of asking me to keep you busy if he’s not serious about asking her out?”

“You don’t want to hear my answer to a question about your brother not being serious.” 

“Who’s the girl?” He asks, ignoring your comment despite the slight ghost of a smile you see flash into the corner of his mouth. 

“Jessica, she works at the pro shop, apparently they’ve been texting all summer.”

You know for a fact that since you’ve started paying attention, you’ve seen Jack on his phone a lot for a guy who chirps you for your own screen-time, and who has enforced the house rule of no phones outside your room like a prison guard yells out no touching at visitation. So it sort of checks out. You’ve tried to sneak a peak, but he’s protective of his stuff like a yappy little dog with attachment issues at the best of times, so you haven’t really put too much effort into it.

“There were a few people talking about it in the lounge at work the other day,” you shrug, “One of the girls talking about it is Jess’ best friend, so not exactly from the horse’s mouth, but I don’t think she’d be spreading lies about her friend around like that.”

“Can you find out?”

“You ask that like I haven’t been trying.” That gets a full smile, a small chuckle that lifts his shoulder, even, “I was gonna grill Caufield about it but he’s gone. But I know you guys have plans when he gets back tomorrow, so if you want to take Cole I’ll hack away at the grape vine at the club?”

“Does this mean we’re teammates?” 

“No. It absolutely does not.”

Hacking away at the grapevine is really a lot more like plucking absentmindedly at an overgrown patch of grass when it comes to workplace gossip. 

By the end of your shift, you’re leaving the club with a fist clutched full of loose blades, fingers stained green from the amount of information people were willing to ‘fess up.

Liam who works behind the bar had overheard a conversation where Jack had mentioned Jessica, but could only give you useless tidbits, like how he had to stop by the shop for a new putter, and Jess had been the one to ring him up.

Hardly incriminating, but you had a feeling it would be a small piece of a way larger puzzle. That, and guys are notoriously useless at gossiping, there’s definitely more to that story than Liam could even comprehend in his tiny man brain.

Cassidy who works at the front desk had seen Jack and Jess talking in the main lobby last week, definitely flirting, she had said - with hair flips and giggles galore - and way too familiar to be new. 

Much better.

Paola who has the alternative shifts in the pro shop was more than willing to take up ten minutes of your time ranting how Jess’ work is never fully done when it comes to a handover, and she spends half her time on her phone. Kiran, who works the bev cart every Monday, said Jack is always one of the most charming in their golfing group, so it’s no surprise if he is exchanging texts with girls from the club. 

You get dirt from most corners of the place, and it leads you all the way back to your station, to reservations set for the restaurant, where tonight’s list - unfortunately a shift you’re not set to work, although you very much question the serendipity of that - has Jack’s name down at 7pm. A table for 2 in the back corner, shielded from prying eyes and intimate.

And if it weren’t for the fact you’ve already worked a full shift, you would consider staying just to get the full scoop. 

You know Ellie isn’t going to be the one sat across from him, she’s been sending you pictures all day of her various hauls for her quiet night in. New paints and pencils, a sketchpad, some candles - she has all intentions of working on her watercolour technique.

So it has to be for him and Jessica.

Imagine his face, you think, picturing wide, panicked eyes as you roam up to his table to take his order. He’d actually crap his pants. 

But, it’s another set of eyes that you picture when you start to enjoy the scheming a little too much. The sad, teary eyes of your best friend, when she finds out the guy she’s been hung up on for half her life, who she has all but convinced herself isn’t interested, and is - absurdly - ‘far too good’ for her - yeah, right - is dating other girls while taking her out on not-so-platonic boat dates only the day before. A boat date that she had come back to your room, flung herself onto her belly on the bed, and kicked her feet as she gushed all about it. 

So you make your way back to the house after a long day, and resign yourself to the fact that you’re going to have to, yet again, get all your information on Jack’s date second hand.

You primed Cara, your colleague in the restaurant, to keep an eye out, and she promised to send updates on her breaks, and you have been holed up in yours and Ellie’s shared bedroom trying to keep her busy when there is a persistent knock at the door, and a mop of soft, curly brown hair pokes in before his eyes meet yours.

“Hey, Luke!” Ellie chimes, cheery and all too blissfully unaware of the potentially horrific circumstances you’ve stumbled upon. “You need to borrow my conditioner again?”

You scoff from your position on the bed, watching a slight pink hue flush up Luke’s neck.

“What? No,” he denies, running a hand through his hair and seemingly frowning a little at the way it feels. “I’m going to the store, wondered if either of you needed anything?”

“Nah, thanks, we’re good,” Ellie smiles, attention diverting straight back to where she’s drawing in her sketchbook, missing the way Luke widens his eyes and tilts his head as if to encourage you to take him up on his offer.

“Can I come with?” You shuffle from your position on the bed, swinging your legs out from beneath you and over the side as Ellie looks back at you.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you wanted something.”

“Someone’s got to show the poor guy what’s what on the haircare aisle, El.”

And you’re thankful that Ellie has settled herself in for the evening already by 6:45, showered, pyjamas on, otherwise she might have tried to tag along, too, just for something to do.

You swipe her phone before she can notice and hide it under your pillow before you leave, thinking it might reduce the risk of her getting bored and texting Jack, or, worse, checking his location.

A trip out gives you the chance for you and Luke to debrief each other on your findings of the day - or, as it turns out, just you, because Luke Hughes might be the worst information-gatherer on planet Earth.

Finding his life’s niche in hockey is fortunate, because he definitely wouldn’t cut it as an investigator.

“He just said he didn’t know anything,” Luke shrugs of his earlier encounter with Cole, and you try not to gape at him in disbelief as he fiddles with the screen in his BMW, scrolling through the interface in search of the nearest store. 

You swat his hand away with a scoff, typing in a destination, “And you believed him?”

“Was I not supposed to?”

“You’re about as useless as a chocolate teapot, Hughes. What is it with guys and gossip, are you all really that dumb?”

“That’s the address for the club,” he points out, ignoring your jibe as he starts driving.

“Well done, you can read.”

“Why?”

“Because, thankfully, one of us is a good detective.” You snark, “Jack’s there.”

“So?”

“He’s on a date.”

“No he isn’t,” Luke frowns, attention momentarily taken from the road as he looks over at you. “I’ve been with him all afternoon, he would have told me if he had a date, tonight.”

“Oh yeah? Where’d he say he was going when he left, earlier?”

He hadn’t been home when you got back from work, but that had been around an hour ago. You figured if he was sneaky enough to book into the restaurant when you’re not working, he’d have his wits about him to avoid you, entirely. Whenever the two of you cross paths, you can’t help but try get on his last nerve, and he’s hardly going to want to start his evening in a foul mood.

“To get his hair cut.”

Jesus Christ, you think, he’s so lucky he’s cute.

“You’re so clueless. He’s at the lounge with Jessica, the girl I told you about yesterday.”

“And what are we supposed to do about that?”

“We’re gonna supervise. And maybe interfere, if necessary.” 

You don’t really have a plan, but it seems like the right thing to at least get a look in as to what the hell Jack thinks he’s doing, especially if you’re going to carry on with this whole plan of getting him and Ellie together. If he’s seriously entertaining other girls while making out to Luke that he only has eyes for Ellie, your plans might have to change. You’re not sure if Luke will be on board with the new path you’re willing to take, but you’ll be happy to kill his brother on your own.

“Interfere?” Luke’s eyes are wide, but he keeps them on the road, fingers flexing against the wheel. “I just came out for chips to make nachos, not play spies!”

“Cara’s working tonight, she said she’d keep an eye on them for me. I bet if I cover her hosting shift on Friday she’d sabotage their date. We’d just have to sit back and watch.”

“Oh,” Luke’s brows furrow, as if it’s taking any consideration at all to mess with his brother. “You really are an evil genius.”

You try not to think too hard about who’s been spewing that rhetoric already in his ear, and instead you smile when he casts his eyes your way, proud and pleased. 

“Thank you.”

It takes another 15 minutes to get to the club, considering Luke’s best Driving Miss Daisy impression, so their date is already underway by the time Cara is ushering you to a booth in the far corner, where you can see Jack’s table, but he shouldn’t be able to see yours, and agreeing to play along.

“Can I get you guys any drinks?” She asks as she hands over two menus, and you’re too interested in trying to gauge the vibe at the other table while Luke looks over his.

“Two diet cokes, shaved ice, no lemon,” he says, and you can’t help but frown at the way the specificity of that order rolls so easily off his tongue. That’s your order.

“Any food?”

“Could we just get some nachos, please?” You ask, sliding your menu across the table without even looking, not wanting to give Luke too much of a chance to peruse his own out of fear you’ll be here all night. “And extra picante on the side.”

“Extra guac, too,” Luke adds as Cara scribbles the instructions on her notepad, “And some of those chicken tenders, and extra ranch. And maybe some fries. Yeah, chilli fries. And breadsticks.”

You level him with a glare, already proven right in your decision not to give him too much time to think about what he wanted. He’ll order every appetiser on the menu, if given half the chance. 

“Thanks, Cara, that’s everything.”

“Sure thing, should be around fifteen minutes. They only just ordered,” she points her pen back to Jack’s table, where Jess is leaning onto the table and Jack is leaning back in his seat - heavy on the distance but even heavier on the eye contact. That little shit.

“Does he have any allergies?” You lean onto your own table to ask Luke, quirking a brow up when his eyes darken in response, mischief swirling in his emerald irises.

“Absolutely not,” Cara interjects, “I’m doing this so you cover my job, not make me lose it.”

“Let me guess, he ordered the steak, medium-rare?” Luke asks, and she nods, hesitantly. “Char it.”

“Won’t he complain?”

“He’ll just grumble to himself about how tough it is. It’ll put him in a bad mood. That’s what we want, right?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding your head to ease Cara’s worries despite what you really want is for Chef Michael to poison the cut, entirely. If Jack Hughes wants to play with your best friend’s heart, you’ll play with his gut. But you can settle for burnt meat. Luke can work some sort of magic with that, you think, convincing Jack of all people that any first date that resulted in him coming home all sour-puss and sulky should never result in a second. “Bad mood. Bingo.”

“Fine,” Cara grumbles, “But if he even thinks about asking for a manager, you’re covering my next 3 Fridays.”

She storms off to the kitchen, and you and Luke simultaneously sink into your seats, attention immediately diverted back to the table in the opposite corner of the room.

“We should have kept the menus,” Luke mutters from across the booth, “Could have hidden behind them.”

“What are we, children?” You snark, “You can’t think of any more creative ways to stay hidden?”

“I heard PDA makes people pretty uncomfortable,” he leans onto the table, dropping you a wink when you glance over out of the side of your eye, “We should make out to throw everyone off the scent.”

“In your dreams, Hughes.”

Luke sort of envies the charm you hold over people.

The way you can convince people to do your bidding with a mere flutter of your eyelashes or a flash of pearly teeth and a glimmer in your irises.

He has trouble, sometimes, skirting around his honesty or hiding his intentions - and he knows that’s not a bad thing, knows that being clear and truthful is an admirable trait, if anything - but the way you persuade others to bend to your whim with intricate white lies based on observations you’ve made or intel you’ve gathered is a praiseworthy level of genius. 

It had taken such minimal effort for you to get Cara on side, to convince her that being a little clumsy is hardly grounds for her termination, and spilling a little of Jack’s drink close to the edge of the table - close enough that it drips onto his pants and Luke can see the steams of frustration exuding from his brother’s skin from all the way on the other side of the restaurant - or bumping her hip on the edge of their table every time she passes are really just harmless irritations, not likely to cause actual complaint. 

You had used the mere tone of your voice to convince Liam from behind the bar to squeeze a little lime in Jack’s water, knowing just from observing him back at the house that he hates the taste, face curling in disgust at even the slightest hint of it, and Luke had watched your eyes gleam in delight every time Jack took a sip of his drink and tried not to spit it back out, seeking much needed reprieve to swallow down the world’s toughest steak cut. 

You’d even worked your magic on him, pouting your lips when the food had arrived at the table, and he had initially declined to share his chicken tenders with you - your grumblings at him ordering enough to feed the five thousand fresh in his memory, but so easily wiped away by the soft, sad look in your eyes, and your whining of, “But I didn’t realise how hungry I’d get. Plotting and scheming is hard work, Luke.”

You ended up eating half, but he could hardly complain - you were doing the heavy lifting out of the two of you.

He was sitting back and enjoying the show - enjoying your company, if he’s honest. Enjoying the way his gangly limbs would sometimes knock into yours under the table, enjoying the way he kept getting little nuggets of information out of you while you were distracted, sipping at your coke and making little comments about yourself, about your life, without even realising you’re doing it. 

And an unplanned, pseudo date ends up being the first time he thinks he’s had a glimpse at the real you.

The you who knows more about hockey than you’ve ever let on before, who comes back to his stories with contextual questions about the game, even has references to a few games of his back at Michigan, and keeps the conversation flowing despite your feigned disinterest, and a constant gaze cast his brother’s way.

That would usually drive him crazy.

He’s experienced it so often that he has come to expect it, people only entertaining his company to acquire the attention of his brothers, but that’s not what you’re doing. Not really.

You pay more attention to Luke than you’d ever let on.

You ask him about his time in Ostrava at the beginning of summer, even though he’s only mentioned being overseas once while you’ve been staying with him - an offhanded comment from Quinn at breakfast that you must have taken on. Ask him about all the food he tried while out there, when he mentions he doesn’t like picante, and you use it as a springboard to talk about what sort of spices he does like, or if he’s the type to try things or stick to what he knows. 

You ask him about being the youngest sibling, and it stems from an offhanded comment Luke had grumbled about always being the last to be clued in on stuff, about how Jack had probably confided in Quinn about his extracurricular activities at the club, and didn’t trust him enough to let him in on the fact he’s going out on dates. You ask if he usually figures things out himself before he’s told them, if that’s what makes him so good at observing and analysing stuff, and he hadn’t ever realised he was particularly good at those things before you brought it up. But then you reference a day in class one time, where he had picked up on something in a textbook that you never would have figured out in a million years, and his heart leaps at the praise you don’t even realise you’re giving him.

You sandwich your perceptions in your usual snark, but he doesn’t miss the slight curve of your lips anymore when he bites straight back, knowing now that there is some part of you that feels the nip of his teeth, that acknowledges his existence beyond him being a speck of inconvenience in your peripheral.

And he gets a little carried away in that acknowledgement - stops paying attention himself to what is happening on the other side of the room and tries to focus on what’s in front of him; the girl he pined after his entire college career, sat sharing nachos and pretending not to know him at a level you so clearly do.

You must get carried away, too, because neither of you notice Jack’s date wrapping up until Luke catches him hand his card over to Cara.

He’s lost count of how long the two of you have been at the club, now - way longer than it takes to get chips from the store, that’s for sure - and all he does know is that if Jack catches either of you two here, after a night of mishaps, bad food, spilled drinks and Cara’s incessant clumsiness, he’ll know who’s to blame. 

“We better get out of here before he sees us,” Luke sighs, not entirely wanting to wrap up his time with you but knowing he doesn’t really have a choice.

“I’ve just got to pick something up before we head back,” you reply, edging out of the booth at the same time Luke does, “I’ll meet you out front just give me two minutes?”

“Be quick,” he tells you before you scurry off, and he flags down Cara, who tells him you already put your bill on your worker tab. He tells her to switch it to his, and that he’ll drop by tomorrow to pay it off, promising to leave her a good tip for her stellar services for the evening. 

He waits where you asked him to, making sure to stick to the side of the entryway where he can duck for cover if his brother makes an appearance - but you show up first, skipping out from the staff lounge with a bag of tortilla chips in hand.

“Let’s go, Lukey boy!” He follows you out like a puppy on a leash, all the way to where his car is parked, almost bumping into you when you stop and turn without warning, stretching your hand out to him. “Give me your keys.”

“Are you crazy?” He snorts, “You’re not driving my car!”

“I know a shortcut!” You reason, stepping forward and making a grabby motion with your fingers, “We gotta beat Jack home, I just paid another server $20 to spill a whole drink on him before he leaves and he’s gonna be pissed. I want to see the meltdown back at the house and you drive like a nun!”

Luke doesn’t know why he gives in so easy - it could be the proximity, the way you’re so close you have to look up at him, eyes twinkling softly under the moonlight, voice carrying over to him like a siren song, or it could just be because he’s weak - but he hands his keys over with a roll of his eyes and climbs into the passenger side, sliding the seat back with a huff to accommodate his long legs and watching as you adjust the driver’s side, cringing at the way he’s gonna have to figure out exactly how he had it before.

You drive like a maniac, to the point where Luke has to screw his eyes shut as you use some back road, can hear the squelch of mud beneath his tires and squirms at the thought of having to take it to the car wash, tomorrow. 

But you make it back to the lake house much quicker than if he were driving, he’ll give you that. So quick that you feel comfortable enough to turn to him once you’ve pulled up, in no rush to unbuckle and get out to get inside before Jack gets home.

“Just so we’re clear, this is a point under my name. You’re not claiming tonight as a win.”

Luke chuckles, turning in his seat to face you, features illuminated by the dim overhead light that turns on when the engine switches off and a slight flush of exhilaration to your cheeks. There’s no pretending you haven’t enjoyed yourself, not tonight. “But the steak thing was my idea?”

“If it weren’t for me, you’d be sat watching baseball and thinking he was getting a 3 hour haircut, you can’t seriously be trying to steal this from me, I thought you athletes had integrity!”

“You’re really keeping score?”

“You’re not?”

If Luke’s honest, he hasn’t really thought about your whole wager all night. He’s been too wrapped up in the idea that his brother had lied to him. Twice. And now his whole plan for the two of you all summer has potentially been messed up. But hearing you mention it, hearing you talk about it like it hasn’t been flushed down the toilet by his brother’s idiocy sparks something in him - excitement, anticipation. He doesn’t want to let this go.

“I actually think we made a good team back there,” he shrugs, eyes meeting yours to gauge your reaction to the thought of doing this together.

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you’re gonna lose,” you retort, eyes sparkling with those same sentiments he had just felt. 

“Probably,” he acquiesces, “Also ‘cause you kind of scare me a little after tonight, last thing I wanna do is go up against you when you have the power to turn half the country club against me.”

You smirk, and his eyes are drawn to the plush curve of your lips, watching them as they form around the softly spoken words, “God forbid you can’t go a round of golf without your caddy breaking down.”

“Exactly.” He mutters back, glad to see your gaze is still zeroed in on him when he meets it again. He can feel the thump thump thump of his pulse in his ears, and takes a deep breath before proposing, “Partners?”

He cocks a brow and holds his pinky out over the centre console, and you eye the digit, sceptically, narrowing your eyes into a glare before raising them to meet his. “Fine,” you grumble, then hook your little finger through his and tighten it to shake, a slight yelp of surprise filling the car when he tugs, your lax arm giving way until your knuckle touches his lips and he kisses it.

“Ew,” you whine, snatching your finger back as he fills the space himself with a hearty chuckle, wiping it on his hoody in disgust. “That’s gross!”

“No take backs,” he smiles, victorious, with his chest puffed out, primed for you to swat at with the flex of your hand, and the two of you are only pulled out of the moment by the sound of tyres pulling up on the gravel behind you, both of you stumbling to unbuckle yourselves and climb out of the car. 

Jack is exiting his own vehicle behind, and stomps down the driveway, shouldering past you until he realises who he has passed, turning back and looking at you with suspicion cast across his features. 

“Where have you twobeen?” Jack asks, glancing a curious eye between the two of you before meeting Luke’s gaze, levelling him with an inquisitive glare.

“We went to the store for chips,” Luke holds the bag up, the crinkle loud enough for Jack to hear, and he feels an insurgence rising within him, spurred on by the way his brother is looking at him like he’s the one who should be ashamed of his actions. “Nice haircut.”

Jack runs a hand through his hair, surprise crossing his features in a brief flash at the call out, like he had never even expected Luke to notice his hair looks no different to the last time he saw him mere hours ago, like he would never even need to question his alibi.

“Oh, yeah, I got the day wrong. Went out for dinner instead.”

“On your own?” You ask from beside him, your presence giving Luke the kind of back up he very much needs right now, a new target for Jack’s narrowed eyes that takes the heat off of him a little, lessens the burden of lying to his brother - despite Jack being the one who started it, it doesn’t make Luke feel any less bad, doesn’t quell the need to word vomit and admit to all the ludicrous things he had done to ruin Jack’s night. “You end up having a little accident there, bud?”

Luke tries not to outwardly laugh as his attention is diverted to the wet patch that still soaks up the front of Jack’s pants, lips quivering as he presses them together, oblivious to the steam pouring out of his brother’s ears as he immediately gets riled up. 

“One of your esteemed colleagues at the club apparently lacks hand eye co-ordination. Plus, some of us like our own company,” Jack scoffs, “Some of us can go an evening without the need to annoy anybody else.”

“It’s not news to me that you’re in love with yourself, dude,” you retort back, entirely unbothered by his jibes. “Bet you’ve got all sorts of riveting thoughts swirling around that ginormous head of yours, must keep you busy for hours on end.”

“At least I have thoughts, at least I’m not some airheaded-,”

“Hey,” Luke’s tone is authoritative when he calls out, stern and demanding, “Cut it out, Jack.”

“She started it!”

“She asked you a question,” Luke frowns, disappointed with how quick his brother had taken to escalating the situation, all in an attempt to deflect the attention from his own deception. He knows you don’t need him to protect you from Jack’s sharp tongue, knows you can very much defend yourself, but he needs to vent his frustrations, somehow, without causing a bust up on the driveway. “You could have just give her a straight answer without biting her head off.”

He feels like you’re a little closer, all of a sudden, and he doesn’t know it’s the slight brush of your arm against his or if it’s something else, something less tangible - but it warms him, all the same. Steadies the static thump of his heart in his chest at the thought of starting an argument with his brother out of nowhere. 

“Whatever,” Jack rolls his eyes, “I’m going to bed.”

And as Jack turns, Luke sees your lips part, ready to send him off with the last word until a large hand clamps itself over your mouth, and your wide eyes meet his over the sides of his fingers.

He’s not sure why he did it, why he all of a sudden feels comfortable enough to cross the boundaries of purposeful touch, but he doesn’t entirely regret it.

Plush lips press mid-word against his palm, and your skin is soft, cheeks warming ever so slightly beneath his hand.

“You gotta let him go, there’s no use fighting with him tonight, it’s better to drag it out. Didn’t think I’d have to teach you about the beauty of the long game,” he says, voice low as he watches his brother retreat to the house, waiting until he’s safe inside to retract his hand. “Not like this, anyway.”

“Your brother’s an asshole,” you grumble, “Full offence.”

“No arguments from me,” Luke concedes, holding his hands as if surrendering to the fact, himself. “What are you gonna tell Ellie?”

“Nothing.” You sigh, stepping a little down the drive and toward the house before turning back to him. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, partner.”

There have only been a handful of times in your life you’ve ever been thankful for work coinciding with huge plans, but when the group had decided that they wanted to go see Zach Bryan play Ford Field, you had thanked your lucky stars you had been put down to work a full shift at the restaurant and wouldn’t be able to go.

Not only for the fact that he isn’t really your thing, but for the fact that you’re finally getting a full evening to yourself.

So far, in your time at the house, most evenings have been spent with everyone else - group dinners, game nights, movie nights, even a couple of girls nights with just you and Ellie scattered in there, but nothing on your own, yet. 

You can’t wait. And with an empty house, you have a full pamper night planned. You’ve been stocking up odd bits on your trips to the store over the past couple of weeks - sheet masks, aromatherapy candles, you’ve even picked up some flower petals from the spa at the club, in the hopes that you might even treat yourself to a relaxing soak in the bathtub. You can play whatever music you want, make whatever food you want, sit wherever you want in the house, out on the deck, overlooking the lake with a book in hand and no chirpy voices in your ear all night.

You can’t wait.

The only downside is not having a ride home, but you haven’t finished too late. The sun will still be up for a couple of hours, and a walk in the simmering heat back to the house doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.

Your feet carry you with ease down the back roads, and you even make the journey without your headphones on, taking in the scenery, the blissful peace of your surroundings, so lost in the tranquility of it all that the sight of Luke washing his car on the drive when you get home dampens your mood as quick as a torrential downpour of rain, flash floods coursing through your evening and wrecking your plans entirely. 

“What the hell are you doing?” You can’t help the bite in your tone as you approach, sneakers crunching against the gravel as Luke pauses the hose, looks over at you with the sun in his eyes, and you have to remind yourself he’s just ruined the one night you have for yourself before you get distracted by the fact that he’s shirtless.

“Washing my car?” he calls back, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Detroit right now?”

Luke shrugs, and you have to will your eyeballs not to move any lower than his neck to watch his shoulders lift and drop, lest you get too caught up in the broad expanse of his chest and do something ridiculous like drool.

“Wasn’t feeling it.”

“You weren’t feeling a concert you guys haven’t shut up about for weeks, but you were feeling washing your car?”

He’s dead. When he’s finished with his car and he retreats to his room, you’re gonna smother him with a pillow and discard of his body in the lake. You’re not even gonna let him shower, first. That’s what the lake’s for.

He’s crapping all over your plans because he wasn’t feeling it?

“It needs cleaning,” he shrugs again, and you swear you’re gonna jump in and run him over with the damn thing, “In fact, you really should be helping me.”

There’s a small part of you that feels like the thoughts of violence are worryingly aggressive, but then a larger part of you realises he must have a death wish.

“How’d you get to that conclusion?”

“You’re the one who drove us through a swamp,” he scoffs, a pointed hand flung toward the body of his car, where the sides are lined with a thick layer of dried dirt from the other night, “You get it dirty, you clean it up.”

“As much as I would absolutely love to fulfil your pervy car wash fantasy, I have much better things I could be doing with my time.”

Or you did, until Luke rained all over your parade of solitude.

“Like what?”

“Literally anything but this.” You gesture at the show he’s putting on. The suds dripping from the roof of the car, the hose in his hand, the buckets scattered around the perimeter. “I need to shower, I just walked from the club and I-,”

A death wish might actually be an understatement.

Luke wants you to murder him in the most gruesome, horrific way you could possibly muster - he has to, because there’s no other explanation for why he’d turn the hose on, point it straight at you, and drench the front of you, entirely. 

You can feel the fabric of your t-shirt dampening and sticking to your chest, and you scrunch your eyes shut to stop droplets of water slipping into them, thankful that when they open again, his own are looking back at you, and not any lower.

You’d really have a reason to kill him, then. 

“You did not just do that.” You growl, glaring back at him with a clenched jaw as the fucker beams back at you, pressing the trigger once more in a short burst that fires straight at your chest, again.

“What, that?”

“You’re so dead.”

You drop your bag and launch for him, aiming to take the hose from his grip, but he fires it again out of sheer panic, the water spouting out from between your splayed fingers, cold and pressured, and it soaks the both of you, raining down as you grapple for the head and Luke remains unrelenting.

There are squeals and yelps called out into the misty air between the two of you, and you get to a point you can’t tell what sounds are coming from who, but you manage to wrestle the hose from his grip and point it straight at him as he jets away with a laugh that rumbles straight from his belly.

It’s the kind of laugh that elicits another, and you don’t realise until he’s circling back to you that the laughter is coming from you - giggling, even, as the two of you engage in a water fight like misbehaving children - and it isn’t long until all aggressive thoughts wash away with the suds that slip to the gravel, forgetting why you were even annoyed in the first place.

It shouldn’t be as fun as it is, but after the long day at work, and the tiring walk back, letting your guard down and engaging it a little mindless chaos seems to wake you up a little.

Your childish game gets Luke what he wanted, anyway, the two of you working together to clean his car when you realise he’s only running in front of all the parts that actually need hosing off and relying on you having bad aim to get the job done, and you figure getting your hands a little dirty is harmless when you’re already soaked through and in dire need of a shower.

And your pamper-plans of a bubble bath and self-care don’t entirely come to fruition, but Luke promises to make up for his petulance by ordering pizza and sticking a movie on, so you bite your tongue to refrain from voicing your initial complaints, and decide to just go with the flow, for once - he hasn’t exactly led you astray, yet.  

You take a little longer in the shower than normal, with no one around to complain about hogging the bathroom or worry about them barging in unannounced, and you suppose that’s a small victory - one little luxury you get to cling to as you bask in the steam, letting all the tension slip from your aching muscles after being on your feet all day.

And once you’re out, hair dried just enough with a towel that it isn’t going to drip or soak your t-shirt, and you’re dressed in your pyjamas, you make your way downstairs, where Luke has already set up a plethora of snacks in the living room.

Nachos, popcorn, candy and drinks scattered across the coffee table as he relaxes on the couch, hair extra curly after his shower and an old Michigan t-shirt stretched tight across his now much-broader chest. 

“Thought I’d wait for you to pick a movie,” he chimes up from where he’s sat, gesturing with a lazy point to the wall of blu-rays beside the TV. 

“Did Netflix never make it to the Hughes household?” You scoff in disbelief as you take them all in properly for the first time. You’d seen them in your peripheral when you’d been hanging out down here, before, but actually looking at them up close, reading all the titles, seeing the sheer volume of how many there are, it kind of surprises you.

“We can look on Netflix if you want. They always take stuff off, though.”

You know. All your favourite movies get taken off of streaming, and you only ever find out about it when you’re really in the mood to watch them. As soon as you realise the wall is alphabetised, you know exactly where to look.

“That’s alright,” you shrug, stepping to the side as you track backwards, through M, L, K and J. “You guys are pretty analogue, I’ve noticed.”

“What do you mean?”

“The board games, the DVDs, the whole no phones around the house thing.”

“No phones around the house is common courtesy,” he chuckles, “But I guess we’re a little weird about the other stuff.”

“It’s pretty cool,” you shrug, spotting the DVD you want and sliding it out to assess the case. “It’s old school. Probably better for the brain. My little brothers can’t really function without an iPad and they’re 5, it’s freaky, like they’re haunted by the capitalist ghost of Steve Jobs or something.”

“I didn’t know you had brothers,” Luke frowns where you almost expect him to laugh, and you spin on your heel to face him. He has this look about him like he should have known that - like the two of you have ever conversed in anything other than sarcastic quips and scrunched up faces, or whatever attempts at flirting have been on his part. 

“Technically they’re half brothers,” you shrug, “They live out in Philly with my dad and step mom, I don’t really get to see them much.”

“Didn’t know you were from Philly, either.”

“I’m not, my dad moved out there when him and my mom got divorced.”

It’s not something you really love talking about. 

The few times you’ve tried, you’ve been shot down, patronising tones scoffing at how your biggest trauma is the separation of your parents, as if your whole world didn’t crumble down with the demise of their relationship, the demise of life as you knew and very dearly loved it.

“You don’t see him even in the summer?”

“Him and his family are on vacation in Europe for 6 weeks. England, France, Spain, Germany, the boys are into soccer so they’ll be out there until the Euros.”

You don’t miss the way Luke’s face scrunches at how you call them his family, and you’re not sure you’re ready for him to start pitying you, so you throw the DVD case toward him before you can second guess your choice.

Interstellar. 

You hope he doesn’t pick up on why it might be one of your favourites. Especially not considering the topic of the conversation at hand. Something about the crippling regret Cooper has for leaving Murph behind plucks harmoniously at some unidentifiable strings deep within you, but you’re hardly about to admit that to Luke, of all people.

“I love this movie,” he smiles, almost surprised, as if he expected you to throw The Notebook his way. Maybe next time - he’d probably love that movie, too, if he gave it a chance. 

“Me too. I love space movies.”

“Like Space Jam?” He asks as he pushes himself up, going toward the TV to set up the movie with the DVD in one hand and the remote control in the other. 

“No, like movies about Space,” you say, throwing yourself down onto the same couch he just vacated and tucking your feet beneath you to get comfortable. “Although I guess Space Jam would technically fit into that bracket.”

“I didn’t realise that was a genre,” he chuckles.

“Not the scary ones, though, I don’t wanna be freaked out by space.”

“Is that like a thing? You just like any movie set in space?”

“I like anything about space, period. Movies, documentaries, books. Thinking about it makes me feel really insignificant.”

“Insignificant? Is that not a bad thing?” He asks as he makes his way back, settling into his side and angling his body toward yours.

“Do you ever think about how big the universe is, Hughes? It’s humongous! If I ever feel anxious or panicky I think about just how big it is and how I’m not even a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things. If I’m so tiny, how big can my problems actually be?”

“I guess that makes sense,” he seems to mull it over in his head, the thought of him even considering it and not making you feel stupid warms your chest - makes you forget just how much of yourself you’ve shared with him in the last couple of minutes alone, makes you worry less that you’re sharing too much. “I think I might be the opposite, though. Probably the youngest brother in me, I only feel better if I feel bigger.”

You think that might be why he’s always trying to one up you - sassy comments and inappropriate jokes galore. Not that you mind any of it, not really.

“What about you? What movies do you like?”

“You’re gonna be so shocked.”

“Sports movies?”

“Look at you, knowing me like the back of your hand.” He coos, nudging at your knee with his hand. “I’ll watch anything, though. We should take it in turns, whenever it’s just us,” he says like the thought of spending time alone with you has only just crossed his mind. “Picking a movie to show each other.”

You think there’s a lot of yourself in the media you consume. The movies you watch, the music you listen to, and sharing those things with Luke feels like giving him the only other key to a high security vault. It’s something you’ve avoided so far - letting him play his songs in the car, avoiding making any sort of pick in the group movie nights. It’s daunting, and it’s a lot of pressure, and so you don’t know why you agree with so much ease - a shrug, and a casual muttering of, “Sure, why not?”

The pieces of your dynamic slowly start to slot together, and you start to realise why you’ve been entertaining his company so often, lately. Why your mood so quickly de-escalated itself, earlier. Why you’ve found yourself curled up on the same couch as him, instead of literally anywhere else in the house, doing anything other than this. Why you’re so quick to agree to letting him access all these unseen parts of you.

And why you think he might be able to read your mind, after he asks, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Only if I get to ask one back.”

“What were you gonna do tonight, if you were on your own?”

Thank God, you think, your heart jumping at the thought of anything else he could have asked.

“I was gonna do a sheet mask and steal the bottle of wine Quinn stashed behind the laundry detergent.” You admit with a nonchalant shrug, the plans you had been looking forward to all day seeming mundane in comparison to this. “Why’d you stay behind? You love Zach Bryan.”

“I love sheet masks and stolen wine, too.”

Your lips curve up before you get the chance to huff at his non-answer, and you feel your throat go a little dry at the way his curve, too - the way his green eyes darken when they meet yours, and you feel like he’s looking straight through you.

It’s around half way through the movie that you realise how much you’re enjoying yourself - when you look over at Luke, and the light from the screen is still bouncing off the sticky white sheet plastered to his face, only just able to make out his round eyes through the little slit in the fabric. 

You sip at your wine to hide your smile, and turn your attention back to the TV until Luke nudges at your feet with his, and your eyes meet over the tops of your bent knees. 

“You tell anyone I did this, I’ll never speak to you again.”

Your laugh ripples through every inch of your upper body, rumbling up from your belly and manifesting itself in shaking shoulders, your smile wide and your sheet mask slipping out of place. “You can’t threaten me with a good time, Hughes.”

You spend the rest of the night trying not to think about how there might just be a tiny door in your heart, eking it’s way open for him to squeeze his gangly limbs into.

>PART TWO<

another a/n: I don't want to put a timeframe on when the next part will be posted bc as soon as I do that, my brain will revolt and it won't happen, but I'd love to know your thoughts in the meantime!!! I have a lot of the rest actually written, and what I don't have written, I have drafted, so it shouldn't be too long but!!! like I said no timeframe!! I've had a lot of fun with this dynamic, and hearing any opinions would mean a lot to me!!

this was my first time writing reader insert if you saw any instances of she/her where they shouldn't be, no you didn’t. I tried as best as I could to avoid using Y/N because it takes me out of it I don’t even remember if I put it anywhere but sometimes it's hard to get around I did my best ok!!!

[iluvbuckets]

seeing paige fall at the game today just made me fume on how no one even tried checking if she had a concussion 😓

so could u do like a one shot where r basically throws a whole tantrum over seeing paige on the floor and demanding she gets checked

I BEG

great minds think alike bc i literally started this immediately when i saw the announcement

concussion protocol

 paige bueckers x fem!reader 

summary: you and paige are teammates on the dallas wings and she takes a hard hit to the head in the second quarter.

warnings: nothing just you having a soft spot for paige

word count: 2.1k

notes: i could make a part 2 if y'all want also i'm not used to getting anon messages i feel so special

read part 2!

✷✷✷

you had been playing for the dallas wings for two years.

this new team had been nicknamed the team of crashouts, with paige bueckers being a mini diana taurasi combined with dijonai carrington and myisha hines-allen. but you had never been the type to argue with a referee, so you were quickly nicknamed the mom. you kept everyone calm while they were having genuine conversations, as paige would call it. of course, if a call was particularly bad, you did talk to the refs, but not in the way they did. and you had always been that way, even since aau basketball. 

there were many clips of you coming over to talk to any of your teammates while they were talking to refs, especially paige because she seemed to be doing it the most. 

when paige was announced as the number one pick in the draft, you and your team danced around the room in dallas like it wasn’t being live-streamed. you were so excited to get someone as skilled in the sport as paige, and someone who was so kind off the court. 

during training camp, she quickly became your favorite teammate. there was a running joke among the team that she was your velcro player because she just always seemed to be where you were without fail, and you pretended to be annoyed by her, but you would never admit that you secretly loved it. having her around was like a breath of fresh air with her sweet, childish energy, especially because she made sure everyone was always having fun at practice.

and you were becoming close off the court as well. during the first week and even throughout the rest of training camp, you could tell she was having a hard time adjusting to being so far from her loved ones. you started inviting her over for dinner a couple of nights a week so she didn’t feel so lonely and honestly, it felt good to have someone who wanted to spend time with you like that. 

it had evolved from just dinner, though, to full-on hanging out any chance you got, and everyone knew. the two of you had been caught at the mall, professional sports games, the grocery store, restaurants–all by fans wanting photos. not that you minded, of course, because she was quickly becoming one of your best friends.

so when you finally won in connecticut, you were so happy for her, you thought you could cry. it was the place she had never lost in front of her old teammates that she had missed so badly, so you knew it was a full-circle moment. you definitely weren’t expecting her to ask you to come meet her old teammates, either. when they saw you two walking together, they gave each other looks, but you pretended to ignore them for the sake of your sanity. 

leading into the next game against the sky, she was still riding on that high. the last game she had been on fire and she was determined to bring it back to chicago with her. 

but things didn’t always go according to plan.

during the second quarter, while running point with courtney vandersloot guarding her, she tried to drive to be able to get the shot (or a good pass, knowing paige). instead, she ended up colliding with sloot and was sent tumbling to the ground. you were standing in the opposite corner waiting for her to go so you could move from your spot. you barely even registered that she had been hit until you saw her stumble. as soon as the whistle blew, you were running to her side, not even waiting to see if she would get right back up.

and she didn’t, she stayed on the ground. her eyes were pinched shut, biting her bottom lip as hard as she could, hands on her forehead, as she tried to will the pain away on the floor. your stomach dropped at the sight.

you placed a hand on her knee, bending over her a little bit. “are you okay?”

she just nodded in response, moving her hands to cover her face, but you weren’t convinced. you glanced over to the bench to see if they were sending any trainers or if coach was coming over, but she reached her hand out for you to help her up, so they didn’t. they can’t come onto the court unless the player can’t get down. still, you helped her up, patting her on the back comfortingly. she blinked a few times, wincing as she did so.

“you need to go get checked out, paige,” you said sternly.

“no, i’m fine,” she argued, shaking her head. you didn’t know if she was shaking her head at you or trying to shake some of the pain away, though. “i can play.”

you threw your hands up at her, clearly angry. “you just hit your head.” 

she just shrugged as she turned to walk to her spot for the possession throw-in, getting stopped by sloot on the way to check in.

“paige!” you yelled in frustration. she just shook her head at you and pointed to the baseline, silently telling you to drop it and just throw it in. 

you began to walk over to the ref, debating on whether or not there was anything he could do. ultimately, you decided there wasn’t much except give you a technical for arguing like that, so you immediately pivoted to direct your anger to your coach.

“you’re going to let her play?” you practically screamed, watching as his eyes widened slightly, but he attempted to remain calm. he had never been the butt of your emotion before (well, he’d probably never seen it on film either, so this would be a total first).

you couldn’t even stop to think about how to handle it rationally without lashing out, and you didn’t think about the way the announcers would be talking about it either.

uh oh, that’s new. y/l/n seems to be having some words with her coaches after bueckers took that fall.

the arena was quiet enough watching it all go down that the livestream could hear you yelling too, and that would definitely get sent around later, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. a head and neck injury is a serious injury, and you can’t believe that they aren’t treating it as such.

“if she says she’s fine, she’s fine,” coach shrugged, not wanting to make a scene. 

���i don’t give a fuck what she says,” you laughed in disbelief. “evaluate her, at least. she just got hit in the head!”

i don’t think we’ve ever seen y/l/n this heated before. i’m surprised there isn’t smoke coming out of her ears.

paige was standing where she was supposed to be, chewing on her lip, watching this all go down. she couldn’t decide if she was embarrassed or feeling giddy seeing you react this way, but she was definitely a little annoyed. she tried to play it off as best as she could so she wouldn’t get taken out and there you were, ruining it. 

before you could keep yelling, dijonai was pressing a hand to your stomach to push you away before things got too heated. she gave you an apologetic smile, but didn’t say anything as you walked back to where you were supposed to be. when you were standing on the baseline, you shot paige a glare that she ignored.

you played out the final minute, but you couldn’t stop thinking about how angry you were. at paige for getting up, at your trainers and the refs for not intervening, at your coach for not taking it seriously. you didn’t blame your teammates because honestly, what were they supposed to do?

when the buzzer sounded to signal halftime, you walked straight past your coach as you went into the tunnel back to the locker room. you stood at the bench lining the wall for a few moments, closing your eyes and tipping your head back to try to gain some composure before the rest of the team walked in.

you nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt arms wrap around you from behind and a head rest on your shoulder, a ponytail touching the side of your neck.

“i’m okay,” paige’s voice broke the silence. it was soft and quiet, and attempting to be reassuring, but it didn’t help.

you laughed, but not out of amusement. “don’t piss me off.” 

“you already are.”

“not at you, but i will be if you don’t get evaluated,” you said.

she let go when she realized you weren’t going to hug her back, sitting on the bench in front of you and staring up at you. you didn’t sit next to her, though. you just crossed your arms and shifted your weight to one foot. 

“i just did a quick one,” she replied matter-of-factly. “they said i can still play.”

you rolled your eyes at her words, knowing that meant that you had to just let it go if she was cleared, but you still knew it was a bad idea. your brother played in the nfl, and if that happened to them, they would’ve been immediately pulled from gameplay because symptoms can take 24-48 hours to show. it’s ridiculous that paige didn’t get the same treatment. 

“you have a headache?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

she shook her head, but didn’t make eye contact. then opened her mouth to speak, but the rest of the team started filing into the locker room. 

for the rest of halftime, you didn’t meet your coach’s eyes as he spoke. you just sat on the bench next to paige, stealing glances every so often to try to catch her wincing in pain so you could plead your case and trying to diffuse your anger. 

she doesn’t though, and you’re forced to carry on into the next quarter like usual.

but it wasn’t usual. she was moving slowly, throwing up bad shots, and making lazy passes. all those stupid mistakes that a normal, healthy paige would never dare to make, even by accident.

at some point toward the middle of the third quarter, she bumped into one of the opposing players. the hit wasn’t even hard and a foul was called on someone somewhere else on the floor, but you watched as she reached up to touch her temple where she had been hit and winced. 

“paige!” you yelled again, approaching her as everyone went down the floor to throw in on chicago’s side. “what the hell was that?” 

she gave you a confused look. “what?” 

“you have a fucking headache,” you accused. there was no reason to ask at that point; you could tell. her face constantly looked like she was in pain for the entire quarter and that touch only gave it away. “get the fuck off the court.”

“i’m fine,” she shook her head, running down the court where everyone was waiting.

you marched right over to the bench for the second time that night to give your coach a piece of your mind. 

“take her out,” you said, pointing to paige.

“she was cleared,” coach said calmly. 

“okay? you want to play around with our best player like that?” you asked, throwing your hands up. still, you jogged back down the court so the game wasn’t delayed anymore and you could avoid a call for that. 

the game continues like nothing happened. 

toward the end of the quarter, another foul is called on your team. it results in free-throws from chicago. while they are setting up, you use the opportunity to approach paige again. 

when she noticed, her eyes widened like she was scared you would yell at her again. you didn’t, though, you wrapped your arms around her shoulders in a hug, making sure your head was on the side she didn’t get hit on. she relaxed in your touch, her hands coming up to rest on your back. 

“i’m not mad at you. i’m just worried, okay?” your murmured in her ear, reassuringly. “i want you to get a full evaluation after this game is over.”

she nodded into your shoulder, knowing she didn't have a choice.

[yamumsyadadd]

hidden

this will be a three part series.

reader is younger (22), alexia is 30. the relationship is hidden but a select few find out and it doesn't go well.

let me know what you think :)

Sometimes there are people in this world that want you to change who you are, to hide, to pretend you are something or someone you aren’t. you had never been someone to shy away from the things that were important to you. You loved loudly, proudly, not only to your family but also with your friends and girlfriends.

For three years, you and your now ex-girlfriend Sam, had been incredibly public with your relationship. It came with a cost though. The fights, the unfollowing of social media accounts, the slow disappearances, all went noticed by fans. Suddenly, the home you had in Portland became incredibly suffocating.

After an early exit for the World Cup in Australia, you decided to leave Portland. Mainly due to your ex-girlfriend, and needing to get out of the hole you felt stuck in. Barcelona came knocking quickly. It honestly surprised you. For an entire day you sat googling the team history, wanting to better prepare yourself and not show up to the club looking like the typical American that people hated.

Both the club and you agreed that you would just join the team in Mexico, your belongings would be sent to Barcelona early, the club organised an apartment and for someone to unpack your belongings for you.

You knew that the players of Barcelona, as a club and individual people, expected a lot. The first few days were a little more relaxed, a lot more running than most would’ve enjoyed. But you loved running. It was something you did whenever you were in your own head too much. For the past six months you spent a lot of time running. Improving your fitness, your stamina and even beating your own personal bests.

It was true that the team was full of incredible players, it was hard not to get star struck at them. But one in particular. Alexia. There was something more than just being start struck. Alexia was beautiful. Her face, her hair, the way she sounded when she spoke English, and her ability to make everyone feel welcome. You had a little crush.

And unbeknownst to you, Alexia had one too. But due to you being younger, a whole nine years younger, she refused to do anything about it. Marta and Irene caught on quickly, as did Jana and Claudia. While Marta was encouraging it, citing it would just be a little harmless fun, Irene was completely against it.

Team nights were usually lowkey. Dinner at a restaurant, a hike or an afternoon at the beach. But not this time, it was a celebration. In a week the season would start, so this was the teams last chance to let loose with no real consequences.

Jana’s apartment was a mess, multiple outfits, discarded alcohol glasses, make up and shoes scattered around. It had been three hours since you arrived, Cata, Patri and Claudia were already drinking, or as they said, ‘pre-drinking the pre-drinks’. There was no possible way for you to catch up on them without completely wiping yourself out before getting to the club, so you slowly started drinking.

By the time you actually arrived, Cata, Patri and Claudia were past drunk, you and Jana were on the same level being slightly tipsy. The club was loud and packed. The team had gotten a table in the VIP section above the dancefloor. From that advantage point everyone could see everyone. The captains, who weren’t completely drunk (Patri), could keep an eye on their team.

Along with the team there were a few extra people, Irene’s wife Lucinda had come along, so had a few of the Spanish women’s national team, and Alexia’s little sister, Alba. You didn’t know it was her sister until you were completely drunk and dancing on the dancefloor.

“Alexia, she’s my big sister.” Alba leaned in, hands on your waist helping you stay upright. “I think she has a crush on you.” Your eyes almost bludged out of your head.

“No she doesn’t, she’s just being nice.”

“I can promise you, it’s more than that. I can prove it.” Alba told you her plan, sneak off out to the back patio, she was planning on leaving and a girl from earlier in the night was outside waiting for her. She was sure that if you both played the game, Alexia would be out in no time.

You both successfully exited the club into the smoker’s area, you were past the point of drunk and didn’t notice the death stare you received from Alexia as you walked away with her little sister.

Marta was sat next to Caro, hand resting on her thigh, giving Alexia an amused smile, “well Ale, are you going to just let her go with your little sister?” Caro and Irene gave Marta a look, one that proved neither agreed with it, “you know, she’s really drunk. She might need help home.”

“She has help home Marta.” Alexia grunted out. She knew it was a bad idea; she was thirty and you were still a kid. But she couldn’t help it. The way you smiled big and brightly, your eyes shining with happiness. The sound of your laugh, the way you remembered little random details about everyone, and the amount of work you always put in. no matter what, you were one of the first to get to training and one of the last to leave. While you hung out with the younger girls, you weren’t like them. You enjoyed having fun but as soon as it was training time, you locked in. it amazed her.

Alexia stood up abruptly, startling the girls around her. “Ale, leave her.” Irene tried to reach out, but Alexia shook her off.

“I’m going home. Goodnight.” They knew she wasn’t going home, at least not directly and that was confirmed as soon as they watched her walk out the same door you had gone through prior with Alba.

“Marta, why do you have to encourage it!” Irene groaned.

“Ale needs some fun. No, she deserves some fun. They are both adults and if they are both consenting there’s nothing wrong with it. Hell, look at lucy and Ona.” Marta vaguely waved a hand towards Lucy and Ona who were in their own little world on a separate table.

Outside, you were laughing with Alba and her friend as they lit up a cigarette. That was something different from home. Spanish people smoked and it was generally accepted to do it wherever. Expect for in the south, that didn’t happen much at home. Both your parents were strictly against it and since you were a professional athlete, and so were most your friends, you had never really been around people who smoked.

You had completely forgotten about the whole mission, until the door to the club slammed open. You heard Alba mutter something about it taking long enough and then you felt her presence.

Commanding but not scary, the tension was beaming off of her. “let’s go y/n. I’m taking you home.” The way she spoke was possessive, as if you belonged to her but you didn’t, you were your own personal.

“No, I’m okay here thanks.” You almost lost your balance as you said it, Alexia was the one to save you.

“Ale, if she says she wants to stay, let her stay.” The look alexia shot alba was enough that she put her hands up in surrender. Alexia’s arm went around your waist, holding tightly onto your hip. As soon as she loosened her grip a little, you tried to run. You were, after all, a runner.

Alexia groaned and then took off after you, considering how drunk you were it was easy to catch up. “Please let me just take you home.” She groaned, your drunken giggle filled her ears, and she couldn’t help but smile at you.

A shiver went through you as you looked into Alexia’s eyes, you weren’t cold, but Alexia automatically removed her jacket and draped it over your shoulders, “can we stop for nuggets on the way?” it was alexia’s time to laugh.

Alexia did end up getting you the nuggets and she watched in slight disgust as you ate the entire box in a few short minutes. The walk to your flat was halted by the downfall of rain. As you sat in the back of the uber you couldn’t help but think about how warm alexia’s body felt as you sat against her.

Both of you knew it was a bad idea. Alexia was 30, you were barely 22, she was a captain and most importantly, she was Alexia Putellas. But for Alexia, there was a look in your eyes that made her want to throw everything away.

There was a moment in the elevator, you were leaning against the back of the elevator and Alexia was standing in front of you. Slowly she walked towards you, as if you were a creature she was worried would run away, her hands landed on your hips, thumbs running against the exposed skin. Just as she started to lean in, the elevator binged, and the doors opened.

Ms Santos from down the hall came in. the old lady was nice; you felt bad for her. The small talk that started in the elevator continued until she was at her door. While you were far too drunk to help with her bag, Alexia carried it for her, forever the gentlewoman.

As you were unlocking the door to your apartment, your mind was racing with thoughts about the state you left your apartment in. was it clean? Were the dirty clothes all over the floor? Alexia’s warm hand was placed on top of yours, “let me help you.” She murmured into your ear.

When you alexia finally got the door open, it was like a flip switched. The warmth of her hand on your lower back and the heat pooling in your underwear had effectively sobered you up. Alexia was looking insanely hot as she stood there in your kitchen, getting you water and Panadol for the impending headache she was sure you would have.

All you could do was watch her. The way she moved so effortlessly, as if she’d been in your apartment many times. How her hand ran under the water to make sure it was cool, and mostly how her hands gripped the glass. You wished she was gripping any part of you like that.

When she turned around towards you, she saw the way you were looking at her. Your bottom lip between your teeth as you looked up and down at her. Slowly she made her way towards you, glass in one hand and Panadol in the other.

“Here, take the Panadol and drink the water, por favor.”

“I don’t want it.” You pouted up at her, hand reaching for the hem of her shirt.

“What do you want then hm?” one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows raised.

“You.” The small smirk on her face was all the sign you needed. You stepped forward, hands going under her shirt and kissed her. She automatically kissed back and for a while, you both got lost in it until it hit you.

You turned around as quick as you could, making yourself dizzy. Alexia was still in the kitchen, confused until she heard you empty your stomach contents into what she hoped was the toilet. She moved just as fast, coming to hold your hair and rub your back. To you, it seemed to last forever but when you were finally done, a wave of embarrassment washed over you.

“Shower time, yes?” she moved around with ease. Starting the shower, getting you a towel and then helping you up. “Arms up.” You followed every direction she gave you, too tired and drunk to argue. Once you were in the shower, alexia left the bathroom to get you some comfy clothes to sleep in.

She took her time, admiring the way your bedroom seemed to be so you. The photos of your family and national teammates littered your dresser, your training bag thrown on a chair in the corner of the room and plants that were scattered around.

You slowly made your way out of the bathroom, feeling slightly better but still drunk. Alexia turned around to see you standing there, hair damp and body wrapped in a towel. She couldn’t help but feel things.

“Can you help me?” your voice was small, almost vulnerable. Alexia didn’t say anything, just nodded her hand and came over to you. She tried not to look at your naked body, but she couldn’t help it. You were beautiful, she knew that already, but this was different.

“Can you stay?” you asked as you got into bed.

“Okay.” Alexia turned off the main bathroom and bedroom light, plugging your phone into charge and climbing into the other side of your bed. She manhandled you until you were laying with your head on her chest, her hand running through your hair.

“Thank you for looking after me.” You placed a small kiss on her lips and let yourself fall asleep.

You assumed, that asking her to stay meant that she would stay the entire night but when you woke up, she was gone. No goodbye, no note. Nothing.

Maybe she has somewhere to be, or maybe she just couldn’t sleep in someone else's bed, you weren’t sure, but it stung a little.

Two days later at training when she completely ignored you, it hurt even more. Maybe she regretted it, maybe she was embarrassed. The entire day she acted like you didn’t exist and it hurt, but then as it was nearing midnight she turned up at your door.

[hockeyluvrr]

I know love || lh43

series masterlist main masterlist

summary: Luke Hughes has always been your best friend—until one summer at the lake house changes everything. One almost-kiss, one broken moment, and suddenly, there’s a distance between you that even time can’t fix. But when Luke starts his first NHL season, fate gives you one last chance to get it right. Will you finally close the space between you, or are some love stories meant to stay unfinished?

warnings: miscommunication, pining, feelings of regret and all that jazz, eventual fluff though but mostly angsty

author’s note: I actually love this one, it combines two of my fav versions of lukey…UMich lukey and summer lukey 😩 also I truly believe this song is so luke coded but it might just be because I’m in love with him or something idk 😭

word count: 2,422

There was something about Luke Hughes that made it impossible to stay away. Maybe it was the way he always found you in a crowded room, his eyes lighting up when they met yours. Or the way he’d throw an arm around your shoulders after a long day, acting like it was second nature. Whatever it was, it made it difficult to ignore the tiny ache in your chest whenever he smiled at you.

You met Luke your freshman year at UMich. The introduction had been casual—one of your friends dragged you to a party, and somehow, you ended up in the kitchen, laughing over how awful the beer tasted. Luke, dressed in his usual hoodie and backwards cap, leaned against the counter and smirked.

“Not a fan of cheap beer?”

“Not a fan of beer in general,” you admitted.

He handed you a bottle of water instead, and that was the first night he really looked at you—like he saw you, not just another face in a room full of people.

Over time, it became something more. Late-night study sessions in the library turned into coffee runs before morning classes. Game nights at his apartment turned into movie marathons where you both ended up asleep on opposite sides of the couch. He was one of your best friends, the person who could read you without you saying a word.

And maybe that’s why it hurt so much.

Because no matter how much time you spent with Luke, there was always space between you. Just enough to keep you at arm’s length.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was everything.

———

The campus was buzzing with excitement—UMich was heading to the Frozen Four, and Luke was at the center of it all. He was always the last one off the ice at practice, the first one in the locker room watching film. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight of expectations pressing down on his shoulders.

“You should sleep,” you murmured one night as he sat beside you in his apartment, head resting on the back of the couch.

“Can’t,” he muttered. “Too much going on in my head.”

You hesitated before reaching out, fingers lightly brushing his wrist. “You’ll be okay, you know. No matter what happens.”

Luke turned his head to look at you, something unreadable flickering across his face. For a second, it felt like the space between you was closing, like he was seeing you in a way he hadn’t before.

But then his phone buzzed, and whatever moment that had been disappeared.

“Jack’s calling,” he said, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. “I should take this.”

You nodded, swallowing the disappointment curling in your chest. “Yeah. Of course.”

It wasn’t the first time. And it wouldn’t be the last.

———

Summer at the Hughes’ lake house was supposed to be easy. Sun-soaked days, late-night bonfires, early morning swims when the world still felt half-asleep. It was a tradition—Luke, his brothers, and a revolving door of friends who came and went, all drawn to the water like it was calling them home.

This year, you were part of it.

You had barely stepped out of the car when Luke pulled you into a hug, arms tight around you like it had been months instead of weeks since you last saw him. The feeling of him—warm and familiar—lingered even after he let go.

“Missed you,” he admitted, his voice soft enough that no one else would hear.

Your stomach flipped, but you forced a smile. “Missed you too, Hughes.”

For a while, it was easy to pretend nothing had changed. Mornings were spent on the dock, your feet dangling over the edge as Luke sat beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. Afternoons were filled with boat rides and half-hearted attempts at wakeboarding that usually ended with someone face-planting into the water. And at night, when the air was thick with the scent of bonfire smoke, you and Luke always ended up next to each other—knees bumping, fingers almost touching.

But that space between you? It was still there.

And then, one night, it wasn’t.

———

It started with a game of truth or dare.

The group was sprawled across the deck, a mix of empty bottles and half-eaten bags of chips between them. The game had been harmless at first—stupid questions, ridiculous dares. But then Jack’s girlfriend grinned and turned to you.

“Alright,” she said, eyes twinkling. “Truth or dare?”

You hesitated, feeling Luke’s gaze on you. “Dare.”

Her smile widened. “Kiss someone.”

The group erupted into cheers, and your stomach twisted. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, your mind racing through your options. There were a dozen ways out of this—you could laugh it off, could kiss someone random and be done with it.

But then you looked at Luke.

And Luke looked at you.

The world narrowed to the space between you, to the way his lips parted slightly like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears as you leaned in, the air thick with something unspoken.

Your breath mingled with his. His hand twitched like he was going to reach for you.

But then—

“Look, a shooting star!” Jack announced, breaking the moment like a snapped thread. The group all turned to look up at the sky, and just like that, the moment was gone.

Luke pushed himself up, muttering something about getting another drink before disappearing into the house.

You exhaled sharply, your hands trembling as you curled them into fists.

It was almost something.

Almost.

And that was the worst part.

———

After that night, something shifted.

Luke wasn’t avoiding you, not exactly. He still sat next to you at breakfast, still threw you into the lake when you least expected it, still nudged your foot under the dinner table when Jack was telling some ridiculous story. But there was hesitation in the way he looked at you now, a flicker of something unsure that hadn’t been there before.

And you? You felt like you were walking a tightrope, balancing between pretending nothing had changed and wanting to grab him by the shoulders and demand to know what the hell that moment had meant to him.

But you didn’t. Because if Luke wasn’t saying anything, why should you?

That was the problem with the two of you. You were always waiting for the other person to make the first move.

And then, one night, you stopped waiting.

The bonfire was dying down, most of the group already slipping inside for the night. You lingered on the dock, the cool wood beneath you grounding you as you stared out at the dark water.

Luke found you like he always did.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, sitting beside you.

You huffed out a laugh. “Something like that.”

Silence stretched between you. Not uncomfortable, but not easy either. The weight of everything unspoken sat between you, thick as the humid summer air.

“About that night—”

Luke started speaking at the same time you did, and you both broke off, staring at each other. He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“You first,” he said.

You swallowed, your pulse roaring in your ears. “Did it mean anything to you?”

The question hung between you, heavy and dangerous.

Luke inhaled sharply. “Of course it did.”

“Then why did you leave?”

His jaw tensed. “Because, I—” He exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair. “Because I didn’t want to ruin anything.”

You blinked. “Ruin what?”

“This,” he said, gesturing between the two of you. “Us.”

Anger flared in your chest. “Luke, do you even hear yourself? You think avoiding how we feel is going to fix anything?”

His brows furrowed. “How we feel?”

And that was it. That was the breaking point.

You stood, your hands clenched into fists. “I like you, Luke. I’ve liked you for so long, and I’m so tired of pretending I don’t. But if you don’t feel the same way, just—just tell me. Stop leaving me in this space between nothing and everything.”

Luke looked stunned. Like he hadn’t realised it was that simple.

Like he hadn’t realised how much this had been breaking you.

You shook your head, turning away. “Forget it.”

You didn’t give him the chance to respond. You just walked away.

And for the first time since you met Luke Hughes, he didn’t follow you.

———

The rest of the summer passed in a blur. You and Luke barely spoke.

It wasn’t like he was ignoring you outright—he was still there in the periphery, still laughing at Jack’s jokes, still competing against Quinn and the guys in wakeboarding. But he wasn’t there with you. Not the way he used to be.

And you? You didn’t know how to fix it.

You thought maybe he’d pull you aside before you left, maybe say something—anything—to make sense of what happened that night on the dock. But when the time came to go, Luke just hugged you the way he did everyone else, murmured a soft ‘see you later’, and let you walk away.

No mention of the fight. No apology. No confession.

Just silence.

And maybe that was your answer.

———

Luke was officially in the NHL.

You saw the news everywhere—on social media, on sports channels, in the excited texts from your friends. He was doing it. Living his dream.

And you were proud of him. You really were.

But you hadn’t talked since that night at the lake. Not even once.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about reaching out. You had typed out messages more times than you could count—‘Hey, congrats, Hope you’re doing well, I miss you’—but you never sent them.

If he wanted to talk to you, he would.

At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

———

It was Jack who invited you.

You weren’t sure why—maybe he missed having you around, maybe he just wanted you to stop looking like someone had ripped out a piece of your heart and run off with it. Either way, he sent a simple ‘Come to the game. No excuses.’ text, and somehow, you found yourself in the arena, watching Luke skate across the ice like he belonged there.

He looked good. Happy. Like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

And maybe that should have been enough for you.

But then, after the game, Jack pulled you through the halls of the arena, past reporters and players until he stopped in front of a door.

“He’s in there,” Jack said, giving you a pointed look. “Fix it.”

You barely had time to process what was happening before Jack knocked once and walked off, leaving you standing there as the door swung open.

And there he was.

Luke.

His hair was damp, his tie loose around his neck, his eyes widening the second he saw you.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then, his voice came, quiet but certain.

“You came.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “Yeah. Jack kind of forced me.”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to smile but didn’t know if he was allowed to. “Still. You’re here.”

You nodded, shifting on your feet. “Yeah.”

Silence. The same silence that had sat between you for months.

And then—

“I was scared.”

Your breath caught as Luke exhaled shakily, his hands clenching at his sides.

“I didn’t know what to say that night,” he admitted. “Didn’t know how to tell you that I—I felt the same way. That I have for so long.” His throat bobbed. “And then you walked away, and I let you, and I hated myself for it.”

Your heart pounded. “Luke…”

“I thought maybe it was too late,” he murmured. “That I lost you before I even got the chance to have you.”

You inhaled sharply. “It’s not too late.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, like he was finally seeing what had been right in front of him all along.

And this time—this time—he closed the space between you.

Luke’s hands hovered uncertainly before settling on your waist, his touch warm even through the fabric of your coat. His eyes flickered across your face, searching, waiting—like he needed you to give him permission to finally, finally close the space between you.

So you did.

You surged forward, hands fisting in his jacket as his lips met yours.

And just like that, every unspoken word, every moment of hesitation, every aching second of being apart melted away.

Luke kissed you like he was making up for lost time—like he regretted every second he spent pretending he didn’t want this. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer, and you sighed against his lips, letting yourself fall into him.

When you finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“I should’ve done that a long time ago,” he murmured.

You huffed out a breathless laugh. “Yeah. You should have.”

His grip on you tightened slightly. “Let me fix it,” he whispered. “Let me be what you deserve.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, really look at him. His eyes were so open, so full of everything he had been too afraid to say before. And for the first time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty. Just Luke. Just you.

And this time, you weren’t letting him go.

———

Luke didn’t waste any more time.

He called you after games, sent you random texts about things that reminded him of you, FaceTimed you when he got back to his apartment just because he wanted to see your face.

And then, one day, he called you with a simple request:

“Come visit me.”

So you did.

New Jersey in the winter was cold, but Luke’s apartment was warm, and his arms around you were even warmer. The second you stepped inside, he pulled you into him, mumbling a soft, ‘missed you’ against your hair.

You smiled. “I was gone for like a month.”

“Too long.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart swelled in your chest.

Luke had always been a constant in your life—your best friend, your safe place, your almost. But now?

Now, there was no more almost.

Just love. Real, undeniable, steady love.

And it was everything you had ever wanted.

[harstyle]

Fourteen Years

Summary: They became fast best friends at ten years old - fourteen years later, not much has changed. Now they're twenty four, spending a few weeks together in her Berlin apartment as he takes a well earned break from work. He's a world famous singer, she has an office job she hates. Their paths couldn‘t be more misaligned - but that's what makes them work. Everything falls into place when they're together, a quiet routine building in the shadows, easy and organic. They move around each other like life is the simplest thing in the world.

But what happens when a drunken conversation on a balcony threatens the livelihood of their friendship forever?

What happens when all bets are off and they're forced to be honest with each other?

Word-count: around 4k

Warnings: nothing really, mentions of alcohol, swearing

A/N: Hey there, it's been months! I haven't really written much except from this little thing because I’ve had a lot going on. I'm not a huge fan of this tbh, but something about it feels comforting, so I thought I'd post it. Get ready for the cheesiness of it all and hope you're having a good day!

By the way he calls her Tinkerbell in this lol (don’t ask).

Also, there‘s weird time jumps because I wanted to try out something new, but it basically just switches between the night the conversation went down (italics) and the morning after and her thoughts on the night (normal). Hope it‘s not too confusing!

—

“Because you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, Tink.”

That’s what he said last night. He was drunk, even though he insisted repeatedly he wasn’t, but she smelt the alcohol on his breath, a mix of beer and mint that was harmonious enough to smell good. His pupils were dilated, cheeks a shade of red they only are when he’s downright gone but trying to act like he isn’t.

She knows him like the back of her hand. Fourteen years together, every step of their lives since childhood. Elementary, secondary, early adulthood to now— all of it, she’s known him better than anyone. She’s seen all of his phases, however successful or downright devastating— she’s gotten to know all the cousins, all the girlfriends, all the enemies. They’re the it couple, the loves of each other‘s lives. In the most platonic way imaginable.

Last night he wasn‘t like himself. He spent most of the night keeping to himself despite the rare company of their friends, chucking drink after drink like alcohol isn’t the gateway drug it‘s known to be— so unlike the man who always paces himself so as to preserve his health. And then he spoke to her. And at first, it went like always.

“Tinkerbell!”

“What?” She breathes softly, turning to face him whilst pressing her back against the railing. She’s biting the inside of her cheek, having just thought of him as she looked over the scenery from her balcony thinking how nice it’d be for him to be by her side. “You okay, there, cowboy?”

“Never been better, Tink.”

And she remembers, even now, the smile that tugged at her face when she realized he was different. Because it wasn’t a bad different; it wasn’t like he became cold, or dismissive, or mean— no, he just seemed happy. Too happy, like there was nothing in the world that warranted enough importance to be worried about. A version of him she’s never fully gotten to know, but has seen snippets of. And it isn’t like he’s not a happy person— he is; never too worried, never too scared. But this was a different kind of happy.

He seemed lighter. Like the years of experience and maturity had washed away momentarily, leaving her with the eighteen year old Harry she once knew standing in front of her.

“Oh is that why you can’t walk straight?”

He shushes her, coming to lean his front against the railing. She inches closer to him, head falling comfortably against his shoulder. Then she says softly, “we haven’t spoken much today.”

“Yeah, we haven’t.”

She prompts her chin on his shoulder, staring hesitantly at the side of his face. There’s barely any lighting and she can barely make out the shapes, but it’s enough. She watches as his lashes flutter softly, as his facial muscles tighten a little. “And why is that?”

He looks ahead, breathing in and out gently, like he’s deep in thought.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Tink.”

“Okay,” she nods subtly. “Well if you want to talk about it…”

“…you’re here.” He finishes for her.

“Like I always am,” she emphasizes, the extra squeeze to his arm substituting for a thousand words she could be saying instead. But she doesn’t really need to. Never has.

Now she’s waiting. In the kitchen, back in the living room. Then in the kitchen again. She’s pacing, thinking, worrying about what Harry will say when he’s up. If he even remembers what he said, if he meant it the way she thinks he must have.

She never had to worry about losing him. Because she always knew, even at 12 years old, that risking it would mean losing it forever. It being the friendship; the bond with the kindest, most precious boy she had ever laid eyes on. So even though throughout the years sparks of feelings have crept up on occasion, she’s never pursued that dream.

But it would be sucha dream, wouldn’t it? To be loved by the boy she grew up loving. To be loved by the boy who knows how to appreciate her without having to be taught. To be loved by the boy who always puts her first, treats her best, makes her feel whole.

It hurts sometimes to think she might never find someone like him again. It’s psychotic, really, the fact that she’s so frightened of losing him that she’s deprived herself of the best man on earth. Just so she can keep him a little longer. Even if it means walking down the aisle to him and not being the one wearing white.

For a lingering moment, all there is between them is silence. Dead silence, just the rhythm of Harry’s heartbeat exposed underneath her fingertips.

He breathes in deeply, almost as though preparing himself to say something earth shattering. But then he doesn’t. His fingers twitch, she sees it.

“What is it, H?”

He looks at her, eyes filled with something indescribable. But she speaks his language, so even though he doesn’t say it, she knows what he means to convey. Thankfulness. Gratitude. And she feels it too, any time she’s sad or conflicted, any time she’s in a place she doesn’t want to be in— a glance of his eyes and there it is. All the words. Never spoken out loud, but crafted together perfectly in the space between their bodies.  She always wonders how. She knows he’s wondering it right now too.

But it changes something in his face. It pushed him over the edge, the look of determination solidifying into something more serious.

“You get me, Tink.”

“I do,” she says lowly, making sure to tilt her lips into a smile. “And you, H, get me.”

“That’s crazy, isn’t it? How rare must a connection like ours be?”

“Pretty rare, probably,” she replies with an easy chuckle, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly.

“Yeah, probably. I don’t even think it and you know. Y’know before I do, every time.”

Her breathing changes with his. It’s sporadic, slower, almost like otherwise she would be risking a solid ground to stand on. “Yeah, I… I guess so, H. Are you okay?”

“I’m always good when I’m with you. Which is—“ he laughs, almost like at himself, “which is kind of the point, you know. I—“ he looks away, running a shaky hand through his disheveled hair, “I’ve been thinking about how weird it is that we’re… I mean, I’ve never felt that way about…” he pauses again, taking a short leveled breath. “About anyone, really. Anyone but you.”

Her eyebrows pinch, pulling together to crease the center of her forehead.

She doesn’t know what to say. Maybe she shouldn’t say anything. Maybe then he’ll realize he shouldn’t be doing this right now, that he’s entering dangerous territory.

“And I saw you with… with that guy. Tim, you said?”

He nudges her when she remains quiet.

She clears her throat,”Tom, actually.”

He huffs a breath, “right, Tom. I see him, you know? I see what he could be, but it really doesn’t matter that he’s a good guy. It doesn’t matter that he picks up the bill, doesn’t matter that he opens your fucking door. I can’t shake this feeling that he could never be good enough. Because nobody is— not for you. Not even if he kisses the ground you walk on.”

And finally, it’s like she understands a little better what he’s trying to say. She snickers quietly to herself, but lenient worry spreads throughout her chest regardless. “well, that’s a little silly.”

“Is it?”

“If nobody’s gonna be good enough then might as well pick the next one in line, right?”

A pause. Then a cough. “Yeah, right,” he nods, but it looks and feels as though there’s something more to it.

Gently, she brushes a lone finger over his cold wrist. “Harry, what’s happening right now? I’m confused.”

He shakes his head, taking a breath to brace himself. “Is he the next in line?”

For some reason, her heart beats faster.  “What?”

And when he looks into her eyes again, they’re red. “Tom. Is he the next in line? The next best guy?”

For the first time, she allows her gaze to linger, to glide over his nose down to his mouth, then back up again. She swallows, the options of what to say made available to her in her head, yet both too risky to choose from. But she has to say something. “No, he’s not. You’re the best guy, you know that. But it’s different with you, with us.”

And he nods his head, taking in the answer with special consideration.

After a long pause, he takes a deep breath. “Would I be good enough?”

“Would you be good enough for what, H?”

“For you.”

And it was truly instinctual, her laugh. It was racked with nervousness, a sense of unease because she was left thoroughly confused. Looking back, it was probably demeaning of her to laugh— but then again, she still has no idea what happened last night. Where it came from.

She can picture it in her head now, the nervous look on his face as he asked her the question and probably the only time she’d ever recognized anything resembling insecurity in his voice. She’s pacing, a feeling of disgust overriding her stomach at the thought. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, to undermine him. But she didn’t know.

“Why are you laughing?”

She detaches herself from him, dismissal evident in her every step. Maybe it’s the kind of dismissal that needs to be expressed so that nothing moves and everything is left untouched— enough for him to just drop it. Because she’s terrified of it all falling apart. The first domino tile has been flicked; now it‘s only a matter of when will the rest fall in line? “Because you’re being ridiculous, Harry. Stop doing that, you’re freaking me out.”

But it’s not enough. He follows after her, struggling to walk a straight line.  “What’s ridiculous about me asking you a serious question?”

“I just— you know you’re good enough!”

“Do I?”

She glances at him shortly before continuing in stride. “Oh come on! Stop acting so oblivious and innocent.”

“What does that even mean, Y/N?”

“I can’t talk about this right now. Not when you’re this drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!”

“Yeah and the fucking pope isn’t catholic.”

He scoffs aloud. “Tinkerbell!”

“What?” She swivels around, her arms coming to hug around her middle. She looks at him as though repulsed, because frankly, she is. Things were fine before he had to go and get himself drunk and spurt things he couldn’t possibly mean.

He pauses, an expression of defeat on his worry-ridden face as he inches closer. And when he speaks again, it’s timid, not like anything she’s ever known him to be.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Tink.”

“What are you even talking about, Harry?”

“I don’t want to be the guy you regret, or hate, or hurt over. When we’re old, I want to be the guy you look back on with affection. And I— I didn’t really care about anything when we were younger, but I always cared about that. About you.”

He‘s terrified, she can hear it. With every breath he takes, every word he sounds out, there‘s an undertone of hesitation that keeps poking through the surface. It‘s like he‘s fighting with himself.

“Harry,” she warns, because this is all becoming too intense.

And that’s when he said it. Because you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, Tink. He said it with sincerity dripping from his words, a type of vulnerable that neither of them had ever demanded from one another. Who could’ve thought that he would ever reserve those words for her. Not for the women he’s dated, not for the woman he’ll marry. For her.

He must be kidding her.

“I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry.”

She walked away then, slamming the door behind her with considerable force. She was ready to leave this behind. Ready to sleep and wake up renewed, indifferent to last night’s shenanigans.

But she couldn’t sleep. She left bed at seven this morning and now she’s just sitting at the counter waiting for the air to shift. She wants the reassurance that things will continue to be the same.  

But deep down, she knows things can never again be the same, not even if they move past it graciously. It‘ll always live on in their subconscious, gnawing away at their minds until either of them caves and decides it isn‘t worth the hassle. Because it doesn‘t matter how much she wishes she could deny it; there‘s always been something there. And that something has gotten bigger and bigger, becoming too enormous to stay invisible to the human eye.

The clearing of his throat snaps her out of a trance. He’s standing in the doorway, sweatpants hanging low from his hips, shirtless. His arms are hugging loosely around his frame and something about about it causes her stomach to stir. Last night, of course, but also just him. Seeing him on a bright summer morning in all his glory, just how he is. There‘s a sense of domesticity that she supposes became normalized in their friendship but is now itching for a different kind of attention.  

She wonders how long he‘s been standing there.

“Hey,” she offers a warm smile, the relief at the sight of him enough to ease some of the tension in her body. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good. It’s just now that I’ve got a bit of a headache.”

“Oh! I actually thought you might so I— wait,” she rounds the island to her purse and fishes around for the pills, “I bought a new pack of advil yesterday—“

But the distraction doesn‘t work on him.

“Tink, I meant it.”

It’s abrupt. Even in his delivery, she can tell he’s been keeping it in, been aching to say it.

She freezes however, turning in her spot with a squint in her eye, “what?”

He releases a deep sigh. “I meant it. What I said about you last night. I know you’re hoping we can move past it but it’s been on my mind for a long time.”

“Oh,” she replies quietly, dumbfounded, “I’m sorry about how I reacted—“

“It’s fine, you don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it that way. Usually I’m good at keeping these things to myself but there was something about last night that— it just fucked with me. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You should always tell me when something’s bothering you, I’m sorry I’ve made you feel like you have to keep things to yourself.”

He laughs. It’s subtle and soft, but it’s there, barely a release of breath. He pushes away from the doorway, coming to stand by the island next to her. “You don’t mean that, Tink.”

“Yes I do.”

“You didn’t even want to hear it last night.”

“I was just confused.”

He shakes his head. “And if I told you all of that now? Would you react any differently? Because however much you might hate it, I wouldn’t take anything back.”

“I don’t hate it.”

“But you’re confused.”

“I mean— out of fucking nowhere, you drop this bomb on me and it’s… fourteen years, Harry. That’s how long we’ve been friends.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you’ve never thought about it? Because if you can look me in the eyes and tell me that, I’ll drop it right this moment.”

And she can feel herself becoming increasingly more frustrated because she can’t really tell what exactly he’s trying to say. Communication has always been their strong suit, but this… whatever this has come to, it’s not like anything she’s ever experienced with him before. It‘s messy, slopey, unchartered territory. “Thought about what, Harry? I’m so lost right now and I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to be honest!” He exclaims wildly, running a hand through his hair whilst gesturing with the other. “There’s been so many times, Tink. The dance, prom, our graduation, fucking last week where there’s been this— this switch. And I feel like something is going to happen but you’re— it’s like you don’t want it to. So be honest with me.”

“Well I just— that’s not fair!”

“How is it not fair?”

“Because you always seemed too fucking good for me, Harry!” She cries out. “Everyone would say it, literally everyone— those fucking girls at school, people at home, the media. I mean, how could I ever think you would settle for someone like me?”

“Someone like what, Tink? Someone who loves unconditionally? Someone who has always put the happiness of others before her own? Someone who is so damn perfect and selfless and kind that I couldn’t imagine anyone being good enough for her? Someone like that, you mean?”

She shakes her head, the words describing her thoughts heavy on her tongue but too vulgar to be spoken aloud. How could she ever be honest with him if honesty means admitting to every feeling of insecurity she has ever harbored at the prospect of her best friend? How could she ever be honest with him when honesty means making him realize she’s not nearly as perfect, selfless or kind as he believes? “Nobody has ever loved me. I don’t think it takes a degree to figure out why, Harry.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, it isn’t?”

“Look around, will you? If nobody loves you why are all of these pictures of our friends hung up on the walls?”

A chuckle escapes past her lips, “man, you really don’t get it, do you?”

“What?”

“That’s not the kind of love I’m talking about.”

He scoffs, shaking his head to regain an inkling of composure and rid himself of annoyance - not of her, but her tendency to make herself the villain in every story, “you can’t possibly be blaming yourself for all of those failed relationships right now. Half of them fucking cheated on you.”

“Yeah, why? if I’m so perfect and lovable why would—”

“God, would you ever blame me if someone cheated on me? Why are you always treating yourself the way you would never treat anyone else, huh? Why are you always so harsh on yourself?”

“You’re perfect, Harry. I mean, perfect career, perfect family— there’s nothing wrong with you. You can’t possibly compare that to me, can you? I’m a fucking mess. I haven’t found my passion—“

He rolls his eyes. “We’re twenty four, for god’s sake—“

But she continues. “And I’m emotional. I get annoying and clingy, my family fucking hates every guy I’ve ever brought home— and even worse, they hate me. So I’m sorry if I’m a little pessimistic when it comes to relationships, but I can’t fucking afford to be all rainbows and sunshine about it.”

“I get it, Tink, I do—“

But she’s had enough of misunderstandings, enough of him pretending like it’s that easy to let go and trust. “No you don’t! And you don’t get to walk in and say all those nice things about me wasted off of your mind pretending like all along it’s you who’s been yearning! Ever since we were kids, Harry, it’s always fucking been you! All of it, everything. I was crushed when I met your first girlfriend, you know that? Fucking crushed!”

There’s fury in his eyes, a fire that keeps getting bigger and bigger, burning at the sight.  “Why didn’t you fucking tell me then?”

“What did you expect me to do? You had never even looked at me twice!”

“You must know nothing about me if you really believe that.”

And it gets to a point where all she sees is red. He’s blurry in her line of vision, spewing words she can’t possibly digest in this moment.

She begins to walk away from him, cursing to herself like he can’t hear her. But he can, and he follows her every step.

“Is this how it’s going to go from now on? You’re going to walk away and pretend like nothing happened?”

“I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Frustration anchors at his every word and she can tell, even though she’s only able to hear his speech, that his eyebrows are pinched deeply, his forehead creased with intensity. She knows that he’s hurting to some capacity, that his heart is going wild in his chest.

He wraps his fingers around her wrist, tugging her back into his front. “Tink, just fucking look at me.”

Their chests collide, hearts equally beating faster for one another.

She stares into his eyes, waiting for something to be said, anything. But as seconds pass, and words still remain unspoken, her shoulders start to lose their tension and her heart plummets to the pit of her stomach.

He’s dangerous because she could never stay mad at him. She could never hate him, no matter how badly she wishes she could.

She clears her throat, but fails to move. She doesn’t find herself wanting to. “Harry.”

His eyes trail southward toward her mouth and she wishes so badly he would just kiss it. “Does it really matter what happened back when we were kids? Does anything other than what I said matter at all?”

She swallows around a lump in her throat, staring into the green of his eyes that have always had the power of swaying her in every which way. And as he’s doing the same to hers, the air shifts in a more familiar direction.

“I’m scared.”

He nods, “I know.” Interlacing their fingers with one hand, he allows the other to rest comfortably against her neck.

But she can no longer look at him, not when he’s so close, expecting her to open up to her like a flower in spring. “I can’t lose you, I wouldn’t forgive myself if I messed this up. I’ve wanted it for so long, but I’m bad at being more than a friend. I’m bad at saying what I truly feel, I’m bad at being the girl guys want to bring home to their parents. I’m bad at time management. I’m bad at being vulnerable . You know all this about me, but it was always different before. With you it was easier. But if this were to happen… you’d get to know my ugly sides.”

His eyes are glassy, as are hers. From the outside they probably look like a mourning couple, one at the brink of heartbreak. And in a way, this feels similar to every heartbreak she’s been through, only this time the risk of loss is much greater. And so is the sense of hope.

“Y/N, when I asked you last night about Tom,” he nudges a finger underneath her chin, coaxing her to look at him, “I asked because for fourteen years, I’ve always felt like I wasn’t enough for you. At first I thought you would never be into me. You were too smart, too confident. It’s ridiculous, I know, but we were teenagers,” he smiles at the memory. “But then I joined the band and I didn’t want to expose you to a world I hadn’t fully understood myself. I didn’t want you to have to deal with all of that, so I tried to protect you. I hid you from the cameras, lied to people when they asked me about you. Clearly I didn’t do it very well because you just told me it still got to you—“

“That’s not-“

He squeezes her fingers, a silent appreciation of her reassurance, “but I tried my best, you know? I’ve always kept my distance because I didn’t want this — everything I do and everything I am — to become a burden to you. Because I’ve always loved you. I’ve always wanted to make you happy, to be the best guy for you. There were times I didn’t know it, sure, but deep down I’ve always known it’d be you, Tink. These last few years I just wasn’t sure I was enough. Because you deserve the best a person could get.”  

“Of course you’re enough, H.”

“I still think you deserve better than me, baby, so much better. But if you give me a chance, I promise I’ll try my best. I love you as you are; whatever you call your ugly side, that doesn’t exist to me. You’re you, Tink, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m done cowering away because I’m scared of fucking up and I’m begging you to do the same. Let go with me and explore this. Please.”  

She supposes this feeling in her chest is so indescribable because she’s never felt it so intensely before, but it resembles sheer and raw admiration. There’s a hint of fear brewing in the deep abyss, but hope surfaces at the top. And as she looks into the eyes of the love of her life, she sees safety. Love. A Future. Together.

Her face inches closer, “I’m so terrified of losing you.”

He nudges his nose against hers. “Won’t let it happen, I promise. You’re never getting rid of me.”

A smile breaks out on her face.

“Then kiss me, H.”

And so he does.

—

That‘s a wrap! Hope you liked it :)

[bratbby333]

Are you okay with writing more poly satosugu? Im obsessed

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ poly stsg: the prequel !

⋆｡˚ cw + tags: nsfw mdni. fem!reader. suggestive scenes/language, alcohol mentioned. super fluffy n cute n precious n beautiful. ₊✩ˎˊ˗ an: ask and you shall receive. this has been sitting in my drafts, half written, for nearly a year. you can find part one here ! i don't think anything will ever alleviate my stsg brain rot so of course im okay with writing more. i hope you enjoy some back story !! ⋆｡˚ word count: 5k. i got carried away once again. also not proofread. sry. ₊✩ˎˊ˗ banner fan art from twitter @/xtlusultx

ੈ♡˳ how it started...

Satoru and Suguru were already dating when you met them, though you all quickly became inseparable. 

Honestly? You were positive this whole thing was Suguru's idea. He’d been sitting with the weight of his feelings for a while. He knew what he felt for you, he recognized it, accepted it before anyone else did. So of course he brought it to Satoru first. Quietly. Carefully. Something like, “Hey, I think I might be in love with her too. What do we do with that?”

And Satoru? He probably took, what, four seconds to process it before going, “Oh?? Okay!!”

He was thrilled, honestly. The man had so much love in his body it practically leaked out of him. And sure, he knew Geto loved him deeply and endlessly, but he also knew he could be a little clingy sometimes (his words, not yours. At least he was self aware). So the idea of having two people to smother with affection instead of one? It was the easiest choice he could have made. He already adored you. He always had.

But even with both of them on the same page, so aligned it was almost scary, they were still nervous. Hesitant, even. Because it wasn’t just some new phase or thrill; it was you. Their best friend. The person who knew them too well, who made everything feel easy. The last thing they wanted was to risk that.

What if you didn’t want to change anything? What if it made things weird? What if they lost you?

But then Suguru noticed how you instinctually bounced between the two of them depending on what mood you were in; feeling silly and a bit unhinged, wanting nothing more than to lean into your unending curiosity and desire for adventure? Satoru was your man; the two of you were never not doing something; frequenting the city, shopping and snacking and chatting about everything, which inevitably led to y'all being at a random party across town just because you felt like it.

Not many people could hangout with Satoru for extended periods of time without getting annoyed, but it was like you and him were two halves of the same whole, well...aside from Geto, of course…the two of you complimented Satoru in different but fulfilling ways. You matched him, and Suguru balanced him. 

And if you were craving calmness and deep, intellectual chats filled with quick wit and the occasional dose of sarcasm, you’re hanging out with Suguru, your legs thrown over his thighs as he manspreads on the couch. His presence was just so comforting, and the two of you never ran out of things to say. He made you feel seen. He supported you unconditionally, all while dismissing the pressure to conform to anyone else's standards. Geto just wanted you to be you. 

The two of them harbored a safe space for each part of your personality, and when you were all together, there was an unspoken balance between you. The laughter was unending and it never once felt awkward or forced, even when you had first met them. It felt...natural. Like this was the reality that the three of you were meant to live. 

You started to notice your feelings for the both of them about three months into your friendship, but didn't want to overstep any boundaries or insert yourself into their relationship. Though it had been years now since you had first met the two of them, you still felt slightly ashamed for viewing your friends in a seemingly inappropriate way. You attempted to push those feelings away, but the longer this played out, the harder it was to ignore…

.⋅♡‧₊˚〰.

You were sat on the couch of their shared apartment, sipping on some wine, snacks littering the coffee table as some random movie faded into background noise. You found yourself tied up in harmless banter, going back and forth with Satoru over god knows what. It was rare for someone to entertain Gojo's ramblings, but you were fair game, loving the challenge of his stubbornness. Suguru was smiling admirably at the two of you from a loveseat to the left, and though he looked calm on the outside, his mind was racing; Is now the time? Should I ask? Should we do this? 

You excused yourself and went to the bathroom. But rather than actually using the toilet, you leaned over the sink, splashing cool water on your face and silently thanking the heavens that you could blame your intensely blushed face on the alcohol.

But you didn't even drink enough to have a buzz from the wine. It was them making you red in the face: How effortless it was to joke around with Satoru (while others viewed him as immature, you saw him as someone who's healing their inner child, and the two of you had similar senses of humor. It was so easy for him to make you laugh and vice versa). Not to mention how intently Suguru listened to you when you spoke...it was like he was trying to look through you, like he was holding on to every single word. And his emotional intelligence coupled with his unintentional siren eyes definitely didn't help your nerves.

And as comfortable as you felt around them, the deeper feelings you had were becoming unbearable.

But while you hid yourself away in the bathroom, the two guys were having a whispered meeting, psyching themselves up to finally ask you to join them: 

"Suguru...we've been putting this off for long enough. Tonight's the night," Satoru whispered. His eyes darted between his boyfriend and the hallway, on the lookout for you to reappear. His hand grasped Geto's as he rubbed gentle circles into his skin.

Suguru offered him a gentle squeeze in response, nodding his head as he chewed the inside of his cheek. "I know, I know...but who's gonna bring it up?" he asked softly. 

"Oh, definitely you," Satoru replied, almost like it was obvious, leaning back on the couch cushions.

Suguru narrowed his eyes at his white-haired counterpart, "So, no...we're doing this together, Satoru."

When you finally returned and sat back down, you could feel the tension that had settled between the three of you. It felt abnormal for the usual dynamic and your heart rate increased at the feeling.

Your eyes drifted nervously between the two men, "...is...everything okay?" you questioned, reaching for your wine and taking a much needed swig. You rolled the stem of the glass between your fingers as you awaited their response.

Suguru finally spoke up after sharing a look with Satoru, "Yeah, everything's fine," he smiled, "We just want to talk to you about something," he murmurs, shifting his weight in his seat before turning his body to face you.

His dark eyes and unwavering attention made your hands tremble slightly. Your gaze meandered toward Gojo, who occupied the space next to you, then back to Geto, before nodding slowly.

Satoru sat up a bit. "We've been thinking a lot about our friendship lately...about how close we've all become..." he trailed off and glanced at Geto.

"Yeah, it's rare to find this kind of connection with people. We trust you and care about you so much," Suguru added.

You looked between the two of them, your brows furrowed deeply. "Why does it feel like you two are getting a divorce and are about to ask me who I want to stay with..." you half-joked, taking another sip of your wine, "But in all seriousness, you two mean a lot to me. So, what's goin' on?" 

Gojo laughed at your comment before speaking up, "We've been talking about something for a while now, and we wanted to share it with you because it's important to us."

Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. Panic bloomed, subtle but rapid, like the fizz in your half-finished wine glass. You were terrified they had caught on, had noticed the lingering glances, the way you always sat a little too close to Suguru when you were tired, the way your laugh came too easily around Satoru. You thought you’d been discreet.

One hand twirled the wine glass around in slow, absent circles, the other clenched tight, tucked beneath your thigh like you could keep your nerves from spilling out if you just held them in hard enough.

You glanced between them—Suguru sitting composed but visibly tense, and Gojo, still smiling, but with an undercurrent of seriousness in his eyes that made your stomach twist. You nodded once, just barely. You weren't sure if you were giving them permission to keep talking or trying to brace yourself for whatever came next.

A deep breath broke the silence—Geto’s. His voice was low, steady, but you could hear the effort it took to speak so plainly. "We love each other deeply, and we've also realized how much we care about you," he said, shifting again like he couldn’t quite get comfortable with the weight of what he was about to say.

"We’ve been considering the idea of opening our relationship to include you, if that’s something you’d be interested in."

You blinked. And then blinked again. You took another sip, as if the wine was the reason this conversation seemed real. But it was real, and this was actually happening. 

The words didn’t register at first, not really. You stared at him like you’d misheard, like if you just kept looking long enough, he’d laugh and say he was joking. Your breath caught in your throat and you nearly choked on it, coughing once before covering your mouth like that would hide the shock painting your face.

Your ears were ringing, the edges of your vision buzzing, like the room itself had tilted. But beneath the static, there was this creeping warmth. It was an overwhelming, radiant kind of relief that made your fingers tremble. They weren’t uncomfortable with your feelings. They knew, and they wanted you.

And then, just as quickly, the shock gave way to a strange kind of disbelief, like you’d stepped into a dream, one too good to be real. Your mind spiraled with thoughts, too fast to catch: Are they serious? What does this mean? How long have they been thinking about this?

You’d wanted them for so damn long. In different ways, at different times, but it had always felt hopeless. Forbidden, even. A deep, lingering sense of guilt followed you around for mentally inserting yourself into their relationship. It was like wanting the sun and the moon but the gravitational pull from both kept you...stuck. And now they were sitting across from you, calm and honest, asking if you wanted them back.

Your chest was tight with emotion. You could barely find your voice. You looked between them again, your mouth slightly open, like you might say something, anything, but all that came out was a quiet, “You’re serious?”

Satoru grinned, soft and real. “Dead serious, sweetheart.”

Suguru nodded. There was something rare and vulnerable in his gaze that made your heart twist. “Only if you want to. There’s no pressure. But we had to ask.”

You felt like crying. Or laughing. Maybe both, simultaneously. Because somewhere deep down, part of you had wanted this for so long, and now that it was real, you almost didn’t know how to hold it.

"...Really? So…so, how would that work?" Your body was putting in overtime to keep your voice level, but in reality, you were elated. And as Suguru started to lay everything out, you began to feel more and more on board with the whole scenario. 

"We understand if it's not for you. But we wanted to be honest about our feelings and see if you might feel the same way," Geto concluded, his eyes searching yours for any sign of apprehension.

"I appreciate you both being so open about this..." Your voice trailed off as you looked at Suguru, then to Satoru, and back again. You were deep in thought as you weighed your options. It was one thing to daydream about a relationship like that, but it was a whole different ballpark when actually attempting it. 

Gojo spoke up once more, "Above all else, we want to make sure this is something you're comfortable with...a relationship where the three of us are equally involved and supportive of each other."

"Communication is going to be key. We want you to feel comfortable expressing any thoughts or concerns along the way," Suguru added. 

Silence fell as you pondered the offer presented to you. you smiled at the two of them before speaking up, "I'd love to give it a try. You are both important to me and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it before." 

As the words of affirmation left your lips, you were immediately tackled into the couch by your overjoyed, blue-eyed (boy)friend, encompassed in a body-crushing bear hug. Geto quickly joined the two of you on the couch, placing a gentle peck to both you and Satoru's cheek. 

This marked the start of a flourishing relationship, just you and your boys against the world, a beautiful dynamic operating with a deep sense of mutual respect, love, and open communication.

ੈ♡˳ how it's going...

The minute the three of you decided to give polyamory a try, the world felt like it shifted on its axis, a wave of normalcy washing over all of you. The dynamic was perfect, and you always caught yourself wondering why this didn't happen sooner. 

It didn’t feel unnatural or complicated like you’d feared. If anything, it was the opposite. A strange and beautiful wave of normalcy settled over the three of you. Like you had just remembered something you were never supposed to forget.

The dynamic fell into place effortlessly. Suguru, as always, was the grounding force—calm, intentional, fiercely attentive. He took on the role of caretaker with ease, though he'd never say it out loud. It wasn’t in the dramatic gestures, but in the way he placed a hand on your back when you looked overwhelmed, or quietly handed Satoru a bottle of water when he’d clearly forgotten to drink anything all day. He made sure you both ate when your schedules got chaotic, that you went to bed instead of overextending yourselves. He didn’t nag—he guided, steady and warm.

Suguru had always carried a kind of weight in his presence, but now that weight felt like protection instead of distance. You and Satoru gave his life color, purpose—and in return, he anchored you both without ever demanding anything back. But of course, you gave it anyway. In quiet gestures, in lazy mornings spent curled together in bed, in the way you learned to read the tiniest flickers of expression on his face and respond to them before he even asked.

Satoru… well, not much had changed on the surface. He was still loud, still playful, still the first to suggest impulsive ideas like midnight ice cream runs or building a blanket fort just because. But there was a softness to him now, a depth that had always been there but now showed itself more readily. He teased, flirted, joked—but he was also the first to notice when you were feeling distant, the first to ask, “Are you okay?” with a hand over yours and a rare kind of quiet in his voice.

He was touch-starved in the way only someone who gives so much could be, and now that you were his, he made no effort to hide how much he loved being loved. You caught him staring all the time—at you, at Suguru—like he couldn’t believe any of this was real. Sometimes he’d just sigh and press his forehead to your shoulder and mumble something like, “This is the best timeline,” and then pretend it hadn’t happened at all.

Despite the deep feelings and the complicated history, what surprised you most was how easy it all felt. How often you found yourself laughing. How domestic it became without even trying.

Suguru was surprisingly touchy when no one was looking. You’d be brushing your teeth, and he’d wander in to tuck your hair behind your ear like it was nothing. Or he’d rest his chin on your shoulder while you were making tea, arms snaking around your waist, quiet and content. His love language was care disguised as routine—always making sure your phone was charged, that you took your meds, that Satoru didn’t eat cake for breakfast (again). And the best part? He never needed thanks. He just looked at you like, of course I’ll take care of you. You’re mine.

Satoru, on the other hand, was as dramatic and extra as ever, but now he had two people to dote on—and be doted on by. He’d wear matching socks with you and pretend it was a coincidence. He’d climb into bed with you and Suguru and sigh like the day had personally attacked him, only to melt into your arms five seconds later. You once caught him trying to braid Suguru’s hair while he was half-asleep, and instead of stopping him, Suguru just sighed and let him keep going, eyes closed, face soft.

.⋅♡‧₊˚〰.

It was a lazy morning—one of those rare days where no one had anywhere to be and the sun was barely creeping through the blinds. You stirred awake to the sound of quiet humming, familiar and slightly off-key, and the sensation of something warm and heavy draped across your waist.

Satoru.

His hair was a fluffy mess, pillow-creased and wild, his blindfold bunched up like a headband around his forehead. He was curled half on top of you, long limbs tangled like a human octopus, one arm flung across your stomach, one leg hooked over yours. He was still humming, barely conscious, but so deeply relaxed it was like he’d melted.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled against your shoulder, voice thick with sleep.

You tried to stretch, but he clung to you like you were his emotional support body pillow. “You’re heavy,” you grumbled, affection softening the complaint.

“Mm, no I’m not. You’re just dramatic.” He nuzzled further into your neck, lips brushing your skin in a way that made your heart stutter.

“Do you ever wake up like a normal person?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the 'p' like it was the proudest thing he’d ever said.

You ran your fingers through his messy hair, and he actually purred. Like, audibly. It was so ridiculous you laughed, but he just sighed like your touch was the cure to every problem in the world.

“You spoil me,” he said softly, quieter now, like the teasing had melted into something real. “You know that, right?”

You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “You spoil yourself, Satoru.”

“Yeah, but you do it better,” he replied without missing a beat. “You make it feel like… I deserve it.”

That stilled you. Because under the teasing, under the ego, you knew that was something he struggled with—that weight he carried behind the blindfold and bravado.

You shifted, just enough to wrap your arms around him, tucking his head beneath your chin. “You do deserve it. Every bit of it.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just exhaled slowly, fingers curling against your side like he was anchoring himself to the moment. And then, muffled into your skin:

“You’re my favorite.”

You rolled your eyes, affectionately. “You say that to everyone.”

“Nope.” He lifted his head to grin at you, impossibly soft and just a little smug. “Just you. Don’t tell Suguru.”

You laughed and kissed his cheek anyway. “Too late. He already knows.”

Satoru sighed dramatically, burying his face in your neck again. “Damn. Guess I’ll just have to make you love me more today.”

And he would. In all the stupid little ways only he could pull off—bad jokes over breakfast, kissing your forehead like it was a compulsion, wrapping you in his arms like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

Because when it was just the two of you, Satoru Gojo was less god and more boy—clumsy in his affection, shameless in his need, and so, so easy to love.

.⋅♡‧₊˚〰.

It was late. The apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that settles over everything like a blanket—soft, still, safe. Satoru had passed out on the couch hours ago, limbs everywhere, one sock missing (again). You and Suguru had tiptoed away, not to be sneaky, just… because it felt like the right time for a quieter moment. A private one.

You were sitting on the floor of his room, your back against the side of the bed, a record playing low in the background. Suguru sat beside you, legs stretched out, one hand resting between the two of you, pinky just barely brushing yours.

He hadn’t said much yet, but that wasn’t unusual. Suguru didn’t need words to fill the space. He was the space—solid and grounding, always tuned in even when he was silent.

You turned your head to look at him, and he was already watching you. Not staring—watching. The way he always did. Like you were something worth observing carefully.

“What?” you asked softly, smiling a little.

He didn’t smile back—not because he wasn’t happy, but because he was in that kind of mood. The soft one. The vulnerable one. The Suguru one.

“You look peaceful,” he said simply. “I like seeing you like this.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you looked away, but not for long. Suguru didn’t say things for effect. If he gave you a compliment, it was because he meant it. Entirely. It always landed different—like he wasn’t just noticing your beauty, he was recognizing it. Respecting it.

“You make it easy to be peaceful,” you said, resting your head against his shoulder.

He shifted, just slightly, so he could wrap his arm around you, pulling you into his side. “I want to.”

“You do.”

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t awkward. It was the kind of silence that made your chest ache in the best way. The kind that said I don’t have to talk to be with you. After a while, he spoke again, voice low, words slow and careful like always. “Sometimes I think about how this almost didn’t happen. You and me. Us. All of it.”

Your stomach fluttered. “Yeah. Me too.”

“I think about all the time we wasted pretending we didn’t want more.”

You turned slightly to look at him, and this time he looked away, the smallest flicker of self-consciousness crossing his face.

“I used to watch you laugh with Satoru,” he continued, “and I’d wonder what it would be like… to be close to you like that. To make you smile that way.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I didn’t think I deserved it back then,” he said softly, eyes still fixed ahead. “But you make me feel like maybe I do now.”

You didn’t say anything at first. You just reached out and took his hand, lacing your fingers through his, grounding him for once.

“You do,” you said. “You always did.”

He finally looked at you, and this time, he smiled—small, soft, heartbreakingly genuine.

Then, wordlessly, he leaned in and kissed you. Not like Satoru’s kisses—quick and playful and endless. No, this was a Suguru kiss. Intentional. Slow. Like he was pouring every unspoken thought into it. Like he was giving you something sacred. Because he was.

And when he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered, “You’re my peace.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat, your heart aching in the best way.

“And you’re mine,” you said.

Suguru gave devotion like it was breathing. He didn’t just love—he chose you, over and over, with every glance, every touch, every quiet act of care.

.⋅♡‧₊˚〰.

One on one, they were everything you had imagined them to be. But when they both decided to show you just how much they loved you at the same time? It was like being caught in the middle of a one-sided competition where you won every time.

It started with something small. A bad day. You came home quiet, not upset, just… low. Drained. And of course, they noticed. Satoru noticed in the way your eyes didn’t crinkle when you smiled. Suguru noticed in the way you sighed a little too often.

And that was all it took. You were suddenly the battlefield for a very soft war.

Suguru made your favorite dinner without asking, and you didn’t even realize he’d gone out to buy the ingredients. It was already plated when you got out of the shower, still warm, waiting on the coffee table with a fresh pair of fluffy socks he must’ve pulled from the back of your drawer. It was precisely what you needed, even though you didn’t know how to ask. They just knew. Little was said at dinner, but nothing really needed to be said. 

Suguru gently ushered you to the couch. Then Satoru came into the room with a blanket and immediately sat on your lap. “Your turn to be the little spoon,” he declared, even though the size difference made it slightly ridiculous. He tucked the blanket around both of you and kissed your forehead like he was sealing in warmth.

Suguru sat beside you, arm draped along the back of the couch, fingertips brushing your shoulder, his voice low as he asked how your day went. No pressure, no expectations, no fixing. Just listening. Satoru, meanwhile, made little dramatic gasps every time you said something mildly annoying that happened. “They said what to you?? Prison. Life sentence. I’ll teleport there now.”

And it kept going. Suguru offered to braid your hair. Satoru tried to unbraid it just so he could “fix it.” Suguru rolled his eyes and took over again, whispering soft things about how pretty you looked even when you were tired. Satoru kept interrupting with kisses to your temple and shoulder, mumbling, “Yeah, and you smell good too. So unfair.”

At one point, you made a sound halfway between a laugh and a whimper. “You guys are literally overwhelming me with affection right now.”

They both paused. Then Suguru smiled, “Good.” And Satoru chimed in with, “You deserve to be worshipped. Let us live.”

After that, they teamed up. You were tucked between them on the couch—Suguru rubbing slow, grounding circles into your back while Satoru played with your fingers like he was counting each one. They talked around you, but every word was for your benefit.

“You think she knows how good she is?” “Mm. Not nearly enough.” “Well, that’s criminal.” “Agreed.”

You couldn’t even respond anymore. Your heart was too full. Your face hurt from smiling. And still, they didn’t stop. Because to them, loving you wasn’t a competition, but a privilege they both happened to share. And god, they were so good at it.

.⋅♡‧₊˚〰.

There were little things, too. The mundane kind that somehow became sacred. Suguru read with his head in your lap while Satoru scrolled through his phone, occasionally reaching up to boop your nose. Satoru stealing your chapstick and dramatically applying it like he was doing runway makeup, you walking into the kitchen to find the two of them dancing like idiots to a song on the radio, laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

It wasn’t always glamorous, but it was always yours. And in between the chaos and the teasing and the deep emotional undercurrents, there was this unshakable sense of joy. Of having finally found your people. The ones who made the world quieter, softer. Who made even the bad days feel survivable—sometimes with a forehead kiss, sometimes with a warm meal, sometimes with a joke so bad you had to physically throw a pillow at Satoru just to make it stop.

You loved them. You really, really loved them.

And they loved you back with the kind of love that felt like sunshine on skin, like home.

.⋅♡‧₊˚〰.

Of course, the intimacy deepened in every way. The friendship you’d all built didn’t disappear. It just bloomed, unfurled into something deeper, richer. And with it came the parts you’d never experienced before, not like this. The touches lingered longer, the kisses grew softer or rougher depending on the night, and the tension that had once been so unspoken became a language all its own.

The sexual aspect of it all… that was the most unfamiliar territory at first. Not difficult, but definitely an adjustment. It was one thing to imagine it, to dream about what it might be like. But reality, real vulnerability, was a different beast. It wasn’t just about desire. It was about trust. About learning new rhythms, exploring each other’s boundaries, needs, wants.

It would probably start in private moments, organically—Maybe you and Suguru share a vulnerable night, talking until the conversation softens into touches, confessions, something deeper. He’d be intentional, focused on making you feel safe and understood. It wouldn’t be rushed. If anything, it was incredibly slow, deliberate. He'd check in constantly, not just with words, but with his gaze, his hands, his presence. He’d ensure that you had his full attention in the way his fingers would trace along your skin, the way his big hands would hold you, ground you, his voice low when he whispered praise into ear; “There you go…just relax, pretty girl. I’ll be gentle. You’re doing so good.”  

And then, a few days or weeks later, it happens with Satoru. His energy was different—playful, disarming, but no less attentive. He would make you laugh right before kissing you breathless, help ease your nerves by being a bit ridiculous, a bit indulgent. He’d worship you in his own way, probably talk the entire time unless you shut him up with a kiss or sat yourself down on his face. Oh, that sweet tongue of his. But under the teasing, he’d be just as tender as Suguru, even if he hid it behind charm.

The first few times all together were careful, only a little awkward, full of whispered check-ins and shy laughter. But they were also electric, intimate in ways you hadn’t even known were possible. Suguru, intense and patient, knew how to read the room, how to guide without being overwhelmed. Satoru, unfiltered and affectionate, knew how to turn nerves into giggles, how to make even the most hesitant moments feel joyful and full of love.

Eventually, it became second nature, like everything else between the three of you.

You found yourself lying in bed with them, tangled in warmth and limbs, wondering why it had taken so long to get here. Why you’d ever thought being “just friends” was enough. Because now you knew what enough really felt like.

And it was this. 

an: this literally healed a part of me and i feel so full of love. also ik this one wasnt smutty, but don't you worry. i have a nashtyyy one comin soon. and, i started working on a stsg CHAPTERED story. omg. im really diving back in head fuckin' first. ik i said i was working on a dark choso series and a dead dove sukuna series but the subject matter is super heavy so im putting a pause on those for the foreseeable future xx

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