#reaching out a hand for what he thought was a friend

[yueebby]

steal my girl — gojo satoru

synopsis. the time gojo and megumi decided to crash your date.

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo roping megumi into his loser activities, timeskips, tw sappy

notes. this drabble has been rotting in my brain for over a year. finally wrote it!

“I’m going on a date.”

It only took five simple words from you to make the world’s strongest jujutsu sorcerer drop to his knees. For the first time in his life, Gojo could swear he was experiencing shortness of breath. And was it just him, or were the walls closing in?

“What?” The word leaves his mouth like a demand rather than a question. He’s trying so hard not to overreact, but your overjoyed face makes it nearly impossible not to succumb to the ugly green monster clawing at his insides.

“Well,” you push his shoulder playfully. “Don’t act so surprised. You’re not the only one that pulls.”

“Don’t I know it,” Gojo mutters under his breath, eye twitching. Don’t you know how hard he works to deter any suitors vying for your attention when the two of you are out? He’s practically a rabid dog growling at anyone who so much as breathes in your direction.

Hell, even Shoko once mentioned to him something about being a “registered pervert” at most establishments you frequent together.

 Not his finest moments.

You eye Satoru suspiciously before continuing. That was your first mistake.

“Yeah, he’s taking me to that new Michelin Star restaurant downtown,” you sigh dreamily. “I mean, seriously. Isn’t that so cool?”

Gojo scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. “If that’s what you wanted, you could’ve just said so. I know a place that has three Michelin Stars.”

You pout. “Well, it’s different with you.”

Gojo’s eyebrow quirks up. “How so?”

“You’re a friend. And with him…” You trail off, suddenly feeling shy under Gojo’s piercing gaze. Heat creeps up your neck, blooming across your cheeks as you toy with the hem of your sleeve. “It’s a lot more romantic.”

Gojo thinks he could just die.

The word romantic rings in his ears, and it was deafening. It digs into his ribs and squeezes at something raw inside him. He’s the strongest sorcerer alive, yet right now, he feels utterly powerless against the way your voice softens when you talk about someone else. Against the way your lips curve at the thought of another man.

He scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Romantic, huh?” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s an edge to it.

You nod, eyes glimmering with something dreamy, something distant, and Gojo wants to reach out and wipe it away. He wants that look—wants to be the reason for it.

If you wanted romance, he could give you romance.

Better romance.

A grand plan manifests in his head, spinning to life at full speed. 

Oh, this poor guy doesn’t stand a chance.

The moment Megumi sees Gojo enter his and Tsumiki’s shared apartment, he knows something is wrong. There’s a certain energy in the air, a distinct lack of peace that Gojo drags with him that makes the eight year old’s stomach churn.

“Fushiguro!” Gojo’s voice rings out, far too enthusiastic for Megumi’s liking. “We have a problem.”

Megumi barely glances up from his book. “We?”

Gojo makes himself at home and slings an arm around his shoulders. “Yes, we. Our dear [Name] here has a date.”

Megumi's grip on his book tightens, his interest sparking at the mention of you. Where Gojo lacked maturity, you balanced it effortlessly. He liked that about you. He liked you.

Megumi blinks once. “And?”

Gojo sighs dramatically. “And we can’t just let her go unprotected, can we?”

“Unprotected?” Megumi repeats, deadpan. “From what? Bad table manners?”

“From heartbreak, Megumi!” Gojo places a hand over his chest, looking scandalized. “What if this guy is a total loser? What if he chews with his mouth open? What if he’s a handsy creep?”

Megumi’s expression darkens. He had been indifferent before, but now there’s a flicker of irritation in his eyes. He doesn’t like the idea of you being stuck with some no-good scrub who isn’t worthy. In a series of twisted events, you and that white haired idiot had managed to become the only constants in his life. The last thing he wanted was for some random guy to come along and take you away.

“We need to intervene,” Gojo presses, watching the flicker of hesitation in Megumi’s expression. His usual deadpan exterior is cracking, just a little. Gojo knows he has him.

Megumi exhales sharply, gripping his book a little too tightly. “I am not going to ruin their date.” His voice is firm, but there’s a sliver of doubt wedged between the words. Gojo seizes it like a cat pouncing on its prey.

“Ruin?” Gojo gasps, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. “Megumi, this is purely a background check.” His grin stretches.

Megumi glares at him. “It could be considered stalking.”

Gojo waves him off. “Pfft. Such an ugly word. I prefer ‘protective oversight’.”

“You don’t even know if he’s a bad person.”

Gojo tilts his head, feigning deep thought. “Oh, you’re right. Maybe he’s perfect. Maybe he’ll take such good care of her that we won’t be needed anymore.”

Megumi stiffens, and Gojo bites back a smirk.

“That’s not—” Megumi starts, but Gojo steamrolls over him.

“I mean, think about it. If this date goes well, they might actually start dating. And then what? She’ll start spending more time with him.” Gojo nudges him. “She’ll run off and start a new family.”

Megumi’s jaw tightens. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously right,” Gojo corrects cheerfully. 

Megumi runs a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. He already knows Gojo won’t drop this, and, annoyingly, he’s already planted the seed of doubt in his mind.

Gojo leans in, voice lower, almost serious. “You care about her, don’t you?”

Megumi exhales sharply. “...Yeah.”

“And you’d rather make sure she’s safe than sit around wondering?”

Megumi stares at him for a long moment, then groans. “Fine. But if this goes wrong, I’m blaming you.”

Gojo grins, clapping him on the back. “That’s the spirit! Now, let’s go before you start growing a conscience.”

The night was supposed to be perfect. A well earned break. It your first real date in a while. Probably your first since meeting Gojo. Though, strangely, you’d never stopped to question why that was.

The guy sitting across from you was a non-sorcerer, and while his looks had been enough to catch your attention when he first asked you out, the novelty was wearing off fast. His personality was as flat and each word he spoke draining more of your enthusiasm. You found yourself nodding along absently, barely listening, already regretting your decision.

Still, you just had to stick it out until the food arrived. Then you could eat, make an excuse, and be done with this painfully dull evening.

Though, just when you thought the night was starting to get interesting, a familiar voice cuts through the elegant ambiance of the restaurant.

“Mom, who is this strange man?”

Your choke on your wine at the familiar voice while your date stiffens.

You turn slowly, dread pooling in your stomach as you come face-to-face with Megumi, standing at your table with his arms crossed. His expression is perfectly deadpan, but you see the flicker of mischief in his eyes, a familiar gleam of mischief that could only be the work of a certain white-haired man lurking nearby.

“E-eh?!” You sputter, glancing between Megumi and your date.

Your date looks thoroughly confused. “Do you… know this child?”

“N-no—I mean, yes, but—”

Megumi doesn’t give you a chance to explain. Instead, he sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “And what will Gojo—Dad—say about this?”

The words slam into you like a truck.

Your date’s jaw drops. “You’re married?”

“N-no!”

“Then why is he calling you Mom?”

You glare at Megumi, but he just shrugs, completely unbothered.

“Come home,” Megumi continues with a sigh. “Tsumiki misses you too.”

“You have multiple children?!”

Your date looks absolutely horrified, like he’s just found himself in the middle of a scandalous affair. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Listen, if you’re going through a divorce or something, we don’t have to do this—”

Before you can defend yourself, another, far-too-cheerful voice joins in.

“There you are, sweetheart!”

Gojo waltzes up to the table, dressed in his finest suit and those damn glasses he only wore on special occasions. He places a hand on your shoulder and turns to your date with an exaggeratedly apologetic expression. “Sorry, buddy, but this one’s a real work. You know it took me two kids to finally tie her down?”

Your date glances between you, Megumi, and Gojo, his eyes wide with pure panic, as if he’s just stumbled into something far beyond his comprehension. His grip tightens around his napkin, knuckles white. “I—I think I should go.”

You lurch forward, reaching out as if that might stop him. “No, wait—!”

But it’s already too late. He’s scrambling for his coat, chair scraping loudly against the floor as he pushes back from the table, nearly knocking over his drink in his rush. Without sparing you another glance, he spins on his heel and all but bolts toward the exit, shoulders hunched as if he’s trying to make himself smaller.

You sit frozen for a second, blinking at the now-empty seat across from you. Then, slowly, you turn toward the culprits, fists clenched at your sides.

“You two,” you hiss, voice low and simmering with fury, “are in serious trouble.”

Megumi has the decency to look guilty, staring down at his lap, shifting awkwardly in his seat as if he’s just now realizing the full extent of what they’ve done.

Gojo, on the other hand, is utterly shameless. He stands there in all his smug glory, adjusting his sunglasses with a satisfied smirk. 

You grab your purse and storm out of the restaurant, with the two trailing behind you like two guilty kids.

“You know,” Gojo muses, “I think that went pretty well.”

You round on him so fast that even he takes a step back. “Pretty well?! You humiliated me! That poor guy thinks I have an entire secret family!”

Gojo snickers. “Well, technically, you do.”

You jab a finger into his chest. “You are not my husband.”

“But wouldn’t it be great if I was?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Megumi lets out a long sigh. “Please don’t entertain him. I’m sorry, [Name].” His blue eyes are trained onto the floor, “I just didn’t think he was good enough for you.”

You exhale sharply, some of your anger ebbing as you glance between the two of them.

“It’s okay, Megumi,” you sigh, your frustration softening at the sight of his guilty expression. You could never stay mad at him, not with that face.

Gojo, however, was a different story.

Slowly, you turn to him, eyes narrowing. “You—”

He grins, entirely unrepentant. “Me?”

Oh, he was so in for it.

Although he had been shamelessly unapologetic at the time, Gojo still found ways to complain about that night, even years later, after you were finally married.

“It was an unusually cruel punishment,” your husband whines dramatically, draping his entire body weight onto you as if his sheer presence could sway your sympathy.

“You mean the silent treatment?” you deadpan, eyes still trained on Megumi practicing his cursed technique across the yard. “It was only a week. Could’ve been longer if you hadn’t harassed everyone around me until they practically begged me to forgive you.”

Gojo lifts his head just enough to shoot you an exaggerated pout. “I don’t harass people. I simply exist, and they just happen to find me irresistible.”

“You tend to have the exact opposite effect, actually.”

“Ten years later, and you’re still so cruel to me.” He sighs heavily, as if burdened by the weight of your terrible treatment, before shoving his face into the crook of your neck. “You wound me, wife.”

You laugh, warmth bubbling in your chest as his breath tickles your skin. “You’re impossible.”

A loud thud interrupts the moment, and you both glance over just in time to see Megumi scowling, his stance off from a misstep in his training.

“You are still disgusting after all of these years,” he grumbles, adjusting his form before going at it again.

Gojo beams. “Aww, he likes us.”

You shake your head, smiling. “He tolerates us.”

“Eh, same thing.” Gojo squeezes you tighter, pressing a loud, obnoxious kiss to your cheek just to be insufferable.

Megumi groans. “Seriously, get a room.”

Gojo smirks, wiggling his brows. “Don’t tempt me, kid.”

[rikiluvrr]

— 𝙉𝙀𝙀𝘿 𝙔𝙊𝙐

☆ nishimura riki x afab!reader

☆ wc: 1.1k

☆ warnings: SMUT(MDNI), cockwarming, teasing, making out, riding.

requested <3

THIS was not what you expected when riki asked you to come over to hangout. you expected cuddling, good food, a movie and maybe some sex. still, things were not as you thought they would be because your loving boyfriend had been playing video games ever since you set foot into his room. “riikiiii are you done yet?” you whined, kicking your feet up in the air, tired of waiting for him “one more round baby” he mumbled, his fingers still working the controller with immense speed, you couldn’t help but think about how he’d split you open with those same fingers. 

your gaze lingered a little longer, watching him trash-talk into his mic which was an oddly hot sight but god his features. your eyes traced his sharp nose, jawline, plump lips and how his adam’s apple bobbed every time he spoke up. you trailed your eyes further down, his tank top which stuck to his lean figure, the blue-light illuminating his biceps, he’d been working out more for sure, and what had you spiraling the most was the sight of the imprint of his cock, prominent through his grey sweats and that was enough of a reason to have you rubbing your thighs together. 

you silently got up and walked up to riki, careful not to trip over the various chords on the floor as you approached his gaming desk. you threw a leg over his hip and settled onto his lap, nuzzling your head into his neck and peppering kisses to his neck, making him chuckle “slow down baby” he said gently, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you against him, thinking it was just an innocent moment but quickly realized it was much more when you rolled your hips against him making him hiss. you looked up at him with glossed over eyes, lips parted “fuck baby… not right now just one more round” you huffed but complied anyway. 

—

that one round become two more and now you’d reached your limit. so you took matters into your own hands. you slid off his lap before bending down infront of him and palming his cock, making riki tense up. he covered his mic with one hand and peered down at you “what do you think youre doing?” “shhh…” you shushed him, palming and squeezing him a few more times, making him throw his head back in pleasure, and just as expected his cock started hardening, pressing against his sweats. 

you grinned before jerking his sweatpants and boxers down to his ankles, making his erect cock spring up, hitting his abdomen, earning a quiet groan from him. every single action of yours made riki spiral. he could barely focus on his game, his friends yelling at him for slacking off was nothing but a buzz in his ears. you shimmied out of your shorts and pumped his cock and braced yourself by holding onto his shoulders before slowly sinking down on him,  making riki clench his jaw as his hold on the controller tightened.

you wanted to see how long it would take before he’d crack and give in so instead of moving, you wrapped your hands around his waist and nuzzled into him. riki could barely focus on his game, he felt the way his cock pulsed inside of you, the way you momentarily clenched around him making him twitch. fuck. “mm… keep playing baby” you teased, knowing he’s barely holding himself back.  

riki’s breath comes out ragged as you subtly ground against him at a slow, teasing pace before giggling.”yo, riki, are you good?” one of his friends asked, making riki glare at you while you looked up at him with a smirk. yeah, all good. let's just start the next round.” he shifted his eyes to the screen, his jaw tight with constraint, making you bite back a laugh at his struggle.

riki was distracted, that was obvious, but clearly not stopping and you couldn't wait any longer, your neediness taking up your mind so you did what you had to do. you started moving your hips slowly, letting out a quiet moan at the full feeling. riki jerked slightly, pushing deeper into you, making you bite his shoulder to muffle your moan. his grip on the controller tightened as he tried to focus on the game ahead. throughout the match, riki made a half-hearted attempt to play, his mind was wandering and his restraint slipping by the minute and the moment he lost the match, he yanked his headphones off and tossed his controller aside before running a hand through his hair and letting out a troubled sigh while you watched in amusement, waiting for his next actions. 

riki held onto your hips tightly, thrusting into you, making you both moan loudly. you gripped his shoulders and sped up the pace while riki left hot-wet kisses on your neck, sinking his teeth onto a spot he know would have you spiraling. you whimpered as you slid up and down his cock, wet slick making it easier to glide. you were getting close and riki could tell from the way your movements were getting sloppier and so thrusted up into you, wiping you out of your trance and making you moan loudly “yeah baby… let me hear you” he whispered, holding onto your waist as he thrusted into you at a rhythmic pace and soon enough you fell apart as you came all over his cock, making you moan. riki clenched his teeth as he thrusted into you a couple more times, but a little more rapidly as to chase his high as he shot thick ropes of cum deep into your walls to the point where you could feel him filling you up. 

riki looked down at where the two of you were connected and watched as your cum mixed with his dripped down his cock “fuck…” he groaned. 

the room was filled with the faint hum of the game menu’s music but the only sound that mattered was the quiet, uneven breaths and the slow rise and fall of your chests. you draped your arms around his waist and rested your head on his shoulder, shuddering from the aftershock “you really couldn’t wait hm” he teased, tapping his fingers on your waist, you smiled into his shoulder nuzzling further “i thought you might end up getting sucked into the screen at some point. couldn’t have that happening to my boyfriend hm?” you teased making him scoff  “so.. will you let me finish my game now?” “mmm… i don’t know i kinda like having all your attention” you whispered, hugging him tighter. he placed a chaste kiss to your hair “you’ll always have my attention baby” he mumbled, caressing your waist soothingly.

☆ xiao's notes: a little something while i work on more requests (and some of my own works)

check out my other works!

☆ courtside

☆ best part

☆ messy

[wroetolando]

𝙰𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝, 𝙰𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x fem!reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where lando grows from a childhood friend to a famous f1 driver

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: 7 years - lukas graham

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: short mention of grief and loss

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Seven Years Old

“Once I was seven years old, my mama told me, go make yourself some friends or you’ll be lonely.”

The first time you met Lando Norris, he was covered in dirt.

He had just fallen off his bike—again—but instead of crying, he simply picked himself up, brushing off his scraped knees. You, always the quiet observer, reached into your pocket and pulled out a band-aid, sticking it onto his leg without a word.

Lando blinked at you, then grinned, showing off a missing tooth. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

You shrugged, your eyes still averted, focused on your hands as you fiddled with the end of the band-aid.

“That’s okay,” he said, grinning even wider. “You’re my best friend now.”

You didn’t argue.

Lando wasn’t like the other kids in your neighborhood. He wasn’t loud or brash, but he was relentless, always in motion, constantly seeking something. His energy was contagious, and even though you preferred the quiet of your own thoughts, something about him drew you in.

Every afternoon, Lando would knock on your door, bike helmet in hand, asking if you wanted to join him for another adventure. You would always go, and before you knew it, you were inseparable.

He wasn’t just a friend; he was your constant.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Eleven Years Old

“I only see my goals, I don’t believe in failure, ’cause I know the smallest voices they can make it major.”

By eleven, Lando had made up his mind—he was going to be a race car driver.

“I’ll be in F1 one day,” he told you confidently, his hands gripping the handlebars of his bike like it was a steering wheel.

You kicked a rock near your feet. “And what if you don’t?”

He gasped dramatically, as if you had just insulted his entire existence. “How dare you?”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “I’m just saying, it’s not easy.”

“I don’t care,” he huffed. “I’m going to make it. You’ll see.”

You rolled your eyes but could see the fire in his eyes. He wasn’t joking. He was determined. And you admired him for it.

But deep down, a part of you feared what would happen when he actually made it.

You were happy in your own world, grounded in the simplicity of home and friends. But Lando? He was destined for bigger things. You could see it, even then.

Would he forget you when he was famous? Would the friendship fade like so many others? Or would it remain—unbreakable and constant, just like it had always been?

But Lando was steadfast, and every time you had those thoughts, he would look at you and reassure you with a simple, “I’m not going anywhere.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Eighteen Years Old

“I always had that dream like my daddy before me, so I started writing songs, I started writing stories.”

Lando made it to Formula 1 at eighteen.

You were sitting on your couch, watching him line up on the grid for his debut race. The anticipation in the air was palpable, and your heart pounded harder with every passing second. You could almost feel the rush of the engine in your chest, like a heartbeat.

Lando was about to live his dream, something he had worked for his whole life.

And you? You were still here. Back home. The quiet life you had grown accustomed to.

It should have been enough—seeing him succeed, watching him become the person he had always wanted to be.

But there was a quiet ache in your chest. The boy who had been your best friend was now racing among the best in the world. And you had to admit, part of you didn’t know where you fit into his new world.

He had made it. You were still trying to figure things out.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Twenty Years Old

“Once I was twenty years old my story got told, before the morning sun when life was lonely.”

Lando was famous now. Everyone knew his name, his face, his victories.

But despite the cameras and the flashing lights, despite the fans screaming for him, he called you late at night—just like always.

“I miss you,” he admitted one evening, his voice quieter than usual.

You swallowed hard. “You’re the one who left.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I didn’t think it’d be this hard.”

He was still your Lando—the same boy who had scraped his knees and promised you forever. But now he was racing in F1, the world at his feet.

There were moments when it felt like you were living in two completely different worlds. His was filled with fame and endless opportunities, while yours was stuck in place. The feelings of longing were difficult to ignore.

Silence stretched between you.

Then, in a move that surprised even himself, Lando showed up at your door the next day.

When you opened it, he was standing there—hood pulled over his head, hands buried in his pockets, eyes tired but searching.

“I don’t want to do this without you,” he confessed. “I don’t care how crazy my life gets. I just… I need you in it.”

Your breath hitched.

And before you could stop yourself, you reached for him, pulling him inside—pulling him home.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Twenty-Three Years Old

“I got my boys with me, at least those in favor, and if we don’t meet before I leave I hope I’ll see you later.”

The Formula 1 world was now Lando’s world.

Carlos, Daniel, Oscar, and Max were his teammates, his competitors, his family. They were a constant presence in his life, and the camaraderie they shared made the loneliness of the race track feel a little less heavy.

But even then, there were moments when you could see the fatigue in his eyes—moments when he would glance at you, like he needed to ground himself again.

It was after one particularly difficult race that he showed up at your door.

The night was quiet, the usual noise of race cars and city streets a distant hum. But there he stood, knocking softly on your door, his hoodie pulled over his head, his eyes tired.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, stepping into your home as if it was the only place he could truly breathe.

You didn’t ask any questions, didn’t push for an explanation. You just opened your arms and let him in.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” he confessed as he sat on the couch, his head resting against the back of it.

You sat beside him, placing your hand on his. “You’re doing your best.”

“But it’s not enough,” he murmured.

“You’re enough.”

It wasn’t just about racing. It was about the uncertainty, the weight of always having to be something more, and sometimes feeling like he was losing himself in the process.

But you were there, as you had always been. And that was what mattered most.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Twenty-Five Years Old

“Soon we’ll be 30 years old, our songs have been sold, we’ve traveled around the world and we’re still roaming.”

Lando proposed to you in Monaco.

It wasn’t some extravagant gesture—no cameras, no grand speeches. Just the two of you, standing on a quiet balcony overlooking the harbor, the city lights reflecting in his eyes.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he told you, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t care where life takes me. As long as you’re there, that’s enough.”

Your heart pounded as he dropped to one knee, a small velvet box in his hands.

“So… will you marry me?”

You laughed, already crying as you nodded. “Almost, always.”

Lando chuckled, shaking his head as he slid the ring onto your finger.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Thirty Years Old

“My woman brought children for me, so I can sing them all my songs and I can tell them stories”

Life had changed.

You were married now, your last name matching his. The walls of your home were filled with laughter—tiny footsteps running through hallways, giggles echoing in the rooms.

Lando was still racing, still chasing podiums, still traveling the world. But now, he always had something to come home to.

Your kids—his greatest trophies.

“My boys are still with me,” he mused one night, watching a race replay with his son on his lap. “Carlos, Oscar, Max… They’re still out there, still fighting for glory.”

His voice turned softer.

“And Daniel?” you asked, knowing exactly where his mind had wandered.

Lando swallowed hard, eyes distant. There was a hint of sadness in his smile, a flicker of a memory.

“Some I had to leave behind.”

Daniel had been Lando’s closest friend for years. But life had a way of taking people in different directions. Daniel’s departure from F1 had hit hard, and Lando’s emotions were still raw, even after all these years.

He was grateful for the memories, the times they had shared. But the empty space left by Daniel’s absence was undeniable.

The silence that followed was heavy, but you didn’t press him. You simply nestled closer, resting your head against his shoulder.

Some people, no matter how much you love them, aren’t meant to stay forever.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Sixty Years Old

“Soon I’ll be sixty years old, will I think the world is cold, or will I have a lot of children who can warm me?”

Lando was retired now. His body had slowed, his hair had silvered, but his heart—his heart was still the same.

Your children were grown, building lives of their own. The house was quieter, but it was never empty.

Yet, as sixty-one loomed closer, Lando grew restless.

“I don’t want to go yet,” he admitted one evening, sitting beside you on the porch. “My dad was sixty-one when he passed. What if…”

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “You’re not him, Lando.”

He exhaled shakily. “I’m scared.”

You turned to him, pressing a kiss to his weathered knuckles. “You have nothing to be scared of,” you whispered. “You’ve lived. You’ve loved. And no matter what happens next… you’re not alone.”

Lando looked at you then, his blue eyes still filled with the same love they held when he was seven years old.

“Almost, always?” he murmured.

You smiled, squeezing his hand.

“Always.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

[bjlipss]

synopsis: satoru finds out you have a huge crush on suguru and is delightful because duh, it’s embarrassing! but whilst he teases you about it relentlessly, he doesn’t expect to develop a crush of his own.

miyan’s notes: yearning satoru? hell yea

it starts as a joke.

gojo notices immediately. how could he not? you’re not exactly subtle about it either— you light up the second suguru enters the room, like the world has finally started spinning properly again. it’s embarrassingly obvious, the way your eyes search for him first, the way your voice softens when you speak to him, the way you always, always find an excuse to be near suguru. he thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world, watching you get all flustered whenever suguru so much as looks in your direction.

and it’s cute, really. painfully obvious, but cute.

so, naturally, gojo teases you. mercilessly.

“aww, look at you, trying so hard for my best friend! so cute. tragic, but cute.”

your reaction never disappoints—flushed cheeks, flustered stammering, a scowl that doesn’t quite reach your eyes because no matter how annoying gojo is, you’d never actually fight him. well, you would if you thought you stood a chance, but you don’t, so all you can do is glare and hope he gets hit by a stray curse.

“shut up, gojo!”

but, of course, he doesn’t. he never does. if you try to sit next to suguru at lunch, gojo somehow beats you to it, throwing an arm around him like he’s marking his territory, all smug grins and winks as he says, “better luck next time.” if you bring suguru snacks, gojo snatches one before suguru can even react, popping it into his mouth and humming dramatically. “mmm, delicious. wow, you’re so thoughtful! i’m touched.”

if you’re staring at suguru a little too dreamily, gojo suddenly waves a hand in front of your face. “hellooo? earth to lovesick dummy? you’re drooling.”

you think he’s the most annoying person alive.

but what you don’t notice—what gojo himself doesn’t even realize at first—is that at some point, it stops being a joke.

it sneaks up on him, this stupid crush.

at first, he’s just having fun messing with you. watching you turn red and stammer whenever suguru so much as acknowledges your existence is peak entertainment. but then he starts noticing things he shouldn’t.

the smell of your shampoo mixed with a bit of sweet perfume. your habit of rolling your bottom lip between your index finger and thumb when you’re deep in thought. the lip balm that you always use and mindlessly offer to shoko before putting it back into your pocket. how pretty you look without the uniform’s jacket and your hair down.

how you push yourself during training, even when you’re exhausted, even when you’re falling behind. how you always make sure everyone else is okay before you worry about yourself. how your eyes sparkle when you talk about something you love, how your nose scrunches up when you’re frustrated, how you don’t treat him like the strongest, but just another annoying upperclassman.

and suddenly, teasing you doesn’t feel as fun anymore. because he’s the one getting all warm inside.

which is annoying.

so gojo does what gojo does best—he competes.

if you compliment suguru’s hair, gojo immediately smooths a hand over his own, tilting his head toward you with a smirk. “what about me? mine’s fluffier.” if you call suguru cool, gojo immediately pulls off some ridiculous stunt—flipping midair during training, casting an overly flashy cursed technique, or just dramatically sighing and saying, “well, I’m the strongest.” even if the situation doesn’t call for it. it never does.

suguru, long-suffering and tired, just pats your head. “ignore him.” too used to his best friend’s antics to pay attention to the way you stare up at him, starry eyed.

but gojo doesn’t stop. he starts pulling you away from suguru whenever he can, coming up with increasingly ridiculous reasons.

“nah, nah, i’ll train them today, suguru! you go take a nap or something. gotta make sure my favorite junior learns from the best.”

“come sit next to me for lunch, i have important second-year wisdom to share.”

“why would you need suguru when you have me? i’m taller.”

at first, you think he’s just being his usual obnoxious self, but then you start noticing things, although, subconsciously pushing them into the back of your mind in favour of thinking about suguru.

he always steps in when you’re struggling, offering help before you can even ask. he covers for you when yaga scolds you for slacking off. he drags you along on snack runs with him, calling it “first-year bonding time”, but he always pays for your food without a second thought. sometimes, when you train together, he goes easier on you than he should—not enough for you to notice, but enough for him to know.

and sometimes, when you’re too focused on suguru, gojo gets quiet.

when you rush to suguru’s side after a rough mission, eyes full of concern, gojo stands a few steps away, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his usual grin plastered on his face like he doesn’t have a care in the world. but his fingers twitch slightly, and his usual quips die in his throat. when you talk about suguru with that dreamy little look on your face, he just leans back, watching you with unreadable eyes, his head tilting just slightly—like he’s memorizing the way you look when you talk about someone else.

he never tells you.

gojo isn’t used to liking people like this—he’s used to attention, to people naturally gravitating toward him. he’s the strongest, after all. he doesn’t have to try.

but you? you don’t look at him the way you look at suguru.

and as much as he wants to be the one who makes you flustered, the one you look at with admiration, the one you chase after—he can’t bring himself to take that away from suguru. suguru is his best friend and even though he is pretty certain that suguru isn’t interested in you like that, he doesn’t get out of the boundaries of his usual behaviour.

so instead, he just hovers. grins too wide, ruffles your hair a little too often, and calls you “his favorite kohai” like it’s a joke, like it doesn’t mean anything.

and maybe, just maybe, he hopes that one day you’ll stop looking at suguru and look at him instead.

part 2

[sunshinesfreckless]

Every Girl Gets Her Wish: Part 2

Part 1.

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Pairings: Hyunlix x Fem!Reader

Summary: After their first night together, she couldn’t stop desperately craving a second round with her boyfriend and his best friend. But while she tried to beg them to have their way with her again, they already had a plan for her.

Warnings: OKAY let‘s see….. Anal (Hyunlix), Double Penetration, Felix being a Pussy Eater again and yea…. everything sex related i fear…..

Enjoy 🙂‍↕️

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

She woke up nestled between two gorgeous men, her body warm and tangled in the sheets. For a moment, she lay still, her mind hazy—until the memories of last night crashed over her all at once. Heat flooded her cheeks, but she was too exhausted to process any of it. Her limbs felt heavy, her body deliciously sore.

The next time she stirred, the bed was empty. The warmth of their bodies had faded, leaving only the faint scent of them lingering on the sheets. With a quiet sigh, she pushed herself up, stretching despite the ache in her legs.

By the time she made it to the kitchen, dressed but still drained, her muscles protested every step. A slow burn, a deep ache—evidence of exactly what had happened.

Changbin was the only one there, He glanced up as she walked in, the corner of his lips twitching.

“Morning… Rough night?”

Her face burned instantly.

────୨ৎ────

As she walked down the street toward his workplace, the cool evening air did little to soothe the warmth simmering under her skin. She waved at the security guard with a soft smile.

“Good evening, Miss Y/N. Felix is in the dance practice room.”

She nodded in thanks and stepped into the elevator, carefully balancing the tray of drinks in her hands. The smooth hum of the lift did nothing to quiet her racing thoughts. The moment she stepped into the practice room, the lively energy of the group washed over her.

“Wow, look at you. Felix, your girlfriend is an angel,” Seungmin called out the second he spotted his favorite coffee shop logo on one of the cups.

“Please, someone help me before I drop everything,” she laughed, only now realizing just how exhausting it was to carry them all.

The boys immediately stopped what they were doing, reaching for the drinks without hesitation. Felix pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before taking his cup, the warmth of his lips lingering for a second longer than necessary.

“Felix, no way you made your girlfriend come all the way here just to bring us coffee,” Bang Chan teased. “That is very un-boyfriend-like behavior.”

“Yo, I just told her we were practicing. That was her own will,” Felix defended, his voice light with amusement.

But she wasn’t listening.

Her eyes had wandered—unbidden, instinctual—toward Hyunjin. He was standing slightly apart from the others, his body glistening with a light sheen of sweat, the tank top clinging to his frame like it had been made just for him. Muscles sculpted with an almost ridiculous perfection, every flex, every shift of his body an unintentional display of raw beauty.

He noticed her staring. And he looked right back.

A slow, knowing smirk played at the edges of his lips.

Heat bloomed in her cheeks, and she quickly shifted her gaze back to Felix—only to find him already watching her. His expression unreadable, but his eyes dark, knowing. The air in the room changed, something unsaid passing between the three of them.

Lee Know, sensing the shift, leaned in toward Bang Chan.

“Hyung,” he muttered, “maybe shut up for a second.”

And just like that, her face burned.

She sank into the sofa, crossing her legs tightly as she watched them. The boys had returned to their practice, sweat glistening on their skin, muscles flexing with every sharp movement. She tried—God, she tried—to ignore the way Hyunjin had just looked at her.

But the heat between her thighs made it impossible.

They spent too much time together, moving in sync both on and off the stage. Sometimes, they even seemed to speak in a language only they understood.

A treacherous thought crept into her mind. Had they fucked behind her back?

The idea made her thighs clench. The night hadn’t been that long ago, but with how comfortable they were around each other, how easily they touched, how effortlessly they existed in each other’s space… It could have happened.

She bit her lip, looking up just in time to see Felix and Hyunjin exchange a high-five. The sound of their palms meeting sent a shockwave through her body—her mind throwing her straight back into that night.

The way they had ruined her together.

A quiet whimper almost slipped from her lips, but she swallowed it down. Fuck, she was so worked up.

────୨ৎ────

Later that night, she tossed and turned in Felix’s bed, the sheets cool against her feverish skin. She squeezed her thighs together, but it did nothing—nothing to ease the ache, nothing to replace the way they had both felt inside her.

The sound of running water stopped, and a few moments later, Felix stepped into the room, towel slung low around his hips. His damp hair dripped onto his shoulders, droplets sliding down his sculpted chest. He barely made it two steps before noticing the way she was staring at him.

He smirked. “What are you thinking about, sweetheart?”

She pushed herself up on her elbows, her breath unsteady.

“I need you two to fuck me dumb again.”

Felix’s smirk faded. His eyes darkened, jaw ticking as he exhaled through his nose. A slow, knowing chuckle left his lips as he stalked toward her, the air between them thick with heat.

“Oh?” He tilted her chin up, thumb ghosting over her parted lips. “You miss the way he touched you?”

She nodded, barely able to breathe.

His thumb pressed against her lower lip, slipping inside just slightly. “Then I guess we’ll have to call him, won’t we?”

She sucked on his thumb, her lips warm and soft around it, tongue swirling just enough to make it obscene. She knew exactly what she was doing—how much Felix liked watching her like this, pliant and eager, her big eyes looking up at him like she’d do anything for him.

But instead of rewarding her, he sighed. A slow, deliberate sound.

Then, he pulled his thumb from her mouth with a wet pop and wiped the glistening sheen of spit against her flushed cheek.

“No.”

Her stomach dropped.

He tilted her chin up between his fingers, his voice calm, almost pitying. “I spoil you too much, sweetheart.”

She swallowed hard.

“You’re just a little spoiled girl, always begging to be stuffed full without even earning it.”

Her thighs clenched together instinctively, the sharp rejection making the heat between them ache even more.

“Felix… please—”

“No.” He cut her off, voice firm. “Why would you deserve it?”

She stared up at him, her nails digging into the sheets. He loved this. Loved making her squirm, watching her melt into desperation.

She shifted forward on the bed, crawling toward him on her knees. Her nightgown was barely anything, thin and delicate, the lace tracing over her curves. It had ridden up, exposing her bare thighs, and her nipples pressed stiff against the fabric, aching for attention.

Felix ignored it.

The towel slipped from his waist as he reached for his boxers, leaving him completely bare for a few seconds. And god, fuck, she couldn’t look away.

His body was carved perfection—toned, sweat-kissed from the heat of the shower. And between his thighs, his cock hung heavy, thick, and teasingly out of reach.

She swallowed hard, her mouth going dry.

She barely realized she had leaned forward, staring shamelessly, her breath coming faster. The ache between her legs was unbearable now, her body desperate, skin too hot, too sensitive.

“Lixie, please,” she whimpered, shifting even closer. “I’ll be so good…”

Felix finally pulled his boxers on, raising an eyebrow as he climbed onto the bed.

“Oh?” He tilted his head, voice laced with amusement. “And why should I believe that?”

“Because I will do anything,” she whispered. “Anything you want. I just—” She exhaled shakily. “I just need you. Please.”

For a second, she thought she had won—thought he’d finally give in.

Then, he smirked.

And laid back against the pillows, stretching out comfortably, completely unbothered by the way she was practically begging at this point.

“Maybe,” he mused, “you should ask Hyunjin what he thinks about it.”

Her breath hitched.

Her whole body stiffened. “W-what?”

Felix smirked at the stunned expression on her face. “You heard me.”

Then, he reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

She sat there, still kneeling on the bed, heat burning under her skin, her heart pounding against her ribs.

How the fuck was she supposed to ask Hyunjin?

Should she… seduce him?

The thought sent a fresh wave of arousal through her, making her thighs squeeze together instinctively.

Would he let her? Would he make her work for it the way Felix did? Or would he take control the second she so much as looked at him the wrong way?

She swallowed, fingers curling into the sheets.

She might have been spoiled.

But she wasn’t patient.

And if Felix wasn’t going to give her what she wanted… she would find another way to get it.

────୨ৎ────

The dorm was quiet, the kind of stillness that only settled deep into the night. Most of the members were asleep, and Felix… well, he was still ignoring her on the second night.

She couldn’t sleep.

She needed to do something.

So she slid out of bed, slipping one of Felix’s oversized shirts over her body, barely bothering with shorts underneath. It was just the dorm, after all. And if she happened to run into Hyunjin?

Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

She padded into the kitchen, her bare feet light against the cool floor. The fridge hummed softly as she opened it, grabbing a bottle of water—only to freeze when she heard a voice behind her.

“Can’t sleep?”

Her pulse jumped.

She turned, the dim kitchen light casting long shadows over the tall figure standing in the doorway. Hyunjin. His hair was damp, strands curling slightly at the ends, and he was shirtless, just a loose pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

Oh.

She licked her lips, gripping the cold bottle tighter. “Yeah.” Her voice came out softer than she intended. “You?”

Hyunjin shrugged, stepping inside. “I was sketching. Needed a break.”

She swallowed, watching as he moved closer.

He smelled clean—like body wash and something distinctly him, warm and slightly musky. And when he leaned against the counter beside her, his arm nearly brushing hers, the heat between them became impossible to ignore.

Perfect.

She turned toward him slightly, shifting her weight just enough for the oversized shirt to slip down her shoulder, exposing a hint of smooth skin.

“You work too hard,” she murmured, taking a slow sip of water. “You should let yourself relax more.”

Hyunjin exhaled a quiet laugh. “And how do you suggest I do that?”

She tilted her head, her fingers tracing idly over the condensation on the bottle.

“I could help,” she said, letting the words linger between them.

Hyunjin’s gaze flickered, his jaw tightening just slightly.

Oh, she had his attention now.

It hit her all at once.

The way Hyunjin leaned back against the counter, eyes dark with amusement, lips curled in that lazy, knowing smirk. The way he didn’t look surprised at all by how she was acting—by how desperate she was, shifting on her feet, heat crawling under her skin.

Felix had planned this.

They were both in on it.

She really was too spoiled.

Hyunjin exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head as if he pitied her. “Tsk. You just don’t learn, do you?”

She swallowed hard, her thighs pressing together. “I—”

“Shh.”

Before she could answer, his hand dropped down to the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging them lower just enough to tease her with the sharp lines of his hips.

Her breath hitched.

Then, he palmed himself lazily over the fabric, fingers wrapping around his length, pressing just enough to make the shape of it obvious. “Is this what you want?”

A soft, broken whimper slipped from her lips before she could stop it.

She was too worked up, too far gone, too fucking needy to play it cool. Her entire body felt like it was pulsing, heat radiating from her core, making her skin feel sensitive, restless, desperate.

Hyunjin chuckled, slow and low.

“Ask for it nicely, sweetheart,” he murmured. His fingers tightened around himself just slightly, stroking once, slow and deliberate, enough to make himself twitch under the fabric.

She bit her lip so hard it nearly hurt.

She wanted to drop to her knees right then and there, wanted to press her lips to the growing outline in his sweats, wanted to show him exactly how much she needed this.

Her mouth opened—ready to beg, ready to say anything.

And then—

Hyunjin sighed dramatically, letting go of himself, his hand dropping back to his side.

“Ugh, I’m so tired.” He stretched his arms over his head, yawning like he hadn’t just had her on the verge of losing her mind. “Goodnight.”

Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and walked off, disappearing down the hallway toward his room.

She stood there, frozen in place, her body screaming in frustration.

Her fists clenched at her sides. “Fuck you,” she muttered under her breath.

From down the hall, she heard him chuckle. “You wish.”

She cursed again, then turned toward Felix’s room, where she knew he was still awake, probably smirking to himself just like Hyunjin had been.

They were going to fucking kill her.

────୨ৎ────

Her body wasn’t letting it go.

Even after she’d stormed back to Felix’s room, dropping onto his bed in a frustrated mess, she still felt hot, still felt restless. It was unbearable—the way her skin tingled, the way every little movement made her painfully aware of how empty she was. Felix wasn‘t in the Bed… probably on the toilet…..

Hyunjin’s teasing had pushed her too far.

Felix’s rejection had left her wound up too tight.

She buried her face into the pillow, letting out a muffled whine. They can’t do this to me.

They had left her like this—knowing how desperate she was, knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep, knowing exactly what she would end up doing.

Maybe that was part of their plan, too.

She turned on her Back.

Her thighs pressed together instinctively, hips shifting, searching for relief. The feeling wasn’t enough. Not even close.

Her fingers trailed lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her panties.

A sharp breath left her at the first touch—her own warmth, her own slick betraying just how much she needed it. She let her legs fall open, breath hitching as she stroked slow, teasing herself the way they should have been doing.

Her mind spiraled, flashing back to Hyunjin’s fingers wrapped around himself, the way he had stroked so slowly, the lazy amusement in his voice as he told her to ask nicely.

Felix’s voice from earlier echoed in her head. Maybe you should ask Hyunjin what he thinks of it.

Her stomach clenched.

What would Hyunjin do if he saw her like this—legs spread, back arching against the sheets, her fingers drenched with her own need? Would he call her pathetic? Tell her she was proving their point?

She swallowed hard, whimpering softly as she sped up, fingers circling exactly where she needed them most.

Her body tightened, the pleasure building higher, hotter—almost there, almost—

The door creaked open.

She froze.

Her breath caught in her throat, heart slamming against her ribs. She barely had time to yank the blanket over herself before she heard it—

A quiet, amused hum.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Felix.

Her stomach dropped.

Her head snapped up to see him standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t even trying to hide the smirk on his lips, the glint in his eyes as he took in the scene before him.

“I leave you alone for five minutes and you can’t even behave?”

She swallowed hard, gripping the sheets tighter. “I—I wasn’t—”

He raised a brow. “Don’t lie to me, baby.”

Her body was still thrumming with need, still aching, still so close. The blanket was doing nothing to hide the way her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, or the way her thighs had yet to close.

Felix tilted his head, stepping inside.

“Looks like Hyunjin was right,” he murmured. “You really don’t deserve it yet.”

Her entire body flushed with heat. “Felix—”

“Mm-mm.” He reached down, taking the edge of the blanket between his fingers. “You want to touch yourself like a needy little thing? Go ahead.”

Then, with one sharp tug, he pulled the blanket away.

Her breath hitched—completely exposed under his gaze, her hand still buried between her thighs, her skin burning with humiliation and want.

Felix just grinned.

────୨ৎ────

The next few days were hell.

For her. For the boys. For everyone.

Felix and Hyunjin had left her high and dry, and her frustration was hitting a breaking point.

She was moody, snappy, and completely unbearable.

Changbin, poor, unsuspecting Changbin, had barely asked where the salt was when she threw the entire pack at him without a word.

Lee Know, who only wanted the remote, had barely touched her shoulder when she turned to him with glassy eyes, voice cracking, “I don’t know where it is!” before she burst into tears.

The whole dorm was walking on eggshells.

And they—Felix and Hyunjin—were enjoying every second of it.

They weren’t even subtle about it.

Felix would pass by her in the kitchen, hand brushing the small of her back, lips ghosting over her temple, whispering, “Such a moody little thing, aren’t you?” before walking away like it was nothing.

Hyunjin would sit too close to her on the couch, spreading his legs wide, body heat seeping into her skin, looking at her with that knowing smirk that made her want to either strangle him or ride him right then and there.

She couldn’t take it.

She had half a mind to beg, to drop her pride and beg—but just when she was about to give up, something changed.

────୨ৎ────

She woke up in the middle of the night to the feeling of soft lips pressing along the side of her neck.

Warm. Slow. Teasing.

A breathy sigh left her lips before she even opened her eyes, her body already reacting before her mind caught up.

“Lixie?” she murmured, voice still heavy with sleep.

A low hum vibrated against her skin, but the voice that answered wasn’t Felix’s.

“Mmm… it’s Jinnie, baby.”

Her eyes fluttered open.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the soft glow under the door.

She turned her head, blinking the sleep away, only to find Hyunjin lying beside her, his face inches from hers, his hands already palming at her breasts through the thin lace of her nightgown.

Her breath caught. “What are you—”

Hyunjin hushed her with a kiss, soft and lingering.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered against her lips. “Felix is in the bathroom.”

She should’ve pushed him away. She should’ve questioned why Felix wasn’t here. But the second he squeezed her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers, a whimper escaped her lips instead.

“We didn’t punish you because you were a bad girl,” he murmured, lips trailing along her jaw. “We just wanted to hear it from you first. We wanted you to ask for it.”

She shivered beneath him, hips shifting, pressing against nothing. “I—I did—”

“Not properly.” His hand slipped lower, fingers teasing along the edge of her nightgown. “Felix had to prep himself for a second night, you know.”

Her stomach clenched at the words.

Felix. Prepping himself.

Her breath hitched. She looked up at Hyunjin. “Remember how he promised me I could fuck his ass too?”

Hyunjin’s lips curled. “Mm,” he hummed, kissing her again, swallowing the soft moan that left her lips. “And he keeps his promises.”

“Felix is in the bathroom.”

The words echoed in her head, but she barely registered them.

Not when Hyunjin’s lips were already moving down her neck.

Not when his hands were already teasing at the hem of her nightgown.

“You missed us that much, huh?” His voice was all silk and sin, low against her skin. “You’ve been such a brat these past few days… all moody, snapping at the boys…”

His fingers ghosted over her inner thigh, but never where she needed him.

She whimpered, hips shifting, trying to guide his touch lower.

Hyunjin only chuckled. “Look at you… so desperate.”

He dipped his head, lips skimming along her collarbone. “But we couldn’t just give in right away, baby. We had to be sure you wanted it again.”

His teeth scraped gently, just enough to make her squirm.

“And now?” He exhaled against her skin. “Now we’re sure.”

She gasped softly as his hand finally cupped her through her panties, rubbing slow, lazy circles that had her entire body tensing.

“Jinnie…” she whined.

“Shh.” His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, just barely teasing at her slick heat. “You’re soaking, sweetheart.”*

She shuddered. “Because you two left me like this for days.”

Hyunjin smirked, pressing his fingers against her just enough to make her ache. “Mmm… and whose fault is that?”

“Yours!”

“Wrong answer.”

He pulled his hand away completely.

“Jinnie—!”

“Shh,” he murmured again, fingers pressing against her lips instead. “You want Felix to hear you begging while he’s getting ready for me?”

Her stomach clenched at the thought, at the realization of what was happening just a few feet away.

Hyunjin smiled lazily, watching her expression shift. “Oh? You like that, don’t you?”

She swallowed, her whole body burning.

“You want to go in there and see?”

She hesitated—God, she wanted to—but before she could answer, he flipped her onto her stomach.

“Too bad,” he whispered against her ear, pinning her hips down. “You have to wait your turn, baby.”

────୨ৎ────

Her wrists were bound.

Not tightly—just enough to keep her in place, to remind her who was in control.

Hyunjin had made sure of that.

She lay on her back, arms above her head, chest rising and falling in frustration. Her lace nightgown had ridden up, her wet pussy dripping, and her thighs were already trembling—because Hyunjin hadn’t stopped touching her, hadn’t stopped teasing her.

But every time she whimpered, every time she begged, he just smirked.

“You wanna be a good girl now, huh?” His voice was a slow drawl as he trailed his fingers along her inner thighs, stopping just before she got what she needed.

She bucked her hips, desperate for anything. “Jinnie, please—”

“Shh.” He leaned down, lips brushing against her ear. “You don’t get to make demands. Not after the way you’ve been acting.”

She wanted to snap at him, tell him how unfair this was, but her words were cut off by the sound of the door opening.

Felix had finally come back.

And the moment he stepped into the dimly lit room, his breath hitched at the sight in front of him.

“Well, well…” Felix’s voice was hoarse, still flushed from the time he’d spent prepping. “She’s already a mess.”

Hyunjin chuckled, shifting so he was straddling her waist, keeping her completely pinned beneath him. “She’s been a mess, Lix.” His fingers ghosted over her sensitive heat, making her jolt. “But she hasn’t earned anything yet.”

Felix tilted his head, his gaze dark, as he drank her in—her flushed skin, her parted lips, her arms restrained above her head.

“Is that so?”

Hyunjin nodded. “She’s been a little brat these past few days. Taking out all her frustration on the boys, throwing tantrums…” His fingers teased at the edge of her soaked panties. “And she still thinks she deserves to be fucked.”

Felix hummed, stepping closer. “That doesn’t sound very fair, sweetheart.”

She whined, struggling against the binds. “I wouldn’t have been frustrated if you two didn’t leave me like this for days!”

Hyunjin tsked, shaking his head. “And now you’re making excuses…”

“Jinnie—!”

“No.”* He leaned down, kissing her slowly, deeply, making her toes curl before pulling away just as suddenly. “You wanna make up for it? You’re gonna have to watch first.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

Felix finally climbed onto the bed beside them, running his fingers lightly along her bare thigh. “That’s right, baby. You don’t get to join in yet.”

Hyunjin pressed a chaste kiss to Felix’s lips before turning back to her, his smirk widening.

“You’re gonna watch us first. And we’ll see if you’ve really learned your lesson.”

She moaned in frustration, her entire body burning as the two boys in front of her exchanged another lingering kiss—Hyunjin’s hand already moving to Felix’s waist, pulling him closer.

She shivered.

She was so screwed.

She had never seen Felix like this before.

Her breath caught as he positioned himself on all fours right in front of her, his head nestled between her thighs—close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath, but not close enough to give her anything.

“You like watching, sweetheart?” His voice was low, teasing, his dark eyes locked onto hers.

She squirmed, but her bindings didn’t let her move.

“Felix…” she whimpered.

He grinned—like he was relishing in her frustration. “Ah, but you don’t get to do anything yet.” His fingers grazed her thigh, making her body jolt. “You’re just gonna lay there and be our little audience for now.”

Behind him, Hyunjin’s hands smoothed over Felix’s waist, his fingers digging into his skin just slightly as he lined himself up.

“Relax for me, baby,” Hyunjin murmured, his tone softer, gentler—but his grip stayed firm. “You prepped well, yeah? I bet you’re gonna take me like a good boy.”

Felix shuddered, his fingers clutching at the sheets beneath him as he exhaled shakily. “Fuck, Jinnie…”

She watched, entranced, as Hyunjin pressed in slowly—his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of Felix stretching around him for the first time.

“Shit…” Hyunjin let out a shaky groan, his fingers digging deeper into Felix’s hips. “You’re so fucking tight, Lix.”

Felix whined, his back arching, his breath coming out in shudders as he adjusted to the stretch.

And she—she was losing her mind.

Every little sound Felix made, every tiny movement, every time Hyunjin praised him—it was making her body burn with need.

“That’s my good boy,” Hyunjin murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Felix’s shoulder before rolling his hips deeper. “Taking me so fucking well…”

Felix moaned, his head dropping between her thighs, his breath coming out in hot, uneven gasps against her bare skin.

She could feel everything—his heavy breaths, the way his body tensed and trembled, how Hyunjin’s movements sent small shocks through him that transferred directly to her.

“F-Fuck…” Felix whispered, before suddenly lifting his head to look at her again. His lips were parted, his pupils blown with pleasure—and he was smirking.

“Poor baby,” Felix mocked, his voice breathless, but still full of teasing cruelty. “You just have to sit there and watch, huh? Bet you’re dying to be in my place.”

She whimpered, trying to close her legs, but Felix’s hands immediately pushed them apart again.

“Ah, ah,” he scolded playfully, his nails dragging along the inside of her thigh. “You don’t get to hide from me.”

Hyunjin’s pace picked up, his grip on Felix’s waist tightening as his voice came out in husky groans. “Look at you, baby… taking me so good“

Felix gasped, his fingers curling into the sheets as his whole body shuddered.

“Jinnie—fuck—”

She could barely breathe.

Hyunjin’s movements rocked Felix against her, every slight shift making his breath hitch against her skin, sending shocks straight to her core.

She wanted to move. She wanted to touch.

But she couldn’t do anything.

And Felix knew it.

His smirk deepened, his lips grazing her thigh as he watched her suffer.

“You gonna cry, baby?” His voice was mocking, but there was a deep hunger in his gaze. “You wanted this, didn’t you? To see what it’s like when you’re not the center of attention.”

Hyunjin let out a low chuckle, his fingers digging into Felix’s waist as he snapped his hips forward. “She looks so cute when she’s desperate, doesn’t she?”

Felix moaned, his nails scratching down the sheets as his body trembled from the impact.

And she—she was soaked, her body burning, her mind spiraling from the sight in front of her.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

“Please…” she whimpered, her voice shaking, pleading. “Please let me join…”

Felix tilted his head, pretending to think.

“Hmm…” His fingers ghosted up her thigh, but never touched her where she needed. “I don’t know, baby… you were pretty mean to us this week.”

Hyunjin groaned, snapping his hips deeper, making Felix’s whole body jolt. “Mmm, Lix… I think she’s learned her lesson.”

Felix’s eyes were dark, heated, as he looked at her.

“You think so?”

Hyunjin smirked. “Maybe we should still make her beg a little more…”

Felix chuckled, his breath hot against her skin.

“What do you think, sweetheart? You willing to beg for it?”

She was desperate. She’d never felt so frustrated, so needy—watching, feeling, hearing everything but not being allowed to have it.

“Please…” Her voice was breathless, her wrists straining against the binds as she tried to reach for Felix. “Please, I need it—”

Felix smirked, still breathless himself, his lips swollen from all the kissing, his golden skin flushed under Hyunjin’s hands.

“Mmm… What do you think, Jinnie?” His voice was mocking, but his body shivered under Hyunjin’s touch. “Should we give her something?”

Hyunjin, still thrusting deep into Felix, hummed thoughtfully before leaning forward and biting the back of his neck. “Mmm, I dunno…” he murmured against Felix’s sweaty skin. “You’re still so fucking tight, baby… I’m kinda distracted.”

Felix whimpered, his fingers clenching the sheets.

But then—Hyunjin’s eyes flickered to her.

“She is looking so pretty like this though,” he mused, his grip tightening on Felix’s hips as he snapped his own forward with more force. “Maybe we should let her feel something too… but only a little.”

Felix smirked again, shifting so his face was level with her aching, throbbing heat.

“Guess I could be nice to my poor, needy girl,” he murmured before lowering his mouth onto her.

She gasped, her whole body arching as Felix’s tongue slid through her wet folds, slow and deliberate, his breath hot against her.

“Ohh, look at you,” Hyunjin groaned, eyes flickering between them as he fucked into Felix harder. “Eating her out so sweetly while taking my cock so fucking good, Lix…”

Felix moaned against her, the vibrations sending shocks up her spine.

It was too much—the sight of Felix getting ruined, Hyunjin wrecking him, while she was finally getting something—finally getting a taste of the pleasure they’d been keeping from her.

But she was still tied up. Still helpless. Still at their mercy.

And Hyunjin was relentless.

“Fuck, baby, you’re gripping me so tight,” he growled, one hand sliding down to play with Felix’s sensitive nipples, tweaking and teasing, making Felix’s moans deepen against her core. “So fucking greedy—look at you—clenching around me like you wanna milk me dry.”

Felix whined, his body trembling, his tongue flicking harder against her just from the sheer pleasure of being fucked so good.

Her breath hitched. “Felix—fuck—”

She was so close, her body burning, her hands tugging uselessly at the restraints.

Hyunjin, noticing, chuckled breathlessly. “You wanna touch him that bad, sweetheart?” He leaned down, pressing kisses between Felix’s shoulder blades before whispering, “I think she’s been good enough to let her hands free… don’t you?”

Felix licked up her slit one last time before pulling away, his lips glistening, his voice husky.

“Mmm… I guess…”

He nodded, and Hyunjin untied her wrists.

Her hands flew forward immediately, grabbing onto Felix’s messy, sweat-damp hair, pulling him back into another kiss—his lips tasting like her, his moans spilling into her mouth as Hyunjin grabbed his hips and flipped him onto his back.

Felix gasped, his thighs spreading instinctively, his hair messy against the pillows as Hyunjin hovered over him again.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” Hyunjin murmured, guiding himself back in, making Felix whine and arch up into the sensation. “So fucking addictive…”

Felix bit his lip, his eyes hazy, his body trembling under the weight of Hyunjin’s thrusts.

“Mmm, baby,” Hyunjin purred, fingers trailing down to toy with Felix’s nipples again, rolling them between his fingers. “So sensitive, huh? You love this, don’t you?”

Felix whimpered, his hips lifting in response.

And she—she was finally free, her hands shaking as she moved closer, pressing kisses along Felix’s jaw, her hands wandering, her body melting into his.

Felix smirked, even as his body shuddered from Hyunjin’s relentless pace.

“Mmm… you’ve been patient, sweetheart…”

Hyunjin grinned, leaning down to kiss Felix’s throat, his voice husky. “Alright, baby… time to give our girl some attention too…”

Hyunjin pulled out of Felix

“Fuck,” Hyunjin murmured, eyes flicking down to where Felix was still trembling slightly from the stretch. “You got a pretty hole, baby… looks even better stuffed full.”

Felix only smirked, still catching his breath, before grabbing her and pulling her in for a filthy, desperate kiss. His tongue pushed past her lips, hungry, messy, fingers curling into her hair as if he needed to claim her all over again.

Hyunjin’s large hands gripped her waist from behind, his hot, heavy length pressing against her ass, grinding slow and deliberate.

“You know how long I’ve been thinking about this tight little pussy?” Hyunjin muttered against her ear, rubbing his tip against her, teasing, barely pressing in. “Had me up all fucking night, baby.”

She whimpered—aching, desperate—but before she could say anything, Felix was already positioning himself underneath her, guiding her over him, his tip nudging against her entrance.

“I still can’t believe this tight pussy can take both of us,” Hyunjin groaned, kissing down her neck, his teeth scraping over her pulse point as Felix slowly pushed inside her. “She was made for it, huh?”

She moaned, trembling, feeling Felix finally sink into her, stretching her in the best way.

“Mmm, fuck,” Felix groaned, hips twitching up, hands gripping her thighs, keeping her pinned against him. “Missed this pussy… she’s so fucking tight, Jinnie.”

Hyunjin chuckled, his lips ghosting over her shoulder, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along her back.

“You think she’s tight now?” he murmured, lining himself up, his tip pressing in beside Felix’s cock, nudging into her at the same time. “Wait ‘til I stretch her open.”

She cried out, hands clawing at Felix’s chest, her body shaking as the familiar overwhelming fullness took over.

“Fuuuuck, there she is,” Hyunjin groaned, slowly pushing deeper, watching the way she struggled to take them both, her body clenching around them. “You feel that, baby? This is what happens when you get greedy.”

Felix gasped beneath her, his head tilting back, his lips parting. “Shit, she’s squeezing me so good…”

Hyunjin gritted his teeth, grabbing her hips as he pushed in deeper, finally bottoming out. “She can take it—she’s our good little slut, aren’t you, baby?”

She moaned brokenly, her body overwhelmed, completely at their mercy.

“Mmm, fuck—look at her, Jinnie,” Felix panted, cupping her face, his thumbs brushing over her flushed cheeks. “She loves it. Always so fucking desperate to be stuffed full.”

Hyunjin smirked, pulling back only to slam back in, drawing a choked, wrecked moan from her throat.

“Oh, she’s getting off on this,” he murmured, setting a deep, steady pace, making sure she felt every inch of them both. “Look at you, baby—look how easy you take it. This pussy was made to be filled.”

Felix groaned, his hands moving to her hips, gripping her so tightly it was almost bruising. “You’re fucking perfect,” he whispered against her lips, his thrusts matching Hyunjin’s, both of them dragging against every sensitive spot inside her. “Gonna make you come so fucking hard, sweetheart.”

She was already shaking, barely holding on, her mind foggy, overwhelmed, every movement sending white-hot pleasure surging through her body.

“Come for us, baby,” Felix breathed against her lips. “Be a good girl and soak our cocks.”

And she did.

Her whole body seized up, pleasure crashing through her so violently she could barely breathe. She screamed, her walls clenching down around them both, pulling them even deeper

Hyunjin groaned, his hands tightening on her hips, but he didn’t stop—not yet.

“I’m not done with you yet, baby,” he murmured, slowing down just enough to slip out of her. “Felix—switch with me.”

Felix’s half-lidded eyes flickered open, and he grinned.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

She barely had time to catch her breath before Hyunjin was repositioning Felix over her instead, guiding him between her legs. The thick head of Felix’s cock nudged into her slick heat again, stretching her open just as Hyunjin pressed inside Felix from behind, the blunt tip of his cock pushing past the tight ring of muscle.

Felix’s breath hitched, his whole body tensing before a broken moan escaped his lips. His head fell against her shoulder, soft blonde strands brushing against her flushed skin as his lips parted against her throat.

“F-Fuck…” he gasped, his fingers gripping her wrists, pinning them over her head. His whole body trembled, caught between the overwhelming heat of her beneath him and the thick, unrelenting stretch of Hyunjin behind him.

“Mmm, just like that, baby,” Hyunjin groaned, his large hands splayed over Felix’s hips as he thrust forward, sinking in inch by inch.

Felix let out the prettiest whimper, his body shuddering as Hyunjin bottomed out. His nails dug into Y/N’s skin, his hips jerking involuntarily as pleasure wracked through him.

Hyunjin chuckled darkly, rolling his hips experimentally. “You love being filled up just as much as she does, huh?” He slid a hand up Felix’s back, pressing between his shoulder blades, arching him forward so Y/N could feel every delicious inch of him inside her. “Look at you—already falling apart, and I’ve barely even fucked you yet.”

Felix could only let out a broken whine, his body writhing between them.

“So fucking greedy,” Hyunjin murmured, grabbing a fistful of Felix’s hair and tilting his head back, forcing him to meet Y/N’s gaze. “She sees it too. Sees how fucking pretty you look getting stretched out on my cock. Doesn’t she, baby?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her eyes locked onto Felix’s flushed, desperate expression.

“Tell her,” Hyunjin demanded, pulling back just enough before slamming forward again, making Felix cry out. “Tell her how fucking good it feels to be stuffed full like this.”

“I-It feels… so good—fuck, Hyunjin—please don’t stop,” Felix sobbed, his thighs trembling as Hyunjin set a merciless pace, thrusting into him deep and slow, making sure Felix felt every inch.

“That’s my good boy,” Hyunjin praised, his grip tightening on Felix’s hips. “Taking it so well. Letting me stretch you open, fuck you like you were made for it.”

Felix whimpered, his body shaking, overwhelmed by the relentless pleasure.

Hyunjin smirked against his ear, his voice low and teasing. “I can feel you squeezing me, baby. You gonna come just from getting your pretty little ass fucked?”

Felix could barely hold himself up, his cock twitching inside his Girlfriend as he let out a desperate moan.

She watched them both, her heart racing, her body still tingling from her orgasm—and yet, she still wanted more.

Felix kissed her, deep and slow, moaning into her mouth as Hyunjin fucked into him, his thrusts pushing Felix even deeper into her.

“Ohhh, fuck—” Felix moaned, gripping her hips, rolling his hips against her, his thrusts syncing with Hyunjin’s.

Hyunjin smirked, reaching around to tweak one of Felix’s nipples, making him gasp and arch.

Hyunjin started kissing Felix’s shoulder, his pace increasing, his thrusts hitting deeper. “Your ass is fucking addictive, baby.”

She was panting, aching, watching them lose themselves in each other, and it was the hottest fucking thing she’d ever seen.

“Such a pretty boy, isn’t he, sweetheart?” Hyunjin murmured, looking at her, smirking when he saw her bitten lips, her dazed eyes, her raw need.

“Mmm,” Felix hummed, grinning lazily, kissing her soft and slow.

Y/N barely had time to catch her breath before pleasure slammed into her again, harder, deeper—so overwhelming that she could only moan, her body shuddering as another orgasm ripped through her. Her thighs trembled, her skin burning where Felix had gripped her, where Hyunjin’s rough hands had roamed. She could still feel the aftershocks pulsing between her legs when she let out a desperate whimper.

“Pull out,” she gasped, voice raw from moaning.

Felix stilled, blinking down at her with glazed-over eyes, his lips parted in heavy breaths. Even Hyunjin, usually so composed, faltered for a second, watching her with dark, hooded eyes.

“I need to see you getting off on Hyunjin’s dick,” she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

Felix shivered at her words, but before he could respond, Hyunjin’s hands slid up his thighs, squeezing firmly.

“Fuck, you’re such a little slut for us, aren’t you?” Hyunjin groaned, lips grazing Felix’s ear. “Getting all desperate just to watch me fuck him senseless?”

Felix let out a breathy moan as Hyunjin pulled him flush against his chest, his cock still buried deep inside him. Slowly, Hyunjin adjusted, gripping Felix’s hips and guiding him into position—his back pressed against Hyunjin’s solid chest, his legs spread wide over Hyunjin’s thighs.

“Be a gentleman, Felix,” Hyunjin murmured, amusement lacing his voice. “Do what the pretty girl with the pretty pussy wants.”

Felix whimpered as Hyunjin tilted his chin, forcing him to look at Y/N.

“Let her see how fucking wrecked you are on my cock, baby.”

Felix let out a sharp gasp at the change in angle, his head falling back against Hyunjin’s shoulder. He was completely at his mercy now.

“Shit, look at you,” Hyunjin growled, hands tightening on Felix’s waist as he lifted him. “So fucking tight—taking me so well, baby. You love this, don’t you? Love being my little fucktoy while she watches?”

Felix barely managed a nod before Hyunjin slammed him back down, making him cry out.

“Just like that,” Hyunjin praised, his voice thick with arousal. He held Felix’s thighs still, keeping him open, exposed, as he thrust up into him—deep, brutal, claiming.

Y/N could barely breathe as she watched—watched the way Felix’s body trembled, the way his cock bounced with every thrust, the way his pretty lips parted in a silent scream of pleasure.

Felix’s moans were high-pitched, desperate. “I’m— I’m gonna—”

Hyunjin smirked against his neck. “Yeah? You gonna come just from getting fucked like this?” He reached around, wrapping his fingers around Felix’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. “Be a good boy and make a mess for us, baby. Show her how pretty you look when I fuck you dumb.”

Felix let out a choked sob as his whole body tensed, his orgasm slamming into him so hard that he nearly collapsed. His thighs trembled violently, his breath shattering into desperate, broken moans. Hot ropes of white painted Y/N’s stomach as he shuddered in Hyunjin’s lap, overstimulated and wrecked beyond comprehension.

But Hyunjin wasn’t done with him.

Hyunjin groaned, his pace stuttering as he pushed in deep one last time, grinding into Felix, making sure he felt every thick inch buried inside him. His voice was low and wrecked, the pleasure overwhelming, his grip tightening on Felix’s hips as he spilled inside him, his body jerking with the force of it. “Taking every last drop like a good little slut, aren’t you?”

Felix could barely think, as Hyunjin held him there, grinding lazily, dragging out every last wave of pleasure. Felix whimpered, still twitching, still clenching around Hyunjin’s cock like he didn’t want to let go.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were the ragged breaths, the sticky heat of bodies trembling in the aftermath.

And then, slowly, Hyunjin pulled out.

Felix whimpered at the loss, his thighs weak, his whole body shaking. But Hyunjin wasn’t finished admiring his work. He grabbed Felix’s ass, spreading him open, his voice thick with satisfaction.

“Look at this, babe,” he murmured.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she took in the sight—Felix’s hole still stretched and fluttering, slick with Hyunjin’s release, a slow, milky trickle escaping. The heat in her stomach burned, watching the way Felix trembled under their gazes, his lips parted in exhausted bliss.

Before Felix could react, she leaned in—her tongue flicking out, catching the mess before it could spill.

Felix gasped sharply, his whole body jolting, overstimulated. His fingers twitched against Y/N’s skin, his breath hitching in disbelief.

Hyunjin chuckled darkly, dragging his fingers along Felix’s trembling thighs. “Shit, baby—watching her clean you up? You like that?” His voice was teasing, smug, fully aware of how wrecked Felix was beneath his touch.

Felix only let out a weak whimper, his mind too foggy to form words.

Hyunjin tilted his head, watching Y/N with dark amusement as she licked him clean. “Taste me, baby,” he murmured, his fingers stroking up her spine. “Tell me how good my cum tastes on your tongue.”

Y/N pulled back slightly, lips glistening, her expression slow and sultry as she met his gaze. She let her tongue flick over her lips, savoring the warmth, the musk, the saltiness that lingered.

And then, she smirked.

“So good.”

(it‘s me… the author… see what i did there ? LIFE IS SO GOOD LA LA LA LA LA)

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

for my one and only: @hwangjoanna

[ponderingmoonlight]

Kento bringing his baby daughter to work so she can meet the first years! And Gojo… (who she ends up loving making Kento jealous 😭)

“Are you sure this sits right with you love? I don’t want you to do something because you’re feeling uncomfortable.”

Oh so gently, your husband grabs you by your waist and pulls you closer.

“You didn’t enjoy a day with your friends since I can remember. You deserve to have a little time for yourself.”

“But not if that means you are forced to take our daughter to work-“

“Forced? Apart from you, she’s what I’m most proud of. Please don’t worry, darling. This is nothing but a short day at Jujutsu High”, he soothes you while placing a small kiss on your forehead.

To be honest, there are a lot of things Kento Nanami would rather do than taking his baby girl to meet those jerks at school. But if it means you’ll have a day off to go shopping and enjoy yourself, he’d do everything he can.

“I’ll text you when I’m back. Have a nice trip and don’t hesitate to buy something.”

Nanami arrives at Jujutsu High with his baby daughter nestled securely against his chest in a soft carrier with that unsettling feeling rising in his chest.

This day will be exhausting.  

The minute he sets one foot inside the classroom, everything goes silent. In fact, it takes the first years a couple of seconds to actually register that this is him, that this is the usually so cool and composed Kento Nanami standing in front of him – with a baby nestled against his chest.

“She’s so tiny!” Nobara gasps, immediately rushing over, her hands reaching out before she hesitates.

“Wait, can I hold her? Will she break?”

Nanami adjusts the straps of the carrier, his lips pressing into a flat line.

“She’s not made of glass, but no, you can’t her yet.”

Megumi, ever the observant one, tilts his head.

“She looks just like you,” he comments, noting the serious set of the baby’s expression.

Even at such a young age, she seems to have inherited Nanami’s unimpressed stare.

Yuji, on the other hand, is all but vibrating with excitement.

“She’s adorable! Look at her little cheeks!”

He grins and waves like a maniac.

“Hi, baby Nanamim!”

Your baby, snug against her father’s chest, blinks up at them, her tiny fingers clenching into the fabric of his shirt. Then, her gaze shifts, and her entire demeanor changes.

“Ah,” Gojo comments, dramatically placing a hand over his heart while entering the room.

“A little lady with refined taste. She already knows true greatness when she sees it.”

Nanami sighs as his daughter reaches her chubby arms out toward Gojo, her usual serious face replaced with sheer delight. She babbles excitedly, tiny legs kicking against the carrier as if demanding to be picked up.

Betrayal. Utter betrayal is everything Nanami feels.

When you told him about the way his daughter looked at Gojo when you visited a few days earlier, he thought that you were joking. After all, there’s no way his daughter would actually fall for that jerk, right?

Gojo doesn’t hesitate, stepping forward with a broad grin.

“Oh? Do you want Uncle Gojo to hold you?”

He barely waits for permission before scooping her up, spinning her lightly in the air, making her giggle - a sound so rare that everyone stares in awe.

Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose.

“This is a mistake.”

“Correction: This is destiny,” Gojo counters, holding her up as if she’s the Lion King cub.

“She’s chosen me.”

“She’s a baby,” Nanami replies dryly, watching as his daughter happily grabs at Gojo’s sunglasses, yanking them down to reveal his eyes. She coos, utterly enchanted.

Gojo laughs, winking.

“Guess I have a new favorite person. Sorry, Nanami.”

Nanami crosses his arms, watching his daughter adore Gojo with increasing jealousy.

“You’ll be returning her now.”

“Aw, but she loves me,” Gojo whines, spinning her again just to hear her delighted giggle.

“She sees the truth! That I am-”

“Gojo, if you finish that sentence, I will use my overtime hours just to deal with you.”

Gojo pouts but hands her back, though not before whispering,

“We’ll hang out again soon, princess. Hey, maybe your wife likes me that much as well-”

“Shut. Up.”

Nanami glares as his daughter makes grabby hands at Gojo even in his arms.

Utter. Betrayal.

[mintyys-blog]

CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR— sinister! mark grayson x reader

WARNINGS: masterbating, stalking, somnophilia, DUBCON, smut.

The soft glow of your phone illuminated your face as you scrolled aimlessly through the pages of fanfiction. You were lost in the sea of words—some hot, some awkward, and others that made you cringe outright. Your finger moved instinctively, flicking through stories, some leaving you breathless, others making you roll your eyes. But there was one thing that kept your attention.

You bit your lip, your fingers teasing at the screen as your mind wandered to thoughts of him. Mark. The quiet, charming comic nerd from high school, the guy you secretly crushed on but never dared to act on. After all, he was with Amber, your friend. He had no idea how you felt, and you were content with just watching him from afar. But the characters in the stories… the way they held power, their confidence, their dark seduction—it stirred something inside of you. The heat between your legs slowly built, your body aching for release.

You reached for your vibrator, going under the covers and continuing to scroll through the story.

You imagined yourself in their shoes, feeling the passion described in every word, imagining how it would feel to be taken by someone as ruthless and forceful as the characters in the stories. Your breath hitched, and your heart pounded as the words on the screen seemed to speak directly to you. It almost felt like the man in the stories was whispering in your ear now.

A soft moan escaped your lips, and you couldn’t help yourself as you breathed his name—Mark. Mark. It was almost a prayer, a wish you never thought you’d voice aloud. He was so close, yet so far, always with Amber, the perfect image of the sweet, comic-loving guy who was too kind for someone like you. But tonight, in the privacy of your room, you imagined taking him for yourself. What would it feel like if he wanted you instead of her?

Amber once told you how sex with Mark was, briefly, she described how much of a sweet heart he is, how he would blush. He was soft, gentle, considerate. It was different from the story you were currently reading. Still, trapped in fantasy you imagined Mark choose you, that he threw your legs on his shoulders, and thrusted into you at a pace that left you breathless. The thought brought you to an orgasm, moaning Marks name once more.

You sighed in contentment, your hands trembling as you placed the toy in the drawer. That would be a problem for later. For now, sleep was calling to you, urging you to shut your eyes and drift into blissful oblivion. “I wish Mark was with me instead..” you felt bad for saying out, but it was how you truly felt. Mark seemed so happy with Amber, so eager to impress her. Only if he saw you instead, looked past Amber to see you.

But you didn’t know you weren’t alone.

Outside, just beyond the window, Mark lingered in the darkness. Only he was dressed in a yellow and black suit. His eyes glinted as he watched you, his smirk growing darker with every sound that escaped your lips. Every moan. Every whisper of his name. He had heard it all, seen it all, and now, his twisted mind was buzzing with anticipation.

You had no idea that an alternate version of your secret crush was standing right outside, completely aware of the desires you had hidden so deeply. And as you drifted off to sleep, he stayed, a shadow in the night, waiting for the perfect moment to make his presence known.

His smile widened. “You think I didn’t hear you, don’t you?” he whispered to himself, voice dark and dangerous. “You should’ve been more careful about what you wish for.”

The night stretched on in eerie silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of wind outside. Mark remained perfectly still, hidden in the shadows. His gaze never wavered from your window, and when he saw you finally fall asleep, a twisted satisfaction gripped him.

Slowly, as if testing the very air around him, he drifted toward the house. His feet never touched the ground. He was a shadow, unseen, unnoticed. The faintest brush of his fingers against the cold glass, and then he was inside—silent, like a predator stalking its prey.

His eyes scanned your room, dark and empty save for the soft hum of the night around you. Every detail was burned into his mind—the way your sheets lay slightly tangled, the soft, muted glow of the lamp still by your bed, the scent of your skin hanging in the air. He inspected the space as if memorizing it, studying everything you’d left behind. A drawer slightly open, your discarded clothes from earlier, the faintest trace of your perfume. It was all perfect.

Then, his gaze shifted toward you.

You were lying there, completely unaware of his presence, the gentle rise and fall of your chest the only sign of life. His body hovered just above you, inches from your sleeping form. His breathing slowed, his eyes darkening as he looked down at you. He could practically taste the heat you had left behind, the desperation in the air.

His hand moved without hesitation. He let it trail down your cheek, so soft, so deliberate. His fingers brushed over your skin, making sure he was close enough for you to feel the chill of his presence, even in your sleep.

You shifted slightly in your slumber, a quiet sigh escaping your lips, but you didn’t wake. Mark smiled, his breath hot against your skin, and he lingered for a moment, letting the silence thicken.

His voice, a mere whisper, grazed your ear, “You have no idea how badly I want you.” His words were dark, intoxicating, like poison slipping through your subconscious. “But, don’t worry… I’ll make sure you don’t forget me.”

The smile that played on his lips was twisted, filled with dark amusement. Slowly, he drew his hand back, lingering in the shadows once more, watching you—waiting, patient.

Mark knew this was just the beginning. He wasn’t finished with you. Not by a long shot.

Mark’s gaze darkened as he hovered over you, every detail of your exposed form burned into his mind. The room was cool, and as the blanket fell away from your body, it revealed you to him completely—vulnerable, unaware, and utterly at his mercy. His eyes traced every curve, every delicate shift of your body as you unknowingly reacted to the cold, your soft shivers making something dark stir in him.

He scoffed at the thought, almost amused. “To think,” he murmured to himself, voice laced with a twisted edge, “that you think Mark Grayson is the one for you.” He shook his head softly, a low chuckle escaping his lips. “How wrong you are.”

His figure moved silently toward you, like a shadow blending with the darkness, closing the distance between you and him. With a calculated motion, he slid his hand over your hair, pushing it gently aside, his fingers grazing the soft skin of your neck. You shifted again, but remained asleep, your breathing steady and unaware of the presence looming so close.

Mark smiled darkly, leaning closer, his body hovering over yours. He could feel the heat radiating from you, the soft rise and fall of your chest. His hand trailed down the line of your collarbone, fingers ghosting over your skin, barely touching, but enough to make you stir again. He watched every reaction, every small shift of your body.

“You wish for Mark Grayson, don’t you?” he whispered into the silence, his voice low, almost teasing. “But not the one you think of… No, you’re going to have me.”

His hand moved lower, pressing gently against your skin, feeling your pulse quicken ever so slightly under his touch. His smirk deepened as he leaned even closer, watching the slight tremor of your body as he traced the curve of your collarbone. He could practically taste your desire, even though you didn’t know the true source of it.

“I’ll grant your wish,” he murmured, the words heavy with dark intent, “but it’s not the Mark Grayson you’ve been dreaming of. No… it’s me.”

For a moment, he stayed there, watching you as your body shivered again from the cool air, and yet, he felt the warmth in the room growing around him. He wasn’t going anywhere. This was only the beginning. The twisted promise was clear: Mark Grayson, as you thought him to be, was nothing compared to the one who was now standing over you.

He pulls off the remainder of your clothes which was just an oversized T Shirt. He traced his fingers over your nipples, watching them harden with the help of the cool air. He moved your thighs to be between them, in an instant he was naked. His suit discarded in a neat pile on the floor. The tip of his cock rested on the outside of your folds. He watched as he spread them apart slowly with his fingers, “so wet..” he whispered. He slowly eased his cock in, stopping when you stirred again. He groaned lowly, “you’re tight,” he holds your thighs to his waist, thrusting slowly, watching as whimpers and moans escaped from your mouth.

He smirked, “dirty girl,” as he continued he grew more confident, thrusting faster and with more power than before. Quite grunts and groans escaped his lips, and he almost panicked when he saw your eyes slowly open. Still sleepy, you whisper his name, “Mark?” You blink away the sleep, moaning as he speeds up, “wait..!” You hit his chest, pushing against him, but it was useless, your nails raked down his forearms. “Oh! That feels.. good” you throw your head back, over taken by pleasure and lust.

His fingers came to play with your clit, rubbing in circles, the bed creaking with every thrust. You tried to warn him that you were close, but any coherent thought left you as you came with a cry. Still, he refused to stop, putting one of your legs on his shoulder, allowing him to go deeper with the new angle. “Mark!” You whimpered, recovering from the aftershocks of your previous orgasm.

He covered your mouth, “shh, shh, just enjoy it.” And enjoy it you did. You orgasmed more times in that night then you ever have before, over stimulated you passed out.

Mark sucked on your neck, “good girl,” he came with a grunt, slowly pulling out to watch his seed spill from between your legs on your sheets.

He kisses your lips one last time, “you’re mine now,” he whispered. He covered your body back with the blanket, changing into his suit in a flash, he crossed his arms. Watching as your chest rose and fell. He then vanished within a second. Leaving a gust of wind in his wake.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, but it was no comfort to you. Your body felt heavy, exhausted as though you hadn’t slept at all. You blinked, disoriented, and slowly pushed yourself up from the bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as you reluctantly removed the blanket. There was a dull ache in your muscles, a tightness you couldn’t quite place. But your mind was elsewhere.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the dream. It was vivid, almost too vivid to just be a product of your imagination. Mark. Mark Grayson. The way he had felt—close, but not quite there. His presence had been so real, so commanding. You shivered involuntarily, the memory of his touch, his voice whispering in your ear, sending a strange thrill down your spine. It had been a dream… right?

Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Your body hummed with a strange energy as you padded across the room, a little unsteady on your feet as you headed toward the bathroom. You had to shake off the lingering sensation, the way his words echoed in your mind.

The shower would help, you thought, as you turned the water on and waited for it to heat up. The warm steam slowly filled the bathroom, a comforting sensation against the coldness of your skin. You stood there, breathing in the mist, trying to clear your head. But it felt like the room was still charged, almost as though you were still surrounded by the intensity of the dream.

As the water reached the right temperature, you stepped forward, ready to wash away the remnants of the night. But when you caught sight of yourself in the mirror, your breath hitched. You froze, a cold shiver running down your spine, and your heart skipped a beat.

A dark, unmistakable mark marred your neck—a nasty hickey, dark and fresh, as if someone had just left it there. Your hand flew to the spot, fingers trembling as you touched it, not understanding how it was possible. You hadn’t been with anyone, not last night, not in weeks. You hadn’t even seen Mark recently, let alone… done that.

Your mind raced. How did it get there? You pulled away from the mirror, eyes wide with disbelief. The reflection staring back at you seemed foreign, as though the person in the glass wasn’t the one who had gone to sleep the night before.

Was it… was last night really a dream? You couldn’t wrap your mind around it. The sensations, the feelings, the way it all felt so real. But this mark—it had to be proof that it wasn’t just your imagination.

Swallowing hard, you turned away from the mirror, your heart pounding in your chest as your thoughts spiraled. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t possible. That there was no way Mark had been in your room. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe—just maybe—last night had been something far darker than just a dream.

You took a deep breath and shook your head, forcing yourself to push the thoughts away. It had to be your imagination, just a lingering remnant of the dream messing with your head. The hickey—maybe you had scratched yourself in your sleep, or maybe it was some weird bruise you hadn’t noticed before. Either way, dwelling on it wouldn’t do you any good.

You stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over your body, hoping it would wash away both the mark and the unsettling thoughts that came with it. Right now, you had to focus on getting ready for class.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you thought about Mark. Well, the Mark—the one you’d crushed on since high school. Maybe you’d see him today, if he decided to actually show up for class. He had a habit of skipping, but on the days he was there, you always found yourself paying just a little more attention.

Once you finished showering and got dressed, you grabbed your bag and left your dorm, stepping out into the crisp morning air. The campus was already buzzing with students, some dragging their feet toward their early classes, others chatting in small groups.

As you rounded the corner, you nearly walked straight into someone. “Oh—sorry!” you said quickly, only to realize who it was.

Amber.

“Hey, stranger,” Amber greeted with a grin, adjusting the strap of her bag. “You look like you barely slept. Late-night study session or just too much scrolling?”

You let out a small laugh, deciding not to mention the real reason for your exhaustion. “Yeah, something like that,” you said vaguely.

Amber linked arms with you as you both started walking toward class. “So, did you do the reading for today, or are we both winging it again?”

“Definitely winging it,” you admitted with a smirk.

The two of you chatted as you walked, catching up on the little things—class, assignments, campus gossip. It was easy to fall into conversation with Amber; she was good at making things feel normal. And for now, that’s what you needed.

Normal. Even if, deep down, something still didn’t feel quite right.

Amber nudged you playfully, a knowing grin spreading across her face. “So, who’s the lucky guy? Or girl? I won’t judge.”

You froze mid-step. “Uh… what?”

Amber rolled her eyes. “Come on! Don’t play dumb. I can see that hickey behind all that foundation.”

Your stomach dropped. Your hand instinctively flew to your neck, as if you could somehow shield it from her gaze. Heat rushed to your face, and suddenly, the morning air didn’t feel so cool anymore.

“I—” You scrambled for an excuse, anything to explain it away. But nothing came. You hadn’t been with anyone. You knew you hadn’t. And yet… the evidence was right there, plain as day, enough for Amber to catch onto it even after you tried covering it up.

Amber raised a brow at your silence. “Wait… you don’t even know how you got it, do you?”

You let out a forced laugh. “No, I—I must’ve just… I don’t know, maybe I bumped into something?” It was weak, and you knew it.

Amber gave you a look. “Bumped into something? Babe, that’s not how hickeys work.”

You swallowed hard. “I was half-asleep last night. Maybe I, like… scratched myself in my sleep or something.”

Amber snorted. “Uh-huh. Sure. Unless you suddenly grew a mouth on your own neck, that’s a hickey—and a pretty nasty one at that.” She leaned in, smirking. “So spill. Who’s been sneaking into your bed at night?”

If only she knew.

You forced a smile, shrugging like it was no big deal. “Just a weird dream, that’s all. No mystery lover here.”

Amber eyed you for a second, like she didn’t quite believe you, but eventually, she let it go with a dramatic sigh. “Fine, keep your secrets. But if I see another one pop up, I’m demanding names.”

You laughed, though it was more to hide your nerves than anything else.

But as you walked beside her, pretending everything was fine, a single thought gnawed at the back of your mind. Was last night really just a dream? Something told her it was too real to be fake.

The moment you and Amber reached the lecture hall, you spotted him.

Mark stood near the entrance, looking as effortlessly casual as ever—hoodie slightly wrinkled, dark curls an unkempt mess, but with that same easygoing charm that had drawn you in since high school.

Amber lit up at the sight of him, grinning as she closed the distance between them. “Hey, handsome,” she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “You finally going to class today, or are we just lucky?”

Mark chuckled, his hands resting loosely on her waist. “Yeah, yeah. Figured I should actually show up before you start yelling at me about my grades.”

His voice was warm, affectionate. His eyes—soft, full of something real—were locked onto Amber. Completely focused on her.

You stood beside them, feeling out of place, the moment stretching uncomfortably long.

Then, for the briefest second, his gaze flicked toward you. A glance. Barely an acknowledgment. No warmth, no interest—just a fleeting recognition that you were there.

Your stomach twisted, a quiet ache settling in your chest.

You had known, of course. You had always known where his heart lay. But seeing it so plainly, so undeniably clear in his eyes, made it so much harder to pretend it didn’t hurt.

Clearing your throat, you stepped back. “Uh—yeah, I’ll just, um… head inside.”

Amber barely noticed, still caught up in her playful banter with Mark. “Oh, yeah, we’ll catch up in a second!” she said, laughing.

Mark didn’t even look your way again.

You forced a small smile, turning toward the door, trying to ignore the way your chest felt tight.

But just as you stepped inside, a strange sensation crawled up your spine.

Like eyes on you.

Not Mark—the one standing outside, completely wrapped up in Amber. No, this was different. More intense. Hungrier.

You swallowed hard, shaking the feeling away. It was nothing. Just your imagination. At least… that’s what you told yourself.

Sliding into a seat near the back of the lecture hall, you exhaled quietly, relieved to be away from the scene outside. You popped in one earbud, scrolling through your phone before settling on a song that matched your mood. Something low, something to drown out the noise in your head.

Class wouldn’t start for another ten minutes.

Leaning back in your chair, you glanced at the clock before shifting your gaze out the window. The campus looked peaceful from up here. Birds flitted between the trees, the occasional student walked across the courtyard, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to relax.

Then— A flash of black and yellow. You jumped, your body tensing as your eyes snapped back to the window. What the hell was that?

You blinked, scanning the area again, searching for whatever it was. But there was nothing. Just the trees swaying in the wind, students moving about their day, completely unaware. Your pulse quickened. You knew you had seen something. It had been quick—just a flicker in the corner of your eye—but it was there.

A trick of the light? Maybe. But deep down, something inside you whispered otherwise. Shaking your head, you turned back to your phone, trying to brush it off. You were probably just tired. That’s all... Right?

Back in your dorm, you shut the door behind you, locking it instinctively. The silence of your room felt heavier than usual, wrapping around you like a thick fog.

You set your bag down on the chair and stood in the center of the room, scanning your surroundings. Everything looked normal—your bed slightly messy from when you rushed out this morning, your desk cluttered with books and papers, the faint scent of your shampoo lingering in the air.

But something was off.

You bit your lip, trying to piece together the fragments of last night.

The dream. It had felt so real. Mark had been here. He had touched you, whispered to you, been inside you.

Your breath hitched as you reached up, fingers brushing over the fading hickey on your neck. The proof.

You froze.

“Oh my god.”

You shot up from your chair, your heartbeat slamming against your ribs.

You had sex with Mark Grayson.

The realization crashed into you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless.

The hickey—there was no other explanation. You hadn’t been with anyone else. It had to be him.

But… how?

You wracked your brain, trying to remember every detail. The dream—it had been intense, overwhelming, too vivid to just be a product of your imagination.

Your skin prickled as you replayed it in your head.

The way he touched you. The way he looked at you.

But then— You frowned. Something wasn’t right.

The Mark in your dream… he hadn’t felt like him. Not the Mark you knew. Not the Mark who barely acknowledged you in class, the Mark who only had eyes for Amber.

This Mark had been different. Darker. Hungrier. He was a lot more rough and demanding than what Amber described.

Your hands were shaking as you grabbed your phone, quickly scrolling through your contacts until you found Amber’s name. You hesitated for only a second before pressing the call button.

It barely rang twice before she answered.

“Yello?” Amber’s voice was light, casual, completely oblivious to the panic clawing at your chest.

You swallowed hard. “Amber, it’s me, Y/N. Weird question, but… uh, where was Mark last night?”

There was a pause on the other end. “…Uh, he was with me last night?” she answered slowly, like she wasn’t sure why you were asking. Your breath caught. “Are you sure? Like, the whole night?”

Amber scoffed. “Yes? We were hanging out at my place, and he fell asleep there. Why?”

You froze, as it confirmed your initial thoughts. Mark had been with Amber. The whole night. Then— Who the hell had been in your room?

“Y/N? What’s going on?” Amber asked, her voice laced with confusion. “You’re kinda freaking me out right now.”

You forced a nervous laugh, gripping your phone so tightly your knuckles turned white. “Uh—no reason! Sorry, I—I just remembered I have to be somewhere. Talk later, okay?”

Before she could press further, you ended the call. The silence that followed was deafening. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you slowly lowered the phone from your ear.

If Mark had been with Amber all night… Then the person in your room, the one who touched you, who whispered in your ear, who left that hickey on your neck… It wasn’t him. Your stomach twisted violently. Something was very wrong.

You sat on the edge of your bed, gripping your phone tightly, your mind racing.

If Mark had been with Amber all night, then who—what—had been in your room? Your fingers brushed over the fading hickey on your neck.

It had felt so real. The way he touched you. The way he whispered to you. The way he felt.

You knew Mark. You had crushed on him for years. You had memorized every little detail about him—his voice, his scent, the way he moved. And last night… that person had looked exactly like him.

But now, you weren’t so sure. You tried to think rationally. Maybe you were just exhausted. Maybe your mind was playing tricks on you. Maybe this was some elaborate prank—though you had no idea how anyone could pull off something this insane.

But deep down, something told you this wasn’t a joke. This was real. And if that wasn’t Mark… Then who was it? And why did he look just like him?

It started with glimpses.

At first, you thought it was paranoia. The weight of the hickey on your skin, the unanswered questions, the impossibility of what had happened—it all had to be messing with your head.

But then you started seeing him. At the corner of your vision, in the blurred edges of your periphery. In reflections—your bedroom mirror, the glass of a passing window, the darkened screen of your phone.

In crowds, where he stood just a little too still, his gaze locked onto you while everyone else moved around him like he wasn’t even there.

Mark. But not Mark. Because something about him was off.

His eyes lingered too long. His smile was just a little too sharp, like he knew something you didn’t.

And then—he started invading your life.

It was the small things at first. A flower left on your windowsill, its petals blackened at the edges. A note tucked into your books, written in handwriting eerily identical to Mark’s—Miss me?

A whisper in your ear when no one was around.

“You look so beautiful when you sleep.”

You had spun around, heart hammering, but the room had been empty.

No one else noticed.

Not Amber. Not your classmates. Not even the real Mark, who remained blissfully unaware, still wrapped up in his perfect little world with Amber.

You tried to tell yourself you were imagining it. That stress and exhaustion were getting to you. But deep down, you knew the truth. He was real. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

Then, one night—he came back.

You woke with a start, the air in your room heavy, suffocating. You weren’t sure what had pulled you from sleep, but the second you turned your head, you felt it.

Someone was there. A figure sat perched on the edge of your bed, watching you with amused eyes.

Your breath caught in your throat. Mark. But not Mark. His smirk was wider than it should be, his head tilting slightly as he admired the look of fear on your face. His eyes, dark and gleaming, held something almost hungry.

“You wanted Mark Grayson, didn’t you?” he murmured, his voice smooth, teasing, wrong.

He leaned closer, until his lips were inches from yours.

“Well…” His fingers trailed up your arm, sending a shiver down your spine. “Now you have me.”

[xylatox]

Off The Ice || sjy

And Rain has released another fic under the crossing the line series!! So excited for this one.

I need to stop not reading warnings because I genuinely excite myself too much, the way I giggled when I realized they were friend with benefits, I love it.

Just heat, just want, just the press of his body against yours as he backed you up against the bathroom sink. — HELLO???????? also if I was her I'd probs just die and convince myself I tested positive for covid instead.

Also I love that Hee is mentioned with his girlfriend here after referencing his fic (I'm assuming) I just think that's super cute.

I also can't imagine how scary this actually is, like, this kind of news will genuinely give someone an attack.

The screen is grainy, shifting black and white, impossible to make sense of at first. Then she moves the wand, adjusting the angle, and— Your breath catches. A tiny flicker. Your whole body freezes. “That’s the heartbeat,” the doctor says softly. “Would you like to hear it?” — I would probs start sobbing like do not do this to me

A rapid, steady rhythm, impossibly fast but undeniably there. Your vision blurs, and it takes you a second to realize you’re crying. — oh my god :(((

Yuna is also such a sweetheart ugh :((

“No.” He said simply, “but I will.” Your head shot up in surprise, your eyes wide and glassy with tears threatening to spill. — this entire scene is so fucking sweet because the considerations from her?? jake being honest that he wants to run away but is determined to stay but also stay in hockey? oh my god.

The small things he does makes my heart clench what the fuck.

I love that cries actually, it just shows that emotional side ahh :(

He melts into you, his hand reaching up to cup your jaw, tilting your face just right as he deepens the kiss. His lips are warm, familiar, but there’s something new in the way he kisses you now, something softer, something that lingers. And god, you need him. Every built-up thought, every moment of tension from the last few weeks, crashes into you all at once. You press closer, hands fisting into his hoodie, pulling him in.— I will go insane Rain oh my god I'm screaming

“It’s not really up to you,” Yunjin interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ve already decided. We’re throwing one.” Jake huffs a small laugh beside you, shaking his head. “You guys are ridiculous.”— I love supportive friends this is adorable

The overthinking is breaking my heart oh my god :(((

“Then tell me what’s going on,” he says, stepping closer. “Tell me why you suddenly don’t want me around. Why are you acting like I’m already failing at something I haven’t even gotten the chance to do yet.” — no, I'm cry.

“Because I don’t know if you can do it, Jake.” Silence.— nooooo

Also I love how mature Jake is???? it's genuinely so attractive?? like obvi he's upset he's being pushed away, but he respects that you want space AND says you're talking about it when he comes back?? what a man.

And then, Sunghoon goes down. Your breath stutters as you watch him crash against the ice, his body crumpling on impact. He tries to get up, his gloved hands pressing against the rink, but something is wrong. His leg. You can tell immediately. The way he winces, the way his teammates circle him in concern, the way the trainer rushes onto the ice. The cameras cut in close. His face is tight with pain. — oh my god no.

“Baby,” he says, his voice low but steady, cutting through the tension that’s been hanging between you for days. “I used to think hockey was the world, that I lived for it, breathed for it. that it was my life. That hockey was the reason I woke up in the morning. I love hockey, hockey will always be my passion and it will always be what I want to do, and who i want to be. But it’s not my life. you are. you two are my life, you and this baby and I wouldn't want it any other way.” — I'm going to pass the fuck out

“I love you,” you whisper. And this time, it’s not a question. It’s not something you’re trying to convince yourself of. It’s just the truth. He smiles, the familiar glint of something unbreakable in his eyes. “I love you, too.” In that moment, you realize that everything’s been leading to this, a moment of vulnerability, of surrender, of knowing that no matter what comes next, you’ve got each other. And maybe that’s all you really need.— oh my god, I love romance

Your heart swells in your chest, the weight of his promise settling deep inside you. And in that moment, you know it’s all going to be okay.— oh my god....

This was so sweet Rain ah😭 my heart is in shambles this was so amazing. It was genuinely the cutest pregnancy fic ever, thank you for not stressing them out too much.

OFF THE ICE s.jy

synopsis ⤑ You were having fun. That’s all. You were young, in college, readying yourself for true adulthood. You didn’t know adulthood would come so quick, in the form of a baby you didn’t plan for. With a man who was more in love with Hockey than anything else. This wasn’t supposed to happen, and it definitely wasn’t supposed to happen with him.

pairings ⤑ hockey player!Jake x pregnant!reader word count ⤑ 18k

warnings ⤑ pregnancy trope, smut, friends with benefits, angst , depictions of hockey injuries , probably more

crossing the line series.

read heeseung's story here.

Two pink lines. 

They stare back at you, unwavering. Bold. Permanent. 

Your breath catches in your throat. A dull roaring fills your ears, like the moment before a crash, when you see the impact coming but there’s nothing you can do to stop it. You blink once, twice, waiting for the second line to disappear, for reality to snap back into place. It doesn’t. It stays. Pregnant. A hollow, sinking feeling settles in your stomach. No. No, no, no. This can’t be real. Your fingers tighten around the plastic stick, your knuckles aching from the grip. You were careful. You were always careful. Birth control, condoms, every precaution. You did everything right. So how the hell did this happen? 

You shake your head, your breathing ragged. Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe the test is faulty. They mess up sometimes, right? You should take another one. Five more. Ten. You should drive to the store right now and buy every test on the shelf, because this? This can’t be happening. Your legs feel unsteady beneath you as you sink onto the closed toilet lid, one hand gripping the edge of the sink to ground yourself. 

Jake. His name crashes through your thoughts, and a fresh wave of nausea rises up in your throat. Oh my god. There’s only one person it could be. Jake. Your friend. Your friend with benefits. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your palms against them. Your mind flickers through the memories—late nights tangled in sheets, whispered jokes between kisses, the unspoken agreement that this wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It was fun. Easy. No strings attached. Except now, there are strings. Big, life-altering, impossible-to-ignore strings. 

Your stomach lurches. You press a hand to it instinctively, but it’s still just you. Just your body, your life—except it’s not just yours anymore, is it? A shuddering breath leaves you, and suddenly, you feel so, so small. What are you supposed to do? You’re in your second year of college. You have plans, dreams, a future that doesn’t include cribs and lullabies and tiny fingers clutching at yours. You can’t be a mother. Not now. Maybe not ever. And Jake? 

Jake has hockey. The game is his whole world—the early-morning practices, the late-night workouts, the way his eyes light up when he steps onto the ice. He has a career to chase, a future that doesn’t include this. 

This will ruin everything. Tears burn at the edges of your vision, but you blink them away. You can’t cry. Not yet. Not until you’re sure, not until you go to the doctor and they tell you this is all some cruel mistake. Because if it’s not… You swallow hard, gripping the test so tightly it feels like it might snap in half. You can’t tell him. Not yet. Maybe not ever. If you don’t say it out loud, if you don’t give it weight, maybe it won’t be real. Maybe you can find a way to make this all go away. But deep down, beneath the panic, beneath the sheer, suffocating terror— You already know. This is real. And there’s no undoing it. 

Your breath shudders as you stare at the test, the past clawing its way back to you. You’re racking your brain trying to find when the two of you went wrong, when you stopped being careful. You know exactly how. The memory slams into you, sharp and unforgiving—that night. 

Two months ago. 

The house was packed. Bodies pressed together, the air thick with heat and sweat and the sharp bite of liquor. Music pounded through the speakers, rattling the walls, the bass thrumming through your chest. The whole hockey team was celebrating their win, and Jake was at the center of it all, grinning like he owned the night. Heeseung had won it all, again. Except he was too busy pulling his girlfriend into a random room to really celebrate much. 

You weren’t even supposed to be here—you had a paper due, an exam creeping up—but when Jake texted “Where are you? We won. Get your ass over here,” you rolled your eyes, threw on something half-decent, and showed up anyway. And now you were here. Back pressed against a bathroom door, your fingers tangled in Jake’s hoodie, his mouth hot against yours. A breathless laugh escaped you between kisses, the alcohol buzzing pleasantly in your veins. “I just came to say congrats.” 

Jake grinned against your lips. “This is how you say congrats?” You smirked. “I was gonna buy you a beer, but—” 

His hands slid down your sides, rough and familiar, pulling you flush against him. “This is better.” And god, it was. You had always liked this about Jake—how easy it was, how uncomplicated. No messy feelings, no awkward expectations. Just heat, just want, just the press of his body against yours as he backed you up against the bathroom sink. Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging it up, your mouths moving together in that frantic, greedy way they always did when neither of you could be bothered to make it back to one of your apartments. 

“Quickie?” you breathed against his lips, teasing. Jake groaned, already fumbling with your jeans. “Fuck, yeah.” It was fast. Dizzying. His hands were everywhere, pushing, pulling, unzipping. Your back hit the counter, your fingers in his hair, his mouth tracing fire along your throat. Your skin was hot, your pulse erratic, and nothing else mattered—not the party raging outside the door, not the alcohol humming through your system, not the fact that you weren’t exactly thinking. 

It wasn’t until he was pressed against you, skin to skin, that something in the back of your mind lurched. You blinked up at him, breathless. “Wait—do you have a—” 

Jake cursed under his breath. “Shit. No. I didn’t—” He moved like he was about to pull back, but god, you wanted him. The ache was unbearable, your body screaming at you to just— “It’s fine,” you whispered. You’re on the pill. It’s just one time. Jake hesitated, his hands gripping your waist like he was giving himself a second to think, but then your mouth was on his again, and whatever sliver of self-restraint he had vanished. 

With one delicious roll of his hips against yours he was a goner. “Holy- f-fuck.” Jake hissed, his mouth agape and eyes heavy lidded as he looked down at where the two of you were perfectly intertwined. “Fuck. Fuck.” 

“How’s that feeling, champion?” You purred in his ear, your hands playing in his hair as he continued his assault on your pussy. 

“Such a pretty pussy..” Jake groaned. His grip on your thighs was almost bruising but you didn't care, you welcomed the pain. Your head leaned back, hitting the mirror as moans fell from your lips like a mantra. Jake’s lips found the column of your neck sucking and biting at the skin. “You like that, baby?” 

“Uh-huh” You nodded your head finding it hard to find the ability to speak when Jake was doing unspeakable things to you. Jake’s thrusts were starting to become frantic, his moans higher and more frequent as it became apparent he was closer and closer to the edge. The music outside the door thumped, sounds of muffled voices passing by the door fell on deaf ears. You were too wrapped up in the way Jake was making you feel, coupled with the buzz of alcohol flowing through your veins. It was almost euphoric when your orgasm hit. Your legs shaking in Jake’s grip. 

“God-” Jake breathed. Your orgasm served as a catalyst for his own. His hips slamming against yours with finality. It was reckless. It was careless. It was just once. Except once was enough. 

Present day. 

Your stomach lurches. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the memory away, willing yourself back into the safety of denial. But it’s useless. The test is still in your hands. The two pink lines are still staring back at you. And no matter how much you wish you could undo it— You can’t. 

Your hands are still trembling. Your fingers ache from how hard you’re clutching the test, but you can’t let go. If you set it down, if you let it slip from your grasp, that means you’re accepting it. That means this is real.A choked sound slips past your lips before you can stop it. Your vision blurs. Then it happens—you break. 

A sob rips through your chest, raw and unrestrained. You fold in on yourself, pressing a hand over your mouth to smother the sounds, but it doesn’t stop the tears from coming. They fall in hot, messy streaks, slipping down your cheeks, soaking into your shirt. Your whole body shakes with it, shoulders curled forward, knees pulled up as if making yourself smaller might make this moment disappear. But nothing disappears. Nothing changes. You’re still here. Still alone in this room. Still pregnant. 

The word echoes inside your skull, over and over, until it drowns out everything else. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. The panic tightens around your ribs like a vice, and suddenly, you can’t breathe. You gasp, swallowing down air, trying to steady yourself, but it’s like you’re stuck underwater. Like you’re drowning. You don’t know how long you sit there—minutes? Hours? Time blurs, slipping through your fingers like sand. All you know is that you can’t do this. 

You can’t be pregnant. You can’t be a mom. You can’t tell Jake. A fresh wave of nausea churns in your stomach at the thought of him. Of his reaction. Of what this will do to him. To you. Jake, with his whole future mapped out in skates and ice and championships. Jake, who has never even hinted at wanting something serious with you—because this wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Because it never has. And now, you’re carrying something that means everything. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your hands against them. If you don’t see the test, if you don’t look at it, maybe—maybe—No.

You inhale sharply, forcing your mind through the fog of panic. There’s only one thing you can do right now. Only one thing that makes sense. Before you tell Jake—before you even let yourself fully believe this—you need to be sure. A pregnancy test is just plastic and dye. It could be wrong. It could be wrong. A doctor. You need a doctor. 

The thought latches onto you like a lifeline. If you go to the doctor and they tell you this is a mistake—if they tell you that somehow, someway, those pink lines don’t mean what you think they mean—then you can pretend this moment never happened. You can wipe it from existence. You have to know. Your phone is on your nightstand, facedown, dark. You force yourself to move, to function. Your limbs feel heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and fear and the sheer impossibility of what’s happening, but somehow, you grab it. Your fingers are still shaking when you pull up the campus clinic’s number. 

You hesitate. Your thumb hovers over the call button, the moment stretching out in front of you. Because if you make this appointment—if you hear a doctor say the words out loud— Then it’s real. And once it’s real, you can never go back. A single tear drips onto the phone screen, smudging the numbers. You close your eyes. And you press call. 

The next day feels like a fever dream. You go through the motions, pretending your world hasn’t tilted off its axis. But every breath, every step, every blink reminds you that something is different. That there’s something inside you—growing, forming, changing everything. You haven’t said a word to anyone. 

Yuna had texted this morning to let you know she was crashing at her friend’s place again. You almost told her. You almost begged her to come home, to sit with you, to make you feel like you weren’t completely alone in this—but you couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not until the doctor confirms what you already know deep in your bones. So, you’ve spent the entire day in silence. Sitting with this information like a stone in your gut, waiting for the inevitable unraveling. 

You didn’t sleep last night. Every time you closed your eyes, the thoughts crept in—images of Jake, of your future, of what this means for the rest of your life. Of every possibility, every terrible outcome. You’ve always thought of pregnancy as some far-off, abstract concept—something that happened to other people, to people who were ready, to people who wanted it. But not you. Never you. 

And now, in just a few hours, you’ll be lying on an exam table, hearing a doctor tell you how far along you are. How long ago your life changed without you even knowing. The thought makes your stomach twist, nausea curling in your throat. You’re so lost in your thoughts that when your phone rings, the sudden sound makes you jump. It’s Jake. Your heart stops. His name flashes on the screen, bold and unmistakable, and for a second, you consider letting it ring. But that’s suspicious. You never ignore Jake’s calls. That would only make him ask questions.

So, you force yourself to breathe, force yourself to steady your voice, and answer. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” he echoes, his voice easy, warm. There’s the faint sound of voices and clattering sticks in the background, and you picture him in the locker room, probably shoving his gear into his bag while talking to you. The image is so painfully normal that it makes your chest ache. “What are you up to tonight?” he asks, casual, unaware of the chaos inside you. “Practice should be done around eight. You wanna come over?” 

Your grip tightens around the phone. It’s a simple question. A question you’ve answered a hundred times before with some variation of yeah, sure or your place or mine? But tonight, everything is different, and Jake has no idea. You swallow hard, throat dry. “I—I can’t.” 

He pauses. “Why not?” Because in less than two hours, I’ll be staring at an ultrasound screen, listening to a doctor tell me how many weeks pregnant I am. Because I don’t know how to look you in the eye, knowing that inside me—inside us—something is changing, something we never planned for, never wanted. “I'm sick,” you say instead. It’s a rushed excuse, flimsy and weak. “I think I caught something.” 

Jake hums, like he doesn’t quite buy it but isn’t ready to push. “You okay?” No. Not even close. 

“Yeah,” you lie. “Just tired. I think I just need to sleep it off.” Another pause. You know Jake well enough to know he’s debating whether or not to call you out. But finally, he just sighs. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything.” 

His voice is so normal. So Jake. And for a moment, you almost break. You almost say, Actually, there is something I need. I need you to know. I need you to tell me what the hell we’re supposed to do now. I need you to promise that I’m not in this alone. But the words don’t come. Instead, you rush out, “I gotta go,” before he can say anything else. You don’t wait for his response. You hang up, your hand shaking as you set your phone facedown beside you. 

The room is too quiet again. Your heart is pounding, adrenaline making your whole body feel light and untethered. You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep pretending you’re fine when everything inside you is breaking apart. And yet, that’s exactly what you do. You wipe at your face, stand up, and grab your coat. The appointment is waiting. And whether you’re ready or not— You’re about to find out exactly how much time you have left before you have to tell Jake the truth. 

The air outside is sharp, biting against your skin as you step out of your dorm. It’s early evening, but the sky is already dark, winter pressing its cold fingers into everything it touches. Streetlights flicker to life, their glow hazy against the fog of your breath as you exhale, pulling your coat tighter around yourself. The clinic isn’t far. Just a short walk across campus. Still, every step feels heavier than the last. 

Your stomach churns with nerves, your hands stuffed deep in your pockets to hide their trembling. The closer you get, the more the reality of what you’re about to do sinks in. There’s no turning back after this. Once the doctor confirms it—once they tell you exactly how far along you are—you’ll have no choice but to face this head-on. No more pretending. No more hoping the test was wrong. You wish Yuna were here. You wish someone was here. 

But instead, you walk into the clinic alone, head ducked, shoulders curled in like you can make yourself disappear. The receptionist barely looks up as you check in, only nodding before motioning toward the chairs in the waiting area. You sit. The room smells like antiseptic and old magazines, too-bright lights buzzing overhead. Your legs bounce restlessly, fingers twisting in your lap. The other people waiting don’t even spare you a glance, but you still feel exposed, like someone could look at you and just know. Your name is called. 

Your body moves on autopilot, following the nurse down the hall, into a room. She asks questions. You answer without really hearing yourself, your voice robotic, like you’re reciting lines for a role you never wanted. Then the real part begins. You lie back on the table, cold gel spread across your stomach. The machine hums to life, and your heart pounds. You don’t know if you want to look. You don’t know if you can. But then the doctor says, “There it is.” And you do. You look. 

The screen is grainy, shifting black and white, impossible to make sense of at first. Then she moves the wand, adjusting the angle, and— Your breath catches. A tiny flicker. Your whole body freezes. “That’s the heartbeat,” the doctor says softly. “Would you like to hear it?” 

Your throat is too tight to answer. You don’t know what you expected, but not this. Not something so small, so fragile, so real. You nod. And then—sound. A rapid, steady rhythm, impossibly fast but undeniably there. Your vision blurs, and it takes you a second to realize you’re crying. 

Because this isn’t just a concept anymore. This isn’t just two pink lines or a mistake or a problem you don’t know how to solve. This is real. And whether you’re ready or not, this is happening. The doctor speaks again, gentle but firm. “You’re about seven weeks along.” 

Seven weeks. You squeeze your eyes shut. Because now there’s a heartbeat. Now there’s a timeline. Now there’s no way out of this moment, no way to pretend it hasn’t already changed you. You leave the clinic with a small printout in your hands, the black-and-white ultrasound photo pressed between your fingers. You don’t even know why you took it. Maybe because part of you knows that after tonight, everything is going to change. And Jake still has no idea. 

Back in the dorm you're still alone, Yuna not having come back yet. You were grateful for that as you just needed the time alone to process. Your phone buzzes. You flinch at the sudden vibration, your fingers tightening around the ultrasound printout still resting in your lap. It takes a second for you to move, to blink, to tear your gaze away from the tiny, grainy image on the paper. Another buzz. Your stomach twists. 

Slowly, like you already know what you’ll see, you reach for your phone and tilt the screen toward you. 

Jake: You feeling any better? 

You stare at the message, your pulse hammering in your throat. A third buzz. 

Jake: Practice just ended. Thinking about you. 

You suck in a sharp breath, a lump forming in your throat so quickly it nearly chokes you. Thinking about you. He doesn’t even realize what those words do to you right now, how they cut straight through your ribs, cracking something open inside you. You can picture him perfectly—his damp hair, his flushed cheeks, the easy way he leans against his locker while texting you, probably half-distracted, expecting you to reply with something simple. Something normal. But nothing is normal. Not anymore. The screen glares up at you, demanding an answer, but your fingers won’t move. 

What could you even say? Actually, I’m in my dorm having just left the doctor, staring at an ultrasound of the baby I never meant to have with you. But don’t worry, I’ll get back to you when I figure out how the hell to tell you. Another buzz. This time, it’s a call and you panic. Your heart slams against your ribs, and before you can stop yourself, you flip the phone over, screen-down, silencing it. The call cuts off. A few seconds later, another text comes through. 

Jake: You good? 

Your breathing is uneven. Your hands are shaking. You can’t do this. Not right now. You toss your phone away on the bed, like that will somehow make it all go away. Like that will somehow delay the inevitable. But you know it won’t you have to tell him soon, or it will eat you alive. 

For the next few hours you sit in silence, still not having left the dorm. The room is quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock above your desk.  You’re curled up beneath your blankets, exhaustion pressing down on you like a weight. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep after getting back from the clinic, but your body had other plans. It wasn’t restful, though. Even in sleep, your mind wouldn’t stop spinning, replaying the sound of that tiny heartbeat over and over and over again. 

Suddenly a soft click of the door was heard. You stir, blinking blearily as the light flicks on. “Hey, are you awake?” Yuna’s voice is gentle, cautious. You push yourself up, rubbing at your eyes as you watch her drop her bag by the door. She looks guilty. “I’m sorry for being gone so long,” she says, brushing a hand through her dark hair. “Our study session ran late, and we figured, why not just turn it into a sleepover? I should’ve texted you more. I feel bad.” 

You shake your head, forcing a small, tired smile. “It’s fine. You don’t have to check in with me every second.” Yuna eyes you for a beat, like she’s trying to gauge if you really mean it. Then she sighs, kicking off her shoes before flopping onto the bed beside you. “I missed anything exciting?” Yes. No. everything. 

You swallow, shaking your head again. “Not really.” Yuna shifts, turning onto her side to face you. Then, her brows furrow. Her eyes scan your face, tracing the dark circles beneath your eyes, the tension in your jaw, the way you keep fidgeting with the edge of your blanket. “Okay, what’s wrong?” she asks, blunt as ever. 

Your heart stutters. “What? Nothing’s wrong.” 

Yuna doesn’t buy it for a second. She gives you a look, her sharp, knowing gaze cutting right through your weak attempt at indifference. “Don’t lie to me.” You open your mouth—ready to deny, to deflect, to do anything but tell the truth—but something inside you breaks. The weight of it all, the sheer impossibility of holding it in any longer, crushes you. You don’t say a word. You just reach under your pillow, where the crumpled ultrasound printout is still hidden, and pull it out with trembling fingers. 

Then, without looking at her, you hold it out. Yuna blinks, confused for a second—until she takes the paper from your hand and sees. Her entire body goes still. Silence. She stares down at the black-and-white image, her lips parting slightly. Her throat works like she wants to say something, but no words come out. Seconds stretch, heavy and suffocating. 

Finally, she looks at you. Her voice is quiet, but sharp with shock. “Is this…?” You nod, your chest tight. Yuna inhales sharply. “Holy shit.” She sits up straighter, like the weight of the moment is finally hitting her. She looks at the ultrasound again, like if she stares long enough, it’ll make sense. Then, eyes wide—voice barely above a whisper—she asks, “…It’s Jake’s? Right?” You let out a dry, humorless laugh, wiping at your face. “Of course, it is.” 

She looks up at you, eyes still wide with shock. “He’s the only one I’ve been with in a year,” you add quietly, voice almost getting lost in the space between you. Yuna swallows, nodding slowly, like she’s just now processing how real this is. Like she’s flipping through all the memories she has of you and Jake—of the nights you’d leave your dorm with a smirk and come back in one of his hoodies, of the way you never quite called him your boyfriend, of the way he was always just there. Her gaze sharpens. “How did he take it?” 

Your stomach twists. You hesitate just a second too long. Yuna’s face drops. “Oh my god.” She leans forward. “You didn’t tell him?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling deeply before shaking your head. Yuna groans, throwing her head back against the headboard. “You have got to be kidding me.” 

“Yuna—” 

“No.” She sits up straight again, looking at you with something between exasperation and concern. “You have to tell him.” 

“I know,” you say, voice tight. “I just—” 

“No,” she interrupts. “Not later, not eventually—you need to tell him now.” You shake your head quickly, wrapping your arms around yourself. Your whole body feels cold, like the weight of this conversation is seeping into your bones. “You don’t get it,” you say, your voice almost breaking. “Jake loves hockey. More than anything. More than school, more than his own goddamn life sometimes.” You sniffle, shaking your head again. “If I tell him this, he’ll—” You stop, choking on the words. 

He’ll what? Walk away? Shut down? Look at you like you’ve just ruined his entire world? You don’t even know. That’s the problem. Yuna softens. She reaches out, placing a warm hand over yours. “Jake is a good guy,” she says gently. “He would never do that to you.” You stare down at your lap, at your fingers twisting in your hoodie sleeves. She says it like it's a fact. Like there’s no question, no possibility of anything else. But she doesn’t know what you know. 

She doesn’t know how much Jake lives for the game, how hockey is the thing that keeps his blood pumping, how he lights up when he talks about it in a way he never has about anything—or anyone—else. She doesn’t know that you’re terrified. Because if you tell Jake, if you say the words out loud— it’s real and it’s scary. 

The tears come fast. Faster than you expect. One second, you’re staring at your lap, chest too tight to breathe. The next, your vision is blurring, and your shoulders shake, and a broken sound rips from your throat before you can stop it. Yuna reacts instantly. “Hey—hey, no, don’t cry,” she says, shifting closer. Her arms wrap around you before you even realize what’s happening, pulling you into the warmth of her embrace. “I got you. It’s okay.” but it’s not okay. Nothing about this is okay. You bury your face into her shoulder, gripping the fabric of her sweatshirt like it’s the only thing tethering you to the earth. She doesn’t let go, just rubs circles into your back as you fall apart. 

“I—I don’t know what to do,” you admit, voice muffled. “I’m so scared, Yuna.” She sighs, resting her chin atop your head. “I know.” A fresh wave of tears spills over. You wish you didn’t feel like this. Wish you could be stronger, steadier, more in control. But right now, you’re none of those things. Right now, you’re just a girl who made a mistake and is staring down the consequences. Yuna squeezes you a little tighter. “Listen, whatever happens, you won’t be alone in this, okay? You have me. And when you tell Jake, you’ll have him too. And even if—even if he’s an idiot about it at first, I’ll kick his ass into shape.” That actually makes you let out a weak, teary laugh. 

Yuna gasps, dramatic as always. “Did you just laugh? Oh my god, it’s a miracle.” You sniffle. “Shut up.” She pulls back just enough to grin at you, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m serious, though. If worst comes to worst, you and I will just get married and raise the baby together. Two badass moms against the world.” 

A laugh bubbles out of you, real this time. “You’d hate being married to me.” 

“Yeah, but I’d do it out of love. I’d be the hot, rich, wine-drunk mom. You’d be the stressed one who has to actually parent.” You roll your eyes, but the weight in your chest feels just a little bit lighter. Yuna smiles. “See? You’re gonna be okay.” and you think, maybe she’s right, maybe you will be okay. 

The next day feels like a blur. Again. Like you’re going through the motions of life with no real end goal. You know you have to get up, do something. Tell Jake that he’s going to be a fucking father because the longer you keep this a secret the more its eating you up inside out. 

You spend most of your day in the dorm, curled up on the couch with the TV playing some random show you’re not even paying attention to. The volume is low, just background noise to fill the silence, but it doesn’t stop your mind from racing. Jake has been calling all day. Text after text, call after call—his name keeps flashing on your screen, but you can’t bring yourself to answer. You know you should. You know avoiding him won’t make this easier. But every time you reach for your phone, your stomach twists, and your fingers freeze, and the weight of what you have to tell him slams into you all over again. So you do nothing. 

You let the calls go to voicemail. You leave the texts unread. And now, as the sun sets and the room is cast in a dim, golden glow, you’re still here—still stuck, still waiting, still pretending for just a little longer that none of this is happening. But then there's a knock on your door. And you're scared shitless because you think you know who it is. For a second, you don’t move, barely even breathe. Then another knock—firmer this time. 

Slowly, legs unsteady beneath you, you rise from the couch. Your hands feel cold as you grip the doorknob, pulse hammering in your ears as you turn it and pull the door open. And there he is. Jake. Standing in the dimly lit hallway, his hair still damp from a shower, his brows drawn together in confusion and concern. His eyes—those warm, familiar eyes—scan over you, taking in your messy hair, the exhaustion written all over your face, the way you’re not meeting his gaze. 

He shifts his weight, tilting his head. “…What’s going on with you?” You grip the edge of the door tighter. Your throat closes. Jake exhales, his expression softening as he reaches up, brushing his fingers over the side of your face like he’s trying to pull you back to him, trying to figure out what’s wrong. “You’ve been ignoring me all day.” 

His voice is quieter now, tinged with something almost like worry. You swallow hard and your chest tightens, because this is it. There's no more running because Jake is right here in front of you. Jake doesn’t wait for permission. The second you hesitate, the second you shift like you might try to close the door on him, he pushes inside. 

The door clicks shut behind him, sealing you both in. He stands there, shoulders tense, his eyes scanning over you like he’s trying to read your mind. His brows are furrowed, frustration flickering behind his gaze. “What the hell is going on with you?” he demands. 

Your stomach knots. “Jake—” 

“No, seriously,” he cuts in, voice sharp. “Why the hell have you been ignoring me all day? You haven’t answered a single one of my texts, didn’t pick up any of my calls. I had to come here just to get you to look at me.” You take a step back, wrapping your arms around yourself. The room feels too small, the air too thick. “I told you. I’m sick.” 

Jake scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “That’s bullshit.” Your breath catches. He shakes his head, eyes narrowing as he watches you. “You don’t just disappear like that. You don’t just cut me off without a reason.” He exhales sharply, like he’s trying to keep his temper in check. “Did I… do something?” His voice is quieter now, more cautious. 

“Because if I did, just—tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.” His jaw clenches. “I just—fuck, I don’t know—I miss you.” Your heart stutters. You stare at him, the weight of his words pressing into your ribs, making it even harder to breathe. “I’ve wanted to run here to you all week, tell you about my game, watch movies with you. Anything, but you're shutting me out.” This is Jake. You’re jake. And suddenly all of it feels so much worse. 

Your voice is small when you finally speak. “You didn’t do anything.” Jake takes a step closer, searching your face. “Then what is it?” You inhale shakily. Your hands tremble at your sides. Your throat burns. It’s time. There’s no easy way to do this. No way to soften it. 

So you just say it. “I’m pregnant.” 

Silence. It crashes over the room like a tidal wave. Jake doesn’t move, for a moment it looks like he doesn’t even breathe. Completely still. His face goes blank, his lips parting slightly like the words haven’t fully registered. His fingers twitch at his sides, his whole body stiff with shock. You stare at him, heart pounding, waiting—waiting for something. Some kind of reaction. Some kind of response. But he doesn’t say a word. Your stomach twists. He just keeps standing there, frozen, staring at you like you’ve just rewritten his entire reality. And maybe you had. 

You bite your lip, blinking back the burn in your eyes. When you finally speak again, your voice is quieter. Sharper. “This is your only chance to take the out.” Jake’s brows pull together slightly, but he still says nothing. You swallow the lump in your throat. “If you don’t want this, if you don’t want to be responsible for a baby, you can walk away. Right now.” Your voice shakes. “No one would blame you. I won’t blame you.” Jake blinks. Still silent. Still motionless. Your heart slams against your ribs. You hate this. Hate this. Hate that you don’t know what’s going through his head. Hate that you feel this vulnerable, this exposed, this small. 

You force yourself to look him in the eyes. “I know hockey is your life..” You trail. “ I know that’s what you’re thinking about right now. You forget that before..this, we were friends. good friends. I know what hockey means to you and I would never in a million years ask for you to choose. So I'm giving you a choice. be a dad or walk away. Neither of those involve not playing hockey. but i’m telling you right now. if you choose this, if you’re all in you better be all in because this is your only time to tap out. don’t get my hopes up then crush them when it gets too hard because i’ll never forgive you for that.” 

Jake just stands there. Still silent. Still unreadable. 

“Why are you not saying anything?” You whispered brokenly, the silence almost too much to bear. “Please say something.” 

Finally, Jake’s mouth opens but then it shuts again like he’s trying to find the ability to speak. Like a failing fish out of water. It’s nerve wracking, your body feels like it's on fire. “Please Jake.” You beg, at your wits end. 

“You’re giving me an out..” He trailed off, and your heart sank at the words. Was he really going to walk away and leave you to raise a baby alone? The thought terrified you to no end. “You’re giving me an out and a very big part of me is screaming at me to take it. it would be the smart thing, the easy thing and maybe the best thing for my career. My brain is ticking, yelling over and over ‘take the out, take the out. but there is a small part of me that outways the rest, a part that won’t let me be like the man who didn’t have the guts to raise me. that refuses to leave this kid, my kid, without a father. so, yes I'm quiet and yes I'm not saying anything. because my mind is going to war trying to think of a way to be a dad and a damn good hockey player at the sametime.” 

“Okay.” You said simply. And for a while you both sat in silence, neither of you finding the right words to say. Until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Did you figure it out?” You asked him. Jake’s eyes closed, a deep breath falling from his lips. 

“No.” He said simply, “but I will.” Your head shot up in surprise, your eyes wide and glassy with tears threatening to spill. 

“You’re in?” You ask with a strained voice. 

“I’m in.” 

Jake and yourself had a lot more that you had to talk about, that was for sure. But the confirmation of him staying and raising this baby with you had definitely lifted a large weight off your shoulders and although you were less terrified it didn’t mean you were prepared. You were having a baby for god's sake. That scared you to death. And you weren't sure if you were entirely ready for it. 

Over the next few weeks Jake does things that prove he's all in. The first time Jake shows up, you don’t expect it. You step out of the campus doors, arms wrapped around yourself, still shaken from your last appointment. The air is crisp, biting at your skin as you take a deep breath, trying to center yourself. And then you hear it. The sound of footsteps. The rustling of fabric. And then - “Hey.” Your head snaps up. Jake is there, leaning against the side of his car, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. His hair is messy like he’s been running his hands through it all day, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder like he just came from practice. 

Your stomach flips. “What are you doing here?” you ask. Jake shrugs, pushing off the car. “Thought you might need a ride.” 

​​You hesitate, tightening your grip on the sleeve of your hoodie. “I can take the bus,” you say, voice quiet. Jake raises a brow. “You could. Or you could let me drive you home.” You don’t have the energy to argue. Not today. So you nod. Jake doesn’t say much on the ride back. He keeps his eyes on the road, hands gripping the wheel, but every so often, his gaze flickers toward you — like he’s checking to make sure you’re still there. 

It keeps happening. 

A few days later, a jersey appears on the back of your desk chair. One of Jake’s, the fabric worn in places, his last name sprawled across the back in bold letters. You pick it up, running your fingers over the lettering. There’s a note tucked into the sleeve. "Just in case you need something warm." Your breath catches. 

The next time you see him, you don’t bring it up. But when you wear the jersey around your dorm, you pretend not to notice the way Yuna raises a knowing brow. Jake keeps showing up. Not in the obvious ways, not in ways that force anything. But in the background. In the small things. A decaf coffee left on your desk when you step out of class. A text asking if you’ve eaten. A moment at the rink where he catches your eyes before disappearing into the locker room. He doesn’t say anything about the pregnancy. Not yet. But he’s there. And that terrifies you just as much as it comforts you. 

Jake isn’t there. Not really. His body is on the ice, his skates cutting across the surface, his hands gripping his stick, but his mind—his mind is still sitting in that sterile doctor’s office, staring at a screen where a tiny, flickering heartbeat had filled the room. "There’s your baby."  He can still hear the doctor’s voice, still feel the way his stomach had plummeted as the reality of it settled in, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake. "Your baby."  Jake clenches his jaw, gripping his stick tighter. 

“Jake!” The sharp bark of his name barely registers before — CRACK. The puck flies past him, a blur of black and white as it slams into the boards. “Jesus Christ, Sim!” Jake blinks, snapping back into focus just in time to see his coach skating toward him, fuming. His teammates shift uncomfortably, casting wary glances between them as Coach Bennet stops in front of Jake, eyes blazing. 

​​“You wanna tell me where the hell your head is at today?” Coach snaps. “Because it sure as hell isn’t here.” Jake swallows hard. His grip on his stick tightens, knuckles going white. “I—” Coach doesn’t let him finish. 

“You’ve been slow all practice. Missing passes, losing pucks—you’re a vital part of this team, Sim. You don’t get to check out like this.” His voice drops slightly, but it only makes the words hit harder. “Get it together. Now.” Jake nods stiffly.  He doesn’t say anything. Because what the hell is he supposed to say? That he can’t focus because his whole life changed forever? That there’s a baby now—a real, growing baby—and he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with that? That every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is that ultrasound? 

Coach exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Take five.” Jake doesn’t argue. He skates off the ice, his heart pounding. He needs to get his head straight. Now. Because if he doesn’t — He might just lose everything. 

Jake barely makes it through the rest of practice. He’s off. Way off. His passes are sloppy. His shots lack power. He’s slow to react, too caught up in his head to play the way he’s supposed to. By the time Coach blows the final whistle, Jake is drenched in sweat and running on empty. His entire body feels tense, like his muscles are wound so tight they might snap. He just needs to get out of here. 

He needs to shower, grab his stuff, and go check on you. But before he can make it out of the locker room — “Yo, Sim!” Jake glances up, spotting Jay, Heeseung, and Sunghoon making their way toward him. Jay slings an arm over his shoulders, still dripping wet from his shower. “We’re heading to a party tonight. You coming?” 

Jake doesn’t even hesitate. “No.” 

Jay pulls back slightly, raising a brow. “No?” 

“Dude,” Sunghoon snorts. “It’s a Friday night, and you’re passing up a party? Who are you?” Jake exhales, shaking his head as he shoves his gear into his bag. “I just—” He hesitates. “I have somewhere to be.” 

Heeseung leans against the lockers, crossing his arms. “You’ve been weird as hell all day, man.” Jay nods. “Yeah, what’s going on with you?” 

Jake grips the strap of his duffel so tight it hurts. He could make something up. Should make something up. But instead — it just spills out, before Jake could stop it. “She’s pregnant.” The words hang heavy in the air. None of them move. None of them speak. Jay blinks. “Wait. What?” and Jake laughs.

Or at least, he tries to. It comes out more like a broken, choked sound. His throat feels tight, his chest squeezed so hard it physically hurts. “She’s pregnant,” he says again, voice cracking. And then, before he can even stop it — He’s crying. Right there, in the middle of the locker room, surrounded by his teammates, Jake fucking breaks. 

His head falls into his hands, his shoulders shaking as he lets it out. Because he’s scared. Because he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. Because this isn’t part of the plan. And for the first time in his entire life, he doesn’t know how to fix it. “Fuck, man,” Heeseung breathes. Jay is the first to move, stepping closer and clamping a firm hand on Jake’s back. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Jake shakes his head. “No, it’s not.” His voice is raw, shaky. “I don’t—I don’t know what to do.” 

Sunghoon exhales through his nose. “Okay, first? Breathe.” Jake tries. And fails. He sucks in a breath, but it feels like nothing is getting in. His heart is racing, his mind spinning, and everything is just — “Jake.” Jay squeezes his shoulder. “You’re not alone in this.” Jake lifts his head, eyes red, glassy. 

“We got you, man,” Heeseung says quietly. “No matter what.” Sunghoon nods. “Yeah. And, I mean—” He gestures around. “This isn’t exactly news you should be dealing with alone.” 

Jay nudges him lightly. “Have you told her how you feel?” Jake wipes at his face, sniffing. “I don’t even know how I feel.” His voice wobbles. “I just—I need to see her.” Jay exchanges a glance with Heeseung before looking back at him. “Then go” 

Jake doesn’t wait. He grabs his bag, slings it over his shoulder, and leaves. 

The knock at your door startles you. You freeze mid-reach for your phone, heart suddenly hammering in your chest. You already know who it is. For a second, you consider ignoring it. Pretending you’re asleep. Pretending you’re busy. You’re not sure you want any company. But you can’t do that forever. 

So you force yourself up, smoothing down the front of your sweater as you cross the room. You take a steadying breath, gripping the doorknob with fingers that tremble just slightly, and pull it open. Jake stands there. The first thing you notice is the hoodie—dark gray, pulled up over his head, casting a shadow over his face. His duffel bag is slung over one shoulder, his hockey gear probably stuffed inside. His posture is a little tense, like he had to talk himself into coming here. But the real thing that catches your attention is what he’s holding. 

A takeout bag. Your throat tightens. “I, uh…” Jake shifts on his feet, glancing down at the bag like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with it. “I remembered you said you were craving this, so I thought—” He hesitates, clears his throat, then lifts the bag slightly. “I figured I’d bring you some.” Something cracks inside you. Because it’s such a small thing—just food, just a meal—but the fact that he remembered that he went out of his way after practice when he was probably exhausted, when he could have avoided all of this — You swallow hard and step aside, voice softer than you mean for it to be. “Come in.” 

Jake hesitates for just a second before stepping inside. The door clicks shut behind him. He doesn’t look around, doesn’t hesitate, just walks straight over to your desk and sets the bag down before collapsing onto your bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like this is normal. Like nothing between you has changed. He stretches out slightly, fingers drumming against his thigh before he looks at you. 

“So,” he says, voice easy, like he’s not breaking some invisible barrier by being here. “How was your day?” You blink. It’s such a simple question, but it feels heavier than it should. Because what does he want to hear? That you spent most of it overthinking? That you barely slept last night, kept up by the thought of everything crashing down around you? That every time you close your eyes, you see your own future in a way you never imagined it before? Instead, you inhale deeply and say, “It was fine.” Jake gives you a look. You fidget slightly under his gaze before sighing and elaborating. 

“I had class this morning,” you start, perching on the edge of your chair. “Yuna and I grabbed coffee after, but the barista completely messed up my order, so I ended up drinking the strongest espresso of my life. I swear I could hear colors after that.” Jake snorts, shaking his head. “Then I came back to my room, tried to take a nap, but the guys across the hall decided to have a full-on garage band session at, like, peak volume.” You groan, rubbing your temples. “It sounded like someone was murdering an electric guitar.” 

Jake tilts his head. “Were they at least good?” 

You deadpan. “No.” He chuckles, the sound low and familiar, something that almost makes you feel lighter. So you keep talking. You tell him about your classes, about how Yuna dragged you into watching some new drama that she’s absolutely obsessed with. About how you got sucked into a rabbit hole of cat videos on your phone, and one was so funny that you laughed until you cried. And the whole time, Jake listens. Not just in the polite, half-distracted way people sometimes do. No—he really listens. He nods at the right moments. Asks questions. Throws in sarcastic comments that make you roll your eyes but also bite back a smile. And it’s so… easy. 

For a few minutes, it’s like things are the way they used to be. Like there’s no giant, life-changing revelation hanging over your heads. Like it’s just you and him. Like it’s always been. But that’s the thing about pretending. Eventually, reality always catches up. 

You shouldn’t be staring at Jake. But you are. It’s not your fault, really. He’s sitting on your bed like he belongs there, hoodie still pulled up, fingers absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on your blanket. The room is dim, just your bedside lamp casting a soft glow, making everything feel warmer. Closer. And maybe it’s the lighting, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s here, but — he looks good. Really, good. You could blame it on the hormones but you know that’s not entirely true, you were attracted to Jake enough to fuck him on the regular. 

Which is so not what you should be thinking about right now. Especially when everything between you is so much bigger than it used to be. Still, you can’t help but glance at him as you chew your food, watching the way his jaw tenses like he’s caught up in his own head. So, to fill the silence, you ask, “What about you? What did you do today?” 

Jake blinks, like you’ve just pulled him out of a thought he wasn’t ready to leave. Then he sighs. “Practice.” You raise a brow. “That’s it?” He huffs out a soft laugh. “That’s pretty much all I do.” 

You roll your eyes, leaning back against your pillows. “Yeah, yeah. Hockey is life.” Jake smirks. “Glad you’re finally getting it.” You nudge him lightly with your foot, and for the first time in days, something feels normal. But then you see the way his smirk fades slightly, the way his fingers keep fidgeting. 

“How was practice?” you ask. Jake hesitates. And you can tell — whatever it is, he doesn’t want to say it. But after a moment, he sighs. “It sucked.” That makes you pause. Jake never complains about practice. Even when he’s exhausted, even when he’s been chewed out by his coach, even when he’s sore and bruised—he always shrugs it off. It’s just part of the game. So the fact that he’s saying it now means something. 

“Why?” you ask, setting your food down. Jake drags a hand through his hair, exhaling. “I don’t know. I couldn’t focus. Coach was on my ass all day. Kept telling me to get my head in the game.” He shakes his head, voice quieter now. “I just… couldn’t.” Your chest tightens. Because you know. You know why he couldn’t focus. And it hits you, suddenly — Jake is scared. Maybe not in the same way you are. Maybe not in the overwhelming, spiraling, how-will-I-ever-handle-this way that’s been sitting heavy in your chest since you saw that test. 

But still—Jake is scared. And for the first time since this whole thing started, you realize, You’re not the only one whose world is changing. Jake won’t look at you. His eyes stay fixed on some invisible point in the room, his jaw tense, fingers still picking at the frayed thread on your blanket. He looks like he wants to say something, like there’s too much sitting on his tongue, but he doesn’t know where to start. And for some reason, that makes your chest ache. 

“Jake…” you start carefully. His head tilts slightly, but he still doesn’t meet your gaze. You swallow. “Is it because of—”

“You,” Jake says suddenly. The word is soft. Quiet. But it still punches the air right out of your lungs. Your breath catches. “Me?” Jake finally lifts his eyes to yours, and god, they’re unreadable. Dark, searching—like he’s trying to figure out what the hell to do with everything inside him.

“Yeah,” he mutters. His voice is rough, like he’s only just now admitting it to himself. “It’s you. It’s… this.” He gestures vaguely, and you know he means all of it. The pregnancy. The secret you held onto for weeks. The way everything between you is shifting, unsteady, the ground cracking beneath both of you in real time. And it’s weird. Because part of you has spent so long thinking about how this will change your life—how everything is unraveling for you—that it didn’t even occur to you that Jake is unraveling too.

That he’s scared. Just like you. The thought makes something twist deep in your stomach. You exhale, shifting slightly so you’re facing him completely. “I didn’t mean to mess everything up for you.” Jake’s brows knit together immediately. “What?” You glance down at your hands. “I know hockey is your whole life, Jake. I know you’ve got… plans, and dreams, and this wasn’t supposed to happen. And now it’s just—” You trail off, biting the inside of your cheek before whispering, “I don’t want you to hate me for it.”

Jake stiffens. The room is silent for a long, painful moment. Then, suddenly, he shifts—pushing himself off the bed and moving toward you so fast that your breath stumbles. He doesn’t touch you, but he’s closer now. Close enough that you can see the way his knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping his hoodie sleeves.

“Don’t say that,” he says, voice low. “Don’t ever say that.” You blink up at him, startled by the sudden intensity in his eyes. Jake shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “I could never hate you.” Your throat tightens. “But I—”

“You didn’t do this alone.” His voice is firm, certain. “You didn’t just wake up one day and decide to flip my life upside down. I was there, too.” You let out a weak, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, I’m the one carrying it.” Jake flinches slightly at the word carrying, but he doesn’t look away.

“I know,” he says. His voice is softer now. “And I know it’s different for you. I know I’ll never fully get what that feels like.” He swallows hard. “But this isn’t just on you, okay? I’m scared too.” Your heart stutters. Because this is Jake. The Jake who’s always been so steady. So sure of himself. Who skates like nothing in the world could shake him. And now he’s sitting in front of you, looking like he’s the one who can’t find his footing.

You don’t know what to say. So you just nod. Jake exhales, dragging a hand through his hair before falling back onto your bed. He stares at the ceiling for a long second, letting the silence settle between you again. Then, with a small, almost bitter laugh, he says, “God, no wonder Coach was on my ass all day.”

That startles a laugh out of you. It’s small, barely there, but Jake notices. His lips twitch. “Oh, so now it’s funny?”

You sniffle, shaking your head. “I mean… kinda.” Jake groans, throwing an arm over his face. “Glad you’re enjoying my suffering.” You roll your eyes, nudging his foot lightly with yours. “It’s not suffering, it’s called consequences.” Jake drops his arm, lifting his head to give you a flat look. “I don’t like that word.”

You smirk. “Well, get used to it.” For a moment, you just sit there, looking at each other. And something settles. The air is still heavy, the weight of everything still pressing down on both of you. But… It doesn’t feel so suffocating anymore. 

The rest of the night kept going just like that, sat next together watching reruns, laughing about everything. You’re trying to focus on the show playing in front of you. Really, you are. But it’s hard—and not just because Jake keeps making little comments about the plot, half-serious, half to mess with you. It’s because you can’t stop thinking about it. Something that has been plaguing you these past few weeks. The feeling has been creeping up on you for weeks now, an itch under your skin that only seems to get worse. At first, you thought it was just stress, or maybe a weird symptom of everything your body was going through. But now, sitting here next to Jake, your legs tucked up under you, his thigh warm where it brushes against yours — 

You know exactly what it is. And god, it’s humiliating. Because there’s no good way to say it. Hey, Jake, I know our lives are changing forever, but by the way, I’m really, really horny. You press your lips together, eyes flickering toward him. He looks relaxed, his arm slung lazily over the back of your bed, fingers occasionally tapping against the blanket. His hoodie has shifted slightly, revealing a strip of skin above the waistband of his sweats, and why are you even looking at that? 

You force yourself to look back at the screen, gripping your blanket like it might physically restrain you from saying something stupid. But then Jake shifts, turning toward you slightly. “You good?” You freeze. “What?” 

Jake gives you a look. “You keep making weird faces.” Shit. You clear your throat, shaking your head quickly. “I’m fine.” Jake raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You sure?” 

No. “Yeah.” but he doesn’t look away, god can he just look away. “Because if something’s wrong—” 

“I said I’m fine,” you blurt, a little too quickly, a little too defensive. Jake blinks. You clamp your mouth shut. Then, slowly, his expression shifts. Like he’s figuring something out. Like he’s putting a puzzle together, piece by piece. And suddenly, you regret everything. Because this is Jake.

Jake, who knows your body better than anyone. Jake, who has spent the last year reading your little shifts and signals, knowing exactly when you wanted him—when you needed him—even before you ever said a word. And now he’s looking at you like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. Your stomach flips. His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something — But you panic, snatching the remote and turning the volume up way too high.

Jake flinches at the sudden blare of noise. “Jesus—”

“Sorry!” You fumble with the remote, lowering it again. “My hand slipped.” Jake stares at you. Then—slowly—he smirks. Your stomach plummets. “Your hand slipped?” he repeats, amusement dripping from his tone. You nod quickly. “Yep.” Jake tilts his head, still watching you. Your heart is pounding. And you realize, with absolute horror, that there is no way you’re getting out of this.

Jake is still watching you. And you can tell by the glint in his eyes, the way his smirk is growing, that he knows something’s up. So, before he can start teasing you, you blurt out the first thing on your mind. “Are you gonna sleep with other girls?”

Jake stills. His smirk drops instantly. His whole expression shifts from amused to completely caught off guard. “What?” You don’t back down. You cross your arms, looking straight at him. “Now that I’m, you know…” You gesture vaguely toward your stomach. “Are you still gonna sleep with other people?”

Jake’s eyebrows furrow, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “No.” Just that. No. No hesitation, no confusion, just a simple, matter-of-fact no. And that does something to you. Because you weren’t even sure why you asked it. Maybe because you never really talked about exclusivity before. Maybe because things between you have felt so different lately, and you needed to know. Or maybe because part of you was scared that nothing was different for Jake  that he’d still be going out, still be with other girls, while you were here, pregnant with his child.

But now, sitting here, watching the way his brows are still pulled together like he can’t believe you even asked  Something inside you loosens. You exhale. “Good.” Then, before you can overthink it, before Jake can even process what’s happening You lean in and kiss him.

Jake freezes. It’s so different from the way things used to be. Before, your kisses were quick, hungry, never filled with anything but need. But this is slow. This is intentional. And it’s Jake who responds first.

He melts into you, his hand reaching up to cup your jaw, tilting your face just right as he deepens the kiss. His lips are warm, familiar, but there’s something new in the way he kisses you now, something softer, something that lingers. And god, you need him. Every built-up thought, every moment of tension from the last few weeks, crashes into you all at once. You press closer, hands fisting into his hoodie, pulling him in.

Jake makes a low sound in his throat, his grip tightening slightly, his other hand sliding down to your waist. His fingers skim the hem of your shirt, hesitate — Then he pulls away just slightly, forehead resting against yours, breathing hard. “Are you—” His voice is hoarse, strained. “Are you sure?” You nod. Jake studies you for a moment, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. But when he finds none, his lips crash into yours again. And this time  Neither of you stop. Jake kisses you like he’s making up for lost time.

Like he’s been waiting for this, just as much as you have. His hands slide up your sides, slow and careful, like he’s still giving you a chance to change your mind but you don’t. You can’t. You press closer, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his hoodie, and that’s all it takes. A low curse slips from his lips as he pulls the hoodie over his head, tossing it aside. The sight of him, his flushed skin, his rapid breathing sends a shiver through you. He’s so warm, and when his hands find your hips, you let him guide you back against the pillows, your body reacting on instinct.

Everything feels different. Not in a bad way. Not in a way that makes you hesitate. Just in a way that makes you aware of the weight of his body, the way he touches you, the way he looks at you. Because for the first time, it’s not just mindless. For the first time, Jake is looking at you like he actually sees you. And god, you want him.

His lips trail down, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your neck, your shoulder everywhere. His hands are careful, slower than usual, like he’s savoring the moment instead of rushing through it. And that’s the thing there’s no rush. Because tonight isn’t about just getting lost in each other. Tonight is something else. Something neither of you have had before. And as Jake’s lips find yours again, breathless, desperate, needing you let yourself fall. 

He took his time peeling off every layer of clothing that stood in your way, his sensual kisses leaving butterfly like feelings in his wake as he moved them up and down the expanse of your neck. It was more romantic than you had ever experienced. He was taking his time with you, cherishing your body as he helped you, cradled you. There was beauty in the way the two of you were finally joined, again. 

You are on top of him, your knees on either side of his hips, lifting yourself up than crashing down to the tune of your own heartbeat in your ears. Jake drank in the sight of you, his hands running up and down your body, squeezing at your breasts like a vice. They were noticeably bigger and it was apparent that Jake loved it. 

Your moans and groans grew in tandem as Jake whispered dirty things into your ear. The gasps he let out everytime your hips slapped against yours served as a catalyst to your already awaiting orgasm. It hit you like a tidal wave, washing over your body in its wake. Jake followed not long after. His body is shaking along with yours. And when it was over, you sat atop him with him still nestled deep inside of you and fell asleep. Feeling more peaceful than you have in weeks. 

The next morning, the first thing you register is warmth. It’s different from the usual comfort of your blankets or the lingering haze of sleep. It’s heavier, grounding, and when you blink your eyes open, it takes you a second to realize why. Jake is still next to you. He’s lying on his stomach, face half-buried in the pillow, one arm stretched lazily across your waist. His breathing is slow, deep, even, and in the soft morning light filtering through your curtains, he looks so peaceful. So different.

Jake is always moving, always carrying some kind of restless energy on the ice, at parties, even just sitting next to you. But right now, he’s still. His hair is a mess, sticking up at odd angles, his lips parted slightly as he sleeps. You can feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the subtle weight of his arm over you, and for a brief, fragile moment, you let yourself just exist here. In this sliver of morning where nothing has to be said. Where nothing has to change. But eventually, Jake stirs.

He shifts against the pillow, letting out a low hum as his lashes flutter open, still heavy with sleep. His grip on you tightens for a second before he pulls away, rubbing at his face. You watch as he blinks a few times, clearly still waking up, before his gaze finally settles on you. A small, lazy smile.

"Mornin’," he murmurs, his voice low, hoarse. You swallow, forcing yourself to look away from the mess of his hair, the sleep-drunk warmth in his eyes. "Morning." Jake shifts onto his side, his movements slower than usual, more relaxed. His eyes flicker toward the bedside table, where his phone buzzes quietly, before he turns back to you.

"The frat’s having a thing tonight," he says, voice still rough from sleep. "Not a party, just a small get-together. You should come." You hesitate. "A get-together?"

Jake nods, stretching one arm above his head before letting it drop back onto the pillow. "Yeah. Just the guys, Yunjin, Yuna, Heeseung’s girl. No crazy shit." He tilts his head slightly, studying you. “It might be good for you.” There’s something careful in the way he says it. Like he’s watching for your reaction. And the truth is, you don’t know how to feel. You haven’t really been out since everything happened. The idea of being around everyone again of feeling like things are normal when they’re so clearly not makes something twist in your chest.

Jake notices. "You don’t have to," he says, quieter now. “I just thought—" He stops, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I just thought you might wanna get out for a bit. Clear your head.” And the way he says it, the way his eyes flicker to your stomach for the briefest second before meeting yours again.  You know what he means. He’s giving you an out. If you don’t want to go, he won’t push. If you say no, he won’t mention it again. But the idea lingers.

Because part of you does miss it. Misses laughing with Yuna and Yunjin, miss sitting around and watching Heeseung get bullied by the guys, miss feeling like yourself. Even if things aren’t the same anymore. You exhale slowly, biting the inside of your cheek. “…Okay.” Jake blinks, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually agree. Then slowly, a small smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah?” You nod, and something inside you eases. This could be fun and god knows you need that in your life right about now. 

That night, air is crisp as you step outside, carrying the first whispers of winter on its breath. You tug your coat tighter around you, relishing in the warmth as you walk alongside Jake. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, the fabric pulled over his head, but you can still see the easy grin playing at his lips. There’s something light about tonight, something you hadn’t expected. It’s been weeks of suffocating thoughts, of holding your breath, of feeling like the weight of the world was pressing down on your chest. But tonight, for the first time, that pressure isn’t there. Maybe it’s because you’re choosing this. Or maybe it’s because Jake's here with you. 

Jake glances at you as you walk. “You good?” 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

“You sure?” He nudges your arm lightly with his elbow, playful, teasing. “Because I don’t wanna show up and have you ditch me two minutes in. That’d be kinda embarrassing.” You roll your eyes but can’t fight the small laugh that escapes you. “I’m not gonna ditch you.” Jake hums, side-eyeing you like he doesn’t quite believe you. “I dunno. You’ve been real unpredictable lately.”  You nudge him back, a little harder this time, and he lets out a soft chuckle.

The sidewalk stretches ahead, illuminated by the golden glow of streetlights. It’s late enough that campus is quiet, the usual bustle of students reduced to only the occasional passing group, muffled laughter carrying through the air. The night feels calm. Jake walks beside you in that familiar, effortless way—like being near you is second nature. And maybe it is. Maybe, despite everything, it always has been You glance over at him. “So, what exactly is this get-together?”

Jake shrugs. “Just a small thing. Heeseung and Jay wanted to do something before our next away game. No crazy party, just hanging out.”

“And you’re sure about that?”

“Swear on my life.” He presses a hand over his heart. “No surprise kegs, no random strangers passing out in the hall. Just us.” It sounds… nice. Like the kind of normalcy you hadn’t realized you missed until now. The thought makes you exhale softly, your steps slowing just a fraction. You hadn’t expected to feel good tonight. Hadn’t expected to look forward to anything, let alone this. Jake notices your pause and turns slightly, walking backward now so he can face you. “Hey,” he says, tilting his head, “we can still turn around, you know. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” But you do.

So you shake your head. “I wanna go.” Jake studies you for a second, like he’s searching for any hesitation. But there isn’t any. Not tonight. Eventually, he nods. “Okay,” he says. Then, his lips twitch into something softer. “Good.” And as you near the house, the sound of laughter spilling out onto the porch, the glow of string lights hanging from the windows, You realize you’re glad you came. 

The warmth of the frat house greets you the moment you step inside, a stark contrast to the chill outside. The air is thick with the scent of garlic bread and pasta, something home-cooked and rich, filling the space with a kind of comfort you hadn’t expected. Laughter hums in the background, the low murmur of conversation weaving between the sound of utensils clinking against plates. It’s not the kind of party you’d grown used to at this house. No booming music rattling the walls, no overwhelming crush of bodies moving in tandem, no spilled drinks coating the floor in sticky regret. Instead, it feels warm, familiar. Like a gathering of people who actually care about each other. Jake’s friends greet him instantly, throwing easy nods and teasing jabs his way. Jay claps him on the shoulder, Heeseung tosses some offhand comment about how “Wow, Sim, you actually showed up for once?” but then their attention shifts to you.

“Hey!” Yunjin grins, pulling you into a quick hug. “We were wondering if you’d come.” You smile. “Yeah, Jake convinced me.”

“Good. You needed to get out,” Yuna says, appearing at your side with her usual knowing smirk. “You can’t just sit in the dorm watching Netflix and eating fruit snacks for the next few months.”

You narrow your eyes. “That was one time.”

Yunjin snickers. “Sure, babe.”

There’s no judgment in their words, though, just familiarity. That easy friendship that makes your chest loosen. Everyone settles into a comfortable rhythm as the night unfolds, plates passed around, laughter spilling over casual conversation, Jake leaning back into the couch beside you, his arm draped along the back of it, close but not quite touching. And then, at some point, the conversation shifts.

“So,” Yunjin says, sitting forward, her eyes flickering between you and Jake. “We have to talk about something important.” You blink. “Uh… okay?”

Yuna grins. “A baby shower.” You choke on your drink. “A what?”

“A baby shower!” Heeseung’s girlfriend nods eagerly. “Come on, you have to have one! It’ll be so cute!” You stare at them. “I mean, I—”

“It’s not really up to you,” Yunjin interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ve already decided. We’re throwing one.” Jake huffs a small laugh beside you, shaking his head. “You guys are ridiculous.”

“You’re having a baby, dude. This is happening.” Jay gestures between the two of you. “You might as well have a party for it.” You glance at Jake, unsure what to say. The idea of a baby shower hadn’t even crossed your mind yet. There’s been so much to think about. doctor’s appointments, your classes, the slow, terrifying reality of your life shifting that something as normal as a baby shower hadn’t even made it onto the list. But the way everyone is looking at you excited, hopeful, like they genuinely want to do this for you makes something warm settle in your chest.

Jake’s knee bumps against yours as he shifts beside you. “What do you think?” he asks, voice low enough that it’s meant just for you. You hesitate for only a second before nodding. “I think…” You exhale, looking back at your friends. “I think it sounds exciting.” The girls cheer. Heeseung claps Jake on the back. “Guess you better start making a registry, man.” Jake groans, but there’s something soft in his expression, something light. Something you’d love to see over and over again until you die. 

The conversation drifts naturally, flowing from one topic to the next like the rise and fall of a tide. The laughter still lingers in the air, the warmth of it curling around you like a blanket, but then the topic shifts. Jay leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. “Man, this schedule is gonna kill me.”

Heeseung snorts. “You say that every year.”

“Yeah, and I mean it every year.” Jay groans, letting his head fall back against the couch. “Back-to-back away games? We barely get time to breathe.” Jake lets out a low chuckle beside you. “You’re so dramatic.”

Jay lifts his head just enough to glare at him. “Shut up, Sim. You love this shit.” Jake shrugs, unbothered. “I mean, yeah. It’s hockey. What’s not to love?” And just like that, the floodgates open. The guys dive into a conversation that feels almost foreign to you, play schedules, practice drills, strategies for upcoming games. They speak in a language that’s second nature to them, that thrives in their bones, their voices animated, hands gesturing wildly as they argue over stats and game plans. And at first, it’s nothing. At first, you just sit there, listening. But then — Then it starts to settle.

Jake does love this. It’s not just a hobby, not just a college sport—it’s his life. The hours, the dedication, the grueling schedule—it doesn’t seem to weigh on him the way it does the others. He thrives in it. He needs it. And this is just college. If he’s this busy now…

The thought creeps in, slow but merciless. If this is what his schedule looks like now—morning practices, late-night workouts, weekend-long away games—what the hell is it going to look like when he goes pro? Because he will. You know it as sure as you know the sun will rise in the morning. Jake was built for this. It’s what he’s worked for, what he’s bled for. Hockey isn’t just something he loves. It’s his future. And where the hell do you fit into that?

You blink, barely registering that the conversation is still going, that the guys are still talking and laughing and teasing each other, that the warmth of the room hasn’t faded—but suddenly, it feels distant. A dull, steady ache starts in your chest, creeping up your throat, tightening around your ribs. You stare at the flickering candle on the table, at the way the wax pools and hardens, melting and reforming in an endless cycle. They keep talking. And you go quiet.

You don’t even realize how still you’ve gone until Jake nudges your knee with his own. “Hey.” His voice is softer now, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. You look up, meeting his gaze, and there’s a slight furrow between his brows, that subtle shift that tells you he notices. “You okay?” he murmurs, low enough that the others don’t hear. You should say yes. Should push down the thoughts clawing at your chest, the creeping fear that tells you this is a mistake, that you’re deluding yourself into thinking this can work, that you won’t get left behind in the wake of his future.

But your throat is tight. So you just force a smile, nodding once. Jake doesn’t buy it. His gaze lingers, sharp and searching, like he’s trying to figure you out. But before he can press, someone calls his name, dragging him back into the conversation, and you take the out for what it is. You breathe. And the doubt lingers. The room is still alive with conversation, laughter curling at the edges of words, but your mind is somewhere else. Distant. Tangled.

Jake is talking again something about next week’s game, about how they need to tighten their defense but the words barely reach you. They swirl around the room, carried by voices that belong in this world, that fit. And then there’s you. Sitting here, stomach heavy with something that feels like lead, pressing against your ribs, against your lungs. Because how does this work? How do you fit?

You glance at Jake from the corner of your eye. He’s leaning forward now, elbows resting on his knees, brows furrowed as he listens to Heeseung explain something about their last game. He’s so focused. So in his element, like this is exactly where he’s meant to be. And then there’s the baby. And you. Where do you fit in all of this? It was easy, easier when the thought of being pregnant was still something distant, something you were still getting used to. But now it’s real. You’ve seen the ultrasound. Heard the heartbeat. There’s something inside you, someone that’s growing, changing, becoming more real every single day. And Jake..

Jake is here. He’s showing up. He’s bringing you food and taking you to appointments and rubbing the back of his neck in that nervous way every time he catches himself looking at you for too long. But for how long? Because this is just college. This is before the contracts, before the NHL scouts come knocking, before his entire life shifts into something so much bigger than campus arenas and team dinners. You bite your lip, fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans. Jake loves hockey. It’s the one thing he’s never wavered on, the one thing that’s been steady, unwavering, untouchable.

And you, You’re just a detour. A pause in his story. A moment in time that he never planned for. He’s already stretched so thin. His schedule is already brutal. Morning practices, games, travel, training when would he even have time for you? For a baby? For late-night feedings and diaper changes and God, what were you thinking? This isn’t sustainable. This isn’t something that fits neatly into his world.

The realization crashes into you all at once, so heavy you almost feel sick. You need to talk to him. But then Jake laughs beside you, head thrown back, voice warm and unbothered, and when he looks at you, his smile is easy, soft. And for a second, just a second you wonder if maybe you’re wrong. Maybe he’s trying. Maybe he wants this. Maybe…

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low, meant only for you. “You’re quiet.” You blink, jolted from your thoughts, your heart hammering against your ribs. You force a small smile. “Just tired.” Jake’s eyes linger for a second longer, like he doesn’t quite believe you. But then Jay nudges him, pulling him back into the conversation, and the moment is gone. And you, You’re still stuck wondering.

The night air is crisp when Jake pulls up in front of your dorm, the distant hum of campus life still lingering in the background, laughter from passing students, the occasional roar of a car engine down the street, the muffled bass of music from a party somewhere nearby. But inside the car, it’s just you and him.

The warmth of the heater hums softly, filling the silence that has stretched between you since you left the frat house. Jake’s hands are still wrapped loosely around the steering wheel, but he’s not in any rush to move. His eyes flick to you as you shift in your seat, your fingers curling and uncurling in your lap. “You want me to come in?” His voice is careful. Not forceful, not overbearing gentle. An offer. A quiet attempt to be there, to be with you.

You shake your head almost immediately. “No, it’s okay. I think I just wanna sleep.” The words leave your lips too quickly, too practiced, and you can tell by the way Jake’s brows furrow slightly that he catches it. That he knows you’re lying. He doesn’t call you out on it. He just exhales slowly, watching you for a long moment before nodding once. “Alright.” His fingers tap against the steering wheel, a restless little rhythm, like he wants to say more but doesn’t know how.

You push the car door open before he can change his mind and insist, before he can see through you too much. The cold air bites at your skin as you step out, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. You feel Jake’s gaze on you as you turn back toward the car, gripping the edge of the door. “Thanks for the ride.” Jake gives a small nod, his lips pressing together. “Yeah. Of course.”

You linger. For some reason, you linger. Your fingers tighten around the door, the weight in your chest heavy and pulling.Like there’s something that wants to slip out, some small confession that’s buried too deep for you to name just yet. But then Jake shifts in his seat, glancing toward the windshield, and the moment shatters. You clear your throat, forcing a small smile. “Night, Jake.”

His lips twitch slightly, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “Night.” You shut the door and walk away before the doubt in your head can make you turn back.

Inside your dorm, it’s quiet. Too quiet. The air is still, untouched by Yuna’s usual presence—her music, her laughter, her constant, grounding presence that keeps you from feeling like you’re alone with your thoughts. But tonight, you are alone. You toe off your shoes and drop your bag by the door, shrugging off your jacket and letting it slip from your fingers onto the chair nearby. The room feels colder than usual, or maybe that’s just you.

You sit on the edge of your bed, fingers threading through your hair as you stare at the floor. The doubt is back. That creeping, suffocating feeling that has latched onto you ever since the conversation about hockey at dinner. How does this work? You feel like you’re standing at the edge of something. A reality you’re not prepared for, a future that you don’t know how to step into. Jake is here now. But what about when the season gets more intense? What about when the scouts come, when contracts are on the table, when suddenly he’s got offers from teams that are miles and miles away?

What about when the NHL swallows him whole and you and this baby become nothing more than a footnote in his history? Your fingers tremble slightly as you rest them against your stomach. It’s still flat, still unchanged, but you know you know something is growing, shifting, taking root inside you. And yet, you still don’t know where you fit in Jake’s life. Maybe he’s showing up now. Maybe he’s trying. But what if this, this thing between you was never meant to last? You press your lips together, blinking rapidly against the sting behind your eyes. You’re exhausted, your body heavy with the weight of your thoughts, but sleep won’t come easy tonight. 

It’s been a week. Seven days of silence. Seven days of unanswered texts, of ignored calls, of messages left on read. You knew it wouldn’t last forever, that eventually, Jake would force his way in. That he’d demand answers, refuse to let you keep pushing him away. But still, when the knock comes; sharp and insistent against your dorm door and  your stomach drops.

For a second, you think about pretending you’re not home. But then his voice comes through, firm but edged with something else. Something raw. “Open the door, please.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, fingers curling against the fabric of your hoodie. There’s no running from this. No delaying the inevitable. So you inhale, force your hands to stop shaking, and pull the door open. Jake is standing there, still in his practice gear, sweat dampening the strands of hair curling against his forehead, his hockey duffel slung over one shoulder. He must’ve come straight from the rink, must’ve been thinking about this the entire time because his eyes are already burning with frustration. “What the hell is going on?” he demands.

You cross your arms over your chest, stepping back just enough for him to push past you into the dorm. He does, kicking the door shut behind him, and suddenly the room feels too small. Too full of him. He turns to you, brows furrowed, jaw tight. “You’ve been ignoring me.” You scoff, arms tightening around yourself. “Yeah, well. Maybe that’s because I needed some space.”

Jake shakes his head, running a hand down his face. “Space from what? Me? The baby? This whole situation?” He exhales, something heavy behind it. “You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t know when something’s wrong with you?” You look away, fixing your gaze on the floor. “Jake—”

“No.” His voice cuts through the room, not loud, but firm. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.” Your throat tightens. “I’m not shutting you out.”

“Then tell me what’s going on,” he says, stepping closer. “Tell me why you suddenly don’t want me around. Why are you acting like I’m already failing at something I haven’t even gotten the chance to do yet.” The words hit you like a blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You don’t mean to let it slip out, but suddenly, it’s there.The fear that’s been clawing at you, the doubt that’s been growing like a weed. “Because I don’t know if you can do it, Jake.” Silence.

His expression shifts, the frustration flickering into something else—hurt. You swallow hard, blinking against the sting in your eyes. “You might think you can handle it, but… this isn’t just a game, Jake. This isn’t a season, or a practice, or something you can walk away from if it gets too hard.” Your voice shakes, but you push forward. “This is a baby. A whole life. And you’re already stretched so thin. Your schedule is insane, your life is already moving in a direction that—” You shake your head, looking away. “What if I’m just setting myself up for disappointment?”

Jake exhales sharply, stepping closer again, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are stormy, filled with something desperate, something pleading. “I don’t know how to convince you,” he says, voice rough. “I don’t know how to make you believe me when I tell you that I want this. That I want to be here.” Your lip trembles, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. “You can’t just say it, Jake. You have to prove it.” Jake flinches like the words sting, like they land somewhere deep inside him. He presses his lips together, dragging a hand through his hair. “And how am I supposed to do that if you won’t even let me try?” The words linger between you, thick and heavy, suffocating the space between breaths. You don’t have an answer.

So you just whisper, “I need space.” Jake’s shoulders rise and fall with a slow, controlled breath, like he’s forcing himself to accept it. He nods once, lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine.” But then his voice softens, just barely. “I have an away game this weekend. I’ll be gone until Monday.” His eyes search yours, like he’s looking for something, anything to tell him you’re not slipping too far away. “But I’ll be back. And when I am, we’re talking about this.”

You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Okay.” Jake lingers for a moment, like there’s something else he wants to say. But instead, he just exhales, shoulders still tight with tension as he steps back toward the door. And then he’s gone. And the second the door clicks shut behind him, the weight in your chest pulls you under. 

The dorm is cloaked in darkness, save for the faint blue light spilling from the television screen. The glow flickers across the walls, illuminating the mess of blankets you’ve curled yourself into on the couch. The volume isn’t high, but it doesn’t need to be. The sound of the game filters in clearly, the scrape of skates on ice, the sharp whistles, the distant roar of the crowd.

You’d told yourself you wouldn’t watch. That you’d let the game pass without so much as checking the score. But now you’re here, heart hammering against your ribs, watching him. Jake. The camera zooms in as he weaves through the defense, his body moving like something fluid, something effortless. His hair is damp with sweat beneath his helmet, strands sticking to his forehead as he skates into position. He’s good. He’s so good.

You can see it in the way he moves, in the way the opposing team struggles to keep up. They’re aggressive, irritated because they know they can’t outplay him, so they’ll try to beat him down instead. And that’s exactly what they do. The hits tonight have been brutal. More than usual. It’s a grueling, ruthless game, bodies slamming against the boards with resounding cracks. The referees aren’t calling much, letting things slide, letting them play too rough.

And then, Sunghoon goes down. Your breath stutters as you watch him crash against the ice, his body crumpling on impact. He tries to get up, his gloved hands pressing against the rink, but something is wrong. His leg. You can tell immediately. The way he winces, the way his teammates circle him in concern, the way the trainer rushes onto the ice. The cameras cut in close. His face is tight with pain.

It takes two people to help him off the ice. Your stomach is twisted in knots, your hands clenched into fists. You hate this. You hate watching them get hurt like this. And then, Jake. He’s too fast, moving up the rink, his stick handling the puck with precision. The opposing team is trailing behind him, trying to keep up, trying to stop him.

They can’t. So one of them doesn’t even try. The moment it happens, you feel it, the wrongness. The guy comes in too fast. The check is too high, too hard, too reckless. And Jake never sees it coming. Your breath stops. Jake’s body is airborne before he crashes into the boards with a force that shakes the glass. The sound of it is sickening,a violent collision of bone, plexiglass, ice. His head snaps back. His helmet slams against the wall with a brutal crack. And then he slumps. He doesn’t move.

Your vision blurs. The game fades into the background, the commentators talking too calm, too casual as Jake remains still. His limbs are tangled awkwardly beneath him, his hand curled slightly over his side, his helmet tilted askew. He still hasn’t moved. Oh God. Move, Jake. Your stomach is in your throat, a sharp, rising panic clawing up your chest. Your hands are shaking. Your breath is coming too fast, too shallow, and you feel like you might be sick.

Then, slowly, he stirs. Not much, just a twitch of his fingers, a subtle shift in his shoulders. But it’s enough for the trainer to rush onto the ice, teammates circling him as he tries to push himself up. The camera zooms in, his face is twisted, his brows drawn together in pain.

His hand is gripping his ribs. Your throat tightens. You can see it, he’s hurting. Even as he shakes his head at the trainer, even as he tries to play it off. He’s trying to act fine, trying to prove he can keep going, but you know him. You can see through it. Jake’s not okay. Tears burn at your eyes, and you don’t even try to fight them. You don’t care that you’ve spent the last week avoiding him, don’t care that you’ve been drowning in doubts, don’t care that you still don’t have all the answers. Because none of it matters right now. Jake is hurt. You just want to be with him, you need to be with him. You have to get to him, and fast. 

You barely remember how you got there, your feet pounding the pavement in a haze, the world a blur of motion as you rushed toward the hospital. You’re too frantic to think, too scared to process anything more than the fact that Jake was hurt, hurt in a way you couldn’t ignore, couldn’t pretend didn’t matter. The lights from the hospital sign flicker above you as you stumble through the entrance, the sterile scent of antiseptic and disinfectant hitting you like a wall. Your heart is hammering, the fear sitting heavy in your chest as you make your way to the front desk, breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

"I—I’m looking for Jake Sim," you stutter, your voice shaky, too soft as you try to push past the thick knot of panic that clings to your throat. The receptionist eyes you, takes a moment to type something into her computer. “Room 214,” she says flatly, barely glancing up. “He’s being kept for observation.”

Room 214.

The number echoes in your head as you make your way down the hallway, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing faintly. You can hear your pulse pounding in your ears, a steady thrum as you walk faster, too fast, the air around you seeming to constrict with every step. You reach the door. For a moment, you just stand there. Your hand is trembling as you push the door open, the sight of Jake in the bed almost too much to bear. His face is pale, too pale, and his eyes are closed, though he’s awake. He’s hooked up to an IV, his forehead glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.

He looks - fragile. Your breath catches in your throat as you step into the room, and it takes everything in you to swallow the rising lump of emotion that threatens to spill out. You’ve seen Jake take hits, seen him get back up from injury after injury. But this feels different. His head turns when he hears the door, his eyes opening slowly, a small smile curling on his lips when he sees you standing there.

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough but warm, like he’s trying to ease the tension in the air. His smile is weak, his usual confidence stripped away by the injury, but it’s still there. It’s still him.

“I’m so sorry, Jake,” you whisper, your throat tight. You move to his side, hovering for a second before reaching out to touch his hand, your fingers trembling against his. His skin is warm beneath your fingertips, the solid reassurance you’ve been craving, yet his grip feels fragile in a way you can’t quite shake.

“I didn’t mean to freak out like I did,” you murmur, your voice cracking. “I know you love the baby, and I know you’ll be there for them. I—I know you’ll be a good dad.” He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes softening as he looks at you. There’s a faint wince on his face as he shifts his weight, but the way his lips curl into something resembling a smile makes your heart ache.

“Baby,” he says, his voice low but steady, cutting through the tension that’s been hanging between you for days. “I used to think hockey was the world, that I lived for it, breathed for it. that it was my life. That hockey was the reason I woke up in the morning. I love hockey, hockey will always be my passion and it will always be what I want to do, and who i want to be. But it’s not my life. you are. you two are my life, you and this baby and I wouldn't want it any other way.” 

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and your breath catches in your throat. You don’t even realize you’ve been holding your breath until the air rushes out in one long, shaky exhale. Jake’s hand reaches up, brushing a few strands of hair from your face, his touch gentle despite the pain he’s in. “I’ve been an idiot,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so focused on everything else, and I didn’t stop to think about what you needed. What we needed.”

Tears sting your eyes, a sudden rush of emotion overwhelming you. You hadn’t known how badly you needed to hear those words until they were out in the open. “Jake—” But he’s not letting you finish. He pulls you closer, gently, not forcefully, as though he’s afraid you might break. And when his lips meet yours, it’s soft, soft in a way that makes the world feel like it’s finally falling into place.

You close your eyes, the weight of everything you’ve been carrying melting away in an instant. His kiss is tentative at first, just the brush of his lips against yours, a delicate reassurance that he’s here. That he’s not going anywhere. But then, as if the words he’s spoken have unlocked something inside both of you, the kiss deepens, slow and aching, full of the longing that’s been building between you for weeks. The warmth of his lips against yours is the grounding force you needed to remind yourself that everything was going to be okay. You were going to be okay. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze full of tenderness, full of something real.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” he murmurs. “I’m staying. I’m gonna be here for you, for the baby… for us.” The words resonate deep inside you, a wave of warmth flooding your chest. You don’t know what the future holds, but in this moment, you believe him. You lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes as the world seems to slow down. The hurt, the uncertainty, all of it seems to fade into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of your hearts beating in sync.

“I love you,” you whisper. And this time, it’s not a question. It’s not something you’re trying to convince yourself of. It’s just the truth. He smiles, the familiar glint of something unbreakable in his eyes. “I love you, too.” In that moment, you realize that everything’s been leading to this, a moment of vulnerability, of surrender, of knowing that no matter what comes next, you’ve got each other. And maybe that’s all you really need.

AFTER. 

The baby shower is a blur of light and warmth, laughter, and the soft hum of happy conversations filling the air. The room is decorated with soft blues and yellows, little stuffed animals and pastel balloons drifting lazily overhead. It’s a cozy, intimate gathering. more like a family get-together than a grand celebration, and everything feels perfect. The air smells faintly of sweet pastries and flowers, and there’s an undeniable sense of anticipation hanging in the air, as if everyone is waiting for the moment when you and Jake’s little one will finally arrive.

Yuna is by your side, her bright smile radiating as she hands you a piece of cake, teasing you about cravings you’d been indulging in the past few months. You laugh along with her, feeling lighter than you have in ages. There’s a sense of peace in this room — a fleeting, magical calmness that you don’t want to end. Every now and then, your hand drifts to your swollen belly, gently pressing against the soft curve of it, as if the little life inside is dancing along to the rhythm of the moment.

Jake, ever the protective figure, is right by your side, his hand resting on the small of your back, his gaze never straying too far from you. His face, always so expressive, is filled with an emotion you can’t quite name, something soft, something cherishing. It’s hard to imagine a time when things were uncertain, when you wondered if he could be the father you needed, the partner you dreamed of. Because now, standing here with him, you know the truth. He’s already there. Already doing everything he can to show you he’s in this for the long haul.

“Do you need anything?” Jake asks, his voice low, full of the kind of care that only someone who loves you like he does can muster. You shake your head, the warmth from his touch making your heart swell. It’s moments like these, quiet, simple moments that remind you how far you’ve come from the uncertainty you once felt. How far you’ve both come.

“Just you,” you smile up at him, the words coming out without a second thought, and he grins at you like it’s the best compliment he could ever receive.

The guests are all mingling now, with the occasional burst of laughter ringing out as the game ideas you and Yuna came up with take full effect. Everyone is gathered around, exchanging baby gifts, newborn clothes, soft blankets, bottles, stuffed animals. Your friends and family are here, laughing and celebrating this new chapter of your life. The people you love most are sharing this with you. And even though there’s a bittersweet ache in your chest, because Sunghoon is absent, recovering from that god-awful injury, there’s a deep sense of thankfulness that wraps around you like a warm blanket.

“Hey,” Jake says, breaking you from your thoughts. His voice is so gentle, his hand finding yours in the crowd. “I need to step outside for a minute. I’ll be right back, okay?”

You nod, watching as he slips through the door. You know he’s been feeling the weight of everything lately, the pressure of balancing his career, school, and this new role as a soon-to-be father. You trust him to make it all work, to prove to you that he can handle the responsibilities. But there’s a piece of you, a vulnerable part, that still worries. The doubts always seem to rise like whispers in the back of your mind.

“Win or lose; I want to come home to you,” Jake had said to you not long ago, those words echoing in your memory like a melody. They settle in your heart like a promise, something real, something that matters. The door opens softly, and you look up to see Jake reentering the room, his eyes catching yours immediately. His smile, though small, is genuine, and you feel your breath catch in your chest. The way he looks at you, the way his hand rests against your back once more as he steps closer. it’s as if he’s still trying to wrap his mind around the miracle of everything that’s happening.

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” he asks, his voice full of tenderness, vulnerability slipping in beneath the surface. You nod slowly, your hand resting over your belly as you meet his gaze. “We already are, Jake. I already know we are.” The words settle between you both, and for a brief moment, the noise of the party fades into the background. All that matters is this. this feeling of being connected, being here, in this moment, together. The baby, the future, it’s all a little clearer now.

Jake’s hand slides to your waist, pulling you just a little closer as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. The room seems to hum around you, the laughter and chatter distant, but in this small space between the two of you, the world feels as if it’s standing still. Everything has changed. The uncertainty, the doubts, the fear. it’s all been replaced by the certainty of one truth: You’re in this together. And when you see Jake’s face soften with that same familiar warmth, you know it’s true. He’s here. He’s home. “Win or lose,” he whispers, echoing the words he had said to you weeks ago. “I’ll always come home to you.”

Your heart swells in your chest, the weight of his promise settling deep inside you. And in that moment, you know it’s all going to be okay.

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[star2fishmeg]

Hear me out Luke having a wet dream and you waking him up to help him out. He’s all embarrassed and you keep on reassuring him that there is nothing to be ashamed of😳

Luke’s mortified. You’re speechless. You’re sitting up, duvet pushed down the bed you’re sharing because your friends just happened to make a last-minute room switch (typical) and you’re staring at each other. He feels his cheeks burn pink, words bumbling on his tongue and you have so many electric feelings surging through you.

It’s not that weird, you’re both adults and you’ve known each other since you were eighteen, thick as thieves but a lot of things about Luke made your heart hammer and stomach flutter and a lot of things about you made him forget how to speak and act normally. But this was different…and you were kind of into it.

He opened his mouth to speak, his hands falling to his crotch to hide his cock, briefs soaked, and you catch the glint of white seeping through. “I-oh God, I’m sorry I’ll-it’s not what, well it is but it’s-”

“It’s okay,” you smile, your voice soft and he’s watching your eyes, “happens, nothin’ serious.”

“You’re..not…grossed out?” he mutters, shoulders relaxing. There’s a huge relief that washes through him; he could have been worse but he’s glad it you who caught him in a wet dream and not one of the guys. He knows that it’ll take a lot for you to screw your nose up at him, as comforting as that was. “Like, this isn’t literally disgusting to you at all? I just came next to you…from my own dream…”

“Well, what were you dreaming about?” 

He pauses.

‘Oh? So, me, underneath him.’ Springs to your head.

“...doesn’t matter, gonna clean up. Sorry for waking you.” He blurts, shifting around to stand but you’re reaching forward and curling your fingers around the waistband of his boxers, tugging them back. You know you shouldn’t look, but you can’t help scanning his ass and thighs - they’re so obnoxious and you feel like he displays them purposely because he knows they make your pussy throb.

“Lu, it’s okay, it’s normal…” the words fall out faster than you can think about it, eyes wide as they peer up at him and he knows there’s no way he’ll be able to calm down as long as you’re here. The words bounce at the front of your mind and your gut feeling screams. “I…I can help…if you want…”

He should decline, turn away and go to the bathroom, keep what you have between you but you’re both destined magnets at this point, but he lets that warm, fuzzy feeling inside him decide. He turns around, blinking and you let go of the back of his waistband to slip your hand into his, leading him back into the bed. You push him back into the pillows, propping yourself up next to him while you other hand cups his cheek gently, his lips parting to speak but he loses his voice as the soft smile on your face. He thought he’d be freaking out more over this, but he’s surprisingly relaxed under your touch, the way you’re not freaking out. Perhaps this is the realisation that you and Luke are definitely not just friends and haven’t been for a long time.

He slides one arm under the side you’re propped up on and around your waist, hand settling on your hip as you wrap your around his shoulders, leaning into each other. The gesture alone flushes heat to your neck, eyes gazing into his, heads leaning closer and closer until you meet halfway. The kiss is slow, tentative, but it’s a distraction that settles the blundering nerves in his stomach when together you reach over and tug his briefs down, your palm around his cum-soaked cock and stroking lightly to start with, small hums vibrating in his throat. He’s already obsessed with the shape of your hand, somehow the sensation feels so much better when you’re doing it.

“See, nothing to be ashamed of, pup. S’just a wet dream, maybe I like getting you worked up…” you pull away, cooing against his lips and watching his chest jolt as he breathes in sharply. Your lips press wet kisses to his cheek, your grip firming and strokes bolder. His cock’s so pretty your stomach flips aggressively, his fingers gripping the fabric of your sleep shorts as you pump him with a slow rhythm, “Do you like that, Lu? Does it feel good?”

Luke tilts his head back into the pillows, pushing his hair off his forehead and letting stammering whines slip the more your pace increases. It’s like you can read his mind, or maybe you can, he loves it either way and bucks his hips up on reflex, raw thrill building in his lower stomach when you giggle, wrist rotating as you drive him further and further to his end.

“Fuck- feels so good,” he pants out, eyes barely opening to bask at the sight of you, “you’re so fucking good, baby. Always gettin’ me worked up like this, s’fucking- shit- annoying.”

“Just returning favours, puppy. Now ssshh, I don’t want people hearing your pretty whines.” You dip down and swallow his breath with a deep kiss, tongue finding and licking his, your thighs clenching together feeling your cunt throb as you’re giving him broad strokes. He squirms, your pace unbearably brutal and bullying his cock into pulsing in your hand. His hand’s latching around your nape, using your kiss as a muffler for his desperate whimpers. 

The tension tightens progressively in his stomach until his abs and thighs are clenching, the seventh heaven descending upon him where his hearing temporarily feels like it's muting out until a weightless feeling washes in waves over him. He tranquilises, muscles retracting and pulling away for air. You smile, watching his cock pump out warm ropes of cum from his tip and down your hand until there is nothing left. 

You bring your hand to your lips, licking up his cum as his eyes lock onto yours, “You taste so good too, but do you feel better?” 

“I don’t know, I think we should make evens.” Uncontrollably, his lips pull into his smirk, chest still panting and his cheeks still rosy, but he does feel relieved at last, and he still has you, he’ll always have you and you’ll always have him. 

You give him a grin, urging him out of the bed to clean and change, both keeping your giggles quiet. You don’t say no, though.

[rainydayathogwarts]

Twelve hours - platonic!marauders, james potter

summary: sometimes having observant friends is unfortunate, but now when they've been blind for so long... wc: 0.9k+

When James, Remus and Sirius trudged up to your, Lily and Marlene’s dorm to remind you of your Hogsmeade plans in an hour, they had every intention of knocking on the door. However, when Sirius heard your screeching laughs through the door, he pushed the door open without second thought.

The view the three boys were met with immediately confused them. You were sat on the floor at the floor of your bed, still in your pyjamas, legs bent on the floor, but you were knelt forward as you laughed, clutching your sides. Lily was leaning against her bed, crying tears of laughter whilst Marlene had her gaze stuck on you, pointing a finger at your figure while she laughed.

“It’s not funny,” You cried, though your words contradicted your actions. You reached your hands up towards Marlene, begging “Help me up!” Marlene reached out to help you before she burst into another fit of giggles, leaving you sat hopelessly on the ground.

Remus, ever the protective friend, pushed past his two friends to offer you his hands. Your eyes went wide as you noticed his and the other boys’ presence, but you gratefully took his hands nonetheless.

You winced as you pushed yourself off the ground, a pained noise escaping your chest as you finally balanced yourself on your feet. “Thanks.” You muttered, smiling awkwardly at the three boys now stood in your dorm, before happily sitting down on your bed again. “And we’re back to zero.” Lily wheezed, wiping her tears away.

You chucked a pillow at the red head, who easily dodged it and a silence settled on the three of you as you took in the male presence in the dormitory. “May I ask what’s going on?” Asked Sirius, a confused look on his face, eyebrows deeply furrowed.

“No.”

The simple response was all it took for Marlene and Lily to resume their fits of laughter, but this time you just rolled your eyes at them. “Oh, please tell them!” Pleaded Marlene as she sat down on the bed facing you. “It’s embarrassing!” “It’s a flex.” Retorted Lily. You huffed.

“It’s nothing. My legs just didn’t seem ready to carry me out of bed this morning.” “Morning?” Remus scoffed, glancing at the clock. “It’s barely morning.”

“It’s because the guy she slept with had a massive dick.” “Marlene!” James let out a loud gasp from where he stood in the doorway, previously silent. Your eyes trailed over to him, feeling your face flush hotly. The eye contact between you was intense, but you broke it, shying away from his intimidating gaze.

“I wasn’t prepared! I’m fine.” You huffed stubbornly, proving your point as you stood up. You swallowed thickly, grabbing the outfit you’d chosen from your bed and stiffly walking over to the bathroom. You heard Marlene cackle, mumbling something about ‘look at her’, and sharply turned to face the group of friends. “I said I’m fine — doesn’t mean I’m not sore!” You yelled at her, before your eyes flickered back to the boy in the doorway.

Unfortunately for you, Remus caught the movement. So did Lily. The girl hummed attentively, her face becoming solemn. Fuck, your friends were too observant. “Who did you say the guy was, again?” Asked Remus. Freezing in place, you felt your ears grow warm. “She didn’t. That’s what me and Marlene were trying to find out.”

“Guys, I feel like I’m missing something.” Sirius muttered. Lily and Remus both sharply turned to look at James, who gulped animatedly, taking a step back. You saw Remus’s eyes squint in suspicious, and the boy in front of him immediately got defensive, opening and closing his mouth before deciding not to stay anything.

Sirius gasped loudly. “James is the guy with the massive dick!?” Marlene screamed at Sirius’s remark in horror, a hand slapping over her mouth as she turned to look at James, whose hands came down to hide his crotch area, which was definitely drawing the attention of the friend group. “Well, you know, we already knew James had a massive cock, but we didn’t he was your-” Sirius cut himself off, pursing his lips.

“So how long has this been going on?” Lily asked, arms crossed over her chest as she looked at you accusingly. “Last night?”

An uncomfortable silence settled amongst you, in which your four friends stood with their mouths agape. Suddenly, Marlene burst out laughing again. “Shit, you shouldn’t even hide it for twelve hours!” “Get out, Marlene!” You screeched, pointing to the door. “Everyone get out!” The five of them stood all at once, making their way out of the door and you sighed, calling out “Not you, James!”

The boy slowly walked back into the room, slamming the door shut behind him before he trotted over to you quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I went that-” “It’s fine. At least they bought the ‘last night’ thing, right?”

James chuckled, his nervous front falling apart as he regained comfort. He tugged at the large shirt of his you wore, nodding in agreement. “Imagine if they were told about the two months.” You shuddered theatrically, smiling at him. “Yeah, let’s save that for when we’re wasted.”

“I’m guessing you’re not coming to Hogsmeade? Mhm, I’ll stay with you then."

“Oh yeah, ‘cause that won’t be suspicious at all.”

“We’ll tell them we decided to talk things out.”

You nodded slowly, processing the information. “I’ll meet you in bed then?”

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes, @juliet-017, @boromoony

[geeeemmmmmmm]

"Maybe I do know"

Summary:When a little white cat rushes into your apartment, you didn't know what it could bring you

Warnings:Alpine gets her own warning for being a trickster, fluff

A/N:I'm planning to add a couple more parts to this because I love how in so many Bucky fics Alpine plays a big part in them so I thought I should join the trend. Just pretend beefy Bucky has his memories back and is friends with Steve and Sam. As always sorry for any mistakes and enjoy!

WC:1.3K

It was a typical Sunday for you - you left your front door open, only for a moment as you grabbed your laundry basket. Evidently you forgot to do your laundry last week so it was very safe to say it was a struggle carrying the basket from your room. The moment you were about to reach your door, a white flash appeared in your peripheral vision. Confused by the sight you put the basket down and tried to investigate and soon enough as you went to your couch - you saw a big pair of bright blue eyes peering at you from underneath your couch. "puss, puss come here little kitty" your attempt to coax this little white fur ball out from under your couch was not working but luckily you were met with a mysterious voice coming down the hall "Alpine! Where are you? C'mon girl come here!" After hearing the voice you thought maybe the voice you heard was looking for the cat that sprinted like lightning into your apartment. "Uhm are you by any chance looking for a cat, white fur, blue eyes?" you asked stepping out into the hall to see this mystery person, completely taken aback by the sight of a handsome man wandering in the hall. Definitely something you weren't expecting. "Yeah have you seen her anywhere?" you watched as he nodded observing how his hair framed his face "Oh well she must've ran into my apartment" you told him "I'm so sorry ma'am, I'll go get her right now, may I?" he gestured towards your door as you stood in front of it "Oh of yea yea sure go ahead, she's just set up camp under my couch" you tried to joke as you let the man follow you into your apartment, to your couch. "Yep this is her" he smiled at you before trying to reach under the couch in such a comical way, you had to hold back a laugh as the cat would not relent into his grip. "Here I'll try to help" you said while walking to the back of the couch also trying to get the cat into your grasp - "I'm Y/N by the way" "I'm Bucky, this trickster here is Alpine" he said in a warm tone back to you. You were so grateful that he couldn't see the way you blushed at him talking to you. A jolt of electricity flowed through you as you both fumbled around accidentally touching his hand, you both stayed like that, just for a second. Even if it was a small touch, it felt different? Your pulse slowly went back down to its normal rate as you puffed out an awkward laugh while Bucky stayed silent not knowing if you felt the way he didn't want to pull back from you. "Got ya now little girl" he said in a mischievous tone as he stood up with Alpine sitting in his arms looking quite proud of herself as she kept looking at you. "Thank you for helping me find her, she's always been an escapee but I thought she might stop when we moved but I hope we haven't disturbed you too much" he sheepishly admitted to you "Oh no no, this was nothing don't worry" you replied back in such a sweet tone of voice that it made Bucky's pulse quicken. "Well I better get her back inside before she runs off again" Bucky said as he started to make his way outside into the halls "Cya you two" you smiled sweetly following him out "Maybe I'll see more of two, I can show you around if you're new to the area?" You don't know what came over to you to be so bold but something about Bucky just drew you in. "Yea I'd like that" he said in a shy tone as he gave you a quick flick of his hand trying his hardest not get one more look at you as he walked back down to his apartment.

You huffed a small chuckle watching the pair walk back which reminded you of what you were meant to be doing right now which was your enormous load of laundry. It was a struggle to say the least, having a massive basket down 3 flights of stairs. Of course this would happen and right when the elevator is out of order you thought to yourself as you finally made it to the laundry room which was tucked in near the letterboxes on the ground floor. 30 minutes was how long your machine had left, you figured you might as well go back into your room, hoping you'd see Bucky again as you jogged up the stairs. 

Bucky stirred upon hearing your voice in the distance as you greeted a neighbour of yours. He didn't know what had taken hold of him but he rushed out the door - careful not to let Alpine escape as he kept his foot in the door to push her away as he closed the door. You noticed Bucky emerge from his apartment just before you entered yours "Keeping Alpine inside?" you called out to him watching him let out a small chuckle at your remark "Yep, hopefully she grows out of it" he replied walking over to you, just waiting to your hear your sweet voice in reply "Ya know what they say old habits die hard" you joked while nudged his right shoulder. Friendly touch - something Bucky has had in a long time but he was most thankful you didn't reach for his metal arm, the arm he's ashamed of every time he wakes up, the arm he desperately tried to claw off. "Are you free tomorrow by any chance" he blurted out without thinking "Yea I think I am" you hummed, slightly dumbfounded on how bold he was especially for not even knowing you for 24 hours, but hey who were you to complain especially when it's a very handsome and seemingly kind man doing it. "Great, should I meet you out here at 12PM? I'll make it up to you since me and Alpine disturbed you" he grinned with a boyish expression "Sounds great! You two weren't a disturbance I promise, it was quite entertaining for a Sunday afternoon" you reassured him, noticing how he relaxed into himself just a little bit after hearing you tell him that. It was a comfortable silence after that, quickly interrupted by the sound of clawing coming from the direction of Bucky's apartment "That bloody cat, I wonder why I rescued her everyday" he grumbled looking back at his door "Someones jealous" you teased playfully "Well I better get Alpine but I'll see you tomorrow" "See you tomorrow Bucky" you still spoke in that sweet tone which made his heart melt. His door quickly closed as he ran in so that was your cue to enter your apartment. You felt so giddy about the fact that you had plans with someone after what felt like years of being single again. You ran to fetch your phone from your room with the only purpose to inform your best friend.

Guess who's got a date tomorrow!!

No fucking way omgg tell me everything

I promise tomorrow I will!! too giddy to talk, I have to prepare my outfit!!!

You smiled at your conversation with your bestie as you chucked your phone back on your bed and started to try find some clothes only to find nothing cute to wear

Damn it I have to get my laundry, you suddenly remembered so you sprinted out your door and down to the laundry room, already planning your outfit. 

You sighed as you grabbed everything out of the machine, hoping that Bucky was anticipating tomorrow just as much as you were. He was. Bucky was in a panic rushing around his apartment not knowing what to do with himself, he debated texting Sam and Steve but he didn't want them to annoy him and ruin his mood with their antics  so instead he tried to organise what little furniture he had in his 1 bedroom with no bed, small kitchen and living room apartment while Alpine purred sitting on his bench in the kitchen "Maybe I do know why I rescued you" Bucky whispered as he gave Alpine a scratch on the chin.

A/N:Ugh I love it when fics have Alpine in them so I hope you guys relate! I do want to turn this into some more parts so feel free to tell me if you'd read more of this or not:)

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

i knew you in another life, you had the same look in your eyes

ft; isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, karasu tabito, alexis ness, michael kaiser, kunigami rensuke

synopsis; what (doomed) au would they meet and fall in love with you in?

notes; fem reader in isagi, karasu, and ness, gn reader otherwise, death, grooming, sexual assault, war, violence. i know that many of them have similar topics, but all of these are set in different aus.

isagi yoichi

isagi was supposed to have died ages ago. he should have died the moment the bullet pierced through his torso, his flesh. even if it wasn’t shot through a vital organ, the blood loss would have been enough to take his life. and yet, just before he could feel his soul leave his body, bandages were wrapped around his torso tightly, barely stopping the scarlet blood from seeping out.

“i know it’s painful, but i promise it’ll be over soon. hold on.”

a woman, probably a nurse, isagi thought, relaxing. with a nurse around, he’ll be alright. isagi closed his eyes, wanting to perhaps go unconscious for a while and get some rest. after all, he had just narrowly survived a battle. but as his mind continued to linger on your words, isagi’s eyes shot open.

you had an accent when speaking, and so did he. but it was a different accent, one that isagi was taught to shoot upon hearing.

you were a nurse of the enemy side.

isagi wanted to reach for his gun; perhaps you were trying to sabotage him, or perhaps you were going to turn him in. he still had his uniform on, after all, although it was stained in blood. but he was too injured to move a muscle, perhaps he should stay still for now and escape if you betray him.

you carried him back to the camp, the enemy side’s camp. you changed him into new clothes and put him to bed, tending to his wound the entire night. isagi didn’t understand; surely you weren’t blind and had common sense, right? so why didn’t you throw him out or kill him? an enemy soldier? especially the lieutenant commander of his side of the army?

“do you have anywhere to go?” you asked one week after he had arrived. “im not rushing you or anything, your injury still isn’t fully healed yet. i just need to know if you’re still going to stay here after you heal.”

isagi glanced up at you. “well…” he thought for a moment. he did indeed plan on going back, but not before gathering a bit of information for a while first. it would be far too cruel to just kill you and leave, especially after you saved his life. “i’ve got family, but they’re pretty distant from me, so i’ll have to stay for a bit longer.”

“by family, do you mean your soldiers from the opposing side?”

isagi stiffened, eyes widening as they darted to you. you laughed. “your uniform is the one of the enemy side. not only that, but you’re not a soldier from our side, so the only plausible explanation is that you’re from the opposing side.” isagi’s eyes narrowed.

“why’d you save me if you knew i was an enemy?” he asked, hand gripping the counter. anything, he thought. he was willing to use anything to defend himself.

you thought for a moment, lips pressing into a thin line before glancing back at him. “during war, we’re considered enemies, monsters, and merciless killers. but at the end of the day, on the battlefield, we’re all just humans who can lose our lives just as easily as we take other lives.” you whispered. “working as a nurse during war has taught me that.”

isagi’s eyes brightened, and he could feel his insides turn to goo. he was strangely flustered by your statement, but he smiled. “that’s…noble.” he mumbled, eyes softening.

but good times could never last forever. not in isagi’s case, not in anyone’s case.

three months later, the camp was attacked. the opposing side, the side that isagi was on, attacked the camp, killing over a quarter of the soldiers and half the nurses.

you were among them.

isagi’s breath hitched as he heard the familiar voices of his friends and comrades in the camp. he hasn’t heard them in months, but he could recognize them anywhere. he rushed to the entrance of the camp, where you stood, and you spun around with your eyes wide.

“yoichi, you—“

a bullet pierced through your head as you collapsed to the floor, your blood soaking the ground beneath you. isagi’s jaw went slack as his knees gave out on him. “hey, w…” itoshi rin, who had shot the bullet through your head, took isagi by the collar and glared at him.

“there you are, isagi. have you been having fun over here while we were all panicking? lukewarm.” rin hissed, before dragging isagi away, where isagi reached out for your corpse, lips mouthing into the familiar sensation of your name.

itoshi rin

rin always knew that he was a quiet person. he never talked much, no one ever noticed when he was behind them, and he rarely ever even made a sound. but he never realized that it would save his life, nor did he realize that it would change his life.

rin was six when the war had started, and seven was the age when rin’s entire town was massacred, rin being the only survivor. he didn’t make a sound when he had hid in the closet, as opposed to his elder brother sae’s gasp when his parents were murdered right in front of his eyes.

“hey kid, is anyone else here alive?” the tall man glanced down at rin. in shook his head, his eyes staring straight at the wall in front of him, as if he was staring at ghosts. “how’d you survive?”

“i was quiet.” rin mumbled. “everyone else screamed. everyone else started running. but i stayed in my closet the whole time. i didn’t even make a noise when i breathed.”

“good. im looking for unpolished gems like you, kid. become a spy. you’ll serve your country to make sure that nothing like this ever happens to any other kid ever again.” the man was named ray dark, and he was a scout for spies and assassins to serve the country for the war, especially children.

and so for the next 10 years, rin trained. he became a spy and an assassin, gaining information from opposing sides and killing them afterwards. he was nicknamed the destroyer due to how brutally his victims were always assassinated, along with how swiftly he would always disappear afterwards.

three years later, at age 20, a picture was slipped into rin’s pocket by a fellow spy. this is your next target, the spy’s footsteps tapped out. if you kill them, this very war could be over. they are the child of the dictator of our opposing country. but it is extremely difficult to kill them, as they have rapid reflexes and instincts. build trust with them first.

rin tapped a quick understood before walking away. the moment he reached his headquarters, he applied as your bodyguard with his fake id. he almost instantly made it in; it was ridiculous how easy it was to be the bodyguard of the most vital person in the world.

a day later, he arrived at your quarters, watching you fiddle with your fingers. you looked up and smiled at him. “hello there. it’s rare for someone to desire an application to become my bodyguard, but i hope we get along.” rin nodded.

“the feeling’s mutual.” rin muttered, taking a glance around your room. security was tight; the walls were thick enough to not be cut through, but thin enough to hear any pleas for help. he could see tiny buttons, perhaps to press in order to ring a bell or two.

but for the next four months that rin was your bodyguard, he couldn’t help but notice. he couldn’t help but notice how kindly you treated your citizens. how calm you always were. how you pleaded with your father to stop with war constantly.

there was no point in killing you. the only result would be removing one more of the near extinct population of truly kind people in this world. but this was his job; he had to do this. and yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it, not when your smile made his chest feel warm and your laugh melted his icy exterior.

raindrops slid down rin’s back as he stood atop your body, rain spreading the blood out on the concrete floor. your neck was slit; another assassin had got the job done. rin’s knees gave out on him as he cradled you, a guttural scream of agony escaping him.

karasu tabito

karasu has always been a man who was a firm believer of gender equality. after all, what does the identity you’re born with have anything to do with how you live your life? but this was the 1500s, he couldn’t just casually say that. was he trying to get himself publicly humiliated? especially as the general of the army?

no, most definitely not.

not only that, but karasu has also always been a solemn rule and tradition follower. the rules were the most important part of anything, and breaking the rules was a shit action to do. tradition was important and needed to be respected; after all, how do you respect your elders without respecting tradition?

so karasu was practically in shambles when you joined the army.

you had chopped much of your hair off to disguise yourself as a man, but karasu had grown up with an older sister. he knew how women were; he wasn’t an idiot. but no one else in the army seemed to notice that you were a woman other than him. lucky he was the general of the army; otherwise, who knows what another man in control would do to you?

but having a woman in the army was breaking the rules. sure, you were the most talented and hardworking soldier karasu had ever seen, but breaking the rules could equal a death sentence if severe enough. how the hell was he supposed to stand up for his beliefs but also follow the rules?

he let you stay.

your gender was a secret kept between the both of you, never once reported to the shogun or daimyos or emperor. karasu didn’t want to risk it; he didn’t want to risk having you executed. sure, women could be warriors, but none of them actually served in the army.

“hey, look, why is there blood on his clothes?”

“huh? but we haven’t had a battle in days!”

“why would there be blood on his clothes, especially from that part of his body?”

“what if…?”

“no way!”

“if that’s the case, we can do, you know, to her.”

“what if we get caught? general karasu is shit protective of her. well, now we know why.”

“well, we won’t get caught. none of us have seen a woman in months, why shouldn’t we—?”

karasu’s heart dropped as he stormed into the changing room, a few of the nude soldiers holding up your clothing as if they had just found a treasure. “what the fuck are are of yall doin’?!” karasu exclaimed. “go back to your quarters, now.”

they all rolled their eyes and whined before leaving, karasu sighing before walking to his quarters. he couldn’t help but admit, but other than the fact that you were a woman, karasu did like you way more than the other soldiers. you were clever and kind and brave, and karasu can’t help but admire and adore you.

but the next week, karasu found a neck by the side of your neck, and your head was swiftly chopped off.

alexis ness

ness has always adored Magic and entertaining others. perhaps this was the reason why he instantly agreed to the offer of becoming the palace entertainer, although he was moreso a palace jester than performer.

you’ve always been a stoic yet beautiful lady-in-waiting. it was rare to see any form of expressive emotion on your face, although you were always polite. everyone knew that you were the apple of the king’s eye, but considering how he was still currently married to his queen, he wasn’t allowed to marry you just yet.

when ness spoke to you, you greeted him with the same usual stoic respect, a lack of emotion from your lips. ness didn’t understand why you were so upset, especially when you were so beautiful. someone like you should be smiling and enjoying herself, not frowning her life away.

how strange it was, when you had smiled during one of ness’ magic tricks when he was entertaining the audience at one of the banquets.

it was as simple as pulling an animal out of a hat, and yet the simple pleasure brought immense joy to you. in a room full of large plastic smiles and piercing laughter, ness could only notice your smile carved of diamond.

how beautifully addicting your smile was to ness.

from then on, ness performed magic tricks to you every day. after all, that smile of yours lit up ness’ world. it even validated ness just a little bit; how he managed to make the lady-in-waiting known to be emotionless and monotone smile.

but the more and more you spoke with ness, the more you began to fall for him as well. why did he still stick with you despite your cold and icy attitude? why was he still so kind and warm with you? why did the hearth inside of him melt your heart?

but no matter what the answer was, you had to admit, you loved ness a damn amount.

but the Queen then fell ill, and eventually died. with no Queen on the throne, the king’s eyes began to wander, and it landed on you once more.

everyone in the palace knew that you and ness were in love. no matter how hard you both attempted to hide it, your shining eyes and tiny shared smiles across banquet tables were noticed by nearly everyone. the king couldn’t risk it; getting his desired wife taken away from him.

“alexis ness, you have been charged with plotting an assassination against the king. your execution will be the thirteenth of october by beheading, and—“

your glass bowl smashed against the floor as you slammed your hand over your mouth. “no! he didn’t do anything wrong! he didn’t—!” but the attendants of the castle dragged you away before you could say anything mire, ness being knocked out and pulled by the hair and taken to a cell.

you had been forced to focus your eyes onto the swift movement of ness’ head escaping his neck.

i’ll be writing kaiser and kunigami’s shorter and in a different style because im lazy

michael kaiser

“mihya, please—“

“no. im not going. you can do whatever crazy shit you want, but im not going.”

“mihya, it’ll be a new life for the both of us in america. ellis island is only accepting immigrants now, and who knows when they’ll stop?”

“well shit, im not leaving here.”

“…fine, then i’ll just leave by myself.”

“what? no way. you’re too much of a pussy to actually do so.”

“no, im leaving. mihya, if you refuse to leave with me, then i’ll just leave by myself.”

“no, you better not leave. dont leave.”

“you just told me to leave, didn’t you?”

“no, i was—“

“goodbye, mihya.”

kunigami rensuke

while everyone else would get reincarnated in the original canon blue lock universe and live out their well-deserved happy endings there, this isn’t the case with you and kunigami.

meeting in the blue lock facility. quickly becoming best friends. developing crushes on one another. becoming in love. separating during wildcard. and suddenly, when kunigami came back, he was different. he wasn’t your rensuke, not anymore.

perhaps you’re both just doomed in every universe.

[stargazsblog]

what happens in vegas | ch.1 vegas?

satoru gojo x fem!reader

౨ৎ after a messy breakup, you go to vegas with your best friend, shoko, to forget about everything. a night of partying and drinking, you wake up in a hotel room with a stranger in your bed and a ring on your finger, with zero idea what happened. that stranger? satoru gojo-some guy you barely know. turns out, you two might've gotten married. now you've got to figure out what to do with this mess.

౨ৎ warning/tags: fluff, romance, jealousy, no smut (im sorry), sexual references, some angst, use of alcohol, inspired by what happens in vegas.

note: i’m loving this already…

masterlist

“You know what, Shoko?” you slurred, swirling the liquid in your glass before taking another sip. “He doesn’t even deserve me.”

A few hours ago, you walked in on Sukuna with another girl in your bed. Now, you’re at a bar with your best friend, Shoko, trying to drown the memory.

Shoko sat across from you, arms folded on the sticky bar table. Her eyes narrowed. “Damn right he doesn’t.” She reached for her drink, taking a long swig before slamming the glass down. “You should’ve punch him when you saw him. Or — oh! You know what we should do? We should egg his house.” Her face lit up with the idea, leaning closer. “Or maybe… we can beat the living shit out of him.”

You blinked at her, a little stunned. “Shoko…”

“What?” She shrugged, taking another drink. “He deserves it.”

You laughed dryly, shaking your head. “It’s not worth it.” Your fingers traced the rim of your glass, eyes dropping to the table. “I just… I really thought I was going to marry him, you know?” The words came out softer, almost like a confession.

Shoko’s face softened. She reached over, resting her hand over yours. “I know.”

You sighed, taking another sip, the burn sliding down your throat. “How did I not see it? I walked into my own room and there he was… with her. On my bed.” You squeezed your eyes shut, the image flashing behind your eyelids. “God, I’m so stupid.”

“Hey.” Shoko squeezed your hand. “You’re not stupid. He’s just an asshole.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back in your seat. The music pounded through the speakers, but all you could feel was the ache in your chest. “Yeah,” you whispered. “An asshole.”

“You know what? Where can you go to forget all your troubles and make bad decisions?” Shoko asked, swirling her drink.

“Don’t say Vegas.” You rolled your eyes. She’d been begging you to go for the past month, but Sukuna said you couldn’t go. He was strict, always keeping you on a leash, making sure you never had too much fun.

“Vegas,” Shoko repeated, grinning.

You sighed, biting your lip. “I don’t know… what if I just end up thinking about him the whole time?”

“That’s what the drinks are for.” She took a sip and set her glass back down with a soft clink.

Shoko leaned in, eyes softening. “Babe, I know you’re going through a hard time right now. That’s why we’re going to Vegas. It’ll be a distraction. It’ll be fun. Besides, you deserve a break. Three years with Sukuna? that sounds like living hell.”

You hesitated. She wasn’t wrong. You were always asking permission, feeling more like a prisoner than a girlfriend. Maybe this was exactly what you needed.

“Okay,” you mumbled, nodding slowly. “Okay, fine. But I’m not trying to do anything stupid.”

Shoko smirked. “It’s Vegas, babe. We’ll deal with the consequences when we get back.”

You exhaled, feeling the tiniest flicker of relief. Maybe this was a good idea. Maybe, for once, you deserved to let go.

The moment you stepped out of the cab and onto the Strip, your mouth practically fell open. The lights were brighter than you imagined, stretching high into the sky, flashing and glowing in every color. The streets were alive, packed with people laughing, drinking, and stumbling from one casino to the next. Music thumped from somewhere nearby, and the air smelled like heat, excitement, and a little bit of regret.

“Wow…” you whispered, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. “Why haven’t I come here sooner?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” Shoko said dryly, dragging her suitcase behind her. “Maybe because you were too far up Sukuna’s ass to do anything fun.”

You shot her a glare. “Real nice.”

“Just saying.” She shrugged, smirking. “If you hadn’t spent the last three years playing house with Mr. ‘You Can’t Breathe Without Me Watching,’ we could’ve been making bad decisions here ages ago.”

You sighed, but a small smile crept onto your face. She wasn’t wrong. For the first time in a long time, you felt… free.

“Come on,” Shoko said, linking her arm with yours. “Let’s check in, get dressed, and let’s have fun.”

The hotel lobby was super busy. People were everywhere — talking, laughing, and dragging their suitcases across the shiny marble floor. The ceiling was really high, and there were these giant chandeliers that sparkled. You followed Shoko to the check-in desk, trying to take it all in.

Shoko tapped the little bell on the counter, sighing loudly. “Ugh, finally. My feet are killing me.”

While she dealt with the receptionist, you looked around. There was a bar in the corner, and you could hear the sound of slot machines somewhere in the background. Then, you noticed a group of guys standing near the lounge.

They stood out.

One of them had long black hair, leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed, looking bored. Another guy, taller and super muscular, had a scar on his lip and was sipping a drink while watching people walk by. But the one in the middle… he caught your attention.

He had white hair — like, really white — and the brightest blue eyes you’d ever seen. They almost glowed under the lights. He was tall and lean, dressed pretty casually, but something about him made it hard to look away. He laughed at something one of his friends said.

Then, as if he could feel you staring, he turned his head.

His blue eyes locked onto yours, sharp and curious. For a second, it felt like time slowed down. The noise of the lobby faded, and all you could hear was the pounding of your heart in your ears. He tilted his head slightly, a small smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

You blinked, heat rushing to your cheeks, and quickly looked away. What the heck was that?

“Come on.” Shoko grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward the elevator. “Room first, drinks second.”

You risked one last glance as the elevator doors slid shut. The white-haired guy was still watching you, his smirk growing before he turned back to his friends.

As the elevator went up, you leaned against the wall, heart racing. It was probably nothing. Just some random guy.

But for some reason, you had a weird feeling you’d be seeing him again.

The elevator doors slid open, and you followed Shoko down a long, carpeted hallway. The walls had fancy gold trim, and the lights were soft and warm. When you reached your room, Shoko swiped the key card, pushing the door open dramatically.

“Ta-da!” she announced, stepping inside.

You dragged your suitcase in and looked around. The room was huge — two big beds with fluffy white blankets, a flat-screen TV, and a massive window that showed off the bright lights of the city. You wandered over, pressing your hands against the glass, staring down at the endless crowd of people and glowing signs.

Shoko flopped onto one of the beds, stretching out like a starfish. “Do you have any idea how much money I spent on this?” she asked, grinning over at you.

You turned and gave her a look. “Shoko, how much?”

Shoko had been kind enough to pay for the trip. Of course, you offered to split the cost, but she insisted—something about ‘wanting to be reckless with her money for once.’

She just shrugged casually. “Does it really matter? What matters is that you’re having fun today. We’re in Vegas, and we’re going to make sure you forget all about that idiot Sukuna.” She paused, then her eyes lit up. “And maybe we can find a sexy man for you tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? Vegas men? You do realize those guys don’t want to commit, right?”

Shoko waved her hand dismissively, sitting up on the bed. “Please, babe. It’s Vegas. They’re here for fun, and so are we. Who cares if it’s not forever? You just need someone to take your mind off things.”

You sighed but couldn’t help the small smile creeping onto your face. “I guess you’re right.”

Shoko grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, cracking it open and offering it to you. “Exactly. Now, drink up, get dressed, and let’s hit the club. We’ve got a whole night of bad decisions ahead.”

You opened your suitcase, only to find a bunch of skimpy outfits neatly folded inside. You frowned, realizing with a sinking feeling that none of this was your doing. It was all Shoko’s idea of “fun.”

“What the hell, Shoko?” you muttered under your breath, pulling out a tight red dress with way too many straps.

As Shoko rummaged through her own things, oblivious to your mild panic, you started thinking. You hadn’t been out in so long. You were 23, still so young, but somehow, it felt like you missed out on so much. The last three years had been consumed by your relationship with Sukuna.

You and Shoko used to have so much fun back in high school — sneaking into parties, drinking. But ever since you met Sukuna, everything changed. He hated you going out, hated you having fun without him. He was too controlling, convinced you couldn’t be trusted to do anything on your own. You tried to argue, tried to explain that you were independent, but he always found a way to make you feel guilty.

You looked over at Shoko, who was already slipping into something that probably cost way too much, and realized how lucky you were to have her by your side. She’s the one who is helping you forget about him, even if just for a night. She always had your back, even when Sukuna tried to convince you that no one else could ever understand you like he did.

“Ready to party?” Shoko called over her shoulder, catching your eye as she twirled around.

You smiled, feeling a weight lift off your chest. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

You and Shoko finally arrived at the club, the music growing louder the closer you got to the entrance. The neon lights flashing from the outside made everything feel electric. You couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement as the bouncer waved you both in, barely even checking your IDs.

Once inside, the place was packed with people moving to the beat, colorful lights flashing from every corner of the club. The bass thumped deep in your chest, vibrating through your body. It felt like a whole new world compared to the quiet, controlled life you’d been living with Sukuna.

Shoko immediately pulled you toward the bar, practically dragging you through the crowd of people. The bartender, a guy with slicked-back hair and a black apron, gave you a smile as you both hopped onto the bar stools.

“What are we drinking tonight?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the music.

Shoko smiled and leaned in a little too close to the bar. “Two of whatever’s strongest.”

The bartender nodded and quickly got to work, mixing the drinks with practiced ease. As he slid them over to you, you took a sip of the strong cocktail, the burn warming your throat. You cringed at the taste, but it was a good kind of burn. The alcohol hit you almost immediately.

Shoko was talking to the bartender, but your attention drifted. You glanced around, trying to get used to the neon lights and the crowd, and then you spotted him across the bar.

It was him. The guy from the hotel lobby.

For a second, you totally forgot how to breathe. He was leaning against the wall, somehow looking like a model without even trying. His white button-up was unbuttoned at the top, showing just enough of his chest to make your face heat up. The sleeves were rolled up, showing off his forearms, and he wore this silver chain that somehow made him look even hotter. His dark jeans fit really well, and the way he stood, all relaxed and confident, made it hard not to stare. Then his eyes met yours, and it felt like the whole room faded for a moment. He held your gaze a little too long before looking away, and you had to remind yourself to blink.

You turned your head, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

Shoko, always noticing everything, leaned over to look at where you’d been staring. Her eyes lit up when she saw him.

“Oh, he’s cute,” she said, her voice almost teasing.

You couldn’t help but bite your lip. “Stop,” you said, trying to brush it off.

Shoko wasn’t having it. “What? He is cute. And I don’t know, he looks like he’s into you.”

You glanced over at him again, but this time, your eyes locked. You quickly looked away, your heart racing just a little faster.

Shoko raised an eyebrow, amused. “He’s totally checking you out.”

You shook your head, but the grin on Shoko’s face told you she wasn’t going to let it go.

“Don’t freak out, but I think he’s coming over here,” Shoko said, her eyes glued to the guy across the room.

You whipped your head around to look at her, your eyes wide. “What do you mean he’s coming over here?!”

Shoko leaned forward slightly, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I mean he’s literally walking with his two legs over here. Wait, hold up, a girl just stopped him.” She paused, watching the scene unfold across the bar.

You stared at her, confused. “What? What’s happening?”

Shoko squinted, still watching him. “Oh, wait, never mind. He’s coming back, and—oh no, his friends are following him too.”

Your brows furrowed, trying to make sense of the situation. “What are you even talking about?”

Shoko, now looking entirely too pleased with herself, glanced over at you. “Relax. He’s coming over. Just… breathe.”

You shook your head, panic rising. “Shoko, what do I do? Oh my god, I think I’m gonna throw up.” You took another gulp of your drink, chugging it down in a desperate attempt to calm your nerves. You’d never done anything like this before. Your whole life had been spent with Sukuna, and you hadn’t exactly gotten a lot of practice with normal, everyday interactions.

Shoko gave you a playful shove. “You’re gonna be fine. Just be cool. He’s just a guy, right? Don’t overthink it.”

Before you could even reply to Shoko, you heard a deep voice from behind you.

“Hello.”

You froze, your eyes wide as you looked at Shoko, who was staring at you with a teasing grin, then at the guy behind you. You slowly turned around, and there he was — the same man from the hotel lobby. He stood taller than you expected, towering over you as you sat at the bar.

You gulped, trying to compose yourself. He was even more hotter up close. His features were sharp, and those intense blue eyes seemed to lock onto yours, scanning you from head to toe. You felt a flutter in your chest as he smirked, his gaze lingering just a little too long.

“Well, you look even better up close,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing. His grin was playful, but there was a sharp edge to it. “I’m starting to think I’m the lucky one tonight.”

Behind him, you noticed his friends were watching, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding before them.

You were completely caught off guard. Was this really happening? This wasn’t how your night was supposed to go. You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out at first.

Shoko, always ready to tease you, couldn’t help but smirk. “Oh, you two already know each other, huh?”

He chuckled, glancing over at Shoko with a sly look. “Not yet, but I’m sure we’ll become great friends.” His eyes flicked back to you. “Right, sweetheart?”

You felt your heart race, but you rolled your eyes to play it cool, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing how flustered you were. “Really? Is this how you greet every girl you meet?”

His smirk widened, and he leaned a little closer, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke. “Only the ones I think are worth my time. And right now, you’re definitely making the list.” He gave you a wink, causing a mix of excitement and discomfort to swirl in your stomach.

You sat there, trying to play it cool despite the way his intense gaze made your heart beat faster. Before you could say anything else, he spoke up again.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he said, his tone more casual, like it was the easiest thing in the world to offer.

You shook your head lightly, glancing over at Shoko, who raised an eyebrow and shot you a knowing side-eye. “No thank you,” you said, trying to sound firm. “We were actually just leaving.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement as he took a step closer, his body language relaxed, almost too confident. “Really?” he asked, his voice teasing. “Seems like you two just got here.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could get a word out, he interrupted you. “Just one drink. I promise you, it’ll be worth your time.”

Shoko, still sitting beside you, seemed entertained by the back-and-forth. She glanced at you, her expression clearly saying you’re not gonna turn him down, are you?

You bit your lip, feeling torn. You weren’t exactly in the mood to indulge in this whole situation, but something about his persistent grin made you hesitate.

“Fine,” you said, trying to hide the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “One drink. But that’s it.”

He grin stretched wider, clearly pleased by your decision. “That’s all I need,” he said.

The last thing you remembered was you and the white-haired man talking. But somehow, one drink turned into five, stumbling back to his hotel room, tearing each other’s clothes off., and now… now you were sitting up in an unfamiliar hotel room, the sunlight streaming in through the blinds, your naked body wrapped in the blankets.

Your head pounded, your mouth felt like a desert, and there was something strange on your left hand.

Blinking, you stared at the shiny ring on your finger. It was real, wasn’t it?

“Wait…” you muttered, trying to recall anything about the night. “What the hell happened?”

You turned, half expecting to see your friend Shoko beside you, but instead, you saw the tall, white-haired stranger sprawled across the bed.

His piercing blue eyes stared right at you, head propped up on one arm as he gave you a lazy grin.

“Good morning, wifey,” he drawled.

You both stared at each other in silence.

Then you screamed. Loudly.

“Ah, geez, tone it down, will you?” he groaned, covering his ears as you scrambled to grab the sheets, wrapping them tightly around your body. You practically fell out of bed, heart racing a mile a minute.

“What… oh my god.” Your eyes darted around the room in panic, then back to him. Your gaze dropped to his bare chest, the blanket barely covering half his naked body. That’s when you saw his hand — and the ring on his finger.

“Did we…?” you whispered, voice trembling.

“Did we what?” he teased, wiggling his fingers at you. “Get married? Looks like we did, sweetheart.”

You froze, staring at him in disbelief. “No. No, no, no, no. There’s no way.” Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to piece together the foggy memories of last night. “I mean, I don’t even know your name! What is your name?!”

He smirked. “Wow, I’m hurt. You were screaming it last night.” He sat up, running a hand through his messy white hair. “It’s Satoru Gojo.”

Your head spun. “Oh my god, this isn’t happening.” You buried your face in your hands. “This was supposed to be a fun trip, and now… now I’m married to a complete stranger!”

Satoru chuckled, clearly amused by your meltdown. “Well, technically, I’m not a stranger anymore.” He leaned back against the headboard, watching you with that infuriating grin. “If it makes you feel better, I’m pretty sure it was your idea.”

“My idea?!” You glared at him, eyes wide with disbelief. “There is no way I’d agree to something like this!”

“Well,” he shrugged, “you seemed pretty into it last night. Even called me ‘hubby’ a couple of times.”

You groaned, sinking to the floor as the weight of the situation hit you like a train. What had you done? You tugged the sheets tighter around you, gripping the fabric like it was the only thing holding you together.

“No. No way.” You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that when you opened them, this would all be some ridiculous nightmare.

But when you opened your eyes, Satoru was still there, lounging in bed without a care in the world. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he watched you unravel. You ran a hand down your face, glancing around the room. Clothes were scattered across the floor, empty bottles on the nightstand, and the faint smell of alcohol still lingered in the air. The hotel room was definitely nicer than you expected — sleek furniture, massive bed, and a window view that overlooked the bright Las Vegas strip.

“You okay down there?” he asked, voice dripping with fake concern. “You look a little pale. Maybe you should lie down. Or better yet, we could cuddle. You know… husband and wife bonding time.”

You shot him a glare. “Don’t. Even. Start.”

He raised his hands in surrender, though the smirk never left his face. “Hey, just trying to be supportive.”

You ignored him, your heart racing as you stared at the ring on your finger. You tugged at it, twisting and pulling, but it wouldn’t budge. “Oh, come on!” you hissed, yanking harder.

“You’re gonna rip your finger off.”

“I’d rather lose a finger than stay married to you!” you snapped, still struggling with the ring.

“Ouch,” he said, clutching his chest dramatically. “You really know how to wound a guy.”

You finally stopped, breathless and frustrated, letting your hands fall into your lap. “This isn’t happening. It can’t be happening.”

Satoru stretched, the sheets slipping lower on his hips, and you quickly averted your gaze. “Well,” he said casually, “unless we both had the exact same hallucination and these rings magically appeared on our fingers… I’d say it definitely happened.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning again. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Hey, at least we’ve got a great story,” he said, grinning. “Not everyone can say they got married in Vegas to a total stranger.”

You glared at him. “I don’t want a story. I want a time machine.”

He chuckled, leaning back against the pillows. “Sorry, sweetheart. No time machines here. But hey… at least you married someone hot.”

You ignored him, your brain starting to work through the haze of last night. Then it hit you. “Shoko.”

You scrambled to your feet, sheets still wrapped around you, frantically looking for your clothes. Satoru propped himself up on one elbow, watching you with blatant interest. “In a rush, wifey?” he teased, his eyes lazily trailing down your body. “You’re not trying to sneak out on me, are you?”

You spotted your bra hanging off the lamp and snatched it quickly, cheeks burning. He watched you with a lazy smirk, eyes following your every move. Turning your back to him, you dropped the sheets and hurried to hook it on, feeling the weight of his gaze like a physical touch.

“Wow,” Satoru whistled lowly. “Didn’t know I’d get a private show this morning. If I’d known marriage came with perks like this, I would’ve settled down ages ago.”

“Could you not?” you snapped, fumbling with the clasp. Your hands were shaking, whether from embarrassment or rage, you weren’t sure.

“Hey, don’t blame me,” he said, chuckling softly. “Hard not to look when my wife is putting on a show.”

Your face burned. Yanking on your underwear, you grabbed your dress and tugged it over your head, the fabric sliding down your body as you adjusted it into place. You whirled around, glaring at him. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not when I’m this entertained.” He flashed you a grin, resting his chin in his hand as his eyes roamed over you once more. “Gotta say, though… you look just as good putting your clothes on as you did taking them off.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?”

“Never.” He smirked. “But if you want to shut me up, you can just kissed me again.”

You groaned, ignoring his teasing as you spotted your phone half-buried under a pile of clothes. Snatching it up, the screen lit with countless missed calls and texts from Shoko. Heart racing, you unlocked it and scrolled through the messages.

Shoko: OMG I JUST WOKE UP WTF HAPPENED LAST NIGHT

Shoko: WHY AM I IN SOME DUDE’S ROOM??

Shoko: tell me you actually didn’t marry that guy…

Shoko: CALL ME RIGHT NOW.

Before you could reply, Satoru who is now fully clothed, peeked over your shoulder, reading the messages. “Aw, looks like your friend had a good time too.” He grinned. “One of my buddies must’ve kept her company.”

You shot him another glare. “Can you be serious for five seconds?”

“Depends. Can you stop looking so cute when you’re angry?”

You let out a frustrated groan, flopping back onto the bed and covering your face with a pillow. This was officially the worst morning of your life.

taglist: @vehuzzzz @sleepykittyenergy @n1vi @nakiich @artbligh @miizuzu @seternic @luciferlikesducks

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓃𝓊𝓂𝒷 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒷 𝓂𝑒𝓃

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Some people fall apart quietly. You were one of them. The weight of existence had always been relentless, pressing down on you like an unseen force no one else could feel. A lifetime of existential crises, quiet detachment, and numbness that never truly faded—it all led you here.

To your quiet space, where the world was silent, where you could exist without pretense, without expectation. But solitude was never yours to keep.

Not when they noticed.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: Anonymous! Some angst pieces feature The Tkatb Men with an MC who has battled deep depression and constant existential crises since childhood. Struggling with emotional detachment, missed classes, and social withdrawal, they turn to self-harm as a temporary escape from the weight of their mind. 

soooo, Is it bad to turn to my "middle school” playlist just to feel something? I’ve been staying positive and relaxing on spring break; I need to be in my feelings when writing stuff like this. T-T

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒 

Jericho has a way with words to make you feel better. 

You sat in the deepest part of the library, a place so tucked away that even the dust seemed undisturbed. It was quiet—too quiet, maybe—but that was the point. No one came here. 

No one except, apparently, Crowe.

"You're only here out of pity."

You didn’t bother looking up when you said it. You didn’t need to. The sound of his footsteps had already told you it was him before he even spoke.

There was a beat of silence. Then a soft exhale as Crowe dropped into the seat across from you, the chair creaking slightly under his weight. You knew that exhale—it was the same one he let out whenever he was frustrated but trying not to show it.

"You’ve been avoiding me." His voice was steady, but there was an edge underneath.

"I’ve been busy."

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "That’s bullshit, and we both know it."

You clenched your jaw. You didn’t need this right now. You didn’t need him looking at you like that—like he saw right through you.

Crowe leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. His eyes, usually so unreadable, had that sharp focus he got when he was putting the pieces together. 

"You stopped showing up to class. You dropped out of clubs without telling anyone. I damn near had to get our friends to track you down, because no one knew where the hell you were."

You flinched, just barely. So he had noticed. Of course, he had.

“Thier, not my friends—I don’t see why you care so much." You finally looked at him, your expression blank. "You don’t have to play the role of the concerned friend, Crowe. You can go back to your life now. I’ll be fine."

His jaw tightened, and for a second, you thought he was going to snap at you. But instead, he just ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "That’s what pisses me off," he muttered.

"What?"

"You think I’m here out of pity."

You scoffed. "Tell me I’m wrong, then."

Crowe’s fingers tapped against the table—a small habit of his when he was thinking, calculating. Then, without warning, he reached forward and grabbed your wrist. His touch was gentle but firm, his thumb brushing over the edge of your sleeve where the fabric was just slightly worn from being pulled down one too many times.

"I don’t do pity," he said quietly. "I don’t waste my time on people I don’t give a shit about. And I sure as hell wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care."

His grip wasn’t tight. 

You could pull away if you wanted to. 

But you didn’t.

"You keep pushing people away," he continued, his voice softer now, almost tired. "But I’m not going anywhere, no matter how much you try to make me."

Something in your chest ached at his words, but you shoved it down, deep where it couldn’t touch you. You didn’t want to believe him. Because if you did—if you let yourself think, even for a second, that someone actually cared—what would happen when he eventually got tired of you? When he realized you weren’t worth the effort?

You swallowed, forcing your voice to stay even. 

"You’re wasting your time, Crowe."

He studied you for a long moment, then let go of your wrist, leaning back in his chair.

"Maybe," he said simply. "But that’s my choice, isn’t it?"

The worst part? He said it like he meant it.

Crowe didn’t move from his seat, didn’t take his eyes off you. He let his words settle between you, filling the heavy silence. You hated it—hated the way he just sat there, like he wasn’t going to leave no matter how much you wanted him to.

Or maybe, deep down, you hated that part of you didn’t want him to leave at all.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before leaning forward again, arms resting on the table. His voice softened. "You really think that little of yourself, don’t you?"

You opened your mouth to argue—to throw back some cold, dismissive remark that would push him away—but you hesitated. Something about the way he said it, like it wasn’t an accusation but just… sad, made your throat tighten.

Crowe didn’t wait for an answer. He just shook his head, like he was trying to figure out how the hell to get through to you.

"You act like you're nothing, like people only keep you around because they feel sorry for you. But that’s bullshit. You’re the smartest person I know, and not just in that textbook way—you're sharp. You see things other people don’t. And you're not just smart, you’re…" He exhaled, searching for the right words. 

"You’re strong. Even when you don’t feel like it."

You scoffed, but it came out weaker than you meant it to. "That’s a nice way of saying I’m stubborn."

Crowe let out a soft laugh. "Yeah, you are. But that’s part of it. You don’t just roll over when things get hard. You keep going, even when you think you don’t have it in you." He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. 

"And I hate that you can’t see that. I hate that you think so little of yourself when I—" He stopped himself, sucking in a sharp breath.

You stared at him. "When you what?"

Crowe hesitated. His fingers tapped against the table again, a steady rhythm. Then, finally, he met your eyes. "When I think the world of you."

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

"You matter," he said, and he said it with such certainty it almost hurt. "You’re not some burden. You’re not some pity project. You’re—you’re you. And that’s enough. That’s always been enough."

Your hands curled into fists in your lap. You didn’t know what to do with the warmth creeping into your chest, didn’t know how to process the way he was looking at you—like you were something worth holding onto.

"Crowe—"

"I mean it," he cut in before you could come up with some excuse, some way to dismiss it. "And I’ll keep saying it until you start believing it yourself."

Crowe’s eyes softened as he watched you, but there was something else there too—something unshakable, something that made your chest ache in a way you weren’t ready for. 

You looked away, focusing on the grain of the wooden table, on the faint scratches left behind by years of students who had sat here before you.

You weren’t feeling those feelings anymore. Not really. Not the way you used to. It was like a switch had been flipped somewhere along the way, like something inside you had just… shut off.

And that scared you.

Because even the pain, the hurt, the exhaustion—at least it had been something. At least it had been real. But now? Now it was just numb. Like you were watching your own life from behind a glass wall, unable to reach through, unable to touch anything.

Crowe must have noticed something shift in your expression because, before you could pull away, he reached out—slow, deliberate. His fingers brushed against your chin, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Hey." His voice was quiet, careful. Like he was afraid you might disappear if he said the wrong thing. "Where’d you go just now?"

You swallowed hard, blinking against the sting in your eyes. "Nowhere."

His thumb traced the edge of your jaw, the warmth of his touch grounding in a way you weren’t used to. Crowe never pushed, never forced his way in—but he had a way of making you feel seen, even when you didn’t want to be.

"You’re lying," he murmured, his grip steady but gentle. "And I get it. I do. But whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone."

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to let the words sink in, to let yourself reach for the warmth he was offering—but the weight in your chest was too heavy.

"I don’t feel it anymore," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t feel anything."

Crowe’s fingers twitched against your skin, his grip tightening just slightly as if grounding himself in the moment. A flicker of something unguarded passed through his eyes—raw, desperate, something he couldn’t put into words. It was brief, barely there, but you caught it.

And then, before you could pull away before you could disappear into yourself again, he leaned in.

His forehead hovered just over yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breath. He wasn’t forcing you, wasn’t taking anything—just waiting, holding steady, like he’d stand there forever if that’s what it took.

"Then let me feel it for you."

His voice was hoarse like the words physically pained him.

"Let me hold it until you can again."

Your breath hitched, something inside you cracking at the weight of those words. You weren’t sure what broke first—your resolve, the numb wall you’d built, or the illusion that you could keep pushing him away forever. But in that moment, something shifted.

His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing you—like he wanted to make sure you were still here. His hands weren’t trembling, but there was a tension in them, a silent plea he wasn’t voicing.

"You don’t see yourself the way I do." His voice was rough, edged with frustration, and something deeper, something almost unbearable.

He let out a slow breath, his forehead dipping against the side of your head, like the weight of what he said was too much to hold upright. "And that pisses me off."

That alone almost made you laugh. A quiet, breathless sound—more disbelief than humor.

Your throat tightened, and your chest ached. Your eyes burned. But you didn’t cry. Not yet.

Because for the first time in what felt like forever, someone wasn’t just telling you that you weren’t alone. 

Crowe just proved it.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol had never thought it would be this hard to find you.

He’d skipped his own classes to track you down, not bothering to tell anyone where he was going, not caring that the clock was ticking and he was supposed to be somewhere else. But when he’d gone to your usual spots on campus and asked around, there was no sign of you. 

His heart had dropped lower with every dead end. When he reached your apartment, his gut twisted—he’d thought, maybe hoped, that you'd be somewhere else, somewhere safe, surrounded by other people. But you weren’t.

Sol knocked, but there was no answer. His breath came out in a frustrated puff. His instincts told him to push through, and he did. He twisted the knob, relieved to find the door unlocked, but he froze when he stepped inside.

The apartment was quiet. 

Too quiet. 

The only sound was the faint hum of an old air conditioner, the muffled traffic from outside the window. Everything felt still as if the space itself was holding its breath.

He moved cautiously through the small apartment, eyes scanning the room for any sign of you. There were books scattered across the coffee table, dishes piled up in the sink. It looked like you hadn’t been taking care of yourself. Not for a while.

He moved down the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest, as his gaze landed on the bathroom door—half-open, as though you hadn’t bothered to close it completely.

He stopped, instinctively bracing himself before stepping into the room.

The scene before him stopped him in his tracks. 

You were sitting in the bathtub, your knees drawn up to your chest, your arms locked around them as if you could hold yourself together that way. The water was still—too still. It was clear, untouched, yet it seemed to be drowning you all the same. Your hair clung to your face, soaked, strands matted and heavy. You hadn't moved for so long that the water had become cold against your skin, but you didn't care.

Your face was hidden, your eyes closed, and for a brief moment, Sol couldn’t tell if you were asleep or… if you were gone.

A cold panic surged through him, piercing through his chest like ice. His heart stuttered in his ribcage as his breath hitched. He didn’t care about anything else—he just needed to know you were still there, still breathing.

Sol rushed forward, reaching for your shoulder, shaking you lightly at first. But when you didn’t respond, the fear in him began to twist, hard and tight. He shook you again, harder this time, his fingers gripping you with urgency, his voice raw with anxiety.

"Hey." His voice was a whisper, but it trembled with the weight of his panic. "Hey, you okay?"

You jerked awake with a startled shout, your body stiffening in alarm, and immediately you pushed away from his touch. Your eyes flashed open—wide, but unfocused. The fear in your voice was sharp, raw, and you barely registered that it was him standing over you.

"Stop! Go away!" You snapped, your voice thick with exhaustion and frustration. It was bitter, the kind of bitterness that had been accumulating for days, weeks, months. 

The weight of everything you were trying to hide, trying to bury, came spilling out with those words.

Sol froze, his breath catching in his throat. His hands shook as he stood over you, watching your form curl into itself. Your clothes were soaked, clinging to your skin like a second layer, and your hair dripped onto your shoulders, wet strands sticking to your face. 

He couldn't bear to see you like this—this distant, this unreachable.

"What’s going on with you?" Sol demanded, his voice firm but laced with the underlying concern he couldn’t hide. His brow furrowed, and there was a weight in his tone like he was pleading without saying it. 

But you didn’t answer. 

You just turned your face away, pushing your hair back with a dismissive motion, trying to rid yourself of the mess both in your mind and around you.

The silence stretched between you both, and Sol’s patience started to wear thin, a hint of frustration creeping in despite his worry. He rolled his eyes, not at you, but at the situation itself. He couldn’t stand the way you kept pushing him away, pretending that you didn’t need help, pretending that you didn’t need someone to care.

Without waiting for an answer, Sol turned on his heel and went to the linen closet. You barely noticed his movements at first, too lost in your thoughts to even register that he had left. 

When he returned moments later, however, he had two freshly folded towels in his hands.

You blinked, your mind foggy as you tried to piece together how he had found them so quickly. You were lost, disconnected from everything but the fog of your head.

You sighed, exasperated, the weight of everything suddenly pulling at your chest again. "Go away." The words were barely more than a whisper, but they felt heavy on your tongue.

Sol didn’t budge. He took a step closer to the tub, his brow set in determination. But before he could say anything, you pushed him away, your hands weak but insistent.

"I don’t want you to touch me."

His expression softened, but the concern was still there, etched into every line of his face. He stood still for a moment, allowing you the space you wanted. 

You were pulling further into yourself, retreating, and he hated that. But he wasn’t leaving—not until you saw he wasn’t going anywhere.

Sol stood there, his gaze hardening as he watched you pull away, trying to retreat further into yourself as if you could escape the moment. That familiar edge of anger sparked in him—the kind that always flared up when he felt helpless. 

When he could see you falling apart right in front of him, all he could do was stand there and watch you push him away

"Try me," he growled under his breath, his voice low and controlled, but the roughness in it was undeniable. It was like he couldn’t hold back the frustration anymore, the pain of seeing you like this, watching you destroy yourself without any help, without any sign that you even wanted to fight it.

He took a step closer, his heart pounding louder with every second. 

The sound of it was deafening in his ears, but it only pushed him forward, closer to you.

You turned your face away, but Sol wasn’t having it. He reached out with firm, purposeful hands and grabbed your wrist, not roughly, but with a hold that wouldn’t allow you to pull away. His fingers brushed over the raised scars on your skin, and he sucked in a sharp breath. 

The reality of it hit him harder than he was prepared for, like a slap to the face. He swore under his breath, the anger shifting to something darker, something he couldn’t fully express.

"Why?" he asked, quieter now, almost afraid of the answer but still needing to hear it. His voice wavered with a vulnerability he wasn’t sure he wanted to show, but it slipped out anyway. He couldn’t help it—he needed to understand. 

Why did you keep doing this to yourself?

You remained silent, your lips pressed into a thin line, a stubborn refusal to give him any of the answers he was desperate for. His grip on your wrist tightened just slightly, as though he was trying to tether you to him, not letting you slip away.

"You can talk to me," Sol said, his voice softer, more pleading now, despite the cold anger still simmering under the surface. "I don’t care how messy it is. I don’t care how bad it’s been, or how bad you think it’ll sound. Just—don’t do this. Not alone. Not anymore."

His words hung in the air, fragile and thin, like a thread that could snap at any moment. And for a fleeting second, you almost wanted to reach for it. 

Almost. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

 The thought of letting someone see you like this, letting them truly see the mess inside—you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t let anyone in.

"I don’t need saving, Sol." The words came out cold, clipped like you were trying to freeze everything between you both. But even as you spoke, your voice trembled, betraying you.

Sol didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. If anything, his hold on your wrist tightened just a little more, like he was trying to keep you anchored to him, trying to keep you from disappearing into yourself.

"Good," he said softly, his voice steady but filled with an honesty that almost took your breath away. "‘Cause I’m not trying to save you."

He stepped even closer, his breath shallow as he dropped down to sit beside the tub, his body close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, even with the chill in the air. 

His face was just inches from yours now, his gaze locked on yours. 

"I just don’t want to lose you." His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, it almost felt like everything else stopped. His words were simple, but they hit deeper than anything else he could’ve said. 

He wasn’t trying to fix you. He wasn’t trying to save you. 

He just didn’t want to lose you.

Sol let the silence stretch between you, the weight of his words pressing down like a hand around your throat. His grip on your wrist loosened, but he didn’t let go, his fingers ghosting over the scars with an almost reverent touch. His breathing was slow, controlled—but you could feel the tension radiating off of him.

Then, without warning, he moved. Swift and sure, like he had already decided what to do before you could even react.

He grabbed the towel he had brought earlier, shaking it out before reaching for you again. You stiffened, instinctively trying to shrink back, but Sol didn’t give you the chance.

"Enough." His voice was firm, brooking no argument as he pulled you forward, wrapping the towel around your shoulders. The fabric was thick and warm against your soaked clothes, a sharp contrast to the chill in the room.

You didn’t protest when he dragged you up. Maybe you were too tired. Maybe you didn’t want to fight him on this anymore. The moment your legs wobbled from the sudden movement, his arms wrapped around you, pressing you against his chest.

The warmth of him was suffocating.

"You’re shaking," he muttered, tightening his hold. His fingers dug into the fabric of the towel, pressing into your back as though he could physically hold you together. "Jesus, Pumpkin… what the hell are you doing to yourself?"

You swallowed, your throat dry. You could feel the steady thud of his heart against your ear, and could hear the controlled breaths he was forcing himself to take. But it was the slight tremor in his voice that made you feel like the worst person in the world.

You didn’t deserve this.

You didn’t deserve him.

Your hands twitched at your sides, unsure whether to push him away or hold on. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. His warmth was a stark contrast to the coldness you had wrapped yourself in for so long, and for once, you let yourself feel it.

"Why are you here, Sol?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, cracking at the edges.

"Why the fuck wouldn’t I be here?" He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. "You think I’d just ignore this? Ignore you?"

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. What were you supposed to say? That he should have ignored this? That it was easier that way?

Sol exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before cupping the back of your head, forcing you to look at him. His fingers wove into your damp strands, grounding you with his touch.

"Hey now," he said, voice firm, unwavering. "If you think for a second that I’m gonna sit back and let you drown in this—" his grip on your hair tightened slightly, quiet desperation seeping into his words—"you don’t know me as well as you think you do."

The guilt hit like a punch to the gut.

You tried to look away, but he didn’t let you. His grip was gentle but firm, his thumb brushing against the back of your neck in a way that made you shiver.

"I don’t need saving," you repeated weakly, but it felt like a lie now.

"Yeah?" Sol’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite a frown. "Then tell me—if I leave right now, if I walk out that door and don’t come back… are you gonna be okay?"

You opened your mouth to snap yes, to shove him away and tell him to leave you the hell alone. But the words caught in your throat.

Sol’s eyes softened, but there was something sharper lurking beneath. Something calculating. He saw the hesitation, the way your lips parted but no words followed, and he seized the moment.

"That’s what I thought," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your forehead.

You clenched your jaw, hating how easily he could tear through your defenses. Hating how right he was.

He sighed, his grip on your hair finally loosening as he rested his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

"I’m not going anywhere, Pumpkin." His tone was softer now, almost tender—but there was something unshakable beneath it, something that made it clear you didn’t have a choice in the matter.

"So stop trying to make me."

You hated how much you wanted to believe him. How much you wanted to fall into this warmth, this safety he was offering. But deep down, you knew—this wasn’t just concern.

This was possession.

And Sol had no intention of letting you go.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Geo wasn’t the type to care about people’s problems.

At least, that’s what he told himself. It was easier that way—easier to stay detached, to keep his own peace intact. But you?

You made it impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t anything obvious. You still showed up, still spoke when necessary, and still wore that same carefully constructed expression that kept everyone from prying too deep. The others didn’t see it—they weren’t looking hard enough.

But Geo? He noticed.

The way your laugh didn’t quite reach your eyes anymore. The way you lingered at the edges of conversations, only half-present. The way your shoulders carried just a little more weight than usual.

It pissed him off. Not at you—but at whatever had put that weight there in the first place. And the fact that no one else had noticed? That made it worse.

So when you weren’t in your usual spots after classes, he felt it. The unease settled into his chest like an itch he couldn’t scratch, and no matter how much he wanted to brush it off, he couldn’t.

Fine. If you weren’t going to say anything, then he’d figure it out himself.

The library? Empty.

Your club meetings? No sign of you.

Geo’s jaw tightened, his annoyance growing the longer it took. But then—then he found you.

The university greenhouse.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and fresh blooms, the warmth of the sun filtering through the glass ceiling above. And there you were, sitting on a worn stone bench, eyes closed, shoulders relaxed in a way that felt almost unnatural.

For a second, he just watched.

You looked peaceful. Or maybe… maybe you were just pretending to be.

Geo hated that he couldn’t tell.

With a sigh, he shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped forward, his footsteps quiet against the greenhouse floor. He didn’t say anything at first, just standing there like he was waiting for you to notice him. When you didn’t, he clicked his tongue in irritation.

"Didn’t think you were the type to nap in the middle of the day," he muttered, his voice just loud enough to cut through the stillness.

Your eyes flickered open, but you didn’t look surprised. Like you had already known he was there.

"Not napping," you murmured, voice slow, distant. "Just… thinking."

Geo sighed. "Yeah? And how’s that going for you?"

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head slightly. "Too loud."

Geo frowned at that. The greenhouse was silent—just the faint rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the fans overhead. But he knew that wasn’t what you meant.

He moved closer, his gaze sharp as he took you in. The way your fingers curled slightly against the stone bench. The way your shoulders were tense, even if you were trying to look at ease. The way your eyes had that tired look—the kind that sleep wouldn’t fix.

Yeah. Something was wrong.

And it was worse than he thought.

"...You gonna tell me what’s going on, or do I have to drag it out of you?" His tone was casual, but there was an edge beneath it.

You huffed, shaking your head. "Nothing’s going on."

"Liar."

That made you pause.

Geo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I don’t do the whole ‘prying’ thing. But when someone who’s usually pretty good at keeping their shit together suddenly starts falling apart under the radar? Kinda hard not to notice."

You tensed, and he caught it immediately. He was right.

"...You’re imagining things," you muttered, but it was weak.

Geo just scoffed. "Yeah? Then why are you out here, alone, sitting in a greenhouse like some tragic main character?"

You shot him a glare, but he just raised an eyebrow, unfazed.

"Thought so," he muttered.

Silence stretched between you.

You swallowed hard, your gaze fixated on the greenhouse floor, tracing the cracks between the stone tiles like they held answers you couldn't find anywhere else.

Geo wasn’t the type to comfort. He wasn’t the type to pry, either. If you wanted to talk, you would. If you didn’t, fine—he wasn’t going to beg for your feelings. But he also wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t see what was happening to you.

And for some reason, that made it worse.

"Listen." He exhaled sharply, his voice carrying that familiar edge of impatience, but not with you—never with you. More like he was frustrated at the situation itself, at the fact that he even had to say this.

"I don’t care what it is. I don’t care if it’s stupid, or if you think I won’t get it, or whatever excuse you’re using to keep your mouth shut." He leaned back against the bench, just close enough to remind you he was here, but not close enough to smother you. "Just don’t sit here acting like you’re fine when you’re clearly not."

His voice wasn’t soft. It wasn’t kind. But it was real.

And for some reason, that made it harder to breathe.

Your throat felt tight, something hot building behind your ribs, but you forced it down. You were good at that—at shoving things so deep inside yourself that they didn’t exist anymore. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

Geo let out a slow, heavy sigh, his shoulders rising and falling as if this whole thing physically exhausted him. "I don’t like worrying about people," he muttered. "Kinda hate it, actually."

His words shouldn’t have stung, but they did.

His eyes flickered toward you, sharp but unreadable as if debating whether to say the next part.

"But you?" His voice dipped lower, quieter, but somehow heavier. "Yeah. You make that shit real hard to avoid."

That did something to you.

You weren’t sure what exactly, but it hit deeper than you wanted it to. Deeper than you expected it to.

Your fingers curled slightly in your lap, gripping at the fabric of your clothes like you could anchor yourself there. "I don’t mean to," you murmured.

"I know." Geo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His expression remained unreadable, but his voice softened—not in the way people spoke to you with forced pity or careful concern, but in a way that felt... real.

"...Doesn’t change the fact that I still do."

And then—plink.

The first raindrop struck the glass above, a soft, barely-there sound. Then another. And another.

Within moments, the greenhouse filled with the rhythm of rainfall, steady yet heavy, each drop echoing against the glass panels. The scent of damp earth rose around you, rich and grounding, as the world outside blurred into a hazy wash of gray.

Geo exhaled sharply, arms crossing over his chest.

Of course, it had to start raining.

The timing felt cruel in a way—like the universe had been watching the whole time and decided this moment needed an extra layer of weight.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. But in the quiet of the downpour, in the stillness of the greenhouse, something in the air had shifted. The truth was, he wasn’t the type to comfort people. Wasn’t the type to sit around and hold hands, whispering empty reassurances. 

It wasn’t something he was used to. 

It wasn’t something he did.

Silence stretched between you, thick with something unspoken. The only sound was the rain pattering against the greenhouse glass, the steady rhythm filling the space between words you couldn't say.

Your chest ached. Not in a sharp, unbearable way—but in a dull, bone-deep exhaustion that never seemed to fade, no matter how much you tried to ignore it.

"...Classes are draining." Your voice barely rose above a whisper, but somehow, it felt deafening. "I feel like I go through them in a daze. Like I’m there, but I’m not."

Geo didn’t say anything, but you could feel his gaze burning into you. So you kept going because now that you started, it was hard to stop.

"I wake up, I go to class, I do what I have to, and then... I just exist." You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. "And it never means anything. I don’t feel anything. I just... am. And I don’t even know if that matters anymore."

Your hands clenched tighter, knuckles turning white. The words felt too big, too raw, too exposed. It was terrifying.

And for the first time, you dared to look at him.

Geo’s jaw was tight, his fingers twitching against his knee like he was holding himself back. His usual sharp, cocky demeanor had faded into something else—something serious. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” His voice was quiet, but firm.

You didn’t look at him. “Doing what?”

His jaw clenched. "Acting like you don’t matter."

The silence that followed was thick—almost suffocating. And then, you laughed. Bitter, empty.

“Because I don’t.”

Geo stilled. The way you said it like it was just a fact like it wasn’t something that should sting—it pissed him off. He turned his head, eyes narrowing as he studied you, taking in the way your shoulders curled inward, the way your hands clenched in your lap like you were bracing for something. Like you believed what you just said.

Geo clicked his tongue. "Bullshit."

Your fingers twitched, but you didn’t say anything.

Geo exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. He wasn’t good at this. He didn’t have the right words, the right softness people probably expected in moments like these. But he did know one thing.

His fingers moved before his mind fully caught up, wrapping around your wrist with a gentleness that contradicted the sharp edge in his expression. His thumb traced over the fresh marks you had tried so hard to keep hidden, his touch warm against the raised skin.

Geo didn’t say anything at first, just staring—his face unreadable, but his grip steady. Then, his jaw tensed, his voice coming out quieter than before, rough with frustration.

"You matter to me."

Your breath hitched. Something in your chest tightened, an ache you couldn’t quite place.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you turned your face away, shaking your head. "You’re wasting your time."

Geo scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Then let me waste it."

Before you could react, Geo pulled you forward, shifting you into his lap like it was nothing, like he had already decided you weren’t going anywhere. His grip was firm but not forceful, an unspoken message that he wasn’t about to let you slip away—not now, not like this.

Your breath hitched at the sudden closeness. His face was just inches from yours, the warmth of his skin brushing against the coldness that had settled deep in your bones. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, hear the faint hitch in his breathing as he realized just how close you were.

He still didn’t let go of your wrist. If anything, his fingers curled slightly, holding you there like an anchor, like some stubborn part of him thought that if he kept you close enough, he could stop you from drifting any further.

Geo’s expression was the same as always—mildly annoyed, slightly flushed—but when he tried to speak, he faltered. “I—uh, I just—”

His voice caught. He clenched his jaw, his usual sharp confidence replaced by something uncharacteristically awkward. His ears burned red, his gaze flickering away for half a second before snapping back to you. For the first time in your life, you saw Geo flustered.

And it was hilarious.

The sight of him—one of the smoothest, most put-together guys you knew—stammering like an idiot while trying to be serious? 

It was too much.

A laugh broke past your lips before you could stop it.

Geo froze.

Your shoulders shook slightly, exhaustion weighing heavy on your limbs, but you couldn’t stop laughing. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t fake.

It was real.

And somehow, despite everything, it felt good.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the suffocating weight of uselessness that always clung to you—the one that whispered you were just a burden, that you didn’t matter—faded into the background.

Geo huffed dramatically, shifting slightly but not letting you go. "Oh, great. Now you’re laughing at me."

You buried your face into his chest, still shaking with quiet amusement. "Because you suck at this," you mumbled, voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

"Yeah, well—" He was about to fire back, but then he heard it again.

Your laugh.

Not the usual forced chuckle. Not the empty amusement you gave when you didn’t want people to worry.

A real laugh.

And just like that, he went quiet.

His arms wrapped around you more securely, holding you there—close, warm, real.

Fuck. Geo really cared about you.

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

Hyugo easily felt other’s emotions that he cared about.

It wasn’t hard to guess where you’d gone—he just knew. Like an instinct. Like something in his gut told him exactly where to find you, even before he started searching.

The rooftop was off-limits. Not just by school rules, but in the way most people never thought to come up here. Maybe they were too afraid of getting caught. Maybe they just weren’t the type to seek out heights when the ground felt unsteady beneath them. But you? You never cared about the rules.

You didn’t care about much of anything these days.

Hyugo exhaled sharply as he pushed the rusted rooftop door open, stepping into the cold wind that swept across the campus skyline. His uniform was slightly rumpled, tie loosened, the usual carefree expression wiped clean from his face as he caught sight of you—sitting near the ledge, drawn into yourself like you were trying to disappear into the horizon.

He hated seeing you like this.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

“…You missed class again.”

His voice was quiet. Careful. Not demanding, not scolding—just there.

You didn’t react. You didn’t even turn your head.

Hyugo sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The bench near the rooftop’s edge groaned as he sat down beside you, leaving just enough space that you wouldn’t feel cornered—but not enough to let you pretend he wasn’t here.

“Figured I’d find you up here,” he said, leaning back slightly, his arms resting against his knees. “Was hoping I was wrong.”

Still, nothing.

You just kept staring at the skyline, like if you looked hard enough, you might find something out there that made existing feel worth it.

Hyugo wasn’t good with words. Not like this. Not when it mattered. But he couldn’t just sit here and let you drown in whatever thoughts were eating away at you.

His eyes flickered to your sleeves. To the faint, fresh marks barely hidden beneath the fabric.

Something in his chest twisted.

“…I get it, you know.” His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. “Maybe not exactly. Maybe not in the way you do. But…”

He hesitated, watching your fingers curl slightly in your lap, your shoulders stiff like you were bracing for something.

“…It doesn’t have to be like this.”

A sharp, bitter laugh almost escaped your throat, but you swallowed it down. Doesn’t have to be? It always was. It always would be.

You finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “Then tell me what it’s supposed to be like, Hyugo.”

He inhaled slowly, watching you—really watching you. He didn’t have an answer. Not a good one. Not one that would fix anything. But that didn’t stop him from reaching out, his fingers brushing over your wrist, tracing the edge of the pain you carried like it was something fragile, something worth holding onto.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his grip tightening slightly. “But I do know that this isn’t all there is. And I hate that you think it is.”

That did something to you.

Your breath hitched, the weight in your chest pressing harder, heavier. You squeezed your eyes shut, hands clenching into fists.

Hyugo just held onto you. Not forcefully. Not trying to pull you away from the edge—just keeping you here. With him.

“…Talk to me,” he murmured. “Please.”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to stay in the silence, in the cold, in the nothingness.

But when you finally turned your head, when you met his eyes—the way he was looking at you like you were something precious, something irreplaceable—

For the first time in forever… You almost believed him.

Since Hyugo wasn’t the type to cry easily.

Sure, he was emotional—he felt a lot, more than he let on—but he was always the one with a bright smile, a teasing remark, a carefree attitude that made him easy to be around. He kept things light. Kept things fun.

But right now?

Right now, as he looked at you, really looked at you—at the exhaustion weighing down your shoulders, at the way your fingers trembled slightly as if you were holding yourself together with nothing but sheer will—something in him cracked.

His throat tightened.

You noticed the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes glistened under the dim rooftop lights, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he could.

Holy fuck. Did you almost make Hyugo cry?

The thought sent a sharp pang through your chest. It felt wrong. Unfair. He wasn’t supposed to be the one hurting. You were the problem here, not him. He shouldn’t—he couldn’t—

You shifted slightly, about to say something, anything to break the tension—

But then, before you could move, before you could even react, Hyugo suddenly lurched forward.

His arms wrapped around you, his face pressing against your chest, his entire body curling into you like he was holding on for dear life.

The impact startled you, making you stiffen, but he didn’t let go. If anything, he clung to you tighter, like he was afraid you’d slip away the second he loosened his grip.

“…Don’t do this to me,” he mumbled against your shirt, his voice muffled, strained.

You could feel the slight tremor in his hands, the way his breath hitched like he was barely holding himself together. His heartbeat pounded against you, fast, unsteady.

You swallowed hard, guilt settling deep in your stomach.

You didn’t mean to make him feel like this.

You didn’t mean to make anyone feel like this.

Slowly—hesitantly—you lifted a hand, resting it against the back of his head, your fingers threading gently through his messy hair. He let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead deeper against your chest like he was trying to disappear into you.

“…Sorry,” you murmured.

He let out a soft, humorless chuckle, though it came out more like a choked sob.

“God, don’t apologize,” he muttered, voice cracking just slightly. “Don’t you dare fucking apologize right now.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your cheek against the top of his head. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. You didn’t even realize how cold you’d been until now.

For a while, neither of you moved.

Hyugo just held onto you, like he was afraid if he let go, you’d fade away completely. And maybe—just maybe—you let yourself sink into him too, just this once.

“…I’ll stay.”

The words barely made it past your lips, fragile and uncertain, like they might dissolve into the night air before they even reached him.

Hyugo sucked in a sharp breath. For a moment, he didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just stared at you, wide-eyed, like he was afraid to blink in case he somehow imagined your words.

Slowly—cautiously—he pulled back just enough to see your face. The rooftop lights cast faint shadows across his features, but even in the dim glow, you could see it. The raw emotion pooled in his eyes, the way his lips parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

His eyes were red-rimmed, glossy with unshed tears.

“…Yeah?” His voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse and uncertain, like he needed you to say it again, to confirm that you meant it.

You nodded.

And that was it. That was all it took for whatever was holding him back to finally break.

A sharp, uneven breath escaped him, and his lips pressed into a thin line as his brows furrowed. His whole body trembled, hands curling into fists against your back like he was trying to ground himself.

Then, before you could process it, before you could even brace yourself, he lunged forward.

His arms wrapped around you, tighter this time—desperate. His entire body pressed against yours, warm and trembling, his face burying into the crook of your neck.

“Good,” he breathed against your skin, voice thick, raw. “Good. You better. You fucking better.”

You felt him shudder against you, his breath uneven, like he was barely holding himself together. His fingers dug into the fabric of your clothes, gripping you like you might slip through his grasp at any second.

“I—” His voice caught, and he shook his head slightly, swallowing hard. His next words were muffled, spoken so quietly they were almost lost against your skin.

“I’d miss you too much, you know?”

Something inside you twisted painfully.

You exhaled, closing your eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of him—warm, faintly like the wind, like something alive. His heartbeat pounded against yours, frantic and real, a stark contrast to the numbness that had sat heavy in your chest for so long.

You knew.

You knew.

And maybe, just maybe—Hyugo was enough.

[dazevi]

CHAPTER FIVE: TELL HER

heart to heart series | vi x fem!reader

synopsis: vi doesn’t take your response well, falling back into the one thing that always drags her down even further—alcohol. meanwhile, you’re left to reflect on your own reaction, struggling to figure out what it is you truly want. when jayce decides to give vi a reality check, she decides to pull herself together and sets her mind on planning something special.

content warnings: MDNI. slightly suggestive content, more angst, some fluff, hurt/comfort??, rockstar!vi, bookshop owner/writer!reader, exes to lovers, friends with benefits dynamic (kinda), so exes to fwb to lovers, alcohol/drinking, smoking, bestfriend!jayce, kissing, vi is sooooo in love … if im missing anything else please lmk!

wc: 20,080 (slightly inaccurate since i made some edits)

notes: ok ok ok im so so so so sorry for the long wait when i kept saying that i was gonna upload this chapter soon. i have gotten so busy these past couple weeks with work plus taking care of my grandma, so i’ve been struggling to write for a bit, but i finally got this chapter done! it’s also currently the longest chapter of the series, i hope i didn’t stretch it out too long to the point it gets boring, but i hope you all enjoy it :) ty for ur patience! also lovely fanart by bunimint_ on IG !

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Her head fucking hurts. She’s lost count of how many drinks she’s had—whiskey, mostly, the sharp burn of it sliding down her throat, but never really reaching that part of her that needs numbing the most. Besides that, the club is too loud. Music pounding through the speakers, some deep, bass heavy track that makes the floor vibrate beneath her boots. It was full of shouts, laughter, the clink of glasses—but it’s all just noise.

Vi sits slouched in the corner of the bar, a cigarette tucked behind her ear, the smoke of someone else’s drifting too close, burning her nose. The lights are dim, neon flickers bleeding red and blue across the bottles lined up behind the bar. She rubs at her temple, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the liquid swirling in her glass.

It’s been weeks since she last saw you. Since she watched you pull away from her, watched you cry, watched you remind her of the rules she stupidly agreed to.

Your words ring inside her head.

Then, she takes another slow sip. It doesn’t help.

Vi’s phone buzzes against the surface of the bar, but she doesn’t look at it right away. It’s probably Ekko or Loris wondering where the hell she is, why she’s ghosted them for the past few days. Or maybe it’s Steb sending her some dumb meme to make her laugh, like that’s gonna fix the massive fucking hole in her chest.

It could even be her manager. She’s gotten too many calls from him this week—all of them she ignored.

She swallows the thought down with the rest of her drink, signaling the bartender for another. She just sits there, drowning in the noise, wishing it was enough to make her forget you.

Her phone buzzes again. The screen lights up on the bar, her manager’s name glowing and flashing across the top of the screen. She watches it ring, until it goes silent.

That’s the fourth call tonight. The tenth this week. She doesn’t bother listening to the voicemails—she already knows what he wants. She can already hear him over the phone, telling her that her time’s up, and that it’s time to get back to work.

She used to jump into the thought of work.

But now, she doesn’t even want to think about. All of it feels too big, too exhausting.

And, she’d rather think about you.

And it’s fucked up—she knows that—but you’re the only thing her mind keeps circling back to. She replays that night in her head—the way you looked at her that night, standing there in your apartment, eyes glistening with tears, the way your voice cracked… the way you didn’t say I love you back.

Vi knocks back the rest of her drink and taps the bar for another.

She’s drunk. She knows it. She drags a hand down her face, her and leans back forward against the counter.

She’s so fucking drunk, and still, the ache in her chest is sharper than ever.

“Holy shit… it’s Vi!”

Oh, for fucks sake.

“Vi! From The Lanes!”

She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t move. Just grips the glass a little harder, teeth pressing into her bottom lip.

Of course. Of fucking course.

“Guys! It’s Vi! Right over here—come look!”

A few heads turn. The man—some guy she doesn’t recognize, drunk off his ass—waves his arms like he’s discovered some kind of rare fucking animal.

“No way.”

“Vi? Like—Like, Violet Lanes?”

“Shit, get a picture—”

Her head is pounding. The music is too loud, the lights too bright, and now there are people inching closer, whispering and grinning, phones already coming out.

She shoves her glass away from her, ice clinking too loud against the counter.

“Not tonight,” she mutters under her breath, voice rough, but the guy doesn’t get the hint. He’s still calling people over, still beaming like this is some fan meet-and-greet she didn’t agree to.

“Vi, man—you gotta let me buy you a drink,” he says, his hand reaching out, like he might actually touch her shoulder.

Vi flinches back. “Don’t.”

Her head is fucking killing her.

“Fuck off,” she says, louder this time, not even bothering to look at them. “I’m not in the mood.”

The guy laughs, like she’s kidding—like this is all part of the show.

But it’s not. It’s really fucking not.

And he still doesn’t take the hint. He’s still grinning, still too close, and Vi can feel the heat creeping up her neck. It’s the alcohol—making her blood too hot, her patience too thin—but it’s also everything else.

“Come on, Vi,” he says. “Just one picture—”

He touches her arm.

She shoves him back, not hard enough to send him flying, but hard enough to make a point.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me.”

The guy stumbles a little and his friends go quiet.

“Vi, chill—” someone mutters.

She stands, the bar stool scraping back with an ugly screech. Her jaw locks, and she’s already picturing how it would feel. Just one hit. Just to make him back off.

Her knuckles twitch.

But she doesn’t.

She doesn’t—because she knows what happens if she does. Knows the headlines that’ll follow. Vi from The Lanes Punches Fan in Nightclub. Knows her manager will tear her apart the second she picks up her phone. Knows this asshole isn’t worth the trouble.

“Fuck,” Vi mutters.

She pushes past them—shoulders stiff, teeth grinding—ignoring the half-hearted apologies, the drunken protests, the phones still aimed at her.

She doesn’t stop until she’s outside.

The air hits her—cold and wet—and Vi realizes it must’ve just rained. The pavement glistens under the glow of a flickering streetlamp, puddles pooling along the alleyway. The club’s bass still thuds behind her, muffled now, but it’s better for her head.

Vi leans against the wall, bracing her palms against the rough brick, head hanging low.

And all she can think about—all she ever seems to think about these days—is you.

Vi squats down, her back against the brick wall, the damp chill seeping through her jeans. She rakes a hand through her hair, then presses the heel of her palm against her temple. Her head tips back, hitting the wall with a soft and dull thud.

She’s not sure how long she stays like that—seconds, minutes—but then she hears the scuff of shoes against wet pavement, footsteps coming closer. She doesn’t move, doesn’t look up at first. Just stares at the ground, at the smear of neon reflected in a puddle a few inches from her boot.

Then the shoes stop.

Right next to her.

Dark brown leather, a little worn at the toes but still clean. Familiar.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Vi knows that voice.

She lets out a long breath through her nose, her jaw clenching once before she finally looks up.

Jayce stands there, hands in the pockets of his coat, his brows drawn tight in that way they always do when he’s about to give her a lecture. His tie’s a little loose, like he came from some fancy dinner or meeting, but he’s still all crisp lines and polished shoes, the perfect picture of a man who’s got his shit together.

It pisses Vi off more than it should.

“How did you find me?” she mutters.

Jayce lets out a sigh. It’s not the kind of sigh that means he’s annoyed, though.

“Checked Vander’s first,” he starts. “But you weren’t there. Then checked a few of the nightclubs in town… there’s not that many, so…”

“Just leave me alone, Jayce,” she huffs.

“Can’t. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

Vi doesn’t move at first. She can feel his eyes on her, like he’s waiting for her to push him away again. She lets out a frustrated breath and drops her head back against the wall again. The throbbing in her skull hasn’t stopped and her fingers itch for a cigarette

“I don’t want to go home yet.”

Jayce sighs and thinks for a moment, weighing the options in his head. When he’s done deciding, he moves to stand next to her, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze lingering on the city lights in the distance, even though he’s not really looking at them.

Vi pulls out a cigarette, and lights it with her lighter, a cheap one, yellow and plastic, she bought at one when she stopped to get gas, the soft flare of the flame briefly illuminating her face before the smoke curls into the cool air.

Jayce doesn’t say anything, just watches her. He knows she’s not okay, knows that she hasn’t been for a while now. But he doesn’t push.

Vi exhales a long, slow breath of smoke, watching it twist and fade in the air. She wants to scream, wants to throw something, anything. She’s so damn tired of feeling like she’s losing everything.

She glances over at Jayce from the corner of her eye. There’s concern in his gaze, but no judgment.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers.

She’s not sure why she says it. Maybe it’s because she’s drunk, maybe because Jayce is the only one who hasn’t looked at her like she’s already gone. Maybe because she needs to say it out loud for someone to hear.

Jayce doesn’t respond right away. The alleyway smells like wet concrete and stale smoke, and Vi’s head still pounds as she rolls the cig between her teeth, the taste of tobacco bitter on her tongue.

She hear Jayce shift beside her, leaning against the wall with a quiet sigh, “Mel says that… ____’s mad at you.”

Vi’s lips curl into a smirk, slow and humorless. She lets out a sharp breath through her nose, shaking her head softly.

“Understatement of the century,” she says roughly.

She keeps her gaze fixed on the slick ground in front of her, a single puddle catching the glow of a distant streetlamp. Anything to keep from looking at Jayce. Anything to keep from seeing the pity that’s probably written all over his face.

She can still hear you—your voice, the way you said her name like it was a weapon.

I told you what this was, Violet.

She shakes her head at the thought of Jayce even being here. She doesn’t need a lecture. She doesn’t need a pep talk. She doesn’t need someone else telling her how badly she fucked up—she already knows.

“Have you talked to her at all?”

“Jayce.” Vi furrows her brows, throwing her unfinished cig into the puddle she was staring at before standing and turning towards him, “What the fuck is this?”

Jayce doesn’t flinch at her sharp tone, but he exhales through his nose and watches the cigarette fizzle out in the puddle, a tiny hiss of smoke rising and disappearing into air.

“I’m just asking,” he says softly.

Vi scrubs a hand over her face, her palm dragging down the length of her scarred cheek before she plants it firmly on her hip, the other hand raking through her already-messy hair.

“No, what the fuck is this?” she repeats, louder this time. “Did Mel put you up to this? Did she tell you to come track me down and play therapist? Huh?”

Jayce tilts his head, his jaw flexing. “No one put me up to anything, Vi.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not.” His voice is firm when he speaks. “Believe it or not, I care about you, Vi. I care about you and I care about ____. And, clearly, you’re spiraling.”

Vi lets out a bitter laugh, pacing two steps back and then forward again, like she can’t stand still, like the walls of the alley are pressing in on her.

“You don’t know shit,” she snaps.

“Don’t I?” Jayce’s voice hardens. “I know you’re drunk right now. I know that everyone’s wondering where you are. I know that they’re worried about you. I’m worried about you. Just because you haven’t been here for a while doesn’t mean we don’t care.”

Vi looks away.

“And everyone knows it’s because you’re still in love with her.”

“Don’t,” she warns.

Jayce watches her carefully. “Vi…”

She looks up at him then, eyes bloodshot and glassy, her throat bobbing as she swallows hard.

“Just leave it,” she mutters. “Please.”

“Talk to her,” he says softly.

Vi lets out a bitter laugh, “She won’t even fucking listen to me!”

Jayce clenches his jaw, but he doesn’t move from where he’s leaning against the wall, watching Vi pace around right in front of him—something she recognizes her doing every time she was feeling hot headed.

“She doesn’t even love me anymore, so what’s the fucking point?” Vi says again.

Jayce exhales through his nose, “You don’t know that.”

“Trust me, I do.”

She’s pacing again, boots scuffing against the wet pavement. Her hand twitches toward her pocket—probably for another cigarette—but she stops herself.

“You didn’t see the way she looked at me,” Vi mutters, more to herself than to Jayce now. “Like I was a mistake. Like she regretted ever—”

Her voice breaks off, and she presses the heel of her palm to her eye, like she can shove the tears back in before they even have the chance to fall.

Jayce watches her quietly for a moment, “Vi…”

But Vi’s already shaking her head, blinking hard.

“She told me—” she pauses, swallowing hard. “She told me she didn’t want anything more with me.”

She lets out a shaky breath.

“And I said okay. I said fucking okay because I thought… I thought maybe if I just stuck around long enough, she’d change her mind. That she’d see that I still—”

She cuts herself off again, biting down on the words before they can fully slip out. Her shoulders sag, head tipping back against the brick wall as she stares up.

“She doesn’t love me anymore,” Vi whispers, so quiet now that Jayce almost doesn’t hear it.

He shakes his head, his brows pulling together. “You really believe that?”

Vi’s gaze moves away—down the alley, anywhere but him.

“Vi,” Jayce says again, “If she really didn’t love you, you think any of this would hurt her so much?”

Her throat bobs. “She doesn’t even want to talk to me.”

“Maybe because it’s easier than admitting what she actually still feels for you.”

Vi lets out a shaky breath, running both hands through her hair now, tugging at the roots like it might pull the thoughts straight out of her head.

“Look… people don’t get that angry—don’t get that hurt—unless they still care,” he says quietly.

Jayce’s voice softens as he steps closer.

“She’s just scared, Vi.”

Vi opens her mouth to argue, to push back, but nothing comes out. She knows it’s true.

“She’s not gonna let anything else happen unless she believes you’re really here to stay.”

Her heart beats heavy in her chest, and she feels Jayce’s words on her shoulders. And to be honest, she’s scared, too. Scared to face everything she’s fucked up. Scared of making another stupid mistake. Like asking for more with you, telling you she loves you, when you weren’t even ready for it yet.

And maybe, just maybe, Jayce is right. Maybe she hasn’t lost you completely. Maybe she still has a chance.

Vi leans her head back against the wall, her eyes closing for a moment as she lets out a long, shaky breath.

“Just get your shit together, Vi. You can talk to her whenever you’re ready,” Jayce says, kicking himself off of the wall, dusting his jacket off. “And be honest. If you just give her some time, she’ll think it through… And I’m sure she’ll wanna talk to you about it… with whatever she decides.”

And for a moment, Vi looks at him, raising a curious eyebrow.

“You got all this from Mel, didn’t you?”

“Fuck you.”

Vi smirk and shakes her head, turning away to think for a moment.

Minutes of silence pass between them and Jayce begins to think about what might be going on in that head of hers. Vi can be reckless sometimes, for sure, but…

“I think… there’s something I wanna do first.”

Lately, your phone has been more like dead weight in your pocket than anything else. It vibrates, it chimes but you don’t check it. Not right away. Sometimes not at all. It’s easier that way. You just can’t. The screen lights up on the counter now, another message coming through, but you keep your eyes on the open book in front of you. You haven’t turned a page in ten minutes. The words blur together, the sentences dissolving into meaningless shapes, but you keep staring anyway.

You already know what’s waiting for you if you look.

Mel’s worried messages. Your mom’s reminders about dinner this weekend. And Vi—you don’t even want to see her name glowing on the screen.

Now you’re staring right at it. And you don’t even remember picking up your phone. But here you are.

The last message from her is still there: can we talk?

You never answered. It’s been days. Probably weeks. Time feels weird lately—slipping by too fast and too slow all at once. But that message lingers. Just like she always does. And fuck, you wish it didn’t. You wish Vi didn’t still take up so much space in your mind but she does.

And you know exactly why.

Because you still love her.

And that’s what makes all of this so much worse.

But what would you even say? That it still hurts? That you still think about her? That no matter how much you try to push her away, she’s still there in your mind, even when you told yourself time and time again that you’d forget about her.

Now, the days have started to blur together.

You wake up to the sound of your alarm, the same sound every morning but it still feels like a knife to your brain when your eyes flutter open. Just another day starting, just another reminder that you have to get up, have to keep moving. You swing your legs over the side of the bed, the sheets start to feel cold all over again—because there’s never anyone there to warm the other side.

You don’t think about it too much. Or at least, you tell yourself you don’t.

Then it’s the bookshop.

The same key turning in the lock, the same creak of the door as it opens, the same scent of pages and worn leather covers. You used to love it—still do, in a way—but the magic has dulled a little. Maybe it’s because you’re reminded of the way you started, when Vi was here to keep you company and help you out when the shop was just opening.

You water the plants by the front window, straighten the stacks of books people left behind in the wrong spots, flip the sign to Open. Some customers trickle in—a few regulars who smile politely, some who don’t even make eye contact—and you help them find what they need, ring them up, thank them for coming.

And then it’s quiet again.

You check the time too often. Tell yourself not to, but you do. And it’s always slower than you expect.

By the time you flip the sign again and lock the door, the sky is a dark. Streetlights buzz faintly above you as you walk home every evening, your bag slung over your shoulder, your thoughts too loud.

And then it’s back to your apartment.

The place is too still when you walk in. You kick off your shoes, drop your bag by the door, and stand there for a second too long like you’re waiting for something. But nothing happens.

You shower. Eat something—usually whatever takes the least effort. And then you crawl into bed, the sheets still cold. Your phone sits on the nightstand. You don’t look at it.

Then, you sleep.

And wake up.

And do it all over again.

And no matter how hard you try not to, you think about Vi.

It sneaks up on you, when the shop is quiet and the only sound is the soft flutter of a page turning, or when you’re lying in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, the space next to you too empty.

What is she doing? The question echoes in your head more often than you’d like.

Maybe she’s packing her things right now. Shoving worn tees and jeans into a duffel bag, zipping it up without a second glance, like it’s easy. Like it’s nothing. Maybe she’s already left—got on a bus or a plane, disappearing to some other big, fancy city.

She could. Vi could leave.

Maybe this time, though, it’s not about chasing a dream or a career. And maybe she’s finally too defeated to fight for you anymore. Maybe this was the moment she realized there’s nothing left to fight for. That she lost. That you’re gone.

But you were just protecting yourself, right? Weren’t you?

Sometimes, you’d think about asking Mel for some more advice.

You love her. You really do. She’s always been the voice of reason. But tonight, even though you know she’d pick up on the first ring, you don’t call her.

Because you already know what she’d say.

She’d sigh, probably a little exasperated but mostly concerned, and she’d tell you that you need to talk to Vi—really talk to her—because this silence, this distance, is only making it worse. She’d remind you that you still love Vi, that it’s obvious to everyone, that pushing her away hasn’t stopped that hurt in your chest or the way your thoughts circle back to her every damn night. She’d tell you that Vi is a mess without you.

You saw, peeking at one of her messages, that Jayce found her flat out drunk outside of a club one night.

And most of all, she’d tell you that you’re scared.

But, you know all of this already.

So you don’t call Mel.

You can lie to yourself about a lot of things. You can tell yourself that this distance is what you wanted. That you were the one who pushed her away, the one who set the rules, the one who told her no commitment—and that Vi was only ever following your lead.

But what you can’t lie about—not to yourself, not to anyone—is how much you miss her.

It’s a hard thing to admit, even when there’s no one around to hear it.

It means that no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise… you still love her.

The truth might be hardest part.

Because, deep down… all you’ve ever wanted was for Vi to be with you. Not just in pieces, not just in passing—but wholly, fully.

Maybe it’s time to be honest with yourself.

You’ve spent so long hiding behind the walls you built, pretending that the space between you and Vi was what you wanted. You told yourself it was for the best, that it was easier this way—no complications, no expectations, no getting hurt again. But you know for a fact that it’s all been a lie.

Because every time you push it away, every time you convince yourself it’s better to stay away, it only gets harder to ignore what you’re really feeling.

So, maybe it’s time to stop running from it. Maybe it’s time to stop pretending that you can move on when all your heart wants is to turn back, to let her back in.

Maybe you should be honest with Vi.

You owe it to yourself. You owe it to her. No matter how much you try to tell yourself otherwise, you know you can’t keep living like this… can’t keep hiding behind you r feelings. You’ve already spent years hurting yourself trying to ignore it.

And it might be terrifying. But for the first time in a long while, you wonder if maybe that’s the way forward—not hiding, not pretending, but facing what’s been there all along.

And maybe that’s why you’re standing outside of this club in the middle of the night, the cool air biting at your skin.

You didn’t even realize how you ended up here. It almost felt like an out-of-body experience. Your feet carried you here on their own. You didn’t plan it—hell, you didn’t even really want to come.

You called Jayce earlier, your voice shaky even though you tried to hide it. Just a simple question. Where’s Vi?

His response was almost too quick. He didn’t even seem surprised you were asking.

And now, here you are. Outside the club, standing out in the open, feeling like a fool.

What the hell are you doing here?

You don’t know if it’s courage or madness that brought you to this here, but now that you’re here, you feel a little paralyzed. There’s a lump in your throat, your hands cold as you wrap them around your arms for warmth. Your thoughts are racing, but they’re all tangled up. Should you go in? What if she’s not here? What if she sees you and walks away?

You could turn around and go home. You could pretend none of this ever happened, that you never came searching for her.

But, before you could even take a step forward towards the door, Vi stumbles out.

You freeze in place, your breath catching in your throat as you watch her. A cigarette dangles loosely between her lips, the smoke trailing behind her as she stumbles just a little. She’s not looking where she’s going, lost in whatever space she’s in, completely unaware of you standing there.

For a second, it almost feels like you shouldn’t be here. Like you shouldn’t even be watching her like this, as if you’ve caught some part of her that wasn’t meant for you to see. She looks… tired. Defeated, almost. And you’re left standing there, staring at her, your heart pounding in your chest like it’s going to break through your ribs.

Vi stops a few feet away, her hand fumbling with the cigarette, eyes still unfocused as she exhales a cloud of smoke. Then, finally, she looks up, and when her eyes meet yours, it’s like everything comes crashing back.

Her face softens just slightly. She doesn’t say anything right away, but the look in her eyes makes your heart race. She opens her mouth, as if to say something, but the words seem to die before they can leave her lips.

Vi takes a step toward you, then stops herself, like she’s unsure if she should. Her eyes flicker between you and the ground, her fingers twitching at her side as if she wants to reach out but can’t bring herself to. The cigarette is still hanging from her lips, now forgotten, burning down to nothing. She takes a long, slow drag from it and then finally tosses it to the ground, grinding it out beneath her boot with a soft sigh.

“Why are you here?”

She didn’t say it in a mean way… just… curious. And confused.

You look at her and answer honestly, quietly, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” she repeats.

You shake your head slowly, “I don’t.”

It’s true, though. You don’t really know why you’re here. Maybe it’s because you missed her. Maybe it’s because you don’t want to lose what little of her you still have left. Maybe it’s just the way your heart aches every time you think about her, every time you let yourself wonder if there’s a chance to make things right again.

Vi stares at you for a moment, her eyes searching, like she’s looking for something in your face that might give her an answer. And just when you think she’s about to pull away, retreating back into the walls she’s built around herself, she steps closer. Her hand rubs the back of her neck, that nervous habit of hers. She looks at you, then away, and you can tell she’s trying to figure out whether this is real or just a dream in her mind, watching it like it’s in front of her.

“I… don’t know what you want from me,” she says quietly.

You open your mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. Instead, you study her face. Her eyes look tired, a steady frown on her lips as she looks at you, dazed.

“Maybe, we should talk about this later…” you murmur softly. “When you’re sober.”

“I’m not drunk,” she says too quickly.

She opens her mouth again, but her words falter, as if she’s trying to convince herself more than you.

“I’m not—” she starts again, but her voice sounds quieter than before, and she trails off.

You sigh and take a step back, keeping the distance between you just enough to give her space, but not too far away to make her feel abandoned. For a brief moment, she looks like she wants to protest all over again, like she wants to tell you she’s fine, that she’s been through worse and this doesn’t bother her.

But instead, her eyes soften, just slightly. Her lips tighten, and she simply nods, though it’s a reluctant one.

You take a late bus ride home with her—back to that old neighborhood you both used to live in.

The bus ride felt like it stretched on forever, the city lights flickering past the window in flashes of neon and fading streetlamps but none of it mattered.

Not when Vi couldn’t take her eyes off of you.

She hadn’t said anything in the last few minutes. She didn’t know what to say. But her eyes were glued to you, tracing the soft curve of your profile as the light hit your face. She wanted to reach out, to touch you—her fingers aching for soft feel of your skin. She wanted to press her cheek against your shoulder, close her eyes, and breathe you in like she used to. The simple, familiar warmth of you against her. She wanted to hold your hand, to intertwine her fingers with yours, but the fear of rejection all over again kept her frozen in place.

So instead, she just stared.

Her eyes lingered on you, taking in every small detail, from the way your hair fell softly around your face to the way you absentmindedly tapped your fingers against your knee, to the way your lips press together tightly for a quick second whenever you were lost in thought. Everything about you felt so familiar, so desperately close, but so far out of reach.

When the bus finally pulled to a stop and you both got off, Vi still didn’t say anything.

The neighborhood looked the same as it always had, the houses standing like quiet sentinels on either side of the street, the trees lining the road, long shadows just beneath them.

She walked beside you, close, her steps almost too quiet. She couldn’t help herself—her eyes kept darting to you, taking in the way you held yourself, the way your shoulders shifted ever so slightly when you took each step.

And when you reach Vander’s house, Vi’s childhood home standing just in front of your mother’s, Vi felt her heart race again. She wanted to ask if you were okay, wanted to say something, to close the gap between the two of you.

But then you stop walking, just as your reach the end of Vi’s driveway, turning to look at her. Her eyes meet your immediately and you know for a fact that Vi didn’t want you or her to go anywhere.

“You should go,” you say politely, nodding your head towards the house behind her.

It wasn’t meant to push her away, not exactly, but you both knew how fragile things were between you at the moment, and you weren’t really sure what else to say. What else could you say?

But Vi didn’t move, didn’t take the step toward her front door like you had expected. She just stood there, staring at you, her face unreadable as she fidgeted with her hands, unsure of herself.

Finally, her voice cuts through, “Do you wanna come in?”

Vi’s voice trembled, just a little, as if she wasn’t sure whether she should have said it at all. Her eyes searched yours, looking for something—permission, maybe reassurance. It was so different from the confident, stubborn woman you’d once known.

A hundred things flashed through your mind in an instant: the memories of Vi in this house, her old bedroom—laughing, arguing, falling asleep on her couch, her bed with her arm around your shoulders, the sound of her voice soft in the dark.

But all those thoughts felt so far away now, like a dream you could barely reach.

“Maybe not tonight,” you whispered.

She nods.

Not tonight. Vi tries to study your face, like she wasn’t sure what your words meant. But her gaze softened, and the slight tremble in her hand betrayed how much this moment mattered to her, how much she needed something—anything—from you.

She take a breath before muttering, “I miss you.”

Those three words were almost enough to knock the breath out of you.

Vi waited, her eyes never leaving yours. She stood there offering something you still weren’t sure you could take—or something you weren’t sure you should take.

You shook your head, the concern rising again, but your heart already knew the answer.

“You’re drunk, Violet,” you whisper softly, not wanting to be harsh, but—

“Just because I’m drunk doesn’t mean I don’t miss you,” she said.

Your breath hitched in your throat, the distance between you closing with every word she spoke. Maybe it was the way she looked at you. Maybe it was the fact that you missed her too.

But still, you hesitated, unsure of what to say back.

“Vi…” you started, but the words didn’t come easily, and you could see the way she stiffened, like she was bracing for the rejection she expected.

Her eyes softened and she sighed, before taking a step back, giving you some space.

She nods again.

“When I’m sober,” she says.

“Yeah…” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Vi’s looking at you, waiting, her breath uneven, her hands twitching at her sides like she wants to grab you, pull you in, make you understand. But all you can do is swallow the lump in your throat and try to call yourself, even though your heart seems to be pounding so loudly in your chest.

You nod your head towards her house again. “You should go in—”

“You first.”

You sigh, already knowing Vi won’t budge. It was familiar.

Back in high school, after nights when she’d take you out on a date, take you home after some school dance or game, whatever it was, she always made sure you got home safely, watching you outside of her own house as you stepped into yours. And it’s only when she sees the door shut after you when she finally turns on her heel and goes home.

“Can I call you?” she asks, just as you turn to walk away.

You stop. Your heart skips, and you let out a soft breath before turning halfway, catching the way she’s already bracing herself for a no.

Buy you look back at her and smile softly, “When you’re sober?”

The corner of Vi’s mouth twitches, but the smile never really makes it, “Yeah.”

Your game lingers on her for a moment, watching as she stuffs her hands into the pocket a off her jacket.

“Goodnight, Violet.”

You don’t look back this time. You just keep walking, the night quiet except for the soft scuff of your shoes against the pavement as you head towards the house a cross the street.

Vi stays frozen at the edge of her driveway, watching your silhouette disappear behind the front door of your old house.

Three days pass since you same her that night. Watching her stand there, half-dazed from the alcohol, eyes tracing, trying to memorize each and every detail of you.

You wondered if she remembered. Did she? Or did she wake up, head pounding, wondering how she even got home?

You try not to think about it, but you really can’t help it. You can’t stop the thoughts that slip into your mind. You wonder if she’s forgotten about it. If she’s forgotten about you.

But a big part of your heart doesn’t let you believe that.

You know it’s a foolish thought, it’s hard not to think about. You wish she’d call. Just to hear her voice, even if it’s only for a minute.

Then, she does.

It’s late when your phone buzzes, and the sound startles you. You’ve been lying in bed for what feels like hours. You’re not sure what you were expecting tonight, but it certainly wasn’t this. Not at this hour.

When you glance at the screen, your heart skips a beat.

You stare at the name for a moment.

It’s been three days. Three silent days. Your thumb hovers over the screen, uncertain, as if maybe it’s some mistake. Maybe it’s just some fluke, a wrong number or a dream.

But it’s her name.

Your thumb is already swiping across the screen, and before you know it, you’re answering, “Hello?”

It’s quiet for a moment on the other end, and you wonder if she’s second-guessing this, if she’s having the same hesitations you did before she called. You can almost hear her breathing, like she’s trying to find the right thing to say.

“Hey,” she says.

You sit up in bed, your eyes closing as you press the phone closer to your ear.

“Sorry, I know it’s late…”

You swallow, your mouth dry. “It’s okay.”

“I… I’m sober,” she lets out a shaky breath.

You can’t help but smile softly. She remembered.

“That’s good, Vi.”

She sighs on the other end.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot… but…” She hesitates, “I… I want to talk about it in person.”

In person.

“When?” you say nervously.

“Uh, can you come by Vander’s tomorrow? After work? I-If you’re working, I mean. Or whichever day you’re free.” Her voice is soft, nervous, like she’s afraid you’d say no.

You nod to yourself, though she can’t see you. Your heart races as you say quietly, “I’ll go after I close the shop.”

“Yeah… okay.”

There’s another pause, and then Vi’s voice comes through again, quieter than before.

“I miss you.”

You probably shouldn’t say it, but you do anyway.

“Me too.”

On the other end of the line, Vi lies flat on her back in her childhood bedroom, the phone pressed tight against her ear, her free hand draped over her face as if that could somehow hide the flush creeping up her neck. She’s staring at the ceiling—at the faint cracks in the paint, the old band posters she put up when she was seventeen, the ones she never bothered to take down. It smells the same in here, but now with the faint scent of the cigarettes she now smokes outside but somehow still manages to drag in with her.

Her heart is racing and it almost feels stupid, how nervous she is, how her whole body feels like it’s buzzing, like she’s back in high school, lying in this exact room, talking to you on the phone late into the night, whispering so Vander wouldn’t hear that she’s awake past midnight.

And Vi swears her heart stumbles in her chest when she hears your voice, her hand dragging down her face. She’s blushing—full-on red as a damn tomato—and it’s so ridiculous that she actually closes her eyes, biting back a smile, because it’s you. It’s always been you.

Her voice is quieter now, rough but tender, the words slipping out before she can think too hard about them.

“Really?” She asks softly, the tiniest smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Your cheeks instantly get hot and your clear your throat before quickly saying, “See you tomorrow.”

The line goes dead before she can even get a word out.

And then, Vi smiles.

The soft beep of the call ending echoes through her room, and for a second, she just lies there, blinking at the ceiling, the phone still in her hand. Then, she drops the phone onto her chest. You blushed. She heard it in your voice, before you hung up so quick.

She’s nervous. And she can only hope everything she planned, goes well.

The sky is a deep orange when you close up shop and start your walk towards Vander’s bar. The air is warm but it was cooling fast, a breeze slipping beneath your jacket and brushes against your bare legs.

You don’t know how long you’ve been standing here when you arrive, outside of The Last Drop, just staring at the worn sign hanging above the door, just like you did the time Vi asked you to come on Benzo’s birthday. The neon letters are bright against the brick wall, hanging just above the door.

You tug your jacket a little tighter around your shoulders, the simple dress beneath it fluttering lightly with the wind. It’s nothing fancy—you told yourself you didn’t dress up for this. Didn’t want to. That you wouldn’t. But there’s still a small part of you that combed through your closet this morning for something just nice, pretty enough—something Vi might notice anyway.

The street is mostly empty, just a few people lingering further down, the occasional sound of a car passing by. The bar’s windows glow dimly from the inside, soft lights spilling out onto the sidewalk, but it’s quiet—just a bit early for the late night crowd.

And from where you’re standing, you can’t tell if Vi is even here.

You swallow, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, biting the inside of your cheek as your eyes stay fixed on the door. It would be so easy to turn around, walk back the way you came, head home to your apartment and pretend you never came here at all.

But your feet don’t move. You promised yourself that you’d be brave. And honest.

So, you step in.

The door creaks softly as you push it open, and the scent of old wood and faint cigarette smoke wafts over you. The bar is quieter than you expected—just a few regulars hunched over their drinks, the clink of glasses and the low hum of some rock song playing through the crackling speakers filling the room.

Vander’s behind the bar, wiping down a glass with a rag, his broad frame taking up space behind the counter just as you remember. His beard’s a little grayer now, but his eyes still looked the same—the kind that always made you feel welcome, even on the nights when you and Vi would stumble in after one of your countless fights after school, both of you pretending you hadn’t just spent the walk here arguing, bantering, even though he knew that you’d make up an hour later.

The door swings shut behind you with a soft thud, and Vander’s head lifts at the sound.

“Hi, Vander,” you greet.

“Welcome back,” he says with a smile. “Vi’s out back. Had her help with some of the new supplies that came in today.”

You manage a small smile, tugging your jacket a little closer around yourself, unsure what to say. But you don’t have to, because before you can even open your mouth, Vander’s already turning, peeking his head into the small kitchen behind the bar.

“Vi!” he calls out.

Your heart jumps.

A clatter sounds from the back; a faint curse, something heavy being set down and then there’s the sound of footsteps, slow at first, then quicker, like she was rushing.

And all you can do is stand there, staring at the kitchen door, bracing yourself for the moment she walks through it.

The kitchen door swings open just enough for Vi to peek out, her shoulder braced against the frame, and the moment her gaze lands on you, standing there, soft and still and backlit by the dim glow of the bar lights—her heart skips.

Her hair is a mess, unruly and half-falling out of the loose, low, short ponytail she must’ve tied back hours ago. There’s a smear of flour or maybe grease across her forearm, and her knuckles are dusted with something dark—soot from the ancient stove, probabl—and for a second, Vi’s painfully aware of how she must look. Like she just climbed out of a fight with the kitchen itself.

And then there’s you.

Vi’s lips part—not because she knows what to say, but because she doesn’t. She just stares for a beat too long, her chest rising and falling a little too fast, her fingers tightening around the edge of the doorframe.

“Uh…” She finally says, like it had to fight its way out of her throat.

Her brain’s moving too slow—still caught somewhere between how pretty you look and how completely unprepared she suddenly feels.

You don’t say anything yet. Just look at her with those wide, unreadable eyes—the ones that always made her feel like you could see right through her. Vi swallows. Her free hand rakes through her hair, trying to smooth it down, but it only makes the strands stick up more, and she curses softly under her breath. You smile just a little and it’s enough to knock the air right out of her lungs.

Vi’s voice cracks just a little when she stammers, “O-One sec. Let me get my things.”

Then, before you can respond, she disappears back into the kitchen like she’s running from a fire.

You hear a clatter again—something metal hitting the floor. There’s a shuffle of movement, the sound of a zipper being yanked too hard, and then Vi’s voice again, muffled: “Shit—where the hell—”

You stand there, still, your fingers idly brushing the hem of your jacket as Vander watches from behind the bar with an amused smirk, wiping down another glass. The warm hum of the bar seems distant—the soft chatter of conversations, the scrape of a chair against the floor but all you can really focus on is the faint noise of Vi scrambling around in the back.

She’s nervous. You’ve known her long enough to tell.

And you are too.

When Vi reappears, she’s breathless—hair still a little disheveled, but free from they messy, low pony she had on earlier, cheeks a little flushed—but she’s shed the dirty apron, now holding a leather jacket in one hand and shoving her phone into her back pocket with the other. Her boots scuff against the floor as she stops just short of you, swallowing hard.

“Okay,” she says, like she’s still catching up to the moment. Then, with a quick glance down at herself—like she’s realizing, too late, that she still smells faintly of smoke and whatever the hell she was cooking back there—Vi clears her throat. “Uh… ready.”

You blink at her, tilting your head slightly. “Are we going somewhere?”

Vi’s eyes widen and for a split second, she looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“Oh, right! Y-Yeah,” she stutters, the words tripping over themselves. Her gaze darts to the window, like she’s only just noticing how the sky outside has deepened from soft orange to dusky purple, the last light of the sun slipping away. “I… I wanted to show you something.”

She doesn’t elaborate.

Your lips part slightly, a question at the tip of your tongue—but you don’t ask. Not yet.

Instead, you watch as Vi fiddles with the zipper of her leather jacket, her fingers twitchy and restless. She keeps stealing glances at you when she thinks you’re not looking and then drop to the way your dress falls around your legs, soft and simple, before she hastily looks away again like she’s scolding herself.

She’s nervous. It’s endearing.

You smile gently, adjusting your jacket over your shoulders, and let the silence stretch just a little longer—enough to make Vi’s throat bob as she swallows hard.

“Is it far?” you ask softly, finally breaking the silence.

Vi’s gaze snaps back to yours. “Its, uh, a bit of a drive… but not too far. Promise.”

You give her another small smile and nod. “Okay.”

Relief flashes across Vi’s face so quickly you almost miss it. She steps back, motioning toward the door with a jerk of her chin.

“Come on,” she says. “It’s better if I just show you.”

Vi leads you through the back door of the bar, her hand hovering near the small of your back but never quite touching, like she wants to guide you but thinks better of it at the last second. It’s a bit colder outside now, the heat slipping away into a soft breeze.

Her truck is parked there, a beat-up thing that looks like it’s seen better days—faded red paint, a dent in the front bumper, a sticker peeling off the back window. Just like you remember. And without a word, Vi steps ahead, pulling open the passenger side door for you. You climb in, the worn leather seat creaking softly under you, and Vi closes the door carefully, before roundjng the truck and jogging over to the driver’s side.

There’s a beat of silence got a moment—just the two of you sitting there. Then Vi reaches forward, twisting the key in the ignition. The truck starts, and the radio clicks on—low music filtering through her old speakers, some soft, indie song you don’t recognize. And it’s quiet enough that you can still hear Vi’s shaky breath as she shifts into gear and pulls out of the lot.

The drive is silent, for the most part.

You steal a glance at Vi, the way her fingers flex around the steering wheel, her thumb tapping against it. Her jaw is tight, her left knee bouncing ever so slightly.

She’s nervous. Extremely.

She hasn’t looked at you once since you got in the truck. Not directly. But her knuckles are white where they grip the wheel, and you can tell—she’s thinking about you.

“You okay?” you ask softly, not because you don’t know the answer, but because you want to hear her say something.

Vi’s fingers tighten around the wheel.

“Yeah,” she says too quickly. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Thinking.

You don’t ask about what.

Instead, you just turn your gaze back to the road ahead, watching as the lights of the town blur past. The road twists and turns as Vi drives, the town slowly fading behind, buildings growing fewer. The truck hums along, the music still playing softly through the speakers, though neither of you has said much since you left the bar.

You glance at Vi again, at the way her fingers grip the wheel, her jaw working like she’s chewing on a thousand words but swallowing every last one. She’s tense, sure, but there’s something kind of bright in her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching like she’s holding back a smile.

You begin to wonder now—Where are we going?

But then… you start to notice the way the road curves just so. The familiar slope of the hill you know all too well. The buildings growing further and further now in the rearview mirror, until there’s nothing left but open sky and that long, winding road that stretches upward on the hill.

There’s no way, you think.

But… you can see it from here now.

That old drive-in movie theater at the top of the hill, long abandoned but still standing. The massive, weathered screen towers above the lot, cracked and peeling but somehow still proud. Rows of broken, overgrown parking spaces stretch out before it, grass pushing through the cracks in the ground.

It’s exactly the same. Older. But the same.

And suddenly, you remember the nights spent here, years ago—sneaking in after hours when the place had already shut down, lying on the hood of Vi’s old car, watching the stars instead of whatever movie was playing, because Vi could never really sit still long enough to actually watch anything… especially with you there next to her.

It was the first date she took you on, after years of growing up together, secretly crushing on each other, after finally confessing to you when sophomore year had barely started. She took you here, soon after Vander had gifted her the truck on her sixteenth birthday. She saved up for weeks, trying to make it all perfect, grabbing dinner at that pizza place you like, picking flowers in some random field after band practice and giving it to you when she finally mustered up the courage to ask you out. You remember the way she’d steal glances at you instead of the screen—the way her fingers would twitch like she wanted to touch you but didn’t know if she should. The way she’d finally work up the courage, lacing her pinky with yours, cheeks flushed even in the dark. You kissed her here for the first time, surprising her, and not only did Vi fall more in love with you, she fell in love with kissing you.

And now—here you are again.

Vi pulls the truck into the middle of the lot, the perfect spot for a good view of the screen, before cutting the engine.

Silence.

The sound of the radio dies, leaning only the distant chirp of crickets and the faint whisper of the wind through the grass.

Vi’s fingers are still curled around the steering wheel, like she’s gathering the courage to let go.

Finally, she clears her throat.

“I, uh… I thought we could—” She stops, shakes her head, then tries again. “I just… I used to bring you here all the time, remember?”

Her voice is quiet. Tentative.

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around the edge of your jacket.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I remember.”

Vi lets out a shaky breath, her thumb still tapping nervously against the steering wheel.

“I thought this place shut down a couple years ago,” you say, looking out the window.

In fact, you knew it did. You came here from time to time, while you and Vi were still dating—while you were here, and she was off far away chasing her dream. You’d come here alone from time to time when you were missing her, maybe in between months to watch a movie to pretend she was with you. You liked doing that.

But, the people who ran this place decided to shut it down, you heard. Bad business. Less and a less people coming. Not enough money coming in to keep this place running.

Your heart broke with it.

“It looks clean,” you say, eyes scanning what looked liked freshly cut grass and no sight of trash littered across the field.

Vi clears her throat before speaking again.

“I… I actually spent a few weeks getting this place fixed up,” she says quietly, glancing at you nervously.

Your heart skip another beat.

“You… What?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

She shifts in her seat, her thumb still twitching against the wheel, a nervous habit you recognize all too well. Her other hand scrubs at the back of her neck, and you catch the faintest hint of red creeping up from her collar, disappearing beneath the jacket she’s wearing.

“I, uh… yeah,” she mumbles, eyes darting to the dark screen towering above you both, the massive structure still cracked and weathered but now oddly… clean. Cleared of the overgrown vines and layers of grime that once clung to it like a second skin.

Vi lifts her gaze back to you, “I figured I could fix it up.”

You blink at her.

And she clears her throat again.

“Ekko, Steb, Loris… even Jayce. They all helped. Took a couple weeks to clean the place up. Three days just this week to make sure everything was working—” She stops herself, clears her throat. “The projector, I mean. It’s old, but… we got it running again.”

Your mouth opens—then closes.

Because suddenly, it’s so clear.

The smudges of grease on Vi’s fingers when she rushed out of the kitchen earlier tonight. The faint streak of dirt on her shirt. The way she kept checking the sky, the time—so desperate to get you here after the sun completely set.

She’d been working on this for you.

Your throat feels tight.

“You did all of this?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” she breathes, nodding nervously. “I just… I wanted to bring you back here. I thought maybe… we could talk here. And it’s quiet, so...”

She laughs softly—bitterly, almost.

“Or, y’know… we don’t have to talk, if you want. We could just sit here. Stare at the screen. Like we used to.”

Your chest aches.

Because Vi isn’t just showing you this place—this isn’t just about an old drive-in movie theater. It’s about all the time she lost, all the ways she’s trying to piece something back together. She’s standing in the ruins of what you once had, and instead of walking away… she’s trying to build something new.

For you.

You swallow hard, fingers tightening around the edge of your jacket as you glance back at the screen, the rows of parking spots, the cleared out grass—everything Vi touched, cleaned, and fixed looking back at her.

“Vi…” you whisper, but you don’t know what to say.

The smile tugs at your lips before you can stop it.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring at each other until you quietly say, “Can you put a movie on?”

It takes Vi a second to notice—like she wasn’t expecting it—but when she finally turns her head and really looks at you, her own smile creeps up slow. It’s tentative at first, like she’s afraid to let herself feel too much, but then it grows brighter and wider, spreading across her face until her dimples flash like she’s suddenly seventeen again, sitting in front of you with a heart too full to control.

“Y-Yeah,” she stammers, the excitement in her voice is clear—impossible to hide. “Yeah—uh, just gimme a sec.”

And then she’s moving���quickly, almost tripping over her own feet in her rush to get out of the truck. She doesn’t even bother closing the door properly, leaving it cracked open as she jogs across the lot, her jacket nearly slipping off one shoulder as she reaches the small booth tucked at the back of the theater—the projector room.

You watch her climb up the short set of metal stairs—two at a time—before fumbling with the old lock on the door, muttering something to herself when it sticks for a moment. She manages to shove it open with a rough push of her shoulder, disappearing inside.

For a moment, it’s quiet.

Then, after a few seconds, a faint flicker of light appears on the blank screen in front of you.

You lean back in the seat, your heart still beating a little too fast, watching as the screen brightens as the picture starts to settle. A movie starts—and you smile, shaking your head as the music fills your ears before anything else. Star Wars: A New Hope.

And a few seconds later, Vi comes sprinting back—slightly breathless, a wide grin plastered across her face as she throws herself back into the driver’s seat.

The iconic opening is already rolling, those bold yellow letters floating through the starry sky, the score blasting through the old speakers Vi must’ve rigged back to life.

You remember the way she used to kiss you during the this movie. How she’d slip her hand into yours when Leia appeared, saying something cheesy like, “You’re prettier than her,” and you’d roll your eyes, laughing—but your heart would race, and you’d kiss her in the cheek anyway.

You smile again.

And Vi notices.

“What?” she asks, a little shy, like she’s bracing herself for you to tease her.

You shake your head, still smiling, eyes glued to the screen. “Nothing.”

But Vi doesn’t look away—not right away.

She keeps watching you, like you’re the only thing worth watching tonight.

The movie plays on, echoing softly through the speakers Vi must’ve dragged out here, though the sound’s a little scratchy, like it’s crackling at the edges. But it doesn’t really matter. Neither of you are really watching it anyway.

You can feel Vi’s gaze drift toward you every few minutes—like she’s checking, like she’s still waiting, like she’s terrified this might all be too much, too soon. But she doesn’t say anything.

It really is quiet up here, like she said—no passing cars, no city noise—just the wind brushing through the grass and the soft hum of the projector behind you.

You pull your jacket a little tighter around yourself.

And then you glance at Vi.

She’s watching the screen—or at least pretending to—but her jaw is tight, her lips pressed together, like she’s biting back words. You can tell she wants to say something, the way her knee won’t stop bouncing, the way her hand keeps flexing against her thigh, like she’s thinking about reaching for yours but doesn’t dare.

So you speak first.

“Why’d you fix this place up?” you ask softly.

Vi blinks. She looks at you for a long moment, mouth parting—but nothing comes out at first.

“I… I don’t know,” she admits, running a hand through her hair—messing it up even more, if that’s possible. “I just… I remembered you saying you used to come here.”

She glances away for a moment.

“I know I wasn’t always… there. Back then.” Her jaw clenches, struggling to find the right words. “But I remembered you telling me how you’d come here sometimes—when I was on the road. After we broke up, I was on a call with dad and heard that it got shut down.”

You swallow, hard.

“I guess… I just wanted to fix it. Make it… I don’t know. Make it something good again. For you.”

You remember those nights. The ones where Vi wouldn’t call, or would miss your texts—too busy chasing the dream you told her you were proud of, even if it meant you were left behind.

You clear your throat, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “Vi…”

She shakes her head quickly, like she doesn’t want you to say anything.

“I know it doesn’t fix anything,” she mumbles.

Her gaze drops to her lap.

Silence again.

But before you can stop yourself, your hand moves until your fingers brush against Vi’s on the seat between you. Just a light touch. Just enough to let her know you heard her.

Vi’s breath hitches in her throat. She doesn’t look at you—but she doesn’t move her hand away either.

The movie rolls on, the light flickering on the screen softly, and uneven shadows dance across Vi’s face. Your fingers are still there, resting lightly against hers—not quite holding her hand, but not pulling away either.

Vi hasn’t moved. Hasn’t even dared to breathe too loud.

She’s still nervous. You can feel it in the way her knee keeps bouncing, in the way her thumb twitches, like she wants so badly to close the distance and link her fingers with yours.

But she doesn’t. She stays there, still as a statue, letting you set the pace.

You glance at her out of the corner of your eye.

She’s not watching the movie anymore—hasn’t been for a while. Her gaze is fixed on the screen, sure, but you can tell by the way her eyebrows twitch slightly, by the way her lips press into a thin line, that her head is somewhere else entirely.

She’s thinking about you. You know her too well. She’s overthinking, pulling herself apart, wondering if all of this was too much.

She thinks you might pull away any second now.

So you don’t.

You shift slightly in your seat, letting your pinky finger loop gently around hers. It’s barely anything but Vi notices immediately. Her body goes stiff for a second. Then, slowly, she moves her hand—just enough to let her pinky hook back around yours.

It’s almost nothing.

But to Vi, it’s everything.

She lets out a shaky breath, like she’s been holding it in for too long, and finally dares to look at you.

“I wasn’t sure if you were gonna show up today,” she admits, “After… the other night.”

You hear the words inside of your head again. I love you.

You swallow the lump in your throat and speak softly, your finger still hooked with hers.

“I told you I’d see you tomorrow,” you say.

Vi’s lips twitch once more, but there’s still a question in her eyes, like she’s waiting for you to reject her all over again.

Like she’s still afraid you’re going to run.

And maybe a part of you is still afraid too.

The movie continued to fade into the background. You shift a little, the leather seat creaking softly as you move. Your pinky was still hooked around hers, but the rest of your hand stayed still. Waiting for something from her.

It was too quiet now. Neither of you looked at each other. Vi’s chest tightened with the silence. Her fingers fidgeted where they rested against the seat as she thought about how much she wanted to say but didn’t know how. She wasn’t sure if it was too late, or if you’d even believe her if she told you how much she still loved you, how much she regretted everything that had happened between you both.

Then, the words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. Vi’s heart skipped a beat as soon as she said it, and she immediately regretted the rush.

“I’m leaving the record label,” she blurted out.

You stopped and turned your head to look at her.

“What?”

She couldn’t bring herself to look at you, her eyes glued to the screen ahead, even though she was barely watching. Her other hand curled into a fist over her lap. She hadn’t planned on telling you this way. She wanted to ease into it more. And she wasn’t ready for this conversation—hell, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be ready—but now that it was out, it was impossible to ignore.

Vi sighs, her mind racing. It had been a decision she’d been turning over for the past year, before coming back here, before seeing you again, something she’d thought about while staring at the ceiling of her hotel room, when the loneliness finally sank in. She was done with it. The constant demands, the fake smiles, the busy schedules. She was done pretending. Done with the things that had pulled her away from everything that had once mattered.

And that included you.

“It’s just… it’s not what I thought it was.” She says, voice shaking as she spoke.

Vi finally turns her head, just enough to catch a glimpse of you, though she wasn’t sure if she could hold your gaze yet.

“I’m tired of it,” she breathes.

She was tired of being someone she wasn’t sure she recognized anymore. The pressure. The distance. The mistakes. The demands. Constantly touring. Strict deadlines for recording and making music. Promotions. Events. She was tired of pretending she was fine with drowning in the endless work, tired of feeling like she was losing herself more every day, when all she ever wanted was to make music and play it with her best friends.

Her knuckles whitened, clenching her fist hard.

“I didn’t realize how much I was… letting go of until it was too late,” Vi continued, her voice dropping, vulnerable in a way she wasn’t used to. “I let everything else slip through my fingers. And you—”

Her throat tightened, and she cut herself off, shaking her head, her breath catching in the back of her throat.

“I was so focused on everything else, I didn’t even notice… I didn’t even notice how far I was from you.”

She wasn’t sure what she expected, if anything. Maybe she was just hoping to get it out, to let you know she wasn’t the same person anymore, that she was ready to change. Ready to fight for what really mattered. For you.

“Violet,” you say softly. “You love the band…”

Vi’s smile was soft as she looked over at you. She let out a breath, shaking her head.

“I do, yeah… but…” She trailed off, her eyes flitting to the dashboard as if the answers were hiding somewhere in the worn leather seats.

“I’m not quitting the band… I don’t want to do that any time soon and I didn’t think you’d want me to do that either,” she added, running a hand through her hair. “But I’m tired of the way things are going. The stuff we have to do… It’s not fun anymore.”

She let out another deep breath, her eyes briefly meeting yours again.

“I want a place where we’re not being told what to do, where we can just… make music and play what we want,” Vi smiled a little again, more to herself than to you, as if she was starting to believe it herself. “I guess… I just need to find a label that’s willing to let us have more freedom, you know?”

“What does the band think?” you ask her. After all, they did sign to a major label—you know it won’t be smooth sailing if they quit. But a part of you also knows how popular the band is, how big they’ve gotten, how successful they are, and that if this happens, people are still going to want to listen to them anyway.

“Yeah, they’re on board,” Vi smiles.

She was scared, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. Her eyes found their way back to the screen, the flashing lights of the movie scenes dancing across her face, but… she couldnt think about anything else.

“And I also… I wanna be closer to you,” Vi whispered, almost as if she wasn’t sure she even had the right to say it.

Her lips pressed together. She was nervous again.

The truth was, she didn’t know how to make you believe her. How to make you see that she wasn’t the same person who had let you go before.

That this time, she wanted you. All of you.

She cleared her throat awkwardly, “I-I mean… T-There’s a record label I’ve been looking at. I-It’s independent, and it’s just several hours away, but it’s closer than New York and Ekko and I were already thinking about setting up a studio here at home so—I-If it works out, we’ll just finish our contract and move right after… Besides—”

She’s rambling.

After a minute of talking out of her nerves, her gaze flickered toward you again, against her better judgment, and for a split second, her heart stuttered in her chest.

You looked… perfect. Beautiful. So much more than she remembered, and yet so familiar, like she was coming home.

Fuck, she thought. You look so pretty.

Vi immediately turned her head back to the screen, suddenly feeling the heat spreading across her cheeks. She wanted to look at you again, to let herself drink you in, but she was scared. It was easier to look away, to focus on the movie in front of her. But she couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every little thing about you—your laugh, you smile, the feeling of your hand against hers—was driving her crazy.

She sneaked another glance anyway, this time a little longer, though she quickly darted her eyes away again when she realized how easily her breath hitched. You weren’t even doing anything, just sitting there, your gaze soft on the screen, yet everything about you felt so magnetic to her. It was hard to ignore, harder still to pretend that she wasn’t still in love with you.

“I spent a lot of time trying to forget about you, you know.”

For a second, Vi wasn’t sure if she had heard you correctly.

But she could hear the honesty in your voice. And suddenly, she wished more than anything that she could take all of that pain away. That she could erase the hurt she had caused, make it right. She wanted to apologize, wanted to explain everything she had never said, but the words felt stuck in her throat.

You turned your head slowly, and though she couldn’t see your face clearly, she knows that tears were threatening to spill.

“I spent so long convincing myself I was okay without you,” you continued. “I told myself I was fine… and for a while, I believed it. I really did.”

Vi’s heart twisted painfully as you spoke. It was hard to hear, but at the same time, she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“But no matter how much I tried to push it all down, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Sometimes, I wondered if we could ever go back to the way we were.”

You turned your head away, trying to hide the tears that found their way down your cheeks.

“I figured you’d forget about me too… that you were out there living your dream already… and that you didnt need me anymore.”

“You’re wrong.”

Vi’s heart raced as she quickly scooted closer to you, the long seat in her truck creaking slightly, like she couldn’t wait another second to close the distance between you.

Her hand hovered over yours for a split second, then laced her fingers with yours. She pulled your hand into her lap, her hands big, warm and rough—the same way they’ve always felt before. Vi stared down at your intertwined hands, her thumb tracing the soft curve of your knuckles, over and over again, as though she was trying to memorize the feeling of your skin. She couldn’t look at you just yet; her gaze was fixed on your joined hands, touching you, holding you.

“You’re wrong,” she repeated, her words spilling out, desperate for you to hear her, to believe her. “I never stopped needing you. Never stopped wanting you.”

She swallowed hard, shaking her head.

“I thought about you every day,” she whispered.

Vi didn’t look at you as she spoke—her eyes still fixed on your hands, her thumb continuing to trace small circles over your skin.

“I thought about all the things I’d do right the next time… if I got the chance. All the ways I’d be better for you.”

Her fingers tightened just slightly around yours, pulling you a little closer. Her side was pressed against yours, but even then, she wanted to be closer.

“I also wondered if you found someone else. Someone who’d be there for you the way I wasn’t,” she said, smiling sadly at the thought. “It’s been three years since I saw you so… I don’t know. That’s a long time and I…”

Always thought it was too late.

Her head dropped, chin tilting slightly downward, as she let out a shaky breath, trying to keep herself from falling apart. There was so much regret, so much pain for the time she had wasted, for the distance that had grown between the two of you.

“When I saw you at the wedding… All the bullshit I’ve been running through my head, all the walls I’ve put up… they just… disappeared,” she said, eyes shifting to meet yours for just a moment. “And all I could think was, ‘I’ve wasted so much time. I’ve been so stupid.’”

Her breath was shallow, unsteady, as she ran her thumb back and forth over your skin. She wanted to make you feel safe, wanted you to feel the sincerity in her touch, the way she wanted to be close to you.

“You deserve more than… than everything I gave you,” Vi sniffles quietly. “I wasn’t ready then, but I’m ready now.”

She squeezed your hand slightly, to reassure herself that you were here, that you hadn’t let go, that you were still holding onto her.

Her thumb continued its slow path over your knuckles.

“You’re my dream, too.”

Her chest feels tight as she says it.

“And if you don’t want this with me… that’s okay,” Vi says softly, though her voice cracks at the end.

She stares straight ahead, at the flickering lights of the drive-in screen now, though she’s still not really watching the movie.

“I just… I want you to know it’s not about what I want. It’s about what you want. If being close to me again—if it hurts too much… then I get it. I swear, I do.”

Vi’s grip on your hand loosens, hesitant, like she’s preparing herself to let go. Her heart is racing, her stomach twisting. She’s trying to be strong, to give you space, but the truth is, the thought of losing you again—this time for good—is tearing her apart piece by piece.

“I want to be happy… and if you think you can’t be that with me, I’ll understand.”

And finally, Vi turns her head just enough to look at you, her eyes glassy. But she doesn’t push. She doesn’t beg.

She waits.

Tears slip down your cheeks before you can stop them.

It hurts. God, it hurts.

Without thinking, you move closer and lean your head against Vi’s shoulder, tucking your face near the curve of her neck. You feel her go still beneath you, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe, as if one wrong move might br the reason you pull away from her again.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumble against her neck, your voice breaking somewhere in the middle.

And then the tears come harder. Your shoulders tremble, and you try to keep it together, but it’s useless.

Vi’s heart is pounding—you can feel it beneath the fabric of her t-shirt. She doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t shift or fidget. She doesn’t want to. She just stays frozen, her fingers still loosely laced with yours in her lap, her thumb still now, resting against your knuckles like she’s forgotten how to do anything but sit there and let herself feel you this close.

She stares straight ahead at the drive-in screen, but it only blurred in her vision. All she can think about is you. Your head against her shoulder. The brush of your hair against her neck. The way your arm grazes hers, how your hand is still in hers, even as your shoulders tremble with silent tears.

Vi closes her hand a little more firmly around yours. Your soft, broken sobs are barely more than a whisper against her shoulder, but to her, they’re louder than the movie, louder than her own heart pounding in her chest.

Slowly, her gaze drifts down to your tangled hand resting in her lap, to the way your knuckles look small in her rough, calloused palm.

She remembers how many times she’s held your hand like this before—when you were both younger, when things were simpler. She remembers pulling you through the halls in school, in her house, on dates, lacing your fingers together on long drives with the windows down, slipping her hand into yours just because she could—because back then, she didn’t have to wonder if you’d let her.

Her thumb brushes over your knuckles again before she squeezes your hand softly. And then, hesitantly, Vi lifts your hand from her lap, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as she brings it closer. Her lips graze the back of your hand as she kisses you there, just barely. Her mouth stays for a moment longer than it should, her breath warm against your skin, and when she finally pulls away, her hand still holds yours, cradling it carefully like its something she’s scared of breaking.

“Violet,” you whisper again.

Vi’s head snaps up instantly in a panic, worried you’ll pull away from her soon.

But you don’t.

You’re still there, still leaning into her, your face close enough that she can see the faint trail of tears drying on your cheeks, the way your lips tremble, the way your eyes are focused on her, and only her.

“Yeah?” She breathes.

You don’t say anything right away.

But carefully, you let your other hand move upwards, your fingertips brush along her jaw, so softly, and Vi swears she forgets how to breathe. Her skin is warm beneath your hand as your thumb gently ghosts over the scar that cuts through her the tattoo on her cheek—the one that spells out her name. She leans into it instinctively, like she’s starved for the feeling of you, like she’s afraid this might be the last time you’ll ever touch her like this.

Her eyes flutter shut for just a second before they open again, and now she’s not staring at the screen or at your hands.

She’s staring at you.

Vi’s breath hitches. Her eyes fall shut for a moment, the feeling of your soft skin against hers comforting her in a way she hasn’t felt in years.

“I think I’ve forgiven you a long time ago,” you say.

Vi feels the walls she’s been building around herself start to crack, just a little. She’s so close to breaking, but she’s scared. Scared of what this means, scared of how much she still needs you, how much she’s missed you.

You continue, quietly. Nervously. “I panicked because I… I was scared of repeating the same things that happened in the past… I was scared of wanting more with you… not knowing if anything would actually change.”

She opens her eyes, her gaze darting over to yours immediately. And she could lose you again, she knows that. But what scares her most is that she’s not sure she’s strong enough to let you go, even if she wanted to.

“I don’t want you to be scared,” she whispers, almost desperately. “I don’t want to be the reason you’re scared anymore. I just…”

Her voice cracks as she continues.

“This… This is the one thing I wanna get right.”

Vi can see the shimmer of your tears in the faint glow from the screen, and it makes chest ache.

“I will get it right,” she promises.

Her eyes search yours, trying desperately to figure out what you’re thinking.

But soon, you’re crying again.

Vi watches helplessly as tears begin to fall again. The sight makes her feel like she’s breaking all over again. She feels her own eyes welling up, but she blinks back the tears, trying to hold it together, trying to be strong for you. Her eyes trace your face, and her hand still tangled with yours, thumb brushing gentle circles against your skin. Her heart is pounding so loudly she’s sure you can hear it, but she doesn’t say a word. She’s too scared. Scared that this might be the moment you pull away from her all over again—that despite everything she’s said, you’ll decide it’s too late, that she’s too late.

But then, in a voice so soft that Vi barely hears, you mutter quietly.

“Okay.”

Vi freezes. Her mind stumbles over the word, running it back over and over again like she misheard it, like it couldn’t possibly mean what she thinks it does. Did you mean it? Did you really mean it?

She blinks down at you, your tear-streaked face still pressed to her shoulder, and she feels like her heart just forgot how to beat.

And then, like the air’s been knocked out of her, she sighs. She couldn’t believe it.

“Okay?” she echoes softly.

“Okay,” you nod against her, sniffling softly. “I think… we should take it slow, at least—”

It feels like the air has been knocked out of Vi’s lungs. She’s still staring at you, eyes wide, like she can’t fully process what you just said.

“Wait, wait—” She swallows hard. “You… you mean it?”

You lift your head just enough to look at her, and the sight of your tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes almost undoes her entirely.

“Yeah,” you whisper, nodding your head.

Holy shit. Vi stares at you. It doesn’t feel real.

The word echoes in her head, over and over, her brain still trying to convince itself that you really said it. That you really meant it. Her chest feels tight, and for a second, she wonders if she’s forgotten how to breathe.

And yet, Vi doesn’t move. She doesn’t blink. She doesn’t speak.

Honestly, a part of her is still bracing for you to take it back like this is just a dream she’s about to wake up from, or a cruel joke the universe decided to play on her—that any second now, you’ll realize you made a mistake, pull your hand away, and tell her you can’t do this.

But you don’t.

You sniffle instead, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand before tilting your head slightly to look at her. Vi is still frozen, staring at you like you just spoke in another language.

A slow, bittersweet smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“Vi…?”

Vi blinks rapidly, mouth opening slightly, but no words come out and—shit.

You tilt your head slightly, eyes still glossy, still searching her face, and Vi swears she’s about to pass out because fuck, you’re beautiful. Even after all that crying, the way you’re looking at her, like you’re really seeing her for the first time in years, like she’s something worth looking at—

Vi feels her entire body go up in flames.

She’s red.

Like, really red—cheeks burning, ears practically glowing, and the moment your eyes meet, she panics. Her face heats up so fucking fast she’s sure she’s about to combust, the tips of her ears burning, and before she can stop herself, her forehead drops against your shoulder in pure mortification, and she groans.

“Fuck,” she mutters, muffled against your jacket. “I—just—gimme a second.”

She can feel you shaking slightly, and for a second, she thinks you’re crying again, but—it’s the quietest little laugh that falls past your lips and into her ears.

And despite the fact that she’d do anything and more to make you laugh forever, out of pure embarrassment, she groans quietly, “Don’t laugh at me.”

You sniff again. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

And you don’t say anything else after that. Neither does Vi.

She just stays there, forehead resting against your shoulder, breathing slow. Her fingers are still tangled with yours, her thumb absently running along your knuckles like she needs the reassurance that you’re still here with her. Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, she moves her face closer—nuzzling in closer, her nose brushing the curve of your neck. You feel her breathe you in, sighing softly against your skin.

She smells like cigarettes and the faded remnants of whatever cologne she’s been using since she’s got back home, but underneath all of that… she smells they same as she did before. She smelled like thr girl who used to hold your hand and kiss you under the bleachers after school, who used to sneak through your bedroom window at midnight just to fall asleep beside you. The girl who kissed you like she meant it every single day. The girl you thought you lost.

You swallow the lump in your throat, blinking against the sting behind your eyes, and Vi must’ve noticed—must’ve felt the way your breath hitches because her grip on your hand tightens just slightly.

She lifts her head carefully a moment later, afraid to pull away and when she finally does, her face is close. And maybe it’s because she had already scooted over on the bench seat earlier, maybe it’s because the space between you has been shrinking all night, but suddenly, she’s no longer in front of the steering wheel—she’s right there, so close that her jeans are brushing against your legs, so close that you can feel the warmth of her body against your side, boxing you in against the truck door.

You don’t know if she planned it, if she even realized what she was doing, or if her body just naturally moved toward you the way it always used to. But she’s so close now.

And she’s looking right at you, like she’s trying to memorize every inch of your face—like she’s scared you’ll slip through her fingers if she so much as blinks.

Her eyes drop to your lips, just for a second.

Then back up, meeting your gaze.

Vi searches your face, her thumb absently brushing over the back of your hand.

“Are you sure about this?” Her voice is barely above a whisper now. “Because if you’re not, if you need time, I—I’ll wait. I swear, I’ll—”

“Vi.”

She shuts up instantly.

And then, she just looks at you. You’re so fucking pretty, it’s practically driving her insane.

Her eyes keep dropping to your lips, no matter how hard she tries not to. Soft. She knows how they feel, knows the way they move against hers, the way they part just slightly when you sigh into a kiss. She’s addicted to it, the memory of it burned into her mind, something she’s thought about every time she’d think about you.

And now you’re here, looking at her like that, so close, your breath warm against her cheek, and Vi is losing her goddamn mind trying to hold herself back.

Her fingers twitch against yours, grip tightening for just a second before she forces herself to loosen it.

You exhale softly, and Vi feels it against her lips.

She doesn’t even realize she’s leaned in this close until she sees the way your lashes flutter, the way your breath hitches just slightly. Her grip on your hand tightens again.

Fuck… Should she ask? Is she allowed to ask? Well… Its too late now, becuase her mouth is moving even before she could even think.

“Does… taking it slow… mean that I can’t kiss you right now?” Vi asks quietly.

She watches you, searching, waiting for any sign of hesitation, of doubt on your face that might tell her to back off.

But you don’t pull away.

You just look at her, eyes soft, lips parted, so heartbreakingly close that Vi swears she can feel your warmth pulling her in like a moth to a flame.

She’s drowning in it.

And she wants to kiss you so badly it hurts.

You don’t say anything right away. She watches your eyes, how they linger on her mouth for a beat too long. It sends a shiver down her spine, a spark of hope that she tries to smother, but you’re already under her skin.

“I…” you trail off.

Fuck. Maybe she should’ve kept her mouth shut. Maybe this was too much. Maybe you’re not ready—maybe she’s already ruined this before it even started. Maybe—

Your free hand moves. Just barely. Fingers brushing against her knee.

It’s the lightest touch, but Vi feels it anyway. You’re looking at her like you’re thinking, like you’re considering it. And she’s desperate, holding her breath, waiting for anything—any sign that it’s okay to close the distance between you, to let her feel those warm, delicious lips of yours against hers.

“I didn’t say that,” you whisper, heat spreading across your cheeks.

But that’s all it takes for Vi to lean in, forehead brushing against yours first, slowly, like she’s giving you one last chance to pull away. You don’t. You stay, your eyes half-lidded, waiting. She leans in slowly, so slowly it’s almost agonizing. Then, her nose nudges softly against yours, the faintest graze of skin on skin, and she shivers. She can feel the warmth of your breath, smell the faint trace of your perfume, fingers lace tighter with yours. Her other hand lifts, trembling just slightly as she cups your cheek, her thumb grazing over your tear stained skin.

You feel her lips brush against yours. Gentle. And careful. Giving you every opportunity to change your mind.

Still, you don’t.

You lean into it, soft and sweet, your hand tugging around the front of her jacket. She kisses you slowly, savoring the warmth of your mouth, the way you taste, the way your lips part just enough for her to deepen it.

And for the first time in years, Vi doesn’t feel lost. She doesn’t feel empty.

She can’t breathe. She doesn’t want to breathe.

She just feels you.

All she wants is you.

The second your lips move against hers, Vi completely melts into you, helpless against that need that’s always been there. Her thumb smooths over your cheek, hand moving down to pull you closer by your neck, the other still clinging to yours, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. She kisses you as if she’s afraid she’ll never get to again.

There’s no hesitation now. No fear. Just you. Every sensation sinks into her, overwhelming and intoxicating.

She tilts her head, chasing more. The kiss gets desperate, messy, and Vi doesn’t care. She’s starved for this… for you. You sigh softly against her mouth, and Vi feels it everywhere. It makes her kiss you deeper, hungrier, like she could devour every sound you make. She tugs you closer, her body instinctively leaning into yours. The truck’s old leather seat creaks beneath you, but neither of you pay it any mind.

God, she’d kiss you forever if you’d let her.

She’s always been like this—hopelessly addicted to the way you fit against her, the way you always responded to her touch. Her thumb brushes over your cheek again, and Vi can feel the warmth of your skin beneath her calloused fingers, the slight dampness of the tears you’d cried moments ago. It only makes her hold you tighter, to keep you closer, thinking about never ever letting you go again—doesn’t even give it a second thought.

You pull away first, your breathing ragged, soft as you try to catch your breath. Vi’s eyes stay closed for a moment, like she’s trying to hold on to the feeling, imagining what your lips feel like even though you’re just right there, mere centimeters away from her.

When she finally opens them, she looks completely dazed. Her pupils are blown wide, her lips parted, still tinged with the lingering heat of yours. She looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

And maybe, to her, you are.

It takes her a second to realize how close she’s gotten. Her arm is resting along the back of the seat, her body practically caging you in. You’re pressed up against the cool leather of the truck door, your legs tangled with hers, her hand still clutching your, afraid to let go.

Vi blinks, then quickly leans back, her cheeks burning. “Shit, sorry.”

She doesn’t go far. She couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Her hand stays in yours, her thumb absently tracing over your knuckles, but she forces herself to give you some room. Barely.

“Didn’t mean to…” She trails off, shaking her head with a huff of a laugh.

You don’t say anything yet, your chest still rising and falling as you catch your breath. Vi can’t help but stare at the flush dusting over your cheeks, at your slightly swollen lips.

She wants to kiss you again. God, she wants to kiss you a thousand times over.

But somehow, she finds the strength to stay put.

“I didn’t mind,” you say softly.

Vi’s heart stutters. She swears it stops entirely.

You’re so beautiful. More than beautiful. And she’s pretty sure she could stare at you like this forever.

Vi tears her gaze away from you, her eyes drifting toward the glowing screen past the window. Her breath hitches, a shaky sigh falling from her lips. Barely a second later, her eyes move again, looking down at your intertwined hands resting on her lap. Her thumb brushes over your skin slowly.

She knows what’s coming, and she’s terrified of how it’ll feel, how you’ll react… if you’ll pull away from her again, like you did before.

But she can’t stop herself from saying it.

Slowly, Vi lifts your hand to her lips, pressing a soft, tender kiss to the back of it all over again. When she pulls away, her eyes meet yours. And before you can speak, before the words even leave your mouth, Vi swallows hard, and opens her mouth.

“I love you,” she whispers.

You don’t respond immediately, but she isn’t expecting you to. But she needs you to know. She needs you to hear it. She looks down again, her grip tightening around your hand, and her voice cracks slightly when she continues.

“Y-You don’t have to say it back… I just… I wanna remind you that I do… and I always will.”

Vi’s heart is pounding in her chest, and she looks away again, unable to hold your gaze any longer. Her eyes fall to your hands once more, still clasped together in her lap, tracing the lines of your hand with her fingers, her thumb lightly brushing the back of your palm. It’s automatic, almost like her body knows how to do it without thinking.

She thought she was prepared for this, for the possibility that you might not be ready to say it back. How could she expect you to feel the same way, right this second, after years of not being there for you—with you?

She smiles weakly, more to herself than anything.

And yet, it’s hard to ignore. She loves you, so deeply. And the thought of not having you in her life again—it’s unbearable. She’s willing to do whatever it takes.

Her eyes stay locked on your hand in hers, still unable to look up at your face, scared that she might see something she doesn’t want to. Maybe you’ll change your mind about her. Maybe you’ll tell her that this can’t happen again—that this shouldn’t happen again… Maybe, you don’t love her as much as you used to… Maybe—

“I love you.”

Wait, did she say that? Vi blinks, her heart skipping a beat. The words echo in her mind, like she’s misheard them—like they can’t possibly be real. It takes her a moment to register that it wasn’t her voice that said it. It was yours.

Her eyes lift slowly, hesitantly. But when she finally looks at you, she sees the truth written all over your face. The way you’re biting your lip, the way your gaze moves away from her, your cheeks flushed. You’re nervous.

“I…” She can’t find the words.

And then, so softly, you speak again.

“That part’s never changed, Vi.”

She can’t tear her eyes away. She studies every inch of your face, trying to convince herself it’s real.

Because you said that you love her.

The lump in her throat grows, and for a second, she’s sure she’s going to cry. She wants to say something, to respond, but all that comes out is a shaky breath.

“God,” Vi whispers, barely able to get the word out. “You—”

She shakes her head, her lips parting as if to try again, but nothing comes. And then she’s smiling. It’s small at first, soft and disbelieving, like she can’t believe how lucky she is.

“I thought I’d never hear you say that again,” she finally says.

Vi feels the sting in her eyes, the tears threatening to spill. She hates it. Hates how overwhelmed she feels, how her chest feels tight, like her heart’s too full, and for a second, it’s all too much.

She tips her head back, resting it against the worn leather of the truck’s seat. The ceiling stares back at her, cracked in places from the years that passed. Her throat works around a shaky breath, and then she sighs.

“Fuck.”

It slips out before she can stop it, the word practically laced with everything she couldn’t put into words, knowing how badly she’s wanted this, how afraid she still is that it could be gone agin. She feels you move slightly beside her, your hand still tucked firmly in hers. But Vi can’t bring herself to look at you just yet. If she does, she knows she won’t be able to hide the way her eyes are glossing over. She’s always wanted to look brave and tough around you… but, it’s getting harder and harder to hide with each second that passes.

She bites her lip, forcing down the sob that threatens to crawl up her throat.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, though she’s not even sure what she’s apologizing for.

Your thumb brushes lightly against her hand, and it’s enough to make shut her eyes tight, like she can will the tears away. But it doesn’t work. One slips free, trailing hot down her cheek anyway…

Vi barely makes a sound. She just sits there, head tilted back against the seat, her chest rising and falling in shaky breaths. The tears slip down her face but she doesn’t even bother wiping them away.

She sniffles softly, her jaw clenched as another tear slips past her lashes. God, she hates crying. She hates how vulnerable it makes her feel. But with you, it’s different. She feels warm with you.

Vi finally brings a hand up, swiping roughly at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. It doesn’t do much. But when she drops her arm and finally dares to glance at you, there’s nothing but softness in your eyes.

“Sorry,” she whispers again, cracking at the end, betraying just how much she’s holding back.

But you just shake your head, squeezing her hand. “Don’t.”

She sighs in response, her chest rising and falling as she tries to keep it together. Her thumb continues to trace slow, absentminded circles against your skin, and suddenly, the truck feels too small.

You don’t rush her. You never have.

Vi doesn’t say anything at first. She can’t remember the last time she felt this bare. It’s terrifying. But with you, it’s also… safe.

She lowers her head, her forehead brushing against your shoulder again. For a moment, neither of you move. The sound of the movie in the background drifts through the truck’s open windows, but neither of you are paying attention.

“I missed you,” she whispers against your shoulder. “I missed you so fucking much.”

“I missed you, too,” you reply just as softly.

Vi squeezes her eyes shut. She wants to say more. She wants to tell you how every city, every stage, every goddamn after party felt hollow without you. How she’d check her phone after every show, hoping for a text that never came. How she’d lie awake in hotel rooms, thinking about you, about being with you, about how much she missed you, about how much she wanted to turn back the time and do everything differently.

But instead, she just presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder, her lips trembling against the soft fabric of your shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers again. “For everything.”

“I know,” you say. “Me too.”

Her eyes search yours, her brows furrowing like she can’t believe what she just heard.

She shakes her head, “Why are you sorry? You don’t have to—”

“I could’ve tried harder too, Vi.”

Your voice trembles, as Vi stares at you. She looks like she wants to argue, to tell you that none of this was your fault. That she’s the one who let you down. That she’s the one who made you feel like an afterthought while she chased a dream that didn’t feel half as good without you in it.

But you keep going.

“I could’ve said more. I could’ve told you how much it hurt when you didn’t call back, how lonely it was waiting for you to come home,” you whisper. “But I didn’t. I just… I convinced myself it was easier to pretend I was fine. To act like I didn’t care as much as I did… I assumed that you had bigger things to worry about than me… and I got scared to tell you. I-I should’ve told you—“

“You don’t have to apologize,” Vi cuts in. “I’m the one who made you feel that way and—”

“Vi,” you interrupt softly, your thumb brushing over her hand. “You don’t have to take all the blame… It wasn’t just you… It was me, too. I let myself think that I was the one who had to adjust, to accept whatever you gave me. I pushed away my own feelings so I could make sense of the distance… and I left when all I wanted was to be close to you.”

She stares at you, chest heavy with guilt, but she’s not interrupting now. She’s listening—really listening.

“I just wanted to matter to you,” you muttered.

Her eyes soften, her lips trembling, “You do matter to me. You’ve always mattered.”

Vi pauses, her gaze always seems to fall to your hands, the way her fingers are wrapped around yours.

“I was stupid… and selfish back then. I didn’t realize how much you needed me—how much I needed you.” She reaches up to gently tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, “I never stopped thinking about you. Even when I was out there… none of it was ever as important as you. Not even close… And I’ll keep showing you. Everyday. Until you’re sure… And even after that, I’ll keep showing you anyway.”

After a quiet pause, Vi watches you, her heart beating fast as you shake your head, that small, tired smile tugging at your lips. And then, without a second thought, you lean into her, your head finding its place on her shoulder all over again.

“I already said okay,” you say softly, muffled slightly against her jacket, tears threatening to spill again.

Vi lets out a shaky breath, the corner of her mouth twitching into the smallest smile.

“I know,” she smiles.

Her eyes dart down again, catching the sight of your hands resting in her lap, smilimg at the way your fingers fit so easily with hers.

Truthfully, she wants to say more. Tell you how much she loves you. How sorry she still is. How she’s going to spend the rest of her life making sure she never breaks your heart again.

But all she does is run the pad of the thumb along your knuckles as she dips her head just slightly, brushing her lips against the crown of your hair. The smell of your shampoo is sweet and soft, and Vi only holds on to your hands tighter, determined to be the best version of herself that you deserve.

It’s quiet now. You both stay like that for a while. And all Vi can focus on is the feeling of you beside her.

“Thank you,” she says after a while, you almost didn’t hear it.

For giving her a chance she wasn’t sure she deserved.

Vi drives back into town when the movie ends. And in truth, she wished the movie lasted forever if it meant being able to sit beside you like that for the rest of the night.

The ride back was quiet… but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Every so often, Vi’s knuckles would brush against yours on the bench seat, the way they used to when she’d drive you around town. And every time it happened, she’d swallow that lump in her though and grip the steering wheel a little tighter, afraid to push her luck.

She brought you to that same old pizza place near the edge of town—the one you two used to hit up on late nights like these—Vi had pulled over without thinking. It was late and, in her mind, it wouldn’t be a proper date if she didn’t take you to get food.

“Still open,” she’d said, half-relieved, half-nervous. “You feel like splitting a pizza?”

You nodded when she asked.

And now, with the lingering scent of melted cheese and warm dough filling the truck, you both sit parked in the lot. The pizza box is cracked open between you, the last couple of slices mostly forgotten. Vi’s trying not to make it obvious, but she’s been eating slow. Suspiciously slow. Every bite takes twice as long as it probably should—not because she’s savoring it, but because she’s trying to stretch the her time with you, desperate for it not to end.

She glances at you for what must be the hundredth time. You seemed relaxed enough, though maybe a little bit tired, soft light from the streetlamp beside her truck glowing slightly on your face. Vi thinks you’re beautiful like this. She always has. But now that you’re here, it’s all she can do not to stare.

“Pizza’s still good,” she tries, something to fill the silence. “Tastes the same.”

You hum in agreement, chewing thoughtfully. “I think they changed the sauce a little.”

Vi blinks, looking back at her half-eaten slice. “Really?”

You shrug. “Just a little sweeter. Or maybe I’m imagining it.”

A beat passes. Vi’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Still better than that place in New York.”

You laugh softly, and god, the sound of it has Vi’s stomach doing flips.

“That place was awful,” you agree. “Why’d we even go there?”

“Because I swore it’d be authentic.” Vi chuckles, as she throws in finger quotes. “I think I hyped it up for, like, a week.”

“Well, I think it’s impressive that you found a bad pizza place in New York,” you tease.

Vi huffs a laugh, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. “Never living that one down, huh?”

You shake your head softly.

It gets quiet again. Vi risks another glance your way, only to find you already looking at her. She quickly looks down, her fingers fidgeting with a stray napkin in her lap.

“I, uh… I could take the long way back,” she offers, trying to sound casual. “If you’re not in a rush.”

You hesitate for just a moment bedore shaking your head. “I-It’s late. I should probably get home.”

Vi nods quickly, forcing a smile. “Right. Yeah, of course.”

The words are easy enough to say, but they taste bitter. She doesn’t want this night to end. Not when things feel… good. Almost like before.

Still, she doesn’t argue.

It’s a silent ride on the way back to your apartment. Vi’s fingers drum softly against the steering wheel, her other hand gripping it a little too tightly. Occasionally, she sneaks a glance at you, but you’re gazing out the window, lost in your own thoughts.

She likes it better than nothing.

After all, it wasn’t too long ago when silence meant something worse.

But now you’re here. Right next to her. And even though her heart aches a little from how much she still wants, Vi wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

Her truck rolls to a stop in front of your apartment building. She lingers for a moment, trying to think of something clever or easy to say, but...

You beat her to it. “Thanks for the ride.”

Vi swallows. “Yeah. Anytime.”

You reach for the door handle, but her voice stops you.

“I’ll walk you up.” It comes out quickly, afraid you might say no if she hesitates.

You blink, surprised. “Vi, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Her eyes soften as they meet yours, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “I mean, if that’s okay.”

It takes a second, but then you nod.

Vi’s out of the truck before she can second guess herself. She jogs around to your side, and even though you’re perfectly capable, she still opens the door for you, just like she used to. She doesn’t say anything about it, and neither do you. But the corner of your mouth twitches, and Vi catches it.

The building is quiet as you both step inside. You lead the way to the elevator, Vi trailing just half a step behind. It’s strange, how familiar this all feels. She knew this place so well now—the smell of some faint lemon cleaner, the creak of the old elevator doors, even the way the number buttons lit up. She’d spent countless nights walking these same halls, on her way up to see you… to kiss you… to make love to you—well… that’s what she always thought of it… And, even the same as before, it feels like she’s holding her breath with every step.

The elevator ride is short, but the silence makes it feel longer, really. Vi shifts on her feet, hands stuffed into her jacket pockets as she sneaks another glance at you, catching the way your teeth tug at your bottom lip—a habit she knows all too well. You’re nervous.

She wants to say something. Something to make you feel at ease… comfortable… to make you smile, maybe. But her throat feels tight, and by the time she thinks of anything, the elevator dings, and the doors slide open.

You make your way down the hall, and Vi follows closely. She can’t help but notice how her palms are starting to sweat. Fuck, it’s so ridiculous.

Eventually, you stop in front of your door. For a moment, neither of you speak. You pull your keys from your bag, fidgeting with them, and Vi watches you turn.

“Thank you for tonight, Vi,” you say softly. “And the drive-in… It was really nice.”

“Y-Yeah.” She nods, then rubs the back of her neck. “Of course.”

“Really,” You smile, though it’s small. “I had a really good time.”

“I’m glad,” Vi returns your smile, feeling a bit proud. “We, uh… should go again some time… I mean, i-if there’s another movie you wanna watch, I could… I could figure out something.”

And then it’s quiet again. She almost hates it. Because she knows this is where you’re supposed to say goodnight. She’s supposed to turn around, head back to her truck, and let the night end.

But god, she doesn’t want to.

Vi’s voice is softer when she speaks next. “Can I see you again soon?”

Your fingers tighten around your keys, but you don’t look away.

“Yeah,” you say simply, unable to fight the way your lips curved upwards. “Soon.”

She nods, and despite the nerves eating away at her, she smiles. “Okay.”

And just when she’s about to take a step back, to let you go, you surprise her.

It’s soft. And gentle. And before she can even think, you lean in, just enough for your lips to brush her cheek. It’s quick, barely there, but Vi freezes. Her eyes widen slightly, heat rushing to her face. You pull back and turn around, your own cheeks warm, too nervous to look at her again. Vi stands there, staring at you like a complete idiot. Her fingertips brush over the spot where your lips had been, and she can still feel the ghost of it.

And although you don’t see it, a grin slowly spreads across her face.

Your fingers barely brush against the keys in the lock before you hear Vi sigh behind you, like she’s been holding her breath. And before you can turn the key, her hands are on yours. And now, it’s your turn to freeze. Her palms against your skin is nothing but warm as she pulls you away from the door. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just turns you toward her, slowly and carefully.

Her thumbs brushing over your knuckles and you don’t meet her eyes right away. But you feel her looking at you, staring hard. And when you finally lift your head, her gaze meets yours immediately.

“I…” Vi starts, but the words disappear in her throat.

She opens her mouth again, then closes it, clenching her jaw—maybe in frustration.

And then she tries again.

“I didn’t want to leave without—” Vi pauses, her brows knitting together. “I mean… I know I should, but…”

Her voice drops, trembling only slightly as she looks down at your hands.

“I don’t want to… just yet.”

She’s so close. Close enough that the scent of her—smoke and some of her cologne—is all you can focus on.

“Vi…” you whisper, her name barely leaving your lips.

“I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, her grip on your hands tightening just a little. “I just—”

She stops, exhaling sharply like she’s frustrated with herself again. Her hands twitch, and for a moment, you think she’s about to let go, but she doesn’t.

“I missed you,” she says softly.

“I missed you too, Vi,” you admit.

Deep in her mind, she feels like this isn’t real… that she’s dreaming and that she’ll wake up soon. Fuck, please…

“I… I really wanna kiss you again, ” She whispers, stepping closer. “Can I?”

You don’t answer right away. Not because you don’t know, but because you feel a little overwhelmed… in a good way, really. Vi waits, her breath warm against your skin, her hands still cradling yours.

And with the softest nod, you give her the answer she’s been waiting for.

Vi doesn’t waste a second. She leans in, her lips brushing against yours so gently and when you kiss her back, just as softly—she fucking melts.

A shaky breath falls past her lips, hands tightening around your own as she kisses you like she’s memorizing the shape of your mouth all over again. And god, she’s so close. Her forehead brushes against yours, and her breath mingles with yours. You can feel the cool metal of her nose ring brush against the side of your nostrol as she pulls you in closer. And as your fingers trail up, your hands finding their way to her neck, Vi feels herself lean in even closer. You cup the strong curve of her jaw, your thumbs brushing along the sharp line of it, and the touch sends a shiver down her spine.

Vi kisses you deeper. Her big hands, rough and calloused, move carefully from your hands, sliding down to your waist. Her fingers curl against your sides and the way you tilt your head, the way your body instinctively presses just a little closer, makes her feel dizzy. She can’t stop the soft groan, that desperate little noise muffled by your lips. And your fingers thread gently into the hair at the nape of her neck.

She’s not sure how long you stay like that, and even as her lungs beg for air, Vi doesn’t want to stop.

But eventually, she pulls away slowly, her forehead lingering against yours as she tries to catch her breath. Her chest rises and falls, lips still parted, tingling from the kiss—from you.

She blinks, trying to set her mind straight, but it’s impossible when you’re so close.

Her thumb brushes absently over your waist where her hands still rest, rough fingertips trailing the hem of your shirt. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it, like touching you is second nature, a habit she never really broke. She doesn’t want to stop touching you. She doesn’t think she could if she tried.

But then she lifts her head just enough to meet your eyes, and whatever she was about to say dies in her throat. You’re staring at her, cheeks flushed, lips parted like you’re just as overwhelmed as she is.

Fuck, you look so pretty.

“I…” She starts, but the rest of her words never make it out. She shakes her head slightly, letting out a breathless laugh. “I didn’t mean to…”

Get carried away? But that’s a lie. She did mean to. She’s been thinking about kissing you like this again since you left the drive-in.

Her hand tightens just slightly against your waist as she opens her mouth again, “I-I mean… I did mean to. I just—Fuck, sorry—I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

She searches your face briefly, desperate for any sign that she hasn’t just ruined everything. When she catches the faintest smile tugging at the corner of your lips, her heart trips over itself.

“You okay?” She asks softly.

You don’t answer right away, but you don’t pull away either. Vi can still feel your hands on her neck, your fingertips brushing against the strands of her pink hair. She swears she could stand here forever if you let her—just holding you, breathing you in, memorizing the way you feel pressed against her.

“I’m okay,” you finally whisper so softly.

Relief washes over the girl in front of you. Her lips twitch, almost forming into a smile.

“Good,” she breathes, her hands lingering at your waist. “That’s good.”

And it’s quiet again… but this time, Vi doesn’t mind it. Her eyes flicker down to your lips without meaning to, and her fingers flex slightly against your waist. She doesn’t really know how the hell she’s supposed to walk away from this now—from you.

But she knows she should. She already kissed you multiple times tonight, and it was more than she ever thought she’d get. She can’t push her luck.

“I should… probably let you get inside,” Vi says, although it’s clear even she doesn’t believe it. Her grip loosens just enough, her hands still hovering close to your hips. “It’s late.”

You nod shyly, barely meeting her eyes. “Yeah,” you reply, but you don’t sound all that sure either.

Vi forces herself to move, her hands dropping to her sides even though every nerve in her body screams to stay. She takes a step back, putting some space between the two of you that she instantly hates. She shifts on her feet, awkward now, her heart still beating a mile a minute.

“Goodnight,” you say.

Vi nods quickly.

“Night.” Her voice cracks slightly, and she winces. “Uh… goodnight. Sleep good. I mean, well. Sleep well.”

“Thank you, Vi,” you say again.

“Mhm.”

You smile, small but amused, and Vi thinks she might just die right there on your doorstep.

Her cheeks are burning. She can feel the heat crawling up the sides of her neck to the tips of her ears. She’s pretty sure her cheeks are just as red, and hell, she probably looks like a mess, but she doesn’t dare cover her face. Not when you’re still standing there.

She watches as you turn toward the door, your keys jingling softly in your hand.

You glance back at her one last time, eyes falling to her neck where her skin meets that tiny glint of her silver necklace—a peice of jewelry you know all too well—and then you’re gone, the door clicking shut behind you.

Vi lets out a long breath, dragging a hand down her face.

“Fuck,” she mumbles to herself.

She doesn’t exactly know how long she stands there, staring at your front door. To some stranger, she might look like some creep standing in front of some random apartment, but all she can think about in her head is replaying the way your lips felt against hers, the taste of your mouth, your hands on her neck, how soft you felt under her fingertips—she misses all of it.

But eventually, she turns, heading down the hallway, her hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets.

And even though she’d wanted nothing more than to stay,to press her forehead against yours and ask for just one more kiss, one more minute, Vi couldn’t bring herself to feel anything but grateful.

Because for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t drive away from your apartment feeling empty.

God. She is so screwed.

series masterlist | next chapter (coming soon!)

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[bonsubear]

Reader loves Invincible but hates Mark | #2

a/n: I hope I didn't make reader too unlikable :P I’m literally just pulling these out of my ass with no outline. Also I just wanna keep these silly hsdhah

potential ooc warning cause I’m not confident I portray characters correctly ;;

#1, #2, #?

WC: 2.4k

“Mark, why are you whining about spending some time with your mother? You should be ecstatic, you know.” His mom playfully nudged at him as she pulled into the parking lot of the mall, the parking lot completely packed left and right with cars. “I’m getting scared you’re forgetting about me. I thought you’d be momma’s boy forever.” Debbie sighed, shaking her head as she unbuckled her seatbelt. A light smile on her face.

“You’re using me as a porter, mom.” Mark flatly replied, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’m happy to spend time with you but it’s obvious you’re using me as free labor.”

“And that’s my right! I carried you for nine agonizing months, I get the perks of having you. Besides, you can think of this as—I don’t know—training.” She shrugged.

“Training?” He deadpanned. “Training for what?”

“Weight training or whatever you want to call it. It’s not like you’ll get tired from a couple of bags.” She nodded, pointing out his viltrumite strength. Debbie pushed the car door open, exiting and Mark simply sighed as he followed his mom’s lead.

His mom suggested (more like she demanded) that he accompany her to the mall. Apparently, a couple of stores were having a sale, and she wanted to check out the potential good deals. Mark is completely fine with this, but it’s pretty evident that he’ll be stuck carrying around all the things she’ll most likely purchase.

“What are you even looking for?” Mark asked, walking next to his mom.

“Anything! So many things are on sale right now at Always21 and f.a.e. We can get some stuff for your dad, couple of my coworkers, and you.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Don’t say that so soon, we aren’t even in the mall yet.”

His mom was standing next to the escalator, with Mark just right beside her. Just as he had predicted, he was being used as his mom’s personal porter as his hands and wrists were full of different bags of different colors and sizes. 85% of the items were for people Debbie knew like her coworkers or friends while the rest were for her, his dad, and him.

Mark eyed the bags, raising his brow. “How many babies is your coworker having again? This seems a lot for a baby shower.”

“She’s having quadruplets. She’s going to need all of those things—babies grow out of their clothes in a blink of an eye.” Debbie chuckled as she looked at her son’s face, being reminded when he was a chubby little baby who would outgrow his clothes practically every week.

Suddenly, her phone began ringing in her pocket and she was quick to check the caller ID. She released a small groan, shaking her head. “Mark, I have to take this. It’s work. You can put those stuff down and go walk around, I’ll find you later, okay?”

“Okay, choosing work over spending time with your son—got it.” He quipped, the corner of his lips raising as Debbie swatted at him. Mark rolled his eyes playfully, setting down the bags near the bench that his mom took a seat on as she brought her phone to her ear with a furrowed brow.

He strayed away from his mom, walking as his eyes passed various stores. His eyes lazily bounced from one store to another, not really paying close attention to the people in them.

An elderly man sitting at the edge of the wall of a Vicky’s Secret.

A mom struggling to get her two screaming children off the floor of a Smallso

A bald guy staring a little bit too hard at a mannequin who was only wearing underwear inside an Aged Navy

You staring at an anime figurine inside Trendy Topic

A kid trying to reach their hand inside a gumball machine—wait, you?!

Mark Grayson immediately halted, tripping over his feet. His sudden action caused some people walking behind him to curse at him, but he pushed past them as he turned to poke his head back to look inside Trendy Topic. Rubbing his eyes, he saw that you were squinting at a figurine as you stood still like a statue. Obviously deep in thought. The punk rock that was playing in the speakers of the store surrounded you while you softly bit your lip, staring at the figurine—searching for an answer to your problem.

Wow, you looked great. You were wearing a casual baggy shirt and pants, the articles of clothing mismatched and contrasting each other in the ‘worse’ ways—yet is it weird to say that you still looked amazing?

Mark could’ve sworn that he heard his brain take a picture, saving it in his memory files with the rest of the mental images he saved of you.

Blinking, he realized that his feet were already moving towards you. His pounding heart matched with his footsteps as he walked closer to you, his body immediately acting on a weird impulse while his brain tried to come up with things to do once he finally got to you.

Shit, what do I say? Hello? Hey? His mind raced as his eyes flickered from your face to the figurine you were looking at. Thinking of buying that? Is that weird to say? Is that a good opener? Oh man, this is actually the first time I’ve ever seen her outside of school as just me. Me, Mark. Not Invincible.

Grayson had seen you multiple times around the city as Invincible while fighting or simply flying around the city. It was a coincidence that he would see you a few times then and there—totally not because he would keep an extra eye out for you and find any excuse to talk to you.

He totally didn't make sure whenever there was danger nearby he wouldn't be the first one to warn and whisk you away to a safer area, hearing you sing praises in his ear about how much you loved him. He also totally didn't pretend not to notice you as he stayed afloat in the sky yet close enough to the ground so you could point him out and call him with that sweet voice of yours.

No, pfft, totally not. What kind of superhero would he be if he did those down right pathetic things?

"Holy fuck! How long have you been standing there you creep?!" You yelped in surprise, shocking him too as he snapped out of his trance. You looked up at him with your gorgeous eyes, clutching your purse close to you as you stared at him as if he had two heads. "Did you stalk me? Fucking pervert." You hissed, taking a step back as if he had the plague.

"What? No! Uh—I saw you just for a second and wanted to say hi."

"Hi, now buzz off. Don't you have a loaded gun that you should be pointing at your head right now?"

Mark felt a chuckle swell in his throat, his lips quirking up in an amused grin. He should be offended at the harsh things you verbally threw at him, but he couldn’t get it out of his mind how you were all over him as Invincible yet so guarded off toward him as Mark. If he were to reveal his secret identity to you right here and now, how would you react? Embarrassed? Flustered? Hell, what if excited?

He quickly raised his hand to cover it, if you saw him smiling you'd get pissed—

"What are you smiling for? Eugh."

Never mind, you noticed.

"Are you interested in that figure? Uh, I saw you looking at it through the window." He smiled, his eyes shifting to look at the anime figurine that was out on display with the copies underneath it.

"Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy." You scowled, eyeing him as if he was going to mug you at any second. Mark really couldn't help but continue to compare how you act towards him and his superhero alterego Invincible in his head.

You acted so outgoing and bubbly whenever he was dressed up in his hero costume, shamelessly fangirling over him by saying things like, "please sign the marriage papers already!" or "let me take you out on a date, I'll give you my whole college fund!" Yet acted like Mark was the dirt on your shoe whenever he was in his civilian attire.

"Is that a no?"

"... I might be interested in it." You teared your eyes off of him, looking back at the figurine. You glanced at your wallet, and Mark noticed how your eyebrow twitched just slightly. He pursed his lips as he took a second to piece the puzzle pieces together before speaking again.

"Don't have enough money for it?"

"!!!"

You coughed, your cheeks tinting slightly in embarrassment as you took a look at Mark's face—a sly smirk on his lips as he stared down at you. You shivered, he's so freakishly tall. "None of your business, jackass. Go die."

He hesitated before seizing the opportunity to take this as a chance to get closer to you. In school there was never opportunities since you refused to be in any group in him, never needed help with studying, declined exchanging notes—but this? Mark knew you were weak to obtaining new items.

"I can buy it for you." Grayson smiled innocently, trying to appear as friendly as possible. He picked up a box, turning it over to see the price tag. 24.99. "I've never seen this anime before. I'm more of a comic book guy."

"Why the hell would you buy that for me?" You barked, raising a brow as you took a step forward. "What are you tryna get at?"

"Nothing! I just want to do a nice thing for you."

"Your trying to get in my pants, aren't you. Your not getting this fucking cookie, it's for Invincible."

"W-What, no?!" He yelped, his cheeks flushing at the fact you accused him of trying to get into your pants and the fact you were so shameless about basically saying your—uh, as you put it, 'cookie,' was for Invincible aka him. "I, I just want to help you! Nothing weird!?"

"Your a pathetic pervert, I bet you were cooking that up while salivating behind the window, huh? Diabolical."

"No!"

"Then why!"

"I—you—" he stumbled over his words, his eyes darting to the Invincible phone charm that dangled. "Your a huge fan of Invincible—I'm a huge fan of him too! Two Invincible fans got to stick together, right?" He chuckled, sweat dropping at how stupid his reasoning sounded.

You stayed silent for a moment, quirking your brow. "... Your a fan of him?"

"Y-Yeah! A huge one!"

“Prove it.”

“I have pictures of him I can share with you.” Pictures?!

You blinked, and he internally screamed as he was certain that he just screwed up and made him look like an even bigger loser in your eyes. “… What kind of pictures?”

“Like, uh, so many of them. Up close ones, pictures of him back when he just started it without his official hero suit, um, and y’know the works!”

“…How up close are they?”

“Practically selfies?”

“…”

A pregnant silence passed between you, the punk music playing in Trendy Topic filling the air as you stared into his sweating face hard like you were dissecting whether he was telling the truth or not. You took a step towards him, your hateful eyes having a sparkle of something else inside them.

“Really?” Your voice chirped. He immediately recognized the tone of your voice being the same as the one you use toward Invincible, so sweet and filled with admiration. Shivers ran down his back.

“Yeah, yeah.”

You coughed, turning your face away. “I guess even losers can recognize peak.” You mumbled to yourself, but with his heightened hearing he heard it loud and clear. “How many of those pictures do you have?”

“Multiple?”

You squealed, jumping towards him. “Show me them, show me them!”

Oh no. “I don’t have them on my phone—I only have physical copies.” Nice one, Mark!

“That’s even fucking better.” You were practically shaking. With no warning, you grabbed on his arm, holding it tightly as you led him to the cashier register, Mark having a firm grip on the figurine box. “I’ll let you buy that for me if you give me some of those photos!”

Mark sat with you on a bench outside Trendy Topic, the figurine he had just bought in your lap. “I’ll only kind of believe you’re not trying to sleep with me if you prove that you actually have those photos,” You squinted, “If you don’t, let’s just say whenever you see me walk faster.”

“I did not buy that to sleep with you! I am… a super big Invincible fan.” He cleared his throat trying to pretend enthusiasm for himself. “And when I found out you were also one weeks ago, I figured you’d finally want to be friends with me.”

“In your wildest dreams. I’m only tolerating you right now for the photos that you may or may not have.”

“I do have them!” I don’t.

“Well whatever it is, I’ll believe it once I see them.” You huffed, reaching your hand out. “Give me your phone.”

He handed it over and watched you open his phone and into his contacts, entering a series of digits.

“I have to go so text me when you can hand the goods over. Don’t jizz your pants just cause you have my number.” You harshly pushed his phone back in his hands. “My hatred for you is on a slight pause, so don’t mistake this for friendship. Merely an alliance.”

His ears perked up at the acknowledgement of you profound hate towards him. “I don’t understand, why do you hate me?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know!” You huffed, standing up. You jabbed a finger in the air, “I know it must come easy to you, but don’t act dumb. Unless you’re a secret blond under that thick hair of yours.”

“I seriously don’t—“

Before he could interject you already turned on your heel and walked off, leaving Mark sitting on the bench staring at your disappearing silhouette.

He internally groaned at himself—as soon as he gets home he needs to take pictures of himself.

Though, he couldn’t help but get giddy at the fact he had your number now.

Always21 = Forever21

f.a.e = e.l.f

Vicky’s Secret = Victoria Secret

Aged Navy = Old Navy

Trendy Topic = Hot Topic

Smallso = Miniso