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writingsfromhome · 10 months ago

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Dos and Don’ts IV

A/N: hello my loves this final part to this fic completes the birth of one of my favourite fics I’ve written. Thank you for reading and enjoying it just as much—every like, comment, and dm meant the world <3

Parts: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

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We have an extra day in Barcelona and the team is buzzing to enjoy their nightlife since we could sleep all day tomorrow. I’d visited here while I was a uni student so I give some suggestions.

Harry’s a little on edge the whole time. Earlier today some headline from a musician Harry worked with was taken out of context and thus took the internet by storm. Now he was being flooded with people wanting to know his thoughts and feelings. It was a hot topic.

With a joint effort of me, Jeff, and Graham, we tried to keep the spotlight on his Barcelona show. Well my role was mostly to screen Harry from seeing any further discourse online.

The show itself was one of the loudest I’d been to—I was glad I had my own ear protection. The tense Harry falls away and he’s electric on stage. Even coming backstage he’s on a high; he hugs the crew and thanks everyone like he usually did at the end of shows and disappears into his dressing room with Jeff. They look like they’re talking intensely.

“So,” Sarah slides in beside me. “We noticed you’re a bit different coming back. What’s happened?”

I try to play dumb but the girls keep pushing.

“Me and my fiancé ended things,” I confess. They gasp, Claire’s eyes actually fill with tears.

“Shh!” I shush them. “Keep it on the down low please I don’t want anyone to know.”

“But y/n why are you even here!? Is it because of tour! I’m sure Harry could have rearranged things-“

“No no,” I appreciated their support but I didn’t want to hash things out. “It’s just…I think it was a long time coming. God, I don’t wanna cry. I’m good. For now. And I want to be on tour I need the distraction.”

“I get it,” they sympathize. “We’re gonna make you forget so hard tonight.”

“Okay but don’t,” I look around us to make sure there was nobody else around. “Please don’t tell Harry. Seriously please. I don’t want him to know especially. I don’t want him to treat me differently or something.”

“Lips are sealed.” Sarah zips her mouth. “But we can all tell you’re off. It’s hard not to practically living together these last couple months. If he asks we’ll say…”

“Just say she’s on a break?” Charlie suggests.

“Yeah,” I shrug. “Things are complicated, I’m on a break, whatever that’s fine.”

The girls lean towards me and envelop me in a hug. It reminds me of my friends I’d said goodbye to.

“Thanks,” I say through tears.

And the girls hold me to their promise.

After we get dressed for the night—I chose a corset-style top and trousers—we head out. The sun dips below the horizon and the old city is cast in a warm orange glow that could inspire anyone who set eyes on it. String lights come on and music plays from various doors; the city is alive.

We tease each other about looking so glam as we wander the narrow cobblestone streets. Aside from the shows we all wore sweats and tees.

Every place we pass sets my senses alight. We grab tapas from a place that smells irresistible and chat over each other about tonight’s wicked show. I continue avoiding Harry by sitting as far away from him as I can get.

As we wander off in search of the club I can’t help but feel a twinge at how incredibly romantic the moonlit streets felt.

The club is loud and alive, the noise levels even feel normal after the roar of the last few of Harry’s shows. My mood starts shooting up steadily as I drink in the energy around me.

We join the crowd and I give away my worries and my annoyances to enjoy the music. I feel it in my chest and for a blissful moment I’m grateful for my whole damn life despite everything.

“Cute guy!” Someone shouts in my ear.

Charlie nudges me to one of the guys dancing nearby. “Get distracted!”

I shake my head no.

“Do it!” She cheers. It barely travels to me. She grabs Claire’s hand and tugs her, letting her in on the plan and they goad me into going for it.

I motion a drink. I’d need another shot for the courage.

We trail back to the bar and do a round of shots, and they grin with thumbs up as I hesitantly enter the crowd again.

The dude they pointed out is tall and beautiful. Like beautiful not even handsome. I get stuck looking up at him in awe, he wasn’t really my type. A tad too pretty boy but when he notices me looking he smiles and I’m won over. I couldn’t deny a good smile.

“Hey!” He turns his body to me. At least I think he say hey.

“Hey!” I shout back.

“Que pasa?”

“What?!” I couldn’t hear a single thing. What did I expect.

He smiles and takes my hand that had been anxiously playing with the edge of my top. The other has a hand splint that I’d received in Madrid. Apparently I sprained my fingers.

The stranger wriggles both my hands to loosen them, raising his brow at the splint. I laugh.

He asks in my ear but I don’t understand. It sounds like a question, something bylar. When I scrunch my brows he laughs, “Dance! We dance!?”

“Dance!” I laugh. He was cute! “Yes! I want to dance with you!”

“Vamos,” he pulls me in. I understood that at least.

I used to do this in uni, I think. I should be able to do it again.

He teases me a little because I’m so tense. His hands knead down my back to my waist to get me to relax. It feels nice, being touched by a man that looks like he was carved from marble but filled with music.

I begin to find my rhythm and sway with him, eventually letting go completely. He compliments me as I start to move with him and pretty soon I’ve channeled my 20-year-old self. It feels pretty spectacular.

When his lips ghost my cheek I don’t protest. Right now, I felt good. Everything was on the back burner’s back burner and I felt grounded in this nighclub with this random stranger who was paying attention to me, just me. And it’s just us. And it’s just temporary. And I feel good.

When I turn around, my back to his chest, he moves my hair to the side and kisses down my neck. It felt good.

I run my hand up into his hair and he moves lower murmuring foreign words on my skin, our bodies still dancing in the same language, his hands still gripping my waist and my hips. I feel blissed out.

It ends in a split second.

“What are you doing?” Harry’s suddenly tugging me towards him. His mouth makes the words I just fill them in with his annoyingly bossy voice.

“Hey man,” the guy I’m dancing with tries to get in between us.

“What are you doing!?” I snatch my hand away from Harry.

Harry puts his hand on my partner’s chest and says something to him, maybe in Spanish. He looks at me with puppy dog eyes and I look at Harry. What had he said.

“What did you say?” I ask. I try to call back my dancing partner but he just salutes me with a smile and fades into the crowd. No wait, I’m being dragged away.

“Y/n what are you doing out there?”

“What am I doing?” I shout. “What are you?! I was having a nice time with that guy what did you say to him?”

He walks away, further back into the edges of the club. There’s a few people milling about with a number of them involved in heavy makeout sessions.

Harry turns to face me finally. “You’re engaged y/n, Claire and Sarah said things are complicated at home is that why you’re doing this?”

“What!” I throw my hands up, tears prick my eyes. What the fuck was his problem! Since when did he care? “Why do you care?! Yes, things are complicated and I was getting my mind off of said things—what is your issue? You want to drag me back here and remind me of how shitty things have been?”

“This isn’t the way,” Harry insists. “You don’t even know that guy!”

“Whatever I’m over this convo.”

I turn to leave but Harry grabs my hand, the one in the splint, and pulls me back.

“Sorry,” he lets go of the splint. Then picks it up again. “Look. I’m worried about you. This isn’t you, you’re not the girl that goes home with another guy when your fiancé is back at home! I just don’t want you making any regrets.”

“Oh is that it,” I step towards him so my hand isn’t so outstretched. He stands still but on my second step he inches back. “Since when did you get a high horse huh? Don’t tell me who I am and who I’m not. You barely know me! If I want to make decisions I regret I can do that. They’re mine to make.”

“No. Y/n, as mad as you are don’t go home with a stranger.”

“As if you don’t!” I scoff. “What’s your real agenda here? What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” He insists.

“Why do you suddenly care so much about my chastity?”

“It’s for your own good!”

He’s lying. I know he’s lying and I don’t know why he pulled me away from my beautiful Spanish dance partner but I was actually relaxing and now he’s put me right back into this crazed and tense headspace I kept finding myself in.

Fine, I decide. I could make him regret it.

“Really? You care about my morality that much?” I ask.

With my hand flat on his chest I’ve pushed him further into the wall behind him. He watches me with a guarded look.

But I want him unguarded, vulnerable. The same way he’s made me feel. I lean in, “Are you really worried about the technicalities of me cheating on my fiancé?”

I hover a half foot from his lips. Finally his eyes flicker down to my lips and I know I’ve got him.

I slide my hand up his chest and when my hand inches up the skin of his throat his eyes grow unguarded and heady with lust. He doesn’t push me away. He doesn’t say no.

Hypocrite.

I drop my hand.

“That’s what I thought Mr. Styles.”

I watch for a wonderful moment as the lust clears from his eyes and he realizes what happened. Shame, embarrassment, resignation, and then anger.

I spin on my heel and head away from him. He could deal with the consequences of his actions all on his own.

I’m half-afraid he’ll come after me but luckily I make it out of the club alone.

“He’s such a dick,” I say more to myself. Just to get it out because I’m pissed. “Who the fuck does he think he is!?”

My night is over. I just want to take this all off and forget about it. Maybe I can lock myself in my room and raid the mini-fridge, get drunk and cry myself to sleep. Those seemed like the best options right now.

I take an uber to the hotel. As I walk up to it I notice a weird crowd outside. For nearly 2am I wasn’t expecting this and my instincts kick in that this wasn’t normal. Especially when I notice all the camera straps.

“Excuse me,” I ask the front desk. “Why are there a bunch of paparazzi outside?”

“Is there?” The man behind the counter asks. “Sorry we will tell them to leave. Are you staying with us?”

“That’s a privacy concern out there, and a concern with your staff because they’re here. How do they know who’s staying here?!”

It seems to dawn on him I wasn’t just asking out of curiosity. He promises me he’ll get management. In the meantime I call Jeff and explain the situation. He starts to panic the way I hated, looking for something to blame. He calls Graham who sounds like he’s driving in nascar. It’s a very noisy and over-stimulating conversation.

“Call Harry!” Jeff orders. “Tell him he cannot go back to the hotel no matter what! Fucking vultures man!”

“Y/N,” Graham says in a calmer voice. “You need to go back to where Harry is with some sort of disguise. A hat or sunglasses. That sort of thing-“

“It’s night.”

“Yes night. No glasses. Book the closest hotel you can find. Tell his band they can come back, but to go through the back. They might get spotted but they’re trained on dodging questions. That will keep the vultures there waiting for Harry and we can pick you two up back to the airport tomorrow morning. Where’s after this?”

“Glasgow,” I bite my nail as I think. I had to call Harry asap. What if he was on his way back. “I gotta go now to call him though. Talk later.”

I hang up and call Harry. He picks up the second time.

I explain the situation and he reacts the same way as Jeff, swearing and cursing the papps. I tell him what I was going to do and tell him to go right back into the club. To pass on the word to the team even though I was going to send them a text.

I head up to my room and grab what fits in my bag. I didn’t have Harry’s room key so I decide he’d have to wear my hat and head back out. The vultures stay waiting, now just a few feet further away from the entrance.

I speak briefly to management—I figured Jeff could talk to them and give his classic earful.

On the drive I find a nearby hotel to the club and collect Harry to get him there. We’re too tense to talk when we meet up. Once inside again, I tell him to sit in the lounge while I go up to the desk.

Act above it all, I channel a rich bitch. We needed privacy and we needed nobody to know Harry was here.

“Hi I need a room.” I say.

“Of course, how many night will you be staying with us.”

I glance back to see where Harry sits. He’s in a wingback chair that’s mostly turned away and with his hair stuffed in the baseball cap you can hardly tell it’s him.

“Just a night. I need your best room please.”

“Absolutely,” the woman smiles and I feel bad for only giving a tight-lipped smile back. I wait as she clicks away, finally looking back to me with a slight frown. “So miss unfortunately we are very booked tonight. There are a couple events going on in the city making things very popular.”

“The best room will do. Preferably large.”

“Well,” she hesitates. “A lot of our larger rooms are taken um. I can offer you a bed with one king, it is a bit smaller because it’s by the elevators. I also have one with a queen that is tucked away in the corner with a better view.”

I wanted to be as far away from Harry as possible but by an elevator was asking for trouble.

“Well, I’d rather stay far away from noise so we’ll take the queen.”

“Is that just you or…” she glances at Harry.

“Yes. Two. We’ve had a rough day of travel he’s just resting.”

I hand over ID and my card, trying not to balk at the total. At least I’ll get reimbursed.

“Do you have any bags?” The concierge swoops in as I get the key card.

“No! No. Like I said, bad travel day. We just need somewhere to sleep and we’ll reunite with the bags once they arrive tomorrow.”

They leave us alone after that. I hoped it was because I’d been standoffish enough and not plain weird.

The elevator ride up to the 8th floor is stony and I spend the spare second to text Jeff and Graham the hotel’s address.

The room itself is pretty sub-par and the adrenaline of getting Harry here safely wears off.

I drop my bag by the door and pull out my toiletry bag.

“I don’t have clothes for you to change into, I didn’t have your room key.”

“Yeah. S’fine. I’ll just sleep shirtless unless that bothers you.”

We stare at each other for a tense moment.

“I’m fine with that, you’re the one with the high horse.”

After doing all this for him I wasn’t going to be easy to deal with if he wasn’t going to be easy to deal with.

He chooses to ignore me.

“How the fuck did they know I was staying there? We were under a-“

His phone rings and he answers. Sounds like Jeff.

I use the time to go to the bathroom and finally take off the makeup. I realize I should have grabbed my pjs from my bag too. I take my hair down and massage my scalp with my fingers, letting myself calm down despite the aggressive voices outside.

“Yeah whatever. Keep me updated.” I hear. Great. That was done with.

I leave the bathroom and Harry’s still pacing the floor.

“You’re gonna wear the carpet down if you keep doing that.”

He stops and looks at me, his eyes trail down my body.

“You didn’t bring yourself a change of clothes either?”

“You wish,” I head for my bag again and grab the tee and shorts. “I just forgot them out here.”

“Do you always have to be so snarky?”

Oh, so he wanted to fight. Good news for him, so did I.

“Depends. With you? When you’re being a dick? Yeah. I do.”

“It’s really quite unbecoming.”

“Is it?” I mock his accent. “It’s not proper for a lady to be snarky?”

“I don’t sound like that. You just never let anything go.” He continues.

“I never let anything go?” I repeat.

“Yeah! Ever!”

“What do you want me to let go?” I ask.

“Everything. You’re bothered by everything just let it all fucking go.”

“No like specifically what should I let go?” I turn on him and with each question I stalk towards him. “Being treated like trash by you? Being told I’m replaceable and unnecessary? Getting bossed around about who I can and can’t dance with because you suddenly decide to be the morality police!?”

“Jesus take it down a notch y/n.” We’re fuming as we square off. “I’m not your bloody fiancé.”

“And thank fuck you’re not!” I throw the clothes in my hand on the bed. “You’re my employer Mr. Styles and I’ve been nothing but a good fucking employee for the last year! I try to keep my patience and do everything I can to do my best! You’re the one always trying to blur lines! You’re the one always getting in my damn business when I don’t pay you to!”

With every accusation I poke my finger into his chest and it’s like literally pushing buttons. His face gets stonier and stonier until I’m sure he’s going to crack.

“You wanna know what your fucking issue is?” He swipes my hand away.

“Oh sure tell me, wise Harry Styles who definitely has no issues at all. Tell me.”

“This. This is your fucking issue,” he spits. “You’ve always got such a temper on you! I’m not blurring any bloody lines I check up on you and you get all offended over nothing!”

“Over nothing?” I ask. I laugh sarcastically and walk away from him. I was seeing red. “Over nothing?”

“Yes! I don’t do shite and suddenly you’re trying to bite my dick off.”

“You fucking wish,” I turn on him. “It’s crazy you don’t realize what an absolute jackass you are! We should be refunding all those fans who’ve come out to see you because the man they’re paying for is a fake! You’ve treated me like nothing and embarrassed me countless time-“

“Embarrassed you,” he scoffs.

“Yes!” I go on. “What do you call what you said on our way to Paris huh? You can be so cruel! So if I have a temper it’s justified because you’re one of the worst people I’ve met!”

“What did I say?”

“Are you kidding? You’re going to make me repeat it?” He was crazy. He was depraved and absolutely insane. Or he just hated me.

“I’m not playing a game just tell me!”

“You said I could have skipped the whole tour and nobody would notice.” I say the words that had looped through my head. And of course, he has the audacity to look surprised. “Thanks. A lot! It makes it even worse that you were so casual with your cruelt-“

“You need to stop being so sensitive,” he has the nerve to say. “Then maybe you can manage your temper.”

“I can manage my temper any time but you’re moody like a pre-pubescent teen and that looks to be a lifetime fucking problem!”

“What’s your fucking problem Y/n! What is your problem with me!? Why do you still work for me if you are this angry all the time!”

“I’m not this angry all the time, you just makes me this angry! And I hate you for it!”

“Then quit!”

“Maybe I will!” I had to. After tonight and this blowout I had to. How could I work for Harry like this.

“Great! Then you can take your problems with you.”

“Don’t gaslight me,” how dare he. “You’re not innocent in this! You create my problems and blame me for being this way.”

“Whatever y/n.”

“No.” I wasn’t letting him off the hook. I get in his face again. “Why did you stop me tonight? Why did you keep me from doing what I wanted tonight?”

“What? I told you I was looking out-“

“Bullshit!” I cut him off. “That’s a bullshit excuse, I want to know why!?”

I feel like I’m made of flames and in desperate need of a lobotomy. How could one guy make me this crazy. How could it all revolve around him.

“I was doing it for your own good! But clearly I understand why it’s so fucking complicated with your partner-“

“Don’t you dare talk about him,” I seethe. I was mad. Fuming. I want to get physical, I wish I could throttle him or at the very least access one of the pillows from across the room and smash it to the floor. I want him to see how angry I am because my words are twisted with every angle Harry could find. I wanted him to admit to something he’s been skirting for a long time. “Tell me.”

Harry stares at me with hate in his eyes and I know I have the same look. I wasn’t going to let him get away.

“You don’t even have the balls to admit it,” I poke. “Is this why you’re so hard-headed to anything I say? Because you can’t even admit something like this to yourself?”

“Just shut the fuck up y/n and stop being so mental.”

“I refuse to shut up. I want you to talk.”

His breathing gets faster and I watch him flex his hand. He was as angry as I was. Good.

“You’re a fraud. And I hate you.” I step into his space. Our bodies are a hair’s breadth away from each other’s. I want to show him how mad he makes me. I want to do something. I want him to admit this thing he’s been dancing around. It makes me so mad!

When he starts to shake his head at me I lose it. Instinct takes over where I want to physically show him how angry he was making me. I grab his face in my hands and push my mouth against his. I meet teeth.

But it doesn’t take long for him to respond. To correct the unadulterated anger with purpose.

He pushes back, kissing me harder whilst pushing me against the wall. I feel sandwiched, my chest crushed against his and I bite down on his lip trying to get back some control.

My hands are all over him, grabbing his shirt, running through his hair, pushing under his shirt to touch skin. Harry does the same, pulling at my hair and lifting me onto him.

Our tongues clash together, his hand grabs my ass, squeezing and moving up. His hands feel hot on my skin, his metal rings an icy contrast. Neither of us want to give up control. We keep fighting, just now with our bodies.

“Why can’t you ever just let it go,” he traces his teeth over my collarbone. It all feels too much.

In response I push him back, he stares at me for a heated second before we crash into each other again. We don't care where we are. All that mattered was here and showing the other who was in control. Who hated who the most.

Harry pulls away, his mouth a deep pink from our fight. His eyes are half lidded, his pupils dilated. I can tell he wants this but a part of him hesitates.

"We're doing this," I commit, not taking my eyes off his lips.

"I’m doing this," he growls and lifts me up, any hesitancy washed away. I wrap my legs around him, not thinking about anything but what I was going to do.

He whirls me around and deposits me onto the bed, and his body covers mine while his mouth attack my neck.

He wasn't gentle or slow, but then again, I didn't want him to be. I pull off his shirt, not wanting anything between us, not caring that my nails would leave marks down his back. Leaving something permanent on him sounded exactly what I needed.

I tug on his hair as his teeth come down on my chest. I feel heated as he swears, “Teasing me with this top all night was a fucking sin y/n.”

“Fuck off,” I gasp as he figures out the row of clasps at the front and the icy rings of his fingers presses against my sternum. I grit my teeth, “I didn’t wear this for you.”

His abs contract as he pushes himself back up, his eyes dark as his hands find the clasp on my trousers, undoing them with ease and tugging them off. His other hand comes back up to tilt my chin up.

“D’you really hate me?” He asks.

“Yes,” I respond with zero hesitation.

He moves his body, covering mine with his own again. My breath catches in my throat as he presses his lips to my neck, slowly moving down. He drives me crazy with anticipation and I wriggle up to keep up the pace but he holds me in place. I let out a moan as he kisses my inner thighs, his fingers gripping the tops of them. I'm squirming under his hold, the heat pooling inside of me.

“Do you hate me?” He asks again.

“Yes,” I cry, not wanting to relent to him.

“Good,” he says and that’s the last thing I remember.

The rest is a tangle of limbs, an out-of-body sensation, and seismic wave after wave coursing through my body. It’s unlike anything I’ve experienced before; the fury we felt with each other fuzes to the passion of the moment and it blitzes every damn thought out of my head.

Hours later, or maybe the whole night later—I don’t know but all I do know was that my body was spent and I was barely hanging on.

“I can’t,” I plant my hands on his shoulders and nearly pitch forward just from pausing. His hand splays on my back, keeping me in place as he turns us around.

“Okay?” He asks low.

I nod, grateful that he was taking over.

And after riding out what I know would be my last wave he rolls off of me, and we lay there just trying to catch our breaths.

After a few minutes, I sense him tilting towards me, his eyes on my face. When he stares for so long it becomes obvious, I look back at him.

His eyes are not the same ones that started this mess, they’re breezy meadows of green compared to the icy sea glass from before. But it’s not surprising. With each round and each minute we spent with other tonight, things had grown softer. Not gentle, but softer.

And as we look at each other with the awareness that the anger had bled into the threads of these tangled sheets a long time ago, we’re left with something neither of us want to distinguish. At least I don’t.

His gaze holds something too real for a place like this and I quickly look away and back at the ceiling. I feel his eyes on me a moment longer before he himself turns away to stare at the same ceiling.

“Y/N,” someone suddenly calls my name, tapping my cheeks with a gentle pat. I have to pull myself from the depths of wherever the fuck I just went to open my eyes and look up, at Harry. He looks concerned and asks me a question that I don’t register—I was truly out of it. I must have dozed off.

I push his hand away and grab the closest piece of clothing to wrap around myself in which ends up being a sheet. I take myself to the bathroom to clean up.

I hardly recognize the girl in the mirror. My eyes are blown out and my neck looks like it was rammed by a bull. I can hardly look at the rest of me. I would need to buy something high necked before we got picked up tomorrow morning and use all the concealer I had. I know I marked every inch of him I could find too.

I had never felt that level of passion with anyone. It was unnerving.

My knees collapse under me as I sit on the toilet and try to count the tiles on the opposite wall, just to come back to earth. To my body.

I sense a shadow under the door after I’m in there for a while, I watch it move from one side to the other and then move away. I wait longer, nearly falling asleep there before going back out.

The bed looks a right mess and most of the duvet is twisted to the side. I don’t bother with it, I use the sheet I’m wrapped in and crawl right into bed. Harry seems to have fallen asleep too but as I near sleep I feel the bed dip and the heavy weight of the duvet drapes over me.

I don’t have enough clarity or energy tonight to think about what any of this meant but I know I was right about leaving.

***

We return to London on a Wednesday morning and nearly kiss the ground. Harry was still playing two shows here but getting to go back home instead of a hotel room was enough to make us weep.

I didn’t really have a home to go back to. I’d been thinking about that a lot as the tour took us closer and closer to London. I had texted Gray yesterday and we agreed I could crash there until this weekend to get my stuff together.

London had a metaphorical grey fog over it in my mind. Nothing felt appealing about it and the only thing on my mind these days was home—my childhood home.

I already knew I was going to give in my resignation letter to Harry after tour but I had a 3 week period under contract. I don’t think I could afford a hotel for three weeks and staying with any of my friends is out of the question.

These thoughts kept me preoccupied.

It helped me not to think about that night though. I avoided Harry unless it was for work, returning to the solitude of my first few months working for him. He does the same: curt and avoidant. I know others notice but nobody dares to ask.

It was the most intense thing I’d done in my whole life and that was saying something. There was a way that Harry got under my skin that nobody else could. And it was hard to find a balance after the scales had shifted so far in that direction.

I felt like I had to block it out until I could have space to process it. And yet memories still seeped through when I was quiet for a moment too long or when he’d walk past me with the same cologne as that night and I’d catch a whiff. I was doubly sure this chapter had to close.

When I get back to the flat on Wednesday Gray has vanished as he promised. He told me he’d drop by that evening to talk. Surprisingly, I felt calm about it. I don’t know if it was getting all of that ferocious energy out that had been churning for months, but I feel level-headed and I appreciate the space to myself.

Gray texts me before he arrives. Like this wasn’t the flat he was now paying for alone.

I know what he wanted to talk about—we were all supposed to go to Harry’s last show at the o2 since I had tickets for everyone. Josie was stoked and based on the way she’s been texting me leading up to the day I don’t think she knew. Gray confirms it.

“So,” he rubs the back of his neck. He looked nice in a beanie and corduroy jacket. I wonder if any of the effort was for me, then vanish the thought.

“So,” I echo.

We stand awkwardly across from each other—him propping himself up behind the couch and me leaning against the dining table. Like we needed to get as much furniture between us. Like we hadn’t shared a bed a few weeks ago.

“We should sit?”

“Yeah,” he attempts a laugh and sits on the sofa. I choose the closest chair and turn it to face him. “Yeah. Um, I don’t know how you feel about Saturday. But I haven’t told Josie yet. I haven’t really told anyone.”

I nod, “Me too. Not really. People at work think we’re on a break.”

“Right. Good.” He says. “I’m not tryna lie to people but I don’t really want to get into it…”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “So Josie?”

“I’ll let her know once…once you move out?”

Move out. Of this flat. It’s been home for nearly 3 years.

Gray had surprised me with it when he found it—I had been broke and only been able to pitch in for utilities and groceries but he’d been gracious. He’d been supportive once. But I guess his support had boundaries too. I didn’t entirely blame him for that.

“Sounds good. Or later, maybe when she’s done her exams.”

He leans back on the couch, arms spread over the back and sighs as he studies me. “Yeah of course. I should’ve thought of that. You’re always good at that stuff. She’s gonna be gutted.”

I nod. Not sure what to say to that.

“So you’ll be out on Saturday yeah?” He asks after a while. It seemed both of us had a lot on our minds. But his question stings a little.

“Yep. I’m off for most of the week so I’ll just pack things up. Uhm, with Josie and whatnot I guess we’re still acting like a couple? Will that be weird?”

“Yeah. It will be but we’ve got no other option.”

“Right.” I respond. His voice grows an edge I’m not a fan of. “Well. Thanks for letting me stay here. If you need anything else I guess you can grab it now.”

I want to ask how he’s doing, who he’s staying with, and just hold his face one last time to really remember. But his cold apathy grows like frostbite over the room and creeps into my heart. I always thought where there was love there would always be love but I’m not as sure tonight.

I stay busy and when I can’t sleep at night; I map out a dream, an exit plan home. I write up my resignation letter, I look at flights and rentals and talk things out with my family, I cancel wedding and couple shit, and grieve a fair bit.

On Friday afternoon, my only formal shift this week, I head to Harry’s with an anxious weight in my chest and a buzz in my head from the hope. Hope that this chapter of my life could end soon, and I can head home and recuperate and plan out what my life was going to look like.

Harry’s on a call when I get in. He spares me a glance but I head to the office with my stack of mail. Today was mostly for some housekeeping/admin but I hope to avoid Harry for the most part like I’ve done since that night. My letter sits like a bar of gold in my bag.

I hear him move about the flat. I restock some pantry items, and we speak as little as possible. Going with him to his meeting was my final task for today so I decide it’s a good time to hand in my letter.

I find him sitting in the studio, tapping a pen against the table.

“Mr. Styles?”

“Hm?” He drags his eyes away from his screen to look at me.

“So we’re heading to your meeting in 10. Before then I just wanted to hand this in.”

The envelope stays outstretched in my hand and he eyes it, not taking it.

“What is that?”

“Can you just take it?” I shake it a little, like a bag of treats for a puppy.

His muscles move one inch every ten seconds, that’s how slow he is to sit up in his seat and finally take the letter from my hands. I almost let out a big sigh of relief. The process was finally in place.

“What is it?” He asks again, tearing the corner and down the side like he usually did.

I wait for him to unfold the thirds before answering, “my resignation letter.”

His eyes scan the sheet left to right right to left and when he looks up at me it’s hard to say what he’s thinking.

“Is this a joke?”

“No? Obviously not? I’m handing in my 3 weeks. I’ll also email a copy to Jeff and you.”

“Why are you doing this?” He stands, his tall frame rigid.

“Why? Because I’m…I’m quitting? I think I’ve learned everything I could here a-and it’s time to move on.”

By here I don’t mean working for Harry Styles and co but just here as in London. I’ve learned a fuck ton of life lessons here, and it was time to process them elsewhere.

“Is this to get back at me somehow? I don’t understand,” the papers crinkle in his fist as he grips it tighter. “Do you want a raise? Can we talk about this?”

“No.” I say and even though there’s so much more I could say I think that sums up my answer.

He looks puzzled, then annoyed. Just then my phone buzzes. The car was downstairs.

I grab my laptop and we head down. I was coming along to take minutes and then head home. In the car I reassure Harry,

“I plan on wrapping things up in the next three weeks and making sure everything is set up for an easy transition. I’ll leave continuity notes and reach out to people I regularly communicate with to break the news. The next couple months are pretty easy anyway coming out of tour and going on holiday so there should be plenty of time for the new PA, whoever your hire, to catch up.”

He doesn’t say a word. It reminds me of our first drive to the studio together. How naïve I was. How things changed.

He continues staring out the window, resting his face on his fist. I remember my teeth dragging over that jaw. I blink the image away; this was why I had to go.

When we get to Graham’s office Harry tells Jeff, “we don’t need minutes.”

Jeff looks over at me for answers and I shrug. I guess I came here for no reason but at least I had my laptop to work.

“Uh y/n please come i-“

“She’s fine working out there,” Harry cuts Graham off. Graham looks offended, his gaze drawing between Harry and I. Again, I shrug. I wasn’t leaving today I don’t know why he was acting like it.

For the next hour or so I sit at a spare cubicle and do just as I said in the car. I type out lists for upcoming interviews and studio days. I send emails for information to note for whoever the poor person was to replace me.

I had been keeping the Dos and Don’ts updated over the last year and it feels like a baby the way it came together with so much thought. I was almost sad to part with it.

Nobody tells me the meeting is over. The door simply opens and Harry breezes past.

“I’ll be in the car.” He mutters. Any faster and I would have to hold down the papers around me.

When he’s gone beyond sight, I turn back to the open door.

“What’s the matter with him?” I hear Graham asking inside.

“You keep pushing him,” Jeff responds with irritation. “That’s not his brand Graham.”

“Well that’s a different tune. Prior to this you were singing my praises with these new ideas.”

“I don’t know. Something’s been up with him for…a while-“

“Since that article isn’t it?” Graham references the Harry Styles slander when we were in Spain. Little did they know other things had also happened.

“We dealt with that article.”

Shit, I think. Has he been any different? I think I was keeping too much distance from him to notice.

“Y/n,” my name snaps me out of my thoughts.

“Mhm?” I’m beckoned to the meeting room. “Yes?”

“Find out what’s wrong with him. Or better yet just convince him to be a bit more alive at his last show tomorrow with his usual charm? He hasn’t been his full capacity the last few shows has he?”

Shit. “Um. Burnout?”

The two men look at each other. They make a face like that couldn’t possibly be why. I tell the men what they want to hear, that I’d try to find out and get him back to his charming self (yuck) before joining Harry in the car.

“Jeff and Graham aren’t all that happy with you,” I say when we start driving. Harry was giving me a lift home. “They’re insisting you do it right at your final tomorrow. Be your charming self.”

He grunts in response, head facing the window again. Was he allergic to look forward in the car or something?

“Are you coming?” He asks after a good ten minutes of silence.

“Tomorrow?”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah. I gave my extra tickets to…my fiance,” my brain fumbles my words as it remembers what he was and now is. And the lie I had to keep up. “And his sister and her friend.”

He just nods in acknowledgement, somehow stonier.

When the car pulls up to my familiar building I thank his driver and begin my shimmy out but Harry puts a hand to my knee to stop me. His touch sears right through my stockings and he must feel it too because he slides his hand back.

“Answer this,” he looks at me for the first time tonight. Wow, this really did feel like my first week on the job.

“Sure,” I reply.

“Is it because of that night?”

It’s the first time it’s been mentioned, and his gaze burns brighter than a forest fire. It’s mesmerizing and I can’t look away.

Wait, he wanted an answer.

“It’s because of a lot of things,” I answer truthfully.

He clenches his jaw. Leans back in his seat. The seatbelt reverses to hold him in place again and he’s no longer looking at me. I take that as my cue to go.

***

Josie bursts into the flat dressed to the nines in a groovy floral jumpsuit and boas in her hand. “Don’t worry. I have one for each of us.”

Her friend trails behind her in an equally 70s inspired look.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” Josie judges her brother’s hoodie and jeans. “You’re lowering the vibe Gray do better. Y/n? Why didn’t you brief him?”

“I did!” I eye Gray. “Don’t blame me.”

This was way more awkward than I thought. Or I really was not as good of an actress as I wished.

“What am I supposed to wear?” Gray asks. “I’m not wearing a jumpsuit.”

Josie rolls her eyes. “Y/n please drag him back and find a decent tee or something?”

“Yes ma’am,” I take Gray by the arm and take him back.

“This is kinda weird hey?” I whisper when we close the door.

“I don’t really like it either,” Gray scratches his head. “But it’s for the best.”

I nod and then louder announce, “Well it’s Jo’s night so find something a tad more retro?”

We end up with a red tee and find a belt to tie the look. Josie hugs her brother with thanks when she sees it.

I had on a pair of black bellbottoms paired with a blank tank. My hair was in spacebuns and Josie plucks a few boa feathers to accessorize my hair. It’s cute.

We head off and I have to make a conscious effort to remember my mannerisms with Gray before all this. I feel woozy while I slide my hand into his on the ride there, as Josie snaps our pics on her disposable, as she tells us to get one of us where Gray’s kissing my cheek and she’ll save it to show our kids. It makes me sick.

He keeps an arm on my waist as we walk. I want this night to be over so bad but every time I look Josie’s way I perk back up a little. I wanted her to enjoy this.

And she does. I’m sure she’s lost her voice by the end of the concert. At one point we drift away a little and breathe easier to drop the act but when she’s back Gray wraps his arms around me from behind and we act like a happy couple. Again, I felt sick.

Being in Gray’s arms held none of the spark it used to. I just feel awkward and sad.

At one point Harry looks my way, I don’t know how he spotted me in such a big crowd. It’s between songs and he looks at the group I’m with. I give a pathetic wave and he nods ever so slightly, his gaze sliding off soon after. Gray’s arm tightens around my shoulder and my heart gives a squeeze in response. I’m reminded: this era was ending.

The band told me to meet them backstage at the end, to join in on the final-show celebration. Josie and Gray would wait at a local pub and with the way Josie’s Instagram stories were glowing I could imagine her sitting there uploading it all.

“I couldn’t have done it without any of you,” I catch Harry saying as I slip behind stage with my pass. “I know I’ve not been the easiest to be with but you all sit in my heart. This is our Euro tour, concluded.”

Somebody pops bubbly and I congratulate the whole team as they drink. They insist on going out for proper drinks and I’m denied not going. They tell me to invite my guests to party with them and I know, based on where we were going, Josie was going to flip.

Juniper, a club that gets us all in on Harry’s face card, is opulent and lively on the inside. Josie is buzzing about with her friend—Gray had opted to go home, claiming he had early morning sessions. Josie didn’t think twice about him, but we pretended to go back and forth with a final warning from Gray to Josie to behave.

“He’s a broody one,” Charlie comments on Gray as we chatter while we get drinks. “Sister?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t know yet though so,” I put my finger to my lip.

“So no Barcelona dancing tonight?” Sarah teases. I laugh and tell them to keep me tamed. “We gotta do some shots with the team though where is everyone?”

We gaze around the room and manage to get everyone together. After one round of shots and another that Harry forced on all of us I feel the tension I’ve been carrying with me most days slide away.

We end up sticking together as a group and dance together, laughing and cheering each other on. Even Harry’s in a cheery mood—I suspect the alcohol. I catch him watching me at one point and when I raise my brow he takes my hand and spins me in a friendly twirl. I trip on my wide-legged pants and he catches me from behind. With my back to his chest I have the urge to turn around and kiss him and feel the peculiar comfort I had received from him before. That thought drives me away from him again. Despite the tight knit group there’s too much between us to even attempt being close.

I call it quits when Josie finds me and announces she was going home. I hug the newfound family I had made over the last few months one final goodbye, knowing I might never see them together like this again.

***

Jeff’s reaction to my news surprises me the most. He’s visibly upset and tries to sell me anything to stay. I tell him there was nothing to keep me at my job but I would rely on him for a good reference. I think it’s the first time he’s ever reassured me.

Between Harry and I it remains curt. Sometimes even edgy. I post my own job replacement and Jeff keeps me updated on potential candidates. By the time my last week rolls around I’m host to a roil of emotions.

The first week homeless, Charlie had let me crash on her couch and promised not to say a word to anyone. I didn’t want to overstay my welcome and so I had checked into a hotel and called it home for now.

I’m on my way back home to the hotel after being at Gray’s. We’d invited Josie over for dinner now that her exams were over and she’d been suspicious from the start.

We had told her the truth and she refused to believe it, hurt and betrayal in her eyes as she looked at me and realized she had been kept in the dark for the last week. I felt worse then, than I did when Gray and I called it quits.

I promised her a lunch together this week to talk more. Just because I was out of Gray’s life didn’t mean I had to be out of hers. I thought I could also tell her then that I was leaving to go back home.

On my second last day at work, Harry sends me on an errand near the end of the day. When I get back there’s a small group of friendly and familiar faces waiting to surprise me. I’m touched by the gesture, and I try to corner Harry to say thank you but it feels he avoids me at every chance, always in a larger crowd.

I finally catch him while I’m heading out of the bathroom and he’s heading down the hall.

“Oh hey,” I step in his way. He looks cornered. “I just wanted to say thanks for throwing this.”

“Yeah,” he gestures it was nothing. “It was Jeff’s idea.”

Ouch. I hide the sting. “Well. Thanks regardless.”

He nods, staying mute, but his eyes speak a thousand words—just none that I can read. They stay trained on me, communicating whatever.

Slowly the furrow between his brows eases and the sharp edges of his face give way to a softened expression. I’m scared to move in case I break the trance and don’t get to hear whatever his racing thoughts spit out. Just when it looks like he’s about to say something, a guest turns the corner up the hall.

“Anyone in the toilet?” It was Mitch. Damnit.

“Nope,” I step out of the way, inadvertently brushing Harry. A shiver runs up my spine and I try to act casual but he stiffens beside me. Was it that awful being around me, jeez.

I give up. If he wanted to continue staying moody, so be it. I leave to go back to the party and don’t look back.

My final days in London are hard. The same way I arrived, I go: alone and unsure of what’s ahead.

I always thought here was where I would stay forever. And maybe one day I would return but there was a little too much friction between me and the Capital.

I finish work on an unremarkable note after going through processes with the new hire, and dotting all of my i’s. Harry is nowhere to be seen and I’m gone before he gets back. I’m frustrated that he’s behaving this way but there’s also too much between us for the simple goodbye I yearn for.

I visit all of my old favourites, have one last drink at my old local pub somewhere in between Gray’s flat and Harry’s. I shed a lot of tears on my pilgrimage through the city’s veins. I promise the paved and cobblestone roads I would be back one day.

The walls of my lungs ease open on the flight home. Still, tears cascade down my face silently as the plane sleeps. Eventually I do too. When I wake the sky is filled with bright blinding sunrise, and American soil peeks out below me: I was finally home.

••••••••••••••••••••

Present (2 years on):

My heart flutters seeing Harry here, I chalk it up to anxiety. But it annoys me that despite all the distance and the growth, he still had an effect on me.

Harry’s head turns and before I can be smart about it our eyes lock. His eyebrows raise ever so slightly before his face falls into a nonchalant facade again. I don’t even want to know what my face looked like.

Then he gets the nerve to smirk, hang his head, and then grab his drink and walk towards me.

“If I had a cross I would be holding it up right now.” I have to shout a little so he hears me before he gets to me. He was an emotional vampire feeding on all of mine.

“Now why’s that?” He continues towards me. My emotions swirl through me. “I thought time heals all wounds. Why the unfriendly welcome Mrs. Duran?”

I grit my teeth at the name, he was still filled with poison. “Right, the timeless wisdom of clichés.”

“I like to think I’m pretty timeless.” He smiles.

“I’ve found that time may heal wounds, but scars make sure you never forget.”

“Well, scars aside, you look good,” he moves on and I feel like an idiot the way I was used to feeling around him.

“Of course I do.”

“What are you doing in London? Last I checked I was getting a reference check from America.”

I debate not answering him but I was trying to straddle the line between indifference and confidence. It was like walking a tightrope.

“I’m in London for a little while,” I give vaguely.

“Ah,” he smiles and damnit I forgot how handsome he could be. How handsome could then turn into seductive so quickly. I had to remember: Still a devil. “Are you looking for a new employer? Because I could be hiri-“

“No.” I cut him off. “I finally have a job I love so I’m good.”

Something flickers in his eyes but surprisingly he stays quiet.

“What are you doing here? At The Violinist?” I ask. I sort of wish I still had a drink in my hand, they feel awkward and clunky and I want to avoid playing with my hair. Gah. “Global star drinks alone at his local bar?”

He laughs but I can tell I hit a minor nerve. “Here I’m just a local. Always have been—it’s nice to be anonymous for a little bit.”

I roll my eyes. I didn’t believe that for a second. He loved his fame and everything that came with it.

Plus I used to come here all the time, I would’ve known if my employer was a local too. He was lying for some reason.

“Mr. Styles if there’s one thing I remember about you, you’d choose death over anonymity.”

“Firstly,” he leans in and I get a whiff of his usual cologne with a hint of malt. “A person can change a lot. So maybe you don’t know me as much as you think you do-“

“Oh I don’t think anyone can change that drastically in only a year-“

“You seemed to have.”

His words take mine out of my mouth. I hadn’t changed, not really. I’d always been this y/n but the further I got away from him the more reassured I had gotten being that y/n.

“And secondly,” he continues before I could think of a response. “You no longer work for me. Harry is fine.”

The smile he throws me is almost sweet if I didn’t know the cruelty that could hide underneath. I don’t return the smile, I only raise my brow and look back down at my phone. My cell service hasn’t gotten any better and I’d missed the wifi password.

I could connect to Harry’s wifi, ask him so that I could order an uber.

I’d rather van gogh my ear.

I weigh all my options and consider the last one again. I look up to see what Harry was doing in the silence and find him looking at me. A shiver runs up my spine as our eyes clash. So much history and words unspoken fall in between. A very specific night flashes through my mind. I wonder if it does him because he looks down first. Damn.

“So I’ve gotta get going,” I say.

“Let me buy you a drink.” He says at the same time.

He laughs awkwardly and repeats, “One drink?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“We’re not drinking buddies.” I pull my purse to my chest, wanting to hop off this stool and run home if I need to. Put as much distance between myself and this man that was put on this earth to confuse me.

“Then what are we y/n?” He asks, his voice silky smooth as he leans in. The voice that whispered sweet nothings into my ear in my worst nightmares, nightmares of cotton sheets and heated limbs, of passion and shame.

“Ex-employer,” I point to him. I point to myself, “Ex-employee.”

“Exes have drinks together,” he grins full well knowing the double meaning.

“Never ends well,” I eye the door.

“Just as stubborn as I remember.”

“And you were saying people change?” I raise my brow.

He drops the smile and sighs, “I’m not gonna be able to convince ya am I?”

I shake my head. He should know that by now.

“Can I walk you out at least?”

I shrug, couldn’t hurt.

“What is this?” I ask as he opens the door for me.

“What?”

“This? Why are you trying to be so friendly?”

“I thought we could be friendly exes.”

And when did he get so cheeky.

“Something weird is going on,” I watch him stay in step with me as I walk up. With no service I was going to take the tube. “And I don’t like it.”

“Nothing weird is going on don’t get all paranoid on me.”

“Don’t call me paranoid! You never call a woman paranoid.”

“I thought that was conspiracy theorists?”

“Nooo. You’re being weird.”

"Alright, no need to get all Freudian on me. Just trying to be a decent human here."

I shake my head, somehow in our exchange my face had decided it was okay to smile. To forget what he put me through and remember instead that when things were good between us we actually got along.

Damnit. The devil knew how to play tricks. I wipe the smile off my face while he continues walking with me.

“So…what have you been up to?” He asks.

“Working, you know me.” I say after trying to figure out what his angle was but unable to find one.

“Oretta Smith I hear, how did you manage that?”

“I’m just that good Harry,” I say. His name is weird in my mouth. Sure I called him that in my head but I usually used Mr. Styles. I can tell he feels the same with his quick glance my way.

“How do you like that?”

“Yeah, she’s a great employer like I said. Very professional. Lots of flexibility.” Each praise is a knock to his ego. But it was all true, plus with Winnie joining the team I had a friend my age that felt great.

But there was also a darker side called burnout that I barely admitted to myself. Ever since we landed in London and I had time to orient my new self in a city that molded my old self, I felt the familiar singe of purposeless. But I keep it to myself of course.

“Great.” Harry responds curtly. “What about yourself? How’s your life, are you finally married?”

My instinct is to raise my defences and chew him out, he must know Gray and I were done what with me living in the States.

And yet, when I peer past the defences and take a long hard look at him I realize he is asking earnestly and without another angle.

We’re nearing the tube now. I hesitate in lying or telling the truth.

“We broke up,” I choose to confess. I peek at him and he looks surprised, even sorry.

“I didn’t know. Sorry.”

“I’d hope not,” I reply. “Otherwise you’d be an asshole calling me Mrs. Duran.”

He huffs an awkward laugh.

“Anyway this is me—

“I can give you a ride home—wherever that is right now?” He asks.

We’re stood in front of the glass doors. There’s not a lot of people this time of night. And as tempting as his offer was, the way he looks at me right now sends poisonous butterflies to my stomach and I think it’s best I get home for the big day tomorrow and not make any regrets.

“I’m not too far,” I lie. I point a thumb to the doors behind me. “I’m just gonna…”

“Yeah. Yeah right.” He’s awkward, which is a first. He clears his throat and stuffs his hand into his pocket. I watch him with a removed sort of curiosity. Eventually he coughs out his question. “How long are you in London for?”

“A few weeks,” I reply.

He finally meets my eyes again—and there goes my stomach. He was supposed to have zero effect on me, I was supposed to stay mad at him. Why was my body betraying me? Why did it continue to loop memories from that night and remind me of the things he whispered in the dark?

“A few weeks,” he murmurs back.

His gaze travels over my face openly, no longer holding back the barely-hidden expressions from before. Because I told him Gray and I weren’t a thing? Because I was entertaining whatever bullshit this was?

“Yep,” I nod. Awkward. Nervous. Cautious.

“My number’s the same,” his eyes snap back to mine. “If you want to go for that drink later.”

“Harry,” I try to break it to him another way. I wish I could just say I never want that drink. “I don’t think-“

“Don’t think,” he cuts me off. He laughs when I furrow my brows. “I mean, I’m right here for most of the next few weeks. When you feel like you want to have that drink just give me a call. Or text.”

Why, I want to ask him. Why, after all this time, after everything that happened? And it’s like he reads my mind in the silence.

“I know you left on a pretty poor note.” He shuffles his feet. “I know a lot of that was my fault. I apologize for that. Um, but I did enjoy having you around. You were excellent at your job and…you are missed. Even Jeff remembers you fondly. Which is saying something.”

This was some sort of prank. Or Harry had gotten so famous he now had a doppelgänger roaming the streets as him. It couldn’t be that Harry, my Harry, would say something so sentimental and so…genuine.

“So uh yeah, I would love to see you again while you’re in town.” He says when I don’t respond.

“Right.” I choke out.

He shrugs when I can’t bring myself to say anything more. “We do change, whether you believe it or not y/n.”

I swallow, hoping to lubricate my vocal cords and find my voice. “I-I really do have to go.”

Crestfallen, he nods. His hand comes up to touch my elbow. “Yeah ‘course. Just…think about it?”

I look down at his hand and he lets go, we stay in another bubble of silence. His eyes flicker down to my lips and I feel a wave of warmth as I try not to do the same.

“Goodnight,” I blurt and get to the other side of the glass doors. He watches me go.

On the escalator down I risk a glance back and he’s still there, watching until I’m out of sight. That ended incredibly awkward.

Leave it up to Harry to confuse me in coming back into my life. Damn him, he could never be consistent.

***

Waking up super early to catch the train out to Cambridge is so worth it because I get to watch Josie walk the stage and graduate with distinction wearing her famous smile that beams over the vast room.

Despite what happened with Gray and I, Josie and I have kept in touch steadily over the last year. It started as weekly facetimes which reduced down to monthly calls and have now become a steady stream of texts and memes swapped back and forth.

When she found out I’d be in London around her graduation dates she gave me no choice but to show up, sending me a ticket without asking.

I knew I’d see Gray, and a part of me was nervous and curious how that was going to go. But mostly I was grateful to still be in Josie’s life and spend time with her in person. She was the part of this life I missed most.

I’m sat somewhere in the middle of the room and Josie was smart enough not to seat me with the rest of her guests. But I know I would see everyone during photos and the dinner we were having later on. I try keep my focus on the ceremony however.

“Y/N!” Josie rushes towards me when she sees me after the ceremony. The group she departs from I recognize is a mix of her girl friends, her family, and a few others.

“Josie!” I return the same energy and she leaps into my arms. I squeeze her tight to me. “I’m soo proud of you my girl.”

We sway side to side, until we get enough hug.

“Look at you!” She exclaims when she leans back. “Your hair looks amazing and you are glowing. Please tell me you have a boy in your life.”

“No,” I laugh.

“A girl?” She asks hesitantly.

“No! I’m just…happy where I am right now! How about you look at you! You look phenomenal as per.”

“Oh thanks,” she takes the compliment and giggles. “I asked my dad to grad gift me a salon and spa visit so I am rejuvenated and blown out.”

“Aren’t you ever,” I touch a lock of her hair. “Congratulations.”

“Eek!” She squeals. “Finally finished this hellscape! I can’t wait to never write an exam again—ooh wait I want you to meet my boy…”

“So that’s why we’re actually glowing,” I tease as she tugs me towards the group. That definitely has Gray. My stomach drops the closer we get, he doesn’t seem to notice. He looks busy talking to one of Josie’s friends.

“Anyway,” she deposits me in front of a 6 foot something guy made of angles. “This is Jax. My boyfriend. We met during a Friendsgiving Myles threw last year.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jax smiles. “Y/N right?”

“Yes!”

“I was supposed to get around to that,” Josie huffs.

“Sorry she talked about you a lot when she found out you were coming. She was really excited.”

“Ugh,” she turns to me like she was embarrassed but her face is glowing. Josie was in looove.

“You two are so cute,” I tease which just makes Josie blush a little harder. “So are we getting any pictures?”

“Oh yeah,” Jax swivels his head. “Liliya has the good camera if you want to get-“

“Oh we can use our phones,” Josie cuts him off.

“No get the high res one—Liliya, camera?” Jax motions a shuttering action to the friend Gray was talking to. He’s so tall above the crowd that both look up at him and comply.

“Y/N,” Josie drags my arms back and takes me on the outskirt of the crowd. “I’m so sorry I never mentioned because I thought you wouldn’t come if I did tell you but you-“

“Y/N?”

Josie’s rushed whispers are cut short when Gray notices me and calls my name. He looks stupefied. I spare a glance to Josie and she’s paled.

She didn’t tell him.

“Hey,” I force a friendly tone. I was going to kill that girl.

“Did you all want a photo?” Josie’s friend Liliya shoulders her way back into the circle with the camera on a strap. She turns to Gray, “Babe?”

It’s an odd sensation, like all oxygen has left my lungs and they’re being squeezed as if tightened in a vice. Gray’s eyes drag away from me to his…girlfriend? Definitely not Josie’s friend.

It shakes me in the moment how much I realize I still cared, still carried a shred of hope for…something. And not consciously knowing this makes this moment feel a little like a slap in the face.

What did I think? I was going to leave this country for a year and people were going to pause where I last left them? Of course Gray’s moved on. Aside from the end he was a great partner and anybody would want that.

These thoughts race through my head in the few seconds Gray responds to his girlfriend and I look at Josie. She looks guilty as charged.

“I tried to tell you just now?” She whispers.

Deep breaths, I remind myself. You’re not the hot-headed y/n these people knew last. This day is not about you. It’s about Josie.

“It’s cool. Let’s get some photos,” I smile. “Don’t want to miss having them with you.”

She sighs but keeps her eyes on my face as we walk farther out.

“I am really sorry,” she whispers.

“Hey it’s alright,” I lie. This was the worst of it—Gray had moved on, had a great girlfriend, and I was living the life I wanted. No harm and no foul. “Honestly Jo I get it, you wanted me here reallllly bad.”

“I did!” She says. “But I’m also gonna kill Jax.”

I laugh and we straighten up when we realize the camera was already pointed at us. Josie flashes her degree and a few of her friends join the pictures too. We hustle back to Gray to see them and flipping back on the first few makes my breath catch in my throat. There’s one in particular where Josie is turned to me talking and my mouth is in a big grin because I’m laughing.

I catch eyes with Gray in an uncomfortably intimate second.

“Send me that one for sure wow Gray that’s a really good shot.”

“Oh wow,” his girlfriend peers over. “That’s a great candid.”

“Yeah,” I agree. I’d love a copy too. And of course that’s when Gray’s girlfriend notices me and introduces herself.

“I don’t think we’ve met—is that an American accent I detect?”

“It is,” I smile. “I’m Y/N.”

“Oh!” Two spots of pink appear on her face. It seems she’s heard of me. “Well it’s nice to meet you—nice that Josie invited you! I’m Liliya but Lily works too.”

“C’mon!” Josie interrupts the awkward by grabbing her brother’s arm and pushes him in the direction of where her friends are posing for photos. He takes some shots but Josie hates the look of them and gives the camera to Lily instead.

With just Gray and I left behind it grows very awkward.

“I thought Josie told everyone I would be-“ I say just as he says, “I didn’t realize you would be-“

We stop and chuckle awkwardly.

“Sorry,” I shake my head.

“No,” he shrugs. “It’s cool. It’s cool you’re here actually.”

“Okay,” is all I can say. Until the awkward silence stretches. “So…Liliya?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Liliya. You?”

I want to lie, but I shake my head. “No. Sorta needed the year to breathe a little.”

“Fair. How’s America?”

“Oh y’know, still super-sized and politically a guessing game.”

“Have you turned on our news while you’ve been down at all?” He raises a brow. I laugh because he was right. It was all a shitshow everywhere.

He asks me about my family as Josie jogs up to us.

“Okay, tell me the truth is my hair going flat?”

“No,” I look behind her where her friends are hovering over Lily and the camera going over their photos.

“Good. Where’s mum and dad?” Josie asks Gray. “Dad was just here 10 minutes ago he said he’d come by for—oh there’s mum! Look!”

We turn to where she points. Michelle—what I’ve always called Gray’s mom, spots her daughter at the same time and waves. She starts to walk towards us.

It’s nice to see her but I also feel a bit nervous; going cold turkey on relationships you only had because of an ex are always weird to come back to. Especially ones you were fond of.

“Mum! You’re missing all the pictures!” Josie says. “Where’ve you been!?”

“I just saw somebody I knew back from my first job as a librarian can you believe that?” Michelle says as she joins the group.

“Crazy. Well mum look who got to show up today! Isn’t that crazy too?”

Michelle looks at me and the bright smile that was intended for her daughter dies like a flower in overnight frost. The look wipes the anticipation off my face.

“Who?”

That one word shades the sun from the sky and brings forth a gust of western winds through the group.

“Mum,” Josie look between me, her mum, and Gray. She’s confused. “Y/N?”

“Hey Michelle,” I croak. Maybe my hair was too different for her to recognize me, or maybe she had early onset alzheimers. Surely this woman who I’ve had a better relationship with than her own son has wouldn’t be treating me like your worst frenemy at your high school reunion.

But Michelle looks right through me. I can’t explain how it feels, not in the moment. I’m gutted, and feel an unexplainable wave of sadness.

“Mum…” Josie sounds hurt and Gray finally decides to swoop in.

“Mum let’s check out the photos we took already. We gotta get some of the three of us.”

They walk away and I feel seven inches tall but I turn to Josie with a brave face and face her teary one.

“That was kind of awkward,” I downplay.

“Y/N I’m honestly so sorry I-,” Josie blinks rapidly.

“No it’s ok!”

“I don’t know why she acted like that-“

“Hey It’s natural for her to feel that way I’m alright don’t get upset-“

“It’s not alright though! That was such a…she never acts like that.”

It was true. Michelle was a free-spirit as she called herself. That’s why Gray had such a hard relationship with her; in his words, she was too emotional and ungrounded for him.

Yet apparently, she was able to find enough ground to stand on when it came to treating me like a nobody. I wonder if it’s because she heard Gray’s biased side of the story or she was hurt herself—still, the way she’s always talked about herself never struck me as someone who would believe a one-sided story. Or be a bitch to someone they previously called their daughter. It hurt like a mofo.

I didn’t want Josie to find out this way, here of all places, that her mom was just human after all. She idolized that woman.

So even though it hurt, I comfort her instead.

“She probably just feels betrayed by me leaving and stuff since we were close too. Imagine if Jax broke up with you and she gave him the cold shoulder—wouldn’t you feel justified?”

Josie scrunches her brows to think about the simplified story I’ve just fed her to feel better. I can tell it still doesn’t sit well with her but she nods in acceptance, “I guess.”

“Yeah, just forget it Josie. Plus you’ve got pictures to take so dry those eyes.”

“Shit I know,” she blinks some more. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to invite you here and twist the knife at every bloody turn.”

“Jo I’m honoured to get to be here and see all your hard work pay off. Don’t worry about anything else.”

“It’s unfair,” she says before she drifts to her group of friends. “I feel like nobody understands how…how understanding you are. But I’m really glad we’re still in touch. And you came for me.”

Her words bring tears to my eyes and I nod, afraid that talking would bring them forward. I watch her crash her group and start instructing photo coordination. I help hold things for people while they take photos and feel like a stranger outside the crowd. If it weren’t for Josie, I think I would have regretted coming here. I feel homesick and unwanted. A tough combo.

I was supposed to crash on someone’s couch tonight and do brunch with Josie tomorrow before going back to London but from the last half hour alone I know I’m going back to the city no matter how late it gets tonight. I think of the hotel room that was home right now, of how lonely that was going to feel to go back to too.

Home right now was in America, in the same time zone as my family, and comfortable in my shared apartment with one of my high school best friends who I reconnected with after going back home. I miss it so bad. And I feel like I’ve bitten into an unripe fruit coming back to the UK before I was ready apparently. My experience feels soured.

I shake off the doom and gloom when the party breaks. We were all going to meet at the restaurant at 6–my plan was to explore the university city and find a place to kill some time in. Maybe go outside to a park with lunch. Josie tries to convince me to join her and her friends for their mid-day celebration but I lie and tell her I had some work to do.

I call Winnie on my stroll through the city. I insist she update me on last night first, and she has more to tell—the guy had a yacht and he was inviting her to a party tonight. She tells me to join if I came back early and we cross our fingers that Oretta wouldn’t need her before then.

I originally called her to rant about Michelle and Gray but I don’t, I didn’t want to kill her vibe. So I scroll through my other contacts but don’t want to worry my mom and it was too early back home to reach anyone else.

My eyes catch on Harry’s name, he was at the top of my texts currently because he sent me a link this afternoon asking me for thoughts on it. I hadn’t opened it yet, I wasn’t sure what to think about this new persona he was wearing or that he thought yesterday’s run-in went okay enough to casually message me for my thoughts.

I remember the weird electricity of yesterday and shove my phone back into my pocket.

He genuinely wanted to have a drink? And talk??

I did enjoy having you around. You were excellent at your job and you are missed.

Was he trying to make up for his cruel words? But he also seemed a lot more mellow than before. Maybe that was just because I didn’t work for him. What did he want? And was I twisted for believing the new schtick?

Most curious of all was him at the pub in the first place. He was not a local there—that was a big lie.

I try to conjure up my previous hatred, calling him the Devil in my head. But it’s harder to do. Seeing him yesterday, he was just a man standing in front of a woman with a head full of cautionary tales and bad experiences.

Without warning images from that night come back and I feel my heart flutter. I shut them down just as quick. Not all bad, my body tries to remind me. I tell it to shut up.

I’ve barely stepped foot in this country again and already my mind was running circles around my heart. How exhausting.

***

I’m early to the restaurant, before anyone else apparently. As the hostess finds my name on her floor plan Josie comes in behind me with Jax.

“Oh! Y/n you’re early!” She seems flustered.

“Yeah I didn’t think I would be,” it was only a few minutes to 6.

We make small talk while we’re led to the table, Josie’s eyes keep darting to where our table might be.

“Sorry I was hoping to do this before you came,” she says when we get there. There are name cards along the 7 seats and she picks the one in front of me. “I’m just gonna move mum to my other side so it doesn’t get weird. Which means she’ll be closer to dad but…I think he’s bailing since his girlfriend doesn’t want to do this.”

Josie shrugs, I know how she feels about her dad’s girlfriend. She begins explaining the plans she has to do dinner with her dad later this week and the more she talks the more I can tell that she feels awkward. And I hate that it’s because of me. At one point Jax and I catch eyes and pass an awkward smile.

“Josefina Duran,” I walk up to her fiddling with the name tags. She stops talking immediately. I grip her shoulders. “Thanks.”

“Sorry,” she whispers. I wrap my arms around her and she melts into me.

“Stop apologizing.”

“Sorry. I can’t help it. It’s a disease.”

We let go with a laugh and she seems more stable. “This is going to be fine.”

Famous last words.

It’s definitely not fine and very awkward. Jax ends up sitting in front of me, and even though Liliya’s name tag was beside mine it’s suddenly swapped as they slide in and Gray sits beside me. I guess it might be too awkward for her but not awkward enough to fit someone we both dated between us.

I can sense Michelle’s pinched face as she notices us sitting beside each other and I feel badly for Josie the most as she tries to play the gracious host. At one point I sense Jax laying a hand on her arm and taking over, asking Michelle questions about her yoga and getting her talking.

“Did you need more?” Gray turns to me with the wine bottle, it’s the second thing he’s said to me tonight. Otherwise he mostly just watches me talk and leans back enough when others are talking so I can be involved.

“I’m okay,” I whisper. I didn’t want to draw any attention while Michelle was talking. She hadn’t said a peep to me, even when Josie tried to involve us both in a shared memory. She continued acting like I was Casper the ghost.

I can feel Lily’s eyes on us as Gray offers wine, of course they would be. No wonder Gray barely spoke to me all night. Fuck me, what was I doing here.

Jax is a sweetheart, asking me about my job and encouraging conversation between the both of us. I’m so happy for Josie that she found a partner like him.

By the time dinner is over I mostly want to cry. I feel spent. But I also feel like I crashed an intimate dinner and everyone’s polite enough not to mention it. Despite Josie, I do actually regret coming.

As we pay the bill and shuffle out, Josie grabs my arm.

“So I have two friends where you can crash at their place or Jax can sleep over at mine and you can sleep at his or-“

“I think I’m gonna head back to the city.”

Her face falls. But it’s like she knew I was going to say that.

“Sorry Jo. I think you should come to the city next week—maybe visit your brother? And while you’re down we’ll do brunch then. I’m mostly free while I’m here. I’m just pretty tired and have to help Winnie with something tomorrow.”

“Really?” She says in the smallest voice I’ve heard out of her. Salt to my wounds.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I know we were looking forward to getting time together.”

She juts out her lip and I’m reminded of the girl I met when I first started dating Gray. How she’d taken to me so quickly. How the whole family had. How things could end up like this.

And suddenly I see the future laid out in front of me. After tonight it would be hard to keep this relationship going—Josie and I. She’s just seen her mom be an unreasonable bitch for the first time, I can tell she’s been trying to compensate all night but the cracks won’t go away. It’ll always be a sitting duck between us.

We might try to stay in touch, maybe I’d reach out if I was ever in London or if she ever visited the west coast. But this would fizzle out.

She was still young and naive enough that her mom hung the moon and stars; mom’s beliefs were gospel, her opinions were rulings, and she’d just delivered my ultimate sentence: I was a black sheep to the family. How could sweet Josie walk through a mess like that?

“I’m so proud of you,” I tell her as I fight tears. “Congratulations again and thank you for inviting me.”

“Thanks. And you don’t have to be so nice. I know it was kind of a shitty invite.”

“No,” I insist. “I loved being here. I don’t regret showing up for you. I can’t wait to hear what you get up to.”

“I’m going to make sure to make it to the city next week,” she squeezes my arm. “We’ll see each other soon.”

“Exactly,” I look over at the rest of the group, where her boyfriend waits for her. Her family. “And I really like Jax, so good on you for that.”

“He…” she twists her lips, swallowing what she was going to say before vomiting it out. “I always aspired to have a relationship like yours and Gray’s. I never wanted to settle for anything less so that’s…that’s why Jax.”

“Hm I think you made us the bar and you leapt over it babe,” I wrap my arms around her again. I ache with the loss of what we used to be.

“See you soon,” she says before she drags herself back to the group.

I stand off to the side, awkwardly ordering an Uber. The group begins to walk the opposite way waving bye to me. I breathe easier without the weight of them around.

As I tap my foot in anticipation of the ride to the station arriving, I feel a hand tap my shoulder.

“Y/n,” it’s Gray. “Hey I…I just wanted to say something before you left.”

“Oh. Hey yeah. Shoot.”

What was it with everyone wanting to say something to me.

“Uh…ok give me a minute,” he laughs in the way I know to mean he was feeling nervous. “I just sort of jogged back impulsively.”

“Yeah well you have,” I glance at my phone. “4 or so minutes.”

“Damn,” he ruffles his hair. “Alright. I think I just wanna say sorry.”

“Oh.” That was it. Everyone had something to say to me and the something was apparently sorry.

“Yeah I’m sorry. I…when we broke up I was so upset and caught up in my own head. I blamed you for everything. I think it only hit me when you just up and moved out of the country how things actually went down.”

I hadn’t told anyone but Josie that I was leaving.

“Yeah you were just like gone.” He continues. “I guess a part of me thought we’d get some space, maybe circle back later…”

“You really betrayed me,” I remind him.

But even I know what he means. He hurt me bad and it might be crazy stupid but on some level we were both aware we were in an ugly place and maybe with some space we might come back to the place that was good for us again. Maybe bump into each other one day, strike up a conversation, find there might still be a small amount of love left. Enough to water and grow again.

“I know,” he sighs. “I know. I hate that I hurt you like that. I regret…I actually don’t really hang out with that group of friends as much anymore. I sorta have myself to blame but I didn’t like who I was with them.”

I listen, letting him speak. It hurt too, knowing this was the Grayson I had fallen in love with. Kind and supportive, and now apparently he’s learned to communicate. Maybe that was a Lily thing.

“I guess,” he blows the air out of his cheeks. “I want to say I’m really truly sorry. I missed you a lot after you left. Nothing was the same and life was fucking hard. I wish things didn’t end the way they did and I stayed mature but I was just jealous and angry.”

I nod to acknowledge what he’s saying and watch him take a breath to continue.

“And I always appreciated how you never let us shake your relationship with my sister because she bloody loves you—I don’t think how mum treated you was right today but I never really understood her in the first place. I’m sorry about that.”

“Yeah,” is all I can manage without making it obvious how emotional this was all making me. How one year could make me feel like a completely different person. How this man I loved, and still love in some way, could stand in front of me talking about us as something in the past. Because we were. Long past.

My phone dings with a notification that my ride would be here. We glance down and out into the street.

“Anyway,” he swallows. “I just wanna apologize. And say I genuinely hope you find love y/n. Love that’s as fierce and loyal as you are. I hope you can forgive me one day. And I hope you’re successful as hell in whatever you pour yourself into.”

“Thank you Gray,” I want to say I was sorry too. For what it was worth. But my car pulls to the curb.

I wave at the driver to let them know I’d ordered it and we walk the few feet to the back door.

I face Gray and open my mouth to say it. Say something more: how I appreciated his words, how I was sorry for how things ended too, how I hope he is happy. But nothing comes out of my mouth. I just stare at him, my eyes welling with tears instead.

Gray holds out his hand and I look down at it. I knew those hands well and it’s like walking into a place you used to frequent in the past and have memories rush towards you as you remember: those hands held me and wrapped around my own and comforted me, they made me food and stroked my hair, and carried my bags when they got too heavy. They once wore an engagement band I gifted, they once held a small box with a life-changing question I had said yes to.

Now it was just a hand.

I clasp it and he squeezes.

“I know,” he says, his eyes trained on my watery ones. He squeezes again and lets go.

I rush into the car, those two words nearly cracking me in half. I wave goodbye through the tinted window and feel a wave of despair that pulls me down into the depths of darkness.

Too much was happening at once.

My emotions spiral out of me and I feel alone in this foreign country; I needed comfort where none could be found.

I don’t mean to. Or maybe I do. But on the train back to London I text Harry: is it too early to cash in on the drink?

His response is immediate: no, I was waiting for this text last night

I smile, despite myself.

Can I come over? I text with shaking hands.

H: For drinks?

Y: For drinks

H: Ofc.

***

The taxi drops me in front of the familiar building. I feel an echo of anxiety pierce through me as I go through the familiar doors. I nod at the concierge, the night replacement was new and I’m grateful nobody can recognize me making this potentially stupid decision.

For a brief second I wonder if Harry had other plans tonight but decide not to overthink it. He’d invited me openly. And maybe I was making a decision based on sadness and loneliness and grief and needing to be wanted but I make it. And I would make it like a grown woman—ready to accept the consequences.

I didn’t want to go back to my lonely hotel room. I didn’t want to call anyone and talk about what just happened. I didn’t have words. My body was taking the beating, feeling everything under the sun and now bruised and battered for it. I just wanted my body to forget that. And there was only one person in this godforsaken city that could help.

I’m let up to the penthouse and I forgot it had a distinct smell, wood-like and something indescribable. Weird that it felt comforting.

“You made it,” Harry comes into view in a simple pair of shorts and a long-sleeved white tee pushed up to his elbows. It’s the sleeves that really do it.

“I did.”

I leave my bags beside the elevator next to the umbrella stand, keeping my eyes on him. He doesn’t take his off mine either. I’m glad he doesn’t. Now I know he knows we both said drinks but meant something more.

He reaches out for me before I even get to him, and I know I would think about that later. A lot. But right then in the middle of his entryway I wrap my arms around his neck and lean up on my toes to reach him too.

His lips are soft against mine and he tucks me into him, his hand splayed out on my lower back. It feels like a return to a lover, someone who knows you, like I would’ve thought seeing Gray again would feel. But it’s just Harry, and the thought of baseless familiarity freaks me out a little.

The next time I feel his lips they’re on my jaw and neck and down to the base of my throat. He murmurs my name as he makes his way down and my body reacts immediately. He takes me by the waist and backs me up against the nearest wall, and I have a feeling I might fall.

I had made the conscious decision to walk into the devil’s lair because it was the only place I could get what I needed.

My fingers dig into his shoulders. My body wants this. Every part of me wants to pull him close and hold him and never let go. I wanted all of it tonight.

But I am so tired.

I put a hand on his chest and press gently. I can feel the warmth of his skin, the firmness of his muscles and the beat of his heart as he pauses.

“Sorry, I should have started with a hello. That was too fast was it?” He whispers, looking me straight in the eyes.

I have a million answers, but nothing comes. He puts his hand over mine and I feel it as a shiver runs up my spine.

"Is this too fast?" he asks again, and I hear the worry in his voice.

I shake my head.

He gives a breathy laugh, "Then tell me."

"I think I-“

“Don’t,” he covers my mouth with a laugh. “Please please. Don’t think.”

I smile under his palm and he drops his hand, I can tell he’s proud of lightening the moment by the sheen in his eyes. The moment is tender in a way that takes me back.

He brushes back my hair and kisses my forehead. I close my eyes, breathing in his cologne.

“That’s not where I want to be kissed,” I tell him.

“Then where?” He plays along.

“Anywhere but there.”

He kisses my nose. “There?”

“Not there,” I open my eyes to look up at him. “I’ll have you know that was very snotty just an hour ago.”

He groans, “you really have a way of taking the desire out of a situation.”

But his brows furrow and he watches me even closer.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I respond to his unasked question.

With that statement he takes a painful step back and I nearly slide down the wall without his support.

“What?” I ask.

“We should take that drink first.”

I feel the loss of his body pressed against mine, I realize miserably.

“What do you mean? I thought the drinks were just an excuse?” I ask.

He laughs a little, “Maybe tonight, but I really did want to have a drink with you. And talk.”

“Harry,” I groan. “I’m all out of talking tonight. Truly.”

“As much as I want to say forget talking and take you to bed I need to do this…just follow me,” he leads me and my flushed body through to the main living area which I was well familiar with but it’d gotten a facelift. I make commentary on the changes and he tells me more about it as he pulls a wine he wants out for us.

“I changed things around a little after you left,” he says as he hands me the wine glass. “I needed it. The change.”

“Oh.” Is all I can muster. I follow him to the sofa, tonight he doesn’t leave as much space between us but it still feels like a weird parallel to the night I landed in the hospital; a confrontation with Gray leading me to wine with Harry. “Look Harry I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Why not?”

“I…I’m at minimal capacity right now I just-“

“Just let me talk then.”

“Why does everyone want to talk!”

“I need to tell you what I should have said a long time ago and I want to apologize-“

“You already did-“

“Properly.”

I cross my arms and sigh.

“Y/n bloody hell I forgot how quickly you can get under my skin.”

“So this isn’t a great thing then.”

“Y/N,” he says my name like a warning and I want to comply. I roll my eyes and knock back my glass of wine, the buzz from the glass at dinner has long since worn away.

“Part of me wants to top you up but another part remembers what happened last time.” Harry eyes me.

“No I’m okay with just one glass. Drinking when I’m upset doesn’t end well.”

“Yeah…I don’t want you concussed on my watch again.”

“No we don’t want that,” we smile at each other, a soft and sentimental smile that gets the anxious stuttering of my heart to calm down a little. He just wanted to talk, so what?

But the anxious voice runs through the scenarios he might want to—his recent text, or something I did as his PA he wants to take up now. Gah.

“I really have missed having you around,” he says softly.

“Didn’t feel like you would with how you treated me.” I raise my brow.

“I know.” He pauses then mumbles something before talking to me directly. “You must have heard about the PA before you? Maybe from Riley?”

“Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“Hmmm this feels like a trick question.” I say but he tells me he just wants to know what I knew. So I rip the bandaid off. “You had a fling with her.”

He hangs his head back over the seat of the sofa and sighs. “I knew that piece of…Riley makes me really mad when I think about him sometimes.”

“Does he?” I raise my brow. “I can think of someone else who makes me madder.”

“I know that’s supposed to be me. And I don’t know what to do about that except come clean right now.”

“And why is that?” I ask. “Coming clean? I came here just to get distracted in bed with you. I never thought I’d live to see the day where a guy like you wants to talk instead.”

“Y/N,” he says with such an intense look my way my stomach flips. “Trust me. I want to have you in my bed more than you do. But I told myself if that day ever somehow happened it would be after this.”

I shrug, let him continue. In reality his words make me weak and I can’t speak. Which kind of annoys me—why did he have such a strong pull over me? How did he so easily admit he’s thought about me, about having me in his bed!?

My heart flutters amongst other things.

I remember a brief conversation I had with my mom last year when she asked me why I wasn’t putting myself out there and dating again and I told her I just didn’t have the heart for it. She had said it seems I left my heart in London—my passion and my heart. Sitting here with Harry stirs something inside of me, scares me, and I want to distract that with more wine. But I manage to control myself.

“I was fairly new to the industry when I hired Riley and it was his second proper job or something so we were both a bit young and we ended up being friendlier than we should have.” Harry starts. “But he was great at his job and never gave me any issues. I stayed naïve that people in this industry would look out for my best interest-“

“That’s really naïve,” I can’t help but comment but he throws me a look and I zip my lips. “Sorry.”

“I was lucky that the first few relationships I built as I got my foot in the door were genuine but I realized too late that it wasn’t a norm. Everyone wanted a piece of me and they all wanted me to be someone else. Some angle. Shit hit the fan pretty quickly. So when I needed more help I decided to create a new role for Riley and hire a PA. She was seasoned and came highly recommended.”

I nod along to his story.

“Long story short, she started out good but she kept trying to get me alone and get me talking. And back then after being friends with my old PA I didn’t have the wisdom of setting boundaries—don’t give me that look.”

“What!” I raise my hands. “I’m just listening.”

“You’re judging me.”

“Just continue,” I encourage. I was judging a little.

“Anyway, where I thought we were just friendly she thought I—I dunno I was falling for her or something. And one night she was working late so she had dinner here. She kept refilling my drink I didn’t realize she wasn’t drinking as much. It’s not much of an excuse but by the time she came onto me I was pissed and it didn’t take much.”

He continues the story like it was nothing but his voice catches a little and he doesn’t look me in the eye. My insides grow colder. I want to reach inside of him and hold the old Harry, the naive one who didn’t know better.

“Please don’t feel bad for me,” he cuts my sympathy short. “I didn’t turn into a great person after that. Especially with how I treated you.”

“That’s right.” I pretend to be unaffected by his story like he wanted me to be. But it’s near impossible.

“So that’s how I decided it was best for me to play the asshole. I couldn’t fire her after that—it would look awful and she could report me and screw me over. But I could make working for me a nightmare and so I did. A few months later she quit.”

He sighs and takes a swig of his wine, “Then you came along and I thought ‘I should play the asshole from the get go.’ I had gotten good by then at compartmentalizing my personality in the industry.”

“Hmph,” I raise a brow. He has the decency to look embarrassed but he continues.

“But the more time we spent together the worse I felt. You were nothing like the previous PA. You were genuine and down-to-earth. Pretty fiery but I wouldn’t find that out until later,” he grins. I roll my eyes. “I tried to ease up a little but things kept happening to push me back into the asshole box.”

“But you were so snappy, and a dick.”

“I know. I didn’t know how to tell you you worked too hard without dropping the asshole act and making you feel even shittier.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had to be the villain in your story-“

“What?” What was he talking about?

“Yeah like, you were working all the time even though there were some times I told you to wrap it up for the day.”

I remembered that, thinking he was kicking me out.

“But you took the job so seriously. I appreciated everything you did but you were dogged at making sure you did the best at any cost.”

“What do you mean? At any cost?” I ask, a cold sensation running down my back.

“For example take that one time a few months in when I asked you to call me because you forgot to order wine. You bloody came all the way back to hand deliver it-“

“Yeah because you said to call you and you were gonna be pissed if I-“

“No, y/n,” he lays a hand between us. “I just wanted you to call to know where you usually ordered from so I could order that for myself. You weren’t in any trouble! But I could only blame myself for playing the hard asshole too well.”

I think about that night, Josie’s birthday party. How I left early and upset Gray. How I didn’t need to but I had been following the Dos and Dont’s list.

Shit, the lists. They were added onto by the last PA who, now I know, was having her life made into hell just so she would quit. Some of those lists were on an extreme I didn’t even have to follow. Fuck. That was on me.

My face must be a painting of regret because Harry apologizes again.

“I’m sorry but I didn’t want you to…I just felt like I had to play the villain so you could do what you had to do. So you could continue hating me and we could establish the clear boundary.”

“Right.” I have a bitter taste in my mouth.

“But I genuinely liked you, I thought you were funny and sensitive-“

“You don’t like my sensitivity.”

“I do. I just hated how angry you were-“

“Because of you.”

“I know. I created a monster, I’m Frankenstein.”

“Damn straight.” I agree and we pause a beat before laughing.

“Anyway,” he continues. “You were funny and sensitive and resilient, passionate and smart, and you cared so deeply. It was rare meeting people like you in this field. I wanted to wrap you in bubble wrap but I think I shattered you instead. I’m sorry for the way I just let my past colour your time here. I feel like you left because of me-“

“It was really a lot of reasons.”

“I know but I was part of that and I felt no good. After you left I was a miserable son of a bitch for a while. I couldn’t even enjoy my holiday because I kept thinking of you. I was miserable so I barely even said goodbye—I didn’t realize you were going to run away so far. But I also didn’t want to say goodbye because I was scared I would convince you to stay by spilling my truth.”

His words sit on my chest and they slowly sink down to my stomach. I don’t know what it meant, what he wanted me to do with this confession. It’s too much.

“Mostly,” he continues, shifting closer to me on the sofa. He lowers his voice, “Mostly I’m sorry about Barcelona.”

I flush at the mention of it. At the heat and passion from that night. His eyes roam my face.

“I’m not that guy. I should have treated you nicer, should have been the one to keep my patience.”

“I didn’t make it easy,” I admit.

“No,” he chuckles. “You really fucking did not.”

We smile.

“But you’re so much more than anger y/n. I could barely sleep that night, I kept regretting giving into the anger and not being slow and soft with you the way you deserve. I regret it all the time.”

His confession pulls the veil off my eyes and I see a sharper image of my past. Of everything. It all comes at once and I can’t sort through it in the moment but I know what I want to do.

I shuffle over until I’m up against Harry, I hold his face in mine and he cups my face in his hand.

“You drove me crazy,” I tell him. “Made my life hell.”

“I know. But you drove me crazy too. Nobody got under my skin like you did.”

“Same.”

His hand snakes down to my thigh and he nudges it over his lap so that I’m straddling his body. I feel vulnerable and scared—not the first time these emotions have coursed through me in this very room. But today I don’t feel powerless.

His lips are soft against my cheek, my jaw, down my neck. Unlike the first time he’s slow and deliberate like someone who’s waited so long to unwrap a cherished gift and can’t stand ripping even the gift wrap. He pushes my hair out of the way and trails his fingertips down the back of my neck.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers in my ear. The more he talked the more nervous he was making me. I turn my head to capture his lips, run my fingers through his hair which is too short to really grasp. I missed his old hair.

We break apart for a breath and I can feel the tension. The desire to have him near clashing with the need to go slow. To savour this. Somehow we both feel it.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight,” Harry promises me, his finger trailing down my arm. “Just having you here is enough.”

Oh god. How did he know just the things to say. This man was way too suave. He really was the devil.

But I needed him. It’s scary to admit but I did. I wanted to be here, I really did. I needed to be in this moment with him. Fulfill some shut-out desire that had grown dusty in the corner of my heart.

“I want to do this.”

With a gentle kiss he gets us up and takes my hand. I feel myself being pulled through the living room and towards the bedroom. The sheets are cool, but not cold and when he crawls in beside me I forget that I had ever been anywhere else.

He’s attentive and deliberate and I’m buzzing with anticipation. I decide to pick up the pace, propping myself up to take off my blouse. I watch his throat bob up and down like he’s never seen me like this before even though he has. It’s endearing.

The way his hands fit in the curve of my waist makes it harder to breathe. He moves his hands up my torso and to the straps of my bra. He pauses, as if asking permission, and when I nod, he kisses me. He unhooks it and slowly slides it off my shoulders, eyes fixed on mine.

The intensity of his gaze is overwhelming.

I pull him close to kiss him again, and he pulls me under him so I can feel the full weight of him against me. This is what I needed. To be physically present and not stuck in the after tremors of the earthquakes of my past. Not that he wasn’t part of my past but this is different. A non-verbal agreement to just be present. I knew his ways with women, it could be a one-night thing and that’s what I needed.

But that’s why the moments of tenderness and adoration nearly take my breath away. I don’t know where to put these things.

He kisses down my shoulder while his hand trails down to my trousers. He hooks his finger into the belt loop and tugs gently, looking up at me for consent.

I nod.

He slowly takes them off, and when his fingers brush against my bare legs, my breath hitches.

It happens again when he presses his lips against my hip bone.

He stops for a moment, and I can almost see the cogs in his brain whirring.

He moves up to press his forehead against mine.

"I don't know how to do this right," he says quietly, and his eyes search mine.

“What do you mean?”

“This is always how I should have treated you,” he whispers. “I want you to know-“

“Harry,” I smooth out the lines on his forehead.

"No," he grabs my hand and kisses it. "I don't want you to feel like I don't care because I do. I don’t want to hurt you. I'm not good at saying these things. But I want you to know how much I value you. That I like you as a person. I respect you. I want you to be okay.”

“I-“ who was this Harry, seriously!? “I get it. I’m okay. I am.”

He smiles at me tentatively and my heart does a somersault.

I grab the back of his neck and pull him down, pressing my lips against his. I could taste the sweetness of the words he had said.

I tug at his shirt and it flies into the darkness of his bedroom. His skin is heated against mine.

It feels like an eternity before he finally reaches the band of my panties, and my heart thumps wildly.

"May I?" he looks up.

"Please," I whisper.

For the first time since I’ve met him he doesn’t make it about himself or what he needs. It’s almost intimidating how intense he is as he looks after me and it’s hard to reconcile this man with the man in my head. We’re of one mind and it’s like he knows everything I’ve been through in the last 24 hours; he just attends to my every need reminding me that I was here, right here, in his arms and in this body.

And it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you staying the night?” He asks later with a final kiss to my shoulder.

“If that’s alright?” I ask. I didn’t want to be alone in a cold hotel room.

“I’d love nothing more.” He says earnestly.

Love. I brush the word away.

He warns me that he was a slug if I stayed and he’s not exaggerating, with his arm draped over me and tucked up against him he’s like a child with a plush. He falls asleep just as quickly.

I should too but can’t. I feel so intensely about this body laying beside me, I want to crawl inside of him, understand him, understand us and how this worked.

Or maybe I wanted to just understand me, and why I felt a piece of myself sliding back into place tonight. I had to be the most fucked up person in this city.

Instead of sleeping I lay awake thinking about everything and I can’t help it. I go over this morning—god it felt like weeks ago. Josie’s graduation. Josie. Gray. Even Michelle.

I feel slightly paralyzed by everything that transpired today—it truly felt like peering through a glass window into a life I used to have. I try to break open the glass, sort it all out.

On one side is me and everything I’ve done this whole year to move on from the crumbs of my life here in London. I don’t know why but I really did think that coming back I would be 100% untouchable by my past. I was an idiot for thinking that because I was bothered that Gray seemed to have a steady girlfriend. Why did I think anything would rekindle between us?

I dig deeper, did I even want that to happen? Or did I just want to prove to myself that I was the one Gray let get away because I was too scared to face the possibility that I was the one who let Gray get away.

But clearly something didn’t work with us, I think bitterly. A few months with his new girl and he found the balls to open up with me and communicate his grievances and his apologies.

Love that’s as fierce and loyal as you are, he had said. Was I too much for Gray? Is that why we were made to burn out? It hurt too that he had damaged all my relationships I made in my life here in London only to cut those same people out of his life immediately after I left. The more I think about it the angrier I feel.

And his mom, I still feel bruised by her acting like she didn’t even know me. It stokes the anger higher. Her own son has called her crazy on multiple occasions, I was always nothing but kind to her. Gray was the one who put the final nail in our coffin yet the woman who called me her daughter and claimed to love me had been cruel. Even in the face of getting along for Josie’s sake she had put her petty feelings in the forefront.

These people made me so angry.

How did I ever think I could rekindle anything with Gray? As much as I was to blame, I realize, Gray couldn’t even be kind in the end. Just because the year apart was good to him didn’t mean he would still be good for me.

I think about the man laying beside me, in a hypothetical situation if things got ugly I instinctively want to say he would be cruel too. But I have to push past the persona he claimed to have put up and think about the glimpses of the man I saw underneath. Something tells me he would be just as fiery in letting me know how he was feeling. But with his recent apologies I’m not as convinced he would go out of his way to hurt me again.

Even in the bar last night, I just assumed he called me Mrs. Duran to be cruel but he hadn’t known. Or when I had assumed at Josie’s birthday party I would be fired for forgetting wine because he was an asshole when really he just acted like one so I wouldn’t feel worse.

How many times had I judged people because of how skewed my own lens was? It’s a sobering reminder.

Josie’s face flashes through my mind and I tear up at knowing we were going to cut each other out. No matter how much we loved each other staying in touch at this rate was no longer sustainable. For her best interest.

I think of my younger brother back home, my older sister, our family of 5. When I went back home there was so much to catch up on and eventually, apologize for. I had missed out on so much of my family’s life because I believed I needed to leave to grow. Well, life sure handed me a lot of lessons but I needed to go back home to plant them and let me grow.

Harry stirs beside me, nuzzling my neck in his sleep. I feel myself go teary eyed for no reason.

I wondered if this was just a one-night thing. If we would see each other again while I was in London. Did I want to see him? My heart sings yes immediately.

Damn.

What was it about him that pushed my emotions to the highest highs and lowest lows. How did he know every button to push and every bruise to kiss. This had to be toxic, we couldn’t just take our great big baggage of a past and see each other casually while I was in London. It couldn’t be that easy.

What if it was, hope whispers. I squirm. Could I forgive Harry for everything he’d done?

“Y’sleeping?” Harry mumbles to my left. Shit.

“Yeah,” I say which invokes a throaty chuckle from him. I check the time, it was nearly 4. Double shit.

“Liar,” he tugs on my hips and I turn to face him. “Talk to me.”

I couldn’t. Half of my thought were about him. And how could I tell him I was thinking about my ex after spending the night with him. So I just shake my head.

“Please?” He brushes my cheek with his thumb. “You need to sleep.”

“I-“ I try to say I can’t but the words get stuck in my throat. The emotions of everything I’d been thinking in the last couple hours threaten to dislodge the words from my throat so I close my mouth. But it doesn’t work.

A sob bursts out of me and before I can reel it all in the floodgates swing open and it carries all the pent-up sorrow and confusion, grief and anguish I had bottled up.

Harry freezes for a moment, probably very confused to wake up and have me reacting this way. But he recovers and pulls me into his warm chest.

“What is going on in that head of yours love,” Harry murmurs. Love. I sob even harder.

He murmurs reassuring words whilst stroking my back and I cry an embarrassing amount in the same bed where just hours ago I was blissed beyond comprehension. Life moves fast.

Finally when I gain enough composure I lean away, covering my face because crying into him was one thing but seeing my ugly cry face was another.

“Here,” I feel his body move and then tissues pressed into my hand. I’m grateful for them but I wasn’t going to blow my nose here. I sit up and try to dry my nose. His hand reaches out and the tips of his fingers rest on my spine like he was tethering my lost body to him. Somehow even that is reassuring.

“Don’t go trying to kiss my nose this early on again,” I try to joke through a stuffy voice.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he tugs my arm a little and I fall back beside him. He holds me in both his arms and I watch in horror and affection as he kisses the tip of my nose.

“Stop being so nice,” I laugh and cry a little too.

“You’re actually complaining about me being nice?”

“No I just—I’m not used to it,” I press the tissue to my eyes again.

“Well get used to it,” he peels the hair off of my face and pushes it back. “I don’t want to be the one hurting you. I swear to never ever be the reason you cry like this to anyone.”

“Don’t say those sorts of things if you don’t mean it.”

“I do,” he caresses my face. “You’re breaking my heart y/n, I don’t know who hurt you but I never want to see you like this. Especially not because of me alright? I’m sorry if I ever-“

“Stop,” I put my hand to his mouth. Which is kind of gross since I just blew my nose but I’m pretty sure him kissing my snotty nose means he didn’t care.

“But-“ he says behind my hand.

“I’m embarrassed right now,” I admit.

“You have seen me in every compromising situation,” Harry says. “And we have been through too much together to be embarrassed right now.”

“Fine,” I sigh. “It is tiring.”

“Maybe you can finally sleep now that it’s…almost 5?”

“Sorry,” I sigh. “I hope you don’t have something early?”

“Nope,” he kisses the top of my head. “And even if I did it wouldn’t matter.”

So we both try to go back to bed and I manage to fall asleep, all of those tiring racing thoughts washed away by a good cry. I feel warm and cared for and vulnerable and protected. A stark change from how Harry has made me feel before. Maybe this was temporary or maybe this was the start of something new. I’m just taking it minute by minute while all I can think is Do I or Don’t I?

***

It’s my final week in London and if you’d asked me a couple weeks ago if I was looking forward to going back home I would have said without hesitation yes.

But that night at Harry’s and putting my past to rest brushes away an old and tired film I had been viewing the city with since I landed.

We had seen each other a couple times a week since—I’ve been cautious despite my body saying otherwise. There were many days I had been free but I had made up some excuse not to see him, I was scared of getting too attached and having to leave.

But I can’t deny how nice it was to be with Harry without any labels. Most of the time I went over to his, it was tricky going out somewhere too public and risking getting papped. Together we just talk about life and work, my life back in America and my relationship with my family, his life growing up and his relationship with stardom. We watch movies and listen to music and make jokes and I open up a little about what had been weighing on my mind that night.

Winnie teases me that I was lighter than she’s ever seen me, that London looked good on me. I tell her she’s crazy. But even Oretta admits it when Winnie brings it up to her.

Harry makes the effort to make up for how he acted until it’s not just words. I believe what he was saying. And I admit to my faults too.

We still get under each other’s skin.

The thing we argue about the most is an opportunity Harry tries to get me to sign off on. The link he texted me when I was in Cambridge was an upcoming single one of his friends was releasing and he wanted to get me to bid on executing a music video for it. I tell him he was nuts and that I had no experience, plus I had a job. But he persists. He thinks I should explore putting my creative skills to use and not just my organizational skills. The arguing continues.

I have a date with him tonight, at the same bar we bumped into each other that first night. I have a question I’d been meaning to ask him.

“You aren’t actually a regular here are you?” I ask when we’ve settled.

“Of course I am,” he says but I know he’s lying. I raise my brow and he looks everywhere but at me. “Fine. I’m not.”

“So how the hell did you end up here that night?”

“Coincidence.”

“Liar.”

“I’m an honest man.”

“Truth please?”

“You’re embarrassing me here let’s move on.”

“Nuh-uh,” I’m enjoying his bright cheeks and darting eyes. “Did you stalk me or something?”

“I…I knew this was a local spot for you. Or was.”

“Really? How?”

“You mentioned it a few times? And I dropped you off here once after work.”

He might’ve. I’d met many friends and especially Gray here. I motion for him to continue.

“I might’ve known you were in town, might’ve found out you were here and…”

“So you did stalk me,” I gasp. “Oh my god ladies and gents he is obsessed.”

“That’s a strong word.” He argues.

“You. Stalked. Me.”

“Oh fine, I’ll confess: I’m used to the stalkers and I thought it was high time I did some stalking and see what the fun was all about,” he joins in on making fun of himself.

“Someone get me a restraining order,” I say just as someone approaches our table with drinks. As soon as they leave we burst out laughing.

“So have you given the music video any more thought?” Harry asks as the evening continues.

“Can we not talk about this right now?” I ask.

“I just think you should give it serious thought. I know you want to go into PR, be somebody’s Graham, but you have a really good eye for this thing. Before you pursue what you think you want, try this out.”

“You’re one dude,” I say again. “Who believes I can do this. You want me to throw away the career I’ve worked on for years to dabble in this and potentially waste time instead of getting to where I want?”

“Firstly, if you love doing something it’s not time wasted. And secondly you only ever need just one person to believe in you, angel.”

His fingers brush mine on the table, the familiar electricity courses through me just through the small touch. And of course, his use of pet names always turned me to putty. I hated how malleable he made me.

“Consider it. Just write a proposal y/n, it’s not betraying Oretta or anything. I can talk to her if you want if they choose your idea.”

It was scary putting myself out there for something I didn’t believe in myself for. But my echoes of burnout grow towards the idea of doing something less demanding than being an assistant just like a sunflower to the sun. It basks in letting my creativity flow.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Not for too long,” he taps my fingers again. We were cautious about being too touchy in public, even in a place like this where people genuinely didn’t care who he was. “Proposal’s due at the end of next week.”

When I would be back home in America. Away from here. Him.

We hadn’t talked about it, if we would try to keep in touch. I can’t really imagine a long-distance thing with Harry. Not at this stage. Mostly we enjoyed being in each other’s company and I was scared forcing labels just because we would be apart would ruin this fragile thing.

“Fine.” He’d worn me down and I submit. “Fine I’ll get something in for you.”

He pulls back with a shocked expression. “Did I just convince the stubborn y/n y/l/n to do something she didn’t want to do?”

I scowl. “Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t,” he laughs, waving his hands around him like he was fanning in an aroma. “I’m soaking this in though.”

“Whatever,” I say with a smile.

“You make me work hard,” he smiles back. “For everything y/n. That’s one of the things I l-I-that I really like about you.”

We ignore the near slip of something far too serious for what we had going. We move past it but it sets my heart racing.

“So this friend of yours,” I change the subject. “With the music video. Didn’t you guys have like, beef when you were on tour? All that article stuff?”

“You of all people should know not to believe what you see online. It was all manipulated and put out of context.”

“I know but you were all moody for all your shows afterwards. I remember Jeff and Graham complaining. I assumed the articles had worn you down a bit.”

He raises a brow like he’s waiting on me to figure something out.

“What?”

“Really? You think it was the artcles?”

“Well what else happened that-“

Oh god. Was I that stupid?

Of course it wasn’t the articles, it was me! Us.

A smile stretches over the contours of his face as realization dawns on mine, “Twice in a row I’ve got you today, I should buy a lottery ticket.”

“I’m off my game today is all, don’t get used to it.”

I can’t believe it. Not that I didn’t believe Harry after the last few weeks but I—that night—really meant that much to him that his feelings over it had affected the rest of his tour? I had affected his tour?

“Why didn’t you say anything if it was weighing on you so much? If I recall I tried to talk to you a couple times.” I ask.

“What could I say,” he snorts. “You were engaged and my loss of control was why you cheated. Then you were quitting and I knew if I said anything you might have stayed. I didn’t want to keep you where you didn’t want to be.”

His words tug at my heart. He really had thought up a storm.

“Harry,” I lean back. “Gray and I broke up before I joined you guys on tour again. We weren’t cheating.”

His forehead creases, “What?! But you were together at my London show. I thought you two broke up after you moved back home?”

“No,” I guess in the last few weeks I’d just mentioned we broke up a long time ago. He didn’t know any specifics. “We were fake-together because he hadn’t broken the news to his sister then. But that’s why I was all…y’know in Barcelona-“

“Fuck me,” he groans. “No wonder you thought I was an ass for pulling you away-“

“Well you were-“

“Yeah alright-“

“Why did you really pull me away though?”

“I…I was feeling a bit possessive.”

“What?”

I wasn’t expecting that to come out of his mouth. He smiles sheepishly, “I thought we already came to terms with that.”

My stomach does a few somersaults. Until tonight I don’t think I’ve really focused on the magnitude of how Harry felt back then. Parts of my mind were still remembering him as a prick just because it was easier to remember my side of things. But this spins things in a brighter light.

“I was just your assistant though.”

“Y/N,” he tilts his head to the side. “Did I not already tell you what I thought about you that night in my flat?”

“Yeah but-“

“I’d never met anyone like you, I really liked you. I couldn’t have you though and I had to push you away constantly. And that drove me a bit crazy sometimes.”

I let out a noisy breath, wondering if how he felt about me was just as intense now as it was then. A part of me knows it must be. Feelings like that didn’t fade. But here I was, barely knowing what it was I felt for him. All I knew was that it was nice when we were together.

Why me, I want to ask. But I hold back. It wasn’t a question I could ask my ex-employer current-lover part-time-asshole.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “Was that a bit strong?”

“No,” I sigh again and he laughs. “Fine. A little. But it’s fine, I’m okay.”

“Okay,” he believes me. “So you broke off your engagement and didn’t tell anyone?”

“Kinda, we weren’t in a place we could come back from. We decided that mutually after things blew up. He didn’t even know I was leaving the country actually.”

Harry whistles. “You ran out on all of us.”

I scratch the side of my head, “Maybe?”

“Well I’ve enjoyed having you again, here.” He says with sincerity. “I’m really relieved to be able to get to say everything I wanted to your face.”

I agree. Neither of us mention I was leaving later in the week.

Even by the night before I’m leaving London we still hadn’t discussed a thing. But there’s a heaviness to us as we have dinner at his, as we pretend to watch a movie only to cuddle on the couch. We lay there facing each other and I trace his eyes, his nose, his wonderful mouth. It’s so odd to me that this was the same Harry Styles performing in sold out venues and on the walls of teenage bedrooms. That I got to have him in these quiet moments and be present.

I feel so grateful for this. That I didn’t have to carry around these draining stories within me anymore, that it felt like it happened to someone else. In a way even if nothing came from all this, I got closure. I was able to move on now.

I imagine my heart and it feels like when you take a stroll mid-March and realize nature was healing from winter’s blues. Warm and blooming the earth was growing again—my heart was growing stronger. Now the idea of a date or a partner didn’t seem so daunting and exhausting. I would never have guessed that it would take the man who almost broke me to come into my life again for me to see how to fit those pieces back in place again.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do not having you in town anymore,” his lashes flutter as I run my hand through his hair. It was still shorter than I was used to but it had grown in the last three weeks.

“Oh you’ll be fine,” I say. “I’ve worked on your schedule before: meetings and studio sessions and photoshoots and interviews.”

“A busy life isn’t always a full one,” he whispers. And it’s the closest thing to a confession we were going to get to. I cover his mouth with mine and we indulge in each other one final time.

There is a symphony of unexpected but undeniable intimacy woven between the beats of our entwined hearts. I know I would probably never feel this way with anyone and I don’t think I’d want to. Being with Harry was passion. It was losing myself and finding myself at the same time. It was being vulnerable and guarded and cherished and known.

My flight out tomorrow is around noon but I can’t stay the night as I’d have to help Oretta in the morning to make sure everything gets to the airport in time. Harry walks me down to his lobby and we stand there for a few, just holding each other tight. He doesn’t ask me to stay and I don’t ask him to come.

“This isn’t goodbye y/n,” Harry says when we part. His hand rests on his heart. I know the feeling, mine aches so hard I want to press my hand to it just to tell it everything would be fine.

“No,” I shake my head. My eyes had been teary ever since he squeezed me to him. “We’ll talk soon.”

“You’ll be directing music videos soon.”

I roll my eyes, “I’m still working on the proposal.”

“I have a good feeling about it.”

“That makes one of us. But…thanks for believing in me.”

“Thanks for believing in me,” he whispers. “Even when you didn’t have to.”

I’m glad I did. The only time in my life not paying attention to the warning bells had paid off.

“I’ve been working with this new producer and he wants me to come out to a studio in Cotati?” Harry mentions. “How far is that from where you are? Are you still in m Burbank?”

“Burbank’s where my parents are,” I shake my head. I look up what he’s talking about and feel a thrill when it’s less than a couple hours. Still, I try to maintain neutrality. “A little over an hour?”

“Well,” he brushes my hair over my shoulder and keeps his eyes looking just over it. “Depending on what you’re doing—maybe if you’re free…we can see each other again?”

I would love that. My heart is bursting just thinking of getting to have him in the place I called home. Of this meaning something. Of him wanting to see me again.

“Of course if you have a boyfriend by then and he doesn’t want you to see me that’s…I mean, live your life and if it works out we-“

“Yes,” I cut him off. “Yeah. Let’s see but that sounds good.”

He meets my gaze and I laugh a little, he was nervous and that was rare.

“Good,” he smiles with. “Until next time.”

“Until next time,” I step into his arms and it’s a quick affair before he steps away. I turn to head out the door, shielding my eyes from him. Not wanting him to see that this was stupidly hard to say goodbye.

He waves me off and I head back to my hotel with a heavy heart. But I think about him asking to see me again. Who knows when that would be. And I know this wasn’t the end of our story.

***

I’m happy to land in SFO the following evening, happy to busy myself with Oretta’s business, happy to have Winnie chattering away. I spent parts of the flight I wasn’t sleeping working on my MV proposal and it awakens a familiar passion inside of me I’d been afraid I’d lost.

I send out a silent thanks to Harry for knowing what was good for me.

I think of Harry often, Gray even less until I don’t think of him at all. I dream of London weekly; I missed it this time around. And as life resumes again I anticipate the change I sense on the horizon.

So when life gives me lemons I stop asking Do I or Don’t I. If one thing the last year has taught me was I had to listen to my gut and look at the signs. I had to start asking what I wanted and go after it. Even though Harry and I barely talk, I remember the lessons he’s taught me.

I stop looking to others to make decisions. There’s no guidebook or lists to help me make my decisions either. I take deep breaths and I believe in myself.

I build a new life on the remains of my old. I don’t let it dictate what I did anymore, I simply leave it as the foundation to elevate me even higher. I reach for the sky with my feet planted firmly on the ground. And I grow with reckless abandon.

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TAGLIST: @boomitsallie1 @indierockgirrl @ndunad @jerseygirlinca @sunshinemoonsposts @ninasw0rld @love-letters-to-uranus @mayamonroem @sassamanda77 @harryspirate

🤍

Epilogue

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xxlady-lunaxx · 10 days ago

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“Do you like the snow?” Kokushibo asked, his three pairs of eyes gazing momentarily at Muzan before flicking back down to the floor. He sunk deeper into his bow, waiting silently. It was an odd question to follow up an order for a mission, yet it had slipped out nonetheless. Perhaps because he’d just been brought into the Infinity Castle after being out in the snow all evening, but it’d been the first thing on his mind.

“The snow?” Muzan repeated. His tone was surprisingly full of inquiry—and maybe he was holding back from reading Kokushibo’s mind, or was asking purely through courtesy (unlikely, but possible), but he sounded genuinely curious.

“Yes,” Kokushibo agreed.

“If I like it…” he mused, shaking his head. “No, I never cared for it. Is there a point to this question?”

“No. Apologies, Kibutsuji-sama.”

“Ah. Well, then—“ He signaled vaguely with a hand and, with the strum of a biwa, Kokushibo was teleported back outside. His steps sunk into the thick layers of snow as he began to walk towards the nearest village.

Meanwhile, Muzan had himself transported to a town where one of his crafted families were. As he walked idly down the streets, the snow crunched under his feet and seeped into the cuffs of his pants. He frowned down at the footsteps that walked in all directions. When he glanced up, he was met with a row of small snowmen, twigs sticking out as arms for the army of snowballs.

“Do I like snow?” he asked himself, gazing, confused, at the snowmen. “No, no I don’t.”

The sound of chattering brought his attention back up, drawn to the laughter. A little girl, whom he recognized as the one he was meant to be the father of, ran towards him, mindless of how the snow and mud splattered against the hem of her dress.

He crouched slightly, picking her up when she jumped onto him.

“It snowed!” she informed him, unnecessarily, a wide smile splitting her face. “Can we play outside before dinner? Can we? Please, Chichiue!”

“Mm? Did Kaa-chan say that was alright?” he asked, feigning excitement and patting her head.

“Yeah! She said ten minutes!”

“Ten minutes, it is,” he assured her, and placed her back down. She giggled, picking up a clump of snow and tossed it at him. Instinctively, he dodged it, and she pouted.

“You’re no fun!” she told him, then went off to play on her own, shouting something about making a forest for the snow people.

Muzan watched, conflicted. A memory, somewhere in the back of his mind, nudged him. Quietly bothering him, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. As he watched the daughter that wasn’t quite his begin to roll in the snow, he gave in, closing his eyes with a soft exhale. His breath was visible before him, but he didn’t see it, instead transported centuries into the past. Back when he had been his daughter’s age, equally elated over the concept of snow.

—x—x—

“But I want to see it—!” Muzan protested, his whining loud despite the frailness of his body. His nurse fretted over him, shaking her head.

“No, no, you’re not fit for it! You’ll catch a fever if you step out,” she told him, pushing him gently back into his bed. He was small, not just because he was a child, but even more than the average for his age. Recently, his appetite had been low, and with winter at its peak, his condition had worsened. Yet he was immediately awake at the mention of the snowy wonder he’d yet see for himself.

Grumbling, Muzan wiggled out of the covers, pushing the weight of them all off. The air outside the blankets was chilly, and he shivered, but persisted. “So? I’m always sick!” he all but yelled. “I’ll get sick either way! I wanna go!”

“Muzan-chan,” the nurse tried. She retrieved one of the blankets and draped it over his shoulders. “Your mother won’t be happy.”

“I don’t care!” he decided. “Okaa-san would understand!”

“But…”

Muzan turned to her with wide eyes that were full of longing, a pout forming. “Just a couple minutes? I never get to do things.”

The nurse struggled with herself for a moment, then sighed, sagging. “Alright. Five minutes. I’ll find you some clothes, you can’t go out in that.”

A few moments later, Muzan stumbled outside, bundled up in scarves and several layers of haori. The nurse held his hand tightly, gently helping him step into his shoes and then onto the snow. Red eyes alight with wonder, Muzan gasped and prodded tentatively at the snow with his foot. When it formed a cavity in the bright white mound, he laughed and stomped down, the widest of smiles splitting his face when the snow went flying.

“Careful, Muzan-chan!” the nurse warned, not quite letting him go even when he began to waddle through the snow. His excitement was palpable, his breath visible in the air where he spoke.

“It’s so cold,” he remarked, his cheeks and nose bright red—a contrast to his pale skin. However he seemed unbothered by the temperature, even elated by it, uncaring for the sacrifice if it meant being outside. “Ne, can I play?”

“Ah… You’re not well, yet, so be cautious,” was his answer. But the nurse reluctantly let him go, keeping close as he giggled and spun in a slow circle.

Abruptly, he sank down, poking the snow with a finger. He sucked in a breath and pulled his hand back. “It’s so—“ he started, then plunged his hand in, laughing breathlessly at the iciness.

“Don’t do that!” the nurse chided, crouching and pulling his hand out, wrapping it in one of the scarves. “You’ll give yourself a frostbite.”

“But it feels funny!” he said, only to be distracted by something else. He stood, slowly, then hurried off to soothe his curiosity. His enthusiasm was ceaseless, smiles bright and full of life. They ended up staying out for ten minutes, until Muzan began getting dizzy from all the movement.

As he was ushered inside, shoes pulled off and tucked back onto bed, he began recounting his adventure. His mother listened patiently while the nurse made some tea, readjusting the blankets so they were up to his chin.

“It was so cold, and really mushy, and kept getting on my clothes, and then it melted and—and then I made people! Out of snow! And we got sticks and put them in the snow for arms, but then the people fell apart—but, but then we made even more, and then there was a bunch of footprints in the snow—“ he said, without even stopping for breath. His face was still tinged red where the air had bit his skin, and he seemed as if he’d run miles for hours. But his happiness was infectious, and his mother couldn’t resist the smile that followed her understanding hums.

“Is that so?” she asked, when he finally paused to catch up with himself.

The nurse returned with tea for all three of them, and they helped Muzan drink his first. When he finished a few sips, he nodded.

“It was super fun, I wanna go outside again tomorrow!”

“Maybe another day,” his mother suggested. “You rest well today and tomorrow, and we’ll consider. How about that?”

“…okay,” Muzan pouted, but agreed, burrowing into his blankets. “I’ll sleep now!”

“All right, then,” his mother said, amused, and patted him gently. “Sleep well, and you’ll see the snow in a bit.”

She and the nurse left the room once they were sure he’d sleep, taking the tea with them. Muzan tucked his face under the blankets, bringing his hands up to his cheeks and feeling how much colder they were.

“Like the snow,” he said to himself. “I love the snow!”

That night, his dreams consisted of snow in the summers when he was allowed out for small bits of time—the snowmen he’d made now with arms that stayed, relaxing in the shade beside him. Every year, he must go out when it snowed. He’d make sure that it happened. One way or another!

—x—x—

“Chichiueeee!”

The whiny voice brought Muzan back to the present and he hummed, glancing down at the little girl that tugged on his pant leg.

“Yes, Teruko-chan?” he asked, pushing away his impatience to bend down.

“I’m cold!” she said with a huff. “I wanna go inside!”

“All right.” Muzan scooped her up into his arms, wandering towards their house. “Where’s your mother?”

“Kaa-chan’s making dinner, and she saw you outside so she said I could play with you,” his daughter informed him, wiggling in his grasp. She pressed her cheek to his, and he felt the coolness in her skin, reminding him of when he’d pressed his hands to his own face.

“Is that so? Then why don’t we go inside to eat?” he suggested, and pushed the door open. The little girl immediately squirmed from his arms and dashed off to the kitchen where, presumably, the food was being made. He tapped the snow from his shoes, then took them off as he entered. The door closed behind him, and he remained at the doorway for a moment, gazing aimlessly at the hall.

At dinner, he assured his wife that he’d eaten lunch late so he’d eat dinner later. He sat patiently at the table, glad for the clouded-over sky because it allowed him to walk freely in the snow today. As he waited, he gazed curiously at his daughter.

“Did you like playing in the snow?” he asked, stopping her from shoving too much food into her mouth.

“Yeah!” she said happily, batting his hand away. “But the snow was super cold, so I don’t wanna go tomorrow. One day is fine! Tomorrow, I can sit by the fire and have milk.”

Her mother laughed softly. “I thought you liked the snow?”

“Not for long times,” the girl said matter-of-factly, shaking her head. “I like making the snowmen and stuff, but then it’s too cold so I wanna go back in.”

“Ah, well, I like the snow,” Muzan piped up, as the dishes were collected to wash.

“Why?” his daughter asked almost judgmentally, a perplexed frown plastered on her face.

Why? Muzan paused. “It’s nice?”

“Boring!” The little girl ran off to her mother, shouting, “Kaa-chan! Chichiue’s boring!”

“Don’t say that about your father!” was the distant response from the kitchen, the clattering of dishes and the sound of water following.

Muzan’s previously pleasant expression dropped with the absence of company, and he murmured something about going to sleep early, trudging to the bedroom. He wasn’t sure if it had been the snow, exactly, that he’d loved as a child. Or maybe it had. It was hard to say. Such small things hardly mattered to him, now. Now, he could go out whenever he wanted. So maybe he didn’t care for snow. Such trivial things were unimportant—and liking it or not, it came only briefly each year. Ah, well, he’d avoid the snow tomorrow and have Nakime bring him where he needed to go, instead of going on foot. Perhaps the girl had a point—he should just stay inside; the snow was too cold to actually enjoy.

Goodness, such a bother for something like snow. What was he thinking? He had other things to worry about.

The thoughts were shoved aside as he entered his study room and picked a book from the shelf. He’d go to the library tomorrow and continue browsing through the books. The blue spider lily was at utmost importance now. Unless it thrived in the snow, he shouldn’t let himself get distracted again. He’d better tell Kokushibo to not ask such things anymore.

#welcome to my daily ooc fanfic writing #or whatever #i havent written the demons in ages plsss pretend muzan & koku r acting normal #also also notice how in the narration muzan never refers to teruko by her name #just ‘the girl’ and ‘his daughter’ bc he couldnt give a fuck #(teruko was the 1st name that popped up in my head btw lmao)#and and notice how muzan’s mother + muzan both say ‘is that so’#(ok that one was on accident but who cares)#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #muzan kibutsuji #kny kokushibo #kny muzan #kibutsuji muzan #fluff #ish #sorta hidden angst #something along the lines of ‘life ceases 2 matter when the u stop caring abt the little things’#i think #nakime mention also #ft. random mother+her daughter & muzan’s mother+nurse #‘chichiue’ means father i think #’kaa-chan’ and ‘okaa-san’ mean mother #writing ‘muzan-chan’ was so funny for no reason #kny drabbles #kny thoughts #there r lots of irrelevant tags here oops

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atlaswav · 1 year ago

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LOST WITHOUT YOU ☆

INFO: 2812 words, Alhaitham x gn!reader, a little mildly suggestive content (16+) SYNOPSIS: after focusing your whole life on studies and beating Alhaitham, you find that you've lost yourself, and you don't know how to put yourself back together. AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is so rushed and bad but the ideas just kept flowing out and suddenly I wrote a whole short story 😓 (unedited pls lmk if u find errors! likes and reblogs also very much appreciated!!!)

It was never a competition – not to him, at least.

Him, with his cold, unwavering demeanour and even colder, unshakable gaze.

It never was a competition, but to you, everything was. You hated it all. You hated his expression, permanently arranged in disdain, and his withering glare. That look that he always gave you, always the same, blank stare.

Above all, you loathed his overwhelming sense of self importance. He carried himself with such an air that you felt absolutely unremarkable next to him, and in your drunken wishes, you yearned for him to be put in his place.

Wishful drinking, you called it, and such was suited to a night like this. The night before receiving the results for your final exams, the only one that really mattered in your seemingly futile quest to outshine Alhaitham.

Your roommates were fully aware of your infatuation, though you wouldn’t call it that. They teased you for locking yourself up in your room while they went out socialising and bar streaking, most often returning with the reek of alcohol staining their clothes, passing out on the couch.

They thought you weren’t a drinker, too, but truthfully, you only saved drinking for important occasions, and this seemed like an occasion important enough. With a flair for dramatic, you had claimed yet another bottle of cheap wine off the kitchen counter before retreating to your room, several glances of concern and curiosity following you down the hallway. Seated on the miniature balcony, you twisted open the cap on the bottle, wincing at the wine’s harsh bitterness as time slipped by, minutes blurring into hours with hushed murmurs outside your door.

They cared, they really did. But you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge them, not with your thoughts too occupied with outdoing Alhaitham to amount to anything substantial. Your roommates already thought you were a studying fanatic – those looks of concern weren’t a first time occurrence as you trudged up the stairs with the wine in tow. You didn’t care enough to correct or reassure them – though were they wrong?

You hardly left the house enough, if it weren’t for classes and your job, you’d be a hermit. It felt suffocating, sometimes, the life you’d given yourself. Though ahead in all other aspects, you couldn’t help but feel like you were falling behind. Everyone was falling in love, while you fell behind, caught in the grinding cycle of academics and validation.

Melancholic and dramatic, you were, when you were drunk. Though others may be hopeless romantics.

“[name]? Someone’s here to see you.” Your roommate knocks on your door.

You don’t glance over your shoulder as the knocking becomes more insistent. “No thanks.”

“May I come in?” A familiar voice echoes from down the hallway. Your hand freezes halfway to the bottle.

The door creaks open, and you turn around, slowly standing up and steadying yourself on the railing. Alhaitham stands in the doorframe, only his silhouette visible through the light pouring in through the hallway.

You’re suddenly far too aware of your pyjama pants and well worn hoodie, folding your arms across yourself. “Why are you here?”

He stands there for a while, completely still. Then he sighs. “I don’t know.” Stepping across the threshold, he starts to close the door behind him.

“I didn’t say you could come in,”

“Sorry.” He says. After a brief silence, he leaves.

You stand there, confused, with unspoken questions hanging in the air.

Then, the door opens again.

You’d never seen him so unsteady before, gaze darting around the room and a flush high on his cheeks. His Emerald eyes are bright as he steps into the dim light of your room. “I have to come in.”

You frown at him in confusion. “Why are you here?”

The moment doesn’t seem real as he crosses the room, joining you on the balcony. Quiet lingers around the two of you as you give up asking for his motive and simply reassume your position at the railing. Maybe you’re too tired or burnt out to care, but as he hesitantly joins you, casting you indiscreet side glances, you offer him the bottle.

A show of camaraderie, perhaps.

He shakes his head, and you take a swig from the bottle, yourself, before setting it back on the low, rusty coffee table.

He fidgets with his hands, turning the ring on his index finger over and over. It clicks with the ring on his other finger, occasionally, resonating an irritating ticking noise.

“Can you stop? What do you want?” You finally outburst, startling him. Alhaitham faces you now, entirely focused on you. But his usual look of casual disdain is gone, and you’re not sure you recognise the man staring at you.

His features bathed in moonlight, his gaze looks softer than it ever had before. The soft breeze brushes his hair across his forehead, and you can’t help but wonder how soft they’d feel to your touch.

“I want you,”

Before you can fully register his reply, he draws you in, one hand reaching around your waist, another reaching softly into your hair, and kisses you.

You fail to register anything at all – all other sensation is irrelevant with the sheer feeling of the warmth of his lips on yours. It feels so wrong, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

It’s intoxicating. He tastes like wine.

He withdraws, expression blank again.

“What?” You utter, and abruptly, as if snapping out of a stance, he flees your room with such rapidity that you have to consider whether or not it was all a dream. As his footsteps echo down the hallway, you run a hand through your hair, tousled by his touch, snatch the bottle from its place and drink deeply.

–

The autumn chill drifts in the air. Other students dawdle about on the lawns, boisterous laughter echoing across the courtyard. Your class sits in solemn silence. You with your ringing head in your hands, and him with his back turned to everyone, focused on the lecture hall’s door.

When you woke that morning, the morning after that, you were insistent on believing that it was a dream. But the empty bottle lying on the balcony and the ring on the ground said otherwise.

You turn the metal ring over in your pocket, running a finger over the miniature inscriptions on the inside.

‘Empathy, the double-edged sword’

You’d been fretting over how to return the ring, avoiding the primary subject on your mind – overshadowed with the return of the test papers.

The minutes tick by in anxious silence until the door bursts open with a professor whose arms are filled with papers.

If it weren’t for the pounding hangover, you’d be laughing at the anticlimactic atmosphere. The professor grumbles under his breath as he hands out the exam papers and results, not offering a general comment on the class’ results.

He reaches Alhaitham, and gives him the pleased look he always gives him. The class launches into whispers of speculation.

The professor’s walk down the aisles of chairs seems like it takes forever, and you have half a mind to snatch the stack of papers out of his hands and wildly search for yours.

Until he stops in front of you.

A slight smile as he hands the paper to you.

“Well done.”

A perfect score.

Over your shoulder, someone announces it to the entire class.

Alhaitham meets your eyes with a soft smile and a nod. A ninety nine is hastily scrawled onto the front page with red ink.

Relief; Your heart and head feel light, but your stomach is filled with butterflies. It should feel liberating, but you’re unsure what – how – to feel. The past few years had led up to this moment, but it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel like you thought it would, like the victory you’d hoped it would’ve been.

As quick as it was, your relief is gone, quickly replaced by a sinking feeling of foreboding as you walk out of the classroom, congratulations falling on deaf ears.

–

It’s midnight, again, and you’re awake, tossing another empty bottle into the corner to join the others.

Your roommates were overjoyed for you, they cooked you a celebratory dinner, toasted to your success, and teased you about going clubbing with them that night. Yet you turned them down like you always did, because nothing felt right anymore.

That gaping hole in your heart, previously haphazardly filled with academics, now felt like a great, yawning chasm with no bottom in sight.

Your entire purpose had been fulfilled, and you had a bright future with job offers lying in your emails, untouched, but it didn’t feel complete.

You realised that you lost yourself.

In trying to become better than someone else, you’d lost yourself, and you didn’t know how to find a way back.

“[name], we’re going out, are you sure you don’t want to join us?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

A slight pause. “Okay. Also, your friend from before is at the front door. Should I let him in?”

You vividly recall the intoxicating, wine stained taste of Alhaitham’s lips against your own, the sensation of his fingers tangling in your hair, and his hand bracing your waist on this very balcony. The ring sits in your pocket, the tiny scrap of metal heavier than ever – a burning weight.

“Sure. Send him up here.” You manage.

Melancholic and dramatic were a few of the things you were when you were drunk, but you were also known to have made horrifyingly bad decisions.

You hear your roommate walk down the hallway and down the stairs. You hear the front door open and close. You take the ring out of your pocket and start turning it over in your hands, pacing around your balcony all the while.

A knock on your door, and you snap to attention, waiting a while before weakly calling for him to enter.

The door slowly creaks open, and his silhouette fills the doorframe. He leans against it, seemingly unsure of whether or not to fully enter.

A long silence ensues.

“Are you here to take your ring back?” You start, holding it out.

“Oh. Yeah.” But he doesn’t cross the room. So you do. You walk toward the door, stepping into the light of the hallway as he steps back.

His cheeks are flushed, gaze darting and fleeting.

With more daring than you’d ever displayed, you grab his hand and slide the ring back on, marvelling at his fingers – long, slender, pale. Pretty. A scholar’s hands.

“Thanks.” He murmurs, looking up from your hands, meeting your eyes for the first time.

The soft look is back again.

“Congratulations, by the way.” He starts, removing his hands from yours. “Professor said we were going to share valedictorian.”

You nod, suddenly immensely uncomfortable. “Not surprised.”

He nods as well, seemingly sheepishly, muttering something under his breath that you don’t catch.

“What was that?”

“Kaveh said that if I don’t tell you tonight, he’d tell you himself.”

“Well tell him that I said thanks.”

He rubs his face with his hand, exasperated. “No, not congratulations,”

“Then what?”

He gives you a long look.

“Are you going to stare at me all night?”

“Archons, I don’t know what you do to me.” He takes your face in his hands and brings your lips to his.

It all feels so right. Alhaitham tastes just as intoxicating as he did the first time, only now, there’s a fervour behind his movements. The cherry wine on his lips is exhilaratingly rich. You could get drunk off his taste alone.

His hands boldly move down your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin – in return, your hands wander his torso, teasingly skimming the skin beneath his shirt. He shudders, pulling away, although the sheer intensity of his gaze tells you that he won’t be leaving you this time.

“Does that tell you what I'm here to tell you?”

“Might have to explain a little more,” You rasp, catching your breath.

Some sort of restraint within his self control snaps, and he pushes you into your room, locking your door behind you.

In light of what happened after that, you were tremendously grateful that your roommates had left to go clubbing.

–

Neither of you were sure what it was.

The morning after, he’d left before you woke up. Rather than feeling betrayed, you appreciated his absence, as it gave you time to gather your scattered, alcohol imbued thoughts.

It soon became a regular thing, where he’d stop by your shared house – that you’d never given him the address to (although he later explained that he got it from Kaveh) – to see you. It wasn’t always a hook up, sometimes he dropped by in the middle of the day if you were around, and made conversation.

The first few nights, however, were actively avoided. He would always hurriedly change the topic or avoid the question, averting your gaze. But it didn’t matter now – or so you thought – as he sat on your bed, watching you read.

A month ago, you’d have kicked him out without a second thought, but here you were, making idle conversation about something as ordinary as TV shows and work with him while you read.

It felt nice – right. It felt like you’d known each other for years when you were intent on resenting him for your entire college career. It felt so secure that you’d forget why you hated him.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked, flipping through one of the novels lying on the bedside table.

“You.”

Alhaitham rolls his eyes. “Of course I am.”

You hit him lightly with your book. “Pretentious little shit.”

“Wounded.” He deadpans, setting the book back down.

“Seriously though, I find it so weird that you’re sitting on my bed and making normal conversation with me when a year ago I’d have given you a black eye if you showed up to my house unannounced.”

He frowns. “Why?”

You level him with a blank stare. “Are you being sarcastic?”

He shakes his head, expression genuine.

“You’re not kidding?” You set aside your book, leaning in. “I hated you, you know that, right?”

“What?” His expression is one of genuine surprise as he takes in the apparently new information. “Since when? Why?”

“You have to be kidding me.” You laugh at the comical nature of it all. “You didn’t know?”

He stares at you, mouth half open in shock. “The whole time?”

You nod.

He lies down on your bed, still digesting the discovery. “I thought…”

“What did you think?”

“Your friends always just said that you didn’t socialise a lot, I thought you just didn’t know how to socialise or something,”

You sit and observe him in silence for a while.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m surprised” he runs a hand through his steel grey hair. “It was so obvious, now that I think about it. How could I have not realised?”

“Your turn. Tell me.” You suddenly say, lying down next to him. “What did you want to tell me the first night you visited me?”

He goes quiet. He’s quiet for so long that you have to check if he’s still awake. His gaze is pointed at your ceiling, the glow in the dark stars there.

“I’ve been somewhat in love with you for the longest time.” He finally admits, voice thick.

“You what?” You sit up, mouth agape. “What the fuck?”

“If you want me to leave, I’ll go.” He says, sitting up as well. “I figured I should tell you eventually, and that time is now.”

Quiet ensues, as it so often does when you’re around each other. Not an uncomfortable sort of quiet – the quiet that speaks louder than words.

You’d both been blind the whole time. You, for your infatuation with him – with beating him, with his person, with his attitude and, though you’d never admit it to him, his looks – and him, with his one sided love for you.

And though you’d both been too near-sighted to see the other person in their entirety, now your cracks are showing. The recesses in his facade of steel, and the fractures in your mask of indifference.

Two puzzle pieces. Pieces that could mould to each other, shaping and weathering with time.

So when he makes to leave, you grab his hand. A silent question. The tension eases from his shoulders, and Alhaitham pulls you off the bed, wrapping you in his arms.

The past few weeks with him have proven nothing but the possibility of loving him. That the hatred that you’d accumulated over months of blind infatuation masked the presence of something far more confronting.

You couldn’t recognise yourself in the mirror anymore. So much of you was missing. But maybe, the two of you could find yourselves in each other.

written by @delat1ne, published 27th of August 2023

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rockingrobin69 · 1 year ago

Text

Tiny snippet from imperfection, sad and a little sweet.

When Draco was twenty-one years old, he went to buy new towels.

Harry had his eye set on this purple monstrosity, extremely fluffy and very soft and terribly, horribly over-priced. Draco’s allowance hadn’t come through that month (or the one before), but more important was the uncontrollable urge to give Harry everything: anything he could want, ice-lollies and royal-blue pyjamas and another jumper, why the hell not. To spoil Harry rotten, the way he was always meant to be, to surround him with so much love he’d forget for a moment he was ever without it.

Draco wasn’t new to loving someone. Not, even, to doing so obsessively, inexorably. What was new was the look in Harry’s eyes, was being able to hold his hand in public (in—most places in the city). Was the way Harry said his name, the way his courage was stupidly infectious and his heart so big it didn’t fit in his chest, kept coming out in his smiles and in his hands, warm and soft and always generously offered.

Harry was only visiting. He didn’t, technically, live in Draco’s flat, but he didn’t, technically, have to return to Glasgow for another three weeks.

They made do with the time.

And Draco insisted that Harry must have his own things: his own bathrobe, his own pyjamas, his own toothbrush (fucking—gross, Harry!) and his own towel. Bringing them here, to the shopping centre with the terrible, tacky shop with the terrible, tacky things Harry wanted that terrible, tacky Draco would give his life to get for him.

Not in a dramatic way. In a—subdued, quiet way. In an utterly devoted, hopeless way that shouldn’t have felt nice, that still did. Everything felt nice about Harry. Everything but—

No, that wasn’t Harry’s fault, not even a little. Draco being disgusting and horrible was always meant to be kept secret. And it worked, when Harry lived in Glasgow and Draco in Oxford, it worked when they didn’t spend all their time together, but summer was long and tight and close and… and… and Draco didn’t know how to do this. To bare himself without fleeing, to give what he previously thought wasn’t in him, what couldn’t have been.

(Such as: his heart. Strange, no, that it actually belonged to him, when it never felt like it before. When it was wrapped so tight in strings upon strings, tying it to—other places, other people).

And Harry gave back. Everything Draco wanted to hand him, Harry insisted to return. To hold with care all of Draco’s sharp edges. And Draco was worried that he’d keep holding, even after Draco started to crack, and end up with hands full of shards of cutting Draco, end up—hurt.

Harry held the towel very close to his body. A bit like he worried someone might try to snatch it from him. Draco hated the people who raised him (a familiar, anchoring anger) and, out of spite, took his hand.

“Hey,” soft, like the towel. Harry looked up, his smile focusing, turning un-lost.

“Hi. Sorry. Fuck, you’re cold! C’mere.” Wrapping himself around Draco (uncaring for sharp, sharp edges). “It’s a bit expensive, though. There’s another set at half the price in—”

“Harry,” Draco said, “shut up. It’s from me.”

Meaning: it’s not enough for what I want to give you, for what I wish I could. (And Draco’s sad bank statement would be a worry for another day. He could do more hours at the book shop, if Father didn’t… if he stayed in Beijing for a little bit longer).

Harry squeezed him tighter. “You’re so sweet,” he said, and when Draco scoffed, “no, really,” and when Draco scoffed louder, “you are. You’re so—shut up, you’re maybe the sweetest person I’ve ever met, and—”

“Have you? met me, I mean. There’s not a single thing about me that’s sweet.”

“Your lips are sweet,” Harry said slyly. Draco refused to blush.

“Your hand is sweet,” Harry said, and brought it to his mouth for a chaste kiss.

“Your—”

“We’re in public, you fiend,” Draco said breathlessly, when Harry did no more than kiss the inside of his palm. Harry, being a fiend, laughed.

“God. I’m so fucking into you. It’s—come here,” drawing his face up to be kissed, not letting him shy away. Kissed the tip of his nose and his cheek and his left eyebrow. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Draco couldn’t even attempt coherency. Outmatched, overwhelmed with the constant onslaught, Harry-Harry-Harry all the time, and so warm and so sweet and so there, for a whole week now he was there, staying for the month. What… how could Draco defend against him?

So he pushed away, rolled his eyes, hid his red-red cheeks in Harry’s shoulder and didn’t cry. Didn’t even wish to. It was very bright in the shop and the centre was overcrowded and too noisy, and inside it they were huddled together, a bubble of fluffy, purple towel, and them.

It had to be enough. This month, this—whatever Harry would give him, it had to be enough. Draco would be grateful and suffice with it, and not beg for more. And not be greedy, because greed was a punishable offence and terribly gauche and Draco was better than that, was a Malfoy, was a—yes, all that.

So they bought the fucking towel. Then went home, and watched a film, and ate ramen, and sat very close to each other, sharp edges and all.

#900-ish words #drarry fic #sweetness - mostly #fluff and a touch of angst #snippet of the whumpy one #considering reading the whole fic? please have a look at the TWs #they are plentiful and not at all exaggerated #this snippet is (miraculously) trigger warning free

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gumii-bearr · 18 days ago

Text

❝ not even a little ❞

summary: megumi fushiguro is your roommate, he's also a scary guy... a scary guy that's weak for you.

featuring... megumi fushiguro

content warning: MDNI (18+), afab!reader, roommate!megumi, college!au, angst, fluff!!, alcohol, vomiting (from being so drunk), mentions of weed, hangovers, reader cries a few times, slow burn ish, these two are pissing me off, smut, dirty talk, cunnilingus, blowjobs, handjobs, fingering, cum eating, virginity loss (?), mentions of a cheating ex (there is Hana slander im sorry), emotionally stunted megumi, swearing, megumi is so bad at feelings oh my god, ozawa x yuji mentions

word count: 13.8k

author's note: MEOW– guys i been working hard on this FUCKER!

chapter two

You’re pretty sure he hates you.

Your new roommate, that is.

“Fushiguro, right?” You led with friendliness, hoping to win him over with your charming personality and half the share of the rent. But he was beyond intimidating, standing at the front door, eyes slanted and harsh with boredom. His hair was messy but it almost seemed intentional with how much it complimented and framed his angular face.

He was gorgeous.

Yuko had neglected to tell you just how attractive your new roommate would be when she sent you the address the day before. Though, it made sense that she wouldn’t notice since she’s dating Itadori, not his old roommate.

He looked you up and down as you stood at his front door, a nervous smile twinging at your lips as an awkward tension consumed you. Though he didn’t seem overly bothered by the awkwardness, simply humming in acknowledgement of his name before standing aside to let you into his apartment.

It was nice; very organised for a guy, you thought. He wordlessly led you to your new room, which was Yuji’s old room, and gave you the rundown of the rent and utilities while you tried to not melt at the deep smoothness of his voice.

What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

“You didn’t tell me he was hot, Ozawa,” you grumble as you tighten the group head into the coffee machine. It’s quiet in the cafe that day, just you and Yuko behind the counter trying to shake off your lack of sleep with iced coffees and fries from the stainless steel bowl sitting at the kitchen window. The line chef doesn’t care that you’re stealing the fries, too busy scrolling on his phone and attempting to blink away his hangover.

Yuko takes a sip of her coffee, her brows knit in confusion, “who?”

“Fushiguro,” you clarify, pressing buttons on the coffee machine.

Yuko was your friend from high school and she was the one that hooked you up with the apartment. All she told you was that he was Yuji’s best friend and old roommate before she and Yuji moved in together. She told you he was in his second year of college, he needed help with the rent and that he was a nice guy.

“You told me he was nice, too.”

“Fushiguro is nice,” Yuko retorts, restocking the paper cups next to the coffee machine.

You give her a look, “nice my ass.”

“You just said he was hot!” she laughs at that, nudging your shoulder playfully.

“You can be hot and mean at the same time, they’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Mm,” she hums, “sounds like your type.”

“Rude,” you mutter.

The bell above the door dings, your eyes peeking over the coffee machine to spot Yuji walking in with a wide smile, “hi baby!”

Yuko grins, “Hey, Yuji.” She leans over the counter, allowing Yuji to press a kiss against her cheek with a loud muah!

“What’s up?” Yuji asks curiously, letting his chin rest in his own palm.

“Y/N was just telling me about her first night in her new place,” Yuko replies.

“Ooh!” Yuji sings.

“She said he’s hot,” Yuko giggles.

A big smile spills across Yuji’s face and he teasingly wiggles his brows, “you got a crush?”

“No,” you say defensively. “I don’t even know him.”

“You can crush on someone and not know them,” Yuji shrugs.

“I don’t think you can.”

Yuji tuts, “ah-ah! Jennifer Lawrence, I don’t know her, but I have a crush on her.”

You look to Yuko, “you gonna let him say that?”

Yuko shrugs sheepishly, “I have a crush on her too so I think it’s okay.”

Yuji points at her, “see?”

You just playfully roll your eyes, “but seriously… What's the secret? Cus I think he already wants me to move out.”

“Fushiguro just takes time to warm up to people,” Yuji explains. “Just give it time.”

You wonder how long it’ll take for him to warm up to you. You’re a friendly person and you’re pretty bubbly but he just intimidates the hell out of you. But his apartment was way nicer than any of the other apartments near campus. And bonus points because the rent was rather cheap compared to other places you’d seen. So you can’t screw this up.

But again, you’re pretty sure he hated you.

He was always grumbling around and seemed to get annoyed when you would put the dishes away in the wrong spots (though he never outright told you this). And he seemed to get annoyed when you were in a shared space, either sitting down on the floor in front of the TV to study or at the kitchen counter with your textbooks strewn about.

But no way in hell were you going to poke the bear and ask him if he hated you.

Because Megumi Fushiguro was a scary guy.

You think you’ve screwed yourself when Megumi makes a bee-line for you a few weeks later.

You’re sitting at your desk in your room with the door slightly open. You’re focused on the essay you’re trying to edit but it’s hard to ignore the dark and brooding cloud that is Megumi Fushiguro.

“You touch my shit?” He asks. It doesn’t sound mean or accusing but just the depth of his voice alone makes you nervous.

“Huh?” You squeak out, eyes shifting nervously.

“My clothes,” he holds out a folded shirt for emphasis, his other hand holding your door frame (and jesus christ his muscles look so good).

Fuck.

You gulp, “u-uh, yeah, I did. I needed more darks so I just… used some of yours…”

Megumi just stares at you, steely eyes narrow and harsh.

You smile sheepishly, though it’s not really a smile, more of a nervous twitch in your lips, “I’m sorry–”

“Just,” Megumi starts before he sighs, “don’t touch my shit.”

You nod quickly, “right. I’m sorry.”

It’s funny.

You’ve only been here for a few weeks and Megumi is growing more and more frustrated by you.

How you always manage to be there when he’s trying to use the shower or the kitchen or do his laundry. He realises the irony given you’re his fucking roommate but he can’t cope with this shit.

He finds himself staring when you walk around in tiny shorts and tight tank tops. Or when you slink down the hallway wrapped in a towel like he can’t see you. Or when you stretch your arms above your head while you’re studying, your shirt riding up and giving him the perfect view of your tummy–

Megumi stands outside the bathroom door, towel and a change of clothes in hand.

He knew girls took a while in the shower but this? You’d been in there for around fifteen minutes, the shower running and your music playing softly from inside. Megumi and Yuji used to function fine with one bathroom between the two of them, but sharing with you, a girl, proved to be a little different.

“M’so sorry,” you squeak as you pull the door open, your hair wet and combed back, your face free of your usual makeup.

“S’fine,” Megumi murmurs.

You quickly duck your head and slink away and Megumi just fucking stares. His breath gets caught in his throat at the sight of your towel pulled tight around your body, giving him a perfect view of the outline of your ass. His eyes raked over your bare shoulders and he almost felt dizzy at the lingering smell of your strawberry scented shampoo.

Megumi coughed into his fist, feeling a certain stiffness in his pants making itself known. It’d been a while since he got laid so he’d just deal with it using a cold shower and thinking about violent video games or something.

You’re finding you have the same problem.

You feel your face flush when he comes home from the gym in compression shirts and sweatpants, an earbud stuck in his ear and his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. And you just sit there in the living room gawking like an idiot as he mumbles an annoyed ‘hey’ then proceeds to ignore you the rest of the night.

He’s caught you staring a few times, especially when you’re waiting for him to get out of the shower so you can use the bathroom and he emerges wrapped in nothing but a towel, his hair dripping water down his pale chest.

And you totally check him out before slapping a hand over your eyes, cheeks flushed as you squeak out an embarrassed, “sorry!”

He just rolls his eyes with a huff and disappears into his room, leaving you to bang your head against the wall because you’re so dumb.

Yuji was right, you do have a crush.

It’s truly a tragic predicament because he seems to have no interest in you. He barely acknowledges you, humming when you greet him and brushing past you when you’re using a shared space at the same time. It’s almost as if he’s actively avoiding you.

“I made you a coffee,” you’re trying to break the ice somehow because Megumi is so unbelievably unreadable that it hurts.

Megumi looks at you, half-lidded eyes tired and bored as he studies your nervous expression. You place the mug of hot coffee on the counter next to his set up of textbooks, notebooks, pens and his laptop.

You fiddle with your hands, “it’s just coffee and milk, I didn’t know if you wanted sugar–”

“Thanks,” he simply says, nodding with a tight-lipped smile before sticking his earbud back in his ear.

You stand there dumbfounded for a moment before you awkwardly shuffle off to your room. Completely missing how Megumi watches you leave.

Once midterms roll around, Megumi disappears off the face of the earth. You don’t see him for weeks because he’s either cooped up in his room or he stays late on campus and you hear him get home at stupid hours of the night.

The next time you see him is at a party.

The frat house you’re at is packed with college students all at varying stages of drunkenness. You’ve maybe had half a drink, deciding to hide away in the kitchen and people-watch. Yuji and Yuko convinced you to come along since midterms were over and the stress swallowing the entire college campus had seemed to somewhat dissipate.

One party wouldn’t hurt.

“Yooo! Y/N you made it!” Yuji exclaims, an arm thrown around Yuko’s shoulders, the two of them clutching red plastic cups full of some mysteriously coloured alcohol.

“Yeah, I thought I’d try and make some friends,” you reply as Yuko hands you a drink.

“Damn, then what are we?” Yuji’s teases, gesturing between himself and Yuko.

You roll your eyes playfully, “more friends, Itadori,” you clarify.

Yuji was a guy that was easy to get along with, always making friends no matter where he went. You became fast friends with Yuji after he and Yuko started dating since you were instrumental in convincing Yuko to give her number to him way back when.

“You and Fushiguro friends yet?” Yuko asked curiously, slightly yelling over the music.

You grit your teeth, “don’t think so. I put the dishes away wrong once and I think he’s hated me ever since.”

Yuji blows a raspberry, “yeah right, you should try and talk to him tonight, maybe hit on him, hm?” Yuji wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“Why tonight?” You ask curiously.

“Cus he looks lonely,” Yuji points to the other end of the room.

You follow his finger and spot that familiar mop of messy black hair rather quickly. He’s leaning against the wall cradling a drink and damn he looks good in the black shirt he’s wearing, allowing you to totally check out and gawk at his lean muscular arms. He looks beyond bored, his steely blue eyes scanning the crowd with complete disinterest.

You didn’t even know he was coming to this thing and now you’re suddenly motivated to stay.

You gulp down the lump in your throat before squeezing the plastic cup of whatever the fuck in your hand. You lift it to your lips and chuck it back, the bitter alcohol burning your throat on the way down.

“Atta girl!” Yuji exclaims, “go get your man!”

“You’re for the girls, you know that, Yuji?” You grin.

“I’ve been told,” he beams happily.

You take Yuko’s drink off her and quickly throw hers back too, needing some liquid courage to get you over there because at least if you say something stupid, you can blame it on the alcohol.

“Okay, maybe don’t overdo it,” Yuko pats your shoulder.

You take in a breath before nodding and squeezing past your friends, making your way toward your roommate. You didn’t even know he would be at this party, that’s how little you talk to one another. Yet you find yourself getting nervous and stupid around him.

You’re barely five meters away from him when you stop dead in your tracks.

A blonde girl approaches Megumi, her shoulder bumping his as she leans against the wall next to him. He eyes her before taking a sip of his drink. You don’t hear what she says but he seems vaguely amused by it and you find yourself almost jealous that some random girl managed to get more emotion out of Megumi in the last two seconds than you have in the past two months.

Your heart thumps in your chest and you suddenly feel small and ridiculous. You clear your throat and quickly spin on your heel, heart thumping in your ears as you pick up another drink of whatever crazy jungle juice they’re serving at this frat party and chuck it back.

He doesn’t even know it and he just crushed your spirit.

“Uh oh,” Yuji grits his teeth.

“Why’s she coming back?” Yuko asks Yuji.

“I’m going to stand on a highway,” you grin maniacally. Yuko and Yuji peer behind you and spot the same blonde girl talking to Megumi, only this time she’s turned toward him, giving him her undivided attention as she yaps on about something. Megumi still seems vaguely uninterested but he nods along slowly.

“Yikes,” Yuji cringes, “not him talking to his ex.”

“Ex?” you squeak out.

Yuko nudges Yuji’s shoulder, giving him a ‘what the fuck, bro?’ look. Yuji quickly stammers, “I-I mean, they’ve been broken up for like two years, there’s nothing there.”

You don’t believe him for a second because it certainly didn’t look like nothing. You peek back over your shoulder and watch as Megumi chugs the rest of his drink and leaves, the blonde girl trailing behind him. Great, they’re gonna go have sex and you’re stuck having a crush on your roommate who will probably kick you out when he gets back with her.

Great.

You turn back to Yuji and Yuko with a wide-eyed nervous smile.

Yuji grits his teeth, “you okay, Y/N?”

You squeak, “mhm, so good!”

Yuko and Yuji share a look with each other before Yuko sighs, “he’s not worth it anyway, you’re a catch, if he can’t see it then he’s stupid.”

You know she’s trying to make you feel better and you’re a relatively confident person, but when you start to crush on someone and they don’t offer any kind of reciprocation for your feelings, you start to feel a little… not so confident.

Yuko and Yuji try to make you feel better, introducing you to their other friend Nobara who is much more aggressive in her pep talk.

“You’re a hot, sexy mama!” Nobara shakes your shoulders, her speech slurred slightly. “Who cares about that emo hoe anyway!”

You want to laugh but she honestly kind of scares you.

“You gotta get laid by some other guy! A hot guy!” Nobara hiccups, taking another swig from her cup. “Maybe fuck your ex or something! Or, or, or! Fuck one of Fushiguro’s classmates!”

“Uh, I don’t think losing my virginity at a party is exactly ideal,” you reply.

Nobara’s eyes bulge out of her head, “you’re a virgin!?” She says it so loud that a few heads turn and you shush her quickly.

“Tell the whole campus why don’t you?” You scold in a hushed tone.

“You’re hot though, babe,” she hiccups again. “You could pull anyone!”

“Funny.”

“I’m serious!”

You let loose after that, deciding to drink and do shots to avoid thinking about Megumi as if you don’t keep looking for him all night. You’re always peeking over your shoulder, searching for him in the crowd and flat out ignoring the guys Nobara and Yuko attempt to introduce you to.

You’re not interested in the pre-med students or the business students or whatever the fuck.

You’re more interested in the tall, lean, handsome vet student who happens to be your roommate and who you haven’t seen all night.

After many more rounds of shots, a game of beer pong and poorly deciding to bet Yuji you could drink him under the table; you’re so drunk. You stumble around the party, hanging off Yuji, Nobara and Yuko since they are clearly equally as drunk as you with how they encourage your behaviour.

Your head is fucking spinning and you feel like you’re going to be sick.

You stumble around the house, clutching the wall and stair bannister as you attempt to find the bathroom. You open a few random doors, spotting people making out, some other people fighting before you finally find the bathroom, bile rising in your throat and your vision going fuzzy. You find a bunch of people smoking what smells like weed in the bathroom, the smell hitting you in the face like a brick wall.

They all start yelling at you to shut the door and you quickly slam it shut before you stumble back down the stairs, racing to the back door as you feel the vomit start to claw up your throat. You shove the door open, the outside air freezing cold and nipping at your hot skin.

You half crawl toward the back fence, your stupid heels betraying you as you pathetically fall to your knees and throw your guts up in the garden.

Your brain is on fire and your stomach aches as you throw up all the alcohol in your system. You really shouldn’t have been mixing your alcohols, but Nobara was so convincing and Megumi had just stomped on your heart.

You suddenly feel two cold hands against your head, brushing over your ears as they pull your hair into a makeshift ponytail, holding it out of your face as you throw up. You’re thankful to whatever stranger is helping you out right now because you feel awful.

Tears prick at your eyes, a mix of tears and mascara running down your face because you really fucking hate throwing up and you really hate Megumi Fushiguro right now.

“You okay?” The man’s voice is distant and a little fuzzy.

You wave him off, “m’fine.”

“You’re crying,” he says softly, listening as you sniffle and wipe your tears away with the ball of your palm. There’s a pause, the man still holding your hair back, “why’re you crying?”

You shrug, “cus I’m sick and I’m s’drunk and some stoners yelled at me and roommate is an ass.”

He hums, “what’d he do? …Your roommate?”

“Nothing,” you whine with a soft sniffle.

“Nothing?” He repeats, his voice sounding slightly amused.

“Nothing,” you say again, “that’s the problem.”

There’s a pause. “Why’s that a problem?”

You groan quietly, “why’re you grillin’ me? I’m s’drunk.”

He chuckles softly, “right, sorry.”

You don’t even know this guy and you immediately start rambling, “my friends helped me find a roommate and everyone neglected to tell me he ws’ hot! And I’m tryin’ to get him to like, notice me, but he’s so mean and I’m like ninety-nine percent sure he hates me. Then he was with his ex at this party right before I ws’ gonna go talk to him! Can you believe that?”

“Wow, he is an ass,” the man says matter-of-factly, validating your feelings.

“Thank you,” you slur before you feel your tummy do a flip and you’re throwing up in the garden again. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, smearing your lipgloss messily. You sniffle again, “m’sorry stranger.”

“S’okay,” he rubs your shoulder, still holding your hair back.

You wake up the next morning with the most vicious headache.

You roll over with a groan, your head pounding and your mouth tasting of acid and whatever the hell was in that jungle juice last night. You press your face into your pillow and groan softly, your entire body feeling like shit. After a few painful seconds, you pry your eyes open, your vision fuzzy and your eyes sore.

You’re in your bed.

Now how the fuck did you get here?

You sit up slowly, your head pounding and spinning with a wonderfully terrible hangover. You spot your shoes on the floor of your room, neatly sitting next to your desk along with your folded jacket. You half remember someone taking you home, maybe it was Yuji? Fuck, you better thank him.

You take your phone off your side table (which was miraculously put on charge last night) and search for Yuko’s number, you press her name and the phone rings a few times before she answers.

“H-Hello?” Yuko groans, her voice saturated with exhaustion.

“Are you as lucid as I am?” You cringe, rubbing your eyes with the ball of your palm.

You hear Yuko muffle a groan into her pillow, clearly as insanely hungover as you, “we got so drunk.”

“Is Itadori okay?” you ask with a wince.

“He’s throwing up in the shower right now,” she replies.

“That’s rough,” you want to laugh but it hurts too much.

“Well he did crash the beer pong and drank half a bottle of midori so,” she trails off.

“Can you tell him thanks for taking me home?” you sigh.

Yuko pauses, “Yuji didn’t take you home.”

Huh?

“What?” you sit up in bed.

“Babe, Yuji was so drunk he tried to pet a rat in the street, he did not take you home,” she says.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Then who did?”

“Y/N… Fushiguro took you home.”

What?

—

Megumi nurses a drink in his hand as he watches you from across the room. He can’t help the way his chest tightens as he hears you laugh at something Yuji says, your nose scrunching cutely as you let out a bubbly laugh.

He also can’t help the way his eyes drift down your body, thinking you look cute with your hair done like that. You’re usually wearing baggy sweaters and shorts around the house, he’s never seen this outfit before and he really likes it.

He thinks you look pretty. You always look pretty but this outfit in particular has him short-circuiting like a teenager.

He thinks back to when he got unnecessarily mad at you over washing his clothes and how he’ll never fucking admit it but they smelled so good. He’s not sure what the hell you used to wash them but they smelled amazing, they smelled like you.

Megumi has to tear his eyes away when his gaze drops to your cute little ass in that mini skirt. He feels like a perv. He lives with you for god sake, he can’t be thinking such things about his roommate. Not when he has to live with you for the next few years.

Megumi takes a long swig of his drink, attempting to stifle the thoughts with terrible tasting alcohol and pure willpower.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see Megumi Fushiguro at a party.”

Megumi has to stop himself from rolling his eyes when he hears her voice.

Hana leans against the wall beside him with a sly grin on her face, her shoulder bumping his. He knows she’s doing it just to annoy him, of course she is.

“Why’re you talking to me?” Megumi grumbles out, refusing to give her the satisfaction of eye contact as he sips on his drink because he’s gonna need alcohol or a fucking hammer to the head to get him through this interaction.

“Can’t say hi to my ex-boyfriend?” She teases, leaning her head toward him.

Megumi rolls his eyes for real this time, “you’ve said hi.”

“Oh, boo, you’re so not fun,” Hana playfully shoves his shoulder.

Megumi lets out a huffed fake laugh, “I’m really torn up about it.”

Hana talks to him about some random bullshit and Megumi isn’t even listening because he knows she’s drunk and she would be stupid to approach him sober. His eyes are instead glued to you, feeling himself get slightly jealous when Yuji puts a hand on your back to lead to toward the kitchen–

“–and you’re still mad,” Hana slurs. Megumi didn’t hear a word she said up until now.

Megumi side-eyes her, feeling rather annoyed by her incessant nagging, “you done?”

Hana rolls her eyes, “I’m just saying you could at least have a civil conversation.”

Megumi feels his eye twitch, “I think you lose civil-conversation privileges when you– I don’t know– lie and cheat?”

Hana scoffs and Megumi decides he doesn’t want to listen to her bullshit anymore and promptly walks off, shoving his hands in his pockets as he attempts to lose Hana in the crowd. She follows him around like some stupid puppy for a while before growing bored, probably going off to annoy some other poor sucker.

She also seems to lose interest when she notices Megumi simply doesn’t care anymore. She does this sometimes, drunkenly messaging him every few months only for him to promptly block her account without a word. He’s starting to think she’s the one that won’t move on.

Megumi sighs when he steps outside into the backyard, sitting down on the edge of the porch and deciding to look busy by scrolling on his phone. It’s quieter outside, the backyard mostly empty apart from a few people smoking cigarettes and vaping by the back fence.

Megumi Fushiguro is lonely.

Lonely in the sense that after Hana, he became decidedly more stoic and standoffish. She was his first serious girlfriend and he was stupid and naive for so long before Yuji and Nobara pointed out the rather obvious red flags that Megumi was painfully unaware of.

Because he was young and she was a little older, so she had to know better, right?

Maybe he really was too clingy and maybe he really did need to stop asking to hang out all the time. He felt utterly stupid when he found out she was cheating on him. It made sense, he was too clingy, too needy, too much.

Megumi reverted back in on himself for a long time, becoming sad and angry before he just stopped giving a shit.

He did a lot to forget about the anger and pain he felt from Hana.

He slept around to forget about her, becoming reserved and aloof over time. He eventually did get over it because why the fuck was it his fault that she cheated on him?

But the things she made him feel about himself lingered.

Made him wonder if he really was too needy and clingy to be a good boyfriend. Maybe he wasn’t respectful enough of a person’s space and he needed to stop trying so hard.

He didn’t go on dates much, everyone always thought he was too mean or rude to ever ask a girl on a date. Sure he slept with girls but they were quick to leave right after with a “yeah, yeah… I can call you if you want?”

If you want.

He just felt embarrassed, letting them gather their clothes and leave his apartment or usher him out of theirs while half-assed promising to text him later. Megumi didn’t know who was using who at that point.

Megumi is shaken from his thoughts when a body almost falls into him. He goes to argue with whoever the fuck can’t watch their step when he sees you.

Your shoes half fall off as you crawl toward the back fence to hurl up everything in your stomach. Megumi quickly slips his phone in his pocket and strides across the lawn toward you.

You’re totally out of it.

Megumi pulls your hair out of your face as you vomit, tears slipping down your cheeks. Your skirt is riding up and your top is pulled low on your chest.

“You okay?” Megumi asks softly, maybe one of the very few things he’s ever said to you. He gently adjusts your top, pulling the strap back onto your shoulder and pulling it up a little to cover the lacy material of your bra. You obviously don’t realise you’re compromising yourself and he adjusts himself behind you to cover your skirt as it rides up your thighs.

There are guys who are nudging each other and pointing at you and Megumi’s gaze hardens on them, suddenly feeling agitated.

“M’fine,” you mumble out with a soft sniffle.

Megumi’s heart melts, “why’re you crying?”

You proceed to sniffle and pout while you tell him all about how your roommate is an ass… without realising you’re talking to your roommate.

He thinks it’s cute, finding you so adorably amusing with how animatedly you speak despite being rather drunk and sick. He finds it sad though that it took you being so drunk for him to sum up enough courage to talk to you.

It scared him how you made his heart hammer in his chest, how your mere gaze on him suddenly made him nervous. But he couldn’t stop himself from staring. You were too cute with your dorky little grin as you stood at his front door telling him all about how you were his new roommate. He made a mental note to curse Yuji out for not telling him Yuko’s friend was a pretty girl and not the six foot two fucking pro wrestler guy he made you sound like.

You can’t possibly have any more to throw up, your skin feverish and clammy as your fingers curl into the grass below you. Megumi rubs your shoulder gently before he feels you slump against him, sniffling and tiredly whimpering beside him.

Megumi goes stiff, unsure of what to do with you.

He should probably take you home.

“M’gonna take you home, okay?” Megumi says, feeling your body go a little more limp as you nod and pout in response.

Megumi easily picks you up, your legs dangling and your head falling against his chest, then he feels like he can’t breathe.

You look so pretty even when your skin flushes a little pale from being so sick and your baby hairs stick to your clammy skin. He carries you around the side of the house to avoid taking you back through the loud ass party.

You don’t make a peep as Megumi sits you in the passenger seat of his car, your head falling against the car window as he pulls your seatbelt over your shoulder, clipping it by your waist. He quickly sends Yuji a message to let him know he’s taking you home, though he doubts Yuji will pay attention to his phone since he seemed to be having a really good time taking shots and singing bad karaoke.

The car ride is silent and all Megumi can think about is what you said.

Maybe he kind of was being an ass to you. He hadn’t made much of an effort to get to know you or make you feel welcome because, in all honesty, you freak him out with how you made him feel without even trying.

So instead, he ignores you.

Pretending he doesn’t notice how your tongue pokes out from between your lips when you’re deep in focus, or how you always wear fuzzy socks around the house when you don’t have classes, or how you do a little jump to reach things on the higher shelves (which makes him melt), or how you still look at him with such kindness despite how piss poor he behaves around you.

Megumi holds you close as he opens your bedroom door, pushing it the rest of the way open to set you down on your bed. Your hair is messy and your clothes are disheveled, a little pout on your cute little lips as you sway slightly.

You fall back onto your bed, your head hitting the soft pillow. Megumi sighs before sitting on the edge of your bed, large hands reaching to pull your shoes off for you.

Your feet look like they hurt, little red blisters forming on your heels and toes. He gently pulls your shoes off and sets them down by your bedside table. You sigh with relief at the feeling of having your feet free of their heel prison.

Megumi breathes softly and just studies you for a moment. It’s dark in your room but he can see the gentle outline of your face and the curve of your cheek. Your room is quiet apart from your soft breaths and Megumi prays you can’t hear his thumping heart.

Megumi lets his eyes wander, unable to tear his gaze away from the soft lacy hem of your bra peeking over your top. His breath hitches in his throat and he suddenly feels disgusting for wondering if your panties match your bra— He closes his eyes, biting the inside of his lip.

You whine in your sleep, some of your hair falling in front of your face as you squirm. Without thinking, he reaches up and tucks some of your hair behind your ear, thumb brushing over your cheek.

You stir at the feeling and Megumi pulls away, scared he woke you.

“Mm, where’m I?” you slur, eyes still pressed closed.

“You’re home, don’t worry,” Megumi replies softly.

“Mm, okay,” you breathe, “thanks, Yuji…”

Megumi’s heart sinks but his face remains unchanged. Of course you’d think Yuji took you home, he’s your friend. Why would you Megumi do something like that for you?

He pulls away from you with a quiet sigh, “get some sleep, Y/N.”

—

“How do you know he took me home?” You ask, shaking your head slightly as you restock the mini fridge under the counter with milk.

You managed to shake off the hangover after three days of staying curled up in bed drinking water, throwing back ibuprofen and watching kitchen nightmares on your laptop with all the lights off. But now you’re back at work being blinded by the awful fluorescent lights and smelling of burnt coffee.

Yuko presses a button on the coffee machine, “he texted Yuji, told him he was gonna take you home,” Yuko replies, her hands on her hips.

You let out a shaky sigh, eyebrows furrowed in confusion because why would Megumi have taken you home when he seems so perpetually annoyed by you?

And how did he even find you? You remember the smell of the weed in the bathroom and people yelling at you, then you remember stumbling into the backyard like a bumbling fool, then—

Oh, no.

“I don’t even know where you went, you’re lucky Fushiguro kept an eye on you–”

“No!” You suddenly squeak.

Yuko gives you a dazed look, “what? What happened?”

You press your hands to your face, drawing out a muffled groan because it just fucking dawned on you who held your hair back in the garden that night.

“It was him!”

“What are you talking about? Who?”

“Fushiguro! He held my hair back in the garden! I called him an ass!” you whine.

Yuko pauses for a moment before she just starts laughing, pressing her hand to her mouth to muffle the sound. You look up at her with the most offended look on your face.

You throw a rag at her, “don’t laugh! I was so mean!”

“That’s one way to break the ice,” she giggles, flinching away from you as you playfully swat at her leg with another rag.

“Ozawa…” you whine, “he must be so mad at me.”

“He still took you home after that though? I think you’re overthinking it.”

“He should have left me there in that damp backyard in my own vomit!” you say dramatically. “No wonder he thinks I’m a fucking idiot.”

“I really doubt he thinks that,” Yuko rolls her eyes, becoming sick of this beating-around-the-bush mantra you’ve got going on.

“I have to pay all the rent for like, a year as an apology.”

“Can you even afford that?”

“No!”

You slug around for the rest of your shift, moping about behind the counter and wishing the ground would just swallow you whole. When the end of your shift rolls around, you feel more and more nervous about going home now that you’ve figured out you called Megumi an ass to his face.

Before you clean the coffee machine, you make a coffee to take home for him since he seems to always drink the coffees you make for him even if he seems annoyed by you interrupting his studying.

Your hands are shaking as you unlock the front door, holding a cup of hot coffee and a cinnamon bun in a paper back in your other hand. Your heart is in your throat as you push the door open, peeking inside.

You see Megumi from the front door, he’s sitting at his desk in the living room, laptop open and a few notebooks stacked beside him. Classes haven’t even ramped back up yet and he’s already studying.

You kick your shoes off and shuffle down the hall, heartbeat thumping in your ears and suddenly feeling a chill down your spine at the idea of facing your roommate who you insulted.

You clear your throat, “uh, h-hey.”

Megumi has his earbuds in but he notices you standing there in the corner of his eyes. He takes his earbuds out, “you okay?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “I got you a coffee.”

You place it down beside him. He doesn’t take his eyes off yours.

Your knees feel weak under his steely gaze. You quickly hand him the paper bag, “and a cinnamon bun.”

“Thanks,” he says simply.

There’s a long awkward pause before you huff out a shaky sigh, “listen, Fushiguro– I’m sorry about the other night when I like, threw up everywhere and called you an ass–”

“S’fine,” Megumi replies blankly.

“No, really, I was mean and rude and I didn’t mean it–”

“I know, idiot,” he cuts you off again, “seriously, it’s fine.”

Your lips form a tight line, eyebrows furrowed with worry because it’s not fine. You want to say more but you’re pretty sure Megumi doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. Which is understandable, you’re just happy he hasn’t kicked you out yet.

You toy with your fingers for a moment before you nod awkwardly, shuffling off toward your room. You miss as Megumi watches you leave again, feeling stupid for how bad he is at talking about his feelings.

You avoid Megumi like the plague after that.

You’re so utterly embarrassed by what you said and you can only imagine how mad he is about it but at least he’s doing you a favour by not mentioning it.

You disappear from any room he walks into, slinking by and apologising awkwardly when you take up too much time in the bathroom, or bowing your head and averting your gaze when he walks into the kitchen, you’re embarrassed and you feel awful, and it bothers you that Megumi is so vague and mysterious about how he feels about you, sure he took you home and pulled your dirty shoes off your feet and put you to bed. But he also gives you curt nods and vague responses that leave you wondering whether or not he likes you or just tolerates you.

Are you friends? Just roommates? Does he like you? Does he hate you?

You’ve got no earthly idea and the easiest way to survive in such a predicament is to just avoid the very thing that’s causing the problem.

And Megumi is so damn annoyed by it.

At first it was him who was avoiding you, hiding away in his room so he didn’t have to interact with you and now that he knows you’ve been trying to get him to notice you, he’s been trying to linger around nearby and sort of force the proximity because he has no idea how to approach you like a normal fucking person.

He reaches things for you on the top shelf when you can’t reach them, he makes sure to take your sweaters out of the washing machine so they don’t shrink, he even sets aside the caramel flavoured coffee pods for you because he knows they’re your favourite.

He’s bad at all of this. The talking part.

What if you think he’s too needy or too clingy or too much? That would just embarrass him even more than he already is.

Megumi lets you be, assuming that you’re probably regretting everything you said that night after he so blatantly blew you off when you brought home a coffee for him the other night.

But you talk again when your car doesn’t start.

“Fuck,” you groan, turning your key in the ignition for the third time in the past minute, the engine ticking, ticking, ticking before you give up. You whine and give a half-hearted punch to the steering wheel.

You knew this would happen eventually.

Your car is run down and sort of shitty. You have to basically shoulder check the driver’s side door to get it open and you can’t actually open one of the back doors anymore because it refuses to unlock. But you’re broke and the damn thing gets you from A to B, except for today.

It’s raining and your hair is stuck to your head from the mad dash you did from the front door to your car and now it won’t even start.

You’re basically drenched when you step back inside the front door.

“I thought you left already?” Megumi questions from the kitchen, holding a bowl of cereal in his hand.

“My stupid car won’t– oh,” you cut yourself off when your eyes meet with Megumi clearly fresh out of the shower.

He’s wearing grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips and no shirt, little droplets of water slipping down his broad shoulders and chest from his slightly damp hair. He’s looking at you with a bored expression, waiting for you to continue.

You clear your throat and decide the ceiling is so very interesting, “u-uh, yeah, my car won’t start, ‘m just gonna walk–”

“You’re gonna walk?” Megumi’s eyes narrow.

“I mean I’m poor so,” you give a sheepish laugh.

Megumi rolls his eyes, putting the bowl of cereal down on the counter and turning on his heel to pull his black hoodie off the couch, slipping it over his head.

“We’ll take my car,” he says, grabbing his keys off the side table beside the couch.

Your eyes widen, “huh? What– no, it’s fine–”

“Walking in this weather would be dumb,” Megumi grumbles, “just get in my car, idiot.”

You press your mouth shut and do as you're told, trailing behind him as he picks up his umbrella by the door, holding it over your head as you take the short walk to his car. Megumi holds the umbrella completely over you, the heavy rain completely drenching his left shoulder.

“You’re getting wet,” you point out.

“M’aware,” he retorts without looking at you.

Your shoulder bumps with Megumi’s bicep given the height difference between you. You’ve never been this close to him before, well, at least not sober. You never realised how much taller he is than you, it makes you feel kind of safe.

Megumi unlocks his car and opens the door for you, holding the umbrella completely over you until you’re safe in the passenger seat of his car. You curl your fingers around your tote bag nervously, Megumi getting in the driver’s seat.

“Thank you,” you squeak out.

Megumi starts up his car, his car being one of those ones that has a push button to start instead of a key, “I don’t mind,” he shrugs.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, your heart punching against your chest. You take a breath before you look over at Megumi.

“Do you hate me, Fushiguro?”

The question just hangs there and Megumi feels his heart falter at such a question because no, he doesn’t hate you. Not even a little.

It upsets him that you think he hates you, that you think so little of yourself that you let yourself get torn up over what he thinks of you.

He had no idea he was coming off that way, that you genuinely thought he hated you.

He opens his mouth to speak but it never comes out. He’s not sure what to say or what to do to make you see that hate is the furthest thing from his mind when it comes to you. But instead, Megumi’s mind is choked with thoughts and it’s so overwhelming that he just clutches the steering wheel and silently drives you to campus.

He still hasn’t spoken when he parks the car.

The two of you are silent for a moment before he hears you sniffle, his heart snapping in two at the mere sound of it.

“T-Thank you,” you murmur, quickly pushing the door open and shuffling out before Megumi can protest.

No. Fuck. No, he didn’t mean it like that.

“Y/N, wait,” he gets out of the driver’s side, umbrella clutched in his fist.

You’re holding your tote bag tight to your chest as you walk across the pavement in the pouring fucking rain.

“Y/N!” Megumi is behind you, his hand curling around your upper arm and stopping you in your tracks.

You pause, turning to face him, eyes glassy and doe-like as you stare up at him, “what is it?” you force out.

You both hope he says something, anything. He pants, his hair sticking to his face as his steely eyes show the first ounce of emotion you’ve seen from him.

“Y-You…” Megumi doesn’t stammer, he never does. “Take it,” he holds out the umbrella for you.

A silence hangs between you and you sigh, taking the umbrella from his grasp and opening it above your head, leaving him there in the carpark.

—

Megumi beat himself up over it for days.

He picks you up that same rainy afternoon, the two of you not uttering a single word to one another other than a ‘hey’ from him and a ‘thank you’ from you. He wants to tell you everything, that he’s really bad at talking about things and that he doesn’t hate you.

He’s not sure how to prove it to you, the words dying in his throat the moment he shares a room with you for more than five seconds. He’s not sure what to say or how to say it.

Hana always told him he talked too much. Which was crazy because Megumi was a man of very few words. But when the two of them would fight, he was always so adamant at resolving the issue and getting to the root of the problem instead of just letting it hang in the air and choke him.

He sometimes wonders if that’s why she cheated.

You don’t talk to Megumi for a while. Feeling small and embarrassed about asking him such a question when you knew deep down it wasn’t true and you just wanted to hear it from him.

But it hurt when he didn’t deny your question, when he just stayed silent and let you fuss over it for days. You’ve lost sleep, laying away at night and wondering if you should just talk to him.

Megumi tries to approach you, he really does.

He thinks about knocking on your bedroom door late at night but every time he finds himself standing outside, arm held up about to knock, he stops himself and wonders if he even deserves to talk to you.

If he even deserves to try again.

“I’m the best you’ll ever have.”

He knew it wasn’t true at face value. He knew Hana wasn’t good for him in the end, but it’s hard to ignore such bitterness coming from someone you used to love.

“Hey, Yuko,” you greet softly, phone pressed to your ear. “Can I ask a favour?”

“Of course… you okay, Y/N?” Yuko asks slowly, her voice gentle.

You pause, “I just… I need a ride to campus until I can get my car fixed. Would you and Itadori mind if I tagged along? I’ll give you fuel money.”

Yuko pauses this time, “…You didn’t ask Fushiguro?”

You toy with your fingers nervously, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She hums and nods, “We can take you, Y/N.”

Yuko knows you well enough to know that something happened. You spoke so timidly and she could tell you were nervously fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater. She would talk to Yuji about it; hopefully he could knock some sense into his best friend.

It's first thing Monday morning when you emerge from your room with your tote bag over your shoulder and your hair done in a messy claw clip. You look tired, bags forming under your eyes and you make a beeline for the door without even acknowledging Megumi.

“Do you need a ride?” Megumi sits up straighter on the couch and holds his keys up as if he didn’t set an alarm just to take you to class.

“Uh, no, thanks. Ozawa and Itadori are taking me,” you say sheepishly, barely offering him a glance.

Megumi’s heart cracks a little. He wants to say something, tell you he’s sorry and ask if he can please take you to class. But he doesn’t, mouth staying shut as he nods quickly, “right. Okay.”

You leave without another word, the apartment feeling awful and still without you. Megumi’s leg bounces nervously and his blunt nails scratch at the inside of his knee. He’s anxious and he wants to fix it so desperately but he feels like he’s only making it worse.

“Hey, Y/N,” Yuji greets with a warm smile.

You offer him a half smile before getting in the back seat. Yuko and Yuji share a look with one another before Yuji backs out of the apartment parking lot. There’s an intensity hanging in the air and you just stare out the window with a blank expression, vaguely paying attention to the music on the radio.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Yuji asks softly, eyeing you through the rearview mirror.

“M’fine,” you whisper back, too afraid to trust your voice.

“What happened?” Yuko reaches back between the seats to touch your knee affectionately.

You shrug, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Yuko pulls her hand away from you and glances at her boyfriend, the two of them making a silent agreement to talk to Fushiguro after dropping you off instead of going to their morning classes.

Yuji slams the door open, nearly sending Megumi flying into the roof with how loud it was, “Fushiguro!”

“The fuck are you yelling for?” Megumi spits, gaze softening slightly after realising Yuko was trailing behind Yuji.

Yuko frowns, “what did you say to Y/N?”

“What?”

“She was upset, Fushiguro,” Yuji crosses his arms, “what did you say to her?”

“Nothing,” Megumi defends quickly.

“Then why is she upset?” Yuko’s brows furrow.

Megumi sighs, “she just asked me if I hated her–”

Yuji cuts him off, “and what did you say?”

Megumi averts his gaze, “nothing.”

“You said what?” Yuko presses.

“I didn’t know what to say–”

“You say, ‘no Y/N, I don’t!’,” Yuji mocks before landing a punch to Megumi’s shoulder, “you upset her, bro.”

“I know,” Megumi grumbles.

“Then why didn’t you apologise?” Yuko asks.

“I didn’t know how,” Megumi dejectedly sighs. “I didn’t expect it.”

“She likes you, man. Like a lot,” Yuji shakes his head, his heart hurting a little at the fact that Megumi looks really torn up about the whole situation too.

There’s a long pause, “can you lie to her?”

“What?” Yuko and Yuji ask in unison.

“Tell her you can’t pick her up,” Megumi adds, “please.”

Yuji and Yuko share another look and Yuko sighs before nodding her head, taking out her phone to tell you that she and Yuji can’t come get you because Yuji’s brother called and needed his help. It’s not a great lie, but you’ll believe it at first glance.

—

Your phone buzzes in the middle of class. You’re tired and you feel like shit and the professor’s monotone voice is boring you half to death. You flip your phone over and read the message from Yuko.

Yuko <3: Hey, Y/N. Choso called and he needs to borrow Yuji’s car, we can’t come get you this afternoon. Sorry hun x

You frown.

Yuko <3: But don’t worry, Fushiguro is coming to get you.

You panic, quickly unlocking your phone to message her back, telling her you’ll get an uber or just walk but you get a message from an unknown number only a second later.

Unknown: I’ll come get you.

You rest your head in your palm and go to message him back telling him it’s fine but the speech bubbles appear and reappear before he sends the message.

Unknown: Please wait.

You let out a shaky breath, your heart pittering loudly in your chest. You zone out for the remainder of the class, nervously chewing on your nails and tapping on the desk. You don’t want to talk to Megumi, you really don’t. At least not while you feel like shit and your thoughts are a huge mess.

You sit on the grass after your lecture, pulling at the blades of grass by your feet while you stare at the ground, teeth nipping anxiously at the inside of your lower lip. You don’t know what Megumi wants to say to you or why he even agreed to pick you up if he was so against talking about whatever the hell was going on between you two.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when a pair of black sneakers intrudes on your line of sight, you know it’s Megumi from the little scuff marks on the edge since they’re so worn out but they’re his favourite pair.

He doesn’t say anything as he stares at you, hands shoved in the pockets off his hoodie like they always are. You wordlessly stand up, pulling your tote bag to your chest and pushing past him without a word.

“Y/N, I–”

You’re too far ahead of him now, making your way to his parked car on the curb. His head hurts and his chest is tight with nerves but he’s quick to unlock the car for you and let you scoot into the passenger seat.

Megumi quickly joins you, turning on the car and just sitting there for a moment, hands tight around the wheel.

“I–” Megumi feels his throat close up, “I’m sorry.” You feel your eyes glass over but you don’t offer him anything else but he continues, “I don’t hate you, Y/N.”

“S’fine if you do,” you say quietly, “I know I can be annoying and intrusive–”

“–What? You’re not–”

“And I understand if you want me to move out–”

“No, Y/N, I don’t want that–”

You’re rambling now without thinking, “–nd I know you probably need me to move out cus of that girl at the party–”

“What girl?” Now he’s fucking confused.

“And she’s pretty and I saw you talking to her–”

Wait, his ex?

“–Wait, Y/N, that’s not–”

“And I’m sorry I was so drunk–”

“Y/N, stop!” Megumi didn’t mean to yell, but it instantly shuts you up. He peers over at you and you’re crying, tears slipping down your flushed cheeks. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.”

“S’okay,” you sniffle, wiping your tears away.

“No, it’s not… You just wouldn’t shut up,” Megumi makes an attempt at dry humour, letting you know it was a joke by following up with a half-assed breathy laugh.

You just look at him, eyes slightly red.

“I– Fuck,” Megumi curses, knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel.

The two of you stay silent, the only thing either of you hear is your quiet sniffling. Megumi sighs, running a hand through his messy hair before speaking, “...she cheated on me.”

Your eyes widen a little.

“That girl you saw. Yeah, she was my ex but… she cheated on me.”

“...I’m sorry, Fushiguro.”

“Stop calling me that,” he grumbles.

“It’s your name,” you retort.

“I don’t want you to call me Fushiguro,” he presses his eyes shut.

Your lips form a tight line and you just watch him, waiting patiently for him to continue because you can tell he’s trying really hard.

“Can you just call me Megumi,” he sighs. “Please?”

You nod, “okay, Megumi,” you whisper softly.

“...I don’t hate you, Y/N. Not even a little,” his eyes finally meet yours.

“You’re really bad at showing it,” you say with a breathy laugh.

“I know… M’just really–” he stops himself, his hand scrunching against the material over his thigh, “I’m just scared.”

Your heart shatters, a pout pulling at your lip because you feel like you’re about to cry again. You study him for a moment, your heart warming at the sight of Megumi Fushiguro being so utterly soft and nervous.

You hesitate for a moment before you reach your hand over the centre console to stop him from grabbing and pulling at his own thigh. His hand is cold and his palm is rough but it’s him. And you were sitting here thinking you needed his comfort when really he needed yours.

He flinches at the gentleness of your touch, your hand is smaller than his but it’s so soft and warm.

He lets you wrap your fingers around the back of his hand, lets you roll his hand over and press your palm to his. It’s comforting and it’s sweet.

“You don’t need to be scared, Gumi.”

His heart flutters at the nickname and his steely blue eyes nervously meet yours. He nods his head slowly and you smile.

“Feel better?” You ask softly.

Megumi holds your hand in his, eyes still searching yours before they flicker down to your lips briefly. You catch the quick movement and your body reacts without any input from your brain, your tongue darting out to wet your lips.

“Gumi?”

Megumi doesn’t need much more motivation than that and his other hand lets go of the wheel to reach over and cup your warm cheek. Your breath hitches in your throat and your eyes flicker between his nervously. His eyes are half-lidded, nose grazing yours and your hand squeezes tight around his.

“S’okay,” he coos softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “M’gonna kiss you.”

Your heart is in your throat and you start overthinking it, thinking back to the maybe handful of times a boy has kissed you, but never a man, never someone like Megumi.

You nod your head quickly and a smile tugs at the corner of Megumi’s lip because you’re so fucking cute.

You feel the world melt away when Megumi’s breath fans across your lips, his hand coming to cup the back of your head, guiding you to tilt your head slightly as he finally, finally, closes the distance between you, his slightly chapped lips meeting yours.

You melt into his warmth, one hand nervously holding his while the other has a death grip on the strap of your tote bag.

His lips move against yours, becoming a little more feverish and needy when you let out a soft whine. He feels himself go feral, wanting to drag you into the back seat and take you in this stupid parking lot where everyone can see.

But instead he takes it slow, pressing your lips against his and his hand tangling in your soft hair. You’re nervous and a little inexperienced, he can tell but it only drives him more insane.

He pulls away only a fraction, a cheeky smile pulling at his lips when he realises your lips chase his, your other hand coming to curl around his hoodie sleeve to bring him closer.

“Wasn’t so bad?” Megumi whispers.

You have the most innocent little look on your face, “does that mean you like me?”

Megumi can only chuckle softly at how damn cute you are, “I don’t just kiss any girl like that, Y/N.”

You nod timidly, “m’kay, Gumi.”

Megumi wants to kiss you again but refrains because he knows he’ll want to do other things to you with how you utter the nickname with such innocence, but you’re in a parking lot on your college campus and there are about fifty people that have walked by in the past ten minutes.

But when you get home?

“Megumi–” your hands are clutching the front of his hoodie as he kisses the side of your cheek, then your temple, then above your eyebrow, “wait a second.”

“S-Sorry,” he mutters against your warm skin.

You’ve barely got one foot in the door and Megumi already has you pinned against the wall in the hallway, a large hand cupping your head while the other rests on your waist. He pants softly, lips itching to kiss you and kiss you hard.

“I’m sorry too,” you say breathlessly. “For not seeing.”

Megumi shakes his head, “you don’t need to be sorry.”

“But I am,” you murmur, “you’re really bad at talking about your feelings but I should have been more observant.”

“S’okay, Y/N,” he rests his forehead against yours, “m’just glad you let me pick you up.”

“I thought about just walking,” you giggle, “letting you grovel for a little longer.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“I’m glad I didn’t.”

“I’m glad you didn’t either,” he smiles softly, running the pad of his thumb along your cheek.

You fall silent, hands just holding onto his hoodie while he presses feather-light kisses to your face. You suddenly feel nervous when you feel a certain stiffness against your thigh.

“...Do you want to–”

“I’m a virgin.”

Megumi pulls away from you, “W-What?”

“You were gonna ask if we could… y’know,” your eyes shift away from him, “I panicked.”

Megumi laughs, like actually, laughs at that.

“Don’t laugh,” you playfully punch his shoulder, your bottom lip sticking out in a pout. “A lot of people are still virgins in college.”

“M’not laughing at that,” he grins. “You’re just… you’re really cute.”

You feel your face heat at that, “stop it.”

“M’serious.”

“You’re always serious.”

“Whatever.”

You giggle softly, letting him press a soft peck to your lips.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to watch a movie,” Megumi lies through his teeth, liking the way you flush and stammer at outing yourself.

“Oh,” you say quietly.

“Why ‘oh’?” He teases.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, brows knit.

“What?” he presses with a shit-eating grin.

“Nothing,” you retort.

“...Did you want to have sex?”

Your heart drops, eyes widening slightly because yes, you do want to have sex with Megumi. You’d never really thought much about sex until him. Never thought you’d want a guy to manhandle you or put his hands all over your body until Megumi.

“Can we?” you ask timidly.

Megumi feels a pang in his heart because you’re so fucking cute he might pass away. He smiles before pressing a kiss to your forehead, “if you want to.”

“But do you want to?”

Megumi doesn’t need to think very hard about that one.

“I’ve wanted you in my bed since I first met you, Y/N.”

You breathe hard, your heart racing in your chest and you’re sure it’s loud enough for Megumi to hear how fucking nervous yet turned on you are. Your eyes fall to his lips again, revelling in the feeling of his breath fanning over your lips.

You press up on your tiptoes, Megumi’s head slowly tilting and following you, wondering what you’re doing. Your soft lips graze the shell of his ear and you smile cheekily, about to fucking out yourself with the last of your confidence.

“Fuck me then.”

Megumi slams you against the wall, arms caging your body as he presses his lips hard against yours. The kiss is needy and feverish, a mess of clashing teeth and wandering hands. Megumi’s hand cups the back of your head, tilting your head to the side to deepen the kiss.

His tongue presses against your lips before sliding into your mouth, earning a soft whine from your throat that you didn’t mean to sound so desperate. Your fists curl around the material of his hoodie, pulling Megumi impossibly closer.

Megumi’s free hand drops from your waist to your hip, squeezing your skin. His other hand drops from your head to curl over your hips and grope your ass. Both of his hands cup your ass, kneading the soft flesh and earning a soft mewl from your throat.

“You sound so pretty, baby,” Megumi mutters against your lips, his messy hair tickling your forehead. You want to moan and whine at the nickname but instead you kiss him again.

You’ve got the hang of this kissing thing but you still have no fucking idea where to put your hands without making him uncomfortable– as if his hands aren’t groping your ass.

Megumi pulls away slightly breathless, “you wanna stop?”

“No,” you shake your head quickly, “no, I don’t wanna stop.”

Megumi grins, kissing your cheek, “okay, sweet girl.”

Megumi leads you to his bedroom, his hand never leaving yours and your other hand never letting go of his hoodie sleeve. He pushes his bedroom door open, his lips on your instantly as he backs you up to his bed. The backs of your thighs hit his mattress and you fall backward, bringing Megumi with you.

Megumi chuckles softly against your lips before kissing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the underside of your jaw, then your neck. His hand paws at the bottom hem of your sweater, his fingers slipping underneath to ghost over the skin of your bare tummy.

“M’gonna take it off, okay?”

You nod sheepishly, “okay.”

“You tell me if you want me to stop,” he breathes.

“I will, Gumi,” you reply with a whisper, kissing the tip of his nose.

Megumi grins affectionately before his hands grip the bottom of your sweater, pulling it up slightly. Your breath hitches in your throat and he slowly pulls your sweater upward and over your tits. You’re not wearing a shirt, just a lacy black bra, just like the one he got a peek of at the party.

“Pretty,” Megumi murmurs, pressing a kiss to your chest, right between your collarbones.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him against your hot skin as he peppers kisses across your chest, finally pulling your sweater over your head and tossing it aside. You’re left in your pretty bra and a short little skirt that finished above your mid thigh.

God how he wants to bite and suck on your pretty plush thighs.

His hand snakes underneath you, fingers fiddling with your bra clasp at your back. Your breathing quickens and Megumi kisses your cheek, “s’okay… m’here.”

He unclasps your bra, the cups loosening around your tits and the straps going slack on your shoulders. His fingers ghost over your shoulder as he pulls the strap down your shoulder, pressing soft kisses in his wake.

“C-Can you go faster?” You whine, your voice quiet.

Megumi chuckles, lifting his head to peer up at you, pupils blown wide, “am I going to slow for you, pretty girl?”

You bite your lip, “mhm.”

Megumi lifts his thigh, pressing it between your legs to where you desperately want him. You whine when he presses his strong thigh against your clothed heat, your skirt bunching up at your waist. Your skin feels hot and you feel a wetness pooling in your panties, making your face flush with embarrassment at your own neediness.

“I’ve thought about this,” Megumi whispers, pulling your bra cup down, his large hand cupping your plush breast. “A lot.”

You moan softly, your nipples hardening under the cold chill of the air in his room.

“Thought about what you’d sound like.”

He lowers his head slightly, pressing long, wet kisses to your pretty nipples. Your hand tangles in his hair, pressing him down and forcing him to nip and suck at the soft skin.

“Thought about how you’d look.”

You roll your hips involuntarily against his strong thigh, feeling the friction against your poor little clit. You moan underneath him, your heart racing as he lowers his head to kiss down your tummy to the hem of your skirt.

“Thought about how you’d taste.”

You suddenly let out a surprised gasp when Megumi pulls your lower body off the bed, your hands curling into his bedsheets for support. You peer down at him, your heart in your throat at the sight of Megumi between your legs, his fingers curling underneath the waistband of your skirt and pulling.

He drops the material on the floor, his large hands curling underneath your thighs and pulling them apart, “w-wait, Gumi.”

He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, “what is it, princess?”

“W-What are you doing?”

Megumi smiles against the inside of your thigh, “m’gonna eat your pretty pussy.”

Your hands curl into the sheets and you feel a glob of arousal seep from your cunt. If this is how fucked up he gets you just from kissing you, how the hell are you going to hold up with his tongue inside you?

“You okay with that?”

You nod your head quickly without thinking, a thin sheen of sweat already coating your skin. “P-Please–”

Megumi chuckles softly at how damn cute you are, his fingers hooking under the sides of your panties, pulling them down your legs. They’re covered in your arousal, your pretty pussy glistening under the warm glow of the setting sun.

God he wishes he could take a picture.

“G-Gumi?” You peer down at him, “s-stop staring.”

Megumi pulls your thighs over his shoulders, his hair tickling the insides of your spread legs, “sorry, sweet girl, she’s just s’pretty.”

You let out an involuntary moan when he presses a kiss to your swollen clit, the sudden attention sending a jolt of pleasure through your tummy. You want to slam your thighs closed, your body desperate for friction.

“Don’t tease me,” you whine. “Please–”

Megumi’s fingers curl into your thighs, pulling them apart further and forcing your pussy lips open to press the flat of his tongue against your awaiting clit.

“M-Megumi–”

You throw your head back against the bed, one of your hands pressing against the back of his head, forcing him closer to your pussy. No one has ever touched you like this, no one has ever put their mouth on you, no one has ever seen your pretty pussy and you couldn’t think of anyone better than Megumi Fushiguro to be the one to tongue-fuck you right now.

“You ever masturbated, baby?”

You whine, “a-are you teasing me or something?”

He smiles against your clit, tongue dipping down to lap up your slick, “maybe a little. I just wanna know if you’ve ever had something inside you.” His thumbs spread you open, his tongue flicking against your clit and making you whine even louder. “Shh, baby, we have neighbours.”

You don’t give a fuck right now.

“I’ve masturbated b-before,” you say after a hard huff, you feel fucking breathless.

“Oh, yeah?” Megumi presses his tongue against your little hole, lewdly slurping up the insane amount of arousal leaking from you. “You should show me.”

“No!” you whine, “so embarrassing.”

“I think it’d be hot,” the tip of his middle finger presses against your hole. “Maybe some other time.”

You cry out, hands gripping the sheets when Megumi presses the tip of his middle finger into your cunt. His fingers are thicker than yours and you can only imagine so much longer, able to press against parts of you you’ve never reached before.

“Gumi–” you pant, “m-more.”

“More?” He raises a brow at you.

“Please, please–”

“You’re so cute.”

“Shut up!” you whimper, “js’ touch me–” Megumi can’t deny you, not when you sound so fucking gorgeous and you taste like fucking heaven.

He presses his finger into you, twisting his hand around and curling his finger inside you. You want to cry, your eyes screwed shut and your belly burning. He fucks his finger into you slowly, his tongue lapping and sucking your clit while your thighs press against his head.

“Gonna add another one, okay, baby?”

You nod your head desperately and he smiles cheekily, pressing a second finger into you to stretch you open. You throw your head back at the delicious stretch, your slick coating Megumi’s fingers and dripping down his wrist.

Megumi feels your thighs pressing together harder and he forces your thigh down with his free hand, your knee almost hitting your chest with how he pins it down. He’s spreading you open, tongue flicking against your clit and fingers curling against your gummy walls.

“Gumi– m’gonna–” you feel your tummy burn and you’re so fucking embarrassed that you’re about to cum from just having two fingers inside you. You start to pant, hands tangling in his hair as lewd slurping and squelches fill his room.

“S’okay, baby. Cum on my mouth,” he groans against you, his cock rock hard from feeling your hips grind against his face. You might be a virgin but your body knows what it wants as you rut against his tongue and your legs shake.

Megumi suddenly shakes his head over your clit, his mouth covered in your slick and you just cum. It crashes into you like a fucking train and you whine and moan against the back of your hand as Megumi fucks his fingers into your sopping cunt, your hole spasming and clenching down on his fingers.

He scissors and curls his fingers inside you, fucking you through your orgasm and feeling a sense of pride but also getting a huge fucking ego boost that he’s the first man to ever make you cum.

Your chest is heaving up and down, your vision cloudy and your mind feeling fuzzy as you come back down from your high. Megumi pulls his fingers out of you, kissing the inside of your thigh and lapping up the mess you made all over yourself.

You sit up on your elbows, face flushed and hair dishevelled as you peer down at Megumi. You suddenly feel immensely embarrassed that he was just between your legs, his tongue flicking over your clit and his fingers deep inside you.

“Fuck, you taste better than I imagined,” Megumi licks his fingers clean while holding eye contact with you.

You whine and flop back onto the bed, earning a soft chuckle from Megumi as he gets to his feet, attempting to find a towel or old shirt somewhere.

“Where are you going?” You ask timidly.

“M’gonna clean you up, don’t worry, I won’t go,” he replies, quickly pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“But…” your eyes flicker to the obvious bulge in his pants.

“Hm?” He follows your gaze. “Oh, m’okay, princess. It’s not about me anyway.”

“But, I want to–”

“S’okay, Y/N,” he lifts your hand, kissing your knuckles softly, “you can try some other time.”

“...Do you not want to?”

He grins, “course I want to.”

“Then let me,” you whine, pulling him closer to you. “Please.”

Megumi ponders it for a moment. He doesn’t want to frighten you and he’s so fucking scared of losing control and just bending you over and fucking your brains out. But the way you look at him with your pretty wide eyes and your hands gripping his thighs as he stands between your legs–

How could he say no?

“You want to, baby?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay… we’ll go slow,” he urges, petting your hair gently.

You’re so fucking eager to please him that it makes him weak. Your post-orgasm body is shaky as you reach for the zipper of his pants, your fingertips grazing against the sensitive bulge. He groans softly, hand petting your head as he lets you figure it out, slowly unzipping his pants and pulling them down a little.

There’s a dark wet patch on his boxers, he’s so fucking turned on by your pretty sounds and your intoxicating taste that his cock is leaking and begging for attention.

“S’big,” you whisper, eyes widening.

And he hasn’t even pulled his cock out of his boxers.

He chuckles, “you flatter me, pretty.”

“N-No, really,” your pretty eyes meet his. “Is it gonna fit in my mouth?”

Holy fucking shit.

He was thinking you were just going to give him a handjob and now you’re asking if he can fit in your mouth.

Megumi runs a hand through his hair, “fuck you drive me crazy.”

“I-I thought you wanted me to–”

“Baby. You can do whatever you want to me.”

Your eyes blow wide and you just about sparkle with anticipation, “then… can I suck your dick?”

Someone kill him and put him to rest because you’re about to be the death of him.

“Fuck yeah you can, baby.”

Megumi has to help you pull his cock from his boxers and your eyes just about bulge out of your head at the size of him. He’s long and thick and the tip is a pretty pink colour. It’s heavy too, almost too heavy to hold itself up.

He sits down on the bed and you get on your knees in front of him. He strips his hoodie off, his abs flexing as he leans back on his elbows, just watching you.

You bite your lip, suddenly intimidated.

“S’okay… just take it slow.”

You nod your head before your hand wraps around the base. Megumi suddenly groans and you pull away with a fright, “s-sorry!”

“No, no, baby–” he chuckles breathily. “Js’ a lot to take in having a pretty girl with her hands on my cock.”

You look away shyly and Megumi laughs, reaching out to cup your jaw, forcing you to look back at him. He sits up, leaning down to kiss your lips softly. You taste the remains of your orgasm on his tongue, pressing your thighs together as you feel yourself become a little aroused again.

He kisses you deeper, reaching his free hand out to cup your own, guiding you toward his hard neglected cock. “You can touch me, baby.”

Your hand wraps around the base and you squeeze softly, earning a groan from your pretty roommate. He guides your hand up and down and it’s painfully fucking slow but he’s just happy to have your hands on him.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs. “Doin’ so good.”

You beam at the praise, pressing your thumb against the leaky slit of his pretty cock head. Megumi groans, leaning back on his elbows and tipping his head back. You continue the motion, eyes gleaming with pride and innocence as you just watch him fuck your hand.

His hips jerk up, his cock pulsing in your hand.

You suddenly feel the urge to press your lips to his tip and when you do, Megumi nearly cums like a fucking teenager.

“F-Fuck,” he grunts, his hand unintentionally pulling your hair, forcing out a pretty moan from your lips.

You take the tip in your mouth, your tongue flattening against the head. You wonder if you’re doing it right but the way Megumi groans and his hand pushes your head further down his length, you think you’re doing a pretty good job.

“Such a good girl,” Megumi sighs, “feels s’good.”

You moan at the praise, taking a little more of his length down your throat. Your hands are squeezing his thighs, nails scraping against the taut skin and Megumi is doing everything in his power to not fuck his cock down your throat.

You start to drool, saliva slipping down your chin and coating his pretty cock. You suddenly gag on his cock, the tip hitting the back of your throat.

“F-Fuck,” Megumi feels his cock twitch at the cute fucking sounds you’re making. Your eyes are glassy, and you’ve got drool dripping down your chin and your cheeks are flushed so pretty. “You’re gonna make me cum, baby.”

You pump the base of his cock, your tongue clumsily swirling around his tip, eyes glued to him as you watch for his reactions. Megumi suddenly sucks in a breath and pulls your mouth off his tip with a quiet pop! quickly pumping his cock.

Hot ropes of sticky cum spill across your lips and face, Megumi tipping his head back with a deep groan, squeezing the base of his cock as it twitches and jumps.

“Fuck– you sure you’ve never sucked dick before– Oh, fuck.”

Megumi’s eyes dilate at the sight of his cum painting your pretty little face, your fingers swiping at the ropes of cum before you push them into your mouth, tasting him.

“I do good?”

Megumi laughs breathlessly, “you did so good, baby girl.”

Megumi is quick to clean you up, using an old shirt to wipe the cum off your face while you sit there all pretty on your knees in front of him. He presses kisses to your face and your hair before pulling you into bed beside him, his fingertips tracing over your shoulder as you lay your head on his chest.

“You mean what you said?”

“Hm?”

“You like me?” You ask sweetly, resting your chin on his chest to look up at him.

Megumi sits up a bit, “I like-like you.”

“Wow. That’s a big call, Fushiguro.”

Megumi chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “remember it’s Megumi.”

“Gumi?”

“I like that too.”

“Mm, Megs?”

“Don’t push it.”

You giggle softly, curling into his side with a wide smile.

Megumi takes you to work and campus every day after that night, his hand always in yours when he walks you to class and he likes to pretend it annoys him how you wrap your hand around his arm and how you squeal his name when you see him after class.

When in reality, Megumi couldn’t be happier. In a twisted way, he’s glad you asked him if he hated you, because he was able to summon the courage to tell you the truth.

That he didn’t hate you. Not even a little.

author's note: the way i been pulling all nighters for DAYS. i was about to kill these two I TELL YOU JUST MAKE OUT PLS I CANT–

taglist: @starpachinko @2ukika @sukunabish @somethinglikero @wannabewolf @milliex01x @princessa143 @hrithi11 @katsukita69 @slayzzz @arcanefeelings @shirabu-k @izzzzzzig @zah2890 @evergumi @aerareads @flashilyquinn @raedollsstuff @happylildeath @anormieee @l1v1ngzomb1e @kimkimoruo @sunnyf4lls @saekolust @kalulakunundrum @xastoriaaurax @feliaeae @sleepyxzn @mahazsine

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #megumi x reader #x reader #jjk megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #jjk smut #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro smut #megumi smut #jjk x reader smut #fushiguro megumi #megumi #jjk megumi #jujutsu kaisen megumi #yuji itadori #yuji itadori x reader #yuji x ozawa

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rpwprpwprpwprw · 2 months ago

Text

jeon jungkook fanfics that should be turned into a movie or a book! 🎬 (part 1, part 2).

Thank you authors for your infinite imagination and creativity! My days are better because of you <3

Get him back by @inthelow (f!producer/writer reader x idol!jungkook) ongoing

Still don’t know my name by @dollfaceksj (jungkook x reader) completed

Kinktober D14- thigh job/ humping by @redcherrykook (jungkook x reader) completed

Play pretend by @frmisnow (best friend!jk x reader) •fake dating, friends with benefits, friends to lovers completed• part 1 part 2 part 3 completed

If i told you by @gukyi (jungkook x reader) •friends to lovers!au, college!au/ fluff, comedy, angst completed

Boy with luv by @hannieehaee (barista!reader, sub-ish!jk) completed

Can i keep you? by @mikrokcsmos (ghostjk! x reader) completed

Habits (Stay High) by @girlygguk (student plug!jk x rich girl!reader) ongoing

Teach me How to love by @kookooluvr (professor!jungkook, professor!reader) • fwb!au, co-workers!au • ongoing

Bed Chem by @muniimyg (frenemie! jk x reader) • uni au, frenemies • completed

Between the ride and the roses by @focusonkayjay (biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader) • enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn • ongoing

Calling It Now by @newmittens (jungkook x reader) • Friends to Lovers; Grad School AU • completed

Bad things by @girlygguk (jock fuckboy!jk x nerdy fuckgirl!reader) • f2l, fwb au, university au • ongoing

One night stand by @buryhny (ceo!jk x graphic designer! reader) • enemies to lovers, CEO au, pregnancy trope, slowburn • ongoing

First Sightings by @kookiestiddies (jungkook x reader) • Enemies With Potential • ongoing

Total loser by @frmisnow (rockstarjk! x reader) completed

NEED TO KNOW by @hannieehaee (virgin!jungkook, f2l!jungkook, loser!jk, sub!jk x reader) • college au • completed

Unspoken by @armpirate ( Boyfriend's friend!jk, Soldier!jk x reader) completed

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sttoru · 10 months ago

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sukunas fav concubine being bullied by the other concubines?? maybe they push her into the fountain 👀👀👀

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. being bullied because you’re sukuna’s favorite concubine is nothing out of the ordinary. when sukuna finally notices the harassment you’re going through, he doesn’t hold back.

wc. 2.2k-ish

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine! female reader. fluff, angst (hurt to comfort). heian era. bullying. one mention of d.ecapitation. vile language. reader gets called ‘brat’. beta reading? what’s that

“she’s got nothing going on for her,” “right? i don’t get what he sees in her,” “tch—he’s only using her for her body anyway,” “duhh. he can’t be pleased by her looks. i mean, she’s really ugly. i bet he thinks of her as just ‘nother hole to use. . .”

and the shushed gossips continue. the concubines hanging around the garden have noticed your arrival, though do nothing to stop badmouthing you. they couldn’t care less if you hear what they say.

you’re used to it by now. you’ve adjusted to this life of yours as one of sukuna’s concubines. his favourite at that—which automatically makes you a victim of verbal (and sometimes physical) harassment. the other women in the ruthless sorcerer’s harem can’t stand you.

your eyes are glued to the path you’re walking on. your lady-in-waiting doesn’t utter a single word as well, holding her head low as she follows behind you. you know that the concubines will immediately pick on you if you make eye contact with one of them.

it’s moments like these where you actually miss sukuna. his intimidating presence and (in)direct threats would immediately make the others fall silent. you wouldn’t have to hear them call you nasty names.

though, unlucky you, sukuna’s out on business. uraume is left as a temporary supervisor of the entire estate. to make sure nothing goes wrong. despite all of that, you still find yourself in an unfortunate predicament.

“hey. we’re talking to you,” a female voice rings from behind you. it isn’t your lady-in-waiting, but the brown-haired woman whom you recognise as one of sukuna’s concubines. her name. . . you can’t recall.

she forcefully pushes your shoulder with two fingers. you stumble backwards, nearly tripping over the material of your kimono. you look down at the hem and notice a subtle muddy stain on the cloth now that you’ve accidentally stepped on it.

you curse the woman out under your breath. the kimono is one of your favorites since sukuna had it made and tailored to suit your taste.

“my apologies,” you mumble politely. you do not wish to make a scene as much as you want to defend yourself. not in front of those poor servants who are simply minding their business and tending to the garden.

the lady scoffs. another one joins. soon, four of them surround you, leaving you no place to escape the situation. with every step you take back, they take one forward. it’s intimidating, though you try to make it seem like you’re not afraid of their words.

“tell me,” the blonde one speaks up and her hand trails up your arm. she twirls a strand of your hair around her index finger before harshly tugging at it. you wince, but she doesn’t budge, “tell me what sukuna sees in a worthless slut like you.”

it’s about sukuna every time. you’re getting sick of the way they treat you because of something you can’t control. you don’t know why he favors you out of all the other women at his service. the way you’re treated because of something that you cannot change is getting frustrating.

the brown-haired woman follows the other lady. she pushes you until the back of your shoe bumps against the edge of a fountain. the grande fountain in the yard that you always love to admire.

the tugs at your hair get stronger. your patience is wearing thin. you take some time to reply to the other concubines, hoping to silence them for now.

you look up at the group surrounding you—a grin tugging at your lips as you decide to taunt them. you scoff, “hah. you cannot blame me for satisfying my lord better than all of you could do together.”

audible gasps sound from the group of concubines. they can’t believe you had the audacity to talk back and be disrespectful about it. the comment you made clearly struck a nerve. or in this case multiple.

“oh, you slut!” the blonde one shrieks, clearly more than upset by your doubts about her services as a concubine. in a flash of rage, she gives you a firm push, sending you backwards until you fall into the fountain with a loud splash.

your lady-in-waiting is the one gasping this time. she looks at you with great worry in her eyes, not knowing if she needs to go fetch uraume or not. she doesn’t have much say in the matter either way.

you’re humiliated by this. you can feel the water seep into the robes of your kimono, staining the beloved material. your hair is wet as well, the water droplets falling off the ends of your locks.

“pah, you look pathetic,” one of the lower ranking concubines chimes in—giggling at the unfortunate situation you got yourself in. the others follow with their own high pitched laughs, “serves you right.”

you don’t even know what you should do. your body feels heavy because of the water wetting your clothes. your nails drag along the fountain’s surface, trying to compose yourself before you do anything irrational.

you grit your teeth and take a deep breath. you’re shaking, both because of the cold settling over your body as well as the anger simmering inside of you. you open your mouth to say something, only to be interrupted.

by someone you didn’t expect to see any time soon.

“enough.”

the deep tone sends chills down your spine. the volume of the male voice nearly shakes the ground. it’s powerful, dominant and quite aggressive. as if the owner of the voice is pissed. no, more than that.

the group of concubines freeze, not even daring to turn around and face the unexpected visitor. you notice your lady-in-waiting immediately falling to her knees, bowing at the man whom you know very well.

“my lord,” you stammer out, being the first to speak up and address him. you’re surprised to see sukuna back this early from his business trip. he normally stays away from the estate for days on end.

sukuna’s footsteps are heavy. his strides are menacingly slow. the aura surrounding him makes the others shake—one concubine being smart enough to bow to him. the king of curses is not one to be messed with, especially when he’s angry.

“tsk. have you lost all your respect while i was gone?” sukuna growls, seeing how the group of concubines are frozen in place with fearful expressions on their faces. the fact that they’re not bowing before him worsens his temper, “kneel.”

he raises one hand and they all knew what was going to happen. you squeal and shut your eyes, hearing that familiar and dooming sound of slashes around you. it doesn’t sound like they’ve hit anything, so you peek through your eyelashes.

you see how the group of women have dropped to their knees the instant sukuna raised his hand in that specific manner. everyone knew just what that meant; death to anyone who’s got their head held high in his presence.

you’ve all seen enough people get decapitated by that same action to know that the sorcerer was not playing around.

sukuna scoffs. he walks up towards you, ignoring the pleas of the other concubines that are begging for his forgiveness. his bottom set of eyes look down at them with disdain before focusing on your figure again.

he silently stands still at the edge of the fountain. his large frame looms over you and you find yourself struggling to get up from the water to bow at him as well. you keep your eyes on your lap, “i’m sorry, my lord.”

sukuna hisses at your apology. a warning for you to shut your mouth. you’re apologising when it’s not your fault and that irritates him more than anything. two of his strong arms reach down to pick you up from your vulnerable position.

the king of curses hoists you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. he’s not bothered by the fact that you’re dripping wet. in fact, both of his left arms wrap around your torso in attempt to warm you up.

“stay. you’ll all be dealt with accordingly when i return,” sukuna harshly orders your aggressors as he turns around and walks away from the group. he carries you in his arms, not sparing a single glance at his concubines.

he doesn’t even care that he stepped on one of the women’s hands as he passed by. the high pitched shriek only serves to annoy him, which you notice by the way he squeezes your waist in response.

it’s silent between you two for a bit. sukuna steps inside of the estate, his ominous aura making you hesistant to speak. you decide to stay quiet for the sake of keeping the peace. for now.

sukuna’s breathing is a little heavy. he’s trying not to lash out or say anything hurtful. he doesn’t like raising his voice at you—but sometimes he feels like he needs to. especially when you land in situations like those.

“how long has this been going on?” sukuna asks through a heavy sigh. his red eyes are focused on the end of the hallway, where his chambers lay. the veins in his neck look like they could pop out any second now, “and don’t you dare fuckin’ lie to me, y’hear?”

you gulp. you’ve never been so nervous to answer him, ever. you attempt to respond, “uhm, for quite a while, my lord.”

sukuna breathes in sharply at the revelation. the fact that you did not specify your answer only made him think that it’s worse than you’re making it out to be. he stops in his tracks, two hands on your waist as he forces you to face him.

your body dangles in the air as sukuna makes you look at him from up close, showing you that dangerous look in his eyes. you do not dare to avert your gaze from his as he speaks.

“you should’ve told me the moment they started disrespecting you like that,” sukuna grunts. another big hand grabs your jaw firmly, squeezing your cheeks together. you whine as it hurt a little. he scoffs and releases your jaw with a light push, “pathetic.”

you feel your body get thrown into your original position once more. your head is upside down and your legs hang limply over his shoulder. you try to defend yourself in a quiet tone, “i thought you were too busy. i didn’t want to bother you with such unimportant matters.”

it’s true. as much as you wanted to tell sukuna about the mistreatment you were receiving, you knew how busy he was attending to more urgent business. you didn’t want to annoy him with your own problems that you could easily solve.

if only you could stand up for yourself.

“nonsense,” sukuna raises his voice in a moment of weakness, though remembers that you’ve probably been through enough for the day. he doesn’t need to add to that by treating you like shit as well.

he simply sighs it off, “unimportant, huh? ‘s that how you think i view you?”

you raise an eyebrow at sukuna’s last sentence. you’re at a loss for words. you know sukuna values you more than any of his other concubines—it’s the main reason you’re getting bullied for—yet you never heard him speak to you in such a surprisingly soft way.

almost like he’s disappointed that you don’t realise the extent of his favoritsm. he cares about you more than you actually think he does.

“i-i’m sorry, my lord,” you stutter. you really do not have a clue about what to say. all you can do is apologise as you’re left overthinking that one little sentence he said.

“what a brat,” sukuna quickly regains his usual stoic and stern composure. he reaches his chambers and enters his personal bathroom before putting you down on your feet. he looks down at your short stature, feeling the warmth of your body leave his skin once you’re separated.

sukuna watches you shiver. he wants to get angry at you for not telling him about anything that’s been going on while he’s not present, though he simply cannot at the moment.

he’ll let you off the hook for now. but, he’s surely going to give you your own special scolding after he’s taken care of the other concubines. the man grabs a large towel from nearby and messily wraps it around your upper body.

sukuna turns around to walk out of his bathroom, looking over his shoulder once more, “get dressed into something else before you catch a cold.”

he calls for a couple servants to tend to you while he’s away to take care of those deviant concubines. sukuna watches the three maids rush to your service, preparing you a new set of clothes as well as trying to dry you off.

his gaze lingers on you for more than is necessary, his jaw clenching at the sight of you trembling from the low temperatures you’re experiencing. sukuna’s going to make sure those other women pay for what they’ve done to you.

he leaves the bathroom after that, though not without leaving you an order to follow;

“you’re staying in my chambers tonight.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk x you #sukuna x you #jjk x y/n #sukuna x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk angst #sukuna fluff #sukuna angst

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sinner-as-saint · 9 months ago

Text

the alchemy

Mob!Bucky x Reader

Run-through: About a decade ago you left your home and ran away, looking for a fresh start after having had your heart broken by the boy you loved. Now you’re back and turns out Bucky Barnes – the same man who once broke your heart – is adamant on tormenting you some more. But why? Why does he want you back at all cost when he was the one who once pushed you away and crushed your heart like it meant nothing to him? What secrets has he been keeping for almost a decade? Most importantly, what truly happened that night he broke your heart?

Themes: forced marriage/marriage of convenience, angst, mob!bucky, metal arm, fluff, smut, possessive!bucky, childhood friends-to-enemies-to-lovers trope, bratty!reader, mentions of violence, explicit language, slow burn-ish, HEA

a/n: new mob!bucky pics dropped–

“I do.” You said in a sombre voice, with blood dripping from the cut on your lip as you sealed your fate and married your worst enemy.

Bucky’s face was bleeding too, your nails had done some damage earlier when you both got into a physical altercation like wild animals. You nearly smirked when you realised he looked worse than you did.

Then again you both looked like you went through hell as you stood here, at this makeshift altar, in the middle of what used to be the foyer of your father’s mansion before Bucky and his men shot at it until it was nothing but rubble, broken glass, and cracked marble.

Messy hair. Cuts and bruises all over your bodies. Dishevelled clothes. Your white jumpsuit had your own bloodstains on it, and his all black suit was torn in certain places. But he looked every bit the man they say he is. Dangerous. Cold, dark presence. The large bruise on his jaw was beginning to get darker now, thanks to the many punches from you. His near shoulder length hair was surprisingly looking neat. It pissed you off.

You looked like a mess too. And for a brief second, as his blue eyes looked down at your throat, you knew he could see a matching bruise forming around your neck from when he’d pinned you down to the floor earlier with that damned metal arm.

No one was dead, none of your people and none of his. Thankfully. But right now, as you married the man standing in front of you, you felt dead inside.

“You may now kiss the bride.” Was all you heard and you remained still as Bucky grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into him.

You resisted for a moment, but then he pulled you harder until your chests collided and you had no choice but to remain pressed against him. “I’m tired of these games, princess.” He hissed in a lowered voice, looking down at you with his merciless blue eyes.

You stared back at him with equal contempt. “You’re gonna regret this, Barnes.” You sneered, in a hushed voice. Not that the injured family members and men surrounding you – both his men and your father’s guards who stood and watched the show in disbelief and shock would mind the disrespect for each other in both your tones – but you didn’t want to add to the ridiculousness of this situation.

“Oh?” He taunted with a faint smirk. Only then did you notice the small cut on his upper lip. It brought you a little solace. “You’re my wife now, you will do as I say.”

The bitterness in your tone matched his as you said, “We’ll see about that, husband.”

You could tell he’d accepted the unspoken challenge, and he would do anything to win. After all, everything was a game to Bucky Barnes. He didn’t care who he used, who he manipulated, or who he tossed aside. He paraded around like he owned this world and everything and everyone in it.

Bucky scoffed then leaned in to kiss you, hard. It wasn’t a loving kiss in any way. It was possessive though. Like he was putting on a show for whoever was watching, making sure everyone in this dilapidated room understood that you were his now.

You kissed him back, angrily. You despised him. Your entire family did. But they couldn’t save you this time. Bucky’s attack was unexpected. Your guards were unprepared. You were the last line of defence and this… union was necessary. You had to offer something, anything. Otherwise Bucky and his guys threatened to burn down your half of the city and turned it to ash immediately.

But it wasn’t always like this. Your families used to be allies. You actually grew up with Bucky, he tolerated you enough back then and you had always had a crush on him.

Then that night happened almost a decade ago…

It was your twentieth birthday party, and your father made an announcement which you were not ready for.

He announced to the ballroom filled with important people that you were to marry Bucky, and that both families were beyond happy to transform their friendship into something more solid through this alliance.

You remained frozen in place for long minutes after that announcement was made, even though your heart raced like never before. No one had told you about this, but judging by the way your family hugged and congratulated Bucky’s family you understood that this was all planned.

You kept that smile on your face though, as people walked over to congratulate you. You looked around and tried to find Bucky in the crowd to see if he knew about this but he was nowhere to be found.

You were certain he was here just a moment ago, leaning against one of the pillars and brooding as always. And he’d just disappeared.

The announcement made your heart flutter incessantly. After all, you’d always had a huge crush on Bucky. How could you not? He was the boy you grew up around, he had pretty eyes and nice hair. Sure he was broody and rarely ever smiled but you liked how it suited his bad boy personality. And your young heart was weak for the handsome boy with tattoos and blue eyes.

After people were done congratulating you, you discretely walked out of the party and decided to look around and try to find Bucky. You hated how giddy you were. Sure, Bucky was broody and rarely ever laughed. He spent his entire time glaring at you then getting jealous when you talked to other guys. But you had liked him since forever.

You looked all over your father’s mansion. Bucky was nowhere to be found indoors. So… maybe the pool area outside? You started walking in that direction, feeling like a princess in your white ball gown as you walked down an empty hallway, a faint smile on your face as you looked for the man you were meant to marry soon.

Maybe Bucky knew about this announcement. Maybe he was okay with it. Maybe this would be your fairytale in real life, you thought. Maybe you’d melt his frozen heart and everything would be perfect. Maybe he liked you back all along and you just never knew!

“...marry her?”

Your smile vanished as you stopped right before you stepped outside onto the patio. Was that Bucky’s voice? Was he talking to someone? You quietly stepped closer, hiding behind the plants as you tried your hardest to listen to what he was saying.

You could see him, standing on the black tiles by the pool. He had his back to you, and he held a phone to his ear. His broad shoulders and lean waist accentuated by how well that black suit moulded to his muscular body. You watched as he ran his fingers through his short black hair in frustration.

Who was he talking to?

“No!” He barked at the phone. “Did you not listen to what I just said? I don’t want to do this!” He yelled, not bothering that anyone around might hear him. “I tried to talk them out of it! This is so fucking stupid!”

You blinked in surprise, unable to process what you were hearing.

“I don’t care what I have to do, but I will not marry her.” He said with enough venomous certitude that a silent tear fell down your face.

All your previous delusions turned to nothing but heavy disappointment. It made you feel stupid. This gown felt stupid. The diamonds around your neck, around your wrists and in your hair felt stupid. How stupid of you to think this was all going to end well? How stupid of you to think your childhood crush actually meant something? How stupid of you to think that there was a chance he liked you back? Of course he didn’t. He wouldn’t have ignored you for years if he did.

You couldn’t stop the sudden sob that escaped your mouth. Afraid that he might have heard, you took a few steps back and hid behind a nearby, tall potted shrub.

Things were quiet for a moment or two. You heard him whispering so quietly you couldn’t make out what he said. Your face burned in embarrassment at the thought of him finding you here. You already felt stupid and childish, you didn’t want to get caught eavesdropping in this situation.

But then he resumed talking on the phone. You couldn’t risk moving to look at him so you remained hiding, and listened. Your heart broke with each word that left his mouth.

“And she’s so blind she doesn’t even see it.” He hissed, louder this time. “I barely tolerate her. Her whiny, and bratty attitude. I mean she’s a grown woman and still acts like she’s daddy’s little princess.” He scoffed. “You should’ve seen her today, she looks like a kid’s toy with that ridiculous dress on.”

More tears streamed down your face as you heard nothing but distaste and irritation in his voice. This was the boy you had a hopeless crush on? This is what he thought of you?

You didn’t need to hear more. This was more than enough to completely break you so you turned around and quietly walked back down the same hallway. You wiped your tears, and put a fake smile on as you went back to your party. This time with a plan in your head.

You endured the party with a heavy heart. Faked some more smiles until it ended. You didn’t see Bucky again for the rest of the night, which was good. By the early hours of the morning, everyone had left. You wandered around that empty ballroom like a ghost that night. For hours. Thinking, plotting. It was clear Bucky didn’t want this. And now neither did you. But your families had announced it. So what exactly could you do?

By the time the sun rose, you had already written a note to your father and left it on his desk. By the time the sky brightened, your bags were packed and you were already driving out of the mansion grounds. And you knew that by the time your father would go into his office and find that note, you would already be on a plane, on your way out of here.

You didn’t give too many details in the note. You simply said that you were leaving, not knowing when or if you’d be back.

Truth was, you had no solid plans. All you knew was that you needed to get away from home.

You didn’t know that when you’d return home – almost a decade later, so much would have changed.

Your father was angry. Livid actually, that you’d been away for years without contact. You briefly explained why you needed to leave. And how you’d been able to make a name for yourself elsewhere. But after he was done berating you for what you did when you were twenty and stupid, he filled you in on all that you’d missed in the past decade almost.

Some important points were: your family and Bucky were no longer allies, but were now each others’ worst rivals but no one knew that. The city was now secretly divided – your family ruled and controlled one side, and Bucky ruled the other.

“It’s just him now?” You had asked, and your father nodded.

“A lot happened after you left, actually–”

A loud noise cut him off. Rounds of bullets shot at the windows of the house, from all sides it seemed. And it was pure chaos. You could hear your guards fighting back, but even by just hearing the commotion you could tell you were severely outnumbered.

But whoever it was, they weren’t shooting at anyone, just at windows – making enough noise to get your attention and to get you to come outside.

You marched out of the room despite your father ordering you not to. And you were halfway down the grand stairs when he walked in and spotted you immediately with a smug look on his face.

Bucky. Walked in like he owned the place. He stopped in the middle of the foyer, which was now ruined. Bits and pieces of concrete and glass all over the marble floor. Flower pots destroyed, the gilded mirror in pieces as well. He made a mess of the home you grew up in and you almost shot him right in the heart there and then.

Here was the man who once broke your heart after making you think for years that maybe you had a chance.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You hissed. You could hear your father coming to a stop on the landing several steps behind you. He was unprepared. You were armed with only one handgun tucked into your pocket. Your guards were outnumbered. This was a shitshow.

The guards – his and yours – stopped firing and now just stood all over the place on high alert. And you knew, deep down in your gut you just knew something which you weren’t ready for was about to happen.

“I see you’re finally home, princess.” Bucky just gave you a cold smile and shoved his hands in his pockets. The action drew your attention to one specific thing. The metal arm. You frowned at it in confusion, but didn’t react.

But that word… ‘princess’ brought back memories which chased you out of this place. And it only fueled your anger.

“What the fuck do you want?”

He lifted his nose slightly in the air, like the arrogant prick he had always been. “I’m here to collect what I was promised.” His voice was strong and confident. “A bride. Now you have a choice, princess. Either we do this in peace and no one gets hurt, or…”

He didn’t even have to finish his sentence because on cue, one of his guards sneakily appeared on the landing behind you, holding a gun to your father’s head. You froze for a moment. The look on your father’s face made everything so serious all of a sudden. You had to be extra careful here.

“You wouldn’t.”

He scoffed, “Wouldn’t I?”

You argued, “It’s been almost a decade.”

“I don’t care. We were supposed to marry each other–,”

You cut him off, “Yes, and you didn’t want that, did you? I heard you on the phone that night.” You finally confessed. “By the pool. I remember every single word that came out of your fucking mouth. So don’t come here acting like you’re entitled to–,”

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” He smirked, shaking his head. “Is that why you ran away? And didn’t come home for a decade? Because you spied on me that night and didn’t like what you heard?”

That did it. One moment you were standing on the stairs, afraid that your father might get hurt and the next you had your gun out and shot right at his metal arm, knowing it wouldn’t hurt him but it would make him lower his guard for just a second.

And that one second was enough to jump him and punch him right in the jaw. Fuck, it hurt but it also felt so damn good. All those years you’d been away, you were also training in your free time. And you knew you were good at combat.

But so was he. A few punches in and he managed to throw you down on the floor and pin you to the ground with that same metal hand around your throat, keeping you in place. You didn’t know why his guards just stood and did nothing, as though they had been ordered not to shoot at anyone here.

But you weren’t under any such orders, so you managed to land another punch to his jaw before he yelled, “Enough!” Right in your face. “Stop this shit, or I swear to–,”

You cut him off by punching him again, trying to get free the moment you felt his metal hand get loose around your throat. He growled in annoyance and tightened his grip.

“You’re like a wild fucking animal. Stop!”

You gritted your teeth at the insult and scratched his face exactly like how a wild animal would. You tried everything, tried to punch him again, tried to scratch down his neck and arms which only tore his shirt instead of his skin. You went for yet another punch and only then did you feel another pair of arms – one of his guards – pulling your hands away from his face. You thrashed and tried your hardest to break free but you couldn’t and ended up biting your own lip rather badly in the process.

“I fucking hate you, Bucky Barnes!” You hissed, defeated, and now with a bleeding, throbbing cut on your lip which matched his.

Bucky kept his hand around your neck as he leaned in menacingly and whispered, “Hate me all you want, princess. But you will marry me. Right here. Right now.”

And that’s how you found yourself kissing your husband, in the foyer of your father’s ruined mansion. With your helpless father, and the many guards as witnesses.

You pulled away from the kiss, breathless and angrier than earlier. Jaws clenched, you were ready to tackle him to the ground again, maybe actually shoot him with your gun this time, but he spoke before you could say anything.

“Let’s go.” He spoke, and like the loyal followers that they were, all of his guards silently walked out of your house. And Bucky grabbed your hand firmly in his and began pulling you out of the house as well.

You resisted again. “Wait! You brute!” You pulled your hand away from his and ran back up the stairs to your father. “I ruined everything, I’m sorry.”

He just hugged you and told you to be careful and be smart. And that he forgives you. You promised you’d come to see him soon. And then you left, refusing to take Bucky’s hand again as you walked out of your father’s house.

You needed to think. You couldn’t fight him right now. Besides, it’s not like you married him legally. All Bucky wanted was to make a scene and you let him. For now. You’d need some time to come up with a plan and decide what needed to be done. But for now…

“If you’re thinking about running away and disappearing for a decade again, you better stop. You’re not getting away this time. You hear me?” Bucky spoke, sitting next to you in the backseat of his car as the driver drove to his side of the city, to his house surely. That authoritative tone of his made you want to scratch his face again.

“You seem to be under the impression that you’re in control here, Barnes. Just know, I could still shoot you right now if I wanted to.” You didn’t look at him, you looked out the window. At the city that had changed in your absence.

“Ouch.” He faked his surprise. Then proceeded to put his arm around your shoulders to pull you into his chest, leaning down he whispered into your ear, “That’s not a nice way of treating your new husband, now is it?”

You gave him a fake smile, ignoring the way your brain thought he smelled delicious, and reached into your pocket to pull out your handgun. Placing the cold barrel right under his chin you said, “Try me, husband.”

The driver cleared his throat in nervousness and you didn’t want to traumatise the man so you pulled your gun away but left it in Bucky’s line of sight. He pulled away then, pulling his hand away from your shoulders but placed his metal hand on your thigh. A possessive move.

Yet that didn’t bother as much. But the metal hand? Where did that come from? What happened while you were gone?

He answered your questions voluntarily. “Got caught in a crossfire. I got shot too many times, the arm was beyond saving. So I had the metal arm made. It’s a very intricate technology, but it works just fine.” He said, flexing the hand on your skin.

You didn’t miss the hidden sexual connotation in that last part of his sentence. And you certainly couldn’t ignore the way your body responded to the cold, metal touch. It looked… badass. Not that you would ever tell him.

You tried to look out the window again, but his touch on your thigh was more distracting than you wanted it to be. It was all you could focus on. Just to stop thinking about it you said, “I don’t have any of my things.”

“It’s all been taken care of. Don’t worry.” He answered, looking down at his phone. Acting like he didn’t know his hand on your thigh was messing you up.

Still you frowned at his answer, “What do you mean it’s been taken care of?” Then you paused and thought about it for a moment, “Did you–” You sighed, “You knew I was coming, didn’t you? Did you have people spying on me?”

He shrugged, “You thought I would let my betrothed be out there in the world without keeping an eye on her?” He scoffed, looking up from his phone for a brief moment, “Of course I did. I know everything about you. I even know all about that secret, women-only army you created.” He added, “I was half expecting them to pop out of nowhere earlier at your father’s house.”

You were in disbelief. This whole time you thought you’d hid well. But no.

“Where are they anyway? Your girls?” He asked, and for once it didn’t sound like a taunt. It sounded like he was genuinely curious.

“Probably out hunting and beheading men who think they can get away with forcing women into marrying them by threatening to kill their fathers.” You gave him another one of your fake smiles, “I’ve trained them well.”

Bucky smiled back. “Well good. When they get here to try and free you, we could unite our forces. We’ll be untouchable then, you and I. I have the money and you have an army.” He winked. “Ultimate power couple.”

“You won’t get away with this, Barnes.”

He looked out of the window and said, “I just came to collect what was promised to be mine that night.”

You argued, bitterly, “Oh we both know what happened that night.”

“I do.” He said, “But do you? Do you really?”

You remained quiet for a moment. This was the second time he questioned your knowledge of what truly happened that night. As if you hadn’t heard him loud and clear on that phone call.

“You–,”

He cut you off and looked out the window as he said, “We’re home.”

It had been a long day. And you were running out of energy so instead of arguing some more, you just followed him out of the car and remained stunned for a moment as you looked at his house. It wasn’t his family home. This one seemed new.

It was just as large as your father’s mansion, just a lot more contemporary compared to the more Georgian architecture-inspired one you grew up in.

Bucky’s house sat on a sprawling green and pristine property. It was a perfect blend of sleek architecture and a glass house, which allowed the right amount of privacy but also allowed glimpses of the warm, farmhouse inspired interior. Even from outside you could tell it was homey and bright inside.

Before you could get a word out, you felt his hands on you again. You tensed up and almost hit him again in defence but before you could, Bucky was carrying you bridal style – literally – and marching towards the large doors of his ridiculously pretty home.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You questioned, squirming just a little in the intimate embrace.

“Traditions,” He said, looking down at you, “Can’t have you trip at the doorstep and risk bringing bad luck into our marriage.”

You frowned at him, reluctantly wrapping your arms around his neck for support. “You say ‘our marriage’ like it’s gonna be a real thing. It won’t, Barnes. I’ll be out of here before you–,”

He used you to push open the door and the warm interior of the home shut you up. For some reason you never imagined someone like Bucky would live in a house that actually looked like a home. You pictured him living in some villain’s lair.

But this was… beautiful.

You squirmed into his arms until he finally set you down carefully. You stood there for a minute, in the foyer, just looking around. Then you couldn’t help but say, “It would be a real pain if someone just started shooting at the windows of your house like a madman, wouldn’t it?” You waved your gun in front of his face.

“I’ll send people over tomorrow morning to fix your father’s house.”

“You don’t even sound apologetic.” You scoffed.

“I’m not.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Was it necessary? To shoot at my house like that? You couldn’t just, I don’t know, ring the doorbell to get me to come outside? You absolutely had to be a child?”

He smirked then said, “First of all, that isn’t your house anymore. This is where you live now, and you will call this your home. Second of all, why blame me when you acted just as childish when you decided to run away all those years ago? Third of all, I did it because, well, I do like some drama.”

You couldn’t not believe him. “You amaze me with your stupidity, Barnes.”

“You amaze me with your bratty attitude, Mrs. Barnes.”

You stepped closer to him, slow and in a threatening manner. “Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t call me that.”

You sighed, “You know you’re still that little boy who used to bully everyone when we played as kids.”

He clarified, “No, I bullied you because you were annoying. Everyone else was fine.”

“I hate you.” You said with enough hostility you hoped it would shut him up.

It didn’t. “Well, see.” He took your hand in his and said slowly as if talking you down, “That’s something we’ll work on together as a couple.”

You pulled your hand away and were so tempted to just–

“Come,” he said, “I’ll show you where our room is.” You began protesting immediately but he cut you off by saying, “Stop being fucking difficult. We’re married now, act like it.”

“I want a separate room!”

“No.”

“I’m not sleeping with you!”

“Then don’t. But you will sleep in my bed. Like my wife should.”

“You’re a fucking animal!” You tried tugging your hand free from his grasp.

Bucky had had enough. So he pinned you to the nearest surface, which happened to be the closed door of his bedroom. He grabbed both your wrists in his metal hand and pinned them above your head. His face was just inches away from yours, and he stared deep into your eyes.

Your mind immediately went to that harsh kiss you’d shared earlier. And you hated how your body squirmed just as the thought of it. You refused to think about it any more, but his mouth was just so, so close. The cut on his lip, the slight stubble on his cheek and around his mouth, the texture of his skin, you were picking up on details you’d missed.

Bucky spoke in a calm, deep voice which sent shivers down your spine. “Let’s be adults here, okay? You stop acting like a brat, and I’ll stop treating you like one.” He said, pressing his chest into yours. “It’s been a long day, and I know you’re running out of energy as well so stop resisting me. If I was an animal, I would’ve dragged you to bed right now and would’ve made you mine in every sense of the word.” He whispered, his voice cold and dangerous. “But I’m not. So you will walk into this room, and head straight for a warm shower and after you’re done we’re gonna clean these wounds. Am I clear?”

You nodded quickly, like an idiot entranced by his gorgeous voice.

“Use your words, princess. Am I clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

—

You leaned against the counter, wrapped in a fluffy robe and another towel wrapped around your wet hair, and Bucky was cleaning the cut on your lip.

His wounds were all cleaned. It looked like he had used a different shower while you were in here. His long hair was damp and tied into a small bun, with strands of his dark hair falling on either side of his face. He had changed into a tight black t-shirt and PJ trousers. It was frustrating to look at him. Because he looked so damn good.

Last time you’d seen him was when he was a twenty year old boy. He’d changed since. He seemed taller somehow. Or maybe it was just the muscles making him look bigger.

You couldn’t look away from the metal arm. And the intricate details on it.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” He asked, throwing the used cotton balls and napkins in the trash can.

You didn’t miss the way he was being gentle all of a sudden. Calm voice, calm movement. Very different from the man who’d forced you to marry him just hours ago.

“No.” You answered, turning around to look in the mirror. The bruise on your neck was very much visible now. You didn’t notice Bucky approaching you again, you didn’t notice how close he got, not until he reached out and touched your neck with his warm fingers.

And for the first time, he sounded genuine when he said, “I’m sorry. About that.”

You met his eyes through the mirror and remained quiet for a moment. For a brief moment you thought back to that night. What if you hadn’t heard him on the phone? What if you had married him back then? Would this be a normal, daily thing? Sharing a bathroom, a bed?

“I punched you. Multiple times. This makes us equal.”

Bucky scoffed, then nodded. Then said, “Come to bed when you’re done.” And left you alone in the bathroom.

Shit. You stared at yourself in the mirror. What a day. All you wanted was to pay your father a visit and maybe spend some days at home and then fly back to where you came from. Having your father’s house be attacked, getting married, and having to share a bedroom with the man who once broke your heart… yeah, all that wasn’t in the plan.

You changed into some comfy PJs Bucky had brought you earlier and walked out into the bedroom. You found Bucky on his phone again, standing by the foot of the bed.

“Which side do you sleep on?” He asked, not looking up from his phone.

“Uh, right.” You answered, because for some reason now he felt the need to ask for your opinion.

Bucky didn’t say a word as he moved to the left side of the bed and peeled back the covers before getting in. Like this was just another day. Like this was normal. You awkwardly walked to your side of the bed and just stood there for a moment.

“Just get in bed. I won’t touch you.”

He didn’t even look at you as he spoke and, well, the lack of attention from him bothered you. Oh what the hell. You pulled the covers and got under them. You curled onto your side, with your back facing him.

Soon, you heard him click something and all the lights turned off. You sensed movement behind you but that was it. He didn’t touch you. In fact, there was so much distance between you two that your back felt cold. And now that annoyed you as well.

You couldn’t sleep.

An hour went by, you still couldn’t sleep.

Another hour went by, and now you’d begun tossing and turning so much that you heard Bucky groaning.

“Will you stop that?”

“I can’t sleep.” You mumbled.

“Don’t make it my problem. Stop moving.”

“Wow. Some husband you are.”

Silence. Then you felt your body sliding across the bed as Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his warm chest.

“What the–,”

“Shh.” He cut you off, his warm breath tickling your cheek as he spooned you from behind. “It’s cold. We could both use the warmth. Now go to sleep.”

You scoffed, but didn’t move. “Your fancy house doesn’t have a thermostat? Fix the temperature.”

“I like this better.”

“I better not find your hands wandering.”

You moved around for a bit, finding a comfortable spot. Then you moved some more and Bucky tightened his arm around you and whispered into your ear, “Stop wiggling against my cock. I understand it’s our wedding night and all but I’m too tired to do anything.”

Your face burned in embarrassment. You tried to put some distance between your bodies, even though you liked his body heat, but thankfully Bucky pulled you right back.

“Did I say you can move?” He chided.

“What now, I need your permission to get comfortable in bed?”

“Brat.”

“Asshole.”

—

You didn’t know when you fell asleep at night. But the heat from Bucky’s chest definitely helped. It must’ve been that. And in the middle of the night, you must’ve searched for more heat. That was probably the only reason why you woke up and found yourself sprawled all over him, face into the crook of his neck and both your hands under his shirt, legs tangled with his.

“You call me an animal. But look at you. Touching me while I was sleeping.” He mumbled. “Shameless.”

You pulled away so fast, but then regretted it. Because now you missed his warmth. You shivered even under the covers. “Would it kill you to keep your damn house a little warmer?”

He just yawned and got out of bed. “Get ready.” He said, “We might have a guest coming over. And you have to be a good little wife and play host.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh you will.” He teased, “Soon.” Then he winked and walked out of the room.

Well, he at least was giving you some privacy and let you have this bathroom all to yourself. Screw his and his mind games. First he barges into your house, forces you to marry him, then cuddles you to sleep.

You caught yourself frowning multiple times while you showered, did some skin care, and found the closet on the other side of the room. You weren’t even surprised when you found a whole section filled with all you could need. All the shoes seemed like they would fit you, all the outfits as well.

Nothing fazed you anymore. Not even the fact that your new husband might be a bit of a stalker. How else would he know your underwear size!? And there were drawers full of them.

You tried not to worry too much as you got dressed. You were gonna get out of here soon anyway.

Once dressed and ready for the day, you got downstairs and immediately heard Bucky’s voice, along with another voice. They were laughing over something. You found out where they were and approached the high-ceilinged, charming, farmhouse-inspired kitchen which blended with a spacious, cosy dining area.

The other man had his back to you, but you knew that voice. Even though you hadn’t heard it in years.

“Sam?” You couldn’t help but call out, lingering by the large doorway. Bucky remained leaning against the kitchen counter with a coffee mug in his hand, while Sam got up from where he sat at the breakfast counter.

He turned around and his familiar, warm brown eyes met yours. He gave you a comforting smile. You, Sam, and Bucky all grew up together, along with some other kids from families similar to yours. And Sam had always been a sweetheart. You’d missed him.

So you didn’t even hesitate to walk right into his arms once he opened them, wanting a hug. You squeezed him tight and said, “I thought I’d never see you again, Sammy!”

Sam hugged you back just as tight, “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you in almost a decade.” He pulled away to look down at you before giving you a loud kiss on the cheek. Safe to say, he was just as handsome as he was when you left this place. “How have you been?”

You looked over Sam’s broad shoulder and found a broody Bucky. “I’ve been better.”

Sam got really serious, and was about to say something but Bucky’s voice rumbled from behind. “That’s enough hugging and smooching. Sam, stop touching my wife.”

“Ooh, your wife.” Sam teased, before letting go of you and letting you walk out of his arms. “First of all, why didn’t you tell me you two were planning to get married this whole time?” He asked Bucky in an accusatory tone. “My childhood friends got married and I wasn’t even invited.”

Sam sat back down at the breakfast counter, so he didn’t see the questioning stare you sent Bucky. So Sam wasn’t aware of the circumstances under which you got married? Of course he didn’t. Nobody knew, and Bucky wasn’t about to tell anyone

“It all happened so quickly, Sam.” You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as you said, “Bucky was… impatient. Even my father didn’t have time to prepare much. It all just, you know, happened.” You spoke as you helped yourself to some breakfast, taking a seat at the table where you could see both men well.

You didn’t miss the way Bucky’s jaws kept clenching and unclenching as you tiptoed the line between telling the truth and lying to Sam.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “I know how impatient he can be.” He glared at Bucky, who shook his head in disbelief.

“I take it you two work together now?” You only asked because you remember how the parents would always talk about how wonderful it would be if these two boys worked together. Apparently they made a great team back then.

“We do.” Bucky answered, placing his mug down before turning around and began chopping some things.

“You see,” Sam began explaining in a playful tone. “After everything happened, Bucky was all along. Poor little princeling with no guidance and a kingdom to run.” You saw Bucky shaking his head at Sam’s words. Sam continued, “So I knew I had to step in and become his mentor. He wouldn’t have survived without me.”

You made a mental note to ask about what ‘everything’ he was referring to, but couldn’t help but smile at the camaraderie between them, despite it all. Sam had always been a good company. He was the sun rays filtering through dark clouds, and Bucky was the dark, gloomy day who needed the sun’s brightness.

“Wouldn’t have survived.” Bucky muttered, mocking his friend. “You helped me train sometimes. You introduced me to people. That’s about it.” He clarified, bringing over a bowl of chopped fruit over to you and pushed it towards you without a word said.

You liked fruits for breakfast. And you assumed he remembered. But he did it all too casually. As if he did it every day. You didn’t want to cause a scene so you accepted the bowl quietly.

“That’s about it?” Sam shook his head, then turned to you. “I took care of him like a parent–,”

“No you didn’t. You–”

“–and this is how he treats me. I should’ve let you bleed out from that bullet wound that one time. Maybe you wouldn’t be here disrespecting me then.”

You chuckled, clearly on Sam’s team. Bucky didn’t like that. “What about my wife then? Who would be taking care of her?”

“I would.” Sam answered without missing a beat. “We all know if not you then I was gonna marry her.” He turned to you, knowing damn well he was gonna get a reaction out of Bucky any time now. Sam lived to mess with Bucky after all. He always did, ever since you were all kids. “Wouldn’t you have married me if Bucky had died?” He asked you with that mischievous smile on his face.

“I–,”

“You answer that and you’ll never see Sam again.” Bucky said, narrowing his eyes at you, before you couldn’t get a word out of your mouth.

Sam smirked triumphantly.

You rolled your eyes at Bucky and looked right at Sam and said, “I would’ve married you in a heartbeat, Sammy.”

Sam went to grab your hand, surely to bring it up to his lips for a kiss, but Bucky threw a napkin right at him before he could.

“You touch my wife again and I swear–,”

“Must you always threaten people?” You asked, glaring at Bucky.

He glared back. And opened his mouth to say something but Sam cut him off. “Hey, hey, kids. No fighting.” He quickly changed the topic, “Now, since you have gotten married and no one was there, how about a party? To announce it to everyone? We could invite the whole city.”

Party. Yeah right. The last time you attended an extravagant party you had your heart broken. Not just broken, but stepped onto and crushed to a pulp.

You went to say no, “Maybe we shouldn’t–,”

But Bucky declared, “Absolutely we should. After all, we waited almost a decade to marry each other.” He looked right at you as he said that. “It’s time everyone knows you’re finally mine.”

“Perfect!” Sam began planning immediately. He had always been the life of all parties, and he loved them.

While you occasionally answered his questions, you didn’t stop glaring at your husband while you finished your breakfast. There was something he was hiding. You were certain of it. But what?

—

A couple days later, it was finally the night of the party.

The past few days had been more or less similar. You’d always wake up sprawled all over Bucky’s chest, and he always made a teasing comment about it. You’d have breakfast in silence, after which he’d disappear and then he’d come home in the evenings. You never talked while having dinner.

The one time you did talk, it didn’t end well.

You brought it up at dinner. “I tried to go out today. Your people followed me into the city.”

“Our people.” He corrected. Bucky didn’t find anything wrong with that apparently because he simply said, “And they’re your security detail. They’ve been ordered to follow you.”

“So I don’t escape?”

“So you’re always safe.”

“Oh come on. You can’t keep me here forever.”

He shrugged, “You’re not being kept. This is your home, we’re married. This is where you live now.”

You stood up from the table.You didn’t care that the housekeepers you’d been recently introduced to could hear. “And who are you to make that decision for me?” You asked, in a surprisingly calm tone.

He replied in a similar tone. “Your husband.”

You sighed, trying your hardest to keep it all contained. “I have a life, you know? A totally separate life I’ve been living since I left this place. I have to get back to it at some point. You proved your point. Now let me go.”

He ignored all of that. “I’m working on transferring all your businesses and staff here.” He announced. “I’m buying a brand new building in the city, you can have it and set it up however you want. The only thing I can’t find is your secret army of highly trained soldiers.”

“You’ll never find my girls.”

“Why’s that?”

“They’re trained to outrun men like you. All men, in fact.” You added, “I made sure of that. I made sure they’d never be used and moved around like pieces on a chessboard then discarded by people like you.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience.”

“Fuck you, Barnes.” You spat before walking away.

You made sure to sleep on the very edge of the gigantic bed that night, as far away from him as possible. But in the morning, you still woke up snuggled into his chest, on his side of the bed, like you’d been trying to burrow under his skin seeking warmth at night.

You didn’t speak after that. You made sure to ignore him. Each time you left the house, to go see your father or to just roam around the city you’d missed so much, you’d look in the rear view mirror and find big, bulky SUVs following you around.

And here you were now, after days of silent treatment, you stood in front of the large mirror in the closet of your bedroom and watched your reflection. Of course the bastard had chosen an extravagant evening gown for you to wear which looked eerily similar to the one you wore that night for your birthday almost ten years ago.

Except this one was much more elegant. And looked a lot like a wedding dress. With its simple square neckline, thin straps, fitted bodice and a majestic skirt. All white and sparkly. The last time you felt like a princess, the night ended terribly. So this time you were afraid to even let yourself appreciate the beautiful woman in the mirror who stared back at you.

You kept fidgeting, with the skirt of the dress, watching it swish around. You didn’t notice Bucky approaching you from behind. Not until he stood right behind you, his chest brushing against your slight exposed back.

He looked… unreal in his all black suit. Shiny black tie and a small shiny pin. His hair was perfect as always, and his all black outfit really made his eyes seem bluer than ever. Or maybe it was the lights in this closet that did it. But it made you notice the lines by his eyes, which gave away just how much time had gone by.

He was still that bad boy with tattoos whom you had a crush on, who made your race whenever he looked at you. Except now he was older, meaner. And your husband. Whom you hated.

Did you?

You tensed up when he placed a hand on your waist, right where the bodice and skirt were sewn together. You met his eyes through the mirror, but said nothing. You had no mean words to throw at him this time and neither did he.

“You look beautiful.” He said, leaning in just a little to rest his cheek against your temple.

You froze at the soft touch which drove you insane. You must be ovulating, you thought, because there was no way that mere touch was making your heart race like this for no other reason. You began breathing faster, that’s how fast your heart was racing.

You almost leaned into his touch, ready to forget it all just for one moment of warmth. Of peace and quiet. Just one moment to appreciate that you looked beautiful and you had your husband’s attention and all was well. To appreciate that you two look great together. To stop fighting this weird alchemy between you two which kept drawing you to one another no matter what. But then you remembered.

“Do I?” You asked, keeping your voice steady. “You sure I don’t look like a kid’s toy with this ridiculous dress on?”

He remembered too, judging by the look on his face. He looked surprised, then briefly apologetic before settling on a familiar, broody frown. “What did I say about being a brat?”

“I’ll stop being a brat when you stop being an asshole.” You scoffed. “You always were so… careless. With people. With everything. Always thinking you were above everyone else, ever since we were just kids.” You added, “I hate you.”

He smirked, then grabbed your elbow and turned you around so he could look at you, or glare at you with his ocean blue eyes. “You didn’t hate me back then, did you?” He pushed you against the closest surface, which happened to be a wooden dresser. “You craved my attention back then. You used to find excuses to hold my hand when we were little. When we got older you used to hate it when I looked at other girls at school. Now look at you. You’re in my house, you sleep in my bed.” He leaned in, whispering in your ear, “You’re my wife. Then why do you keep resisting me, hmm?”

“I was stupid back then. Wasted so much time trying to get your attention, and all I ever was to you was a whiny, bratty–,” You cut yourself off with a surprised gasp as you watched Bucky lower to his knees in front of you, his hands lifting the skirt of your dress. He was rough with it, crumpling it in his strong fists. “What are you doing?” You asked, shocked and surprised but not making a move to get away. “You– you’re ruining my dress.”

He looked up at you, bunching some of the fabric near your waist and holding the front part of your dress up, pinning the bunched up skirt at your abdomen. As if he wanted to–

Your entire face burned when you realised just how close and intimate this was.

“I bought this dress. I’ll ruin it if I want to.” He spoke in that arrogant tone you weren’t sure you entirely hated at this moment. “You’re lucky I’m not tearing it off of you.”

“And you’re lucky I’m not–,”

He cut you off by leaning in and kissing your inner thigh. Just like that. As if you weren’t on the verge of arguing just now. You were still processing that soft kiss he left on your thigh, and he was already moving to spread your legs apart as he slowly looked up, waiting to see if you’d tell him to stop or push him away.

You didn’t.

His eyes remained focused on your face as his hand reached out and he ran his metal knuckles between your legs, along your wet folds through your thin underwear, making you shudder at his mere touch. You flinched at the cold, but didn’t pull away.

“You’re dripping.” He commented, slowly sliding down your underwear. “Does arguing with me turn you on, baby? Is that why you do it all the time?” He smirked, finally throwing your underwear to the side.

You glared at him, opening your mouth to argue yet again but you ended up just letting out a soft moan as you felt his metal fingertips gently trail up and down your legs. He chuckled at how sensitive and responsive you were. Bucky placed a kiss on your inner thigh again and you gasped.

“Looks like you haven’t been taken care of in a while.” He said, moving his fingers over your clit, circling it slowly. “Have you?” He sounded like he was accusing you.

“No.” You hissed, angry at how much you didn’t mind his touch. “You barged in and married me before I could go out and find someone who might–,”

“I tolerate you talking to and about Sam because he’s our friend.” He cut you off. “But if I hear you talking about any other man, I promise I will be committing unnecessary crimes and it’ll all be on you.” He paused, glaring at you. “You hear me?”

You nodded. Fuck he looked good from up here.

He held your stare as he leaned in and placed his mouth to your core, giving your clit a firm such before his warm tongue slipped past your folds and teased your dripping hole. One hand holding part of your dress up while the metal one worked in tandem with his tongue, circling your throbbing clit and parting your wet folds with ease.

“Should’ve known you’d taste like fucking heaven,” He whispered, almost to himself.

You couldn’t hold the moans and whimpers in, feeling his stubble rubbing against your soft skin, craving more of it. You couldn’t help but slide hesitant fingers into his hair, pulling him closer. “Please, more…” You whined.

That made him wild. And he ate you out relentlessly, taking his time and learning what worked for you and what didn’t, until your legs were shaking and your moans were louder.

He slid his fingers, just a knuckle deep inside you and watched how much you loved that. “That feels good, doesn’t it, baby?”

You only whimpered in response.

When he was certain you were right on the edge, hips moving in a frantic way which made you grind against his fingers and tongue, only then did he pull away and let go of your dress before standing back up to face you with a condescending smirk.

“You think it’s that easy?” He spoke, but you focused more on the wetness coating his lips rather than his words.

You blinked a couple of times to break out of whatever spell he’d just put you under using that damned mouth and fingers of his. He’d… he’d dared bring you right to the edge. But hadn’t let you come.

You were breathing heavily, feeling hot and tingly all over.

He chuckled, enjoying the speechlessness which was rare when it came to you. “If you want more, then behave tonight. Be good and tell everyone how in love we are and all the nice things, and I promise I’ll take care of you later tonight. Okay?“

You knew what he was doing. He wanted you to tell as many people as possible because the more people knew, the harder it would be for you to sneak out of this place again.

He didn’t even wait for a response. He just licked his lips clean, shamelessly holding your stare while he did. Then turned to the mirror and fixed his suit before bending down to pick up your discarded underwear. You looked away, embarrassed but waiting for him to hand it to you.

Except he didn’t. He pocketed it like it was nothing and said, “Come on, our guests are waiting.” Then he walked out of the room like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t made you almost lose your mind just minutes ago. Like he didn’t have his tongue and fingers inside you. Like he hadn’t gotten so close to making you come.

Like your heart wasn’t still racing even after he’d left the room.

Eventually, you calmed down. Fixed your makeup, hair and dress again before heading towards the temporary, clear outdoor party tent Sam had people install in Bucky’s huge backyard. The closer you got, the more it looked straight out of a fairytale. Given the clear walls, you could see the golden lights and decor inside.

The chandeliers, the floral arrangements, the tables and the dance floor where people danced with their partners.

Speaking of partners, there by the entrance stood a tall, dark figure. Your husband.

“Took you a while.” He muttered once you got close enough to him.

You stopped by his side and sighed. Then answered in a monotone voice, trying to hide how bothered you were. “Well, some conceited asshole left me to deal with a mess he made so there’s that.”

Bucky snickered. “Don’t act so indifferent. You were dripping all over my tongue and hand just minutes ago.”

“Keep your voice down.” You hissed.

“Nothing to be ashamed of. It’s not taboo for a husband to take care of his wife, you know?” He sounded just as annoying as you expected he would.

You looked down and noticed he had his elbow extended out for you to take. You took it and spoke once you two began walking into the venue. “If you think you are getting anywhere near me to take care of me again, husband, you are dead fucking wrong.” You put a fake smile on as people began noticing your arrival and flocked to you.

Bucky whispered one last thing into your ear before he left you in the care of the excited, curious, and loud group of ladies coming your way, “Oh you’ll beg me to touch you soon enough, wife.”

Then he was gone again. Leaving you right on that edge again.

Damn him!

—

You had to give it to Sam, he knew how to organise a party. The decor, the food, the music, the performances, all of it was perfect.

He even re-introduced to all the people you might have forgotten while you were gone. And naturally everyone had questions. You repeated the same answers to them all. The same lies.

Where were you this whole time? You wanted to do your own thing, and make your own name so you decided to get away from home.

Why did you leave right after it was announced that you were to marry Bucky Barnes? Oh your father never said when you were to marry him. He just said you would. Besides, both you and Bucky were too young to marry back then.

Did Bucky know you were going to be gone? Of course he did! You two were childhood sweethearts after all. Yes, you did keep in touch this whole time and only fell more and more in love. Yes, distance does make the heart grow fonder and all.

Why did the wedding happen so suddenly and in secret? After almost a decade of being far apart from each other, you two could no longer wait anymore. So you eloped the day you came back.

There are rumours that your father and Bucky have some kind of tension going on between them, is any of it true? That was the one question you didn’t feel too confident about. Because your father never ended up telling you why that was. How did the rivalry start? You lied and said, it’s just because you eloped. Your father wanted to be involved but you were too in love to think straight. So now your father was giving your poor husband a hard time for stealing his little girl.

As you paraded around and met everyone, you could feel Bucky’s eyes on you at all times. You didn’t have to look to know. You could feel the burning sensation along your back and you just knew he was watching you.

And he watched all night. Up until the moment people began leaving and you had no choice but to find him again, not knowing what else to do.

“You lie very well.” He commented, holding his elbow out for you to take again.

You did. And also leaned into him a little because you had been standing for too many hours. You decided to ignore the hostility for just a minute. “Yes, I’m a natural.”

“Everyone bought your bullshit about how we are childhood sweethearts turned lovers.” He whispered, turning his head to face you.

“Well, you did say to make it believable.”

“Oh it is.” He boasted, “Especially since you’ve been looking at me like that the whole night.”

You rolled your eyes, “How?”

“With longing, and desire. You’re all hot and bothered. You crave my tongue back on that throbbing little clit, don’t you?”

“You’re delusional, Barnes.”

“And you’re dripping wet for me, Mrs. Barnes.”

—

The party ended, and after Sam left you and Bucky made your way back inside the house. Sam, being the angel that he was, had made sure a clean up crew would be here early the next morning so you had nothing to worry about.

Not that it should bother you whether or not Bucky’s house is tidy.

You had a faint smile on your face as you went about your nighttime routine. Shower, skin care, a quick snack in the kitchen. And while you were downstairs, searching the pantry for something sweet, you saw Bucky near the thermostat.

The pantry hid you well, so Bucky didn’t see you. But you watched him mess with the temperature. You squinted and realised he was lowering it. The damned bastard was making it colder! No wonder you were freezing each night and woke up each morning snuggled up to him, basking in his warmth.

This asshole.

You remained in hiding until Bucky left, and this time as you made your way upstairs you vowed you wouldn’t reach for his warmth. No matter how cold it got. And he wouldn’t get to use you as a personal heated blanket either. Let him freeze.

You barely lasted thirty minutes under the covers.

And he was quiet and didn’t move so you thought he was asleep already as you carefully scooted a little bit closer, trying to feel where he was in the dark. If only this bed wasn’t so damn big. You patted around, trying not to move to much as you–

“I can hear you, you know? If you want to cuddle, just say it.”

You stopped moving immediately. “Shut up.” You muttered, frowning at him even though he couldn’t see it. You could see his faint silhouette in the dark, so you knew when he turned on his side to face you.

“What is it, wife? You need some warmth on this cold, cold night?” He asked in that mocking tone of his.

“No.” You answered, lying. Because yes you did.

He muttered ‘stubborn brat’ under his breath and then grabbed you and pulled you close until your back was completely pressed against his chest. His warm, comfy chest. You bit back a sigh of relief once you felt his body heating wrapping you in a cocoon.

“I saw you messing with the thermostat.” You admitted.

“Oh?”

“Yes. You make it cold on purpose.”

“Oh no.” He mocked. “ Why didn’t you fix it then?” He asked, and it hit you how childish this was. He leaned in just enough so that his lips brushed against your cheek when he spoke. “Could it be that you like cuddling with me?”

“Shut up.”

He scoffed, finally wrapping his arms around you, but you hissed upon feeling his metal arm on your body.

“It’s cold.”

“Warm it up for me then.”

“What–”

You stopped talking the moment Bucky grabbed one of your legs and hooked it on top of his, spreading your legs to make room for his hand as you both remained on your sides, with him spooning you from behind.

His metal hand found itself sliding into your shorts, past your underwear and he cupped you with such confidence and authority that you couldn’t help leaning into and grinding into his touch. His other hand slid under your pillow and down so he could grab and give your breast a firm squeeze.

Fuck. His hands felt like they were touching you everywhere.

“I told you I’d take care of you if you behaved.” He whispered into your ear. “Time for a little reward, wife.”

He slid two fingers inside you, you gasped at the feeling of him being knuckles deep inside you. You whined as he stretched you a little, moving his fingers around until your hips were moving on their own, trying to get him to move some more.

He chuckled. “That feels good?” He murmured into your ear.

His voice, his warmth, the softness of his embrace, the unhurried way his fingers were moving in and out of you, sliding over your clit and stroking your walls like he had all the time in the world.

Your hands wrapped around his metal wrist, keeping his hand in place as you rode his fingers the way you wanted. Hips moving forward and causing his fingers to slide in and out, while you moaned and whimpered.

His lips brushed against your cheek over and over again as he whispered against your skin, “See how nice it is when you behave? Hmm? You can have me whenever you want, baby. Just be good for me, and I’ll do anything for you.”

The animosity between you was forgotten at this moment. Here, in this dark room the past didn’t matter for a few minutes. Nothing mattered, just that you wanted something and he was giving it to you.

His thumb caressed your clit, teasing it a little more until you cried out, “Bucky, please…”

He froze. You did too. Then he chuckled and said, “So all is takes is a little finger fucking and now you have manners and you call me by my name?” He sounded just as annoyingly playful as you knew he would.

“Oh fuck you!” You spat, then immediately let out a loud moan as he sped up and really fucked you with his fingers until you were a whimpering mess. “Please, please, please…”

“What did I say, huh?” He hissed. “Keep acting like a fucking brat and you’ll be treated like one.” He kept his fingers moving in and out of you. “I planned on really taking care of you tonight, but you know what? This is all you’re gonna get.”

Your moans and whimpers got louder and louder until you began clenching around his fingers, coming undone with a loud cry of his name. Body shaking and your hips grinding down on his hand as you savoured the last moments of your orgasm before he pulled out and pulled away from you.

You thought he’d go right back to sleep but then you felt him get out of bed. “Where are you–,”

“I’ll fix the temperature.” He mumbled, sounding annoyed. Rightfully so. “Go to sleep.”

And that was the last you heard or saw of him until the morning because you passed out right after. You didn’t even know if he returned to bed or not. Not that you cared much.

Right?

—

Things changed after that night.

A lot changed actually. Bucky had, miraculously, managed to uproot ten years of your life from elsewhere and planted it right here in the city. He took you to the building he’d been getting ready for you and it sure was something. You didn’t know what you expected but a brand new skyscraper was not what you had in mind.

The day he handed over papers and keys and gave you a tour of the huge building was the first time you felt a shift in this… bond you shared with him.

“Thank you.” You simply said as you both stepped into the shiny elevator so he could take you all the up to the top floor, to show you to your new office.

Bucky slid his hands in his pockets and turned to face you. “You think being nice equals sexual favours from me, wife?”

You could’ve told him to shut it. Or told him to go get fucked. But he was trying to be good to you, wasn’t he? Even after all he did, he wanted you next to him for some unknown reason and frankly you were tired of resisting. Your entire life was here now anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to… try. Would it?

So instead you answered with, “Doesn’t it?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at you, searching for the catch. He didn’t find any so he said, “We’ll see about that.”

And that night he followed you into the shower and kissed you hard under the falling water. “I see you behaved yourself today.” He whispered against your mouth.

You pulled him closer by grabbing his neck and said, “Do I get a reward then?”

He didn’t say anything, just kissed you hard again and walked the two of you backwards until your back collided with the cold clear glass of the shower cubicle. Then he pulled away, looked down into your eyes. His own filled with lust and hunger as he asked, “You’re gonna let me fuck you?”

You nodded quickly before saying, “Yes. Please.”

He didn’t waste a single moment. He grabbed one of your legs and hooked it to his hip, spreading you open. He kissed you senseless again while he pushed inside of you. You moaned into the kiss as he filled you up, his cock stretching you out, making you whine and whimper as he slow fucked you.

“Fuck…” He breathily moaned against your open mouth while he moved against you. Pushing deeper, in and out of you until your moans and whimpers got louder and louder. The sound of the water falling from the shower drowned out most of it, so he fucked you until you moaned loud enough that he could hear you over the falling water.

“Please,” You cried out. Weeks of frustration wanting to be let out. “Please, Buck…” Your hands wrapped around his shoulders, and you held on while he fucked you.

Bucky almost froze again at the sound of his nickname falling from your lips. But he maintained his composure and sped up into you, feeling your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock.

“You’ve been good today,” He said, noticing the way you clenched around him hard at the sound of praise. “You didn’t talk back, not once. Is it because you wanted this cock, baby?”

You whined in response. Feeling his damp skin rubbing against yours, and for a brief moment you wanted to live in this moment forever.

“Oh, poor baby.” He gave you a messy, heated kiss then said, “It’s all yours, you know? You just have to ask nicely. And you can have it whenever you want.”

“Please…” You begged again, your pride nowhere in sight. “Please, Bucky.”

“Come for me, baby…” He breathed against your skin. His hands held you in place as he pounded into you. “Come for me.”

You did, moaning so loud it was all he heard as he came right after you.

—

It became a daily thing over the next few weeks. You’d seek Bucky out at random times during the day or more often right when he’d get into bed at night.

“Were you good today, wife?” He asked, his hands already moving all over you trying to undress you as fast as he could.

“Yes,” You breathed into his ear, your hands touching him all over his tattooed chest. “I even made you breakfast, remember?”

“Those burnt pancakes count?”

You shut him up by kissing him, pulling him down onto the bed and straddling him, then proceeded to ride him until you were both moaning and spent, too tired to move.

—

Things got… playful.

Oftentimes you’d catch yourself wondering why you weren’t actively working to get out of here. But your whole life was here now. Work, your family, and your husband. You didn’t hate Bucky as much as you thought you would. Just a few months ago you wanted to kill him on sight but now…

“I saw the new building you work at. He bought you that?” Your father asked one morning when you went over to join him for breakfast.

You cleared your throat and answered, “He did. He moved everything here. My businesses, my staff, all of it.”

“And the girls?” He asked, referring to the infamous, feared, and fierce army you had raised and trained over the last ten years.

“My girls are free to go wherever they want to.” You let pride fill you as you thought of them. “Besides, they don’t have to be here for me to know I can always count on them. They’re just a phone call away.” You explained. “Plus they have work to do. People to save, women to recruit. You know, the usual.”

“I’m proud of you, you know?”

You smiled at your father. Then a few moments passed and you couldn’t help but ask, “What happened after I left? Where is the rest of Bucky’s family?”

Your father looked surprised. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Your father shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now. They’re all gone anyway. Plus the boy, he… he treats you right, doesn’t he?”

You nodded. Then left it at that. You wanted a peaceful morning with your father, you didn’t want to ruin it by insisting he tell you about whatever it was that he wanted to keep in the past.

—

But it bothered you, knowing that something happened while you were gone that you knew nothing about and everyone refused to tell you about it.

All except one man. Your beloved friend, Sam.

He showed up one morning, demanding to see Bucky.

“He said he has an important phone call to attend to. With someone named Steve. He’s been outside for over an hour now,” You explained to Sam, who stood at the foyer looking disappointed, “It looks like he’ll be out for quite some time.”

Sam frowned, and sighed. “He said to come over for a round of golf.” He sounded like he’d been betrayed. “Ever since he started doing business and being friendly with that Steve guy,” Sam complained, “That bitch has been trying to steal my best friend.”

You chuckled and grabbed his hand to lead him further into the house. “I’m sorry my husband ruined your playdate, Sammy. But you can hang out with me.”

Sam reluctantly agreed only after you promised to make him blueberry muffins. He liked those ever since you were kids.

He agreed to help, and you both had a nice, comfortable conversation going while you worked. You caught yourself shaking your head a few times thinking about how just a few months ago if someone had told you you’d be in Bucky’s kitchen making muffins you wouldn’t believe it.

But here you were now.

Then Sam casually said, “I’m glad you two worked it out, you know? You’re so perfect for each other. Even back when we were kids, remember how everyone used to tease you two and say you would surely marry one another?” He laughed. “I mean after he told me all about how you heard him on the phone with me by the pool, I was worried you might never clear up the misunderstanding.” He chuckled, keeping his eyes down as he lined the muffin tin so didn’t see the way you froze. Sam continued, “I thought that’s why you left when I heard about your sudden disappearance. But–”

You cut him off, heart racing as memories of that night came flooding back in. “Sam… what do you mean on the phone with you?”

Sam looked up, frowning. “That night of your twentieth birthday. Remember how you found Bucky by the pool? He was on the phone with me that night. He was so angry when he told me what his family was planning to do to yours, how they were going to–,” Sam cut himself off as the realisation set in. “Did he not tell you the truth?”

Your heart pounded. Something was wrong.

“Tell me what truth?”

Sam’s eyes softened. “Oh, I shouldn’t be the one to–,”

“Sammy, please.” You begged in a whisper. “Even my father refuses to tell me anything. I have the right to know. What happened?”

Sam tried his hardest to make sense as he told you everything in a rush. “Look, something went wrong back then. Bucky’s family began siding with the rivals and they were trying to take your father down. They tricked your dad into thinking that getting you and Bucky married would be a good idea and well, your father chose to believe his friends so he made that announcement at the party.” Sam sighed, “But Bucky’s family were planning something really bad. They were going to use the wedding as an excuse to gather all your family in one place and… end all of you. Just so they’d be able to expand their territory. Bucky found out about this plan and he was pissed. So that night, he called me. To vent.”

You felt your eyes begin to water.

Sam continued. “But then you found him. I remember him whispering to me that you were doing a terrible job at hiding behind a plant or some shit. Then your huge gown gave away your hiding spot. But given you were listening, Bucky decided he’d get you annoyed enough to have you at least try to call off the wedding which would buy us some time to figure out what to do. That’s when he began saying those things about you. Trying his hardest to sound like he truly did not want to marry you.” Sam sighed, “I mean there might have been a better way of doing it rather than fake dialogues on a phone call, but we were twenty year old boys. We didn’t know better. We didn’t know you’d write that note and just disappear.”

What the actual fuck.

“Sam…” You whispered in disbelief.

He shook his head. “Please tell me you didn’t truly believe all that. He lied when he said those things that night, you know? Bucky liked you ever since we were kids. You don't remember how he used to get mad at me whenever I was around you for too long? How he always ignored your hiding spots when we played just so you’d win at hide-and-seek? You don’t remember how he used to bully your stupid boyfriends as we got a older?”

You couldn’t believe any of this. But Sam would never lie to you.

“Wait,” Sam put the pieces together. “So you didn’t know about any of this?”

You closed your eyes and sighed, “I didn’t. I heard all the things he said that night and… I had spent my entire life loving him and I thought…” You sighed. “I was young and stupid and heartbroken so I just left.” Then you explained. “I got back recently, Bucky made this whole show of raining down bullets at my father’s house and, well, we kinda got married that same day, in my father’s destroyed foyer.”

“You didn’t talk to each other this whole time?” Sam was in disbelief. “Oh for fuck’s sake. And I thought Bucky just never mentioned you while you’ve been gone because… well, he’s not exactly good at the whole heart to heart thing. He’s Bucky.”

Your surprise morphed into anger really quickly. “I need to find my husband.” You said, quickly walking out of the kitchen.

Sam yelled behind you, “I'm gonna take this muffin batter and go before he shoots me after he finds out I told you all this!”

You just yelled back, “Bye Sammy, I love you”

Sam’s voice sounded distant as he yelled back, “Don’t let him hear you!”

You ran out to the back, where Bucky said he would be. And you found him by the pool. Again. The sight of him standing there gave you déjà-vu. Except he wasn’t your twenty-year old crush, in a black suit, arguing with who turned out to be Sam, on the night of your birthday anymore.

He was older now, your husband, wearing dark trousers and a loose white-button up shirt, standing by the pool with the sun setting behind him. You stood on the patio, for a second more, admiring him. The metal hand casually shoved in his pocket and his heavily tattooed arm held a phone to his ear.

You called out, no longer containing your anger. “You absolute piece of shit!”

Bucky looked towards you and just frowned, before rolling his eyes. Then said on the phone, “Hang on a minute, Steve. My wife’s angry at me again.” He lowered the phone to his chest and whispered to you, “What is it this time?”

“How long were you going to keep the truth from me?” You accused him. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He raised the phone to his ear again and said, “I’ll call you later Steve, something came up.” Then he hung up, tossed his phone onto one of the lounge chairs before turning to face you again. “Don’t get mad–”

“Stop telling me what to do!”

He sighed. “Did Sam tell you anything? I saw his car coming in earlier.”

You hissed, “Oh leave him alone! He’s a good man who doesn’t lie to me!”

Bucky shook his head, understanding that you knew all about what he’d been hiding, and too calmly said, “They were gonna kill you. All of you. Not just your family members, but the guards, the family friends, the members of your family who aren’t even in this life – all of you. I had to do something. My folks were wrong, I couldn’t let innocent people die just because my family got too power hungry.”

You took a step forward, “Why didn’t you tell me before I left? I would’ve talked to someone.”

“We barely even talked to each other as we got older. I thought you wouldn’t believe me.”

“But you could’ve at least tried to say something!”

He was quiet for a moment. Then said, “I came to see you the next day.” He confessed. “The morning after the party. But your father had found your note and you’d already left. You never mentioned exactly why you left in the note, so I let him think it was because of me.” He explained, “Since there would be no wedding I didn’t have to worry anymore. But the threat remained. So I goaded your father into a fight. He took the bait and tried to shoot at me. He missed, of course. But enough people heard about it so he ended up declaring war against my family.”

He paused. You listened quietly.

“No one knew it was all because of me. But at least from then on, your father was more cautious. And he began hating my folks. And they couldn’t keep pretending to be his friend for much longer either. All the truth began spilling out. Soon the city was divided and the attacks began. Allies became enemies, just like that.”

You were quiet. Processing everything. All of that shit happened and you were not aware.

For some reason, you asked, “During those attacks… Is that when you lost your arm?”

You only realised you’d been stepping closer and closer to him when he raised said metal arm and touched your cheek gently. He smiled and said, “No, baby. That was a different time.”

You had a tear sliding down your face. He wiped it away. “What happened then?” You asked.

“My folks didn’t stand a chance. Your father was not only angry and betrayed, but he was also sad that he lost you because of them, or me.” Bucky explained. “It got… really bad. Your father lost a lot of his guys. Then he got angrier. So he stopped responding to the petty attacks and came after my folks directly.”

“He killed them?” They were his friends once.

Bucky said, “He still doesn’t know I helped him all the way until the end.”

“But he spared you.”

Bucky smirked. “He just could never catch me.”

“But your family…” Bucky went against his own you realised.

“They were bad people. Not just because of what they planned to do to you but…” He sighed. “They were doing bad things in the background. Dealing in substances, and people.” He spared you the gory details.

But you understood.

“Why didn’t you tell me all this that day we got married?”

“You wouldn’t have believed me. You had just spent ten years hating me.” He shrugged. “But hey, it kept you safe.”

You stepped closer to him, feeling tired with all that you felt inside you. “So you never meant the things you said that night?”

Bucky pulled you close, cupping your face in his hands. “I have loved you my entire life. I never stopped.”

You sniffled, looking up into his pretty eyes. “We lost so much time. I spent years hating you for nothing.” It hurt thinking about it.

He smiled at you, “I should’ve thought it through better. But I was young and rash, and my family threatened to kill the girl I loved. I thought I was doing the right thing by pushing you away.” He sighed. “I just didn’t think I was going to lose you for almost a decade. I was always aware of where you were and what you did in life in those years. I was so proud of everything you did, the name you made for yourself. But I couldn’t reach you. You were angry and you hated me. So I waited. And then you came back and… I needed you with me. I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait any longer.”

You wrapped your arms around him, shoving your face into the crook of his neck as you let the tears fall quietly.

“Shh,” He whispered, running a comforting hand down your back. “It’s okay now, I’m here. We’re okay.”

“I’ve been mean to you.” You whispered. “I’m sorry.”

He chuckled quietly, “And I shot at your father’s house. We’re equal.”

“I… I love you too, you know?” You sniffled.

Bucky pulled away so he could look down at your teary face. “Sorry to say this, wife, but this isn’t half as romantic as the first time you told me you loved me.”

You frowned. “What?” Did you talk in your sleep? Oh no. Did you? “When did I say it?”

“We were seven, playing in the hedge maze in your father’s backyard.” He smiled, thinking about that day. “He had just had a new water fountain placed in there, and you wanted to show it to me. You must have thought it was pretty and that I needed to see it too. Then you dragged me all the way there and told me you loved me.” He smirked, “Seven-year old you would be disappointed in you right now.”

A chuckle escaped your lips at the faded memory. “I wish we could go back in time.”

“Well, we can’t. But we can have the rest of our lives together.”

You sniffled again, wiped your tears. Then nodded, and leaned in for a kiss. Deepening it the moment he kissed you back. Your fingers found their way into his longish hair and you gently tugged at his roots.

He smiled into the kiss when you whispered against his lips, “I like you with long hair.”

“I see you’re being nice again,” He murmured in between kisses, “Does my wife need something?”

You giggled this time. “I want you, Buck. Just you.”

“You have me.” He said. “Always.”

#mob!bucky #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut

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silknspice · 5 days ago

Text

BAD LIARS —

fake dating hockey! vi x reader | fluff, angst, fake dating trope, romcom-ish, smut (mdni 18+) wc 20.8k

synopsis: following the release of four outdated love letters, vi vanderson is more than willing to start fake dating the girl of her dreams as a way to get rid of your clingy ex (and her ex hookup): caitlyn kiramman.

content: fake dating trope, some fake insta/snap stories/smau content!, language, betrayal, makeup smut (kissing, fingering, oral, mdni!), clingy ex!caitlyn, college au, lying, miscommunication

Three-fourths of your favorite cereal is absolutely disgusting.

The deep blue circles start off sweet, but leave a bitter aftertaste that stains your tongue. The auburn ones aren’t all that bad, but they get too soggy, disintegrating into grains that fade into the now colored milk. The chestnut brown discs are so scarce that their taste is completely forgettable; you swear there’s only three in each batch.

Had these been the only flavors, you’d chuck the box in the trash and scold your best friend-roommate Mel for even bringing them into your shared apartment. But that one-fourth of strawberry pink circles make it worth it every time. They’re sweet on your tongue, sweet on your heart, swee—

“What’s with the look?”

Mel’s concern-filled voice brings you back to the present, making you smile sheepishly like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. The girl slides her white puffer jacket on, keys jingling in her hand as she awaits an answer.

“Nothin’, just ate a blue one.” Your mouth flattens, attempting to squeeze the bitter flavor from your tastebuds.

The gold-eyed girl hums. She blinks as her arms cross and she takes two, then three cautious steps towards you. Her gaze flickers faster than light, attempting to read every inch of your body language.

“You know,” she starts, sitting down to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “If you need to talk about it, I’m here. Don’t feel like you have to suffer in silence.”

That makes you snort, soft reassuring laughter following as you shake your head with confidence.

“Suffer? Mel, I broke up with Caitlyn, not the other way around.”

“Yeah, but transitioning from a relationship to a peace-abundant single life is hard nonetheless.. unless you’re ready to jump to the rebound stage?” Her full brows raise in persuasion as she finishes her sentence. In her mind, getting laid would solve any problems that the complex inner-workings of your mind could craft.

The question catches you off guard once more. Not that it should. It’d be a big fat lie to claim the idea never crossed your mind. In fact, it planted itself inside your brain like a bug and dug all the way down to memories you’d attempted to forget. Down to highschool of all places (God forbid). Down to those four names that perfectly defined the word ‘desire’ for you. Ellie Williams, Caitlyn Kiramman, Sky Young, and Violet Vanderson.

Ellie, a fellow camp counselor at Wildflower Haven your junior year, took hold of your heart on day one. Sneaking out of your cabins at night, skinny dipping in the camp lake, even making matching bracelets that you claimed you’d ‘wear forever’. Your crush blossomed at superluminal speed. But before you knew it, camp was coming to an end and you were saying goodbye forever.

Caitlyn Kiramman. A classic senior-year-of-high-school crush that didn’t develop until the first semester of college sophomore year. Your now ex, who is the last person you want to think about. High five to your high school self for predicting that one, though.

Sky Young, a skating instructor at your local ice rink: Polar Peaks. After you’d fallen on your face for the fourth time and were ready to give up, you saw chestnut brown curls above you, decorating one of the friendliest smiles you’d seen to date. She helped you rise to your feet and held your hand for a lap around the rink. Unfortunately, you were a sophomore when she was a senior, and a week later you returned to the rink to find out she’d officially left for college. Not that there was anything between you two. Still, you could dream.

And last, but certainly not least, Violet Vanderson. The star athlete of your school’s hockey team then and now. Sculpted muscles, a singular tattoo that multiplied quickly after graduation, and a killer smile that could put a halt to the gears turning in any girl’s head.

It was a simple interaction. You were the first one to read your final poem in front of your literature class with clammy palms, a shaky voice, and a dream. As you finished, looking at attentive students like a deer in headlights, Vi was the first to clap. It was enthusiastic, loud, and genuine. And like always, other students followed suit.

Vi didn’t know you. She knew of you, the bits and pieces she could gather. You were somewhat of a social butterfly, you smelled of strawberry and vanilla every time you passed her seat, you were mind-consumingly beautiful, and you could write. Unfortunately for the both of you, your paths didn’t seem to cross any further than that.

And so, you wrote a letter.

Four love letters, to be exact. Each one in the high point of your crushes, attempting to soothe the longing feeling in your gut that ached for you to do something. You wrapped them all the same, in either a dark blue, chestnut brown, auburn, or pink envelope with a bow on the seal, even going as far as addressing and stamping them. Of course, they were never meant to be sent, which led them to their hiding place in a rose-red cylindrical fabric box that was stashed away into the depths of your closet.

“C’mon, you’re hot and single again. I have some good contestants–”

“I don’t know Mels,” you cut her off with a look too mixed to decipher. “But really, I’m good,” you reassure, taking another spoonful of cereal into your mouth.

Yuck– another blue one.

“Sevika, what the fuck!”

Gert’s complaint was drowned out by skates shuffling against the abused ice. Players clad in blue and white practice jerseys messily fill the space, fighting to keep up with Sevika. The woman speeds past, guiding the puck along the ice and slamming it into the goal.

The sounds of hurried feet and grunts subside, leaving breathless panting and shared looks of confusion across the teammates’ faces. But one pair of skates never slows, coming up behind the buff figure and skidding to a stop.

“The hell are you doing?” Vi scolds the woman with a scrunched up face of judgement. This is the sixth time Sevika’s pissed her off this week and it’s starting to get on her last nerve. “You’re hogging the puck. You’re not the only person on this team, in a game this would’ve–”

“Get the hell out of my face,” the burly woman throws back, shoulder checking Violet hard enough to make her break her cool, squaring her shoulders and raising her voice with a “Sevika,”.

“Vanderson! Grove!” Coach Talis’s voice echos throughout the rink, making the hockey players stop in their tracks.

“Unless you two want to run extra drills: cut it out. Now.”

“Is it just me, or is she being more of a fucking pain than usual?” Vi asks the woman across the locker room rhetorically, slipping on a clean compression shirt and plopping down on the bench to knot her laces.

“I told you dude, she wants to be you, or at least take your spot.” the blonde sighs, pulling her braided hair from under the pullover she just slipped on. “As long as she’s taking her anger our on you and not me..” She continues, and the pinkette throws her a scoff before the blonde continues.

“You know if you need stress relief, you could always go back to Kiramman. Heard the pretty girl called things off with her.”

And although her teammate only muttered the words, they set off blaring alarms within Vi’s mind. Because she can’t go back to hooking up with Caitlyn, she lied to her friends saying the two of them were ‘too busy’ when in reality Vi called things off because she couldn’t stop thinking about the one girl she knew nothing about. You. And suddenly, you and Cait were dating. Suddenly, she sure as hell couldn’t tell anybody the real reason she stopped seeing her.

“Nah Abby, not happening,” she simply replies, attempting to sound as bored with the topic as possible.

“Fine, stay dry. I’m just throwing things out there,” the blonde puts her hands up in defense, shutting her locker as she walks towards the exit. “Later!” she waves before slipping out of the door.

A beat passes. Then two. Then three. Finally, she takes a deep breath, leans down to unzip her practice bag, and reaches in.

And out Vi pulls a pink envelope, decorated with a bow perfectly placed on the front and her name adorned with hearts on the back.

The force of cool air coats your face as you walk throughout campus, ranting on the phone to Mel about your latest hell of a group project. “And it’s not even.. even.. sorry, I’m getting a call. Talk at home!”

You smile at the friendly contact photo covering your screen, rounding some greenery as the parking lot comes into view. With a click of the ‘accept’ button, you're greeted with the gentlest of voices. “Hey!”

A soft chuckle leaves your lips.

“Hey little man, look I’m about to drive home so I can’t talk for long,” you blinked a few times, realizing you went further from your car and spinning on your heels.

“No worries,” he starts, “I just wanted to let you know that last week I was helping clean your old room and I found some letters, looks like you forgot to send them out? They were stamped and addressed and everything, so I just sent them for you.”

Ekko continues, giving some speech about God knows what.

But you can’t hear any of it, because the ringing in your ears is deafening.

No.

It takes a few beats of your pure, shocked silence before your brain powers back on. And once it does, every inch of your mind is racing.

Okay, you thought to yourself. Ellie’s letter was addressed to camp, so there’s no chance of it getting to her anytime soon, if at all. Sky’s been gone for years, but you can’t remember the address you put down for her letter. Violet– shit. She definitely has hers.

Oh. No. No, no, no.

Your body feels oh so fragile and suddenly the idea of fleeing the country doesn’t sound entirely heinous, because only a few feet away stands Caitlyn.

Her blue hair is in a messy ponytail and her outfit is less perfected than usual, urgently thrown on. She’s searching, a determined expression plastered on her face as her gaze flickers through crowds of students.

For a moment, you pray it’s a misunderstanding. You pray she’s in a rush to find someone else, because there’s absolutely no way your ex was mailed a love letter you wrote in highschool.

But your eyes trail down to her hand wrapped around that beautifully decorated navy envelope, and your knees are seconds away from buckling.

“Yeah, yeah uh huh that’s great and all Ekko but I’ve really gotta go. Call me another time, okay?” you hit the ‘end call’ button with more force than needed and dash to your car.

As you swing open the car door and drop inside with a slam shut, you can feel it. The way your heart pounds against your chest as if it’s trying to escape. That achy feeling that crawls its way up the back of your throat and transforms into tears that prickle at the corners of your worried eyes.

You shake your head, putting the key in the ignition and immediately shifting to reverse, not tending to your clouded vision.

“Woah!”

The somewhat-familiar yelp has your foot slamming on the breaks. Your face scrunches in confusion, the sleeve of your coat wiping your eyes just enough to make out the empty space behind your car as you look in your rearview camera. You’re confused, ready to switch the car back into ‘reverse’ before a tap tap at your window makes you gasp.

Violet stands there, looking relaxed as an almost smug smile coats her lips.

Your face distorts, torn between speeding off and giving in to her request, but before you make a decision, your manicured hands are rolling the window down. Cool air flows inside, but it loses to the subtle warmth that fills your body from the way the pinkette is eyeing you.

“You know you’re supposed to check behind you before pulling out, right?” she teases.

The question itself is mocking, but the glint in her eye and how she leans down to relax a forearm on the car tells you to let it slide.

“Right,” you agree. “Right, sorry about that. I just really need to leave so–”

“Think y’ can explain this before you do?”

With no time to brace yourself, she holds up that stupid decorated pink envelope, and all you want to do is faint.

“I don’t..” you whisper, accepting there’s nothing you can say to make this go away. But that blue hair is nearing, and you’re going to have a heart attack.

“Can you get in?” you ask, voice a soft plea.

Vi’s expression falters. That was the last thing she expected.

“Please?” you try again. “I can’t talk about this here.”

Your foot’s going to fall asleep if you sit like this any longer.

The two of you stay perfectly still, worried that any form of movement will penetrate the bubble of silence that formed as soon as Vi sat in the plush passenger seat.

Her mind is racing, because the beautiful girl she’s had her eyes on for months sent her the most heartfelt confession she’s ever gotten, and now she’s sitting in her car in a secluded area of a park. For a moment, she wonders if she’s dreaming. But the sound of your seat belt unbuckling and you shifting to face her, sweet and cautious eyes looking into her soul, has her heart skipping beats. She concludes she’s wide awake.

“Interesting spot for our first date,” she hums after clearing her throat. “You’re not gonna kill me, right?”

That has your expression faltering.

“You’re..” you stammer, “you think this is funny?”

“Listen I’m just a little confused, sunshine,” she doesn’t miss the way your body stills at the nickname. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered. But you and her majesty just broke up, and I think you should know that her and I—”

“Just– let me see that.” you cut her off and reach out for the rosy packaging, but Vi’s quicker, pulling it back with a squint in her eyes.

“I’d like to know how mortified I should be,” you confess quietly after a beat of silence. “It’s been a while since I read yours.”

Naturally, the athlete oozes confidence and cockiness, but the pure confusion that colonizes her expression makes all of that fade for the moment. Her guard is down, allowing you to reach over her lap and seize the envelope.

“Wait wait wait,” she starts as you focus your attention on pulling the folded paper from the envelope.

“What do you mean ‘yours’? Are you saying I’m not the only person who got one ‘f these?” she asks, voice laced with confusion and another emotion you can’t quite pinpoint. You ignore her, hands stilling as sour nostalgia hits you in the gut and knocks the wind out of you.

My dearest Violet,

Do you remember Ximena Talis’s creative writing class in junior year? You acted so uninterested in each lesson when your teammates were around, but when they were busy skipping class, you were sticking your nose in the next Shakespeare play or Edgar Allen Poe poem. You shared your own writings with the class, a bored look painting your face and an awkward laugh spilling from your throat (although, they really weren’t that bad). But when I stood in front of our peers and performed my spin on “Annabel Lee”, you rose to your feet in applause. I’ll always be grateful that it was you who gave me my first standing ovation. Because in that moment I knew, from my happily raised eyebrows down to the nervous shuffling of my feet, that I love you Violet Vanderson. I really, truly love you.

You physically can’t read the rest of this.

The tense sensation in your stomach only tightens as you hastily fold the paper and toss it back to the athlete, who’s still examining you with a curious glint in her eye.

“Okay– here’s the thing,” you begin after a deep breath. “I wrote four letters, and they’re all outdated, like– from sophomore through senior year. A family friend sent them out by accident.”

The explanation has Violet blinking, because in one sentence you’ve managed to crush her plans that she confidently pranced over with. In one sentence, you’ve made her question what the hell she was thinking. In one sentence, you’ve washed away her suave persona and turned her to a questioning pile of mush, because– you’re not just trying to get into her pants?

“..Well who else got letters?” She cringes at her whiny tone, running a hand through her hair for comfort.

“Uh,” you sigh and shift your position as you look anywhere but the girl, dread consuming your almost-annoyed face. “A girl from summer camp, some girl from the ice rink, and… Caitlyn.” The last word comes out as an embarrassed murmur that leaves Vi’s mouth agape in shock and pity.

A few beats of silence pass before Vi’s eyes light up.

It might be a crazy idea, and you might despise her after the suggestion leaves her lips, but she can’t pass up this opportunity.

“Things with Kiramman must be tense now, right?” she offers.

Your lips press together in silent agreement, gaze trailing to your shining phone screen. 35 new messages and 6 missed calls from Caitlyn, just in the past two hours. You’d texted Caitlyn an explanation as soon as you’d parked: that Ekko sent her an old letter and that was just that. But still, stubborn as always, the bluenette refuses to believe you.

“You could say that,” you mumble reluctantly. “I just,” you whisper, “I don’t know what to do.”

Her gaze flickers up and down your frame once in final thought. Your bright eyes drooping with worry and once confident voice lacing with insecurity makes up her mind. She wants nothing more than to console you, to wrap her strong arms around your frame and make you beam. Vi’s not sure if it’s her or the seventeen year old in that creative writing class speaking, but words fall from her lips.

“I could be your girlfriend.”

A wave of disbelief washes over you, leaving widened eyes and a pounding heart in its path. The panicked expression on your face is enough to have her next words sputtering out in consolation.

“Fake girlfriend, of course.” The way your eyes soften in thought fuels her to continue. “Just for a little while y’know? To give Kiramman the hint.” Her words are spoken with more power as she sees the gears turning in your pretty little head.

The idea’s heinous, and the thought of your scheme being revealed makes your stomach turn in embarrassment for the both of you. It’s ridiculous, idiotic, and risky, but your phone lights up once again with a text from your navy-haired ex, and that’s enough to make you answer.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

caitlyn: I know you didn’t mean what you said. Just come and talk to me, love. caitlyn: Jesus, don’t be stubborn.

The messages continue on like a flood, piling onto your guilty conscience until the notification ringing becomes all too much, making you flick the silence button on your phone. The quiet doesn’t last long as you near the doors of the practice rink. Five players burst through the doors, a cluster of chaos and yells surrounding them before one girl, hair tied back into a dark brown bun, notices you.

“That her?” she whispers to her teammates, their backs facing you as they walk away, but they whip their heads around (noticeably at that) to get glances at you.

“Damnn.” another draws out, earning a slap on her neck.

“How’d Vi do that so fast?” you hear another quip before they take a turn down the hallway.

You only smiled gently, rolling your eyes at the comments as your hand pushed open the door to the rink. At least you make a believable couple.

“You know, my words were ‘you could always go back to Kiramman, the pretty girl dumped her’, not ‘you should go bag your ex-fling’s ex-girlfriend’. They’ve been broken up for, what, two weeks? Does she even know about you and Cait?” Abby’s raspy voice fills the ice, making Vi shush her in annoyance.

“Yes, of course she knows.”

There’s a beat of silence, neither of the players move when the words of a lie fill the air.

“Fuck fine. No, she doesn’t know yet. I’m just waiting for a good time..” Vi confesses, aimlessly kicking the ice.

“You know this makes you messy, right?” the strong blonde grinned.

“Oh fuck off. Messy is pounding half the swim team.” The pinkette sends an accusatory glance and Abby’s raising her hands up in innocence with a shrug and a smug smile. She rounds the ice and stops in her tracks when you enter the room, glistening skin and a patient waiting look on your face.

She snickers, letting out a quick whistle as she skates towards the exit off the ice. “Violet,” she coos in a sing-songy voice, “look who’s here for you.”

The blonde waves goodbye to her friend once and sends you a wink before exiting the room.

Your hands are clasped behind your back as you take your time walking up to where the carpet and ice of the rink are separated. Realizing your limit, you lean your side against the entrance, looking at the athlete whose eyes are grazing over your attire painfully slow.

“You want some skates?” she finally speaks, eyes meeting yours with a glint.

You laugh gently. “Hell no.” She snickers along with you, removing her helmet to run a hand through her hair.

“So you’ve,” you slightly raise your hand to point your thumb in the direction Abby and the other players exited, “you’ve told people already?”

Worry flickers over her face, because for some reason she just can’t read you right like she can read other girls and it drives her insane.

“Yeah, something wrong with that?” she asks cooly, placing her helmet back on the pink fluff as she glides around.

You bite the inside of your cheek in thought, finally shaking your head. “No, no I mean that’s the whole point, for people to know.” you hum.

“But I have to ask, why are you doing this?”

Vi stops in her tracks, body turning to face yours from feet away.

She contemplates it, telling you the truth. That she’s infatuated with and intrigued by you. That you’ve completely ruined hookups and “crushes” for her because she can’t get you out of her head. And maybe she doesn’t know you too well just yet, but she’s going to. And yes, she used to fuck your ex girlfriend way before you were even girlfriends, but it has absolutely nothing to do with the bond she wants to have with you, and she prays it doesn’t affect deem her unreliable.

Yet none of that can come out of her mouth. So, she settles on her practiced lie and prays whoever’s up there doesn’t look down on her for it.

“Coach doesn’t like my reputation for ‘getting around’. Says it just doesn’t look good. Being with you gives me some cover.” She talks smoothly, making sure there’s not a hint of guilt behind her voice, because it's a lie. Coach Talis couldn’t care less about what she’s doing in her free time as long as she shows out on the ice.

You only hum and nod.

You don’t notice how close she’s gotten until she’s there, staring down at you. Her musk and amber scent is intoxicating, seeping into your nostrils while powder blue eyes catch yours through her helmet and– is it possible she looks better than you remember?

“The letter,” you sputter out, mentally cringing as the pinkette raises a brow. “Can I see the letter again?”

She’s cheesing, reaching into the pocket of her pants to whip out the neatly folded paper and.. is she just keeping that on her?

As if she can read your mind and wide eyes, she speaks. “Just knew you’d want it,” she explains, placing it between your waiting fingers. She watches as you unfold the paper and look up at her. Thick silence fills the air before the athlete gets the hint, blinking twice with a nod. “Right, sorry,” Vi apologizes simply before skating off.

You take a deep breath, heart swelling the same way it did when you first wrote this sweet confession.

My dearest Violet,

Do you remember Ximena Talis’s creative writing class in junior year? You acted so uninterested in each lesson when your teammates were around, but while they were busy skipping class, you were sticking your nose in the next Shakespeare play or Edgar Allen Poe poem. You shared your own writings with a bored look painting your face and an awkward laugh spilling from your throat (although, they really weren’t that bad). But when I stood in front of our peers and performed my spin on “Annabel Lee”, you rose to your feet in applause. I’ll always be grateful that it was you who gave me my first standing ovation. Because in that moment I knew, from my happily raised eyebrows down to the shuffling of my nervous feet, that I love you Violet Vanderson. I really, really love you.

When I sat back down in my seat, you slipped a pink sticky note back onto my desk. Gentle handwriting and a sweet smiley face in the corner decorated the words “that was amazing, how do you write so well?”. I’d never had my heart pound harder, never felt my palms sweatier or my spirits higher. As each day passes, I hope you’ll look at me with the same rose colored glasses as you did that class. I dream each night with my lovestruck brain of you taking me by the hand and asking me to be forever yours. I’ll be waiting, no matter how long it takes.

- forever yours, ____

It doesn’t take long before you get that warm and fuzzy feeling, the same one that caressed your body while you wrote this very letter. It takes even less time for it to be replaced with soul eating shame that has you wanting to curl into a ball.

“You’ve always been a good writer,” she calls out, nearing you. “I meant it when I said it.”

“..I know,” you agree, a smile forming against your will.

Vi’s grinning at your sass, and damn is the only word that fills her brain. “How are things with Kiramman?” she asks gently.

“She just doesn’t believe me. She’s texted a thousand times since yesterday and is totally convinced I want her back.” you roll your eyes in exhaustion.

“Do you?”

You pause at her question, because underneath that carefree and playful persona hides a hint of worry behind Vi’s voice, and it’s fueling the curiosity within you. “Why are you asking?”

A beat passes. “Just wanna know how humiliated I’ll be after all of this,” the pinkette admits.

Her confession makes you laugh and shake your head. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” you hum. “I broke up with Caitlyn and that’s that. If it takes a fake relationship and a little pda for her to see that then so be it.”

Vi nods, making sure not to let the smile she’s feeling creep onto her face.

“So you like writing, you’re smart as hell, you dress real cute,” she points a finger up and down your outfit and you tilt your head. “Anything else I should know about you or our little.. ordeal?”

You tongue your cheek in silent thought before replying.

“You can’t kiss me.”

That has Vi’s brain short circuiting, because the image you’ve set in her mind from those words alone is sparking a crimson glow across her face and– fuck she shouldn’t be thinking about this. But she had to admit (to herself, not out loud of course), she’d have no problem with running her lips across yours if you asked for it.

“Did Kiramman not kiss you, angel?” ‘She’d have to be a fucking idiot not to’ is the next thing that wants to come out of her mouth, but she settles for a soft tease. “That’s a couples thing, if you didn’t know.”

“We kissed, obviously.” You cross your arms as you speak. “You can– y’know, hold me, kiss my.. anywhere else.” Both you and Vi feel a shift. Damn, are ice rinks always this warm? “Just, no real kissing. It’s too personal.”

Vi gently nods, slipping out a soft ‘alright’ because you have a good point.

She moves forward to step off the ice, placing a firm hand on your waist to gently guide you out of the way as she passes. Your body tenses at the touch, whipping your head towards the girl in surprise.

The pinkette notices, and she knows she shouldn’t chuckle at it, but she does. “If it’s gonna take ‘a little pda’, you might wanna get rid of that before this weekend,” she’s speaking cockily as she nears her bag, her helmet coming off for good.

You clear your throat. “What’s this weekend?”

“Party ‘m takin’ you to. Think of it as our couples debut.” And Vi loves the surprised little look on your face as you ask her if that’s ‘really necessary’.

“You really think anyones gonna believe we’re together if I’m at a party all by myself? Who’s gonna fight off all the girls craving my attention, sunshine?”

You wonder if the notorious smirk on her face is permanent as she slings her practice bag on a sculpted shoulder as she moves to tower over you, the cool air of the rink becoming very present.

“So you’re coming, yeah?”

Your eyes travel from hers to the empty space beside her in thought.

“Of course.”

“You’re sure it’s not too boob-y?”

You tug at your low cut top, half yelling over the chaos of other students to your roommate who’s eyeing you like your one head has turned into five.

“Wait, you didn’t want it to be ‘boob-y’? Practically wearing a bra,” she yells back with a knowing smile, sipping from the red cup that quickly found her hands. At the sight of your worry, her smugness turns to playful comfort. “Come on, you’re at a frat not a damn funeral. You look sexy.”

“She’s right.”

The raspy voice behind you is unfamiliar, sending a soft chill down your spine that turns you on your heels.

You’re met with a tall, muscular, brownskin woman. Half of her hair is pulled back, and loose strands fall to decorate her face that holds piercing eyes which are completely directed on you. You’ve seen her before for sure, but her name is the last thing on your mind as her eyes trail over every inch of your exposed skin.

“Sevika,” she tells lowly, placing a red cup between your manicured fingers to which you scoff under your breath.

You give her the benefit of the doubt.

“___,” you offer your name, looking for any hint of recognition on her face, and you get it when she smirks and tilts her head.

“I know who you are, beautiful,” she purrs.

“Then you also know I’m Vi’s girlfriend?” you throw back. The words feel completely foreign on your tongue, but come out so awfully right.

The raven’s eyebrows raise right before she huffs out a laugh of disbelief, sipping from whatever mixture graced the cup in her hand. “Girlfriend?” she repeats. “Shit, with the way she was talking about you, I thought you were just a hookup.”

The air’s suddenly much thicker, tenser, and you don’t have much time to process what Sevika just laid upon you before pink hair makes its way through the crowd.

“There’s my girl,” Vi calls out as she nears you, her sweet words cutting the tension like a knife. “Been looking all over for you,” she speaks as gently as she can in the atmosphere, completely ignoring the presence of her teammate.

“Hi,” you simply let out. Your knees feel weak and you think maybe you’re not cut out for this, because the pinkette slides a warm hand around your waist and places a chaste kiss down on your bare shoulder.

She’s pulling back from your skin when her eyes land on the cup in your hand, a confused glint in her eye as she squints. “Thought you drove?” The calloused fingers tracing meaningless patterns on your skin and soft breathy words hitting your face from just inches away make you feel like Melting. What’d she ask again?

“No,” is all you manage to stammer out, shifting in the girl’s arms until the right words form in your head. “No this isn’t mine.” you’re mentally facepalming.

Vi’s eyes flicker from you, to the cup, to Sevika, finally piecing together her part in this. The athlete stands a bit taller, gently taking the drink from your hands and shoving it against Sevika’s chest. Some of the liquid splashes over the cup, leaving droplets of a stain on the angry woman’s shirt.

Sevika’s slowly taking the cup without breaking eye contact. Her gaze is sharper than daggers as Violet huffs out a scoff, her grip on your waist more present as she guides you away from the brute and through the crowd of partygoers.

“I’m sorry about her. One asshole of a teammate.” Vi’s words kiss your ear to avoid yelling as she walks. “You okay?” she asks slightly softer, which earns her a nod and quick ‘yeah’. The pinkette’s hand snakes from around your waist down to grab one of yours, holding you tightly as you worm your ways through the horde.

As you exit the crowd your left arm finds its way to wrap around her right, placing your free hand lazily on her bicep, because if you had to feel her fingertips on your skin anymore you’d faint. The pair of you walk through the spacious backyard, decorated with a pool, groups of your classmates, and a cluster of hockey players lounging on some couches that circle a fire pit.

“You ready?” She whispers softly.

“Ready,” you reply with a smile that turns into an “o” shaped mouth, big worried eyes capturing VI’s. “They won’t ask me about hockey, right?”

The girl lets out a sweet, genuine laugh, and so cute is what she’s mentally replying.

“There you are!” Abby calls out as soon as the two of you are in her vision. The rest of the team follows, greeting both you and Vi, throwing her smirks or nods of approval when you have your focus elsewhere. Vi sits, sprawling out against the couch with her legs perfectly spread for you. As if it were natural, her hands find their way around your hips and she guides you down into her lap.

And you hate it.

Not the feeling of her firm chest against your back, not her warm legs encasing your bare and crossed ones, not even the way she wraps her muscular arms around your torso and places her head so close to yours.

You hate how normal she’s making all of this feel, how your brain is being fried with each touch, but your faux girlfriend doesn’t seem to be bothered one bit. And you’re starting to wonder if it’s a problem.

“How’d you two even meet? Didn’t you and the chick from the basketball team just break up?” one of her teammates questions you with a raised brow.

Fuck is all your brain renders, and you hope the shock didn’t show on your face because—

“I’ve had the hots for her since high school, thought it was time to do something about it,” Vi replies. A proud feeling washes over her when your body relaxes in her arms.

You’re gently squeezing her arm twice, thankful that she’s such a great actor. She’s running her thumb against your skin, thankful that you can’t read minds.

A few sweet nods and noises of approval are let out before Abby speaks up. “‘The hots’? What are you, fifty?” She jokes, earning a grinning ‘fuck off’ from Vi.

The teammates’ conversation continues both with and without you, leaving moments for you to think of something ‘girlfriendish’ to say or a new place on Vi’s skin to touch. And then, it starts. Against Vi’s rolling eyes and Elora’s complaint that this is “so middle school”, a game of truth or dare ensues. Ever the fun one, the blonde convinces everyone that it’ll be fun, that it’s good to be childish every once in a while.

So far, Gert’s been dared to send an ‘i miss you’ voice note to her ex and is utterly ashamed, Abby’s mouth tastes both bitter and spicy from the liquor concoction the teammates dared her to drink, another girl has been stripped down to her shorts and wife pleaser and shooed away from the fire to ‘endure the cold’ for ten more minutes.

When it comes to the other teammates, you don’t know how many “___ and i banged” truths and “take this many shots” dares you hear before it’s finally your turn.

“Truth or dare?” Vi coos in your ear.

“Truth–”

“Dare?” she cuts you off with a mean grin. “Alright, I dare you to jump into the pool. Right here, right now.”

Your head whips towards the girl fast enough to send chills down the pinkette’s spine. The hockey team is whooping and cheering you on as Violet comes to a stand with your mid area still locked by her arms.

“No– no– I said truth Vi!” you sputter out. Your body and mind are moving at an astronomically slow speed because before you know it, Vi’s scooping you off the ground and throwing you over her shoulder effortlessly. As she begins to walk, the hollering of the team growing in intensity, one of her warm hands lays at the back of your thigh, holding down the bottom of your already short skirt. The other trails its way down your leg and to your feet, slipping off your shoes and letting them fall with a plop.

“Violet Vanderson.” you warn firmly, squirming in anticipation as you neared the icy blue water. You’re feeling five emotions at once, and at the same time evaluating how much Caitlyn’s perception on things truly matters, because you’re this close to firing your ‘girlfriend’.

When she suggested this entire ordeal you imagined it’d be standing together for an hour and dancing, going out for drinks once or twice, maybe even an instagram story or two.

You didn’t expect pool shenanigans, shoulder kisses, and powerful arms wrapped around your sides every two seconds. You didn’t expect to be having fun, let alone like it.

“Put me down!” you yelp through rising giggles.

“A dare’s a dare, angel.” she speaks lowly over her shoulder to you, who’s dangling helplessly in her grasp. “C’mon, it looks good for us as a couple,” she whispers.

“Wait wait wait!–”

Your last threat is drowned out as Vi jumps into the glowing blue.

“Wonder how many people have had sex in here tonight,” you joke through chattering teeth. You’re holding your soaked hair together to the best of your ability as to not drench everything in your path, but truthfully, water is the cleanest thing to grace those frat floors. Vi trails right in behind you, snorting out a laugh as she leans against the closed door.

The pinkett’s pool stunt only had you upset for so long, mostly out of shock of her actually going through with it. However, once you rose to the surface of the water, the only things that could spill from your mouth were hearty giggles.

What made it ten times better was that people saw, Vi’s teammates whooped while others just snickered at the ‘new couple’s’ playfulness.

What made it a hundred times better was Abby informing you of how pissed Caitlyn looked, staring at you and Vi before storming back the way she came from.

“Enough to start a new std?” She flashes her pearly whites at her own joke.

“Violet!” you cringe, making her chuckle.

As cold as your water-soaked clothing, skin, and drenched hair makes you, the athlete’s soft gaze is a lighter igniting a blaze in the pit of your stomach. For the first time in a long time, protected by the walls of someone’s room, you’re able to explore her face.

Perfect, full brows are intercepted by a slit with one to match down on the the left of her rosy lips. Sweet freckles dance on and around her nose, and gosh she’s pretty. It’s the same face you’d admired years ago, but you still look at her as if you’ve discovered her beauty all over again. You stand there attempting to pinpoint what shade of blue her eyes are when she finally speaks up.

“Here,” the athlete steps closer, taking off her thick black coat and handing it over sheepishly. “Can’t do anything about your skirt, but I thought these would help.” A hint of blue and white fabric peeks out from underneath, and you unravel it to reveal a jersey. One of her jerseys.

There’s a glint of suspicion in your eye, and Violet’s in fear.

“You just.. keep this in your car? All the time?” You question with a perfectly raised eyebrow.

Vi clears her throat. Because no, no she doesn’t. She just had to do something to get you in her clothes.

A beat passes with no response, and finally the pinkette’s eyes are flickering around the room before she turns. “I’ll let you get changed.”

The door’s opening and closing before you can protest, and it’s finally safe for that suppressed smile to grace your lips without shame.

It doesn’t take long for you to strip out of your sopping clothes and into the oversized comfiness of Vi’s. You examine yourself in the full length mirror, fixing your wet hair to the best of your ability and running your hands over the warmth of the new clothing. It sMells just like Violet, and you convince yourself that you don’t care, but underneath that protective mask is the lovestruck teenage girl you once were.

Turning on your heels, you gather the wet bundles of fabric and head for the door when someone on the other side beats you to it.

Correction, the last person you want to see beats you to it.

Caitlyn’s quick to step inside the room, closing the door with an indecipherable expression plastered on her face. Her brows furrow with more distaste than usual, and her once perfect navy blue locks now have strands messily shaken out of place. Your tongue is strangled by the bite of your teeth. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes to the back of your head.

“Violet Vanderson?” She wastes no time, chary eyes examining your face with crossed arms. “Really?”

You’re done holding back, so you scoff.

“Yes, really. What, are you jealous?” you quip. “Y’know what, don’t answer that. I already know.”

She ignores the sassy remark. “I’m surprised you chose her, considering everything.”

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. “Considering, what exactly?”

Caitlyn’s poker face had been drilled into her since she was a kid, but the bluenette physically had to suppress the amusement from taking over her face when she realized: you had no clue.

“I just didn’t think she was your type, and that was awfully fast,” she saves.

“I didn’t cheat on you, if that’s what you’re insinuating.” You spit the words like they burn on your tongue as impatient hands come up to rest on your hips.

“I’m insinuating that I don’t believe whatever this is.”

That has you pausing. Your face, demeanor, and attitude all stay the same, but you both notice the shift in the air.

“I think you realize you messed up when you broke things off, and now you’re playing hard to get.” She continues, stepping forward as her toned arms fall to her sides.

“There’s no need to play games with me, you know.”

Cait’s look is condescending, and it only pisses you off more when her hand reaches out to caress yours. The perfect persuasion, an easy fix to all of her problems when the utter of her surname isn’t quite enough. But you’re not easy, and you didn’t mess anything up. So you quickly swat it away, sneering as you step around the tower of a girl and towards the door.

“Get over yourself, Caitlyn.”

You exit the room with blood red vision, a fury which follows you on your journey to find Mel in the drunken crowd and pull her to the front while Vi offers to walk both of you to your car.

And in your red haze, you miss the eye contact Caitlyn and Sevika make from across the crowded room.

Sweat is dripping from the athletes’ foreheads down to the stretch of their neck as Talis blows his whistle, allowing the players to catch their breaths.

Normally, Vi would be more than willing to stay longer than the scheduled practice time. Running fun drills with Abby, racing Gert, whatever the matter may be. Hockey is her thing.

But, at the moment, you’re also ‘her thing’. And right now you were patiently waiting in your apartment for Vi to make an appearance. A friendly one, of course. Away from watching eyes and overwhelming questions, where you could discuss your next moves in peace–as peaceful as you could get with the muscular tease looking at you as if you were a star to wish on at night.

So she keeps her mouth shut and her eyes trained on Coach Talis (who’s giving some end-of-practice spiel) as Sevika glides up next to her.

She keeps her mouth shut as the brute lets out a soft scoff at how hard Vi’s trying to ignore her.

She has to bite hard on her tongue when the woman mutters something about the pink-haired athlete needing to ‘give up while she’s still ahead’.

And her mouth opens immediately when your name falls from Sevika’s lips. “___, she really is somethin’ huh–?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Sevika,” she threatens, a tad louder than expected. Their stubborn gazes stay locked on one another, and Sevika’s letting out a scoff while squaring her firm shoulders.

“Or what?” the raven throws back, intimidation oozing from her presence.

“Hey! What did I say?” The bubble of their rivalry is popped as Coach Talis raises his voice.

“That’s it. Bag skates.”

[REDACTED]: you sure this’ll work?

When Vi finally shows up at your sun-glistening apartment, her hair is wet from the quick shower she took, she’s a total blubbering mess about how she’s crazy sorry and feels terrible for making you wait an extra hour, and she’s holding one cup of coffee that looks exactly like the one you always order.

“Vi, seriously it’s okay,” you chuckle, and the girl deflates in soft relief. A smile sweet as honey graces your face and Vi finally figures it out: you’re just an angel in disguise.

You reach over from your seat on the couch to take the cup of coffee from her hand. It’s your order to a T, and the sip you take sends a cold trail of liquid down your throat and into the warmth of your stomach.

“Mmm,” you hum, making Vi malfunction when you lick the remnants from your lips. “Did you chug yours on the way?” you ask.

Perfect blue eyes blink twice while Violet calculates the odds that you’ll say yes if she were to suggest you drop the whole act and venture off on a real date right now.

“Oh– hell no. I can’t stand coffee. I just went to get you one,” she hums without thought. Fifty-five percent chance, not good enough.

“Again, I’m sorry. Sevika’s been more of an asshole than usual. Made us run back and forth on the ice until we practically collapsed. Don’t know what the hell she was thinking though, almost missed her shift at that rink..” Violet continues on with conflicted brows furrowing and a hardened gaze. But just like waves washing away at imperfections in grainy sand, the awestruck glimmer in your eyes wipes the fury from her blood.

“You went just for me?” the question comes out almost as a whisper.

Violet swears she can feel her heart Melting from your actions, and the feeling bubbles its way up as words in her throat. “Of course.”

It’s left at that. Of course, a declaration that it was common sense she’d be of service to you even behind the scenes. Neither of you dare to ask or explain why. For a moment, there’s no words. Just the soft sensation of little breaths, beating hearts, and wandering gazes, but only for a moment.

“Cait doesn’t believe us,” you spill.

Vi can only huff gently, shifting in her seat as her spread legs move a bit wider.

“She’s smart, I’ll give her that.” Vi hums in thought. The cogs in her brain get distracted and come to a halt when she sees the glistening worry in your orbs, and without thought, her hand is coming up to hold your chin, guiding it to connect your gazes.

“Hey, we’ll fix it, alright?” She reassures, and a thumb glides over your cheek. The moment is tender, something deep and sweet, but it doesn’t take long for the both of you to pull back as your eyes flicker anywhere else.

“We just need to… to up our game.” At the sight of your confused eyes, she continues. “Give me your phone,” Vi instructs softly, holding her hand out.

You simply obey, placing the device in her hand with a slight squint in your eyes.

All uncertainty is replaced with giggles and content when Vi holds up the camera. Her left hand holds the phone while her right arm lifts into frame next to her face and flexes, revealing the entirety of her sculpted muscles.

Jesus, your mind betrays you.

After the snap of the camera, the pinkette hands the device back to you.

“Make it your lock screen,” she speaks so casually, like the idea behind these actions have no effect on her whatsoever. A black cased phone is then slid into your hands, and big powder-blue eyes are staring at you expectantly.

“Oh, you want..” you internally cringe at the stammer.

“Of course, needa see your face too.” she states with a grin.

You’re nodding at that, as if a swarm of what you think are butterflies aren’t rummaging around in your gut. Raising the camera in your manicured fingers, you snap a photo mocking Vi’s. More kissy face, less muscles. The athlete has the biggest grin as she takes the device back, and with a ‘there’, your face is blessing her lockscreen.

“So, should I book our room at Mt. Sky, or do you want to?” Her eyes are trained on your face as she drapes both swole arms across the back of the couch.

You do nothing to hide the surprise on your face. With crisp frosty air, a winter wonderland of snow, and more unplanned pregnancies and sexual noise complaints than any of the campus’s frat parties, Mt. Sky was the unofficial University of Piltover ski trip of the year. Athletes, hookups of athletes, curious freshmen, and anyone who concerned themselves with campus drama banded together for a few days of thrillingly-messy paradise.

“You wanna share a room?” you ask with raised brows, because ‘wait, we’re going?’ seems out of the question.

The pinkette’s lips curl into a smile, one that flashes the white of her teeth as blue orbs flicker down and up your frame once.

“Yeah, I do.”

The short silence that follows is smothering, and you swear the room just got a hundred degrees hotter—because there’s the same tease you remember fantasizing over as your pink glitter pen graced the paper of her letter.

“It’d be weird if we didn’t,” she explains. “Wouldn’t just be Cait questioning us, it’d be everybody,” she tilts her head, and you’re snapped back to the reality of your situation. Fake.

You’re not looking at the freckled girl as you hum with a nod.

That has the athlete’s suave persona faltering. A rough hand snakes up to gingerly move a piece of hair from your face. She’s barely touching you, as though you’re more fragile than glass in her grasp.

“We don’t have to, if you wanna room with Mel that badly–”

“–No, no I think we should,” you reassure with a smile, because you do want to, more than you probably should, but your brain’s having a very hard time deciphering fantasy from reality.

It’s her turn to hum, and that tender hand doesn’t leave your face, it only stills as you turn your head completely towards her.

“You don’t have to do that when we’re in private,” you refer to her wandering hands with a gentle tone. Vi’s eyes soften into something raw and real as she lulls out a response.

“Doesn’t hurt to get comfortable with each other. Right, sunshine?”

Wrong.

Because it could hurt. It could wound the both of you and cause an ache like never before. Because—admittedly—you don’t know what you’re feeling right now. But more importantly, you don’t know what Violet’s feeling. You had her all figured out at seventeen, but now, you’re unsure of how gentle or reckless she’d be with your heart.

And still, against all the skepticism your brain concocts, you agree.

“Right.”

[REDACTED]: Of course I’m sure. Just do what I ask and we’ll both get what we want.

“Late again?” Finn coos, a teasing expression on the raven’s face.

“Another run in with pinkie,” Sevika smirks, almost seeming proud.

The man shakes his head with a smile before placing a handful of mail on the counter in front of the pair. “You mind?”

A groan falls from Sevika’s lips as her gaze flickers between him and the letters. “But I have—”

“Please?” the man asks, already inching away from the space. “I just have to deal with something.”

Before she can argue further, Finn thanks her and rushes off towards the rink. The woman’s left muttering swears and rolling her eyes as she rummages through the envelopes filling her space.

To: Polar Peaks, To: Polar Peaks, To: Sky Young, To: Pola—

She blinks once and her firm hands come to a pause before her fingers are backtracking to a chestnut brown envelope, covered in hearts and kiss marks.

Sevika’s huffing out a laugh of disbelief. Her eyes trail over every inch of the sickeningly sweet decor. The recipient address is the ice rink, just like the rest of the pile, and the woman’s intrigue only grows as her eyes trail to the top left corner. To the sender. To you.

“My favorite energy drink?” Vi throws out.

“Berrybulls, specifically the yellow and amber ones.” you quip with confidence, smiling when Vi nods in content.

A lightbulb flickers across the pink haired girl’s face, and she stops in her tracks, unintentionally pulling you back. You’re standing still now, and as the frigid air threatens to consume your body, the reminder that your hands are intertwined with one another spreads warmth throughout your core. You let yourself forget that it’s for show, and enjoy it.

“Vi?” you question, stepping a bit closer.

“This one’s important,” her tone is more serious, and her eyes meet yours as she takes a deep breath.

“What’s… my coffee order?”

“Oh my gosh–” a joking scoff falls from your lips, and you’re gently shoving the laughing girl as you pull her to continue walking. The warmth of hand holding can only do so much to combat standing still in the chill of winter air.

“C’mon sunshine, we’ve learned all there is to know. Besides, you really think anyone’s gonna come up and start quizzing us?”

“No,” you admit as Vi holds you closer with a hand around your waist while more pedestrians enter and exit the sidewalks. “But I think it’s good to know just in case. Besides, I like learning about you.”

“Oh yeah?” she coos. You hear a phone buzz once.

“Yeah,” you let out with a giggle. Another buzz, and you’re reaching into your back pocket and tapping on the screen to reveal… nothing.

kiramman: You have until the end of the trip. kiramman: If you don’t tell her, I will.

Is it possible to feel complete peace and soul-shredding anxiety simultaneously?

On one hand, you’re having the most fun you’ve had in a long time. The drive to the resort with Mel—and her newfound friend Elora— was filled with guttural laughter. The three of you screamed songs at such a volume you’re surprised the windows didn’t burst.

When you arrive, you’re trapped by the strong arms of Abby who’s lifting you into the air with her hug. Vi has to be the one to mutter “That’s enough, Abs..”, earning a laugh from the surrounding teammates, who are quick to tug you and your friends into conversation.

There’s arms around your waist and a bulky body encasing yours while you sit around a fireplace, quiet giggles to each other when you’re bored of the group conversation, and a sweet goodbye kiss to your forehead when Vi and her peers leave to ski. The day progresses perfectly.

On the other hand, you can feel as Caitlyn’s eyes follow you. A predator stalking its prey. And even though you’re not afraid of the girl, you wonder what it’s going to take for her to throw in the towel.

“Was the sex that good?” Mel’s golden eyes are both teasing and genuinely questioning you.

“You’re unbelievable,” you throw back with a laugh.

“I’m serious, why is she so persistent? Does your tongue have a built in vibrator?—”

“Mel!”

She’s giggling with you now, face falling into the plush of the king sized bed you’re both sprawled out on.

“By the way, watch out. Your girlfriend’s biggest fan decided to show up this year,” she flips over onto her back, head tilted to look at you with a pitying–but still undeniably smug–expression.

“Sevika?” you whine and she nods. “She never comes to Mt. Sky. She’s just... anti-fun.”

Mel hums. “A refined Kiramman has turned into a borderline stalker, Sevika Grove is coming on ski trips, what’s next? Aliens?”

“Surprised the aliens weren't first.”

Your giggles are cut short as Elora knocks at your already open door, and Mel’s swiftly coming to a stand.

“Talk to you later?” she offers, and you smile with a nod.

The tranquility of an empty room only lasts so long, because within seconds, Vi is bursting into the space and hastily shutting the door. You hear the click of the lock and jolt up with confusion written across your face.

“Vi? What’s—”

“Cait’s on her way up here,” she speaks with haste.

“I could talk to her, if you want. Just say the word,” Vi offers, and there’s no time to overanalyze the tightness in your chest at the idea of the pinkette protecting you.

Thousands of possibilities fly throughout your racing brain. Talking went in her ear and out the other (or, rather, around her head entirely), and going radio silent only amplified her stubbornness. The way you see it, the only thing left to do is play Caitlyn’s petty game, to make it clear that the two of you were done.

Your brain is completely heated and fuzzy at the idea, but you have no time to waste as you hop off of the bed and over to the butch.

“We’re gonna have sex,” you state.

Vi’s completely stopped working. That’s it—she’s died. She’s died and gone to heaven. That’s the only plausible explanation for—

“Fake! Fake sex, I mean.”

Well that makes more sense.

“Fake–what? You’ve gotta explain a little better than that,” she’s trying to suppress the color from showing in her cheeks, and a hand comes up to run through her hair.

“Just—” you stammer, moving the girl by the arm so that you’re both a few feet away from the door, leaned up against the wall with Vi hovering over you. Your hand stays on her arm, which is gently placed on the side of your waist. The room’s air grows thicker by the second, and tension oozes from every movement made.

“This doesn't feel very fake, sweetheart.” Her voice is lower, more sultry, and it sends a shiver straight up your spine.

“We’re gonna…” gonna faint. The sound of footsteps power walking down the hallway throws your brain back into action. “Just follow my lead,” you breathe.

The athlete’s in a state of utter confusion. She’s squinting harder than ever as you bite your lip, seemingly in thought, before you send a wave of pure shock throughout her core.

You moan.

Not a whine, not a whimper, not even a wince, a raw moan that compels something in her to twitch.

“Violet,” you’re singing, eyes closed, and your head thrown to the side. Out of embarrassment or getting into character, she’s not sure. She’s not sure of anything, quite frankly, because how on earth is she expected to think when you’re squealing her name like she owns you?

“Oh yes—please please,” you coo. As if someone flipped a switch, you’re opening your eyes to look up at the athlete.

“Say something,” you snap in a whisper.

There’s no wasted time, because Violet’s thoughts spill at your approval.

“So fuckin’ pretty. Who knew your moans sounded so good, baby?”

You’re about to lose it. All sense of good judgment—or what’s left—is flying out of the window and being replaced by the dirty haze of your mind. You can’t help the way your hand is gently trailing up Vi’s arm and sliding down to rest against her abs. You don’t miss the way her grip around you tightens.

You expect her to be done, but Vi’s kept these thoughts tucked away for way too long. If they’d be of any service to you, she might as well let them out.

“Bet she couldn’t fuck you like this, huh? No angel, she couldn’t.”

A symphony of grunts, whimpers, and moans of passion decorate not only the room, but the ears of Caitlyn. Your navy haired ex lingers outside the door, seeing nothing but blood red as she listens to the noises you used to make for her. The noises Vi never made for her. The newfound passion that the pinkette pulled out of you, one that Cait never could.

With clenched, clammy fists and gritted teeth, Caitlyn reluctantly drags herself away from the door and down the hallway.

Like coming down from a high, shallow breaths fill yours and Vi’s ears before all sounds subside. Neither of you dare to move as the clack of Caitlyn’s feet storm down the hall and out of earshot. Colorful orbs stare down at the floor or up at the white ceiling, because they’re suddenly oh so intriguing.

And maybe, just maybe, this is the moment you realize not everything is as imaginary as you thought.

Meanwhile, Vi’s imagining what the hell she’d say in this situation if her brain were computing. Because the sight of you throwing your head back in fake pleasure and spilling noises straight from your core was entirely soul-shifting.

And it’s different, to be seeing you this close. Granted, she’s been closer. Graced the skin of your forehead or cheeks with her soft and scar-decorated lips more than once. But here, hovering over your softened body, her hand connecting to your waist with the gentlest of touches, and her eyes firmly memorizing every angle of your face, it’s different. Everything’s softer, and Violet’s able to relish in your raw loving aura, rather than put on a performance for the skeptical eyes of others.

And then you laugh.

You laugh, and laugh, and laugh. So hard that you don’t notice the way Vi smiles, one that doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

And definitely, oh definitely, this is the moment she realizes she’s undeniably smitten.

“Think we’ll get the first noise complaint?” You joke while coming down from your fit of laughter.

That pulls a laugh from Vi’s throat, one that has her leaning forward with a deep breath after it bubbles out. The soft of her forehead tenderly meets yours, and the room’s heart rate rises exponentially, but neither of you squirm out of your positions. Because this is exactly where you want to be.

You can’t see it as your eyelids flutter shut, but Vi’s left hand wraps around your waist to meet her right, cradling you in a way that’s so natural, so sweet, so real. A cradle that protects and shields you from forces you can’t handle alone. A shelter for disasters from tsunamis to the cold chill of winter. From pretending to be your girlfriend to replacing your wet party clothes, all the way back to being your first standing ovation. Vi is your refuge.

“Thank you,” you whisper, worried you’ll crack the faultless atmosphere. “Can’t believe you’re putting up with this– with me.”

Her grip lightly tightens. “I’d do it over and over again.”

She would, and she will, if you let her.

You feel the truth in her words, and your eyes flutter open to pull back, just enough to look into those perfect blue specks.

The pair of you stay there for what feels like forever, examining the watercolor paintings that you call your eyes. And–although she could stare at you for the rest of her life–Vi physically can’t wait any longer. Like magnets, your lips are tugging her forward. Centimeter by centimeter. Inch by inch. Heads tilting, eyes half lidded, and breaths hitching. Vi can practically taste the plush of your feature when—

“Yo! You guys in there?”

Abby’s fist thumps on the door three times. And as fast as you connected, you’re drifting apart.

you don’t care whether she knows or not. you just want her crawling back to you. not happening. kiramman: I’ll tell her.

“Would you rather go a month without sex, or a month without candy?”

“What kind of stupid ass question is that?” Vi throws at Abby, who’s snobbishly leaning back in the heated water as if she’d given the ultimatum of the century.

Her newest middle school party game is would you rather, and while Vi couldn’t care less about the event itself, she’s secretly over the moon at the effort her teammates and close friends are making to connect with you.

“A month without candy,” you cooly state as you look down at the water. Making the relationship more believable. That’s all you were doing.

That enables a chain of raised eyebrows and looks to Vi, whereas others let out sly whistles and snickers, throwing out little quips like “you hear that, superstar?”.

“Alright, alright,” she’s calming them with a tug at the corners of her lips and a roll of her eyes. You only snicker to yourself at the odds, as if you didn’t have sex— fake sex with the girl minutes prior.

Leaning closer against Vi’s skin, plush bodies warming each other in the bubbly heat of the hot tub, you’re almost completely relaxed. The outdoors is the perfect flaky winter wonderland you expected, cabins further out from the resort look like the coziest of all shelters, and the milky mountains in the distance tie the atmosphere together.

And while you’re focused on the landscape, Violet’s eyes are completely trained on you.

She examines the way you sit so properly in her lap, the way your legs squirmed as she slid her hands away from your thigh and around the small of your waist (so others could see your contact.. of course), how you get so comical and chattery once you’re finally comfortable in a group, and the angelic resting look on your face when you’re finally at ease.

And neither of you know it, but when the conversation is one that allows you to listen instead of talk, you’re both daydreaming about the endless possibilities of this night. The potential of this moment, as well as that of the countless others you’ve had since this entire ordeal began.

Neither of you know it, but you’re both considering the idea that life could be like this all the time. The two of you snuggled up, surrounded by those cherished, laughing until you just can’t breathe.

A chin comes to rest gently on your right shoulder, and Vi’s breath sends a shiver throughout your body faster than the crisp winter air ever could.

“Do you always sit with your legs crossed in pools?” she teases, voice low, like she’s sharing a secret with you. Only you.

“No,” you simply hum. Your tongue is prodding the inside of your cheek in thought, and you go through with the lightbulb in your head.

“It’s a great reminder of how dangerously close your hands are to my bikini though, isn’t it?”

The pads of her fingers that were once tracing meaningless patterns on your waist come to a stop, and you can hear the smirk in Vi’s voice.

“You want me to move them?” she breathes.

Your response is almost automatic.

“No.”

The conversation of what would’ve happened if Abby hadn’t knocked on your door was yet to come, but the newfound tension and playfulness that spilled from both of your lips was undeniable.

Vi grins at your confidence, but underneath the suave persona, she knows you’ll be the death of her.

“Bold girl,” she hums.

You’re so trapped in your playful banter that you don’t notice the way the rest of your peers are leaving, running off towards a different attraction of the resort, only god knows what.

“You were pretty convincing up there,” your sly lips are curivng up at the corners. “You have fake sex often?”

“Nothing fake about my sex.”

You’re snickering at her confidence, relishing in the way her arm hardens around you as she chuckles.

“Don’t get cocky. I’m sure someone’s had to fake-orgasm with you once.” Maybe the lying’s getting to you, because you know in your heart of hearts that’s the furthest thing from the truth.

“You really believe that?” she speaks in a lower tone, head snaking around to make eye contact with you.

Like a clock rewinding, you’re seventeen again.

Not physically, nor mentally, but your full heart is pounding the same rhythm as when you first fell for the tough, pink haired beauty in your writing class. Your breaths are shallow, gazes locked, and the warmth between you is incomparable to any sensation you’ve ever experienced prior.

“Thought so,” she brazenly states after your lack of words, and you’re smiling in thought before gently splashing water towards the smug girl, Melting her charming essence that has you by the throat.

Vi gasps through a laugh. Soon, she’s threatening to splash you back while you laugh and squeal through your begs for mercy.

And although your vision isn’t flawless through the squinted happiness of your eyes, you can recognize that swinging navy blue hair approaching you.

Fuck.

“She doesn’t give up,” you think out loud, and Vi doesn’t need to waste energy on turning her head to register who you’re talking about.

You don’t see it through your irritated gaze, but Vi feels a jolt of worry crawl up her spine. While you worried about Cait smothering you for the rest of eternity, Vi’s skin shivers at the idea of her place in your heart being twisted from one of love and trust to hatred.

She wants to tell you, wants you to make the conscious decision to love her despite any past affairs.

But she sure as hell wasn’t going to do it now, while you’re warming up on her water-covered body. And she sure as hell couldn’t let Caitlyn poison your mind with it.

So there she sits, staring into your soul with those loyal eyes that silently swear they’d do anything for you. And, understandably, Vi makes all sense of good judgement Melt from your brain until it’s a useless pile of mush.

So when Cait nears, practically striding her way to your uneasy soul, you make a decision.

You kiss Violet.

It’s a quick shift in atmosphere. One moment, your heart is beating out of fear, and the next it’s being thrashed around your chest by the ascended butterflies from your stomach. You turn in her lap to have easier access to her mouth, and the connection of your plush mouths is anything but fragile. It’s messy, hungry, starved even. Your lips dance in unison, and Vi’s sculpted arm wraps around you and gently holds the back of your neck. The way she’s handling you coupled with the burning water is giving your body a fever.

You don’t know when Caitlyn sees you, how long she glares at your wet mouths and pressed bodies in pure anger, or how long it takes for her to storm off in defeat, because every inch of your mind is focused on the pinkette holding you as if you’re all she has.

And it’s this moment that you finally accept the truth that’s kept itself hidden in your gut, you want her. And those sparkly powder-blue eyes are telling you that she wants—needs you too.

But when you slide your hand down to hers and shyly move her calloused fingers to what little fabric’s covering your chest, she’s pulling back. There’s resistance in the movement, but she forces herself to disconnect from your wanting lips nonetheless.

“Can’t,” she whispers, breathless.

You freeze, big dazed eyes blinking in confusion and embarrassment. ”But..” is all you can muster before Vi opens her mouth.

“Angel–it’s not that I don’t want this, I’m just—”

The athlete’s rubbing her temples. Her mind, body, and heart must be at war inside of her, because each is telling her a different path to take, and she looks so conflicted as she speaks.

“You don’t want this,” she finally decides.

“What?” is all you manage to choke out.

“You don’t want this.” she repeats, less convinced than the first time it left her lips.

You can only scoff, attempting to hide the bullet to your heart and ego.

“You don’t know what I want,” you counter, and the ache in your voice sends a crack through Vi’s heart. “Why are you denying this?”

Because this is fake, a scheme to get your ex girlfriend off your back. Because I haven’t been completely honest with you, and for that I don’t deserve a sweet love like this. Not yet.

But instead of that, or even coming clean to you altogether, Vi sighs. And for the first time, her eyes are disloyal, looking anywhere but yours.

You’re huffing, shoving stiff arms off of you. You pull yourself from the hot tub into the freezing air of the night, a replica of your once blazing heart turning ice cold.

“Whatever, Violet.” you spit out, and just like that, you’re gone.

The debate over soul-shredding anxiety and complete peace has come to a halt, because the ache of a pummeled ego and a confused heart that’s afraid to beat outweighs both.

You didn’t sleep in yours and Vi’s shared room that night. Instead, you grabbed a pillow and stormed over to Mel and Elora’s, who were happy to have you. Making up a lie about dying for a girls’ night, you gossiped and giggled, arguably with a stronger poker face than the Kirammans, before a yawn finally slipped from Mel’s mouth and exhaustion spread throughout the air.

At last, in the silence of night, salt ridden tears noiselessly slide down the bridge of your nose and pile onto the cool fluff of your pillow.

As if your lack of adequate sleep and racing mind didn’t have you at your wits end, the next day was twice as cruel on you. Ignoring one athlete was a walk in the park, but avoiding two, while trying not to raise suspicion, is just as hard as it sounds.

Caitlyn’s in the hallway, so you rush to your room. Violet’s in the room, so you venture off to the spa with Mel and Elora. Caitlyn’s entering the spa right before you finish up, so you’re suggesting a lap of skiing to the girls, but Vi’s exiting the room in her snow gear when you near the door.

You just couldn’t win.

So when you hear the soft voice coming from the doorway, you don’t even bother to lift your body from the plush of your blanket.

“Don’t go,” Vi pleads, gently shutting the wooden door and ridding herself of her puffy jacket.

The pinkette’s still, waiting for you to move, to do or say something—anything, but you do nothing of the sort. When she concludes it’s safe she takes small, soft steps towards the edge of your bed and you feel the mattress dip under pure muscle.

With still hands and a timid heart, Vi speaks the first words into the air.

“Well, we broke our little rule set.”

Her playful smile is uneasy, one made when she examines your weary face too hard. And when she notices the lack of expression on your face, it flattens out into worried brows and soft lips.

“I’m sorry,” slips from her lips, prompting you to turn your head towards the pinkette.

“Stop. You don’t have to apologize for your feelings… or lack thereof,” you whisper the last part as if it’s shameful.

With a sigh, you hoist yourself up to sit straight and lean against the decorative headboard. With fidgeting hands laid in your lap and eyes that travel anywhere but the anxious girl before you, you speak.

“I just thought that there was— something,” you start. “And.. and maybe it’s stupid, but I thought that maybe all of this means something. Maybe my letters getting out wasn’t the worst thing, because maybe things between us could be exactly how I wanted when I was writing them.”

Vi feels terrible for giving you emotional whiplash, but she can’t stand to see you beating yourself up over something you want— something the both of you crave: eachother.

Tender fingers snake their way up to your face and hook on your chin, tilting your head towards her alluring orbs.

“You really believe that?” she asks, eyes squinted.

“Believe.. what?”

“That I don’t feel things for you?” she asks like the answer is the most obvious thing in the world.

“I couldn’t tell you all the things you do to me. All the ways you make me feel,” she slides the hand that’s cupping your face to gently tap the side of your pretty little head.

“Here, and.. here,” her finger grazes your skin as it skims down to tap once against your encaptured heart. “And….”

She cuts the sentence short, dropping her hand down to intertwine with one of yours, because you’re supposed to be having a serious conversation, so she needs to focus.

“You do terribly good things to me, sweetheart.”

“Then why did you push me away?” you whisper to combat the rapid speed of your heart as adrenaline rushes through your veins from Vi’s simple and sensual touches.

She contemplates it, ripping the bandage off and telling you the truth, she really does. Would it be that big of a deal? Would you take it with ease and laugh at her anxiety, caressing her like she dreams and letting her finally place a guilt-free kiss upon your soft lips? Or would you crumble at the news, and let the trust you’ve built up shatter with it?

“I didn’t know whether it was real or not,” she decides: a lie. “I know that the way my heart races for you is real, the realest thing there is. But I know it’s easy to get caught up in a fake high, and when you were kissing me I just—” she sighs at the ramble, but the gentle squeeze you give her hand guides her through it.

“I just wanted to let you decide if this is really what you want. Not because of Cait or anyone else. Just you.”

She’ll tell you. Eventually. She silently swears it to herself.

But right now, Vi’s looking at you the same way she did that day, and it’s suffocating.

Big pretty eyes examine every inch of you with that awestruck gaze, a child watching a shooting star pass by. Except this time, she wouldn’t let you leave.

This time, you, that creative girl with clammy palms and shy eyes, watching her bubblegum haired love give her a standing ovation— that shooting star would come crashing down and right into the warm arms in which she belongs.

“The love I have for you.. it never went away, it just transformed,” you confess.

Violet’s once worried expression morphs. She’s still soft, still trapped in the beautiful moment, but there’s a newfound confidence behind her demeanor.

“The love I have for you has stayed the same. Ever since that stupid writing class—” you giggle at her words, and she does the same, “I think I’ve loved you for years. It’s left such an ache in my heart, baby.”

There’s a glitch somewhere in your brain, because the athlete’s words mixed with your newest nickname is causing a system overload.

You’re suddenly very aware of the amber musk filling your nostrils, and Vi’s proximity has you squirming, soft hand gently squeezing at hers which carresses you so gingerly. You’re trapped between the headboard and her oh-so-close body, and it’d be a lie to say any part of you is complaining.

“I can.. I can make that ache go away,” you whisper, shy head tilting as you wait for her approval.

The suave, player-like girl is back in full force. With a notorious smirk in place, she’s leaning closer, tilting her head opposite of yours and lining up her plush lips with yours.

“Yeah, you can.”

That’s all it takes for your lips to come crashing together at full force. It’s messy, loving, and infuriatingly sexy all at once, and you don’t have any brain power left to think about it. All of your energy, every bit of your soul is being put into showing this girl how you really feel.

The atmosphere feels heavier and lighter simultaneously in the best way possible. Vi’s kissing you like you’re the air she needs to breathe, and drinking you in like your mouth is water and the torturous years leading up to this have taken place in the desert.

For the first time, the pair of you silently agree that this is real. Real touches, real passion, real tongues gliding against one another, and real desire for more.

You hum into Vi’s mouth as she ravishes you, and your hands find their way to tangle in her fluffy scalp as she effortlessly switches places with you and lifts you into her lap while she relaxes back against the headboard. You can’t help but chuckle as her hands move to cup the fat of your ass, causing her to grin through kisses until you finally stop, because your lips are practically peppering her teeth.

“What’s so funny?” you ask through a snicker. Vi shakes her head, sneaking kisses down your jaw and the stretch of your neck.

“Nothin’, I just don’t want this to end,” she confesses, ending with a tender kiss to your collarbone.

An uncontrollable smile fights its way onto your face.

“Well I’m not going anywhere,” you assure.

She nods, wrapping strong arms around your torso to pull your body as close to hers as possible.

“Neither am I, sunshine.”

Violet’s learned three new things since you fell asleep in her arms.

One, you’re a cuddler. Every inch of you has touched, skimmed, or wrapped around the butch since you laid upon the soft matter of the bed. Her favorite position is when you curl yourself up against her chest and slide a leg inbetween hers to let them intertwine.

Two, every inch of you still smells like that perfect mixture of cotton candy and strawberry she remembers from years ago.

And three, she’s completely whipped for you. For your brain, your voice, the giggles you make between kisses, the way you give your all to her, and don’t get her started on your body. She’s got it bad.

So, the struggle she faced when she had to snake out of your grasp was ultimately the hardest thing she’s done in her entire life.

The love-hazed girl didn’t bother to do anything but slip on some shoes and run a hand through her hair, because within minutes she’d be right back next to you where she belongs.

At least, that was the plan.

She doesn’t know why the loud cacophony of cackles catches her attention, because she knows how obnoxious her teammates can be, but it does. She lazily turns her head once, letting it lull back before the alarm of confusion goes off in her brain, and she’s turning towards the sound once again.

Sevika, a few members of the basketball team, and some others she doesn’t recognize, all sit against the couches and chairs in the lounging area. But there’s no relaxation in the way they rest against the furniture. Each is laced with anticipation, and their eyes all lay on the buff brownskin girl who’s smirks as if she’s discovered a pot of gold.

“Your voice of honey soothes my soul, and the picture of delicate curls falling to frame your face as you lift me onto my feet will stay forever plastered in my mind,” the woman spits.

The words are so sensual, so raw, so genuine, filled with nothing but passion, but Sevika’s interpretation does it no justice.

And Violet knows exactly who wrote those words of desire.

Her feet move quicker than she’s ever felt the need to before.

When she nears the group, a face of pure determination, she spots it. A brown envelope, decorated with a bow and pretty hearts accompanied by a single kiss mark. So similar to the one you made for Vi all those years ago.

“There’s the woman of the hour,” Sevika taunts loudly, leaning back in her seat. Her fingers tap the letter in her hands against her own thigh, a reminder that your past words of hope and love still lie with her. “Or, would you be the second? No… no, that’d be this uh, Skye, huh?”

Sevika’s smile is poisonous, infecting Violet with a rage she’s never experienced before.

“What are you doing with that?” Vi’s practically seething, eyes trained on the brown paper between Sevika’s fingers.

“Found it on the ground, guess it slipped away from your girl before she could mail it off to her secret lover,” she lies, throwing her hands up in faux innocence.

“I swear to God— fucking give it to me, and I’ll forget this happened.”

“And you’ll forget that she’s dreaming of someone else’s mouth?” The burly woman scoffs, coming to a stand directly infront of Violet. The space between them is thinning, disintegrated by rageful tension.

“Seriously, I don’t see why you’re going through all this trouble for a whore, pinkie.”

Faster than anyone in the room can register, Vi’s fist comes up to smash into Sevika’s jaw. The slam is loud, echoing throughout the room until it creates a stunned silence.

Sevika’s hand comes up to hold her jaw, craning it as the metallic taste of blood sets itself on her tongue.

Within seconds, she’s lunging right at Vi. Their fists look like skin colored blobs in the air from how fast they land punches to one another’s guts. They’re thrashing around in anger, threatening the space they reside in, before four onlookers break them apart.

Some whoop and holler, others laugh and speculate exactly who ‘won’, but neither of the girls care. Through their heavy panting and darkened gazes, they’re only focused on one thing: the brown envelope that now lies between Vi’s fingers.

With a cocky, bruised grin and the satisfying drug of adrenaline, Violet turns on her heels and stumbles out of sight.

[REDACTED]: listen, toots. i have a better plan. … [REDACTED]: I’m listening.

With the way neither of you dare to move, any third party would think the two of you are paralyzed; and you are, by love.

It’s been five minutes since you’ve woken up, and Vi’s sweet gaze keeps you in a warm, butterfly inducing trance. Neither of you move from your position in the bed, savouring deep synced breaths, snuggling under the blankets, and wrapping around one another. You’re sticking together like your feelings are superglue.

Finally, one of the pinkette’s hands rubs at the small of your back, drawing sweet nothings on your dimples and the line that trails up your perfect torso.

“I haven’t slept that long in ages,” you hum, making Violet pull you just a bit closer.

“Maybe you should sleep with me every night,” she concludes, sending you a smile that has you giggling with a little ‘oh sure’.

She sees your sweet bubble of happiness wobble when your eyes squint at the sight of her chin, now decorated with a blossomed bruise. A soft hand comes up to graze the purple mark as you ask, “When did that happen?”

As fast as the pinkette opens her mouth to speak, it shuts. Because she definitely can’t tell you that Sevika’s tried to embarrass you by reading one of your old love letters to a group of your classmates. Why has she become more of a pain now than ever? Vi hasn’t figured that out yet. But she has come to one conclusion: worrying you wouldn’t do any good. What you didn’t have to know, you wouldn’t.

She quickly takes your wandering hand in hers, intertwining fingers and giving them a little squeeze.

“I’m fine, sunshine. Got up all hazy last night to turn the light off since we forgot. Completely ran into the wall, that’s all.” Although Vi isn’t a klutz, it seems like a perfectly plausible story, so you don’t push.

You only chuckle, shaking your head. “Be more careful. I have to get you home in one piece.”

A soft smile spreads across her face, and she’s kissing your knuckles while responding. “Of course, angel.”

While you scolded Vi about her bruises, you were set up to get some of your own.

“Vi I’m not sure if this is a great idea,” you worry, looking down at the girl who gets on her knees to lace up your skates.

The freezing temperature kissed your nose a subtle hint of red, but the beautiful sunlight gently coating the flurry white wonderland that surrounded the city made up for it. All around you, classmates and city locals of all ages glide around the ice rink with glee. Sounds of love, joy, and the squeals or laughter of tripping inexperienced-skaters fill your ears.

“Why not?” she asks, eyes flickering up to yours for just a second before moving on to the other foot. The picture of her is just all too much, and you have to look away to regather your thoughts.

“I know that you’re a hockey player so this may come as a shock to you, but not everyone is good at ice skating,” she grins, rolling her eyes at your sarcasm. “I’m just gonna fall on my ass a bunch,” you whine.

“And I’ll be right there to pick you back up.” Vi’s confidence melts away your worries. Finally, as she finishes with your skates, you playfully roll your eyes and come to a stand (with the help of her strong hands).

The thinning space between you two and your starry eyes which look up at Vi keep her in a trance as her arms mindlessly wrap around your waist, hands dangerously close to your ass.

“Promise not to let me go?” you whisper through a grin.

“Shit. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

And she doesn’t. Through your first steps and little slips on the ice, Vi stands right beside you, holding your hand with tender care.

“This is pretty romantic, right?” she hums in your ear as you attempt to push your feet against the ice like she taught you.

“As long as I don’t completely eat it.” you warn, eyes trained to the ice.

She snickers.

“Well, you look sexy when you’re focused, I’ll give you that.”

Butterflies erupt throughout your stomach, and a warmth is travelling up your body as you look at Violet with a faux sternness.

“Quiet. You’re distracting me,” you tease.

Vi’s tongue pokes at the inside of her cheek in thought before she’s letting go of your hand and coming to stand right infront of you. Sculpted arms snake around your waist, and the lack of space between you two as Vi stares with a hungry gaze is making your body feel weak.

“I’m distracting you, sweetheart?”

You quietly suck in a breath of icy cold air, searching for a response in her pretty powder-blue eyes before she snickers once more, stepping back. At last, you feel like you can breathe.

She takes you around the ice, helping you reach a good foundation to feel comfortable skating on your own, and the ‘good job, baby’ she praises you with sends a sweet sensation throughout your body. As you’re gliding away from her, giggling in surprise as she pretends to chase you with her intimidating hockey stance, a group of her teammates call for her attention.

She pauses, breath kissing your ear as she lets go of your body. “I’ll just be a second, yeah?”

You nod, sending her off to the group with a smile.

And for a moment, everything’s perfect. Until it isn’t.

The call of your name from her mouth freezes your body faster than the chill of the ice ever could. Effortlessly, Caitlyn’s gliding up to you with a calculated and calm expression. She knows you can’t get far in those skates.

First, you’re praying that Vi will look over at you and race back just in time to save you. Then, anger’s bubbling in the pit of your stomach, and you whip around to make eye contact with the navy-haired girl. Finally—

“What, Caitlyn?” you snap without hesitation.

The girl’s expression refuses to waver, and toned arms are crossing with the notorious sly smirk of a Kiramman. “Never thought I’d see you with blades on your feet.”

“Never thought I’d see you begging for attention, but here we are,” you quip, placing your hands on your hips, completely distracted from the ice below you.

Her arms uncross with an amused hum, and for a moment you think that maybe she’s getting off on the negative energy you throw her way. But then she begins to push her skates against the ice, slowly circling you.

“I just thought I’d check in on you, sweetheart. You’ve forgotten to answer my calls and texts–”

“You know damn well I haven’t forgotten, Cait—”

“—And I wanted to applaud you in person for being so understanding about what happened with Violet and I.”

She comes to a stop, and so does your heart. The little red organ skips a beat before continuing, pace matching your weariness.

“What are you talking about?” you question, brows furrowed so innocently that Caitlyn has to stop herself from laughing.

“She hasn’t told you?” The bluenette makes no attempt to act shocked. Your eyes lock, and her skates scrape against the ice until she’s hovering right over you.

“Weren’t you wondering where she slept after you left her at the jacuzzi?” The visible air that blows from her mouth is just as harsh as her words, stabbing your heart with its icicles.

“What are you..” you mutter, but the words die in your throat.

“Vi and I had a… rekindling.” Her head tilts with a cocky smile. “It was bound to happen I suppose. Once a hookup, always a—”

“I don’t believe you.” Your stern words contradict the uncertainty tainting your voice.

Caitlyn doesn’t speak. She simply reaches into her back pocket, pulls out her phone, and scrolls to open her messages with Vi, gently placing the device into your quivering fingers.

Really? My ex girlfriend? You’re a class act. i’ll love her better than you ever could, caitlyn Is this to get back at me? You’re the one who ended our little affair. stop texting my number. Come to think of it, I never told her about us. Does she even know? fucking drop it cait You have until the end of the trip. If you don’t tell her, I will. you don’t care whether she knows or not. you just want her crawling back to you. not happening. I’ll tell her.

“You see it now? How easy it was for her to lie to you? She doesn’t love you, not like I do.”

“Angel?” Vi’s voice calls out. The once sweet melody to your ears now erupts a symphony of confusion and anger inside of you. Did she plan out those nicknames?

Before you know it, Vi’s coming up behind you and placing an arm around your waist. Instead of feeling comfort, you’re suffocated. How can she fake it so easily?

“Can I help you?” the pink haired girl spits to the Kiramman with a voice of pure disgust. How could you have known?

“I was just leaving,” Caitlyn hums. With the fulfilling sight of your aghast eyes and Violet’s hidden panic, she skates off.

The two of you are uncomfortably quiet for a moment. Your body’s still, save for the racing thoughts in your mind, but when Vi’s hand on you tightens you’re breaking from her grasp.

And then she sees it.

The broken gaze in your sorrowful eyes, the one look she desperately wanted to avoid. Her worst nightmare has become her reality.

And you see it.

The way her gaze goes from calm and collected to a deer in headlights. It’s like a switch was flipped in her brain, and Violet’s mask comes off as she speaks.

“I can explain—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your heartbroken voice drowns her out.

“You don’t understand,” she pleas, but you’re pushing your weight into one foot in an attempt to turn yourself around on the ice.

“I understand perfectly fine you backstabbing–”

Your knees come slamming into the icy ground with a thud, and the newly proclaimed backstabber is at your side, attempting to lift you onto your feet. You shove her off with a huff, using one knee to come to a wobbly stand.

“Just..” you start, ignoring the tears of frustration that bubble in the corners of your eyes, accompanied by the prickly curse in your throat. “Just stay away from me, Vi.”

And you’re gone.

Vi obeys your wishes and leaves you alone like you asked.

But only for the next two hours, while she figures out what the hell she’s going to say to make up for the pain she’s caused you. Because she did hook up with Cait, but the last time was was months ago, before either of them had anything with you. Because she knows Cait did something to fuck with your head, and now her baby’s fretting and scared to trust anyone. Because she’s in love with you and only you, and she’s never going to forgive herself if she doesn’t get you back.

So when she slips into your shared room and finds you packing your things, she braces herself for the yelling and cussing she expects to come.

But, it never happens. Instead, you look at her with a woeful expression, and turn back to your open luggage with a scoff.

“I knew Caitlyn was fucked up, but I never imagined you’d have as many screws loose. You’ll be perfect for each other,” you spit, the words acid to Violet. Manicured hands move at a fast pace, roughly tossing in clothes and skin products like they mean nothing to you. “And I know we’re not actually dating, but to fuck the one person we’re trying to lie to? Then come to me the next day acting like you…” you trail off, discarding the sentence like trash, but she knows what you were trying to say: like you love me.

Wait, what?

“Hold on, hold on. I haven’t fucked Kiramman.”

“..So you weren’t with her the night I slept in Mel’s room?” you squint.

“Fuck no. It’s been months since we’ve hooked up, angel. Like, before you and her were even a thing–”

“So you did fuck! Jesus, why didn’t you tell me?” you raise your voice in question, whipping around to face the girl with exhausted body language. When Vi’s mouth hangs open with no clue of a better response than ‘I was scared’, you shake your head, coming to conclusions yourself.

“That’s why you did this, right? I should’ve asked more about why you proposed this whole scheme,” you start, walking towards the nightstand. “Make me look like an idiot? Get back at Cait? Get with Cait? What was it?”

“No– no. I was going to tell you angel, God I swear, I just didn’t know how to tell you without making it hurt. I don’t want anything with Caitlyn, cross my heart, her and I are history. Everything I said about you– everything I felt with you is real.” She’s speaking so tenderly, inching closer to your frame.

And you would’ve turned, would’ve calmed down enough to finish this conversation civilly, maybe believe her.

But instead, you’re staring at the opened drawer of the bedside table, right at the chesnut brown envelope decorated with hearts. The same one you wrote for Skye all those years ago.

You’re completely over this.

Violet’s close enough to see everything now. The envelope and letter, the way your face is morphing through thousands of different expressions, and the tears that finally begin to slide down your cheeks as you lift the paper into the air and choke out words.

“Why the hell do you have this? How much did you plan to humiliate me, huh?” you ask through sweet sobs.

Violet sighs, because everything she’s kept from you is hitting her. All of her mistakes are crashing down upon her at once. All she wants is to fix it for you.

“That’s not– fuck this looks bad.” She’s cursing herself for everything she didn’t tell you, all the chances she had to come clean and never did out of fear.

“Sevika had it and I took it from her. We fought over it and I hid it here because I didn’t want you to be embarrassed. That’s all. I swear.”

She watches your glossy eyes flicker to her bruised jaw that you touched so lovingly that morning, to her eyes that beg you to forgive her, and to your bag as you walk towards it.

“Well you don’t have to worry about me anymore, Violet. This– us, whatever we are is done. ” You knuckle away your tears, sniffing and pulling at the handle of your suitcase.

The pinkette takes no action to hide the dread that fills her face, quickly following your motion around the room.

“So we’re just breaking–” she stops. Her heart is racing at an ungodly speed, and the next words come out as a horrified mumble, “We’re just over? Like that?”

There’s a pregnant pause, and for the last time, you look back at Vi, voice clear.

“We were never together, Violet.”

There’s nothing she can say to rebuttal, or stop you from walking out of that room, because despite both of your desires, it was true.

For the next two days, your bed becomes your safe haven. You put your phone on ‘do not disturb’, wrap yourself in the thickest blanket your apartment has, and hide from the rest of the world. It’s only thanks to Mel, who’s worried to death, that you remember to eat every once in a while.

Safe to say, you’re a wreck.

Three soft knocks on your bedroom door prompt you to roll over, and you’re pulling your head from the covers as the aforementioned beauty enters the room with a plated sandwich in hand.

“I have something for that headache of yours,” she offers, setting the platter on your bedside table and sitting at the edge of the soft mattress.

From your blanket-clad vision, you see her lips press together in thought before she finally decides on her carefully sculpted words.

“I talked to Abby,” she starts. You groan, pulling yourself back under the blankets.

“Listen,” she scolds, and you bite your tongue. Hard. “I talked to Abby and she says Violet slept in her room that night. She was moping about you the entire time.”

“She didn’t tell me about her and Caitlyn,” you seethe.

“No, but she said she was going to, right?” She offers, tilting her head. “In the end, does it really change anything about how you two feel towards each other?”

When you don’t respond, she sighs, patting your blanket and coming to a stand.

“It’s your decision what you do, but I can tell Violet really cares about you. And I think you feel the same.”

With that, she’s stepping out of the room and gently closing your door with a click.

Almost immediately, your head pokes out of the blanket, and your gaze travels to your now black lockscreen lighting up.

One message from Caitlyn.

caitlyn: Are you ready to apologize to me? I’ll still take you back.

You block her number. Something you should’ve done a long time ago.

Then, you check the three messages from Vi.

superstar <3: i know you want me to leave you alone, and i’m trying my hardest to please let me talk to you angel whenever you’re ready to hear me out

You can only sigh.

“I don’t know how else to get this through to both of you.”

Coach Talis’s sharp tongue scolds the winded athletes. Sweat is dripping down every inch of their skin under their heavy gear. While their teammates ended practice an hour ago, they were here running drills for the ‘stunt’ they pulled back at Mt. Sky. If it weren’t for the exhaustion capturing their bodies, they’d be pummeling each other this very second.

“I’m this close to benching both of you, and you know I don’t want to do that.” Both girls rapidly shake their heads.

“This better be the last time I hear of an incident regarding the both of you, do you understand?” The tanned man snaps, and both athletes are throwing out soft “yes coach”’s before he waves them off to the locker room.

Throughout her entire shower, Violet’s brain is focused on two things. One, how much she loathes Sevika (fuck her), and two, how much she fucking misses you.

Throughout her time spent drying herself off, getting redressed, and packing her backpack, she prays for a text, call, something from you. When she hears the buzz of a phone, she’s whipping her head around to face her lockscreen (with her favorite picture of you looking effortlessly beautiful and silly simultaneously).

It’s not until the second buzz goes off that she realizes it’s not her phone that’s being blown up, but Sevika’s.

Despite better judgement, she curiously walks over to the device, reaching down to pick it up with careless hands.

And it almost drops from her calloused fingers in shock.

There’s three notifications from ‘C. Kiramman’.

c. kiramman: That worked better than I thought. You’re not as dumb as you look. c. kiramman: I think our work together is done. C. Kiramman sent you $300!

You’re at war with yourself.

Your brain is clawing at you to block Violet, get yourself together, and move on with your life as if she was never a part of it.

Your heart and every inch of hope that fills you is begging for you to pick up your phone and give her a chance to prove that it was all a case of bad timing, misunderstandings, and that you truly mean something to her. Because you want her, you can finally admit it, but you’re deathly afraid of being made a fool of.

You’d skipped classes for the day, pulled yourself from your sheets, showered, and now sit on your black couch with a little sigh, sinking into the fluffy matter. The silence of the apartment is contrasting the swarm of loud thoughts inside your mind, and before it can drive you utterly insane, the doorbell rings.

“Angel?” That sweet voice calls out.

You rise to your feet embarrassingly fast. Your brain waves a white flag and your heart dances in success.

When you swing the door open, it takes everything in you to keep yourself from jumping into Violet’s arms. She’s worried out of her mind, but the surprise that you even opened the door is giving her a jolt of hope and encouragement. You take in her presence, musk amber scent, oversized jacket that once protected your arms, and all.

“I’m so sorry,” spills from her lips, and you scan her expression before stepping to the side.

“Come in.”

You and Vi sit on opposite ends of your couch. You’re trying to show off your self control, but she’s just glad you’ll sit next to her at all.

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you about my past with Caitlyn. I was scared that you’d hate me, and shit it all just caught up with me before I could grow some balls and rip the bandaid off.”

You’ve never seen her look so worried, so vulnerable.

You take one scoot closer.

“But I promise, I ended things with her a long time ago and that was the last time we ever did anything.”

She’s pulling out her phone, opening the photos app, and setting her phone down face up on the cushions for you to take. You do, picking it up with weary fingers, ones that still when you see the material she’s revealing.

“Caitlyn hired Sevika to fuck with us. That time at the party, all those times she got me in shit at practice, taking your letter, even giving Caitlyn the idea of lying that I did something with her. They’ve been trying to get inbetween us for a long time.”

Your mouth is slightly agape as you scroll through monetary payments and texts from your ex. Ones about her getting you back (fuck that), and others about Sevika getting the spotlight once Vi’s burnt out and screwing up at hockey (again, fuck that).

“I get why you’re pissed at me, and I understand if you want me out of your life forever.” It shakes her to even utter those words. “But I…”

She’s biting her lip, and you watch as she pulls a neatly folded piece of loose leaf paper from her pocket. With embarrassment flushing her face, she sets it on the couch for you to take.

“What’s this?” you ask softly, taking it in your hands and gently unfolding.

“Please don’t read it out loud.”

Your heart quickens at the suspense, and your fingers come to a stop as Violet’s handwriting fills your vision.

Dear _____,

Oh my god.

The words fill your mind and apparently show through your eyes, because when you look at Violet once more, she’s looking more sheepish than ever.

With a deep breath, you read.

I’ve been in love with you for so long, longer than I ever realized, and I never knew how much it warmed my heart and brightened my days until I lost you. The way your eyes light up when you laugh, the loud laugh that takes over your body when we’re alone, the quiet moments we shared, where we didn’t need words, just the way our hands fit together so perfectly. How being near you made everything feel like it was right, even when nothing else made sense. All of the little things that make you, you, have become the moments I crave most.

I know I’ve messed up. Been too wrapped up inside my head and covered in fear to tell you the entire truth, but I miss us. I miss your laugh, your smile, the way we would talk about everything and nothing all at once. I wrapping my arm around your waist or kissing your neck cheek nose forehead and feeling like everything was right in the world when we were together. And I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you. I’m not asking for everything to go back to normal right away, because I know things take time. But I want to try again, if you’ll let me.

You’re worth every second, every inch of love that exists throughout my blood, and I will spend the rest of my days trying to show you just how much you mean to me.

-With all my love, yours truly, Violet

In the eleventh grade, you thought you loved Violet more than humanely possible.

Now, you wonder how shocked your younger self would be to hear that amount has grown exponentially.

"I know it's bad. I'm not a genius like you bu-"

Lips smashing into hers silence any worries that the letter didn’t do its job. Your plush mouthes press against one another’s with a passion so deep, so genuine, that it speaks louder than any words you’ve spoken; louder than any love letter either of you have written.

You faintly pull back, giggling breathily as Vi chases your lips with a look sweet enough to give you a heart attack. With touching foreheads and closed, relaxed eyes, you use the same words as when you first fell in love with her. Except this time– you say them out loud.

“From my happily raised eyebrows to my.. gosh however I worded it. Y’know that was so corny now that I think about it,” you begin to whisper, and giggles erupt from both of your mouthes. You hum, placing another chaste kiss on her swollen lips. “I love you, Violet Vanderson. I really, really love you.”

The warmth radiating from your soul and the heat of your intertwined bodies is all too much. It does anything but help when Violet places soft kisses on your cheek, ones that trail down to your jaw and the base of your neck as she gently pulls you into her lap.

“Do you–” she places a kiss, “forgive me?” The suck and lick she gives to your neck sends a shudder down your spine. Wait, what’d she ask again?

“I don’t know,” you hum teasingly, feeling her smirk against your wet skin. “I think you should work for it.”

“Whatever you want. Tell me what you want, baby.”

Fuck. How can words make your eyes roll into the back of your head?

“Want you to—”

You gasp as she slides her tongue down your neck, coming to kiss at your collarbones.

“Use your words, sweet girl,” she whispers sensually.

“Fuck. I want you.”

That’s all she needs, and Violet’s sliding a cold hand up your shirt, inching it up slowly over your bra and refusing to break eye contact. The action has you whimpering into submission, and you huff.

“You’re such a tease.” You complain.

“You’ll take it,” she hums, finally pulling the shirt over your head and going straight for the clasp of your bra.

You take the time to trail a hand under her own shirt, letting your finger tips trail over her abs, and you gasp as your already hard nipples twitch from the newfound cold air when Vi tosses your bra to the side.

“God you’re beautiful,” is the last thing she says before diving head first into your chest. The room is filled with soft kissing sounds, wet licks and pop’s from Vi’s mouth on your nubs, and your moans of pleasure when she twists at whatever nipple isn’t getting her mouth’s attention.

“Vi– babe please. Need you now.”

She groans against your sensitive skin, releasing you from her mouth.

“Need me now, baby?” The girl mocks your neediness with a smirk.

“Yeah, yes please,” you whimper out, and she snickers at how you’re already too dazed to focus.

She decides she’s played with your tits enough (for now), and pulls you right back into a messy, tongue infested kiss as she flips your position. You lean against the couch as she reluctantly separates your lips, sliding kisses down the middle of your torso as her strong hands work at pulling down your pants terribly slowly.

Once they’re off, and you think you’re free as she runs a finger along the middle of your panties, right over your clothed heat. She hums at the way you buck forward. Her just graze along the seam as you speak.

“I’m not– mmm, feeling very forgiving right now…” you scold, eyes so gone that Violet has to stop herself from apologizing.

“Do you want my mouth or fingers to change that?” she asks, and she can’t hold back the laugh any longer when your eyes unknowingly light up.

“Mouth– both– Vi anything, just give me it now.”

She laughs, finally pulling your underwear down at a reasonable pace and scolding you gently.

“We’ll work on fixing your tone another time.”

She leaves the tiny fabric hanging off one of your delicate ankles, mumbling something about how fuckable you look sprawled out for her like this. The girl’s quick to effortlessly spread your legs, and she gulps at how slick and glistening your cunt is all for her.

“Fuck me, baby,” she mutters in awe.

“I’m trying to,” you whine, taking her back to the present where you and your body are completely at her mercy.

Finally, your prayers are answered, and she’s licking a clean line straight up your pussy, taking a river of juices with her pleasure-inducing tongue.

As if the taste enchants her, Vi’s dropping her head down to your needy heat. Her tongue lulls out, swirling against your clit, your hole, anywhere she can make you feel good. It’s not long before two thick fingers plunge into you, and you’re throwing your head back.

“Oh my god, please please– yes.”

“Please? Please what, sweetheart?” she mocks once more. Your moans motivate the muscle-flexing girl to go deeper, go faster, and she has to hold you still when you arch from how sweet her digits hit your g-spot.

The way she’s drinking your cunt sucks away your thoughts as well, and it’s not until she hands a harsh slap to your ass that you’re blinking, babbling something about needing to cum.

“You can do it baby, yeah good girl. Fuck.”

Sweet praises decorated with the perfect mixture of her fingers, tongue, and the lust-laced eye contact send you over the edge, and your loud moans carry throughout the entire space as you finish.

Vi’s tools don’t stop, not until you’ve completely come down from the best high of your life, not until your shaky hand is gently placing itself over hers in silent appreciation.

When your heavy pants are all that’s left to be heard, she kisses your cunt goodbye and says hello to your lips. A strong hand on the back of your head keeps your mouth pressed against hers, and you love it. Because you’re sure you could twist lips with this girl until you pass out from forgetting to breathe.

“Taste yourself?” she whispers once her tongue’s slid out of your mouth. You can only nod, relishing in the way her arms wrap around your body, a silent insinuation that you’re hers to protect.

With a hum, you’re kissing both of her cheeks, then her nose and forehead in thanks as her chin rests against your chest.

“I guess that was a good enough apology.” You fake dissatisfaction, completely ignoring the way your body presses even further into hers while you smooth a hand through her hair.

She snickers in disbelief.

“Think you need another? Just to see how sorry I am, of course.”

You hum, finally shrugging with an inconcealable smile.

“I guess that’d work.”

Vi makes no complaint, because why on earth would she, and she’s kissing a line right back where she started.

“Is this too over the top? The number six was fine but the hand prints? Do I look like a high schooler? Be honest—”

Mel cuts off your babbling with a laugh. “You didn’t want to look like a high schooler?”

You’re whining from your position in the stands, and Mel’s apologizing for her joke as she confirms you look amazing. “Vi’s already seen you, and she seemed to love it,” she coos in your ear, bumping her hip against yours as you laugh.

And the girl’s right. Throughout the game, Vi’s taken glances at you every second she gets. She’s grinning at the pink body paint handprints that travel up your legs, winking when you blow her kisses everytime your gazes lock, chuckling at how loud you get when you cheer ‘go Vi!’, and don’t get her started on how you’re body is clad in her big jersey.

Yeah, she’s completely whipped.

There’s only two minutes left in the game, and the Piltover Knights are winning 2-4. But you’re not entirely focused on the screaming atmosphere or Vi’s upcoming victory, because all you can think about is how hot and aggressive your girlfriend looks in her element.

There’s a jolt of joy that zips up your body, because: yeah, that’s your girlfriend.

The horn chugs to signal the end of the match and the crowd’s roaring with glee, especially you and Mel, who jump up and down while screaming out for your respective players.

Vi throws you a toothy smile from the ice, one that you see again after she exits the locker room and comes to find ‘her girl’ in the loitering crowd.

She embraces and lifts you into the air, spinning you around as if you’re a feather in her grasp. Each giggle that spills from your lips is more joyous than the last, just like every moment you spend together.

“You were so cool out there! Never seen you look so mad and focused,” you praise your pink-haired girl as she sets you down, placing a warm kiss to the top of your head.

“That’s because you bring out the good in me. I’m usually all rude and scary and—”

“With that hair?” you tease, ruffling your hand through her fluff. “You’re not fooling anybody, pinkie.”

Vi’s jaw drops in shock.

“Pinkie?” she repeats with a squinted gaze.

A beat passes, and you’re turning to run away, but it’s too late. The athlete lunges forward, wrapping her arms around your core to trap you as you fake complain in protest, but giggles are soon falling from your mouth and breaking your character.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” her playful words kiss your ear.

“Oh whatever, you love me.” you grin through the claim, turning your head to have her beautiful face in your vision.

Vi’s smile softens into something genuine as she scans over your pretty face. Your astonishing, stunning– fuck there are so many things she could say about your face, about your heart, about your brain, about you.

“Yeah. I really, really do.”

Sparkled blue eyes connect with yours, and they’re sending you into a trance as you’re lured into a tender kiss.

With every kiss, the world around you is drowned out until it’s just you and Violet. Your minds, bodies, and hearts intertwine, and with each connection of your lips, you taste everything she feels.

It’s perfect, even better than you could’ve imagined from that creative writing class, and it gets better everyday that you live the reality.

From the grasp of your passionate kiss, as colors of blue, auburn, chestnut brown and more pass by you, you smile knowing that safe in your arms lies your perfect pink.

©silknspice

#arcane #arcane fanfic #vi x reader #vi arcane #vi fanfic #vi smut #vi league of legends #wlw #sapphic #arcane x reader #fake dating #caitlyn kiramman #arcane vi x reader #vi imagines

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murderofravens · 9 days ago

Text

POLICEMAN INSTINCT

pairing: hwang inho x fem reader

summary: after moving into a new apartment, you realize you're being stalked. thankfully, the older neighbour you've developed a tiny crush on just so happened to be a retired police officer who is determined to protect you.

warnings: age gap (reader is early twenties, he's late forties) slow burn, strangers to lovers, dry humping, masturbation, attempted sa (not by him) really mid smut, face slapping, scent kink, oral fixation, him being fatherly, reader is a bit of a perv, stalking, yander-ish vibes, touch starved reader, masochism, fluff, angst

word count: 13.4k

[feedback and reblogs are a writer's biggest motivation.]

MASTERLIST

it was the cheapest apartment you could find online. while it looked a little shady on the outside, the inside looked comparatively pleasant and clean. the hallway was narrow, and the shoes were placed outside the respective rooms. you just hoped you would have your privacy, and the walls aren't too thin. you've watched enough thrillers to know nothing good comes out of thin walls.

"is this all the luggage you got?" the landlady asks you, eyeing your bag and a suitcase. you hadn't packed much— you'd figured you'd just buy things from stores instead of bringing them from home. you nod, and she hums before offering you the keys.

"pay rent on time, and don't make too much noise." she tells you kindly, and you give her a polite smile. honestly speaking, she was loud enough herself.

as you fumble with the lock, she turns to leave. faint footsteps can be heard before a man appears, and the landlady steps to the side to allow him room to move.

"oh, inho!" she announces albeit too cheerily— making you almost jump. you turn around to peek over her shoulder as she continues. "you haven't paid your rent yet, just wanted to remind you."

you spot him then— the handsome older man with soft, fluffy looking hair who happened to be carrying a plastic bag with two goldfish in it. the sight makes you smile, and he clenches his jaw as he ensures the landlady that he'll pay the rent soon enough.

she nods before gesturing towards you, "and this is your new neighbour! she came here to study, isn't that nice? don't be grumpy with her like you were with your last neighbours!"

ah. a beautiful older man as your neighbour. perhaps, life is worth living.

he looks up at you, and you freeze slightly, suddenly feeling self conscious that she put you on the spot. you give him a light wave, and he nods in acknowledgement before turning back to her. the lady pats his shoulder and leaves, and you go back to fumbling with the lock. he walks slowly to his own door, before turning to you— his expression slightly blank as he says something.

his voice is so quiet that you don't hear it at first. your eyebrows rise in question and you look at him, blinking.

"push the key in a little and then twist." he repeats, showing you the gesture with his own key. you look at him, a little confused before letting out an 'oh!' and following his steps— and as expected, the door opens. you turn to him and give him a sheepish smile, "thank you."

he doesn't return the smile but nods nonetheless. he opens his own door and steps inside, and then slams the door behind him, leaving you a little baffled.

you shrug the behaviour off and carry your bag to the bed. the room is clean, but you know exactly how you're going to personalize it so it looks more like you. you got your favourite bedsheets with you and everything, and the idea of decorating gives you a light sense of excitement.

it's when you decide to go to the bathroom that you realize you haven't gotten one of the most important things needed— hand soap. you wince to yourself as you look through your luggage, finding nothing. hesitantly, you look to the door, wondering if you should go out and buy some, or borrow some from your new neighbour, who although being incredibly handsome, also intimidates you slightly. you don't want to disturb him, but it's already late enough— you are too tired to go out.

you knock on his door, biting your lower lip in anticipation. you hope he's not asleep, you'd hate to be the one who wakes him up. he opens the door soon enough, looking you up and down, "can i help you?"

"i'm sorry, i hope you weren't asleep," you give him a polite smile, "i was wondering if i could borrow some handsoap? i forgot to buy some."

he frowns before nodding, closing the door. you fidget with your fingers while you wait, and he opens the door again before handing you a bottle.

you thank him, and he closes the door before you get to say goodnight. you don't allow yourself to think he's rude— you were the one disturbing him, afterall.

the next morning, you're up early. it's a new day of your independence and you want to explore the library before attending classes. you recheck if you have everything before exiting the room— only to be met with your neighbour.

"good morning!" you greet him cheerily, and he nods and replies with a quiet 'morning, kid.'

you figure he's just woken up, judging by the light rasp in his voice. it makes you feel flustered.

"wait— sir, hold on." you say quickly, and rush back inside your apartment. you deliver his handsoap back to him, and he rubs his eyes.

"thank you for this."

"going to college?" he asks, blinking a few times, and you nod. "is it far?"

"half an hour ride from the bus stop," you shift your weight on your feet. "not that far."

"that's good," he frowns, scratching his chin, "study well, kid."

you grin at him, perking up. you introduce yourself to him, and give a light bow. the corner of his mouth curls up slightly.

"i'm inho," he says, crossing his arms over his chest, "get going now, you don't wanna be late."

"oh yes, inho sir." you bow again and quickly rush down the stairs. you're pretty sure you hear him call out something like, 'drop the sir!' but you ignore it with a smile— your day already feeling brighter with the positive interaction, even if it was just polite small talk.

no matter how exhausting classes were, you were insistent on having a pleasant day. you knew the best way to survive any place was by making friends— and for now you didn't have many options other than your older neighbour.

at the bakery, as you eyed all the delicacies— you didn't know what to choose. you didn't know his preferences. does he like sweets? but what if he has diabetes? you immediately push the thought away, and simply stick to some nice bread that you could have with tea. and then while walking back to the bus stop, you buy some fishfood. a google search also lets you know that goldfish quite like frozen peas— so you buy a little of that too.

back in the apartment, you feel a little nervous as you knock on his door. there is no response, and you almost turn around and leave before a voice coming from behind you makes you jump.

"oh my god!" you shriek, twisting around, holding a hand to your chest. inho is standing behind you, looking tired as he gestures you to lower your voice. you immediately clasp a hand over your mouth and bow in apology before straightening up.

"you scared me!"

"forgive me," he blinks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, "did you need something?"

a little distracted by his face, you almost forget what you had to say. but before you could embarrass yourself further, your mind brings you back to earth, "oh! yes— sorry."

"i wasn't sure if you liked sweets so i just got you bread. you know, as a thank you for helping me last night," you awkwardly push the bag towards him, "and uh— i saw you had goldfish so i got some fishfood for them. i also read they liked peas, so."

he looks down at the bag, then at you. you swallow hard, "i didn't poison it, i swear."

that elicits a chuckle out of him, and he gently takes the bag. your fingers brush together, and you try not to chase the warmth of his hand. perhaps, you're a little touch starved.

"there was no need for this," he says kindly. you step to the side to allow him to access his door. "but thank you."

"do you wanna eat together?" you blurt without thinking. "i mean, if you're not busy. no pressure, i'm sure you have things to do but—"

"relax," he gives you a light smile— it makes the cute little crinkles by his eyes more prominent. it's contagious and you smile back. he clears his throat, "there's a park not far from here. would you like to walk with me?"

"yes!" you say a little too excitedly before lowering your voice. "yes— absolutely. hold on."

you recklessly open your door and toss your bag inside. with a glance over your shoulder to ensure he's not looking, you quickly reapply your lipgloss before turning to him and locking the door behind you.

"ready?" he asks, a hint of a smile on his face. his voice is teasing, and you can't help but grin in return.

as the sun set, pink and orange hues danced across your skin like glitter. you could see people walking, chatting; couples holding hands and feeding each other cotton candy. it made your heart pang a little, so you redirected your attention to the sky, where birds seemed to be flocking back to their homes. you would've taken a picture, but you decided against it.

"have you been here long?" inho asks, and you turn to see his eyes looking at you intently. "liking it so far?"

"just a few months," you answer politely, walking with a skip in your step. he doesn't realize how grateful you are that he's talking to you— you've felt rather lonely these past few weeks. "i got a scholarship and the opportunity was too good to miss. it's really nice, much better than my hometown, i'd say. i'm relieved to be here, even though it's taking some time to adjust."

"you can come to me if you need anything," he says softly, and you give him a grateful nod, gaze full of barely disguised admiration.

"thank you, i appreciate it."

"and your family?" he asks again, his hands clasped behind his back. he looks so authoritative this way, you think, he's actually adorable. and kind.

"they're back home," you twist around and walk backwards, facing him as you mimic his stance. hands behind your back. he smiles at your antics and it makes your heart skip a beat. "i talk to them regularly."

"that's good." he hums, nodding, a glint in his eyes. "kids don't realize how much parents worry. make sure you don't mix with the wrong crowd."

"noted, sir." you tease, and he snorts.

"drop the 'sir,' will ya?"

"only if you drop the 'kid,' sir."

that makes him laugh, and you feel a strange sense of pride at your little achievement. the park is pleasant, and you're more amazed by how well maintained it is. he mindlessly guides you to a bench with a light touch on your waist, and your stomach feels tingly at the action.

he brings out the bag, tears the bread in half and gives you the bigger one, despite your protests.

"those flowers are so pretty," you point towards a flower bed, and he hums nonchalantly.

"never met a girl who doesn't like flowers."

"what's not to like?" you shift to face him properly, "they maintain this park really well. it's very clean."

"i suppose we do value cleanliness a lot," he looks around, his cheeks puffing up like a squirrel as he eats. it looks so utterly cute, you would have cooed if you had no social cues. "i remember seeing them plant those last year. some kids accidentally skated over the left side and had to pay a fine."

"ouch," you wince, eyebrows furrowing. "say, sir, what do you do for work, if you don't mind me asking?"

he stiffens slightly and stops chewing. you contemplate killing yourself right there out of sheer dramatics— you don't want to make him uncomfortable because this is your only chance at developing a relationship with someone that is not your pillow or your phone.

"i was a police officer," he answers, swallowing his food. he claps the dust off, wipes his hand on his pants after, "retired."

"retired?!" you gasp unintentionally, "you don't look that old."

he throws his head back and laughs— his eyes crinkling. you're mesmerized, the mere sound of it making your heart feel warm. which, you think, is not normal. not after interacting with someone who is still a stranger.

"how old do you think i am?" he asks between chuckles.

you give him a sheepish smile, delaying your response by choosing to finish the bread first. "i'd say.. late thirties or early forties."

he winces with a groan, dramatically clutching his heart, "try late forties. almost fifty."

it makes you fucking giggle— like some lovesick fool. a schoolgirl with a crush. it's so embarrassing, but you decide to let yourself have this one thing— to enjoy a conversation without thinking about how stupid or obvious you might look to the outsider.

"you don't look that old!" you protest, "seriously! plus, you're pretty fit for your age!"

the last comment was not something you had decided to say, but you're bad at thinking before speaking. you prefer to be just as shocked at your responses as the other person.

"you think i'm fit?" he asks a little teasingly— there's a smug smile on his face, and you feel idiotic. of course, a man like him would know he's fit. he's handsome, he must hear it everyday. he must be so amused that you decided to state the obvious. and you clear your throat, your cheeks suddenly feeling hot. you're sure you can hear your ears ringing— and you swallow the embarrassment.

"you know you're fit." you huff softly, and he shakes his head. his smile only grows bigger as he looks away, instead choosing to watch the sky darken.

you're glad he doesn't say much after, and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence. you hope it is comfortable for him, atleast, because there's a storm brewing in your head— berating you for being so obvious. perhaps, you need to find a boyfriend soon, or your little impulsive comments would get you in trouble. you don't even know if the man is single, for god's sake. your eyes drift down to his hands— no ring.

"you live alone?" you blurt out again, despite your better judgement. it's such a stupid question— the apartment rooms are tiny, of course he lives alone. are you stupid?!

he turns to look at you, eyebrow quirked. the air feels heavy now, because he looks tense again, almost thoughtful.

"yes," he nods, frowning slightly. his lips quirk down, and he swallows hard. "my wife passed away a few years back."

"oh." shit, you think to yourself. way to go, idiot. "i'm so sorry."

"it's fine," he gives you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

you straighten up, "if there's anything i can do—"

he stands up abruptly, adjusts his pants. your eyes drift down a little before you physically force them to look up at him again.

"we should get going." he says, rolling his shoulders back. he gives you a hand, "it's getting late. you must have class tomorrow."

'it's sunday,' you almost mumble, but thankfully your mouth keeps shut this time. you shyly take his palm and stand up, and he pulls his hand back to run it through his hair almost awkwardly. you try not to miss the way it felt— which is insane. you shouldn't be thinking this way.

the walk back is relatively silent, and you internally beat yourself up about ruining the mood. you might be overthinking this, but this man genuinely seems nice, and you don't really have anyone else to rely on outside of university.

'if there's anything i can do,' you were saying. what could you have done, you idiot? what were you offering to a widowed man twice your age? fucking dummy.

lost in thoughts as you walk up the stairs, your foot misses a step and you trip. before you can fall, inho is stabilizing you with a swift grab, and you yelp as you crash into him, squeezing your eyes shut. instinctively, you grab his arms as tightly as you can.

"oh god," you take a sharp breath, your head falling forward onto his chest more out of shame than relief. "am i dead?"

"clumsy girl." he chuckles, and you open your eyes, hoping that once you do you'll wake up to your room; concluding this mess as a nightmare.

but no, your vision adjusts and is met with his beautiful face. and he looks amused. you can feel his arm wrapped around your waist— very respectfully even though you wouldn't mind it the opposite way. you feel warm all over and the way you've been acting since you met this man is driving you crazy. perhaps you might have to sleep the bad luck off. he gently lets go of you, and you pull away quickly, cheeks flushed. you lean against the wall, groaning.

"still alive," he remarks playfully. you tiredly run a hand down your face.

"i'll just take a nap." you mumble defeatedly, and he nods. you gesture towards the stairs. "thanks for that."

he steps aside and puts his hands in his pockets, and you fumble with your lock and go into your room as fast as possible— ready to bury your head in pillows and avoid this man as much as possible.

ᥫ᭡.

the first weird instance happened during work. you'd signed up for an internship after college hours— it was more of volunteer work. no actual pay other than some incentives based upon performance, which you were okay with. you just needed some experience for your portfolio. most of it included you getting your seniors coffee, designing posters and promoting new events for college.

you were giving some finishing touch ups for the newest poster for a debate competition when a package was placed before you. you looked up at your classmate, confused.

"these are for you." she said.

you frowned, looking at the package — a bouquet, to be specific. it was nothing too extravagant— but flowers all the same. white jasmines paired with some baby breaths, finished with a little bow.

"who sent these?" you asked, visibly baffled. she shrugged, took one look at your work before walking off. you sat straighter, checking the bouquet for any card— there was nothing.

you were confused as you walked back to the apartment. the flowers were a nice surprise— but they also had you worried. you couldn't help but wonder if it was some guy from work, but you don't remember getting close with anyone, atleast not enough for gifts. your confusion was evident on your face as you reached your door. holding the bouquet in one hand, you fumbled with the lock.

"those are nice," you heard a voice behind you. you turned, a smile appearing on your face at the sight of inho.

"hello!" you greeted, facing him. he glanced at the flowers, gaze unreadable, before turning to you.

"you came later than usual." he remarked casually.

"yeah, i've taken up this internship thing for college." you replied politely, leaning against your door. he nodded in understanding, tilting his head towards the bouquet.

"it's going well, i see."

you chuckled awkwardly, "i don't know where they came from." you glanced at the flowers, leaning in to inhale the scent. "my classmate said these were for me but there was no card. it's weird."

"perhaps it's a secret admirer," he joked dryly, unlocking his own door, "stay safe, kid."

you frowned at his words, nodding, before entering your own room.

the flowers didn't stop after. almost every two days, a new bouquet would appear. it was ridiculous. one day it would be just pretty tulips, the other it would be white clovers. it was driving you absolutely insane. and the worst part was, you had no idea who it was from.

you'd go to class, do your work, take the flowers, and go home. inho would make a joke about you being popular, and you would shrug it off and offer him some tea, and you'd pretend you didn't secretly hope he was the one sending them to you.

"maybe a guy has a crush on you," he'd said once. you were sitting at the stairs, analyzing the flowers as if your stare would prompt them to magically start speaking— these were camellias, as the google search suggested. pink. you'd glared at him tiredly, eyes begging for some answers. from anyone.

he'd raised his hands in defence, chuckling a little. he had taken a seat on the stairs beside you, looking at the flowers himself, eyebrows furrowed in focus and lips drawn into a thoughtful pout.

"did you know camellias express longing?" he stated casually.

you'd looked at him, quirking an eyebrow, "how'd you know that?"

he gave the flowers a somber smile, a dejected look in his eyes. "you learn certain things when you get married."

your curiosity had faded into sadness then. immense melancholy for the kind man sitting beside you.

and because of course, he was thinking of his wife. he'd probably given his wife flowers, adored her with everything he had. kissed her and made love to her, and then life took her from him.

you don't stand a chance. not even in your fantasies.

ᥫ᭡.

you were being watched.

you realized this not long after receiving your first bouquet. few days later, you'd seen a man wearing the same jacket everywhere you went. it was making you feel uneasy. you could never see his face— he would disappear almost instantly after you turned around.

first, you recognised the feeling while shopping for groceries. it made you feel so terrified, you ditched the milk and went straight home.

you'd had to borrow some milk from inho that day, and thankfully he had extra which he generously gave to you. even offered to make you some tea. you didn't know if he noticed your distress, but if he did, you were thankful he didn't ask you about it.

the next, it was during daytime. you were waiting for your bus when you saw the glimpse of that jacket— and once again, it disappeared almost as soon as you recognised it.

it was after the fourth day that you had decided that you'd had enough. you were violently knocking on inho's door— teary eyed and scared out of your mind.

he opened the door, his agitation blending into worry at the sight of your face. he utters your name so softly, and you hold back the urge to scream. "what's wrong?"

"you were a police officer, right?" you look at him, panic stricken. "i think i'm being watched. i don't think— i know i'm being watched. i swear, someone is stalking me, first the flowers—"

"hold on, take deep breaths," he puts his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to breathe along with him. you follow, and feel your heart rate calm down. he looks out into the hallway before stepping aside. "come inside."

reluctantly, you walk into his room. you realize then that it's the first time you've been in his apartment— and the idea, even in your moment of suffering, makes you feel warm. excited, even. there's a few books on his bed, and he puts them aside on his table and makes room for you to sit. you can see the goldfish in the tank, and the packet of fish food you bought for them sits by it.

"i like van gogh too." you mumble shakily, pointing at the book on his desk. he hums, guiding you to sit.

you take a seat on his bed, gaze lowered as you fidget with your hands. he grabs a chair and sits on it, facing you. he spreads his legs, and you have to take a deep breath to focus on the actual problem at hand.

"tell me everything," he says softly, crossing his arms over his chest. his shirt is folded up to his elbows, and you physically force yourself not to stare at the veins mapped across his arms.

"the flowers," you start, "they've gotten more frequent. i don't know who's sending them to me. i've asked everyone at work. i don't even talk to guys that much for any of them to be doing all that. and i've been seeing this guy follow me everywhere—"

"you've seen his face?" he asks, expression serious and focused. he looks even more handsome like this.

you pause, before shaking your head no.

"it's stupid, i know." you protest, leaning forward for emphasis, "it's like— a shadow. i haven't seen his face but i know he's following me. i think he might be behind the flowers too. but i'm just scared— i know i'm being stalked, you have to believe me."

"i do believe you," he shakes his head, leaning forward. his hand reaches out and grabs your own, "but you haven't seen his face, so it'll be hard to catch him. but trust me, i will not let anyone hurt you. do you understand?"

"i'm scared." you admit, voice small. you're a woman and you live alone— you don't have many friends and absolutely no family right now. you don't want to talk to your mother and worry her. you're terrified.

"hey, no tears," he whispers, thumb brushing across your cheek. you almost feel hypnotized at the action— you try not to lean into the comfort of his touch. "you'll be okay, i promise. you're safe with me."

you sniffle as you look at him, your hand limp in his hold. you tear your gaze away and nod, his words making you feel oddly at ease. you fidget with his hand before mindlessly holding his finger, and he smiles softly at that. with his free hand, he pats your head, "i have an idea."

you perk up slightly as you blink at him.

"why don't i pick you up from college?" he says softly, "it's not that far. it's hard to do anything during daytime, but in the evening i can come pick you up if you're scared. he'll see a man with you and back off himself."

you freeze, eyes widening. you can't ask him to do that. you chuckle awkwardly, face flushing as you look at your lap.

"i can't ask you to do that, it's fine."

"are you sure?" he asks, leaning down to make eye contact with you. it makes your heart flutter. "it's no issue for me. i think a walk everyday will keep me even more fit."

you can't help but giggle at that— and he smiles too. he grabs your chin and lifts your head up; and your breath hitches.

"come on, give me a real smile." he urges softly. it's so silly coming from him, that you can't help but grin— your fears temporarily forgotten. he pinches your cheek at that and nods in approval, "there she is."

"stop," you huff half heartedly, playfully slapping his hand away. you wish you could hide in your pillows— or dig a hole for yourself because of how flustered you feel. you can't believe how he could do this to you— it's strange how happy he can make you with just a few words. he tucks your hair behind your ear.

"why don't you have dinner and get some sleep? you must be tired."

you nod, blinking tiredly as you stand up. reluctantly, you let go of his finger, and he stands up as well as he guides you to the door. you look back at him, and he meets your gaze.

"thank you," you whisper softly, "you really made me feel so much better, you have no idea."

"i'm glad." he whispers back, and you just stare at him— at his sweet face and his kind eyes. you swallow hard, and you wonder if you hallucinated his eyes dart to your lips. either way, you push your thoughts aside.

he clears his throat and looks away, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze. "off you go."

"goodnight," you call back, and he nods with a smile before closing the door.

the next day after college— a miracle happened. a rather good looking classmate of yours approached you and praised you on your work. je-hyun, he introduced himself. he shared a few classes with you, and you remember him asking you for a pencil once. you two ended up bonding over liking the same shows, and he'd asked you if you were single. you two shared numbers, and you gave yourself an imaginary pat on the back.

apparently, the flowers had become a bit of a man repellent. he'd been wary of approaching you because he assumed you had a boyfriend, but you cleared the misunderstanding with a convincing explanation. you didn't want to take any chances.

this time, there were no flowers.

after work, the two of you walk out of the building. he stops you with a gentle hand on your arm, and you turn to him. he opens his mouth to speak before his gaze falls on something over your shoulder, and he freezes.

you frown, looking over your shoulder in return.

inho greets you, getting off the wall he was leaning against with a cheery smile. you look at him, baffled.

"hey! uh—" you look at your— date? coworker? before turning to inho, "inho sir! what are you doing here?"

inho glances at je-hyun as well, eyes darting up and down indifferently before he turns to you. he smiles, patting your shoulder. "i had some work nearby so i thought i'd pick you up. especially seeing how scared you were last night. is that okay?"

he was so considerate— it immediately made your heart melt. you almost forgot about your date by your side, and you turned to him apologetically. you could always meet with je-hyun, but you cannot ask inho to go home after he took some time out for you. your decision is immediate. "i'm sorry, i should get going. see you tomorrow?"

je-hyun gave you a tight lipped smile, nodding. "see you, goodnight." he looked at inho warily, giving him a slight bow out of respect. you didn't get to see inho's response before he was wrapping an arm around your shoulder and dragging you away.

"i'm assuming that's the flower kid," he remarked casually, a small grin on his face as he walked straight ahead. you stumbled a little with his pace, but shook your head.

"no, i don't think that's him. he assumed i had a boyfriend because of the flowers," you smile slightly, thinking back to the conversation.

"you can't be sure with boys like him," he muttered, putting his hands in his pockets. you immediately started missing the feeling of his arm wrapped around you. you feel insane for even thinking this way. especially considering you have a potential? love interest— someone your age.

"i can't believe you really came to pick me up," you change the topic, looking up at him. he doesn't know if the stars in your eyes are a reflection of the lights or your admiration. "you didn't have to."

"i know i didn't have to," he smirked slightly, looking around. "but like i said, i was in the area. and i didn't feel right leaving you by yourself. who knows what could happen to a little girl like you?"

the last line was teasing, and you gave him a little push for that. of course, he was unphased. but for the sheer dramatics, he pretended to be hurt— clutching his side and groaning like he had been shot. it makes you giggle, and you hide your mouth behind your hand, internally berating yourself for acting like a fool again. he chuckles before stopping you and dragging you back, "let's have dinner before we get back. you must be hungry."

you blink, your heartbeat suddenly rising. like a date? you wanted to ask, but decided against it. of course it's not a date. he could be your father, for god's sake. he's old enough. and his heart belongs to someone else. you doubt he'd ever think about dating someone like you. it sounds like a far fetched dream.

you nodded, shaking your thoughts off. "yeah, that sounds good."

and that entire night, you didn't feel the eyes of the stalker, nor the fear, even once.

ᥫ᭡.

you got the flowers again. yellow hyacinths paired with deep red roses— the colors creating a striking contrast against each other. so bright, it almost blinded your eyes. salient as the emotions the flowers represent— you feel like whoever is sending you these, is not happy with you.

"who keeps sending these?" the voice makes you jump, and you turn to see je-hyun standing over you. he narrows his eyes playfully. "is there an obsessed ex i should be worried about?"

you wave his concerns off, chuckling awkwardly, "none." you bite your lower lip, looking at the object of your torment placed on the table. you bite down on the end of your pen, thinking. "i'm actually worried. i haven't even met anyone who would do this."

"what about that strange man who came to pick you up?" he remarks offhandedly— and you almost take offense to his words.

"that's inho-sir. and he's not strange," you say a little too sharply, surprising even yourself, "he's my neighbour and he used to be a police officer. he came to pick me up because i was scared. he's very kind and would never do something like this."

"got it." je-hyun could sense your sudden hostility, and he tries to lighten up. "so he's like your dad?" he jokes, and you chuckle at that, giving him a shove with a huffed 'shut up.'

he asks you out to a party after, and you tell him to pick you up at nine.

the journey back home was tantalizing once again— there was a seed of dread brewing inside you. you felt increasingly scared as you travelled, so you picked crowds in hopes of blending in. you wished you had inho with you right now.

you took a nap after work and immediately got ready. you didn't have a lot of party wear with you, you don't like the overwhelming crowds or noises. you're easy to overstimulate, so you tend to stay away from parties. they're always much more bearable with people you know better, anyway. but you make do with what you have, and your lip gloss saves the day as always. there's a knock on your door and you open it to je-hyun looking cute as ever— with his boyish, dimpled smile.

"i wanted to bring you flowers," he says innocently, holding out a box, "but i feel like you're traumatized by them so i got chocolate inst—"

he doesn't get to finish his sentence before you're letting out the most ridiculous laugh ever. he's adorable, and this alone has made you like him so much. you compose yourself, stand straighter and place a kiss upon his cheek— leaving an imprint of your lipgloss on his skin. he blushes, and you grin. "thank you—"

"date night?"

you both turn around to the voice— inho has stepped out of his room, looking cozy and fresh. wearing a sweater vest over a crisp white shirt, finishing with a large black coat. he looks so... soft and gentle. it almost distracts you.

you bite your lower lip, suddenly feeling flustered. his gaze is unreadable as it drags down your body— and out of respect, you adjust your dress a little.

"i'm je-hyun," your date takes the initiative to introduce himself, bowing deeply. there's slight humour in his voice, "you must be her father—"

you elbow him in the ribs, and he doubles over. inho lets out a snort, looking down. you notice he doesn't introduce himself in return. he clenches his jaw, tongues his cheek before looking at you with a glint in his eyes. you wonder if he looks angry, but you can't really tell. it wouldn't make sense anyway.

"going somewhere?" you ask, voice a little high pitched out of sheer nervousness. you don't know why, but you feel rather awkward. you don't understand why you feel like you're betraying him, in a way. perhaps it's because inho has quite literally been the only man you've been regularly interacting and engaging with so far. that's why standing with another guy in front of him feels so... strange. no other reason.

he clears his throat and nods, "out for drinks with an old colleague." he frowns after, cocks his head towards your legs. your dress is not really short, it comes to your knees. but you still feel exposed in front of him.

"don't you feel cold?"

"i'll wear a coat," you tell him, snatching your coat off from where it was hanging behind your door. "well— um. see you."

inho is the first to leave— after giving your date an up and down look of what you can only consider disgust or disapproval. je-hyun pouts a little as he straightens up, before grabbing your hand and dragging you down the stairs.

the party fucking sucks. the noises are too loud, the lights are too flashy, and everyone is drunk. you don't understand their drunken rambles, and you almost tripped twice. you've stumbled into atleast three couples making out, and you don't know how to dance without looking stupid.

je-hyun had kissed your cheek before going off to get drinks. a sprite for you, as you'd demanded. except he never returned. you know life isn't a movie, but at this moment, you'd rate yours a solid 1.5 stars.

a girl accidentally steps on your foot and you wince, hopping on one leg as you go out the back door. there, you put on your coat tighter around yourself, shaking as you glare at the wall in front of you.

you could really use a cigarette. and you don't even smoke.

you bring out your phone and shoot je-hyun a text. it is left on delivered, and you grunt in irritation before looking to the side.

defeated, angry and hurt at being abandoned, you immediately choose to leave. you hold back the urge to send je-hyun a text calling him an absolute dick, and try not to make eye contact with anyone as you walk down the road. it's late, the sky is dark and you have another fear on your mind right now. you look out for a taxi— but none come to your rescue. your luck has run out.

you mutter all sorts of curses to yourself on the way back— until you hear footsteps. you pause, suddenly feeling that same dread seize you again.

you're being followed.

you start walking quickly, and the prickling sensation of being watched doesn't leave. you turn around abruptly — and there's no one there, except from a few friend groups walking out of the club. you pick up your pace and start jogging back, looking around for taxis. you can see the park near your apartment in the distance — and you let out a breath of relief.

you hear a little 'meow,' and you immediately turn around. you love cats— you've been dying to have one. despite your better judgement, you walk closer to the dark alley the voice came from. a kitten is there, meowing at you. your heart melts into a puddle and you coo, instantly following it. you look around, there's no stores nearby, or you would've bought it some food. you gently pick it up, scratching it's ears.

"its my cat."

there's a shabby man standing in front of you— reeking of alcohol and trash. you freeze, looking at him awkwardly as you let go of the cat. his eyes trail down, settle on the silver of your skin peeking out from under the coat. instinctively, you wrap it tighter around yourself, and he steps forward, grinning.

"i have more! do you want to see?"

you give him an awkward, polite smile. in situations like these, its best to subtly pull yourself away. you take a step back and shake your head, "no, thank you."

"it won't take long," he convinces, a hand reaching out. "you could even take one with you—"

you're turning around to run, but his hand grabs your arm and drags you closer. you scream, but he shushes you, pinning you to the wall. you feel like throwing up. you raise your knee and kick him in the shin, and he lets go of you. you quickly start dashing off, but your heel oh so conveniently breaks and you trip. you fall face first onto the floor and his hand grabs your leg and starts dragging down.

you let out a shriek and kick at his arm, but he's lunging at you, trying to grab your face with his dirty hands. you take that moment to release your frustrations of the day upon him— with all the strength you can muster, you pull your head back before crashing it against his face.

"you bitch!" he screams and so do you— and he falls back, clutching his bleeding nose. he tries to lunge at you again, but you scream as loud as you can, trying to crawl away from him.

someone grabs you and starts pulling you up, and out of reflex you thrash and try to hit the other person. your wrist is clasped firmly in a bigger hand, and the sight of inho's face immediately fills you with relief. he helps you up, and before you can express gratitude, he's pushing you back and moving forward.

you flinch at the sound of the first kick. it happens so fast that you don't even realize it— your eyes widen as inho kicks the man over and over again. the sound of his bones cracking fills your ears, and you almost gag at the sight of the blood mixing with the dirty ground. inho looks unphased for the most part— except he's panting, and his hair is falling across his forehead. sweat runs down the side of his face, and he wordlessly turns around, eyes cold in a way that is foreign to you.

perhaps it's the shock of the sudden turn of events, but you can't speak. all you can think about is the rage that is so prominently etched onto his beautiful face, and how easily he stomped on that man like he was nothing. and how thankful you are that he showed up somehow when you needed him. after your date abandoned you. like magic.

he walks up to you, and you let out a shaky breath before allowing your head to fall onto his chest. he squeezes his eyes shut and pats your back, before cupping your cheeks and lifting your head up. he analyzes your face, gently caresses the new scratches on your chin before his gaze drops to your shoes— a broken heel and multiple scratches on your knees.

"are you okay?" he asks softly, and you hold his palm, ensuring it stays pressed against your cheek. you look at him like he's your only saviour— and you feel that way too. your lips wobble and he looks away.

"tired." you mumble— throat feeling dry. you feel dizzy, and your legs hurt. you're pretty sure you feel like throwing up too.

wordlessly, he bends down slightly, gestures towards his back with a tilt of his head. "come on."

you hesitate, looking at him with shock, before gently allowing your front to splay across his back. you link your arms around his shoulders, and he wraps his hands around your legs. he lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you lean your weight into him, resting your head along his shoulder. he shifts slightly so you're more comfortable, his hold on you steady and confident. one of your shoes drop, and you don't look back at it. you don't care anyway.

you hear another faint meow before the kitten is out of earshot.

you resist the urge to cry as he carries you up the stairs. you sniffle, burying your head in his back, deeply inhaling the comforting smell of the man you've started associating with home. your legs dangle off his sides and your heart feels heavy. his silence makes you feel so eternally grateful.

you don't know how you got lucky enough to have someone like him by your side.

he doesn't even put you down when you reach your apartment— merely mumbles a soft, "keys?" and you straighten up slightly, shuffling in your coat pocket before leaning forward to open the lock— unable to resist the urge to chuckle just slightly at how endearing this whole situation is, despite everything.

he takes you inside, and your cheeks flush slightly. your clothes are all over the bed— thanks to your indecisiveness while getting ready for the date. he gently places you down on the floor, and you sniffle, quickly covering the clothes with a blanket— eliciting a snort out of him.

"why were you coming home alone?" is the first question he asks. "what happened to the kid you were with?"

"I don't know," you whisper, looking away. you suddenly feel embarrassed— how immature, how careless je-hyun looks in front of a man like inho. you never should've went on that date. "he just.. he disappeared at the party."

he clenches his jaw, his hands resting on his hips as he looks to the side. there's another vein popping in his neck— and if you had the guts, you'd lean up and kiss it.

"that little boy—" he spits with vitriol, the words coming from a deep place of resentment. he takes a deep breath, tries to calm himself, "he never should've left you alone. you should've never decided to walk home alone. why didn't you take a taxi?"

you swallow hard— he certainly doesn't make you miss your father. he's doing his job for him.

"there were no taxis."

"why didn't you just call me?" he asked again, stepping forward, eyebrows raising. "i could've come picked you up."

you pause. you didn't know that was an option. you really didn't think of it.

"I don't know." you replied lamely.

"didn't you say you have a stalker?" he snaps, "how can you be so careless?"

"i really don't want a lecture right now," you reply dejectedly, looking away. your voice lowers to a mumble as you rub your arm. "tonight has been harsh enough."

his face softens and he sighs, running a hand through his hair. he throws his head back and looks at the ceiling, squeezes his eyes shut before looking at you again.

"forgive me." he says earnestly, tilting his head, "i worry about you."

you nod, fidgeting with your coat. he watches you silently before stepping back.

"you should take a warm shower. i'll grab the first aid and take care of that." he gestures towards his chin, and the sting on your own chin starts to settle in.

this time, you don't argue. you toss your coat to the side, grab your toiletries, don't even bother asking him to leave before you go into the bathroom and wipe the memories of this night off you.

inho is waiting on your bed when you return. you hope he didn't hear the sound of you crying— it was rather pathetic. your skin is flushed with how much you scratched it, and worst of all, you ended up gently banging your forehead against the cold wall over how badly your date went. your fault for thinking you could have a positive experience with a man.

you clutch your bathrobe tightly, the water from your hair soaking through the towel. you put it down, and he gets up from the bed and pats down the empty space, telling you to sit down.

you notice your bed looks a little neater than you left it. your clothes are folded nicely by the corner and your bedsheet is straightened properly. it makes you blush, and you give him a sheepish look. he doesn't acknowledge it as he kneels before you.

"you don't have to—" you start, half heartedly.

"let me."

his voice is soft yet so firm, you end up following through. there is nothing wrong with wanting to be taken care of by a man like him. you shift slightly, hoping that he takes the flush of your cheeks as an effect of your warm shower.

he settles your leg on his thigh, and shifts your bathrobe just slightly so your knee is exposed. he examines it before applying some ointment on it. the touch of his gentle fingers almost has you whimpering— but you clear your throat and fidget nervously with your fingers. he grabs hold of your ankle, looking thoughtful as his thumb brushes across your skin.

the silence between you two feels heavy and suffocating. the tension could be cut with a knife— and the way he touches you is so intimate, it makes you want to climb into his arms and just cling to him till you fall asleep.

thankfully, he makes the decision for you. he places your feet back down and straightens slightly, wordlessly applies some cream on your chin too. it stings a little but it's bearable. he hums, closes the box and puts it aside.

as you open your mouth to speak, you can hear multiple notifications coming through your phone. his eyes snap up, and so do yours— you reach out and grab it out of your coat pocket, and he glares at it as you check.

"is it the boy?" he asks.

you bite your lip, glancing at the multiple texts of je-hyun apologizing through the notification panel. you're bitter, and you don't want to respond, not right now. inho grabs your hand, takes your phone away and places it by your side.

"you shouldn't go back to him," he advices quietly. there's an intensity in his eyes, an emotion that is hard to read. "after tonight, he's proven he's not worth your time. he abandoned you."

you bite your lower lip. he's right— but then again, a part of you wants to ask. so who should i go to? who is worth my time?

you clear your throat and shift on the bed.

"thank you for tonight," you whisper instead, allowing yourself more time to think about how to deal with je-hyun.

"thank you?" he chuckles, amused, "you'd taken care of that guy pretty well yourself. i just finished the job."

"but still," you protest, feeling a sense of pride at his comment. "he would've grabbed me again if you hadn't come."

he snorts, looking down at his lap. and your words remind you of an important question.

"how'd you know i needed help?"

he tenses, his eyes snapping up to yours again. you can't tell what he's thinking, but he merely chuckles, "i was walking in the park when you screamed. immediately alerted me." he raises a finger to his ear. "policeman instinct."

you laugh at that. his explanation makes sense. of course he has a policeman instinct. you wouldn't expect anything else.

he stands up, groaning as he stretches a little. the action makes his sweater rise up, revealing a silver of his tummy— and your eyes dazedly drop down, glancing at it with barely disguised hunger, until he's relaxing again. you snap yourself out of your trance and cough, looking away.

he looks down at you, all tired eyes and soft hair. in moments like these, you think of how sweet he looks. so gentle, and kind, and caring. sweet mister inho, who has been so generous, protecting you, caring for you, wanting nothing in return. who gave you a piggyback ride home when you felt like you would pass out from terror, who put cream on your wounds with the tenderness of a parent or a lover.

perhaps it's that sentiment, your touch starved nature, or your horrible day that prompted you to do it. or lust from that little glimpse of his skin. either way, you're fucked. you lean forward and wrap your arms around his waist, immediately burying your head in his stomach as you whisper thank yous to him— clinging to him like a lifeline.

he stumbles back in shock, stiffens slightly before relaxing— awkwardly shifting to accommodate you. he laughs slightly, and the rumble sends happy vibrations through your whole body. his hand settles on your head, gently playing with your hair.

"i told ya," he said gently, an amused smile on his face. "i won't let anyone hurt you."

a little embarrassed, you let go of him, pulling away and tucking your hair behind your ear.

"sorry," you mumble sheepishly.

"it's fine," he nods, taking a deep breath. he adjusts his sweater, looks around before giving you another smile. he pats your head. "get some sleep, okay? it's late. i'll check on you tomorrow."

you nod, and he leaves. you bite your lower lip as you replay the hug, and don't find the effort to get up and dress yourself before you're squealing into your pillow— all thoughts of je-hyun forgotten temporarily.

you don't see je-hyun in classes the next day, but he comes to work after college. the first thing he does is approach you, even when you push your head into your tablet while trying to imply how you absolutely do not want to talk to him.

"i can explain," he says with worry, "someone drugged me. i didn't want to leave you alone. i swear, i woke up in the toilet hours after. first thing i did was text you."

you sigh, rolling your eyes as you looked at him boredly, "drugged? that's the excuse you're going with?"

"why would i ditch you on purpose!" he hisses, leaning down. your argument gathers the attention of a few of your coworkers, and your senior warns you to get back to work. you sigh and look away from him.

"whatever it is—" you begin as politely as you can, "I don't think i'm ready to date. so maybe you should just—"

he sighs your name in agitation, and you quirk your eyebrow at him.

"you're really giving up on me after one fuck up?" he asks, frowning, "which wasn't even my fault? i was drugged—"

"i almost got assaulted on the way back," you hiss, standing up abruptly. your noses press together, and you pull back the moment his eyes drift to your lips. you pinch the bridge of your nose, before tilting your chin up and pointing at the bandage. he blinks, gaze filled with guilt. you sigh.

"maybe we could give it a go after some time if you're still interested, but i don't think i have the patience for this right now. last night was really hard on me. can you respect that?"

he looks like a kicked puppy at your words, but he steps back nonetheless. he clenches his jaw as he nods— before leaving you alone for the rest of the day.

the feeling of being watched has numbed you. you try not to care on your way back home— you have too much to do to care about that anyway. your dress from last night and your coat got dirty, so it seems like the perfect time to have a laundry day.

it's only when you're gathering all your clothes that you realize what's wrong.

your clothes are missing.

a pair of panties and your favourite camisole top. it's pink and has a little bow in the middle and you remember bringing it very clearly because you have taken a billion pictures in it. you wore them two days back— and tossed them carelessly in the laundry basket. you check once, and twice.

they're missing.

your first thought immediately goes to the stalker. is there any way he found your home? came into your room? stole your undergarments like a fucking sicko?

your second thought feels a little.. illegal to say the least. but.. inho wouldn't do something like that, would he? no, he's a good guy. a kind, rule following member of society. he used to be a police officer, for fuck's sake. he wouldn't do something like that, would he?

you can't lie, the idea that he could makes something in your stomach flip.

you can't go and straight up ask him, 'hey mister, did you take my panties?' so you do the next best thing. you devise a plan to be alone in his room.

you put on your best panic stricken expression as you knock on his door, and he opens almost immediately. his face falls into one of concern as he looks you up and down, "what's wrong—"

"i need pads," you say sheepishly, biting your lower lip as you step into his room. he doesn't protest as he looks at you. "i got my period and i don't have any and it hurts to go to the store. inho sir, could you please go buy me some? please?"

for added effect you let out a groan, holding your stomach as you fall onto his bed. you lie in a fetus position, and the worry etched onto his face almost makes you laugh.

"do you need anything else?" he asks, grabbing his wallet. you shake your head no, release another groan before he's slamming the door behind him as he leaves.

you wait for a few minutes— until you can hear the sound of his footsteps going down the stairs and fading away. you get up quickly then, look around his room with your heart pounding against your chest.

the first place you look is his cupboards— only his clothes to be found. you rip off his blanket and look under the pillows, searching desperately. you almost feel bad— he seems like such a good man, and you're taking advantage of his kindness by doubting him like this. you almost stop and leave, before the sight of his laundry basket has you pausing.

you look at the door before turning back and approaching it. you sit on the floor and shuffle through it, but you can't find a glimpse of your undergarments anywhere. you can find his though— and it makes you blush slightly.

you find his shirt then— white and plain and you remember him wearing it under his sweater last night. with shaky hands, you bring it out. biting your lower lip, against your morals, you clutch it and bring it up to your nose, inhaling the scent of his collar. it smells of him— of sweat and his cologne and it almost makes you moan.

like the fucking sicko you were worried about, you bury your face in it, your legs shaking as you lean further into it. another whimper escapes you. your eyes squeeze shut, and your mind starts flashing images of him, of his arms, of the vein in his neck, of his hair, of his smile—

it's been established already that your luck is horrible. that's why you don't realize it when the door opens and inho stands there, frozen, watching you sniff his clothes like a junkie. he drops the bag, and you freeze, your eyes immediately snapping open.

the way dread settles in your stomach is comical. you don't want to turn around, more so because it would mean acknowledging what you've been doing. he takes your name, and you turn ever so slowly, his shirt still clutched in your hands, pressed against your nose. as reality sets in, you're quickly tossing it back in the laundry basket and standing up like you've been electrocuted.

"i-it's not what it looks like—"

he doesn't say a word as he slams the door shut, very pointedly locking it. it sends a shiver of thrill up your spine, and he closes in on you ever so slowly as you try to explain yourself.

"i was just—" you're stuttering, voice breathless out of shame. you take a step back. "i was looking for something and i thought you had it and—"

he's just nodding patiently as you speak, eyebrows furrowed with mock sympathy. his hand suddenly shoots up to grab your neck, and your breath hitches as he pushes you against the wall.

"i thought you took my panties," you explain quickly, visibly panicking. "i couldn't find them and you were the only one who came into my room—"

"that's why you were sniffing my shirt like a little pervert?" he asks calmly, voice hushed, his mouth curling into an amused smirk. "because you couldn't find your panties?"

"sir—" you gasp, eyes fluttering as his hand squeezes slightly. your legs tremble, and you grab his wrist. "i didn't mean to—"

"dirty girl," he chuckles. before you can speak further, he's grabbing your waist, twirling you around and shoving you onto his bed. you fall upon it with a surprised gasp, and he climbs onto you effortlessly, caging you between his arms. "you think i don't understand the way you look at me with those pretty little eyes? like you're begging me to fuck you into the mattress?"

"oh fuck," you moan, your back arching off the bed. his mere voice has you feeling stupid. your lips wobble as you look at him pleadingly— licking your lips. "please—"

"yeah— like this," he chuckles, giving your cheek a little slap. it barely registers. doesn't hurt at all, feels like a little tap. but the action enough elicits the most desperate moan out of you, and he squeezes your cheeks, leaning down dangerously. "like a little slut."

you whine, biting your lower lip as you try to catch his lips. he merely laughs mockingly, shakes his head as he pouts playfully, "what? you want a kiss?"

you try to nod as best as you can, and he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth teasingly before letting go. you whine again, your hands holding onto his back— clutching the material of his sweatshirt with a desperation you didn't know you could feel.

"i knew you were a little messed up," he grunts, prying your thighs apart with his knees, before settling his hips upon yours. you can feel the bulge in his pants so evidently, and it makes you moan. with a warning glare, he squeezes your cheeks harder, making your lips pucker up. it makes him chuckle, and he gives your head a little shake. "giving your little 'fuck me' eyes to a man my age. do you act like this with everyone? with that fucking boy from college?"

his voice gets louder, harsher with his words and you shake your head desperately. his hips press against yours, and he starts grinding them against your clothed pussy— making you whine.

"j-just you—" you mumble, but he doesn't let you finish. his mouth is crashing onto yours, one hand grabbing your neck again and the other going under your waist, holding you in place.

the kiss leaves you breathless. teeth and tongue slam together, and you moan needily as he grinds against you, the action making a damp patch appear on the front of your pyjamas. your legs wrap around his waist and he grunts, his hips faltering slightly from shock before he continues, cocking his head to the side to access your mouth better.

your hand comes up to his hair, feeling the softness of it. he grabs it, brings your other one up too and holds both of your wrists in a massive palm— before raising them over your head and keeping them in place. he rises over you, his hips thrusting against yours, and you look at him dazedly. strings of your combined saliva separate and drip down your chin, and you blink.

"please inho sir—" you whimper, your hands twisting in his hold. "slap me again, please."

there's a glimpse of shock in his eyes but it goes away just as quickly. you don't even get to expect how fast his hand pulls back and strikes against your face— but you moan at the contact. it's harder than before and it stings, and it leaves the most delicious pain in it's wake. you almost hope it leaves a little print for you to wake up to tomorrow.

"god, you're a mess," he laughs breathlessly, grabbing your hair. you give him an almost drunken smile— your lips puffy and swollen, hips rising up to press needily against his bulge.

"my little mess—" he groans before gently slapping you again, and you whine, chasing his mouth with your own. he leans forward and silences you with the kiss you were so desperately begging for.

he's pulling back suddenly, a hand digging into his pockets. your eyes flutter open and before you know what's happening— he's stuffing your missing panties in your mouth. it baffles you— and he laughs at the way your eyes widen. he doesn't allow you to move as his hand slips inside your pyjama, immediately rubbing your clit.

the sudden stimulation doesn't allow you to dwell on the matter for long. so he did steal your panties— and you cannot question him, because you quite literally did the same thing. how can you call him out, when you were sniffing his worn shirt like a fucking pervert, yourself? he knows that too, judging by the glint in his eyes— as if he's daring you to attack him. you barely get to protest as you writhe under him, and he rubs your clit till you cum all over his hand— your loud moans muffled by your panties.

he pulls his hand out and licks your juices off with the nastiest slurp, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time. you tremble in his hold, before he's hovering over your chest, his thighs caging you in. he looks down at you smugly, pulling his leaking cock out of his pants. your mouth immediately waters— it's thick and darker than the rest of him, and the tip is flushed red. he doesn't allow you to sit up, keeps it conveniently out of your reach as he begins stroking it, hand moving up and down with a soft, wet shlick.

your pleading is silenced by your panties. you desperately try to push them out of your mouth, to reach up and touch him, but he's restrained you too efficiently. he throws his head back, lets out a soft, raspy moan. drops of his precum land on your face as he furiously jerks off over you, his movements getting faster. your eyes flutter, and he cums with a throaty groan, his entire body tensing— splatters of his cum falling upon your mess of a face.

there's tears in your eyes as you look up at him, and he chuckles. he lets go of your hands, and you immediately toss your panties out and cough. you glance at his softening cock with devastation etched onto your features— before glaring up at him, lips drawn into a sad pout. he laughs at your misery, holds his wet hand out, "come on."

like a fucking puppy, you grab his hand. you don't even understand where this degeneracy is coming from— you don't wish to. you don't care. all you know is you need this man carnally, and you're not going to say no when he's offering himself on a silver platter. with sheer enthusiasm, you start licking his palm, eyes fluttering closed. you lick between his fingers, take two of them in your mouth, making him moan; before he's physically pulling you off him.

you whine in protest, and he pats your cheek while tucking himself back into his pants. you pant heavily as you come down from your high, allowing yourself a moment to think about everything that just happened. your cheek still stings, and you've just experienced what you can only classify as the horniest, hottest moment of your life.

you're so lost in thought that you don't register the moment he pulls you into his bed with him, placing your limp body atop his chest. you were given twin beds in your tiny apartments, but you realize you fit in here pretty well. like a puzzle. he pats your hair and places a soft kiss to your temple. you have many questions, but you don't know where to start.

"so i'm guessing you weren't on your period," he jokes, and you groan, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as you recall your little excuse. "i think that was smart. you'd make a pretty good investigator. as long as you don't go around sniffing their clothes—"

"shut up." you whine, glaring at him. he chuckles heartily, and your body feels warm. his hand goes down, slaps your ass teasingly.

"so you think i smell nice?"

"i said shut up."

"it's a yes or no question." he cooes, pinching your cheek. you whine, rubbing your cheek against his chest like a cat. yes, asshole. you wanted to say. you smell amazing.

in retaliation, you decide to ask your own question.

"were you jealous of je-hyun?"

he stiffens slightly, and you smirk. gotcha.

"that's a brave accusation." he retorts smoothly.

"it's a yes or no question," you shoot back teasingly, and he looks into your eyes.

"yes."

you pause then, a small smile appearing on your face. "yes? is that why you kept calling him a boy?"

he shrugs, looking up at the ceiling as his fingers run through your hair. "he is a boy. he couldn't take care of you like i could. and you already liked me before you started going out with him."

that punches the breath out of you.

"was i that obvious?" you ask dryly. he smiles, eyes darting down to you. he grabs your chin and tilts your head down, places a soft kiss upon your lips.

"policeman instinct."

ᥫ᭡.

it's a few weeks later that your entire world slips off it's axis. everything was fine with inho— he had taken you out multiple times. bought you cotton candy, kissed the remnants of it off your chin, and you two had walked hand in hand down the streets of seoul, much like the couples you envied on your first walk with him. you remember mostly going to eat spicy food with him because he was lactose intolerant and not a big fan of sweets. he'd even won you a plushie at an arcade that you now cuddle whenever you go to sleep without him. you remember not being scared anymore because you no longer felt the eyes of your stalker, and the only flowers you got were the ones inho would buy for you.

inho hadn't come home for two days and thirteen hours.

you know because you've been counting each hour. there's an unbearable itch in your stomach, and every door opening or closing in the hallway has you jumping and leaving to check. you'd met up with the landlady, insisted that she get someone to go look for him, but she'd merely brushed you off.

your days at work became gloomy and your classmates started to notice. je-hyun got a girlfriend too— one of your seniors. you were happy for him, honestly. but still fucking jealous. you missed your boyfriend, and worst of all, you were worried. he just went away without saying anything, and it filled you with a sense of betrayal.

you were in your own state of denial. no way he could do this to you— give you love and then snatch it away out of nowhere, leaving you empty and cold. you didn't want to believe it. absolutely not.

you were trying to sleep when you heard his name again. you sit up, quickly turning on the lights and jumping to the door.

"—he was supposed to pay his rent a week ago," your landlady says. you open the door and peek out, watch as she guides another man to his door. you wonder if he knows your inho. "i've stopped by everyday since then, but he hasn't come in or picked up his phone. by the way... about his rent... otherwise you'd have to move his stuff out right away—"

the younger guy ensures he'd pay the rent, and you watch curiously as she opens the door for him. "take your time!" she says.

so he definitely knows inho, you think.

you watch with bated breath, only his back being visible to you. you're not sure if you should approach him. suddenly, he's moving, turning around and leaving the apartment as if something came up. you open the door and watch him go— your voice stuck in your throat.

you don't see that guy again. you don't hear from inho again. you don't receive flowers, but the feeling of being watched still remains, although it's less frequent.

three days pass. you're gathering your belongings to leave when je-hyun places a bouquet in front of you. you look up at him, frowning.

"someone left this at the door," he says casually, rubbing the back of his neck. "for you. guess it didn't stop."

he leaves and you frown as you look at the flowers. you hadn't received these in a while. you analyse them— pink carnations paired with some white lilies and forget-me-nots. wrapped up in a white ribbon. you know carnations because they're infamous and can be seen in almost every flower shop. you also know carnations are usually used in weddings. they're a symbol of love and devotion. and forget me nots— there is no need for an explanation. the answer lies in its name. you're pulling your phone out to go through that website— the one that speaks the language of flowers.

perhaps it's your own stupidity for not having realized it before. you're quickly pulling the bouquet forward. no card. there are a myriad of emotions going through you— anger, hurt, and most of all— yearning. your heart yearns for him. it longs for him. your hands tremble as you clutch the edge of the table.

you look at the flowers almost bitterly. you grit your teeth, glaring down at your phone, the website open and displaying words that only evoke feelings of distress out of you. of course, it had to be him. there was no other explanation. flowers symbolizing jealousy right after je-hyun asked you out, you had mentioned how much you liked flowers the day you two went on a walk. them suddenly stopping the day you two started openly dating. you just feel stupid you didn't realize it sooner.

that manipulative prick.

you huff bitterly, your eye twitching as you read the damning text over and over again.

pink carnations — 'ill never forget you.'

inho watches your face through the screen with a glass of whiskey in hand; smiling slightly at the way you glare at him. him as in, the bouquet. he's testing a new thing, trying to see if you've figured it out yet. he's very conveniently placed a camera in this one. if you understand it's him who has been sending you flowers, he's a hundred percent sure you'll take it home and keep it. if you decide to throw it out, that's okay too. the teddy bear he won for you was easy to install a camera in. he gets to see you whenever he wants, even when he's away. watching your sleeping face is rather therapeutic amidst the brutal killings of the players in the games. whenever he starts to miss you, your face is a button away from him. he can't really keep an eye on you at work, but that's alright. he's paid someone to keep watch and make sure you don't find someone else.

it was fun to see the fear etched onto your face whenever you mentioned being stalked— he was the one carrying out the stalking himself, until other duties called. he had to take these measures to ensure he was the only source of your comfort, the only one to rely on. scaring you just a little so it would bring you closer to him. how else would you come to him? you needed a little push. and now he's got you wrapped around his finger, much like you've got him wrapped around yours.

the flowers were just fun. he liked messing with you. a little inside joke with himself— different flowers to express how he felt about you. he wanted to see how long it would take you to figure it out. the way they worked to keep most men away was simply an added bonus.

you almost actually getting assaulted was not part of the plan. he'd spiked the kid's drink to make sure he could conveniently step in to save the day— to find you and bring you home. except that disgusting freak of nature decided to lay his dirty hands on you. you don't have to know that he went back to finish the job, that the man is six feet under the ground. much like your dear je-hyun would've been if he hadn't respectfully backed off and gotten himself a girlfriend.

he doesn't think he has anger or jealousy issues, no. he simply does not think that he can live without you anymore. anyone who comes between the two of you, has to go. you're a little naive and easy to manipulate, but it worked in his favour. you trusted him too easily, and he's gotten addicted to the way you make him feel like some hero. he gets to protect you and hold you and forget about everything that he's had to go through. it's a win.

he's seen how miserable you've been without him— the plushie he got you has been spending more time in your arms than your phone, which he thinks is a good development.

you miss him, and he misses you too.

he can judge by the clench of your jaw that you've figured out he was the one behind the flowers. the thought makes him snort slightly. he tilts the glass, glancing down at the clear fluid, before looking up at your face.

you've pulled back. you're picking the bouquet up, and carrying it out. you cross the trash can— and you don't throw it out.

you're taking it home.

a pleased smirk curls upon his face and he nods to himself, taking the remote and turning on his music box.

the notes of 'fly me to the moon' wraps around him like a comforting blanket. he's gonna take this as a hint. if you're taking this bouquet home even after realizing he's the one behind the flowers, it must mean you accept him. and he can make do with that.

you're young and impressionable, and you follow what he says. he could share his ideas with you, see how you react.

and perhaps the next time he sees you, he'll bring you to the games with him.

A/N: this was sooo fun to write!! it took me a few days to finish this and i got so unmotivated because i accidentally deleted a draft at first, but now it turned out so much better than before! i truly hope it doesn't feel rushed or bad, and i know the smut is mid at best but i really tried :( as always feedback is always appreciated, and thank you so much for the support on my fics so far! i love you guys!

tags: @movienerd3000 @testdrivethv @leebyunghunswifey @nerdybarbariancupcake @neganhore @k1ra-park3r @vivdolls @wab-i @stantwicr @creativerambling @yasmim-1007 @makethemgirlsgoloco @jamiewritesfanfiction-blog @captaincarmel416 @warlabels @ferrarifinnick @smlbch @izzyyann @meheheasasa @poooopy @endlessfl4mes @selfishlittlebeing @pillowtalk6 @antiromanticbaby

#raven writes #hwang inho x reader #hwang inho x you #frontman x reader #the frontman x reader smut #lee byung hun #player 001 x reader #squid game #squid game fanfic #salesman x reader #frontman x reader angst

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aerialmirrorss · 2 months ago

Text

𝐰 𝐢 𝐥 𝐝 𝐟 𝐥 𝐨 𝐰 𝐞 𝐫 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ rafe cameron

playing: 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 by billie eilish 𝜗𝜚˚｡˚ ⋆

synopsis! rafe realizes how much he cares about you when he’s willing to put everything on the line for your safety after a leaked video gets to sarah, your best friend..

paring: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

warnings: friends? with benefits , angst , panic attack (pogue!reader) , soft(ish)!rafe (he’s bipolar ik) , sexual content + unprotected sex! , lots of praise + dirty talk , some fluff , the L word , potential stalker? , mature , 18+ (minors dni!)

word count: 7.4k

notes: this is chapter two of my nobody gets me series. click the link below to read chapter one! ♡

chapter one: 𝐧 𝐨 𝐛 𝐨 𝐝 𝐲 𝐠 𝐞 𝐭 𝐬 𝐦 𝐞 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

chapter three: 𝐜 𝐚 𝐬 𝐮 𝐚 𝐥 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆

to say rafe was freaking out would be an understatement. it had been days since he’d last seen you, and the silence on your end was driving him to the edge of his sanity. not a single text, call, or word had come from you. it was like you’d vanished, and every minute without hearing from you only made his frustration worse.

he sat on the edge of his bed at tannyhill, replaying the night in his head for the hundredth time. every detail, every sound, every look—it all came flooding back, leaving him questioning everything. maybe he’d been too rough. maybe he’d misread your reactions, thinking you wanted it when in reality, you were trying to get away. the thought sent a chill down his spine.

he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus. he paced his room, running his hand through his hair, biting his thumbnail anxiously as he mumbled under his breath. every scenario raced through his mind, each one worse than the last.

should he text you again? call? or maybe just drive to your house and force you to talk to him? the idea of busting down your door crossed his mind more than once, his desperation teetering on obsession. he hated feeling this out of control, hated not knowing where you stood.

but above all, he hated the thought of losing you—of you slipping through his fingers without giving him the chance to make it right.

just then, as if his prayers had been answered, your name lit up his phone. a call.

for a moment, he stared at the screen, his heart hammering in his chest before he cleared his throat and steadied his hand enough to swipe the answer button. “hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

the silence on your end made his stomach churn. maybe you’d called by accident? but then, faintly, he heard it—your voice. it was barely a whisper, rough and broken, like you’d been crying for hours.

“i need to talk to you,” you said, the vulnerability in your tone cutting straight through him.

“yeah, okay. i’ll come to you—” he shot up from his bed, already slipping on his shoes, when you interrupted him.

“n-no,” you stammered, your voice shaky. “just meet me at the beach. i’ll send you my pin.”

before he could respond, the line went dead, leaving him in silence once again. he stood frozen for a moment, staring at his phone, his mind racing. then, without hesitation, he grabbed his keys and headed for the door. whatever this was, he wasn’t about to leave it unresolved.

you watched as the waves crashed against the shore, the rhythmic sound doing little to calm the storm inside you. with trembling hands, you adjusted your hat and pulled up the hood of your oversized sweater, trying to shield yourself from the cool night air—and maybe from your own reflection in the water. your puffy eyes told the story you didn’t want to share. if it wasn’t already obvious you’d been crying for days, you wouldn’t have bothered with the oversized sweater as a weak disguise.

you’ve been spamming sarah’s phone nonstop, sending text after text, leaving voicemails that never got a reply. it got to the point where you’re certain she’s blocked you. the silent treatment has been unbearable, eating away at you in a way you didn’t expect.

but even worse, you haven’t set foot in the chateau since it all happened. you couldn’t bring yourself to. if sarah was mad at you—and you knew she was—then the rest of them probably were too. if she told them—and she likely did—you doubted any of them would want to see you.

the thought of facing jj, of looking into his bruised eye and knowing how you betrayed him, kept you away. you didn’t deserve their forgiveness, so you didn’t ask for it. instead, you sat here, waiting for rafe, the one person you weren’t sure you could avoid any longer.

you feel a presence behind you, the weight of it heavy in the air, and you know without looking who it is. the sound of footsteps crunching softly against the sand confirms it before that presence settles beside you.

rafe doesn’t say anything at first, but you can feel his eyes on you, studying you, trying to gauge your mood. you don’t turn to face him, but out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of his expression—his furrowed brows, the slight downturn of his lips, and the unmistakable concern in his features.

your chest tightens. maybe he already knew about the video. maybe that’s why he looked like this—like he wasn’t sure what to say but felt he needed to be here.

you swallow hard, forcing the lump in your throat down, the tension stretching painfully in the quiet. “sarah knows, rafe,” you mutter finally, your voice barely above a whisper, but it feels deafening in the stillness.

you turn your head slightly to gauge his reaction, but he doesn’t give you one. his expression doesn’t change, his silence heavy and unreadable. of course he doesn’t react—you should’ve expected that.

you sigh softly, the weight of it all pressing harder against you. “there’s, um—” your voice cracks, and you pause, biting down on your trembling lip as the tears threaten to spill. “there’s a video of us. before we got in the truck. and someone sent it to her.”

you roll your lips into your mouth, trying desperately to hold yourself together, but it feels like you’re crumbling piece by piece. a single tear slips down your cheek, warm against your cold, rosy skin. you don’t wipe it away, too consumed by the weight of everything to care.

your chest feels like it’s caving in, the weight of it pressing down so hard it steals the air from your lungs. your breaths come short and shallow, each one more desperate than the last as if no matter how hard you try, you can’t pull in enough oxygen. your hands start to tremble, curling into fists at your sides, and your heart pounds so violently in your chest it feels like it might burst.

your vision starts to tunnel, the edges blurring as the crashing waves in front of you twist into an indistinguishable mess of sound and movement. your head feels light, like you’re floating and sinking at the same time, and a sharp heat spreads through your chest and throat, making it even harder to breathe.

you press your hands against your knees, trying to ground yourself, but it only makes the dizziness worse. the lump in your throat feels unbearable, choking you as tears stream uncontrollably down your face. everything feels too loud and too bright, the sound of the waves and the faint hum of rafe’s presence blending into an overwhelming cacophony.

“hey,” rafe says softly, his voice distant despite being right next to you. you barely register the warmth of his hand against your arm. “hey, look at me. breathe. just breathe.”

but you can’t. your body is out of your control, your mind spiraling into a dark abyss of guilt, fear, and panic. the more you fight it, the tighter the grip becomes, until all you can do is clutch your arms around yourself, trying to hold the pieces of you together as the panic consumes you.

rafe stands abruptly, the tension in his movements evident, before crouching down right in front of you. his hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb brushing slow, soothing strokes over your skin, an anchor in the storm of your panic.

“hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, drawing your unfocused gaze to his. his eyes lock onto yours, grounding and intent. “look at me,” he urges, keeping his tone soft but firm.

he takes a deep inhale, exaggerating the motion so you can follow it, then exhales slowly, motioning for you to mimic him, taking your hand and putting it on his chest. “breathe with me,” he says, his own chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

your attempts are shaky at first, uneven gasps that barely resemble breaths, but you follow him. inhale. exhale. over and over. relief washes over his face as your breathing starts to regulate, the shallow gasps slowly giving way to deeper, steadier pulls of air.

“there we go,” he soothes, his thumb still tracing gentle circles on your cheek. “good job, baby.” the nickname slips out before he can stop it, but he doesn’t correct himself, too focused on calming you.

his other hand comes to rest lightly on your knee, grounding you further, his presence unwavering. “i’ve got you,” he says softly, his voice steady, as if willing you to believe it.

in that moment, as rafe watched you close your eyes, your chest rising and falling steadily again, relief softening your tear-streaked face, something inside him snapped. rage surged through him like a tidal wave, sudden and uncontrollable.

and he blamed sarah.

to him, it was her fault. she had no right to get involved, no reason to make this worse. something that was meant to stay between you and him—just you and him—was now tearing you apart. and all because of her.

his jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together as he thought about her selfishness, her spoiled sense of righteousness. it didn’t matter that she was his sister; all he could see was the way her actions had hurt you. the way she had betrayed him.

the image of you struggling to breathe, broken and panicked because of her interference, made his blood boil. it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t right. and it was enough to make him see red.

and then there was that damn video.

the thought of it made rafe’s fists clench at his sides. it wasn’t just about the invasion of privacy; it was about you—your exposure in such a vulnerable moment. the idea of someone lurking, watching, and recording without your knowledge made his blood run cold with anger.

he didn’t care about his own reputation, not in the slightest. all he cared about was you and the way it could hurt you, the way it already had hurt you.

rafe was determined to figure out who took it. he didn’t care how long it would take or what he’d have to do to get the answers. whoever it was would regret ever crossing that line. and he’d make sure of it.

rafe gently pulls you to your feet, his hands steadying you before he wraps his arms around your shoulders, drawing you into a firm, grounding hug. the warmth radiating from his body seeps into you, calming the residual tremors in your chest. his steady breathing against the top of your head is a silent reassurance that you’re okay, that he’s got you.

“you’re good,” he murmurs softly, almost to himself, as if trying to convince you both.

after a few moments, he pulls back slightly, his hands brushing your arms as he guides you toward the passenger side of his truck. he opens the door and helps you inside, his fingers lingering as he buckles your seatbelt, the light touch against your bare thighs sending goosebumps rippling across your skin. you shiver but don’t say anything, leaning back into the seat as he closes the door.

once the truck is moving, the hum of the engine fills the comfortable silence between you. you haven’t said a word since the breakdown at the beach, but rafe doesn’t push. he seems to understand that the quiet is what you need right now.

he pulls into a nearby gas station, the bright lights spilling across the truck as he puts it in park. “i’ll be quick,” he mumbles, more to himself than you, before slipping out and heading inside.

you sit there, watching him through the window as he grabs a water bottle and lingers near the snack aisle, seemingly deliberating. for a brief moment, you feel a flicker of something you can’t place—gratitude, guilt, or maybe just relief that he’s here.

inside, rafe grabs a pack of gummy worms, deciding it’s the safest option. he figures it’s something easy, something you might actually eat since he’s convinced you haven’t been eating properly these past few days. satisfied, he starts to head to the checkout when he hears it—a laugh he knows all too well, one that instantly sets him on edge.

his head snaps in the direction of the sound, and there they are—sarah and john b, standing in the same aisle he just walked out of. rafe’s jaw tightens, a flare of anger igniting in his chest. it takes everything in him not to start something right then and there.

his fists clench at his sides as he forces himself to stay composed, but the tension in his body is undeniable as he turns on his heel and strides toward her.

“i need to talk to you,” he says sharply, his voice low but firm as he approaches sarah.

sarah visibly jumps at his sudden appearance, her startled expression quickly morphing into a glare. rafe can see the way her jaw ticks, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface, mirroring his own.

she glances at john b, offering him a reassuring smile. “i’ll be right back,” she says calmly, though her tone carries an edge. reluctantly, john b stays put, watching them as sarah follows rafe to the back of the store, where the beverage aisle is quieter and out of sight.

as soon as they’re alone, rafe’s grip tightens on the gummy worms and water bottle in his hands, his knuckles turning white as he struggles for some semblance of control. his glare pierces through sarah, the tension between them thick and heavy, charged with years of unresolved resentment.

“you had no fucking right,” he growls, his voice low and venomous, the anger in his tone bubbling just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.

sarah’s brows knit together, her own frustration flaring as she lowers her voice to a sharp whisper. “i had no right? rafe, you had no fucking right!” she hisses, her eyes blazing with anger. “my best friend of all people? are you serious? you could’ve literally chosen anyone else, anyone, but no, you always have to come after my happiness!”

her words hang heavy between them, cutting deeper than she intended. rafe’s jaw clenches, his entire body rigid as he stares at her, his anger matched only by the faint flicker of hurt she’s unknowingly struck.

“this isn’t about your happiness,” he snaps back, his voice still low but laced with venom. “this is about you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. you had no right to drag her into this.”

sarah crosses her arms, her glare unwavering. “and you had no right to do what you did, rafe. you knew what this would do to her, to me, to all of us. but you didn’t care, did you? because you never do.”

rafe steps closer, the tension between them nearly suffocating as his voice drops even lower, dripping with bitterness. “you think i don’t care? you have no idea what i feel, sarah. none. but you—you took it too far. that video?” his grip tightens around the items in his hands, the plastic crinkling under the pressure. “do you have any idea what that did to her? to me?”

sarah’s arms tighten around herself, but she doesn’t back down. “i didn’t take that video, rafe. don’t pin your shit on me,” she fires back, her voice steadier now, but no less angry. “you’re the one who dragged her into your bullshit. you’re the one who made her a target.”

“a target? i’ve been protecting her!” he snarls, his composure cracking as he takes another step closer. “you think i wanted this? for someone to spy on us, to send you a video like that? you have no idea what i’d do to keep her safe.”

sarah laughs bitterly, shaking her head. “protecting her? from what, rafe? from you?” her words are sharp, designed to cut, and they do. “because that’s what it looks like from where I’m standing.”

rafe’s jaw ticks, his breathing heavy, as he stares her down, trying to bite back the words that threaten to spill. “you don’t get it,” he mutters, his voice thick with frustration. “you never did. this isn’t about you, sarah.”

“no, it’s about her,” she snaps, her voice rising slightly despite her attempt to keep it contained. “my best friend, rafe. she’s not just some girl for you to fuck around with and forget about when it’s convenient. she deserves better than this—better than you.”

the words hit him harder than he expects, but he doesn’t let it show. instead, he leans in closer, his tone sharp as a blade. “and you think she needs you playing savior? she doesn’t, sarah. she’s stronger than you give her credit for.”

sarah’s face softens slightly, her anger flickering into something more conflicted, but she doesn’t back down. “if she’s so strong, then why is she breaking because of you?” she whispers, her voice quieter now but no less cutting.

rafe doesn’t answer immediately, his grip loosening as the weight of her words settles over him. for the first time, he looks away, his jaw tight as he swallows hard.

sarah sighs deeply, her anger giving way to something softer, though the tension in her shoulders remains. she looks down at her shoes for a moment before lifting her gaze to meet rafe’s, her eyes filled with something he doesn’t expect—concern.

“if you really care about her, rafe,” she says, her voice quieter now, less sharp but still firm, “you’ll leave her alone. you’re just going to take her down with you.”

her words cut deeper than he wants to admit, but he doesn’t let it show. his jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing as he shakes his head. “you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters, his voice low but defensive.

“don’t i?” sarah counters, her brows furrowing. “i’ve seen it, rafe. the way you drag people into your chaos. she’s already hurting because of you—look at what’s happened these past few days! she doesn’t need this. she doesn’t need you.”

rafe flinches at the words but quickly masks it with anger. “and what? you think walking away is going to fix everything? you think i can just leave her and pretend like nothing happened?” his voice rises slightly, frustration creeping in.

“yes,” sarah replies simply, her tone steady but sad. “because if you don’t, she’s going to lose herself trying to save you. and you know that, rafe. deep down, you know that.”

rafe’s hands clench into fists, his breathing heavy as her words sink in. for a moment, he’s silent, his eyes darting away as he processes what she’s said. but instead of responding, he turns on his heel, walking away from her and toward the checkout, his mind racing with everything he doesn’t want to admit might be true.

as rafe walks toward the checkout, his thoughts are a storm of anger, guilt, and something deeper he can’t quite name. sarah’s words play over and over in his head, each repetition chipping away at his defenses. if you really care about her, you’ll leave her alone. the weight of it feels unbearable, but he pushes it down, refusing to let it show.

he pays for the water and gummy worms quickly, his mind far from the mundane transaction. the cashier’s bored expression barely registers as he grabs the bag and heads back to the truck. the short walk feels like miles, his chest tight with a mix of emotions he can’t fully unravel.

when he gets back to the truck, he opens the door and climbs in, placing the bag on the center console. you’re still in the passenger seat, curled up slightly, staring out the window at the empty gas station parking lot. the dim light casts shadows across your face, and rafe’s chest aches at the sight of you looking so small, so fragile.

“here,” he says, his voice softer than usual as he pulls out the water and gummy worms, placing them gently in your lap. “figured you should have something.”

you don’t look at him right away, your fingers hesitating before picking up the water bottle. “thanks,” you murmur, your voice barely audible, but it’s the first thing you’ve said to him since the beach. it feels like both a relief and a dagger in his chest.

rafe leans back in his seat, running a hand through his hair as silence falls between you again. he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to fix this. sarah’s words linger in the back of his mind like a poison, making him question everything.

finally, he glances at you, his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “do you… do you want me to take you home?” the question hangs in the air, heavy and uncertain, as he watches you for any sign of what you want, what you need from him.

“um—my mom and i kinda got into this fight,” you admit, your voice small, barely louder than the hum of the truck’s engine. “i really don’t want to be home right now.” your fingers fumble with the cap of the water bottle before you finally twist it open, the cool liquid soothing the dryness in your throat.

rafe glances at you briefly, nodding as he shifts the truck into gear. “tannyhill it is,” he says simply, his tone steady but softer than you expected.

soon, he’s reversing out of the gas station, the hum of the tires on the road filling the silence between you. you steal a glance at him, his profile illuminated by the dim dashboard lights. his grip on the steering wheel is firm, his jaw tight, but his expression is calm—focused, almost protective.

you sip your water quietly, the tension from earlier slowly starting to ebb away, replaced by a strange sense of relief. for all of rafe’s flaws, he always had a way of making you feel like, in the moment, nothing else could touch you.

as the truck cruises through the dark streets, you lean your head against the window, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment. the familiar scent of leather and cologne fills your senses, grounding you more than you care to admit.

you hadn’t been to tannyhill in a while, the last time being a couple of weeks ago with rafe. stepping inside now, you realize it hasn’t changed—it still holds that same strange sense of comfort, despite everything. the air smells faintly of cedar and something distinctly rafe, a mix of cologne and the warm musk of the house itself.

rafe walks in behind you, the sound of his shoes soft against the hardwood floor. he sets his keys down next to the coat hanger with a quiet clink, his movements uncharacteristically calm. you glance around as you step further into the house, your gaze catching the open laptop and scattered paperwork on the coffee table. clearly, he’d been in the middle of something important when you called.

you move to the outside balcony, sinking onto the couch there, the cool night air brushing against your skin. rafe follows shortly after, standing in the doorway for a moment before stepping onto the balcony.

your eyes flick back to the coffee table through the glass door, taking in the slight disarray of his work. he must’ve dropped everything the moment he heard your voice, and the thought makes your chest tighten, your heart swelling with an unfamiliar warmth.

“you didn’t have to stop what you were doing,” you say softly, glancing up at him.

he shrugs, leaning against the balcony railing, his expression unreadable but his voice steady. “it’s not important. you are.”

his words linger in the air between you, and for once, you don’t overthink them. you just let yourself feel the comfort of being here, the weight of the day slowly lifting.

“rafe—” you begin, your voice soft, almost hesitant.

“yeah?” he cuts in quickly, his response sharp and immediate, like he’d been waiting on edge for you to say something. his eyes search yours, his posture tense, his mind clearly elsewhere. sarah’s words are still plaguing him, the weight of them pulling him into his thoughts.

you take a small breath, steadying yourself. “thank you,” you say, your tone even softer now. “for helping me through that.”

his expression softens slightly, and he takes a step closer before sitting down on the small table in front of you, close enough that his knees brush yours. his focus is completely on you now, and the tension in his shoulders eases just a fraction.

“it’s happened before,” you admit quietly, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sweater, “but it’s never been that…” your voice trails off, the weight of earlier still heavy in your chest.

rafe nods slowly, understanding without needing you to finish the sentence. “i know,” he says softly, his voice steady but tinged with something that sounds like regret. his gaze holds yours, unwavering. “it’s okay. you’re okay.”

his words settle over you like a blanket, grounding you in the moment. for all his rough edges, rafe had a way of being exactly what you needed when the world felt like too much. and right now, that was more than enough.

the silence stretches between you, heavy and unspoken, until rafe finally sighs, breaking it. “i saw sarah at the store,” he says, his voice low.

your gaze lifts from your fingers, which had been nervously fiddling with the hem of your sweater. sitting up straighter, you meet his eyes, searching for something in his expression. “what did she say?” you ask softly.

he exhales sharply, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “i just want you to know,” he begins, his voice steady but tense, “she’s not mad at you. she’s mad at me.” his hand clenches into a fist, his knuckles whitening as he stares down at the floor.

“sarah…” he trails off, his jaw tightening at the mere thought of her. after a beat, he continues, his voice bitter. “she thinks i’m using you to get to her.”

the words hang in the air, and for a moment, all you can do is watch him, trying to make sense of it all. “are you?” you ask, your voice quiet but firm, your gaze unwavering as you search his face.

rafe’s eyes flicker between yours, the tension in his body palpable. his jaw works for a moment, and then he finally answers, his voice steady. “no.”

the way he says it—calm, without hesitation—makes you believe him. but the weight of everything else still lingers, making the air between you feel thick and unsteady.

“rafe, it’s fine. really, I’m over it,” you say softly, trying to keep your tone light, even though it feels like there’s a weight pressing down on your chest. “if you just want to keep it casual, then we’ll leave it at that. it was the agreement in the first place, right?”

his jaw tightens, his teeth grinding together as he struggles to keep his composure. casual. the word feels like a knife twisting in his gut because it’s the opposite of what he wants.

but admitting that to you? that’s something else entirely. he almost slipped earlier—nearly spilled everything in the middle of the gas station while arguing with sarah. but here, sitting across from you, the words feel too heavy, too risky.

rafe wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to protect you. every instinct in him screamed to keep you away from his world, to shield you from the darkness that followed him everywhere he went.

“it’s not that simple,” he mutters finally, his voice low, as if he’s talking more to himself than to you. his fists clench again, the tension in his body radiating outward. “you think this is about keeping it casual? it’s not. it’s about keeping you safe.”

his eyes flick to yours, and for a moment, the mask slips completely. there’s a raw vulnerability in his expression, something he’s been trying to keep buried. “the way i live my life… it’ll ruin you,” he says, his voice cracking slightly. “and i can’t let that happen.”

your brows knit together, a confused pout forming on your lips that almost makes him cave. “if this is about stacy thornton—”

“it’s not about stacy,” he interrupts quickly, his tone sharp but not unkind. his hands move to his face, rubbing stressfully as he exhales deeply. “the reason you saw me with her that day on the golf course… it wasn’t what you think.”

you stay quiet, your gaze fixed on him as he drops his hands and meets your eyes again. “i was trying to strike a deal with her father. cameron development is his company’s biggest competitor, and if i can get close to stacy, he won’t see me as a threat, and i could blindside him,” he explains, his voice steady but laced with frustration, as though the situation is as exhausting for him as it is for you.

his hand instinctively finds your knee, his thumb tracing gentle patterns across it, grounding himself as much as you. “i don’t want anything to do with stacy, i promise,” he says, his tone softening as he looks at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of understanding.

the sincerity in his voice, the gentle touch of his hand, and the raw honesty in his confession make it harder for you to hold onto the frustration you felt before. “then why does it feel like you’re always pushing me away?” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly.

his eyes shut softly, as if he’s trying to gather any remaining resolve he can muster. his chest rises and falls with a heavy sigh before he speaks, his voice low and unsteady. “because, baby…” the nickname slips from his lips so naturally, so effortlessly, it sends a flutter through your stomach despite the weight of the moment.

“if i don’t push you away,” he continues, his eyes opening slowly to meet yours, “then i have to let you in. and i can’t do that to you.” his voice cracks just slightly at the end, the vulnerability slipping through despite his attempts to stay composed.

his hand tightens its grip on your knee for a moment, as if anchoring himself to you, his thumb still tracing gentle patterns. “letting you in means exposing you to all of it—everything i’ve done, everything i am. and you don’t deserve that.” his voice wavers, the rawness in his tone making your chest ache.

you stare at him, your heart twisting at his words. “but don’t you see?” you whisper, leaning forward slightly, your own voice trembling. “you’re not protecting me by shutting me out, rafe. you’re just hurting me more.”

his resolve crumbles completely, the weight of holding back proving too much. he sighs softly, his hand sliding from your knee to gently grip your chin, tilting your face toward his. his eyes search yours for a moment, as if asking for permission, before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours in a soft, tentative kiss.

it’s not like the other times. this kiss isn’t rushed or heated—it’s careful, almost fragile, like he’s afraid it might break both of you if he lingers too long. his thumb brushes your jaw as his lips move against yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades away.

when he pulls back slightly, his forehead rests against yours, his hand still holding your chin. his voice is barely a whisper when he speaks. “i’m sorry,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. “i just… i don’t know how else to show you.”

“show me what?” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly as you chew on your bottom lip, trying to steady yourself, trying to keep from closing the distance between you again.

rafe’s hand lingers on your chin, his thumb gently brushing your skin as his eyes bore into yours, raw and unguarded. he swallows hard, his voice breaking slightly as he finally says the words that have been clawing at him for what feels like forever.

“that i love you,” he murmurs, the confession hanging heavily in the air between you. his gaze doesn’t falter, watching your every reaction like he’s bracing himself for whatever comes next.

your breath catches in your throat, his words hitting you harder than you ever expected. the vulnerability in his voice, the way his hand shakes ever so slightly against your skin—it’s enough to shatter any walls you had left.

“well, i can piece it together, i’m a big girl,” you mutter, your words barely leaving your lips before you close the space between you, crashing your mouth against his without another thought.

rafe groans softly, his hands immediately finding their way into your hair, tangling in it as he pulls you closer. in one swift motion, he removes the hat from your head, tossing it aside like it’s in his way. his lips move against yours with a mixture of urgency and tenderness, his touch igniting a spark that makes your whole body feel alive.

“what are you doing to me, huh?” he mumbles against your lips, his voice low and gravelly, the words almost a plea.

you smile against his mouth, the smallest laugh escaping you before you pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your hands brushing lightly against his chest. “probably the same thing you’re doing to me,” you reply softly, your gaze flickering between his lips and his eyes.

a smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth before he pulls you back in, kissing you deeply, as if trying to make up for all the moments he held himself back.

rafe’s kisses left you dizzy, every touch, every movement pulling you deeper into him. before you even realized it, you were rolling your hips against his, your body moving instinctively, chasing the heat building between you. breathy moans slipped from your lips against his, and his hands gripped your waist firmly, guiding your movements as you straddled him.

“fuck, baby,” he groans, his head falling back slightly as he leans into the couch, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. “doing so good f’me,” he mumbles, his voice rough with pleasure.

his words send a spark through you, making your hips move more deliberately, the friction sending shivers up your spine. rafe’s eyes never leave you, dark and hooded as he watches you attempt to bounce on him, your movements unsteady as the overwhelming pleasure takes hold of you.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down to grip your hips tighter, helping you find a rhythm. “so fucking perfect.” his praise only spurs you on, the intensity building with every roll of your hips, every moan that slips from both your lips. the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you and the heat consuming you both.

the way you were squeezing around him had rafe’s jaw ticking, his self-control hanging by a thread. every movement of your hips sent shockwaves through him, and he was trying—really trying—not to lose himself and thrust into you, wanting to keep you comfortable.

but when he couldn’t hold back any longer, his hands gripped your waist firmly, flipping you so your back was splayed against the couch. before you could even process the shift, he grabbed one of the nearby pillows, sliding it under your lower back to lift your hips, positioning you for a deeper angle.

“trust me,” he murmured, his voice rough but tender, his lips brushing against your temple as he settled between your legs.

then he started moving, his pace firm and deliberate, each thrust pushing into you with an intensity that had you crying out, your moans matching the rhythm of his movements. your hands gripped his neck for support, nails digging in slightly as the new angle sent pleasure coursing through you in waves.

“fuck,” rafe groaned, his voice low and strained as he watched your body arch beneath him. “you feel so good, baby—so fucking perfect.” his words only amplified the heat pooling in your core, your moans turning into desperate gasps as he kept up the relentless pace, the balcony echoing with the sounds of skin meeting skin and your shared breaths.

“rafe, shit—don’t stop,” you beg, your voice trembling as your legs quiver around his waist, struggling to keep hold of him as he pounds into you. every thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, your body arching into his as you cling to him for support.

he groans at your words, his eyes darkening as his hand slides up your body, finding its way to your neck. his fingers curl around your throat, applying just enough pressure under your jaw to make your head spin, the sensation amplifying the overwhelming heat pooling in your core.

“you like that, huh?” he mutters, his voice rough and dripping with control as he watches your face twist in pleasure beneath him. “look at you, baby, taking it so well for me.”

your eyes flutter closed as the overwhelming combination of his relentless pace and the pressure on your neck sends you spiraling closer to the edge. “rafe,” you whimper, your voice trembling, the sound barely audible over the symphony of heavy breaths and skin meeting skin.

his eyes stay locked on you, drinking in the sight of your flushed cheeks, parted lips, and trembling body beneath him. his other hand moves to press firmly on your lower stomach, the added pressure making you cry out, your back arching against the couch as the sensation intensifies everything.

“fuck,” he groans, his voice gravelly as he watches your reactions, completely entranced by the way you respond to him. “you feel that?” he mutters, his hand pressing down just a little more. “feel how deep i am?”

you can only nod weakly, your moans turning into desperate, breathless gasps as your body tightens around him, squeezing with every thrust. rafe’s jaw clenches, his own composure fraying as he drives you both closer and closer to the edge, his pace never faltering.

“come on, pretty girl,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his tone raw and commanding. “cum for me. i’ve got you.”

his words are the final push, and your body shudders as the release crashes over you. your walls convulse around his cock, pulling a deep, guttural moan from his throat. the intensity has your head spinning, and your moans dissolve into gasps as he keeps thrusting, prolonging your high even as the overstimulation starts to set in.

rafe’s hand slips from your neck, his head dropping to rest beside yours, his breath hot against your skin. his pace falters as he feels his own release building rapidly. when your cunt squeezes him tightly on a particularly deep thrust, it sends him over the edge.

“fuck,” he groans, his hips stuttering as he spills inside of you, filling you completely. his grip on your hips tightens as he rides out the waves of his orgasm, his body trembling slightly against yours.

the room falls into a heavy silence, the only sounds the mingling of your ragged breaths and the faint hum of the crickets outside. rafe stays still for a moment, his forehead pressed against your shoulder, grounding himself before slowly pulling out to look at you, his eyes soft but unreadable.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “i didn’t mean to be rough.” his eyes scan your face intently, searching for any trace of discomfort or regret.

you let out a soft laugh, reaching up to pull his face down to yours, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. his shoulders relax, and he smiles against your mouth, the tension in his body melting away.

when you pull back, the wet sound of the kiss echoes softly in the quiet night, and a playful smirk tugs at your lips. “you’re so cute,” you tease, your voice light and full of warmth.

for the first time, you see his cheeks flush a faint shade of pink, and the sight makes you erupt into a fit of laughter. rafe huffs softly, shaking his head, but there’s a shy grin tugging at his lips that he can’t hide.

“i love you, rafe,” you say suddenly, the words falling from your lips with ease, no hesitation or doubt.

his eyes widen slightly, his expression softening as he looks at you. for a moment, he’s silent, his hand brushing against your cheek. “i love you,” he whispers, his voice rough but steady, his gaze holding yours as if to make sure you know just how much he means it.

“we’re gonna be okay,” you whisper softly, your hand coming up to caress his cheek. your thumb brushes over his skin in slow, soothing strokes, your eyes locked on his.

“yeah,” rafe murmurs, his voice dark and full of resolve, “after i kill the person who recorded you.”

your hand stills for a moment, his words making your stomach twist. you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes darken at the thought, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.

“rafe,” you say softly, leaning closer to him, your tone a mixture of caution and reassurance. “that’s not how we should handle this. i just… i just want it to go away. i don’t want you to make it worse.”

his eyes flicker back to yours, softening slightly, though the fire in them doesn’t fully fade. “no one gets to do that to you,” he mutters, his hand coming up to cover yours on his cheek. “no one gets to hurt you and get away with it.”

you sigh, leaning your forehead against his. “we’ll figure it out. together. just… don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

he doesn’t answer right away, the weight of your words hanging between you. but after a moment, he nods reluctantly, his hand tightening around yours. “okay,” he finally says, his voice calm, though the tension in his tone betrays him. it’s clear he’s only agreeing to keep you at ease.

later, once you’ve fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep, rafe gently scoops you up, careful not to wake you. he carries you to his bed, tucking you under the soft duvet. his gaze lingers on your face for a moment, his expression softening as he brushes a stray strand of hair from your cheek. with a quiet sigh, he turns and closes the door behind him.

but there’s no rest for him tonight. he stalks to his office, the air around him heavy with purpose. dropping into his chair, he powers up his laptop, his jaw set as he begins sending emails and messages.

personal investigators, tech-savvy acquaintances, and anyone else who might help him track down the person responsible for the video—you’re not just a priority to him; you’re the priority.

each keystroke is filled with a quiet rage, his determination growing with every email sent. rafe won’t rest, won’t stop, until he figures out who did this to you—and makes sure they regret it.

taglist!: @loren8818181 @cherubcameron @shookyungsoo @waywarddiplomatfarmmonger-blog @furiouscopshepherduniversity @chenslucy @superswaggycooch @ggyuslovie @mileyraes @tincanhat @pinklleemonade @stylestarkey @percysley @rrosiitas @ipromiseidk @faephoria

#⋆ ˚𝐚𝐫𝐢𝜗𝜚writes #drew starkey #rafe cameron #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #drew starkey smut #drew starkey imagine

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simpjaes · 2 months ago

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✘ WIP DIARY ── LAST NIGHT, I READ YOUR DIARY. (p.sh) ✘

Sunghoon has been trying be everything you need since your mother passed. A father, a friend, a therapist. You never really understood what your mother saw in him in the first place, if you’re being honest. He’s awkward, quiet, and typically used to keep to himself up until now. You’re impressed with his efforts by the time you’re entering into your senior year of college, though his entire demeanor towards you seems to have changed. or the one where your step-father grows obsessed with you minute by minute.

── step-dad /weirdo park sunghoon x afab reader

── minors dni

── tags: sunghoon is in his 30s, reader is in her 20s so, age gap, step-cest, heartbreak, obsession, manipulation, coercion, stockholm syndrome-ish, fluff if he manipulates you as a reader lmfao, angst, smut. don't read this if you are easily triggered. ── side characters: heeseung as reader's ex boyfriend, jay as reader's closest friend

── !WARNINGS!: this work contains non-con, dub-con, and stalking behavior. your mom isn’t alive in this fic. warnings will be updated as i write.

── a/n: this one is gonna be a wild ride, that's all i gotta say.

due to safety concerns regarding the nature of this fic, it will be posted on patreon, ao3, and wattpad (links on pinned). i'm not sure about posting it on tumblr because i do genuinely expect to be bullied off the platform.

LAST UPDATED: 2.1.25

⨯ est wordcount: 20k+ ⨯ current wordcount: 8k ⨯ est release date: tbd ⨯ taglist: my tag list is now closed due to the length.

playlist ⨯ recommended song: last night i read your diary - gürl She's got me down on my knees I beg, I beg, I, I beg, I beg, please! I want it more than I need And I need it like I need to breathe Like I'm losing my- Choke.

PREVIEW (3.1k):

no warnings apply to the preview, it's just the first couple of thousand words for this fic. aka, the intro and the set up for what will inevitably happen later:

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Your first heartbreak is meant to be painful, but this? This is more painful than you could have ever imagined.

Heeseung was one of your only constants in life. From childhood to high school it’s like he was there more than your own mother was, and certainly more than your own father. Even when she passed, Heeseung was the one who held you through it, he’s the one who made you smile again, he’s the one who made you feel like it was okay to heal and keep going.

It’s the fact that it was a mutual break up that hurts the most because deep down, you couldn’t see yourself without him. Yet, still, you willingly watched him hop on the plane with a short kiss and long goodbye. It felt so final to you. You could have handled a long distance relationship, truly. But Heeseung didn’t want that. He wanted to explore the world, he wanted to try new things, be with new people.

Do things without you clinging to him all the time.

In a way, you understand that. After all, you’re the only girl he had ever been with up until now. Senior year of college. You think you knew your relationship was coming to an end by the time he announced he was going to be studying abroad for his final year without ever once even telling you he was applying to do so.

So, yeah, it was mutual solely because you want him to be happy and he’s made it clear that he believes that can only happen without you. Such is life. Painful, painful fucking life.

Just last year when your mother passed, you nearly dropped out and Heeseung had been your rock to make it through class after class with a grade barely high enough to pass. You’re certain some of your professors took pity on you and raised your grade just enough to move forward. You’ll forever thank them for recognizing how hard you were trying. But now? Without your mother, without Heeseung, you’re at a loss.

And there’s a difference between loneliness and isolation, you think. Loneliness to you always hits hard during small spaces in your day, like when you’d get into Heeseung’s car and he would close your door for you. The silence always hurt your ears while he was still making his way around the car to the driver’s seat. A shallow loneliness that you could feel right at the top of your gut, like it was squeezing inside of you and making you lose your appetite. Solely because that silence reminded you of what you always had, a lack of loneliness because of him.

But then there’s isolation. Where it feels forced upon you by other people. Your mother fucking died, Heeseung fucking left, and now you’re just here expected to wake up like you always do, go to class, study hard, sleep well, when the reality of it is– you’re genuinely struggling just to look at yourself in the mirror.

Then there’s Sunghoon. The only person close enough to you now that you can reach out to. The issue with that is– you’ve never actually been close. And that’s what sucks. The fact that he of all people is all you have now? May as well just assume you have nobody.

His regular calls mean close to nothing to you in the grand scheme of things. Despite him calling twice a week every week since your mother died, your step-father is just as distanced from you as you are him. You’re aware that it’s his obligation, not because he cares. And that hurts, because it’s all you have now.

Now, you have to try and find meaning in those short calls. After all, Sunghoon fell apart when your mother passed all on his own and you had only called him out of obligation too. You were already in college and stressed, falling apart yourself with someone to love beside you helping you through it. Calling him when it all happened felt empty because you knew both of you were trying to hold it together and save face.

It wasn’t like this before she died. In fact, he never called and you never cared for him to. You’d see each other when you were home, share awkward pleasantries, and that’s it. It’s hard to believe that now you feel like you need a father, after all those years of practically rejecting him as one. He seemed fine with that after you hit your teen years. He knew by then that he could never be the father you want, but at least he could be the husband your mother needed.

You have grief in common now though. Loneliness. Isolation.

You try not to think about how you were okay up until now though. Having Heeseung to fall back on to soften the blow of your loss, you guess Sunghoon didn’t have that. Maybe his monotone voice and empty words were his way of coping, his way of hearing a voice that wasn’t the one in his own head when he calls you.

It’s just you and a man you never considered family past the titles and obligatory respects. Finding meaning in his short phone calls does nothing to help your growing isolation, but you cling to them now that Heeseung is gone. You wait for the calls, you ask him to check in with you every day now, to the point Sunghoon starts to notice the difference in you.

No longer rushing to get off the phone. Now, you’re dragging on meaningless conversations. Now, he hears cracks in your voice.

“You feeling okay?” Sunghoon asks you, in a way that makes you wonder how he’s able to tell that you’re definitely not. The way his own voice has a bit of life to it when he asks it…strange too. Like he’s concerned.

“No–” You trail off in your meek voice, staring at your ceiling and mind swirling with all of the work you need to get done for classes already. “I’ve only been in classes for a week and I already feel like I’m drowning.”

Sunghoon sighs into the speaker, contemplating how to further the conversation with you in a way that isn’t too intrusive. After all, who is he to pry? Still, he never intended for you to feel neglected or like you couldn’t come to him. After all, you were too happy about his lack of parenting you throughout his presence in your life.

He finds solace in the fact that you’ve been accepting him now, though he hasn’t the slightest idea as to why. He’s checked in with you since the passing, but lately it feels to him like something more is going on with you. He may be somewhat estranged, and he may have his own problems to deal with, but you’re still someone he needs to be here for.

Plus, it makes him feel needed again, which is nice considering the circumstances. After living in this bustling house with you and your mom for so long, to it just being him and your mom, to now just him…all that remains now is dread, dissociation, and unwashed dishes in the sink.

“Did something happen?” Sunghoon keeps his questions short, offering more silence if anything for you to use this call as a therapy session if you need.

You pause for a long moment, realizing that you want to talk about your issues so badly but don’t quite feel the need to share it with him of all people. You’ve already ranted day after day to Jay. To the point you’re sure he’s about one rant away from blocking your number.

Probably because you’re not that close to him either. Not these days, anyway.

You sigh instead.

“No…” You trail off. “I think I just miss being home. My dorm mate is never here, class work is already piling up, and I can’t even find the energy to look at the assignments.”

Sunghoon can tell you’re feeling much like he does and he can’t imagine the weight on your shoulders dealing with these feelings while also in college. But, you have Heeseung, do you not? You’ve been fine for the most part until now, and you haven’t even brought him up. Not once in the past few weeks has his name been uttered by you. Which is strange, after all, the two of you were practically attached at the hip growing up, to the point of choosing the same college, working the same jobs, and even keeping that middle-school puppy love in full swing throughout highschool and college.

If anything, after your mother passed, Sunghoon felt okay knowing you had Heeseung there with you to help you through it. It meant he could focus on himself and getting through the day-to-day. He could barely handle his own mournful thoughts, let alone the daughter’s feelings of the woman he loved so dearly. He was forever grateful for Heeseung during this time.

He has his suspicions now though, and his heart aches for the voice he hears from you these days.

“Why don’t you come home for a while?” He lends a pause to see if you’ll jump for the opportunity before selling the idea to you. “I have the bills here covered and your campus is only a forty minute drive. I’m sure that’s inconvenient but you won’t have bills to worry about on top of everything else.” He doesn’t want to sound too desperate, of course.

After all, the loneliness he’s feeling is also becoming unbearable. Even if the two of you never were able to see eye to eye, or to form a bond together, you’re all he has left of your mother. He, arguably, is nothing to you, but there’s no one else in this world he’d rather heal the loneliness with outside of you. Only because you knew your mother on a level deeper than he did, and to have someone to share those memories with, or even laugh with, would help him tremendously too.

“I think being at home may do you some good.”

You think it over in your head, wondering if being home will help you at all. In reality, you know it may make you feel more trapped than you do now. All those memories with your mother, with Heeseung, with all of your friends that have since moved to different colleges.

But…you wouldn’t be alone. You’d be with someone who knows how to give you space because he’s never even tried to shrink your existence to that of your bedroom and your bedroom alone. You wouldn’t have to worry about rent, food, or anything aside from studies, gas money, and trying to heal from your heartbreak.

Your dorm is small, you note as you look around the room and wonder how long it would take you to pack your things up. Two hours, give or take. The longest part would be taking all of the little decorations off the wall, if you’re being honest.

You find yourself nodding before answering, solidifying in your mind that– maybe you’re not the only one who needs company in your space. Not too close, but close enough to not be totally isolated.

“Okay.” You mutter into the phone, for some reason feeling the tears well up behind your eyes.

You’re just a bit overwhelmed, that’s all. Knowing you’re going home feels like a relief you didn’t know you needed.

“Yeah?” Sunghoon confirms. “Just let me know when and I’ll drive up there to help get your stuff back home.”

You agree, sighing into the phone with a shaking voice. Sunghoon takes note of it, always remembering and quite frankly missing how loud and obnoxious you used to be. Hearing you like this pains him. He wants to help. Now more than ever is his chance to be someone you need, and he hates knowing he feels happy about it.

Getting to be your father now? It feels awkward, but at least it’s a feeling other than loss.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Sunghoon sighs at you through the speaker. “I know I’m not someone you like coming to but–well, I’d like for you to rely on me more, okay?”

You find a lot of comfort in those words, despite hearing him say them time and time again. This is the first time he’s ever shown that he means it through the offer of bringing you home, rather than just saying it and accepting whatever you say back to him at face value.

“I know…” You trail off. “I’m okay though, really.”

Sunghoon hates himself for never forcing you to accept him. Sure, there may have been some teenage defiance towards him, but eventually the two of you could have seen eye to eye. He could have been someone you needed. You could have relied on him too, rather than just Heeseung. That’s all he can really think right now.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else going on?” The man nearly pleads in his tone, desperate to have someone rely on him again. “I’ve never heard you sound so exhausted before, I can’t help but worry.”

You’d tell him, but honestly, what grown ass man wants to hear about a first heartbreak? It would just get awkward again, he’d just feel obligated to do something about it, and worse, he might end up feeling like he’s supposed to dislike Heeseung now.

You choose to remain silent in the final straw that broke your back this semester.

“Really, I’m just tired.” You nod to yourself as you hold your phone loosely against your ear. “I might not go to class tomorrow and just pack instead. I’ll just call you when I’m ready, is that okay?”

Sunghoon smiles to himself, wanting to mean something to you in a way that can hopefully help you out of this slump. Your mother would be throwing a fit if she heard how you’ve been sounding, he can’t help but take over that role and try to make damn sure you are okay.

“That’s fine,” Sunghoon confirms. “I’ll call and let them know what’s going on so don’t worry about any of that. Just get yourself ready to come back home.”

You find yourself smiling, relieved that you don’t have to be the one to contact your school and tell them that…well, you’re breaking your student-lease, dropping your food plan, and need to be reimbursed for partial tuition costs since Sunghoon insists every semester that you purchase tuition insurance. You should no longer be charged to live on campus, or for the facilities within the dorm.

Knowing you’ll at least get back a couple thousand dollars is a nice change of pace, and already you’re feeling weirdly excited to go back to a space that will likely make you miss your mother more. It’ll hurt, but at least you won’t be alone anymore.

The forty minute drive to campus feels less horrifying now, and maybe your friends will still come and hang out with you in your actual home rather than a tiny dorm.

“Sounds good.” You say, as if to end the call before you mutter out again. “Thank you, by the way. Sunghoon, really.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Sunghoon knew he was spiraling further and further into his loneliness. He knew it wasn’t healthy either, but now. Oh, now he realizes just how bad it’s gotten as he demonizes himself upon picking you up.

You haven’t come home since your mother’s funeral, and even on that day he barely remembers what you looked like. Eye contact was never a thing for him, but looking at you now, he sees how much you’ve matured since you went off to college.

Your once bright, excited eyes have turned dull and empty. The bags under them are heavy from lack of sleep. Your lips appear to be in a permanent state of pouting, though he isn’t sure if you’ve noticed. You appear to have lost weight, which is concerning for him of course, but…there’s something else about you.

Something that sits in the pit of his stomach and rots.

“Uh–” You cough, noting the way Sunghoon looks at you as you try to hand him a large box. “Thank you for helping me move my stuff back…”

Sunghoon snaps out of his thoughts, grabbing a heavy box and then waiting for you to stack another on top.

“No big deal,” He mutters, feeling the weight in his hands double as he prepares to carefully carry your things out to his car. “You haven’t come home in over a year, but I’ve fixed up your room for you and went ahead and connected my gaming system in there.”

You nod quietly, feeling awkward for how fatherly he seems.

“Thanks…” You trail off, flopping a pile of your things into his trunk before stopping to look at him. “You look like shit.”

Sunghoon furrows his brows, noticing for a split second how that facial expression you made is very similar to one his wife used to throw at him when he’d have hair out of place, or a wardrobe malfunction. And then he smiles.

“You’re not looking too good yourself.” He jokes back.

You smile back at him, feeling a bit of the awkward air fizzle away.

“Well, I’m not doing well, so.”

You were continuing the joke, but his face falls before yours does.

“You can talk to me–” He starts.

“I know, I know.” You wave him off. “I’ll feel a lot better once we get back and I can settle in.

There’s a nod from him now, and then silence as the two of you continue to put the rest of your belongings into both his car and your own.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in a bit?” You say now, awkwardly.

Sunghoon nods, looking you over once again.

“See you in a bit.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Shame.

Pure fucking shame.

Sunghoon knew he needed another presence in this house but upon seeing you again, he knew it may have been a mistake.

He likes to think of himself as level headed. He’s never gotten into any trouble, never had a stray thought, never cheated, lied, or stole anything. He can’t think of a single thing that he’s done in life to be considered taboo. But looking at you feels…incorrect?

Indecent?

You’re his step-daughter for fuck sake but it’s the fact that you don’t feel like you are. When he looks at you, he just sees another person. He did this to help you, he did this to feel needed, to be your fucking father.

He did not do this to look at you this way or to feel his eye stray even without his intention.

Why do you look so much like her? Why do you do that thing with your pinky when you carry things like she did? You even have a similar smell, probably having picked up on your mother’s habits throughout childhood.

You being here…It’s like she’s still here. Except it’s you, and he can’t be thinking this way.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

This fic will be dark, very taboo, morally bad. Not a grey area, it is blatantly bad. sunghoon will do bad things. Please be aware of your own triggers once it's completed and posted. remember that I write within my own triggers, not yours. That being said! Please do show lots of love if this is a fic you're interested in reading! If you want to be tagged, I have a permanent tag list, there are not any separate tag lists for individual fics so keep that in mind. ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

#enhypen smut #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon smut #wips

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theetherealbloom · 3 months ago

Text

Don't Stop Talking To Me, And Maybe Stay Here Forever

Summary: You join Pedro Pascal in Morocco while he’s filming Gladiator 2. Between the beauty of the Moroccan landscape, the two of you share intimate moments, from quiet rooftop dinners to playful photo-taking and teasing with the cast.

Or… “I'll hold you, I'll know you. I'll never leave out the back door. And I'd love to complete you, hope you get all you could ask for.”

I just read your latest pedro fic it was the BEST DAMN THING i’ve ever read, my heart is going to burst out of my chest from all the butterflies 🦋🫠❤️ will you write more for pedro? perhaps his gf could visit him in marocco or something while he’s filming gladiator and to meet everyone from set and maybe have some alone quality time? :3 just a suggestion 😌 anyways have a lovely dayyy ^^ — anon

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, Age-Gap(ish), TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Cuddling, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Social Media, Embarrassment, Teasing, Shower, Slight Nudity, Make Out Session, Celebrities

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Okay, so, we’ve all seen the photo dumps!??!! Yes! GREAT! I haven’t watched Gladiator 2 cause it isn’t out yet in my country, so there’ll be no spoilers here mhmhmhmhm. I’m just gonna make stuff up based on the pictures Pedro posted on his Instagram lol. And again, this is all made-up, fictional, self-indulgent vibes so pls no one come after me ahhhhhh T^T

Also lowkey, I can see multiple parts to this so… stay tuned.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Songs: Packing It Up by Gracie Abrams, this is how you fall in love by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler

gif by @a7estrellas

→ Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO — DAY

The warm Moroccan breeze kissed your skin as you stepped onto the bustling set of Gladiator 2. Pedro’s laughter echoed from somewhere nearby, his distinct voice easy to pick out over the hum of activity. Your heart swelled just hearing it. He was always magnetic, but here—working, immersed in a world of creativity and camaraderie—he was luminous.

You adjusted your sunglasses, feeling both excited and slightly anxious. Meeting Pedro’s castmates felt like stepping into his other life, one where you weren’t the center of his world but a welcome visitor orbiting it. He’d reassured you endlessly. “They’ll love you. I mean, how could they not?” But still, nerves lingered.

“Mi amor!” Pedro’s voice cut through your thoughts. He emerged from behind a cluster of tents, his smile so wide it could eclipse the Moroccan sun.

“Hey, stranger.” You grinned, letting him sweep you into a tight hug.

He pulled back just enough to press a kiss to your forehead, his arms still firmly around your waist. “You made it,” he whispered, his lips brushing your temple.

“Of course, I made it,” you teased, tilting your head to look up at him. “I missed you too much to stay away.”

The day unfolded in bursts of joy.

Pedro introduced you to Coco Ullrich, Paul Mescal, and the rest of the cast. Everyone was warm and welcoming, their teasing camaraderie quickly drawing you in. Pedro stayed close, his hand finding yours at every opportunity, like he couldn’t stand to be too far away.

Later, you found yourself perched on a stool in the makeup trailer, Pedro sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of you. “Hold still,” you said, trying to fix his disheveled hair.

Coco stood nearby, laughing as Pedro playfully swatted at your hands. “I’m serious, guapo! You’ll go out there looking like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Maybe I did roll out of bed,” he quipped, grinning.

You raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t, but if you keep squirming, I’m going to make sure you look like it.”

Coco shook her head, still laughing. “I don’t know how you put up with him.”

“I have my ways,” you said, giving Pedro a mock glare.

Pedro leaned closer, his eyes softening. “You’re lucky I love you,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours before you could stop him.

“Pedro!” you protested, laughing as he pulled you into a full kiss, distracting you from your task.

“Hopeless,” Coco muttered, snapping a quick photo of the moment.

OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO — SUNSET

The Moroccan sunset painted the sky in hues of gold and rose as you, Pedro, and the cast settled onto the soft blankets laid out for an impromptu picnic. The sprawling desert seemed to stretch infinitely, its serene stillness a striking contrast to the chaotic energy of the set. A light breeze rustled through the palm trees in the distance, carrying the faint sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses.

Pedro sat behind you, his arms comfortably wrapped around your waist as you leaned back into his chest. His fingertips absentmindedly traced small, lazy circles on your bare skin where your shirt had ridden up slightly. It was a touch that grounded you, soothing and sweet, and yet it made your heart ache with affection.

“This is perfect,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it louder might shatter the fragile beauty of the moment.

Pedro leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear. “No, you’re perfect,” he said softly, his voice laced with adoration.

You turned your head to look at him, catching the warmth in his gaze. He looked at you like you hung the very stars above, and your cheeks flushed. “Cheesy,” you teased, though you couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

“Honest,” he countered, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. His nose nudged yours affectionately, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you.

Paul Mescal, lounging nearby with a bottle of something cold in his hand, cleared his throat dramatically. “Alright, lovebirds, can you save the smoldering for the cameras? Some of us are trying to enjoy the sunset without third-wheeling your Notebook audition.”

Coco Ullrich snorted from her spot on the blanket, where she was busy assembling a makeshift charcuterie board. “Please, Paul, don’t act like you’re not taking notes for your own love scenes.”

Paul shot her a deadpan look. “What’s there to take notes on? I’m already perfect.”

“Debatable,” Coco quipped, popping a grape into her mouth and grinning.

Pedro chuckled, his chest rumbling against your back. “Paul, don’t be jealous. You already found someone who tolerates you.”

“Oh, I’m not jealous,” Paul said, gesturing between you and Pedro. “I’m inspired. The level of clinginess you two have achieved—it’s an art form.”

“Clinginess?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, clinginess,” Paul said, smirking. “He hasn’t let go of you since you got here. It’s like watching a koala in human form.”

Coco leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you think he’d survive a day without her?”

“Doubtful,” Paul replied, his tone grave.

Pedro shook his head, his arms tightening around you playfully. “Let them joke,” he said into your ear, his voice a low murmur. “They’re just bitter they don’t have their partners to hold them while they complain about the heat.”

You turned your head slightly to whisper back, “I think they’re projecting.”

Pedro laughed, loud and unabashed, and the sound sent warmth flooding through you.

“Alright, enough roasting Pedro,” Coco said, waving her hands. “Let’s focus on the important stuff—like this cheese board I’m absolutely nailing.”

“Coco, you put a block of cheese next to some crackers,” Paul pointed out.

“And yet, it’s still better than anything you’ve contributed,” she shot back.

You couldn’t help but laugh as they continued to bicker, the dynamic between the cast a perfect blend of teasing and genuine affection. It felt good to be a part of this world for a little while, to see Pedro in his element and to share these small, beautiful moments with the people who meant so much to him.

As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky with deeper hues of crimson and violet, Pedro shifted slightly behind you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You doing okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly, his voice meant just for you.

“I’m better than okay,” you said, turning your face to his. “This is one of those moments I’ll never forget.”

“Same,” he replied, his eyes searching yours. “But mostly because you’re here.”

Paul groaned from across the blanket. “Seriously, someone hand me a bucket. I can’t handle this level of sap.”

“You’re just missing Gracie,” Coco teased, tossing a cracker at Paul with a sly grin.

Paul caught it mid-air with a dramatic flourish. “She’s the love of my life, thank you very much. I’m thriving, just long-distance thriving.” His wide smile softened slightly, a dreamy look crossing his face.

Pedro chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder as he held you closer. “See, even Paul can be romantic. It’s not just us being disgustingly in love.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Paul said, waving him off, though the grin never left his face. “But you two are setting the bar impossibly high. Stop making the rest of us look bad.”

Coco shook her head with mock exasperation. “Let’s face it, no one can compete with Pedro’s clingy koala act.”

“Hey, it’s not clingy if it’s mutual,” you chimed in, leaning back into Pedro’s embrace.

“Exactly!” Pedro said, kissing the side of your neck for emphasis. “This is just... efficient affection.”

“Efficient affection?” Coco repeated, laughing so hard she nearly knocked over the cheese board. “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”

Pedro shrugged, utterly unbothered, his lips brushing your temple as he murmured, “Don’t let them ruin this for us.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you whispered back, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his jaw.

The first stars began to dot the darkening sky, their glow faint but steady against the fading hues of gold and rose. The laughter of the group blended with the soothing whisper of the desert breeze, wrapping the evening in a cocoon of warmth and love.

You let out a contented sigh, your fingers intertwining with Pedro’s. These moments—filled with jokes, tenderness, and the quiet magic of a Moroccan sunset—were the kind you knew you’d carry with you forever.

THE NEXT DAY

OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO – AFTERNOON

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting warm golden light over the sprawling desert set. The faint hum of activity outside the large tent provided a calming backdrop as you and Pedro sat together, stealing a moment away from the chaos of production.

Pedro’s lap had become your designated resting place, his arms wrapped snugly around your waist as you leaned into him. You had been quietly chatting about the day—how stunning the desert looked on camera, how Paul had stolen one of Coco’s snacks during a break—when the warmth of the afternoon began to lull you both into sleep.

His hand moved lazily up and down your back, the motion soothing as his voice grew quieter, more relaxed. “You know,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple, “this might be my favorite part of the day.”

“Falling asleep during work?” you teased, your voice soft and playful.

“Falling asleep with you,” he corrected, his smile audible in his words.

It wasn’t long before exhaustion claimed you both, your head tucked under his chin and his cheek resting against your hair. The quiet hum of the tent became a comforting cocoon, and time seemed to stretch and blur.

The sound of muffled laughter stirred you from sleep, pulling you out of the warm haze. You blinked against the light, realizing you were still tucked into Pedro’s chest, his arms holding you close even as he began to wake.

“Don’t move,” a familiar voice called. You turned your head to see Paul Mescal standing a few feet away, phone in hand, his grin wide and mischievous.

Next to him, Coco Ullrich smirked as she aimed her phone at the two of you. “We’re documenting history here. You’ll thank us later.”

Pedro stirred, squinting at them through his grogginess. “Seriously?” His voice was raspy, a mix of sleep and disbelief.

Paul shrugged, grinning even wider as he showed Pedro the photo. “We couldn’t resist. Look at this. It’s like a promo poster for the most annoyingly sweet rom-com ever.”

Pedro glanced at the photo, then at you, and laughed softly. “We should use that for the holiday cards this year.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “This is so embarrassing. They’re never going to let us live this down.”

Coco laughed, flipping through her photos. “Oh, it’s way too late for that. I’m sending this to the group chat and the PR team. They’ll love it.”

“Please don’t,” you pleaded, your voice muffled against Pedro’s shirt.

Paul tilted his head dramatically. “Why not? It’s just a little fun. Besides, you two are giving us all cavities with how sweet you are. We’re suffering.”

Pedro smirked, holding you a little tighter. “You’re suffering? Sounds like a personal problem.”

“Alright, alright, enough!” A gravelly voice interrupted, and you looked up to see Ridley Scott standing at the edge of the tent. His hands were on his hips, but the amused twinkle in his eye gave him away.

“Ridley,” you started, your cheeks flushing with heat. “I’m so sorry—”

He held up a hand to stop you, his smirk growing. “Don’t apologize. If anything, I should thank you. Pedro’s been suspiciously well-behaved since you arrived. But,” he added with a pointed glance at Pedro, “if this keeps up, we’ll have to rename the film The Gladiator and the Muse. Production’s going to take twice as long.”

The crew burst into laughter, and you buried your face back in Pedro’s chest, groaning. “This is officially the most embarrassing moment of my life.”

Pedro chuckled, his hand brushing gently over your back. “Embarrassing? Nah. You’re the best thing about being here.”

You peeked up at him, your cheeks still warm, and saw the sincerity in his eyes. “You mean that?”

“Every word,” he said, his voice soft. “You make everything easier, better… you make it all worth it.”

Your heart swelled, and a small smile broke through your embarrassment. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll try to believe you.”

“Believe me,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

Paul groaned, breaking the tender moment. “Someone get a camera crew. We’re turning this into a reality show. Lovebirds in the Desert.”

Pedro laughed, finally standing and pulling you to your feet. “Careful, Paul. You might not survive the sequel.”

Ridley clapped his hands, his voice carrying over the lingering laughter. “Alright, lovebirds, enough stalling. Let’s get back to work! Pedro, we’ve got a fight scene to shoot.”

Pedro gave you one last reassuring smile before winking. “Don’t go far. I’ll need more luck soon.”

You nodded, watching him head back to set, and felt a sense of warmth that no amount of teasing could dampen. As you stepped out of the tent, the desert sun shining overhead, you knew this moment—this strange, beautiful mix of chaos and love—was one you’d carry with you forever.

OUARZAZATE, MOROCCO – EVENING

The rooftop restaurant was like something out of a dream. Lanterns hung delicately from wrought iron fixtures, casting warm, flickering light over the table as the sun dipped below the horizon. The air was cool but pleasant, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from a nearby garden. Below, the city of Marrakech stretched out in an intricate maze of rooftops and twinkling lights, the hum of life soft and distant.

Pedro had arranged everything, from the secluded corner table to the small vase of your favorite flowers waiting when you arrived. He always had a way of making even the simplest moments feel like magic.

“Look at this view,” you murmured, leaning against the wrought iron railing as the sky turned from gold to a deep, dusky pink.

Pedro stood close behind you, his hand resting gently on the small of your back. “The view’s got nothing on you,” he said softly, the teasing lilt in his voice balanced by the sincerity in his eyes.

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned to face him. “That’s a terrible line.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, grinning as he pulled out his phone. “But it’s true. Hold still.”

Before you could protest, he snapped a photo, catching you mid-laugh as you tried to dodge the camera. “Pedro!” you groaned, your cheeks warming.

He chuckled, looking at the photo with a self-satisfied smile. “Perfect. Might frame this one.”

“Stop it,” you said, trying to grab the phone from him, but he held it out of reach, his grin only widening.

“Never,” he replied, his free hand reaching across the table to take yours. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and his gaze softened. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your stomach fluttered at the way he said it—no teasing this time, just quiet, earnest affection.

“Now you’re just being unfair,” you muttered, trying to hide your blush.

Pedro leaned forward, his head tilting slightly as if to study you closer. “Not unfair. Just honest.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart was pounding. In a bid to regain some ground, you grabbed your own phone and quickly snapped a picture of him just as he brought your hand to his lips. The resulting photo was unfairly good—his lashes long, the lantern light catching the gold in his eyes, the softness in his expression making your chest ache.

“Got you,” you said triumphantly, holding up the phone.

Pedro laughed, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again as he met your gaze. “Now we’re even?”

“Now we’re even,” you confirmed, though your grin gave away how smug you felt.

The waiter arrived with dessert just then—a delicate plate of Moroccan pastries accompanied by a small bowl of honey and almonds. You both leaned forward at the same time, reaching for the same pastry, and burst into laughter when your fingers brushed.

“Go ahead,” Pedro said, gesturing gallantly.

“Such a gentleman,” you teased, breaking off a piece of the pastry and dipping it into the honey. You held it up to his lips, your pulse skipping when he leaned in without hesitation.

“Delicious,” he said, his voice low and warm. “But I think it tastes better coming from you.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, trying to suppress a smile as you took a bite yourself. The flaky pastry melted on your tongue, its sweetness perfectly balanced by the honey.

As you shared the dessert, your conversation drifted from playful teasing to the little things that filled your days. Pedro told you about a funny moment on set earlier when Paul had forgotten his lines and improvised something so absurd even Ridley couldn’t stop laughing.

“And then,” Pedro continued, his grin infectious, “he tried to blame me, saying my face was too distracting.”

“Well, he’s not wrong,” you teased, earning a dramatic roll of Pedro’s eyes.

“Oh, so now you’re on his side?”

“I’m on the side of the truth,” you said, popping an almond into your mouth.

Pedro chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Your smile softened, and you leaned your chin on your hand as you looked at him. “Probably still charming everyone who crosses your path.”

“Not like this,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. He reached across the table again, his fingers lacing with yours. “You make everything better. You make me better.”

Your throat tightened at the rawness in his voice, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, his words settling deep in your chest.

“You do the same for me,” you said quietly.

The soft music playing in the background faded into the hum of the city as the two of you sat there, the world narrowing to just this moment. Pedro brought your hand to his lips again, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before resting your joined hands on the table.

As the night stretched on, the two of you continued to talk about everything and nothing—your favorite childhood memories, the places you wanted to visit together, the little quirks you loved about each other.

When it was time to leave, Pedro stood and extended a hand to help you up. “One last picture before we go?” he asked, his phone already in hand.

You nodded, letting him pull you into his side. The lanterns glowed softly behind you as he kissed your cheek just as the camera clicked.

Looking at the photo, you smiled. It was perfect—just like this night, just like him.

L’HÔTEL MARRAKECH, MOROCCO – EVENING

The golden hues of the evening sun had long faded, leaving the hotel suite illuminated only by the soft glow of warm, ambient lighting. Laughter filled the room, bubbling up between stolen glances and playful teasing. Pedro leaned against the edge of the plush sofa, his hand resting casually on his hip as you doubled over with giggles at another one of his overly dramatic impressions.

“I’m just saying,” he said with a grin, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “If anyone here is getting an Oscar for Most Entertaining Human, it’s me.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting at him lightly. “You? Entertaining? Please. You’re just lucky I think you’re cute.”

“Just cute?” he teased, his voice dropping into a low, mock-hurt murmur. He stepped closer, tilting his head. “That’s disappointing.”

And just like that, with no warning, he took your hand and spun you gently into his arms. There was no music, no sound but the faint rustle of the curtains and the muted hum of life outside your window. But to Pedro, there was no need for anything more.

“Dance with me,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, pulling you flush against him.

“Pedro,” you started to protest, but the way he was looking at you—so earnest, so unguarded—stole the words from your lips. He rested his forehead against yours, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid to let go.

“You are the reason I can breathe,” he murmured. His voice cracked slightly, raw and unfiltered. “The reason I can survive.”

Your chest tightened, and your hands gripped the soft cotton of his shirt as you closed your eyes. Slowly, the two of you began to sway, side to side, as if the universe itself had orchestrated this silent melody just for you.

“Pedro,” you whispered, tears threatening to spill as the weight of his words sank deep into your soul. “You don’t have to—”

“Shh.” He cut you off gently, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “I want to. You’re my safe place.”

Together, you moved as one, the world outside forgotten. The phones were switched off, the curtains drawn, and for a moment, it felt like time had ceased to exist. All that mattered was this—his arms around you, your head resting on his chest, and the way his heartbeat felt steady and strong beneath your cheek.

“What’s easy is right,” you whispered suddenly, echoing words your mother had once said. The truth of it struck you in that moment, how being with Pedro never felt like a choice—it was instinct. Like breathing. Like coming home.

Pedro smiled, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “What’s easy is right,” he repeated softly. “Then I guess it’s easy to know... I’m going to love you forever.”

You laughed softly, though the lump in your throat made it difficult. “Forever’s a long time.”

He tilted your chin up, his warm, brown eyes crinkling at the corners with a quiet joy. “Not nearly long enough,” he said, his voice a low promise. “You’ll be my best friend until we’re old and gray. And even then, I’ll still love you.”

There was something in the way he said it—so simple, so sure—that your knees nearly gave out. But as always, Pedro was there, holding you steady, keeping you close.

This is how you fall in love, you realized. Not in a blaze of fireworks, but in the quiet moments where you let go and they hold you up.

“Do you know what you’ve done to me?” Pedro said after a long silence, his voice filled with wonder. “You make my stomach ache with hope. You make my hands stop shaking. I wake up smiling now, and it’s because of you.”

You bit your lip, your fingers tracing lazy patterns across his chest. “Pedro…”

“No, listen to me,” he insisted, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Love isn’t supposed to be heavy. It’s not supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to be this. Us. A safe place. A hand to hold through every storm.”

His words broke something open inside you, and you nodded, letting the tears spill over. “You’re my safe place too,” you whispered. “You make me believe I deserve this.”

Pedro pulled you closer, resting his chin on the top of your head as he swayed you gently. “You deserve everything,” he murmured. “Every laugh, every sunrise, every stupid little joke I’ll tell for the next fifty years.”

You both laughed softly, the sound mingling with the quiet hum of the room. The world outside could wait. For now, all that mattered was this moment—this love that was soft, steady, and unshakable.

Right from your hips to your cuticles, you were everything to him, and he was everything to you. Wherever you both went, it was heaven. And neither of you ever wanted to leave.

Steam filled the bathroom, the warmth clinging to the mirrors and wrapping around the two of you like a soft cocoon. Pedro stood under the cascade of water, droplets running down his broad shoulders and soaking his messy curls. His eyes flicked toward you, a tender smile tugging at his lips as you stepped closer, your fingers gently reaching for the shampoo bottle.

“Turn around,” you said softly, motioning for him to face away from you.

“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, though there was a hint of shyness in his voice as he obeyed.

You lathered the shampoo between your hands, your touch careful and affectionate as you worked it into his hair. His curls were soft and damp beneath your fingers, the grays glinting like silver in the dim light.

“I love your hair,” you murmured, your voice reverent.

Pedro let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, tilting his head back slightly. “The gray makes me look old.”

You paused, your hands stilling in his hair as you leaned around to catch his gaze. “Stop that. It doesn’t make you look old; it makes you look distinguished. And I happen to love every single one of these.” You tugged playfully at a curl for emphasis.

He gave you a sheepish look, his lips twitching as he fought back a pout. “You’re just saying that because you’re stuck with me.”

“Stuck with you?” you repeated, feigning outrage. “Oh, no, Pedro. I chose you—gray hair and all. And I’d choose you again. Every single day.”

His pout softened into a smile, one so genuine it made your chest ache. “You’re too good to me,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple.

“And you deserve it,” you countered firmly, finishing his hair with a rinse.

When it was your turn, Pedro insisted on returning the favor, his hands gentle as he massaged the conditioner into your hair. His touch lingered, his fingers tracing the nape of your neck as he marveled at you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with sincerity.

“Even covered in soap?” you teased, feeling heat creep up your cheeks.

“Especially covered in soap,” he replied, leaning down to steal a kiss.

The shower ended with a flurry of soft laughter and playful splashes, the two of you wrapped in towels as you padded into the bedroom. Pedro pulled on a pair of boxers while you slipped into one of his oversized shirts, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs.

The two of you slipped into bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, golden light over the room. The air smelled faintly of the lavender lotion you’d rubbed on your hands, mingling with the subtle hint of Pedro’s cologne that still lingered on his skin. He had one arm draped lazily over your waist, his other hand holding a book he’d claimed to be interested in, though his wandering eyes betrayed him.

A book rested in your lap, too, but you’d long given up on reading. Instead, you could feel his gaze flickering to you, watching you more than the words on his page. It was endearing, the way he thought you wouldn’t notice, how he never grew tired of studying you like he’d never quite figure you out.

“You’re not reading,” you finally accused, peeking at him over the edge of your book.

Pedro grinned, unabashed. He set his book down on the nightstand and scooted closer, leaning his head on the pillow beside you. “Can you blame me?” he said, his voice soft and teasing. His hand reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckles grazing your cheek. “I’ve got the most beautiful view right here.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the warmth rising in your cheeks, but the smile that stretched across your lips betrayed you. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

“And yet, you love me,” he replied with mock arrogance, leaning back against the headboard with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Unfortunately for me,” you quipped, though your tone was dripping with affection.

Pedro’s laugh filled the room, low and warm, wrapping around you like a blanket. You settled back into your spot, his arm tightening slightly around your waist, anchoring you to him. For a while, there was only the sound of pages turning and the occasional creak of the bed as one of you shifted.

Eventually, the books were forgotten, abandoned on the nightstand as the room grew darker, the soft click of the lamp switch plunging you into the comforting glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains.

Lying side by side, your head resting on Pedro’s chest, you let your fingers trace lazy patterns along the bare skin of his arm. But your mind wouldn’t quiet, and as the minutes stretched on, the thoughts bubbling inside you demanded to be voiced.

“Okay, but really,” you began, your voice breaking the comfortable silence. “Why is ‘llama’ spelled with two L’s? Wouldn’t one be enough? It’s not like we say ‘Llama-la.’”

Pedro let out a soft laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath your cheek. He tilted his head down to look at you, his lips quirking into a smile. “Mi amor, I adore you, but it’s almost midnight. Go to sleep.”

“I can’t until I solve this mystery,” you said with mock determination, lifting your head to look at him.

He sighed dramatically, feigning exasperation. “Fine. Maybe the second ‘L’ is there to confuse aliens.”

You gasped, sitting up slightly. “That makes so much sense! Like, imagine aliens judging us for eating cereal with milk.”

Pedro chuckled again, his arm tightening around you to keep you close. “Cereal with milk is sacred,” he said, his voice heavy with playful conviction. “If aliens have an issue with that, I’ll fight them myself.”

You grinned, turning to prop yourself up on your elbow so you could face him fully. “Okay, serious question. If you could ask someone anything and be guaranteed the truth, who would it be?”

Pedro cracked one eye open, his other hand lazily resting on your hip. “I’d ask you why you’re so determined to keep me awake,” he deadpanned, his lips twitching with a suppressed smile.

You laughed, nudging him with your elbow. “I’m serious!”

“Alright, alright,” he relented, the mirth in his eyes softening as he considered your question. “I’d ask my third-grade teacher if she really lost my homework or if she just didn’t like me.”

You burst out laughing, the sound muffled by the way you buried your face into his chest. “That’s what you’d waste your question on?”

“Don’t judge me,” he said with mock indignation, his fingers trailing absent patterns on your back. “It’s haunted me for years.”

Your laughter subsided into a warm giggle as you tilted your head up to look at him. “Fine. My turn. I’d ask my mom if she’s proud of me. Like… really proud. Not just the ‘I’m your mom, so I have to say it’ kind of proud.”

Pedro’s hand stilled on your back, his gaze softening as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “She’s proud of you, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “And so am I. Always.”

The weight of his words wrapped around your heart, a comforting balm that eased the ache of self-doubt. You nuzzled closer, your fingers curling around his as you let the quiet stretch between you for a moment.

Moments later, you broke the silence again, your voice a whisper in the dark. “When I was little, I thought my toys came alive when I wasn’t looking. Like Toy Story. Honestly, I still kinda think they do.”

Pedro let out a deep laugh, his chest shaking beneath you as he pulled you even closer. “I wouldn’t put it past them,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. “Your stuffed bunny? Definitely a troublemaker.”

You giggled, your heart feeling impossibly light as his hand returned to its slow, soothing patterns on your back.

The conversation drifted into comfortable nonsense, the kind of midnight musings that didn’t need to make sense but brought a certain kind of intimacy only shared in the quiet hours of the night.

Finally, as your eyelids grew heavy and your words faded into murmurs, Pedro pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “Goodnight, mi amor,” he whispered, his voice soft and steady.

In his arms, with the world outside forgotten, you felt safe. Loved. His heartbeat was the only rhythm you needed as you drifted into sleep, a love like no other holding you steady through the night.

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