#i've had strangers come up and ask me if i was okay because i looked so sad

[ellewritesx]

i can hear sirens

Summary: The spotlight's on him, but all he sees is you.

Warnings: Harry's cocky and kind of a womanizer in this (he's not disrespectful toward women, just promiscuous!), one-night stand, fingering, oral (f!receiving), protected sex, size kink, honestly only about 20% of this is explicit smut, the rest is just good old sexual tension

Based on: this ask!

A/N: i can't even lie i was giggling my ass off writing this. these two are literally ''promiscuous'' by nelly furtado and timbaland, so i 100% recommend you listen to that while reading because it makes their banter sm more fun imo. sorry this took so long, i've had a busy few weeks, but i'm back now and i promise the next fic i post will be an update of the teach me slowly series. enjoy lovelies x

Word Count: 6,009

...

The arena pulses beneath your boots, the bass rippling through your chest, synchronizing with your thumping heartbeat. Drinks slosh in the plastic cups you and your friends are holding as you sing along to the track that's just faded into the next. You're flushed, not from the alcohol, but from the pure high of it, of being here, of being twenty-something and free and glittering with sweat under the lights.

You sway with the crowd as you take a sip of your drink, bumping hips with strangers who laugh like you've been friends forever, and then darkness envelops you and he steps onto the stage.

Harry Styles is magnetic, and everyone around you feels it instantly. The lights go low and then explode into a light blue, and there he is: broad shoulders and tattooed skin, that familiar silhouette striding confidently into the center spotlight.

His shirt is only half-buttoned, white silk clinging to muscles, and the cross between his collarbones swings with every movement. His curls are wild, damp at the edges, and there's something almost animalistic about the way he carries himself, drunk on the attention.

Your heart leaps, a reaction as instinctive as blinking. He's not even doing anything yet, just standing there, smirking, but it's electric. The tension in the crowd is thick and exhilarating, like a storm about to break out, and your fingers tighten around your cup.

Then the music hits, and Harry launches into Only Angel, and the arena comes unglued.

You're cheering like everyone else as the beat slams into your chest, your gaze following him as he moves around. He's a force of nature, strutting across the stage with unbothered ease as he flips the mic to his other hand and runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, and you know he knows exactly what he's doing to all of you.

You snort when your friend whispers something salacious, but then you catch his eyes skimming over you, over your figure in the sea of bodies. It's not just a glance into the crowd, no, he locks eyes with you. You freeze, caught mid-laugh, and you don't even realize you've stopped moving until your friend nudges you.

''Jesus, are you okay?'' she yells over the music, grinning. ''He totally looked right at you.''

You huff, brushing it off with a roll of your eyes, but your pulse is thudding in your throat. ''He's performing. He probably can't even see us from up there, with the lights in his face.''

And you try to convince yourself of it, too, that he's just scanning the crowd like any performer would, but the way his gaze skims over you again during Woman makes your breath hitch.

The guitar solo rips through the air, and he growls a line into the microphone with his hips swaying and his gaze pinned on your corner of the pit. You swear he smirks when your lips part in surprise.

You shake your head. Delusional, you think. This is Harry fucking Styles, and there are ten thousand other people in this crowd.

He kneels at the edge of the stage halfway through Sweet Creature, sweat beading along his forehead, his voice softer now, sticky-sweet and golden. He closes his eyes as he sings, lips brushing the mic like a kiss, and your whole body tingles when he opens them again, gaze landing on you. This time it lingers, and he sends you a playful wink before getting up and walking off. Your stomach flips, and you swallow a shaky laugh and down the rest of your drink.

''Gotta say,'' he murmurs in between songs, pausing to look out over the crowd, ''this city's got the prettiest people I've ever seen.''

The arena cheers, and you tell yourself that the words don't mean anything. He definitely says this in every city. But then his eyes find yours again, and that crooked, knowing grin blooms on his face.

You look away. Try to pretend you're reading too much into it. Try not to let it get to your head. But your knees feel unsteady, and your cheeks are burning, and when one of your friends hands you another drink, you take it with trembling fingers.

He finishes the show with Kiwi, urging the crowd to scream louder, his hair stuck to his face, and by that point the arena is feral. You feel alive in a way you haven't in a long time. And Harry keeps looking at you like he knows. Knows exactly what you're running from. What you want. What you need. It's terrifying. And thrilling.

By the time the lights go down for good, your feet are aching, and you're trying to process what the hell just happened. Your friends grab your hands and pull you through the mass toward the exit, already discussing which bar to unwind in, but your mind is stuck on his green eyes, the rasp of his voice, the way he winked at you.

You tell yourself to forget it. It was nothing. A fluke. A performer doing what he's paid to do: charming the audience.

...

The bar is sticky and loud, packed with the overflow of post-show adrenaline junkies like you, drinks in hand, hair stuck to damp skin, curling at the ends from the humidity, throats raw from screaming. Your dress has ridden up a touch from the dancing, clinging to your thighs, hugging the curve of your waist, but you don't even think about it anymore. It's too hot to be modest.

Music blares from crappy speakers above the dancefloor, the bass thudding unevenly against the walls, but no one cares. Everyone's glowing. Everyone's high off the night.

You're in the center of it all, a little too tipsy, a little too warm, your boots heavy on your feet and your hips swaying with the beat, as you belt the lyrics to a Rihanna song everyone knows the lyrics of.

You have no idea he's watching you.

Tucked into the shadows of a booth toward the back, Harry sips slowly from a rocks glass, the ice clinking softly as he tilts it back. His shirt is still the same from the show, a first more buttons undone, the tattoos on his chest on display. A few curls stick to the side of his temple.

His eyes haven't left you once.

He watches the way your dress clings to the curve of your ass when you bend over to bar with a slow arch of your back, shouting an order over the music. Watches the way your collarbone glints under the dim lights when your head tilts back in laughter. Watches your lips wrap around the straw in your drink, the gloss smudged on the rim of your glass, sinful thoughts consuming his mind.

Mitch says something from beside him, some joke about the guy trying to hit on the bartender, but Harry doesn't hear it. He's too busy staring, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, tongue resting against the inside of his cheek. His glass hovers mid-air, forgotten.

''Are you planning on joining the conversation at any point, or just visually undressing that girl all night?'' Mitch sighs.

Harry doesn't answer. He lifts his glass to his lips, still watching you. Still tracking every sway of your hips, every flick of your hair. You toss your head back giggling at something your friend says, and the line of your throat makes his fingers twitch around the glass.

''You're not listening to a word we're saying,'' Sarah teases, playfully kicking his leg under the table.

''Hm?''

''You've been staring at her for fifteen minutes,'' Mitch adds, glancing toward the dancefloor. ''If you're gonna fantasize about her tits the whole night, at least buy her a drink.''

Harry doesn't rise to the bait. He just tips his head back, eyes still fixed on you, and says, almost absentmindedly, ''Might be the tequila talkin', but she's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.''

''Oh, please. You haven't even talked to her.''

Harry smirks into his glass. ''I will.''

The challenge hangs in the air for a beat before he slides out of the booth, finishing his drink in a single gulp, jaw flexing, and sets the empty glass on the table with a loud clink.

''If you'll excuse me. I'll be right back. Or not,'' he smirks, smoothing a hand over the front of his shirt. And then he's weaving through the crowd, ducking past swaying bodies and sloshing drinks, moving with the kind of quiet purpose that makes heads turn.

You don't see him coming. Not until he's suddenly there, and that voice, low and smooth and unmistakable, curls into your ear.

''Was it just me,'' he murmurs, the heat of his breath brushing your skin, ''or were you starin' at me the whole night?''

You blink, heart stuttering violently. He's taller than you thought he'd be, broader too, jaw sharp and curls defined. His eyes are impossibly green and intense in the moody lighting, focused squarely on you like there's no one else in the room.

You straighten your spine. Force your lips into something teasing. ''That's kind of the point. I was looking at the show.''

His grin spreads. ''Sure you were, darling.''

Your friend gives you a look—is that Harry fucking Styles???—but you barely register it. Your focus is tunneled in. All you can see is him.

He doesn't bother to introduce himself. Just tilts his head curiously. ''You don't look like you're from around here,'' he says.

''Visiting,'' you reply simply, mirroring his stance. ''For the show.''

''Yeah?'' He licks his lips. ''I'm honoured. What'd you think?''

You pretend to think. ''The singer was alright. A little cocky.''

He barks a surprised laugh. ''Cocky, huh?''

''Unbearably.''

His tongue presses into his cheek, the corners of his lips tugged upwards. He's trying not to grin. ''And yet here you are, talkin' to me.''

You raise a brow. ''You came to me.''

''Couldn't help myself,'' he says, gaze dropping briefly to your lips.

Your skin prickles. ''So, what, you just go around seducing random girls in bars after your shows?''

''Just you, love.''

You snort. ''Nice try. That line often work for you?''

He shrugs. ''Wouldn't know. I usually don't need one.''

He says it without missing a beat, and damn, you weren't ready for how charming he'd be up close. Or how good he smells, spiced and clean, like sandalwood and cologne and something just a little sinful. The implication of his words doesn't go unnoticed by either of you; women throw themselves at him. You'd criticize them if he wasn't standing right in front of you. You understand them now.

You laugh, a little breathless. ''Should I be flattered?''

He leans in, his nose brushing the side of yours, and for a second your world spins. ''Dunno. What answer gets me into your pants?''

You should be offended, but in that British drawl, every word makes your knees go weak. He could put a curse on your bloodline and you'd probably still jump his bones. Damn the English.

You eyebrows shoot up at his bold advance, and you put a hand on his chest to push him back with a huffed laugh. ''Easy, rockstar.''

''Am I comin' on too strong?''

''A bit.''

''Let me try again, then.''

His facial expression softens and he reaches out, slow, deliberate, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers, caloused from guitar strings, linger on your cheek longer than necessary.

''Can I buy you a drink?''

You squint at him, not buying a second of his little act. ''You should consider making a career switch to acting.''

Harry laughs, head thrown back, and clicks his tongue. ''You're sharp.''

''You're transparent.''

''I'm interested.''

''I can tell.''

There's a beat of silence as he bites his lips, grinning.

You set your drink down and cross your arms over your chest, eyebrows raised. ''You want something from me?''

''Yeah,'' he says without hesitation. ''Your name.''

Your lips twitch. ''Smooth. It's Y/N.''

Another beat of silence.

Then he shakes his head with a chuckle. ''I don't usually do this.''

You tilt your head. ''Flirt with strangers?''

''Fall in love at first sight, baby.''

You roll your eyes, but you're smiling. ''That was bad. Try again.''

He shrugs, but you can tell he's getting impatient. Desperate. You can tell from the way his pupils have blown wide, from the twitch in his jaw, from the brush of his fingers on the fabric at your hip. His lips hover near yours, not kissing you, just breathing the same air.

''I'm gonna kiss you,'' he says. It's not a question, it's a promise.

''You better.''

And then he does.

It's messy and hungry, like he's been waiting all night to taste your mouth, and he has. His hand slides around to the small of your back, pulling you in so your bodies press together. His teeth nip at your lower lip before he soothes it with his tongue, and your hands curl into the front of his shirt as you moan into his mouth, and he groans, like it physically hurts him to feel your body on his.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, your smudged lipgloss, that's also sticking to his own lips now, your dazed eyes, your flushed cheeks, and swipes his thumb across your bottom lip.

''You wanna get out of here?'' he asks, voice rough and quiet.

You notice the way he sends a pointed look over your shoulder toward the bathrooms. You follow his gaze, glancing at the sticky bathroom door, the peeling paint, the rusted handle, then look back at him and quirk a brow. ''I'm not fucking you in a disgusting bar bathroom, if that's what you're thinking, pervert.''

He chuckles at your bluntness. ''Didn't think you'd let me.''

''I won't,'' you confirm, smoothing your dress. ''You want me, Styles? You're going to have to work for it.''

''Oh, I intend to.''

...

His driver is waiting out front. He says something to the man in a low voice, then holds the door open for you like a gentleman, to which you roll your eyes playfully, but your cheeks flush nonetheless.

The second the door shuts, Harry's on you again. You straddle him in the backseat, knees braced on either side of him, your dress riding up past your thighs now, fingers threading into his curls and mouths crashing together like you've both been starving for this.

The city blurs past in streaks of gold lights and neon signs, but you don't see it, not with his hands gripping the flesh of your thighs, his breath hot on your skin, his teeth dragging over your bottom lip as your hands tug him closer by the collar of his shirt.

He pulls back, lips swollen, and knocks once on the glass separating you from the driver. ''Partition up, mate.''

The man in front gives a nod, unfazed, and the smoked glass glides up with a mechanical hum, sealing you in, the car tinting dark.

''Subtle,'' you snort.

Harry sends you a look, smirking proudly, turning back to you the moment it locks in place. ''Where were we?''

You don't even get a word in before he's on you again.

His lips trail down your throat, your jaw, and you throw your head back, drunk on the way he touches you.

''You're unreal,'' he mutters against your skin. ''Gonna ruin me.''

You hum, fingers undoing the next two buttons of his shirt, brushing your lips across the skin you uncover. His tattoos peek out, familiar from the thousands of photos you've seen, but up close they're something else entirely, the contrast of dark ink on warm, flushed skin. You caress the butterfly just below his chest.

His hands slide up to your back, pressing you into him as his mouth finds yours again, rougher this time, more desperate. The windows are fogging up, the car filled with the sound of your breathing, the soft slide of your mouths and the rustle of clothes and skin.

He hungrily slides your dress further up, stretching the fabric.

You pull back, gasping for air. ''You're gonna ruin my dress.''

Harry just smirks. ''I'll buy you a new one.''

''Of course you will,'' you huff, your hands braced on his chest. ''Rich boys always think that's the solution.''

''Isn't it?''

You eye him, letting your finger trace the chain around his neck, tangled and slightly askew from all the movement. ''You think throwing money at me is gonna impress me?''

''No. Think you're already impressed.''

You snort, laughing despite yourself. He's cocky. Absolutely infuriating. But he's also stupidly charming, with that million-dollar smile and those goddamn green eyes.

You roll your hips slowly against the outline of him beneath his slacks in retaliation and he swears under his breath, squeezing your waist like he can't quite believe you're real.

You kiss down the side of his neck, leaving a smudge of lipgloss just under his jaw. His head tips back against the leather seat, throat bared, and his fingers flex on your thighs. You feel him twitch beneath you and it sends a thrill up your spine.

''Jesus Christ, look at you,'' he says hoarsely, words a little slurred from his arousal, breathing uneven. ''So fuckin' pretty. Acting all confident, but your thighs are shakin', baby.''

''Stop talking,'' you grumble against his skin.

He just laughs, husky and low. ''Make me.''

So you kiss him again. You slide your hands beneath his shirt, palms running along the ridges of his abs, the soft line of hair that trails below his bellybutton. He groans into your mouth and his hips buck up, eyes fluttering when your nails scrape down his chest.

Your lipgloss is smeared by the time the car pulls up to the hotel, his neck marked with faint dark pink smudges of it, blending with the new love bites blooming under his jaw. Your hair's a mess and his shirt is half-untucked, and you both quickly adjust yourselves.

You slide off him, smoothing your dress down the best you can and fixing your hair in the dim reflection of the car window. He does the same, raking a hand through his curls and haphazardly redoing some of the buttons of his shirt. He notices the gloss on his neck, but he doesn't bother wiping it off. He looks smug.

When the car slows to a stop in front of the hotel, the driver opens the door before you can even reach for it, and Harry slips out first, offering his hand like a gentleman as you step out after him. You're suddenly hyperaware of how you must look, rumpled and flushed and a little tipsy, but you don't let it show.

The hotel lobby is sleek and polished, a marble monolith of wealth and silence, the kind of place you'd normally feel out of place in. But with Harry walking beside you, broad and tall and exuding fame and sex, no one dares to question your presence.

The security guard eyes you as you pass through. Harry gives him a nod. ''She's with me.''

Your stomach flips. You're about to make a joke, something flirty, something sarcastic, but before you can say anything, Harry tugs you into the elevator and slams the button for the top floor.

The doors slide shut.

And then he's on you again.

This time it's desperate. No pretense, no warning. Just his mouth hot against yours, leg slotting between yours, one palm braced against the mirrored wall while the other slips beneath the hem of your dress. You moan into the kiss, grinding against his thigh, and he groans when your nails rake down the back of his neck.

You gasp when he grips your hips and lifts you, pressing you harder into the wall. You wrap your arms around his shoulders instinctively, your mouth finding his again in a kiss that's all tongue and teeth and hunger. His hand slides down your thigh, pulling it up around his hip. Your body melts into his, spine arching, thighs clenched.

''You gonna fuck me in the elevator?'' you whisper, pulling back just long enough to catch your breath. Your lipgloss is smeared across his mouth, a sinful pink stain that matches the flush on his cheeks.

He laughs, low and lustful. ''God, I'd love to.''

''Classy.''

''I'm full of surprises, love.''

''You're full of yourself.''

''Soon you'll be full of me, too.''

''On second thought, make a career switch to comedy.''

That makes him grin, and then he's dragging his mouth down your jaw, your throat, your collar, teeth grazing the delicate skin there before he bites just hard enough to make you whimper. You arch into him, rolling your hips, and he curses under his breath, hands tightening around you as his lips crash into yours again.

The elevator dings again, but he doesn't let you go. He kisses you like nothing exists but your mouth and the sound you make when he nips your bottom lip just right. He walks you backward out of the elevator, one hand on your hip, the other gripping your jaw, guiding your mouth to his again and again as you stumble down the hall together.

''Must've done something right in my life if I get to have you like this, baby,'' he breathes between kisses.

''How haven't you run out of lines?'' you murmur, tongue tracing the seam of his lips.

''Don't think I've ever uttered those words before,'' he whispers.

You pull back just enough to get a look at his face, quirking a brow as you search his eyes for any traces of deception. But all you see is a blissful smile on his lips and utter adoration in his eyes.

One of his hands fumbles for the keycard, the other gripping your waist like he needs you to stay tethered to him.

''Can't find the fuckin'— ah, there.'' He slides the card and the door clicks open.

You barely make it three steps inside before your back hits the door again, and you feel his broad smile against your boobs when he kisses the skin there, his nose contently pressed into your cleavage.

You let your head fall back against the door with a breathless chuckle, letting him have his fun for a moment.

You do a double take when your eyes catch onto the space in front of you. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across one side, the city skyline glittering behind a marble wet bar tucked into the corner. It's the kind of place you've only seen in magazines, a velvet couch angled toward a massive flatscreen TV, a Steinway grand piano in the corner.

The bed is bigger than any you've ever seen, the comforter crisp and cloud-like, pillows freshly fluffed. A bottle of wine already sits cooling in a bucket by the window. His suitcases are open near the wardrobe. An acoustic guitar leans against a sleek nighstand.

You exhale slowly. ''Wow.''

He chuckles, his hands sliding down to your waist again. ''What, not what you expected?''

''This place is beautiful.''

Harry pauses, glancing over his shoulder. ''You're beautiful,'' he smirks and presses a sloppy kiss to your lips.

''And you're frustrating. And filthy rich, apparently.''

''Perks of the job.''

''Perks of being Harry fucking Styles, you mean. Holy shit... I'm making out with Harry Styles.''

He grins. ''I love it when you talk dirty to me.''

''Nice. You ruined the moment.''

He leans down, brushing his lips against yours, gentler now, almost reverent. ''Oh, no. Whatever will I do?'' he mocks playfully.

You hook your fingers into the belt loops of his pants, tugging him closer. ''For one, you could take your shirt off.''

''Yes, ma'am.'' He pulls back, tugging his shirt off and tossing it to the side. You stare at his chest, the ink stretched across smooth skin. You trace one of the ferns on his hip absentmindedly, and he smiles, pleased, before ducking his head to kiss you again.

You arch into him instinctively, fingers sliding up the bare skin of his chest, hot and flushed from exertion. His body presses into yours, his lips still tasting of tequila as they crash into your mouth, before frantically kissing down your neck and the valley of your breasts.

God.

You've seen him shirtless in pictures, but nothing could've prepared you for the way he looks in front of you like this, golden in the low light. The ink scattered across his skin looks like it was drawn just for you, to trace with your fingers and kiss with your mouth. His abs flex when he moves, his cross necklace swinging slowly over his collarbones. His curls are wild, and his lips are pink and swollen.

You let out a breath. ''Jesus Christ.''

Harry's mouth twitches. ''I knew you were impressed.''

You reach out, dragging your fingers slowly down his sternum, Harry's half-lidded eyes following the movement. ''That obvious?''

''Not complaining.''

His hands cup your jaw as he kisses you again, slower now, his body leaning into yours like he wants your bodies to melt into one.

He hums into your mouth and starts walking you backward, each step carefully guided, and when the backs of your knees hit the bed, he lowers you down gently with a hand on your back.

You fall onto plush white sheets with a gasp, hair fanning across the pillows, your dress riding higher up your thighs. He kisses your inner knee first, and then the swell of your thigh, nosing the fabric aside. You chuckle when his stubble scratches the sensitive skin there, and he grins up at you, mischievous and beautiful, cheeks flushed.

He crawls up over your body and you wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, letting him slot against you, the line of his hips grinding into yours just enough to make your breath hitch.

''You're…'' you murmur, searching for the right word.

He leans down. ''Infuriatingly charming? Dangerously handsome?''

You laugh. ''Heavy. You're crushing me.''

His grin widens, rolling his hips against yours lightly, teasing, making your eyes flutter shut. ''You love it.''

You really, really do.

He presses his lips to yours, grinding slowly into you through your clothes, and you can feel the heat of him even with the layers in between your bodies. The friction is just enough to make you ache, to make your fingers fist the sheets as you arch up into him.

''God, you feel good,'' he mumbles into your mouth. ''Been craving this all night.''

You hum against his lips. ''We met hardly an hour ago.''

He pulls back, shaking his head softly, dark eyes flicking between yours. ''Been dreaming about you since I saw you at the show. Knew I had to get you into my bed. You looked so fuckin' sexy.''

You smirk. ''You're such a smooth talker.''

''I'm serious, darlin'. You're... one of a kind. Had me weak in the knees since we locked eyes, baby,'' he whispers into your skin as his head dips down to press kisses to your shoulder.

Your breath stutters.

His hands graze your figure, moving downward, before peeling your dress up and over your head, pausing when he sees the lace underneath. He whistles. ''You wore this to a concert?''

''Don't let it get to your head. Wasn't for you. I wanted to feel sexy.''

''Mission accomplished, love.'' He kisses his way down your body, unhurried. One hand slides down between your thighs, and when he finally touches you, you gasp like you've never been touched before. It's careful, exploratory, like he's trying to learn you, note by note. And when your back arches off the bed, he uses that to his advantage, diligently unhooking your bra and sliding it down your arms.

But he real surprise tonight is how gentle he is.

You thought that someone like him, famous and gorgeous and so obviously used to women falling at his feet, would use you for his pleasure, a rushed hook-up to blow off steam after a show.

But he doesn't rush. He watches your face as he touches you. He kisses every inch of skin he uncovers, whispering praises into your mouth. He listens to your breathing, your sighs, your soft gasps, adjusting his pace to match what you react to.

''You're so fucking soft,'' he mutters, more to himself than to you. ''Can't believe I didn't touch you sooner.''

You arch a brow, chest rising and falling, eyes half-lidded as you glance down at him. ''You first saw me like... three hours ago.''

He smirks. ''Exactly. Should've touched you three hours ago.''

You laugh, breathy and disbelieving, but your body betrays you, your hips lifting into his touch as he trails kisses further down, past your stomach, down the dip of your pelvis. His hands slip under your ass, dragging your body closer to the edge of the bed. He kisses over your panties, slow and deliberate. Your breath catches, and he pauses to glance up at you, curls mussed, lips already kiss-bruised.

''Just want to get you ready,'' he tells you, hand rubbing up and down your thigh.

You blink. ''What?''

His gaze is so gentle you almost melt. ''We've got all the time in the world, yeah? Wanna make sure you feel good.''

He presses his mouth to the damp fabric covering your cunt, and your hips buck into him. He hums like he likes that, nose nudging against the seam as he drags his tongue slowly up the center.

Then he's sliding your panties down your legs and tossing them somewhere behind him, leaving you bare beneath his gaze. He looks almost overwhelmed, letting out an exaggerated groan and making you laugh softly. He glances up at you, grinning, and dives in.

His tongue is slow, precise, curling around your clit like he already knows exactly how you like it. He works you open in the same rhythm his hips move on stage, the same rhythm you danced to earlier, now pulsing between your legs. His fingers join his mouth, rubbing a few tight circles on your clit, and then sinking one, then two, inside of you. Your thighs tremble around his head with a shuddered gasp.

You moan, loud and shameless, and he groans into you.

''You're so tight,'' he breathes, voice a ragged whisper against your clit. ''Gonna need to stretch you out before you can take me.''

Your fingers find his curls and tug, hard.

''God, you're full of yourself,'' you gasp.

He huffs out a laugh, licking into you with a bit more pressure this time. ''I'm not wrong. You'll see.''

You want to argue, to put him back in his place before his ego grows the size of his dick, allegedly, but then he crooks his fingers just right and your vision goes white for a second. You cry out, hips rolling, chasing that pressure, chasing your high, and he gladly lets you grind down onto his tongue until your legs start to shake.

He doesn't relent, doesn't slow down. Your orgasm hits you with the force of a wave, rolling through your body in a way that makes your back arch. His name falls from your lips like a prayer as your thighs tighten around his head, and he groans like he loves it.

He works you through every second of it, only pulling back when you whimper in protest, his chin slick, his chest rising and falling quickly. You reach between you, cupping him over the fabric of his slacks. He lets out a stuttered gasp, his hips jerking into your hand.

''Shit,'' he breathes. ''Jesus.''

You smile, feigning innocence. ''Turnabout's fair play, Styles.''

He watches you closely as you stroke him over the fabric, your confidence growing with every breathy groan that slips from his mouth. ''Fuck, baby,'' he mutters. ''You're gonna kill me.''

You tug on the waistband of his boxers. ''Can I…?''

He nods quickly, helping you tug his slacks and boxers down. Your stomach flutters with anticipation when you get a look at him.

Your breath hitches. ''Oh, you are... Holy shit.''

His chest puffs up instinctively, smugness radiating off him.

You swat his chest. ''Don't look so proud. You got a condom?''

His gaze sharpens, and he reaches over to the nightstand beside the bed and slips one out of the box with a practiced flick of his wrist, holding it up between two fingers. ''Like I'd fuckin' forget.''

He kisses you slowly as he slides his briefs down, and you feel him, hot, thick, pressing between your thighs. Your breath hitches when he rolls the condom on, your legs spreading to accommodate him as he settles between you, arms braced beside your head.

You nod again, clutching his biceps as he positions himself, tapping the head against your clit once, twice. ''Don't tease me.''

Harry smiles. ''Wouldn't dream of it.''

And then he starts to push in. Your eyes flutter shut instantly, your body stretching to take him, the thickness of him making your eyes water a little. ''Jesus Christ,'' you whisper.

Harry groans, pressing his forehead against yours. ''Fuck, baby. You're fuckin'—.''

''Don't say tight,'' you breathe.

He laughs softly, his lips brushing your temple. ''Was gonna say heaven, actually.''

He moves slowly, savoring the feeling, until he's finally, fully seated inside you. You sigh. He shudders.

''Told you I had to prep you,'' he murmurs, smug.

''Shut up and move.''

He does.

Slowly at first, giving you time to adjust, and then a little harder when he sees the way your eyes flutter and your nails dig into his back. You moan shamelessly, gripping his shoulders as he rocks into you. His rhythm is sensual, driving into you with a smooth roll of his hips, like he's determined to imprint the memory of him inside you for days.

The room fills with the sound of skin on skin, of breathy moans and whispered curses and that telltale creak of the headboard you'll be hearing in your dreams.

You lean up to kiss him, tasting the remnants of your own arousal on his tongue.

He groans. ''God, you feel good.''

''You too,'' you pant. ''Better than I expected.''

Harry narrows his eyes, giving you a sharp thrust. ''Come again?''

''I'm trying.''

''Funny. I'm better than you expected? What did you expect?''

You gasp. ''Well, you are a popstar. Could've been lazy.''

He clicks his tongue. ''You're gonna regret that.''

He pulls you back by your hips, burying himself to the hilt, rutting into you and hitting that spot inside you. You let out a choked moan. ''That's right. Let me hear you, baby. Let the whole fuckin' hotel know.''

Your legs shake. Your head spins.

When you come again, it rips through you so violently that your head flies back against the pillows, and your fingers scrape down his back, sending him over the edge. He slams into you one final time with a broken groan, emptying his load into the condom with his mouth pressed against your shoulder, chest heaving. He pulls out carefully, discards the condom, and collapses beside you on the bed, both of you covered in sweat, panting like you've just run a marathon.

There's silence for a moment. Just your breathing and the muffled sounds from the street below the windows.

''Holy fuck,'' you whisper.

Harry lets out a weak laugh. ''Yeah. That was…''

''…Yeah.''

You roll onto your side to look at him. His cheeks are flushed, smudges of lipgloss clinging to his skin. You wipe one away with your thumb and he catches your wrist, pressing a kiss to the inside of it.

''So… what now?'' you chuckle, unsure of the protocol after sleeping with a celebrity. Should you get up? Get dressed? You honestly don't know if your legs would even work right now.

He's quiet for a second. Then he turns his head and grins.

''You ever been to Paris?''

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

general tag list

@2601-london @mads3502 @angeldavis777 @run-for-the-hills @postsexfistbump @hobireasns @madilee7802 @spinninc @practistyles @qrapejuices @fangirl509east @sstylezzz @hontpwk @lichi-dunkera @prettygurl-2009 @violinheartxx @gotthecinema @ghstyles @triski73 @chronicallybubbly

...

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

okay so,,i got an ask but instead of saving it i posted it unfinished like a dumbass so i had to delete AUGHHH anon man i hope you’re still sticking around n tysm for the ask :((( if you saw this earlier you’re a hacker bc I deleted that AT LIGHTNING SPEED anyways hope yall enjoy <3

Fem reader (boobs), fluff, katsu n reader in their 20s, katsuki is nyasty and a big baby, nakedness and such, katsuki talks about boobies soo suggestive i think?? just to be safe :3

request : i saw this video on tiktok before and thought it was so cute! it was a girl pranking her boyfriend by telling him to leave the room so she could change and he was just so confused, was wondering if u could do that with bkg 🥹 <33

right now, katsuki bakugo is about 99% convinced that there's a stranger in his house.

that, or you're mad at him.

"what ?" he asks again for what he knows is once too many, because you giggle. he feels your hand press against his chest, keeping him from following you into your bedroom. you're all smiles.

"i said, i'm changing."

“..so ?”

"so," you copy, making your voice gruff and nasally in a way that's making his nose scrunch. "you. wait outside." you dig your finger into his firm chest to accentuate your point, talking slowly like he's a dog. katsuki's eyebrows furrow harder.

clearly, you take him for a joke.

"you know i've already seen you naked before, right?"

you splutter at his bluntness and usually it'd make him smirk to see the effect he has on you. You cross your arms over your chest that you're trying to keep him from seeing for some reason. "yes, i know that, thanks for reminding me."

without missing a beat, he grabs both of your arms and pulls them apart, pulling a gasp from you. he's always had this weird trigger with crossed arms. he pulls you closer to him until you're firm to his chest and leans forward.

"so, there's nothin' you gotta hide from me." his voice his gravelly the lower he speaks, half lidded eyes looking you up and down, you do your best not to look too bothered.

" 'm not hiding anything, promise." you wiggle your hands out of his grip to lift them up in surrender. katsuki grumbles, you smirk "i just don't want you following me everywhere."

he leans back like you'd hit him, like you'd popped him straight on his mouth, eyes wide and mouth agape "what the-so what i can't walk around in my own damn house?!"

"and you always happen to be walking where i'm going ? conveniently ?" you cross your arms again, hobbling a bit away from your boyfriend so he couldn't pull the stunt from a few seconds ago.

katsuki, now that you’re out of reach, copies you and throws his beefy arms over each other. “i dunno if you noticed, but this place isn’t that fuckin’ huge. everywhere leads to the same place.” he squints when you giggle with a roll of your eyes.

“uhuh, that’s why you somehow end up in the bathroom just watching me. it’s all connected.” you sass, and you managed to dodge katsuki’s fingers attempting to wedge themselves into your sides with a squeal. you grip at the door in warning.

“i’m slamming this in your face !” you warn, pulling the door open and back to taunt him. he stares at you for a few more seconds before he scoffs, rolls his eyes, and groans dramatically . his arms flop to accentuate how much your denial irritates him.

“fine. since you fuckin’ hate being with me so bad, don’t even know why yer ass even moved in then..” you giggle at his not so quiet mutterings, grabbing his arm you pull him toward you

“i was joking, big baby, you can come in.”

katsuki blinks at you, eyebrows furrowed. then his head drops and he shakes it, hair tussling around as he sighs loudly. you laugh and when he’s finally past the door, he pinches you.

“fuckin’ dumbass, thought you grew a third tit an’ didn’t want me to see or something.”

you spin around, smacking his arms causing him to cackle meanly at you.

“you’re such a child.” you huff, “i shouldn’t have let you in here.” you mutter, kicking off your pants. katsuki snickers behind you, you can practically sense he’s about to say something stupid.

“aw, ‘m flattered baby. ya want me to see your third tittie ?” katsuki swiftly dodges the sweatpants you’d launched at him, continuing to laugh. goddamn pro hero reflexes.

[pitlanepeach]

The Long Way Home I Chapter Six

Oscar Piastri x Harper Grace (OFC)

Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.

It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.

Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!

Notes — Me writing this fic at superspeed like a monkey on cocaine. But instead the metaphor should be 'like peach on 5 caramel oat lattes'

Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist

Oscar spotted the car first.

The long black Mercedes rolled into the hotel car park like it owned the place — gleaming and polished and too expensive for the dusty gravel. He stood at the edge of the stairs, hands shoved deep in his trouser pockets, heart hammering.

The driver got out first. Because of course Harper's mum had a driver.

Then the passenger door opened.

And Harper stepped out, stiff and silent and all wrong.

She looked like a stranger wearing his Harper's skin. Uniform perfect, hair scraped back too tight, posture like she'd been positioned. Her blazer was buttoned all the way, her chin lifted so high it looked like it would hurt.

Her mum — Victoria — followed. Taller. Colder. Every inch the ice queen he knew her to be.

She didn't glance at Harper as they walked toward him.

Oscar's gut twisted.

Harper finally lifted her gaze — and the second she saw him, the mask faltered. Just a flicker, but it was enough. Her shoulders dropped by a fraction. Her mouth twitched like she might cry, or run, or both.

He stepped forward without thinking. "Hey."

Harper stopped in front of him, didn't speak. She was pale beneath the tightness of her face, lips pressed into a line, hands fisted at her sides.

Oscar glanced past her to Victoria. "Mrs. Whiatt. Hello."

Victoria gave him a once-over like he was a piece of dirt under her shoe. "So. You're the boy."

Harper winced.

Oscar just nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

No point pretending this would be a warm, sweet exchange.

There was a moment of tense, brittle silence.

Then Harper turned slightly toward him — not quite reaching, but enough for Oscar to understand.

He took a small step closer and gently brushed his hand against hers. Didn't hold it, didn't squeeze — just let her know he was there.

She blinked fast.

"You okay?" He asked softly, eyes still on her.

Harper gave a tiny nod, and an even tinier shake of the head, all in one breath.

He stepped forward and ducked his head a little to meet her eyes.

"Hey," he said gently. "You want to come walk with me? Just around the side?"

Victoria gave a sharp sound — a sigh or a scoff, hard to tell. "She doesn't need a stroll, she needs a serious reality check. You both do."

Oscar ignored her. He looked only at Harper.

And after a second, Harper nodded. Small. Grateful.

She followed him wordlessly around the corner of the hotel, out of sight of the car and her mother. The second they were hidden by brick, Harper stopped.

Oscar turned to face her, voice low. "What did she say to you?"

Harper didn't answer. Instead, she leaned forward — slowly, like she wasn't sure she was allowed — and pressed her forehead into his shoulder. Just stood there, curled into him, not crying, not speaking. Just breathing.

Oscar wrapped his arms around her without a word. Held her there. Shielded her from whatever storm had just walked out of that car in heels and judgment.

"I've got you," he whispered.

—

The hotel restaurant was almost too pristine — white tablecloths, polished silver, candles flickering in little glass domes. It wasn't built for shouting, which only made the tension at their table more electric.

Victoria sat stiffly, sunglasses placed neatly beside her untouched coffee. Her mouth was drawn in a sharp, disapproving line.

Opposite her, Harper sat beside Oscar, her uniform blouse rumpled at the shoulders. She hadn't said a word since they sat down.

Oscar could feel the stiffness in her spine. He wanted to reach for her hand, but didn't want to risk stirring things up.

He kept it out of sight instead. Still held her in his own way. A hand on the base of her back.

Chris stirred his tea, calm and deliberate. "We're all here for the same reason," he said, voice low and even. 

Victoria's eyebrows lifted. "Are we?"

Harper flinched.

Oscar opened his mouth, but Chris raised one hand — not to silence, just to steady. "What I mean is: this isn't something we can undo. So now we need to make some decisions. And a plan."

"I already had a plan for my daughter," Victoria snapped. "It involved top GCSE marks, a fine art degree, an internship in Milan. Not..." she gestured vaguely at Harper, "teen pregnancy."

"I'm still doing my GCSEs," Harper said.

Victoria scoffed. "Harper, you can barely sleep through the night as it is. How do you expect to revise for ten subjects and handle being pregnant at the same time? Biology alone would be a farce."

"I'll manage," Harper said, voice shaking. "I will."

"You won't," Victoria replied, sharper now. "And don't act like this is a brave, romantic thing, Harper Grace. You are fifteen. You are ruining your future, and dragging this young boy down with you."

"I'm not dragging anyone—" Harper started, but Victoria wasn't finished.

"Hey, don't—" Oscar started at the same time, but he was cut off too.

"I trusted this bloody priceless school to keep you focused. On track. Disciplined. To keep you away from this kind of mess. I should've sent you to Les Monts when I had the chance." She snapped.

Oscar's jaw tightened. "She's not dragging me anywhere. And it's not the school's fault," he said, tone quiet but hard. "We made a mistake. At least we're not pretending it didn't happen and hiding it from everyone."

Victoria glowered at him. "You're awfully calm for someone whose future's about to be shredded."

Chris gave a short laugh — not amused, just tired. "Victoria. I think you'll find that Oscar already has a solid grasp in his future — contracts and all. He's an incredibly talented boy."

"I don't need parenting tips from a glorified mechanic," Victoria snapped.

Chris didn't flinch. "And I don't need moral lectures from someone who's treating her daughter like a brand embarrassment instead of a human being."

Victoria rose abruptly, her chair scraping back. "If you really think she can do this — take her exams, have a baby, live with the ridicule of being a teen mother for the rest of her pathetic life — then you're as delusional as she is."

Harper stood up too. Her voice shook, but it didn't break. "I don't know everything yet. I don't know how it's going to work. All I know is that I want to keep my baby, and I'm not going to let you bully me out of my decision."

Victoria sneered. "God. You're serious?"

Harper nodded.

Victoria let out a sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "You're a child. You're clueless, Harper! Absolutely clueless. I'm telling you now, as your mother, that the right thing to do is—"

Oscar flew to his feet, his chair scraping loudly behind him. "No. Don't tell her what to do. This is her decision. Not yours. Not mine. Not my dad's. Hers." He said, stepping just slightly in front of Harper. "You're not listening to her. You're not even giving her a chance. You're just... you're just being horrible."

Victoria looked between them. At Chris, who was stood now too, just next to his son.

Then she turned, grabbed her coat from the back of the chair, and walked out.

Harper stood perfectly still.

Chris sighed. "Well," he said, brushing off his lapel. "That went about as well as I expected."

—

The door to the restaurant swung shut behind Victoria, her heels clipping down the marble corridor. She didn't make it far.

Chris followed at a steady pace. Not rushed. Not aggressive. Just relentless in that quiet, grounded way that had always made people underestimate him.

"Victoria," he said, voice calm. "Wait."

She stopped, spine rigid, but didn't turn around.

He came to stand in-front of her, not too close.

Hands in his coat pockets.

"You can scream at me. You can call me whatever names you like. But my son was raised right. He wasn't going to sit there and listen to you tear your daughter to shreds."

She turned then, furious. "You think I care what either of you think of me? You and your self-righteous, soft-spoken act — do you not realise what your son has done to my daughter?"

Chris tilted his head. "He didn't do anything to her, Victoria. She wasn't coerced. She wasn't manipulated. They're two kids who did something stupid and were brave enough to admit it and ask for help. I think that counts for something."

"She is fifteen," Victoria snapped, eyes sharp. "She still wears a school uniform. She can't even make it through an adult conversation without crying. And now she thinks she's capable of raising a child?"

Chris stayed silent a moment. Let the words land.

"You think that this will destroy your family name, right? That all this is going to boil down to is scandal, gossip, ugly headlines."

She didn't answer. She didn't have to.

Chris sighed. "Yeah. I thought as much."

She blinked at him.

"You want out? Fine. I know how the law works, Victoria. Harper is only fifteen, but that girl is Gillick competent. No doctor, or surgeon, or midwife, would ever turn her away. Fifteen or not, in their eyes, she's an expectant mother, and that's that."

Victoria stared at him like he'd grown two heads.

"You're still her mother, Victoria, and I had to pressure her to tell you. I made her think that she had no other choice." He took a breath. "But she does. She doesn't need you, Victoria. She can make her own medical decisions and the school have a legal right to protect her confidentially." He stared at her. "Oscar and Harper will finish their GCSEs at Haileybury. Quietly. When their exams are done and the baby comes, she'll be old enough to decide what she wants to do next — and whatever that is, me and my wife will make it happen for her. And when all that is done, you'll never have to think about how much of a disappointment your daughter is to you ever again."

"You have some nerve." She hissed, voice low.

"I would do anything for my son." He said in response, equally as sharp.

"Why?" She asked, her nose wrinkled.

Chris looked at her — tired, clear-eyed. "Because he's scared. Because he's my child, and I love him beyond any reasonable measure." He took a short breath. "It's unfortunate, Victoria, that you can't see past your grief for long enough to see how desperate your daughter is to be loved by you."

Victoria stared at him emptily before she inhaled slowly. "They'll fail," she said. "Their exams. Their careers. All of it — that's the most likely outcome. You know it is."

Chris's voice didn't waver. "Fine. Then they fail together. Or they don't. Either way, they won't be alone. They'll be loved exactly the same either way."

Silence stretched.

Then she shifted her jaw and said, "I'll pay her school fees for the rest of the year. I'll allow access to her trust fund as soon as she turns sixteen. But after that? After that, I'm done, Chris. Done with her."

Chris gave the faintest nod.

She adjusted her bag. Smoothed her coat.

And walked away without saying goodbye.

—

Harper pushed through the restaurant doors, shoulders tight. She walked fast, like she was trying to outpace the heat in her cheeks. Her shoes made soft clicks on the marble floor of the hotel lobby.

The lobby was mostly empty — a single receptionist typing quietly behind the desk, someone in towering heels checking in.

Her chest rose and fell like she'd been running.

She dropped onto one of the velvet sofas near the windows. Folded her arms. Stared hard at the floor.

A moment later, Oscar appeared, breathless. He didn't say anything. Just sat beside her.

They didn't look at each other for a while.

Then Harper muttered, voice tight, "Sorry. I felt like everyone in that restaurant was staring at me."

"They weren't," Oscar said. "Okay, maybe the old man at the table next to us was. But he kept asking his wife how to pronounce 'tagliatelle' so I don't think he counts."

Harper gave a weak noise — somewhere between a huff and a sob. She wiped her eyes on the cuff of her school jumper. Sniffed. Then she whispered, voice cracking, "I'm going to get so fat, Osc."

Oscar froze. "What—"

"I am," Harper said. Her eyes were glassy but serious. "My uniform's already tight. I've gained weight since the start of year eleven. And it's going to get worse. I'm going to be, like, round."

Oscar's lips part, unsure if he should laugh. "I—"

"And I'll probably get stretch marks. And my boobs are going to get bigger, so I'll need new bras. And I'll be sweaty. All the time. And I'll — I'll waddle."

Yeah. That did it.

Oscar started laughing — really laughing, soft but uncontrollable. He bent forward, hiding his face in his hands.

"Stop laughing at me!" Harper said, whacking his shoulder, but she was suddenly giggling too, tearfully. "This is a disaster."

"Waddle," Oscar wheezes. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't be laughing. I'm sorry, babe."

"You're an awful boyfriend!" Harper said, grinning through tears. "I used to model, you know? I was in Vogue when I was eight. And now I'm going to be, like, ginormous."

Oscar caught her hand. His palm was warm.

"You're going to be the fittest pregnant girl ever," he said solemnly. "I promise. And we'll find you a school uniform that fits, alright? Even if we have to go diving in the lost and found bin."

"Oh my god," Harper groaned, collapsing sideways into the cushions. "Don't say that. I'll throw up at the thought of it."

They laughed a bit more, then let the quiet settle. It was softer now. She shuffled over and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I don't want to go back in there," she said. "I don't want to talk to her anymore."

"Yeah. I get it."

"But she came."

"Yeah. She came."

"I wish she still loved me." She whispered. "The way she used to when my dad was alive."

Oscar hesitated, "Her loss."

Her fingers tightened in his.

—

Harper's head rested against Oscar's shoulder, her eyes red-rimmed but dry now. The soft lobby light made everything feel far away, like they were on pause from the rest of the world.

Then the entrance doors opened.

Chris stepped in alone.

His jaw was tight, shirt collar slightly undone. But his voice, when he spoke, was steady. "She's gone."

Harper sat up slowly. "Gone where?"

"Back to wherever she came from. She left about twenty minutes ago. I just — I had to go for a walk. Clear my head."

Oscar blinked. "She couldn't even be bothered to come in and say goodbye?"

Chris gave a tired breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "No. But it's fine. We don't need her"

Harper's breath caught. "What? But I thought—"

Chris crouched in front of them, meeting her eyes with that same evenness he always had — calm, but honest.

"Telling her was the right thing to do, Harper. But you're fifteen. A smart, capable girl. Any doctor will see that. And in England, there's a law. A doctor will see you, and if they think that you're Gillick competent — which you are — then you will no longer need your mum to be at any of your appointments with you, okay? You can make all your own decisions, appointments; all of it."

"That's a thing?" Harper asked, barely believing it.

"It is," Chris confirmed.

Harper blinked fast. Her hands trembled in her lap.

Oscar reached for them.

"I'm so sorry for how your mother reacted, Victoria," Chris said.

Harper bit her lip. "It's fine. I — I guess I'm used to it." She said.

Oscar let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. "So what happens now?"

Chris stood up, a little stiff. "Now? You both eat something. You use the hotel amenities that I've paid an arm and a leg for. We'll find a clinic taking new patients, a nice one — private. Then you'll both go back to school tomorrow like it's any other Thursday. And we take this day by day."

—

The lights were off, but the bedroom wasn't silent.

Sam snored softly in the other bed — limbs sprawled in every direction, one sock half-off, duvet twisted like he'd fought a small animal in his sleep.

Harper lay curled against Oscar under his blanket, her little brown teddy bear bunched between them. She was warm and still in her uniform shirt, her skirt folded neatly over the back of his desk chair.

Oscar's arms were around her, bare feet cold against the wall.

They whispered, low and soft.

"One day, you're gonna get caught here, and all hell is going to break lose," he said into her hair.

She shrugged, cheek resting against his chest. "You always say that. I never do."

He kissed the top of her head. "Yet."

A pause.

Then Harper whispered, "I liked the doctor."

Oscar blinked. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "She didn't talk to us like we were stupid. Like we'd done this on purpose for some reason."

Oscar winced. "Your mum—"

"She's always like that," Harper murmured. "Just not always in public."

Oscar tightened his grip. "Dad said he'd make sure she doesn't try to take you out of school."

Harper didn't say anything.

They stayed quiet for a minute.

Then Sam stirred. Sat up.

"Jesus," he muttered groggily, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Piastri, is there a girl in your bed or am I dreaming?"

Oscar groaned. "It's two a.m., mate."

Sam blinked blearily. "It's Harper, ain't it."

"Shhh."

Sam blinked harder, then seemed to register the tension in the air. "Shit. Is something wrong?"

Oscar hesitated.

Harper sat up slowly, but didn't say anything.

Oscar rubbed a hand over his face. "We weren't gonna to tell anyone yet, mate."

Sam just looked at them, eyebrows drawn together.

Then Oscar sighed. "She's pregnant," he said.

Sam didn't speak for a second. Just sat there.

Finally, he choked out, "Jesus everloving shit-dicks. Like — she's actually pregnant?"

Harper nodded. "Went to the doctor today. She took my blood. Scanned me. I'm nine weeks."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah." Oscar said.

Sam laid back, wide-eyed. "So... are you gonna keep it?"

Harper glanced at Oscar. He gave her a soft nod. 

"Yeah. Yeah. I think so," she said.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Fucking hell. A Haileybury baby."

"Yup," Oscar said.

Sam just said, "Shit." Then, after a long beat, he said, "Do you want me to... like... go sleep somewhere else?"

Harper laughed — a soft, surprised sound. "No. It's fine."

Sam yawned. "Okay. Cool. Just — if you guys start doing anything gross, I'll throw my rugby clogs at you."

Oscar snorted. "Right. I'll keep that in mind, mate."

They all lay back down — Harper nestled into Oscar's side, Sam flipping his pillow over and rolling to face the wall.

Somewhere between real life and sleep, Harper whispered, "We have to tell the headmaster."

Oscar nodded into her hair. "Dad said he'd come in tomorrow." Then he added, with a sleepy snort: "If Sam doesn't tell everyone first."

Sam's voice, muffled in his pillow, "Oi. I'm a right good secret keeper."

Harper laughed again — a real laugh, this time. "You're also a bloody eavesdropper!" She said. Threw her teddy at him and then said, "Throw that back, Sam. Or I'll beat you up on the astro in front of everyone."

"I can't fecking fight a pregnant woman!"

She giggled into Oscar's chest. "Exactly."

—

The headmasters office was warm but formal, heavy with old books and dark wood. Rain tapped at the tall windows. The second week of January.

Harper sat stiffly in her school uniform, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Oscar beside her, jaw clenched. Chris, calm and collected in a charcoal jacket, sat across from the Headmaster — a tall, greying man in his sixties, stern but not ever unkind.

The Headmaster's fingers were steepled. He was looking at them all very carefully. "So. Let me see if I have this correct. Harper is currently nine weeks pregnant?"

Chris nodded. "That's right. We've confirmed it with her doctor. We're arranging further care, but I thought it best to involve the school immediately — for transparency, and for planning."

Harper stared at her shoes. Oscar moved his pinky to lightly touch hers under the table.

"Well. This is... not exactly uncharted territory, in my time here. The priority, of course, will be Harper's wellbeing, and her education. Have you thought about what this means for your GCSEs?"

Harper nodded. "Yes, sir."

"I assume you're both still planning to sit them in May?" He asked.

Chris answered for them. "They are. We've already discussed options for additional tutoring, should Harper need to take any time out or modify her timetable. Me and my wife will cover any associated costs — private revision sessions, supervised study, exam adjustments if needed."

The Headmaster nodded, visibly calculating. "We'll need medical documentation for any special arrangements, but yes — that can be managed. Our priority, beyond safeguarding, is continuity. You've done well so far, Harper."

Harper glanced up, startled.

"Your latest maths results were spectacular. And you are incredibly bright across your humanity subjects. I don't want to see this derail your potential grades."

"It won't." Oscar said.

"I hope not." The headmaster remarked. He leaned forward then, clasping his hands. "There's the matter of boarding arrangements. We cannot allow cohabitation in any capacity."

Oscar blushed. Harper stiffened.

"Understood. We're not asking for that. They will continue to sleep in their assigned dorms. But I'd like to request flexibility — later curfew when necessary, private space when needed."

"With appropriate supervision and documentation — fine. I can also reach out to the local authority's safeguarding officer. It's procedure. Not punishment." He said. 

"Okay." Harper whispered.

"And your mother?"

Harper's shoulders drew in.

"Victoria Whiatt is... aware. She's chosen not to be involved." Chris said.

The Headmaster watched Harper closely. Then, finally, he nodded. "You have my word that discretion will be maintained. No silly assemblies. No whispering in corridors. But you both must stay focused. I would hate to see your academics, Harper, and your promising career, Oscar, suffer."

Harper finally looks up at him. Her face is pale, but steady. "I'll revise really hard. I swear."

Oscar nodded in agreement. 

The headmaster looked at Chris. "And Oscar's racing?"

"His manager is already aware. I'll be sitting down with the owner of his karting team tomorrow, but I'm sure that with our assurances that this will not affect his performance in the kart, then this won't be a problem. Oscar's talent — a baby doesn't change that."

"No. No, it doesn't." The headmaster agreed.

As they filed out, Oscar stayed close to Harper, hand on the small of her back. She breathed out slowly, like holding the air in any longer might've killed her.

"Proud of you." He said.

"Proud of you." She echoed.

NEXT CHAPTER

[daydreamerswriting]

hiiii!!! do you think you could do something with the gang (separately) being protective of reader? its okay if you dont want to though!!! totally up to you 💕💕

The Gang Being Protective

The outsiders x fem!reader

an: I tried to give them all different plots so it wasn't repetitive. Thank you for the request and sorry this took SOOO long. (This request is so old and this took me WAY too long I'm sorry 😭) please leave more requests guys!

W: men being gross and creepy, swearing, not proof read

Darry Curtis

Darry Curtis normally isn't one for parties, but you convinced him to go to one with you. He was, unfortunately, not having the best time. But you were. You were drinking and dancing and having the time of your life. You pulled Darry around with you as you chatted with your friends, acquaintances, total strangers, anyone.

Some time into the party, the two of you got separated. You were getting another drink and talking to a old classmate from high-school. A guy approaches you, and you immediately get a bad feeling.

"Hey sweet thing." He slurs with a smirk.

You grip your drink tighter and it takes everything in you not to show your disgust on your face. "Hi."

"You look good enough to eat. Let's get outta here, yeah?" He steps way to close to you.

Ew. "No thank-"

"No, she doesn't." A familiar, stern voice cuts you off as a muscular arms is wrapped around your shoulders.

You glance up at him. He's glaring daggers at the man who talked to you.

The man scoffed. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Her boyfriend. Now why don't you back the hell up?" His voice is stern, deep, and angry.

The guy scoffs again, rolls his eyes, and walks away. "Whatever.."

Darry turns his attention to you. "Are you alright, y/n?" He asks tenderly.

You nod. "Thank you."

"Of course, darling, you don't have to thank me." He kisses your forehead.

Sodapop Curtis

"Can you hand me a wrench?" Soda asks you as he sticks his hand out from under the Curtis's truck. The poor old thing had broke from the hundredth time and he was in charge of fixing it.

You grab a wrench out off the tool box beside you and hand it to him. "Here."

"Thank you, sweetheart."

The only reason you're here, sitting on the curb while Soda fixes up the car, is because you had come over to tell him something. You were a little nervous to tell him. You've heard stories from your friends about how their past boyfriends weren't cool with stuff like this.

"Hey, Soda?" You say while staring down at your hands.

"Yeah?" He calls back from under the car.

"I'm going with my friend tomorrow, so we have to cancel our date."

"Oh." He slides out from under the car and sits up, looking at you. "You can't go any other day?"

You shake your head. "He's only going to be in town a few days, and tomorrow is the only day he's free." You explain.

His eyebrows furrow and he looks untrusting. "He?"

You nod. "We were friends in elementary school, but then he moved away."

"Oh." He thinks this over for a minute. "It's not like a date, right?"

Youre taken aback. "What? No, of course not. We're just hanging out as friends, babe."

"Good." He nods and ponders this again for a moment. "Can I go?"

"Do you not trust me?" You ask, feeling slightly hurt.

He shakes his head. "No, of course I trust you. I don't trust this guy I've never meant. Plus, if he's your friend, I wanna meet him." He smiles. Soda did like knowing all the people in your life. He had wanted to meet your family and friends as soon as possible.

"I- I don't know. I haven't seen him in so long, and it might be weird with you there. He doesn't know you, you don't know him. I want you to meet him too, but I don't want to make it awkward with you there the whole time. Don't you think it's annoying when people drag their partners to every hang out."

"Yeah, okay. Hm.. how about I drop you off and meet him when I drop you off." He smiles, knowing that that's a good suggestion.

You smile too. "Sure. That sounds like a good plan, Soda."

Steve Randle

Shelves don't restock themselves, so Steve was stocking them while complaining to you. You ate some chips he bought you while he ranted.

"I got this job so I could work on cars, not restock shelves." He told you.

"Do you want me to help you?" You offer.

"No, no. Its my job. And I don't need us both losing our minds cause of how boring this is."

You laugh. "Okay."

He finishes stocking everything in the box he had, so he goes into the back to get another. He kisses you before going.

You crumple up your empty bag of chips and look for a trash can to throw it away in. The bell by the door rings, meaning someone entered the gas station. You find a trash can and toss the chip bag from a short distance, but somehow, you miss. So, you bend down to pick it up.

And then you hear a whistle. You think it's Steve trying to tease you for a moment, until you turn around and see some random guy. He was smirking at you too. What the hell?

"What the hell?" A familiar voice asks angrily. You turn your head and see Steve walking over to you while glaring at the guy. "Why're you whistling at my girl?"

"Hey, man. I didn't know that she'd been claimed." He raises his hands.

Claimed? You scoff.

"Claimed? " Steve says, "She's a human being, not a, fucking parking spot or something. Why don't you get the hell outta my store." He crosses his arms.

The guys shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and huffs. "Whatever." Then he turns and leaves.

"Fucking asshole." Steve shakes his head then looks down at you. "You okay?"

You smile. "Yes, thank you."

He uncrosses his arms and reaches for your hand, taking it in his. "You don't have to thank me, baby."

Two-Bit Matthews

It was a chilly afternoon, and you and Two-Bit were walking around town together. You were wearing his jacket and his arm was around you. You were talking about random stuff and laughing together. The two of you had just left a diner and were now walking to your house.

You always had a blast when you were with Two-Bit. He was funny and surprisingly sweet. He made you feel lighter and just being around him calmed you down. He was familiar.

The two of talk about school, friends, life, anything that pops into your minds. All is going great until you pass a guy who's leans against the side of a building, smoking a cigarette. He whistles at you. A somewhat small sound that was absolutely unnerving. It immediately made you uncomfortable. And of course Two-Bit heard it and noticed your change in energy.

"Has that ever worked for you?" Two-Bit asks the guy angrily as he wraps his arm tighter around you.

"Huh?" The creep looks you the both of you.

"I said, 'has that ever worked for you?' Because I'm guessin' it hasn't." Two-Bit had stopped walking and was looking back at the guy.

"I- fuck off, man." He turns to leave.

"Leave girls like mine alone, wacko!" Two-Bit calls as the guy walks away. Then he turns his head to look at you. "I'm sorry, baby." He says.

"Oh, it's okay. I'm fine." You say as you two begin to walk down the sidewalk again.

"But it's not okay. Guys shouldn't be whistling at or cat calling you, baby. Ticks me off." He lets go of your waist and holds your hand.

You squeeze his hand, appreciating his concern and protection. "Thanks for standing up for me."

He shrugs. "Don't mention it, I owed you, you got lunch."

Dallas Winston

Dallas loves to show you off. He loves getting to let people know that you're his. He loves watching other guys disappointed faces when you're all over him.

You were hesitant to wear such a short skirt to the party at Buck's, but Dallas was quick to reassure you.

"You look absolutely gorgeous. Good enough to eat, doll." He held you from behind as you gazed into your mirror. So it was settled. You wore the skirt.

Unfortunately, that meant you got stares.

One man in particular had been staring at you all night. At first, you thought you were imagining things, seeing him the corner of your eye, but you kept making eye contact with him. It was making you uncomfortable.

"That guy over there is staring at me." You whisper to Dallas, peeking over your shoulder at him.

Dallas tightens his arm around your waist. He looks in the direction you're looking. He makes eye contact with the man, causing the man to look away.

"I'll talk to him."

Only Dallas Winston doesn't "talk" to people who have pissed him off, and he's clearly pissed off. Now, you'd be happy to see this guy get slugged, but you really didn't want Dallas getting into a fight. So, you grab his hand when he starts to walk away.

"Dallas–"

"I'm just gonna talk to him, I promise." He squeezes your hand then pulls his away. He walks over the man and you lag slowly behind him, really hoping this doesn't end in violence.

Dallas approaches him. "Hey man, my girl doesn't like being stared at by creeps like you. I think should you cut it out."

The man scoffs. "Maybe she shouldn't dress like a that then. I can look if I'd like."

"She can dress how ever the hell she pleases, doesn't give you any right to watch her like a fucking creep."

Oh boy was he getting mad. You walk up behind him and put your hand on his shoulder. "Dal, it's not worth it, c'mon."

The man smirks at you. "Well, hello sweet cheeks."

Ew. "Excuse me?" You say at the same time Dallas's fist lands on his face.

Johnny Cade

Johnny trusts you mote than anyone he knows, so why was he so worried? Sure, you'd hung out with a friend for yours that happened to be a guy and didn't tell him, but that guy's just your friend, right? Well, he better be. Johnny knows that he should talk to you about it, but he's not sure how to bring it up. Luckily, you do one day while walking through the park with him.

"Last weekend I went to see this movie, Viva Las Vegas, that new one with Elvis in it, with my friend Aaron. It was just okay." You say.

He hesitates then asks, "Who's Aaron?"

"My friend." You say simply.

A faint smile appears on his face from your answer. "Well, yeah, but who is he? Why're you going to the movies with him?" He feels awkward asking.

You can tell what he's thinking about, and you feel a bit guilty for making him worry. "Oh, it's nothing bad, I swear. Me, him, and this girl, Margaret– we were all three going to go together, but Margaret never showed. We learned on Monday that she'd been sick."

"Oh," he nods. "I mean, I don't really mind that you're hanging out with a guy alone. If it was Soda or Steve or Ponyboy, ya know, I wouldn't care. It's just cause I don't know him, that's all."

"Yeah." You pause then smile. "You were jealous." You tease as you take hold of his arm.

"I'm wasn't–" He pauses and looks at you. He sighs, "I was worried about you. I trust you, but I can't trust people I've never met."

You think quietly for a moment, then make a suggestion. "How about, next time we make plans, I'll ask if you can come, so you can meet him."

He smiles and nods. "Okay, that sounds perfect, sweetheart, thank you." He slips his arm out from your grasp and instead puts in around your shoulders. He pulls you in, towards him, and places a kiss on your forehead.

An: idk why this took so long. Please leave me more requests! The more specific, the more fun!

[keen-li]

All Aisle Ever Need 01 | jjk

chapter: 1/ ?

summary: You decide to take a risk and sign up for a program where you marry a complete stranger. You’re surprisingly okay with the idea—excited, even—though the occasional nerves still creep in. This could either be the best or worst decision of your life. Still, the mystery of it all feels thrilling, and you've made peace with not knowing the man you’re about to marry. No matter who he is, you’re ready to go through with it.

But on your wedding day, as you walk down the aisle, something makes you squint. There’s something familiar about the man standing at the altar. And then it hits you… you know him. You've made promises to yourself before, so many of them broken. This won't be any different...shit.

pairing: Jungkook x fem reader.

story type: series.

Genre: exes to lovers, second chance au, right person wrong timing, lack of communication, forced proximity, slow burn, angst, fluff, smut.

rating: m. Mdni

wordcount: 8.2k+

warnings for chapter: troubled parental dynamics/figures. It's implied that they are both grown, Jungkook is older than reader(the age is subjective). cussing. found family. none really from here on.

A/n: though of this whilst watching MAFS. i've been in a burnout and this got me out of it?. please don't ask me if it's a happy ending story(i'm not saying it is or is not.) I just feel if you ask me that then you're not really interested in the story.

anyways I hope you enjoys it.

date: 25/04/25

Prev | next

story under cut.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You've always bought the same type of clothes, jewellery, produce as well. Why would you need anything else when you enjoy what you have.

And maybe that’s why you’re in the position you’re in now.

You should’ve been smarter and known that emptiness would follow you soon enough.

 If you had taken the leap sooner--stepped out of the one-way route to love--you’d already be where you’re trying to force yourself now.

You would’ve realised that maybe what you’re looking isn’t in the men you find pleasure in.

You'd be getting married conventionally, and not having to sign up for some program.

Comfort comes cause the type of man you want is hard to find. He’s either already married or behind his desk overworking himself.

There is a little ego-death, just a little. Having to confront yourself on the type of man you want when you're at your limit is humbling. It should be something you know about yourself already.

You're not best at caring of yourself of late. When was the last time you had a self-care? You're still alive so it's fine.

Just like your type; you've been stuffing yourself behind your desk any chance you get.

But before your wedding you swear you’ll have a day to care for yourself. Physically at least.

You’ve been shaking your head for coming to this point, but your solace is in hope.

Putting your chance at love in someone else’s hands—someone trained, someone professional—might actually be the smartest move you’ve made in terms of relationships. That way, your own traits that have gotten you nowhere won’t come into play.

None of your past relationships have ever seen daylight because of how dumb you end up feeling for indulging in them, for believing they could be more.

They could never see the sun, let alone could they see the conversation of marriage.

You’ve tried to bring up the topic of marriage, and immediately they turn it down or change the subject. After that, you never bring it up again.

Honestly, after experiencing enough of that, you quit on the idea of commitment. Maybe you were stupid for wanting that.

What does marriage have that you can’t get from a simple relationship bound by an unstable verbal agreement.

You could definitely survive on that, right?

That’s what past you got by saying to herself.

You gave up on getting attached. It was just hook up and get out. None of them ever wanted anything serious, so you became that too. But it was never fulfilling, you thought that would be your answer. But it's not who you are.

You went on and it wasn’t long until you felt the emptiness of it all. And you had enough.

But still, somehow you still got stuck with the bro type. You'd like to blame lust but your therapist would like to blame your fear of being alone. You get her point but you don't think it fits your case well. You've never felt lonely or been afraid of it.

Anyways, you’ve dealt with that type for so long and you conclude if was just lust.

So, many of the guys following your frontal lobe development, have told you that you were too much. But all that meant to you was you knew what you wanted and they were not in the same frame. You have goals.

Now you want something serious and someone serious too. Someone who knows what they want and where they want to be in the future. Someone who’s going to have a plan immediately they see you. Because you do.

“I have to tell you guys something.” You clear your throat calling for your friend's attention.

Taehyung's head snaps to you. Jisoo on the other hand meets you with her eyes first.

You’d been hanging out normally, just chatting, laughing and catching up.

No moment was perfect enough to say what you wanted to, so you waited. But you’d been laughing and getting carried away with connected stories that the moment was not getting perfect enough.

For a moment you contemplated procrastinating the news. But if you procrastinated this any further you’d end up having no one at the venue.

So, being presented with the opportunity when a silence settled. It was now or never.

You want lie that it’s excitement, but there’s nothing exciting about the dryness in your throat.

You watch taehyung, seated on a stool elbows leaning against your island, and Jisoo standing next to you, walking from the fridge to the sink. Shit you have their attention.

That’s what you wanted. Speak.

You’ve been friends with Taehyung the longest because you were at the same high school, and you met Jisoo in university because you were in the same dorm and happened to be doing the same program. You all got along as a group and stayed that way. So, being there for each other through most life events, you have to tell them no matter how nervous you are.

And knowing them, what you’re about to say is far from  what they expect.

Due to the serious and nervous undertone in your voice, they stare at you closely, inspecting your awkward tucking in of lips. Normally, Taehyung would be quick to say something witty about your behaviour, but he’s silent, only making you more nervous.

You release your lips and suck in a breath. “Okay... promise not to judge?” You warn, watching them both, but focusing more on Taehyung.

“What the fuck are you 'bout to say?” He narrows his eyes at you like he does when investigating you about a boyfriend. Does he think that’s what you’re about to say?

“You’re not going to judge?” You ask once more for good measure but it serves to irritate them. You chuckle like it’s amusing. Nothing is amusing, not after you tell them.

“At this point, we will.” Jisoo exclaims with a laugh, and Taehyung follows.

"Yeah, we might just."

Feeling the non-existent pressure on your neck, you pull your mouth open. “Fine.” You mumble to yourself for encouragement. There’s no going back; you’ve already told them there is something to be said. “I’m getting married.” It comes out quick and rushed, if they hadn’t known you like they do it could’ve been sworn you had just spoken gibberish.

They look confused. Do you repeat yourself?

You probably shouldn’t have started it that way. You could’ve started with  explaining  the program. Cause now they think you’ve lost your mind.

The two stare at your empty ring finger, then at each other, and then back to you, hoping you’ll clarify with a mocking laughter at their foolishness.

“What?” you say fumbling with the finger. They look at you like you’ve finally lost your last marble.

“To who?” They thunder in unison, confusion dripping from each syllable.

The reaction doesn’t shock you, and you don’t judge the question either. But little do they know you’ve been wondering the same thing as well.

“Well, I don’t know that part, but...” you feel a little ashamed to say it because they will think you’re definitely crazy now. You’ve never been the type to do something like this. They knew you wanted to get married, but not this much.

“Do we need to get you on medication?” you're not on any medication but the words still spill out of Jisoo’s mouth with concern and shock.

Your news has, Taehyung sitting up with folded arms, his eyebrows knit so hard they could touch.

“You barely have a boyfriend, what do you mean marriage, babes?” You turn your head away from Taehyung’s eyes. This is embarrassing.

It’s true for them it’s quite the jump, but if you could just explain yourself...

“You're hiding a boyfriend?”

A boyfriend? it’s comical.

After your nervous laughter dies down, you elaborate. “No. I signed up for this thing where you get married to a stranger.” You explain, your hands waving as you speak. It’s something you always do when you’re defending yourself.

As you process the words to use, you realise it does sound not like you. You’d definitely react like the same. “It’s called Married at First Sight.”

“Wow.” Is all that you get back. What the hell do you do with that?

“I got picked, which means I’m getting married.”

“To a random guy?”

 You nod, lips folding again.

Telling your friends makes all this feel so real. You still can’t believe you signed up for this, let alone that you got picked. Something in you hoped you wouldn’t get picked because 1. what are the odds? And 2. maybe if you didn’t get picked, it would be a sign from the universe that you should just sit your ass down.

Your fingers fumble with the marble of your counter. As much as you’ve seen their reaction, you still don’t know what they think and it's making you feel more embarrassed. If they don’t support you or want you doing this, what the hell would you do? What if they think it’s stupid. “What do you think? You’re making me nervous.”

“I mean—how do you feel?”

“I’m okay." You scoff. “But I’m going into this so blind. And I kind of hate the feeling. But it’s nice to have the weight of finding a match out of my hands.” But having the control out of your hands is not like you, so that’s where the nerves are coming from as well. Cause what if they don’t give you what you want?

“Why’d you sign up, though? could’ve set you up with this guy I know.”

You appreciate your friends setting you up on blind dates; you really do. But they never go well, which is not on them but more on the guys. Surface level, they look like a match for you, but mentally and emotionally, they couldn’t be further from what you want. Maybe you need to look deeper than the superficial, which is honestly what this program is doing for you.

“Those don’t go well for me. You know that.” They do.

Did you mention that Jisoo is engaged? You’ve never seen her happier. She wasn’t even this happy when she graduated.

And you want that too. You’ve always thrown yourself into school and work to suffice for the love you weren’t able to feel. And growing up you always relied on academic validation. But it could only carry you so far after you hit every milestone and still felt nothing. The only thing that came close were the relationships. Situationships.

“You really want to do this?” jisoo coos.

“it’s not so bad to try"

“If they give you what you want.” Taehyung intersects.

You hope they do. “I wrote in detail, so they better.”

You have no clue what criteria they go by, but it couldn't be something contrary to your asks.

You get excited thinking of the perfect man for you standing at the end of the aisle. Like, gosh, you’re going to be so happy. Your stomach flutters already.

“They probably know what I need though.”

“Yeah. But you still want the basics, like—” Jisoo doesn’t even have a chance to finish when you cut in.

“Oh yeah... tall, smart, a man with a plan type of thing.” You feel so childish for being so excited about this. But it’s more about the excitement of having the perfect man for you. You try not to picture his physical appearance because you might end up disappointed if you linger on it for too long.

Taehyung and Jisoo smile, listening to how excited you are. If you’re happy, they are too; that’s all they care about. That what what think of and not that this is the most conventional way to go about it.

Returning to your cooking, you decide to dig more into their thoughts. “What do you guys think I need?”

Feeling experienced, Taehyung takes the lead to share. He’s heard and seen a fair share of your crushes and boyfriends and how it's ended, so he feels like he knows what you’d like. “Definitely a business-style, you know. Sleek back hair, tall, nerdy.”

“Is that what I give off?” You chuckle a brow raised. Embarrassed. You've definitely grown into that assumption.

You do. You’ve always been the academic type and Taehyung’s parents always trashed him for not being like you. Even though he wasn’t even a bad student. You always made him look bad. But that's all to say you’re smart and a work focused person,  so you need a man who is the same.

You also like to be control. Whether that’s knowing all the tiny details of an event, or planning all the trips. As much as he benefits from it, Taehyung is definitely sure you use it as a coping mechanism for something.

“You need someone who can take control.” He adds.

"But still obsessed with her." Jisoo chirps in and Taehyung couldn't nod harder.

It would be nice to have someone to do things with. But an obsessed man? You're not sure. You want him to love you but shouldn't be too overbearing.

“I feel crazy for doing this.” You bite your lower lip, letting your worries out a little. “Like I’m seriously going to get married to a stranger.” You believe it less the more you say it.

“It’s not the conventional way, but you know we’ll be there for you no matter what.” You warm into Jisoo’s rub on your back. You’re trying to mask your true nerves with excitement; you doubt it’s fully working, but you’re trying. “As long as you’re happy And he makes you happy.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” Taehyung promises, sounding more like a threat to your groom.

You seem serious about it and it must be if you got picked. So the only power he has is to be there for you as a friend. Its honestly not such a bad thing, if he wanted to get married he'd think of doing it like this too. It more thrilling. And there’s nothing Taehyung loves more than thrill.

Having your friends feels comforting, and it’s all you need. Really. But with how serious this is, you’re going to have to call your family soon, and you’re not ready for that. The idea raise the bile in you.

Unlike your friends, you have no clue how they’ll feel. You haven’t spoken to them in a while but the last thing they’d be thinking to hear from you is marriage. The last you remember none of them thought you were marriage material.

It's out of courtesy that you’re even telling them. But no matter what they say, you’ve already been picked, and you are getting married.

“it's still crazy though.” this isn't how he imagined this going. But he should be the last person calling you crazy when it’s the only thing he knows. But you get it; it’s out of your character to do something like this. But who knows you could find what you’re looking for outside of your comfort zone. It’s not 100%, but you’re ready to take that risk. “Imagine you marry an ex...”

Taehyung is not helping soothe you. The thought has crossed your mind before.

“Don’t scare me,” you brush off the thought with a hand on your chest, and they both can’t help but laugh. It would be so funny if you walked down the aisle and it was one of your stupid exes. Gosh... you’d walk out immediately, no question. “Don't think they would be serious enough for marriage.” They’re all probably out there still being reckless and whatever.

“What if he doesn’t like something that you like?”

“Don’t know" you chuckle "But I’d be damned if he doesn’t want to listen to my playlists.”

“Ouu, he’d be a gone man if he didn’t like your mugs too.” You know Jisoo’s being sarcastic; for some reason, everyone dislikes your mugs. The designs specifically. But you like them, so he would be damned if he didn’t like them.

“I mean, we have 3 months until we decide whether we want to be together or not....”

“Would you want to get divorced?”

You don’t even want to think of that. Divorce is not something you think about or want to think about. You know how much you hate it and how it affects children. You don’t have kids with the man, but still, you just hate divorce. It feels too much like failure.

“I hope not, but if he’s completely unreasonable, then I’ll have no choice.” You wouldn’t want to fight for something that bears no fruit. But you pray that’s not going to be the case. It shouldn't be too bad.

“I just want to like him, and I hope he likes me too. I would want this to work out.” You stare blankly at your hands. “I don’t know if I’d be able to look for love again after this.”

You’re being to dramatic but that’s because this feels like all you have.

“In that case, let’s pray he’s the one.”

You all go quiet for a second. The pot on the stove starts to bubble.

“This is real,” you murmur.

And somehow, that thought is both terrifying—and thrilling.

--

“Namjoon, what do you think?” He’s the only one who’s been quiet about what just came out of jungkook’s mouth.

It’s not the idea of Jungkook getting married to a stranger that’s concerning (Though that’s its own thing.) It’s more about the idea of Jungkook getting married in general.

“I mean—do what makes you happy. It’s not the conventional way...” Namjoon begins, and Jungkook can’t help but roll his eyes at how serious his friend is being. He’s not surprised, though; Namjoon has always been the more serious and mature one between the two. Unlike Jungkook, Namjoon has always known what to do and when to do it. He is the kind of guy with structure, but Jungkook, on the other hand, is more of the go-with-the-flow kind of person.

He does things on a whim, reckless with who he goes out with. Relationships have always been fun for him; he never took them seriously. That was until he sat with himself and looked around. All of his friends were settling down and were not available to go out. One was having a child, the other was getting married, and standing at the altar as a groomsman so often, had him worried about what he was doing.

He watched his friends fall in love and be so happy; he wanted that too. Could he have it too? The bro lifestyle he was living was not going to give him that.

He hid behind hookups so much that he hadn’t realized he did want to settle down, find a nice woman, and live that picture-perfect life, he saw his parents have.

And it was time for that. So, by chance and through his coworker, he stumbled upon this program and signed up.

He wasn't going to get picked, so it wouldn’t be so bad if he did try.

He never had much hope in it; like, how would some experts know from a form who to pair him up with? It was a scam to him. His plan was to go out and meet ladies the usual way, but even they didn’t see him so seriously; he was just a hookup to them too. It did hurt him. But honestly, they weren’t wife material anyway.

Jungkook has always liked doing stuff that people would call crazy; it made him happy. So being told that a match was found and he was going to get married to a stranger didn’t make him nervous at all—if you exclude the seriousness of marriage though.

“Come on, hyung...”

“I wouldn’t put this past you, so I’m not surprised. I’m just worried if you’re ready for this. I don’t think you realize how serious it is.”

It’s not shocking that Namjoon stares at Jungkook with such distrust; he himself doesn’t trust himself fully. But he wants to. Because how can a wife trust him if he doesn’t?

 Nothing will convince him or others that he is serious and growing, other than through actions. And that’s what he intends to do. Namjoon may not trust him now, but when he sees how serious he is, he will.

“I’ve grown, hyung, don’t you think?” Jungkook sips his beer, staring at his friend. Having this conversation at a bar may not have been the best, but it was the perfect moment to do so. Though jungkook has never cared about perfect timing.

Namjoon lets out a puff of air. He doesn’t want to seem like he’s not supportive. “You have, but this is a serious commitment, Kook.”

He doesn’t need to be told once more how serious this is; his brain can do that just fine.

 “I know. But I’ve reached that point where I want to settle down. I’m ready to get serious.” It’s definitely something he never thought he would say. “I want to show that I can be serious, you know? I want to be like you, Seokjin.”

He pats the man on his shoulder, and he can’t help but feel honored to be an inspiration. Seokjin was one of the first to get married and is now expecting a child. Jungkook envies that—the ability to feel stable enough to bring in another life. He wants to be stable too. Have a little mini him to play around with.

Who the hell has he become.

“I think it’s good you want to settle down, Koo. I just hope you’re doing this for the right reasons and not just to prove yourself,” the oldest begins. Seokjin doesn’t think he’s some wise man, but he can confidently say he has the most knowledge on this among all of them. He does support his friend and thinks it’s great he’s doing this, but something in him fears he’s in it for the wrong reasons. “I mean, it won’t only be you. You’re merging your life with someone else—someone you don’t know to add. I wouldn’t want you to drag her feelings into a journey of trying to prove yourself.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Because the truth is, part of him doesn’t know truly why he’s doing this. And not knowing is something he hates nowadays.

This is where Jungkook’s second thoughts root even further. He fears that—fears dragging someone along into his flawed perception of self. But it’s not what this is about, and even though he doesn’t mention it, he does want to find someone to love and someone to give the love he hasn’t been able to give his past lovers.

“I get what you’re saying, hyung, and I promise that’s not the case. I do want to care for the person too.”

Seokjin nods, taking a sip of his drink. “That’s good. You are growing,” he mocks, and they all laugh.

“The not knowing what’s ahead is a little off putting, I’ll be honest.” Jungkook doesn’t stare at his friends but rather analyses every bubble of air in his drink that rises to the surface. They rise fast, then disappear. Like everything he used to think love was.

“Do you think you can do it?”

“I think I can... I want to.” He finally looks up to stare at nothing in particular.

“The first step is the commitment, so if you have that, then you’re good.” Jungkook nods; he should probably be taking notes on what Seokjin is saying. “Oh, Namjoon, you’re going to be the only single one.” They all laugh, but Namjoon only chuckles.

“It’s scary how you’re still single.” His friends see him as the perfection of what a woman wants: tall, smart, a man who knows what he wants. It’s all what women describe, but still, the tall silver-haired man has never taken dating seriously, nor does he hook up. It’s concerning.

“It’s because I want to,” he replies, taking a drink of his beer. And that’s all they’ll ever get from him.

“So what are you looking for, Koo?”

They shouldn’t even get him started on this. He’s never really known because he’s never really thought about it. But of late, the answers have been coming in like ants—tiny but a lot. “Um, just someone outgoing, you know... likes to have fun.” He won’t burden them with all he’s been thinking because some are just stupid stereotypes. “Someone who likes to go out and try new things, likes to have fun.”

“Jungkook? a party girl?.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes; maybe his previous preferences slip into his ideas of who he wants, which is not good. He wants something new, something he’s never had. Because what he’s had is not what he needs. So maybe this will be different.

“No... listen. I like going bowling and stuff like that, you know? So I hope she would want to do that with me.” He smiles, trying to defend himself. “When I get married, I’ll quit the club too.” The additional sentence causes a roar of laughter among his friends, drawing attention from other bar-goers. Seokjin does go out occasionally, but the difference (especially with his wife’s due date approaching) has been significant.

The laughter dies down.

“Look at him acting like he’s grown.”

“I am grown... I’m going to be a husband.” It’s surreal for him to say.

“She needs to be strong to handle you.”

“I’m not that bad..”

--

The most exciting thing about this whole thing is finding your dress. You’ve been looking at dresses for a long time so you would like to say you know what style you’re looking for, you’ve been thinking of this since you were in middle school so you should know. You’re grateful your taste has grown out of the poofy ballgown phase.

Cause of the context of the wedding you want something simple. Clean. Intentional.

 And Jisoo knew of the perfect store to go to.

Most women find their dress months in advance, but you’ve got a week. A week. So this has to be it. Today  should be the day.

Picking out the dress is the only part of this whole process that feels like you have control over, so you’re throwing yourself into it. And with that comes nitpicking. A lot of it.

You step out of the dressing room in your fourth gown and face the mirror. It’s a beautiful dress. You loved it on the rack. But now, wearing it, something’s... off.

“Why don’t i feel something?” you ask, running your hands down the dress draping your figure. You turn to your friends, looking for validation. “I’m supposed to feel it, right? Isn’t that a thing?” you aren’t sure if it was a myth, but you’ve heard that when you find the right one you’ll be able to feel it.

“You should.” Jisoo says gently, sitting up straighter at the sight of your face. She knows how sensitive this moment is for you. The time pressure, the stress, if you spiral now, it’s over. “What don’t you like about it?”

You stare at the mirror. Tilt your head. Bite your lip. Try to search for an answer.

“i don’t know i just dont feel like a bride in it.” You continue to feel over it trying to convince yourself but still nothing.

Maybe its cause you have no romantic connection with this man and hence you don’t feel like the conventional bride who can actually feel like she’s dress shopping with a purpose.

“Then we try another,” the stylist says with an encouraging smile.

You hope you don’t sound like a bridezilla because this is the fourth dress you’ve tried on and don’t like. Your stomach churns.

What if you don’t find one? What if you end up walking down the aisle in something you hate cause you weren’t able to find ‘the one’ in time. You can’t wear something that doesn’t feel like you. You’re not a person very particular about clothes but this is your wedding dress in question. It has to be perfect.

“Hey...” Jisoo comes to your side, her hand warm on your arm. You feel your shoulders drop just a little. “Don’t pressure yourself. We can come back tomorrow.”

You nod, but the thought makes your chest tighten. You don’t want to come back. You want to feel it now.

“Can I try a few more first? Just in case?”

“Of course,” she says, like she never had a doubt.

You head back into the dressing room. One more. Just one more.

Walking back into the dressing room and getting into another dress. You’re praying this will be the one or good enough at least.

“Fucking hell yn...” Taehyung whistles.

That’s new. He didn’t react like this for the others.

“You look so gorgeous babes.” Jisoo adds with a blushing smile as you walk onto the pedestal to finally see what they see.

The dress in terms of material feels great. It’s soft on your skin and it pours down your body like liquid. Without even looking at it you’d say you feel comfortable.

Once you take in your figure in the mirror, you can fel the tears sting the corner of your eyes. You definatlety feel it. You feel that feeling.

With the other dresses it felt like they were wearing you, but for this one, you’re definitely the one owning it.

“Gosh.. it’s almost too perfect to be marrying a stranger in.” You state still enamoured and not believing that the reflection is you.

“if this dude doesn’t cry or fall to his knees when he sees you i’ll beat his kneecaps in.” Taehyung expresses and when you look at him through the mirror you catch him tabbing a tissue at his eyes, jisoo too. Gosh now your tears are falling too.

“Come on guys.” You try to say through  a sniffle. “you’re making me cry.”

Sniffling and patting at your eyes with a tissue you try to collect yourself.

“on a serious note. You look gorgeous.” Taehyung says, folding the tissue in to his palm. “you look beautiful. I should’ve married you instead. This guy doesn’t deserve you.”

You choke out a laugh, knowing he’s joking. You and Tae never looked at each other like that.

“If we were getting married, I’d wear sweats. Jeans if I’m feeling fancy.”

“Ouch,” he gasps, clutching his chest. Jisoo snorts. “Is that all I am to you.” He’s way more than that. He’s everything you'd ever want to dream of in a friend.

“i hope this dude realises how much he’s won with you.” Jisoo says softly.

“If he has two eyes, he will otherwise we’ll fight.” Of course it’s tae saying that.

“Why do you hate him you barely know him.” you say causing the man to pull back in defence.

“I’m just setting boundaries.”

He’s always been protective. You can’t blame him.

“But how do you feel?” Jisoo asks.

You take a breath. Let the silence hold for a second. You take in the weight of the dress, the way it fits, the way it makes you feel like maybe this whole thing won’t be so terrible after all.

“i love it.” It comes out soft but it says all that’s needed to be said. “i think it’s the one.”

Cheers erupts in the room the room, and your heart feels light for the first time in days.

You laugh through your tears. “I’m gonna be a Mrs. Something.”

“I just hope he’s got a good last name, at least.” Taehyung grins.

You hope so too.

But that’s one of the many things you’re choosing not to think about. Not yet.

--

Jungkook has never woken up early for anything. And the last thing he ever thought he’d be waking up early for was his wedding.

“You ready for today?” Seokjin says bascally aready dressed while Jungkook walks around in his sweats.

“As ready as i can ever be.” His eyes don’t leave the suit hanging on the wall. Gosh how would he have found one if he didn’t have his friends.

“You sure? You’re too calm.”

“Not everyone’s gonna be in panic.” Namjoon chimes in.

Seokjin’s wedding morning was definitely chaotic cause of how the man panicked.

 Though at the time he never thought of it seriously, Jungkook worried that it was custom to panic like that and he’d panic too. But even still he feels too relaxed, last night’s drinks might have something to do with it. When Seokjin and namjoon had gone to sleep, and jungkook couldn’t, he's only solace was the liquor cabinet. He hopes it’s not obvious. Cause he can fool his friends but his mother might be able to catch it, no matter how hard he’s brushed his teeth.

“it’s good to atleast show some of your nerves.” Seokjin moves to the counter to pour some drinks. Jungkook gags at the smell of spirit. “You can’t be perfectly relaxed.”

Can’t he? It is possibe for him to not be worried about anything. He doesn’t have to be having doubts and fears for this to be real. He doesn’t.

“I’m fine.” He groans, rubbing his face and reaching  for the suit hanging on the door of his room. He's fine...so fine.

Seokjin doesn’t dig in deeper. And one thing the older does know is that no matter what, Jungkook must be feeling something and his silence about it might be proving what Seokjin thought. Thinks.

“Did you send the gift?” he turns to namjoon worried about one thing.

“Yeah.”

Jungkook wanted to make a good impression so he hopes the gift does some apologising if you’re able to notice he's fucked up face.

“Can you help me with my tie?” He knows how to do it. Has been doing it for school for so long. But for once he just wants to feel like she’s involved in something he's doing. Something positive.

The drooping look on her face is discouraging enough, but he tries.

“You’ve been doing it for so long. Do you really need my help?” She says not even looking at him, and yet again he feels the embarrassment.

Clearing his throat, he turns to do it himself but his dad replaces his hands. “I told you guys, you didn’t have to travel for this.” He says lifting his chin up a little for his dad.

He was fine with them not coming, and seeing that they lived so far away it would’ve been an inconvenience. And it’s not like its a wedding his mother would want to attend anyways; so he didn’t  want to waste their time.

He was perfectly fine with them not coming.

“it’s your wedding why wouldn’t we come?” His father says patting down the tie and arranging his collar. It's almost as if it’s his first day at school and his graduation again. He hopes he can do this for his son one day too.

In a whisper away from anyone else his father speaks. "I want you to enjoy today. And whoever she is I want you to give her your all. Love her more than you love yourself, more than you’ve ever loved anything.”

His eyes are sincere as the words are spoken. His father isn’t emotional so even that soft fall of his brows is a lot. And it’s all Jungkook can ask for. “She's gonna love you too, I know it. You’re a good kid.” He pats his shoulder.

He can cry...no. So he sniffles the waters away.

His father has always been a good husband. And that’s who he wants to be as well, no matter who he marries, no matter how difficult she could be.

His parents have been the ideal couple in his life for a long time. And that doesn’t change no matter what.

Everything is silent for a moment as jungkook sinks into what’s about to happen today. It’s only until a voice breaks his serenity.

“Namjoon!” his mother calls out playfully with a glass in her hands, she doesn’t even drink.

Namioon flinches and turns to her smiling awkwardly.  He's never known how to act around her. “When are you getting married? Sure there are so many woman dying to be hitched up to a perfect guy like you.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and tells namjoon he doesn’t have to answer.

But his mother won’t let that be.

“Not anytime soon Mrs jeon.”

The laugh she releases is sharp and demeaning. But it’s not directed to namjoon. “You see? People who wait to find a girl the right way.”

When Jungkook’s gaze meets hers, he has to remind himself she's the woman that birthed him.

“You didn’t have to come you know that?”

“Come on. You want me here, I’m your mother.”

Contrary to popular belief...

“You’re such a handsome boy, why do you want to get married. You’re wasting your time.” She starts.

She should be praising him for seeing the value in getting married and maturing to the idea. But no...

Jungkook puffs out a breath. The room has been silent since his mother began speaking. And he drowns in it. There's a lot he could say.

Instead, he throws the jacket on and teases at it a little in the mirror. Some are unnecessary touches but he does them anyways. Feeling ready enough he steps away but before he walks out further he looks at the woman sat on the couch.

“If you can..,try your best not to speak to her, okay?”

--

“Did they call?” Taehyung’s voice is almost none existent in your field of thoughts.

It’s only when he repeats that you catch what he said. "no.”  You say no energy in your voice. “but it’s fine...their loss.”

You toss your phone on the couch a little too harshly, just wanting to forget it. Forget everything.

You won’t and can’t beg for people who don’t want to be in your life. Informing them was just a courtesy, you didn’t want him here anyways.

Though it would’ve been great if they could just put their pride aside for you for once.

Taehyung wraps his arms around you. “Their loss. Just know you’ve got us.” He nudges at your temple with his nose.

“Yeah, you’ve got people who care and that’s all that matters.” Jisoo hugs you too and now you’re sandwiched between them. It reminds you that no matter what, you still have people around you who do care and want to support you. So if those people who you thought would want to see succeed didn’t want to be here then it’s not on you. You have your friends.

“let’s finish getting ready guys.” They brush them away playfully and immediately your hairstylist is quick to working on you.

 “So bossy.” You roll your eyes at the remark. “Gonna give this guy a run for his money.”

It doesn’t matter. You cheer to yourself.

Nothing else matters today, you’re getting married and you don’t need to cloud your thoughts with negativity. You wouldn’t want your husband to see you all gloomy. That’s not gonna to be your first impression.

You smile.

All you want to do right now is walk down that aisle. Nothing else matters.

“Did i mention a little something came in for you in the mail” jisoo’s voice comes in excited but you aren’t able to turn cause you’re on your final steps of getting your makeup done.

“huh?” when she stands in front of your eyes fall in the object in her grasp. “What’s that?” you eaxclaim with a smile taking the box onto your lap.

“Open it.” She exclaims, more excited than you.

The tiffany and co logo on the box is evident when you unwrap it. You can’t help but smile from ear to ear. You haven’t met him yet and he’s making you smile this hard? Once it’s open you’re met with a silver locket and bracelet. You’ve gotten gifts before but you have no clue why you’re blushing so hard for this one.

“oh my gosh these are so cute.”

“tiffany and co too...” Jisoo adds, immediately rushing for you to put it on cause it would look good with your dress.

Taehyung watches from across the room, already dressed. “Anybody can buy that.”

“hater...” you and Jisoo choir.

--

Seokjin made it clear for him to behave when he sees your family. He has no clue what he thought he would do, because as much as he’s outgoing, In front of the in-law's he’s a dove.

He’s trying to be calm and act like he’s ready and been ready, but he can’t deny the cold sweats that threaten to run and mess his suit. This is the most trust he’s put into anything. All he’s praying is that it works out.

He’s a fucking groom.

Jisoo sits watching him closely, he is handsome and somebody you would find handsome too. But something she knows you’ll be worried about is probably his personality. He looks like the opposite of what you want and all you’ve been running away from. But who knows with you nowadays. He could be a good guy though.

“Hello.” Jungkook waves to your side. From all he can see, there’s a woman probably same age as him, could be a sister? Friend? Next he sees is an older lady probably the same age as his mother. That could be your mother. The rest of the crowd is filled with 2 people.

Not many people, but t doesn't matter. He wouldn't invite anybody too, if he didn’t have to. Maybe you're too embarrassed to be marrying already.

He's eyes can't stay on one spot. He tries but it's painful.

When he turns to his side, Seokjin and namjoon smile at him, it helps ease whatever he’s feeling but immediately his heart tightens up watching the person sat next to his father whisper into his ear..

What the hell is she saying? Is he standing up straight? Is he smiling enough or too hard.

--

This is the craziest thing you've ever done. The bravest too.

And—God, you hope—it’s the last wild thing you’ll have to do for a while.

Breathing is something your body usually handles without question, but now it needs supervision. You have to consciously pull air into your lungs, or you won’t make it down this aisle walking.

You have no idea what’s waiting at the end of it.

What if you’re not attracted to him?

Worse—what if he’s not attracted to you?

What if you’re not what he’s been hoping for?

“This still feels like a dream,” you mumble, looping your arm around Taehyung’s. He smells like cologne and nerves. What the fuck is he nervous for.

“You ready?” he asks gently.

No, but you nod. “Yeah.”

The gentle music of a live plays as people  stand and you walk, still not in view yet cause if the infrastructure. Its a small venue but sill manages to make you feel like you’re drowning.

As you walk and get closer you try your hardest not to look at the one thing you’re most curious about.

So your eyes choose to scan the venue instead—the warm fairy lights, the soft music, the flowers. You knew the production team would go all-out, but you didn’t expect them to go all out for you. It’s perfect.

You’ve never felt this special in your life. Twelve-year-old you couldn’t have imagined this moment. Even though this isn’t the love story you thought you’d get, the feeling is still here, blooming in your chest.

Who says he can’t become the love of your life?

Jungkook's eyes are wide when they land on your.

From your soft smile to styled hair amd the the dress that falls down your body carefully, he watches every detail. He can’t look anywhere else. He swears his heart was just in his chest a moment ago.

Jungkook watches the person walking you down the aisle, he’s a younger guy. That’s interesting. A sibling?

From all that he’s imagined he could get, you were not on the card. But he'll take it.

You’re more than he bargained for.

You walk slowly, soaking it all in. Nearing the arch, you finally allow yourself to look at the man chosen for you.

And—shit.

He’s… handsome.

You eyes squint.

He smiles as you approach, so at least he doesn’t seem horrified. That’s something.

Taehyung shares a nod with the man, nothing warm or cold behind. You hug him before he walks to his seat, clinging for just a second too long. Then, it's just you and him—your groom. You can’t meet his eyes for more than a second. And it’s embarrassing.

You’ve been on debate teams, presented in University projects and in meetings at work. Basically you’ve had eyes on you before and it was manageable...but these? They burn.

“Hi,” you say, voice small.

 You glance toward his side. A good amount of family. One person stands out—tall, silver hair. Probably a groomsman.

Your groom is attractive, sure, but not your type. Tattoos?, the way he stands—he looks like someone you tried to avoid.

You hate how superficial that sounds. But the thought won’t leave.

At least he’s taller than you.

“Hi,” he replies, equally nervous. Then leans in. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you. You look nice too.” You eye him down, eyes narrowed.

If this were a blind date, you’d already be knee-deep in awkward small talk. But this? This is… bigger. It requires bigger questions.

“Let me take that for you.” Jisoo’s whisper interrupts. She takes your bouquet and you almost refuse, needing something to keep your fingers occupied.

“I see you got the jewellery.” His voice is as light as the pale blue sky. It’s odd to compare it to a colour but that how it feels. His voice reminds you of the blue sky you’ve stood under so many times wondering if your soulmate died. There’s still a possibility of that.

You glance down. You’d worn it and forgotten. It had become that comfortable. That familiar. But now with the recognition, you can feel the cold silver touch every part of you. You can feel it sway and graze you every turn you make. Even the smallest action causes movement.

“Oh yeah. Thank you.”

“You’ll have to thank my groomsman too. He helped me pick it.”

He looks over at Namjoon, who immediately looks like he wants to disappear.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. It might sound like he couldn’t handle it alone. But truthfully, Namjoon just knows more about…well, this kind of thing.

“Thank you, groomsman,” you direct a more warm smile to the man.

Namjoon mumbles something, but you don’t catch it.

Turning back, you stare a beat longer when your eyes catch he's features. You bite the inside of your cheek. His face—it’s not common. Not forgettable.

And yet…

The officiant steps forward. Time for the official part.

“Yn, meet for the very first time, Jungkook Jeon. Jungkook, meet for the very first time, Yn Y/l/n.”

His name hits you like a church bell.

“Jungkook?” you repeat sounding a little shocked, like you didn’t hear it right the first time.

He chuckles nervously. “That’s me.” Do you not like his name?

Your stomach drops.

You know him. The name. The face. It clicks.

Your nose works over time pulling in air. You can't open your mouth, cause you might just puke.

Shit—does he know you? He doesn’t seem like he does.

Is this real?

The man you remember wouldn’t be standing here right now. Does she have some polar opposite twin or something?

You rub your arms and wish you could blame the AC for the chill. But that's all on him.

Glancing at your friends. They have no clue what’s happening inside your head right now. They don't know how fast the room spins.

Where do you put your hands, what do you hold onto?

None of them know about him. He’s the only one you've never told them about. And they sit there waiting for you--with smiles and excitement--to marry him.

You made them come here. They smile for you. They support you.

You asked them to be here for you. You wanted to do this.

What a waste of time. You should’ve known.

To add-on, as you look at your friends for a second time you stop at a face you were not expecting and hadn't noticed. How did you miss that? A face that had told you she didn’t want to be here, well not her specifically but mainly on behalf of your father. But what the hell is your mother doing here? She said she couldn’t come.

What the fuck is going on. Collect yourself,  you don’t want to look like you’re about to faint. Even though the overwhelming review of information could just kill you right here.

But it’s okay. You still have time to walk away. Walk away from everyone.

You thought this was going to go well.

You hoped it would.

But now?

This is not what you wanted.

-

-

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A/n: 😏😏 what did you think? I hope you liked it. Please don't ask me if it's a happy ending story(i'm not saying it is or is not.) I just feel if you ask me that then you're not really interested in the story progression. I will try my best to post frequently (I've been working on 2 as well) so just hood your horses.

anyways I hope you enjoyed.

same time next week?

Lets discuss in the replies 🖐😊

taglist: @lovingkoalaface @granataepfelchen @jksusawife @notsevenwithyou @llallaaa @kmpj9 @lryf @smileyshaven @dragonflygurl4

note: to join taglist just inbox.

every note, reply and reblog is appreciated.

let me know what you thought of this chapter. do you think she'll marry him?

[cookies-after-dark]

ok but imagine pv smilk and reader having something going, relationship going steady, freak is on™, people kinda get the hint that this is a committed poly relationship

but! some poor soul makes a pass on the reader (thinking that the relationship is open and they're up for grabs)

you cannot tell me these two mfkers aren't the most possessive ass bitches (pv undercover) when it comes to each other and their partner (i'm hinting at possessive sex bro it would be so good)

pv 🤝 smilk

"that's my boyfriend and my partner and if u look too much im gonna bite."

they live in my mind rent free i need to write an eviction notice- i am so so sorry if this is nonsensical

(additional tags: possessiveness, unhealthy dynamics, beast x ancient

ships: Pure Vanilla Cookie x gender neutral!reader x Shadow Milk Cookie)

Okay so this ask resonated within my soul. I've wanted to write about just how willing Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk are willing to share the one that holds their affections, across many different dynamics (yandere suitors sharing vs. normal poly relationship between three mostly stable individuals, etc.)

But I really, really like the thought of the two of them just closing the relationship after they include you in it. Because I love to see Shadow Milk when he's a snarling, spitting animal and PV needs to be possessive over his belongings friends and family more because I said so and it brings me joy.

I think they both would handle it quite differently, their jealousy. Shadow Milk Cookie is all external force, his hackles raise when he sees another cookie rub their hands over your back when they hug you. Shadow Milk Cookie is insecure desperate and clingy enough to shoot first ask questions later if he feels you're drifting away from him.

You're not, you tell him that when he's curled around you like some type of hissing weasel.

He believes you, but he just wouldn't feel better if he didn't teach that other cookie a little lesson! One should know better than to enroach on his territory.

Shadow Milk Cookie feels nonthreatened only when it's Pure Vanilla Cookie (and his other Beast friends, as he has expressed to the two of you eagerly). He doesn't mind it, loves it even when he finds their scent on you as he wraps himself around you. It's quite comforting.

But a stranger's touch on you feels wrong, like a sin. Shadow Milk Cookie actually gets very antsy until he's at least sniffed out this foolish doughbrain and assure himself that this won't happen twice.

You and Pure Vanilla Cookie have helped a lot on this regard; Shadow Milk's wrath used to mean something serious. Well, relentlessly stalking a cookie and pulling meanspirited "pranks" on them still is quite serious. Baby steps, everyone!

Needless to say, but I'll say it anyway, Pure Vanilla Cookie is not nearly as unhinged and unstable as his Beast partner is. In fact, I think it would take a much bigger push to feel like Pure Vanilla had to step in. He's patient, kind, and understanding.

But Pure Vanilla also feels jealousy, like any other cookie.

Pure Vanilla Cookie doesn't puff out his chest and start strutting around like a peacock when someone flirts with you. Actually, he thinks it's quite flattering that his partner is attractive enough for such a positive response!

(But if I just left it at that and didn't find some way to make Pure Vanilla Cookie's hackles rise then we wouldn't be here right now.)

I think the thing that gets Pure Vanilla's eyes to snap open is when someone persists with you. Fair enough, anyone with a partner would feel the need to smile a bit more tightly and wander over to put a comforting hand on yltheir shoulder while making subtle eye contact with the pursuer, it's totally normal!

Just a little sign, y'know? A quick nuzzle to your cheek will do the trick.

Unbeknownst to you - there's the faintest reflection of alitted pupils in Pure Vanilla's eyes when his gaze flits towards your increasingly unwelcome guest. Shadow Milk Cookie has been a really good influence, huh?

I think PV would process this internally, more than anything else. You notice he kind of anxiously prowls around you a little bit more, but he goes back to acting like his merry self a day or two later.

Although, his insecurities ring like a bell through his souljam, which Shadow Milk Cookie can feel. They're both watching you much more often than you would think.

And isn't that so sweet? So romantic? You have not one, but two ultra powerful cookies with stable emotions watching your every move, making extra sure that you're safe and sound in their arms, and their arms only! You're in good hands, here.

[be4chywritez]

had me at hello | oscar piastri

oscar piastri x perez!reader

you bump into Oscar in the paddock and that’s when he fell.

my masterlist!

part ll

request are open!

prompt list!

You wandered through the paddock star-struck with the Formula One atmosphere Checo gave you specific instructions but you tend to veer off your brother's instructions. You've been to races before it's been a while since you've come to one, being busy building your own career, with your family's support you went off to become a world-renowned actress meaning you didn't have time to follow your brother around anymore.

As you pulled out your phone to see where Checo told you to meet him, you were bumped into. Letting out a huff, you turned around to be greeted by a flustered-looking guy. “So sorry, my mate pushed me,” he said, stabilizing you by holding your elbows.

You glanced at his “mate,” Lando, whom you’d seen before. You knew he was friends with Carlos, and Carlos was friends with Checo, so you gave the guy a graceful nod.

Calling out Lando’s name, he blinked in confusion. “Do you know where Carlos is or Checo?” Then it clicked; you were Checo’s sister.

A small smirk makes way on Lando's face, "Y/n this Oscar, Oscar this is Y/n Perez" he says, Oscar blinks his cheeks turn rosey, "Nice to meet you Oscar," you give a smile and Oscar swears he's done for the way that his name rolls off your tongue and oh that smile.

Lando being a great wingman checks his watch, "Oh shoot, I've got something I gotta do, Oscar can you walk her over." he lets out before walking away from you backwards Oscar makes a face at him but you don't get to see it because as soon as you turn to face him he smiles at you.

“Shall we?” he asks you give him a nod, while walking you strike up a conversation

“So why haven’t I seen you at the race so far?” he asks. Oscar usually doesn’t take well to strangers, but he feels like he’s known you for a long time.

“I’ve been busy with my career,” you say, looking at him. He nods. “Oh, you’re a driver?” he asks. You let out a giggle. “No, no, I’m an actress,” you say. Oscar nods, realizing where he recognized you.

“So what about you, Oscar?” There it was again; Oscar would turn into a pile of mush if you kept pushing it. He swallows.

“It’s good, challenging but rewarding,” he says, giving you a smile.

You turn to face Oscar, finally taking in his features. His warm brown eyes hold a gentle spark, the slight flush on his cheeks contrasts endearingly with his clear skin, scattered with a few freckles that you could spend counting all your days.

Your eyes trace the constellation of moles on his face and neck. Each one seems perfectly placed. There’s something intimate about those small marks.

You realize you’ve been staring and quickly look away towards the Redbull garage, too embarrassed to face Oscar after catching yourself. He has a small smirk on his face, his cheeks even rosier if possible.

Checo spots you and Oscar, looking confused as he approaches. “Te he estado buscando por todo el maldito paddock,” he says, glancing at Oscar with confusion.

“I was trying to find you, but I got lost, and Oscar,” you place your arm on his bicep, not noticing how he melts under your touch, “helped me find you.”

Checo looks at Oscar, then at your hand, and finally at you. “Okay, c’mon, Christian is waiting,” he tells you, nodding at Oscar who gives an awkward thumbs-up. You turn to Oscar, saying, “Thank you, Oscar,” with a smile, before walking into the Redbull Garage, or as Lando likes to call it, the “Lions den.”

As Checo walked you through the Red Bull garage, he looked at you and raised a brow. “¿Qué estabas haciendo con él?” he asked, genuinely curious but also protective.

“Nada. I got lost, and he was there to help me,” you said with a small, unwilling smile, thinking about Oscar.

Checo cracked a smile, taking off your Red Bull cap and ruffling your hair. “Te gusta, cabrona,” he joked. You swatted his hand away. “Shut up,” you said, finally reaching Christian, who watched you and your brother fight with a small smile on his face.

“What’s got you all riled up?” Christian asked with a smile.

“Just saw her talking to a McLaren boy,” Checo said. Christian let out a loud laugh. “Was it the new one?” he asked. You nodded shyly. “Well, we can’t have you switching alliances,” Christian teased. You rolled your eyes at his antics. “I’m just gonna go sit,” you said, taking a seat on the back wall and being handed a headset by an engineer, whom you thanked.

While you waited to start your watch, you watched the hustle and bustle of the garage on both Max and Checo’s side. So enthralled by it, you didn’t realize the camera had cut to you.

-

Oscar stood towards the back of the garage with Lando, who was yapping about something. When you appeared on the screen, Oscar completely stopped listening to Lando and watched you. The way you looked so amazed by everything made him want to just sit there and watch you.

Lando brought him out of his daydream. “Osc got a little crush?” he asked jokingly, but Oscar didn’t respond, going back to looking at you. “Oh, he had a big one,” Lando joked before they were called to get suited up.

-

The race was disappointing, to say the least. While you were happy for Max, your heart ached for your older brother. When he got out of the car, he went straight to the garage, and you made a beeline towards him, pulling him into a hug and patting his back. “You’ll bounce back, you always do,” you reassured him. He pulled away, offering a suggestion with a smirk, “Deberías ir a ver la ceremonia del podio. Creo que cierto chico estará allí.”

You rolled your eyes before walking towards the podium ceremony.

Locking eyes with Oscar, you noticed him walking towards you.

“Were you going to the podium too?” he asked. You nodded, and he offered, “Do you want to come with me?”

You gave him a smile, “Yeah.” He then flushed, adding, “You might wanna walk in front of me sometimes; people really like to shove.” Following his advice, while walking, Oscar placed a hand on your lower back. You excused it as a guide to not get lost, but internally, you felt like putty.

Surprisingly, you both made it to the front of the barricade. Oscar still hadn’t removed his hand from your lower back, and you didn’t say anything, not wanting to disrupt the moment.

As the ceremony started, you clapped for all three of the drivers. Lando and Max looked down below, spotting you. You saw Lando point towards the two of you, and then Max laughed.

After the ceremony died down, you and Oscar walked in silence, neither wanting to break the connection between you. Each step felt heavy, as if you were both reluctant to leave each other’s side. Finally, when you reached the Red Bull garage, you turned to face Oscar with a small smile.

“Well, this is me,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood. Oscar chuckled softly, but there was a hint of reluctance in his eyes.

As you opened your mouth to say something more, Oscar cut you off gently. “It was really nice meeting you,” he said, his voice tinged with sincerity.

You nodded, a rush of emotions swirling inside you. “It was great meeting you too,” you replied, your heart pounding with anticipation. Gathering your courage, you decided to take a chance. “Maybe we should exchange numbers, just in case I get lost, y’know,” you suggested, a slight heat creeping up your cheeks.

Oscar’s expression softened, and he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, totally,” he said, pulling out his phone and handing it to you. As you exchanged numbers, excitement bubbled in you.

After handing his phone back to him, you couldn’t resist the urge to give him a hug. It was an unexpected gesture, but Oscar embraced you warmly, his arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. You felt the warmth of his body against yours, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

When you pulled away, you met Oscar’s gaze, feeling a sense of connection that was hard to ignore. With a final smile, you said, “Goodnight, Oscar,” before turning to leave. But before you could go, you leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

Oscar’s breath caught in his throat, and he blinked in surprise, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Goodnight,” he murmured softly, his eyes following you as you disappeared into the Red Bull garage.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Can't Have One Without the Other 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, marital troubles, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your marriage is on the rocks.

Note: I asked about husbands and all your hoes said Bucky (with a few Sy’s in the middle). I wasn’t intending on a whole series but I thnk it would be fun to have husband!Bucky turn a bit desperate.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The desolation lingers, even with Bucky's return. You shuffle down the hall to your office and set your bag on your desk. He fills the doorway as he watches you unpack your tablet and place it on its tripod.

"Some homecoming," he growls.

You look up, eyebrows rising, unready for his confrontation. As unprepared as you are for him to be there. You're so used to being alone. He feels like a stranger.

"I'm sorry, Bucky, the issue is due at the editor tonight. And Janine sent me the draft ages ago," you avert your eyes guiltily. "It should be too much longer..."

"She sent it a while ago. Meaning, you're the one who slacked," he sniffs.

You nod and sit, "sorry. I messed up. Again."

You swivel to face the tablet and take the pen off the side. You unlock it and pinch with your fingers to zoom. He clucks and marches off as you struggle not to show your discomfort.

You lean in and focus on the work. It's so natural to you, it's soothing. To know exactly what you're doing. Not like this. Not like living. Not like marriage.

He comes back through the open door and smacks his hand down on the desk. You reel back with the pen in hand as he uncovers your rings, leaving them next to your monitor. You glance at him, "thanks. I... thanks."

Your lips twitch and your cheek ticks. You can't stop moving your mouth. That old nervous habit is back.

"Oh, and these might help," he sets down your glasses next to the rings. "Probably more important to you."

You hesitate and take the rings first. You slip them on and admire the shine. The teardrop is just as sparkling as the day he gave it to you. You reach for your glasses and he catches your hand.

"I didn't want to go," he says. "So I'd appreciate if you stop acting like I abandoned you."

You shake your head and shrug. "I don't think that--"

"I saw the Kelly's bag on the counter," he scoffs. "The soda cup next to the bed..."

"I've been busy. I forgot to tidy up."

"And cook," he challenges.

You wiggle free of him. Because he lets you. He could easily keep you in his grasp. He rescinds his hand and exhales heavily.

"Yep," you put your glasses on and turn back to your tablet, overly aware of how much room your ass takes up in that chair. "I'll cook tonight. I have a steak for you."

He clicks his tongue, "I'm concerned, not a tyrant."

"I know, Buck, alright? I'm sorry, I have a lot going on--"

"You do, yeah. Me too," he crosses his arms. "Like spending a month away from my wife. Getting my head knocked half-off. Sleeping on concrete--"

You drop the pen. You can stay up. You had that coffee, it will help.

"I better marinate that steak, make sure that flavour sticks," you move out from behind the desk. He moves to meet you, blocking you.

"I don't want you to fucking act like some trapped housewife. You haven't even kissed me," he sneers.

Your heart drops. You hadn't even thought of it. You look at his belt. It's as if he plunged that knife there between your ribs.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay?" You flutter your fingers nervously. "Oh, I..." your lips slant back and forth.

"What's wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?" He shakes his head. 

"Please, I..." you step closer and reach for him, "I'll give you a kiss--"

He stops you by your shoulders and moves you away from him. It's like he's slapped you. He puts you at arms' length. He grits his teeth as his nostrils flare.

"Kiss me because you want to," he shoves you just a little. "I'll order a fucking cheeseburger. Finish your work." He pokes his tongue in his cheek and spins away. "You don't need to let anyone else down."

He stomps out and you stagger, leaning on the desk to steady yourself. What the hell? You tried. You did. Didn't you?

You swallow and blow out a long, dry breath. You close your eyes and gather up what's left of your strength. You sit and stare at the tablet. The pen sits in front of the stand. You should cry. You want to. Your eyes are barren. Nothing.

You grab the pen and roll close. You focus on the line work for the next panel. You have to stop and ease the tremble in your hand. Your frustration mounts as you can't keep the pixels from wobbling.

You hear a soft thump. You sit up and look toward the door. You hear the clatter of something else. More things tossed around. You get up and leave the pen behind.

You step into the open door and listen. He's upstairs. You go up, a step at a time, following the noise with baited breath. He's in the bedroom.

As you peer inside, he's pillaging your top drawer. He grips your vibrator and gnashes his teeth. It crunches in hand before he hurls it away. Your books are on the floor before the bookshelf, your nightstand is on its side. He continues to tear apart your things.

"Bucky, what are you doing?" You near him and touch his arm.

"Looking for evidence," he opens your jewelry box and spins the hooks that hold your necklaces.

"Evidence? Of what?"

"Him."

"Him?" You echo in confusion.

"The other guy."

"Other... Bucky? How can you say that?"

"There has to be someone else," he grabs the jewelry box and flings it with a crash. He turns to face you. "You're icing me out."

"I'm not. Bucky, I-- I--" You can't find a single fucking drop of moisture in your head. It stings for him to accuse you and yet it's all locked inside you. "I waited for you. I've been waiting. And I would never-- How could you even think--" You stammer through your anger and hurt. "You-- I thought you knew me."

"I thought I fucking did too," he snorts.

He sidesteps you and you turn to watch him storm out. You step on a book and hear the spine break. You look down as his footfalls hammer downstairs. You bend and pick up the journal you forgot. The one with all the postcards he used to send you while on missions. You thought it was cute back then how old-fashioned he was. He hated texting, but he sent you these cards he found in local shops. They just feel like reminders of what you've lost. It's gone, isn't it?

[perries-things]

hello !! can you do yeon si-eun x reader as his girlfriend with similar traits as him?

Heck yeah😈 but with a lil twist, reader being Suho's half-sibling! Also, i thought of a diff approach on this. (Title is ass)

Pairings: Yeon Sieun x Fem!Reader (as Suho's Sister)

Synopsis: Sieun finding his someone. Shockingly just like him

Genre: fluff and strangers to lovers

W/C: 1,806

Photo's used from pinterest

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Yeon Sieun wasn't the type to notice people. He didn't get close to others; he didn't care about social circles. Not because he couldn't— because it was easier not to. But Sieun had always noticed you, because you were always there—on the ranking list beside his. Sometimes right under or sometimes right above him. He had come to expect it, scanning the posted results and seeing the same letters: Kim Y/N. Yeon Sieun didn't remember people's names. Not unless they mattered. So it surprised him when your's stuck.

You were like him: always on time, always quiet, always composed, always alone. (Not in the sad, tragic kind of way—but in a way that made sense. You liked your space, your books, your silence. The only constant around you is your older brother, Ahn Suho.) Heck, it even took Sieun a while to realize that you were at his cram school too. Everyone assumed you and Sieun had been friends, and he'd gotten used to it. He'd watch you, sure. But talk to you? Never. You only reminded him of...himself.

.

..

Sieun never thought he'd end up entangled with Ahn Suho. The guy was chatty and impossible to shake off. He was annoying—yes, but bearable.

After their classes, Suho offers Sieun a ride. "Wanna come along?" Suho asks, jingling his keys. "I can't," Sieun replies without missing a beat, thinking that Suho just wants to hang out. "I have cram school."

"I know. Y/N goes there."

"Who?" Sieun asks.

"My sister. You both go to the same cram school. I usually give her a ride with me, but lately, i've been busy with my part-time job."

"You never mentioned a sister," Sieun says, flatly.

But Sieun didn't expect it to be you.

The moment you arrived, Sieun froze. You're Ahn Suho's Sister? He blinked. No way. The same quiet girl he'd been silently competing with, the one he had sort of—not really—been curious about for so long. At first, Sieun assumed you were dating. You and Suho were always together. He didn't even know Suho's name back then—just some guy who was always around you.

"You're siblings?" He asks Suho when you went ahead. Suho nods. "Yeah, Half. we share the same dad, but she was given her mom's last name. That's why people get confused. She's like you. Much scarier though."

Now that Suho and Sieun had gotten close—closer than most, really—Sieun found himself beside you more often. You started walking together, sharing notes, helping the other on a project, and even sitting at the same table during breaks. The more you spent time together—the more Sieun felt a strange feeling towards you. One he finds foreign.

.

..

You and Sieun walked side by side. The walk to cram school wasn't long—fifteen minutes at most—but today, the minutes stretched longer. The air was cool and the streets were quiet. Sieun clears his throat, then again. His eyes are fixed on the ground, brows slightly furrowed and lips pressed on a tight line.

Something about him felt off.

"Hey," you finally say, softly, your voice almost hesistant. Something was definitely off. You open your mouth to ask if he was okay, but the words got caught in your throat as he suddenly stopped walking and turned to look at you, leaving you momentarily stunned.

Sieun's eyes stayed locked on yours, eyes a little too intense, his usual composed demeanor cracking just a little. "Y/N, i like you," he blurts out, voice low, as if saying it aloud made it more terrifying. You blink, caught of guard but not entirely surprised. There had been small hints, but hearing it said so plainly? That was different. Straightforward. Awkward. So very Sieun.

You shift awkwardly, scratching the back of your neck. You stare at him for a second longer than necessary. Then, with a soft laugh and your gaze dropping to your shoes, you murmur, "i kind of thought so."

Neither of you moved.

Then, you finally add, "i like you too." You confess back—equally awkward, equally sincere.

You watch his ears turn pink. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but nothing came out. Both of you just stood there, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, flushed and unsure of what to do next.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

By then, the two of you had started dating—not that anyone noticed. When you told Suho, he was surprised, more amused than anything. (He also was more dramatically betrayed than angry.)

.

..

You sat beside Suho in the living room, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. He's casually scrolling on his phone and you'd been sitting there next to him for about five minutes—heart pounding, throat dry. "I need to tell you something." You say, patting his shoulder. Suho looks up, blinking. "What? You failed a test?" You roll your eyes at him. "No." He sits up straighter, brows furrowing. "So, what is it?" He closes his phone, now giving you his full attention. You stare at your lap, before looking up to meet his eyes—only briefly.

You draw in a breath and let it go in one shaky exhale. "I've been dating someone." Suho tilts his head, baffled. "You?" Suho says, giving you a look like he misheard you. "Dating?" You only look at him, fingers now laced in your lap.

"No offense, but yeah—right." He scoffs, half-laughing, shaking his head. "You barely even talk to people." You raise a brow. "I'm serious," you mumble. Suho only stares at you, waiting for a punchline. When none comes, his laughter fades into a stunned silence.

"No. Nope." He throws his hands in the air. "You? Dating? Who? How? when? And why didn't i know sooner!" You shift. "I told you now." Suho leans back into the couch as he narrows his eyes at you. "Uh-huh. Okay..who?" You hesitated, then mumbled the name, "Yeon Sieun."

The silence that followed is almost painful. Suho just stares at you, mouth slightly ajar, as if what you just said didn't register. He lets out an exaggerated groan, hands raking through his hair. "I knew there was something going on between you two!" And then—

"Since when!?"

"A while!?"

"Unbelievable!"

"That guy? Mr. Stoneface!?"

"Oh my God."

"You both are emotionally constipated!"

You cover your mouth, stiffling a laugh. "Suho—breathe."

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Present

Yeon Sieun's room is spotless, every book lined neatly on the shelf, notes stacked with perfect symmetry on his desk. You sit curled on his bed with your legs folded beneath you, your boyfriends hoodie slipping off one shoulder. Sieun sits a few feet away at his desk, spine straight, focused, and a pen twirling between his fingers. He isn't saying much. He rarely did.

The only sounds are the scratching of pens, your low humming, and the occasional rustle of papers as one of you flipped a page. Your physics textbook rested on your thighs, but your eyes keep drifting—not to the pages, but to the boy a few feet away.

Your brows drew in tightly, pencil hovering uncertaintly over a problem on the bottom of the page. You'd been at it for so long that even the lamp light seemed harsher now. You bit the inside of your cheek for a second, then—very quietly—murmur without lifting your head, "this one's...kind of..tricky."

Sieun's head lifts slightly from his desk, then came the soft scrape of his chair as he stands up, the soft click of his pen being placed down. You still didn't look up—not until the side of the bed dipped under his weight as he sat beside you, the mattress creaking a little.

He didn't ask for the textbook—but you hand it to him anyway. "Which one?" He asks, his voice low. You push the textbook towards him slightly. "This..the question's just phrased weirdly." His eyes narrow briefly, thumb grazing the corner of the page as he scans it. He leans in a bit to read, his shoulder just barely brushing yours. "They wrote it that way to throw you off."

"Mm," you hum. "Then it's not just me," you say softly, a hint of relief in your tone. He looks sideways at you, brows raised faintly. "You think you're wrong too often." You give a soft smile. "Heh, sorry." For a moment, he didn't say anything. Then, he begins writing down the solution beside your notes. You watch him, not just the way he solved it, but how close he sits.

"That's all," he says simply, already beginning to shift—his hand pressing against the bed to push himself up. But before he could stand fully, he felt a gentle tug on the hem of his sleeve. Your fingers curled around it—barely, almost like a reflex, and your head gently leaned into his shoulder.

You didn't look at him, your eyes still fixed on the solution he wrote in front of you. Your shoulders had slackened, your head tilting just enough to brush against the side of his upper arm. "Don't go back yet," you murmur. "I'm kind of exhausted." You say, softly. Your voice not whiny.

He is silent for a moment, then his frame settled back onto the bed, the mattress shifting beneath his weight again. You felt him relax a little, even if he didn't say anything. His shoulder stayed still where your head touched it. "You okay?" He asks, barely above a whisper. "Yeah. Just..tired." You simply reply. His eyes glance towards the window, where the sky had turned a slate gray.

You didn't say anything else, neither did he. Eventually, he moves his hand slightly—just close that if you reached for it, he wouldn't move away. And when your hand fell gently beside his, his breathing slows, letting the weight of your quiet settle against him. "Are you done with yours?" You whisper, eyes now closed and barely lifting your head from Sieun's shoulder.

He doesn't respond immediately. His eyes on his desk, where a worksheet remains unfinished. "No," he says, after a while. You give a tired little hum, opening one eye, peering up at him. "Oh..you should continue it then." You shift slightly, as if ready to let him move back to his seat. But his body didn't budge. Instead, he stays right there beside you, posture unmoving, eyes now resting on your tired face.

"I'll..finish it later," he says in a muted tone. You make a small noise in acknowledgement, already halfway back into sleep. Silence falls again and he watches you for a moment. A strand of hair slips over your face, and gently, he brushes it back, fingertips light and hesitant—but lingering for a second longer than it should.

Then he leans his head against yours, eyes half-lidded, letting his mind rest for the first time today. He still doesn't understand how it happened. How someone like him—withdrawn, always in his own head, uninterested in things like this—ended up here. He didn't think people like him could have someone. You both used to believe that stuff like romance....were unnecessary, a distraction. And now, here you are, breathing evenly beside him.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Kind of rushed💩 been busy outside of writing lately!

Masterlist + Taglist

[tommysparkles]

ooo for the cuddling prompts pls <3

24- Between strangers

Cia, my darling, anything for you. ❤️Also, this is so long, sorry lol. Buck had a lot to say. If all of these end up being this long, they might take me a while, oops.

Buck leans against Hen, laughs maniacally as they egg Chimney onto chugging the latest round of Tequila. Buck's starting to have problems even remembering what day it is, so he thinks this should probably be the last, but they're having so much fun after such a hard year, Buck's almost loath to give up this little floaty feeling.

"Think we've had enough," Hen says, far too reasonably, but he knows she's been pacing herself far better than the rest of them have.

There's a weight on his shoulder and he looks to the side to see Ravi practically collapsed against him.

"Too much there, probie?" Buck asks, but he's not entirely sure that was coherent. He thinks it might have sounded a little like 'T'much thr probe?' he shakes his head to clear the alcohol cobwebs away, but it doesn't help. Maybe more tequila will do it.

Ravi mumbles "not" and Buck has no idea what that means. He's just holding up a hand to ask for more when Hen grabs it and pulls it down.

"No, Buck, I think we're done for the night. Your better half is already on the way."

Buck pouts, vaguely remembers he'd thought he should stop, but Hen said his better half is coming, so that's fine. When Hen turns to wrangle a very drunk Chimney, Buck can feel his gaze turn to the door of the bar, like he's drawn there or something. Maybe it is, because the hottest guy he's ever seen has just walked in.

"Hey, look who it is!" Chimney hollers. Buck winces, when did he get that close? The guy coming toward them is wearing the LAFD t-shirt and slacks.

"Hot firefighter, oh my god," Buck mumbles and Ravi snorts a laugh against his shoulder. Buck doesn't know what's so funny, he does know that he shouldn't be drooling over the Hot Guy when his better half is coming for him.

"Sorry, I'm so late," Hot Guy says to Hen. "Shift ran over. I meant to make it here ages ago."

Hen gives Hot Guy a hug and Buck pouts again. How does she know this guy and he doesn't?

"It's totally fine," Hen is saying. "When you texted to say you were running late, I stopped at one drink, but let me tell you, these guys have had more than enough to make up for both of us. We lost Eddie a while ago."

"He found a girl," Ravi stage-whispers, collapsing into giggles against Buck again.

Hot Guy shakes his head. "Good lord. Hen, do you need me to take anyone else home?"

She waves that away. "Nah. Maddie's in the bathroom and she stayed sober too. I've got Ravi here."

"I'll text Eddie in the group chat," Hot Guy says. "Make sure he's okay."

"That would be good," Hen agrees. "Take your boy home. Call me tomorrow."

"Will do. Tell Chimney I said Happy Birthday." Hot Guy takes Buck's arm and wraps it around his own shoulders, but Buck refuses to move, frowning.

"I can't go with you," he says. "My better half is coming."

Hot Guy shoots Hen a look that tells Buck he's trying mightily not to laugh. He schools his face, looks at Buck and says, "I'm taking you to him."

"Oh." Buck thinks about that, decides he trusts this stranger to bring him where he needs to go. "Mmkay."

"He'd be so easy to kidnap," Hen mutters and Hot Guy snorts a laugh.

"Would not," Buck manages. He curls into the guy, just can't help it. "You smell good."

He's gently squeezed against a hard chest as he demands a cuddle without words.

"Thank you," Hot Guy says, guiding him to the door. "Come on, Evan. Let's go."

For some reason, that 'Evan' calms Buck more than anything else. It's his name, of course, but it's said in such a way that makes Buck think the guy's actually called him 'sweetheart' or 'baby' and that makes Buck feel floaty for a different reason.

Soon enough, he's being bundled into the front seat of a very familiar truck, doesn't think much of it when he's ushered into a house that smells, of, well, home. Doesn't really track it when his shoes are removed gently from his feet, he's urged to drink an entire glass of water, doesn't argue when he's bundled into bed.

He could swear a kiss is placed on his temple, but he's out before he can think too much about it.

____

When Buck wakes the next morning, his headache isn't too bad, considering. He looks toward the nightstand, sees another glass of water, sitting next to two ibuprofen. He takes them, washes them down and thinks back to last night. His eyes widen when he vaguely remembers forgetting he had a...

"Hey," that soft, lovely voice says from the door way.

Buck looks up, sees Tommy standing there in old jeans and word t-shirt.

"How are you feeling?"

Buck laughs sheepishly. "Hungover. Kind of embarrassed."

Tommy grins. "Nothing I haven't seen before. Besides, you were very cute."

"I can't believe I forgot!" he looks down at his left hand, the ring that's settled on its home where it belongs. He doesn't know how he didn't feel it last night.

"Well," Tommy says, flashing his own wedding ring. "To be fair, it's only been a few weeks." Then he heaves a put-upon sigh. "But you forgot your own husband. It's very sad."

Buck shoves at him with a laugh. "I didn't do anything too embarrassing, did I? Well. More embarrassing?"

"Mmm," Tommy thinks about that. "Not really. Although, we were halfway home when you asked if you could bite my bicep."

Buck groans and collapses against the pillows as Tommy continues, "Which, you know, you tend to just do that without warning anyway, so drunk Evan is actually very considerate."

Buck laughs, Tommy's grin is bright and beautiful. "God." He holds out his arms. "Come here."

Tommy obeys, laying down on Buck's chest. Buck wraps his arms around him. "I think I still knew you anyway."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm," Buck hums, squeezing him tight. "Thanks for coming to get me."

Tommy presses a kiss onto his t-shirt covered sternum. "Always."

[writingwithciara]

across the hall; part 1 -quinn hughes-

summary: y/n moves in across the hall from quinn and in an emergency, she leaves her five-year old daughter in his care

word count: 1.4k

pairing: quinn hughes x single mom reader

notes: probably going to make this into a mini series because i have too many ideas to fit them in 1 fic. enjoy

y/n was walking into her apartment when her mom called, telling her how worried she was.

"mom, will you relax? i'm going to be fine. it's safer for me out here anyway." y/n walked into her apartment and set her keys down on the counter. her daughter took her shoes off and ran to her bedroom.

"have you met any of your neighbors yet, sweetie?"

"no, mom. i haven't met anyone in the building yet and i don't plan on it any time soon. i've been really busy with work and stuff and just haven't had the time nor the interest in doing so. plus, you know how abby is with strangers."

"i would feel better if you made at least one friend, dear. you're all alone in vancouver. anything could happen to you."

"what if i meet the wrong person, mom? ever think about that?"

"that doesn't worry me because i know you'll trust your instincts."

"and that's why i haven't bothered to talk to anyone in the building yet. besides, it's only my first week here. there's still plenty of time."

"okay fine. but i want you to keep me updated at all times."

"yes ma'am." y/n switched the phone from one ear to the other. there was a knock on the door and she jumped. "i gotta go mom. dinner's here."

"alright. love you sweetie. give abby a kiss for me."

"will do. love you too. bye." she hung up the phone and opened the door. "about time. i'm starving." she looked up from her wallet. "wait, you're not the pizza guy."

"no, i am not. my name is quinn and i live across the hall there." he turned and pointed to the door behind him. "i noticed you just moved in recently and i thought i'd be neighborly and come say hi, see if you needed any help with anything."

"that's very kind of you, quinn. but so far, i've got things handled. thank you though."

"well, if you ever need my help with anything, you know where to find me." he smiled and turned back towards his own apartment. just as y/n was about to shut her door, quinn turned back around. "i'm sorry. i completely forgot to ask for your name."

"it's y/n."

"mommy, i'm hungry." abby came up to y/n and looked at her.

"i know, sweetie. the pizza should be here shortly."

"okay. i'll be in my room." the girl turned around and headed down the hallway.

"she's adorable. how old is she?"

"she's 5, almost 6."

"they're always the cutest at that age." quinn smiled. "well, it was nice to finally meet you, y/n. see you later." he waved and entered his own apartment, leaving y/n to finally close her door.

"hey, abby. want a snack to hold you over until dinner gets here?"

"yes please." abby came out of her room to grab a snack from her bucket and headed back to play with her dolls.

y/n was about to send a text to her mom, letting her know she finally met a neighbor, when there was another knock on her door.

"this better be the pizza." she opened the door and saw quinn standing there holding a pizza box.

"they brought it to the wrong apartment. but don't worry. it's paid for. the guy didn't have time to walk across the hall so i paid him."

"you really didn't have to do that, quinn. but thank you." y/n accepted the pizza and looked at him. "would you maybe want to come in for a slice or two?"

"sure." quinn followed y/n into her apartment and sat on one of the stools at the island.

"abby, dinner's ready."

"yay. pizza!" the little girl yelled and ran out of her room. she stopped in her tracks when she saw quinn. "hi."

"hello."

"quinn, this is my daughter abigail. sweetheart, this is quinn. he lives across the hall."

"do you have kids?"

"no. not yet."

"how old are you?"

"i'm 24."

"oh, so is mommy. she just had a birthday."

"did you really?" quinn turned his attention from abby to y/n.

"no." y/n set the plates down on the island and helped abby into her chair. "well, i didn't just have a birthday. it's been a few months now."

"oh. well i'll be 25 next month."

"in case i don't see you, happy birthday." y/n smiled and began eating her slice of pizza.

"thank you." quinn smiled back and looked at abby,

"shit." y/n pulled her ringing phone out of her pocket and answered it. "hello? yeah. i'll be right there." she hung up and looked at quinn. "i barely know you but i just got called into work for an emergency and abby's normal sitter is busy tonight. would you mind-"

"go to work. i'll watch your daughter."

"you are a lifesaver quinn." y/n ran to her room to get ready. she came out 5 minutes later. "this is crazy. it's my first night off and i was hoping to relax but of course there's an emergency when the hospital is short-staffed."

"oh, you work at the hospital? how are you liking it?"

"it keeps me busy and pays well. but it's a very demanding job. i don't get to spend as much time with abby as i would like."

"that's alright, mom. i understand."

"i love you, sweetheart. now, be on your best behavior for quinn. if you're good, we can get you some new toys this weekend. how's that sound?"

"like an easy task." abby smiled and looked at quinn.

"okay great. thanks again, quinn." y/n smiled and walked out the door.

"alright, abby. what do you want to do?"

"dolls, makeover, tea party?"

"sounds like fun. shall we add music?"

"yes! dance party! mommy never has time for one."

"then we shall have one." quinn went on his music app and put on some popular music that was age appropriate and followed abby to her room to get the makeover started.

after a few hours of playtime, they settled down and quinn put on a random disney movie. abby cuddled up to his side and fell asleep within the first 20 minutes.

when the movie was finished, quinn put on another one and waited for y/n to get home.

he was halfway through the third movie when y/n walked through the door.

"i am so sorry. it took a lot longer than i thought but-" she stopped when quinn put his finger to his lips to shush her. "awe look at that. she must really like you."

"why do you think that?"

"she never falls asleep for anyone other than me. and she loves her usual sitter."

"oh." quinn smiled and adjusted his legs as y/n picked abby up.

"mommy?" abby rubbed her eyes and when she saw it was her mom, she just cuddled into her more.

y/n put abby in her bed and made sure she went back to sleep before she headed back to quinn.

"thank you so much for doing this. i didn't expect to get called into work tonight." she went to hand quinn some money but he stopped her.

"you don't have to pay me. i had a lot of fun."

"was she good?"

"very good. and such a polite child."

"what did you guys do?"

"after you left, we played with her barbies for about half an hour. and when she got bored of that, we had a tea party and then she did my 'makeup'." quinn chuckled. "oh. and we had a mini dance party before i put on some movies for her to settle down to. she was out within the first 20 minutes."

"well, sounds like you had a good time and honestly, i can't thank you enough for watching her. i owe you."

"it's fine. like i said, i had fun. consider that my payment."

"you're the best." y/n walked with quinn out into the hall. he walked up to his door and looked back.

"if i'm not busy & you ever need someone to watch abby, i would be more than happy to do it."

"really? oh my gosh. you really are the sweetest person i've ever met."

"what can i say? my mother raised me right." quinn flashed her a smile and opened his door. "good night, y/n."

"good night, quinn."

-------

tags: @alwaysclassyeagle

[cosmicclearwater]

Give Him Time | E. Call

• ──────────────☾────────────── •

Genre: fluff Character: Embry Call x Reader Word Count: 6.5k Warnings: cursing, kissing/making out, use of Y/N Summary: Embry tries to keep his distance but gives up when he realizes that he no longer has a choice. Requested: Yes (from anon: "embry x reader he imprints on reader who just moved to forks (no relationship with bella or anyone in the books she jus moved thered with her family) and he imprints when shes at a bonfire on la push beach. he is around with a couple other pack members and he’s supposed to jus keep watch and he takes a while to build a relationship w her") Note: characters are aged up (around 20).

a/n: kinda hate this, but it's been ages since I've posted, and this has been sitting in my drafts for a while.

• ──────────────☾────────────── •

One week. I've been in Forks for one week and I've already been roped into attending some kind of late-night social gathering at a beach in La Push by a group of friends I met while working at the local grocery store in town. That would probably be exciting for most people, especially if they're new in town and know absolutely no one, but I don't see it that way. I would much rather be hiding away in my room, curled up under my weighted blanket with a good book and a hot cup of tea, not freezing my ass off at a bonfire on the beach surrounded by strangers. Despite it being late August and technically still summer, the nights are significantly cooler than the days, which aren't very hot themselves. Thankfully it's not raining out. I would have turned down the offer to come had it been anyone other than the sweet, kind-hearted Angela who'd asked. But since I didn't, I'm stuck listening to the annoying, air-headed Mike Newton go on an over-exaggerated tangent about the time got caught sleeping in his math class in high school and received detention for it.

As I try my best to be attentive, I can't help but let my eyes drift around the large group of people that surround the area. It was only supposed to be a small gathering, and that's how it started out, but as it gets later, more and more people show up. I sigh, continuing to scan the crowd until my eyes land on a small group of guys standing nearby. Just by their appearance, I know who they are. Jessica made sure to inform me prior to arriving about the "weird" reservation kids who act like they run the area and would probably show up to stand watch like guard dogs. She and her friends had a lot to say about the four guys, none of it being particularly nice. I don't see the problem, though, because they have kept to themselves the whole time. They speak when spoken to, but other than that, they keep conversation amongst themselves. I find myself intrigued by the reserved strangers.

My gaze lingers a little too long because one of them looks up and our eyes lock. Instantly, a shiver runs down my spine, a sudden rush of warmth replacing the coldness I'm feeling. Something about him draws me in and pulls me towards him, yet I can't find the will to move. He's beautiful, in a boyish kind of way, wearing khaki shorts and a black cut-off T-shirt despite the chilled weather. He's the one to break the impromptu staring contest when one of his friends nudges his side and steals his attention. I'm a little disappointed when his rich brown eyes look away. I watch for a little longer as they share a few hushed words before all of their eyes shift to me. The extra attention forces me to finally divert mine away.

"Hey," I lean closer to speak to Angela, "I'll be back. I'm gonna take a walk down the beach."

"Okay." She nods, "Do you want me to walk with you?"

"No, it's okay. I won't be gone long."

I walk along the shore, kicking rocks until I get far enough away that the loud music and shouting sound like a soft murmur in the distance. I find a washed-up log and sit down, watching the waves crash against the shore before retreating. It's quiet and peaceful. I could probably fall asleep sitting here. The sound of a stick snapping behind me ruins that thought. Turning my head away from the water and towards the forest, I come face-to-face with the handsome boy.

"You shouldn't be wandering around out here by yourself. It's not safe." He speaks as he takes a hesitant step closer to me.

"I could say the same to you."

"Why did you leave your friends?" He asks, coming to take a seat on the log next to me, making sure to leave a little space between us.

"They are hardly my friends." I laugh dryly, staring back out at the water. "I didn't even want to come."

"Then why did you?" I shrug in response, not really having a reasonable answer to give. "I could give you a ride home if you want."

"I don't even know you." I chuckle. "Didn't you just lecture me about it not being safe to wander off out here alone, and now you're offering me a ride home. Talk about stranger danger. This is literally the plot and premise of every teen slasher film."

"It was hardly a lecture. More of a piece of valuable advice." He smiles, offering his hand to shake. "I'm Embry Call."

"Y/N Y/L/N." I reply, grabbing his hand. It's unbelievably warm yet comforting.

"Now we're not strangers. Want to take me up on my offer now?" He asks. "If not, you could always go back and ask that Newton kid to tell you another story to help pass the time."

"I would rather step on a Lego than listen to another one of his stories." I scoff. "But I should let Angela know I'm leaving first."

"Let's go then." He chuckles and stands up, waiting for me to rise to my feet before leading me back to the bonfire.

• ───────────────────────────── •

The drive to my house seems to go by quickly. We make small talk here and there until the conversations eventually fizzle out completely and we fall into a comfortable silence. There's a weird tension that lingers in the air. Not a bad weird, just different. I want to know more about him but he's a little closed off. When we speak, it seems like he wants to let me in, he wants to talk to me, but something is stopping him from getting too deep. Despite that, he makes me feel at ease.

"We're here." he speaks softly, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Oh, okay. Thanks for the ride." I reply, attempting to hide my disappointment with a smile. "And for not killing me." I tack on a joke for further convincing.

"No problem." He laughs as he opens his door to get out. He comes around to my side and opens my door for me, grabbing my hand gently to help me out of the truck. "I'll wait here until you get inside."

"Okay," I nod. "Will I see you around?"

"Maybe." He shrugs.

"Goodnight, Embry."

"Goodnight, Y/N." The way my name rolls off his tongue so soft and smooth sends a gentle shiver running through me. Every thought in my brain vanishes and it's only the sound of his voice playing over and over again like a broken record.

By the time I make it up to my room, I'm smiling hard and surely sporting flushed cheeks. I look out my window to check, and there he is, still waiting like he said. I wave down at him once we make eye contact. He smiles and waves back before climbing into the truck and reversing out of the driveway.

I go about my usual nightly routine before finally settling into bed. The smile that this mysterious boy has somehow managed to plant on my face has yet to disappear. I think back over our interactions throughout the night, and although they had been small and more than likely meaningless to him, they had me giggling and kicking my feet like a little schoolgirl. Figuratively, of course. Once I manage to calm myself down, I close my eyes and begin to drift off to sleep, whispering a quick prayer that tonight was only the first and not the last time I would be seeing the handsome stranger.

• ───────────────────────────── •

"That movie was awful." I scoff, walking with the rest of the group out of the theater.

"I thought it was awesome!" Mike exclaims.

"How? There was an unnecessary amount of blood and gore that did absolutely nothing for the plot, and the graphics were horrible."

"Woah there! Didn't know we had a professional movie critic on our hands." Mike jokes, receiving laughter from the rest of the group.

I roll my eyes as they begin gushing and raving about the action movie as we walk down the street. I fall back behind the group a bit, putting a little distance between me and them, but not too much that it's noticeable. Not that I think they would notice anyway. Despite having hung out with them numerous times since the bonfire two weeks ago, my friendship with them hasn't progressed at all. I just don't feel much of a connection with any of them, other than Angela.

"Hey, Y/N!" A call of my name pulls me out of my thoughts. I look up at Angela and her friends to find the source, only to see them looking back at me, confusion written on all of their faces. "Hey!" The masculine voice calls again from behind me, a little closer this time. I turn around this time, coming face-to-face with one of the guys from the bonfire, Embry and a couple of others not far behind.

"Do I know you?" I ask.

"No, but I know you. I'm Jared Cameron." He offers me his hand to shake.

"Y/N Y/L/N." I shake his outstretched hand. The next one to introduce himself has short, curly hair and a boyish grin on his face.

"Quil Ateara. The fifth, but the greatest." He chuckles, shaking my hand. The last one steps up wearing a smug expression as he introduces himself.

"Paul Lahote." He smirks, grabbing my hand and bringing it up to his lips. However, before he can make contact with my skin, he is stopped by Embry's stern voice.

"Enough, Paul." He orders to the snickering man.

"Hi, Embry." I redirect my attention to the boy who stands a few steps behind the others.

"Hey." He replies, our gazes locking briefly before he looks away.

"We're heading to a little restaurant down the street," Jared explains. "Wanna join?"

"Oh uh-" As I try to find the words to respond to his spontaneous offer, I'm interrupted by the voice of a female, that I have come to realize I am not the biggest fan of.

"Hey, Y/N. Who are your friends?" She asks, leaving me no time to respond before turning to introduce herself. "Hi, I'm Jessica Stanley." A chorus of 'hey's and 'hello's come from the group in response.

"We're heading home if you're ready." She directs her attention to me this time.

"Okay."

"We were actually offering her to join us for dinner," Quil states, presenting the offer Jared had extended to me just a few moments ago. "If she hasn't eaten yet."

"That's so kind of you." Jessica speaks with fake enthusiasm.

"Will you?" Jared questions, eyes trained on mine.

"Sure." I nod, turning to the group I had come with. "If that's okay with all of you."

"Go ahead." Angela is the one to step up and speak, a small but noticeable smile on her face. "Text me when you get home?"

A simple nod is all she needs before she grabs Jessica's hand and guides her back over to their group.

"Let's go," Paul speaks, throwing his arm over my shoulder as if we've known each other for years, and begins to lead me away. "I'm starving."

The restaurant we end up at is a cute, family-owned Italian place. It's cozy and welcoming, much like the rowdy group of boys who invited me to it.

"You have got to try the pizza," Quil leans in from his chair beside me to show me the options on the menu. "It's amazing."

"You think so?" I ask, amused by his never-ending enthusiasm.

"I know so." He winks, flashing me a toothy grin.

"The chicken alfredo is also really good." Jared adds from his seat on the other side of the table. I take their suggestions into consideration as I browse the menu.

"Everything looks and sounds delicious," I say, a sigh of defeat passing through my lips. "I don't know what to choose."

"We could order a couple plates of pasta and a few large pizzas to share. The portions are pretty big." Jared suggests.

"That's fine with me." I nod. "I'm still kind of full from the popcorn I ate at the theater so I won't be able to finish a full meal by myself."

"Don't you worry your pretty little head," Quil taps the tip of my nose with his index finger, forcing a giggle out of me at his antics. "Whatever you don't eat, I can gladly finish for you."

"Sounds like a plan then." I smile.

Once we finalize our decisions and put in our orders, we fall into easy conversation. A majority of it is Jared, Quil, and Paul bickering about random stuff or asking me questions. Despite their endless chatter, I can't help but let my mind linger on the quiet male sitting directly to my left. Before I can gather the courage to talk to Embry, Paul grabs my attention.

"How come you hang out with that Newton kid and his friends if you can't stand them?"

"Huh?" His question throws me off a bit.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't seem too thrilled when we saw you outside of the theater." He elaborates. "And you looked a little annoyed when that Jennifer girl butt in to our conversation."

"You mean Jessica?" I chuckle as I correct him.

"Yeah, her." He nods.

"I wouldn't say that I dislike them, necessarily." I shrug. "I just don't click with them well, I guess. Angela is cool, and Eric isn't too bad, but the others are just so...I don't know. Jessica has to always be the center of attention, and Mike is overly flirtatious and too handsy for me."

"Handsy?" Embry questions, addressing me for the first time since out intial greeting outside of the theater. "Has he touched you?"

"It's nothing bad," I assure him. "It's just little things like trying to hold my hand or mess with my hair. Just weirds me out a bit."

"He still shouldn't be trying to touch you without your permission." He grumbles. "Someone needs to put him in his place."

"It's fine." I shrug. "He's harmless, just doesn't understand boundaries." Before he can say anything else, the food arrives.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" The waitress asks after placing all of the food on the table. A chorus of "no's" and "no thank you's" float around the table. "Okay. Just call for me if you need me." As soon as she walks away, we all dig in.

"I am stuffed!" I exclaim after taking the last bite of pasta on my plate. There's still half a dish of pasta and a full pizza left on the table, but at the rate that the boys are eating, I'm positive it will be gone soon.

"You humans and your small appetites." Quil laughs around a mouth full of pizza. His comment earns him a harsh glare from the others.

"Humans?" I laugh at his strange words. "What are you, then? A dog." The table falls quiet as the four share a look before breaking out into nervous laughter. Ignoring their weird response, I change the subject.

"So, what is school like on the reservation?" I ask.

"Boring," Jared replies. "And a lot smaller than public schools."

"What do you do for fun?"

"We spend a lot of time hanging out with our friend Sam and his fiancee, Emily, at their place. It's our home away from home." He answers.

"Or going cliff jumping." Paul adds.

"Cliff jumping?" My eyes widen as I repeat the words back to him. "Is that even safe?"

"No, but it's fun as hell." Quil chuckles. "Gives you a huge adrenaline rush. You should come with us and give it a try some time."

"Absolutely not." Embry interjects, shutting down his suggestion before I can answer for myself. "She could get seriously injured, if she doesn't die from it."

"She'll be fine." Paul jumps in. "Jacob's little leech lover did it and survived."

"Barely." Embry scoffed. "Jacob had to pull her out and perform mouth-to-mouth on her."

"Well, it's a good thing she will be with us then." Paul responds cheekily. "What do you say, Y/N? I don't mind providing a little mouth-to-mouth if necessary."

"I'll pass."

"You should come hang out on the rez, then? At Sam and Emily's place." Jared suggests.

"I don't know." I shake my head. "I don't want to intrude. You seem like a really tight-knit group."

"It's fine." He waves me off. "You'll fit right in." A smug look flickers across his face, as if he knows something that I don't.

"Maybe, but not tonight. I need to get home soon."

"Of course." Jared nods. "Let's pay the bill and then we can head out."

• ───────────────────────────── •

"Are you sure this is okay? They won't mind that I'm here?" I ask Quil as we make our way up the drive way toward Sam and Emily's house.

"Of course not." He gives me a reassuring smile. "We've told them all about you, and they are excited to meet you. Emily's happy to have another female to hang out with. Something about there being too much testosterone around here." He rolls his eyes laughing. "Word of advice though. Don't stare at Emily's face. It pisses Sam off."

"Noted." I nod as we walk up the steps.

"Honey, I'm home!" Quil shouts into the house as he throws the door open.

"Please leave." Paul deadpans.

"Hi! You must be Y/N." A woman greets warmly as she makes her way across the kitchen, making sure to smack Paul in the back of the head and telling him to be nice. "I'm Emily Young." She introduces herself as she pull me into a hug.

"Yes, I am." I nod smiling, reciprocating her hug. "Nice to meet you."

"I'm Sam Uley." A man steps up next to her, greeting me as he does. "That's Seth and Leah Clearwater," He gestures to two other unfamiliar faces sitting at the kitchen table. "And you know the rest of the hooligans."

"Hooligans?" Jared scoffs. "I'll have you know that I am a very distinguished young man." He says as he adjusts his invisible tie.

"Yeah, maybe compared to a caveman." Paul retorts, causing Jared to retaliate by intiating a wrestling match in the small kitchen.

"Enough, you two." Sam barks, trying and failing to hide his amusement at their antics.

"Come sit." Emily turns to me, gently ushering me to the only empty chair at the table, which happens to be right next to Embry.

"Hey," He greets in a quiet whisper as I take a seat.

"Hey."

"Are you okay?" He questions, a look of concern on his features.

"Yeah," I nod. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just seem a little tense." He answers. "And they can be a lot sometimes, even for someone like me who has spent years dealing with them."

"I'm okay," I assure him with a smile. He simply nods before turning to finish his lunch as Emily sets a plate down in front of me.

"I'm not sure if you've eaten already but I saved a plate for you." She explains. "Food doesn't last long around here with all of these men so I made sure to put some aside when I heard you were coming."

"I'm starving, actually. I haven't eaten yet today." I reply. "Thank you!"

"You haven't eaten? Like, at all?" The boy named Seth asks from his spot opposite of me.

"No." I shake my head. "I was up late last night writing a paper for my English class and started working on it again as soon as I woke up. I guess I got a little too carried away and forgot to eat anything. But hey! At least I finished my paper. Four days early at that."

"You should still make sure you're eating properly though." Embry states.

"Of course." I nod in agreement. "It's a bad habit I've been trying to kick for years. Once I get locked in on something, it's hard to step away. My mom has lectured me, like, a million times about it."

"So it happens often, is what I'm hearing." Emily steps in, her mom voice making an appearance."

"More often then it should." I respond sheepishly.

"That settles it then." She shakes her head in disbelief. "I'm now making it my personal duty to make sure you are eating three full meals a day. Can't have you getting sick on us."

"You don't have to do that." I argue.

"I know I don't have to, but we take care of our own around here. I know you're new to the group, but I already consider you one of us." She explains, her tone leaving no room fro argument.

"Okay." A blush warms my cheeks as I finally begin to dig into my food.

"Embry." Sam calls his name from where he stands by the kitchen door. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

He responds with a nod before rising from his chair and following Sam outside. They are standing on the porch right outside the door, speaking in hushed whispers. As the conversation goes on, Embry seems to grow increasingly frustrated or angry, I assume by the expressions on his face. A few more words are shared between the two before Embry stomps off the porch and Sam returns to the kitchen, letting out a heavy sigh as he enters. The others give him a questioning look, but all he does is shake his head in response.

"What are you doing tonight?" He asks, coming to sit at the table next to Emily.

"Nothing really." I shrug. "Planned on just hanging out at home and reading a book."

"Lame!" Quil and Jared shout simultaneously.

"I'm hosting a bonfire tonight if you would like to join."

"Please do!" Emily almost begs. "You can meet the other girls as well. Kim and Rachel, Jared's and Paul's girlfriends."

"Sure," I nod. "Why not?"

"Perfect!" She smiles. "Would you like to run into town with me? I need to grab some groceries for the barbeque."

"Of course. I don't have anything else to do."

"Let me go grab my purse."

• ───────────────────────────── •

"Hey, Emily. Can I ask you something?" I ask as we walk down another aisle to grab the things she needs.

"Ask away."

"Does Embry not like me or something?" I question. "Like, did I do something wrong? Or offend him in some way?"

"Of course not." She shakes her head at my words. "Why would you think that?"

"I don't know." I shrug, nervously fidgeting with the loose threads on my sweater. "He just seems closed off when I'm around. I just thought maybe it was something I did."

"That's just Embry." She reassures me. "He's always been more of an introvert compared to the other guys."

"You sure?"

"I'm positive." She stops walking and turns to face me. "Don't read too much into it. Just give him time. He'll come around." I nod in response, choosing to trust her words and expel those negative thoughts from my head. "Now come on, we only have a few more things to grab and I'm afraid those bozos might destroy the house if they are left alone too long." She giggles as she begins walking again, me following close behind.

When we return to the house, the guys are horsing around outside, as Emily and I head to the kitchen to put everything away. Once all of the groceries are in their rightful place, she begins to prep what will be needed for dinner.

"Is there anything I can help with?"

"No, I got it, but thanks." She politely declines. "Why don't you head outside. Or you can hang out in the living room and watch some TV. Whatever you want to do."

"You sure?"

"Yep."

I begin to make my way towards the door to go outside when I notice Embry sitting on the couch by himself. I hesitate briefly before making up my mind and stepping towards the living room instead.

"Hi, Embry." I speak softly, as not to startle him.

"Hey, Y/N." He greets, glancing at me over his shoulder and then turning his attention back towards the TV.

"What're watching?"

"Nothing, really. Just flipping through channels to see if anything good is on. So far, I've found nothing." He shrugs.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"No, I don't mind." He scoots over to make room on the couch. We fall into a tense silence as he continues to flip through channels before he finally settles on a true crime show.

"Are you excited for the bonfire?" He asks, finally breaking the silence and turning his head to look at me, our gazes interlocking.

"Yeah, actually. I am." I reply, smiling. This is the first time we've had an actual conversation together since the one we had on the night we met and I can't help but feel giddy about it.

"Good." He nods, he lifts one of his hands to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "You look beautiful, by the way."

"Oh, uh, thank you." I can feel my cheeks heat up instantly. "You do, too. Look handsome, I mean. Not beautiful. Not that you aren't beautiful, I just-" I blush harder as I stumble over my words.

"Thank you." He interrupts, chuckling softly.

Our conversation dies out as we stare into each other's eyes. However, the silence this time is much more comfortable. Without realizing it, we had begun to lean into each other. So close that our noses are almost touching.

"Can I-" Embry begins to speak but is cut off as Sam's voice carries through from the kitchen.

"Embry, come out. I need your help gathering the fire wood."

"Okay, be right there." He replies, backing away. "I'll talk to you in a bit, okay?"

"Okay. Yeah." I nod, another blush dusting my cheeks as I start to think about what would have happened if Sam hadn't come in.

Embry then gets up from his spot beside me, leaving me with a soft smile and following Sam out the door.

• ───────────────────────────── •

The bonfire burns brightly, providing some warmth against the chilly night air. I sit with the other girls, talking and laughing as the guys kick around a soccer ball off to the side. Just like Emily, Kim and Rachel are kind and inviting, making it easy to fall into comfortable conversation. Even Leah, despite her quiet nature.

"So, you and Embry, huh?" Rachel nudges my side gently with her elbow, wiggling her eyebrow suggestively.

"What about me and Embry?" I ask confused.

"Are y'all, like, a thing?" Kim is the one to ask the question.

"Oh, no. Definitely not." I shake my head, laughing at the incredulousness of the idea. "If you haven't noticed, he barely speaks to me."

"Which is kind of crazy to me because the guy can barely keep his eyes off of you." Rachel says.

"Right!" Kim exclaims. "Glad I'm not the only one who noticed."

"You're seeing things." I argue.

"But you like him though, don't you?" Leah asks.

"Would you think I'm crazy if I said yes?" I bite my lip nervously. "He. doesn't even give me the time if day. Today was the first time we've held a conversation that was longer than three words since the night we met, but I can't help but be drawn to him. Like some kind of invisible string is keeping me tied to him. I sound weird and obsessive, don't I?" I sigh, feeling embarrassed at my admission.

"Not at all." Emily smiles, providing me with some comfort. "Like I said earlier, just give him a little time."

"You should-" Before Rachel can finish what she is going to say, they sound of men arguing grabs all of our attention.

"I said back off, Paul!" Embry shouts angrily at his friend.

Paul laughs menacingly. "Oh yeah? Or what?"

Embry lets out what I can only describe as a deep growl as his body begins to shake in anger.

"Careful there, Call." He says mockingly. "Don't want to lose your cool in front of your girlfriend." Those words seem to be the final trigger, because on my next breath, Embry's clothes shred to pieces as he turns into a giant wolf.

All of the air leaves my lungs as the scene unfolds. Paul is next, shifting into a massive beast in the blink of an eye, right as Embry lunges for him. The two begin to fight, large jaws snapping at each other as they roll on the ground.

"What the actual fuck?" I whisper as I finally catch my breath.

"Leah, Emily." Sam calls. "Get her inside." As soon as the words leave his mouth, a black wolf, larger than the other two, takes the place where his once human form stood. The others soon follow, beginning to chase after the two who have now managed to tumble into the forest.

"Can someone please explain to me what the hell just happened?" I gasp out as we make our way into the living room.

"It's not really our place to say, but Sam can as soon as he gets back." Emily places a comforting yet firm hand on my shoulder, forcing me to take a seat on the couch.

"They're not gonna kill each other, are they?" The horrifying thought leaves my lips before I can stop it.

"No," Rachel shakes her head. "They'll be fine. This actually happens quite often."

"That doesn't make me feel any better." I look at her as if she is insane."

"Sam will calm them down, and then they will all return safely. Not scratch or bruise in sight." Kim explains. I nod, taking a deep breath.

"So they're werewolves?"

"We prefer the term 'Shifter'." Leah states.

"Can all of you do that?"

"Nope. Just me and the guys."

"You're the only female that can turn into a wolf?"

"The only one known." She nods.

"Okay." I nod, trying to process the new found information. "Wow! This is a lot to take in."

"You're handling it pretty well, though." Kim giggles. "I half expected you to run off screaming."

We sit waiting for about ten minutes, them answering the questions they are allowed to answer, before the door swings open. Jared, Quil, and Seth walk into the house, Sam, Paul, and Embry moments after.

"Sorry about that, Y/N." Paul laughs as he throws himself down on the floor in front of where Rachel sits.

"No problem." I respond before turning my attention towards Sam.

"I'm sure you have a few questions."

"That's the understatement of the century." Sam chuckles at my response as he begins to explain everything. Their history, abilities, what causes the first shift, what triggers every shift after, how they control it. He goes on for what feels like half an hour until he feels that he has covered everything.

"Now that that is out of the way, there is one more thing you must know, but it's best if you and Embry discuss that privately."

"Um...okay?" I turn to look at Embry, who is still standing next to the door.

"Can I give you a ride home?" He asks. "I'll explain on the way there."

"Sure." I nod, standing from the couch. "Thanks for inviting me. Despite all of the chaos, I really enjoyed spending time with you all."

"Of course, Y/N." Sam smiles gently. "You're welcome any time."

• ───────────────────────────── •

The first ten minutes of the twenty-minute drive pass in silence. Neither of us willing to break it, but eventually I speak, not being able to stand the tension anymore.

"Embry?" I call his name softly, my voice coming out as almost a whisper. "There was something you wanted to tell me."

"'Want' isn't exactly the word I would use, but I don't really have a choice." He sighs heavily. "For starters, I want to apologize. I didn't want to drag you into this. I tried to keep my distance, but my friends were hellbent on playing matchmakers. If it had been up to me, tonight wouldn't have ever happened."

"Oh." His words trigger an ache in my chest.

"It's not that there is anything wrong with you. You're great, actually. It's just that I didn't want to bring you into my world because it's too dangerous for you."

"Dangerous? How? What does any of this have to do with me?"

"That leads to my next point. There is this thing that us Shifters do. It's called imprinting." He explains as he slows the car down before pulling over to the side of the road and putting the car in park.

"Imprinting?" I ask as he turns to me, eyes locking onto mine.

"Yeah. In looser terms, it's kind of like finding our soulmate. The one person we are destined to be with. When we find our imprint, they instantly become the one thing in this world that we would do anything for. We will become anything they want or need us to be. A protector, a friend, a lover. They become the center of our whole world. The gravity that holds us to the Earth. Everything and everyone in our lives suddenly comes second to them."

"Are you saying that-"

"Yes," He nods, responding before I can finish my sentence as if he had read my mind. "That night we first met, on the beach in La Push, I imprinted on you. It's not something we can control, it just happens. We don't choose who we imprint on. The moment I looked into your eyes, my fate was sealed."

"Is that why you avoided me? Did you want it to be someone else?"

"No." He shakes his head. "I was avoiding you because bringing you into all of this is dangerous. There are other supernatural beings that exist, and just you breathing puts you in danger because of the connection we have."

"Other supernatural beings? Like what?"

"Vampires. Those are our biggest enemies and what triggered out phases."

"Vampires," I mutter his words back to him in disbelief. "Here in Forks?" He nods in response.

"So if you don't have control over the bond, what would happen if I didn't want it?" I question. "Not saying that I don't, just asking." I quickly explain.

"You could reject it, but it wouldn't be easy. For either of us. The longer we spend apart, the more it will begin to hurt. Not just emotionally but physically too. We would both grow weaker, and it would affect my shifting and other abilities."

"Wow."

"And I'm not saying that to scare you at all, just answering your question honestly."

"So what does that mean for us?"

"What do you want it to mean? Like I said, you are now my sole purpose of living. Your safety and well-being, your life, are now my greatest priority. I will be whatever you need me to be."

"Okay. So, if I wanted to pursue something romantically, would you only be doing it because you have to? Because I actually really like you. Like a lot. But I don't want to force you into anything that you don't actually want."

"I like you, too. And I'm not just saying that because of the bond. I do genuinely mean that. I know it didn't seem like it because of how I acted and how I treated you, but the more time I've spent around you, the more my feelings have grown. My feelings for you are real, they are just amplified by the connection we have."

"Okay."

"Is that want you want?" He asks. "To pursue this romantically?"

"Maybe." I shrug. "Do you?"

"I would like that." He smiles softly.

"Me too." I return with a smile of my own, subconsciously leaning closer to him. "We should probably take it slow though."

"Definitely." He responds, moving in more. Our noses brush gently as he speaks. "Would you be mad if I kissed you? Right now."

I shake my head at his question. "I think I would be more mad if you didn't"

That's all that needs to be said before he leans in the rest of the way and molds his lips softly to mine. Butterflies erupt in my stomach instantly. My body feels like it's on fire, but in a good way. His hand finds my cheek, angling me to deepen the kiss as both of mine find the nape of his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair.

Once we both run out of breath, he pulls back, pecking my lips a few more times.

"I should probably get you home." He whispers, resting his forehead against mine.

"Yeah, you probably should." I whisper back, brushing my lips against his softly. He groans softly, caving in and kissing me hard.

"Okay." He moves away to settle back into his seat. "For real, I need to get you home."

"Sorry." I blush.

"Don't apologize." He says. "I didn't mind at all. And now that I've gotten a taste of what its like to kiss you, I don't ever want to stop, but we've been sitting here for a while out in the middle of nowhere."

"You're right. Let's go."

The rest of the drive is spent with light conversation and giddy smiles shared between the two of us. He keeps my hand interlocked with his the whole time and places light pecks against the back of it every now and then. We finally make it to my house, much to my disappointment. Embry, being the gentleman he is, walks me to the door.

"I guess this is goodnight, then." He says, hands still holding mine tightly, as if he doesn't want to let go.

"I mean, it doesn't have to be." He quirks an eyebrow at the insinuation behind my words. "Do you want to come in?"

"I shouldn't." He shakes his head, releasing one of my hands so I can unlock my front door.

"But I think you should." I open the door, tugging on his hand as I step inside. I watch as he battles with whether he should decline or give in. I wait patiently as he makes his decision.

"Fuck it!" He finally says before diving in for a kiss, kicking the door closed behind us as we stumble into the house.

[mrs-delaney]

Letters You Never Sent | Part Two

read part one →

🏈 Joe Burrow x Reader | 14.4k-ish words

request: college sweethearts since ohio state 🫶 but by 2023, fame starts to change joe. he acts single, barely mentions his girlfriend, and reader starts feeling invisible—like she doesn’t even exist in his world anymore. so she starts writing letters. not to give to him—just to survive it. just to say the things she doesn’t feel safe saying out loud. they break up in january 2024. she moves out in a rush and forgets the letters. months later, joe’s in a new (casual) relationship. and the girl finds the letters. she gives them to him. he reads them. and it wrecks him. realizing how badly he hurt someone who loved him with everything she had. and maybe… just maybe… there’s still a happy ending. 🥺❤️

📝 Author’s Note: y'all this one wrecked me. it's the most emotionally honest thing I've written to date. i literally cried.

thank you to everyone who showed up for part one with so much love. the messages, the tags, the dms—i read every single one. you reminded me why i wanted to tell this story in the first place.

this chapter is for anyone who’s ever had to grieve someone who was still in the room. who stayed too long. who loved so hard it hurt.

creative liberties were taken.

alexa play “from the dining table” by harry styles 🥀

✨ my masterlist ✨

💌 want to be tagged in future fics? join my taglist here 💫

🌙 ask box is open — come keep me company, i’m around tonight 💌

April 2023 - The Team Event

You're standing in the corner of Tyler Boyd's backyard, holding a beer you haven't touched, watching Joe laugh with a group of teammates you don't recognize. It's the annual team barbecue, the kind of casual gathering you used to love because it felt like family.

Now you feel like a stranger.

"Y/N!" Kierra Boyd approaches with a bright smile, but there's something careful in her expression. "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever. How are you?"

"I'm good," you say automatically. "Just busy with work."

"How's the hospital? Still loving pediatric nursing?"

You're touched that she remembers, that someone still asks about your life outside of being Joe's girlfriend. "Yeah, it's great. Challenging, but I love it."

"That's so amazing. I always thought it was so cool that you had your own thing going on, you know? Not just..." She gestures vaguely toward where Joe is holding court with a group that includes some women you don't recognize.

The pause is loaded. Not just what? Not just a football girlfriend?

"Yeah," you say, trying to keep your voice light. "It's important to have your own identity."

Kierra nods, then hesitates. "Can I ask you something? And please tell me to mind my own business if I'm overstepping."

Your stomach drops. "Sure."

"Are you and Joe okay? I mean, you guys seem... distant lately. At events and stuff."

You glance over at Joe, who's now taking selfies with some of the women in the group. Young, pretty women wearing Bengals jerseys and bright smiles. He hasn't looked for you once in the past hour.

"We're fine," you say, but the words taste like lies. "Just figuring some things out."

Kierra follows your gaze and her expression softens. "Tyler mentioned that Joe's been different this season. More... I don't know, guarded? Less like the guy who used to talk about you all the time."

"He used to talk about me?"

"All the time. Like, to the point where the guys would tease him about it. 'Joe's girlfriend this, Joe's girlfriend that.' It was actually really sweet."

The past tense hits you like a physical blow. Used to.

"Things change," you say quietly.

"They don't have to."

Before you can respond, Joe appears at your side, his hand settling on your lower back in a gesture that should feel familiar but somehow doesn't.

"Hey babe," he says, but he's looking at Kierra, not you. "Kierra, have you met Madison? She works for the team's social media."

A blonde woman materializes beside him, all white teeth and perfect highlights. "Nice to meet you," she says with a bright but empty smile, already turning back to Joe.

"Madison was just telling us about this new campaign she's working on," Joe continues. "Really innovative stuff."

You watch him light up as Madison launches into an explanation of her work, the same way he used to light up when you talked about your patients. When did he stop looking at you like that?

"That's really interesting," Kierra says politely, but you can see her watching the interaction with growing concern.

"Joe," you interrupt, "can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure," he says, but he doesn't move away from Madison. "What's up?"

You glance around at the group, realizing he expects you to have this conversation in front of everyone. "Privately?"

Joe's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "Can it wait? We're in the middle of something here."

The dismissal is casual but clear. In front of his teammates, in front of their wives, in front of some woman he just met, Joe is choosing not to step away with you.

"Of course," you say, your cheeks burning. "Sorry."

You turn and walk toward the house, needing space, needing air, needing anything but the sight of Joe giving someone else the attention he used to give you.

In the bathroom, you splash cold water on your face and stare at your reflection. When did you become the kind of woman who gets dismissed at parties? When did you become someone Joe treats like an inconvenience?

When you come back outside, Joe is exactly where you left him, still deep in conversation with Madison. He doesn't notice you return.

* * *

May 2023 - The Foundation Event

The children's literacy event is at the community center where you and Joe volunteer regularly.

But everything feels different.

"Y/N!" Mrs. Rodriguez waves you over to where she's setting up reading stations. "I'm so glad you're here. Sofia has been asking about you."

You smile, remembering the eight-year-old who'd been one of your patients last year. "How is she doing?"

"So much better. She starts fourth grade in the fall." Mrs. Rodriguez glances around. "Is Joe coming today?"

"He's here somewhere," you say, though you're not entirely sure. He drove separately, saying he had a meeting that might run long.

You spend the afternoon reading with kids, helping with crafts, doing the work you genuinely love. It's only when you're packing up that you realize you've barely seen Joe all day.

You find him by the sign-in table, talking to a reporter from the local news station. There's a camera crew setting up nearby.

"...really important to give back to the community," Joe is saying. "These kids are our future."

"And what brought you to this particular cause?" the reporter asks.

"I've always been passionate about literacy. Education is everything."

You wait for him to mention that this is your regular volunteer spot, that you work with many of these families through the hospital. You wait for him to acknowledge that this event was partially your idea.

He doesn't.

"We'll be right back with more from Bengals quarterback Joe Burrow," the reporter says to the camera, "after this quick break."

During the break, you approach the group. "Hi," you say to the reporter. "I'm Y/N."

She looks at you politely but without recognition. "Nice to meet you."

"Joe's girlfriend," you clarify, feeling pathetic for having to introduce yourself that way.

"Oh!" Her face lights up with professional interest. "Are you involved with the foundation as well?"

"I volunteer here regularly, and I work at Cincinnati Children's Hospital, so—"

"We should probably wrap this up," Joe interrupts, checking his watch. "I have another appointment."

The reporter nods. "Of course. Thank you so much for your time."

Joe is already walking away, leaving you standing there mid-sentence. The reporter turns back to her cameraman, the moment lost.

You follow Joe to the parking lot, your frustration building with each step.

"Joe, wait."

He turns, keys already in his hand. "What's up? I really do have to go."

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"In there. With the reporter. You completely cut me off."

Joe sighs. "Y/N, it was a quick interview about the event. Not everything has to be about you."

The words sting worse because of how casually he delivers them. "I wasn't trying to make it about me. I was trying to talk about the work we do here together."

"We?"

"Yes, we. I've been volunteering here since before you ever came to an event. These families know me. This is my work too."

"Okay, and? You want a medal for reading to kids?"

You stare at him, genuinely shocked by his tone. "I want my boyfriend to acknowledge that I exist when we're doing something together."

"You exist, Y/N. You're standing right here."

"But I'm not part of your story anymore, am I? When you talk about your life, your work, your future—I'm not in any of it."

Joe runs his hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "Can we not do this here?"

"When, then? When can we talk about the fact that you're erasing me from your life?"

"I'm not erasing you from anything. You're being dramatic."

"Am I? Because I've been keeping track, Joe. It's been six months since you posted a photo of us together. Four months since you mentioned me in an interview. Three weeks since you introduced me as your girlfriend instead of just saying my name."

"You're keeping track?" Joe looks at you like you've admitted to stalking him.

"I'm paying attention."

"Look, I have to go. We can talk about this later."

"When later? You're always busy, always somewhere else, always—"

"Later, Y/N."

He gets in his car and drives away, leaving you standing in the parking lot of a community center where you've volunteered for years, feeling like a stranger in your own life.

* * *

June 2023 - The Interview

You're at the hospital, just finishing your shift, when Emma texts you: Turn on ESPN. Joe's on SportsCenter.

You find a TV in the break room and catch the tail end of an interview about the upcoming season. Joe looks good—confident, relaxed, every inch the franchise quarterback.

"So Joe," the interviewer is saying, "what's your support system like? Who are the people who keep you grounded through all the pressure?"

Your heart speeds up. This is it. This is where he talks about you, about how you've been there since college, about the partnership you've built.

"Well, first and foremost, my family," Joe says. "My parents, my brothers. They've been my foundation since day one."

You nod along. Of course. Family first.

"The coaching staff and my teammates have been incredible. Really can't say enough about the organization and how they've supported me."

Okay. Team second. That makes sense.

"And just having good people around me, you know? People who knew me before all this, who help me stay focused on what matters."

You wait. The pause stretches.

"That's really what it's about," Joe continues. "Surrounding yourself with the right people who believe in your vision."

The interview moves on to football strategy, and you realize with a sinking heart that he's not going to mention you. Not at all.

You think about the AFC Championship loss, when you were the first person he looked for. You think about all the times he's credited you with believing in him when no one else did.

Now, apparently, you're not even worth a mention when he talks about his support system.

Your phone buzzes with another text from Emma: That was weird, right? That he didn't mention you?

You don't respond. You can't find the words.

* * *

September 2023 - Season Opener Party

The rooftop bar overlooking the city is packed with players, coaches, and their families celebrating the season opener win. You're wearing the dress Joe complimented you in last year, hoping tonight might feel different, might feel like old times.

It doesn't.

You've been here for two hours and have barely seen Joe except in passing. He's working the room like a politician, stopping to chat with everyone, taking selfies with fans who somehow got invited, deep in conversation with teammates you've never met.

"Excuse me," a woman with perfect curls approaches you by the bar. "Are you with the team?"

"I'm Y/N," you say, extending your hand. "Joe's girlfriend."

Her face lights up with recognition, but not the kind you want. "Oh! I'm Ashley, Mike's wife. I was wondering... we haven't seen you at any of the family events this season."

Because you haven't been invited to the family events this season. Because Joe keeps "forgetting" to mention them until after they've happened.

"I've been busy with work," you say.

"What do you do?"

"I'm a pediatric nurse at Cincinnati Children's."

"That's amazing! You know, Mike mentioned that Joe was single. I thought maybe I'd misunderstood, but here you are." She laughs, but it's awkward. "Men are terrible at sharing information, aren't they?"

Your stomach drops. "Mike thinks Joe is single?"

"Oh, I'm sure it was just a miscommunication. You know how guys are about talking about personal stuff."

But you can see in her eyes that she's trying to make you feel better about something that can't be explained away. Joe has been telling his teammates he's single. Or at the very least, he's not mentioning that he has a girlfriend.

"I should find Joe," you say weakly.

You spot him on the other side of the rooftop, laughing with a group that includes some women you don't recognize. When you approach, he glances at you briefly.

"Hey," he says, not moving to include you in the circle. "Having fun?"

"Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Kind of in the middle of something here. Everything okay?"

The group is watching now, and you feel like you're being dramatic, needy, clingy. All the things you never wanted to be.

"Never mind," you say. "I'm going to head home."

"Okay. I'll probably be here for a while."

He doesn't offer to come with you. Doesn't ask if you're feeling alright. Just turns back to his conversation like you were never there.

You take an Uber home alone from your boyfriend's season celebration party.

* * *

October 2023 - The Sports Illustrated Profile

You're on your lunch break at the hospital when Emma texts you: Have you seen the SI article about Joe? It's really good.

You pull up the piece on your phone: "Joe Burrow: The Evolution of a Champion." It's a beautiful profile, full of gorgeous photos and thoughtful writing about his journey from Ohio State benchwarmer to franchise quarterback.

The writer traces his path through LSU, the Heisman, the draft, the injury, the comeback. They interview his parents, his coaches, his teammates. They talk about his leadership style, his work ethic, his vision for the team's future.

Six years of your relationship gets one line: "Burrow keeps his personal life private, preferring to let his performance on the field do the talking."

That's it. Six years reduced to "private personal life."

No mention of the girl who believed in him when he was third string. No mention of the support system that helped him through the transfer decision, the injury, the comeback. No mention of the pediatric nurse who moved her entire life to Cincinnati to build something with him.

You think about all the interviews you've watched where he gushes about his parents, his brothers, his coaches. People who matter enough to mention. People whose support he acknowledges.

You read the article three times, looking for any reference to you, any hint that you exist in his story.

There's nothing.

* * *

November 2023 - The Charity Kitchen

The Cincinnati Children's Hospital benefit dinner is one of your favorite events each year. It's where your two worlds—your work and Joe's platform—come together for something meaningful.

You arrive separately because Joe had a meeting that ran long, but you're not worried. You know this event, know these people, know how important this cause is to both of you.

"Excuse me," a woman with a clipboard approaches you near the registration table. "Are you here to volunteer in the kitchen? We're running a little behind on prep."

You look down at your cocktail dress and heels, confused. "I'm sorry?"

"The volunteer kitchen staff? We have appetizers that need to be plated."

"Oh, no. I'm not a volunteer. I'm here as a guest."

She looks at your dress again, clearly confused. "Are you with one of the corporate sponsors?"

"I'm here with Joe Burrow. I also work at the hospital."

"Oh!" Her face changes completely. "I'm so sorry! I thought... well, we had several volunteers sign up to help with service, and I just assumed..."

You smile tightly. "It's fine."

But it's not fine. Because this is an event honoring the work you do every day, at the hospital where you've worked for three years, and the event coordinator doesn't recognize you as Joe Burrow's girlfriend.

Later, during cocktail hour, you watch Joe work the room with practiced ease. When a reporter approaches him, you instinctively move closer.

"Joe, tell us why this cause is so important to you," the reporter says.

"Children's Hospital does incredible work," Joe responds. "Being able to support the families who are going through the hardest times of their lives—that's what it's all about."

The reporter nods. "Do you have a personal connection to pediatric care?"

Your heart speeds up. This is it. This is where he mentions you, mentions that his girlfriend works here, that you see these families every day.

"Not personally, but when you're in a position to help, you help. It's that simple."

The interview moves on, and you're left standing three feet away from your boyfriend while he talks about your life's work like he has no personal connection to it at all.

* * *

December 2022 - The Birthday

Joe's 26th birthday falls on a Tuesday, which should make it low-key. Intimate. Just the two of you, the way you've celebrated every year since you've been together.

Instead, Joe announces he's having a party.

"A party?" you ask, looking up from your laptop where you've been researching weekend getaway ideas for just the two of you.

"Yeah, just a small thing. Some of the guys want to celebrate."

"Oh. Okay. Do you want me to help plan it?"

"Nah, Tyler's wife is handling most of it. Thanks though."

Kierra is planning Joe's birthday party. Not you, his girlfriend of six years. Kierra, who barely knows Joe outside of team functions.

"Where are we having it?"

"That new rooftop place downtown. Should be fun."

The party is not small. It's at least fifty people, most of whom you don't know. Joe works the room like he's campaigning for office, taking photos with everyone, making sure he talks to each guest.

You spend most of the night standing with the other girlfriends and wives, feeling like an accessory rather than the guest of honor's partner.

"This is a great turnout," one of the newer wives says. "Joe's really popular."

"He always has been," you reply, watching him pose for photos with a group of women you don't recognize.

"How long have you two been together?"

"Six years. Since college."

She looks surprised. "Really? That's so sweet. You're like childhood sweethearts."

"Something like that."

Later, when the crowd starts to thin out, you find Joe on the rooftop terrace, looking out at the Cincinnati skyline.

"Good party," you say, joining him at the railing.

"Yeah, it was great. Good turnout."

You stand in comfortable silence for a moment, and for just a second, it feels like old times. Just you and Joe, away from the crowd.

"I got you something," you say, pulling out a small wrapped box.

Joe takes it, looking surprised. "You didn't have to get me anything."

Inside is a watch—simple, classic, the kind he's mentioned liking but never gets around to buying for himself. You'd noticed him checking his phone for the time constantly and thought he might appreciate having a nice watch again.

Joe looks at it, turning it over in his hands. "This is really nice."

"I know you've been wanting a new one," you say. "And I thought... I don't know, I wanted to get you something you'd actually use."

Joe is quiet for a moment, still looking at the watch.

"Thank you," he says finally. "This is really thoughtful."

But he doesn't put it on. He just closes the box and slips it into his pocket.

"Should we head back in?" he asks.

You nod, following him back into the party, where he immediately gets pulled into another group conversation. He doesn't mention the gift to anyone. Doesn't show it off the way he used to show off thoughtful presents from you.

At the end of the night, as you're getting ready to leave, you realize that Joe never introduced you to anyone as his girlfriend. You were just "Y/N" all night, floating around the edges of his birthday celebration like a guest who didn't quite belong.

December 11, 2023

Joe,

Today was your 26th birthday. I've been there for five of your birthdays now, and this one felt different than all the others.

I gave you a watch for your birthday. Something simple that I thought you'd actually wear since you're always checking your phone for the time.

You said it was thoughtful, but you put it in your pocket and never mentioned it again.

I used to be the person who planned your birthdays. Now I'm the person who shows up to parties planned by someone else, where I don't know half the guests and you don't introduce me as anything more than my first name.

I used to be your person. Now I feel like I'm just... here. Taking up space in a life that you're building without me.

I keep waiting for us to talk about what's happening. I keep waiting for you to notice that we're falling apart. But you seem completely fine with the distance between us, and I don't know what that means.

Are you trying to break up with me without actually breaking up with me? Are you hoping I'll just fade away so you don't have to do the hard work of ending things?

Because I'm starting to feel invisible, Joe. I'm starting to feel like I don't matter to you at all.

And the worst part is, I don't think you even notice.

Y/N

* * *

December 2023 - The Christmas Party Photos

The team Christmas party is at the Omni, elegant and festive with perfect lighting for photos. You've been looking forward to it because Joe seems more relaxed lately, and you're hoping it might feel like the old days when you were part of things.

Joe looks incredible in his navy suit, and when he compliments your red dress, you feel a flicker of hope.

"You look beautiful," he says, and for a moment, his smile is real.

The party is lovely—good food, open bar, festive atmosphere. You mingle with the other wives and girlfriends, most of whom are polite but distant. The newer ones don't seem to know who you are.

Then the photos start.

Joe poses with his teammates at the bar. Click. With the coaching staff by the Christmas tree. Click. With the team owners near the dance floor. Click.

"Joe!" the team photographer calls. "Let's get one with all the players and their families."

This is it. This is your moment to be included, to be part of the team family, to exist in the visual record of Joe's life.

Joe joins the group, and you start to move toward him, but he's already positioned himself between Ja'Marr and Tyler. The photographer is arranging people, and somehow you end up standing behind a group of wives, partially obscured.

"Perfect!" the photographer says, snapping several shots.

Then comes the couples photos. You watch as player after player poses with their significant other. Sweet, intimate shots that will probably end up on the team's social media.

You wait for Joe to look for you, to gesture you over.

He doesn't.

Instead, he starts chatting with the team's social media manager about posting strategy, completely forgetting that couples photos are happening.

By the time he's done with that conversation, the photographer has moved on to group shots with the front office staff.

You stand by the dessert table, watching everyone else create memories, and realize you're going to be the only long-term girlfriend who doesn't have a single photo with her partner from this event.

"Y/N!" Robin Burrow appears beside you with a warm smile. "You look gorgeous, honey. Are you having fun?"

"Thank you. Yes, it's lovely."

"Where's Joe? I wanted to get a photo of you two. You never take pictures anymore."

Your throat tightens. "He's busy with team stuff."

Robin follows your gaze to where Joe is now posing with a group of sponsors, laughing at something someone said.

"Hmm," she says quietly, and you can hear years of motherly wisdom in that single sound.

When you get home that night, Joe is already scrolling through the team's Instagram stories, watching the photos from the party pop up.

"Good party," he says absently.

"Mmm."

"Oh, look, they got that group shot." He shows you his phone, and there it is—the team family photo where you're barely visible behind three other people, like a ghost at your own boyfriend's Christmas party.

"Nice," you say.

Joe doesn't seem to notice that you're not really in it. Or if he notices, he doesn't care.

That night, you lie awake thinking about Ashley's comment from September: Mike mentioned that Joe was single.

You think about the Sports Illustrated article where six years of love and support were erased completely.

You think about being mistaken for kitchen staff at an event honoring your own workplace.

You think about watching every other couple at the Christmas party take photos together while your boyfriend forgot you existed.

And you finally admit to yourself what you've been avoiding for months:

Joe Burrow has already broken up with you. He just hasn't told you yet.

December 25, 2023

Joe,

Merry Christmas. I'm writing this while you're asleep next to me, and I can't stop thinking about how different this feels from every other Christmas we've spent together.

Last night at the team party, I watched you take photos with everyone except me. I watched every other couple create memories while you forgot I was there. I stood by the dessert table feeling like a stranger at my own boyfriend's Christmas party.

Your mom asked why we never take pictures anymore. I didn't know what to tell her.

I keep waiting for you to notice that you're erasing me from your life. I keep waiting for you to care that I'm disappearing. But you seem fine with it. More than fine—you seem relieved.

I think I finally understand what's happening. You don't want to be the bad guy who breaks up with his college girlfriend, so you're just making me disappear instead. Death by a thousand small cuts instead of one clean break.

It's working. I feel invisible.

I feel like I don't matter to you at all.

And the worst part is, I don't think you even realize what you're doing. I think you've convinced yourself that this is just how things are now, that this is normal relationship evolution.

But it's not normal to erase someone you love from your life.

It's not normal to treat your girlfriend like an inconvenience.

It's not normal to act single while you're in a six-year relationship.

I'm writing this letter on Christmas, and it might be the last one I ever write to you.

Because I finally understand that you don't want me in your life anymore.

And I'm too tired to keep fighting for someone who doesn't want to be fought for.

Y/N

* * *

January 14th, 2024

You're in the kitchen making coffee when Joe comes downstairs, already dressed in his team-issued workout gear. The playoff loss was yesterday—a heartbreaking end to what should have been a championship season—but he looks like he's ready to move on.

"Morning," he says, grabbing a protein bar from the pantry.

"How are you feeling?" you ask, even though you already know he won't give you a real answer.

"Ready to get back to work. Season's over, but next year starts now."

There's no mention of how devastating the loss was, no acknowledgment that you were there in the stands watching his dreams slip away. No need for comfort or processing or any of the emotional intimacy that used to define your relationship.

"Joe," you say, setting down your coffee cup. "We need to talk."

He checks his watch. "Can it wait? I've got a training session at nine."

"No. It can't wait anymore."

Something in your tone makes him look up, really look at you, for the first time in months.

"What's going on?"

You take a breath, steadying yourself for what you've been building toward since Christmas. "When did you decide you didn't want to be with me anymore?"

Joe's expression shifts from confusion to something like annoyance. "What? Y/N, what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that you've been acting single for months. I'm talking about the fact that you've erased me from your life so completely that your own teammates think you're available."

"That's not—"

"When was the last time you introduced me as your girlfriend, Joe? When was the last time you posted a photo of us together? When was the last time you mentioned me in an interview about your support system?"

Joe runs his hand through his hair, that familiar gesture that used to seem endearing but now just looks irritated. "Why does everything have to be about social media and interviews? Why can't our relationship just be private?"

"Private and invisible aren't the same thing."

"I don't know what you want from me."

"I want you to act like you want to be with me. I want you to stop treating me like I'm some embarrassing secret you have to hide."

Joe leans against the counter, crossing his arms. "I'm not hiding you."

"Really? Because at the Christmas party, you took photos with everyone except me. At the hospital benefit, you talked about pediatric care like you had no personal connection to it while I was standing right there. A Sports Illustrated profile about your entire life mentioned me for exactly zero sentences."

"You're keeping track of magazine articles now?"

"I'm keeping track of being erased from your life!"

The words come out louder than you intended, and Joe flinches slightly.

"You want to know what I think?" he says, his voice getting colder. "I think you're looking for problems that don't exist because you're insecure about me being successful."

The accusation hits like a slap. "Insecure about your success?"

"Yes. You can't handle that my life is bigger now, that I have more obligations, more people depending on me."

"Joe, I've been supporting your dreams since you were riding the bench at Ohio State. I moved my entire life to Cincinnati for your career. I have never, not once, been anything but proud of your success."

"Then what is this about?"

"This is about you changing. About you deciding that the girl who loved you before you were famous isn't good enough for the life you want now."

Joe is quiet for a moment, and in that silence, you see something shift in his expression. Not denial, not confusion. Recognition.

"Maybe," he says slowly, "we're just in different places now."

The words are careful, diplomatic, but they land like a confession.

"Different places," you repeat.

"I'm trying to build something here. A legacy. And maybe... maybe that requires making some choices about what fits and what doesn't."

"And I don't fit."

It's not a question, but Joe answers anyway.

"I don't know."

The honesty is almost worse than a lie would have been. After six years, you've been reduced to "I don't know."

"You know what the worst part is?" you say, your voice surprisingly steady. "It's not that you've changed. People change, I get that. It's that you've been too cowardly to just end things. You've been hoping I'd get the hint and leave so you wouldn't have to be the bad guy."

"That's not—"

"Isn't it? You've been making me smaller and smaller in your life, erasing me bit by bit, hoping I'd just fade away so you could move on without having to actually break up with me."

Joe doesn't deny it, which tells you everything you need to know.

"I think," you say, surprising yourself with how calm you sound, "we should end this."

Joe looks up sharply. "Y/N—"

"No, it's okay. You don't have to pretend anymore. You don't have to keep me around out of guilt or obligation or whatever this has become."

"It's not guilt. I do love you."

"I know you do. But you love the idea of your future more, and I'm not part of that picture anymore."

Joe is quiet, not denying it, not fighting for you, and that tells you everything.

"I'm going to pack some things," you say. "I'll come back for the rest later."

"Where will you go?"

"That's not your problem anymore."

You turn to leave the kitchen, but Joe's voice stops you.

"Y/N. I never meant for it to happen like this."

You look back at him, this man you've loved for six years, who looks genuinely sad but also relieved.

"I know," you say. "But it did happen like this. And we both have to live with that."

* * *

You pack quickly, mechanically, throwing clothes and essentials into suitcases while Joe presumably goes to his training session. You can't think too hard about what you're taking or you'll fall apart.

Your nursing textbooks. Your favorite jeans. The Ohio State sweatshirt you've had since freshman year. A few photos from before everything went wrong.

The wooden box of letters sits in your nightstand drawer, forgotten in your rush to get out. Six years of loving someone documented in careful handwriting, left behind like everything else that used to matter.

When you're done packing, the apartment looks the same except for the empty spaces where your things used to be. Like you were never really there at all.

You leave your key on the kitchen counter next to your coffee cup, still half full and growing cold.

By the time Joe comes home from training, you're gone.

* * *

Two days later, Joe texts you: Can we talk about practical stuff? I want to help with your transition.

You're staying at Emma's, sleeping on her couch and trying to figure out your next move, when the text comes through. You almost don't respond, but there are things you left behind that you need.

You meet him at a coffee shop near the hospital, neutral territory. He looks tired, guilty, like he hasn't been sleeping well.

"I found an apartment for you," he says without preamble. "Downtown, close to the hospital. I want to pay for it."

You stare at him. "What?"

"An apartment, living expenses, and enough money that you can focus on whatever you want to do next without worrying about bills. Ever."

"Joe—"

"I know how this looks, but I just want to make sure you're okay. That you land on your feet."

The offer is generous. Too generous. A one-bedroom downtown would probably cost more than you make in several months, and the financial security would give you time to rebuild without the stress of money.

It would also mean accepting his guilt money. It would mean letting him buy his way out of feeling bad about how he treated you.

"No," you say.

"Y/N, be practical. You've been living a certain way for years now. You shouldn't have to struggle financially because of how this ended."

"No." Your voice is firm. "I don't want your money, Joe."

"Please. Just let me do this one thing right."

"Doing this right would have been having this conversation six months ago instead of making me disappear from your life piece by piece."

Joe's jaw tightens. "I'm trying to help you."

"You're trying to make yourself feel better. And I'm not going to take your money so you can sleep better at night knowing you paid me off."

"That's not what this is."

"That's exactly what this is Joe."

Joe is quiet, and you can see that part of him knows you're right.

"I want to do this," he says finally. "Please let me do this."

"I want to do this myself."

You stand up, leaving your untouched coffee on the table. "I'll get my things this weekend when you're out of town."

"Y/N—"

"I don't want your guilt money, Joe. I want to forget this ever happened and build something that's mine."

You walk away before he can argue, before the practical part of your brain can override your pride, before you can change your mind about money that would solve all your immediate problems.

Because taking his money would mean staying connected to him, staying grateful to him, staying small.

And you're done being small.

* * *

Three weeks later, you sign a lease on a tiny one-bedroom apartment in a decent neighborhood. It's nothing fancy—old hardwood floors, a kitchen barely big enough for one person, a view of the parking lot—but it's yours. Paid for with money you'd saved over the years while Joe covered most of your living expenses.

Emma helps you move your few boxes of belongings. You buy a couch from Facebook Marketplace and hang up photos from before everything went wrong.

It's small and humble and nothing like the life you thought you'd be living at twenty-six, but when you sit on your secondhand couch in your empty living room, you feel something you haven't felt in months:

Peace.

You don't think about Joe during the day when you're busy with patients. You don't check his social media. You don't wonder what he's doing or who he's with.

You think about the little girl in room 304 who's going home next week after three months of treatment. You think about the continuing education class you're taking to specialize in pediatric oncology. You think about the book you're reading and the weekend plans you're making with Emma.

You think about building a life that belongs entirely to you.

And if sometimes you lie awake at night remembering what it felt like to love someone that much, to believe in forever that completely, you remind yourself that loving Joe Burrow was the best and worst thing you ever did.

The best because it taught you how much you were capable of feeling.

The worst because it nearly made you forget how much you were worth.

But you remember now. And that's enough to start over.

* * *

July 2024 - Six Months Later

Melissa finds the box on a Saturday morning while Joe is at training camp.

She's been staying over more frequently lately—nothing serious, just convenient—and Joe mentioned she could reorganize the bedroom furniture if she wanted. "Make it feel more like home," he'd said, though they both know this isn't going anywhere permanent.

"She's moving the nightstand to get better morning light when she notices it's heavier than it should be. When she opens the bottom drawer to see what's weighing it down, there's a wooden box pushed all the way to the back.

It's beautiful—polished wood with delicate metal hinges, the kind of thing someone keeps treasures in. Melissa stares at it for a long moment, knowing she shouldn't be curious about Joe's personal belongings. It's probably documents, maybe family photos, something private that's none of her business.

But something about the box draws her in. It looks old, well-loved, like it holds memories.

She almost closes the drawer and pretends she never saw it. That would be the right thing to do. But her fingers are already reaching for it, already lifting it out to examine the craftsmanship.

The box isn't locked. The hinges open easily, as if they've been opened countless times before.

Inside are letters. Dozens of them, written in careful feminine handwriting on different papers—notebook pages, stationary, hotel letterhead. Some are dated, some aren't. The oldest ones are from 2017, the newest from December 2023.

Melissa's stomach drops. She shouldn't be reading these.

Instead, she picks up the top letter, dated October 15, 2017, and reads the first line:

Dear Future Famous Football Player,

I'm starting this collection because someday you're going to be a famous football player...

Melissa sets the letter down immediately, her heart racing. These aren't just personal—they're love letters. Someone wrote love letters to Joe, and they've been hidden in this drawer for God knows how long.

She should stop reading. Should put everything back and pretend this never happened. Joe's past relationships are none of her business, and reading someone else's private correspondence is a massive violation.

But the date catches her attention. 2017. These letters span years, not months. This wasn't some casual relationship—this was something serious, something long-term that Joe has never once mentioned.

Before she can talk herself out of it, Melissa picks up the letter again and reads the whole thing. Then another. Then another.

By the time she's read five letters, she understands she's holding someone's entire heart in her hands. Six years of love letters from someone named Y/N, documenting a relationship that clearly meant everything to her and apparently meant enough to Joe that he kept every single letter.

But if these letters are so important, why are they hidden in a drawer? Why has Joe never mentioned this woman who obviously loved him completely?

Melissa has heard the name exactly once, in passing, when Joe mentioned his "ex from college" without elaborating. She'd assumed it was some brief relationship, nothing significant enough to discuss.

These letters tell a different story.

She reads about Ohio State, about late nights studying together, about Joe being too nervous to make a move. She reads about LSU and the Heisman and the draft. She reads about moving to Cincinnati together, about building a life, about talks of marriage and forever.

Then she reads about the slow dissolution. About feeling invisible, about being erased from his life, about watching the man she loved become someone who treated her like an inconvenience.

The final letter, dated December 25, 2023, makes Melissa's chest tight:

I'm writing this letter on Christmas, and it might be the last one I ever write to you. Because I finally understand that you don't want me in your life anymore. And I'm too tired to keep fighting for someone who doesn't want to be fought for.

Melissa sits on the bedroom floor, surrounded by six years of someone else's love story, and feels sick to her stomach.

Not because she's jealous—she and Joe aren't in love, aren't building toward anything serious. But because these letters paint a picture of a man she doesn't recognize. A man who systematically erased someone who loved him completely, who slowly broke someone's heart while they begged him to remember what they used to mean to each other.

When Joe comes home from training, Melissa is sitting at the kitchen island with the wooden box in front of her.

"Hey," he says, dropping his gear bag by the door. "How was your day?"

"I found something," she says quietly.

Joe glances at the box and his face goes completely white. He stares at it like he's seeing a ghost.

"What is that?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I was hoping you could tell me." Melissa's voice is careful, controlled. "I found it in your nightstand drawer when I was moving furniture."

"Joe's face goes completely white when he sees the box. "That's Y/N's. She had it when we moved in, but I never... I never knew what she kept in it."

"Joe—"

"I remember Y/N having this, but I never knew what was in it." He reaches out to touch it, then pulls his hand back. "What's inside?"

"Letters. A lot of them. From her."

Joe's face crumples like he's been hit. He sits down heavily in the chair across from her.

"Y/N wrote me letters?"

"You really didn't know?"

"I had no fucking idea." Joe's voice is strained. "She must have left it when she moved out. I never... I never cleaned out that drawer. I never had any reason to."

Melissa watches his face carefully. The shock seems genuine, but so does something else. Fear, maybe. Or dread.

"Did you read them?"

"Some of them." Melissa's voice is careful, controlled. "Enough."

They sit in silence for a moment, the weight of six years of hidden love letters between them.

"She was so in love with you," Melissa says finally. "These letters... they're six years of her heart on paper."

Joe nods, not looking at her.

"And you just... what? Got tired of her?"

"It wasn't like that."

"What was it like?"

Joe runs his hands through his hair, a gesture Melissa now realizes probably drove Y/N crazy with familiarity. "It was complicated."

"She doesn't make it sound complicated. She makes it sound like you decided she wasn't good enough for your new life and slowly pushed her out instead of having the balls to break up with her."

Joe flinches. "That's not what happened."

"What was it then?"

Melissa reaches into the box and pulls out a letter from September 2023. "She writes about your teammate thinking you were single. About you not mentioning her when you talked about your support system." She looks up at Joe. "Sound familiar?"

"You don't understand the pressure I was under—"

"From who? From your agent? Your publicist?" Melissa's voice gets sharper. "Or from yourself because you wanted to be available?"

Joe is quiet.

"There's a letter in here about you liking Instagram photos of other women. About her friends having to tell her because she didn't know." Melissa shakes her head. "That's not pressure, Joe. That's cruelty."

"I never meant to hurt her."

"But you did hurt her. For months. You made someone who loved you feel like they were crazy for expecting basic respect."

Joe finally looks up, and Melissa can see something breaking behind his eyes.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because," Melissa says, standing up and gathering her purse, "I can't be with someone who treats people like that. And because she deserves better than having her love letters hidden in a drawer like they're something to be ashamed of."

She pushes the wooden box across the island toward him.

"Read them," she says. "Read what you threw away. And then figure out how to live with what you did."

After Melissa leaves, Joe sits alone in his kitchen staring at the wooden box. He's never seen it before in his life.

He turns it over in his hands, examining the delicate metal hinges, the worn spots where fingers have traced the edges countless times. It's clearly old, clearly meaningful, clearly not something that belonged to him.

Y/N must have left it behind when she moved out. In six months, he's never cleaned out that nightstand drawer—never had a reason to. He'd assumed she took everything that mattered to her.

The fact that she forgot this, whatever it is, feels significant in a way he can't quite name.

With trembling fingers, Joe opens the box.

His heart stops.

Inside are dozens of letters, some on notebook paper, some on stationary, some on hotel letterhead. They span years—he can see dates ranging from 2017 to 2023. Six years of letters he never knew existed.

Joe picks up the first one with shaking hands, dated October 15, 2017:

Dear Future Famous Football Player,

I'm starting this collection because someday you're going to be a famous football player, and I want to be able to show you that I always knew you could do it...

The words blur as Joe reads about nineteen-year-old Y/N, sitting in her dorm room after their library study session, so sure of his potential that she started documenting her belief in him. She writes about his terrible impression of Coach Meyer, about the way he looked when he talked about football, about being proud to love someone chasing such big dreams.

He had no idea. No idea she was writing to him, about him, for him. No idea she was creating this record of their love story, this proof of her faith in him when he barely had faith in himself.

The second letter is from after their first date, gushing about his nervousness and his sweetness and how she's already falling for the frustrated quarterback who everyone overlooks.

The third is from LSU, about missing him but being so proud of his courage to transfer, so sure he'll prove everyone wrong.

Letter after letter of unwavering support, of love, of belief. Y/N documenting every milestone, every moment of growth, every step of his journey from benchwarmer to Heisman winner to NFL quarterback.

But it's not just about football. She writes about the way he makes her laugh, about his terrible cooking, about lazy Sunday mornings and shared dreams. She writes about loving him not because of what he might become, but because of who he is.

Joe reads for hours, watching their relationship unfold through Y/N's eyes. The joy in her words when he wins the Heisman. The excitement when he gets drafted. The love when they move in together. The security when she writes about their future like it's inevitable, beautiful, certain.

Then come the 2023 letters, and Joe's heart breaks completely.

The shift is gradual at first—confusion replacing confidence, questions replacing certainty. She writes about his Instagram activity, about feeling invisible at events, about being erased from his life piece by piece.

March 15, 2023: When I tried to talk to you about it, you called it "my problem." You acted like my feelings were irrational, like caring about this made me crazy and jealous.

Joe remembers that conversation. He remembers dismissing her concerns, making her feel small for caring. Reading her words now, he sees how cruel he was, how blind.

July 15, 2023: I gave you a watch for your birthday—something I thought you'd actually wear since you're always checking your phone for the time... You said it was thoughtful, but you put it in your pocket and never mentioned it again.

The watch. Joe looks down at his wrist where it sits now, the watch he wears every day but never thinks about. He'd forgotten it was from her, forgotten the love behind the gesture.

December 25, 2023: You don't want to be the bad guy who breaks up with his college girlfriend, so you're just making me disappear instead. Death by a thousand small cuts instead of one clean break.

The accuracy of her observation hits him like a physical blow. That's exactly what he did. Too cowardly to end things cleanly, he slowly erased her instead, hoping she'd fade away so he wouldn't have to face what he was doing.

The final letter, written on Christmas night, destroys him:

I'm writing this letter on Christmas, and it might be the last one I ever write to you. Because I finally understand that you don't want me in your life anymore. And I'm too tired to keep fighting for someone who doesn't want to be fought for.

Joe reads it three times, each word cutting deeper than the last. Y/N, the woman who loved him before anyone believed in him, reduced to begging for basic recognition in her own relationship. Y/N, who documented six years of loving him, finally admitting defeat on Christmas night.

When Joe finally closes the box, the sun is coming up outside his kitchen windows. He's sitting in the same spot where he dismissed her concerns about Instagram, where he made her feel crazy for wanting to matter to him, where he let her walk away rather than fight for what they had.

For six months, he's told himself it was for the best, that they just weren't compatible anymore, that he was doing them both a favor. The letters obliterate every lie he's told himself.

Y/N didn't leave him. He systematically destroyed her until she had no choice but to save herself.

And she'd been documenting it all—not to hurt him, but because she loved him so much she couldn't stop believing their story mattered, even when he was busy erasing her from it.

Joe picks up his phone, Y/N's contact still saved under a heart emoji he never changed. His fingers hover over her name.

But what could he possibly say? How do you apologize for six months of cruelty? How do you explain that you never knew someone was writing love letters to you while you were busy breaking their heart?

How do you ask for forgiveness when you finally understand you don't deserve it?

Joe sets the phone down and stares at the wooden box containing six years of the most genuine love he's ever received. Love he never knew existed, never appreciated, never deserved.

Love he destroyed because he was too blind to see what he had and too selfish to protect it.

For the first time in his adult life, Joe Burrow understands what he's lost. And it's too late to get it back.

* * *

August 2024 - The Unraveling

Joe starts saying no.

No to the networking events that feel hollow. No to the sponsor appearances that require him to be "on" for hours. No to the parties where he doesn't know anyone and everyone wants something from him.

His agent is confused. His publicist is concerned. His teammates start asking if he's okay.

"I'm fine," Joe tells Ja'Marr over lunch. "I'm just trying to figure some things out."

"This about Y/N?" Ja'Marr asks.

Joe looks up sharply. "How did you—"

"Dude, you've been different since she left. And you used to talk about her all the time." Ja'Marr shrugs. "Now you act like she never existed."

"Did I really talk about her that much?"

"Constantly. It was actually annoying. Y/N this, Y/N that. You were gone for that girl."

Something cold washes over Joe. He'd forgotten that version of himself—the one who couldn't shut up about his girlfriend, who was proud to be claimed by someone who chose him when he was nobody.

"What happened? You never told me." Ja'Marr asks.

"I got stupid," Joe says simply. "I thought I wanted something else, and I threw away the best thing I ever had."

* * *

Fall 2024 - The Work

Joe starts seeing a therapist.

Not because anyone suggests it, not because it's trending or good for his image, but because he reads Y/N's letters again and realizes he doesn't understand why he became the person who could treat someone like that.

Dr. Andrews is in her fifties, has probably never watched a football game in her life, and treats Joe like any other patient working through relationship issues.

"Tell me about fame," she says during their third session. "How did it change you?"

"It didn't change me. It just... amplified things."

"What things?"

Joe thinks about this. "The need to be perfect. The fear of being vulnerable. The idea that I had to be worthy of the attention."

"And being in a relationship made you feel unworthy?"

"Being in a relationship made me feel... tied down. Like I was missing out on something."

"What were you missing out on?"

Joe is quiet for a long time. "I don't know. That's the fucked up part. I threw away something real for something that doesn't even exist."

Dr. Andrews nods. "Fame can be a very effective shield against intimacy. It's easier to be loved by thousands of strangers than to be truly known by one person."

The observation hits Joe like a physical blow, because it's exactly right. Loving Y/N required him to be real, to be flawed, to be human. Fame let him be perfect, untouchable, always performing.

* * *

Winter 2024-2025 - The Isolation

Joe spends his first off-season in years actually off. No training camps in exotic locations, no promotional tours, no appearances. Just him, his house, and the uncomfortable silence of not being constantly busy.

He gets back into reading actual books, not just playbooks. He cooks real meals instead of ordering out or having his chef prepare them. He takes long walks without his phone, remembering what it feels like to think without interruption.

He also writes letters he'll never send.

Y/N,

I read your letters. All of them. I had no idea you were writing to me, documenting us, believing in me even when I was too stupid to believe in myself.

I wish I could explain why I became the person who hurt you, but I'm still figuring that out. All I know is that somewhere along the way, I started believing my own hype and forgot that the best parts of my life had nothing to do with football.

You deserved so much better than what I gave you. You deserved to be chosen every day, not slowly erased because I was too cowardly to face what I really wanted.

I hope you're happy. I hope you found someone who appreciates what I was too blind to see.

I hope someday I become worthy of the love you gave me, even if it's too late for us.

Joe

He writes dozens of these letters, each one an attempt to understand what went wrong, to take responsibility, to imagine a version of himself that could have been better.

He never sends them. But writing them helps him understand the difference between regret and genuine remorse.

* * *

Spring 2025 - The Breakthrough

"I think I understand now," Joe tells Dr. Andrews during a session in March. "Why I did what I did."

"Tell me."

"I was terrified of being ordinary. Y/N loved me when I was just a backup quarterback, when I was nobody special. Part of me always worried that if I stayed with her, I'd stay ordinary too."

"And now?"

"Now I realize that being loved for who you really are is the most extraordinary thing in the world. And I gave that up to be loved by people who don't actually know me at all."

Dr. Andrews nods. "That's significant insight, Joe. What are you going to do with it?"

"I don't know. She's moved on. She's probably with someone else, someone who deserves her. But I want to become the kind of person who could be worthy of that kind of love, even if it's too late for us."

* * *

Summer 2025 - The Changes

Joe starts living differently.

He buys groceries and cooks his own meals. He calls his parents every week just to talk, not because he needs something. He volunteers at the children's hospital—not for publicity, not for photos, but because Y/N's passion for helping kids finally makes sense to him.

He stops following Instagram models. Stops going to parties where he doesn't know anyone. Stops saying yes to every opportunity just because it might look good.

His social media becomes quieter, more authentic. Less brand management, more actual life.

People notice. Teammates comment that he seems more relaxed, more present. His family says he sounds like himself again for the first time in years.

"You're different," his mom says during a visit home. "More like the Joe we raised."

"I'm trying to figure out who that person is again."

"He's a good person," Robin says. "He just got lost for a while."

* * *

Fall 2025 - The Understanding

Joe has dinner with Tyler and Kierra Boyd, something he hasn't done in years—just dinner, no agenda, no networking.

"Can I ask you something?" Joe says as they're finishing dessert. "How do you stay real when everything around you is fake?"

Tyler and Kierra exchange a look.

"You remember what matters," Kierra says finally. "You remember that the football stuff is what you do, not who you are."

"And you surround yourself with people who knew you before," Tyler adds. "People who'll call you out when you're being an ass."

Joe thinks about Y/N, who used to tease him about his terrible jokes, who kept him grounded without even trying, who saw through his bullshit even when he couldn't.

"I had that," he says quietly. "I threw it away."

"Y/N?" Kierra asks gently.

Joe nods, surprised she remembers.

"She was good for you," Kierra says. "You were different when you were with her. More... yourself."

"I know. I just didn't appreciate it until it was too late."

* * *

2025 - The Growth

Joe's first full year of therapy focuses less on what he did wrong and more on building the person he wants to be going forward.

He learns to sit with uncomfortable emotions instead of numbing them with work or distractions. He practices vulnerability in small ways—admitting when he doesn't know something, asking for help, letting people see him struggle.

He dates occasionally, but nothing serious. Partly because he's still working on himself, partly because everyone feels like a pale imitation of what he had with Y/N.

"I keep comparing them to her," he tells Dr. Andrews.

"That's natural. She was a significant relationship."

"It's more than that. She was... home. She was the only person who made me feel like I could stop performing and just be."

"Do you think you could create that feeling with someone else?"

"Maybe. But not until I can be that person without needing someone else to bring it out of me."

* * *

Early 2027 - The Readiness

By his third year of therapy, Joe has become someone he actually likes. Someone who can sit in silence without needing constant stimulation. Someone who asks his friends about their lives instead of waiting for his turn to talk. Someone who volunteers because he wants to help, not because it looks good.

He's still successful, still driven, still competitive. But those things don't define him anymore.

"I think I'm ready," he tells Dr. Andrews during one of their sessions.

"Ready for what?"

"To be in a real relationship again. To be the kind of partner someone deserves."

"What would that look like?"

"Present. Honest. Willing to be vulnerable. Someone who chooses their partner every day, not just when it's convenient."

Dr. Andrews smiles. "That sounds like growth."

"I know she's probably moved on. I know I probably lost my chance with her forever. But if I ever get another opportunity to love someone that completely, I want to be ready for it."

* * *

Late 2027 - The Invitation

The wedding invitation arrives on a Tuesday in October: Kyle McClain & Emily Stevens request your presence...

Joe remembers Jake from Ohio State—offensive lineman, good guy, someone who knew both him and Y/N back when they were just college kids figuring things out.

His first instinct is to decline. Weddings are complicated, full of people from his past who might ask questions he's not ready to answer.

But then he thinks about the person he's become over the past three years. Someone who can handle awkward conversations. Someone who doesn't need to perform or impress. Someone who can show up as himself and be okay with that.

He RSVP's yes.

He doesn't let himself think about whether Y/N might be there. He goes because Jake is a good friend and because he wants to celebrate love, even if his own chance at it might be gone forever.

But as he drives to Columbus the morning of the wedding, Joe allows himself one small hope: that if he does see Y/N, she'll be able to see the man he's worked so hard to become.

The man who finally understands what he lost.

The man who might, just might, be worthy of a second chance.

* * *

October 2027 - Columbus, Ohio

Joe sees her before she sees him.

She's standing near the bar at Kyle and Emily's wedding reception, wearing a navy blue dress that skims her knees, her hair longer than he remembers and pulled back in a way that shows off the elegant line of her neck. She's laughing at something the woman next to her is saying, and the sound carries across the room like a melody he'd forgotten he knew.

For a moment, Joe can't breathe. Three and a half years of therapy, of growth, of becoming someone better, and the sight of Y/N still hits him like a physical force.

But this time, it's different. This time, he doesn't feel the desperate, possessive ache he might have felt years ago. Instead, he feels something quieter, more complex—a mixture of joy at seeing her looking so genuinely happy and a profound sadness for everything they lost.

She looks good. More than good. She looks like she's thriving.

Joe stays where he is for a few minutes, just watching her interact with the other guests. She's confident in a way she never quite was when they were together, engaging in conversation with an ease that seems effortless. When she throws her head back and laughs at something, Joe can see that this is who she was always meant to become.

He's about to turn away—maybe slip out early, let her enjoy the evening without the complication of his presence—when she glances around the room and her eyes land on him.

The recognition is instant. Her smile fades slightly, not in an unfriendly way, but in the way of someone who's just been reminded of a different lifetime. They stare at each other across the crowded reception hall, and Joe feels like they're nineteen again, meeting for the first time in that orientation session.

Y/N says something to the woman she's talking to, then begins making her way across the room. Joe's heart rate picks up, but he stays put, letting her come to him.

"Joe," she says when she reaches him. Her voice is warm but careful. "I wasn't sure you'd be here."

"Y/N." He smiles, hoping it looks more natural than it feels. "You look... you look really good."

"Thank you. So do you."

There's an awkward pause as they both try to navigate this moment. The last time they saw each other, she was packing boxes and leaving their shared life behind. Now they're adults at a mutual friend's wedding, trying to figure out how to have a normal conversation.

"Beautiful ceremony," Y/N says, falling back on safe territory.

"Yeah, Kyle looked like he was about to cry during the vows."

"He did cry. I saw him wiping his eyes when Emily was walking down the aisle."

Joe smiles. "Good for him. They seem really happy together."

The conversation continues in careful, polite territory for a few more minutes. They talk about the wedding, about how good Kyle and Emily look together, about how strange it is to be back in Columbus. Neither of them mentions their past directly, but it hangs between them like a third person in the conversation.

Then Y/N mentions, "I actually moved to Chicago about a year ago."

"Chicago," Joe repeats. "That's great. For work?"

"Partly. I got into a pediatric oncology program at Northwestern. It's what I always wanted to do."

"I should probably go find my table," Y/N says eventually. "It was good to see you, Joe."

"Wait," Joe says, surprising himself. "Would you like to dance? I mean, if you're not here with someone..."

Y/N hesitates for a moment, and Joe can see her weighing the decision. "I'm not here with anyone," she says finally. "And... okay. One dance."

The band is playing something slow and romantic as Joe leads Y/N to the dance floor. When he places his hand on her waist and she puts her hand on his shoulder, muscle memory takes over. They fit together the same way they always did, her head at the perfect height to rest against his chest if she wanted to.

She doesn't, keeping a careful distance between them, but Joe can smell her perfume—something different than what she used to wear, more sophisticated—and feel the warmth of her hand in his.

"This is weird," Y/N says with a small laugh.

Joe nods. "I was thinking the same thing."

They dance in silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts. Joe wants to say so many things—wants to apologize, wants to explain, wants to tell her about the letters and the therapy and the person he's become. But he also knows that this moment isn't about him or what he needs to say.

"You seem happy," he says instead.

"I am," Y/N replies, and there's something in her voice that tells him she's surprised by her own certainty. "It took a while, but I am."

"I'm glad."

"Are you? Happy, I mean."

Joe considers this. "I'm better. I'm not the same person I was when... when we ended things."

"None of us are the same people we were at twenty-six."

"No, I mean really different. I spent a lot of time figuring out why I became someone who could hurt you like that."

Y/N looks up at him, and for the first time tonight, he sees something vulnerable in her expression. "Joe..."

"I'm not trying to relitigate the past," he says quickly. "I just wanted you to know that I understand now. What I did, why it was wrong, why you deserved so much better."

"I appreciate that," Y/N says quietly.

The song is ending, and Joe knows this moment is almost over. When the music stops, Y/N will go back to her table, and he'll go back to his, and they'll finish the evening as polite acquaintances who used to mean everything to each other.

"Y/N," he says as the final notes play. "I know this might be presumptuous, and I know you probably have a whole life in Chicago that I don't know anything about, but... would you have dinner with me sometime? Just dinner. Just to talk."

Y/N is quiet for so long that Joe starts to prepare himself for rejection. But then she looks up at him with those same eyes that used to watch him across library tables and football stadiums, and he sees something he hadn't dared hope for.

Curiosity. Interest. Maybe even a little bit of the old warmth.

"I'd like that," she says simply.

The music stops, and they step apart, but neither of them moves to leave the dance floor immediately.

"I'm flying back to Chicago tomorrow night," Y/N says. "But I'll be in Cincinnati next month for a conference."

"Text me," Joe says. "When you know your schedule."

"I will."

They stand there for another moment, both seeming to realize that something significant has just happened. Not a reconciliation, not a grand romantic gesture, but something quieter and more important. A door opening, just a crack, to the possibility of finding out who they might be to each other now.

"I should let you get back to the celebration," Joe says finally.

"Yeah," Y/N agrees, but she's smiling now, a real smile that reaches her eyes. "It was really good to see you, Joe."

"You too."

Joe watches her walk back to her table, where her friends immediately lean in to ask what that was all about. He can see her laughing, shaking her head, probably deflecting their questions with the same grace she's always had.

He doesn't stay much longer after that. He makes his rounds, congratulates Jake and Emily, and slips out before the bouquet toss. But as he drives back to Cincinnati, Joe feels something he hasn't felt in years.

Hope.

Not the desperate, grasping hope of someone trying to reclaim the past, but the quiet, mature hope of someone who's done the work to become worthy of a future.

Y/N said she'd text him. Maybe she will, maybe she won't. Maybe dinner will lead to more conversations, or maybe it will give them both the closure they need to finally move on completely.

But for the first time since he read those letters in his kitchen three years ago, Joe Burrow allows himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, the best love stories are the ones that teach you how to love better the second time around.

* * *

November 2027 - Cincinnati

The restaurant Joe chooses is small and quiet, the kind of place that values conversation over ambiance. Y/N arrives exactly on time, wearing a simple black sweater and jeans, looking nervous but determined.

"Hi," she says, sliding into the booth across from him.

"Hi," Joe replies, and they both laugh a little at the awkwardness of it all.

For the first hour, they stick to safe topics. Her work at Northwestern, his off-season training, mutual friends from Ohio State, the food. But gradually, carefully, they begin to venture into deeper waters.

"I read about your foundation work," Y/N says over dessert. "The literacy program you started. That's really beautiful, Joe."

"Thanks. It actually started because of something you said once. About how reading was the first way you learned to escape when things got hard."

Y/N looks surprised. "You remembered that?"

"I remember a lot of things I wish I'd paid attention to at the time."

They're quiet for a moment, the weight of their history settling between them.

"I found your letters," Joe says finally. "After we... after you left. I had no idea you'd been writing them."

Y/N's cheeks flush slightly. "I forgot them when I packed. I almost came back for them, but..."

"I'm glad you didn't. Reading them made me understand what I'd actually lost. What I'd thrown away."

"Joe—"

"I know we can't go back," he says quickly. "I know too much happened, too much hurt. But Y/N, these past three years, I've done everything I could to become someone worthy of the love you gave me. Not to win you back, just to... to honor it, I guess."

Y/N reaches across the table and touches his hand briefly. "I can see that. The way you are tonight, it's different. You're present in a way you never were before."

"Are you happy?" Joe asks. "In Chicago, with your life?"

"I am," she says, but then adds quietly, "but I think I could be happy other places too. With the right person."

They look at each other across the table, both understanding that something fundamental is shifting between them.

"I don't want to rush anything," Joe says. "I don't want to mess this up again."

"Good," Y/N replies with a small smile. "Because I'm not twenty-six anymore. I know what I'm worth now."

"You're worth everything," Joe says simply. "I just hope I'm finally worthy of you."

When they leave the restaurant three hours later, Joe walks Y/N to her rental car. They stand in the parking lot, neither wanting the evening to end.

"I fly back tomorrow," Y/N says.

"I know."

"But I could come back. For another dinner. If you'd like that."

Joe's smile is soft and genuine. "I'd like that very much."

This time, when he kisses her goodnight, it feels like a beginning.

[hoshifighting]

Okay... But what if Y/n tells his best friend, Wonwoo, since highschool that she wants to join as a stripper as a joke. But then Wonwoo asks her to do a sexy dance in front of him, and Y/n played along, dancing, stripping naked in front of him and rode his lap with him still wearing shorts, until Wonwoo couldn’t hold back and fucked her hard.

— Warnings: Smut, lap dance, reader jokes ab being a stripper (all respect to the profession), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, best friends, stripping. — WC: 2k

It was a typical Friday evening, and you found yourself lounging on the couch with your best friend, Wonwoo. The two of you had been inseparable since high school, forming an unlikely but unbreakable bond. Wonwoo, with his quiet demeanor, was the yin to your yang. While he navigated life with a calm and collected approach, you were the unabashed extrovert, always seeking excitement.

As the evening progressed, you couldn't resist the urge to stir the pot a bit. With a mischievous glint in your eye, you turned to Wonwoo and blurted out, "Hey, Wonwoo, you know what I've been thinking lately?"

"What's on your mind, Y/n?" Wonwoo replied, his eyes reflecting curiosity.

"I was thinking of becoming a stripper."

Wonwoo's face immediately furrowed in confusion, his eyebrows knitting together. He blinked a few times, processing the unexpected revelation. You could practically see the gears turning in his head as he struggled to comprehend your words.

"Wait, what? A stripper?" Wonwoo finally managed to articulate, his voice laced with bewilderment.

You chuckled at his reaction, fully aware of the stark contrast between your outgoing nature and Wonwoo's reserved personality. "Nah, Wonwoo, it's just a joke! Can you imagine me on a stage, dancing in front of strangers?"

His furrowed brow deepened as he tried to process the information. "You...want to be a stripper as a joke?"

"Yeah!"

Wonwoo let out a sigh of relief, his furrowed brow relaxing. "You scared me there for a moment. I couldn't picture you doing something like that."

The truth is, Wonwoo was a fucking liar.

However, deep down, Wonwoo couldn't deny the vivid image that flashed in his mind at your mention of becoming a stripper. The mental image of you dancing around a pole in skimpy clothing lingered, creating an unexpected tension in the room. He quickly brushed aside the intrusive thoughts, trying to focus on the conversation.

You noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor and couldn't help but tease him. "Oh, come on, Wonwoo. Are you sure you can't picture it? I bet I'd be the star of the show!"

Wonwoo's cheeks flushed slightly as he awkwardly coughed, attempting to dispel the lingering mental image. "No, Y/n. Let's not even entertain that idea. It's just not you."

With a sly grin, you turned to him and asked, "Wait, are you saying I'm not hot enough for that kind of job, Wonwoo?"

Wonwoo's eyes widened as he frantically shook his head. "No, no! That's not what I meant at all!"

But his reddening cheeks and ears told a different story. You couldn't help but revel in the mischief, adopting a mischievous expression. "Oh, I see. So, you do think I'm hot?"

Wonwoo stammered, trying to backtrack, "I-I didn't say that. I just meant, um, it's not something I could imagine you doing. Not because of how you look!" His eyes darted away, and he mumbled, "Well, I mean, you're... You're pretty, very pretty."

He couldn't help but attribute his discomfort to more than just the thought of you pole dancing—it was the unspoken crush he harbored on you. Each playful comment seemed to amplify his self-consciousness, making him acutely aware of the feelings he kept under wraps.

Attempting to steer the conversation away from the provocative topic, you chimed in, "You know, it's not like I genuinely want to be a stripper. But I've always thought it would be fun to dance for someone, you know? Just to let loose and have a good time."

Wonwoo's eyebrows shot up, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of surprise at your revelation. The notion of you wanting to dance for someone, while not necessarily in a provocative way, fueled his imagination, igniting a subtle curiosity.

"Oh, really?" he responded, his voice betraying a hint of intrigue. "Dance for someone, like, just casually?"

You nodded, a playful glint in your eyes. "Yeah! I mean, not in a professional setting, but just dancing for someone special. It sounds like it could be a lot of fun, don't you think?"

Wonwoo's mind raced, grappling with the newfound information. His gaze focused on you, and with a hesitant smile. "Hey, Y/n," he began, his voice softer than usual, "you mentioned wanting to dance for someone. Would you... uh, would you mind dancing for me?"

He fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve, his cheeks tinged with a subtle blush.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, and a playful grin formed on your lips. "Oh, really? Wonwoo, are you asking me for a dance?"

"Well, you know, you mentioned it, and I thought it might be... nice. I mean, if you're comfortable with it."

You couldn't help but find his shy request endearing. "Sure, Wonwoo. But you have to promise not to laugh at my moves. I can't promise they'll be any good."

Wonwoo chuckled nervously, "I'm sure you'll be great."

Your hands found the hem of your shirt, and with a playful grin, you tossed your clothing aside, letting it land somewhere in the living room. Wonwoo's eyes widened behind his glasses, focusing on your exposed tits, his usually composed demeanor giving way to a hint of surprise and curiosity.

His voice came out as a soft whisper, "Does this... does this make part of the dance too?"

You simply nodded, your own confidence shining through. "Of course!"

The room was filled with the sultry beat of the music as you continued to move, your hands gracefully making contact with your body. Wonwoo couldn't tear his eyes away, the subtle allure of the moment captivating his senses. The dancing became a mesmerizing display, the connection between you and Wonwoo growing hotter with each passing moment.

As the music's tempo intensified, you decided to take it a step further. With a bold move, you gracefully moved to sit on Wonwoo's lap, your dance becoming more provocative. His breath caught in his throat as your movements became a sensuous exploration, his heart pounding in his chest.

Your hips moved up and down, back and forth, and of course the bulge inside of his pants grew harder. Wonwoo, attempting to maintain a semblance of composure, let his hands find your hips. He tried to disguise the effect your movements were having on him, not wanting to make it obvious how affected he was. Your hips moved in a tantalizing rhythm against his, and Wonwoo felt a surge of lust that he struggled to conceal.

Unexpectedly, a low, sensual moan escaped your lips, hanging in the air like a shared secret. Wonwoo's ears caught the sound, and a jolt of awareness ran through him. Did he hear that right?

His hands instinctively pushed your hips down, a silent plea for you to continue. The dance resumed, and your hips moved deliciously against his. Wonwoo bit his lip, desperately trying to contain the desire that surged through him.

"Hm… Wonwoo…"

Wonwoo swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper, "Y/n."

In the blink of an eye, the delicate balance of composure that Wonwoo had been struggling to maintain shattered. His hand found its way to the nape of your neck, pulling you into a hungry, passionate kiss. The air crackled as your lips met, the tension between you finally finding release.

Wonwoo's free hand moved with a sense of urgency, grabbing your ass through the material of your shorts that still clung to your body. The touch was both possessive and hungry, his tongue fought yours, and your hips continued to grind on his dick.

Your hardened nipples were pressed on his chest, and he felt that, also, he felt your wetness soaking his pants through your shorts. His mouth found its way to your neck, leaving a trail of eager kisses. The soft touch of his lips sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a soft gasp as his kisses ventured down towards your bust. His hands, now firmly gripping your tits.

He slowly guided you to lie on the couch. The air was thick with anticipation as his hands skillfully worked on the buttons of your shorts, his touch sending a cascade of sensations through your body.

With a deliberate slowness, he slid the clothing down your legs along with your panties. In the charged atmosphere of the room, as Wonwoo lowered his head closer to your thighs, you felt a sudden surge of impatience and need. Your hands gently pressed against his shoulders, halting his descent, and you looked into his eyes with a sense of urgency.

"Please, Wonwoo," you pleaded, your voice a breathy whisper. "Hurry, I need you."

His dark eyes met yours, the intensity of the moment reflected in the depths of his gaze. Understanding the urgency in your plea, Wonwoo's movements became more purposeful. With a swift motion, he aligned himself with your pussy, his pants and underwear also thrown around. 

The hot head of his cock rubbed against your entrance. He entered slowly so he didn't hurt you, since you didn't even want to wait for him to prepare you.  "How did you get so wet?" he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of wonder and desire.

Rolling your eyes in response, you could only manage a breathless murmur, "You," the single word encapsulating the effect he had on you. 

His cock stretched your walls perfectly, loving the fullness of Wonwoo, the initial discomfort giving way to a wave of pleasure. As Wonwoo's breath danced across your skin, his nose taking in the scent of your skin, a shiver ran down your spine. 

The throbbing length of his cock being squeezed by your wet walls, until his pelvis hits yours, a relief moan leaves your lips, as Wonwoo kisses your cheeks, his hips slowly starting to thrust into you. 

Your skin slapped together as he thrusted into you harder, making your body squirm under him. Meanwhile, Wonwoo admired the scene. How can a simple dance take him to paradise? He felt like he was seeing a work of art that some divine being had forbidden him from for so long.

Your breasts bounced with each thrust, your pussy making him wetter by the second, and your moans were driving him to the brink of an orgasm. "F-fuck Wonwoo yes! Right here!"

The explicit encouragement fueled a surge of energy within him, and Wonwoo, driven crazy by you, found the strength to respond. His movements became more purposeful, with a renewed vigor, he shifted your legs, pushing your knees toward your chest, deepening his cock inside of your pussy abusing the g'spot.

As you drooled from the corners of your mouth, the sheer pleasure and desire took over. In a breathless symphony, you cried out his name, as the climax overtook you, you felt yourself clenching uncontrollably around his cock, making him moan the loudest. 

Leaving an indelible mark on the couch beneath you, his cock throbbed inside of your pussy, the white hot spurts, being spilled inside of you, while you could only mumble his name softly enough to make him melt over you.

The air hung with a sense of ease and contentment as you found yourself still catching your breath, your voice reduced to a soft murmur of his name. Wonwoo, lying atop you, he couldn't help but savor the tender sound.

"Mmm, Wonwoo," you whispered, the quiet intimacy in your voice reflecting the connection between you two.

He stayed nestled on top of you, his weight providing a comforting support as you both recovered. Wonwoo looked into your eyes, a gentleness in his expression that hadn't surfaced before. "You know," he started, a playful glint in his eyes, "I think I want you to dance for me more often."

A genuine laugh escaped your lips, pleasantly surprised by his unexpected comment. "Oh, really? You enjoyed the show that much, Wonwoo?"

He nodded, his cheeks sporting a subtle blush. "Yeah, it was...unexpected, but I liked it. A lot."

Unable to resist a bit of teasing, you reveled in the sight of a more playful and confident Wonwoo. "So, you're saying you want a private dance performance on demand?"

Wonwoo's shy demeanor returned, but this time, accompanied by a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Maybe...just a little. It was...nice."

[livwritessometimes]

Can you please do a part 2 to “a footnote will do (for me)” with Charles Leclerc?

Perhaps, something like this: She moves on with someone else (one date), and he sees them, gets jealous and chases her. Apologising and grovelling all the way till they make up?

I loved that fix but it was heartbreaking

If The World Was Ending

: Charles Leclerc x Reader

: If the world was ending, you'd come over, right?

: Part 1

: Main Masterlist

: Author's Note - Here you go! Hope this heals the heartbreak from part 1 :)

...

I was distracted And in traffic I didn't feel it When the earthquake happened But it really got me thinkin' Were you out drinkin'? Were you in the living room Chillin' watchin' television

It's funny how life works—why is it that when you're in a rush, you find yourself stuck in endless traffic. Charles let out a sigh; he was exhausted. The past few months had not been the best for him. The season was finally over; he should have been out there relaxing but all Charles could think about was how they lost the constructor's championship. He knows it's not his fault—not entirely, at least—but he couldn't help letting his mind wander. Things had been good for a while; the constant hustle bustle had made his life better. The calm now left him with too much time on his hands to think. It had left him with time to think about his brother's engagement. He still remembers how happy he was the day he got the call from Enzo. It gave him time to think about Arthur—how he got to race with his little brother by his side. That memory brought a smile to Charles' face. It also gave him time to think about Alex; his Alex. Before he could think of anything else, Charles was brought back into reality by his phone ringing. It was her.

"Hey, I was just think-" Charles said before he got cut off by Alex.

"Are you okay?" She asked, voice a little panicky.

"What-ya of course, why?" He questioned, confused by her sudden panic.

"We just had an earthquake, did you not feel it?" She questioned.

"Oh...no not really. I'm stuck in traffic, i didn't feel much," Charles answered.

"Oh good! Alright, I'll see you soon, yeah?" She asked.

"Ya, I'll be there in 15, hopefully," Charles said before he hung up.

Setting his phone down, Charles looked out of the window once again, waiting for the traffic to clear up. As he waited, his mind went to one person—someone who had been on his mind for a while now. He knows he shouldn't think about her, he has a girlfriend and she has a boyfriend—or at least that's what he assumes based on what Arthur had said. Charles had no business thinking about Y/n. It was his fault they drifted apart. Had he not completely ignored Y/n after her confession, they would still be in touch like they used to be, instead of become strangers who only see each other now at big celebrations.

Finally free from the traffic, Charles made his way towards his house. It was a Friday, which got him thinking: Was she out drinking? He wondered if Y/n felt the earthquake. Or was she at home, chilling and watching television with her new boyfriend? As much as he did not want to admit, the thought of that left a bitter taste in his mouth. Which was weird, because Charles was clearly happy with Alex. Why would the though of Y/n being happy with someone else hurt his heart? Not wanting to think further about this, Charles finally got out of his car and headed towards his apartment, to his girlfriend and dog waiting for his arrival.

It's been a year now Think I've figured out how How to let you go and let communication die out

Life was different now for Y/n. She had different goals, and different priorities. It's funny how so much can change in the span of a few months. Y/n had moved to a different house, one that was closer to her best friend, Arthur. She liked this house a lot better than her last; good lighting, a great neighborhood, and living super close to your closest friend—what more could she ask for? However, the real reason why Y/n liked this house so much was that it was in a location far away from him. She wouldn't have to worry about bumping into him every time she'd make a grocery run or go to her favourite coffee shop. Things had been good. She hadn't thought about him in a long time. It's weird how quickly you can go from talking everyday to barely seeing each other at all these days. Y/n preferred it this way. It honestly felt like a year had passed since she'd last seen Charles' face in person. Of course she still saw him on TV, but it just wasn't the same. Y/n even started seeing someone, all thanks to Arthur. This guy was good and clearly into her. It felt nice to finally be wanted. After chasing something for so long with no result, it was refreshing to feel wanted. Y/n figured that if she gave this guy a chance, maybe that would be her ticket to forgetting about Charles. And so far, it had worked. Y/n finally felt like she could move past what had happened between her and Charles. She had finally figured out how to let him go.

I know, you know, we know, You weren't down for forever and it's fine I know, you know, we know We weren't meant for each other and it's fine

Y/n stood in the kitchen, helping out Arthur's girlfriend with the snacks. It had been Arthur's idea to host a game night after watching a couple of reels about college kids hosting annual game night. 'I'm starting a family tradition,' is what he'd said when he invited Y/n and her boyfriend to his house. Rolling her eyes at the memory, she looked at the man in question, laughing at something Y/n's boyfriend had said. Slowly, she trailed her eyes to the left towards, the older Leclerc, only to find him already looking at her. Y/n quickly turned her head and focused on what Jade was talking about. Even though she had moved on, seeing him still felt strange. Every time she looked at Charles, she saw the face of the man she had loved at one point in time. It was also the face of the man who had rejected her. But that's okay now. She had accepted that they weren't meant for each other, even if it was a hard pill to swallow.

But if the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over and you'd stay the night Would you love me for the hell of it? All our fears would be irrelevant

Hours had passed, and the entire group was now sprawled in different corners of the living room. They had spent the last few hours playing a variety of games, which had led to several heated arguments between the Leclerc brothers. Who would have thought they could get so competitive over board games? The night slowly died down and Enzo was the first one to leave. Arthur had dragged Y/n's boyfriend into a different room to show him something she didn't care enough to pay attention to. Making her way outside, she could see Alex and Jade in the kitchen cleaning up the aftermath of such intense game night. As she stared outside, she felt a presence next to her, followed by a soft, 'Hey'. Turning slightly towards the sound, she found Charles standing next to her, staring at the sky. "Hey," she murmured, glancing back ahead. "It's been a while...," said Charles, his gaze fixed on her. "It has. How have you been?" Y/n asked, keeping her eyes ahead, avoiding eye contact. "I've been good, I think," Charles said, his voice a bit uncertain. "How have you been? I see you're dating someone new now," He added, a hint of bitterness laced in his tone. Turning to face him, Y/n said, "Yeah, I have. He's a good guy. In fact, Arthur was the one who introduced us." Charles felt betrayed. How could he not, his own brother was responsible for this. "How is Alex? Oh, and how can I forget about little Leo?" She added. Upon her question, Charles glanced towards the kitchen where Alex was laughing at something Jade had said. He should feel happy—he has a girlfriend who loves him; he should be over the moon. Yet, for some reason, his mind wandered back to the lady in front of him. He could see the sincerity in her eyes—it was the same as when she had first offered him a lift to Arthur's party. The moon cast a soft glow on her face, and it took everything in Charles to not reach out and caress her cheek. Y/n raised an eyebrow at Charles, waiting for him to answer her. "Oh, yeah, things have been good. They're good," Charles said bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. "Good," Y/n replied, watching as her boyfriend make his way into the living room. "Well, that's my cue. I should get going. It's—it's been nice catching up after such a long time," Y/n smiled at him as she walked into the living room towards her boyfriend. Charles stood there for a moment, watching her leave with her boyfriend. Glancing back at the sky, he muttered to himself, "Good...but not the same without you."

I tried to imagine Your reaction It didn't scare me when the earthquake happened But it really got me thinkin' The night we went drinkin' Stumbled in the house And didn't make it past the kitchen

Y/n slowly made her way to the bathroom, taking off one earring at a time. She felt her boyfriend press a gentle kiss to her forehead before heading off to change his clothes. Staring at the mirror in front of her, she let out a sigh. Tonight was harder than Y/n had expected. Seeing him again shook the very foundation she had spent months building. It baffled her how Charles still held so much power over her. Talking to Charles after such a long time brought back so many memories, but one in particular stood out. She wasn't sure if it was the starry night that had reminded her of that day, or if simply being in Charles' presence had sparked that memory.

*flashback*

It was after a particularly rough Grand Prix that Y/n and Charles found themselves getting absolutely wasted. It was a quiet bar near Y/n's house, one that didn't have many visitors—especially considering it was 3 a.m. Slowly getting up, Y/n stumbled, losing her footing. She fully expected to smack the floor when a strong pair of arms broke her fall and steadied her. "It's okay, I've got you," Charles said as he led her out of the bar towards her house, not once letting go of her. It took them exactly 8 minutes to get the lock to Y/n's door. She remembers it because that's how long Charles kept on hugging her, leaning into her for 'moral support,' as he liked to call it. Slowly the two stumbled into her house. As they walked inside, Charles lost his footing and fell to the floor, pulling a drunk Y/n down with him. Worried, Charles quickly sat up, looking at Y/n to check if she was alright. His worry soon eased as the room was filled with Y/n's laughter. Seeing her laugh, Charles couldn't help but join in. He laid back down besides her, still smiling. "I love you Y/n/n," said Charles as he pulled her in for a hug. Unbeknownst to him, Y/n instantly sobered up when she heard him say those three words. There lay a drunk Charles, happily snuggling with what he assumed to be a drunk Y/n, forgetting about all the worries in the world and just being content lying there with her. Alternatively, there lay Y/n in the arms of the boy she realized she saw as much more than 'just a friend,' thinking if the world were to end tomorrow, she'd be happy to die like this—in his arms.

*present*

Finishing the last step of her nighttime routine, Y/n made her way to her bed, into the arms of her boyfriend. She knew it was wrong; she shouldn't think like this. But one thought lingered in her mind—It's not the same.

Ah. it's been a year now Think I've figured out how How to think about you without it rippin' my heart out

The drive back home was a silent one for Charles and Alex. For the first time in a long time, Charles felt happy. Not once did he think about racing or losing the championship. Not once did the negative thoughts that had plagued his mind for months resurface. He'd like to think it was because of the game night, but no matter how much he wanted that to be true, he knew that wasn't the reason for this happiness. It made him wonder if he had made a mistake—getting together with Alex so quickly, adding Leo into the mix. It made him wonder what would have happened if he had given her a chance, if only he had waited to see how things might play out. Charles thought he had matured. He figured it had been months now, it wouldn't affect him as much. But he was wrong. Even now, after all this time, thinking about her, about them, still breaks his heart.

I know, you know, we know You weren't down for forever and it's fine I know, you know, we know We weren't meant for each other and it's fine If the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over, right? You'd come over, you'd come over, you'd come over, right?

Charles just couldn't fall asleep. No matter how hard he tried, he lay there, in his bed, wide awake. He looked to his side to find Alex passed out with Leo by her feet. As much as he hated to admit, he did not find the sight as comforting as he used to. Looking back at the ceiling, Charles could not bear to let his thoughts run wild for another second. Quickly, he got up and changed into his tracks. He figured a jog would help calm his mind down. And so, that's what he did: he grabbed his keys and made his way out of the house at 2 a.m. for a late-night run.

The second Charles stepped onto the street, he ran. He ran for as long as his feet could take him. After running for what felt like hours, Charles stopped by a park. He took a moment to look at his surroundings and realized he was far away from his neighborhood. Instead, he realized he was much closer to the place he had just come home from a few hours ago—he was near Arthur's neighborhood. Making his way inside the park, Charles spotted someone sitting on one of the benches. As he walked closer, he realized that it was the one person he wanted to get out of his mind. "Y/n?" said Charles in a confused tone. Looking up at the sound, Y/n came face to face with Charles. "Charles! What are you doing here?" She asked, confused by his sudden presence. "I could ask you the same," he paused to look at his watch before continuing, "That too, at 3 a.m.?" Not knowing what to say, Y/n scooted a little, inviting the boy to take a seat next to her. "I couldn't sleep," she said in a quiet voice. For a while, neither of them said anything. The two sat there in silence, enjoying the peace and quiet.

"Do you ever wonder what would have happened if things had gone differently?" Charles questioned, breaking the silence. "Huh? Differently, how?" Y/n asked, confused about what the boy in front of her was getting at. Charles knows he shouldn't say it, but he couldn't help himself. In his mind, it was either now or never. "Do you ever wonder if things would have been different, had I—had we, um..." Charles hesitated. "Had we what, Charles?" Y/n asked, now turned, giving him her full attention. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Had we gotten together? Had I reacted differently to your confession? Do you think things would have been different then?" Stunned at his question, Y/n was taken aback. "I don't see the point in bringing this up now, Charles. It doesn't matter anyways," she said, slowly turned away from the boy. In an instant, Charles grabbed her hands, stopping her. "It matters to me, Y/n, please," he pleaded. "I don't know, Charles...I don't know, maybe?" Y/n said. Letting out a sigh, she continued, "Why now, though? Why now, when I have a boyfriend and you have a girlfriend...and a DOG, for fuck's sake." Y/n suddenly felt anger towards the boy. Why was he having these doubts all of a sudden? And why now, of all times? She had finally gotten used to living without constantly having him in the back of her mind. So why now? "Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I'm aware of how wrong all of this is? I tried to forget you. I tried really hard to forget every single thing about you, and for a while, it worked. I was happy; I was so happy with Alex, and then we got Leo. I felt complete...but it only lasted for a while. Every time I had a bad day, you were the first person I thought about calling. Every time I won a race or got a podium, your eyes were the ones I searched for as soon as I got up there. Do you think I wanted this to happen? Do you think I enjoyed breaking your heart back then? I hated myself for the way I reacted," Charles said, finally letting go of every single thing he had been holding onto for such a long time. "WELL THEN WHY DID YOU REACT THAT WAY?" Y/n said, losing her cool after Charles' outburst. "I—I don't know," he said, ashamed of the way he handled things. "I just assumed, if we became a couple, things wouldn't work out, because let's be honest I know my luck—they never do, and then we break up. So, I not only lose you, I also lose a bond that I held so close to my heart," he continued. Y/n was at a loss for words. It felt like a fever dream. All she wanted was for Charles to want her. And now that he did, she wasn't sure what to do. Somehow, amidst all this chaos, Y/n's mind drifted to Alex. She wondered if Alex was aware of this, If she had her doubts. She thought about how happy Alex looked earlier today. Snapping out of her thoughts, Y/n got up. "Charles...I'm sorry but we can't—I can't do this. Think about Alex. How can you do this to her? I have a boyfriend now, and for once, I don't have to hope that he feels the same way I do. For once, I don't have to doubt the feelings that we share—whether they're real or not. I'm sorry, but there will never be an 'us,'" Y/n said as she started to walk towards her apartment.

"You said 'feelings.' Does that mean you don't love him?" Charles questioned. Turning back to look at the boy, who was now standing as well, "What?" Y/n asked. "You just said 'the feelings you share,' and not love. Does that mean you don't love him? Is it because, deep down, you know, you still love me?" Charles questioned, taking a step closer. "I'm sorry, Charles," Y/n said as she walked away, leaving Charles all alone in the middle of the park.

I know, you know, we know You weren't down for forever and it's fine I know, you, know, we know We weren't meant for each other and it's fine

The next time Y/n heard about Charles was a few months later. She had decided to spend the day with Arthur and Jade. The trio had spent the majority of their day lounging and watching movies. As the day progressed, they slowly got comfortable on the couch and started to talk about a variety of things, with a glass of wine in hand. Somewhere in between, the conversation about Enzo and Charlotte's wedding came up. "Hey Y/n/n, do you have a date in mind?" Jade asked. Y/n had broken up with her boyfriend not long after that night in the park with Charles. Arthur gave Y/n a sad smile. He knew about Y/n's crush, and Charles' rejection. He also knew about that night in the park. "Umm...not really, I don't have anyone particular in mind," said Y/n with a little hesitation. "Ahh, you know what? why don't you go with Charles? I always thought you two would make a cute pair," said Jade as she got up to get some more snacks. Upon hearing this, Y/n shot Arthur a look. "What?" she asked. Taking a sip of his drink, Arthur said, "He broke up with her." He continued, "He broke up with her a while ago...A few weeks after the park incident." Y/n didn't know how to react. "I didn't say anything because I didn't want you to feel guilty over their breakup," said Arthur. A soft 'Oh' was all Y/n could mutter. "Just know it's not your fault. He chose to break up with her. This has nothing to do with you," said Arthur. Getting up to go get another bottle, he turned around and said, "I know things are complicated between the two of you, but for what it's worth, don't let this guilt stop you from going after what you want. That is, if that's what you still want." With that Arthur left Y/n alone with her thoughts.

But if the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over and you'd stay the night Would you love me for the hell of it? All our fears would be irrelevant If the world was ending You'd come over, right?

Everything about tonight was perfect—the lights, the decoration, the location; it was all perfect. Y/n felt honored when Charlotte had asked her to be one of her bridesmaids. She still remembers how she could not stop crying and how it took both Enzo and Charlotte to calm her down. Standing in front of her was Enzo, a man Y/n considered to be her older brother, looking as handsome as ever. Locking eyes with her, Enzo smiled at Y/n. 'You've got this,' she mouthed to him. Diverting her eyes, Y/n made eye contact with him. Standing tall in an expensive suit was none other than Enzo's younger brother, Charles. The two had not spoken even once since that night—not when they arrived at the wedding location, not at the family dinner, and not even when they walked down the aisle together as the groomsman and bridesmaid. It was clear that Charles wanted to talk to her. He made many attempts to convey that. Y/n, however, wasn't ready to have that talk. Doing so would mean the two would have to come face-to-face with the fact that they unintentionally sabotaged their relationships for each other—something Y/n was not ready to accept.

The ceremony was beautiful. Y/n even shed a few tears at the couple's vow's. It was finally time for their reception. As everyone was making their way to reception venue, Y/n was pulled into the corner by someone. Before she could say anything, she heard "Shh, It's me," and then the owner of that voice came in view. "Charles," she said, although her voice came muffled under Charles' hand. Smiling at her, he said, "I wanted to talk to you, which I think you have noticed by now, considering you suddenly vanish the moment I make my way towards you." Removing his hand from over her mouth, Y/n said, "What do you want Charles?" "Isn't it obvious by now? I want you, Y/n. I know what I said in the park was stupid and selfish. I shouldn't have unloaded my feeling onto you like that. I know I should have figured things out for myself before I did anything. And I've learned it the hard way. I know I hurt a lot of people in the process, and I genuinely regret that. If I could go back in time and reverse things, I would. But you also have to know I have never been more sure about anything else in my life than I am about you since that night in the park. I love you, and I have loved you ever since I met you. I want to be the person you call after a long day, the one you think about every time something good happens in your life. Most of all, I want to be the one you think about, no matter what," said Charles, holding nothing but sincerity in his eyes. Y/n let out a few tears she didn't know she had been holding in. "How are you so sure things will work out? How do you know we're not going to wake up in a year or two's time and realize how big of a mistake this was? And how things would have been better had we let them be just the way they were? How?" Y/n questioned Charles. "I don't, and I can't be sure that this will work out," said Charles. Taking a step forward, he held onto Y/n's hand before continuing, "But I know that you're worth the risk. I had to learn it the long way," he said with a smirk, upon which Y/n smacked his arm. "Charles!" she said in a tone of warning. "I'm sorry, mon amour, but you should know, if the world was going to end tomorrow, you'd be the only person I would want to spend the night with. No matter what happens I want you, Y/n. You're worth the risk," said Charles.

No, there wouldn't be a reason why We would even have to say goodbye

"Are you sure about this, Charles," said Y/n as she looked at him. "I'm more than sure, mon amour," said Charles, his eyes gleaming with nothing but sincerity and love. And so Y/n nodded her head. "Yes," she said as she looked at the boy kneeling in front of her. Jumping up in joy, Charles let out a scream, "She said yes!" All of a sudden, their friends and family came out from where they were hiding, all excited to congratulate the couple on their engagement. Y/n was pulled into an embrace by none other than her best friend, "You knew, didn't you?" she asked. "Of course I knew, who do you think helped him pick out that ring," said Arthur, still hugging her. "I'm happy for you," he said as he pulled away. "Me too," Y/n said smiling up at him.

As Y/n looked at Charles, she knew no matter her fears and doubts, she would never regret this decision—ever.

...

[likea-silhouette]

Tied Together - ex bf!Harry Styles blurb

cw: mention of past relationship

word count: 2k

summary: Ever since you broke things off with Harry, you felt a massive feeling of guilt and hatred towards yourself for allowing such a trivial thing to come between the both of you. Now, all you had were your daydreams of him. What happens, in the present day, when you attend one of Harry's concerts and mix your daydreams with the reality of him being in front of you again. Inspired by the song Someone Else & Jesus by Ricky Manning

Sometimes I have this fantasy.

That one day I’ll get a knock on my door and it’s you with your arms outstretched and the widest, most infectious grin on your face.

I’d run into your arms with an exasperated cry of your name as I bury myself in your scent that envelopes your clothed chest and makes my stomach flutter. I feel as if I’m home.

It’s almost like I can smell you now, but that would be impossible amongst the thousands of sweaty, screaming bodies that are currently admiring you on a stage for the world to see and adore. 

As I briefly come back to reality, I smile to myself, watching you from the side of the stage as you do what you were clearly born to do with your life for the millions who know you’re a dime a dozen.

However, in my head, it’s just you, me, and the love that we once tended to religiously. In my mind, you’d whisper to me in that all too familiar accent, “Sorry, that I'm dropping in without warning, I've just missed you so much,” and I’d smile as if I knew this was always how it was meant to be with us. We were always meant to be so deeply tied together, yet in the real world, we couldn’t have been further apart. I shake my head and allow my ears to take in the screams and loud music that my brain had somehow filtered out in order to bring me to this space inside of my head where I went way more often than I’d like to admit. I wonder if he ever thinks of me as I think of him in a daydream that reflects our past. How he used to play me all of his new songs or tell me about his coffee order from the local coffee shop that day. The smallest things are the ones that bear the greatest weight on my heart because I crave them so so deeply, yet they are so fucking far away. That’s why I have this space inside my head that preserves a version of me and Harry that I would crawl on my hands and knees to obtain again in the real world. However, in my fantasy, I wouldn’t have to crawl to revive our relationship. Instead, we’d both have a proper laugh as we saw how inevitable it is that we would be back together again on my doorstep, because why wouldn’t it be? We are irrevocably chemical after all. Tied by a string that can’t be cut or stomped on. But instead, I left. I told Harry I couldn’t do this anymore - the touring, the months and months apart from one another. It was eating me up from the inside out and I thought that this was what he and I needed. If I just completely cut down our love that had grown into the prettiest maple tree, then eventually I would be okay. That I would heal and so would he. Except it never happened. Sure, things got easier, but I never stopped loving him no matter how many bodies I tried to use to replace him with. Now, Harry and I were strangers and he had been intertwined with other partners, and I was happy for him for that. Truthfully, I was. Harry was completely broken when I broke off our relationship. My best friend and Harry’s sister Gemma kept me in tune with how he was doing, but only because every time I talked to her, which was often, I would insist on asking if he was okay. Years later, I still did this very thing. That right there should’ve told me that what I did was the biggest regret I would make in my entire life. Now look at him - he’s touring the world again and making music that matures with every piece he creates. He’s dressing in a way that shows off how inevitably comfortable he is with himself and I couldn’t have wished more for him…except that he does this with me still by his side. I’m selfish, I know. But it’s foolish, isn’t it? I’m going to my 9-5 job and eating take-out in front of my TV on Friday nights while he’s doing all of this with his life. I am the one who lost out on so fucking much and, the fact that I did this on my own accord is the hardest pill I will ever have to swallow for the rest of my life. Especially when Harry was innocent in the matter, having done absolutely nothing wrong as a partner.

Regardless, I couldn’t be more proud of H for finding himself and those who love him - even if it means others inhabiting his heart like I wanted to again. He deserved love more than anyone because he gives it with everything he has and finding that genuine of a human is rare, yet what did I do with it? I broke it. All because I was young and I thought that long-distance relationships could never work. All because my anxieties ate away at me as I thought of the worst-case scenarios for what or who he was doing while out on tour in my absence. I placed my own insecurities on him and that isn’t fair to either of us. Now, I’m hurting in the process and I hurt him too. How stupid could I have been?

Suddenly, Harry’s voice rang through the entire arena as he addressed the crowd in between songs. Just the tone of his voice sent chills down my arms and spine and brought me, once again, out of my daydream. I watched as he interacted with those in the crowd - they didn’t know how lucky they had it. Being able to hold his attention and be graced with the things running through his mind that eventually left his mouth was such a privilege. I can’t believe I let that very thing slide through my fingers all because of my own stupidity. Harry never wanted me to break up with him. He pleaded with me on the street saying, “We can work this out. I’ll quit. I’ll do whatever it takes. I can’t lose you”, but I couldn’t let him give up his dream and love in life just because it was something I, at the time, couldn’t get accustomed to. This is why I kept telling him as a way to pacify his tears, “This is for the best for both of us” - except I failed to mention that I’m no psychic, merely an insecure girl who allowed her thoughts to weigh more heavily in her chest than the love she had with him. I wish I could talk to that girl again. Warn her that he was it for her. That he was and would be everything she would ever need. Tell her that their love was strong enough to get through anything and that her mind was the one creating wars, not Harry.

Suddenly, I felt Gemma’s elbow poking into my rib just before she whispered in my ear, “He just looked at you.” Quickly, maybe a little too quickly, my eyes moved in Harry’s direction, only to find him just beginning to sing the next song with his eyes very much closed and his hands shaking as they gripped the microphone stand. “I promise you, babe. He looked right at you. Nearly looked like he pissed himself.” There I was again - missing those vital moments in life because I couldn’t get out of the make-believe inside my head.

But-god damn-in my head, it was everything I wanted and more. How could I resist? In my head, Harry watches me do the most mindless of tasks with a smile on his face and when I’d catch him, as I did every time, I’d give his knee a playful tap. He’d respond by wrapping his arms around me and whispering sweet nothings and thanks that said how happy he was that we figured it out and finally found each other once again and that this time it would be different because we were older and wiser. That’s how love is supposed to go, isn’t it? If you truly love someone, then you always find them again. Yet, why did it feel impossible to find Harry again?

I’d like to give up this hide-and-seek chase with love and instead have a kid running around our shared flat who looks like Harry and has his deep emerald eyes that remind me of him every time I look at the being we created together. But instead, I left all because I allowed my brain to tell me what was fact and fiction. Suddenly, the whiff of Harry’s scent filled my nostrils yet again, except this time it was extremely strong. It almost felt real.

I rapidly blinked my eyes and allowed the reality in front of me to come into crystal clear view. What I saw, made my mouth hang agape. Not even three feet away from me - there he was in the flesh, not just in my memories. Harry was shaking hands with a few crew members in all black as he expressed his gratitude while wiping a white towel through his sweat-dampened hair. He had clearly just finished his show and was readying himself back into his regular, non-stage life. And then his eyes met mine. “Told you he saw you”, Gemma muffled from the corner of her mouth at me as she watched the interaction of past lovers now meeting in the present. I couldn’t help the smile that graced my lips the closer he got because this was real. He was so fucking real. It wasn’t one of my far-fetched daydreaming spells, it was Harry, standing directly in front of me with a heaving chest as he tried to regain his composure after putting on a show.

Soon, he was standing directly in front of me with a matching mouth that also hung slightly open. “Hi,” I said after several seconds of the both of us staring at each other with goddamn identical stars in our eyes and wide-spread smiles. At first, Harry didn’t say anything. His eyes simply searched along my face. Taking it in - deciphering if this was reality or one of his own daydreams that he always thought to be fictitious and ridiculous to even be picturing. Yet, here you were. Here you both were. Suddenly, Harry’s arms wrapped around you and you didn’t care about the fact that the sweat from his clothes was quickly morphing into the sweat on both of your clothes. You didn’t care that it had been years and years of pain and missing him because right now, you had him where you had been craving him the most - in your arms. Everything felt worth it just for this moment, whether it lasted for just tonight or for the rest of eternity.

Harry squeezed me even tighter in his arms until eventually releasing but still maintaining a gentle touch as he let our fingertips just briefly kiss one another.

“I’ve missed you so fucking much. You have no idea.”

I shook my head because, actually- “I think I do. I’ve missed you too Harry.”

From that moment I felt something that I hadn’t felt in a long time when it came to Harry and I. It was positive and even excitement.

It was hope.