#look…. i listen to other things i promise

[drewsephrry]

Love Island - Episode 14: Brutal

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

words: 5.5k

warnings: cuss words, sexual innuendos

series masterlist

The sun rises beautifully over Mallorca, spilling into the villa as the islanders slowly stir awake. Soft greetings pass between beds as they begin another day in paradise.

Rafe and Y/N are still tangled together, her face buried in his chest like it's second nature. One of his hands lazily rubs her back while the other reaches for his sunglasses, sliding them on with practiced ease.

Across the room, Cleo sits up with a grin, leans over to give Pope a quick kiss and then tiptoes toward Y/N’s bed.

“Good morning, sunshine.” She whispers, plopping down beside her. Y/N groans in protest, not moving.

“She says good morning back.” Rafe says dryly, earning a laugh from Cleo as she gently shakes Y/N’s shoulder.

“Come on, get up!”

Y/N cracks one eye open, staring at Cleo like she’s just committed a personal betrayal. 

“What did I ever do to you?” She mumbles, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“I need you for something.” Cleo tugs her camisole strap back onto her shoulder and leans in. Y/N immediately sits up.

“What are we baking?”

“You know me too well.” Cleo grins. “Okay, Pope loves chocolate. So, like, cookies? Brownies? Something cute. I’ll help, I promise.” She adds quickly, glancing around to make sure Pope isn't listening. Most of the girls are heading upstairs and a few boys wander outside. Pope is still lounging in bed, clearly not ready to move.

“Brownies are faster. We can add frosting or something fancy on top.” Y/N says, already reaching for her stuff on the bedside table. “Let me wash my face and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Cleo hugs her tightly. Y/N smiles, squeezing her back before Cleo heads toward the back doors.

Just as Y/N grabs her stuff, Rafe speaks up behind her.

“Wow. No ‘good morning’ for me?”

She turns to find him sitting up with his arms crossed and one brow raised, playfully wounded. She smirks, crawling back onto the bed and leaning over him, not-so-innocently.

“Good morning.” She murmurs, planting a quick kiss on his lips, then pulling back suddenly with a hand over her mouth. “Wait, ew. I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

“I don’t care.” He mutters, leaning in again. But she dodges him with a grin. 

“Later. I promise.” She backs away, eyebrows raised in challenge.

“I’m holding you to that.” He replies.

She giggles and bolts upstairs.

Later, in the kitchen, Y/N leans against the counter beside Cleo, both girls focused on carefully piping frosting onto the cupcakes. Across the villa, Rafe and Kelce are lounging on the daybed, catching their breath and hydrating after their morning workout. Y/N glances in their direction, then turns to Cleo. 

“Hey, Cleo?”

“Yeah?” Cleo looks up from the bowl, wiping her hands on a towel.

“How are you and Pope doing?” Y/N asks, hopping onto the counter, swinging her legs and Cleo’s face softens instantly. 

“We’re good. Really good, actually. He’s so sweet, like, genuinely. It’s still a little awkward sometimes, but things are going really well.”

Y/N nods, watching her. 

“Have you guys…you know. Been intimate? At all?”

Cleo lets out a slow breath, considering her words.

“We’ve had a couple solid makeout sessions, yeah. But nothing more than that. I don’t know…it just feels weird knowing everyone’s right there. It's hard to feel comfortable.”

Y/N hums in agreement, twisting the cap off her water bottle and fidgeting with the strap.

“What about you and Rafe? Don’t tell me nothing’s happened.” Cleo narrows her eyes slightly. Y/N’s gaze drops to her bottle. She doesn’t answer right away and that silence speaks louder than anything.

Cleo clocks the look instantly and gently changes gears.

“Okay, okay, switching topics, what kind of frosting are we thinking, chef?”

Y/N blinks and straightens up, visibly grateful. 

“Umm…maybe peanut butter? That could be cute.” She suggests.

She hops down and heads to the cupboard, pulling out ingredients. As she sets them on the counter and begins mixing, Cleo rests a hand on her shoulder.

“You know you don’t have to rush anything, right?” She says softly. Y/N looks up at her.

“If you’re not ready with him…that’s totally okay.”

“I am.” Y/N admits quietly. “I just…I don’t know. I think I’m scared.”

“Scared how?” Cleo frowns. 

“I haven’t been in many relationships. And I don’t want to mess this up. Not with him.” Y/N shakes her head.

“You won’t.” Cleo assures her without hesitation. “Have you told him any of this?”

“He kind of tried last night.” Y/N says, voice barely above a whisper. “To take things further. And I panicked. And I pushed him away.”

Her hands are back on the spatula now, stirring again just to stay busy.

“I feel like I hurt his feelings or something.”

“No way.” Cleo says firmly. “That boy is obsessed with you. He’s not going anywhere because you set a boundary.”

“I think I just need some time to figure it all out.” Y/N exhales shakily, eyes still focused on the frosting.

“Then take it.” Cleo says gently, rubbing her back, smiling at her.

Confessional - Cleo “Y/N’s like my little sister. I care about her so much. Seeing her stress over where things stand with Rafe, especially about intimacy, just breaks my heart. She’s so beautiful, so kind and honestly one of the wisest people here. And I get why she’s anxious, but she needs to know she’s allowed to go at her own pace. Rafe will wait. And if he doesn’t? He’s not worth her.” She shakes her head.

Kelce and Rafe lounge on the daybed, sweat cooling under the shade of the tree. A soft breeze cuts the heat as they sip from their water bottles, catching their breath from the workout.

After a beat of silence, Rafe glances over.

“Hey…can I ask you something?”

Kelce nods, chewing absentmindedly on his straw.

“You know her better than anyone in here.” Rafe starts, hesitating.  “And I told myself I wouldn’t ever ask you anything about your relationship with her, because honestly, I cannot hear all that, but…” He pauses, taking a deep breath.

“Has she always been kind of…hesitant with the more intimate stuff?”

Kelce sighs, lowering his bottle.

“Yeah.” He says quietly. “Y/N’s always been like that. Cautious. When we were together, it took her a while to fully open up. Not because she didn’t care, but because trust isn’t something she gives lightly. Especially when it comes to physical stuff.”

Rafe nods slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“I respect that. Like, I don’t want her to ever feel pressured. But last night was our first night back in the same bed…we were kissing and I thought maybe we’d go a little further. Nothing major. Just…a step.” He sighs, frustrated more at himself than anything. “But then she got all tense, kind of pulled back. And of course I stopped. No question. I just…I don’t know, it threw me off. Made me wonder if I’d messed something up.”

Kelce watches him for a second, then speaks evenly.

“Y/N likes you. A lot. That much is obvious. But you have to let her move at her own pace. She’s not someone you can rush. She needs to feel totally safe first. If you want this to work, let her lead when it comes to that stuff. She’ll let you in when she’s ready.”

“Yeah. Got it. Thanks, man.” Rafe nods again, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. 

“Anytime.” Kelce shrugs. “You don’t have to tiptoe around me when it comes to her. I’m not holding on to anything. I just want her to be happy.”

He glances toward the kitchen, jaw tightening almost involuntarily.

“And from what I’ve seen…she is. With you. So don’t screw it up.”

Rafe follows his gaze, Y/N is laughing at something Cleo said, the two of them looking carefree and glowing.

“I won’t.” He says quietly.

“Good.” Kelce gives a small nod. 

The two lapse into silence again, but there’s a mutual understanding between them now, unspoken, a little uneasy, but real.

As the afternoon sun blazes over the villa, islanders sprawl across the yard, some tanning, some swimming, others deep in conversation, while Pope and Cleo enjoy the brownies. But the lazy vibe is cut short by the familiar ping of a text.

“I got a text!” John B calls out, already grinning as everyone scrambles toward him.

“Islanders, it’s time to find out how well you really know each other in the Higher or Lower challenge. #numbersdontlie #truthhurts.” He reads.

Cheers erupt, but Y/N shares a nervous glance with Sarah and Maddy as they slump back onto the couch.

“This is gonna get messy.” She mutters and both girls nod knowingly.

Soon, the islanders are split into two teams, seated on opposite bleachers across the lawn. In front of them, photos of each girl stand in a row, heart stickers hiding the key numbers.

Pope steps up with a deck of cards and a grin that says he’s loving every second of this. He holds up the first card.

“I’ll read out a fact about one of the girls and reveal a number tied to it. Then the boys have to guess whether the next girl's number is higher or lower. Each correct guess earns a point. Winning team takes it all.” He explains the rules and then, glances at the first photo. 

“What’s the most amount of money the girls have ever spent, on a man, in one occasion?” He reads and peels off the heart sticker from Maddy’s photo.

“Maddy has spent…$550.”

The boys react instantly.

“Damn.” JJ whistles. “What was that for?”

“I was dating this guy and he lost his AirPods…so I bought him AirPods Max.” Maddy shrugs. 

A mix of impressed and mildly horrified expressions ripple through the bleachers. Pope moves to the next photo.

“Alright, Kiara. Higher or lower than $550?”

The boys huddle quickly.

“Lower.” Topper decides.

“Yeah, definitely lower.” Ryan agrees.

“$200.” Pope reveals. The boys nod, satisfied. Alyssa’s up next and they guess lower, but she surprises them with $250. Cleo follows and as expected by the boys, she’s lower at $150. For Abigail’s number, the boys guess higher and they’re right, again, at $450.

Pope steps to the next photo and smirks. 

“Okay…Y/N. Higher or lower?”

“Higher.” Rafe says without hesitation, arms crossed.

“I’m not so sure. She never spent that much when she was with me.” Kelce raises a brow. 

Despite Kelce’s skepticism, the boys stick with higher and Pope peels back the sticker. 

“Y/N has spent…$300.” He reveals as laughter erupts as “Told y’all.” Kelce leans back smugly. 

The boys look over at Y/N, waiting for the backstory.

“I took Kelce to a Knicks game.” She shrugs, hands resting on the wooden seat.

“Oh my god, yes! I completely forgot about that!” Kelce’s face lights up.

She laughs, shaking her head.

Confessional - Y/N “I feel like $300 is totally reasonable.” She says with a shrug and a grin.

Pope moves to the last photo in the lineup, Sarah.

“Alright. What do we think about Sarah?” He grins.

“Definitely higher.” Topper says without hesitation.

“She’s bougie.” JJ smirks, making the girls burst out laughing as Sarah flips her hair, proudly owning it.

Pope peels back the sticker and the boys erupt.

“$2,000?” Pope yells, holding up the card.

“I booked us a trip.” Sarah says casually with a shrug. The girls gasp in admiration and even the guys look impressed.

Pope focuses back on the stack of cards, grabs the next one and reads it before smirking. 

“Okay, okay. Boys, this one’s juicy.”

Everyone leans in.

“How many nudes have the girls sent?”

The yard instantly fills with oohs and laughter. Pope turns to Maddy’s photo first, peels back the sticker.

“Maddy has sent…thirty.”

The boys look over at her, eyebrows raised.

“I’ve had two serious relationships.” Maddy explains, unbothered. “One of them ended up being long-distance. So...”

The group nods understandingly. Pope moves down the line.

“What do we think about Kiara? More or less?”

“I’m saying more.” JJ throws in and the boys agree after a quick debate. Pope lifts the sticker. 

“Fifteen.”

The boys blink, mildly surprised. 

“Wow.” Ryan mutters.

Next up, Alyssa.

“Higher. Definitely.” The guys say in unison.

Pope reveals the number, three digits.

“In the hundreds?” Topper laughs.

“I’m a tattoo artist. Let’s just say...a lot of clients slide into my DMs for reasons that aren’t about tattoos.” Alyssa smirks.

The girls squeal in shock.

Confessional - Alyssa “What can I say?” She grins. “I’ve had a few very hot customers.”

Back in the yard, Pope points at Cleo’s photo.

“What about Cleo?”

“What do you think, Pope?” JJ raises a brow. 

He thinks for a beat. 

“Honestly? I’m gonna go with lower.” He says and the boys nod, trusting the call.

“Go lower.” Rafe confirms.

Pope peels back the heart. 

“Two.”

“I had just broken up with my ex…sent him two pics…and yeah, we hooked up that night.” Cleo laughs, explaining herself.

“Cleo!” Sarah yells, laughing in shock, while the girls dissolve into giggles.

The boys guess higher for Abigail and they’re right, as it is seven.

Then Pope turns to Y/N’s photo. 

“Okay. Y/N. Higher or lower, boys?”

“Higher.” Topper doesn’t hesitate. 

“Nah, I think it’s lower.” Kelce tilts his head. 

Rafe stays quiet, eyes flicking to Y/N, searching her expression.

After a quick team huddle, they go with higher.

“Ten.” Pope says, revealing the number. Y/N just shrugs, completely unfazed, as the boys nod and move on.

Finally, Pope turns back to Sarah’s photo.

“Alright. Last one, Sarah again. What are we thinking?”

“Higher.” The boys all say in chorus, not even debating. But Sarah just stares blankly at her photo, lips pressed tight.

Pope removes the sticker and the crowd gasps.

“Wait. Two-thousands?” JJ blurts.

“One of my nudes got leaked on Twitter.” Sarah confesses and the yard goes silent.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Maddy says quietly.

Y/N immediately reaches out and squeezes Sarah’s hand. Within seconds, all the girls are around her, pulling her in for a group hug.

Confessional - Sarah “I went viral for, like, two days.” She grins, eyes wide as she looks into the camera. “But my mom’s a lawyer, so…handled.” She wipes her hands together like she’s dusting them off, done and over it, before she smirks proudly.

Back in the yard, Pope claps his hands together.

“Alright, boys. Time to find out your girl’s body count.”

Gasps echo from the bleachers. The girls shift in their seats while the boys lean forward. Pope steps up to Maddy’s photo and peels back the sticker.

“Maddy's body count is…eighteen.”

“Totally respectable.” She gives a casual shrug. 

The girls snap their fingers in approval, supportive energy flowing across the yard.

“Next up, Kiara. Higher or lower than eighteen?”

“Higher.” Topper says confidently.

“No way. Lower.” Rafe argues.

The boys debate but end up siding with Topper. Pope pulls off the heart.

“Twenty. Another point for the boys.”

Cheers go up as Pope moves to Alyssa’s photo.

He barely gets a word out before the guys all shout in unison.

“Higher.”

Pope chuckles, before revealing the number.

“Thirty-one.”

“No need to explain myself.” Alyssa raises her chin.

“Fair enough.” Pope laughs, before heading to Cleo.

The guys settle on lower and they’re right. Her number is seven. Next is Abigail. The boys guess higher.

“Ten.” Pope reveals before moving on. He stops in front of Y/N’s photo.

“Okay. What do we think, boys?”

The boys gather closer and debate among themselves.

“Honestly? No clue.” Rafe frowns slightly, shaking his head. 

“Wait, you haven’t asked her?” Topper looks over. 

“Doesn’t really matter.” Rafe shrugs.

“Lower.” Kelce cuts in, firm. The rest of the guys nod.

“We’re going with lower.” John B announces and Pope peels back the sticker. 

“Five?” JJ raises an eyebrow. Rafe looks at her with wide eyes.

Confessional - Rafe He tilts his head, clearly trying to work something out. “Five just…surprised me, I guess. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that.” He laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “But like, that doesn’t change anything. At all. I still feel the same about her.”

Across the yard, Y/N stares at her hands, suddenly a little tense.

Maddy nudges her playfully. 

“Hey. That’s a perfect number.” She says.

“It’s…whatever.” Y/N gives a small eye roll, brushing it off, her cheeks turning a bright shade of red. Maddy just smiles and squeezes her hand, holding it quietly.

Confessional - Maddy “I could tell Y/N got in her head a bit, but she seriously has nothing to be insecure about.” Maddy raises an eyebrow, voice full of sass. “If someone’s still judging people over body count in this day and age? You’re just…dumb. Period.”

Back outside, the boys turn to Sarah’s photo.

“Alright, higher or lower than Y/N?” Pope asks.

“Higher.” Topper says instantly and the rest of the boys nod in agreement.

Pope peels off the sticker. 

“Sarah's body count is…twenty-five.”

A few whistles and nods echo around the yard, no one surprised.

“Okay.” Pope announces, holding up the final card. “Last question, how many sexual partners do the girls think is too many for the guy they’re dating?”

A dramatic ‘ooh’ ripples across the group.

Pope steps to Maddy’s photo first.

“Maddy thinks…one hundred is too many.”

The boys glance over at her. She shrugs.

“Honestly? I don’t care what you have done prior to our relationship.”

Everyone nods and Pope moves on. For Kiara, the boys guess lower and they’re right. Her answer was fifties.

Next up, Alyssa. The boys confidently guess higher and Pope cracks up as he removes the sticker.

“Infinity.” He reads and laughter breaks out across the yard.

“I truly couldn't care less about what you have done in your past.” Alyssa grins.

The boys nod, clearly impressed.

They go lower for Cleo and they’re right, again, as her number is thirty.

“I’m a relationship type of girl.” Cleo says seriously. “I don't want to date a player”

Respectful nods follow.

They guess lower again for Abigail, but they’re wrong. Her answer being ninety.

Next up, it's Y/N and the boys guess lower.

“Alright.” Pope says, stepping to her photo. 

“Y/N thinks…” He removes the heart sticker. “Somewhere in the hundreds is too many.”

The guys groan in defeat.

“Like, live your life. Just…I don’t want to be with someone who’s been with everyone. That’s all.” Y/N shrugs, calm and unapologetic.

The boys nod, understanding while Rafe looks away.

“Valid.” John B says.

Finally, Pope reaches the last photo. The boys guess for higher.

“Okay, Sarah. You think too many is…” He peels back the sticker. “Seventy.”

A round of nods and clapping follows as Pope walks to the bleachers, while the boys start to cheer.

Cleo walks up, grinning as new photos of the boys are lined up across the yard, heart stickers ready.

“Alright, ladies, let's bring this one home!” She grins, rallying the girls, who cheer in response. She steps forward and reads the first question aloud. “What’s the most money the boys have spent on a woman in one occasion?” 

With a dramatic pause, she peels the sticker off the first photo, which is Kelce's.

“Kelce has dropped $1,000.” She announces.

“Oh my god.” Sarah gasps, while Y/N just nods like she’s not surprised.

“Yeah…I, uh, booked an Airbnb in the Hamptons for a weekend.” Kelce says, scratching the back of his neck. Y/N smiles at the memory, while the girls react with impressed 'oohs'. Rafe glances over at her, but quickly shifts his focus as Cleo moves on to the next photo.

“Alright, what do we think about Pope?” She asks. The girls guess lower and they’re right. $300.

Then comes Topper’s turn. His picture appears and the girls debate before finally going with higher. Cleo lifts the sticker.

“$150.” She reads. Everyone blinks at him.

“Just dinner.” Topper shrugs like it’s obvious, making Cleo scrunches her nose. 

“Whatever you say, frosted tips.” She mutters before moving on.

Next up is John B and the girls guess higher.

“Please don’t let us down.” Maddy teases, making the girls laugh.

Cleo reveals the amount is $250. The girls cheer and John B just smirks like he expected it.

Then it’s JJ’s turn.

“Lower.” The girls say confidently and Cleo peels back the sticker. 

“$50.” She reads as the villa bursts out laughing, even JJ.

“Wanna explain that one?” Kiara asks, wide-eyed, her smile creeping out of her shocked face.

Y/N clutches Maddy, crying with laughter, while Sarah doubles over holding her stomach.

“I’m…not great with dates or gifts.” JJ admits, grinning. “I just grabbed some KFC and took a girl out on the boat.”

“Aww, that’s actually so cute, J.” Y/N beams. JJ shrugs but smiles as Cleo clears her throat and moves on.

“Okay, Ryan’s up. More or less than fifty?”

The girls all agree on higher and they’re right. $500.

Finally, Rafe’s picture comes up. The girls gather, whispering like they’re about to launch a conspiracy theory.

“More than five hundred is insane.” Y/N says, shaking her head.

“I don’t think it is for him.” Maddy counters. “Have you seen his closet? He’s always in designer everything.”

After a moment of back and forth, the girls lock in their answer, going with higher.

“$3,000.” Cleo pulls off the sticker, shocked. Y/N’s jaw drops. The girls erupt into cheers.

“Wait, what did you even buy?” Cleo asks, stunned.

“A Louis Vuitton bag.” Rafe replies, totally unfazed.

“For her birthday or like…a random Tuesday?” Cleo fires back, making everyone laugh, including Rafe.

“Nah, it wasn’t for anything special.” He shakes his head.

“Lucky you.” Maddy murmurs, leaning over and nudging Y/N.

“Shut up.” Y/N whispers, cheeks flushing.

Confessional - Y/N “Okay, yeah…I was a bit shocked by Rafe’s answer.” She says, raising her brows. “Like, I know he has money, the man’s always in designer stuff and he literally owns a whole company, but just casually dropping three grand like that?” She blinks dramatically. “Wild.”

“Next question is how many nudes have the boys sent?” Cleo announces as the girls get excited.

JJ immediately turns to John B, shaking his head. 

“This is gonna be bad.” He says.

“Really bad.” John B agrees, both of them already bracing for embarrassment.

“Forty-five.” Cleo says, peeling the sticker off Kelce’s board. The girls gasp in unison.

“Yeah, uh…no explanation there.” Kelce says, hands raised in surrender as Cleo blinks in disbelief and moves on.

“Okay, Pope.” She doesn’t wait for the girls to weigh in. “We’re going lower.” 

The girls nod and Cleo pulls off the sticker revealing the number ten.

Next is Topper.

“Higher.” The girls say, and they’re right again, as his stands at sixty-three.

Then comes John B.

“Higher.” They guess, but Cleo reveals it is fifty.

“Agh, so close.” Maddy groans.

JJ’s up next. The girls guess higher and the number on the board sends the villa into chaos.

“One-ninety.” Cleo reads aloud, stunned.

“What?” Sarah gasps, as everyone bursts into laughter.

Confessional - JJ “Don’t slut-shame me on Twitter, please.” JJ grins.

“Okay, what do we think about Ryan?” Cleo reads. The girls guess lower this time and they’re right again. “Thirty-six.”

“Okay.” Cleo says, grinning as she reaches the final picture. “What about Rafe?”

The girls hesitate, some voting lower, others whispering amongst themselves. Finally, they agree on higher.

Cleo peels the sticker off slowly.

“Twelve.”

Y/N blinks in surprise and turns to look at Rafe, who’s relaxed on the bleachers like it’s no big deal.

“Twelve?” Cleo repeats, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah.” Rafe says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I haven’t been in many relationships, but I’ve used dating apps…so, you know.”

Everyone nods, seemingly impressed by the honesty.

“Alright ladies, now for my favorite part, body count time!” Cleo claps her hands together. 

The girls cheer as she pulls the sticker off Kelce’s picture.

“Kelce's body count is...thirty-five.” She reads.

Next is Pope and the girls go with lower. They get it right, at ten.

On Topper’s turn, they all agree on higher.

“Seventy.” Cleo reveals as eyes widen around the yard, while Topper grins smugly like he’s just won a trophy.

John B’s photo is next and the girls guess lower.

“Fifty-seven.” Cleo reads.

Now it’s JJ again and the girls guess higher, after all his previous answers. Cleo pauses, peels the sticker slowly, then stares.

“In the hundreds?” She blinks. The girls scream in disbelief as the boys erupt in laughter. Topper reaches over to dap him up.

“I had fun in high school and college.” JJ shrugs. “Well, the three weeks I went.”

The girls are still giggling as Cleo moves on.

“Ryan?” She asks the girls, still trying to recover.

They all decide on lower and they’re right once again as his answer is twenty-five.

And finally, Rafe.

“Alright. What about Rafe?” Cleo turns to the girls, but all eyes turn to Y/N.

“I-I have no idea.” She says honestly. “We haven’t really talked about that.”

“What do you think though?” Sarah nudges, gently. Y/N glances toward the bleachers, then back to the group. 

“It’s gonna be higher.” She says quietly. “I just…I just know.”

The girls nod and look to Cleo.

“We’ll say higher.” Sarah confirms for the group.

Cleo removes the final sticker.

“Forty-two.” She reads.

The girls react with surprised nods as the boys cheer and clap Rafe on the back. Y/N’s lips part slightly. She doesn’t react outwardly, but a weight settles in her chest.

Confessional - Y/N “Like…I knew he had experience. I mean, obviously, have you seen the guy?” She says, eyes wide. Then her tone shifts, more thoughtful. “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t…scare me a little?” She admits, her voice softening with a flicker of vulnerability.

Rafe chuckles from the bleachers. 

“I’m 27. I went to business school. I ride a motorcycle.” He says with a shrug, earning a round of laughs from the boys. The girls smile as Cleo claps her hands together.

“Alright ladies, last question!” She grins as the girls cheer. “How many sexual partners do the boys think is too many for the girl they’re dating?”

She heads to Kelce’s photo and peels off the sticker.

“Kelce thinks fifty is too many.”

All eyes turn to the bleachers.

“Okay, but let me just say.” Kelce jumps in, holding up a hand. “I’m not the guy who asks that kind of question or cares about it. What someone’s done in their past? Not my business.”

The girls clap, impressed by the answer and the boys nod along in agreement.

“Aww, okay, that was sweet. Moving on.” Cleo says with a grin. She stops at Pope’s photo. “What do we think, ladies?”

They guess higher, only to get it wrong.

“Pope said 30.” Cleo reads, surprised.

“I totally agree with Kelce.” Pope says quickly. “I just grew up super religious and you know, I haven’t had as much experience as most people here.”

The girls nod respectfully.

“Well, good thing mine’s lower.” Cleo adds with a mischievous grin before bursting out laughing. The rest of the villa joins in.

Next up is Topper. The girls guess higher and miss again.

“Ten?” Cleo reads, blinking.

Topper cringes at his own answer as JJ elbows him. The girls exchange looks, confused and not happy.

Confessional - Alyssa “That was some double standard bullshit.” She says bluntly. “Like, what do you mean ten is too many for your girl when you’ve slept with seventy people? Make it make sense.”

“Wanna explain yourself?” Cleo narrows her eyes at Topper.

“I, uh, I don’t really care about that stuff.” Topper says, stumbling.

“Mm. Sure.” Cleo mutters, unconvinced, before turning to the next board.

John B’s up. The girls guess lower and they’re right. His answer was one hundred. Then it’s JJ and they guess higher.

“Twenty.” Cleo reveals.

“That’s such a fake answer.” Kiara squints.

“Okay, yeah, I was kidding. Honestly, that stuff doesn’t matter to me. It’s your business, not mine.” JJ raises his hands in surrender.

He shrugs, but no one looks convinced. Kiara just rolls her eyes.

Next is Ryan. The girls confidently vote higher. Abigail crosses her fingers, hopeful.

“Infinity!” Cleo reads and bursts out laughing. The girls cheer and clap while Ryan laughs along.

“Yeah.” He says. “Doesn't really matter to me. Your past is your past.”

And last but not least, Rafe.

“Alright, what do we think?” Cleo asks.

“We’re going lower.” Abigail declares. “Obviously.”

“Excuse me?” Rafe gasps dramatically.

“You can’t go higher than infinity.” Abigail smirks.

“Infinity and beyond?” Rafe fires back, sass in full swing. The girls laugh as Cleo removes the sticker.

“Two hundred.”

The girls clap, amused and a little impressed.

With that, the game wraps. The boys are declared the winners and erupt into cheers, hollers echoing across the villa. The girls shake their heads, rolling their eyes, already plotting to win the next challenge.

The islanders start drifting off into smaller groups around the yard, voices buzzing and laughter echoing in the background. Rafe and Y/N grab their water bottles and head to the daybed, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over them.

She settles in beside him, legs crossed as he stretches out, one arm behind his head.

“You mentioned something about riding a motorcycle?” She asks, raising her brows, a playful grin tugging at her lips. He chuckles, his hand naturally coming to rest on her thigh. 

“Yeah. Been riding since I was seventeen.” He replies.

“That’s…ridiculously hot.” She mutters, locking eyes with him.

“Yeah?” He smirks, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t. I already regret saying it.” She groans, looking away.

“No, no, say it again, baby.” He teases, voice low and gravelly. His hand gently finds her chin, turning her face back toward his.

Her breath catches as she meets his blue eyes. His thumb traces her cheek, slow and tender. The tension crackles between them like static.

“I…uh…” She pulls back, clearing her throat. “Can we talk about…the challenge?”

He immediately drops his hand, sitting up and nodding, the playfulness fading into something more sincere.

“Of course.” He says, taking a sip from his bottle, while she fidgets with the cap on hers. 

“I just…you heard it already, but I’m not…super experienced. And I think that’s why I haven’t been able to go further with you, yet. I’ve always taken things slow and being in here…just...everything moves fast. Like, really fast. And knowing you’ve had more experience…it kinda freaked me out.” Her voice is quiet, vulnerable, as she finally meets his eyes. Rafe shakes his head gently. 

“There’s nothing to be scared of.” He leans in, his tone soft. “I would never rush you. Ever. Whatever we do, it’s gonna be when you’re ready. I care way more about you being comfortable than about moving things forward.”

He reaches for her hand. 

“And yeah, I’ve had more experience, but that doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t change how I feel about you. We can go at your pace. Only your pace.”

“So…you’re okay with taking it slow?” She blinks slowly, emotion flickering behind her eyes.

“I’m more than okay with it. I want you to feel safe. That’s what matters to me.” He cups her face again, his voice steady and sure.

“Did…did my body count bother you?” Her voice trembles.

“No. Not at all.” His response is immediate.

“But…it’s low.” She admits, a whisper.

“So what?” He scoffs softly. “Y/N, I don’t care if it’s one or zero or a hundred. I like you. That’s what I care about.”

“You mean that?” Her eyes widen slightly.

“Of course I mean it.” He says firmly. “You never have to stress about that kind of stuff with me.”

She exhales deeply, the relief visible on her face. Her smile grows and she leans in, pressing her lips to his in a soft, thankful kiss.

“Thank you.” She whispers as she pulls back slightly.

“You don’t need to thank me.” He murmurs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re safe with me.”

They hold each other’s gaze, quiet understanding passing between them.

Then, suddenly, Y/N lets out a happy squeal and wraps her arms around him tightly, knocking them both back onto the pillows. They burst into laughter, limbs tangled, hearts light, warmth radiating between them.

“Oh, by the way.” Rafe says, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “You still owe me that kiss from earlier.”

She smirks, fingers reaching up to toy with the chain around his neck.

“I was hoping you’d forgotten.” She murmurs.

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“Not a chance.”

He leans in again and this time, she meets him halfway, closing the distance between them before curling up by his side.

And just as the villa settles into that rare calm, a loud ping cuts through the air.

“What now?” Rafe groans, head flopping back.

Y/N grabs her phone and grins.

“I got a text!” She shouts. The villa immediately perks up as everyone turns toward her.

“Islanders, it’s time to get dressed up because tonight you’re having a blue party! #party4u #glamup.” She reads aloud.

The villa erupts into cheers, already buzzing with excitement.

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[imtaashu]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜.

✮ Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

✮ Summary: Bucky learns the meaning of the left hand how it’s closest to your heart and quietly, he starts reaching for it every time. Every moment. Every time he needs to remind himself you’re his. Based on “The Holding the Left Hand Theory”

✮ Genre: Pure fluff, soft love, super clingy Bucky, subtle intimacy, emotional warmth

✮ Word Count: ~1.3k

✮ Author Notes: this is for the hand-holders, the slow lovers, the ones who believe love lives in the quiet touches. Bucky holding your left hand is him holding your heart. 🫶

Bucky learns about it from a book.

You’re the one reading, legs over his lap, half asleep on a lazy Sunday.

“Did you know…” you mumble, flipping the page, “the left hand is closer to your heart? That’s why wedding rings go there.”

He hums like he’s not really listening, but something in his chest tugs.

You keep talking “That’s why holding the left hand means more. It’s like… holding a piece of someone’s heart.”

You don’t even notice the pause in his breathing.

But he does. And from that moment on, he never forgets.

✦✦✦

That night, when you cross the street together, he doesn’t just grab your hand he reaches for your left. You glance down in surprise.

He doesn’t say anything. Just holds it tighter.

You don’t ask. You smile.

✦✦✦

It becomes a quiet thing. An unspoken thing.

At breakfast, when your knees bump under the table, he reaches across the pancakes and hooks his fingers into your left hand.

When you’re watching a movie, half-asleep on the couch, his left arm cradles you while his right hand finds your left, tucking it beneath the blanket like a secret.

When you curl into bed, he reaches around you in the dark not just to hold you, but to slide his fingers into your left hand, lacing them together like a promise.

✦✦✦

One day you tease him “You know I have two hands, right?”

He raises an eyebrow “I like this one better.”

You squint. “Why?”

He shrugs casually, eyes soft as he brings your left hand to his lips “This one’s the one that matters.”

✦✦✦

You notice it more after that. When you’re walking through crowds, he always grabs your left.

When you offer your right hand for help off the couch, he huffs, ignores it, and grabs the left instead.

Even when you’re sitting across from each other doing separate things he’ll gently reach across the space and tug your left hand into his lap without looking up.

You don’t say anything anymore. You just let him have it.

✦✦✦

It’s not about habit. It’s not about routine. It’s about reassurance.

Every time he touches your left hand, it’s like he’s reminding himself you’re here, you’re real, you’re his.

And every time you let him hold it, you’re telling him I’m not going anywhere.

✦✦✦

One night, after a rough mission, he comes home bruised and quiet.

You don’t ask questions. You just sit beside him on the couch, hand open.

He stares at it. Then slowly, like it hurts to move, he takes your left hand in both of his. His thumb runs over your knuckles. His eyes close “I needed this,” he whispers.

You press a kiss to his temple “I know.”

✦✦✦

Sometimes, he’s not even aware he’s doing it.

You’ll be mid-argument something stupid, like what kind of pasta to order and he’ll still reach out for your left hand under the table.

Like he can’t not touch it.

Like even if you’re annoyed, he needs to feel your heart in his palm.

✦✦✦

One morning, you wake up first.

You’re tangled together in a mess of sheets, his face soft with sleep, breathing steady.

And even then half-conscious, dead asleep he’s holding your left hand.

Like his body knows what his mind forgot.

You tuck your face into his shoulder and smile.

✦✦✦

When he proposes, you’re in your pajamas. It’s not a big moment. Not planned.

You’re standing in the kitchen, pouring cereal, and he just walks up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist.

You lean back into his chest, eyes still sleepy.

“Marry me?” he mumbles into your neck.

You blink “…What?”

He turns you around, takes your hands. Your left one, held between both of his.

“I mean it,” he says. “No pressure. Just love.”

You laugh through your tears. “Of course I will.”

And when he slips the ring on? It fits like it’s always belonged there.

Right next to your heart.

✦✦✦

He still holds your left hand every night.

Long after you’re married. Long after everything.

Even when your hair starts going gray, even when he’s tired, even when your fingers are cold from doing dishes and he grumbles and warms them up in his palms It’s always the left.

Always the one that matters.

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

💌 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 💌

@nerdreader @starstruckfirecat @baguwagu @sunday-bug @murnsondock @thiscornerofmyfanficbrain @okaytrashpanda @aceofheartsssss @the-real-kellymonster @7batsinatrenchcoat @overwintering-soldier 🎀🩷

wanna be tagged in all upcoming theories + emotional damage + forehead kisses? ➝ reply or send me an ask and i’ll add you ♡

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

[jkwrites-m]

Pull Over

Pairing: police officer!Jungkook x female reader

Genre: smut, yandere, dark (PLEASE READ WARNINGS!!)

Word Count: 7k

Summary: A dark road becomes forever when obsession wears a badge.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, DD:DNE, speeding, police, power imbalance, yandere, obsession, explicit manhandling, defiance, handcuffs, guns, lying, manipulation, threats, harsh language, fear, chasing, hitting (slapping), shoving, despair, helplessness, mocking, kidnapping, disdain, mentions of past murder, jungkook is crazy!, explicit: noncon to dubcon, heavy degradation, sexual fantasies, spanking, groping, unwanted sexual touch, primal kink (predatory/prey), humiliation kink, breeding/claiming kink, dominant!jk, forced undressing/nudity, gunplay, unprotected sex, restriction/bondage (handcuffs), overstimulation.

A/N: when i tell you that this is dark- i mean it. like wayyy darker than chp 8 of another time. this can be very triggering so PLEASE!!! proceed with caution. also, i know this is very different from my normal fics but i rlly love yandere/dark/horror fics and novels & i rlly wanted to try it out. if this isn’t your thing, i totally get it! i won’t be offended if this isn’t for you! pls lmk what you think 🫶

Note: this fic sometimes flips back and forth between OC & JK (2nd person). you’ll be able to tell!

♡ MASTERLIST

═══════

before - 

You’re just trying to get home. That’s all.

The last thing you want is to be out here, alone on some empty road with the sky bleeding from gold to purple.

But you had class. Late lab section. The professor wouldn’t let anyone leave early. Your notes are crammed with half-legible scrawls about enzymes and practical test dates. You toss the notebook onto the passenger seat. Your bag spills open. Pens roll onto the floor. You curse, leaning over to grab one.

Your eyes flick to your phone in the console. 5% battery. Of course. You don’t even have a charger. Your roommate’s probably wondering where you are.

Shit.

You promised you’d be home in time to watch your show together. She even saved you takeout.

You tap your GPS. It flickers in the low light. The screen dims, saving battery. Shortest route home.

You know it’s risky- some little back road through the edge of the woods. Barely even a proper highway. But you’re late. And the sky is getting darker.

You sigh, tapping “Start.”

Your phone lights the route in cold blue.

You turn onto the narrow two-lane road, your tires crunching over gravel at the edges. Wind rattles the leaves in the trees on either side. You glance at your reflection in the mirror. Your hair is messy from the long day. Your eyes look tired.

You let out a breath, trying to relax. It’s fine. It’s just a shortcut.

You’ll be home in twenty minutes. Your roommate will tease you for taking so long. You’ll microwave dinner. Laugh. Forget the way this road feels so lonely.

Your music plays loud enough to distract you. You tap the wheel with your thumb. Try to keep your speed steady but slowly getting faster. 

You don’t see the headlights yet.

But they’re coming.

═══════

You hate this fucking town. The same back roads every night, the same broken fences and sagging porches. Every call on the radio is the same bullshit: a drunk husband screaming at his wife, kids throwing rocks at windows, noise complaints from people who can’t stand each other. You drive past it all in your cruiser, listening to the static chatter with your fingers drumming the wheel, wishing someone would give you a reason to care.

Because you don’t.

You don’t care about these people. You don’t respect them. You don’t even see them as people most of the time. They’re livestock that got too used to thinking they’re in charge. Worthless. Pathetic. You feel the anger simmering under your ribs, a constant heat you’ve learned to control. Your pulse stays steady. Your face stays blank. That’s what they all see: Officer Jeon, professional, calm, in control.

But you know what you are.

You want something real tonight. Someone you can feel. Someone you can make feel you. You want a reason to use your hands. To hear begging that isn’t in your head. Your tongue drags across your teeth as you shift in your seat, the leather creaking. The holster presses into your side. You think about using it, not to kill- no, killing is boring- but to threaten. To dominate.

You remember the last one. The one who wouldn’t stop screaming until you showed her how quiet she could be with a hand around her throat squeezing the life out of her as you came inside her. That memory makes you shift uncomfortably, heat pooling low in your belly. You let out a slow breath. You’re calm. Always calm. Even when you’re imagining things that would get you fired, arrested, killed.

Especially then.

Your mind wanders. You imagine pulling over some stupid, clueless girl on one of these dark roads. She’d look up at you with big eyes, all fear and confusion. She’d talk back. Try to act tough. You’d fix that. You’d break it. You’d make her beg. Cry. Say she’s sorry even when she doesn’t know what for. You’d make her yours.

Your mouth twists into a humorless smile as you stare at the empty road. Nothing. No one.

You’re just about to turn around when headlights appear in the distance. Bright. Moving too fast. You see them swerve slightly around the bend, tires scraping gravel at the shoulder.

You sit up straighter.

Finally.

Someone worth your time.

You rest your hand on the switch. You see her car whip past you with feminine stickers on the rear windshield. 

Perfect.

You flip on the lights. Red and blue strobe over the dark trees like warning fangs. The siren blares, screaming through the quiet night.

Your heart rate doesn’t spike. Your breathing doesn’t change. But you’re smiling.

Because you know you have her now.

═══════

present - 

You shouldn’t even be on this road. It’s one of those winding, narrow lanes that cuts through the trees like a scar. Blacktop crumbling at the edges, the center line barely visible in the dusk.

But you were late, and your phone’s GPS told you this was the fastest route. You’re going too fast. Music too loud. Heart racing from caffeine and stress.

Then- flashing blue and red behind you.

Your gut lurches. You swear and slam the brakes. Your car shudders to a stop on the gravel shoulder, rocking slightly. The dash lights glow on your face as you stare at the rearview.

He hasn’t gotten out yet. For a second there’s only the ticking of your cooling engine, the throb of your pulse in your ears. Then the cruiser’s door swings open.

Boots first. Black, polished, heavy. Then the uniform. Dark navy. Badged. Armed.

And him.

He’s taller than you expected. Lean but strong. Broad shoulders that make the bulletproof vest look molded to him. His black hair is slightly mussed but neat, framing a face that’s almost too pretty to be real.

But the eyes ruin it. Dark. Flat. Assessing.

Predatory.

He walks slowly, no rush. The flashing lights paint him in red and blue, making him look like some demon come to collect a debt.

═══════

You see her for the first time through the glass of the window.

There she is.

A little thing, clutching her wheel like it’ll save her. Wide, innocent eyes flashing with fear. Lips parted like she’s about to beg.

You can already hear her whimpering.

You want that. No- you need it. She’s perfect. Young, naive, mouthy just enough to make it fun. The kind you can break. The kind you can own. You imagine her pinned beneath you. Sobbing. Trying to talk back even as you force her to submit.

Your cock throbs in your uniform pants at the thought.

Mine.

You smile as you approach her window.

═══════

Your hand trembles as you roll down the window.

“Officer…” you try to keep your voice steady, friendly, harmless. “I- I’m sorry. I know I was going a little over. But there was no one around-”

He leans down. Eyes don’t blink.

“You know how fast you were going?”

You swallow. “About… maybe fifteen over? I wasn’t really paying attention.”

His gaze drifts lower, over your body even though you’re in the car. His nostrils flare like he’s scenting you. He leans in even closer, shadow swallowing your door frame.

“You been drinking tonight?”

Your head jerks back. “What? No! Nothing.”

“Smells like weed in there too.”

Your mouth falls open. “It does not- I don’t even smoke!”

“Step out of the car.”

Your brow furrows. “Wait- what? I- I can give you my license and-”

He tilts his head slightly. A smirk plays on his lips.

“I smell alcohol.”

Your mouth falls open. “What? No- you don’t! I haven’t had anything!”

“I said. Step out. Now.” There’s no inflection. No raised voice. Just cold command.

You freeze, then shake your head. “I’m not drunk. I’m not getting out for that- ”

He moves. So fast you don’t see it coming. His hand snakes in through the window, grabbing your chin hard enough to make you gasp and clack your teeth together.

“You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?” he murmurs, voice like oil on water.

You try to pull back. He holds tighter. He’s holding you in place, fingers pressing painfully into your jaw. 

“Officer, let go of me- ”

“Get. Out.”

Your heart stutters and you’re breathing too fast as he lets go. Your seatbelt is still on. He waits, watching you with dark amusement as you fumble it off. He steps back half a foot to let you out, but still close so you can’t breathe.

The forest is silent. The only sound is your heartbeat and the wind. You stumble onto the gravel, shoes crunching. And he starts to circle you like a shark.

You try to keep your voice steady. “I didn’t do anything. You can’t just- ”

“Hands on the hood.”

“No. I want your badge number! I’m not drunk or high or whatever! This is ridiculous-”

Suddenly he’s behind you. A hard shove between your shoulder blades sends you stumbling forward. Your palms slam onto cold metal.

“Fuck- you can’t- ”

His hand wraps around the back of your neck, fingers digging into your skin.

“I said.” his voice drops lower, crueler, “Hands. On. The. Fucking. Car.”

Your breath fogs the hood. Your fingers splay on the metal. Your vision swims and you can’t move.

“Why are you doing this?”

He chuckles. “Because I can.”

Click.

Cold metal snaps over one wrist. 

“No- wait! Stop it!”

He yanks your other arm back and cuffs it- a snap that echoes in the trees. You wince at the tightness. He leans over you, breath hot in your ear.

“You’re under investigation for DUI and possession of alcohol and marijuana.”

“Bullshit! I don’t have anything! Search my car!”

“Oh, I will.”

His hands slide down your sides. You flinch as he palms your ass roughly.

“Sto-”

“Shut up.”

His hands slide up under your hoodie, lifting it cruelly so your bare stomach hits the cold air. He palms your breast, fingers closing hard over your nipple through the fabric.

“Please- don’t-”

“I said shut the fuck up.”

He pinches it until you’re shaking.

“Look at you,” he purrs, voice low. “Squirming for me.”

He laughs in your ear.

“You’re probably wet from my hands all over you, right?”

“I’m not- you fucking pig! LET ME GO!”

He laughs softly.

“God, I love it when you fight.”

You can’t see him, but you feel him behind you. Pressed in close. His belt presses into your hips.

“I should arrest you for resisting.”

“I’m not resisting- I’m innocent- ”

He slides a hand down between your thighs, forcing them wider. Your cuffed arms can’t protect you. He jams his fingers roughly against your clothed slit, enough pressure to make you yelp. Your knees buckle. He holds you up with his grip on your hair, yanking your head back so your throat arches.

“You want me to stop?”

“YES!”

He kisses your neck. Just once. Cruel, biting.

“Liar.”

He steps back but keeps a hand on your cuffs, jerking you so you slam back onto the car.

You sob, humiliated.

“Please- I didn’t do anything,” you whimper.

He breathes in your ear.

“You did everything,” he hisses. “You just don’t know it yet.”

He finally steps back. The loss of heat is almost as jarring as his touch.

You’re shaking.

“Look at you,” he says. “All worked up over nothing. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re thoroughly searched.”

You sob, humiliated. You want to spit at him. Scream. But you’re too busy breathing in shuddering gasps.

He turns his back to you, sauntering to the cruiser door, checking his belt, like he didn’t just manhandle you.

“Wait here.”

He doesn’t even look back. Your eyes dart around wildly.

The forest is darkening.

Your breath saws in and out of your lungs. You feel the cuffs biting your wrists. Your chest heaves and your legs tremble.

He’s not holding you. He’s not looking. He’s going to put something away in the car, or call dispatch, or get something worse.

Your pulse hammers.

Run.

It’s now or never. 

You spin on your heel and bolt. 

Your feet scrape on gravel, then hit dirt. You plunge into the trees. Branches whip your face. Rocks bite at your soles. The cuffs limit your balance.

But you don’t stop. You don’t dare look back.

Behind you, there’s silence for half a second.

Then:

“Ahhh. Fuck.”

He sees you. You hear the car door slam.

“Run, baby.” his voice calls, too calm, too amused. “Run all you want.”

Your blood turns to ice. You push deeper into the tree- the forest swallowing you whole. You know it’s not over. Not even close. 

Your lungs burn. The cuffs around your wrists bite with every misstep, the metal digging in with cruel precision. You’re running blind- just trees and shadows, your feet slipping on roots and moss. Your breath saws in and out, loud and ugly.

He’s behind you.

He’s behind you.

You don’t know how far. You don’t dare look.

His last words still ring in your ears:

“Run, baby. Run all you want.”

There’s no mistaking the amusement in his voice. The thrill. He’s not mad. He’s playing.

You dart between two trees, nearly slamming into a trunk. Your shoulder scrapes bark. You don’t stop. Everything inside you is screaming- panic, shame, pure adrenaline.

You think you hear his boots. Maybe not. Maybe it’s just your heartbeat. Your jeans are soaked with dew. Your hoodie snags on brambles. One shoe nearly flies off, but you can’t stop.

Your breath hitches as you stumble into a shallow dip in the earth. Your knees slam into cold dirt. You bite your lip to keep from crying out.

Then-

snap

A twig behind you. Too close.

You choke on your breath and duck behind a tree. Crouching. Trembling. Trying to become invisible.

Then:

“You’re so fucking bad at hiding, baby.”

Your blood freezes.

“Don’t cry yet,” his voice is closer. Almost gentle. Mocking. “You haven’t even seen what I do when I catch something.”

You cover your mouth with your cuffed hands. Your knuckles are scraped raw from the fall.

Leaves rustle. A boot crunches. He’s circling you. And you can’t stop shaking.

“Little rabbit thinks she can outrun the wolf.”

You bolt. Again. No thought, just pure terror.

═══════

You grin.

She’s faster than you expected. Desperate. Cute. But not smart.

You’ve been tracking every clumsy step she’s taken since the second she ran. She thinks she’s hiding. You let her think that. Her breathing is so loud. Her cuffs jingle every time she flinches.

You could’ve grabbed her minutes ago. But where’s the fun in that? You want her terrified. Wild-eyed. You want her stumbling through the dark with her pretty mouth shaking and her thighs slick with fear.

You love the way she looks when she thinks she has a chance. She doesn’t. She never did.

You lick your lips. Time to collect what’s yours.

═══════

He laughs. Loud. Deep. Guttural.

You don’t get far. Maybe twenty steps before a strong arm loops around your waist and slams you backward against a tree.

The bark digs into your spine. Your scream is muffled by a gloved hand. He’s right there. Face inches from yours.

Smiling.

“There you are.”

You kick. Twist. Thrash in his grip. But he doesn’t budge. His thigh wedges between yours, grinding into you obscenely just to humiliate you.

“Thought you could outrun me?”

You try to bite his hand. He chuckles and slaps you. Not hard enough to knock you out. Just hard enough to make your cheek sting.

“Bad girl.”

His hand fists in your hair. Yanks your head back. Your throat stretches, vulnerable.

“You have no idea how much trouble you’re in.”

Your voice finally breaks through. “Let go- please, let me go- I’ll never say anything-”

“Let you go?”

He laughs and shoves you harder into the tree. His hand snakes under your hoodie, slides up your back, nails grazing skin.

“You think this is about what you’ll say?” he snarls into your ear. “You think you matter that much?”

“I-  didn’t do anything- ”

“Oh, no baby, you did,” he growls. “You looked at me. You made me feel things. You’re mine now.”

He kisses you.

Rough. Unwanted. His tongue forces its way into your mouth. You try to scream, but his fingers are tangled in your hair too tight. He pulls back. Licks your bottom lip.

“That mouth,” he whispers. “Gonna make you say such pretty things when you’re under me.”

You shake your head violently. “Please… please don’t-”

He cups your cheek. Smiles. Then slaps it again. Harder.

“Beg better.”

Your legs go weak. He grabs your throat. Not to choke but to remind you he could. That he wants to. Your whimpers make his eyes burn hotter.

He leans in. Sniffs your neck.

“You smell so fucking sweet.”

His free hand slides between your legs again. Presses. Rubs. You twist, cry out, try to break free. The cuffs stop you. The tree behind your back stops you. He stops you.

“I want to hear you beg for me to stop,” he whispers. “And then I want to hear you beg me to keep going.”

You cry. He moans like it’s music.

Then, he pulls you away from the tree and throws you over his shoulder. Like you weigh nothing. You pound your fists into his back, even though it was useless. He just laughs.

“Kick all you want, baby. I like when they squirm.”

The forest spins as he walks deeper. You scream into the trees. Birds scatter. No one comes. 

His palm cracks across your ass. “Louder. Maybe someone will come save you.”

Another slap.

“Spoiler alert: they won’t.”

You sob. As his grip on your thigh tightens as he hauls you like stolen prey, his voice a low growl:

“You’re mine now. And the fun’s just getting started.”

He doesn’t stop walking until the woods swallow every last trace of the road behind you.

You’re thrown to the ground. You land on your stomach hard, your breath whooshing out in a pained gasp. The cuffs clank as you instinctively try to brace yourself. You start trying to push yourself up but you can’t get up. He’s already on you.

A boot presses down on your back. Not enough to break you. Just enough to pin you, humiliate you, remind you what you are.

“Such a good little runner,” he hums. “Almost made me work for it.”

You sob.

“Please- please don’t do this.”

He laughs- low and delighted. He crouches down, fingers twisting in your hair, yanking your head up so you have to look at him.

Your eyes meet his, fear mingling with something else- something you couldn’t name. His gaze was intense, his expression a mix of annoyance and desire. He ran a hand down your side, his touch deliberate, his fingers grazing the curve of your hip.

“Look at those tears. Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

He shakes your head roughly. “Eyes. Open.”

You obey, trembling.

He smiles. “Good girl.”

His thumb smears a tear across your cheek. Then he presses that wet thumb to your lip, forcing you to taste it.

“You know you were never getting away, right?”

“Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I swear-”

He snorts. “No, you won’t.”

He stands, dragging you up with him by your hair and you whimper loudly. Your knees scrape against dirt and roots as you struggle to stand. He shoves you hard against a tree trunk. Your face presses into the rough bark.

His hands wander immediately- rough, entitled, unkind. He grips your hips, grinding himself against your ass.

“Mine.”

You squirm.

“Stop- don’t-”

He pulls you back by the hair, arching your spine. His other hand snakes under your hoodie, dragging it up, exposing your back, your bra, your shivering skin.

“Fuck, look at you. So innocent.” He sniffs you, moaning. “Smelling like fear.”

You try to pull away.

He laughs in your ear. “Keep fighting. I fucking love it.”

He bites you between your neck and shoulder. You cry out- turning your head and slightly scraping your face against the bark. 

“Shhh.” He licks the bite. “Don’t want you too bruised. Yet.”

You try to push him off with your bound hands. He grabs them and slams them higher up the tree, pinning them there with one hand. His other hand drags over your stomach, lower. You clamp your thighs together. 

He kicks your foot. “Spread.”

You don’t. Making him growl.

Then you feel it. The barrel of the gun slides between your knees. He nudges it higher, just barely grazing the inside of your thigh.

“Spread,” he repeats.

“You want to see what happens if I don’t ask so nicely next time?”

Sobbing, you obey. 

He puts the gun away and slides his hand between your legs. Over your jeans at first, then under the waistband, fingers finding your panties. He strokes you through the fabric, deliberately slow.

Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed against your panties, his touch both gentle and demanding. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and yet there was a part of you that thrilled at his dominance.

“So wet.”

You sob.

“Please… please stop.”

“I already told you baby, you need to beg better.”

He rips at your hoodie, pulling it over your head roughly. Your arms can’t help you. It bunches around your bound wrists, leaving you in just your bra. He steps back to look at you.

“Fucking gorgeous.”

You shake. Teeth chattering.

“Please… I’ll do anything, please don’t hurt me…”

He hums, pleased.

“Oh, I’m going to hurt you.” He smiles. “But you’re going to like it.”

He unbuckles his belt slowly, eyes never leaving you. You let out a strangled sob., making him chuckle.

“Good girl. Cry for me.”

He leans in. Kisses your cheek. Softly. Tenderly.

“You’re mine now. My pretty little pet. My plaything.”

You flinch as his hand closes around your throat. Not squeezing. Just there. A promise.

“Say you’re mine.” He growls

You shake your head frantically. He slaps you.

“Say it.”

“No! No- please- ”

He sighs like he’s disappointed. Then you see it. He draws the gun from his holster again and holds it lazily at his side.

“You’re really going to make me use this?”

He presses the cold metal barrel to your stomach. You freeze.

“So fucking say it,” he says again, softly. “Say you’re mine, or I’ll make a mess right here in the woods.”

“I’m yours!” you sob instantly.

He smiles.

“Good girl.”

He licks the tears off your cheek.

“Now beg me to keep you.”

You sob.

“I- I don’t want- I can’t- ”

He grips your hair again, yanking you back. He pushes the gun deeper into your stomach.

“Beg me.”

“I- please… keep me…” you say sobbing loudly. 

His eyes blaze.

“Fuck. That’s better.”

He releases you. You slump to the ground, half-naked, shaking.

He circles you like a wolf around prey.

“Clothes off.”

You stare up at him, horrified.

He cocks his head. “Do it. Or I’ll do it for you.”

Hands shaking, you try to wriggle out of your bra. Your jeans are harder with the cuffs. You fumble. Fail. He sighs dramatically.

“Pathetic.”

He crouches. One hand grabs your hair again, the other rips at your jeans. The button pops. The zipper drags painfully over your hips. He forces them down roughly, taking your panties with them.

You’re left shivering, dirty, humiliated. He leans back on his haunches to admire his work.

“Look at you. Perfect.”

You try to curl up. He doesn’t let you. He grabs your ankle and drags you flat on your back.

You scream. He clamps a hand over your mouth.

“Shut up. Don’t want you scaring the wildlife.”

He leans close. His hair brushes your face.

“Gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget your own name.”

You shake your head violently. He surges forward and kisses you, shoving his tongue in your mouth. Deep. Wet. Disgusting.

You gag, causing him to laugh.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make you love it.”

He presses his knee between your legs, forcing them apart. You try to fight. He pins your wrists above your head again with one hand. His other hand roams your body freely, groping your breasts, pinching your nipples until you whimper and squirm.

“Shh, baby. Don’t worry. The real fun’s about to start.”

You sob. He smiles down at you, eyes dark, hungry. “You’re not going anywhere. Not until I’m finished with you.”

He pauses, “And I’m never finished.”

The forest is quiet except for your sobbing.

Your face is streaked with tears, hair tangled from his grip. Dirt smears your skin. Your bare chest rises and falls with panicked gasps. Jungkook stands over you, belt coiled in his hand like a leash. His eyes are bright in the gloom, teeth bared in a smile that’s all wolf.

“Look at you.”

He says it like an accusation.

You try to scoot back on your ass, bound wrists scraping roots. Your jeans are gone. Your panties lie shredded nearby. Your bra dangles from a branch where he flung it. You’re naked. Exposed.

He moves before you can blink. His boot presses on your thigh, pinning you. He leans over, grabbing your wrists and wrenching them higher above your head. He uses his belt to tether them low on the slanted tree trunk.

Your scream is high and broken.

“Please! Don’t- don’t do this! I’ll do anything, please let me go!”

He just hushes you.

“You are doing something for me.”

He leans close, nose brushing your cheek.

“You’re going to make me feel good.”

You twist, trying to buck him off. His laugh is a rasp. He lets you squirm- watching you fight. You feel him getting harder through his uniform.

“God, keep fighting. Makes it so much sweeter when you break.”

You sob, words failing you.

His hands roam. Palms you like meat. Gropes your breasts, thumbs flicking your nipples. He pinches them until you squeal.

“Say it,” he murmurs. “Say you’re mine.”

You shake your head.

He slaps you. Hard. Your head jerks.

“Say. It.”

“I’m-” your voice cracks. “I’m yours.”

He sighs in pleasure.

“Again.”

“I’m yours.”

He kisses you violently. You gasp, trying to turn away. He bites your lip until it bleeds.

“Taste that?” he says against your mouth. “That’s you giving yourself to me.”

You sob. He breaks the kiss to slide lower. His mouth on your neck, biting, sucking hickeys that will stay for days.

“I’m going to mark every fucking inch of you.”

He places the gun beside your head in the dirt, just close enough for you to see it. You stare at it with wide, panicked eyes.

He watches your gaze and smirks. “One wrong move, and I’ll use that to remind you who owns you.”

He licks a path down to your chest. Sucks your nipple so hard it hurts. Bites the swell of your breast. You wail, trying to twist away.

He growls. “Stay. Still.”

Your wrists burn in the belt restraint. His hand slides down your stomach. He cups your mound.

You jerk. “Please- don’t touch me there-”

He smirks. “Sweet thing, that’s the only place I want to touch.” he says while laughing in your face. 

He parts your folds with rough fingers. You’re wet. You whimper in humiliation. He hums like it’s praise.

“Fuck, you’re soaking. Did you know that?”

“I’m not- I’m scared-”

“Same difference to me.”

He thrusts two fingers inside you without warning. Your back arches. You keen in pain.

But there’s something worse.

Heat. Low in your belly. A flutter you try to crush. You whimper in horror at the way your hips rock helplessly. 

“No- please-“

He moans at the feel of you clenching. “Tight little cunt. Made for me.”

You sob, shaking your head violently.

He scissors you open. Your feet scrabble at the ground uselessly. He pulls his fingers out and smears your slick over your clit. You squeal, trying to twist away. 

He grabs your throat. Not choking but controlling “Stop.”

He rubs you mercilessly, circles your clit until your hips betray you and buck. You sob in shame.

“That’s it. Good girl. Show me how bad you hate it.”

Your breath hitches in a moan you didn’t mean. He notices and grins.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

You shake violently. “No- I- I fucking hate you-”

He slides his fingers back in. Crooks them cruelly.You feel something building despite everything. Your thighs tremble.

You gasp.

“No- please- I don’t want to-”

He leans in, teeth grazing your ear. “Cum for me.”

You shake your head, silently crying. He moves faster. More relentless.

“I said. Cum.”

Your whole body locks up. You scream.  But it’s not just pain. Your vision whites out. You cum. You tried to hold back, but it was no use. Your body betrayed you, your walls clenching around his fingers as you cried out, your orgasm tearing through you like a storm. Your walls spasm around his fingers, pulsing slick. You moan and sob at the same time. He moans at the feel of it.

He groans, grinding his cock against your thigh through his uniform.

He didn’t stop, even as you trembled, his fingers continuing to stroke you until you were a quivering mess.

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your legs weak. He smirked, his eyes dark with satisfaction.

“Fuck yes. That’s what I wanted. Look at you. Perfect.”

You sob so hard you can’t breathe. He pulls his fingers out and smears your wetness on your lips.

“Taste it.”

You try to turn away. He holds your chin. Forces it. He hums in satisfaction. He unzips his pants. Your eyes widened as he freed his cock, thick and hard, the sight of it sending a fresh wave of heat through your body.

“You know what’s next.”

You turn your head away, tears soaking the dirt.

“I- I can’t- I’m sorry-”

He grabs your chin.

“Don’t be sorry. You’re mine, remember?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “And I’m going to remind you just how much.”

Your eyes go wide. You try to fight but you’re powerless.

He lines up. You scream. He sighs in bliss. He thrust into you without warning, his cock filling you completely. You gasped, your head falling back as he began to move, his hips snapping forward with a force that left you breathless. 

The handcuffs bit into your wrists, a constant reminder of your helplessness, but you didn’t fight it. You couldn’t. His dominance was absolute, and you were lost in it.

“That’s it. That’s fucking it.”

You kick. Your cuffs rattle. He just grabs your hips and forces you to take it all. He bottoms out. Holds you there.

You’re shaking. Crying. But you’re wet. You feel it. You hate it. Your mind screams but your body clenches. A humiliating moan slips out and he hears it.

“There she is. Good girl.”

You sob, shaking your head. Your mouth was dry, your thoughts scattered as he pounded into you, his movements relentless. The forest around you faded away, leaving only the two of you, his body pressing into yours, his cock stretching you open. You felt full, overwhelmed, and yet you can’t believe you wanted more.

“You’re fucking good for me.” He starts thrusting. Hard. Deep. You feel every humiliating drag. He moans in your ear.

“Gonna ruin this pussy. Make it mine.”

You sob. He fucks you harder. The belt creaks where you’re tied. Your wrists bleed. He doesn’t care.

“Please- I don’t want- ”

“But you need it. Look at you. Dripping for me. You love this, don’t you? Being used like this?”

He thrusts. Hard. Deep. You cry out, but it’s a half moan.

You want to die. You hate that you feel good. You hate him. But your hips buck anyway.

He laughs darkly.

“Say you love it.”

You shake your head. He slaps you again and thrusts harder. 

“Say it.”

“I- I love it,” you choke out.

“Louder.”

“I love it!”

He roars in triumph. He pounds you harder. Your voice breaks. He tells you all the sick things he’ll do. How he’ll keep you. Breed you. Lock you away.

“You’re going to look pretty when you’re pregnant with my child, baby.”

He pounds you relentlessly. You’re so close. You beg him through small moans. And he brings you there.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Cum for me again. Do it, or I’ll make you regret it.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but they were unnecessary. Your body was already on the edge, his rough thrusts pushing you closer and closer. You cried out, your walls clenching around him as you fell apart, your orgasm tearing through you like a wave. Hard. Sobbing. Hating every second.

He kisses your wet cheeks.

“That’s it. Good girl. Mine forever”

He finishes inside you. his grip tightening on your hips as he thrust one last time, his cock pulsing inside you as he came. “That’s it,” he groaned, his voice rough. “Take it all.”You feel the hot spill. He collapses over you, panting. He kisses your face like a lover.

“All mine.”

You can’t even cry anymore. He pets your hair. For a moment, neither of you moved. 

“Don’t worry. We’re just getting started.”

Your body feels heavy. Boneless. Used.

Your wrists burn where the belt held them to the tree. They’re red, raw, leaking small rivulets of blood and sweat. Your thighs are sticky with his cum, your own slick, the mess of it cooling uncomfortably in the night air.

You don’t even have the energy to sob anymore. Just ragged, broken breathing. He’s still inside you, buried deep.

Not thrusting anymore. Just there. Holding you open, claiming you with every second he stays sheathed inside.

His breath is hot on your shoulder. Slow. Satisfied. You flinch when he finally pulls out. Your body clenches uselessly.

A whimper breaks from your throat.

He hushes you.

“Shhh. It’s okay.”

He sounds so gentle you want to vomit. You try to turn away. The belt binding your wrists tugs painfully. He unloops it slowly, letting your hands fall. They’re so numb you can barely move them.

You collapse onto your side. He catches you before you can hit the dirt. Arms wrapping tight around your waist. You flinch, letting out a cracked, broken sob.

He just shushes you softly, rocking you like a child. “Shhh. Shhh. No more crying. It’s over.”

You’re shaking so hard your teeth chatter.

He hums against your ear, soothing, twistedly affectionate. “You did so good for me.”

You try to pull away with the last bit of strength you have. He tightens his grip.

“No, baby. Don’t fight. Not now. You’re mine.”

Your voice is barely a whisper.

“Please… let me go…”

He growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your back where he holds you.

“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that again.”

He turns your face roughly with one hand, fingers digging into your jaw. You can’t even close your eyes.

He leans in and kisses you. Slow. Deep. Your lips crack from the dry sobbing, split from earlier. The taste is copper and salt. He moans into your mouth like it’s a love letter.

When he pulls back, you’re gasping, tears starting again.

He wipes one away with his thumb, “Look at me.”

You don’t want to. He pinches harder.

“I said look at me.”

You obey. Eyes blurry. Red. Broken. His own eyes shine with that mad gleam.

“You’re mine now. Do you understand that?”

You don’t answer. He slaps you. Not hard enough to break anything. Just enough to feel it.

“Answer me.”

Your voice cracks.

“I’m… I’m yours.”

He breathes out a pleased sigh.

“Good fucking girl.”

He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. You try to shy away but his fingers hold you in place.

“I’m going to take care of you. Feed you. Dress you. Fuck you whenever I want.”

You let out a broken sob.

He smiles, “Shhh. Don’t cry. You’ll learn to love it.”

You try to speak. Nothing comes out but wrecked sounds. He rocks you again. His gloved hand trails down your body possessively. Over your ruined thighs. Between them. Smearing what’s left of his cum against your skin with sick reverence.

He presses the gun to the inside of your thigh once more. Firm. Icy.

“You keep crying, but you haven’t said thank you yet,” he whispers. “Thank me, baby. Or I’ll make this night worse than you thought possible.”

You sob harder- voice cracking, “Th- thank you.”

He hushes you, “Shhh. It’s okay. I know. It’s messy. Let’s clean you up.”

He drags his fingers through your folds slowly. You squirm weakly, sobbing at the overstimulation.

“So sensitive. Poor thing. So fucked out.”

He brings his fingers to your lips. You clamp your mouth shut. He waits. Calm. Patient. Then pinches your nose.

You can’t breathe. So you gasp. He pushes his fingers in.

“Taste what you did to me.”

You start tearing up again.

He smiles.

“Good girl.”

He finally lets you go, your body slumping in the dirt. But he doesn’t leave you there. He tucks himself back into his pants, adjusting calmly like nothing happened.

Then he leans down. Hands under your knees and back. He lifts you. You’re limp in his arms. Exhausted. Broken.

Your arms dangle, raw wrists leaving trails of blood on his uniform. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“You’re going to sleep so good tonight.”

You sob weakly against his chest.

“Please… don’t… I want to go home…”

He chuckles.

“We are going home now. I’m your home.”

You can’t stop crying. He carries you through the forest slowly, like a bride. But there’s nothing romantic about the way he tightens his grip every time you flinch.

When you reach the road, his cruiser is waiting.   He sets you on your feet, but holds you steady as your knees buckle.

He opens the back door. You see the cage partition. You see the locked handles. 

You try one last time. “Please… I’ll be good… let me go…”

He sighs like he’s tired of explaining. “Stop asking. You’re mine.”

He throws you inside. Your bare thighs stick to the cold plastic seat. He reaches in and buckles you, snapping it so tight you can barely move. He cups your face in one gloved hand. Smiling.

“Say it.”

Your voice is a scratchy ruin, “I’m… yours.”

“Good girl.”

He softly kisses your lips.

“Forever.”

You shiver.

He closes the door. You hear it lock. He walks around to the driver’s side. Gets in. Starts the engine.

You can’t stop the tears. You don’t even try.

As the cruiser pulls away, bumping over the dirt road, you hear his voice in the front seat, low and dark and happy.

“Mine. All fucking mine.”

He keeps driving, the forest swallowing the narrow road in darkness. He kills the lights, letting only the low hum of the engine and your broken sobs fill the air.

You press yourself into the corner of the back seat, wrists raw from the cuffs, legs pulled up uselessly to your chest.

He glances at you in the rearview mirror. His dark eyes catch yours, and his mouth curls into that smile you’ve learned to fear.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Let it all out.”

Your breathing hitches. You can’t stop the tears.

He laughs softly.

“Fuck, you’re even prettier when you cry. You look so real now. No more of that tough act from before.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. It doesn’t help. His voice wraps around you like a noose.

“Shhh. Don’t be scared. You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you except me.”

Your shoulders shake.

He keeps talking, voice low and calm, like he’s confessing something intimate.

“I’m going to take such good care of you. Feed you. Bathe you. Dress you. Strip you. Fuck you until you don’t even remember what being alone felt like.”

You let out a cracked sob, shaking your head frantically. He hums contentedly, fingers tapping the wheel.

“We’ll have such a good life. I’ve got a place ready for us. Bed with fresh sheets. I’ll get the closet full of clothes your size.”

You gasp in horror, voice strangled.

“Please… let me go… I won’t tell anyone- plea-”

He cuts you off with a low growl.

“Don’t. Say. That.”

His eyes blaze in the mirror.

“Don’t you ever fucking say that again.”

You whimper, shrinking against the door. But he smiles again. Softer. Sicker.

“You’ll learn. You’ll see. I’m patient.”

He turns his gaze back to the road, the trees blurring by in the dark.

“You’re going to shower when we get there. You’re fucking filthy. I’ll watch. Make sure you’re clean everywhere. Don’t want you hiding anything from me.”

You let out another sob.

“Then you’ll sleep in my bed. Right beside me. Don’t worry, baby. I’ll tie you up nice and tight so you don’t wander off.”

Your entire body trembles. He chuckles. 

“Next time you try to run?”

The amusement fades from his voice. Cold steel seeps in.

“I’ll break your fucking legs. Understand?”

You cry harder. But he just sighs like he’s exhausted by your disobedience.

“I’m not a bad man, pretty. I just hate liars. And I hate runners.”

You stare at the cage barrier. Your own reflection in the glass. Eyes puffy. Skin raw.

Empty.

He hums under his breath as he drives, tapping the wheel, like nothing is wrong at all.

“You’ll see soon enough. I can be so good to you. As long as you’re good for me.”

Your mind screams.

You think about your apartment. Your roommate. The show you were supposed to watch together tonight. She’ll surely wait up for you. Call you. Text you. Leave the porch light on. She’ll think you’re just late. 

She’ll never know you’re gone.

Never know that you’re crying in the back of a cop car, naked, dried with his cum between your legs. You sob so hard your throat burns.

He clicks his tongue. “Shhh. Don’t wear yourself out. We have a long drive home.”

Your vision blurs. But you can’t block out his words. You’ll never see any home again except the one he owns.

“By morning, you’ll understand you’re mine. Not today. Not tomorrow. Forever.”

He doesn’t look back again. Just drives deeper into nowhere.

And you realize, with cold, perfect clarity, that no one is ever coming to save you.

═══════

♡ MASTERLIST

♡ requests are welcome ♡ taglist ♡

These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

═══════

Posted: 07/05/2025

Taglist: @mar-lo-pap @lovingkoalaface @whoa-jo @kiliskywalker666 @sucker4jeon @annpeachy @kaiparkerwifes @nikkinikj @elithenium @asyr97 @heyinwluv85s @jjkluver7 @bammbi-jeon127 @kookoo-kachoo @angelsdecalcomania @kayswatanabe @granataepfelchen @kelsyx33 @tatamicc @blubird592 @llallaaa @chromietriestowrite @k1ll1ngcl0wns @jahnaviii @mfsitscho @traumaanatomy @mellyyyyyyx @yu-justme @bangtaniess @mygukkiebaby @roseda

[maladaptive-daydreamer-23]

Vixen

Part 1 • Part 2

A/N: I have… nothing to say for myself… except… enjoy???

Also, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 50 FOLLOWERS!!!!!

Love,

Mal 💋

Warnings: 18+ beyond this point!!!! Minors DNI, Mirrors, Thigh Riding, Mild Dirty Talk, Pet Names, exhibtionism??? If you squint???, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Lap Dance, Female Orgasm, Dom/sub if you use a microscope, praise kink, teasing, Mentions Of Trafficking (type unspecified), Canon Typical Case stuff, I think this is the longest my warning section has ever been, if I missed anything please tell me!

Additional information: Hotch likes to watch, the smut is there I promise, so sorry this took me two weeks, my life is nuts

Pairing: Hotch x UndercoverBAU!Reader (NO Y/N)

WC: 8,181

AO3 here

Back to Mal’s Masterlist

Hotch had known he would live to regret approving this undercover operation. He also knew he would never be able to look you in the eyes again, especially after what he was about to do.

As he entered the club, the bouncers stopped him at the door to pat him down. He was unarmed and that made things even more stressful. You were already in there, with no back up and no wire to call for help. The only way they had been able to keep an eye on you was Garcia. They’d gotten a warrant to tap phones and hack security feeds. So Garcia, Reid and JJ were watching from a van a few blocks away. Morgan, Prentiss and Rossi were with swat, as they were every night for the past month, waiting for you to give one of two signals. The first meant that you had all the evidence they needed to bring down the trafficking ring they’d been after for months.

The second meant your cover was blown and you needed help or you were going to die.

Thankfully, the second hadn’t happened and he had no reason to suspect they’d made you or were suspicious. Unfortunately, the first hadn’t happened yet either. No, the reason Hotch was coming to meet you, was because there’d been a major development on the outside. One that you really needed to know about.

He knew he didn’t really fit the role he was coming here to play, but he already had one agent in this hell hole with no weapons or back up. There was no way he was going to send in another, not when there was such a high risk of getting caught.

Not when the consequence might’ve been death.

So here he was, sitting front row, center stage, as you walked out into the spotlight and wrapped your dainty little hand around the gleaming stainless steel of a stripper pole. It felt wrong.

Watching you like this…

In person.

Not from behind the screen of a CCTV, where watching you was simply part of the job he had to do to make sure you were still safe. Here though, here he could see everything. In a way he was incredibly uncomfortable with, because he could no longer keep his eyes from wandering. He couldn’t help the thoughts that forced their way into the forefront of his mind. He could not deny the way you made him feel.

Not when he was close enough to see the detail of the red lace that barely covered anything. Close enough to see the matching red polish on your fingers and toes. The way your hair was glinting in the red stage light.

Red.

Everything was red; your lips, your lingerie, your fingers, toes and even your heels. That drove him insane. Red was a weakness of his, especially on you and you wore it every night. It was part of your stage presence, your character. Red like a fox, after the moniker you had chosen; Vixen. He couldn’t help but think it fitting.

As the music began to play, he sent up a prayer to whomever was listening.

The club had been lenient with you so far, allowing you to keep your lingerie on as you danced. Letting you get a little more comfortable on stage before expecting you to bare yourself to the crowd.

They had… until a few nights ago anyway. When in the middle of your routine with a group of other girls, one of them had unclipped your bra for you.

You had simply let it fall to the floor.

Hotch and Spencer had both been watching from the van that night, and had immediately exited the vehicle. Leaving Garcia and JJ to keep watch over you until your limited clothing was securely back on your person.

He hoped beyond all reason that you wouldn’t be exposed like that with him sitting this close. Because if he looked away, it would call the attention of the bouncers. The men who frequented this establishment did not shy away from nudity, they reveled in it, leaned in to get a better look. Which had him regretting every life decision that had brought him to this moment, because if he didn’t look away, he would never be able to erase the sight of you from his mind.

He knew what he had to do. That didn’t mean he didn’t feel guilty about it. No. The shame had already risen in his belly and was slowly clawing its way up his throat. It only got worse when he thought about what he’d have to do next.

He’d seen countless other men do it over the last few weeks. So he knew that when your dance was over, he had to flag down a bouncer, and request a private dance from you. That was the only way to get you alone, so he could give you the information you needed. The only way to speak to you unseen and unheard. They didn’t record the private rooms, they didn’t even have audio in there, so you wouldn’t actually have to dance for him.

Still, he was nervous about it. About all of it.

Try as he might to convince himself that the anxiety—clutching his heart with a grip made of titanium—was because he knew you could both die if your cover was blown. The lie just didn’t ring true.

Not as your perfect leg bent at the knee and gripped the spinning expanse of metal. Not as your back arched and your head tipped back, so slowly it was agonizing. Your hair, just barely grazing the floor in all its glory, was a bit too tempting for his sanity.

He was anxious—more like petrified—because he knew that as soon as you walked into that room in a few minutes you would be able to read him like a book. Then you would know.

So he watched, with bated breath, as you danced. Looking as though you’d been born to it. You were a natural.

He knew, of course, that when they’d started planning this undercover op you had enrolled in an exotic dancing class that also offered pole dancing. But you’d only been in classes for a month.

Which meant calling you a natural wasn’t a stretch.

He didn’t know how he was going to remember what he was supposed to tell you. Everytime he looked at you a little too long, his mind went blank and his mouth stopped working.

He was so absorbed in watching you, he didn’t even notice that you’d seen him. You were on the floor of the stage, thrusting your hips up into the air and rolling them, then all the sudden, you were making very intense eye contact. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t look away. Your eyes burned into his like lasers, but there was no disgust, no accusation, no confusion.

Then the song was over and you started to gather the money that had been thrown at you and landed on the stage.

A wave of shame crashed over him and Hotch looked away.

You’d clocked Hotch’s tall broad frame the moment he’d entered the club. His gait as recogniseable to you as your own face in the mirror.

You had him memorized. Every single mannerism was familiar to you, every word predictable.

You had kept an eye on him as you’d danced, worried about him fitting in, but his acting was impeccable. The way he had watched you when you were doing your floor work had been… heated. You almost would have thought it was real… if you didn’t know better, of course.

It’d been a month since you last saw him, or any member of your team, in person. Communicating only through weekly calls on a burner that you had hidden in your UC nest apartment.

Your last check in had been the night before. So you had turned the phone off. If Hotch was here–inside the club, you knew he was always watching from outside–that meant he had something very important to tell you. He would never risk your cover otherwise. So as soon as your dance had been over and you’d gathered all your hard earned cash and gone to the locker room to put on some lingerie that was a little less–revealing.

Sure enough, less than five minutes later a bouncer caught you on your way out of the locker room.

“Hey Vixen!” He’d called out. “You got a guy in room one, he bought an hour. Nice work!”

An hour!? Holy shit, this was either really bad… or they were about to raid the club and sent Hotch in first to get you out of harm's way. You had assumed he would just ask you to sit at the table with him otherwise.

“Alright, I’m on my way.” You assured him.

Your stripper name had been a joke that Derek and Spencer had come up with while you’d been preparing for this operation. Derek had made the comment that you were a fox in the henhouse so you should go by Foxy as a joke. You and the other three women on the team had groaned, complaining that Foxy was the least sexy stripper name you could think of. Specifically because it reminded you of the bully from the Chicken Little movie. Then Spencer, of all people, had suggested Vixen, because that was the term for female foxes. You had all agreed that it was much sexier and still just as funny. You still smiled to yourself every time you thought about the look on Hotch’s and Rossi’s faces when you’d told them.

You didn’t knock before you entered the room, you simply slipped inside quietly, closing the door silently behind you.

Though dimly lit, you had no trouble observing the concerning body language that was reflected at you in the mirror lined room.

He was pacing, staring at the floor in front of him, his thumb rubbing the side of his forefinger anxiously.

Great. So it was bad news then.

He turned to trod back toward you on the path he was wearing into the floor, but stopped on a dime when he saw you.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off. Remembering the camera in the corner that he didn’t know about.

“Hi, I’m Vixen.” You said, using the sensual tone you’d perfected over the last month. One of the other, more veteran, dancers had told you that the syrupy sweet customer service tone you came in with might have worked as a waitress, but wouldn’t cut it as a stripper. So you’d practiced. “What’s your name, handsome?”

Hotch blinked at you a few times, confusion evident in his expression. You slowly, but purposefully, turned your body toward the wall to your right, tipping your head forward so that your hair fell in front of your face. Obscuring your mouth from the camera in the left corner. Opposite the door you’d just walked through.

“Camera.” You mouthed in his direction, flicking your eyes toward it.

You saw the panic that took over his face for a split second. Then he went stone faced just as quickly.

“Aaron.” He murmured softly.

“Aaron.” You repeated, as though testing the way the word tasted on your tongue. You were, in truth, you’d never said his first name before. Not aloud… not to him… but at night, in your bed, when you were all alone…

No, stop. You can’t think about that right now. Not with what you had to do next.

He nodded, as though confirming that, yes, that was his name. You smiled salaciously at him for the camera’s benefit and he froze. You took a few steps closer, keeping the camera behind you so that you could give him an apologetic look.

“I like it.” You said keeping your tone the same as it had been. “It’s strong… like you I’m sure.”

He cleared his throat, shifting his feet. Where was this awkwardness coming from? You had never seen Hotch act like this before. He was always confident. Sometimes anxious, if he was worried for someone’s safety, but he never acted like he did not know what to do or say next.

“Have a seat.” You gestured to the long couch against the wall. Slinking over to it yourself and lounging lazily against the backrest.

He hesitated. Frowning-no, glaring at the couch as though it was a danger to his health.

“Aaron, sweetheart. Relax.” You soothed, pulling him out of his stupor. “We’re just getting comfortable.”

He came over and sat—several feet away from you—on the edge of the couch. Your back was to the camera so you rolled your eyes at him playfully. Then you scooted closer.

“I don’t bite.” You teased, he looked back at you, his eyes clearly stating that he was skeptical of that claim.

“Sorry.” He croaked and then cleared his throat, flattening his hands against his slacks and rubbing his thighs forcefully. As if his palms were sweaty. “I’ve never—ummm. I haven’t ever…”

You nodded your understanding.

“You’ve never had a lap dance before?” You asked. Not judgmentally—of course, this only bolstered your preconceived notions about him, he was a gentleman—just softly, soothingly. Hoping to calm him because you knew that if you didn’t the bouncers would know something was strange.

He cleared his throat again and shook his head.

“I’ve never even been to a… club… before. I don’t know what I’m doing.” He murmured quietly.

Translation: this is completely uncharted territory and there are no policies about this particular situation to guide me. You’re my subordinate and this is fucking weird. I don’t know what to do.

Got it. You nodded slowly.

“That’s okay, this is a pretty normal reaction. I can walk you through it.” You replied, but what you meant was: I’ve got this, follow my lead. “Why don’t we go over the rules, do’s and don’ts, and that’ll tell you what to expect and then if you’re still uncomfortable then we can just sit here and talk, okay?”

He nodded, swallowing hard, and he still looked so nervous you felt the need to poke the bear a little. To break the ice.

“I’m honored by the way.” You said, letting your tone convey the mischief coming his way.

“Honored?” He asked, his back straightening a bit, and there was that look you adored. The one that practically screamed ‘what the actual fuck’ even though you knew he’d never say those words outloud. He was a gentleman.

“Mm hmm.” You hummed, giving him a mischievous grin. “I consider it an honor that you chose me to pop your metaphorical cherry.”

He choked on air, coughing and spluttering. You chuckled softly, amazed at how flustered he was getting. The Hotch you knew was stoic, confident and poised.

The man before you now was a wreck.

Hotch had not been prepared for this.

The lingerie, the sensual tone, the way you seemed so at ease—like you’d been doing this for years, not just one month—the way you were looking at him, the dirty jokes, it was all just too much.

He hadn’t expected there to be a camera in the corner of the mirror lined room. Garcia hadn’t found this one’s frequency or whatever it was called. He’d have to tell her about it later to see if she could find it. For now though, he was going to have to get creative with his words to tell you what you needed to know, without raising suspicion.

“So,” He breathed, clearing his throat for what felt like the thousandth time since you entered the room. (It was embarrassing, honestly.) “how does this work?”

What he was trying to ask was: how am I supposed to tell you sensitive information without blowing your cover? He could tell that you understood by the look in your eyes.

“Well, you paid for sixty minutes and it’s been about three. So, we can spend that time however you want to spend it, as long as you follow the rules.” You explained to him, then started listing said rules. “First, I have to tell you that we’re being recorded. It’s for my safety and yours. That way, no one tries to take more than they paid for, and none of the dancers can claim sexual assault if it didn’t really happen.”

He noted the way you phrased that, and fully understood the meaning behind it. The camera was to cover the ass of the establishment, not to protect the girls or the patrons. Classy.

He nodded that he understood.

“Now don’t let the camera scare you, these tapes are erased and recorded over every night unless something happens that the club needs a record of.” You explained. “So the tape won’t get out unless you… do something ungentlemanly.”

He nodded again, no one would be analyzing this recording after the fact. Got it. That also explained why Penelope couldn’t hack into this feed. It’s old school tech. No internet required.

“The bouncers are watching us, but don’t be embarrassed, when I turn on the music to dance it will drown us out and they won’t be able to hear anything. They also can’t see your face from this angle, so we still have some privacy.” Your expression gave that phrase its true meaning.

I have to dance if the music is on, or they’ll be suspicious. If I don’t turn on the music you can’t tell me what you came here to say without being overheard.

He felt his heart trying to beat its way up into his esophagus. Choking him as it pounded.

“Now, nothing happens without my say so, got it?” You said sternly, for the camera’s benefit, as if he really was a stranger. A patron. It made him feel a little sick to his stomach. This felt as though he were demeaning you, debasing you. He didn’t like that, not at all. “You don’t touch me unless I say so, and only where I allow it.”

He would never, and he knew you knew that—he hoped you did anyway—but he still hated hearing you say it.

This was the most uncomfortable thing he’d ever experienced on the job. You were his subordinate and he was your boss. There was already a clear power imbalance between you. That was the only reason he hadn’t already made any advances with you. Now, you were standing before him, nearly naked, and he was fully clothed. He didn’t know how you were so calm, how this didn’t make you want to crawl out of your own skin.

To make matters worse, his body and his morals were at odds with each other. In his head he knew how messed up this was, but his libido did not care. You were simply stunning and every fiber of him was hyper aware of it.

“Of course.” He replied, giving you an apologetic look in response. Hoping that you hadn’t had any trouble of that sort from other men in the last month.

“Your clothes stay on, even if mine don’t. If the bouncers see a dick, they will barge in here and ask you to leave. They will not be nice about it.” You continued the rules for the benefit of the camera. Then you hesitated and he knew that whatever you said next was for his benefit only. “As long as you’re comfortable, I’ll keep going. If you don’t want me to do something, just say so and I’ll stop. Are you ready?”

No, he was not, and would never be. This was going to completely ruin his professional relationship with you. He was sure of it.

He nodded anyway, knowing he had no other choice.

“It’s gonna be okay, Aaron.” You whispered, so quietly he barely heard it. Then you got up, walked over to a sound system in the far corner, selected a song and set a timer. The timer seemed to be protocol but he knew you also didn’t want the bouncers to interrupt and hear anything they shouldn’t.

The music was loud, the bass made the whole room vibrate, it was sensual and the lyrics were beyond suggestive, bordering on raunchy.

When you started to dance, running your hands over your body, he did his best to keep eye contact. So you would know he was being respectful, professional. It didn’t help to look away, the mirrors reflected you from every angle. You’d said the camera couldn’t see his face, so that was the least he could do. He hated putting you in this situation, but there was nothing he could do now except make you as comfortable as possible.

You held eye contact with him, even as you dropped to the floor, crawling to him on your hands and knees, then sat on your knees between his feet. You leaned back, dragging your hands up your thighs, stomach, and breasts, then above your head as you completely laid down on your back in front of him.

This, Hotch thought, was his own personal hell. Being forced to sit here and watch you move like that, knowing it was only because you had to to maintain your cover.

Your legs were in the air now, kicking sensually, then spreading wide. The red of your panties—because of course you’d chosen red for the second time tonight—caught his attention briefly and he cursed himself for looking. He closed his eyes, clenching his jaw and thought about literally anything else. Praying he wouldn’t get an erection.

Then you climbed up into his lap, and began to ride his thigh.

Hotch bit his own tongue, doing whatever he could to stop the inevitable. Even if it meant causing himself a little pain.

“I’m so sorry.” You murmured in his ear, your hands on his chest. “It's part of the routine they taught me.”

“It’s fine.” He gritted out.

“Why are you here? Has something happened?” You asked him, and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember.

Not with you rolling your hips like that. Not when he could feel the heat of your core through the fabric of his slacks.

Luckily you continued without giving him a chance to respond.

“Has there been a leak? Do they suspect me?” You asked and the tinge of fear in your voice had him opening his eyes.

“No! Nothing like that, you’ve done an excellent job. They don’t suspect a thing, as far as we can tell.” He assured you softly, looking into your eyes to make sure the fear left them. “You’re still safe, I promise.”

And since he was studying your face, he saw.

He saw the way the fear melted away as you flushed at the praise, and he felt the way your thighs clenched around his. He was intrigued, unsure of what he knew he’d seen and felt, so he started to pay attention.

You noticed his attention, the change in his expression from soothing reassurance to curiosity. Your brow furrowed and you gave him a questioning look, then you stood. Your dance moves had become increasingly filthy and when you turned around and bent over, putting your ass almost directly in his face, with your legs spread open, he noticed something that hadn’t been there before.

A patch of darker fabric had appeared on your panties. Right over your pussy.

He glanced down at his lap, finding another dark patch on his leg, he touched it and his fingers came away damp.

You were wet, soaked.

Because of him?

Well… he didn’t see any other men in the room that you could’ve had that reaction for.

The way he was looking at you had changed. It wasn’t… uncomfortable? Not anymore. It was searching. Scathing? Questioning? Scrutinizing.

It felt like his eyes were filleting you. Deconstructing and analyzing your every move. You didn’t know what had caused the sudden shift in his demeanor, but you were worried that it’d been something you’d done.

You sank down to your knees again, facing away from him, as you leaned forward onto your elbows and arched your back so that your ass was high in the air. Legs still spread wide, a gust of cool air hit you and suddenly you weren’t sure that your ass was the only thing on display.

You sat up, leaning back so that your head fell into his lap. Touching your body in ways that felt so much more intimate now than they had when you’d practiced, you looked up at him.

Then you met his gaze again, and his eyes seemed to devour you. He wasn’t just keeping them respectfully trained on your face anymore. He was drinking you in and it intoxicated you. Even though part of you knew you had to be imagining it.

“I need you to do something for me.” He murmured, and you could swear he was looking straight into your soul.

Your breath turned to lava in your lungs. That tone of voice was much different as well… and you didn’t know how to react to it.

“Sir?” You asked, barely breathing at all now.

“We received intel that the ring is smuggling in a shipment tomorrow night, I need you to confirm that it’s happening. Can you do that?” He responded, his voice barely a rumble in his chest.

Oh, it was only about the case. You relaxed a bit.

“Of course. I’ll do my best.” You assured him.

“Good girl.” He purred, so nonchalantly you thought you’d misheard it. You blinked up at him, stunned, even as your body reacted. You felt your nipples harden, poking at the rough lace of your teddy. You’d chosen this one because it covered more of you than what you’d previously had on, but you hadn’t considered how flimsy it was. So when his eyes flicked up to your chest, you knew he could see them, and he looked… pleased?

The choreo you had memorized put you in his lap again, rolling your hips and grinding your ass against him. You felt the need to apologize again.

“I’m so sorry…” You winced, knowing that you’d never be able to look him in the eyes again, not when you felt so guilty for being turned on by this.

And you were.

You had held it together so well until he had praised you and prioritized your comfort in the same breath. The way he had looked at you when he said it… like nothing mattered more to him in that moment than making sure you were okay. It had drawn you in, and the proximity to his body had done the rest. Until he’d called you a good girl with the confidence of someone who knew you’d like it. You felt like there was a fire in your belly and a river between your thighs.

All because of his words.

“Don’t be sorry, you’re doing great sweetheart.” He rasped in your ear.

You froze, was he…? No.

“Don’t stop, they’ll think something is wrong and come in. We don’t want that, do we?” His voice, low and rough, flowed over you pushing your heart into overdrive.

What the fuck?

“Hotch?” Your voice came out in a strangled gasp, completely unsure of the situation, and desperately hoping you weren’t misreading him.

He shifted his weight, making you settle more firmly into his lap.

And then you felt it, solid and warm against your ass as you continued to roll your hips against him.

He was hard.

Heat flooded your cheeks as you looked over your shoulder at him.

“You– you’re– Are you?” You stuttered, then closed your mouth so hard that your teeth clicked.

He smirked at you, and your breath hitched.

“I am, it’s a little hard not to be when you’ve left a mess on my thigh.” He murmured.

You threw a panicked glance down at his leg, the one you had straddled before, and found a spot that was darker than the rest. Gasping in horror, you tried to stand, to separate yourself from him.

“Stop.” His voice was commanding and strong, any hint of nervousness that may have been there previously was now long gone. You obeyed, but you didn’t sit back in his lap, instead choosing to sit between his feet on the floor. As though that was what you had intended to do all along if anyone was watching. “There’s no need to panic, but I need you to tell me the truth. Is it the atmosphere? The music, the physical contact, the clothes? All of those things can trick your psyche into thinking you feel things that aren’t real, that aren’t true. And that’s perfectly normal and not at all anything to be ashamed of. So, is it that? Or–”

He paused, swallowing hard and then taking a deep breath. His eyes trained on the ceiling.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this…” He mumbled under his breath, then looked down at you with a vulnerability you had never seen in him before. “Is it me you’re reacting to? Am I making you feel this way?”

You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t know what to say, how to act! You couldn’t read him, pick up on his nonverbal cues, or his verbal ones! Your brain had left the building, fuck, it had fled the country and was on a beach in Tahiti for all the good it was doing you!

On one hand, you were mortified. You had just left a wet spot on your boss’s thigh, and that was bureaucratic suicide, you’d have to quit your job, request a transfer to the Alaskan field office, or the Hawaian one. No, you didn’t deserve Hawaii. Alaska. You’d go to Alaska. As far away from him as possible so you’d probably never see him again. That sounded great!

But…

On the other hand…

He was hard. Which meant he was also at least a little bit into this.

Into you.

There was nothing you wanted more than him, in this moment especially.

So you let your brain take that Tahitian vacation, and your raging hormones take the reins. Which is why you let down every wall, knocking down every carefully placed brick, and looked him in the eyes.

“Yes.” You whispered, unable to think of a single other thing to say.

“Yes?” He asked for clarification, needing to be sure that you meant what he thought you meant.

“Yes, it's you.” You breathed.

He almost couldn’t believe his ears, but his eyes were showing him the exact same evidence and he couldn’t deny what he was seeing.

You were a mess. Your chest was heaving with labored breaths, your pupils dilated till they nearly over took your irises, you were quivering under his gaze and biting your lip so hard hewas afraid you’d break the skin.

You wanted him.

He didn’t have time to process the thrill of elation that shivered up his spine. He only had about fifty minutes left with you, and he still had to tell you everything he could to keep you safe while you went snooping in places you probably shouldn’t.

But first…

He was going to make you ride his thigh until you saw stars, and enjoy watching you for every second as he talked you through it.

“Then climb back up here and straddle my thigh, sweetheart, just like you were earlier.” He instructed you, his voice sounded a little strained even to his own ears.

“We’ll get caught…” You whimpered, clearly torn between what your body wanted and what your instincts told you was safe.

He shook his head.

“We’re not gonna break any rules.” He assured you, then clarified. “We’re not gonna break any club rules.”

Bureau rules on the other hand… He’d worry about that later.

“Are you sure?” You questioned, and he bit back a smirk, because you were already moving to get back in his lap.

That lack of restraint exhilarated him, and he itched to touch you, but knew he couldn’t if he wanted to make this work. So he balled his hands into fists and forced them to stay at his sides.

“Do you trust me?” He asked.

“Yes.” You responded without hesitation.

“Do you want me?” He challenged, as you settled yourself with one knee between his legs and the other on the couch next to him, hovering just above him without putting any weight on him yet.

“Yes.” You breathed, and even though he barely heard it over the music, you sounded sure.

“Then I’m sure.” He grinned up at you, and you seemed to relax, finally resting a bit of your weight on his leg.

He laid his arms along the back of the couch, just to keep his hands off of you. You, of course, caught the movement immediately.

“Aaron you can touch me, I only said that because it's what I’m supposed to tell patrons.” Your voice had just a touch of a pleading tone.

“I know Sweetheart, but I’ve come to realize that I love to watch you. So what I want you to do right now is ride my thigh and make yourself fall apart on it.” He coaxed, and bit back a smile as, once again, your thighs tightened around his. “Can you do that for me, pretty girl?”

The little whimper you let out as you nodded your head almost changed his mind about not touching you. You liked it when he talked to you like that, he was certain now.

“That’s a good girl…” He praised, as you started to rock against him slowly. “Just like that. Use me baby.”

You moaned, so softly he almost missed it and he couldn’t allow that. He wanted to hear every single sound you made, no he needed it, like he needed oxygen.

“No one can hear you but me, sweet girl, so let me hear you.” He encouraged you as you started to work yourself a little harder against his leg.

You tipped your head back and moaned louder this time. Fuck, you looked so alluring like this, he thought, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to go back from this. He was positive that if he didn’t get to see you like this every single day for the rest of his life, that he would simply lose the will to live.

“So fucking pretty…” He murmured, taking you in, every perfect inch of you.

In that red set that was so stunning on you, you looked like a goddess. He wanted to thread his hands into your hair, to run them over your skin. He was certain that you would be the softest thing he would ever touch in his life and he couldn’t wait to test that theory. For now though, for now, he just wanted to bask in the moment. One that he had imagined so many times… a little differently than this… but it was perfect all the same, simply because it was you.

He knew that if he let himself touch you now, he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself, and judging by the way you were rocking frantically against him, you wouldn’t want him to either. But he didn’t want the first time with you to be in a strip club. That just wouldn’t do, not for you.

So he wouldn’t touch you, but he wouldn’t deny you this either.

“Look at you, looking so beautiful like this. I can’t wait to take you home and let you ride me, pretty girl.” He traced his eyes over your form and then hummed softly. “Take your top off for me sweetheart, I wanna see you bare.”

You shifted your weight a little to keep your balance—as if he would ever let you fall—then unhooked the clasp that lay between your breasts. You hesitated then, just for a moment, as though you were nervous.

“I don’t know why I’m nervous. It's nothing you—and the rest of the team—haven’t seen before.” You chuckled, but it was self deprecating and anxious.

He shook his head at you.

“The only ones who watched your performances were JJ and Garcia after that first night. Even then, Spencer and I left as soon as we realized what was happening. Morgan and Rossi have been waiting with SWAT the whole time, so they haven’t even seen you in lingerie. Prentiss has but only because she had to grab something out of the van, and the entire time all she could say was that you were incredible for someone who had only been doing pole work for two months.” He assured you. “So no Sweetheart, the whole team has not seen you like that, especially not me.”

That seemed to calm you a bit, and then without any further hesitation, you dropped the teddy to the floor.

Hotch lost all semblance of coherent thought.

The air in the room had been cold at first, but now it was soothing to your overheated skin. You felt like you were simmering. The music was still thumping through the room and the beat was making everything feel so… erotic.

To be fair it was.

The way Hotch was talking to you…

No one had spoken to you like this before, and you loved it.

And when he had told you to take your top off, Christ, you’d nearly passed out.

But now, as you let it fall to the floor, and you saw the effect it was having on him. You smiled.

He was drinking you in, his eyes dilated till they were nearly completely onyx, instead of the warm hazel you adored so much. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips as though he were imagining the taste of you there.

“Fuck, Sweetheart.” He whispered under his breath. Then looked back up into your eyes. “You’re so beautiful. Touch yourself for me, pretty girl. Let me watch you come undone.”

Fuck indeed.

His voice was like a goddamn aphrodisiac, pushing you to let go of every single reservation and do exactly as he said.

So you did.

Dragging your hands up your thighs, to your stomach and then your breasts. Caressing and squeezing, your eyes on his face the entire time. All the while you continued to roll your hips against his thigh, the pressure building in your lower stomach was growing rapidly.

Hotch groaned, his hands gripping the back of the couch so tightly his knuckles turned white and you wanted to feel his hands on you so badly you couldn’t focus on anything but that.

“Aaron.” You whimpered. “Please, touch me. I want your hands on me so bad.”

“I know you do, pretty girl.” His voice rumbled through you, and a shiver went up your spine. “But you know I can’t do that, so if you wanna come then you’re gonna have to do it all by yourself.”

You whined, writhing against him, trying to create enough friction to finish the job. But there was just something missing.

“What if I can’t?” You keened, clutching his lapels and grinding faster.

“You can do it baby, I know you can.” He murmured.

“How do you know? You’ve never seen me like this before.” You pointed out, a little sassier than was probably necessary.

“No I haven’t.” He admitted. “But in the short time we’ve been here, I’ve noticed that you like the way I talk to you, you like being praised, and you like to please me. Don’t you?”

Your eyes shot wide and your mouth fell open.

“I- I uh-“ You stammered, at a loss for words.

He smirked at you. Not teasingly, not really, but it was very smug. “It was a simple yes or no question, sweetheart. Do you like those things?”

You nodded your head, because how else were you supposed to answer that? He had you in a vise with those gorgeous hazel eyes, so your verbal skills were sorely lacking at the moment.

“Then listen and do what I say, pretty girl.” He murmured, those eyes locked on yours with an intensity that burned through you like a hot knife through butter. “Slow down baby, find your rhythm for me.”

You stilled against his leg, then slowly started over again, rolling your hips in time with the music that was still pounding through the room like a heartbeat. A slow steady pulse.

“That’s my good girl, you look so beautiful like this, sweetheart.” He purred. “Look at yourself baby, look in the mirrors and see how striking you are right now.”

You felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room, the way he was talking to you…. It made everything feel heightened somehow, you weren’t even sure if it was the words he was speaking, or his voice alone.

All you knew was that you didn’t want him to stop.

So you did what he asked, and looked at yourself.

He was right, you almost didn’t recognize yourself. You looked so powerful. Sitting astride him like that with your chest bared to him. It didn’t look demeaning or subservient. You looked ethereal.

But what really stole your breath away, was the way he was looking at you, while you weren’t looking directly at him. It made your core tighten and your skin heat even further, until you felt like you might literally explode.

“There it is baby, I can see it written all over you.” He murmured.

“I feel like I’m gonna explode.” You whined, your legs tensing and your grip on his jacket nearly ironclad.

“I know, Sweetheart. You’ve gotta relax, just breathe through it and follow that feeling until you fall over the edge.” You coached gently. “You can do it, pretty girl. You’re almost there.”

You forced your muscles to release, your whole body melting into him as you rolled your hips against him steadily. You took deeper breaths, in your nose and out your mouth.

“Good job, baby. Just like that.” He cooed, his voice sounding more and more strangled every time he spoke.

You felt it building, could practically see the cliff coming, and you were so close to falling over it, you just needed… Something.

Your eyes started to flutter closed and your head tipped back.

“Don’t close your eyes, pretty girl. I want you looking right at me. Look at my eyes.” He instructed firmly, and your eyes snapped back to his. They were burning, the heat in them was palpable and you felt like you could read every single thought running through his head. “I wanna see it on your face when you come.”

That’s what finally did it. The unbearable tightness in your core exploded and spasmed violently.

“Aaron!” You moaned as your vision filled with colorful little spots.

“Good girl.” He hummed, the praise only spurring you on. “That’s it, come for me baby. Ride it out.”

You felt euphoric and then numbness settled in your limbs, making supporting your own weight feel impossible.

You collapsed against Hotch’s chest, your breath ragged and shallow. Your heart racing. Body trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Are you alright?” He murmured in your ear after giving you a minute to bask in the moment.

“So much better than alright…” You sighed contentedly.

He chuckled softly and finally touched you, just to stroke your hair affectionately.

You hummed pleasantly and nestled in a little closer.

He tilted your chin up a bit so he could look at you, and he smiled.

“You’re so beautiful.”

You felt your cheeks heat all over again, suddenly feeling bashful, even though you’d just ridden his thigh to completion.

“Thanks…” You mumbled, and you didn’t know what had gotten into you. Shyness wasn’t your style, you owned your choices and actions. Something about the way he was looking at you, though, it had the blood rushing to your face in force. “Should we uh… Should we maybe talk about why you’re here? Other than… that.”

“That?” He asked, his tone teasing enough that you knew he understood exactly what you meant. “Is ‘that’ what we’re calling it?”

You wouldn’t have thought your face could turn any redder, but apparently it could!

“I don’t know what we’re calling this,” You gestured between the two of you, “we can figure that out when the case is over. Right now I need to know what you came here to tell me.”

He chuckled softly, and brushed your hair back from your face. Then, checking to be sure you were shielded from the camera, he dropped a kiss to your forehead.

“I told you part of it already…” His smirk was going to stop your fucking heart, you were sure of it.

“Let’s just pretend you didn’t?” You suggested. Not wanting to admit that you’d forgotten because—well the why was pretty obvious.

He laughed again.

“That’s alright sweetheart. I’d probably forget too if I just came as hard as you did.” He murmured, his eyes were twinkling brighter than the goddamn stars you were sure.

You didn’t respond, instead you buried your face in his chest, hiding your embarrassment.

“Hey,” He murmured, tilting your face back up to his with his knuckle. “I was just teasing. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“I know.” You whispered, and to be honest you had completely zoned out again because somehow… somehow, he was even prettier from this angle.

“How much time do we have left?” He asked.

You glanced at the timer you’d set on the sound system.

“About thirty minutes so we better get on it.” You said and started to lift yourself off his lap, to be at least a little less distracted.

“You’re fine where you are.” He said, freezing you in your tracks.

“Okay.” You breathed, barely.

So you sat on his lap and let him hold you as he told you every little detail of the intel they had gotten since your last call.

Then he went over it with you again, and then quizzed you on it. Until he was absolutely certain that you knew it by heart.

And then the timer went off, stopping the music.

It startled you both and you sighed reluctantly as you peeled yourself off his lap.

He stood and followed you to the door, but before you opened it he caught your hand.

”Aaron?” You questioned, glancing at the camera that could now see and hear everything.

“Sorry, I thought you stumbled.” He said smoothly. “Are you going to be alright? If you’re dizzy, maybe you should take the rest of the night off?”

Translation: Are you gonna be alright if I leave? Cause I’m not sure I will. I will pull you out the second you give me the signal that you need help.

You smiled at him sweetly.

“No sugar, I’m fine. Just caught my heel on the floor.” You assured him. “Thanks for catching me.”

In non cryptic terms: I’ll be okay, I know you have my back and you won’t let me get hurt. I’m not scared.

He searched your eyes for a second and then nodded, approving of whatever he found in them. So you opened the door.

The sounds of the busy club rushed back in as he followed you out into the chaos.

“Hey Vixen!” A male voice called out.

You froze, fear running down your spine. Surely they hadn’t read into that, or saw what was happening. All the girls rode men’s laps like that, granted they didn’t finish, but the bouncers wouldn’t have known that because you literally get paid to act like you’re getting off on it too.

Hotch nudged you gently, effectively sending you back into motion.

“Yeah?” You called looking in the direction of the voice.

It was the same bouncer as before, heading your direction.

“Hey I forgot to tell you that the camera in room one is down tonight, got a short in a wire or something. I don’t know. But if you go back in there tonight, scream or something if you need help.” He said nonchalantly as if that was the most inconsequential thing he would ever say in his life.

To him it probably was

You, however, were pissed. You could’ve ridden a whole lot more than just Aaron’s thigh.

“Thanks.” You muttered, he nodded and walked away.

“Try not to look so upset, Sweetheart.” Hotch murmured in your ear, sending the warmth of his breath straight to your clit—which was suddenly throbbing again. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities for everything you’re thinking about as soon as we wrap this case. I’ll make sure of it.”

Then he was gone, before you even managed to turn around, lost in the crowd. You only saw the back of his head as he exited the club.

part 2

[kukinkrim]

my spring

jinu x male!forest guardian!reader

themes: mystical, fluff

note: part 1?? might make part 2 p(^-^)q

the forest pulsed as it breathes. the greeneries glittering with the morning dew. veins of sunlight streamed through the canopy, dappling the earth in gold. in the heart of this little grove, where roots curled amongst each other, older than time, lay a spring so pure.

and someone was sleeping in it.

not just someone, but a race you never knew would have the audacity to dirt your paradise. a demon. and he’s sleeping in the sacred spring.

half-submerged in the water, the lower half of his black hanbok floats on the surface of the water. his gat, an old wide-brimmed hat, rests tilted on his head. tucked behind one pointed ear was a flower; white orchid.

your eye twitched.

you spent millenials growing that thing and this... this oaf just plucked it out of your home.

a demon. in your spring.

"demon,” your voice cracked through the clearing. “this spring is sacred. your kind does not belong here.”

the demon stirred awake, revealing golden, sharp irises rhat reminded you of the sunrays. they were... surprisingly soft. the kind you wouldn't see from a demon that's supposed to wreck havoc in your abode. a little tired, perhaps, and a little startled.

he walked slowly to the shore, bowing his head slightly to pay respect you never thought a demon was capable of. “i didn’t mean to trespass,” he said. his voice was gentle, oddly out of place for something meant to consume and corrupt.

you didn’t lower your guard, however. you only looked at him with contempt, trying to decipher what kind of game this demon was playing. “you expect mercy in return for tainting my spring?”

“no,” the demon murmured. “i apologize. i only meant to rest. it's... quiet here.” he touched the orchid behind his ear, gaze drifting upward to the trees. “it’s beautiful."

you have half the mind to scoff. was this his attempt to talk you up? to have you put your guard down so he could sink his dirty little claws at you? fat chance.

"you must leave before i throw you out myself."

he looks at you with something akin to desperation, eyes pleading. "may i atleast stay for a little while? just until the sun meets the horizon. i promise i won't bother you."

"a demon making promises. how funny," you mutteres dryly. you were about to deny him, say no like you always do with visitors who wandered about your sanctuary, but the look in his eyes made you stop. earnest. something honest swimming in his irises that made you falter.

how could you deny someone being so genuine?

but at the same time, curse your soft heart.

"fine," you grumbled "but you must not stray away from my side. i do not trust you, demon."

his shoulders slump in silent relief, the corners of his lips tilting upwards ever so slightly. "jinu," he replies as he takes of his gat, holding it before his chest. "my name is jinu. i really appreciate your kindness..."

"y/n."

true to his word, he follows you like a shadow stitched at the bottom of your sole. at first, his presence alone annoyed you.

the forest was always yours alone. no steps but your own should rustle the underbrush, no breath but yours should stir the leaves. the presence of another should’ve felt wrong. he was a trespasser.

but jinu walks with gentle steps.

he doesn’t ask questions. thankfully, he doesn't talk unless spoken to. his footsteps fall soft over moss and root, and somehow, he manages not to disturb a single petal as he passes. you catch him sometimes, lingering near flowering shrubs, fingers barely grazing the blossoms. he follows closely but never too close. and while you pretend not to notice, you find yourself listening for his presence more often than not.

but what you don’t expect—what troubles you the most—is how the forest begins to respond to him.

the trail winds toward a sun-dappled glade where ferns grow thick and soft. you’re halfway across when you realize he’s stopped.

you turn, annoyed at first, only to find him frozen stiff several paces back. he was completely still; with one hand extended as if turned to stone. nestled against his palm, like it was the safest place in the world, is a baby fawn.

you blink.

he isn't moving, he fears that if he breathes, he'd scare the little guy away.

the fawn nudges him, its velvet nose brushing his skin, and jinu makes a tiny, strangled sound; something between a gasp and a confused plea. his wide eyes find yours instantly.

there’s panic on his face. pure, unfiltered, childlike confusion.

you blink again.

and then you laugh.

laughter bubbles up like spring water. it startles even you. it’s been a long time since you’ve let yourself laugh like this.

jinu’s ears twitch slightly—either from the sound or sheer embarrassment. “what… what do I do?” he asks, voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might scare the fawn away.

“are you asking me how to hold a deer?” you manage between laughs.

“it’s touching me,” he says. “what if I do something wrong?”

“you’re standing still. it chose you.”

his brows knit together, mouth parted helpless. “why would it do that? i’m a demon.”

you stared, calming down, and you pat your robes down. "perhaps, they know you wouldn't hurt them"

the fawn eventually drifts away, content and unbothered, leaving jinu standing there like he never believed it just happened. he follows behind you again when you began walking away.

but it happens again.

birds, those flitty, fickle things that even you have to coax carefully with crumbs and patience? they land on his shoulders uninvited. they sing in harmony as they sat on his gat and his shoulders while he, oh that ungrateful little bastard, only looked at you in fear like he was beinf held hostage by a bunch of flying munchkins.

"what's happening?" he asks, confused.

you exhaled, petting a bird that flutters towards your finger. "it seems the forest has taken a liking to you," you watched as it nuzzled on your finger before flying towards the demon infront of you. "this is unusual."

jinu chuckles nervously, trying his best to pet every one of the birds that came to him. "really?" he asks. despite the confusion in his eyes, you could see the genuine smile that formed on his lips as his shoulders began to relax.

you watch him who seemed to glow under the rays that peeked through the rustlimg leaves. there’s no fear in him now. whatever burden he carried when he entered your sanctuary is now forgotten, replaced only by wonder and awe.

his smile creeps up slowly, curling his lips until his whole face softens. as if for a moment, he starts to forget he’s anything but a boy in a forest, being gently smothered by affection.

“this is ridiculous,” you mutter, turning away before your own amused smile gives you away.

[whoisraii]

YOU STILL LIVE DOWN MY STREET — IH6 {Part 1}

summary: Y/n and Isack grow up as neighbours after Y/n moves in...connected through years of friendship and standing with each other throughout their dreams...that was untill a fallout happens when they are 17...Y/n and Isack both try to keep their years of friendship aside and keep their values as priority as they try to move on...but what happens when both of them are dragged together as they achive their childhood dreams?

F1 MASTERLIST

pairing: Isack Hadjar x f!reader

word count: 15.6k

cw: angst, series, childhood friends, use of y/n, emotional play, google translated french <3

note: request on my blog<3 okayyy this is me posting after a huge writer block! and like this was long due...couldn't write the entire thing it practically huge another part of it is going to be out this month because I'm getting better mentally so new works will be comming out now! Hope I did Isack justice with this one 😭 also like always hope you love my huge fic! 💌

SONG CLAIM!! {We Hug Now by Sydney Rose} {This song was used to plot buildup in this fic!}

Playlist for this fic <3 - I'd tell you to listen to these because it creates the ambiance better {I wrote while listening to these} so the thoughts run better...

THE SUMMER OF 2011...the year she turned seven…her family had moved into Apartment 15B on Rue des Tournesols — a sleepy, sun-dappled quiet street in Paris, where every building had pastel shutters, wrought-iron balconies, and the air always smelled faintly of lavender and warm cement…

Y/n did not want to be there…and she had perfectly made that clear as she stood outside the cream colored building…pouting while her parents unloaded furniture and boxes from a dented moving van. The sun was too bright and the air was too still and she could almost swear everything felt wrong…Her best friend back in Lyon had cried when she left but Y/n hadn’t…somehow it felt out of place to cry…for some reason…even if she hated it…she never felt like she was accepted back there…and something…here in this street had accepted her the second she stepped foot on it…

She looked up at the apartment she was supposed to live in from now on…her mother had promised her the room attached with the balcony…Y/n’s eyes moved diagonally from the slightly rusted wrought iron balcony…and on the lower floor stood a boy leaning halfway over the railing looking at her with great curiosity…he had a cream coloured cap on and as soon as their eyes locked he waved at her…

It almost felt like she had frozen in place as she stared at him for five seconds straight before finally waking up mentally and waving back at him…he sighed and shook his head before he finally spoke up a bit loudly so that she could hear him from downstairs…

“Your’e the new neighbour?” Y/n felt her body move by instinct as she simply nodded at him…He looked at her for a few seconds before he finally said… “Do you want to be friends, or are you one of those quiet girls who never talk?” Y/n realised he wasn’t looking at her…he was waiting for her to speak…She blinked before scoffing and saying… “I’m not quiet.”

“Okay.” The boy shrugged as he looked at the street away from her… “You just looked like you were mad at the sun or something.”...She opened her mouth to snap back, then stopped…it was almost as if nothing came out…he wasn’t exactly wrong now was he…

And somehow, even in that dumb oversized cap, he didn’t look smug, he just looked curious. Bold…like he always said what he was thinking and didn’t care if it was the wrong thing…like he didn’t really mean to tease her, that's when she realised…he just didn’t know how to start a conversation the normal way…and for some reason she wasn’t mad at the sun for being too bright anymore…

They clicked…It was as if they both were two parts of a sphere and they had just melted and joined with eachother…

Y/n was the quiet to the storm…she was the kind of girl who watched before she spoke…who always carried her favorite pen in her left pocket…who wrote her feelings into color-coded journals…even her parents didn’t know where she kept them…but Isack did... He knew everything about her…her birthday…her favorite colour…even the sound volume she liked the music to be when she had headphones on…she noticed when the clouds looked heavier than usual, and he always noticed her…she was the best part of his day if he ever had to pinpoint it… 

But Isack…Isack was her opposite in almost every way he was all speed and sound and unchecked wonder. He had too much energy for one body and too many dreams for one life. He was the kind of boy who slammed his locker too loud and who raced up the stairwell like he was trying to beat time itself, who talked with his hands and sometimes forgot to listen. He loved football and race cars and watching cars like it was his daily intake of food... 

And somehow it all worked…He made her laugh, even when she didn’t want to. She made him calm down…even when he didn’t know how…

Y/n became the girl who would save him a seat anywhere they were supposed to go together…class or lunch it didn’t matter…she became the girl who would listen to his go kart race stories when he would get back from them…

Isack became the boy who was at her door the second she called for him…sometimes she wouldn’t even need to remind him twice…he just showed up like clockwork…he became the boy who would listen to her rhyming sentences and writing little poems and singing softly whenever she got bored…

They were inseparable in the kind of way that adults called sweet and classmates called weird. But they didn’t care. Their worlds were a little less lonely with each other in it.

No matter how perfect their friendship may seem…it had its flaws somewhere or the other…there were little cracks…just the tiniest ones, hairline fractures that didn’t mean anything yet…

The first showed up in winter…They were sitting cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom while their mothers chatted on the balcony…the distant noise floated in the background like a comforting static…while she carefully creased a sheet of sky-blue paper between her fingers…

Y/n was teaching Isack how to fold a paper crane…It was her favorite origami shape. He’d asked her to show him, so she had…But he kept messing it up…

“This is stupid,” he said suddenly… as he flinged his botched triangle across the floor. “I don’t get it.”... Y/n paused mid-fold, blinking at him. “You just have to fold it slowly. Look—here, I’ll show you again—” She said calmly offering to help as she reached her hand out…

“I don’t want to.” He huffed, arms crossed tight over his chest. “But you said—” “I changed my mind.”... The words hit harder than they should have. Not because he was being mean — not really — but because she had been trying. Because it mattered to her. Because, for once, she wanted to share something she loved and have him meet her…even if it was halfway…

She looked down at the unfinished crane in her lap, throat tight. “Fine.” “Fine,” he echoed, but his voice was clipped. Defensive. Her hands moved down softly as she folded the last corner without speaking…and this time, she didn’t offer to make him one…

The next day, he didn’t wait at her landing…and when he reached class he didn’t sit in the seat she had saved for him…infact he barely looked at her in class — scribbling in his notebook during reading time like nothing had changed.

It was the first time they didn’t speak for a whole week…but they soon made up with tiny apologies…Isack realised his mistake and gave her a rose from his mother’s rosebed in the balcony…and they made it up and never spoke about it again…

But something small had shifted and a tiny fault line had formed under the surface, not enough to break them, just enough to remind them their friendship was also not perfect…

The rain fell…slicking the sidewalks as Isack walked back home…Y/n had called in sick that morning…He had waited at the landing for about 5 minutes when her mother opened the door and told her how bad of a fever she had since the previous night…he entered the building and walked up the stairs…he then kicked his shoes off of his feet as he twisted the doorknob and entered into the house…

His school bag was still damp by the time he got home…He grumbled about a history pop quiz and kicked off his sneakers…’If Y/n was there today she would have helped for sure…she is good at these subjects…’ he said to himself mumbling as his dad called him to the kitchen…

“Sit,” his father said, nodding to the chair at the end of the table. His voice was steady but different…it was somehow quieter and measured. Isack sat down heart thudding for reasons he couldn’t explain…

His dad slid a printed email across the table, face down.

“Before you look,” he said, as he rubbed a hand over his jaw, “I want you to take this seriously. It’s not a game anymore. You’re going to have to work harder than ever. You’ll be gone a lot. This changes things..”

Isack blinked. His head was lagging to register the words and find their sudden significance…“Wait, what?” He blurted out as he looked at his father confused and a bit shocked due to the sudden seriousness…

His father flipped the email over himself. And Isack’s eyes widened…because the first words Isack saw were…

“Confirmed: Fédération Française du Sport Automobile — 2019 French F4 Championship”

Isack’s jaw dropped as the words registered into him…he looked at his father eyes wide…“You’re—serious?” he breathed as a wide grin spread across his face…His dad nodded while smiling…“You’re in.” he said as he smiled…

He didn’t remember standing up, but suddenly he was. He barely heard the rest — the dates, the test days, the logistics, the talks they’d need to have with his school. It all blurred into a low hum beneath the roar in his chest. French F4. Him. Racing. Finally…

He’d imagined this moment so many times, but somehow it still didn’t feel real until he was sprinting…soaked shoes and all…upstairs to her apartment. He banged on her door like a lunatic…

Y/n’s mother opened the door and looked at him shocked and then saw the smile on his face and quickly let him in…He kicked the shoes off and dried his foot on the doormat before entering quickly…he lead himself to Y/n’s room…the way known like the back of his hand because he practically grew up there…

As he opened the door…Y/n sat there all nosy and covered by her comforter…she looked uncomfortable but it was soon replaced by shock as Isack came and hugged her tightly while laughing…

“Isack I’m sick you’ll get sick too” she grumbled but he ignored it completely…“I’m in,” he laughed as he hugged her tighter…. “What?” Y/n croaked out in a half sick voice… Isack pulled away, settling beside her…sitting on the bed…“French F4. I’m racing. This year.”

It took her a beat to register the words as she looked at him staring…she let the words reach to her head as she finally got out of the lagging stage and finally tackled him…

He barely caught her in time, arms instinctively wrapping around her back as he almost stumbled and fell down the bed dragging her down…She smelled like citrus shampoo and cough syrup... He was laughing and out of breath and half-convinced he was dreaming.

“You’re kidding,” she gasped, pulling back just enough to look at him — cheeks flushed, eyes shining. “You’re actually—like officially—racing?”

“Dad told me like…the second I came back from school” he said as a grin spread across his cheek…She shoved his shoulder, then pulled him back into the hug, tighter this time, like maybe if she held on hard enough, it would make it more real for both of them…

“I told you,” she whispered into his hoodie. “I told you it would happen.” That was the moment it all shifted…They were only fourteen, but the future didn’t feel so far anymore. The dream they’d whispered about — him in a racing suit…It was right there. On the horizon…

And she was there for the start of it…For his first race weekend…And the one after that. And the one after that. She wasn’t just background noise. She became part of the ritual, folded into the rhythm of race weekends like she’d been made for it…like she had been made for him

They had two rituals before every qualifying… 

She tied a red thread on his wrist. It wasn’t superstition…at least, that’s what they told themselves…but it had started when they were twelve, stuck inside on a rainy day with a tangled craft kit and nowhere to go. He wore it under his gloves ever since. If it ever frayed, she’d replace it…

He would always eat one square of her dark chocolate. He hated it. Claimed it was bitter and weird. But she insisted it was lucky, and he never argued. He’d pop it into his mouth, grimace, and she’d always say, “Good. Suffering builds character.”

He never missed them... Not once…Around the paddock, they were whispered about all the time…that boy and la fille aux écouteurs. {the girl with headphones.} 

She was always there, guitar slung over her shoulder like a third arm, headphones around her neck, notebooks full of lyrics spilling from her backpack. Some drivers assumed they were dating. Others asked outright but no one ever got an answer…

Because there wasn’t one…not yet…but there was closeness. Constant. Natural and Undeniable…

She curled up in the van while he debriefed with engineers and he handed her his cap after podiums like it was second nature…She almost once punched a junior driver for calling him cocky; he shoved a kid for calling her his mascot…

“Do mascots help you rewrite engine notes?” she said as she handed him coffee while he grumbled about it being too early in the morning… “Do mascots wake you up with coffee at 6 a.m.?” he added, rubbing his eyes from fatigue… “maybe..” she chuckled as she side hugged him and handed him his coffee…

She didn’t love racing…not the cars, not the noise, not the politics…but she loved watching him race. She loved how the fire in him sharpened when he was behind the wheel. How he focused like a lens being adjusted…how he came back sweaty and radiant, like a storm that had just broken.

And he loved having her there….having her there for him

When he was angry…she made him laugh…When he lost…she made him focus on the next one…When he won…She sat in the back of the trailer with her guitar and played him his favorite riff…low and soft, just for him...

After his first pole position, she slipped a note into his gear bag.

You were born to do this.

He never told her, but he kept it. Folded. Pressed flat in his wallet. And he would keep it there…for so long that it would lead to her again….

Y/n didn’t mean to miss so many of the races…

She told herself it was just a few weeks. One race, maybe two. Exams were important and her parents had made that painfully clear…school had started to feel like a storm she was barely keeping ahead of. Late nights, ink-smudged notebooks, pressure pressing down on her chest like a weight. She had to choose…and choosing was painful but she didn't have a choice…

So she called Isack, headphones in, voice steady even if her heart cracked like glass behind her ribs.

“I can’t come this weekend,” she said…as she awaited his disappointment across the phone…

There was a pause, long enough that it almost felt like he’d hung up. Then, his voice came back, low and careful. “You okay?”

She smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah. Just drowning in math and stress and teenagehood.”...“You’ll survive.” His voice was warm and teasing. “Barely.” he continued…“Barely,” she agreed…

Both of them got engrossed in their sides of life…and seven whole months passed with them being away from eachother…seven whole months passed and now she was standing right in front of him again…

The early morning sun rays fell on the paddock as everyone settled…it was pretty quiet except for the hum of the machines…and the irregular talking of the mechanics…

“Isack!” she called out from behind him…and as he turned around he faced her…a bit taller…but still shorter than him…same eyes…same tiny smirk…sharper…and somehow she was glowing…

She had cut her hair now. It brushed her jaw in soft waves, catching the light just right. Her skin glowed like it had soaked up every bit of summer sun…

He looked at her as he gulped visibly… “You cut your hair?” he muttered out…his voice was way rougher than he had expected it to be…She raised an eyebrow, amused. “That’s the first thing you notice?”

He blinked at her as he chuckled before walking up to her...his arms wrapping around her waist as he hugged her…“What else am I supposed to say?” He laughed out as she groaned, hugging him back tightly…

She pulled away and she shifted the guitar case on her left shoulder a bit… “Well then Hadjar…you look like you have grown too…” He laughed…it was the most genuine one he had left out in a while…but it caught in his throat. “I haven’t.” “You havent…” she bumped his shoulder softly in a playful manner as she grinned…

And there they stood…with months of unsaid things…they wanted to say to each other at the same time…He wanted to tell her how much he missed her…how much he would text her while she was asleep but just delete them…scared it would never be worthy…how every laugh made his stomach twist and how her scent wrapped around him like a secret he didn’t want to forget…

So when they were in his hotel room…she was sitting on the floor with her back on the wall humming a tune which would be replaced with lyrics and strumming her guitar while he laid on the bed with his phone in his hands…

So instead of pouring his heart out… he said, “You’re quieter.”...“No, you’re louder.” She shot back, teasing, but there was softness beneath it…she smiled up at him softly…looking up from her notebook and her guitar in hand…

Isack got up and sat in front of her on the floor… “Play me something…” He said as he looked at her…Hesitation crept up her throat as she replied “It’s not finished.” “I don’t care…whatever you write is beautiful..” 

Y/n sighed as she smiled, letting her fingers strum the guitar back into the melody she had been trying to make for the past hours…Then she sang…her voice was so smooth and soft it almost made him want to stay there with her forever…stick to this moment and lock it in a trunk so that no future of theirs could hurt it…

That's when he realised…He wasn’t just watching anymore…He was falling…Like dumb, raw, unfiltered falling…And somehow…it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

When Y/n had stepped into the garage…seven months had passed and she felt detached…she wouldn’t lie about that part…but when she looked at him…when he looked up from whatever he was doing…when he looked at her…

His gaze locked on hers…like he couldn’t quite believe she was real…she could see it in his eyes…clear as the daylight that adorned them in the early morning hours as they stood near the garage…His lips parted, stunned…he hadn’t expected her to show up…

And then — he smiled…

That smile…and for a moment…just one…time paused and she felt like she couldn’t breathe…The smile was the same she had been looking at since they were seven…but something was so different about the familiarity of Isack’s smile…it made her feel different…and that feeling was dangerous…

He looked at her as he gulped visibly… “You cut your hair?” he muttered out…his voice was way rougher than he had expected it to be…She raised an eyebrow, amused. “That’s the first thing you notice?”

He blinked at her as he chuckled before walking up to her...Y/n’s head fully muted as he wrapped his arms around her waist as he hugged her…“What else am I supposed to say?” He laughed out as she groaned, hugging him back tightly…thats the least she could do without combusting at that point…the amount of fluster she felt due to him was a little bit overcomsuming…

She pulled away and she shifted the guitar case on her left shoulder a bit… “Well then Hadjar…you look like you have grown too…” He laughed…and she almost choked emotionally…god his laugh was way more comforting than the last time she had heard it…for her… “I haven’t.” He spoke as their eyes locked… “You havent…” she bumped his shoulder softly in a playful manner as she grinned…hoping he didn’t see the way her eyes had changed…

And there they stood…with months of unsaid things…they wanted to say to each other at the same time…she wanted to tell him…how much staying away from him had wrecked her…how she was lagging in school and now she didn’t have people worthy saving seats for…how every laugh made her stomach twist and how his scent wrapped around her like a secret she didn’t want to forget…

The garage buzzed with pre-session chaos…there were clipped conversations in different accents and the whirring of machinery was unignorable…But in the far corner, on a weathered stool she always used to claim, she sits cross-legged, head bent, fingers busy with a familiar task…

He stood in front of her, crouched slightly to match her height…fireproof gloves hanged from his hand and his hair was still damp from a morning shower…She looked up at him and smiled, handing him a square of dark chocolate… “I didn’t forget..” Y/n said as she looked at him…The fact was…she did…she forgot the red thread…and Isack noticed…

He smiled as he popped the piece into his mouth…almost swatting it out due to the bitterness…but he pushed a smile on his face and gulped it down…Y/n smiled back at him and patted his back softly… “Go and win out there…will you?” 

Isack nodded as he walked towards his car…putting his helmet on…The helmet was on…but his head definitely wasn’t…

Isack sat in the car on the starting grid, the world beyond the visor narrowing into a tunnel of red lights and noise he couldn’t quite feel. His fingers flexed around the steering wheel, twitchy with something he didn’t have a name for. He should’ve felt dialed in. Laser-sharp. Ready.

Instead…Nothing…nothing ran through his head properly registering…His engineer’s voice was a hum in his ear — something about tyre temps, brake balance. Isack barely registered it. He was looking straight ahead, but his mind had peeled away.

This morning, she hadn’t tied the thread…The stupid little loop of red string she’d always tied on his wrist before lights out…something she started when they were kids and too young to know that rituals were just ways to hold onto people you were scared to lose…

She smiled at him in the garage like everything was fine. And maybe it was…Maybe she just forgot…Maybe she didn’t want to make it a thing…

But he felt it missing like a hole in his chest…

One..

Two..

Three..

Four…

Five lights…

Lights out.

The car launched clean. He slipped into position…it was a strong start, tight line, no contact — but something felt floaty. Like he was driving from behind a glass wall. The world rushed past in colour and speed and engine growl, but none of it reached him…he couldn’t face it for some reason…

His hands moved by memory. Brake. Turn. Throttle. Exit. Repeat…He should’ve been proud of how smooth it all was. But there was a thread of static under his skin — constant humming and low-grade panic that had nothing to do with the car…

In his head he constantly saw her…Y/n wasn’t even looking at him…she just sat talking with people…or leaning on the wall with her notebook open…or plucking chords on her guitar…He saw her smile in her head…like she hadn’t vanished for seven months, 5 days and 4 hours…yes he had counted…and acting like her absence didn’t carve him out…was even horrible…

He turned a corner too sharply and that's when it happened…The rear slid…Just for a second…The car wavered but he caught it…his eyes widened as he gripped the steering wheel tighter trying to register what just happened while persuading his body to keep driving….

That’s when he felt his stomach drop…not because he had almost skidded out of the race…but because of the image that flashed through his head for a split second…It felt like someone punched him in the guts when he pictured her..

Her…flinching…Watching him almost lose control...looking at him with worry and fear…He couldn’t see her, but he knew she felt it…

He squeezed the wheel tighter. Gritted his teeth.

 ‘Get out of your head. You can’t drive like this…you need to drive for her…’

But he couldn’t. Not cleanly. Not perfectly. Something in him felt unsynced. Like he was listening to music through one headphone, waiting for the beat to catch up…And then…out of nowhere..it did…

It wasn’t the car.

It wasn’t the track.

It wasn’t even the cheering in his ear from the overtake he pulled off seconds later.

It was the sound of her laughing and singing her half written lyrics from his own memory…and when he heard that…that’s when he realised…

She wasn’t just a distraction…She wasn’t a chapter of the past…She was his rhythm…the rhythm he had lost…The silence he’d been chasing for the last 7 months 5 days and 4 hours…And she was here. In the paddock. Holding everything he hadn’t said…He drove like it hurt. Because it did.

Not the car. Not the track.

Missing her hurt. Loving her hurt. Knowing too late what it had always been. Hurt.

The race blurred…And then it ended…He crossed the finish line — first…The engineer shouted. His team erupted in cheers…He didn’t smile…Didn’t pump his fist…Didn’t celebrate…Because the only thing he wanted was the only thing that mattered to him…was off-track.

Helmet off. Gloves tossed. Isack’s eyes scanned his surroundings…desperately wishing they would lock with hers…and finally they did…she was standing a bit far away from all of the celebration..her guitar back in its case with the stickers he had given her…it was slinged on her shoulder…his oversized hoodie she had stolen last night adorned her…and she had her head tilted a bit to the left as she smiled softly at him…

He didn’t think twice…he just went and wrapped his arms around her and hugged her as tightly as possibly could..He buried his face in her shoulder and his eyes automatically closed… He breathed her in. Almond shampoo and something warm and raw and painfully familiar…He held her like he was falling and she held him like she could catch him…

Neither of them said anything…because of the way he held her…words could never translate what that single hug meant for both of them…

The hotel room was quiet…there was the only soft buzz of the ac vents and occasional coughing from either Isack or Y/n…they sat next to eachother…knees touching…Y/n leaned on his shoulder as she looked at Isack’s phone as he doom scrolled…

She looked up at him…and he knew she wanted him to say something…just something so she could break the news to him…but he didn’t…he just couldn’t think about another set of months, weeks, days and hours without her…when both of them would grow up just a bit more…and change so much that they would have to reintroduce themselves the next time they meet again…

Isack didn’t trust his voice to speak up…he knew it would crack in the middle and he would say something which she could never counter…So finally she spoke up..

“I leave tomorrow morning.” She looked at her hands as she sat up straight facing him this time… “I know…” mumbled Isack as he switched his phone off and  set it aside…finally making eye contact with her as she did the same… “School,” she said, like it was a reason. Like it was enough. “Exams. Projects. Life.”

He nodded again…and they both looked away from eachother…they didn’t have the guts to look at each other's faces to say the least…Then she reached into the front pocket of her hoodie and pulled out something small…it was a tangle of lilac thread and silver beads, soft and uneven, made with nervous fingers and maybe hope…hope that he would remember her…

“I made this,” she said, setting it gently between them. “It’s not red. But I thought—”

He picked it up before she finished…it was a bracelet…Messy, handmade and woven tight with something unspoken…

“It's something that can do while I'm gone…I don’t think I’ll be back in a while…” He nodded slowly and carefully..but he said nothing…

But inside his head wouldn’t relieve him of the thoughts that ran lunatically across his head…seaching for answers he would probably never get from her…

What if he didn’t want it to take its place?

What if he wanted her there?

What if he was so far gone on her that he didn't know who he was without her laugh in his ears before a race?

“You don’t have to wear it during the races. Just—if you want.” she let out trying to read his expressionless face…But Isack caved the bracelet in his palms like it was something sacred…he never believed in superstitions…but he believed in her…

“I wanted to come back sooner,” she murmured. “I did. I just—life kept happening. And now it feels like we’re different people trying to hold onto something that isn’t ours anymore.”

“That’s not true.” She finally looked at him…shocked that he had finally uttered a single word…He hated how much relief bloomed in his chest just from her eyes meeting his…“Okay,” she said. But it sounded like a lie.

“I missed you,” he said, voice raw. “I missed you, too.” she returned…but there was a long and aching pause….

“But it wasn’t the same, was it?” she asked quietly. “Calling. Voice notes. Little jokes. I kept telling myself it was enough.” “It wasn’t.”

She nodded. Like she already knew that…He slid the bracelet on without another word and  tucked it under his sleeve.

He wanted to say… ‘Stay…Don’t let this be the end of the song before we even get to the chorus.’

But he only said, “You’ll do great.”...she probably had people back home. Friends who knew her guitar strings and her tired eyes and the way she whispered lyrics when she was nervous. People who didn’t miss half a year of her life.

And she smiled that tired, tilted smile…the one that felt more like a goodbye than a promise…

By the time it was moring…she was gone…he woke up and stepped out of his hotel room to hear the sound of the vacuum cleaner…and the door of the room she previously occupied left wide open…it hurt…it felt like somebody had ripped his heart out and stabbed it with pins and put it back inside him and expected it to work normally…

As days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months…just like last time…he got used to sending her pictures of him wearing the bracelet before the race…

Her stories were filled with libraries and jam sessions with friends who were into music like her…seeing her with them Isack sometimes felt like she didn’t belong with him anymore…like she was gone from him…like she had…changed…

Before he knew it he felt some sort of unfaced anger towards her…like it was her fault…he knew deep down it wasn’t but somehow it just didn’t feel right…she was his bestfriend…and now she was hanging out with people who knew how to play instruments like her…people who were not like…him…and the term people excluded him completely…

The calls they scheduled were either missed because Isack was too busy or Y/n was stuck doing something somewhere…they were rescheduled and missed…or in certain cases ignored…

He would never tell her how the anger had slowly harvested inside of him due to her absence…and she would never tell him how she cried missing the boy who lived in the apartment with the balcony diagonal to hers…

Y/n wouldn’t lie…the room with the balcony her mother had promised…was now a curse as she placed it to be…

She didn’t know…what had possessed her when she begged her mother to let her go to one of Isack’s race the next year…she didn’t know…what had possessed her when she boarded the plane…

She told herself it was just curiosity. Closure, maybe. A test, if nothing else…just to see if she could stand in the same paddock again, breathe in the smell of rubber and gasoline without feeling like she was choking on memories…

But the truth sat heavier beneath all that…She missed him. She missed what they were before things fell apart so slowly it felt like erosion — quiet, constant, irreversible. A friendship that once felt bulletproof now felt like a graveyard full of things they never said. He stopped texting and she didn’t have anything to reply to even if she was late…Sometimes she would just open his chat and just wish…somehow..sometimes he would just text her and she would have something to reply with…

So she came…Not with expectations, not even with hope…it was just her with her guitar case, a hoodie she hadn’t returned to him, and the bracelet which was a pair of what she’d given him over a year ago, the one she thought he’d forgotten about…

As she scanned the pass…It was chaos now, this was his world, not hers…She walked towards his garage and she spotted him before he saw her. Helmet in hand, crew buzzing around him. The new version of him. Polished. Taller. Sharper in the jaw. Sharper everywhere…

She stepped closer. Her heart thudded against her ribs like it wanted out…a part of her felt like running away hiding and just crying in a hole she could dig for herself…but she finally let her brain shut up as she tapped his shoulder softly…almost afraid to burst his personal bubble somehow…Isack turned…and as their eyes met…she realised…she couldn’t read his eyes anymore…she felt like a stranger…

His eyes widened…The shock hit him like a crash, like he was seeing a ghost…“Wait—what?” His voice caught somewhere between disbelief and a half-laugh. “You’re… here?” It was almost…mocking…

She tried to smile. “Surprise.” She said half shrugging trying to not look like she was clawing herself apart the second their eyes met with each other’s…

The space between them was already different; it felt warm outside but it was cold within. There was no quick hug. No "I missed you." Just him, standing there, eyes flitting over her like she was a puzzle he wasn’t ready to solve. Or like he didn’t want to anymore…

“That’s… cool,” he said finally, awkwardly…Before she could answer, someone from the team called his name…urgently and impatiently…He nodded toward her, half-apology, half-escape. “Talk after?”...

She couldn’t help and just nodded as she did finger guns and a small mumble ‘I’ll be right here’ as she watched him walk away…not even turning around to ask what she just mumbled anymore…

She watched the race from the edge of the pit wall, tucked between the chaos and the shadow of a crane camera. He was brilliant. Fast, clean, untouchable. The Isack she remembered…only colder. Smarter. Not reckless anymore. Just calculated. And changed…somehow she couldn’t bring herself to call him ‘her Isack’ anymore…

He won…Of course he won…Microphones. Reporters with fast smiles and faster questions…pressed in on him before he could even process it himself…

One of them threw out the question as they were asking him…“Big win today, Isack! Lots of eyes on you. And that girl we saw earlier — the one with the guitar case — friend, family, maybe someone special?”

He didn’t hesitate…Didn’t even glance in her direction…

“Just an acquaintance,” he said as he brought a laugh out…the laugh that felt like it almost cut her into pieces and just left to die in the pain…It didn’t hit her like a punch. It was quieter than that…and for the first time…seeing him on the podium…she didn’t feel proud..

She stood there a long time after the crowd moved on. Still holding onto something that had already slipped through her fingers…she would leave quietly and act like she never heard that…atleast he would speak to her when they see…right?

But that play was thrown out of the window when Isack’s sister found her before sunset and tugged her out of the grandstand corridor with gentle urgency…

“He’s being a dumbass,” she muttered. “But you owe it to yourself to talk to him. Really talk.”

Y/n nodded, woodenly. Not because she believed it would help…but because she didn’t know what else to do…and it was scary because she almost believed it…

The hallway outside the team hotel was fluorescent-lit and cold.

Isack stood leaning against the wall, towel around his neck, jaw tense, Red Bull fireproofs still clinging to his frame. He looked like someone she used to know. Someone who played dumb songs with her at 2 a.m. Someone who begged her not to skip his races, even if it meant faking a fever at school…

But that someone was just a ghost in the same body…that Isack didn’t exist anymore and they both knew it…and exactly that ripped her apart…She recalled how he used to wait for her at the landing…Now he looked exhausted..And far away…When their eyes met, neither spoke…neither felt the need to…they just knew that it was wrecked…

“I didn’t know you’d still be here.” He said as he exhaled, setting his phone down and looking at her…Isack’s sister had left to do something she had left unfinished…and that left them both alone in the room together…

Y/n crossed her arms. “You didn’t look for me.” god…she was trying so hard to be strong in this situation…and Isack saw right through…but for some reason…not a single part of him wanted to accept it…

Instead he flinched and blabbered “I was busy.” towards her without even looking at her…“Yeah,” she said, voice low. “You’re always busy now.” she mumbled as she looked away softly trying her hardest to keep herself grounded…

He looked away. “Why’d you come?” She stepped closer, but the air between them didn’t soften. “I wanted to see you race again. I thought— I don’t know. I thought maybe it’d feel like before...maybe it’d feel like…home..”

“It’s not before,” he said, a little too sharply than he initially intended... “Things are different now.” He could visibly see her flinching and gripping her sleeves harder…his sleeves to be exact…she was wearing his hoodie…the one she took the last time she came…the one she never returned…

She nodded slowly. “I noticed. Especially when you called me an acquaintance.” Isack dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You know what the media’s like. I can’t just—say anything. They twist it.” 

It felt like her throat was burning as she let the words out…her eyes almost lining with tears…“Right. So you decided to twist it yourself.”

He looked up at her, eyes cold. “This isn’t some school play, okay? You don’t get to show up with your guitar and expect everything to go back to how it was.” and for a second her breath stopped…she couldn't feel her hands anymore…it felt like she was being ripped inside…worse stabbed constantly even while she begged it to stop..Something inside her shattered so horribly that she felt the pain run through her spine as well…

There it was…The thing she’d never wanted to believe was true…He didn’t just forget her…He’d outgrown her…And worse — he resented her for not doing the same…She stepped back, her voice flat now. “Got it.”

He opened his mouth. Maybe to apologize. Maybe to ask her to stay. That's what she was saying to herself. Maybe it was to mock her. Maybe call her immature for not outgrowing. But she knew one thing…She didn’t wait to find out.

As morning dawned…she was gone…Didn’t tell his sister. Didn’t respond to any messages. She didn’t even cry in the hotel bathroom. Just sat on the edge of the tub, staring at her shoes like they belonged to someone else…She canceled her return flight and booked the next one out. Left before breakfast.

On the plane she connected to the wifi and unfollowed him from everywhere…it felt like a kick to her stomach if she had been honest…

@isackhadjar → unfollowed.

Then she opened her private spam account — the one only a handful of people followed — and scrolled to the top.

Remove follower Are you sure?

She hesitated.

But only for a second.

Yes.

She didn’t block him…But it hurt too much to keep pretending he hadn’t already erased her…so she decided to help him out by just erasing herself from him…

Y/n’s final year at school was coming to an end…everybody had almost applied to colleges and the year was almost wrapping up…she knew what she wanted to do…music school…but in this economy…her parents were a bit concerned…neither the less they agreed when she swore she would crack a scholarship and get in by her own merit…

And least to say rejection emails felt like blades across skin…more like a knife to your guts if you would describe it that way…

First Manhattan. Then Eastman…She’d opened both of them in silence. No screaming. No breakdowns. Just... silence…she felt like she had almost lost her spark somehow…

Manhattan’s one came with a gentle “we encourage you to reapply next year” and a neat little link to resources she couldn’t bear to click. Eastman didn’t even sugarcoat it — “After careful consideration, we regret to inform you…”

She stared at the screen for five minutes…Then shut the laptop…Didn’t cry…Didn’t scream.

Just sat on her bed, palms pressed into her thighs, blinking into the dim room. Her guitar leaned against the corner like it was embarrassing to look at her...Her bestfriend…Ellie…sat across the room from her staring at her…Ellie came along when Isack didn’t..she knew she would never be able to take his place…but she anchored Y/n as much as she could…

“You okay?” Ellie asked her as she came and sat down next to her…Y/n nodded softly, tucking her head in between her legs as she pulled them closer to her body… But both of them knew…she wasn't okay…

For the next three days, she didn’t write. She didn’t sing. She didn’t touch the piano in the living room. She just couldn't. It felt derailing and depreciating…all of this her entire life…to just fall down when she was supposed to shine her brightest…Everything felt sour in her chest.

It was stupid, really…getting this attached to one outcome. She’d told herself she wasn’t the kind of person to place her worth on letters from strangers. But it still hurt. Because music was all she had. All she chose when the rest of the world, and he, had made her feel like nothing…

She wasn't looking for revenge or recognition…She just wanted to belong somewhere that didn’t make her feel like a leftover…And now?

Now she felt like the universe was confirming her biggest fear: that she wasn’t enough…and that she would never be….

It was Mason who brought up Berklee… “Did the Berklee letter come yet?” He spoke out as Ellie and Y/n froze on the counter…she had forgotten completely that she had applied… “Yeah right you said it would be here by the next week didn’t you N/n?” said Lilith from Mason’s side…

Within the next fifteen minutes the group of 4 had settled down on Y/n’s couch…Lilith held the laptop and Y/n stood beside her…She quickly handed Ellie a piece of paper and walked away…it was her password…

Mason blinked. “Wait. You want us to��?”

“I’m unlucky,” she said, too flatly. “The last two times, I opened the emails myself. Maybe if I don’t look... I won’t jinx it.”

Lilith raised an eyebrow and took the paper from Ellie and typed the password out onto the box on the screen…the three of them looked at each other and then at Y/n a few steps afar staring at the balcony…facing the opposite way…finally Ellie decided to click enter…

Their jaws dropped as Ellie didn’t even think twice before running up to Y/n and shaking her completely, holding her shoulders and squealing…Mason and Lilith walked up to her and joined in as Y/n grew confused…

“Wait…did I get in?” She said with a half laugh… “Get in?!” Lilith squealed… “You got into Berklee, Y/n..And they want you. They offered you a scholarship. Full tuition.”

Her hands covered her mouth. The first tears didn’t even feel like tears — just heat, flooding behind her eyes, too fast, too much…After weeks of silence.After pain…After standing in that F3 paddock and realizing the one person she’d believed in most didn’t see her anymore…Someone finally saw her…Someone said yes…

The door clicked shut behind Isack…It was quiet inside the hotel room. The kind of quiet that didn’t soothe…it just screamed until you felt like running away or hiding somewhere.... The kind that echoed in your bones when the adrenaline wore off and the truth started crawling back in…

He stood there for a second, jacket half unzipped…the team dinner was great…he..he should have been proud…he won…but something in him was wrecked…and deep down he knew exactly what it was…

The room was dim….He didn’t turn the lights on. It felt wrong somehow…like he didn’t deserve to see anything clearly.

His shoulders ached…Not from the race but from pretending…from smiling too long…from laughing when it didn’t reach his eyes…Everyone had clapped him on the back tonight…They told him he was brilliant…Unstoppable…A future world champion.

But all he could hear was her voice in that hallway.

“I wanted to see you race again. I thought— I don’t know. I thought maybe it’d feel like before...maybe it’d feel like…home..”

And his reply — God, his reply was the most careless thing he had spat out at anybody in his entire life….

“This isn’t some school play, okay? You don’t get to show up with your guitar and expect everything to go back to how it was.”

The second he said it, he knew…He’d killed something. Something that used to be good. Something sacred. Something that used to be theirs.

Isack dropped his jacket to the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows digging into his knees as his face buried itself in his hands…It was like his ribcage was collapsing inward.

He’d won. The race. The whole weekend. He should’ve been on top of the world…Instead, he was sitting here alone, his chest burning with a panic that didn’t have a name.

So he did what he always did when the world went quiet…he didn’t know what else to do…He reached for her…Not literally. That wasn’t allowed anymore.

So he grabbed his phone…He opened Instagram…Typed her name before he could even think…His thumb hovered as the algorithm loaded up trying to show results…He froze…He typed in her username. Word by word. Letter by letter. Number by number….

Nothing…No profile.

He froze…Checked the spelling...Searched her old tagged photos.

Nothing.

His throat tightened…He went to his following list and scrolled like a madman…She wasn’t there, she wasn’t there…not on his main…not on his burner…not on the private account she used to laugh at, the one he once posted a blurry picture of them on…captioned only with a single red heart.

She was gone. Every trace. Like she’d never existed in his digital world.

And that’s when the full weight of it hit him…She didn’t just unfollow him…She removed herself…From everything.

From him.

He stood up too fast, heart slamming against his ribs.

No. No, no, no.

She’d always followed. Even when they didn’t talk…Even after fallouts and arguments…even when she posted songs that felt like goodbyes…She was always watching….

She used to watch his qualifying sessions from her dorm hallway with her laptop balanced on a pile of textbooks…She used to text him when his helmet cam showed him adjusting his gloves mid-straight, saying, “Stop that, it makes me nervous.”

She used to be there.

But now?...Nothing.

He opened their messages. Scrolled back through the thread. Dozens of memories in one place…Photos of her new guitar…A video of her singing half a verse of a song she never finished. Voice notes full of laughter. As he scrolled he realised how blind and unjustified his anger towards her was…because she was actually trying to be there…and all she got was dry replies…he didn’t blame her for having new friends after how he used to text her…just an okay to her ranting about her day…

Then he saw…the last text. His.

“Hope you’re watching. I’m gonna win this one for you.”

She never replied….and the read receipt stayed gray.

She didn’t wait for him anymore…She didn’t hope…She didn’t hold on…She was done…Quietly. Completely…And it was his fault…Not just because of what he said. But because of all the things he didn’t…He didn’t tell her he missed her…He didn’t tell her he listened to every track she ever posted, even the ones without a name…He didn’t tell her she mattered — not as a fan, not as a follower, not as a face in the crowd — but as her.

As the girl who knew him when no one else did…As the girl who knew when he was about to cry under a helmet and never said a word about it…As the girl who didn’t be there for races… — she believed in him.

And now she was gone.

He pressed his palms to his face, breathing hard…The silence was suffocating…It didn’t feel like peace…It felt like punishment…Because somewhere in the world, she was finally healing.

She was waking up in a new place, building something better…And she didn’t even think about him when she logged off…That’s what hurt the most…Not the unfollow…But the fact that he hadn’t even crossed her mind.

He lay back on the bed…Clutched his phone to his chest like it could anchor him…His thumb found the bracelet on his wrist it was still tied, still worn, still hers.

She made it for him before she left after that race...the last race where he didn’t hurt her…she said it was for luck….He hadn’t taken it off since but now it felt like a reminder…Of what he had…Of what he lost…Of what he threw away…And this time, there was no text he could send…No race he could win…No apology she hadn’t already heard in silence.

Because she was gone….And he wasn’t sure if he'd ever see her again…Not in the stands…Not in his messages…Not even in the songs she used to write with him in mind…

Boston was cold...Colder than Paris, but not in a cruel way… Y/n had started liking the walk from her dorm to the cafeteria, even when the wind bit at her cheeks. Her scarf was too long, wrapped around her neck like a memory she hadn’t untied yet, but it was warm, and she was learning how to be okay again…But at least Boston had accepted her…but at least…it was hers..The acceptance letter from Berklee still laid in her journal on her dorm table…as a reminder of the thing she had achieved by her own merit…by herself…

For once, her name wasn’t attached to anyone else’s legacy. Not his. Not anyone’s….She finally moved into her dorm during the fall semester…She didn’t know anyone…but it didn’t take much time…

She met Josh on a Tuesday in Music Theory 102. He had a tired smile and a leather-bound notebook filled with scribbles she couldn’t yet decipher. He tapped his pen to the tempo of whatever melody was in his head, and when she handed him her worksheet by accident, he didn’t give it back…instead he just laughed and said, “Yours makes more sense than mine.”

They became friends over piano benches and awkward key changes. He had a habit of adding ambient rain sounds to every track, and she teased him for it until she realized… It worked. His songs were warm. Like how you’d imagine safety would sound.…

Amy came later, in Vocal Performance. She was bold and open-throated, never afraid to take up space. She sat next to Y/n during warmups and nudged her gently whenever she held back too much. “You sound like honey when you stop trying so hard,” she whispered once, and Y/n had flushed with something that almost felt like confidence.

They clicked. Not with trauma bonding or tear-soaked pasts, but with coffee-fueled studio nights and stolen fries at 1 a.m. It wasn't an escape. It was something better…it was a new ground…a new rhythm she could feel anchored by…

By the end of the first 4 months…Y/n and Josh were almost mistaken for siblings…they were almost seen walking past each other talking about different artists…both of them had found middle ground in songwriting and producing to the point Y/n finally started writing songs…properly…

All three of them spent their break days in the makeshift studio in Josh’s dorm and she never minded recording vocals under a blanket in his closet… She played open mic nights sometimes, voice still shaking, guitar strings nearly snapping under her fingers.

But she was becoming someone again…Someone brave…Someone whole…Someone who didn’t wait for a boy at the finish line anymore.

She made an official Instagram account…finally. Not her personal one, but her artist one. Just “@Y/n.wav”

It showed her life at Berklee and how much she had grown as a person…Josh and Amy appearing on the posts were inevitable…She felt at peace…It also had her highlights of jam sessions with songs they could release maybe…

At first…she didn’t think it would work out…well at least not until she posted a reel of her sitting on her dorm bed with her guitar as she sang a chorus she and Josh had written together…shared trauma actually is really helpful in terms like this…least to say…it blew up…

“Your voice is so warm, wtf”

“The lyrics feel like a page ripped out of my diary”

“I needed this today.”

Y/n didn’t post about her past. She didn’t mention the boy who used to live downstairs. But she felt him in the spaces between chords, in the way she sometimes still reached for keys that reminded her of what never got to be a song…

She was almost fine…

Isack didn’t mean to find her…he was just scrolling after a tough team meeting…and thats when he saw her…on his fyp…sitting in a room that was definitely not hers…or at least the one he knew…holding her guitar…warm lighting and a guy beside her…

Y/n cleared her throat as she began singing…as he heard her sing he felt weird…her voice…it had changed…not in a bad way…she just wasn’t hiding anymore 

“You don’t have to call me back,but this still lives in me…”... 

The caption was lowercase. Quiet. Like her.The song wasn’t polished.But it was real… listening to her voice felt so distant for Isack…he just couldn’t help but click on her profile and let the page load up…

@y/n.wav…

her username wasn’t loud…no blue ticks or links…just @y/n.wav…and her bio had…

‘All the way from Berklee, Boston Just music…Honest and Homegrown Mine…’

Isack clicked on the first post…he immediately recognised the handwriting on the lyric card on her desk…the first post was captioned… ‘🟤 Dorm Room Chaos’...The second slide was a picture of her guitar case laid open…her guitar inside of it..there were copies and loose pages all around the case…and a guy sat in front of the case…he had curly hair and he wore glasses…and he had the biggest grin on his face…

Isack felt his stomach twist a bit but he ignored it…The next slide was a picture of her and a girl in the middle of laughing on the…Y/n was holding her guitar and she was sitting on the piano…

The last slide was just a video of the three of them…both the guy and the girl and Y/n just running…probably running to class they looked pretty late…

He stared at it too long…he let the video replay and replay and replay till he knew exactly where she yelped and where the guy asked her to not ‘fall over your face’ . The guy had curly hair. Dimples…Y/n’s laughter ringed in the video…The laughter looked real. Her smile wasn’t tight like before…

He had no idea who he had become himself…but she…she looked safe..and with that he let his fingers scroll further…

The next one was a reel…It was captioned ‘📼: Sunday late night jam session 🐝’ and it started with her and the other girl singing while josh sat writing something down beside them…Y/n was wearing a hoodie two times her proper size…and this time it wasn’t Isack’s hoodie…The reel ended with her laughing with the three of them and just just side hugging her like its the most natural thing on the planet…he couldn’t stop himself from opening the comment section…

“i feel like i’ve been hugged + slapped in the same 3 mins”

“she’s healing and it sounds like this???”

“Someone put this in a movie rn.”

He let himself scroll further…the next was a carousel post again…this time it was captioned ‘one day we’ll win a Grammy for a song we wrote in mismatched socks and 2AM eyeliner. until then, this is heaven.🌻’ 

The first slide is of her in the middle of walking back from the teacher’s desk while she made a funny face and probably the guy or the girl filmed her…the next was of her sitting on the window panel of her dorm and holding an iced coffee bigger than her face probably..and the third was of her dancing in her dorm to some stupid song and dragging the girl along with her…the next was a picture of the three of them holding a demo cd like it was their proudest possession…and the last was a video of the girl clapping offbeat while Y/n sang off tune..it wasn’t intended…they are professionals obviously…but they had fun…

He didn’t know why, but that one cracked something open in his chest…She was defining heaven.Without him in the definition…

Isack had almost closed the app until he saw the highlight…his hands automatically made his fingers tap on it before he could even decide… ‘more suffering I guess’ he thought…

The highlight was named ‘studio days 🎙️’ and as soon as he clicked it he saw her life unfold even more…

Her biting into a bagel…Laughing over her own bad takes…Holding up a demo CD like it was a Grammy…Shouting “Don’t post this!” as Josh filmed her with her hair a mess…

She looked happy…She looked safe…She looked like she hadn’t cried in a long time…

And he…Isack felt like a ghost…just scrolling through a timeline he was no longer part of…

She didn’t follow him...Hadn’t for a while…And he had no right to feel the way he did…But he couldn’t stop…She was building something beautiful…And he was watching it happen from the outside…Quiet and Regretful…He was just a jealous of a boy who didn’t live downstairs….Not anymore.

He remembered when she’d tell him every time she wrote a lyric..Now he had to find them on the internet…Now he had to stalk her…

The race was background noise…But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Even when she muted the stream, her mind filled in the sound. The hum of the grid, the Red Bull livery flashing through her memories like a ghost. She hadn’t meant to watch. She told herself it was for reviving herself…just to hear the cars…but every excuse she gave to herself felt like a lie she was saying to herself while standing in front of the mirror…

But the second the feed cut to him…helmet off, eyes bright, grin splitting his face — something caved in her chest…the lies were obvious…she was watching for him…what hurt her even more…was that even after all he had said…she would still watch him race and feel proud if he won…it…hurt…but he was at least where he wanted to be…where he said he wanted to be when they were nobodies…just two kids who lived in the same building…

She was nineteen and a few months now….She hadn’t been seventeen in years…and yet everytime his face popped up on her fyp…she felt seventeen…she still felt like the girl who stood in a cold hallway after a race, voice cracking as she asked if he really meant it.

Still felt like the girl he called “just an acquaintance.” After everything they had done together…been through together..

Still felt like the ghost of someone he had already forgotten…someone he did everything with until one day he decided that she wasn’t someone important enough to be in his life…

Her breath hitched…She stood…It hurt too much…she could just sing it out right? Write it out…get it out of her head and focus on the damn assignment she had to complete…

She left her half-eaten dinner on the counter and grabbed her jacket and keys, and ran…

When she reached Josh’s dorm…Josh was in the studio, mixing a demo…He looked up as she burst in…her cheeks flushed, breath uneven, eyes wild with something unspoken.

“Woah—Rai, what’s going on?”...She didn’t answer…She just dropped her bag, unzipped her coat, and made a beeline for the mic. Her notebook, always in her tote, hit the stand. Her hands were shaking as she flipped to a blank page.

Josh blinked. “Is this a—?”

“Hit record,” she said. As she slinged his closet door open and put the blanket properly before dragging the mic in…

Josh looked at her a bit confused as she put her headphones on…and who was he to argue…so he did…

“You don’t see stars here, they’re just city lights.”

She almost felt like it was ripping her as she let it out… her voice was breathy and fragile. Her eyes didn’t close, but they weren’t really seeing the dull blanket that covered her….

They were back in Paris….Not the romantic side of it, but the home they shared without sharing. The apartment…the same cream coloured one with diagonal balconies to his...She remembered lying on her bed, legs tucked under the covers, and just hoping she would run into the boy from downstairs…that was the first day she arrived there…she said she hated the place…but she didn’t hate the boy…the boy who lived downstairs…She could hear his laughter in the stairwell. Sometimes she'd wait to catch him coming home…pretend it was a coincidence...

There were no stars in Boston…Just dull glows and red brake lights…But where he lived…where she lived…where they lived…she remembered…you could see the entire sky.

“I think back to where you live and how you can see the entire sky.”

Back to the rooftop they used to sneak onto…Back to the night he told her, “Sometimes I feel small here. But like… in a good way.” That was the first time she thought she might be in love with him…but she pushed at away…what really is love…they were nobodies on a terrace in 5th grade for fucks sake…

“It’s occasional, sometimes I’ll see the moon / And I’ll think of you.”

The moon still felt like him. Still had the same weight. Still carried the same ache…It felt like she was staring at his face…she remembered the poem she wrote for him…the moon was what she hid him as…anyone who didn’t know would never understand what the moon meant to her…Moon meant Isack to her…

“My mom will convince me, and I’ll get the courage to ask / We will get coffee in Canton and you’ll nervously laugh…”

She imagined the version of herself that hadn’t been humiliated. Who still had the courage to ask if he wanted to see her…Who still believed the answer might be yes…He’d laugh nervously, because he never knew what to do when she was brave…They would be…them…

“When we hug, 'cause we don’t hug, we never used to do that.”

She paused there. Breath caught. That memory…It was the last race she saw him at…She had surprised him…And he hadn’t hugged her…Not really. Not like she thought he might.

He gave her a stiff, confused pat on the back.

A stranger’s touch…

He didn’t even look at her the way he used to…They didn’t do that…And now… they never would.

“Sometimes I go to sleep / And I’m still 17 / You still live down my street / You’re not mad at me…”

She closed her eyes. Let herself crack…If she needed to let it go she would have to face it…go back and just see what happened…accept it…that it happened…

Seventeen. That age was burned into her bones…When everything happened…When he told a reporter she was “just an acquaintance ”

When she stood outside the paddock gate in the rain, watching him take photos with fans and pretending he didn’t see her…pretending like she didn’t exist…like she wasn’t the same girl he had almost cried when she left for school…

Seventeen, when she stopped writing for a year…Seventeen, when she stopped watching races…Seventeen, when everything inside her rewrote itself to survive.

In her dreams, he still lived down the street…Still shouted from his window, still showed up with greasy takeout, still borrowed her charger without asking…she waited for her at the landing…still ran to her the second he got news…still hugged her when she was sick…still waited for her…And in those dreams — he wasn’t angry…He didn’t say what he said…He still knew her.

“And in that dream, I will say everything I wanted…”

She choked on that line…Because she never did…She didn’t tell him that her silence after the hallway fight wasn’t indifference — it was devastation…the devastation of losing someone she thought would stick with her life long…would be with her till the end…

She didn’t say that every day after May…the last May they shared…she couldn’t write a full song without thinking of him…

“That every day after May, I haven’t found what I needed…”

Not in Boston ... .Not in her gigs…Not in the new boy who kissed her at a dorm party once, and whom she didn’t text back…No one had come close.

“No one has come close to you / And I don’t think anyone will.”

Her voice cracked…Josh looked up from the computer at the closet still covered…his jaw was tight…but he said nothing...She wasn’t performing…This wasn’t an assignment she needed to complete in order to top the class like she always did…This was Y/n…The girl who…

Who needed to survive….

“I have a feeling you got everything you wanted / And you’re not wasting time stuck here like me…”

He had gotten exactly what he wanted…what he dreamt about vocally as she sat in front of him admiring him as he spoke about how he wanted to be when he grew up…she never thought she would like cars…but she liked him and he liked cars…so she liked cars…

She thought of the podium shot from today…He had won. Again…The sponsors, the interviews, the fans — he had it all…And she wasn’t mad. Not really…But she was stuck…Still haunted…Still tethered to something he didn’t even remember breaking.

“You’re just thinking it’s a small thing that happened…”

Maybe to him, it was…Just a comment. Just a line…Just a thing you say when you want to protect your image…But to her?

“The world ended when it happened to me.”

She didn’t stop after the bridge…It felt like she was cleansing her heart of all the pain and crying sessions it had endured since that May…

She kept going…repeating it again, almost whispering now, like the words themselves were bleeding out of her…

“When it happened to me… when it happened to me…”

Josh didn’t touch the board…He just sat there, listening as she emptied herself into the mic.

“I have a feeling you got everything you wanted / And you’re not wasting time stuck here like me…”

She sang it again — softer, smaller...almost like she was hiding…like she had felt that day when he looked at her with that expression as he said…

“This isn’t some school play, okay? You don’t get to show up with your guitar and expect everything to go back to how it was.”

“You’re just thinking it’s a small thing that happened / The world ended when it happened to me…”

She ended as a tear ran down her left cheek...No flourish. No run. Just breath and silence.

And then she opened her eyes, glassy and dazed…she wiped her face and walked out and just stood there…Josh stood up slowly, walked in, and wrapped her in a hug she didn’t return…but didn’t pull away from either.

He whispered, “We’ll clean it up later. But that… that was the realest thing I’ve ever heard…I’ll call up Amy…we can get Chick fil a or whatever you want…”

She just nodded…Still stuck at seventeen. She turned towards him and hugged back…Still in the ruins of something she never got to finish.But for the first time…the wound Isack had left, had a name.

And it sounded like a song…

It took her three days to go back to the studio…Three days during which her notebook stayed shut, her guitar sat untouched, and she barely left her room except for classes she couldn’t skip...

Josh didn’t push. Amy didn’t either. They were dropping her voice notes like “still proud of you, okay?” and sliding her chocolate croissants without asking…she knew they wouldn’t leave her at her lowest…they wouldn’t abandon her…

Well at least not like he did…

On the fourth day, Rai woke up to a message from Josh.

u coming today? no pressure. but…i think you should hear it. p.s. amy said if u don’t, she will come kidnap u. i believe her.

And for the first time in four entire days…she felt her lips pressing into a soft smile as she stared at her phone…a soft sigh left her throat as she grabbed her bag and jacket…she took the shorter walking route and reached Josh's dorm in about 15 minutes…

Her fingers trembled as she let a knock on his door deliver from her hands…she heard a quick and synchronized “Come in ... .jinx” from both Josh and Amy…Y/n pushed the door open and walked inside before sliding her bag and setting it on his couch and moved to the place where Josh and Amy were sitting…

Josh grinned as he took his headphones off and turned his chair to face her… “Good. You’re here.”...Amy sat on the floor, cross legged doing something on her laptop…probably the theory paper both of them had set by their vocals professor…

 “Took you long enough,” Amy said as she looked up at her…her eyes were soft and welcoming…her eyes felt like…home…Josh looked at both of them and finally spoke up “Well, then since you showed up…it's time you hear it.”

Y/n swallowed. “I… haven’t listened to it. Since…” “We know.” Josh nodded. “That’s why you’re gonna do it now. With us.” Amy got up and made Y/n sit down beside her…Amy finally spoke up as Josh loaded the premade track… “You ready?” she asked and Y/n sighed as she replied… “No...Play it anyway..” Josh didn’t need more words…he bent over and just hit play…

The first note hit her like air rushing back into her lungs…She heard her own voice..it was  fragile at first, then it builded up to pure backlashing pain…

She remembered every second of recording it…how it felt like bleeding out in the dark…finally cleaning her heart from all the enduring of pain it had to do…But hearing it now, somehow made it sound even more pure and bleeding on paper like…

“You don’t see stars here, they’re just city lights…”

She blinked…her hands went to her head…as if they were meant to support it and hold it from falling any further down… Amy’s hand found hers and squeezed in a desperate way to provide comfort for her…Josh just sat forward, watching her face carefully but not intrusively...

By the time it hit:

“Sometimes I go to sleep / And I’m still seventeen / You still live down my street / You’re not mad at me…”

her eyes were wet again. But the tears felt different.

Not trapped. Not choked. Just… release…it felt like she had finally survived it…she had outlived when she was seventeen…

When it ended…that last whisper:

“The world ended when it happened to me…”

The room stayed silent…Y/n let out a shaky breath. “It’s not… perfect.” Josh laughed under his breath. “It’s real. You are real…” Amy grinned, backing Josh up she said… “It’s art. It’s you.” 

Joosh sighed as he got up from beside them and stood in front of them… “Well the real question is what do we do now?” Amy looked at him and then at Y/n…“Do you wanna release it?” she looked at her softly while still holding her hand… Y/n’s throat caught. Her first instinct was to say no. Too raw. Too close. Too much like opening her ribcage to the world. but then her mind flashed to her Dms every single time she released a gut wrenching song only her small number of followers listened to..

“Your voice feels like safety.”

“Your lyrics saved me tonight.”

“I thought I was the only one who felt like this.”

If a seventeen-year-old Y/n had heard this song from someone else…it might’ve helped. It might’ve been the thing that made her feel less alone in that goddamn hallway. “I think…” Y/n whispered. “Yeah. Yeah. I do.”

Josh nodded like he’d already known. “Well then…we got hell of an amount of work to do people…”

The three of them sat down together as Y/n stared at the floor…Josh finally spoke up…“It’s… it’s missing something.”...Y/n finally sighed as she looked up and rubbed her face… “Not vocally…it needs background” she sighed as she looked at Amy… Josh smiled as he looked at Amy aswell… “Fine..” Amy sighed as got up…and took her bag…

They quickly packed up only the extremely needed things…a mic and a plugin…and they walked to Amy’s dorm…The second Amy opened her door…they were greeted with a piano on the side of her dorm…she went and sat down as Josh got things set up on his laptop…

Within the next thirty minutes…the main parts of the song had been covered and they were now debating which tone it would go in…Y/n pinched the bridge of her nose…they had settled on a C - Am - F - G chord progression but it just didn't feel enough…she looked at Amy after thinking for a few minutes… “How about we add in Am9 and Fmaj7? Try it once…” and once they did…it was almost perfect…

They could work with a draft like that…after settling down they gathered themselves up and got themselves a coffee and Y/n’s guitar on the way back to Josh’s dorm…

When they finally reached…Y/n heard the song once and set the headphones down and looked at Josh…Josh sighed and walked up to her and hugged her immediately seeing the remorse in her face…

“You just made something you can stand in. Not run from N/n…And we’ll get it ready, clean it up just enough — but the rawness stays. That’s the point…” Y/n hugged him back and opened her other arm for Amy to join in…

This was going to be a long night…

The morning lights shone through the curtains as Y/n woke up…they had all fallen asleep on Josh’s couch only…She had her head resting on Amy’s lap…and Amy was leaning on Josh…Josh was already awake doing something on his laptop…The second he spotted Y/n awake he spoke up…

“Added some soft drums…I saved the previous one as adrift before hand so don't worry…we can always scrap it if you don’t like it…”

Y/n looked at Josh and put her hands out for the headphones…and as she heard her voice with the soft piano…and the beats Josh had added..it…it felt beautiful…raw…how she had felt that day in May…She looked at Josh and smiled while giving him a soft nodd…approving it completely…

Within the next hour…everyone had freshened up at their own dorms and regrouped…Josh set a timer…this was the last weekend they would have to complete this because the nexts would be filled with research papers and projects…hectic to say the least…

Josh and Amy listened to it again but then Josh turned the chair around and spoke up…“I mean… this is beautiful as is.”...Amy chimed in as both Josh and Amy turned to look at Y/n… “You don’t think it needs one of your sad girl guitar lines?” Amy asked Y/n as Y/n smiled and sighed before walking over to her guitar case pulling it out and loading it up into Josh’s laptop…

The guitar was the one which had followed her from Paris to Boston...scrapes, worn fretboard, a faded sticker on the back…none the less…it was hers…

She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Josh’s mic. No amp. No heavy effects. Just the raw sound.

“Loop me the chorus,” she whispered. “I just want… texture.”...Josh looped the track. Pressed record.

Y/n took a breath…her fingers were trembling slightly as they found the first chord…What surprised her the most was the fact that…the chords she plucked in the most softest way…were the same ones she had once taught Isack…in his room..and they would laugh everytime he missed them…

When they played it back…the guitar sat just beneath the mix, like memory itself. Threaded between her voice and the pulse, fragile and present.

Amy grinned. “That’s it. That’s you.” Josh smiled as he quickly saved the session...

“WE HUG NOW — FINAL MIX…”

Rai rested her chin on her guitar…“I think I needed that.” Josh smiled softly at her as he turned to face her…. “We know...we know you did…”

And for the first time, Rai felt like her whole self was in the song — the seventeen-year-old, the girl in Boston now, the girl still learning how to breathe without him…

Finally the day came when the trio sat down and in a go released ‘We Hug Now’ They uploaded it quietly…almost like it was a draft project that they would get rid of after a few days…but the difference was that they wouldn’t do so…

No PR. No playlist push. No flashy video. Just a simple post on her @y/n.wav:

"this one hurt to write. hope it hits the right spots... We Hug Now streaming on spotify..♡"

 A Spotify link…Then silence…For three weeks, it barely moved. A few reposts from classmates. A few DMs saying “I feel this” from faceless usernames…Y/n didn’t check the streams anymore. It wasn’t about that. She’d sung it for herself, left it in the world like an open letter. 

Now she was trying to live again…cope with all the classes, all the homework, and all the studio sessions with Amy and Josh…Test week came in quick and it was all sleepless nights, projects and Coffees in cups the size of her face…Well everything was normal…until…until one morning…the internet changed everything…

Least to say it was freezing…and they had a day off after 1 whole month of a rat race as Y/n would describe it…she had just woken up to silence the alarm she forgot to turn off and went back to pulling her covers right up and drifting back to sleep…who the fucking hell wakes up at 7am on a friday morning THAT is ALSO a day off?

Josh…Josh does sadly..The second she was about to drift to sleep she heard someone banging on her door…literally…“RAINA! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” Josh’s voice, high-pitched, borderline manic.

Y/n quickly got up and hurriedly opened the door and got greeted with Josh…somehow sweating and still wearing a jacket…he looked like he had just ran to her dorm…he did..“What? What’s on fire?”

Josh just shoved his phone straight into her hands and Y/n made way for Josh to come in…Amy also followed him inside…Y/n hadn’t even noticed they were there…

“You’re on Spotify’s ViralHits. You’re on fucking Spotify’s ViralHits.”

For a second her brain tried to register itself around the fact, almost failing as she let out a “What” while staring at Josh and Amy…Amy immediately ran to her and hugged her tightly as she squealed and replied to Y/n..“We Hug Now is EVERYWHERE. Some girl on TikTok made a crying playlist reel with your line 'Sometimes I go to sleep and I’m still seventeen' — it’s at two million plays. And now every sad playlist is adding it.”

“I — what?” Rai could barely breathe…it was happiness ofcourse…but there was another side of it…the whole world listening to her falling apart…but of course no one knew…no one knew what it was about so she was safe…Josh grinned. “You’re blowing UP.” All three of them ended up in a group hug..laughing the entirety of them laughing..

Y/n let out a laugh. A choked, almost-shocked laugh. “I… holy shit.” Amy grinned as she looked at her. “You know what this calls for?” “. Obviously.” Josh bickered up nudging Y/n on her shoulder…Y/n looked up at Josh, still stunned… “I have class tomorrow...—” “Fuck class.”

The sun had barely dipped below the skyline when Josh pulled up to the little beach they always ended up at when the city got too loud…None of this was planned…but after blowing up on the internet…they deserved a small break from classes and the rat race for some time… around 3 pm and by 4 they had piled into Josh’s battered car, heading toward the coast, just three idiots with too much sugar and no sense of time…with Amy chittering constantly…it was obvious they would be staying till midnight at least…

Raina was in one of her sundresses…the one Amy kept calling "your accidental model dress." She had her jacket on due to the weather being extremely cold...Her braids were already half-messy from the wind when they got out of the car. Josh was carrying an absurd amount of snacks and Amy had her digital camera slung around her wrist…

They ran straight into the water first…shoes forgotten somewhere in the sand…Y/n’s laughter rang clear as she kicked the waves, hair flying, voice carried by the breeze.

Josh was trying (and failing) to teach Amy how to skip stones. Amy retaliated by shoving him into a deeper wave…thankfully Y/n had thought through and bought an extra set of clothes or else the three would have been driving back to the dorm completely drenched…

Raina had left her jacket in Josh’s arms after he changed and Amy came to a decision to not yeet him into the waves again…She was now staring at the night sky meeting the sea in the background…driving up to here had made them pretty late it was about 7pm at least at that point…Just as she was staring forgetting for a second…her life…the way she blew up this moring…the way he could have heard it…even his name hurt…even after she tried to let it out through a song….

Suddenly she heard a Flash from behind her as a light flashed onto her…It dragged her out of the daze she was in and she quickly faced towards it…"Stay still for ONE second, Y/n," Amy groaned, grabbing her phone."Why—"

"Because you look like a goddess right now and I need proof." Amy chuckled as she snapped another picture of Y/n in mid laugh…

"Show me, show me!" Raina demanded, scrambling over."

The air had gotten cold fast…Amy took another pic of Y/n standing in the sand — this time posed…But the second the shutter clicked, and they were sure about the picture being taken Y/n bolted toward Josh, hands reaching for her jacket.

"Jacket. Now. I’m freezing," she whined…"Gremlin mode unlocked," Josh laughed as he handed the jacket over to Y/n…and Amy chuckled as she took the video of them…

His phone buzzed once. Then again. And again…He should have been asleep…The race weekend had drained him — both mentally and physically…But something made him tap Instagram open…like it meant something…like he had something to see…his hands felt like they had a mind of their own…his fingers clicked the search bar and typed in her username…for a second his eyes widened…she had gained 13k followers in a day…but he ignored that and tapped on her story mindlessly…

His eyes softened in a painful way when her face met his eyes…he was seeing her but she wasn’t…she didn’t need to anymore…she didn’t want to anymore…he didn’t know which one was more painful in priority points..

There stood Y/n in a sundress…wind in her hair..standing in a sundress on the beach alone…except she wasn’t because someone was taking her picture on the other side…

His fingers tapped on for the next one…this one was a remention from someone called @amiyexe. And it was of Y/n getting out of the pose and bolting to Josh as he pulled her into his arms as she asked for her jacket, almost shaking…

Isack almost felt a stab right into his ribs…it felt like he was killing himself…that used to be him… and what stabbed him even more…a video of Josh carrying a sleeping Y/n to her dorm and Amy laughing at how cute she is…Y/n looked safe…

Isack set the phone down…Hard…His hands clenched and his breath got caught in his throat…He couldn’t explain the twist in his gut that was forming slowly by slowly…

She was living. Thriving. Without him.

And somehow... her soul still sang about him…still on his mind — no matter how hard he tried to be logical about it…

Time moves strangely…that’s something Y/n had learned about after ‘We Hug Now’ charted…and time moves even more strangely when you are not chasing something…For the first time in two years, Y/n wasn’t counting down to anything…not a message, not an apology, not a person.

She was simply living…

The weeks after ‘We Hug Now’ charted, it was a complete blur of time…not because of fame or anything…nevermind technically fame…Fans clipped the lyrics, tattooed them.

A popular cover artist in LA posted a stripped piano version — it hit a million in 2 days.

Suddenly, journalists wanted quotes. Labels sent polite DMs.

Y/n let Amy and Josh answer most of them.She wasn’t ready for all that…she knew what she best did…she kept writing. Posting little clips…An unreleased verse here, a demo there.Slowly her following grew — but not in a manic way…In a homegrown way, just like she had wanted.

Amy would always tell her…"You’re turning all these sad kids into an army."

And Y/n had smiled…because she liked that idea…An army of kids learning how to survive.

By November, her DMs were full of one question:"TOUR WHEN?!"

At first, she laughed it off. Who was she to tour?...She hadn’t even played for more than 100 people in her life..But then… the messages grew louder.

"Even a small one. We’ll be there.""Please — just one night in my city."

Josh and Amy sat her down one night at 2am…"Okay. We plan this. You do this on your terms.

Tiny venues. Winter break. Two parts — so you don’t tank your grades."

Y/n blinked as her eyes exchanged looks with both of them…"You think anyone will show up?..” Amy grinned."They will. They already are."

So they did it…they gave the people what they wanted…A tour…selected locations…not so big venues..but a good start right?...The crowd would sing the chorus back…every time.

Sometimes it broke her and sometimes it healed her…Josh mixed the live tracks…and Amy managed the merch table…It wasn’t a big world tour…But it was hers…it was her healing…

As they had agreed this would be a 2 part tour…the trio taking a break in between for their exams…Halfway through December they were back to studying in their dorms till 1 am and vomiting the knowledge out on their finals papers…

The tour resumed somewhere during the middle of January…and everything was perfect…but there was one last show left…a place that soaked in a bit too harshly while she was planning the tour calendar..

It was a small venue in Paris…the same cafe she and Isack used to go to as ‘stress relief’...she almost said no…but Amy thought otherwise and booked it without thinking twice…

No matter how much Amy said that it was ‘the right ending’ it felt like it was too much ghosts and too much of rawness for Y/n…

The night of the final show was something else completely…Y/n had her stage set up perfectly…Josh was checking the sound while it dawned on her properly…how much progress she had made without him…she had made it to berklee…released her proper song…and this was her first tour’s final show…it felt…unreal…after they had held hands under the Paris sky and promised whatever they would do it would be together…

Y/n stood backstage as she watched the venue fill up quickly…Amy grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her harshly “Get out of it. You are playing for yourself. Not him…” She left her and went to fix something on the side…maybe Y/n needed that…maybe she did need to hear that…

As Y/n stepped onto the stage there were 200 faces in the dark…Some old fans. Some new. Cheering as she turned the mic on…

"Bonsoir… I’m Y/n…” she introduced herself for the new fans who had made time to come watch her here…and which followed the play list of that night’s evening and finally she sang what led to all of this in the first place…

“This song…its story is way different from the other ones I have written…somewhere in me…this song hits harder than any of the songs I wrote and sang today…I used to live not far from here as a kid..and this song…is about when I used to live not far from here…”

And that day…that evening…singing ‘We Hug Now’ felt more real…because after all she was exactly where it had started…that same cafe…where it all started…everyone was singing back…but none of them knew…where they were standing…stood a younger version of the girl who was singing and Isack a few years ago…when everything was right…

“Sometimes I go to sleep

And I’m still 17

You still live down my street

You’re not mad at me…”

Her fingers shook as she sang…because this was what it was all about…finishing where it all started...

She was packing up in the green room when she suddenly heard a knock on the door… “Y/n?” she heard the voice ring as she turned around…it couldn't be…it had been years… Mr. and Mrs. Hadjar…stood in the doorway looking at her with a soft smile…no matter how angry she could have been at isack…she could never be angry at them…at the least…

Randa looked at her like she was almost about to cry… “We couldn’t miss this…you were always a part of the family…you know that..” That weakened her at the knees as she walked up to Randa and hugged her tightly ...Yassine stood on the side as he cleared his throat before speaking up…

"Isack’s not here. He… F1, now. Testing week… But we wanted to come here…atleast remember you will always be his roots…” Randa squeezed her hands as she smiled softly… "You’re doing so well, ma fille. He’s proud..even if he doesnt acknowledge it….We all are."

And just like that — another thread in Y/n’s  heart untied…she smiled softly as she hugged both of them….."Thank you… for coming."

She smiled as she asked them to sit softly before pouring them the coffee she had ordered for after the show and handing them their cups…Amy had slipped out politely with Josh to give them space.

It was awkward, but not in a bad way…sitting with them felt soft, nostalgic and if she was completely honest a little raw….

Randa watched her with the kind of look only mothers gave…one that said I remember when you were smaller than this guitar you carry now.

"We’ve kept up with your music," she said, voice low. "Even if he won’t admit it… so has he."Y/n looked down, fingers nervously tracing the rim of her cup…she wasn’t sure she was ready to talk about it…after she had used the same music to try and finish what she was being spoken to about now…

"I don’t know if he would want me here. Not anymore." Y/n said as she looked out into the city from the window… Randa leaned forward gently, setting her cup on the table in front of them…"Don’t be so sure." Y/n blinked a bit but she didn’t push off at them…

There was a pause before Randa spoke again, a little quieter this time…"His first race is coming. Melbourne."

Y/n looked up slowly…she already knew the words that would come out of Randa’s mouth…and god she was absolutely not ready..

"He’ll be debuting in F1 officially. It would… mean something to him..It would mean something to us…You were there when this dream started, Y/n…You… were always part of that story."

Her breath caught as her throat tightened..."I— I don’t know if I can. It’s been—" She tried to speak up to justify herself

"Years. We know." Mr. Hadjar smiled softly. "But maybe that’s why you should."

"I…" Y/n hesitated, searching for words that wouldn’t betray the war in her chest. "He hasn’t asked. I doubt he would even want me there."

Randa gave her a knowing look…as she patted her back softly…"You think too little of yourself, ma fille. We wouldn’t ask if we didn’t know it mattered."

Another pause.Another ache.

"You don’t have to answer now," Yassine added. "But the invitation stands…Come as yourself. Not for press. Not for stories. Just… be there."

They stood, hugged her once more, and left.

Latter that night in the hotel room…Y/n stared at the ceiling as their words circled her head…

"It would mean something to him."

"You were always part of that story."

And the worst part?...Some fragile, traitorous part of her still wanted to be…She reached for her phone on instinct — opened IG — hesitated…Typed Isack Hadjar — hovered — closed the app.

"God, don’t do this again," she whispered to herself.

But the question remained — sharp and aching…

Could she really be there when he crossed that line?

©WHOISRAII 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

[brittle-doughie]

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

[Prev.]

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

△ “Cease your struggling, Cookie. Your small, fragile body will never escape my grasp. I’d hate to have our little serenade end so soon if you fall apart in my claws…”

You didn’t listen. You tried to free yourself from Longan Dragon’s grasp, but they only applied more pressure to their hold. You struggled to breathe as Longan reached with their other claw and forced your head to look at them in the eyes.

△ “Surrender to me, Cookie. For the sake of both of us. Give your sweet, crispy soul to my hold and I promise you a place in my new world…”

Let go….LET GO!

△ “Don’t be foolish. Your only choice is my proposal! Resistance is pointless.”

You look down to see nothing but the clouds. You couldn’t even tell if you were in the same area anymore with being so high up. You….didn’t care anymore, anything to get away from them.

You…accepted Longan’s proposal.

△ “A change of heart doesn’t come so quickly. I must know if your intentions are truthful. Look into my eyes.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You had no choice, you had to look. Their eyes dig through your whole body, grasping at your very soul and trying to pull at it. Your breathing grows fast and heavy, your jelly heart beating so fast as you felt the light from their eyes nearly engulf your vision.

△ “Accept me. For we will be bound to our very souls, Cookie…”

There it was. A noticeably loosening of Longan’s hold on you. Taking the chance, you struggle with all your strength and managed to break free as you plummet down back to the earth.

△ “YOU FOOLISH COOKIE! YOU WOULD RATHER PLUMMET TO YOUR DEMISE?!”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A very loud roar was heard above you as Longan Dragon presumedly started to fly down after you. You watch as the earth grew closer and closer, the waters getting ready for your embrace. You go into a cannonball position in hopes of cushioning your descent.

It didn’t.

You hit the water so hard that you felt the air that you needed practically get launched out of you as you sink the water. You felt weak, dough sore from such an impact as it slowly turned mush from the water…

…

…

The last thing before consciousness slipped away from you was a shape on the water’s surface, diving for you…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

[snazzysnap]

JJK characters ideal date with you!˙⋆✮

Megumi Fushiguro:

He’d want something calm, not in a public space, somewhere it’s just the two of you. He’d want to go stargazing with you while you two listen to music but sharing earbuds. 

Yuji Itadori: 

Something FUN. He’d take you to an arcade and try to win stuffed animals for you. You guys play every single duo game and beat little. You two would have sooo many photo booth picture strips, and he’d keep every single one. 

Nobara Kugisaki:

SHOPPING DATEEEE. All the way. You guys will go into every store that you two love and will pick out a few things for each other that remind y’all of each other, have a whole fashion show in the fitting rooms just to buy 2 things that ya’ll try on, and maybe get some ice scream afterwards. 

Toge Inumaki:

Cooking something together and having a cute dinner after you two are done cooking. :)

Maki Zenin:

Training together. She holds back to not hurt you and to make it fun. If you manage to hit her she’ll look at you impressed. After the training session she’d treat you to food for your hard work and tell you you did good. (and maybe tell you the spots you were sloppy in)

Yuta Okkotsu: 

Warm night together at home. Your favorite snacks on the table along with the  movies he promised to watch with you one day. 

Satoru Gojo:

Fancy dinner date. I know sounds basic but trust he’ll make it as interesting and entertaining for you as possible. He loves making you laugh. As fancy as the restaurant is and as nice as you two are dressed you too are a giggling mess and all the rich boring people are looking at you two. You two leave still laughing and cackling and head home talking shit about the people who were laughing at you two. “HER DRESS LOOKED LIKE A TRASH BAG BEING HELD BY PAPER CLIPS..” “BAHAHAHHA”

Suguru Geto:

Night stroll. He enjoys the sound of the city at night. How pretty the lights look. Walk through a pretty plaza, sit down for a minute, and talk about each other and how much he cares about you. 

Choso:

ALBUM AND CD SHOPPING. And then listening to them and talk about you and his favorite music artists (IDC ABT WHAT ANY OF YALL SAY THAT MAN PLAYS THE ELECTRIC GUITAR) and he’ll play a few tunes for you.

Kento Nanami:

Calm cafe date with your favorite pastries, and his favorite handmade bread. You guys always go to your local, small business cafe. And just chat and get caught up if he’s been out working for too long (doing jujutsu crap).  

Toji Zenin: 

At home spending time with you is all he needs. No fancy expensive food, or expensive outings. Spending time with you is all he wants.

Ryomen Sukuna:

Dark pits of hell where he slices u in half 🥸

[kaykaysbored]

Jax x Reader headcanons (first time any writing that's x reader related aaahh)

Cussing(I cuss a lot just as a person), Sfw as I am a minor, I tried to be as canon as I could, though I can't promise anything, Fluff!!

Jax crushing on you

-Pisses you off to get your attention, He'll just follow you and make it his personal mission to annoy the fuck out of you. Because he's desperate for your attention. -More touchy with you, but disguises it as bullying, Y'know how he grabbed Ragatha and put her in the deep fryer? A lot of similar things like that. I like the thought of him hurling you somewhere for no reason other than getting to hold you. -Is in ABSOLUTE DENIAL. He will sit there and just try his darndest to convince himself he doesn't like you, then catch himself lingering on you for far too long during adventures. -Confessing to you was just...So incredibly awkward. I feel as if he'd have no idea how to approach it, so he'd just..walk up to you, say "I like you," and walk away. Leaving you...Absolutely confused for a while before he comes back and asks you out properly.

Jax dating you

-He's confusing when it comes to PDA(Public Displays of Affection). Some days, he'd be fine literally picking you up and holding you while listening to Caine talk; others, he'd prefer to keep just an arm around you.

-Walks into your room, stares at you for a bit without saying a word, then knocks something over or steals something while looking you dead in the eyes. It's like dating a cat. -Gets jealous over your attention, if you're talking to Ragathat or someone else for too long, he'll groan loudly behind you until you break and turn to look at him or ask what he wants.

-Comes to check on you randomly a lot. You think it's just because he's bored and wants something to do. But it's actually because he's making sure you're ok. On account of what happened to Ribbit. -In private, I'd like to think he'd lay his head on your chest and hug you like a teddy bear, he's just so cuddly sometimes (This is definitely out of character, but shush)

The top divider was taken from this post

[carrionne0]

Concert for Two

Summary: “Piano was something both of them understood, and while it felt nice that someone else could speak Kris’s language, they didn’t like what it suggested about the soul — that it was like them.”

Or alternatively:

Kris learns that their soul isn’t actually that bad at the piano.

Chars: Kris, Kris's Soul/Deltarune Player/Reader, December Holiday mentioned, Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergent, Bittersweet, Possession Word Count: 3.2k

Also available to read on AO3, Quotev, and Wattpad.

---

"Kris... Dark world.... No soul... Can't." Those words pierced through the static of the phone before the connection went cold. Of course, Kris thought with gritted teeth, Of course. They huffed and facepalmed into the kitchen counter. Of course this damned soul was necessary for the Knight's plan. Kris already knew that; They knew that long before they even got into this mess.

Kris still had a right to complain, did they not? When it happened, they had agreed in desperation to do whatever it took to bring her back. Though they were beginning to have some regrets. Regrets they felt guilty for having. This was not bearable at all — being a meat puppet for some eldritch being, a heart on a chain.

They wanted to rip its soul out of their chest and make it regret using them like this — damn the consequences.

But they made a promise, and a promise can't be broken.

Kris raked their fingers through their hair, tugging at handfuls. I shouldn't have to deal with this. They grimaced. Puppeteered by some demon. Their nails dug into their scalp. But I deserve it. They dug harder, hair strands breaking off. It's all my fault; What happened to De—

Plink!

Suddenly, Kris jumped up, quickly scanning the room. Their breath quickened until they finally saw it.

The damned soul.

Kris clenched their fists into tight, uncomfortable balls. The soul had found them — of course it had — and it was making nonsensical noises on the piano. Kris grabbed the empty bottle of chocolate syrup as their weapon. They were going to teach that thing a lesson. They stormed to the other side of the kitchen counter, eyes locked on their target.

Plink!

Plink, plink, plink!

Kris froze. They thought they heard something recognizable from the random keys that were being plunked. Surely not. Surely this otherworldly being wasn't actually playing a song on the piano. They shook it off and kept moving.

Plink! Plink! Plink!

Again, Kris froze, this time their face contorting into a mixture of awe and irritation. There was no denying it now. The soul was definitely playing...

...Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

Kris scowled. It was crude — rudimentary, but identifiable. It was such a childish song for some demon to play that it made them pause in their attack. They slowly lowered their makeshift weapon. Had it not yet noticed their approach? It was still playing those not-so nonsensical notes on the instrument.

Kris wanted to move closer, however, their body didn't listen to them as their joints locked in place. They were unsure of why they hesitated. Were they worried about startling it, or were they worried it would possess them again? They did not know. Lifting one heavy leg, they took a step forward, an action that seemed to snap the soul out of its musical trance with a jolt, a sudden movement that startled Kris. It quickly dove inside the grand piano, an action that caused them to blink in confusion.

They considered it a foolish decision, backing itself into a corner like that. They approached the piano, and grabbed the lid with an uncharacteristically gentle hand, not wanting to damage something so precious to them. Looking down at the tiny soul that was cowering in the corner of the grand piano, for just a second, just a mere moment, they thought they could almost see something human in it. They shook their head, shaking the thoughts away, and promptly shut the lid, leaving the soul trapped inside the grand piano.

Kris walked over to the piano bench and slumped down onto it. The soul... it could play music. It knew songs that humans and monsters knew. Was it playing for me? They wondered, but winced at the self-centered thought. They racked their brain for answers about the soul's behavior just now, but couldn't find any that were satisfactory.

Slouching, they rubbed their forehead with their left hand. I can't believe that I'm seriously considering this. Kris's free hand subtly quivered as it hovered over the keys. But if it really was playing for me, then maybe... They bit their lip; Kris preferred to keep this part of themself private.

Softly, they lowered their hand, the cold ivory keys sending a shiver through their body. Their fingers pressed down on the keys so gently that no sound was audible. Their other hand left their forehead and placed itself about an octave away from the other.

A C major chord. Kris played it contemplatively. Then they placed their right thumb on the A below middle C, their left pinky doing the same an octave lower. Warmups — of course. Thanks to the soul, it had been a while since Kris had played. They needed to do some basic exercises to ease back into playing. With both hands, they played an A major scale — going up two octaves, but going back down three. After playing a few more scales, they raised their hands and stretched their fingers, before placing them back down again.

They breathed in. They breathed out.

Inside the grand piano, the walls and floor quaked as the soul was shaken by reverberations. A melody began to play, one recognizable to the soul. It was the theme it had heard around PLAYERtown. If the soul had a mouth, it would be wide open in shock. It hadn't realized that the music was diegetic to Kris's world. Not only that, it was surprised too that Kris was capable of playing it just from their memory.

Of course, a mistake here and there — A B-natural instead of a B-flat, a G-sharp rather than a F-sharp — but Kris's musical abilities were undeniable. The soul's form slouched, realizing just what it had taken away from this prodigy by being here. It wasn't that the soul didn't know how to play piano, but because of a top-down perspective and little control over Kris's fine motor abilities, it couldn't.

The sublime notes resonated throughout the Holiday house as Kris moved their hands gracefully along the keys. They shut their eyes, their body moving on its own, intuitively knowing what keys to play. Their head was empty as they soaked themself in the music. The grand piano produced a warm, dark sound — A sound that was comforting to Kris, a sound that would drown out their thoughts when they became too loud.

Then, the song was done. Their hands were still on top of those piano keys as all thoughts rushed back to their head.

Self-doubt. Embarrassment. Regret. Angel, why would I do that? They slammed their elbows onto the keys, sending a loud dissonant chord throughout the room as they buried their face in their hands.

Kris never really liked to play in front of people, so playing for this thing made them experience a flurry of emotions after the fact. They had shared such an intimate part of themself to something that was by all means invading any sense of privacy they had. For what reason? They felt a tinge of empathy for it? Seeing it stumble around on those keys in such a personifiable way? Clearly limited by its lack of fingers — A limitation that reminded them of the freedom they themself lacked? Kris let out a frustrated huff.

The piano bench made a terrible scraping sound against the ground as Kris pushed themself off it. They stormed over and flung the piano lid up. The soul laid peacefully idle, that was until it got startled when Kris plunged their hand inside the grand piano. But they hesitated before actually grabbing it. Kris grimaced and shook their head. They didn't understand all these complicated feelings about the soul stirring inside them. Discomfort, and a growing fondness — The blend unsettled Kris.

Though their face showed unease, they slowly and softly cupped the soul into tense hands and lifted it out of the piano. Their lips slightly trembled as, under their breath, some sort of an apology was mumbled — whether it was meant for the soul or the piano was a mystery.

Kris sat back down on the bench, soul still in their hands. They gazed down at it and exhaled. Their grip eased on the soul, which allowed it to move free. It took a moment for the soul to register that Kris had let go, but once it did, it slowly floated towards the piano keys. It began to tap on them again, trying, and failing miserably, to play a song.

Kris tried to cover a chuckle that escaped from their mouth as the soul fumbled awkwardly on the keys. The soul stopped its playing and looked at them deflated. A flicker of guilt flashed across Kris's face.

Looking down at the dispirited soul, a wave of empathy came over Kris. They understood what it was like. That wave of empathy led Kris to say something they weren’t too sure they actually wanted to say.

"You want to play too?" They winced and turned away. It was a question Kris already knew the answer to — Of course it did. They clenched their jaw, not understanding why some otherworldly being would want to play here at this moment. Surely it had all the power it needed to play whenever it liked?

Unless, of course, it specifically wanted to play now for some reason — That piqued their curiosity.

"Fine." They huffed. "I'll allow it for one song." The soul certainly couldn't play in its fingerless form, so even though they weren't exactly happy with it, Kris grabbed the soul and put it back in their body.

---

On the other side, in another world, the soul's true self took a USB cord and connected their keyboard and laptop together. They placed the laptop where sheet music would normally rest.

The player flicked some dust off the keys, and promptly placed their hands down onto the plastic keyboard. Then, they tensed up. It had been a while since they last played. Their nails scratched against the keys as they began to worry about embarrassing themself in front of Kris. They knew they were no maestro like Kris. They were technically capable of playing a few simple tunes, but their tempo would always change from one measure to another, with a few missing notes along the way.

They shivered those doubts away; Music wasn't about playing every note right, it was about the experience. Placing one hand in a chord position and the other in a position to play a few notes, they began to play a melody they wondered if Kris would recognize.

---

Kris's hands began to move on their own. Their chest tightened as their breathing became shallow and short. The soul never exerted this much control over their movements before. Kris squeezed their eyes shut and took a deep breath. It was going to be okay. They had allowed for this temporary precise control, but they had not expected what it would feel like. They shuddered. They desperately wanted to rip the soul out and take back their body as their own, but a strange curiosity kept them from doing that.

Kris opened their eyes and gazed down at their hands, which were still moving without any of their input. They smiled, wanting to laugh, but no sound escaped from their mouth. Their hands played an arpeggio in a way that was foreign to them. Kris had the more orthodox preference to hit the second note with their left ring finger, and the soul had a more amateurish preference for the left middle finger. Every time their middle finger was used in an arpeggio, their hand would tense up, as Kris's muscle memory expected it to be the other, only to be overridden by the soul's inputs. They let out a shaky breath, already feeling the soul's sloppy habits seeping into their body's memory.

They let out a nervous chuckle. I can't believe this. Entirely focused on the way their body moved in a way so foreign to them, their ears had not yet registered the music. They gently closed their eyes, trying to drift their focus away from their proprioception, and became aware of the music.

The music was nostalgic, something Kris could have sworn they had heard before, but they couldn't say where, or even when. An instinctive chill spread throughout their body. The melody felt dreamlike, but had a haunting aftertaste. Is this what music from another world sounds like? They shivered. It was... interesting, they had to admit, though the way they were experiencing it was not ideal.

Why did it even want to play for me? Kris wondered. Why this song? Music is a way people can communicate things that are difficult to put into words — Kris knew that very well — so what was the soul trying to say? That it liked piano too? That was likely part of it, but there was something deeper happening here, they believed.

Was it meant to be some sort of an apology? Like, "I play piano too, so I understand that it sucked you couldn't play." Their lips slightly quivered. That idea made them feel strange. Piano was something both of them understood, and while it felt nice that someone else could speak Kris's language, they didn't like what it suggested about the soul — that it was like them.

Kris let out a gasp as they were suddenly pulled out of their head — The soul used Kris's own arm to lightly slap them to awareness. They had become so lost in thought, they hadn't even realized the song was over.

Right. The song's over. Kris nervously thought. And it's in my body again. An uncomfortable laugh escaped them. They hadn't thought this far ahead. Letting the soul borrow their body to play a song was something that they had allowed on impulse. They hadn't thought about what came after. Shit.

The soul raised Kris's hand to their chest, a sudden move that caused their breath to quicken in apprehension. But the hand just remained there, doing nothing. They tilted their head in confusion. Suddenly, it clicked. It was giving... permission — Permission to remove it. Not that Kris needed its permission to have their own body, but still, the thought was oddly comforting.

Kris's breathing was shaky. Doing this so many times hadn't made it easier. They bit down on their lip, trying to stifle any yelps, as they tore the soul out of their body.

Red, pulsating in their hand, they could feel it squirm. It repeatedly tugged Kris's hand like it was trying to go somewhere, but they would continually jerk their hand back into a still position. Kris looked in the direction the soul was pulling their hand. ... The door? They raised an eyebrow in confusion. They looked back at the soul that was writhing in their hand and rolled their eyes. Again, they were considering something that they knew would likely be a mistake. But then again, they didn't exactly fully regret what they had allowed it to do so far.

They let out a dry chuckle. "Don't make me regret this," they mumbled under their breath as they unclenched their hand.

The soul stayed in place for a moment, seemingly shocked Kris had actually allowed it to roam free. Once the initial shock wore off, it began to make its way to the door, only to stop. Kris looked at it blankly. The soul hovered back over towards them and nudged against their arm.

"H-Hey!" Kris blurted out. They swatted haphazardly at the soul. "Stop that," they grumbled underneath their breath. The soul backed up some, a bit dejected. They squinted at the soul and said, "Are you wanting me to come with you or something?" It jumped up with an apparent glee, and moved up and down repeatedly, simulating a nod. Kris snorted. I suppose that's a yes.

The soul glided to the door, stopping occasionally in order to give Kris time to catch up. Kris made it to the door and reached for the handle, hesitating to open the door. What would happen when they opened it? Would the soul rush over to Susie and Noelle, revealing itself and by extension Kris's deepest secrets? Would it try to escape, leaving them without a way to save her? Millions of thoughts ran through their head, but they clenched their jaw and tried to get the thoughts to go away. I... don't think it would do those things. They glanced at the soul, which hovered calmly beside them. Well, I hope so, at least. Sighing, with a heavy hand, they turned the knob.

The soul continued forward onto its path to somewhere, Kris following closely behind. They spotted Susie and Noelle on the couch, then turned their gaze back to the soul. It was moving in a general direction, but would often veer slightly off course in a zigzagging manner. Kris swallowed hard. That made them incredibly nervous. The soul zigzagged dangerously close to the girls, and Kris couldn't take it anymore.

They shot a death stare at the soul. "Don't." The soul froze, shuddering. Taking a moment to compose itself, it resumed its journey, making sure to hug the wall to keep as far away as it could from Susie and Noelle.

They followed behind the soul as it led them to the closet door, where they originally trapped the soul. It waited for Kris and tapped itself against the door. Right, it doesn't have any hands. They reached for the doorknob and opened the door.

Kris followed the soul inside and closed the door behind the two of them. The soul dove down into the gift box it had previously escaped from. It bounced, seemingly happily, inside the box. They gave a look of utter confusion. "I don't... understand...?" The soul briefly paused its bouncing and floated outside the box. It went over to one of the box's lids and circled around it.

"You.... you want to... go up?" Kris's face managed to look even more confused. Like a dog? They let out a baffled chuckle. "What the hell..." They muttered under their breath. In disbelief, they blinked rapidly. "Sure...?"

The soul dashed over back inside the box and waited expectantly for Kris to shut it inside. As Kris lifted up the box lid from the ground, they wondered if this was meant to be some sort of exercise in trust. Was the soul trying to show that it respected them? Well, it had gained a bit of Kris's trust today, not by much, but Kris felt like they understood the soul a little better. Holding the lid over the box, they took one last glance at the soul. "I'll..." They hesitated. "... see you later." They lowered the lid.

---

Kris found themself back in the kitchen. They closed the door behind them and slumped down against it. Their fingers ran through their hair as they gave a bittersweet smile. It seemed their joy of piano was shared. That was... nice, Kris supposed. Though a frown peeked through that smile as they thought about how it was one that had to be shared with the soul. It was no longer just themself and the music.

The soul would always be there.

Watching Kris.

Listening to Kris.

Being Kris.

---

A/N: I’ve heard many different ideas about why we can’t play the piano as Kris in-game. Perhaps Kris gets embarrassed since the game limits us in our control of their fine motor skills? Or perhaps Kris purposely slams the keys because they do not wish to share their love of piano with the player (or generally just don’t like playing in front of people)? For this fic, I’m assumed the first option was true, but I am a sucker for the latter as well. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed my fic! As a musician, I really wanted to explore this kind of scenario with Kris. This was the first time I have ever written a fic, so I hope there weren’t too many writing mishaps! I'm actually like lowkey nervous about posting this lmao T_T

Also available to read on AO3, Quotev, and Wattpad.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 18 - Don't Let It Out

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Bucky going full protector mode. My king.

Chapter Title from Use Somebody by Kings of Leon

Word Count: 8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You, Sam, and Bucky have a talk, and progress is made. Extra warning on physical abuse in this chapter. Make the best call for yourself.

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff

Chapter 17 - Chapter 19

Read on A03!

Bucky’s told you what to say.

Before anyone found you in the closet—before the world caught back up with you and you had to deal with the fall out—Bucky made you rehearse the story, and given you a tight nod of approval when you got it right.

And he hasn’t run.

Hasn’t looked at you in fear or disgust or hate. Blamed you for hiding this from him.

And he’s still holding you, right in his lap. An arm wrapped around your body to keep you upright, his attention focused purely on your words and face as you practice, and the wings in your ribcage threatening to beat out of your chest. 

He’s seen all of you, and he’s still here. Still on your side.

Staying.

Letting you keep him, even when you both know how this ends. 

Not happily. It doesn’t matter how many dreams you have of an easy, happy life with Bucky, this isn’t going to be a happy ending. Miles has a leash around your throat—and Bucky wants you to have a choice, and you adore him for it but that’s just not how this works—and there are people biting at your ankles for reasons you don’t understand. 

Hydra was one thing. But Bucky says that the other woman—Belova, he’d called Her, making Mist grow spiked and hot up your spine—works for the Government, and you can’t begin to imagine why they’d want you. Sure you’ve sued them a lot, but no more than any other foundation. You’ve donated a lot of money to Government programs, too. You pay your taxes. When you’d been called for jury duty, you’d gone.

But they’re still after you.

And Bucky is still trying to protect you from it, even when you’ve given him every reason not to. Even when he’s always been able to see right through you, but now you’ve showed off all the ugliest, gnashing and bloodied parts of you, and he won’t just leave.

You don’t want him to leave.

You might need him to stay. Need him to tell you it’s going to be okay, and hold you, and maybe kiss you this time. When his breath is spreading tiny, pleasant little shivers over your skin, and his arm around your stomach feels like a comfortable, weighted promise of keeping you. Right against him like you’re something he doesn’t want to break, and would put back together if he did. As if he’d care if you hurt, and wants to make you feel good. 

Not like a doll. Bucky holds you like you’re something that’s alive, and it’s not wrong or undeserved, and you never want to stop needing him to hold you. You never want to leave this closet. To face the roaring crowd and curtain drops, when you could just stop playing the Show and stay in Bucky’s arms. 

It’s not how this works. It’s not how the Show ends, because it doesn’t end. 

And you want it to. 

But it’s never mattered what you want, so the Show has to keep going. Bucky gave you the lines. 

You just have to sell them.

“What the hell.” Sam hisses, pushing into the closet, somehow barely blinking at how Bucky’s holding you, and you’re leaning into his body. “You tell me that you two dumbasses have been going behind my back when I was very clear when I said not to, we got the press and fire department outside, and you’re hidin’ in the closet-“

“Close the door.” Bucky grunts, and Sam frowns, but listens. 

“You got a lot of explaining to do, Buck-“

“Then let me talk.” Bucky adjusts you in his arms, your hands flying to hold his arm. “She cracked the code.”

Sam blinks at you. “The Hydra code-“

“Only code there is.” Bucky says, tone dry. “She got it, alone. When you needed a whole team to do nothing-“

“Hey-“

“-And it’s just a lot of damn numbers. We met with Zemo a few weeks ago,” Bucky rubs his face, keeping his voice raised over Sam’s. “His name was in there too, but it was his dad. He said he’d met that Leviathan you’d been chasing. That I had, too. And I don’t remember it, but some of the numbers were dates for my Hydra missions-“

“The Starks.” You mumble. “Right now, we just know it’s the Starks.”

Bucky gives you a flat look, and you shrug. For a second, his gaze softens while his jaw clenches, and he blinks at you twice. 

That Look is something good, even if you don’t quite know what. And he’s giving it to you in the dark, so right now—under Bucky’s attention—there’s a mirage of safety. That this isn’t just a moment in a glass bubble you know is going to pop—it always pops—and the light, floating feeling of the Mist will last. 

It doesn’t.

It always sours, and turns in to pull you apart. 

“You guys didn’t think this was important to tell me?” Sam says, his tone coated in disbelief, and you give him a weak smile. 

Bucky doesn’t seem to feel any sort of guilt, though. He just shrugs, and nods. “Not really. More important shit-“

Sam scoffs. “Like what’ “We had a Widow here.” Bucky grunts, and Sam’s eyes widen. “Yelena Belova. And I heard she’s been working for the Government-“

“She has.” Sam says, a deep frown on his face. “I recognize that name, saw it in a briefing, think Nat mentioned it before-“ His jaw twitches slightly, and he shakes his head. “Yeah. Belova’s been contracted by the CIA. But far as I know, Hydra doesn’t have any roots in there.”

“I think they’re working separately. That whatever Hydra wants-“

“De Fontaine might want it too.” Sam sighs your name. “You got anything to add, or are we just fighting off book again.”

You shake your head, and let the lines Bucky fed you flow out with a nervous ease. “Bucky said the Leviathan was a doomsday device, and if- I don’t know, maybe Tony had some sort of technology they needed for it, and they’re going through me.”

Bucky nods, squeezing your hip in silent praise, and that shouldn’t make your knees feel weak. “Zemo talking about it wasn’t a coincidence. We need to look into what the CIA has on the Leviathan. Try and find it first.”

Sam frowns. “What about-“

“Bucky will keep watching me,” you shrug. “I’ll be safe, and we can keep working on the codes while you look for something. We’ll only look into something if you can’t.”

“You’re not allowed to work the field,” Sam gives you a firm look, and you roll your eyes.

“You’re not my dad, Sam.”

“Maybe, but I can sure as shit ground you-“

“I’d like to see you try.” You stick your tongue out at him. “I’ll kick you in the nuts-“

“No, you won’t.” Bucky hauls you back, and you scoff. Sam knows you weren’t actually going to do it, but now you’re just melting into Bucky’s arms and he’s going to make fun of you for a million years. “I’ll watch her, Sam. And,” he nods to the closet. “I don’t think any press is good right now-“

“They think it was a fire.” Sam mutters, frowning between you and Bucky with an odd expression. “Nobody knows it’s Hydra, or- I guess the fuckin’ government. We’re safe.”

But you’re not. 

Sam says you’re safe, but you know you’re not. Bucky must somehow know as well, because his grip on you tightens right before the door opens. You both know you’re going to have to split up, but he doesn’t let you go. 

“I’ll see you Monday.” You mumble, and he frowns down at you. 

“I can give you drive back-“

“Miles is here.” 

Bucky face drops into a sour expression, and he glances up to Sam before dropping down to your ear, his breath brushing softly over your skin. “Just come with me, Butterfly. I’ve got guns, and an arm that’ll knock him into the sun.”

You give him a small, sad smile, and you shouldn’t have told him about Miles holding the bond. 

It makes the possibility that he’s going to try and save you—help you claw out of this pit while asking for nothing in return—all the more likely. 

“I’m not joking-“

“I know you’re not.” You turn away, raising your chin but not trying to move away from his hold. The Show has to begin, but you’re not ready for this—a single, safe moment where Bucky doesn’t sees you, and you’re safe—to end. “But I can’t, Buck. I’ll be fine.”

Bucky’s hand flexes slightly, and you know he sees right through you, but this isn’t another assassin or kidnapper. He’s not going to make you stay, or keep next to him, or let him hold you longer than time allows. 

You wish you could freeze it. Slow it down. Anything but let it rush past you, the crowd too loud, the cameras too bright, Miles’ grip far too tight as he yanks you away from Sam and sneers in your ear that you’re going home. 

Sam doesn’t lunge for you, either. But Sam just hates Miles. You’re too good at the Show, and you survived too long on your own to allow weakness to show. There’s no real proof that Bucky knows, outside of you telling him about the bond. 

Bucky might know. He always seems to know, because he sees everything. Watches everything. Remembers all the things you say and do, to the point that you’ve seen him double back to grab something you forgot. 

And you’re not fine without him. Not fine alone. There’s no way out of this storm, and you don’t have anyone to weather it with because you told Bucky to go home.

It not as if he could do anything, if you let him come with you. It would only end with all of this worse than it already is. It wouldn’t just be Miles’ hand bruising on your wrist, and your legs stumbling as you try to keep up with his pace. There would be more than just the hot, impossibly painful feeling of the Mist trying to rip up your spine, paired with the poison feeling running through your blood.

Because Sam said that nobody knows that this was an attack on you. He’d even muttered in your ear—right before Miles found you—that he’s selling a story about a decoy bomb, planted just to interrupt the event. 

But it’s not working. The press bought it—all the questions shouted at you were about who did this and how does the Stark Foundation react to such a threat—but you don’t care. Maybe if you told them about Hydra, it would be hiding in plain sight, all the eyes on you making Hydra and the Government slower to move. 

It’s never been the press or the public that needs to believe nothing is wrong. 

Miles. 

It’s always been Miles. 

But he knows. There’s no way to say how, or exactly what he knows, but he knows. You can feel it, in an iron rope that’s coiling around your lungs. He knows. He’s not looking at you, and though he rarely does, this is different. There’s a cold feeling in the air like the dead of winter, despite it being the rising, wet heat of a summer night. There’s no music for the car ride, and it’s getting too loud in your head—a buzzing sort of ring, starting to rattle around your skull—but you can hear every one of your own breaths, and you have to count to make sure they last. Miles’ grip on the wheel isn’t tight, but horrible relaxed. Just like his hand, resting softly on your thigh. No pressure, no pain.

Just a reminder. 

He doesn’t have to hold you tight for him to keep you. 

You have no way to leave. 

There’s not enough air, in the garage. Every click of your heels on the ground echoes off the walls, and the sound is going to swallow you whole. The elevator is worse, with Miles grabbing you and pressing you right against his chest. It’s not the comforting, blanketed warmth of Bucky. It’s a cage. A threat. 

A promise. 

“Sit.” He grunts in your ear, the second the apartment door opens. 

You nod, leaning down to take off your shoes, and Miles yanks you right back up.

“I said sit.”

This is easier if you don’t fight him. He gets bored faster, and you have a higher likelihood of walking out the other side instead of crawling. So you nod, glancing between the stool in at the kitchen island and the couch in front of the TV. Miles shoves you to the couch, and you manage to regain your balance before you fall to the ground, but when your eyes dart up the stairs, you can see the golden-green eyes glowing in the dark. 

You swipe your hand casually to the side, and the eyes vanish. You’ve never remember training the Boy to do that, but he always does. Always listens, then slinks out of the shadows to keep you company after. 

It’s for the best. You know what’s about to happen, and you don’t need a trip to the vet as well. 

“Tell me,” Miles towers over you as he hisses your name, and you keep your eyes trained on his ugly, polished shoes. “Exactly what the fuck you’ve been lying to me about.”

You swallow, keeping your voice soft. “I- I don’t-“

“And don’t fucking lie, you little bitch. Or do you just not understand what you did wrong? Are you that fucking stupid?”

Better not to answer. Better to just stare at his shoes and let him answer himself. 

“You are, aren’t you. Doesn’t matter how well I train you or what I tell you, you’re just the same dumb little whore who got on her knees for anyone.” Miles laughs, and you don’t look up. Tears are starting to sting at your eyes, and you can’t afford any weakness. “Let me explain what you fucked this time, honey.” He leans down, and the light shining off his shoes shifts, right as bile rises up your throat. “You already lied to me. I’m guessing for months. You’ve been working with Wilson’s little off-brand Captain America, playing fucking superhero, and you’ve been talking to Barnes.”

He doesn’t know. Not about Hydra. Not yet. It’s a tiny, useless victory, but it’s better than nothing at all. 

“You been fucking him too?” Miles sneers, you shake your head, and he scoffs your name. “You’re such a shit fucking liar, I know you’re bending over for that old asshole. You know he’s a fucking war criminal, and you’re still giving him head-“

“He was brainwashed.” You mumble, because you’re an idiot who can’t just shut the fuck up. “And I’m not fucking him, Miles-“

The blow isn’t the worst you’ve have. Just a sharp sting across that your face. 

The kicks always hurt more. Right into your ribs, not cracking anything, but make all the pain already in your body spike and threaten to pull you under. 

You can’t fight back. It lasts twice as long if you fight back, and this one is already lasting too long. More often than not it’s for speaking out turn or some random suit that he thinks you’re fucking. This time he has evidence, and grounds, and you spoke out of turn. To defend Bucky. 

It’s impossible to tell what parts of you aren’t in pain, when Miles is done. There’s the cool of the floor below you, and the iron tang of blood in your mouth, but you probably just bit your tongue again. And if you didn’t, it will have to be something you deal with in the morning. 

The morning will come. It always comes. The light breaks and the darkness moves away, and it falls again but the morning always comes.

You just have to survive until the morning comes. 

“Tell me the future.” Miles’ voice is cold in your ear as he says your name, and he doesn’t bother to make you look at him. He doesn’t care to see you anyway. “Come on, show me that you’re worth keeping around.”

You nod weakly, coughing and choking on bile as you look for the dulled, thin thread. It takes too long to find it. Longer than usual—it’s tangled and shrunken away, faded so far you wouldn’t think it was possible if it wasn’t the only way this story ends—and you make a pathetic sound as another blow lands to your gut. 

“Fucking tell me.”

“We’re together and happy.” You whisper, and you let off the thread. It doesn’t matter if you can see it or not. It just matters that it’s what Miles wants to hear. “Everyone knows your name, and I’m yours. You’re beloved, and powerful, and they say your name until the world ends and I’m just as beautiful as when you found me.”

“And who do you belong to.” He hisses in your ear, and you swallow. 

“You.”

“That’s right.” He laughs, and you strangle yourself on another cough. “Not Barnes, fucking me. Get that through your fucking head, now, before I make you show Barnes exactly what kind of bitch you actually are.” Miles lips brush over your ear, and your blood curls. “I bet I can make him the Soldat again. Make him jump off a cliff, or kill Sam, or try to kill you. Think you’d survive, honey? Or are you so fucking pathetic you’d let him kill you.”

You don’t answer, and Miles scoffs. 

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought.” You hear him rising up, his voice moving further away, and you stay on the ground. “I don’t give a shit what you do for the rest of the night, but I don’t want to see your whore fucking face. I’m leaving tomorrow morning, and if I get back to you still sucking Barnes’ dick, you know what has to happen.”

You do. 

The exact thing you’ve been afraid of, as Miles walks away and you slowly sit up. 

There won’t be anything you can do about it, if Miles tells you to go into Bucky’s head and erase his memories. Of you. Of himself. Or just going in and ripping his mind to shreds, until he’s just a shell again. And he’d never forgive you, if he somehow came back. No one ever has, but Bucky could. He’s immovable. Strong. He’d somehow recover, and he’d finally see you as the horrid, vile beast that you are, and you’d be alone again. 

The right thing to do would be cut your losses. Vanish. Beg Miles to leave the city tonight, sell the apartment from across the world, and hope that Bucky doesn’t care enough to look for you. 

But he would.

You don’t know why, but Bucky keeps choosing to keep near you. If you weren’t so selfish, if you could dream about anything because his hands on your skin and his voice near your ear, you’d try and scream that he should leave. You’d go back to the start, and all your ugly and crude attempts to make him leave. 

But he’s never left. He won’t leave. And that shouldn’t be a relief, shouldn’t feel like a better high than any drug could offer, but it is. 

And you can’t stay here right now, but you have nowhere to go. In the past—on nights this bad, where Miles can’t even stand to look at you, which you understand—you’d sit on the floor with the Boy purring in your lap until you could move. Either from finally having enough breath to stand, or from pure fucking fear forcing you into movement, born from the sound of Miles upstairs. Then you’d go to your office, and wait out the night there. 

Bucky will know if you go to the office. Or Happy will, and he’ll tell Sam, and Sam will send Bucky. 

You’re going to hurt him. This only ends with you alone and caving in on yourself once more, and Bucky finally understanding that you’re not worth any of this. 

But you can’t think of anything else. You don’t really have anyone else. And right now, you don’t need anyone else.So you kiss the Boy on the top of his head, grab your keys between your knuckles, and close the door quietly behind you. You’re wearing an expensive looking dress and heels, so you can’t just wander around. You could go back to the subway, but your phone is almost dead, so it would just be you, the dead of night, and the sound of the tracks rumbling off-time with your breath. 

Bucky would find you anyway. 

And you’re so fucking alone, and it hurts, and he’s the safest place to be. 

He’ll see. What Miles does to you. What you’ve spent so fucking long, been so fucking careful to hide from everyone. And you’d be putting him in a danger he won’t be able to understand. 

But you’re going to fall. And you need him to catch you. 

When he picks up after the second ring, any words die in your throat. Bucky mutters your name, then repeats it—his tone growing urgent, almost desperate, and you really feel fucking sick—and you take a shaking, unsteady breath.

Bucky sighs, his voice impossible smooth, and it starts to be sort of numbing.

You can’t really feel the pain, when he’s talking. It’s there, and it’s making everything a labor, but the beat of your heart is comfortable. And you’re going to make it through the night. 

Bucky’s going to catch you. 

“Are you-“

“I need you,” you whisper, before you can really think, and he falls silent. “Bucky, I- I can’t- I’m not- I need you-“

“Butterfly, I need you to slow down-“

“Miles.” Your voice is barely an exhale, and you’d think Bucky didn’t hear if the silence on the lines didn’t cleave your chest in half. “We got in a fight. And I need- I need you. Please.”

You expect hesitation. Questions. Maybe a grunt of what did you do, or why the hell are you calling me.

But that’s not Bucky. He wouldn’t do that to you. Ever. 

“Where are you.” He grunts, and you can hear shuffling around in the background, as well as the slam of something like a door. 

He’s coming. You’re going to have to a safe place to fall. “I- I don’t know-“

“Landmarks. Street name. I need somethin’ to work with, sweetheart-“

“Um,” you glance around, your eyes landing on a sign, and you repeat the street name for Bucky. 

“Alright, you heading north or south?”

“Bucky, I don’t know how to tell that-“

“What’s the next cross street.”

You tell him, giving a passing woman an awkward smile, and Bucky grunts an acknowledgment. 

“Keep walkin’ that way, okay? Get as far away from where you are, don’t take any turns, and I’ll get you.” He pauses, the rumble of an engine sounding on his end, then adds- “You gotta stay on the line for me, Butterfly. Can you do that?”

You nod, Bucky says your name with that same, smooth tone, and your voice is still so weak. “Yeah. I can. Bucky?”

He says your name in return, and you take a long breath, starting in your ordered direction. 

“Thank you.”

He sighs. “You’re welcome. But I’m not doin’ it for thanks, sweetheart. Anything. Anytime.” He pauses and the Mist is offering a strange, numbing high in your body. “You walkin’?”

You swallow, but nod. “Yeah.”

There’s a second of silence, and it’s hard to walk but you’ve survived worse, and Bucky clears his throat. “Tell me something.”

You frown at the air. “Like what?”

“Anything. Just- Don’t stop talking.”

“Bucky-“

“Please.” He sighs your name, and the wings pound in your chest. “Whatever you want, Butterfly, just talk.”

Whatever you want. 

The world gets a little blurry, and there’s a lump forming in your throat, but you push through. You can talk, if he wants to hear it. You can do maybe anything Bucky wants you to do. 

Except make things easy.

You can never make things easy. 

“I- I have a lot of damage control to do,” you mumble. “People are either going to donate more from sympathy, or get mad because the event was interrupted.”

Bucky hums. “You want me to shoot them for you?”

You let out a soft laugh, wincing slightly at the pain. “What happens if I say yes?”

“I shoot them.”

“Aw, you’d shoot someone for me?”

“I told you,” he drawls your name, and that can be the only sound in the world. Not the blood in your ears. Just Bucky’s voice. “Anything.”

You smile into the dark, and your lip must have split or something, but you don’t stop. “What if I asked you to eat a bug?”

“You giving me seasoning?”

“What seasoning would you put on a bug, James?”

“Salt. Cayenne. Maybe a sauce.

“Ranch?”

He scoffs. “You sound insane.”

“Because of ranch-“

“On a bug? Yes.”

You’re still smiling. You glance over your shoulder, just to make sure Miles isn’t behind you, but you’re still smiling. “Okay, Sargent. What sauce is acceptable for a bug?”

“Blue cheese.”

Your nose wrinkles. “That’s disgusting, James.”

“You asked, sweetheart.” He might be smiling too. You could swear you hear it. “That one’s your fault.”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The heat on your cheeks stings a little. You’d still rather feel it than not. “Would you steal the Declaration of Independence for me?”

Bucky pauses. “Why would you want me to do that.”

“To recreate the movie.”

“What movie.”

“Oh, we have to watch it, you’re going to hate it.”

Bucky snorts, and you trip on a crack in the pavement, but get yourself up right. 

You just have to keep walking. 

“I still don’t know what movie you’re talking about, Butterfly.”

“National Treasure. And you never answered my question.”

Bucky sighs. “Fine, I’d steal it for you.”

Your smile feels like it might split open your face. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

You want to ask him why. Even though you know it’s just a joke, and he’s just trying to keep you talking, you have to know why Bucky would ever think you’re worth that, when you’re really, really not. But he’s saying with such bored, amused certainty, and no real hesitation. And playing along means that he’s trying to help you, still, and you really can’t find a solid, real reason for why he’d ever fucking bother. He has to know how this story ends as well. He’s lived a similar one himself, and he got out, but it’s just not the same. 

Bucky didn’t deserve what happened to him. You’ve only ever been this much. This loud, and lonely, and desperate for attention that you can’t stand to feel.

It’s impossible to find the words to ask why. And you don’t really need to. 

There’s a rev on an engine, and Bucky’s voice, calling your name right as the line goes dead. 

He found you. He’s going to see you. The weakest, neediest part of you that he already knows about, but has never seen stripped and exposed with bruises and blood.

And when you turn, you don’t want to look him in the eyes. Don’t want to watch his reaction. 

“Butterfly.” He mutters, and you trace your gaze over another, deep crack, starting right at the tip of your shoe and running to Bucky’s boots. “Look at me.”

You shake your head, letting your hair fall over your face, and Bucky sighs.

“Please.” His voice doesn’t crack, but it does turn soft. Running with something delicate that’s so strange to hear, that you’ve only heard once before. 

Earlier this night, when he’d grabbed your chin and told you he hates it when you won’t look at him. 

You want to. 

And when he repeats your name, in the exact same tone, the Mist seems to spin and you slowly slide your face up. You can feel your balance wavering, and you need to measure how close Bucky really is. 

Only a pace away, but somehow feeling closer. Maybe it’s just his gaze, and the command of it. The way it tells you that he doesn’t want you to look away—so you won’t—and the way your every breath seems to be the most important thing in the world when he’s watching you. Just his gaze is slowing it and making it even, as if he’s got a hand on your back guiding your lungs. Bucky blinks at you twice, slow and careful as he takes you in, and your head is spinning. Miles might have hit you harder than you thought.

Or you’re just so fucking tired, and Bucky is here, so your body is ready to cave. 

He doesn’t say anything. Bucky extends his arm, gives you a small nod of approval when you take it. It makes your knees weaker and your core a little warm, but that makes your feet feel a little detached from your body, and you stumble forward, your gut clenching at the sudden movement and all your dinner spilling out of your throat onto the road.

Bucky’s arm wraps carefully around you, lowering you onto your knees and sweeping your hair out of your face. You can hear a long, deep humming sound as you continue to vomit, and there are somehow no scrapes on your knees when your head clears. Your head tips back against Bucky’s shoulder, and his eyes find yours in a split second. 

He’s still holding you. Pressed right to his chest, shielding you from the gaze of anyone walking by and the cool chill of the wind. And he looks good. All shadows on his face that make his features sharper, lips parted and mussed hair, wearing a thin shirt and no jacket. 

He ran to get you. 

He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the universe. 

And now isn’t the time to be feeling it. Not just the Mist, or the crush, but the need. It’s worse than starvation, or dehydration. Worse than suffocation. It’s something new and that’s blooming over the cavity of your chest, weaving so well with the Mist and making you feel a lot stronger and more important than you are. It’s like being in desert for a million years then falling into the jungle. There’s so much, and everything is new, and there’s danger and fear and a million things that could go wrong. 

But you don’t want to go back to the desert. Ever. There’s color here. Life. And for all the danger, there are more ways to defend yourself. 

More things worth defending. 

Neither of you move, for a long second. And you think he can feel it. The absoluteness of it all, and how it’s better than maybe anything in your life. Just you and Bucky, his arms around you and you holding them there, the inability to look away, the feeling of complete. 

This is where you want to be. The only place you want to be. 

You’re never going to be allowed to stay. 

The strange sort of spell doesn’t break, but time keeps moving. It always does. You push back to your feet with Bucky keeping you steady, and he tucks your hair back and passes you a helmet without a word. 

You frown at him. “You didn’t make me wear this last time.”

“Because I was an idiot.” He grunts, taking it back before you can protest and setting it over your hair. “It’s for safety, Butterfly. No arguments.”

“You’re not wearing one-“

“I’m a super solider.”

You roll your eyes, but let him help you onto the bike. “You just want me to look stupid-“

“I want you not to die.” He says flatly, climbing on behind you. “And you don’t look stupid. You look adorable.”

That’s not fair. He can’t do that, when he knows. He can’t just put all his cards on the table, when you both know what game, you’re playing but you haven’t outlined the rules.

It’s something with caring. And being there. And both of you knowing that there’s more—that you’re going to fall, and Bucky’s going to catch you, and you’re going to keep trying to give him things and he’s going to have to take them—but not being foolish enough to think it will change anything.

You’re not foolish enough to think it will change anything. That Bucky can keep looking at you like he wants you, but you’re still trapped, and you’ll only drag him down with you.

Bucky doesn’t seem to be having the same problem himself. 

“You don’t need to tell me what happened,” he mutters, his voice vibrating in his chest and making you almost melt. “But I need to know if we’re going to the hospital.”

You swallow. It must be bad, if he’s asking. You really try not to look into mirrors unless you have to. “No. We’re not.”

Bucky grunts, and the engine revs. “Then we’re goin’ to my place.”

It’s not a question, but there’s still a second before he takes off. An offered moment for you to say no, drive me to Sam’s. 

But you don’t. 

The only person you need right now is the one you shouldn’t be near. That it would be better for if you just fucked off. But he’s not trying to shove you away, and when you’re silent, he knows you’re going to stay right where he’s holding you. 

There’s not really a better place to be. 

It might be a long drive. Or a short one. Time seems to blur when Bucky’s around you. You can hear the rush of the wind as he drives, but there’s also the hum of his voice in his chest. And the city smells as it always does in the middle of summer, but you can smell the rainy cologne Bucky seems to favor, and the sweet sort of mint he pairs with it, so nothing is really all that bad. 

He helps you upstairs, when you get to his apartment. Through the door and into the bathroom, scanning over your body with a tight expression as he sits you on the sink. 

“You should shower.” He murmurs. “The warmth will help.” 

You nod, watching him grab a first-aid kit from one of his cabinets. “Do we have to talk about it?” You whisper, and he sighs.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I- I don’t know.”

“You can.” He stands back in front of you, angling your face carefully as he holds up a cotton ball. “I’ll listen. It’s gonna sting.”

“Wha-“ Your words fall off in weak sound of distress, as Bucky presses the cotton ball to your lips. “Bucky-“

“No infections.” He mutters, running a thumb carefully over the sting, and your breath hitches in your lungs. He keeps fucking doing that. “C’mon, Butterfly. Sit still.”

“But-“

“I’m tryin’ to take care of you,” he grunts, and that’s the commanding voice, so you’re melting again. “I’ll let you do it yourself, if you-“

“No.” You lean a little forward, holding his gaze and bracing your hands on the counter. “I- I’ll listen.”

He frowns at you, but dabs the cotton ball back on your cut. “Don’t need you to listen.” He grumbles, and you blink. “Just don’t want you to get hurt, sweetheart.”

“I know- I’m-“

“Don’t apologize, either.” He sighs, giving you one of the Looks you can never understand. “I’m here. You need anything, I’ll get it. That’s it.”

You stare at him for a long moment, and you know he means it, but it doesn’t feel real. Half of you is convinced you’re going to just wake up, the whole thing being only a dream. 

But you can feel too much for it be a dream. You can feel the soothing, cool metal of his hand on your knee. You can feel your own heartbeat, ready to burst out of your chest for Bucky to use however he pleases. You can feel all the pain in your body, not getting better, but growing manageable. Bucky’s warm. You’re not going to hurt more, as long he’s here.

And you can feel it itching, just under your skin. Another threat of the Mist rocketing out and swallowing your vision whole as the Bond fractures and splits.

But you push it down, and hold Bucky’s gaze. 

For now, in the moment—the dead of night, Bucky right in front of you and no thought spared for the future—you’re going to be okay. And you just want to look at him. To be even more sure it’s real.

“I want to talk about it,” you whisper, your hands curling slightly on his shirt. “But just-“

“Not now.” He mutters, and you give him a tiny nod.

“Can we watch TV?”

Bucky stares at you for another long second, his nostrils flaring as he gives you a small nod. “You wanna watch that National Treasure thing?”

Your smile splits your face, and your lip stings, but you don’t care. 

Bucky returns it, starting in his eyes and spreading over his whole face.

And he’s taking care of you, and just like the first time you stayed with him, there are a few minutes where you have an itch in your fingers from lack of use, but then they just grow comfortably sore. Heavy enough you don’t want to use them, and you’re in no hurry to try. Bucky gets you a glass of water when you refuse food, and a soft yellow blanket to rest on his couch, and you raise your brows. 

“When did you get this?”

“Last week.” He mutters, dropping on the other side of the couch. “On Amazon.”

You grin at him. “You use Amazon.”

“Yep.” He gives you a flat look. “Why wouldn’t I use Amazon.”

“I don’t know, because you’re a dinosaur.”

“I like modern things.”

“You hate doing the laundry.”

“Everyone hates doing the laundry.” Bucky grumbles, and you shrug.

“Maybe. Do you wanna share the blanket?”

Bucky blinks at you for a second, then does the maddening little tongue thing as the remote going slack in his hand. 

You haven’t seen him do it in a while, between the chaos of Hydra and Miles. 

It almost makes the wings in your chest burst.

“It’s for you.”

You frown. “The blanket.”

Bucky grunts, giving you a small nod before looking back to the TV, and you sigh. He doesn’t react when you scoot across the couch until you’re pressed right to his side.

“Hi.” You smile at his blank expression, and his nostrils flare again. You still have no fucking idea what that Look means. “Blanket.”

“Blanket.” He echoes back, and you beam at him, tossing it over his legs. 

Your thighs are pressed together. And you’re already throwing all your carefully followed rules about the Show and keeping yourself alone just by being here. 

So you play pretend. You’re pressed right against Bucky because this is going to end with you in his lap, and you’re pushing his buttons it might end with him kissing you and grinning against your lips. 

It the new game. Acting like both of you feeling it—this strange, warm comfort where you never want him to go anywhere and he likes keeping you around—is going to end any other way than pain.

Bucky—just as always—plays it better than you. 

He sighs when you toss the blanket over him, but slings his arm over the back of the couch and pulls you closer than you need to be. When your head drops on his shoulder, he adjusts you both so you’re all but wrapped in the blanket. He indulges all your comment about the movie and gives you low chuckles. 

His thumb keeps rubbing small circles on your upper arm. When you get up to use the bathroom, he helps you with an arm, mutters that he’ll wait for you on the bed.

And then you have to look in the mirror. 

It’s not the worst it could be. But it’s not you either. It’s someone with all the beauty and luxury you still don’t know how to have, but all the pain you’re not supposed to feel written on her face. You look tired. You feel tired. The Mist is burning up your spine, and you’re so fucking tired. 

You can’t understand why Bucky is staying for her. If he can see through the Show, and this is what’s underneath, you’d want to try and run as far as you could. 

And when you lean forward to try and see if there’s some part of you that’s not rotting or shadowed or undeserving, you can’t find anything at all. 

But it might be there, in your eyes. Shifting and shimmering and vile, made of all the power you can feel ripping up your nerves, threatening to rip up a whole lot more. 

“Smile.” A man in a lab coat hisses in your ear. “Левиафан, you must smile for the show.”

The mirror is polished, and the dress they put you in is pretty, but you don’t want to smile. 

Behind you, in the corner of the room, the blonde woman nods. 

You smile. 

“Good.” The man grins, and his smile is like poison. “Tell me the future, Левиафан.”

A million things flash in front of your eyes. Too many things. Your grip slips slightly, and the mirror cracks into a million pieces, then dissolves into dust. 

The man is angry with you. So you just make yourself small and quiet, because he is angry often and the best thing to do is not make it worse. 

But he asked you to tell him the future. And it will only make him angrier if you don’t listen. 

You could just keep your mouth shut.

But nobody ever wants to hear you. Nobody but the blonde woman, and even she is rarely proud. 

You might learn soon, who it is and isn’t safe to tell things. 

But right now you meet the man’s gaze, and tell him the brightest future you saw. 

“The sky falls, and you die in the rubble.”

The man stares at you for a long moment. He won’t hit you. He’s afraid to. 

But you’re locked in that room for another two nights before you see anyone at all, and the only proof you have that you’re still alive, is the written messages from the blonde woman that tell you so.

You blink as the vision clears, head pounding, and take a deep, long breath. 

You’re in Bucky’s apartment. You’re okay.

“You have fancy soap.” You mumble, shuffling out of the bathroom. 

“What’s fancy soap.” Bucky mutters, but you don’t care to answer. 

He’s holding pure white, glowing flowers. They’re in a fancy, colorful glass jar, and he’s still looking at you. And you can breathe, but it’s still a little dizzying.

“I, uh-“ He clears his throat. “Didn’t get to give ‘em to you. At the office. Was gonna get you on Monday, but-“ He sighs, and holds them out. “Better now, I figured.”

You nod weakly, and drop at his side on the mattress. He passes them into your hands without a word, and they’re beautiful. Shining in the dark and blooming out, the petals soft and the stems thin, and-

He got them for you. He didn’t have to, but he did.

“You like them?” He asks softly from the side, and you nod, only just able to rip your eyes away to meet his. 

“I love them.” You whisper, and he gives you a tiny grin, and it feels like you’re being split in half. “Bucky, you- You didn’t need to.”

He shrugs. “Wanted to.”

“But-“

“If I don’t get to fight it when you tell me I have to take days off, you don’t get to fight me when I get you flowers.”

You shake your head, and you can’t stop it. All the words you’ve promise yourself to never say, spilling out of your throat because it’s Bucky. And he’s not running, and you don’t think he’s going to, but you have to be sure.

“I’m not worth it.” You whisper, and Bucky frowns. 

“The flowers?”

“Or the water. Or the movie, or the drive-“

Bucky mutters your name, but it’s far too late. You’re overflowing, and it’s spilling out of your eyes and into your words, and there’s nothing you can do. 

“I don’t think I’m- I don’t deserve any of this, or you, and I- I’m not worth this, Bucky, I promise you I’m not-“

“You are to me,” he mutters, and it just pulls a sob from your throat.

“I’m not-“

“You are.”

“I’m not good.” You stare at the flowers in your hands, and you don’t know how to breathe anymore. “I- I’m not good, Bucky, I’m not good, I’m not good-“

Bucky doesn’t speak. He just takes the flowers carefully from your hands and sets them down, before softly rubbing his hand on your back, and your words are just sobs.

But he’s still not going. 

And when you half fling yourself into his arms, he catches you. Wraps you in a tight hug, lets you bury your face in his chest and ride out the rest of the pain. You can hear his gentle humming, same as the sidewalk, and it’s only when your breathing calms fully that he takes your face between his hands and gentle moves your gaze back.

“Better?” He murmurs, and you give him a weak nod. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He lets out a long, slow breath, and he’s looking into you again. Whatever he sees is all there is. There are no more layers. Nothing left to keep from him that you haven’t laid on the floor to be crushed. 

But he’s not crushing it. Bucky tucks a little hair behind your ear and says your name, and it really sounds like something worth saying. 

“You are good.” He mutters. “You know why I call you butterfly?”

You swallow. “Because I never stop moving?”

He shakes his head. “Because you’re beautiful. And it makes everything better.” Bucky drops his brow down, his gaze locked against yours, and you blink at him hopelessly. 

“I don’t believe you.” You mumble, and he shrugs. 

“Alright. Doesn’t change the truth.” He gives you a small smile, nostrils flaring, and starts to help you into bed. “Long night. You should get some sleep.”

You should. But Bucky starts to sit up, and you grab his metal arm. You stare at him in the dark, and he’s so handsome, and you shouldn’t say it. Everything will be easier if you don’t say it. 

But you can’t stop yourself. 

You rarely can, with Bucky. 

“Can you stay?” 

Bucky blinks at you. “In… the bed.”

“You can just sit. I- I just- I don’t want-“ I don’t want to be alone. I’m so sick of being alone, and I need it to be you with me, so please don’t go. “I’ll sleep on the couch-“

“No.” Bucky shifts to sit against the headboard, giving you a tight nod. “I’ll stay.”

He’ll stay. 

He does stay. 

You pass out in a second, and morning comes, because it always does. But this morning is a little better, because your face is pressed against Bucky’s thigh, and his hand is in your hair, and he’s knocked out over you. 

It would be perfect, if you woke up like this for the rest of your life. And there are things for you to do. To worry about. 

But looking at Bucky’s peaceful expression, his head lolled to the side and the beauty of his face, you don’t want to move. 

So you nuzzle a little deeper into the sheets, and fall right back asleep.

End Note: Every day Bucky gets closer to murdering Miles. Take the final step king. You can do it.

Thank you so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

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[lulublack90]

Prompt 5 - Grandson

@wolfstarmicrofic July 5, word count 597

Previous part First part

Remus woke the next morning feeling oddly lonely. He’d dreamt of Sirius. It had been such a vivid dream that Remus had expected to find Sirius in bed with him. Remus moved his hand to the spot he’d dreamt Sirius was in and was shocked to find it warm. But Sirius hadn’t slept there, had he? He decided to put the thought out of his head and get up. He was hungry, and the smell of breakfast was wafting into his little room. 

“Good morning, Remus dear. Did you sleep well?” Effie asked as she bustled in and out of the kitchen. Remus had thought that all Lords and Ladies had their own cooks to do the cooking for them, but Effie seemed to be doing everything. 

“Oh, don’t mind Effie, love. She refuses to get a cook. She says she enjoys cooking too much to let someone else do it. Though I can’t complain as she makes the best food I’ve ever tasted,” Eleanor told him. “When Henry and I were the masters of this house, we had two cooks. They were very upset when Effie let them go.” Remus listened with interest. It was the least he could do after the way they had welcomed him into their home. “Then my grandson came along. Oh, you can’t imagine the joy his birth brought the family. The entire estate came up to the manor to welcome their new little master into the world, and what a joy he’s been. The kindest boy you’ve ever met. Then this little scamp turned up and turned the entire house upside down,” Eleanor smiled fondly over Remus’s shoulder at Sirius as he entered the room, stretching his arms high above his head. 

“You love me, Ellie, and you know it.”

“Scamp,”

“Crone,”

“Come here, and I’ll put you over my knee, boy.”

“Promises, promises,” Sirius chuckled, bending low to kiss the older woman on her cheek. “Oh, Ellie, if I were only ten years older,” Eleanor said, swatting him away. 

“Turned the house completely upside down. But James did finally have a friend. The other boys in the village were too scared to play with him. I’ve no idea why he and Fleamont haven’t a wicked bone in their bodies. Even if James had lost an arm, no harm would have come to them, but oh well, that’s the way things happened and that’s that.” She shook her head sadly. “Then once this one got a hug off Effie, that was it. We couldn’t get rid of him. Not that we wanted to,” Eleanor beamed at Sirius. 

“Breakfast’s ready. Where’s James?” Effie announced, looking to Sirius for her answer. He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, was he still in bed when you got up?” Sirius shuffled his feet nervously. 

“I didn’t sleep in James’s bed last night,” he admitted, and Remus became more confused than he had been. It seemed to be a normal thing that Sirius slept in James’s bed, enough that it was expected. Remus felt a sudden surge of jealousy, but he had no idea what for. 

“Well, where did you sleep then?” Effie asked, her brow furrowed. 

“Elsewhere,” Sirius croaked. Effie and Eleanor both looked at Remus. Remus looked away, his cheeks flushing. 

“Excellent! Breakfast!” James boomed as he strode in, sat down and began piling food on his plate. It was enough to take the attention off Remus, and the dining room became a cacophony of happy chatter and eating. Remus kept stealing glances at Sirius while he ate, but Sirius didn’t look at him once.

Next part

[peachyscenes]

the space between us | jinu x gn!reader

NO I AM NOT DEAD. yes i am writing the "how to love" series but i want to finish some projects (please refer to this drabble to know what i'm working on) before i finish one story of the series (hongjoong's is up first teehee). here's some saja boys brainrot because kpop demon hunters was toooo good

notes: reincarnation!au, slight angst (?), not beta read/not edited

the space between jinu and you becomes wider as the days go on. you're not very sure what's up with him, and neither does his family. you know his financial problems are getting to him, but you can't help but feel like it's taken a toll on your friendship with him as well. when you asked his mother if he was going to sing at the market, she simply shrugged. nonetheless, you thanked her before walking back to your food stand. you always brought them what you didn't sell, and while jinu's mother promises to pay you back, you simply asked for prayers and good health in return. as you're nearing your stall, you can't help but notice a little bit of commotion going on not to far from where you're stationed.

curiosity gets the better of you, so as you near the noisy crowd, the chatter becomes distant when you hear the voice of the person in question. jinu, handsome as always, is performing with his bipa. you stand and listen, his voice resonating in your ears and the crowd seems to disappear as you keep listening. by the end of his performance, you feel as though you're floating. the crowd comes back to you and you clap along with them at the performance.

"jinu! i was just looking for you-!"

he brushes you off as he stands to collect the money he has made. you notice how abundant his earnings are compared to his other failed performances.

"i'm making a soup later tonight, i would love if you and your family could join me."

"are you going to use the leftovers you can't sell?"

you pause abruptly at how harsh his words come out. with burrowed brows, you scoff at him.

"if you're insinuating that the foods i've given you aren't fresh, then you're out of your mind."

"i'll have to reject your invitation, i'll be providing my family with a better meal tonight." you felt your chest hurt at his words. before you could call out to him, someone walks up to you to ask if your food stand is open.

—————

it's been so long since jinu has stepped into the human realm. he knows things have changed, but he's quick to adapt. the others are doing well for the most part too, only having to correct them 3 times since the day started.

it's funny, he thinks. jinu doesn't remember humans being so simple, but he was once like that too he supposed. all it took was a busking performance and some demon magic and the saja boys were the next big thing. all with one song as well. the stylists that were currently preparing them weren't really doing their jobs all that well (he guesses his demon magic worked a little too well), but it's for the best. if he's going to break the honmoon and defeat the hunters, he'll live with incompetent makeup artists.

"hello? are the saja boys too busy?"

jinu straightens up.

it's been so long.

there's no way.

he thinks his mind is playing tricks. he's forgotten how that voice sounded. but he knows that isn't true.

he turns towards the door of the dressing room. before he could answer, one of the hair stylists opens the door.

jinu feels like the air was punched out of him.

"sorry for intruding, i brought some peaches. my family owns a farm and these are our best sellers."

jinu stays still as romance gets up to accept it. he's about to say something when jinu finally snaps back to life and rushes to get up from his chair.

who knew you'd look the same after 400 years?

"it's you," is the first thing he says. the gentle smile on your lips flatters a bit. your face twists into one of confusion.

"i'm sorry but…"

no.

he feels his heart ache and he's silently wishing. it's useless however, because deep down, in the back of his mind, you're different, and he's not sure if he can accept it. it was expected, but he didn't know it would hurt this much. hopeful wishes can only do so much, and it didn't do a lot for jinu in the past.

"… have we met?"

he doesn't know what to say. he's about to speak when the most obvious thing clicks for him.

this is your new life. without him.

it's abby that speaks up from behind jinu.

"you were on a billboard on our way here! are you here to play games too?"

you smile at abby before laughing.

"nope! i'm actually a special guest today! i'll be hosting."

from somewhere in the dressing room, jinu can hear the styling team.

"i just watched the movie they were in, it was so good!"

"i heard they're starring in a new drama."

"they're so busy! but what do expect from a top actor?"

jinu shakes his head. he clears his throat before stepping forward before abby and romance can corner you.

"i'm sorry for my sudden rudeness," he gently takes the basket before romance can. "i appreciate the kind gesture of our sunbaenim." he bows down to you.

you give him a shy smile. "it's no problem. i made sure to get the freshest ones! trust me, you'll love them."

"i'd accept them even if they were rotten."

you laugh at jinu before bidding the group a 'see you later!'.

yeah, he'd accept them no matter what, because at some point, he took you for granted.

the space between you two was once wide, almost to the point of no existence. his hopeless wishing may not have come true.

but, the once nonexistent space was found.

and he's going to close the gap.

[this-is-a-name-dont-worry]

UPDATE SHE'S HERE

I was so ready to draw the Spamtenna fankid in an AU where she hatched during the time between the divorce and our arrival (she's a young adult and she's so happy she finally can show to an audience all the ads she's been workin on!), but then I remembered I don't have my stylus so can't draw her....

Accidentally wrote all about her, so infos under cut

Anyway, her name's Poppy, she's an Addison with unusual traits due to Tenna, and her dad promised her a timeslot for her to do any show she wants! So she made an ad slot. Each ad is short, kinda nonsensical or a parody. She likes to use other Darkners in them, and even was able to make one with Rouxl. At the first break she can be found working on more ads, trying out different jingles out loud. During the rpg second round, after encountering the love island, she comes down with a rope from the ceiling after Tenna is all "wasn't that cool? haha..". She says he's right, it's cool, and uses that to introduce an ad for some romantic product

Tenna asks her what she's doing, and she explains that she's trying a new kind of ad that can pop in front of the viewer at any moment! (she calls them Poppyns). See, people don't want to watch ads, and she noticed the moment the ad slot is announced, viewership reaches a new low! So she tries new ways to get her ads noticed and watched. She thinks maybe they should make the ad slots unfixed amounts of time, so people will keep watching just in case it's a short ad slot because they don't want to accidentally miss the next part of their show.

Tenna is not happy, but before he and Poppy can argue, he's all "come on, not in front of an audience! We'll talk about it later, alright Poppy?" and Poppy leaves.

At the break, you can surprise from a cracked door a conversation between Poppy and Tenna, where it's made clear that Tenna wants Poppy to do anything but ads for her show. Poppy reminds him she's an Addison, dad, ads are kinda their thing! Tenna insists she learned so many skills, she could do any of those instead! She tells him she uses those skills, the piano on her ad wasn't playback you know! It's even an original composition! Tenna kind of beats around the bush to not really answer to that, and ends up telling Poppy it's better if they cancel her slot until she finds something that isn't ads. She can do so much more than just that!

Poppy is pissed and leaves without a word, which brings Tenna to immediately call for her in a "are you gone? please don't leave me" tone. Poppy gets out the room, sees you've been listening, seems conflicted on you having seen that, then leaves. If you have the Dealmakers, you feel like they're vibrating. This exchange is the first time it's said that Poppy is Tenna's daughter!Though you could guess by how Tenna gushes about her in some dialogues.

I think you can find her at another point, and it's where she tells you how she's been working so hard and for so long on those ads, so she's really happy to finally have the occasion to show them! She says she's not too satisfied with the one with the weird blue guy though, but that's what you get for making something in such a short amount of time.

During the phase where you're running away from Tenna and trying to reach the fountain, in the room with all the screens, when you go to the secret room where in the normal game there is the blue wardrobe, here it's a whole bedroom, and Poppy is there. She's upset, and when Susie tries to get you to back away, Poppy tells you to wait, then that her dad is looking for you, right ? ("Wait so when you say 'dad' you really mean..?") So, if she captures you, maybe she can get him to let her do her thing! A battle starts.

Poppy makes a Poppyn!

Check: A strange Addison, who just wants to be seen

Her fight would use some Tenna inspired attacks but rethemed around ads; every so often, she'll do like Tenna with the mini games, and will pull you into one of the ads she played during the chapter. You have to dodge what's causing problems, and reach the product she sells to fix it. When you've played through all the ads, Poppy will get frustrated and angry at herself for not even being able to capture you. Then, "I really didn't want to use that attack... but I have to!". What follows is a pipis attack that's pretty difficult. After that attack she's tired and can be spared (if you decide to keep going anyway, she'll send the same very simple pipi attack, like just throwing it across the screen once).

She feels like a disappointment and a failure, talk how her dad always insists she can do more than just ads, but he refuses to accept that she wants to do just that. And that's when, if you have the Dealmakers, Spamton finally shows up.

I have NO IDEA what kind of conversation they have, but it's strangely emotional, while at the same time pretty weird.

Poppy tells you to be careful, but also not too mean to Tenna, he's really not a bad guy, just... desperate. Maybe she gives you something to help in the fight.

If you've done her fight, maybe it increases Tenna's chances of survival? Like, I want to keep the idea that the game really wants that TV fucking dead, but it feels unfair for an optional boss fight to be a key element in saving him.

Also Poppy gets to live in Castle Town if you did her fight. She's disappointed to learn pop up ads have already been a thing for a long time now. Maybe she can ask to hang out with your Dealmakers if you're wearing them and there's no Tenna, and she and Spamton have a chat until you do a fight OR go back to the Light World. Also I think she gets treated as every TV World's Darkners' little princess

I almost forgot to talk about her speech! She has a normal speech pattern, but all swears are censored with their [[kid friendly versions]]. In her ads, she will sometimes use one of Tenna's *~fun~* words. During her fight, as she grows more stressed, she uses [[ad stuff]] as replacement for some words, which always makes her panic a bit. Also I think after her fight she deserves to let out a huge uncensored FUCK in *~fun~* font

[spideyhexx]

poor wayfaring stranger

JULY 23rd - luck of time

a seven year slip inspired fic with modern billy bonney

When your new New York City apartment brings you back in time, you meet a down on his luck musician who takes you for his muse, as you take him for a miracle. For the next few weeks, the burden of longing and the delicate thing that is time clashes in front of your eyes, leaving way to newfound love and resolute endings.

sneak peek

i.  the big rock candy mountain

On July 12th, 2025, you move into the apartment of your dreams. 

And on July 13th, it was the first time he was brought to you. It felt like a romance. A meet-cute without the meet being cute. It was rather startling. Mind-bending. Something out of a romance novel. You had tossed your keys to the tray that would sit on your foyer table, only for the keys to collide onto a blank table, nothing there. No dish tray. None of the eccentric candles you bought from a shop down the street. All that sat on the entry table was a vase, red in color but transparent, full of some type of yellow flower that you could not discern. 

Initially, you brushed it off. Maybe you moved things in your tiresome state last night. Maybe your friend who was over last night gifted the flowers before they left the apartment this morning. 

You shook your shoulders and walked further into your new apartment. Before you were able to process how much was actually different, something, no, someone walked out from the hallway, clad in only a towel. 

He shrieked. You shrieked. 

His chest was broad. A few droplets of water were still dripping down his shoulders, and his hair, a darker brown in it's dampness, and the curls at his neck stuck to his skin as though they were hugging him. The towel was low enough on his waist, you could see the hair at his navel go below the waistline, but that was the least of your concerns. Of course. 

You threw something at him. It was a shoe. But not your shoe. It was some ruddy boot that collided right at his nether regions and he recoiled, grasping at his crotch, shouting that he would not hurt you. 

After an initial shock, you grabbed your phone from your purse, only to find the service completely out. The man, still in his own pain, pleaded with you, his voice so smooth and honey-filled, “I’m Billy, I…I live here and listen if somethin’ is wrong, I can get you help, I promise, miss, just let me go change and then-”

“You live here? I live here,” you cut him off and the next few seconds were spent staring at each other. The mutual confusion tethered by a line that then, you didn’t know was so strong. 

The two of you went back and forth. Arguing over who owned the apartment. With no answers coming to fruition, you had given up. You turned on your heel, intent on leaving the apartment and grabbing your neighbor, old Betty, to sort this out because she would know you lived here. 

But as you walked towards the foyer, your eyes caught on the calendar hung up near an old-looking record player that had a Johnny Cash album atop it that was definitely not yours. It still read July 13th as the date. But the year was wrong. Only two years prior, but it was enough to give you pause. And when you lifted the page to the next month and the next, they were all blank. You reasoned maybe he was lazy with his calendar, but then again, why was his calendar here? 

How silly of you to forget the old tales Betty told you when you accepted her offer for coffee just a few days ago. Who could blame you? A magical apartment was as far-fetched as a decently priced apartment in Manhattan. You tried not to believe it but this Billy kept calling out for you. You must've stood frozen looking at the calendar longer than you thought. 

[suhlutt]

so high school

pairing: jaehee x f!reader

genre: fluff, classmates (?) to lovers, fluff,

w/c: ~2k

a/n: first post... on here... a bit scared...... but i love jaehee, so this is for the loml <3

you and jaehee aren’t close.

he’s the kind of guy everyone knows, even if they’ve never talked to him. smart, good-looking without trying, talented in just about everything he touches. the type who’s always surrounded by people, part of sion’s clique, the loudest and brightest stars in the school.

he walks the halls like he owns them, smiles like he knows the effect he has, and somehow still manages to look annoyingly humble about it all.

you, on the other hand, are content staying out of the spotlight. you’d rather sit in the back of the classroom, sketching absentmindedly in your notebook or staring out the window, than be anywhere near the kind of social whirlwind jaehee lives in. the two of you have never spoken. not once. not even a “hey” in passing.

still, you’d be lying if you said you’ve never noticed him.

how could you not? the way he laughs—carefree and warm, like he’s never had to fake it. the way his hair falls into his eyes when he’s focused, or how he always holds the door open for others without making a big deal out of it.

you wouldn’t call it a crush, not really. just a little eye candy. something harmless to look at when the school day drags on.

when your homeroom teacher announced the class field trip to the amusement park, you didn’t expect much. you figured it’d be a day of avoiding crowds, sticking close to your tiny circle of friends, and maybe trying a few rides if the lines weren’t too bad. nothing life-changing.

but as the days ticked down, the buzz in class grew louder.

everyone was talking about it—what they were going to buy, who they’d sit with on the bus, which roller coasters they were going to hit first. there were whispers of outfit matching and “accidental” pair-ups. even the shyest students were making plans.

you listened from the sidelines, quietly amused by the excitement. it felt like everyone had a role already, a scene they were stepping into. you were content staying in the background, maybe tagging along for some cotton candy, maybe hiding in the arcade when things got overwhelming.

the day of the trip finally arrives, warm and golden with early sunlight, the kind that makes everything feel just a little more exciting. the parking lot outside the school buzzes with energy—people laughing, comparing snacks, snapping blurry photos while they wait for the bus doors to open.

there’s a nervous kind of giddiness in the air, the kind that only comes with the promise of skipping class and spending the day somewhere far from routine.

you stand quietly near the edge of the group, backpack slung over your shoulder, watching the way the morning light hits the pavement. yoonchae nudges your arm gently, pulling you back to the present.

“are you sure you’re okay sitting alone?” she asks, brows drawn with a hint of concern. her other hand is already looped around megan’s arm.

you smile at her, soft and reassuring. “i’ll be okay. seriously.”

she studies you for a second longer, then nods. “okay. but text me if someone weird sits next to you.”

you huff out a laugh. “noted.”

the teacher starts calling everyone to board, clipboard in hand, and there’s a shuffle as students start climbing up the steps. you’re somewhere in the middle of the line, and when you finally step onto the bus, the cool blast of the AC hits your face.

you glance around and immediately spot an empty seat near the back, by the window—perfect.

you slide in, settling your bag at your feet, already turning your face to the glass as the world outside continues to blur with movement. you can hear the low murmur of conversations all around, laughter echoing faintly from the front, and yoonchae and megan’s voices chatting just in front of you.

you don’t expect anyone to sit next to you. honestly, you’re kind of looking forward to the solitude.

that is, until you hear someone clear their throat.

you blink, turning your head—only for your breath to hitch just slightly when you see jaehee standing there, backpack slung over one shoulder, a hand gripping the seat.

he gives you a hesitant, almost sheepish smile, his voice casual but a little too careful. “is anyone sitting here?”

you shake your head automatically, heart skipping a beat. “no. go ahead.”

he slides in beside you, the space between your arms almost non-existent in the tight bus seat. his leg brushes yours, warm even through the fabric, and you try not to stiffen. your fingers twitch slightly on your lap.

“i thought you’d sit with your friends or something,” you say, the words out before you can stop them.

jaehee chuckles, reaching up to ruffle his hair, like he’s trying to laugh off how awkward he feels. “riku said he’s sitting with someone else. totally ditched me.”

you hum, trying not to focus too hard on the way his shoulder leans just a little toward yours. “you could’ve sat with anyone.”

he tilts his head, eyes on you now. “why? do i make you uncomfortable?”

you turn to face him fully, eyes wide. “what?! no!” you shake your head quickly, cheeks heating. “i just… didn’t expect you to sit here, that’s all.”

he watches you for a second, like he’s trying to figure you out. then he smiles, a little more confident this time. “expect the unexpected.”

you laugh under your breath, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. there’s a beat of silence—comfortable, but charged—and you reach into your pocket, searching for something.

your fingers come up empty.

“ugh,” you mutter.

jaehee glances over. “something wrong?”

“i think i forgot my earphones,” you sigh, leaning back against the seat. “guess i’ll just stare out the window dramatically for the next hour.”

he grins, pulling his own earphones from his pocket and holding them out to you. “we could share,” he says, eyes bright with something unspoken.

you look at him, surprised, heart fluttering at the simplicity of the offer—and how close he suddenly feels.

“only if you’re okay with me judging your playlist,” you tease, reaching for one of the buds.

“fair,” jaehee laughs, handing one over, your fingers brushing for a brief second too long.

as the bus rumbles to life and pulls away from the school, you settle into your seat with one earbud in, your shoulder barely brushing his. outside the window, the world blurs past in streaks of sun and motion.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─

when you step off the bus, the air hits you like a rush of freedom—warm, sweet, and humming with the scent of popcorn and something deep-fried. you stretch your limbs, arms high above your head, shaking off the stiffness from the ride.

all around you, students are laughing, forming little groups, already pointing excitedly at roller coasters twisting through the sky.

your teacher stands at the front of the group, trying to wrangle everyone’s attention with a loud clap. “alright, listen up! stay in groups, don’t wander off alone, and for the love of all things holy, don’t do anything that’ll get the school banned from coming back!”

a few kids laugh. someone whoops. the moment feels light, buzzing.

you’re about to follow the flow of people heading toward the park entrance when you hear your name.

“y/n!”

you turn on instinct, blinking as jaehee jogs up to you, a little breathless, like he’d been debating whether to say anything at all. his hair's slightly windblown from the bus ride, his backpack slung haphazardly over one shoulder, and for a second, he looks less like the golden boy everyone admires and more like a regular teenager—nervous, hopeful, real.

“uh,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “i—if you don’t mind… do you wanna hang out with me today?”

you stare at him for a beat too long, brain struggling to catch up. the background noise of your classmates seems to fade out a little, replaced with the thundering of your own heartbeat.

did jaehee just…?

you clear your throat quickly, hoping you don’t sound as flustered as you feel. “sure. i don’t mind.”

his eyes light up instantly, and it’s so obvious—so bright and boyish—it knocks the air out of you for a second. he looks like a puppy who just got told he’s a good boy.

you giggle, trying to hide how much your heart is doing somersaults. “we should get headbands to start off,” you say, voice playful. “you can’t go to an amusement park without something ridiculous on your head.”

he laughs, more relaxed now, and lets you tug him toward the gift shop just near the entrance. the door chimes as you step inside, the air cool and filled with the scent of cheap candy and fabric softener. shelves are lined with silly accessories—glittery devil horns, floppy bunny ears, headbands with bouncy antennae and neon flowers.

you glance at him over your shoulder, already grinning. “pick your poison.”

he raises an eyebrow. “you’re not going to choose for me?”

“you’re brave enough to ask me to hang out. you can handle picking a headband.”

he chuckles under his breath, and for a second, your fingers brush as you reach for the same headband—a pair of soft puppy ears. you both pause, and you feel the air shift, just slightly. the kind of moment that lingers longer than it should.

“we could match,” he offers, voice a little softer now, his eyes on yours.

you look down at the ears in your hand, then back at him. “matching puppy ears. that’s dangerously close to couple-core.”

jaehee tilts his head, lips curving into something playful. “is that a bad thing?”

your heart skips. you don’t answer. not really.

you just hand him the second pair.

the two of you shuffle up to the counter, mid-argument about who should pay—jaehee dramatically clutching his chest like you’ve just insulted his honor, and you insisting it’s only fair to split.

“absolutely not,” he says, already fishing his wallet out like it’s a race against time. before you can protest, he slaps the cash down like he’s winning a game show.

you sigh, defeated but amused. “fine. next time, i’m paying. no arguments.”

“mmm, we’ll see,” jaehee says with a cheeky grin, adjusting his headband like it’s some sort of crown. “now then… where to, my loyal sidekick?”

you snort. “loyal sidekick?"

“exactly,” he chirps, skipping ahead like this was all part of his master plan.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─

the day’s a blur of rides and sugar—jaehee whining about the rollercoasters like they personally offended him, until you bribe him with snacks. lots of snacks. enough to feed a small village. or a very ambitious picnic.

“you’re evil,” he says, halfway through a corn dog. “you love it,” you grin, handing him a drink like the enabler you are.

by 4:30, your phone buzzes with a teacher’s message: be back by 5 or suffer unspecified consequences. so, with sticky fingers and stuffed pockets, the two of you start to wander aimlessly, cotton candy in hand.

“jaehee,” you say through a mouthful of sugar, your words slightly muffled.

he hums in response, licking powdered sugar off his thumb.

“why’d you hang out with me today?”

he freezes, like someone just paused his internal wifi. a faint pink creeps up his neck.

he clears his throat and mutters something that sounds like... a dying bee?

“sorry, what?” you ask, lips twitching into a smile at the sight of flustered jaehee, who is now aggressively pretending to be very interested in the ground.

you can’t help it—he looks so much like a kicked puppy that your heart actually squeezes.

“i thought,” he starts, louder now, “that this would be a good chance.”

you blink. “a good chance for what—?”

he exhales like he’s about to perform surgery. “i like you, y/n.”

you stop dead in your tracks. blink once. twice.

meanwhile, jaehee is firmly looking anywhere but at you. the sky. a trash bin. the back of his own hand.

you let out a soft chuckle and reach over, slipping your hand into his. jaehee’s breath hitches—his eyes dart down like he’s making sure it’s real—and for a second, he looks like he might just pass out right then and there.

but then, slowly, he laces his fingers with yours, his lips curling into the tiniest, sweetest smile. the air between you shifts—lighter and brighter, like something new and soft has finally settled in place.

you walk back toward the main plaza, still hand-in-hand, your steps a little slower now. neither of you says anything, but the silence is comfortable—like walking inside a shared secret.

you spot a photo booth tucked beside a drink stall, the kind with faded stickers on the side and flashing LED hearts around the frame.

“hey,” you nudge him, nodding toward it. “wanna take a picture?”

jaehee hesitates, eyes flicking between you and the booth like it might swallow him whole. but then he nods, cheeks a little pink. “only if you’re in it with me.”

inside, it’s cramped and warm, the kind of warm that makes your knees bump and shoulders touch. you’re quicker this time, sliding a coin into the slot before jaehee can even reach for his wallet.

the first picture catches you both mid-laugh, heads thrown back, joy written all over your faces. the second is a disaster—jaehee blinks too early and ends up with one eye half-open. the third is softer: you're leaning into each other, grinning, your cheeks still pink but your eyes bright.

and the fourth—he turns his head to look at you just as the camera flashes, catching him mid-gaze, eyes full of something you can’t quite name but feel all the same.

when you step out, your hands brush as you reach for the photo strip. you both go for the same corner, fingers barely touching, but the way your hands linger says everything.

“we look good,” you murmur, eyes scanning the tiny photos.

jaehee glances over, voice a little quieter. “we look like a couple.”

you smile, tilting your head toward him. “maybe that’s ‘cause we kinda are now.”

he looks at you, really looks at you, and then he laughs, soft and breathless, like he’s been holding it in for hours. “i can’t believe you said it first.”

you laugh too. “you confessed first.”

he shakes his head, the grin on his face wide and a little helpless. “we’re a mess.”

“a cute mess,” you correct.

and right there, under the golden light of a setting sun and the flickering neon hearts, he leans in—not quite a kiss, not yet—but his forehead rests gently against yours.

and it feels like the start of something really, really good.