#it's okay to need to watch something twice! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

m34tthews · 17 hours ago

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“man child — why you always come running to me?”

summary — sometimes it feels like jack would fall apart without you. from your constant nagging to your "excessive" organizing, you’re the one holding everything together. but one night, you reach your breaking point and finally take control, letting him know just how much you’ve been holding it all together.

word count — 9k

warnings — smut. minors dni. dom-sub. subby!jack

an — a short one-shot because i've had man child on repeat since it dropped.

masterlist

you didn't know jack hughes’ girlfriend meant you signed up to be a full-time project manager, therapist, and laundry fairy — but here you were, mid-april, deep in the throes of playoff season, perched in the wags' box at prudential center with the other girlfriends and wives. wrapped in a black-blue devils jacket two sizes too big (jack’s, obviously; it always was), she nursed a paper cup of tea that had long gone cold.

"if i have to explain to nico one more time where we keep the tupperware..." one of the girls groaned, laughter bubbling up like champagne on a short fuse.

"at least nico puts leftovers away," another shot back. "jesper acts like the fridge is a suggestion."

they all laughed — light and easy, the familiar rhythm of women who loved men that sometimes needed mothering.

y/n smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. she tucked her hands into her sleeves, eyes tracking jack as he skated warm-up laps, mouthguard dangling half out of his mouth like a kid who’d never been taught better. all energy and ambition and brilliance — but still somehow the same boy who left socks everywhere and thought “i’ll do it later” was enough to suffice.

"you okay?" luke’s girlfriend, nudged her gently.

"yeah," y/n said, watching jack high-five a teammate. "just tired."

and she was. tired in that bone-deep way that didn’t go away with a nap. tired of being the one who refilled the shampoo, who folded his laundry when he left it crumpled in the dryer, who texted the handyman and kept oat milk stocked in the fridge.

they’d moved in together a few months ago, and somewhere between unpacking boxes and colour-coding the closet, she’d realized jack didn’t so much help build their home as simply live in it — comfortably, expectantly, like it would always be warm and waiting.

he wasn’t cruel. never that. he kissed her forehead on his way to morning skate and brought her favorite smoothie back from practice. he meant well. he always meant well.

but meaning well didn’t scrub the bathroom or remember anniversaries or stop him from asking, “baby, where’s my gear?” when she was already juggling six other things.

later, after the game — a win, jack grinning under all that sweat and adrenaline like a kid who’d just been told christmas was coming twice — they went home. he kicked off his sneakers at the door, shedding clothes like breadcrumbs. she trailed behind, picking them up, almost without thinking.

"that goal in the third was amazing," she said.

he beamed. "you saw that?"

"of course i saw that. i’m always watching."

and maybe it was that — the simple, offhand admission — that made something shift inside her chest. because she was always watching. always anticipating. always fixing.

"hey, did you move my charger?" he called from the bedroom, voice muffled.

"no. i haven’t touched it."

"are you sure? because i—"

"jack." she stopped in the hallway, pulse a little too quick. "can you just... look for it yourself this time?"

silence. then a sheepish, "uh… yeah. sure. sorry."

she let out a slow breath. not angry. not exactly. but something close, simmering under her ribs.

he didn’t say anything else.

maybe it wasn’t about the charger. maybe it never was. maybe it was about the slow, constant drip of being needed in ways that didn’t feel equal. the way she’d become his second brain. or how he always said “thanks baby” but never once paused to ask if she was okay.

that night, she crawled into bed and faced the wall. jack slipped in behind her, warm and blissfully unaware, curling around her like always. his hand landed on her hip, gentle and familiar.

"i love you," he mumbled into her hair.

she hesitated. "i love you too."

but it sounded different tonight. like maybe she was finally realizing that holding someone together wasn’t the same as being held.

and maybe — just maybe — tomorrow, she’d stop picking up the socks.

the apartment was quieter than usual. the hum of the dishwasher was the only sound in the kitchen as y/n unloaded the dishes, the ceramic plates clinking softly against each other. she didn’t realize how much she noticed the little things until now — the way jack had left his gym bag in the middle of the hallway again, as if the floor were his personal closet. or how his boots had been sitting by the front door for three days, still caked in salt and snow, because someone (her) had to keep them clean so they wouldn’t ruin the hardwood.

she sighed and rubbed her temple, trying to push the frustration down.

jack had left early for a morning skate, and she hadn’t said much to him. she didn’t want to, because right now, everything about their routine felt like one big, unspoken transaction — like she was the one keeping the scorecard while he just... played the game.

as she moved through the apartment, it became almost comical how many little things there were to pick up. the coffee table was littered with receipts, a half-empty water bottle, and—yup, there it was—his practice jersey, still draped over the arm of the couch, hanging like it had been discarded without a second thought.

jack didn’t mean to do it. jack always meant well.

but she was tired of meaning well. tired of being the one who caught everything that slipped through the cracks.

later that evening, after a post-game dinner with the team and their families, they walked in together through the door of their apartment. jack was laughing about something one of the guys said, his easy smile lighting up the room. but when he stepped inside, his expression shifted just slightly. he saw the boots by the door and winced.

“oh, sorry,” he mumbled, bending down to pick them up. "didn't mean to leave those there."

y/n didn’t say anything right away. she just watched him as he slid them neatly against the wall.

“it’s fine,” she replied, a little too flatly. "just... next time, try to remember them, okay?"

jack’s gaze flickered to hers, something like uncertainty flashing across his face. but then, like he always did, he brushed it off with a grin.

“you got it, baby. promise."

the cycle continued as usual. the next day, they woke up to another busy morning. she was running late for work, and jack had overslept after a late practice. when she came out of the bathroom, getting ready to leave, she found him still lounging in bed, his phone in hand, scrolling through social media.

"you’re gonna miss your skate," she said, already halfway to the door.

"nah, i’ve got time,” jack muttered without looking up, his thumb scrolling idly. “you’re always the early one between us. you go ahead to work. i love you.”

she stared at him, feeling the familiar weight settle in her chest. it was a small thing, maybe, but it was one of the thousand things she picked up on every day. he wasn’t lazy—not by a long shot. but the way he assumed everything would just be ready for him. how he never really worried about being on time, about managing his own routine.

"jack," she said, her tone soft but firm, “you’ve gotta take responsibility for your schedule too. i can’t always be the one to tell you what time it is.”

he paused, looking up at her finally. there was a flicker of irritation in his eyes, but it quickly faded into the usual guilt.

"yeah, you're right. sorry, baby." he sighed, sitting up, his hand running through his messy hair. “i’ll get better at it.”

but it wasn’t better.

the following evening, y/n was back from a client meeting when she walked into the kitchen and found that once again, jack had forgotten to put away the leftovers. not only that — he'd left them out all afternoon. the plate was cold now, the food congealed in a sad, half-eaten pile.

she closed her eyes for a second, counting to five. she didn’t know why she was getting so worked up. but there it was again, that same feeling — the creeping weight of being the one who always had to fix things. had to manage them. had to make everything right.

just once, she wanted him to take the initiative. to clean up the mess before she had to remind him.

jack walked in from the living room then, eyes wide. “you okay?” he asked, his voice tentative, like he could sense the shift in the air.

“yeah. i’m fine,” she said, her voice just a little too sharp.

but then she couldn’t help herself. the words were out before she could stop them.

“jack, why do i always have to clean up after you?” she bit her lip, trying to rein in the frustration that was bubbling over. "why can’t you just—"

he stepped forward, his hands raised in surrender, but his tone was defensive. “baby, i’m not trying to be an ass, okay? i’m not. i’m just... i get caught up in everything, and then i forget. it’s not like i’m doing it on purpose.”

she crossed her arms, her heart pounding in her chest. “but it is on purpose, jack. not in the way you think. it’s the way you just leave things for me. over and over. it’s like i’m the one holding everything together while you are just... here.”

his face softened, guilt creeping into his expression as he realized the weight of what she was saying.

“i didn’t know you felt that way,” he murmured, his voice small. “i really didn’t.”

she shook her head, the exhaustion settling over her like a cloud. “that’s the problem. you never do. i’m the one picking up the pieces every time. i’m the one who has to make sure things get done, that everything’s taken care of.” she paused, then added, quieter, “it’s not fair, jack.”

he stood there for a long moment, speechless, as if trying to figure out how to process her words.

finally, he took a step toward her, and this time, he didn’t brush it off. didn’t throw an apology out like a quick fix. instead, he reached for her hand, holding it gently.

“i’m sorry,” he said, and his voice was steady, the sincerity there in every word. “i’ll do better. i’ll take more responsibility. i didn’t realize you were carrying so much.”

she nodded, though the tension in her chest hadn’t quite loosened. maybe this was the start of something. maybe he could really change. but she wasn’t sure yet.

but she needed to believe that he could.

the apartment was quiet again. jack had been gone for most of the day, as usual, but she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that things were... off. that conversation they had wasn’t just a one-off; it had been hanging in the air ever since, unresolved, lingering like smoke.

y/n sat at the kitchen table, staring at her phone, scrolling absentmindedly through social media. her mind kept drifting back to jack — how easy it had been to forgive him, even after everything. it was like a reflex now, to give him the benefit of the doubt. he didn’t mean to. he was just... jack.

and that’s what always got her. the way he grinned that stupid, perfect grin. the way his brown eyes sparkled when he was excited about something. or the way his voice dropped low when he murmured her name in that particular way that made her feel like she was the only thing in the world.

jack was beautiful, in every sense of the word. from the way his muscles flexed when he skated, to the way his curls always fell just a little too perfectly over his forehead. even when he left his sneakers in the middle of the floor or his dirty socks piled up on the couch, she could never stay mad at him for long.

it happened again the next morning.

jack was lounging in the living room, his legs stretched out in front of him, scrolling through his phone with an easy smile. when he looked up and saw her standing in the doorway, he gave her one of those grins — wide, disarming, playful.

"you still mad at me?" he asked, voice light, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his tone. his hands rested casually on the arm of the couch, as if he wasn’t really worried about her answer.

y/n crossed her arms, feeling the heat rise in her chest. she wanted to be annoyed, to remind him of all the things he still hadn’t done, all the ways he still wasn’t fully present.

but as she stood there, watching him — his broad shoulders, his chest stretching the fabric of his shirt, those eyes of his — she found herself faltering. god, why did he have to look so good? why did it feel like every time she was about to say something, he had a way of melting all of her frustration away?

"i’m not mad," she said, her voice softer than she meant. her arms fell to her sides, and she stepped closer to him, the pull of his presence too strong to resist.

jack’s eyes flickered with relief, his smile turning playful as he leaned back on the couch. “you sure? because you look a little mad.”

y/n sighed, fighting back a smile. “you’re impossible,” she muttered, but her words held no heat.

“nah, i’m just... charming,” he said, winking as he patted the seat beside him. “come sit.”

she rolled her eyes, but it was half-hearted. as she sat down next to him, he stretched an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. his scent — woodsy and fresh — wrapped around her lap a blanket, and before she knew it, she was leaning into him, her frustration fading into the background once again.

and that’s when it happened. that moment. the way he tilted her chin up gently, eyes soft with an apology that never quite made it past his playful grin.

he kissed her. slowly at first, his lips pressing against hers with a tenderness that always had a way of disarming her. when he deepened the kiss, his hand slid to the back of her neck, tugging her closer.

everything inside of her screamed that this wasn’t fair — that they were avoiding the real conversation — but in the heat of his kiss, all her thoughts scattered like autumn leaves.

later that night, jack pulled her into their bedroom. she had been giving him the cold shoulder, since dinner, when he didn’t even flinch to clean up after. she continued to refuse to break her silence, but the moment he stepped into the room, something shifted.

“y/n…” he said, his voice soft but sure, his eyes studying her face with that familiar, unspoken apology.

before she could respond, he was already closing the distance between them, his hand cupping her cheek. his touch was warm, gentle, and when his lips met hers again, this time it wasn’t playful — it was raw, sincere. he was saying everything without words, and she could feel it in the way his hands roamed over her body, tracing the familiar paths he knew so well.

it wasn’t just about the sex. it never had been. it was the way he knew exactly what she needed without asking. the way he took control, even when he was the one who had messed up, in a way that made her forget her frustration and let herself be swept up in him.

his kisses moved to her neck, soft and languid, as he slowly undressed her, his movements almost reverent, like she was something precious.

y/n closed her eyes, feeling the pull between them, the way his touch made her heart race and her thoughts blur. it was hard to stay mad at him when he made her feel like the center of his universe.

his hands slid over her skin, and she melted into him, all the tension and frustration of the past few days evaporating as he whispered against her skin. "i’m sorry... i’ll do better, i promise."

there it was. the promises again. but she was too caught up in his orbit to reprimand him.

she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. his touch always made everything else fade away. and she hated herself a little for it, because she knew — he knew — that this was how he could win her back every time.

but tonight, as their bodies moved together, she realized something. he was sorry, in his own way. but was he ready to change? or was he just apologizing because he knew what she needed to hear to make the anger disappear?

the next morning, she woke up alone. jack had already gone to practice, but there was a note on the pillow next to her, written in his familiar scrawl: "i’ll make it up to you, baby."

she stared at it for a moment, wondering how long the cycle would continue. how many more mornings would she wake up to apologies and tender touches before the reality of it all — the real work — would start?

the charm and the kisses were enough to make her forget, for a while. but for how long?

y/n felt like she was dragging herself through the days. it started with a sore throat, then escalated quickly into a full-blown cold — the kind that made her body ache and her head feel like it was trapped in a fog. jack had been on the road for a couple of days, and she wasn’t about to bother him with her stupid little cold. he was busy with the team, doing his thing, living his dream. no need to pile her issues onto him.

but it was harder than she expected.

she spent the last couple of days in bed, barely able to get up. the apartment was silent except for the occasional sound of cars passing by outside. no one was there to bring her soup, no one to fluff her pillows or check on her when she got up to grab a glass of water. she was used to taking care of herself, but this time, it felt different. more exhausting.

by the time jack finally returned, she was still lying on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, tissues scattered on the coffee table in front of her. she barely had the energy to move when he walked in through the door, dropping his bag carelessly by the front door, his usual loud “i’m home!” echoing through the empty apartment.

y/n barely lifted her head from the pillow, feeling the wave of frustration already start to creep up her chest.

jack walked into the living room, his eyes scanning the space. he cocked his head. “you okay?”

"yeah,” she muttered, though her voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper. “i’ve come down with something.”

he stared at her for a moment, then looked around the apartment, his gaze flicking from the scattered tissues to the still-dirty dishes from last night. he made a face.

“you’ve been in bed all day?” he asked, his voice carrying a slight judgment she hadn’t expected. “the place looks like a mess.”

y/n blinked, confused for a moment. was he serious?

“i’m sick, jack,” she said, sitting up a little, her throat burning from the effort. she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “i haven’t been able to get out of bed for two days.”

jack didn’t seem to get it. he shrugged a little and gestured to the disarray around the apartment. “yeah, but you could’ve at least picked up a little. i mean... it’s not like you didn’t have time.”

her chest tightened. she could feel the frustration rising, the sharp edge of everything she’d been holding in for the past few days coming to a head.

“are you serious right now?” her voice was louder than she meant it to be, and the sound of it seemed to shock even her. jack froze in place, but she didn’t back down. “you’ve been gone for days, and i’m here sick as hell, and all you can do is complain about the house being a mess?”

he opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off.

“you don’t get it, jack. i have to do everything. i’m the one keeping the apartment clean, making sure your stuff’s put away, taking care of you — and when you’re gone, i’m left to handle it all on my own. and when you come home, all you can do is complain about the things that don’t matter." she took a shaky breath, the tears welling up despite herself.

jack stood there, staring at her, caught off guard by her outburst. his mouth opened and closed like he was trying to process what she was saying.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice softening. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think... I didn’t know you were feeling like this.”

“you never know,” she whispered, leaning back against the couch, exhausted from both the fever and the fight. “that’s the problem.” she wiped at her eyes, trying to get a hold of herself.

jack’s face softened immediately, his usual easy confidence slipping away. he took a tentative step closer to her, his voice filled with genuine concern now.

“y/n, i’m sorry. i really am,” he said, his tone different — quieter, more vulnerable. “i didn’t know you were sick all week. i wish you told me. i don’t want to be that guy who... makes everything harder for you.”

she could feel the familiar ache in her chest when he looked at her like that — his eyes wide, apologetic, like a puppy who knew it messed up. the charm was undeniable. and it always seemed to work on her.

“it’s not just about the house, jack. it’s about... everything. it’s about how i’m always the one holding it together while you... while you just get to go play hockey and leave me to manage everything else.” her voice cracked, and she hated how vulnerable she sounded, but it was the truth

he crouched down in front of her, looking up at her with those wide eyes, his hand gently cupping her knee. “you’re right,” he said quietly. “i’ve been selfish. i’ve been so caught up in my own stuff that i didn’t how i’m burdening you”

y/n felt a small, bitter laugh escape her. “you only see it when i yell at you and you pout like a kicked puppy,” she murmured, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

“i’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice so earnest now that she couldn’t stay mad at him. not really. “i’ll do better, i promise. just... please don’t stay mad at me.” he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

y/n stared at him for a long moment. the words were familiar. he’d apologized a million times, said the same things over and over. but this time felt different.

she sighed, letting the frustration melt away, if only for a moment. “you always say that,” she whispered, shaking her head. “but you never change.”

“i will change,” he said, his voice low, sincere. “just give me a chance.”

she stared at him for a beat, wondering if this time was actually the time he would do better. but even as the doubt lingered, she could feel the tension in her shoulders ease.

she couldn’t help it. she wanted to believe him. she always did.

“fine,” she said softly. “but next time, just... help out, jack. help out before i have to ask.”

he nodded, pulling her into his arms gently. “i will. i swear.”

the warmth of his body against hers as he pulled her close was like a balm to the tension she’d been carrying. he kissed the top of her head, his fingers threading through her hair as he cradled her against him.

“i’m sorry i wasn’t there when you needed me,” he murmured, voice thick with guilt. “i hate that you were sick and i wasn’t here to take care of you.”

y/n closed her eyes, the comfort of him too soothing to fight. maybe he would change. maybe this time, it would stick.

for now, though, she just let herself be held.

two nights later, they were all squeezed into a corner booth at a warm, bustling italian spot downtown. the kind with paper tablecloths, tiny candles, and waiters who greeted the hughes family like old friends. jack’s parents were in town for the playoffs, treating them all to dinner — luke already halfway through the breadbasket, jack grinning like he he had something up his sleeve.

ellen was fussing over the menu. “i still don’t understand why you won’t try the eggplant, jack. it’s good for you!”

“mom,” jack groaned, leaning back so dramatically he nearly knocked into the waiter. “if i’m not eating it now, i’m never eating it.”

“it’s actually good here,” y/n offered, just to tease, elbowing him lightly.

he gave her a betrayed look. “whose side are you on?”

“the side of expanding your child-like palate, apparently.”

luke snorted. “she’s right, bro.”

jack rolled his eyes, but under the table, his hand slipped onto her thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles.

they ordered — pasta for everyone, plus calamari and garlic bread “for the table,” which meant luke would demolish most of it. they were halfway through the appetizer when jack suddenly cleared his throat, announcing he has something to say (as always)

“so… i was thinking,” he started, glancing around like he was about to announce a business deal. “we should get a dog.”

y/n almost choked on her wine. “a what?”

“a dog!” he said, perking up. “like a little golden retriever or a lab. wouldn’t that be awesome?”

ellen lit up immediately. “oh, that would be so sweet! i’d come visit all the time.”

jack leaned back, smirking at y/n like he’d already won. “see? mom loves the idea.”

she fixed him with a look. “ellen, please tell your son he needs to learn how to put his socks in the hamper before he’s responsible for a living creature.”

ellen burst out laughing. “he still doesn’t pick up after himself?”

“ellen,” y/n said gravely, lowering her voice like she was sharing state secrets, “your son left a protein shake on the windowsill for two weeks. i walked in and thought something died.”

luke nearly spit out his water, coughing as he laughed. jim was shaking his head, trying to hide a grin behind his napkin.

jack’s ears went bright pink. “okay, one time—”

“one time too many,” she cut in, smirking. “besides, who’s going to walk it? or train it? i already do all the grocery shopping, call the maintenance man, keep track of your game schedule and your laundry.”

“hey!” jack sputtered. “i help.”

“like when you said you’d clean the bathroom and just sprayed windex everywhere because it ‘smelled clean’?”

“now that. that was innovative.”

luke wiped tears from his eyes. “you’re hopeless.”

ellen patted y/n’s hand, eyes sparkling. “thank you for keeping him in line. i tried for twenty three years, but some things never stick.”

jack scowled. “you’re all traitors.”

but even as he pouted, he squeezed y/n’s knee under the table, thumb pressing gently like he needed the reassurance. she rolled her eyes but laced her fingers with his, giving him a squeeze back.

“maybe in a year,” she relented softly, meeting his hopeful eyes. “when you prove you can keep track of your socks.”

he lit up instantly. “deal. i’m gonna get so good at chores you won’t even believe it.”

jim snorted. “i’ll believe it when i see it.”

ellen raised her glass. “to jack learning how to be functional adult”

everyone laughed, even jack, who lifted his own glass with a sigh. “yeah, yeah. ye of little faith .”

under the table, he leaned closer, whispering just for her, “thank you, baby. for everything”

she smiled, nudging his shoulder. “someone’s gotta make sure you survive. might as well be me.”

and he just looked at her, eyes soft, like even if he didn’t have the dog yet, he already had everything else he needed.

by the time they got home, the city was quiet and cool, the kind of april night that smelled like rain on pavement. jack unlocked the front door, pushed it open, and waited for her to step inside first — dramatic gentleman mode, as always.

“after you, traitor.”

y/n snorted, kicking off her shoes and heading straight for the kitchen to put away the leftover dessert ellen had forced them to take home. “still mad i told your mom about the protein shake?”

he shut the door and followed behind her like a shadow. “oh, i’m furious,” he said, dropping his keys on the counter. “you snitched. in front of my whole family.”

“well, quinn wasn't there and i've already told on you enough to him. and you brought up a dog. you knew exactly what you were doing.” she opened the fridge, placing the tiramisu inside. “and i told the truth. if you want a dog, start by not treating your sneakers like floor art.”

he wrapped his arms around her from behind, chest pressed to her back. “i’m still getting revenge,” he murmured, lips brushing just behind her ear.

she raised an eyebrow, amused. “oh yeah? what’re you gonna do? forget to rinse your dishes again?”

he smirked against her neck. “nah. i’m gonna make you pay for telling my mom i can’t clean.”

“jack—”

“maybe i’ll tease you until you’re the one begging,” he whispered, voice low and smug. “maybe i’ll make you say you’re sorry for making me look bad at dinner.”

she rolled her eyes, but her breath hitched — because of course it did. he always knew what buttons to push.

“you do a fine job of looking bad all on your own,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

he grinned. “true. but that's why i have you. we balance eachother out.”

“unfortunately.” she turned in his arms, tugging his hoodie by the collar. “you’re lucky i do.”

he tilted his head, lips hovering just over hers. “lucky you love me,” he corrected. “because otherwise, you’d be in big trouble for slander.”

she laughed against his mouth. “baby, if i really wanted to slander you, i’d tell them about the time you almost blew up our microwave because you microwaved aluminum in a plastic container.”

“that was one time!” he groaned, head dropping to her shoulder in embarrassment.

he groaned into her neck, “you’re here to humble me, aren’t you?,” his hands were already sliding under the hem of her shirt, thumbs brushing warm circles into her skin.

“mhm, says the boy plotting revenge.”

“not plotting anymore,” he murmured, voice husky. “your punishment is pretty much decided.”

“oh yeah?” she smirked, trying to hold her ground, but it faltered when he pressed her back against the counter, hips snug against hers. “what’re you gonna do—”

he cut her off with a kiss. greedy, all-consuming, the kind that made her knees weaken. she clutched at his shoulders, trying to remember why she was annoyed at all — the socks, the tupperware, the protein shake science experiment — but it all blurred under the heat of his mouth.

“come on,” he whispered against her lips. “come to bed with me.”

“jack—”

“please.” his forehead rested against hers, eyes blown wide, almost boyish again. “need you.”

that did her in.

he tugged her hand, leading her down the hall, their laughter tangled with breathless kisses. by the time they reached the bedroom, she was already fumbling with the hem of his hoodie, giggling when he yanked it over his head and nearly knocked her off balance.

“careful, idiot,” she whispered.

he just grinned, hands settling on her hips as he backed her toward the bed. “not my fault you make me clumsy.”

the playful edge faded the second she hit the mattress, his mouth trailing down her neck, hands everywhere at once — anchoring her, adoring her, worshiping her.

and just like that, all her quiet resentments melted. every sock on the floor, every forgotten chore — gone, irrelevant, lost under the press of his chest and the way he groaned her name like a prayer.

because in moments like these, she wasn’t the girl picking up his pieces. she was just his. wanted, cherished, needed so deeply it made her head spin.

later, tangled in sheets with his heartbeat thrumming under her palm, she whispered, almost shy, “still mad at me?”

jack smiled into his skin. “not even a little.”

because she’d remember all his shortcomings tomorrow. but tonight, in this bed, with him breathing her in like he couldn’t get enough — she only felt the good parts. and god, there were so many good parts.

it was early afternoon when she finished getting ready — slipping into a soft, silky dress for a charity fundraiser with the other wives and girlfriends. nothing over-the-top, but the colour made her skin glow, the neckline dipping just enough that she almost second-guessed it.

jack didn’t give her the chance.

“jesus,” he muttered when he walked into the bedroom, stopping dead in his tracks. his eyes raked over her like he was physically hungry. “baby, come here let me look at you.”

she rolled her eyes, heat prickling at the base of her neck. “jack, i’m already running late—”

he crowded her against the dresser anyway, hands sliding over her waist, thumbs stroking the fabric like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to hold her or peel it off. “you can’t just walk around looking like that. it’s illegal.”

“it’s literally a charity event,” she laughed, trying to twist away, but he only grinned and ducked his head, lips ghosting her throat.

“then it’s illegal to be that hot at a charity event without me”

she melted — for a second. then gently pushed at his chest. “jack, stop. i have to go.”

he pouted but didn’t let go, arms wrapping tighter. “fine, fine. where’s it at again?”

“the rooftop at the four seasons. you’d know if you checked your calendar.”

he just hummed, nosing along her collarbone.

she let out a little breath, trying not to lose focus. “what’re you doing today?”

“nothing, really. might play chel with luke and trevor later. why?”

her stomach tensed. she smoothed her hands over his shoulders, voice careful. “i just… remembered we’re behind on a few things. could you maybe run to the store? we’re out of oat milk and trash bags. and sunday cleaning — could you at least get started on the bathroom and vacuum the living room?”

jack pulled back just enough to grin down at her. “of course, baby. got it. don’t even worry. i’ll be so productive, you’ll come home and think a maid service broke in.”

she studied him, searching for something — maybe real commitment, or even a flicker of guilt that she had to ask at all. instead, he was just smiling at her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, hands still tracing little shapes on her hips.

she sighed. “i’m serious, jack. i don’t want to come back and have to do it all myself.”

“i know, i know.” he leaned in and kissed her, slow and sweet, like it was enough to solve everything. “trust me, okay? i got it. promise.”

she tried to relax into it, let herself believe him. because he looked so earnest, and god, it was so easy to fall for that soft-eyed smile.

but as she grabbed her purse and left, her chest was tight with something she couldn’t quite name — like maybe she already knew how this would end.

the rooftop was lit up with tiny golden bulbs strung overhead, the city skyline soft and blurred in the distance. waiters wove through with trays of prosecco and delicate hors d'oeuvres, and laughter floated on the warm evening breeze.

y/n stood with a cluster of the other wives and girlfriends, her glass cool in her hand, shoulders finally relaxing a little. it felt good to be out, dressed up, surrounded by people who understood the strange orbit their lives revolved around.

"so how’s jack? still leaving a trail of clothes from the door to the bedroom like bread crumbs?" megan asked, eyes sparkling with mischief.

y/n laughed, shaking her head. "honestly? he’s been… pretty good, actually. like, surprisingly. i think i scared him straight after i snitched to ellen at dinner last week."

they all cracked up, nearly in unison.

"my mother-in-law would never side with me," jenna groaned. "if she could, she’d still be cutting the crusts off his sandwiches and ironing his jeans. she looks at me like i’m a war criminal because i told him to pick up after himself."

"god, jack would love that," y/n said, giggling. she took a slow sip of her drink, letting the prosecco fizz sweetly on her tongue.

“although — he’s still working his angles. i have this theory he’s trying to butter me up for a dog. keeps dropping these not-so-subtle hints, like ‘baby, wouldn’t a puppy be so cute on the couch with us?’ meanwhile, i’d just like to not trip over his skates in the hallway.”

"that’s a lot of work," one of the girls said, sympathetic but amused. "but… also kinda nice. i’d go crazy in that house by myself all season if we didn’t have our dog. at least it’s company when they’re on the road."

y/n hummed, nodding. her mind wandered for a moment — to their apartment, to jack’s sneakers by the door, to the way he’d looked at her before she left, so unabashedly in awe like he still couldn’t believe she was his.

"yeah," she admitted softly, half to herself. "he is pretty sweet sometimes. and i think… i don’t know. maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to have something that’s ours, you know?"

the girls all smiled knowingly, a few squeezing her hand. the conversation moved on — trips they were planning, little updates on family back home, which players were secretly terrible cooks — but under it all was this soft, blooming warmth in her chest.

by the time she hugged them all goodbye and stepped into her waiting car, she felt light. maybe even a little giddy. she rested her head against the seat, smiling to herself, suddenly eager to be home.

to see jack, to tell him he’d been on her mind, to let him tug her into his chest and kiss her like she was still that girl from the first night they met.

because for all the socks on the floor and the ways he still had to grow up — he was hers. and tonight, that was enough to make her want to hurry back to him.

once the event wrapped up and she parked in their building garage, she couldn’t wait any longer to see him. she unlocked the door, expecting the usual quiet hum of an apartment halfway cleaned, maybe the faint scent of something cooking, the soft buzz of the vacuum in the living room.

instead, she stepped inside and froze. the place was exactly the way she’d left it. the kitchen counters still cluttered with empty milk cartons, the trash overflowing, the bathroom untouched.

then she heard it — the low murmur of voices from the living room.

peeking around the corner, she saw jack and luke sprawled on the couch, beer cans in hand, laughing like it was game night; the chores she had assigned long forgotten.

jack’s eyes caught hers and immediately went wide — frozen, caught like a kid who just got caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

she opened her mouth, but no words came out. the anger rooted her to the spot, leaving her utterly speechless.

luke cleared his throat awkwardly. “uh… hey, y/n.”

jack didn’t move, didn’t say a word. he was in trouble.

“guess the cleaning’s on hold?” she finally managed, voice tight but low.

jack swallowed hard. “i… i was gonna get to it. i swear. just… needed a minute.”

her jaw clenched. “a minute?"

he shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking to luke, who gave an apologetic shrug.

“i gotta head out,” luke said quickly, standing and grabbing his coat. “don’t wanna get caught in the middle.”

“thanks, luke,” she said flatly as he hurried out.

jack stayed rooted, looking smaller than usual, but she still couldn’t find her voice.

he finally gestured helplessly toward the game console, where a controller rested. “was gonna play some chel… thought maybe after.”

she stalked over, unplugged the console, and looked at him dead on. “shut up.”

jack blinked. “shut up?”

“yes. just. shut. up.”

he did, really did, blinking in surprise. he’d never seen her like this before — silent, rigid, no warmth in her eyes. he slumped into the couch infront of her as she paced.

he stayed there on the couch, looking up at her like he didn’t know if he should stand or shrink into the cushions.

she crossed her arms, pacing once before she rounded on him again. her voice was ice. “so pathetic. you need me to do everything for you, hmm?”

his eyes widened, throat bobbing as he swallowed. “baby, i—”

“can’t do anything for yourself,” she snapped, stepping in closer. her hands went to his shoulders, pushing him back into the couch so she stood over him. “can’t clean. can’t run errands. can’t keep a single promise to me. i have to manage your whole life for you, like i’m your personal assistant.”

he reached for her hips, trying to pull her down onto his lap, but she smacked his hands away so hard the sound cracked in the air.

“you don’t get to touch me,” she hissed.

his mouth fell open. “baby, come on—”

“no. i’m the one in charge. like always. i decide if and when you get to touch me.” she snapped, her voice laced with venom

he swallowed again, hands fisting helplessly at his sides.

she leaned down, voice dropping to a mocking purr as her fingers traced along his jaw, her nails scraping lightly over the stubble.

“stupid boy. can’t do anything. don’t want to do anything but be inside me all day, huh? can’t get a single thought in that pretty head of yours if it isn’t me.”

his breath stuttered out of him in a low, wrecked groan. his eyes fluttered shut for a second, like he couldn’t even bear how much he wanted it. when they opened again, they were dark and blown wide with need, locked helplessly on her face.

“baby…” he breathed, voice hoarse, the word more a plea than anything else. his hands twitched on the couch cushions, like he didn’t dare reach for her again without permission.

she tilted her head, studying him, a cruel little smirk ghosting across her lips. her thumb swept over his bottom lip, dragging slow and deliberate, watching it bounce back when she let go. he sucked in a sharp breath at even that light touch, chest rising like he was struggling to keep himself from falling apart.

“so easy,” she whispered, her mouth brushing just against the corner of his. “you’d let me ruin you right here, wouldn’t you?”

he gave a tiny, desperate nod, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “yeah. fuck — please. whatever you want. i’ll do anything.”

“anything?” she echoed softly, letting her lips ghost along his cheek, down to his jaw, smiling when he shivered under her.

“anything,” he rasped, hands fisting tight again at his sides like he was using every ounce of control not to grab her. “just… please.”

she hovered over his mouth for a breathless beat, letting the anticipation stretch until his lips parted on a quiet, broken gasp.

then she finally kissed him.

hard. messy. her hands threading into his hair, pulling just enough to make him groan. he kissed her back with a desperate, hungry sort of relief, grabbing her waist like he couldn’t help himself even after being told not to.

and she let him — for now — because the way he melted under her, the way he clung to her like he’d fall apart otherwise, made it so painfully clear just how much he needed her to keep him together.

and god help her, she needed it too.

she pulled back just enough to look at him, breath coming fast, her lips swollen from the kiss. jack’s eyes were blown wide, pupils dark with want, mouth parted like he couldn’t quite catch his breath.

his hands hovered at her waist again, tentative now — like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. she could feel him trembling under her, every muscle wound tight, waiting for permission.

“say it,” she whispered, her voice low and commanding. “say you need me.”

“i… fuck, i need you,” he breathed, so earnest it nearly broke her. “need you to tell me what to do. need you to… to take care of me. i’m so fucking lost without you.”

her thumb brushed over his cheek, almost gentle — almost. “yeah, i know. you’d fall apart if i left. don’t even know how to use the vacuum without me.”

he let out a shaky laugh, eyes fluttering closed like he was embarrassed, but he leaned into her touch anyway.

“look at me,” she ordered.

his eyes snapped open at her words. he melted at the heat radiating from her a mix of desire and anger that reached it's boiling point

“good boy,” she murmured, and then she kissed him again — slower this time, deep and possessive, like she was staking her claim. his hands finally settled on her hips again, squeezing like he might die if he couldn’t hold her.

she shifted in his lap, feeling how hard he already was beneath her, and smirked against his mouth. “so easy. so fucking easy for me.”

“only for you,” he groaned, voice raw, forehead dropping to rest against hers. “just… please. don’t stop. don’t—”

“shut up,” she repeated, cutting him off with another searing kiss.

and he did. god, he did — sinking into her, letting her take the lead, every broken promise and messy room forgotten for now under the weight of how desperately he wanted to be hers.

she slowed the kiss, just enough to savor it — to taste the apology he couldn’t quite say, to feel the way he shivered when she dragged her nails lightly up the back of his neck.

his hands were gripping her hips so tight it bordered on painful, trying to ground himself, to prove he still had something to hold onto. but she knew — they both knew — who was really in control here.

when she pulled back, her breath was ragged, her lips slick and swollen. jack’s eyes were dazed, his mouth parted like he was still chasing her even after she’d left it.

“god, look at you,” she whispered, brushing a thumb over his damp bottom lip. “i am the only one who gets to see you like this. completely ruined”

he let out a low, desperate sound. “yeah. fuck — yes. whatever you want. just… please, don’t stop touching me.”

“needy,” she murmured, almost fond, though there was still an edge in it. “pathetic little thing. can’t stand to be without me for a second.”

his hips jerked up under her, unthinking, chasing friction, and he whined when she pressed her palm to his chest to hold him still.

“stay,” she ordered, and he did — trembling under her like he was made of glass.

she leaned down, nipping his jaw, then licking over the sting until he gasped. “good boy. that’s it.”

his hands fluttered at her sides, wanting to roam, wanting to take, but waiting for her to give the word. it sent a sharp thrill through her, how he looked at her like this — totally undone, worshipful, lost.

she rolled her hips slowly against him, and his breath punched out of him in a shudder.

“you feel that?” she whispered against his ear. “that’s all you’re good for. all you want to be good for. just me. just this.”

“fuck,” he rasped, hands clutching at her thighs now like he might fall through the earth if he didn’t anchor himself to her. “yes baby, fuck yes… only you.”

she kissed him again, hard and filthy, swallowing the broken sounds he made. he kissed back with everything he had — teeth, tongue, the desperate flick of his hips — like he needed to prove his devotion in every breath.

when she finally broke away, they were both gasping, foreheads pressed together, sweat starting to bead at her temple.

“you’re mine,” she said low, so close he could feel her words vibrate through him.

“yours,” he promised instantly, eyes blown wide, voice shaking. “always yours.”

she smiled, dark and satisfied, before capturing his mouth again — and this time when he surged up into her, she let him, let them both get lost in it. because right now, in the heat of it, with all his faults and failures laid bare, he was exactly where he was supposed to be — beneath her, wanting nothing more than to give her everything.

she smiled, dark and satisfied, before capturing his mouth again — and this time when he surged up into her, she let him, let him grab at her hips and pull her flush against him like he was starving for it.

his hands roamed greedily now, no longer tentative, sliding up beneath her shirt to feel the heat of her skin. he moaned into her mouth when her nails scraped over his shoulders, bucking up helplessly beneath her.

“fuck, baby… please,” he gasped when they pulled apart for breath, his voice nothing but wrecked devotion.

“please what?” she taunted softly, pressing her forehead to his, their breaths tangling.

“please… just — let me come. let me be good for you,” he choked out. his eyes were wide and glassy, every ounce of cockiness stripped down to this raw, pleading honesty.

she felt her chest tighten, her own pulse thundering as she rocked her hips deliberately against him. he nearly sobbed, clutching her tighter, and when she kissed him again it was slower, deeper, like she was drinking in every shattered sound he made.

somewhere in the blur of it — of soft, filthy words whispered against lips, of his hands gripping her like lifelines, of her laughter breaking through when he cursed under his breath, half-crazed — the last of her anger slipped away.

because here he was, laid bare under her, all his faults and failures on full display, and still looking at her like she was the sun. like he’d do anything, be anything, if it meant keeping her.

and right now, in the heat of it, that was enough.

when the tension finally broke and they collapsed together, tangled and breathless on the couch. when the urgency had finally burned itself out and left them in a tangled, sweaty heap on the couch — she lay draped over him, her cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the frantic pound of his heart start to slow.

jack’s hands stroked aimlessly up and down her back, almost reverent, like he still couldn’t believe she was real, that she’d chosen to stay.

for a while, neither of them spoke. they just lay there tangled up on the couch, her head resting over his heart, feeling it race and then slowly steady beneath her cheek. his hands drifted over her back in slow, aimless patterns, like he couldn’t stand to stop touching her.

she closed her eyes, trying to memorize this — the warmth of him, the soft rise and fall of his chest, the way his breath still caught every so often like he was overwhelmed.

then, in a voice so quiet and rough it cracked straight through her, he whispered, “i’d do anything for you. you know that, right?”

her throat tightened. she lifted her head to look at him, taking in the flushed skin, damp hair curling at his temples, the way his lips were kiss-swollen and parted like he was still catching up to the moment.

his eyes found hers, wide and raw in the low light. “i mean it,” he went on, like he couldn’t keep it inside anymore. “i’ll do better. i promise. i’ll try harder. i’ll… fuck, i’ll grow up. i’ll be the man you need. the one you deserve. because i can’t — i can’t lose you.”

her chest squeezed so tight it almost hurt. because for all his mess, all the ways he made her want to scream and tear her hair out, there was never any doubt how deeply he loved her. it was written all over his face, in every touch, every broken, breathless promise. he loved her recklessly, wholly, with everything he was.

she leaned down and kissed him, slow and lingering, tasting the fear and the hope on his lips.

when she pulled back just enough to speak, her voice shook. “good. because i’m not doing this alone anymore. i swear to god, jack — if you don’t change, if you keep making me carry all of it by myself, i’ll leave.”

his hands came up to cradle her face, thumbs brushing tears she hadn’t even realized had fallen. “it won’t come to that,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “i swear. i swear on everything, i’ll be better. i’ll prove it to you. just… please don’t stop loving me.”

she closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to his, breathing him in like she was trying to fill her lungs with him.

“don’t give me a reason to,” she whispered back.

“i won’t,” he breathed immediately, pulling her down into him like he could keep her there forever. “i promise, baby. i promise.”

and for tonight — with his arms locked around her, his promises soft and desperate against her skin — she let herself believe it. because god, she needed to. and maybe, just maybe, that was enough to keep holding on.

BONUS

the morning light spilled gently through the window when y/n finally stirred, her body still heavy with sleep and the lingering warmth of the night before. she blinked groggily, expecting to find herself alone or maybe jack still tangled up in blankets somewhere on the couch.

instead, she heard the clatter of pans and the faint hiss of the coffee machine.

curious, she shuffled out of their bedroom in her oversized shirt and slippers, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

there he was — jack, standing at the stove, focused and a little awkward, flipping pancakes with the kind of careful concentration usually reserved for practice drills. the kitchen was filled with the rich smell of coffee and something sweet sizzling on the griddle.

“morning,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with that boyish grin that made her heart skip. “hope you’re hungry.”

y/n’s eyes widened when he handed her a plate piled high with golden pancakes, perfectly fluffy, topped with fresh berries and a drizzle of maple syrup. next to it was a steaming mug of coffee, just how she liked it — creamy, not too bitter.

“jack… this looks amazing,” she said, genuinely surprised. “did you make all this?”

he scratched the back of his neck, a little sheepish. “yeah, well… i had some help.”

“help?”

he grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief. “was on facetime with my mom and quinn until about thirty minutes ago. they gave me the play-by-play on how to not burn the kitchen down.”

she laughed, warmth spreading through her chest. “so you were taking cooking lessons from your mom?”

“yep,” he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “and maybe bragging a little about how amazing my girlfriend is.”

she smiled, taking a bite of the pancake. “okay, i’m impressed. you’re full of surprises.”

he smirked, his eyes darkening with a mix of mischief and something softer, more tender. “guess all it took was you fucking me like that yesterday to light a fire under me.”

he stepped closer, voice dropping low and thick with promise. “plus, if i want mornings like this—just you and me, no distractions—I’d better start pulling my weight.”

she smiled, feeling a rush of heat bloom inside her as she reached across the table to lace her fingers through his. “well, keep it up. i’m loving this side of you.”

he caught her hand, his thumb stroking gently, grounding them both. then, without breaking eye contact, he tugged her up from her chair and pulled her close until there was no space left between them.

“i love you,” he murmured against her lips, voice raw and full of longing.

she melted into the kiss, slow and deep, the kitchen fading away until there was only the press of his body, the warmth of his breath, the taste of him.

when they finally parted, breathless and tangled, jack pressed a soft kiss to her temple before stepping back with a grin.

“breakfast is served, baby. just for you.” he said, sliding the plate of pancakes onto the table, the steam curling between them like a promise of more mornings like this.

and in that simple, perfect moment—pancakes, coffee, and stolen kisses—everything felt like home.

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drewssgirl · 1 day ago

Text

⋆˚࿔ MEETING HIS FAMILY

— pairing: fwb!rafe x fwb!reader

— warnings: none!

— word count: 3.8k+

— A/N: i wanted to write so much more but it already got so long so i paused but the next couple parts will be coming SOON!

monday rolled in slow.

you’d spent the whole weekend pretending not to think about rafe—by reorganizing your kitchen cabinets, binge-watching some crime documentary, even going on a walk like you were suddenly a girl who went on walks.

it didn’t work. not really.

so when your phone buzzed at exactly 11:13 a.m, you were mid-scroll on tiktok, curled up on your couch, still in his hoodie that he'd left before.

rafe:

how was your date with mr. stares-at-trees

you stared at the message, thumb hovering.

for a second, you considered lying. saying it went amazing, just to get a reaction out of him. but the truth buzzed under your skin—tired and loud.

you:

not that great.

the reply came almost instantly.

rafe:

ah. i knew something was wrong with him the second i saw him genuinely expressing interest in nature. big red flag.

you smiled—couldn’t help it. something about his words softened that tight knot in your chest.

you curled further into your blanket, letting your fingers hover over the screen again, debating how much to say.

you:

i tried. i wanted to like him. he was nice. and sweet. and fine. but he wasn’t you.

you stared at that last line. deleted it. retyped it. deleted it again.

instead, you sent:

you:

it was just… off. like, everything looked right but didn’t feel right, y'know?

a pause. long enough that your stomach twisted. and then:

rafe:

yeah. i get that.

you waited. hoping. wanting him to say more. he did.

rafe:

he didn’t open the door right, huh?

you:

nope. didn’t play obnoxiously loud music either.

rafe:

amateur.

you could practically hear him scoff.

you:

you’d hate him. he called fries “empty calories.”

rafe:

okay that’s actually criminal. do i need to fight him?

you laugh quietly, tugging the hoodie sleeves over your fingers. your thumbs type before you can stop them.

you:

i kinda missed you.

three dots appear.

then disappear.

then reappear.

then vanish again.

you hold your breath. stare at the screen like it’s going to give you answers. finally, your phone buzzes again.

rafe:

i missed you too. friday sucked, by the way. i didn’t mean to walk out like that.

your heart skips. once, twice.

you:

yeah, you did. liar

rafe:

okay maybe i did. but i regretted it the second the door shut.

you bite your lip.

you:

then why didn’t you come back?

rafe:

because i didn’t want to say something dumb.

silence again. this time, it’s yours.

you can feel the shift. like something’s slowly tilting between you—dangerously close to spilling over.

rafe:

can i see you?

you don’t think. you just type.

you:

come over. i still have your hoodie btw. i'm wearing it if you don't mind

his response is almost instant.

rafe:

i don't be there in 10.

somehow he managed to get here in less than ten minutes, like he’d been waiting for this all day. he’s got a bag slung over his shoulder, probably packed with snacks and drinks, like he knew you’d want to chill.

he doesn’t even knock. he never does anymore. just walks right in, like your door is always unlocked just for him.

“you really are in my hoodie,” he grins, eyes trailing you up and down as you flop back onto the couch.

“next time, don’t leave it here,” you tease, crossing your arms. “finder’s keepers, remember?”

“and losers weepers,” he laughs quietly, kicking off his shoes by the door.

it all felt so normal—the way he laughed, how easy the conversation was, the way his presence filled the room. like everything that happened on friday never did.

he plops down next to you, pulling a couple of bags out of the big one and setting them on the coffee table.

“brought reinforcements,” he says, holding up a bag of chips like it’s a trophy.

you roll your eyes but can’t hide your smile. “nice save.”

he nudges you with his elbow. “so, what’s the plan today? movies?" "yep." you hand him the remote. "your pick." "you must be feeling extremely generous today." he laughs. "you never let me pick." he grins, flipping through the streaming options like he’s scrolling through a menu at a fancy restaurant.

he settles in, stretches out his legs, and the whole room feels a little warmer just because he’s here. he’s quiet for a second, eyes on the screen, fingers absentmindedly crinkling the chip bag between you two. there’s an old movie playing but neither of you are really watching. it’s just background noise. the kind that fills the silence when two people don’t need to talk to feel comfortable.

"so," he says finally, voice low like he's not even sure if he's asking or just thinking out loud, "you doing anything for the fourth?"

you blink, caught off guard. “me?” you shift a little, tugging your legs up onto the couch. “nah. i mean, i guess not. no real plans.”

he hums, nodding slowly, like he's been waiting for that answer. he leans forward, elbows on his knees, the room lit only by the TV screen flickering blue across his face.

"what if..." he starts, then glances at you. "what if you came with me? to outer banks."

you laugh softly, raising an eyebrow. “to the outer banks? what, like to meet your family?”

“yeah. kinda.” he looks over at you, eyes soft but serious. “it’s this thing they do every year. big fourth of july party. in our beach house, food, fireworks. stupid games. bonfire stuff. it’s... chill. you’d like it.”

you stare at him, unsure what to say. it sounds nice—too nice, almost. and too personal.

“rafe, i don’t know. it’s your family’s thing. i don’t wanna be that girl who just shows up outta nowhere.”

he rolls his eyes, scoffing playfully. “first of all, you wouldn’t be that girl. second, you think anyone even knows half the people who come? last year some random guy just showed up. like, literally no one knew who invited him. he was just there.”

you snort. “poor guy.”

“he brought shrimp dip and left with someone’s grandma. legend.”

you laugh, and he smiles at the sound of it. then he leans back again, this time more relaxed, stretching one arm across the back of the couch behind you.

"i'm serious though," he adds after a beat, voice lower now. "you should come. it’s three days. we’d leave friday morning. just... the beach, sun, drinks and being away from all this for a bit.”

you glance around your apartment like it’s suddenly the most boring place on earth. “i don’t even have a swimsuit.”

“liar,” he grins, “i saw it in your drawer when i was looking for a charger that one time.”

your mouth drops open. “rafe!”

he shrugs, unapologetic. “i didn’t look on purpose. but you’ve got like, at least two cute ones.”

you roll your eyes but your cheeks burn anyway.

"honestly, all of them are cute on you." he shifts again, now fully facing you. “just come. you need a break. from this city. from whatever's been dragging you down lately. you don’t have to do anything, just... be there. with me.”

you hesitate. “you’ll be there the whole time?”

his gaze softens, the grin fading into something a little more real. “i wouldn’t leave you alone for a second.”

you let out a slow breath, feeling your chest loosen just a little. “okay,” you murmur. “yeah. okay. i’ll come.”

he lights up instantly, like you just said the exact thing he was hoping to hear. he grabs a chip, tosses it in the air, and catches it in his mouth like a dork.

“this is gonna be the best weekend of your life,” he says through a full mouth.

you shove his shoulder, laughing. “you’re disgusting.”

he grins. “and yet... you agreed to a whole trip with me. must mean something.”

the week went by fast. before you knew it, the two of you were on a plane, flying to the outer banks—paradise on earth. the kind of place that felt like summer even when it wasn’t.

you talked most of the way, stopping only when the snack cart came by. the conversation was easy. light. you joked about airport chaos, debated your snack choices, and even argued over the worst movies you’ve ever seen. it felt like you were just… friends again. maybe even more than that, but neither of you said it.

now, your empty chip bag lay crumpled in your lap. you stared down at it, trying not to let the nerves crawl too far up your spine.

“so,” you say, breaking the lull, “anything i should know before we land?”

rafe glances over, stretching a little in his seat. “about my family?”

you nod. “yeah. like… any advice? things not to say? who’s gonna hate me first?”

he lets out a low breath, thinking. “you already know sarah and wheezie.”

“uh huh,” you say. “your sisters.”

“right. wheezie’s cool. she already stalked your instagram, by the way.”

you blink. “you’re joking.”

“nope. told me she thinks you look too pretty to be real.”

you laugh, even if your stomach flips. “well, love her already.”

“yeah,” he smirks, “she’s the good one.”

you tilt your head. “and sarah?”

his smirk fades a bit. “she’s a ray of sunshine—if she likes you...which is hard to do so don’t take it personally if she gives you attitude.”

you nod slowly. “and your parents?”

rafe presses his lips together, staring down at his hands. “rose—my stepmom—never really liked me. she acts fake nice, so don’t fall for it.”

“noted.”

“my dad…” he trails off.

you narrow your eyes. “...your dad?”

he shifts in his seat, finally looking at you. “we uh—got into a fight. before i left.”

you wait, not saying anything.

“he wanted me to take over the family business. like, start working for him full-time, doing things his way. and i told him i didn’t want it. didn’t wanna be him. we haven’t talked since.”

you blink. “and now you’re just gonna show up with me like nothing happened?”

rafe runs a hand through his hair, sighing. “pretty much.”

“no warning?”

“nope.”

you stare at him. “you’re insane.”

he smiles like it’s a compliment. “you’re just figuring that out now?”

you roll your eyes, but your fingers twitch toward his where they rest between you on the seat. he notices, glancing down, but doesn’t say anything.

“i just don’t wanna crash anything,” you say after a pause. “like… this is your family, and i don’t wanna be the random girl you brought home in the middle of a silent feud.”

he turns toward you more, voice softer now. “you’re not random. and if anything, you’re the only reason this won’t be a total disaster.”

you give him a skeptical look. “great. no pressure or anything.”

he grins. “you’ll be fine. they’re not exactly warm and fuzzy, but you’re… you. people like you.”

you stare at him for a second, surprised by the honesty. he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t joke to cover it up.

outside the window, the clouds are starting to thin, the ocean coming into view below—shimmering blue and endless. you don’t say anything. just rest your arm against his on the armrest. he doesn’t pull away.

the air felt heavier here. sticky and warm in a way that made your skin buzz. the kind of heat that clung to your clothes and made you feel like you were really in the south now.

rafe flagged down a cab outside the airport, tossing both your bags in the trunk before sliding in next to you.

you leaned your forehead against the window, already feeling the warmth through the glass. “it smells like ocean and sunscreen,” you muttered, half amused.

he chuckled. “welcome to the outer banks.”

the cab rolled forward, palm trees and flat, open roads blurring past. the sky stretched out wide and bright, streaked with little wisps of clouds. everything felt so green. louder, too. you could hear the bugs humming even with the windows up.

“it’s so weird,” you said quietly, eyes flicking from the docks to a bait shop to a surf shack with peeling paint. “it’s like… calm but not? i don’t know how to explain it.”

rafe glanced over at you. “feels like home.”

you looked at him. he looked out the window.

“how long has it been since you were here?” you asked.

he shrugged. “a year. feels longer.”

“you nervous?”

he didn’t answer right away. just tapped his fingers on his knee.

you reached out without thinking, placing your hand over his to stop the fidgeting. he looked down at it. then at you.

“we’re okay,” you said.

he gave a small nod. “yeah. we are.”

you drove in silence for a little while after that, your thumb absentmindedly tracing circles over his knuckles. then the cab turned and you saw it.

tannyhill.

“oh my god,” you breathed.

the cab slowed down along the gravel drive, and your jaw literally dropped. the house was huge—white pillars, wraparound porch, massive lawn already strung up with fairy lights and red-white-and-blue decorations. people moved around the yard like ants, setting up tables and hauling coolers. there was even a huge american flag flapping dramatically in the breeze like it was from a movie or something.

“rafe,” you said, eyes still wide, “you didn’t tell me you were loaded.”

he just smirked and handed the driver some cash. “forgot to mention it.”

“forgot to—?” you shook your head. “you’re ridiculous.”

he got out and opened your door, looking annoyingly smug about your reaction. “come on. before you say something like ‘wow, this looks like a plantation.’ ”

“i was gonna say that!” you laughed, hopping out.

as soon as you stepped onto the gravel, someone called his name.

“rafe?”

you turned to see a tall, perfectly dressed woman in a linen dress and chunky jewelry. she looked like she belonged on a magazine cover—flawless hair, tanned skin, a clipboard in one hand. she paused halfway through directing someone to hang a flag, eyes narrowing as she spotted the two of you.

“what are you doing here?” she asked sharply, stepping toward him.

rafe barely blinked. “hi, rose. missed you too.”

she raised an eyebrow, but then her gaze shifted—to you.

her expression changed just slightly. surprised. curious.

“and who’s this?”

before rafe could answer, you stepped forward, offering a polite smile. “hi, i’m—”

“you’re the girl,” rose said, almost in disbelief. “the girl wheezie told me about."

you blinked, turning to rafe. “um… i guess?”

rose let out a soft laugh. “well. you’re the first one he’s ever brought home. that’s for sure.”

rafe rolled his eyes. “okay, thanks, rose. that’s enough for now.”

“i’m just saying,” she said innocently, “it’s nice to see he’s capable of caring about someone.”

he gave her a sarcastic smile. “always a pleasure.” then he gently pulled on your arm. “we’re gonna go inside now.”

as you walked toward the house, you leaned in, laughing. “so that’s the famous rose?”

“unfortunately,” he muttered.

you were still half-laughing when you reached the front steps—until a figure stepped around the corner of the porch. you froze. so did rafe.

the man in front of you was tall. broad with greyish hair, white button-up, drink in hand. he didn’t look surprised to see rafe. just tired.

“rafe,” he said flatly. "didn't think you'd come, son."

you felt rafe stiffen beside you. nobody moved. so you stepped forward.

“hi,” you said, holding out a hand, voice light but not shaky. “i’m y/n. it’s nice to meet you, mr. cameron.”

ward looked at you with a smile. he looked at your hand for half a second before shaking it. his grip was firm. warmer than you expected.

“nice to meet you too, call me ward.” he said. then glanced back at rafe. “didn’t know you were bringing a plus one.”

rafe said nothing.

after a beat, ward turned to you and nodded once. “enjoy the party.”

he walked off without another word. you both stood there, quiet. you turned to rafe, voice soft. “you okay?”

his jaw was tight. too tight. he nodded. “yeah. come on.”

he opened the front door for you, and you stepped inside tannyhill. the air smelled like lemon cleaner and old wood. your shoes echoed faintly against the floors. and still, you looked at him again.

“…you sure?”

this time, he looked at you. really looked.

“i’m good,” he said quietly. “i got you, don’t i?”

you nodded. and walked in.

the house is warm and echoey, full of tall ceilings and the faint smell of fresh flowers. rafe kicks off his shoes by the front door like muscle memory, then glances back to make sure you're still with him. you are, wide-eyed and quiet, your bag slung over your shoulder.

"this place is insane," you whisper, spinning slowly as you take in the staircase and chandelier and that huge painting of someone you assume is his grandpa or some sort of ancestor.

rafe chuckles under his breath, brushing past you to open a door to the left. “c’mon. i’ll show you the kitchen. it’s like… actually my favorite part of the house. huge windows.”

you trail after him, still taking everything in. the floors gleam. every room is styled like a magazine shoot. rafe’s hand finds the small of your back without thinking, like he’s afraid you’ll get lost in here.

but before you even make it to the kitchen, there's a loud, dramatic gasp behind you.

“oh my god. you’re her,” someone squeals.

you turn just in time to see a blur of curly hair and jean shorts — wheezie, rafe’s youngest sister — practically launching herself toward you.

“uh—hi?” you laugh, caught off guard but kind of charmed.

“you’re so pretty,” she blurts, eyes wide. “like so much prettier than rafe described.”

“wheeze,” rafe mutters behind you, rubbing his hand over his face.

“what? you did!” she beams at you. “i’m wheezie. and i’ve been dying to meet you. i didn’t even think you were real for a second.”

you grin, feeling a little less nervous. “nice to meet you, wheezie. thanks for the warm welcome.”

wheezie grins back like she’s already planning a sleepover and spa day. just then, footsteps echo from the other side of the hallway, and sarah appears, her arms crossed over her chest, an eyebrow raised.

“what’s going on?” she asks, clearly trying to assess the situation.

wheezie spins to face her. “this is y/n,” she announces like she’s breaking the biggest news of the year. “rafe’s friend.”

sarah blinks, then looks at you with a small polite smile. “hey,” she says. “i’m sarah.”

you smile softly. “hi. i’ve heard so much about you.”

“same.” her tone is nice, but there’s something a little cautious in her eyes — like she’s still deciding how she feels about you. like maybe she’s trying to figure out why her brother, of all people, brought someone home.

rafe steps between you slightly, casually placing a hand at your waist. “okay, tour continues,” he says, clearly trying to move things along before anyone says anything weird.

you catch sarah’s glance flick to his hand and back to your face. she doesn’t say anything, just nods and leans back against the wall.

“see you around,” she says.

wheezie waves way too enthusiastically. “bye! don’t let him show you his weird lego collection!”

“shut up, wheeze,” rafe groans as he pulls you down the hallway, but he’s smiling too. and you are too. because so far? this doesn’t feel as scary as you thought.

"your weird lego collection?" you snorted. "nope. not doing this today." "i've gotta see it now." you laughed as rafe lead to to the backyard, opening the door. "no way. never letting you near that." "guess i'll have to ask wheezie." you cross your arms. he pauses and turn to you, his face dead serious. "kidding." you grin back.

they followed the path behind tannyhill, past the trimmed hedges and towering oak trees, their steps soft against the gravel. cicadas buzzed in the distance, and the air smelled like salt, sunscreen, and freshly cut grass.

you didn’t realize where you were going until the trees opened up and the boathouse came into view—sitting pretty by the edge of the marsh, all white wood and dark trim, its dock stretching out like an invitation.

"this way," rafe said, glancing back at you with a grin.

you stepped inside and your mouth kind of fell open. boats. so many boats. not all fancy, but each one looked cared for—like someone had taken the time to clean and store them just right. the sun streamed through open windows, hitting the water outside and dancing across the walls.

“oh my god,” you whispered. “this is insane.”

rafe looked proud. “this was my favorite spot as a kid. i used to sneak out here all the time. sarah would rat me out, obviously.”

you laughed softly, still taking it all in. you wandered toward the back where a smaller boat sat tucked into the corner. the name wendy was painted in faded pink across the side.

“okay, no. this one’s adorable.”

rafe smirked. “sarah named her after some cartoon character she was obsessed with. wouldn’t let dad change it, even though he tried.”

you turned to him, already climbing into it. “can we take her out?”

he didn’t even hesitate. “hop in.”

you did, and he untied the rope with easy, practiced movements. then you were gliding—quietly—out of the dock and into the golden stretch of marshland.

the water reflected the sky, which was already shifting into that dreamy late-afternoon haze. dragonflies skimmed the surface, and the tall reeds whispered around you. rafe drove slow, letting you take it all in.

you leaned over the edge, fingers trailing in the water. “this is literally the prettiest place i’ve ever seen.”

he glanced sideways at you. “thought you might like it.”

after a while, you both fell into a peaceful rhythm. just talking. joking. pointing out birds or laughing at old stories from your childhoods. and then, somewhere between the turn past an old shrimp shack and a slow bend around the marsh…

“i think you should talk to your dad,” you said gently.

rafe’s shoulders tensed almost immediately.

you noticed it right away. “i just mean… earlier, when we saw him? you looked upset. and i know you’re allowed to feel that way, but maybe it’d help to talk to him.”

he didn’t say anything for a second. just kept his eyes ahead, jaw tight.

“it’s not about me trying to fix anything,” you added. “i just… i see how much stuff’s on your chest. and i don’t think it has to be.”

he finally looked at you. not mad. just… guarded. “you don’t know what he’s like, y/n.”

“you’re right. i don’t,” you said honestly. “but i know you. and i know how much it’s bothering you, even if you try to play it off.”

he let out a breath, then leaned back in the seat, hand running through his hair.

“i’ll talk to him,” he muttered. “not right now. but... i’ll do it. for you.”

your heart tugged at that. “for you would be better.”

“maybe. baby steps.” he cracked a tiny smile.

you bumped his shoulder. “i’ll take it.”

they cruised out of the marsh and into the open inlet near the town. rafe steered the boat to a quiet downtown dock where small boats lined the sides and little shops spilled golden light onto the sidewalk. it was the kind of evening that felt unreal—like the town itself had slowed down to breathe.

you wandered the streets together, eating soft-serve from a roadside cart, your fingers sticky and smiles soft. you kept stealing glances at him. he looked lighter out here. freer.

you were halfway through your ice cream when a voice called out, “rafe?”

you turned just in time to see two boys walking toward you, big grins on their faces.

“dude!” the blonde clapped him on the back. “you’re back and you didn’t say anything?”

“just got in,” rafe said easily. “figured i’d surprise everyone.”

the other one glanced at you. “you gonna introduce us to this pretty girl?”

“this is y/n,” rafe said, giving you that look again—the one that said he was proud to be standing next to you. “she’s with me.”

the blonde one nodded, smiling. “i'm topper.”

“kelce,” the other one added added. “welcome to the obx.”

you smiled back, cheeks a little warm. rafe’s hand brushed yours as they kept talking, and this time, you didn’t pull away.

the boat ride back was quiet, soft splashes of water against the hull and the fading pink light of the sunset casting everything in a golden haze. you watched the sky shift colors, feeling the calm settle in your chest. rafe steered the small boat with ease, occasionally glancing your way, a small smile playing on his lips.

when you finally pulled up to the dock, rafe jumped off first and held out his hand to help you onto solid ground. you grinned and took it, feeling the familiar warmth in his touch.

back at the house, rafe led you inside, kicking off his shoes by the door. he led you upstairs to the second floor. “here’s your room,” he said, pushing open a door at the end of the hallway. the room was cozy, sunlight filtering through light curtains, a neatly made bed, and a desk cluttered with a few books and photos.

“this is nice,” you said, dropping your bag on the bed and looking around.

he nods, looking around before talking again. “need help unpacking or anything?”

you shook your head, smiling. “i’m good for now.”

just then, wheezie popped her head in, eyes bright. “rose is calling you two down for dinner! we’re setting up outside.”

rafe glanced at you, then said, “give us five minutes.”

“okay, hurry!” wheezie said before slipping away.

you turned back to rafe, smiling softly. “thanks for bringing me here.”

he blushed, a shy kind of proud smile crossing his face as he tried his best to hide the redness in his cheeks.

after five minutes, you both headed downstairs. outside, the backyard was buzzing with quiet activity. sarah, ward, wheezie, and rose were busy setting the table with candles, bowls of food, and pitchers of drinks. the warm glow of lanterns mixed with the last light of dusk made everything feel soft and inviting.

you caught rose’s eye and walked over. “want some help?”

rose looked up, a warm smile spreading across her face. “if you really want to.” she handed you a big bowl of salad.

as you helped arrange the food, you didn't notice the fact that rafe was watching you from across the table, a small smile tugging at his lips. wheezie caught his gaze and nudged him playfully. “just friends, my ass.” she whispered.

rafe gave her a quick smack on the head, grinning back.

when it was time to eat, rafe pulled out the seat next to him, and you slid in without hesitation.

for a while, the clanking of plates and spoons was all you heard. the room was warm—lit with that soft yellow glow of overhead lights and late summer still clinging to the open windows. everything smelled like rosemary and something slightly burnt, probably wheezie’s contribution.

rose was the one to break the silence.

“so, y/n.” she glanced up from her plate. “rafe told me you're a recruiter. his recruiter.”

you set your glass down with a small nod. “yeah. got lucky with that assignment.”

she tilted her head, eyes sharp even under her polite smile. “guess so,” she said lightly, like she didn’t fully believe it.

rafe shifted a little beside you, his arm brushing yours under the table. it wasn’t anything big, but it was steady—like he wanted you to know he was there.

“what do you usually do?” ward asked, voice low but curious. “travel a lot?”

“not too much anymore,” you answered. “mostly office work now—virtual interviews, onboarding, a lot of spreadsheets.”

he nodded, chewing quietly. “where are you from?”

“new york,” you said, offering a small smile. “born and raised. just me and my mom.”

you didn’t expect sarah to chime in, but she leaned forward slightly, eyebrows raised. “you’re so lucky. i’ve always wanted to live in new york.”

you turned to her, a little surprised but happy she was talking to you. “yeah, it has its perks. but sometimes the city feels too big. like… you could be surrounded by people and still feel kinda alone.”

rafe glanced at you then, like he wanted to say something, but sarah beat him to it.

“i get that,” she said softly.

“probably not as lonely with rafe, huh?” wheezie teased, reaching for the bread basket.

rafe choked on his food. you blinked and turned toward him as he coughed into his napkin, ears going pink.

“wheezie,” rose warned, narrowing her eyes.

wheezie grinned innocently. “what? i’m just saying. you two are always—”

“we're friends” rafe cut in quickly, wiping his mouth. “don't push it wheeze.”

you bit back a laugh, nudging his knee under the table. he gave you a look—mock offense, fake betrayal—but you just grinned and took another sip of your drink.

rose gave rafe a knowing look and stood up after nudging ward to follow her and get something from the kitchen. the moment she was gone, sarah leaned toward you.

“so wait—how’d you even end up here? like… working with rafe?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“we're not exactly working anymore,” you said. “but somehow rafe cameron got on my schedule, had to pick him up from the airport, find him a place at gq magazine”

“and she did.” rafe added.

“somehow, they ended up liking him even after seeing his insane superiority complex”

he gasped, all mock hurt. “hey—" he turned to wheezie and sarah. "do not have that."

“did too. you made fun of the sign i made you.” you said, laughing now. "it was the most low-effort welcome, ever." he throws his hands up laughing. "paper stolen from another person and my name written in lipstick."

"that complex is showing." you tease him.

sarah chuckled into her glass. rafe leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely, eyes locked on yours. “uh huh. yet you still decided to be friends with me.”

you tried not to smile, teasing him. “i guess you grew on me.”

he didn’t look away. “like a fungus.”

“exactly.”

you both laughed, and when you glanced back at sarah, she was smiling too. not that tight forced thing from earlier—this one was real. like maybe you weren’t just a stranger anymore.

and even though you didn’t see it, rafe was watching the way you were fitting in—how your voice carried in his house like it belonged. his gaze lingered for a second too long.

wheezie leaned over and whispered to sarah, “they’re flirting so much it’s making me feel like a third wheel.”

“it’s making me hungry,” sarah whispered back, stealing another roll.

“you’re always hungry,” rafe muttered, launching a crouton at sarah’s head.

you just smiled, quietly, heart a little full as the conversation moved on around you.

because maybe this was just a dinner, and maybe you were just a friend—but oh did this moment make you want to be more.

©DREWSSGIRL 𖦹 est. 2025

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trixy812 · 1 day ago

Text

016 - Bazaar

Tags: Satoru GojoxFem!Reader, AU College, smut, tw: bullying, public sex, no protection, mdni!, i really write gojo always like an asshole

Synopsis: You run into Satoru Gojo at a university bazaar, and after years of tension and old wounds, you end up having rough, emotional sex with the guy who used to bully you.

You’ve always had a thing for Satoru Gojo.

Not out of choice. Not because he deserved it.

It was more like a disease you never found a cure for.

From middle school all the way through high school, he was always there—same school, same class, same year. Every semester. Every fucking time. Like a curse with perfect hair.

And of course you liked him.

How could you not?

He was stupidly attractive. Bright, charismatic, the kind of boy who walked into a room and made the temperature rise just by blinking.

And the worst part?

He knew it.

You tried to hate him.

You needed to hate him.

Because loving someone who joined in on the bullying that broke your self-esteem?

That was a kind of humiliation that didn’t wash off in the shower.

Gojo never called you ugly to your face. He didn’t have to. He laughed when others did. Sometimes he started the jokes.Other times he just watched with that smug smirk and said nothing.

You swallowed it all: the shame, the hate, the twisted arousal. And alone, in your room, with the lights off and your hand between your thighs, you moaned his name like a secret.

It took years to even start healing from that. To realize that maybe—just maybe—someone in middle school really did think you were ugly. And that’s okay. Beauty is subjective. But when one popular person says it out loud, everyone else follows like it’s gospel.

College changed everything.

You switched from a private school to a public university.

The people here were different—kinder, freer, more open.

No one cared if you wore makeup or what your last name was.

No one scanned you like a barcode when you walked in.

You could breathe again. You could dress how you wanted.

You were finally starting to see your reflection as something other than a mistake.

And just when the world seemed to cut you some slack Gojo showed up.

Same university. Different universe.

Because here?

No one gave a shit about him.

They didn’t care that he was a child prodigy. That he was the son of a famous politician and an even more famous philosopher. That he published physics papers at fifteen and spoke five languages.

Here, he was just another guy with a superiority complex and a daddy-funded hoodie.

Some people found him funny. Most didn’t.

A few girls found him hot.

But no one was dazzled.

If anything, people whispered that he was “kinda classist” and “weirdly out of touch.”

And you?

You tried not to feel anything.

But of course you did.

The campus bazaar only popped up twice a month—one weekend yes, one weekend no. It was massive. Packed. Loud. A beautiful mess of food stalls, vinyl records, books, thrift clothes, handmade jewelry, risograph prints, and plant girls selling monsteras for 800 yens.

Your favorite stand was always the same.

The one that sold full outfits inspired by K-Dramas.

The pieces weren’t trendy—they were curated. As if someone had pulled your fantasy wardrobe off the screen and hung it in front of you.

You weren’t good with fashion.

You never had the confidence.

But these outfits helped.

They made you feel like you could walk outside and be someone else.

Someone worth looking at.

You picked out a white set that day: a short skirt, a tight blouse with ruffles, soft and romantic.

Underneath, you wore your brand-new lingerie—black lace, thin, revealing, a set you hadn’t dared to wear yet. Not even for yourself.

You stepped into the fitting room. It wasn’t exactly “improvised” anymore—the seller had been running her stand for years. The fitting area had weighty curtains, a full mirror, and even a hook to hang your bag. Cramped, but cozy.

You slipped off your clothes.

Pulled on the skirt.

Half-fastened the blouse.

You were adjusting the strap when someone opened the curtain.

“WHAT THE F—?!”

You barely got the words out when a hand covered your mouth.

And there he was.

Satoru Fucking Gojo.

Up close.

Out of breath.

Panicked.

Looking at you in your underwear like it was a hallucination.

“Shhh! Don’t scream—please. She’s following me. It’s Yuki Kusanagi.”

Your eyes widened.

Yuki.

The popular girl. His ex. One of the first to mock your face in public, to compare you to “unfinished clay” while the whole class laughed.

Including him.

You bit his palm and shoved him.

“GET THE FUCK OUT. What do I care?! You have issues? Not my fucking problem.”

“Wait! You owe me a favor. Remember? Physics project. We got a hundred.”

“I did the whole damn project by myself, asshole.”

“Yeah, but you still added my name. Out of pity. You didn’t want to look like the cold-hearted bitch who erased me. You’re weak like that.”

That did it.

You were about to yell, for real this time, when he covered your mouth again, but gentler.

His voice dropped.

“Please. I don’t want her to find me. I took her here on a date because I love this place but all she does is make shitty comments about the people here. Their clothes, the smell, the vibes. I just… needed out.”

His body was close.

His cologne subtle.

His breathing fast.

And something in his tone hit different.

You saw it—barely—but it was there.

He looked tired. Small. Human.

You stopped pushing.

Let the silence hold.

That’s when Gojo’s gaze dropped.

To your chest.

To the barely-there lace.

To your nipples pressing hard through the bra.

To the shape of your thighs.

To the way your breath caught in your throat.

He stared.

Really stared.

Then he exhaled.

“Wow…”

And smiled.

But not his usual smirk.

Something darker.

And then he said it.

“I want to fuck you. Right now.”

Your breath caught.

Before you could react, he unzipped his pants.

No hesitation. No shame.

His belt clinked open, his boxers dropped, and his cock sprang free, hard, thick, veiny, flushed at the tip.

And fuck.

It was beautiful.

But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Your eyes flicked down for a second, then back up.

Deadpan. Cold. Controlled—at least on the outside.

“I’ve seen bigger,” you said, voice steady. “And firmer,” you added, your chin tilted.

Then came the kill shot:

“So think carefully about what you’re about to do. Because with me, you better fuck better than a porn star.”

He blinked.

And something in him snapped.

“You fucking bitch…”

And he crashed into you.

He kissed you with teeth, tongue, hunger. No restraint. Your hands clawed at his hoodie. His palms grabbed your breasts, thumbs flicking your nipples through the lace. You moaned into his mouth, hips already rolling toward him, your panties soaked beyond embarrassment.

Gojo groaned low, animal-like, as he slid a hand down between your legs. His fingers found your clit, rubbed through the wet fabric.

“You’re soaked,” he breathed against your jaw.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

“No, you don’t,” he smiled, licking the corner of your mouth.

He spun you around, bent you just enough, and pressed you against the mirror. Your breath fogged the glass instantly. He yanked your panties to the side, and without waiting for permission, pushed two fingers inside you.

You gasped.

Loud.

Your reflection was unreal: cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes wild.

You couldn’t believe what you looked like.

What he was making you look like.

And that’s when he said it.

The words you never thought would come out of his mouth.

Not to you.

Not after everything.

“Look at yourself,” he whispered.

And then, slower, rawer, more intimate:

“Look how fucking beautiful you look. So fucking beautiful. All worked up for me…”

You froze.

Beautiful.

You didn’t know that word could hurt and heal at the same time.

No one ever called you that.

Least of all him.

It cracked something open.

Your eyes stung.

Not from sadness. From shock.

From finally being seen by the one person who spent years making you believe you were invisible.

His fingers curled inside you, rubbed your walls, teased your clit again.

And then, finally, he slid in.

His cock filled you, inch by inch.

You bit your forearm to keep from crying out.

Gojo grabbed your hips, pulled you against him.

His pace was brutal. Deep. Exact.

Each thrust made your body slap against the mirror.

His breath was ragged behind you.

Your moans were desperate.

“So fucking tight…”

“You were made for this,” he growled. “Say my name.”

You couldn’t.

It came out broken. A sob. A curse. A praise.

His hand never left your clit, rubbing in perfect rhythm.

Your legs began to shake.

“Satoru— I’m— fuck, I’m coming—!”

“That’s it. Cum for me. Look at yourself while you do it.”

And you did.

You came hard, walls fluttering around him, muscles spasming, tears running down your cheeks, your hands slamming into the glass.

He moaned your name once—just once—and came inside you with a stuttered thrust, burying his face into your shoulder as he filled you.

You both stayed still for a moment.

Breathing. Sweating.

Half-naked and tangled in everything unsaid.

Then, he slowly pulled out.

Helped you steady yourself.

Tucked himself back in.

And just when you thought he’d say something stupid…

He looked at you in the mirror, wiped sweat from your lower back with his sleeve, and said:

“By the way… that color doesn’t really suit you.”

You blinked.

Jaw on the floor.

“Are you seriously—?!”

He grinned.

“You should pick something bolder next time.”

A beat.

Then, softer, almost sheepish:

“What are you doing later?”

You turned to face him.

He looked like sin and trouble and a bad decision wrapped in afterglow.

But there was something in his eyes—something real.

And then he said it.

“Come on. Let me buy you a coffee.”

A/N: YEEEEEES!!! I’m so freaking happy with how this smut turned out. I’ve been trying to write more filthy, unhinged stuff lately, and honestly… I think it’s way easier with Gojo than with Nanami.

As always, I had two big inspirations behind this fic! First one: an old-school Mexican pop song from the 80s–90s called “Bazar” by Flans. One of Gojo’s lines in the story is pulled directly from the lyrics ;)

Second: a scene from Gabriel García Márquez’s short story “El rastro de tu sangre en la nieve” if you know it, you know exactly what I mean

Thank you so much for reading. I’m beyond excited to finally tag @haruhatake with this! I really hope you enjoy it!

🅼🅰🆂🆃🅴🆁🅻🅸🆂🆃

#jjk satoru gojo #satoru gojo #smut jjk #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you

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neumond-alte-sonne · 2 days ago

Text

Vi x reader

«Just one chance»

The rooftop was quiet except for the distant hum of city life and the occasional rustle of wind tugging at your jacket. You leaned on the railing, eyes fixed on the skyline, jaw tight.

Behind you, Vi stepped out with two beers, but when you didn’t turn, she left one on the ledge and kept the other for herself.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said casually, but her voice had that soft undercurrent—the one she never used with anyone else.

You didn’t move. “You’ve been everywhere. Hard to avoid someone who’s built like a billboard and twice as loud.”

Vi smirked. “So you noticed.”

“I always notice,” you snapped, finally turning to face her. “That’s the problem.”

There it was—the crack.

Vi raised her bottle, took a long sip, and then set it down like she was bracing herself. “Okay. Let’s do it. Go on.”

You crossed your arms, defensive. “You flirt with everyone. Girls fall for you like it’s gravity and you let them.”

“I don’t let them. I just… don’t stop them.”

You laughed, bitter. “Exactly. And I’m not signing up to be one more girl who gets a wink, a night, and then a goodbye.”

Vi stepped closer, all the usual swagger gone. Her voice dropped to something quieter. Honest.

“I’ve done that. Yeah. A lot. Too much. But not with you.”

You held your ground. “Because I haven’t let you.”

“No,” she said, firm. “Because you matter. And I didn’t want to screw it up.”

Your eyes flickered—something vulnerable there for a split second before you masked it. “That’s convenient.”

“It’s not,” Vi said. “It’s terrifying. You terrify me. Because I can’t charm my way through you. I can’t just flirt and dodge. With you, I feel like if I get it wrong, I lose something real.”

You were quiet. Breathing a little uneven.

Vi took another step. “I’ve been stupid. I’ve used people to avoid feeling anything too deeply. But I feel something with you. I have for a while.”

You looked away. “That doesn’t mean I can trust you.”

“I know. So don’t.” Vi moved beside you, leaning her arms on the railing. “Don’t trust my words. Watch me.”

You looked at her, really looked at her, and for once she wasn’t smirking. No mask, no teasing. Just wide, puppy eyes. Scared but steady.

“I’m not trying to win you over in a night,” Vi said. “I just want the chance to show you who I am when I’m not hiding behind all that bullshit.”

You hesitated. “And what if I still get hurt?”

Vi’s voice was low. “Then I’ll be the one who regrets it for the rest of her life.”

A long silence. The city glimmered around you, indifferent.

Finally, you sighed and took the beer from the ledge, clinking it lightly against Vi’s bottle.

“One chance,” you said.

Vi smiled—not her usual grin, but something smaller. Sincere.

“One’s all I need.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟

#vi x masc/butch!reader #vi x butch!reader #vi x masc!reader #vi fic #vi fanfic #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi x you #lesbian #sonne's writings 🍂

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hrtfelt4u · 22 hours ago

Text

guest check. | sohee lee.

046. nope. (written portion)

Your heart can’t seem to slow down with all the pacing thoughts in your head. After a lot of deliberation and a boost of encouragement over the phone with the girls, you were ready to fix things after yesterday’s burst of emotions.

After getting ready for bed together yesterday, you respected Sohee’s way of giving you space, despite sleeping in the same room for the weekend. You were both restless and couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. After a quiet request in the dark to hold hands, you had dozed off though.

Having woken up to a guest check on the bedstand, Sohee said he was going to start his day shopping with the guys at the mall. He had left a bagel for you in the kitchen and left sweet words about talking to you soon.

You felt a strong urge to fix things as soon as possible, knowing that keeping your boyfriend in suspense was not right. You felt unsteady in your words still, like you had too many things to want to apologize, mention, and work out. But you knew seeing Sohee’s face again would melt your anxiety away, just like it always did.

That’s why you were currently sitting on the steps just outside your apartment, patiently waiting for him to come to you. His car pulls into the parking lot of your complex and you wave a little to all the guys packed in the vehicle.

Wonbin is first to exit, shoving and giving his friends a dirty side look as he climbs out the car. You laugh at his reaction as he pats your head.

“You’re a princess for always getting passenger side, you know that? I was kicked to the back with the long-legged freaks twice.”

You only shrug, before smiling up at your friend in goodbye. “See you later, Bin.”

He nods, before hastily continuing into the apartment building. “Hurry up, Channie! I didn’t bring my key.” The latter groans, stepping out of the car and stretching his legs. “Okay, okay! Calm down. It’s not my fault you need to piss so bad.”

Sungchan gives you a bright smile. “Your boytoy has got an attitude right now, watch out.”

You only scoff, shaking your head. “It’s because of me. It’ll be gone by tonight.”

“You better hope so.” Channie says mysteriously, before dapping you up and following his roommate in.

Riku, Tonie, Seunghan, and Sohee all step out rambunctiously, clearly arguing about something. Hannie spots you sitting on the steps and points.

“The perfect woman to cut the tie! YN, my amazing beautiful roommate.”

“Hey— don’t butter her up.” Riku scolds, clearly against Seunghan’s side in this disagreement.

“Do we keep the doormat once you move out? Like should it go, or no?”

“We spent a good amount of money on that whale come door mat. It’s staying!” Tonie shouts as he grabs bags from the trunk of the car. Him and Sohee were starting to load groceries in, and you stand up to help.

“I’m impartial. It won’t concern me next year.”

Seunghan cocks his neck out, face scrunched up in confusion. “Mind you, you’re the one that brought it to our attention to buy.”

You roll your eyes, pushing him and Riku to help with the bags.

“Are you kidding? After Eunseok threw up on it during his party, I think it needs to go. And now by the way, not before the semester ends and I move out.”

“Can we decide this at a later date? Why are we talking about her moving out? I’m getting depressed,” Sohee mutters, grunting as he picks up five bags with two hands. “Hi, cutie.”

“Hi,” You chirp, ignoring Tonie’s groan in disgust. “How was shopping?”

Riku sighs, answering instead of Sohee. “Awful as per usual. I forget how much we bicker while shopping. First, with buying professional clothes for their co-ops next semester, and then with food shopping.”

“You have shit taste, Riku. Every suggestion you gave was giving Boss Baby. Don’t be mad that we're giving you a dose of reality!” Hannie says breathlessly, carrying a big case of water and wobbling up the apartment steps.

“I’ve shown up to work in some cool ass outfits, bald guy. I don’t want to hear it from you.”

“I’m not bald! I just like wearing caps… like Sohee does! You all don’t call him bald!”

You laugh, the sound echoing in the staircase up to your floor. “Only because Hee has enough hair to be considered a Troll doll.”

“You just gonna take that, homie?” Tonie grins as he looks behind him to Sohee.

“No, it’s true. I have a lot of hair, it’s kind of crazy.”

“Grow a backbone, dude. All you do is say yes to YN. She could probably steal a lollipop from a baby and you’d defend her.” Hannie points out.

“You three are sooo dramatic. Dramatic crybabies. I am never wrong, that’s why he agrees with me.” You claim with a raised eyebrow, stopping in front of your guys’ door.

The four men behind you on the stairs are beat. You carry one bag and they are doing the rest.

Riku squints before slowly looking down to your feet. You’re stepping on the whale come door mat you had suggested a while back. Not responding to your friend’s snort in hypocrisy, you unlock the door and let everyone inside.

Everyone helps in packing food away, with the exception of Riku giving up after one bag of groceries and instead, yanking open a bag of chips.

“Are we cooking dinner before everyone shows up tonight?” You ask the room and Sohee nods, sliding past you with a hand to your back.

“I was thinking of something simple. Like pasta. Chicken, broccoli.”

“You used to cook fried rice all the time and call it a day.” Riku raises his brows while impressed, swinging his feet while sitting on the kitchen counter.

“Or grilled cheese and tomato soup.” Anton mentions with a teasing grin.

“Since our resident nutrition major has moved in, we’ve all upped our cooking game.” Hannie shrugs, pretending to be nonchalant.

“This is an overexaggeration. They couldn’t handle me nagging them about eating balanced meals anymore, that’s what really happened.”

“Are you actually moving out, YN?” Tonie pouts, a ketchup bottle stupidly cradled to his chest.

You nod, lost. “Um… yeah? There’s only four rooms in this apartment.”

Riku sighs, his head hitting the back of a cabinet. “Just say you guys hate me, it’s okay.”

“Shut up,” Sohee laughs, tossing a popsicle into Riku’s lap, “That’s not what Hannie meant.”

“I’m proactively grieving, as Channie would say. Who’s gonna obnoxiously do their laundry at 7AM in the morning and leave about a hundred hair ties around the apartment anymore?”

“I’ll manage to still do the latter. I’m not going anymore, idiots.”

“Oh, great to hear… Don’t break up with sunshine over here, we’d never hear the end of it. His sulking was enough for today.” Anton complains, continuing to load ingredients in the fridge.

You kick softly at Sohee’s butt. “Aww.”

Your boyfriend’s ears are turning red. “Leave me alone.”

“This is one of the cons of dating your roommate, YN. You two will never be able to fight in peace with these nosy asshats.” Riku smiles.

Sohee’s mouth drops. “No way. Says nosy ass incorporate! You’ve bothered me all day about her!”

Now you coo at Riku behind you, the corner of your lips downturning in affection. You attempt to hug Riku and he fends you off with his popsicle.

“Boo hoo! Sure, yeah, I’m the weird one being concerned after Cray Cray Moka has come to wreak havoc in the lives of people I love.”

Sohee joins in on your mocking, standing up from unloading a grocery bag to open his arms for Riku. “You love me?”

“I will kick you in the balls.”

“Me and YN will make up before tonight. Will you go easy on whatever punishment you’ve concocted for me?”

“... I’ll ponder on it.” Riku gives an insincere smile before popping his ice cream back in his mouth.

Hannie grabs ahold of you and Sohee’s shoulders before giving a push into the common room. “Goodbye, lovebirds! Come back when you’re ready to banter like a married couple again.”

You give a lighthearted middle finger, before softly smiling up to Sohee and taking his hand.

Closing your bedroom door behind you, you don’t hesitate in wrapping your arms tightly around Sohee’s torso. You can tell you’ve caught your boyfriend off-guard, but he belatedly returns your affections, feeling your strong and steady heartbeat against him.

“How are you feeling?” He mutters into the crown of your head.

“Better. Just a lot of reflection after doing some work today. I texted apologies to Wonbin, Eunseok, and Anton in the morning.”

“Huh?” Sohee pulls away to see your face, “Why? What happened?”

“I just didn’t want them to misconstrue my reaction last night. And I did the same to the girls. I was a little dramatic.”

Sohee squeezes your hands. “No, you weren’t. If I were in your shoes and saw you smiling in Taesan’s presence, I think I’d storm off too.”

You give a tightlipped smile, feeling apologetic once more.

“Still, I’m sorry for the way I reacted. Like I said last night, I trust you and I know you wouldn’t entertain anyone else other than me. You’ve proven, over and over again, that I’m the one for you. I think… this past week has been more than the obvious jealousy I have over Moka though.”

Sohee guides you both to sit on your bed as you continue your words. You tug at a loose string on the sleeve of Hee’s sweatshirt, unconfident.

“I know we’re both not perfect. And we shouldn’t be, we’re human. But sometimes, I feel like I can’t match your level of love to me. In terms of time, and in terms of gifts, in terms of basically everything.”

“No…” Sohee says, cupping the side of your face. “That’s not true.”

“I know. And I get that it’s my self-esteem talking. Sometimes, I think I don’t deserve you, that you deserve better. Someone that doesn’t have to carve up so much time in advance to simply have a date. Someone that doesn’t have to work their ass off for a month in order to get you a thoughtful gift.”

“That doesn’t matter to me at all. I know because I’ve seen how much of a thoughtful and hardworking person you are. Your effort doesn’t appear any less than what I do for you. The money, the gifts, the things I do to show you I care, isn’t somehow grander than yours.”

“Really?” You peek up at Sohee’s expression, which is open and clear to hear your side.

“Of course not. You told me all the things that held precedent in your life and I agreed to them before deciding to date you. That doesn’t go away. Same with how you knew I’d have to stay in school a year longer than you, and that we’d be seeing each other less with you moving out soon.”

You nod, taking in his words.

“All I want is for us to be by each other’s side. Let’s not let anything get between us. Either an old talking stage talking shit, or a wild ex that’s weirdly obsessed still. Your job, or my studies.”

“Or my self-deprecating thoughts.”

“Yes,” Sohee breathes out, curling hair behind your ear. “Or that. Which by the way, we will work on. I’ll tell you everyday I choose all of you until you believe it wholeheartedly.”

You giggle against Sohee’s lips. “You’re a cheeseball.”

“You always have to ruin my romantic moments.” Sohee laughs, before pecking your lips. You dive in for more, your arms connecting over Hee’s shoulders as you endlessly leave kisses over his face.

Both of you fall back into your bed in happiness, warm overwhelming your senses as you embrace.

You pull away, breathless. “Thank you for listening to me. Your patience is out of this world.”

Sohee’s eyes shine with adoration. “Anything for you. Who else has the patience to listen to my rants to Naruto? Or coding programs? Or how the guys are being mean to me in Minecraft?”

You laugh, squeezing Hee’s cheeks.

“Lee Sohee… you are the best thing since grilled cheese.”

“... Let me guess. While drunk?”

You hum. “Yeah. But, maybe not burnt.” “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

You curl yourself into the nape of Sohee’s shoulders, breathing hot on his skin. He jerks away at the ticklish feeling, grabbing your sides with a laugh.

“Nope!”

___

(ignore timestamps unless stated otherwise)

author’s note: we are on the up gang look at that!!!

previous | masterlist | next

taglist (closed): @dutifullyannoyingstrawberrie @reibbons @amortiff @banez @totalnieparksunghoon @holyhaech @jvngw0nlvr @the-phantomss @hsified @aangelll0 @heewrld @jaellymint @nekotoni @imsosoheee @hanniehq @dearmynayeon @kitty-won07 @w3willris3 @kamelyrics @rksbae @jungwonbropls @kyubing @buns-inhiding @taroddori @niinaskrr @enaile23 @sunflowerbebe07

#hrtfelt_riize #hrtfelt_sohee #riize fluff #riize imagines #riize x reader #riize #riize smau #riize fanfic #kpop imagines #kpop fanfic #kpop smau #riize sohee #sohee #sohee imagines #sohee x reader #lee sohee #sohee smau

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asharkapologist · 2 days ago

Note

Isn’t it a little weird that the player character in the criminal case games just never talks? I mean I know they’re pretty far from the only game series where the character we play as doesn’t talk but still. I think what makes it a bit more weird is where a character like maybe a suspect or someone is supposed to be talking directly to the mc and even calls us by our name, but then our partner responds instead? I don’t know, I know it’s not a big deal at all, but it always felt a little weird to me haha

Oh, I totally agree! I have always thought "....I wasn't talking to you!" when the partner says something, and a suspect responds by addressing up by name.

I know the player does sometimes talk (but we don't hear them), due to how partners will say something like, "Okay, you don't need to yell at me!" (seem to remember this in Pacific Bay with Frank), or characters saying, "You don't need to tell me twice" or "What, you think we should do/talk to X" or "I agree, let's do X," which implies the character is saying something but we don't see it. I guess it's all for the sake of being able to create your own protagonist/self-insert.

There is a tiny bit of characterization, though, with the fact that iirc, dialogue in s1 seemed to imply that the player was joking around a bit more, like with it seeming to imply, for example, that the player was teasing Jones about the old lady from Beautiful No More (forgot her name) seeming to have an interest in him, but after King's suicide/the Crimson Order in general, the player got more impatient with the other characters. I can imagine seeing so many people they cared about get murdered, be murderers, and/or betray them, the player's mental health had severely deteriorated by s8. I can imagine them having no patience for the characters in s8 and their cavalier attitudes, since it doesn't seem like Paris was ever affected by any of the world-ending stuff the player had to stop!

Heck, the player was probably not in a good mental state by the end of s5. Three friends dead, four if you include Zoe, upwards of thousands of people in Grimsborough killed within a year or so because of Rozetta's earthquake and Denise/Otto's neohuman rampage, and I can't begin to imagine the guilt the player would've felt about Mia's death, considering you were the target of that. They would've been overwhelmed with guilt and anguish, and I wouldn't blame them at all for refusing to accept Warren's apology at the end of Blaze of Glory. Honestly, the player has more control than me, the second I saw Warren at the start of Airport, I would've been screaming and swearing at him, and probably would have to be stopped from hitting him lol. But I actually do like that Warren puts a hit on specifically you, and that in Mysteries of the Past, Eleanor Halstead specifically says that she was planning on killing YOU, because it connects the player with the world much, much better, since a lot of times, it seems like the player is sort of just drifting on the outskirts of everything, watching and getting addressed, but never talking to anyone or being affected by the plot.

Wow, holy tangent. Sorry about that! But thank you for the ask!

Tl;dr: yes, you're right, it is odd!

#criminal case mysteries of the past #criminal case the conspiracy #eleanor halstead #mia loukas #joe warren #frank knight #david jones #david jeremiah jones #criminal case #criminal case game #criminal case pacific bay #criminal case grimsborough #zoe kusama #rozetta pierre #denise daniels #otto kessel

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theonottsbxtch · 3 hours ago

Text

THE CLINIC DOWN THE LANE PT2 | AA23

an: okay, there we go, the other half has been posted, my eyes hurt from the amount fo reading LAWD. who said proof reading your work was actually worth it boo

wc: 7k

summary: alex was a village vet with thirteen cats, too much tea, and not much surprise. she was an ex-army medic chasing quiet and found him instead. between pub quizzes, first aid kits, and a horse with opinions, something bloomed. they didn’t mean to fall in love, but as always, the village always knew before they did.

part one | uniformed hearts masterlist

LOGAN SETTLED QUICKER THAN HE THOUGHT HE WOULD.

The little rented cottage just down the lane suited him fine, low ceilings, creaky floorboards, a view of the paddock where his sister’s cob grazed like it owned the whole county. The village was quiet, but not unfriendly. A few nods. A few cautious "mornin’s" in the shop. Even Mrs Langley at the post office had given him a begrudging “you the brother, then?” before handing him his post.

He spent the first week helping mend fences, clearing old brush, fixing a leak in the stable roof with a stubbornness born of army habit. She called him ‘useful’ with a grin. He’d called her ‘bossy’ back.

But what Logan noticed, as the days turned slow and familiar, was Alex.

It wasn’t obvious. Not right away. The vet was quiet, dry as dust, always turning up in that battered jacket of his with some excuse, spare nails, borrowed tools, "thought you’d need this bit of old fence wire". But Logan had served long enough to spot patterns.

Like how Alex never stayed long, but always long enough to make her laugh. How he’d check the fence twice when he came by, boot scuffing the same spot of gravel, watching her cob like it might spontaneously combust. How his sister’s voice softened, just slightly, when she said his name.

She didn’t see it. Not properly. She was busy making the place hers, filling cupboards with tea, writing lists on scrap paper, learning the village roads. But Logan saw.

He watched from the paddock fence one afternoon, hammer in hand, as Alex turned up with some battered horse rug, "spare, thought your beast might need a thicker one when it gets cold".

She’d laughed, leaning on the gate in the low sunlight, hair loose, boots muddy.

Alex had lingered. Not close. Just enough.

Logan smirked to himself, hammer resting on his shoulder.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

Later that evening, over tea by the fire, both of them curled in old armchairs, the cob shifting outside in the dark, he gave her a sideways look.

“So. You and the vet, huh?”

She blinked, pulling the blanket tighter round her shoulders. “What about him?”

He shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Seems to be here a lot for a man who ‘just drops off fence wire’.”

She snorted into her tea. “He’s being neighbourly. Helping out. We’re friends.”

“Right,” Logan drawled. “Friends.”

She shot him a look, half amused, half warning.

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting.” He sipped his tea, watching the fire crackle low. “Just saying. Dude seems to like being useful. Seems to like you.”

Silence stretched, warm, unhurried.

Finally, she smiled, small and secret.

“Maybe I like him being useful.”

Logan chuckled softly.

“Good. He’s alright, that one. Bit weird. But good.”

“He is.”

And they sat like that, quiet by the fire, the old house settling round them, the soft sound of the wind against the glass.

Logan glanced at her again, a quiet warmth in his chest.

Maybe this village really was the fresh start she’d needed.

And maybe, she’d found something else here, too.

A couple of days later, as the pale spring light curled across the fields and the cob dozed in the paddock, Logan appeared in the kitchen doorway, sleeves rolled, hair damp from the rain.

“Why don’t we do a proper dinner?” he said casually. “You, me... the vet. About time we fed him, seeing as he keeps dragging fence wire here like some strange country courier.”

She glanced up from the bread dough, hands floured to the wrists.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah. You cook, I’ll help. We can make a thing of it. Bit normal, for once.”

She eyed him. “You want to help? With the Aga?”

He raised both hands in surrender, grinning. “Alright, maybe not the Aga. You’ve seen me nearly blow that thing up. But I can chop, stir, taste-test, all the dangerous jobs.”

She shook her head, laughing softly. “Fine. But if you burn anything, you’re scrubbing the roasting tins.”

“Deal.”

So they planned. Something simple, good, a proper meal to fill the quiet cottage. Roasted chicken, herbs from the little garden by the kitchen door. New potatoes, buttery and crisp. Warm bread. Logan grated cheese like his life depended on it, grumbling about ‘posh British cheddar’ while she chopped rosemary.

And when the knock came, Alex stood in the doorway, Otto at his heel, tail wagging.

“Evening,” he said, glancing between them. “Blimey. Smells better than the pub already.”

“Come in, then,” she smiled. “Dinner’s ready.”

Otto trotted in like he owned the place, flopping down by the hearth with a pleased sigh.

They ate round the old oak table, warm bread passed between hands, Logan pouring wine with too much flourish, Alex quietly demolishing more roast potatoes than was strictly polite.

Conversation was easy, slow village talk, horses, the local quiz, Logan’s attempt to fix the fence and nearly flattening himself when the post gave way. Laughter filled the kitchen, soft and real.

By the time plates were scraped clean and the last of the wine drained, Logan stretched, yawning.

“Right,” he said, pushing back his chair. “I’m off for a run. There’s that little lake, not far, like the look of it. Might try the loop before dark.”

She raised a brow. “You’re mad.”

“Army habit. Can’t sit still too long.”

Alex smirked into his glass. “You’ll terrify the badgers.”

Logan grinned. “Good. I’ll be back in an hour. Don’t wait up.”

And then he was gone, trainers thudding lightly down the path, the door clicking soft behind him.

Silence settled. Cosy, gentle.

She stood, gathering plates. Alex moved beside her without a word, sleeves rolled, taking dishes to the sink.

“Nice, that,” he said after a moment. “A proper dinner. Can’t remember the last time I had one that didn’t come from a packet or the pub.”

She smiled, rinsing a plate. “Glad you came.”

“Me too.”

For a quiet minute they worked side by side, scraping plates, stacking bowls, the soft clink of cutlery, Otto snuffling by their feet. The old kitchen smelled of roast herbs and warm bread, the glow of the stove gentle against the falling dusk.

He handed her a dish towel, fingers brushing lightly, nothing more, and for a moment the whole room felt still, full of something unspoken and soft.

“You’re good at this,” Alex said, voice low.

“At what?”

“This.” He glanced round, the kitchen, the fire, the old cottage breathing in the quiet. “Making it feel... like home.”

She smiled, folding the towel. “Takes practice.”

He grinned. “Teach me, then.”

A soft laugh. “Maybe.”

And they went on like that, washing, drying, as the last of the daylight slipped away, and the old house settled round them like an old blanket, warm and safe.

The last plate was dried and put away, the tea towel hung neatly by the Aga.

She turned to find Alex still there, leaning against the counter, arms folded, watching her with a half-smile. Otto was still asleep by the hearth, his soft breathing barely audible under the low tick of the old kitchen clock.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said after a pause. “It was... really lovely.”

“You’re welcome.”

The quiet stretched. Not awkward, not exactly. Just full.

She leant back against the edge of the sink, arms brushing her own elbows. The air between them felt oddly charged, like the moment before a summer storm, still and thick.

Alex tilted his head slightly.

“Y’know... this place suits you.”

She raised a brow, heart suddenly thudding. “This cottage?”

“This life. The quiet. The space.” He paused, eyes on hers. “You look settled.”

She gave a small laugh, quiet. “That’s the idea.”

He stepped forward just enough for her to notice, not looming, just close. Not enough to break the air between them, but enough that she could see the faint crease by his eye where he smiled sometimes. Smell the hint of hay and soap still clinging to him.

His voice softened. “It’s been nice having you across the road.”

Something fluttered in her chest, quiet, unsure, not unwelcome.

“Yeah,” she said, equally soft. “It’s been nice, being across the road.”

He looked at her a moment longer, properly, like he was waiting for something. And she couldn’t have said why, or what made her do it, but her hand shifted slightly, just brushing his.

He didn’t move.

She didn’t either.

Just the two of them, suspended in that narrow space, the soft warmth of something not yet named curling between them.

And then, the faintest shift, like one of them might lean in. Might close that last breath of distance.

But Alex straightened suddenly, blinking.

“I should go,” he said, voice quiet.

She nodded too quickly, stepping back like she'd been caught. “Right. Yeah. Of course.”

He reached for Otto’s lead, crouching to clip it on. The dog blinked blearily, tail wagging once.

At the door, he looked back.

“Night, then.”

“Night.”

And then he was gone, the sound of his boots fading down the lane, Otto’s soft padding behind.

She stood in the kitchen for a long moment, barely breathing. The fire had burnt low, shadows curling softly around the skirting. Her chest felt tight, not heavy, just... full.

Logan let himself in about an hour later, slightly out of breath, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Still up?” he said, kicking his trainers off by the door. “Thought you’d be out cold.”

She turned from the window where she’d been staring, not seeing much at all.

“You’re back earlier than expected.”

“Didn’t fancy twisting my ankle in the dark.” He walked past, glanced at the untouched mugs on the table, then back at her.

A pause.

“So... did you kiss?”

She stared at him.

“Logan!”

“What? It’s a valid question.”

She groaned, rubbing her face. “I’m terrible at this.”

He smirked, going to the fridge for water. “At what? Letting a man linger in your kitchen for two hours and look at you like you hung the stars?”

She narrowed her eyes. “How many runs have you been on with poetry podcasts?”

He grinned over his shoulder. “You didn’t answer the question.”

She muttered into her hands, “We almost did.”

“See?” he said, swigging from the bottle. “Not terrible. Just on-brand.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling, something soft and aching settling in her chest.

Logan set the bottle down, leaned in the doorway.

“For what it’s worth, I like him. He’s good. He’s... steady.”

She nodded, quietly.

“I know.”

And that night, when the cottage finally went still, and Logan had long since gone to bed, she lay awake beneath thick blankets, listening to the wind, wondering what would’ve happened if she’d just leaned in a little more.

The following morning, the clinic smelled faintly of coffee and antiseptic, as it always did, and Alex was elbow-deep in Mrs Langley’s ageing Jack Russell, checking a suspicious lump on its shoulder.

Mrs Langley watched him like a hawk from the chair, handbag perched on her lap, gloves clutched tightly as if the little dog might leap off the table and bolt for the hills.

“She’s fine,” Alex said gently, fingers careful. “Bit of a fatty lump, that’s all. Nothing nasty. We’ll keep an eye on it, but I don’t think there’s cause for worry yet.”

Mrs Langley gave a huff, somewhere between relief and pride, and dabbed her nose with an embroidered handkerchief.

“Good. Can’t have her going soft on me now, not when she’s finally learnt not to chew the skirting.”

Alex smiled, scribbling the notes into her file. Same as always. Routine. Predictable.

But then she gave him that look, the sideways glance, the old fox expression he’d seen too many times over the years.

“And how’s your little yank doing?”

Alex glanced up, blinking. “My what?”

“Your Yank.” She smirked like a cat in cream. “The American girl across the lane. She’s not hard to miss, love, especially when she’s parading that great beast of a horse up and down the paddock. Thought I’d pop round and see her myself the other day, but... well, I didn’t want to interrupt you two.”

Alex set the file down slowly, arching a brow. “She’s not my Yank. And she’s got a name, thank you very much.”

Mrs Langley tutted into her handkerchief, delighted. “What d’you mean she’s not yours? Half the village thinks she is. You’ve been seen, you know. Coming and going. That quiz night. She baked for you. Biscuits, Alex. You don’t bake for a neighbour. You bake for intentions.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “For God’s sake. This village...”

“Oh, they’ve all had their guesses.” She leaned in, voice low and gleeful. “Old Mr Croft said she’s clearly an army spy sent to monitor the countryside. Mad as a hatter, that one. The Co-Op girl reckons you’ve secretly married her and are keeping it quiet. And Mrs Denham swears you’re engaged already and just hiding it from your poor old mother so she doesn’t faint dead away.”

Alex stared. “Engaged?!”

“Mm-hmm. And Millie from the bakery thinks she’s pregnant with your child.”

Alex choked on absolutely nothing.

“She’s not pregnant!” he managed, face warming.

Mrs Langley chuckled behind her hand. “Didn’t think so. But you know what folk round here are like. They see you helping her with her fencing, walking her cob, standing at the gate having a good old chat. What do you expect?”

He shook his head, exasperated but amused despite himself. “She moved here for peace and quiet. Instead she’s become village entertainment.”

Mrs Langley dabbed her nose again, looking pleased as punch.

“Well, dear, you do make a handsome couple.”

Alex stared at the dog on the table, who gazed back blankly, no help at all.

“She’s not mine,” he muttered again, tugging gently at the lead. “She’s not anyone’s. She’s... herself.”

“Hmm,” said Mrs Langley with a knowing little smile. “That’s how it starts, love. That’s how it starts.”

And as she tottered out the door, dog in tow, smug as ever, Alex stood in the middle of his quiet clinic, file still in hand, the ghost of her laugh in his ear from the night before, and wondered, really wondered, just how far off the mark the village might be after all.

Alex stewed on it for days.

Every time he walked through the village, he felt the weight of it, the sideways glances, the soft little smiles, the polite “Morning, Alex” that lasted a beat too long. Even the postman gave him a wink as he dropped the letters into the box outside the clinic.

He’d gone home muttering to himself, grumbling as he fed the cats and mucked out the stables. But it hung there, all of it, in the back of his mind.

And then, on a soft Wednesday afternoon when the sky hung low and the paddocks smelt of damp grass, he gave in.

He swung by her cottage, hands jammed deep into his pockets, Otto trotting happily beside him.

She answered the door with a smile, sleeves pushed up, flour dusting her jumper like she’d been baking again. It made something tug behind his ribs.

“Hey,” she said. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve, uh... I’ve come to warn you.”

She arched a brow, amused. “Warn me?”

“Yep.” He leaned on the porch post, trying to sound casual, ignoring how he accidentally popped his ‘p’. “You’d better not bring another American into this village or they’ll think you’re having an affair.”

She blinked.

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Apparently, you and me are already engaged. Or married. Or expecting. Depends who you ask.”

A long pause.

And then, unexpectedly, quietly, she said, “I don’t mind, you know.”

His breath caught. “What?”

She stepped out onto the porch, brushing her hands on her jumper, looking at him properly now. Calm. Steady.

“I don’t mind that they assume we’re together,” she said softly. “It means they think I’ve got fabulous taste.”

For a moment, the world felt very still. The breeze stirred the hedgerows. Otto sat neatly by his boot, ears twitching. Somewhere in the fields, a wood pigeon cooed.

Alex swallowed.

“Fabulous taste, eh?” he managed, his voice a little rougher than he meant.

She gave a small smile, eyes warm.

“Could be worse rumours,” she said.

His heart did something strange, light and heavy all at once. He scratched the back of his neck, trying not to grin like a fool.

“Could be,” he agreed.

Silence stretched again, but this time, not awkward. Just soft. Full.

After a moment, she nodded toward the kitchen.

“Want some tea? I baked biscuits. Proper ones this time, not from Waitrose.”

He smiled properly then, warmth unfurling in his chest.

“Go on, then. Can’t turn down homemade biscuits.”

And as she led him inside, the scent of sugar and warm butter filling the little cottage, Alex wondered, not for the first time, if the village gossips might just have it right after all.

The tea was warm. The biscuits were fresh and sweet, soft in the middle, still warm from the oven.

They sat at her kitchen table, the quiet between them gentle and comfortable, punctuated only by Otto snoring under the radiator and the occasional creak of the old cottage walls settling.

Alex took another sip of tea. Watched her as she fussed absently with the edge of her sleeve, gaze resting somewhere on the kitchen tiles, thoughtful.

“Can we,” he began softly, setting his mug down, “go back to what you said? Earlier. About... fabulous taste.”

She glanced up, brows raised, but there was no alarm in her face — just mild curiosity.

“What about it?”

“Did you mean it?” he said, watching her carefully. “About having fabulous taste, and the rumours not bothering you?”

A pause.

Then a small smile curved at the corner of her mouth.

“Fictional me’s hit the jackpot,” she said quietly, tucking her hand under her chin. “Apparently she’s landed herself the local vet, his dog, and half the village’s affection. Not a bad haul.”

He smiled, slow, thoughtful, feeling something settle low in his chest.

“And what about real you?”

Another pause.

She looked at him fully this time, no hiding, no deflecting. Her eyes steady. Warm.

“Nothing just yet,” she said softly. “But I’m not... against the idea.”

The words hung there between them like threads of gold in the quiet afternoon light.

Alex felt his heart give a quiet thud.

“Right,” he said, clearing his throat gently, a small smile pulling at his mouth. “Well, good to know. For the record.”

She gave a quiet little laugh, the kind that softened the whole room.

“You’re worse than Logan, you know. He asked last night if we’d kissed yet.”

His grin widened. “I’ll have to thank him for his patience.”

She shook her head fondly, brushing flour off her sleeve. “You’d get on well. Terrify him, but get on.”

Another small, easy pause.

“Nothing just yet, hmm?” Alex said again, tilting his head. “That sounds like you’re leaving room.”

She smiled gently. “Maybe I am.”

His fingers tapped lightly against the side of his mug, thoughtful.

“Good,” he said quietly.

And then, before either of them could break the moment, the front door creaked open and Logan’s voice floated down the hall.

“Hey, smells like biscuits in here. Did you save me any or has the vet eaten the lot?”

She laughed, warm and bright. Alex sat back, smiling softly, feeling something light and dangerous and full stir quietly in his chest.

Nothing just yet.

But maybe something soon.

Logan’s appearance filled the kitchen with noise and energy, nicking a biscuit, teasing his sister, rolling his eyes at Alex in that good-natured, knowing way.

But eventually, Alex made his excuses. The sky outside was slipping towards dusk; the fields beyond the cottage glowing soft gold beneath the evening light.

“Best get going,” he said, pushing back from the table. “Long day tomorrow. Lambing season’s starting early, apparently.”

She stood too, following him to the door.

Neither of them said much, the quiet between them comfortable now, warm rather than awkward. At the doorstep she smiled, hugging her arms lightly.

“See you tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Probably swing by. Check your cob’s feet again if you want.”

“Always the professional.”

He smiled faintly.

“Night, Alex.”

“Night.”

He turned, stepped out into the gravel, Otto padding at his side, the cool air brushing against his skin.

But three paces down the path, something tugged in his chest. A weight. A pull.

He stopped.

Turned.

She was still at the door, one hand resting on the frame, watching him quietly.

And before he could overthink it, before caution could wedge its way back in, he crossed the space between them again, took her face gently in his hands, and kissed her.

Soft. Brief. Careful.

But full of something.

He stepped back, breath catching, awkward smile twitching at his mouth.

“Uh... I don’t know why I did that,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “But I did. And I hope you’re okay with it.”

She stared at him for half a heartbeat.

And then her fingers curled in the front of his shirt, tugging him forward, and she kissed him.

Properly this time.

No hesitation. No half-measures.

Warm and real and certain.

When they parted — breathless, grinning — she let go of his shirt slowly.

“I’m very okay with it,” she said softly.

He laughed, low and quiet, chest full and light, before pressing one last kiss to her forehead.

“Good.”

And with that, he finally turned, grinning like an idiot, and walked back into the dusk.

Otto trotted after him, tail wagging.

And from the doorway, she watched him go, heart racing, smile curving wide.

Nothing just yet, she’d said.

But now... maybe something just beginning.

Alex was on cloud nine.

He’d spent the whole night replaying it, the feel of her fingers curling into his shirt, the second kiss, the way she’d smiled after. That soft, quiet certainty between them.

Sleep had evaded him entirely.

He’d drifted off, finally, around half four, only to be jolted awake two hours later by the relentless chorus of meows outside his bedroom door.

Of course. The cats.

Six o’clock sharp. No lie-ins in this house, not when there were thirteen entitled felines expecting breakfast with military punctuality.

He groaned, dragged himself upright, and shuffled downstairs to begin the morning routine, cats fed, kettle on, Otto let out into the yard with a yawn and a tail wag. The sky outside was dull and low, a proper grey English morning, the sort that settled into your bones.

He tried to keep his mind on the day ahead, but his thoughts kept drifting. Her laugh. The look she’d given him at the door. The way she’d said "I’m very okay with it."

He caught himself smiling into his tea like a fool.

By nine, the clinic was open, and the usual stream of familiar faces trickled in, Mrs Patel with her ageing Jack Russell, a nervous new owner with a hamster, and the Oakley sisters who always came in together despite only having one cat between them.

It was around half ten when Dennis Greaves walked in, older chap, quiet, lived out by the water tower.

Alex looked up from the front desk and frowned. “Dennis, what’ve you done to your hand?”

The man held it up sheepishly. It was bandaged in the loosest, most questionable wrap Alex had ever seen, half a tea towel and what looked suspiciously like gardening twine.

“Ah. Bit of a burn,” Dennis muttered. “Bloody kettle gave me a surprise this morning. Didn’t fancy driving all the way to the GP for it. Thought I’d patch it up.”

Alex stood. “Right. Sit down for me, yeah? I’ll be back in five.”

Dennis blinked. “Where you off to?”

“Just next door. Well, across the road and up a bit.”

A few minutes later, he was knocking at her door, still not quite used to how natural it felt now, turning up like this.

She opened it with a slight tilt to her head, dressed in that usual soft jumper and worn jeans, her expression curious and warm.

“Alex?”

“Sorry to bother you,” he said, slightly breathless, “but, random one, do you have a human first aid kit?”

She blinked. “Yes… why?”

“Dennis Greaves, older gent, lives past the water tower, burnt his hand. Wrapped it with a tea towel and string, I’m not joking. I figured I’d ask the best medic I know.”

She was already grabbing her kit from the sideboard. “Is he still at the clinic?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Ten minutes later, they were both crouched in the back room of the clinic, Dennis sitting on the edge of the treatment bench, looking faintly alarmed at the level of attention he’d attracted.

She worked quickly while talking Dennis through what she was doing, asking about pain, checking for blistering, cutting away the make-shift bandage without so much as a wrinkle of judgement.

Alex watched her, leaning on the doorframe, something warm settling low in his chest.

It wasn’t just that she knew what she was doing, it was the way she made people feel. Looked after. Respected.

When she was finished, Dennis was freshly bandaged, instructions given, and even managed a chuckle when she told him off (very nicely) for boiling water without the kettle lid on.

As she packed up, Dennis looked between them, eyes twinkling.

“You two make a good team,” he said.

Alex caught her eye.

“Yeah,” he said, quietly. “We really do.”

The door had barely clicked shut behind Dennis when she turned to Alex, tucking the last few items back into her first aid kit.

“That was satisfying,” she said, voice light but genuine. “Poor bloke.”

Alex nodded, still leaning on the doorframe. “You’re good at it,” he said simply.

She glanced over at him, modestly brushing it off with a shrug. “Old habit.”

He crossed to the sink, rinsing out the tea mug he’d abandoned earlier. “Where’s the nearest GP surgery, anyway?” she asked.

Alex gave a snort. “Fifteen-minute drive, give or take. No buses that way, either, well, not ones that line up with the hours. Bit useless.”

She raised her eyebrows. “That far?”

“Mmm. You coming out of retirement then?” he said, glancing at her with a half-grin. “Thinking of opening a GP surgery in your front room?”

She laughed, but then said, more serious now, “Technically, I’m qualified enough.”

Alex straightened a little, intrigued.

“I trained as a medic in the Army,” she went on, voice thoughtful. “Then became a physician assistant, did my master’s, ran clinics, treated just about everything you can imagine. In the States, I could hold my own in a GP’s office. Here, the system’s a bit fussier, but… yeah. I could. Sort of.”

Alex blinked, properly impressed now. “That’s a bit more than just a medic.”

“Well, yeah. It’s not as common over here, but in the US, PAs are pretty well embedded in healthcare. We diagnose, prescribe, manage long-term care, all of it, under a supervising physician on paper, but usually we’re pretty autonomous.”

He leaned against the counter, arms folded. “So what’s stopping you doing it here?”

She sighed, resting her hip against the exam table. “Mostly paperwork. Regulation. I'd need to jump through the NHS's version of flaming hoops. And I’d have to retrain a bit, they like you to work in hospitals first, or do a bridging course, and there’s other hurdles.”

Alex tilted his head. “Still. When you think that most of the villagers here are over sixty, could be useful having someone closer than the next postcode.”

She looked thoughtful at that.

“Suppose so,” she murmured.

A silence settled, comfortable again, as the idea hung gently between them. Him watching her. Her mind ticking forward.

Then Alex smiled. “Still think you should put a sign up. 'Yank’s Surgery – plasters, lectures, and no-nonsense bedside manner.'”

She grinned. “Only if I can put ‘run by woman with an actual backbone’ underneath.”

He laughed, his gaze lingering on her, and something warm flickered behind it, something steady, something sure.

“Sounds perfect.”

She tapped the counter lightly, breaking the moment with a smile. “Anyway. I don’t have the space in my place to open a clinic.”

Alex looked at her, then at the wall. “Come with me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like I’m about to be talked into something?”

He didn’t answer, just beckoned, turning down the side corridor past the main exam room. She followed him, curious, until he stopped at a wide oak door at the very end. It was dusted with cobwebs at the edges, clearly unused for some time.

He unlocked it with a slightly theatrical flourish. “After you.”

Inside, the room was large, long windows, high ceilings, pale wooden floorboards beneath a thin layer of dust. There was a desk pushed up against one wall, a few old cabinets, some boxes stacked near the back. But most of it was empty. Filled with light. Quiet and still.

She blinked, stepping in slowly. “What is this?”

“Old office space,” he said. “I never needed it. Was the previous vet’s records room, I think. I keep meaning to clear it out properly.”

She turned in a slow circle. “It’s beautiful.”

“Bit of a fixer-upper,” he admitted. “But it’s got plumbing. Heating. Light. Separate entrance, if you wanted one.”

She looked at him.

He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Could be something. If you ever decided you did want to set up shop.”

Her eyes were wide now, but thoughtful, not overwhelmed. Just moved.

Then he stepped past her, to a row of hooks behind the door, and unhooked one of his spare lab coats, clean, pressed, slightly too big.

He held it out.

“Go on,” he said. “Try it on.”

She laughed. “What, now?”

“Now.”

She rolled her eyes fondly but took it, slipping her arms into the sleeves, pushing it up to her elbows. It hung off her slightly, crisp white against the soft jumper and jeans.

He stepped forward, close now, and reached out, gently straightening the collar, his fingers brushing the edge of her neck.

Then, lower, he took hold of the lapels, looking down at her with something quiet and wicked in his expression.

He leaned in, voice soft and low near her ear.

“You didn’t hear this from me,” he murmured, “but I think you’d make a really pretty general practioner.”

Her breath caught, just slightly, and when he pulled back, she was already looking up at him, her smile barely there but her eyes lit like embers.

His hands still on the front of her coat, he pulled her in, slow, certain, and their lips met.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t unsure.

It was deliberate. Drawn out. A kiss that made space of its own.

Her hands lifted to his chest, holding the edge of his jumper as though she needed the anchor, and he tilted his head just enough to deepen the moment, no rush, no fireworks.

Just that quiet, glowing certainty.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads touched, both of them smiling like fools.

“Well,” she whispered, her voice a little unsteady, “that’s one way to close a business pitch.”

Alex laughed against her cheek. “Wait ‘til you see my PowerPoint.”

When she went home that evening, she curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea, legs tucked beneath her, waiting for Logan to return from his run.

The house was warm, Aga still humming gently, the horse settled out in the back paddock, Otto’s fur still clinging to her cardigan from earlier.

She didn’t hear him come in until the front door clicked shut and the faint sound of trainers being toed off echoed through the hallway.

He padded into the lounge, face pink from the cool air, headphones still round his neck.

“Sit,” she said, eyes not leaving her tea.

He frowned. “Am I being told off?”

She gave him a look, and he immediately obeyed, flopping down into the armchair opposite her, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Well?” he asked.

She exhaled. “Something happened today.”

“That sounds dramatic. What sort of something?”

“The idea of me openinf a clinic has come up, of me coming out of retirement.”

His eyebrows climbed further. “Wait, what?”

She nodded. “A man came into Alex’s clinic, bad burn from the kettle and he wrapped it super badly because the closest GP is a 15 minute drive, one some of them can’t do anymore ans I wss shown a place. It’s already got the bones, electrics, heating, plumbing… it could actually work.”

Logan’s eyes widened slowly. “That’s… I think that’s a really good idea.”

“I know it’s a bit sudden—”

“No, I mean it,” he said, leaning forward. “Honestly, you’d be brilliant at it. It makes sense. People here could use that.”

She smiled a little, stirring her tea. “Yeah?”

Logan gave a small, surprised laugh, then went slightly pink. “Okay. I’m going to say something now, and you’re not allowed to laugh.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Go on.”

“There’s this girl,” he said slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I see her sometimes on my runs, around the lake route. She works at the GP surgery in the next postcode over. Maybe if you’re serious you two could chat? She might know the hoops you’d have to jump through to register anything official.”

She smiled, touched. “You’re setting me up on professional blind dates now?”

He held his hands up. “I’m being supportive!”

“Mmhm.”

He grinned. “So where would you set up shop, then?”

She sipped her tea. “In Alex’s clinic.”

Logan’s eyebrows drew together slowly. “As in… in his clinic? In his home?”

She just nodded, nonchalant.

Logan blinked at her. And then, as the pieces slotted into place, his mouth dropped open.

“Wait. Hang on. Hang on—” he sat upright, pointing at her dramatically, “—did you kiss him and not tell me?!”

She gave him a slow, guilty grin over the rim of her mug.

He let out a strangled sound and fell back into the chair. “I knew something was going on! You were humming when I left for my run yesterday!”

She laughed, full and unguarded.

“I’m terrible at this,” she said eventually, cheeks warm.

“You’re absolutely appalling,” Logan said. “You kiss the village vet, get offered a job, plan a local revolution and you waited for me to come home like it was any other Tuesday?”

“I wanted to tell you properly!”

He crossed his arms. “Right. From now on I want real-time updates. Voice notes. Smoke signals. I don’t care.”

She leaned back with a sigh, eyes soft. “It was… nice.”

Logan smirked. “Nice?”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, it was really nice.”

“Thought so.”

They sat there for a moment in the quiet of the evening, the soft tick of the clock on the wall, the rustle of wind outside, and something warm and steady growing in her chest.

Everything, finally, starting to feel like it might fit.

As the week went by, she began doing her own quiet research.

Nothing loud. No announcements. Just books left open on the coffee table, notes in her phone, websites bookmarked, documents downloaded in the early hours of the morning when the cottage was still and the only sound was the Aga ticking.

She’d had coffee with the woman Logan mentioned, a lovely lady, it turned out, who ran three days a week at the neighbouring GP surgery and had a sharp brain, kind eyes, and an encyclopaedic knowledge of NHS bureaucracy.

They met at the café by the post office, paper cups in hand, steam curling in the cool morning air, and she had talked her through it all: CQC regulations, partnership models, licensing, the exact routes someone with her background could take to get formally registered.

She hadn’t felt daunted. If anything, she’d felt steady. Like the more she learned, the more it all made sense. Like she could do this. Like she was doing it, already, quietly, bit by bit.

By Friday, her table was covered in colour-coded folders.

She was sat amongst them, sipping lukewarm tea, when Logan came down the stairs with a gym bag slung over his shoulder and a far-too-innocent look on his face.

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

He tried, and failed, to look casual. “Your car.”

She stared at him.

He gave her his best sheepish grin. “I’ve got a friend, Darren, someone I served with. He’s in London for the weekend. Said we could grab a pint. Thought I’d head down tonight and come back Sunday?”

She arched a brow. “Logan, it’s a three-hour drive.”

“We used to do that to the base before breakfast.”

She sighed, reached for the side table, and tossed him the keys. “Fine. Don’t scratch her.”

He caught them one-handed, grinning. “You’re the best.”

As he opened the door, he paused, looked back at her over his shoulder with that classic little-brother smirk.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

She grabbed the nearest cushion and lobbed it squarely at the door as it closed behind him.

“I’M OLDER THAN YOU!” she shouted, and heard his laugh all the way down the garden path.

She stood there a moment, arms crossed, half-smiling. Then glanced back at the papers on the table.

Quietly, carefully, she picked up her highlighter, sat down, and carried on.

She spent the rest of the evening with her head in her laptop and a growing fortress of notes beside her, files, sticky notes, open tabs on her browser, highlighters slowly running dry.

The fire had gone to embers, her tea had gone cold, again, but she barely noticed.

She was just scribbling down a figure for course fees when there was a soft knock at the door.

She looked up, blinking herself back into the room.

Alex.

Hair windswept, coat open, the smell of night air and hay clinging to him.

He leaned in the doorway with his usual calm presence, eyeing the chaos of her living room.

“What’s all this then?”

She gestured vaguely at the papers. “Research.”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “On what?”

“On getting re-qualified,” she said, voice level. “Technically if I get on the right conversion course and pass the board exams, I could be registered as a licensed practitioner in six months. They’ve got routes for people like me, prior training, military experience. It’s not guaranteed, but it’s doable.”

He raised an eyebrow, walking further in. “You’ve done all that tonight?”

She smiled, a bit shy. “Bits of it this week. Tonight just helped it click.”

He nodded slowly, then glanced down at one of the printed guides spread across the table. “And what’s the catch?”

“Funding,” she admitted. “Course fees. Insurance. Equipment. It adds up fast. And I’m not exactly...” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely to the worn cardigan she was wearing and the battered folders with broken spines.

Alex moved to the sofa and sat down with a gentle creak of old springs.

“You realise,” he said, looking up at her, “the people of this village would probably pay you in jam and eggs and whatever else they’ve got going, just to not have to drive fifteen minutes for a GP who’s always running late.”

She laughed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah, but jam doesn’t exactly pay licensing fees.”

“No,” he agreed. “But support’s not nothing. You’ve got something they need. They’d rally, I reckon.”

She met his eyes then, something open and quiet passing between them.

She stayed standing, arms lightly folded, watching him like she was trying to see through him and make sense of her own thoughts at once.

“Six months, huh?” he said.

She nodded.

He leaned back slightly, tilting his head at her. “Come here a sec.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Why?”

“Just come here.”

She took a cautious step forward.

And then, without much ceremony, he reached for her hand, tugged lightly, and pulled her down into his lap.

She gave a startled little laugh, hands bracing against his shoulders, their faces suddenly far closer than she’d expected.

“You’re trouble,” she said.

He smiled. “You love it.”

She opened her mouth, maybe to tease back, maybe to tell him something soft, but he kissed her before the words came.

This time there was no hesitation, no edge-of-a-moment restraint.

It was all warmth and heat, slow and deep and real. Her hands curled into his jumper. His fingers slid up her spine. They moved together like they’d been doing it for years, like they’d found something they hadn’t even realised they’d been missing.

The notes on the table fluttered slightly as the fire crackled behind them, and the living room faded into nothing but skin, breath, and the quiet hum of something beginning.

Not just a kiss.

Not just a plan.

Something that could actually be home.

She hesitated only for a moment before melting against him, the soft weight of her body settling into his lap like it belonged there, like it had all along.

His hands found her waist, fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns beneath the fabric of her jumper, sending tiny sparks up her spine. The world outside their little living room disappeared, the flickering firelight casting shadows that danced across their faces, the muted ticking of the clock the only sound other than their breathing.

Their lips met again, deeper this time. Softer, hungrier, as if catching up on years of unsaid things.

She tangled her fingers in the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palms. His lips moved against hers with such purpose, teasing, coaxing, claiming. There was no rush, only the slow unraveling of restraint.

His hands slid under her jumper, tracing the curves of her ribs, warm and insistent.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” he murmured against her mouth, breath hot and trembling.

Before she could reply, he tugged the jumper up and over her head, letting it fall away, exposing the delicate line of her neck.

She shivered, not from cold but from the sheer intimacy of the moment, raw and real and electric.

His hands framed her face, thumbs brushing along her cheekbones as he kissed her again, slow and relentless, like a promise he meant to keep.

The outside world, the research, the village, the worries, all faded into a blur.

There was only this, the heat between them, the softness of skin against skin, the shared breath and the whispered something that was too private for words.

It took her only five months to get requalified. The process was intense, but the village’s unwavering support made all the difference. The locals pooled together what they coul, some paid in cash, others in homegrown vegetables, fresh eggs, or cakes baked with more love than sugar. There was a quiet pride in having one of their own, or at least someone who truly cared, running a proper GP surgery in the heart of the village.

Within the first year, the old clinic transformed. With Logan pitching in on the building work alongside a few of the younger villagers, it blossomed into something far more than a modest room with a few chairs. Shelves were lined with well-thumbed medical books, the reception desk brightened by fresh flowers, and a waiting area filled with hand-knitted blankets.

Logan’s friend arrived soon after. She fitted in seamlessly, bringing experience and warmth, and alongside one of her colleagues from the neighbouring town, they slowly began turning the clinic into a fully operational NHS surgery. It was a lengthy process, but each small victory, a new piece of equipment, the official green light to prescribe medication, was cause for celebration.

Mrs Langley’s granddaughter, Lucy, took on the receptionist role. A bright young woman with a ready smile, Lucy knew every villager’s name within weeks and helped make the clinic feel like the hub of the community.

Logan, meanwhile, found his own rhythm. He moved out of the farmhouse into a cosy flat above the village pub, the very pub where she and Alex had first fallen for each other, and it became a second home. On quiet evenings, he’d often drop by their place, joking about how they were turning the village upside down with their newfangled ideas.

Alex and she settled into a comfortable domestic routine. The cats, all thirteen of them, as usual, had claimed what was meant to be her office as their own sprawling kingdom. It was a riot of fur and purring, and neither of them minded the chaos. They worked side by side, locking up the clinic together each evening, the kind of quiet partnership that spoke volumes.

Some days, too tired to make the trek up the lane to their house, they’d collapse into the bed Alex refused to dismantle at his old place, tangled limbs and gentle touches in the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

As the years passed, their love deepened.

Eventually, they married in the courthouse on a crisp autumn afternoon. The ceremony was simple but filled with laughter, and the village turned out in force to celebrate. It wasn’t just a wedding, it was a symbol of all they’d brought to this little community: care, kindness, and a deep, enduring connection.

The cob, ever faithful, had been put down peacefully some years earlier, but his spirit lived on in Snow White and Tink, their two horses who adored the generous paddock beside their house. Watching them run beneath the wide, open sky was a daily reminder of how much they had all grown together.

Logan stayed close by, often dropping in for tea or a quiet chat. He and Alex had developed a strong friendship, one as close as his brothers in arms.

Life wasn’t perfect, there were always hurdles, small town gossip, and the odd NHS bureaucracy to navigate, but it was theirs. Their own piece of the world, where love, laughter, and loyalty built something lasting.

And through it all, they carried each other, their pasts, their hopes, their quiet moments, building a life that was, at last, truly home.

The end.

taglist: @rebelatbay @fictionalfanatic123 @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @geauxharry @hzstry @oikarma @chilling-seavey@the-holy-trinity-l @idc4987 @rayaskoalaland @elieanana@bookishnerd1132@mercurymaxine

flat next door/station down the road taglist: @f1enthusiastsstuff @luminouskalopsia @f1boistrash @pandora108 @obxstiles @cinderellawithashoe @breiiology @sunshinesafteycar @coffeebeforewater @taetae-armyyyyy @capricornito @ravenrage27 @bowielovesyou @adalynneva @hreader7 @ladyliberty6 @isotopemylove @scarsoncherryglass @samanthaw16 @lauvender-bolter @oxforce @padwanoftheyear @fangirlmusicbiashoe @papayainsectorone @le-le-lea @clovermoters @leeknowingg

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yanderslutt · 3 days ago

Text

❝ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 6 — 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞 ❞

track # 6: Mr. Sandman by SYML

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream Make her the cutest that I've ever seen Give her two lips like roses and clover And tell her that her lonely nights are over

POV: Y/N

The morning light bled gently through the cheap blinds, casting quiet stripes across her bedsheets. For the first time in what felt like weeks, Y/N didn’t wake up to shouting or the weight of a man next to her who felt more like a ghost. The apartment was quiet, save for the distant hum of the street outside and the coo of pigeons nesting somewhere near the fire escape.

She reached for her phone before she even opened both eyes.

No messages from Choso. Again.

But one thread sat unread — from Gojo.

Gojo 💙🕶️ Did you sleep okay? 😴🌸 If not, I’ll send you a sleep playlist. 🎧🤍

A soft, involuntary smile curled her lips. He used emojis. Corny ones. But cute.

She hesitated before typing back:

Y/N: Yes. Thanks again for dinner. 🍽️

The bubbles popped up instantly.

Gojo 💙🕶️: You sure? 😏 Or do I need to deliver croissants again? 🥐🥐🥐 Emergency Breakfast Protocol™ engaged?? 🚨🍳🍓

She laughed. Actually laughed.

Her fingers paused above the screen. She shouldn't like him this much already. It was too soon. Too raw. But still...

She rose, pulling open the window. The wind kissed her cheeks, crisp and clean. The city didn’t smell like rot today. It smelled like possibility.

Y/N grabbed her journal and sank onto the kitchen stool, ink bleeding onto the page in quiet thoughts:

There’s this man… he sees me. And I don’t know if that’s terrifying or beautiful. But it felt good to be seen.

She closed the journal, heart thudding in a way that wasn’t fear for once.

Work was work — slow, usual, clock-in, tie-the-apron kind of day. But the moment she walked through the diner doors, she was already scanning the booths. And there he was.

Same stool. Same smirk. Stirring his coffee with one hand and thumbing through his phone with the other like he hadn’t been waiting for her the whole time.

“Hey stranger,” she teased, sliding behind the counter. Gojo perked up. “There she is. My favorite scholar.” He nudged a fresh cup of coffee her way. “Made them remake it twice. Wanted it perfect for you.”

She rolled her eyes but her smile betrayed her. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “but I’m your kind of ridiculous.”

They chatted while she restocked the sugar jars, Gojo asking about her classes and pretending not to beam every time she mentioned a quiz or project.

“I’m just glad I finally got tuition together,” she sighed. “Working doubles, skipping meals. But I did it.”

Gojo nodded slowly, swirling his mug. Inside, he was already composing the wire transfer. Outside, he just said, “That’s amazing, Y/N. Seriously.”

“You think?” she asked, eyes searching his.

“I know,” he said, voice low and earnest. “No one’s working harder than you. Don’t let anyone take that away.”

And just like that, the moment slipped away. He checked his watch and stood up, smoothing his coat.

“I’ve got to run,” he said, tucking his phone away. “But... keep that smile today, yeah?” She nodded, that fluttery feeling returning.

“Thanks for stopping by.”

He winked. “You make it easy.”

And then he was gone. But what she didn’t know—what she couldn’t have guessed—was that he wasn’t heading home. He was headed to her university’s financial aid office. And her name was already on his list.

Once work was over Y/N arrives on campus, her backpack slung over her shoulder, still feeling the echo of Gojo’s presence from the night before. As she makes her way across the quad, her phone buzzes. It’s a text from Gojo—something playful, filled with GIFs and emojis.

🥺🍳✨ thanks again for feeding this poor soul. Hope you didn’t miss me too much already 😈📚 I’m still full… but starving for your company 🤭💙

She can’t help but smile at her screen looking over the cringy message.

As she enters the building, she spots Gojo again, this time leaning against the vending machine like some kind of model pulled out of a business catalog—long coat, tailored pants, expensive shoes, sunglasses even though they’re indoors.

They chat briefly about her classes, and when she confesses tuition has been weighing on her, he nods along—offering gentle, encouraging words. But inside, Gojo is already formulating his next move.

He leaves shortly after, with a wave and that disarming grin. She watches him go, thinking he’s just some guy who keeps showing up at the right time. But…The moment he rounds the corner outside the university, his smile fades into a razor-sharp smirk. He adjusts his coat, taps an earpiece, and whispers, “Geto. I need her tuition account. University registrar. Handle it quietly.”He strides confidently down the street, each footstep echoing like a promise.

He remembers her laugh from this morning. How her eyes lit up at his silly texts. He replays the sound in his mind like music. His internal monologue borders on delusional: She’s letting me in. We’re getting closer. One string at a time.

Geto’s POV:

In a luxury car parked near campus, Geto receives the call. He’s dressed impeccably in a fitted suit, long dark hair tied back. He gives a sigh, tapping his laptop to begin rerouting Gojo’s funds into Y/N’s tuition account anonymously.

“Understood, boss. Anything else?”

Gojo’s voice hums: “Make sure the confirmation lands in her inbox by nightfall. And Geto?” “Yes?”

“Don’t you dare touch her.” A beat. Then the line cuts. Geto leans back, muttering to himself, “Man’s insane.” But he presses the key anyway.

Y/N pulled her worn laptop onto the kitchen table, the screen flickering to life. A kettle hissed quietly in the background. She was off from work today, off from classes too. Just one day to breathe.

She hadn’t meant to do her budgeting first thing in the morning, but something gnawed at her chest—the itch of needing control over something. Anything.

She opened her budgeting spreadsheet. Rent: due in a week. Groceries: manageable. Laundry: pushed again. And then—Tuition.

Her heart thudded.

She bit her lip, clicked open her student portal. She’d saved what she could, scraped it together dollar by dollar from tips and overtime. Her last log-in showed a balance of $18,450. A crushing number. One she used to stare at and wonder if it would ever go down.

But today—

Current Balance: $0.00

Y/N blinked.

Refreshed the page.

Still zero.

Her mouth went dry.

She clicked into the payment history, scrolling quickly, breath catching when she saw the line:

PAID IN FULL — Transaction Date: Yesterday Processed by: Administrative Override

“What…” she whispered.

The kettle screamed. She didn’t move.

Snatching her phone, she called the financial aid office. Her thumb trembled as it hovered over the green button. When the line picked up, her voice cracked.

“Hi—um—hi, this is Y/N L/N. I’m calling because... I think there’s a mistake on my account?”

The hold music played for a few seconds before a chipper voice came on.

“Hi Y/N! No mistake—it looks like your entire tuition was covered yesterday. It came through one of our high-priority bursary partners. That means you’re all set for the semester. Congratulations!”

Y/N sat back in her chair, the plastic creaking beneath her.

“But… who—who paid it?”

A pause.

“Unfortunately, those bursaries come through anonymously. We don’t have visibility into individual donors. But you’re lucky—those funds usually go to grad students or legacy families. Someone must’ve made a very compelling case for you.”

Y/N didn’t reply.

Her fingers dug into her pajama pants. She muttered a thank-you and hung up. The silence in the apartment roared.

She stared at the zero balance again, then looked slowly across the kitchen… wondering who would have done something like this. But deep down in her gut.. she already felt the feeling that it was him.

The projector cast a dim, dreamy glow across the wall of Gojo’s apartment, humming softly as it cycled through a carefully curated slideshow of images—each one more obsessive than the last.

Y/N’s smile caught mid-laugh at the diner.

A blurry capture of her reading outside the university café.

Another of her silhouette, hunched slightly as she carried groceries up the stairs to her apartment—he remembered how she paused to catch her breath, not knowing anyone was watching.

But Gojo was always watching.

He lay on his couch, shirtless, arms stretched above his head, the shadows from black-and-white balloons swaying above like they were caught in a breeze that didn’t exist. Candlelight flickered across the walls, illuminating the dozens of dried rose petals scattered across the floor and windowsills. Napkins with faded lipstick stains and receipts from her favorite diner were pinned in neat rows beneath the projector screen—like a twisted gallery curated in her honor.

And projected on the wall tonight was his favorite: a polaroid, taken in secret weeks ago, capturing her mid-turn—confused, radiant, alive.

Gojo’s fingers trailed lazily down his stomach, eyes never leaving her face.

His phone buzzed.

Geto: Confirmed. She called financial aid. Still has no idea it was you.

A low, reverent chuckle escaped his lips.

“She saw it,” he whispered, reverently.

He sat up slowly, stretching, and walked to the full-length mirror across from his projector screen. He stared at his own reflection—eyes shining, smile soft with devotion.

“You didn’t even have to ask, baby,” he whispered. “You just had to believe.”

He pressed his lips to the phone screen, where her contact name flashed from an older message.

Then, barefoot, he moved through his apartment like a man preparing for a sermon. He lit another candle. Adjusted a frame on the wall. Paused in front of a map of her university. Pinned into the corkboard were notations in silver ink: class times, professor office hours, her regular lunch bench behind the library, her favorite drink order from the campus café (iced chai, light cinnamon, oat milk).

Everything about her life, tracked and known.

And then there was the file—the thick envelope labeled “Project HOB” —House of Balloons. Inside was the newest addition: a printed internship announcement from the Eastview Business Department. Fully funded. Paid. Flexible hours. Exclusive partnership with Satoru Enterprises.

His company.

He had it posted under the radar through internal connections, designed specifically for her. Only one slot available. One candidate eligible.

Her name was already pre-filled on the official copy.

Gojo placed the page reverently on his coffee table, flattening it with the palm of his hand. He took a step back and smiled.

“Almost perfect,” he murmured.

He reached for his phone and typed:

Gojo: Good morning sunshine ☀️ Don’t forget to eat something today. Alsooo 👀 rumor has it a pretty sweet internship just opened up on campus. You’d kill it. ✨

He sent it with a wink emoji and leaned back, sighing like he’d just handed the universe a love letter.

Intercut: POV — Geto Suguru

In a dark sedan parked beneath the amber haze of a streetlamp, Geto sat with a furrowed brow, laptop glowing in his lap. Onscreen were dozens of files: surveillance footage, timestamps, email transcripts, scanned school forms, even purchase history from the student bookstore.

A dull ache pulsed behind his temples.

The last folder was labeled “Y/N — Full Compliance”.

Inside: copies of her business assignments, library checkouts, even a class project proposal from last semester. Geto hadn't known it was possible to be this thorough.

He hesitated. Then opened the most recent alert.

Bursar Payment Notification Amount: $18,450.00 Paid in full via Satoru Enterprises Academic Bursary Account

“Fuck,” Geto muttered under his breath.

He rubbed a hand down his face.

This was madness. Complete delusion.

He texted again:

Geto: This is getting insane. You’re too far in.

The typing bubble appeared.

Then vanished.

Gojo never answered.

Because in his mind… he didn’t have to.

POV: Gojo (continued)

He pulled on a soft gray turtleneck, then black slacks that hugged his frame just right. He spritzed himself with his most expensive cologne—dark spice, amber, something warm that lingered—and combed his fingers through snowy white hair.

He stood in front of the mirror again.

“Today she’ll smile at me again,” he whispered. “Today, she’ll feel lucky.”

He picked up the internship form, folded it neatly, and tucked it into a silver envelope.

His reflection stared back at him—wild eyes, a crooked grin.

Then he walked out, humming softly to himself.

A single black-and-white balloon floated after him as the door clicked shut.

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inocentuure · 4 hours ago

Text

is it casual now? — JACKIE TAYLOR

includes the theme of internalized homophobia but that’s pretty much it

you watched as jackie threw her shirt on. pushing her arms through the sweater through the sleeves before her head. she glanced over her shoulder, giving you her usual smile. gosh, she was gorgeous. she walked over to your bed, leaning over so her lips could brush against yours before she pulled away. still smiling before she spoke.

“thanks.. for y’know letting me crash. my parents were being overbearing. again.”

you don’t know what you expected when she kissed you behind the bleachers that first time back in april. maybe fireworks. maybe clarity. maybe something that made it all make sense.

why jackie taylor, would choose you out of all people to tangle her fingers into, to kiss like the world might split in half if she didn’t. but what you got was breathless silence, a nervous glance over her shoulder, and a hushed “don’t tell anyone, okay?”

it wasn’t what you expected your first relationship to be like. you wanted to hold her hand in public without having to fear being judged, you wanted to kiss her publicly whenever she scored a goal, you wanted to normal couple things with jackie. whatever that was.

by september, the leaves were already changing in new jersey and your parents had already started decorating for halloween. things were going smoothly with jackie. or so you thought. you’ve gotten good at sneaking around with her. sneaking into her room, her sneaking into yours, meeting her by the parking lot after a yellowjackets game when she smiles at you and hugs you extra tightly. or when she’ll cuddled you into her bed, like a secret. and you’ll spend hours wrapped around each other like the world outside doesn’t exist.

but it does exist. and you’re tired of pretending it doesn’t.

she calls you first. always.

you already know the drill.

it’s 10:14 PM, everyone should be asleep. you’re not. you couldn’t fall asleep.

the landline on your nightstand rings. once and then twice. jackie’s usual signal. you let out an sigh, reaching over to pick it up and press it to your ear.

“hey.” she’s whispering. her tone soft and a little shaky.

“hey.” was your only reply. simple.

“you’re not sleeping?”

another sigh escaped from your lips. you sat up still pressing the phone to her ear before you replied.

“i’ll be there in ten.”

jackie’s room is the typical room you would expect to see in a seventeen magazine. it smells like vanilla coty fields, jackie’s mom wears it often and often lets her burrow it. she had floral sheets and a pink quilt was spread out on her bed.

she opens the window for you.

and just like always, she pulls you in, and presses your lips against hers without a word. she kisses you like she’s afraid you’re going to disappear. maybe you will, if she thinks hard enough.

you love her. you love her so much.

but tonight. something’s different. you’re not feeling it like you always do. you’re tired. tired of being the unspoken “girlfriend”, tired of being the secret she holds. you pull away slightly, breathing heavily before you spoke up. laying tangled in her arms.

“jackie..”

“don’t.”

she whispered. her tone pleading and soft. she pressed her forehead against your forehead.

“not tonight. please.”

“we’ve been doing this since april.” your heart slowly breaks. you try your best not to revel your feelings, but you need to. this has been eating you out.

“i know.”

“it’s not like im asking you to announce it to everyone person in your life, jackie. but it feels like im losing my mind.”

she shifted. becoming slightly more awake looking at you.

“you’re not. don’t say that.”

“i’m not?” you replied. letting out an chuckle with no humor to it. “because i can’t hold your hand, at school, i can’t call you my girlfriend, i can’t even look at you for too long in public without acting like it’s taboo!”

jackie exhaled. pulling away from you. her hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders. she was always so perfect. and you hate how beautiful she looked, even when upset.

“we’re friends.”

you blinked.

“what?”

“we’re just friends.” she repeated. looking at you with an blank expression.

“friends?” you said. breath beginning to hitch, and you took in a deep breath. maybe to hold in the tears that were beginning to form in your eyes.

“yeah..” was the only reply that came from jackie. a mere murmur.

you scoffed rolling your eyes, shaking your head with disbelief. “jackie, we kiss, we makeout, you literally had have put your hand in my—“

you cut your own self off. you let out an huff, searching her face for more answers. “we’re not just friends.”

you saw her jaw tightening. “friends can do that.”

“no, they can’t.” your voice cracks. “That’s not a thing friends do. you don’t crawl into bed with your best friend and tell her you like how her voice sounds when she’s falling asleep. you don’t trace her scars and say you want to know everything about her.”

she won’t look at you. you reach for her wrist. “I love you.”

she yanks her hand away like you burned her.

“don’t say that.”

“why not?”

“because it makes this real.”

“it is real!”

“It is real!”

“to you,” she snaps, suddenly standing, arms crossed over her chest like she’s shielding herself from you. “you’re okay with being this. i’m not.”

there it is. the bitter, scared truth of it. the thing she’s been holding back all these months.

you sit there on her bed, stunned. your voice is small. “So I’m just a phase?”

she winces. “no.”

“then what am I?”

“i don’t know,” she whispers.

you hate that you’re crying, but you can’t stop it. you wipe your eyes angrily. “do you even like me? or do you just like what I let you get away with?”

she turns away, fists clenched. “you don’t get it.”

“then make me get it.” you pleaded. begged basically. jackie turns slowly, and for the first time since this started, you see her—really see her. the fear in her eyes, the panic under her skin, the tight control she has to keep on everything or else it all shatters. wiskayok’s perfect golden girl. soccer captain. queen bee. poster child for the whole american dream concept.

but in this moment right now. all you see is jackie. your jackie. the girl who kissed your temple because she likes feeling closer to you, the girl who hugs you tightly when you cuddled because warmth is shareable. but you also see a different side of jackie. the girl who doesn’t know what she is exactly, your heart breaks even more.

“i don’t know how to be like.. you.” she replied. voice trembling. you’ve never seen her like this.

“you’re brave.” she added. you heard the sound of her voice cracking every word she spoke. “you wear your heart out on in the open. you’d hold my hand in the hallway, you’d hold my hand in the damn cafeteria.”

“you wouldn’t?” you whispered softly.

“no.” that stung more than it should’ve.

“why?”

she stares at you. “because if I do, it’s real. and if it’s real, then I have to face what that means.”

you reach for her hand again. this time, she lets you.

“it means you like girls,” you say softly. “It means you like me.”

“I don’t want to be that.”

“but you are,” you say, gently but firmly. “and that’s okay.”

jackie closes her eyes. “it doesn’t feel okay.”

you press your forehead to hers. “then let it feel like this. just for a minute. just us. no school, no team, no parents. just me and you.” she breathes in, shakily. and you feel her nod.

later that night. it was simple. you didn’t makeout or touch each other like you were both starving. instead you just lay by each other side by side. your fingers tangled together, listing to her still open window and her house slowly settling into silence. somewhere between 2 and 3:am jackie finally moved. rolling over onto her back, her eyes glued to the ceiling.

“i don’t want to lose you.”

you turn to her, tightening your grip on her hand.

“then don’t.”

she looks at you, really looks, like she’s memorizing your face. like maybe for the first time, she’s trying to imagine what a future could look like with your hand in hers, in the daylight.

“you’re not just my friend,” she whispers.

and you almost say i know, but you don’t. you just squeeze her hand and let her figure the rest out on her own time. because you’ll wait.

for a little while longer.

#wlw #jackie taylor #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #sapphic #shauna shipman #lottie mathews x reader #natalie scatorccio #okai guys i’ve been thinking and which one sounds better #superman lottie or spider man lottie?

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whumpsoda · 2 days ago

Text

A Call For Help

Masterlist

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, recovering whumpee, Institutionalized slavery, brainwashed/conditioned whumpee, coarse language, creepy whumper, alcohol use, memory loss/amnesia

——————

The words were flying right over her head, jumbling up in a throbbing ache either from her training or the loud, bumping music swirling around her. She used to read all the damn time, and now she couldn’t even string a sentence together. Agnes grit her teeth, continuing.

Sh- she… at the… no… I have no fucking idea what that word is.

Slamming the book shut, she threw it to the side carelessly. How could everyone else seem to do it so easily?

Agnes settled her sights over the maze that was the bar, filled with the sounds of people. Too loud, she thought, yet didn’t make a single move to leave. She knew a good lot of the people in said maze, a lot for the same reason they knew her. It was never difficult for a pet to recognize another pet.

Agnes made eye contact with a woman making her way to the counter, tall and slender, who eventually looped around the open chair beside her.

“Hey, there.” Grazing a hand over Agnes’ back, the woman slunk her a grin. “You having a good night?” She had long, dark hair, and a face caked with precisely done makeup.

“It’s going alright.” Agnes shrugged. She looked the opposite, hair unbrushed and face bare.

Taking a seat beside her, the woman’s bracelets jingled along with her movement. “Could be better with a drink, I assume.” She dipped a strand of hair behind her ear, biting her lip.

“I’m okay.” Agnes told her, as casually as possible. She didn’t really know why she was even there. “Thanks, though.”

“So you come to a bar and you’re not even gonna drink?” She laughed, a kind of sting to the ears. Hearty and low. Agnes joined in, weak and faked. Easy, though. “C’mon, don’t be a buzzkill. It’s on me.” Before Agnes could refuse - not that she would’ve even had the guts - the woman had already ordered them both something. “I’m Carter, by the way.”

“Agnes.”

“That’s like-,” again she laughed, but this time it felt more so at her than with her. Kind of like- “What an old lady name you got there.”

Agnes dipped her head, allowing herself to look through her lashes, twisting her abdomen to face the other woman. Exactly like with- “Yeah, I guess you could call it that.”

“Ah.” The woman - Carter - looked to find the bartender - Derrick, his name was, Agnes knew him well - handing her their drinks. “Here’s yours, and mine.”

Agnes took the cup with both hands, tapping it with her fingers. A touch of cold. “Thanks. You really didn’t have to.” She failed to catch what Carter had ordered, but didn’t really care.

Carter smiled, stealing a sip out of her cup. Agnes watched the bob of her throat. “Drink up, pretty girl.”

Drink up, pretty pet.

Maybe… one drink couldn’t hurt. She was going to need it if she couldn’t find a way to see herself out of this conversation. She took a swig, bitterness filling up her mouth and down her caving throat.

“What’s that?” Carter gestured to her book, discarded beside her.

She chuckled, awkwardly, hiding it with her shoulder. “Just a book I’ve been reading.”

“Here?” Carter made a face, a scrunch of her expression with an amused smile. “That’s pretty weird.”

Discreetly Agnes slipped it back into her bag, a cross body big enough to fit her most important belongings. “Yeah, I know.”

“To each their own, I guess.” She didn’t say it like she really meant it. “You’re nervous, I can tell,” She muttered, bumping Agnes’ drink with a gentle nudge, “drink a little more. It’ll make you feel better.”

She said it like Agnes wouldn’t fucking know that, as if she didn’t come here at least like a twice a fucking week. Agnes, obedient as ever, took another gulp.

“Good girl.” She purred under her breath, and Agnes almost spit before she could swallow, a dribble slinking out of her pursed lips. Carter looked as if that was the most normal thing she’d said all night. “What?”

Agnes swallowed the burn. “Nothing. Sorry.”

Carter sat in a way that made sure her body was facing Agnes’. “You’re very gorgeous, y’know.”

“Me?” Agnes huffed a laugh, as if she disagreed. How could she when that was why she was made a romantic? “You’re joking.”

“Nope, I’m serious. And, if you’d let me,” she licked her lips, keening in, “I’d love to see more of that beauty.”

“Oh, um-,” Agnes staggered back, “Sorry, but I’d rather not… tonight. Maybe another time.”

A yank of her arm, and she was level with Carter’s shoulder.

“Oh, you can’t fool me, pretty thing. I know what you are, okay?” She whispered, lips smacking in Agnes’ ear. She froze, utterly still. “No more dancing around it honey, everyone can tell you’re one of them.” Carter leaned back, resting her head on her knuckles. “You’re not a very good actor… or, well, maybe you were just trained so good you can’t help but show it.”

Agnes’ mouth moved, so many words dying right in her throat. She hesitated. “I’m not-,”

“Hush, okay? You’re prettier when you’re not talking.” She tisked, trailing a thumb over Agnes’ lips and down to hold her chin. “No one likes a smartass slut.”

It’s okay, Roxy, you don’t need to speak. No one wants to hear a dummy like you talk, anyways.

“But, I mean,” her arm brushed Agnes’, “Reading? In a bar? I’m surprised it’s not a kids book. I know you guys can’t read very well, if at all.” Again, she bit her lip, inspecting her prey. “You’re definitely not a smart one, I can just tell.”

“Stop-,”

She held Agnes’ wrist with an iron grip. “Do you really want to play this game with me? I could call up a couple handlers right now to take you off my hands. A refurb is what they’d call you then, right?”

“I-,”

“Come back home with me, baby. Just one night, okay? I bet it’s practically routine for you.” Carter leaned in ever so closer, a hand pressing to Agnes’ thigh. “Then I’ll leave you on your way.”

“I don’t-,” In, and out. Her lips firmed. “No thanks. Like I said, maybe another time.”

“Well you’re just a waste of space, aren’t you? A romantic who doesn’t want to fuck?” Her hand brushed Agnes’ cheek. She yanked away. “That’s crazy.”

She turned Agnes’ wrist to the inside of her arm, nudging up the bracelet that covered her scar. “Please- let go of me.”

“I will if you give me your number.” Carter cocked her head. “I won’t call anyone, if you do, either.”

“Wh- whatever. Fine.” The hold on her wrist released as Carter reached for her phone, allowing Agnes to provide her a contact.

“See ya, pretty girl.” She called as Agnes grabbed her things, making her way out as fast as possible.

Pushing her way through the crowd was the hardest part, through the noise and the lump in her chest, but the chill of the outside smacked her across the face as she finally left. Taking a sharp, almost immediate turn, she stumbled into an alleyway, phone in hand.

The light was bright on her face, blinding her for a moment before her vision settled. Putting in her passcode - Isaac’s birthday - she looked for Isaac’s contact, which was a bit tougher when you weren’t great at reading.

Agnes had her number saved, knew what her name looked like, but never really used it. Not unless she needed to.

She was such a dick.

She pressed the call button, biting her nail with every next ring.

“Hello?” Someone answered with a click, a drowsy rasp sticking to their voice.

Agnes sipped in a shaky breath. “…Isaac?” She whispered, fighting a sob.

It was obvious in her voice, as she could practically see Isaac shooting to her feet.“Agnes? What is it?” Her words were trembling then, as much as the drowsiness overshadowed that. “Are you okay?”

“N- no.”

“What do you need? What can I do? Should I come pick you up?”

Agnes swallowed. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll be right there. Send me your location.”

“Okay.” Swift, one nail in her mouth and the others typing, she did just as she was told.

She heard the jingle of Isaac grabbing her keys. “Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”

“No… I’m okay.” She hid the sob in the back of her mouth well. “Just get here as fast as you can. Please.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm. I’ll be fine.”

Isaac sighed, but relented. “Okay. See you soon. Love you.”

“Bye.” Instantly as the call ended, her eyes clouded, a wail clawing up from her throat.

Agnes counted down the minutes it took her to get there, phone more near death with every check. A little over twenty minutes.

The car door swung open as they pulled up, the car not even stopped, someone jumping out and running at her. She flinched back, for a second seeing something different, something that made her head burn with white. They were here for her they were fucking here, everything she’d built was over, before she realized who it was.

“Oh! Uh, hey, Wesley.” He grabbed her by the abdomen, pulling her in tight.

“Hi.” He mumbled, face scrunched into her sweatshirt.

The window rolled down, Isaac sticking her head out from in the drivers seat. “Sorry. He caught me leaving and wouldn’t leave me alone until I let him come with.” Agnes patted him on the head, hugging him back. “Got pretty worried when I said I was going to get you.”

“Nothing to worry about, man. Everything’s all good.” She mumbled to him, brushing his bangs out from his eyes. He didn’t respond.

She looped her hand into his, leading him back to the car and opening the door to the passenger seat.

“So what happened?” Isaac was tired, heavy bags under her eyes, but when was she not?

“It…,” her gaze shifted from Isaac to Wesley, then back to Isaac. “It’s nothing. Just a rough night.”

“Mm.” Isaac didn’t believe her. Agnes didn’t blame her.

“Are you, um, gonna sleep over? Agnes?” Wesley asked, piping up from the back seat, playing with the hem of his shirt.

“Uh…,” Isaac cast her the smallest of a glance. She was wondering, too. “Sure.”

“Really?” He grew a smile, wide and smooshing his cheeks. “Can you stay tomorrow? Do stuff with me? Can I show you my drawings?” He spit off rapid fire questions, radiating excitement.

Her face, red rimmed and tear stained, softened. Maybe her night wouldn’t be so bad after all. “Whatever you want, Wes.”

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

@distracted-obsessions @starfields08000 @bitchaknso @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @scoundrelwithboba

@whumped-by-glitter @whumpering-heights @arlin-always-writing @bilightningwhumper @sharkyydoesnothing

@whump-till-ya-jump

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