#this is really personal and vulnerable and dear to my heart

[bwabys-scenarios]

Hello dear! How are you? Could you please do Perv! Chrollo if it's not too much trouble? I haven't seen much Perv Chrollo content out there, and I'd love to see that in your writing! You can ignore it if you want, have a nice day ♡ (Sorry if it seemed confusing, English is not my first language ☠️)

His pretty girl

Perv!Chrollo x Fem!Reader

warnings: perv behavior, panting stealing, reader is mentioned to be chubby, excessive gift giving, somno, dubcon, reader is innocent and naive, breeding kink, pregnancy, bit of Yandere chrollo if you squint, Chrollo calls you princess/angel/goddess, minor manga spoilers about Shalnark

A/N: not the biggest chrollo fan but him being head over heels in love and just a big softy with his lover does do something for me.

NSFW: @lightshowerrr @jungtoast @nenggie @pannacottababy @aliceattheart @atransmuter

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Unlike most pervs, Chrollo is much sneakier with his perversion. You won’t catch him sniffing your panties or jacking off to pictures of your cute face… but you will find pairs of your panties covered in his cum in your dresser, and lots of pictures of you saved on his phone if you go looking.

Chrollo absolutely adores you, he enjoys seeing you blush and stutter when you find a particularly nasty love letter stuffed into your mailbox, or those pair of missing lacy panties folded neatly on your bed, with strange stains on them.

He first fell for you when Shalnark introduced him to you. You met Shal through the Hunter exam years ago, though you didn’t pass. Regardless, the two of you stayed good friends, with Shal making sure you stayed safe while under his care.

But Shalnark was quick to back off the second Chrollo showed interest in you. You were just too cute, with your chubby frame and pretty face. Chrollo had never really put much thought into his sexual preferences, but seeing your plump ass and fat tits was enough to awaken something… sinful in him.

After that first meeting, you started receiving little gifts from him. At first, they were just pretty trinkets that Chrollo found on his missions, but as his obsession and adoration for you grew, those little trinkets because expensive dresses and luxurious jewelry.

At first you thought it was just him being generous with you, considering your living situation wasn’t the best. You were very appreciative, your cheeks heating up and your voice small when he smiled sweetly after you thanked him.

But over time, strange things started happening that you just couldn’t explain!

Your windows would be open in the morning when you were sure you closed them last night… and what was that sticky stuff on your face?

Chrollo had gotten into the habit of breaking in to watch you sleep. In the beginning, it was because he felt such intense love and care for you that he just couldn’t bear the thought of you getting harmed in your most vulnerable state!

He’d sit at the edge of your bed, reading a book while gently stroking your cheek. It was cute, you seemed so content and happy in your sleep when he was with you. It made his heart soar thinking that maybe, just maybe he had something to do with it.

But soon those soft and innocent intentions shifted when he noticed how… revealing your pajamas were sometimes. Those flimsy little shorts and the fact he could see your nipples through your thin white tanktop had his cock straining against his pants.

You always looked so soft and peaceful, something he wanted to protect and cherish. You were the only person linking him to the normal world, where your biggest problems were paying rent on time and figuring out what to eat for dinner, while his were trying to keep his friends from dying and which heist he should plan next.

You lived in a completely different world than him, and that was some of the appeal. Chrollo had never lived a normal life, but with you, he could have some shred of normalcy. He could marry you, make you his sweet little wife and live out the rest of his days keeping you happy and safe.

But… deep down Chrollo knew this was next to impossible. He was a wanted criminal, with more enemies than he could care to remember.

He still liked to imagine it, though. You, sitting in a rocking chair your swollen belly, carrying his child. He’d come home from a heist, carry you upstairs and ravish you, making sure to be extra careful with your delicate body.

Chrollo stroked his cock to this thought, his tip gently pressed against your lips as you slept. He’d done this exact things countless times… he hadn’t been expecting you to wake up right as he buckled his pants after cumming on your lips.

“… Chrollo?”

You rubbed your sleepy eyes, then wiped at your mouth, grimacing. Did you drool in your sleep? It was too dark to make out what was on your hand… but there was just enough light to see your friend Chrollo standing there, peering down at you with a slightly surprised expression.

He quickly took on his usual calm, charming facade. “Hello, (Name). Shal asked me to come watch over you. Apparently there’s been a few break ins in town that got both him and I worried for you.”

It was all lies, but something he loved about (Name) was her naïveté. You smiled sweetly, your cheeks heating up. “Really? You came to make sure I was okay?”

Chrollo nodded, setting his book on your nightstand before sitting at the edge of your bed. “Of course… I don’t think you understand just how much you mean to me, (Name).”

You didn’t have time to react, he was already leaning closer to you. His eyes were captivating in the moonlight, reflecting the light and shining like jewels.

“You’re divine, (Name), like an angel sent from Heaven just for me.”

He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your lip. “I want you, more than anything.”

Hearing this from a handsome man like Chrollo felt unreal. He wanted you of all people? It was hard to believe.

As if sensing your hesitancy, Chrollo tilted up your chin. “Do you want me to show you?”

Before you could answer, his lips met yours. He had been holding back for so long, he needed this, he needed you. You were always so sweet to him, making sure he was eating well and even coming to visit him when you could. How could he ever ask for anything more than you?

It wasn’t long before his tongue entered your mouth and his hands slipped under your shirt to grab at your perky, plump tits. You whines softly into his mouth as his thumbs ran over your sensitive nipples.

“Like that, princess?”

He gave them a soft pinch, biting down on your lip as he moved one hand to your shorts. He didn’t both with taking them off, he ripped them and pinned you down, one hand pinning your wrists and the other unbuckling his pants.

“My darling…”

His eyes settled on your pretty cunt, wet and glistening in the moonlight. Chrollo had a few one nights stands in the past, but he never felt like this before. Your pussy, all wet and ready for him was enough to have him groaning into your neck as his cock sunk into your warm heat.

He grabbed onto your hips, his fingers sinking into the soft fat. You were so cute, tears pooling down your cheeks as you blubbered incoherently, too fucked out to speak. He leaned forward and kissed those soft lips of yours, so soft and gentle with his little angel.

“Shh, just take me okay? Fuck, you’re divine, my angel, my goddess…”

With one leg over his shoulder as he pressed your bodies together, Chrollo fucked into you. He tried his best to restrain himself, but god you looked way too pretty when you came around his cock for the third time.

You clung to him for comfort and some sort of stability as he mercilessly pounded your sensitive cunt. “Pretty, god you’re just gorgeous, my sweet girl…”

By the end of the night, you were too exhausted to even speak, your pussy full of his seed. He held you now, cooing softly as he peppered kisses along your cheeks and jaw. “Did so well, such a good girl…”

From then on Chrollo’s obsession with you would only deepen. He’d marked you up, leaving love bites all over your neck and chest. You were his, and he’d make sure everyone knew that.

It wasn’t long before he had moved you away, somewhere you could be together and also under the radar. After Shalnark’s death, he became a bit paranoid that Hisoka would come after you next.

So now there you were, belly swollen with his child as he held you in his lap, his palm resting on your baby bump.

Chrollo had you, and although it wasn’t quite the life he had expected, he was still happy with it. You were here with him, carrying his baby and unable to get a way, even if you wanted to.

And that was enough for him.

[ghostlyferrettarot]

💕Pick a Picture: ༘⋆♡⸝⸝💌⊹。°˖➴Channeled letter from your Soulmate ༘⋆♡⸝⸝💌⊹。°˖➴

₊˚ʚ ₊💌˚✧ ﾟ🤍 𝓗𝓪𝓹𝓹𝔂 𝓥𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼 𝓓𝓪𝔂₊˚ʚ ₊💌˚✧ ﾟ🤍

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🛸Masterlist🛸

ʚ🩷ɞ Pile 1:

"Hello, my love:

We haven't met yet in the time we know, but I feel your energy close by. Sometimes, in the quietest moments, I close my eyes and I can imagine what it will be like the first moment I see you, how everything will seem to align, as if everything has led to this very moment.

I want you to know something: I am already here, thinking of you, even though I can't show you yet. You may not see it, but I feel a little closer every day. And in this space, I want you to trust that everything you have lived, everything you have experienced, is leading me right to you. Your strength, your vulnerability, your moments of light and shadow... are building me a clear image of how wonderful you are.

So don't worry about when or how, because love comes when it has to. I promise it won't be rushed, or forced. You don't need to be perfect for me; none of that really matters. All I want is for you to be yourself, as authentic as you are, because that's the person I want to share my life with.

With all my love that I haven't given you yet ;),

Your future lover"

💘 Channeled song from your person:

ʚ🩷ɞ Pile 2:

"Hello, my love:

Maybe this message comes at a time when you feel like everything is on pause, or that things are not going their course. And I want to tell you, from the bottom of my heart, that everything is happening exactly as it has to be. There is nothing that is out of place. We are at different points, but somewhere in this space that we share, we are already connected.

I want you to know that I am waiting for you, although not in the sense of waiting as something passive. No. I am waiting for you with everything that I am, with everything that I am learning, with everything that I already am and everything that I continue to discover. Because I need you just as you are, not for what you can do, or for what you can "give" me, but for what we are together when we meet.

Although sometimes you may feel alone or lost, you are preparing yourself for what is to come. Don't doubt yourself or what the future holds, I want you to trust that this whole path has been a part of my journey to you. You dont need to worry about what's still unclear. I promise that when the time comes, it will all make sense, believe me.

I send you all my love,

Your love"

💘 Channeled song from your person:

ʚ🩷ɞ Pile 3:

"Hello, my dear,

Today I woke up feeling so warm and close to you, like we already knew each other, like our souls already recognized each other, even though we haven't physically crossed paths yet. I'm here, even though you can't see me, and I'm sending you all my love and thoughts.

I want you to know that, even though this journey towards you is taking longer than you imagine, every day that passes brings me closer to you. You don't have to do anything else, just be you, and that's what attracts me the most. I promise you that everything is happening in its perfect time. When we get to meet, everything will make sense, and everything you've lived so far will be the solid foundation for what we're going to build together.

Don't feel pressured, Don't worry if it seems like things aren't going as fast as you'd like. I'm going through my own process too, and on this journey, we're learning to be better versions of ourselves so we can give each other the most genuine love.

I want you to always remember that you are enough just the way you are. You dont need to change who you are, how you think, what you like; the ones that get it, are the ones that matter, and in the end, you have me ;). Please keep moving and keep being you, you deserve the world and your ideas need to be heard. Your voice MATTER! so keep going my love.

With all my love,

Your partner in a crime"

💘 Channeled song from your person:

🩷⋆˚✿˖°ᡣ𐭩🩷Thanks for reading, tell me if it resonated and Happy Valentines day🩷⋆˚✿˖°ᡣ𐭩🩷

[viktateapot]

TENDERER THAN STEEL

JASON TODD X READER

Summary: Jason Todd is the epitome of steel and rage. He doesn't know how to be gentle or express his feelings. But you know that beneath his tough exterior lies a kind heart. This is a series of short sketches that show how you help Jason discover his soft side and learn to express his love.

One day, after a particularly difficult night in Gotham, when they returned to the safe house, you noticed that Jason was unusually quiet. Usually, after a battle, he would share his thoughts, criticizing Batman or the foolish criminals. However, today, he simply sat on the edge of the bed, staring into space.

You approached him, sat down next to him, and took his hand. His skin was cold, like metal. You gently squeezed his fingers, looking into his tired eyes. "What's wrong, Jason?" she asked quietly. He sighed, looking away. "Nothing. It's just... it's been a long day." You knew it was a lie. She could feel the storm brewing inside him, and she decided that she wouldn't back down today.

You gently rested your head on his shoulder. "Jay, dear, I can see that something is bothering you... Please tell me"

Jason froze. She knew it wasn't easy for him to open up. He was used to keeping everything inside, relying on himself. It had taken him time to learn to trust her, to let her see his true self. But she knew that beneath that mask of strength and independence was a vulnerable person who needed love and support. And she was willing to wait as long as it took for him to feel safe again.

"A child died in front of my eyes today..." He whispered with pain in his voice. "And I couldn't do anything about it..."

His words cut her like a razor. You knew that Jason always took it personally when an innocent person suffered. Especially children. It touched something deep inside him, reminding him of his own tragic past. He saw himself in those children—defenseless, abandoned, and destined for suffering. And when he couldn't save them, he felt like he had failed. Like he was once again the same boy that no one could protect.

You hugged him a little tighter. "Oh, Dorogoy, I'm so sorry..." You whispered back, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. Your lips barely touched the skin on his neck.

There was more warmth and support in that gentle touch than in any words. You knew that what he needed right now wasn't comfort, but simply being present. Knowing that he wasn't alone, that there was someone who understood his pain and was willing to share it with him. She didn't try to persuade him or say the usual phrases about how things would get better. She simply stood by his side, allowing him to express his pain and bitterness.

Jason seemed to relax a little. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of your hair. His hands, which had been tense, loosened their grip slightly. He didn't cry or scream, but you could feel his body trembling. And in that moment, as the darkness enveloped them, she realized that love wasn't always about heroic deeds. Sometimes, it was about being there for someone when they were hurting. It was about being a safe haven in a stormy ocean. And that was perhaps the most important thing she could do for him.

That night, they sat together in silence for a long time, sharing their pain and sorrow. And then, as the dawn broke over Gotham, you saw a glimmer of hope in Jason's eyes. He was still made of steel, but there was something new in that steel - a tenderness, a fragility, and a vulnerability. And she knew that her love and care, day after day, could melt even the coldest heart. After all, even steel can become more tender when it is warmed by the warmth of genuine love.

My comment: I know that the title is not suitable, and I just wanted to write something similar to a tragic story. And I see that you really liked my work "KISSES 💋 (Batboys)" even more than "UNDERSTAND THAT YOU ARE NOT HIM" 🥹

In general, offer some ideas for ff in the comments...

[aventurineswife]

Considering that Aventurine only has one earring, what if his s/o has the other one?

Where Aven offers reader if she wants to use the other one so they can match. <3

Two of a Kind

Summary: Aventurine offers his significant other the twin earring to his own, symbolizing their connection and the depth of their bond. As the two share a quiet evening in their shared space, the simple yet meaningful gesture of matching earrings serves as a reminder of their love and the vulnerability hidden beneath Aventurine’s confident exterior.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Established Relationship, Fluff, Romance, Emotional Depth, Symbolism (?), Comfort, Gift-Giving, Character Growth.

The golden hues of the setting sun poured through the expansive windows of Aventurine’s private suite, casting a warm glow over the luxurious yet subtly disheveled space. Papers were scattered across a polished mahogany desk, a deck of cards lay half-shuffled on a velvet ottoman, and the faint aroma of Aventurine’s preferred cologne lingered in the air.

You were seated on the chaise lounge, curled up with a book in hand. The soft fabric of the cushions was inviting, but your focus was on the sound of Aventurine humming a soft tune, barely audible over the rhythmic ticking of an antique clock.

He stood near the mirror, adjusting his hat and smoothing the fur trim of his overcoat. His eyes flicked briefly toward you, their slitted pupils narrowing as a smile crept across his lips.

“You know,” he began, his voice carrying that familiar playful lilt, “there’s something missing tonight.”

You glanced up, marking your place in the book with a finger. “Missing? You’ve got your hat, your coat, your flair… what could possibly be missing?”

Aventurine turned to face you fully, his hands on his hips. “Ah, my dear, you wound me. How could you forget the most important accessory of all?”

You tilted your head, confused but amused by his theatrics. “Your rings? Your watch? Or is it the hidden ace you always keep up your sleeve?”

“Close,” he said with a chuckle, stepping closer. He reached up to touch the peacock feather earring dangling from his left ear. The gradient shimmered under the light, fading from a deep blue to sea green. “It’s this.”

Your gaze followed his movement, and your heart warmed as you realized what he meant. “Your earring? What about it?”

He grinned, pulling something small from his pocket. In his palm rested a second earring—its twin. “I’ve been holding onto this for a while,” he admitted, his tone softening. “It’s been sitting in a drawer, waiting for the right moment… or the right person.”

Your breath hitched. “Aven…”

He sank down onto the chaise beside you, his smile never faltering. “You’ve already got a way of completing me, my dear,” he murmured, taking your hand in his. “But I figured… why not make it official?”

With his free hand, he held up the earring. The delicate black gleamed in the dim light, and the feather’s colors mirrored the one he wore. “Would you do me the honor of wearing this? So we can match.”

You blinked back the sudden emotion welling up in your chest. “You… you really mean that?”

“Of course,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “This isn’t just some trinket to me. It’s a symbol. A piece of me I’d like to share with you. Besides,” he added with a wink, “you’d look stunning with it.”

You nodded, your cheeks warming as you reached for the earring. Aventurine’s hands brushed yours as he helped you fasten it in place, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. Once it was secured, he leaned back to admire his work, his gaze alight with satisfaction.

“There,” he said, his smile softening. “Now you’re perfect.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest couldn’t be ignored. “As if you didn’t think I was perfect before.”

He laughed, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “Touché. But now we’re a matched set—two halves of a whole.”

As you reached out to take his hand, you couldn’t help but notice the way his fingers trembled slightly, betraying the depth of his emotions beneath that ever-present mask. You squeezed his hand gently, and he responded with a reassuring smile, the kind he reserved only for you.

In that quiet moment, with the sun dipping below the horizon and the world outside fading into shadow, you felt the truth in his words. You were his match, just as he was yours—two stones forged in fire, unbreakable together.

[ijustwannabecool]

The Wrong Letter

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary... A letter never meant to be read by Lewis Hamilton finds its way into his hands. What starts as a simple reply turns into an unlikely bond—one filled with letters, honesty, heartbreak, and healing. In a world where the wrong address led to the right person, what happens when pen meets paper, and two broken hearts begin to write a new ending?

Trigger Warnings: emotional manipulation, mental/emotional abuse (past), themes of abandonment and healing, language, grief, vulnerability, slow-burn romance, miscommunication A/N: I hope you enjoy it! I wrote it with lots of love for you guys. Enjoy it. Feedback is always welcome! Comment, repost, and like. Have a beautiful day!

THE WRONG LETTER

The Letter That Wasn’t Supposed to Be Sent

⸻

The flat is still.

There’s no dramatic thunderstorm, no flickering lights. Just the hush of twilight seeping through the windows and the low hum of your record player crackling out some melancholy tune you can’t remember the name of. You’re not sad, not really. Just tired.

Exhaustion lives in your bones now.

Not the kind sleep fixes, but the kind that hangs around long after someone has convinced you you’re too much and somehow not enough all at once.

You’re in your favorite hoodie—the soft, oversized one that smells faintly of lavender and school paint—and you’re sitting on the floor with a pen in your hand and a letter you’re not supposed to be writing.

It started as a thought. Then a sentence. Now it’s three pages in and your hand won’t stop moving.

You didn’t plan this. You were cleaning out the drawer next to your bed, the one filled with tangled chargers and expired coupons and that old blue stationery you forgot you even owned. Something about the blank page pulled at you. Like a dare.

You told yourself it was just a writing exercise. Closure. Nothing more. But now the ink is dry on your fingers, and the page in front of you reads like a confession.

⸻

Dear You, I don’t know what I’m hoping to get out of this. It’s not like you’ll ever read it. Which is probably for the best.

You don’t deserve this version of me—the one that stayed soft, even after you tried to strip her down to splinters. You were always good with words. Always knew how to rearrange a sentence so it sounded like care instead of control. Love instead of leverage.

I used to think your silences were deep. Now I know they were empty.

Still, part of me misses you. Or maybe I miss who I thought you were. The you I built in my head. The one who laughed when I danced barefoot in the kitchen and kissed my shoulder when I fell asleep during movies.

But that version of you never existed, did he?

No, the real you gave compliments like currency. Affection in measured doses. Love as a prize to be earned. And I tried. God, I tried.

I folded myself smaller. Smiled quieter. Disappeared gently. And still—you left.

So I guess this is me saying goodbye to a ghost. I’m letting go of you. Of the echo of you. Of the space you used to take up in my head. You won’t read this. But I need to say it anyway. I’m done writing stories where you’re the hero. — Me

⸻

You fold the letter carefully. You don’t know why. You could rip it up. Burn it. Drop it in the bin. But instead, you slide it into the envelope and write out the name almost instinctively.

M. Hamilton

312 Grafton Way London NW1

You stare at it. You don't even know if he still lives there. Then you frown. No—wait.

You flip the envelope back over. You wrote it wrong.

It says:

L. Hamilton

213 Grafton Lane London NW1

You groan. “Of course,” you mutter. “Because nothing in this chapter can be simple.” You set the letter aside, swearing you won’t send it.

But the next morning, in a fog of Monday autopilot, you grab a handful of outgoing post—bills, a birthday card, and the letter—and drop them all in the red postbox outside your building.

It’s only as the flap closes behind them that your stomach sinks. “Shit.”

⸻

A Week Later — Monaco

He notices the envelope right away.

It’s the only one without a stamp, as if someone hand-delivered it, even though it came through the normal post. It’s pale blue and slightly wrinkled. The handwriting is neat, but unsure—like someone who learned to write letters in a hurry and never stopped.

L. Hamilton

He sighs.

Another fan letter, maybe. Or someone asking for money. Or advice. Or a favor he can’t give.

Still, something about it makes him pause.

He’s been restless lately.

Ferrari is new, and so far, it feels like trying to start over in a language he only half understands. Everyone wants a piece of him. A statement. A smile. A legacy.

And all he wants—quietly, stubbornly—is something real. So he opens the envelope. And reads. Once.

Then twice.

Then again—slower.

By the third read, he’s no longer just reading. He’s feeling.

The words dig beneath his ribs.

It’s not meant for him. Obviously. He’s never said any of these things to anyone. And yet—he recognizes the ache in every line.

The loneliness. The exhaustion. The delicate way she holds her own pain like it might spill if she’s not careful.

He stares at the letter for a long time. Then he folds it neatly and places it on the table.

He makes a cup of tea. Takes a shower. Paces the room. Plays part of a jazz album he’s never finished.

And still—he’s thinking about her. The woman who wrote to the wrong Hamilton. And made him feel more seen than anyone had in months.

⸻

He stares at the letter again the next morning.

He’d left it on the edge of his desk, tucked just under a book he hadn’t had the attention span to read. He told himself he wasn’t going to pick it up again.

But he did.

Twice.

And now—again.

He rereads the opening line: “I don’t know what I’m hoping to get out of this.”

Same.

Lewis exhales sharply and runs a hand down his face. He’s still in his sweats, hair barely tied back, a mug of lukewarm coffee in one hand.

The world outside his window is bright and red and fast. But in here, it’s quiet.

Too quiet.

He doesn’t remember the last time someone told him something real without asking for something in return.

And this stranger—this accidental letter writer—didn’t even mean to.

She gave him honesty on accident. Gave him something that wasn’t for him, but somehow still fit him like a second skin.

She’d sent a goodbye, but it felt like a beginning. He hated how much he wanted to know more.

Was she okay now? Did she still make tea and leave the light on? Did she feel better after writing that letter, or worse?

He folds it again. Then pulls a fresh page from the drawer. Stares at it. Pen hovering. Waits. Then, finally, slowly, begins to write.

Dear Me, I read your letter three times before I let myself breathe.

It wasn’t meant for me—I know that. You probably wanted it to disappear. Or maybe just exist long enough to stop hurting. Either way, it landed here. With me.

And I don’t know what to do with that, except... write back.

I’ve been trying to remember the last time someone told me the truth without dressing it up first. Without asking for anything. Without spinning it for their own satisfaction.

You didn’t do that.

You just wrote.

And in doing that, you made me feel a little less like I’m walking through the world alone.

I won’t pretend I know your story, not really. But I know what it’s like to question yourself so deeply that you start to think your own reflection might be lying.

If you don’t mind—if it’s not too strange—I’d like to keep writing.

Not to fix you. Not to fix me. Just... to talk. I’ll go by L.

If you write back, I’ll know it’s okay. If not—I’ll still be grateful I got to read the first letter.

—L

He folds it carefully, slips it into a fresh white envelope, and handwrites the return address on the back.

Just an initial.

Nothing else.

No fame. No clues.

Just words.

He hesitates before sealing it.

He could throw it away.

He probably should.

But instead, he walks down to the private courier drop he trusts more than the usual post and hands it off without saying a word.

The next day, he checks his mailbox five times. Even though he knows better.

⸻

Back in London – Three Days Later

You find it wedged between an ASOS return and a flyer for a takeaway you swear you’ve blocked a hundred times.

It’s stark white. No stamp. No sender. No clue. Except the handwriting. Your heart skips. You open it slowly. Hands shaking. Breath caught. And when you finish reading, you sit on the floor in your hallway and cry.

Not because you’re sad. But because, for the first time in a long time, someone didn’t try to fix you. They just stayed.

You write back that night. Just one line:

Dear L, I don’t know what this is either, but I think I’d like to find out.

⸻

It becomes a ritual.

You come home from school, kick off your shoes, toss your keys in the bowl by the door—and check the mail.

Every day. Like a teenager with a crush and a fountain pen addiction. Most days there’s nothing. But some days— There’s him.

⸻

Letter #2

Dear L,

I didn’t expect a response. Honestly, I expected the letter to get lost, or burned, or laughed at over brunch. I didn’t think it would matter.

And yet... here we are. I’m not great at this kind of thing. Feelings. Trust. Vulnerability. Capital-L Letters. But there’s something about your reply that didn’t scare me. Maybe it’s because you didn’t try to solve anything.

You just witnessed. And maybe that’s what I’ve needed all along.

Tell me something unimportant. Tell me what you had for breakfast or the last thing that made you laugh. Tell me what your voice sounds like when you’re tired.

I think I’d like to know. — Me P.S. You said you go by L. Can I go by Y/I? Seems fair.

⸻

Letter #3

Dear Y/I, Okay. Something unimportant:

I had granola with almond milk this morning. Mostly because it was the only thing left in the fridge and I was too lazy to do a shop.

I forgot how much I hate almond milk.

As for laughing—yesterday I walked into a glass door while texting. My assistant pretended not to see it but I know he did.

My tired voice? It’s apparently lower than usual. Scratchy. My mum says I sound like a hungover jazz singer.

(...That’s probably too much information.)

This is already more personal than 90% of the interviews I’ve done in the last year.

And I think that says something.

Still writing, —L

P.S. Yes. Y/I fits you.

⸻

It keeps going.

Little things. Honest things. You start opening up without realizing you’re doing it.

You tell him about your favorite mug—the chipped one with a sunflower on the side. About the boy in your class who named his left shoe Kevin and insists it has a twin named Steve. About your best friend who makes you playlists with titles like “Songs to Emotionally Shatter You During Grocery Shopping.”

You don’t tell him about Marcus yet. But it’s there. Between the lines. In the way you talk about softness like it’s borrowed, not owned.

He picks up on it. Of course he does.

⸻

Letter #5

Dear Y/I,

I think we forget how brave softness is.

Everyone wants to be strong. Loud. Unbothered. But you—

You write like someone who’s still learning to trust her own voice, and I think that’s the bravest kind of loud there is.

Today I went for a run at sunrise. Not because I wanted to, but because I couldn’t sleep. Something about the silence felt heavy. Then the sun cracked through the sky like it was begging to be noticed. I thought of your letter. The one where you said mornings make you feel both holy and hollow. I took a picture. It’s nothing special. But I wanted you to see what I saw when I thought of you. —L

(Polaroid attached: A sunrise over a quiet bay, light spilling gold over rooftops. In the corner of the frame, a coffee cup and one bare foot.)

You hold the photo to your chest like it might disappear.

You don’t know what this is.

But you know it’s becoming something you need.

You write back the same night.

⸻

Letter #6

Dear L,

It feels strange, how much I look forward to your letters. Like I’m building a home inside a mailbox.

I’ve started writing you in my head when things happen—like today, when one of the kids sneezed so hard he fell off his chair. Or when I saw a pigeon aggressively fighting a croissant on my lunch break.

I wanted to tell you.

And I don’t even know your face.

But I know your mind. Your voice. Your stillness.

So I’m sending you something too.

It’s small. But it made me think of you.

— Y/I

(Polaroid attached: A blurry photo of her windowsill at night, soft fairy lights glowing, a cup of tea, and a stack of letters—his letters—tied with ribbon.)

⸻

And just like that, the distance between you starts to shrink. Not in miles. But in silence.

You tell him about Marcus in your next letter. Not the full story. Not yet. But enough.

Enough for Lewis to fold the page twice before reading it again, slower. Like her words might bleed if he moved too fast.

⸻

Letter #12

Dear L,

I thought about deleting this letter.

I still might.

But if I don’t tell you this now, I never will.

There was someone.

He made me feel like love was a job interview. Like I had to be the right combination of soft and sexy and small in order to be kept.

He didn’t hit me. He didn’t scream.

But he rewrote the world in a way that only made sense when he was in it. And when he left, I realized I hadn’t heard my own voice in months. I’m still trying to find it again. Sometimes I think I only speak in whispers now.

But you hear me. Thank you for that. — Y/I

He sits with the letter for a long time. Long enough for the sky outside his window to shift from gold to gray.

He traces the edge of the paper. Imagines her, somewhere miles away, hunched over a desk or a kitchen table, writing these words. Brave and trembling.

He wants to say everything. Wants to fix it.

But knows he can’t. So instead—he writes her back.

⸻

Letter #13

Dear Y/I,

I don’t know if this will help, but...

You don’t speak in whispers anymore.

Not to me.

Your letters fill the room when I open them. Your voice has a weight I can feel in my chest. It lingers.

And I know we said this is just letters. Just words.

But when you trust someone with your story—even a part of it— That’s not nothing.

You’re not nothing.

I hope you never forget that

—L

And from that point forward— The letters change. They become a place to land.

Sometimes soft.

Sometimes raw.

Always honest.

⸻

Letter #15

Dear L,

I can’t believe how much I look forward to this. To you.

To the moment I get to peel open an envelope and see your words.

You’ve started to live in the in-between spaces of my day.

Between class sessions. In the quiet moments before sleep. In the sun through my window and the smell of clean sheets.

It scares me, how much I care. I don’t even know what you look like. But I know your mind. And your heart.

And I think... that’s more important.

— Y/I

⸻

Letter #16

Dear Y/I,

There’s this little alleyway near where I’m staying. It’s nothing—just old bricks, chipped paint, the hum of a neon sign in a language I don’t speak.

But it reminded me of your last letter. The part about “between spaces.”

I took a photo. It’s not good. I almost didn’t send it.

But then I thought—maybe it doesn’t have to be perfect.

Maybe it just has to be honest.

Like us.

—L

(Polaroid: A quiet alleyway at dusk, soft yellow light spilling onto cobblestones. A bicycle leans against the wall. There's no one in sight.)

⸻

You hold it for a long time. Wonder what he was thinking when he took it.

And realize— You want to ask him. Not through a letter. Not weeks later. But face to face. And that, more than anything, terrifies you.

⸻

You don’t set an alarm anymore.

Your internal clock is tuned to the sound of birds and buses and the small clatter of the kettle boiling in the flat next door.

You stretch quietly in bed, blink up at the ceiling, and smile at the faint sunlight creeping through the curtains.

It’s a Tuesday. That means circle time, two back-to-back art projects, and a high chance of glitter in your bra by noon.

You slip on a loose sweater and jeans, twist your hair up, and grab the sunflower mug you once mentioned in a letter. It’s chipped, but perfect. Familiar.

You sip your tea as you stare at the little wooden box on your kitchen shelf.

It holds his letters now.

You don’t read one this morning. You want to save it for later—like dessert.

⸻

Your day unfolds the way it always does.

You greet your students with that voice you reserve for them—bright, warm, steady.

You kneel beside Sophie, who’s crying because her banana touched her yogurt.

You high-five Theo for remembering to say “please.”

You tape two shoelaces and one broken crayon back together.

⸻

At lunch, your coworker Ana plops beside you on the bench outside.

“Big weekend plans?” she asks, unwrapping her sandwich.

You shrug. “Not really.”

“Still writing to mystery man?” she grins.

You fight the smile. “Maybe.”

“God, you’re such a romantic.”

“No,” you say softly. “I think I’m just... hopeful.”

She gives you a look but lets it go.

⸻

The school day ends.

You wave goodbye to the last kid and lock your classroom door. The janitor hums as he sweeps the hall.

And when you walk home—your steps are a little quicker.

Because you know. You know. You fumble your keys, heart skipping.

You open the mailbox. And there it is. White envelope. Familiar handwriting. Just your first initial on the front.

⸻

Fifteen minutes later, you’re curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, tea steeping on the table, fingers trembling as you open the letter.

Inside?

A note.

And a photo.

⸻

Dear Y/I,

It’s been a week of motion. Too many cities, too many suitcases.

But I found a little moment of stillness.

I thought you might like it.

You feel like stillness, sometimes.

Like breath.

More soon.

—L

(Polaroid: A single red flower growing out of cracked pavement, light hitting it just right.)

You press the photo to your chest. And smile.

⸻

He wakes up in yet another hotel.

He has to blink twice to remember where he is. Barcelona. This week,

it’s Barcelona.

The light is soft, filtered through gauzy curtains, and the air smells faintly like salt and rubber and espresso from the street below. He can hear the hum of traffic already—low, constant, like a heartbeat.

He groans, presses a palm to his face, and drags himself out of bed. There’s a media briefing in forty-five minutes.

Another debrief after that.

Then sim work.

Then setup.

Then dinner with someone he doesn’t really know.

He pulls on a hoodie and sweats, ties his braids back messily, and pads barefoot to the table by the window.

There, tucked neatly under his notebook, is her letter. He’d brought it with him.

Always does now.

Wherever he goes.

Just in case.

He unfolds it like something sacred and reads the last paragraph again.

“You’ve started to live in the in-between spaces of my day.”

He smiles.

And exhales.

⸻

The paddock is chaos.

People. Cameras. Logistics. Language.

He answers questions without really hearing them. Shakes hands. Nods. Smiles.

He does the dance.

But his mind keeps drifting back to the letter.

Back to her.

To the way she described the way the rain sounded on her roof. Or the way her students pronounced “spaghetti” like “buhgetti.”

He tucks a small Polaroid camera into his jacket pocket before heading out to do the track walk.

⸻

He takes photos quietly.

A puddle reflecting the clouds. A half-eaten orange on a bright red barrier. The back of someone’s helmet with a quote in Italian sharpied on the side: “Chi trova un amico, trova un tesoro.” (He who finds a friend, finds treasure.)

He frames the shot. Clicks.

And hears a voice behind him.

“Since when do you take artsy photos, man?”

He jumps slightly, turning.

It’s Charles.

His teammate. Friendly. Sharp. Always watching.

“Oh,” Lewis says quickly, tucking the photo into his pocket. “Just something for a... project.”

Charles raises an eyebrow. “A project?”

“Yeah. Personal one.”

Charles squints at him. Then shrugs. “Alright. You just looked like you were thinking hard about it.”

“I was,” Lewis admits, softer this time.

Then, without thinking, he adds:

“She writes about things like this. Ordinary stuff that feels... alive.”

Charles tilts his head. “She?”

Lewis clears his throat. “Just someone I talk to.”

Charles smirks. “You getting poetic on me?”

“Maybe,” he mutters, walking away. “Mind your business.”

But he’s smiling.

Because that’s what she does to him.

Makes the world feel quiet again.

Even here.

⸻

That night, after hours of meetings and late-night workouts, he finally gets a moment alone.

He sits on the edge of his bed, pulls out his worn journal, and slides one of the new Polaroids inside a letter he started days ago.

⸻

Dear Y/I,

Today was loud.

The kind of loud that follows you even after the noise stops.

But I saw something that made me think of one of your old letters—the one about how beauty is just borrowed stillness.

I think you’re right.

This isn’t much.

But it made me feel quiet.

And when I feel quiet, I think of you.

—L

(Polaroid: A reflection of clouds in a puddle shaped like a heart, partially stepped on, still beautiful.)

He seals the envelope and sets it by the door. It’ll go out in the morning. And when he gets home— Her words will be waiting.

He already knows exactly where he’s going to sit to read them.

⸻

The letters start arriving more often. No longer once a week. Now it’s every few days. Sometimes back-to-back. Sometimes overlapping. And they’re longer. Richer. Almost too much to hold in your hands.

⸻

Letter #28

Dear Y/I,

I don’t know what this is anymore.

And I don’t mean that in a bad way.

It’s just—somewhere along the way, I stopped writing to pass the time and started writing to remember who I am.

I don’t tell most people anything real. I give them smiles. Headlines. “Doing great, thanks.” But you ask me questions I don’t even realize I’ve been dying to answer. Like what my laugh sounds like when I’m tired. Or what I’d do if the world stopped spinning for a day.

(For the record, I’d sit in the sun and read your letters.) Sometimes I wish I could just... show up. Knock on your door. Ask you what kind of tea you’re making and sit in your quiet for a while. But I won’t do that.

Because part of what makes this feel real is that it’s not built on appearances or performance. It’s just us. Words. Trust.

Still yours,

—L

⸻

You read that letter three times.

Then again the next morning.

You walk through your day differently now. More alert.

More tender.

You find yourself watching the sky at red lights. Running your fingers along brick walls. Laughing longer at things that make you feel known.

⸻

Letter #29

Dear L,

You said you don’t know what this is anymore.

I don’t either.

But I know what it’s not.

It’s not nothing.

And sometimes I catch myself saying things like, “My friend said—” and I mean you.

Or when I see something beautiful, I reach for my camera, then stop, because I remember...

You already saw it.

You live in these spaces I didn’t even know I’d left unlocked.

And that scares me.

But it also makes me feel whole.

— Y/I

P.S. If you ever did knock on my door... I’d make chamomile. And I’d let you sit in the silence for as long as you needed.

⸻

Letter #30

Dear Y/I,

This week I was back somewhere familiar. A city I’ve been to a hundred times, for work.

I passed this bakery that smelled like cinnamon and woodsmoke, and I remembered something you once wrote—about how you used to bake on Sundays with your mum, just to fill the flat with warmth.

So I bought a pastry I didn’t even want. Just because it made me feel close to you. There were cameras, like always.

But I kept thinking—what would it feel like to walk here with you, no one watching? 

To just be a man next to a woman he respects.

Not a name.

Not a brand.

Just L.

(Almost slipped there. Guess I’m tired.)

— Still just L

⸻

You reread that paragraph.

“There were cameras, like always.” “Almost slipped there.”

Your heart kicks up. You don’t Google him.

You could.

But you don’t.

Because whatever this is—it’s enough.

And you trust him.

⸻

Letter #31

Dear L,

When I was with Marcus, I used to write things and hide them. Little notes to myself. Things I was afraid to say out loud.

“I am not difficult.” “I deserve to be chosen.” “I am allowed to take up space.”

I found them again last week.

And I cried.

Not because I felt that way again. But because I don’t anymore.

You didn’t fix me.

But you reminded me that I wasn’t broken to begin with.

You don’t know my face. My laugh. The shape I take up in a room.

And still—you see me.

More clearly than anyone else has.

— Y/I

⸻

He reads that letter after a long flight. Eyes burning.

The hotel is too cold. The hallway echoing. His muscles sore.

But none of it matters.

Because she just told him the one thing he’s been terrified to believe:

That he matters without being anyone else.

That she wants him, not the idea of him.

That she’s ready.

And just like that—

He knows.

It’s almost time to tell her who he is.

⸻

It was raining the day you wrote the draft.

Not the romantic kind of rain. Not the soft pitter-patter you loved with a mug of tea.

This was the kind of rain that felt mean.

That made the sky feel heavy and mean and too much.

It had been a rough week. The school was understaffed. A parent yelled at you for enforcing a food allergy rule. Your period came early. You felt bloated and stupid and small.

You were already crying before you picked up the pen.

And you shouldn't have written it.

But you did.

Not to him.

Just... to yourself.

A letter that bled frustration. Fear. That creeping anxiety that whispered what if he’s only being kind? What if you’re building a fantasy out of figments and metaphors?

You wrote:

Sometimes I wonder if you’re just good with words. If I’m just a soft place for you to land until you’re ready to walk again. If I’m falling alone, and you’re just watching.

You folded it.

Slid it into your drawer.

You didn’t sign it.

Didn’t intend to send it.

You wrote a new letter the next day. A good one. A hopeful one. You slipped a photo of your favorite bookstore at twilight into the envelope and dropped it in the post.

You didn’t realize... that you’d picked up the wrong page.

⸻

Four days later — Monaco

He gets home late.

The race weekend was long. Brutal. Not his best.

He drops his suitcase, toes off his shoes, and heads straight to the table.

Her letter is there. Waiting.

He smiles before he even opens it.

But the smile fades.

Line by line.

Word by word.

He reads the first sentence.

And stops.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re just good with words...”

It feels like a slap.

Like being called a liar by the only person who doesn’t see him as one. He stares at the page, willing it to turn into something else.

A joke.

A mistake.

A test.

But it’s just... her.

Questioning all of it.

All of him.

And he—

He doesn’t know what to do.

⸻

He doesn't reply.

Not right away.

Not at all.

He wants to write something. Anything.

But the words won’t come.

Because the truth is—he was afraid. That he was falling harder. That he was hoping for something real. That she might only be in love with the idea of him, not the messy, exhausted man who sits in hotel rooms and wonders if he's worth any of it.

So he doesn’t write.

He disappears.

⸻

A Week Later

You feel it before you know it.

The silence.

It’s louder than any rejection you’ve ever heard.

You check the mailbox obsessively. Refresh your phone, even though you’ve never texted. Wait for something. Anything.

And then it comes.

One envelope.

No letter inside.

Just a photo.

A paper airplane.

Caught mid-fall, fluttering toward a storm-gray pavement.

And on the back, written in familiar handwriting:

I didn’t know I was disposable.

You sink to the floor.

The kind of cry you can’t make pretty. The kind with hiccups and shaking hands and a voice that sounds foreign when you whisper, “No... no no no...”

Because it wasn’t meant for him.

That letter—

That damn letter—

Was a ghost you were trying to exorcise. Not a truth you meant to send.

You run to your drawer, flipping through everything.

And there it is.

The real one.

The one he was supposed to read. The one that said:

You make me believe in softness again. You make me want to be brave. You feel like coming home.

You crumble it in your hands, then press it flat again.

Too late.

You whisper to the empty room, your heart breaking into pieces:

“Please come back.”

⸻

Days pass.

Then a week.

Then two.

You don’t write.

Not because you don’t want to.

But because you don’t know how. What do you even say?

“That letter wasn’t meant for you”?

“I was scared and hormonal and bleeding and sad”?

“You’re the only thing that’s felt real in months, and I ruined it with my doubt”?

You sit by your window, tracing the rim of your mug with a trembling finger.

You haven’t opened the box of his letters since the paper airplane arrived.

But tonight—

You do.

You take them out. One by one. Lay them across your floor like constellations.

And then...

You write.

⸻

Letter #32

Dear L,

I sent you the wrong letter.

That’s the truth.

Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Literally.

It wasn’t supposed to be you.

That page... it was something I wrote on a bad day. A page of fear. A draft I buried under better things.

But I sent it.

And I know how it must’ve sounded.

Like I didn’t believe you. Like I doubted all of this.

But I didn’t. I don’t.

I’ve never trusted anyone the way I trust you.

I’ve never felt seen the way I do when I read your words.

You gave me my voice back.

And I used it to hurt you. Even if I didn’t mean to.

I understand if that’s unforgivable.

But if by some miracle you’re still reading—please know this:

You are not disposable.

You never were.

You are everything.

And I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.

Come back. — Y/I

⸻

You don’t send it.

Not right away.

You fold it.

Place it inside the box. And wait.

⸻

Meanwhile — Three weeks later, Monaco

He’s still carrying her last photo in his pocket. Even now.

Even though it hurts.

He’s been quiet too long.

Long enough that his friends have stopped asking.

Long enough that he’s almost convinced himself it was just a phase. A beautiful mirage.

But then—

He finds her real letter.

Not on purpose.

It’s tucked inside a notebook. One he’d left on the plane. One his assistant brought back and casually dropped on his desk.

He flips it open.

And there it is.

The handwriting.

His heart stops.

He reads it. He rereads it. His hands start to shake.

And in that moment, he realizes— She didn’t leave him.

She was trying to tell him the truth. He just didn’t listen.

And that—

That’s what finally breaks him.

He doesn’t write back this time. He needs time to think.

⸻

The sun is sharp over the circuit. The sky, clean and cruelly blue. Perfect for photos. Perfect for a podium.

Lewis Hamilton stands with champagne running down his fire suit and a smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

The crowd is screaming. His team is cheering. His name echoes off the grandstands like something holy.

And yet— He feels like a ghost inside his own body.

He won.

But it feels empty.

⸻

TWO DAYS EARLIER

“Radio check,” Marc says through his headset as Lewis climbs into the car.

“Copy,” Lewis replies, voice flat.“Loud and clear.”

He hears Marc hesitate. “You good?”

Lewis adjusts his gloves. “Yeah.”

He’s not.

He hasn’t been for a while.

It’s been almost two months since her last letter.

Or rather, since his last letter.

The one he didn’t send.

He’s still reading her last one. Still keeping it folded in the inner pocket of his backpack like a bruise.

⸻

Back in the garage, everyone’s buzzing. There’s tension in the air. Good tension. Energy. Hope.

They’ve got a shot at pole.

Maybe more.

Lewis leans against a wall, sipping on an electrolyte pouch, pretending to scroll through data on the iPad in his lap.

His assistant, Natalie, walks up quietly. “You’ve been off today.”

He doesn’t look up. “I’m here.”

“That’s not the same as being present.”

He finally lifts his eyes.

She softens. “Still thinking about her?”

He swallows. Doesn’t answer.

“You know,” she says carefully, “you could always just reach out. Not with a letter. Just... talk to her.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what this is. It never was. If she wanted to hear from me, she would’ve written back.”

Natalie stares at him for a second. Then says quietly, “Maybe she’s waiting for you, too.”

He looks away.

⸻

RACE DAY

The car feels good.

Better than it has in weeks.

Lap after lap, he pushes harder. Lighter. Freer.

Maybe it's adrenaline.

Or maybe it’s because for once, he stops trying to outrun the ache and lets it sit in the passenger seat with him.

He takes the win.

First place.

Everyone’s shouting, hugging, throwing their arms around him like he just saved the world.

And maybe he did.

But it’s not the world he wants to save.

⸻

That night, he sits in his hotel room, champagne unopened on the dresser, still in his race suit pants and a hoodie.

And he stares at a blank page. Then he starts to write.

⸻

Dear Y/I,

It’s been 52 days since I heard from you. I’ve counted every single one.

And for the first 20, I told myself I deserved the silence.

Because I was a coward.

Because I didn’t ask if that letter was a mistake. I didn’t trust you the way I should’ve.

But if I’m being honest? I

stopped writing because I was scared.

I didn’t want to fall for someone who didn’t exist outside of pages and polaroids.

I didn’t want to be seen so completely and still be left behind.

But you didn’t leave me.

I left you.

And I’m sorry.

I should’ve known better.

I should’ve asked.

I should’ve told you the truth.

—

I started writing this at 2am. Then rewrote it at 3. I’ve cried twice. Walked away once. But every time I try to give up—your words come back. You told me once I made you believe in softness again. You made me believe in real.

—

You asked once what my favorite part of the day was. It’s not the win. It’s not the champagne. It’s the moment I walk through my door, drop my bag, and see your letter waiting on the table. Even now. I still check. Even when I know it won’t be there.

—

I miss the way you see the world. I miss the way you write about rain like it’s a friend. The way you call yourself a mess but write with so much clarity it could split stars.

I miss you.

Not the idea. Not the version I created in my head. 

You.

Whatever name you wear.

Whatever face you have.

You are already mine in every way that matters.

—

I got something.

A tattoo.

I wasn’t going to tell you. But it’s the only thing that’s made me feel brave in weeks.

You wrote once: “I’m not broken. I’m becoming.”

I had those words etched into my skin. Because that’s what this has been.

A becoming.

And I want you to see it.

—

If you never write back, I’ll understand.

But if there’s even the smallest part of you that still wants to meet—

I’m ready.

I want to hear your voice. I want to see your face. I want to know how you laugh and whether you still leave the bathroom light on.

I want all of it.

Not in fragments.

Not in metaphors.

You.

Please let me come home.

—L

(Polaroid enclosed: A close-up of his forearm. In clean, delicate lettering—I’m not broken. I’m becoming. Just below it, faint ink smudges. A fresh tattoo. His skin raw. Real.)

⸻

You wake up with paint on your hands.

Dried glitter on your temple.

Your hair is in a lopsided braid you forgot to take out the night before.

It’s been 51 days since your last letter.

52 since you heard from him.

You stopped checking the mailbox after the fourth week.

You told yourself it was over. That it was a chapter you needed to leave behind.

But still—when you brush your teeth, you glance toward the door. Still—when you pass the postbox, your heart skips.

You still miss him.

And it’s quieter now, the grief. But it never left.

⸻

8:02 AM — Your Classroom

“Miss Y/N! Look! Look what I made!”

You blink back into the moment and crouch down beside Ava, who is proudly holding a collage of cotton balls and sequins.

“It’s stunning,” you say, voice catching.

“It's a cloud!” she beams. “But a magic cloud. It cries glitter.”

You smile, and feel your throat close.

You used to write like that.

⸻

10:14 AM — Playground Duty

You and Ana walk the perimeter of the small playground while the kids scream joyfully into the wind.

Ana nudges you gently. “You good?”

You nod. “Fine.”

“Liar.”

You sigh. “It’s just... I miss someone I never met.”

Ana stays quiet.

Then: “Maybe they’re missing you too.”

⸻

12:45 PM — Staff Room

You’re eating cold pasta out of a Tupperware when the receptionist walks in.

“Delivery for you.”

You frown. “Here?”

She shrugs. “Postmarked from Monaco.”

Your heart stops.

You take the envelope like it’s a live wire.

It’s heavy. Dense.

Your name is written in careful, familiar handwriting.

Just your initial.

Your hands shake.

You excuse yourself. Walk down the hall. Sit on the floor beside the storage closet. And read.

Ten pages.

Ten pages that rip you open and stitch you back together in the same breath.

The moment you unfold the photo—his arm, the tattoo, your words etched into him—you break.

Tears fall silently.

You clutch the pages to your chest.

You whisper, “You didn’t leave.”

And for the first time in 52 days—

You let yourself hope.

⸻

6:04 PM — Your Flat

You sit at your kitchen table, wrapped in a blanket, tea cooling beside you. You’ve read the letter five more times.

Your hands are still shaking.

You grab your best pen.

A blank page. And write.

⸻

Dear L, You said you didn’t know what this is anymore.

I think I do.

It’s real.

It’s two people finding each other in the most impossible, tender way.

It’s the ache in my chest when I check the mailbox.

It’s the way my fingers tremble when I write your name.

It’s the way I stopped being afraid of my own voice.

Because you heard it.

And then you answered.

You said you want to hear my voice.

You said you want to see my face.

So let’s.

Let’s stop hiding behind paper.

Let’s meet.

Let’s begin.

You’re not the only one who’s becoming. I am too.

And I think we’re meant to do it together.

— Y/I

P.S. I kept every letter. Even the hard ones. Even the ones I read in the dark. They were never just words. They were you.

(A Polaroid enclosed: Her favorite mug, steaming. His first letter curled at the edges. A blurred tear on the page. And in the background, a tiny sticky note on the wall. It says: “Come back.”)

⸻

Two Weeks After Y/N’s Reply

You don’t expect a response this fast.

But it arrives four days after your letter—postmarked Monaco. The envelope is heavier than usual.

You hold it for a long moment before opening it. You already know it’s him.

⸻

Letter #33

Dear Y/I,

I’ve been staring at this blank page for hours.

I’ve written a hundred versions of this and deleted every one.

But then I remembered something you said in one of your first letters—“Just be honest. We’ve both had enough lies.”

So here’s the truth:

I want to see you.

I want to hear your voice for real. I want to laugh with you without waiting two weeks for your reply. I want to hand you a cup of tea and see what your eyes do when you smile.

I want to meet you too.

And I think we’re ready.

So here’s the plan—if you’re still in London, I know a small bookstore tucked between a florist and a laundromat on Oakwell Street. Quiet. Forgotten. Perfect.

Saturday. 11AM.

There’s a little reading bench near the back window. I’ll sit there.

I’ll be wearing a black hoodie. Jeans. My favorite shoes—white with the red stripes on the sides. You said you liked stories that felt “lived in.” These shoes are just that.

If you’re still sure—wear the sunflower necklace. The one you said you forgot to take off for a week because it felt like protection.

That way... I’ll know it’s you.

And if you don’t come—

I’ll sit there for an hour.

I won’t be angry. Or sad. Just grateful I got to know you at all.

But if you do come—

Then maybe this story isn’t finished yet. —L

P.S. I’m scared too. That’s how I know it matters.

⸻

You press the letter to your chest.

Then you cry. Then you laugh. Then you read it again.

You don’t even hesitate.

⸻

The Night Before

You can’t sleep.

You try. God, you try.

You make tea. Breathe deep. Re-read every letter in the box.

Your mind won’t stop.

What if he’s not what you imagined?

What if you’re not?

What if it’s perfect?

You finally fall asleep around 3AM.

You wake at 6.

Put on your softest jeans. The green sweater that makes you feel like a walking hug. And the necklace.

The one with the tiny sunflower charm, warm from your skin.

⸻

Meanwhile — Monaco

Lewis stares out the window of the private jet.

His hands are shaking.

He’s held the last Polaroid from Y/N so many times it’s starting to curl at the corners. Her favorite mug. The first letter. The sticky note that said, “Come back.”

He’s still wearing his hoodie. Black. Comfortable. Familiar.

The tattoo is healing.

He touches it absently as he looks down at London coming into view. There’s a folded note in his pocket.

It’s not for her.

It’s for him.

Just four words:

"Be who she knows.”

⸻

Back to Present – The Bookstore

You arrive at 10:44 AM. Fifteen minutes early.

You don’t go inside right away—you pace. Breathe. Pace again. Your fingers won’t stop fidgeting with the sunflower charm around your neck.

You check your reflection in the bookshop window.

You look the same.

But you’re not.

Not since him.

Not since the letters.

The bell above the door jingles once as you finally step inside. The smell of old paper and sandalwood hits you like a memory you didn’t know you had. Warm. Safe.

You make your way to the back, to the little reading bench.

You sit.

And wait.

⸻

11:08 AM

He’s standing outside the shop.

His heart is a percussion instrument.

He walks past once.

Then again.

He almost turns back.

But then he sees it—

Through the window.

You.

Your hand resting gently on your knee, thumb brushing the chain around your neck.

And he knows.

⸻

The bell rings.

You look up. And the moment your eyes meet— It’s like

something tectonic shifts.

Your mouth parts just slightly.

He’s real.

More real than you ever imagined.

He stands just inside the doorway. Hood pulled down. Hands in his pockets. The sleeves of his hoodie pushed slightly up—and you see the edge of the tattoo.

His lips lift, soft and unsure.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper, standing.

Neither of you moves.

Then—he laughs once.

Nervously.

“This is weird, right?” he says.

“The weirdest,” you say, breathless.

He glances at your necklace.

“You wore it.”

“You told me to.”

He smiles wider. “You always did follow instructions better than I did.”

You laugh. It’s shaky. Full of disbelief.

You look him over. Slowly. Not because of who he is—but because of who he’s been. To you.

“I don’t know what I expected,” you admit, voice soft.

“Disappointed?” he teases gently.

You shake your head, eyes misty. “You’re... you.”

He steps forward. Hesitates. “Can I... hug you?”

You nod.

And when his arms wrap around you, the whole world exhales.

⸻

You sit across from each other in the corner of the shop, tea cups untouched.

He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

You’re trying to breathe normally.

“Do I look how you imagined?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “No.”

Your heart drops slightly.

“You’re... more.” he finishes.

You smile. “That was a save.”

“No. That was the truth.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“You know what’s wild?”

“What?”

“I was terrified. Of this. Of us. I kept thinking... maybe it was only magic on paper.”

“And now?”

He looks at you.

Really looks.

“You’re better than magic.”

Your throat catches.

“I almost didn’t come,” you admit.

He blinks. “Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to ruin what we had. What if I showed up and you were just—some guy?”

He nods slowly. “And what if I showed up and you weren’t her?”

You both sit in that quiet for a long moment.

“I still write to you,” he says suddenly. “In my notes app. On napkins. The back of boarding passes. It’s like... I can’t not.”

You grin. “Me too. I started a journal. Every entry begins with ‘Dear L.’”

You both laugh. It’s small. Intimate. Familiar.

Then you grow serious again.

“This... is real,” you say quietly.

He nods. “Yeah. It is.”

You look down. “So what now?”

He reaches across the table. Takes your hand.

“Now we start again. Just not with letters this time.”

You glance toward the little wooden box of staff recommendations beside you and say, “Maybe just one more.”

He grins.

“I’ll write the first line.”

⸻

EPILOGUE – THE LETTERS NEVER STOPPED

The flat is quiet.

Golden hour spills across the countertops, and you’re wearing one of his old hoodies. You’re barefoot, sleepy, peaceful. He’s packing for a short trip. A two-day sponsor event, nothing major.

But the house always feels different when he’s gone.

He walks past you, brushes a kiss across your temple, and says, “Check the coffee tin before I leave.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

He shrugs. Smiles. “Just trust me.”

You wait until he’s busy shoving socks into his bag, then pad into the kitchen, pop open the tin...

...and there it is.

A folded note.

His handwriting.

You already know what it is.

⸻

Dear You, I don’t write you as often anymore.

Mostly because I get to tell you now.

But this morning I woke up to your hand on my chest and your leg tangled over mine, and all I could think was—

God, I get to love her like this. Still. Always. So this is just a little reminder. Of who we were.

And who we still are.

You’re the beginning. You’re the becoming. You’re the entire story.

And I’ll write you forever.

— Me

⸻

You’re still smiling when he walks back in and sees you holding it.

He grins. “Told you to check the tin.”

You don’t say anything.

You just wrap your arms around his waist and whisper into his chest, “Write me again tomorrow.”

⸻

Later That Week

It’s raining.

You’re clearing out an old drawer, not really looking for anything.

And you find it.

Tucked in a notebook.

No envelope.

No note.

A Polaroid.

Blurry. Dim. A hotel room.

A letter on a table.

Lewis, caught mid-breath, back bent, hand frozen over a blank page.

You flip it over.

Two words.

“I waited.”

And this time—your tears fall without ache. Because now?

He’s here.

THE END.

⸻

THEIR POLAROID SCRAPBOOK

1. His First Polaroid

Sunrise over a bay. A cup of coffee in frame. One bare foot tucked beneath the window. → Back reads: "You said mornings feel holy and hollow. I finally understand."

2. Hers

A blurry photo of fairy lights, a cup of tea, and his letters stacked on her desk. → Back reads: "They keep me warm."

3. His – From Somewhere Quiet

A cobbled alleyway. Yellow neon glow. A bike leaning on the wall. Empty but alive.

→ No words. Just breath.

4. Hers – First Bookstore Mention

A tiny corner of her favorite bookshop. Golden light pooling at her feet. → Back reads: "Someday, I hope you’ll sit here with me."

5. His – The Near Reveal

A pastry on a napkin. A crowd in the background. Sunglasses beside the plate. → Back reads: "Felt close to you today."

6. Hers – Come Back

Her sunflower mug. His first letter. A sticky note on the wall. → Note says: "Come back."

7. His – The Tattoo

Close-up of his arm. Fresh ink. Red around the phrase: “I’m not broken. I’m becoming.”

→ No caption. Just the truth.

8. The Final Polaroid (Never Sent) Lewis in a hotel room. Your letter on the table. His hand paused over a blank page. → Back reads: “I waited.”

[rotagnus]

who is this person? ---<3

first pac reading in a long while. a lot of things have happened in my life recently, but it should stop being hectic soon. i hope all of you have been well, make sure you rest and drink water on this soft sunday.

choose intuitively. if none of these speak to you, do not force a connection with any pile. your message will come to you regardless, in another shape or form. you can ask this for any person; it doesn't speak about their feelings for you. you can even ask this about yourself. this may not resonate. this is a vulnerable reading.

pile 1.

right of the bat, this person is one that can't really go with the flow. they're overly controlling--not of people necessarily, but of the process of life. distrusting, and they try to make sure that nothing can go wrong due to anxiety, fear of being embarrassed, etc. this is a strong energy and most likely stemmed from their childhood or a singular event in which they lost complete control of things. they're used to being alone and don't really make place for a lot of relationships in their lives. they're also kind of scared of growing close to people, and they've been misunderstood very often, especially as a kid. cast into the spotlight only to be made fun of. i think they present themselves as cool, nonchalant, but deep inside? they're still the kid who ate lunch alone.

despite everything, they still ache for the ability to just...let loose, stop caring. they may have had to grow up fast, and all they want is to be vulnerable. but they're also terrified, so this person can be a bit rude and cold for some of you. they have a sharp tongue, and they know how to use it to twist words so they can hurt. not manipulative, per se, but when they feel attacked their words are their weapons. but all they want is to just fall back and be caught in someone's arms. a very tender energy. they never really got to relax, and they seek this comfort from older figures in their life; they live life outside of themselves, trying to decenter themselves from their own life. they're very observant and don't talk too much, i think. they have a bleeding heart, though, and would do anything for the small circle of people that they have. they may have feline features, sleek and sinewy with angular faces or piercing eyes.

song: white ferrari by frank ocean.

pile 2.

this person has duality. they can be a bit mercurial at times, but i'm not getting that these sides are bad. they have strong attachments to the things that they hold dear to their heart; they invest themselves very deeply in hobbies, in people, in passion projects they start at the oddest times. very artistically oriented--they view themselves as their creations or accomplishments, completely detaching oneself from other aspects in order to see themselves as what they're proud of. they're a very bright person; i think they're the center of attention very easily, they have a very commanding presence and can be addictive because they give attention to people in a very genuine manner. they also don't stand for bullying and things like that--they have strong opinions and won't change them for anyone. they're really sensitive about what their interests are, and are prone to lashing out at anyone who insults them. a negative aspect of them is that they have to relearn lessons, like a LOT. they are stuck in the past very often and they feel like the parts of them that have died are the most beautiful ones (spoiler alert?!?! WRONG!!!).

they have a lot of dark energy; might present themselves in a darker manner, be interested in the occult or alternative scene, for example. i think for most of you this person is the youngest/middle sibling. once again, the sun comes out; before the star did. so i would definitely say that this person shines very brightly. they're the type of person you see in a gas station and can't stop thinking about. they're endearing in a very down-to-earth way; very human, and i think that their authenticity kind of makes them meet people who either leech off of them or protect them. they have a good heart and genuinely want the best for the world, but the problem is that they can be misguided and completely defend the wrong cause because they have a deep belief that it is the right one. they're very obsessive with parts of their life, and their lesson is to be able to search for peace instead of killing themselves with overfilling things with their energy.

song: all i need by radiohead.

pile 3.

this person has seen their fair share of lessons, and they've recently obtained the ability to go through them smoothly (cough cough unlike pile 2...). they're a very youthful energy; they have this young pride, but at the same time they've seen so many things and don't carry this blindly. they're also humble, but at the same time--when they do something right, they know to carry it on their sleeve. they're good at orchestrating things to happen; good at manifesting, and they're kind of the leader of their own life. they can be a bit...intimidating? they don't water themselves down easily and this can be a bit offputting for people who aren't used to realness. they have a deep loyalty for their family, their friends, even though some of those people have done them dirty. but they carry a certain tenderness to them that makes them a sweetheart; kind of a dumbass, but a sweetheart.

i got the moon, so they may be a bit on the quieter side of this reading. they're very in tune with their emotions and feelings, but they can struggle to FEEL these things instead of analyzing them. but because they're kind of comforting, they get a lot of people sticking closely to them. you can learn from them and teach them things. they have dreams, a lot of them; for the future. they wanna help people deeply but can be misguided. they're a very playful energy. people are a big part of their lives. most of the comfort that they give, and the observance that they have, comes from hard events they've faced. they have a lot of guilt, but i think that at this moment they're in a position that makes them want to amend for everything they've done. overall--they're the warmest pile out of these.

song: not a lot, just forever by adrianne lenker.

[writingsfromhome]

That’s so True II

A/N: pure angst; egos are still up, feelings are still confused, guards are up and down and even though it seems like I hate them as the writer I do root for them but navigating one-sided vulnerability is a rideee. Mentions of alcohol and drugs—thanks for reading xx

Word Count: 18k+

Part 1 / 2

———————————————————

I made it out alive but I think I lost it.

When Harry approached me after school when I was working on yearbook, I was surprised. He came just as himself and even though he tried to act like a dick, that personality was chucked out as soon as I told him I wasn’t putting up with it.

And he listened. And he looked surprised, but most surprising for me was when he apologized back. It obviously surprised him too because that’s also when his mask came back down; I saw it happening—backtracking so he could put a leash on his vulnerability.

There was no denying though as he was apologizing, the look in his eyes and the way his gaze lingered on my face…I knew he was holding back. That night and our time together left just as much of an imprint on him than it did me.

The thing is I wanted to punish him, make him hurt, because how dare he do that to me. If he wanted to deny what really happened between us and move on, continue being the jock everyone knew him to be, I’d let it sting.

I know he expected me to be upset, maybe even argue. But as soon as I realized what he was doing I put my own mask on; I was good at it these days. And there was a satisfaction with how shocked he looked as he walked out without the upper hand.

That’s his price, I had thought.

But now here I was on the other side of my Harry Experience and my heart still kicked a little extra when I caught sight of him. When I pass him in the halls, in the lunchroom, in the parking lot, and I could feel his eyes on me.

I could just get a boyfriend if it was a physical need. But it wasn’t that simple.

Sometimes before I fall asleep I think of that night, of the pain he felt on my behalf. And it hits deeper.

Past:

Harry had caught up to me as I was leaving the school building today. He had asked if I was busy tonight and my heart had sputtered like a dying car because we had been hooking up for a couple weeks and every time we did I expected it to be the last time yet he always found ways to be at the same place I was or catch me wherever I was.

He had been a distraction for me from everything at home and I never expected us to have longevity.

He told me he would pick me up around 7 for a surprise. I’d gone home in a cloud of rainbows and butterflies but home itself was an antidote to daydreaming.

Mum was home early from work so I head to my bedroom. I didn’t care for forced conversation. All she wanted to talk about these days was my future.

By the time I come down the sun is starting to set and I can hear her on the phone with Nan. She’s telling Nan she doesn’t know if she can help her clean out the house and that my dad didn’t want anything to do with it.

Nan was actually my paternal grandma and her and Grandpa had raised me while my dad lived in a new city every few months for work and mum followed. They’d be sure to be in town for Christmas most years and during off-seasons but when I thought of the people who raised me it wasn’t mum and dad.

Dad always had a complicated relationship with his own father so even though they happily took me in and it looked okay from the outside, every family reunion or dinner was tense and passive.

When grandpa passed a few weeks ago it was Nan and I who held each other up. Mum had tried to be there but she never knew what to say to me. Dad had gotten stony and silent. So now I just walked the few streets over to visit Nan every time I missed him too much.

“What’s going on?” I whisper to mum as she continues on the phone. Were they cleaning grandpa’s stuff out already? It hadn’t been long.

Suddenly I start to worry about all of his valuables, everything he held dear all in the bin. Of Nan trying to sort it all by herself and being overwhelmed—I could help.

Mum waves me off, “Well we’ll see. We can always hire someone. I’m sure Phil will pay for it.”

“I called asking for help with this not to have money I don’t need thrown my way.” Her voice is distant on the receiver but mum’s volume is always so loud I can make it out. Nan only ever took dad’s money if it had to do with me. “I need to do this myself not hire somebody. I-this is making me upset. I’m hanging up now.”

She hangs up without a goodbye and mum rolls her eyes.

“Somehow I’m always between the two of them.”

I watch her move back to her cutting board and stare as she chops. If there was any humour here I would laugh but it always got to me when she’d say things like that. Because it was always me between the two—my actual family and my family that raised me. My loyalty to my grandparents for all the love and time they raised me with and my loyalty to my parents because…well, they were my parents.

“What did she want?” I ask eventually.

“Someone to help her pack up the house. And she’s asking us to hold some of her things as storage I mean-“ she throws her hands up.

“Why?” Nan had plenty of space at home, why did she need ours?

“Well whoever rents that place probably doesn’t want all her rubbish everywhere.”

Rents.

“Who’s renting? What do you mean?”

Mum looks up sharply and sighs when she sees my face. “Oh dear. Did Nan or your dad not tell you yet?”

“Tell me what!?” I demand, my heart racing and my knees feeling like they were made of straw.

“Sit down-“ she points to a stool. I do so grudgingly. “Your Nan…she’s going to be moving-“

“No. She can’t be she would have said-“

“Well she just made the final decision the other day-“

I’m snatching my jacket and racing out the front door, down the street, pumping my arms until I’m in front of the familiar door. The place that my memories went to when I thought of home.

My breath is having a hard time coming out and my hands shake so I knock until Nan opens the door. One look at me and the sadness pools in her eyes.

“Oh my love I’m sorry.”

“No Nan,” I burst into tears. “Tell me it’s not true! Mum’s lying!”

“C’mon,” she mumbles as she urges me into the house. My feet shuffle to the cozy wooden kitchen and I collapse in the closest chair because her non-answer was already an answer. I knew it in my bones.

“Why?” I ask when I see her again.

She sits beside me, her eyes full of tears. “I didn’t want you finding out like this. I-I’m making your favourite, we were going to have dinner and I was going to-“

Her breath catches and suddenly I feel awful for making her feel bad.

“Nan,” I hold her hand and she clasps it with her other.

“I’m sorry my love. It’s…this house is filled with his ghost. I don’t know how to…”

I find I’m crying too. But what about me, I want to ask. But even I know that’s selfish.

“Before he…when he was in hospital he made a plan for me. He talked to my sister—you’ve met her a few times I think. She lives alone, been a widow for…6 years now? He made all these plans so I can live with her. And she’s made it happen. For as long as I need, she tells me.”

“So you’re just-“ I use my other hand to wipe my tears. “So you’re just going to pick up your life and move? So far away? I-“

What about me?

“I can’t live here-“

“Move in with us!” I urge. Why didn’t grandpa make plans for her to move a few streets over. Why did he do this.

“YN, my dear…” she pats my hand. I know she couldn’t. I knew.

“I’ll never see you again?” I cry.

“Don’t be silly,” she stands and tugs me to her. I wrap my arms around her aging torso, my head on her chest, and it’s so overwhelmingly home that I begin to cry. And with the patience she’s had her whole life she rubs my back and soothes me with promises.

“You’re moving for uni this year—everything’s going to be different. And Phil’s already bought tickets for you to come visit me in the summer. We’ll always be in each other’s lives.”

But not physically. And suddenly I’m angry—what was dad’s issue that he couldn’t stand his parents. That his own mother couldn’t move in with us at a time like this. Why would Nan do this to me.

I let go of Nan and stand up.

“Where are you going?” She calls out as I head for the door. “YN where-“

“I have to go.” I sniffle.

“But I’m making dinner-“

“I have plans.” I say and it hurts just to say it and hurts more to see her face fall.

“Oh…well maybe tomorrow. Come by tomorrow and we can talk okay?”

I shrug and this time I don’t look at her face; a coward who couldn’t see what it does to her. “Maybe.”

“I love you,” she says as I near the door. “No matter what.”

I mumble something in response and leave. But I don’t want to go home. Luckily my phone pings then. Harry.

Outside yours, are you ready?

Crap. I’d forgotten.

At my Nan’s few streets away gimme 2 mins

I feel like my feet are made of steel as I walk over. I try to wipe my face and take deep breaths, anything to prevent him from seeing the mess tonight has made me.

“Aren’t you cold?” Is the first thing he asks me when I knock on his passenger door.

I forgot I was only wearing a jumper.

“A bit. M I must have forgotten my coat at Nan’s.” I sit inside where it is considerably warmer.

“You didn’t have to rush,” he watches me tuck myself in. “I texted you that.”

“Oh,” I check my phone. He had said that, I just missed it. “That’s alright. Where to?”

His eyes light up, now distracted from what he was just worried about. “You’ll have to see.”

“Patience is not my virtue,” I warn him and that earns a grin. His whole face was quite animated when he smiled like that and my stomach flips. Tonight still heavy on my mind, could be eclipsed by a smile like that. A smile for me.

He turns off my street and even though I was curious I’m not watching where we’re going. Instead I’m watching him.

I really was surprised he kept turning up. That he hadn’t grown tired of me.

That first night I approached him in desperate need of a distraction—of a boy and some booze, I could tell he was surprised but he’d risen to the occasion and made himself a perfect distraction.

And then a few nights later we’d made out in his car after school in the parking lot. We did that a few times actually. And the weekend after he’d been at a party I was at and we’d found an empty room. He was obviously more experienced and it made it both new and fun.

He catches me watching him and responds by sliding his hand over my thigh. I was wearing tights but the warmth of his delicious hands go straight through the fabric. His thumb strokes absentmindedly as he drives and I feel like more than a hook-up and he feels like more than a distraction but I discard the thoughts from my mind.

I didn’t want to make things messy. Messier than what my life already was.

“So you’re really giving me no clues?” I ask.

“Nope.”

“I’m surprised you’ve actually planned something. I thought you wouldn’t be a planner.”

He squeezes my thigh and laughs. “I like it when people think they figured me out and then they’re surprised.”

“Yeah?” I ask. I wondered if that happened often with him being the stereotype of a player.

“Yeah. It’s fun. Seeing people surprised. Like when our biology teacher last year congratulated me for getting the highest grade in one of the exams—I’d studied for a week straight so I earned that shit, but the looks on everyone’s faces was crazy.”

I laugh. It’s cute hearing him explain this. Ironically it was also surprising.

“Okay look,” he turns into a lot and I suddenly know where we were. But I’m confused.

“A beach?” I ask. “Harry you know it’s still February and it’s cold as bollocks.”

That makes him laugh. “Yeah? But I’ve got blankets and some wine I stole from my parents and we can keep each other warm.”

He brushes my cheek with his thumb as he says so. It’s gentle and inviting—I never thought someone like him would have these sides to him. I assumed wrongfully that players like him just seduce but Harry’s seducing had a finer art.

Suddenly I remember, “I forgot my coat.”

“Yeah you can wear mine!”

“No then you’ll be cold.”

He tried to reassure me it would be fine but in that moment all the feelings that had just been distracted come forth. If I had just gotten my coat I wouldn’t have to borrow his. Now all this Harry planned for us would go to shit.

“Here,” he starts stripping his coat off when I don’t respond and drapes it around me. “I’ve got a hoodie on and a couple blankets back there it can work.”

“I…” the coat is big and warm, trapped with the smell of him and it makes me lose my train of thought for a moment. I want to grow smaller and just live in this coat and forget all my problems like my thoughts.

“Let’s just see how bad it is out there.” He says with his easygoing smile.

“Okay,” I didn’t want to be a spoil sport. “Let’s see if you brought me out here to freeze to death or not.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he says as we exit the car. “We’re going to keep each other warm.”

“Harry this is quite romantic,” I tease as he walks around to get to me. “Honestly didn’t know you had this side to you.”

He leans me into the car, his cold hands curling around my neck. “Stop underestimating me YN. Plus I could say the same about you.”

Before I can ask what he means he leans down to kiss me with his soft lips and stubbly chin. It tickles and I pull away.

When I rub my hand over it he laughs, a low and dangerous thing that makes my stomach churn like the waves. “Sorry. I didn’t get time…”

“It just tickles.” I smile. Then remember, “What did you mean just now? About me?”

He ignores me again, ducking into the backseat for a literal basket. I wonder how many girls had seen the same basket before, been on this very same date. It wasn’t my right to feel this grip of possessiveness and I try to shake it off.

“C’mon,” he holds his hand out and when I take it he shoves both into the pocket of his hoodie. He was cold.

“Are you sure-“

“When I-“

We both stop, laugh.

“You first,” I say.

“Uh, I was just saying I’ve known you for years and you’re always the smart no-nonsense one. Never thought you’d spare me a second glance unless it was to judge me-“

“Hey I’m not judgy“

“You’ve never judged me?” He raises a brow.

“Well maybe once or twice. Usually because you were being very obnoxious-“

“Exactly,” he laughs. “I didn’t expect you to come up to me and be interested.”

“Well…” I try to come up with something to say but that wave of emotions threatens to overtake me again. Push, push it away.

“Well?”

We pause some feet away from the waves. At this point even I’m starting to feel a chill and I worry Harry’s freezing.

“Well I was intrigued.”

“Intrigued,” he repeats with humour. “Wanted to know what the fuss was about?”

“I wanted to know,” I turn to him and extract my hand from his so I can wrap them behind him. “If the rumours were true. And I can say they made you out to be more of a fuckboy than you are.”

“What?” His body stiffens slightly.

“Yeah you’re kinda sweet.”

He shakes his head, “YN I thought you were smart!”

“What!” I laugh. “I can’t help but point out what I see-“

“Ah but,” he lays a finger on my lips to shush me and they’re frozen. I try to say something about how cold he must be but he stops me. “Ah ah. No. What you observe is an act YN. I thought you would see I’m just trying to get into your-“

“But,” I shush him this time by putting my finger to his lips and an excuse to draw closer to him to lend my warmth.

“No I-“

“Ah ah!” I pinch his lips closed with my hand accidentally giving him duck lips and it takes him by surprise; he jerks back and neatly topples over. Which of course gets me laughing.

“Jesus YN!” He laughs on the floor.

“Why did you fall over!” I try to pull him up but he yanks me down as I expected. “Shit it’s chilly. Aren’t you cold?!”

“Not anymore,” he wraps a hand around my waist and I can’t deny laying on top of him like this makes me forget the cold.

“See,” I tsk. “I see right through you.”

That sobers his smile and mine fades with it. Did I say something wrong.

“It really is chilly though,” I quickly change the subject. It’s not graceful but I manage to stand up on my own and so does Harry, a shiver going through him. “See!”

“No that’s just,” he wraps his arms around himself. “Being around you.”

I groan. “Cheesy. I’m sorry here-“ I try to take the jacket off to hand him but he refuses, picking up the basket that he’d dropped to the ground.

“Keep it on. Let’s have a car picnic.”

“Yes!” The guilt lessens a bit. “Okay! Let’s do that.”

He smiles at me and extends a hand, I grip it and try to heat it up by shoving it up his larger sleeves.

“That works,” he laughs.

He opens the backseat so I slide in without a second thought. When it’s a bit cramped he moves the driver and passenger seats forward and it gives us a comfortable amount of space.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize again. “I wish I brought my jacket this really was all very nice-“

“Stop,” he says. He begins pulling out wine and perfectly wrapped sandwiches. It’s adorable but I say nothing lest it bruise his masculinity again. “It was lame I knew how cold it was.”

“Are we drinking from the bottle?” I point out.

“Ah damn,” he swears. “I forgot glasses.”

“That’s alright!” I take it from his hand and begin opening it. “Free wine I’ll take it! My parents are really anal so I could never steal liquor and have them not notice.”

“So that’s where you get it from,” he teases.

“Get what?!”

“The,” he waves his hand around me. I take a swig now that I’ve gotten it open and raise my brows. “Y’know! You’re very particular. I imagine you’d be like that as a parent.”

My heart does a weird stuttering thing hearing his opinion of me as a parent.

“Nevermind,” he takes my silence as offence and accepts the bottle. He makes a face once he takes a swig. “This is disgusting. I can’t drink this.”

“Not more disgusting than that beer you drank at last weekend’s party.”

“It was the best thing there.”

“It was the only thing,” I say. “But you should be careful since you’re driving. Wine gets you drunk a lot faster.”

“See,” he hands the bottle back to me. “This sort of thing.”

“Being responsible?”

I feel a small leak of self-consciousness drip in. And with it the leak expands with other emotions I’d shoved down tonight. I blink it back with another swig—the plan would be to get drunk and forget the evening happened.

“Kinda. Like just being sharp.”

It soothes a little. Sharp was better than being called responsible at age 17. Jeez.

I take another swig before we split sandwiches and talk about school. We talk music and movies, about graduation. I try not to look surprised at his grad plans while he’a not surprised at all by mine.

But talking about it all plus the wine, it sinks me deeper into my feelings. How the home I would leave would be something I could never come back to. Nan would never be a few streets away ever again.

“Is it just me or is it getting cold in here now too?” He asks. By now I’d given him his jacket back and I was wrapped in a blanket with half a bottle of wine in me. But even that didn’t hold the cold at bay.

“Yeah, I was trying to ignore it.”

“Soo you can stay here with me?”

“I-“ I go to flirt back. But staying here meant I wouldn’t have to go back home and remembering home reminds me of the reality of my life.

“YN?” He asks with a scrunch to his brows.

“Hm?” I don’t look at him. “Sorry. Yeah?”

“Uh I was just saying…” he deposits the half empty bottle that I’d basically drunk alone into the front console. This whole time we’d gotten closer to the other, his hand resting on my thigh as we talked. But now with nothing between us he inches to close the gap. “We could keep each other warm.”

He tucks my hair behind my ear and I smile into his face. It’s an open book telling his desires for tonight. I cup his cheek, he was sweet.

He kisses me and the gnawing feelings in my chest snaps. In seconds I’m climbing over him, straddling his lap as he responds, his fingers dig into my thighs and the sounds coming from his throat only urges me to get closer.

“Woah,” he chuckles when we break for air. And a part of me flushes but I’m too drunk to care.

I lean in again, my lips on his neck. His breath hitches and I smile against his skin.

His hands travel everywhere. My thighs, hips, and stomach. They slide up the front of my shirt and I gasp at the cold.

“We really need to warm those up,” I whisper.

He looks like he wants to make a joke but I press our lips together before he can. His fingers continue inching up, brushing under the band of my bra. I want him to go faster, I want him to lay me bare and make me forget. Get this fucking noise out of my head and these feelings out of my body.

I can tell he’s turned on but he’s not moving fast enough for me. I roll my hips into him and just like I needed him to he reacts, a short gasp and his eyes shut as he swears.

I do it again and he leans forward, pulling the neckline of my sweater over my head. His lips find the crook of my neck and shoulder, doing the thing that always unravels me.

He worships whatever part of me his lips can reach with one hand firmly on my neck keeping me close.

“You’re insane,” he mumbles against me. “Sometimes I-“

He shakes himself out of his monologue because his hands are trying to unbuckle his jeans. And in the split moment we’re apart the chill in the car settles against my bare shoulders and it’s like reality settles with it. Like a blanket I kept trying to shed.

Suddenly I’m overwhelmed. When he pulls me back to him to lay me down I push against his shoulders, dismounting.

“YN?” I don’t look at him but I know he’s got his brows scrunched together in confusion. I myself was confused. Claustrophobic and confused.

The only option is to rush outside trying to escape the feeling. It was fucking crazy—me in a bra and jeans but I have to get away from him before he sees me unravel. Before everything I’ve been pushing down surfaces.

“YN!” He shouts as I leave his car. Then a third time. I can hear the panic creep into his voice.

My head swims, the world spins around me. I want to lay here and let the cold creep in, let the waves lap over me until they’ve drowned me. Or maybe the waves inside of me make me feel like I’m drowning.

The first sob breaks through. Oh god, what was I doing.

I press my hands into my face and cry with a force so strong it feels like my chest has cracked in half. I cry for my Nan leaving, for grandpa and everything he suffered, for those he left behind, for my father and the relationship he’s never kept. I cry for me. I want to give it all to the water but it keeps coming out of me.

“Fucking hell YN!” Harry’s finally caught up to me. “What-what’s going on? Are you-“

As soon as his hand touches my shoulder I crash into his chest, maybe too hard, but he holds me up as he stays upright. And suddenly I’m cold as shit and I can’t stop shivering and crying and I feel fucking ridiculous.

Way to go, couldn’t have had a sexier moment.

He doesn’t say a word but wraps the jacket he brought with him around my shoulders. It’s heavy and smells like him, and surrounded in it again my system seems to slow down.

“I’m sorry,” I say into his chest.

“No I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out-“

“Wasn’t you.” I say but I can’t even look up at him. This was way too embarrassing. I know I looked a mess.

“Let’s just get back into the…”

I follow him. He tucks me back into the backseat and crawls in behind me.

“Talk to me,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “Did I do something?”

“No.” I wipe my face. He somehow finds a kleenex and hands it to me. I wipe myself down before speaking again but he’s patient. “Sorry. I just have a lot going on at home and it all just…”

When I don’t finish he shifts closer. I look up at him and I’m surprised at what I see. His mouth is turned down and there’s a crease between his brows, but his eyes watch me like I was a fragile puzzle he wanted to figure out. I was expecting him to look at me with fear or disgust but there’s none of it.

Oh god, it hits me in the wrong place. I pitch forward and he catches me against his chest as I cry some more. Somehow there were always more tears.

He rubs my back. “Hey talk to me, I know we’re not…you can talk to me.”

I shake my head. “It-it’s too much. I can’t talk about it.”

“Why not?”

I sigh, lean back, try to discreetly wipe my nose but there’s nothing discreet in this intimate space Harry’s created. More intimate than when we were making out. His eyes are burning into me waiting for me to give him the key to help him unlock all of this.

But how do I tell him I didn’t have the key myself. That I was just sad and I didn’t know what to do with all of it.

“My family…there’s just a lot going on. My Nan’s moving away and just…a lot of changes. I can’t talk about it-“

“Then how do I make you feel better?”

I’ve got to stop being so surprised but I genuinely never thought those kinds of words would ever come out of Harry’s mouth. We were hooking up and yet he wanted to help me—he wanted me to talk.

“You can’t.”

“I believe I can,” he insists.

“I’m just…you don’t have to.”

“I know,” he lifts my chin and wipes the tears away. “Just tell me what you need. I’m here.”

“I just need…” I look at him. Study the soft curls sitting atop the angular cheeks and the steady curious eyes. His wonderful face on his intoxicating throat on his beautiful body. “You.”

He blinks. “Really?”

“Please?” I reach for him with tears in my eyes but he’s already there. This time he lays me down gently and even though it’s an awkward fit by the time he’s peeling layer after layer off of us the place doesn’t matter. Just that he’s here, he sees me hurting, and he’s doing whatever this was to help me feel better.

I close my eyes and make myself be present in my body, feel his taut arms and his shoulders, the softness of his lips and how it feels when he moves against me. When he caresses me and holds me like a flame against a draft, careful but cherishing.

And later, we maneuver ourselves so that we lay together. My body is mostly draped over his and the blanket he brought lays over both of us. And normally I would think of how many other girls this blanket has seen but I feel too serene. I feel tucked in and protected in his arms.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers. He kisses the top of my head. “And you never back down from a challenge. I’ve seen you be the smartest at our school, work your arse off every year. You’re gonna have such an amazing life after you head off to uni. You’re hurting right now but life will change for you.”

His words take mine away. I don’t know who this sensitive and sweet boy is who’s holding me together. As a few tears escape my eyes and down my cheeks he kisses them away.

“Salty,” he laughs.

“Probably good for all the sweetness right here,” I tap at his chest. He swallows and the look in his eyes tell me a story that scares me.

“My parents must have done something right—this is just being decent YN.”

“Mmm,” I kiss him. “You tell yourself that.”

“Is that a smile?” He asks. And it is, I’m smiling at him. “It’s a smile! Look at that. My car won’t even need the headlights on the drive home.”

“Stop,” I cover my mouth.

“No you stop,” he tugs my hand away and kisses my smile which ends in a clash of teeth but I don’t care.

And then suddenly I do. Because I feel something. Something endless and scary and exhilarating; the feeling of falling.

Don’t do this, I urge my heart. He’s not the kind of guy you fall for. That was the first rule in hooking up with him. This was just fun.

But I can’t deny this stopped being fun the moment he led me back to the car. The moment he tried to fix me.

“Maybe we should get home,” I say casually. “I sort of left everyone high and dry. I don’t want them to worry where I’m at.”

“Oh yeah I-shit! It’s already 10?”

“What!?” I look at his watch. I was surprised my parents hadn’t called wondering where I was. I’d missed dinner. Both dinners.

“Okay wait here.” He pulls on his clothes and leaves me some privacy as he begins adjusting the seats upfront from outside. The cold air gives me goosebumps but in that moment the only thing that was scaring me was this smile that wouldn’t leave my face and the inevitable heartbreak of falling for Harry.

But it felt so real. He felt so real.

But he’s not. He’s not even your boyfriend. He just felt bad and he was decent enough not to drive you straight home.

Suddenly my heart and my head clash and despite his reassuring hand on my thigh and his lingering kiss goodnight I walk to my door with a whole new problem on my plate. A problem that scares me more than I realized.

Present:

I guess Harry’s capacity for kindness also equalled in his cruelness because he had made sure his actions hurt me in the last few weeks. Until I took it into my own hands.

I can’t help but think though, whether either of us even won?

“Well have you thought how that arrangement’s gonna go?” Rhia asks.

Rhia was my bestest friend and we’d known each other since we were kids. She was there at my highest highs and lowest lows and today we sit at lunch and discuss uni. Now that her acceptance letter’s come in for her dream uni, for the first time in our lives we’d be so far apart it wouldn’t be a bike ride over. It would be a couple trains at least.

“Obviously we see each other during the holidays,” I count off on my hand. “And then we have to make summer plans-“

“Who’s making summer plans.” Our other friend Juni joins us. “I miss summer. I miss spring. I miss the sun.”

“It’s right around the corner.” I reassure her. It had been a particularly gloomy winter—especially for me.

“Well I’m mad about it now. Look, I even dressed in florals to feel something.”

“Florals? For spring?” Rhi and I say in unison. By the time we finish the quote from one of our favourite movies Juni’s joined in.

“Woah,” someone calls from the table beside us. “Are you lot auditioning for something?”

My friends roll their eyes. I look amused but the fact that it’s Harry asking trying to be friendly makes my stomach curdle.

“Jeez babe you’re actually gonna put a curse on him if you keep staring like that.” Juni lays a hand on me. “I thought things were civil.”

“They are,” I huff. “We had a civil talk. Nobody’s mad at each other.”

“Lie,” Juni says and I can feel her make eyes at Rhia.

“Shut up I’m not mad. I’m just…I dunno. Confused. Annoyed at myself?”

“I thought you set him straight. Played the player,” Juni whispers. Rhia kisses her teeth. “Sorry!”

“I did. It felt good. And now it doesn’t.”

“Was he that good…y’know?” Juni eyes Harry at the table beside us.

“Shut up!” I shove Juni. “He was just surprisingly nice. I thought he’d be a fuckboy about everything but aside from his past I didn’t get those vibes at all. And then he kept…” I sigh. I wasn’t going to get caught in this vicious cycle.

“From what I heard,” Rhia whispers. “He usually is like that though. Sleeps with a rotation of girls and never more than twice in a row. And he never hangs out with them inside school and he never makes things official and…”

She trails off as Juni and I stare at her. She flushes.

“Someone’s been keeping an ear for the goss,” Juni teases.

“What!?” She glares. “After YN I just tried to gather intel. To help. He broke his pattern with her. I was surprised myself every time he found her at a party and she ditched us-“

“Hey I thought you were cool with that.” I say.

“I am!” She shakes her head. “I didn’t mean it like that! I’m glad you got your distraction. But now it just feels like he was more than he was worth.

“Like now you need a distraction from your distraction.” Juni nods.

“Tell me about it.” I grumble. I pop another carrot stick in my mouth and as I chew Harry turns his head and we catch eyes. He does a head nod and I flash a quick smile before moving my attention away.

I wonder if his heart races as much as mine. Probably not.

“Guys I think I do need a new distraction.” I announce.

“Ooh,” Rhia and Juni leans in.

“Someone who doesn’t go to this school though. I really want to keep it apart from my day to day life. And it’ll be a one-time thing. Like a cleanse.”

“Like a cleanse.” They echo.

“Well I can check with you-know-who for all the eligible guys at that other stinky school.” Juni says enthusiastically. She had a crush/situationship that went there. We called him YKW because she didn’t want anyone to hear about how often she talked about him despite talking to him 2.5 times.

“More like if he thinks you’re asking for yourself he might get jealous enough to ask you out.” Rhia laughs.

“Ooh.” I join in.

“Shush.” She blushes. “Maybe. It’s all in the tone. Sound innocent but aloof like you don’t know how the question might affect them. And you really are innocent because you’re seriously asking for a friend.”

I laugh loud at Juni. No wonder I managed to pull off my con with Harry in the computer room when I had friends like Juni feeding me these bits of advice.

I feel Harry’s eyes on me, my laughter likely ringing too loud.

“But who wants to be in a relationship at this point?” Rhia asks. “It’s like 3 months to grad and then we get to meet uni folks.”

“Yeah,” I risk a glance toward’s Harry’s table. He’s not looking. “Exactly.”

Harry POV:

Another Saturday night, another house party.

My mum had made a fuss about me never being home weekends so I’d been forced to have dinner with the family and make small talk while my sister smirked knowing I was itching to get out, and my parents barrelled me with question after question about unis and my future.

I feel like my head’s finally above water and I’m taking my first gulp of fresh air when I pull up to the party. I was late of course but that just meant everyone would be a little drunk.

My eyes scan the crowds as I walk through, greeting some friends. The person throwing it was our coach’s nephew who was a year younger than us but somehow cool enough to be in the fold. It also helped that getting along with him gave us more insight on coach during football season.

“You’re late,” Dana who I’ve known since preschool spots me first. “This is a first isn’t it?”

“Yeah yeah my parents were making a big deal about missing dinner.”

“My parents are in Manchester for drugs,” Akil grins. He was coach’s nephew and his parents both worked pharmaceuticals. They were away often enough on work trips so a lot of parties took place here.

“When aren’t they?” Someone asks.

“Surprised you’re not here with a pair of long lashes and boobs,” Dana smarts. Since we’d known each other so long she was just like Gemma always on my case about the way I “used” girls.

“Now c’mon Dana,” I give her my attention. “This shirt didn’t fit the boobs and I was running late for the lashes.”

She rolls her eyes, “Hardy har.”

“What about you?” I ask. “Anyone you’re seeing.”

“I wish,” she crosses her arms. “I feel like half the girls I could be seeing are still closeted.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know!” She says. “Like how do you know when a girl’s straight for you.”

“Touche.” I agree. “And the other half?”

She clears her throat but before she could say something Ray jumps in.

“The other half can’t stand her.”

“Piss off.” She flips him off. The rest of us laugh, used to seeing the two cousins insult each other most of our lives. “More like the other half’s already slept with Harry.”

“I’m getting a drink,” I call out as the accusations go flying.

I leave my friends and sniff out the drinks in its usual spot in the dining room. The house was nice, nicer than most of the homes we had parties at, and yet it wasn’t one of those places that were cold. It was lived-in despite the weird decor along the walls from all of the residents’ travels.

I’m filling up my cup from the keg someone procured when I notice who exactly is in the corner of the room. The seconds stretch as I hone in on her and the friend she’s always with. My blood pumps extra hard just to keep me upright and functioning.

I’d seen her a ton of times since that conversation. We’d even passed a few hellos when forced but I haven’t been the same since.

I had told myself it was one of those things that needed to fully leave my system. Like bad weed or a shitty flu. And I’d waited weeks but everything between, everything I felt, stuck stubbornly.

And now my body betrayed me every time I saw her. I wanted her to look at me and see her expression change. I wanted to ask her how things were, I was fucking curious. Curious. It was awful.

Her friend is using her hands to explain something to YN and I can’t see her face entirely but she looks unconvinced. I nudge a little closer.

“-says so. And! He’s 5’11.”

“So he couldn’t even make it to 6 feet?” YN asks. I hold back a smile.

“YN!” Her friend whines.

“I’m joking!” YN says. “That was a joke jeez I don’t body shame as long as they’re above 5’6.”

Her friend—I think her name was June rolls her eyes. “Ok that was funny but I don’t know why you have cold feet. Just go up to him! You don’t have to date him. Rhi made small talk with him for recon he thought you were cute! And plus…”

I stop listening when the pieces click together. I don’t know why I thought YN and I hooking up would get whatever it was out of her system. Maybe because she never hooked up. Yet here she was being set up with someone else?

YN begins to turn and I move fast, like I was on the field, to get out of there.

“Were you brewing your own beer?” Akil asks.

“Are you timing how long it takes for me to get a drink?” I snap. “Jeez.”

“Easy,” Akil eyes me.

“Someone needs something stronger.”

I ignore them and take a slow breath. That was unwarranted. I don’t know why I was being so irritable with my friends.

In a few seconds my watered down cup is empty and I’m following the crowd to another part of the house.

“Oh Harry!” A pretty voice calls as we settle in. “I didn’t see you tonight—thought you weren’t showing.”

“He was just late don’t worry,” Dana says sweetly as…I think her name was Britney, sashays into the room.

“Yeah I was late,” I glare back at Dana. She didn’t have to talk for me. Then I watch her give Brit the once over and I realize she could be jealous.

“Yeah well we haven’t talked since that night and I just wanted to say,” she stretches up to my ear. “It was really fun. You always know exactly what I need.”

She stands on her toes and sets herself back down, bouncing a few times before cocking her head. Meanwhile I’m trying to place her.

I had kept pretty to myself the last few weeks. I try to remember the last time I had slept with someone and then it comes to me: the night YN and I had that talk after school.

“I had fun myself,” I hold my hand out and she steps inside of it, her arms going around my waist immediately.

“I thought you forgot,” she laughs.

“How could I forget?” I murmur, waiting for that rush of endorphins but my heart’s just not in it. I don’t want to be here chatting her up. I didn’t want to have to listen to her most of the night while my mates hung out. I didn’t want to find a room with her or drop her home. Fuck…I didn’t want to be with her.

That’s never happened before. My body feels foreign, like it’s going into shutdown as the realization slithers through me.

“Have you met Dana before?” I change the subject. I wanted her off of me. Asap. I didn’t care to be around her.

“Dana?” She looks over at Dana, confused. “Uhm no?”

“She’s great.” I say as Dana shoots lasers at me. “I’ve known her since preschool. But she has a bite so be careful what you say around her.”

“Oh,” Britney puts some distance between us as she looks between Dana and I. Good. “Okay? Hi?”

“Hi. Don’t mind him. I think he got drunk off one drink.” Dana glares.

“Unless you’re into biting,” I continue. But I get cut off when Akil calls Brit’s name.

She whips her head at the sound of her name. Akil’s waving. “Does your brother still do those custom decals Brit?”

“Uh yeah?” Poor Brit, she’s confused as shit.

“Yeah? Uh come over here so we can talk. Don’t wanna yell…” Brit abandons us happily and walks over to Akil. I mouth thank you to him and he flashes me a grin that’s up to no good.

“You dick!” Dana swings her hand into my ribs and I fold. “Why would you do that?”

“Ouch! What!?” I rub the sore spot. “Is she not part of half those girls you were talking about?”

“No! Why would you—oh my god.”

I shrug, “I thought she was. I was trying to introduce you two.”

“Do me a favour?” She asks. “Never ever ever play cupid for me. Ever. Don’t pull that shit again.”

I hold my hands up and settle back. Brit was gone at least but the low thrum of anxiety is not. I needed to step away.

“Maybe I need another drink. You want something?” I ask her.

“Really? Didn’t you drive here?” I raise a brow at her. I knew my limits. She shrugs. “Fine I’ll just have whatever you get for yourself.”

I ruffle her hair just to annoy her more as I leave. In all this uncertainty and change at least I still had my friends to banter with. But even then, I was being a dick earlier.

I use the toilet and then grab drinks. On my way out I spot YN and it must be the bloke June was talking about because he looks 5’11 and interested in YN. He looks familiar from the back but before I can focus on who he is I catch her smiling up at him saying something. I feel a twinge in my chest, I made her laugh when we were together. Was it me or did she just laugh at any joke? Maybe what we had wasn’t as unique as I thought.

“Harry.” Someone materializes beside me. It startles me out of my trance and I nearly spill my drinks. “Sorry!”

“You’re light on your feet,” I try to regain composure. And much shorter too. “Hi…June.”

“Eee.”

“Huh?” I stare at YN’s friend. Was she okay?

“You said June.”

“Yeah?”

“My name’s Juni?” She puts her hands on her hips.

“Oh shit sorry. I…sorry.”

“That’s alright,” she shrugs and her cutting look is gone. “Why are you staring at my best friend so hard?”

I stare at her. It made sense suddenly, that this was YN’s best friend. She looks over my shoulder and her face brightens and suddenly somebody else joins our circle.

“Hey what’s going on?” Another one of YN’s friends.

“Just talking to Harry. About why he’s staring lasers at YN behind her back.”

My mouth opens in surprise; I feel cornered.

“Strange from a guy who plays girls like guitar and then moves on like a one-hit-wonder.” Her other friend says.

“Nice one.” Juni nods. “Spot on.”

“I don’t know what you two are on about,” I take a step away from them. It felt like an ambush. “I was just looking in that direction-“

“I’m not an idiot.” Juni rolls her eyes. “I’ve seen the way you watch her in Chem. I sit in front of YN and every time I turn to talk to her i just see you like a freak in the back.”

“Is it a crime to look jeez.”

“Obviously not but listen, we all know you’re a fuckboy. And you…fuck around. We don’t know if it’s cuz you’re not used to rejection or what? But leave her be. She’s going through enough-“

“I know.” My defences rise. I knew now after some digging what she was going through. I haven’t approached her or bothered her as much as I’ve wanted for the last few weeks. I’ve wanted to do more than just look at her like it was a demanding need and I had kept it to myself.

I had been selfish and I know she was going through stuff. Grief and all that. I had no plans to fuck with her.

“Do you?” Her other friend asks.

“Yeah. Her grandpa and stuff. I get it. I’m not trying to…fuck around. You guys are like her bodyguards or something?”

“No just friends,” Juni crosses her arms. “We care about her.”

So do I, I almost say with my defences so triggered. Luckily I have enough sense to keep my mouth shut. Or maybe not. I’ve finally placed the guy she’s talking to and I can’t help but play the upper hand.

“If you cared about her you wouldn’t be hooking her up with a pothead that’s slept with a teacher and been arrested at least once for carrying.

Juni’s mouth drops and her other friend is staring at her.

“You’re lying!” She says.

I turn to look at YN who looks like she’s relaxed and having fun. My stomach turns. “I’m not. But don’t interrupt her now—she looks like she’s having fun.”

“But—how—what!” Juni looks at her friend. “Did you know?”

“Well I know he smokes sometimes but I-“

“Oh my god.” Juni looks mortified.

“I should go.” I should be leaving with satisfaction but all I can think about is YN maybe sleeping with this guy and I just feel sick.

“No you can’t!” Juni says. “Tell me what you know!”

“I did.” I raise my glasses. “My friends are waiting though. Nice talking June.”

Her mouth drops open again as I turn to leave to her shouting, “Juni you prick!”

I can’t deny that that didn’t bring me a bit of satisfaction.

Your POV:

He was incredibly attractive and I might have even blushed when he smiled at me with his full attention but other than that…I’m a bit bored. The thing is he hasn’t detached from his group of friends for one minute and even though he includes me in the conversations—and they are a very lighthearted and funny group, a lot of their inside jokes go over my head and it’s not because of the shots I’d done to get over my nerves tonight. And I’m pretty sure a couple of them are already high.

“And then he blackflips off the pole and-“ the friend telling the story starts laughing too much to finish and I smile along as Drevan shakes his head at me.

“They like to tell this story to pretty girls so they all know I’ve had concussions.”

“Concussions?!” I ask. “Like, multiple?”

Drevan shrugs but his friend hears me.

“Yes! He lands in the bin on his head and knocks himself out-“

“It was actually scary at first,” someone else pipes in.

“I would be shit scared.” These were clearly the type of guys who thought edging death was hilarious. Doubts creep in about whether Drevan was even hook-up material. How did Juni find this guy appropriate?

“I would be too if I was conscious.” Drevan says and everyone laughs.

As they talk about something else, Drevan snakes his hand around my shoulder and I smile at him. He winks and goes back to listening. At least he smelled nice.

My eyes wander the room spotting classmates and familiar faces. Rhia’s in the far end of the room and she gives me a thumbs up, I throw a grimace back. Her brows tighten and I shake my head subtly to tell her not to worry.

I hadn’t seen Harry yet, as hard as I was trying not to look for him. I knew he was probably in some dark corner with a new girl and I shouldn’t care because I was here with someone else.

“Hey YN how come we don’t see you around a lot?” One of his friends ask. All the names were thrown at me so long ago I can’t remember any of them.

“Oh I uhm,” I hate being put in the spotlight like this. “I’m just not a regular at these things.”

“I heard you’re smart as shit,” one of them says.

“Yeah I heard that too,” Drevan nods, impressed.

“I guess yeah,” I shrug. “I work hard to get good grades.”

“Good for you,” Drevan says. “So do you…do any…extracurriculars?”

I just know his definition of extracurriculars is not mine.

“Like do parkour onto the unstable bins at the back of school?” I ask.

“Nah,” he grins. “That’s funny though. I mean do you smoke or…”

Once. Rhia, Juni, and I had begged Rhia’s brother to let us have some of his stash last summer. We’d worn him down with our whining and he agreed to it if we stayed inside until we were sober. And we did, it was one of the highlights of last summer us giggling at everything and watching our favourite romcom while ordering takeaway and eating like we were 13. It was one of those days my life’s worries were able to slide away and I could just enjoy being a teen with my friends.

“I’ve dabbled,” I stay vague. “But it’s been a while.”

His eyes light up. “Want to join?”

I look around the group and the idea of swapping something between their lips to me—I’m sure they were fine but I didn’t know them and it makes my stomach squirm.

“Ehh I’m not big on swapping with everyone—no offence I just-“

“Yeah yeah no worries—I’ve got an uncle who’s like a germaphobe.” Suddenly he’s reaching into his pockets and comes up with a contraption. There’s weed and papers and some other stuff and it makes me laugh. “What?”

“It’s like a lab in your pocket,” I laugh. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“There’s enough to go around.” He grins. “So this one’s really concentrated but maybe that’s a bit much ehm…usually my line is I’ve got one for lovers and one for dreamers.”

Like I’ve summoned the devil, Harry appears in the doorway. I glance back at the group quickly so he doesn’t notice me watching him. Shite.

“I’ll take the lovers,” I shrug. Whatever that meant I figured the one for dreamers would get me more stoned which I’d rather not do here. Not that the one drag I plan on doing could affect me much.

“Yeah?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” I smile. He starts to roll it up for me and it’s tighter than a Victorian woman in a corset. I’m sort of mesmerized at how adept his hands are at that. I fear I might have been led on by an actual stoner.

“What’s going on here?” Harry lazily makes his way beside me, hovering over where we sit just as Drevan holds it up to me.

“Heyy Styles c’mon over here!” They do a bro hug and I’m instantly irritated. Of course they know each other. “I was just letting her inspect my work before she takes it-“

“YN?” Harry looks at me and his eyes pierce me to the spot. “YN’s gonna smoke?”

“Yeah!” Drevan puts his arm around me again and unlike before I want him to take it back. “She chose the lovers special man—she’s into it!”

“Really?” Harry smiles. “YN I didn’t know you were into this stuff. I’ve really underestimated you.”

I give him a sarcastic smile. “I heard you’re good at that. I’m not into it but I do it occasionally…”

“Occasionally?” Harry raises a brow. Ugh I hated him.

Meanwhile Drevan’s lit it up and passes it to me. “First?”

I take it and just to prove a point I put it to my lips with my eyes on Harry and inhale exactly how Rhia’s brother taught us. It comes surprisingly easy.

“I’ll take a hit too.” Harry’s eyes don’t leave mine. We’re locked in a challenge.

“Go ahead,” I hand it to him and a small thrill passes through me when his hand brushes mine, when I think about his lips being where mine had just been. I was so screwed.

“I love this guy,” Drevan says beside me, oblivious. “On the field Style’s a legend—he’s somehow made the most goals as a defence. I mean who does that!”

I raise my brows as Harry releases, “Styles not where he’s supposed to be? Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Drevan laughs and Harry’s mouth quirks. Drevan takes the spliff from Harry’s outstretched hand but not before being Harry’s number one fan.

“He’s actually a speed demon. Everytime I’m on the field with him I know my legs are done in.”

“That’s because you’re stoned at every game,” Harry says.

“True! I pass every piss test they make me do though don’t I?”

“I don’t want to know,” I put my hand up. “How that’s possible.”

“Yeah sorry sorry,” Drevan smiles. Unfortunately he’s really handsome but the more the picture of him comes together and the more he goes on about Harry the more I know I wore my best matching set for nothing. “Lady present. Did you want another before I pass it?”

“Yeah do you?” Harry eyes me and only because he said it and because I’m feeling nothing so far (my eventual downfall), I take another. I try not to inhale too much but I don’t know how to do a short puff. I hope I don’t regret it. The smell coming off was already a lot.

“Mate?” Drevan asks Harry. He shakes his head. What a snake!

Drevan passes it on and of course Harry decides to stay standing and talking with the group. Apparently a few of them are in a band and they’re trying to convince Harry to help them out. Pretty soon I’m zoning out and my stomach feels funny.

“I don’t know if I feel so great,” I tell Drevan quietly. So what if it looks like I’m whispering sweet nothings in his ear if someone like Harry was watching.

“Oh shit,” Drevan turns into me. “You should get some water. Lay down? D’you want me to help you find-“

“No,” I did not want to hang out with Drevan anymore. He was nice but a pothead. “I got it. It might just be cramps.”

He nods like he understand, “I’ve got two younger sisters. I get that. If you feel better or want some more just come back here okay?”

“Thanks,” I try to convey my appreciation with a smile but I might just look like I’m high.

I ignore Harry as I leave the small group but a hand on my arm stops me as I round the couch.

“Find me later if it gets weird.” He says in my ear.

I lean back so I can see his face but he’s entirely serious. His eyes search mine as I stare at him blankly.

“The weed. Find me later if you need anything.”

He lets go of me. What the fuck? What would I need from him? He wants me to find him later when he’ll have a girl draped all over him just so I can seem needy and he can feel needed. Ugh.

“Girly!” I hear Juni’s voice and nearly collapse into her arms when I crash into her right outside the room.

“Juni oh my god. I’m so glad you’re here where’s Rhia?”

“I dunno? She found some old friend she knew when she was like 6 or something and she’s disappeared to catchup or whatever.”

“Oooh,” I wiggle my brows.

“No it’s legit an old friend. She moved when they were kids or something.”

“Aw,” I sigh. “That was the weirdest-“

“I’m so sorry,” she holds my arms and takes me onto the steps. “I’m gonna kill that guy I swear to god.”

“What? Drevan? No! He was really sweet!”

“No! My guy. YKW. I was trying to make him jealous while he was taking the piss because he totally recommended the class stoner and I pushed you onto him without doing any research! I feel awful!”

“It’s alright! He was really respectful actually. Maybe my type if he wasn’t a pothead?”

“No. No YN do not go there. Apparently he slept with a teacher!”

“No!” I gasp. “Do you think he was their dealer?”

“Obviously! And they probably couldn’t pay so he set up a barter system.”

“How much do you think one round covers?”

We pause to think before cackling at the story we’d just created.

“We’re idiots. Class idiots.” Juni says as we wipe our tears.

“I love us.” I say and realize how true it is. “I love you Juni. Honestly I don’t know where’d I’d be without you. And Rhia. You guys have kept me so together this past year.”

“Aww,” Juni hugs me sideways. “What are forever friends for babe.”

“Like I feel like I’ve just been going through a shitstorm and everything is still changing so much! And I can’t figure anything out! And you and Rhia are like standing on either side of me just keeping me up. I seriously-“

“Jeez don’t cry!” Juni wipes my lashline. “I don’t want to cry if I’m going to tear YKW a new one.”

“You haven’t already?”

“No! I was busy being a creep in the corner watching you to make sure Sir Pothead didn’t do any funny business. I saw you smoke his weed though. You alright?”

“Yeah. Maybe I just need the toilet I’m feeling a bit nauseous.”

“Okay. Just call me if you need me alright?”

“I love you,” I tell her. I want to squish her against me but I start to feel really poorly. “I’m gonna go though.”

“Go!” She waves me off. “I’ve got some yelling to do.”

The walk to the toilet is a fog and I run the tap to splash my face. It feels extra cold so I dial it down but it gets too hot. Suddenly I want to cry.

“Breathe,” I tell myself. “Breathe breathe breathe breathe. Oh my god. Okay. Let’s go with cold water.”

I splash the tundra water on my neck and along my throat. It feels better-ish.

I realize I hadn’t turned on the light when I can’t even see my reflection.

“Stupid,” I laugh. I turn it on and immediately stop laughing. My face…it’s drooping. Am I having a stroke?

I pull my cheeks up with my palms and squish it into my face but every time I let go I look like I’ve lived another 30 years and gravity has taken’s it’s toll on my face.

“What the fuck?” I whisper to myself. I whisper it again because it sounds nice. It feels good to swear. I say it again, a little louder and I laugh because I have no idea what’s going on.

I squeeze my eyes closed, shake my face, and look back. I look somewhat normal. My neck looks splotchy though. I rummage through a drawer but other than a blowdryer there’s nothing to help me.

“You’re an attractive girl and you’re just feeling a little fucked.” I tell myself in the mirror. “You-“

“Hurry!” Bang. “Up!” Bang.

I jump out of my skin and turn to stare at the door. Did I imagine that?

“Hello!” Bang.

Another succession of banging and shouting to get me out of the bathroom. How dare they?

I fling the door open and the guy on the other side startles.

I lean in and poke his chest. “Rude. Fucking rude!”

“I need the toilet!”

“I am a lady using it that’s rude! You don’t bang on the door like a fuckass while I’m in there!”

“Okay!” He holds his hands up. “Sorry! I had to use it and you were in there for hours!”

“It was not hours!” I say but even I can’t tell. “You’re a liar too!”

“I can’t do this I’ve got to go, here look I’m sorry-“ he shoves something into my hand and scrambles away, locking the door behind him.

It’s a glass bottle and it feels deliciously cold.

I inspect the bottle but it looks like beer. A few swigs and I finally feel less flushed. Less agitated. This was nice. This was perfect. Maybe he was an angel in a miserable disguise.

“Mmmm,” I laugh. Maybe I needed to dance. I felt like dancing.

I pass a few crowds, some rooms; when I see dancing I slide in. I don’t know what’s playing but it feels like it’s coming from my heart and it’s spilling out from me. Like I was the speaker. I spin around a few times so everyone can hear it, so the whole room could have just as much fun as me.

“Oh fuck,” I swear as the spinning catches up to me. “Not a good idea.”

I crouch into a corner and try to be patient. Wait for it to pass. But every second feels like a fucking decade and I don’t have the time.

“Hey are you alright?” A nice girl with cartoon-like eyes asks me. I know her. I just can’t remember where.

“Are you?” I ask. “I’m grand.”

“You don’t look it,” she smiles awkwardly. “Can I help you up.”

“I can get up,” I say but my legs feel tangled and she helps me up without asking eventually.

“Can I take you somewhere? Your friends or?”

“No no relax, you’re so nice!” I pat her shoulder. “And you have amazing bangs. I wish I looked good in bangs. My Nan cut my bangs when I was 12, microbangs!? And I wished I was never born! My face looked like a fucking square like a piece of toast! Oh god I could use toast right now. With beans. Uhhhhhh-“

“Hey,” the nice girl leans me against the wall. “How about you stay here and I get you water?”

Suddenly I remember Drevan telling me to drink water. I’m sure I had water but I nod. Water wouldn’t kill me. Unless I was drowning. Which is funny because I used to swim competitively. Like if I was in a thriller my parents would know I was murdered because I would have died drowning. I smile to myself just as a water bottle is held out to me.

“You know plastic’s killing the earth,” I take the bottle. “Isn’t it funny we bottle water in plastic when it’s free flowing out there? Hey do you know how to swim? You look like you could-“

“Drink!” She urges but she blushes. “You really should drink the water. You might be drunk…or high. You’re too wordy for a drunk.”

“I don’t know what I am.” I say after drinking half the bottle. “Actually I’m alive.”

She smiles at me and she’s really really nice to look at. “You are alive.”

“Yeah! I love being alive. Do you want to dance?”

“I don’t dance,” she shakes her head. “Plus I have to get back…Um. It was nice talking to you.”

“Nooo!” I clutch her hand. Her hands feel incredibly soft.

“Ow!” She pulls her hand away laughing. “You’re really squishing my hand.”

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t worry. You should call someone if you’re here. And you don’t feel good.”

“No I’m great!” I show her a dance move. “See? I can call my friend Juni. She’s great. You should find her you two could be friends! But I’ll call her first.”

“Okay,” she smiles again. “See ya around YN!”

I didn’t know her name. Oh no! I look for her but she’s disappeared into thin air.

I go back to dancing until my legs hurt and I’m thirsty all over again.

I wander to the front of the house in search of drink but I’m distracted by the chandelier that looks like it’s made of stars. I wonder how that’s possible. I stand at the foot of the staircase staring at it, the light was reflecting off of one, two, three, four, five, six, seven-

“What are we looking at?”

Harry. His head is level with mine and he’s staring at the ceiling.

“That? Duh.” I point to the stars. “It’s bloody beautiful.”

“It is,” he chuckles and the sound feels like it vibrates through me. Like those steel pans you hit with a mallet and it reverberates. “I can see you’re in the full throes of your high.”

“You’re high.” I retort as he stands back to full height. He really was high.

“Not really. But you,” he laughs, “you really inhaled that thing.”

“And you didn’t?”

“Barely. If I’m getting high I don’t like so much thc. Fucks with my head a little.”

“So then why’d you do it Styles?” I mock Drevan. I don’t know why. I just remember it had grated on me a little and it feels good to say. Like swearing. But staring up at him starts to make me feel dizzy as he sways around.

“Harry.”

“Huh?”

“It’s Harry.”

Weirdo. “Okay. Harry. Why’d you do it?”

“Because you were doing it.” He says with a flash of his dimple.

“So you’re a copycat? A follower?” I taunt. “Monkey see monkey do?”

“As long as we’re the pair of monkeys.” He leans in and the smell of him envelops me. “Then yeah. I am.”

His words, his smell, his presence. Whatever it is I lean away from the much-ness of it. I don’t know what to say to him.

“Well I dunno who you’re cal—woah.” I lean too far back and underestimate how far away the stair behind me is. I land on my bum with a thump.

“Hey,” Harry grabs my arm a second too late.

“Bad reflexes,” I point to his arm but it’s too late. My stomach dips and twirls like a fucking roller coaster and his hand on my arm feels more inappropriate than it is. But his touch. God, it’s warm and strong and stable. I needed that. Craved it.

A small voice screams at me in my head and I tell it to shut up. What did it know?

“That’s my bad,” he lets me go. I want to shout at him to bring it back.

“Your bad what?” I stare at his hand that’s no longer on my arm. I want it back.

“My bad reflexes.”

“I just said that.”

“I know! I’m saying you’re right.”

“Of course I’m fucking right!”

I finally drag my eyes up to his face. Goddamn. He looks just like I did in the mirror; his face slowly drooping like he’s aged 50. Still got a full head of hair though. It’s kind of nice.

Not you being attracted to a 50 year old.

“What? Have I got something on my face?” Harry asks but I can’t stop staring. How can he look good with a sagging face? And he’s got no wrinkles. I knew time was feeling really slow but had we aged that much tonight?

“YN?” His face disappears from view and then I feel it again—his hand on me. Oh god. His hand’s on my face to lower it until I’m looking at him. Eye-level.

He’s crouched down in front of me and his eyes are pools I want to drown in. Which would take a lot of effort because I am a really good swimmer. Maybe I could fake drown. I zip through the possibilities in a few seconds. There were so many of them.

He says my name again but it sounds far away. Slow. Like he’s pronouncing every letter. His brows further—there! A wrinkle! I laugh but his eyes just fill with something…something that reminds me of the night I cried in front of him. When he just looked at me like…

“Your face,” I slap my hands down on both his cheeks and he balances himself on the bannister, nearly falling back. “It’s drooping.”

“It’s what?” He laughs.

I smush his cheeks up and try to fix it, not that it needed to be fixed. He was stupidly attractive always.

“Drooping! Sagging! I just need to push it up! I’ve done it before don’t worry.”

“YN,” his fingers circle my wrist and I stop what I’m doing immediately. Surely he feels how erratic my pulse is. Like a machine gun releasing into his finger.

Don’t look into his eyes don’t look into his eyes don’t-

Damnit.

Green and never-ending, a question I’m afraid to answer, an emotion that I felt myself but denied, the beginning of something I could not step into. I could not step into. I could not step into this.

With a gentle tug he’s removed my hands off his face and now, even worse, they lay on top of his.

Maybe…I could step into this.

“Talk to me, what’s happening?” He asks but again it sounds like a Tiktok video I’ve put into 0.75.

I can’t talk. My hands are in his but it feels like my heart’s there instead and like my mouth has travelled to the back of my head. He wants me to talk. Like I did that night. He looks at me like he cares. Like that night. He’s not supposed to care.

Why didn’t I take the high road that afternoon—my brain scrambles as the joke writes itself: I was taking the high road today whether I liked it or not. But I chose to be petty when we talked. Why would I want to hurt him? He cared. He wasn’t supposed to though.

“I thought weed was s’posed to calm you down.” I finally manage to get it out.

“You chose the wrong one for calming down.” He laughs. The sound washes over me.

“Huh? I’m not calm. My mind is a factory for thoughts. The production is endless I feel like I’m going to explode and everyone’s going to know everything in here.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” He squeezes my hands. I squeeze my legs. “Might be nice for top class YN YLN to join us mortals and share some regular thoughts.”

“Oh these are not regular. Fuck. Drevan should’ve given me a warning.”

He smiles fondly and I hate it and I love it. “He did.”

“What!?” I’m so confused right now. “Stop! I don’t like how I’m feeling!”

“Did you drink anything?”

“Yeah! Th-that miserable angel gave me…I dunno. He just gave it to me after being an asshat what was I s’posed to do!”

“I’m not even gonna ask,” he mutters and I feel the words through my hands. That are still touching mine.

“Why are you still holding my hands?”

“You don’t want me to?”

“No.”

He slips them away. But that wasn’t what I meant.

“No I want you to touch me,” I say. His eyebrows which looks one inch tall shoot up. I reach out to flatten them and they return to normal.

“Uhm,” he clears his throat. “Y-you do?”

I reach out to touch his face again because it just feels like it fits so perfectly in the palm of my hand. It’s warm and alive and a little prickly. But it feels so nice. He feels nice. I want him to touch me too. I nod.

“How?” He turns his face in my palm and it’s like bristles against my soft skin but then his lips press against my palm. I find it harder to breathe like all the air’s gone to my head.

He looks back at me and I want what his gaze has. I want every single thing they’re communicating. I felt like I could read his mind; we both took a hit of the same thing, maybe I can.

“Like that,” I whisper.

“Like this?” His fingers circle my wrist and he kisses it, exactly where my pulse continues on its kill streak. I don’t think I needed weed or anything because his kisses alone make me feel high. The kind of high I did with my friends. The fun high.

I can’t speak. I simply nod.

“Y’sure?” He kneels on the step below me and I unsqueeze my legs. His hands cage me against the step I’m on and he’s all around me, and even though he hasn’t touched me yet it’s like his essence vibrates out to touch mine. Like maybe they meet in the middle and create something delicate and bewitching.

“I’m sure,” I manage to say.

I feel perfectly overwhelmed as he leans into me and presses a kiss to my throat. But it’s too slow.

“You’re killing me,” I tell him when he kisses me again by my ear.

“That was your job,” he comes back to face me.

“It’ll be my job if you don’t touch me in the next five seconds.”

“Fucking hell,” Harry’s swear catches me off guard.

“What?”

“You say those types of things in my dreams. I never thought I’d hear them out of those lips of yours again.”

I don’t know what to say. My mind literally quiets. Finally. It feels sobering.

“I can’t give you what you want out here.”

Then he’s standing. He’s fucking standing and further away from me than before. How dare he! How-

Oh.

He extends a hand and I take it, I let him pull me up and with a hand to my back that feels like a pulse he leads me upstairs. And then up another flight. He walks like he knows the place and everything blurs until he closes a door behind him. My heart beats like an elephant stampede until he comes back to me and cups my face, looks at me in that exact Harry way, and kisses me.

I’m falling but I’m unafraid. There’s his strong and steady arms to catch me at the end.

We make our way to the bed and I feel it. That’s everything. I just feel the sounds and colours and emotions and touch, the air and the bedpost and the way he says my name against me. I feel it. I feel it grounding me.

“Wait,” when he pulls away I nearly launch myself at him but I feel too relaxed to even be mad. He’s perched on the bed with me between his legs. I keep my hands around his neck because I couldn’t bare to have them by my side. “Should we be doing this? You’re not really with it and-“

“I’m not bloody unconscious.”

“I know but you’re not in the right mindset.”

“I’m practically begging you to touch me Harry. You’re really slow for someone who’s meant to be a womanizer.”

“Hold on,” he puts his hands back on my waist and I relax marginally. “It’s a consent thing. I know my way around women perfectly.”

I knew.

“I consent. ‘Kay?”

“But you’re high and probably drunk? I don’t-“

“You’ve never slept with someone high?”

“Yeah! But you’re….you’re you!”

“What’s that mean?” I frown. I unclasp my hands and take a step back.

He runs a hand down his face and sighs. “Not like that. Come back. I mean you don’t normally do this sort of thing. It’s obviously the first time you’ve taken a hit from something this strong and…” all the words taper off as I cross my arms. “Okay! Nevermind! You’re alright with all this?”

“Yes. Yes a hundred bajillion million times. Do you want me to walk in a straight line with my finger on my nose?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “No I’m sorry.”

It’s nice, him apologizing. It thaws me a little. When I’m close enough he tugs me back by the jeans and unbuttons them slowly. Everything was too slow.

“What were you saying about begging?” He grins up at me. I liked when he was looking up at me.

“I said practically.”

His hands roam freely up under my tee and I feel like I’m melting. Like a literal scoop of ice cream on a hot summer’s day.

He fingers my bra and his brows suddenly come together. It’s very animated I almost laugh.

“Take this off,” he removed his hands from my body and tugs at the tee. I do what he tells me to, just wanting his hands on me again. When it’s a pile on the ground he leans back, cocking his head to the side.

“What?” I throw my hands up. “You’re gonna ask me just t’stare?”

“No this,” he leans forward again and uses the band of my exposed knickers to pull me forward. When I’m close enough he eyes my bra. “This was for him?”

A flush erupts under my skin and it feels volcanic. Some of it pools in my belly and the rest creeps up my neck.

The this is my one and only 2 piece set I’d kept for special occasions. Well a singular one before my ex broke up with me last year. It had seen the light of day once in between and tonight I had worn it for luck. It’s lacy and black and makes me feel confident. In front of Harry it makes me feel powerful.

He was jealous. Of course the one guy that sleeps with whoever he wants would be the jealous type.

“Maybe,” I egg it. Even though I am desperate for this night to move on I can’t deny the thrill of having him be jealous. It affirms the needy part of me that wanted to believe we had something different—the part rational me wouldn’t ever pay attention to.

“So you planned it all out?” He removes his fingers from my waistband and leans back again. “You were going to come here, in that, and sleep with…him?”

“Why not him?” I bite my smile but I barely feel what my face is doing. “If it’s too much for your ego I wore this for someone el-“

“No.”

He says it as a complete sentence. I am gagged but I try my best not to show it.

“I just don’t like the idea of it.”

“Well,” I step in between his legs. His eyes are so dark I have to think just to remember the colour they usually were. “This isn’t the first time so better get used to the idea.”

“But you’re here with me tonight.”

“I am…lucky you.” I can’t help the chesire grin from creeping in. I climb atop the bed, one knee on either side of him. This was taking too long. I needed him all over me.

He leans all the way back into the bed with a noisy sigh.

I lean in, “jealous aren’t you?”

“Do you like that?”

I lean further until I could smell his pulse. “D’you want me to like that?”

“Yeah,” he gulps. “W-would you ever be? Jealous?”

I kiss his throat. I want to bite it. Like a vampire. I resist.

“You’re not mine to be jealous.”

“Do you want me to be?” He asks so earnestly I lean back to see his face.

“Mine?” I ask. He nods. I did. I didn’t. I did. But I didn’t. “Mmmm don’t think you’re ready for that.”

“Ouch,” he says softly. His hands settle on my hips.

“Don’t ouch me. You’ve never had a long-term relationship and you run.”

“You’re different. You make me feel different.”

Same. But instead I ask, “And in three months time when we’re…gone and in different cities?”

“I’ll never stop wanting you.”

We fix each other with a stare equal parts frustrated, curious, and cautious. It was getting too serious—I didn’t want to ruin my chances of getting my needs met tonight. I clear my head and ease the tension.

“You’re jus’ saying this to get into my pants aren’t you?”

He plays along, “Is it obvious?”

“Yes. Now be a good boy and help me out of them.”

His mouth opens a little, honestly I don’t know where that even came from. I blame it on the drugs. He helps me out and when I’m only in the 2 piece he stops me.

“I’m never forgetting this night. Ever.”

“Shut up and get over here.” I roll my eyes. He was full of it.

His lips on me are like no drug anybody could ever hand me. They’re confident and unafraid, exploring every inch of me like a pirate looking for lost treasure. They make me gasp and beg and feel the entire universe and every single thing ever creates.

It leaves me untethered but he wraps me in his arms and I’m safe. I’m here with him. And for tonight, we’re together. With every move we build a universe just us.

H’s POV:

For the first time in my life I pray for red lights.

Every time my car stops I get to look at her in my passenger seat and I want to pinch myself. I can’t believe tonight was real. That she’s real. That even after everything, we got to have tonight together.

She’s got lowered inhibitions you just got lucky, a part of me says. And I know that. I know tonight was a one-off. She was never going to be this YN with me again.

Where I used to be afraid of this, of committing to her. I want it. I can’t imagine being with anyone else. When she said I wasn’t ready she was right but I didn’t want her to be. Maybe I had to change.

“Hey you’re home,” I say after being parked outside her house for a few minutes and just soaking in the last moments. It was warm in the car and quiet except for the low hum of the radio because YN had said it was making her sleepy. When she first sat in the car she had looked up at me through her long lashes for so long I had forgotten to turn the ignition on. When we realized she had laughed and leaned over to kiss me. Sweetly on the cheek. Like a girlfriend might.

I’d never wanted a girlfriend before.

It hurt knowing she might not even remember tonight. Or if she would it would be overshadowed by her other feelings. The feelings that came with baggage.

It was different seeing her so carefree tonight. I wonder if that’s how she was before all the stuff with her grandparents. And suddenly I’m mad at myself for not paying attention sooner. At her ex for hogging her for all that time. I imagine I met her earlier and could help her through the storms of last year.

God, I was becoming a simp. I look at her again, I didn’t care. Not if it was for her.

I open my door and go around into the street to open hers. As afraid as I was that her parents would find me outside with their basically passed-out daughter I just knew she couldn’t make it to the front door alone.

“Hey sleepy monkey, we gotta get you inside.”

“Huh?” She squints, blinks a few times. It was adorable and it makes something squirm in my chest. “Whatimeist?”

“Uhhh,” I look at my phone and notice the texts from a few people. “Half past 2 or so.”

“Oh god,” YN groans and covers her face with her jacket.

While she orients herself I check my messages. Akil had asked where I disappeared, Gemma’s asking me if I’ll be home for breakfast, and Dana asking me if YN was alright.

I owed it to Dana, she had found YN in a right state as she told me and that had pushed me to go looking for her where I’d found her in a daze staring at the ceiling lights. Thank god I had.

YN removes her legs from the car with a thump and then slumps over. I catch her this time and pull her up, closing the door behind her.

“You’ll have to help me a little,” I grunt.

“Mmk,” she mumbles. She wraps her arm around me and tucks into me and I take her to her front door.

“Keys.”

She paws at her jacket and eventually finds a pair.

“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” I whisper. “So I’m going to unlock the door and give you back your keys.”

“Why are you whispering?” She whispers back. “Huh?”

“I don’t want to get you in trouble!” I shout-whisper.

“Silly boy,” her eyes crinkle with a laugh. “My parents aren’t home.”

“Oh.” Suddenly the night stretches ahead.

“They’re travlingain.” She yawns. “You can sleepover?”

“No.” I couldn’t I realize with a wash of shame. Because waking up to her I don’t know what that meant. As much as I denied her claim about me not being ready deep down she was right.

She pouts and I busy myself with opening her door. She’s like a leech on me as I try to get her through and I end up inside with the door closing behind me.

“Drop me to bed?”

“You want to be tucked in?” I tease. She nods with a tired smile.

Who was I to deny such a cute face.

She leads me to her room, most of the house is too dark to see so I rely on her. Once in her room she turns on a lamp and sets about getting pjs.

“I’m gonna hate myself if I don’t,” she points to her face. “Ughhhh.”

“Glad I don’t relate.” I say but already I’m looking around her room. Every surface has something; I didn’t take YN as a collector but there’s piles of things everywhere. Seashells on her bookshelf, postcards on her wall, plushes on her bed, jewellery on her dresser next to miniature fruit figurines. I pick up a tiny pomegranate the size of my nail.

“I’m making them into earrings.” She says behind me. “My Nan likes that sort of thing.”

I didn’t expect her so fast. I turn and she sounds more sober and looks it too. Her face is freshly washed and she’s in an oversized shirt but only her legs peek out underneath. I recall the strength of them as they locked around my body just an hour ago, the sound of her and the feel of her—it was tattooed into a part of my brain.

But the YN presented before me is a lot like the one I see at school, and for a moment I get ready for her to kick me out. Accuse me of something. Go cold on me.

But she shuffles over and wraps her arms around me, lays her head on my chest. I slowly wrap my arms around her. The moment feels soft.

“Thanks for dropping me,” she says quietly. “I feel so fucked.”

“I know,” I chuckle. “You’ll be brand new in the morning. I made you drink a couple bottles of water before we left.”

“I don’t remember,” she mumbles tiredly.

“Let’s get you tucked into bed.” I say. She follows, and giggles the whole time I exaggeratedly tuck in every side of her. I love every second of it and I can’t believe it. If you told Harry of a month ago I would be doing this and having more fun than I’ve had with any girl I’d tell you to you were fucking with me.

“Stay? ‘Til I sleep?” She asks as soon as I finish.

I hesitate. I was so afraid a switch would go off any second, she would regret everything from tonight. I don’t realize how tense I am about it until a hand sneaks out from under the duvet and grips mine.

“Hey I just tucked you in!”

“Sorry!” She slips it back in with a shy smile.

“Fine,” I grumble and climb atop the blankets. At least this way I wouldn’t get too comfortable.

She turns to face me and we just watch each other in the warm glow of her lamp until her eyes flutter close. I wait until her breathing goes even and then I gently climb over her, kiss her goodnight, and leave. My heart chips further as I step over the threshold of her house. A little more as I drive away.

***YN:

I’m trying to remember which club I had tonight as I grab the textbooks I need from my locker for morning classes. My second period was so far away I just liked to get everything in at once.

The face that greets me as I close my locker door has my heart racing.

I wait for the familiar edginess but when I look at him I just feel confused. And a bit sad. Or that could be because he’s looking at me like I have the last Easter egg and I might share it with him for a prize.

“Harry,” I greet him.

“YN.” He says equally serious before cracking a smile.

He’s different. Friendlier? Or lighter?

“What?” I look around me. He raises his brows so I raise mine back. It feels silly.

The last time I saw him was at the party smoking weed laced with god knows what—I barely remembered the party after that which was entirely unlike me. All I could find was a text from Rhia asking if I’d made it home and when asked Juni had said she had left me looking fine and she couldn’t find me afterwards but she heard I might have been sick.

“Did you make it in alright?” He finally asks. “You got surprisingly fucked up Saturday night.”

I know he was there at the beginning. And I remember talking to him about something later, maybe the stars? It’s such a haze. But the way Harry’s looking at me makes my stomach turn; there was a possibility something could have happened.

It was weird waking up safely in my room with only a vague notion of how I got there. I remember someone waking me up and being in my room but I woke to an empty bed. An empty house.

Usually I slept at Nan’s when mum and dad travelled but I was still not talking to her much. The house felt emptier. My room felt different. My clothes from the night before had smelled like weed. It was not cute.

“Uh yeah I did?” Why was he talking to me so casually? I match his vibe in hopes of understanding the weekend better. “I didn’t have a hangover luckily. But I don’t think weed normally does that? I was incredibly hungry though. Like…I made a breakfast for five at least.”

Oh god and now I was blabbering. I was nervous! I don’t know if he had anything to do with Saturday night and I didn’t know how to act around him being so nice!

“Yeah well I think you had fun Saturday.”

I freeze. “What did I do? Please tell me I didn’t do anything embarrassing. I only remember bits.”

“Uh,” he falters. “Uh well I…I heard. That um, you were dancing and having the time of your life so.”

“Kill me,” I groan.

“That’s not my job.” He jokes but I don’t get it. His smile falls, his brows pinching together. It’s so unlike him.

“I don’t get it.”

“Nothing. Bad joke.”

“Right.” As the time ticks closer to first bell the hall we’re in crowds more with tired teens. “Is that why you stopped by? To ask about making it home?”

“Erm, not really. I guess…was just gonna ask if you were coming to football?”

“Today?”

“Yeah the game after school.”

“Isn’t it early in the season?”

“It is but we’re doing a scrimmage against our ‘favourite frenemies’. It’ll be good. You should come. Your dealer might even be there.”

I ignore the dealer comment. “Are you short a cheerleader Styles?”

The banter pauses as he stares at me and I nearly ask him if he’d hit his head over the weekend when he clears his throat, “Harry.”

“Huh?”

Another pause where he looks like he’s doing quantum physics in his head. “Nevermind.”

What the hell? My skin prickles as heat creeps in.

“So you’re in need of a cheerleader?” I say lamely, just to dial down the intensity. Something had to have happened right? Last thing I remember I had “walked away” with pride but a chipped heart and we’d been polite to each other in school. Suddenly he’s here being boyish and friendly, and I’m here like I skipped a chapter and I’ve got a pop quiz again.

“Are you volunteering?” He asks.

“I forgot my outfit at home. I’ll have to pass altogether.”

I sidestep him and start walking away.

“Wait,” he runs ahead to stop me and gets dirty looks as he intercepts the path of a few students heading to class. “What if I said….I’d like for you to come.”

I stare. Like perhaps he’s grown a second head. Because he sort of has. It was just as pretty but much nicer and it’s sort of terrifying.

Did I cry to him some more? Was he pitying me?

“Why would you say that?” I ask genuinely.

“Well uh, you heard about my playing, I’d like for you to see it.”

“So you need cheerleaders.” I echo.

He searches my face but he must not find what he’s looking for. Something slides across his features that I don’t catch fast enough but it makes my heart skip a beat nonetheless. This casual conversation felt precarious. I needed it to end until I had more context.

I raise my brows and it prompts him to actually respond.

“Nevermind uh that’s alright. I’m sure you’ve got books to read and clubs to conquer right?”

A speck of guilt lodges itself in my throat. “Something like that.”

“Well,” he shrugs. “I had to ask! I’ll just have to find someone who brought their pom poms to school today.”

“Good luck!” I call after him, kind of wishing he wasn’t walking away. But he was. And that’s when I realize why he was lighter. He’d been standing in front of me talking without that ego of his. And openly in front of anyone walking by and he didn’t care. Then I’d rejected him.

Ugh. Maybe I’d have to turn up to that game if I could. But before then I had to try as hard as possible to figure out what the hell happened the other night.

***

“You guys need to tell me what happened Saturday night. As much as you can remember. After that conversation Juni you and me. And I remember going to the loo. And then I remember talking to Harry maybe? Please tell me.”

“Shite.” Both my friends eye each other. “What’s led this on?”

“Harry! He was bring incredibly nice to me today. In public! I feel like something happened but I can’t bloody remember!”

“Well he did drop you home,” Rhia says so casually. I whip towards her and at the same time both Juni and I shout “What!?”

“What!” Rhia says defensively. “I didn’t realize you didn’t remember that part! You seemed pretty sober by then.”

“You totally missed telling that detail that night! How dare you let her go anywhere with that pig! Sober or not!” Juni breathes fire. I’m surprised because on Friday she didn’t hate him this much. What the hell happened Saturday?

“Well she seemed fine. I double checked—YN I doubled checked with you you were okay with that. You told me it was fine. He was just dropping you home and he wasn’t drunk!”

“Wait wait back up. Tell me everything.”

So Rhia tells me how I’d texted her I was leaving with Harry and he was dropping me. How she’d rushed to the front of the house to catch me—and she had. I was alone trying to get my arms through my jacket and failing. She had asked me if everything was okay, I’d told her I was still coming down from the high and Harry was taking me home. How I wanted him to.

Then apparently Harry had shown up with water for me. And Rhia thought that was helpful. She watched, shocked, as he helped me into my jacket one sleeve at a time like I was in preschool. Then she’d got up in his face and had him swear he’d take me right home. Even took down his number in case I stopped responding.

“So was I with him the whole night?” I ask.

Rhia and Juni shrug.

Juni contributes: “Well that girl that hangs out with them—bangs, really big brown eyes? She came up to me when I was alone and asked if I was Juni and she told me you were dancing in this room and you looked a bit sick.”

I groan. Harry had said something about dancing.

“I tried to find you but you disappeared. I was worried and tried to find Rhia but she disappeared!” Juni looks at her with an accusation.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to desert!”

“Yeah well then I got distracted and by the time I went looking for you again this one here told me you’d gone home. She failed to mention who with.”

Rhia rolls her eyes.

I hold my head in my hands. “Guys this is a nightmare. I am having massive regrets. Can regrets give you a hangover? I feel hungover!”

My friends try to reassure me as much as I can but it’s no use. I feel like my life is spinning out again.

As far as the pieces I could put together: after the loo I’d danced and Harry’s friend found me—I think I knew her from when I did swim, maybe her name started with an M? Now that I thought about it I do vaguely remember her asking me a question. Maybe that’s how Harry found me. Because of her. And then he took me home? I hope?

No that was the story I had to go with. Otherwise I would spiral. I repeat it to my friends and they confirm it sounded right-ish.

“But that was sweet of him right? To drop me off home and leave the party early?” I ask my friends.

“Yeah-“ Rhia starts to say but Juni holds her hand out.

“Don’t bloody go there. I forbid that.”

Me and Rhia look at each other. She shrugs and I tell Juni I wouldn’t.

I mull over everything the entire afternoon. Even during the club meeting after school, not really participating and getting asked if I was okay. Obviously I was not.

I do make it to the last half of the game and hope Juni doesn’t find out. It’s just something I feel like I had to do because he had asked so genuinely and I did owe him for taking care of me Saturday.

I find a spot somewhere where I can see and try to spot Harry. It’s not hard when he’s got the ball, legs pumping, headband pushing his curls back and a look of pure determination as he gets to the net and kicks directly….into the goalie’s mitts. The crowd groans.

“Isn’t he defence?” I ask someone beside me.

“It’s a scrimmage game,” they reply. “They play the opposite position for fun. He’s really good though he should be front all the time.”

He is. And it’s kind of…attractive? I understood Dreven’s fangirling. And why Harry was such a big name amongst the girls. I kind of got it now.

Speaking of Dreven I spot him on the sidelines. I shuffle behind someone so he doesn’t spot me.

As the minutes tick by Harry and his team score a few more goals that makes it even. With just a couple minutes left on the clock it’s a tie and everybody shuffles to the side of the field where our team get’s a penalty kick.

I stay with the stragglers on this side, bouncing up and down with adrenaline. I can’t believe I’ve never gone to one of these. I always had some test or club to be busy with. But this is clearly what brought the schools together.

Right before the final whistle Harry makes a perfect shot on goal and the crowd goes absolutely mad. People are shouting and jumping for joy, clutching each other and chanting his name.

Harry runs half the field and pumps his arms, clashing with a few of his teammates who jump around him. It’s funny and cute.

As his team huddles around him and they walk to the chants of our school to the sidelines a couple girls slide out of the edges. A couple go to some of the other boys, one in particular wraps herself around Harry and kisses him with quite the show. The crowd only gets rowdier while the ref blows her whistle.

I, on the other hand, feel emptied.

I watch his arm snake around her waist. Press her to him. Her hands clutching his face. It feels like it goes on for eons. Eons and a day.

When the horrid thing finally ends he lifts his hands to the crowd and they cheer him. Not just for being a winner but for being a womanizer too.

I was an idiot. He had been nice to me, sweetened me up this morning about coming here. That didn’t mean anything. That didn’t mean he actually cared that I was here.

And then the worst part of all. He shouts into the air and turns to his team but his eyes clash with mine as he does. He does a double take, and we stare at each other halfway across the fields. He looks like he’s broken into his mum’s makeup and made makeup soup and his mum’s just come home. I imagine I look like someone’s just turned all my makeup into makeup soup.

I had to get out of here.

Why did I come? Why didn’t i just stay after the meeting and finished up work. I could have gone my entire secondary school existence without ever coming to one of these stupid games.

I feel lower than I have in a long time. I feel homesick suddenly and I decide then it was time to go. Home. And maybe home wasn’t the empty house I was stubbornly staying in. Maybe I had to chuck my hurt and my ego out the window and go crawling back to Nan. She would help me sort this heart of mine out. This wretched thing that kept on going even after it took a beating.

H’s POV:

One moment I’m on top of the world; first game of the year and I’ve scored the winning goal. The next I feel like I’ve been caught red-handed.

I want to tear away from the boys. I want to go to her explain it away but I’m surrounded and I only catch a glimpse of her looking away and then leaving. Gone.

“Hey man where are you going!?” One of the guys asks as I break away. “We’re all going to eat!”

“I’ll meet you guys there! I forgot to do something!”

“Aw cmon!” They hurl words at me trying to get me to stay but I jog away. She’s disappeared.

I jog back to the building and my head swivels every hall I go down as I head towards her locker. I find her slamming it shut and hoisting her bag onto her back.

“Hey!” I finally reach her. “YN hey! I wasn’t expecting you at the game.”

Her mouth opens like she has something to say. I wait for the usual fieryness but she deflates.

“Yeah. Congrats. That was a great final goal. Very dramatic. And you found your cheerleader too. I can see why everyone loves you out there.”

Fuck. She was going back to the other YN, the one who acted like she didn’t care, the one who had stayed out of my league all throughout school.

I wanted the YN in the quiet moments in the dark. The one tucked into my arms with the look of curiosity as she looked into my eyes and right to my soul. Even the confused one from this morning who was hesitant but there was still a possibility I could win her over.

This YN had slammed the door shut.

“It was just for show.” I try to explain.

“The goal?” She squints.

“No. No the-I didn’t need a cheerleader. She wasn’t…it was just for show. After scoring the winning goal it didn’t mean anything-“

“It’s whatever.” She cuts me off. “God you don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“I feel like I do, I didn’t know you were coming. I didn’t invite you just to-“

“Oh my god!” She cuts me off again. “It’s fine! I’m…it’s whatever. It’s not like you’re mine or something. We hooked up like weeks ago, we already talked about all of this. You’re off the hook remember? No messy feelings to complicate our lives, especially mine?”

Yet her eyes water as she says it and she blinks until it’s gone. My heart feels like it’s drowning in those unshed tears. Her words are also the final confirmation; she didn’t remember the weekend. I would just be cursed to remember what we could have been by myself. I probably deserved it.

“I know.” I want to say more. But she shrugs and looks like she’s going to leave. “Look…”

She waits instead. It gives me enough time to rush through every single thing I wanted to say to her. Every promise I wish I could make her.

“I’m sorry.” I say instead. Sorry for kissing that girl, and for inviting her to see that. Sorry for not being able to tell her what I really want to say. Sorry that she was so true about what she said the other night: I don’t think you’re ready for that.

Her lips tighten. Without another words she turns to head out the door. This time I don’t try again. I just watch her and die a little inside.

***

It’s hard to find your flow again when you feel so irrevocably changed. The final 3 months of our final year fly by but as cheesy as it sounds sometimes it felt like one of those 2000s music videos where you’re standing still and everyone is rushing past you.

I still see YN around, and as weeks go by we go back to being in our own worlds. They no longer overlap like a venn diagram. She stops coming to parties and I try not to drive by her house any time I’m in her neighbourhood.

I hear she got asked to the school dance by someone. I carry forward my own stereotype of not committing and ask nobody.

On the outside my grades are still good and I continue to be a force on the field. I’m home more often for dinner and my family stops pestering me as much. When I go to parties I spend more time just hanging out with my mates than I do finding girls that lit a spark. It used to be that any girl could hold a candle to the last ones but now it felt like faking it when a girl whose name I barely remembered tried to seduce me into an empty room.

It’s like now that I’ve felt a true connection I couldn’t go back to just anything. Some days I hated it.

A part of me feels ridiculous because when I Google my symptoms most people just say it’s heartbreak. But how could I feel something like this when I never gave my heart away at all. When I’d kept it selfishly caged and insisted that I couldn’t part with it. Our English teacher had asked when teaching Romeo and Juliet is it better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.

I think I would rather have never loved at all.

***

TAG: @peachedfruit @eversincehs1 @loverofhsandallthings1d (taglist still open lmk)

[ibuprofenuserrr]

Love's Tender Touch

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Summary: Albert Wesker is capable of care. You are the only one who gets to know that. or You are Wesker's personal mercenary and your last mission went worse than you anticipated.

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"What in the hells happened to you?" These are the first words you hear as you take a step inside your shared household. His voice is loud and stern. If you listened really hard, you would discern a hint of concern. But you don't. The throbbing wound under tightly wrapped bandages distracts you enough.

"Let's just say your enemies didn't take the hint." You try to joke while taking off your jacket with sluggish movements. As you let out a soft chuckle, you hiss in pain, and Wesker is at your side instantly to aid you.

"Care to elaborate why you didn't inform me about this while reporting back to me?" His question lingers in the air for a moment. After completing the assignment, you called him to let him know that you successfully obtained the data he needed. He knew, deep inside, that your short "Mission complete" was too suspicious.

"It was irrelevant." Truth be told, you felt shameful. Your pride is wounded by today's events. Letting the enemy put their hands on you was unacceptable.

„Irrelevant?” He hisses, piercing you with his red eyes, devoid of his signature shades. They seem to be glowing even more after your words. He’s scolding you like a child. Perhaps your behaviour is a little childish. „Have you seen yourself?”

When you stumbled into the med bay inside the main facility, you told them to only take care of the most dangerous wound. The medic offered to at least wash your face, but you rudely barked at her to keep stitching you up. You didn’t care about your appearance. The moment she was done, you were gone.

Still standing in the doorway, you look at your lover with tears welling up from exhaustion.

„Please, Albert. I just want to rest.”

The spark in his eyes dies out at your words. He bestows you with a rare look of tenderness. It was reserved only for you.

„Let’s get you cleaned up first, my dear," he says softly as he places his hand on your shoulder to steady you. Allowing Wesker to take control of the situation is instinctive. Closing your eyes for a moment, you thank him internally because you aren’t confident in your ability to walk at the moment.

With each step up the stairs, you clutch your stomach as tight as you can with the bandages covering it. Wesker notices it but says nothing and continues guiding you.

Having reached the bathroom, he sets you on the tub and turns on the showerhead to adjust the temperature. The faint hum of the water makes you forget about the pain for a moment.

You don’t realise your eyes are closed until you feel Wesker’s touch under your armpits. You get up with his help as he begins undressing you carefully.

„Arms up," he commands gently. You comply mindlessly, but when your turtleneck rubs on the bandage, you gasp, with new tears forming in your eyes. He stops for a second, checking for signs of any further distress, and carries on with his task.

Once the garment is out of the way, he unclasps your bra and kneels to take off your pants. You acknowledge the sign of vulnerability. You know he doesn’t kneel before anyone else, and as stupid as it sounds, it is a sign of trust.

You don’t register him scrutinizing every cut and bruise on your battered body. He can’t get the sight out of his head. He is completely aware that, in this line of work, things like this happen. He wouldn’t spare a thought, were it someone else. But it is you he’s looking at.

Your suffering affects him deeply. With each wound he’s looking at, his heart twists uncontrollably. Being the only person who understands him, he shares an indescribable connection with you. Your souls are intertwined forever, and the thought of losing you makes him go mad.

He leaves you sitting on the side of the tub once again and swiftly undresses. Wesker guides you under the warm stream of water, holding you tenderly the entire time.

For the first moment, his touch is soothing, and the water massages your skin delicately. The dried blood washes off of your face and body. You shut your eyes to turn your mind off, but once you open them, you see black dots dancing in your vision. Your face turns pale, you can’t see the concerned look your lover is giving you.

„I can’t see, Albert.” A barely coherent mumble leaves your lips as you lose control over your body little by little. You feel his grip tighten around you. Your current state of consciousness doesn’t allow you to panic. „I think I need to sit down.”

You also don't hear his words, trying to bring you back to the surface. You can only sense his hand caressing your face. His touch is pleasant, and you let out a soft sigh. The black dots disappear gradually.

Looking down, you notice you're seated on the toilet. You wince in pain that comes back in uneven waves. Another shaky breath leaves your lips. Water drops, covering your body, flow down on the floor. You focus on the sensation to mute the agony.

"-hear me? Answer me." Only the last part of the sentence reaches your ears. You finally look at him, catching his distressed gaze inspecting your confused face. His other hand is on your waist, constantly steadying your wobbly figure.

"It hurts so much. Please, make it go away," you beg with a faint sob. You are his best agent, and yet here you are, defeated by simple pain. You feel humiliated. You feel like you've disappointed him. You feel pathetic.

"Okay, but we have to take care of your wound first." Wesker's voice is soft but stern. He can't let you go to bed with wet dressing, no matter how much your eyes are pleading him to let you rest. While he's unwrapping the soaked bandage, you keep staring into his blonde hair stubbornly, trying to ignore the dreadful sensation.

However, when he starts ripping off the waterproof dressing, you yelp and grasp his shoulder desperately, seeking comfort in his arms. Tears stream down your exhausted face as sobs wrack your body.

"I know, I know, it's almost over, my dearheart." Your small frame is shaking, feeling each cell of your small frame filling up with excruciating pain. Your breathing is unsteady, and you're fighting with an unexpected wave of nausea.

Wesker places the used dressing on the sink and focuses his gaze on your wound. The stitched cut is long and deep, with skin around red and irritated. The weapon couldn't have been a standard blade. Your laceration is jagged. He clenches his fists tightly with regret. He wishes the person who did this was still alive. He wouldn't let them die as easily as you did if he caught them first.

He concludes that the wound does not show signs of infection. You don't acknowledge the moment he gets another dressing for the cut. Fortunately, applying fresh bandages is not nearly as painful as removing them. By the time he's done, you start falling asleep on the toilet.

After guiding you to the bedroom, he lets you sit on the bed as he reaches into the wardrobe for your pajamas. When the both of you are dressed, you lay down on the fluffy bed and rub your face into the pillow. Exhaustion washes over you, but the pain still lingers.

"I'll be right back, darling." You nod sluggishly, despite not wanting him to leave.

Albert comes back quickly, as promised, with two pills and a glass of water. He places them on the nightstand and sits beside you, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

You sit up with a grimace and swallow the pills as fast as possible. Finally being allowed to rest, you reach out for Wesker's calloused hand. He joins you on the other side of the bed, and you snuggle instantly into his side, getting as comfortable as you can in your condition.

"Thank you," you say sincerely, gazing into his eyes with affection. You're grateful for him, for his care. You learned to cherish moments like these. Showing each other's vulnerabilities is not something to take lightly. Now he is just Albert. Not a mastermind, not a bioterrorist, not a danger to the entire world. Just Albert.

[anbaisai]

(In light of this I figured I’d throw some aunt Nerine your way)

Aunt Nerine appears in a shower of sparkles, eyes darting between Mayu and Jamil.

“Oh my my, you two sweethearts are in need of a bit of a nudge, aren’t you? Don’t you worry, I think I might have just the thing to help you along. Like so!”

She waves her heart-shaped magestone around, sprinklings of glitter and fairy dust following every movement.

“There we go! Now, whenever one of you thinks of the other, the person you’re thinking about will be able to feel an echo of your feelings – and the warmer the sentiment, the stronger the echo. I’m afraid it’s only a temporary measure and will wear off in some time, but I’m sure you two will find it most enlightening. So make the most of it, dears.” She gives a cheeky wink, clearly very much pleased with herself.

“Now, I must be off, but do make sure not to squander this, hmm?” There’s something meaningful, almost sharp in her gaze before she disappears again. For the briefest moment, in her place is glittering fairy dust suspended in the air, almost giving the impression of a person, before the wind scatters the sparkles.

(Absolutely no pressure to do anything with this, but I thought it would be fun to have jamimayu deal with the consequences of encountering aunt Nerine, lol)

Hi nerenda!

HELP this idea is so funny, Aunt Nerine sounds so fun & whimsy and her UM is prime to cause so much trouble on this campus full of guys who just refuse to be vulnerable 😭

While it probably doesn't really change much on Mayu's end (she's already an open book), Jamil, well... is royally screwed. Good luck on keeping the effects of the UM to a minimum as you chide yourself every time your thoughts drift to a certain someone (and hope that she doesn't notice anything, but are you really going to be so lucky every time?) All the while he's wondering what to make of things every time he senses an echo of her feelings. Ah yes, Jamil "does she like me/I don't have a crush" Viper... he's so frustrating, but perhaps shenanigans like this could very well push him in the right direction 😤

[ticifics]

Hii sorry to bother 🥲🫶🏻

But If I can, I'd like to request Dave maybe with an insecure reader that used to be bullied back in school days and stuff.

Please decline or ignore this if you don't feel like writing or simply don't want to! I love your writings they're so comfy and sweet (If that makes sense?)!

Ty and stay safe and healthy !😽😽

I’m here. I’ll always be here

Dave Lizewski x f!reader

Summary: "Hey," he called once he was close enough, his voice soft, but full of concern. You stopped, raising your eyes to him, and what Dave saw was enough to make his chest tighten. Your eyes were shining in a way he knew meant tears were close, and there was something fragile about your expression, like a single word could make everything crumble.

Warnings: mention of bullying, anxiety, sensitive content - a bit of well-deserved revenge

A/N: ooh you are so sweet, thank you so much for the nice words. and you certainly don't bother, my dear. I hope you can enjoy it, and please stay safe and healthy too <333

The day was calm on campus, with students scattered across the lawn and the muffled sound of laughter and conversations in the background. You had just left the library a few minutes ago, balancing the books against your chest as you tried not to think about how busy the campus seemed at that time. You were planning to take a shortcut to the place you knew Dave would be. Just a few more minutes, and the comfort of his presence would dissipate any discomfort you felt.

But then it happened.

It was a quick bump, the kind of thing that could go unnoticed on a normal day. The impact was light, but it made one of your books slip and fall to the ground. You automatically bent down to pick it up, mumbling a hasty apology without even looking at the person.

"Ah, sorry," you started to say, but the voice that responded made the blood freeze in your veins.

"Well, look who’s here."

The voice was sweet, almost musical, but tinged with a note of malice you instantly recognized. That unmistakable tone that made your stomach churn. You slowly lifted your head, as if you could delay the inevitable.

It was her.

The nickname came to your mind before you could process the face in front of you. Sugar. That’s what she was known as, but the nickname never reflected her true nature. She wasn’t sweet. Not really. She was cruel in an almost elegant way, capable of turning insults into something that sounded like a compliment to anyone not paying attention.

Her smile widened when she saw your expression.

"Well, this is unexpected. You, here? Never imagined that... well, you know, that you’d be the type to actually make it somewhere."

Your heart began pounding in your chest. You tried to smile, to act as if it were any other encounter, as if her face wasn’t dragging up memories of every moment you wished you could disappear. You tried to walk past her, to keep going, but her hand lightly touched your arm, just enough to stop your steps.

"What’s the matter? Not even going to say 'hi' to an old friend?"

"I have to go," you murmured, your voice weak, barely audible. But she didn’t step back.

"Oh, don’t be like that! I mean, look at you!" She gestured dramatically, her eyes sliding over you as if she were evaluating a defective piece of art. "You’re so... different. Not that it’s bad, you know? But I can still tell, I guess. The same vibe, that... how can I put it? That insecure little thing. You can feel it from a distance, you know?"

You tried again, took a step back, but she followed the movement, leaning in slightly, like a predator sensing vulnerable prey.

"It’s funny, because I remember you always seemed so... out of place. I mean, I never thought you’d survive high school, let alone get here. It’s like a miracle, don’t you think?"

Her voice seemed to echo louder than it should have, drowning out the sounds of the campus around you. Each word seemed to pierce your mind directly, bringing images, voices, and laughter from the past you tried to bury.

You wanted to say something, anything, but the words just wouldn’t come. The air felt heavy, like the simple act of breathing required effort.

She laughed, a low, almost conspiratorial sound, as if sharing a secret with you. "Oh, don’t get so tense. I’m just joking, you know? That’s what I always liked about you, that... sensitivity. Makes you so easy to hit. Isn’t it fun? You get all nervous, like you’re about to explode any second."

You wanted to run. To escape. But your legs felt glued to the ground, and all you could do was press the books harder against your chest, as if that could create some kind of barrier between you.

"Well, I won’t bother you anymore with your... busy day or whatever you call your routine," she said, finally stepping away, but not without giving one last evaluative glance. "Just thought it was funny seeing you. Almost didn’t recognize you. But, you know, some things never change, huh?"

She walked away then, leaving a trail of expensive perfume and poisonous words in the air. And you stood there, paralyzed, trying to process what had just happened.

The weight of Sugar’s words still seemed to press against your chest as you finally forced your feet to move. The world around you was just a blurred smear of colors and muffled sounds, everything secondary to the echo of the memories crashing in like a violent wave.

The hallways of high school. The judgmental stares. The laughs that always seemed to follow you, even when you didn’t quite know what they were laughing at. The feeling of being small, invisible, and at the same time, far too exposed. It was a whirlwind you thought you’d overcome, but now it was back with full force, as if time had stood still.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep it together. Trying to remind yourself that that was the past, that you weren’t that person anymore. But the memories didn’t let up, and before you knew it, your eyes were misting over.

When you finally spotted Dave, he was standing near one of the campus benches, with Todd and Marty. They were laughing about something, and just seeing him there, in his relaxed and cheerful posture, made the weight on your shoulders lighten a little. Dave was the anchor that kept you steady, but even now, he seemed as distant as the rest of the world.

Dave noticed you before you could get too close, and his smile faded the moment he saw you. Something was wrong. He knew every detail about you — the way you walked, the slight curve of your shoulders when you were distracted, the way your lips curled into a nearly imperceptible smile when something pleased you. But now, each of those traits seemed erased.

Your steps were hesitant, almost staggered, as if you were carrying something far heavier than the books pressed against your chest. Your shoulders were stiff, and the way you avoided looking around said more than words ever could.

"I’ll be right back," Dave murmured to Todd and Marty, but didn’t wait for their response before heading straight toward you. He didn’t need to think, didn’t need to plan. He just knew he had to get to you.

"Hey," he called once he was close enough, his voice soft, but full of concern. You stopped, raising your eyes to him, and what Dave saw was enough to make his chest tighten. Your eyes were shining in a way he knew meant tears were close, and there was something fragile about your expression, like a single word could make everything crumble.

"Hey, what happened?" He took another step forward, reaching for your hand, but you shook your head, gripping the books tighter.

"It’s nothing," you said, your voice low, almost faded. It wasn’t how you normally spoke. It wasn’t you.

"It doesn’t sound like 'nothing,'" Dave replied, his voice firmer now. He put a hand on your shoulder, a light touch, but full of intention. "Please, talk to me. What happened?"

For a moment, you stayed silent, as if deciding what to do. And then, finally, you murmured, "I ran into someone... from high school."

The words hit him hard. Dave knew enough about your past to understand the weight that came with that. He didn’t know all the details — you still couldn’t talk about some things — but he knew enough to feel a quiet anger rise inside him.

"Who?" The question came quickly, almost automatically, before he could stop it. He needed to know.

"It doesn’t matter." Your answer came fast, and you looked away. "I just want to forget."

Dave took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. He knew pushing you would only make things worse. But seeing you like this, so vulnerable, so distant from yourself, was unbearable.

"Okay," he said, softening his tone. "Okay. But let me help, at least. Let’s sit, alright? Just for a minute."

You hesitated, but eventually nodded, and Dave wasted no time. He found a bench a little farther away and guided you there. As soon as you sat down, he took one of your hands, interlacing his fingers with yours. It was a simple gesture, but it held so much meaning.

"If you want to talk, I’m here," he said, looking directly at you. "And if you don’t, that’s okay too. But just... let me stay with you now, okay?"

Dave kept his eyes fixed on you, feeling the weight of your silence like a wave about to crash. You were always so good at hiding what you felt, at masking the pain with small smiles or words that deflected attention. But now, there was no shield. It was just you, vulnerable and desperately trying to hold it together, even as everything around you seemed to crumble.

He squeezed your hand lightly, a silent reminder that he was there, that you didn’t have to carry that weight alone. "You don’t have to pretend with me," he said softly, his tone gentle, with no trace of judgment. "I’m here. Just let it happen."

You swallowed hard, your lips trembling as you tried to form a response that wouldn’t come. You didn’t want to break down, not there, not now. But his eyes were so warm, so full of love and understanding, that the knot in your throat became impossible to ignore.

"Dave..." Your voice finally came out, but it was almost a whisper, as fragile as you felt.

He didn’t say anything, just shook his head slightly, as if he wanted to tell you that you didn’t need to speak unless you wanted to. And that was what broke down your defenses. All the effort to keep the tears at bay disappeared, and before you knew it, they were slipping freely down your face.

Dave moved in the same instant, leaning in to wrap you in a tight embrace. It was firm, protective, but in a way that spoke more than words ever could. He wanted you to feel safe, as if nothing and no one could hurt you while he was there.

"Shh... it’s okay," he murmured against the top of your head, his fingers gently brushing your back. "I’m here. I’ll always be here."

You clung to him as if he were the only solid thing in a crumbling world. Sobs came in waves, each one bringing to the surface pieces of the pain you had been repressing for so long. And Dave... he just held you, as if he could carry the weight of it all.

As he held you, Dave felt a silent anger growing in his chest. He rarely thought about the times he wore the Kick-Ass suit— it had been years since he hung up the mask, choosing to leave that chapter behind. But in that moment, he considered going back. Just for one night. Just long enough to find whoever had done this to you and make sure they understood what it felt like to experience fear, shame, and helplessness.

But at the same time, he knew that wouldn’t fix everything. What you needed now wasn’t vengeance. It was comfort. It was knowing that someone was there to hold you in the tough moments.

"You don’t have to carry this alone," he said, his voice still low but filled with conviction. He pulled back just enough to look at you, holding your face with both hands. "I know I can’t erase what happened, but I can help you move forward. We can do this together, okay?"

You looked at him, your eyes still glistening with tears, but there was something different now. A spark of relief, of hope. Dave saw it and felt his chest tighten in a different way—not with anger or sadness, but with love. Because that’s what he felt for you, so intense it sometimes felt impossible to put into words.

He gently wiped away a tear that slid down your cheek with his thumb, offering a small smile full of tenderness. "No matter what happened before, what matters is that now you have someone who isn’t going anywhere. Someone who believes in you."

Dave kept his thumb resting lightly against your cheek as his eyes remained locked on yours. It was as if he was trying to convey everything he felt—every bit of love, security, and certainty that you would never be alone again.

He leaned in a little more, their breaths nearly mingling. Then, with the utmost gentleness, he pressed his lips to your cheek where a tear still glimmered. It was a kiss as soft as a silent promise.

"This is to chase away what’s left of the bad," he said, a small smile, but full of sincerity, appearing at the corner of his lips.

You blinked a few times, surprised by the gesture, and although tears still threatened to fall, a faint smile began to form on your lips.

"You’re impossible, you know?" you murmured, your voice choked but with a hint of affection.

"I prefer ‘irresistible,’" Dave replied, tilting his head slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "But I’ll take ‘impossible’ if that makes you smile."

He repeated the gesture, this time kissing another tear that slid slowly down the other side of your cheek. "One more, just to be sure," he added, feigning seriousness, but with a hidden smile in his voice.

A soft laugh escaped your lips, almost timid, as if you weren’t sure it was allowed to feel anything beyond pain in that moment. But to Dave, that sound was everything.

"Ah, there it is," he said, his smile now more evident. "The laugh I was waiting for. That’s what I was talking about."

You shook your head, a little incredulous, but the tension in your body began to ease. There was still a weight there, he could see, but the way your shoulders relaxed just a bit, how your eyes weren’t as watery anymore, made the world feel a little lighter for him too.

"Why do you do this?" you asked, your voice firmer now, but still filled with emotion. "Why do you... look at me like I’m the most important thing in the world?"

Dave shrugged, but his smile was so genuine it almost stole the breath from him. He held your face again with both hands, leaning in until your foreheads almost touched.

"Because you are," he replied simply, without hesitation for even a second.

The weight of those words felt like a comforting hug in your heart. You felt tears welling up again, but this time not from pain, but from relief, from the certainty that you were safe, that you were with someone who saw you exactly as you were—and loved you for it.

Dave chuckled softly at the return of your tears, but he didn’t mind. Instead, he continued his small ritual, kissing yet another tear that threatened to escape. "And this one’s just to remind you of that," he said, his voice as soft as a whisper.

"Dave..." you began, but he shook his head, cutting you off.

"Without ‘but,’ no doubts," he said, looking directly into your eyes. "You’re amazing. And I’ll spend the rest of my life reminding you of that, even if you don’t believe it now. Especially if you don’t believe it now."

The smile that formed on your face was different this time. It was more genuine, more complete, and Dave felt his chest fill with warmth he couldn’t describe. To him, seeing you smile that way was like finally breathing after holding his breath for a long time.

He grasped your hands in his, holding them firmly but gently. "So, how about we head home? I’ll make popcorn, you pick the movie, and we’ll turn this day into a good memory. Sound good?"

You nodded slowly, the smile still on your face, and Dave felt that, even if the day had started in a storm, now the sun began to shine again.

A few days had passed since that moment when Dave had hugged you, and although the signs of sadness hadn’t completely disappeared, he could see how things were improving. Time, patience, and care were finally bringing back that version of you he had always admired—a lighter, freer, more you version.

But, like anyone with a good sense of justice running through their veins, Dave felt that something needed to be done. That silent anger still burned in his chest, and the desire to protect you from anything that could hurt you consumed him. So, he came up with an idea—a plan that made him reminisce about the old days.

And, of course, who better to help him with this than Mindy?

"I know I’m retired, but... I need your help with something," Dave said to her, trying to hide the anxiety in his voice. He was more nervous than he’d like to admit.

Mindy looked at him with suspicion, raising an eyebrow. "What do you want?"

"I just need your help finding the people who, well, did some... unpleasant things to my girlfriend. I want to teach them a lesson."

Mindy raised her eyebrows, a look on her face that clearly said ‘seriously?’ and let out an ironic laugh. "You want revenge? Because I’ve got a few things you’ll find pretty interesting."

"No deaths or dismemberment," Dave argued quickly. "Just something that sends a clear message to them. That they should stay away from her. Forever."

Mindy scoffed but couldn’t help smiling. "Fine. But you’re missing out on the chance to create something epic."

With her help, the mission was executed—nothing too flashy, but a clear and direct message, with a very Mindy touch. She was good at making things feel... uncomfortable, but no real harm was done. Dave had no doubt the message had been delivered.

When he finally got to the apartment he shared with you, he was exhausted but satisfied. The mission was complete. He leaned back on the couch with a satisfied smile, a look that mixed exhaustion with an almost childlike happiness.

You entered the room, immediately noticing the gleam in his eyes, the strange smile on his lips, as if he had just conquered something.

"Why are you smiling like that?" you asked, walking towards him. There was something mysterious in his gaze, something you couldn’t quite place. "You look... happier than usual."

Dave stretched out his hand, an even wider smile on his face, and gently pulled you onto his lap, sitting you between his legs. He was visibly excited, almost like a kid who had just discovered something fun, and his arms wrapped around you, holding you warmly. His lips met yours in a soft kiss, but the intensity of the gesture was clear—he was happy, more than usual, and it showed in every movement.

You, still smiling, but now a little more curious, placed your hands on his face, stopping the kiss for a moment. Your eyes met, and the tone of your question was gentle, but with a hint of concern that didn’t go unnoticed.

"Dave..." you began. "What happened? What were you doing?"

"I was just taking care of some things," he replied softly, a smile on his lips.

[hyvyinjie]

hi! Can I ask for a headcannon about Minamoto teru x childhood friend reader? Where teru is really over protective and gentle towards the reader. Reader is a lazy person, and often sleepy, the things he likes are reading comics and playing game in their phone. They also refuses teru's invitation to join the student council. Thank you! :)

why of course! it’d be an honor to grant such an ask. apologies for taking quite a while to do so—though i hope my work meets your expectations, wonderful nonie!<3

—LOST IN THE HAZE OF YOUR DREAMSCAPE.

featuring ; minamoto teru & you as our star.

+ small akane & aoi mentions.

ah, minamoto teru; the very embodiment of perfection—as he was hailed and as he carried himself with utter conviction.

a master of powers, a paragon of academic prowess, and a maestro in all things extraordinary. could there be anything he did not conquer?

yet, his persona, a labyrinth of complexities, as if harboring a multitude of souls within his very being.

now, here you arrive in his peculiar life—meeting with the intricacies of his existence.

when your paths converged, it ignited a tempestuous collision, a clash of peculiar forces.

initially, your mere presence held no sway over him. in truth, he perceived you as an encumbrance, burdened by your languid nature. for he, a relentless pursuer of flawlessness, demanded nothing less.

but lo and behold. fate—that cunning trickster—wove its intricate threads, meticulously mending the frayed tapestry of your connection.

through the passage of time, a tapestry of happenstance encounters and the subsequent flourishing of interactions—a nascent camaraderie took root. he slowly, but surely grew attuned to your idiosyncrasies, harmonizing with your rhythm. while the power to surmount every obstacle at your side eludes him still, he persists, striving to offer his utmost.

oh please have mercy on this young man—forever enmeshed in the whirlwind of his exorcist duties. and yet, even amidst the chaos, his devotion knows no bounds when it comes to those he holds dear.

one might assume that quality time would be sacrificed for the trivial, but fear not, for you found yourself on the fortunate side—the one he’d willingly carved out moments to be with.

initially, your encounters were fleeting, brief snippets of time. however, as the sands of time trickled down, these fragments transformed into meticulously planned sleepovers. he meticulously orchestrated these occasions, ensuring they did not encroach upon his demanding schedule.

your bond thrived during these cozy gatherings, or tranquil rendezvous, where he wholeheartedly immersed himself in your passions—comics and video games.

though not extensively versed in these realms, one might imagine that you—with your infectious enthusiasm to the field—was the catalyst for his exploration and understanding of the realm of entertainment. this was evidenced by the gradual increase in invitations to game nights and his newfound willingness to engage in discussions about captivating narratives. perhaps, you both even exchanged recommendations for comics, as kindred spirits often do.

as the both of you and the world grew older—it became evident that he honed his social skills; presenting himself as a complete package. every aspect of his being held an irresistible allure, captivating the hearts of women, and even some fellow men. many yearned and openly expressed their desire to be the chosen one by his side.

however, even amidst the clamoring crowd, his gaze remained steadfastly fixed upon you.

of course, as the old adage goes; with great power comes great responsibility—the price of his popularity gradually revealed itself.

certain students, teetering on the edge of obsession, noticed the distinct tenderness he displayed towards you, surpassing his general kindness towards all. seizing upon this perceived vulnerability, they occasionally resorted to devious methods, seeking to eliminate you from the equation, taking advantage of moments when slumber claimed you.

naturally, he swiftly uncovered their plot, intervening before they could execute their nefarious intentions.

needless to say, the number of such audacious attempts dwindled significantly. what exactly he did to deter them remains a mystery known only to him and his would-be victims.

still, worried that the possibility of a recurrence and his absence to intervene, he took it upon himself to practically implore—some might even say beg—you to join the student council. this would ensure that he, or even akane if needed, could keep a watchful eye over you with greater ease.

however, true to your nature, you steadfastly rebuffed each futile attempt to persuade you. despite his persistent efforts, you remained resolute in your refusal.

eventually, your golden boy relented, recognizing that his endeavors were in vain…but that was just because he found an alternative solution.

he encouraged—forced—akane to be the one to look after you discreetly whenever he couldn’t. only choosing to partially reveal his intentions to avoid alarming you at the time, as you were unfamiliar with akane’s existence.

or so it had been until he observed that you and the school’s vice president shared a rather unique bond.

although akane would occasionally scold you for being so excessively somnolent, mistaking it for you being irresponsible, hence, occasionally comparing you to the greatness of his lady aoi—teru—ever vigilant and mindful of akane’s every interaction with you, ensured that his usual brutal tendencies were significantly tempered. still—it remained a part of the deputy’s essence, defining his very being, just albeit subdued in your presence.

it could be surmised that akane once attempted to tease—or rather, foolishly inquire, about teru’s subtle yet perceptible shifts in behavior whenever you were involved.

“it’s almost as if you like them.”

in an almost immediate reaction—the president paused, slowly turning his head to gaze at akane, a shadow casting a smile that concealed the upper portion of his closed eyes.

the ginger-haired vice executive, feeling an ominous presence despite the absence of visible eyes, found himself sweating profusely as he cautiously added,

“—to the point where anyone could mistake you for family!"

sensing the gravity of his words, akane mentally vowed to never broach the subject again. he restrained himself from ever mentioning it whenever he witnessed the two of you together.

curiosity gnawed at you as you noticed his all-knowing gaze transform into one of horror whenever you turned your head, as if peering behind you; at none other than the pretty blonde himself, who seemed to be doing nothing wrong, merely proven to have been innocently smiling the whole time, or so he put up whenever you looked back at him.

oblivious to the truth, you always dismissed it as ‘akane’s peculiar moments of ptsd flashbacks’ whenever he saw teru.

however, let me share a little secret with you.

did you know the true reason behind teru’s death stare? no? well, do you wanna know?

then do allow me to spill it for you.

it was simply because akane, using the keyword; "like," insinuated that teru had a ‘liking-only level’ romantic feeling for you. the misconception provoked such a reaction from teru, for he wanted to correct that statement because he loved you, not just liked you.

seriously, can’t people let him finish what he’s saying?

[my-alter-ego777]

Short Clips

Eminem fanfic, Singer!reader, language, angst, loss, comfort, fluff, pda, made-up usernames for comments, shitty title, sry if I missed anything.

Word count: 2,421

Note: I just wrote a handful of ideas that popped into my adhd, scatterbrained head, and put them into one post. Hope y'all enjoy some random-ass content! - xo

One more thing, these clips are not in any particular order or specific era of Eminem's career.

Clip 1

The video showcases a fan's viewpoint from the audience. The loud cheers from those nearby overwhelm the phone's speaker as Marshall finishes the final line of his song.

-

You and Marshall have embarked on a world tour together, and tonight is your inaugural performance in this two-month adventure.

The audience is ecstatic to see you on stage beside him, especially after the news broke just before the tour commenced about your grandmother's passing.

People were genuinely concerned about you, knowing how much she meant to you (you often spoke about her in interviews when asked about your biggest supporter and inspiration). It was evident to everyone that your grandma was your foundation, your everything.

This led them to ponder whether you'd choose to step back from the world tour to take some time for yourself, which they would completely understand and not hold against you, but it wouldn't stop them from feeling sad at your absence.

So, when you stepped out onto that stage at the beginning of tonight's show, everyone was taken aback but utterly delighted by your appearance.

You mentioned early on that despite being profoundly affected by loss, you (and anyone in similar circumstances.) should have the freedom to feel and express your pain, sadness, and grief... however, it's also crucial to remember to keep moving forward in life, as your grandma would say, and not allow difficult times to hinder you from pursuing your dreams and doing what brings you the most joy.

So that's the reason you are here tonight. Standing before all these people you regard as family and alongside your best friends, who are so dear to you.

-

Marshall's song flows seamlessly into one of yours. The intro itself captivates everyone, including Marshall and Denaun, drawing them into its own world, its own universe. The melodic strings tug at the hearts of the listeners, while the low hum of your siren-like voice makes the hairs on their bodies stand up.

Not even three seconds into the song, fans, especially those who have been with you for a long time, recognize it instantly.

This is the song you composed and dedicated to your grandma some time ago, and everyone in the stadium proceeds to experiences a simultaneous wave of warmth and sorrow.

The phone's camera zooms in on you, adjusting to the spotlight that highlights your facial features.

You look gentle. Celestial.

Your eyes flutter open as you begin the first verse, and the corners of your lips lift into an endearing smile as you see every single person in the stadium turn on their flash.

Your voice glides effortlessly and gracefully alongside the instrumentals.

However, as you reach the midpoint of the song, you sense a tightening on your throat, making it somewhat difficult to deliver the next line.

And others can see you beginning to struggle.

This is the first time you're performing this song since your grandmother's passing, and some might argue that it's too soon, that you're too vulnerable to take this on right now. Yet, you felt compelled to sing it for her tonight.

To sing it to her as she watches over you.

You thought you could manage it, you really did... but at this moment, you're not so sure anymore.

Out of nowhere, you feel a solid, warm, familiar body pressing against your side, and tatted arms gently lift your trembling shoulders - When did they start trembling? - bringing you upright from where you were leaning forward, your hands resting on bent knees, - And when did you manage that? - wrapping you in a comforting embrace.

-

Marshall observes you from across the stage, admiring how effortlessly you can be vulnerable in front of an audience, the way you peel back your layers, while still maintaining control of yourself.

That was until you reach the midpoint of the song, and he hears your voice start to crack, and catches a tear somehow escape past your tightly shut eyelids.

The camera lens captures the shimmering water droplets on your cheekbones, reflecting the stadium lights, while your chest rises with a deep, albeit shaky, breath. Your shoulders roll back as you try to hold it together enough to finish the song, but it has become too much to handle.

Both the crowd and Marshall can see this.

The moment the microphone slips from your lips, catching the tail end of a broken cry, and you lean forward, your hands barely supporting you atop your bent knees, Marshall can no longer just watch; the camera focuses, adjusting on his figure as he strides determinedly towards your fragile one.

-

The crowd grows more expressive during this interaction between you and Marshall, primarily to demonstrate their support for you. They are shouting various words of solace that you genuinely value, but it's Marshall's comforting words and familiar presence that keeps you grounded.

"I've got you, sweetheart, I've got you." He coos against your head, his hand rubbing soothingly along your spine.

The next action taken by Marshall is something no one would anticipate.

He raises his own microphone to his mouth and begins to sing the remainder of the song. - Now, while Marshall may not possess a traditional singing voice, he certainly knows how to carry a tune. - You look up, as he does, and into his eyes with your watery ones accompanied by a smile full of admiration, and find the strength to continue.

Raising your own mic to your lips and conveying a "thank you" with your gaze, you two finish the song in perfect harmony.

<Comments>

EminemStan14: Through thick and thin those two 🥺🩷❤️

(Y/n)sGuitarPick: Damn it, now I'm crying!😭 Hope she's doing better 🩷

(Y/n)sChild: Sending all my love @(Y/n)(L/n)🩷

Clip 2

The lone paparazzo's camera captures footage of you and Marshall as you walk to retrieve his vehicle in a parking garage located somewhere in Detroit. Both of you remain unaware of his presence, as he stands at a distance, just outside the boundaries of the complex.

The lens zooms in, offering a clearer view of your faces as the two of you appear to be engaging in light-hearted conversation.

However, the mood shifts when you say something with a mischievous look that causes Marshall's facial expression to drop and prompts you to cackle shamelessly at his now displeased features.

You revel in the moment, your head thrown back and hands clutching your stomach, before you fall a few steps ahead of him, continuing your journey to the car.

But, with an almost evil smirk, Marshall takes advantage of your turned back and delivers a firm smack to your rear, the sound resonating throughout the garage level and accompanied by your surprised yell, which is swiftly muffled by his hand as he pulls you back against his chest, his arm wrapping securely around your waist.

Marshall stops in his tracks and leans down to whisper something in your ear that causes your shoulders to shrink in a submissive manner. Then he proceeds to move the hand over your mouth down to your throat, holding it in a gentle yet assertive grip that has your eyes looking up into his as if you are entranced by a spell he just cast.

Marshall's predator-like stare looks about ready to devour you in the worst - or best - way possible.

The last thing the camera captures is Marshall leading you with purposeful steps towards the passenger side of his car, cutting off its view of you two completely.

<Comments>

Slim69_Shady: OMGGGG!! Sir! 😅😏🤭

(Y/n)Stan33: Did y'all see the recoil on that booty!?! 😳🍑 Eminem is a lucky man 😩

Slim12: Tell me you're in a brat-tamer x brat relationship without telling me. 😐🥵

Clip 3

An 11-second video from Denaun's Instagram story features him along with a bunch of others (who fans quickly identify as team members of Shady Records upon seeing Paul and Tracy, flanked by some hefty security personnel) walking down a long hallway.

"Countin' down, 20 minutes till showtime, baby!" He shouts at his phone, then flips the camera, making you and Marshall the center of attention now.

You two are positioned near the front of the group, and the sight alone has fans raving.

Your chest is pressed against Marshall's strong back while your arms are affectionately draped over his shoulders, and his tatted ones hold your thighs snugly against his hips as he carries you effortlessly.

"How you feelin' about tonight's performance, Chipmunk?" He asks you, all pumped up.

"I'm feeling fucking amazing!" You belt out, chin raised from where it rested on Marshall's head, and your heavenly voice echoes off the walls, captivating everyone nearby.

And as viewers look closer, they see a small, loving smile tugging at the corners of Marshall's lips as he attempts to look up at your stunning face.

"That's what I'm talkin' about!" Denaun exclaims before the video ends.

<Comments>

Emslover22: Em looks so happy! 🥰

Fan1999: Reply to Emslover22: Ikr, they deserve each other ❤️

BabySlim: Her vocals are unreal 🤩

AllAbout(Y/n): Love Denaun and (Y/n)'s relationship 😊

Clip 4

"Well, hello there!" The interviewer exclaims, both surprised and delighted, as a cat strolls into the camera's view.

Marshall and an interviewer, Stacy, were lounging comfortably on the couch in the spacious dressing room you and he have been using for tonight's show, and he had just finished answering a question when the friendly feline jumped into his lap, curious about the chunky foam head of the microphone he was holding, before rubbing its cheek against it.

"Who is this adorable little one?" She asks sweetly, observing as Marshall gently strokes the smoky orange fur along its back.

You are currently away at your meet and greet, which is happening somewhere on the property. You always held these events before shows so that you could head to bed afterwards.

"This is my son, Cowboy," he introduces the cat in a melodious tone. "How's it going, little man? Do you have something to say to the audience?" Laughter fills the room when Cowboy chirps into the mic as if he understood Marshall's question.

"How long have you had him?" Stacy inquires, extending her hand for Cowboy to smell.

"Well, he and Thalia over there," he gestures towards Cowboy's sister, who is lounging peacefully at the top of the cat tower in the corner like royalty. "are both originally (Y/n)'s cats. She adopted them from an Abyssinian cat rescue years ago, but I kind of became their cat-dad early on in our relationship. It's great."

"That's so lovely," Stacy coos. "I had no idea you were a cat lover," she adds with genuine curiosity.

Marshall lets out a soft, small laugh, "I had no idea either, to be honest," and gently scratches behind Cowboy's ear for a moment, who has decided to climb onto his shoulder and snuggle his face against his neck and cool gold chain. "But these two have really grown on me over the last couple of years. I love 'em like my own kids, ya know?"

<Comments>

(Y/N)sLover11: (Y/n) takes those cats everywhere. Amazing pet parent right there! 🐱❤️

(L/n)xMathersForever: Cowboy, if ever the attention whore 😂❤️ love him.

MathersMaddness: Aww! Marshall's finally a boy dad!

Clip 5

50 Cent is spotted lounging on a couch during his latest Instagram live session, with his phone propped up on the small table in front of him, while Marshall's body keeps appearing partially in frame as he sits next to him.

Curtis engages with his audience, responding to questions and more. Marshall even joins in occasionally.

Comment: IS (Y/N) THERE?!

Curt's gaze catches the question just before it gets pushed up with the other comments.

"Yeah, yeah, she's here." He nods and looks up past his phone at you and Denaun, who have been tossing jellybeans into each other's mouths for the last 15 minutes. (Every time one of you catches a jellybean, you take a step back. Right now, you both are standing 20 feet apart. You could say you're quite proud of how far you've come.) "She and Denaun are throwin' jellybeans at each other like a couple of kids." He jokes.

"Aye!" Denaun pretends to be offended, while you just laugh and shake your head, continuing your impressive streak of catching jellybeans.

Not even five minutes later, as Curtis and Marshall are discussing a particular topic, a loud crash, reminiscent of a bull in a china shop, erupts in the background, causing both men to look up, startled.

"Oh my- (Y/n)!" Marshall exclaims first, his eyes widening when they land on you.

"What in the hell happened?!" 50 nearly shouts in concern, standing up from his seat, unlike Marshall, who has already jumped up and rushed over to you.

"Shit, baby, you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?" The speaker picks up on Marshall's caring and worried tone, and the brief silence that follows is broken by your infectious laughter.

"That was freaking amazing!" You exclaim with a laugh.

"Oh my God." Curtis sighs, exhausted but relieved that you seem to be fine. "Look at this mess, man..." He grabs his phone to turn the camera towards your situation.

The chat is filled with a mix of concerned and amused comments as everyone sees you sprawled out in a pile of what used to be your perfectly upright drum set.

But that's the result of being so focused on catching a flying jellybean that you forget to watch where you're going.

"No, not fucking amazing," Marshall scolds in frustration, dragging a hand down his face. "'Aight, we're finished playing with jellybeans; hand me the bag." He extends his hand, and Denaun, who appears somewhat embarrassed and ashamed, gives it to him.

De understands that what happened isn't his fault, yet he can't shake off a slight feeling of guilt. Even though you show no signs of pain or injury, he has kind of taken on the role of your protective older brother, ensuring that you, his sweet and vibrant little sister, are always safe.

"No, no, wait, look," you say, capturing their attention once more as you move your tongue to your right cheek and then stick it out to reveal a green jellybean resting on your taste buds, a proud expression lighting up your face. "I actually caught it!"

< Comments>

(Y/N)sNum1Fan: I fucking love (Y/n) 🤣

SlimGravy: (Y/n) always keeping Em on his toes, lmfao!!

Superman69: This just made my day 💀. Glad she's okay, though. 🩷

Again, I hope y'all enjoyed this post, and let me know if you'd be interested in seeing more content like this!

[11queensupreme11]

I need to know how people are gonna react to finding out about Percy’s mortal spot 🫠

im ngl, i genuinely believed putting the mortal spot on THE BACK is probably THEEEEE DUMBEST fucking thing ever 😭 ur back is literally your most vulnerable spot and now she just made it 100000x more vulnerable 😭 i'm almost certain rick wrote it that way for poetic reasons cuz percy's fatal flaw is loyalty, mortal spot on the back, hence "the only way you can kill percy jackson is to stab her in the back" 💀 yes yes, very poetic, but i don't think the ror characters will appreciate it 😭

(gonna try and fit as many reactions here as i can, excluding beel and loki since they already know)

cú chulainn: this dude is a trained warrior. he knows everything about weaknesses and blindspots. and the back????? IS PROBABLY THE BIGGEST BLIND SPOT THERE IS. he'll be screaming and ripping out his own hair in pure horror and disbelief when he finds out his dumbass lover put HER ONE MORTAL SPOT on her fucking BACK of all the goddamn places 😭

apollo: he's gonna throw up when he finds out and then he's gonna throw up even more when he learns that the LAST PERSON to have the curse of achilles was killed by HIS COUNTERPART. he prays to every deity and the fates that they won't be cruel enough to repeat that with them because he CANNOT lose percy 😭😭😭😭

poseidon: his jaw drops. he looks like a complete idiot all gobsmacked like this, but nobody even blames him because they're also just as shocked. he has half a mind to spank his daughter for her terrible idea, not just for the placement of the mortal spot, but for getting that damn curse in the first place. at first, he liked it because it made her 99.99% invulnerable but that fucking mortal spot just ruined it 💀💀💀

hades: buries his face in his hands and lets out the heaviest sigh ever. he loves his niece, he really does, but he has to admit... she's not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. he loves her so much though so he won't be TOO disappointed 💖

anubis: "BABY WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" he's screeching in horror when he witnesses the scene. welp, now he knows how she got the curse, but holy SHIT this is probably the worst curse ever (it's really not). he's literally gonna be begging her to stop when it comes up on the screen, but it's already too late

ra: USUALLY he would be busy restraining anubis from doing something stupid, but he's too busy gawking. percy was literally told that her fatal flaw was LOYALTY.... and then she goes and picks HER BACK as her one mortal spot???? "omfg the poseidon in that universe taught that child NOTHING"

rhea: "WE 👹 MUST 👹 GET 👹 HER 👹 OUT 👹 OF 👹 THAT 👹 UNIVERSE 👹 BEFORE SHE GETS HERSELF KILLED" no seriously, grandma rhea is WORRIED. if she were a human, she'd have 1000 heart attacks and her hair would've turned grey already. this baby is stressing her the FUCK out 😭

prometheus: would literally cry 😭😭😭 like "percy... my dear baby cousin, your back??????? WHY?????" 😭😭😭😭 he's usually very supportive of her ideas, even the most craziest ones, but..... the back???????????

izanagi: "oh bless her heart, she's trying her best 🥺💔"

sun wukong: does a very slow facepalm as he sinks into his throne because oh my gods this girl is FUCKED. he has never seen a more doomed person before in all his years of living 😭

aphrodite: "wait does this make sex harder??? should i have her try other positions instead? 🤔" (she's asking the real questions here)

lugh: gently grasps cú chulainn's shoulders and say solemnly, "son, i think the universe really hates you 😔💔" because this is the SECOND PERSON that cú chulainn cares about to have some sort of near-invulnerability. the first died thx to him, and now percy might follow 😭

odin: a little concerned at how similar she is to his baldur. pure-hearted and kind, a genuinely good person, with a near invulnerability. he hopes, for loki's sanity, that percy doesn't die too because the crashout would be catastrophic fr 💀

adam: absolutely HORRIFIED because she picked literally the worst spot on her body to be her mortal spot 😭

leonidas: "how tf is this kid alive right now 💀"

tesla: so it turns out it's not just math and science that he needs to teach her, but basic self-preservation as well! alrighty then, he's already getting the lesson plans ready as well as a VERY long lecture about poor decision-making skills 😭

basically, every ror character's reaction to percy getting the curse of achilles and choosing her back as her one mortal spot:

EVERYONE is horrified 💀

percy literally has so much stacked against her. everyone and everything in that universe is out to get her. she's the product of a broken vow. she's a demigod, so naturally monsters hunt her down on the daily. she has a cursed fucking sword that's cursed to fail her when she needs it most. her fatal flaw is loyalty. and then she goes and puts her mortal spot on her BACK 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀 not only that, but the fates of that universe love love LOVE greek tragedy and percy is a walking greek tragedy waiting to for the curtain call 😭

[bluesey-182]

okay bear with me while i try to organize all of these thoughts.

even in arcadia is such an interesting album to me because it seems to simultaneously be the most AND the least lore-heavy album compared to all their other work. i've always been of the mind that very few, if any, of their songs are actually about sleep. vessel sings about his own personal struggles, a lot of those having to do with what was an obviously very toxic and potentially abusive past relationship, but i've never really thought he was singing about sleep for a good 99% of their discography. the songs themselves are the offerings. "here's all of my pain. i offer if to you" (in penance??? 👀). however, at the same time, the kind of metaphors and language he uses puts all of that pain behind a certain kind of... barrier, i suppose? that makes it seem like "maybe it could all just be a story". and then he comes into this album with songs like past self, caramel, provider, damocles, and gethsemane where it feels like he's being even more brutally honest and vulnerable than he's ever been before (which is saying something because dear god does vessel spill his guts and bare his heart through the project). he's talking directly to the audience in a way that's unfamiliar and new and gut-wrenching on a whole new level. it's like he's testing the waters of stepping out from behind the smoke screen he's been singing through in the past.

and yet. you get songs like look to windward, emergence, dangerous (this one to a slightly less degree than the others) even in arcadia, and infinite baths. he's saying things that almost don't seem like they'd be said to or about an actual person. they have these incredibly fantasy-battle-esque sounds and lyrics to them. and there are a million and one theories about what sleep is, but this album in particular has me feeling like sleep is a personification of vessel's demons and in this album he's fighting them like he hasn't ever before. he's not bowing down, he's actively out for blood. that's who/what he's talking to this time, as opposed to the person(s) he's usually addressing in his songs.

so that brings me to the house divide. "the house must endure" / "the cycle must end". house veridian and feathered host. and then you get the line "you know i live by the feather and die by the sword". like obviously this is the house divide, but the more i think about that line (especially with feathered host potentially being a nod to feathered quills and that suggesting the houses are actually the pen vs the sword) the more i keep thinking that like... this album is the inner battle between the poet who loves music and chose this project as the outlet vs the man behind the mask dying at the sword of that project. realizing he's gotten himself into this corner of constantly replaying his darkest moments ("i play discordant days on repeat") so he can make this music ("until they look like harmony") and realizing it's hurting him more than it's serving as catharsis anymore. and it all comes together in an album where he's both allowing himself to be what is potentially the most vulnerable he's ever been--ditching some of the metaphors to say things more point blank, addressing the audience directly, getting to be goofy and vulnerable in a lighter way through "provider"--while also giving us songs that are direct conflicts with this deity he's made himself vessel to and also building on that story in a way that has previously been incredibly vague and sparse in terms of actual canon.

it's an incredible dichotomy and i think this separation of the houses was a really clever way to do it. but it also makes me think that the album isn't as cut down the middle in the divide as i think a lot of us initially thought. it's also interesting to catch the lyrics in this album that reference each other across the aisle. (the one coming to mind rn is "war of attrition" being in both look to windward and caramel when they both have different themes to them).

all this to say, vessel is a genius and continues to achieve incredible and mind-boggling things in his music, and this album has really (in my opinion) been a gift.

[glamourscat]

MY DEAR ARMIN | PT2

PT 1 | Maybe, after all, promises can be kept. Maybe, after all, those dreams weren’t so foolish as we thought they were

The letter had been sitting on his desk since yesterday, unopened. He meant to read it before bed, he really did, but when his fingers broke the wax seal he just stopped. He saw his name in your handwriting and froze. Maybe, unconsciously, he already knew what you were about to say. And maybe, for the first time in ten years, after so many losses, after everything, he didn’t want to face another obstacle. Maybe, for once, he wanted to choose the easy road, cowardly indeed. As unfair it was, especially when any conversation with Annie never really led anywhere.

Armin was known for his intellect, the one thing he truly felt was his own. And yet, even he could be a fool. He has always been attracted to the unknown. To the mysterious aspect that life sometimes seems to offer, to shield. He is an idealist at heart. Hence why despite everything, he has always been there for Eren. Not just as a best friend, but maybe because some part of him has always been fascinated by what he couldn’t understand, and with Annie is nonetheless.

She is hard to read, she is hard to understand. And he can’t blame her after everything she went through. But as much as he is emotionally invested in her, because she is that code he can’t crack, his rational mind knows. Knows that he needs an emotional reciprocity. He seeks connection, understanding, vulnerability. And there’s only one person that can give him that. And it’s not Annie.

As the sunlight filters through the window, time passes by. His blonde hair is a mess. He’s still half asleep, but his eyes keep drifting to the letter on his desk, his mind screaming at him to read it as if it knows what he’s trying to avoid, that what’s inside is more important than any sleepy excuse. He read the letter in silence. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Time stopped around him. He can’t hear anything, not the birds, not the kids laughing in the street, not the merchants yelling. By the end, his fingers are trembling. His eyes are blurry. He grips the paper so tightly it creases.

“If you ever find yourself looking out over the ocean, and by any chance you think of me… just know that I’ll be out there too, somewhere, thinking of you. In the ocean. In the sky. In the stars…”

He doesn’t realise he’s sobbing until one hits so hard it knocks the wind out of him. What the hell is he doing? That’s all he can think. Why did he wait this long? Why did he try to do the most illogical thing for once in his life? You’re leaving. Today. And as the truth sinks in, he’s moving faster than he can think. Shower. Clothes. Essentials shoved into the first handbag he could find. Not much. He doesn’t need much, everything else can stay behind if it means he gets to be with you.

He shouted something to Jean down the hall, “I’ll be out for a while, take charge, let Levi know!”, but didn’t stop to explain, even when Jean gave him a confused side eye. In the hallway, his eyes meet Mikasa’s. His mouth opens before his feet can stop running.

“Where is she now?” he asks, breathless.

Mikasa stares at him and doesn’t ask questions. She just knows. “Pier 3. They’re finishing boarding.”

He takes off running to the docks, which as always, are a mess. He pushes past crewmen who barely register him. The wind burns his lungs. Time is running out and he can’t seem to find you. But then his eyes caught your figure. Your hair caught in the wind, eyes fixed on the horizon, on the future. A future that seems so close yet so far. And for a second, he nearly chickens out. What is there to say? After weeks of silence, after convincing himself that taking the easy road would hurt less, while his heart had been screaming at him the whole time to wake up. To act.

He’s not sure if you’d even want to see him. He could still walk away. Let the ship go. Let you go. Tell himself it’s too late. But then you brush a strand of hair from your face, the way you always do when you’re nervous, something in him breaks. And he is yelling your name sharp. Loud. Unsure. You turn in confusion, eyes locking onto his. And your face fills with shock, maybe disbelief. Because he’s really here. And knowing Armin, he looks like he’s on the verge of either tears or an anxiety attack. And yet, somehow, he’s still wearing the softest, sweetest smile you’ve ever known.

He climbs on deck. Nearly drops his bag. Almost trips over air. Your lips curl into a small amused smile at the scene, a sight that nearly undoes him right there and then. How long has it been since he saw that smile? And why does he feel like he wants to kiss it, until you two are both too breathless to even think?

“I’m sorry,” he says, breathless. “I—I was late reading the letter. I was stupid. I let you think I stopped caring. I let you walk away thinking I chose someone else, something else, but the truth is—I didn’t. I was scared to be selfish. I thought if I stayed still, nothing would break. But I was wrong. I broke anyway. Without you.”

“I remembered,” he continued, softer. “I remembered everything. That promise. That night. You were the first person I dreamed of escaping these walls. And the only one I ever wanted to dream with. I told myself it was better this way, to just distance myself. Cleaner. Safer. But I was wrong. The easy way, what feels too nice to be true—is never the answer, especially in our world, isn’t it? I don’t deserve your forgiveness. And if I must, and I will, I’ll beg for an eternity just to be in your good graces again.”

A moment of silence goes by. You’re unsure on what to say, there’s too much. The only thing that comes to mind is to address the big elephant in the room. “And Annie? What about her?”

“I didn’t choose Annie. I stayed because I thought I was supposed to. I don’t even know if what I felt for her ever really belonged to me.” He paused, eyes growing softer.

“I’ve spent so long carrying what wasn’t mine… Bertolt’s memories, other people’s grief, the weight of the world. I thought I owed it to everyone to stay still. Because I thought love had to mean sacrifice. But I don’t want a love that feels like duty anymore. I don’t want to guess anymore. I want a love that feels like coming home. A love that’s naive maybe, but familiar. A love that I don’t need to contort and walk on eggshells. I want to be where you are. What I feel for you, what I’ve always felt, has never changed. I have been— just too afraid to admit it. Because it was easier to pretend I didn’t feel anything even if my heart was killing me seeing you flirt with Jean.”

He took a break, to catch some air, but mostly to stare at you with those bright blue eyes of his. To make sure you can feel the sincerity in his words.

“It’s never been a chore. Us, I mean. This. Never an obligation. It’s always been my choice, in a world that doesn’t let you choose. I have always chose you, from the moment I decided to share my only book at the age of three with you. Every time I gave you half of my ration. Every time my eyes searched yours on the battlefield. And now… it’s nevertheless. I’m choosing you.”

You don’t speak at first. Just look at him. Like you’re waiting for a disaster to strike, like you’re waiting for the world to crash down. But that moment never comes. Your bottom lip trembles and so does his. And for the first time in weeks, weeks that felt like years, it all crumbled up. The distance. The silence. The emptiness. You’re the one who closes the gap, running into his arms just as the ship is about to move. And he holds you tighter than he ever has before, a silent but steady promise neither of you intends to break.

The silence stretches, long enough that it aches. He wraps his arms around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. He buries his face in your shoulder, like he’s trying to ground himself, pressing a brief, tender kiss to your skin. The ship rocks. The port fades. The world narrows to just you and him. You pull back to meet his eyes. He’s crying and so are you.

“Let’s go,” you say, steady, your hand reaching out to him. And this time around he takes it like he’s planning to never let go.

That’s a promise.

[cillians-sweetheart]

Can you do a Jonathan Crane x depressed reader with smut he falls in love with her

yesss! (apologies If this is not exactly what you wanted, I've just gotten so used to writing messed up fanfics😭)

Doctors Orders - Johnathan Crane

Dr Crane (30) x Naive!Depressed!Reader (18)

Plot: Y/N is depressed, and lonely, and seeks reassurance and help from Dr Johnathan Crane. But instead he falls in love, and manipulates and takes advantage of her for his own twisted pleasure.

Content: talk of depression and daddy issues, manipulation, dub-con, smut, oral (m), unprotected pv, dry rubbing/handjob (m), pet names, daddy kink, rough sex, breeding, age-gap

With a heavy pressure in my chest, and a shiver in my legs, I entered the gloomy office of my new psychiatrist. He sat with a perfect posture in the leather chair larger than him. His hands crossed neatly and an unsettling look in his piercing blue eyes. 

“Dr Crane” He introduced me with an easy but stern voice. “Sit”.

His eyes through his glasses pointing to the chair opposite of his desk. I moved quickly, My dress flowed with my subtle movements, to obey and sat in the chair, looking forward to his sharp face. I noticed his eyes taking a glance at every feature of my young face. Eventually with his stabbing stare, I got uneasy and looked to my lap. “So…Y/N” He said, reading from the chart in front of him. “What seems to be the problem?” His eyes return to me from the paper. 

“I am um… just struggling…”

“With?”

“I always feel like I am empty and that everyday is the same draining routine. Most of the time I don’t even want to wake up..” My fingers fidgeted in my lap, and my eyes remained down in shame of my feelings.

“And why do you think that is?” He asked, leaning forward in his chair. 

“I don’t really have any friends… or family to be honest”

“Are you an orphan?” His head tilted. 

I looked up at him in confusion. “No, my dad just doesn't acknowledge I exist most of the time.” 

“I see.” He nodded and gently pushed his glasses up the bridge of his perfectly shaped nose. “So you are lonely? Per say.” I nodded in response. A devious smirk grew on his plump lips. “Mhm… you just want to be loved, don’t you?” His silky voice had an attraction on my body, making me melt, and believe his every word. 

I nodded again, unable to tear my eyes away from his personable face. 

“Good… Good…” He nodded slowly. “And why do you think no one would love a doll like you.” He purred low under his tone. 

“I-I don't know…” I replied shyly. “They just don’t..”

“It makes you sad, doesn't it?” He changed his tone, and body language to appear as though he were being empathetic. Even though it was nothing but his twisted trap to lure me in and use me like his toy. But of course no one but him knew that. 

“Mhm” I nodded. My eyes; big and pure looking at him. 

“Aw, poor, poor girl…” He shook his head slowly. “You just want to be happy, and loved, don't you?” Again I nodded. Falling deeper and deeper into the hole he is digging in my fragile heart. “Well, I know how to make you happy, my dear.”

“Really?” My voice was delicate and my eyes watery.

“Of course.” He chuckled quietly at me. Seeing how mesmerised I was by him, the words he spoke to me, he adored just how desperate for love I was. And how easy I was to manipulate, and break into pieces. “I can give you all the love you want…”

My eyes lit up at his words. Dr Crane was just hysterical with himself at how vulnerable and eager I was for him. “Please…” I said just under my breath. My body, and eyes felt as if they were sinking into the floor as I stared at his perfect, perfect face. 

“My sweet doll… all you have to do is listen to me. Can you do that?” 

I nodded quickly, willing to do anything in my power at that very moment for him. My psychiatrist I just met. 

“That’s a good girl…” He leaned back in his chair. “Come.” He demanded, motioning me to go to him. 

I stood from the chair -and with my eyes still melted onto his face- I walked around his desk and in front of him. Standing between his spreading legs. 

“Sit.” He pointed to the floor below him. In an instant I fell to the floor, sitting on my knees between his legs. My innocent eyes laid upon him above me, ready to do anything in his command. Dr crane groaned in satisfaction at the sight of me sitting before him. So, so easy I was. 

“Good…”  His voice was low, and seductive. “If you behave yourself, and be my obedient doll, I will give you all the love in the world.” He said to me in a sarcastic tone I hadn’t recognised while leaning down closer to my face. “You’d like that… Wouldn’t you? Me loving you and being the daddy you deserve."

“Mhm” I nodded. My thighs shuffled just inches closer to him.

“You do everything I say, and you can be all mine. Understood?”

“Yes…” 

He paused for a moment. Staring at my face. Desire, and corrupt in his blue eyes. 

Dr Crane’s hand came down onto my face. Gently he stroked my hair, down to my soft cheek. My eyes closed as I melted into his comforting touch. “My pretty girl…” He said softly. “So pretty.” His tone lowered, and his other hand undid the button of his pants.

I hadn't noticed anything he had been doing besides the feeling of his hand on my skin.

"Do you want to please me, my doll?"

My eyes opened -and with my face still in his hand- I nodded honestly.

"Mhm... and you love daddy don't you?" His hand slowly continued to undo his pants. Dr crane chuckled to himself, "That's a dumb question. Of course you do."

"Do you love me...?" I asked fearfully but my eyes were praying for his acceptance.

"Sure" He smirked. "But if you want all my love, you my dear, are going to show me just how much you love daddy. Okay?"

"Mhm. I'll do whatever you want...I promise."

"Really?" His zipper came down. "Anything for me?"

"Yes"

Dr Crane smirked to himself at how much easier this was then he could've ever expected. "That's a good girl... Give me your hand."

I lifted my hand to him and he roughly grabbed onto it and held it over his hard lap. My eyes widened and my body froze. Through my hand I felt movement and Dr Crane's grip becoming tighter on my delicate hand. With his, he moved my hand along the growing bulge. My eyes stared at the lengthening shape forming through the tightening fabric of his pants.

"You like that?" He asked lustfully.

I was frozen in the moment, not knowing what to say, or do, with the growing sensations of my own. My thighs squeezed tight together, and I still had not looked away from his stiff, covered cock.

Eventually coming out from my daze just slightly, I nodded and on my own, continued to rub him.

He lifted his hand off mine and let me touch him freely. Crane winced and groaned at my gentle hands on his throbbing cock. To my eyes it looked as if It were going to break out from his pants because of the size, and tightness. So to be the obedient little girl I promised I'd be, I thought it wouldn't hurt to go further. I reached under the hem of his pants and onto the hot, hard skin underneath.

"Good..." He purred. "just like that sweetheart."

He was incredibly pleased at me doing what he wanted without even asking. My ability to somewhat read his mind, and lustful fantasies he wished for us. 

Holding his warm cock, I slowly pulled it out in front of my innocent eyes. He groaned as my hand moved along the length. I was stunned at the sight, never seeing such a thing. The flesh between my legs pulsed and itched with a growing, sensitve sensation. 

“Oh, such a sweet thing” He praised while stroking my hair. My eyes glared up to his, my hand still gripping around him. “Show daddy you love him…” He spoke with his eyes penetrating through mine. 

I nodded with obedience. And not so sure of what to do, I had just gently stroked him. With his hand he rubbed and caressed my face and cheeks in admiration, but also lust. I could feel the subtle movements of twitches and pulses in my hand. My eyes; unable to peel from the beauty of him. Of his cock, and alluring face. 

Dr Crane's hand grabbed at the back of my head. Roughly but not painfully. “Open your mouth baby doll…” He purred, staring at my little lips. I looked at him and slowly opened my mouth with confusion. Before I could take an inhale he pressed onto my head and filled my mouth with his thick cock. He held onto my hair while I choked from the suddenness. “Suck.” He demanded. I instantly sucked in my cheeks. The soft flesh from within my mouth was tightening around him. With his grip in my hair he pushed my head down, and up. Forcing me into swallowing his every inch. 

It was an experience I felt guilty enjoying. It felt so strange, but tasted so oddly pleasurable. 

Dr Crane’s hand gently began to lift from my hand. It was his message for me now to do all the work. As he removed his hand, I slowly and un-surely kept going. Gently stroking, and sucking his perfect cock with my soft lips.

He hadn’t made much noise until my lips would come up and suck around his pink tip. From there he’d groan, and his hands would grip tightly onto his chair. 

“Mmm… Good girl…” He groaned with his voice low. Eventually my slow pace and inexperience became not enough for him. He had to feel more. Feel the sweet sensations of virginity on his cock. With his impatience he demanded down to me, “Get up.” 

I lifted my head from his lap and with shaky legs stood from the floor. As I came to my feet his rough hands grabbed onto my hips, and he forced my stomach and chest down onto the hard wood of his desk. My cheek laid against the desk and I stared at the wall. My legs, and body are shaking.

I felt Dr Crane’s hips, and his hard cock, against mine. He lifted the dress and ripped through my thin panties. I could hear him quietly chuckling to himself feeling the wet fabric, and then my wet skin. My legs twitched as his cock rubbed through my wetness and against my sensitive clit. I whimpered from the ticklish pleasure and squirmed against him uncontrollably. 

His hands grabbed tightly onto the bare skin of my hips, and butt. In a quick movement his cock was pushed deep into my virgin hole. I cried out a whimper, and moaned. So many sounds of pain and pleasure combined. He beat me with his cock, loving the look of me bent over his desk and suffering with the intensity. 

Uncontrollable moans, and cries escaped my lips. I tried to stay quiet but it was impossible. It felt as if he were ripping me open, but also caressing my pussy with such pleasure. 

Each thrust of his hips -his cock sinking deeper with each one- made my wetness drip for my used hole, and along my thighs. I held my hand over my mouth to mumble my embarrassment, my moans. 

From behind me I could hear his sweet groans of pleasure as he used my body like a toy. Using me in a way I hated to admit that I loved too much. My legs shook and my cries and whimpers got louder, and more frequent with his every movement. My insides sunk inside of me, feeling as if my little pussy were going to explode. 

“You like daddy’s cock don’t you?” He taunted, still pounding aggressively into me. “Mmm… so tight and perfect… your pretty pussy will never be the same after this…” He whispered down to me. I felt sick, but also like that ticklish sensation was becoming too much for me to handle. And to my surprise I finally did explode. I felt wetness spread and drip down my legs. The pleasure becomes increasingly intense. It felt as though I were going to cry. My legs shook profusely, and I melted on Dr Crane’s cock.

He smirked and chuckled at me, still thrusting incredibly hard into me. My quick but also first orgasm was amusing to him. And soon after several bruising thrusts, He groaned, and moaned, filling my used little pussy with his thick cum. 

He leaned down to me, close to my face and whispered to me, “I’d like to see you in my office next week. My sweet obedient girl."