#the year they found their voice =/= their most defining moment

[get-back-homeward]

Ode to 1963 Beatles

Having spent entirely too much of my life studying all matters Beatles-related, I sometimes like to play a parlor game with other fans. I ask them which year was the band’s best, before offering an answer of my own. Many people stump for 1967, when Sgt. Pepper came out, recasting the pop-culture zeitgeist. Others opt for 1964, the first year of stateside Beatlemania. A dark horse sometimes gets a vote, like 1965, the year the Beatles produced their first mature masterwork in Rubber Soul. But when I provide my answer—1963, all the way—I’m usually met with puzzled looks. It’s no wonder. Fifty years have passed since that magical and formative year for the band, yet most of the music the Beatles recorded throughout it remains commercially unavailable. But 1963 is the band’s annus mirabilis.

—Colin Fleming, 1963: The Year The Beatles Found Their Voice [x]

So why 1963?

Well, I think people like to focus on [Sgt.] Pepper from '67, maybe Rubber Soul from '65 or Revolver from '66. But if you wanted to know what The Beatles liked, what they listened to, what they were trying to become and, in large part, who they already were and who they would be, the '63 BBC recordings would be your one-stop shopping destination. When they tackled ... a crucial rock 'n' roll text like Elvis' "That's All Right, Mama," you can hear that they keep elements of the past — that burnished country tone that Elvis' band excelled at — but they've added a sort of stomping, northern soul element to it. So they're really overhauling the past.

—The Beatles Defining Moment (Hint: It's not Sgt Pepper) [x]

Listen to 1963 Beatles (BBC live recordings, other live performances, and studio recordings in chronological order of recording or writing date if known)

[grangerhater]

MINE, ALWAYS

pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

synopsis : they are rivals but once they are assigned roommates for a school trip they actually forget to argue about that, surprisingly accepting they have to share a bed.

warnings: rivals w sexual tension, eventual sexual content, (wanrning : plot before p0rn), piv, bj, f!ngering, one bed trope, everyone is above 18 obviously, possessiveness

smut, enemies to lovers, and some fluff if you squint

The Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station, and students excitedly disembarked, ready for their annual school trip. Among the bustling crowd, Draco Malfoy and Y/N Y/L/N found themselves eyeing each other warily. For years, they had been rivals, their rivalry filled with tension and sparks flying whenever they were in close proximity. This trip was no exception.

Fate had a funny way of working sometimes, and in this instance, it meant that Draco and Y/N found themselves assigned to share a room at the quaint inn where they would be staying. The room was cozy, with a single bed taking up most of the space. When they exchanged glances, they both felt a mixture of anticipation and unease at the thought of spending the trip in such close quarters.

After settling in, Draco decided to freshen up. He disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water echoing through the room. Y/N took this opportunity to unpack their belongings, trying to focus on the task at hand and ignore the butterflies fluttering in their stomach.

Minutes later, Draco emerged from the bathroom, his wet hair tousled and a towel wrapped securely around his waist. His silver eyes met Y/N's gaze, and for a brief moment, time seemed to stand still. There was an undeniable hunger in his eyes, a longing that neither of them could deny. Y/N felt their heart racing, their body trembling with anticipation.

But just as quickly as the moment had arrived, it vanished, replaced with the familiar tension and bickering that had defined their relationship for so long.

"You're taking up all the space," Draco snapped, eyeing the scattered belongings on the bed.

"Well, maybe if you weren't hogging the bathroom for so long, I wouldn't have had to unpack here," Y/N countered, their voice laced with a mix of annoyance and amusement.

Draco rolled his eyes, his trademark smirk playing on his lips. "Always finding something to complain about, aren't you?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a smirk of their own forming. "Well, someone has to keep you in check, Malfoy."

As the trip continued, their bickering continued. Every interaction between them was laced with snarky comments and subtle jabs. But beneath the surface, there was an undeniable chemistry that neither of them could ignore. Every look or touch was charged with unspoken emotion, a tension between them that neither could deny. Even when they fought, there was a deep understanding of each other's feelings that kept them connected throughout the trip.

During a visit to a picturesque village, Draco and Y/N found themselves exploring together. The narrow streets were filled with the hustle and bustle of market vendors, but their focus was solely on each other. They wandered aimlessly, their banter providing a soundtrack to their journey. The tension between them seemed to grow with each passing moment, filling the air with an almost tangible electricity.

As they strolled along, they came across a small park, secluded and peaceful. Unable to resist the lure of the empty benches and serene atmosphere, they sat down, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them.

"You know," Y/N began, their voice softer than before, "I've always wondered why we seem to clash so much, other than the fact you are a spoiled little prick."

Draco's expression softened, curiosity evident in his eyes. "And what conclusion have you come to, Y/L/N?"

A small smile played on Y/N's lips. "I think it's because we bring out the best in each other, even if we don't always realize it.

Draco's gaze softened, his walls crumbling in the presence of Y/N's vulnerability. "Perhaps you're right. We've always pushed each other to be better, even if we've gone about it in the most antagonistic way possible."

Silence settled between them for a moment, the weight of their unspoken feelings hanging in the air. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, they reverted back to their familiar bickering.

"You're still as insufferable as ever, Malfoy," Y/N teased, their voice filled with fondness.

"And you're still as infuriating, Y/L/N," Draco shot back, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

But this time, the bickering was laced with something different. It held a hint of affection, a deeper connection that both Draco and Y/N were beginning to acknowledge.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the village, they made their way back to the inn. The room awaited them, the single bed serving as a constant reminder of the tension that had simmered between them all day.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, their gaze flickering between Draco and the bed. They took a deep breath, their usual shyness and insecurity being replaced by a newfound confidence. "I suppose we'll have to make do with the sleeping arrangements, won't we, Malfoy?"

Draco's eyes gleamed with a mixture of surprise and desire. "I suppose we will, Y/L/N. Still despise your face though, don’t be spreading around that i allowed you to share my bed."

Y/N smirked, rolling their eyes. "Of course, Malfoy. Wouldn't have it any other way."

And so, with a mix of tension, desire, and undeniable chemistry, Draco and Y/N climbed into the single bed, their rivalry and bickering fading into the background. In that moment, they found solace in each other's presence, their hunger finally acknowledged and their connection strengthening.

When only pure silence was heard right before they fell asleep Y/N heard a whisper yell from Malfoy’s side "You think you're so much better than me? You think you're so much smarter? You're just a nosy, stuck-up, know-it-all-Bimbo!"

"At least I'm actually smart enough to understand the concept of 'personal space!' You're just a spoiled, entitled brat who's never had to work for anything in your life!” she replied firmly yet half asleep

Draco's body tensed at Y/N's comment, their bickering reaching a boiling point. His hands wrapped around Y/N's wrists, roughly manhandling them and pulling them close.

"You're so stubborn!" Draco hissed, his breath hot against Y/N's ear. "Do you seriously think I won't do anything if you refuse to listen to me?"

Y/N glared back, struggling against Draco's grip, but unable to break free.

Draco's grip tightened around Y/N's wrists, a possessive glint in his eyes. He leaned inhis lips brushing against Y/N's neck as he whispered "You're mine, Y/N you belong to me" He trailed kisses down her neck, nipping at her skin as she moaned in pleasure

Draco's eyes narrowed as he watched Y/N struggle against him a cruel smile playing at the corners of his lips. He leaned in, his lips brushing against Y/N's ear as he whispered "You know you want this. You want me to take control, to make you mine" With a sudden movement Draco spun Y/N around, pressing her against the wall. His hands roamed over her bodypinning her wrists above her head as he claimed her lips in a rough, possessive kiss.

Y/N moaned into the kiss, her body responding to Draco's touch despite her angerHe pulled awaya wicked grin on his face as he leaned in to whisper in her ear once more.

"You're mine, Y/N. And I'll do whatever it takes to make you realize it" With thatDraco claimed Y/N's lips once more, their bodies moving together in a frenzy of desire as he asserted his dominance over her once more

Y/N's struggles ceased as Draco's touch sent shivers down her spine. She arched her backpressing herself closer to him, craving more of his touch. Draco's hands roamed over her body tracing every curve and dip, igniting a fire within her.

Their bickering forgotten, they gave into their desires their bodies entwined in a passionate embrace. Draco's lips met Y/N's, his tongue exploring her mouth as she moaned in pleasure. He pushed her onto the bed, his hands roaming over her body as he stripped her of her clothes

Draco pushed Y/N against the wall, his lips crashing against hers in a fierce, possessive kiss. He gripped her hips tightly, grinding his hard cock against her thigh.

Y/N moaned into his mouth, her body responding to his touch despite her anger. Draco's hands roamed over her body, his fingers digging into her flesh as he claimed her as his own.

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down her neck as he bit and sucked at her skin, leaving marks of his ownership all over her body. Y/N's body trembled with desire as Draco's hands roamed over her, his fingers finding their way between her legs.

He teased her, rubbing her clit with a fierce hunger before plunging his fingers deep inside her. As he fingered her, his other hand found its way to her breast, pinching and twisting her nipple until she cried out in pleasure.

He continued to finger her, his pace increasing as he took her closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy. Finally, he pulled his fingers out of her, turning her around and pushing her down onto her knees.

He unzipped his pants, pulling out his hard cock and thrusting it into her mouth. Y/N took him eagerly her mouth enveloping him as she worked him with her tongue Draco's hands tangled in her hair, pulling her head back as he fucked her mouth with a fierce hunger.

He pulled out of her mouth pushing her back against the wall and lifting her legs up to wrap around his waist. He thrust into her with a fierce hunger, his body slamming against hers with each movement

Y/N cried out in pleasure, her body writhing against his as he took her closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy. Draco's thrusts became more urgent and intense, his body trembling with desire as he neared his own peak.

As he continued to pound into her, his grip on her throat tightened leaving marks of his ownership all over her body. Y/N's nails dug into his back as he continued to thrust into her with a fierce hunger

Their bickering reached a boiling point, with Draco manhandling Y/N and claiming her as his own, he took control making her his in a rough, possessive kiss and teasing her with a fierce hunger before plunging his fingers deep inside her.

Finally, they reached their climax, their bodies writhing in ecstasy as they cried out each other's names. Draco asserted his dominance once more, reminding Y/N that she belonged to him.

Draco's grip on Y/N's body loosened as he pulled out of her, his chest heaving as he looked down at her. Y/N's eyes were closed, her body still trembling with pleasure.

Draco leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead as he whispered, "You're mine, Y/N. Always" Y/N opened her eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"I know," she murmured, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. "I wouldn't want it any other way"

Draco helped Y/N to her feet, holding her close as they stood there, their bodies still intertwined. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, his hands trailing down her body as he whispered, "You're so beautiful, Y/N. I could never get enough of you"

Y/N blushed, leaning into him as she whispered back, "I feel the same way about you Draco. I love you"

Draco's eyes softened, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I love you too, Y/N. Always and forever”

They stood there for a few moments longer, their bodies entwined as they basked in the afterglow of their passion. Finally they pulled apart, their eyes meeting as they smiled at each other

Draco took Y/N's hand, leading her towards the bed. "Come on" he said, his voice low and husky. "Let's get some rest, we have a lot more exploring to do tomorrow"

Y/N smiled, following him to the bed as they settled in for the night, their bodies entwined as they drifted off to sleep in each other's arms

[swiftdove]

bleeding crimson

pairing: rio vidal x agatha harkness x fem!reader

summary: no matter how much you try to run from the truth, the road leads you back onto the path, forcing you to confront the thorns from your past.

content: angst, tension, knife-play, dark actions, slight smut

a/n: this is my first time ever writing a part 2 i feel like this is a very monumental moment for me

part 2 to collateral damage

Later that night, you had found yourself leaning against the trunk of the tree, willing yourself to sleep. Yet, despite your best efforts, the earlier conversations seeped into your mind, forcing out any rational thought. 

It wasn't right, how easily they managed to pull you back under their spell. They knew exactly which buttons to push to get what they wanted, whilst your skills had rusted over time. The way they treated you; it was as though they'd never left. It was almost comical, how little they'd suffered over their abandonment of you, how they expected everything to be the same as it was. You knew they were wicked, downright evil, but you hadn't expected them to be this selfish. Your sympathy for them was fading, as was your will to fight against their seductive charm. There must've been something grievously wrong about you to have even looked their way. Perhaps it was the mutual damage, the way you all understood each other so perfectly. Perhaps it was that that let you excuse their past actions. The idea that maybe, just maybe, you could fix them.

You had snapped right out of that attitude when you had seen Agatha act so apathetically about Sharon's death. It may have been the one thing that could have finally let you move past her. But earlier today, when she had tried so desperately to save Teen, redeemed her. You hated that about her - the way she flickered from evil to morally gray. 

And Rio, who balanced out Agatha's wickedness. You felt it, how her eyes always lingered on you. But never for longer than she did with Agatha. 

The reasons against them were stacked, and yet there was still that one part of you that wondered about what a reconciled relationship with them would entail. Most likely more damage to your already fragile mind. Then again, you'd always found that pain turned you on.

The sound of footsteps jolted you out of your train of thought, immediately waking you up from your half-asleep state. 

"Who's there?" you called, failing to mask the fear in your voice.

"Your worst nightmare," a demonic voice resounded, which you instantly recognized to be one of Rio's attempts to humour you.

The witch came into sight, accompanied by the last person you wanted to see right now.

Despite your pronounced hate for them, you couldn't deny that they looked perfect - especially under the glow of the moonlight. 

"What are you doing here?" you murmured, smoothing out a wrinkle in your blouse. 

"Couldn't sleep," Rio replied truthfully, eyeing you up and down. Her gaze finally rested on your hands, where you were nervously playing with your index ring, a habit you'd picked up years ago when she'd first bought it for you. 

However, your attention was directed at Agatha, who had adopted a villainous smirk. Something had changed in her tonight; behind her icy blue eyes hid macabre intentions. It was almost comedic how you still felt like you knew every serrated, damaged inch of her soul. Old habits died hard, you supposed.

"What is it, Agatha?" you asked, failing to hide the tremble in your voice. 

"Oh, nothing," she replied, her tone lilted, "it's just ironic, I suppose. All that 'I'm not yours' bullshit and��defiant attitude..."

You tensed as she neared you, noticing the way her eyes glinted at your recoiled stance. In a split second, her fingers wrapped around your throat, trapping you in a chokehold.

"... when we both know why you came."

Her grip tightened, her veins becoming more defined as your breathing shallowed.

"Agatha," Rio admonished, prompting her to relax her grip. 

A soft cackle rang through the air as Agatha stroked your cheek with her free hand, reveling in the way you trembled under her touch.

Flashbacks of the life you'd had with them echoed in your mind, memories of your past encounters hammering at the walls of your skull. It was always the same. Agatha, skillfully inflicting the sweetest torture imaginable on your body, whilst Rio sat back and watched. The mocking, saccharine tone Agatha adopted whilst Rio carved their names into your flesh. The way they forced you past your limits, the long, euphoric nights. 

"So helpless," she jested, dragging out her words. "Now, where have I seen that before?"

Your reply was barely audible, interrupted by a hitch in your breath. "Stop."

Ignoring your plea for mercy, she pulled up your sleeve, releasing her grip on your throat. The faint outline of the words 'RIO' and 'AGATHA' were only just visible, having faded after decades of neglect. Agatha swiveled around, jerking your arm out for Rio to see.

"Would you look at that?" Rio marveled. She tutted softly, before brandishing her dagger. A sadistic smile tugged at her lips as she held it to your throat. You flinched away from the cold metal, beads of red decorating the blade. Your attempts to run away from the dagger were foiled when she swiveled you around and secured you waist with her free hand, the other keeping you in place.

"You were so jealous of Rio earlier, weren't you, pet?" Agatha taunted, relishing in the way your eyes narrowed at the use of her pet name. "You wanted me to leave a scar, didn't you?"

If you hadn't had a blade pressed against your throat, you would have called her out for twisting your words. But, in this instance, you couldn't help but shrink back from their towering presences.

Snorting at your silence, she continued with her onslaught of cruel jokes. "Why so silent? Cat got your tongue?"

"There's a blade to my throat, if you haven't noticed," you snapped, causing Rio to add pressure to your skin.

"There's that nasty attitude again," Agatha proclaimed gleefully, circling around you. "How long has it been since you've been properly punished, sweets?"

You recoiled at her use of the word 'punished', your gaze steeling. "Stop," you murmured, failing to mask the quiver in your voice. "I'm not going to indulge in your sick revenge fantasy."

"Aren't you?"

Rio's voice cut through the tension in the air like a knife through butter, her fingernails digging into the side of your waist. Agatha smirked maliciously, tilting your chin up with her calloused fingers. 

"I don't think you have much of a choice, pet."

Satisfied with your silence as a response, she trailed her fingers down to your blouse, roughly unbuttoning it. She pinched at the peak of your breast, relishing in how it hardened at her touch.

"So sensitive," Agatha murmured, twisting it sharply. A small yelp escaped your lips, reprimanded by a sharp cut to the throat. Hot blood trickled down the wound, staining the witch's fingers.

"Agatha -" you gasped, only to be cut off by the sound of Lilia's voice echoing down The Road.

"They're coming. We have to go."

Glancing at the direction of the voice, Agatha withdrew her hand, causing you to sigh in relief. The sound didn't go unnoticed by the witches. Visibly annoyed, Agatha grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at her.

"This isn't over," she threatened, before dramatically whisking her cape and walking away. Rio followed, but not before dragging her dagger over your throat again. When you didn't budge, she looked over her shoulder, glancing at you expectantly.

"Come on," she said, taking ahold of your arm. "We have to go."

As you trailed behind the witches, the warm, crimson blood trickled down the small wound in your throat, bleeding into the collar of your shirt. To anybody else, it would've just seemed like a simple cut, but you knew what it truly was. A symbol, of their claim over you. Hard, cold proof that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't escape their hold over you. And for some strange, demented reason, you found comfort in knowing that. 

The dynamic between you and them remained ever the same. Agatha and Rio, your sacred protectors, and you, a wolf in the clothing of a sacrificial lamb. And despite your pathetic attempts to hide it, you knew that they understood exactly who you were to the very marrow of your bones. 

That was what scared you about them.

[nanivinsmoke]

✩ Grey Sweatpants

✩ dilf!toji x fem!reader

✩ warnings & tags: ovulation, age gap (readers in her mid 20s & toji is late 30s), creampie, breeding kink, overstimulation, blow job, couch sex, etc.

✩ ✩ living with your ex-boyfriend/baby daddy is a hassle, but sometimes it’s for the best.

“bye my babies! have a good day at school—I love you!” you waved from the door as you watched your kids boarded the yellow school bus; with it driving off into the distance. you closed the door and sighed, turning around to see your messy living room. you rolled your eyes and began to pick up the clothes that were strewn across the floor.

‘his ass couldn’t help me clean up before he left?’ you cursed to yourself, thinking about your lazy ass baby father.

the two of you had one child together, your daughter; tomie, who was the light of your life and the one of the only good things to come from your previous relationship. in addition to your daughter, you gained a step-child; megumi. even though you & toji never married, you considered the boy as your own—loving him like his mother should’ve.

toji and megumi were forced to move in with you after a fault wire in the house caused a fire. you had speculated that toji was the cause for it, but he kept denying it everytime.

toji stayed home most of them time, since his job didn’t need him currently and you thought having him around would be good. but, you thought wrong. he hardly helped around the house, leaving you to clean the messes that him and your children made, he hardly cooked—which you were kinda glad about; you didn’t trust him to defrost chicken. however, he was an amazing dad to your two kids and wouldn’t knock him for that.

as you swept the floor, the sound of the front door being opened and closed alerted you and you turn your head, ready to fuss at your baby daddy. “toji! when are you going to—.” toji stepped into the living room, sweaty and shirtless—and as your eyes followed a sweat bead that dripped down his chest, the hem of his grey sweatpants caught your attention; and they fixtated there.

you could see the imprint of his dick and your thighs pressed together, as you began to remember all about it and how it made you feel.

“yer’ gonna quit your staring or what?” toji’s deep voice brought you back to reality and you immediately went back to yelling at him.

“can you start fucking helping me around here? im getting swamped! its bad eno—.” he walked up to you and cut you off, holding your chin up with his hand. “alright, you take a bath and I’ll handle the house. I’ll cook something to eat too.”

never in a million years did you think toji would cook or clean for you, but you weren’t about to pass it up. you nodded and scurried off to the bathroom that was adjoined to your bedroom and immediately drew a nice bubble bath. you put in your favorite scents and even lit a few candles, before you turned off the steaming water.

peeling off your clothes, you cringed when you got to your blue panties—the coldness of your arousal stuck to your lips as you peeled it off. it’s amazed you how he could still make you feel that way, without even touching him. it’s like your body was molded for him, it craved him at every moment. and as you sat in the bathtub trying to forget about it, your body and mind betrayed you. just the thought of him freeballing in those grey sweatpants, had your nipples hardening and your cunt gushing.

toji’s body looked like it was sculpted by gods, it was perfect. the way each ab and muscle were defined was mind boggling. you found yourself laying against the cool porcelain tub, teasing your hard nipples while you pinched your clit between two of your fingers.

“fuck toji~!” you moaned out softly, the subtle pleasure coursing through your body. you stopped pinching your clit and started rubbing it, eyes rolling back as it throbbed on your middle finger. imaging toji’s fingers replacing yours on your pretty little clit had your toes curling and your cunt spasming like crazy; cumming hard as the bubbles sloshed around you.

you sat there breathless for while before you got the strength to clean your body and drain the tub. rummaging through your closet, you found one toji’s old tshirts that your kept—slipping it on along with your slippers, before walking out of your bedroom.

the smell of food cooking made your stomach growl and as you turned the corner into the kitchen, the sight in front of you made you cover your mouth with eyes. your baby daddy was standing in front of the stove, stirring up whatever food was in the pan his muscles flexing with each movement. those infamous grey sweatpants sat low, showing the start of his toned ass.

you wanted him so bad right now, you could feel yourself getting more aroused by the second—and you had to do everything in your power to stop it, despite the thumping you felt down below.

“is this a dream? never thought i would get to see you cook. it’s like a miracle,” he snickered as you teased him, still stirring up his dish; before turning the burners off.

“taste this, mama~” he called you by the old nickname he gave you and it made you melt. you opened the mouth and accepted the savory taste of chicken and rice, unable to help the moan that escaped your mouth. his scarred lips turned up into a smirk and he grabbed two bowls, making one for him and you. toji led the way to the living room, putting the bowls on the coffee table, before going back to get you both something to drink.

“after all this time, you’ve decided to finally cook. why haven’t you cooked? and you cleaned the house? what’s the reason—you think you’re getting some?” you teased and he let out a roaring laugh, scooping up a spoonful of his food, before he got serious.

“I never cooked because I knew you enjoyed it. I could tell it was a way to help you distress and unwind, the same thing with cleaning the house. this is your house, I don’t wanna mess it up—mama~” your heart warmed, you did love cooking and cleaning, especially when you were stressed. you felt bad, he didn’t consider this as his house and you never gave him the opportunity to. even though the breakup between you two was mutual, you always gave him hell.

“toji….this is your house. despite everything, i love having you here—and the kids can see it too, i think they like seeing their parents together.” you spoke softly, innocently placing your hand on his crotch. he smiled and pinched your nose, turning to drink his beer; while you stared at his pretty face.

the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the rich beverage, had you pressing your thighs together—feeling yourself get wet. your eyes traveled to where you hand was and you slowly started to rub that spot, causing his eyes to advert over to yours. he raised his eyebrow and watched you, that sexy little look on your face that he knew too well—made his dick swell.

“it’s been a while, think you can handle me still?” he asked, a smirk etched onto his lips and you nodded slowly. he put down the bear bottle and pulled you into a sloppy kiss, his tongue swirling on yours. you bit his bottom lip as you pulled away before pulling his sweatpants, making his cock spring free. he was huge, his tannish cock had nice girth to it—along with two veins running from tip to base. he looked bigger than you last remembered, and it made your mouth water; from fear and sheer arousal.

you swallowed and immediately enveloped your mouth around it, the sticky—salty taste of his precum entering your mouth, making you moan out. “shit girl, just like that~” his hand pushed your head down, making you take him deeper in your mouth. you gagged from the force, but quickly got used to it. spit, pooled and trickled out the side of your mouth, and the sounds of your lewdness echoed through the living room.

he reached over behind you, and lifted up your t-shirt, shocked to see that you weren’t wearing any panties; but even more shocked to feel how soaking wet you were. he smirked and slapped your ass, hard, making you choke on his dick—as a result of you trying to yelp. he slid his finger up and down your slit, sending chills up your body, coating his middle finger in your slick—inserting it inside of you afterwords.

the two of you moved in sync, his fingers pumping fast inside of you while you sucked his cock; hitting all the right spots. he inserted another, curling his fingers up to rub against your g-spot, while you gripped his balls, massaging them as you deep throated him.

and you both could feel each other twitching, release approaching the both of you hard—no longer able to hold back, the two of you climaxed. his creamy white load warmed up your mouth, while you creamed on his fingers. pulling back, you swallowed every last bit of his cum, savoring it as it went down, before kissing him; letting him taste himself. he pushed his fingers into your mouth letting you do the same, turning you on even more.

you stood up on the couch, hovering your cunt over his crotch, “sure you can ta—shit!~”

you cut him off as you sat down on his dick, letting him stretch you out in go. you took your bottom lip between your teeth, getting used to his size—walls clenching on him as you sat there. and when you slowly began to bounce, he couldn’t help the small moan that left his mouth. you threw your head back as you bounced on his dick, cunt creaming all over him. you were beyond wet, pussy squelching and queefing—taking his cock like a good girl.

“missed…this….—mhm—this dick~.” moaning in between your words, gripping his shoulder while you rode him, jiggling your ass ever so often. he grunted, loving how fucked out you looked—putting two fingers in your mouth; sucking them with no hesitation.

with this other hand, he sent smacks to your ass—loud popping sounds vibrating throughout the living room. toji loved your body, especially after you gave birth to your daughter. he loved how plushy and fuller you became; ass more plumper each day.

he could feel you clench down, walls moving frantically.

“that’s it mama, cum for me. show daddy how much you wanted this dick~.” toji sent another smack to your ass and you threw your head back, only for him to grab you by your cheeks; forcing you to look at him while you cum.

face contorted with pleasure and your eyes were peppered with little black spots, while you rode out your orgasm. he pulled you into a kiss once more, letting you slowly grind on him. taking you by suprise, he picked you up, sitting down on the rug beneath you and making you turn around. your phat ass was facing him and your face was deep into the soft beige couch, moaning once he pushed back into your sensitive cunt.

toji held onto your waist and watched as your ass wobbled against him, clapping with each stroke. he loved to watch it move, the stretch marks painted against the smooth skin, and the way it rippled when he thrusted into you. you eyes were rolled back to the whites, mewling as you took his dick—gripping the cushions as he rubbed that spot.

PLAP. PLAP. SMACK!

toji was slowly losing his mind from the sounds of your rough love making, his cock twitching inside of you with each stroke.

“cum for me! please—feels sho gud—“ he stuck his fingers in your mouth once again, pounding your pretty cunt sloppy.

“you looked so good pregnant with my seed—i can breed this pussy? wanna put another baby in ya” he grunted, giving you deep and powerful strokes. you mindlessly nodded your head, feeling your orgasm increasing.

his hips slammed into yours, his cock twitching before he finally released—making your belly warm with his cum. “yes daddy—fill me up so good’~” he slapped your ass, drilling your pussy while continuing to dump his milky load inside of you. he wasn’t stopping till you got yours and with his movements, you weren’t far behind.

you let out a loud moan, eyes rolling back deep into your head, cunt clenching so tight around him—you drained more ‘milk’ out of him. a powerful stream of clear fluid, pushed out of you; forcing him out with a loud queef following. toji plugged his finger up into your cunt, fingering you hard during the span of you squirting all over the run beneath you.

calming down, he pulled you by your chin and kissed you; melting into his touch.

“I’ll draw you a bath and pick up the kids, go get some rest mama” he picked you up with ease and walked you both to the bathroom.

you saw the kids off to the bus stop, forcing a smile on your face before you closed the door shut. you raced to the bathroom, to cough up the nasty warm liquid that came up—flushing the porcelain toilet. you groaned, touching your boobs which were oddly tender, and sat on the toilet. you reached into the stand beside it and pulled out two clear blue pregnancy tests.

while you waited for the results, toji came home from his morning job—body covered in hard work and sweat. “y/n? where you at mama?” he called out to you, looking around the house, only to not hear a reply. entering the bedroom, he saw the bathroom’s door halfway closed and he made his way over to it, knocking before entering.

you stood up and held the two positive pregnancy tests, folding your free arm under your chest.

“twins?” he joked and you hit his arm—giggling.

“we’re going to need a bigger place, soon.”

[verstappensrealwife]

Silver Springs - Ex!Oscar Piastri x Singer!Reader

[oscar piastri masterlist  / f1 masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... oscar goes to his ex girlfriends concert after cheating on her.

ʚɞ angst -> fluff? ending.  ⋆⭒˚.⋆ 900 words + SMAU

ʚɞ warnings: NOT an oscar ending, cheating, oscar's sisters are made to be much younger (like under 10). lana del rey faceclaim.

ʚɞ poll at end of fic to decide who she dates next!

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When you and Oscar split up, it wasn’t amicable like he told the media. He broke up with you, and you were distraught. Going black out on social media for months before announcing a new single. It wasn’t long before writing the song that you found out the reason it all really ended. He had said, “Mclaren says no more distractions,” You soon found out that just meant “No more you.” 

This revelation came a few weeks later when he was seen posted up with a girl. The timelines of your relationships overlapping. Distraught was now the understatement of the year.

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The release of the single marked a turning point in your narrative. The song, dripping with raw emotion, resonated deeply with listeners. The lyrics were painfully direct, a window into your heartbreak and the betrayal that followed. Fans dissected every line, piecing together the story and speculating about who it was written for. 

The album followed, a cohesive story of love lost and the journey back to self. While some songs still bore the weight of your pain, others hinted at healing, even defiance. Critics hailed it as your most vulnerable and mature work yet. Headlines shifted from speculations about your personal life to accolades about your artistry.

Meanwhile, Oscar stayed silent, perhaps believing the storm would pass. But the scrutiny on him intensified, especially as the timelines between his relationships were publicly examined. The girl he was seen with became a topic of conversation too, though you never once mentioned her. Your silence in interviews about him spoke volumes; you let the music say it all.

As the months passed, you began to flourish in ways that no longer revolved around heartbreak. 

By the time the album tour rolled around, you had fully embraced your own narrative. On stage, in sold-out venues, you exude confidence. The heartbreak that once defined your every move was now just one chapter in a bigger story—a story of resilience, transformation, and unapologetic self-love.

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Oscar’s sisters sat on either side of him, laughing and chatting as they waited for the next song, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing on stage. To them, this was just another concert—a chance to see one of the biggest stars of the moment, someone they might have even admired from afar before all of this. They didn’t notice the way your gaze had frozen the moment you spotted him in the crowd. They didn’t feel the heat rising as you stared him down, the room suddenly smaller, suffocating.

The intro to Silver Springs started, and the audience quieted, the opening chords rippling through the venue like an unspoken promise of something extraordinary. As the spotlight shifted back to you, the weight of the moment settled. You gripped the mic tighter, your knuckles white, your shoulders tense. You knew the song would hurt to sing. What you didn’t expect was how much it would hurt him.

You began softly, your voice trembling with emotion

"You could be my silver springs...

Blue-green colors flashing..."

Your eyes found him immediately. The spotlight didn’t extend to his seat, but you didn’t need it. You could feel him, your gaze cutting through the crowd like a blade. For a moment, he looked back at you, then quickly away, shifting uncomfortably. His sisters kept chatting, oblivious, swaying gently to the melody.

But as the song built, so did your intensity.

"Time cast a spell on you,

But you won't forget me..."

You leaned into the words, your voice growing sharper, angrier, the crackling edge of your heartbreak evident in every syllable. You didn’t just sing the song—you lived it, every word a pointed accusation. Oscar shifted again, staring at the stage now, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable but tense. His sisters seemed utterly at ease, clapping politely during an instrumental break, their chatter not stopping for a moment.

And then the line came:

"I'll follow you down 'til the sound of my voice will haunt you..."

You let the words hang in the air, staring directly at him. The audience roared, swept up in the passion of your performance, but you didn’t even register them. This was personal, a message delivered with precision and fury.

Oscar’s sisters finally caught on to the awkward tension between you and him, but they only exchanged confused looks, still clueless as to the weight of what was happening. They turned to him, whispering something, but he didn’t respond. He just sat there, staring at you with a mixture of regret and defiance.

As the song reached its emotional crescendo, you pushed through to the final verse, your voice soaring. By the time the last note faded into silence, you stood there, staring into the dark where he sat, breathing hard, your heart pounding.

The audience erupted into applause, breaking the moment. You straightened, taking a deep breath and allowing a small, almost imperceptible smile to cross your face. You turned and walked offstage for a brief interlude, leaving him there, knowing he’d felt every word.

༻❁༺

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༻❁༺ ༻❁༺ ༻❁༺

I hope this was good 🫣 I’ve not done an SMAU before

Click here to be added to the tags list ❤️ 

tags: @uhhvictoria @anamiad00msday

[iwanthermidnightz]

When I think back on the Speak Now album, I get a lump in my throat. I have a feeling it will always be that way, because this period of time was so vibrantly aglow with the last light of the setting sun of my childhood. I made this album, completely self-written, between the ages of 18 and 20. I've spoken about how I feel like those ages are the most emotionally turbulent ones in a persons life. Maybe when I say that, I'm really just talking about myself.

I think they might just be the most idealistic, hopeful years too. At this point in my life, I had released my second album, Fearless. It became the breakthrough moment I'd always dreamt of, one that catapulted my career to new realms of success. It had brought with it a tidal wave of pressures and pitfalls and growing pains. All the while, I was encountering the milestones and checkpoints of normal teenage growth. I had cataclysmic crushes and brushes with heartache. I moved out of my parents' house and set my bags down in a new apartment. I hung photos on my own walls and decorated the space where I would sob and cackle and shatter and dream. Sometimes I felt like a grown up, but a lot of the time I just wanted to time travel back to my childhood bed, where my mom would read stories to me until I fell asleep.

In my darker moments, I was tormented by the doubt that swirled loudly around my ascent and my merits as an artist. I was trying to create a follow up to the most awarded country album in history, while staring directly into the face of intense criticism. I had been widely and publicly slammed for my singing voice and was first encountering the infuriating question that is unfortunately still lobbed at me to this day: does she really write her songs? Spoiler alert: I really, really do.

In the years since, I've developed a thicker skin about public criticism and the cynicism with which some people approach the music I make. At that time, it leveled me. I had these voices in my head telling me that I had the perfect chance and I blew it. I hadn’t been good enough. I had given it all I had and been found wanting.

I wanted to get better, to challenge myself, and to build on my skills as a writer, an artist, and a performer. I didn't want to just be handed respect and acceptance in my field. I wanted to earn it. To try and confront these demons, I underwent extensive vocal training and made a decision that would completely define this album: I decided I would write it entirely on my own. I figured, they couldn't give all the credit to my cowriters if there weren't any. But that posed a new challenge: It really had to be good. If it wasn't, I would be proving my critics right.

I had no idea how much this pain would shape me. That this was the beginning of my series of creative choices made by reacting to setbacks with defiance. That my stubbornness in the face of doubters and dissenters would become my coping mechanism through my entire career from that point forward. This exact pattern of enacting my own form of rebellion when I feel broken is exactly why you're reading these very words, and I'm re-releasing this album now.

I went through my first worldwide scandal (the mic grab seen around the world). I experienced the weirdness of trying to get to know a boy while a swarm of paparazzi surrounds the car. Media contacting my publicist for an official statement on why two teenagers broke up. These are weird experiences to have at any age, but even more surreal when you're 19.

I had the nagging sense that in the most intense moments of my life, I had frozen. I had said nothing publicly. I still don't know if it was out of instinct, not wanting to seem impolite, or just overwhelming fear. But I made sure to say it all in these songs. I decided to call the album Speak Now. It was a play on the speak now or forever hold your peace' moment in weddings, but for me it symbolized a chance to respond to the chatter and commentary around my own life.

Some of these emotional revelations were surprising to people. Some expected anger and instead got compassion and empathy with 'Innocent'. Some expected a kiss-off breakup song but instead got a hand-on-heart apology, 'Back to December. It was an album that was the most precious to me because of its vast extremes. It was unfiltered and potent. In my mind, the saddest song I've ever written is 'Last Kiss'. My most scathing is 'Dear John' and my most wistfully romantic is 'Enchanted'.

I'll be forever proud of setting a goal and seeing it through. I'lI always feel shivers all over when I remember singing 'Long Live' to close the show every night on tour. The outstretched hands of those bright and beautiful faces of the fans. Their support was like an open palm that reached out and helped me up off the ground when others were, frankly, mean.

These days I make my choices for those people, the ones who thought I had been good enough all along. I try to speak my mind when I feel strongly, in the moment I feel it. I'm still idealistic and earnest about the music I make, but I'm less crushed when people mock me for it. I know now that one of the bravest things a person can do is create something with unblinking sincerity, to put it all on the line. I still sometimes wish I was a little kid again in a tiny bed, before I ever grew up.

I always looked at this album as my album, and the lump in my throat expands to a quivering voice as I say this. Thanks to you, dear reader, it finally will be.

I consider this music to be, along with your faith in me, the best thing that's ever been mine.

Yours,

Taylor

[fratttymatty]

The "Interview"

(All characters are 18+)

It was a cold Friday night in London, and four friends—Elliot, Jake, Micah, and Julian—stood in line outside one of the most famous music venues in the city. It was a milestone of sorts: they’d saved up for months, gotten their tickets with just enough time before they turned 18, and now they were about to witness their favorite artist, Central Cee, live in concert.

They were all from the U.S., fresh out of high school, and their friendship had grown strong over the years. It wasn’t just their shared love of music that kept them close, but also their shared experiences navigating life as gay teens in America. Each one had their own story, their own struggles and victories, but they found comfort in each other—through late-night talks, inside jokes, and nights spent dancing to the latest rap tracks.

Elliot, the group's de facto leader, was a tall, lanky guy with curly dark brown hair, a hint of stubble on his chin, and a sarcastic sense of humor that had everyone in stitches. Jake, the creative one, had a boyish charm about him with a mop of messy hair and a slightly mischievous grin. Micah was the quiet, introspective one, with a soft smile that always made him seem like he was in on a secret. Julian, the most confident and adventurous, had an athletic build, a razor-sharp jawline, and always seemed to be the one pushing the others to take risks.

Tonight, though, something felt different. Maybe it was the excitement of being in London, or the energy of the crowd around them, but all four felt a growing anticipation buzzing through their veins. As they entered the venue, a man in a black hoodie approached them. He had the swagger of someone who knew exactly who they were.

“You lot," he said, "you’re coming with me.”

Before they could ask questions, the man led them backstage, where they were ushered into a dimly lit room with plush furniture. There, standing with his back turned, was none other than Central Cee himself. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Elliot felt a strange energy in the room, something that made his pulse race.

“Right,” Central Cee said, turning around with a grin that was both welcoming and knowing. “You lot came here to see me. But before you go back out there, how about a quick chat?”

The boys exchanged puzzled glances. They had no idea what was going on, but curiosity got the better of them. Each one was called up one by one for what seemed like a simple interview, but no one expected the transformation that would follow.

Elliot was the first to be pulled forward. As soon as he stepped up to Central Cee, a strange warmth washed over him. Central’s eyes glinted with something that made Elliot feel exposed, like he could read everything about him in an instant.

“Tell me something about yourself, fam,” Central Cee said casually, his voice smooth but commanding. “What’s your vibe?”

Elliot was taken aback. He wasn’t used to being asked such personal questions, especially not in front of his friends, but something about the moment made him open up.

“I guess… I’m the group’s leader, y’know? Always planning, always keeping us together,” Elliot said, trying to sound confident.

Central Cee smirked. “Sounds like you’ve got control, yeah? You wanna take control of your life in a new way?”

Before Elliot could respond, a rush of heat spread through his body, and suddenly his skin felt tight, as if something was shifting beneath it. His hair—once wild and curly—grew smoother, darker, and slicked back into a tousled fringe that framed his face perfectly. His broad frame shrank slightly, his arms growing more defined, and his posture shifted into something… cooler. He felt a tug at his accent—his American drawl fading into a crisp London twang. His clothes adjusted too, becoming baggier, more streetwear-oriented. A hoodie and a pair of well-worn tracksuit bottoms replaced his previous outfit.

The transformation was shocking, but what was even more surprising was how right it felt. He no longer cared about his past life as an American teenager; everything about him now screamed British roadman, and he loved it.

“Oi, you proper now, bruv,” Central Cee said with a nod of approval.

Elliot didn’t even recognize the name he'd had before—Elliot felt so far away. He was Rhys now.

Jake was up next. He had been watching Elliot closely, but before he could ask him what had happened, Central Cee locked eyes with him.

“Your turn, fam. What makes you tick?”

Jake wasn’t used to feeling vulnerable, but somehow, with Central Cee’s sharp gaze on him, all of his walls crumbled.

“I… I guess I just like to push boundaries. Take risks,” Jake said, almost unsure of his own words. “I’m always looking for something new.”

Central Cee raised an eyebrow. “New, huh? How about we make you new, yeah?”

Jake didn’t even have time to process the words before another wave of heat swept through his body. His hair grew out, settling into a perfect, messy fringe. His slim, artistic frame bulged with muscle, and his clothes morphed into the streetwear of a London roadman. A gold chain appeared around his neck, and his voice shifted from his American accent to a street-smart British one.

He felt a sense of ease settle into his chest. His friends were still standing there, but it was as if a part of him had clicked into place. He was no longer that shy, creative guy from America. He was something else now—someone who walked the streets with confidence, ready to take on whatever came his way.

Central Cee nodded approvingly. “That’s it. You look proper now, bruv. Name’s Connor now, yeah?”

Jake felt a grin tug at his lips. He was Connor now. No going back.

Micah was nervous, but he didn’t show it. He had always been the quietest, the most introspective, and he wasn’t sure what to make of all of this. When Central Cee called his name, Micah stepped forward slowly.

“Alright, what about you, bruv?” Central Cee asked, his voice softer but still commanding. “What’s your story?”

“I’m… I’m always thinking,” Micah said, his voice unsure. “I overanalyze everything. I never really feel like I belong.”

Central Cee grinned knowingly. “Well, maybe you need to belong to something, yeah?”

Micah blinked, and then, just like the others, the heat surged through his body. His hair fell into a perfect, tousled fringe, his body became leaner and more athletic, and his eyes darkened with a new intensity. His accent shifted smoothly from American to a sharp London tone. His clothes became the uniform of someone who belonged in the streets: a puffer jacket, ripped black jeans, and trainers that had seen some miles.

As the transformation completed, Micah felt an unfamiliar confidence rise in him. He no longer felt out of place—he was home. He looked down at his clothes, his new identity settling around him like a second skin.

“You fit in, bruv. You were always meant to be one of us,” Central Cee said, grinning.

He was no longer Micah. He was Liam now, and it felt right.

Finally, it was Julian’s turn. He walked forward, a little slower than the rest, already knowing what was about to happen.

“You look ready,” Central Cee said with a raised eyebrow. “What’s your vibe?”

Julian shrugged, exuding that confidence that had always been his trademark. “I’m the one who always takes things head-on. I don’t overthink. I just do it.”

Central Cee’s grin widened. “Good. You’ll fit right in.”

As the words left Central Cee’s mouth, the final transformation hit Julian. His hair fell into the same tousled fringe, and his athletic build became even more solid. His voice shifted to a crisp, confident British accent. His old American swagger was gone, replaced by the loose, easy movements of someone who lived and breathed the streets of London. The clothes shifted too: a grey tracksuit replaced his previous outfit, and he felt the weight of it like armor.

Julian looked at himself in the mirror, barely recognizing the person staring back. The name Julian felt like an echo from a past life. Now, he was Brayden.

Central Cee slapped him on the back. “That’s the energy we need, fam.”

By the time they all stood together, they were unrecognizable—not just in appearance, but in their very essence. Their American pasts felt distant and irrelevant. They were no longer Elliot, Jake, Micah, and Julian. They were a new crew now, a gang of roadmen. They were Rhys, Connor, Liam, and Brayden. And they had found their place in the world, alongside Central Cee and his crew.

As the night went on, the boys realized that the transformation was complete—not just on the outside, but deep down inside. They had found a new identity, a new family, and a new life.

And they would never go back.

After the transformation, Rhys, Connor, Liam, and Brayden became something entirely different—no longer just American teens trying to find their place in the world, they had now fully embraced their new roadman personas. Their lives, their outlook, and even their identities had shifted, and London had become their new home.

Their American pasts were like faded memories, barely a whisper beneath the streets they now walked. It was all about swagger, respect, and the code of the roads.

But the change wasn’t just about looking the part—it was about living the life. And soon enough, their new relationships started to follow suit.

Rhys was the first to find someone who matched his energy. With his newfound cocky, confident persona, it didn’t take long for him to catch the attention of Jada, a fiery girl with a sharp tongue and a gaze that could pierce through anyone. She wasn’t fazed by Rhys’ swagger or his roadman façade. In fact, she called him out on it immediately.

“Oi, what’s all this ‘I’m the boss’ talk, bruv?” Jada said, smirking as she leaned against the brick wall outside the club. Her dark curls framed her face, and the gold hoops in her ears caught the dim streetlights. “You ain't fooling me. You’re just another lad trying to play the game.”

Rhys couldn’t help but laugh, impressed by her directness. “Nah, I’m solid, Jada. You don’t know me like that.”

Jada raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Alright then. Prove it, fam. Take a walk with me.”

And so, they did. They spent the next few weeks growing closer, with Jada often pulling Rhys out of his comfort zone—making him think about things outside the tough-guy persona he had built. But that was what Rhys needed. He’d never had someone challenge him like that before.

They became inseparable. Jada was just as street-smart as Rhys, and together, they ruled the London streets. They’d walk hand-in-hand through the parks, both in their tracksuits, looking like they owned the place.

“You’re solid, Rhys,” she’d say, the praise always followed by a cheeky grin. “Just don’t get too cocky.”

Rhys grinned back. “Ain’t no such thing as too cocky when you’re with me, babe.”

Connor, the fiery and unpredictable member of the crew, found his match in Sienna, a girl with an even sharper attitude and a style that could’ve been pulled straight from a London streetwear magazine. She had platinum blonde hair, bold eyeliner, and a strut that made heads turn. But beneath that tough exterior, Sienna was sweet, loyal, and down for whatever her crew needed.

When they first met, Connor was quick to try to impress her. He’d never been the type to settle down, but there was something magnetic about Sienna. Maybe it was her ability to look him in the eye and call his bluff or the way she could hang with the boys without breaking a sweat.

“You think you’re all that, don’t you?” Sienna said one night, her eyes narrowing playfully as she crossed her arms. She stood in the doorway of a local warehouse, the music from inside barely audible over the sound of the street.

Connor shrugged, his grin never fading. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve got the look, the vibe. The streets respect me.”

Sienna took a step closer, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “Respect’s earned, fam. You ain’t earned it just by walking around like you own the place.”

Connor raised an eyebrow, impressed by her boldness. “You think you can teach me how it’s done?”

“I’m the only one who knows how it’s done around here,” she shot back.

They spent their days cruising around the streets together, from the markets in Camden to the nightclubs of Shoreditch. For Connor, Sienna was more than just a pretty face—she was a roadman in her own right, teaching him the ropes when he needed it.

Eventually, Connor realized he wasn’t just playing the game—he was in it for real. And Sienna was the partner he never knew he needed.

“You’re mad, Sienna,” he said one night as they chilled on the rooftop of a warehouse, gazing out at the city. “Proper roadman energy.”

“Always, fam,” she replied, looking at him with a grin. “You just gotta keep up.”

Liam was always the quiet one in the group. The introspective type. He’d never really fit in back in the U.S. as the thoughtful guy who was constantly overanalyzing everything. But now? Liam had fully embraced his new persona, and it felt natural. He’d found his own rhythm, and Tasha, a girl with soft curls and an easy smile, seemed to ground him in ways he never expected.

They met at a local pub one night when Liam was deep in conversation with Central Cee. Tasha had overheard Liam talking about the roads, about loyalty, and about the importance of family. It wasn’t long before she joined them.

“Oi, I heard what you said about loyalty,” Tasha said as she slid into the booth next to Liam. “I like that. Loyalty’s everything in this life.”

Liam was taken aback. Most people didn’t get it—not like Tasha did. But she understood. She had the same respect for the streets that he did, the same need to feel connected to something bigger than just himself.

They started spending more time together, and Liam found himself opening up to her in ways he hadn’t with anyone else. She pulled him out of his head, reminding him that sometimes the best way to live was to be present.

“I get you, Liam,” Tasha said one night as they walked through the back streets of East London, hand-in-hand. “You’re all about keeping things real. But you’ve gotta let go sometimes, bruv.”

Liam nodded, smiling softly. “I’m learning. You’re a good one, Tasha.”

Tasha smirked, giving him a playful nudge. “Ain’t no ‘good one’ about me. But you’re alright, Liam.”

Brayden was the most adventurous of the crew, always pushing the boundaries and diving headfirst into any situation. But it was Mia, a girl with bright green eyes and a sharp edge, who caught his attention. She was a force of nature, confident and quick-witted, with an easy laugh and a demeanor that made you believe she could handle anything thrown her way.

Brayden had always been the type to enjoy the thrill of the chase, but Mia? She was the chase. She didn’t take his cocky attitude or his charm seriously.

“What makes you think you can just walk up to me like that?” Mia asked, raising an eyebrow as Brayden tried to work his usual magic on her.

“I’ve got that roadman swag,” Brayden said, leaning in close with a confident grin. “And you? You’ve got that energy I can’t ignore.”

Mia smirked. “Alright, I’ll bite. But don’t think you can impress me that easily, bruv.”

It didn’t take long before Brayden was hooked. Mia challenged him in a way no one else did—pushing him to take risks, to not always play it safe. Together, they were unstoppable.

“Oi, Brayden, you’re all about showing off, but can you handle me?” Mia teased one night as they walked through a local alley, her voice light but full of challenge.

Brayden shrugged, a grin on his face. “You won’t even know what hit you.”

Mia rolled her eyes. “We’ll see, bruv.”

The Crew, Together

As time went on, Rhys, Connor, Liam, and Brayden—along with Jada, Sienna, Tasha, and Mia—became a family. A crew that ran the streets of East London, with their messy fringes and cocky grins, and they moved as one.

The bond between the boys had deepened, and with their girlfriends now a part of their world, their crew was unstoppable. Together, they hit the streets, ran the clubs, and lived the life they’d always dreamed of. They’d found their place, not just as roadmen, but as a unit.

There was no going back. They were part of something bigger now—something that couldn’t be broken. Their names were no longer American. They were Rhys, Connor, Liam, Brayden, and their girls were with them, each one just as fierce and loyal as their men.

Together, they owned London.

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

what do the rouges think of cardinal?

OHHHHH What a lovely question <33

Since i've yet to write in Cardinal in a scene beyond his desk work- these might change.

Cardinal acts well- like a cryptic?? It's a complete coin toss how he will behave, if he will turn the creepy to 100% and speak in tounge's (its a mix of latin and greek) But when he DOES respond its through a heavy voice modulater.

However if you want specifics?? (also some extra lore of some rouges no longer active- both due to. Cardinals interference and BECAUSE I SAID SO)

Joker- They are a menace, never once humors his schemes- he knows the moment Cardinal gets involved his fun is ruined. Therefore he hates their guts. (Cardinal is reported 10x more brutal when faced with the Joker)

Scarecrow- Self proclaimed "Arch enemy" of Cardinal since hes never once sucseeded in drugging them, and he longs to know what would make the little bird sing. (Cardinal is said to have an entire pocket dedicated to backup rebreathers, usually lets the bats take over)

Riddler- LOVES Cardinal so so much- they are like best friends (no no they are not) Cardinal seems to enjoy his puzzles and he's able to pull out ones even the Batman would struggle with. Sometimes an informant for a good game. (Cardinal will admit, out of all the rouges? He doesn't mind Riddler- just with less hostages)

Harley- Thinks they are strange, even more strange than the bats. But more than anything concerning- their behaviors raise a ton of red flags but she doubts she can convince them to therapy, though it is her goal. (Cardinal is... unsure about Harley, she's changed- but memories are hard)

Ivy- Theres a mutual respect- Though out of all the vigilantes Cardinal seems to fear her the most, the last time being hit by her pollen they freaked out enough Harley made her give over the antidote. They definently fight, but she does try and hold back some of her more underhanded stuff. (Cardinals suit got several more layers after that incident)

Mr.Freeze- Reformed villain now, as a result of Cardinal. Aka when he first did his villain monologue to them- they had spoke (for the first time to ANY rouge) and asked to see his blue prints. A few years later his suit was fortified to help him live a somewhat normal life, and his wife had been cured. They got their life back. Leaving Gotham soon after, but he still checks in on ocassion (Cardinal never responds though, but they're happy with the updates- that he was able to help)

Catwoman- Annoying, but interesting for sure. It seems no matter how elaborate her scheme they always seem to pop in and just stare or even wave. The most interesting thing though? They never stop her. Certian locations she robs they will return the item (usually museums) but have never once tried to actually take her in. If anything shes half convinced they throw the bats off her trail, its interesting. (She never steals from anyone who cant afford to replace it, and honestly her stuff goes to a good cause-)

Clayface- Never became a villain- After his accident, Dagget had been shut down long before so Matt Hageb he had no accsess to the cream. With the help of his coworker (and future husband) Teddy Lupus he got the help he needed. Drake Industries came out with an amazing prosthesis program that helped construct a whole new face. Now Mr & Mr Lupus live in upper west side of Gotham where they now raise two daughters going to Gotham Academy.

Blackmask- Hates their fucking guts. People think Cardinal comes down on the Joker hard? They're practically suffocating Black Mask movements- buisness is failing and at this rate he's trying to put out a hit on the fucker. (The hates their guts is mutual)

Two face- Instead of going to the Manori trial- Harvey had an emergency call from a very panicky Bruce who suddenly had CPS knocking at his door about Dick. The delay finding a new attorney meant Manori was found with the acid and held for attempted assault while Harvey was scot free. He owns his own law firm now and has continued to be a close confident to Bruce and "Uncle" to the kids. (Cardinal cried when he first found out about Harvey, that he was okay- he thought it had been too late.)

Penguin- Cardinal is a pain in their ass, not as much as Black mask but still just enough that he doesnt hold back when attacking. The ONLY saving grace from absolute hatred is Cardinal outright refuses to fight any of his birds, and will even go as far as to save some of them when the bats are too careless to notice a penguin slipping off a roof. (Cardinal wishes Penguin would stop dragging actual penguins into his shit- even with guns they're just too cute)

[mcntsee]

— ★ Her voice

↳ Summary: It’s been four years since her death and Spencer is struggling with the fact that he can’t entirely remember what her voice sounded like.

↳ Warnings: Death (oop— you are dead), grief, angst, sadness, mood swings. Not proof read. No use of “Y/n”

↳ Author’s note: This was requested by a lovely anon that is going through the same situation as Spencer. Anon, and anyone else who might need it, you are not alone. Grief is a bitch, yes, but soon enough it will get better. Don’t ever doubt asking for help.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

Since the night they lost her, Spencer has undergone significant changes. His demeanor shifted, not entirely transforming him into a new person, but certain characteristic traits that defined Spencer had certainly faded away.

 

The confidence she had helped him build vanished entirely, leaving him a mere shadow of his former self. His hard-to-understand jokes became less frequent, and the statistical facts he used to effortlessly share with the team seemed to fade into the background. Though they knew he still possessed the knowledge, his once vibrant presence now felt subdued and distant, as if a vital part of him had been lost along with her.

 

Losing her didn't entirely change him; if anything, it returned him to the twenty-four-year-old they had once known.

 

Appearance-wise, he remained largely unchanged. Though the passage of time had left its mark with subtle signs of aging—darker bags under his eyes and a paler complexion, suggesting increased time spent indoors—his essence remained the same.

 

But if there was one thing that underwent a complete transformation for Spencer, it was his choice of accessories. While he had always worn a watch, in terms of fashion accessories, that had been the extent of it.

 

Now, however, his hands were usually adorned with rings—rings that appeared slightly too small for him. It was only when Penelope noticed the gold heart ring she had gifted her on her birthday among them that the team realized those rings had belonged to her, not Spencer.

 

That, or the dagger necklace he now always wore. While the rings constantly changed—every day a new set—the necklace remained constant. It became pretty obvious to all of them that Spencer probably never took it off, especially when the gold edges started to tarnish.

 

With the 4th year anniversary of her death quickly approaching, the team had been anticipating a change in Spencer’s mood. Typically, Spencer became grumpy and irritable as the two-week countdown to the anniversary began. However, this year, his demeanor was more than just that.

 

He was angry. He had snapped at all of them more times than they could count, often for seemingly stupid reasons. He had gotten little to no work done since last week, and most of the time, unless explicitly required, he kept his distance from them as much as possible. Usually, he could be found sitting at his desk, staring at the files in front of him while either tugging at his hair or pulling at the necklace around his neck.

 

They had all tried to talk to him, asking him multiple times what was wrong or offering help, only to be met with Spencer's yelling.

 

It wasn’t unusual for him to distance himself and become grumpier around this date, but this was different. They had never seen him this angry before.

 

So when the day arrived, Hotch called for a meeting. They waited patiently for Spencer to sit down, with JJ closing the door behind her. There was a tense silence in the room, lingering for a moment longer than they wanted, with their faces constantly shifting between each other until Rossi finally spoke, and all eyes landed on Spencer.

 

“What’s the matter, kid?”

 

Spencer, who had previously been looking down, his hands toying with the necklace around his neck, snapped his head up in Rossi’s direction, meeting his eyes with anger.

 

“Is there a case?”

“No.”

“Then, what is this?”

 

Rossi's mind raced, searching for the right words, but his mouth moved ahead, unable to keep pace. Only hesitant filler sounds escaped as his lips repeatedly opened and closed in search of words.

 

“Talk to us, Spence. What is going on?”

 

Spencer’s hand ceased its relentless movement on the jewelry. His eyes were moving around the room, scanning the faces of his team; his family as they watched him.

 

He wanted to yell at them as he had for the past two weeks, to scream and curse them for profiling him without his consent, but tears had already begun to form in his eyes before he had a chance to pick who to yell at first. Shortly after, his head fell into his palms as sobs wracked his body.

 

"Oh, my boy genius." Penelope's embrace was warm, enfolding him completely. Drawing him close until his head found solace against her chest, his arms instinctively encircling her, fingers seeking comfort in the softness of her touch as her hand gently caressed the back of his head.

 

They waited in silence, their hearts heavy as they watched his body tremble with sobs, while Penelope spoke softly, whispering words of comfort, her head resting gently on top of his.

 

After a moment, his sobs became softer, his hands coming up to wipe his face as his back stretched back up again. “I can’t—“

 

With a sigh, he cleared his throat, his eyes unable to meet his teammates’. “I’m not sure I remember her voice.” He whispered with a trembling voice, cracking once while he spoke as fresh tears formed in his eyes. “I think I remember it, but I’m not sure if my brain is just tricking me into believing that’s what she sounded like.”

 

“I don’t know what’s true and what is made up by the grief in my mind,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. With a deep breath, he found the courage to face his friends. “Please help me.”

 

“Alright. What do you remember?”

 

With a slow nod, his eyes closed briefly, a couple of tears escaping without permission as he dove deep into his memories. “I remember her voice had a rasp,” he said, a small frown gracing his features. “I—I think.”

 

His eyes opened once more, scanning the familiar faces, searching for some sort of reassurance in their understanding gazes.

 

It was only then that the team started to realize that, much like him, they couldn’t really recall what her voice sounded like. "I don’t remember her voice being raspy," said Hotch, breaking the silence that had fallen upon them.

 

“No, Spence is right. It was there, not overpowering, but distinct enough to hear.”

 

The comment was only followed by Morgan shaking his head in disagreement, causing doubt and fear to consume Spencer once again. Hearing them talk about something he was sure about only furthered his growing doubt. "I, uh—her tone was soft and patient," he interjected, hoping to quell the uncertainty gnawing at him.

 

At that, Emily perked up, her head nodding rapidly. “Yeah! It sounded like someone explaining something to a child without using an exaggerated baby voice.”

 

It seems like the discussion had been prolonged, spanning over an hour, yet instead of alleviating his worry, it exacerbated it. Rather than providing reassurance, it seemed to have fueled his uncertainty, amplifying his doubts about his own memory.

 

As his frustration mounted, any traces of tears dried up, leaving behind a lingering desire to lash out at his friends for exacerbating the situation. And perhaps he would have succumbed to that impulse, if not for the fact that when he looked at them again, he could see the pain etched in their faces as they struggled to recall.

 

In all the years since her death, he has not once stopped to think about how it would have affected the rest of them too. He had been too consumed by his grief to realize that he hadn't been the only one to lose someone.

 

Emily had lost her best friend, the one steadfast presence throughout her entire career at the BAU. She was the only person among them who had opened her arms and accepted Emily into the team as soon as she stepped foot into the office.

 

Hotch had lost the godmother of his son, the one person who was always there to lend a helping hand, keeping Jack safe and cared for. She had been the first to hug and congratulate him when he announced they were expecting, and she was the one who would always listen and reassure him when he doubted his abilities as a husband and parent.

 

Penelope's sweet tooth flourished with each treat the girl brought for the tech analyst. With endless creativity in her choices, there was never a dull moment when they gathered in Penelope's office, engaging in lively conversations about anything and everything under the sun.

 

Rossi had essentially lost a child. She was the only person he willingly allowed into his kitchen, the sole recipient of his culinary wisdom without the need for her to beg for it like the rest of the team. Rossi was the one she would turn to whenever she and Spencer had a fight, and he was the one she would seek solace in when pained about one of his ex-wives.

 

JJ and Morgan had always been closer to him than her, but they had loved her nonetheless, just as she had loved them. They would often act like siblings, going out clubbing together or bickering about any trivial thing they disagreed on.

 

Looking at his friends' faces now, he realized that, although this whole ordeal might not have helped him at all, they were all trying their hardest to remember her voice. And maybe he shouldn't have told them because, only now that he took in the pain in their faces did he realize that they probably remembered even less than he did with his eidetic memory.

 

The meeting was dismissed shortly after his realization. Now, they were all back in their respective spots, unable to focus on work as they were lost in thought, much like he had been for the past two weeks.

 

His phone vibrated on his desk. With a quick glance at the screen, he saw a text from Penelope. His hand swiftly moved from the necklace to the phone, quickly reading the message that urged him to go to her office before standing up and making his way over there.

 

Once there, he saw Penelope browsing through her personal laptop, sniffing as her hand came up to wipe her cheeks. Slowly, he made his way over to the chair she had dragged in for him to sit on. "Penelope?" he called softly, concern evident in his voice.

 

"I have something that might help you," she said, not meeting his eyes as she clicked on an audio file. With a nod of his head, he encouraged her to continue. "Before she died," fresh tears gathered in both of their eyes, Spencer being the only one successful at holding them back. "She asked me to record a message for you."

 

Spencer felt a surge of anger at Penelope’s admission. "Garcia, after four years, you're only telling me now?" His voice grew louder with each word, and his fists clenched tightly as he struggled to contain his frustration.

 

“I know. I know, but she asked me to only play it for you when the moment was right.”

 

“Then do it.”

 

Penelope gave a slow nod, her index finger gliding across the mouse pad, tapping her finger once when the mouse cursor reached the play button.

 

The computer's speakers filled the room with the sound of shaky breaths amidst static, the interference momentarily intensifying before fading away completely. “Are you—is it... God…”

 

The sound of her voice filled his ears once again after so many years, the tears in his eyes now freely flowing as his heart swelled with warmth at the familiar sound he had desperately yearned for so long to hear again. “Are you recording?”

 

"Yes, but, please, just save your breath. They are on their way there.”

 

“No, I—“ more labored breaths followed as she once again cut herself off. “Spence, I am so, so sorry, love,” she choked out, her voice trembling with emotion.

 

The once-warm feeling in his heart was quickly replaced by a sinking sensation in his stomach. As he listened to the pain in her voice, he understood why Penelope had been hesitant to show him this.

 

“I love you, Spencer. So, so much.” By now, he knew she was crying, her words mingling with the soft sobs and sniffles that escaped her.

 

“I’m offended. You only love Spencer?”

 

Before he could get angry at Penelope for teasing her while she was dying, her soft laugh—something he thought he would never hear again—reached his ears, restoring warmth to his pained heart. “I love you too, Pen.”

 

He had been looking down, but when those words were uttered, he looked up to find Penelope’s face. A soft, trembling smile graced her lips, her tear-stained cheeks adding a poignant depth to her expression as she kept her focus on the computer before them.

 

"I love all of you," she coughed, wincing in pain as she took another shaky breath. "A lot. I love you guys so much."

 

“They are almost there. Hold on, please.”

 

With a sigh, she said, “I’m sorry I broke my promise, Spence. I know I said I would never leave you, but I—” there was a puse as she coughed, “I’m proud of you.”

 

His hand, which had unintentionally been spinning the ring around his finger, was quickly engulfed in warmth. As he shut his eyes, he quickly gave Penelope’s hand a squeeze that was returned.

 

“I love you, baby. Always have, always will.”

 

There was silence after that; the air of that night was the only sound coming from her side as Penelope desperately called out her name, begging her for a response before the sound of his own voice yelling her name reached his ears. The recording ended shortly after the sound of someone’s knees hitting the ground beside her played.

 

There was a moment of silence as the two sat there, hands still in each other's as they stared at the screen. As Penelope turned to look at him, she was taken aback by the soft smile on his lips. “I knew her voice was raspy.”

 

 * ੈ✩‧₊˚

 

As the 7th anniversary of her death quickly approached, Spencer had undergone significant changes since the day they talked about her. His demeanor shifted, not entirely transforming him into a new person, but certain characteristic traits that had been missing from Spencer had returned.

 

The confidence that had once disappeared was slowly starting to return, and the team found themselves once again struggling to keep up with his jokes and to grasp all the new statistical facts he effortlessly shared with them.

 

He didn't completely revert back to the genius they had grown accustomed to, but he was no longer the twenty-four-year-old version of himself either.

 

Appearance-wise, he hadn't changed much. While he had continued to age, the dark bags under his eyes had become fainter, and a light tan had returned to his complexion.

 

His hands were still usually adorned with rings—rings that seemed too small for him. And the dagger necklace still hung from his neck; its original gold color has now faded to almost silver from daily wear.

 

The only new change the team had noticed since that night was the little iPod and earphones that he now carried everywhere he went. He always kept them close, often putting the earphones in while working on files or during flights.

 

When they had asked what he was constantly listening to, he had responded with his characteristic tight-lipped Spencer smile and said, "Her voice."

[fanfictionalraven]

Unforgettable

Title: Unforgettable

Song Inspiration: Unforgettable by Thomas Rhett

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Word Count: 2,822

Warnings: N/A

Author's Note: This story was originally posted by myself under the account Winchestersgirl92. It was published January, 2018. Flashbacks in italics.

You knew it was stupid to be mad. You weren’t exactly in a “normal” relationship. Dean wasn’t the roses, chocolates, or candle-lit dinners type. And, to be fair, you’d never really considered yourself the type to want those things either. You knew it was stupid to be mad. But, dammit, you couldn’t help it.

One year ago today, you and Dean had met and the chemistry was instantaneous. It had been a great night, the best night of your life honestly. The next day, he brought you back to the bunker and you’d never left. You’d never really defined the relationship, it was a sort of unspoken but obvious dedication.

So maybe it was a little unfair to expect any form of “anniversary” celebration or gifts. But was some form of acknowledgment too much to ask of whatever it was you had? Probably.

You groan and lay your head on the library table. Sam, sitting directly across from you with a lore book, was oblivious to your internal argument. He looks up now.

“You okay, Y/N?” He asks. You shake your head, not moving it from the table. “What’s up?” You can hear the laughter in his voice.

“What are we?” You ask. There’s a moments silence before Sam speaks again.

“Well – we’re hunters,” he says. You sit up and narrow your eyes at him. “What?” He asks, laughing again.

“Me and Dean. What are we?” You ask again. His laughter stops and confusion spreads across his face. “Are we boyfriend and girlfriend? Are we friends with benefits?”

“Pretty sure you should be having this conversation with Dean,” he tells you, looking back at his book. You groan and lay your head down again. “Why is this suddenly bothering you?”

“Because I can’t decide if I have the right to be mad that he doesn’t remember we met a year ago today,” you admit. Sam starts to laugh again and you sit up quickly.

“He forgot your anniversary, huh?” He asks. You shush him quickly, looking over your shoulder. Dean had been in the garage most of the morning working on his car but he could come back at any moment. “Look, Y/N, I’ve never seen Dean like this with anyone. Ever. You mean more to him than I’m sure he’s said. But he isn’t used to the whole relationship thing. I’m sure he’ll come around though.”

“Hey, Sweetheart. Can you come down here?” You hear Dean call from the hall. You sigh as you stand and start down the corridor. Of course, you had been overreacting. You knew how much Dean cared for you, even if he never said it. And you didn’t need a day set aside for him to prove it more.

You stop short at the entrance to the garage and smile. Dean is leaning back against the hood of the Impala, his hands shoved down in the pockets of his jeans. He’s wearing your favorite of his flannel shirts, the one that makes his eyes pop a little more. It was the same one he’d been wearing the night you met.

You’d rolled into Lebanon, Kansas earlier that day, having found a case. It was an easy one. Open and shut. A vengeful spirit terrorizing a local family. You’d already worked out who it was and were just waiting for the cover of night to go salt and burn the body.

While you were waiting, you’d decided to hit a local bar. The one you picked looked like just the perfect mix of seedy and respectable. You’d been sitting at the bar for over an hour now, nursing your second bottle of beer, when someone slides onto the stool next to you. A blue and green checkered flannel hugs the muscles of the man’s forearms in all the right ways as he flags the barkeep for a beer. You shake your head quickly, having to remind yourself why you’re here in the first place.

You allow yourself one glance at him and immediately regret it. He’s looking back at you with piercing green eyes, already mentally undressing you. You look forward quickly and take a long drink of your beer before turning to face him. He angles his body towards you as well, smiling in the most irresistible way.

“Look,” you start, avoiding his eyes. “I’m only here for work. I’m really not looking for a drunken one night stand.” They weren’t the words you wanted to say. You wanted to tell him where you were staying for the night but you knew you had to stay focused on the job and if he went back to your motel room you’d never want to leave again. The man laughs and you look up at him now.

“Okay number one, I’m completely sober,” he says before taking a long drink from his bottle. You feel your face heat up when he runs his tongue over his lips. “And B, I’m not looking for a one night stand either.”

“No?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from his lips. He smirks slightly and shakes his head.

“I’d need at least a week with you,” he says. You can’t help the laugh the erupts from you. He smiles as he watches you. “What do you say?” He asks. Before you can answer, someone else is tapping on your shoulder. You turn to find another man.

Under normal circumstances, those circumstances being the man you were currently sitting next to not being there, he would have been a perfectly attractive man. However, your present company seemed to make every other man on the planet pale in comparison. The new suitor smiles at you, a smile that would no doubt be dazzling if you hadn’t already seen the other man’s.

“Care to dance?” He asks, nodding towards the empty space in the room where one couple was drunkenly swaying to some song in their head. You could give him a simple ‘no thank you’ but quickly decide that wouldn’t be any fun. Instead, you reach over next to you, placing your hand on the knee of the man beside you. You feel him twitch under your touch and fight not to smirk.

“Sorry. My boyfriend just got off work,” you tell him. Your ‘boyfriend’ waves at the other guy, a smirking playing at his lips. The man leaves you alone, quickly moving on to another girl in the room. A hand comes over yours and you look over at him.

“Can I at least know my girlfriend’s name?” He asks. You laugh and pull your hand out from under his.

“Y/N,” you tell him, picking your bottle back up. You feel his eyes on you as you take a drink. “Y/N Y/L/N. And you are?”

“Dean Winchester,” he says quickly.

“Babe?” Dean’s voice draws you from the memory. He’s standing in front of you now, a piece of cloth in his hands. You look at it then at him, raising an eyebrow.

“If this is a kinky thing, I’m not in the mood,” you tell him. He rolls his eyes.

“Will you trust me?” He asks. You smile a little and nod. He moves to stand behind you and carefully slips the cloth over your eyes. You sigh as he ties it in place. “Can you see anything?” He asks. You hear him moving back around you and can imagine he’s waving a hand in front of your face.

“Nothing. Dean, what’s this about?” You ask him. He chuckles and takes your hands in his, pulling on you. You take a couple of clumsy steps and hear the door of the Impala opening.

“It’s a surprise,” he says, guiding you carefully into the front seat of the car.

“You’re acting weird,” you tell him. You know he rolls his eyes again before closing the door. A moment later, the door on your other side opens and you feel Dean slide into the seat next to you. His hand comes to rest on your knee, the way it always does when you’re in the car together, before the car starts to move. His thumb rubs against your knee as he drives quietly.

“The Dean Winchester?” You ask, staring at the man next to you. He sits back slightly and nods. You’d heard plenty of stories about the Winchesters and all of their exploits. “I heard you were dead. Like – three different times.”

“Didn’t take. You’re a hunter?” He asks. You nod and look back at the bottle in your hands.

“Are you here for the case?” You ask. He sits back, shaking his head.

“No, actually we live just up the road,” he tells you. You look at him quickly.

“You live somewhere? Like…permanently?” You ask. He laughs lightly and nods, leaning forward onto the bar.

“Yea. Sammy and I have a place. It’s, ugh, an old bunker for a secret society that died out in the 50’s. It’s pretty awesome,” he says. You nod, mulling this over for a moment. “So what’s the case?” He asks, looking back at you now. You shrug and glance at the window.

“Vengeful spirit. Wanna go on a salt and burn with me?” You ask, smiling at him. You knew you could definitely use the muscle. It would take you all night to dig the grave up on your own. But with Dean’s help you could be done in a few hours and maybe even have time for a little something else. Dean smiles as he watches you, as though reading your mind and nods.

“My car’s parked out front,” he says. You smile widely and quickly finish off your beer. Dean tosses some cash onto the bar before rising to his feet and holding a hand out for you. You take his hand, your fingers interlocking, as he pulls you from the bar.

You feel the car come to a stop and cut off. The driver door opens then closes and a moment later your door opens. Dean’s hand takes yours and he carefully helps you from the car. You can smell the dirt and feel the soft earth under your feet.

“Dean, where are we??” You ask, sighing. He stops you by placing his hands on your shoulders from behind. He reaches up and pulls the blindfold off. You blink against the late evening sunlight and look around. It was a sight you knew well but you were very confused as to why you were here. “A cemetery? Are we working a case?” You ask, looking back at Dean. He rolls his eyes.

“Not just any cemetery,” he says, turning you to face the graves again. You sigh as you look around before breaking into a wide smile as it hits you.

“Our first date,” you say as his arms snake around your waist.

You’re sitting on the edge of the hole you and Dean had been working on for some time now. He’s shed a couple of layers, his jacket and flannel shirt, leaving himself only in the tight black t-shirt that clung to him with sweat. You bite your lip as you watch him move another shovel full of dirt out of the hole.

“Ya know, as much as I love that you’re checking me out right now, we could be done if you’d help,” he says suddenly, looking over at you. You blink then smile coyly and shrug.

“Well, you’ve been trying to show off this whole time I thought I’d finally let you,” you tell him. He stops and turns to face you, resting his arm on the standing shovel.

“It is working?” He asks with a smirk. You shake your head as you look him over. Pushing off the ground, you slide down into the grave and walk over to him.

“I mean, if I had a thing for the sexy, bad-boy hunter with a heart of gold, maybe,” you say. He throws his head back laughing and you suddenly realize you could spend the rest of your life watching him laugh. You quickly shake away those thoughts as you reach for the shovel. You dig into the dirt and hit something hard instantly. Looking back at Dean, you smirk, “Finished.” His eyes narrow and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you as you kneel down and wipe the dirt from the top of the coffin. With Dean’s help, you pry open the top half of the casket.

“Well, there she is,” he says, pointing to the old bones.

Dean climbs out of the hole then offers you a hand. You take his hand and allow him to pull you out as well. Your pour the salt over the remains as Dean dumps the gasoline in. You pull the box of matches from your back jean pocket and strike one on the side of the box before dropping the lit match into the open coffin.

“So,” Dean starts as the flames engulf the body. You look over at him. “You think I’m sexy.” You roll your eyes and grab two fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him into a deep kiss quickly. His hands find your waist instantly as his lips move against yours. You pull away from his lips abruptly and take one of his hands in yours, pulling him away from the burning grave and back to the Impala parked a few yards away. “Are we leaving?” Dean asks, a hint of disappointment in his voice. You laugh lightly and open the back door before sliding in.

“You coming?” You ask, looking out at him when he doesn’t follow. He stares down at you in disbelief before shaking his head and getting in quickly, closing the door behind him. You move into his lap, straddling his waist as your arms wrap around his neck.

“Ya know, I’ve got a bed back at the bunker,” he says, his fingers grazing the skin at the edge of your shirt. You smile and lean in, kissing his lips briefly.

“We’ll get there eventually,” you tell him. He smirks slightly.

“Oh?” He asks. You laugh lightly and nod, running your fingers against the back of his neck.

“Well, yea. You said you’d need at least a week with me, right?” You ask. He blinks and his smirk turns into a wide smile.

“I did say that,” he says, nodding. You smile and lean back in to him, pausing just before meeting his lips again. He chuckles and shakes his head. “I think I’m gonna marry you someday, Sweetheart.” You let out a laugh before kissing him.

Dean’s lips graze against your cheek gently and you smile, running your hands over his arms. He squeezes your waist slightly before turning you around to face him. You bite your lip and look down.

“I didn’t think you remembered,” you confess. He smiles before his lips find your forehead and you look back up at him.

“I remember everything about that night. I remember what you were wearing, what you were drinking. I remember the entire conversation on the way to the cemetery. I remember that first kiss and then you taking charge like you did. I remember taking you back to the bunker and staying up all night just talking. And the next morning, we made breakfast together and you met Sammy,” he says, his eyes soft as he watches you. You swallow hard, suddenly on the brink of tears. “And you stayed for a week.”

“And that week turned into two which turned into a month,” you say, laughing lightly. Dean smiles and his lips graze down the bridge of your nose.

“And a year later, here we are,” he says, his voice soft. You smile and close your eyes, standing there in his arms. His lips brush against your cheek before coming to rest next to your ear. “I love you,” he whispers. Your smile somehow manages to grow even wider as you lean away from him slightly. He’s watching you again, afraid he’s stepped too far. You stand up and press your lips against his in a soft, tender kiss. You feel him smile against your lips before you pull away.

“I love you too,” you tell him. He lets out a breath and you laugh lightly. “Did you think otherwise?” He shrugs his shoulders.

“You’re too good for me. It would make more sense if you didn’t,” he says. You roll your eyes at him before running your fingers into his hair.

“I moved in with you pretty much after one night together. I’m not going anywhere,” you assure him. He smiles and nods slightly.

“Well that’s good, cause I meant what I said a year ago,” he tells you. You raise an eyebrow at him. “I’m gonna marry you someday.” You laugh again before pressing your lips against his, hoping it wouldn’t take him a year to get around to that too.

[mortallydeepestobservation]

The holiday pretense- Chapter 1

Summary: Namjoon has never been a fan of the holidays. In fact, he could list more things that sucked about ‘The most wonderful time of the year’, than things that brought him joy. Yet, beneath his cynicism, a flicker of hope appeared this year, as the faint scent of homesickness hung in the air.

Unfortunately, there’s one tiny little thing that keeps him from calling home- his lack of a girlfriend.

But fear not; this holiday season, Namjoon’s smart mouth gets him in a situation where he has no choice but to approach you- his longtime friend and roommate- with an unexpected request.

Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: fake-dating, friends to lovers/roommates to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff. Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings: every single trope in the book; but with a twist. Dialogue heavy. OC is really bad at lying, anddd… I didn’t write in literal years so yeah, this is gonna be fun. And I know I am literally that meme rn, the: summer is over-skips straight to Christmas. But do you have any idea just how slow I write? Yes. It is a warning. Smut warnings: to be added~ Word count: Chapter 1-9k Credits: this was literally one of those ‘if no one is going to write this, I will’ because there are not enough friends-to-lovers Namjoon fics out there. And none (that I know of) where the main character feels bad for lying to his family when pretending to date him. This work would not have been possible without the very kind and patient @callmenoona25, who not only helped me beta-read but also served as a guiding light during those moments when I wanted to rage-delete everything. Thank you for all your help! (and please keep helping me coz idk what I’d do without your constant encouragement) Author's note: again, I didn't write in 8-ish years, so this is very very scary. Add in a dash of 'English is not my first language' and you get whatever this is. enjoy. Merry Christmas. part 2: here

Ah winter, the most wonderful time of the year.

The season when the air is crisp, and the city gets blanketed in thick, white snowfall. When the satisfying sound of crunching snow accompanies every step and every word transforms into nothing more than a puff of steam dancing through the chilly air.

When Mariah Carey’s voice echoes in literally every store for an obnoxious 24/7, as if she has some kind of personal vendetta against silence…

When the heating bill increases by 37%, and it takes an extra 15 minutes for the heater to kick in and for the hot water to grace the showerhead. Ergo, Namjoon now has to wake up half an hour early if he wants to take a shower and not freeze half to death during the day, because the landlord was adamant that there was nothing to be done about the situation.

But it wasn’t all bad.

Sure, Namjoon was never one to possess the so-called Christmas spirit. In fact, he was known to be a bit of a grinch among his friends.

Jin, in particular, enjoyed telling anyone who would listen about their first Christmas at college, when Namjoon adamantly refused to help him decorate the tree after begrudgingly lugging it to their shared apartment.

And most years Namjoon’s lack of enthusiasm for the season was palpable. While his friends reveled in the cheerful atmosphere, he somehow managed to remain detached and aloof, his grinch-like demeanor becoming a defining characteristic, much to the amusement of his companions.

However, there were still aspects of the holiday that Namjoon couldn’t help but secretly enjoy. The food, for instance, was undeniably good. Although the movies were mediocre and the music overplayed, he still found himself humming along to Winter Wonderland whenever it played. And the energetic buzz that seized his friends was no doubt contagious;

This year, before he could even process it, he was dubbed designated fairy-light fixer, the judge of the ugly sweater contest (solely because he had the audacity to show up wearing a black hoodie) and somehow promised Jungkook to help him pick up gifts for his mom, his cousin, and girlfriend.

And now, with the holidays looming just around the corner, and the entire city buzzing with chatter about family feasts, romantic rendezvous, and the art of gift-giving, Namjoon couldn't help but feel a little pang of longing. It had been a solid two years since he last set foot in his hometown, and the melancholic urge to return home seemed like the only logical response to it all.

Or maybe he just needed a vacation…

But there was just one thing that kept Namjoon, a logical being, from making that phone call home.

He knew that part of the reason behind his mother’s question was for organizational purposes, yet he couldn’t help but notice the mischievous twinkle in her voice each time she sweetly asked:

“And are you coming alone?”

Few things managed to irk him as much that specific question in that specific context. And even with countless nights analyzing the emotions it stirred within him, Namjoon found himself very stupidly replying with:

“Uhm, no actually-” despite being painfully single, and fully aware of it.

Following that, the hope of regaining any sensible thought was gone as a chorus of ecstatic comments erupted form his mother’s end of the phone. With a hurried, “Can’t wait to see you, yeah, love you too,” he was left in the suffocating silence of his bedroom, with a new predicament he needed to solve.

Now, let’s not forget, Namjoon is no ordinary man. He possesses a brain that could rival Einstein’s, and he knows all too well that he could simply call back and clarify that his plus one is as real as Santa Claus.

But Namjoon doesn’t half-ass anything. He full-asses it.

That and showing up alone would undoubtedly result in his mom’s attempts to play matchmaker. And if he were to show up alone, after lying about it, well, he might as well prepare for an arranged marriage.

Namjoon sighed as he looked at his phone. He couldn’t understand why his mother had this new found obsession with his relationship status. Especially after she witnessed just how bad his last one ended. Now sure, he may have taken the whole ‘healing-era’ to a bit of an extreme, seeing as he had no relationship, no situationship and no inclination to entertain any romantic thoughts whatsoever. But this was getting ridiculous. Lying to his own mother?

Perhaps he could ask his assistant to pretend to be his girlfriend for the week? No, that wouldn’t work. She mentioned she was hosting the Christmas dinner this year. And it would involve more explanations to HR than it’s worth…

And he couldn’t overlook the fact that her fiancé would most certainly not be amused by that idea.

Just as he was about give up and plunge into another rabbit hole of despair, the solution to his problem came accompanied by the familiar sound of glass smashing in the kitchen.

You.

You would be perfect.

Most people already assumed you two were dating, seeing how seamlessly you fit yourself into his life after moving in.

And last he checked you couldn’t make it home because of some pesky law-jargon issues that required your presence at the office. And changing your flight to a few days later cost you an arm and a leg, while changing it to January was completely free.

And last he checked; you were just as chronically single as he was. (He knew because your last date was so disastrous that he had to abandon his gaming night and rescue you from the restaurant).  

Another crash in the kitchen summoned him back into action. Swiftly snatching his hoodie from the designated clothes chair and making his way to you, detouring only to retrieve the medical kit from the bathroom.

He was quick to spot you, still clad in your work attire, crouched besides the counter, diligently sweeping the stray glass shards of what used to be an ugly mug. His eyes involuntarily wondering towards your ass, once again marveling at how flawlessly you wore that office skirt before snapping himself out of it.

“And I believe that evens out the score, seeing as I only broke a plate, and you killed two mugs this season” he declares, ensuring you weren’t bleeding before abandoning the first aid kit on the counter to fetch the trusty vacuum cleaner.

It was standard procedure by now.

“You also managed to break the microwave, so the title remains yours,” you grumble as you rose to your feet, a smile unconsciously tugging at your lips when you caught sight of his charming dimpled face. “Hey there.”

“Hello,” he replied, giving you a swift once-over in case he missed any hidden hemorrhages “what happened?”

“It just jumped out of the cupboard when I opened it,” you gestured towards the dust pan, as if to prove the cup suddenly acquired acrobatic skills before its untimely demise, causing him to break into a grin “I’ll get you a new one.”

“No worries, it was a gift form an ex, and it was hideous anyway.”

As he vacuumed the area, you disposed of the glass, making sure it wouldn’t slice through the trash bag like last time.

Once the kitchen was safe again, you returned to your previous task, grabbing a new cup and casually turning your back to him.

" Do you want to try an unreasonably expensive hot chocolate with me?" you playfully suggested, catching his eye as he noticed the purple tin on the counter, adorned with a big red bow, alongside a very generic Christmas card.

"Secret Santa?" he inquired back, picking up the card, already aware of the answer to your question.

Unconsciously, he began mentally listing reasons why you would make a good fake girlfriend. Topping the list was your uncanny ability to understand him without lengthy explanations. And it was all quite digestible, wasn't it? Two long-time friends and roommates, thrown together by chance, suddenly discovering hidden feelings for each other?

All his friends seemed to have unanimously agreed that the two of you would make a splendid pair, back when you met, when his roommate, Jin, started dating your roommate, Myeong.

 On their inaugural date, Myeong, in a fit of paranoia, asked you to tag along, in case her potential lover turned out to be a serial killer. And Jin, ever the considerate soul, felt compelled to invite Namjoon, not only to spare you the agony of being the third wheel, but also in the hope of pulling Namjoon out of his dating slump. Not that you would ever notice, as you were knee-deep in exam session, sleep deprived and buried in a mountain of law books.

Poor Namjoon somehow ended up carrying the weight of being third and fourth wheel simultaneously.

But you eventually made up for it, once your exams were over and had a proper 18 hours of sleep.

In no time you wiggled your way into his heart, transforming those awkward double dates into enjoyable hangouts. You’d spend countless hours discussing everything from books to the latest plot twists in popular dramas, to sharing dreams, fears and hopes.

As Myeong and Jin’s relationship blossomed, they gradually faded into the background of your outings, until they were eventually excluded all together. And neither of you seemed to mind, as you found it easier to focus on your conversations without their constant chatter.

That and they couldn’t be quiet in movie theatres like decent human beings.

It was during one of these outings that Namjoon realized just how alluring he found you. The way your eyes lit up when you laughed at one of his jokes made his heart race. Your sharp mind and wit were a match made in heaven for him. And your ability to render him speechless was both infuriating and exhilarating.

But Namjoon also knew that you were deeply committed to your studies, and he didn't want to do anything to distract you from your goals. So, he held back, admiring you from a distance and hoping that someday things might be different.

And as time passed, and he graduated, he came to terms with the fact that you two would never be more than casual friends.

Little did he know that the universe had its own wicked sense of humor. When fate decided to play its sly hand and leave you virtually homeless, because your respective roommates decided to take the next step in their relationship and move in together.

It was only logical, then, for the two of you to shack up as well. After all, you were friends, both neat freaks, and most of all, desperately in need of a roommate.

“The roommate switch”, as Jimin so eloquently put it.

And thus began the most wonderful living arrangement Namjoon ever experienced. Not that he would never tell Jin that.

Suddenly, his bathroom cabinet resembled a Bath and Body works store, and your pink pots and pans had taken over his kitchen. But he wouldn’t mind, seeing that the cooking interdiction was extended, once Jin started recounting all the times Namjoon almost turned their previous apartment into a bonfire during your housewarming bash.

However, you never scolded him for his butterfingers because, truth be told, you had your own healthy dose of clumsiness, (the cup chilling in the trash an indisputable witness to it).

It was quite refreshing to find someone who shared his knack for dropping things.

And he made up for all the free meals by taking care of the dishes. He even went above and beyond by meticulously following the odd care instructions for your fancy pots.

And the rest of your household chores fell into perfect harmony.

 He willingly handled all the ironing, including your own, simply because you couldn’t be bothered. In return, you would dutifully clean the lint tray in the dryer, even when it was his turn to do the laundry, because he found it absolutely disgusting, and you couldn’t resist the opportunity to gross him out.

It suddenly dawned on him why all his friends were convinced that you two were together. He was smitten with you, after all.

But again, time has worked its magic! His infatuation had been long departed, so he could proceed with his plan and not let it affect your friendship in any way, shape or form!

“You know, I never quite understood the purpose of Secret Santa,” you confessed, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I mean, sure, it makes sense in a small group where you can actually get to know the person and buy them something nice. But in a corporate setting, where you’re thrown together with people from different departments, it makes absolutely no sense!” you spoke with passion, even stirring the milk a little harder, causing an impish smile to dance across his face.

“Because you end up with situations like this, where creepy Greg from the watercooler suddenly feels the need to win my graces and splurge on stupidly expensive hot chocolate.”

Namjoon was familiar with your HR endeavors involving Greg, especially after he hit on one of your colleagues.

“Do you want to know how much this monstrosity costs?” you asked, trying to contain your amusement at the sheer absurdity of it all. Pouring the cocoa into the milk and placing the mugs in front of him, you couldn’t help but grin.

“Surprise me,” Namjoon took a sip, which he regretted because he choked once you answered,

“Sixty dollars!”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous” he coughed, once he regained control of his lungs.

The hot chocolate was nice, but nowhere close to justifying the hefty price tag. For all he knew, it could have been dollar store cocoa. But your contagious laugh made it all worthwhile, and he couldn’t help but think that maybe Greg deserved to lose his Christmas bonus on overpriced cocoa that you both would mock.

“Tastes like cardboard” you concluded after a mouthful, “maybe it was meant for that hideous mug your ex gave you,” you teased, earning a puzzled look. “This has horrible taste,” you tack on, noticing his raised eyebrow “just like your exes.”

“I’m not sure if I should be offended by that,” he replied, feigning offense.

“Well, they did break up with you, so clearly their taste is questionable,” You ruffled his hair as you walked past him, your cocoa abandoned on the table.

This wasn’t uncommon in your friendship. Afterall, you were his biggest supporter, as he was yours. But now, with the odd favor he was about to ask you; he couldn’t help but ponder your words for longer than usual. Until he heard the door to your room close and he realized he was left alone in the kitchen.

“Any updates on that flight of yours?” he asked, shooting a glance towards your door. Perhaps the universe would take pity on him and spare him the embarrassment he was dreading.

“Still in January!” you hollered back, your voice muffled by the commotion in your room.

“Ah, cool, cool…” he muttered under his breath, more to psych himself up and gather the courage needed to go over and make a complete fool of himself.  

“Are you still planning on heading home?” your voice was barely audible amidst the movement, so he walked over and propped himself against your door to keep the conversation going.

“Yeah, that’s the plan.” He replied absentmindedly massaging the back of his neck.

Not unless he can find a girlfriend for the week.  “Hey,” he continued, his voice devoid of any moisture, “can I ask you a favor?”

The door swung open, almost causing him to stumble, to reveal you, wearing pajama bottoms and a black tank top, clutching one of his sweaters.

“Depends.” You answered flatly. “Mind if I borrow this?” you gestured towards the sweater, awaiting his nod of approval before slipping it on and sauntering past him to claim your usual spot on the couch. With your feet cozily tucked under the cushion, you scrolled through your phone, probably looking up another horrible movie you’d force him to watch. Oblivious to the fact that you ticked off another item on his mental checklist: looking damn good in his clothes.

“Okay” he took a deep breath and settled down beside you, his posture impeccable and his gaze fixed on the blank tv screen. You glanced over intrigued by his sudden shift in behavior.

“This is going to be weird, and you can tell me to fuck off any moment this makes you uncomfortable. And I promise I’ll never bring it up again, and we can pretend this never happened,” he stumbled over his words, a stark contrast to his usually calmed and composed demeanor.

Your mind raced, conjuring up the worst-case scenarios as you slowly set aside your phone, captivated by every word leaving his mouth.   

Was he about to kick you out?

That only seemed to aggravate whatever Namjoon was on, as he continued to mumble, insisting that you didn’t have to agree to it if you didn’t want to. Which didn’t make any sense, because if he was going to kick you out, he should at least have the balls to tell you straight forward.

You gently collected his hands, causing him to halt abruptly. His wide eyes finally locked with yours as you softly uttered “Just tell me.” You peered up at him, bracing yourself for the worst, and completely unprepared for what was to follow.

“Will you please do me a solid and pretend to be my girlfriend for a week?” he stammered, unable to maintain eye contact, his voice fading into a whisper towards the end.

“What?”

“I might have told my mom I’m in a relationship, and now I desperately need a stand-in girlfriend for the next few days” he confessed sheepishly, quickly adding, “But seriously, if you’re uncomfortable with this, just say the word and we can erase this whole conversation from existence.”

“Oh my goodness, Namjoon,” you breathed out in relief, a laugh escaping your lips as you rested your head on his lap, leaving him even more perplexed. “I thought you were kicking me out.”

“What?” he chuckled, watching you raise a few seconds later, rubbing your eyes before fixing your gaze on him, contemplating his request.

“How can you be so brilliant and so dumb at the same time? Just call your mom back…”

“No, you don’t get it. I can’t do that. If I do, she’ll set me up with the neighbor’s daughter again” Namjoon explained, clearly not in the right mindset to entertain that idea again.

“You want me to lie to your mother?” you asked incredulously.

“Please don’t phrase it like that.” he covered his face, deflating completely besides you.

“This is essentially what you are asking me to do... I don’t know how that makes me feel. Your mom, by the way, is an absolute sweetheart…” you trailed off, observing him intently as he brushed away the hair in his eyes.

You didn’t get to know her too well, but the last time she visited she made sure to stock up your whole fridge with homecooked meals. And to top it off, she even baked cookies especially for you once Namjoon mentioned he had a new roommate.

The discussion, however, took a bit of an unexpected turn when she realized the roommate was you. A girl and not another frat guy. But she quickly developed a fondness for you. Or at least, that’s what you believed when she gave you the tightest hug goodbye.

“I know. It’s a stupid idea.” He muttered, rubbing his face a bit harder than necessary. Then he locked eyes with you and continued. “I am well aware of how dumb this is. And that is exactly why I need you there with me.” His statement left you dumbfounded, completely unable to find any words. “I just want to go home and relish in the fact that I am there without constantly worrying about being single.” he took a shaky breath before continuing,

 “I can’t comprehend why my mom is so fixated on this matter.” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I just need someone to navigate this absurdity with me for the holidays, and then we never mention it again.” 

His little speech left you stunned, and before you knew it, you were actually considering his proposal.

 Your Christmas plan was already ruined, and agreeing would mean that you would not be confined to your couch, enduring cheesy Hallmark movies and crying alone on Christmas eve.

Moreover, you were convinced that you had moved on from the little crush you had on him back when you met. Refusing still to admit that you’ve always had a soft spot for the gentle giant that slowly became a staple in your life, and that spending the holidays with him would be the best scenario that could ever happen.

But could you make it through this without getting your heart trampled and your friendship going up in smoke? As these thoughts started to swirl in your mind, your eyes began to wander aimlessly. From his eyes to his chiseled cheekbones and strong jawline, down to his neck and collarbone, and finally to his impressively muscular chest that seemed to only have grown since he started attending the gym religiously with Jungkook. And not to mention those arms that give the most incredible bear hugs. It was strange to allow yourself to notice his physicality in such detail, as if you had been willfully blind to his newfound buffness until now.

“Forget it, I’m sorry I asked,” he said, sensing your hesitation and preparing to end his suffering. But you stopped him in his tracks.

“If we are going to do this, we need a plan.” His eyes light up, color returning to his cheeks, before he squeezed you in a tight embrace “and just so you know, you owe me,” you laughed once he released you.

“Yes, yes, of course, whatever you want.”

“You take out the trash for a month,” he was too quick to nod “and I want you to take me to that bakery you and Jin always rave about.”

“Ajumeoni’s bakery?” he smiled at your request. That was the bakery Namjoon visited with his sister every Friday as a child, and every other day with Jin, on their way to school, because the milk bread was to die for. “Of course. It’s already part of the commute, so consider it done.”

“Good. We have a deal then,” you extended your hand as if sealing a business agreement, instead of setting yourselves up for a disaster. He reciprocated with a firm shake, and you swiftly retrieved your notepad from the coffee table. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Well, let’s establish a few key details about us. We need to become well-acquainted with each other’s personal preferences, so it doesn’t come across like we are just… pretending” he looked over at you as you scribbled.

“I mean, it’s a digestible story already. Two oblivious roommates, suddenly realizing they have feelings for one another after living together for years.” You mused, only to be met with his response.

“And once this is all over, we can simply tell everyone that we figured out we were better off as friends than lovers,” he pondered aloud.

“Right,” you replied, looking up from your notebook “How long have we been dating?”

“Anywhere from three to six months” he promptly answered and you jot it down before firing off your next question.

“And why haven’t we told any of our friends and family?”

“To avoid the inevitable ‘I knew it!’ and because we like the trill of keeping a secret.”

“Fair enough,” you chuckled “So, how did we get together?”

“You finally realized how charming I am and just couldn’t contain yourself?” he flashed a cheeky smile and you playfully deflect by giving his chest a gentle push.

“How about your birthday party?” you offered “We were both buzzed enough to share a kiss and then you confessed?”

“Why do I confess?” he whined, peering over at your notebook page where you already wrote down your version of events.

“Because I’m shy about that kind of stuff” you mumble, burying your face in the cozy confines of his sweater, avoiding any potential eye contact.

 “That’s adorable,”

“Shut up.” You chuckle “Alright, is there anything I should know about you?”

“I’m not a big fan of PDA, especially when we’re out and about, so don’t expect me to be all over you.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But since we’re going home and pretending to be a couple, what level of affection are you comfortable with?”

“Well, I’m comfortable with you,” you cleared your throat, that bit of information being more truthful than intended “we can hold hands, and do normal couple stuff.”

“How do you feel about kissing?”

“Well, yeah, sure,” you responded nonchalantly, eyes fixating on the notepad in your hands.

A mischievous grin played on his lips as he teased, “Good, because I happen to be quite fond of leaving hickeys.” That broke you out of your little spiral, rolling your eyes at his poor attempt.

As if you weren’t already aware of this tidbit from his past conquests during your college days, before you two became roommates.

“You do know this is all pretend, right?” you retorted, refusing to take the bait.

“Oh, but baby, we’ve got to make it feel real,” he insisted, his tone dripping with charm. However, it did nothing to sway your logical approach to it.

“Right, ‘baby’” -you said it as if it was a legal term, “any preferences for pet names?”

Your serious charade did little to detour him. “Just promise me that our interactions won’t be like Jin and Myeong’s.”  He smiles, eyes twinkling with mischief.  “And surprise me, I’ll be putty in your hands.”

“So, you are not set on honorifics. I can call you Oppa if you want,” little did you know, your innocent suggestion struck a hidden chord within him. A new kink that needed further assessment later on, preferably after this week was over.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, clearing his throat and reclining against the couch. “Anything I should know about you?”

You pondered his question for a few seconds, allowing a sly smile to play your lips. “I don’t like feet.”

“No duh!” he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief, before regaining his composure. With a meticulous air, he went over all the details once more. “Ah, you need a new background on your phone.”

 Swiftly, he snatched your phone form the coffee table, catching you off guard, and planted a quick kiss on your cheek before snapping a selfie. “Perfect,” he declared, a proud smile spreading across his face as he set the picture as your home screen and background, leaving you to gather your frenzied thoughts.

“But wait, you also need a new photo,” You retorted, only to find him already one step ahead, pulling out his phone from his pajama bottoms and scrolling through his camera roll.

“Done.” He announced, turning his phone towards you to reveal the horrendous picture he had chosen as his own home screen. 

 A candid shot he took during your last year at college, on one of those late-night noodles runs to the local shop next to the library. You were draped in an oversized hoodie, greedily slurping a mouthful of noodles. With eyes blissfully shut, you savored every bite, as it was your first meal of that day, completely oblivious to his hidden photography skills.

It wasn’t until you accidentally stumbled upon your caller ID that you saw it and naturally, grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him, demanding an immediate change. But he stood his ground, claiming it was his favorite photo of you.

Claim proven yet again as now it was Namjoon’s home screen.

“I hate that photo.”

“I know.” He gave a smile, before safely tucking his phone back in his pocket, and rose to his feet, stretching leisurely. “I think we are good to go, girlfriend,” he said it in such a way that sent a swarm of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “I’ll go book our train tickets, and you better start packing soon,” he playfully pointed at you, before gracefully disappearing into his room to retrieve his laptop.

“Oh, wait, I need to get a present for your mom!”

~~~

Before the train even arrived in the station, the sky was threatening to unleash upon you. The air filled with delicate snowflakes, determined to bury you, Namjoon, and your luggage.  But it was yesterday’s conversation that still lingered in the atmosphere, weighing heavy on both your minds.

The darkness of the night had given you both time to process what was about to unfold. Your only anchor on reality being Namjoon’s surprisingly warm hand clasping your freezing one, and tucking it away in his warm coat pocket.

And the fact that he looked like he just strolled out of the latest winter Vogue edition for men didn’t help. While you attempted to make a lasting impression, donning a cream knitted dress, black stockings and boots, topped off with a cream coat, that was far too flimsy for the weather, Namjoon effortlessly sported a navy-blue hoodie, snug jeans and a stylish black trench coat, and even a matching beanie that made his hair look absolutely flawless.

But beyond his impeccable fashion sense, he also proved to be quite the gentleman. Not that you ever doubted it, but now he seemed determined to showcase his chivalry. He wouldn’t even let you lock the door to your own apartment. It was a miracle he allowed you to carry the bottle of Chardonnay you insisted on getting his family, despite his protests that it wasn't necessary. You slightly regretted it now, seeing as your other hand was enduring the elements, instead of being intertwined with his.

“You have snow in your hair,” you pointed out, stating the obvious with the brilliance of a water-is-wet revelation.

“As do you.” he looked up from his phone, where he was engrossed in checking the train’s schedule for any potential delays. “And your lips are blue.” with a swift motion, he untangled his scarf and gently draped it around your freezing form. Something he had done many a time before, anytime he saw you slightly cold, but never before had you considered this gesture to be more than your friend looking out for you.

But today, things were different. Today you were pretending to be his girlfriend.

The sudden surge of warmth that enveloped you left you wondering if it was due to all your blood rushing to your cheeks or his scarf possessing some sort of magical heating abilities.

“It says here that the snow storm shouldn’t intervene with the scheduling, so the train will be here in a few minutes.” He looked up again, a cheerful grin appearing across his features as he caught sight of your pink face. “Aw you’re blushing again,”

“Shut up.” you retorted with the quick-wittedness of a third-grader.

“If I would have known it was this easy to make you flush, I would have made my fictional moves much sooner.” His voice did that thing again, where it went slightly deeper and, only the look in his eyes ticking you off to his teasing.

Your only response was to nervously nibble on your lip. Again, the realization that you are about to deceive not only his mother, but his entire family nestle in your chest, squeezing at your heart like a snake wrapped around it.

“Namjoon, I’m not sure about this.” you confessed, pulling the scarf closer to your face. It was a bit late to be getting cold feet, but this was your last opportunity to speak your mind before embarking on this little ordeal. “I don’t think I can pull this off.”

“Come on now, aren’t you an intern at a law firm?” he raised a playful eyebrow, attempting to ease the tension, but you only glared at him.

“I can’t lie.” You stated firmly “I’m the absolute worse at it. That is why I always find alternative ways of convey the truth. That’s what lawyers do. We don’t resort to lies.”

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," he quickly apologized, before falling silent for a few seconds to ponder a solution. "Okay, listen. You don’t have to say anything."

"What do you mean?" you looked up at him, a hint of skepticism in your voice.

"I can take care of all the relationship talk, and I won’t say anything unless prompted.” he replied, trying to inject a touch of wit into his response. “Afterall, you are just my friend that just happens to be a girl.” He playfully wiggled his eyebrows at you “And I want you to spend Christmas with me and my family instead of being alone at home.” Namjoon gave you a sincere smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back, feeling the grip on your heart slightly loosen.

“Okay,” you gave a small nod “Thank you Joon.”

The nickname slipped by unnoticed, but you noticed the way Namjoon reacted, rekindling your burning cheeks.

“So, no Oppa?”

When your train arrived, Namjoon swiftly took charge, effortlessly carrying all the bags to your seats, settling in comfortably for the four-hour journey ahead.

He had come prepared, armed with at least three books to keep himself entertained, while you had grand plans of getting a head start on your work, perhaps even sneaking in a personal lecture and a quick power nap. However, much to your surprise, the allure of a nap quickly surpassed all other ambitions, your head found a cozy resting place on Namjoon’s shoulder, and you drifted off into a blissful slumber for the remainder of the journey. A sleepless night imagining what it would be like pretending to date your roommate could do that to you.

Only stirring awake when you were less than a few minutes away, because Namjoon was constantly shifting in his seat, half of his body numb from your weight on him.

“Oh hey,” he whispered, swiftly stretching his legs as soon as you moved off him. “I just spoke to Minhi, she said she’d come pick us up from the train station,”

“Oh, that’s nice.” you yawned, rubbing away any remnants of sleep from your eyes “You could have told me to move, you know.”

“Yes, but you looked so peaceful. It felt almost wrong to disturb you.” He grinned, fully aware that he also indulged in a little nap, using your head as a pillow just half an hour ago.

“Shut up,” you whispered, poking his thigh and retrieving your makeup bag to quickly fix your face before the train pulled up in the station.

The frigid air pierced through your very bones, sending an instant shiver cascading down your spine as you stepped into the snow filled air. You pull your coat tighter around yourself, trying to ward off the cold as you looked around for Minhi, seeing as Namjoon was on luggage duty again.

However, before you could spot her, Minhi’s voice sliced through the chilly air,

“Kim Namjoon, you have got to be kidding me.”

Namjoon’s little sister, all bundled up in a thick winter coat had fixed you two with a piercing stare, her hands on her hips in a classic display of sibling disapproval. 

Namjoon’s wonky smile did nothing to deter her piercing gaze, or calm any of your fraying nerves. “It’s good to see you too?”

You feel your heart drop as Minhi's gaze shifts from her brother to you, her expression a mix of confusion and suspicion. Your worst fears are confirmed - she's figured you out and you haven’t even been off the train for 5 minutes. Now Namjoon will be married off to some rich middle-aged woman and you'll never be able to look him in the eye again.

 You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you look away, silently praying that the snow beneath your boots doesn’t melt into a puddle while she stares.

But then, unexpectedly, Minhi starts to laugh. At first, it's a quiet chuckle, but soon it grows into a full-blown laugh. She laughs so hard that she has to hold her stomach, and at the end she wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye.

“You two are perfect for each other,” she says still chuckling “Fine, I’ll play along. How did you two end up together?”

“Got drunk one night.” Namjoon casually replied, rubbing the back of his neck before wrapping his arm around you, “Turns out all I had to do was say something, because she was all over me the next second.” 

Minhi raised her eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right,” She hugged Namjoon tightly, and then turned to you, surprising you with a warm embrace. She muttered something about Namjoon never confessing his feelings in your coat, but you were too busy drowning in a whirlwind of confusion and relief to register it.

“We'll talk more later about how inappropriate this is." She added cheerfully, beckoning you to follow her towards her little yellow jeep, bright against the snowy backdrop.

You look back at Namjoon just in time to catch him winking in your direction and giving you a thumbs-up that sent your heart whirling in your chest.

 The car ride was over faster than you would have wanted. Minhi navigated the snow-laden road while she and Namjoon chatted away about mundane topics—work, rent, the best coffee in town. You sank deeper into the backseat, overwhelmed and lost in your thoughts. Because What the hell was that and If this was how you were kicking things off you might as well turn around now. Was it just fear of ruining the friendship or was an old crush budding again? The way he ‘claimed’ you in front of Minhi clearly ignited something in your chest that was not appropriate for friends or roommates or roommate-friends pretending to be dating.

As if sensing your turmoil from the front, Namjoon caught your eyes, giving you a gentle, reassuring smile before the car came to a halt. He gallantly opened the door for you, his hand grasping yours and squeezing it tightly.  

 “I got you, baby,” he says, teasingly, but the poorly-timed joke earns him an immediate glare and an elbow to the ribs.  

“Oh, come on. They are lovely people.” Minhi interrupts before Namjoon can retaliate, “You should’ve seen the way mom was dancing around the kitchen once she heard Namjoon was bringing someone over.”

You just blink at her, your breath misting in the air as you unconsciously step closer to Namjoon, giving him a small nod of support. His presence radiates warmth, his fingers tightening around yours as you walked towards the small house that looms in front of you. Minhi ambles ahead, dropping her bag near the entrance, while you could practically feel Namjoon vibrating with excitement.

“Someone’s in trouble” She whispers dramatically, letting you both into the warmth of the household, where laughter and the mouthwatering scent of home-cooked food intertwine. You follow her into the kitchen and you see the older couple husting about, half-focused on a pot bubbling over the stove and half on each other.

“Mom! Dad! Look who I’ve brought!” she announces, and the couple turned, smiles blooming as they spotted you and Namjoon.

For a fleeting moment, you felt exposed. Like an exhibit at a museum, thrust into the spotlight. Your breath hitched as Namjoon gently nudged you forward, a gesture both comforting and terrifying, but steeling yourself, you bravely stepped ahead, bowing as a sign of respect.

“I knew it!” The affectionate glow sweeping across Mrs. Kim face relaxed your nerves considerably, “I’m so glad you could make it!” her eyes sparkled with genuine delight, and you suddenly realized that Namjoon inherited his dimples from her. But the thought was quickly squeezed out of you as she enveloped you in that bone-crushing hug.

Namjoon’s father, a tall elderly man with kind eyes, patted him on the back. His approval apparent, before he turned his attention to you, “Welcome to our home,” he said warmly.

“I’m honored to be here.” You managed to respond, your voice quacking slightly but laced with sincerity. You heard Minhi groaning in the background but did your best to ignore her exaggerations and focus only on Namjoon’s parents, as you exchanged the required pleasantries.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Mrs. Kim said, bustling around the kitchen with effortless grace. The contrast between her elegant movements and Namjoon’s clumsy demeanour in the kitchen made you smile inwardly “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Yes, we didn’t get a chance to eat today,” Namjoon added quickly, casually leaning against the counter and stealing a taste from the simmering pot.

“I’ll call you over once it’s done. Go show our guest to your room until then,” Mrs. Kim commanded, expertly shooing him away from the stove and passing plates to Minhi.

“My room?” Namjoon echoed, his eyes widening as if the concept had floored him.

“Yes, dear. I know we are old-fashioned, but we are not under any illusions that you two don’t already share a room.” Mrs. Kim replied, stirring the bubbling pot without sparing him a glance.

Minhi shot you a look that was equal parts amusement and something you couldn’t quite place—sympathy, perhaps? Or pity?

“Yes- No. I just thought that it would be more appropriate to let her have the guest room,” Namjoon articulated, his voice half-hearted in its conviction.

Mrs. Kim merely cooed, waved away his protests with a flick of the wrist. “Minhi and Jackson are staying in the guest room. You can have your room.”

“Come on, Namjoon. You always make everything so complicated,” Minhi chimed in, her voice laced with mischief. “Just accept it. You guys will have an entire night to sort things out, right?”

“Right.” he grumbled, shooting her a glare that softened as he turned his gaze back to you “Let’s get you settled in,” he gestured for you to follow him.

The moment you step into Namjoon's room, a charged silence enveloped you- like the kind that proceeds a brewing storm. The room was exactly as you imagined, a blend of cooler minimalist décor and hints of his personal touch, a few pieces of art and pictures hung up on the wall, all whispering tales of youth, friendship and moments you yearned to know more about.

But all those sweet memories fade into the background as the reality settled in: there was only one bed.

“So, let me get this straight,” you began, the awkwardness hanging heavily in the air “You thought about everything, including phone wallpapers, but forgot you only have one bed in your room?”

“No, of course not.” He lied, that endearing grin spreading across his face. “I just thought it would be polite to let you have the bed… since you’re my guest.” He seemed genuinely proud of the excuse, but that pride melted when you teased,

“Before or after you plan for the guest room fell through?”

“After.” He admitted at last, glancing away, as if the walls held all the explanations he could not muster.

“Don’t tell me you planned on sleeping on the floor too,” for a brief moment the ridiculous image of him curled up on the hardwood floor, blankets draped haphazardly around him pops into your mind, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“No.” He smiles, “I knew you’d take pity on my lower back,” his dimples deepened and you playfully rolled your eyes at him.

“Very strategic Mr. Kim,” you laugh, walking further into the room and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. The playful banter creating a familiar atmosphere, dissolving any lingering tension. A part of you almost couldn't believe you were in Namjoon’s personal space, taking your sweet time admiring the various little parts of him decorating the room, while another part was acutely aware of his gaze on you, observing you as if he were trying to read your thoughts.

He stepped closer, his expression sincere, drawing you in gently as he took your hands in his. “Are you sure?” The tentative nature of his voice hinted at a deeper question—he was about to add an ‘I was only joking’—but you quickly shushed him.

“Yes, of course.”

There were a few past occurrences where the two of you ended up falling asleep together on the couch, limbs tangled under the fuzzy throw blanket, with a movie playing in the background. Without fail, one of you would wake up in the morning to find the other wrapped around them, as the night was chilly and body heat was a rare luxury. Most of the time it was Namjoon that dozed off first, his head lolling in an awkward position until you gently nudged him into a more comfortable posture, knowing he’d whine about neck and/or shoulder pain come morning time if you didn’t. But his lug of a body was always warm, so you didn’t mind snuggling closer to him when it mattered.

This was more of the same. Just in a bed.

You swallow drily, eyes flickering away for a quick second, “I told you, I’m comfortable with you.”

“Come on, lovebirds!” Minhi’s voice rang through the door, breaking the spell. “Dinner’s ready!”

You shared a hurried glance, perspectives shifting as the familiar nervousness rushed back to you.

“Ready?” he asked, his smile spreading across his face, deepening the dimples in his cheeks as he tugged you up to your feet. You nodded, suddenly buoyed by a sense of belonging.

To your surprise, dinner goes by without a hitch. You may have gone a little overboard on the kimchi, but it wasn’t anything you wouldn’t recover from. However, the warmth of Namjoon’s hand resting softly on your thigh might etch itself into your memory for all time.

Halfway through the meal, Jackson showed up, and you got to observe with amusement as Minhi transformed in his presence, her demeanor shifting from the laid-back hostess to a giddy schoolgirl. The way she playfully nudged Jackson, her eyes sparkling each time she teased him, be it about his late arrival or some inside joke, was a refreshing sight. And you couldn’t help but snicker each time Mrs. Kim would chastise them, before dotting lovingly on anything you and Namjoon did together.

As the lively conversation flowed around you, you leaned into Namjoon’s warmth. It felt easy, and so right to nestle beside him, to let your fingers brush against his with familiarity, each touch igniting tiny sparks. You stole a glance at him, watching as he engaged wholeheartedly in the conversation, his contagious laughter filling the room.

After dinner, you offered to help Mrs. Kim clear up the table, even if it was to get a second to clear your thoughts, but to your surprise, Mr. Kim placed a soft hand on your shoulder, smiling, as he gently guided you back to your seat.

“You’ve done enough, dear,” he said, his tone warm and reassuring “We appreciate your help, but tonight is for you and Namjoon to enjoy.” He gave you a kind nod, and you felt your cheeks warm.

“Yeah, there will be dishes tomorrow too,” Minhi interrupted, getting a heartfelt laughter from her father before he left the room, to join his wife in the kitchen.

You shared a sheepish glance with Namjoon, who watched the exchange with an amused smile. His eyes twinkling in the soft light of the dining room, and you felt your heart pick-up the pace in your chest again. You really needed to get away, perhaps splash some cold water on your face. But just as you felt the urge to excuse yourself, you overheard Jackson's whispered confusion.

“Wait, so they’re not actually dating?” His voice was muted, and laced with confusion as he looked between you and Namjoon, his eyes wide with bewilderment.

“Kyung Min!” Namjoon called Minhi by her full name, which made her owlishly blink up at him.

“What? He asked how long you two have been dating for,” she defended.

“And you couldn’t just say three months, like a normal person?” Namjoon shot back, half laughing, half exasperated and watched as her brows knitted.

“No! He deserves to know.” She persisted, glaring at her brother, and you felt the heat crawl up your neck, trying desperately to remain inconspicuous under Jackson’s incredulous stare.

“So how exactly does this work?” Jackson asked, stopping the siblings from their bickering “Is it like friends with benefits or-?” just when you thought it couldn’t get any more awkward, the sip of water you took ended up going down the wrong way, making you choke and sputter.

“No! it’s nothing like that.”  You stammered, trying to form a coherent thought, but all you could manage was a mangled mess of words.

“No babe, they don’t even kiss,” Minhi added, placing her hand over his as if she were breaking some bad news.

But Namjoon reacted with the prove-your-sibling-wrong part of the brain, making you stare at him in disbelief.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we do.”  

And your pulse picked up again when you saw him leaning in, the implication clear in your mind. You steeled yourself, closing your eyes. But to your astonishment, he didn’t press his lips against yours as you had envisioned. Instead, they grazed the curve of your cheek, followed by a loud, exaggerated kiss.

“I’m confused.” Jackson mumbled, looking over at Minhi as she rolled her eyes.

“You’re not the only one.”

~~~

Why didn’t he just kiss you?

The thought still lingered stubbornly at the edge of consciousness, even as the icy water from the shower jolted you into the present. You fumbled with the knobs, trying to figure out the right temperature, but your mind was elsewhere.

That scene kept on replaying on a constant loop in your head, each time leaving you just as stumped.

What stopped him?

You talked about this- he brought it up! And you agreed, so what was the hold-up? Was he really so uninterested that the mere thought of kissing you sent him into retreat mode?

Frustration bubbled up alongside the steam, and you invertedly cringed at the image of his nervous smile that still haunted you, his eyes darting away. Scrubbing harder at your skin, you wish the shame and embarrassment would simply wash away with the suds.

And the absurdity of getting worked over your friend not kissing you was not lost on you, but at least if he had gone for it, you might have been able to push that nagging question aside ~What would it be like to kiss Namjoon?  

His lips looked so soft, like they were meant for more than just talking…

You violently shook that thought away, and with a resigned sigh, you turned the water back to cold in an attempt to wash away your sins. Friends don’t kiss!

And he clearly wasn’t interested, so the sooner you silence these thoughts, the sooner you could go back to being normal. Just four more days of pretending to be his girlfriend. You could manage that. And after, you promised yourself you’d lock yourself in your room and avoid human interaction for rest of your miserable life.

As the water continued its relentless pour, you felt your fingertips start to wrinkle, a reminder that perhaps it was time to step out of this session of self-pity. With one last shudder, you turned the water off, determined to face the world- if only for a little while longer.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, the soft glow of a lamp illuminated the room. Namjoon was already tucked into bed, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he quietly looked over the pages of a book. Only, in reality he hadn’t been able to absorb a single word in the past fifteen minutes, his gaze lost in a world of his own.

Silently, you made your way to your side, wrapping yourself in the blanket and turning your back to him. A slight shiver coursed through you as you felt the warmth envelop you, the little tremor alerting Namjoon to your presence.

“Why are you so cold?” he asked softly, shifting slightly closer to you.

Your heart thudded at the caring tone, and for a moment, all the questions crowd your mind again.

Instead of answering, you huffed in frustration and turned to face him.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?” the words blurted out before you could stop them, surprising you both with their boldness, but your face flushed when you met his gaze.

Namjoon’s eyes widened, and he froze, the book forgotten on his lap. “I-I don’t know.” He stuttered, his hand running though his tousled hair, the soft strands falling back in place but not hiding the flush creeping up his neck. You watched the muscles in his jaw tense, eyes averted again in a way that tightened your stomach.

“It would’ve convinced Minhi sooner,” your added, your words hanging heavy in the air. Namjoon chuckled awkwardly, running that same hand down his face.

“You want me to kiss you?”

You hesitated, the corners of your mind fanatically searching for a safe answer

“I’m just saying it would’ve made things easier,” you deflected, avoiding his question much like he had done moments before.

He studied you for a moment, gears visibly turning in his mind before his lips curved into a small, daring smile. “Because I can kiss you if you want.”

Your breath caught in your throat, surprised by the sudden shift in tension.

“Now?” you breathed.

“Why not?” he shrugged “We’re both clearly anxious about it, so why not just get it over with?”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, lost for words, staring up at him. All the courage from before evaporating into thin air. You quickly searched his features, seeking the playful glint, the laughter behind his eyes, but instead, his eyes just flickered from yours to your lips.

“Do you want to kiss me?” you finally found the words, and his eyes snapped back to your own.

“I think it would make things easier going forward,” he replied, his voice low and earnest.

A heavy silence settled between you, stretching like an elastic ready to snap at any moment, as snowflakes continued to drift outside, dressing the world in white.

You took a deep breath, “Fine.” Ultimately you mumbled, sitting up against the headboard and turning to face him.

“Are you sure?”, The way he phrased it made your stomach flop, as if he were validating a choice that seemed both reckless and somehow still challenged you.

“Yes, now stop talking and just-” The words were lost as the space between you disappeared. But now you knew; his lips were soft, warm and tentative against yours. It felt wonderful, and sent tingles shooting through your veins while your heart tried erratically to catch up. He hesitated for a heartbeat- less than a fraction of a second- before he leaned further in, deepening the kiss, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek. And you soften against him, all the tension melting away. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping lightly as if anchoring yourself amidst the storm of emotions that released once you tasted his mint toothpaste.

When he finally pulled back, both of you gasping for breath, the world resumed its muted noised- the quiet hum of the heater, the faint sound of voices downstairs, Namjoon’s breath against your lips. You could hardly meet his eyes, until you heard the first thing that left his lips.

“I just kissed you.”

Your eyebrow arched, blinking at him as if waiting for the punchline that never came.

“I know. I- was there too.” You replied, a little smile creeping on your face despite the rapid thump of your heart. Namjoon laughed softly; his cheeks still tinged with a shade of pink. “You’re a good kisser.” You added after a few beats of silence, before chewing on your lip, and unintentionally drawing his attention back to them.

“You too,” He gave a curt nod, remembering he has a book on his lap and fumbling to bookmark and put it away.

Another moment of silence followed once he settled back, and your eyes desperately scanned the walls for something, anything to say.

“This isn’t weird, is it?” you settled on the worst option, slightly cringing.

“No!” he answered louder than he anticipated, slightly shocking you which in return startled him. “I mean-” he let out an exasperated breath, “Friends kiss all the time.”

He didn’t believe it. And neither did you. But you still nodded in agreement.

[brodygold]

A Straightforward Proposal

Connor strolled down the hallway of the Golden Army’s stadium, his polished loafers tapping softly against the tiled floor. He wasn’t even sure how he’d ended up here—a random detour during a walk around town had led him to the imposing structure, the very heart of his city’s famed soccer team, the Golden Army. He wasn’t into sports, much less one as intense as soccer. But lately, a strange feeling had been pulling him toward things outside his comfort zone, and here he was, wandering through the hallowed halls of a world he didn’t belong to.

The locker room was quiet, almost sacred in its stillness, and he walked slowly, taking in the row of metal lockers, the slightly worn benches, the walls lined with framed photos of the team’s most victorious moments. He admired the team from afar, had even been to a few games with friends who raved about the players, but he never quite understood the appeal. To him, sports were just… messy, loud, and unpredictable.

But as he walked through the room, Connor’s gaze landed on something unusual—a glimmer of gold hanging from one of the open lockers. He stepped closer, his curiosity piqued. It was a jersey, but not just any jersey. The iconic golden hue, the dark green trim, the embroidered initials “GA” on the chest. It looked pristine, like it was waiting for someone to claim it.

Connor couldn’t resist reaching out and running his fingers along the smooth, sturdy fabric. It felt different from his usual designer clothes—strong, like it had been built to withstand anything. A little voice in the back of his mind told him to walk away, that this wasn’t for him. But a stronger urge tugged at him to put it on, just to feel what it was like, to imagine himself as one of those powerful, unstoppable players who wore it with pride.

With one last look around, Connor took a deep breath and slipped off his tailored shirt, folding it neatly on the bench beside him. Then, with a mixture of excitement and hesitation, he pulled the golden jersey over his head. As soon as it settled against his torso, he felt a strange warmth spread through his chest, like the jersey was coming alive, molding itself to his frame.

Connor looked down in surprise as his body began to change. His chest began to fill out, his muscles expanding beneath the jersey, stretching the fabric. His arms, which had always been slender and toned from careful exercise, started thickening with muscle, his biceps and forearms bulging as if he’d been lifting weights for years. The sensation was strange, almost surreal, but he found himself enjoying it, watching his transformation in awe.

His shoulders broadened, stretching the collar of the jersey. His torso shifted, becoming leaner and harder, with defined abs pressing against the fabric. He turned to look at himself in the mirror, and a shock of disbelief hit him. His face, once soft-featured and refined, had become sharper, his jaw more pronounced, his cheeks taking on a rugged, chiseled look. Even his hair, usually perfectly styled and gelled, had become slightly messier, like he’d just come off the field, the strands falling in a way that looked effortlessly cool.

As he admired the changes, a strange dizziness washed over him, and he steadied himself against the locker. It wasn’t just his body that was changing—his thoughts, too, were shifting. Memories of afternoons at art galleries and brunches in upscale cafes began to fade, replaced by images of practice drills, intense workouts, and the sound of cheering crowds. He thought of the thrill of scoring a goal, of hearing his name chanted by fans, of pushing his body to its limits alongside his teammates.

Connor felt a surge of adrenaline as these new memories took hold, filling him with a sense of purpose he’d never felt before. He could see himself on the field, fighting for victory with every ounce of strength, his teammates by his side, their bond stronger than anything he’d known. The idea of camaraderie, of being part of something bigger than himself, ignited a fire in him. He was no longer the preppy guy who drifted through life with little direction—he was a Golden Army player, a warrior on the field, dedicated to the game, to his team, to victory.

And as his memories continued to reshape, so did his interests. Gone was his taste for designer clothes, his carefully curated lifestyle. In its place grew a love for competition, for strength, for the thrill of the game. He could feel his attraction shifting too; his old boyfriends and dates felt distant, almost foreign, like they belonged to someone else. Now, he saw himself with girls cheering him on from the stands, joining him after the game in victory celebrations. Their soft lips and lovely breasts just begging to be squeezed. His old life seemed laughable compared to this new world of intensity and purpose.

Just as he took a deep breath, adjusting to the strange yet exhilarating transformation, he heard a chuckle from behind. Turning, he saw Brody, one of the Golden Army’s most respected players, leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

“Enjoying the jersey?” Brody asked, clearly amused.

Connor grinned back, the confidence and ease in his expression startling even himself. “Yeah… feels like it was meant for me,” he said, his voice deeper, rougher, and rich with a newfound bravado.

Brody nodded, stepping forward and clapping him on the back with a strong hand. “Guess it found the right guy, then. We could use someone with your… enthusiasm.”

Connor felt a surge of pride at the unspoken approval in Brody’s voice. He could feel the weight of the team’s legacy on his shoulders, and instead of intimidating him, it excited him. He felt ready to prove himself, to show everyone that he belonged here.

“So, when’s the next game?” Connor asked, the words slipping out naturally.

Brody raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Tomorrow morning. Practice at six sharp. Think you’re up for it?”

“Of course,” Connor replied confidently. The idea of waking up before dawn for training didn’t faze him. In fact, it thrilled him. “I was born for this.”

Brody chuckled. “That’s the spirit. Welcome to the team, man.”

With one last look at his reflection, Connor felt a surge of excitement. He was no longer the preppy guy wandering aimlessly through life. He was Connor of the Golden Army, a fierce, driven athlete with a team, a purpose, and a brotherhood he’d fight for. His life was now about pushing his limits, winning for the team, for the pride of wearing the golden jersey.

As he and Brody walked out of the locker room, Connor felt a deep sense of belonging, of purpose. He knew he’d never go back to his old life—the designer suits, the gallery openings, the carefully curated image. It all seemed so empty compared to the thrill of the field, the roar of the crowd, and the loyalty of his teammates. He couldn’t wait to dominate on the field with his bros and with the chicks in the sheets!

[diamondwerewolf]

A Quick Chat About AZ

Which won't be quick at all.

I've talked for a little about coming to understand Lysandre, and now I'd like to talk about AZ, who is still somewhat of a mystery to me. We know of his backstory, but what I'm missing is what defines his personality. We don't speak with him enough in game to know it, so I had to do some digging around so I can form some assumptions. Most of this post will be me using Canon and Non-Canon [But still official] sources to get a grasp on what kind of man AZ is, just in case we don't get more information about him in Legends ZA.

-I want to know what he's like, because I want to make more artwork with him. ^^'-

Before I get into what I've found, I want to first talk about a character who I think is clearly defined, by his sheer simplicity. That's right,

It's Larry.

Larry, for example, has very clear likes and dislikes. He's an overworked, professional, brooding, middle aged man, who has respect for rules and simplicity. He dresses plainly, and uses relatively ordinary or normal type pokemon. He's vocal and assertive of his preferred lifestyle, to the point of stubbornness [ of which is only thwarted by his desire for his paycheck]. He also loves food and the pursuit of an extraordinary meal. Despite his introvert-like demeanor, he's shown to be friendly, deeply contemplative, and hiding a quirky, dad joke-like sense of humor.

With all of this, I can extrapolate what kind of decisions Larry would make if I were to put him in a new non-canonical situation. And, I can also define where I'd like to bend or add on to his personality in my own form of fandom play.

--

Now, back to the main topic. All of this to digest with a grain of salt. I also apologize in advance if I hop around a little between sources.

AZ, I can only assume is underutilized because of his grand age. 3,000 years old, means 3,000 years of knowledge or a direct eye witness of history. He wondered in search of his best friend, gradually witnessing the world transition from ancient to modern. Chances are, he can answer regional mysteries that gamefreak wouldn't want to touch upon. So, he's here one moment, and then gone the next after serving his key purpose in the game narrative.

Which brings me to all of the other official items I looked into and some thoughts on his intelligence. I watched his appearance in the Pokemon Generations Episode 18: The Redemption. [ no one asked but i think i prefer the japanese voice much more ] And I also was given a data bank to look through Pokemon XY game script.

AZ build the ultimate weapon. Though, if he had any assistance with it, it's unspecified. IF I RECALL CORRECTLY, in the recent XY development leaks, Sycamore, Lysandre, and AZ were all the same character, before the role was properly divided into three. Still, I'm under the impression, that AZ wasn't just a king, but a well respected researcher.

There’s research material on the bookshelf [In Lysandre Labs] “The king was proud of the technology he had used to bring Kalos prosperity, but he couldn’t help but use it in a way that had never been intended... AZ, the man who was king, disappeared.”

I think, AZ being keenly intelligent, is an easy assertion to make. He could build and operate complicated machinery, and probably still can. There are even more side notes I can make about his more complex understanding of pokemon. I don't think I have the clarity of mind to pull out even more examples, so I'll use just this one:

AZ does have a Golurk of unspecified age on his small team. I wonder...is it possible he built his Golurk himself? There are many pokadex entries stating the creation of, and ancient use of pokemon in these old cities. AZ appears to understand the infinite energy that dwells within pokemon well enough to contribute to the society he ruled over. I don't think 'artificial' pokemon construction is beyond his understanding, if he knew well enough that he could bring one back to life.

---

Moving along.

After building the weapon to revive his friend:

"...his rage still had not subsided."

I absolutely love this flashback sequence. I love how they portrayed the rawness of AZ's emotions. The unnerving look in his eye as his horrific choice forms. You get the sense that he truly did just...snap.

Which Makes Me Wonder: How tethered is AZ to his emotions? Is he like Lysandre, who appears to allow himself to freely feel his own anger and frustration, letting it drive him to obssession. Does he have a slight sense of entitlement, too? Entitled to take the world's problems and other lives in his hands. If so, did he leave that wicked part of himself behind?

AZ is royalty. He's a former -literal- king during a time of war, unlike Lysandre who's a more metaphorical king during a time of general peace. That may be an excuse for him easily taking on, beyond important, harrowing decisions. I wonder if this was the most difficult point in his reign. That aside, AZ doesn't seem to be concerned with that title living in modern day.

He doesn't demand that he should be treated like his former title. I'm going to make another assumption that he has let that go a long time ago. He struggles with being forgiven, maybe even struggles with caring about himself. He's traded his old royal regalia, a robe, golden arm cuffs, and golden neck piece, for old, worn, patchy clothes. He doesn't care about his royalty, or his clothes, and AZ never makes any mention that I can remember about his own height.

None of it appears to matter to him. Only "where is she?"

---

Speaking of.

AZ's ability to hold on to hope is...something.

When yeh know for certain sure yeh ain’t never gonna meet again... Well, yeh can give in and accept it. But if yeh think there might be a chance, and yeh wander the world for 3,000 years tortured by that flicker of hope... I tell yeh, sprout. I couldn’t have stood it.

I don't think I could have stood it either. To not give up on his Floette for 3,000 years, to muscle through that torture until finally you meet again. What would you call the kind of 'grit' that would make you endure something like this? In the XY manga, he's plagued by nightmares of his past. He described his ordeal officially in the game as 'endless suffering'. Is it a certain kind of stubbornness? A kind of unconditional love? I'm not sure... AZ, in another one of my opinions, has got to be one of the series' most strong willed characters. You can't survive 3,000 years with weak resolve. He can't die of old age, but..well...

...

Despite the horrors he's capable of, he's got a gentle quality to him. I like the contrast, between a giant and a pokemon so delicate and tiny. I'm sure the juxtaposition of AZ and his Floette is purposeful, and in itself helps inform of his character.

This is from the Pokemon Adventure XY Manga, and isn't canonical, but...look at him. I found him greeting Trevor's Flabebe so sweet. He's respectful to the children also, and doesn't belittle them in the slightest.

His smile. He calls her beautiful, and she is! He has some stony expressions, but also some very softened ones in Anime, Game, and Manga. He hasn't lost his ability to smile after all this time. Which is nice...

OOF, I've been writing this for a long while, so I'll wrap things up. I can't trust myself to write a comprehensive summary, like Larry, at this time, but I hope to have one later. Again, I'm hoping Legends ZA will provide more before I start my true 'blorbo madness'.

Here are all of my assumptions in a list AZ is:

Extraordinarily Intelligent, capable of making and operating dangerous technology. I believe he wasn't just a King, but a contributing engineer/ researcher.

Deeply emotional, allowing himself to openly cry, feel anger, and sorrow. Despite his intelligence, his emotions can cloud his judgement. THOUGH, he may have much more emotional maturity now. [ i find it interesting both he and lysandre are allowed to shed tears ]

Strong of will, or is a person of unwavering conviction.

Stern, somewhat of a languisher, but gentle.

That's all I have for now. Let me know if anyone else has thoughts!

[thiswaytwoinfinity]

it's a bad idea, right? — sneak peek

can't two people reconnect? i only see him as a friend (the biggest lie i ever said)

I'm still working on this one but I'm really excited about it so I wanted to share a little sneak peek at it because Jake Seresin definitely needs a warning ;)

---------

“Sorry about that, ma’am. I thought those beers were mine. Didn’t mean to steal from you,” his low, twangy drawl went right through you, settling warm and comfortingly in your stomach. “I’d offer to buy you a drink to make it up to you, but, well …” 

Texas. That’s where that accent is from, you thought, instantly being transported back to your nursing school program in Austin. How many wannabe cowboys had spoken with that same drawl, trying to charm you and your friends during a night out? Not too many of them had succeeded with you, especially not after — 

“Jake? Jake Seresin!?” 

It had to be him. You’d know that smile anywhere, had seen those green eyes in your dreams for far too long after you both had moved on.

He was bigger now, muscles more pronounced and jaw more defined, more of those cheeky smile lines creasing around his eyes. His voice was deeper too, some of his accent smoothed out after years in the military, but it had to be. 

He swore under his breath, eyes widening as he made the connection as well.

He practically whispered your name, as if it felt a bit rusty on his tongue, but the second you nodded, he repeated it louder, warmer, like he was slipping back into his favorite jacket. 

“Shit, how long’s it been?” Jake wondered aloud, looking you up and down as if to make a note of every infinitesimal change that had occurred since you last saw each other. “You look great, honey. Beautiful as ever.” 

You rolled your eyes but felt your cheeks heating up at his compliment. Jake always had a way of making you feel like the most special person in the room — but then again, he made everyone feel that way, as you later found out.

“You look good too, Seresin. Like a proper, respectable Navy man,” you admitted, though the words don’t sound nearly as begrudging as you hoped. 

You’re rewarded with one of those thousand-watt grins and for a second, you’re back in a Texas dive bar, flirting with the most handsome man you’ve ever seen to the tune of some cheesy country-rap remix. 

“I am good,” Jake promised, eyes locked on yours, and you think he might be back there with you, leaning up against the jukebox, the floors sticky under your feet. “I don’t know how respectable I am, but I am definitely good.” 

His voice drags out that sentence, low and flirtatious, and butterflies fill your stomach the same way they did all those years ago.

You could practically feel the ghost of his big hands on your hips, your lower back, caressing your cheek as the world disappeared around you that night, just the two of you creating your own little world in the corner of that dingy bar.

Your lips parted — to say what, exactly, you’re not sure — and you see his eyes drop to them for just a moment before — 

The woman behind the bar called out “Hangman!” with a tone of voice that makes it clear that it’s not the first time she’s said it and you both startle and turn to see her holding four bottles of beer out towards Jake, a look of exhaustion on her face. He jumped forward to take them, apologies pouring from his lips and he pointedly shoves several bills into the tip jar in order to earn an eye roll and a small smile from her.

Two sweating bottles in each hand, he turned back to you and almost seems a bit relieved that you’re still standing there. (As if you’ve ever been able to walk away from him.) 

“I have to drop these off with my friends,” Jake said, nodding to a table somewhere behind you, “And you should probably get those drinks to the people who sent you over here. But do — do you wanna catch up? There’s a deck out back with some tables, it’s usually pretty quiet this time of night.” He waited for you to nod, before pressing a quick kiss to your cheekbone. “I’ll meet you in five minutes.”

With one more charming smile, he’s off into the crowd and — not for the first time in your life — you’re left speechless and a little stunned, staring after Jake Seresin. 

-----

Tagging some people who asked to be added: @tvshowgirl81 @redbarn1995 @stoneyggirl @keepingitlokiii @averyhotchner

[killusmoke]

❝I'll be by your side forever, love❞

♡ - Where you get hurt during your volleyball game, Ichigo takes care of you .

ichigo x f!reader

Disclaimer - No powers or anything of the sort in this story, it's modernized .

The volleyball court buzzed with bursts of energy and anticipation as the game reached its peak. The atmosphere was electric, with what seemed like the entire school in attendance, filling the benches with a sea of faces from various places in the campus, some not even attending the same school.

It was your 6th game, the most challenging one yet. The daunting Hakoniwa High School, renowned for their ruthless tactics and years of dominance in the sport, stood as the ultimate rival in winning. Determined to topple their reign, your team had prepared meticulously, ensuring that they are readily prepared for this intense game.

However, today held an even greater significance. It was the first game where all your friends, classmates, and teachers had gathered to witness your skill. Among the crowd were your closest friends Orihime, Mizuiro, Rukia, and most importantly, your loving boyfriend Ichigo.

As the game progressed, you found yourself struggling from time to time, overcome by nerves and the weight of expectations. The pressure intensified as you made errors, causing disappointment to well up within you. Doubt crept into your thoughts, and you sought solace in Ichigo's embrace.

--

"It's okay, (Y/N)," Ichigo's soothing voice whispered, his hand gently stroking your hair. "Mistakes happen, but they don't define your future or your worth as an athlete. I know how hard you've worked, and I'm proud of you, we all are, no matter the outcome."

Sniffles and quiet sobs erupted from your trembling form, tears staining the fabric of Ichigo's black hooded jacket. The weight of your perceived failure bore down heavily, causing your voice to falter as you expressed your frustrations through hiccups and broken words.

"I-I don't deserve to be on this team. I did so h-horribly, Ichigo, you don't understand!" your voice quivered, choked with self-doubt and despair. Desperation drove you to cling tighter to Ichigo, seeking solace in his unwavering presence.

"Don't speak of yourself that way," Ichigo's voice held a quiet strength, his words laced with conviction. "You've poured your heart and soul into this sport, and one bad game doesn't define you. I understand your disappointment, my love, believe me I do."

With a tenderness that melted away the anguish, Ichigo gently lifted your tear-stained face, his eyes filled with empathy. Like a gentle butterfly, his lips pressed against your wet cheeks, leaving a trail of fleeting kisses. Each kiss carried a message of reassurance and love, a reminder that you were not alone in your pain.

Your sobs subsided, replaced by hiccups and sniffles as you continue to clung tightly to his black hooded jacket, finding solace in his words and affection. The love you felt for him deepened in that moment, his support a healing for your wounded confidence.

--

As you regained your composure, memories of the game flooded your mind. It was a nerve-wracking experience from the start, knowing that your playing time was often limited. However, to your surprise, the coach had chosen you as a starter for this crucial match. You internally signed as the weight of responsibility and the fear of disappointing those who had believed in you now weigh heavily on your shoulders.

Now, as the game neared its end, you found yourself panting heavily, hands on knees, catching your breath. The opposing team had called a timeout, allowing your team to regroup and strategize. However, lost in your thoughts, you failed to pay attention to the discussions, instead finding yourself searching for Ichigo's presence in the stands. When your eyes met his, a warm blush colored your cheeks, and he waved at you with a kind smile. It was a small but meaningful gesture that reminded you that you weren't alone in this.

The shrill sound of the referee's whistle broke through your temporary daze, jolting you back to the present. You look to the side as you see your team has already completed their chants are are returning to their original positions.

With a muttered curse, you hurriedly returned to your own position, bending your knees and bracing yourself for the opposing team's serve. Glancing at the scoreboard, your heart raced as it displayed a tense 24-24, proving intensity of the game's final set.

The sharp sound of the referee's whistle cut through the air once again, signaling the resumption of play. Your heart pounded in your chest, anticipation and adrenaline coursing through your veins. Every muscle in your body coiled with energy as you prepared to spring into action.

The ball sailed over the net, hurtling towards your side of the court. As your teammates hit the ball with ease, the ball moved towards your position. Without a moment's hesitation, you leaped, your body soaring through the air. Time seemed to slow as you met the ball with a powerful spike, the impact resonating through your arms.

Cheers erupted from the crowd as the ball soared over the net, evading the desperate attempts of the opposing team to return it. The winning point was yours, a testament to your skill and determination. The gymnasium erupted in joyful celebration, the delight of victory vibrated through the air.

However, amidst the noise of cheers and applause, a sudden, piercing scream tore through the jarring atmosphere. All eyes turned, searching for the source of the anguished cry. It was you, crumpled on the ground, your face contorted in pain as you held onto the base of your ankle

The revelry came to a screeching halt as the crowd's jubilation transformed into concern. Gasps and whispers spread like wildfire, the spectators realizing the severity of your injury. The school nurse, having witnessed the fall from her position on the sidelines, quickly running towards you. She rushed to your side, her face etched with worry and determination.

Meanwhile, the coach, his eyes widening in alarm, hurried towards you, his authoritative presence now fraught with concern. With a commanding voice, he directed the team to clear a path for the nurse and ensure your safety.

Ichigo, who had been swept up in the celebration, froze as his eyes locked onto your fallen form. In an instant, his happiness transformed into a raw mix of worry and fear. Pushing through the crowd, he reached your side, his face etched with distress.

"Y/N, what happened? Are you okay?" His voice trembled with genuine concern as he knelt down beside you, one hand hovering anxiously above your injured ankle, the other stroking your cheek.

Pain seared through your body, but you managed a weak smile, your voice strained. "I think I broke my ankle, Ichigo. But don't worry, I'm okay."

Ichigo's eyes filled with a mix of anguish and determination. Gently, he cradled your head in his hands as the school nurse called the paramedics.

As the paramedics arrived, urgency and efficiency colored their every movement. With great care, they immobilized your injured ankle and gently lifted you onto a stretcher. The pain pulsed through your body, but your focus remained on your boyfriend, who stood by your side, his worry shown deeply in his features.

"I'll be right behind you," Ichigo assured you, his voice filled with determination. "Just hold on, Y/N. I won't leave your side."

With those comforting words lingering in the air, the paramedics swiftly wheeled you out of the gymnasium, the blaring sirens of the ambulance announcing your departure. The crowd watched in silence, a mix of concern and sympathy etched on their faces, as you disappeared from view.

In the aftermath, Ichigo turned to your friends, Mizuiro, Orihime, and Rukia, who had been by your side throughout the game. His eyes, filled with a mixture of worry and determination, met theirs.

"We need to find out what's happening," Ichigo's voice held an unwavering resolve, tinged with an undercurrent of anxiety. "I'll talk to the school staff and find out which hospital they're taking her to. We can't waste any time."

Mizuiro nodded, his usually happy demeanor replaced with concern. "I'll stay here and gather any information I can. We'll do everything we can to support her."

Orihime, her warm eyes filled with empathy, spoke softly. "I'll call her family and let them know what's happened. They'll want to be here for her."

Rukia, her voice steady despite the worry in her eyes, added, "Ichigo, don't forget to take care of yourself too. Y/N needs you to be strong."

With a short nod, Ichigo acknowledged their words of support.

Without further delay, Ichigo rushed to his car, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and worry. The engine roared to life as he sped towards the hospital, definitely breaking a few laws, as every second feeling like an eternity.

Upon arriving at the hospital, Ichigo quickly navigated the corridors, his mind focused solely on reaching your side. Finally, he found himself in the room where you lay, your face etched with pain but your eyes lighting up as he entered.

"Ichigo," you whispered, your voice weak but filled with relief. "I'm so glad you're here."

He rushed to your side, his hand finding yours, intertwining fingers in a gesture of unwavering support. "I'm here, Y/N, don't worry. Tell me what the doctor said."

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, the memory of the doctor's words fresh in your mind. "They said it's a pretty nasty break, but not too severe. I'll need to wear a cast for several weeks, maybe even months. They believe I'll make a full recovery though."

Ichigo's eyes softened with a mix of relief and tenderness. "That's good news, Y/N." he says as he kisses the top of your head.

"I'll be by your side forever, love"

p.s lol js felt like writing this idk if I'm gonna continue writing for other characters, ill see!

this is also available on my Wattpad to read! check my bio to see 😊

credits to separators here

[letsgetrowdy43]

Please be rude (Rowan’s Version)—

Nico Hischier x Angie Chandler

Based on the song “Please Be Rude” by Gigi Perez

Notes/warnings: Some suggestive writing, but no smut! A little angsty, but it has a good amount of fluff throughout!! It's kinda cheesy so buckle up!

Au Masterlist!!

"It's easy running through your hair, like fields of poppies in salt air"

March crept in with the chill still hanging in the air, a reminder that winter hadn't fully loosened its grip on the tri-state area. The season was slowly dying out, and so were the expectations that surrounded the young team. The off-season was so close, but not close enough.

It had been a grueling year, one full of injury and upset, but with the approaching of the bitter end of the winter turning to spring, the upcoming months felt a little more promising.

The late evening sky cast darkness on Angie’s apartment. The hum of the city outside was faint and distant as the bathroom light dimly lit her bedroom.

Nico’s breath was warm against her neck, her fingers tracing circles across his bare shoulder as she rested her cheek on his bare chest, her pointer dipping down occasionally to trace the tattoo on his bicep. His hands, strong and steady, as he trailed his hand down her naked spine, finding its resting spot on the curvature of her hip, not pulling, just there.

It was comfortable, a little too comfortable to be real.

They’d been here before—lost in the space between friends and something more, teetering on the edge of a line neither of them had dared to cross. 

Or maybe they already had. 

Angie wasn’t sure anymore. 

She’d stopped trying to define it weeks ago, somewhere between his late-night texts and the way her chest tightened whenever he laughed. She was completely hopeless the moment his lips brushed against hers on new years. Now his hands ever so delicately held her like the most precious thing he had ever held in his life.

Princess treatment could never compare to the way Nico Hischier held her, with such raw intimacy, such adoration.

It was sickenly sweet.

“Angie…” Nico’s voice was low, his lips brushing the curve of her ear as he spoke. He didn’t finish the thought, though, and she didn’t push him to. That’s how it always was with them—almost words, almost confessions.

She turned her head slightly, their eyes meeting in the dim light of her bedroom. His dark hair was tousled, her hand finding the stubble on his cheek as she cradled his face in her palm. 

He looked so sexy like this, a little tired and a little love-stricken. It was cruel what just his expression could do to her.

His gaze lingered on her like it always did after nights like this when they’d collapse into each other without thinking too hard about what it meant. But now, the air felt heavier, the silence louder as his hand not on her torso moved to flatten her mess of curls, smiling warmly as a few strays sprung back up.

“What?” she whispered, her fingers grazing his jawline, wanting him to say something. To give her some hint of where his head was at.

Nico gave a half-smile, the one that made her heart stutter a little too much, and shifted so he could lie back against the pillows. “Nothing,” he finally said, his arm stretching out for her. Angie moved without thinking, resting her head against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing as his arm wrapped around her torso and found its solace, kneading the softness of her hip.

She knew it wasn’t nothing. 

It was everything they weren’t saying, everything hanging in the air between them, waiting for one of them to grab onto it. They were good at this—pretending the feelings didn’t matter, that what they had wasn’t turning into something real.

She wanted to ask him what they were, wanted to confront the moments when he stayed over a little too long, when his fingers brushed her in ways that felt too intimate for two people who were just this. 

But she didn’t, because she was afraid of the answer. 

Or worse, no answer at all.

Nico’s hand trailed down to her cheek, fingertips running across her flushed skin and landing on the task of untucking her bottom lip from her teeth, and Angie closed her eyes, letting the quiet fill the space between them.

For now, the label didn’t matter.

And if she was being honest, it was probably best they didn't attack that concept of setting things in stone. 

It was enough that he was here, for however long he would have her.

But in the pit of her stomach, she knew that March was a dangerous month for almost everyone. It was too close to spring, to renewal, and that brought with it a weight neither of them could ignore forever.

But tonight, in the fading cold of winter, they were just Angie and Nico. 

No labels, and especially no expectations.

★★★★

"You said to me that you won't share, and I said I would never dare"

A few nights later, Angie found herself sitting at a small table near the back of the team's local watering hole, ignoring the rest of the boys as they celebrated one of those seemingly rare wins after a long string of losses, her remaining drink untouched as she watched Nico from across the room. 

He leaned against the bar, talking to a girl—blonde, pretty, and effortlessly laughing at something he said. 

He has never been funny enough to elicit that sort of laughter, Angie bitterly lied to herself as she grimaced at how the girl's hand reached out to hold his forearm.

The blonde's fingers toyed with the bracelet on his wrist, one she had jokingly made him as a gift for his birthday in her rookie year after she forgot to get him anything. It pulled at her heartstrings to see that he she still wore it, but she wanted to cut it off the moment another woman put her hands on it, or more particularly on him.

Angie’s stomach twisted, a sharp tug of jealousy she didn’t want to admit was there.

They hadn’t talked about boundaries. 

They hadn’t talked about anything outside of their little affair being a secret, really. 

But watching him now, she felt that familiar sense of unease gnawing at her, the one that whispered maybe this thing between them wasn’t as clear as she’d hoped.

The girl's grip on Nico’s arm seemed to move higher and higher and she scooted closer to him, a casual gesture that sent a jolt of heat through Angie’s chest. She looked away quickly, her fingers curling tighter around her glass.

She hated this feeling—this uncertainty, the way she was always left wondering what they were to each other.

It wasn’t just the girl at the bar. It was all the little moments that had built up over the past few weeks. The texts that went unanswered, the nights he didn’t stay over, the quiet way she could tell he wanted to talk more about them but could never get the courage to say anything. It all weighed on her now, the confusion pressing down harder than ever.

When Nico finally looked her way, catching her eye, he smiled and gestured that he’d be over in a second. Angie forced a smile in return, though her insides felt like they were on fire.

She didn’t have long to wait before Nico crossed the room in a few quick strides, that familiar, easy confidence radiating off him as he slid into the booth beside her, but there was a crease in his brow as he sat next to her.

“You okay?” he asked, leaning in slightly, his hand resting on her thigh, a reflex he seemed to be adopting anytime her perfect thighs were on display. His voice was soft and concerned, like he could sense something was off.

And it was.

She hadn’t planned on having this conversation, not tonight at least, but it was suddenly too hard to keep it inside. Watching him with that girl had pushed her to the edge of her uncertainty. She needed to know where they stood for now.

“I really don't like sharing you,” she blurted, her voice firmer than she expected, "I mean, like- I want us to be exclusive."

Nico blinked, taken aback. His hand froze in place, and for a moment, the noise of the bar seemed to fade into the background, the loud karaoke from John and Dawson ruining the dramatics as Nico's eyes remained on her

“What?” His voice was quiet, but not confused—just surprised. “Us. I want us to be exclusive. No more... I just—” she stopped, unsure how to put it into words. 

The fear of losing him clashed with the fear of never knowing if they were on the same page. It really wasn't the fear of losing the sex and the new living version of Nico that she had unlocked, it was his respect she feared she could never live without, that making this boundary would somehow cause the man to view her in an entirely new light. And something about that possibility scared her shitless.

Nico's eyebrows furrowed, his expression softening as he processed her words, "I thought we were," he said, his voice steady, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Angie stared at him, stunned. "What?"

"I mean..." he ran a hand through his hair, looking a little sheepish, "I wasn’t sleeping anyone else, or seeing anyone for that matter. I thought you knew that." His eyes met hers, sincere and a little confused by the sudden need for clarification. "I didn’t think we needed to spell it out."

She felt her breath catch, the tension in her chest loosening, but confusion flooded in to take its place. “But you never said anything?” “Neither did you,” Nico pointed out gently, his gaze softening even more. 

He shifted closer, his leg brushing against hers under the table. “Angie, I’m not just fooling around with you. Remember how I was for you last year, It’s been just you for me since you entered that executive office.”

Her mind raced, trying to reconcile the jealousy she’d felt watching him at the bar with what he was telling her now. “But that girl—” “She’s no one,” Nico said, cutting her off with a small laugh. “She was asking me about John. We weren’t—God, I’m sorry if it looked like something. But I promise you, it wasn’t.”

Angie’s cheeks flushed, embarrassment creeping up her neck. She felt like she’d misread everything, let her insecurities spiral into something they weren’t. 

“I just... I didn’t know where we stood,” she admitted quietly, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her shirt. “I didn’t want to assume.”

Nico reached for her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Hey. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to question it.” Angie let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, relief washing over her in waves. She hadn’t even realized how much she’d needed to hear him say it to know for sure.

“So, we’re good?” she asked, her voice small but hopeful. Nico smiled, his hand still holding hers as he nodded, “Yeah, we’re good. Better than good.” He leaned in, lips accidentally brushing against the shell of her ear that caused a chill to go down her spin, "we should get out of here, though," he motioned towards the door as she slowly nodded with flushed cheeks.

★★★★

"I stared at you the way I do when I want something else from you" 

The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the canucks game on the tv and the occasional distant rumble of traffic outside. Angie sat on the edge of the couch, still in her dress pants, blouse discarded on the floor, leaving her in her bra as she massaged her aching ribs. The pain stemmed from the long day of physio and then having to sit through the game in the press box.

Nico moved around her small kitchen with a kind of casual ease that made her heart tighten unexpectedly. He had his back to her, focused on making something warm for her to drink—a little ritual he’d started after games whenever she was there waiting for him. He insisted she needed to relax too, that cheering for the team took as much energy as playing.

She called bullshit, healing took a lot of her energy, but it wasn't the same as the high of being on the ice or the soreness that followed an intense game.

Living life without hockey for Angie felt a little like being a ghost.

“Almost done,” he called out, glancing over his shoulder with a small smile. Angie tried to smile back, but something in her chest was pulling tighter and tighter as she grew emotional. It was a mix of exhaustion and something else she couldn’t quite name—something that crept up on her slowly as she watched him moving around her space like it was his own.

It wasn’t that big of a deal. 

He’d done this a few times now—grabbed her favorite blanket from the armchair, brewed tea, and made sure she was comfortable before he let himself continue his own post-game rituals. 

But tonight, something about the way he took care of her felt different. More intimate, more… real in a sense.

Nico walked back over, two mugs in hand, and set them down on the coffee table. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat beside her, close enough that their knees touched. He handed her a mug and gave her a quick, affectionate glance, as if making sure she was okay.

His eyes scanned the look of overwhelm on her face, her lip tucked between her top and bottom lips as her fingers brushed his while grabbing the cup from his grasp

Angie’s fingers curled around the warm ceramic, smiling at the mug he had given her, the joke mug Timo had gotten her for Secret Santa just a few months prior, his beautiful face plastered on the side. She stared down at the steam rising from the cup, trying to focus on the mundane act of sipping tea to keep herself grounded. But that small, domestic gesture—Nico quietly taking care of her after a long day—felt like it carried so much more weight as his arm wrapped around her, resting on the couch cushion behind her.

He was calm, content, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside her. But she felt it all: the way he looked after her without being asked, the way he knew when she needed silence, how easily he’d slipped into this quiet rhythm of hers. It terrified her and warmed her all at once.

“Hey,” Nico’s voice was soft, his hand brushing lightly against her arm, running over the tattoo on her forearm, “You okay?”

Angie blinked, realizing she hadn’t said anything in a while. The tightness in her chest deepened, and she gave a small nod, but when she looked at him, her eyes welled up as she took a sip to keep herself busy.

“Angie?” His voice dropped lower, concerned now. He put his mug down and shifted closer, his hand cupping the side of her face gently. “What’s going on?” She tried to laugh it off, but the sound caught in her throat, “I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “It’s stupid, I’m just—”

The words faltered as she wiped at her eyes, embarrassed by the sudden rush of emotion as he took the mug from her hands and placed it beside his on a coaster. It wasn’t like her to get like this, not over something so simple as tea.

But something about him just undid her in ways she could never put into words.

Nico pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulders for real this time, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against her back. “It’s not stupid,” he murmured, his chin resting on top of her head. 

Angie exhaled shakily, sinking into him, letting herself feel the weight of his comfort for once instead of shying away. She took a moment before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just... this. You. Take care of me like this.”

Nico frowned slightly, confused. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No, it’s not.” She shook her head, the tears still lingering in her eyes. “It’s just... it’s a lot. I wasn’t expecting this, you know? Us, like this.” Her voice cracked slightly. “You being here, doing all this—it makes me feel like... I can't explain it.”

Nico pulled back just enough to look at her, his brow softening with understanding. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had escaped, she suddenly felt very naked to his stare, all guards down for a moment. “I really like taking care of you.”

His words, although short, hung in the air, simple but filled with a certainty that made her chest tighten again, though this time it wasn’t from fear. It was from the overwhelming comfort of being seen, of being cared for.

“I didn’t know it would feel like this,” she admitted softly, her eyes searching for him as she wiped away any of the remaining tears and makeup under her eyes, “It feels... It was really nice. And that scares me a little.”

Nico’s face softened, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “It’s okay to feel that way,” he said quietly, “but you don’t have to be scared. I’m not going anywhere.”

The certainty in his voice anchored her, and Angie let out a small, shaky laugh. “You sound so sure.” “I am sure,” Nico said, his voice firm yet tender. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple, lingering there for a moment.

Angie closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his kiss and his words settle into her. She tipped her head up a little to catch his lips on hers, a sort of seal to end the conversation as she kissed his tenderly, fingers finding his hair. 

It really wasn’t about the tea, or the blanket, or even the way he moved through her apartment like it was second nature. It was about the quiet care behind it all—the way he made her feel like she didn’t have to carry everything alone, and that was very fucking scary.

★★★★

"You say, 'Don't you go beg and plead,' and you booked the night train for a reason"

The Hockey New Jersey black-tie gala was in full swing, the room alive with the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses.

Angie stood by one of the tall, marble pillars, her eyes sweeping over the crowd as she tried to steady her breath. She tugged at the edge of her dress, feeling uncomfortably out of place despite the stunning gown she wore. 

It wasn’t the dress, or the people—it was Nico.

He was across the room, laughing easily with some teammates and executives, looking effortlessly handsome in his sharp suit. Every now and then, his gaze flickered over to her, warm and reassuring, a silent promise that he hadn’t forgotten she was there.

And he hadn’t.

They’d arrived separately, but he waited outside of the hall for her, Jack, and Luke, his hand lingering at the small of her back as they walked in together. It was a simple gesture and seemingly innocent, but it sent her heart racing, filling her with a familiar mix of excitement and unease as she entered the decorated banquet hall. 

Their relationship, or whatever it was, remained undefined, left somewhere in that comfortable gray area of “something more” but never fully spoken out loud. 

But tonight had felt different from the start—too real, too exposed, which was causing a downside spiral. 

The idea of a relationship was hard, and the idea of something being public was even scary. Not to mention that with every passing shared moment, she felt her independence slipping through her fingers. 

Just before they entered, as they stood in the cold air, Nico had turned to her, his eyes softer than usual, and said, “I want to drive you home tonight. After this, Just us.” “We need to talk,” he’d added with a cheeky little grin, his hand brushing hers as he linked their pinkies, “I’ve been thinking.”

Angie had nodded, her throat tightening, unable to find the words. And now, hours later, as she sipped champagne and watched him from across the room, the weight of his offer still sat heavy in her chest.

Big events like this made her feel so isolated, the boys usually stuck to each other or talked with the media, networkers normally spoke with the staff and execs, and she normally stuck to herself. Luke would normally be glued to her side, but with the anticipation of him and Jack giving a speech tonight, he was off talking with some important representatives, which left her standing by herself in the corner of the hall.

She made eye contact with a random man from across the hall, a bit older than herself but obviously well-established, seeing as she had a crowd around him laughing at some story he was telling. But the second he saw her in her lonesome, he paused his conversations to speak to her.

"You must be Evangeline Chandler!" the man exclaimed, his voice dripping with that fake charm she’d come to expect from people in his circle. "I don’t think we’ve ever been introduced. I’m Dan Smith, my company is an investor for the Devs." Angie hesitated for a fraction of a second before she forced herself back into the present, slipping into the well-practiced politeness that came with being in a room full of powerful people. 

She shook his hand, her smile polite, a little stiff. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” “The pleasure’s all mine!” he returned with a chuckle, his grip a little too firm as he let go of her hand. 

She shifted awkwardly, feeling the weight of his gaze as he looked her over, and then, with a grin that made her stomach turn, Dan added, “I’ll be honest, I was unsure of you when you first joined the team—being a girl and all—but you’ve really surprised me.”

Angie’s smile faltered, though she managed to keep it in place just long enough to hide the immediate flash of irritation. 

“Being a girl and all,” she repeated his words and nodded, bitterness filling her throat as she reminded herself exactly where she was in the moment

There was always someone like Dan, looking at her like she was a novelty, something unexpected in a world they still thought was theirs. But before she could respond, Nico’s presence appeared beside her, his hand resting gently on the small of her back as if he’d sensed the tension from across the room. 

“Everything alright here?” Nico asked, his voice calm but laced with an edge that made Dan pause for just a moment. Nico smiled, but there was a protectiveness in the way he stood close to her, his eyes flicking between her and the man in front of them.

Dan, oblivious to the shift in the air, grinned and nodded. “Of course! Just congratulating Evangeline here on exceeding my expectations.” Angie glanced up at Nico, catching the subtle arch of his brow at the weird use of her first name. She knew that look—it was the same one he wore on the ice when he was about to call someone out for crossing a line.

“Angie’s been exceeding expectations since day one,” Nico said smoothly, his voice even but with a firmness that didn’t go unnoticed. “But I’m sure you already knew that.” Dan’s smile faltered just a little, but he laughed it off, clearly eager to avoid any confrontation, “Absolutely,” he said, a little too quickly. “She’s certainly proven herself as a key piece, love to see it.”

Angie smiled sweetly, though there was a hint of steel behind it now. “Thank you, Dan,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “I’ve always believed that talent isn’t defined by gender. I’m glad you’ve come to see that, too.”

Dan opened his mouth as if to respond, but before he could say anything, another group of investors waved him over, saving them both from further conversation. With a quick nod, Dan excused himself, disappearing back into the crowd.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Angie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “God,” she muttered, rolling her eyes, “I hate those kinds of conversations.”

Her eyes burned slightly with new-found exhaustion, her adrenaline simmering as she stared at the floor and collected herself for a second before she looked back to Nico with concern in his eyes. Nico’s hand lingered on her back, a soft comfort that she moved away from to stop anyone from noticing how comfortable they looked with one another.

There was pity in his stare, it was practically dripping with it, which she hated. Hated feeling helpless and hated feeling like she needed to depend on others to get her out of situations. She may play a team sport, but for the longest time, it was just her in her corner, saving herself from it all, and she really wasn't sure she was ready for that to change.

“He’s an idiot,” he said bluntly, his eyes still following Dan’s retreating figure. Then he turned back to her, his expression softening. “You alright?” Angie nodded, “Yeah, I’m fine,” her anger towards the stranger now seemed to be aimed toward Nico as she grew embarrassed by his insistent need to protect her.

“I could have handled that one on my own, you know.”

Nico shrugged, giving her a smile. “I never said you couldn't. I just thought you would want the help.” "Thank you for the help,” she said, her voice softer now but still carrying a hint of that independence she clung to, “but I don’t always need saving, you know?” "I'm confused, are you mad at me for sticking up for you?"

She shook her head at the defensiveness in his voice. Dan had hit a nerve within her that wasn't easily shakeable, and he could tell she was taking that anger and aiming it at him.

There was something about blatant sexism mixed with the fact she's fucking the captain of the team she worked her ass to get onto that sent her spiralling.

She was totally fucking everything up for herself.

“Hey,” he said, his breath brushing her cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked as she noticed the look of annoyance drain and got replaced with the ghost of tears in her eyes as they glazed over. Angie swallowed, her mind racing. “Yeah,” she lied, her voice suddenly a faux cheery tone, “I just... I need to go home.”

He studied her for a moment, his brow furrowing just enough to show he wasn’t convinced. “You sure?” Angie glanced around the room, her breath catching in her throat. “I’m not feeling great,” she blurted, her hand moving to her stomach as if that would sell the lie. “I think I might head home early. No one will notice, I've been pretty quiet all night.”

Nico blinked, his expression shifting from playful concern to genuine worry, “You okay? You need me to—” he moved his hand to feel the heat of her flushed cheeks, but she caught it before he could touch her. “No, no, it’s fine,” she cut him off, forcing a smile, “I’ll just grab a cab. It’s probably nothing.”

Nico hesitated, his eyes searching hers for a moment longer as if he could see through the excuse. But then he sighed and nodded again, he carefully looked around at who was watching before stepping closer and pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “Alright,” he said softly. “But text me when you’re home, okay? And if you need anything...”

“I will,” she whispered, the guilt already gnawing at her.

She turned away before he could say anything else, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she made her way toward the exit. The cold air hit her face as soon as she stepped outside, a welcome relief from the suffocating warmth inside. Angie exhaled, her breath clouding in front of her as she hurried down the steps and hailed a cab.

As she slid into the backseat, her phone buzzed in her hand. A message from Nico.

You okay? I’ll check in later.

Angie closed her eyes, guilt flooding her chest. She couldn’t respond—not yet. The truth was, she wasn’t okay. She was terrified. Terrified of how much he cared for her, of how much she could lose if things didn’t go the way either of them expected. She wasn’t ready for the weight of that conversation, wasn’t ready to hear what Nico had to say when the stakes felt so high.

★★★★

"I think I've seen this love before, I think I've seen this love before" 

Angie sat cross-legged on her bed, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the room. She wrapped her arms around her knees, staring at the open window where the night sky stretched endlessly above. The bay window in her apartment was her favorite place in her room, it looked over the Hoboken waterfront and the Hudson River.

The stillness of the night felt weirdly silent, but it wasn’t a comforting quiet. It was the kind of quiet that made her restless. She had been spending so much time with Nico, letting herself lean into the comfort of him, the way he seemed to fill every gap she had carefully guarded.

But as she sat there alone, the memory of who she had been before Nico flooded her senses. 

She used to be so comfortable in her lonesome.

The nights she spent reading dirty romance novels into the late evening, curled up with a book and a cup of tea. The mornings she’d wake up to silence, her apartment of her own, no expectations, no one waiting for her as she blared music and danced in the kitchen while making breakfast. 

The independence she’d fought so hard to build after everything that had come before was slowly working its way out of her life.

Angie let out a sigh, leaning her head back against the headboard. She wasn’t unhappy—not at all. But there was a part of her that felt like she was slipping away, like the edges of her independence were fraying each time she let Nico take care of her. Every time he held her a little longer, every time he soothed her fears with that quiet strength, she felt herself giving more, leaning into him more than she meant to.

And now, here she was, alone in her bed, missing him.

The feeling made her stomach twist. She hated that she missed him. Hated that she wanted him there to fill the silence that used to be so comforting to her.

It had always been Angie against everyone else, she paved her own ways. But with her growing fondness for the man, it was starting to become Angie and Nico.

Angie bit her lip and reached for her phone, her thumb hovering over Quinn’s name again. He had been her sounding board for so long, the one who reminded her who she was when everything felt too confusing. He wouldn’t tell her what to do—he never did—but he’d listen, and sometimes that was all she needed as she worked out the issues for herself.

With a quick tap, she dialed his number and held the phone to her ear. It rang a few times before his familiar voice answered.

“Hey, Ang,” Quinn greeted, his voice calm and warm, as if he already knew something was on her mind. Angie smiled faintly at the sound of his voice. “Hey. Are you busy?”

“Not really, just doing dishes,” Quinn replied, and she could hear the faint rustle of him moving around, probably settling in somewhere to listen. “What’s up?” Angie hesitated, biting her lip as she tried to find the right words. “I don’t know... I’ve just been thinking a lot.”

She knew he must be annoyed with how often she called with a new crisis, but there would never be a time when she could call, and he wouldn't answer and vice versa. And that stability really brought her a sense of comfort.

Quinn made a soft sound, a quiet acknowledgment that he was listening but not pushing her to explain right away. She appreciated that about him—he gave her space to find her words without trying to fill the silence.

“I’ve been thinking about who I used to be,” she finally said, her voice quiet. “before Nico, before everything got... complicated. I miss the feeling of being independent, you know? Being able to just do my own thing, not worrying about him all the time or wondering what he has going on that doesn't have him here with me.”

There was a pause on the other end, and Angie could almost hear Quinn processing what she’d said, the wheels in his mind turning.

“You’re still independent, Ang,” he said after a moment, “just because you care about someone doesn’t mean you’re losing that part of yourself, you cared for so many people before and it never affected you like this.”

“I know,” Angie murmured, her eyes falling to her hands as she picked her nails, her phone on speaker besider her. “But it feels like I’m losing control of it. Like, I’m getting too comfortable relying on him. I used to be so... self-sufficient. And now I’m sitting here missing him, and it feels weird.”

Quinn let out a soft chuckle, not in a way that made her feel silly, but like he understood. “It’s okay to miss him. It’s okay to let someone in."

"It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.”

Angie sighed, rubbing her hand over her face, “It kinda feels like it has to be all or nothing with him, he deserves so much, and I want to give him that, but I'm bound to lose myself in him if I let that go on for too long” “Nico’s not that guy, he’s not going to take away your independence. But you have to give yourself a little grace, Ange. It’s okay to let someone be there for you. It doesn’t make you weaker.”

Angie’s throat tightened, a lump forming that she hadn’t expected. Quinn always had this way of making things seem so simple, even when they felt overwhelming to her. He wasn’t pushing her toward Nico or telling her to let go of her fears—he was just reminding her that it didn’t have to be as black and white as she was making it.

“I just... I don’t want to mess this up,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to lose myself trying to prove myself again.”

“You won’t,” Quinn said softly. “You’ve come too far to lose yourself now. And you know what? If you ever feel like you are, you can always pull back, reset. You’re not trapped in this.”

Angie let out a shaky breath, her heart feeling a little lighter at his words. He was right—she wasn’t trapped. She was allowed to figure this out at her own pace, to feel scared and uncertain without losing everything she’d built.

“Thanks, Quinn,” she whispered, her voice full of gratitude. “I needed that.” “Anytime,” he said gently. “You’re stronger than you think, Ange. Don’t forget that.”

As they hung up, Angie sat in the quiet again, but this time, it didn’t feel so heavy. Quinn’s words echoed in her mind, grounding her in the truth that she wasn’t losing herself. She was just learning how to let someone in without giving everything away.

And maybe, just maybe, she could find a balance between the two

★★★★

"Oh, she was hangin' 'round my block And now she's walkin' through my door"

A week had passed since her chat with Quinn, and it seemed since the gala any reninents of an argument had been forgotten as Nico came over with soup with her the next morning after she didn't respond to his text on how she was feeling.

Everything had gone back to normal, which was surprisingly nice, but also tense. It felt tense in the way that Angie was waiting for Nico to flip a switch and address her anger the other night. But for now, she would pretend that nothing happened just to keep the peace, all the while ignoring the impending "what are we" conversation that she was not ready to have.

Steam filled the bathroom, clinging to the mirrors and walls as the steady rhythm of the water poured down around them. 

Angie stood under the warm spray of the shower head, her arms folded over her chest as Nico gently lathered shampoo into her hair, his touch slow and methodical. His fingers moved with an ease that felt natural, comforting, like they’d done this a thousand times before.

The intimacy of it all—she could feel the edges of herself softening, could feel herself slipping through his fingers, little by little, like the water running down the drain.

Nico’s hands moved down her shoulders now, his touch tender as he rinsed the suds from her hair. He didn’t say anything, but the way he looked at her, tongue poking the side of his cheek as he concentrated on the task at hand, the softness in his eyes, spoke volumes. 

This wasn’t just a casual shower to him. Nothing was casual to him anymore.

She wanted to close her eyes and sink into the comfort of it, to let herself believe that this was okay, that she could trust him enough to let her guard down. But every time she let herself feel that way, the fear crept back in. It whispered in the back of her mind, reminding her of how easy it was to lose herself in someone else, how terrifying it was to let go.

The fear was so repetitive that she was unsure of why Nico even stuck around anymore.

“You’re quiet,” Nico said softly, his thick accent cutting through the gentle patter of the water. His hand slid down her arm, fingers brushing against hers in a way that made her heart ache.

Angie forced a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just... thinking,” she murmured, her voice barely above the sound of the water. She hoped he couldn’t hear the uncertainty that laced her words.

“About what?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he turned her gently to face him, concern flickering in his eyes. He studied her face, like he could sense the battle waging inside her even if she didn’t want to say it out loud.

Angie let out a breath, her gaze falling to the floor as the water dripped from her chin. “I don’t know. This.” She gestured between them, the intimacy of the moment heavy in the space between their bodies. “It’s just... a lot.”

Nico didn’t say anything for a moment, his hand cupping her cheek as his thumb brushed away a bead of water clinging to her skin. “Is it too much?” he asked gently.

Angie shook her head quickly, not wanting to hurt him. “No, it’s not that. It’s just... I feel horrible that I'm all down one moment and then I'm a nervous wreck the next, and like the realization that you're all in is a little scary to me.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, her heart loudly beating in her ears as the vulnerability of the moment hit her. “I don’t want to become dependent on someone else for my happiness. I’ve worked so hard to stand on my own, and sometimes... sometimes I feel like I’m giving you a little more than I can handle yet.”

Nico’s gaze softened even more, his hand still warm against her cheek. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush to reassure her, and that made her heart swell a little.

“I get it,” he said quietly after a long pause, his voice steady but filled with understanding. “I don’t want you to lose yourself either. But you don’t have to carry everything alone, Angie. It’s not about being dependent—it’s about letting someone help you when you need it.”

Angie’s eyes welled up with tears at his words, the honesty of them hitting her harder than she’d expected. She wanted to believe that, wanted to trust that being with him didn’t mean losing herself. 

But it was hard. It had always been hard for her.

It seemed that the last while was disappointment following disappointment and she just wasn't ready for Nico to become another let down, he was too perfect in all the right ways for her to find out that something wasn't working or he had grown tired of her.

That wasn't even bringing in the aspect that they were teammates, she sure as hell wasn't ready to be known as 'the girl-friend of the devils' she had worked too hard to be known as anything less than great.

“I just don’t want to mess this up,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I don’t want to lose myself, I don't want to lose my respect or credibility on the team, and I don’t want to lose you.”

Nico’s hand slipped down to her waist, pulling her closer as the water cascaded around them. “You’re not going to lose me or the team,” he said, his voice low but firm. “And you’re not going to lose yourself either. I see you, Angie. All of you. And I’m not asking you to give anything up. I just want to be here, with you, however that looks.”

Angie blinked, her eyes stinging with a mix of emotions—relief, fear, hope. She rested her head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected. For a moment, the fear loosened its grip, and she allowed herself to just be there, wrapped in the warmth of the moment, the comfort of him.

But as the water continued to pour around them, Angie couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a turning point. She was teetering on the edge of something, and once she fell, there would be no going back.

And maybe that was what terrified her most of all.

★★★★

"My interеst is to lay with you, to laugh and have nothing to do"

If there was something that Angie learnt after her injury, it was that roadies totally sucked. Especially when your team is across the country rallying and trying to pull together some wins, and you are stuck in the comfort of your small apartment, forced to cheer from home.

Angie sat cross-legged on her couch, flipping through a book she wasn’t really reading, letting her fingers glide over her phone, checking messages she had no intention of responding to. 

But his absence was hard to ignore.

Nico was on the road. She knew that this was a part of being injured—that there would be stretches of time when he would be gone while she was home continuing physio, caught up in the whirlwind of games, practices, and travel. 

Her knowledge of it didn't mean it sucked any less.

The low hum of her phone vibrating against the table snapped her out of her thoughts. Angie glanced at the screen, her heart giving a little leap when she saw Nico’s name lighting up, a picture of a very drunk him on New Year's, his contact photo and without hesitation, she swiped to answer.

"Hey," she breathed, settling deeper into the couch, already feeling a bit lighter just hearing his breathing on the other end. "Hey," Nico’s voice came through the line, warm and full of that quiet calm she’d come to rely on. "We just got back to the hotel. Thought I’d call you before it got too late."

Angie smiled softly, tucking her knees closer to her chest. "I was wondering if I’d hear from you. Congrats on the win, by the way. I caught some of it on TV, Mr. Two Goal nights."

"Yeah?" There was a smile in his voice now, she knew the exact one, the shy type, dimples on display. "It wasn’t our best game, but we pulled through."

"A win is a win, Cap." Her fingers played with the edge of the blanket draped over her, the sound of his voice soothing some of the ache of missing him. "I wish I was there, though, I miss being on the ice. It’s weird being in the apartment without you."

There was a pause on the other end, the kind that stretched in that comfortable way between people who didn’t need to fill every silence with words. When Nico spoke again, his voice was softer, more intimate. "Yeah, I miss you too. It’s strange being in these cities without you. I was thinking about that earlier, actually."

Angie shifted, pulling the blanket tighter around her. "What do you mean?" "Just… how nice it’d be to come back after the game and just be with you. No cameras, no teammates—plus you know all the nice restaurants in the away cities, Jack's shit at picking out where to eat." they both laughed, Angie, being very well acquainted with Jack's lack of checking a menu or reviews before suggesting somewhere. 

"I don’t need big plans or anything. I just miss the simple stuff like sitting on the couch with you, watching something stupid on TV, or making dinner together. Those are the things I look forward to the most when I’m home." her face grew hot from his confession as she sunk even further into the cushion, melting into a puddle.

The sincerity in his voice tugged at her heart. It wasn’t just the distance that made her miss him—it was the small, everyday moments, the ones that made her feel close to him without any pressure or expectation. She leaned back against the couch, closing her eyes as she listened to him.

"Yeah," she murmured, a soft smile playing on her lips. Nico hummed in agreement, the sound making her feel like he was right there with her, even though he was miles away. "I think about that a lot when we’re on the road. I don’t need anything fancy. Just… being with you. Even if we’re doing nothing at all."

Angie’s heart skipped a beat at his words, and for a moment, she let herself sink into the connection that didn’t need to be explained or overanalyzed.

It just was.

"I love that too," she said softly. "Sometimes I think about how, when you get back, we can just lay around and not worry about anything. It sounds perfect."

There was a brief silence before Nico’s voice came back, quieter now like he was speaking only to her, "only three more days."

For a while, neither of them spoke, both of them caught in the moment. The distance didn’t feel so far when they were like this, connected by nothing more than their voices, their need for each other cutting through the miles.

Finally, Nico broke the silence, his tone lighter but still filled with affection. "Get some sleep, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow."

"Promise?" she asked, her voice teasing but with an edge of seriousness. She craved the sound of his voice, the closeness it brought. "Promise," Nico said softly. "Goodnight, Ang."

"Goodnight, Nico."

She hung up, the smile lingering on her lips as she picked up her book once again, the words on the pages not registering as her mind replayed the conversation over and over.

★★★★

"How else can it bе proved to you, that I'm devout? I spill right out"

The silence in the car was thick, pressing down on Angie. She stared out the window, watching the rain blur the city lights as Nico’s hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly. His jaw had been clenched since they left the rink, and it seemed like it was never gonna release.

Her day had been a mess—another appointment, another doctor telling her she wasn’t cleared to skate yet. The frustration of being stuck on the sidelines was beginning to build up, but what made it worse was knowing Nico’s practice had gone just as badly. He’d been quiet ever since they left the rink, the weight of his own bad day hanging in the air between them.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, Nico spoke, his voice low and edged with frustration. “You haven’t said a word since we left.” Angie shifted in her seat, still staring out the window. “Neither have you.”

“That’s not the point,” Nico snapped, his voice sharper now, breaking through the tension like a crack of lightning. “I’m trying to understand you, Ange. I really am. But it feels like every time I try, you just shut down.”

And here came the inevitable, she thought to herself as she rolled her eyes and looked out the window, unsure if she could look at him without feeling a sense of guilt or maybe even anger.

She turned to look at him, feeling like her chest had conceived at the frustration in his voice, “I’m not shutting down. I just—today was hard, okay? I didn’t want to make it worse.”

“I had a shit practice too, but I’m still here trying to talk to you. That’s what we’re supposed to do, right? Talk to each other when things suck?” Nico’s voice was rising now, the anger bubbling to the surface. “But every time I try to get close, you pull away. And I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending that it doesn’t hurt.”

Angie felt her own frustration flare up, her hands tightening into fists in her lap. “I’m not pulling away. I’m trying to figure out my own stuff, Nico. I’ve been injured for months. I can’t even skate, let alone do my job. Everything feels like it’s falling apart, and now you’re mad at me for not being ‘close’ enough?”

Nico let out a harsh breath, shaking his head as he turned down a quiet street, the rain beating harder against the windshield. “That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it.” “Then what are you saying?” Angie shot back, her voice rising with her own anger now. “Because all I hear is you being mad at me for not being the person you want me to be.”

“I’m not mad at you for being hurt or even for needing time!” Nico snapped, his voice loud enough to fill the small space of the car. “I’m mad because it feels like I’m the only one trying to make this work. I know you need time, I get that, but I need to feel like you actually want this too.”

His words hit her like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, Angie couldn’t breathe. She opened her mouth to say something, to defend herself, but the truth was, she didn’t know what to say. Because deep down, part of her knew he was right. She had been pulling away, afraid of getting too close, afraid of losing everything in the chaos of her injury and their relationship.

“I do want this,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the sound of the rain. “But I’m scared, Nico. I don’t know how to handle everything at once.”

"I am weak, okay, and I hate to admit it, but I am so unsure of myself right now," the confession tumbled out of her mouth like a dam breaking, every pent-up emotion flowing out of her as the tears started and her voice started to shake.

Nico’s expression softened for a moment, but the frustration in his eyes didn’t disappear. “I know you’re scared,” he said, his voice quieter now, but still laced with tension. “I’m scared too. But I can’t be the only one holding us together. I need you to meet me halfway.”

Angie bit her lip, the words catching in her throat. She wanted to say something—anything—that would make this better, that would ease the tension between them. But all she felt was the weight of her own uncertainty.

They pulled up in front of her building, and Nico cut the engine, the silence between them deafening. He didn’t move to get out of the car, didn’t even unbuckle his seatbelt. He just sat there, staring straight ahead, his hands still gripping the wheel tightly.

“I’m not asking for everything, Angie,” he said, his voice low but strained. “I just need to know that you’re in this with me. That you actually want to be with me, not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard too.”

Angie’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath catching as his words settled over her. 

She wanted to say she was in it, that she was ready to fight for them, but the fear of losing herself again gripped her like a vice. She wasn’t sure if she could give him what he needed, not right now.

“Of course I want this, allowing myself to be with you just doesn't come as naturally to me as it does to you, I'm sorry,” she said finally.

Nico’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking over to her with a mix of hurt and frustration. “I understand that, Ang. But I also need to feel like you want this. Because right now, it feels like I’m the only one who does.”

The silence that followed was heavy, and Angie felt the sting of tears in the back of her eyes. She couldn’t do this right now—not after the day they’d both had, not with everything hanging in the air between them like this.

Without another word, she unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle.

Nico’s voice was quiet but firm as he spoke again. “Let me come up.” Angie shook her head, blinking back the tears that were threatening to spill. “Not tonight,” she whispered. “I don't think continuing this conversation will help either of us”

She opened the door, the cold rain hitting her skin like a shock as she stepped out of the car. She didn’t look back, didn’t let herself meet Nico’s eyes again, because she knew if she did, she’d break and probably promise him something she wasn't sure she could provide him. 

She could hear the soft thud of the door closing behind her, the sound of the engine revving as Nico drove away, leaving her standing there in the rain. As she stood on the sidewalk, the rain soaking through her clothes, Angie felt the weight of the argument settle in her chest. 

She wasn’t sure if she was losing Nico, or if she was losing her mind.

And that scared her more than anything.

★★★★

"My interest is to bathe with you, to soak you in and let it stew"

Angie didn’t remember how she’d gotten to Nico’s apartment.

She remembers walking into her house, his tie discarded on her counter next to the wilting flowers he had gotten her a week prior. Her head pounded as she realized how cold her apartment felt without him in it, the blanket they cuddled under just this morning while drinking their coffees on the floor, both almost empty mugs on her coffee table.

It was all hitting her at once, she had let him invade every aspect of her life without really ever noticing how much of him she was taking for granted.

It wasn't even five minutes before she was back out the door, forgetting her jacket, like a woman on a mission, as she practically sprinted the six blocks to his apartment building.

Her heart was pounding in her ears, drowning out every rational thought as she hurried up the stairs, the door man letting her in after recognizing her. The city was still drenched from the rain, her clothes clinging to her skin, but she barely noticed. The only thing she could focus on was getting to him, seeing him, proving to him that she was serious—about them, about everything.

When she reached his door, her hand shook as she knocked, the adrenaline from the fight and the panic of the last half an hour rushing through her veins. She knocked again, harder this time, her breath coming in shallow gasps as her emotions threatened to spill over.

The door opened a few seconds later, and there he was. Nico stood there in a devils hoodie and sweatpants, his expression a mix of surprise and confusion as he took in her appearance—wet, frantic, eyes wide and red from the tears she’d been fighting.

“Angie?” His voice was soft, cautious.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, her voice cracking as she stepped into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. Her hands were trembling, her mind racing. She didn’t even know where to start, didn’t know how to make him understand, but she needed him to hear her. “I—I didn’t mean to leave things like that, and then not let you come upstairs with me so I could fix it. I can’t—”

Nico reached out to guide her into his apartment and out of the hallway, he closed the door behind her, his eyes scanning her face with concern as he brushed away the strands of wet hair stuck to her face. “What’s going on?” His voice was still gentle, but there was tension in his posture like he wasn’t sure whether to comfort her or prepare for another argument.

Angie swallowed hard, feeling the heat of tears pricking at the corners of her eyes again. She wanted to be calm, to explain herself properly, but she couldn’t find the words.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said, her voice shaky. “I don’t know how to be in a relationship like this, but I want to. I want you. I—” She paused, running a hand through her damp hair in frustration. “I’m scared, Nico. I’m so scared of screwing this up, but I don’t want to lose you more. I can’t.”

Nico stared at her, the confusion in his eyes softening into something else—something more raw, more vulnerable. He stepped closer, his hands hovering by her shoulders as if he wasn’t sure if he should touch her yet. “Ange...”

“I love you,” she interrupted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. Her voice cracked with the weight of them, and for a second, the room felt like it was spinning. “Or at least I'm falling in love with you, and I’m so afraid of how much it's taking over my life because it’s overwhelming, and it feels like... like I’m losing control.”

Nico’s eyes widened, and for a moment, they just stood there, the air between them thick with the intensity of the moment. Angie’s heart raced, the vulnerability of what she’d just said hanging in the space between them, raw and exposed.

He reached out, gently cupping her face in his hands, his thumb brushing away the tear that had slipped down her cheek. “I didn’t know you felt like that,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his eyes searching hers.

“I didn’t want you to know,” she admitted her voice barely above a whisper, “if you did, then it would be real. And I thought if I kept a little distance, I would have a little more time to figure out what you and I needed.”

Nico’s brow furrowed, his thumb still gently tracing her cheek. “You don’t have to protect yourself from me."

The softness in his voice cracked something inside her, and before she knew it, the tears were spilling over, her chest heaving with the emotion she’d been holding back for so long. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again, her hands grabbing the front of his hoodie as if he might disappear if she let go. “I’m so sorry for pushing you away. I didn’t mean to.”

Nico pulled her into his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Angie let herself melt into him. She buried her face in his shoulder, the familiar scent of him grounding her in a way nothing else could.

“I’ve got you,” Nico whispered into her hair, his hands gently rubbing her back as she cried against him.

For a long time, they stood like that, her body shaking as she let the emotions pour out of her. It wasn’t pretty or even neat, but it was real. The weight of everything—her fear, her love, her uncertainty—spilled out, and Nico held her through it, his hands never leaving her as if he was anchoring her to the present, to him.

When the sobs finally subsided, Angie pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes red and swollen, but her heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

“I’m so scared,” she confessed again, her voice quiet now, the rawness still there. Nico leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “I’m scared too,” he admitted, his voice just as soft. “But I’m all in, Ang. I’ve been all in since the beginning. I just need to know you’re in this with me.”

“I am,” she whispered, her hands still clutching the soft cotton of his hoodie as if it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Nico’s lips brushed against hers, soft and tentative as if he was giving her the chance to pull away. But Angie didn’t. She kissed him back, slowly, tenderly, the intensity of their emotions spilling into the kiss. 

It wasn’t a kiss of passion or lust; it was a kiss of reassurance, of something more, of finally understanding each other.

When they pulled back, Nico looked down at her with a small, relieved smile. “You’re not losing yourself, Ang,” he said softly. “You’re just finding us.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Angie felt a sense of peace settling over her.

★★★★

"And if I tell you something rude, drain me out and please, be rude"

A few hours later they lay tangled in Nico's sheets, Angie’s head rested on his chest, his arm draped around her, their bodies still catching up from the emotional storm of the night. The warmth between them was a comfort, and yet, Angie’s mind buzzed with thoughts she couldn’t quite shake.

She shifted slightly, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his skin. She felt his steady breathing, the rhythm soothing, but there was something still hanging between them.

“You’re quiet,” Nico murmured, his voice low, rumbling in his chest beneath her ear. “I’m thinking,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “About?” He shifted slightly to look down at her, his hand gently brushing her hair out of her face.

She hesitated, biting her lip. This was the part she wasn’t good at—the talking, the being vulnerable. But tonight had been a breaking point, and if she didn’t say this now, she didn’t know if she ever would.

“Nico, I need to know what you want,” she said quietly, her fingers still tracing those soft patterns on his skin. “Like, what you need from, and what you want out of whatever we are.”

Nico’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t say anything right away. His hand rested on her back, warm and steady, and for a moment, it felt like he was thinking, choosing his words carefully.

“I thought we talked about this,” he said gently, though there was an edge of uncertainty in his voice. “I know we did. But tonight…” Angie sighed, pulling back slightly to look at him. “I don’t want to let you down, Nico. And I know I can be slow to open up, but it’s not because I don’t care. I do care. I’m just trying to figure out how to balance everything—us, my career, my life. I don’t want to mess this up.”

His eyes softened, and he reached up to cup her face, his thumb brushing lightly across her cheek. “You’re not messing this up.”

“I might, though,” she said, her voice a little more urgent. “And that’s why I need you to tell me what you need. What are your boundaries? I know myself, and I know I'm bound to say the wrong thing or do something that pushes you away without even realizing it.”

He wasn’t used to hearing her this vulnerable, this open, but he didn’t shy away from it.

“I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for,” he said softly. “I know you’re still figuring things out. But I also need to know that you’re in this with me, for real. I can handle waiting for you to catch up, but I can’t handle feeling like I’m the only one who wants this.”

Angie nodded, “I get that,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I want this. I just need you to be honest with me, even when it’s hard. Even if it’s something I don’t want to hear.”

His thumb paused on her cheek, his eyes serious now. “You really want me to be that honest?” She nodded, biting her lip as he let his hand brush across the apple of her cheek, “Yes. Even if it’s harsh. I can take it.”

Nico was silent for a moment, his gaze holding hers, and Angie could see the wheels turning in his head. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady but careful, “ I don’t need big gestures, but I need consistency. I need to know that when things get tough, you’re not going to pull away. That you’ll talk to me, even if it’s messy.” 

His words weren’t sharp, but they stung in a way that made her realize how much he’d been holding back, how much he had needed to say.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel like I’m not here,” she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion.

Nico’s expression softened, and he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles before he held her hand in his and placed it on his chest. “It's been hard, and it hasn't always been the clearest between us, so I get it, but I just can’t keep going if you’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I need to know that you’re willing to take the risk, that you’re willing to fight for this too.”

Angie nodded, swallowing hard. “I am. I just… I need you to call me out if I start slipping. Don’t let me pull away, even if I don’t realize I’m doing it.” “I will,” he promised, his voice gentle but firm. “But I need you to trust me, Ange. To trust that I’m not going anywhere, even when things get hard.”

She nodded again, her heart swelling with a mix of fear and love that left her breathless. This was what it meant to be in it for real, to put everything on the line. And it terrified her, but at the same time, it made her want him more.

“I’ll try,” she whispered. “I can’t promise I won’t screw up, but I’ll try. And I’ll listen, even if I don’t like what you have to say.” Nico smiled softly, his hand sliding down to rest on her hip as he pulled her closer. “That’s all I need.”

They lay there for a while, their bodies pressed together, the silence between them no longer heavy but full of a new understanding. Angie rested her head on his chest again, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, letting the fear slip away, even if just for a moment.

For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t afraid of where they were going.

She was just ready to take the risk.

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The cheesy romance vibes were not really what I was aiming for... but im a sucker for the 2010's romance novel vibes, so I'm not complaining :)