#there was going to be a later part for notes but it would be around the later days so... cant reallt happen

[verstappenverse]

You Belong With Me

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max never believed in soulmates until he met you. The only problem? You’re already dating Lando. Somewhere along the way, between late-night calls, inside jokes, and everything in between, you and Max became best friends. He tells himself it’s enough. That the friendship is worth the ache. But as your connection deepens, Max starts to wonder if maybe, just maybe, you feel it too.

Author's Note: Buckle up for 8.6k of pining and angst.💔

8.6k words / Part 1 / Masterlist

He notices you before he knows your name.

It’s a week before the start of the season and he’s already annoyed, the press commitments are piling up, the weather’s unpredictable, and his entire apartment smells faintly like engine oil because someone thought it was a good idea to drop off a suit bag soaked in the stuff.

He doesn’t want to be at the party. He shows up out of obligation, because Red Bull asked and because saying no would mean a series of passive-aggressive texts and PR headaches he doesn't have the bandwidth for right now. It’s the usual kind of thing, sleek rooftop venue, too many influencers, too few genuine smiles. He’s already decided he’s going to stay for exactly one drink, nod at the right people, dodge any cameras, and ghost before someone tries to rope him into a TikTok.

But then he sees you.

Not across the room in some cinematic, slow-motion way. No, you’re closer than that. Just a few steps away, standing on the balcony with one arm resting along the railing, backlit by soft golden light, laughing at something someone said, your hand wrapped around the stem of a wine glass. Your dress catches the breeze, and your hair’s a little messy in the most effortless kind of way. You look like summer feels, warm, untouchable, a little wild around the edges.

And Max stops walking.

Just… stops.

He doesn’t believe in that moment-freezing cliché. He’s not the poetic type. Never has been. But for a second, the noise of the party dims, the chatter and music and clinking glasses fading into a kind of distant blur. It's not love at first sight, he doesn’t believe in that either but it is something. A shift. A pull in his chest that feels annoyingly real.

He finds himself staring before he even realises he’s doing it.

Not in a creepy way, at least he hopes not, but with the kind of confusion you get when you see something familiar in a stranger. He doesn’t know you. Hasn’t seen you before, but for some reason he wants to.

Really wants to.

Not because you're beautiful, though you are. It’s something else. He watches you lean in closer to your friend to whisper something, and your smile twists into something conspiratorial. Max swallows, blinking like he’s trying to reset himself.

He doesn’t approach you. Not yet, but for the first time that evening, he forgets about the press, the weather, the oil-stained suit. For the first time in a while, he wants to stay.

Because you’re here. And somehow, that changes everything.

He finds himself back near the balcony ten minutes later, and it’s definitely not accidental.

He’ll pretend it is if anyone asks. Pretend he just needed a breath of air, or a quieter place to check his messages, but the truth is his feet carried him here on their own. Something about you pulled him in like gravity.

You’re alone now, scrolling through your phone, glass nearly empty. He hesitates just a second, a rare pause for someone so decisive, then clears his throat gently.

“Didn’t think anyone actually came out here for the quiet.” he says, his voice smooth but a little dry, like he’s halfway between a joke and a real observation.

Your head turns at the sound of his voice. You meet his eyes, no flinch, no flicker of recognition, or maybe you do recognise him and you just don’t care.

“Just needed some air,” you reply, gesturing slightly toward the party behind you. “Those rooms start to hum after ten minutes. Felt like my brain was short-circuiting.”

He huffs a laugh and steps closer, just enough to lean on the railing beside you. He keeps his body language easy, casual. Like he’s not trying. Like he’s not thinking about this too much.

“Max,” he offers.

You glance over at him, amused. “Yeah, I know.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, more to himself than anything. “Right. Guess that was dumb.”

“I’m just messing with you,” you say, and God, your smile is even better up close. “Nice to meet you Max.”

He watches you sip from your glass, eyes flicking over your features your mouth, your fingers, the way you keep playing with your bracelet like you don’t even realise you’re doing it. You don’t seem like you’re trying to impress anyone and it’s driving him crazy in the best way.

“You here with someone?” he asks casually.

You nod, but you don’t elaborate.

There’s a beat of silence. You turn to him slightly, your eyes curious. “So... is this your thing? Lurking on balconies, trying to charm strangers?”

“Only the ones who look like they want to leave,” he shoots back, without missing a beat.

You laugh not a fake little chuckle, but a real one. It knocks something loose in his chest.

The rest of the night moves quickly after that.

You end up on a couch somewhere near the bar talking. You both bond over how awkward these events are, how no one ever really knows what to do with their hands during posed photos, how champagne always tastes better in theory than in reality. You both end up swapping stories about the worst flights you’ve taken. Your favourite drivers growing up (and no, he’s not offended he isn’t on your list).

He clutches his chest in mock betrayal. “I’m wounded.”

“You’ll survive,” you say, and you say it with that same sly smile that’s already starting to etch it’s way into his brain.

You like the same takeout spots in Monaco. You both hate olives. Neither of you remembers the last time you properly unpacked a suitcase

He hadn’t expected to laugh this much, you’re funny, sharp, witty, with that kind of dry sarcasm that’s hard to find. You tease him, and he gives it right back. Somehow the conversation twists to childhood stories, to family stuff, the weird in-between space of growing up too fast and never quite knowing if you got it right.

Then you lean in.

Not dramatically. Not flirtatiously. Just close enough to show him something on your phone a photo of your family dog, something stupid you promise will make him laugh. And it does. But he’s barely paying attention, because now he can smell you, that warm, sweet scent with a little bite underneath. He doesn’t know much about perfume, but it smells like you, and now he’s going to think about it every time he catches it again.

He doesn’t want the night to end. He doesn’t want to go back to the party. Or the press schedule. Or the hotel room that smells like engine oil. He just wants to stay in this sliver of time with you, where everything feels quiet and golden and just a little bit dangerous.

The reveal comes too late.

You’re saying goodbye. He doesn’t want to let you go yet, isn’t ready. Hasn’t even gotten your number. He’s halfway through trying to think of a not-too-obvious way to ask when someone steps in behind you, fitting into the space like they’ve always belonged there, an arm slips around your waist.

Max blinks.

Lando.

“Babe, ready to head out?”

The word babe hits harder than it should, loud and casual and completely unexpected. Max goes very still. The world doesn’t stop, but it blurs a little.

You smile up at Lando like you’ve done it a hundred times before, and Max forces something like a polite expression onto his face.

You glance back at him, there’s something like guilt in your expression, like maybe you’ve just remembered the conversation you had. “Sorry,” you say, almost wincing. “I should’ve mentioned. I bet it seems weird now that I didn’t…”

No, he thinks. You didn’t.

“Right,” Max says, forcing a nod. “Yeah. No worries.”

Lando, oblivious to the tension, gives him a quick grin. “Didn’t know you guys had met.”

Max shrugs, keeping his voice neutral. “Yeah, just talked a bit on the balcony.” He pauses then adds, “How’d you two meet?”

Lando nods like that makes sense. “Over the break actually. My sister introduced us.”

Max glances at you then, just for a second, and catches the way your gaze flicks down, like you can’t quite look at him. Or maybe he’s imagining it. Hell, he hopes he’s imagining it.

“She’s great right?” Lando adds, nudging you playfully. “Honestly, don’t know how I pulled it off.”

You roll your eyes, murmuring something under your breath that Max doesn’t catch, but your fingers curl lightly around Lando’s jacket. It’s a small gesture. Familiar. Comfortable.

And suddenly Max feels like an idiot for reading into anything earlier. For thinking you’d smiled at him differently. Like it meant something.

But it felt like something.

Lando slides his hand from your waist to your back, casually possessive in a way that makes something tighten in his chest. “Anyway, we’re gonna head out before anyone get’s a chance to tell her any embarrassing stories. You good mate?”

“Yeah,” he replies, almost too fast. “All good.”

He smiles. It feels like glass in his mouth

You don’t notice. Or maybe you do, but there’s nothing you can say that wouldn’t make it worse. Lando says something Max doesn’t catch, and then the two of you turn to go, weaving through the crowd like it’s just another night.

He tells himself it’s fine. Just a good conversation. One night. A pretty girl with a quick laugh and a sharp tongue, who happens to be taken. Happens to be dating Lando of all people.

It’s not like it was going anywhere anyway.

So he lets it go, or at least, he tries to.

Pushes it down. Brushes it off. Chalks it up to timing, to circumstance, to a moment that wasn’t meant to stretch past a balcony and a glass of wine.

But forgetting you is harder than it should be, because before he can catch his breath, before the memory even has a chance to fade you’re just there.

Everywhere.

Race weekends. Hospitality lounges. Dinners. Media days, even the random downtime between sessions. Always by Lando’s side, but not just as a silent plus-one. You’re involved. Engaged. Bright. Everyone around you lights up when you laugh, and Max starts to notice that he’s seeking it out.

Not on purpose. At least, that’s what he tells himself, but he catches himself doing it, scanning the motorhome crowd, the paddock, the grid. He starts recognising your laugh before he sees you. Starts hearing your voice in the blur of post-session chaos. Starts catching your eyes sometimes across the garages. Just a flicker.

That same wind-in-your-hair kind of energy that first caught him is still there, and it’s impossible to ignore. And then he hates himself a little for it.

Because it shouldn't matter.

Because you’re with someone.

Because that someone is Lando.

And because the more Max tries to shove you out of his head, the more space you seem to take up.

It gets worse after Bahrain.

He’s just won, lights to flag, clean and clinical, the kind of performance that should leave him floating, and for a while it does. The podium, the champagne, the roar of the anthem humming in his chest. The adrenaline, the sweat still drying on his skin, the weight of the trophy in his hands. But now, walking through the corridors the high is already starting to fade, dulled around the edges like something’s missing.

He’s still got a towel slung around his neck, his race suit unzipped to the waist, fireproofs sticking to his skin. His heart is only just slowing down. He expects silence, maybe a few staff, instead, he walks into the private lounge and sees you.

You’re perched at one of the small round tables, legs crossed effortlessly, sipping from a bright-red can of something fizzy. Your sunglasses are pushed up into your hair, and you’re still wearing your paddock lanyard, twirling it around your fingers in absentminded loops. Lando is beside you, hands moving fast as he talks a mile a minute and your laughing softly under your breath.

Max stops for half a second in the doorway before forcing himself to keep walking.

You glance up when you hear him, and your entire face lights up. “Congrats.”

Two syllables. One smile. That’s all it takes.

His pulse spikes harder than it did on Lap 42.

He nods, playing it cool. “Thanks.”

Lando claps him on the back. “Man’s a machine right?”

Max shrugs, offering a quick grin. “It’s a team effort.”

“Still,” you say, standing now, brushing a strand of hair from your face, it’s a simple movement, nothing special and for some reason he wants to memorise it. “You make it look easy. It’s pretty incredible.”

He meets your eyes and for a second all the noise around him disappears, like it’s come to do when you're around.

“Thanks,” he says again, quieter now.

Your eyes linger on him for a beat longer than necessary before Lando throws an arm around your shoulder. You lean into his side, casual, unthinking like it’s second nature. Max swallows the bitterness that rises in the back of his throat.

He tells himself to walk away. Go shower. Get food. Do anything other than stand here watching you like he’s forgotten how to move, but instead he stays planted, towel still around his neck, pretending it’s all fine.

Pretending he doesn’t already know this season is going to be a whole lot harder than expected, and not for any reason he could have ever seen coming.

You keep ending up alone together. Not by plan, never that, but by chance, the universe tugging invisible strings.

Like in Miami, when Lando disappears during a media block, caught up in a last-minute interview, and somehow Max ends up next to you under an umbrella shade, both of you half-melting in the afternoon heat, hiding from the sun.

You talk, about nothing at first, harmless stuff. What you’d cook for your last meal. Which drivers have the worst music taste. How neither of you really understand the appeal of those dystopian Netflix dating shows, but you both keep watching them anyway.

It’s easy. The kind of conversation that doesn’t feel like it’s building to anything, but still feels like something. You don’t ask him about the race or the standings or how the car feels in Sector 2. You ask him what scares him more, flying or falling. You ask him what he was like at fifteen. If he still remembers the first thing he ever wanted to be.

The topics shift easily drifting from deep to dumb in seconds like you’ve both forgotten this is supposed to be a quick conversation.

“What’s your last meal? And don’t say pasta, because I will absolutely judge you.”

He raises a brow. “You’re judging me already.”

“I’m preemptively judging you,” you clarify, eyes dancing.

He plays along. “Fine. My mum’s tomato soup.”

You gasp and coo. “That’s too wholesome. I was expecting something rich and unhinged like a raw steak with gold leaf on it.”

He smirks. “Guess I’m boring.”

“You’re not boring, Max-a-million,” you say, and it slips out like it’s been said a hundred times before.

He groans, but it’s soft. Familiar. “No. Nope. We’re not doing that.”

“Too late,” you grin.

“Falling,” he says, without thinking. Then, “But not physically. Not like… off a building or something.”

You tilt your head, curious. “Emotionally?”

He shrugs, eyes fixed on a spot in the distance. “Yeah. That kind.”

You nod, like you understand more than you should. “Same.”

“What were you like at fifteen?”

He makes a face. “Annoying. Too serious. Too fast.”

You smile. “Still fast.”

He huffs a breath. “Still serious.”

You lean your head back against the chair. “Did you always want this? Like… this this? F1?”

He glances at you, and your expression is so open, so easy, it knocks something loose in his chest.

“No,” he admits. “I wanted to be a fighter pilot when I was little.”

Your mouth quirks. “You think you can pull off aviators?”

He laughs so hard he forgets where he is. He forgets about the track, the cameras, the points, the pressure.

Somewhere in the middle of a story you’re telling something about a terrible hostel and a street performer with a kazoo. He just listens. Watches your eyes light up.

You’re not just funny. You’re brilliant. Quick-witted. Curious. Passionate in a way that sneaks up on him.

He can feel himself falling. Inch by inch.

And he knows he’s utterly, completely fucked when you call him Max-a-million again while swatting a mosquito off your leg.

He rolls his eyes like he’s offended. “Please stop saying that.”

You grin. “Can’t. Trademarked.”

It’s a very stupid nickname, some dumb inside joke you now have and he rolls his eyes, pretends to hate it, but secretly? He wants to hear you say it again. Wants it stitched into his life like it’s always belonged there.

Wants you.

But he doesn’t know what to do with that, because you’re his friend now. Lando’s girlfriend. Off-limits in the clearest, cruelest way.

So he just keeps sitting there, letting himself fall, while pretending he’s not already at the bottom.

As the season rolls on, it sneaks up on him in pieces.

You’re just there more often now. Not in any deliberate way, but like gravity keeps pulling you into the same spaces. Hospitality lounges, press paddocks, bar balconies. Somehow, he always ends up next to you.

Every time you see each other, it’s like you pick up where you left off a rhythm that neither of you ever have to work at. Like you’ve known each other longer than you actually have.

He notices everything.

The way you hand him a piece of gum before FP1, no words, just a slight smirk as he takes it from your palm. The way you laugh with your whole body, unfiltered and open, and how you always lean into him when you do. The way you say his name not with awe, not with flirtation, but with this low warmth that no one else ever quite uses. “Max,” you say, softer, rounder, and every time he hears it, something in his chest tightens.

And the handshake. That dumb little handshake you made up after Imola three taps, a pinky twist, and a snap. He tried to protest it at first. Called it stupid. But now he’s the one who holds his hand out for it when you part ways in the paddock. He never forgets.

It’s your thing. Yours and his.

A friendship. That’s all it is. That’s all he keeps telling himself it is.

He doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t touch. Doesn’t cross lines.

But he thinks about you more than he should. Too often. In the quiet in-between moments after qualifying, before flights, when he’s lying in a hotel room alone with nothing but static playing on the TV. He thinks about the way your eyes find his in a crowd. The way your voice sounds when you're tired. The stupid nickname you gave him and how no one else is allowed to use it now.

It makes him feel guilty. Even though he hasn’t done a thing.

Because you’re with Lando.

Good guy. Friendly. Easy to like. Max has known him long enough to know he always means well, even when he’s immature. He treats you well enough. Laughs with you. Shows you off. You seem happy. Most of the time.

But Max sees it, or maybe he’s imaging it, he’s not sure. The way you sometimes scan a room even when Lando’s right beside you. The way your smile falters when you think no one’s looking. The way your eyes drift past Lando, past the noise and land on him, and for one stupid, selfish second, Max lets himself wonder if maybe you’re searching for him.

If maybe you feel it too.

Lando’s away, off somewhere sunny and overexposed for sponsor dinners and promo shoots, his name attached to three different press stops in forty-eight hours. Max isn’t sure which city he's even in. Maybe Barcelona. Maybe Milan.

Max is at home, alone in Monaco, the apartment quiet except for the hum of the sim rig cooling down. He’s sprawled out on his couch, feet on the coffee table, half-watching Twitch with the volume low.

It starts with a text.

Late. Casual. Random.

You ever actually beat that stupid time trial record?

Max reads the message twice before smirking, thumb already tapping out a reply. He knows exactly what you’re talking about a conversation from a week ago, back in the hospitality lounge in Japan, where you were complaining (loudly) about how the F1 game had it out for you.

He teased you mercilessly for it. Told you the game was easy. You’d rolled your eyes and promised to prove him wrong.

Nope. Still a tragedy. Wanna coach me through it? Or just sit there and judge?

Both. Obviously.

That’s all it takes.

You join his Discord call a few minutes later. No build-up. No big deal. Just one conversation flowing into another the same way it always does with you.

That night, you play for five hours.

The conversation flows like it always does quick, easy, effortless. You talk trash, accuse each other of cheating, devolve into dumb inside jokes that wouldn’t make sense to anyone else.

You dramatically narrate your own crashes like a race engineer on the verge of a breakdown. He tells you your racing line is criminal. Time melts away. The room around him blurs. He doesn’t even realise how late it’s gotten until the first threads of dawn start filtering through his apartment windows in Monaco.

You yawn and stretch somewhere on the other end of the line. “Well, congrats. You’ve officially ruined sleep for me.”

“That was the plan,” Max replies without missing a beat.

“I feel like we just set a world record,” you say. “For how long two people can talk shit while driving in circles.”

Max lets out a soft laugh, tired, but genuine. “I think that’s called Formula One.”

From there, it becomes a pattern. Not official. Not scheduled. Just something that happens when the time is right.

Post-race Mondays. Rainy midweeks. It’s all easy, effortless, one of you sends a link, the other joins without question. You game, you talk, you lose track of time. Every time, it’s hours. Every time, it feels like five minutes.

You tease him when he loses. Call him dramatic when he blames lag. Mimic his Dutch accent when he’s trying to explain strategy, and somehow, in between the laughing and the bickering and the long silences that aren’t awkward at all you say something that hits too close. That thing about how he hides stress behind sarcasm

Something shifts in his chest. He’s not sure what.

Just that you know him. Already.

Too well.

The friendship cements itself in those hours. In the in-between.

He starts sending you dumb pictures of his cat sleeping in weird positions stretched out like royalty across his sim chair, paw over its face like it’s had enough of Monaco life. You text each other blurry selfies from the track and half-eaten sandwiches you regret buying. You send him screenshots of your notes app full of nonsense, half-finished grocery lists, your favourite F1 radio quotes, he doesn’t know why he cares, but he reads them all.

You FaceTime from airport terminals and hotel rooms, makeup half-on, hair in a bun, wearing mismatched socks and ranting about a guy who coughed too loud during your workout. You’re real with him. Unfiltered. Messy. Honest in a way most people aren't allowed to be around Max.

You tease him relentlessly about his toddler-style strop whenever he gets worked up mid-game, the way he throws his headset off like it personally betrayed him, the muttered swearing in Dutch, the overly dramatic sighs that echo through the mic.

“You genuinely pout,” you tell him one night, biting back a laugh. “Like actual full-lip, crossed-arms sulking.”

“I do not pout,” he mutters, but he’s already laughing.

He retaliates by poking fun at your Spotify playlists. “There are seven different versions of the same sad acoustic song,” he says. “Do you just hit shuffle and cry?”

There’s a beat of quiet before you both start laughing the kind that builds slowly, peaks, and then rolls into silence again, warm and worn-in.

There’s a day where you speak only in impressions so bad they make you wheeze-laugh into your pillow.

It shouldn’t mean anything.

It’s friendship. Simple. Safe.

But Max feels it, the shift. The pull.

This quiet, slow-burning want that sneaks up on him in quieter moments. The kind of ache that grows without asking for permission.

And then there are the harder days.

You call him when things feel heavy.

When your family’s being difficult. When your job is running you into the ground. When you’re sitting in a hotel hallway barefoot because you just need a minute. You don’t ask for advice. You just talk, and he listens steady, grounded, patient in ways he doesn’t always know how to be for himself.

And when Lando forgets a date not cruelly, just distractedly, a date buried under sponsor events and post-race press, you call Max. You don’t cry. Not at first.

You just sit on the line, voice small, and say, “It’s not even about the date. It’s the fact that I had to remind him.”

He doesn’t judge. Doesn’t rush. Just listens. Holds the silence. Lets you unravel, piece by piece, without trying to fix it. He tells you it’s okay to feel like you deserved more, because you do. He wants to tell you that if it were him, if it were ever him, he’d never forget something that mattered to you.

He doesn’t offer the words he wants to, the ones caught behind his teeth. Instead, he tells you it’s okay to feel hurt. That it’s not needy to want to be remembered.

He stays on the line long after you’ve stopped crying. Long after the silence settles.

He wants to be the person you can rely on. The one you reach for in the dark, because he’s your friend and he needs to be your friend. Even if it wrecks him a little more every day.

Even if every moment he’s the one you lean on, he’s reminded that he’ll never be the one you lean into.

Your friendship keeps growing. It builds in layers, steady, natural, like something that was always supposed to be there.

The more time you spend together, the more Max notices. Not just the way you make him laugh or the way your jokes land exactly the same way his brain works, but the little things. The quiet compatibilities. The instincts. How you always gravitate to the same seats, how you both hate long dinners, how your movie taste overlaps just enough to fight about it.

You get each other.

In a way he doesn’t get most people.

But none of it changes the one thing he keeps trying not to think about.

You’re still with Lando.

You still sit in his garage, wearing one of his oversized hoodies like it’s second skin. You still wait for him after races, still kiss him behind the pits after any finish no matter what place, like you're proud… like you love him.

And Max just watches.

Always from the sidelines. Always quiet.

Pretending like it doesn’t make his chest feel too tight. Like it doesn’t twist something sharp in his gut. Like he doesn’t want to rip the seams of the universe apart just to be where Lando is.

Because he knows in that deep, frustrated, unshakeable way that he would do it differently.

He wouldn’t forget your coffee order. Wouldn’t cancel dinner because his ego was bruised. Wouldn’t scroll through his phone while you talked about your day, only half-listening, nodding at the wrong parts.

He’d see you.

Not just the version you show the world. All of it. The sharp, sarcastic comebacks. The stubbornness. The softness you try to hide when you're tired.

And he’d love it. He already does. But he doesn’t say any of this. He can’t.

So he drives. Focuses. Wins.

Because that’s the one thing he can control. The one part of his life that doesn’t feel completely out of reach.

And still, you’re there.

In his life. Constant conversations woven into the rhythm of his days before he even realises it.

Stupid inside jokes born from race weekends, post-session chaos, and shared hatred for overpriced hotel drinks. Quick updates, check-ins, little things like:

“Guess what I just heard in the hotel lobby? Lift jazz version of your crying-in-the-club song.”

“You looked exhausted earlier drink actual water today, not just energy drinks.”

“Have you eaten today? I have some sushi with your name on it.”

“You blinked seventeen times in that interview. Were you trying to Morse code me?”

“I always know it’s been a long day when your texts stop using punctuation.”

Then it becomes more.

Random questions that spiral. Conversations at 3 a.m. when neither of you can sleep.

Discussions about whether cereal counts as soup, or who you think would survive longer in a zombie apocalypse.

“You’d be dead in the first twenty-four hours,” he says, completely serious.

“Wow. Harsh.”

“You’d trip over a suitcase and get eaten.”

“Bold talk for someone who can’t even do his own laundry.”

“Laundry is not a survival skill.”

You send voice notes sometimes. Half-asleep ones, where your voice is soft and slower, a little hoarse from the day.

Max listens to them more than once.

His phone lights up with your name more than anyone else’s now. And he lets it. Wants it.

Texting doesn’t feel like cheating. Not really.

Even when he knows that it’s the part of his day he looks forward to most.

It starts to feel like a rhythm.

He wakes up thinking about you more often than he means to.

He trains with your voice in his ears, half-listening to a podcast you swore was brilliant, even though he swears he hates podcasts. Now he lets you explain some ridiculous true crime theory or read him an article in your worst newscaster voice.

He races. He wins. And if you’re not there at the track, not waiting in the garage or watching from the pit wall, he calls you after.

Not for celebration. Just because it feels wrong not to. Like gravity. Like breath.

You’re in the hospitality lobby one weekend, seated on a velvet chair, legs crossed, phone in hand, the lanyard around your neck swinging gently as you talk animatedly to someone on a voice note.

Max spots you instantly, and without thinking, without asking, he drops into the seat beside you.

No greeting. No fanfare. Just that easy kind of silence that only exists between people who don’t have to try.

He leans slightly over your shoulder, peeking at whatever video you’ve pulled up, and listens while you vent. He doesn’t catch all of it. Just the rhythm of your voice, the way it curls and softens when you realise he’s there.

Your foot ends up nudged against his thigh.

You don’t move it.

Neither does he.

It’s nothing. Really.

And it’s everything.

There are moments.

God, there are so many moments.

You watching his post-race interviews and mouthing along with him like you’ve anticipated what’s he going to say next. He catches you doing it once through the reflection of a motorhome window lips syncing in time with his words, eyes narrowed as if willing the reporters to get to the point. He smiles to himself and doesn’t say a word.

There’s the flight from Spa to Zandvoort. You’re all seated in his jet Lando across from you. You’re beside Max, curled up beneath a blanket, and somewhere over Belgium, your head tips gently against his shoulder.

Barely a touch. Barely a weight. Like you didn’t mean to. Like it just happened.

He doesn’t move.

Neither does Lando.

He just glances up once, registers it, and looks away again. And Max sits there, heart pounding, terrified to breathe too deeply in case you wake up and move.

He knows things about you now that no one else seems to remember.

Your favourite lip balm the one that smells like strawberry and always disappears from your bag.

The way you bite your thumbnail when you’re overthinking.

Which songs you skip halfway through, even though you swear they’re your favourites. How your mood shifts when the weather changes. How you always hum under your breath when you’re working on something.

He knows you.

All of you.

Better than anyone he thinks.

And that’s what makes it worse.

Because there’s nothing wrong with what’s happening.

You’re allowed to have friends outside of Lando. You’re allowed to laugh with Max. To sit beside him. To know his drink order and tell him when his hair’s a mess. Lando likes that you get along. He doesn’t question how close you and Max have become. Why would he?

It’s just friendship.

That’s what you keep telling yourselves.

Neither of you ever expected to find someone who fit you so well. Who laughed at the same things, who understood the same family pressures, who found the same stupid YouTube videos funny at 2 a.m.

The three of you hang out together all the time. It’s easy. It’s normal. It’s safe.

And Max, Max tells himself it’s just bad timing. That in another life, in another version of the world, maybe he would’ve met you first. Maybe things would’ve been different.

But that’s not the life they’re living.

You’re happy with Lando.

And Max?

He has to learn to be happy with your friendship.

To be your almost.

There’s a moment that nearly breaks him.

Barcelona.

You’re in his driver room between sessions. You’d followed him in after media, talking without really thinking, plopping down on the small sofa like you belonged there.

He’s at the edge of the treatment table, scrolling through race data on his tablet, only half-focused, because your voice is in the background and it’s oddly comforting.

You’re rambling. The heat’s gotten to you, you're talking in lazy circles, eyelids drooping, your limbs heavy with fatigue.

Then your words trail off mid-sentence, drifting into silence.

And just as your breathing starts to even out, just before you fully tip into sleep, you mumble so quietly he almost misses it.

“I like being around you. You feel safe.”

Max freezes.

Every muscle in his body locks.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just stares at the floor like it might hold the answer to whatever this is, this thing that keeps happening between you when neither of you are brave enough to name it.

All he can think as his chest tightens and his hands curl against the edge of the table, like that one sentence didn’t just knock the air from his lungs, is how badly he wishes you meant that the way he does. Because to him, safe means home.

People start to notice.

It’s subtle side glances, raised eyebrows, the occasional lingering smirk from someone in the paddock who’s paid just enough attention.

Then it’s Nico.

After a press conference in Montreal, while Max is sipping water and half-scrolling through his phone, Nico nudges him with his elbow, eyes gleaming with something that isn’t quite judgment, just amusement.

“That girl of Lando’s,” he says, keeping his voice low but pointed, “the one always hanging around? She’s got you wrapped around her finger huh?”

Max doesn’t look up.

Doesn’t answer.

He just shrugs, the kind of shrug that’s supposed to mean whatever but feels more like don’t ask me that.

But even as he brushes it off, he can feel it on him. Like a bruise that someone’s pressed too hard. A soreness he forgot was there until someone pointed it out.

Because the truth is, he doesn’t even know what to call you.

You’re not his. Not just a friend either, not anymore, not with the way you fill the space around him even when you’re not there.

You’ve become the middle of everything.

The person he’s always half-replying to in his head during interviews, pretending to listen while mentally saving stories to tell you later.

The laugh he waits for. The one he leans toward instinctively when he hears it across the paddock.

The name he types and deletes in his notes app when something good, or stupid, or beautiful happens and he wants no, needs to tell you first.

You’re the part of his day he never wants to end.

And that’s what wrecks him most.

He catches himself staring at his phone more than he should.

Waiting for the ping. That green bubble. That small, digital flicker of your attention the one that makes his pulse trip even though he tells himself to stay calm.

Sometimes it’s something simple:

You see this meme?

Other times, it's heavier. Quieter.

I missed talking to you today.

And that one stays with him.

Long after he’s read it. Long after he’s put the phone down. It echoes like a bell rung too close to his chest.

Because what the hell is he supposed to say back?

I miss you like an ache in my chest?

I miss you like a secret?

I miss you like a man in love with someone he can’t have?

Instead, he types something safe.

I’m always here.

And hopes you can read between the lines. Hopes you hear what he’s not saying.

Because he’s loving you in silence. In stillness. In the space between every message, every look, every moment that feels like more than it should.

He’s back home during another break in the season. The sun’s setting and the windows are open, the sea a distant hush below, but none of it helps. The city lights flicker across his apartment walls, and his brain won’t stop spinning.

Not about the car. Not about tire degradation or lap delta or next year’s contract.

Just you.

You, like a song stuck on loop in the back of his mind. You, filling every inch of the quiet.

His phone buzzes just after ten. A photo.

Your dog, wearing sunglasses and a crooked little smirk. The caption just says, He gets his attitude from me.

He replies without hesitation.

Snaps a quick selfie one of the rare ones. No expression, just that deadpan, disinterested look you once claimed made him look like he was pondering the end of the world.

Two minutes later, your response lands.

That’s your sexy face, huh?

His chest tightens.

Not in that fleeting, ego-boosted way most compliments land, this one hits lower. Deeper. Where he keeps the things he never says out loud.

His fingers move before his brain catches up.

You think I’m sexy?

Sent.

The second it delivers, his stomach twists.

Too much. Too obvious. Too fast.

He locks his phone and tosses it on the couch, stands up too quickly, starts pacing, heart pounding, blood hot, regret already blooming in the back of his throat.

You leave it on read.

For two hours.

He checks the time. Then again. Then again. He thinks about calling one of his friends just to scream into the void. Thinks about throwing his phone into the sea.

He doesn’t.

But he wants to.

It’s almost midnight when his screen finally lights up again.

One line.

Don’t do that.

That’s all you say.

No emoji. No follow-up. No explanation.

Max stares at the words like they might rearrange themselves if he waits long enough.

His fingers hover over the keyboard. He types something deletes it. Types again. Backspaces. The silence stretches around him, and suddenly, the apartment feels too big. The lights too dim. The air too still.

Don’t do that.

He knows what you meant. He knows where the line is and how close he just got to crossing it.

But something about your words doesn’t feel like rejection. It feels like a warning.

Like you feel it too.

Like you’re scared of it, just as much as he is.

He sits back down slowly, phone in hand, thumb still frozen over the screen. His heart thuds painfully behind his ribs. He doesn’t reply. Not yet.

But he doesn’t turn the phone off either.

Because for the first time, in all this silence, he wonders:

Maybe I’m not alone in this.

And that thought alone is enough to undo him.

Max doesn’t love going out during the season.

He hates the noise. The cameras. The press of people pretending not to stare, the unspoken pressure to smile.

But tonight is different, because you’ll be there, that’s all it takes.

One look at your name on the guest list attached to Lando’s, of course and suddenly the noise doesn’t seem so bad. Suddenly, the chaos feels worth it if it means seeing you again. Laughing with you. Even if it’s only for a moment.

Even if it hurts.

Because Max will take whatever pieces of you he can get.

Even the ones that aren’t his to keep.

It’s a sponsor party, not wild, not chaotic. Just sleek. Polished. Expensive lighting and cold champagne.

He spends longer getting ready than he wants to admit. Wears the cologne you once said smelled good. Buttons up the deep navy shirt you teased him about months ago the one you said made his shoulders look strong. He catches himself adjusting his watch in the mirror. Then rolls his eyes at his own reflection.

He tells himself not to expect anything. Buries it beneath the surface where all the other unsaid things live.

But still, something in his chest is restless.

Maybe tonight.

Maybe you’ll look at him the way he looks at you like you already know the ending and you’re afraid of it.

You walk in twenty minutes late, effortlessly stunning in a black dress that hugs you in all the right places, and Max forgets whatever he was just talking about.

Time doesn’t stop. But it stutters.

You spot him across the room and smile not politely, not vaguely, but with that spark you always give him. Like you’re glad he’s here. Like you’re looking for him, not just seeing him.

You make your way over with a glass of something pale and sparkling in your hand. Your earrings catch the light. Your heels click like punctuation on the marble floor.

“No Lando?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

You glance over, “He’s running late.”

Max shrugs, keeping his voice light. “Guess I got lucky.”

You don’t leave his side after that.

You drift with him through the room not clinging, but constant. Your hand brushes his arm when you lean in to speak. You laugh more easily tonight. Your shoulders are looser. You're drinking more than usual not messy, just a little free.

At one point, you tilt your head and look him up and down, eyes flicking to the open collar of his shirt.

“You clean up nice,” you say, voice dipped in something warm.

Max lifts his drink, smirking. “Not too bad yourself.”

It’s just you and him, suspended in the kind of unspoken tension that’s almost worse than anything you could say out loud.

You reach for his drink, take a sip without asking, then hand it back. Your fingers graze his barely there, but it’s enough to set something inside him alight.

They linger.

And Max, God help him, lets himself believe. Just for a second.

Maybe this is finally the start of something.

But then you disappear.

For half an hour, maybe more. Long enough for the champagne to go warm in his hand. Long enough for the hope to start dissolving at the edges.

He mingles. Nods along with sponsors. Forces a smile that never quite reaches his eyes. Keeps scanning the room.

Then he sees you.

Your back is to him.

And Lando’s arms are wrapped around you.

You're standing just off the dance floor, the picture of easy affection. His mouth is at your ear, and you’re laughing, head tilted, one hand curling around the edge of his jacket. It’s intimate in a way Max has no right to look at. Like you belong there. Like whatever flickered earlier was just a trick of the light.

Max freezes. Not the quiet ache he’s gotten used to. Not the slow burn of unspoken feelings. No, this is worse.

Because for one stupid, vulnerable moment, he really thought maybe.

And now?

Now he’s choking on it.

You pull back from Lando just slightly, smiling as you rest your hand on his chest. You don’t see Max across the room, but he sees everything.

And he turns away before you can.

Before you catch the way his jaw clenches so tight it hurts. Before you notice how his hand trembles as he downs the rest of his drink in one swallow, needing to dull the sharpness clawing at his ribs.

Wishing, not for something dramatic, not for a grand gesture, just for a door to close, and a world where he doesn’t have to watch the person he loves choose someone else.

Later, someone finds him outside up on the rooftop balcony, the music’s faint up here. The noise muffled.

Max sits on the ledge, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the skyline like it might offer some kind of answer.

“What’s that face for?” someone on his team asks, voice cautious but not unkind.

He shrugs, eyes never leaving the horizon. “I don’t know. Thought I almost had something tonight.”

He doesn’t say it was you.

Doesn’t say that your laugh is still bouncing around in his skull like an echo he can’t get rid of. Doesn’t say that he saw the way you looked at him before Lando showed up.

He just stays quiet. Lets the night air settle over him. Lets the ache sit in his chest like a stone. And wonders, not for the first time, how it’s possible to be surrounded by people and still feel completely alone.

He knows the truth now. He’s utterly, irrevocably, silently in love with you.

And it’s never going to matter. Not in the way he wants it to.

It comes to a head in Monza.

The sky is impossibly blue, the air heavy with sun and sound, the track a blur of heat haze and anticipation. And you… you're radiant.

Max notices it the second he sees you.

Light dress. Sun-kissed skin. Hair down and wild like an afterthought, sunglasses perched on your head like you forgot they were there. You look like summer distilled into a person, it reminds him of the first time he saw you.

And you’re his for the day not in any official, spoken way, but in the quiet, unspoken rhythm you’ve built between you. Lando’s doing PR, media rounds that keep him off-site, and somehow, like it always seems to happen, you end up with Max.

You spend most of the afternoon in the Red Bull garage.

You’re at his side during debriefs, leaning in close as he reviews sectors. You scroll through telemetry with an almost comically serious look on your face, brow furrowed in focus, asking questions that most people wouldn’t even think to ask. The kind that make Max grin. Because you get it.

You care.

And for the first time in weeks, something cracks open in his chest, something reckless and stupid and full of hope.

She wants to be here, he thinks.

She wants to be with me.

You’re both laughing over something stupid during lunch when Alex walks past, then slows. Double-takes.

He throws a look between the two of you, not cruel, just amused, and loud enough to cut through the bubble you’ve been living in.

“Didn’t realise you were on Red Bull’s payroll now,” he says to you with a raised brow, voice too casual to be casual.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

He shrugs, smirking. “I mean, you spend more time in their garage than McLaren’s. Pretty sure Lando’s starting to look around like he lost his girlfriend.”

Max freezes.

It hits like cold water. A slap. A warning.

You laugh, light, quick, deflective. “Okay, wow. Bit dramatic.”

But Max sees it. The flicker in your expression. The way your eyes dart away. That brief, faltering pause where you’re not quite sure what to do.

Alex walks off, leaving behind the silence.

The kind that buzzes.

Like something just cracked wide open.

Because until now, no one had said anything. Not even Lando. Not about the way you and Max orbit each other like gravity. Not about the way you light up when Max is near. Not about the way he looks at you like he’s trying to memorise the moment before it’s gone.

But now it’s been said. Out loud. Witnessed.

And Max feels it, the shift. The weight.

The beginning of the end.

You’re quieter the rest of the weekend.

Shorter texts. Delayed replies. No FaceTime, not even a “can’t talk, I’m tired.” Just silence.

The next morning, you’re not there before FP3. You don’t show up after quali. You don’t come by the garage all weekend.

It’s like being cut off from oxygen.

Max tells himself not to overthink it.

But when the second race weekend goes by and your messages keep coming in cold and clipped, he feels it in his bones.

You’ve pulled away.

He doesn’t need a conversation to know it. He can feel the distance like a phantom pain.

When you finally call, it’s early. Static-filled. Rushed.

“Hey,” you say, breath catching in your throat. “Sorry… Yeah… Just trying to be more present. With Lando. I think I’ve been too wrapped up in other things.”

Other things.

You don’t name it. But he knows. He knows.

Max doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares at the floor, gripping his phone like it’s anchoring him to something that’s already slipping away.

You clear your throat. “You understand, right?”

He lies.

“Yeah. Of course.”

You hang up after promising to “catch up soon.”

And Max is left alone, phone still warm in his hand, screen dark.

This is right. This is what should’ve happened months ago. It’s the mature thing. The loyal thing. You’re choosing your relationship. You’re choosing him.

But it feels like losing a limb. Like he has to relearn how to walk, talk, breathe without the constant pulse of you in his life.

The silence stretches. Days. Weeks.

You still text sometimes. Safe things. Surface things. Memes. Some media gossip.

But it’s different. There’s space between every message now. Hesitation in every word. You don’t send voice notes, you don’t call when you can’t sleep, and Max for all his stubbornness, for all his fight, doesn’t push.

He just waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Weeks later. Singapore. Hot. Noisy. Tense.

And Max is tired of pretending he’s fine. That night, Max opens your chat.

Types:

I miss you.

Deletes it.

Types again:

I wish things were different.

Deletes that too.

Stares at the blinking cursor until it fades, and closes the app without sending anything at all.

Just lies back in the dark, phone forgotten on his chest, eyes on the ceiling. Until long past midnight, just as he thinks he's finally stopped waiting

His phone lights up. Like you knew somehow that tonight was the night he needed it most. The ache he thought he was hiding so well, mirrored right back at him.

One message.

Three words.

Are you awake?

[wordsarelife]

—foolish one

pairing: theo nott x fem!reader

summary: it's your birthday, but theo forgot about it.. or did he?

warnings: very very little angst, mostly fluff

note: i absolutely hate this and beg you guys to not let this piece form your opinion about my writing lmaooo

“i told you he was an asshole.” enzo was laying on your bed, facing the ceiling.

you turned around to look at him. “come on,” you muttered, and enzo moved so he could hang his head over the edge and stare at you. you almost had to giggle at how red his face got.

“what am i supposed to say?”

“something that’ll make me feel better,” you suggested. “you’re my best friend, enzo.”

“fine,” he sighed, before he thought for a moment. “maybe theo had a good reason to forget your birthday. maybe someone obliviated him, or he hit his head and forgot all about your six-year friendship—or no, better, maybe he went out to fight voldemort to make sure nothing could come in the way of your special day.”

“enzo,” you sighed dramatically.

even though you hated to admit it, he was right. your hopes had been up all morning, excitement pooling in your chest while enzo and you walked to the great hall together. your excitement had evaporated into thin air when all your friends had been there—except for the one person you had most hoped to see.

your friends had, of course, congratulated you and promised to give their presents to you in the common room later, but theo hadn't shown up all morning, and despite their best tries, you had slipped into a sour mood at his forgetfulness and absence.

"let's just stop moping around, how about that, huh?" enzo suggested, and you rolled your eyes.

"i'm not moping around," you remarked. "i'm getting ready." as if to prove your words, you quickly grabbed the blush, applying it onto your cheeks.

"yeah, you were totally doing that this past hour," enzo nodded sarcastically. "i'm not saying that you shouldn't be disappointed about theo, i'm just saying that you have friends who actually remembered what day it was."

"yeah, i know, and you're right." you smudged the blush with your fingers until it looked even and mostly natural, before you stood up. "let's go back down and join the others."

enzo smiled and nodded, following you out of your room. to your surprise, the common room wasn't looking like it normally did. it was decorated with balloons and streamers, and a happy birthday banner was hanging between two tall columns.

it hadn't looked like that when you had come back from breakfast.

"happy birthday!" your friends and a few housemates chorused as you laughed in surprise.

theo stepped through the crowd of people, a wrapped present in his hand.

you turned around to look at enzo, who just shrugged. "sorry," he smiled, and you shook your head, realizing that theo's absence had been part of a bigger plan.

"you didn't forget?" you asked unnecessarily, your eyes looking up at him with hope.

"of course i didn't," theo shook his head as if he couldn't fathom how you would ever think he could forget. "i was just busy planning this party, so i couldn't congratulate you sooner."

you shook your head, tears brimming at your eyes as you again took in the room around you. "you did all that for me?"

"of course," theo chuckled. he opened his mouth, ready to give you your present, but you interrupted him, opening your arms and throwing them around his body in a hug.

he tried again when you loosened the hug, but was interrupted by your friends, who all walked forward, ready to congratulate you. you looked around one of your friends in front of you, trying to gather a look at theo. he smiled at you, sending a wink in your direction, before he stepped back, letting the small box sink into his pocket, saving it for later.

you didn't see much of him for the rest of the party. someone always demanded your attention, but you saw him look at you a few times, maybe even debating coming over and joining the conversation.

you knew theo hated birthday parties, especially ones that involved a lot of talking. but he had still organized this for you, surprising you with something you loved, because in that departure, theo and you were polar opposites.

the party began to wind down, and though you had tried your best to enjoy it, you couldn’t help but feel the growing distance between you and theo. but you were determined not to let it ruin your night. there would be time later. you'd get your moment, your chance to talk to him.

and then, as if on cue, theo appeared. he was standing in the doorway, watching you, his expression unreadable. you stood up straighter, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear as you moved toward him.

"hey," you greeted softly, your voice almost unsure. it had been a long evening, and though the disappointment from earlier still lingered, you didn’t want it to define this moment. you wanted this to be your chance to reconnect.

theo’s eyes softened when he saw you, but there was something else there—a quiet sadness, something he hadn’t allowed to surface all night. he gave you a small, almost apologetic smile. "hey. i, uh... i wanted to find you earlier, but something always got in the middle."

"no, yeah, i get it," you smiled. "it's fine."

"i still need to give you your present." his expression relaxed a bit as he found something he could hold onto. his hand went into his pocket and took out the small black box, holding it out in front of you.

you looked at it for a few seconds before you softly took it, his and your fingers meeting for a fleeting moment.

the box snapped open with a low thud, revealing a dark red cushion and a beautiful golden bracelet laying on top of it. it was decorated with little diamonds, which seemed to be a bit too real.

"theo..." your breath hitched, unable to come up with real words. "this must've cost a fortune."

theo ignored your words. "do you like it?" he asked instead. "you mentioned something about a diamond bracelet your grandma always wore, which got lost when she died. this is the closest i could find that fit your description."

"you remember that?" you wondered, looking up with tears forming in your eyes. "that was years ago."

"i wanted it to be as close as possible to the real one," theo shrugged. "this one came out at the beginning of the year."

"you're joking," you shook your head, still not able to really understand what was happening.

"you said you loved that bracelet," he continued to explain. "and i remember how sad you were when it got lost. i wanted you to have something to remember your grandma by."

"theo..." you said once more. "this is too much."

"no," he shook his head with a soft smile. "it's the least i could do for you."

you looked up again at his words, your eyes crashing into his. the sincerity in them almost made you stumble. you had waited years for him. years in which you had begged that he would finally say the words.

but all this time, he had clearly shown you what he felt, with you being simply too oblivious to realize it.

"do you want me to help you put it on?" theo asked, and you nodded, holding your arm out in front of him.

theo's fingers were soft as they worked around your wrist, the golden bracelet bringing a sudden cold to your heated skin.

"can you do something else for me?" you asked without thinking.

theo didn't even hesitate. "of course, anything."

you took a small breath, the moment feeling like it stretched forever in your chest. "kiss me, theo." your voice was almost a whisper, as if you didn't really want him to hear the words escaping your lips.

the stunned surprise on his face was enough to make your stomach drop—just for a second, you thought you might have ruined everything. that this might be too much, too sudden. but then, just as quickly, the surprise vanished, replaced by something deeper, more certain. his expression softened, his gaze lingering on yours for a beat longer, and in that moment, you knew. he wasn’t pulling away.

your eyes fluttered closed, and before you could take another breath, his lips were on yours. it was gentle at first, as though he was still testing the waters, but then, it deepened—slow and warm, like everything else that had felt uncertain between you two was melting away.

his hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek, and you couldn't help but press closer, feeling the comfort of his presence, the certainty in his touch.

down there in the dark common room, theodore nott's lips were all you felt and all you wanted to feel for the rest of your life.

[wendichester]

Would love more sam x reader x dean (no wincest ofc)!! The drabble was wonderful! If you could write more that would be so cute and great, no pressure tho!!! LOVE LOVE UR WRITING BTWWE

༘ ⋆｡˚three’s a charm,

summary. dean wants you to be with sam. sam wants you to be with dean. you want both.

pairing. dean winchester x reader x sam winchester genre. steamy fluff

wordcount. 588

notes / warnings. almost smut, but we don't really go there. just the fact that you have two winchesters wanting you should be warning enough 🥴

ᯓ★ read part 1

It’s different now.

Not louder, not messier, not more complicated—though it should be, logically. But it isn’t. It’s easier. Like breathing. Like the weight you didn’t know you were carrying got lifted the second those two stubborn idiots finally got it through their thick skulls that you want them—both of them. Together.

It’s in the way Sam now kisses you openly in front of Dean, soft and slow like he’s memorizing the shape of your smile. It’s in the way Dean smacks your ass with a smirk two seconds later, calling you “trouble” and looking like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

You’re sitting on the couch in the bunker’s library, tucked between them—because of course you are. Dean’s arm is draped across the back, fingers lazily brushing your shoulder, and Sam’s got a book in his lap but hasn’t turned a page in ten minutes. He’s too busy watching your bare thigh peek out from under one of Dean’s old flannels.

“What are you reading?” you ask, just to break the silence.

Sam startles slightly, then lifts the book. “Uh. Demonology. Just brushing up.”

Dean makes a noise of protest. “We’re not working tonight. That’s the rule, remember? No lore, no knives, no brooding unless it’s sexy brooding.” He throws you a wink.

Sam rolls his eyes. “You made that rule like twelve hours ago.”

“Yeah, and it’s a great rule,” Dean insists. “Especially the sexy brooding part.”

You nudge Sam’s leg with your foot. “He’s got a point.”

Sam sets the book aside with a long-suffering sigh that doesn’t fool anyone. “Fine. No brooding. But if a demon kicks down the door tonight, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so.’”

Dean scoffs. “If a demon kicks down the door, I’m making you do all the stabbing. Me and sweetheart here are off-duty.”

You laugh, tilting your head back onto Dean’s shoulder. “Wow, chivalry is so alive.”

His fingers tighten just slightly on your arm. “I’m plenty chivalrous,” he murmurs into your hair. “Just… not when I’ve got both of you right where I want you.”

Your heart does that stupid little stutter it always does when Dean gets low and serious like that—voice rough around the edges, eyes sharp with something softer underneath. You glance over at Sam, who’s watching Dean with the kind of fond exasperation that makes your chest ache in a good way.

He catches your look and smiles, then leans in to kiss you. It’s slower than usual, deeper, like he’s trying to say something without words.

Dean lets out a low whistle. “Okay, not gonna lie, that’s hot.”

You break the kiss with a soft laugh and give him a pointed look. “Jealous?”

He scoffs. “Please. I invented jealous. But I’m not jealous now.” He leans in, mouth ghosting against your jaw, voice warm and sinful. “I’m just getting ideas.”

And just like that, the air changes—thicker, buzzing, electric.

Sam shifts closer, his hand sliding over your thigh with purpose now. “You said no working tonight,” he murmurs, voice pitched low.

Dean grins. “I did. And I’m keeping that promise.”

Your breath catches as both their touches converge—Dean’s lips on your neck, Sam’s hand tracing higher. This is still new, still tentative, but the trust? The heat? The love that pulses between the three of you?

That’s solid.

And as their hands find skin, mouths moving against yours like worship, like hunger, like home, you realize something else:

You’re not just lucky.

You’re right where you belong.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

a/n: second to last one :)

summary: natasha romanoff x married!reader; nat and you used to be in love. now, years later, you're married to a wealthy man and have a daughter with him. will running into natasha change everything?

warnings: guns/gunshots

word count: 8.5k

…part 4, part 5, part 6

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— SECRETS IN INK —

The automatic doors of the grocery store slide open with a hiss, letting in a gust of cold wind that makes Nina squeal with delight. She jumps out into the snow, which crunches under the soles of her little boots.

"Mommy, look!", she says, puffing out dramatic clouds of steam. You manage a smile, though your mind is miles away. The note in your pocket, which you keep touching with your fingertips to make sure you didn't lose it, feels like a weight dragging you down.

When did she put it there?, you wonder, absently grabbing Nina's hand to make sure she doesn't run off. You approach your car, your free hand holding the handle of the shopping cart. Did she sneak into the house? Or was it the day she left? But when? How?

Too many questions, too few answers. Your brain is a mess, your thoughts louder than your daughter's endless chatter.

Back at home, the warmth of the house greets you as Nina stomps her feet against the entry rug, sending chunks of slush flying. She lets out a quiet "oops" and apologizes, but her wide smile doesn't waver.

"It's okay", you murmur, setting the grocery bags down next to the door. You bend down to help Nina out of her coat, but — again — your mind is elsewhere. You're wondering why Natasha didn't just call. Why she left a cryptic note, telling you to come after her when you don't even know where you're supposed to be going.

There's her apartment, of course. Or the Avengers' Compound. Both would be reasonable, obvious choices, but you doubt them for several reasons. Natasha has never been easy to pin down, for one. Part of you also wonders whether she's testing your resolve — is this a riddle? A game? It feels like something she'd do just to see how far you'd go.

At the same time, an even larger part of you protests at the mere idea that she'd do something like this now, when things are so serious. This is not something she'd use as an opportunity to mess with you, is it?

You rub your temple and turn around, starting to put the groceries away. Nina skips away into the living room, her feet pattering against the hardwood floors. Your hands work on autopilot as you put cans and cartons away, your thoughts circling through the same questions.

Finally, you reach for the note again. Your finger brushes over the paper mindlessly as you stare at the words and the hourglass symbol underneath. The boldness of it is so her — a quiet defiance, a challenge. You almost smile at the thought, but then reality comes crashing down on you again.

Sighing, you turn around and lean against the kitchen island. Nina comes back into the kitchen, proudly holding her notebook.

"Want to see?", she asks, already holding out the notebook for you. You smile and let her put it in your hands, but your smile fades as soon as you see the picture. Three figures — one smaller, two slightly bigger. Red hair and a black jacket. Your breath catches slightly and you silently curse as you realize how serious this has gotten.

"Wow. That's beautiful, baby. Who's this?", you ask, pointing to the figure with the red hair, even though you already know.

"That's Natasha! I like her. I think she likes you", she says innocently, clearly not grasping the complexity of what you and Natasha have. She likes you, alright.

"She's very...nice", you say quietly, running your finger over the page. The three of you almost look like a family.

Nina nods, climbing onto a barstool and swinging her feet back and forth. She pats the surface of the kitchen island with her hands. "I'm thirsty, mommy."

"You are?" You put the notebook aside and turn around, grabbing a plastic cup for the girl. "What do you want? Water, milk? We also got lemonade."

"Lemonade!"

"Got it, honey." You pour some of the lemonade into the cup, then you hand it to her.

She takes a few sips, then sets it down. Her hand bumps it just hard enough to send the cup tipping over, and the yellow liquid spills in a swift arc across the kitchen island. Your eyes widen and your hand quickly reaches out to grab the cup, but it's too late — the lemonade has soaked through the note you left there so carelessly.

"Nina!", you exclaim, grabbing a dishcloth to mop it up. Your daughter seems to shrink, looking genuinely upset.

"I'm sorry, mommy", she mumbles, giving you a sheepish look.

"It's okay", you mutter, dabbing at the counter. You grab the damp note, your heart already feeling heavy — this feels like the last thing connecting you to Natasha, for some reason —, but then you freeze. Faint, delicate writing has started to appear on the back of the page.

Of course. Natasha used invisible ink.

Nina frowns, leaning in to see. She can't quite believe her eyes. It's like the magic she sees in her favorite cartoons, where characters wave their hands and make secrets appear out of nowhere. "What's that?"

"I don't know", you say unsurely, looking at the words that have appeared on the back of the page.

Safehouse. Catskill Mountains.

Underneath it, some coordinates that you won't need. You know what safehouse she's talking about — you went there after the attack on New York together.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you stare at the message. It's more than just a cryptic invitation — Natasha left you a way to find her.

"What does it say?", Nina probes, craning her head to look at the front of the note. She spots the hourglass symbol. "What's that?"

"It's nothing, sweetheart. Just something silly", you reassure her, gently patting the note with a towel and putting it aside. Your daughter tilts her head but doesn't push, instead sliding off the barstool and zooming back into the living room. Your eyes flicker back to the note, more specifically the words on the back.

Natasha was deliberate, careful, knowing you'd want this enough to figure it out. In the end, a simple accident caused you to reveal the additional information on the back.

The question is: do you want it? Do you have the courage to risk everything for it?

Your eyes drift back to the drawing Nina left in the kitchen, to the three of you standing there like you belong together.

. . .

You spend the day trying to maintain some sense of normalcy, for both your sake and Nina's. You have time, after all — you doubt Natasha is going to vanish if you don't show up right away. Besides, Ethan won't be home for another few days, so you can choose whether you want to leave now or wait a bit.

It's hard, though. Deep down, you've made your decision. There's no need to question anything, really. But something is holding you back, and it frustrates you immensely. Because if you go, there's no coming back. You're sure of it.

Nina doesn't notice your inner turmoil, which you're grateful for. You spend the afternoon distracting yourself by entertaining her — picture books, cartoons, making puzzles.

By the time dinner rolls around, you feel more frayed than you'd like to admit. It's not the exhaustion of the day itself — it's knowing this might be the last 'normal' day you can give Nina for a long time.

You watch your daughter happily munch on her mac and cheese, blissfully unaware of the underlying tension in the room and the problems that you might encounter soon. She's chattering about her day animatedly, gesturing dramatically with her free hand and laughing at her own silly impressions. Every now and then, she pauses to take a bite before continuing with her rambling. You cling to every word, savoring the sound of her carefree laughter.

"Mommy?", she suddenly says, putting her favorite green fork aside. "Does Natasha like adventures?"

You force a small smile. "I think she loves them", you say softly.

"I love them, too", she says, proud to have something in common with Natasha. "And you? Do you like adventures?"

"Hmmm..." You smile, reaching out to boop her nose. "I like them when you're with me."

Nina beams. "I like that, too!"

"Yeah?" You laugh quietly and nod, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Good. Maybe one day we'll go on a big adventure. Just you and me."

"Yes! We can see ponies and rivers and a circus and-" A yawn cuts her off — the fourth one in the past half hour. It's still early, but the girl is getting tired.

You wait until she finishes dinner, then you get up and start gathering the plates and silverware. You put everything aside, then you scoop her into your arms.

"Alright, sweetheart, let's get you to bed."

Nina scrunches her nose. "Do I have to?", she whines. You smile at her protesting — still not fond of bedtime, it seems.

"Even adventurers need their rest", you tease, tickling her side and making her giggle.

As you tuck her in, her eyes grow heavy. You sit on the edge of her bed, gently brushing wayward strands of hair from her face. "How do you feel about going on a real adventure?", you ask after hesitating for a moment.

Her eyes flutter open slightly. "Like...with Nat?", she mumbles.

"Maybe", you say softly. "Or just you and me, for now. Sounds good?"

"Can I bring Bearie?", she asks, clutching her stuffed bear tighter.

"Of course." You nod and kiss her forehead, then you get up. "Good night, sweetheart."

. . .

— TIME TO GO —

Later you sit on the couch, staring at the crumpled note you've pulled from her pocket. You trace the faint outline of Natasha's hourglass symbol with your thumb, willing yourself to stop overthinking. Natasha has left you a way out, a chance to escape. All you have to do is take it.

But something holds you in place, a nagging voice in the back of your mind whispering that maybe you're wrong. That maybe running will only make things worse.

The sound of the front door opening interrupts your thoughts, and you freeze. Ethan's voice calls out from the hallway. "Y/N?"

Your stomach churns. He wasn't supposed to be back before Friday.

Quickly, you shove the note into the pocket of your sweatpants before forcing yourself to stand up. You smooth down your hair as you enter the foyer. "You're back early", you say, trying to keep your voice light.

"Plans changed", he says briefly, his expression unreadable as he looks at you. His tone makes you uneasy, but you don't press further.

"Dinner's in the fridge if you're hungry", you say, leaning against the wall and avoiding his gaze. He puts his coat aside and starts making his way up the stairs.

"Not yet", he says. "I have a call to make."

He disappears into his office upstairs, the door shutting quietly behind him. You exhale and relax, even if only a little, then you tiptoe up the stairs and toward his study.

Through the door, you can faintly hear his voice.

"...promised results, not delays... No, you handle it. I don't want them anywhere near here."

Your heart drops. Them?

"Yes, the wife and the kid are here. They don't know anything... No, don't you dare. They're not involved in this."

Every word increases the nausea you're slowly starting to feel. You take a step back from the door without really meaning to.

"... If it comes to that, clean up your mess without involving me."

You may have doubted your intentions before, but now, you don't. This isn't overreacting — this is survival. This is keeping your daughter and yourself safe from whatever mess Ethan has dragged you into.

You don't think twice before rushing through the house. You grab a duffel bag and throw everything inside that you can find — few changes of clothes for Nina and you, snacks, a couple of documents you don't want to leave behind. You make your way to the bathroom, quietly praying that Ethan won't break his habit of staying in his office until after midnight, and toss in a few hygiene products like toothbrushes and shampoo.

A blanket. A towel. A gun you've been storing in your safe for years.

Yes, a gun. There's just something about being in a relationship with Natasha Romanoff and working at SHIELD that will make you consider buying one.

You distinctly remember her scolding you about living alone without a weapon when she started staying at your place more regularly. A woman. Alone. Without a gun. Seriously, Y/N?

Those words stuck, and you're grateful for it.

Once you're done, you tuck the duffel bag into the corner behind Nina's bed, then you go and lay down.

. . .

You've gone over the plan a dozen times in your head, running through every possible scenario. It's simple, really: wait for Ethan to fall asleep, slip out with Nina, and disappear into the night. But simple plans don't always go smoothly, and that thought keeps gnawing at you

You hear his footsteps approach the bedroom at around 1am. The door creaks open, his shirt hits the floor as he drops it, then the mattress dips next to you as he climbs into bed. The room is quiet, save for the faint rustle of bedsheets and the rhythm of his slow, steady breathing.

You wait, listening to each breath until it evens out. Minutes stretch into what feel like hours before you're finally sure he's asleep, then you carefully and quietly slip out of bed. You don't fully close the door, but you leave only a narrow gap to make sure he won't hear you.

When you reach Nina's bedroom, you hesitate. She's curled up underneath the blankets with her stuffed bear clutched to her chest, her mouth slightly agape. For a brief second, your resolve wavers — and then you remember staying isn't an option. Not anymore.

You crouch down next to her bed and gently run your hand over her head. "Nina", you whisper, your voice soft but urgent. "Sweetheart, wake up. We're going on an adventure, remember?"

Your quiet words rouse her from her sleep. She rubs her eyes, clearly sleepy and confused. Your heart aches at the sight.

"Now?", she mumbles, sitting up blindly and reaching for her Bearie.

"Yes, now. We have to be very quiet, okay?"

She nods, letting you put on her shoes and coat without protesting. You grab her hat and scarf — it's snowed again and the temperatures are icy —, then you scoop her up. You don't bother changing her out of her pajamas. You don't have the time.

With Nina in one hand and the duffel bag in the other, you swiftly move down the stairs. You listen for any signs of Ethan stirring, but the house remains quiet apart from his muffled snoring.

When you reach the front door, you hesitate. It feels like crossing a threshold you can't come back from, and the weight of it presses heavily on your chest. But then Nina looks up at you, sleepy and trusting, and that's all the encouragement you need.

You open the door and step into the cool night air, closing it softly behind you.

"Where are we going?", she whispers, her hand clutching yours tightly. You unlock the car and buckle her into her booster seat.

"To someone who can help us", you say, brushing your thumb over her rosy cheek. "It'll be fun, okay?"

"Okay", she agrees, her eyes drooping shut again already. You slide into the driver's seat and buckle up, then you finally pull out of the driveway. The lights in your bedroom remain dark as you drive down the street.

. . .

The road stretches endlessly before you, cloaked in darkness and lit only by the headlights of your car. Nina has fallen back asleep, her hands clutching her stuffie and her head lolling to the side. The steady hum of the engine is the only sound, but your nerves are on edge.

You glance in the rear view mirror, scanning the empty road behind you. You've been driving for about an hour now, and things have been going somewhat smoothly. Still, the tension in your chest hasn't lessened. Every shadow seems to stretch too far, every turn feels too sharp. You've made it this far, but the weight of your decision hasn't fully sunk in until now.

Then, the car sputters. Your heart jumps.

"No, no, no", you mutter, your grip on the steering wheel tightening. The car lurches and the engine coughs, then everything goes silent. The headlights flicker out and you're in the middle of the road in near-total darkness.

"Mommy?", Nina says after stirring awake, her voice thick with sleep.

"It's okay, sweetheart", you say quickly, forcing a calmness you're not feeling. You twist the key in the ignition, but the car won't start.

God, why did I insist on keeping this old thing?

Because Natasha sat in it. That's why.

You curse quietly as you glance in the rear view mirror again. From behind, a faint light appears on the horizon — headlights. The vehicles approaches slowly, its beams growing brighter as it draws closer.

Is this it?

Immediately, your mind jumps to worst-case scenarios. Ethan's associates. The people he's been dealing with. Whoever he was on the phone with. They've found you.

Your hand flies to the key in the ignition again, turning it desperately. "Come on, please", you whisper, your fingers trembling. The car groans, catching for a few seconds before dying again. The car behind you is only a few hundred feet away from you now, approaching like a stalker chasing its prey.

"What's wrong?", Nina asks, sitting up.

You glance back at your daughter, panic filling you at the sight. You can't let anything happen to her — not now, not ever.

Summoning every ounce of focus, you grip the key again. You turn it, the engine sputters, and then roars to life. A shaky breath escapes you and, without wasting a second, you slam your foot on the gas. The car gains speed quickly, headlights cutting through the darkness once more. Behind you, the strange vehicle's lights recede, disappearing in the distance.

You glance at Nina once more, who's curled up in her booster seat again. Her eyes are heavy with sleep, but she keeps watching you.

"Are we okay now, mommy?", she asks drowsily.

You manage a small, shaky smile. "Yes, baby. We're okay. Go back to sleep, alright?"

The girl nods, her head tilting to one side as she closes her eyes.

You keep checking the rear view mirror every few seconds, unable to shake the feeling that someone is following you. You're practically waiting for the headlights to reappear again, but it doesn't happen. The road stays dark and empty.

You bite your lip, Natasha's words from days ago echoing in your mind: "Trust me."

Can you?

You have no choice now.

. . .

At three in the morning, with snow falling thickly over the narrow, twisting road, the drive through the Catskill Mountains feels more like a scene from a horror movie than a journey to safety. Towering trees loom on either side, their bare branches clawing at the darkness. The headlights barely cut through the swirling snow, and you curse under your breath at Natasha's choice of a safehouse in the middle of nowhere.

It's not something you're not used to — you've been to creepy, deserted places before. Hell, you've been to places that were way worse than this, since you know that you're actually approaching somewhere safe. But you're alone, with a little child and a car that literally broke down a mere hour ago, and you're terrified.

The fact that the safehouse is enveloped by darkness doesn't help. It's tucked deep into the snow, silent and almost ominous, with a narrow road leading up to it. No tracks mar the freshly fallen snow.

You cautiously park the car at the edge of the clearing, the unsettling silence greeting you. Not a trace of light spills from the windows of the house, and Natasha is nowhere in sight.

It looks too quiet. Too abandoned. Too empty.

You scan your surroundings again, but the snow-laden pines give nothing away. You even start to doubt whether she's actually here, which is something that fills you with guilt. No, Natasha would never do that to you.

"Mommy?", Nina mumbles, looking out the window. She immediately thinks the house is scary. It looks like a place a witch would live in. "Where are we?"

"You'll see, NeeNee." You unbuckle and then — hesitantly — reach for your gun. You tuck it into the waistband of your sweatpants before getting you both out of the car. Snow crunches underfoot as you make your way to the cabin, your one arm holding Nina and your free hand resting on the gun.

You approach the dark cabin, its frame both a promise and a threat. You hold Nina tighter as you make your way up the few steps that lead to the porch, then you pause. You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting the forest to shift under your gaze or someone to jump out with a knife, but nothing happens.

The cabin door is slightly weathered, its surface a mix of peeling paint and exposed wood. You lift your fist and it hovers above the door for a second or two. Then, a faint creaking sound coming from inside makes you flinch, and you instinctively reach for your gun.

"Mommy, listen", Nina whispers, her voice small but curious.

"Shh, baby", you murmur, your lips brushing the top of her head. You let go of the gun to grab and twist the doorknob, the door creaking open with a reluctant groan.

Inside, faint traces of moonlight spilling in through the windows illuminate the outlines of sparse furniture. The air carries a scent of pine and dust, mixed with the smell of extinguished candles.

"Natasha?", you call hesitantly, glancing around the room to check if some masked killer will suddenly appear with an axe.

Nothing, of course. This isn't a horror movie. But it feels like one — the cabin doesn't answer, its darkness swallowing your words, and you're standing there helplessly. You tighten your grip on Nina as you step inside cautiously, closing the door behind you.

For a moment, all you can hear is the sound of your own quiet breathing, mixed with the rustle of Nina's coat as she shifts in your arms. Then, a muffled voice breaks the stillness.

"Took you long enough."

A breath, half-relieved and half-irritated, escapes you as Natasha emerges from the small hallway. You shift Nina on your hip, your eyes narrowed. "You idiot!", you hiss, your voice trembling with relief. "What were you thinking? Why is it so dark? I thought we'd get jumped by some psycho-"

"Y/N", Natasha cuts you off, firmly but gently. She approaches you, her hands outstretched slightly with her palms up — a silent reassurance. Nina smiles widely at the sight, her eyes squinted so she can see the familiar woman better. "You're safe here. Both of you."

You huff, feeling your daughter's hand grip your hoodie. She's unbothered by your nerves. "You could've turned on the lights", you mutter, your voice cracking slightly.

"Didn't want to risk drawing attention", Natasha says, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she approaches you. "You're here now. That's what matters."

"Yeah, we're here now", you snap halfheartedly, your shoulders sagging. You gently put Nina down when she starts squirming. "Which is a miracle, may I add. Could've warned me about the whole invisible ink thing, superspy."

"Didn't think I'd need to hold your hand through that one", she teases, stepping around you to reach the door. She locks it with one swift, practiced movement. "Figured you'd put the pieces together. Which you did."

"Yeah, well. Try not scaring the hell out of me the next time."

"Noted." She turns around, her gaze lingering on you before dropping to Nina, who's blinking sleepily. The excitement from earlier has faded away, and the girl is tired again. "Hey, Tiny."

"Hi", Nina says, giving a small wave. Natasha's expression melts into something warmer, almost tender.

"You did good", she says, crouching down in front of the girl, "sticking with your mom like that. Brave girl."

Your daughter smiles, perking up at the praise. "Mommy said we're going on an adventure", she mumbles. Natasha glances at you, something like amusement shimmering in her eyes.

"An adventure, huh?"

"What was I supposed to say?", you retort. "'Hey, we're fleeing for our lives. By the way, your dad might be the reason'?"

At the sound of your slight bitterness, Natasha's smirk fades. She nods, her face more serious as she crouches down and holds out her hand like a secret pact. "Well, you made it. Adventures don't scare you, right?"

Nina giggles, shaking her head as she grabs Natasha's hand. "No. But mommy was scared."

You raise your eyebrows at her. "I didn't raise you to be a traitor", you scold her playfully.

Natasha smiles, straightening up. "Smart kid", she says. "Takes after you."

"She's the one who discovered the invisible ink", you say, looking at Nina. Her smile is wide, despite the exhaustion that's evident in her eyes. "You're lucky we found the message."

"Nobody else saw it?", Natasha probes, leading you to a small dining nook. "Ethan, for example?"

"No, he didn't." You sit down, pulling Nina into your lap in the process. "We're safe here, right? I mean, what if he-"

"You're safe here", she reassures you again, her hands resting on the surface of the table. "I would've have brought you here if that wasn't the case."

You nod, keeping your daughter close. Silence lingers, heavy and unspoken, broken only by the quiet howling of the wind outside. Nina nestles into you, her eyes drooping as she lets out a tiny yawn. You run a soothing hand through her soft locks, though your own mind is far from at ease.

Natasha glances at you, her face softening at the sight. "There's a double bed in the bedroom", she offers. "I'll crash on the couch."

You look up, exhaustion and vulnerability etched into your features. You don't say anything for a moment, then you shake your head. "No."

She blinks, surprised. "...No?"

"No." You shake your head again. After everything that's happened, you're not going to sleep by yourself. "We're all sleeping in the same bed", you say, straightening up and balancing Nina in your arms. "I just- I need to know you're here. I need to feel that."

The protests die on the tip of her tongue as she looks at you. The bravado from earlier has slipped away, replaced by something raw and fearful. And she wouldn't argue with that.

"Okay", she says softly, nodding. Relief flickers across your face. You don't thank Natasha out loud, but the way you squeeze your arm as you walk past her says enough.

The bedroom is bare and utilitarian, with a simple wooden frame supporting the double bed, but the thick blankets look comfortable and warm, which is all that matters. You tuck Nina in first before slipping in beside her. Natasha hesitates as she sits on the edge of the bed, then she takes off her boots.

"This is a bad idea", she mumbles halfheartedly, curling up on the other side of Nina. The mattress dips slightly underneath her weight.

"Maybe", you reply, already settling into the warmth of the forest green comforters. There's a nightlight that Natasha plugged in near the door, which is dipping the room into a gentle, golden light. "It's the only one I've got for now, though."

Nina nods off quickly, her little breaths quiet and rhythmic as she nestles against you. Your gaze drifts to the ceiling, the faint scent of pine and aged wood wrapping around you like a memory.

"We've been here before", you whisper, not wanting to disturb Nina's slumber.

"After New York", Natasha whispers back, her head turning towards you. She smiles faintly.

"You dragged me here after that mess. I think we slept for twenty hours straight."

"You snored", she teases softly, making you huff a laugh. You shoot her a crooked smile.

"You were out so cold you wouldn't have noticed if the building collapsed." You pause, your expression somewhere between weary and wistful as you absentmindedly stroke Nina's hair. "It felt safe. Like nothing could touch us here."

"It still is", she says quietly, looking at you. Her hand shifts under the covers, brushing lightly against yours. Not a grand gesture, just enough to remind you that you aren't alone. "I promise."

. . .

Morning light seeps through the narrow gaps in the blinds, casting thin beams of sunlight across the room. The cabin is quiet, save for the soft sounds of breathing — slow and quiet.

You wake up first, the warmth of the bed making it difficult to separate yourself from the cocoon of sleep. But, as you stir, you realize something: you're tangled in a mess of limbs — yours, Natasha's, and Nina's.

Nina is nestled between the two of you, her body half draped across Natasha, the other half across you. Her face is pressed into Natasha's side, her cheek pink from sleep. Natasha has one arm wrapped across the child loosely, the other is tucked underneath your shoulders and holding you close.

You smile softly, the quiet intimacy of the moment grounding you. Your life may have fallen apart, shattered into pieces, but this? This feels like a fragile kind of peace.

You watch for a moment, your heart full and warm, then you shift slightly. You're careful, trying not to wake either of them up, but Nina stirs in her sleep. Her little hand fists the fabric of Natasha's shirt as she mumbles something unintelligible.

Eventually, thanks to Nina's movements, Natasha wakes up as well. The look on her face is warm, content, as if the chaos of last night never happened.

"Morning", she mumbles, her voice rough with sleep.

Your lips curve into a small smile. You look at Nina, who's still blissfully unaware of the world around her. "I think we've made a human knot here."

"It's cozy", Natasha says, her hand gently adjusting your daughter's position without waking her.

"I'm glad we're here", you say, shifting a little to press a kiss to Nina's temple. You hesitate, then tilt your head up and kiss Natasha's cheek as well. "For saving us", you tease, though your heart feels heavy. "Can't just exclude you."

"Very thoughtful", she whispers, considering to pull you into an actual kiss this time. But Nina finally rouses from sleep and she sits up, rubbing her cheeks. She scrunches up her face, eyes squeezing shut to block out the sunlight seeping in through the windows. Natasha smiles, pulling the girl into a light hug, and Nina hums happily as she nuzzles into her side and falls back asleep.

You simply look at them, realizing the same thing once more — this is where you're supposed to be. For the first time in forever, you feel like you can finally rest.

. . .

— THE FALLOUT BEGINS —

The moment Ethan opens his eyes, he knows something is off.

His hand blindly reaches out for you, but his fingertips are met with the cold material of the bedsheets. Seems like you're up already — which isn't unusual, as you sometimes manage to wake up before him —, but today, there is no telltale hum of activity coming from downstairs.

Instead, the house is eerily quiet. No faint sound of Nina's giggles, no murmur of cartoons playing on the tv, no waft of coffee coming in through the slightly ajar door. He sits up, running his hand through his hair nervously, then he finally plucks up the courage to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and get up.

His movements are slow, unhurried, as if his body hasn't caught up to his mind yet. He pads to the door and pauses, listening for any signs of life — nothing.

Growing more worried by the second, he makes his way down the stairs. He glances into the living room — empty. The kitchen is spotless, a mug resting in the sink. He frowns, confusion cutting through the mess in his head. You hate leaving before cleaning up.

Then, he notices something else. The drawer where you keeps the keys to your Range Rover is ajar. The keys? Gone.

Ethan looks around the room frantically as if he expects to see them somewhere. Instead, his gaze lands on an envelope sticking out of the fruit bowl. He takes a few tentative steps toward it, then he reaches for it. He pulls out a letter, the text inside typed and printed. His eyes scan its contents, once, twice, then the truth sinks in.

It's the letter you received not too long ago, the one that confirmed your suspicions about Ethan. You had no idea who sent it, obviously — but Ethan knows immediately.

Isabelle.

She sent you this letter, causing you to pack your stuff and leave. With Nina. And now his family is gone, gone without so much as a goodbye.

Fuming, he pulls out his phone and dials Isabelle's number. He starts to pace around the room, his fingertips rubbing at his hairline as he waits for her to pick up. When she does, he comes to an abrupt stop.

"How could you?", he barks without waiting for her to say much besides 'hello', his hand landing flat on the surface of the kitchen island. "Are you dumb? You ratted me out to my wife? Isabelle, I am going to KILL you-"

"Relax, Tiger", she says, clearly amused by his little outburst. She pops a maraschino cherry into her mouth, chewing idly. "You're interrupting my beach day."

"Beach day? You think I give a fuck about that? Isabelle, my family is gone! Because of you!", he yells, breaking out into a cold sweat. "They're gone! She took my kid, you moron!"

"Please. Aren't you the one who's been having an affair for months now? With me, may I add. I really doubt your kid is your top priority."

"That doesn't matter! This- this isn't just about us!" Ethan slams his hand down on the marble surface again, his chest feeling tight. All his secrets, the ones he's managed to keep locked away for so long, are now teetering on the edge of exposure. "You're fucking stupid, that's what you are! Did all that cocaine fry your fucking brain?"

"My god, Ethie-kins. No need to swear so much." Isabelle laughs, emptying her cocktail with one quick sip. "You're always so stressed. You should be relieved, now that you've gotten rid of those two. I mean, you always go on and on and on about how tedious it is, don't you? Now it's finally just the two of us."

"That's not the point! What if she informs the authorities? What if she reports me? I have worked so hard for this!"

Isabelle tuts, a sound that nearly sends him through the roof. He's seconds away from ripping the entire place apart.

"That's what you're worried about? My, my, you're naive. Your little wifey is far too busy taking care of that brat you created. If I were you, I'd worry about her girlfriend", she says nonchalantly, making him freeze.

He stays silent for a moment — girlfriend? what in the world? —, and then it clicks. Mommy's friend. The redhead that left his office building. That's why Nina knew her.

He grabs the neckline of his shirt, which suddenly seems way too tight, and tugs on it.

"What?", he croaks.

"You didn't know? Wow, men really are oblivious. You think you're the only one who can have an affair, boo?" She laughs and keeps talking, but her next words barely register in his mind. "At least we've got them both in the same spot now. Makes things easier."

Ethan shakes his head, his hand stretching out before he balls it into a tight fist again. "You're lying. Y/N is not...she..."

"What? Not gay? Because she married you? Frankly, I thought you'd be smarter. Not much smarter, no, but seriously?" Isabelle slides off the barstool gracefully, her bare feet dipping into the sand in front of her. "You know, you're really ruining my vacation. I'm supposed to get a massage in ten minutes."

"Shut up!", he yells, sweeping the fruit bowl off the kitchen island. It shatters on the floor, shards everywhere, apples rolling around. "I don't give a fuck about your vacation! Isabelle, who is she?"

"Oh, nobody important. Barely worth mentioning." She smiles to herself, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair. "Ever heard of Natasha Romanoff?"

. . .

The entire kitchen smells sweet and milky. Natasha's sitting in the dining nook, sipping on a steaming cup of something, and there's a pot of rice pudding boiling on the stove. It's warm in the cabin, despite the fact that it snowed all night.

The sound of small feet padding across the floor breaks the calm. Natasha looks up to see Nina, hair tousled and still sleepy from sleep, appear in the doorway. The girl smiles when she sees her, her entire face lighting up.

"Morning", Natasha greets warmly.

Nina's smile only widens. She scrambles into Natasha's lap without a second thought, nestling herself into the safety of her arms.

You appear seconds later, your messy hair and tired eyes still making you look like you've just woken up. You offer Natasha a small smile as you catch her eye, then you step in front of the stove. You nudge the pot of rice pudding to check its consistency, then stir the frozen wild blueberries she's heating up separately. Your voice, when it comes, is low.

"I was thinking we stay here for a while. No rush."

"Sounds good", she says, her hand lightly resting on Nina's back. "I think you could both use the time to breathe."

You nod, scooping some rice pudding into a bowl and topping it off with hot blueberries. You put the bowl in front of Nina and hand her a spoon, watching her scoop some pudding up and blow on it.

"She loves it here", you murmur as your daughter carefully tries a tiny amount of rice pudding. "Which is quite the compliment. She usually needs more time to adjust to new places. I think we can both make peace with it."

Natasha hums, not pushing for more than that. There is no need. For now, you have time.

Nina looks at Natasha, her mouth stained with blueberries. Natasha smiles, using her thumb to wipe the fruit juice off her face. "I like rice soup", Nina declares happily.

"That's rice pudding", Natasha reveals.

"Oh." The girl pauses, then lifts her spoon to offer Natasha a bite. "Do you like rice pudding?"

"I do", she says, smiling, and runs her hand over the little girl's head. "But I should let you finish that before I try some. Or maybe your mom will get me a bowl as well?"

Without hesitating, you scoop rice pudding into a second bowl. Blueberries on top, then you put the bowl in front of Natasha.

"Thank you, mommy", Natasha teases, making you roll your eyes. You gently swat at the back of her head and she laughs, a fond glint in her eyes. You smile and shake your head, momentarily forgetting about everything else.

The soft clink of spoons against bowls fills the living space as you settle into your makeshift breakfast routine. But as the quiet stretches on, something nags at the back of your mind. You've been avoiding it for hours at this point, so you quietly get up and walk over to your bag on the counter.

You grab your phone, press the power button and watch the familiar lock screen greet you. Then, a bunch of messages start popping up.

Ethan: Where are you? — 7.25am

Ethan: This isn't funny, Y/N. Come home. We need to talk. — 7.26am

Ethan: I've called in some favors. You know what that means. — 7.28am

With shaky hands, you put your phone aside. But your eyes stay glued to the screen.

Ethan has resources, you knew that already. You know it's only be a matter of time before he starts looking for you — he won't let you slip away that easily.

"What's wrong?", Natasha's voice cuts through the silence.

You glance at her, then shake your head. "Just Ethan."

"Everything okay?"

You nod, slipping your phone back into your bag. "I'll have to deal with it eventually", you say quietly, as to not disturb your daughter. She's happily eating the last spoonfuls of your rice pudding, scraping out the bowl as best as she can.

Natasha frowns, her fingers gently combing through Nina's hair. At least your daughter is oblivious to the storm brewing just outside your little sanctuary.

. . .

It doesn't take long for Ethan to start freaking out. The texts he sent you are just the beginning. A subtle warning, a desperate attempt to get you back home now.

He googles Natasha's name, asks a few of his 'friends' about her, does his own research. The more he finds out, the worse his nausea gets.

He's been trying to convince himself that he's not the bad guy here all day. What did he do, after all? Attend a few shady auctions? Buy some artworks? Oh no, the horrors.

Deep down, however, he's aware of just how much he's done.

He's been funding human trafficking rings. He's been putting lives at risk. He's the one who's been too complacent, too blinded by his own ambitions, and now his family is gone. Natasha has found them — and now he's up against something far worse than a petty affair.

Natasha Romanoff. Not just a threat, but the threat. He keeps scrolling through the information on her, nervously licking his lips in the process. Her reputation, her history. The things she's done, the lives she's ended. The connections she has. And now, they have his name.

Ethan grabs his keyboard and slams it against the wall, individual keys falling out and clacking quietly as they fall on the floor. He scrubs a hand down his face and gets up, nervously pacing through his office.

Without thinking twice, he picks up the phone and calls the one person who'll get you and his daughter back home.

"Ethan?", he says, his voice deep and rich with depth.

"Hey, Vance", he says curtly, running his fingers through his short hair and tugging on it. "There's an issue. I need you to help me out."

"Calling in favors, I see. What did you do this time?"

"I didn't 'do' anything", he immediately snaps, then forces himself to calm down. If anyone can find the two of you, it's Vance Harrington. He can't get on his bad side. "Look, I need you to find out where my wife is. She left. Took my kid with her."

"Sounds like they're running from you, man. You screwed up?"

Ethan grits his teeth. "I don't need your commentary. Just find out where they are. Make sure they come back home before things escalate."

Vance laughs, a sound that's smooth like butter. "Fine, fine. I can track 'em. But you know the drill — it'll cost you."

"I don't care about the cost! Just get it done."

"Alright, I'll need a few hours", Vance replies. "But I'll find them. When I do, I'll let you know. Don't go anywhere, Ethan. You wouldn't want this getting out of hand."

The call ends, and Ethan sinks back into his chair. A moment later, his phone buzzes.

Vance: It's a small world. You'll want to make sure she knows where she stands. Don't make me remind you. — 10.52pm

It's a cryptic message that makes Ethan feel uneasy, but he pushes the uncomfortable feeling down. He has no choice — he needs you back. He can't let his family slip through his fingers, not after he worked so hard to build everything you have.

Little does he know that a simple, two-minute phone call would start a ripple effect.

. . .

A faint scent of roasted garlic and fresh herbs fills the air. Nina is perched on the counter, her little hands clumsy but determined as she follows Natasha's instructions. Together, they carefully cut potatoes and carrots into cubes.

"It's my birthday soon", Nina informs Natasha, briefly looking up from the cutting board. The woman smiles. "I'm going to be four."

"Yeah?" Natasha hums, scooping the potato cubes into a bowl. She adds some olive oil and then hands the potatoes to you so you can season them. "What do you want for your birthday, Tiny?"

"A puppy", your daughter says, beaming. She glances at you to make sure you don't argue — you've said no to pets more times than she can count —, then she keeps talking. "A little one. Can I get a puppy, Natasha? Please?"

You exchange a quick glance with her, raising your eyebrows teasingly. Try getting out of this one, is what your eyes say. But she just smiles, shrugging.

"You know what, Tiny?", Natasha says, scooping Nina into her arms. "How about we first finish making lunch. Puppies can wait."

"Okay", she says, then leans in and whispers into her ear: "Please, Natasha. I really want a puppy."

"I heard that", you say, amused, as your gaze shifts to the window.

Snow is falling in a dense flurry, swirling and thick as they add more layers to the blur of white that's covering the ground. A snowman is waiting next to the porch, its pebble-smile crooked. It'd be a peaceful, idyllic scene, if it weren't for the black SUV disrupting it.

A large vehicle with tinted windows and a man sitting behind the wheel. He doesn't move or get out — he simply sits and stares.

You freeze and stop stirring the soup in front of you. Your heart starts racing, a cold wave of anxiety washing over you. Slowly, you reach out for Natasha. She glances at you, then follows your stunned gaze out the window. Her hand moves toward the weapon she has hidden in one of the drawers instinctively.

The man doesn't move for what feels like an eternity, his eyes fixed on the cabin with unnerving precision. Then he starts the engine of the SUV, the sound cutting through the air like a knife, and slowly pulls away from the cabin.

You watch him disappear. The silence afterwards feels oppressive.

"Mommy?", Nina says insecurely, tugging at your hand. Her head is tilted to the side, her eyes filled with genuine concern. "What happened?"

You look at her, forcing a small smile. "It's nothing", you say, trying to sound reassuring. Natasha bites the insides of her cheeks, still staring out of the window.

The black SUV was just a warning, but it's concerning nonetheless. Ethan clearly doesn't like that you left, and now he'll know where you are.

. . .

You thought one car showing up unannounced would be bad, but neither of you had an idea.

A few days pass in between. Snow melts and then falls again, the temperatures turn icy, the atmosphere slowly shifts to a less tense one. The cabin is silent save for the occasional wind gust against the windows and the soft crackle of the wood stove. The storm outside has grown harsher over the past few hours, with snow piling high around the cabin and isolating you further.

The three of you are calmer than you should be given the events of the past days. You're having dinner together — a sparse meal consisting of canned stew and Ritz crackers, since Natasha hasn't had a chance to go to the only nearby grocery store yet.

You look up from your plate, breaking the silence that's settled over you. "Natasha", you say, putting your spoon aside. "Have you heard anything else from SHIELD? Any updates?"

"No", she says, her posture tensing up. "Nothing yet."

It's clear that she, just like you, has been expecting something — anything — to happen. The quiet you're experiencing now is a prelude to the storm she's waiting for. She can't shake the feeling that the people she's been investigating, the ones she's been digging into so thoroughly, are aware of her presence now.

The silence stretches on, until a faint sound disrupts it. A car engine, too close, too precise, purrs in the distance.

You and Natasha exchange a look. She exhales before rising quietly, subtly slipping her Glock into her pocket before making her way to the window. Nina looks up briefly, her face scrunching up.

"Where is Natasha going?"

"Shh", you say, putting your hand on hers.

Natasha stands in front of the window. Again, a black car is pulling into the clearing by the cabin, but it's a different one this time. Her chest tightens.

It's them. The ones she's been investigating, the ones who've been tracking her.

"Is that...?"

"Yes", she murmurs, her voice low but filled with urgency. "They've found us."

The vehicle has stopped a few yards away from the cabin, its engine dying with a soft hum. No one gets out immediately, the world seeming to hold its breath. Then, the door opens, and a tall man with broad shoulders and graying hair exits. Another one follows, bald and tattooed all over, his expression grim.

They both stand in front of the cabin as they survey it from a distance, taking it all in. You're vulnerable here, and the stakes have never been higher.

"Stay here", Natasha orders, quickly moving to the front door. You frown and shake your head, instinctively pulling Nina into your lap.

"What? No! You don't know who that is, what if-"

"Y/N", she interrupts you, slipping into her coat. "This isn't just a random threat anymore. This is targeted. Now stay here and keep the kid safe."

Outside, the men start heading to the cabin. Natasha glances at you one last time before she opens the door. You want to argue, to follow her, but you can't. It'd be too risky. Instead you watch as the door falls shut behind her with a groan and a click, leaving you and Nina alone.

Natasha approaches them, keeping her distance but not showing fear. They stop in their tracks.

"You", one of them sneers, the other one reaching for his gun. "You think you can just walk away? We don't just let people disappear after they dig into our business."

"I suggest you leave", she says, her voice low. "Otherwise, I could make this way worse for you."

A standoff. A moment of tension thick enough to cut.

The men exchange a look, communicating silently. One of them pulls out a gun, causing Natasha to point her own Glock at him.

Then, without warning, the other man moves, drawing his gun way too quickly for her to react.

A gunshot rings through the air.

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

🌙 tagged (as per request): @scarletsstarlets @upsidedowndanvers @s1ut4nat

[the-internets-girlfriend]

Bittersweet Memories: Sticky Situations

George Clarke x Reader (Series)

There was something sweet - until it all fell apart. Years later, a viral video stirs up a past neither of them ever quite let go of. In the city where they both changed, something is quietly rising again.

warnings: soft angst, emotional miscommunication, heartbreak, swearing, slow-burn, alcohol consumption

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

series | masterlist | previous part | next part

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Part Three: Sticky Situations (2300+ words)

It's been three days since George walked into my bakery like a ghost from a life I've been trying not to haunt.

Since then, he's been liking all our social media posts - both Instagram and TikTok.

I've ignored it.

Maisie, however, is loving all the attention from customers on our social medias. And, if I'm being honest, so am I. It's taken the bakery to the next level. We've had new faces walk through the door almost every day since, some asking for the viral cake, others just curious to see the place from the videos.

I'm even starting to get a few regulars. I haven't quite mastered remembering orders yet - but I'm working on it. Maisie and I have been practising the phrase 'just the usual?' with full dramatic flair.

There's a young woman named Lily who comes in every Thursday afternoon for a raspberry tart and a hot chocolate. She talks about her loved for Harry Potter and once left me a note on a napkin that said this place feels like Honeydukes.' I nearly cried - carefully picking the napkin up and adding to a wall of reviews we have started.

But early mornings are different.

Early mornings in the bakery are quiet. Peaceful, even - the kind of peace that comes from repetitions. The hiss of the espresso machine, the smell of lemon zest and sugar caramelising in the oven, the hum of the speaker playing a soft low-fi playlist. I've built something here. Slow and steady. No chaos, no unread messages, no train delays or after-parties.

Just me, the batter, and the bench.

People come and go during this time of the morning - but my time in the kitchen is my time. My little sanctuary.

And today in the kitchen there is a cake to be made.

For George's friend, Arthur.

A tall, soft lemon sponge with vanilla bean frosting and curled white chocolate shards down the side. I pipe soft blue lines along the base of the cake - Arthur had written on the form for something that is bright and needs to include blue, and I figured a soft yellow was safe. Calm. Friendly. Uncomplicated.

The finishing touch is a piped 120k on the top, to celebrate whatever milestone they are celebrating. A subscriber count, probably. Or maybe views on something I haven't watched.

I'm halfway through packing the cake into the carrier when Maisie sticks her head into the kitchen eyes wide.

"Arthur's here for pickup. He's with someone else - I think I've seen him on TikTok before."

I smirk, wiping my hands, "just let them know I'll be right out."

Once the cake is secure, I carefully take it in my hands and round the corner just in time to hear the last part of Arthur's sentence to Maisie "- it's just for a couple of mates and hitting a subscriber count."

So I was right.

I carry the cake to the counter and greet Arthur and turn to look to the man beside him - Maisie is right, he does look familiar.

He was tall, dark curls, and his eyes glanced around the bakery with curiosity - eyes skimming the walls, the displays and then finally the cake box.

I notice the movement of his eyes and take the lid off to allow the two guys to peer inside.

"Woah Y/N this looks amazing!" Arthur exclaims, but as Arthur said my name - suddenly his friend looked confused.

"Y/N.." The boy mumbled to himself.

"Yes that would be me." I said with a smile. I turn back to Arthur to attempt to explain the cake and the best serving suggestions but I'm interrupted.

"You look familiar, are you from the area?"

"Isaac..." Arthur warns.

With that name, I recognise I know who he is - his TikTok's often appear on my for you page, and he's been frequenting George's Instagram posts.

"Only for the past couple of years, I'm originally from Hampshire." I reply, understanding why he is now asking the pressing questions - he's trying to solve out if I'm Y/n from George's past.

And my theory is proven when he gives a slow nod in my direction and replies with a sharp, "cool." This causes thoughts to happen as I wonder what George has told his group of friends about me and our shared past.

The conversation ends not too long after I finally am able to explain the cake directions and flavours to the boys, before wishing a good day.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The bell above the door chimes one final time as the last customer leaves, the dregs of their oat latte still steaming on the windowsill table. Outside, the sun is melting into the skyline, painting the bakery in soft amber light. I wipe down the counter for what feels like the tenth time, even though it's spotless.

Maisie flips the sign to closed and turns to me with a grin that I already don't trust.

"One drink," she says, hands on her hips. "Just one. To celebrate the cake, the TikTok boost, the fact that Lily said we have 'main character cafe energy. Come one. We've earned it."

I sign, but it's already a lost cause.

"You're not going to let me go home, eat pesto pasta, and rewatch The Holiday, are you?"

"Absolutely not. Get changed, bakery girl. We're going out!"

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

We end up at The Porterhouse - a pub not too far from the bakery, the kind with mismatched stools, and decent cocktails served in chipped glasses. It's warm and loud, but not unbearable.

We've only just slid into a booth with our drinks - a G&T for Maisie, and a lazy glass of red for me - when I hear it.

The voice.

I freeze before I even look.

Laughter. Familiar. Deep. Followed by a chorus of cheers. And then someone I do recognise - Max - yelling, "to 120 thousands. We're super duper famous now George!" And a second chorus of laughter is heard.

Maisie looks at me over the rim of her glass, already clocking my expression, "you okay?"

I nod too quickly. "Yep. Totally. Fine."

But I don't even need to turn around to know. I can feel it - the unmistakeable presence of George and every single one of his chaotic friends. They're here. In this pub. On this night.

And suddenly the number on Arthur's cake makes sense.

They're here celebrating the Useless Hotline podcast. George and Max just hit 120k subscribers. I remember back to when George and I were together, the podcast was only an idea - just become solidified and he was so excited to share it with Max.

But of course they're here.

Of course he's here.

Maisie leans in. "Do you wanna leave? We can go watch a movie back at mine love?"

I shake my head. "No. We said one drink. And I'm not leaving because he exists. I'm not here for them."

"Damn right you're not," she says, and clinks her glass to mine.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

I spot George before he sees me. He's standing near the bar, pint in hand, wearing that same stupid navy jacket I used to steal, Arthur's there too, animated telling a story. Isaac's doubled over laughing. And more of their group were shared in a conversation or filming.

And then George turns - and his eyes land on me.

For a second, he doesn't move - but he shoots a wink my way and turns back to his friends.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It becomes a game.

A twisted, high-stakes game of dodge George Clarke - and I'm determined to win.

I've already fake-texted someone twice, strategically walked the long way to the bathroom and changed seats with Maisie to put her between us like a human shield. All while pretending to be totally unbothered.

"I feel like I'm watching a spy thriller," Maisie mutters, smirking behind her second G&T.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, sipping my wine too fast.

Before I know it my glass of wine is gone. I hold the empty glass in the direction of Maisie, "another?"

Maisie gives a small nod but her eyes are elsewhere - elsewhere on a certain brunette she has been eyeing all night.

I take the two empty glass and stand, beginning my journey to the bar.

But then I round the corner by the bar, trying to avoid walking past my past, and I nearly walk straight into Max.

"Oh shit - sorry!" I blurt, grabbing the edge of a high stool for balance.

Max blinks, then breaks into a wide grin, "Y/N?"

"Hey!" I say, too brightly. "Max! Hi!"

We hug awkwardly - the kind of hug of when you haven't seen a friend in a while and have no idea what's happening in their life.

I liked Max. He was of the only friends I met when I was dating George - he was always ready to talk gossip or just be a source to vent to.

He steps back, clearly surprised. "Didn't know you were here."

"Yeah, um - my friend and I are just having a drink. Just a random night out - nothing to do with... you know."

Max raises an eyebrow, amused. "Right. The 120k podcast party?"

I laugh. It sounds fake. "Exactly, and congratulations on that. I've seen a few clips of the podcast and you seem hilarious as usual."

He tilts his head, eyes kind. "Thank you but have you seen George yet?"

I hesitate. Too long.

"...Not really."

Max gives me a look - not pushy, just knowing - and I quickly pivot.

"What about you? How else is life going?"

That gets him talking, thank god. He starts telling me all about his recent interviews and reality TV show he has done - I nod along, adding the occasional laugh.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

I finally reach the polished bar, and alert the bartended of the new order - one G&T and a glass of rose - as the red wine list is starting to taste the same.

The bartender's slow, distracted by another group ordering a tray of shots. I tap my card against the bar, waiting.

And then I feel him.

The weight of someone behind me. The static energy in the air. A scent I recognise as it was once littered on my bedsheets. A heartbeat I know too well.

I don't even have to turn around to know it's him.

"Didn't expect to see you here," George says softly, his voice just above the hum of the pub.

I swallow.

Still facing forward to the bar, I reply, "it's a public space, George."

"Did you make the cake?"

I nod once. "Yeah. Hope you liked it."

"Loved it," George says, "and Max took about a hundred pictures of it before he even cut into it.

I glance sidewards. He's closer than I realised. His eyes are soft. Like he's been looking for me all night. Like he's felt me in the room too.

I force a polite smile. "Good. I'm glad."

He shifts slightly, nervous.

I turn to face him, my breath hitching in the back of my throat at our closeness.

"You've been busy."

I shrug. "The bakery's doing well. We're getting more attention online. Maisie a genius with reels."

"I noticed," he starts, "I've been liking your posts."

My lips tighten. "Yeah. I saw."

He opens his mouth again but shuts it. I tilt my head and he finally says what he is thinking.

"I'm glad you're here."

My eyes widened at the statement - that was the last thing I expected for him to say. He is suddenly showing affection when all I asked for two years ago was that -

Affection.

"I would really love to -"

"George," I cut in, "you don't have to do this."

He falters. "Do what?"

"This," I gesture vaguely between us. "Polite chat. Vague compliments. You don't have to pretend we're just two people who vaguely know each other."

A muscle in his jaw tenses, as my eye water.

"I'm not pretending."

"Really?" I snort, shaking my head. "Because you walked out my life with a simple see you around - and then you walk into my bakery, after years of nothing, said barely anything, and then started liking all my posts like we're - what?"

"I didn't know how else to-"

"You could've messaged."

"I wanted to," he says, voice rising slightly. "I nearly did. A hundred times - "

"Then why didn't you?"

He opens his mouth, but no words come out.

Right.

I turn back to the bar just as the bartender finally returns with my drinks.

"Y/N..." George tries again. "I'm not here to make things harder. I didn't even know you'd be here tonight."

"But now that I am, what?" I snap, finally looking at him fully. "You're hoping we just... what? Talk? Rewind? Pretend the last two years were fine?"

His face flickers - guilt, regret, all of it.

"I'm hoping you'll just talk to me. Really talk."

"I can't, George," I say, my voice barely holding steady. "Not here. Not tonight. I came out with Maisie. To not think about you. Just try another time."

He runs a hand through his air, frustrated. "And yet here I am, just ruining everything right?"

I finally take the two glasses in my hands, "you didn't ruin everything Geo. That happened a long time ago - we just couldn't work at that time. We both wanted different things."

He looks like he wants to argue. But I step away before he can.

Back at the booth, Maisie looks up from her phone, "you okay'

I slide the drinks onto the table and exhale. "Nope. But I've had worse nights."

I take a long sip of wine, pretending I can't feel his eyes across the room - burning, questioning, following.

And I pretend it doesn't hurt.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

I'M SORRY GUYS!

Trust me I want them together too - but we got to wait a while first.

And as a big thank you - I went back and edited this part to make for a longer part.

See you next time,

mwah x

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

taglist x

@mothersversiononly @whisperturnedecho @lovingaphroditesworld @reidyourpalms @liz140569 @swizzlemynizzle @wherethezoes-at @clarkeyzzz @swiftlyjo @madforgeorge @smzyyx @graceln4 @norrizzandpia @heyitsmefall @oliviaohanessian1 @clarkey4life @dopeysunflowers @hey-there9-its-me @ooostarwarsfandom501st @canyouseethesainz @cheesystylesig @burkayyy

[ken-jaku]

decode. caleb from love and deepspace

very loosely based on/inspired by this edit and that one line where he says he won't get a gf.. i don't have the card just saw another edit :P

content warnings. mentions of a slow (slightly longer that walking pace) burn relationship- not a full-blown fic, situationship, one-sided pining, top tier yearning border-lining on obsession. this is lowkey like an extremely less toxic version of a situationship-esque fic and oneshot i have drafted with eren jaeger.

word count. 2.063k

note. caleb looks so pretty here i love him- not more than zayne tho.. i haven't been on lads for months til now holy moly ;-;

"my speech would've ended here. however, right before i went onstage, a person said something strange to me. it had to do with what's "important."-- "

it was snowing-- the first snow of the year in fact-- and caleb chose you of all people to meet him. it was odd, but you let it slide because, quite frankly, everything between you two was odd.

having grown up with him, you two were inseparable. aside from whenever zayne came over to play- then the ice-cold prince, as caleb liked to call him, would have all your attention. looking back, caleb seemed to have formed a one-sided animosity towards him for it. it was funny, cute even.

high school came around, and as the three-year secondary education commenced, cheek-pinching became hair ruffling became hand-holding. everyone in school was confused by you two. every "are you dating her?" brought a smile to the older's lips and confusion to yours. caleb never answered them. he wouldn't give others the satisfaction of thinking they had a chance with you.

when you two had been separated for almost a year and found your way back to each other, you didn't know how to continue the relationship with him. you had just begun to get over the fact that you lost the only one who truly knew you only for him to be there, standing in front of you a few days later. caleb, being caleb, just wanted everything to go back to how it used to be, that dog tag you gave him still being worn all these years was a testament towards that, as if you claimed a part of him he wants-- no, needs-- you to have.

you didn't take too kindly to it in the beginning. he had completely disappeared. died. you'd gone to his grave for god's sake. you mourned him and your grandmother with no one to assist you when your life went to shit. so it took a few weeks to get used to having your best friend, whom you really only saw for the holidays after high school, and, to the public, died via explosion, find his way over to your city often just to see you. he was.. overbearing to say the least like he had to make up for his "death." he was also different.

you have a job and you do it well but ever since caleb came back into your life, he was more against your choice in joining the militia than ever. you didn't know why and he wouldn't tell you, often changing the subject to obstruct your train of thought.

the first few days when you saw him again, he was almost obsessive, deranged. you had a mission, one you originally had planned to use to block your mind from all things mourning before caleb crash-landed into it, ironically, being one of the main subjects to watch out for. he was the damn colonel. you never told him in entirety what your objective was but he had an idea-- he was smart like that-- and almost completely barred you from gaining any information-- barred you from leaving his home.

it scared you. the way he looked at you with those unstable eyes, the way he grabbed your wrist and whispered promises of not allowing others to hurt you whenever you tried to walk away from him, the way he'd play with your hair. it all scared you. it felt unnatural. every single action he did held some sort of difference in comparison to when he did it back then, and yet sometimes you felt yourself almost accept it, almost reciprocate.

he wasn't the caleb you knew but still, you let him into your life again after doing your job. you gave him the opportunity to be with you again even if he couldn't recall what exactly that entailed. you did all this because, deep down, you knew something happened in those ten months of his "passing". hell, he had a bionic arm. and whether you liked it or not, he was always going to be a part of your life so, out of love for the boy you knew, you made it work.

and things did progress. he did open up to you more, just not enough but you were willing to work with that.. it was still an advancement at the end of the day. and above all, you missed him-- you missed him so much-- so whatever he gave you, you took it kindly (with a little frustration).

as months flew by, you two frequently found yourselves at the other's house, cuddling on the couch as he read, him back hugging you as you prepared meals, sharing your bed and sleeping better than you two ever had alone even if you were ill at the moment. and at the end of the day, you would always find yourself standing in between his legs, his hand grazing your wrist as he begged you to stay a little longer. sure, those things were normal when you were younger but lines were blurred, crossed now. you're in your mid-20s. adults don't do those things unless..

still, you welcomed them like you couldn't get enough because he was caleb. he was your caleb.

he seemed to be dissociating by the time you got there. frosted-over water decorated his hair beautifully while his thumb grazed against the dog tag raised to his lips. a frown had painted his face. he wasn't dressed properly, the cold seeming to not bother him but you wouldn't stand for it. you didn't care if he was "different" now.

"caleb..." you were soft-spoken so as to not scare him.

as if you could ever, but he appreciated the gesture-- appreciated how you cared for him.

you broke his spell the moment you said his name. his eyes were unreadable, elusive the moment he found yours, but he was happy to see you. he always was. his phone was on but you hadn't noticed until he quickly turned it off, the screen going from white with a few hints of pink and blue to black in a few seconds. you were going to ask about it in an amused-- and deep down, curious-- tone but you decided against it. you already had caleb as your personal prober and you were not about to have him think prying was an okay and constant thing to do. he was already so interrogative.

"wear a proper jacket next time, yeah?" you held his neck and carefully manoeuvred him to bend towards you. the height difference you two had was sickeningly seductive. it was something passers-by took notice of whenever you were together. it was alluring to see and even more alluring to be a part of it.

caleb, being caleb, let you do anything to him and this was no different.

he allowed himself to relax into your touch, almost fluttering his eyes shut with a deep breath, as you guide him to where you need him to be.

you unravel your scarf, looking deeply into his eyes as you normally do, "why did you want to meet?" a mumble. the cold bit you as soon as you removed the article making it hard to speak.

"can't i see my.. best friend?" you wrap the woolly scarf over the boy's head as he spoke.

"i mean.. yeah, but it's the first snow. i know how important it is to you. you would always go on about how it cements the fact that two people are meant to be. isn't there anyone more.. important to see today?"

you always seemed to remember everything he said. he loved that about you. he also adored how oblivious you were.

caleb almost sighed, licking his lips.

what wasn't clicking for you?

"who could be more important?" he whispered amusingly as if he couldn't fathom being with another person today.

he, in fact, really couldn't.

"we talked about this, already." he says your name with such gentleness it makes you shy. you last spoke about this topic at his graduation. you remember it like it was yesterday. he had suddenly included the "meeting more people and experiencing new things after graduation" talk you had with him that same day into his ceremony speech, mentioning that people yearn for the future because they haven't found something to cherish in the moment, but that was so long ago. before he "died". people change. they feel differently as they grow.

you smile as you push against his chest, straightening his back, "things change as time goes on, caleb.. someone's gotta tie you down eventually. when we first saw each other, the nurses on the ship were all over you. we aren't getting any younger.. maybe-"

he stiffened, eyes fixed on you as he tilted his head, "do you i have to say it again for you to understand?" his bangs leer over his eyes as he pushes his nose down into your scarf- your warm, soft scarf.

"but-"

"i won't get a girlfriend."

"caleb.." you feel winded.

"i won't.. get a girlfriend." his words were almost a bit harsher. firmer.

a beat.

"okay.. fine. it's.. it's up to you." you winced, looking down at the snow beneath your feet before taking a few steps. caleb follows you a few seconds after, a little bit distracted.

he had turned on his phone once more to see your social page. the phrase "you visited this page several times over the course of two days" stared back at him, as if it was begging him to stop. he was just about to, really, he was, but just below the phrase sat the picture of you and a guy he'd never met that kept searing into his mind. his arm was wrapped around your shoulder and you were smiling as gleefully as could be. it irked the aviation soldier terribly. he hasn't even been able to make you smile like that yet, but there you were, handing them out like candy to your other friends. caleb sighs, picking at his cuticles before he looks up at you again. his fingers, once rapidly moving, stayed in place. your hair was covered in snow and, for some reason, it made him smile.

everything about you made him smile.

everything about you was so easy on the eyes.

he didn't want anyone else.

not when he has you.

you were his gorgeous girl, whether you knew it or not, and he wasn't going to lose you again.. not while the strain put on your relationship when you first saw each other again was burned into his memories. you two were basically strangers once you left skyhaven. he didn't know how to be "your caleb" then but he was willing to try-- still is-- and sure, he has his tendencies but you two make it work.

because he was willing to do anything for you and you would do almost anything for him.

still, he needed everyone to know that you were his. he needed everyone to confidently know you two had something. something no one else could replicate with you.

his phone camera shutters. it was quiet, almost going completely unnoticed by you. you turn around, eyebrows furrowed, a small pout gracing your lips just before you open your mouth, "caleb-"

you're interrupted.

"y'know, there's this park that opened recently. maybe we could make a new secret base." he skips to you, resting his arm over your shoulder to pull you into him. he was as childish as ever, always wanting the two of you to make a mark in every space you encounter.

you're mind goes blank, completely losing your train of thought. still, you nod, trying to remember what you wanted to say , "huh? alright, alright, but after we have to go to this cafe.."

"--i consider myself lucky. i already have someone who's very important to me, someone i can't live without."

the sun finally sets and just as caleb leaves, you get a notification on your phone. it was a post from caleb. he'd tagged you in it.

you click the link almost instantaneously to see the back of your head covered in tiny snowflakes from earlier this morning.

you bite your lip to fight back a smile as you look down to see the caption.

"first snow with her."

note. let's pretend i haven't been gone for an entire year. i have something for xavier that has been sitting in the drafts since '24 if thats any consolation - lei <3 (started writing: may 3, 2025)

[chrystal-ink]

Shadow X Fem reader

Your past , My present, Our future Part 2 (Final)

(Part 1)

Description: after meeting your future child your mind is reeling, little do you know that there is another one watching from the shadows, and she isn’t alone.

Warnings: none cute Dadow fluff ahead

Note: so I know this story is going to leave a lot of questions to be answered don’t worry they will be in due time however I don’t mind answering them now so let me know, I will be posting the epilogue later this week hopefully which may or may not clear some things up.

The ebony hedgehog stood atop the tower her amber eyes scanning the area below.

She watched as her father spoke to her namesake below. something twisted in her heart, a feeling she couldn't quite place, not pain but not quite pride either. she watched as she spoke holding a surprising level of dignity and grace for her age. no wonder her father spoke so highly about her.

"OH MY GOSH!" a voice that unmistakably belonged to her mother called out distracting her from her thoughts.

a soft giggle escaped her lips even displaced in time she still found a way to bring her back to earth. "Thanks mom" she whispered.

"Maria! I need your help." a familiar voice behind her spoke making her jump.

"Gah! Silver what the hell, warn me! I could have attacked you just now!"

"Sorry, I'm just busy right now trying to keep time anomalies from happening"

"Yah I can see that." her eyes darting to her little now littler sister in Silver's hands,

"Hey! You look just like my sister RiRi" Nova said her voice full of excitement.

Maria smiled at the nickname her sister lovingly gave her, only she was allowed to call her that. "Yah, I get that a lot."

Her gaze returned to Silver "So How does it feel to be the older twin now?" She teased

"Please don't make this weird." Silver groaned

"I'm sorry, make this weird? Silver, You're holding your twin sister at age four in a timeless white void well before either of our conception. meanwhile you live in the past part-time, are on a first name basis with both our parent's, and you're dating a cat from another dimension, name one normal thing about any of this?"

"Hey! me and Blaze are just friends."

"That's not what she said." Maria pointed to Nova who was growing antsier by the second.

"What does she know anyway?"

"It's literally her jo-"

"Hey! Put me down!" Nova demanded waving her arms and kicking at the ivory hedgehog.

"Sorry Nova." Silver put her down on the floor between them.

"Now, what's this about you needing my help?"

"I need you to watch her for me, just until Sonic defeats the time eater and then we'll all go home."

"babysitting, really? How come you get all the cool missions?"

"Because, I'm not recognizable in the past , and you are."

"Yah, and how much longer do you have that excuse?"

"That doesn't matter right now. neither of you can be seen, unless you want to throw off the timeline"

Maria sighed her arguments once again being defeated. "What do you need to do anyway? get your butt kicked by Dad again?"

"No, by Sonic this time."

"Fine" she huffed "But you're doing my dishes for a week."

"What! seriously the future hangs in the balance right now and you're trying to wager chores."

"Hey, some people would ask for more, I personally think it's a generous offer."

"Maria stop pulling your brother’s leg, I'll watch her" the familiar voice of their father interrupted their spat.

"Papa!" Nova cried out excitedly running into his arms.

Shadow laughed as he picked the little hedgehog up and spun her around "Hello little one you've had quite the adveture today haven't you?"

the little girl beamed "just like you papa?"

"you could say that."

"can I come with you to work now!"

He smiled at her "I'll talk about it with your mother.” Shadow turned to his two other children “are you two alright?”

“Yah, I’ve been hiding here mostly, just watching” Maria responded

“I’m okay mostly busy trying to keep the timeline safe”

“Good, keep it up do you need any help”

“I’ve got it mostly covered so far you are the only ones from the future that could threaten the timeline well you guys and mom but she should be with past you right now”

“She’s not she went behind that wall over there after you left.” Maria corrected

Shadow nodded “Okay I’ll go check on her”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea with her? Nova's not exactly one for keeping secrets, especially as a child.”

"That's true I caught her just before she spilled the beans about Maria"

"Hey I didn't spill anything!"

"No, Nova it's an expression" Silver sounded exasperated.

"A what?"

Silver sighed "Never mind"

"She'll be fine, with all the running around she's been doing I'm sure she's due for a nap"

"But I'm not tired"

"Oh, you're not?" Shadow replied.

"Nope" the little hedgehog yawned betraying her own words

"Okay, well then sit still while I talk to these two okay little one."

She nodded in agreement laying her head on her father's chest

"Papa?"

"Yes dear?"

"How come mama's quills aren't white?"

The air grew thick as the three looked at each other unsure of what to say. at her age it was never explained, she couldn't have possibly understood. what those scientists did to you, and why. No, that was a story for another day.

It was so long before her birth she hadn't known her mother any other way. even for Silver it was strange to see you before it happened despite that being his only safety for not being discovered yet.

"She's trying something new today, don't you like it?" Shadow finally answered.

"I think mama looks pretty"

"Yah, she always looks pretty."

Nova smiled at him before closing her eyes beginning to nod off.

"Silver keep doing whatever you need to do to keep the timeline in check okay?”

“Yes sir”

“Do you need a boost? Before you go?” Maria asked.

“I should be okay for now maybe after I fight Sonic”

“Okay, you know where I am” Maria gave her brother a hug

“Stay safe son” Shadow hugged Silver making sure not to disturb the little one who was being to lightly snore

“Thanks Dad” and with that silver took off heading off into the void.

Maria and Shadow were silent for a moment watching as Silver disappeared from sight.

“Hey Dad.”

“Yah”

“Just how far in the future are you from?” Maria couldn’t help glancing at the young girl from the past.

“Far enough to know what you want to ask.” Shadow placed his hand on his daughter’s shoulder “You’ll find your own way I promise.”

“Well that’s awfully cryptic.”

“You know how important the timeline is, knowing what happens could put your future at risk”

“I know, it’s just, why can’t I fight yet? I know everything there is to know, and there’s so much good I want to do why won’t you let me? I mean silver is out there fighting with you and he’s four years younger than me why can’t I?

“I’m sorry Maria but that conversation can only happen when you’re ready, and I’m afraid you’re not there yet.”

“When will I be then?”

“Soon, I promise.”

She huffed unsatisfied with the answer but understanding that she couldn’t pry for more. “You probably have to go check on mom now don’t you?”

“She can wait a few more minutes if you need.”

“Nah she seemed pretty freaked, it was kinda funny not gonna lie”

Shadow smiled at his young daughter admiring how much she was like you.

“Alright stay hidden and please, try not to create any explosions”

“Dad, please, look who you’re talking to”

Shadow sighed “just keep the damage to a minimum”

“You got it” Maria smiled before giving her dad a hug. “Love you”

“You too kiddo”

And just as quickly as he appeared her father vanished into the white void taking her sister with him. Maria returned to her place watching the action happening once again.

“Oh man, Pepper is never going to believe this”

❤️

You leaned against the wall your mind going a million miles a second with no stop in sight.

You were beginning to feel nauseous at the concoction of emotions swirling through you.

You were mortified at the scene that just took place scolding yourself for running into a situation before properly assessing it, at the same time you were still coming down from the sadness of your boyfriend not knowing your identity, not to mention the child you were apparently going to have showing up.

You had nothing against children, in fact you wanted children of your own someday, but you and Shadow hadn't even talked about it yet. the panic of her arrival had come with the side affect of an overwhelming wave of affection. after all your future with Shadow had all been conformed.

You loved him and wanted this future with him, but it was all happening so fast you couldn't catch your breath, literally you were beginning to hyperventilate.

You needed to calm down so you closed your eyes sat down and focused on your breathing unaware that you were being watched

❤️

As Shadow approached you he couldn’t help but think about the early stages of your relationship. He remembered the way you looked at him, the ways you broke down his walls like no one else could, the ways you would comfort him as he woke from a nightmare.

He looked at you and felt a comfort in knowing not much had changed in all these years however, he was reminded just how much other things changed as well.

Right now you were untouched, not knowing what the future would bring, you looked younger, of course you did this was before.

Four years and three months before to be exact.

If perfection could be achieved it no doubt would look like you. Seeing you like this once again made him smile. still, guilt lingered in the back of his mind.

Images of the past flashed through his mind. The worst year of his life, six months of searching only to find you too late, and six more months trying to undo the damage. Your quills were supposed to turn white with age now they would never change at all.

You claimed you didn’t mind that the outcome was a “best case scenario”. Still he knew that you had something taken from you. Something that he had wanted for you, something he knew you could never get back not for a long time at least.

You were still perfect of course, just in a different way. Despite the challenges you pulled through healing in ways he never thought possible. You moved past it, you remained in love with him and gave him children he owed you the world and more.

Little Nova cooed in his arms yet another reminder of why you were just so remarkabl

Shadow stood next to you as you sat on the floor working through your breathing technique, not wanting to startle you he spoke gently.

“Hey”

You looked up at the familiar voice it was defiantly Shadow, but he seemed more familiar with you. he hadn't aged, of course he didn't but he had an air about him that seemed more mature like he's learned more from the word than the last you saw him, and on top of that he was holding the little hoglet Silver had whisked away moments ago.

"umm hey, so sorry but I'm really confused right now a lot is happening and I'm not entirely sure what."

"It's okay Y/N I understand"

"Okay so before I start I just want to make sure, You know me right?"

Shadow smiled at you "Yes my love"

You heaved a sigh of relief "Okay good, so first off how are you dear"

"I'm doing fine, I'm here to check on you"

"Okay good, Second wow I'm just- I don't really know what to say right now. It's just a lot. I mean we have a kid? That's - wow."

"Are you disappointed?"

"What? Of course not! it's just, I don't know, Kids have always been this possibility to me, you know, they're just hypothetical things. I mean we haven't really talked about it, I don't know you're opinions on them are so there was a chance I wouldn't have them, but now, it's real and obviously you know we have one.”

“I was little worried at first, having something so small, but I also knew I wanted a family especially one with you.”

“Am I any good at it, the whole parenting thing?”

“You’re the best at it”

The tension you in your shoulder released as you released a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You looked up at Shadow a warm feeling spread through your heart seeing how he gently held your sleeping child in his arms.

“Should we be talking while she’s asleep”

“Oh, She’s fine she sleeps through anything. One time you were making dinner during her nap and all the pots and pans crashed out of the cabinets she didn’t even move”

“Oh that’s good”

“Yah, she’ll give you a run for your money when she’s awake though”

You giggled “you know, that’s a good look on you, you look happy.”

“I am” the two of you smiled at one another “do you want to hold her?”

“Is that allowed? I mean would that mess up the timeline at all? I don’t want Silver to be mad or anything.”

Shadow held back a snicker, you had no idea “don’t worry about Silver trust me, he won’t bother you”

“Oh, okay then.”

Shadow gently placed the little girl in your arms your heart swelling as she curled up against your chest a she called out a tiny “mama?” Instinctively you rubbed her back lulling her back to sleep surprising yourself in the process.

Getting a closer look at her you wondered how you didn’t immediately clock her as yours the two of you shared many features but the ones you found your favorite were the ones Shadow gave her. Her grey markings, the way her quills curled up she even snored like him.

“She’s so cute, how do I function?”

“Trust me you take a lot of pictures.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

Shadow sat down next to you. As you turned to smile at him he noticed, after all these years you still smiled at him the same way you. All the trauma all the changes those people forced you through they couldn’t change the simple fact that you loved him, no matter what happened or how much time had passed you would always love him.

The two of you talked behind the wall passing the time as you waited for the action to be over.

“Shouldn’t you be helping yourself with your dad?” You asked at one point

“Trust me, this is much more important”

After a couple hours you noticed something, Nova’s foot was slowly becoming transparent panic flooded through you as you tried to stop it realizing you were beginning to disappear too.

“Don’t worry, this is just how you go home you’ll be okay I promise.”

“Okay and how about her?”

“She’ll wake up in the same place she disappeared she’ll be safe”

You nodded “any advice for the future?”

He took your face in his hands taking memorizing your features one last time. “ Just remember that I’ll always love you no matter what”

“I love you too”

Shadow leaned in and kissed you this wasn’t his last kiss with you, not by a mile but it still felt like a goodbye. You were taken so suddenly and by the time he saw you again the damage had been done. He knew he couldn’t warn you about it, but he could use this kiss as an apology, as reassurance that everything would turn out okay.

As you faded from his view he smiled, knowing that despite what happened the two of you had a bright future ahead.

❤️

You woke up in a lush green field your picnic basket neatly laid next to you, the path ahead clear. Checking the time on your phone you noticed that no time had passed since you entered the void, even so you were still late for your picnic date.

Grabbing your basket you rushed off to your usual meeting place knowing you had one hell of an excuse.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

“That’s alright, I’m still setting up.”

“The blanket? Love, all you have to do is lay it on the floor.”

“I know I was just making sure I had a good vantage point in case anything comes to attack us.”

“Aw love, I appreciate your vigilance but I sincerely doubt someone is going to attack us in a wide open field in the middle of the day.”

“You never know when someone is going to strike I just want to be prepared.”

You kissed him between his ears handing him his sandwich “never change darling”

You sat beside him taking your lunch out as well.

“So Nova’s pretty cute isn’t she”

Shadow froze looking at you in shock.

“When did you-”

“Just now. So you knew this whole time?!”

“Yes”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Please, like you would have believed me.”

“I might have”

Shadow gave you one of his looks that showed complete doubt.

“Oh you” you jumped on him pushing him to the ground your lips colliding as Shadow wrapped his hand around your waist. You giggled against his lips continuing as the two of you parted continuing your picnic on the beautiful spring afternoon steps away from your first meeting.

❤️

Three years prior

Shadow sat beneath the tree watching the festivities below. He had no idea why he let Rouge convince him to come. They were all the same full of people making pointless small talk about nothing.

Sure there were people he tolerated but they were always busy talking to the ones he couldn’t stand.

Shadow skulked checking the time waiting for the hour mark when Rouge said it was an acceptable time to leave. Only five minutes left and they couldn’t come soon enough.

“Excuse me, is it alright if I sit here?” A sweet voice called out.

Looking up he saw a familiar figure, he tried looking for you after the time eater incident to no avail, years passed and he didn’t have the time to search, the world needed saving and he was the only competent enough to do it properly.

“I suppose” he responded

“Thank you, don’t get me wrong I love parties but they get way too loud.”

Shadow scoffed “Yah that’s Sonic for you, always has to throw the biggest parties.”

You giggled “Yah, he’s sweet and all but he definitely needs to come with a warning sign.”

Shadow found himself laughing at your comment.

“How come I’ve never seen you before?”

“I just moved here Amy invited me, quite a colorful cast of characters around here.”

“Yah, almost too colorful”

You giggled at his comment bringing a warmth to his face he was unfamiliar with.

“I’m Y/N, and you are?”

“Shadow, Shadow the Hedgehog.”

“Nice to meet you Shadow”

[yvesssssssss]

Hii my first time making a request but how about the sakamoto characters meeting their S/O on a blind date! Maybe like nagumos date was set up by shin and lu. Uzukis was set up by gaku and Kumanomi etc. Thanks love your work <3

Blind dates

Nagumo yoichi

Set up by: lu & shin

"You owe me,” Shin says, practically shoving Nagumo into the Hello Kitty-themed café. “She agreed to this on the condition that you wear something not stabby.”

“I left my knives in my socks,” Nagumo says innocently, pushing the door open. “You happy?”

Lu peeks around Shin with a wink. “Be charming. She’s sweet and maybe slightly unhinged. You’ll love her.”

Nagumo steps into the bubblegum-pink café, glancing around with an amused smirk. He spots you at a window table, twirling a straw in a cotton candy frappe. You’re dressed in layers of pastels and lace, but there’s a glint in your eyes that’s all chaos.

“You’re late,” you say without looking up, clearly aware of your power.

“You’re cute,” he replies, slipping into the seat across from you. “Which makes up for your attitude.”

“Was told you’d try flirting before saying hello. Points for consistency.”

Nagumo leans in, chin in his hand. “Do you always come to blind dates armed with sass?”

You sip your drink slowly. “Only when I suspect the guy’s secretly carrying ten weapons.”

“Eleven,” he corrects, grinning. “You caught me on a light day.”

The conversation flows. You tease him for ordering strawberry pancakes with extra syrup. He teases you for bringing a Sanrio plush as moral support. Somewhere between sharing bites of cake and debating which characters would win in a fight, the tension turns comfortable.

“So,” he says, eyeing you. “Would you stab someone with me or for me?”

You grin. “Depends. Do they talk during movies?”

He lets out a full laugh, throwing his head back. “Shin and Lu were right.”

“About what?”

“That you might just be dangerous enough to be my type.”

Later, he walks you home, hands in his pockets, listening to you talk about the time you broke into a museum by accident.

He doesn’t ask for your number.

He hands you his knife and says, “Bring this back on our second date. If you don’t, I’ll find you anyway.”

You grin. “Can’t wait.”

Uzuki kei

Set up by: kumanomi & gaku

“You’re sulking,” Gaku announces, arms folded.

“I’m reading,” Uzuki corrects, not looking up from his book.

“You’re rotting,” Kumanomi says flatly. “Go meet someone who doesn’t smell like weapon oil.”

They set him up at a minimalist tea shop. He arrives precisely on time, silent, dressed in black, hair slightly messy in that purposeful way.

You’re already there, thumbing through a worn poetry book. He freezes for a second.

“That’s mine,” he says.

You glance up. “Used bookstore in the 6th district. Margins full of haunted scribbles. Thought you might want it back.”

He sits slowly, eyes scanning the pages. His notes—chaotic, sharp—stare back at him. You flip to a marked page.

“You wrote, ‘I wonder if monsters write love letters in blood or bone.’ Romantic.”

His throat tightens. “Why agree to this?”

“Because Gaku said you might be interesting if someone didn’t immediately try to kill you.”

Uzuki blinks.

“And because I like people who bleed in metaphors.”

He’s not used to being read like a novel, and he hates how that softens him. But you don’t try to make him talk. You sip your tea and let the silence breathe.

Then you say, “You read fast. But do you remember the things that hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

By the time you part ways, he’s written your name on the back page of that book.

Not in blood. Just ink. But it’s the same thing for him.

Shin asakura

Set up by: Lu

“You’re spiraling,” Lu tells him as he adjusts his blazer for the tenth time.

“I’m fine,” Shin lies. “Do I look fine? I feel like I’m vibrating. Did she see the yearbook picture?”

“She laughed at it. She thinks you’re ‘charmingly awkward.’”

“I’m going to combust.”

At the retro diner, you’re already sipping a soda float, smiling when you see him.

“Hi, Shin! I’ve been looking forward to this.”

He forgets how to breathe. “Hi—I mean, yes! Me too! I mean—I wasn’t—uh—Lu told me not to—” He stops. “I like your—drink.”

You blink. Then smile. “You’re adorable.”

Shin blinks. She thinks I’m adorable. This is not a drill.

You start chatting about anime, books, and the psychic cat show you both love. Shin warms up slowly, especially when you make him laugh so hard soda shoots out his nose.

“You’re not nervous anymore,” you note.

“I am. I’m just having more fun than I expected.”

“Good. I like people who get overwhelmed and try anyway.”

He walks you home, hovering awkwardly.

You say, “I had a good time.”

“Me too,” he says. “Uh—can we—do this again?”

You kiss his cheek and grin. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

He walks home glowing like a human lightbulb.

Natsuki seba

Set up by: Mafuyu & Toramaru

“You’re not backing out.”

“I didn’t agree in the first place,” Natsuki hisses, pulling his apron off after a long shift at the JCC café. “I have things to do.”

“Like what?” Mafuyu leans dramatically on the counter. “Reorganize the spice shelf alphabetically again? That girl actually likes you.”

Toramaru grins. “She thinks you’re ‘mysterious and good with your hands.’ Don’t waste this.”

Natsuki flushes instantly. “Wh—how does she even know that?!”

Mafuyu smirks. “Maybe because you fix the coffee machines like a scientist. Or because you look like you're always five seconds from either kissing someone or dying of embarrassment.”

“Kill me now.”

“Go. Shower. I already told her you’d meet her at that pastry café near the park.”

Later…

Natsuki arrives early. Too early. He’s sitting in a corner booth of the pastel-colored café, nervously fidgeting with the menu, wondering if he should escape through the window.

Then you walk in—looking around, a little nervous, scanning the crowd—until your eyes land on him. You smile.

“Hi. You’re Natsuki, right?”

He stands up too fast and almost knocks the water over. “Y-Yeah. Uh. Hi. I—uh—”

You slide into the seat across from him, setting your bag down gently. “They weren’t wrong. You really are cute when you panic.”

He chokes on his breath. “Wh—You’re not supposed to say that out loud.”

You laugh, and it’s warm—not mocking. Comforting. “Sorry. I just figured we should get the flustering out of the way early.”

“I’m not flustered,” he mutters, eyes darting anywhere but your face.

“You’re holding the menu upside down.”

He looks down and swears softly under his breath.

You order tea and a lavender cupcake, and he orders something safe: black coffee and a slice of butter cake. You talk about the café, about weird customers, about how Mafuyu keeps inserting himself into conversations that aren’t his.

“So… why’d you agree to this?” he finally asks, eyes lowered, spoon tapping his cup gently.

You shrug. “Mafuyu said you’re thoughtful and really bad at taking compliments. He’s right.”

His ears turn pink. “He told you that?”

“And Toramaru said you bake apology pastries when you’re stressed.”

“…Also true.”

You pull a small napkin from your bag. On it is a poorly drawn doodle of a cupcake with a smiley face and the words, “Let’s go on another date?”

He stares. “You had that prepared?”

“Just in case.” You smile. “Well?”

Natsuki gently takes the napkin, folds it, and tucks it in his pocket.

“I… I’ll bake something better than that cupcake next time. Just for you.”

You grin. “I’ll hold you to that.”

From across the street, Mafuyu takes a photo of the moment, zooming in on Natsuki’s pink ears.

“Can’t wait to blow this up for blackmail purposes.”

Toramaru snorts. “We’re good matchmakers.”

[heartnearu]

Warm Silence | P.SH

park sunghoon x f!reader [ONE SHOT]

synopsis: you brighten sunghoons world the same way the sun brings warmth to a cold day. to him, you’re everything. you’re the hush in his heart, the softness in all his hard edges, the steady in his storm, his anchor, his home. yet somehow, you felt out of reach—like a dream he could never quite hold onto.

genre: angst / romance / SLOW burn

tropes: childhood best friends / first love / boy next door / coming of age / SELF SABOTAGE

DISCLAIMER!! i am no professional. i am simply an insomniac with an idea. my writing may be terrible but this is only for fun. this is FICTION!

WC: 8k

songs: when the sun hits - slow dive | all i need - radiohead | we are the people - empire of the sun | meet me halfway - black eyed peas

NOTE: high school! AU | reader uses she/her pronouns. i currently cannot think of any possible warnings, but if you suggest what i should put after reading it i will happily do so :)

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

the persistent tapping on his window pulls sunghoon from the restless dream that had kept him from getting a good night’s sleep.

with a groan, he turned over and buried himself beneath the blanket, wishing he could somehow melt into the mattress and eventually disintegrate into the air so he could at least be at peace.

who needs him this early anyways?

whoever or whatever it is that’s tapping annoyingly can wait until later when he actually has the power to socialize. he’d rather apologize for ‘not hearing’ their calls or say that he ‘thought it was a bird’ than lose sleep and get up early.

he should be grateful—after all, he was awaken from a bad dream that never seemed to end. but he still clung to the hope of getting a few more hours of sleep, convinced nothing could stop him. sleeping is one of the very few escapes that asked for nothing in return.

the constant tapping went to a sudden halt. with his eyes still closed, sunghoon smiled at the profound silence as he shifted in his bed to get comfortable.

everything from his sheets to his current position felt perfect—he could already tell that it was going to be a good few hour nap by how he was sinking into the mattress.

just as sleep began to take him, a voice suddenly shattered the silence.

“sunghoon! you’re lucky i don’t have anything else to throw at your window, because i promise you i would’ve kept going!”

at the sound of your voice, sunghoon’s eyes snapped open—without skipping a beat, he quickly got out of bed, almost face planting onto the floor in the process due to the blanket tangled around his legs.

by the time he was at his window, he was flushed and out of breath but opened the window without hesitation. across from him was you, leaning against your own window.

you blinked at his sudden presence in front of you and paused as he caught his breath. his gaze settles on you, eyes tracing your features with a quiet intensity, trying to memorize every detail.

an odd feeling blooms in his chest, subtle but persistent. it feels like he misses you, though you’re standing right in front of him, and he can’t quite understand why.

it’s feels as if it’s the first time he has seen you in a while, even though you did homework together just last night.

he pushes the feeling aside, deciding he’ll make sense of it later. just as his lips parted to voice his concerns—you burst into laughter.

the confusion growing on his face only fueled your giggle fit even more. you didn’t notice how his features softened at the scene in front of him.

you put a hand on your chest, trying to catch your breath,“if i would have known that calling for you worked more efficiently nowadays, i would have done so twenty something rocks ago.” you raise your voice slightly so he can hear you,“anyways.. you got less than fifteen minutes to get ready to leave because we’re gonna be late!”

“late?” sunghoon questioned with furrowed brows, “late to where?” he slightly tilted his head as he pondered what you could mean.

he couldn’t recall making plans with you—though he didn’t exactly oppose the idea of going out with you spontaneously.

“well..” you pause and cocked your head as you thought about it for a second, almost mimicking what sunghoon had done unconsciously. “not exactly late but you know, we wouldn’t get the usual view we do when we go around this time.”

you wave your hand trying to dismiss him,“go change, ask questions later” you try shooing him back into his room.

he frowned,“you’re no help. how do you expect me to change when i don’t even know where we’re going?”

you roll your eyes and smile,“you worry too much, just change and meet me outside. don’t forget your keys and your license ‘cause you’re driving today. just wear something you’ll be comfortable in and won’t regret wearing later, okay? see you in a bit hoonie!”

your eyes sparkled in anticipation before you closed your window, leaving no time for sunghoon to question you any longer.

sunghoon sighed and shook his head with a faint smile—what was he going to do with you?

・୨ ✦ ୧・

you hummed with the song playing on the video you watched on your phone as sunghoon started his car.

sunghoon tapped on the screen, trying to connect his phone to bluetooth,“so.. where are we going? ‘cause i can’t go anywhere without knowing a little bit about this place that you want us to go to.”

he turns to you with a lopsided grin, handing you his phone so that you can play music.

“hm.. i guess you’re right. well, i wanted to go to the lake we always used to go to when we were kids.” you replied, unlocking his phone so that you can get to spotify.

“the one our moms took us to every summer?” he asked, raising a brow.

you hummed, still scrolling on his phone looking for songs to put in queue. “yeah. we haven’t gone in a while and i wanted to go with you before we get busy with college after we graduate in a couple days.”

you paused to ask if he wanted any songs in particular, when he shook his head you continued scrolling, “i know we have summer and all but.. i don’t know…everything will feel too real by then. plus this is basically us just doing stuff we used to do before we’re sent off to ‘adult life’ where things are actually somewhat serious.”

sunghoon understood what you meant.

recently, everything has been feeling so stressful yet freeing because you guys will finally be able to leave the hellhole known as high school.

you both have been stacked with work from your teachers who swear that they’re ’preparing you for adult life’ but the both of you know it’s a load of bull, most of it is just filler work because they have nothing else for students to do since it’s the end of the year. they just want to keep students busy and get their pay check but what sucks is that it’s a part of his grade, meaning he had to do it.

with a destination now in mind, sunghoon starts driving.

he glanced at you and snickered. “so, is that why you decided to wake me up with a handful of rocks accompanied with your terrible aim? who would have thought that someone as amazing as you could miss a target as big as my bedroom window.” he says sarcastically.

you gasp at his sarcasm,“don’t be rude,” you reach over to flick his temple but failed miserably due to him being able to somehow grab your wrist before you got close enough to hit him.

you gave up and let out a dramatic huff,“you’re just mad that i was smart enough to throw the ones that were a little too big at the wall so that i don’t break your window the same way you broke mine last time.”

“i was twelve!” he quickly defended,“and that’s not fair, yeji basically set me up for failure that time! she swore it wouldn’t break. plus it was the only thing we had available to throw that would make enough noise to catch your attention”

he heard you stifle a laugh as you remembered the day sunghoon’s little sister gaslighted him into believing that your window was indestructible simply because she was bored and wanted to watch the new spongebob episode but couldn’t because she was grounded.

“whatever, whatever.” you dismiss with a grin,“you’re both at fault, all that trouble to see spongebob through my window just for you guys to get grounded for another week AND not even getting to see said episode.”

sunghoon scrunched his nose in fake annoyance, barely hiding the smile tugging at his lips as you continued laughing.

he glanced at you, eyes soft with something unspoken, as a quiet warmth began to stir in his chest. his gaze shifted back to the road as he shook his head, laughing slightly at the memory.

once the laughter died down, you turned to him with a sigh and a lingering smile.

“yeah, i decided if we’re already going to be doing something we did together when we were younger, why not go all out?” you shrugged with a grin,“this our last time being ‘kids,’ or at least free from responsibilities—might as well make it fun and worth our while, right?”

sunghoon chuckled and nodded,“right.”

・୨ ✦ ୧・

the two of you had been at the lake for hours, talking about everything and nothing all at once. it was filled of laughter and nostalgia.

you took pictures with your digital camera, claiming that memories were meant to be preserved—not just remembered. sunghoon agreed with a quiet smile as you both recorded random moments on his camcorder he kept in his car—just in case memories like these came around.

you had brought along a blanket and a picnic basket packed with a blend of both your favorite dishes, that were long gone by now. he wasn’t sure when you had packed everything, but he didn’t question it.

sunghoon watched you closely as you rambled about a game that recently came out.

a unsolicited storm of unspoken feelings returned and sat heavy in his chest, but he stayed quiet. how could he tell you what was on his mind when it might ruin the peace you shared?

a sigh escaped him, soft and unbidden—born from the ache of everything left unsaid. but the thought of losing you, someone who had come to mean everything, sealed his lips with silence.

he wanted nothing more than to hold you gently—to treat you with the love he knew you deserved. but how could he, when you had no idea how deeply sunghoon felt for you?

you’d been in each other’s lives for as long as either of you could remember, and who’s to say your feelings hadn’t stayed the same?

he only wished he had shown you, back then, that he saw you as more than just a friend. it would’ve made his current predicament easier to deal with. but no amount of wishing could turn back time or rewrite the silence he’d left behind.

now, he could only choose between staying silent and protecting your friendship or voicing his feelings and hope that you feel the same.

the call of his name pulled him out of his thoughts, he blinked at you as you looked at him with knitted brows, confused. “are you okay? you blanked out for a second.”

sunghoon felt his face flush the moment he realized you noticed his silence.

“huh? oh–” he rubbed his neck, flashing a shy smile,“just.. thinking about the next few days.” he swallowed hard, hoping hoping you couldn’t hear the thudding in his chest.

you looked at him quizzically, eyes narrowing slightly before you hummed and turned away in thought.

he exhaled, relief flooding his chest when you didn’t question him further. and yet, a quiet ache remained. the words he’d spoken clung to him, far heavier in meaning than he’d let on.

a few beats of silence passed between the two of you.

it wasn’t uncomfortable—even with the ache in sunghoon’s heart, your presence felt like a warm embrace.

for a fleeting second, it felt like the world and all it’s problems had melted away. there were no words, just a shared stillness that felt like home.

time seemed to pause, and for a while, it was just you and him—nothing more, nothing less.

sunghoon can feel something unspoken had passed between you.

your gaze drifts back to him, soft and searching.

“sunghoon,” you uttered, laced with something he can’t quite place—something that makes his chest tighten.

he hums in response, eyes flicking away from yours, like he’s afraid of what he might find there. terrified of mistaking something so small for something more.

“sometimes,” you begin, voice barely above a whisper—like you’re carrying something fragile that might shatter something if you let them out.

“i think i care about you more than i should.”

his breath hitched as an invisible hand gripped his heart with so much force, he could feel the pain in his chest.

his eyes trailed back to you and absorbed your expression—unguarded and achingly vulnerable.

oh, how he wishes he could confess every thought racing through his mind—wishing he could tell you how much you truly mean to him. how deeply he cares about you.

the words are hidden under his tongue, aching to be set free. he feels the pull on his heart, its desperate to let you in.

when he finally opens his mouth, his voice betrays him.

"maybe we both do.” he paused,“but... you shouldn't say things like that unless you mean them."

・୨ ✦ ୧・

his mind was everywhere but where it needed to be.

he hadn’t slept—not with your words still echoing in his head and the weight of his own response haunting him long after the moment had passed.

he couldn’t focus, he wouldn’t let himself. his mind keeps circling back to yesterday's conversation.

how could he be so stupid? he had you right in front of him but he let you slip from his grasp.

you were so close yet so far.

maybe it didn’t mean anything. maybe nothing had changed.

god, he hoped so.

you laughed it off, changed the subject like it was nothing. he didn’t want you to—but what could he have done? he wasn’t going to force you into a conversation you don’t want to be apart of.

he wanted you to say something, to add on to what you were saying, maybe even explain what you meant, anything—but he just sat there, letting you grow distant.

you didn’t act differently on the drive home.

if anything, it was the same as the ride to the lake. it was your playful teasing and easy laughter paired with his sarcastic remarks and lighthearted banter.

you both parted briefly to shower—the lake air still clung stubbornly to his skin after the drive.

sunghoon thought that you would take that chance to no longer be in his vicinity, but surprisingly, you still came over to watch star wars with him and yeji in honor of may fourth.

you even stayed for dinner and shared laughs with his family; it was nothing new, but the twisting in his gut never left. the weight of what he didn’t say rested on his shoulders like judgment—unshifting and brutal.

you acted like everything was normal.

but that’s what scared him. because he knew you.

he knew how you avoided conflict. he knew how you’d smile through discomfort and pretend everything was fine, just so things wouldn’t get weird.

you wouldn’t tell him if he had hurt you. you wouldn’t call him out for messing up. you’d just carry it alone—and that thought alone made the ache in his heart grow sharper.

you didn’t deserve that.

you don’t deserve someone like him—someone who couldn’t even say what he really wanted without being terrified of what could happen.

you deserve a love without hesitation, and he longs to be the one to give it. he'd give up everything without a second thought if it meant he’d have an eternity with you.

it’s not even about whether you return his feelings anymore. it’s about whether you’d still choose to stay his friend, knowing he wants something more, when you don’t.

if he knew for a fact that you would still be by his side one way or another, he would confess and take the rejection. he really would.

but the thought of you pulling away, drifting so far that the two of you stopped speaking altogether—that would break him.

at least, that’s what he tells himself.

you’ve been part of his life for so long, so woven into every moment that mattered, that he simply cannot imagine a future without you in it. and now, all he could think about was how he could be the reason why you’d want to distance yourself.

he hated the thought that it might’ve been his fault.

you offered him something delicate, something unspoken and real—and he broke it before he even realized what he was holding.

that mistake might’ve cost him the one thing he never wanted to lose: you. and the only person he has to blame is himself.

or maybe… maybe he imagined it all.

what if he took it all out of context? what if he overanalyzed every word, every glance—searching for signs that weren’t even there?

maybe he was reading too far into things, twisting moments into something more than what they really were.

obsessing over gestures that were never meant to mean anything—because deep down, he so desperately wished they had.

though his mind swirled with endless possibilities, what bothered him the most was that he hadn’t seen you all day.

・୨ ✦ ୧・

sunghoon’s leg bounced anxiously under his desk—eyes flickering between the board, the clock, and his phone as if it’s going to make time go by faster.

with an irritated huff, sunghoon slumped back into his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest—impatient and clearly annoyed by how painfully slow the class was dragging on.

every second felt deliberately stretched, like the universe was playing a cruel joke on him.

he needed to get out of this classroom.

his eyes scanned the room, trying to find something to distract him as he waited for the bell to ring.

his thoughts drifted back to this morning, he found it strange when you didn’t come out to walk with him to school at the time you usually do. still, he waited.

as the minutes ticked by and the first bell crept closer, his confusion only deepened.

what was taking you so long? you hated being late.

his mouth pulled into a faint frown.

were you avoiding him?

sunghoon bit the inside of his cheek, debating whether to knock and ask your mom if you’d left early or just leave.

he wanted to do the former but what if you needed space? he knew you wouldn’t tell him if you did—not because you didn’t care, but because you’d never want to hurt him.

you'd never been good at saying no, it just wasn’t in your nature.

so, he walked to school alone.

jake sat beside him, eyeing sunghoon with concern—to him, sunghoon was acting weird. nothing like his usual demeanor.

sunghoon wasn’t exactly known for being cheerful and all smiles, but even for him, this felt off—and he had no idea why.

jake leaned in slightly. “sunghoon,” he whispered, careful not to draw the teacher’s attention.

sunghoon stayed lost in thought, seemingly unfazed, offering no response.

jake glanced at jay, seated on his other side, who looked just as worried.

“what’s up with him?” jay murmured, nodding toward sunghoon.

jake shrugged and glanced back at sunghoon once again,“i’ve been trying to figure it out all day. he’s just been.. out of it.”

the two exchanged hushed theories, voices low, trying to piece together what could’ve left sunghoon so distant, so unlike himself, so distraught.

the sudden sound of their teacher clearing his throat brought their whispers to an abrupt halt.

they tensed as they recognize the previously unnoticed presence behind them.

they laughed nervously as their teacher shot them a sharp glare. they quickly turned back in their seats and sat up straight.

sunghoon observed the exchange with a quirked brow, only now realizing the teacher had moved from the front to the back of the class.

somehow, he missed it entirely—but there was no time to dwell on it as the bell rang, echoing through the halls, signaling the end of class and the end of the school day.

sunghoon shot to his feet so fast it left jay and jake exchanging bewildered looks before they rushed to catch up to him.

by the time they finally caught up to him, they were at the far end of the school.

jake and jay paused, trying to catch their breath before confronting sunghoon.

sunghoon did a double take when he noticed them.

“what are you guys doing here?” he asked, glancing between them with a questioning look.

“we were trying to—” jake began, panting, “—hold on.”

he doubled over coughing between words, “oh my god, i’m dying.” jake said dramatically.

jay and sunghoon grimaced and patted his back, trying to help him with whatever it is that he’s slightly choking on.

jay turned to sunghoon after giving jake his water bottle and making sure he was okay. “what he was trying to say is… what’s going on with you today? are you okay?”

jake's forehead creased with worry as jay's eyes narrowed slightly, scanning sunghoon for answers.

at the question, sunghoon’s eyes avoided jay’s, landing on the door in front of him, like it held all the answers.

he nodded slowly, shifting uncomfortably on his feet,“yeah.. why wouldn’t i be?” his hands constantly readjusting the strap of his bag.

jake followed sunghoon’s gaze, and the moment his eyes landed on the door, his mouth parted in realization.

he nearly smacked his forehead, kicking himself for not thinking of it sooner. nudging jay to get his attention, he subtly nodded toward the door.

jay turned to look—and only then did it hit him where they had followed sunghoon to.

they stood in front of the student council room—the place the council always hung out when they weren’t in class.

there was only one reason sunghoon would come here, and it’s to find you.

jay and jake exchanged a look, the pieces starting to come together—they finally had an idea of what might’ve been weighing on sunghoon.

the only problem now was figuring out how to get him to open up to them.

right before any of them could do or say anything, the door swung open with frustrated mumbles trailing behind it. their attention snapped back to the door, expecting to find you.

instead, they were met with jungwon—and a look of confusion from the student council president himself.

he stilled, eyes scanning each of their faces trying to recognize them. the four of them stood there for a moment, wrapped in a brief, awkward silence.

the three older boys stood frozen, unsure of what to do or say. it felt like they’d been caught red-handed despite not having done anything wrong.

jake opened his mouth, prepared to break the silence, but jungwon spoke first.

“ah, sunghoon hyung.” jungwon’s stiff posture relaxed slightly as recognition settled in. “sorry—it took me a second to figure out who you guys were.”

he greeted jay and jake as well, giving a quick bow before continuing, “we’ve been stuck in meetings all day because of your graduation coming up so my head is a little scrambled.” jungwon let out a sheepish laugh, clearly embarrassed.

sunghoon stood back, quietly observing as the three of them caught up—jungwon had been swamped lately with end-of-year duties, so it had been a while.

sunghoon chimed in occasionally with a comment or two, but for the most part, he stayed reserved. content to just listen.

he zoned out for a couple minutes, thinking of the other places you could be when jungwon suddenly perked up beside him. sunghoon’s eyes drifted back towards him due to his sudden movement.

“oh! sunghoon hyung, i almost forgot to tell you—” sunghoon hummed in acknowledgment, waiting for him to continue. “noona asked me to let you know she had to leave about thirty minutes ago during her free period. she got a call from home and said she’d explain everything later. she also apologized for not messaging you—said she didn’t have her phone on her, and that she’d explain that too. although, i’m not totally sure what happened. she was kind of rambling and talking really fast while running around trying to grab all her stuff.”

sunghoon smiled softly, knowing that was very on brand for you.

he already felt lighter knowing that you had promised to talk to him later. “thank you for letting me know jungwon-ya.” jungwon only nodded before jake started poking at him.

as jake teased jungwon over something trivial, sunghoon laughed and joined jake’s antics—noticing how relaxed jungwon looked for once.

jay’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter. “yah, give the poor kid a break,” he said, grinning. “he’s barely had time to breathe, and here you guys are messing with him.”

jungwon let out a dramatic groan. “next time, I’m just going to pretend I don’t know you guys and walk right past.” a mischievous glint sparked in his eyes as he added,“or i might just pull the student council president card on you.”

the three of them gasped in mock disbelief.

“you wouldn’t!” jay accused, pointing dramatically.

jungwon smirked, raising his brows. “oh, i would.”

“no way…” jake clutched sunghoon’s shoulders. “is this what betrayal feels like?”

sunghoon fought the urge to laugh, turning away from jungwon with exaggerated flair.

“i—i can’t even look at you right now.” he suddenly collapsed onto jake, dramatically wailing,“oh, what has my precious child become!”

the four of them burst into laughter at the sheer stupidity of their conversation. the air around them feeling light and tender.

jungwon grinned, his dimpled smile shining bright. “oh, what-ever! i’ll do what i must to survive. besides, you senior citizens are graduating this weekend. talk about going out with a scene.” he shook his head, clearly joking.

sunghoon found the conversation around him fading into a blur.

・୨ ✦ ୧・

he wasn’t sure how he got there, but sunghoon was at your doorstep, torn between raising his hand to knock or going back home to wait for you to find him first.

he glared at your front door, teeth tugging at the cracked skin on his lips—anxious, uncertain.

he wasn’t sure what to expect.

were you just going to move on like yesterday never happened? the idea made his brows crease.

he didn’t want you to brush off what you said yesterday—but he had no idea how to bring it up himself.

what if you didn’t mean it the way he thought you did?

had he really let himself believe you meant something more?

had the line between his desires and your intentions blurred so much that he couldn’t tell when you were just being friendly?

his jaw clenched in quiet frustration.

when had your actions become so hard to read that he couldn’t tell where genuine affection ended and casual kindness began?

maybe the line was never blurred—you were just kind, and he was just foolish enough to hope it was something else.

with a heavy sigh, sunghoon’s head dropped into his hands as the weight of it all pressed down on him.

his mind was spinning, thoughts pounding so loud it hurt—each one louder than the last, his skull throbbing.

it shouldn’t be this hard, but it always was.

he stood there, swallowed whole by the never ending spiral he always found himself in.

he scoffed under his breath.

why did he have to be such a coward?

a voice spoke up behind him, startling him. “unless you’ve got secret powers, you might want to try knocking, sunghoon-ah.”

sunghoon stepped back, heat rising to his cheeks as he turned to face your mother.

he dipped his head with a sheepish grin, “ah, sorry, imo.” he laughed nervously, hand reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “i wasn’t sure if anyone was home.”

she glanced at him with amusement.

“i see,” your mother said with a knowing smile, brushing past sunghoon to unlock the door. “there’s no need to stand out here like a stranger, sunghoon-ah.”

once the door was unlocked, she pushed it open and gestured him to come in. “you know you’re always welcome here—so don’t to hesitate to knock. you’re practically family at this point.”

sunghoon smiled faintly, bowing in gratitude before stepping inside.

his gaze swept the room with a quiet kind of recognition—that familiar feeling from yesterday settled over him again.

it was déjà vu, laced with something heavier. a hush of melancholy lingered in the air.

it was that same quiet ache, longing mixed with sorrow—as if he’d slipped into a memory he desperately wanted to relive.

sunghoon refused to acknowledge it, pushing the feeling aside.

instead, he made small talk with your mom—asking how work had been, how your dad was doing and when he’d be back from his work trip.

not even an hour had passed when he heard the soft click of the front door.

everything around him faded into silence the moment he saw you. all he could do was take in your presence.

“eomma! you won’t believe who i saw at the market.” you groaned, placing the grocery bags on the floor and slipping into your house slippers with practiced ease.

you rambled on, only to pause mid-sentence when your eyes finally met sunghoon’s. your features lit up.

“i was wondering when you’d show up.” you said, smiling so wide, it reached your eyes. “what took you so long?”

he hadn’t realized you could shine this brightly—your smile lit up the room, your eyes glittering with something pure.

sunghoon felt it hit him all at once, like light pouring through cracks.

the noise in his head faded, the heaviness in his chest eased, replaced by something warm and light that touched the sore parts of his heart.

you always had that effect on him—your presence settled into him like sunlight seeping through closed curtains.

you made him feel seen, even without him having to speak. and he kept chasing that quiet sense of peace, drawn to the only thing that ever truly grounded him.

you.

you went on,“have you been waiting long?”

sunghoon shook his head and walked over, “i got here around the same time as your mom.” he replied. gently taking the grocery bags from your hands.

your fingertips brushed his, lingering like fire on his skin—a sensation that burned deeper than he’d ever admit.

after a quick glance at the time, you gave a small nod with a faint smile. “so, about thirty minutes ago? that’s not too bad.”

sunghoon set the bags on the counter and began handing you items as you put them away, falling into an easy rhythm beside you.

the two of you slipped into conversation, unaware of the fond smile your mom wore as she watched from across the room.

she excused herself, saying work had worn her out and she needed to wind down for the night.

you both wished her goodnight after confirming she didn’t want anything to eat.

once you finished organizing the kitchen, you dragged sunghoon to the living room.

“seeing that you’re here, i figure jungwon was able to reach you, right?” you question with a knowing grin.

sunghoon let out a soft chuckle as he settled onto your sofa.

“didn’t expect you to forget your phone—you’re usually glued to it. for you, that’s like saying you forgot how to breathe,” he teased, flashing a dimpled grin. “what happened? decided you finally wanted to touch grass?”

you rolled your eyes. “ha, ha. very funny.” you flicked his forehead lightly. “i’m laughing so hard, i think i might pass out.”

he laughed. “you should be grateful, you basically have a comedic genius for a friend.” he tilted his chin smugly,“not many people can say that.”

“oh my gosh, you’re so right!” you replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. “how could i not when i have front-row seats to your one-man show, delusions and dimples? truly, i’m blessed.”

he leaned back, still grinning. “i’d ask for a tip, but i already know i’m your favorite act.”

you scoffed. “oh, absolutely. i tune in every week just to remind myself what not to laugh at.”

he shot you a playful look,“just say i’m funny—your pride will survive, i promise.”

“yeah, you’re funny—” you paused, a mischievous glint in your eye,“—looking. ohhh!” you gasped dramatically, yelling as you covered your mouth and pointed at him before bursting into laughter.

he threw his head back with an exaggerated groan. “you’re unbelievable.” he bit back a smile, shaking his head in mock defeat.

once your laughter faded, you finally took the chance to explain yourself.

“anyways, like i was saying before you decided to be funny,” you said, shooting him a playful glare. “i forgot the council had meetings all day today. i was rushing to get ready and thought i put my phone in my pocket, when i didn’t. i didn’t even realize until i got to my first meeting at seven. so i couldn’t text you not to wait on me since i was already stuck at school with the rest of the council.”

sunghoon nodded along, eyes focused on you as you spoke.

“then, when we were done with the meetings,” you continued, “my dad called the school trying to get a hold of me since i wasn’t answering my phone—he wanted me to pick up the gift he got for my mom for mother’s day this weekend. i tried seeing if i could go after school ended so you could come with me after your class, but he said the store wouldn’t hold it if someone else wanted it. so i left in a rush again and asked jungwon to do me the favor of letting you know.”

you pursed your lips, trying to think if you’d missed anything.

“and once i got home, i was waiting for you—but then my mom called and asked if i could grab a few things from the store. and now…” you gestured loosely around you, shrugging. “here we are.”

he blinked slowly. “wow. you really know how to keep a guy on his toes.” he tilted his head, voice light. “next time, just send a carrier pigeon.”

you arched a brow, fighting back a smile.

“and spoil you with instant updates? i’d hate to ruin the suspense.” then, with a dramatic hair flip, you added, “you know i’ve got a mysterious and nonchalant persona to maintain.”

sunghoon scoffed, “yeah, right! you’re like, the least nonchalant person i know.” he threw a pillow towards you, chuckling lightly. “you’d trip over your own ‘mysterious aura’ five minutes in.”

you waved a hand dramatically. “well, being unforgettable is kind of my thing. i keep things interesting.” then, with a pointed stare, you added, “you clearly don’t understand the art of subtle chaos.”

sunghoon hummed, then gave you a small smile, his eyes softer now.

“you really didn’t have to explain all that.” he nudged your knee with his. “but i’m glad you did.”

you gave him a small smile in return.

“i just didn’t want you to think i was avoiding you or anything.” your voice dropped a little. “i would’ve told you if i could.”

“i know you would’ve,” he gave a small shrug. “i just didn’t expect an explanation. i mean… it’s just me.”

you looked at him, expression gentle.

“you don’t have to be ‘someone special’ for me to care. you just… matter to me.” he felt your eyes on him—careful, almost hesitant, like you were trying to read him. “i explained myself because i wanted to, not because i had to.”

his heart pounded so hard it echoed in his ears, and for a moment, he wondered if you could feel it too.

・୨ ✦ ୧・

confetti surrounded everyone after the principal congratulated the graduating class for the final time.

cheers in the stadium echoed, the moment felt euphoric.

students tossed their hats into the air, laughter and tears being mixed in the breeze.

happiness lingered—the kind that comes with endings, beginnings, and everything in between.

sunghoon turned to you with a wide smile, met instantly by yours. your eyes shined beneath the confetti filled sky.

he swept you into his arms, spinning you in a whirl of celebration and color, your laughter rising above the chaos in a way that made everything else fade.

his heart felt light, full of pride and something softer, as he thought about how far you both had come.

after the ceremony and dozens of photos, both your families came together for a celebratory dinner—laughter, stories, and congratulations shared over clinking glasses and full plates.

sunghoon watched as his family effortlessly blended with yours, the familiarity between them clear in every laugh and shared memory.

moments like this had always stretched into hours—it was just how things were. and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

his eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, sitting beside his sister.

the sight made him smile—he cared deeply for you both, and watching you get along always stirred something warm in his chest.

his head tilted slightly when he caught yeji’s mischievous expression, paired with your confused one as you tried to follow whatever she was saying.

it wasn’t until yeji caught his eye and shot him a wink paired with a smirk that his heart sank.

what was she telling you?

he shifted in place, debating whether to walk over or let it play out. but the way your brows furrowed had him already taking a step in your direction—just in case.

once he was close enough, sunghoon caught yeji saying,“he once cried over a dog in a movie and blamed it on ‘allergies.’ don’t let the cool act fool you.”

he let out a quiet groan from behind her. “will you ever let that go? seriously, it’s like your life mission is to embarrass me in front of people who aren’t family.”

he had no idea what the conversation was about before that, but he could only hope yeji had stuck to harmless stories and nothing more dangerous.

you laughed before teasing,“ i thought he was nonchalant.” you glanced at him with a grin. “guess the act’s been cracked.”

“nonchalant is literally my brand.” he side-eyed yeji. “you just love ruining the mystery, don’t you?”

yeji rolled her eyes. “oh please. unnie’s been in your life longer than i have—she already knows you’re not nearly as mysterious or nonchalant as you think you are.”

sunghoon frowned,“with all this betrayal, it’s obvious who the favorite park is—and which graduate you’re rooting for, yeji.”

you nudged his arm. “don’t worry, you’re still my favorite… most of the time.”

yeji crossed her arms, smugly. “don’t be mad because she likes me more, oppa. i’m just the better choice.”

he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “you two are unreal.”

the three of you kept talking, laughter fading into softer conversations as the night wore on.

slowly, the house settled into silence as people slipped out the door with quiet goodbyes and others deciding to call it a night.

yeji followed soon after, claiming she was tired before bidding the two of you goodnight and retreating to her room.

sunghoon glanced to his side when he felt the warmth next to him vanish—your absence noticeable the moment you stepped away.

he stayed quiet, simply watching as you walked toward the front door, stopping before you reached it.

you turned back to him with a grin. “you coming, or not?”

his smile softened. “wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

he stood and made his way over to you, grabbing his jacket and keys along the way.

with a small gesture, he nodded ahead, letting you guide him through the quiet night—because somehow, being with you always felt like the right direction.

・୨ ✦ ୧・

sunghoon’s fingers tapped along the steering wheel, matching the rhythm of the song blaring through his car speakers.

he drove toward a familiar spot—the one the two of you always seemed to end up at when it felt like it was just you and him against the world.

you sat beside him, singing along without a care, creating your own little performance as he drove.

a faint smile lingered on his lips, your presence grounded him, yet stirred the familiar ache in his chest.

being beside you felt like holding onto something precious with both hands—afraid it might slip away, even though it was right there.

you slip so seamlessly into the cracks of his world, filling spaces he didn’t even know were empty.

you’ve become the quiet force holding him together, the part of him that made the rest feel less scattered.

he glanced back at you, his gaze tracing your features like they were something he could never get tired of looking at.

his eyes shifted back to the road.

in a world where everything kept changing, you were the one thing he always wanted to stay.

the moment sunghoon pulled in, you were already out of the car—like the place had been calling your name.

sunghoon watched you jump out with a shake of his head and a grin.

“you know, normal people wait for the car to stop first,” he called after you, though his tone was all fondness.

he lingered for a second, eyes trailing after you as you ran ahead.

there was something about the way you lit up in certain places, like this one, that made following you feel like the easiest choice in the world.

he made his way to you, breathing in the crisp mountain air as the city shimmered below.

you spun toward him with a glowing smile, eyes glistening like the city lights dancing behind you.

“you always take your time, huh?” you teased, hand slipping around his wrist as you led him to the bench—your shared place to watch the world glow from a distance.

he smirked as he took a seat beside you. “maybe. or maybe I just like seeing if you’ll wait for me.”

you laughed softly, as the lights below flickered like stars. “well, you make it really hard not to.”

while you admired the city below, sunghoon’s gaze never left you, quietly memorizing the moment he already feared of losing.

you both sat in silence, your presence a quiet comfort against the cool summer night.

it’s not like he didn’t want to say anything, he simply didn’t trust his voice. you were just inches away—yet somehow, you still felt out of reach.

he wondered if you knew.

if you could feel how his heart always settled in your presence, how you turned the weight he carried into something lighter.

if you noticed how silence never felt heavy when it was shared with you.

he didn’t need the city lights or the view. he just needed this—whatever this was. whatever you were.

he desperately wanted to reach towards you and tell you everything that he was so afraid of saying.

he ached to tell you, to unravel every truth he’d buried.

he longed to close the distance, to finally speak of the weight in his chest, but the fear that opening his heart would drive you away still lingered—the fear that honesty might cost him the only thing that ever made him feel whole.

but he could feel the confession resting on the tip of his tongue—ready, waiting, willing to let you into his heart.

and though those quiet fears still lingered, their grip was loosening, slowly releasing him from the weight they carried. because right now, in this moment,

it was just you and him.

“this view always has been beautiful.” you murmured, glancing over. but when you turned, he was already looking at you—like the view didn’t matter at all.

“it is beautiful,” he whispered, eyes still on you.

your expression softened into something tender before you turned your gaze back to the city below.

the silence stretched between you as his gaze followed the gentle curve of your profile, admiring how the lights kissed your skin.

he called your name under his breath, barely audible—like part of him hoped you wouldn’t hear it, and the other part needed you to.

a curious hum escaped you as you turned to meet his eyes.

“I…” sunghoon sighed, pressing his lips together.

he looked away for a moment, searching for the right words, before turning back to you.

your gaze hadn’t wavered—still fixed on him, calm and patient, as if you were giving him all the time he needed.

your expression remained soft, touched with quiet curiosity, silently urging him on.

just as his mouth parted, ready to tell you everything—the words stalled on his tongue, trembling at the edge of something real.

for a heartbeat, everything stood still.

but then, almost subtly, the moment began to slip.

the lights dimmed, the cold crept in, and your face, that so clear just seconds ago, blurred around the edges.

he reached for you, hands trembling—desperate to hold onto you as you disappeared into the dark.

you were slipping through his fingers like something that was never meant to stay.

the memory of you blurred, fading into a silence that felt heavier than anything he’d ever known. he felt like he was drowning as the unfamiliar darkness swallowed him whole.

he had been so close. so unbearably close, with his heart in his throat, ready to pour it all out—ready to tell you how much he cared, how deeply and hopelessly he loved you, like his heart had been shaped only to hold yours, and no one else’s.

how loving you had become the only thing that made sense, the only thing that felt like it was written into his bones, something he was meant to do.

something that just came naturally.

how you were the quiet ache behind everything he touched, how his heart had been quietly, endlessly breaking with a love he never quite knew how to give—but had always, always wanted to give to you.

・୨ ✦ ୧・

sunghoon shot up from his bed, breath shaky and uneven.

it took him a moment to remember where he was, to realize you weren’t there.

the silence in the room felt colder than it should’ve, your name still clinging to the back of his throat.

sunghoon jumped at the sudden voice that pulled him out of his daze,“you okay, sunghoon?”

his gaze landed on the two figures standing across the room, having just stepped through the door.

jay and jake stood still, concern written all over their faces—whatever they had been talking about before was clearly left behind the moment they saw him.

it wasn’t until then that he truly registered where he was. not with you. not under the city lights. but here, in his college dorm.

he blinked, trying to slow his breathing, but the weight in his chest hadn’t left. it sat there—heavy, hollow.

sunghoon gave a small nod, though it was far from convincing. “yeah,” he muttered, barely above a whisper. “just… a dream.”

jake looked like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t. instead, he shared a glance with jay—one that said enough.

jay’s frown deepened, concern etched across his face, but neither of them pushed.

the room fell into a quiet tension, the kind that only came when something important went unspoken.

sunghoon didn’t meet their eyes. he looked down at his hands, and they were still trembling slightly.

he had been so close.

the dream still clung to him like a second skin, impossible to shake. it settled in his chest, quiet but suffocating.

all he could do was dwell on what could’ve happened—what he should’ve said when he had the chance.

his eyes drifted to the photos pinned to his wall, pictures of you and him frozen in time, smiling like nothing would ever change. but he knew better.

he was just the friend you grew up with—the one you’d never see that way.

he’ll always yours in silence, never in name.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ MIV— hope you enjoyed! i also apologize if some of the wording does not make sense, i did go over it but in a rush so it's not perfect. i spent days on this because i kept getting side tracked. the amount of times i paused bc i was crashing out is crazy. but i can’t really complain bc im the one that’s writing it so i could quite literally change whatever i want LMAOOO. now that i finished this, i actually have to do my homework. i do not think i will be posting a story or update until maybe the end of next week because of my finals. so, i apologize in advance but college is just kicking my butt rn 😢

please DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate ANY of my works in any way.

[sugardollcurse]

imagine being one of john's best mates and getting introduced as such & it drives paul absolutely mad. every. time. not cause you're also john's friend or always on his damn heels, but he has no idea how john hasn't crossed the line and made you his girl already.

john also seems the type to go "oh watch reader for me real quick?" only to run off for a moment to do something even if the reader doesn't need to be watched, she's grown, damnit. paul just seems perfect for not quite enemies to lovers, more snarky friend to even snarkier lovers. the type to turn bickering into flirting when the two of you are alone and act like nothing happened once john's back.

𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒆

꒰ pairing ꒱ paul mccartney x fem! reader

꒰ summary ꒱ you’ve been john’s best mate since art school. paul doesn’t know how the hell you’re not dating him already... worse, he’s starting to wish he could.

꒰ note ꒱ ohhh you just fed me something delicious...

You're always his girl. Except you aren't.

That’s the bit that drives Paul mad. Not that you're hanging round all the time. Not that you get on with the crew, the tour managers, even bloody Brian. Not that you're quick with a quip or know how John likes his tea or how you always remember the name of whichever poor sod’s driving the van that day.

No, it’s that every time John introduces you, it’s with that same maddening, throwaway affection:

“This is my mate. You’ll love her.”

Not “my bird.” Not “my girl.” Just “my mate.”

As if Paul hasn’t been slowly grinding his molars into chalk for the better part of a year every time you laugh at one of John’s jokes. As if he doesn’t catch your scent when you lean in to whisper some devilish little insult in his ear. As if he didn’t spend a full train ride once just trying to figure out if you'd brushed his knee on purpose.

You're not John’s.

But he hasn’t crossed the line either.

Which is worse.

Because if he had, if John had done the thing that everyone assumes he must’ve done, then Paul could put you out of mind. Swallow it down. Pretend it was some stupid schoolboy crush and not the real, raw thing that knots his chest every time you walk into a room.

But no. Instead, he gets this.

Gets you laughing at John’s side. Gets you falling asleep on his shoulder on long drives. Gets you hopping out of cabs in his old jumpers. Gets the casual, infuriating trust of “Here, watch her for me, would you?” when John needs to nip off to the loo or grab something from the van.

Like you're a bloody teacup.

Like Paul’s not the one biting his tongue bloody every time he’s alone with you.

The first time it happens, he thinks it’s a joke.

“Hey, mate,” John says, one arm slung across your shoulders, “keep an eye on her, yeah? I’ll only be a mo. Don’t let her run off with any Rolling Stones.”

Paul tries to laugh, but it comes out too tight around the edges. He watches as John disappears, swallowed by the hallway, and then turns to find you watching him with that look again... part mischief, part challenge, like you’re waiting to see how long it’ll take him to break.

“Y’need watchin’, then?” he says dryly.

You smirk. “What, worried I’ll get into trouble?”

“Think it’s more likely you are the trouble.”

You grin, one brow cocked. “That why you never leave me alone at parties?”

He blinks.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he mutters.

You lean in. “Oh, come on, Macca. Admit it! You like the company.”

He doesn’t answer. Can’t. Not with the way your voice sounds when you say his name, or the way your leg swings just enough to make his throat go dry.

Five minutes later, John’s back, holding two beers and looking utterly unaware.

It keeps happening.

At first, Paul thinks John must know. Must be winding him up on purpose.

But no. If anything, John’s too oblivious for his own good. Every time he tosses you Paul’s way, it’s without a second thought. Like Paul’s a bloody valet.

“Keep her company, yeah?”

“She’ll eat all the crisps if you don’t watch her.”

“She bites.”

Each time, you roll your eyes. Each time, Paul’s left standing awkwardly beside you, watching you chew your lip or twirl a bottlecap or click your nails together in a rhythm he can’t unhear.

You never comment on it outright. But you know. He’s sure you know. You're too clever not to.

Especially with the way you both talk.

It’s not flirting. Not really.

It’s just... sharp. Fast. Loaded.

“You always this sulky?” you ask one night.

“Only when I’m being babysat,” he shoots back.

You tilt your head. “You’re not my type.”

“Oh, so what is?”

You lean closer, voice like syrup. “Not you, McCartney.”

He watches you walk off with a twist of the hips that has to be deliberate.

John says later, “She said you were broody.”

Paul says, “She’s a hazard.”

━━

One night, backstage, it nearly tips.

They’ve just come offstage, sweaty and high on adrenaline, and you're there in the wings, hair wild from the wind, grinning like you're drunk on the whole bloody circus. John kisses your cheek and runs off to flirt with the local press.

Paul’s left beside you, heart still hammering.

You turn to him.

“You look like you’ve seen God.”

He scoffs. “Just a crowd.”

“You love it.”

“And you don’t?”

You shrug. “I like you in it.”

That throws him.

You step closer. “All sweaty and golden. Think I get why the girls scream.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re takin’ the piss.”

You grin. “A little.”

He stares.

You stare back.

Then John’s voice echoes down the hall: “Where’s my mate? You two snogging back there?”

You spring apart like teenagers.

“Nope!” you call, too bright. “Just bothering Paul.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Paul mutters.

He dreams about it all the time.

━━

It finally cracks in a hotel bar in Glasgow.

John’s off with Brian, talking shop. George and Ringo are somewhere with girls. It’s just Paul and you in a corner booth, low light, empty glasses, the air thick with unspoken things.

You say something about John. A fond little smile. “He’s so soft, really. People don’t see it.”

Paul takes a long sip.

“He doesn’t touch you,” he says.

You look at him.

“What?”

He looks up. His voice is low now, quiet but sharp. “He doesn’t touch you. Not like he would. If you were… his.”

There’s a pause.

Your mouth opens, then closes again.

“Why are you bringing this up?”

Paul leans in, elbows on the table, his voice unraveling.

“Because it’s maddening,” he says. “You’re always there. On his arm. In his shirts. His bloody shadow. But it’s nothing, isn’t it? All of it?”

You don't answer.

He leans in.

“You tell me.”

You meet his gaze. “No. It’s not… not like that.”

He exhales. Hard.

Then: “Good.”

You blink. “Why?”

His mouth twitches. “You wouldn’t last a week with him. He’d forget your birthday.”

“And you wouldn’t?”

“I’d pretend I did. Then throw you a party with a string quartet.”

You snort. “You’re ridiculous.”

He tilts his head. “Still not your type?”

You grin. “Getting warmer.”

He wants to kiss you.

God, he wants to destroy the space between them.

But John comes in with a pint and a grin and a loud “You lot better not be gettin’ married without me!”

And it dies on Paul’s tongue.

━━

Later that night, you knock on his hotel door.

“Can’t sleep,” you say.

He lets you in without a word.

You sit on the bed. Don’t touch.

You talk about the tour. About the screaming girls. About how John seems more tired lately.

Paul listens. Nods. Watches your mouth.

“You’re not what I expected,” you say finally.

“Yeah?”

“Didn’t think you’d be funny.”

He smirks. “Didn’t think you’d be such a pain in my arse.”

You grin. “Bet you’d miss it.”

He leans back on his elbows. “Maybe.”

You lie back beside him. Shoulder to shoulder.

No words.

Just the soft sound of your breathing. The ticking of the wall clock. The weight of everything that hasn’t happened.

Yet.

John never notices.

Or if he does, he never says.

He still tosses you Paul’s way without thinking.

Still calls you “my mate” with that maddening fondness.

Still assumes you're his shadow, not Paul’s secret sun.

And Paul?

Paul keeps his cool.

Mostly.

But when you're alone, when John ducks out, when the hallway clears, when the door clicks shut... something breaks loose in Paul. It’s not sharp, not sudden, but a heavy ache that finally swells into something unbearable.

You're right there, always has been, but now you feel close in a different way. Your perfume clings to the air between the two of you. That little tilt of your head, the way you look at him under your lashes like you know exactly what you're doing. It’s maddening. It’s holy.

He doesn’t say a word. He just stares at you like you're the thing he’s been writing around in his head for a year and never finding the right lyric for.

And you don't move. Just watch him back like you've been waiting.

The moment stretches.

Then, he closes the space.

His hands find your jaw, fingers splayed, reverent. He breathes you in like you're oxygen, like he’s been starving on stage for a month and you're the first full inhale. His forehead presses to yours, lips barely parted.

“You’ve been drivin’ me mad,” he murmurs, voice low, cracking.

"I know."

And then he kisses you.

Not gentle. Not asking. Just, everything.

It’s all heat and frustration and need, the kind of kiss that burns away every inch of distance you've kept too long. His mouth moves like he’s making up for all the times he bit his tongue, all the seconds he let pass between glances and brushing fingers and never quite saying it.

Your hands move to his neck, threading into the curls there, pulling him closer like you're furious with how long it took.

And when you finally break apart, breathless and red-lipped, you say, voice still dazed-

“Took you long enough.”

Paul just rests his forehead against yours again, smiling like he’s found the end of a very long song.

“Aye,” he says, hoarse. “But it’ll be worth it.”

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee

[better-setterv2]

Hi! How are you? Idk if you are not comfortable writing about things that happen in real life (you Can change the name) but i would love to read about reader reaction to lewis liking his ex picture! With a happy ending he thank you

���𝑜𝓉 𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒜 𝐿𝒾𝓀𝑒

Authors Note: Hi all! Here is a quick request I completed today when I should have been doing class work…Enjoy! Lots of love xx

P.S I hope this meets the expectations of what you requested and doesn’t seem rushed

Summary: After discovering Lewis liked a sultry photo of his ex just before her engagement announcement, the reader confronts her insecurities. Only to have Lewis reassure her with a heartfelt proposal that proves she's the only one he wants.

Warnings: bit of angst

Taglist: @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The sun was barely rising over Monaco when you woke up to your phone vibrating with back to back notifications. You almost ignored it - another group chat, probably, or your best friend sending TikToks before her morning coffee. But then you saw her name.

Nicole Scherzinger.

And beneath it, two posts.

The first was a sultry black and white shot of her in a body hugging satin dress, cut high on the thigh, one hand tangled in her hair, the other resting just above her hipbone. She looked radiant. Wild. Free. The caption was a simple black heart.

The second post was a carousel - a ring, a kiss, a sweeping view of Italy.

“Yes a thousand times.” The caption said.

And in the likes?

Lewis Hamilton.

Your heart dropped.

You stared at the screen, feeling everything go unnaturally still the room, your breath, your chest.

You weren’t the jealous type. Not really. You’d seen the pictures of them before, the old red carpet photos, the gossip columns, the recycled headlines. You’d told yourself that was the past. You were his present. His future.

But something about him liking that photo the sultry one, the one posted right before she announced she was engaged…made your stomach twist into knots.

It was like seeing a private moment you weren’t supposed to witness. Like a secret you hadn’t been let in on.

You stared at the photo again. Then again. Then at the comments. And then, finally at the name highlighted among the hundreds of thousands of likes.

Your boyfriend’s name.

Lewis emerged from the shower a few minutes later, towel slung low around his waist, humming something low under his breath. He stopped when he saw the expression on your face.

“Hey. You alright?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you held up your phone.

His brows pulled together. “What’s that?”

“You tell me.” Your voice came out quieter than you meant it to. “You liked her photo. The one where she’s practically naked. And then she posted that she’s engaged.”

Lewis blinked, stepping closer. “I - what? Wait, what are you talking about?”

“She posted a sexy photo,” you said, trying not to sound petty. “Then minutes later posted her engagement. And you liked both.”

His face fell.

He crossed the room, taking your phone gently from your hand and scrolling through the posts. You watched his expression go from confused to frustrated to instantly guilty.

“Shit,” he muttered. “I didn’t even notice the second one.”

“Not sure that makes it better,” you said, trying to keep your voice from cracking. “I know I’m not her. I know you loved her once. But you liking that picture, it felt like you were looking back. Like some part of you still misses it. Misses her.”

“Hey. No.” His voice was sharp but earnest as he crouched in front of you, hands on your knees. “That’s not it. I promise. I didn’t even see the engagement post. I saw the first one when I was half asleep last night and I just scroll, double tap, move on. Mindless. It didn’t mean anything.”

“It meant something to me.”

That’s what broke him.

He sat down beside you on the bed, his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I was careless. I didn’t think about how it might make you feel, and that’s on me.”

You stared down at your hands. “It just hurts. She was such a big part of your past. And sometimes I feel like I’m just standing in her shadow. That no matter how far we go, she’ll always be that part of your life that people compare me to.”

Lewis reached for you, gently lifting your chin until your eyes met his.

“You’re not standing in anyone’s shadow,” he said softly. “And you never will be.”

You stayed quiet, your heart aching in that vulnerable way you hated, the kind that made you feel small. Replaceable.

Lewis stood, turned and went to the drawer in the corner - the one you never really paid attention to. He pulled out a small velvet box and held it in his palm for a second before walking back over.

“I wasn’t gonna do this yet,” he said. “Had some grand plan in mind. Something in Italy maybe next month . Somewhere romantic. But maybe what matters more is doing it right now to show you it’s real. That it truly counts.”

He sank to one knee.

You gasped softly, lips parting, eyes darting between his face and the box in his hand.

“Liking that photo? That was a mistake. But the biggest truth in my life is this - I don’t want her. I don’t want anyone else. It’s always been you. You’re the one I want beside me when I’m tired, when I win, when I lose. You’re the one I think about when I land in a new country, when I’m stuck in traffic, when I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling.”

The box opened, revealing a diamond ring that glimmered even in the soft morning light. It was timeless. Elegant. You.

“I want a life with you. A messy, honest, ridiculously beautiful life,” he said. “Marry me. Let’s make our story the one people talk about.”

You covered your mouth with your hands, breath trembling. The pain in your chest had softened into something warmer, fuller.

“Yes,” you whispered. “God, yes.”

He slipped the ring onto your finger like it belonged there, like you belonged. And when he kissed you, it wasn’t performative or perfect. It was just him sincere and sure and a little shaky, like he’d been holding that love in for too long.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Later that night , social media buzzed again only this time, it was about you.

A new post. From Lewis.

A photo of the two of you curled up on your sun soaked balcony, your ring front and center, his lips pressed to your temple.

Caption: “Some things aren’t for the timeline. But this? This love? I want the world to know.”

There were no more doubts after that.

Not because of the ring.

But because of the way he looked at you every day after, like you were the only person who ever mattered.

Because you were.

Every quiet moment after in the slow mornings tangled in sheets, in the late nights when sleep wouldn’t come and the world felt too loud, he looked at you like that.

Like you were the calm after every storm.

The choice he made a thousand times over.

The beginning and the forever.

And when he held your hand in public, when the flashes went off and whispers of "Is that his fiancée?" rippled through the crowd, he didn’t let go.

He didn’t flinch.

Because you were no secret.

No rebound.

No shadow.

You were it.

His love. His future. His home.

And the whole world could watch, because he finally had everything he’d ever wanted.

And this time, he wasn’t letting go.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Whispering Flower (Easter Ending 3) (Bassie x Reader)

Kinda disappointed bassie wasn't last because that'd be a little funny/j/lh

Notes: gn toon reader, potential ooc, bassie is eager and leans into the games general expectations, you both have a serious talk, pre game, jealous bassie, she kind of... is going through it a little- definitely starting to feel the pressure of being a main and thats bleeding into other parts of her life, it gets messy, there is a happy ending here... kinda. you guys do talk it out, cocoa next ending i just cant say when shes going to be posted

Word Count: 2.7k

CWs: i dont think there needs to be one? but theres a slight description of bassie have a small breakdown

You push your hand in deeper… and all eyes are on you…

Your fingers wrap around something, and you pull out…

Something soft- almost delicate. Your fingers retract almost instantly out of fear that whatever it was, you’d crush it in your hold. How it hadn’t already been flattened into a crumbled mass in the bag was a mystery- and quite frankly you were almost a little impressed. After a second or two standing under the expectant gazes of everyone’s eyes you push your hand back forward and carefully wrap your fingers around whatever it was… and almost agonizingly slowly you draw out whatever it was.

Two flowers, dried and preserved. Connected at the stem… you almost felt a twinge of annoyance that someone would put something so delicate into a bag- though you were sure it was far from the worst item choice inside the sack. The chance to scrape your brain for any idea of who could have been the one to put the item in is taken from you as a split second squeal suddenly silences itself. A moment later Bassie, now sheepish, shuffled to your side to mumble something about it being hers. 

Despite the light embarrassment for her obvious display of the eagerness of being chosen- even by coincidence- her eyes still held some glimmer of… well, being picked. Bassie lightly pushed Cocoa- who still had her paw resting comfortingly on your shoulder- to the side. 

Dandy stood quietly and watched the entire near wordless exchange before he recovered enough to clear his throat. 

“Right! Bassie! Bassie and Dewdrop, I’m sure you both know how the game is supposed to go- to the gift shop with you!” Dandy turned to Vee, and fluttered his eyes. The television scoffed, before repeating the importance of getting a move on… she didn’t seem like she was going to wait for much longer to start the time. Bassie looked like she wanted to hold your hand… but settled on holding her own- clasping them together in front of her as you both shuffled out of everyone’s sights. Down the hall, to the right… into the gifthop- and through the open staff door. The smell of flowers from the gift shop was almost nauseating as you shut the door; sealing the scent away from you for the time being. 

Bassie stood not too far away, shuffling her feet together quietly… she didn’t take a space against the wall or on the floor. Instead, she just stood there with nothing to lean her body against. You weren’t sure you blamed her entirely… the storage room looked like it hadn’t gotten a proper cleaning in a long long time… dust caked the floor and the walls didn’t look much better. Tracks carved themselves from the entrance and the second door- you didn’t even notice that there was a third door until you brushed against the cold metal handles of it. Double doors… where they lead… you had no theory. 

One of Bassie’s hands rises to her right handle and readjusts it. 

In the darkness you could tell that her flowers were… different. You swear they were different colors earlier today- there were more pink flowers earlier… they were still there, but light blue ones had joined the pink and purple petals piled into her head. 

You point to your head almost awkwardly. “Did you change your flowers?”

Bassie’s fiddling hand froze mid shift and remained hooked around her handle. Her fingers pinched the woven material gently, before running the skin over the… what were baskets made of, exactly? 

The catlike smile she usually kept on her face shifted slightly, parting barely as her first attempt to respond failed her. “I did-! I did!” She finally managed to get out, her words chirping in a higher note… forced, but there was an undertone of genuine joy in her voice. 

You only nod in response… before realizing it made you come off as disinterested… and in the face of her happiness it made you feel a little bit like a jerk. “It looks nice… something different- fresh, you know?” Your hands swung awkwardly at your sides as you looked around the storage room. So… so much merch of toons- mostly the mains… all of the Easter toons were here, though… as well as some off colored plushies of some non-holiday toons. “Skins” in a weird way… even if some of them… were a little ugly. You decided it was best Looey didn’t know what they did to his likeness… assuming he didn’t come into the room later for his turn. If he got one. 

“I’m really glad you picked me- I know it's only a coincidence, but,” Bassie caught your attention again as she broke through the pause of silence. Her eyes lowered to the floor as her feet shifted around in the dust and disturbed it… the grey matter sticking to her green stocking and staining them a faded color, clumps of it sticking to the faint fuzz. You swear you saw some shedded strands of hair in the mess. The effort it took to keep your face straight and to pry your eyes off of the… not very pleasant sight… it’s not like it was her fault- in hindsight you both probably should have stuck in the gift shop itself. 

“I’m glad?” 

You couldn’t keep the confusion out of your voice as you tried to look anywhere but her stockings. The stacks of plushies looming over you suddenly felt intimidating as they stared down at you with the same intensity of the stare you were under in the lobby- albeit this time it was all lifeless. You never noticed how much Pebble stared until you saw the emphasized bulging eyes of his plush. The back of your would be neck burned under the false stare as you continued to find somewhere to look- but each attempt forced your stare back into motion. The current task preoccupied your mind enough to hide the fact that Bassie had shuffled even closer to you- her hands still clasped in front of her- her own quickened breathing undetected to you until your eyes finally landed on her face- mere inches away. 

“Woah- woah woah woah hey-!” You sputtered as you backed up a foot or two. In an instant Bassie began to backtrack. 

“Sorry- sorry- I just thought-” Her hands flung to her mouth and covered it. “-I just thought that– with the game, you’d…” Her eyes snapped to the floor where your gaze once settled itself on. Your mouth stretched in a slanted line, your mind still reeling from the sudden turn of events.

She wasn’t… wrong. 

The implications of the game were clear, even to you if this was your first time playing… but that didn’t shake the feeling of shock. Now you were shuffling your feet around as you racked your brain for any idea of how to make the situation just a little less awkward. Your mouth felt dry and you were fighting the urge to start coughing as dust clung to the back of your throat- no doubt going into a coughing fit would make things even worse… it certainly didn’t help that you were pretty sure Bassie was absolutely covered in pollen and that was starting to have an effect on you… how cruel it was for God to give you seasonal allergies, and to stick you in a room with a beacon of nature’s means of reproduction. 

“It’s nothing against you- I mean I don’t… you kind of just swooped in, you know? Take a toon out for dinner at least,” You added the joke last minute in an attempt to try to soften the blow of rejection. It's not that you… disliked Bassie… and truth be told if she had asked or given some form of warning you may have leaned into her idea of what to do for the seven minutes. 

“How come you and Cocoa are so… close.. All of a sudden?” She suddenly spoke up. 

The sudden mention of the rabbit caught you completely off guard, more than her advancement a moment ago… and maybe you were wrong but you thought you saw a twinge of jealousy in her eyes as her stare sharpened against the floor. 

A soft huh pushed her to keep going. 

“You never used to let her hang on to you like that- or maybe I’m misremembering?” 

You scrunched your face. What was she… and then you remembered- the paw Cocoa had settled on your shoulder to keep you steady, and the paw that remained as you gathered with everyone else for the game. You didn’t think anyone would notice- and you had tuned out the feel of Cocoa’s hold on you. 

“Oh- that,” You made a weird humming sound. 

It was… weird to bring up Cocoa in specific, you weren’t going to lie. You’ve been close to other toons before in front of Bassie, but… it seemed there was a line that you unknowingly crossed. 

The hostility in the basket’s voice was unmistakable as she dedicated herself to silently stewing in front of you. 

“She was just making sure I didn’t bump into anyone else- you should’ve seen it, hit her and Flyte- she was just worried is all-” 

And she huffed at you.

Your face dropped it’s confused look and morphed into a frown, while Bassie’s turned into a barely contained scowl. 

“Of course she’d jump on the chance to…” She trailed off through clenched teeth as she finally brought her hot gaze up to you… the hostility in them you weren’t sure was aimed at you or the other holiday toon down the hall. Maybe both. She looked at you like you had somehow betrayed her. You did your best to stand your ground under her glare. 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, I think it’s sweet that she-” 

“I could have done that, why didn’t you ask me?” She cut you off. You fall quiet. 

This was nothing like the quiet wallflowery toon you had gotten used to being around. There was a certain resentment in her stance that could be seen from a mile away. 

Passing glares shot to the rabbit and the way she fell silent the moment Cocoa had started to speak suddenly became obvious as you rapidly combed through your memories in a desperate search for something to say to calm the toon down. 

“Do you… not like Cocoa?” 

“Yes!” She blurted out. “No!.. No I-” she backtracked for the second time and took a hissing breath through her clenched teeth. 

“I don’t.” She finally drew out as she stepped away from her spot in the middle of the room and leaned against one of the walls- before letting herself slump down into the dust… you don’t immediately say anything as Bassie pulled her knees to her chest and wilted into herself. 

“Everyone fawns over her- followers her lead… that’s supposed to be my job,” She mumbled under her breath as the fire in her rapidly died into something mushy and sopping wet. There was still a hot storm of emotion swirling in her black eyes as her fingers dug into her knees.

You let her statement hang in the air. 

It was a lot to unpack. How could you even start to unpack it? As far as you were concerned the pair were friends- at least that’s how Cocoa made it seem whenever she talked about Bassie… and you had always assumed Bassie was… being herself… when she clammed up around the rabbit. 

A soft sigh escaped your throat as you followed the main to her sitting spot and settled yourself next to her with plenty of space between the two of you. 

“Have you… talked to her about it?” 

Bassie’s fingers sunk deeper into her legs before they forced themselves away to find themselves lightly tugging on her handles. Some hesitation… and you reach your hand to place over hers to stop the yanking. 

“What is there to talk about-” 

Her hands were so tense under yours as they twitched and scraped at the weaved patterns all over her head. At least your touch made the yanking stop. 

“She should know that it's my job- its what I was made for- I’m the one plastered everywhere not her.” 

You frowned. 

This was. Far above your paygrade- and you weren’t being paid at all. Playing therapist for someone in a dark closet was the last thing you thought you were going to be doing tonight. 

“I’m sure she doesn’t mean to step on your toes?” You pulled your hand away and let your sweaty palm rest on the floor. You’d clean later. 

“I mean… it’s… Cocoa… I’m sure if you told her she would underst-”

“You wouldn’t get it, you’re just a.. You’re not a main toon like me- you’re not put under the same standards like I am.” She cut over you again before taking a deep breath. Once more her hands shifted around; one of her hands finds themselves to one of her flowers- which had been slightly jostled out of its secure spot in her basket and hung limply over the edge. The blue petal is pinched between her fingers… and it barely keeps itself attached to the rest of the flower as she rubbed the petal. 

She did have a point. Even if her tone was sharp and her breathing was rapid and shallow. 

You weren’t a main, and you’d probably never know just how much pressure they’re put under. The best you could say was that you saw how the staff held higher expectations for them and they were more likely to be swamped by visitors- but the true extent? 

“Well-”

The door swings open as Dandy announces time was up. In an instant Bassie started to try to regain herself. The flower toon stood in the doorway awkwardly for a few seconds as he surveyed the mess in front of him. 

Horribly he almost looked faintly pleased that the two of you weren’t having that good of a time. 

“Uhm… time’s up..!” He repeated before shuffling out of the doorway- the light flooding in now that he wasn’t blocking it out. You shout after him about knocking next time- your discomfort shoved to the side to make way for pure annoyance. Bassie wasted no time in standing to her feet- and with a half hearted attempt to get the mess off of her she beelined quickly for the door. 

“Hey-” You shoved yourself off of the floor and tried to rush after her… for someone so… short… you didn’t expect her to be so fast. You were almost tempted to make a grab for her but your hand froze before it could wrap around her wrist. 

She didn’t stop for you. In less than a second she was in the doorway of the gift shop and making her escape. 

“I want to understand- can you at least-” You tried to keep up with her. 

She at least slowed down enough to let you catch up. 

“I don’t want to say right off the bat that I get what’s going on, or that I have answers- but…” You loop around her side. Her face still obviously looked distressed as she fought hard to make her expression neutral.

“Why don’t we go up to my room for now? At least until you’re feeling better-” 

You had a sick feeling Cocoa would come ask what was wrong the second she noticed Bassie’s state… and you had a sicker feeling that it would make things so much worse. 

Bassie’s hands balled at her sides. 

…and she didn’t verbally answer as another wave of emotion rolled over her. Just another crack in whatever dam she had built up inside her- you didn’t make too much of a fuss over the tears pin pricking her eyes. 

“Come on,” 

And… at least as best as you could, you tried to sneak Bassie to one of the large elevators in the main lobby to bring her to your room… you could only hope that no one noticed you- as their backs turned to the two of you, focused on the current game.

[trelaney]

Yall I did not plan on writing anything but I fuckin swear this wrote itself. It’s a little snippet I just got so idk if there’s more but. Hey.

Imagine being at work when The Void covers Manhattan in darkness. It’s a long day and you just want to go home and suddenly you’re not at work anymore….first you’re worried but then you realize everything is familiar. Oh look one of your worst childhood memories. Eh, at least it’s a paid break from work. Settling in and getting comfy cause damn you need a rest.

Confusing the shit out of the Void itself. You hear a dark voice come from seemingly nowhere. “Why are you not bothered?”

You shrug. First a void covers the city around you, you’re in one of your worst memories, and a disembodied voice is talking to you??? Hey you could file for worker’s comp for emotional damages or whatever your job has in place for superhero bullshit.

“I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.” You were begging the universe for anything to distract you from your dull day, after all.

“But this just reminds you that you’re all alone in the world.”

“Yeah and? Dude, I’ve done enough therapy to know that I’m not the sum of my bad days, this too shall pass, all that jazz. You should try it sometime, assuming you’re the one to blame for….all this,” you gesture around you.

He almost sounds amused as he goes on to give you his “everything is pointless there is only emptiness blah blah” shtick. You tune him out as you get up to walk through the window into another memory, bored by this current one and the conversation if you’re being fully honest.

You figure that whatever ragtag team of heroes is working on saving the day when the voice goes silent and it stops feeling like you’re being watched. You let out a little sigh, sagging your shoulders. Sure, you meant what you said before, but your memories have been getting to you. You just didn’t want that dickhead to see it. On that note, you really hope he can’t read minds on top of being an eldritch being of darkness, because that would really suck.

You’re relieved when you’re spat out onto your desk chair a short time later. Back to reality. You shove down the part of you that’s strangely disappointed that you didn’t hear anything else from the dark voice.

Meanwhile, at the newly dubbed Watchtower, the team is settling in to their new home. Or, Bob assumes that’s what everyone else is doing. He’s currently curled up into a ball on the couch, one of the only pieces of furniture currently in the living space. He feels….wrung out, almost hungover but with emotions instead of anything else. He supposes he burned a lot of energy doing…..everything. But it’s not just that. Unlike every other time that he succumbs to his own darkness, he remembers something. Not anything important, not hurting his newfound friends or terrorizing the city. No. He remembers…..you.

[cocomanga]

Line of Sight ~ Ch.01

Pairing: FA!Satoru x Black Fem!Reader,

CW: JJK AU, Angst, Praise Kink, Size Kink, Oral, Unprotected Sex, Edging, Aggressive Sex, BDSM, Overstimulation, Dark Context, Physical and Emotional Abuse, Possible misc. triggers including race (I'm not sensitive, so if you are, please move on).

READER DISCRETION ADVISED. I plan to make this intense.

Note: please block me if my work is not your cup-o-tea. I do not own any of the character art. Please respect my blog art.

Total WC : 9.5K

Line of Sight ~ Ch.02 - (Coming Soon)

LOS - Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Playlist

Synopsis: Reader meets her shiny new neighbor through a mutual friend. After a memorable first impression, they quickly become closely acquainted. Yet, despite his polished demeanor, she soon learns his life isn't as it seems. Her only hope is that her new attachment doesn't lead to her own detriment, or his.

..... Minors: You have no business here. Love you, but please don't ....

▶ LOS ~ Playlist

LINE OF SIGHT: 1. The line between two points. 2. A line from an observer's eye to a distant point. 3. A straight line along which an observer has unobstructed vision.

∘•········•∘ʚ ֍ ɞ∘•·········•∘ Ch.01 - Introductions ∘•········•∘ʚ ֍ ɞ∘•·········•∘

“So, there will be a few other things we’ll need to go over, but that’s the gist for now. Here’s your key.” She says, as she pulls out a jingling set, complete with faux diamond charms. 

“Thank you so much, Mei. I really appreciate everything you’ve done to help me out.” you replied, with genuine gratitude. 

“Of course. Did you get moved in okay?” 

You stood, draping the strap of your purse over your shoulder. “I did. The movers were... Fantastic. Your recommendation was perfect.” 

“Yeah, and they were quick too, right? Inexpensive, and very good. I’ve used them several times. A woman needs support in times like this, and they do an amazing job. In and out without damages or breaking the bank.” she gushed, with a hike in one of her brows. 

“Oh my god, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve moved cheaply but lost valuables in the process to damage. Having that not happen’s the part I appreciated the most. Plus, It’s an amazing neighborhood, and my first home. I already feel so comfortable there.” 

“It is an amazing neighborhood.” She agreed, walking you toward her office door as she leaned in to pull the brass knob. “Oh, and speaking of...” She continued, raising a finger, “I asked my secretary to mail a package to a colleague of mine, he’s a financial advisor that happens to be one of your neighbors. She addressed it to you by mistake. Would you mind giving it to him once you make it home? I can send him over to pick it up.” She turned and swiped a small envelope from her desk. 

“Sure. I don’t mind.” 

“I could send it by courier, but it’s already been here too long, I’d rather him receive it in person. I figured since you’ll be literally in the neighborhood, he can grab it himself.” 

“Okay. No problem.” 

“Thanks. I’ll see you later. And let me know if you need any more help with the place. The paint in the front rooms is the only thing left to complete. Are you sure you want to do that on your own?” 

“Yeah absolutely. I love painting. And besides, I can take the opportunity to put a spin on it myself. It’ll be satisfying to have my own special mark on my new place straight away.” You smiled. 

“Knock yourself out.” She smirked. 

“See you later, Mei. Have a great weekend.” 

∘○•········•∘ʚ ֍ ɞ∘•·········•○∘ 

The seasons had changed. 

Sunlight shined through the green of the lush trees, down onto perfectly groomed front lawns decorated with various plants and flowers as a few dogs walked their owners along the sidewalks where your new home stood, a small mediterranean style single family with plenty of foliage and character. 

The neighborhood was mildly lively, and It’s been a beautiful morning. You were happy to have this brand-new environment to create in, moving almost mindlessly around your kitchen as you worked. The place was big, much bigger than all the apartments in the city you’d lived in. You loved them, but they hardly provided the space you needed for what you had to accomplish. You even had a second floor for the first time, like having your own lofted living space above your work area, which practically took over the kitchen and one of the front rooms. 

You turned on your music and plopped your headphones over your ears, drowning out the world as you created beautiful and fragrant products with your own two hands. It was satisfying, relaxing, and so therapeutic.  

You set your molds on the counter and poured one of the most aromatic batches yet, the fragrances filling the house as they floated gently on the breeze from your open windows. You’d just completed the pour and removed your headphones as the doorbell rang the second they hit the counter. 

“Ugh...” you murmur, checking your hands for any lingering product as you made your way to the front door. “Impeccable timing.” 

You open it, wafting in more of the fresh spring air inside, swiping one of your curly wayward locks behind your ear as you observed the extremely tall white–haired man towering at your doorstep. 

“Um...” You peered around his figure for a car, or another person, that might have given you a clue as to what he was doing there. “Hello?” You say, tilting your head to the side, your lids lowering to a squint over a tiny smile. 

He stood silently in a crisp, high quality powder blue button–down and sharp slacks, hands stuffed in the pockets, lips parting slightly, slowly, as his gaze lingered a little long behind a pair of round vintage shades that appeared to have cost a mint. 

There wasn’t a wrinkle in sight on his garments, apart from the sleeves he rolled up to just before the fold reached his elbow, hovering above his Versace timepiece, settling on the wrist of his beautifully chiseled forearm. 

You waited patiently for what you figured was a little too long without speaking, so you decided to do so. “M~maaay I help youuu?” Your eyebrows raised slightly, pupils constricting as you peered curiously through your lashes. 

“Y-yea...” he finally responded. “I uh...” he shook his head quickly, breaking his daze as he spoke up. “I’m sorry... I’m Mei’s colleague, Satoru Gojo?” He leaned in slightly, holding out his large hand. 

You reached out in response, slowly shaking it, still confused about what he was doing at your door as you waited for him to explain. 

“I’m here to pick up a package left for me?” 

Your mind had been submerged in your work. That task was placed so far on your mental backburner that you had all but completely forgotten. “Oh!” you flinched, squeezing your eyes shut, the memory hitting you like a ton of bricks as you released his hand, turning quickly back into the house from the front door, practically power walking past your unfinished front rooms, disappearing into your kitchen. 

You yanked open one of the drawers under the counter as you rummaged for the envelope you thought you’d left right there. “Um... Mr. Gojo, please come in!” You yelled his direction from over your shoulder, wincing since you suddenly couldn’t find it. “I’m so sorry about this, I’m all over the place right now.” 

“No problem at all.” He replies as he gently snaps the door shut behind him and steps in slowly. “I’m not exactly in a hurry.” He spoke a little louder from the living room as he stood in the middle of the floor. His eyes grazed along the walls and floors of your open foyer and living space, devoid of furniture, but with large paint cans and tarps on the floor, among other various materials. “Doing some painting”? 

You scoffed mockingly at yourself, “Yeah uh...” You started, opening and closing another drawer. “Trying... well... I’m working at the moment... but...” You opened another one, none of them assigned particular items yet as you hadn’t gotten that far after moving in nearly two weeks ago. But you knew you’d put that envelope in here somewhere, for ’safe keeping’. “... that’s the next order of business.” 

Gojo continued to look around with his eyebrows raised, witnessing what appeared to be a boatload of work to finish. Yikes... He thought to himself before he asked, “Looks like you could use a little help?” 

“Tch... Story of my life...” you mumbled under your breath. 

The fragrances you had just blended wafted through his senses as he waited patiently for you to emerge with his package. “What smells so good?” he asked, tilting his large body sideways in an attempt to peek into the room at you. 

“Oh... I’m making soap.” You say, as the sound of rustling papers, random coins and miscellaneous knickknacks mussed about in the drawer. 

“Soap? Really?” 

“Yeah... It’s uh... it’s actually what I do for a living...” Where the hell did it go? You murmured to yourself. “Well... I make other things too. Candles, massage oils, you know... self-care stuff?” 

“Nice...” 

You finally track his package down in the drawer of the island, rolling your eyes. At some point you told yourself it would be easy to find if you put it in there instead, but apparently your safe keeping was too safe. Even for you. You swipe it from the drawer quickly and hurry back to meet him in your foyer. “Sorry about the delay on that.” you murmured with a grimace as you still held it tightly in your hand. 

“No worries.” He says behind a smirk, entertained by your flustered disposition as he removes his glasses. 

You look up at him, frowning as his eyes are unveiled. Your head tilts as you focus your sights on him. You’d never seen such eyes. Well, of course you had seen blue eyes but... his ... they appeared to have flecks of darks and light shades inside, a piercing, somewhat hypnotizing crystal–clear blue. They were mesmerizing. Your lips parted as you gazed, forgetting there was a man attached to them. 

His smirk widened into a smile. “So, uh... what is that scent you’re making?” His voice snapping you out of your reverie. 

“Oh, um... It’s sandalwood... and bergamot rose?” you replied, adding an upward inflection at the end of your statement as if implying a question in case he’d tried something like that. 

Despite your amazement at his eyes, he seemed to have just as hard a time taking them off you. Your entire body was almost completely covered to avoid being splashed by the chemicals you used, and the adorable safety goggles you donned were pushed up against your curly locs which were held up by a floral scarf in a cute high ponytail. Your face was decorated with glittery colorants you somehow managed to smear there and along your neck, and your big, pretty eyes, round and dark, were framed by long curly lashes, gazing up beautifully in anticipation of his answer. 

He leaned in, locking eyes with you, peering even deeper, “Do you think I could have one when you’re finished making it?” he asked, punctuating his sentence with a breathtaking smile. 

“Oh... Of course. You like it?” 

“I do. It’s beautiful.”

A bright, proud smile spread across your face. “Thanks.” your first satisfying, positive review. And from an apparently high–end customer also. “Congratulations.” you replied playfully, tapping him on the arm. “You’re my first client to request that fragrance. The process I’m using requires a four-week cure time...” You turned your face toward the kitchen, then swiveling it back to his gaze. “You think you can wait for it?” 

His lids settled as he took in your radiant smile. “Definitely.” 

“That’ll be twenty-five dollars.” 

He pressed his brows into his forehead. “Twenty-five dollars?” he whined jokingly. “For a bar of soap?” 

You pressed your lips together, nodding slowly. “I’m afraid so, sir... but...” you hiked out your thumb. “There’s a dollar store downtown that sells bars for much cheaper.” 

He huffed, “Thanks, but I want that one. I hope it’s worth the bill.” 

“Welp, there’s only one way to find out, right?” you held his envelope out toward him that he hadn’t yet taken. 

He snickered, his gaze lingering before he finally answered. “Yeah. That’s right.” 

Your eyes flicked down from his crystal blues to your outstretched hand in a few intervals before a blush crept across your cheeks. 

“Uhm...” you inhaled deeply, his resting gaze stealing your breath, “Is there anything else I can do for you Mr. Gojo?” you giggled nervously. 

“Satoru”. He muttered, speaking much softer than before, one of his eyebrows hiking up as he leaned in a touch, “Call me Satoru.” his warm skin barely making contact with yours as he swiped the package from your hand. 

He was likely the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, and just your luck he was also very much taken, considering you’d seen women coming in and out of the house that was supposed to be listed on his piece of mail. 

You released it into his hand as you averted your gaze toward the floor, inhaling again deeply and clearing your throat as you slid your hands up the back of your thighs into your back pockets, working overtime to avoid blushing again. 

“I’ll let Mei know I received it in one piece.” 

“Thanks.” You replied. “I hope everything’s okay.” nodding toward the envelope. “I’d hate to think something too important was left here.” 

Satoru shrugged. “S’probably just about five thousand dollars.” 

Your eyes widened. “S’cuse me?” 

He fanned himself with the envelope. “A little commission check.” He winked. 

“A ’little’ huh?” You scoffed, frowning at his admission. “I’ll have to kill Mei for that, later.” 

His smile lit you up even more before he turned on his heels toward the door. “See ya. S’nice meeting you. And I’ll look forward to using my soap.” He said, as you followed him out to the edge of your porch. 

He walked to the end of your yard, fastening the gate shut as he turned toward his own, where a beautiful woman stood with hair as white as his, and an obvious frown on her face. She glanced your direction, then turned toward him, the crease in her brows deepening as he approached. 

You could barely make out the words she spoke, but she didn’t seem happy. She rolled her eyes, crossed her arms, and turned back into the house where he followed. 

Yup. Story of my life. You mumbled to yourself as you took another look up and down the street, filling your lungs with fresh air, as the leaves brushed together on the trees from the breeze. You turned your face toward the sky as you allowed the sun to kiss your skin, and turned back into the house to finish your work. 

∘○•········•∘ʚ ֍ ɞ∘•·········•○∘ 

You were so glad to have washed off the day, traipsing around, completely fresh and feeling renewed on the second floor of your new home as you listened to your favorite music, excited to curl up by the window with a good book. 

You had just barely finished reading a couple chapters and decided to let in some of that amazing evening breeze as you lifted the window open. Along with the open air came voices from the direction of the backyard. 

“And just exactly what the hell were you doing over there?” 

“I told you twice already. No need to make a big deal out of it?” 

“Why shouldn’t I make a big deal out of it. You don’t seem to care how I feel about you wandering around some other woman’s house.” 

“‘Wandering around?’ Tch. I have no reason to lie to you. Have I ever?” 

It was obviously not a good idea to eavesdrop, but you figured you should know what was going on with your new neighbors, right? You leaned in to peek out the window, at the very least, to be sure you were matching the voices with the individuals they belonged to. 

Satoru stood on their patio with his hands stuffed in his pockets as the white haired woman went on, standing within a foot from him, yelling directly into his face. 

“That’s bullshit.” she shook her head. “I don’t know why I even bother.” 

“And what the hell does that mean? It’s not like you’re ever here anyway. Seems like your imagination is the only problem you’re having.” 

She raises her hand and slaps him directly across the face.  

You flinched, recoiling immediately back behind your window, your hand moving up to cover your mouth, unable to believe what you just saw. Nevertheless, your body moved slowly back into the window frame, really hoping to see this die down, or come to whatever resolution it would. And soon. 

“Don’t play games with me Satoru. You’re always fucking somebody, why the hell wouldn’t it have been her?” 

Satoru just stood there, clenching his jaw, his head turned the direction she slapped him. 

She reached up, gripping his jaw, speaking through her teeth. “You do lie. You’re not fucking perfect.” She said as she let it go, pushing his face. 

Satoru closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he turned his face up toward the sky, angling it just right, in the very direction of your window as you watched. 

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” she murmured with a scowl, “Just because you’re supposed to be hot shit doesn’t give you the right to be a fucking cheater.” 

You stepped back quickly from the window, your heart racing, triggered terribly by what was happening, hoping to God he didn’t see you. Your body was trembling. It made you visibly angry, and ... sad for him... for them.

It wasn’t exactly a positive interaction, and seeing people like that didn't bring you any form of pleasure. Though you did hope that Satoru, specifically, was okay. 

“You were over there too fucking long.” She yelled, surely loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear her. “Did you at least get what you said you would?” 

“It’s only one check. She’ll send the rest next week.” 

“More bullshit. If you can’t keep your promises, I really don’t want shit to do with you.” 

“I told you; more is coming. Fucking calm down”. 

“Just give me the card, then.” 

“I’m not giving you my card. How you run it up so fast is beyond me, but it’s unnecessary if you have cash. Just take that.” 

“It better be here Satoru.” 

It was hard to watch. He didn’t seem very defensive, so it was difficult to tell if anything she said outside of the ridiculous accusation that he’d had sex with you was valid, and since you didn’t know them, it’s not like you were aware of exactly why she was upset. Regardless, that behavior was unacceptable. 

You leaned in to close the window quietly, yet still trying keep from being seen. It was hard to concentrate on your reading after witnessing something like that. They continued to argue for a while longer, so you decided to give up on it, turned up your music to drown out the voices and went ahead to sleep. 

∘○•········•∘ʚ ֍ ɞ∘•·········•○∘ 

You spent the next week or so, working on various projects and preparing for a meeting with a wholesale client that you’d been looking forward to working with for months. You woke up the following morning with a bit of a headache, not realizing how dehydrated and stressed you may have been considering how much you’d done, and how warm it suddenly felt in your house. 

You doused your insides by chugging nearly two full bottles of water, threw on your favorite kimono top over your tank and shorts, and headed to the front to check your mail. 

Of course, there was a wad piled up on your doorstep. You grabbed the stack which was bundled together with a rubber band, pulling it off as you begin sorting through the jumbled mess. As you peered past the high bushes that lined the boundary of your yards, Satoru emerges from the front door of his home, closing it behind him. 

Your homes were quite closely set … but not as close as brownstones or San Francisco rows. You had a considerable amount of space in your front yard for gardening, some pretty bushes lining your boundary, and a quaint iron fence that kept wandering pups from invading. But from this distance, you could see and hear him clearly enough. His keys jingled loosely in his hand as he saunters toward his driveway, apparently on the phone. 

“So, what time do you plan to get back here?” There was a long pause as he listened, stuffing his keys in his pocket, followed by an exaggerated sigh … “you mean like last time? … You promised this wouldn’t happen again.” He kept his voice quite low, though visibly upset. “I understand you’re tired, but I’m tired too.” 

You sort through the mail in your hands, pretending not to notice him, yet you see him from the corner of your eye as he ends the call. He turns toward you headed your direction. 

“Fine. Okay. Bye” … “Good morning.” he says cheerfully, waving at you as he wanders toward your fence. 

You reluctantly face him, allowing a small phony smile to spread across your face. “Good morning”. You wouldn’t call yourself “happy” to see him, seeing as how he’s quite literally more than occupied with a whole live–in girlfriend. With someone who looks like him, this kind of thing … these excessive “niceties” couldn’t possibly end well. You began to think he should stay as far away from you as possible. 

He makes his way across the yard as you try keep your attention on your mail. That was a tall order, since he was business casual today in a white polo shirt, crisp as expected, Rolex on his wrist, in silver or... white gold? And his vintage shades. The sun caught in his shiny white strands, brightening them even more under its rays as if he were an authentic angel.  

He really needs to stay away. 

He was stunning, and the sight was blinding, yet severely irritating after what you saw. He seemed like an amazing person, but clearly there was so much more to him... to them. Well, obviously there would be... you’ve known him for no more than five minutes. 

You shifted your gaze toward him as he moved within a foot from your bottom step, apparently wearing something close to Sycomore by Chanel, one of your favorite scents, but may have been a bespoke since it was a little sharper, nearly knocking you off your feet when your senses caught it. 

He pressed his large hands in the front pockets of his khakis as he approached, peering up at you from behind his shades, an interesting perspective since he’s so impossibly tall. 

“How’s your morning going?” he asked, his voice as smooth as his gait, unhurried and kind, yet maintained a nuanced undertone of arrogance that he managed to keep from being intimidating. And his smile was as intoxicating as his fragrance. 

You took a deep inhale, finding it difficult to concentrate in his presence. “It’s um... it’s going well. Pretty relaxing so far.” you nodded. 

“That’s good. I um... wanted to apologize for the other night. I’m not sure how much you heard of us, but … I’m hoping we didn’t disturb you.” he said, his tone as mild and genuine as they come. 

“It was a little disturbing if I’m honest.” you replied, peeking up from your mail. “I just hope everything’s okay.” 

“Yeah... everything’s fine.” 

Your lips puckered just a touch. “Everything didn’t seem ’fine’.” 

He shrugged, “It happens.” 

“It shouldn’t.” you replied, shuffling again. 

He paused, nodding as he squinted behind his shades. “It’s complicated.” he said, his gaze stuck on you as you as you pretended to be interested in your mail. 

“Isn’t it always?” Your eyes flicked up to meet his frames for a split second.  

A small huff exited his nostrils as he grinned, and his chiseled arms crossed in front of his broad chest. “Stings but … somehow still refreshing.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Your candor.” He replied, his smirk fixed. “It’s nice to have that around here.” 

You pressed your lips into a hard line. “I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just... how I feel. I’m sorry.” 

“Why are you apologizing?” 

Your mouth turned down in the corners as you shrugged a shoulder. “It just... made me feel bad for you.” you said, barely above a whisper. 

He was a little surprised to hear that reply from you, especially considering how frank you’d been. “.... We don’t know each other.” His head cocked a little, as if trying to peek at your eyes from beneath the angle you held your head. He pressed his foot boyishly against the edge of the stair of your porch, feeling the strain against his shoe. “Why should you feel bad for someone you only just met?” 

You huffed, “Why shouldn’t I? Is empathy a bad thing?” you met his hidden gaze hoping to make out his eyes again for a moment before returning to the pile of paper in your hands. 

A faint blush crept across his pale cheeks as his gaze dropped back down toward his pristine Dior. “No, not at all.” 

A silence fell between you amidst the rustling of the trees as his gaze migrated up to your exposed legs, the sun shining on your pretty brown complexion, reflecting its hues, emphasized from your body butter, as if there were tiny speckles of gold embedded beneath your skin. 

He followed them up to your arms, now exposed from the elbow to your wrists, the same shimmery tint, which was covered when he’d seen you before. His gaze traveled up slowly, landing on a bit of cleavage, revealed from under your tank top, your skin perfectly smooth considering you created your very own skin care, obviously tailored to your needs.  

His deep blues finally rested on the relaxed expression on your face, suddenly quite curious what else was going through that pretty head of yours; A head full of fluffy brown curls that were loose this time, brushing gently across your skin in each direction of the changing of the wind. 

He decided that spending a little more time over here with you would be... nice. To say the least. “I uh... thought I’d ask if you still needed help with your painting.” he said, changing the subject. 

A tiny smile tugged at your plump lips as you glanced his direction, just before pulling out a blue envelope from the stack as your brows furrowed upwards in the center. “You sure that��s something you can do?” 

He shrugged, “That’s the kind of thing friendly neighbors often do, right?” 

You snickered, “I suppose so.” you glance over again, doing a double take as you noticed him staring at something. “What?” 

He nodded, “That envelope. It looks familiar.” 

“You know it’s illegal to look through other people’s mail, right?” 

“You gonna call the authorities?” 

“I might. You seem a little out of control.” 

“Tch, yeah. That’s me.” 

You chuckled, “It’s an invitation from Mei. Some kind of social seminar event.” 

“Think you’ll go?” 

“Mei’s a good friend of mine so... If I can, I definitely will. I have a few events coming up myself, so I hope the timing doesn’t clash with any of them. Lots of merchandise to make.” you sighed.  

“So ... it’d be better to get the painting done sooner rather than later, right?” 

“Yup. I’ve called some painters. They’ll be by to work on it with me tomorrow.” 

“You should save your money. I can do it.” 

You frowned, “You?” All kinds of questions popped into your head about his experience with manual labor, or … lack thereof. “You can paint? Like... professionally?” 

He scoffed, “You think I’m some lazy rich kid who’s never actually worked before?” 

Your eyes scanned his silhouette under a hiked brow, “I mean, you said it. Not me.” 

“I’ll have you know, my parents were adamant that I learn to manage more than just money. I’m a pretty handy guy to have around.” 

Your gaze shrank into a squint as your lips scrunched into one corner. “Okay...” you looked him over again. “On one condition.” 

“And what would that be?” 

“You accept the product you ordered from me for free.” 

He held out his large hand for you to shake again. “You’ve got a deal, neighbor.” ’

You held out your hand, finding yourself excited to touch him … as bad as that seemed in your head. His hand was softer than expected, yet his grip was still strong and felt nice.  

How lucky that girl must be. You thought to yourself as he shook your hand for longer than necessary, sliding his fingers across your palm as you let go, sending tiny tinges of electricity up your arm. You cleared your throat, inwardly pulling yourself together, then flashing him another smile. 

“And uhm... One more thing Mr. Gojo... I’d like to ask that you take this job seriously. I have a vision in mind, and I need it to meet my expectations?” 

“Okay.” he replied. “No worries. I’ve got it.” 

“And … you’re sure coming here won’t cause any problems? I really don’t want to get into the middle of anything.“” ’ you shook your head. “It’s not worth you getti–” 

“How does six pm tomorrow sound?” 

“Sounds perfect. But...” 

“It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.” 

You gave him one of those looks. That I-sincerely-hope-you-know-what-you’re-doing look. “Okay. Thank you.” you nodded. Accepting that he was a big boy and could handle his own problems. 

“My pleasure”. He said with a hint of a bow, looking up at you with a smirk, still hiding those ocean eyes behind their vintage frames as he slid his foot off the porch stair, turning to leave your yard. He walked to the edge, snapping your gate shut, holding up a finger, “... Nice Kimono.” he called back to you without looking. 

∘○•········•∘ʚ ֍ ɞ∘•·········•○∘ 

You’d worked through the night and all day the next, whipping together more product, soaps, candles, butters, bath bombs, and a few body creams, using distilled water and some of your favorite oils to match the brand-new soap you’d created. Your house was full and fragrant with various blending lingering aromas. 

You set the creams on the counter to air out until the heat escaped, allowing any condensation to evaporate before capping them to sell. 

It was nearly six pm, so you wondered if your friendly neighbor still planned to make it. The doorbell rang at six on the nose, and you were far happier to see him than you thought you’d be. Maybe that was okay, but … maybe it wasn’t.

“Hey there.” He stood before you in a stark white V-neck tee and lightly ripped jeans, still managing to look like a billion bucks. 

Your heart fluttered at his direct and very piercing gaze, this time devoid of glasses. And at that, you wanted to reach inside your chest, pull it out, and wash it clean to sate the uneasiness it accompanied.

You took a deep breath, “Hey.” you said, forcing a smile behind your blush. “Thanks for coming.” You averted your gaze to the floor again, stepping aside to let him in. 

Satoru’s lids lowered over his eyes a touch as he noticed your tendency to become flustered the second your eyes met. Somehow, he was thrilled, and that worried him, regardless of how much fun it was. “Sorry I’m late.” 

“But you’re not late.” you said behind a frown. 

He shrugged, “You know what they say; ‘early is on time, on time is late’,” he sauntered in, turning on his heel as he hinged toward you with a hike in one eyebrow “and ‘late is unacceptable’.” 

You snapped the door shut behind him. “I do know that...” eyebrows jumping once as you spoke. “... all too well. I guess I’m often ’on time late’ then.” 

He scrunched his lips together, “Tsk tsk tsk … then you must need more help than you let on.” 

“You’re probably right...” you admitted. “Though I don’t like to burden others with my responsibilities.” 

Satoru scanned the room, noting how much work you had done, and how much you still needed to do, and for some reason felt determined to be the person to it for you. “It’s not a burden at all for me. Just say the word, and I’ll help however I can.” he said, holding a box of miscellaneous tools by the handle in one hand and a pole sander in the other. 

“Thanks...” you started, looking down and around, again, observing his things, simultaneously doing your best to not make eye contact. 

You decided his gaze was simply too much for you, making you feel some kind of way... the kind of way that made you feel … guilty. He was a delight. And the support he offered only made him even better, making you feel better, which made it worse. 

“So um … I’ve prepped the area pretty well so far, I think.” you said, pointing out what you’d finished, wondering if he went out of his way to get the items he brought. “Did you buy things for this? Some of the stuff in there looks new.” 

“Well, most of it, including the sander is mine, but yes, some of the other things I did pick up on the way home from work. Why?” He hinged over, setting the toolbox on the floor. 

“You didn’t need to buy anything. You offered to help as a favor. I didn’t intend to have you spend your money.” 

“It’s no biggie. It didn’t cost too much. I planned to bring some of my supplies from home, but they were a little worn out, so I bought more instead.” He rummaged through them. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll take it all back home with me.” He stood, pulling gloves from the box, his eyes locked on yours as he towered at least a full foot over you. “It’s just... Whatever I do, I like to be thorough.” 

You took a deep breath, hiking a brow, reminding yourself to keep calm and focus on your task. “Okay. So then... um...” you began as you turned to look around at the walls. 

Satoru’s gaze followed you across the room observing how terribly adorable you were in your little tee shirt, denim overalls and converse. And your hair tied up again in that curly ponytail was just too cute. He was obviously used to girls finding him attractive, even being giddy around him, but though you were affected, your disposition was different. And he couldn’t remember the last time he had the opportunity to be this intimately close to such a beautiful black woman. It was exciting. 

Everything about you was a change of pace, especially after working long hours with his stuffy clients and colleagues, talking about money all day. And unfortunately, even at home, where his girlfriend rarely stayed anymore, someone like you brought a brightness to his life where so much had gone dim. The only problem with that was, if he wasn’t careful, he’d get quite carried away. And likely take you with him. 

It was also proving difficult to focus around you, but the way you made him feel, your honesty, sincerity, your compassion, your drive, he hadn’t been around someone like that in so long … not since … well, it was probably good not to think too much about that now. 

“... so if you wouldn’t mind just starting on the sanding for me, that would be great.” 

That was all he’d caught of everything you’d just said. He nodded, “My pleasure.” 

You hand him a pair of goggles, and he gets to work, reaching areas of the wall that you’d likely have to ascend and descend your ladder dozens of times to reach alone. 

As he worked, you sat on a small stool, drill mixing and blending some paints, creating custom colors you visualized for a faux stone finish, bringing the feel of a city loft, and a sense of some familiarity to your large new space. 

Satoru worked diligently with very little instruction as you created various shades and hues, your eyes wandering to his corner to see how it came along, considerably impressed. He’d smoothed over many of the rough areas you’d worked on to the point you couldn’t see a single bump or blemish. It was nice to know he wasn’t just a pretty face, not that he had to know how to do any of this. 

As your eyes followed each wave of the sander, they trailed along his large hands down his beautifully muscular arms, only to notice the way his body moved under his perfectly fitted tee. His clothes were hardly too small but fit him as though they were tailored with the exact amount of room for his chest and back, curving around them over his muscles as they flexed underneath. 

His jeans fit like a glove, with a slight sag that caused them to slip just below his v-line, his smooth, porcelain skin, barely displaying the faintest lines from his veins at his abdomen as he raised his arm. 

You swallowed thickly at the vision, your bottom lip disappearing behind your teeth as he reached heights on the wall that you could never, hoping to God that one day the man you choose would have a fraction of what you saw in him. 

“Looks like that part’s taken care of.” he turns to you with a proud grin. “See, aren’t you just ecstatic that I’m here?” 

You averted your gaze immediately as he turned toward you, hoping you weren’t caught ogling him. You cleared your throat, “Yea... it uh... definitely takes a load off, Mr. Gojo.” You said as you got up from your seat, preparing to take a break. 

But he did catch you, turning his face away as he pretended not to notice, his grin melting into a thoughtful smile at the confirmation that at the very least, you’re definitely attracted to him. Of course, he knew nothing could come of it. Regardless of how often he waited for his woman to show up at home most evenings, and not only that, but also blush when she sees him the way you do. 

She used to. Boy, did she used to. Unfortunately, despite his undeniable beauty, it’s been a while since Satoru felt the touch of a woman. And it damn sure wasn’t because he didn’t want to. Of course he did. But he prided himself on his own honor, his family honor, and his reputation, which was attached to both his career and his relationship. 

He winced as he climbed down from the ladder, which he’d used maybe thrice, and finished priming the entire wall. “Oof... only the elders in my family are called Mr.” he mutters jokingly. “Please, call me Satoru.” he said, walking toward you as he pushed his goggles up on top of his head and his white strands back along with them, that tiny gesture managing to make him even cuter. “Or ... just ‘Gojo’... if you prefer formalities.” 

You hesitated, wondering if it was appropriate, being on a first-name basis with someone else’s man. It certainly didn’t feel like it was. But you also knew nothing would transpire between the two of you so, “Yeah... okay...” you nodded as you twirled a paintbrush in your hand, reluctantly looking up at him directly, a hint of a smile playing at his lips under his hooded gaze as he seemed to anticipate you saying his name officially. “S-Satoru.” you said, the word softly slipping past your lips. 

His eyes softened, “Atta girl.” he practically whispered as he grinned, clearly enjoying this little bit of fun he was having with you. “See, that wasn’t so bad, right?” 

You huffed, snickering under your breath at his playfulness. “I suppose not.” you answered, “I just prefer not to overstep any boundaries if I can help it.” 

The corners of his lips curled down as he nodded, “That’s understandable.” 

It had been a good hour and a half at least, so you decided it was time to take that break. “Would you like something to drink while you’re working for me?” You asked, turning toward the kitchen. 

“Do you have any coffee?” 

You stopped in your tracks, turning back his direction. “Coffee?” 

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t like coffee.” he quipped. 

“I love coffee... I just... wasn’t expecting you to ask for that. And I have no idea why.” you giggled. 

He chuckled with you as he walked closer, the both of you migrating to the kitchen where he sat at your island. “Well, I’m just full of surprises, I guess. And, what’s wrong with a guy liking coffee?” He leaned into the counter, crossing his arms in front of him. 

“I dunno...” A thoughtful look gracing your face. “I guess I was expecting you to ask for a … beer, or … water. ‘Coffee’ just threw me off a bit. Sorry.” You said, still giggling as you covered your mouth. 

He couldn’t help but laugh with you, finding your giggle infectious, and your reaction endearing. He couldn’t resist teasing you more. “So now you’re expecting me to be some jock who only drinks alcohol?” 

“Oh god, no.” you said, rolling your eyes and smiling even brighter. I’ll get you some coffee right away Mr... Go – I mean … Satoru.” 

He propped his elbow up on the counter, pressing his fist into his cheek as he observed you with intrigue. “Having a hard time getting away from it, it seems. Maybe you’ll be more comfortable coming up with a nice nickname for me.” he said, enjoying the banter. 

“Hmm... yeah, no, that might be a little...” 

“A little what?” He asked, hiking up an eyebrow. 

“Intimate.” 

He squinted. “You think?” 

“I do.” 

“Well, we are becoming friends, right? Getting to know each other, hanging out. Feels pretty innocent to me.” 

You turned toward your cabinet, grabbing the sugar, and to the fridge for the cream as his eyes trailed over your figure before returning to your face. 

“I take sugar in my coffee.” you said as you looked down at your cup, adding a couple tablespoons. And... definitely some cream.” You stirred as you poured. “How do you take yours?” 

“Black.” he uttered. “And sweet.” 

You huffed. “You’re taken, Satoru.” You replied. Pushing the sugar toward him. 

“Am I?” he muttered, as he watched pink flood your pretty cheeks, and a warm sensation filled his chest. 

At that, you immediately stopped stirring your coffee, complete silence overtaking you both as you murmured slowly, “Satoru... I hate to sound … blunt … and frankly nosey, but …” 

“But, you’re gonna ask anyway.” he replied behind a smirk and his fixed gaze, adding a couple teaspoons of sugar to his coffee.

You took a deep breath, “I guess I just wanna understand. Why do you deal with that?” Your brows threading together in the center as you asked, still looking down at your mug, then flicking your gaze back to him. “I just... I realize it’s not exactly my business what’s going on internally between you, but... that looked pretty bad from the outside. Bad enough to eventually get even worse.” You said you didn’t want to overstep any boundaries but... 

His smile faded a bit as he looked down at his cup, his hands moving to curl around its warmth. “We grew up together.” He started as he nodded slowly. “Our families have known each other since we were children... But it’s been like this for a while. Me and her.” 

Childhood friends. Right. But... The hitting? In all seriousness, if she were on the other side of it, you’d be having this conversation with her instead no doubt. 

“We’ve been best friends since the sandbox.” He smirked behind a quick exhale. “She wasn’t like this before. Well, she’s always been … feisty …” His blue eyes met yours, brows furrowing, but you refused to look away this time. “I’m sure she has her reasons, but... I’m hoping things get better.” 

Your lips parted slightly as you inhaled. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sor–” 

“It’s fine.” He shook his head, his finger tracing the lip of his cup... “I’ve gotta admit though... I’m kinda bracing myself for the day she decides to no longer come home.” He continued, “To be honest, I’m not even sure how I’d feel about it.” 

You looked down at your hands, suddenly wishing you knew how to mind your own damn business. 

“This coffee is perfect.” He took another sip, sitting the mug carefully back down on the counter. “Sweet and strong... but a bit sharp.” 

Ouch. You thought, chewing the inside of your lip as you reluctantly met his piercing gaze. 

“We should probably get a move on before it gets too late, yea? Or... would you rather me come back later?” He suggested, moving to get up from the bar. 

“I’d like to finish the first coat at least... if you don’t mind. I have a busy schedule coming up... A couple trade shows and a meeting with a boutique. It may be a week or so before I manage to get back to it.” 

“Okay.” he answered. “I’ll be more than happy to come back and help you finish up if you just give me a yell.” 

You wondered if that was a good idea after prying so relentlessly. “Do I have to yell?” you asked, squinting one eye. 

He huffed “No, you don’t, but … if it’s okay with you we can exchange numbers.” 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I’d hate to cause trouble for you.” 

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about me.” 

You hid your lips behind your teeth as you looked around to find your phone. You handed it over to him unlocked so he could add your number. He added it, then took a picture of himself, adding that, too. 

“The picture may not have been necessary.” You said, snickering as you shook your head. “I doubt I’d forget a name like Satoru.” 

“Maybe, but then your contact list wouldn’t have been graced with my beautiful face.” he grinned haughtily. “Besides, you’re giving me a nickname remember?” 

“Hmm...” you scrunched your lips together. “Did I agree to that?” 

“Not quite, but you should. And when you do, I expect a good one. I’m a man of high standards after all.” 

“Of course you are. And slick too, apparently.” you said, flashing him a phony smile as your eyes fluttered. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” 

He chuckled as he propped his large body up with his hand on the counter, watching you clean up the coffee supplies. “You’re cheeky. I like that. It’s refreshing to meet people who can keep up with my wit.” 

“Well, I have my off days for sure.” 

“Mmm... Do you mind if I take my coffee in the other room?” 

“I don’t mind at all. Just try not to drink any paint by mistake” 

“Tch... yeah, I think I can manage that much.” 

You turned, grinning his direction as you led him back to the front room. You could call his presence refreshing as well, as you were usually so busy with work that you’d forgotten how nice it was to have someone around frequently to talk to. In the time you’d gotten to know him, he seemed warm. Calm. Inviting. A pleasure.  

It didn't make sense to you how he could be in the middle of a situation as seemingly toxic as the one you’ve witnessed. But again, that’s his business. And really, you figured, you’re an outsider. Looking in on their relationship. Maybe that was the problem. And why it seemed to matter to you was the real question. 

You turned on some music to lighten the mood as you both went back to painting, finishing the primer layer by eight thirty. 

Satoru gathered all of his gear, his eyes giving you a final once-over before leaving. “Give me a ring when you’re ready for me.” 

You nodded, “I will. Thank you, Satoru. I appreciate all the help.” 

“Anytime. We’re neighbors after all. And you’re a young woman living here alone. It’s good to have a man around to help out you think?” 

“Yes. Yes it is. It is. And I will.” You allowed your gaze to settle on his once more, in an attempt to lock the look in his eyes into your memory for safekeeping. It was hard. Hard to see him walk away from your home, to his own, where a woman, one who loved him would be expecting him. 

He headed down your walkway, closing the gate behind him. You snapped the door shut behind you, almost sulking in the quiet. You told yourself to stop caring. He’s just a man. A kind, sincere, beautiful man. 

And he’s taken. 

∘○•········•∘ʚ ֍ ɞ∘•·········•○∘ 

The meeting with the boutique owner was exciting, and a complete success. They were one of the best in the city, and when they approached you to collaborate, you were more than just a little ecstatic about it. It ended in a consignment agreement that included three stores. A huge sell and an immense amount of exposure for your business. 

You’d also managed to complete two of your trade show events, making far more profit than expected, but also depleting you of so much merchandise it was time to do some restocking. Which meant a lot of work from home, making even more product. 

All that work you’d just done, packing everything, loading your truck, hauling it all there, unpacking it at the site, setting up your displays, performing most all sales alone, breaking the entire display down, packing up the truck again just to haul it all back, and unload it into the house. It was a shit ton of work. 

It had been over two weeks since you’d seen Satoru, and you’d heard nothing from their home. You wondered if it was because of what you said, and he was simply hiding he chaos on the inside. But as you arrived to your home after the end of your event to unload your rental, Satoru pulled up behind your car in his Rover. 

He hopped out of the cab, all smiles. “Hey there.” 

You smiled brightly ready to say hello, just as your eyes met his girlfriend’s, hers, cutting sharply toward you as he walked around to open her door. Your smile faded a bit as you noticed her sneer. And you wondered, that if Satoru was open with her about how he’d been to your place helping you, you weren’t sure you could blame her. She got out of the car, her gaze raking over you roughly over puckered lips. 

“H-Hello.” you said nervously, letting go of your heavy box of candles, walking toward her as you wiped your hands on the back of your jeans and leaned in to shake her hand, introducing yourself. “... I just moved in next door. It’s nice to meet you.” 

She held out her hand behind the half-smile she offered, not a single word leaving her lips as Satoru grabbed their things from the SUV. 

“I think that’s everything.” he said as he approached her from behind, his hands full of shopping bags, facing you and your uneasy smile as you waited anxiously for the chance to get back into your house. “Looks like you might need some help with all that, too.” he nods toward the stacks of boxes and equipment in your ride. 

“Uh... thanks but that won’t be necessary.” your eyes flicking between her icy glare and his friendly blues, “I have a cart in the car, I can just –” 

“No way, that stuff looks heavy, and I’m sure you’ve been lugging it around all day, right?” He frowned, his sights grazing over the load that would likely take you at least a half hour to manage. “I’ll be back to help you take it inside.” 

You took a deep breath as he finished his offer, his girlfriend never taking her eyes off of your face. “I’m sure she’d be delighted.” 

“It’s really okay. I can do it.” 

“I insist. I won’t allow you to do all that alone. There’s no point when I’m right here.” 

“Satoru, she said she can take care of it.” The woman sneered, looking through narrowed eyes at you, “I’m sure she’s used to manual labor. You don't have to help her with everything, do you?” 

“Uraume.“ Satoru cut his eyes toward her. “It’ll take all of ten minutes.” 

“She’s right. I’m used to –” 

“I’m ignoring you, and I’ll be back.” Satoru rested his large hand on the small of Uraume’s back as they both turned toward their home, taking their belongings inside. 

“Nice meeting you.” you called out toward his girlfriend as you grimaced, your eyes widening as you turned back toward the car, sliding out your collapsed cart. You pulled it out, popping it open on the street behind the car, and lifting it over the curb onto the sidewalk. You’d gotten one large box in the cart when you see Satoru power walking toward you. Your eyes flicked up toward him as you pressed your lips together. 

“Wow... this bin is as heavy as it looks.” 

“Yeah... those candles weigh about a pound each, twelve in each box, and six boxes per bin.” you nodded, “but you seriously don’t have to do this.” 

“I do. And I will.” He frowned, “you do this alone every time you have an event?” 

“Yeah. I mean... I can't wait around for someone else to help me with everything. I have to take care of it myself if I wanna get it done.” 

“True, but … you ever think of hiring some help?” 

“I have, but that would require the person to make a commitment.” you said placing the last box on top of your stack inside the cart. “Depending on others can leave you with a bunch of incomplete work, and my events aren’t exactly scheduled consistently at the same time each week.” 

Gojo scrunched his lips into the corner of his mouth as his lids lowered over his eyes into a squint. “Well, you have someone to help you now. Please call me and don’t do this by yourself.” 

“Satoru, I’ve been taking care of this alone for years.” 

“And you shouldn’t have to.” he grabbed the handle of the cart, pulling it toward your driveway and up to the garage. “It’s not necessary if you have assistance.” 

“It doesn’t seem like your girlfriend is going to be okay with this. I’d rather not cross her if I can help it. it’s not fair.” 

“It’s not fair for me to carry your boxes?” 

You took a deep breath, “It’s not fair for me to impose on another woman’s relationship. If she’s not comfortable with it, I shouldn’t do it.” 

He leaned in grabbing one of the heavy boxes out of the cart with the greatest of ease. “I can make my own decisions.” 

You rolled your eyes as you opened the garage door. “I’m sure you can but – can you just put it on that shelf?” You pointed to an area it would fit. “– she didn’t look happy with it.” 

He placed the box on the designated area, turning to look at you as you pouted, genuinely concerned with causing him, or his girlfriend, any trouble. You had a couple empty bins you had to bring into the kitchen that would be refilled after all the other items occupied their homes in the garage. He brought those to your space in the kitchen as you huffed, nearly completely out of breath. 

“Haaaah … I think that’s all for now … ha~ah … Thank you.” you said, wiping your brow with the back of your forearm. 

“You look exhausted.” 

You huffed, “Thanks.” you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“Don’t you have brothers? Family to come help?” 

You finished guzzling your water, pulling the bottle down from your face. “I just moved away from them. Besides, they have jobs, too.” 

He nodded. “Right.” he said, looking around at your bins, all the stuff in the garage, the unfinished walls, peering over at you in your spent state as he leaned on your counter, propped up by his elbows. And what is this about imposing on another woman’s relationship?” 

You finished your second swig of water, finishing the bottle. “What?” 

He stood up straight, stepping toward you slowly. “You said … you’re ‘imposing’ on her relationship.” he stopped within a foot of you, crossing his arms in front of him, towering as his lids rested over his gaze. “How so?” 

You shrugged. “Like I said, she didn’t look like she was okay with it.” 

“And what do you care if she’s okay with it?” 

“Satoru....” you shifted your weight, your hands moving to your hips, avoiding that insane gaze that you haven’t seen in weeks. 

“Do you think that you’re a threat?” 

You had no idea how to answer that, your brows furrowing in the center. “Tch... What kind of a question is that?” 

“An easy one.” he tilted his head from one side to the other, his gaze locked on your flustered, pink-cheeked face.  

“What imposition … on MY relationship … could possibly occur from me carrying a couple of boxes?” he continued, stepping closer, uncrossing his arms from in front of him, re-crossing them behind his back. “or … painting a wall?” he stepped even closer. “What’s going on here, between you and me, that you feel will cause my relationship to crumble?” 

You shook your head, your gaze traveling up his torso, to his face, the center of your body squeezing itself together as your eyes finally met his. 

He huffed, “You’re cute when you pout, you know that?” 

“You can't say that stuff to me, Gojo”. you whispered, as goosebumps tingled all over your skin.

“You’re cute when you blush, too.” he grinned. “And I told you... I need you...  

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to call me ‘Satoru’.” 

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∘○•········•∘ʚ ֍ ɞ∘•·········•○∘ 

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M. List | Ch.02 (Coming Soon)

Thanks for reading! 💎🤍💎🥰

Notes: As always, I welcome any and all critiques, suggestions, and comments regarding my work, since I truly feel all of those may make me a much better writer! I sincerely appreciate you taking the time to read my little stories, and if you'd like to be tagged in releases, don't hesitate to comment below! 😊💖

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[confused-since-birth]

Razor's grip - part four

other chapters: 1 2 3

✨Notes: Hiii! I hope you enjoy this part as well, it isn't proofread yet, it might be incoherent in some parts, but I will edit it later. I would love feedback and advice where is needed. 💕

✨Characters: Sylus, non-mc!reader, Philip the shop owner, gang members

✨word count: 1672

✨warnings: men being weird, curse words at some point, death (insinuated), low-key stalking

Sylus wasn’t one to make rash decisions without a reason behind them. He also didn’t want useless elements anywhere near him; after all, the more, the harder to control. In this case, the first time the shop owner mentioned a certain student whose name appeared on very interesting papers Sylus paid no mind. He almost didn’t even recognize your name in some old files from Ever. Curiosity got the better of him and read your file: med student, an internship at Ever that was cut short without explanation. This intrigued him. He tried searching for an explanation on why was the internship so short, why did you give up, only to research protocores and the such.

After some days passed, he got his hands on a report from around that time. It stated that there was an incident regarding a procedure that was supposed to implant low energy protocores in some patients, then slowly raise the level of energy gradually while inside the body through different methods. However, things didn’t go as planned.

But there was no mention of you being present there in that moment.

Soon after, you gave up the internship at Ever, dropped out of medical school and enrolled in the University of Physics and Astronomy of Linkon City. Quite the change, you could say.

Sylus could feel something weird was happening the moment that one day, he came across a photo of you walking down the street, unknowing, and your address in newer files.

If you weren’t there that night, left with no problems, why would they put so much effort in keeping tabs on you?

That was the moment he decided that maybe Philip would appreciate a pair of hands in his shop that could help him. If Ever was so interested in your person, maybe you would prove to be an ace up his sleeve.

The night he saw you face to face for the first time, blood and sweat on your face he felt something close to familiarity. The fire in your eyes, the need to negotiate even if your life might’ve been in danger, startled something in him. He didn’t know what for sure, maybe amusement? Whatever it was, it made him want to see what will you do.

The week passed almost without noticing. You were starting to get used to the change. At first, the only thing you did was write reports and do the calculations for Philip to ease his work. He taught you new things, becoming your colleague and professor at the same time. Then, trying to help him more, you also started to work on the enhancers and repair broken pieces.

Sunday, while almost pulling your hair out because your results were far from the correct answer, you noticed Sylus standing in the door frame, waiting to be noticed. In his hand was a bag.

“I was wondering if, waiting for you to notice me, I will turn into a clothes hanger”, he says almost displeased.

“Did you go shopping and missed me?”, you reply dryly.

His only answer is a half smirk, while walking towards you. Sylus drops the bag on you papers and says:

“Go change quickly.”

In the bag were black dress pants and a jacket. They were beautifully tailored, fitting you like a second skin. The jacket was made a little longer than most would be. It closed with a red leather belt. They were comfortable and looked good. You put your hair in a bun, put on some shoes, and get in the car with Sylus.

“Thank you for the suit”, you say. It was unexpected, but much needed. You didn’t really have nice clothes and most of the time, near him, you feel inadequate anyway. “Where are we going?”

“A meeting”, he answers shortly, leaving no place for other discussions.

A deep sigh leaves your chest and chose to look out the window.

Sylus watches you with the corner of his eye, unbeknownst to you. He didn’t think the suit will look this good on your body. It was indeed simple, black and a speck of red. Did the red of the belt match the red of his eyes? Maybe. Did it stir a form of pride the fact that you wore his colors, while walking with that silent confidence of yours? Maybe. Your presence had a strange calming effect on him. There was only one person who could truly make him feel happy and calm, but it mustn’t be wrong to feel pleased with his employee. After all, you were the ace up his sleeve.

The meeting was held in the same hotel from almost a week ago. Sylus signals with a nod to follow him, which you do. He leads you in a room that would seem pretty cozy – as cozy as it could be in a hotel in the N109 Zone – if it weren’t for the two guys that were already sitting at the table and their bodyguards behind them.

The one whom you guessed to be the boss, looked intimidating – black hair that was kept in place by too much gel, a big nose in the center of his face and lips that were too thin and slim. His eyes got a glint of mischief when looking at you, they trailed over your body in a way that made your stomach want to get out through your throat. His body was too buff for the suit he wore.

Next to this man, was another that looked sickly – pale with long limbs, dark circles under his brown eyes that were partially masked by his round glasses. Blonde hair that looked messy fell in curls on his forehead.

None of them looked trustworthy.

“Good evening, Mr. Sylus! I see you brought a friend”, the buff man says with a tone that perhaps held a little too much arrogance. “Quite the beautiful lady.”

Sylus pulls a chair for you then sits down himself, next to you, taking space not only with his body, but his aura. The air felt a little electric around him, your senses picking up danger flowing of off him just like his intoxicating perfume.

“You may start”, is the only thing he tells them.

Without other setbacks they start presenting what they called ‘very very high grade protocores’ that were obtained in their labs – those didn’t look very high grade. They then started to present the weapons they used them on, how they were the best on the market and so on and so forth. Half way in their speech you zoomed out for a while. The deal was quite simple to understand – they were selling the protocores, weapons and some labs. But there was some missing plot in their fairytale.

The labs were supposed to be very safe and have top technology. Especially, if they used it to enhance and put into weapons as advanced as they were claiming. The personnel of the labs should be composed of top-notch scientists for everything to go this well. Looking at them and what they brought… this was very unlikely. Not to say how much it would cost to have one such lab…

At your core, you were a very logic person or, at least, that’s what you wanted to believe. So, if someone says something, they should bring proof. If you want to sell something that promises so much, you should prove that it’s so efficient – reports. You bet that the blonde guy was one of those so called ‘scientists’ and the files in front of him are the reports regarding the protocores and weapons. You would love to read those.

It wasn’t only the useless talk that wore your patience thin, but the looks the buff man gave you. Your suit and turtleneck were nothing short of decent. He was looking at you like you wore a minidress and poured chocolate on yourself.

Sylus sits relaxed in his seat looking at you from time to time. Your face gives away no emotion, but your eyes were talking. He could see that discomfort was starting to make itself known inside of you by the way you were blinking less, your eyes locked on those two morons in front. The white-haired man wanted to see your assertiveness, how you bite while keeping your voice low.

He knew the deal was bullshit, but he wanted to see you work, keep afloat and ultimately win. He needed to get you out of your shell.

“I think my friend has something to say”, are the words that slip past Sylus’s lips, slightly mortifying you.

“I think that some written proof of this efficiency would make what you say more believable.”, you say trying to keep your composure.

The blonde looks unsettled at his boss who no longer looks at you with perverted thoughts. A scowl blooms on his face.

“How about a pretty girl like you just listens to what us men talk? Stress causes wrinkles, I heard”

“It seems that you might know more about wrinkles than protocores. This doesn’t raise your credibility, though.”

A chuckle can be heard from your left from Sylus.

You don’t know what look did Sylus give them, however it doesn’t really matter as the files find themselves in your hands.

It takes a while to understand them completely, but when you do… they are laughable.

“It might have been alright, if what you’ve brought here today was the real thing, but…reading this I see that you are still making mistakes that are weird for such good scientists. The major problem – actually, one of the major problems – is that you are altering them in unsafe conditions at unsafe rates. You are forcing low grade ones to try and pass them as high grade, while making them unstable. These are real time bombs, nothing else."

Your words sealed their fate. Not only was the deal a bad one, but their intent was to fool him. That wouldn’t do.

Sylus signaled you to leave, which you are very happy to. There are no questions about what happened after you left as gunshots were heard down the hall.

--------

tags: @m00njinnie @allura-miss @phisen

[collecting-dustbunnies]

Had this thought when I was talking to someone else here but...

There are several instances in Obey Me! where a truth bomb is dropped in order to move the plot forward. You would think everyone else in the scene would have more to say about it, or have a much stronger reaction to what's happening, but then they just...don't react.

For example:

Likewise, in Season 2, Diavolo was explaining to everybody at the House of Lamentation the "MC is a ring" theory, citing how they have angelic heritage, which is part of the ring. Solomon and Simeon are present during this conversation, and none of them react to this statement. It makes sense for neither Solomon or Simeon to react since they were sharing notes with Diavolo on the calamities in hard mode. They likely knew about MC's heritage at that point already. What their thoughts are on MC being part angel and how that impacts Diavolo's exchange program are things that we probably won't ever know.

Shortly before MC was sent on a timeline hunt by Barbatos, Lucifer had confessed to his family about Lilith's true fate and the deal with Diavolo. In response, Beel asks Lucifer to give his other brothers a little more credit and trust them more next time. It was a great scene. Then timeline shenanigans happen, and this important moment seems like it got reset. It's unclear whether this revelation happened or not, and what came of it. I guess they didn't want a rehash of the same exact scene again when all the other revelations were going down, which is such a shame because I felt like that scene was so important to finally call out Lucifer on how horribly he managed the situation.

Regardless, there's somebody else who should have had a more visceral reaction to this revelation, who's reaction we never got to see: Belphegor. The narrative tells us that Belphie lost a lot of respect for Lucifer when he saw how Lucifer had gotten reduced to Diavolo's right-hand man and how he had seemingly forgotten about their sister. Having learnt the true motivation behind Lucifer's actions, what would he have felt? Relief, that Lucifer hadn't turned out to be as big a traitor as he had thought? Or anger, since Lucifer had selfishly withheld the fact that Lilith had lived and would continue living happily; that Lucifer was able to sleep soundly at night with the knowledge he had saved his sister while Belphie and Beel continued feeling guilty and grieving her for centuries? Or what if this anger was directed at Diavolo, as he now knows that Diavolo manipulated Lucifer into eternal servitude? Belphie having ANY thought about this aspect of the truth would have given him a good motivation to continue being salty about Lucifer and Diavolo and a good way to give him any development at all, since it's clear the writers had no clue what to do with him after his vendetta arc was done.

But this then begs the question of how much do the Purgatory Hall gang know? The fall, Lilith's fate, Lucifer's deal with Diavolo, Belphie's plan...do they know it all? And around what point did they find out? From NB Lesson 11, Solomon apparently knows about Lucifer and Diavolo's deal. Is that a case of characters talking to each other off-screen, since this story in particular likes to do that a lot, or the writers goofing up and forgetting that certain characters aren't supposed to be in the KnowTM? I know most of y'all are gonna say the latter, but that's so boring zzz

Speaking of conversations off-screen, let's not forget Luke, who wasn't present at that scene because he was watching over Lucifer. Would he have been told at some point (since it's hard to lie about why Lucifer suddenly had amnesia or why the Celestial Realm is dying)? Hiding this information from Luke would be yet another example of how little the others trust Luke with the truth (from his perspective), which would further bolster his justification for being upset and running away from home when Simeon and Solomon continue lying and hiding the truth later on.

And then there's that part in NB where Satan casually drops Solomon and Barbatos' entire backstory like it was nothing. Why was MC's reaction so cold, when they had expressed interest in wanting to know the reason why Solomon wants to collect all these demons literally the previous day? Considering MC didn't even know Solomon was immortal until the end of S2 (which I find totally ridiculous btw. Does MC live under a rock? Like, not even a suspicion that this guy is probably older than he looks? Really?), I doubt they knew all these other details about him. It was kinda weird Satan only read that paragraph to MC to make it an analogy about himself. What are his thoughts about people being ostracised regardless of their species? Especially with MC in the context of the Devildom.

The fact that he got that information from a book already raises so many questions. What kind of book is it? Did it exist in the MC's time period? If it did, why did nobody make mention of it before? And if it didn't, then what other useful information would be in it that the game refused to reveal? For all we know, the book probably has all the details on Barbatos being Nightbringer given what an important figure he was in this time period and the characters are too passive to find out--nevermind, I shouldn't overthink this.

THE POINT IS, anytime this kind of thing happens it gives me the mental image of everyone else in the scene being 🧍 when somebody is trauma dumping on MC. I don't mean that all 10 characters should show variations of the shocked pikachu face when Diavolo is revealing that MC is destroying the world, that would just artificially bloat the story and feel tiring. But if plot points and conflicts weren't immediately forgotten by the characters, we could have had like idk Luke doing his own thing to get Simeon to trust him (remembering how helpless he was when MC was causing destruction as the ring), or a Belphie regression/villain arc where he gets more people to go against Diavolo, or Solomon using "Belphie's murder attempt and Diavolo covering it up" as leverage against Diavolo and his reign if Diavolo does something to piss him off.

A lot of plot points that have taken place can have a lot of ramifications on characters' motivations, which can then impact the actions they take as a response. This would 1) allow the story to feel more cohesive 2) give the team some room to expand their story instead of pulling some new plot point out of their ass and 3) make the characters feel more dynamic as they are more active, not reactive (ironically), in the story.

Of course, the downside is that this route is much harder to implement. Having to coordinate the actions of 15 different characters and thinking of the ramifications they have on the narrative.....ooooooh boy.