#of course one of these things is more serious than the other. but they were pretty evenly spaced out thru the day so it was all a Lot

[reignpage]

His Loss, Their Gain

Synopsis: in which you get stood up and the jjk men are more than ready to step up for you (pre-relationship) Warnings: a little cursing, vaguely sexual language or allusions, a little angsty, but mostly fluff, crack and comfort, one-sided pining perchance, not proofread Featuring: Gojo, Geto, Choso, Toji, Nanami, Sukuna Word Count: 3.6k

Gojo

He heard all about your date from Shoko when he took a student to her dark, miserable corner to get all fixed up that morning. To say he was peeved was a massive understatement. In fact, the man had been muttering ‘ooh y/n’s got a date with some non-sorcerer ooh good for her’ under his breath pretty much the entire day. 

The students are both amused and irritated by his constant yammering. 

“I go on loads of date!” He grumbled, flicking a leaf as he leans against a tree, watching the kids spar. “What’s the big deal?”

At lunch, he strolled into the teacher’s lounge and whistled some tune. As always, you were sat by the window enjoying a bento box that made his mouth water — man, what would it be like to enjoy a meal made by you.

Casually, he mused, “I heard through the grapevine, you’ve got a hot date tonight.”

You threw him an unimpressed glower. 

“Who the hell told you about that?”

Satoru shrugged. “Oh, y’know, just the grapevine. So, what’s he like?”

Nonchalant as he may have seemed, he had enough self-awareness to know that he was pretty bothered by how spruced up you’ve gotten for this guy, whoever he is. God, did you have to make your hair all pretty like that? And oh hell, is that a new perfume? 

You didn’t entertain his game, choosing to ignore his thinly veiled attempt to pry, and chose simply to poke his side, tickling him away from the path to the exit he was blocking. The white-haired man rolled his eyes, desperate to quell the smile twitching at the corner of his lips. 

That one interaction, that fleeting touch he never blocked out and that momentary glimpse at your shy smile, smothered the complaints that had been festering inside since he visited Shoko. You looked anxious, embarrassed, but more than anything, excited. Happy.

He was quiet the rest of the day. 

The students didn’t know what to make of his sudden shift in mood; he was contemplative, focused and serious. None of them complained, after all they were finally learning a thing or two but it was an odd sight, him without a smile on his face.

When the sun was lowering, and the students had all headed home, Satoru leisurely exited the school feeling, for reasons he wasn’t ready to acknowledge, more tired than usual. But then he saw you, standing at the gates staring at your phone. Checking his own, he frowned.

You were supposed to be long gone by now. 

When he appeared right beside you, you weren’t the least bit taken aback by his sudden voice. 

“Ugly loser not coming?”

Muttering, you weakly replied, “You’ve never met him. How can you possibly know he’s ugly?”

Satoru threw back a retort that you didn’t respond to. He sighed. With his hands tucked into this pockets, he nudged you. “Alright, stop pouting, let’s go get dinner. I’m starving. God, being a teacher really takes its toll on the body.”

“You barely do anything.” 

Despite yourself, you smiled. 

So did he. 

“Yeah, well, I’m still hungry anyways. So, let’s get going. Your treat.”

And despite his incredibly annoying, pretentious tone, you found yourself walking away from the school, the dwindling warmth of the sun setting behind you, with Satoru. He tried to hide his self-satisfied grin and the slight pep in his steps, and especially the peak under his blindfold at the two shadows you cast. 

For as long as other men sucked, he knew he still had a chance.

Geto

“Got plans?” 

You gave him a side glance, pulling your panties back up your legs. That arrangement of yours was complicated, to say the least. An on and off thing, neither of you could really keep your hands off each other, and all while staying as friends. Of course, the being friends part was easy — he’s fun and you’re sweet. But the staying as friends, and just as friends, was oh so difficult. 

Clearing your throat, you took the bra he was dangling from his finger with a brow raised. And you said, “Yeah. Kinda. Some guy asked me out so we’re gonna get some dinner or something.”

“Sounds exhilarating,” he mused. 

He was always like that — judgemental, mocking, and irresistible. Desperate to not be that weak, pathetic girl, you’d force yourself to move on, to see what else was out there because that thing you had with him?

It was unsustainable. 

With a sigh, you shrugged on your shirt. “Suguru, don’t.”

He chuckled and raised his arms up in surrender. And then you turned to leave but you didn’t get every far, how could you when he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back to his chest? You were breathless when he brushed your hair back, skimming his lips down the curve of your neck to plant a soft, barely there kiss on your shoulder. 

“Have fun.”

And then you were off. 

Leaving a long-haired man alone and frowning. Truthfully, he was itching to keep you there, to distract you with some more pleasure or a movie, but he knew that wasn’t fair. The unspoken part about the type of arrangement you two was that no one could get jealous or lay some moronic wolfy-claim on the other. 

He focused his attention instead on showering, washing away the remnants of you and even tried to wash away the idea of someone else taking you away. If this date of yours worked out, then that would effectively end your special relationship, devolving back to just ‘friends’. 

How pathetic.

No, that wasn’t the most pathetic thing about the entire ordeal. What was truly more pathetic was that he was sat, in his car, outside your place, waiting for that light in your bedroom to go and for you to leave. 

You didn’t. 

Geto groaned and threw his head back. Relieved as he was that you weren’t with some other prick, he couldn’t shake off that discomfort in his chest at the thought of you being disappointed, embarrassed or anywhere close to sad. He sent a quick text to you. Come out, he said. 

Your reply was, I’m not in the mood for sex.

Good. Neither am I.

'...' danced on the screen for a solid minute or two and he thought you were coming up with colourful ways of telling him to disappear, like 'walk off a cliff' or the classic 'fuck off', but you didn’t. Instead, he got a thumbs up and he sighed. 

Guess neither of you were willing to give up the game after all. 

Choso

He heard it from his brother. 

Who heard it from Megumi and he in turn heard it from Nobara. And the details might have differed somewhat as the information got passed along, like the time and place and with whom, but one thing remained consistent. 

You have a date. 

And man, was Choso distraught. At first, he was speechless, eyes blinking and jaw hanging. Then, he was making odd noises like steam was coming out of his ears. No one knew what to do, no one had ever taught them what the procedure was when a half-curse, half-man suffered from a nervous breakdown.

Eventually, he regained enough life to splutter, “WHAT?”

He fainted.

When he awoke, laid down on a bench, he was very surprised to find you looming over him. You looked beautiful. Positively stunning, and he was certainly stunned. He had a terrible dream, one that left him trembling, but your laughter stilled his shaking hands. 

“Choso, did you actually pass out? That’s so crazy.” 

The man couldn’t even blush. He was just so happy you were there, with him, talking and laughing, and he could pretend nothing was wrong in the world. Because, if you could smile at him with so much warmth and light and familiarity, there didn’t seem a plausible way for things to be wrong.

Pushing himself upright, he said, sheepishly, “Yeah, I think so. Um, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, y’know, just stopping by to check up on you –”

“That’s really nice of—”

“Before I head off to meet my date!”

"...what.”

You blinked at him. “I have a date. Surprised you didn’t know since the kids have been bothering me about it all day. Well, anyways, happy to see you figuratively back on your feet. Gotta get going now. Bye!”

And then you were gone, completely oblivious to the twitching of Choso’s eye and the way his pigtails quite literally deflated. 

There was a pout on his face the rest of the day. 

Only on his way back home did that pout disappear because, there, at the end of the street, was you. Only you could look that pretty when miserable. Oh, he was so happy to see you! 

Sure, you looked upset, and you were kicking a streetlamp, but he wasn’t the least bit discouraged from skipping over to you, pigtails swinging and a big, wide grin on his face. He shouted your name. You looked up, still mad, but brows relaxing ever so slightly. 

“Oh, hey, Cho. What’s up?”

“Nothing! Just heading home. What about you?”

You shrugged. “Well, I was supposed to be on a date, but he never showed up. Didn’t even text me so I guess I’m gonna head home too.”

“Oh, no. That’s terrible.”

The amused look on your face clearly conveyed your disbelief. Choso was many things, a great man, loving brother, fun friend. But a convincing liar? He was not. 

“Well,” he began, scratching the back of his neck, “do you wanna just be with me? I mean! Do you want to spend some time with me? Hang out?”

You shrugged again, this time with a smile. And the both of you began walking side by side with no particular destination. He didn’t talk much, just wandered the streets with you. The sun, or at least what remained of it, was warm and the roads were empty. Neither of you could think of a better thing to do than just exist. 

Together.

Toji

“Whatd’ya just say?”

He was staring at his kid, the little boy peering back at him with a look of pure innocence. The father, holding a spoon up to his lips, was pissed the hell off. Immediately, he was calling you, still feeding the baby. Your nonchalant voice on the phone made him even more irritated. 

“Ya going on a date? Whatd’ya mean ‘none of y’r business? ‘Course it’s my business. Mother of my son prancing around with some other guy ain’t a good look on me, is it? Oh, yeah yeah, the divorce didn’t look good on you either, whatever. So? Is it true? Oh, hell. Can I use my veto? Whatd’ya mean I don't get a veto? What kinda bullshit is that?”

The little boy blabbered, rubbing salt in the man’s wound, as he reminded him his diaper needed changing, immediately, and he had blueberry compote all over his face and clothes. How the hell did the kid manage to get food on the window?

You didn't sound impressed at all, but that was always how you talked to him. And the conversation wasn't going anywhere, much to Toji's frustration. Why did he have to find out from a toddler?

Call ending soon after that, the two boys decided to make the most of their day together. 

Sat on his lap, they watched a football game on the TV. Of course, his son wasn’t really paying attention, he was far more interested in the rattling toy in his hand, and in all honesty, neither was Toji. He just kept thinking about the fact that you should be there, with them, cuddled up to his side. Not with some fucking loser. You should be home, comfortable, looking pretty for him and with a ring still on your finger, the way his ring remained on his. 

But who was he to say shit?

It was his damn fault to begin with that you were living apart. If only he had cut back on the bad habits and the dangerous jobs. Regret was a damned thing, like a coin dropped in a well and never hearing it drop. 

And then searching for another coin so you could wish to get back the fucking coin you should have never dropped to begin with ‘cause you weren’t a fucking pussy. 

Ah fuck it. 

“Wanna go piss off y’r mum?”

The kid grinned. 

And so there the two were, showing up at the door, both with shit-eating grins contrasting your stern glower. You were in a dress, a very sexy dress and Toji wasn’t shy about letting his eyes wander, and you weren’t shy about the finger you showed him. 

“Are you kidding, Fushiguro?”

“Kid couldn’t stop asking for ya, so just wanted to let him get a peek before you go off on y’r fancy date,” he replied. 

You let them in and with embarrassment lacing your words, you admitted, “Well, date’s cancelled. So, good timing.”

Grin widening, he assured you, “Ah the bastard doesn’t know what he missed out on.”

And soon, you two fell into old routines. You cooked dinner whilst Toji set the table, kid on his back. The conversation shifted from anything and everything and nothing. And after, he cleaned up as you put the baby to sleep. He followed soon after, looping an arm over your shoulder.

“We did good with him, didn’t we?”

When life was that easy, that simple, and good, one was left wondering where did it all go wrong? When did you, or him, or both start wanting more? Or was it the case that things just didn’t work out? Was there still a chance? Should there be? And for whose sake?

Guess none of that mattered. Whether that piece of paper was still there or not, the core of your relationship would never change. Not really.

“Yeah. We did.”

Nanami

There you were, a vision in your suit, sitting at your desk, the way you did every day. He loved his seat; he had the best view of the entire office. Kento especially loved that, for you to get to the water cooler, you had to walk past him, and every single time you did, you’d always stop by, asking how his day was going and whether he’d like his water bottle filling up. 

Of course, he declined your very kind offer, but only so he could walk to the water cooler with you, and for the five minutes you two had, you’d chat about all sorts of things – he was more of a listener than a talker, but you never seemed to mind. 

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that you were the one good thing about this office, and he certainly looked forward to every little interaction with you. 

Until one such interaction became his worst nightmare: you had a date. Oh, and how casually you brought that up to him, as if the fluttery atmosphere between you was a figment of his imagination and the way you gushed about this other man certainly left no doubt in his mind. 

You did not like him the way he liked you. 

That was all he could think about the rest of the day. Even as he wrote up a progress report, attended a client meeting, ate his lunch with the interns he was in charge of, and even when he went to the bathroom to splash cold water on, what he was only then realising to be, a very pale face. Kento must be coming down with something. 

For the first time ever, when you got up from your desk and strolled over to his, heels clacking, and asked if he’d like his bottle filling up, he declined. It came out faster than he could process and the shock evident in both of your faces was like a crack in his glasses. 

Oh, dear. 

You were silent until the end of the day. He didn’t walk out with you, didn’t even get to say goodbye and ‘see you tomorrow’, and he had never been more miserable in his entire life. 

With a heavy sigh, he walked out of the office an hour or so later than everyone else and pulled on his tie. A nice warm bath was all he could think about, at least until he spotted you, waiting on the side of the road. You were restless, shuffling on your feet and checking your watch every couple seconds. Being of above average intelligence might not have meant he was a genius but it sure did mean he was smart enough to figure out what had happened. 

That bastard. 

“Would you like to have a drink or two with me? There are some things I’d like to talk to you about,” he said. Perhaps he shouldn’t have walked up so quietly but it was a habit of his. In that moment, as his pulse was beginning to speed up, all he could think about was how creepy he sounded – he certainly wouldn’t blame you if you ran to HR. 

“What things?” You asked. 

He smiled, a desperately casual smile to show he was sorry for his cold display. “Well, for one, I’d like to make my case clear; I’d never leave you waiting for me on a date.”

And he never did.

Sukuna

“Repeat that for me. Slow.”

You bit your lip, not at all surprised by his reaction. The King of Curses wasn’t known for his calm disposition, in fact, he was known for exactly the opposite. Still, he was nice to you, an ordinary servant in his grand estate doing this and that. One could not put a finger to exactly when this...friendship, should we say... developed but it was one you so terribly cherished. 

Working at the estate of a mass murdering, sadistic monster – your family’s words, not yours – meant you didn’t maintain many friendships. So, to have one with him felt like standing in the eye of the storm, even if that storm was always so fickle and the eye kept moving. 

“I’m. Going. On. A. Date,” you recited, enunciating every syllable loud and clear. When he gave an instruction, you’d found it was always best to be quite literal, lest he tired of your mortal limitations. 

“No.”

Blink. 

Blink. 

Adjusting your robes, you clarified, “No? Sorry, my Lord, but whatever do you mean by ‘no?’”

The tall, hulking man, or rather curse, walked on, his long legs taking him so far within seconds you had to run to catch up. He loved doing that. He thought it funny, you supposed. “Just that. No.”

“But, my Lord, I don’t think you can really interfere with my personal life.”

He stopped. 

You bumped into his back, the smell of sweet death and gentle fire filling your senses. And when he turned, looking down at you with all those eyes, one of his hands gripped your jaw, pulling you upwards and much closer to his face than ever before. 

“Can’t I?”

Then he was gone. 

You didn’t see him the rest of the day. Neither did any of the servants. Perhaps he was mad at you, after all you had no business, and no authority at that, to tell him what he could or couldn’t do. You got complacent, too confident and cocky. You overestimated the depth of your friendship and the limits of his patience. It would be a surprise to no one if you were found dead before dusk. 

There were no texts from your date. Not a single one. Not even after you texted to ask if you were still on for night. And when every call when to voicemail, you were so sure you had been ghosted before you could even meet the guy. Sukuna was right. 

Men were no good.

Living at the estate had its perks: no commute, easy access to your necessities lest you forgot something essential, and the walk over to your quarters was magnificent. The well-kept garden was beautiful and that was really as far as your feeble mind could go in terms of putting into words the glorious sight you saw every morning and night. 

But that evening had been different. 

Your master was there, in his robes, bottom set of arms tucked into the sleeves whilst the top set were crossed. He looked just as regal as he always did, and the sight made your heart clench. One secret you’d take the grave would be that the friendship you so sincerely cherished was one you also sincerely resented; to be a teased with all that you could have but would never get was a torturous pain you wouldn't wish on your worst enemies.

“My Lord, may I help you?”

He beckoned you over. When his hand reached for your head, you were sure it was to slice it clean off, but instead he picked at a fluff and flicked it away with so much disgust, revulsion, and abhorrence you couldn’t help but laugh. 

Something flashed in his eyes. And then his features softened. 

“You did not go on your date?”

You couldn’t even pretend to be sad. “No, he never replied so I guess he lost interest.”

He hummed.

The two of you began strolling again, just as you did most days, sometimes even multiple times a day when he was feeling especially irritable. The tone of his voice held a certain sharpness you couldn’t quite place and when he met your gaze, the soft glow of the lanterns making him look gentler, much more human, more...attainable, you finally spotted a speckle of what you knew to be blood, having cleaned it off the floors and walls yourself too many times. 

And your imagination ran wild, a frenzy of butterflies appearing in your stomach. 

Sukuna really was too sweet for your own good.

[hockeyluvrr]

BLENDER || lh43

MAIN MASTERLIST

summary: Love was never the problem-but distance, doubt, and heartbreak were. You tried to hold on. So did he. But when love stops being enough, what's left?

based on the song BLENDER by 5SOS

warnings: arguments, emotional tension, swearing, miscommunication, jealousy, confrontation, desperation, uncertainty, breaking up, heartbreak, emotional limbo, unresolved feelings, basically all the basic angst stuff lol

notes: holy shit, this came out of nowhere ngl... this is my longest fic yet and I love it so much. shoutout to my 5sos girlies, this is for you (mostly me though 🤭)

word count: 6,410

The fight had been over for an hour, but your phone was still buzzing.

LUKE: can you just pick up?

LUKE: i don’t want to end the night like this.

LUKE: please.

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the notification. Your body still felt tight, wound up from everything you’d just screamed at each other. The distance was getting to both of you. Maybe it had been from the start.

This was supposed to be easy. A summer fling that accidentally turned into more.

You met Luke last July, when the air was thick with humidity and the nights bled into each other without much consequence. You didn’t think twice when it started—just a guy and a girl caught up in something fun, something fleeting.

But then August came, and instead of ending things, you found yourself tangled in his sheets, whispering promises neither of you had planned to make.

So now, months later, you were here—staring at his name on your phone, wondering if loving someone like this was supposed to feel like free-falling with no parachute.

Another buzz.

LUKE: i’m calling.

The screen lit up with his name, and you swore under your breath before finally answering.

“What?”

A beat of silence. Then, his voice—tired, frustrated, but still laced with something soft. “You actually picked up.”

“I figured you weren’t gonna stop until I did,” you muttered, shifting in bed. Your voice came out flat, but you weren’t sure how else to talk to him when your heart was still beating too fast from the argument.

Luke exhaled sharply. “I don’t get why you’re acting like I don’t care.”

“You don’t get it because you’re never here.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw and aching.

His silence was louder than the words themselves.

“Y/N…” He sounded exhausted. “You know I can’t just—”

“I know, Luke,” you cut in. “I know you have a career. I know you can’t just drop everything for me. But I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one trying.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” You sat up, gripping your blanket. “I call. I text. I make time. But when was the last time you put in the effort? When was the last time you planned something instead of just squeezing me in when it was convenient?”

His breath hitched, like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the words.

The silence stretched.

You should’ve let it sit. Let him stew in it. But instead, your voice broke when you whispered, “Do you even miss me, Luke?”

The question must’ve hit him harder than anything else, because when he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. “Are you serious?”

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

“Of course I fucking miss you,” he snapped. “Every damn day. But I can’t just—” He cut himself off, cursing under his breath. “I don’t know what you want me to do, Y/N. I can’t fix the distance. I can’t fix my schedule. I can’t—”

“I don’t want you to fix it,” you admitted, voice cracking. “I just want to matter enough for you to try.”

The silence came back, heavier than before.

You closed your eyes. “I can’t do this right now.”

“Wait—”

“I need space, Luke.” Your throat tightened. “Just… goodnight.”

Then, before he could say anything else, you hung up.

You threw your phone onto the nightstand and curled up into yourself, letting the weight of it all crash down.

Outside, the city lights flickered through your window, but they didn’t feel warm. Not tonight.

Not when you weren’t sure if this was just another fight—

Or the beginning of the end.

———

You didn’t sleep.

Not really, anyway. You drifted in and out, your mind replaying every second of last night’s fight, twisting his words in a way that left a hollow ache in your chest.

By the time morning rolled around, your phone was still dark. No texts. No missed calls.

Luke had listened when you said you needed space.

You weren’t sure if that made you feel better or worse.

With a deep sigh, you pushed the blankets off and sat up, rubbing your hands over your face. The apartment was quiet, save for the occasional hum of traffic outside. It felt unnatural, like the silence had taken up permanent residence in your head, stretching far beyond last night.

You hated how much you missed him.

Even now, your body was wired to check your phone first thing in the morning, waiting for one of his lazy, half-awake messages. Morning, pretty girl. Wish you were here. Call me when you wake up.

But today, there was nothing.

It shouldn’t have surprised you. You were the one who ended the call. You were the one who asked for space.

So why did it feel like he was the one pulling away?

With a groan, you flopped back onto the pillows and stared at the ceiling, replaying the fight in your head. Maybe you’d overreacted. Maybe you should’ve let him explain instead of throwing accusations like knives. You knew his schedule was hell. You knew long distance wasn’t easy.

But at the same time… when was the last time he really made you feel like a priority?

Before you could spiral any further, your phone buzzed.

Your heart jumped.

But when you grabbed it, the screen didn’t show Luke’s name.

It was your best friend, Riley.

RILEY: u up? brunch. now. no excuses.

You hesitated. Normally, you’d decline, opting to stay curled up in your thoughts. But today, with the weight of last night still pressing on your chest, you needed the distraction.

YOU: be there in 20.

—

The café was small and familiar, the kind of place you and Riley had claimed as your own years ago. The smell of coffee and syrup hung thick in the air, and the morning crowd buzzed around you.

Riley spotted you before you even reached the table. “Oh, yeah. You look rough.”

You rolled your eyes as you dropped into the seat across from her. “Thanks.”

She pushed a mimosa toward you. “Drink. Then talk.”

You didn’t argue. One sip turned into two, and before you knew it, you were spilling everything—how Luke had called, how you fought, how you hung up first. How he hadn’t texted since.

Riley frowned. “So you told him you needed space, and now you’re mad that he’s giving it to you?”

You groaned, slumping in your seat. “Not when you say it like that.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to say it?” She arched a brow. “Did you expect him to blow up your phone? Show up at your door?”

You hated that you didn’t have a good answer.

Riley sighed, softer this time. “I get it, babe. I do. Long distance sucks. And I know you’re tired of feeling like you’re the only one putting in the effort. But you guys love each other, right?”

Your stomach twisted. Love.

Neither of you had said it yet.

Riley noticed your silence and leaned forward. “Wait. Have you guys even talked about—?”

“No,” you cut in quickly, suddenly regretting this conversation. “It’s not like that.”

She gave you a knowing look but didn’t push. “Okay. So what is it like?”

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “It’s…” You struggled for the right words. “It’s messy. It’s intense. It’s too much but never enough at the same time.”

Riley nodded like she understood, even though you weren’t sure you did.

For a second, neither of you spoke. Then, she reached for her phone.

“What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then, with a pointed look, she turned the screen toward you.

Luke’s latest Instagram post stared back at you.

Your chest tightened.

It was a photo of him at practice, mid-laugh, sweaty and effortless in a way that made your heart ache. The caption was simple. Back at it.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing emotional.

But all the comments blurred together in your head. Can’t wait to watch you this season! Missed you on the ice! Looking good, Hughesy!

It was a reminder that, while you were sitting here overthinking everything, Luke was out there living.

Like last night never happened.

Like you didn’t happen.

You swallowed hard. “So what? He’s just… moving on?”

Riley gave you a sympathetic look. “Or maybe he’s just waiting. For you to reach out first.”

You stared at the screen, your stomach twisting into knots.

Maybe she was right. Maybe you should text him.

Or maybe the cracks were already too deep to fix.

———

It had been three days.

Three days since the fight. Three days since you hung up on Luke. Three days of absolute silence.

You told yourself you wouldn’t be the one to break first. If he cared, he’d reach out. If he wanted this to work, he’d try.

But every hour that passed without his name lighting up your phone chipped away at your resolve.

You were starting to wonder if maybe this was how it ended—not with a dramatic goodbye, but with a slow, suffocating silence that swallowed you whole.

And yet, even with the weight of it pressing down on your chest, you still couldn’t bring yourself to text him first.

Instead, you did the worst possible thing.

You checked social media.

Luke wasn’t the type to post often, but his teammates were. And there he was—in a video on Jack’s story, laughing in the background, surrounded by friends, a drink in hand like the last three days hadn’t meant anything to him.

You stared at the screen, your grip tightening on your phone.

Maybe this was stupid. Maybe you were reading too much into it.

But the longer you watched, the worse it got.

Because then she appeared.

A girl you didn’t recognise—blonde, wearing a Devils jersey far too oversized to be her own—sidling up next to Luke, whispering something in his ear. He didn’t move away. Didn’t look uncomfortable. Just smirked, shaking his head at whatever she said before taking another sip of his drink.

Your stomach twisted.

The worst part wasn’t the fact that she was there. It wasn’t even the fact that Luke didn’t seem to mind.

It was the fact that, for the first time since you met him, you had no idea where you stood.

You weren’t his girlfriend, not officially.

Not really.

Because when the summer ended, neither of you had wanted to put a label on it. You told yourselves it was easier that way—no pressure, no expectations, just whatever this was.

But now, as you watched him on that screen, looking so effortlessly unbothered, it hit you like a fucking freight train.

Maybe you’d been wrong.

Maybe you weren’t something worth holding on to.

The buzzing in your head was so loud that you almost didn’t hear Riley calling your name.

You blinked, barely processing that she was standing in the doorway of your apartment. “Are you even listening?”

You swallowed hard, locking your phone before she could see the screen. “What?”

She sighed, stepping inside and dropping onto your couch. “I said we’re going out tonight. You need a distraction.”

“I don’t need a distraction,” you muttered, even as you stared blankly at the wall.

Riley rolled her eyes. “Okay, so what? You’re just gonna sit here all night, refreshing Instagram like a psycho?”

Your silence must have been answer enough.

She groaned. “Y/N. Come on. I love you, but this? This isn’t healthy. You don’t even know what’s going on.”

You clenched your jaw. “I know enough.”

She gave you a long look, then sighed. “Fine. If you’re not gonna let it go, then at least don’t let him be the only one having fun tonight.”

You hesitated.

Riley saw the crack in your resolve and jumped on it. “Just a couple drinks. That’s all I’m asking.”

You weren’t sure why you agreed. Maybe it was the fact that you’d barely left your apartment in days. Maybe it was the need to feel something—anything—other than this ache in your chest.

Or maybe, deep down, it was the smallest, most pathetic part of you that wanted Luke to see you moving on, too.

———

The bar was packed. Music pulsed through the speakers, and the air was thick with the smell of alcohol and too many bodies crammed into one space.

It should’ve felt suffocating.

But instead, with a drink in your hand and Riley’s laughter ringing in your ears, you almost managed to forget.

Almost.

At least, until your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You knew who it was before you even checked.

LUKE: are you out?

Your heart nearly stopped. After three days of nothing, this was how he chose to reach out? Not an apology. Not an explanation. Just that.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and typed back before you could think better of it.

YOU: why do you care?

His response was instant.

LUKE: where are you?

You stared at the message, pulse pounding in your ears.

He had no right to be asking that. Not after ignoring you. Not after letting you sit with the weight of this fight while he went out, acting like he didn’t care.

So instead of answering, you did the stupidest thing possible.

You let some guy buy you another drink.

You didn’t know his name. Didn’t care. He was tall, attractive, and most importantly—he wasn’t Luke.

And if you felt the burn of guilt in your chest when he leaned in closer, when his fingers brushed against yours. You shouldn’t even feel guilty, right? Luke’s been doing the same thing.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Until your phone buzzed again.

LUKE: Y/N.

One words. Your name. That’s all it took to make your breath hitch.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t just a fight. It wasn’t just a rough patch.

This was a game.

———

The tension had been simmering all night.

It started with Luke’s text. One simple word that crawled under your skin, wrapping around your ribs like a vice. But what pissed you off the most wasn’t the message itself.

It was the fact that he suddenly cared.

After three days of silence. After her in his Instagram story. After making you feel like you were the only one suffering through this distance.

And now, here he was, acting like he had a say in what you did.

So you ignored the text.

And maybe you let that guy keep flirting with you a little longer than you should have. Maybe you let his hand linger at the small of your back when he leaned in to talk. Maybe you even laughed a little louder, tilted your chin just enough that if Luke somehow saw—if he was watching—he’d know exactly what you were doing.

It was petty. It was reckless.

But so was loving someone who could make you feel this small.

The tension cracked the second you stepped outside the bar.

Luke was waiting.

You nearly tripped when you saw him, heart slamming against your ribs. He was standing near the curb, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he was trying to grind his teeth into dust.

Your stomach flipped. He was here. He actually came.

But you weren’t sure if that made things better or worse.

His eyes locked onto you immediately, flickering down to the guy who had followed you out. And in that moment, the simmering tension didn’t just build. It exploded.

“The fuck is this?” Luke’s voice was low, controlled—but you knew him well enough to hear the storm brewing beneath it.

You blinked, still caught off guard by the fact that he was here. “What?”

Luke’s jaw tightened. “Who the hell is he?”

The guy next to you—God, you didn’t even remember his name—shifted awkwardly. “Uh—”

“Not your business, Hughes,” you cut in before he could finish.

Luke’s eyes snapped back to you. “Not my business?”

“You heard me.” Your pulse was pounding, but you forced yourself to hold your ground. “You don’t get to disappear for three days and then show up acting like you have any right to be pissed.”

Luke let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “That’s funny, because I could say the same thing. You tell me you need space, ignore me for days, and then I see you all over some guy?”

“I ignored you?” You scoffed, anger bubbling to the surface. “That’s rich, Luke. Where the hell were you? Oh, right—too busy playing NHL golden boy, letting some random girl hang off you—”

“What girl?”

The fact that he had the audacity to act confused made your blood boil. “Don’t play dumb.” You crossed your arms, nails digging into your skin. “The blonde. The one in your jersey.”

Luke stared at you for a moment, then let out another disbelieving laugh. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“She’s Jack’s friend. She was at the game. I barely talked to her.” He shook his head, eyes dark with frustration. “Jesus, Y/N. You saw a story and what—just assumed the worst?”

You hated the way your stomach twisted at that.

Because maybe—just maybe—he was right. Maybe you had let jealousy cloud your judgment. Maybe you had let the silence between you turn into something uglier than it was ever meant to be.

But that didn’t change the fact that this wasn’t just about her.

It was about everything.

The late-night calls that were always cut short. The weeks without seeing each other. The way it felt like you were constantly reaching for him while he was always a step too far away.

“You let me assume the worst,” you muttered, voice shaking despite yourself. “Because you never do anything to prove me wrong.”

Luke’s expression flickered—just for a second. And in that second, you saw it. The guilt.

But then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” His voice was quieter now, raw around the edges. “That I wish I could be around more? That I fucking hate the distance just as much as you do?” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You act like this is easy for me. Like I don’t miss you every goddamn day.”

Your throat tightened. “Then why don’t you act like it?”

He stared at you, breathing hard, like he was trying to find the right words—but they never came.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

There was always so much left unsaid.

Neither of you spoke. The tension that had been simmering all night was now crackling in the air between you, but this time, there was nowhere left for it to go.

The guy you had walked out with cleared his throat. “Uh—”

Luke’s head snapped toward him. “Leave.”

“Luke—”

“No, it’s fine.” The guy held up his hands, clearly deciding that whatever this was, it wasn’t worth the drama. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

You didn’t watch him leave. You didn’t even care.

Because all of your attention was on Luke.

On the way his shoulders were tense, his fists clenched at his sides, his eyes locked onto yours like this was some kind of battle neither of you knew how to win.

Finally, after what felt like forever, you exhaled. “So what now?”

Luke hesitated.

And that hesitation—that tiny moment of uncertainty—made something inside you crack.

Because if he didn’t know, then maybe you already did.

Maybe you’d known for a while.

Maybe you just hadn’t wanted to say it out loud.

You swallowed hard. “I can’t keep doing this, Luke.”

His face fell.

You regretted the words the second they left your mouth.

I can’t keep doing this, Luke.

Because now they were out there, hanging heavy in the space between you, and you couldn’t take them back.

Luke’s face twisted, like the weight of them had hit him straight in the chest. He shifted slightly, like he wanted to move closer but didn’t know if he was still allowed to. “You don’t mean that.”

Your throat tightened. Didn’t you?

“I don’t know,” you whispered, voice barely audible over the hum of the city around you. “I don’t know what I mean anymore.”

That seemed to snap something in him. His jaw clenched, frustration bleeding into his voice. “So what? You just want to walk away?”

Your stomach twisted. That wasn’t what you wanted—not really. But maybe it would be easier. Maybe it would hurt less than this constant, suffocating ache in your chest.

“I don’t want to,” you admitted, voice cracking. “But, Luke… I don’t know how to keep this from falling apart.”

He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “Then we figure it out.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “And how do we do that? Because I’m fucking exhausted. I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one fighting for this.”

That made something flicker in his expression—something wounded. “That’s not fair.”

You scoffed. “Isn’t it?”

His eyes darkened. “You think I don’t fight for this? You think I don’t want to be with you?”

“I think you want me when it’s convenient.” The words came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t take them back. “When you have time. When it doesn’t get in the way of your schedule.”

Luke took a step closer, shaking his head. “That’s bullshit.”

“Is it?” You could feel your control slipping, the frustration bubbling over. “Because I spend every day waiting for you to call, waiting for you to show up—and half the time, I’m left wondering if you even remember I exist.”

Luke’s brows furrowed, his expression torn between anger and something softer, something that looked like guilt.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered, voice tight. “You have no fucking clue how hard this is for me too.”

“Then tell me.” Your voice cracked, raw and desperate. “Because all I know is that I feel like I’m constantly reaching for you, and you’re never there.”

Luke let out a frustrated breath, his hands flexing like he didn’t know what to do with them. “I don’t know how to do this, okay? I don’t know how to give you everything you deserve while I’m a thousand miles away.”

Your chest ached at the confession, at the vulnerability underneath the frustration. But it didn’t change anything.

“I’m not asking for everything, Luke.” Your voice softened just slightly. “I’m just asking for something.”

Luke shook his head, exhaling sharply. “I—fuck.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, like he was trying to pull himself together. “I don’t know how to fix this, but I can’t lose you.”

Your heart clenched.

Because that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Neither of you knew how to fix it. But neither of you could bear the thought of letting go.

Luke’s gaze searched yours, desperate and pleading. “Tell me what to do.”

Your throat felt tight. “I don’t have the answer.”

For a second, neither of you spoke. The tension was suffocating, your emotions teetering on a knife’s edge.

Then, suddenly, Luke moved.

He reached for you like it was instinct, his hands cupping your face, his forehead pressing against yours. His breath was shaky, his grip almost too tight—like he was afraid you’d slip right through his fingers.

“I love you.” The words were barely above a whisper, but they hit you like a punch to the chest.

Your breath hitched.

Because he’d never said it before. Neither of you had.

You felt your resolve cracking, splintering under the weight of those three words.

But love wasn’t always enough.

And as much as you wanted to believe this was the turning point—the moment everything changed—you weren’t sure if this was a beginning or just the messiest part of the end.

Because Luke had never said those words before.

And you’d spent so long wondering if he ever would—if he ever could.

Now, here they were, hanging in the air between you like a lifeline you weren’t sure you could reach for.

I love you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the way his hands trembled against your skin. He was holding you so tightly, like he thought you might slip through his fingers if he let go.

And maybe he was right.

Because as much as you wanted to say it back—as much as you felt it—you weren’t sure love was enough to fix this.

Your throat felt tight. “Luke…”

He shook his head quickly, like he already knew what you were going to say. “Don’t. Just—don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

Your heart twisted. “I do mean it.”

Luke’s breath hitched, but before he could say anything, you continued.

“I love you, Luke.” The words tasted like the truth, and you hated how much it hurt to say them. “But I don’t know if that changes anything.”

Luke exhaled sharply, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were desperate, searching. “Of course it changes things.”

You swallowed hard. “Does it?”

He blinked, like he hadn’t expected you to ask that. “It has to.”

Your chest ached. Because you wanted to believe that. You wanted to believe that loving each other was enough to make the distance bearable, to make the jealousy fade, to make the ache in your chest disappear every time he left.

But love wasn’t a bandage. It didn’t erase the late nights spent staring at your phone, wondering if he’d call. It didn’t undo the fights, the silences, the way you felt like you were constantly fighting a battle you didn’t know how to win.

Luke must have seen the hesitation on your face because his grip tightened. “Y/N, I need you to tell me what to do here.” His voice was quiet, but it was raw, edged with frustration and fear. “Because I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t know how to make this work.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know either.”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Neither of you had the answers.

You loved him, and he loved you. But love alone wasn’t fixing anything.

Luke clenched his jaw. “So what? We just give up?”

You inhaled sharply. “I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t,” he pleaded. “Stay.”

Your heart cracked straight down the middle.

Because God, you wanted to stay. You wanted to hold onto him and pretend like love was enough. You wanted to ignore the distance, the fights, the uncertainty.

But how much longer could you keep pretending that love was enough to stop this from falling apart?

Tears burned at the back of your eyes. “Luke, I don’t know how to keep doing this.”

His expression twisted, something breaking in his gaze.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

The silence felt heavier than ever before. Stretching between you, thick and suffocating.

Luke’s hands were still on you, but his grip had loosened—like he knew, deep down, that he couldn’t hold on forever.

But neither of you were ready to say it out loud.

Not yet.

“I can do better,” he said suddenly, voice hoarse. “I’ll—fuck, I’ll make more time. I’ll fly out every chance I get. I’ll call more. Whatever you need.”

Your chest ached at the desperation in his voice.

Because he meant it. You knew he did.

But the problem was never him meaning it.

The problem was reality—the way life always seemed to get in the way, no matter how much either of you wanted to pretend otherwise.

You swallowed hard. “Luke…”

“Just give me a chance,” he pleaded. “One more chance to make this work.”

You hated how badly you wanted to say yes.

Because you did. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that one more try would be enough. That if you just held on a little longer, fought a little harder, things would get easier.

But history had already proven otherwise.

Still, when you looked at him—at the raw emotion in his eyes, the way he looked at you like you were slipping through his fingers—you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

Not yet.

You exhaled shakily. “Okay.”

Luke’s shoulders sagged with relief, and before you could second-guess it, he was pulling you against him. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his face buried in your hair, like he was trying to memorise the feel of you against him.

“I love you,” he murmured again, like saying it enough times would make everything okay.

You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping the back of his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

And you did.

But deep down, you had a sinking feeling that love wouldn’t be enough to save you.

Not this time.

———

You should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

For a little while, it almost felt like things were okay. Luke called more, sent you stupid texts throughout the day, made an effort to remind you that he wanted this, that he wanted you.

And maybe that should’ve been enough.

But it wasn’t.

Because even when he was trying—when he was doing everything he promised he would—the ache in your chest never really went away.

It wasn’t just the distance. It was the exhaustion. The weight of trying so hard, only to feel like you were running in circles.

Like you were holding onto something that was already slipping through the cracks.

And now, standing in his apartment, you felt the final thread start to snap.

Luke was frustrated. You could see it in the way he raked a hand through his hair, in the way his jaw kept clenching like he was trying to hold something back.

“Jesus, Y/N, what else do you want me to do?” His voice wasn’t raised, but it was edged with something sharp, something tired. “I’m trying. I’m here. What more do you want?”

You exhaled shakily, heart pounding against your ribs. “I don’t know.”

Luke let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You have to know. Because I can’t keep guessing what’s going to make you happy.”

Your stomach twisted. “This isn’t just about me.”

“No? Because it sure as hell feels like I’m the only one bending over backward to make this work.”

That stung.

Because you had been trying. You had been fighting for this.

But maybe that was the difference.

Luke thought fixing this was about doing things—calling more, texting more, showing up when he could. And sure, those things mattered. But that wasn’t what was breaking you.

It was everything in between.

The distance that couldn’t be closed by a few extra phone calls. The silence that still felt heavy, even when you were together. The way you still felt alone, even in the moments he was right in front of you.

It wasn’t about effort anymore. It was about the fact that maybe—just maybe—you weren’t supposed to keep fighting for something that hurt this much.

Your throat felt tight. “I don’t think we can fix this.”

Luke froze.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then, his expression hardened. “So that’s it?”

Your chest ached. “Luke—”

“No, seriously. That’s it?” He let out a sharp breath, stepping back like he couldn’t stand being this close to you anymore. “We hit a rough patch, and you just decide it’s not worth it?”

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “This isn’t just a rough patch.” Your voice wavered. “We’ve been fighting for months. We keep trying, and it’s not working.”

Luke shook his head, eyes dark with frustration. “No. You keep doubting us. You keep looking for an excuse to leave.”

That felt like a slap.

“Do you think this is easy for me?” Your voice cracked. “Do you think I want to feel like this? To feel like I’m constantly begging for something that’s never enough?”

Luke’s expression flickered—like maybe, just maybe, he finally saw how much this had been hurting you.

But the worst part?

You knew it was hurting him too.

That was what made this so fucking unbearable.

Because this wasn’t about not loving each other.

It was about the fact that love had stopped being enough.

Luke’s hands flexed at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he should. His voice was quieter when he spoke again, but it still felt like a punch to the gut.

“You really want to do this?”

No.

God, no.

But what choice did you have?

Your chest felt like it was caving in, but you forced yourself to nod. “Yeah.”

Luke inhaled sharply, like he’d been punched.

And just like that, it was over.

The fight drained out of him all at once. His shoulders slumped, his eyes flickering toward the floor. “Okay.”

You weren’t sure which hurt more—the frustration, the fighting, or this.

The emptiness.

The realisation that there was nothing left to say.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “I should go.”

Luke didn’t stop you.

And somehow, that was the worst part of all.

———

The apartment felt too quiet.

Your suitcase sat half-open by the door, clothes spilling out of it. You hadn’t unpacked since you got back a week ago, pathetically trying to cling onto something you weren’t ready to let go of.

But what was left to stay for?

Your hands shook as you opened it further, starting to finally unpack. Your chest felt hollow, like the fight had carved out a part of you that you weren’t sure would ever feel whole again.

You had been the one to walk away.

So why did it feel like you had just lost everything?

You had told yourself that this was the right decision. That love—no matter how deep, no matter how real—wasn’t always enough. That some things just didn’t work, no matter how badly you wanted them to.

But God, it hurt.

Your phone sat on the bedside table, untouched since you got back to your apartment.

Luke hadn’t called.

And you weren’t sure what hurt more—the idea that he was too angry to reach out, or the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he had already accepted this.

That he was ready to let you go.

You weren’t sure you were ready to let go of him.

But you had already done the hardest part. You had walked out of his apartment, out of his life.

Now, you just had to figure out how to live with it.

———

The silence in the apartment was unbearable.

Luke had never noticed how loud it was when you were here—the hum of your voice on the phone, the sound of your laugh echoing from the other room, the way you always seemed to fill the space in a way he never had.

Now, it was just quiet.

And he fucking hated it.

His hands flexed at his sides as he paced the living room, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

You were gone.

And it wasn’t a stupid fight. It wasn’t a rough patch.

This time, you weren’t coming back.

Luke had thought about calling you. Had stared at his phone for so long that his vision blurred, the screen taunting him with your name.

But what would he even say?

That he was sorry? That he still loved you? That he wanted to take it all back, but he knew deep down that nothing had changed?

That no matter how much he wanted to fix this, some things just weren’t meant to be fixed?

Luke sat down heavily on the couch, staring at the door like he half expected you to walk back in.

But you wouldn’t.

And he wasn’t sure how to live with that.

———

Time was supposed to make this easier.

That’s what everyone told you. That eventually, the ache in your chest would dull, and one day you’d wake up without the weight of him pressing against your ribs.

But weeks had passed. Then months.

And Luke still felt like a ghost in your life.

He was everywhere and nowhere all at once. In the song that played in the coffee shop, in the hoodie still shoved in the back of your closet because you couldn’t bring yourself to throw it away. In the fleeting moments when you reached for your phone before remembering that he wasn’t yours to call anymore.

You had moved on, technically. You did all the things you were supposed to do—went out with friends, filled your days with distractions, pretended like the hole in your chest wasn’t still there.

But every time you saw his name in a headline, every time you heard his voice in an interview, it hit you like a punch to the gut.

Because you still missed him.

And no matter how much time passed, you weren’t sure you’d ever stop.

———

He didn’t talk about you.

Not to his teammates, not to his family, not even when Jack asked in that quiet, careful way that made Luke’s jaw tighten.

Because if he didn’t talk about you, maybe he could pretend like he wasn’t still thinking about you.

Like he didn’t check his phone some nights, scrolling mindlessly, hoping to see your name somewhere even though he knew he wouldn’t.

Like he didn’t still hear your voice in the back of his head sometimes, teasing him, laughing, telling him you loved him.

It was pathetic, probably. Holding onto something that was already gone.

But Luke had never been good at letting go.

He threw himself into hockey. Into practices, games, anything that kept him too exhausted to think about the way his apartment still felt empty without you.

But some nights, when the adrenaline faded and the silence crept in, he wondered.

If you still thought about him. If you still missed him the way he missed you.

If this was really over.

Or if maybe, just maybe, it never really would be.

[akawifeyy]

friends with benefits | fic (FC43)

description: it’s six months into your relationship with formula one driver franco colapinto, but you’re still believing the delusional lie that there’s no strings attached.

tropes: no strings attached, he’s obsessed with you, playboy, girlfriend!fem!reader

face claim: none

trigger warnings: suggestive and mature content (!!), minor mentions of violence, swearing

| note: agh i love franco so much, i wish there was more f1 content with him

Franco kissed you, his touch soft as a feather while his fingers splayed across your skin, worshipping your curves. He knew every inch of you, committing it to memory like you’d evaporate in his arms if he didn’t do so. “Mmm, mi alma, I love you,” he murmured in the shell of your ear, his breath warm. “I don’t know how I could ever live without you.”

You froze, going deathly still, at a loss of words. I love you. This was the first time he had ever uttered that phrase, and you were struck dumb, unable to respond.

Noticing your distress, Franco cupped your cheek in reassurance, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he grinned. “You don’t have to say it back. I understand. I want you to mean it when you do tell me it.”

“No, that’s not it,” you whispered, face flushing with embarrassment. You didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to break the spell and ruin the sweet moment. With Franco’s rapidly intensifying schedule, time between you was being whittled down more and more.

Franco’s eyebrows furrowed, concern etching lines in his face. “¿Que te pasa?”

Averting your gaze, you quickly blurted, “I didn’t realize we were so serious. I guess I still thought we were just hooking up, no strings attached. Hearing you say that…It’s just shocking.”

He reared back, dropping his hand from your face like he had been burnt. “Are you trying to tell me that there’s someone else you’d rather have been spending your time with?” His eyes hardened with hurt as he imagined you underneath some faceless man while he made love to you. In Franco’s mind, the two of you had been together since he’d taken you out on that first date in Buenos Aires, exploring his hometown with you by his side. Ever since then, you were inseparable. So why were you pretending otherwise?

You shook your head, suddenly feeling stupid. “No, of course not, I just assumed you’d find someone better and leave me. I thought all Formula One drivers were like that.”

Franco blinked. “There is no girl better than you, Y/N. And I’m not all Formula One drivers, I’m my own person.”

“Well…” You squirmed out of his reach, turning away from him as you fumbled for the right thing to say. “So, we’re… together? You want to be with me? For real?”

He nodded vigorously. “I’ve always wanted to be with you. I thought I made this clear.”

You twisted your lips, guilt gnawing at your insides. “It didn’t click. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been calling you mi novia to my parents ever since day one,” Franco said, expelling a breath. “Telling them that I’ve found my wife, I’ve found the woman I will marry and spend the rest of my days with. And the whole time you’ve been believing that we were nothing? Just fuck buddies?”

Heat permeated your skin, and you thought you might die from the humiliation. “I’m sorry, Franco.”

“You’re not just a good fuck for me, Y/N,” Franco hissed, stepping close to you and jerking your head up so you would be forced to look at him. Arousal pooled in your lower gut as you watched frustration grow in his piercing stare. “You’re my everything. Why else would I buy you everything you want? Why would I make you wear my jersey, hold your hand in public, warn other men off and threaten to chop their dicks off? Just to have some fun?”

Your eyes fluttered shut as his words sunk in. “I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that, but you don’t understand how upset I am with you,” Franco retorted. He tugged you roughly, crashing his lips against your forehead. “Mierda. Six months, and you really thought you were just another warm body for me?”

You covered your mouth with your hands, all semblances of speech eradicated.

“You’re not. Get that idea out of your head.” Franco’s eyes narrowed to slits. “We’re not fuck buddies, or some other crazy shit. We do have strings attached, because I’m in love with you. And I’m never giving you up for another woman. Not in a thousand years.”

You inclined your head. “OK, if you say so.”

“Good.” Franco touched your chin again with one finger. “Now let’s get back to what we were doing, hm?”

A moan broke free as he lowered your shirt, revealing the bare skin of your shoulder and collarbones. A flurry of kisses were embedded as his own shirt was removed and you were placed carefully on the bed. He positioned himself on top, his strong arms barricading you and muscles flexing as he began working his way down to your pussy. When your skirt was tossed on the floor along with your panties, he began his conquest, two fingers sliding in you without much difficulty.

“It’s like you’re built for me,” Franco growled. “So fucking ready.”

You swallowed back another moan as he extricated his fingers, instead replacing it with his cock.

“¿Todo bien?” he asked a few minutes later, languidly thrusting as sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. “Do I need to stop?”

You shook your head feebly. “No, please, Franco,” you mewled.

“I hope you know that I adore you, hermosa. I don’t care if this is too much, too soon, because my emotions are going to swallow me whole if I don’t tell you.” Franco groaned as he dug deeper, his entire body pulsing with unspent energy as his release neared. “You live in my every heartbeat, you linger in my thoughts. When I am away from you, I feel like I will die.”

“I...” Your breath was shaky as you continued, “I love you, Franco.”

“If my legacy is to be your lover, then so be it,” he added. “Haría cualquier cosa por ti.”

And together, the pleasure that had been steadily mounting reached its breaking point, and you unraveled together.

Two souls, in sync. The way you wanted it to be forever.

─── ୨୧ ─── THE END ─── ୨୧ ───

[jytan2018]

Yessss.

Hope OP doesn't mind me adding on, but another thing that makes Shen Gongbao a good Nezha/Ao Bing foil is how their parents contributed to their self worth.

Nezha grew up with parents that relentlessly defended him from an entire town that's hated him since his birth, even if Nezha went on to act out in ways the townsfolk rightfully resents him for (property damage and serious physical injury is no joke when you're a peasant who does manual labour for a living, y'all). Ao Bing grew up with a father who not only got the entire dragon clan to pry off their toughest scales (which is explicitly shown to be a PAINFUL process) in order to forge armour for him, but also admitted that his life experience may not be applicable to Ao Bing's pursuit of happiness and allowed him to resume risking his life with Nezha.

Shen Gongbao, on the other hand, grew up with a bootstrap-mentality father that teaches his disciples, "If you must hate, then hate the fact that you were born a demon!".

Like, I understand it's intended to be motivational, but that can't have been good for Shen Gongbao's self esteem. Papa Shen was unknowingly setting his own son up for a lifetime of failure, not because of a skill issue on SGB's part, but because Papa Shen himself is so loyal to the oppressive status quo that he doomed his own disciples by asking them to surrender to the Chan Sect. And when the only way to win the game is to change the rules entirely, is it any wonder that SGB found himself repeatedly losing and got desperate enough to turn evil?

I'm gonna go off on a tangent here, but another character I've seen people suggest SGB is a foil to is Taiyi Zhenren, and I find that especially interesting. Taiyi is consistently portrayed as the favoured disciple throughout both movies, be it through SGB's jealousy when he discovers their master gifted him the Shan He She Ji Painting (Taiyi's Doraemon pouch of ridiculously OP magical items suggests it's a regular occurence) or Wuliang calling Taiyi "privileged" while ranting about his justification for committing demon genocide. Literally, the plot of Nezha 1 kicks off because SGB got nothing after years of doing Wuliang's dirty work, and all Taiyi had to do to score the Golden Immortal title was babysit the Spirit Pearl's reincarnation (a.k.a. Nezha) for 3 years.

This privilege is also glaringly obvious in the simplistic suggestions he provides to them. Why don't you just ask Tianzun for Liquid Jade instead of going through the three trials? Why can't you simply apologise to Tianzun instead of killing everyone? These are solutions that can only come out the mouth of someone who's never been told no.

By all accounts, Taiyi is just as much a personification of the system's inequality as SGB is, and he should be its staunchest defender because of everything he stands to lose when it falls.

And yet, who was the one that decided to risk it all for Nezha and Ao Bing when they were caught in the Heavenly Trial Curse? Taiyi. Shen Gongbao gave up when the Curse struck because he simply couldn't see a way out of it, but Taiyi was the one who jumped in the moment they survived long enough for a glimmer of hope to emerge. He was only able to help BECAUSE he's never been discouraged and therefore has rock-solid confidence in his ability to save them. His magical items were only there to guarantee his success.

Another notable thing about Taiyi is that he's the only non-family person that SGB doesn't stutter around. Jiaozi has confirmed in the past that the stutter was a result of Chan Sect folks repeatedly speaking over/interrupting SGB and destroying his self esteem, so it says a lot about SGB's trust in Taiyi AND Taiyi's respectful treatment of SGB if the guy instinctively feels safer and more relaxed around him than he is with Ao Bing, the universally acknowledged precious boy who's never done anything wrong except when he tried to massacre all of Chen Tang Guan.

Of course, it's very easy to do good when you have the cultivation equivalent of a Doraemon pouch in your pants and you're not being constantly beaten down by the status quo, but I feel it's important to realise that Taiyi as a character isn't meant to prove that SGB had no excuse for what he did, and that the current system is still salvageable if it could produce wholesome thicc chads like him.

Nah, I'd argue Taiyi is meant to showcase the importance of refusing to succumb to bitterness and despair. This particular trait also makes Taiyi a foil to Oubing, because both of them grew up with the depressing realisation that their parents may have their back, but the world doesn't. SGB used the resulting bitterness to fuel his cultivation efforts, but he failed to realise that it doesn't work the same way as anger. Anger is your heart telling you that something is wrong and you must fight back, bitterness is your mind telling you EVERYTHING is wrong, so you don't have to hold back your worst self against anyone, not even those who don't deserve it. The ability to process that bitterness and despair (or at the very least, block it out temporarily) via self-care, mutual aid etc. can make or break a revolution, and it shows when the only thing Ao Guang had to say when demons were dying by the dozen in that cauldron was, "Don't give up." Taiyi had a lot of chances to turn bitter when asked to teach Nezha, or after he realised how far gone Wuliang was, but he continued to put the "relief" in "comedic relief" and kept everyone going with the resources he had at his disposal and/or his refusal to give up.

With Nezha 2's post credit scene implying SGB will accept the deal with Wuliang to save Papa Shen, I think Nezha 3 will set up another crossroads moment where he decides who he truly wants to be. However, given that Nezha's OG myth revolves around this epic battle between the Chan and Jie Sects where multiple major characters die and subsequently attain godhood for their service (both movies reference the Fengshen Bang/Fengshen Da Zhan, or God Induction List/God Induction Battle for this reason), literally everyone will likely be struggling just to stay alive, let alone reach out to a enemy-turned-ally-turned-enemy-again guy like SGB. Well, everyone except the comedic relief guy who's had god-tier plot armour for two movies straight.

It'll come down to Taiyi Zhenren, the one Chan Sect Guy who he can trust AND has the resources to shield him from some of the immediate backlash for his betrayal, to help SGB complete his redemption arc.

Nezha 2 spoilers - on the character of Sheng Gongbao.

More on Sheng Gongbao, because I think what the movie did in introducing this classic antagonist's parent and kid brother may feel really random at first, but totally recontextualsies him to be (1) an even closer foil to Ao Bing and (2) a new foil to Nezha.

Ao Bing

In Nezha 1, Shen Gongbao explains his nature to Ao Bing so he could share the similarities of their situations: that he is a leopard demon, and demons suffer the same disrepute and disadvantage of dragons in the world of cultivation. That's why he did all this scheming from Ao Bing's birth to set him on a path that can diverge from his own - so he can prepare his disciple to advance where he can't - so Ao Bing can climb higher on the cultivation ladder. Shen Gongbao would benefit from Ao Bing's advancement as the master who trained, raised, and sponsored him to advance on the celestial stage. Ao Bing's father and people would also benefit from Ao Bing's ascension.

The foil Shen Gongbao plays for Ao Bing is being a demon - underpriviledged, undesired, having to struggle and claw his way in everything, being twice as good and yet not good enough, all because of what they are and how they were born. But he's known to Ao Bing only as his master and senior, someone who understands how the world works and whom taught Ao Bing his martial arts and magic.

In Nezha 2, the characters Sheng Zhengdao, the father, and Sheng Xiaobao, the kid brother, are introduced. This immediately changes the reading of Shen Gongbao. Not only is he a master, senior and an 'adult' in the complicated and cruel cultivation world - but he is also a son. Not only is he a son, there is an intricate backstory about what kind of son he is - he's the son who left his home and backwater town to go to celestial university, he's the first in the family to be accepted into the Chan Sect, the son who achieved human form, the over-achieving son, the son with a career, the son who made it, the absolute pride of the family. The eldest son who's family think he is living it up.

He is..........decidedly not. This is where the 'demon' storyline comes back: he has hit wall after wall. He's done dirty quid pro quo. He's been decieved, used, and even cowed by the system. One can't be treated fairly as a demon. Since he cannot make it any further by himself, he's resorted to relying on Ao Bing.

However, Sheng Gongbao's new role as a 'son' now paints him in an interesting light to both Ao Bing and Nezha. We instantly see that his motivation isn't just about feeling oppressed as a demon and wanting to be recognised for his merits. There is also clearly some insane filial piety driving him - because his position and ascention is supposed to benefit his kid brother and aging father back home! He is not just doing it for himself. He did all that dirty quid pro quo, being used as a tool, cowed by the system....because he needed to be the good son for his family. Because the truth is he has not made it at all. But if only he trains the perfect disciple, more perfect than himself...if only he gets him accepted into the celestial word...if only Ao Bing becomes a god of the Fengshen Bang...if Sheng Gongbao is reocognised as one of the 12 Golden Gods.........

On and on. His foil to Ao Bing as a son adds an extra dimension to Nezha 1. Ao Bing trained his whole life (being given the advantage of being the 'Yang pill') to advance his father's and people's position. To the point of being convinced, even if for a moment, that levelling Chentang Guan and killing all the people to keep the shameful secret of his dragon nature, was the only way forward...This now sounds very similar to his master. This is the solution his trusted, experienced master sold him. In Nezha 2, we learn Shen Gongbao has done terrible things for the celestial Wuliang (his senior cultivation brother)...it follows he would unload that same treacherous cycle onto Ao Bing.

2. Nezha

In a broad sense, Sheng Gongbao as the son becomes 'young,' a former protagonist himself, the hero of his own story, with his own parents and brother to appease. What I found endlessly interesting, is that with this new role, Shen Gongbao explicitly becomes a foil to Nezha as well. But the specific foil to Nezha in this case is 'being a son who will go on a total rampage out of love for his parents/family.'

With the knowledge of his parent's 'deaths,' Nezha goes on a total rampage out of love for his parents and the pain of losing them, that ends in beating up dragons and locking them in a huge magic furnace, completely playing into the hands of the evil celestial Wuliang. When our hero Nezha mitakenly fights the Eastern Dragon King Ao Guang, with the threat of his unfinished flesh body being disintegrated (he's not ready to fight in that condition yet!) - what does he say? He says "I don't care if I'll die, so long as I kill you!" The urge to avenge his parents is stronger than his self-preservation. But it's a twist. His parents are alive!

In the furnace scene, Nezha is offered a chance to save his parents who are getting cooked into cultivation pills by Wuliang. To accept a pill that makes him lose his memory and fall under the control of Wuliang. But Nezha's mother bats that thing out of Wuliang's hands, that's stupid and her son will never be a puppet for nefarious gods! Nezha, in the end, comes from a loving and supportive family who knows and understand him. They accept him for who he is. They would never stand for it. And so Nezha is protected from being manipulated.

Upon the Chentang Guan plot twist, it's revealed Shen Gongbao actually has the same reaction Nezha has when he thinks his family has died. Except for the point that his kid brother really does die - right in front of him! After whisking away Nezha's parents, Sheng Gongbao steps out again to the war-torn Chentang Guan, to fight off a thousand demons and the three traitor dragons. All by himself. There's dialogue, Nezha's parents ask Master Shen Gongbao what is he doing - where is going - why doesn't he take shelter with them?! And Shen Gongbao answers with bitter acceptance, "What's the point? My family's gone." And he goes out to fight. To take a last stand. To die.

Going back to Nezha, doesn't that reveal Sheng Gongbao's deepest motivations as the same as our hero's? He wasn't really doing it - all of it - entirely for himself. Now that his father and kid brother are dead, there is no reason to strive further. Shen Gongbao can let go of being one of the 12 Golden Gods or whatever. He's going to go out into danger, satisfy the urge to avenge his father and brother, and die.

Which takes me to the very delicious, delicious, diabolical end credits scene. The villainous Wuliang goes to a terrible prison where Shen Gongbao and his barely-ok father are alive. In a scene that totally parallels Nezha's choice in the furnace, he presents the same offer to Shen Gongbao. Accept a curse on his mind and body that will enslave him to Wuliang in exchange for his father's life.

But Shen Gongbao doesn't have the same honesty, understanding, protection from his father...because all this time he has been away from home...not returning because he hasn't made it...his father under the impression he is living it up as a celestial...his father not even conscious...

His kid brother died.

He has just this one family member left.

A person he was supposed to be doing all this for, to make proud.

A person he was ready to get revenge and die for.

After all he has already done - what is a little curse on Sheng Gongbao for the benefit of his father?

[kisakis-boyfriend]

As the Souya Simp of this blog I have the wonderful honor of being the one to obviously request Souya for the whole alphabet if that’d be Gucci for thou!

-Souya’s anon lover

Author's Note: Of course! Yours is also the first request for this event too. 🥳

For our 3000 follower celebration!

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Very cuddly, and you love him for that 🩵 Souya will collapse, totally out of energy, and then he's immediately ready for cuddle time!

He's also great at letting you know how amazing you were, and how loved you are.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite part of himself is probably his arms, or his ass since you compliment it so much 😅

When it comes to you, Souya's answer is simple: your gorgeous face is his most favorite thing about you 🩵

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

I feel like Souya's cumshots would be pretty sizable, but his cum is less thick than other guys. More translucent white and slightly more bitter than average. And, if you edge him for a long time, the tiny spurts of cum would make it look like Souya is squirting rather than cumming 😋

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Souya has a folder on his phone full of secret photos. Ones he snapped of you fresh out of the shower, changing clothes, and similar situations. But there's also some innocent ones too. A few selfies, pictures of you two from social gatherings and whatnot. He admires these often 🩵

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He's a little lost, but he's got the spirit. Not super inexperienced, but his knowledge of kinks and sexual health is a bit lacking.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. May include a visual)

Anything face to face, methinks. Cowgirl, missionary, even a good ol' mating press! Just as long as Souya can watch your reactions, he's happy!

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

I think he can be unintentionally goofy, just by saying something that makes you laugh in the middle of sex. Otherwise he's more on the serious side.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

You know I love a good bush, but I think Souya would trim his hair somewhat. He's definitely not going to shave himself clean down there, but a little bit of shaping is his style 👍

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Souya can be quite intimate. He's the kind of person who will randomly blurt out an "I love you" while you're fucking him. (And if you do it back, you may see a few tears)

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Not his thing. Souya prefers to let you jerk him off, but only if you promise to put your dick inside too 👉👈

Only if you're unable to see each other for a long time, and if he's incredibly horny, will Souya touch himself and think about you. He'll probably sext you as well, or try to hop on a video call.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

FOOD KINK! FOOD KINK! FOOD KINK! And hair pulling, honestly.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

This is a little boring perhaps, but Souya prefers the bed or couch because those are comfortable for long sexy times. I mean, he'll do it just about anywhere, but it is nice to have a soft surface so that his back isn't sore 😵‍💫

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

You. Just, anything about you really. A lingering smile, a flirty wink, a cheeky bite on his neck, a caress over his bulge, the sound of your voice.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Honestly, I don't think Souya would be into spitting. Especially spitting in his mouth… it's just a no from him 😔

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Souya prefers receiving for sure, but he'll use his mouth on you if you coax him into it. He's not too bad at it either. A blowjob from Souya is so full of passion that it makes up for his average skill.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Souya prefers fast and rough, and he's normally the one who sets the pace. But he's not against the occasional soft sex~

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Quickies are a regular occurrence in your relationship. Sometimes one of you is too horny (usually Souya) and you have to settle for a quick round before you go about your day.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

A little bit. He trusts you enough to explore new kinks, but Souya won't shy away from maintaining his boundaries.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

So. Much. Stamina. Good lord, Souya can go on forever it seems. Even when he's visibly tired, he's still bouncing on your cock or throwing his ass back!

On average, he can go for 3 rounds. Although he can definitely go for more if he's in the right mood.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Not the biggest fan of toys. He prefers your dick or your hand to anything else.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He's not one to tease you, and he'll definitely whine when you tease him, but Souya doesn't use your safe word either… 😏

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Loud boi. Grunting and whining are the most common sounds during sex, but Souya moans a lot too. He talks a lot as well, your dick turns him into a bit of a blabbermouth 🤣

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

His brother gave him a manscaped kit for his birthday once 💀 But Souya does actually use it, and his pubic hair looks and feels nice!

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Long dick style — like, 8 to 10 inches. Not super girthy, but not entirely slacking in that aspect either. His dick curves to the left just a tiny bit and there are a few moles around and right above his dick.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Above average for sure. Souya is ready to go at almost any time. It's kind of scary how much this guy can fuck 💀

Z = ZZZ (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

While he's not always going to pass out immediately, that has happened a few times. More often than not though, Souya is just physically exhausted and would like to cuddle and chill while you both wind down.

[juicygirl4life]

☆ Unspoken Feelings ☆

☆Pairing: Sunghoon x Female Reader ☆Genre: Fluff, Romance ☆Word Count: 925

Y/N had always been good at pretending. Pretending that her heart didn’t race every time Sunghoon smiled at her, pretending that the way his laughter made her stomach flip wasn’t anything more than the comfort of a close friendship. After all, Sunghoon was her best friend—someone she could talk to about anything, someone who had been there through thick and thin. He was everything she could ever want in a friend, but that was the problem. She’d developed feelings for him a long time ago, and no matter how much she tried to push them down, they kept resurfacing.

It was late one evening, after a particularly tiring practice, when the two of them found themselves walking out of the studio together, the other members already having left for the night. Y/N tried to act casual, her usual calm demeanor covering the slight nervousness that always crept in when she was near him.

"You’re quiet tonight," Sunghoon remarked, looking over at her with a curious glance.

Y/N forced a smile, shrugging it off. "Just tired, I guess."

"You sure? You’ve been a little off lately," he said, his voice more concerned than she expected. "Anything on your mind?"

She laughed softly, almost nervously. "Nah, nothing at all." But deep down, her heart was beating faster, and she couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth: That she had been carrying these feelings for him for so long, but was too scared to admit it. Scared that if she said anything, it might ruin their friendship.

Sunghoon didn’t seem convinced. He watched her for a moment, studying her face, the usual teasing spark in his eyes replaced by something softer, more thoughtful. "You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you something."

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. Was this it? Was he finally going to say something? Could it be that he felt the same way?

Her thoughts were racing as Sunghoon stopped in front of her, turning to face her fully. He looked more serious than she had ever seen him, a slight nervousness in his posture that immediately made her stomach flutter.

"Yeah?" Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon shifted his weight, his gaze briefly dropping to the ground before meeting her eyes again. "I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and… I want to know if you’d be interested in going on a date with me."

A date? Her mind immediately went blank, her breath catching in her throat. Was he serious? Sunghoon, her best friend, the one she had been harboring a secret crush on for who knows how long, was asking her out?

It was as though time slowed down in that moment. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest, and she felt both elated and terrified at the same time. Of course, she had dreamed about this—dreamed about the day Sunghoon would maybe, just maybe, feel the same way. But now that it was happening, she didn’t know how to react.

Sunghoon smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck in a way that was so endearing, Y/N almost forgot how to breathe. "I mean, it’s totally okay if you don’t want to. I just… I’ve realized lately that I’ve been thinking about you in a different way, and I wanted to see if maybe you feel the same."

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. This was Sunghoon, the same guy who had been by her side for so long. How could she not want this? How could she not want him?

"I… I’ve had a crush on you for a while now," Y/N admitted before she could stop herself. The words were out there, and she felt vulnerable, but somehow, it felt like the truth was finally out in the open. "I just didn’t know if you felt the same, so I kept it to myself."

Sunghoon’s expression softened, and for a moment, he looked almost relieved. "I’m really glad you said that," he said quietly, his voice sincere. "I’ve been too afraid to admit it to you, but I’ve felt the same way for a while. I just didn’t want to mess things up between us."

Y/N felt her chest tighten, her heart soaring. "You really want to go on a date with me?" she asked, still in disbelief.

Sunghoon chuckled, a warm, genuine laugh that made her heart flutter. "Yeah, I do. More than anything."

There it was—the moment she had been waiting for. Sunghoon, her best friend, the person she’d secretly fallen for, was asking her out on a date. And she wasn’t going to let this moment slip away.

"Okay," Y/N said, smiling brightly. "I’d love to."

Sunghoon’s face broke into a grin that was so wide it made her knees weak. "Great. I promise I’ll make it worth it."

"You better," she teased, nudging him with her shoulder.

As they stood there under the soft glow of the streetlights, Y/N felt like everything had shifted. They weren’t just friends anymore—they were something more. And it felt like everything had fallen into place.

"I’ll pick you up tomorrow," Sunghoon said, his smile never fading.

"I’ll be ready," Y/N replied, her heart racing with anticipation.

And as they walked in different directions that night, Y/N couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, her feelings for Sunghoon were no longer a secret. They were the beginning of something new, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

☆Note: Please let me know if you guys would like a part 2 of this fanfiction where Sunghoon and her go on the date.

[glimpsesofeuterpe]

oh no i remembered about it and now i feel petty x))

[tariah23]

Now he’s trying to lie when he literally tagged Princeton like 5 fucking time. White people are so evil, bro. They always know what they’re doing when they do shit like that. With the attempt to bring harm to Black people who they want to “get out of the way,” because they don’t think that we belong in the same spaces as them while at the same time, believing they should be allowed INTO our spaces and afforded hospitality and a whole red carpet rolled out. The sad thing is, she has connections to the industry because of her uncle and name so what if this was just a random Black woman who worked for Princeton without this kind of protection at all…?

[gayberdnird]

Today was A Day

[shawtuzi]

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ cw include: oral f receiving, multiple orgasms, praise ….oh and you have two bfs in this!!

“i-i can’t do it! s’too much i’m too sensitive,” you tugged at suguru’s bun, making it more disarrayed than it already was. your toes curled when you felt eren leave wet kisses on your neck, his tatted hands moving from your hips to your chest, now tweaking at your nipples.

eren licked from your jaw to the lobe of your ear, nibbling ever so softly on it. “maybe you should give her a break sugu, poor thing said she’s sensitive,” now eren wasn’t serious of course—the sadist in him wanted to see you ruined just as much as suguru. suguru hummed against your pussy, his tongue flicking at your clit one last time before coming up for air.

“you say that yet…. you’re holding her legs back even more. ‘oughta be ashamed of yourself…ain’t that right sweet thing,” suguru asked, kissing the fat of your thigh before biting the soft skin, making you jolt. sugu had pulled two orgasms out of you so far and normally you’d be able to handle at least three maybe even four! but unfortunately you spent the day with eren and that man is as insatiable as they come.

“y-you’re both fuckin’ terrible,” you sniffled, pussy clenching around nothing when you felt suguru nudge your swollen clit with his nose. eren pinched your nipples, grunting a soft ‘watch your mouth’. suguru was quick to latch onto your left nipple, the metal ball from his tongue piercing making you mewel.

between the two men surprisingly suguru the softest one for you. even when he had to punish you at times for being a brat he’d make up for it with sweet kisses to your trembling lips while three of his fingers stuffed your soaked pussy. eren on the other hand….lets just say you’ve never acted up in front of him since the first time he reprimanded you, but that’s a story for another time.

suguru trailed his tongue from your chest to your neck, nipping at the sweet smelling skin. “lemme make you cum one more time sweetness then i’ll be done, i promise,” he whispered the last part directly in your ear, reveling in the way your body shivered at his words. eren craned his neck to speak to you in your other ear, now whispering words of encouragement. “you can do it baby, i know how tired that lil pussy is from me wearing her out but you can give sugu another one right? he didn’t have you all to himself today the way i did”

“c’mon sweetness i know you got another one in you.”

“you’re such a good girl, i know you’ll say yes and make your boyfriends proud right?”

oh you were in a treacherously long night.

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 8:46

“Do you have dimples?”

Bakugou doesn’t understand it himself, but you always find your way back to his house after your first visit—asking these out-of-the-blue questions that seem to have no end to them. It’s like a curse has befallen him, one that follows him wherever he goes.

For a moment, his eyes snap in your direction, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side, though his intense glare never once wavers. He didn’t know what the hell you were getting at, and he wasn’t sure if he had the strength to even want to know why you were asking about something so random.

Honestly, he should be used to it by now. But the thing is, he isn’t, because sooner or later you’ll be popping out of nowhere with another of your pointless questions.

“Hah?”

“I asked, do you have dimples?” you repeated.

His eye twitches at the repeated question, and as much as he’d like to give you a snappy remark to get you to stop, he can’t seem to come up with one. So, for the time being, he decides to humor you (and hope for the best that you drop it and move onto another topic).

“Why the hell are you asking?”

“Because Kaminari and I made a bet whether you have dimples or not. I went with yes, you do have them—even if it’s a singular dimple, but Kaminari says otherwise,” you explained, tapping your finger softly against the coffee table.

He scoffs at the childish reason. “And what makes you think I do have one?”

“A hunch,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “I also have just one.” You smiled, showing off your obvious singular dimple on your right cheek.

Bakugou glances at your dimple for a brief moment, eyes scanning over your face and the way that the dimple seemed to perfectly dip into the soft skin of your cheek. He almost found himself entranced for a moment, but his gaze returned to your eyes as he huffed out in mock disinterest.

He was about to dismiss your hunch—maybe just flat-out refuse to even show you—or come up with a lie. But Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t a liar.

“What happens if you win the bet?”

“I get 3000 yen,” you answered.

That’s a lot, he thought.

“I can pay you 3000 yen to shut the fuck up and stop with the useless questions.”

“There’s no fun in that!”

He scoffs again as he leans back against the sofa, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at your stupidity. He eyed you for a moment, his head tilting to the side as he sighed. “And what happens if you lose the bet?”

“He gets 3000 yen.”

Bakugou almost wanted to laugh at the fact that you were putting so much faith and money on a simple guess, but he managed to hold back on the amused expression and forced himself to remain calm and unbothered.

He leaned back a bit more, relaxing against the plush seats, letting out a mocking “tch” before he said, “What if I don’t show you if I have a damn dimple or not?”

“Please? Oh my god, Bakugou. Don’t do this to me now! Kaminari’s going to do a ‘victory dance’ when he finds out he won by default,” you half-whined.

He was about to give you his final choice when suddenly you started whining at him. Bakugou rose an eyebrow at you, lips quirking to a frown. As idiotic as it is to him, it looks like it was quite a serious matter to you.

“Tch. Whatever.”

You threw your hands to your face, groaning. “Pretty please, with a cherry on top? Spare me some sympathy—and be a team player for once!”

He found himself fighting a scowl at the way you acted. It was somewhat different this time around, and it was making him feel weird. Damn it. You’re a goddamn nuisance.

“Alright, fine. Just—” He motioned with his hand for you to come closer, an almost annoyed expression on his face. “If you tell anyone else about this other than Dunce Face, I’ll make sure you don’t ever see the next sunrise.”

“That doesn’t sound heroic at all—but yes, of course!” you cheered. “Just a little smile, and I shall confirm the goods.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up,” he muttered under his breath, already regretting giving into your stupid request but at the same time knowing that he would never let Kaminari win against you in all circumstances possible.

He let out a huff and hesitantly let the sides of his own lips quirk up into a half-assed attempt at a smile, but from the way it was so rigid, it looked more like a painful grimace.

You gave him a confused, somewhat flat look in return. “Dude, you look like you’re about to shit yourself—mmph! ” You didn’t get to finish what you were saying as Bakugou’s palms immediately squished your cheeks together to shut you up.

“Oh shut it, dipshit,” Bakugou grumbled, his grip on your cheeks tightening ever so slightly as he forced you to pout your lips. “You were asking for a smile. I give one, and you wanna give me smart ass remarks about it?”

“I didn’ even gwet toh shee anythin’! That’s how bwad ith was,” you muffled out through pouty lips.

“Are you gonna keep yapping and bitching about what you asked for, or are you gonna accept my goddamn smile?”

“Fine, fine!” you yielded, pushung his hands away from your face. “Do it one more time, and I’ll actually check this time.”

He narrowed his eyes, almost as if he were wondering if you were going to actually do as you said or go against it and keep making smart-ass comments. But as you yielded, he let out a sigh and decided he’d rather just get this done and over with. 

Less hassle for him.

He repeated his ‘smile’ from before, which looked more like a forced sneer, and he waited for your verdict. This was his last straw; he was going to murder you (not).

You had to hold back your laughter but failed to do so. “I really can’t— Bakugou, please! ” you mused, hitting his shoulder playfully. “Your ‘smile’ reminds me of that time Kirishima had to hold the biggest shit before the bell rings.”

That caught Bakugou off guard. He remembered the memory of Kirishima’s panicked expression and the weird waddle he’d walked around in as he desperately tried to find a bathroom made Bakugou snort under his breath.

“Oh my god, you’re laughing!” you gawked. “And have a dimple! Just a singular one, like mine! We’re matching.”

There it was. A singular dimple on his left cheek.

Bakugou tried to regain his lost composure and let out a scoff in an attempt to mask the slight tint of pink that reached the tip of his ears. He forced his hand onto your face, shoving you (lightly, if he may add) away from him to prevent you from getting another look at his dimple.

“It’s not a worldwide discovery, dumbass. I can fucking laugh if I want to, and it’s just a fucking indent on the cheek.”

“Still cute,” you shrugged, pulling up your phone to text Kaminari. “I need to let Kami know that I won the bet, then we celebrate with bubble tea— my treat!”

“Hey wait— You—“

He tried to protest against your sudden celebration, wanting to tell you that he wasn’t going to let you treat him for anything. This whole damn thing started because of a stupid bet, and he doesn’t really find joy in gaining something from it, but as you pulled out your phone and began to text Kaminari, he sighed and leaned back again with his arms crossed tight against his chest.

“Whatever. You’re fucking annoying.”

“Kay,” you answered. “Also, your actual smile is pretty charming, if you ask me. It’s different from the usual sneer you have on your face. That’s just my opinion, though.”

Bakugou’s face grew a bit warm at your unexpected compliment, but he quickly tried to hide it and turned his head to avert his gaze away from you. His mouth opened to reply with a snappy remark or something like that, but he found himself hesitating.

He eventually scoffed and muttered a low, “Tch. Stop spouting nonsense.”

“Bakugou Katsuki has a singular dimple,” you sing-songed aloud, though you knew that no one would hear since his parents weren’t even home.

Bakugou felt his eyes twitch at your teasing, resisting the urge to tell you off and even going as far as to just punch your shoulder lightly. “Shut the fuck up, dipshit.”

He later found out that there was no bet, and you had just made up the whole scenario to confirm your curiosity. That Bakugou Katsuki does have a dimple, a singular one at that.

Could you imagine how furious he was?

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

One hell of a team | In-ho x Wife!Reader |

Summary: You will follow your husband anywhere.

Warnings: S2 Spoilers - Violence - Different back story for In-ho - Blood - Death - Use of (Y/N) - Reader gets called "love" -

The Frontman, the man with the most power within the island, to who the guards obey without question.

Was currently trembling under his wife pointed look.

"You want to enter the games?" You asked him, your tone cold and almost jugdmental.

In-ho calmed himself down. It was an idea that stayed with him after the death of the Chairman and even more with how player 456 had insisted the last two years in finding them. He had played before and won, he knew how terrible others could be, he had walked out like a new man, used the money for himself and you. Never really gave much thought on how many lives were lost.

But, for some reason he wanted to go again.

"Im going with you"

His glass of wishky fell onto the floor, the loud crash did nothing to bother you while you ate.

"No, thats not happening. I need you here to control the games and guards" In-ho started trying to get a valid reason to why you defenetly should not come.

"Oh, you need me to? Well I need you here. With me. With our family. How do you think I would do seeing you there ? I still remember how you got when you came back from these the first time"

"That was different" The Frontman said taking a deep breath "I wont be just one more player, it will be like when the Chairman went in"

"That still does not ease my mind" (Y/N) responded "Till death do us a part and follow you anywhere" you recited showing him your weeding ring. "Remember?"

In-ho felt his chest got thight at the sight and the memory of the small yet full of love weeding you two had back when life was more simple.

"Alright, you can come with me. Its not like you would wait for my approval" he responded smiling at the end "But no one must know that we are married, you understand that ?" He added now serious

"Of course, its what makes more sense, we will just casually meet there and see how it plays" You nodded to him "And please, better clean up that glass before someone steps on it"

"On it, love"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

For the most part pretending not to know each other was easier than expected. While you knew the guards knew who you two were you were still a bit scared. Specially during the green and red light, since both of you had got separated and now you were froze in your spot.

"You need to move" In-ho said from behind his arm playing along "Follow me in the next sing, alright? Just take my hand"

"Im scared, im sorry" You said feeling guilty over wanting to be there with him and starting to fail on the first game no less.

"I know, I was too. But im here, just follow me"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

You had to hide your smirk when he pressed the circle to go on with the games, you knew he would do it just to piss off Player 456 and make things more cahotic.

He went with the rest and stood besides you trying himself not to smile at you.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

The first approach to Gi-huns team was tense to say the least. You two had voted circle and even worse In-ho had been the vote that ended the tie.

But with his own charisma and yours you two got to be on his good side.

Till In-ho decided to talk, really you sometimes forgot who sassy he could be.

"And some picked umbrella?" He asked faking suprise when he had seen it on first hand. "Most of them died I assume"

You could see the look on player 456 and decided to be more sensitive

"Hey, dont be like that. Im sure they went in blind and did not know what it was about" You said keeping a safe distance so no one would think you two were together or knew each other before the games.

In-ho was having too much fun.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

That first night they both were in their respective beds. Still keeping their false relationship. However once (Y/N) was sure all were asleep she went towards In-ho who was awake like he knew she would be coming to him.

"Are you alright?" He asked in a whisper, worried that for her this would be too much.

"Im fine, I wanted to see if you were fine"

He nodded not saying a thing but taking her hand.

"Also, I saw you break that fight, really ? When did you even learn to do that ?" This made him smile and hold her hand thighter "Really! I only see you in your office all the time"

"You think I would come in here without knowing how to defend myself or you?"

She smiled at him, blushing in the dark. "No....I just thought all you did was be in your office and give orders"

In-ho rolled his eyes "Just wait till we are out of here, i will show you just how fit im"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

The six legs game was both a chaos and funny. Honeslty you could not help yourself on hugging him and player 456 (who was slowly getting on your soft side) as you saw a team win.

However the shoots that came for these who did not survive were too much. You would swear In-ho gave the guards a cold stare because you would flinch sometimes.

"Hey, dont worry they wont shoot the ones who havent played" Player 456 reassured you with a calm tone

You nodded, knowing that even if you lost they wont shoot you or In-ho. It was still sweet to see him trying to calm you down.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

"Not a word" He said during the night when you two were able to talk again.

"I was not going to say a thing, but you did in on purpose or were you really missing ?"

In-ho closed his eyes knowing you would later get the recording of him missing during the game and use it against him.

"It was all planned" he said trying to sound as convincing as he could.

"Whatever you say Honey"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

The game of making pairs gave you nausea because of the carousel kept spinning around. And the rounds were stress again. The worse part was getting separated from In-ho who find you seeing how two players were dragging you so they could have the number they needed.

You havent see him get that angry in years, his protective self being on as he pulled one from the neck and punched the other one.

He kept punching almost forgetting there was a game you two were supposed to play.

"Leave him we still need two more" You urged only for a guard to shove two confused and scared players besides you and In-ho.

"We got them" He assured getting your hand and going to one room.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

"In-ho!! (Y/N)!!" The worried screams of Gi-hun filled the place as he looked for both of you.

Even if he had promised to try and dont get attached to new players and survive he could not help but feel a connection with both of you.

"Gi-hun!" In-ho's voice called making him look over and see him coming towards the rest with you by hand something that made him curious but decided not to ask.

"Im glad to see you two alright" Gi-hun said seeing just a few bruises on you, and noticing blood on In-ho knuckles.

You catched his eyes and went to explain "He saved me" you told the rest looking at them then at In-ho who was looking back at you "I would have not made it otherwise"

The look of love you two shared was so genuine, some wonder if you two were together but trying to be discrete to protect yourselfs.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

"They will most likely attack us tonight" Gi-hun explained as he showed the fork the guards had left when the food was given.

The idea only assented itself when the men returned from the bathroom, with blood on them. 

"And what do you propouse us to do?" In-ho asked all of the Xs were in a circle trying to listen to what Gi-hun had to say.

Gi-hun told the others his plan, honestly you thoguht it was nusts, it wont work. They were far suprassed on numbers but you had to shut yourself up.

You could tell your husband was both amazed by it and even kind of respecting it. Or at least that what he showed to him. He needed Gi-hun's trust after all.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

"Hide well" In-ho said besides you in a low tone "We can trust the guards but till they get here we cant trust the others"

You nodded knowing that very well since this was a typical phase of the game for years.

"We will be safe" You said holding his shoulder. "Do what you have to do, dont worry about me" You tried to make him feel at ease but he could not. The only thing that scared him more than anything were the other players trying to get to you.

"Just hang in there" He responded his forehead against yours.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

The fight was on its hot spot. The players were killing each other without a second thought.

Nothing like living it, even if you have seen this type of thing multiple times. Its was unnerving to see them just going at each others troath. The screams and cries were too much for a moment, the dark did nothing to help.

Thats when you felt it. Someone had dragged you out from under the bed and was now on top of you. You saw the player move their left hand ready to Strike at you. You tried to punch and defend yourself but the person on top was too strong.

A cold scream left your mouth as the fork pierced your shoulder.

You could not help it, the adrenaline and anxiety was getting on you.

"In-ho! In-ho help me please" You screamed for him, your husband the love of your life.

"Shut up, the next one will be your neck" The person said and for a moment you saw it. Dying in here and leaving In-ho.

Till you felt the person being pushed and the screams of them. You blinked trying to make sense.

It was In-ho, he had taken the fork from the player and was now piercing the neck of the player, not even leaving a chance for them to survive.

"GO HIDE NOW!!" In-ho ordered, he being scared himself and angry. He saw red when you were dragged and it was for the brutal grip Gi-hun had on his arm that he did not move faster.

You did as told getting under another bed and making sure no one could reach you.

"You fucking scum! How dare you lay hands on my wife" In-ho almost screamed too angry to see that the player was now dead. All his face and hands where covered in blood.

"Stop it!! They are dead, we need to continue the plan, the lights will be back soon" Gi-hun said taking him and pulling him away from the dead player.

"Get (Y/N), and be ready" Gi-hun told him trying to keep himself calm even when he was close to jump over and save you and In-ho. He wondered if he had hear it right, you were his wife?

In-ho did not waste time, searching for you in the dark till he noticed you. He went quick, pulling yourself out from the bed telling you its was him.

"Shh shh its me, its over dont cry Love" He said trying to make you feel better.

"In-ho?" He nodded and you cried harder "In-ho I was so scared"

"I know love I know, just a bit more alright? It will be over soon. Listen once the guards come in and we follow Gi-huns plan do not come. Someone will come and get you"

"Im going with you, im not leaving you in a bullet fight!"

"You know nothings gonna happen to me, I want you here, safe, alright?"

Finally you accepted.

"I love you In-ho"

"I love you too Love"

~☆~���~☆~☆~☆~☆

As In-ho had said when the guards got back after the fight one took you, Player 120 tried to protest but was put back in her place by other guard.

"You are under suspect of have been part of the riot. You are now eliminated from the games"

The guard said playing his role, starting to get you out of the room while you screamed following the act.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

"Apologies Madam, orders from the Front Man" The guard said bowing once you two were outside and out of reach from the others players.

Even if you were still breathing hard you nodded. "Dont worry, just take me to him". The guard nodded.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

He knew he was needed in the control room but refused to let you alone like that. He went to your share room, his heart broke at your image, bruises and blood over you. A guard was checking your shoulder but left after he order them to.

Silence fell over both of you as he went to you and hugged you careful not to hurt your shoulder.

He removed his mask to look at you properly.

"Im sorry, I should have never let you come, I should have stopped this sooner" He said with pain in his voice

"Dont blame yourself, I told you I was going in with you. This was not your fault In-ho" You reassured him feeling sad and worried over him.

"I cant not blame myself" He gently passed his hand over your cheeck "You are the best thing in my life and I almost lost you because of my own desires, never again"

You two kissed softly grounding yourselfs. You two were safe and together nothing else matters from now. Only the love and devotion you two had for each other.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

hi, i wanted to ask what you think about those japanese zoo's training exercises were someone dresses up as an animal and pretends to have escaped and all that, are they effective? what do U.S zoo's do to train for things like that?

They look silly, but they're a real emergency drill! They force people to think through how they'd problem-solve in real time and in the physical space, which is a very different experience than just thinking about it.

There's no consistent requirement for emergency drills in the US federal regulations for zoos, but there is a contingency planning one. Facilities licensed by the USDA have to identify and create plans for addressing likely emergencies they may have to deal with, which is everything from like natural disasters to animal escapes. That's all done as paperwork and provided to the government to prove they've done it.

BUT. That doesn't mean that zoos and other animal facilities don't do more planning on their own. Some of the third-party accreditations (it might be all of them but I don't have the docs in front of me to confirm) require regular drills for all types of emergency scenarios.

Now there's a slight problem there - a real escape drill, run fully on grounds with real people and stand-in animal, interferes with the daily operations of the zoo. You might not have to physically shut all the guests into buildings during a practice leopard escape, but you do need them to not get in the way, and you don't want to scare people who think a drill is real, etc. So there's an alternate option.

US zoos frequently run emergency management drills as TTRGPs!

Like, they use a printed scale map of the zoo and roll dice to randomize the situation. This is absolutely recommended as a strategy by the Zoo and Aquariums All Hazard Partnership: there's a whole webpage about it, including instructions for the Drill Master.

There are in-person drills, of course, because you have to practice dealing with these problems in meatspace. But a lot of them are done tabletop! I cannot express the extent of my mirth when I first encountered this in the wild at a conference about a decade ago, when the idea was really taking off. It was Very Serious Zoo People on a Very Serious Topic about preventing Really Bad Things from happening... and then suddenly there was a d20 on the screen.

[7-deadly-cats]

fuck valentine's day

genre: one shot, angst but happy ending, no explicit smut

pairing: taken!s4!rafe cameron x fem!bsf!reader

cw: strong language, angst but happy ending, suggestive language, major argument, mention of substance abuse (alcohol and coke), emotional distress, toxic relationship (not with you tho hihihi) and manipulation, brief mention of physical violence (just a punch), mildly suggestive scenes and hint of intimacy but no explicit smut, my reccomendation: 16+

summary: After the death of Ward Cameron, Rafe starts to reclaim his life, becoming more grounded and family-oriented. However, his close friendship with you slowly crumbles after Sabrina, his seemingly perfect girlfriend, enters the picture. You, grappling with suppressed feelings for Rafe, try to step back, but Sabrina's manipulative nature causes tensions to rise. On a stormy Valentine’s Day, a broken-down car leads to an unexpected confrontation between Rafe and you where emotions spill over. As truths are revealed, your complicated relationship takes an intense and transformative turn, forcing both to confront what you truly mean to each other.

word count: 8.3k

a/n: this is the most i've ever written in ONE day (yes i spent the whole valentine's day writing this lmao) and i put my whole soul into it, and i know it's LONG but i promise i tried my best to make it work. so anyway happy very late valentine's day to everyone, hope you enjoy this little one shot <3 maybe it's a little cheesy, cringe and cliche (especially at the end) but i guess that's what this day is about. and i really enjoyed writing it hihhi + would love to hear your thoughts on this one (would mean a lot)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Ward Cameron’s death was, in your eyes, the best thing that could’ve ever happened to Rafe. He was finally free from the toxic relationship with his father. Free from years of manipulation, being pushed around, and constant disregard.

Of course, it hadn’t happened overnight. The first step had been taken long before Ward’s death, back when he fell into a coma and Rafe was suddenly thrust into the role of being the man of the house. It was during that time Rafe realized the family and their business could function without Ward Cameron at the helm.

Ward’s death was simply the final key that unlocked Rafe’s cage. And as he let go of his father, he also let go of a significant part of his old life.

He became more grounded, business-minded, and above all, family-oriented. He kept talking about fixing things with Sarah and pulling Wheezie away from Rose’s grip.

Rafe Cameron genuinely wanted to become a better man.

Watching him finally blossom as a person was so incredibly beautiful to witness. And yet, it shattered your heart into a thousand pieces knowing you weren’t the one standing by his side as it happened.

Sure, you had been there for him during his darkest, most destructive moments. You had stayed by his side when he said and did things that were nearly impossible to take back. He had hurt people close to him—you included—and yet, you had never left.

Deep down, you knew that underneath all the frustration and rage was a broken boy who just craved love and recognition. And no one had ever given him the chance to show that part of himself.

That’s exactly why you'd never dared to confess your feelings to him. He deserved love but there had never been a time when he was truly ready for a serious relationship.

Telling him about your feelings, purely out of selfishness, would’ve led to one of two outcomes: either an unstable relationship where he clung to the idea of being loved without genuinely loving you back, or the deterioration of your friendship due to his fear of commitment.

So, you suppressed your thoughts, feelings, and the love you held for him. You preferred to love him from afar as your best friend rather than risk dragging him into a formless relationship during his unstable state.

Tragically, that mindset became deeply ingrained in your brain. Even after Ward’s death, when Rafe visibly began to change for the better and showed clear signs of looking for something serious, you stayed silent. Not out of fear of losing him but out of sheer stubbornness, waiting for the “right moment.”

And that hesitation cost you your chance: another girl got there first and won Rafe’s heart.

Sabrina Anderson—he met her at a charity gala. She was stunningly beautiful, wealthy, had an excellent academic background, and everything about her screamed “old money.” She was the picture-perfect Kook girlfriend.

Everything Rafe thought he wanted in a woman.

And, for fuck’s sake, it felt like the universe was punishing you for your patience. Normally, you would’ve accompanied Rafe to his important events as his support but this one time, this one fucking time, you had canceled because you’d promised Topper you’d help him move into his stupid new place (yeah, he had finally gotten his act together and left his toxic family’s home). And like the idiot you were, you completely forgot the gala was happening that day.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. You know I usually write this stuff down in my calendar but I must’ve missed it somehow,” you said the night before the gala while helping him pick the perfect outfit.

Rafe just waved it off with a cheeky grin as he unbuttoned his shirt. “I’ll survive one evening without your bad jokes and complaining about the tiny dessert portions.”

“They are tiny portions. I think they’re expecting a bunch of kids as guests,” you retorted, your eyes flickering briefly to his sun-kissed, bare chest. You quickly averted your gaze and handed him a new shirt. “I think this one works better. Next time, I’ll be there—promise. Even if Topper’s new place is on fire.”

Rafe nodded, amused, as he slipped on the new shirt. “That’s not even unlikely with his mom around. That woman’s straight-up on ‘psycho mom marries son’ type shit.”

A laugh escaped your lips. “Don’t say that—next thing you know, it’ll be on TLC or some other trash TV channel.”

And so, you spent the rest of the evening together.

Rafe tried on a few more suits, all of which looked amazing on him (and in every single one of them, you wanted to rip the clothes right off him, though you'd never say that out loud).

You baked a pizza together, watched some movies in his bed, and every time you showed him one of your dumb, brain-rotting reels, he rolled his eyes—but every so often, he sent you one of his own because, deep down, he probably loved how much they made you laugh.

At some point, you fell asleep in his bed, and Rafe brought you an extra blanket. The next morning, he drove you home and wished you luck at Topper’s move.

Had you known that would be the last night the two of you could act like that, you would’ve told him everything.

But how could you have known that the next night, a new girl would enter his life? How could you have known that Sabrina Anderson would sweep him off his feet in a way you never could? And how could you have predicted that she would endanger your entire friendship so deeply that within a few months, you and Rafe were little more than acquaintances?

At first, everything seemed fine. Rafe told you about the gala, about Sabrina, and about how perfect she was. Of course, it broke your heart, but the way he spoke about her helped heal it again because he was genuinely smitten with her.

They started texting, going on dates, and Rafe did things for her he’d never done for anyone else. He bought her the most beautiful flowers, spoiled her with the most expensive jewelry, and gave everything to be a good boyfriend.

And so, their relationship grew more serious, and eventually, he introduced her to you, Topper, and Kelce at a party at Tannyhill.

That’s when everything went downhill.

Topper and Kelce obviously thought she was hot, of course—those idiots were just guys, after all. They couldn’t see past her perfectly shaped breasts and the cute ass hidden under a stylish dress.

But for you, alarm bells were ringing. Something about Sabrina just felt... off. Sure, she was incredibly sweet and nice but whenever she looked at you, there was something darker lurking beneath her gaze.

You dismissed it immediately, assuming you were just biased because of your own feelings for Rafe. A part of you simply couldn’t accept that another woman was making him happy.

Besides, you were still his best friend. You’d been through thick and thin together, and nothing could tear the two of you apart. Not even a girlfriend.

Sure, Sabrina would be part of everything from now on but the chemistry between you and Rafe... that was something special, and even an idiot could see it.

So it wasn’t entirely surprising when Sabrina cornered you in the kitchen later that night, a sweet smile plastered on her face. “Oh, hey, Y/N. Needed a little breather too?”

You were pouring yourself another drink, and even though she gave you a weird feeling, you smiled back at her. “Yeah, when Kelce DJs, it tends to get loud.”

Sabrina nodded in agreement but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “True. Rafe seems to have some... interesting friends.”

The way she said it, while looking directly at you, should’ve been enough for you to go straight to Rafe and tell him something about Sabrina wasn’t right. But you just shrugged as you added vodka to your cup. “Kelce’s a bit weird but he’s cool once you get to know him. And Topper’s always reliable when it counts.”

“And you?” Her innocent look didn’t match her tone.

You raised your eyebrows slightly. “What about me?”

“When Rafe mentioned he had a girl best friend, I didn’t think that...” She paused, tilting her head with a bemused smile. “Well, you know, that she was his ex.”

What the fuck?

Your eyebrows shot up, and you shook your head in confusion. “I’m not his ex. Where did you get that from?”

Sabrina let out a soft giggle, as if your reaction had been overly dramatic. “You don’t have to get so defensive. I just thought, well, you two seem so close, and the way you look at him... it’s only natural I’d have a few concerns, right?”

You shook your head again, though you couldn’t stop the faint blush creeping across your cheeks. “We’re just friends, Sabrina. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“So... just to be clear, you two never had anything going on? You know, slept with each other or something?” She still wore that fake innocent smile.

What a bitch.

“No, of course not,” you replied dryly. “It’s always been purely platonic between me and Rafe.”

Sabrina let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, that’s a relief. Then I guess you’re basically like a little sister to him.”

Whatever that was supposed to mean. You shrugged. “I guess."

This time, Sabrina’s gaze darkened, though her facade still didn’t slip. “Good. I mean, I’d just like to think siblings behave a little more... appropriately.”

You only smiled in response but in that moment, the first brick of a massive wall between you and Rafe had been laid.

Because deep down, as much as it ate at you, Sabrina was right. It had never been an issue before if you shared a bed with him, wore his clothes, kissed him during one of Kelce’s stupid Truth or Dare games, or hung on him like a lovesick monkey when you got too drunk.

You had been both single and the flirty banter between you had always been just that—a few dumb words or gestures, nothing more.

But now Rafe had a girlfriend. He was taken. And all those things were no longer okay. And even though he was your best friend and hadn’t yet drawn those boundaries for the sake of his new relationship, you did.

At first, it was a slow process. Movie nights turned into movie afternoons, and instead of laying in his bed, you suggested the couch because it was cozier… right? And even though he still preferred you as his plus one for events, you started declining, insisting Sabrina would probably appreciate it more. Wouldn’t she, Rafe?

You also pulled away from hugs quicker than before, drank less at parties to avoid doing anything dumb around him, and when it came to games like Never Have I Ever or Truth or Dare, you became a mere spectator. What used to be teasing touches were reduced to the bare minimum.

Your friendship began to waver and Sabrina kept Rafe so busy—dragging him from one date to another, satisfying him in ways you could only dream of—that he barely noticed how far the two of you had drifted apart.

Of course, the others around you weren’t stupid. Topper and Kelce immediately noticed the strange new tension between you and Rafe. Even fucking Ruthie, Topper’s girlfriend—and the two of you were definitely not on good terms—pulled you aside one evening.

However, you knew she didn’t do it out of concern for you. No, Ruthie felt threatened by Sabrina’s presence just as much as you did.

“Are you seriously going to let her walk all over you?” she asked, cornering you outside the bathroom at a beach party. “That bitch is a manipulative snake.”

God, you wanted to agree, to vent to Ruthie about how much Sabrina pissed you off. But for Rafe’s sake, you bit back the words and said instead, “If you want, I can let him know how you feel. I’m sure he’ll love to hear it.”

Ruthie, unimpressed, just smiled. “Oh, please. When’s the last time you two even talked alone?”

That stung because it was true.

Three months into his relationship with Sabrina, she’d already built a thick wall between you and Rafe. These days, you only saw each other at parties or when the group hung out—and even then, getting a private moment with him was rare. Sabrina clung to him like a shadow, always watching, always there. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d done something together, just the two of you. He barely seemed to have time for anyone else anymore, not even you.

And that was the problem. Rafe was so terrified of letting this chance at a “perfect” future with someone slip away that he clung to Sabrina just as tightly as she clung to him. Because even though Ward Cameron was no longer alive, one thing had stuck with Rafe: the idea of family.

That was what Ward had valued above all else, and Rafe thought he’d finally found that dream with Sabrina Anderson.

And even though it tore you apart, even though it cost you sleepless, tear-filled nights, you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to him about it. It was so incredibly wrong and cowardly, especially because you KNEW what kind of person Sabrina was. You KNEW that, eventually, her controlling nature would probably drive a wedge between Rafe and the rest of the group—Topper, Kelce, everyone. But in that moment, he seemed happy.

And you couldn’t be the one to take that happiness away from him, even if it meant losing him in the process.

It was unbelievably stupid, and deep down, you knew he deserved better. But the real problem wasn’t Sabrina—it was you.

No matter who stood at Rafe’s side, any girl would have reacted the same way Sabrina did. Maybe they wouldn’t have been as cunning about it, but no girl would have been okay with the bond you shared with Rafe. Some might’ve confronted him directly, others might’ve gone after you like Sabrina had, and some would’ve just given up and broken things off immediately.

And Rafe had realized that too, in his own way. The connection between you and him... it wasn’t a normal “best friends” kind of thing. You were probably the most important person in his life—until Sabrina showed up. But Rafe had been too blind, too scared, to admit it to himself.

Or worse, to admit it to you.

Because the truth was, Rafe had feelings for you. He wasn’t stupid—how could he not have fallen for you? You’d stood by him during his darkest moments, even when he confessed to you about killing Peterkin. Hell, you would’ve followed him to Barbados if he hadn’t insisted you stay behind, where you’d be safe.

But Rafe also knew how messed up he was. He knew there was something deeply wrong with him. He was loud, impulsive, and reckless. At his worst, he’d nearly been willing to kill Sarah and his own father.

Rafe Cameron was a deeply unstable wreck and the last thing he wanted was to drag you down with him.

You deserved someone better. Someone kind and loving, someone who didn’t have anger issues or a fucked-up mind like his. Someone who knew their limits and respected others’.

God, how many times had he sat next to you at parties, with you drunk or high, leaning against him, your big, tired eyes looking up at him like he was the only person in the world that mattered? It had taken every ounce of self-control not to press his lips to yours right then and there, to carry you upstairs to his bed and forget about the party downstairs.

And the worst part? The thought of all the times you’d actually fallen asleep next to him in his bed. How badly he’d wanted you then—to kiss you, to love you, to feel you. Not in the way he'd done with random hookups in the past. God, no. What he felt for you ran so much deeper, more primal, than that. It was like hunger, like thirst. He didn’t just want you. He needed you—every piece of you, your whole being.

So, as time passed and you remained distant, Rafe Cameron broke under the weight of the wall between you.

But while you hid away in your room, drowning yourself in movies, shows, mindless phone games, loud music, and lonely nights, Rafe fell back into old habits.

Not all at once, but slowly—quietly—in a way that would destroy him eventually. More empty whiskey bottles started showing up around the house. The occasional bag of coke appeared in his drawers again. And when he came home from parties with Sabrina, it was rarely without a bruise or a bloody nose.

And when he fucked her afterward, it wasn’t out of love. It was out of frustration and anger—anger at himself for losing you. And every time a soft moan left Sabrina’s lips, it wasn’t her he thought of.

It was you.

Of course, you heard about all of this—not because you were there to witness his behavior (you avoided any place Rafe might show up these days) but through Topper and Kelce. They’d call or text you constantly, begging you to make up with Rafe. Because it wasn’t just you they were losing from the group—it was him too.

One night, Rafe even punched Topper, giving him a bloody nose, after Topper had the guts to bring up the whole situation. It wasn’t the complaints about Sabrina that set Rafe off—no, it was when your beautiful name had left Topper's lips.

Because Topper was right: Rafe had screwed it all up.

But he was too angry, too broken, to believe he could ever fix things with you.

Of course, he was Rafe Cameron. If Sabrina actually broke up with him, he’d just find someone else—at least, that’s what he had told himself for a while. But whether it was out of habit, some deeper fear, or simply the thought of losing someone again, he couldn’t deny it: he didn’t want to lose her. So, when Sabrina made it clear she was serious this time, he tried to do better.

Especially because deep down, Rafe wasn’t sure if he had the energy—or the patience—to let someone new get that close again.

No, he couldn’t let her go. He wouldn’t.

And what better day to secure her forever than Valentine’s Day?

Rafe wasn’t exactly a romantic but for this occasion, he had it all planned out: He’d take Sabrina out, spoil her with whatever she wanted, treat her like royalty. Dinner at the most expensive, exclusive restaurant, a private balcony lit by candlelight. Then, when they got back to Tannyhill, he’d carry her inside, through a house decorated with rose petals, scented candles, and heart-shaped balloons.

He’d take her to their shared bedroom, hold her close, and tell her how much he loved her—that he couldn’t imagine his life without her. And then, he’d drop to one knee, pull out the most extravagant, glamorous ring she could dream of, and ask her to marry him. He figured she’d probably say yes. After all, despite everything, she knew Rafe would do anything to keep her, and being a Cameron opened doors that her own name couldn’t.

And later, as he bent her over in the rose-adorned bed, he’d remind her how perfect she was. Though in truth, he’d be convincing himself that losing you had at least brought him this.

But, as if the universe was punishing him for his past and future mistakes, the weather had other plans. A torrential downpour hit the island, complete with strong winds and relentless rain. Leaving the house was impossible—any attempt would’ve ended in getting drenched or worse, an accident.

So, Rafe had no choice but to scrap his grand plans and stay at Tannyhill with Sabrina. Unfortunately, he’d already teased her days in advance about the “special surprises” he had in store.

In short: Sabrina wasn’t happy. She was upset about the weather, frustrated that Rafe’s plans had fallen through, and irritated with him by association.

It took everything Rafe had to hold his temper and avoid a full-blown argument. But he was determined not to screw this up. He cooked for her, gave her massages, played the music she liked, and later that evening, he drew her a luxurious bath to unwind.

That seemed to calm her, at least a little.

So, while Rafe stayed inside, trying to salvage the day, you were spending your Valentine’s with your grandmother. (It wasn’t like you had a date anyway, so why celebrate it?) She lived about an hour outside the Outer Banks, and you’d spent the day catching up with her, enjoying the quiet.

But as someone who rarely paid attention to her phone nowadays and definitely didn’t check the weather, you had no idea about the storm brewing in the area.

It wasn’t until you started your drive home that you realized just how bad it was. The rain came down in sheets, so thick it was nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The roads were slippery, the wind was howling, and you found yourself gripping the wheel tighter than ever.

“Okay,” you told yourself, “just go slow. Better to get home late than not at all.”

That was the plan, anyway—until your dad’s expensive Bentley decided to give up on you in the middle of an empty back road. No houses nearby, no streetlights, and definitely no one around to help.

You sighed, muttering a curse under your breath. Okay, it’s fine. Probably just a fluke. You tried turning the key in the ignition again. Then again. And again. Nothing.

Alright, not so fine.

Panic began creeping in but you forced yourself to stay calm. You couldn’t fix the car, and stepping out in this weather wasn’t an option. Your only choice was to call someone for help.

Your grandmother was already asleep by now and you didn’t want to worry her. Your parents were out of town for the weekend, so they were off the table, too. That left Kelce and Topper.

You tried Topper first but he sent you straight to voicemail. You were pretty sure Ruthie had something to do with that. Kelce picked up but the loud music and slurred tone on the other end told you he was having way too much fun at some club to be of any use.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath.

You scrolled through your contacts but nobody else seemed like a good option. Sure, you had other friends from your years at high school but who would actually drive half an hour in this weather on Valentine's Day just to pick you up?

Your thumb hovered over Rafe’s name. Your chest tightened.

The Rafe you used to know would’ve come for you in a heartbeat—rain, wind, storm, volcano, it wouldn’t have mattered. He would’ve been there, no questions asked. But now? You hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, and you weren’t even sure if he still had your number saved.

Besides, you didn’t want to ruin his Valentine’s with Sabrina. Topper had mentioned things were rocky between them for a while but apparently, Rafe had gotten things back on track.

So, that left… what? Spending the night in the car and hoping Kelce or Topper would sober up enough to rescue you in the morning? Not exactly ideal.

You glanced around nervously. You didn’t know this area well and the heavy rain pounding against the roof wasn’t helping your growing unease. It was dark, the only light coming from your phone which was now dangerously low on battery.

Great, you thought, sinking back into the seat. Just perfect.

Yeah, fuck, you were scared.

You bit the inside of your cheeks, your fingers hovering over Rafe's number. He probably wouldn’t even pick up—most likely cuddled up with Sabrina on the couch.

He’s not going to answer anyway, you thought to yourself, swallowing the lump of guilt forming in your throat. Then, you hit call.

Not even two rings later, he answered. “Y/N?” His voice sounded confused but also alert.

A lump formed in your throat at the sound of his familiar voice and only then did you realize how much you’d hoped he would actually answer.

“Rafe…” Your voice was quiet, slightly shaky, given the situation you were in. “I... I’m so sorry to bother you. I know it’s Valentine’s Day, and I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t—”

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” His tone shifted immediately, sharper now, filled with concern.

“Yes! No! I mean… no,” you stammered, struggling to get the words out. “I was just at my grandma’s, and my dad’s Bentley broke down. I already tried calling Kelce and Topper, but—”

“Where are you?” he interrupted, and your heart clenched.

“Rafe, you don’t have to—I just thought maybe—”

“Y/N.” His voice was firm now, leaving no room for argument. “Send me your location. I’ll come get you.”

You hesitated, then muttered, “I really don’t want to ruin your Valentine’s Day.”

“Fuck Valentine’s Day,” Rafe said, frustration in his voice but also unmistakable concern. “Send me your location, and tomorrow morning I’ll beat the shit out of Kelce and Topper for not answering.”

Despite the tension of the situation, despite the fear and guilt gnawing at you, a laugh escaped your lips. For a moment, you paused, then sent him your live location.

“I’ll be there soon. Stay in the car, lock the doors, and don’t open up for anyone,” he instructed.

You barely managed to thank him before he hung up. And despite the guilt weighing heavy on you, an immense wave of relief washed over you.

Rafe was in his closet, pulling out two jackets and a hoodie, when Sabrina walked out of the bathroom, her cheeks flushed pink from the steam and a towel barely wrapped around her, exposing her still-damp legs.

She frowned. “What are you doing?”

“I’m picking up Y/N,” he said, slipping on one of the jackets. “Her car broke down in the middle of nowhere.”

A flush of red rose to Sabrina’s pretty face, her brow furrowing deeply. “And she called you?”

Rafe shrugged, sitting down on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. “No one else picked up. I’ll be back in an hour—”

“Are you serious, Rafe?” Her voice sharpened, rising in pitch. “It’s Valentine’s Day. You’re driving out in this weather for HER, but you couldn’t even take me to dinner in town?”

Rafe grimaced, but his voice remained calm. “Like I said, I’ll be back soon. Don’t make this into a big deal.”

Sabrina scoffed, crossing her arms. “A big deal? You think I am the one being dramatic? Y/N is a grown woman. She knows we’re spending this evening together, and she still called you?”

"She called because she needs help, not because she’s trying to ruin your night or some shit," Rafe said, his tone making it clear she was being ridiculous. Still, he didn’t want to push her any further. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Look, baby—”

But Sabrina just shook her head in irritation. “My night? What’s that supposed to mean?! This is our night, Rafe. And now you’re ditching our night for her?!” She stepped closer, her voice rising. “I’ve always known she was a threat to our relationship.”

“A threat?” Rafe raised his brows in disbelief as he stood. “Come on, Sabrina, that’s insane. Just drop this bullshit.”

Her face flushed a deep, angry red. “I—excuse me? Do you even hear yourself right now? She hasn’t called you in weeks, Rafe. Weeks. And the second she does, you’re running off like some pathetic, lovesick puppy? It’s so embarrassing. For you, and for me.”

It took everything Rafe had to keep from completely losing it. Her words hit a nerve, and deep down, he knew she wasn’t entirely wrong. You had pulled away from him—hell, both of you had.

His blood was boiling, but all he could think about was you, sitting alone in that damn car in this awful weather.

Rafe took a step toward her, towering over her. Maybe he could control his words but he couldn't control his voice, now loud and frustrated. “Tell me then, what the fuck do you want me to do, huh?! Leave her stranded out there all by herself?”

Sabrina nodded as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “She’ll figure it out, it’s just one night and—”

“Okay, that’s enough.” His voice was dangerously calm now. “Pack your things and get the fuck out of my house.”

For a moment, Sabrina stared at him, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Rafe said, his gaze cold and full of suppressed disdain. “Get dressed and leave.”

She let out an incredulous laugh. “Are you kidding me? You’re being crazy, you—”

“If you’re not out the door in five minutes, I’ll make sure to throw you out myself.”

Sabrina blinked, her face twisting in disbelief. “You can’t just kick me out. It’s pouring outside, Rafe—it’s Valentine’s Day!”

Unbothered, Rafe shrugged, mimicking her earlier words. “You’re a grown woman. You’ll figure it out.”

And as the leech that called herself Sabrina Anderson finally disappeared from Tannyhill, Rafe climbed into his SUV and took off.

His chest felt tight, his mind racing, yet at the same time, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief. You were the only thing on his mind right now. He didn’t even try to put into words the heavy, suffocating feeling that lingered.

He’d messed up again—this time with Sabrina. But there was no regret, no sadness, nothing. If anything, it felt good to finally be rid of her. It wasn’t until halfway through the drive that he realized how much of a blind idiot he’d been. On some subconscious level, he’d been waiting for a moment like this, a reason to cut her out of his life.

For the first time in months, he could breathe freely, without her breathing down his neck. And as the last few months replayed in his mind, it hit him—she’d been a parasite, manipulating him, controlling him, molding him to fit her needs. Maybe he’d known all along but he hadn’t wanted to admit it.

Breaking free from her was almost as hard as breaking free from his father. And, apart from Topper—who’d earned himself a punch to the face—no one had called him out. No one had tried to wake him up.

Not even you.

He shook off the thoughts as he spotted the silhouette of a dark car up ahead. His heart sank, thinking about how you must be feeling—completely alone on that pitch-black road.

Pulling up behind the Bentley, he grabbed the umbrella and jacket he’d thrown onto the passenger seat and stepped out into the pouring rain.

The umbrella didn’t do much—his jeans were soaked through almost immediately. But he didn’t care. He knocked on your car door, and the look of relief on your face when you unlocked and opened it almost made his chest ache.

Then he noticed the redness in your eyes and a heavy feeling settled in his stomach. “You okay? Here, take the jacket.”

Shivering, you hesitated but took it anyway, the relief coursing through your body almost enough to keep you warm.

“Rafe…” you started as you stepped under his umbrella but he shook his head.

“Don’t,” he said, his hand resting gently on your back. “Let’s get you out of this weather.”

His touch sent a shiver down your spine but you didn’t argue. You hurried with him to his SUV and he opened the door for you, waiting to make sure you were inside before tossing the umbrella into the backseat and climbing in himself.

For a moment, the only sound was the pounding rain against the roof. Rafe gestured to the hoodie on the dashboard. “Put that on—you’re just in shorts.”

Still, you hesitated. It felt wrong somehow. The familiar scent of his car—of him—was already too much.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” He grabbed the hoodie and draped it over your bare knees. “Stop being so stubborn.”

You didn’t know what to think or say. Rafe had come out here for you in this weather, left Sabrina behind, and… while you were endlessly grateful, you couldn’t shake the guilt.

As he started the car and pulled back onto the road, the guilt churned in your chest again. “Rafe, I’m really sorry. If I’d known it was raining like this, I would’ve stayed at my grandma’s, I—”

“Drop it,” Rafe cut in, his eyes fixed on the road. “You needed help, and I came. That’s all there is to it.”

You glanced at him, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his profile seemed sharper in the dim light. Hesitantly, you asked, “And Sabrina… how mad is she?”

It surprised you that she hadn’t insisted on coming along.

“She’s gone,” he said, still staring straight ahead.

Your heart sank to your stomach. “Gone? I… what do you mean, gone?”

“I threw her out.” His tone was blunt, almost defiant. He finally looked at you, his expression a mix of frustration and exhaustion.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. “What—why? What happened? Is it because I called? I—”

“Because she’s a fucking bitch,” Rafe cut in flatly. He dragged a hand down his face before turning back to you, his tone softening as he caught the shock in your eyes. “I should’ve done it a long time ago. I just… I was too blinded by all her fake bullshit.”

Your fingers clenched into the fabric of his hoodie on your lap, your thoughts spiraling. “Rafe, I’m really—”

“No, Y/N,” he interrupted again, his brows pulling together. “I swear to God, if you say you’re sorry one more time, I’ll throw you out too.” There wasn’t an ounce of seriousness in his voice, though. He sighed heavily, the frustration evident. “It’s all just… so fucked. Everything about this. It pisses me off. I really thought she was the one, and I was so blind to all her flaws.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Jesus, Y/N, why didn’t you say something?”

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” he shot back, the frustration he’d been holding back now bubbling to the surface. “It’s obvious she came between us. I was too stupid—fuck, I was too into her to see it. But you…” His voice faltered, and he seemed to collect himself. “You’re not stupid. You’re always the first one to spot red flags in people. Hell, even Topper eventually figured it out.” He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “I don’t get it. Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you let her play her stupid little games?”

You couldn’t tell if he was angry at you, Sabrina, himself, the situation, or all of it combined. “I…” But what could you say without revealing too much? “I thought she made you happy and I didn’t want to be the one to ruin that. I didn’t think it would turn out like this.”

“Bullshit.” The sharpness in his tone made you flinch. “You were my best friend. You’ve never had a problem speaking your mind when something bothered you. And now you’re telling me you let that bitch silence you?”

There it was—you were his best friend. Hearing it from his mouth shattered something deep inside you that you thought was already broken.

“That bitch, Rafe,” you snapped, a sharp edge creeping into your own voice, “was your girlfriend, just so you know. So, yeah, fine, I’ll admit it—when you first introduced her, every alarm bell in my head went off. Is that what you want to hear? I knew, and I didn’t do a damn thing about it. Boo-fucking-hoo. But you know what? You let it happen just as much as I did.”

And in that moment, you realized just how angry you were at Rafe. Sure, he’d been infatuated but was that really an excuse? He was just as much to blame as you were for all of this.

Rafe scoffed bitterly as he turned onto the main road leading into Figure 8. “I don’t get it. Did she say something to you? Is that why you pulled away? Shit, did she have something on you? Nudes or some shit like that?”

“What? No!” You stared at him, equal parts exhausted and horrified. You were cold, hungry, and overwhelmed by a storm of emotions boiling beneath the surface. You didn’t even know where to start. “Let's drop this, I'm tired. Please just take me home.”

But when he drove past your street without even slowing down, you frowned at him in disbelief. “What--”

“We’re talking this out,” he said flatly, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “If I drop you off now, nothing’s gonna change, and I’m so done with this shit.”

You opened your mouth to argue but when his tired, frustrated eyes met yours, the words caught in your throat. “Afterward, I’ll drive you home, and you can sulk in peace if you want,” he added, his tone softer but firm.

You stayed silent and turned your gaze out the window. You knew him well enough to realize there was no point in arguing. When Rafe set his mind on something, there was no swaying him.

By the time the SUV pulled up to Tannyhill, the storm had mostly passed, though the occasional raindrop still pattered against the windshield. The two of you climbed out in silence. Despite the light drizzle, Rafe grabbed the umbrella from the backseat and opened it over you both as he walked you to the house.

The door clicked open with a soft push and Rafe let you step inside first. As the door shut behind you and the warm glow of the entryway light filled the space, you were suddenly hit by an overwhelming, almost suffocating sense of unease.

The walls were lined with red heart-shaped balloons. The faint scent of roses lingered in the air, mingled with something sweeter you couldn’t quite place. Blown-out candles dotted every available surface, and the staircase was covered in a delicate carpet of red rose petals leading to the next floor.

It was… perfect.

Your stomach twisted as you took it all in, the earlier argument momentarily forgotten. Still staring at the carefully arranged display, you spoke softly. “You did all this for her?”

Rafe let out a bitter laugh. “Shit, I was even gonna propose to her tonight.”

Your heart stopped. A proposal? He’d been that serious about Sabrina? You felt like throwing up. This was all too much to take in.

“I’m glad you called,” he said after a moment, his voice softer this time, carrying an edge of something almost vulnerable.

You pressed your lips together and turned around.

Now, under the bright light, you could finally see just how much this relationship had drained him. The dark circles under his eyes, the pallor of his skin, the way his cheekbones stood out more sharply than they should—it all painted a picture of someone who had given too much and gotten nothing in return.

And then the dam broke. All the emotions you’d suppressed over the past few months—the frustration, the sadness, the guilt, and the fear—boiled down into the rawest form of emotion: anger.

“She’s a stupid fucking whore,” was all you managed to get out.

Rafe raised an amused eyebrow, caught off guard by your reaction. “What?”

You shook your head, struggling to put your swirling thoughts into words. “She’s a stupid, arrogant, deceitful, manipulative bitch who doesn't deserve you. I mean, seriously, she ruined this,” you gestured between the two of you, “us. She tore us apart. You were my best friend, Rafe. There were times when we’d spend an entire week together, just the two of us, rotting in bed and sending Kelce and Topper stupid snaps, and then she came along, and… and everything changed overnight.”

Your brows furrowed deeply. “She’s such a disgusting person—no, scratch that—a creature. A monster. On the very first night I met her, she came up to me, and she had the nerve to question my relationship with you. Like, she thought our friendship was too intimate or some bullshit like that. And I don’t know, I guess it got to me. What if she was right? I didn’t want to be the problem. I didn’t want to be a threat to your relationship with her. So, I backed off.”

You groaned, frustration evident in your voice. “God, I could just rip my hair out. I should’ve said something. To her, and especially to you! But I was so afraid that I was wrong about her. That I was blinded by my…” Feelings. You stopped yourself, the word stuck in your throat. “By my worry for you. I mean, at first, it seemed like she was good for you, so I stayed quiet. But by then, the damage was done and…” Your voice softened, almost like a question. “At some point, I thought, maybe if it was so easy to build a wall between us, then maybe our friendship was doomed to fail anyway.”

And there it was. You’d said everything you’d bottled up, and yet, there was still so much left unsaid. But you were exhausted, done with all of this, your chest rising and falling as you struggled to catch your breath.

Rafe stared at you, his expression unreadable—was he stunned, irritated, frustrated? You couldn’t tell.

Finally, after a moment of seemingly endless silence, he spoke. “Shit, this bitch has been right all along.”

His words hit you like a lightning strike. Before you could ask him what he meant, Rafe closed the distance between you and his hands cupped your face as he pressed his lips to yours as if they were the only place he ever belonged.

Frozen, overwhelmed, and confused, you stood still as a thousand questions and emotions surged through you. But in that moment, you pushed them all aside and sank into it. Your fingers clung to his shirt, afraid to let go.

His kiss was raw, desperate, hungry as if you were the only thing that could satisfy the emotions he’d been holding back. Rafe’s hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. Every pent-up feeling from the past few weeks poured out through the way his lips moved against yours.

And god, you felt so good. Your soft lips on his, the warmth of your body pressed against his. Shit. Even though he’d had Sabrina beneath him night after night, fucking her mindlessly, in this moment, he felt so endlessly touch-starved.

Not for the empty satisfaction of release, no.

For you.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to steady yourselves.

Your lips were swollen from the kiss, and you were too scared and stunned to say anything, afraid that speaking would shatter the moment.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” Rafe finally said, his thumb tracing soft circles on your cheek, his voice low and raw. “It’s you. It’s always been you, Y/N. Fuck, it wouldn’t have mattered if it was Sabrina or any other brain-dead girl. If you called, I would’ve come running every single time. And I almost lost you because of all her bullshit." He sighed, lowering his eyes for a second, trying to grapple his words. "I think, somewhere in my head, I convinced myself I wasn’t good enough for you. That you deserved better. So I went for girls like Sabrina. Girls who are... Shit, I don’t know, polished and perfect on the outside but completely empty on the inside. The kind of girl I thought I was supposed to be with.

“But she’s not perfect." He scoffed. "Holy shit, not even close. She’s pretentious and selfish, and she made me feel like I had to change just to fit into her world. But you?” He let out a nervous laugh, meeting your eyes again, and there was a vulnerability in his tone that you’d never heard before. “You’ve never wanted me to change. You’ve always let me be ... me—even when I’m a complete fucking idiot. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I’m not too much. Like I don’t have to prove anything.”

For a moment, his words hung in the air, sinking in. Your brain needed a second to fully process everything he’d just said.

His blue eyes bore into your soul as if he were anxiously waiting for your approval as if the way you returned his kiss hadn’t been answer enough. As if your next reaction would determine his entire life.

And then you laughed, a sweet and soft sound escaping your lips, cheeks burning, still hyper-aware of the feel of his lips on yours. Overwhelmed, exhausted, and struggling to find the right words, you let your instincts take over. Your hands softly found his cheeks, pulling him back to your lips.

Rafe didn’t hesitate. He took it as an invitation, wrapping his arms around you completely. His hands slid from your waist down to your hips, then lower. When he lifted you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your hands finding his neck.

This time, the kiss was slower, deeper—like both of you were trying to savor every second, afraid this moment might slip away the very next.

He pressed you gently against the wall, and the cold surface sent a shiver down your spine.

Your body's reaction made him smile into the kiss before pulling back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “This isn’t exactly the most comfortable spot, huh?”

A soft laugh escaped you. And with that sweet little sound, the last stubborn traces of tension melted away. The days, weeks, months—all those nights spent alone in your bed, frustrated and hurt by this whole... fucked-up, messed-up situation.

And hell, you didn’t have, shit no, you didn’t want to waste a single ounce of energy or thought on that time anymore. So all you said was "Please, I’m used to your lumpy mattress.”

“Yeah?” His eyes sparkled with playful mischief and his hands gave your butt a teasing squeeze. “Well, so far, all you’ve done is sleep in it.”

Heat rushed to your face, and before you could say anything, he adjusted his grip on you, holding you like he was afraid you might slip away. Your heart was racing, tumbling over itself in your chest, as he carried you upstairs, his arms steady but his pace a little too eager, a little too desperate, like he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had.

When he reached the top, he nudged the door open with his foot, and it felt like the rest of the world disappeared. No noise, no distractions, just you and him, in the quiet of his room, where nothing else mattered.

He set you down gently, his hands lingering on your waist like he couldn’t bring himself to let go. His lips found yours again—not rushed, not frantic, but slow and deliberate, like he was making up for every second you’d been apart.

You felt the weight of it all in every kiss—the weeks, months, maybe even years of feelings neither of you had dared to name. His hands moved over you like he was memorizing you, tracing your body in a way that was equal parts hesitant and hungry, like he didn’t want to scare you but couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your fingers softly moved over his buzzed hair, pulling him closer, and he let out a low, almost broken sound against your lips that sent a shiver through you. His breath was warm as his kisses trailed down your neck, and it was overwhelming but in the best way possible.

That night, the room was filled with quiet laughter and soft murmurs, the sound of his name slipping from your lips like it was meant to. Rafe's touch was gentle but sure, every movement unspoken proof of just how much he'd missed you. The hours blurred together, and for once, nothing else mattered—just the two of you, tangled up and lost in each other like this was where you were always supposed to be.

And even though all of it—the candles, the balloons, the rose petals, a ring that never found its finger—had been meant for a manipulative bitch called Sabrina Anderson, she was already forgotten in both of your heads.

Erased by this moment. By you.

Because, like Valentine’s Days, she had always been all surface: Pretty words, empty gestures, and nothing real beneath it.

And if you both were being honest, this cheesy day was overrated anyway. Like Rafe had said: Fuck Valentine’s Day.

And sometimes, fuck the person you end up confessing your love to at the end of it. Even–and maybe especially–if they were your former best friend.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[purplecoffee13]

Cross The Line*

Summary: “Harry and Y/N have always had a great professional relationship, all based on one rule; a line they drew the first time they met. But when one day that line accidentally blurs, Harry finds that he doesn’t want it to go back to the way it was…”

Wc: 13k

Tropes: Boss!rry x Secretary!Y/N

Warnings: A LOT of back and forth (this is what Katy Perry wrote hot and cold about), arguing, curse words, smut, dirty talk, degradation, light ch0king, dom/sub dynamics, edging, b0ndage, and recording while… yk🤗

A/N: I’m terribly sorry to have been testing your patience so much the second half of this year, here is a long one shot to say I’m sorry🥲 and I appreciate all of you and I hope you are happy and healthy and will get everything you want in the new year xx💘💘

General Masterlist

HEADER = POV change

Harry's relationship with his secretary is completely normal.

At least, he’s always thought it is.

Sure, it may have seemed more friendly than the usual boss/secretary relationship, but that was only because Y/N was special. She was one of the kind. Smart, stealthy, and sneaky if need be. She did everything he asked for, sometimes before he even realized he should ask her, and was always ready to do more.

Of course, she was attractive as well. Shit, attractive may have even been an understatement. Y/N was drop dead gorgeous and Harry was entirely aware of it. Her ambition made her even sexier, and it's one of the reasons he hired her in the first place.

When Y/N walked through his office door that first time three years ago, he couldn't believe his eyes.

He remembers it like it was yesterday, those wide eyes staring back at him as she froze a couple feet away from him. She was quick to regain herself, though—he had to give her that. But she was nervous as she sat down, even though her movements were calm and the tone of her voice stern. He saw the slightest shake of those hands of her.

Because that job interview hadn't been the first time Harry and Y/N came across each other. It was actually a Halloween party at some high end secretive club in New York one month prior. A night that ended with them hooking up in one of the private lounges.

Even back then, when he never thought he'd see her again, he knew that he would never forget that night, nor the way her face scrunched up as she clenched around him, or the sounds that she made as he drove into her.

He could see that she remembered it as well as she sat across from him that day, but Y/N had quickly made it clear that she was serious about pursuing a career in the film industry. She said she could prove what a great secretary she could be for him, as long as they could put that Halloween night behind them and pretend it never happened. She wouldn't make him regret it, she had told him. He took the chance.

And she had been absolutely right.

Three years had passed and Harry was still thankful to himself for hiring Y/N. She was the best around; fiercely loyal as well. Y/N had been offered jobs by other companies, but she turned down every last one of them. Harry liked to think their relationship played a bit of a part in that as well.

They had become friends—if that's what you could call it—over the years. They had a playful dynamic filled with flirty jokes and random phone calls and favors that blurred that line they had drawn so carefully during Y/N's job interview.

No matter what, Y/N would be the first Harry would call, every time. Whether it was bad business news or a drunken phone call, her number was most likely to be at the top of his last calls. And she always answered, even though she didn't have to. It was a special bond, and while they always danced on it—especially Harry—they never crossed that one line.

Not that Harry needed to. As a matter of a fact, he had quite the adventurous love life. With plenty of people on speed dial and a charming smile that could make anyone's panties drop, Harry wasn't short on romantic escapades. The one thing they all had in common, though, was that it'd never last longer than a few days, and they were rarely ever repeated.

The same couldn't be said for Y/N. In fact, Harry had never seen her with anyone outside of her work, and he never heard her mentioning anything about it...

He didn't know why, but somehow, that thought popped up into his head last Friday as they sat in his office with a drink, celebrating the outstanding reviews that critics had given the newest produced film that was set to premiere next week. Before Harry knew it, he was asking about it.

"Why are you rubbing your temples?" He questioned, watching Y/N massage the side of her head with her eyes closed. He was leaned back in his seat, whiskey in hand as he observed the woman across from him.

"Tension headache." She groaned in response. Despite her grumpiness, Harry couldn't help but grin. What could he say? She was cute when she was grumpy.

"We are literally celebrating, Y/N. What could you possibly be so tense about right now?" He teased, and felt his stomach swirl as a smile painted her lips. She might have rolled her eyes, but she still thought he was funny.

"Oh you have no idea." She mumbled, grabbing her glass and leaning back into her chair. She took a big gulp, her face pulling at the strong taste of the liquor. Harry chuckled.

"You should relax more. Maybe get a hot date to take care of some of that stress for you." He suggested jokingly. Y/N scoffed at the insinuation.

Shaking her head, she said: "I get taken care of just fine, thank you very much."

The equally teasing tone in which she responded caught Harry seriously off guard. Her slight grin pressed down on his chest, and despite having started this joking banter himself, he suddenly didn't find the topic very funny anymore.

"When?"

Y/N locked eyes with her boss. “What?”

"You're here 24/7, when do you even have time to hook up with someone?"

"You know there's this thing called weekends." She joked, but the amusement faded when Harry's mouth didn't even quirk upwards in the slightest bit. It fell quiet for a second or two, and just when Y/N opened her mouth to say something else, someone knocked on the office door.

"Come in."

Harry had said, and soon enough Robin, one of the managers walked in, telling them everyone was going to the pub down the street to celebrate, and if they wanted to come along.

Harry didn't even have the chance to reject the offer—he'd rather spend his nights with his secretary—before Y/N agreed to go along. Feeling obligated, Harry reluctantly gave in as well.

He ended up going home quite early that night, not even properly saying goodbye to Y/N like he normally would before leaving, and he couldn't get the image of her wrapped around another man out of his head the entire ride home. He didn't know why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was the fact that it shouldn't, and more importantly, couldn't bother him, which made it even less bearable.

Whichever reason there may have been for it, he decided to drown out his thoughts by inviting one of his old hook-ups to his house. But even as he drove himself into her as she kept screaming his name, he couldn't stop thinking of Y/N. When she had reached her climax and he began to chase his own high—Harry was caught off guard by Y/N's face flashing through his mind, and extremely embarrassed when those images triggered his orgasm.

The next week is awkward, to say the least. It started out Monday, when Harry could barely look Y/N in the eye. She had received the sudden cold shoulder pretty well, but Harry still felt horrible about it. His attitude got less stiff throughout the week, but it was still bad.

By the time Thursday rolls around again, Harry still hasn't had the chance to get that weird feeling out of his system. So when he approaches his office and spots Y/N behind her desk smiling at him, a wave of guilt washes over him.

He curses himself as he sinks into his desk chair, absentmindedly turning on his laptop. What is he doing? Y/N is his assistant. He shouldn't let his protectiveness of her get the best of him. He does not want to lose her in any way.

Harry flinches when there is a knock on his door. He looks up, finding Y/N standing in his doorway. Immediately, he signals for her to come in. She seems a bit nervous as she nears him, and considering she's never been nervous around him, his heart sinks at the idea that the cold shoulder he's been giving her the other night might have affected her way more than he thought.

He just doesn't know how to behave instead.

"You have a meeting in conference room C in five minutes. It's the banker's son who's been proposing his script for the past year. I  know your schedule is tight, especially with the premiere coming up, but I thought you might as well get it over with." She says, putting a stack of papers on the table that Harry can only assume is the script. He nods, quirking up the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you, smart thinking." The praise falls from his lips in a casual manner, and he doesn't miss the way she physically relaxes at the positive reinforcement. She nods at him, and turns back to the door. Right before she is about to leave the office, she turns around again. Harry leans back in his seat, waiting to hear what she'll say.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped last week." She says, and Harry frowns at the apology.

"What?"

"I clearly said something that ticked you off." She explains,her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know we joke around, but I was afraid that maybe I'd accidentally crossed a line—“

"Y/N, stop it." Harry interrupts her, getting up from his seat. Her lips are locked within a second, and she stares at her boss with wide eyes. His stomach twists at the sight of it. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"But— if I said something inappropriate then I want to apologize for it." She says, straightening her posture again, biting her bottom lip so he won't see it quiver. As if he doesn't know the way her body works. As if he hasn't known for three years.

Putting his hands inside his pockets, Harry walks around his desk and stands in front of her. A little closer than he needs to, and yet not as close he would like.

"Let me ask you this: How many times have you declined booty calls for me?" He asks, tilting his head a bit. A slight smile appears on Y/N's face, and she pretends to think it over.

"Twenty-seven." Her smile crinkles her eyes, making them even more glassy. Harry quite literally feels his hand itch to touch her face, but he keeps it sternly in his pocket. "I kept track so I could count all the reasons you definitely won't get into heaven."

At that, he lets out a snort. Y/N can't help but chuckle too, and slowly but surely the weirdness dissolves from the room. When the laughter has died down, she speaks up again.

"So... we're good?"

"We're good." Harry smiles at his secretary, and his chest heats up when he spots the faint blush that appears on her cheeks. Jesus Christ, did she become even more beautiful than she was yesterday or was he just too stupid to notice earlier? Probably the latter.

"Well in that case you need to leave because your meeting is like, right now." She reminds him, and he hums in agreement as he gets up from his seat and walks towards the door with Y/N.

"Already gone, love." He winks at her, walking out the door with a lot more confidence in his relationship with Y/N. Maybe everything can go back to normal again. Maybe he was just exaggerating when he couldn't get her out of his head this weekend. Perhaps it was just a glitch, a temporary error in his brain that had come and gone in a flash.

That must've been it, he tells himself as he makes his way to conference room C. He takes a deep breath, musters a polite smile, and opens the door to the room. Harry already knows this guy is going to be wasting his time, but he made a promise to hear him out, so he will.

The guy sitting at the table is the stereotypical spoiled rich son. When John Longwell—a long-time business partner of Harry's— asked him to revise his son's script as a favor, Harry told him he'd do it if he ever found the time. He always hoped John's son would lose interest and forget about the script by the time Harry could find a free space in his agenda, but unfortunately that hadn't been the case.

And although the arc of the story had sounded absolutely horrendous— something about zombies fueled by a brainwashing radio song, which didn't even make sense to Harry because zombies don't have brains—he couldn't back out anymore. So he needs to get it over with, starting now.

Harry loudly shuts the door.

The guy—whose name he can't really remember at the moment—flinches and turns around, a big grin on his face as he gets up from his seat.

"Mr. Styles, it's a pleasure to see you." The man says, extending his hand, which Harry, in turn, takes. He only gives a slight nod before heading over to the other side of the table and sitting down.

"So, where's your script?" Harry asks, eyeing the empty table. The guy looks flustered, opening his mouth to say something, but the opening of the door interrupts that. Harry leans back in his seat when he spots his secretary walk through it, not even eyeing the other guy as she struts over to him and lays the printed out script on the glass table.

"Sorry, you forgot this. It was still on your desk." She says, finally turning to the man to throw him an innocent smile. His sheepish grin satisfies her enough to turn back to her boss and focus all her attention on him. "I also forgot to ask you— do you want to move up lunch today?"

The corner of Harry's mouth tugs up. Over the last three years, the concept of 'moving up lunch' has become a code for 'should I get you out of this early?'. Y/N came up with it a long time ago, and it has stuck ever since.

"Yes, I would very much like that. Thank you, Y/N." He says, and the way a smirk slowly creeps onto her face makes the hairs on his body rise.

"It's my pleasure, Mr. Styles." She gives one final nod before walking out of the room and closing the door behind her. Harry would lie if he said he didn't let his eyes fall onto the way her hips moved as she strolled away.

Unfortunately the fun doesn't last long, and with the slam of the door Harry is reminded that he still has to sit through this meeting a little longer. He looks down at the script.

"A Thousand Zombies

By Jason Longwell."

Right, Jason, that was his name.

"Jesus Christ, if that were my secretary I'd have her bent over my desk all day. How do you get any work done?" Jason breathed out, grinning like a stupid fucking schoolboy. Harry quite literally felt the storm cloud that came floating right above his head the second he heard that incompetent loser say those words. His hands balled up into fists at the suggestive comment, knuckles getting whiter by the second.

"Get out." Harry growls. John raises his eyebrows, looking around him as if Harry couldn't have possibly been addressing it to him.

"W— what?" He stumbles.

"I don't do business with insolent idiots. Get out." Harry repeats, getting up from his seat and buttoning his suit jacket. John follows his movements, anger starting to cloud on his face.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He exclaims in a failed attempt to sound intimidating. At least, Harry assumes that's what he's trying to do.

"I called you an idiot. Now, get the hell out of my face before I boot your sorry ass right to the front door." With one brow raised, he waits as John tries to muster a response until he eventually gives up and storms out of the room. Harry throws the script into the trash as he walks out of the conference room half a minute later. Y/N is immediately by his side.

"That was quick, I didn't even have time to think of an emergency." She jokes as they walk back to Harry's office together. He raises a brow.

"Yes you did. What was it this time? Food poisoning?" He guesses, holding the door to his office open once they've reached it. Y/N grins as she walks past him and takes a seat at one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"Actually, your car was going to get stolen in about five minutes." She responds, the blush of her cheeks revealing the slight embarrassment of having to voice this excuse out loud. Harry's eyes widen as he walks over to his desk, feeling his assistant watching his every move. He quite likes the feeling.

"No way." He laughs. "You just get more creative by the day."

"What can I say, I'm good at crisis management." She shrugs, crossing her legs and getting into a more comfortable position on the chair. Harry tries his best to not let his eyes float to her legs.

"That you are." He murmurs, the huskier sound of his voice giving a different ambiance to the conversation. As Harry feels the mood switch, he curses himself. Why did he have to ruin it?

Y/N clears her throat. "Anyway— why'd the meeting end early?"

"It ended early because Jason Longwell is a sleazy douchebag." He responds shortly, straightening in his seat in an attempt to gain control of the situation again. He can't let himself slip like this again, and she can't know the real reason he kicked out Jason. But there is no denying the sheer rage that boils his blood when that comment flashes through his memory. He hates that the asshole thought he could just speak about Y/N like that.

"Ooh, what did he say when you kicked him out?" Y/N asks eagerly, still in a playful mood. "You did kick him out right?"

"I don't have time to get into this right now. I need to sign those contracts that were sent in yesterday before I go home." Harry says sternly, avoiding eye contact with Y/N as he speaks, but he still sees the slump in her shoulders at his sudden shift in attitude.

"Right, of course." She immediately returns to the responsible secretary she always is, getting up from her seat. He hears her exit the room, heels clacking against the wooden floor. As soon as the door has shut, Harry throws his head back in frustration.

So much for going back to normal.

Playing into the teasing will only rope him further into that forbidden fantasy, and he clearly won't be able to stop himself from resisting her if he does. But he's the one who started all the playfulness, massively screwing himself over he realizes now. If he shifts his behavior, she's always going to think he's mad at her because of something.  But he's going to have to, because Harry can't go back to normal anymore.

Deciding he needs to clear his head, Harry grabs his coat and heads for the elevators without so much as a word. He pretends not to notice the way people's eyes widen when he walks by, suddenly on their best behavior, and although it used to give him an ego boost back when he started, nowadays he just prefers it if people aren't scared of him.

It turns out to be a particularly nice outside for a winter day in London. Not to get it twisted— it's still freakishly cold. It's just that the sun has replaced the endless rain of this entire month. Harry suppresses a chuckle at the irony of the sun finally being out at the very first moment where he's felt so shitty in a long time.

He doesn't know how long he's outside, so he knows it's not fair to be frustrated when he comes back and Y/N isn't at her desk, but he can't help the slight distress that washes over him at the empty seat.

"It's just a date—"

"Your second date!"

Harry creased brows don't do much to hide his feelings when he turns around to see his secretary with a co-worker. The shy smile on her face—accompanied with that blush on her cheeks she always gets when she's secretly giddy about something—disappears at the sight of her boss looking at her like she just killed a puppy.

"Ha— Mr. Styles." She is quick to catch her almost error. Her wide eyes bore into his, filled with confusion and worry. But Harry's frown doesn't give away much, aside. From the fact that he is obviously annoyed.

"I was looking for you." He states stoically, not even acknowledging the employee that is standing next to her. The woman takes the hint and gives Y/N and Harry a small nod before walking away. As soon as she does, Harry turns around and walks towards his own office. He can hear her footsteps following him inside, and with the inconsistent clacking against the floor he can tell she's having a hard time keeping up with his long strides. Still, he doesn't slow his pace.

"I need the papers for the donations printed out and on my desk. And I'll need you to move the meeting with the director of the romance movie to Tuesday evening."

"Yes, of course." The breathy response falls from Y/N's lips the second he finishes his sentence, and by the time he enters his office, she is long gone to do exactly what he asked. Harry shuts the door a little louder than intending to, accidentally shaking the framed artwork on the wall.

Y/N isn't very talkative for the rest of the day, that usual spark of hers seemingly having dimmed. Harry's chest is heavy, knowing his cold attitude was the catalyst for that, but he keeps it up nonetheless. He can't help himself from falling back into it every time he sees her face.

A date. She's going on a date. A second one at that. He can't believe it. Is this who she referred to when she said she gets taken care of? His stomach churns at the possibility.

He tries not to, but Harry still gets warped into the spiral of overthinking about 'date' Y/N has tonight. So much, in fact, that he almost doesn't notice the time flying by until Y/N knocks on his door at 6PM. Harry spots the coat that hangs over her desk chair, and he realizes the work day is over.

"Everything is done for the day and ready for next week. I also sent the papers about the donations with a courier who owed me a favor, so the documents are signed on both parts and the donations will be officially registered by Monday." She explains, hands behind her back. Her new shy behavior—while quite endearing—is excruciating to see. She had always been comfortable around Harry, until now. Until he had to ruin it for the both of them.

"Thank you." Harry gives her a firm nod.

"No problem." She responds a bit awkwardly. "So... I'm going to clock out for the day."

Y/N has already turned around by them time Harry's voice croaks out a 'no'. She whips her head towards her boss, head tilted as she awaited whatever it was that he was going to say.

"I need those contracts for that romance movie." He says before he can even comprehend his words.

"But you won't be negotiating that deal for another two weeks." Y/N retorts, her tone more stern than usual. He can tell she's tired.

"I don't care. I want them on my desk tonight." He holds his head high, despite knowing damn well what he's doing.

He's stalling. Long enough for... he doesn't know actually. For her to cancel her date? It sounds ridiculous now that he really thinks about it.

"Harry, I have an appointment tonight—"

"I said I don't care. I pay you to do as I ask. This is not something you can argue me on." He grumbles. With how Y/N's jaw is clenched, he can't say the same for her attitude. Without another word, she leaves the office.

Harry's worry begins to grow every minute that passes with Y/N out of sight. But when she returns with a stack of papers in her hand after a bit—seven minutes to be exact—that worry evolves into surprise. Walking over to his desk, she plops the papers on them a bit carelessly before speaking up.

"I had them made on Monday because I like to be a few steps ahead." She elaborates. "Now, if that's all, I'm going home."

Y/N doesn't even say goodbye when she grabs her coat and walks to the elevators. Harry sighs to himself, not knowing how the hell he should handle this. It takes him a few seconds before he realizes he really can't do this anymore. He needs to talk to her, if only just to clear the air.

And so, he gets up from his seat and hurries after his assistant.

He catches her just as she walks into an empty elevator, and he joins just before the doors close. Her knitted brows make it clear that she is not in the mood to talk to him.

"I'm sorry... about the documents." Harry confesses, but she doesn't face him. It stays quiet between them for a bit, until the biting sentence falls from Y/N's lips.

"You said we were good."

His heart cracks at her wobbly voice. He can't believe he made her feel this way. If any other person would've brought her to tears, he would've beaten the shit out of them. He reaches for her arm.

"W— we are." He lies. It's the biggest lie he's ever told her, and she knows it, because she immediately turns around.

"No we're not! I said I was sorry if I did something wrong, and you told me it was okay, and now all of a sudden you're being so... cold. I don't understand—" her eyes become glassy. "I don't understand what I did wrong."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Harry opens his mouth, ready to spout out his apologies, when Y/N's phone starts to ring. It takes them out of their little trance, and Y/N fumbles around her jacket for a bit until she's finally found her phone. He can't see who's calling her, but it can't be an expected call if he has to judge by the expression on her face.

"Marco, why are you—" her eyes widen at whatever the voice on the other side of the line is telling her, and Harry subconsciously finds himself leaning in a bit in the hope to find out what's wrong.

"What?" Y/N breathes. Her voice is small, and it sounds defeated, tired. The elevator dings, signaling they're downstairs, but Y/N doesn't move, so Harry doesn't either. She seems to notice and lets out a huff before storming out of the confined space and pacing around the lobby.

"You said we had a green light! That was months ago, Marco! Did you even—" She growls, clutching at her phone so hard Harry is afraid she's going to break it. "You know what, never mind. Give me his number."

The Marco guy seems to say something that he really shouldn't have said, because with the way Y/N's face twists Harry swears he can see steam coming out of her ears

"I don't care that they're not answering, I'll make them answer. Give me their numbers and then go find them." She orders before ending the call. And although the thought really shouldn't be crossing his mind right now, Harry can't help but notice how attractive Y/N is when she's mad. He shakes off the thought, telling himself that's the last thing he should be paying attention to right now.

Y/N paces around one more time, cursing under her breath, before striding past Harry and pushing the elevator buttons like a maniac.

"What's going on?"

Y/N shakes her head. "N— nothing. Just a little hiccup that could've easily been prevented. I won't be long."

Harry raises a skeptical brow, but she doesn't dare to meet his eye. She's lying through her teeth.

"Y/N—"

"Harry, really, it's nothing. I'm taking care of it." She tries to convince him, but he notices the way her hands are slightly trembling. "I'm sorry I was unprofessional. You're my boss. It's my job to take your orders, not question them."

Wait, no.

That aching feeling fills his stomach. His entire body, for that matter. He doesn't want her to be a silent and compliant assistant. That's not why he hired her. He needs someone to push back, to joke around with. Shit— what has he done?

Harry finds himself speechless as she enters the elevator and pushes the button of the seventh floor; the office. His brain isn't fast enough to think of what to say before the doors shut and the elevator ascends.

His feet stay glued to the ground as he ponders, his mind reeling like a rollercoaster. Frustration fills his body to his every finger tip. Everything has gone wrong, and he has no idea how to make it better.

At least ten minutes must've gone by by the time that a concierge taps Harry on the shoulder to ask him if he's okay. Still a bit wary, he nods before excusing himself and leaving the building.

Everything is going wrong.

Leaning over the desk with her face buried between her arms, Y/N is unable to hold back the tears that glide over her cheeks.

First, her boss gets mad at her, and she has no idea why. Then, just when they seemed to be okay again, he changed his attitude up again. And what does she do instead of letting it go? She starts a fight. And now Marco drops a disastrous bomb in her lap that could entirely ruin the movie premiere on Sunday. And if that wasn't enough—and she really thinks it was—this sudden crisis caused her to cancel her date of tonight.

It wasn't anything special, really. Y/N had met Jamie a few weeks ago, and they went out last week. He was a nice guy, handsome too, and she thought he was perfect for a short lived affair. Besides, her vibrator just couldn't live up to her fantasies. She was human, she needed to get off every now and then too. It was like Y/N had this itch in need of scratching, one she hadn't been able to reach in what felt like years.

But that wasn't going to happen now. In fact, she was risking being fired if she didn't solve this problem as soon as possible.

Damn! She really thought she had kept it all together, despite the extreme business this year. She thought she'd done a good job.

But that was a lie, because if she had done a good job, Marco wouldn't have ever gotten into the position where an artist on the soundtrack could manipulate the contract they signed. Y/N had told Marco to make it airtight, already having been suspicious of the artists' integrity from the moment they became part of the soundtrack. She assumed that they would try something.

'Chain' was an up and coming band known for their indie sound, but Y/N would just describe them as two pricks. Not only had they been subtly demeaning to her when Harry met with them, barely acknowledging her existence, they were arrogant as well. They came in expecting a lot more money than Harry and the rest of the company were willing to give them. It was absurd that they expected such a big number, but their cocky attitude didn't fade throughout the meeting.

It was truly a favor to the director, why Harry worked so hard to compromise with Chain. The director had been so passionate about the movie, and he had really wanted the song. If one thing was important to Harry, it's that there went passion onto the projects he produced and invested in. So, he decided to help, and eventually managed to struck a deal with the singers. It was still way above the pay grade they should've got—in Y/N's opinion—but they agreed.

Having seen first hand how greedy those two were, she had told Marco—the guy who handled all the legal documents—to make that contract airtight. She demanded to look it over, but because of her busy schedule, she let Marco have another lawyer look at it before sending the contract.

And now, because of a lazy mistake Chain's lawyer found, they are demanding more money or they'll waive their rights to the music. Something which would be absolutely detrimental because the entire climax of the movie, the cinematography and timing are all tuned to the song.

If she doesn't find a way to solve this problem, this entire premiere could fall apart, and it would all be her fault. She gave the green light to Harry, who gave it to the director. It's all her fault. 

She should've fucking read that contract herself, then this would've never happened.

Between Harry being mad at her, the fact that she was in her luteal phase, and this sudden disaster, the tears began streaming down her face, and the soft crying only turned into full on sobs the more she tries to calm herself down.

She allows herself the mental breakdown, but when she begins to regain control of her breath again after a few minutes, Y/N decides that it's enough. She has a job to get done, and no one was going to swoop in and save her.

So, she starts making call after call, ringing everyone in the immediate vicinity of the two arrogant bastards. It's crucial she reaches them before the night is over. Only forty minutes have passed by the time she is on the seventh person, but it feels like an eternity nonetheless.

She flinches when, while trying to reach Chain's tour manager, the elevator door dings and a shadow nears. Her tense shoulders sink a little bit at the sight of Harry, glad it's not some creep. Her brows crease as she watches him walk towards her. He's carrying a couple of bags with... is that food? It sure smells like it.

When the call goes to voicemail—for the third time—Y/N puts down the phone and gets up from her seat, hurrying over to her boss and stopping him before he could reach her desk.

"What are you doing here?!" She asks, blocking his way. He lifts the bags, a subtle, apologetic smile on his face.

"I brought food—" He looks up at her, and his eyes darken as soon as he takes in her face. "Have you been crying?"

Y/N raises her hands to her face, quickly glancing at the ground while she wipes her cheeks before meeting his eyes again. Harry puts the bags down, and it feels like her heart skips a beat or two when his thumbs stroke the skin under both her eyes. He leaves his hand around her face, cupping her jaw while he stares at her with such a piercing pain in his eyes that it makes Y/N's eyes water altogether again.

"What's wrong?" His voice is soft, and the feel of his big, warm hands holding her is comforting her in a way she hasn't experienced in a quite some time. Y/N only focused on his chest, afraid that the welled up water in her eyes will spill out again the second she looks at her boss. She told herself the crying was over, so why wasn't she able to control herself?

A few seconds pass, and silence runs between the thick air that makes it nearly impossible to breathe normally. Then, Y/N feels the slight pressure of Harry's hands, inching her head upwards. Automatically, her gaze flicks to that of her boss, and when she sees the worry on his face, a tear escapes her eye. His thumb catches it before it has the chance to roll down all the way down her cheek.

"I messed up." She only says, closing her eyes in shame. Harry says nothing, only letting out a sigh as he continues to caress her cheek.

Suddenly, the phone rings. Y/N reluctantly backs away from Harry's touch, and runs over to her desk to pick up the phone.

"Hello?" She says, her voice laced with such desperation that she internally cringes at it.

"Y/N? It's Marco. I found them, they're at a studio just outside the city."

She hums, grabbing a pen. "Give me the address."

"No, I'm going. This is my mess, Y/N, I'm not going to let you clean it up." Marco croaks from the other side of the line, and Y/N feels his voice tug at her heartstrings.

"Marco, listen to me. This is as much my fault as it is yours. I should've read the damn thing and notice the mistake." She replies, leaning over her desk to grab her coat.

"Y/N, I'll take care of it, okay? I found a fault in their loophole, they're stuck. Let me handle this. You just go home and enjoy what's left of your evening I ruined—" Marco tells her. "Wait, didn't you have a date tonight? Oh my god, did I ruin your date?"

"I did... but it's alright. It probably wouldn't have worked out with him anyway." Y/N chuckled awkwardly and glanced towards Harry, who looked weirdly annoyed at what she said.

"I'm so sorry, I promise I'll make it up to you." Marco shares the desperate plea.

"You can make it up to me by giving me the address of the studio." Y/N tells him cheekily.

"Y/N..." he warns.

"What? I promise I'm going home. It's just so I know where you are." She lies. Y/N is a good liar, except in front of Harry. Having a tendency to get nervous, she always betrays herself. She's lucky that this is a phone call, otherwise Marco would've known she wasn't planning on going home at all.

Hesitantly, he gives her the address, which she immediately writes down on her hand.

"Okay, thank you Marco. Good luck." She says, hanging up the phone with a lot more confidence than ten minutes ago. She can feel Harry staring her down as she puts on her coat, clearly waiting for an explanation for this whiplash-like behavior.

"I really have to go."

Harry shrugs. "I'll give you a ride. You can explain everything to me on the way to your house."

Y/N shakes her head, walking towards her boss. "No, really, you don't have to."

"Yes I do." Harry argues.

"You really don't."

"Do you have a problem with me bringing you home, Y/N?" He asks as if he's dumb, as if he doesn't know she's secretly trying to go to that studio.

"No!" She is quick to protest.

"Or does it have anything to do with the address of that mysterious studio you've written on your hand?" He teases, and Y/N clenches her jaw in frustration.

"I just— I need to make sure it's handled." She sputters. Harry shrugs.

"From what I heard it's being handled just fine." He points out. "You've got to learn to let things go sometimes, Y/N."

She shakes her head, looking the floor. "I can't. Not with this."

Harry lowers his head, trying to get on the same eye-level as her and searching for her eyes. "Why not?"

"I told you; I messed up." Her voice quivers as she tells Harry the truth. "There was a mistake in the contract with Chain. Somehow they found a loophole, and now they want more money or they'll waive the rights to their song."

"What?!" Harry growls, exactly like Y/N anticipated he'd react. God, he's going to fire her any moment.

"It's my fault. It was a reference mistake I could've easily spotted if I had taken the time to revise it." She admits, feeling extremely shameful of her lazy actions.

"What are you talking about? This is the legal team's fault, they should've seen that damned mistake! It's not in your job description to revise a contract, it's not your responsibility. It's not your fault, Y/N." He explains. She sucks in a breath, his words hitting her harder than she expected. Heart aching, the one sentence rings in her head.

It's not your fault.

That couldn't be true, could it? She was responsible for this deal, and for Harry. She should've seen this coming, even though she couldn't have possibly known. Did she not always pride herself in having this sixth sense, in being ahead of everyone else? What was she without that? What was she if not the best at the one thing that made her special, that set her apart from the crowd. What was she worth without that invincibility?

"You revise every contract, don't you?"

Her eyes flick towards her boss. She doesn't say anything, but the answer is hidden in her pupils. And it seems Harry can read them like an open book. "How long have you been doing that?"

"Two years." Y/N stammers, her arms crossed as if it will keep her body from revealing whatever her mouth won't. Harry just lets out a breathy chuckle before pulling her into his arms, taking her into a sweet embrace. With his chin leaning on her head, Y/N takes the opportunity to bury her face in his chest, trying not to bask too much in the heavenly scent of his cologne.

"Remind me to give you a raise." He jokes in a soft whisper, earning a sniff of laughter from Y/N.

For a while it seems like everything that tore her down, including what went down between her and Harry, didn't exist anymore. There was just him and her, their embrace and a distant ticking clock, the only indicator of time passing. Yet it felt like the world stopped, or slowed down at least, being in Harry's arms like that. And suddenly, that itch that she hadn't been able to scratch in so long, it felt like it was soothed by a stroking hand instead, and in a way it fulfilled her. It just so happened to be a way she did not expect.

The initial shock at the realization—this puzzle piece that suddenly clicked—made Y/N back away. She clears her throat, fiddling with her hands.

"They're supposed to be at this studio right outside the city. It's only twenty minutes away by car. I just need to be sure." She announces. Harry grabs the bags of food he put down before placing his hand on her lower back and guiding the both of them back to the elevator.

"We'll take my car." He states, and although Y/N can tell by his tone that Harry expects there to be no talking back, but she just can't help herself.

"Harry, I told you I can take a cab." She suggests as they wait for the elevator door to open. Harry doesn't respond as he guides them both into the small space and pushes the button for the ground floor. When the door closes, he turns to her, looking down at her with such an intimidating stare that Y/N feels like she's shrinking.

"And I told you: we're taking my car." He says sternly, his low voice twisting her stomach in an interesting way. When Y/N goes to open her mouth again, Harry lays his finger on her lips. He hums in disapproval, shaking his head.

"I was being clear, right?" He asks rhetorically. His gaze sweeps over her mouth before settling on her eyes again. Not daring to speak another word, let alone breathe, Y/N only nods in response.

"Good." Harry responds, a cocky smirk framing his face as he strolls out of the elevator, leaving Y/N breathless and in a slight trance. Blinking a few times, she comes back to her sense and hurries after her boss.

Richard has always been a master at reading people, and this time is no exception. The second he began driving, he raised the partition, leaving Harry and Y/N with some privacy.

Harry really has a knack for hiring the right people.

The first few minutes of the car ride are silent, and Harry spends it observing Y/N as she picked at her nail beds, frantically looking at of the window as if it would make the car move faster. She has so much tension inside that little body of hers; she is clearly in need of a distraction.

"I think I'm jealous."

Y/N's head whips to him, brows raised at the sudden confession. Her body turns with her, knees now in Harry's direction as she leans back into the seat, getting comfortable as she lays close attention.

"Of me?" She asks, utterly confused. She seems very lost, not really connecting the dots. Harry doesn't blame her; that confession was quite out of the blue.

"Of whoever gets to take care of you."

Pure silence. Harry swears he could hear a pin drop. Y/N stares at him like a deer in headlights, probably having no idea what to say or do or think. She gulps.

"What?" Her voice is so soft that he almost doesn't hear her, but since all his focus is on her, he doesn't miss it. Letting out a breath, he leans forward, placing a hand on her thigh. His face inches closer and closer until their mouths are mere inches away from each other. Checking for her reaction with every small movement, he can't help but notice how she doesn't stray away from him. In fact, she leans in, causing their lips to brush against each other.

"The idea of another man touching you, having you, it makes my fucking blood boil." He says, voice hoarse. Her eyes frantically search every last inch of his face, looking for something she seemingly can't find. Perhaps she's attempting to find the usual playfulness that always accompanies any conversation that blurs that line between them. In that case, she could keep looking forever and ever, because he is dead serious. Fuck how it used to be and fuck whatever's right or wrong.

And most of all, fuck that line, because he's crossing it.

Harry closes the small gap between them, trying to suppress the moan that threatens to work up his throat at the sole feeling of her lips against his. What a fucking idiot he was for ever agreeing to forget about that Halloween night. Not that he ever truly did forget about it. Besides her obvious competencies, hiring Y/N was a way of keeping her where he seemed to like her best from the moment they met; close to him.

With that thought in mind, he wraps his hand around her face and pulls her closer. She complies, clicking her seatbelt free to move further towards Harry when he slips his tongue inside.

Their mouths move against each other like it's both the first time and the hundredth time they've done this. So familiar and yet it's like nothing he ever felt before. A sensation so different from three years ago, one so heavy and laced with a detail his brain can't quite seem to grasp. Deep down, he knows what it is, he just can't quite lay his finger on it.

But his body can, and it does, and so does Y/N's, because her grinding against him is exactly what he needs. His hand sneaks around her neck, lips curling into a smile at the familiarity of the curves of her neck and the identical moan that falls from her lips just as it did three years ago.

Harry groans when the car suddenly stops and Y/N falls forward a little bit, the friction against his trousers being a bit too much to bear at the moment. Slowly, the partition lowers, and without so much looking at them through the mirror, Richard speaks up.

"We've arrived."

Wrong. Harry clearly hasn't.

Before Harry can catch his breath, Y/N can get off his lap, and either one can even answer, the partition rises again. Immediately, Y/N throws her face into Harry's neck.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." She wheezes out in pure, utter shame. Harry shakes his head, a faint grin on his face. He would have been laughing his ass off if he wasn't so painfully hard right now. Instead, he only pats Y/N's back, telling her it's fine. She groans and opens the car door.

"No it's not! God, I will never be able to look him in the eye again!" She says, punching the bridge of her nose. Harry shuts the door and grabs Y/N's waist, pulling her towards him. She stumbles into his chest. He lifts her face with his fingers, forcing her to look up at him.

"You're going to have to, because I don't want to fire him." He jokes, and Y/N bites her lip to keep her smile from growing too wide. Not wanting to give Harry the satisfaction that he made her laugh, she looks to the side, but her face expression falls quickly.

"This is not my apartment." She notes, looking at the huge building next to her. "This is yours."

Harry nods.

"I can't be at your apartment, I have to—" Y/N stops herself before she can say more. But Harry already knew what she was going to say. Playfully, he raises a brow.

"You have to... what?"

"To... I have to—"

"Sneak out to that studio?" He finishes her sentence, and her eyes widen. She tries to regain herself but her cheeks are flushed and there is nothing she can do anymore. He's got her. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."

With that, he places a hand on her lower back and guides her towards his building. She stumbles a bit, but eventually catches onto the pace. But her body language is apprehensive, looking back at the road where Richard is standing. Or well, was standing. Harry ordered him to drive away as soon as they got out of the car.

Still, she turns around in a quick motion, trying to get to a cab. Harry's arm catches her, however, and he pulls her back against his chest. Along with his other hand, he turns her around, catching sight of her big eyes boring into his.

"Don't try me." He speaks slowly, dipping his head down until he finds himself inches away from Y/N. "You know what happens if you try me."

His voice is lower than before, having flipped a switch now that her mouth has been on his. He got a taste for the first time in years, he wasn't going to let her get away now. Y/N's breath hitches, eyes flicking down to his mouth.

Knowing he's got her right where he wants her, Harry pulls back and strolls toward the entrance of his apartment building. Soon enough, he hears those heels behind him and he smirks.

It's silent when they step in the elevator, and for the first few seconds, as Harry leans agains't the wall and observes his secretary, it stays that way. She eyes him a couple of times, her ears getting redder.

"What?" She breathes out, looking down at her body like there must be something wrong if he's looking at her for so long. He simply shrugs.

"Nothing. Just admiring you."

At that, Y/N vigorously shakes her head and crosses her arms. A soft scoff leaves her mouth, one she didn't think Harry would hear, but he did. He takes a few steps towards Y/N, inching her against the wall.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?" He asks sincerely, searching for her eyes. When she finally looks up at him, the nervous smile on her face fades a bit.

Harry doesn't like that look on her face. Needing to fix it, he leans forward and plants his lips on hers again, grabbing her face and pulling her into him. It only takes a matter of seconds before her arms are wrapped around his neck and their bodies are impossibly close to each other again.

Tongues delving deeper into each other's mouth, Harry feels himself floating on some sort of feeling. Despite not being able to define it, he is absolutely positive that he doesn't ever want it to stop. And since kissing Y/N causes this specific feeling, the only feasible option is to never stop kissing her. It's the best plan he's had in ages.

It doesn't take long before the situation gets heated, much like it did before, and Harry's hands trail to Y/N's hips to pull her against him. Desperate for any sort of relief, Harry's hips automatically start to move, and Y/N immediately responds. His body feels like it's on fire, and he tries not to let out any sounds as his strained cock rubs against his tight pants.

Harry takes his lips off Y/N's mouth, peppering kisses to her jaw instead. Slowly, he works his way towards her ear, where he stops to whisper in her ear.

"I'm going to remind you how fucking beautiful you are." The hot breath that left his mouth had her shuddering against him, a slight whine escaping her lips. As he leaves sloppy kisses on Y/N's neck, Harry's free hand slowly travels under her shirt, finding her bra.

She gasps softly when his hand starts to massage her breast, the sensitivity of both spots leaving her hot and bothered under Harry. Fuck, she is so fucking stunning, how did she not see it herself?

Suddenly, the elevator stops, and the door opened. Taking a step back, Harry only winks at Y/N before he turns around and strolls out as if it's a casual Friday. As if he doesn't have his secretary, whom he left high and dry, trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

"Would you like something to drink?" He asks when they enter his home, Harry immediately going into the kitchen.

"Absinthe." Y/N breathes out, leaning over the kitchen island. Harry peeks inside his fridge.

"I only have white wine."

Y/N shrugs. "I'm sure it'll have the same effect if I just keep drinking."

Harry chuckles, grabbing the bottle of wine and placing it on the counter. He walks to a cabinet and takes two wine glasses out of it. Placing one in front of Y/N and the other in front of himself, he opens the bottle and starts pouring, not stopping until the glasses are halfway full. Y/N laughs at the ridiculously full wine glass that he pushes her way, but takes it gladly. He doesn't miss the way her breasts nearly spill out of her top as she leans forward a bit further than intended to in order to grab the glass.

"To the unexpected." She says it like it's a dare. Amused, Harry decides to entertain it, and nods his head.

"To the unexpected."

They raise the glasses before both taking a long sip. Y/N rests her arms on the table, giving a perfect view of her tits right in Harry's frame. She smirks when his eyes accidentally fall on it, and Harry's stomach swirls with excitement. She's trying to play.

"Crazy, how fast life can change, isn't it?" She asks rhetorically, and Harry just hums, waiting patiently for her to reveal what she's trying to do. "I mean, I got up today thinking I'd end the day in another man's bed."

There it is.

She's always been smart, and she knows how to push Harry's buttons. Though his fingers grip the kitchen counter tightly, so much that his knuckles turn white, Harry keeps the corners of his mouth lifted.

"And now you're here." He says, head tilting just a bit. She hums in agreement, taking another sip from her wine.

"Yeah, but just crazy to think that I went into the day thinking I'd hook up with someone else." She tells it so innocently, as if she's mostly talking to herself. Harry's jaw clenches as he stalks around the kitchen island and nears Y/N.

"But you're not, though." Harry notes, falling right into the trap. He knows what she's trying to do but he just can't help himself. He doesn't like the idea of her being with another man. He waits for her answer, hearing his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"I know, but I could have—"

Before the sentence has entirely left Y/N's mouth, Harry's hand flies to her neck. The amused look on Y/N's face tells him enough, but he doesn't care.

"You're not. You're in my bed tonight, and any night after that as far as I'm concerned, so I don't want to hear another fucking word about it."

Her eyes twinkle with amusement as she stares up at him. "You really are jealous."

The corner of his mouth tilts upwards, "And you've gotten feisty over the years."

Y/N bites her bottom lip, humming in agreement to his observation. Harry lets out a soft chuckle, tightening the grip on her neck. Y/N gasps in surprise.

"But do you still like to be put in your place?" He asks, inching his face close to hers. The answer is written in her eyes, and yet Y/N doesn't respond. When it's clear that she won't anytime soon, Harry's free hand sneaks around the waist of her pants. She shivers at the touch.

"Well? Do you?" He repeats himself, and slowly but surely, Y/N nods her head. Harry lets out a disapproving noise. "That's not a proper answer."

Closing her eyes, Y/N lets out a deep breath. "Yes, I like to be put in my place."

"That's what I thought." Harry laughs, taking his hands off of her entirely. She frowns, but her eyes widen when he barks out a demand. "Take off your clothes."

He watches carefully as she follows his orders, and she clearly takes her time stripping down to her underwear. When she has, she looks to him for some sign of approval, but Harry just raises his brows. His hands are sunk into his pockets as Y/N lets out a little breath and takes off her bra and panties.

His eyes trail down her body, his cock hurting at the sight of her. God, she's beautiful. He feels like an absolute idiot for not having fought for her earlier, but he reminds himself that he can't change the past and that she is here now, stark naked in his kitchen. A grin spread across his face.

"Do you remember how you addressed me all those years ago?" He asks. It takes a few seconds before Y/N answers, but she gives him a firm nod.

"I called you sir."

Harry nods. "Rules haven't changed. Now, get on the counter."

Her eyes flick to the marble countertop, shock flashing through her eyes. "But Har—"

His right brow lifts ever so slightly. Catching the hint, Y/N stops herself before she can finish the sentence and hoists herself on to the cold countertop. It must not be very pleasant to lay your naked body on that freezing surface, but it was an uncomfortable temporary obstacle. The results would be great, and in about thirty seconds, she'd forget all about that cold touch against her skin.

Harry pulls out one of the bar stools and sat directly in front of Y/N. Spreading her legs apart, he catches sight of that perfect pussy he has been waiting three years to taste again. Like a starved man sat in front of a feast, the urge to dive right in is almost too strong to bear. But before he has her writhing under him, he wants to make her shiver.

"Can't believe it took us so long to get here." Harry hums, tracing his fingers up her thigh, carefully observing the way Y/N tries to control her breathing. Her fists are balled up into curls, attempting to send her concentration to anything else than Harry. He tries not to let his smugness show too much, but he has to say he likes seeing her struggle a bit. A bit of payback for trying to toy with him just now.

"You've always been stubborn." Y/N jokes, a gasp strangling out of her when Harry's fingers ghost over her clit. He chuckles, the tone of his voice so low that it could almost be considered evil.

"If I remember correctly, you're the one who wanted to forget about that Halloween night." He notes. Y/N hums.

"I also made the condition to act professionally, but we didn't do that either." Her eyes gaze into his, catching the fond smile with which he stares at her. A faint blush erupts on her cheeks.

"You drew the line." Harry retorted, and Y/N scoffed.

"You crossed it about a hundred times." She argues in response. He only hums, that cocky smirk on his face.

"I did, and consider this hundredth and first time to be the last, because I'm not getting behind that line again."

Y/N has never been so turned on her in her entire life. Harry’s words are the epitome of determination, and the way his fingers slip inside her so easily the second he finishes his sentence only solidifies that notion. The gasp that leaves her mouth is cut short and evolves into a low moan as Harry’s lips latch onto her clit.

Sensitive would be an understatement for her current state. She is aching, and the way Harry is ravishing her almost hurt. But any pain dwells in comparison to her desire she was overcome with at the situation she currently finds herself in. She is on Harry's kitchen counter, legs spread wide open and letting him do all the things that slipped into her dreams over the past three years.

Harry sucks in all the ways that made her squirm, moving his fingers with such ease that made it seem like he has fingered her a thousand times already. As if he knows her like the back of his hand, as if he knows all her secrets, even ones she doesn't know herself.

Y/N's hand buries itself in Harry's hair when he begins to kitten lick her clit, and she feels that inevitable climax inching closer and closer. She wonders how she had been able to keep herself composed for so long, because the high that creeps up on her feels like it was long overdue.

Unfortunately, the sensation comes to a grinding halt when Harry backs away from Y/N. Her head shoots up, and finds him leaning over her body, wearing boyish half-smile that is now glimmering with her juices.

Wrapping one arm around her waist and the other one under her legs, he picks her up bridal style. She holds onto his shoulders, burying her face into his neck as he carried her to his bedroom. When she begins unbuttoning his shirt, he throws her on his bed. She lets out a soft yelp, bouncing onto the bed.

"So greedy..." Harry tuts in disapproval, but Y/N doesn't quite care. She wants him, bad, and now that she's had a preview of what's to come she doesn't want to wait any longer. She needs him and she needs that orgasm.

She pulls him closer by his pants and starts to unbuckle his belt. "You're taking too long."

Y/N is about halfway done when Harry's firm hand wraps around her neck and pulls her closer to his face. Inching down, he growls: "You'll take what I give you."

"Then give me something." She spits back, and Harry's eyes turn five shades darker at her invitation to a challenge. He slowly leans back, Y/N watching his every movement in anticipation.

"On your stomach."

Y/N stomach swirls at the command, and she obeys as quick as she can. It stays silent for a little bit, and she awaits his further actions eagerly.

"Hands behind your back."

Again, she does what he says. Y/N doesn't dare to turn her head as she hears Harry walking around his room. When she feels a silky material around her wrists, she knows enough. He's tying her up.

Knowing better than to do otherwise, Y/N keeps her mouth shuts as Harry makes an impenetrable knot with his tie. She moves her wrists, assessing how tight it really is, and gets interrupted by a punishing slap on her ass. The sting remains for a couple of seconds, and she is sure there is now a red print the size of Harry's hand on her right cheek.

"Ass up." He barks out his final order, no doubt smirking as she changes her position, slightly struggling now that her arms are of no use.

Y/N bites her lip in anticipation when Harry's hand grabs onto her hips, steadying himself behind her. She slightly flinches forward when the tip of his cock teases her entrance, and attempts to speed up the process by leaning backwards a bit. She's rewarded with another slap on her ass.

But then Harry finally sinks in, and that dreadful itch that plagued Y/N for such a long time is finally scratched, over and over again as he begins to pound into her with long, slow strokes.

"Fucking hell..." Harry murmurs, his cock suctioning into Y/N's tight, clenching pussy. He is so big, and it bruises her in all the right ways.

"Oh baby... thaaat's it." He groans when Y/N begins to bounce back on his cock, aiming to get it even deeper inside of her. She is ruthless in her movements, groaning at the overwhelming sensations. When Harry gropes her ass— and his nails bite into her skin—she loses control.

Burying her face into the mattress, Y/N screams as she reaches her peak. The sound of Harry's moans at her pussy convulsing around his cock only strengthens her orgasm. Her mind goes entirely blank as the shattering release ripples through her like an earthquake. The only thing she can think of is Harry's name, and it's the only thing she cries out as the dizzying explosion settles all over her body.

"You really are desperate, aren't you?" Harry sneers as he pulls his cock out of Y/N, letting go of her hips. She nearly falls over, her tied up hands making it difficult to catch herself. This orgasm was so intense, she could feel the three years of pent up tension as it washed over her. Her cheeks are burning red and her teary eyes makes her vision somewhat blurry.

Y/N is thrown off when Harry suddenly turns her around and she finds herself lying on her back. The way he towers over her would have been intimidating had it not been extremely hot.

"Came on my cock so fast..." he mumbles cockily, corner of his mouth pulled up like the arrogant bastard he is. "Such a slut for it."

Y/N wants to give him some snappy comeback, but her brain is still fried from the orgasm and she's always liked to be degraded in bed, so she decides to only glare at Harry while he speaks. He catches it, and his grin only widens.

"You know it's true, baby." He tells her, bringing your legs over each of his shoulders. That deviant smirk is the last thing Y/N sees before her eyes roll into the back of her head at the feeling of Harry's cock stretching her out again.

He leans forward, almost folding her in two, and reaches deeper. He stays there for a few seconds—as if he is catching his breath—then slowly backs out of her before slamming right back in. Y/N lets out a screech that, if it hadn't been for the desperation laced in its tone, would've sounded like someone was trying to murder her.

Trying to keep her own moans at a minimum, Y/N closes her eyes and listens to the harsh slaps of Harry's skin against hers, and the groans that escape his mouth with each thrust. The strength behind each movement makes her clench around Harry, who in turn hisses her name as if it were a curse word. It only causes her to clench more. 

"Fuck, such a pretty little whore." Harry praises as he drives into her. Y/N can only whine, her tits bouncing uncontrollably at the impact of his motions. She must look fucking helpless. Opening her eyes, she catches the way Harry looks at her; like she's a dream. Like she's his dream.

"My pretty little whore." He growls, leaning back and holding one of her legs with his arm while the other reaches for her breasts.

"Yes..." Y/N breathes as he begins squeezing her breasts, getting lost in the sensations of him. Somehow it feels like Harry is everywhere. As if he has latched onto a part of her soul and she feels him coming to claim that every time his cock sinks into her.

"Such a tight fucking fit." He groans, taking her nipple between his fingers. "You should see how perfectly your pussy sucks in every inch of my cock..."

Y/N bites her lip as Harry talks, trying not too get too overwhelmed by the filthy things he's telling her as he plunges in and out of her. Her eyes catch the flex of his muscles that occur with every thrust, and she wonders how she got a man so perfect to fuck her stupid like this.

"Should record it... make a little video for just the two of us. What do you think?"

Oh my god.

"Don't you want to see how perfect we fit together?" He taunts, thrusting his hips harsher than before, hitting a spot that had been untouched for quite a while now. Y/N's face scrunches up.

"F—fuck! Yes, yes..." She responds when Harry stills inside of her to await an answer. He chuckles at the apparent hurry in her voice and reaches for—what Y/N assumes to be—his phone, on the bed. His motions are slow and soft, determined to keep Y/N satisfied at least a bit while he logs into his phone and searches for the camera app. She notices the start of his recording by the sudden change of pace and force of his movements.

His camera is pointed right at her pussy as he begins thrusting deep inside of her, and Y/N screams out Harry's name. The concentration on his face as he captures how she takes him proves too much to bear, and she shuts her eyes tightly, head flopping to the side.

She can hear his ragged breathing over all the other sounds that their bodies are making. The small grunts he makes in an effort not to moan too loudly is all she can focus on, and the tension in her belly grows exponentially with each vibrations of his voice that reaches her ears.

Harry slows his pace, putting more emphasis on the impact of his moves. It allows him to bring his free hand down to touch Y/N's clit. Her legs begin to shake the second he does.

"Are you gonna come again for me? I'm so close, baby. I can tell you are too." The softness in the delivery of his words have Y/N's ovaries rattle. She can only nod, a whine that was an attempt at a 'yes' falling from her rosy lips. Harry grins, his eyes flicking from his phone to her face. Everything feels so hazy, much like a daydream.

"Please don't stop." She squeals in such a high pitch that surprises even herself. Y/N had no idea she could go that high. Harry's bringing out an entirely new side of her.

"I'll never stop, baby." Harry rasps, pressing down on her clit in such a way that Y/N becomes cross-eyed for a second. Her nails grip into the bedsheets, the second release rippling through her like a hurricane. She never quite understood the word bliss, until now. This must be it; this feeling of... pure ecstasy.

Like a blank canvas splattered on with all the bright colors that exist in the world; fresh and exciting and psychedelic in a way. Impossible to define yet such a specific feeling. Y/N let all of it tingle from her head down to her toes, wanting to remember it forever.

The continuous pounding Y/N through her orgasm comes to a grinding halt when Harry reaches his own, pulling out just in time for his sperm to coat her puffy clit and swollen tits. His camera is focused on her frame, recording every spurt that paints her. She's the canvas, he's the colors, Y/N realizes. Harry is her definition of bliss.

The words shared between the two are scarce as Harry unties Y/N's hands, picks her up and carries her to the bathroom to clean her up. But the smiles on their faces says enough, both knowing what they feel is rare, and beautiful. Y/N assesses Harry's face, concluding that the soft edges of it makes him look like a proper angel.

When he's dressed her in one of his shirts, he takes her back to the bedroom, where he pulls her against his frame. Y/N wraps one leg around his torso, hugging him from the side with her head buried into his neck. The way his chest rises and lowers fills her with pure ease, and she leaves a few soft kisses in his neck as a silent thank you. Harry only hums in satisfaction, his arm only tightening around you, as if he's afraid you might let go.

"I'm never gonna let you go now." You tell him before you can even fully comprehend your words. Your heart starts racing, afraid that might've been too soon to say.

"Promise?"

Your racing heart is now melting as you turn your head and see Harry holding up his pinky. You are quick to interlock it with your own.

"Promise." You say with a smile.

General taglist: @mema10

[peachpitfics]

Guilty as Sin

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Benedict Bridgerton asks you to accompany him to his private studio, to show you some of the art he's been working on. You find a little more than you were expecting.

Length: 3k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Oral sex (female receiving), Penetrative sex, Unprotected sex.

a/n: find pt 2 here!

Bridgerton master list

"Good evening, y/n," A proud voice echoed behind you, discovering your hiding spot in the darkest corner, admiring Lady Danbury's art to appear busy. You didn't bother to turn and greet him, he always seemed to find you at these social events, even if you weren't outwardly interested in him, he persisted. Benedict Bridgerton slid into the space next to you as if it were designed for him, cheekily scanning you face for a reaction.

You met at Lady Danbury's ball 3 seasons previous. Your brother was holding out hope for a match this season, ignoring your contentedness for your own company. Benedict had never shown any interest in any young lady - he did, however, find amusement in torturing you this way.

"Bridgerton," You barely mumbled a response, hoping he would find another to bother this evening. Yet there he remained, exchanging his attention for the painting you were looking at.

"There are far better paintings in this ballroom" He remarked, a little scoff sounding off.

"Yes, I am sure there are. However, this one is positioned perfectly" Still, you avoided eye contact and angled your body away from him. He was definitely not the same as the other Bridgerton men. Benedict was frivolous and artistic, lost in his own hedonistic world of luxury and pleasure. Perhaps it was jealousy that ruled your opinion of Benedict.

"Ah, yes. I truly have never seen a damp, dark corner without you in it, you know?" He chuckled, "Why do you pretend to be interested in art, when you could be watching whatever is unfolding behind you? I'm sure the numerous scandals and embarrassing events you would witness would be far more interesting" He asked, there was even a hint of genuine curiosity in his words.

You paused for a moment, contemplating even continuing this conversation or leaving to find your brother or mother.

"Actually, I rather enjoy art. I am more interested in sculpture or ceramics, but I will endure whatever I have to to get through this evening and every other evening like it this season" You spilled. Benedict was stunned, his eyebrows raised and his blinks steady in shock.

"I didn't know you had a like for such things" Benedict said serenely.

"Of course not, I am certain you thought my only interests were embroidery or pianoforte, like every other simpering mess in this ballroom" You thought your snarky remark was under your breath, but Benedict did manage to hear. He breathed a heady laugh through his nose and took a sip of his lemonade.

"Would you be interested in viewing some of my works?" Benedict pondered aloud, finally dragging your eyes to meet his. It seemed sincere - which was not something you often saw from him. Whilst he was a shameless flirt, you never indulged him like some of the other young ladies. It was obvious that he viewed you as some sort of challenge, but you would never give in.

"Is that a serious invitation?" You asked, taken aback.

"Yes, absolutely. Art is potentially the only thing I do take seriously. I would love to show you, if you would like to see it" He almost bowed, as if the pursuit of his art was the most noble thing about him. This shift in his personality made him less repulsive, it intrigued you. Turning to face him, for the first time in so many months, throwing off his balance slightly, you held your hand out for him to take.

"You would like to see it now?" His brow furrowed, eyes asking permission to take your hand and lead you out to the carriages.

"Why not? We've been to this ball numerous times before, it will not be getting any more interesting" With the softest of smiles decorating your normally sour face, Benedict took your hand and began walking outside with you, watching nervously as people ignored your presence.

"Will this not be damning to your marriage prospects?" Benedict leaned over to whisper in your ear, an element of concern riding along his words.

You gave him a pitiful smile, "What prospects?". Not a single soul noticed the two of you leaving the ball. Benedict held the carriage door open for you and held your hand as you stepped up into it.

"I've never slipped out of an event quite like that" He remarked, closing the door, sitting opposite you.

"Well, in truth, I thought perhaps someone might have stopped us, just because of you… But, I suppose, my power of invisibility is shared with the person I am escaping with" Your eyebrows flicked up. Benedict could not discern whether you were happy or not to fly out of the view of the ton. While it was a blessing most days, you were afforded your privacy and peace. Perfect silence. There were many other days filled with loneliness, the madness of having to hear your own voice in your head just to fill the quiet.

The carriage ride was slightly uncomfortable, the two of you had never had to be alone like this. You were delivered to Benedict's college where he had been studying art and he led you towards his private studio. Benedict's hand reached out for the door handle, stopping short, and spinning to look at you, back pressed against the door.

"I presume you understand I don't bring people here," He paused, his demeanour was soft and vulnerable, "Be gentle with me". He waited for acknowledgment on what he was saying, and with a nod of promise from you, he opened the door. You both walked inside in sweet silence as you took in the most beautiful sight. The room was littered with parchment, sketches, canvases. Drabs of colour, charcoal and lead lit only by low candlelight as Benedict struck the match. This was the most personal gesture of friendship you had ever experienced, it was like peering through window into Benedict Bridgerton's mind - a place he only has the keys to. Several desks were patterned around the room, a small platform in the centre of the room, drying racks on the far left. You were surprised by this unapologetically intimate space, and even more impressed by the immense talent you were witnessing.

"What are you working on currently?" You did not mean for the excitement of the room to fill you up so keenly. Benedict had such a hard time trying to read your reaction, your manner and tone were thrilling to him.

"Oh, please" He gestured towards a far table, where an easel stood facing the window, "I am learning about portraiture this semester. This is something I am doing for my youngest brother, Gregory, for his birthday" His hand sailed past your lower back, shuffling you both around. A deliciously electric pulse passed over your body, goose bumps erupting in a rolling wave quickly trailing behind.

"Benedict, this is incredible" You gasped, your hands covering your mouth with astonishment.

Oddly, he stepped back from you and placed his hand on his heart.

"What did I say?" You smiled uncomfortably.

His face softened, his eyes fluttering peacefully, "My name. That is the first time, you have ever said my name" A flash of teeth in his grin made your heart jump its next beat. There was a flush of embarrassment in your cheeks, your eyes flicked between Benedict's and the floor.

"I apologise" Admittedly, you had never given him a chance to show how utterly human he was. When he had asked you to come to the studio, you wondered whether the room would be filled to the brim of paintings of naked women. How wrong you were - finding yourself surrounded by paintings and scrawling's of every member of his family. You dug around, flicking through sketchbooks, diaries.

"Have you found a favourite?" He meandered around the room after you, hands tucked behind his back like a gentleman, observing.

"This one, is my favourite" You held up a side profile of Violet Bridgerton, done entirely in variants and shades of their family colours.

"I am yet to show her that one, do you think I should?" He asked, and you sensed he truly valued your opinion here.

"Yes! If I had half your talent, I would have filled my family's home with my work" You chuckled, laying the canvas down on the current desk you were visiting.

You moved around the other side of the room, noticing a section of the room more damp, and darkly lit, compared to the rest of the studio. There stood an easel with a large drape thrown over it, and several canvases stacked betwixt it and the wall. This struck a chord of curiosity in you that could not be contained, you almost dashed forward to pull the drape down.

"No! Wait, not those!" Benedict rasped, darting forward to try and stop you. It was too late, the cream-coloured drape had coiled to the floor and revealed what Benedict did not want you to see.

Brow furrowing, you stood back, taking in what you were seeing for the first time. Here, on the easel, an unfinished portrait, of you.

"That's -- That's private" Benedict cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Is this… me?" You didn't know whether to be flattered, impressed, or worried. Had he done this from memory? That was when it occurred to you to look down. Picking up, and flicking through the canvases, they were all you. There were maybe six or seven of them, all in different poses, of differing angles. Had he taken such notice of you to be able to do this from memory? The detail in your face, your hair and even dresses you had worn in past seasons.

"This is…" You shook your head, placing the canvases back. Benedict stood behind you, leaving a distance so as not to make this more uncomfortable than it already was. His hands were pressed together at his lips as if he were praying, wearily hanging on for your next words.

"No one has ever seen me like this, or rather, at all" You sighed.

"I see you as you are" Benedict replied too quickly.

"And how is that?"

There was a long pause, an internal struggle between what he wanted to say and what he should.

"I see… the raw soulfulness of your gaze. The divine sway in your walk. The sensual ruthlessness of your words. The confidence of your acceptance. I have watched, and waited, and wallowed in avaricious longing" Benedict heaved in a deep breath, "Every line, every curve, every shade I fear is a figment of my imagination until I see you again, just so that I might commit a little more to memory".

Benedict's eye cast low, his discomposure becoming more and more apparent. You were not to know that the one person you had been avoiding for the past several seasons had been perceiving you exactly as you had always dreamed. Perhaps it was not Benedict's personality that made you keep him at arm’s length, but rather your own.

You bound forward, slightly tripping on your gown, throwing yourself in the second Bridgerton brother's arms. In the instant he caught you, you planted the shyest of kisses on his unsuspecting lips. Benedict chuckled sweetly, lifting you to stand on your own two feet again, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into to a longer, more fervent kiss. His lips were much softer than you were anticipating, gentle and cool against your own. Benedict's tongue dipped into yours, his kiss still passionately intoxicating. You parted for a moment, both of you breathing a little heavier now. Benedict took a step back, straightening his dress clothes and composing himself.

"I apologise, miss y/n"

"Why do you apologise? I am the one who owes you" You stammered.

"I am just glad that no one saw us, I will not have you ruined. I will not be the one that ruins you" Benedict stumbled over his words, words filled with such consideration and respect for you and your standing in society.

Panting still, bosom heaving over the corset, you thought about what he was saying. You thought about your "prospects".

Taking one large step forward, pressing your body against his, you leaned up as if to kiss Mr Bridgerton's cheek goodbye.

"Ruin me" You breathed, begged, into his ear, hands wrapping around his neck, your breath hitching in your throat as Benedict swooped you into his arms, carrying you to the nearest desk. He placed your behind on the edge of the desk, moving to sweep every piece of art clattering to the floor before turning his attention back to you. Your legs wrapped around his thighs, his lips crashing into you, his tongue fiercely caressing yours. Much to Benedict's surprise, you slipped your arms out of your dress, pushing the fabric down around your hips.

Stunned and dramatic shock shot across his face as he looked upon your upper body in your corset. Benedict blinked furiously, as if trying to regain control of his sense.

"May I?" He took hold of the fabric around your waist, pulling it out from under you as you lifted yourself slightly, signalling a loud yes. Sitting in your undergarments, Benedict wrapped his arms around your body, expertly fiddling with the laces as you nodded fervently into his delectable kisses. You grinned into his mouth, feeling the corset loosen quickly – he had done this before. Your fingers fumbled along the seam of his pants, unfurling the tucked fabric of his dress shirt, fiddling with the buttons of his overcoat.

Benedict stopped, throwing his coat across the room and removing his dress shirt as frantically as possible. It took only seconds for his eyes to widen at your naked body, sitting on the desk before him.

"Holy God" He exhaled, lunging forward, thrusting his hand into your hair, pulling you into a devilish kiss. His hands curved under your behind, lifting you forward to the very edge of the table before falling to his knees before you as if you were divine, and he, a devout worshipper at the altar. Littering kisses down your inner thigh, his nose nestling into the soft nest of hair at your mound, he breathed heavily, groaning with pleasure. Benedict's tongue slipped between your folds, circling the most sensitive spot on your body, your hands sliding into his hair, pulling gently as his pace quickened and steadied in a repetitive manner. Never had you felt so safe and yet so powerful, holding Benedict's head in place between your thighs. Letting out soft, melodic moans, tangling your fingers amongst his hair, finding your hips having a mind of their own as they ground against him. The sheer coarseness of Benedict's dawning facial hair and the soft, warmth of his darting tongue were plenty enough to push your mind to the edge of the human experience. Your head turned dreamy, light, whilst your body convulsed and squeezed Benedict's head between your thighs.

Panting softly, Benedict remained, placing delicate kisses where his tongue had just performed. As your body relaxed into him again, Benedict appeared from the floor, kissing you again, to lay you backward on the table, your own sweetness on your tongue now. He stood before you, bare torso, undoing his dress pants. Excitement pulsed through you, propping yourself onto your elbows to watch. You had heard other ladies discuss this in the depths of their personal conversations but had never really learned anything from them. It was a topic of great interest.

Freeing himself before you, your enlarging eyes took in his length as he held himself in his hand. "Allow me?" Benedict looked down at you, sordid passion aflame in his eyes. You gave a clear, concise nod. Benedict moved closer between your thighs, adjusting your legs, and placing himself at your entrance. With both hands sprawled over the space between your belly and your hips, Benedict slowly pushed forward, eliciting guttural moans from your lips. But he never looked away from you, he never closed his eyes for more than a half-second. His desire burned out of him, his eyes searing down on you and in helplessness, you exuded wanton need in return.

You wished this act were eternal, completely unending. Every thrust an indiscreet attempt at conveying his affections for you. His hand found its way to caressing your cheek, his teeth nipping at your neck as you moaned his name.

“Benedict” You sighed without inhibition. The sound of your voice sent Benedict into a frenzy, his thrusts harder now and full-fledged. His sinful grunts, echoing across the studio, came to a hot, explicit apex as he buried himself as deeply as possible inside of you.

He looked down at you dreamily, his eyes heavy with pleasure, running his thumb over your bottom lip. Benedict stepped away, reaching for his dress pants, and sitting on to the ground in front of you – you moved to sit next to him, surrounded by the tables previous contents.

“You are wonderful. I could never capture such an essence, in any art form. You are transcendent” Benedict’s words were slow, the ruse of his silly exterior worn away.

“I much prefer this version of you” You gave a smug smile, both of you avoiding eye contact.

“As I do you” He retorted, chortling alongside you. The long, comfortable tired silence between you was broken only when Benedict cleared his throat.

“Y/n,” Benedict spoke up, “I think—No, I am quite certain, I love you” He admitted, holding his hand out, bridging the space between your mostly naked bodies, waiting for you to take it.

“I do believe I too am guilty of loving you” You responded, laying your hand gently in his. Leaning to meet in the middle, sharing a sentimental, sweet kiss and smiling into each other. Benedict jumped up, pants still undone around his waist, he pulled you to your feet.

“Come, I should like to draw you” He posed you naturally on the platform in the centre of the room. You watched him scramble about the room, looking for his implements.

“Like this!?” You gestured to yourself, completely nude on the dais.

“Yes, precisely like this” Benedict growled ardently, putting his pencil to his parchment.

--------------------------------------

If you would like to be tagged in any upcoming Bridgerton fanfictions written by me, please let me know and I will add you to a taglist!