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jeonstudios · 3 days ago

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dextrocardia | 16

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 6.5k

warnings: none besides.... fictional police work...

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 16/?

Despite everything, you fill with a sense of excitement as you drive off, Sana in the passenger seat beside you. It’s nice to feel like you have a purpose again, and even if you technically had one during the last mission with Jeongguk, it was overshadowed by the danger you believed resided under the same roof.

It’s a comfortable journey, and soon enough the highway turns into a pristine neighborhood, bearing no trace of the traumatic events that occurred there months ago. Most of it looks the same as you remember it but other parts don’t. There’s an unfamiliar car parked outside ‘your’ house, and not only that, but glancing through the large windows as you cruise by, you spot movement inside. Children? You knew people would eventually move into the house–a house that never even belonged to you to begin with–but it feels weird.

Putting your more than illogical feelings aside, you focus on parking your car outside the Jungs’ house instead. Before stepping out, you and Sana give each other one last once-over. Despite the relatively low risk of this initial part of the mission, you’ve still made an effort to appear inconspicuous, and it’s not only for your own sake. Considering what they’ve done for you–Hoseok especially–you don’t want to be a bother if they’d rather not have law enforcement be seen knocking on their door.

It’s Eunha who opens the door, eyes going wide when they land on your face. For a second, your worry grows; what if your presence isn’t actually appreciated? At all? But then her lips pull into a smile.

“Oh, hello?”

“Hi, we were wondering if we could ask you a few questions? About another case, not… yours,” you find your greeting turning into rambling.

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course. Come on in. I’m a little busy baking at the moment, but Hobi is home, and I’m guessing he’s the one you really want to speak with?”

She wipes her hands on her light blue jeans, leaving a white, powdery residue on the fabric before opening the door wider.

“Thank you,” you smile as you step inside, looking around to see that, as far as you can tell, everything looks the same as when you last paid the Jungs’ a visit. When you think about it, Hoseok never brought up the bugs you placed in their house, so you’re guessing they never found them. Or if they did, they haven’t brought it up for some reason or another. You’re not sure, but what you do know is that you’re not gonna be the one to do it, just in case.

“Make yourselves at home. I need to check on the cookies. Hobi!” she turns to call out into the house, “We have guests!”

With an apologetic smile, Eunha excuses herself, and then you and Sana are left alone in the entryway. You share some kind of look. Sure, you didn’t expect too much hostility, but to leave you, two detectives, unsupervised in their home?

A second later, the sound of footsteps approaches, and you smile toward the brown-haired man as he comes into view, his confused features turning happy. He takes in the sight of you before he closes the distance to give you a warm hug.

“How are you? You look good!” he compliments, also turning to shake Sana’s hand, a very sweet smile on his lips. “Hoseok.”

“Sana,” she greets.

“I’m doing well,” you answer, “He is too; made a full recovery.”

Hoseok’s smile falls, and he takes on a rather baffled look instead. “We saw on the news. About the station and the investigation and all that. Crazy. I mean, we knew there were corrupt cops, but to that extent?”

“Yeah.”

“So what brings you here?” he asks, a glint slowly returning to his eyes. “Was it maybe something I said one time at a hospital?”

You nod, “Yeah. Can you tell us what you know? Or give us any tips at all so that we can stop Kyung Sunghyun once and for all?”

You watch him contemplate. Since he first let that comment about Ksung slip at the hospital, you’ve felt that he’s a good enough man to at least not mind Sunghyun being investigated and possibly put behind bars. But what can he say without incriminating himself for essentially planning a robbery? And can he trust you if he accidentally lets something slip? You might seem like you’ve stopped pursuing him, but can he trust you not to, ever?

“Why don’t we take a seat in the living room?” He gestures for you to follow him, and after quickly taking off your shoes and jackets, you do, with Sana in tow.

Sitting on the Jungs’ couch, you wait for Hoseok to get comfortable and for Sana to pull her pen and notebook out of her bag.

“Hey, love?” Hoseok calls out to his wife, turning to the two of you, “You want something to drink?”

“Oh, water would be fine,” Sana accepts, and you nod, “Yeah.”

“Hm?” Eunha appears in the doorway. She seems to have more flour on her pants than last time.

“Could you bring us some water?”

“Of course. Anything else?”

Hoseok thinks about it for a second before he lights up, “Oh, do we have some of those brownies left?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll bring a few pieces.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as Eunha leaves, Hoseok turns to you again, a look of concentration coloring his features. “So, what do you want to know?”

“Well, everything,” you say.

“Okay. I’ll warn you that I might not know as much as you think, and some things–not that I know them–I can’t say. I guess I can start by saying that, hypothetically, if I were a criminal of any kind, I would probably still stay as far away from other criminals as possible; especially if I had… valuables that might make me a target. No honor amongst thieves and all that, you know?”

Although his words deny any criminal activity, his expression reveals that he’s well aware that everyone in the room knows that he’s far from innocent. At least as far as the law is concerned. You watch him intently, waiting for whatever information he has and praying that it’ll help.

Sana drives you both home an hour or so later, you sitting quietly in the passenger seat and staring out the window as the world passes by.

“We need to tell Jihyo as soon as possible,” Sana says, “I can drive you home after if you want me to? Unless you’d rather stay with me?”

“No, it’s… fine. I’m fine.”

You are fine. Although it could’ve sent you into some sort of panic attack, it didn’t. It’s just a reminder of why you don’t trust men, and you feel yourself withdrawing instead.

Hoseok didn’t have too much info on the Ksung trafficking case. As you expected, they spent a pretty significant amount of time trailing Sunghyun and his closest men in order to map their routines. Not that Hoseok admitted it; it was very ‘hypothetical’. But from what you gathered, it was difficult to get close to the top men and almost harder to follow anyone. Then, when everything happened and Hoseok and Yoongi understood that you’d been watching them, they put the plans mostly on hold. Except for one thing.

“He, of course, doesn’t actually get his hands dirty if he can help it, and we weren’t–you’d have to be a whole team to keep track of everyone and what they’re doing. But …there might be a private plane flying mostly under the radar about once a month. Someone might’ve found… ‘receipts’ for fuel from different places, and when pieced together, they form a vague route.”

“I guess the question is, why the need to fly incognito? Is it possible it flies… cash or other valuables from the bank that they’d rather not have everyone know of?” Sana asks, and you nod in agreement. It’s a very valid concern; you wouldn’t want just anyone to know if you’re transporting valuable cargo, even legally.

“The plane is refueled more often and with less fuel than a cargo plane, according to the receipts. It seems to be a very small plane, with a correspondingly small fuel tank. And these days, flight tracking is the default; it’s definitely an extra step to opt-out. Sometimes even difficult to achieve.”

“So we’ll be looking into this plane, alright. Where are the receipts from? Is there a pattern? Somewhere we can go to see if we catch them as they’re refueling?”

“The first stop is around three hours from their headquarters, so you’d assume the plane is stationed around there somewhere, but it might have proved hard to actually find it. I’ll give you the coordinates for that and the other locations.”

“Thank you.”

It’s with genuine gratitude that you thank Hoseok. It’s truly ironic that one of the sweetest men in your story is a bank robber, while the police have taken on the role of your enemy.

“So how is your case coming along? You haven’t found them yet, I assume?”

You press your lips together briefly before sighing. You know you shouldn’t disclose anything, really, but again, with how much has been on the news, the public would’ve known if the wanted police officers had been apprehended. And they haven’t. You’ve been told not even the Jimin-lead actually led to anything.

So you shake your head. "Still looking.”

To your surprise, Hoseok looks to be thinking hard about something.

“Okay, so… this might not lead anywhere, but if you’re stuck and possibly trailing Ksung’s people anyway… rumor has it that Ksung has been paying off the cops for a while. Not sure what station, but maybe, someone–at least up until around two months ago–used to meet up with someone at seven a.m. on the fifteenth of every month. Like I said, it’s supposedly around two hours away from here, essentially smack dab in the middle between the closest stations, but given your previous colleagues’... reluctance to follow the law, it might be worth checking out.”

“But they’ve been on the run for months now,” Sana questions, “If Ksung has been paying for police protection or their deliberate ignorance, then what would be the point now? They don’t have anything left to offer.”

“Their silence, maybe?” Hoseok tries to offer an explanation. “They could be blackmailing Ksung into giving them the money they need while on the run. Pay up, or they’ll tip someone off?”

“If what we think about Ksung is true, wouldn’t he just… get rid of them if that were the case? Can’t be that much of a leap between trafficking and murder? Especially if they’re a threat to everything Sunghyun built?”

You adjust your position on the couch, sitting quite literally on the edge of your seat and looking at Sana. “Yeah, I honestly think so too. It wouldn’t make sense to let some of the most wanted people blackmail you like that. There’s a big risk that they’re caught and then they might blab and drag you down too. Better to get rid of them.”

“Maybe,” Hoseok adds, “But there were a lot of officers caught in the investigation, weren’t there?”

“Yeah. All fired,” Sana confirms.

“Again, I can’t promise it’ll help because it’s somewhat of a long shot, but what if you didn’t catch them all? What if…”

“--Someone’s still working at the station,” you continue where Hoseok trailed off. “And taking bribes?”

“And you think that person is helping Hoseong?” Sana wonders, her eyes wide.

“Don’t know, but what are the odds of two separate groups of officers being corrupt?”

You really don’t want to answer that.

Jihyo is surprised at your findings, but when you turn it around to look at it from another angle, it makes an awful lot more sense. Instead of questioning the odds of your two cases being connected, it’s not so strange to think that a criminal bank CEO might be bribing the town’s corrupt police. It’s just strange for you to have found yourself in the middle of it.

“So what do we do?” Sana whispers, glancing at Jihyo’s closed office door behind her.

“Wait. What’s today’s date?” Jihyo asks, her eyes going wide as she realizes what you’ve already had time to see.

“January fourteenth,” Sana explains.

Jihyo looks at you and Sana and the look you give each other. “No. We should wait for backup; the outsourced detectives will be here in a week.”

“We’ll miss the window,” you argue quietly.

Jihyo raises her eyebrows. “What if it’s not true? What if it’s a trap to get rid of you?”

“Set up by Hoseok? I don’t think so. He could’ve gotten rid of us today if he wanted to, and I don’t think he would; he saved us, after all.”

“Well, you more or less surprised him today, and people knew where you were, so it would’ve been stupid on his part. Getting rid of you while you’re ‘looking for someone else’ would be a better plan. And like you’ve said before, when he saved your life, he didn’t know that you were investigating him yet. Now that he does, he might’ve just been waiting for an opportunity. What are the odds of you finding all of this out on the fourteenth when the supposed meeting is taking place tomorrow?”

Well, when she’s putting it like that you have to agree that there’s a risk. Not a big one, you don’t think, but a risk nonetheless.

“I want to go,” you say before lowering the volume of your voice further, “If there is someone here still… if there’s a mole, we need to… we need to act as soon as possible. The longer we wait, even if we try to be discreet, the higher the risk of him finding out.”

Jihyo sighs, lifting her hand to rub her forehead until she seemingly decides.

“Fine. Do you want to go tomorrow? Together? Maybe you should bring someone else as well?”

“Who? We don’t know who the mole or informant is, and if you suggest bringing Jeongguk…” you trail off. Jeongguk is great, but this is not his area of expertise.

“He’ll want to go, regardless.”

“He’s not a detective.”

“He’s out on a call right now?” Sana asks.

Jihyo nods. “Yeah, I think so. Out patrolling, at least.”

“Don’t tell him,” Sana suggests.

“You don’t think it’s him, right?” Jihyo asks in disbelief.

Sana continues, “No, but… the more people who know, the bigger the risk. I think he’ll do more good here, keeping up the charades.”

A few hours later, you’re already in the car, heading toward the spot Hoseok pointed out on a map. The meeting isn’t supposed to take place until tomorrow morning, which gives you a valuable opportunity to scope the place out beforehand.

The sun has set by the time you reach a hill, the road ending in an empty cul-de-sac with a low stone wall overlooking the arches of a large, gray viaduct. There’s a road running parallel to you, only on the other side of the wall, below the hill. It doesn’t pass under the viaduct, which stands almost perpendicular to you, but instead turns to run alongside it. You lean your gloved hands against the stone wall, following the road and its sidewalk below with your eyes.

The meeting point is supposedly a few meters from the sidewalk, up underneath the viaduct’s closest arches. From this spot, you can’t see beyond the arch, except for a few bushes and trees. It looks like it might be downhill.

Hidden by the elevation, the stone wall, and some trees, the current spot will be where you park the car tomorrow, and before checking in at a nearby hotel for the night, you decide to also check out the other side of the viaduct.

“So, how does it feel to be back for real?” Sana asks, stepping out of the bathroom and putting her toothbrush in her mouth.

Sitting on the bed, you flip through the TV channels. “Uh, good. I really missed this… feeling of having a purpose?”

She pauses the brushing, toothbrush still in her mouth as she speaks. “Mhm, I get what you’re saying. And… how does it feel, knowing that there might be someone we… missed?”

You take a moment to think about it. “I don’t know. I’m so used to walking around the hallways, paranoid of who might be waiting around the corner. Waiting for me to be alone somewhere. After a while, you just don’t have the energy to be that scared anymore.”

Sana nods in understanding, brushing her teeth thoroughly for another few seconds before she enters the bathroom again to spit the foam into the sink.

“Did you know that I basically didn’t fight them at all when they came for us during the undercover assignment?” you ask, fiddling with the remote on the white bedspread.

“Jeongguk mentioned something about feeling like you’d given up, but not a lot more. He wanted us to stay close and check up on you; said he thought the last year had taken a bigger toll on you than we’d assumed.”

“Yeah. I’ve been so scared for such a long time; felt for so long that I stand no chance whenever they actually decide to try it. I didn’t think there was any use in fighting them when they came, so I just… stood there. I closed my eyes.”

“But Jeongguk saved you.”

“He did, yeah. Let himself be stabbed by a fucking samurai sword.”

Sana’s quiet as she exits the bathroom again, a white robe in her arms.

You let out a deep breath. “What would you do? If you were me?”

Immediately understanding, she sits down on the other bed. “I don’t know. I want to say that I’d give him a chance, but I think it might be easier said than done.”

You look down at your hands. “Yeah.”

“I do believe he’s a good guy, and I think he’s learned his lesson, but a relationship can’t depend on whether he’s good or not, if he deserves you, or whether you should forgive him, can it?”

“It shouldn’t?” you raise your eyebrow at her, smiling a little.

“No, I mean, you shouldn’t be with him if the answer to those questions is ‘no,’ but the next question is just… Do you want to be with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then… does being with him make you happy?”

You feel your whole body practically answer her question. Your eyes drop sadly to the bedspread again, and your shoulders lift a little anxiously. “I think he makes me feel inadequate.”

She looks at you sadly. “You know that you’re not, though, right? You get to feel that way, and he has no say over your feelings because he’s the one who caused them, but you’re more than enough. We’ll support you no matter what you decide to do.”

Nodding slowly, you take another deep breath, getting up from the bed to brush your own teeth.

Usually, you find it hard to wake up fully when the sun has yet to rise and it’s freezing cold. Even the hotel’s hard but warm bed would be tempting you to stay in. But not today. The moment the alarm blares, you’re already reaching for your phone to quiet it, sitting up and looking around. On the other bed, not far from yours, Sana is rubbing her eyes and yawning. Today’s the day you might actually find a good lead.

Due to the nature of today’s assignment, you’re armed, just in case, and you’re clipping small body cameras to your thick, black jackets. On your head, you’ve got black beanies, and your hands are gloved as well to withstand the cold.

The sun still hasn’t made it far on its journey across the sky when you park the car in the same spot as you did yesterday.

“I’m in my position,” Sana informs through the earpiece. You dropped her off closer to the other side of the viaduct, where she’s currently hiding a little farther down a walkway and behind some parked cars.

“Good. Me too,” you confirm, leaning your elbows against the wall. Thanks to the trees and the relative distance, you’re well hidden as you kneel behind the stone wall, focusing on the meeting point through your black binoculars.

“It’s five fifty a.m., and we’re both in position,” you repeat, more so for the recordings.

“And so we wait,” Sana concludes.

Despite the thick jackets, it doesn’t take long before you’re freezing. If you could, you’d sit in the car, at least to be protected from the biting wind, but the angle from there wouldn’t let you see over the wall. Sana complains quietly about her fingers while your cheeks hurt the most. Every glance at your watch is painful.

Six fifty arrives, and you focus further. But there’s no one. Once every few minutes, a car or two passes on the road below you, but that’s it. Seven o’clock. Still no one. You’re starting to fear that maybe you missed them? Did they change location? Or maybe they decided on another time? What if they really just stopped meeting up, altogether? Hoseok didn’t seem too sure, after all. You bite your lip, trying to keep your cold body still. If there is an informant, you need to catch him.

Then, at seven twenty, you hear something. It’s the rustling of thick fabric as Sana adjusts her position.

“Dark-clothed male, moving in. 4 o’clock.”

As slowly and inconspicuously as you can, to not draw attention, you turn your head. Sure enough, a man is walking on the sidewalk below and to your right.

Just like you, he’s dressed in all black, a bulky jacket covering most of his body except his legs. He’s got the hood pulled over his head and his hands in his pockets.

“Can you get a visual of his face?” you ask, watching wide-eyed as he passes below you.

“No, he’s got something–a shirt or something–pulled up over his mouth and nose.”

“Okay, looks like he’s headed for the viaduct,” you say, waiting to see if he follows the sidewalk as it turns to run parallel to the viaduct, or if he steps in under the arch. “We’ll wait and see if anyone else shows.”

But the man doesn’t stop to wait for someone. He steps off the sidewalk, casually walking over to the closest of the huge pillars, graffitied in blue and green, and swiftly retrieves something from under a small bush. A bag?

“It’s a dead drop,” Sana exclaims as the man continues on his path, heading in her direction. It only took a few seconds, and anyone less observant would’ve missed the pickup.

“Do you recognize him?” you ask, on the edge of your seat. “Can you follow?”

You’re too far away to follow him on foot, and driving down would be impractical and likely draw his attention, so you stay put.

Instead, Sana moves, the rustling loud in your ears, and you hold your breath. It’s always more nerve-wracking to watch someone else pursue and track a target than doing it yourself. If this man discovers her, you don’t know what will happen, much less what he’ll do if he recognizes her.

The man disappears from view, and for a while, all you hear is Sana’s breathing and that same occasional rustling of her jacket as she moves. Then, there’s a bout of silence before her quiet, shocked voice comes through.

“I can’t follow him further; he’s getting into a black car. I… I think it’s JJ.”

As quickly as possible, you drive back to the station, wondering if you ever missed a clue about JJ. Considering how many men work at the station and how you’ve had to keep a very close eye on some of them, JJ has flown under your radar a bit. The tall man wasn’t anyone you’ve paid much attention to or interacted with, but he never came across as weird or suspicious; just as a regular man. He never outright harassed you, but he never stood up for you either, but then again, he wasn’t the only one using that approach. Additionally, you’ve seen him with Jeongguk a bunch of times, and you figured Jeongguk had cleared all the remaining men. Not that it’s Jeongguk’s fault, but still; you don’t think he’s easy to fool.

“How sure are you?” Jihyo asks in a hushed voice, her worried eyes flitting between you, Sana, and the closed office door. You know JJ is already at the station, you walked past him in the hallway, dressed in uniform. You weren’t able to follow the man, but considering you had to wait a bit and then drive down to collect Sana, it’s entirely plausible he made it back before you.

“Like eighty percent. It was hard to see, but… I’m pretty sure. Don’t know if I captured anything of value, but we can go through the recordings to be sure?”

“Maybe we can look through the work schedule as well?” you suggest. “If he hasn’t been clocked in at seven to eight a.m. on the fifteenth of the last few months–probably since they went on the run–then–”

“–We still can’t rule him out,” Jihyo interrupts sadly. “Even if he’s been clocked in, he–maybe together with his partner–could’ve simply driven there while on duty, assuming they weren’t on an active call. Maybe not super likely, but not impossible. So if he’s been clocked in, we’d need to look at those exact hours and place him on specific calls.”

“Which might take a while,” Sana adds, and you nod, realizing that she’s right.

Your heart races. “So what do we do?”

“His car’s in the garage, right?”

Jihyo gives Sana a warning look. “We’ll need a warrant to search it, and this is not enough for one.”

“But not to take a look through the window,” you say, biting your lip and meeting Sana’s eyes.

You wait for Jihyo’s objection, but it doesn’t come. “Be careful,” she whispers instead, following you toward the door. “If there’s one, there might be more.”

“Yes, boss.”

Being the first one to step out of Jihyo’s office, you glance the other way, just in case JJ happens to be watching. However, you don’t look where you’re going, and of course, you run headfirst into someone’s chest.

“Hey,” a deep voice says, its owner steadying you by your arms. Of course.

Embarrassed, you look up, only to meet Jeongguk’s dark eyes. He’s dressed head to toe in uniform, the sleeves rolled up to expose his veiny forearms, tattoos and all, and it’s clear that he’s on his way out to patrol. You didn’t know he was really patrolling again, but then again, it doesn’t seem like they were getting anywhere on your case, and well… you don’t talk much these days. Like always when he’s near, your heart rate picks up, and your skin heats under his hands despite the fabric between you.

“Uh, sorry,” you apologize, looking away. You know you’re normally a pretty good actress, but today, you just feel too wound up and on edge. Jeongguk holds onto your arms, his observant eyes gazing over you.

“Is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Everything’s fine,” you say with a nod, glancing at Sana. “But we need to go.”

But Jeongguk doesn’t give up. “There’s something’s going on, isn’t there?”

“No,” you lie again.

“You’re making me worried.”

“You don’t need to be.”

His gaze flickers between you and Sana, and even though you don’t think he’s completely buying it, he lets go. “Promise me you’ll tell me if you find out anything.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, already moving away. Technically, you being ‘off’ can simply be explained by the fact that you’re not entirely comfortable around him.

After getting rid of Jeongguk, you and Sana enter the station’s parking garage. The personnel floor is empty, save for about twenty to thirty vehicles, Jeongguk’s motorcycle included. Still, you make sure to look around before you start.

“What did the car look like?” you ask, peering through the back window of the closest one, a small dark blue car.

“Unfortunately, I couldn’t make out much besides the color and size. It was black and a pretty small one, I think.”

You look around. Almost all cars are black. Or at least dark enough to be mistaken for black. "Do we even know what his actual car looks like?"

“Well... Let’s just check all of them. Just to be safe.”

Even though you make sure to check carefully, the process goes quickly. Until Sana calls your name quietly, the black car in front of her being her sixth or seventh.

“That could be it, right?” she points toward something barely visible, halfway under the passenger seat. But yeah, it looks like black fabric, maybe part of a small bag, but you can’t be entirely sure.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“If we could only look inside,” Sana mutters.

“Yeah,” you sigh, your shoulder dropping in disappointment. “But all he did was maybe pick up a bag of unknown contents outside. It’s not enough. Should we just check the rest of them and then head back?”

Sana nods, “I’ll finish this row.”

Jihyo is still in her office when you return, having found nothing but the maybe-bag. She’s pacing on the phone to someone, motioning for you to enter when you cautiously peek your head through the door.

“Okay… Just get back to me as soon as you can, alright?” she says, sitting down behind her desk. “Yeah, okay, bye.”

“We saw what we think could be the bag, halfway hidden under the seat of a car that looks about the one the man got into,” Sana explains quietly after you’ve closed the door behind you.

“Okay, so nothing’s ruled out and nothing’s confirmed,” Jihyo concludes.

You nod, trying to think of the next steps. “Well, what if we review the camera footage? We were probably too far away, but you never know, right? And Jihyo, you could check the schedules and work hours, start cross-checking them with the calls responded to. I’ll see if I can dig up anything else about him.”

For a few hours, you work in Jihyo’s office, all three of you focused. Jihyo sits behind her desk, trying to see if she can match JJ to specific calls on any recent fifteenths and thus provide him with an alibi.

Sana sits in a chair on the other side of the desk, her laptop open in front of her as she goes through every frame of your recordings, and you sit on the floor, back against the wall, scrolling through both your phone and laptop.

“Finding anything?” Sana wonders, sighing in frustration–a sign that the recordings aren’t giving her anything useful.

“Maybe…” Jihyo replies, eyes locked on her screen. “Can you read line thirty-seven for me?” She hands Sana a sheet of paper listing the calls.

“Sure. Uh… Call about vandalism came at six twenty-seven a.m., reported closed at eight thirty-two. October fifteenth, last year.”

“Six twenty-seven to eight thirty-two,” Jihyo repeats as you scroll through JJ’s instagram, clicking on yet another tagged friend.

“Mhm,” Sana hums.

“Well, he was clocked in… But it seems like… yeah, Min and Mark were the ones who responded to it.”

The room feels… tense in a way, something Jihyo is about to put into words. Meanwhile, you focus on your phone, fingers tapping away quickly and your heartbeat rising.

“Doesn’t seem like we can rule him out. Which, you know, sucks because we all trust him–maybe trusted him–and we don’t want yet another one to have betrayed us. But if it is him, then maybe… we might finally be getting somewhere? Maybe?”

“Yeah, I agree. Don’t like the direction we’re moving in, but at least we’re moving.”

“Hey, guys,” you say, your eyes still glued to the screen in your hands. “JJ has a stepsister named Jimin.”

“What?” Sana exclaims, her voice hushed and eyes wide as she turns to you.

“Yeah. JJ’s mom seems to be dating this Jimin’s dad, but it doesn’t look like they’re married; not even like they live together.”

“So there are no ties on paper?”

“No, no ties.”

All three of you exchange silent looks, realizing what this could mean. You might have an address.

After discussing your findings–all hushed voices and big eyes as you conclude that, yeah, maybe Jimin visited her brother at the station and stumbled across Hoseong–you decide to take a break. You need to pee and Sana complained only a minute ago of her rumbling stomach. To be fair, you haven’t had time to take any real breaks, much less eat.

Determined, you leave the office, discreetly looking around before heading toward the bathroom. Sana leaves for the cafeteria.

After using the bathroom, you sit on the closed toilet lid to gather your thoughts. It almost feels like you need to catch your breath, too. Do you dare hope that you might finally get them? Still, you find yourself imagining what you’d do if that were the case. It’s not like they’ve haunted you for decades, but even a few months stretching into years feels like such a long time. A lifetime, almost. You experienced life at the station before everything went down, but is it even possible to return to that? Maybe it isn’t; you’re not the same person anymore.

Still thinking deeply about what this revelation might mean, you head back toward Jihyo’s office. Occasionally–like now–the white halls are empty, but as you approach the wooden door with the frosted window, you hear voices inside. They’re not abnormally loud per se, but louder than they should be.

You open the door, and for a moment, the voices fall silent. Already back, Sana stands with a Saran-wrapped bread bun and coffee in her hands. Jihyo sits behind her desk as usual, her laptop open and the call papers scattered across her normally tidy desk. And Jeongguk is standing in front of it, still in his uniform, wild eyes looking back at you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything for the better,” you say, stepping in fully and closing the door behind you. “You’re with the guys more than we are. We don’t want them to find out.”

“There’s a risk anyway,” he says, turning to Jihyo, “We need to go there as soon as possible.”

Jihyo meets his gaze, her expression understanding but firm. “Jeongguk, like I said, we need to wait for backup. We’re understaffed, and there’s too much of a risk that they’ll recognize you. Besides, all of you inside this room are too emotionally involved at this point.”

His hands fly out, and though he tries to keep his voice down, frustration seeps through. “They were allowed to watch JJ accept a bribe in the first place?” he argues.

“Yes, and that was risky enough. If they recognize you, they’ll probably try to kill you. They’ve got nothing to lose, and you’re the reason they’re in this mess to begin with. Just hang in there until backup arrives.”

He shakes his head in frustration and disbelief. “This is crazy. They’ve tried to kill her so many times, and someone connected to them is still here. For all we know, he could be planning something on their behalf as we speak!”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I understand you’re frustrated; we all are, but this is the best course of action.”

He gestures toward you, “She needs to leave in that case. She can’t stay here.”

To be honest, you’re not that scared of JJ. He’s never seemed particularly interested in you, and you don’t think he’s planning to kill you or anything like that. Months have passed without you even suspecting he might be involved, and nothing has happened. Sure, you were mostly with Jeongguk until recently and not that often at the station, so while the opportunities might not have been plentiful, JJ has had his chances.

Jihyo sighs, leaning back in her chair. “It’s up to her.”

He turns to face you fully. “Come stay with me? Take a week off, stay at my place.”

You shake your head. “No, I’m staying at my place, and I’ll continue to work if I feel like it.”

“Please?”

You’ll never stop being surprised at how easily Jeongguk lets go of his pride. But by doing it so quickly, with so few reservations, it’s almost as if he grows in your eyes. You try not to think about him in that way.

You shake your head. “I don’t want you to think that you need to save me all the time. I’ll be fine on my own.”

He glances around at the three women in the room, none giving him the support he wants. He looks like he wants to say something, but suddenly, someone calls for him on his com radio.

“Go,” Jihyo instructs as Jeongguk gives you one last longing look before quickly exiting through the door.

Jeongguk can’t shake the new information, and as the day progresses, it keeps gnawing at him, his mind turning over every possible option again and again. While that last call–regarding a break-in—kept him distracted for a bit, his thoughts return as he enters the station again, Min heading off to the cafeteria.

He knows you’ve already gone home by the time he’s clocking out and heading for the locker room, still unsure of what to do. It terrifies him to know that there’s still someone who might want to hurt you, walking these halls. That he missed someone.

He’s got three options to choose from. The first: go home. Get some sleep. Or at least try to get some sleep. And then just hope that JJ didn’t spot you this morning and is waiting to attack you outside your apartment door. Jeongguk knows that it’s what you want him to do; go home and not get involved. But he’ll never forgive himself if something happens to you.

Option two is to drive to your apartment and sit in his car outside it all night. He’ll do it if needed, but it’s not very tempting, and it’ll render him useless at work tomorrow. Additionally, if nothing happens tonight–which, yeah, it might not–then he’ll need to guard you the night after as well. Sooner or later, he’ll need to sleep.

Biting his lip, he enters the locker room, taking a lap to make sure he’s alone before pulling out his phone. Google gives him the number to the nearest car rental, and he wastes no time, pressing ‘dial.’

He’s picking option three, and he needs a car that isn’t his.

author's note: i hope you liked it!! <3<3

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frannyzooey · 2 days ago

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Midnight

Din Djarin x f!reader

Rating: E

A/N: Happy New Year’s Eve! ❤️ Thank you for being so kind and patient with me this year — it’s been a long one, but this place has made it all the more tolerable. This has been a WIP since 2021 (!!) and it was so wild to brush it off and compare how much my writing has changed since then — thank you for sticking around, for being so supportive and for being a part of this community. I appreciate you all and hope you all have a great 2025! 🎉🎊🍾

—

9PM

The kitchen is already packed.

It’s been an hour since you arrived to the greeting of your coworkers broad smile, getting her for all of two minutes before you promptly lost her again. You’d seen pieces of her since, shimmers of her silver dress in between the crowd of bodies: her arm extended to hand someone a drink, her hip pressed against the counter to refill a chip bowl, her bright laugh above the din of conversation.

The beer in your hand had started out cold, but now borders on luke warm as you take a tentative sip. You grimace at the flavor, yet hold onto it, if only for something to do with your hands.

“Why are you drinking that?”

She appears in front of you, at last, the only person you know here. Pulling a face at the bottle in your hand, she lifts her eyebrow. “You don’t drink beer. Couldn’t find anything better at the bar?”

“I didn’t even see a bar,” you reply, standing on your toes to look around the room. All you see are shoulders and heads, a sea of pointed hats with shiny poms of tinsel on top.

She rolls her eyes with a smile, plucking the beer from your grip to take your hand in hers.

“Over here,” she leads, tugging you towards the living room.

Turning your body sideways to get through the crowd, you grin when the bar comes into sight.

The cart is an art-deco elaborate thing, mirrored and gilded. You remember her shopping for it online at the office, hiding the screen whenever your manager would walk by. Its beauty is hidden underneath a crowd of bottles, just as tight as the people in her apartment, and she twists and turns them, searching.

Lifting one up, she offers something else with a familiar smile. “Gin?”

You grin. “Yes please.”

–

10PM

One heavy handed gin and tonic later, you’re feeling much better about the situation.

You haven’t seen your friend in awhile, but that’s okay – your other coworkers have arrived.

“Okay but why is it such a personal thing?” you ask, tipping your cup to slip an ice cube into your mouth. “I know which one is yours – the one with Snoopy on it – and it’s not like it would be wrong if I took it, but it would feel wrong, you know?”

Your coworker nods earnestly. “Coffee cups in the office are weird thing, man. They aren’t labeled, but like…you just know.”

He shuffles forward for someone to pass by him, and you back up to make room, your back pressing against the stranger behind you. They are a solid wall of heat, and before you can turn and apologize, the ringing shout of more people being welcomed draws your attention in the direction of the kitchen door. Your friend appears under the archway a second later, leading a train of people through the crowd and as everyone parts to make room, the person behind you reaches back, placing their hand on your hip. Their hold pushes you lightly towards the wall, out of the way.

Looking down, you see a man’s hand – thick fingers, a broad palm and when you turn around, you find the owner.

Jesus Christ.

He’s fucking gorgeous. Tilting your chin up to start with the dark mop of his curls, you hungrily take in the rest of his face: a strong nose, plush lips, jaw covered in scruff. Easily the most handsome person you’ve ever seen, you’re frozen in place, and his neat mustache twitches with amusement.

“Hey,” he greets you, turning to fully face you. “Sorry,” he gestures to your hip with a flick of his eyes. “Didn’t want you to get run over.”

Those eyes. Those fucking eyes. Beautiful and brown, rich and dark – with creases that fan out when he smiles. He waits you out, and you wonder if he’s used to your reaction, or if his silence means he’s just as enamored as you with what he sees.

You hope it’s the latter, though you’re sure it’s the former.

“It’s okay,” you breathe, and he grins, a dimple appearing in his cheek.

A fucking dimple? Are you kidding?

“Din,” he says, pointing towards himself with the neck of his beer bottle. When you give him your name, you don’t miss the way his eyes slip down the length of your body and crawl back up. So open and blatant with his expression, it’s almost as if he doesn’t think you can see it.

Or maybe he knows you can, but doesn’t care.

Giddiness pools in your chest, and he gestures for your glass.

“Can I get you another?” he asks over the noise of the party.

“Sure.”

You grin, and he mirrors it.

–

11pm

How can someone be this good at charades?

It’s uncanny, his ability to convey so much with gestures alone. You wonder if maybe it has something to do with his confidence, or the graceful, commanding movement of his body. It’s like you’ve been able to read his mind and he yours, the two of you synced up after forty minutes in each other’s presence. He says nothing, and still, you understand every time.

His face is so subtly expressive, that’s what you think makes it. Or maybe it’s his hands, – large, capable looking things that he seems so deft with.

They’ve been touching you since you met — a firm pressure on the small of your back to guide you through rooms, a circle around your wrist when you were almost separated. A curved hold on your hip when you signed him up for charades, a gentle brush of his fingers when he slipped the strap of your dress into place after a round.

He comes back from the bar, two water bottles in hand and his weight drops on the couch next to you, his thigh pressing tight against your own.

The cushion forces you to lean into the bulk of his body and turning your head to the side, you whisper conspiratorially in his ear. “We’re killing them.”

The divot below his ear holds the best scent – heady and masculine, warm in the best way – and he smiles, returning a whisper of his own.

“I know.”

His boyish grin is deceptive, hiding how competitive he’s been this entire game, a trait that you find yourself liking. Not boastful like most guys, but more like he brims with a quiet confidence. Like he’s just sure of himself, his commanding presence drawing you in.

The other team starts, their shouts fading into the background as his eyes drop down to your mouth. You wait with bated breath for the flirty line that most men would deliver at this moment – but none comes. Instead, he stays silent, letting his eyes do all the talking.

They roam over your features, blatant and bold in their quest. His smile falters, slipping into something with more intent and the warmth held in his eyes simmers to turn into something darker, hungrier. Your mouth waters in anticipation, your tongue gliding over your bottom lip, and you watch as he follows its path.

His hand rests on top of your knee, encompassing it within his warm hold. The touch sparks a line of want that zips up the inside of your thigh to the damp crotch of your undies, a beat pulsing between your legs. It curls behind your belly button, pooling between your hips – a sticky slick ache that makes you press your thighs together.

The corner of his lips tug upwards as if he knows.

A chorus of groans declares you winners and he squeezes your knee in victory, his eyes still on yours.

11:59pm

“FIVE! FOUR!”

The cheer of the guests counting down is deafening, and you wince at the sound even while shouting yourself. Din’s arm drapes around your shoulders, the weight of it keeping you tucked along his side as he protects you from being crushed.

“THREE! TWO!”

Lifting your drink into the air, you grin up at him when he does the same. Couples around the room turn to each other, and you tip your chin upwards, your cheek fitting into the crook of his shoulder. He looks down at you, his arm tightening in its hold and it’s like a magnet pulling your mouths towards each other, anticipation building to a breaking point.

“ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!”

The room explodes in cheers and shouts, and he leans down to meet your mouth with his.

It’s a firm, sure kiss; his lips softly molding to yours. You savor it, pushing up on your toes to prolong it and when you pull back, you notice micro-expressions flit over his face: his eyes brightening before darkening with want, his lips pursing like he’s already missing the press of yours. He bends to kiss you again, and when his lips part yours to deepen the kiss, sparks burst and skitter through your limbs like the fireworks exploding outside. You lean into it, throwing your arms around his neck, your fingers threading into the curls at his nape and the strength and surety of his hold lifts you upwards, your toes skimming the floor, the wood underneath pulsing with the party.

No one notices when you slip from the room, or when he takes a bottle of champagne from a table as you pass it. No one notices when you climb the stairs, or when you slip into the last door on the right. Lost in their own celebration, the tune of Auld Lang Syne follows you down the hallway, the joyous melody muffled when he shuts the door behind you.

“I thought maybe we could celebrate in here. Alone.” His voice is so much richer without the noise of the party competing against it, and the boldness of the statement makes you flush with heat.

He takes a swig of champagne straight from the bottle and hands it to you, smiling when you do the same. The bubbles dance and burst on your tongue, similar to the feeling in your stomach when he pulls you in for a kiss. The flavor of the champagne is on his tongue, his mouth moving with intent and the music in the other room shifts to a heavier bass beat when he guides you backwards, his smile felt against your mouth.

You hit the bed with a breathless laugh, the weight of his knee dipping the mattress when he crawls up over you and though you have felt the heat of him next to you all night, it’s nothing like how it feels when he settles his body on top of yours.

His mouth immediately meets yours and his hands are everywhere, grasping anything he can reach: sliding from his hold on your nape to caress the round of your bare shoulder. Slipping the strap of your dress down as his touch skates downward, palming the weight of your breast. You arch into his touch, your whine muffled by his hungry mouth and his hips rock forward into yours. Your thighs widen, your skirt falling up around your hips, and his hand continues its way south, curling around the plump curve of your hip with a squeeze. His thumb picks at the band of your panties, and you squirm, forcing contact between the heft hidden underneath his fly and the soaked, delicate fabric that covers your core.

He’s hard – so hard, so thick with promise – and his mouth finds the hollow of your throat, smearing over the line of your collarbone before moving down to the swell of your breasts. You tug the collar of your dress down, an action that makes him stop – but only for a moment.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, husky and low, the words of reverence rumbling from his chest. Then he’s surging forward, cupping the weight of your tit in his hand, his mouth closing around the peak. The shock of warm wetness and suction when he pushes more of it into his mouth has you moaning shamelessly underneath him, your back arching to encourage the dull scrape of his teeth over your nipple.

You push him back, your hands fumbling with the hem of his shirt, and he sits up on his knees, reaching back to tug it off. He tosses it onto the floor, immediately draping his body back over yours. Your dress and bra tugged down around your waist, the weight and warmth of his firm chest against yours is delicious and heady as he continues to kiss you drunk.

Just as sure and competent as he was in the other room, he wedges his hand between your bodies and finds your clit with the pads of his thick fingers, rubbing it until you soak the crotch of your underwear with need. He can feel it, the sodden fabric slipping under his touch and he breaks your kiss, bringing his hand up to his mouth. His lips wrap around his fingers, a deep, satisfied groan pouring from his throat while you watch from underneath him, your jaw slack with want.

Your intense need for him snaps, your pussy clenching as you watch him suck and you frantically fumble with his belt buckle, working it open. Your hand trembles as he helps you, his mouth capturing yours in another consuming, frantic kiss that has him eating at your mouth and when you pull him out together, your breathing hitches in your throat at the heft that smacks against your inner thigh.

You try to look down, his broad chest blocking the view and it’s almost better that you can’t see it. There is something about the anticipation of it, the touch without the sight. You feel his hand wrap around the base of his cock, working to notch it at your entrance and when he breaks you open on the thick tip, you hold your breath, savoring it.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your jaw clenching. Aching for it ever since you turned to face him in the kitchen, the filling weight of his cock is overwhelming, your body being forced to make room for it. The snug, slick fit has you whining underneath him, begging him for something he’s already giving you.

“You feel so good,” you moan, and he gives you a smug look in return. His expression is laced with pride, his eyes hooded with arousal, his hips pushing forward until he’s in all the way down to the base.

“So do you,” he breathes just over your mouth, and you pull him in for a kiss, needing his lips on yours.

Expecting a fast fuck squirreled away in a bedroom that belongs to someone else, what you don’t expect is how intense it feels. His cock is a relentless, filling stroke that claims, his mouth breaking contact only when he wants to watch: his dark eyes trailing over your open mouth, your bouncing tits, your pleading expression.

And then he’s back on you again, filling you deeper, harder.

Your fingers weave into his sweat damp curls, keeping him close. The muscles in his torso shift against your own, highlighting the hidden strength held in them. His thighs spread for purchase, forcing yours open wider and his hand grasps handfuls of your bottom and of your hip to keep you in place underneath him. Knowing you have to be somewhat quiet, you drink each other’s moans.

You hear another couple stumble down the hallway – a thud against the wall followed by a loud laugh. The door knob jiggles and his hand clamps over your mouth just as a throaty moan breaks free. You whine into the humid curl of his fingers, and when the people outside jiggle the doorknob again, Din picks up his pace.

He fucks you: the weighted press of his body paired with the weighted press of his hold has you forced to take it, and when the couple outside moves on with a loud laugh to find their own private bedroom, he slips his hand off your mouth, fisting the bedding next to your head instead.

“Sorry,” he pants. “Didn’t want them to hear you.” His mouth rests next to your ear, his scruff tickling the delicate skin of your neck. “Those sounds are mine,” he breathes.

The sweet sentiment paired with the filthy confession flings you over the edge of your release, your body curling around his as a means to ground you. You want it all: the sweaty press of his bare skin, the softness of his curls, the humid press of his mouth. He fucks you right through it, restraint etched into his jaw.

“I want you…,” you start, your voice syrupy and slow, still quaking with aftershocks. “I want you to come.”

“I’m going to,” he warns, his elbows resting on either side of your face, his hand curling around the crown of your head. His lips brush against the apple of your cheek, dot the tip of your nose and he tucks his face into the crook of your neck and breathes in, his hips never ceasing. “You’re so wet. You’re so fucking wet, I’m gonna come.”

His voice has your eyes closing tight, his breathless pants for air making you pulse around his cock. The sounds he’s making are filthy – the filthiest coming right as he does.

He pulls out, but just barely – his hips slam against yours a couple of times: deep strokes that have you keening on his cock and just as his body tenses up with a deep groan that rumbles his chest against yours, his hips snap back, slick smearing from his cock along the inside of your thigh as he spends himself along the soft skin. Bracing himself on your hip, he closes his eyes tight and you take in the way he looks above you: desperate, beautiful. Hot spurts of his release pool on your skin, on the fine hair that dusts your pussy, and on the sheets underneath you – which has you wondering, for the first time, who’s room this is.

His pulse thrums underneath his tanned skin, and you ignore that line of thought, instead tipping your chin up to capture the beat in a kiss.

You hear him smile, and feel his body relax on top of yours. He hums with contentment, and finds your mouth with his own, pulling you into a deep, sated kiss.

“Happy New Year,” he breathes into your mouth. There is a beat of silence, his face shifting to nuzzle between your breasts. He kisses whatever skin he can reach, as if he’s starved for touch.

Guiding his face to yours, you nip at his bottom lip, loving the way it makes him smile against your mouth.

“Happy New Year.”

#din djarin #din djarin/you #din djarin/reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader

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joemama-2 · 1 day ago

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˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ a symphony of silence

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ synopsis: if you want to know what it’s like to love someone who was never yours, ask gojo satoru.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ tags/warnings: angst, unrequited love, crying, happy ending, talks of soulmates

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ wc: 5.5k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ a/n: thank you all so much for 1k followers!! I appreciate every bit of love and support I have received and I hope with this new year, I can make you all happy with my work. :) this is just a little thing, but I really hope u guys enjoy it. as always, have a wonderful day and eat well!

The days feel brighter with you.

No amount of paperwork, miscalculations, messed up orders can change the light you bring into his life. The moment he met you, he knew it was strange. Feeling himself being reeled in like a fish too quickly scared him. But if you asked him that question, he’d never admit his fear.

His smile had a mind of its own, curling up in a subconscious way whenever you so much as spared him a fleeting glance. And when you smiled at him? He was on cloud nine. His heart beat faster and stomach fluttered like a little schoolboy when he was in your vicinity.

But he was always careful. So careful, too careful. Like the way someone treads lightly around a fragile thing they can never keep. You were so full of life, so innocent in your joy, and he was nothing but a darkened silhouette in the background.

He knew what you deserved, and it wasn’t him. Not a man like him, burdened with secrets and a past he couldn’t shake off. And you? You were meant for someone who could offer the world, not someone like him who could barely provide anything but a fleeting moment of warmth.

He had a way of slipping into your presence unnoticed, his longing buried deep within the corners of his chest. When he laughed at your jokes, it was because he couldn’t bear the thought of you seeing through him, of knowing just how badly he wanted to be more than a passing acquaintance. He wanted to reach out, touch your hand, but the words always died in his throat, swallowed by the fear of your rejection.

He knew the truth, though. You would never see him as he saw you. You would never feel that electric pull, that magnetic force that lured him to you in ways he couldn’t explain, ways he would never allow himself to. Because it would hurt too much, to love someone who didn’t even know.

The days grew brighter with you, but in the back of his mind, he could feel the darkness creeping in. He was just a shadow in your life, and nothing more. And it was enough for him, even if it meant living in a love that would never be returned. As long as you were happy. As long as you smiled. That was all he could ever ask for. He sometimes joked with himself about just saying ‘fuck it’ and getting down on one knee for you. He would.

Too bad his best friend had the balls to do it before he did.

He saw it coming, of course. You and Suguru have been together for five years. He was there through every phase of your growing relationship, a background character in a main couple’s story. It’s why he felt guilty about his feelings—his thoughts. But he always justified it with a he knew you first.

He watched the way Suguru could make you laugh with the simplest words, how your eyes lit up when he held you close. It was the kind of love that made the world feel like it had all the right answers—answers he never had. He shouldn’t be pining after you. You were Suguru’s, and the world had made that clear. But there was always a part of him that entertained the what ifs. He was there before Suguru, before the smiles and the promises, before the certainty of love that seemed to hold you two together like a force stronger than gravity.

And yet, here he was, helpless. Watching you slip further away, like sand through his fingers. You were so easy to love, and so impossible to have.

He’d gotten good at keeping his distance. At laughing along with Suguru’s jokes, at pretending to be happy for the both of you. But inside, it was a constant ache, a pain that never went away, no matter how many times he buried it under a mask of smiles and camaraderie. He wondered if you ever noticed the way he looked at you. The quiet longing that always seemed to flicker in his eyes when you spoke. But you never did. How could you? You were too wrapped up in the love you had with Suguru to ever see the way his heart twisted with every word you spoke, every touch you gave.

But maybe, just maybe, he could keep pretending. Keep pretending that your happiness meant more than his own. Because that’s what love was, right? Sacrificing for the one you cared about, even if they never knew the weight of it.

“Are you happy, Satoru?”

Your question was simple enough, but you really had no idea just how much weight it held. Not like he would tell you. His head tilts, playfully smiling. “Happy? Why do you ask, hm?”

“I’ve just been wondering…” you mutter, tracing your glass rim with a manicured nail. Looking up at him in such a way that makes him want to wrap his arms around your body and hold on tight. “I don’t want to be invasive, but sometimes it just feels…faked.”

Huh, so you’re not as oblivious as he thought you were.

But your words hit him like a cold wave, a shock to his system. You had no idea. You never would. The smile on his face falters for just a moment, yet it’s enough. Enough to make him feel like he’s exposed, vulnerable, like you might see right through the layers he’d spent so long building up.

Faked.

That word stings more than anything else you could’ve said. Because, in some twisted way, you were right. He had spent so long pretending, so long wearing a mask that even he had begun to forget what it was like to feel anything real. What it was like to want something for himself, to let someone in without fear.

He takes a slow breath, his gaze softening, eyes flicking to the side, pretending to consider the question. “I’m happy. Why wouldn’t I be?” His voice is casual, a practiced indifference, but inside, his heart is pounding.

You don’t buy it. You never did.

“I don’t know, Satoru. You always seem so… distant. Like you’re somewhere else, even when you’re here.” There’s a hint of concern in your tone, but it’s laced with a careful distance, as if you’re treading around something fragile.

He swallows hard, the weight of your gaze digging into him. You see it, don’t you? The cracks in the armor he’s so carefully constructed. The loneliness he hides behind every joke, every flirtatious smile.

But he can’t tell you the truth. Not when your words have the power to break him, to shatter everything he’s built up around himself. He can’t show you how deeply he cares, how much he wants to reach out and make you see him for what he truly is—just a man who’s afraid of losing something he’s never had.

He laughs, a little too loud—a little too involuntary. “I’m just a little busy, that’s all. Life’s a bit chaotic, but I’m fine. Really.”

Even so, you still don’t look convinced. And for a split second, he wonders if you’ve figured it out. If you can see the way his heart aches every time he’s near you, how badly he wishes things were different. How badly he wishes he could be the one to make you smile, make you laugh, in a way that wasn’t tainted by his unspoken feelings.

However instead, you just smile softly, a quiet understanding in your eyes. For just a moment, he thinks maybe you’ve known this whole time. Of course, he’ll never make you aware of how much that question, those few words, broke him inside. Not now. Not ever.

He can feel the cold of your engagement ring pressed against the back of his palm, looking over at you with parted lips, raised brows. Your expression is soft—too inviting. He almost can’t take it anymore.

Your entire being brings him in, wrapping around his soul like a warm blanket on a cold night. Your eyes can hold a thousand different meanings, but so can your touch. The world blurs into a fade when it’s just you and him, like it always does. He can see the fireworks, feel the softness of your skin against his.

He wants you so much.

It’s a quiet ache, a longing that starts in the pit of his stomach and spreads like wildfire, burning him from the inside out. He’s so close to you now, the air between you two charged, heavy with unsaid words and unspoken desires.

Your breath catches as you watch him, and it only makes things worse. It’s as if you’re reading him, sensing the intensity of the pull that draws him to you, even though you shouldn’t. Even though you’re promised to someone else. But for a moment, it’s just the two of you in this space, and everything else ceases to exist.

His heart races as he subconsciously leans in, just a fraction of an inch. Like a man on the edge of something dangerous, something he knows he shouldn’t want, but does anyway. His fingers twitch against your wrist, the ring there a painful reminder of the distance between what is and what could never be.

You shift slightly, a small motion, but it’s enough to send a jolt through him. You’re so close now, your warmth seeping into him, your scent intoxicating. In a single brief and fleeting instant, he wonders if you feel the same pull, if you’re as caught in the web of longing as he is.

Just then, you blink; and the spell is broken. You pull back just enough. The correct amount of room to create a sliver of space, he feels his heart sink. “I…” Your voice is barely a whisper, as if you’re struggling with the weight of the moment too. But he knows what’s coming. You always have that hesitation, that gentle reluctance when it comes to him.

He swallows, the words caught in his throat, but the truth is too painful to speak. He can’t admit how much he wants you. He can’t admit that, despite the ring on your finger, despite everything that keeps you apart, he’s falling for you in ways that have nothing to do with logic and everything to do with his heart.

“I know,” he whispers finally, his voice low, barely audible, because it’s the only thing he can say without completely shattering the fragile barrier that keeps everything in check.

When deep down, in the part of him that refuses to let go, he wishes with everything he has that you could see him. That you could feel what he feels.

That you could love him, just once, the way he loves you.

He puts on his usual smile. He knows you see through it now, but there’s no point in hiding it. There’s no point in hiding anything anymore, is there? “I know,” he repeats.

The words fall heavy between you, thick with unspoken truths, and yet, they feel like a fragile lie. He laughs again, but it’s different now. Not the carefree expression he usually wears, but one edged with something raw—something too real for either of you to ignore. He knows you see the cracks. He knows you feel the tension and the weight of everything he doesn’t say. It makes him ache in ways he can’t describe. You’ve always seen him, better than anyone else, better than he ever allowed anyone to. And even now, when the distance between you is palpable, when everything about this moment screams to turn away, neither of you can.

You’re still staring at him, your eyes warm but searching. You want more. You want to know what’s behind that smile, what’s behind the guarded words, the silence that screams louder than anything he’s ever said. You want to see through the layers, even when he’s terrified of what you might find.

Except that’s the truth of it, isn’t it? He’s terrified. Terrified of losing you, terrified of the vulnerability that comes with loving someone so completely. Terrified that you’ll slip away from him, like everyone else does.

“Satoru…” Your voice trembles slightly, hesitation lingering in the air like an uninvited guest. You want to say something, but you don’t know how. You want to reach for him, but you know the consequences. The space between you both feels endless, a chasm that neither of you can cross.

He really can’t keep pretending anymore.

His smile falters, his eyes dimming as he finally lets go of the pretense, removing the silence hanging in the air. He feels the weight of your gaze on him, steady and knowing, and something inside him breaks.

You know. You always knew.

“I don’t want to hide this anymore,” he admits quietly, his voice strained, his chest tight with the confession. It’s not a declaration of love, not yet. However, it’s the closest thing he can give you right now—the truth, raw and painful. He’s not sure what you’ll do with it, if it’ll push you further away or bring you closer, but the honesty feels both freeing and suffocating at the same time. He waits for your response, his heart hammering in his chest, terrified of the silence that follows. Because no matter what happens next, he knows that something between the two of you has irrevocably shifted. And there’s no going back.

When you look away from him, he gets his answer. With that, he laughs softly to himself in understanding. Not even needing to hear your soft words—whispered apologies. Because at the end of the day, he knew what would happen.

He’s not mad at you for it, how could he be?

You’ve always been his anchor, even if you couldn’t see it. Even if he was just the one who stood in the background, quietly waiting, hoping for a moment like this. He knew that in the end, it would never be him, and somehow, he had accepted that. But it doesn’t make the ache any less painful, the hollow feeling in his chest where something once burned bright.

You’ve always belonged to someone else.

The way you look away, the way your fingers subtly twist the fabric of your shirt as if you’re gathering the courage to speak, tells him everything. You don’t need to apologize for anything. He knows. He always has.

But it doesn’t stop the weight from pressing down on him. It doesn’t stop the way his heart cracks, just a little bit more, with every moment that stretches between you both.

He should leave. Walk away before it hurts too much. Yet something keeps him there—something that’s always kept him tethered to you, even in your silence. Once more, he chuckles quietly. The sound is bitter in the back of his throat. He puts his smile back into place, masking the storm brewing inside. “It’s okay,” he says softly, almost as if he’s reassuring himself as much as you. “I get it.”

His voice is steady, but there’s a quiver that betrays him, a flicker of pain he can’t hide. You’ll never know just how much it stings. How it feels like something vital is slipping away, piece by piece. But he won’t show you that. Not now. Not when he knows you’re already carrying your own weight.

And so, he stays. Silent, distant, as you both continue to navigate the space between what you want and what you can’t have. No matter how much it hurts, he loves you. In the quietest, most agonizing way possible. And that’s enough for him, even if it will never be enough for you.

“Just…don’t leave me.” He mutters, almost like he doesn’t want to get the words out. He’s aware of the fact that he’s pushing more than he should—biting off more than he’s being given.

You gulp, biting the inside of your cheek. A silent second passes before you nod. “I’d never let you go.”

When he’s walking back home that night, the air feels more suffocating than usual. His apartment—too big for one—is cold. Walking to his bedroom, not bothering to strip himself of his clothes as he plops down onto his bed. Staring up at the ceiling with a melancholic smile. Feeling a prickle of tears hit the corners of his eyes. They don’t fall—not yet. He swallows hard, but the lump in his throat won’t budge.

He should be happy, right? At least you didn’t leave him completely. Nonetheless, the promise in your words doesn’t feel like solace; it feels like a bandage over a wound that will never fully heal. He chortles, a hollow, bitter sound that fills the emptiness of the room.

That’s probably the nicest way he could’ve been let down. For some reason, it hurts more.

Extremely more than he thought it would. Somewhere along the lines, he may have even somehow convinced himself that maybe—just maybe—things could be different. But of course, they weren’t. They never could be. The optimism in him is dying.

The silence in his apartment is deafening, and in the quiet, his mind runs wild with every memory of you, every moment that he convinced himself meant more than it did. The way your voice eased when you spoke to him, the way your eyes lingered just a little too long. He had built up those fleeting moments into something real, something that could have existed in another life, in another world. However now, reality has slammed into him with brutal force, leaving him breathless and broken.

He curls his fingers into the sheets, his chest tightening. He wants to scream, but the words stick to the back of his throat. Instead, he lets out a long, shaky breath, the weight of everything settling deeper into his bones.

Tomorrow, he will smile again. Tomorrow, he will pretend everything is okay. So tonight, in the darkness of his room, it can just be him and the stabbing pain of unrequited love.

It’s so difficult because it’s more than he can bear. Even dreaming is not an escape from you.

He lies there for what feels like hours, staring at the ceiling, the darkness of the room closing in around him. His thoughts are a whirlwind—too much, too fast, all at once. He feels like he’s drowning in them, unable to pull himself out. He shifts uncomfortably, pulling the covers tighter around his body, as if they could shield him from the cold ache in his chest. The memory of your words, of the softness in your voice, keeps echoing in his mind: “I’d never let you go.” You hadn’t meant it the way he wanted, the way he had hoped. You had meant it in the kindest way possible, but all it did was reinforce the distance between you two. You couldn’t love him. You couldn’t be with him—not the way he needed you to be.

He tries to push away the thought, but it lingers, gnawing at him. The weight of knowing that you would never truly leave him, that you’d always be there. Still, never in the way he wanted. It cuts so much deeper than he could have imagined. It’s like a constant reminder that some things just aren’t meant to be.

A soft sigh escapes his lips, and he runs a hand over his face, his fingers pressing against his eyes. He’s tired—so tired. Not physically, but emotionally. It’s exhausting, pretending. Entirely consuming it is to feel something that can never be returned the way it’s given.

He presses the back of his palm to his nose, inhaling the faint remnants of your scent. The tears finally fall, slow and quiet at first. Soon, they’re coming harder and faster. But he doesn’t make a sound. He doesn’t want anyone to hear, not like anyone would. He doesn’t want it to be known the way his heart is shattering, piece by piece, while he lies alone in the shadows of his apartment.

For a moment, he wishes you could feel this—this ache, this longing that gnaws at him until there’s nothing left but the hollowed-out shell of someone who will never truly be enough. He wishes you could understand how it feels to love someone so deeply, to want them more than anything, and yet know that your love will never be enough.

He laughs again, a bitter, empty sound, this time not hiding it. It’s a dull laugh that tastes like defeat. He wipes at his eyes, sniffling quietly, the tears continuing to fall. Then, he forces himself to take a deep breath, to stop.

He can’t let himself drown in this. Not now.

But the truth is, he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep pretending. The weight of everything—the smiles, the casual conversations, the “I’m fine” that he spits out like it’s nothing—feels too heavy now. He wonders how long you were able to tell. If you saw through the facade when you first met him, if you noticed the cracks starting to form around him immediately. Maybe he was the oblivious one.

He tells himself over and over again: you have your own life, your own love, your own future.

He rolls onto his side, facing the wall, the emptiness of his solitude swallowing him whole. Tomorrow, he thinks to himself, I’ll wake up, and I’ll be fine. He’s done this before. Pretending, masking the pain, wearing the boyish smile he knows so well. It’s easier than facing the truth, than admitting how much it hurts.

For now, in the quiet of his apartment, the only thing he can do is let the tears fall, and let himself grieve for the love he’ll never have.

However, one day…something changes in Satoru. He doesn’t even expect it. It’s subtle at first. A shift, almost imperceptible, like the first breeze of spring after a long, bitter winter. He’s standing at the edge of the room, watching as you and Suguru stand hand in hand at the altar, your eyes locked with his in a way that is nothing short of reverent. Your smile—so soft, so full of love—shines through the quiet moment as Suguru vows to stand by you, to love you through everything. Maybe it’s the way you seem so at peace with yourself while looking his best friend in the eyes at the altar, or the way you're radiantly glowing when you two have your first dance. Or the way you still regard him with the same tenderness you did from day one.

The ache grows quieter.

As you look at him, there’s a quiet contentment that blooms in Satoru’s chest. It’s not pain, not jealousy, not longing. Just peace. Something about seeing you so at ease, so sure of yourself, brings a strange sense of clarity to his heart.

He doesn’t know what it is—perhaps it’s the way you carry yourself now, with confidence, with the kind of joy that was never there before—but he feels something relieve within him. The old throbbing pain, the one that had been gnawing at him for so long, then pauses just a bit. It’s like the final breath of a storm passing, leaving behind only calm.

Later that evening, as he watches the two of you share your first dance, something settles in his chest, something he can’t quite explain. You’re glowing under the soft lights, and the way Suguru holds you so gently, his fingers pressing into the small of your back, is enough to make Satoru’s throat tighten. There’s no regret, no bitterness. Just a quiet acceptance.

He knows, deep down, that this is your moment. And he’s finally okay with that.

Satoru’s gaze drifts to you as you laugh, your head tilting back slightly as Suguru twirls you in his arms. Your eyes meet his, just for a second, and he sees it—the same look you’ve always had for him. His eyes don’t move from you one bit throughout the night, feeling something drift into the air. His shoulders feel lighter. Now, it’s just… comfort. A quiet, steady beat that comes from knowing he’s been a part of something meaningful in your life, even if it wasn’t meant to be forever.

He smiles to himself, the ghost of his old longing fading into the background. For the first time in a long time, Satoru feels like he’s no longer holding onto something that’s slipping through his fingers. The pieces have finally clicked into place. So, in that moment, he realizes something he hadn’t anticipated.

He’s free.

As the night winds down, and the last few guests start to trickle out, Satoru stays behind, quietly watching the empty dance floor. The lights are dimmed, the music faded, but the feeling of the day still lingers in the air. He knows that things have changed for him—deeply, irrevocably.

It’s not that he’s given up on love. Not at all. But something in him has shifted. It could be that his understanding is that love isn’t always about holding onto someone forever. Sometimes, it’s about letting them go—allowing them to find their happiness in their own way, even if it’s not with you.

You and Suguru have your own story now, and Satoru is finally okay with that. In fact, he’s grateful for it. Because without your happiness, without you finding peace with him, he never would have found peace with himself.

He takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of it all—of everything that’s passed, of everything that’s been said and unsaid—and it’s fine. It’s more than fine. He’s not angry. He’s not resentful. He’s content.

And that’s enough.

The days that follow are gentle. There’s no rush or no pressure. Satoru slowly moves forward with his life, embracing the little things—his work, his friendships, his quiet moments. There’s a stillness in him that wasn’t there before. The pain that had consumed him for so long doesn’t disappear completely, but it becomes more manageable. More bearable.

Of course, maybe one day, in another place, with another person, there will be a love that’s his to hold onto. But for now, he’s happy with this. He’s happy with letting go—with moving forward. Because in the end, he’s learned that love doesn’t always look the way you expect. It isn’t always a fairy tale. Sometimes, it’s just a silent acceptance, a letting go, and knowing that everything will be okay in the end.

For the first time in a long time, Satoru believes that.

Finally, he just sees you. Someone’s wife.

Satoru stands there for a moment, taking in the sight of you. The woman he once loved, now married to someone else. The years have passed, but you’re still the same in the most beautiful ways. Your smile is just as bright, and the warmth in your eyes is still the same, no matter how much time has passed.

“How are you?” he asks, his voice soft, a little hesitant. It’s been a few years since he last saw you at your wedding to Suguru. He assumed, with time, that he would somehow grow less attracted to you. Less drawn to your presence, your laughter, and the way you seem to light up the world just by being in it.

How wrong he was.

You meet his gaze, and Satoru feels that familiar flutter in his chest, something he thought had long since faded. You haven’t changed. He’s never been able to forget the way you made him feel. The truth is, he probably never will. “I’m great,” you reply wholeheartedly, your smile so genuine it catches him off guard. The apples of your cheeks rise, and he can’t help but notice how much more beautiful you’ve become. There’s a glow about you, one that comes from happiness and contentment. The familiar glint in your eyes beams brighter than he’s ever seen before. It’s the same one that once made him think maybe he could be the one to make you smile like that forever.

Prettier than any star.

“Things have been well,” you continue, a slight tilt of your head as you study him. “How are you?”

Satoru swallows, his heart hammering in his chest, but he smiles. He’s not sure why it still affects him this way. Maybe it’s because he knows you’re happy, and that should be enough for him. But hearing you speak with that warmth, that sweetness, it still stirs something deep within him. “I’m good,” he says, his voice steady despite the chaos of emotions swirling inside him. He wants to tell you everything he wasn’t able to before—how much he’s missed you, how much he’s struggled to let go, how he’s still a little haunted by your absence. But he can’t. You’re someone else’s now. His best friend’s. And he can’t take that from you. He doesn’t want to, either.

“Life’s… busy,” he adds, trying to change the subject, but he knows the words are empty. He’s never been able to lie to you. You always see through it.

You nod, as if understanding more than he’s said. The silence between you stretches, but it’s not awkward. It’s familiar in a way that brings him a strange sense of comfort. You’ve both come so far, yet here you are, still standing before him.

Satoru wants to say something—anything—that will make this moment last. Yet, he knows better now. He knows that some things are meant to pass, to be remembered only as bittersweet memories. “I’m happy for you,” he finally says, his voice quieter than before. His eyes meet yours, searching for any sign that maybe, just maybe, you might feel something too.

And there it is. A flicker. A brief, imperceptible flicker in your eyes. You’re still the same woman he once knew, the one who captured his heart and never quite let it go.

He doesn’t need to hear you say it. He can see it in the way you look at him. You’ve both changed, in ways that neither of you could have predicted. Really, that’s okay. You’re happy, and that’s all that matters.

“I’m glad to see you doing well, Satoru,” you say with that same warm smile. “Take care of yourself, okay?” The weight of the unspoken words lingers between you, yet it’s not painful. Not anymore. Satoru nods, his own smile genuine, even if it’s laced with sadness. He doesn’t need to hold onto the past anymore. You’ve found your place in the world, and he’s finally at peace with that.

“I will,” he says quietly. “You too.”

Staying in your presence feels nice, no words having to be spoken when your actions do it all. Fleeting looks, warm smiles, hushed chuckles. He can’t stop his body from reciprocating. Every time your fingers brush against his by accident, a jolt of electricity runs through him. When your voice dances in the air, light and carefree, it takes every ounce of control he has not to reach out and pull you closer into a hug. Your presence is a kind of calm he didn’t know he needed, a peace he’s been missing, even after all these years.

He’s missed you. That’s okay to admit, right?

“Are you with someone now, Satoru?” You ask, sipping your coffee with an innocent eyebrow raise.

He shakes you off with a chuckle. “Nah, no one. I’m a lone wolf, remember?”

Playfully, you roll your eyes. “Right. Well, every lone wolf needs his mate, doesn’t he?”

“Please don’t use ABO logic on me.”

You kick his shin under the table and he dramatically responds with a frown. Looking at him from the large window that displays the warm morning of Saturday. Speaking with such integrity that it’s hard not to believe you. “I’m serious, Satoru. When it happens, I want to be there for you. Your soulmate is just walking around everyday life waiting for you, I look forward to you finally getting to experience that.”

His heart melts, smirk softening into genuineness. He can’t find it in him to say how wrong you probably are, to crush your dreams of him finding his one true love one day. How could he? You just want what’s best for him, and that’s why he loves you so much.

“Soulmate…” he repeats to himself lowly, watching you laugh gingerly before looking back out at the window. His eyes glance down at his left pinky finger, flexing it.

Red string of fate.

He can imagine the circle around his pinky, red and bright with intensity; glowing like a beacon of everything he’s always wanted and dreamed for. He looks back up at you, your side profile so perfectly structured in the warm light. The way your features align effortlessly like they were meant to be there. He can’t help the crinkle of his eyes when his smile grows wider and more genuine. The time he spent longing for you, it all seems to fade away when he looks at you like this. He lightly jerks his hand.

And for a brief, suspended moment, he catches the sight of your left pinky twitching, being tugged just barely in his direction before you adjust your grip on your coffee.

He follows your gaze, hiding a snicker behind the rim of his cup.

Yeah, she is just walking around, isn’t she?

a/n: hiiiii! i really hoped you guys enjoyed this, while writing this i didn't feel very confident and I still sort of don't, but I really hope it satisfies u all <3 as I said b4 thank you so much for 1k followers, I didn't expect this to happen lollolol but your support has been so appreciated. with this new year, I hope to put out more works, and I hope u all stay along for the ride. have a great day!!!! love and kisses

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da3h0lovr · 19 hours ago

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KANG DAE-HO NSFW&SFW HCS

Nsfw below the cut!!

MDNI

A/N: I've written smut before on my old account but I deleted ittt💔 so hopefully you guys like this

Pairing(s?): Kang Dae-ho x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff and smut

Warnings: Cockwarming, Cum eating, Oral (F&M rec), hair pulling, PiV unprotected (wrap ur willy), Handjob

WC: ?? Idk but it's lengthy

SFW~

(Out of games)

• softest man EVER.

• you ask for something, and he is getting it for youu

• the type of boyfriend to drop anything and everything for you, no matter how big or small it is

• 100% a kind of guy to smother you in kisses when he missed you after a loooong day at work or something

"I missed you so much baby.." He mutters in between kisses, his larger hands gently holding your face as if you'd break if he held you any tighter. "I missed you too.." You say against his lips, a small smile finding it's way to your lips.

• You bet he's cuddling you after, watching your favorite movie while matching pyjama's.

• When you started dating he'd have to ask you to play with his hair by subtly nudging his head on your chest while you guys would cuddle. But now, you just know when he wants head rubs or his hair played with.

• To add onto that, if you stop playing with his hair before he's fallen asleep, he's a whiny little baby, grabbing your hand and placing it back onto his hair.

"Jagi.. come on" He whines, a pout on his lips as he grabs your hand, his hold gentle. He places your hand back onto his hair, nuzzling himself into your hand. "You're such a baby~" You tease, and he let out a noise of protest.

NSFW~

(Out of games)

• He is 100% into cockwarming, prove me wrong.

• he'd have you on his lap, his hard cock nestled inside of you as he watches a show or something.

• But, eventually, he'd get too needy and just start thrusting up into you.

"A-ah shit.." He moans, his hands on your hips holding you steady as he slowly begins to thrust up into your dripping cunt. "So fuckin' tight" He'd quickly mutter in one breath, letting out a breath afterwards. "Oh fuck.." You whine out, your hands finding his shoulders, holding on for support.

• hear me out. He's a switch and leans towards sub!! I said it, bam.

• and to that, he is 100% a whiny and whimpery baby!! Craving praise 24/7.

• Definitely against being degraded, if you degrade him, he'll start crying and ask you if he did something wrong. (COMFORT THE BABY!!!)

• He loves it when you call him a good boy, and he'd call you mama if you do.

"M-mama.. go faster please" He whines out, closing his eyes tightly in pleasure. You move your hand faster, stroking his cock at a faster pace due to his request. He throws his head back against the plush pillows, his fingers curling as he grabs onto the sheets. His cock twitches in your hand, pre-cum oozing out of his tip. "Look at that.. such a good boy" You praise, which leads him to get closer and closer to his release.

• He's eating you out for hours if you ask. (Or if he begs enough) he doesn't do it for his own pleasure, though. He wants you to cum as many times as you can, he wants you to drench his face in your delicious juices.

• And in return, you'd suck him off, milking him for what he's worth.

You drop to your knees, looking up at him through your eyelashes. You reach up, undoing his belt. "May I?" You ask, and he nods quickly, shuffling a little closer to you. "Please.." He whispers, and you comply, taking out his hard, leaking cock. You stroke him a little before taking him in your mouth, letting out a soft hum.

• he is a man who'd love his hair pulled! Like he'd LOVE it when yall are making out and you just tug on his hair a little, or when he's eating you out. PULL. HIS. HAIR! Man will go FERAL.

----------------------

Thank you for reading! I appreciate it, let me know if yall want some like little extended drabbles/fics of the hcs! I gladly will, I already have 2 of them that I plan to extend in the future but lmkk💞

Taglist:

@jennwonwoo

#dae ho x reader #kang dae ho #dae ho #squid game #season 2 #kang daeho #daeho x reader #player 388

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fairytaleendingss · 3 days ago

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Room for One More?

Chapter 8

Summary: You spend Christmas with your family and are joined by an unexpected guest.

CW: Discussion of family trauma (Sirius'; reader has a good family), allusions to sex.

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x fem!reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Hey everyone! Sorry that this chapter is a little late. I was meaning to get it out closer to actual Christmas Day but things just got really busy. I still hope you enjoy nonetheless and that you all had a wonderful Christmas!

Christmas Eve had rolled around quicker than you expected and you suddenly found yourself scrambling to pack for your trip home for the holidays.

James had left the day prior for a vacation with his family and Remus had headed home earlier that morning. The only person left in the apartment was Sirius.

You found him sprawled out on the sofa as you lugged a heafty suitcase of gifts out into the living area. He looked over at you in amusement.

"Need some help with that?"

"Maybe," you responded, already out of breath just from the journey down the hall. "I still have to get it down the stairs yet. I'm not sure I thought this all the way through."

He chuckled deeply.

"Well, let me know when you're leaving and I'm happy to assist."

"Thanks Sirius."

You paused for a moment then, gazing at him thoughtfully. He was wearing a tight-fitting long-sleeved shirt and his hair was tied into a messy bun at the nape of his neck. He was watching some Lifetime Christmas movie absent-mindedly. You noticed that he didn't seem paricularly fesitive.

"So what are your plans for Christmas?" You asked him as you dragged your suitcase towards the door.

He shrugged, eyes still glued to the TV. "I don't have any, really."

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't really get on with my family anymore and usually I'd spend the holidays with James but as you know, he's in Australia for Christmas this year and I couldn't quite afford the airfair. I thought I'd just spend Christmas here."

Your frown deepened so much that you were sure it'd give you premanent forehead wrinkles. "So what? You're going to spend Christmas alone?"

"I suppose."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you assessed him. You hated the idea of just leaving him alone in the cold apartment during the holidays.

"Okay, get up," you told him after a moment.

He looked at you, perplexed. You just sighed and crossed your arms over your chest.

"You're coming home with me for Christmas."

He raised a brow. "I appreciate the gesture but I don't think-"

You rolled your eyes, cutting him off. "I'm not taking no for an answer. If you think there's any chance I'm just going to leave you here, then you're out of your mind. Now hurry up and grab your things!"

It was a couple of hours drive from the city to your hometown and you couldn't help but take notice of Sirius' nervous fidgeting the whole way there.

The sun was just starting to set when you arrived.

"Y/n! Darling!"

Your mother swung the door open, a giant smile painting her face at the sight of the two of you. She threw her arms out, embracing you in a warm, comforting hug.

"Hi Mum! Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart," she pulled back, glancing up over your shoulder. "And you must be Sirius!"

"Lovely to meet you," the boy greeted, uncharacteristically politely. He stuck his hand out towards her.

"Oh, don't be silly," your Mother exclaimed, bypassing the handshake and delving in for an equally enthusiastic hug. Sirius looked briefly surprised by the gesture, before leaning down and heitantly returning her affections.

"We're so excited to have you," she announced kindly.

"Is that y/n?" a voice called from through the threshold.

"Oh yes! Come in, you two. The family's all inside."

"Darling! So good to see you!" your Dad stated, getting up to embrace you as well. Sirius hung back as you were greeted by enthusiastic family members.

Once you'd said 'hello' to both parents, grandparents and your younger brother, you turned back to look at your roommate.

"Everyone, this is Sirius," you introduced. "He'll be joining us for the next few days."

"Oh my! You're a very handsome young man!" Your grandmother declared. Sirius let out a soft chuckle.

"Thank you. I'm flattered," he responded slickly. "You're quite lovely yourself."

You held back a laugh as your Nana's face flushed red. "Well, aren't you a smooth talker?"

"So are you y/n's boyfriend or something?" Your brother chimed in from where he was leaning against the kitchen counter, assessing Sirius through squinted eyes.

"Oh no, nothing like that," you were quick to assure. "Sirius and I are just friends. He's my roommate actually."

"Right..." your brother responded. He didn't seem convinced.

You were distracted by a sudden loud clap from your mother.

"On that note, why don't I show you to where you'll be staying?"

You and Sirius followed her up the stairs and down the hall.

"This is you."

She swung open the door to reveal your childhood bedroom. It was still adorned with the same brightly coloured wallpaper that you had growing up, and cluttered with long forgotten momentos of your adolescence.

Your eyes widened slightly as they fell on the queen bed postioned in the center of the space.

Being the gentleman he was, Sirius moved to carry your suitcases into the room while you pulled your Mum aside discreetely, looking around to make sure no one could hear you.

"Mum, there's a... uh, slight issue the bedding arrangements."

A look of feigned innocence crossed her face. "Sorry but there wasn't much I could do on such short notice. You're grandparents are staying in the guest room. So unless you think Sirius should take the couch, or share with your brother, he'll have to sleep in here with you."

You sighed thickly. There was a twinkle of mischief glimmering in he eye.

"I see what your doing here," you uttered, an unimpressed look gracing your features.

Your family had spent years trying to set you up with various different suiters during your holiday visits. Their intentions were good but for some reason they just couldn't stand the thought of you being single.

"I'm not doing anything!" your mother responded with mock offense. "It's simply out of convinience, that's all."

You rolled your eyes. "Right. Sure it is."

She shrugged. "But you know, if there was anything going on between the two of you-"

"Mum!" you scolded harshly.

"I'm just saying! He's very cute!"

You glanced back at the doorway behind you and rolled your eyes. However, you couldn't deny the facts. Sirius was a very attractive man.

"Anyway," your mother stated. "I'm going to get a start on dinner. I'll give you two a moment to settle in."

She sent you a glaringly conspicuous wink as she turned and headed back down the stairs.

You huffed loudly and ventured into the room. Sirius looked up as you entered, from where he'd been examining a set of porcelain figurines on the dresser.

"Everything okay? I heard a lot of whisper-shouting," he smirked.

"Yes. Yeah, it's just my Mum. She can be a bit overbearing at times."

"She seems nice," he murmered absently and suddenly you felt a terrible sinking feeling in your gut.

Sirius had been his usual, confident, charming self during the whole ordeal thusfar, but it didn't go unnoticed, the hint of discomfort that he was trying to mask. It dawned on you that he may not be used to such warm, welcoming family envionments.

You cleared your throat awkwardly. "Sorry, about the... um, sleeping situation."

He gave you a gentle smile. "I'm okay if you are- to share, I mean."

You felt your palms grow sweaty. God, his smile was deadly.

"Uh, y-yeah. That's fine."

"Great," he nodded. Then he glanced once more around the room, taking in it's eclectic design choices. "So this is where you grew up, huh?"

"Yes it is. Gorgeous, isn't it?" you remarked sarcastically, gesturing to the pink and blue striped wallpaper.

"So tell me," he teased. "How many boys did you sneak up here over the years?"

"Oh loads. Yeah, I was clearly very popular in highschool."

He barked out a laugh. "Of course. I'm sure all the guys were just lining up to spend some time under these lovely magenta bedsheets."

You chuckled, looking up to meet his eyes. He sent you a handsome grin, a dimple popping out in his left cheek and suddenly you felt a lot more at ease.

Maybe this situation wasn't so bad after all.

You awoke the next morning to the feeling of an arm splayed across your waist. You looked over at the boy beside you. He looked angelic, framed by the golden morning light that was peering through the gap in the curtains.

The previous night had gone extremely well, with Sirius charming your family in various ways over dinner. He'd chatted to your Dad and brother about shared music tastes and listened to your Nana's long-winded stories with unwavering interest. He even made sure to go back for seconds on every course of your mother's Christmas Eve menu. Overall, he'd been a perfect gentlemen.

As you gazed at the man, taking in his boyish, almost delicate features, he began to stir. He blinked up at you, gathering his bearings before a smirk overtook him.

"Merry Christmas sweetheart," he murmered, his voice deep and heavy like the strings of a bass guitar.

"Merry Christmas Sirius."

Your family was gathered in the living room when you made it down stairs, cups of hot chocolate in hand and ready to exchange gifts.

"Took you two long enough!" your father called from his armchair beside the fireplace.

"Yeah!" Your brother echoed. "What were you doing up there anyway?"

You rolled your eyes and slapped him gently on the shoulder as you came over to sit beside him on the floor. Sirius hung back awkwardly, not quite sure where he fit into the family dynamic, something that didn't go unnoticed by you... or your grandma.

"You can have a seat right here, hun." She patted the spot on the sofa beside her.

You couldn't help but chuckle as you watched Sirius follow her direction, squishing in to the tight seat between your grandparents. You raised a brow at him from across the room and he responded with an tight-lipped smile.

"Alright! I think it's time for gifts!" your Dad announced.

It took a while to get through all the boxes piled under the tree. By the end of the ordeal you had precured a mass of items including, several handmade bees wax candles from the shop down the road, a boldly detailed set of teacups, a new sunhat and a lovely pair of earrings from your mother.

Your gaze trailed back to Sirius every once in a while, taking note of the way he curiously watched on to see the reactions of your family as they opened their various gifts. It occured to you that Sirius had likely never experienced a pleasant Christmas morning such as this one before. Something in you felt very glad that you'd dragged him along this year.

"This one's for you, Sirius!" your mother chirrped after most of the presents under the tree had sucessfully been unwrapped. She held out a gift box towards him, over the sea of massacarred Christmas paper that now covered the floor.

Sirius eyes widened. "Really? Oh, you didn't have to get me anything."

Your mother chuckled warmly. "Well we couldn't leave you giftless during all of this, could we?"

Sirius smiled but seemed hesitant in taking the box.

"It's only something little," your mother informed.

Your brows furrowed as you watched Sirius take the gift. You hadn't been made aware that your family had gotten him anything. Especially on such short notice.

Sirius carefully removed the wrapping paper to find a large silver box hidden beneath it. Cautiously, he opened it up and you couldn't contain the snort of laughter that burst from you at the sight.

Sirius let out a throaty chuckle as he held up the ugliest Christmas jumper you'd ever seen. The rest of the room was quick to follow as they assessed the man's gift.

It was a frosty blue colour with a giant, smiling snow-man in the centre. There were snow-flakes of all shapes and sizes surrounding it, adorned cheaply with silver glitter that was bound to shed and get into every nook and cranny of the house.

"Wow. This is uh... well, it's definitely something," Sirius muttered as he analysed the woolen monstrosity.

"You could wear it today!" your grandmother suggested and you let out another chortle at the insinuation.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I could."

With that, he hesitantly reached up and slipped the piece of fabric over his head. Everyone in the room began to cheer jokingly as he secured the item.

"How do I look?" he asked, throwing his arms out to show off his present. He looked directly over at you.

"Oh, it's super sexy," you teased.

"Knew it," he responded leaning back on the couch. For the first time since he arrived, it seemed that the playful glint in his eyes had returned. You could tell he was finally starting to feel more comfortable. "I reckon there'll be a queue for me outside the door once all the girls in town get a glimpse of me in this thing."

"Well, I think you look very handsome," you grandmother chimed in.

Another eruption of laughter filled the room.

The rest of the day went by smoothly. Your Aunt's family came over for Christmas Lunch and you got the chance to observe Sirius in caught up in an intense nerf gun fight with you younger cousins as you helped set the table.

You couldn't help but smile at the sight and the revelation that the man was surprisingly good with kids.

You spent the day laughing and drinking and unwrapping presents. All the while, Sirius never even thought about taking his new jumper off. In fact, he'd never tell a soul but secretly he found it very comfortable.

The day ended where it began, in the living room. With bellies full of Christmas ham, your family had spent the evening sipping brandy and remeniscing about your childhood in the english countryside.

You'd never felt more embarassed in your life as when your grandfather recounted the tale of you falling head-first into the touching pool at the aquarium you visited on your 6th birthday.

You also noticed the way that Sirius laughed loudly at all the stories, soaking up the energy in the room as if he was trying to freeze the moment in time. You found yourself drawing closer and closer towards him on the couch during the night, gravitiating into the comfort of his contact.

Everyone was pretty tispy by the time 11:00pm rolled around and one by one, began heading off to bed. You, Sirius and your father were the last men standing as the clock approached midnight.

"Well, that's it!" your Dad sighed, glancing down at his watch. "Christmas is over for another year."

"What a shame," you sighed. You were propped up on the sofa beside Sirius who had an arm lazily thrown around your shoulders. Unconciously you found yourself nestling into his side. "I wish it could be Christmas all the time."

"That sounds awfully expensive," Sirius teased and your father chuckled in response.

"Well, I'm off to bed," you Dad announced, getting up from his seat and setting down his mug. "Do you two need anything before I go?"

You shook your head gently. "Nope. We're good I think."

"Well then," he came over to place a kiss on the top of your head. "I'll see you in the morning. Merry Christmas guys."

"Merry Christmas, Dad," you called after him at the same time as Sirius muttered a "Goodnight Sir," in his direction.

And then there were two.

The room was mostly dark, the only light coming from the twinkling Christmas lights that adorned the tree in the corner. Snow was falling steadily outside and the fire crackled in the fireplace on the opposite wall from where you sat. You could feel the alcohol buzzing through your veins.

"Did you have a nice time?" you asked Sirius, scooting away from him slightly to get a better look at his face.

"I had a lovely time. Did you?"

You nodded enthusiastically. "I always have a lovely time on Christmas."

Sirius chuckled. "I can see why."

His eyes darkened a bit and you could tell he was thinking about some distant memory, probably from childhood, that rattled around in the back of his brain.

Maybe it was the alcohol or just the comfortability of being in your childhood home, but you decided that tonight was the night to broach the subject.

"James told me that you don't get along with your family."

Sirius scoffed. "That's putting it lightly."

You frowned. "I'm sorry."

"S'not your fault," he murmered, gazing into the fire. "They're awful, rancid people. The lot of them."

"But you're close with your brother aren't you?"

Sirius sighed. "I am now. Took us a while to get there, though."

"Oh."

You sat back, biting the inside of your cheek as you looked up at him. He looked ethereal in the flickering fire-light. There was a moment of heavy silence between the two of you. One that clouded the room and settled like dust over the furiture.

You didn't want to push him to talk. Not if he wasn't ready. However, after a few long seconds, he began to speak again.

"I ran away at sixteen, you know?"

He turned to look at you, stormy eyes boring down into your own. They were full of so much emotion. All the pain and vulnerablility he was so good at masking was coming to the surface, brought forward on the tides of liquor.

"i just couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take them. My parents- well, they were always mad at me about something. What classes I was taking, who I dated, who I was friends with. It just seemed at that point, like all they could do was yell at me."

"That sounds awful," you sympathised.

"It was," he continued. "And the worst part of it was how they pitted me and Regulus against each other, made us compete for their love and attention. Regulus and I didn't speak for years after I left."

"Where did you go?"

He huffed, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "James'."

A sort of fuzzy warmth erupted somewhere in your gut.

"That's nice. It's good that you had someone you trusted so much."

"James is my best mate in the world," Sirius explained. "And his family took me in like I was one of their own. If it wasn't for them... well, I don't know what I would've done."

"He's a wonderful person," you responded fondly. "We're very lucky to know him."

"That we are."

There was a pause and then:

"You're a wonderful person as well, you know? I also feel lucky to know you."

You felt an explosion of heat behind your cheeks, and you had to turn away from him quickly to hide your embarassement. Your heart was pounding in your chest and suddenly your throat was as dry as a desert.

"Come on, I think we should go to bed now.”

You stood abruptly from the couch, grabbing his hand in yours and tugging him up with you. The two of you tiptoed up the stairs, doing your best not to disturb any of your sleeping family.

"Wait! Hold on a second."

You stopped in the doorway of your room, coming face to face with the boy in front of you. He was standing very close, eyes alight with an emotion you couldn't quite describe.

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. Then he gestured upwards. Following his direction, you looked up to notice a single strand of Mistletoe hanging from the doorframe. You could only guess who put it there.

Then you looked back at Sirius, who had a small smirk painted on his lips. Slowly he began to lean closer towards you.

"We have to do it," he murmered, your lips only centermetres apart. "It's bad luck if we don't."

Then, in an instant, he lunged forwards, pressing his lips to yours. Sparks errupted within you as you kissed him back.

Sirius moved his hands into your hair, lacing them in between thick strands. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into the doorway and pressing him up against the wall.

Suddenly, he was reaching towards the hem of your shirt, fingers dancing over the skin of your hip and sneaking up your side. You let him.

Before you knew it, that stupid Christmas Jumper was decorating the bedroom floor.

You grinned against his lips as Sirius pulled you down onto the bed.

Taglist:

@hisparentsgallerryy @navs-bhat @shushbruv @magicwithaknife @eeviee4 @notapoetjustscar @gugggu6gvai @robertsmithclone @ilovesugurugeto69 @taytayy178 @its-notkiee @bugworldsworld @switchingfandomslikecrazy @evangelquill, @delusional-4-fake-people, @ch4rlotte35, @insideoutjulie, @hiireadstuff

#marauders #james potter #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black #sirius black x reader #remus lupin #poly!marauders x reader #marauders au

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fairestwriting · 2 days ago

Note

Back in time for the holidays? Happy whatever you celebrate!

Can I request savanaclaw with a bear beastman s/o who is getting ready to hibernate? Not as long as an actual bear, just a week or so.

THANK YOU!! this is a little late and not very festive but... bear beastman cute. i missed writing leona perhaps. who said that

Leona Kingscholar

Makes a lot of jokes about it. It gives off a feeling that makes it hard to tell if he actually finds it endearing, or wishes that was him, or both.

…The actual answer is both, he feels a sort of appreciation for it that would be hard for him to explain. Even if it's not something he exactly relates to, he does also have his own specific sleep needs.

Nobody is going to bother you during your hibernation time, for sure. He'll use it as an excuse to sleep near you, but it's really because he doesn't want to leave you alone when you're in that more defenseless state. Plus he does want you to get good sleep. He just won't actually admit that.

Ruggie Bucchi

Before enrolling into NRC, hibernation was a completely alien concept for Ruggie. It's not really a thing anywhere near where he's from.

He's more or less gotten used to it, with the amount of people he knows that also have to hibernate, but it's still something he's curious about. It's interesting to see it on acquaintances, but even more when it's his partner. He'll wonder if you sleep for the whole period, or if you have any sort of breaks inbetween.

He asks a lot of questions, not just due to curiosity but due to wanting you to be comfortable. Takes some time off his part time jobs a few days before you have to hibernate to get you a nice meal. He'll ask if he can check up on you in your room while you rest, and never miss a single day if you let him.

Jack Howl

Unsurprisingly, he's the only one who's very familiar with hibernation. Jack definitely has had friends who hibernate before, so he knows a thing or two about it. Maybe they weren't specifically bear beastmen like you, or the same type of bear, which is something he'll keep in mind. Asks a lot of questions like Ruggie, but they're less general.

If you get hungrier or more tired than usual on the days leading up to your hibernation, he does his best to accomodate it. Might lightly (very lightly) scold you, saying you can't rely on him too much, right during the moment he's bringing you one of your favorite snacks unprompted.

He's tempted to ask if he's allowed to check up on you but might be too shy, or feel like you haven't been dating for long enough to allow himself that. Depending on how observant you are, it can be easy to notice his concern. Either way he'll want to make sure any roommates you have won't disturb you, at least. If they do, it's definitely not happening more than once.

if you wanna support my work, you can buy me a ko-fi or commission me!

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #twst x reader #twst imagines #twisted wonderland x reader #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #jack howl #leona kingscholar x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #jack howl x reader #lis writing

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requiemforthepoets · 2 days ago

Text

it’s you that i’ve been waiting for, all of my life ⟢ LN4

final part of the crazy rich asians au ⟢ part one part two

PAIRINGS: lando norris x asian!female!reader

SUMMARY: with a lot of your family and friends are either getting engaged or married, it made you think about a lot of things—well, mostly marriage.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: non-use of y/n, reader is asian, foul language, traditional family, asian culture & tradition, food, crazy rich asians inspired + plot, heiress reader, named characters (except reader, names are mostly taken from CRA), social status, high society, mentions of marriage, reader having a wedding fever, fluff, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 9.6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: finallyyyy, this is the last part of my crazy rich asians au. the rest of the updates for this series is already smaus—which will be updated sporadically. to all that read, commented, and reblogged, thank you so much from the bottom of my heart. tbh, i wasn’t even sure/confident with this three part series bc it was literally my first time writing this kind of fic, so thank you so much. as always, your reblogs/comments are highly appreciated, and i hope that you’ll enjoy this last part! also, happy new year, guys! 🥺❤️

You and Lando had just finished settling into your hotel, when your phone buzzed with an incoming facetime call from Nick. Surprised but not entirely shocked by his timing, you answered the call and held your phone up as you sat on the edge of the bed. Nick’s face appeared on the screen, expression tense and unusually serious.

“Hey, is Rachel with you right now?” he asked without preamble, tone laced with urgency.

You frowned, confused by the question. “No, she’s not,” you replied, glancing at Lando, who was sitting on the edge of the bef watching your conversation. “Lando and I already left Singapore earlier, we’re in Malaysia right now. Why? Is everything okay?”

Nick ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily before diving into the whole explanation. He told you and Lando about how your Auntie Eleanor had hired a private investigator to dig into Rachel’s background. Your stomach sank as he laid it all out—the dossier that your Auntie Eleanor had compiled, which included several Chinese news articles and missing person reports with Rachel’s mother’s photo. All these revelations had been shared with your Ah Ma at the wedding reception, and things had escalated from there.

You can slightly hear Nick’s voice trembling as he recounted how your Ah Ma had become mad and forbid Rachel from continuing her relationship with him, declaring that Rachel’s family background poses a threat to your family’s reputation. The words made your chest tighten, and you felt a mix of anger and sadness bubbling inside of you. Then it all started to make sense now—Rachel’s disoriented state, the way she fled from the reception without looking back.

“Wait,” you interjected, still processing everything. “Ah ma was at Colin and Minty’s wedding? I didn’t even see her, she rarely goes to events like that unless her presence is absolutely necessary.”

Nick nodded, confirming your thoughts. “She was there. It wasn’t planned for her to come, but I think Mom had managed to convince her.”

You sighed. “Well, that explained a lot. No wonder Rachel was running off like that, she must’ve been completely blindsided.”

He paused before continuing. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of her, but she’s not answering my calls or texts. I just—” he trailed off, his frustration evident.

Thinking quickly, you remembered something Rachel had mentioned in passing. “Maybe she’s staying at her best friend’s house? She told me once that she has a close friend in Singapore.”

Nick’s eyes lit up slightly. “That's a possibility. I’ll try to find out where her friend lives.”

“Do you need me to come back?” you asked, words spilling out before you could second-guess them. “Lan and I can fly back to Singapore tonight if you think it’ll help.” you glanced at Lando, who nodded in silent agreement.

He shook his head quickly. “No, no, don’t worry about it. I think I can handle it for now. But if Rachel answers your texts or calls, can you let me know right away?”

“Of course,” you said firmly. “I’ll text her again and keep you updated.”

“Thanks,” Nick said with a small, grateful smile.

“But hey, listen,” you said carefully, “if you find Rachel—in which I know that you will, you have to give her some time. Don’t push her, and don’t force anything.”

Nick was quiet on the other end, so you took it as a queue to continue. “She’s been blindsided, completely blindsided by all of it. Think about it, the information that Auntie Eleanor dumped on her, how it was thrown at her, none of it was easy for her to process. She didn’t even see it coming, and honestly, no one would’ve been ready for something like that.”

“I know,” Nick murmured. “But I just want to fix it. I want her to know that none of this changes how I feel about her.”

“I know you do,” you said gently. “But right now, Rachel needs space to process everything. Imagine if you’re in her shoes—finding out things about your family’s past in such a public and humiliating way. That kind of betrayal isn’t easy to shake off, especially when it comes out of nowhere.”

You paused, choosing your words carefully. “You have to be patient with her, Nick. Let her come to you when she’s ready. If you try to force her to talk or rush through it, it might just push her further away.”

There was another silence, then a resigned sigh from Nick. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I hate it, but you’re right. I just feel so useless sitting here, doing nothing.”

“Nicky, you’re not doing nothing,” you assured him. “The best thing you can do right now is respect her boundaries and be ready when she’s ready. Let her know you’re there, but don’t overwhelm her, and Nick…” you trailed off.

You briefly hesitated before adding, “Rachel was thrown into a pit of wolves. Our family, for all its grandeur and well, admit it or not, can be really cruel. She wasn’t prepared for it, but that’s not on her—it’s completely on us, and if you love her, you’ll help her navigate through it when she finally comes around.”

Nick’s voice softened. “I do love her, more than anything.”

“This might sound very cliché, but trust the process,” you said. “She’ll come back to you when she’s ready, and when she does, you’ll be there for her.”

“Thanks again,” he said quietly. “I really needed to hear that.”

“Anytime,” you replied. “Just keep me updated, okay? Don’t lose hope.”

“I won’t,” Nick promised.

“Alright, take care.” you said before ending the call.

As the screen went dark, you tossed your phone onto the bed with a sigh, staring at the ceiling in frustration. Your call to Rachel had gone straight to voicemail, and though you had sent her a message, you couldn’t shake the knot of worry in your chest. Flopping down beside your phone, you exhaled deeply. The fact that your Auntie Eleanor had gone so far as to hiring a private investigator made your blood boil. It was not just meddling—it felt invasive and cruel.

“Why?” you muttered to yourself, running a hand through your hair. “Why did she have to go that far?”

Lando glanced over you from where he was sitting, watching you silently for a moment before he laid down beside you on the bed.

“Hey,” he said softly, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s just…Auntie Eleanor. Why would she do something like that? Nick and Rachel were happy, and Ah Ma already liked Rachel, so why did she have to ruin it all? What does it even accomplish?” your voice wavered slightly as you spoke, your emotions bubbling to the surface.

Lando listened patiently, letting you vent. When you paused, he gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I get it,” he said gently. “It’s frustrating, and it’s not fair to Rachel. But you know Nick, he’s not going to give up on her just because of this. They’ll figure it out eventually.”

You looked at him, brows furrowed. “But what if they don’t? What if this just ruins everything?”

“It won’t,” he said firmly. “They’ve come this far, haven’t they? Something like this might take time to work through, but if they’re meant to be, they’ll find their way back to each other. You’ve got to believe in that.”

His words were calming, and you found yourself nodding slowly. “You’re right,” you said, though the knot in your chest didn’t fully loosen. “I just want them to have the happy ending they deserve.”

“And they will,” Lando assured you with a small smile. “But right now, you’ve got to focus on what you can control. We’re in Malaysia, come on, let’s enjoy our time. Relax, and take a breather from all the chaos back in Singapore.”

You gave Lando a weak smile, appreciating his efforts to make everything better. “Yeah, you’re right. We should make the most of it while we’re here.” pushing yourself off the bed, you glanced towards your suitcase. “We’ve got dinner plans later, don’t we?”

Lando grinned, standing up and holding out his hand to help you. “We do. Let’s go have a great night.”

You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet, and smiled at him. “Alright.”

The first day in Malaysia began early, with the rising sun casting a soft golden glow as you and Lando set off for George Town in Penang. The drive was long, roughly about four hours from Kuala Lumpur, where you’re staying, but the journey was as much a part of the adventure as the destination. Lando was behind the wheel, where one of his hands was steady on the wheel, and his other free hand was laced on your fingers. His eyes occasionally darted towards you while you admired the scenery as you passed by.

“So,” he started, glancing at you with a teasing smile, “are you going to be my personal tour guide for the day?”

You grinned, looking at him. “Of course.”

When you arrived, George Town immediately swept you off of your feet. The streets were alive with so much color and culture, with the British colonial buildings standing gracefully alongside vibrant Chinese shophouses and intricate mosques. The air smelled of spices and street food, and the chatter of locals filled the space with a sense of warmth and energy.

“Look at that one,” he said, pulling you gently toward a painting of a little boy riding a bicycle. “We have to take a photo here.”

Lando pulled out his camera and posed next to the mural, with a wide grin on his face. “Your turn, come on,” he said after snapping his photo, motioning for you to take his place. “Hold on,” he gestured for you to pose in front of the mural. You rolled your eyes playfully but obliged to his request, striking a simple pose.

“Perfect,” he said as he snapped the photo before lowering the camera. “Though the real thing’s better than the photo,” he added cheekily, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on your cheek.

“Smooth,” you teased, shaking your head but smiling nonetheless.

You wandered through the streets hand in hand, occasionally stopping every so often to admire the architecture of the small shops selling everything ranging from antiques to handmade crafts. At one point, Lando pulled you into a quiet alley where a local artist was painting a new mural. He tilted his head, examining the work.

“Think I could pull something like this off?” he joked, referring to the mural’s intricate design.

“Absolutely not,” you replied, laughing. “But I’d pay good money to watch you try.”

The day would not have been complete without food. You introduced Lando to char kway teow, a flavorful stir-fried noodle dish. He took his first bite, his expression shifting from curiosity to delight.

“Okay, this is incredible,” he said, nodding enthusiastically as he went for another bite.

“You have a good taste,” you replied, stealing a noodle from his plate.

“You mean you have a good taste,” he corrected.

The day continued like that—strolling, laughing, stealing kisses, and taking photos. Every corner of George Town seemed to hold a story, and every moment felt like it was just for the two of you.

As the sun began to set, the sky turned a warm orange, and Lando snapped one final photo. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget today,” he said softly, looking at you instead of the view.

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Me neither.”

The second day began with the sun streaming through your window, casting a warm glow over the start of what you knew would be an unforgettable day. After breakfast, you and Lando set off for Paradise 101 in Langkawi, a private island that promised a perfect blend of adventure and relaxation, and just an hour away.

As soon as you stepped onto the island, the soft sound of the waves lapping against the shore and the salty breeze filled your senses. Lando reached out for your hand, giving it a light squeeze he looked out at the clear blue sky.

“Ready for some adventure?” he asked with a contagious smile.

“Always,” you replied, already feeling the excitement bubbling up.

The first activity on the list was parasailing, something you had always wanted to try. Strapped into the harness side by side, the instructor began counting down, and then, the boat picked up speed, lifting you and Lando off the ground, soaring above the waters. The world below looks so tiny, and the ocean stretches endlessly beneath your feet.

“This is insane!” Lando shouted over the wind.

You turned your head to look at him, his expression lit up with excitement. “Right? Look at that amazing view!” you replied, pointing towards the horizon where the ocean met the sky.

“Look something out of the painting,” then glancing at you, there was a mischievous glint in Lando’s eyes. “Though the view isn’t half as good as the one next to me.”

You laughed, swatting at him lightly. “You’re such a cheeky little shit.”

When your feet touched the sand again, Lando was already pulling you toward the ziplining station. The zipline took you across the island’s canopy, and each time you landed, Lando was there waiting, stealing quick kisses before moving to the next line.

“Race you to the bottom,” Lando challenged, a mischievous smile lighting up his face.

“Oh, you’re on,” you replied, determined.

As the two of you zipped down, the wind whipping past, the sound of your laughter had filled the air. Lando had beaten you to the bottom, of course, but he immediately pulled you into a hug when you joined him, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

The afternoon was reserved for a private yacht cruise, just the two of you. As the boat glided through the calm waters of Langkawi’s northern coast, you couldn’t help but marvel at the picturesque coastline, with the emerald-green water shimmering under the sun.

“Perfect, isn’t it?” Lando asked, leaning back beside you, his sunglasses perched on his nose.

“Perfect,” you agreed, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his.

“You know,” he began, “we should bring the others here sometimes. They’d love this.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” you replied, looking at him. “Though I kind of like it being just us right now.”

“Me too,” he said, voice soft, brushing a kiss on your forehead.

You decided to give kayaking a try, but knowing Lando, it probably would be a chaotic one. “You’re paddling the wrong way, babe!” you exclaimed as Lando’s oar splashed water everywhere. “Are you sure you know how to paddle?”

“Of course I do!” he argued.

Lando was just kept on paddling in circles, the kayak even refused to cooperate—or so he claimed.

“Babe! You’re just steering us into circles. You’re doing it wrong!” you called out, grinning mischievously.

“I’m not—hold on, are you gaslighting me right now?” he accused, realizing your game.

“I would never!” you said, feigning innocence.

Lando almost toppled over the kayak trying to adjust, and you couldn’t contain your laughter. But eventually, you found your rhythm, paddling side by side through the tranquil waters.

“Okay, maybe this teamwork thing isn’t so bad after all,” he admitted, voice softer now.

“You think?” you teased, glancing at him with a smile.

The highlight of the day came with the private UNESCO Geopark mangrove cruise. You and Lando had been transferred to a small explorer boat, where you were taken through a landscape that felt almost otherworldly. Sheer limestone cliffs rose majestically from the water, their forms resembling ancient temples.

“This is incredible,” Lando murmured, voice tinged with awe as he leaned over the side of the boat.

You nodded, eyes fixed on the towering cliffs. “It feels like we’ve stepped into another world.”

The guide led you through the Tanjung Rhu River, Kisap River, and Kilim River, each stretch offering breathtaking views. At one point, you visited a fish farm and even ventured into the crocodile and bat cave, marveling at the natural formations.

When the cruise ended, the day slowly gave way to evening, and you returned to the resort. Lando had made a reservation for an outdoor dinner at the resort’s restaurant, with the table set against the backdrop of the sparkling Andaman Sea.

You were sitting right across from Lando, the soft glow of the setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink. “Today was really perfect,” you said, voice warm.

Lando reached across the table, taking your hand in his. “Well, that’s because I spent it with you.”

“To more days like this,” you said, raising your glass with your free hand.

“To more days with you,” Lando replied, raising his glass as well.

The waves whispered against the shore as you clink your glasses together, ending the amazing fun filled day in the most serene and beautiful way imaginable.

On the third day, which is your last day in Malaysia, felt like the perfect opportunity to slow down and enjoy a more relaxed pace with Lando. After having your breakfast at the hotel’s restaurant, you decided to explore Kuala Lumpur together and do some shopping, mostly picking out Christmas gifts for family and friends. Your first stop was Cartier, where the staff immediately recognized you and Lando as you entered the boutique.

“Welcome back,” one of them greeted warmly. “Please, follow us to the VIP room.”

The room was elegant and private, with plush seating and pristine glass displays showcasing Cartier’s finest collections. You scanned the displays carefully, selecting gifts that felt personal and meaningful. From time to time, you would turn to Lando for his opinion, holding a piece to show it to him.

“What do you think of this one, love?” you asked, turning a bracelet in your hands.

Lando leaned in to get a closer look, studying it for a brief moment. “It’s nice, but maybe this design suits them better,” he suggested, pointing to another piece that has more classic finish to it.

His input was reassuring, and you found yourself smiling more with every choice you made. So piece by piece, you finalized your selections and decided to have each of it engraved with the names. While the staff began the engraving process, you took the opportunity to explore the display cases further.

Your eyes fell on the iconic Love rings, their sleek designs catching the light. The delicate design, with its understated elegance and signature screw motif had drawn you in immediately. You paused, gazing at them a little longer than you had intended. They were very stunning, and the thought of having matching ones with Lando crept into your mind.

For a moment, you let your mind wander. The thought of having matching Love rings with Lando made your heart flutter. It would be such a sweet symbol of your relationship, a quiet nod to the love you shared. But as quickly as the thought came, doubt crept in. Would he even want to wear something like that? You had only been together for a year, and while your relationship felt deep and serious, you weren’t even sure if he’d see it the same way.

“Miss?” the associate’s voice gently pulled you back to the present. “The items have been engraved and wrapped. Would you like us to send them directly to your hotel?”

You smiled, nodding. “Yes, please. That would be perfect. We still have some plans for the day.”

The associate assured you that everything would be taken care of. You thanked them again and turned to Lando, who was casually leaning against the counter, watching you with an easy smile. What you didn’t realize was that he had caught the way your gaze lingered on the Love rings earlier. But he decided not to say anything, only offering you his hand as the two of you prepared to leave.

“Ready to go?” he asked, voice gentle.

“Yes, let’s go,” you replied, sliding your hand into his.

As you both left the store hand in hand, the shopping bags destined for your hotel, Lando’s mind was already working, his thoughts drifting back to the love rings and making a mental note.

Finally, Dior was your final stop, and as you stepped into the elegantly designed VIP room, the ambiance felt as refined and luxurious as always. The staff greeted you warmly, offering refreshments and giving you a moment to settle in before showing you all of the latest collections.

You browsed through the items thoughtfully, then occasionally turning to Lando for his input, yet again, on potential gifts and personal picks. He followed you closely, hands tucked casually in his pockets, his easy demeanor adding a comfortable balance.

As you admired a pair of beautiful heels, Lando leaned in slightly, tone light but teasing. “You know your luggage is already packed to the brim, right?”

You paused mid-reach, blinking at him as his words sank in. “Wait…really?”

He nodded, trying to suppress a grin. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’d have to sit on it just to zip it up.”

With the sudden realization, you glanced back at the shelves, and you turned to the sales associate with a smile. “Do you have any luggage available in stock?”

The associate’s face lit up. “We do, actually! Let me bring it out for you.”

As the associate disappeared into the back, Lando let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “Only you would come shopping for gifts and leave with luggage to carry it all.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging his arm. “Well, if you’re going to go shopping, might as well do it properly.”

The associate soon returned, rolling out a sleek Dior luggage piece in a design you hadn’t seen before that caught your attention immediately. Its understated design and impeccable craftsmanship stood out, and you took a moment to examine it closely.

“This is perfect,” you said decisively, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. “I’ll take it. I don’t have one in this design yet, so it’ll be a great addition.”

Lando chuckled softly beside you as you made your way to the counter. When the associate had totaled the purchase, he casually pulled out his black card and handed it over, placing it on the counter.

“Here, I’ve got this,” he said smoothly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small grin.

“No,” you reached into your bag without hesitation, pulling out your own black card and handing it to the associate directly. “I’m paying for this, please. It’s my shopping.”

The associate glanced between the two of you, clearly confused and trying to decide whose card to take. You were sure that the associate would take your card, so you focused briefly on a nearby display of handbags, thinking which designs might fit into your collection. While you were distracted, Lando seized the opportunity.

“Swipe it on mine,” he said quietly, giving the associate a quick, reassuring nod.

By the time you turned your attention back, the transaction was already complete, and the staff were carefully packing the luggage and other items into Dior’s signature paper bags.

“What just happened?” you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly as Lando smiles cheekily at you.

“Nothing, babe,” he replied, tone far too innocent to be convincing. “Just making sure you’re not overworking your card today.”

You sighed, half-exasperated but mostly amused. “You’re impossible.”

“Just making sure your new luggage is properly christened,” he teased.

Shaking your head with a small smile, you turned back to the associate and asked, “would it be possible to have everything be delivered to our hotel? We’ve got a dinner reservation coming up, and it would be easier if we didn’t have to carry all this.”

“Of course, Miss,” they replied, nodding. “We’ll ensure everything is delivered promptly.”

“Thank you,” you said warmly before turning back to Lando. “Ready to go?”

Lando placed a hand on the small of your back, guiding you towards the exit. “Let’s go.”

By the time you stepped out of Dior, the soft glow of dusk had already begun to settle over the city, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The streets were alive with the hum of evening traffic, but your thoughts were focused on the dinner reservation at Akar Dining.

The drive to the restaurant was peaceful, with Lando’s hand resting on your thigh as the car navigated the streets. You arrived just in time, the warm ambiance of the restaurant immediately wrapping around you as you stepped inside, the host greeted you and guided you to your table. Lando, ever the gentleman, pulled out your chair, his hand lingering briefly on the back of it as you sat down.

“Thank you,” you murmured with a small smile, adjusting the hem of your dress as you settled in.

Lando took his seat across from you just as a waiter approached your table with the menus. The dimly lit atmosphere, paired with the sophisticated decor had made the evening feel intimate and special. As you scanned the menu, your eyes immediately caught a few dishes you knew you would enjoy, while Lando appeared slightly less certain.

“So, what are you thinking of getting?” you asked, glancing up from your menu to find him frowning slightly.

“Honestly?” he set the menu down for a moment, leaning back in his chair. “Most of these seafood dishes aren’t really my thing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “It’s fine, just pick something else. You don’t have to love everything on the menu.”

Eventually, he decided on the braised aged duck, and you ordered a seafood dish that intrigued you. As you waited for the food, you took a sip of your water, your gaze lingering on Lando. The memory of what happened at Dior earlier was still fresh in your mind, and you decided to address it.

“By the way,” you began, setting your glass down. “Thank you for paying earlier at Dior, but you really didn’t have to, Lan.”

Lando shrugged casually, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Of course I did. You shouldn’t have to pay for something when I’m right here.”

You sighed lightly, tilting your head at him. “Lan, I can pay for my own things. I don’t want to rely on you all the time, especially when it’s my shopping.”

“I know you can,” he replied, tone soft but firm. “But that doesn’t mean I want you to. It’s not about whether you can afford it—it’s about me wanting to take care of you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a playful grin. “And before you argue, I’m not budging on this.”

“Well, if you’re so insistent on paying for everything,” you said, leaning forward slightly, “then at least let me pay for dinner tonight.”

“Not happening, love,” he said simply, leaning back in his chair with an air of finality.

“Lando,” you started, but the waiter returned just then with your food, momentarily halting the conversation.

As you both began to eat, you couldn’t help but glance at him occasionally, trying to come up with a way to outmaneuver him when the bill comes. Lando seemed thoroughly engrossed in his braised aged duck, nodding approvingly after the first few bites.

“This is actually really good,” he remarked, gesturing to his plate with his fork.

“It was worth the try,” you said with a satisfied smile, enjoying your own meal.

When the plates were cleared, the waiter had returned with the bill, and you reached for it instinctively, smiling as you’re about to get a hand on it, but to your dismay, Lando was faster. He snatched it from the waiter’s hand with a smoothness that left you momentarily stunned, his card already out and ready. Without a word, he placed it on the bill and handed it back to the waiter before you could even blink.

“Lando Norris!” you hissed, voice a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “I told you I was paying for dinner.”

“And I told you that you’re not,” he replied, tone calm and unbothered.

You stared at him, incredulous. “You can’t keep doing this. I have my own money, you know. I don’t need you to pay for everything, my love.”

“I know you don’t,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “But I wanted to. A gentleman never let his woman pay. End of story.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he interrupted gently, gaze soft but resolute. “I know that you’re independent, and I love that about you. But letting me take care of you every now and then doesn’t make you any less independent.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “At some point, you have to let me pay too. I don’t want to feel like I’m relying on you for everything.”

“I get that. But tonight isn’t the point,” he said, as his thumb gently caressed your knuckles and brought it to his lips, kissing it softly. “Letting me take care of you once in a while doesn’t mean you’re relying on me. It just means that I love you.”

Your heart softened at his words, the sincerity in his voice melting away your objections. “Fine,” you murmured, though a playful edge crept into your tone. “But one day, you’re letting me pay for something. Mark my words.”

Lando chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a wide grin. “We’ll see about that.”

After an amazing dinner, you were finally back in your hotel. The moment you stepped inside the room, the exhaustion from the day’s adventures hit you like a wave. You slipped off your sandals with a sigh of relief, placed your bag on the vanity, and immediately collapsed onto the plush bed, letting the softness swallow you whole. Lando was not far behind, shutting the door with a soft click before walking over to where you lay sprawled out. He chuckled as he kicked off his sneakers, tossing them aside without any care.

“You look absolutely done,” he teased, voice laced with affection.

Without another word, he climbed onto the bed beside you, his arms snaking around your waist as he pulled you close. You didn’t protest, in fact, you just melted into his embrace—his warmth and familiar scent of his cologne instantly soothing your tired muscles.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” you murmured lazily, though you made no effort to move. “We still need to pack for tomorrow. I need to arrange the things we bought today inside the new luggage.”

Lando nuzzled his face into your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “Mhmm…packing can wait.” he said as he kissed your collarbone. “I just want to stay like this for a bit. It’s been such a good trip.”

You smiled faintly, tilting your head slightly to rest against his. “It really has. I think this was exactly what we needed, huh? Just us, no distractions.”

“Uh huh. No meetings, no interruptions…” Lando added with a sigh, tightening his hold on you. “I wish we could stay longer. Feels like I’ve barely scratched the surface here.”

You laughed softly. “You’re the one who extended our stay by an extra day. If we keep this up, we might not even make it to the UK in time for Christmas.”

He groaned dramatically, pulling you even closer. “Fine, you win. We’ll leave tomorrow, but I’m telling you, we’re coming back here next year.”

“Alright,” you replied, voice muffle as you buried your face in his chest.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke, content to lie tangled in each other’s arms as the city lights outside cast a faint glow into the hotel room.

“Okay, okay,” you finally said, breaking the peaceful silence. “We really need to pack, babe. I’m not about to start throwing things into a suitcase at five in the morning.”

He groaned again but rolled over, propping himself up on one elbow as he looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “How about I do the packing, and you stay here looking all pretty?”

“Absolutely not,” you replied, swatting his arm lightly. “If you pack, I’ll end up with half my things missing and thrown with wrinkles.”

Lando laughed, sitting up and pulling you up with him. “Alright, fine. Let’s get it over with, but you owe me cuddles afterwards.”

You rolled your eyes playfully as you slid off of the bed. “Deal. Now, let’s get moving before you start whining again.”

He grinned, grabbing his suitcase and tossing it onto the bed with enthusiasm. “You know me so very well.”

As you were neatly folding a dress and placing it neatly in your suitcase, your phone rang, cutting through the quiet hum of activity in the hotel room. You glanced at the screen and saw Nick’s caller ID flashing. Your eyes immediately widened, and your stomach sank slightly—you had completely pushed aside the chaos from earlier in Singapore.

“Nicky,” you murmured, picking up the phone and quickly answering. Lando glanced up from his own packing, curious.

The moment the call connected, Nick’s face filled your screen, grinning from ear to ear. Before you could say anything, he shouted out, “WE’RE GETTING MARRIED!”

Your jaw dropped, and your heart leapt. “WHAT?!” you screamed, startling Lando, who immediately moved closer to check. “Oh my god! Nicky, are you serious?!”

Nick nodded excitedly, his smile growing wider. “Yes! I proposed to Rachel earlier, and she said yes! We’re getting married!”

A loud scream of happiness escaped you, and grabbed both Lando’s hands and jumped up and down, causing Lando to follow your lead, with you chanting ‘Nick and Rachel are getting married’ a couple of times. Both of you jumping like you’re in a cult, chanting to summon something.

“Nicky, this is amazing news! I’m so happy for you and Rachel! Oh my god, I’m going to cry!” you said, nearly dropping your phone in the process.

Lando laughed and leaned into the frame, resting a hand on your waist. “Congratulations, mate! That’s incredible news!”

“Thanks, man!” Nick said, grinning even wider. He turned back to you, clearly eager to share more details. “Mom finally came around, and she gave me the emerald ring to propose with. I actually chased Rachel to the airport, it turns out she was about to leave, already inside the plane and I just dropped on one knee and proposed to her. You should’ve seen Rachel’s face when I pulled out the ring, she was so shocked.”

You clutched your chest dramatically. “Nick, that’s so beautiful. I’m so, so happy for you both.”

Nick chuckled, his excitement very evident. “But wait, there’s more. I’m throwing a surprise engagement party for Rachel tomorrow night, and I need you both there. Please say you can come.”

You glanced over at Lando, your eyes silently asking if he was okay with changing plans. Lando, ever the supportive boyfriend that he is, nodded without any hesitation.

“We’re both in,” you said to Nick. “We’ll fly back to Singapore tomorrow.”

Nick let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you! I can’t wait to see you both, and don’t worry, it won’t be a massive party, just a small gathering of close friends and family.”

“We will not miss it,” you assured him. “But just so you know, we’ll have to leave right after the party. We’re expected in the UK before Christmas.”

“Fair enough,” Nick said, still beaming. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow then, and thank you, both of you, for being there for us.”

“Of course,” you replied, voice soft with emotion. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

After ending the call, you turned to Lando, who was smiling at your obvious joy. “Looks like we’re making another detour,” you said with a laugh.

“Well, wouldn’t have it any other way,” Lando replied, pulling you into a quick hug before returning to his packing.

The flight from Malaysia to Singapore passed quickly, only an hour long. You and Lando had decided to leave in the afternoon to allow yourselves some extra time to relax before the engagement party. By the time the private jet touched down at a private tarmac in Changi Airport, the sky had shifted to a warm, dusky hue.

You were already dressed for the event, adjusting the hem of your dress as you prepared to disembark. Your outfit for tonight complimented Lando’s outfit perfectly, a choice you both had coordinated without much effort. Deciding not to take your belongings off of the jet since you would be leaving Singapore immediately after the party. Taking one final glance at the jet’s sleek interior, you then stepped out.

Lando walked beside you, his hand firmly holding yours as he guided you down the steps of the jet. The heels you wore, though elegant, weren’t exactly forgiving, and his grip gave you the balance you needed. Once you reached the car waiting on the tarmac, he moved ahead, opening the door for you.

“Careful, love,” he murmured, holding out a hand to help you inside.

You gave Lando a small smile as you slid into the seat, careful not to wrinkle your dress. He followed right after, shutting the car door behind him. The soft hum of the car engine filled up the space as the vehicle pulled away, heading towards Marina Bay Sands. You then leaned into Lando slightly.

“You know,” Lando began with a playful smirk, “I think we’ve spent more time in Singapore lately than in Monaco.”

You laughed softly. “Tell me about it. It looks like we’ll be back here again sooner rather than later for Nick and Rachel’s wedding.”

He tilted his head in mock resignation. “I guess I’d better get used to the humidity then.”

“Oh come on,” you gave him a teasing nudge. “You’ve survived it so far. Besides, you look so good here, very tropical chic.”

Lando chuckled, resting his hand on yours. “Thanks, love. But seriously, it feels like everyone’s getting married or engaged all of a sudden. What’s with the December air.”

You sighed dramatically. “Tell me about it. First Colin and Minty, now Nick and Rachel, also don’t forget about my friend from Parsons! She’s getting married in Moscow next year and has already sent in the invitation.”

“Moscow, huh?” he mused. “Another flight for us?”

You glanced at him with a small smile. “If you want to come with me, that is. I don’t want to pressure you into attending all these weddings, I know that it can be really tiring.”

Lando tilted his head, pretending to think it over. “Moscow, a wedding, and a chance to see you again in another dress? Sounds like a total dream, so it’s a yes for me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging his arm. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love every bit of it,” he quipped, grinning.

As the car drove on, your thoughts began to drift. Weddings, engagements, proposals—it seemed like everyone around you was taking those big steps. You didn’t want to admit it, but that idea of marriage had been creeping into your mind more and more lately. It was not something you wanted to bring up, not yet, but still, it is a topic that had been occupying your mind.

You shook off the feeling, focusing instead on the city lights beginning to twinkle outside the car window. “Yeah, and I think that we’re going to need a bigger calendar,” you joked.

Lando laughed, resting a hand on your knee. “As long as you’re on it, I don’t mind.”

The car rolled to a smooth stop at the grand entrance of Marina Bay Sands, with the city lights reflecting off the sleek glass facade. The chauffeur had exited first, circling around to open your door, and before you could step out, Lando was already at your side, extending a hand to help you out of the car.

“I’ll be here at the agreed time to take you back to the airport, ma’am.” the chauffeur said as he tipped his hat.

“Thank you,” you replied with a polite smile.

Lando intertwined your hands, and you both began walking towards the entrance. The evening air was warm, and the energy surrounding the iconic building was palpable. A few people by the lobby immediately recognized Lando, and their eyes widened when they noticed you by his side.

“Excuse me,” a young woman asked hesitantly, clutching her phone. “Would it be alright if I can get a quick photo with you both?”

Lando exchanged glances with you and nodded warmly. “Of course, just a quick one.”

You stepped aside with him, pausing for a few photos, each person thanking you both profusely afterwards. Once the small crowd dispersed, you and Lando resumed your walk, making your way to the elevators that would take you to the sky deck. The elevator ride was smooth and swift, and when the doors opened, the familiar faces of your family, Nick’s closest friends, and your cousins scattered throughout the beautifully decorated space.

As your eyes scanned the crowd, you spotted your mother first. She stood near one of the seating areas, speaking animatedly with one of your aunts. You guided Lando over, and her expression shifted to surprise the moment she saw you both.

“Darling!” your mother exclaimed, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“Hi, Mom,” you greeted, smiling warmly before stepping aside so Lando could greet her.

Your mother opened her arms invitingly. “Lando, come here.”

Lando hugged her briefly but warmly, a soft laugh escaping him. “Hello, Auntie. It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” your mother replied, taking a step back to look at you both. “I thought you’d already be in the UK by now.” she said, raising an eyebrow at you.

“We were supposed to leave after the day after the wedding,” you explained, “but we decided to make a quick stop in Malaysia for a few days. Then Nicky called last night and asked us to come, so here we are.”

She smiled knowingly. “Always the supportive cousin. But you’re leaving tonight?”

“Yes, the jet is on standby at the airport,” you confirmed. “We’ll head straight there after the party.”

Your mother nodded in satisfaction, and gave Lando a pat on the shoulder. “Well, you enjoy yourselves tonight. It’s a rare sight to see you two so relaxed.”

You and Lando exchanged a small smile before moving on to greet Colin and Araminta, who were just chatting near the champagne table.

“Hey!” Colin greeted, giving you both a hug. “I didn’t think we’d see you two again so soon.”

“Neither did we,” you replied with a laugh. “But here we are.”

You turned to Araminta, who hugged you warmly, then stepped back, smiling brightly. “It’s so good to see you again, and Lando, of course! You’re becoming quite the fixture at family events!”

Lando grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Colin smirked. “At this rate, uncle’s going to give him the talk soon, if he hasn’t already. Then we all know whose wedding we’ll be attending soon after Nick and Rachel’s.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Too late, Dad already gave him the talk, and even Ah Ma had given her blessing.”

Lando grinned, playing along. “Proud to say that I’ve passed all the tests by now.”

Araminta gasped dramatically, nudging Colin. “See? It’s official now. We’ll start saving the date!”

The four of you exchanged pleasantries and some laughs for a few moments before your attention was drawn to a surprising sight. Standing by the bar were none other than Bernard and Kitty, a pair you had not expected to see here at all. You caught Lando’s eye, and he gave you a subtle shrug, clearly just as a surprise.

Shaking it off, you turned your focus back, making your way toward your aunts. Auntie Alix, Auntie Eleanor, and Auntie Jacqueline, who were all chatting in a tight circle. You approached with Lando by your side, greeting each of them in turn with a polite kiss on the cheek and a warm smile.

“Ah, you’re here!” your Auntie Alix smiled. “I thought you were in the UK already.”

“Nick called,” you explained with a smile, “so here we are.”

“Well, we’re glad you made it,” your Auntie Jacqueline chimed in, “and you’re glowing tonight.” she added, her gaze flitting between you and Lando.

“Must be the Malaysian sun,” Lando jokes, earning a soft laugh from the group.

Your Auntie Eleanor gave Lando a sharp but playful look. “You’re certainly making yourself comfortable with this family, aren’t you?”

Lando smiled politely. “I’m just trying to keep up,” satisfied with his answer, your Auntie Eleanor waved you off with a chuckle.

Nick and Rachel hadn’t arrived yet, so you and Lando decided to take the opportunity to mingle with other guests. The evening was lively, with laughter and champagne flowing freely.

Several guests had approached you and Lando for photos, and you obliged, posing with ease. Lando kept a hand on your lower back, guiding you smoothly through the crowd as you moved from one group to another.

From across the room, you noticed your cousin Oliver weaving his way through the crowd, a bright smile on his face as he head towards you. As he approached, you and Lando turned to greet him.

“Oliver!” you said warmly, pulling him into a quick hug.

“Hey you two,” he said, giving you both a smile before continuing. “I want to introduce you to Rachel’s best friend. She’s dying to meet you.”

Curious, you exchanged a glance with Lando before agreeing. “Of course! Lead the way.”

Following Oliver, you navigated through the elegantly dressed guests until you stopped in front of a small group of people.

“Here we are,” Oliver said, motioning toward a striking woman with a vibrant smile. “This is Rachel’s best friend, Goh Peik Lin.”

You extended your hand toward her. “Peik Lin, it’s so nice to meet you!”

Peik Lin shook your hand warmly. “And it’s so nice to meet you as well!”

Your gaze traveled briefly over her outfit, a beautifully tailored dress that exuded elegance and sophistication. “I have to say, your outfit is incredible. You have such impeccable taste.”

Her smile widened, excitement evident. “Oh stop, you’re going to make me blush! But thank you, it means a lot coming from someone as stylish as you.”

Oliver then turned to the older couple standing beside Peik Lin. “And these are Peik Lin’s parents, Goh Wye Mun and Goh Nenna.”

You offered a polite smile as you greeted them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both, Mr. and Mrs. Goh.”

Nenna’s eyes sparkled as she took your hand. “Just call us Auntie Nenna and Uncle Wye Mun! And my goodness, you’re even more gorgeous in person! I’ve seen photos of you, and they don’t do you justice! You’re very stunning, my dear!”

You laugh softly, feeling a light warmth rise to your cheeks. “You’re too kind, Auntie Nenna. Thank you so much.”

Then you turned to Wye Mun, whose expression shifted slightly as recognition dawned on him. He tilted his head, studying you for a moment.

“You’re one of Harrison Sr. and Elizabeth Young’s children, aren’t you? Their only daughter,” he said, tone a mixture of surprise and admiration.

You nodded, smiling. “That’s right. I’ve heard of your family before as well. If my memory serves me right, you’re the owner of Goh Developments, correct? One of Singapore’s most successful real estate companies?”

Wye Mun chuckled, clearly pleased. “Yes, that’s about right. I’m flattered you know about us.”

“Of course!” you said. “Your company’s work is extraordinary. Some of your developments are architectural masterpieces.”

The brief exchange shifted naturally into a short discussion about real estate, with Wye Mun enthusiastically sharing tidbits about recent projects. Peik Lin listened intently, Oliver and Lando conversing with each other, while Nenna just watched the whole conversation with a smile.

You then gestured towards Lando afterwards, who had been standing quietly beside you. “Allow me to introduce to you my boyfriend, Lando.”

Lando extended his hand towards Wye Mun, who shook it firmly. Wye Mun’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Ah, Lando Norris! I watched you win the Singapore GP last September. Quite an incredible race, I must say. You’ve got some serious talent.”

“Thank you so much,” Lando said with a polite smile. “It was an unforgettable race for sure.”

“And I didn’t know that you were dating the darling of the Singaporean social elite!” Wye Mun added with a playful tone, eyes twinkling.

“Oh Wye Mun, look at them!” Nenna interjected, her gaze moving between you and Lando. “They look so good together, a very beautiful couple. Perfect match!”

Wye Mun nodded in agreement, tone light. “Quite the power couple, I’d say.”

You couldn’t help but smile at their comment, glancing at Lando, who was already looking at you with a soft expression. “Thank you,” you replied simply.

The conversation continued easily, with the group exchanging stories and laughs. The atmosphere was warm, and you felt genuinely pleased to meet Rachel’s best friend and their family.

As the buzz of conversation faded into hushed whispers, Araminta stepped forward with a smile and announced, “Nick and Rachel are on their way up now! Everyone, take your positions.”

You and Lando stood slightly off to the side, his hand on your waist, caressing it softly and tracing shapes. The elegant lighting of the sky deck reflected off the cityscape, casting a soft glow over the gathered guests.

Lando leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “You know,” he whispered, tone teasing, “it was so hot watching you talk business with Wye Mun earlier. You looked so serious and confident.”

You glanced at him, barely suppressing a smile, and gave his chest a soft slap. “Stop being cheeky right now, Norris,” you muttered, keeping your voice low to avoid drawing any attention.

But it looks like Lando was not done yet. He grinned at you mischievously, his voice dipping lower. “I mean it, baby. The way you talked about developments and projects? Very impressive, very attractive.”

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed slightly. “Lando,” you whispered warningly, “behave. This is not the time.”

He bit back a chuckle, amusement evident. “Fine, fine. But you should know, I can’t help it when you’re like that.”

You shushed him quietly, your finger briefly brushing his lips. “Quiet now,” you insisted softly, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention.

As you returned your focus to the party, your thoughts flicked back to your earlier conversation with Wye Mun. Real estate development has always intrigued you—the intricacies, potential, and stories behind every project. It was not just a polite conversation, it was a chance to learn and build connections.

“Besides,” you murmured to Lando, keeping your tone casual, “it’s always good to broaden your network. Even if I already have so many, there’s no harm in widening the circle.”

Lando nodded, his expression now a mix of curiosity and pride. “Well, you’ve got a point,” he said softly.

You let your eyes wander across the crowd, noting a few familiar faces mingling among the guests. “This place is full of businesspeople—major players in the industry, tonight,” you whispered to him. “I can recognize a few who could even be potential sponsors for McLaren.” Lando raised a brow at you, intrigued.

You turned to him, giving him a playful wink. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll help you land a deal or two.”

Lando smirked, leaning in closer to you again. “Now that,” he said, tone low and teasing, “is a kind of teamwork I can get behind.”

The sky deck fell in a hush as everyone stood in their positions, waiting for Nick and Rachel’s arrival. The atmosphere was buzzing, a mix of excitement and happiness among the crowd. The distant hum of the elevator announced their approach, and then, with a soft chime, doors slid open.

Nick stepped out first, his hands gently covering Rachel’s eyes as he carefully guided her forward into the middle of the crowd. Rachel, her posture both curious and expectant, laughed lightly, clearly amused by the surprise. The whole crowd held its collective breath, watching as Nick finally removed his hands from Rachel’s eyes.

The second her eyes opened, the silence of the crowd was replaced with an eruption of cheers and applause. Screams of happiness echoed across the sky deck, led enthusiastically by Colin and Araminta. Rachel’s expression had transformed into one of pure, radiant happiness as she took sight of everyone gathered for her. Overwhelmed with emotion, she raised her hand, showing off the stunning emerald ring that sparkled under the lights, then pointing to it with a grin.

People surged forward, surrounding Nick and Rachel with hugs and congratulations. You and Lando joined in with the crowd, your laughter blending with everyone else’s as you approached the newly engaged couple.

“Congratulations!” you said, beaming as you hugged Rachel tightly. “I’m so happy for you both.”

Nick grinned, pulling you into a quick hug as well. “Thank you for being here. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

Lando shook Nick’s hand before giving Rachel a warm hug. “You two are perfect for each other.”

Nick, ever the joker, glanced between you and Lando, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You know,” he began, tone playful, “I have a strong feeling you two might be the next one.”

Rachel, catching on, nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, absolutely! We’ll have to start planning your engagement party real soon.”

You and Lando exchanged amused looks, chuckling. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” you replied, though your heart skipped a beat at the thought.

As much as you adored Nick and Rachel, you did not need them adding more fuel to the fire—you were already simmering with wedding fever.

After the flood of congratulations, Nick took Rachel’s hand and gently guided her attention towards the infinity pool, where a group of synchronized swimmers began an elegant performance, their movements perfectly timed to the music. Rachel gasped softly, her eyes lighting up with wonder as she watched.

Then, from the corner of our eye, you noticed Rachel spotting your Auntie Eleanor standing a little way off. For a brief moment, the noise and excitement seemed to face as the two women exchanged a look, one of understanding and newfound respect. The warmth in Rachel’s smile and the subtle nod from your Auntie Eleanor spoke volumes. It filled your heart with joy to see that your aunt had finally come around, embracing Rachel in the way she deserved.

Nick then pulled Rachel into a tender kiss, earning a round of applause and cheers again from the crowd. Lando stepped behind you, wrapping his arms securely around your waist, holding you close. His chin rested lightly on your shoulder, and you could feel his warmth radiating through you.

The sound of fireworks exploding above pulled everyone’s attention upward. Bright colors lit up the sky, reflecting off the glass and water, painting the moment in vibrant hues. The cheers grew louder, people pointing and marveling at the display. You stayed like that, wrapped in Lando’s arms, watching the sky.

With fireworks still illuminating the sky and Lando’s arms wrapped securely around you, a quiet realization settled in your heart. It was not something sudden, it was something that had been building over time, piece by piece, moment by moment. The depth of love that you feel for Lando was staggering, overwhelming even, and yet it felt so natural.

You had dated before, countless boys who had seemed charming or interesting at the time, but none of them had ever come close to Lando. They never understood you the way Lando did. With him, there was no guessing, pretending, or effort to mold yourself into someone else’s idea of what love should look like. Lando saw you, truly saw you, in a way that no one else ever had. To be seen was to be loved.

This was what set Lando apart. With him, you never had to explain your silences, quirks, or the way your mind wandered to far-off places. He did not just tolerate those things, in fact, he cherished them. He loved them. With Lando, you felt understood in a way that words could never fully capture.

You thought back to the other relationships before Lando, the boys who had come before. They had their moments, but they always felt…incomplete. There had been a disconnect, a lingering sense that you were only partly there, only partly understood. They never have you the feeling that Lando did—feeling of being wholly, entirely loved. Lando was the man that you had been praying for, and for once, God had led Lando to you.

Sure, the way he loved you was not perfect, but it was honest. It was raw and real, and it made you feel more like yourself than you ever thought possible. Lando had this way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world, like his entire focus was only on you and no one else. That was the truth of it, wasn’t it? You had never felt this way with anyone else, and you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that no one else could make you feel the way he did. Lando was not just someone you loved—he was the person you wanted to spend your forever with.

The thought settled deeply in your chest, filling every corner of your heart with an indescribable warmth. It was not just that you loved him—it was that he was home.

“I love you,” you looked up at him, smiling.

Lando looked at you, smiling. He then whispered, “I love you too, so fucking much.”

taglist : @sheblogs

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cardo-de-comer · 1 day ago

Note

Hello you! I wish you a very happy new year! ✨️

I saw that last ask, and I know how shitty it can feel to have your ocs, that you put so much thought and effort into, get compared to something else, even if it wasn't intended to be mean. :/

so I wanted to say, I really love your ocs and the whole world you've build around items! I got drawn in bc of the colours and the shapes and im always looking forward to seeing them on my dash!!

thanks both to you and this anon, i appreciate it! <3 and happy new years!

and i'm usually just tend to ignore comparing /ppl on twitter are completely uncontrollable lol/ but sometimes it really doesn't make any sense, at least to me

#cdc ask #i hope you don't mind me merging asks into one bc i just don't want to spam a lot

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 21 hours ago

Text

What a Mess 4

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: thick!Bucky Barnes

Summary: Your new job isn’t all that you expect. (maid AU – short!reader)

Note: hate me, baby.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Bucky coughs. You hear him through the wall. Your earbuds are still in your pocket. The smell of coffee pervades the apartment.

The door opens as you unload the dishwasher. He emerges with a cloud of steam from the shower, along with the smell of his soap. His hair is damp and messy, his beard shining with moisture as his eyelids slit.

"Doll," he stops on the other side of the counter as you keep your attention on the dishes. You are aware that he was only a towel around his waist, that realisation making the plate clack loudly as you put it away. "Can ya close the curtains for me?"

"Sure," you agree and leave the dishwasher open.

He lumbers to the couch and sits. You glimpse him as you tug on the cords to draw the curtains. You quickly hide around the corner as you return to the kitchen.

He groans as you try not to clink the porcelain too loudly. You feel bad for him. You can tell just by looking at him how much he hurts. You've always had a bleeding heart.

You roll the rack back into the dishwasher and close the door. You grab your phone and chew your lip. He would probably prefer to be left alone. Still, you can't see how trying to help is bad.

You approach him as the results load on your phone. You hover behind him as you scroll. His breath startles you as he heaves.

"Need something?" He asks without looking back.

"Erm," you wince and shuffle around the couch. You hold out your phone. He narrows his eyes at the screen and scowls. "For your head?"

He watches the video and shrugs. The gesture catches your attention for a split second. His right arm is just as thick as the metal one, muscle taut and bulging. His chest looks softer under a mat of dark hair and his stomach overhangs the towel just a little.

"Too much work," he grumbles and his eyebrows twitch with the effort it takes to speak. He touches his forehead and growls.

You lower the phone, "sorry."

"...unless," he drops his hand and looks at you, agony sewn into his expression. "You could..." he looks at your hands. "Doll?"

You glance down at your hands, clutching your phone tighter. You watch the video of the 'scalp massage', fingers kneading into thick strands. You bring the screen closer.

"I can try," you say at last.

Your gaze meets his again and he nods. He bends forward and hangs his head. He grips the cushions as his hair falls over his face.

You rewind the video and set the phone beside him so you can see it. You rub your palms together anxiously. You raise them and hesitate above his head.

"Will you let me know if it hurts?" You ask.

He laughs then groans. "Sure, doll."

You touch his hair lightly then weave through his locks until you meet his scalp. You press your fingertips in and swirl them like the video. He grumbles again and you stop.

"Keep going," he rasps.

He leans into your touch. You firmly knead his head as you stare at his wet hair. A few strands of silver thread through the dark tangle. Another droning noise rises from him.

His breath deepens enough for you to hear it. You move your hands around his head as he leans into you, more and more. You hope he feels better even as your anxiety peaks with his snarls.

Is this okay? You probably shouldn't have done this. Even if he is in pain. You could be fired for unprofessional behaviour.

As you curl your fingertips against his scalp, he moans. You yelp as suddenly he reaches to clamp down on your wrists. He stills you but doesn't shove you away.

"I'm sorry," you squeak as he lifts his head.

He keeps hold of you as he looks at you. His face is tense, jaw squared, eyes foggy, a vein coursing in his forehead. His grips tightens dangerously as you whimper. He looks... feral.

"I'm sorry," you apologise again.

He growls. Like an animal. He stands as his thumbs run up and down the insides of your wrists. You gape at him in horror. You're in trouble.

You say sorry again and again and again as he walks you backwards. He turns you around the couch and continues around to the foot of the spiral staircase. You wriggle and whine as you as good as dangle from his grasp.

He jars you suddenly, pulling you against him. He lets you go as you crash against his stomach. You shakily press your palms to him but can't get away.

You look up at him, "Bucky," you quaver, "I'm sorry if I hurt you."

"No," he breathes and grabs you by the waist, "I'm sorry if I hurt you."

Before you can process his words, he hauls you up and over his shoulder. He turns to the stairs and hooks his arm around you to keep you steady. His other hand slides up the railing as climbs the steps.

You squeak and lightly brush his back, "Bucky?"

He doesn't stop. The ascent makes you even dizzier as you hang over his shoulder. You don't understand what's happening. What is he doing?

He angles you through the hatch and up into the loft. That's against the rules too. You're not supposed to be up there.

"Please, I'm sorry..."

He carries you across the room and bends to put you down. He sits you on the foot of the bed and you quiver as he stands straight. His hands go to the front of the towel, slack around his hips. You peer up at him.

"What did I do?" You eke out.

He puffs through his nose and pulls the towel free. He bends and cradles your head. His nose touches yours and he snarls. He urges you back until you're flat and you tremble at his mercy.

"Something," he growls.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #drabble #maid au #what a mess #winter soldier #captain america #avengers #mcu #marvel

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bratbarzal · 14 hours ago

Text

Let It Happen (LH43) 3/3

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

WC: 17k

>PART ONE< / >PART TWO<

I'll spare you from everything, if you would still have me, I'll be waiting all my life

General Warnings: pining and longing and fluff galore!!! I think maybe sexual references but who remembers atp. angst (slut shaming, mentions of past relationships and I can't think of a better way to say daddy issues we've all been there)

A/N: we did it, Joe!!!! desktop tumblr really didn't want this to happen!!! I can't believe I finished this!! thank you guys so much for reading, and liking, and messaging me and reblogging and all the commentary, and all the love!!! I appreciate it so much!!

if there is a crossover of readers of on your side and readers of this fic (first of all ily) there is a little oys easter egg in here!! did I think through the logistics of this being set in the same universe? no. did I have fun anyway? yes. I fell in love with writing Luke in that fic so it was only right for me to add it in here!!

Happy New Year to everyone, thank you for reading my work!! 2024 was the year I finally plucked up the courage to write all my random thoughts down and the fact that it spiralled into this blows my mind a bit, but I'm grateful to be here!!

You can distinctly remember the first time you had properly taken notice of Luke Hughes, and it wasn’t back in the restaurant at the club like he probably thinks.

It had been early November, in your freshman year.

Ellie had finally convinced you to join her at one of the games at Yost, and you were bundled up in a coat two sizes too big, the only thing you had remotely close to team colours, and the only thing likely to keep you warm enough to tolerate a whole game and warm-ups.

You were watching the boys skate around, and he had caught your eye in an instant.

“Who’s that one?” You had asked, pointing down to where number 43 was reaching out awkwardly to sweep up pucks with his stick. You could see the soft brown curls peaking out the back of his helmet from all the way in the stands, and his height made it unmistakable to realise that you recognised him.

He had come up to you at a Halloween party the week before, and if you hadn’t been so preoccupied by the fact that your only-just-ex boyfriend at the time was in the same room, his tongue down another girl’s throat, you might have been endeared by the boy in the dog costume.

Friendly smile, boyishly handsome features and warm eyes that under any other circumstances might have made your heart skip a beat. It wasn’t the first time you had seen him - you vaguely remembered the gift basket, and you knew he was in a couple of your classes, but you had never really spared him more than a fleeting glance before that party.

As soon as he had noticed your teary eyes upon approach, his demeanour had changed in an instant, and where anyone else might have backed off, might have been uncomfortable or deterred, done a u-turn and given up on his mission to approach, his expression had softened - worried and caring in a way that made your throat go dry, and you had to dash off to the nearest bathroom to splash your tears away.

“That’s Luke,” Ellie had told you, “Luke Hughes, Jack’s brother.”

“Oh,” You had pouted, disappointed. Jack had made it painfully obvious that he wasn’t your biggest fan the first time you had met him, and if you’re honest, you were hardly a great admirer of his, either.

Ellie had noticed your expression, had nudged you with her elbow until you took your eyes off of the figure on the ice, and had narrowed her eyes right at you. “Why?”

“He’s in a couple of my classes, is all,” you shrugged, eyes travelling back and finding him in an instant.

“Luke’s cool. You’d eat him alive, though, probably get bored within a week.”

“I wasn’t thinking about him like that,” you frowned, watching him skate around the ice with the grace and enthusiasm of a clumsy puppy dog. Cute. “Just curious.”

“He’s waaaay too nice for you,” she scoffed, and you had tried to swallow down the pang of offence you had felt, knowing she had very little of your past to compare him to. The two of you had only been roommates for a couple of months at that point, and she had only ever seen you interested in your ex. “He’s also kind of a like a little brother to me. Dorky and annoying, but I’m very protective of him.”

You had bit your tongue at how patronising that had sounded, knowing Ellie was one of the youngest people of your freshman class - a July baby - and Luke might even have been older than her.

“Like I said, just curious.”

You had noticed Luke a lot more after that, though.

A quiet, recurring presence.

A seat behind you in business comms, a figure against the wall in the corner of the room at different parties, on posters that lined the walls and the perimeter of Yost Arena, in articles you edited for extra credit in the Michigan Daily.

You had even made small efforts to get him to talk to you - never being the type to make the first move, yourself - started talking to his friends, some of the guys on the hockey team, had made sure his name was on the list for your sorority parties, you’d even dropped your pen once in class, and he’d just handed it back over with a soft smile, never uttering a word.

You wouldn’t call it a crush, but it was somewhere around the borderline of that - especially looking back after the summer you shared with him.

And you think, in retrospect, that if he’d have ever made a move, would have spoken to you even just once after the incident at the Halloween party, you probably would have developed one.

You hate to admit it, now, but he had been right all those weeks ago in the restaurant.

He’s kind of inevitable like that.

By the time he disappeared in your sophomore year that little spark of something had mostly fizzled out, but it didn’t entirely stop you unintentionally keeping tabs. Stats that cropped up on the sports channels, articles in the paper, posts on your instagram feed.

And you don’t know what you would call it, the way he kind of stuck with you, but when you’d seen him in that booth in the beginning of summer - when he’d spoken to you in full sentences, had met your eye and held contact in a way that sucked you in like a vacuum - you kind of felt that spark reignite.

The boy you almost, kind of, could have known, once upon a time, finally making the effort to get to know you.

And Luke Hughes is persistent. You have a detached admiration for just how much. He pushes, and he presses, and he perseveres until all your resolve is gone - resolve you’ve spent years mastering, with quick wit and snark protecting your heart from anyone who dares to take aim for it.

But that detachment is waining.

Especially as you lay on your front on your childhood bed, the NHL awards playing on the TV in your room back at your mom’s house, and you try to busy your hands with the crotchet kit you had picked up from the mall before you came home for a couple of days.

Your admiration is blooming and blossoming in the depths of your stomach into something intricate and uncontrollable.

And it has nothing to do with his name, his career, the award he is nominated for.

It’s just him.

Larger than life on your TV screen, but it still doesn’t capture him in his entirety, and you think for the first time that you miss him. You miss movies in his bed, you miss watching him from the passenger seat of his BMW, the sun shining from the window beside him, illuminating his profile until you burn from the glare. You miss his stupid jokes and his teasing smiles, and you miss the warmth in your cheeks when he looks your way.

And it’s only been like 2 days.

You miss Luke Hughes.

You kind of think you missed him before he even left.

You might have even missed him before you knew him, but that would be crazy, right?

Maybe he makes you crazy.

Maybe you need this week to recuperate, to attempt to build those walls back up before they’re damaged beyond repair.

Luke hadn’t given much thought to missing you before he and his brothers left for Vegas. He’d been so caught up, internally, about his and Quinn’s nominations, that he had thought it would continue to distract him the whole time they had been out there, but boy was he wrong.

All he remembers about his trip is thinking of you, and when the boys got back, and you had been visiting your mom for the weekend, all he could do was think of you more.

He thought of you when they sat at the table for dinner, and your place across from his was empty. He thought of you when he watched movies alone, thought of texting you some sort of commentary as he worked his way through the list of rom-coms you had given him, but you hadn’t texted him yet, so he gave up quickly on that idea.

He thought of you in bed, thought of the last time the two of you had been in there, together, and if he’s honest, he thinks of that almost all the time. Of messy kisses, wandering hands, and connection so deep he doesn’t think it will ever fizzle out.

And when he finally sees you again, he thinks he might have to get Quinn to source some sort of defibrillator for the house, because he swears his heart stops beating.

You poke your head into his bedroom, a shy smile on your face, and your bag is still on your shoulder, which means he had been your first stop, before you’d even gone to drop your things in yours and Ellie’s room.

He sees you in the reflection of his mirror, and turns immediately, clumsy fingers releasing the tie he’s been struggling to get right for a couple minutes, and steps toward you before he can even begin to tell himself not to seem so eager.

“You’re back!” He grins, and when your face lights up in return, he can hardly find it in himself to care anymore how down bad he comes across.

“Yeah,” you breathe, stepping into the room, discarding your bag by the door and shuffling toward him. “You didn’t have get all dolled up for my return.”

You reach to take both sides of the tie into your hands, and he feels himself go warm all over at the mere proximity of you after so long apart.

“It’s my cousin’s wedding,” he tells you as you start to knot the tie, knuckles brushing slightly across his chest until he’s holding his breath, lungs expanding so that he feels your touch a little more. “They’re having their reception at the club, later, you should come down.”

“You’re asking me to your cousin’s wedding?”

“Not like that,” he chuckles nervously as he looks down at you, eyes focused on the task at hand. “Just, haven’t seen you in a week, wouldn’t want to leave you here alone, it could be fun.”

Not to mention the fact he’s been watching the door for the past two days while he’s been home, waiting for you to get back and hoping it would be before the event, and he could figure out some way to ask you.

“You can’t just invite a random person to your cousin’s wedding reception, Luke.”

“She said I could!” He reasons, frowning when you raise a brow at him. “Not a random person, she said I could bring a friend.” He grasps gently at your hands as they straighten the fabric, halting your movements. “We’re friends, right?”

“If you say so.”

That wasn’t a no, he thinks, courage building within him in such a way that he starts to buzz with it. That would definitely have been a flat out no, before.

“You’d be doing me a favour.” He bargains, still holding your hands against his chest. “Quinn and Jack are bringing Josh and Turcs, I’d be like a fifth wheel,”

“So what you’re telling me is that you have no other friends?”

“Sure, if that’s what tugs at your heartstrings.” He has plenty of friends he could ask. Eddy, Duker, Luca - they’re all in town. None of them would look as pretty in a dress as you would, though. He wants to say there’s no chance of any of them kissing him after a few cocktails, but that would probably be a lie. “C’mon, they’re not gonna be checking IDs at the bar,” he wiggles his eyebrows in an attempt to convince you, “The free bar.”

“I don’t have anything to wear to a wedding,”

“What about that blue dress you wore to the formal last year?”

He remembers his throat going dry at just a picture - frosty baby blue silk against glowing skin, hair falling past your shoulders, the prettiest smile he’s ever seen in every photo.

And that is where misplaced courage gets him, he thinks. Letting slip that he has been creeping on your Instagram like some deranged stalker, because where else would he have seen you in that dress? He’d been in Jersey, by then. Scrolling down his timeline and swiping at every photo dump in what he didn’t even realise at the time was an obvious attempt to catch a glimpse of you.

Idiot.

“That was Ellie’s dress. I think she gave it to the Goodwill or something.” You frown, barely even picking up on his slip - unaware to the point that his heart rate can level back out to normalcy.

“You’ve got time to go shopping, you could get another,” he shrugs, reaching into the pocket of his pants. “Here, take my card.”

“Gee, thanks, Daddy Warbucks,” you push at his hand when he attempts to give it to you.

“I’m not adopting you. I’m more like Richard Gere in Pretty Woman.”

“Are you implying I’m a prostitute?”

“No,” he scoffs, only because, unintentionally, he totally was, and now he can’t get the picture out of his head - you in thigh high boots, legs for days stood out of the blue skirt, and the white top with the cutouts, soft summer skin he’s been missing the touch of peaking through - and he starts to wonder if that would be too much too soon to ask of you; to dress up for him like that. Maybe for halloween, if the two of you have progressed past whatever this is, by then. Keep dreaming, Hughes, he can already hear you saying. “More like a sugar baby.”

“I don’t need your money.”

“I’m trying to do something nice for you.”

“You don’t have to buy me things for me to like you.” You pout, and his own lips curl up at your defensiveness - so eager to prove yourself to him over something he isn’t even actually pressing.

“Because you like me already?” He can’t help himself, a small voice in the back of his mind telling him to push, push, push at your buttons until you practically malfunction - craving you in whatever disoriented state it was that he had seen you in last, pliant and willing and crumbling so nicely for him to scoop up and piece back together.

He shouldn’t want that - want to have to hold you in place, that is, not really - but he does. He wants to be the one that gets you like that. The only one.

“What time’s the reception?”

That should also have been a flat out no.

Interesting.

You give in so easily, then, to the point where Luke gets giddy, letting you know when and where he wants you - always and anywhere, if he’s honest - and you roll your eyes as you agree, but you stay right in front of him long after you’ve finished with his tie, and he’s so tempted to kiss you that he’s buzzing with excitement.

He sneaks a kiss to the corner of your mouth - quick enough that you don’t push him away, or make any sort of comment about it, and darts down the stairs at Quinn’s calls for him, leaving you to figure out whatever it is you need to do to be ready for later.

And he thanks his lucky stars that later comes before he has the chance to really dwell on it. His day passes in a blur, the ceremony over in a flash, family photos taken before he even realises he doesn’t need to force a cheesy smile, and only brief moments spared over the course of the early afternoon to think about the things he’s lacking.

As he sits in the church between his brothers, he realises that he wants to be sitting with an arm slung around you and a hand in your lap - your fingers swirling absentminded shapes into his palm as the two of you watch the ceremony side by side. Wants to look down at you staring up the aisle in bewilderment, a soft flush to your cheeks, a dopey grin on your face and a far-off look in your eyes. Wants to mutter stupid jokes in your ear and watch you twist your lips to bite back a giveaway smile.

As he rides over to the club in the back of Quinn’s car, sandwiched between Alex and Josh with his brothers up front, he thinks he’d kill to have you in his lap - as illegal as that may be, but it’s only 5 minutes, and he’d make sure you were safe with an arm curled around your waist.

And when he’s waiting in the reception hall at the club, the late afternoon ticking into early evening, hearing speeches about falling in love and finding your person, he wants you in the seat beside him. Wants to rest his arm on the back of your chair, play with loose strands of your hair or stroke soft fingertips against your warm skin, and press gentle kisses into your temple.

It’s alarming how quick these thoughts consume him - his college years spent pining, his summer spent basking in whatever attention you choose to give him - and he can’t help but let himself be carried away with the hope of it all, that maybe he is wearing you down enough to give in to such thoughts.

Especially when he sees you walking in, and he swears the world has started moving in slow motion like a scene fresh out of one of those rom-coms you keep trying to subject him to.

His legs stretch without any instruction from his brain, pushing himself up onto his feet until he can make his way over and meet you halfway.

Your eyes light up and your hand lifts in a nervous wave as you start heading straight for him, the action causing the thin spaghetti strap of your dress to fall down your shoulder.

“Hey,” he breathes out, in what feels like relief, mouth breaking out into a dreamy grin until you’re right in front of him.

“Sorry I’m a little late, it took me forever to find a dress, and then my hair wouldn’t go right, and then the Uber took every back road known to man despite me literally telling him,” Luke reaches to readjust the fallen strap as you talk, fingers trailing ever so slightly against the soft skin of your shoulder, “That I knew a quicker way, and then we ended up at those lights over on Palmer for like 10 minutes, I think I was in that car so long I’m all crinkly.”

His eyes drop slowly down your figure, the silky fabric clinging to your curves in all the right spots, the soft yellow a perfect match to the tie around his neck. “You’re beautiful,” he reassures you with ease, cheeks flushing ever so slightly when your eyes meet his - but he’s used to that, by now, the way his head goes hot when you look at him. “I was gonna get a drink, do you want one?”

He extends his hand out to you in invitation before you even nod in response, and when your fingers slide between his, the heat that is swirling around his head and face starts to spread down, past his neck, into his chest, settling there as the two of you make your way over to the bar.

This last week without you has been hell.

Sat in his hotel room in Vegas, checking his phone for any sort of update - a text, an instagram post, a story - and wondering if that night before he had left had been playing on your mind the same way it had on his.

Soft, slow kisses pressed into reciprocated lips, hands memorising every inch of each other’s bodies, desperate but intentional movements into one another. It was hardly his first time, but God, had it felt like it. It was definitely the first time he had ever felt anything that deep for another person - felt so connected, so attached.

And, despite the lingering insecurity that he thinks he might always feel when it comes to you, he knew you felt the same.

You had told him in the simplest terms - you wanted him - but you had shown him so much more. Eyes stuck on his as he moved against you, foreheads pressed together, lips seeking his at every given opportunity, nails scratching at the broad expanse of his shoulders when he had taken the lead and flipped the two of you over.

Gasps and moans, pleading and pining, begging and singing for him as you came undone for the first, second and third time.

He doesn’t know how you can possibly even try to carry on pretending you don’t feel even an ounce of the infatuation he does.

Not when you look at him the way you do, eyes sparkling and wanting. Not when he had spent the past week pressing his fingertips into the bruises you had kissed again into the lowest part his stomach like that had become your spot, hoping he could aggravate them enough to linger until you could make some more.

Not when, even though the two of you have been stood at the bar now for a good few minutes, you haven’t made any efforts to take your fingers from where his are playing with them between the two of you.

“You never answered my question, earlier,” he hums as the two of you wait for your drinks.

“You talk so much, Hughes, you’re gonna have to remind me which question that was.”

“Did you miss me?” His head tilts with curiosity as he watches the hesitation cross your features, lashes fluttering as you look up at him with your lips pressed together to keep them from spluttering out the truth. “I missed you.” He admits, in the hopes that expressing his candour might elicit the same in you.

“I’m surprised you found the time, you looked very occupied on your brothers’ stories.” Bingo.

“You been keeping tabs on me?” The smirk that accompanies the question is instinctual, and he manages to catch the slight shift in your demeanour before you can retreat, closing his fingers around your hand before you can pull it away.

“No,” you scoff, and when you pull insistently for him to release your hand, the strap of your dress falls loose down your arm again, Luke’s eyes following before he fixes it for you once more. “Just stumbled across some pictures, I guess,”

“Yeah, you just tripped and fell into stalking me?”

“Don’t act like you weren’t doing the same, I saw those little 3 dots come up so often I was starting to think you were typing up the entirety of War and Peace.”

Which means you’d been lingering in your message thread with him, too. Gotcha.

“You know, the world won’t end if you just admit you missed me.”

“Fine.” It slips out before you know what you’re saying, eyes widening like a deer in the headlights as you realise you’ve already given in. “I missed you.”

He smiles, but doesn’t press, and it’s a smile that lingers as the two of you just look at each other, his eyes drifting down to watch your lips twist and press together, biting back whatever insult or chirp you’re just dying to throw his way to cover up. He waits for it to come, but loves that it doesn’t, and loves even more that you’re holding onto the moment as much as he is.

“Do you wanna dance?” Luke asks a while later, once the two of you have gulped down a couple of drinks, have sat with the others for a little, and he’s watched you watch the dance floor with a yearning gaze.

Your eyes meet his after he poses the question, a confidence in his demeanour that has you crumbling immediately.

You nod, allowing him to guide you over to where a few other couples are swaying on the dance floor, and you let him guide you into his arms, one hand in his and the other resting on his shoulder.

It should be awkward, you think, remembering back on all the times you’ve tried this before. School dances and proms, clumsily shuffling and trying to avoid being stomped on by your partner’s feet - but the two of you move with ease, and you’d like to think it’s because his body knows yours by now.

“This is so weird,” you mutter, eyes cast down to watch his feet move in his fancy Oxford shoes, a soft flush to your cheeks.

“What do you mean?” He asks, nerves heightening as he stiffens like he’s waiting for you to let him go - to step away and cut this short like it doesn’t make you feel the same way.

“Slow dancing is for old folk like war veterans and millennials.” Your lips twist as your eyes meet his, and his lips turn up into a slow smile, a deep, melodic chuckle following closely behind.

“If you’d rather bump’n'grind on me, I get it,” he smirks.

“You’re such an idiot,” you scoff back, twitching to shake the hair from your shoulder, assuming that’s what is causing the shivers currently shooting down your spine, and not the large, possessive hand resting in the dip of your waist.

“Y’know, I’ve realised something about you lately,” he starts, voice low as he leans in, angling into your exposed neck and stopping his lips within mere inches of your ear, “You have a tell.”

“A tell?” You turn, brow raised as your gaze meets his, faces close enough that you can feel the soft pants of his breath on your skin.

“For when you’re enjoying yourself more than you think you should be,” he hums, his eyes fluttering a little as they drop to watch your mouth, the swipe of your tongue wetting your lower lip. “You call me an idiot,” his hand on your waist squeezes ever so slightly, your back arching a little into his touch, “Or stupid,” he uses his other hand, the one clutching at yours, to pull you closer, “Or dumb, or a dork.”

You can feel your heart thudding at the call-out, beating in time to the music, in time to the way your bodies sway together, creating it’s own rhythm for the two of you to dance to.

“Maybe you’re just a stupid, dumb, dorky idiot.” You squeak out, immediately hating the way the words taste in your mouth, your face souring and eyes narrowing in deliberation. There’s no way that was at all convincing, and the smirk that tugs up his lips is all you need to know he sees right through you.

“Maybe,” he humours you, anyway. “And yet, you can’t get enough of me.”

“A smug dorky idiot.” You correct yourself, cutting out stupid and dumb, the sharpness of those words cutting at your tongue like a knife.

The pointlessness of such discussion almost waters down the exhilaration you feel at being this close to him, in public, nonetheless, where literally anyone else could call you out on your growing tolerance of Luke, could connect the dots regarding all the time the two of you have been spending together and wave the evidence of your growing affection like a chequered flag for all to see.

This definitely feels like you’re crossing the finish line.

And, of course, it’s Jack who does the honours, primed all night to find some way to get between you and Luke upon your arrival, stumbling up to the two of you at the end of the song you’re swaying to and laying a heavy palm on your shoulder.

“Isn’t this cosy?”

“Fuck off, Jack,” Luke scowls before you get the chance, a pointed glare directed towards his brother, the palming grip at your waist growing faint as you try to wedge a little distance between the two of you, fighting a losing battle with your instinct to run and hide.

“I need to talk to your girlfriend.”

“I’m not his-,”

“She’s not my-,”

The two of you speak simultaneously, and despite the fact that you were saying the exact same thing, him saying it kind of dampens your mood, putting a good couple of steps between you and Luke with your arms crossing over your chest as you look toward his brother.

“Whatever. Can I borrow her for a couple minutes?”

“I’m not property, Jack, you can ask me directly.”

“Please can we talk? Alone?”

“Let’s go outside,” you huff, storming off before he has the chance to say anything else and making it all the way outside before he speaks again.

“Sorry for interrupting, you and Luke looked kind of cute-,”

“What do you want?”

“I’m sorry I said you were messing him around, and that you were toxic.”

You frown at him, watching as he diverts his gaze to the ground, nervously shuffling on his feet and fingers fidgeting with the cuffs on his shirt.

“I’m sorry for all the things I said and did at that party, I didn’t mean them, I was just drunk and upset. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

You chew nervously on the inside of your cheeks as he talks, arms wrapped around yourself to shield from the brisk night air, and you watch as Jack starts to unravel before your very eyes.

For as long as you’ve known Ellie, for as long as you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him as anything less than cool, calm and collected - it’s kind of the main thing that grinds your gears about him if your honest, the fact that he never seems real. Like he’s putting on some sort of persona to seem like he has all his shit together, when you know he doesn’t.

“I really like Ellie, you know,” he sighs, and you scoff, because of course you know that. “And I was blaming you for putting this wedge between us when it’s really me that’s been fucking up.” You know that, too. “I’ve been thinking about her this past week, and I really wanna pull myself together and finally do something about it. Stop being such an idiot.”

You bite your tongue from questioning the reality of that. He’ll always be an idiot, you think, but that’s best left unspoken. It’s not even personal to him, that’s just part of being a man.

“She likes you too,” You tell him instead, despite the fact that it goes against all sorts of girl code to do so. You’re doing them both a favour, and the universe should really just let you off, you feel. “I don’t know why either of you have wasted so much time when you’ve both felt the same way all along.”

“You really think she’d say yes if I asked her out?”

“I do,” you shrug, “And it doesn’t need to be done on some romantic boat trip or some crazy elaborate scheme, you should just ask her when she gets back next week. Like as soon as she comes through the door, it will save us all a headache.”

“You sound like Luke.”

“Yeah, well, he’s rubbing off on me, I guess.”

“I don’t need to hear what the two of you get up to when you’re alone, that’s my little brother.”

You reach over and shove at his arm, and for the first time ever, when your eyes meet his, neither of them are narrowed. He’s smiling, and you’re smiling too, and it feels a little like a weight has been lifted from your chest, fresh air filling your lungs.

“Let’s go back inside, Luke’s probably thinking we’ve killed each other.”

“I’m just gonna take a second, it’s kinda stuffy in there.”

Jack nods, before making his way back to the reception, and you make your way over to the fountain, heels working through the gravel until you take a seat on the side.

It’s a couple of minutes before you hear footsteps, and before you see the fancy oxfords come into your view, eyes roaming up the long, lean body of the boy who has your brain running marathons.

When your eyes meet, his gaze is warm, and it feels like he can see right through you. Like he’s looking into the depths of your mind, holding a big cheesy sign as he waits at the finish line for your thoughts to come to an end.

He sits wordlessly beside you, his knees knocking against yours, and waits for you to speak - although the silence doesn’t feel awkward, or forced. He waits, patiently and understandingly, and you feel like he’s giving you the time to figure out what you want to say.

It feels monumental, this moment, like you’re teetering on the edge of something real and honest for the first time in a while.

“The other week, when we,” your voice feels heavy, thick at the back of your throat, “You know,”

“I was strictly advised to forget about it, so no, I don’t know,” he teases, and you’re kind of thankful that he’s trying to ease the tension you’re building for yourself. “But if you wanna jog my memory.” You shove lightly at his shoulder. “I’m kidding. What about it?”

“I’ve never really done that before?”

“What, snuck a guy up to his room in the middle of a house party and rocked his world?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” You scoff, smiling to yourself, despite the weight of all that you’re about to admit to him. “I’ve only ever slept with one other guy, and he wasn’t very nice about it after, so I just,” you frown, “Don’t really do it.”

“You don’t-,” he frowns too, you can see it from your peripheral, eyes till on the hands fidgeting in your lap, “But I thought-,” You look over and meet his eyes, brows furrowed and lips parted in confusion. “What?”

“The first guy, Jamie,” you start, twisting to face him, knees knocking once more. “We started talking in the summer before my freshman year, got to know each other ‘cause he lived one town over from me and he’d come into work all the time, and then when I started college he was a sophomore, and he was the first guy to ever take, like, a serious interest in me. And we had a lot in common, he was on the soccer team, we grew up in the same area, we got on really well, it was the first time I ever really felt connected to anyone like that. But I’d never done anything before, so I wanted to take things slow,”

Jamie Reeves. Captain of the University of Michigan Soccer Team until he tore his ACL at the end of his last year, ruining all dreams of playing in the MLS, like it was entirely achievable for a player of his caliber anyway. You had been infatuated by him, though. The kind of infatuation that a younger you might have doodled little hearts around his name in all your notebooks.

And then he turned out to be a complete leech.

“Please don’t tell me he rushed you into it.” Luke straightens his posture, reaching to place his hand over yours in your lap, the touch immediately comforting, and his concern even more so.

“No. Not exactly.” You sigh, hating how dramatic you feel about the whole thing. “We went on dates, and things were going really well, so I figured I trusted him enough to be my first, then after we had sex he just went really off. He wouldn’t take me out anymore, wasn’t putting any effort in. And then people started asking me all these questions about him, and what we did, and I realised he was going around telling everyone all the details, like I was just some conquest he could tick off to the boys on the team.” You remember how ashamed you had felt, eyes on you in every corridor, whispers about you in every class. You couldn’t leave your dorm without someone muttering some obscene comment about you, and you just felt awful. “Every time one of them saw me they’d make all these dumb comments, and I just felt dirty all the time, like I’d done something wrong. Then I went to a party at Pike, the one at Halloween,” The party that Luke had approached you for the first time since you met, and you had stormed off in tears - not due to him at all, but due to the fact you had just seen Jamie sticking his tongue down someone else’s throat, mere days after you had seen him last. “And he was all over one of the girls on the field hockey team, didn’t even look my way again after that, not that I really wanted him to.”

“You haven’t been with anyone since?”

You shake your head. “Doesn’t stop people saying I have, though. I tried dating a couple times, but it always ended up the same way, rumours being spread about me sleeping around and being easy. And it’s so dumb, ‘cause it’s like I trusted one guy, and somehow it keeps backfiring on me.” You pay no mind, for the first time in a long time, to the crack in your voice as you say it, no longer afraid of showing any hint of vulnerability. Not to Luke. You need to get this out - get it out of the way, once and for all, so you can move past it. Move on, even, with someone you hope won’t treat you the same.

“Does that mean you trusted me?”

You try not to think too hard about all the times the two of you have shared any level of intimacy - the physical touch mostly initiated by you, and it’s hardly ever on a whim. You think a lot about Luke, if you’re honest. About how he’s honest, and he sticks by his word when he promises not to tell anyone anything. How he always tries to make you laugh or smile, even if it’s something stupid. He isn’t afraid to embarrass himself with you, isn’t afraid to give you power, to let you take the lead. And even though sometimes he jokes otherwise, the times you hang out, he has no ulterior motives. He likes talking to you, likes watching movies with you, likes meeting your eye in a crowded room and giving you one of those smiles that have started to make your heart stutter with something unidentifiable.

“I guess so.” Your shoulder lifts in a nonchalant shrug, your words anything, but. “I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about it since and I can’t explain why it happened but I feel like you and me are-,”

Connected? Compatible?

You know what he would say you are. You don’t know if you’re there, yet.There are so many things the two of you have become over the past few weeks, so many things you’ve wanted to be for longer than you even realised, so many things you’re afraid to say.

“I feel like out of everyone, you’d have no reason to lie to me. Or about me.”

“I wouldn’t. I didn’t know all that stuff,” he frowns, and it seems like his mind only just makes sense of all the times you threatened him after the fact, making sure he wouldn’t tell anyone that the two of you kissed, or hung out alone in an intimate space and maybe potentially enjoyed yourselves. He had thought you were ashamed of it - but all this time, you’ve been protective. Of yourself, of the trust you were building in him. “Why don’t you tell people, that those guys are all lying?”

“No one would believe me,” you shrug, eyes cast down to where his hand still rests on yours, and his touch prevents you from picking nervously at the skin around your nails.

“I do,” He assures you, “And I promise the next time I hear anyone say any of that stuff about you, I’ll beat their face in.”

“Yeah, you’d drop gloves for me?”

“Look at you with your hockey talk.” He coos, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, where you had barely noticed a tear trailing down until he wipes it away with his thumb, a proud smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. I would. We’re partners, remember? I’ve got your back.” He extends his pinkie out to you, and you curl yours around it until he’s tugging it toward him, leaning down to press his lips to your knuckle, his kiss like a promise as his green eyes meet yours.

It doesn’t gross you out, this time. If you’re honest with yourself, it hadn’t the first time he did it, either. It was cute, in an entirely dorky and childish and almost nostalgic way.

And you’re compelled to do the same, leaning and touching your pouted lips to his pinky, eyes fluttering closed as you kiss his skin, the rush of blood to your head somehow louder than the steady stream of the fountain beside you.

“Listen,” he starts, lowering his hand but keeping your pinkies interlocked, resting them between you both on the stone. “If whatever this is that we’re doing makes you uncomfortable, or brings all that stuff back, I can back off a little.”

Something akin to disappointment floods through your system, your heart rate picking up in a panicked staccato, but you try to stay cool - still, for whatever reason, holding your cards close to your chest.

“I can make sure my brothers don’t make any more stupid comments about us, they’re doing it to annoy me, not you. And I can,” he takes a deep breath, eyes flickering between yours as if to gauge your desires before he has to reluctantly pander to them. “I can stop, too.”

You nod, because it’s all you can do to shake away the tears threatening to flood your lash line at just the thought of him giving up on you.

It’s the lump in your throat that blocks the words coming out to tell him as much, and your lips twist in discomfort as you take in the way he’s looking at you - gaze filled with dwindling patience and waining resilience. There’s only so far you can continue to push him, you can see that now, and if you’d have told the version of yourself that first sat down with him all those weeks ago - the version of yourself that refuted any chance of ever warming up to him, that saw him as nothing more than an annoyance, a disturbance to your tips for the day - that the thought of him stopping whatever you have would make you feel like this?

That cold-hearted bitch would have laughed in your face.

“Hey, lovebirds!” There’s a shout from across the courtyard, and Quinn appears in the distance with hands cupped around his mouth. The intrusion has you retracting your hand, and you can see the way Luke reacts in your peripheral, a resigned nod given instinctually before he looks over to his brother. “I’m driving home if you two want a ride!”

Luke doesn’t look back at you before pushing himself up, but he offers a hand to help you stand, and the two of you walk in silence to meet Quinn by the exit.

The car ride back to the house is silent, too, save for the soft hum of the radio that filters through the car. Josh sits up front with Quinn, head lulling against the window as he falls asleep worryingly quick, and you’re squished in the middle between Luke and Alex, Jack having stayed back with their parents. It’s hard not to press your legs against Luke’s - his are so gangly and long that they take up more than their fair share of room, and it’s much less awkward despite the circumstances to be touching him than touching Turcs. You feel a lot less tense when you’re touching, anyway.

And when Quinn pulls up, Luke still helps you out of the car - ever the gentleman, even in the face of apparent rejection.

Quinn and Alex work at lugging an overly inebriated Josh up to his room, leaving Luke to guide you through the house, and the silence starts to become unbearable as he whispers a quick and quiet goodnight, leaving you at the door to yours and Ellie’s room as he makes his way down the hall.

“Hey, Luke,” you call out in a whisper toward him as he retreats, his tall frame turning, a gleam of what you interpret as hope flashing across his green eyes.

“Yeah?” He hums back, voice low as not to disturb anyone else, gaze meeting yours, locking in place with an almost audible click.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

You’re worried for a second you’ll have to expand, that maybe his slightly intoxicated memory doesn’t stretch as far back as to remember the conversation the two of you had had out by the fountain.

Elaborating on it would be embarrassing to say the least - because what, exactly, are you supposed to say?

I don’t want you to stop flirting with me.

I don’t want you to stop kissing me when no one else is around.

I don’t want you to stop being the only person I can talk to.

I don’t want you to stop bulldozing into my very secure and sturdy walls, thank you very much. They’re starting to tumble down in what could be a very calamitous fashion.

Worried you might have to expose a little more of yourself than you had originally anticipated, you chew at the corner of your lip, waiting.

But then he smiles - in that easy way that makes your bones feel like jelly, your knees weakening to the point that you lean against the still-closed door of your room. In the way that has that loudmouth voice you’re trying too often to suppress within you screaming, God, he’s so cute!

“I know,” he smirks, the bastard, liquid courage running deep through his veins, “Inevitable, remember?”

You scoff, almost instinctively rolling your eyes despite the endeared warmth that floods your belly. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know,” he says again, “You coming?”

And all you can do is nod, biting back a fully-fledged smile before you’re rushing over and slotting yourself under his outstretched arm.

You definitely enjoy him more than you should.

Living with boys for the first time in your life has taught you a lot over the weeks you’ve been staying at the lake house.

The first is that they’re weirdly messy - in ways that shouldn’t bother you, but they do. It isn’t clothes left around, or dirty plates - but it’s hand soap crusted around the spout by the faucet, shoes kicked off and discarded at random points throughout the house, and they, for some bizarre reason, never put the lid back right on anything.

The second is that they’re loud - and that should have been anticipated. Guys are notoriously obnoxious. But it isn’t just their voices that carry. It’s footsteps up the stairs, stomping in the dead of the night when one of them needs a drink. It’s chewing their food, or slurping their coffee, or scraping the feet of their chairs against the floor when they’re sat at the dining table. It’s tapping their hands on their knees in haphazard rhythm whenever there might be an ounce of peace that they, without a doubt, misunderstand for awkward silence.

And the third is that they probably couldn’t organise a fire in a match factory. And that goes for a lot of things - the kitchen cupboards, their laundry loads, and, most importantly, one of the many parties they love to throw.

It wouldn’t bother you so much - they usually work out in the end - but this time, it’s Ellie’s birthday, and the way they leave everything until the last minute is about to give you an aneurysm or something.

There’s no food, no drinks, no cake, no decorations, and the party is tonight.

And Jack, who’s grand idea it had been to throw her a party in the first place, seems to have kidnapped her - disappearing and leaving you to try and figure out what’s going on.

Cole is the one who finds you in the kitchen, spiralling out, frantically trying to put together some kind of list so that one of the guys can go to the store and pick up the bare minimum to throw a party together - and he manages to calm you down - gathers the rest of the guys and helps come up with a plan, sharing out different categories. Quinn and Josh are down to get drinks, Cole and Alex are down to get food, and you and Luke are down for decorations.

And then within the next five minutes, you’re back up in your room, transferring things from one of your bags into a tote, so you can carry more stuff back to the car without having to bring back a load of plastic, and Luke is sat on your bed, leaning back onto his hands as he watches you, green eyes still tickling your skin with their tangible watch.

“I know we’re on a time crunch, but could we make another pit-stop at the mall? I still need to find a present for this baby shower.”

“Oh, actually, I made you something.”

“You made me something?” You can feel him watching you as you dig through the bag you’d brought back with you from being home.

“Yeah, I was bored, when you guys were gone, I forgot to give it to you when you got back, got kinda distracted by the whole wedding thing,” you tell him, reaching blindly to try and find the little figure. “I went by that art supply store and picked up one of those kits,” You finally find it, pulling out the little crotchet animal that may or may not have been your fourth attempt. The first had a stubby neck, the second had uneven legs, and you don’t think the third one’s face was anywhere near appropriate to be gifting to a child. This one isn’t perfect, but you’d honestly reached your limit with it. “Don’t make it a thing, it was like therapy while I was back home to be honest.”

“Oh that’s adorable.” He pouts, accepting it from you and immediately turning it back, bobbing it’s head as if to greet you. “Why a giraffe?”

“Long neck,” you smile, reaching out to pat it. “Reminded me of you.”

“Ha ha,” he rolls his eyes, but the laughter feels real enough. “She’ll love it.”

“She?” It slips out by instinct before you can check yourself, eyes widening as his meet yours again, his lips twitching in the corners. “Thought you said it was for your captain,”

“It is.” He smirks, “Men can’t carry babies last time I checked.”

You nod, because of course men can’t carry babies. Of course the shower is for the mother of the baby - who you vaguely remember Jack and Luke talking about - someone who works with them back in Jersey. Someone they’re both close to, clearly, if Luke’s stressing this much about a gift.

“Wait, are you jealous?”

“No.” You scoff, frowning purposefully, lips turning down in forced denial.

“You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

“You want to take this back now, huh?” He holds the giraffe in a way that it bends, adorably, like he’s trying to taunt you with it, and it’s wonky eyes do little to distract from the charm he gives it.

“Nope.” You shrug, “You can give it to whatever girl you want, doesn’t bother me at all.”

“Of course not,” he stands, stepping toward you slowly, “You couldn’t care less what I do away from this house, right?”

“Right.” You gulp, looking into soft green eyes, your legs starting to wobble at the knees, strength and integrity waining as the seconds pass. You really don’t know why you’re still keeping this game up. Ever since that night of the wedding, you’ve been sneaking off into Luke’s room as soon as Ellie falls asleep. You fall asleep by his side, and he wakes you when he gets up early, so you can sneak back without Ellie realising you’ve even gone.

You’ve kissed him every day, sometimes tender, sometimes torrid - over the centre console of his car when he drops you off at work, in his bed before you drift off to sleep, in the kitchen when you sneak off under the ruse of refilling your drink. He can tell the difference between the flavours of lip balms you wear, comments on it like he has a little ranking system filed away somewhere in the back of his mind. You both whisper your secrets in the dark of the night, and you had promised him that you would try to open yourself up more to him.

“I thought we were past this,” he hums, stepping closer, voice low in a way that buzzes through your bones. “Thought we were being honest with each other, now.”

“Honest?” You ask, voice weak, neck craning now to look up at him, eyes boring into your own as he advances on you.

His hand reaches to cup your jaw, to tilt your head just that bit further, and presses his lips straight to yours instead of elaborating any further.

He’s tentative, at first. Gentle, even. Fingertips ghosting along the side of your neck, pulling you closer, less with any physical force and more so with pure magnetic attraction, your skin humming - buzzing, even, to be touched by him in any which way.

Your chin tilts as your mouths slot together in a soft, slow kiss, and when his lips touch yours, everything else fits perfectly into place. The fingers of his left hand press firmly into the flesh of your hip, now, using a slight force to manoeuvre you how it suits him - as close as he can physically get you - and those on his right reach around enough to slightly curve towards the back of your neck, applying just enough pressure so that your chin angles upward to deepen the kiss, his tongue pressing a pleading invitation into your bottom lip.

An invitation you immediately grant him, your hands finding their place on his body with ease, one flat against the warm expanse of his chest and the other matching his, soft fingertips grazing the skin of his neck until they tangle in the slight overgrowth of curls at the nape.

Everything feels so fluid, so effortless, and yet, so new - like this is the first time you have kissed, an eruption of fresh feelings bursting through you. There’s still a familiarity that lingers - one of ease, where it’s like your bodies have each other mapped out, already. You know every cell of him and he of you, and it’s evident in the way the moment escalates.

Your bodies naturally gravitate towards the nearest surface, his fingers reaching out behind your hip to soften the blow of him pushing you into the dresser, your back arching, feet moving in sync as not to tangle and trip, or stumble and break the kiss.

But there’s nothing else clumsy about it.

He lifts you with ease, the cold surface only a slight shock to the system, and it brings you to the perfect height where he can seamlessly move his kisses from your lips, past your jaw, down your neck and into the crevice of your collarbones, leaving a trail of the sticky residue of your lip balm.

Strong hands cup your thighs, parting your legs until he can stand between them, and your fingers bury themselves into his curls, pushing into him however you can.

When his fingers graze the inside of your thigh, his lips part from the hot skin of your clavicle, and his head tilts slightly until his darkened green eyes meet yours.

“Please,” you breathe out before he can even ask, beyond caring for whatever particles of pride you’ve been desperately trying to cling to when you watch his lips curve slowly into the most panty-dropping smirk you think you’ve ever seen.

“Please what?”

Your lips part as if by instinct, a biting remark fizzling out on the tip of your tongue as your mind works for some kind of comeback, for some semblance of resistance to whatever this version of him is, but there’s nothing. Just a frantic plea for him to do anything to you. Whatever he wants.

Your hips shuffle forward as if led by a mind of their own, trying to force his hand up, only for him to follow the movement of your thigh.

“Touch me,” you find yourself pouting, spikes of heat flashing through you at the way you can see the thoughts crossing his mind, of all the ways in which he can torture you - putty in the palm of what you thought were safe hands.

“Tell me you were jealous,” he prompts, leaning forward to press a teasing kiss to your lips, “Tell me that the thought of me even talking to another girl makes your skin crawl.”

Don’t let him get cocky, a voice prevails in the back of your mind, despite the accuracy of his words. Tell him he’d have to have an ounce of game for you to be remotely worried, tell him the only thing that makes your skin crawl is his incessant need to mouth off all the time. Tell him, tell him, tell him!

“I was jealous,” you breathe out instead, chasing the victorious smirk that stretches across his lips in the hopes you can kiss it away.

Jealous of a girl you’ve never met, in a relationship with another man, pregnant with his child, not remotely interested in Luke.

A girl who gets to see him all the time, who knows him probably in ways you might never, who he cares enough about to want to gift her something meaningful. Who he casually texts and smiles at his phone as he’s doing so, who he and Jack talk affectionately about in ways they’ll never talk about you.

You’ve officially lost it.

“And if you don’t touch me in the next 3 seconds,” you carry on, scrambling to claw back one single iota of your dignity, your hands gripping at his broad shoulders, “I won’t let you touch me again.”

Luke laughs. Practically snorts at you, eyes crinkling in the corners in pure amusement. Your dignity is long gone.

“1,” you start, your voice shakier than you’d ever like it to be, and his hands move to either side of your hips, clutching at the edge of the dresser.

“2,” you didn’t think you could sound worse than before, definitely longer than a second ago, but you’re quickly proven wrong as you watch him leverage that grip to push himself upright, creating a distance between the two of you that drains all the heat from your body.

“3.” he finishes, taking a step back and watching you with unadulterated hunger in his eyes, daring you to follow through with your threat - and the smug idiot knows you won’t.

He knows it’s coming, even anticipates the way in which you pounce on him, arms ready to catch you when you throw yourself down onto the ground in front of him, landing with a quick thud that jolts you straight into him. Hands at either side of his face pull him down, and he does half of the work in bending his back so it isn’t as clumsy.

You tangle yourself up in him, legs twisting between each other until you’re stumbling toward the bed, and it’s as soon as you get your fingers back into his hair, as soon as his hands are pushing your top up, grazing at the warm skin of your back, that you hear a call of your name.

You falter back from him just as the door swings open, managing to create a reasonable amount of distance as Ellie swaggers in, voice still raised as she asks, “Have you seen my-,” It’s Luke that she sees first, eyes zeroing in on his flushed face with pin-point accuracy, her brows furrowing as she takes him in, heaving chest and messy hair and all. “Lip gloss?”

Lip gloss? Is she joking?

“You came all the way back up here for lip gloss?” You ask, still slightly breathless and brain fogged, and feeling very much like you’ve just put all your chips on the table and watched them get swept away in seconds.

You watch as Ellie’s eyes dart to Luke’s mouth, watch him grow conscious of the balmy coating smeared across his lips, and you feel your heart stop in it’s place, your chest squeezing in anticipation of a thump thump thump that doesn’t come.

“No,” she mutters, diverting her attention back to you with a sobering shake of her head. “Balm,” she corrects, “The kind with SPF, I think I’m burning, I didn’t realise me and Jack were gonna be gone all morning.”

“Uhm, yeah,” you breathe, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ears in the hopes it helps cool your head down, some. “I have some in my bag.”

Your tote is on the dresser you had just been placed on yourself, and you use the opportunity to dig through it to will the burning sensation in your ears away, levelling out your breathing as you root around for a tube of lip balm you know is in there somewhere.

“Could you check for my car keys, too? I was thinking we could drop by the mall for lunch. Catch up” She adds, with a forced wiggle of her brows, clearly what she had actually come up here for, and you fish those out too, throwing them across to her. “Quinn’s looking for you before you go, Luke, something about a list.”

“I should go check what he wants,” Luke mumbles, putting another few steps of distance between you before he offers an awkward wave, and departs the room with heavy feet that you hear stomp all the way down the hall, the last thing you see of him being a skinny, lopsided crochet giraffe poking out of his back pocket.

Apparently Jack’s plans of keeping some element of surprise for the party had gone out of the window as soon as he had got her alone - and you’re kind of grateful for the fact.

Keeping secrets from Ellie is stressful - you of all people would know, you’ve somehow managed to keep a pretty big one from her all summer - and she usually has a way of figuring things out on her own.

You probably would have folded to her - just the two of you out together, sipping smoothies in the food court at the mall - if he hadn’t already filled her in one the plans for the night.

It makes up a little for his lack of effort, earlier - especially now that your hands are clear of it. You don’t know how much you trust the guys to put something together while you and Ellie are looking for an outfit for her, but you have no choice but to leave them to it. Jack had reassured you he had everything under control, and despite the absurdity of that statement, it’s nice for that panic you had been feeling earlier to have been flushed away.

“I think tonight’s the night,” Ellie sighs dreamily, elbow resting on the table and her chin in the palm of her hand, “We had this really deep conversation while we were out walking, and he pretty much told me he has feelings for me, he was really nervous, it was kind of cute.”

“I’ll take your word for the cute thing,” you chuckle, sipping at your smoothie and smiling at how happy she looks. It’s nice to hear, her having hope about the situation for once, instead of dread or fear.

“He said you two spoke at his cousin’s wedding,”

“It was nothing,” you shrug, “He didn’t need any interference from me to realise he likes you, El, he just needed a nudge.”

“I can hardly call you out on interfering,” her lips twist, nervously, “I’ve kind of been doing the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you think I’ve been hanging out with Cole so much all summer?”

“Cole?” You frown, leaning back into your chair, “You’ve lost me.”

When you’d last spoken to Ellie about Cole, she had told you they just got along, and there was nothing more to it - and you had no reason to believe otherwise. When you and Luke had been in the midst of your own interference, and you had been playing third wheel to their hangouts, they had been getting along. Almost like siblings. Cole never flashed her those flirty winks or toothy grins that he gave everyone else.

“He’s into you.” She says, finger swiping in the ring left behind from her smoothie cup on the table, “And I was kind of giving him advice on how to approach you. I figured you wouldn’t mind, ‘cause he’s like your normal type, and you seemed like you liked him-,”

“I’m sorry, you think I like Cole?”

You’re taken aback. You don’t remember giving any sort of indication you were ever into Cole Caufield.

Maybe you could have been, before this summer - would have probably fallen victim to his cheeky smiles or his teasing banter. He’s probably closer to your usual type, if you even have one. Confident, with a presence that sort of demands attention. But you realise, now, your attention should be earned - in more than just a flash of cute teeth and boyish features.

In dumb jokes told just to bring you out of a bad mood, and a car with the AC dialled up waiting for you after a shift on a hot day. In hands that offer you help before you ever have to ask, and eyes that see so far beyond what version of yourself you try to put out there.

You could have liked Cole, in another world, or another life, if another boy wasn’t around.

“I did until I walked in on you kissing Luke, earlier.”

You blink slowly at her, mouth agape as she stares blankly back.

What the fuck?

“I wasn’t kissing Luke,” you scoff, denial making your face twist in funny ways that you can even feel look deranged. “We were talking.”

“Into each other’s open mouths?” She snickers, “Unless he’s been digging around in our stuff when we’re not around, I can’t think of any other reason he’d have left the room with Summer Fridays Vanilla Beige smeared all over his lips.”

“It was Brown Sugar, actually.” You correct her, guiltily, hoping the words you mutter next through pouted lips don’t quite make it to her ears. “He says it’s sweeter.”

“Oh my God.” She guffaws, mouth agape and eyes wide in realisation. “How long has this been going on?”

“Nothing’s going on,” you deny, although you can feel heat creeping up your neck, already. “We just get along-,”

“We get along, and you don’t welcome me home with an open mouth.”

“Ellie-,”

“Listen, he’s not just some guy that you can mess around with, he’s way deeper into you than you probably realise, and-,”

“I like him, okay?” you blurt out, voice just loud enough to be heard over her rambling but not enough to carry anywhere else, and the silence that follows is almost deafening - prolonged in a way that you can’t even remember if you said anything, or not.

But the way Ellie is looking at you tells you enough.

Why is everyone so caught up on you breaking his heart?

As if you aren’t putting the entirety of yours on the line.

“Luke?” She asks, like the two of you haven’t just been talking about him. “You like Luke Hughes?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, leaning onto your elbows and pressing the palms of your hands to your face, eyes scrunching tight to try clear up some mind space to make sense of what it is you’re admitting to.

It makes sense already, to you. Verbalising it is the problem.

He’s charming, he’s funny, he makes you laugh, most times unintentionally but that doesn’t make your feelings dwindle in the slightest.

He’s weirdly passionate about that one horse movie and won’t shut up trying to get you to watch it with him, but it’s endearing in a way that you want to kiss him to shut him up. Or maybe even watch it, God forbid.

He literally never stops eating, but it’s like his body is in tune to yours now, and he always makes double if he feels like you might be hungry so you don’t ever have to ask, which is weirdly sweet.

When you lay beside him in the middle of the night, you don’t feel pressured to do anything other than talk.

And when you do, he listens to you - retains information and checks up in a way that makes you feel seen, makes you feel a way you haven’t in a really long time. He doesn’t talk over you, or dismiss your feelings, or try to change the topic when things go a little too deep or get a little heavy. He shares the load, asks questions that make you think and process things in a new way, and he isn’t patronising when he does so. He doesn’t say things that sound like they’re straight out of a Psych 101 textbook like your feelings are valid or what makes you think that?

And he compares your wildly different worlds in a way that doesn’t feel like a competition. His troubles aren’t worse than yours, his life isn’t harder.

You’re equals.

You’ve never felt like anyone’s equal, not even Ellie.

It’s like with all the other parts of your life that make you hurt, make you feel small and insignificant - they fade away when you’re with Luke.

His corner of your world is bright - despite the seemingly inexhaustible snark-meter constantly ticking between you two - it’s easy, doesn’t weigh down on you or make your chest feel tight, not in that way, at least.

You’ve been introduced to a whole new influx of feelings in your chest by Luke.

You can give in to the ugly side of yourself that wants to bite at him until there’s nothing left, to push whenever he gets a little too close, and you don’t have to worry that you’ll scare him off or push too far, ‘cause he’ll just pull you with him and bite back - only, it doesn’t hurt like when anyone else does it. Somehow, you think he savours the parts that other people might spit out - chews and swallows and rubs at his belly in satisfaction like you’re the best meal he’s ever had.

Despite all the other things that have shattered your heart, Luke Hughes makes it feel whole, again.

And it should make you feel sick - lovey-dovey stuff like that usually does, your walls shooting straight up at the first sign of affection from anybody, metaphorical sneakers on and carrying your legs as far and as fast as they can run - but this doesn’t.

You don’t want to run from Luke, not really.

“I thought you said he was dorky and annoying.”

You’re pretty sure she had been the one to say that, at some point, but you don’t remember arguing the fact, so you don’t bring it up.

“He is.” You pout. He’s also apparently inevitable. “He kinda crept up on me, I guess.”

Ellie is quiet for a minute as she watches you, eyes narrowing as she takes you in - shoulders slumped, lips pouted, defeated.

“Why not just tell him, then? Why hide it?” She asks, leaning onto the table too until your faces are level when you peak up at her, “You know he likes you back, right? He’s got the biggest crush on you, it’s borderline problematic.”

“I don’t know, I don’t really understand why he likes me.”

“Does it matter?”

It does. You don’t want to keep running, but you can’t really help it. There’s something ingrained deep within you that is trying to shelter yourself from all the ways in which succumbing to these feelings will inevitably hurt you.

“Luke’s way smarter than me, and he’s way more successful, he’s kind and he’s generous, he comes from a great family, has this great house, we have literally nothing in common, and he doesn’t see that now because he just thinks he’s attracted to me, and he likes that I don’t just fold to him because he’s some superstar, but the second that’s gone,” you sigh, trying to swallow down the hurt in your voice, blink away the onslaught of tears, “He’ll just get bored of me like everybody else does, and then he’ll be gone. And I’ll just be some girl he broke up with and left behind, and that’s all I’ll ever be.”

Ellie frowns, a strained mutter of your name called as her hand falls to yours in an attempt to comfort you. “You’ll never know if you don’t try, babe.”

“No, I know.”

It’s all you’ve ever known.

Men who start off treating you like some prized possession - cherishing you, making you feel valued and loved - and the second the shine wears off, the second something even newer, even brighter, even sparklier, crosses their path, they’re gone.

And you’re left behind wondering what it is about you that keeps driving them to leave.

It happened with your dad, with his new wife and their perfect kids - the boys he always wanted, who he never had to force himself to like. The dream family he abandoned you to pursue. It happened with Jamie, with all the girls he saw after you, with the way he never even looked your way again, even after all the secrets you shared, and the promises he made. With all those other boys who never saw you as anything more than a fabricated story to spread for a few brownie points with their buddies in the locker room.

It will happen again.

These feelings you have for Luke - the comfort he gives, the contentment, the ease in conversation, the warmth he bathes you in until your skin prunes and he seeps in through the cracks - they’re better kept to yourself. It’s easier that way, to keep this whole heart under lock and key, not giving anyone a chance to break parts off and keep it for themselves.

It’s almost perfect the way it is.

Safe, even from the clutches of the boy who pieced it back together, brick by laborious brick.

“There isn’t long left of the summer, anyway,” you go for a nonchalant shrug, but your shoulders feel heavy, and it turns out more like an arduous huff. “I doubt he’s shy of female attention back in Jersey, he’ll forget I ever existed before he even knows it.”

“You should talk to him,” Ellie suggests, “At least let him know where you stand, even if it’s to tell him things can’t go further.”

The thought of it is too daunting. Looking into those gleaming green eyes and laying your heart on the line.

You can pretend all you want to Ellie, to yourself, even, that you wouldn’t want more, but you don’t think you could keep up the show with him.

“He deserves at least that.”

And damn it, she’s right.

Maybe he even deserves a proper chance.

Luke never thought he’d regret kissing you for any reason, but he’s wishing he had practiced some restraint up in your room, earlier.

If he hadn’t advanced on you, had let you pack your bag and got you out of the house before Ellie and Jack got back, he could have followed through on his plan of action for the day.

A plan he’d been hyping himself up for, all week - getting you on your own, talking things out, maybe even asking you out. Properly. Not just dinner at the mall, but a real date. Planned, perfected. A fancy dinner, or a trip to the movies. A picnic blanket laid out somewhere with a nice view, and an abundance of your favourite snacks.

He wants to kiss you without having to hide it, anymore.

He wants to walk with you tucked under his arm. Wants to have you in his lap when there’s too many people over at the house, and the group are struggling for space on the couches in the den.

He also sort of wants peace of mind, but what’s that compared to not having to sneak around, anymore.

He’d made his mind up in the morning, waking up beside you at 5am, rousing you from your sleep with soft mutterings of your name, and lips pressed to your cheek until he could feel you smile.

“Hi,” your voice had been croaky, and your movements slow, shuffling against him as your skin became illuminated by the soft glow of the rising sun slipping through the gap in the curtains. Your legs had been tangled with his under the sheets, and you did little to untangle them, and he was tempted to lock his so that you couldn’t.

“Hey,” he mumbled, lips still moving against your skin, nipping at your cheek, your jaw, your throat, and your fingers rose until they clutched at the back of his hair, curls wrapping around them as you held him in place.

“What time is it?”

“Around five,” his own hands landed on your waist, slipping under the hem of your tank, and trying to savour the warmth of your skin, your body hot from being against his all night. “Figured you’d need to be a little earlier today with it being Ellie’s birthday and all.”

“Thank you,” you used your soft grip on his curls to tug, until his face left the crook of your neck, and you blinked softly, smiled sweetly, and he felt his heart beat at twice the normal speed. You leant up and kiss him, straight on the lips, and he smiled against you just as you pulled away.

He felt cold all over as soon as you detached yourself, and he rolled onto his side to watch as you stood, arms raised to stretch and lifting the bottom of your tank top to rise up your belly.

He felt robbed. Like he deserved longer with you, and it had been as you crawled back over your side of his bed, and had kissed him once more before leaving, that he had decided he needed to do something about it.

His original plan had been to steal you away at some point in the night, everyone else too distracted by the party to notice or care, but being teamed up with you to go get decorations seemed like it would work too.

Until Jack came back and fucked his plans up.

Jack said that he would go get the food with Turcs, that he had already paid for a cake, and he had to show his ID when he picked it up. He said Ellie shouldn’t have to do anything, and that you would be the best person for her to do nothing with, which left Luke picking up decorations with Cole.

It wasn’t that he minded Cole’s company, but Cole isn’t you.

He probably could have tucked Cole under his arm as they walked side by side through target and picked up a bunch of of banners and streamers, given the logistics of their height difference, but it wouldn’t have been as cute.

He has managed to get a lot of unexpected information though. And of course, his only thought is that he can’t wait to share it with you.

Cole tells Luke how he and Ellie have only been hanging out all summer to make Jack jealous.

He bites his tongue to refrain from telling him that sort of trick doesn’t work on his brother, but Cole seems too pleased with himself for Luke to rain on his parade, and he finds it kind of funny that everyone’s been working to get the two of them to wake up to their feelings, not just you and him.

Cole might have even ended up putting more effort into it than you and Luke did, acting as a go-between for Jack and Ellie, and raising the stakes for both of them to make a move.

“And what do you get out of any of that?” Luke chuckles as he works at taking the banners out of their plastic wrapping, Cole taking the plastic and putting it straight into the trash.

The smile drops as soon as Cole says your name, though, and Luke’s hands stop in place. “Ellie’s been giving me insider info. I’m primed and ready to make a move.”

“Wait, I’m sorry,” Luke frowns, “You like her? Since when?”

He tries not to let the panic stirring in his chest reflect on his features, but it’s hard.

Cole and Ellie had been hanging out for a long time, now. He can’t have been into you that whole time, right? Not without saying anything to anyone else - Cole is kind of mouthy, like that. Word would have got back around to Luke if Cole’s liked you for months.

“Since I met her. She’s a really cool girl, really funny.” Cole scoffs, hand reaching out for more trash. “And she’s, like, one of the hottest girls I’ve ever seen, you know?”

Of course Luke knows. He’s seen the most beautiful sides to you - soaked head to toe from a garden hose, eyes crinkled from laughter, or the aftermath, curled up on a couch with just-dry hair and heart opening up to him for the very first time. In an orange baseball cap and a Mets jersey, twirling as you exit one of the fitting rooms you had found in the mall, a big cute grin on your face as you allow yourself to dorky with Luke, and only with Luke. Sat out on the fountain at the club, skin bathed in the glistening moonlight and your heart thumping in the palm of his tender hands. Laid beside him in the early hours of the morning, soft snores falling from between your lips and hair splayed out against his pillow.

But he can’t exactly say that to Cole - who has apparently been working to pursue you this entire time without Luke ever catching on.

“Ellie says I’m her type, so I don’t know why I’m stressing about asking her out-,”

“Out like on a date? Like you want to date her?”

Luke knows he sounds like an idiot without Cole giving him the weirded-out look he gives, but he’s starting to lose out to the dread that is flooding the pit of his stomach. He stumbles to follow Cole out of the kitchen and into the living room, where they had set up a step ladder before to hang the decorations.

“You really think I’d be trying so hard if I didn’t?” Cole scoffs, “Catch up, Luke, I’m trying to end my summer with a girlfriend-,”

“She’s hardly girlfriend material.”

The words taste sour in the mouth that moves before his brain has time to think - sour enough that he has to try not to grimace, wishing he could suck them back in and swallow them back down like they never came out.

“What do you mean?” Cole asks, his features dropping into a frown. “I thought you two were getting along.”

“We are,” he agrees, despite it seeming like an understatement, but words are starting to pour out before he can filter them, and he can already feel himself getting carried away. “And she’s a nice enough person, don’t get me wrong, but I just don’t think it would work out with her like that.”

“You think she’d be hard work?”

He knows you are. But he likes you that way. He doesn’t want anyone else to worm their way into your good graces like he has.

“Yeah,” he huffs, “She’s always out, and always flirting with guys at the club, you’ve seen it.” He knows he’s pulled that out of his ass, but what else is he supposed to say?

“I think she’s just fishing for tips, Lukey,” Cole chuckles, and Luke’s cheeks flush with humiliation at the pet name. He feels small, like he’s just something that Caufield can steam roll straight over without much protest. “Can’t blame her, some of those guys have deep pockets.”

“I’ve just heard stuff, you know.”

“Like what?”

Jesus Christ, Cole, he thinks, wishing he’d just take his word for it and get over you, already. As if it would ever be that easy. He doesn’t particularly enjoy saying these things out loud - using the words you had so carefully confided in him against you - but there’s a panicked desperation creeping up within him, becoming possible to ignore, and it’s cancelling out all other rational thoughts in his brain.

The second you find out Cole Caufield is interested, you’ll no longer have any need for Luke.

Luke, who your every conversation with starts or ends with some sort of bickering argument, who annoys you to no end, who riles you up like it’s what he was put on this very Earth to do.

Cole is charming, he’s always had an ease when it comes to talking to girls that Luke never quite found in himself, and he’ll win you over in no time - and that’s if you aren’t interested, already.

But Luke is building up to that.

He’s been building up to it all summer.

Even before then, without entirely knowing it.

The two of you have something, even if you refuse to admit it. You wouldn’t have kissed him all those times, otherwise, wouldn’t have come to his bed in the middle of the storm those weeks ago, and almost every night since he came back from Vegas, wouldn’t have slept with him before he left, wouldn’t have begged him to give in to you - not if you weren’t interested in him.

You’ve shared parts of yourself he knows no one’s ever seen, and he can’t let that be for nothing.

But now the rug is being pulled out from under him, and all he can do to cling on to the edges with an idiotic possessiveness that curls his upper lip and brings his heart to a screeching stop.

“Like how she’s with a different guy every week at Michigan. Apparently she gets around.”

“Oh,” Cole frowns, and Luke watches as his face turns, his own fists clenching at the urge to take it all back, to defend her and call Cole out on his immediate shift despite it being his own fault.

He’s made his bed, now. He has to lie in it.

“Ellie didn’t mention all that stuff.”

“She’s hardly gonna call her friend easy.” Luke scoffs, and he thinks the way the words are spat out of his mouth is some sort of reflection of the way his lips don’t want to say them. Like they’re disgusted that his brain would even conceptualise them enough to be spoken. “Especially when you were doing her a favour with the whole Jack thing.”

“I don’t know man, I think you’ve got the wrong idea of her.”

Luke rolls his eyes as Cole makes his way back toward the step ladder, banner in hand, jaw tensing as he scrambles to think of something to stop this.

“She’s not the kind of girl you date,” he manages to call out, despite the tremor in his voice, every fibre of his being fighting the words from being spoken. “And there’s like a month left before we all leave for camp, so if you were to start anything, it would just be for the summer, anyway.”

“Jack and Ellie have started something with just a month left.”

“That’s not the same thing, they’ve been into each other for years, they text and call all the time, nothing’s really changing for them except for a label, you really think you’re gonna keep that up after just a couple months of knowing her?”

He reaches out for the other end of the banner and holds it as Cole positions his side, lip tugged between his teeth and a frown on his face as he mulls Luke’s words over.

“You’ll be in Montreal, and she’ll be here, and you’ll be focusing on hockey, and training, and you won’t have time to keep up something serious with a girl you barely know.”

He tries not to think about how it’s the same distance to Jersey - an almost 2 hour flight - and how he’d be doing the exact same thing, swept up into the season before he knows it and potentially doing nothing but letting you down.

“And you know what she’s like, she’d find something to argue about with a monk, for God’s sake,” he scoffs, brows furrowed so hard he can feel the tension in his forehead, “All you’d get from her is an earache. She’s not worth it.”

Cole turns to narrow his eyes at Luke, but something else over the top of his head catches his attention, instead, and the surprised muttering of your name turns Luke’s blood to ice.

Frozen in place, eyes wide, heart thudding in his ears, he waits with bated breath for something to happen - for Cole to break into a shit-eating grin, and tell him he’s just fucking around. For the ground to swallow him up. For anyone - literally anybody else - to respond.

But your voice carries straight over to him. Travels through his ears, ricochets around the cavern of his skull, shoots down his spine and makes his legs go numb.

“We uhm,” your tone is shaky, and Luke, for the first time, maybe, ever, hates the way you sound. “We were just checking if you needed a hand with the decorations.”

He turns slowly, and it’s Ellie’s eyes he meets first. Pointed, narrowed, betrayed, even, she glares at him like he’s just kicked a wounded animal right in front of her.

“You can’t decorate your own party,” Cole laughs from behind Luke, as Luke’s attention drifts slowly your way.

His eyes meet yours, and he can see the watery glaze over them from across the room. Can see your throat working to gulp down your hurt as your lips twist.

Ellie says something in response, and he vaguely hears Cole speak too, but all that he can focus on is the blood rushing around his head, a whooshing and whirring that makes him feel like his ears are about to pop, or his brain is about to explode. His lips part to speak, to say something, anything, to explain what you had clearly overheard, but your gaze drops to the floor, and he sees your walls build back up right before his eyes, brick by brick, cementing themselves back in place.

He’s such an idiot.

He’s such a monumental asshole.

The last time he had seen tears in your eyes had been sat by the fountain at the club - he had wiped them away, and had promised you he had your back, and you had just caught him having anything but with Cole. And all that after you had told him why you had ever been hesitant to let anyone in the first place.

He doesn’t think he’s ever messed up like this.

He steps forward, unsteady on his feet, and you step back, still not able to look him in the eye again, before turning on your heel and making your way upstairs.

Luke hears the stomp of your feet as you go, watches Ellie go after you, wishing it could be him, and stands, motionless, until he feels a firm pat on his back.

“Don’t worry, man,” Cole says, “She’s cool, she’ll be over it after a couple of drinks.”

Luke doesn’t even think he says anything coherent when he responds, a grunt or a grumble - it can’t have been words, because he can’t even form them in his brain.

“I’m gonna ask her out tonight, anyway,” Cole chuckles, “So what you said won’t even mean anything.”

Great.

He’s just fucked things up with one of the greatest people in his life, the girl of his dreams, and it doesn’t even mean anything.

Not the kind of girl you date.

Not worth it.

All that from the boy who supposedly had your back not that long ago. The first guy in a long time, maybe even ever, to make you feel secure, and safe, and like you could trust someone again.

Luke thinks you’re an earache.

He thinks you’re argumentative, and only worthy of a brief, summer fling - that keeping up anything with you when he goes home would be a waste of the time and energy he should be dedicating to hockey.

And he’s probably right, you think.

It’s only what you’ve been telling yourself in the back of your mind all summer. Self-deprecating thoughts about how he’s far too good for you, and you’re only interesting when he can’t have you, and he’ll get tired of you before you can even realise he’s already drifted off.

Ellie had told you all the way back in your freshman year that the two of you weren’t a good fit. Jack had been telling Luke the same all summer. And you had only just managed to convince yourself otherwise on the drive back to the lake house from the mall.

You can hardly blame him for being two steps ahead.

You think that’s why you can’t bring yourself to cry - the sting of tears prickling persistently but never pushing through, eyes watering so much you can’t even put on mascara without the fear of it trickling down your face and ruining the rest of your makeup.

You’d tried crying, before. Had ran up to your room and had sat on the other side of your bed, hidden from the door and knees pressed to your chest. Your breath had stuttered, and your lips had trembled, but the tears wouldn’t fall, try as you might to have made them.

And when Ellie had found you, had sat beside you with an arm stretched over your shoulders, you had tried, then, too.

And it would be your luck that as soon as you press the inky substance into your lashes that they would finally fall, so you’ve been sat trying to wish them away for the past ten minutes - the tube clutched in a death grip in your hands as you sit at the makeshift vanity you and Ellie had set up all those weeks ago when you had moved in, taking deep breaths and willing the hurt to go away.

It’s where Luke finds you after knocking with no response - you barely remember hearing it - shuffling wordlessly into the room and perching himself down behind you on the edge of the bed.

You see him in the mirror, your eyes darting away before his can meet them in the reflection, and you stiffen your shoulders, bracing yourself for the blow.

“I didn’t mean any of what you heard.”

You breathe out a humourless chuckle, bitterness settling into the pit of your stomach and your lips trembling with resistance.

“I mean it, I don’t think those things about you, I promise, I-,”

“It doesn’t even matter,” you cut him off with a roll your eyes, pushing the mascara tube toward the mirror and figuring you’re just gonna go without.

“I was panicking, and it just came out like word vomit, and I feel really sick about it, and really stupid, and I wish I could take it all back-,”

“I said it doesn’t matter.” You meet his eyes this time, trying not to fall for just how distraught he looks behind you in the mirror.

“Of course it matters,” he frowns, and you look away as soon as he pushes himself up, knowing he’s coming for you. “I need you to know that I would never have said those things-,”

“You said them, Luke,” you scoff, “What do you mean you would never have said them, you literally did.”

“I know-,”

“It doesn’t matter-,”

“Can you stop saying that!” He frowns, appearing at the side of you, hands gripping your shoulders to get you to face him. “I’m trying to explain this to you, I’m trying to fix things, and you’re-,”

“What, giving you an earache?”

All those weeks ago, the backs of your legs sticking to the bench in the booth in the restaurant, leaning over the table and sparring back and forth with him, you had convinced yourself that he liked it.

That the glint in his eye was indication of as much, the twitch at the corner of his lips, the way he would bite back without a second to think about it, and had matched your every effort to get one over on him.

You had thought the two of you had something real. Something you had never found with anyone else. Quick wit, and similar senses of humour, shared boundaries, a mutual level of respect.

You had thought his persistence had been something that would stick.

And clearly, you thought wrong.

He whispers out an utterance of your name that hurts like fingers wrapped around your throat - clenching and squeezing until you go hot in the head.

“I keep saying it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t, Luke. You were right, we wouldn’t have been able to keep this up past the summer, anyway.”

Luke’s brows furrow your way, eyes darting between yours as his lips part to speak, but nothing comes out.

“You’re going back to Jersey soon, I’m going back to school, it was fun while it lasted but things have run their course.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“We both do.” You shrug, wearing your feigned indifference like armour, just like you know so well to do. “You don’t say the things you said on a whim, Luke, some part of you has to believe that they’re true.”

“I don’t-,”

“I’m giving you a chance to cut things off with no hard feelings-,”

“No hard feelings?” His disbelief cuts through you a little, the hurt in his eyes and the scrunch of his features, too, but if you give in, now, you’re setting yourself up for a world of hurt.

You had barely just built up the courage to give your heart to him, in whatever shape he had scrunched and squeezed it into before, and he had already managed to bruise it. Giving in will only result in it breaking.

“I have feelings. I have feelings for you. And I know you have feelings for me, too, you can’t pretend you don’t-,”

“It doesn’t-,”

“It matters.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound like this - so sure, so serious, so raw - and when he takes a hold of your face, hands cupping your jaw, tender but firm, and forces you to look at him, you see the same in his features. “Cole is into you. And he said he was gonna ask you out, and I panicked trying to convince him not to. I should have had faith that you would have turned him down. And I should have been honest, and I should have told him that I’m into you. More than into you, I think I-,”

“I wouldn’t have turned him down.”

You lie with such ease that it makes your heart ache more than the truth, but it’s the only thing you can do to protect it.

If you let Luke carry on, you’ll let him back in.

You can’t let him back in.

Not with the tears that now well his eyes, or the way his face drops like you’ve just struck him in the gut - pained and powerless.

“What?”

Your hands shake in your lap so much you have to clench them shut, knuckles turning white as Luke’s touch slips from your skin.

“If he asked me out, I would have said yes.”

Luke runs a hand through his hair, blinking repeatedly before he tears his gaze away from yours, and you feel like you can see his walls building - a sight that should flood you with relief, but doesn’t.

“So, what, everything we’ve been through together, all the things we’ve done, all the things we’ve said, you’re just gonna throw it all away like none of it matters?”

You can hear the hurt - can feel it even, clawing at your skin as if it’s trying to find a way to dig past the barriers you’ve put in place.

But you have to do this.

“I guess not.”

Luke was always going to hurt you. Was going to burrow himself through whatever cracks you left bare to him, weasel his way into your heart and tear it from the inside out. And maybe you were always going to do the same to him.

“Alright then,” he mutters, robotic and distant, with his eyes stuck on the floor.

He stands from where he had been crouched beside you, backing away before turning completely, and he walks away in long strides, the door to your bedroom closing with a soft click behind him.

The tear that falls when he’s gone does so slowly. You feel it trail all the way down your cheek from the corner of your eye, until it drops, almost audibly, from your jaw and onto your lap.

And then the rest follow, uncontrollable and unrelenting.

Inevitable, just like he had said.

A/N: so...... please don't hate me I wrote the ending first lmao!! I imagine this will cause riots in the streets tbh but please let me know what you think hahahah this whole story has become my baby!! she's problematic but she's mine!!!!

#luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #luke hughes fluff #*writing #luke hughes one shot #luke hughes fanfiction

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crsssie · 2 days ago

Text

pretty blonde curls

word count: 11.6k || College Frat AU || banner by @temmmry

warnings: mentions of sexual assault (not from reader or curly), depictions of violence (reader beats jimmy up), smut (2 scenes)

summary: "Me or him, Grant?"

Curly would say it takes quite a bit for it to get through his head that someone likes him.

He recalls an early moment in college when he had only been part of the frat, four drinks in before he had been raising a brow at one of the girls who had detached from Jimmy and found him, her frustration evident when she had whined that she was trying to ask him out — only to be met with a quiet "oh" from him and an apologetic shake of his head.

He's not stupid when someone's trying to sleep with him, though. Playing stupid when someone wants to hook up with him is always easier than saying no. It's the same as dressing baggy on campus to avoid attention.

"Too attractive," Jimmy tells him.

Curly doesn't see it, remnants of his health problems evident on the stretch marks on his shoulders, insecurity creeping down his sides and across his stomach onto his thighs — but it's all easy to hide. It makes him less scary to approach when he's on the board by his second and third year of the frat. He had been tugged along by Jimmy — which he's thankful for, really. But Jimmy complains about how much easier it seems for Curly to move up the ranks when he brings a different chick home every other day.

So, when the discussions for the next president creep out, it comes to no one's surprise that Curly is president, but everyone's shocked that Jimmy's the VP.

It's easy for Curly to be elected as the face of the frat, clean record, and everyone's favorite from none else but hard work. His professors appreciate his sincerity, and he had been in contact with many of the executives of the school since he was elected as VP. It's easy for it to be him simply because everyone knows he's reliable enough for it — and he knows when to stop. A clean slate — impossible to break and crumble down the name he has built. False accusations of sexual assault never lasted long. Curly was simply too clean for it.

It was almost always Jimmy's fault when it came to it.

But some people steer clear of the frat and its members in general, and while Curly has been dense when people liked him, he understood. Someone who refuses all advances and plays stupid the same way he does at the parties is agitating. He can't complain but, really, he wishes he'd be at least given a chance.

"Not with you alone, no." You click through your schedule. "I told you, Grant. I don't want... you know."

"He won't—"

"It never ends well. You know the rumors spreading about your vice president. You've not got bloodless hands just because it wasn't you, you know? A friend who does nothing to help is just as guilty." You slide your books into your bag, looking around.

"Not under the law—"

"Maybe." You wave bye to him after class, calling at your friends who have come to pick you up.

Curly understands your hesitation. You don't dislike him — visible from the way you're still friends with him, but you refuse to go out with him to hang out or anything else similar unless he could guarantee you wouldn't bump into any of his brothers. You refuse to be out with him even if all of the professors like him because it'd be terrifying to put yourself at risk of being so close to someone on campus who was known to be a sleaze. The election of Jimmy into the frat board threw you off more when he had called you one night.

You'd built more distance when you had found out.

You know he's not the same, but you didn't ever want to be on Jimmy's radar, and Curly had done a good job not showing you at all to anyone he knew so far, and you only prayed it would continue like that.

Curly understands what you mean. His hands aren't bloodless. Jimmy's smeared blood onto his palms and he's washed it off more times than necessary — dried skin from the bleaching far too many times. He can't count how many times he's had to step in and tell Jimmy that taking home the plastered girl from the party wasn't a smart idea and how people had to get checked for drugs because while getting high would be pleasant, someone coming for the frat because one of the members had slipped in a date rape drug to assault someone would not. He's stern about that, and not even Jimmy is allowed any wiggle room.

But it doesn't matter how much he does to make sure that the parties thrown are safe for all. You still refuse to associate with him too much.

At least the frat's name is growing thanks to his effort.

"Presentation night in three weeks." He mumbles to himself as he texts the board groupchat, fingers quick on his phone as he dabs at the sweat on his forehead with the towel.

"Oh, look who it is." You hum, head tilted as you start the treadmill next to him. "Presentation night? What are you presenting on?"

He beams at the sight of you. "Every single time I've had a complaint from the school addressed to me about the club since the start of the school year. Surprised to see you here. Thought you didn't like hanging with me in public."

"Jimmy's in class." You stretch your arms above your head, humming. "Just gotta make sure I don't bump into him."

"Yeah, he is— how'd you know?"

"A friend shares a class with him." You hit the treadmill twice, speeding up. "Warming up or cooling down?"

"Cooling down." Curly hums. "It's getting dark. I could walk you—"

"It's alright. Anya's class just ended." You wave at him dismissively. "See you in class tomorrow."

"See you."

You don't share a major with Curly. You had one class first semester of freshman together and then exchanged numbers — Curly had looked quite nerdy at the time, tall but lack of muscle evident on his face, and over the 15 weeks of instruction, he had lost the majority of his weight after you had told him you'd be down to be gym buddies with him. By spring, he had joined one of the frats and met Jimmy, and the two had stuck close since.

Gym with you is rarer these days, but still.

He claims you helped a lot early on, completely relaxed when you had mentioned casually that you'd be checking out the gym and were scared to do it alone — and the rest was history. He bulked up much faster than you reached your goal, and by the time that the semester came to an end, you couldn't count on two hands how many people had oogled at Curly when he passed them. You couldn't blame them. His biceps were museum-worthy.

The streaks of white on his back and shoulders that you caught wind of when he walked around in made him insecure. You'd caught it once when his shirt soaked through, and he had thrown his hoodie on almost immediately after. The stretch marks on his skin are oftentimes attributed to his height and muscle — never to his past.

He stares at himself in the mirror longer on some days, your voice in his ear as the two of you call. You do care, Curly knows. You just find Jimmy a bitch and hate him with a passion reserved for no one else.

"It'll be hot tomorrow." You hum. "You gonna go around in a long sleeve again?"

"Might wear a t-shirt." He glances at his back as he flexes, staring at the lines on his back.

"Won't you wear a tank so I can drool over those arms?"

"You and your obsession with muscles."

"Hey, it's not horrible."

"Says the one who took a whole digicam photo of my biceps back in year two."

"Hey."

"I'll tell you. You down to study on Saturday?"

"As long as you drive."

"You wouldn't go if I didn't."

"Maybe." You mumble. "Keep Jimmy away."

"And if he wants to come?"

"Tell him to kill himself."

"I can't do that, sweetheart."

"Sure you can, big guy."

Curly likes you. He thinks it's painfully obvious. His brothers in the frat find it painfully obvious. When he smiles at his phone there's an 11/10 chance that you're texting him, and it's much easier to ask him a question and get away with things when he's on call with you because he's barely listening to their question and wants them away from his door as soon as possible so he can continue to talk to you.

It's just a matter of fact that no one knows quite what you look like or what you sound like.

Curly keeps you in his ear at all times, and you never videocall him.

And if some of the frat brothers try to follow him to a coffee shop, Curly's got the sixth sense of a hawk and everyone's location, so as long as one person's by him, he refuses to let you out of the car, even if it means he goes in to grab your orders and you both sit on the car to study. Refuses to let you out or you refuse to get out. The frat just assumes that it's the former, so they stop trying to follow him out to the study sessions.

"They're not here." Curly offers you his hand, and you hum.

"Thank you, Grant."

"Of course."

"Is there a reason why they call you Curly?"

"Don't you think my last name sounds like my first?"

"Hm... I could see Grant as a last name, yeah." You pause. "You got a preference?"

"You get to use Grant 'cause you don't need t' treat me like a president."

"I suppose so. The professors like your last name better, too."

"I suppose." He lets you order first, glancing up at the menu as you finish grabbing your usual.

He thinks it's unsurprising that he likes you this much. You're easy to like and easy to take care of. The fact that you haven't left him despite his best friend's awful reputation was probably an act of mercy in itself. You never fail to remind him that he's part of the problem, though. Really. Truly. You're very much aware that Curly is constantly on thin ice when it comes to Jimmy, and there are lines that you draw to make sure that Curly can never quite get as close as he'd like to.

You refuse to let him do anything that would give anyone the wrong idea, and the furthest that Curly has managed to push you was the study sessions that you only allow on weekends and only go with him after he makes sure no one follows him out.

You refuse to be made public with him.

And it's not that you worry about your reputation or that you don't seem to like Curly — it's really as simple as how much you despise his best friend. Curly seems to have caught on early, never pushing much further than what you allow him. He lets you initiate everything so that you feel like you have more control. He understands how awful it can get when you feel as though you have no control over anything.

He knows what it feels like to have none.

So you're allowed to boss him around, he really doesn't mind it, and dare he say it, it's almost nice. It makes him feel all warm and domestic when you do. Sometimes you bring him back to your apartment when your housemate isn't home and study there, and he likes it. He likes the way you kick him under the dinner table as you swing your legs to focus. You prefer it to tapping your pen, but you also have the habit of biting the back of your pens and darting your tongue out to lick your bottom lip when it gets dry, and Curly can't help but notice the way your lips glisten with your saliva and wonder what it'd look like wrapped around his— not that he would ever actually do anything about it! The most he'll do is adjust the strain in his pants and let out a sigh.

Someone save him.

He likes you, painfully, though. His heart races when he sees you pass him and he thinks he lights up like the sun when you wave back. It's a little bit concerning. Maybe that's why he insists on studying with you despite the fact that your schedules barely match up and why he slots out his Saturday brunches to hang out with you to study and grab brunch because you never seem to have breakfast. He wonders if you do it on purpose or if you just have the worst eating habits on earth.

You don't let him pay even when he insists.

You draw a line between the two of you that gets painfully clearer and clearer to Curly, and he wonders if he's just somehow really into someone who could lowkey crush his heart if given the chance. He gets it to some extent. You don't like his friends, so by proxy you wouldn't be able to last with him anyway if the two of you could start dating. No. Not friends. Just Jimmy. You despise his best friend, and it's almost as if you're just waiting for him to slip up.

But you let Curly get away with more and more as the semester progresses. You bring him home once without checking if your roommates are there, and you blink as Anya stares back at you, waving slowly at Curly as he nods. Another time you pass a couple of his brothers while passing by the frat, and Curly has to cover up and tell them that he was just walking a classmate because it was late. It wasn't out of character for him to play it off as that. Most of his frat understands to respect his private life. After all, despite how reliable Curly was, most of the frat still didn't like burderning him all that much. It was easier to let things be and stay out of trouble.

Not that Curly gets any less complaints from faculty.

Jimmy's failing this class, this other brother is, and another, and another... Curly finds that it's quite annoying, and soon, he calls for the club to start hosting study sessions so that at least the professors wouldn't be complaining about how the frat life was getting in the way. He suspends nonessential parties for the time being and texts you that Saturdays aren't free anymore, and you laugh.

"They're grown ass men and can't study on their own?"

"Happens to everyone." Curly mumbles, glancing at the study group. "We're in this together."

"Anyone got their girlfriend over?"

"You... miss me?"

"Miss your muscles, gorgeous." You laugh from the other side, voice cutting off as you mute yourself.

Curly shakes his head, glancing at the guys in the room.

"You wanna come over?"

"Is Jimmy there?"

"Yeah."

"Then no."

"I still don't get your problem with him."

"Maybe you'd have to be a woman to find out." You hum. "If you wanna come over just let me know."

"You don't mind your roommates knowing?"

"Everyone's out for the weekend."

"Ah. I'll text you."

"Alright. See you around, big boy."

"See you around, sweetheart."

Curly doesn't think about Jimmy much. He's as much of a friend and maybe even more since he had introduced him to the frat, and although Jimmy's got a questionable reputation, Curly chooses to trust his friend. Jimmy isn't horrific in his eyes. He's just a guy who might come off as a sleaze, and maybe he's definitely questionable because of how seemingly little he cares for women, and maybe he's just... yeah, maybe Curly isn't understanding because Jimmy could never treat him the same way he treats the girls at the parties. Though, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Jimmy barely cares.

"Hey." Curly grabs a guy's shoulder, and the poor girl scurries off into the crowd of the party.

"Curly. Really?" He groans.

"No fucking the girls who look like they're terrified."

"So I can fuck someone who isn't?"

"Don't go harassing them."

Curly gives the guy two pats on the shoulder as he spots you at the door, grinning at one of the other guys.

"Oh, really?" You tilt your head. "Didn't realize the place was so big."

"I love it." The guy laughs, raising a brow as Curly steps over. "Curly."

Curly tilts his head at you, and you tilt your head to the side.

"Our president. Curly."

"Grant's fine." He holds his hand out for yours, and you take it, nodding as you shake on it. "New here?"

"Got invited by this nerd."

"ey."

"Affectionately, of course." You hum, patting the guy on the chest twice.

"I'll take her from here."

"Of course, prez."

Once you're far away enough, you meet eyes with Curly and laugh.

"You drink yet?"

"Wanted to experience one sober." You press against Curly as someone squeezes past you.

"Sober makes it boring, sweetheart."

"Well I can see someone certainly has gotten a drink or two in his system." You pinch at his cheek, and he brushes noses with you.

"Maybe."

"Where's my charming gym buddy?"

"Still here, sweets." He hums.

"Maybe." You push yourself off of him, glancing at the rest of the crowd. "Smells awful in here."

"It's why I don't invite you. Outside of you not caring, of course." He fistbumps a guy that passes, flicking his chin at him as you stare.

"You look real good, Grant." You tap his chest, humming as you glance in the corner of your eye.

"Why are you here? You hate being here because of..."

"Heard he'll be late. Wanted to come see you." You brush your nose up his jaw, and his eyes flutter as he hums.

"This is nice."

"Of course." Your palm finds his chest, and you hum quietly. "I'll head out in a bit. Just wanted to come say hi."

"Not staying?"

"Not for too long. Heard Jimmy would be late. Not gone." You tap his chest gently, and he presses his forehead to yours. He opens his phone and looks for Jimmy's location, humming as he buries his face in your neck.

"See you around?"

"My place tomorrow? Heard there was no study sesh tomorrow."

"Eleven?"

"Mhm."

"See you." He sends you off with a quick nod, and you're off past the door.

It's a quick call. He would have liked for you to stay longer, but Jimmy walks in five minutes after you're gone, and it's back to being friends with Jimmy.

It's a constant dichotomy - the difference between being friends with you and with Jimmy. You're so tame even when you kick him under the table, and you're in little to no trouble. Jimmy gets allegations every now and then at the parties, and Curly is always stuck cleaning up after him. Sweep them under the rug. It's fine. It wasn't anything — alright, maybe he's starting to get your point. He doubts he'd want to hang around Jimmy if he was a girl, but he isn't, so he gets a little leeway, maybe.

He doesn't even notice that you've settled between his legs on the floor, and he blinks down at you as you bare your teeth and smile at him.

"Hey."

"Hey." He swallows. "Something wrong? Dropped something?"

Your palm makes contact with his inner thigh, pushing them out as you prop your elbows to free your hands to work at his belt.

"Hey, sweetheart, hey—"

"Quiet." You mumble, poking at his dick through his boxers as you pull at the waistband, and Curly panics. No way you're doing this. You barely even like it when he holds open doors for you and offers to walk you home. You're definitely drunk or maybe you got your hands on some drugs or whatever because surely you're not—

You're taking him.

You're sucking him.

He blinks owlishly at you, your lips parted and skin glistening under him, lashes fluttering as you wrap a hand around his base, and he thinks he's going to pass out. Your mouth is painfully warm, and he reaches his fingers to thread through your hair, head thrown back in bliss as he—

His alarm rings, and Curly heaves, hand over his chest as heart threatens to break past his ribcage. God, fucking hell. He needs to fix his mind before you turn around and leave him for good for even thinking about you like that.

He'd argue that you probably know from the way you raise a brow at him on occasion, but better safe than sorry.

You're knocked out on the coffee table, eyes closed as you sit across him, and Curly adjusts the strain in his pants. It'd be rude to rub one out in your bathroom, but it'd also be uncomfortable for him to just let it sit there. He taps his fingers on the table as he stares at the drool that slides past your lips, humming to himself as you mumble to yourself.

He reaches to brush the hair out of your face, and your lashes flutter awake.

"Was I drooling?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry." You mumble.

"I should be sorry." He swallows. "You too tired for this?"

"Not too tired. Just tired." You mumble, yawning as you smush your cheek against the glass and blink at Curly. "You've got blonde lashes."

"Sure do." He stares back down at you, shifting his legs again.

"Do I gotta make a joke about how you're hard or are you just restless today?" You look away, staring at the blank screen across from you.

"Restless." He mumbles. He's sure the red on his ears is giving him away.

"Well, at least the GE will be out of the way." You kick at his leg from under the table, and you click your pen twice. "Don't got all day, big boy. Still have gym later."

"Yeah." He mumbles.

He doesn't see you for a while after that.

You go and flounce around and hole up in your room afterward, and Curly busies himself with the things of the frat and preparations for the pre-finals week party. It's never a smart choice but most people are going to find a party to go to anyway, so he might as well host one. Reputation has to be upheld anyway.

He texts the groupchat and everyone gets the drinks, and Curly checks the whole house for hard drugs, raising a brow at one of the younger boys who pulls out a sheet of LSD. It's shoved in the vault for safekeeping, and Curly assures him he'll get it back after the party when everyone sobers up.

Then people are invited and the house fills right up. Curly leans against the wall, just enough alcohol in his system to be warm, but not enough to cloud judgement — at least not according to himself. He glances around at the party, nodding at people he knows, chatting idylly with people he recognizes, the music and yelling making it hard to hear. Curly learns to read lips, and he sends almost everyone off with a quick flick of his fingers.

It should be fine. It's usually fine. It's the biggest party of the year that he had the trouble of going through planning in his third year, but this year is a lot more relaxed now that he isn't struggling to count club funds. Treasurer was not a fun position if you didn't like it all that much. At least he isn't going through it again. Also, the alcohol makes it hard for him to really keep to his weight. Too much sugar. Not good for his health or—

"Grant!" You call, squeezing past a couple making out as you tug on his collar and have him bend down for you, lips brushing his jaw as you grin. "There you are. Brooding all by yourself, handsome?"

"Sweetheart." He hums, hand finding your cheek as he squeezes gently. "What brings you here?"

"Boredom. Also alcohol."

"Didn't want'a get drunk at your apartment?"

"So much more fun when there's a man around."

"And Jimmy?"

"Heard he isn't coming tonight."

"You seem to know whenever he isn't coming." Curly brushes his nose against yours, and you hum.

"Don't want to catch his eye."

"You're already catchin' everyone's by bein' here." He eyes one of his brothers that stares, the poor guy looking to the side at Curly's glance.

"I think it's cuz their precious president is all up on some girl they've never met." You whisper, pinching his cheek as he leans back up. "Hm?"

"Well, not that they haven't met you."

"People are nosy." You glance to the side, winking at one of the girls that pass.

"How much d'you drink?"

"Pregamed at home. Three shots? Horrible for my sugar intake, though." You mumble, hand resting on Curly's chest as he pulls you in by the waist.

"Makes two of us." He mumbles, hand finding your forearm as he rubs. "You stayin' the whole time?"

"When's it end?"

"1:30 we start yellin'"

"Then until y'all clean up." You hum. "Not completely drunk."

"Can tell."

That's the fun thing with you, though. Your alcohol tolerance runs the same as Curly, so he finds that it's a lot easier to know when you'll knock out in his arms. It's not the first party you've been to. You joined once back in freshman when Curly first joined, and you had met Jimmy — and immediately decided that it was not worth it. You patted Curly twice on the chest and left that night, and never came back. It was surprising that you'd show to a party in year four of all times. He's not complaining, though. Always nice to see your pretty face.

Curly keeps an eye on Jimmy's location when you're around just because he'd hate to see you actually meet the guy. Met him once years ago and decided to stay as far away as you could.

"Don't get why you can't just drop him."

"Maybe after college." He mumbles. "He's our VP."

"Would you kick him if an allegation was serious enough?"

"How serious?"

"Expulsion serious."

"I'd have to. Otherwise I'd go down with or without him."

You brush your nose against his jaw, humming quietly as your chest vibrates against his.

"Good to know."

"Don't be going getting yourself assaulted. Won't let that happen to you." He mumbles.

"Me or him, Grant?"

"Don't do that to me." He groans, watching as you bat your lashes at him. "You're both important."

"Don't go testing me, blondie." You hum.

Curly glances at his phone, sighing as he rests his forehead on yours. "Jimmy's headed our way."

"Thought he left."

"Texted an hour ago sayin' he'd be back." He mumbles. "Wan' sit in my room, sweetheart?"

"You know the rules. He's here? I'm off." You whisper, closing your eyes as his lashes brush your skin.

"See you after finals?"

"Text me before you go?"

"Of course."

You hang out with Curly in between semesters during breaks. When he's free from the frat for the most part and planning things, he finds himself in coffee shops with you to catch up on gossip of all things. You ramble about tea you hear while working for your professor, and it makes Curly see a whole new side of some of the people on campus. It's like you have eyes and ears everywhere since you're helping the professors out.

"And then she ended up taking a break." You tap the keyboard, humming. "She'll be back next year, but we'll be gone by then, so, you know."

"Because the dude knocked her up?"

"I'm surprised she chose to keep it, but I mean, if she wants it, then so be it." You press the straw to your lips, humming to yourself. "Lovely tea place. How'd you find it?"

"One of the guys' girlfriend. Told me this place has great tea." He hums. "Not overbrewed at all, huh?"

"Nice and aromatic." You kick your legs under the table. "How've you been? Survived finals?"

"Yeah. The usual."

"How dependable."

"Yeah?"

"Shame no one knows how you really are." You hum. "Quite charming, nonetheless."

"You're speaking in book again."

"Alright, Grant. Sorry I wanted to be poetic for a sec. My condolences for my use of language."

"Now you sound even worse."

You click your tongue at him. "I like you this way."

"Rude?"

"Honest." You hum. "You've always got that goody two shoes smile on your face when you're on campus. It's strange. I know you want to sink those hands into my neck and choke me out every now and then."

"In public is insane."

"Your fault for taking me here. I offered my apartment."

Curly raises a brow at you, and you hum. "Complexity builds character."

"My brothers beg to differ."

"Where's Jimmy, by the way? He's usually around during breaks."

"Decided to take a solo trip. Builds character, or something." Curly hums.

"We should do a road trip." You glance at your phone. "Go around the area. Find a national park and go camping."

"Aren't you gonna get cold?"

"We'll survive." You raise a brow at him. "We could huddle for warmth, even."

"You implying sex?"

"You pervert..." You gasp, holding a hand over your mouth. "No. I was implying cuddling, but considering that your brain went straight to the gutter, I vote no road trip."

"A day trip down south would be nice."

"We could go to the city."

"Oh, that too." You scroll on your phone. "Tomorrow?"

"How about the beach?"

You glance at Curly, and he laughs.

"Please?"

"I hate you, Grant."

"Love to see you with your tits out."

"Oh, god. Fratboys."

But the truth is that Curly knows exactly what's going on at all times. You admit he's part of the problem. You keep him around because he's fun to be around. Down to do most things. Not a horrible person — a person. Not morally good or bad. There exists no pure saint or pure sinner. Anyone who presents that way is suspicious enough to warrant questions. You keep Curly around because he's not a horrible person. Only issue is with his best friend.

He's sure you'd try to cling onto your best friend if it was all allegations and no charges too, but you can't afford the same for Jimmy. The gender difference and lack of security you felt whenever he was around was more than enough to scramble any sense of security you felt with Curly. He understands that.

He wonder if it's the lesser of two evils — friends with a liar or abuser?

You'd choose a liar, but he supposes for himself it's one foot in both.

Well, not that you're the accuser.

Curly starts the new semester without you but makes time to study with you nonetheless, humming to himself as you invite him into the apartment, scrunching your nose when he smells of a workout and kick him out to come back another time. He complies, frowning at you when you shoot him an apologetic smile, and he nods. He understands. He has a persona to keep up around your roommates, and he also has an image to upkeep for the school, or whatever.

It makes him crack a little. Seep under the mask just a little. He doesn't know where the ego comes from, but he doesn't appreciate it.

He scrubs at it in the shower, and he reminds himself that it is not who he is.

He had to work to get where he was. He doesn't get to act like he's better than people.

"Ego is really only for... people who have nothing." You mumble, stirring your drink.

"Yeah? I mean sometimes I get egotistical, but I have to remind myself that I'm not who I am." You hum. "I worked to get here. Everyone works to be who they are. If they don't... then they aren't who they are."

"Now that's something new."

"I have never had an original thought in my life." You glance at the girls that step up to the table and go quiet.

Curly deals with them. He knows you can hold your ground, but they're not people you know, so they're not people you should have to deal with. He prefers to keep you away from them, even if they come knocking to the table the two of you have in the coffee shop. He's seen her at a party or two. Probably a second year looking to date a hot fratboy so she can say she dated one in college. Nothing Curly hasn't seen.

"Why are you here with her again? Curly, I really did expect you to be better at choosing... study dates." She eyes you, and Curly watches you smile.

Inhale, exhale, stare.

"If you wanted a date you could have just asked." You offer, voice light with mirth as she blinks at you.

"You! I'm not some cheap whore, you know?!"

"Didn't say that." You hum. "Unless you'd like to sit with us? Don't see a bookbag, though."

"In my car!"

"Want' come study with us? You can pull a chair—"

"Speaking of chairs. This one's uncomfortable. You mind if we switch spots?" Curly offers you a way out, and you hum.

"Where'd you have in mind?"

"I'm kind of hungry, so I vote the diner."

"Wanna camp there?"

"Too late to camp."

"Fair." You mumble. "We can figure it out when we get on your car."

"Come on." He offers you a hand, and while you raise a brow, you still take it, letting him squeeze your hands gently as he ushers you off.

"If that reaches Jimmy's ears I'm shooting him point blank."

"It won't. Jimmy wouldn't touch what's mine. He's not stupid."

"Sure feels like he is sometimes." You mumble. "What's yours? Am I yours, Grant?"

He squeezes your hand. "Are you not?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go there if I were you."

"And why not?"

"Cuz you're not getting anywhere close to me with that shitty best friend of yours."

Curly finds that maybe you really are just dangling him on a string. Swing him close on some days, swing him out on others. You cancel a study date for girls night with your housemate and Curly tells you to send photos (you never do). But it's fine because when you do finally meet up it's close enough to Valentine's that the coffee shops have all of the heart decorations up and Curly's got his hand over yours and he's asking you if you'd like to be his date to the party on Valentine's.

"I don't know, Curly." You mumble.

"Please? You mentioned your roommate would like to experience a full-fledged frat party at least once, so it'd be nice to bring her to our biggest one."

"I'd have to chaperone her."

"I'll keep an eye out for her." He mumbles, tapping the back of your hand.

"Will you?"

Curly does not.

The party rolls around and he keeps everything organized, searching everyone, and patting Jimmy down, going as far as raising a brow at his hat and swiping it off to shake a little. He lets Jimmy go with two pats to the back and then tosses everything into the safe, humming. He loses track of some things as people roll in, and he welcomes your housemate. He gets distracted with you, though, your lips brushing his under the lights as you tilt your head and ask him what's going on in his pretty head.

"Just you, sweetheart."

"Just me?"

"Just you." He sighs, resting his forehead on yours as you hum. "Does it always take a party to get you so vulnerable like this?"

"Maybe it's 'cause I'm your date tonight."

"Or maybe you're just irresistable in the awful frathouse lighting." He whispers, thumb finding your bottom lip as you part them for him. "Yeah?"

"Mhm." You hum. "You gon' kiss me, Grant?"

"God, sweetheart." He mumbles, lips brushing yours as you lean in, and he swears he's gonna get his fill of you until—

"Prez! Couple stumbled into a room."

"God, fucking hell." He groans, straightening up as he looks to the side. "Couldn't have picked a worse time."

"Sorry 'bout the cockblocking." The guy glances at Curly make his way up the stairs, and you shake your head.

You wonder where Anya's wandered off to.

Curly kicks the couple out, and he glances at Jimmy's locked door.

He knocks twice.

He thinks he hears a muffled cry when he knocks, but the music downstairs makes it hard to tell.

He knocks a third time.

It's silent.

A fourth.

Nothing.

Then, he heads downstairs.

Maybe you're still here— if you haven't stumbled off while half drunk, that is.

Curly never fully got the story from you afterward. You had stumbled home and found your housemate missing, calling Curly to check the house, and Curly had found your housemate in one of the spare bedrooms in the house, knocking and entering, letting you know where she was.

"You alright?"

Your housemate, closes her eyes, holding her head as he grumbles.

"My head feels like it's splitting open. I don't remember anything..." She mumbles.

"You alright?"

"Fine. Just sore all over." She mumbles.

"Want me to walk you back?"

Your housemate squints at Curly, and then checks her phone.

Curly assumes she dials you.

"Hey... yeah, just sore. Everything hurts. Is that supposed to happen? Curly's offering to walk me home. Should he— alright. Yeah. Yeah. I'll let him know. See you in a bit."

Curly tilts his head, and your housemate nods.

"Mind driving me instead? My legs really hurt."

"Of course. You need me to help you?"

"Should be... alright." She mumbles.

You thank Curly for taking her home, brows furrowed, giving him a pointed look that he seems to understand.

"I'm sorry for leaving you alone." You mumble, holding her forearms as you lead her in. "Thank you for driving her here, Grant."

"Anytime. You two stay safe."

You nod.

And then you go MIA.

You stop responding to his texts and calls, distance that he had tried closing in on back between the two of you seemingly gone overnight. You tell him weekends are off limits again, and you offer limited explanations for why. Maybe you're just busy. Or, you've finally become fed up with the fact that Curly can't really pick and choose and drop people that he should really drop. Either way, he doesn't really judge you for it.

He can kind of see it.

Yet, life moves on, and he busies himself with his own things.

Maybe time can heal this.

But he texts you updates — parties hosted by the frat, and you tell him you'll show to the next one.

He asks even if Jimmy's there — you tell him especially if Jimmy's there.

He doesn't really want to know why exactly you've gotten a specific change of mind, but he doesn't pry further. It's really not his place. Besides, he should be happy that you're agreeing to to his best friend of all things.

You show up different, though. Low cut dress and makeup done — Curly doubts he's ever seen you put so much effort into meeting up with him.

"New hair?" Curly pinches at the wig on your head, tilting his head and raising a brow.

"I'll talk to you in a bit, Grant." You hum, patting his chest twice and disappearing into the crowd. "Be good, now."

Curly nods, letting you wander off as he continues to greet guests at the door.

Most people don't cause too many problems. You learn to figure your way through the crowd, quiet sauntering as you spot Jimmy, smearing your lipstick as you tug your dress a little lower, reaching to trace your fingers down Jimmy's arms, distracting him immediately from the girl he was previously talking to.

You glance at the back door before batting your lashes at Jimmy.

"And who might you be, doll?"

"Just wanted your number." You hum, mustering a smile as he raises a brow.

"It's usually the other way around. Haven't heard the rumors?"

"Maybe I'm just into a good fuck, not a good man." You tap his bicep gently, and he hands you his phone.

"Do me a favor, would you? Save your number as doll in my contacts so I remember. Password's six sixes."

"Oh, of course." You hum, clicking on his phone as he goes back to chatting with the other girl, and you scroll through his photos. You send a handful to yourself, deleting the chat history, and check your phone for the photos. Close enough.

"You figure it out, doll? Or did you accidentally lose the page?"

"Seems like I did..." You mumble. "Sorry, not super good with electronics. Such a clutz move of me, huh?"

"I'll help ya, doll." He wraps a hand around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as his hand brushes your lower stomach, free hand clicking through the apps on his phone. "There y'a go."

"Thank you." You jut out your bottom lip, clicking in a random phone number, Jimmy's hand sliding higher and higher until they practically grope at your tits, and you pause for a second.

Alright. Seems drunk enough.

And then all you see is red.

Jimmy's dragged by his hair as you throw him out the back door into the empty parking spot, your knuckles cracking with each punch as he fights back, the tip of your heel digging into his thigh as his screams catch the attention of the rest of the party. You don't know how many punches you've reached but it's five whole minutes where everyone is stuck watching in horror as you practically crush his jaw under your fist and Jimmy is stuck there crying. He's too drunk to know who you are, and you don't care if this gets you jailed, you're taking the chance.

The satisfying crunch of his jaw under your fists and the blooms of red on his face only feed into the satisfaction, and you wonder if he'll ever think of this when he drugs the next poor girl to approach him thinking that he's not as bad as the rumors make him out to be, and it gives you this sick sense of satisfaction. You can ice your knuckles and wear gloves because it's still cold enough for it. Jimmy can't hide from his classes forever, and it definitely helps that you've got a wonderfully glued wig on that you could just burn when you get home and no one would fucking know that you were laughing while beating the frat's vice president to the ground.

Your knuckles are bloody when you're halfway through, and there's a fight outside the party that Curly has to rip through the crowd to get to.

He's surprised to find that it's you, and he pulls you off of Jimmy before stepping to ask you what happened, and you pant, fistfuls of Jimmy's hair weaved through your fingers as your chest heaves, and there is so much red in your eyes that Curly wonders if you're seeing anything at all, and he runs his hands down your bare arms as you breathe.

Jimmy stays on the ground.

"Hey, what happened?"

"Asshole grabbed a fistful of my tits."

Jimmy scoffs from the ground. "You're the one who—"

You curse him out as your heel reaches to crush his balls, and Curly holds your thigh to stop you.

"Hey!"

You look up at Curly, eye twitching as you breathe, taking two steps back and glaring at Jimmy.

"Sweetheart." Curly tries, and you look up at him, eyes vile as you scoff.

"Watch your mouth, Grant." You point a finger at his chest, humming with your head tilted. "Don't you go thinking you're any better because you don't do it. You're still doing nothing about it."

And you're off, knuckles bloody and hair between your fingers.

You don't receive disciplinary action because half of the party was too plastered to remember who was fighting who. Besides, Jimmy didn't even remember who was punching him.

You don't look Curly in the eye for a week, and Curly wonders really if it was at all worth it. First week of spring of all days. He understands the party is for the sake of the brothers, but he really'd rather not be stuck cleaning up after Jimmy when they were barely into the semester. And a matter of assaulting you of all things.

He apologizes on Jimmy's behalf after class, and you blink at Curly.

"If you know he's doing all these things, why do you keep him in his position?"

"I've just know him for so long..."

"That's not an excuse, Grant." You spit.

It's dark out.

Curly knows it's not an excuse. He knows that he shouldn't be excusing Jimmy's behavior, and especially not when his best friend had just grabbed you by the tits at a party while drunk out of his mind. Drunk or not, he shouldn't be doing that anyway. But Curly doesn't want to acknowledge it. Acknowleding that Jimmy was a horrible person would be like admitting that Curly doesn't have good taste in friends, and he'd really rather not be—

"I'm sorry for what he did at the party, but it really wasn't—"

"Oh, don't worry. Only one of the punches was for grabbing me by the tits." You open your phone, texting someone. "The other punches were for something else."

"What... what are people accusing him for now?"

"Nothing much. Just the usual. With evidence this time, though."

Curly raises a brow at you, unimpressed as you raise a brow back.

"What kind of evidence?"

"Roommate got pregnant, evidence."

"And you think it's Jimmy because?"

"Tracks with the frat party we were at."

"You just think it's Jimmy because you hate him."

"My emotions have nothing to do with how shitty of a person he is."

"He's not the type to take it that far—"

"Is that all that matters to you, Curly? Is your best friend more important than the law?"

"And what evidence do you have?"

"My friend's word of mouth? The person that she was last seen with being him taking her upstairs to his room? Curly—"

"Not, Curly." He mumbles.

"You don't deserve to be called Grant if you're not gonna be a good person, Curly."

The name sounds like poison spread on your lips as you scoff.

"Are you going to defend Jimmy with your life?"

"It's just that you hate him so much, so it's easy to just assume that it's him. I know him—"

"Sure, yeah, and I know my roommate. She's not the type to lie."

"Yeah, but Jimmy isn't the type to take things that far."

"Is that so?"

"I know so."

"Alright. Alright, Curly. I should go to another party and get raped by Jimmy and then we can prove it, right?"

"He's not going to touch you. I won't let him."

"So you'll let him touch other women?"

"He doesn't do that."

"You think so?"

"Sweetheart."

"Don't sweetheart me. There's nothing sweet about how shitty of a person your friend is."

"Are you sure it's not just because you hate him?"

"It's not." You swallow, gritting your teeth as your brows furrow and you take a deep breath. "I stay away from Jimmy, not hate him. I didn't hate him until he raped my roommate at the party."

"What evidence do you even have that it's him?"

"DNA? Blood tests? Timeline? Video footage?"

"It could all be made up. Why are you trying to ruin his li—"

You slap him.

The slap echoes into the night, and you breathe, chest heaving as your brows furrow impossibly more, annoyance visible as you groan. It's like Curly refuses to get the point. Curly knows you're being honest. You wouldn't slander Jimmy if you didn't have any evidence, but his mind is stuck on the feeling of your hand making contact with his cheek so harshly, and he wonders if he's really doing anything at all by just watching it all go down. Jimmy's awful but he couldn't have been able to drug your roommate. He pat him down — no. Jimmy had chosen a hat for the occasion with a compartment he had show Curly once. It absolutely could be Jimmy, but that would mean Curly made a mistake and—

Curly holds his cheek, blinking slowly as he looks at you, and you're frantically tapping on your phone, the muffled clicks of your finger against the screen the only thing until you're holding the phone to his face with a series of photos that he can only assume were taken by Jimmy.

It's morbid.

Curly feels sick to the stomach at the sight of your housemate crying into her hands and trying to hide her face, the unmistakable sound of Jimmy's voice behind the camera, and something twists uncomfortably in Curly's stomach.

"Do something." You speak, voice steady and eerily calm as Curly stares at the photos you've somehow managed to acquire on your phone, hand still on his cheek. Suddenly, the sting no longer stings and all that's left is a ringing in his ears. "You're the president, Curly. Do something before I get both of you expelled and ruin his life."

"He couldn't have—"

"His DNA was found in her. I don't know what else you want me to prove to you." You let out a laugh, looking to the side, bitterness instantly visible on your face. "Paternity test came back with an exact DNA match of the hair I yanked from his hair the other night at the party while he got his grimy hands all over my tits now Grant fucking Curly tell me if you're going to do something about that shitty best friend of yours unless you want me to end both of your university careers right now!"

"Why..." Curly mumbles, shoulders sinking as he glances at you. "are you telling me this?"

"The head of the fraternity is responsible for all of the members of its chapter. If I submit all of this evidence against Jimmy while he's in the frat, the fact that she had gotten raped at a frat-hosted party will spread and you'll get expelled for mismanagement of your frat. I know I send you mixed signals and refuse to be seen in public with you because of your shitty best friend you do nothing about, but I do care about you, Curly." You pause. "If I release all of this information while he's still in the frat, you'll have no way out, especially as the president. If you expel him first, then you'll still somehow make your way out with only your reputation taken a hit. People might even blame Jimmy for keeping it all from you."

Curly looks into your eyes and then at the picture on your phone, and he closes his eyes.

"Give me a week. Will you take nothing less than removal from the frat?"

"Nothing less. I refuse to let him continue to stay in the frat. You are responsible for them all. You only escape scathed if you remove him from the frat."

"Will—" He swallows. "I'll save that question for after I deal with this. I'm glad this is early enough in the semester, god. What about his contracts?"

"Do you think he deserves it after raping my best friend?" You bite. "What if it had been me? Would you have been able to look at me the same after his hands had been all over me and he assaulted me? That his dick had been balls deep in me while I cried for him to let go?"

"But it wasn't—"

"It shouldn't make a difference who it was. A rape is a rape, and if you don't do anything, then I suppose we're better off as strangers, Curly."

You don't text Curly back at all.

You move from your seat next to him in class, and while he knows you most likely won't talk to him until the vote to remove Jimmy from the frat goes through, but it's a painful handful of weeks without you. It hurts him to call the other board members and tell them of the situation, evidence presented as he presents even the DNA match, and it becomes apparent that no one is going out unscathed of this situation of the frat. A lighter blow is better than a total blow, they seem to agree. Then Jimmy is contacted about the situation — Curly knows him better than anyone, so the board had to know before Jimmy, and when Jimmy's calling upon their friendship of the entirety of college, Curly shakes his head and tells him that it didn't matter if they had been friends for so long. It was either they both go down or just Jimmy on his own, and it was apparent that Curly didn't want to, but had to.

Then Curly finds out just how ugly Jimmy can get, thrashing and yelling as the other members of the board hold him back after he punched Curly, and Curly just wonders how he had stayed blind for so long.

He kind of deserved the slap from you both.

"You think just because you're hot as hell and you've got some chick slung around your arm that it erases that you were nothing before me? You wouldn't be here without me!" Jimmy yells, and Curly's shoulders sink as he stares at Jimmy. "You were nothing."

Shut down. Shut down. The same way you do. Let his shoulders sink, inhale, exhale, stare into the void.

"Jimmy. Maybe you introduced me to the frat, but I am the president because of my own efforts." Curly steps up to Jimmy, and he wonders for that brief moment that perhaps this is the kind of control that he could only have in his position. Jimmy looks incredibly small like this. And suddenly, Curly seems to kind of understand how terrifying it must have been for both you and your housemate. Jimmy looks powerless for once. "You are no longer welcome here. I'll give you a week to find somewhere to settle, but you are no longer welcome here. Rape or assault of any kind is not welcome nor swept under the rug in our frat. Get out."

"You—"

"You are no longer in power. Get out."

It'll hit the local news tomorrow, and once the local news is hit, you'll submit everything to the chancellor and then Jimmy will be done for.

Curly doesn't want to think if it's the right thing or not. It is the right thing to do, but he had thrown away one of his friends as a result. Jimmy had been important regardless of what Curly thought, but he had also been a horrible person, so the choice was coming sooner or later.

It takes two days for news of Jimmy's history of both assault and sexual assault to emerge, and it takes less than a full week for Jimmy to be expelled. First expulsion in near two decades at the university, and Curly's hand shakes when he texts you. He had done it. You had done it. It was done. He had done... the right thing.

You call him instead.

"You alright?"

Curly stares at the news on his laptop, and he swallows.

"Not really."

"You want me to come over?"

"Will you?"

"He's gone." You hum. "Or you can come over. Everyone went home for the weekend."

"Is... she alright?"

"Much better. Thank you, Grant."

There's a considerable silence on the line before Curly is speaking up, voice quietest you've ever heard it. "Do you think I did the right thing?"

"I think you did the bravest thing that no frat president has the balls to." You hum. "You did great, Grant."

He rests his face in his hand, going quiet as he breathes, chest shaking. It was scary. Despite how dependable everyone considered him, Curly had never once considered himself to be dependable all that much. There is still a nagging fear that carried over from high school — the concern for his body and him from the doctor quiet in the back of his mind. Dependable. His facade had worked, but it hurt to have to actually speak up on it.

"I'm. That was." He breathes. "Can I be honest?"

"Always, Grant."

"I never want to have to do that again." His voice shakes, and he holds his forehead.

"You did great. You were very brave, Grant. You want anything to drink?"

"Can you bring me a..." He pauses.

"Two beers. I need a drink after all of that process too." You mumble. "God, those meetings were draining."

"We.. did it."

"Thank heavens we did."

You head over with two beers, bottles clinking as he holds out his car keys, streetlights flickering as he hums.

"Wan' sit on the truck?"

"That'd be nice." You flick the bottlecap off, handing him one beer as you bite off the other.

"Your poor teeth."

"It'll live." You hum, pressing the bottle to your lips as he exhales, sitting back in the truck bed.

"You alright?"

"Hm?"

"You were... that night." He mumbles.

"You can say it, Curly. I got groped. It's not that deep." You raise a brow at him.

"Yeah." He furrows his brows. "Was it really necessary?"

"You were technically half-right to accuse me that I hated Jimmy so I was convicting him of raping my roommate, but it was really a moment where the opportunity come on its own. Besides, much better to stay cleaner as a frat. As clean as you can get, anyway." You raise a brow at the bottle in hand.

"First expulsion in over a decade..." Curly groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He was my best friend."

"Also an asshat."

"Yes. but —"

"No buts. He should've kept it in his pants." You raise a brow at him. "He punched you, for fuck's sake."

"Yeah. He... he was a shitty person. I do mourn the loss of a friend, though. Not necessarily him, but, you know."

"Yeah, that's fair." You lean back, glancing up at the sky.

No star in sight. Too polluted.

"Do we just keep moving?"

"Just keep moving." You kick your legs over his, and he sighs, exhaling gently as he presses his palm on your calf, squeezing.

"Join our party tomorrow?"

"Might as well sleep over in your room, then—" You pause. "No, the bathrooms are nasty."

"I'm in the master."

"Oh, in that case..." You mumble, letting Curly run his hand up your calf, hum on his lips as he leans back. "You got spare clothes?"

"Oh, sweetheart. You don't even need to ask."

Curly wonders if you're only being so sweet now that Jimmy's gone. Maybe in a way it was your plan to ruin that man's life. Not that you'd do all that over a man. He wonders if you'd ever ruin his life like that. He might thank you for it — not that you will. You've done more than you could imagine and he's learned more off of you than he could admit. It'd be embarrassing to tell you, maybe. He might just have to get drunk enough for it.

Though, the sight of you drunk is a lot funnier.

You settle on his lap, closing your eyes with a hard seltzer in hand, tilting your head as you stare at the rest of the party.

Curly hardly knows where to put his hands, blinking slowly and quietly as you settle your head on his collar, blinking up at him, lashes fluttering over a shirt that's far too tight for his life but his brothers insisted on him wearing, and he wonders if any of whatever was going on was even working. You don't seem to notice when he's wearing clothes to show off his body, preferring to tilt your head and meet his eyes instead.

"You alright?" He looks down at you, and you hum.

"Mhm. Pregamed before the party." You trace circles on his chest, letting your lashes flutter over his chest. "Always smells awful in here."

"Always does. It's why I didn't like inviting you."

"Liar. I've gone to so many this year." You throw a glance at the rest of the party, and Curly hums. "Sure you like it better when you've got me dangling off of your arm, though."

"Yeah, but it's not like you're mine or anything. Could be..."

"So I'm a common whore?"

"I didn't say that."

"You seem to think that I'm playing you, still." You crane your neck to wave at another member of the frat, and Curly swallows slowly. Your hand moves lower and lower until your fingers are brushing his lower stomach, and Curly sucks in a breath out of instinct, earning a gentle frown on your lips. "Stop sucking."

"It's gotten soft."

"It's called a dad bod." You brush your fingers over his lower stomach, and he exhales as you hum happily. "I like you however you are."

"You like me?"

"You never quite seem to believe me when I tell you." You crane your neck upward, brushing noses with Curly as he hums.

"I can never really tell."

"I know. All your frat knows." You laugh, voice airy as he hums quietly.

"I doubt you'll remember this in the morning."

"Then you'll just have to remind me." You hum quietly, palm sliding under his shirt as you brush over his stretch marks.

"You don't mind them?"

"We match... just tell me you love me in the morning." You close your eyes, and Curly finds a hand on your waist as he continues to watch the rest of the party.

Curly thinks you might actually like him.

Despite it all, Curly does like you. He doubts the world "like" would even encapsulate just how enraputred he is with you. Pretty, pretty girl. He thinks — chin resting on your head and sun peeking past the blinds in your bed. He gets why you like your bed a lot more. It's much cozier than his, and your back pressed to his chest only serves to have him groan when you shift.

He doesn't quite remember how he ended up in your bed, only that he's got his head buried in your back as you stretch your arms over your head.

"g'mornin'."

"Mornin' to you too, Grant." You grumble, getting up to rest on your elbow as you turn around.

"Aren't you a sight in the morning." He mumbles into your skin, and you yawn.

"You know what isn't?"

"Me?"

"Your breath." You push him off of you, Curly's laugh rumbling in his chest as you sigh, opening your phone. "You want brunch?"

"How could I ever say no to you, sweet'eart?"

"Oh, god. Man so sleepy he reverts to his old accent."

"You love me."

"Debatable." You run your hand through his hair, watching as he rests his chin on your chest. "What'you looking at me like that for?"

"Thinkin' 'bout how you're so pretty." He mumbles, closing his eyes as you scratch at his scalp. "Brunch?"

"I'll call in."

"No, let me." He reaches behind him for the phone, humming. "Same place as usual?"

"Yeah."

"Go on, then. Get ready while I make our reservation."

You press a quick hum to his forehead, getting out of bed ot get ready.

Curly likes this a lot better.

He finds that it's much better to get closer to you, and it almost feels like a reward for the years he had toiled away in college. Something sweet as nectar on his tongue when you give him a quick kiss between tasks, his shoulders sunk and relaxed as he watches you get ready for dates, humming when you complain about how he's a little unshaven. He'll do it for you. He always will. He'll let you rub at his chin when he finishes shaving, humming happily to himself when you press a quick kisso to his jaw.

Warm and cozy. He likes you quite a bit.

Quite a bit is an understatement, he thinks.

You look pretty at all angles, but he finds that some sick part of him finds contentment and satisfaction when you're under him — bare to the eye and touch.

He never lasts long with you looking like this, lashes fluttering as he rasps at the sound your pretty pussy makes for him as he slides in, breath heavy as he stills, your nails digging into his shoulders as you match your panting with his.

"God, dammit, Grant, move." You sing for him, and Curly groans in response.

"Sound beautiful singin' like that, angel."

"Don't you want me to sing for you more? Your name like a prayer on mine lips?"

"Don't tempt me." He holds your hips in place when you try to shift, brows furrowed as he exhales. "Gon' just flood that pussy if you move this quick."

"Never fucked a woman before?"

"You'd be surprised at how little I pulled up until college." He pinches at your waist, bucking his hips into yours as you squirm, stars in your eyes as your nails reach for his wrists, finding something to ground yourself as he gradually speeds up. "Loved playing dumb and watching girls give up. No one likes a dense man."

"I seem t— ah." Your lashes flutter, head thrown back as Curly practically drills into you, holding your head in his arms as your quiet pants register in his ear, causing him to twitch inside of you.

"You don't like men who play dumb, sweetheart. You're the one who," He rolls his hips, earning a particular whine from your lips, and his head spins. "you're the one who plays dumb. Stringing me along for so long. Have to thank you, though. Glad you fixed me."

"Fixed? Fixed ya how?" You pull at his hair, and he groans.

"Oh, sweetheart. You don't even know."

"Really?" You tempt, tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip, craning your neck to avoid Curly's as he lets his teeth graze your pulse point.

"Gon' bite you. Puncture wounds in your neck and leave red that clings for days." He rumbles, exhaling into your neck as your nails dig into his back. "Felt you clench right up. Would you be into that? Marked with my teeth despite your distaste of association with me just months ago?"

"It wasn't distaste of— you—" You heave, curling into his chest and voice shaking. "You know w-why."

"He's gone now, and I get you all to myself." He mumbles. "Get to bring you over... and fuck you dumb on this cock in my room."

"Hate you." You gasp, lashes fluttering as he groans.

"No y' don't."

"Hate that fuckboy talk you keep," You yank at his hair, forcing his head back as you tilt your head. "spitting out. You're not my sweet boy, now are you?"

"Not when I'm buried balls deep in you." He forces out, thumb finding your clit as you jolt. "There she is..."

You let him fuck you through your orgasm, nails dug into his shoulders as you leave marks, his quiet moaning rippling against your skin as you throw your head back and feel him pulse inside of you.

Curly thinks he's reached some kind of ascension. Raptured in the moment, head spinning deliriously at the feeling of you practically milking him for all he has. This is what he's been waiting for, he supposes. You're singing his name like a prayer, eyes rolled so far back he's worried they'll get stuck like his ma used to tell him, but, oh, heavens be dammed. If this is how he goes then so be it.

The bliss will bleed and his skin will burn, but he doesn't really mind it.

"You're wonderful, sweetheart." He mumbles, forehead pressed to yours in the afterglow, and you'll call him a sap and sigh.

"You think I'm a sap?"

"I know you are." You mumble, thumbs finding his cheek as he closes his eyes, basking in your touch. "I like it."

"Well, I like you."

"Sap."

"Your sap."

Curly finds that maybe its a little twisted that he had to toss his friend for you, but really, who is he to complain when you're so pliable under his hands? You prefer him to be pliable as well. It helps the two of you communicate and work better.

"You think I can keep the stubble after we graduate?"

"Mm, don't want burns when you eat me out." You hum.

"You gon' make me give that up to keep my beard?"

"You'd just have to step up your aftercare."

"I can do that."

"Maybe focus on your job after graduation first."

Curly closes his eyes, humming into your bare shoulder. "Won't y' come with me?"

"We'll see."

"I'll make sure it's a yes." He mumbles.

"We'll see when we get there."

He'll make sure it's a yes when he gets there.

But, until then, he supposes he'll just have to stay dangled on your finger like a pretty little accessory.

#☾.fics #mouthwashing #reader insert #curly x reader #mouthwashing curly x reader #mouthwashing x reader #ending my year with this piece and if things go right we're staring the new year with something HORRIFIC for us all

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