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rcvcgers · 2 days ago

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Rotten Apples, part 9

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3 link

part one , part two , part three , part four , part five , part six , part seven , part eight

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: a half-day in the life of a normal couple! you attend jane's wedding. the reception gets messy

word count: 15.1k words

warnings: slightly proofread! i wrote this in one sitting ... don't judge too hard

author's note: okay y'all i know this is a heavy chapter but like ... we love to see it, right?

content warning: mentions of death, angst at the end, suggestive content, kissing, vulgar language, let me know if i missed anything

my rotten apples <3 : @militaryapple , @kebarney , @pinkismyfavcolor , @romils , @erisnxxi , @rik0shii , @reni502 , @spacehopper27 , @llamabois , @likesvader , @pandoras-rabbit , @princessfruit , @lukassafespace , @jexireads , @etsuniiru , @tinnyrabbit , @orianakira , @xiaorixx , @beomluvrr , @sanzy4 , @vickykazuya , @blcknebula , @sleepydang , @flamedancer13 , @gojosbedwarmer , @silmeria-lafleur , @ikiru-wa , @animecrazy76 , @fealy , @i-messed-up-big-time , @motheraiya55 , @vvonunie , @1uv4jiya , @yuuuumii , @okumurarinsbabe , @mcdepressed290 , @luleck , @sanzy4 , @lucifers-silhouette , @crazygirl3001 , @april-likes-smut , @kazbrkker , @l1ttlebabyapple , @writersandroses , @kookie-my-little-sunshine , @curryexpress , @earthykitsunesrain , @raining4food , @chaoticbardlady99 , @young-adult-summer

want to be added to the taglist? click here!

“Did you fuck the Colonel?”

“Excuse me?” you blink at your computer screen, swiveling in your chair to look at your co-worker, Alivia. You point at the large, digital clock in the room. “It’s nine in the morning.”

“Okay? And?” Alivia pushes away from her desk, her chair scraping across the floor. Your brows furrow.

You look around, unsure of what the fuck is happening. It is your first day back from the Summit, having spent the travel day off thanks to the General, and you could barely focus on the task at hand since your body is still so deliciously sore from Caleb. You even wore a turtleneck to work today since your neck is just covered in love bites and hickeys from Caleb. When he said he wasn’t going to leave a spot untouched, he meant it! Even the skin of your thighs and breasts are covered in the dark purple and red marks, none of them having lightened up just yet.

“You fucked him, didn’t you? Diana will not shut up about it in the break room—”

“Why the fuck is she talking about it?” you lean forward and grab Alivia’s wrist, irritation flashing across your face. “She doesn’t know shit!” you whisper yell. Alivia smirks at you, laying her free hand on top of yours, her fingernails mischievously scratching your skin.

“So it’s true!” she lowers her voice. You roll your eyes and begin to pull away when she drags you back to her. “You did fuck him!”

“So what if I did?” you nervously laugh, trying to cover your ass as best as you can. “It’s not like he’s going to walk in here and point to me and declare his love for me—” you turn in your chair, making a big movement with your arm, and face the door where Caleb stands, his Colonel hat tucked under his arm, “—motherfucker! You scared me!”

“Language,” his voice is half-amused, his stoic face almost breaking. Almost.

Alivia looks between you two, a smirk forming on her face. You glance at her smug reaction and roll your eyes, listening to the awkward scrapes of her chair legs as she moves back to her desk. Remaining in your seat, you watch as Caleb crosses the office space. Every step makes your heart either skip a beat or speed up, no in between. If he gets any closer, you may just have a heart attack and die in his arms.

There are worse fates out there, though, so it doesn’t seem too bad.

His Evol helps guide an empty chair to your side, sitting down in it. He places his cap on your desk, right next to the picture of you and your parents at your college graduation. He tilts his head to the side, corner of his lips quirking up for a split second before falling.

“And what can I do to help you out today, Colonel Caleb?” your voice is sweet yet there is a underlying desire for him veiled behind every word. His purple eyes fix on yours, the air becoming thin between the two of you.

“I was wondering if a certain translator could help me out with a small project,” he leans back in the chair, manspreading. It takes everything in you to not look down at his lap. You force a smile onto your lips, eyes memorizing every detail of Caleb’s face all over again, you know, just in case anything changed from this morning.

“What language is it?” you ask, feeling your chair slowly move closer to his.

“Does it matter?” he counters with a perked up eyebrow.

Ah, so that’s why he’s here. He just wants to see you. How sweet! Maybe a visit to his office won’t be too bad, no?

Alivia’s, who watches from the side, jaw drops. Her eyes won’t leave you two, watching how you don’t push back against the Colonel pulling you closer. To her, this is like a teenage drama where the. Two main characters are finally getting together. It’s thrilling! It’s so painfully obvious, too, that you two are flirting. She should file a complaint to HR, right? No! That would mean that her and the other translators will lose their only source of entertainment. She can’t risk it!

The woman turns to her computer and opens up the Fleet’s messaging board. She furiously types as you and Caleb gaze into each others eyes, his hands now boldly resting on your thighs. She presses the ‘send’ button and your computer dings.

Do you dare to break away from the Colonel’s gaze? You have always been so defiant, haven’t you?

You angle your face away, feeling Caleb’s gaze burn into the side of your face. Alivia’s notification hangs in the corner of your screen. Her words make you smile, a small laugh escaping your lips. Caleb squeezes your thighs, drawing your attention back to him. His brows knit together, slight annoyance written all over his face.

“What’s so funny?” he asks. You don’t immediately reply. Instead you slightly push your chair back and cross one leg over the other. His hands leave your thighs. Caleb matches your posture, crossing his arms over his decorated chest. “Your Colonel asked you something.”

Oh my goodness…you will definitely be asking him to say that to you later when you’re alone.

“Us translators are thinking of going on a strike, Colonel Caleb,” your tone is light, playful yet serious, “our working conditions are horrendous. Just absolutely atrocious.”

“Oh?”

“Yes sir,” you smirk, watching as Caleb’s eyes slightly widen. Oh, how you love teasing him at work…something that just started thirty seconds ago but still! You are enjoying it so much so far! Who knew that you can hold so much power with a few simple words?

“Is there anything that I can do to make your working conditions…better?”

Is there a hidden tone of lust in his voice? Oh, Caleb, you dirty dog!

“We would like more paid vacation days, more time off, better chairs because these ones just fucking suck — you know what? Scratch that, we want better offices. Ones with windows, please,” you lean forward, suddenly dropping your playful flirting and becoming quite serious. Caleb picks up on this and straightens his posture, listening intently. “Are you writing this down? I feel like you should be writing this down—”

“I’ll remember it,” Caleb sneaks in a wink, liking how you have slowly inched closer to him. The tips of his gloved hands rest against your bare knees, skirt slowly riding up from your posture.

“Don’t forget the coffee machine!” Alivia calls out from behind you. You turn around and nod, giving her a thumbs up, before turning back to Caleb.

“And we want a badass coffee machine. Non-negotiable. Preferably one that does espresso. We’re all kind of addicted down here,” you lean in and whisper the last part, nudging Caleb’s arm. A quiet chuckle emits from his throat but never leaves his mouth, his eyes looking down at you.

Caleb always knew you were charming. Even as kids, you were able to talk your parents out of a long grounding with simple reasoning and light manipulation. You knew exactly when to pull out your puppy dog eyes and when to make your voice just raspy enough to make it seem like you were about to cry. He would watch your artistry at work go down from outside your house and through the large window that showcases the living room inside your house. The curtains were drawn open as you put on your show, the young boy in awe of how well you handled the situation. Hell! They even gave you money to go have fun at the arcade with him and her when you were done! Needless to say, you’re a genius mastermind!

“Is that all?” he asks, hiding the smile that threatens to break across his face.

“I…I think so,” you slowly nod, racking your brain’s rolodex of notes to figure out if there is indeed anything that you are missing. Nope! You’re good. You give Caleb one final nod, one that he copies, and adjust yourself in your seat, fixing your pencil skirt so your legs have some breathing room.

“I’ll talk with my supervisors,” Caleb feeds into the dramatics of your threat to go on strike. He pushes back into the chair, puffing his chest out a bit just for you sake (and it works), before standing up. “I do need to borrow you for a project, though.”

You open your mouth to protest but are quickly shut up by Caleb grabbing your belongings, plucking them from the desk as if they are his. All you can do is blink and watch as he slips them into your bag. The Colonel places his hat on his head and finally turns to you, flicking his head towards the door.

“Come on,” he places your bag in your lap, because a Colonel simply cannot hold a lower ranking person’s belongings, and heads for the door.

“Nice touch, Colonel, very nice,” you roll your eyes at him. You purse your lips and wrap your fingers around the straps of your bag. You glare at the back of his head, his broad shoulders slipping out of view.

After a couple of moments, because of course you’re going to make him wait a minute or two, you stand from your chair. Alivia is quick when she approaches your side, looking up at you with big eyes. She slaps your arms and back, pushing you towards the doors. You want to protest before you’re pushed out into the hallway.

“Go get us that coffee machine!” Alivia smiles. She slams the door in your face. You blink at the metal material and feel something tap the back of your hand. You turn and look up at Caleb, who looks down at you with big and glowing purple eyes, the orange and bronze color more vibrant than usual today.

Or maybe it’s because whenever you look at him, the world becomes more vibrant and full of life. The song that birds sing become more romantic in tone than playful. You suddenly don’t mind the fact that he has control over your work life and home life.

After all, you aren’t the same woman you were two months ago.

Caleb leans down, his breath hot on the side of your face. Your heart flutters. The heat from his body mixes in with yours. You ignore the world that has you surrounded, the other Fleet officers and employees can keep their comments to themselves and shove it! You’re with Caleb…that’s all that matters.

“We’re taking another day off for…work reasons…I hope that’s okay with you,” his voice is low in your ear. It itches your brain in just the right way, the rasp and gravel from his volume drawing you closer to him. You look up when he pulls away from you and bat your eyelashes at him. Caleb’s eyes slightly darken for a brief moment before they revert to their usual bright and light appearance. You nod. “Good. Let’s go.”

The Colonel slips past you, his Evol gently pushing you with him to keep up because the man can be very impatient at times and this just happens to be one of those moments. Your feet scuff the dark floor, stumbling over each other as you’re taken to the same elevator you were brought in when you met Caleb for the second time. You step inside, Caleb standing to the side of you with his hands behind his back. You tilt your head to look up at him, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

He’s so tall. And so, so broad. His hair is a bit shaggy towards the back, the length definitely growing past its usual short length. His hands are obscenely large in his black leather gloves. You watch as he reaches out and pokes a button, one that will lead you to the officers’ special parking garage. As he moves back in place, you catch a glimpse of his neck. Just barely over the collar of his dress shirt is a glimpse of a hickey, one that you gave him the night before when he pretended to be asleep, taking up the entirety of your bed like it was his own.

“Do I have something on my face?” Caleb asks, just barely glancing over at you as the elevator slowly moves downward. You shake your head no, looking forward and at the silver elevator doors.

“No, not on your face,” you play it off as cool as you can, unable to contain the playful smirk that passes on your face. “There is a little something on your neck, though.”

Caleb’s chuckle is a puff if air. The elevator doors slide open. He turns to you, tilting his head to the side. There is a playfulness behind his eyes. It’s matched with a hint of desire, maybe even a challenge if you’re up for it. Without another word, you step out of the elevator and into the unknown, yet very well lit, parking garage.

It’s your second time inside since Caleb drove you to work this morning. The walls are white with blue and black lines running across the perimeter. The ground is smooth yet touch enough for the car tires to have some friction to hold onto. There is no trash, as one would expect to see in any other parking garage in the world, and there are no tire marks on the ground. You look around, narrowing your eyes as you think back to this morning, trying to remember what direction Caleb parked in.

Caleb watches you, making sure to tilt his face away from the parking garage’s security cameras so he can fully smile at you without the pressure of the Fleet breathing down his neck. He matches the pace of your steps, remaining close behind and ready to guide you if you move in the wrong direction. His amethyst eyes follow as you slow down. Your head swivels back and forth, looking at both sides of the garage. He continues at his pace, though, and walks closer to you, a faint whiff of your spiced perfume hitting his nose.

You hesitate in your step, feeling his chest collide with your back. A gasp flies from your lips. Caleb presses his hands on top of your shoulders, his warmth seeping into your skin through the layer of leather and the fabric of your turtle neck sweater. Goosebumps form under his touch, chills running down your spine. He leans down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, slowly angling your body to the right side of the garage.

“This way, pretty bird,” he whispers into your ear. He lingers, not wanting to pull away, to forever remain attached to you. Your body perfectly fits his. Whenever he touches you, sparks ignite between your bodies.

To him, you are like the sun. Bright and beautiful with a strong gravitational pull that he’ll never be able to escape. Maybe you’re like a black hole and he has passed the point of no return, ready to be pulled apart at the atomic level, to be spaghettified. Caleb will go through the grueling process if it means that he’ll forever remain at your side (and inside you) for the rest of your lives.

You flake away from his touch, having to put some distance between you two before the camera capture a video that is not safe for work. Your heart pounds inside your chest, the tips of your ears a bright pink color. Your feet carry you away from him and in the direction he turned you in, your eyes soon capturing sight of his car. Making a beeline for it, you reach the passenger side door, hand resting on the handle, desperately needing to get inside.

Your gaze darts to him. He saunters towards the car, keys floating above the palm of his hand. Your face falls. He’s teasing you. How dare he! Removing your hand from the door’s handle, you cross your arms over your chest and pop a hip out. A quiet chuckle escapes his lips. He rounds the car and slips into your proximity once again, his cologne filling your nostrils.

Your lips part, back pressed against the door of the car. Caleb reaches beside you, his fingers looping into the car door’s handle. He leans down, the brim of his cat now shadowing your faces from the cameras. You gulp. Butterflies erupt in your stomach. The corner of his lips tugs up into a sly smirk. He pulls against the door, propping it ajar as your body is moved into his.

Fuck, he’s intoxicating.

“Your place or mine?” Caleb asks you in a low voice. His left hand twitches, fighting the urge to reach out and cup your face, to bring your lips to his in a kiss that he will fully surrender himself into.

“Yours,” you breathe the words out, your eyes fixated on his lips. He nods and guides you away from the door, fully opening and helping you inside, placing your bag into the backseat of the car. You immediately move to fix your skirt, finding a spot that’s comfortable in his expensive car.

A gentle blue light remains around the edges of the war, woven into the material, looking seamless in its design. You smile at it, always liking how it looks, and listen as the driver’s side door opens, the car dipping when he gets inside. You glance at him with a warm smile, knees locked together and angled towards him just the way he likes it (as he informed you this morning, of course). You reach behind you, Caleb getting settled in at your side and ignites the engine to life, and grab a tube of chapstick from your bag, slowly applying it to your lips.

Caleb finally returns your smile, placing his Colonel’s hat in your lap. He reaches over, his hand gripping the seatbelt. The side of his face hovers next to yours as he weaves it across your body, locking the metal piece in place. Before he can pull away, you close the minuscule distance and press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Caleb freezes. His smile grows wider and his face goes warm. You cup the side of his face, the one that isn’t facing you, and bring his head back to yours. His face grows more and more pink with every kiss that you give him. He melts into you, fully giving in as the scent of your chapstick fills the car. He tilts his face to the side, quietly chuckling.

“You missed a spot,” he murmurs, eyes flickering to you.

“Oh? Did I?” you scrunch your face at him, giggling. “Allow me to remedy that!” You press a few more kisses to the side of his face, purposefully missing his lips no matter how hard he tries to get you to press your lips to his. Once you’re done and satisfied with your work, your hand drops from his face, resting in your lap.

“Is that it?” Caleb whines, slowly retreating back into his seat. You nod and turn your face to his so you can rub it in his face that he didn’t get what he wanted.

Well…maybe you wanted him to take it.

You match Caleb’s head tilt. His purple eyes gloss over, bottom lip pouted out, slightly trembling. You narrow your eyes at him. He leans in but you draw back, wanting to play this game just a little bit longer.

“This isn’t fair,” he dramatically sighs, “you’re a bully.”

“You know what isn’t fair? Is you pulling out a puppy dog face, Caleb,” you shoot back, “you’re a grown ass man and yet I feel like I just kicked you.”

“You did kick me,” Caleb draws back and into his seat. He slaps his hands over his heart, a single tear rolling down his cheek. Now how the fuck did he manage to do that. “You kicked me in my emotions! I’m ruined! How will I ever survive, pretty bird?”

You roll your eyes despite the strings inside your heart aching and being pulled at. A sigh slowly leaves your lips followed by an eye roll. You scoff, looking between him and the dashboard in front of you. He bats his eyes when you make eye contact.

“Fine! Fuck! Whatever!” you throw your hands up into the air. Caleb’s frown is immediately replaced with a smile and he leans forward, making you meet him halfway. You press your lips against his, staying there for two seconds before beginning to pull away.

Caleb, on the other hand, has a different idea. His hand captures the back of your head and pulls you can to him. The kiss and lengthened, the man deepening it as his tongue slips inside your mouth. A sigh falls from your lips, pushing into him, but he’s the one that pulls away this time. He cups your cheek, thumb swiping off the leftover saliva that remains. He licks his lips and stares at yours. You’re already breathless.

“Let’s go home, shall we?” Caleb asks. You nod as an answer, in a lovestruck trance he’s pushed you into. He nods back and smirks, one hand on the steering wheel as the car moves out of its spot.

You melt into the passenger seat, a drunken smile on your face. A giggle threatens to leave your mouth but you swallow it. Caleb glances at you, placing his hand on your thigh, fingers pushing your skirt up by a few centimeters. You blush and look outside the tinted window, covering your face with your hands.

Your heart is just so full with love and happiness. You barely notice Skyhaven pass you by, the man weaving through the traffic like a professional, and keep your eyes away from his. He squeezes your thigh, his hand slowly creeping up and under your skirt. You push it back down, shaking your head.

Not yet.

Caleb takes the hint and keeps his eyes on the road, massaging the plushness of your thigh, loving the way your skin is so soft against his rough hands. He sighs from content, relaxing into his seat as he accelerates the car, needing to get you into his apartment as soon as possible.

This is the first time you are at his place. Caleb has been at your shabby apartment many times, having already grown accustomed to the messy environment that you live in. He helped clean up a bit, organizing it so it’ll be spotless no matter what you throw at it.

You have asked him about his apartment plenty of times. You asked about the color of his walls, the type of furniture he has, how many rooms his Colonel salary managed to get him. He joked with you, asking if you wanted to claim the leftover ones for yourself. Shamelessly, you said yes, joking that you need a room for relaxing, a room for arts and crafts, a room for your clothes, one for your shoes, and one that will serve as your personal make up room for the times you need to be alone while doing make up. Caleb laughed with you. It didn’t take much convincing for him to give you every single room, claiming that all he needs is the spot in bed next to yours to be happy.

Needless to say, your heart skipped a beat and you swooned over his sweet words.

You follow close behind him, holding your bag at your side, his Colonel hat resting on the top of your head. He holds one of your hands, arm outstretched as he takes the lead. His dress jacket is draped over his arm, the black dress shirt doing his back muscles no justice, hiding the way they flex with every move and step.

“Your hallway is much more elegant than mine,” you comment. He steals a look of you from over his shoulder. He chuckles and tugs you forward, wrapping his arm around your waist. You lean into him with a smile, pausing when you reach his door.

The door to his apartment is large. There’s only one other door, which is on the other side of the hallway all the way down on the west end while Caleb’s sits in the east. You look up at him, containing another laugh as he fumbles with his jacket to press his thumb to the pad on the door.

“Even your door is more elegant than mine.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” Caleb quips, the door finally clicking open. He pushes the heavy door open with one push. You dip under his arm and he’s quick to follow, closing the door.

Your jaw drops at the sight. After a quick scan of the immediate area. The space is large — outrageously so! The wall of the living room is a collection of floor to ceiling windows, gray curtains drawn open so the morning sun can leak inside the place. A large black couch sits in the middle of the room. A pair of chairs sit opposite of it. Slender lights hang from the ceiling at different heights. The space is dark with warm yellow lighting.

It’s so fucking nice, too!

You turn to Caleb, a look of shock and annoyance plastered across your face. He raises an eyebrow, gently taking your belongings from your arms and into his.

“What?”

“You’re…rich.”

“Well—”

“You made me pay for dinner last night!” you smack his arm with the flat side of your phone. Caleb’s eyes shoot open. He’s quick to get away from you, scurrying down a hallway just to your right. You follow him, slapping his back before jumping on his back. He holds you with ease, propping open one of the doors, which leads inside an unused bedroom, and places your belongings onto the bed. You hook an arm around his neck, tightening it. “I can’t believe you!”

Caleb laughs and exits the room, kicking the door closed behind him. You slowly tighten your arm around his neck, his chin resting on the crook of your elbow. His throat closes in on itself, the tall man quickly dipping inside the bedroom that he uses. He lets out a comedic wheeze as if you’re actually hurting him. You gasp and release your grip on him. Caleb takes your moment of weakness and plops you onto his bed.

“Hey! No fair!” you call out at him. He laughs and drops his body on top of yours.

His weight traps you between him and the mattress, not that you’re complaining anyways, and he drops his head next to yours. Your phone drops next to your head, the machine laughing at you for getting caught in Caleb’s trap so easily. His lips brush against your ear, the man making sure to move your hair to the other side of your head so he doesn’t accidentally tug on it, and he blows out a steady stream of air. You gasp and smack his back. You call him a motherfucker and pinch his side. He laughs and nuzzles his face into your neck, making himself at home.

“You’re so warm,” he whispers from delight, “and you smell good.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing. Your gaze falls to the window in his bedroom. It’s a nice view of Skyhaven, his place overlooking the tops of many buildings. His floor would directly be in the clouds on a gloomy day. You make a note to invade his space on one of those days.

Caleb glances up at you. His smile grows on his face when he notices you lost in thought. He grabs the fabric of your turtle neck sweater and tugs it down, looking at his work from the previous night. He hums to himself. His hand slips under the gentle fabric of your sweater, resting on your side. He listens to your heartbeat as it quickens before relaxing into a steady thump. In one fluid movement, Caleb shifts so he lays beside you, his hand still attached to your hip.

He pushes up the material, exposing your warm skin to the cold air of the apartment. Goosebumps form across your skin but his thumb is quick to wipe them away. You glance down at him, lips barely parted, before tearing your gaze away, choosing to focus on something else and not him. His face snaps up to yours. He shimmies back up and you laugh at how cute he is.

Caleb places his chin on your collarbone. Your fingers slip into his dark brown hair and slowly begin to scratch and massage his scalp. His eyes close and he fully places his head’s weight onto your chest. His ear sits right above your heart. He listens to the calm beats, his fingers still massaging gentle circles into the skin of your hip.

The moment is domestic. There are no underlying or hidden messages in either of your words and actions. Truth reigns here. There is no enemy other than the time that passes you by, the clock slowly counting down until you are eventually ripped away from each other, whether it is a mission or death.

“Hey, pretty bird?” Caleb whispers, his eyes now focused on your exposed skin. You hum in response, heartbeat slowly picking up its pace. “Can I kiss you?”

“You don’t need to ask,” your response is quick.

Caleb nods with a small smile. He closes the distance between your faces, now at eye level with you, and gently presses his lips to yours. You hold his head in place, fingers slightly tightening around his dark locks of hair.

The kiss is slow, tender. There is no need to hurry it or hasten your actions. There is no urgency due to lack of time or if you are about to be caught. Your breaths turn into one, eyes closed as you take your time with the kiss. The two of you smile against each other’s lips, slowly deepening the kiss, his tongue pushing inside your mouth. You sigh and lean into the kiss.

Caleb’s hand pushes up your sweater, your side and stomach now exposed to the bedroom’s atmosphere. You hiss against his mouth, the cold air shocking you back to life. His large palm rubs up and down your skin, warming you up. He murmurs a quiet sorry into your mouth.

His hand leaves your side, knees digging into the mattress beside you. Caleb’s touch is electric. Your body shudders under his touch, your hands still attached to the back of his head and hardened bicep. You squeeze his arm, silently giving him permission to go farther. Your lips move in sync with each other. He tilts his head one way and you follow, pursuing him to continue the kiss. Caleb’s fingers break the barrier between your skin and skin, slipping below the surface.

Your phone above your head vibrates. You groan and ignore it, pulling Caleb’s face back to yours when he pulls away. The vibrations stop and his hand moves further down, reaching your panties. He’s about to go further when your phone vibrates again.

Caleb’s hand leaves your skirt. He pulls away from your kiss, glaring at your phone. Your head rolls back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling. He snatched the phone from the mattress and looks at the name, turning the screen to face you. It’s Jane, your friend and bride-to-be. You roll your eyes and click the decline button. Caleb smiles and moves to place your phone to the side when Jane’s face lights up your screen again. This time, it’s a video call. You swipe the phone from Caleb’s hand. He immediately plops back into your embrace, burying his face into your neck.

“Jane!” you groan, irritation laced within your voice. “What do you need?”

“Oh! She’s snappy today!” Jane laughs. She sits at her kitchen counter, using a knife to peel an apple. She barely looks at the screen. Her posture is casual and slouched. A man passes from behind her and kisses her head.

“Hey,” the man greets you with a wave. You smile and nod back. Caleb turns his head to the side, glaring at the masculine voice that came from the phone, purple eyes hot with jealously and protection.

“Hi,” you greet back, looking at Jane, “spit it out. What do you need?”

“Oh my god! You’re so mean!” Jane finally looks at the screen. She leans in closer, brows knitting together. You match her expression, feeling Caleb’s nose nuzzle back into your skin. He draws your leg up to wrap around his waist, fingers grazing up and down the side of your leg. “Oh my god…who are you with?”

“Jane—”

“Is that The Colonel?!” she screeches. She hops from her chair and snatches the phone, her face now taking up the entire screen. You roll your eyes. Caleb chuckles, his breath hot against your neck, causing your to squirm. In the corner of the screen, you look at yourself, noticing Caleb’s head of hair poorly cropped out. “It is! Oh my god! Hi, Colonel!”

“Please don’t talk to him,” you roll your eyes, “you’ll only boost his ego some more.”

“Hi Jane,” Caleb finally turns his head to look at the screen, a bright and charming smile on his face. You groan and tilt the phone so he takes up the entirety of the screen. Jane waves to him, clapping her hands together. “What happened to the Machine nickname?”

“Hi! And ask your girlfriend! She was the one who told our group chat to refer to you as that!” Jane informs him, rushing to her fiancé to show him Caleb’s face. “Say hi to my fiancé!”

“Hi, Jane’s fiancé,” Caleb hums, chuckling. You fake throw up and he catches you, his Evol holding the phone in the air now. It pushes away from you, showcasing both you and Caleb.

“You should bring him to the wedding, girl! You do have a plus one!” Jane smiles.

Your eyes go wide. You can feel Caleb’s gaze fix on the side of your face, burning into your skin. Your cheeks go pink. Caleb smugly smirks before turning his attention to the phone screen.

“Wedding, huh?” his tone is oh so cocky. It drives you crazy. “I didn’t know about the wedding.”

“She didn’t tell you? What a loser! Take this as your invite then, Colonel Caleb! You are more than welcome to join us! Do you like steak? You seem like a steak guy. I’ll mark you down for steak!” Jane snaps her fingers at her fiancé, who quickly writes down the note for her. “And you’re so lucky that we had a last minute drop out! I’ll be able to place you next to your girlfriend!”

“I am lucky!” Caleb smirks, turning his attention back over to you. You glare at him, totally unamused as to how well he gets along with Jane. “When is it?”

“Tomorrow!” Jane beams.

“No it’s not,” you scoff, “it’s next weekend—”

“Oh, you beautiful, beautiful idiot. It’s tomorrow,” Jane informs you.

Your blood runs cold for the umpteenth time today. Caleb notices this and is quick to cover for you, using his charming smile to help cover for your mistake.

“You know how she is,” Caleb begins, “she’s always been so forgetful! We just came back from a work trip and she’s been exhausted. We’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Great! Bye!” Caleb ends the call before Jane can continue. The phone falls on the bed above your heads.

You cover your face with your hands. Caleb props himself up over you. He chuckles and uses one hand to gently remove yours from your face. You let him, too, and frown when your eyes meet. He matches it and brushes some of your hair out of your face.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Caleb asks, leaning down to peck your lips. You sigh and push him away, slowly sitting up. He brings you onto his lap and pulls you back down with you on top this time.

“I forgot her wedding,” you drop your head next to his. Your hair covers his face, obscuring his vision. He doesn’t fight it, though, and instead accepts his fate.

“That’s okay! It’s happens to—”

“Her wedding is tomorrow and my neck looks like a fucking crime scene happened!”

“Oh. Right,” Caleb sheepishly laughs. He sits you two back up, purple eyes meeting a hot and angry glare. He goes quiet, hands remaining on your waist. “How can we—”

“I’m a bridesmaid, Caleb!” you take your anger out on his chest. He lets you. “You have lost all privileges that access you to my neck! And other exposed areas!”

“What?” his jaw drops, “No! That’s not—”

You flee his arms in a frenzy. Dipping out of his bedroom, you rush to the room where he tossed your belongings. Frantically grabbing your bag, you feel Caleb’s hands grab your shoulders. He leans down and kisses your cheek. You pull away from him. He moves his hands to your waist, wrapping both arms around you. His body engulfs yours, pulling you into his body heat.

“Caleb…I have to go pack,” you breathe out.

“You can help me pack first! Then we can go to yours!”

“You suck. You’re buying the tickets for the Coelum Express. Both there AND back, motherfucker,” you try to wiggle away from him but fail. His laugh is loud in your ear. You stop fighting against him and sigh, placing your full weight into his hands, even making your legs go limp so he has to hold you. “Fine, fine. We can do that, but you need to get two more things to help remedy my neck situation.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“A shit ton of peanut butter and a whisk.”

“Sounds kinky.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The sun is shining in Linkon, even brighter than it would have in Skyhaven. There are no clouds in the sky, the vast blue having a few dark specks from birds that fly by. It’s windy as well, the skirt of your pastel colored dress kicking up in the wind. The material is like silk, just a thin layer between you and the outside world.

Jane told the bridesmaids to be at the venue at a certain time, opting to be a carefree bride for the day of her wedding. Every bridesmaid knows how to do their makeup and hair, helping save Jane money for her own makeup and hair. They were to arrive two hours before the wedding to take pictures.

You stand inside your childhood bedroom, leaning in close to a mirror as Caleb watches you from your bed. You finish the last bit of mascara, your eyelashes evenly coated, and place the tube back down onto the vanity. A few polaroid pictures are tucked between the wood and mirror; pictures of you and your friends in high school litter the perimeter. None feature Caleb, though.

“You look amazing,” Caleb coos from the bed. You smile and turn around, leaning against the vanity.

You stare at him, eyes running up and down his body as he stands from the bed. His outfit is nice, finally freeing himself from his Colonel uniform. Besides, you want Caleb to be here, not the Colonel. His dark navy blue suit jacket lays on the bed, his white dress shirt’s sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His pants match the suit jacket.

“You look very pretty as well,” you respond, slipping into his arms as soon as he opens them. He closes his eyes and rests his chin on the top of your head. He mutters a quiet thank you, to which you hum in response.

The two of you stand in silence. The sound of the outside wind and the quiet sound of your music fills the room. For once, you don’t feel anxiety clinging to your bones, rattling you. There is no voice inside of your head telling you that you suck and need to stay away from Caleb for everyone’s sake. You don’t have her voice in your head either, screaming at you about how bad of a person you are.

Caleb’s arms are your safe space. While in them, your mind goes blank. Quiet. Peaceful. It’s serene.

“We need to leave soon,” you smush your cheek into his chest, eyes closed. He holds the back of your head, making sure that he doesn’t mess up your hair that took an hour and a half to complete.

“Five more minutes,” Caleb whispers back. You nod.

When five minutes go by, neither of you let go, holding on for just a couple more seconds before slipping away. You step to the bed and grab his jacket, helping him slip it on once he gets his sleeves pushed back down. You flatten out the wrinkles on his shoulders and pick off the leftover lint and other small flecks that make his image imperfect.

He takes your hand and guides you out of the house, grabbing an extra pair of sneakers for you when your feet begin to hurt from being in heels for too long. He tosses them into the backseat after helping you into the passenger side. He settles in beside you and pulls out of the driveway, heading towards the venue.

“So, is there anybody I need to know who is going to be there?” Caleb asks. Your fingers are laced together and rest on the center console.

“Great question,” you respond while looking out the window.

The citizens of Linkon city have always been so happy, much happier compared to the people in Skyhaven. They wear bright smiles on their faces and wave at people who pass them on the sidewalk. You can’t remember the last time you smiled and waved to a random stranger was.

“Well, there’s the girls you met at the club that one night,” you breathe out, “and there’s just the guys who were in our friend group…but they’re all assholes now so you don’t really need to be nice to them.”

Caleb’s jaw tightens at the mention of your male college friends. He relaxes, though, when you tell him he doesn’t need to be nice. He certainly won’t be.

“Why don’t you introduce me to the ones that matter then, hm?” he glances at you from the corner of his eye. You nod and smile, turning to look at him.

He drives out of Linkon and to a nearby forest, one famed for its beauty and views. He follows your instructions, holding the wedding invitation in hand, and point to the sign that proclaims Jane’s wedding. He parks in a spot and immediately helps you out, helping keep the hem of your skirt off of the dirty ground. Caleb slings your purse over your shoulder and swoops you into his arms. The dust and dirt from the forest ground attach to the bottom of his pants and shoes while yours remains perfect and pristine. He sets you down once you reach the venue, setting you down on the hardened floor instead of grass.

“I never pegged Jane to be the foresty type,” Caleb comments in your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“She’s definitely not. She saw this place on Moments and decided that this is where she was going to have her wedding,” you hold back a snort and take Caleb’s hand, walking through the large building and to the room where the bridesmaids are. Once you reach the door, your drop his hand and give him a kiss, taking your purse back from him. “Are you going to be okay without me?”

“I think I might die,” Caleb sighs. You roll your eyes, known that it’s a sad attempt to convince you to try and convince Jane to let him in.

“Stop being dramatic. I heard the groomsmen are outside, why don’t you go make some friends for me, hm?” you fix his tie, tightening it around his neck. He nods and leans down, pressing one last kiss to your lips before watching you disappear inside the room.

Caleb walks down the hallway, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks around and takes in his surroundings. The building is nice. It’s like an expensive lodge for rich people, people who are in the top 1%. It’s cozy yet elegant, the warm lighting a nice touch to the wooden walls. He pops his head down a hallway before walking down it.

Voices catch his attention. The man turns down another hallway, finding himself at the back of the venue where a large glass building sits. A group of men in black suits stand just outside the door. Caleb clears his throat, putting on the best smile he can, before exiting the building. He closes the door behind him and is immediately met by the groom, the same man he saw over the phone.

“Caleb! It’s finally nice to meet you, man! Come meet my friends,” the groom, Arthur, shakes his hand, guiding Caleb to the group. All of the men greet him with one of them turned away at the drink table. Caleb smiles at them all, making a mental note of all of their names. “Last but not least, Caleb, meet Zayne! We work at Asko Hospital together!”

Caleb’s smile falters for a split second. He keeps his charm up despite the bubbling anger and annoyance that flares up in his chest. Zayne raises an eyebrow at Caleb, water bottle in hand. Their silence is palpable and the group looks back and forth.

“We’ve met,” Zayne finally manages to fill in the silence. The tension, though, remains, with only Caleb and Zayne feeling it.

“Oh really? That’s great!” Arthur celebrates, not knowing just how far back Zayne and Caleb’s rivalry goes. “I wonder how things are going with the women!”

And oh how things could not have turned out worse for you.

The bride and bridesmaids exit the building in one big group. Jane’s dress is gorgeous; it’s slender fitting and shows off all of her curves in the best way possible. You follow close behind, holding two bouquets of flowers in one hand while the other holds a long veil. Tonya is close behind with the second half of the veil, the two of you laughing. Caleb relaxes once he sees you, taking his hands out of his pockets, but immediately tenses when another familiar figure leaves the building.

It’s her. She doesn’t wear the same shade or dress as you and the other bridesmaids do. Instead, she wears a short black dress. It has a halter top and simple belt that runs around the waist. Caleb’s mouth goes dry, his heartbeat quickens. His reaction isn’t that of love or adoration, despite now having a brotherly affection towards her, but comes from a place of nervousness and anticipation.

She locks eyes with him, a small smile spreading across her face. Caleb tears his gaze away and looks at Zayne, who stares daggers at him. Caleb peels away from the group, already knowing that he’s about to be cornered no matter what.

Your eyes flicker to him while you and Tonya secure Jane’s veil to her head. You contain a sigh. Once the veil is in, you take a few steps away, bouquet in hand, and begin to walk towards Caleb. You take his hand once he’s close enough and avoid looking at the two groups that have now formed together.

“I didn’t know she was coming,” you breathe out, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah? Did you know that Zayne was coming too?” Caleb’s question catches you off guard. You blink at him, trying to process his words.

“Zayne? He’s here?” you ask. Caleb’s jaw tightens, so does his grip on your hand. “I-I didn’t know that,” you add on, finally turning around to see Zayne and her staring at you and Caleb. “Jane mentioned that a groomsman had to leave but she never mentioned that it was Zayne—”

“So you knew he was coming?” Caleb interrupts you. You can sense anger radiating off from his body. You hesitate to respond and avoid his gaze. “Pretty bird. Look at me.” You do.

“I didn’t know he was going to be a groomsman, Caleb, nor did I know if he accepted the invitation to the wedding or not. He usually says no to these things,” you reason with Caleb. He nods and takes a deep breath, turning his face away. “Let’s…let’s not have them ruin our night, yeah? We can avoid them after the ceremony. Hell, we can probably leave early if we want to!”

“That’s okay,” he turns back to you. He brushes your hair out of your face, mentally making a note to find the time to fight the fucking wind, and sighs. “Jane needs your support! And we’re here to give it to her! I’ll play nice with Zayne, I promise.”

“Oh good. He’s now decided to play nice,” Zayne’s voice breaks through your conversation with you and Caleb. Goosebumps form on your skin. Caleb instinctually pulls you to his side, eyes narrowing at the hazel eyed man. You turn to her, who wears a fake smile on her face.

“You look nice tonight,” she says to you. You smile back, wrapping your arm around Caleb’s, hand resting on his bicep.

“Thank you,” you begin, “your dress looks beautiful on you!”

“Might I suggest we address the elephant in the room?” Zayne, always the voice of reason, asks. The remaining three people nod and he places his hands on his hips. “I brought her here as my date tonight, let me get that out of the way. I did not know that you,” he looks at Caleb, “were going to be here. Now, I think we all possess the ability to act like adults tonight, correct? Let’s set aside our…differences and agree to be cordial for the sake of Jane and Arthur.”

“I agree,” you chime in, looking up at Caleb, “they deserve to have a good night together. We shouldn’t ruin that with petty drama.” Caleb nods. The two of you look at her and Zayne. They nod as well. “Great!”

“Wonderful!” she mimes your cheery tone. You suck in your cheeks, holding back a snarky comment, and smile with a fake laugh. Zayne turns around and walks away, bringing her with him. You turn to Caleb and lean into his side, feeling his muscles tense and flex under your touch.

“Are you going to be okay?” you whisper. He weakly nods. “Are you sure? I can see if you can replace Zayne as the groomsman if you want me to.” Your joke flies right over Caleb’s head. He stares at you, completely serious, and nods.

“Okay. Go do that.”

“What?” a laugh leaves your lips, “I’m not going to do that! I was joking! Babe, you’re going to survive this. I’m going to survive this. We’re going to do great, yeah?”

Oh, how wrong you will be.

You are yelled at by Jane and immediately leave Caleb’s side, slipping your purse over his shoulder once again. You and the other bridesmaids take photos together. Jane is always at the center, alongside Arthur, and you have to move every minute or so in a new order because Jane doesn’t know what she wants yet. You collide with other women, sometimes with Zayne or another groomsmen, and laugh while they try to fix your hair. For one photo, Zayne stands at your side, leaning into your side. You smile at the camera hoping to whatever god is out there that Caleb doesn’t take Zayne’s actions as an act of war.

“Hey! Bring your boyfriend over! Jane wants a pic of us together!” Arthur shouts from afar. You nod and look at Caleb, who sits in a chair with his arms crossed over his arms, a glare focused on Zayne. You yell his name and his head immediately snaps in your direction, face softening. You wave him over with a wink and he jumps up, rushing over to your side. He wraps his arm around you and you guide him over to Jane and Arthur.

Caleb smirks as he passes by Zayne, wagging a finger at him without you noticing. Zayne rolls his eyes. She, on the other hand, crosses her arms over her chest at the revelation, a scowl permanently carved into her face.

You stand at Jane’s side, Caleb smiling and shaking Arthur’s hand once again as a more formal meeting since the quartet stands far away from the group. You hug Jane and the photographer snaps a few candid shots before the two couples get situated and stand exactly how Jane tells them to. The photographer grabs the pictures and Jane immediately turns to you and Caleb.

“I want a picture of my darling best friend and her Colonel! Thank you! You can’t say no because I’m the bride!” Jane hurries away, standing next to the photographer now. You laugh and Caleb smiles.

“Whatever the bride wants, the bride gets, right?” Caleb’s arm slinks around your waist, hugging you close to him. Your hand rests on his chest, your bouquet of flowers hanging at his lower back. He tilts his head head to yours, smiling brightly as your eyes are exposed to bright flashes of light. He kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “I love you so much, you’re so beautiful.”

Before you have a chance to respond, you are grabbed by other bridesmaids. Guests begin to arrive and Jane dips inside the building, dragging you with her. You gasp and reach for Caleb. He holds on for a few seconds before letting go, waving as you’re pushed inside. He watches as they draw the curtains closed, chuckling. His smile fades, though, when he notices Zayne entering the building last, a smug smirk on his face.

“Caleb,” her voice beckons from behind. He turns around and looks down at her, hands in his pockets. “Will you sit with me? I’m afraid I don’t know anybody else here!” She laughs. Caleb immediately nods since he is in the same situation as her.

“Sure!” he cheerily says. She wraps her arm in his and he guides them towards the venue’s seating. “It’ll give us some time to catch up with each other, pip-squeak!”

Once all of the guests are in their seats and Jane is ready to begun, the ceremony begins.

The groom walks down the aisle on his own. He smiles at people in the crowd, his eyes already teary from the overwhelming moment in his life. He turns on his heel and the Best Man and Maid of Honor, Tonya, walk down the aisle. You’re next and surprise surprise, you’re partnered with Zayne.

He holds out his arm to you. You take it, hand resting on his forearm. His body tenses. You look up at him and give his arm a reassuring squeeze, you step through the doors and whisper, “lean onto me if you need it!” to him as you approach the crowd.

Caleb turns his head around, sitting in an aisle seat towards the front so he can get a good look at you. He notices you first as you approach the aisle. His heart stops. It swells, butterflies fluttering inside his chest and torso when you take the first step down the white aisle.

White flower petals are scattered across the floor. You walk down with such confidence, a bold and bright smile on your face. Tears well in his eyes at the sight. Oh, he loves you much and you don’t even know it.

When you draw closer is when Caleb finally notices Zayne at your side. His body heats up in an instant, heart pounding inside his chest. Each beat can be heard in his ears. Every thump rattles his ribs. His ears turn red. He calms down once your eyes meet. He breathing slows, no longer hollow. He follows your body as you pass by him, the bottom of your skirt grazing against his ankle, leaving him already wanting more.

You part with Zayne at the altar and stand in your spot, watching as the other duos walk down the aisle. The music changes, signaling Jane’s arrival. Everyone stands and turns around to watch her walk. Caleb, though, remains standing forward, locking eyes with you.

Caleb places his hand over his heart. He can feel each and every individual beat under his fingers. Your cheeks heat from a blush but you’re unable to look away from him.

You can’t help but wonder if you’ll get to this point with Caleb. When it is time for your future wedding, will you be picking out a dress with him in the back of your mind? Will it be him that you tie your future to?

It’s one you’ve dreamed of as a child and throughout your first year of high school. You had the music picked out with a dress cut out of a bridal magazine you stole from your cousin. You sighed whenever you looked at the small notebook. It hid all of your secrets, including the crush you had on Caleb. You wrote your names a million times over in a pink glitter pen. Hearts and flowers decorated the page, filling in any left over space. A few pages over is a list of first dance songs that were popular at the time and if you turned the page, you’d see your doodles of what your dream venue looked like.

It must be on a spring day! The sky must be blue and beautiful, just how Caleb likes it!

Caleb wonders what kind of dress you’ll wear on your wedding day. He knows that regardless, he’s going to be tearing up and crying the moment he sees you down the aisle. He’d tell you to buy two with his credit card so he can rip one off of your body when your honeymoon begins. He won’t even have a say in the planning and will always give into whatever it is that you want. He’ll smile and nod, running his fingers through your hair as you talk his ear off about flowers and bouquets and how it will go along with the perfect venue you chose and will compliment the colors of your bridesmaids dresses.

A tear rolls down your cheek and you wipe it away, tearing your gaze away from Caleb once he sits down and the ceremony begins.

It’s beautiful. Everyone smiles and laughs at their vows, a few guests and bridesmaids (including yourself) crying when it becomes sappy and pulls at your heartstrings. You hide your face behind your bouquet of flowers at one point, not being able to hold your emotions in as Jane declares her undying love for Arthur. She’s crying, too, and can barely make it through her vows without shaking and trembling. They kiss and the crowd erupts into cheers, standing and clapping for the newly wed couple.

Once the ceremony is over, Jane and Arthur walk down the aisle hand in hand. The cheers continue as they walk back inside the building. You and the other bridesmaids and groomsmen follow suit, exiting in the order people walked down the aisle. Your grip on Zayne’s arm is loose. Once you reach Caleb’s side, you reach out and squeeze his hand, having to let go after a brief second.

The reception room is impeccably decorated. The lights are warm and small, slowly flickering as if they’re stars in the night sky. Caleb sits in his assigned seat, waiting for you to come back to his side. He sighs and looks around, scanning the room. People are already drinking; their laughs are loud and boom across the room. The servers are dressed in all black, contrasting the whites, golds, and light purple color scheme. He sighs and turns to his phone, scrolling through unread messages from the Fleet and Ever.

You enter the room with the other bridesmaids and groomsmen, people barely even paying attention since the group isn’t going to be announced like how Jane and Arthur will be. The seating chart has been seared into your brain and you easily find your way to Caleb. He doesn’t look up from the table, eyes cemented onto his phone.

“Caleb,” you call out once you stand behind him. He turns around and stands from his seat, bringing you into his arms. You gasp and wrap your arms around his neck, chuckling. “Hi, babe, did you enjoy the ceremony?” you ask once you pull away.

“I did, yes,” he cups your cheek. “I was mainly focused on you, though. You are…utterly captivating.”

Your cheeks heat up. You look away and bite your lip, rolling your eyes as an attempt to get the brush to go away. Caleb catches it, though, and kisses your forehead, turning around to pull your seat out for you. You sit down and take his hand, smiling at him.

Zayne sits with her at another table across the room. They’re on the grooms side with the other groomsmen while you and Caleb sit with the other bridesmaids and their partners. A blessing in disguise.

The dinner goes by quick. It is filled with laughter and speeches from Jane and Arthur’s parents alongside the Best Man and Maid of Honor’s speeches. You’re so happy that the responsibility didn’t fall onto you for a speech. Public speaking isn’t your strong suit and it would have been even more embarrassing because of the three people from your childhood: one that you hate, one that you’re on okay terms with, and one that you’re fucking and contemplating marriage with only two days into your relationship.

Dinner plates are taken away and the majority of the room jumps up and rushes to the dance floor. The party begins but you and Caleb remain in your seats, holding hands and smiling at each other. His thumb rubs your knuckles, your chair pulled as close to his as possible, legs tangled together. He leans in and whispers sweet nothings into your ear, causing you to blush and laugh. Every touch is loving, every touch tender and caring.

The two of you purposefully stayed in your seats as long as you did. You didn’t want to be interrupted nor did you want to risk being intercepted by someone from your childhoods. Whenever one of you wanted a drink, you went together, hand in hand, and even followed one another to the bathroom and waited outside. It’s a calculated move, yes, and one that worked, that is, until you two grew restless while the rest of the party had fun.

The music slows and Caleb pushes away from the table. He holds out his hand to you, which you immediately take, and he guides you to the dance floor. You smile as he pulls you into him, hand resting on your lower back while holding your other hand.

“I feel like we just did this, no?” you chuckle under the dimmed lighting. Caleb smiles and nods, leaning down to peck your lips.

“We got interrupted last time. I just know we won’t be this time,” he helps move your arms around his neck, planting his hands onto your waist. You melt into him and close your eyes, swaying back and forth to the music. You hum along, which is music to Caleb’s ears, and he presses his head against yours. Caleb gently pulls away and spins you out before pulling you back in. The two of you share a quiet laugh. You turn in his arms and drape your arms back around his neck.

The midpoint of the song doesn’t even pass before someone taps your shoulder. You sink back down onto the floor, slowly turning to see her standing behind you. Your grip loosens on Caleb, smile falling.

“Mind if I cut in for a dance?” she sweetly asks. You glance at Caleb and clear your throat. He doesn’t say anything. Annoyance flares inside your chest. You nod and step away, faking a smile, before swiftly exiting the dance floor.

You walk back to your seat and sit down. Your hands tremble. Your heart pounds inside your chest. Was it always beating this fast? Or is this something new entirely? Heat burns from within your lungs, causing your heart to ache. Your ears ring. It feels as if someone has their hand around your throat, slowly tightening it, pins and needles poking into your skin.

You swipe your tongue over your teeth, your eyes trained on Caleb and her. They stand close to each other but Caleb keeps a respectable distance. It makes you happy to see him respecting your relationship but cannot help but feel jealous over the fact that he’s dancing with another woman, someone who isn’t you.

“I don’t think you have taken a single breath for the past minute.”

You turn and look up at Zayne, who stands behind Caleb’s chair. He gestures to the seat. Hesitation fills your mind but against your better judgment, you nod. Zayne sits down beside you, your knees barely touching. The two of you sit in silence, watching as the couples dance and glide across the floor.

The song comes to an end. Hope forms inside your chest, watching as Caleb pulls away from her. She pulls him back in, though, and he doesn’t fight it, his hands returning to her hips.

You purse your lips before biting down on the inside of your cheek with enough force and pressure to draw blood. You force yourself to look away, meeting Zayne’s calm eyes. You sigh and scratch the back of your neck, embarrassment flooding your body.

“Can we…talk?” Zayne asks. You blink at him, unsure if it’s a good idea. You don’t immediately answer. He nods and glances at the dance floor. Caleb’s back is to you two now. “I understand if you don’t want to speak. I, on the other hand, have something to say. I hope you’ll be willing to listen to me.”

“I’ll listen,” you shakily breathe out. You begin to pick at the skin around your fingernails, pulling on the skin as fresh and stinging red lines appear on your fingers. It’s a nasty habit you’ve picked up, one that you always seem to do when your heart is slowly being ripped into pieces. At least the physical pain can help deter some the emotional anguish you feel.

“Thank you,” Zayne keeps his eyes on you. He reaches out and places one hand on top of yours, stopping you from continuing. His hand is cold but it feels nice against your hot skin. “Do you think you can take a deep breath for me? I would like to ensure that you’re breathing.”

“I’m not your patient,” you snap back.

“Breathe with me as someone who is on your side, then.”

Your eyes glue themselves onto Zayne’s. Up close, his hazel eyes lean more onto the green side, the center of his iris having the most yellow compared to the outer rim. He slowly inhales, chest puffing out. You match his inhale, his eyes never leaving yours. When he exhales, so do you. Your heart begins to slow, your hot skin cooling down.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Zayne begins, catching you off guard. Tears immediately sting your eyes but ou blink them away, quickly recovering.

“Yeah?” your voice is raspy, ready to break at any moment.

Caleb and her stand in the middle of the dance floor, no longer moving. Your heart goes still, no more air in your lungs.

“Yes,” Zayne continues, “he doesn’t love you.” His words slice into your skin. How can you believe them, though? Isn’t Zayne biased against Caleb? Besides, Caleb isn’t here to defend himself. You can’t fully believe him! “He’s infatuated. There is no permanent love when it comes to infatuation, just lust and desire. A temporary love that will only leave you more broken than you started.”

“So you think I’m broken?” the words come out just above a whisper.

“I think he broke you.”

A breath leaves your mouth. Your lungs burn on the inside of your chest, cheeks pink from embarrassment and anger. You remain silent, drowning out the music and cheering voices. You blink away your tears but one escapes, rolling down your cheek. Your eyes turn back to the dance floor, finding Caleb’s back once again. You stare at him, unable to tear your gaze away while Zayne speaks.

“I saw the way he treated you when we were kids. You always came in last place while everyone else came before you. You weren’t a friend, you were a backup plan he had. Since she isn’t in Skyhaven but you are, he is bound to go to you instead of her. Do you know that he calls her whenever you aren’t around? He always texts her throughout the day and tells her how much he misses her, that he can’t wait to see her. Even while you were on your business trip, he was sending her photos and messages like any good boyfriend would.”

Boyfriend.

The word echoes inside your now screaming mind. You bottom lip trembles. Silent tears freely flow from your eyes. Every word is like a bullet that buries itself deep into your skin. Your muscles ache. You don’t even realize that your fists are balled on your lap, nails digging into your palms. The stinging pain helps divert some of the emotional weight that has been placed onto your shoulders but it’s not enough to carry the full package. You look down at your lap, palms now a bright red from the blood rushing to the crescent marks on your hands.

“You have always been second compared to her. But to me…you have always been first,” Zayne whispers.

You turn your head to look at him. Your eyes are red and irritated. Your shoulders slump as you fight off sobs and dry heaves. Nausea sweeps over your body. He reaches for you but you scoot back, your chair bumping into the others. You swallow nothing down your dry throat, the feeling leaving you sore and uncomfortable.

“I guess that makes you just like me, then,” your words shake and hang in the air. Zayne raises an eyebrow at you. His hands reach for yours but you pull away immediately, unable to even handle someone’s touch right now. He remains silent, his eyes burning into yours. You stand from the table and gather your belongings. You are about to step away when Zayne’s voice causes you to stop.

“How so?” Zayne asks after seconds tick by.

“We both love someone who will never be able to fully love us back.”

From afar, Caleb steps away from her. He hesitates once he sees you and Zayne talking. His heart races inside his chest. His eyes flit between you and the doctor, watching your teary eyes reflect the lights of the venue. His heart splits in two.

You turn, wiping a tear from your eye, and head for the exit. You sling your purse over your shoulder, the body hitting your hip as you walk. Through teary eyes, you slip your phone from your bag and step out into the fresh night air. The wind chills your skin, cooling you down.

“Hey,” Caleb’s voice calls out from behind. You don’t turn around and instead pull up a taxi app on your phone. He places his hand on your shoulder but you’re quick to slip away. “What’s…what’s wrong? What did he say to you?” Caleb asks. When you don’t respond, he snatches the phone from your hands.

“Stop it, Caleb,” you warn. He stares at your screen, looking at your progress. You wrote about half of the address before he took the phone from you. You reach out, trying to get the tiny machine back, but Caleb immediately pockets it and grabs your face.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me—”

“Caleb! Get away from her!” Her shrill voice is like nails on a chalkboard to you. You flinch and push Caleb off of you, your mind now running at a mile a minute, unable to keep up with the unfolding situation. “We’re not done talking!”

“Go back inside!” Caleb calls out to her, but she doesn’t listen. She looks up at him with crazed eyes, lip snarled.

“We aren’t done talking. I don’t approve of your relationship with her!” She points to you. An arrow goes through your heart and breaks, the wood splintering and poking into your organs and veins. It would hurt but the pain you hold in your chest is already incomprehensible.

“Stop that!” Caleb says back. “Let’s talk about this later—”

“Later?” you chuckle, hysteria beginning to claim you as its own. Tears keep rolling down your cheeks. He turns to look at you. Your gaze sharpens. It makes his stomach drop.

“Does she not know what we’ve been through, Caleb?” she steps in between you and him. You don’t even do anything to stop it. You turn around and wipe your tears away, digging through your bag for the car keys. “Does she know that you and I are inseparable?”

“I said not now!” Caleb raises his voice. It only makes her angrier, though. “We’ll talk about this later. I need to—”

“Oh no, don’t stop on my account,” you interject. They stare at you with wide eyes. “I’ve always come between you, so i’ll just remove myself.” You nod and begin to walk away. Caleb grabs your hand, bringing you back to him but you remain at an arm’s length. His skin burns against yours. You try to wiggle away but his grip only tightens, cracking your bones.

“No. I need to comfort my girlfriend and make for sure that she is okay,” Caleb speaks directly at you. You shiver. He turns to her, “you have crossed a line. I’ll speak to you later.”

“NO!” she shrieks. “You are going to stay here and talk to me! I don’t care about her or her feelings! I never have! I have only ever cared about you, Caleb! Can’t you see that she is ruining us? Our relationship? She’s always been a poison! She’s going to push us apart! She’s seduced you! How can you live with that?”

Caleb doesn’t respond. You stare at his face, seeing the wheels turn inside his brain.

Anger boils over inside your chest but for once, you feel calm. The anger is no longer hot. It is cold, cool to the touch. It feels like you are breathing in the snowy winter air in Skyhaven. Your feet no longer drag against the ground. You no longer carry the weight of your sadness and pain on your shoulders. You are now light and airy, weightless.

You step around Caleb and yank your hand away from his. He watches you, purple eyes wide in the moonlight. You approach her, taking a deep breath as you look down at her. She takes a step back, a look of nervousness flashing across her face before she covers it up. You wait a few seconds, pulling together the right words to say.

“I am going to say this once and one time only. I am going to say this because Caleb doesn’t have a fucking backbone when it comes to you, so listen up,” you tower over her yet your face remains emotionless. It sends shivers down her spine. “I am not a poison. I am not worthless. I did not seduce Caleb. I am a human being with god damn feelings. You cannot treat me like I am the shit on the bottom of your shoe. You may have done that when we were kids and ruined my self esteem back then, but I’m not going to be your punching bag anymore.”

“I-I didn’t treat you like—”

“You cried on my birthdays and took half of my presents because you made my parents feel bad for you. You were smart back then, using your sob backstory to your advantage. You made fun of the way I dressed, the way I talked. Whenever I had friends over, you would cry and kick and scream to be included even though it was my friend group, not yours. You purposefully used my crush against Caleb against me. You dangled him in front of me knowing that I liked him, knowing that he was one of two people who ever treated me like a human being but even then it was close to nothing. The bare fucking minimum. You interrupted us doing homework and even ruined our first high school dance because you didn’t feel included. Well guess what, princess! It didn’t include you because you weren’t old enough! Sorry if that hurt your feelings, but some things just do not involve you!”

Her jaw drops. Caleb places his hand on your shoulder but you shrug it off.

“Now that I have finally found some peace in my life and have gotten to a place where I can feel human again, you just have to walk right in and ruin that too, right? Because seeing me thrive and be happy is the bane of your existence. How dare I be happy? How dare I reconnect with a boy I knew in my childhood!” You pause and take a deep breath, taking a single step forward and lower your voice, “I was just a kid just like you…but we’re adults now. You treated me like fucking shit just like you are now. You’ve haven’t changed. You’ve remained the same desperate little girl clinging to whatever she can to justify her shitty actions. Now, I don’t give a flying fuck what you think about Caleb and I’s relationship. We don’t need your permission. If he wanted you, he would be with you, not me. But I’ll give you once more chance. Just one. I’m going to go walk back to my car now,” you turn to Caleb, your face serious with an underlying anger in your eyes, “if he follows me, then I’ll take it that he actually wants to remain in my life. I’ll learn to co-exist with you for his sake because I’ll never ask him to choose between us, unlike you. If he stays behind with you, well, you’ve won. You two deserve each other. I’ll be the villain in your story. Just keep me the fuck out of it.”

Without wasting another second, you push past Caleb, shoulder bumping into his arm. You cross the grassy field at a fast pace, stopping to slip your heels off of your feet. You let out a frustrated yell and throw your shoe at the car. The alarm starts to go off and you grab your purse, furiously digging through to find the keys.

A pair of hands rest on top of yours. You pause and look up through your blurry vision. You can’t make out his face, but his cologne is familiar to you. Caleb sighs and pulls you into his arms. You tuck your head under his chin, finally letting go as sobs overtake your body. You ball your fists up and slam them against his arms. He takes every hit.

The two of you stand there until you fall silent, too tired to continue. Caleb looks inside your purse for you and grabs the keys. He clicks a button and the alarm stops blaring. Neither of you speak. No words fill the silence. He opens up the car door for you and you slip inside. The door remains open. He goes inside the back seat and grabs your sneakers. He comes around and takes your heels from you, brushing the dirt and blades off grass off of your feet, slipping your feet inside the shoes. He closes the door and gets inside the drivers side, quickly pulling away.

Both of Caleb’s hands remain on the wheel. You face away from him, staring outside the car window.

A part of you is grateful that he followed you. That he chose you. However, another part of your soul, your heart, aches at the fact that there is going to be a nuclear meltdown within the next couple of days that you will be forced to go through. She will certainly have words to share with you and for Caleb’s sake, you hope that he grows a backbone until then.

The drive is silent. Neither of you turn on the radio. The purr of the car’s old engine mixes in with the sound of the car’s A.C., the faint whirr in the background. You sniffle and hug your arms to your body.

Caleb looks at you when the roads are empty. His heart rips into two, straight down the middle. The once lively heart, the boy who grow tired. His once constant positive attitude begins to wither. The inner boy inside of his soul begins to decay.

Is this how you have felt all of these years? he thinks to himself. Has the feeling of disappointment and despair chipped at your soul the whole time?

The car comes to a stop. You blink at your house, the gate closing behind the car. You get out before he can open the door. You make a beeline for the door, swiping the keys from your hands. You stare anthem under the orange porch light, the buzzing from a nearby bug catcher in the same tone as your simmering irritation. The door swings open and you turn around, pressing a hand to Caleb’s chest, stopping him from following.

“Find another way in. If you really want this,” you gesture between you two, “you’ll figure it out.”

Petty? Yes. Deserved? Fucking maybe. Who cares. He can hold this against you for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t complain. You, quite frankly, need to see him work for it instead of following like a puppy dog.

The door closes in his face. You press your back against it, the tears forming in your eyes once again. Quickly making your way up the stairs, you dart inside your bedroom, and strip away the dress on your body, throwing it to the side. You go to the bathroom and immediately hop in the shower, your jewelry remaining on your body as the cold water pours over you. It makes you alert, awake, and all too aware of what you said.

Do you regret it? No, not really. If anything, it was therapeutic for you to get out. Could you have been a bit nicer to her? Sure. Of course. But you weren’t. That’s a burden you’ll carry with you wherever you go.

You step out, face bare and body clean. After drying yourself off, you slip into one of Caleb’s old shirts and into a pair of spandex. You lay down in your bed, covering your face with the sheets, closing your eyes, wishing the pain would leave you alone.

Time ticks by. You don’t check your phone. You don’t have the energy to. How much time has passed? An hour? Fifteen minutes? Five? Two hours? It doesn’t matter. He hasn’t returned.

You sit up in bed, the sheets pooling around your waist. You look around, eyes grazing over the window where the moon hangs low in the sky. You sigh.

He’s left you, hasn’t he? Honestly, you wouldn’t even be surprised if he did. You wouldn’t blame him for it, either. You’re a mess. A complete and utter disaster that is holding on with three pieces of duct tape and a dream.

A clink on the window.

You turn your head, eyebrow raised. Another clink. You get up and push against the windows, pushing them open. You dodge a small pebble at the last moment, looking down at Caleb who stands on the ground below.

“Hi, pretty bird,” he calls out, “my lovely Juliet.” You roll your eyes.

He holds a few white flowers in his hand and a box in the other. His Evol plucks them from his hands, the objects hovering behind him. He approaches the vine wall on the side of your house. It leads directly up to your bedroom where your two windows are. He grabs hold of the wooden structure underneath the vines, his hands scraping against the thorns and stray sticks. They poke into his skin but he pushes through it, slowly climbing the vine wall to get to you.

Once Caleb is close enough, you lean out the window, noticing the dirt on his hands, the sweat that forms in beads across his forehead. He grunts every time he pulls himself up, the objects still floating behind him. His dirty hand grabs the windowsill, pulling himself up with one last burst of energy.

His face leans up to yours, mere inches away from each other. You don’t pull away and neither does he. You purse your lips and pull away, watching as he brings himself inside your bedroom with surprising elegance and grace. He shrugs his jacket off and tosses it to the side. The flowers and black box float into his hands, his purple eyes never leaving yours.

You stand in the middle of your bedroom. His shirt is baggy on you, the material stretched and worn out from him over the years. The words are faded but you’re wearing his DAA exercise shirt. You like how comforting the cotton material is against your skin. He sighs, dirt covering his pants and white dress shirt. He takes a step towards you. Your eyes never leave his. You gulp.

“These…are for you,” he holds out the flowers. It’s a variety.

An apple red tulip. A white carnation. A light blue hyacinth. A single pink rose. A daisy.

“I got them from the gardens in the neighborhood. And this,” he taps the box, “is from the shop I worked at in high school.”

You take them from him, noticing the small specks of blood that sprouts from his thumb and index finger. He plucked off every single thorn so you wouldn’t get hurt. You rest them along your forearm and he steps forward, holding out the box. The stems of the flowers are uneven, most likely plucked from nearby gardens. He slowly opens it. On the inside is a small glass butterfly. Its wings is a deep red that fades into a light pink at the tips. Its body remains clear. Your heart aches. Your eyes fill with tears. You look up at him, bottom lip pouting out to try and stop you from crying.

“I…I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what Zayne said to you to make you cry and I really don’t know why she had to make things worse. I don’t know what to do or say to make you forgive me or what I need to do to make you fully trust me again,” he begins in a quiet voice. “All I know is that I love you. I love you…so much, pretty bird,” his voice cracks. You step forward and place a hand on his chest. It slows his beating heart almost instantly. “I can’t lose you. When you closed the door on my face, my world went black and white.”

“Caleb,” you cup his cheek with your free hand. He leans into your touch.

“I need you in your life…but I also need her in my life,” he whispers. You nod. “I can’t lose either of you and it pains me that there’s nothing I can do to help or mend the tension between you two.”

“It’s okay, Caleb,” you breathe out. He shakes his head.

“No. No it’s not. You’re my girlfriend, the woman that I want to spend the rest of my life with. The way she treated you both in childhood and now is despicable. She’s not the same girl I used to know…so I called her. I set boundaries for us and made her realize that it’s you who I want to be with, not her.”

Tears roll down Caleb’s cheeks. You gently wipe them away. He leans down and presses his forehead into yours. He takes a deep breath, you with him, and his hands finally touch you. He places them on your waist, remaining over the fabric of his shirt, and sighs.

“I know that our relationship isn’t going to be perfect. I know it isn’t going to be fixed overnight and to be bandaged up with a single sorry. That’s not possible. I know you’re hurting. Please…please let me take some of your pain away. Let me carry the tension and angst you feel in your body. Let me carry that load for you. Rely on me, pretty bird. Use me.”

“Caleb,” his name from your mouth is like the nectar of the gods. He pulls away and looks down at you. You sigh and bite your lip, peering into his deep purple and glossy eyes. “It’s okay to cry. Don’t keep it in.”

He nods. A single tear rolls down his cheek. You wipe it away. More follow. His tears are hot against your chilled skin. You wipe away every single one that comes out, his body shuddering. You peel away for a split second, placing the flowers and butterfly on your desk. You move back to him and pull him into your embrace. Caleb buries his face into your neck, arms tightly locking around your waist. He pulls you closer. You inhale the smell of dirt and sweat from his hair, holding the back of his head.

The two of you succumb to the ground. He leans forward, holding you in his lap, holding onto you for dear life. Your fingers tangle into his hair, massaging his head. He whimpers.

“Please don’t leave me,” he cries into your neck, his words muffled yet legible.

“I’m not,” you whisper into his ear.

You move his face in front of yours, your hands on his cheeks. You lean in and kiss away every single tear that falls down his face. Your lips become salty and hot. His tears mix with yours. He sniffles and squeezes your waist. His tears slow down and his breathing steadies. You remain in his arms, whispering reassurances to him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Caleb, we’re in this together, okay?” your voice is gentle despite the anger that remains inside your chest. He nods and takes a deep breath.

“Together?” Caleb repeats the word back to you. You nod.

“Together.”

please drop a like, reblog, & comment!! i love see what you all have to say <3

#caleb x reader #caleb x non!mc reader #caleb x fem reader #caleb x you #lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #caleb angst #caleb fluff #caleb xia #xia yizhou #lnds #love and deepspace caleb angst #lads angst #rcvcgers writings

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this-is-tiny-mia · 2 days ago

Text

Table 11 (H.S One Shot)

ceo!harry x fem!reader

Summary: based on this request. An encounter at a restaurant brings together Y/N, a hardworking waitress with little time for love, and Harry, a successful yet guarded man who fears opening up. Both hesitant to risk their hearts, they find themselves drawn to each other, their bond growing through late-night conversations, stolen moments, and quiet acts of understanding.

A/n: Hi again!! my second one shot out there! i’m so excited! i hope you all enjoy it and thanks to @panini for sending the request i enjoyed writing this sooo much. And as always thanks to @eileenrry for hyping me up always. If you wish to be tagged in other works please comment, or dm me.

Word count: 8k

Warnings: A tiny bit of angst, use of y/n, casual alcohol consumption over dinner, 700 words of SMUT at the end, use of puppy and daddy, unprotected sex. (If i missed something please do not hesitate to tell me)

“Can you grab table 6 for me?” you asked Mandy while balancing three cocktails on a tray, your fingers trembling slightly from the weight. It was Valentine’s season, and Velours et Flamme was packed to the brim. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses echoed through the gilded dining room, where even the flickering candlelight seemed to exude wealth.

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t Valentine’s Day yet—everyone wanted their moment under the chandeliers. For them, it was romance; for you, it was a chaotic shift.

You’d been working at Velours et Flamme for a year now, and you knew the drill: smug diners with wallets thicker than your rent, checks that could pay off your student loans, and that absurd scotch on the menu—£1,500 a pour. To this day, you were waiting for the kind of client who would actually order it.

“Sure thing,” Mandy said with a wink, swooping past you with practiced ease. She had a knack for smoothing things over, whether it was with a picky customer or a stressed coworker. If Mandy wasn’t here, you weren’t sure how you’d survive these shifts.

London was unforgiving, and the pay barely covered the essentials—your rent, your transit card, and the occasional discount coffee from the café down the street. Your shoes, now with a small but growing hole near the toe, told the story of just how tight things had become. God forbid you needed to replace anything.

As Mandy headed for table 6, you stole a moment to glance around the room. The scent of truffle oil and roasted lamb was in the air, mingling with the sharper scent of overpriced cologne. Couples leaned in close at every table, champagne glasses raised, their conversations drowning in the clinking cutlery and soft piano music. Mandy, as usual, glided effortlessly between the chaos. She was stunning—like she belonged on the cover of Vogue instead of weaving through tables at Velours. The way she carried herself, you wouldn’t guess she was struggling just as much as you were. But you knew better. Beneath her flawless smile and the perfectly knotted apron, she was just like you: one bad week away from disaster.

You adjusted the tray in your hands and sighed. This was your life now. Maybe someday you’d climb out of this rut, but for now, it was all about surviving one shift at a time.

Just as you turned to deliver the drinks to table 9, the heavy oak doors of the restaurant creaked open, and the cold London air swept in. You glanced toward the entrance, catching sight of a man walking in. His tailored coat was with some raindrops, and his dark hair was just long enough to curl at the edges.

He was greeted by the host, and you caught his name—Harry Styles. You watched as the host confirmed his reservation.

Harry was alone, which was odd for this time of year. Valentine’s season practically demanded companionship at a place like this. But maybe his date was running late. Or his wife? You glanced at his left hand, but from this distance, it was impossible to tell.

He looked about 33, though it was hard to pin down exactly—youthful yet mature, effortlessly put-together in a way that suggested his wardrobe cost more than your yearly salary. His tailored black coat hung perfectly over broad shoulders, and when he ran a hand through his hair, the movement seemed practiced, like he was used to being observed.

And worth a million dollars? That part wasn’t in question. Everything about him screamed money—the subtle watch peeking out from his cuff, the polished leather boots, the way he carried himself like the room was his even though he’d just walked in.

The host gestured for him to follow, leading him straight to a table in your section. Your section.

You felt a flicker of something—nerves? Annoyance? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. All you knew was that your curiosity had been piqued. You adjusted your apron and reached for the notepad tucked into your pocket, readying yourself to take his order.

Before you could take a step, Mandy appeared at your side, her lips curving into a sly smile.

“Think that’s the guy who’s finally ordering the scotch?” she teased, nudging you with her elbow.

You snorted softly, shaking your head. “If he does, I’ll frame the receipt,” you muttered.

Mandy’s grin widened, and she winked before sashaying off toward table 6.

You took a steadying breath and made your way toward his table. As you approached, you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze briefly flicked up from the menu he’d been scanning

“Good evening,” you said, forcing your voice to steady as you reached his table. “Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

He looked towards his phone on the table “Just water for now, thanks,” he said, his voice rich and smooth, but maybe with a tired undertone

Not the scotch, then.

“Of course,” you replied, scribbling it down. You walked towards the bar and Mandy was there patiently waiting

“The scotch??” she asked, her smile mischievous as her eyes flicked over your shoulder in the direction of his table.

“Water,” you said, your voice tinged with mock defeat as you plopped your notepad on the counter.

Mandy looked at you for a moment before the bartender slid the glass of water across the counter. She grabbed it and handed it to you with a knowing smile. “C’mon don’t be so sad, we will find that scotch guy”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you headed back to his table. As you approached, you couldn’t help but glance at him again—his fingers tapping idly against the edge of the table, his eyes scanning the room but never settling on anything. There was something about him, something you couldn’t quite place.

“Here you go,” you said, placing the glass of water on the table.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Can I get the smoked salmon, the asparagus salad, and…” He paused, finally looking at you. The pause lingered longer than you expected. “A Blackthorn Reserve. Neat,” he finished, his gaze still fixed on you.

“Smoked salmon, asparagus salad, and Blackthorn Reserve,” you repeated, trying to read him, but his expression gave nothing away.

“Thanks…” he said going back to his phone No date, no wife—just him, casually dining in an absurdly expensive restaurant while everyone else was tangled in whispered conversations and candlelit stares. He was the only one alone, a stark contrast to the Valentine’s frenzy buzzing around.

Something about him tugged at your curiosity. Why was he here, of all places? Who was he? How much was his coat, and why did it cost more than your rent? Rich men came and went every day, dripping with smugness and entitlement, but he was different. There was no show, no pretense. He treated this place like it was McDonald’s—calm, unbothered, as if the exclusivity and extravagance meant nothing to him. That nonchalance only added to the mystery, making it impossible not to wonder what his story was.

The bar hummed with activity, a low symphony of clinking glasses, muted laughter, and the occasional scrape of chairs against polished wood. You navigated the crowd, the weight of the tray in your hand feeling oddly grounding amidst the chaos.

“Can I get a Blackthorne Reserve, neat?” you said to the bartender on call. He barely glanced up, focused on shaking a cocktail for the group at the other end of the counter. The momentary wait was a blessing—giving you a second to steal a glance at him again. He sat at the corner table, the one slightly shrouded in shadow. His posture was relaxed, one hand tracing the rim of the empty glass in front of him.

When his drink was ready, you balanced the tray carefully and made your way over. The coaster slid neatly onto the table before you placed the drink on top.

“Blackthorne Reserve, neat,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt.

He looked up, his expression calm yet unreadable. “Thanks... Can I get your name, please?” His tone was casual, but his words carried a strange weight that made your heart stutter.

“Y/N, sir,” you replied, meeting his gaze for a second longer than you intended.

“Thanks, Y/N.” He smiled then—a small, soft smile that you could feel, inexplicably, in your chest.

You nodded and turned away, heading to the next table, though you were suddenly more aware of the way you moved. You kept busy—taking orders, clearing plates, laughing politely at some table’s joke. Yet, every so often, your gaze wandered back to him. He wasn’t demanding, not like some of the regulars who snapped fingers or tapped glasses. No, he sat with an air of quiet patience, occasionally checking his phone, occasionally glancing around the room. You wondered what had brought him here tonight. A celebration? A distraction?

When his dinner order was ready, you rushed to the kitchen pass, grabbing the plate with a precision born of habit. You steadied your breathing as you approached his table, placing the dish down with care.

“Smoked salmon and asparagus salad,” you announced.

“Perfect, Y/N. Thank you so much,” he said, and there it was again—the faint curve of his lips, his voice as soft as it was warm.

The evening rush began to taper off, leaving the restaurant quieter but no less busy. You caught sight of him still at his table, the remnants of his meal neatly pushed to the side. His glass sat empty now, save for the last amber droplet at the bottom, and you found yourself wondering if he was ready to leave.

Before you could approach, he raised his hand slightly—a small, deliberate gesture that seemed to summon only you.

“Another Blackthorne Reserve?” he asked when you were close enough to hear.

“Of course, sir.”

“Drop the ‘sir,’ please,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a barely-there smile. “Harry, my name it’s Harry”

You felt a flush of warmth creep up your neck but nodded. “Coming right up, Harry”

At the bar, you relayed the order, watching out of the corner of your eye as he leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting lazily around the room. By the time his drink was ready, you were certain he had no intention of rushing out. You placed the glass in front of him with the same careful precision. “Blackthorne Reserve,” you said softly.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter now, as though the dimming energy of the restaurant had reached him too. “Anything else?” you said softly

He didn’t immediately answered instead, he cradled the glass in his hands, staring down at the dark liquid for a moment before lifting his gaze again. His eyes roamed the room, landing briefly on each table. Couples sat scattered around the restaurant—some leaning close, sharing quiet conversations; others laughing over shared plates. A few tables sat in comfortable silence, the kind that came from years of companionship. And then at you.

“Busy night,” he murmured, catching you lingering nearby.

You looked around as if you didn’t knew it ws a busy night, then nodded. “Always is, especially with so many couples out. Valentine’s coming up”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice carrying a wistful note. He swirled the drink in his glass before taking a slow sip. “Guess I picked the wrong night to dine alone.”

The words caught you off guard, but you managed a polite smile. “Some people prefer it. A quiet drink, good food—it’s not a bad way to spend an evening.”

He looked at you then, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “What about you? Do you get much time for quiet evenings like this?”

The question was unexpected, and you faltered. “Not much,” you admitted. “Work keeps me busy.”

He nodded, as if that answer satisfied him, but there was something in his gaze that lingered. It felt like he wanted to say more but didn’t. As the evening wore on, he stayed longer than most, nursing his second drink and watching the world around him with a quiet attentiveness. You found yourself glancing his way more often than you meant to, wondering what kept him there—and whether he might ask for something else before the night was over. The restaurant was nearly empty now, the hum of conversation replaced by the clatter of plates being cleared and the occasional murmur of the remaining people. You passed by his table one last time, noting the way he stared into the near-empty glass, lost in thought.

As if sensing your presence, he looked up and offered a faint smile. “Can I get the check, please?”

You nodded, quickly retrieving the bill and placing it on the table. “Here you go.”

He glanced at it, pulled out a sleek black card, and handed it back to you. “Thanks, Y/N.”

The transaction was quick, and when you returned with the receipt, he stood, slipping the signed copy back into your hands.

“Have a good night,” he said softly, pausing just long enough to meet your eyes before heading toward the door.You watched him leave, his figure disappearing into the cool night air. The faint sound of the door closing behind him was a strange punctuation mark to the evening—unremarkable, yet lingering all the same.

And then, the rhythm of work pulled you back, but you couldn’t quite shake the weight of his presence. “Y/N? C’mon there’s a lot of mess here” you heard Mandy and glanced at her, plates, glasses, napkins. It was going to be a long week.

-----

Valentine’s day arrived and the soft murmur of conversations filled the elegant space of Velours et Flamme. You were just adjusting a neatly folded napkin at your station. It was already late, just 2 hours before closing, couples were coming and going, but this was the last shift of reservations

“Good evening, welcome to Velours et Flamme. Do you have a reservation?” the host asked.

“Yes, Styles. Harry Styles,” came the reply. His voice was smooth, distinct, and enough to draw your eyes toward him. Standing tall in a sleek coat.

“Table 11, if possible,” he added with a polite nod, his gaze drifting briefly over the dining area.

“Table 11 is currently busy, but I can offer you 19. It’s a lovely table by the window.”

There was a brief pause “19 it is,” he said, his voice tinged with reluctance.

The host gestured toward the far side of the room, leading him past softly glowing tables and couples lost in intimate conversations. He sat down, still looking for you but his perspective was interrupted by Mandy, the epitome of calm under pressure, She greeted him warmly, placing a menu on the table. “Good evening, sir. Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Can I start you off with a drink tonight?”

He looked up from the menu, his polite smile softening as he spoke. “Thanks, but before I order… Is Y/N working tonight?”

Mandy blinked, caught off guard, but quickly recovered. “Y/N? Oh, yes, she’s here tonight. She’s been covering the other section.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, his expression unreadable “Do you think she could take my table instead?”

Mandy’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Of course. Let me check with her, and I’ll be right back.”

As Mandy walked toward you, you noticed her smirking like she was holding onto some juicy secret. “You’ve got a request,” she said, her tone teasing.

Your brows furrowed. “A request? For what?”

“For you,” she said, nodding toward table 19. “Mr. Styles wants you to take his table. Any idea what that’s about?”

Your stomach flipped at the mention of his name. You clearly remembered him from two nights ago. You wiped your hands on your apron, trying to steady yourself. “I’ll take it and you can take table 10 for me” you said, as you headed toward his table.

When you arrived, he looked up, his expression softening into a warm smile. “Y/N,” he said, your name sounding effortless on his lips. “Good to see you.”

“Good evening, Mr. Styles,” you replied, your voice steady despite the quickening beat of your heart. “I’ll be taking care of your table tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?” “Wine, Soléne Blanc, Truffle-infused Fettuccine and sparkling water” he said not even looking at the menu “Coming right up” you said smiling, you somehow felt happy, you had your usuals clients, but they were cold, smug, mostly annoying, him? totally different vibe. You kept serving him with a small smile, always checking in case he needed something, but he didn’t ask for much. He ate quietly, sipping his wine and enjoying his pasta like it was just another evening out. Like if the restaurant wasn’t all decorated with heart balloons and cupid stuff.

The night went on, and the restaurant slowly emptied. Couples left hand in hand, tables were cleared, and the soft hum of conversation faded away. Eventually, it was just one other customer in the far corner—and him. You busied yourself wiping down tables and resetting for the next day, glancing at his table now and then. He didn’t look like he was in a rush, finishing his wine and leaning back slightly in his chair.

Finally, he raised his hand, and you walked over, thinking he was ready to leave.

“Would you like the check, Mr. Styles?” you asked politely, ready to grab it for him.

But instead of nodding, he looked up at you, his expression calm but curious. “Not just yet,” he said. “Are you allowed to sit down for a bit?”

The question caught you off guard. “Yes, of course,” you said, glancing around. The manager and the host had gone home early that day to be with their SOs, but you? Along with the servers, chefs, and cleaning staff? Yeah, no such luck.

You sat down across from him, feeling a bit nervous, not sure what this was all about.

“You know,” he started, his tone hesitant, “I don’t know if this is weird at all—and you can tell me to fuck off if it is—but...” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t have many friends, and tonight... I just need to vent.”

“Well, I’m a good listener,” you replied, suddenly way more curious than before.

He exhaled deeply, his hand still resting on the base of his glass. “It’s Valentine’s Day, you know?” he started, glancing out the window. “Supposed to be about love, connection... all that.” He let out a dry laugh. “But here I am, eating dinner alone, wondering if I’ve got it all wrong.”

You tilted your head slightly, encouraging him to go on.

“My love life?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s... nonexistent. And it’s not like I haven’t tried. But most people don’t stick around. They see me, and they assume—‘CEO,’ right? So they’re either intimidated or they expect me to be some larger-than-life, perfect version of myself. I end up pushing people away because... what’s the point? I’ll never be what they want me to be. And even if I could... it wouldn’t feel real.”

He paused, his expression softening. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? A room full of people earlier tonight, and I’ve never felt lonelier. Sometimes, it feels like there’s this... wall between me and the rest of the world. Like I’ll never find someone who’s really... my person.”

Your heart ached a little at his words. “I don’t think that’s stupid at all,” you said softly. “I mean, I get it... in a way. Maybe not from a CEO perspective,” you added with a small laugh, “but... I get it.”

You leaned forward, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the table. “I’ve been working as a waitress for years now. Just trying to make ends meet, you know? And between shifts and side jobs, there’s no time for... anything else. No time for dating or even dreaming about a real future.

“The few boyfriends I’ve had?” you continued, shaking your head. “They never got it. They’d complain about me working too much or not spending enough time with them. But they never thought about my goals—what I wanted. And let’s be real,” you added with a small shrug, “it’s not like my paycheck could make those dreams happen anyway. So, yeah, I guess I’ve given up on that, too. What’s the point, right?”

You let out a short laugh, trying to lighten the moment, but he didn’t laugh with you. Instead, he studied you, his expression softening even more.

“It’s different,” you said quickly, “but... I think I understand. Feeling like you’re giving so much of yourself but never really... being seen.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on yours. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Exactly that.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the kitchen winding down and the soft hum of the music filled the space between you.

“Thanks” “Anytime”

-----

After that first night, when he opened up to you, something shifted. He became a regular, showing up more often than you expected. Always in your section. Always polite, Always Harry. with that soft smile that somehow made your stomach flip no matter how much you tried to ignore it. And yet, every time he walked through the door, you felt a tiny pang of dread mixed with curiosity.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t kind—he was. He never made you feel uncomfortable, never crossed a line. But that was exactly the problem. It was too easy to talk to him, to laugh at his dry jokes or share fleeting glimpses of yourself you hadn’t meant to reveal. You’d been down this road before, or so you told yourself. You knew what happened when you let someone in. It started with little things—a laugh, a smile, a shared moment. And before you knew it, your heart was tied up in something messy, something that always felt like it demanded too much of you.

Your exes had taught you that love wasn’t about equal footing, at least not for someone like you. Love had been another job, another place where you had to prove yourself, where your dreams took a backseat because someone else needed more—more time, more attention, more of you.

And now, here he was. Harry. A man who, on the surface, seemed worlds apart from you but had a way of making you feel like he truly saw you. And that terrified you.

Because what if he didn’t? What if, like everyone else, he was drawn to an idea of you—someone kind, patient, maybe even a little mysterious—but not the real you? The one who worked double shifts just to keep the lights on, who barely had time to think about her own dreams, let alone share them with someone else?

So, you kept your walls up. You kept things professional, polite. You smiled, laughed when it felt safe, but you never let yourself think too much about why his visits mattered or why your heart raced when you saw him.

Until that night.

You brought the check over as you always did, a practiced smile on your face. He signed it, handed it back, and thanked you like he always did. But rushed to go out.

When you glanced down at the receipt, your breath caught.

“123-456-7890 Call me? - Harry”

The number scrawled below it was neat, confident, like he hadn’t hesitated for a second. But you did.

You gripped the paper tightly, your mind spinning. This was the moment you dreaded—the moment where things teetered on the edge of something more. And with it came all the fears you’d been trying to bury.

Because what if he meant it? What if he actually wanted something real? What if he saw more in you than you could see in yourself? And maybe worst of all... what if you let yourself hope, only to have it all fall apart again?

You froze for a moment, staring at the slip of paper, your mind racing. He had just walked out the door, and you glanced after him through the window, catching the faintest glimpse of his silhouette.

----- A few nights passed, and you convinced yourself that ignoring the receipt was the right thing to do. The thought of calling him felt too big, too real. You’d gotten good at guarding your heart, at keeping things simple. But deep down, you felt the faint sting of regret every time you thought about it.

Then, on a quiet evening, as the rush died down, there he was.

You saw him before he saw you, his figure familiar now, confident but approachable. He made his way to the host stand, scanning the room until his eyes landed on you. His smile was soft, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t entirely sure he’d made the right decision coming back.

“Table 11 again?” he asked the host.

---

You approached, trying to steady your nerves. “Good evening,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

“Hi,” he replied, leaning slightly forward. His expression wasn’t upset, but there was something thoughtful in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”

You shook your head, unsure what to say. “Why would i?”

“I just wanted to check in,” he said. “About the number. I wasn’t sure if I crossed a line leaving it. If I did, I’m really sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

You blinked, surprised. The last thing you expected was for him to apologize. God you expected an angry response, even pretentious but you even scolded yourself in your mind just thinking Harry was capable of that. “No, you didn’t cross a line,” you said quickly. “Not at all. It’s just...” You hesitated, feeling your walls crack ever so slightly. “It’s complicated.”

“I get that,” he said softly, leaning back in his chair. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I’d want.” The sincerity in his voice made something shift in you. For all your fears about opening up, he was here, not pushing, not demanding, just... waiting. The crack on your walls was now getting bigger.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “For saying that. And for... being patient.”

He nodded, smiling faintly. “I figured it was worth it. You seem worth it.”

The words hung between you, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. Your chest felt tight, like you were standing at the edge of something unknown. And then, before you could overthink it, you made a decision.

One wall completely down.

You reached into your apron pocket, your fingers brushing against the scrap of paper you’d tucked away days ago. Slowly, you slid it out, unfolding it carefully before placing it on the table in front of him.

He glanced down, his brows lifting slightly as he recognized the paper.

“I didn’t call i did save the number in my phone but..i didn’t call…” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I was scared. I’ve always been scared. But maybe...” You took a shaky breath. “Maybe I’m tired of being scared.”

His eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something you hadn’t let yourself hope for—understanding, warmth, maybe even relief.

“So,” you continued, your voice steadying as you looked him in the eye. “If the offer’s still open, I’d like to start over.”

His smile widened, and he picked up the slip of paper, tucking it into his jacket pocket like it was something precious.

“The offer’s still open,” he said, his tone light but full of meaning.

For the first time in a long time, you let yourself smile back. “Can I start you off with something to drink?” you said going back to your waitress self, but this time with a big smile on your face.

The rest of the night carried an air of something new, something unspoken. You noticed it in the way his gaze lingered as you brought over his glass of wine—a different one tonight, a crisp Sauvignon Blanc.

“You’re not sticking to a favorite?” you teased lightly as you set the glass down.

He smirked, his fingers brushing the stem. “I like variety. Keeps things interesting.”

“Does that apply to everything or just wine?” you asked, surprising yourself with the boldness.

He chuckled “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

The banter flowed easily after that, your interactions feeling more relaxed, almost playful. When you brought out his dinner—tonight, a wild mushroom risotto—you couldn’t help but make a small quip.

“Risotto,” you said, placing the plate down. “Trying to impress someone tonight?”

“Just my server,” he replied smoothly, making you glance away with a shy smile.

As the evening wore on and the restaurant began to empty, you found yourself gravitating toward his table more often. He didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he welcomed your presence with a smile each time. When he finally asked for the check you came quickly and handed it over.

“Thanks,” he said, glancing up as he pulled out his card. “Should i leave another note on the receipt or should i ask right away?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “About what?”

He handed back the signed receipt, a sly grin on his face. “Well, if we are skipping the middleman. Have dinner with me—somewhere that isn’t here. I promise I won’t make you serve me.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how casually he’d said it. “You’re asking me out?”

“Too fast?” he teased.

“A little,” you admitted, but your heart was pounding. “But i like it this time”

He stood, shrugging on his jacket. “Well, think about it. No pressure. Just... somewhere nice, where we can talk and you don’t have to carry plates around.”

You couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “Okay,” you said softly. “But only if I get to pick the place, no fancy Michelin-star restaurants.”

“Deal,” he said, standing and shrugging on his coat. “But just so you know, I’m good with street tacos or diner burgers.”

The laugh that bubbled out of you was genuine, and as he waved goodnight and walked out into the night, you realized you were already looking forward to whatever came next.

-----

The dates started slow, testing the waters of this new, fragile connection. Their first was at a cozy, family-owned pizzeria, far removed from the polished dining spaces Harry was used to frequenting. They sat in a corner booth, sharing stories over thin-crust slices and soda. You learned that his laugh came easily when he was truly comfortable, and also learned or imagined how wealthy he was. Him telling you about his company didn’t compared how one of your ex-boyfriends talked about a new crypto. He was passionate, honest, not even mentioning how much money he makes in a year, it was pure. As pure as corporate can get.

After that, there was a second date at an indie bookstore. Harry had smiled as you danced from shelf to shelf, excitedly recommending titles, while he kept his hands tucked in his pockets, quietly absorbing your passion. You ended up leaving with two novels you insisted he had to read and a poetry collection he bought, saying, “I thought of you when I saw this.”

Then came the late-night phone calls. You both quickly learned that your lives rarely aligned, but you made the most of the small pockets of time you shared. He’d call after a long day at work, his voice a little tired but steady as he asked about your day. You’d talk quietly from your bed, recounting the chaos of the dinner rush and sharing little anecdotes about your coworkers. sometimes until you fell asleep and he heard your steady breathing through the call.

“Do you ever get a day off?” he joked one night, his voice warm through the receiver.

“Not often,” you admitted. “But I’m used to it. And hey, at least I’m not running a company.”

“Touché,” he replied, laughing softly. “But don’t think for a second I’m not impressed by what you do.”

The weeks passed in a flurry of mismatched schedules and stolen moments. When aligning your off-days seemed impossible, Harry started stopping by the restaurant on his way home from work, not to eat but just to see you.

“Table for one?” you teased the first time he showed up unexpectedly.

“Not quite,” he said with a smile, taking a seat at the bar instead. “Just water, please. I didn’t want to add to your workload. i just wanted to see you”

You brought him the water, leaning against the counter for a brief moment when the restaurant was quiet. “You didn’t have to come all this way,” you said softly.

“I wanted to,” he replied, his gaze steady. “You’re the best part of my day.” ---

The first kiss came on a rainy night after one of those visits. The restaurant was closing, and he had waited outside under the awning as you locked up. When you stepped out into the night, he was there with an umbrella, holding it out for you.

“Need a ride home?” he asked.

You nodded, and he quickly arrived to your place. At your door, there was a brief pause as you turned to thank him.

Before you could speak, he leaned in, his movements precise, as though giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. When his lips met yours, it was soft and sure, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

It wasn’t hurried or frantic—it was the kind of kiss that made you feel like you had all the time in the world. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe you deserved this. When he pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, he whispered, “Finally.”

You laughed softly, your cheeks warm despite the cool rain. “Took you long enough.”

And with that, the lines between your busy lives blurred a little more, the moments you carved out for each other feeling less like an interruption and more like a necessity.

----

It happened on an unusually quiet night. You were sitting across from him at his place, a cozy loft that felt miles away from the chaos of the restaurant. The table was littered with the remnants of takeout boxes, and you were laughing at a story he had told about a disastrous business trip. The laughter faded into a comfortable silence, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning your face as if trying to figure out the best way to say something.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his tone casual but his expression serious.

“That sounds dangerous,” you teased, though the look on his face made your heart flutter with curiosity.

“I’m serious,” he said with a small smile, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the table. “I’ve been watching how hard you work. You’re on your feet all day, running around, dealing with difficult customers. And then you come home and somehow still have the energy to take care of everything else in your life.”

“That’s just life,” you said, shrugging. “You know how it is. You make it work.”

“I know,” he said, his voice softening. “But it doesn’t have to be like that. Not for you.”

You frowned slightly, unsure of where this was going. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I’m saying I could offer you something different. A way to work that doesn’t involve twelve-hour shifts and aching feet. Something where you’d have more time for yourself, for your dreams, and…”—his voice faltered just slightly—“for us.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you leaned back in your chair, trying to process his words. “Harry, are you asking me to quit my job?”

“Not asking,” he clarified quickly. “Just… suggesting. If you wanted to. I could offer you a job. Something in my company, but nothing high-pressure. Maybe in admin, or operations, or whatever you’d like. You’d have a flexible schedule, a good paycheck, and, most importantly, time to breathe.” Of course he wasn’t asking, he’s Harry, ALWAYS making sure it was purely your decision.

The weight of his offer hung in the air, and you felt a tangle of emotions—gratitude, doubt, and an overwhelming sense of being cared for in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I don’t know,” you said slowly, trying to find the right words. “I’ve always worked for everything I have. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m just…”

“Stop,” he said gently, cutting you off. “This isn’t about charity. It’s about giving someone I care about a chance to live their life differently. You deserve that. And it’s not just for you—it’s for me too. I want to see you happy. I want to see us happy.”

You looked at him, his eyes earnest and unwavering. “And you think this would make me happy?”

“I do,” he said simply. “But it’s your choice. If you’re not ready, or if you want to keep things as they are, that’s okay. I’ll still come to the restaurant and order my overpriced water just to see you.”

That last comment made you laugh, easing the tension in the room. You stared down at the table, tracing the edge of a takeout container with your finger. “What would I even do at your company?” you asked softly.

His expression brightened slightly, and he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Anything you want. Admin, scheduling, planning events—whatever feels right to you. And we can figure it out together. No pressure.”

You bit your lip, considering his words. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious,” he said, his tone firm but gentle. “You deserve more than what you’ve been settling for. And selfishly…I’d love to have more time with you.”

His honesty warmed you in a way you hadn’t expected. For so long, you’d carried everything alone, convinced that leaning on someone else meant weakness. But Harry wasn’t asking you to lean on him; he was offering to walk beside you.

“Okay,” you said finally, the word barely audible.

His brows lifted in surprise. “Okay?”

You nodded, a nervous laugh escaping. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll work for you.”

The grin that spread across his face was enough to make your heart skip a beat. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

“I better not,” you teased, though the smile on your face betrayed your nervousness. “But just so you know, I’m not going to be some pushover employee. If you’re a terrible boss, I’ll quit.”

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Fair enough. But I think you’ll find I’m quite charming.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. “We’ll see about that.”

In that moment, the fear you’d been carrying felt lighter. You weren’t just throwing yourself off a cliff—you were trusting that Harry would catch you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe that was okay.

----

Life had changed in ways neither of you could have imagined. The small apartment you'd once called home was now replaced by a shared space filled with light, laughter, and little touches of each other everywhere—his collection of vinyl records stacked neatly in the corner, your books scattered on the coffee table, and the scent of fresh flowers he insisted on buying for you every week.

You had found a rhythm together, a balance between his busy days running his company and your own work, which had evolved into a role that allowed your creativity to shine. You weren’t just an employee at his company—you were a partner, bringing ideas and energy to projects in ways you never thought possible. And at the heart of it all, there was love. Open, unapologetic, and boundless love.

Mornings were filled with teasing banter over breakfast, and nights ended with shared dreams and whispered promises under the covers. On weekends, you’d go on adventures—sometimes exploring new cities, other times simply enjoying lazy days at home. There was no hesitation in showing how much you adored each other, whether it was in the way he’d kiss your forehead absentmindedly or the way you’d hold his hand tightly in crowded rooms.

One evening, after a particularly exciting day of work, Harry had an idea. “Let’s go out for dinner,” he said, tossing his jacket onto the back of the couch.

“Sure,” you replied, grabbing your shoes. “Where to?”

He paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Velours et Flamme.”

You froze for a second, then burst out laughing. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all,” he said, his grin widening. “It’s been a while. I think it’s time we revisit the place where it all started.”

Despite your initial hesitance, you found yourself walking into the restaurant hand-in-hand with him that evening. The familiar scent of wine and spices filled the air, and the decor, though slightly updated, still held the charm you remembered.

The host greeted you with a polite smile “Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Do you have a reservation?”

“Styles,” Harry said smoothly, squeezing your hand.

You were led to a table by the window, the same spot you’d served him on that Valentine’s Day when everything began. As you sat down, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you.

“This feels surreal,” you admitted, glancing around.

“Good surreal?” he asked, his eyes twinkling as he leaned forward.

“Very good surreal,” you said, smiling and carefully looking at the menu, when an idea quickly popped into your mind. You bit your lip, hesitating for a brief moment before speaking up. “Can I splurge a little? Or maybe… a lot?”

Harry tilted his head, intrigued. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, glancing at the menu with a playful smile.

You took a deep breath, letting your finger trace over the menu’s edges before landing on the words you’d been eyeing. “Cairnburn 18,” you said firmly, looking at him with a small, determined smile.

“Scotch?” he asked, raising an eyebrow but not even glancing at the price.

“It’s something I need to do. Please,” you said softly, a touch of vulnerability in your tone.

He didn’t question it, didn’t protest or ask for a reason. Instead, his expression softened, and he reached for your hand, cradling it gently before bringing it to his lips. The kiss he pressed to the top of your hand was tender, a silent reassurance. “Anything you want,” he said, his voice calm and sincere.

The waiter arrived, and Harry placed the order without hesitation, his gaze never leaving yours. You couldn’t help but feel a swell of gratitude for him in that moment—not just for agreeing, but for understanding without needing an explanation.

As the Cairnburn 18 arrived, the rich, £1,500 a pour, amber liquid catching the light, you smiled and raised your glass to him. “To us,” you said simply.

“To us,” he echoed, clinking his glass gently against yours. ----

You both knew how the rest of the night would go the minute you left the restaurant. Back home, he helped you undress, kissing every inch of exposed skin as he did. When you were bare, he pressed his lips to yours, the heat between you building as his hands roamed over your body.

The way he touched you everytime was unhurried, like he was memorizing every curve. His fingers teased along your collarbone, traced your hips, and softly grabbed your breasts. His hands were everywhere, But nowhere near the place you needed him most.

Finally, he pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire. You let him guide you to the bed, watching as he stripped off his clothes and joined you. The heat of his body was intoxicating, and you found yourself craving more—more contact, more skin, more of him.

He sensed your need because he moved closer, the length of his body pressed against yours, his cock hard and thick against your thigh. You ached for him, the anticipation coiling in you, but he didn't rush.

Instead, he trailed kisses along your neck, his stubble rough against your sensitive skin. His fingers danced along your inner thigh, teasing closer and closer to your folds. When he finally touched you, it was with a firm, confident stroke, his thumb brushing against your clit and making you gasp. "Harry..." you moaned breathless

"Yes puppy?" He asked with an innocent tone and used that nickname that made you weak, and kept up the torturous pace, working you higher and higher until you were a trembling mess beneath him. You moaned, begging him for more, and he finally relented, easing a finger inside of you and setting a relentless rhythm. “More” Your pleasure built quickly, the intensity making you cry out, but just as you were about to tip over the edge, he pulled away. Before you could protest, he positioned himself between your legs, his cock hard and glistening at the tip.

He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on either side of your head and gazing down at you with a look of pure devotion. "I love you," he whispered, the words sending a thrill through your entire body. "And I'm gonna take care of you, puppy. Always."

With that, he thrust into you, filling you completely and stealing the breath from your lungs. The feeling of him inside you was almost too much, and you clung to him, desperate for more.

"Fuck, Harry," you breathed. He didn't respond, instead burying his face in your neck and moving slowly, deeply, as if he was savoring every moment. His hands roamed your body, teasing and caressing as his hips continued their torturous rhythm.

"Do you like it puppy? me being so deep inside you?"

You could only nod, too overwhelmed to form words. The sensations were overwhelming, the pleasure building and building until it threatened to consume you.

Suddenly, he shifted, changing the angle and hitting a spot deep inside you that made you see stars. "it's so....big" you barely said in a moan

"That's right puppy. Take all of it. Just like that"

You writhed beneath him, unable to hold back the moans spilling from your lips. Your release was within reach, and when he finally slid a hand between your bodies, stroking your clit, it was enough to send you tumbling over the edge. "Come on daddy's cock puppy, don't be shy" he murmured

His words were enough to push you over the edge, your body tensing and trembling as pleasure washed over you. You felt him pulse inside you, and he followed soon after, his breath hot on your neck as he came with a groan filling you with his hot cum.

When the last waves of your orgasm faded, you collapsed against him, completely spent. You both stayed there for a moment, tangled in each other's arms, neither of you willing to break the spell.

Eventually, he pulled out and gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nuzzled into his chest, breathing in the scent of his skin and the faint trace of his cologne.

Both of you were now cuddled in bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting warm light across the room. Harry’s arm was wrapped securely around you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your shoulder as you rested your head against his chest, listening to the now steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Your eyes drifted to the two frames hung just above the bed. The first one held the receipt from the night that had changed everything—the receipt where he’d written his number, sparking a connection that had grown into the life you shared now.

The second frame hung beside it, empty but not forgotten. Its purpose was clear—it was waiting for tonight’s receipt, the one with the Cairnburn 18 scribbled on it. The night where everything had come full circle.

Taglist: @hermionelove

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #hs4 #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #Table 11 #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #hs fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #harry styles x you #ceorry #harry styles smut

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drtyelvisfantasy · 3 days ago

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SAVE YOUR LOVE

LINEMAN!RAFE X STRIPPER!READER AU

note: this is my first one-shot for this AU so I hope you all enjoy it. please feel free to give any feedback. please reblog and like this post, I also suggest you read this post to get more information about Rafe and the reader. enjoy <3

summary: Rafe doesn't like it when you bring up his family

warnings: angst, mentions of sex but nothing explicit, mentions of domestic violence, infidelity, Rafe being an asshole, biggg age gap, manipulation, let me know if I am missing anything!!

the reader is 19 and Rafe is probably in his late 30s

Rafe let out a contented sigh from the comfort of the hotel bed, his shirt lying around the room, exposing his muscled chest for me to see. This was our routine every time Rafe came down to Las Vegas for "work." He would come to the club to watch me dance, we'd make love in the hotel room, and then we'd lay there in silence as shame and guilt ate us alive.

He watched me with his intense blue eyes as he sat against the headboard, lazily smoking a cigarette, never breaking eye contact. This time, he was in no rush to leave—he had already booked the hotel room for a couple more days.

"When are you leaving?" I asked, a touch of sadness in my voice.

Rafe took another drag of his cigarette, blowing out a cloud of smoke as he smirked—amused that I even had the nerve to ask, as if I wanted him gone.

"I booked the room for two more days," he replied, his Southern accent laced with irritation.

"Oh," I said, shocked. Usually, when Rafe came to visit, he only stayed for a day before leaving. It was rare for him to stay longer.

Rafe's eyes roamed over my body, appreciating the way my silk robe hugged my curves, the soft flesh that was left bare exposed. His fingers twitched, his patience thinning, and he took another deep puff from the cigarette to calm himself.

"Um… I have to ask you something," I said hesitantly.

"What is it?" Rafe replied, but this time, his tone carried a hint of annoyance.

"Are you ever gonna leave Sofia?"

Rafe's irritation was instant. This was a conversation he refused to have. He flicked the ash off his cigarette and took a long, deep drag before answering.

"This again? Damn it, I told you to stop bringing her up."

His voice was sharp, annoyed, yet somehow still calm. Rafe knew better than to raise his voice at me.

"I'm sorry—" I started, but he cut me off.

"Why do you always have to bring her up? You know I don’t wanna hear her name."

His tone grew harsher, his grip on the cigarette tightening. He avoided looking at me, staring up at the ceiling instead. He didn’t want to think about his wife and children—not while he was here with me.

"Well, you said you’d leave her for me, that we could have a family and—"

Rafe cut me off again, his irritation quickly turning into anger.

"Quit it. I never said anything about leaving her and starting a family with you. You're being delusional if you think that."

"You said it, Rafe. You told me—"

"No, I didn’t. You’re imagining things."

Rafe’s voice was low, his patience wearing thin. He stubbed out the cigarette with more force than necessary.

"I may have said that I love you. I may have whispered stupid, sentimental shit when we're in bed together, but I have never, ever said I’d leave my wife for you."

I sat there on the bed, looking stupid—helpless, even. I always felt bad for making Rafe upset like this. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face, frustration evident in his movements. He was growing tired of this conversation, and it was quickly killing his mood.

"Why do you keep bringing it up? Why can't you just be happy with what we have? I thought you loved me too, but here you are, getting all emotional and clingy."

Rafe was right. Why couldn’t I just be happy with the time we had together? But the thought of sharing him with another woman ate me alive. He got to go home to a beautiful house, a loving wife, and children—while I was left here, searching for happiness in any man who showed me the slightest bit of attention.

"I do love you, I really do. I just want us to be happy—" I pleaded, trying to ease the tension in the room.

Rage flared up inside Rafe, his fists clenching as though he wanted to punch a wall.

"Stop it! Just stop it, damn it! I don’t want to be reminded of my family when I’m here with you! They are irrelevant and have nothing to do with this—nothing to do with us!"

"I’m sorry," I whispered, tears threatening to spill from my eyes.

Rafe ran a hand over his face, trying to calm himself. He took a deep breath and let out a frustrated sigh.

"You should be. You know how sick it makes me feel when you bring them up? I don’t want to remember them when I’m with you. I only want to think about you. Isn’t that enough?"

"Yes, Rafe. It is."

Rafe studied me closely, his gaze softening slightly. He hated when things got like this, hated the tension and hurt he saw in my eyes. With a sigh, he held out his hand, gesturing for me to come closer.

"Come here."

I eagerly crawled into Rafe’s lap and started to cry.

"You know I hate fighting with you, baby…" he whispered, his breath warm against my skin as his fingers traced lazy circles over my hip.

"I do too."

Rafe's grip tightened, his hand sliding up my body, his touch possessive. He brought his lips to my neck, placing soft kisses along my skin.

"Then promise me—promise me you’ll never bring up my wife and kids again. Just keep them out of your pretty little head when I’m here with you, yeah?"

"Okay… I promise," I murmured softly.

Rafe nipped at my neck, his teeth grazing my skin gently before sucking on the sensitive spot there, his hands roaming my body.

"Good girl…" he murmured against my skin, his voice thick with desire.

We made love that night.

This was the continuous cycle every time Rafe was with me. No matter how many times we argued, or when he left a handprint on my face, I always ran back to him—because the thought of being alone would forever haunt me.

#rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe fic #rafe cameron thoughts #rafe fanfiction #lineman!rafe x stripper!reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe imagine #rafe x you #rafe smut #rafe angst #rafe outer banks #dark!rafe x reader #dark!rafe cameron

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tucsonhorse · 3 hours ago

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And when you're on the stand being questioned and the other lawyer out of the blue asks you for your child's pediatrician's name? And you hesitate because you're not thinking about that right now or you ask "how is that relevant?" because you've just been talking about something like your work hours? Those are normal responses to a seemingly sudden change of topic, but in that situation people will do exactly what you did, construe it as not caring about the child. This lawyer isn't telling the parent anything they don't already know, they're literally helping them be ready for a situation they've never been in before.

Consider also: I don't remember my *own* clothing or shoe size even when not under stress, and that's true of many people I know. Neurodivergent people may lose words or shut down in a new place like a court room and be unable to answer unexpected questions. That doesn't make them an unfit parent, it means that the situation is unusual and they don't have coping mechanisms to handle that moment. There's a big difference between being in a situation in which food is being discussed/consumed and needing to be able to ensure that your child doesn't eat peanuts and being in a court room where there is discussion of having your child taken from you and unexpectedly being asked for a list of widely varied facts and trying to come up with the words to express your knowledge completely out of the blue.

Then there are situations where one parent has information like this deliberately, maliciously withheld by the other parent. A friend of mine married a man who already had a daughter from a previous relationship (don't remember if he was divorced or they'd never married). His daughter's mother had literally kidnapped her when the daughter was like 5 and he didn't see his daughter for a couple years. When he finally did get to see her again it was only at her mother's whim because her mother constantly lied to the courts (and got her own mother to as well) about having allowed him visitation and made up nasty lies about him which were believed because he had a history of drug use.

Fast forward almost 10 years and he's happily married, has a son with his wife who is about 4, his wife and son adore his daughter who is now just barely 14 and he is *still* fighting with his daughter's mother for custody. She trained the daughter to lie about her father, which the daughter herself told the court appointed child advocate, she fights against and "forgets" days he and his wife are supposed to have custody, the mother even makes her daughter throw away any clothes or gifts she gets from her father and step mother. And because of this dynamic, he is unlikely to know her pediatrician's name off the top of his head, because it probably took a court order for the mother to tell him. And he may not know his daughter's best friend's name because maybe her best friend changed in the month since her mother has allowed him to talk to his daughter without her mother on the phone dictating the daughters every word.

So no, needing to be prepared to answer basic questions about a child's shoe size and allergies and told *why* it's relevant doesn't mean the person is a bad parent. They might just be bad under pressure, or neurodivergent, or the whole custody case may be such a mess that why does it matter if the parent knows the child's shoe size right now when the other parent is actively demanding their child lie about the first parent and literally kidnapped the child.

#it annoys me how shitty people get with the idea of someone needing to be prepared to speak in court #in a situation like that I think I would have trouble getting ANY words out without having practiced how to say them

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captain-barnes-writes · 1 day ago

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Mine ( Lewis Hamilton )

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x reader (with a bit of Jude Bellingham)

Type: Insta au

Face Claim: Camila Morrone

Warnings: just a jealous Lewis hehehe

When Lewis Hamilton starts dating someone equally famous as he is, he is struck with how much male attention she gets and has to lay his claim.

LewisHamilton posted a story

Replies

User I love the view (you)

User 😭

User the freaking cutest omfg

Charlesleclerc let’s play chess

YourUsername im right next to you my handsome scrumptious man ily so much

KimiAntonelli I’m landing in Paris tomorrow!!

User you look so sweet 😭I literally can’t

User this is the type of stare you give to your significant other

DanielRicciardo don’t stare at me like this 👁️👄👁️

YourUsername posted a story

Replies

Yourbestfriend must be nice 👀 i miss youuu

YourUsername I miss you, see you in a few days🫶

LewisHamilton even looking away you look so pretty

User we love a well traveled queen

User it’d be so funny if you ran into Lewis Hamilton, he’s literally there too! My two worlds colliding 🤭

KylianMbappe Dinner?

Liked by JudeBellingham,MatsHummels, ScuderiaFerrari & others

YourUsername dazed 💘

Comments

JudeBellingham absolutely breathtaking 😍

User Jude what are you doing here

User he’s really shooting his shot🫢

BellaHadid the prettiest

Yourbestfriend always 💖

YourUsername thank you my beautiful friends💕

LandoNorris 😍

User LANDO

User lol omg YN really has footballers & f1 drivers on a chokehold

User 🫢

User she was just in Paris where is she now??🫨

User what’s Ferrari doing here

User even the admin is crushing on Y/N

User can’t blame them 😮‍💨

Like by ScuderiaFerrari, CharlesLeclerc, YourUsername & others

LewisHamilton can’t take what’s already mine

Comments

User caption?

User SUS

User what are you talking about

User I wanna know so bad 🥲

User ME TOO

User who is making my cutie patootie mad??

CharlesLeclerc 🧐

Alexandrasaintmleux 👀

User what is happening

User this is an inside joke for sure

ScuderiaFerrari ❤️‍🔥

BellaHadid true 🧘‍♀️

Liked by CarlosSainz, JudeBellingham, Neymar & others

YourUsername can this last forever?

Comments

Yourbestfriend I love seeing you so happy 💖 my sunshine of a bestfriend

BellaHadid She really is the sunshine 🥺

YourUsername love you my prettiest ❣️

SofiaVergara Bella!!

YourUsername y tú la más preciosa💖 (and you the most precious)

User we love a bilingual queen!

JudeBellingham geez😮‍💨😍

User @RealMadrid come get your child

MicheleMorrone let me show you more of my beautiful Italy 🇮🇹

User the fact that he knows she’s in Italy lmao

User not the 365 days man himself 😳

Neymar 😍😍😍😍

DamianoDavid my goodness 🫨💘

Liked by 20,622

F1wags New WAG alert? 🚨 Lewis Hamilton spotted with a woman who looks a lot like Y/N. Fans are speculating the two have been vacationing together as their social media has portrayed them to be in the same places around the same time. What do you guys think?

Comments

User kind of explains his last caption since a lot of famous men have been in her insta comments hitting on her

User that’s what I think too

User it sounded a little jealous tbh

User my two worlds colliding omg

User I ship it 😍

User that would be the hottest couple

User imagine their babies

User can’t the man have friends??

User with his track record lmao

User how can this man just be friends with YN??

User He really said let me show these men she’s already taken

Liked by 30,542

F1Wags Days after photos surfaced of Lewis Hamilton & YN out in Italy, new pictures have come out of the pair having dinner yet again. The ever-private formula 1 driver has not had a public relationship since Nicole Scherzinger. Do you think Y/N is changing that? What do you guys think of Y/N as a new f1 WAG? Count me in 😍

Comments

User I have no words 🫣

User can Lewis fight??

User Y/N and Lewis was not on my bingo card this year

User Another one for his roster lol

User hater

User honestly his fuckboy antics are a thing of the past

User you think he’ll ever have a relationship like the one with Nicole??

User He’s been so private after that one

User he’s been looking so happy lately

User if it’s true, I wish them so much happiness 🥹

Complex Y/N seen in Monaco arriving to building where Lewis Hamilton resides. This comes after Real Madrid star Jude Bellingham allegedly sent flowers and a letter to Y/N’s hotel room. The football prodigy is said to be extremely infatuated with the starlet, leaving likes and comments on her posts. Lewis Hamilton, per close sources, was said to be fuming at this. He’s been seen with plenty other actresses and socialites, but hasn’t been in a formal public relationship since 2015. He is said to have fallen hard for the young starlet the last few months and dislikes the attention she gets from men.

Comments

User and I OOP 😳

User a jealous Lewis??

User right? Who would’ve thought lmao

User The Y/N effect ✨✨

User can we talk about how she looks so good though? 😍

User I’d be jealous too

User can’t blame him honestly

User I mean why not just confirm it then?

User He wanna be private so bad they’re gonna steal his girl lmfaooo

User she even had Lando in her comments im dead

User she had THE Michele Morrone trying to show her Italy 🫣

User she is literally Henry Cavill’s crush I mean??

User my fuckboy needs to man up 😩

Liked by YourUsername, ScuderiaFerrari, LandoNorris and others

LewisHamilton mine 😈❤️‍🔥 #lifelately

Comments on this post have been limited

BellaHadid yes, shoo them away 🤣

AlexandraSaintMleux IM DEAD

Yourbestfriend the chokehold she’s had on these athletes and actors is insane lol

BellaHadid and singers!

Lewishamilton thanks for reminding me 🙂

ScuderiaFerrari I know red is your color @yourusername ❤️❤️

LandoNorris oops

Lewishamilton you’re good young pup

CharlesLeclerc young pup 😂

DanielRicciardo crickets

YourUsername yours baby ❤️‍🔥

LewisHamilton The world needed to know that what’s mine is mine only

YourUsername 😳

——————

#lewis hamilton #Lewis Hamilton x reader #f1 #f1 recs #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 masterlist #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton x you

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bobasbn · 21 hours ago

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is this love?

1.7k words | Caleb X Reader | Friends to Lovers | Bold Reader, Basketball Player Caleb about: Your best friend Caleb is captain of the basketball team, and the perfect student in all ways. You've developed feelings for him throughout your years of friendship, and you somehow strike a deal with him while watching him practice after school. a/n: am I mildly obsessed with my work? perhaps. turn on 'is this love' by xg immediately.

He’s a model student.

He’s captain of the basketball team, top of his classes, charming, funny, attractive. Just the whole package. Infuriatingly perfect. People basically start cheering the moment he enters the hallways since there’s always something to congratulate him on.

Yet somehow, he’s your best friend.

You, who strayed away from the probing gaze of the school crowd. You were good at your own things, did your own clubs and ranked somewhere in the higher-middle region of your class. Not too bad, but nothing extremely special. You didn’t mind not getting attention until your oh-so-perfect best friend Caleb started steering the copious amounts of attention he gets towards you.

Today is another day where Caleb’s entrance through the doors erupts a chattering crowd consisting of the basketball team towards him. Caleb was clad in his basketball uniform that loosely fits over his form, the sheen of sweat coating his forehead is evidence that he just came from practicing. The basketball team hoards around their captain, cheering about their previous win, arms flailing around and heavy voices echoing through the hallways.

You stand by the side, leaning against the window as you watch your best friend get enveloped and whisked away by the commotion.

You actually wished he would overlook you once and celebrate with his teammates, but his violet gaze reached you as always.

“Pipsqueak! Get over here!” He calls out to you, gesturing for you to go towards him. You grumble under your breath, delivering a good smack to his shoulder when you approach him.

“I told you not to call me that! It’s such a weird nickname…” You murmur. Caleb feigns a hurt expression and rubs the spot where your hand smacked him.

“Tough crowd. If you don’t wanna be called Pipsqueak, how about Pip? Pips? Pup? Puppy? Pop? Poppy?” Caleb says, prodding you with his elbow the more he lists his potential nicknames for you. You can only roll your eyes as the crowd of tall guys surrounding you continue chirping and chittering like a flock of birds.

“I hate them all,” you complain.

“Then I’m stickin’ with Pips,” Caleb says, nudging his index finger knuckle at your cheek. It’s like his team didn’t exist anymore, his attention is fixed solely on you. Some of the other teammates notice that Caleb’s attention is diverted, most of them straying away to leave you two to catch up.

One curious teammate, Gideon, comes up beside Caleb. His eyebrows raise as he asks, “Are you two… a thing?” He perches an elbow against Caleb’s shoulder, wagging his finger from you to Caleb.

This question isn’t anything new to you two. Hell, there’s a new round of rumours that passes around just about every week to speculate if you two are a couple yet or not. Some shameless people also love to poke and prod around in your business and really ask if you’re with Caleb or not.

“Don’t be an ass, Gideon,” Caleb shuts him down. He brushes Gideon off his shoulder and gently places a hand on your arm to guide you away from the crowd.

Dragging you away, Caleb leads you to a more secluded part of the hallway away from the prying eyes of any peers to avoid further judgement. He sighs in relief at the silence surrounding you two as he leans against the wall.

“Finally, some peace,” Caleb says. He doesn’t mind attention, if anything he craves attention a lot of the time. He loves to be showered in the cheers and praise he receives from peers. However, the attention of crowds becomes a nuisance to him the moment it tears him away from you. After basking in the quiet, he finally speaks, “I wanted to ask you something. I’m gonna stick around after school for practice. You wanna stick around with me?”

You shrug your shoulders. You mildly enjoy watching Caleb’s training sessions as well as his basketball games. More so, you enjoy watching Caleb move around and watching how the sweat glistens off his exposed arms. “Sure, I’ll come,” you comply. Caleb lips stretch out into an almost giddy looking grin, and he clasps his hands around yours.

“I’ll do you proud, Pips. Just you watch,” he promises. You don’t know where the sudden sentiment came from but before you could ask or comment on it, Caleb has gone on his way to return back to the rowdy team around the corner.

You enter the almost empty gym, the sound of a single pair of sneakers squeaking on the floor and a ball bouncing is all you hear. Taking a seat in the gymnasium, you’re the only spectator around on the bleachers.

Caleb’s already practicing, clad in the basketball uniform that you see him in more often than his own school uniform. Your eyes can’t help but be glued to his form. He’s a natural, moving with such captivating fluidity and grace.

He stops as he sees you sit down. The basketball rolls away to the corner, no longer the centre of his attention anymore.

“Hey, you came. You weren’t too busy, right?” He asks, striding to stand beside you and take a swig from his water bottle. He seems to have just arrived as well, evident by the way he hasn’t broken out into a sweat yet.

You shake your head, leaning back a bit to meet his gaze. You respond, “Never too busy for you, Caleb. I’ve watched you play so much basketball I could be your coach.”

Caleb chuckles at that. He sets the water bottle down beside you.

“That so? My coach can’t even make a basket herself,” he remarks. You can’t help but feel a little offended that he’s looking down on skills he’s never seen.

“You think so, huh? Think you just know absolutely everything about me just because we’ve known each other for so long.”

“Isn’t that how it works?” He asks back.

You shake your head. “I can make a basket,” you challenge.

Caleb scoffs. He grabs a basketball from the cart carrying a mountain of the equipment and chucks it your way. You catch it.

“Let’s make a deal then. If I get this in on the first try then you have to do my homework for the next month,” you say, feeling the grip of the basketball in your fingers. You make your way to the half-circle painted on the ground.

Caleb can’t help but raise his eyebrow, amused that you’re turning this into a game.

“I’ll bite. If you don’t get it in, you have to go on a date with me,” he adds on. He did it as a joke, thinking it would probably spur you further to make the shot.

However, your mind worked differently to that. You know from the glint in his eyes and the wry smile on his face that he’s probably expecting a reaction similar to disgust or pettiness to avoid such a fate. You can’t help but feel this is just a win-win, and the date was the jackpot.

You can’t deny that all throughout the years of admiring and joking around with Caleb, you’ve picked up some feelings for him. It started around middle school and just continued to grow stronger from there like some sort of parasite that’s feeding off of you. His offer to go on a date with you makes your hands feel clammy and you start to weigh your options.

Your eyes snap back to the basket, the ball suddenly feeling heavier in your hands. With a flick of your wrists, you send the basketball to an altitude that reaches only halfway to the hoop. The ball didn’t even swish the net, and it was hitting the floor with a pathetic thud that echoes through the gym.

You flunked the shot.

“Huh.With your determination I thought you’d make it, Pips,” Caleb says, a bit confused as he chases for the ball. “No worries, you can try again.”

You didn’t want him to forget the deal you two made. You receive the ball back, but decide not to make another attempt to get it in.

“That wasn’t the deal,” you protest. “I didn’t make it on the first try. You can’t just let that slide, right?”

“I can be a little lenient, I’m not your captain after all,” Caleb pushes further. He gestures for you to throw the ball again. “Go on, try again.”

You grumble a bit under your breath, your plan has gone to waste. Maybe it’ll work the second time. You pretend to firmly plant your feet on the ground and focus on getting the ball in the hoop. Another weak throw bounces the basketball off the rim of the hoop, and you frown at the result.

“I missed again. I guess I’m not as good as I thought,” you say, a bit too nonchalantly. Caleb catches the ball as it jumps back into his hands and he shoots you a suspicious glare. He dribbles the ball a bit to check if it’s working right.

“The ball isn’t flat. Why do I feel like you’re missing on purpose?” Caleb asks in a slow manner. You try not to look too guilty when he points an accusatory finger your way.

“What do you mean? I said I’m just not as good as I thought. I take back my words, I can admit when I’m wrong,” you retort. You decide to add in, “you just have to go on a date with me now.”

You swear Caleb blushes. The sudden heat in his cheeks painting it the faintest shade of pink as he averts his gaze to the hoop and suppresses a grin. He throws the basketball, letting it make a perfect curve right through the net of the hoop.

“A deal’s a deal,” he admits. “How about tomorrow?”

You practically skip to his side with an idea in mind. You lean in, pecking his cheek. It adds to the heat in his cheeks and he becomes the shade of a tomato by your simple action, fingers grazing where your lips had just touched.

“It’s a date,” you whisper. You leave the gymnasium and leave Caleb a flustered mess in the middle of the room with nothing but the thought of you invading his mind.

Caleb wasn’t able to get a productive practice session in on that day.

#caleb love and deepspace #love and deepspace #lads caleb #basketball player caleb #lnds #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb x mc

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tellafairy · 1 day ago

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setting intention (for shifting), a rundown

what is setting intention?

setting intention is telling yourself you will do something. essentially making a plan to carry out a specific action. for example, maybe before class i want to buy a coffee. so when i go to bed the day before, i say to myself "oh tommorow i'll buy a coffee before my class". and the next day before class, i have that reminder in the back of my head — to get coffee, and so i carry it out, and get coffee before class.

to put it another way: let's say youre invited to a party. the party is a few days away, but throughout the days leading up to the party — you buy a gift for the party host, you pick out an outfit to wear, you do your makeup the day of the party, etc etc. by doint all of that; you're setting the intention to attend the party for days leading up to it.

setting intention isn't complicated, we do it 24/7 without realizing. when you say you're going to do something, even something as simple as brushing ur teeth or showering — and then you do it, you're setting intention and carrying it out.

so, how do you set the intention to reality shift?

surely if you could just walk into your dr the same way you can walk into your bathroom and brush your teeth, you would do it right? well... you literally can, a lot of you have just been taught otherwise.

in the beginning of your shifting journey, im sure you heard about the raven method or something similar. im sure creators have told you "you must lay in starfish position and count to 100 or else it won't work". and while methods within themselves aren't necessarily bad or holding you back — the way you complete the method and view it, is.

i think a lot of you go into methods, thinking that completing the steps will make you shift, when really — it's the intention of the method outcome that gets you what you want.

put it this way: when you count to 100, say ur affirmations, etc. are you doing it with the intention to shift once the task is completed? or are you doing it thinking that counting will push you into your dr?

setting intention = something you plan to do. not something you might do, not a possible outcome, something you have a set plan to complete/achieve. saying affirmations or counting with the HOPE of it MAKING you shift, sounds pretty useless — because you're not actually planning to do it. you're not being stubborn enough. youre not persistent, you're simply hoping that when you say 100 you'll shift. but you need to KNOW it will. (if that's the method ur using.. this is just an example)

once again, put it this way: when i say "im going to get coffee after class". would it make sense for me to sit there and hope i go and get a coffee? girl what? no, of course not. im the one who has to make the decision, to get up and go and get the coffee. you're the one who has to make the decision you will shift and persist in it no matter what. intention has to be there no matter what.

to put it into a loa perspective for those manifesting they shift with ease, when you manifest something — you also intend. you think of a desire you want, you intend to manifest it, and then you carry out that intention by persisting in the belief that it is yours. see how simple the concept is?

so, how do you practice setting intention? how do you know you're actually intending?

now, this next part sounds like a process, and it usually is. most people spread reprogramming your mind out between a couple days, maybe even a week. but do not attack me for this.. you guys always complain you've been trying to shift for years! you constantly ask me for challenges or tips on how to shift/reprogram ur brain. so if a few days of this seems like too much work, don't do it. i'm not saying you have to. but remember youve spent so many years *hoping* you'll shift. what's a few more days reprogramming ur mind to work in your favour and in the end, *know* you will shift?

i can't lie or sugar coat it, a lot of you are still in this 2020 shifting mindset where everything is over complicated. but you need to remember these circumstances don't matter, your mind,life,beliefs,etc can always be altered to benefit you. and that's what my goal with telling you this is, to help you take those steps into actually believing.

practice intention by focusing on your everyday actions before carrying them out. for example, before you shower — affirm "im going to shower" a few minutes before you actually do. just like how your subconscious manifests things by accepting repeated thoughts, beliefs, and assumptions as true. When you consistently repeat basic intentions like “I’m going to shower,” you’re training your subconscious to respond automatically to your commands. this builds trust between your conscious and subconscious mind, making it easier for your subconscious to accept things you've been taught to view as hard or unrealistic (such as reality shifting). This practice strengthens your ability to shift because it reinforces the idea that what you say or assume will happen naturally.

another strong intention i would recommend practicing to train your mind (and convince yourself you actually have the power to do these things) is intending to wake up at a certain time. for example, before u go to bed, and/or throughout the day : affirm "i will wake up at 5am tomorrow" or similar affirmations.

now, once you feel confident in your understanding of intention — simply use it the same way you did everything else. when you're ready to shift, set the intention. affirm: i will wake up in my dr, i will shift, or similar affirmations that align with YOUR intention. decide that you WILL shift, domt hope dont wish dont "try". KNOW you WILL do it no ifs ands or buts.

what do i do if i don't actually shift after setting the intention tho?

i know this question will be asked so im answering it before u have the chance to say it 🤣 but all i'll say is going back to the coffee analogy; if i wake up and set the intention to get coffee, but i go and they're all sold out. should i decide im never going to go to that coffee shop ever again? should i think the café is never ever gonna sell coffee again? no... that would be silly. so why would anyone do the same for shifting? sure it might be frustrating that they don't have the coffee since you decided you were going to get it. but once you go the next day, or maybe 2 days later, and they're no longer sold out. you get the coffee — and your frustration has passed. you don't erase the concept of coffee, you simply go again.

p.s. im writing this very quick in the car, so i apologize if there's spelling mistakes! please correct me if necessary

#shiftblr #reality shifting #loablr #law of assumption #shifting community #shifting blog #shifters #shifting journey #better cr #shifting antis dni #shifttok

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boohorns1136439 · 2 days ago

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Learning to belong ~ poly!MHA x fem!Reader (10)

So it’s been a while, huh? I think the beginning of the year crashed into me like a bulldozer, and I wasn’t in the mood to write. Well, I did write, but everything looked like shit from the butt. But at last, I managed to push through it. I tried something different with the writing here, so I hope it’s better than my previous work. Enjoy!

Tags: Pack! Izuku Midoriya X Bakugo Katsuki X Shoto Todoroki X Kirishima Eijirou ; Pack! X fem!Reader ; Omega!Izuku Midoriya ; Omega!Bakugo Katsuki ; Omega!Shoto Todoroki ; Omega!Kirishima Eijirou ; technically Beta!Reader ; modern Au ; post-UA ; Reader has a quirk ; non hero!Reader ; smut eventually ; fem!Reader ; afab!Reader

09 <- 10 -> 11

Masterlist

Taglist

Izuku truly wished they could put this whole incident behind them and move on. He had hoped that once Todoroki sent an email to the hospital director—a carefully worded, deeply sincere apology addressed to Doctor L/N and the hospital, sent the day after his failed attempt at apologizing in person— would lift some of the weight off Todoroki and Kirishima’s shoulders. That soon enough, things would settle, and the pack would be back to normal.

But from the moment Todoroki first told them what had happened, Izuku had a bad feeling. He knew that Todoroki going to the hospital alone to apologize was the right thing to do, but there had been something in Todoroki’s eyes, a sharp glint of excitement that didn’t sit right with him. And when he’d returned home that night, he’d found him on the couch, motionless, his hand buried in a bowl of peach slices and his fingers sticky with juice. His expression vacant, and absent. Kirishima hadn’t been the same either. If anything, after hearing about the failed apology attempt, he had gotten worse. Somehow, a single alpha, one Izuku had never even met, had managed to throw his entire pack into chaos.

Rationally, he knew it wasn’t the doctor’s fault. If anyone was to blame, it was his mates. But the whole situation was so strange, so frustrating, that he couldn’t help understand how the hell they had ended up here. He’d tried to ask Todoroki about the alpha, about you, but all he got was a name, and something about the way Todoroki said it made him hesitate to press any further. When he turned to Kirishima, he got even less. The redhead had been too angry that day to remember much at all. All he recalled, a few days later, was an unfamiliar fruity scent mixed with Todoroki’s before he broke the door open.

Now, three days had passed, yet the air in their apartment only grew heavier. And Todoroki—Todoroki was hardly there at all, more shadow than man. He spent most of his days asleep, and when he was awake, he barely moved, barely spoke. Just sat there, eyes fixed on the wall with an hollow expression, as if he were somewhere far beyond their reach. He wasn’t eating either, at least not enough. He’d claimed to have no appetite. The only thing Todoroki had asked for—had eaten without hesitation—was peaches. Not just a few, but an almost absurd amount, day after day, like he was possessed. He would sit there, silent and distant, methodically working through bowl after bowl, as if peaches were the only thing tethering him to reality. And the strangest part? He never seemed satisfied. No matter how many he ate, it was never enough. Since when did Todoroki even like peaches this much? Izuku had no idea and he was getting weird out by the sheer amount of peach’s pits in their trash can.

Izuku had tried to get him to eat more, something other than just peaches. He tried a soft approach, casually suggesting he add something else to his plate, like rice or any protein, just to balance it out. But no matter how he went about it, Todoroki refused every time, just shaking his head and mumbling that he wasn’t hungry. Kirishima’s attempts weren’t successful either, he had brought home soba from Todoroki’s favorite spot, but Todoroki only took a couple of bites before pushing the bowl away. Katsuki couldn’t do any of the gentle approaches. He had yelled, scowled, and was a breath away from shoving food down Todoroki’s throat. But none of it worked. It was like trying to start a fire with wet wood—Todoroki just sat there, blank-eyed and distant, completely unreachable.

It was a mess. A complete, exhausting mess. And if Todoroki was worrying him to death, Kirishima wasn’t far behind.

At least he was still functional—he still ate, still spoke, still went to work—but there was something off. He was quieter, his usual warmth dulled at the edges. Kirishima was their glue, the one who lifted their spirits and held them together when things got rough, but ever since they failed to get through to the hospital—failed to contact you—he hadn’t been himself fully. The only response they had gotten to Todoroki’s email was a generic, automated reply, and that had done nothing but add to Kirishima’s guilt.

Izuku sat on the couch, his laptop on the coffee table while he absentmindedly tapped his fingers against his knee, his thoughts running in circles.

This wasn’t the first time Todoroki had been reckless. Beneath that calm exterior, he could be just as stubborn as Katsuki and him, even rash. But this? The complete detachment, the disregard for his own well-being, the strange obsession with a single food ? It wasn’t just a quiet withdrawal from his pack, It was like he’d stopped caring about himself completely. And that’s worried Izuku to death. He felt sick and helpless, and powerless. Why is this happening? His thoughts spiraled, fast and frantic. Was there something we missed? Maybe he’s just really tired and it will all get sort out ? But this isn’t like him. He’s shutting everyone out. Izuku’s chest tightened. What if I can’t fix this? What if it’s already too late? His mind kept racing, as it always did, with no answers, just more and more questions.

The coldness from their mate reminded him too much of their early high school days, when Todoroki had been a boy made of ice, all sharp edges and frozen shut doors. Izuku felt like the bond they shared had frayed, leaving him disconnected, adrift, as if though he was fading from their grasp.

The pieces didn’t add up. Frankly, the more he thought about it, the stranger it became. How had a simple visit to the hospital turned into this? What exactly had happened in that room? Izuku couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something. And when he felt like that, he did what he always did—he investigated.

He started with the hospital itself, combing through their website, news articles, and patient reviews. Most of it was clean. No major scandals, no malpractice lawsuits, no patient complaints that weren’t immediately resolved. Still unsatisfied, he called the hospital again, this time pushing harder for answers but all he got was a meeting with the director of the hospital tomorrow afternoon which was better than nothing.

After that call, something clicked. When Todoroki came back home, he’d been in heat—and Kirishima had stayed with him through it. But it had been early, too early. The pack tracked their cycles meticulously, they had to. If all of them ended up « indisposed » at the same time, and a high-profile villain struck, it would be a disaster.

This wasn’t just odd. It was wrong, he thought. There has to be an explanation for this.

And so, he dove into research again, scouring medical papers, forums, even the more questionable corners of the internet. At first, all he found were the usual causes—stress, sudden hormonal shifts, pack mates, environmental factors. But none of those fit. None of them explained why Todoroki’s heat had hit him so randomly. And then, buried under layers of medical jargon and old case studies, he found it.

It was possible to induce a heat. Not naturally, not safely, but with the right mix of drugs, it could be done. Hospitals wouldn’t do it legally, of course, but the medications required for it? They weren’t rare. Every one of them could be found in any hospital.

Did someone do this to him? His heart hammered in his chest, just imagining this possibility. The thought alone made his hands tremble with anger. Alphas abusing omegas were not rare, and doctors abusing their patients were even less rare. It disgusted him to think Todoroki and Kirishima were beating themselves over this incident when the doctor was responsible after all. No, just potentially responsible. He couldn’t know for sure but part of him was already certain that this was the explanation.

As Izuku scrolled through paper after paper on this drug, the apartment remained still allowing him to fully soak every information he could find online. The low hum of the heater was the only sound breaking the silence. It was just him and Todoroki tonight, though he hadn’t seen his mate since morning.

But then, footsteps.

Todoroki stepped into the living room, his movements slow, mechanical. He didn’t acknowledge Izuku, didn’t even glance in his direction—just crossed the space and sank onto the couch with a quiet, exhausted sigh. His posture was loose, almost boneless, but there was no real relaxation to it—just the weight of someone running on empty.

Izuku’s fingers hovered over his laptop. He hadn’t even realized how much time had passed, how deep he’d buried himself in his research. Outside the glow of his screen, the apartment was already dark, save for the dim light spilling from the his pc. It was late. Later than he’d thought and he probably start to make dinner for tonight.

Izuku still remained sited on the couch though, seeing Todoroki like this—so empty—only made his anger burn hotter and made him stop his tracks. But he forced himself to swallow it down. He couldn’t afford to lash out, not when he still wasn’t sure. He had to wait for tomorrow, when he’ll have the meeting with the director.

One way or another, he was going to get answers.

Izuku shut his laptop, fingers lingering over the lid. He didn’t want anyone finding out about this—not until he had proof. But before he could fully gather his thoughts, the sudden bang of the front door swinging open, followed by the unmistakable rasp of Katsuki’s voice, nearly sent him jumping to his feet.

“The hell is it so damn dark in here?” Bakugo grumbled, irritated as he flicked on the lights.

Izuku blinked at the sudden brightness, squinting as his blond mate strode inside with Kirishima trailing closely behind.

“Hey, I thought you guys had night patrol,” Izuku said, glancing toward the clock hanging on the wall. They weren’t supposed to be home yet.

“We did,” Bakugo responded as he tossed his keys onto the counter. “Something came up, someone covered for me.”

Kirishima didn’t say anything at first. He moved past Bakugo, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned against the back of the couch, his gaze flickering toward Todoroki. Checking on him.

“My agency had an emergency downtown,” he finally said, voice lacking its usual warmth. “A villain attack turned into a rescue op. They needed extra hands for search and rescue. By the time we were done, they gave me my evening.”

Izuku hummed in acknowledgment, but his attention drifted to Katsuki, who hadn’t moved from where he stood. His gaze was locked onto Todoroki, sharp, expectant.

Waiting

But Todoroki didn’t react. Didn’t look up. Didn’t even acknowledge any of them too.

Just nothing

Bakugo grumbled something under his breath before heading into the kitchen with anger in each step.

I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter! Chapter 11 will be out soon, and we’ll get a Bakugo POV soon too. I wanted to focus on the pack dynamics before the reader enters, and there’ll be more of that next chapter. I think it’s important to show the established couple’s bond, so yeah we’ll get a lot of it and even more after the reader come in the picture.

Doing a taglist is a too much work omg, no wonder most people don’t do it nowadays. On one hand I like that it hard bc that’s mean so many people want to keep up with my fics that I ended having to tag many people, on the other hand this lowkey discouraging me from posting bc I know I have to update the list every time 😭

This is such a fake ass problem to have, I am self aware.

As always, criticisms are welcomed

Big thank you to @cafekitsune who made the beautiful dividers

09 <- 10 -> 11

Taglist: @too-much-gacha ; @electronicexpertshark ; @poopopp ; @cjdjfhfhfufjfdj ; @kimi01985 ; @icycoldbeanieweanies ; @ghostlyworld ; @marsbars09 ; @queenondeezmatatas ; @imnotherw ; @bedheadloser ; @chrisbiniesluvrr ; @fsocs-blog ; @jadeddangel ; @qardasngan ; @goldenglow149 ; @andysteve1311 ; @pinkmelodies ; @hopefulb1ue ; @redkarmakai ; @zukusluvr ; @navezepol221 ; @candiiee ; @aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaq ; @mniya ; @randomhuman112 ; @mintvender r ; @deadendgrim ; @captainswanarcher ; @figbaby ; @midnight-nightmare ; @talilosha ; @bawlangya ; @optimisticprime3 ; @purplescorpi0 ; @astrolovedy ; @desiree-lee ; @okaysxx ; @the-faceless-bride ; @thelameone101 ; @gethexxed ; @lowkeyhottho ; @bvirrious ; @heespretty ; @roxy776699 ; @kamy-thee-egg ; @talia-the-gemini ; @pikachuzhc ; @itsnotjustmyself-blog ; @roxy776699 ; @mystic60 ; @reallysparklychaos ; @sixxze ; @blurryperrtymoonlight ; @1poison-cat1 ; @allyfoxglove ; @mindsbloody ; @jkvolgs ; @haruaikawa ; @k3nmakyan ; @my-anime-garden ; @fto6 ; @hanniesroom ; @readeryn68 ; @queenofsimps001 ; @mai1em ; @demonzgutzz ; @sleepy-x-snake ; @xxang3|zz ; @decadentcrusadefun ; @shhhstar ; @n3ptOnee ; @nxcx|Ixsevens ; @mailem ; @aslos ; @thatone-gayweeb ; @eveylynnn ; @nervoussangel ; @inakyo ; @graythecoffeebean ; @ninabinna ; @3thr3al ; @barrythestrawberry041 ; @omgeyeless-blog ; @primary-022 ; @prettyprojectshq ; @bluepatrolbear ; @literallyjustmyself23 ; @p3n310p3 ; @slayerdiva ; @hw-shorty ; @quixoticcat ; @fluffypuffyfishyswishy

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baocean · 1 day ago

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piss off your parents

chapter four - he’s going to break your heart

liked by 539 people!

ynstjohn: bay day

jjmaybank: told you that photo of you fucked

↳ ynstjohn: jj 🙄

sarahcam: holy crap you are so fine

sarahcam: such a cute couple

kelcee: i guess whatever makes you happy

janeylowens: so so so cute

↳ ynstjohn: 🩷

johnbroutledge: finally someone taking jj off my hands

↳ ynstjohn: i’m giving him back!

kiaracarrera: you’re gorg omg!!!!!

“yn, is this about chapel hill?” your mother corners you in the kitchen, watching you across the counter.

you sigh and place the lemonade pitcher back onto the counter next to two glasses.

“no, this has nothing to do with college.” you shake your head, cross your arms over your chest.

“then what? people at the club have started to ask about him and you. why are you doing this?”

“seriously? im dating him because i like him. he’s nice and fun and makes me really happy.” you lie through your teeth.

you weren’t sure why you were lying like this. you could have just told her you were doing it to get back at her.

“he’s going to ruin everything you worked for. look at the way he was raised, yn. he are not our kind of people. i should have never let you spend that year abroad, it completely changed you.” your mom sighed.

“he’s not going to ruin anything, stop talking about him like that.” your voice raised, eyes catching the blond sun tanning in your backyard.

he laid there by the pool, hands behind his head. looking peaceful, not one clue your mother was talking about him like that.

“he’s going to break your heart, bunny.” she pointed a finger at you, perfectly manicured and tanned.

your stomach dropped, the urge to scream tingling in your fingers.

instead, you shoved the pitcher back into the fridge, grabbing the drinks, glaring and weaving around your mom.

you sort of wanted to believe her. not about him breaking your heart exactly, more so the fact that this would end badly. like this was going to change you.

you placed the drink on the table next to jj, his head perking up at the noise.

“you good?” he asked, pushing his sunglasses onto the top of his head, squinting up at you.

you sat on the lounge chair next to him, nodding your head. “of course, why?”

“you look stressed, you’ve got a crazy wrinkle in the middle of your forehead.” jj reached out and ran his finger across the line.

you laughed, swatting him away. he watched as your laughter died down, clearing your throat.

“i’m completely fine.” you smile, then nod.

“wanna ask janey to go to the boneyard tonight?” jj’s eyebrows raised, smirking.

“the boneyard? isn’t it really dangerous there?” you ask, laying back.

“forgot you’re so sheltered. you’ll be fine, bunny.” his sunglasses were back on his face, he sat up and stood off the chair.

your eyes shifted to him, watching him gather his things.

“i’ll bring her, yea.” you nodded.

he looked down at you, grabbing the phone from his pocket and pointing it towards you.

he took a few photos, focusing on getting a picture from good angle.

once he was finished, you watched as he smiled, as the dimples carved into his cheeks. “cute. i’ll see you tonight.”

liked by 105 people!

jjmaybank: pogue style baby

sarahcam: the photo of yn help

sarahcam: she’s so pretty

↳ jjmaybank: i know right

johnbroutledge: bro’s down bad????

↳ jjmaybank: 😂😂

janeylowens: the life of the party!

↳ jjmaybank: that’s me girl

popeheyward: POGUE STYLE

kiaracarrera: yn is the highlight of this post

↳ ynstjohn: thank you!

ynstjohn: 💌

masterlist link | next chapter

taglist - @dr3amgrlll / @murdockcastleslut / @jjmaybankmylovee / @smokahontas-113 / @abslvrs13 / @enchantedstarfish / @reeseswirl / @lmaowhatt / @moonywhisp3rs / @dylsdaily / @idli-dosa / @bloodofadoll / @cokewithcameron / @mariamadison6-blog /@isinpfortvdmen

#obx fanfiction #jj maybank #obx imagine #outer banks #outer banks imagine #obx season 3 #jj mayback imagine #obx jj #john b routledge #jj mayback x reader #obx smau #smau #piss off your parents #divider by v6que #baocean #outer banks social au

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glossdebut · 2 days ago

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PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 05

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER TAGS: we’re back to alternating POVs, many confrontations, a reveal of sorts, seoyeon is goated, namjoon is tired, yoongi learns all kinds of lessons and then instantly forgets them (as per usual), and then throws a pity party and forces MC to attend, this is the most MC and yoongi have been on the same page EVER tho, blah blah blah proper name place name backstory stuff (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 10k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: GLOSSDEBUT NATION! WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK! i’m sorry this took me so long but POF5 is finally here, and hopefully the 10k wordcount makes up for the delayed update. this one is a RIDE, so buckle in and enjoy! don’t forget to send me your thoughts and theories, because they truly help the updates come faster <3 thank you to my loves @ktownshizzle and @yooniivrse for beta reading this chapter!

P.S. if you can guess the two songs yoongi’s working on in this chapter by description alone, i’ll kiss you on the mouth (they’re both arctic monkeys songs)

P.P.S. congratulations to those of you who voted 2 in my poll. please heed the warnings under the cut

CH. 05: TOO FAR TO GO BACK

✧ CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentions of disordered eating, vomiting, drinking, yoongi is an asshole (wbk), dirty talk, nipple play, Yoongi’s Tongue Piercing, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Yoongi vividly remembers the night he first saw you. It’s hard to forget.

He and Namjoon were flying solo that night, sans band. Freshly signed to the label, forced into a blazer he’d never pick out for himself, surrounded by people who didn’t know his name yet and didn’t care to learn. Out of place. He felt out of place all night.

But, as the hyung, Yoongi knew it was his responsibility to do the dirty work. Shmooze. Connect. And, to his credit, when he put his mind to it, Yoongi was actually good at that sort of thing. He knew how to read people, how to play them to get what he wanted. It was how they got signed in the first place. He just needed to wipe the sour look off of his face and remember the goal. For Jeongguk.

It was a music showcase, a big name network. Comebacks and debuts, one after the other. Giddy rookies who hadn’t eaten in days in preparation for their stage, something wild in their eyes. A desire to prove themselves. Yoongi wasn’t there to perform, but his position wasn’t unlike theirs. He had something to prove, too.

An appearance at the showcase was just that—an appearance. It was the after that mattered. It wasn’t just fans that went to things like this. The audience was full of bookers, promoters, industry magnates that could all mean big things for Burn The Stage if Yoongi played his cards right.

He spent the whole night tuning out blaring bubblegum pop, going over the script in his head—what he should say, what he should do. And then something stopped him in his tracks, forced him to sit up and pay attention.

A soloist, draped in something midnight blue and velvet.

You. Yoongi knows that now.

His first thought was that you had a voice unlike anything he’d ever heard before. His second was that you were beautiful.

All night, he couldn’t sit still. The tag of his blazer dug into the back of his neck. He couldn’t stop tapping his foot, flexing his fists, glancing around. All of the pressure made his chest feel unbelievably tight, because what if the night was a bust? What if nobody was interested in what he had to say? What if the label dropped them and he had to admit that he failed?

But as soon as you opened your mouth and sang that first note, the buzzing in his head quieted in an instant. From beginning to end, Yoongi was enraptured by you. Like nothing else in the world mattered except hearing you sing.

Being in that noraebang with you, years later… It didn’t feel any different. Not one bit.

Yoongi doesn’t follow you when you run.

Maybe it’s cowardly of him. Maybe a better man than him would reach out, grab your hand, spin you back around. Say something.

The thing is, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. What to do. He doesn't understand what just happened, let alone how he’s meant to fix it. He’s not even sure if there’s anything to fix, not when everything was so broken from the beginning.

You hate him. He hates you. That was the agreement. So he lets you go.

He goes back inside, avoids Jeongguk’s eyes. Tells everyone you felt sick, which probably isn’t a lie judging by the look on your face when you broke away from him.

It’s not like he didn’t anticipate… something. He’s noticed the way you look at him. He’d wanted to use it, to see if he could catch you in some kind of lie. Catch you staring at him a little too long to be brushed off.

But this? Your lips against his, his tongue in your mouth, the sound you made. Fuck. You almost sounded as sweet as you do when you sing. He wants to forget it ever happened. He wants to hear it again, over and over.

It all happened too fast.

Yoongi wishes he remembered who had moved first. Someone to shoulder the blame, make things simple for him. He wants it to be you. It would be easy to slip that mask back into place, to hate you. It would be easy. He’d almost stopped, but going back would be so easy.

But something in his gut tells him it wasn’t you. That, foolishly, it was him. You wouldn’t give him everything he needs to point the finger, not like this.

It had to be Yoongi. He kissed you.

He lifts his head, meeting Jeongguk’s gaze. Jeongguk, who looks concerned. Yoongi doesn’t deserve his concern.

Yoongi opens his mouth to speak, but guilt rises in his throat, choking him. For a moment, he thinks he might confess—his mouth has betrayed him before. But what comes out isn’t words.

Instead, Yoongi surges forward and pukes his guts up. All over the noraebang floor.

★ ★ ★

You need to get the fuck off of this island.

You’ve never booked a flight so quickly in your life. You’d take one tonight, if the option was available, but tomorrow afternoon will have to do. In the meantime, you’ll pack as quickly as humanly possible—and then drink yourself to sleep, because that’s the only way you’ll be able to catch a wink of it at this rate.

You’re freaking out.

Your phone has been buzzing incessantly since you got back to the house, your screen filling with notifications from Jeongguk, Jimin, and Taehyung. Text after text asking if you’re okay, if you got back safe, if you need them to come home. You don’t want to deal with it, can’t deal with it right now. Not when—

Min Yoongi kissed you.

Or, you kissed him? There was kissing, with Min Yoongi, the bane of your existence. Insistently, with tongue.

An incredibly skilled tongue, at that—and that piercing. And strong hands, guitarist’s hands, smoothing over your waist, pulling you closer. You can still smell him on you, citrus and leather and smoke, and—

Fuck, no! Jesus, when did you suddenly become this desperate for cock?

This is exactly why you need to leave. You cannot keep having these thoughts about Min fucking Yoongi, you just can’t. You hate him! He’s rude, and insensitive, and he doesn’t respect you in the slightest. He’s made that abundantly clear.

You text Jeongguk that you’re okay, that you made it to the house, and no, you don’t need him to come back. That’s the last thing you need right now.

What you need is to pack.

You move through the bedroom in a frenzy, tossing your clothes into suitcases that suddenly seem too small. Hyerin somehow managed to make everything fit before you came, but now, your shaking fingers struggle to secure the zippers. Of course.

Irritated, you dig your flask out from your purse. It’s running empty, but it’s more than enough to swallow down the nausea that’s been climbing up your throat since you cut and run.

By the time you’ve packed up the rest of your belongings, the room is spinning, your gut threatening a different kind of sickness. It’s a familiar one, at least. After the events of the night, a little alcohol-induced vomiting is nothing.

Still, in an effort to fend it off, you force yourself into a horizontal position. You take a steadying breath, shifting onto your side. You know the drill. In five minutes, you’ll either be dead to the world, or hugging porcelain.

Luckily, it’s the former. Before you know it, you’re drifting into a sleep so deep you don’t even stir when Jeongguk gets back.

★ ★ ★

In the morning, you say the necessary goodbyes.

Jeongguk is clearly confused, obviously concerned, but he doesn’t twist your arm. It must be the expression you’re wearing when you tell him you’re going. You can only imagine how it screams, ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

The others are sad to see you go. Taehyung hugs you tightly, with promises to catch up when everyone is back in Seoul. Jimin does the same, although he’s remarkably quiet in comparison.

And Yoongi…

You stop at his door last. You shouldn’t, you know that. All of the questions swarming through your brain about where you stand with him, about what last night meant—they don’t matter. A clean break. That’s what you need.

But still, you knock with a shaky fist, his stolen jacket clutched tightly in the other.

When the door swings open, you force yourself to meet his eyes. Yoongi looks surprised—for half a second, maybe—but the expression vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced by that familiar indifference. His voice is flat, unreadable.

“What can I do for you, YN?” he asks, already stepping away, like your presence barely registers. He returns to whatever he was doing at his laptop before you knocked, attention fixed anywhere but on you as he types.

You shift your weight. “Uh, your jacket,” you say, holding it up. “I accidentally took it with me last night.”

“You can put it on the bed.”

You do as he says, carefully laying it down, though your fingers linger against the fabric. There’s a hesitation in your movements, a weight pressing down on your chest. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t acknowledge the silence stretching between you. You clear your throat.

“Can we… Can we talk for a minute?” you try.

His fingers pause briefly over his keyboard. “About?”

“Well… Um. Last night. Shouldn’t we clear the air?”

Yoongi waves a hand dismissively, not even glancing up. “Consider it cleared.”

You knew this wouldn’t be an easy conversation, but the casual way he brushes you off still stings. You steel yourself, pressing forward. “It’s just—I’m leaving. I don’t know if you heard. And I just wanted to—”

He scoffs before you can finish, finally swiveling around to face you. He leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he smirks. “What, were you expecting a goodbye kiss?”

Something inside you hardens at that. “No,” you say, voice clipped.

His smirk doesn’t falter. “Then have a safe flight, dollface.”

You let out a breath, scoffing under it, more at yourself than anything. Stupid to think this could have gone any other way. “Yeah,” you mutter. “Bye, Yoongi.”

You don’t wait for a response. You turn, stepping out of the room, the weight in your chest sinking deeper with every step.

Your Uber pulls up just as you step outside, the driver barely glancing at you as you slide into the backseat. The car smells faintly of leather and mint, and the quiet crackle of the radio fills the space, but none of it does anything to settle the tightness in your chest. You swallow hard, pressing your forehead briefly against the cool window as the car pulls away from the curb. The streets of Seogwipo blur past, Yoongi’s house slipping away behind you.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, the screen lighting up with Seoyeon’s name. Shit. You forgot you texted her this morning—she must be following up. You exhale sharply before answering.

“You’re coming back?” Seoyeon doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“First flight out.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then, “sooner than I thought.”

“Yeah.” The word comes out thinner than you’d like. “I just—can you pack my schedule? As tight as possible. Meetings, shoots, interviews—whatever you can get me.”

Seoyeon doesn’t ask why. She doesn’t need to. It’s something you’ve always appreciated about her—she doesn’t make your personal life her business unless forced.

“Alright,” she says, brisk and efficient as always. “I’ll have everything lined up by the time you land. You sure you don’t want a day or two to breathe?”

You close your eyes for a second, picturing the alternative—hours alone with nothing but your thoughts. “No. I just want to work.”

Seoyeon exhales, like she wants to argue, but she doesn’t. “Okay,” she says instead. “I’ll handle it.”

“Thanks.”

“Get some rest on the flight,” she says, like she knows you won’t. And then the call ends, leaving you staring at your reflection in the darkened screen.

The rest of your ride to the airport is quiet, save for the soft music on the radio. Your thoughts swirl, looping back to Yoongi. The way he barely looked at you, how easily he dismissed you. Maybe this is better. Maybe this is exactly what you needed to let it all go.

The flight into Incheon is uneventful, but fatigue pulls at you the moment you step off the plane. Everything feels hazy, like you’re just going through the motions. You move through baggage claim, through the terminal, into another car without fully registering any of it.

And then you’re home. Seoul is as grey as ever.

By the time you unlock the door to your apartment, exhaustion clings to you like a second skin. The familiar scent of home greets you, clean and untouched, but the silence is deafening.

It’s strange—coming back to this emptiness after being surrounded by the band for so long. No voices filtering in from another room, no aroma of freshly-cooked food, no strumming of a guitar. Just you, the hum of your empty fridge, the quiet creak of the floor beneath your feet.

You drop your bag by the door and let out a breath, rubbing your face with both hands. The weight in your chest hasn’t lifted. If anything, it’s settled deeper, heavier.

You’re alone, for the first time in weeks.

You’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

★ ★ ★

Yoongi can’t focus.

He sits hunched over his desk, fingers poised above the keys of his laptop, but the words won’t come. It’s not like he doesn’t have lyrics—he does. He always does. But now that they’re laid out in front of him, neatly transcribed from notebook to laptop, they all feel wrong. Disingenuous.

He’s been at this for hours—writing, deleting, rewriting—but it all feels pointless. He glances at the clock. 2:45 a.m.

The label needs a progress report. Yoongi has to come up with at least six usable songs soon, and his mind should be locked into it, but instead, it keeps wandering. Every minute, every second, the image of you keeps pushing its way in.

The way your voice shook when you asked to clear the air, the way you hesitated before leaving, like there was something else you wanted to say, but couldn't. He can't shake it. Even gone, you’re a distraction.

Yoongi fishes his phone out of his pocket for the millionth time tonight, his fingers moving instinctively as he searches for your username.

He’s not proud of it. It’s beyond pathetic, checking up on you like this. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for—some kind of indication of how you’re doing? What you’re feeling? Yoongi knows he won’t find any of that on an Instagram account that you don’t even personally run, but it’s all he has.

All he has, short of texting and asking you himself. Yeah, right.

You haven’t posted anything new since the last time he looked, so Yoongi swipes through your most recent update again. It’s a carefully curated photo dump announcing your return to Seoul. Yoongi has probably looked at it about twenty times tonight.

It’s not like it’s a particularly interesting photo dump—Taehyung is the master at those. It’s all normal shit. Clouds outside of an airplane window, an airport selca, the details of your outfit with all of the brands tagged. It’s classic model—a pretty girl doing boring shit and documenting every last detail.

The last one, though. The last one fucks Yoongi up.

You, standing in front of your well-lit bathroom mirror wearing an Innisfree face mask, your infamous Burn The Stage hoodie—and from the looks of it, not much else.

He knows it’s not for him. If anything, it’s probably preemptive damage control. Something to appease the fans before they start asking questions, wondering why you’re back in Seoul when Jeongguk is still on Jeju. But, fuck.

Yoongi flexes his free hand, stretches his fingers before curling them into a fist again. If there are two things you excel at, it’s looking pretty and riling him up. He should be focused, should be writing, but instead, his mind insists on wandering to places it shouldn’t. Dangerous places. Places that make his cock stir in his sweatpants, while simultaneously making his throat tighten with guilt.

What a predicament Yoongi’s managed to get himself into.

He’s so consumed by his warring emotions that he barely registers the sound of Yijeong clearing his throat.

“Yoongi-yah, we’ve been at this for hours,” Yijeong says, effectively breaking Yoongi out of his reverie. His lips flatten into a thin line as he swipes out of your most recent post, back onto your profile. “Maybe we should take a break.”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi mutters dismissively, not looking up.

Yijeong sighs. “I think you’ve hit a wall.”

“Yah, I’m fine,” Yoongi snaps, finally glancing up, agitation creeping into his voice. “I’m working.”

“Are you?” Yijeong asks, tilting his head toward the phone in Yoongi’s hand.

Yoongi exhales through his nose, sets the phone down with a pointed click, and swivels back toward his laptop. He taps at the keys, opening and closing files he hasn’t touched in hours. “Four mostly finished songs isn’t half bad.”

“But you need six,” Yijeong points out.

“Mm.” Yoongi barely responds, still clicking aimlessly. “Still two songs I didn’t have this morning.”

“What about this one?” Yijeong rolls his chair closer in Yoongi’s periphery, sliding his open Leuchtturm across the desk.

Yoongi’s eyes flick to the page, and he immediately stiffens. It’s that song—the one he’d written about you, sang for you when he was bitter and angry. The reaction is instant, his body language shutting down before Yijeong can even say anything else. “No.” He snatches the notebook from Yijeong’s hand, shutting it with finality.

Yijeong frowns. “What?”

“That’s not going on the album,” Yoongi says.

“But it’s fully written,” Yijeong points out, eyes narrowed. “And good. Why wouldn’t it go?”

Yoongi shrugs, feigning indifference. “Doesn’t fit the vibe.”

“The vibe,” Yijeong repeats, unimpressed.

“Yeah.”

“What vibe?”

Yoongi hesitates. “It’ll make us sound like assholes.”

Yijeong snorts. “Well, you wrote it.”

“Ha.”

Yijeong sighs, glancing at the shut notebook. “It’s good, Yoongi-yah. It’s something to show the label, at least.”

“I have time to write something better.”

Yijeong gives him a long, exasperated look. “You haven’t written anything all day.” His patience is wearing thin, Yoongi can tell. “Come on. I’m trying to do what you asked me to come and do.”

“It’s one song, Yijeong-ah.”

“You’ve been pushing back on everything I’ve tried all day,” Yijeong replies, voice tinged with frustration. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

Yoongi rubs at his temples. He knows he’s not being fair—that Yijeong came here out of the kindness of his heart, just because Yoongi asked him to. Maybe Yoongi’s monopolized enough of his time.

“Yeah, I know.” His voice is quieter now. “Look, it’s… I’m not trying to be difficult. I can do this myself. I know you have your own shit.”

Yijeong watches him carefully, his gaze so penetrating it makes Yoongi shift in his seat. Then, he says, almost too casually, “we were making good progress over the weekend.”

Yoongi’s posture tightens. “…Yeah.” Over the weekend. Before the noraebang.

Yijeong leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Could this lack of focus have anything to do with YN’s sudden departure?”

Aren’t you the source of all of Yoongi’s hardships lately? You and that stupid Burn The Stage sweatshirt, those deadly fucking silk shorts you flounced around in the whole time you were here. The fact that he kissed you—or you kissed him, the jury’s still out on that—and that you’re Jeongguk’s girlfriend, and that Yoongi has been shifting between guilt and delirious arousal since you left.

“You’re crazy,” Yoongi scoffs. Deflect, deflect, deflect.

Yijeong hums. “Sure.”

Yoongi pretends not to hear the knowing tone in Yijeong’s voice, shifting the conversation with practiced ease. “I’ve taken up too much of your time, Yijeong-ah. I only have to come up with two more songs.”

“You kicking me out for bringing up YN?” Yijeong teases. “Tyrant.”

Yoongi huffs a laugh through his nose, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “I just think I need to figure the rest out on my own.”

Yijeong shrugs, seemingly disinterested in pressing the matter any further. Thankfully. “If you’re sure. I should be heading back soon anyway.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi reassures. “I’m good, Yijeong-ah. I promise.”

“Okay. I’ll figure something out tomorrow, then.”

Yoongi grunts in response, already turning back to his laptop.

Yijeong stands, grabbing his jacket. On his way out, he reaches for Yoongi’s half-empty coffee cup and confiscates it with a small smile. “I’m going to sleep. I suggest you do the same, Yoongi-yah.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. He just watches as Yijeong leaves, the room settling into silence once again.

His eyes flick to the dark screen of his phone beside him, fingers twitching like they want to reach for it. Instead, he exhales, drags a hand through his hair, and turns back to the lyrics in front of him.

★ ★ ★

The set is busy today. Cameras clicking, makeup artists fussing over the music playing from the speakers. Hyerin, who has been buzzing around you all day like a fly, runs her fingers over the expensive garments you have yet to be photographed in, inspecting them for imperfections. Assistants flit around the room carting coffees and clipboards. You’re wearing Moschino. It’s everything you’ve dreaded for the past several years, but today, you’re thankful.

It’s familiar, muscle memory taking over as you move through poses. You arch, tilt, shift, your body following the rhythm of the camera’s shutter. The stylist adjusts the hem of your outfit between shots, fingers quick and efficient, but you barely register it. Your gaze lands just past the camera lens, somewhere indistinct. You don’t need to be fully present for this; you just need to be good.

And you are.

The morning had started before sunrise—a briefing with your team, a fitting for an event later in the week, hair and makeup. Then, a quick coffee you barely tasted before being ushered into wardrobe.

Seoyeon delivered exactly what you asked for. The next few days are stacked to the brim—more shoots, trendy pop-up events, interviews. You have no room for anything else.

Still, your mind wanders. Between outfit changes, between shots, between the moments where you stand still as hands fuss over your hair and clothes. Your phone sits face-down on the makeup counter, silent. It’s stupid that you even notice. That you’re even thinking about—

“Okay, let’s reset for the next look!” the director calls out, snapping you out of your haze.

The second you step off set, Seoyeon is at your side, clipboard in hand. “You’re doing great,” she says, brisk. “They’re running a little ahead of schedule, so we might be able to squeeze in that interview with Elle later this afternoon. Sound good?”

You nod automatically, reaching for a bottle of water. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

“You holding up okay?”

You fiddle with your straw before taking a sip, careful not to mess up your lip gloss. “I’m fine,” you insist.

Seoyeon doesn’t push, but she doesn’t look convinced either. “This is the last outfit change. We’ll get proofs back in a few days.”

“That’s perfect.” Your smile is practiced, professional. “Just keep it coming.”

“You have an early call time tomorrow,” she reminds you. “I’ll send you the details tonight.”

And just like that, she’s gone again, moving onto the next task, making things happen. You exhale, tipping your head back, willing yourself to shake off the weight pressing against your ribcage.

One of the assistants calls you over to wardrobe, and you go, slipping seamlessly back into the performance. It’s easier that way.

★ ★ ★

Once Yijeong leaves, Yoongi knows he’s on borrowed time. He can’t stay holed up in this bedroom forever. It’s only a matter of time before Park fucking Jimin calls him on his shit.

To his credit, he’s been much more productive now that he’s alone. There’s a fifth song now, and he’s well on his way to a sixth. Sure, they’ve come at the expense of his health and hygeine, but hey. That’s the music business, baby.

At least, that’s what he tells himself. That the sleepless nights and skipped meals are for the sake of the music, that the burning in his chest is just exhaustion, not something deeper. That the guilt sitting heavy in his stomach is just another feeling to be ignored.

He’s in the middle of scrawling something down—a song about beautiful women and kissing with teeth, something reckless, maybe with a catchy bass riff for Taehyung?—when his bedroom door swings open. Yoongi hears Jimin call his name, but he doesn’t look up. He keeps his head down, pen moving across the page, clinging to his last thread of focus.

"Yoongi-hyung," Jimin says again.

Yoongi ignores him. Keeps writing, because what he’s coming up with now is way better than the song he was workshopping earlier—which, lyrically, was just a heavy handed metaphor for jerking off. Surely that says something about where Yoongi’s head is at lately.

Then—bang. Jimin’s palm slams onto the desk, making the pen in Yoongi’s hand jump. His pulse spikes in response. "Min Yoongi!"

"What?" he mutters, his grip on his pen tightening as his teeth grind together. His voice comes out hoarse, like he hasn’t used it in days. Maybe he hasn’t.

Jimin doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches forward, snatches the pen from Yoongi’s fingers, and throws it across the room.

Yoongi watches it go, the small clatter of plastic hitting the floor echoing in his ears. "What the hell is going on with you?" Jimin demands.

Yoongi takes a deep breath. Holds and releases. Tamps down his mounting irritation. "I don’t have time for this, Jimin-ah."

"Make time,” Jimin says, tone final.

Yoongi exhales, finally pushing away from his desk. The wheels of his chair scrape against the floor as he turns to face Jimin, his patience razor-thin. "Fine. What the fuck do you want?"

"You’ve been acting like a jackass—"

Yoongi scoffs. "Because that’s so out of character for me—"

"—since YN left," Jimin finishes, crossing his arms with a smug finality.

Yoongi’s stomach lurches, but he keeps his face impassive. He’s good at that. Years of practice.

Jimin doesn’t back down. "Why did YN leave, Yoongi?"

"How should I know? What YN does has nothing to do with me."

Yoongi knows Jimin isn’t an idiot. He notices things. And even if Yoongi didn’t know that, the way Jimin confronted him (read: scared the shit out of his asshole) last week made it abundantly clear. But still, denial feels easier.

"You haven’t spoken to Jeongguk all week, either," Jimin points out.

Yoongi reaches for another pen, swallowing his guilt. He doesn’t want to talk about this, not now. Not when he’s finally getting somewhere with these songs. "Been busy,” he mumbles.

"Bullshit,” Jimin says as he grabs the new pen and throws it, too, forcing Yoongi’s now-empty fist to clench tightly. “Tell me what’s going on."

"What’s going on," Yoongi grits out through clenched teeth, "is that I have a fucking album to write. An album that nobody else but me seems to give a shit about. So I’m writing it.” He scoffs, gesturing towards his discarded pen. “At least, I was."

Jimin shakes his head, not buying it. "What did you do to her? What could you have possibly done to make her get on a plane to Seoul with no notice? I told you that you were going too far. And then we went to the orchard, and everything was fine."

Yoongi laughs, but there’s no amusement in it. "I’m not talking about this with you, Jimin-ah. This is none of your business."

"What happened outside of that noraebang, Yoongi?"

"Nothing—"

"Don’t even try to lie to me," Jimin interrupts. His voice is sharp, unrelenting. "I’ve known you since I was twenty years old. You barely drank that night, and even if you did, you can hold your alcohol. But then you come back inside, and you’re spilling your guts all over Taehyung’s shoes."

Yoongi stays silent. That’s really the only option when receiving a certified dressing-down from Park Jimin.

"And less than twelve hours later, YN is back in Seoul. You want to tell me that’s a coincidence?"

It’s not. It’s not. Yoongi doesn’t want to fucking talk about this.

"Everybody likes YN, except for you. Jeongguk loves her. And you’re entitled to your opinion, whatever, but that doesn’t mean you can treat her like trash. And you have."

The words snap something in Yoongi. His control slips. "I kissed her." Jimin freezes, eyes wide, and Yoongi looks away. "And she kissed me back."

"She…" Jimin shakes his head, like he’s trying to make sense of it. "You and YN…"

Yoongi runs a hand over his face, frustration curling around his ribs, squeezing tight. "She drives me fucking insane, okay? I don’t know why I did it. Nothing I do makes any fucking sense anymore."

Jimin exhales. "But… Jeongguk—"

"Why do you think I’ve been in here all week?" Yoongi gestures vaguely at the cluttered desk, the crumpled papers and mugs of cold coffee. The ashtray, even though he hates to smoke inside.

Jimin’s expression softens. "Hyung…"

Ah, there it is—the pity, the concern. Yoongi shuts his eyes, his exhaustion settling into his bones. He already knows what Jimin is going to say. "I know."

"You have to tell him.”

"I know."

Jimin studies him for a long moment. "Hyung, it looks like you haven’t slept in days. I know you haven’t been eating like you should, either."

Yoongi says nothing, his gaze dropping to his lap.

Jimin shifts on his feet. "I’ve… I’ve never really understood you and Jeonggukie’s relationship. Nobody does, I mean… You’re both so…" He trails off, shaking his head. "You love each other. I don’t think anything could ever get in between you two."

Yoongi’s fingers curl into his palm as he recalls Namjoon’s warning from weeks ago. Jeongguk is a grown man. He’s fully entitled to make his own decisions, and you need to respect that if you don’t want to lose him. His voice comes out quieter than before. "Something already has."

Jimin takes a slow breath. "Jeonggukie knows you would never do anything to hurt him, not on purpose. You just need to talk it out with him, hyung."

Yoongi nods, just barely. "Yeah."

Jimin doesn’t let up. "Promise me."

Yoongi hesitates, then mutters, "I promise."

Jimin gives a small nod before stepping back toward the door. "Okay." He reaches for the handle, pausing. "Get some sleep first. You look like shit."

Yoongi huffs out something that isn’t quite a laugh. "I’ll try.”

Jimin exhales. "Just… Deal with it before it gets any worse." He pulls the door open. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight.”

★ ★ ★

Yoongi isn’t in the business of breaking promises, so the next night, he ventures out of his room.

He watches Jeongguk stare back at him, eyes dark with something unreadable. His stomach twists.

He has spent years protecting this kid’s dream—no, making it his mission, his purpose, his redemption. Jeongguk had been barely more than a teenager when Yoongi first met him, eyes bright with possibility, looking at Yoongi like he hung the damn stars.

Back then, Yoongi had just dropped out of college, drowning in the weight of his own failure. He had been a classical piano major—a prodigy, people said. Someone who was supposed to make something of himself.

But the pressure had been too much, the expectations too high, and when he couldn’t bear it anymore, he had walked away with nothing but a hollow chest and a name that didn’t mean a fucking thing outside those walls.

Jeongguk was an underclassman at the time. The voice of an angel and the dream of being in a rock band. It was stupid—childish, even—but Yoongi saw himself in the kid, saw what he had lost, and he had sworn right then and there that Jeongguk would never know what it felt like to give up. To be crushed under the weight of something bigger than himself.

If Yoongi could make Jeongguk’s dream come true, then maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t feel like such a failure himself.

But now, sitting on the edge of Jeongguk’s bed, watching the hurt in his face, Yoongi wonders if he had only ever been deluding himself.

"You and YN…?" Jeongguk’s voice is careful, controlled, but Yoongi can hear the fracture beneath it.

"I’m sorry." The words taste like ash in Yoongi’s mouth. He knows they’re not enough.

"When?"

"At the noraebang,” Yoongi mumbles. He wants to look away, wants to sink into the floor, retreat from the sheer expressiveness Jeongguk’s eyes are capable of. But he doesn’t.

"That’s why she left?" Jeongguk asks, realization washing over his features.

Yoongi exhales shakily, the guilt settling deep in his bones. "I haven’t called to confirm or anything, but…" He drags a hand down his face. "Yeah. Probably."

"I thought you hated her.”

"I do," Yoongi says automatically, but the words feel strange. False. Like he’s clinging to something that was never really there to begin with.

Jeongguk stares at him, incredulous. "But you kissed her?"

"It’s…" Yoongi clenches his fists, bitten down nails digging into his palms. "Guk-ah, it was stupid."

"It sounds stupid,” Jeongguk scoffs.

"It was." Yoongi drags a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling over. "I don’t have an excuse, okay? It happened, and I’m sorry. How can I get you to forgive me? I’ll do anything."

Jeongguk shakes his head, the laughter still on his lips, but it’s humorless. "There’s nothing to forgive, hyung."

Yoongi stills. "What do you mean?"

"YN and I aren’t really dating."

What the fuck.

Yoongi feels his mind blank out, practically hears the record scratch. The suspicion that Yoongi’s held so tightly this whole time, and Jeongguk is the one saying it out loud. No fucking way.

"…What?"

"You think I would bring my real girlfriend around you?" Jeongguk tilts his head, expression unreadable.

Did he say real girlfriend? What the hell does that mean?

It doesn’t make sense. Jeongguk isn’t the type to lie, not like this. But the way he’s looking at Yoongi right now—like he’s daring him to deny it—tells him this is very real.

"Hyung, ever since you met YN, you’ve acted like a lunatic."

"That’s not—"

"Yoongi-hyung."

Yoongi shuts up instantly. Fair is fair.

"The girl I’m dating isn’t in the public eye, and YN is,” Jeongguk continues. "We’re friends. She agreed to help."

The idea of Jeongguk hiding something from Yoongi—through a scheme this elaborate, no less—feels preposterous. It feels like a practical joke.

But the way he’s looking at Yoongi right now? There’s nothing funny about it.

Yoongi shakes his head, struggling to process. "But… Why not tell us? Me?"

Jeongguk gives him a withering look. "Come on, hyung. The backlash from everyone else would’ve been bad, but you? You’re so much worse."

Yoongi’s chest tightens. Fair is fair, but, "I wouldn’t have—"

"You don’t think I wanted to introduce my girlfriend to you, really? I knew what would happen. Things would’ve gone exactly the same as they did with YN."

Yoongi swallows hard. "I just don’t want you to get hurt."

"You’re so protective over me, hyung. Like I’m a kid. Like I’m incapable of making my own decisions."

And that? That hurts. Because Yoongi never meant to make Jeongguk feel small. Never meant to clip his wings when all he ever wanted was to help him soar. But somewhere along the way, his protection had turned into suffocation. He’s the one who pushed him to this, he realizes. The one who made him feel like he had no choice but to lie.

"Guk-ah, I don’t want you to have to hide things from me. Please. How can I fix it? Tell hyung how to fix it,” Yoongi pleads.

"I don’t know.” The words sound so hollow. Why didn’t he come to Yoongi sooner, if he’s felt this way for so long? Yoongi would do anything for Jeongguk. He thought Jeongguk knew that.

"Jeongguk—"

"No, hyung." Jeongguk snaps. "I introduce YN as my girlfriend and you act like a dick. You humiliate her. I ask her to go out of her way to work things out with you, which I shouldn’t have to do, and things are fine for like, a few days. And then suddenly she’s leaving, lying to me about why, and you’re telling me you kissed her?"

Yoongi stays silent. He’s played the protective hyung card, but where the kiss is concerned, he has nothing to say for himself.

"I haven’t heard from her at all since she left. Until now, you’ve been avoiding me, too,” Jeongguk continues. “I’m sick of it. I’m sick of everyone treating me like I can’t handle shit."

Yoongi’s voice comes out barely above a whisper. "I’m sorry."

"I don’t want to hear it, hyung. Whatever issues you’re having with her, that’s none of my business anymore. You know the truth now. Just…”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, wiping sweaty palms off on his jeans as he stands from the bed. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll go.”

He hates how final it feels. How he’s left wondering if this is something he and Jeongguk can bounce back from. A half-written album for a band that could be hanging in the balance, because of Yoongi.

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to stop him from leaving. He just stands there, arms crossed, jaw tight—like he’s holding something back, like he’s already decided this conversation is over.

Yoongi hesitates for a moment, waiting for something. He’s not even sure what. A sign that things aren’t as broken as they feel. But Jeongguk won’t look at him.

So, he turns and walks away.

The air in the hallway feels stifling, thick with everything left unsaid. His feet carry him downstairs, back to his room. Once he’s back inside, he just stands there, staring at the door, fingers twitching at his sides.

He doesn’t know how to make this right.

Yoongi’s fingers tremble slightly as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. It’s like his body’s on autopilot, moving without him. He scrolls through his contacts and presses call before he even thinks about it.

The phone rings once. Twice.

"Hyung? Did somebody die?"

It’s so Namjoon to pick up Yoongi’s calls like that. He almost laughs, but it dies in his throat. He rubs his face, a sharp breath slipping past his lips as he fights to regain his bearings.

"You knew," Yoongi says simply. His voice comes out deceptively calm.

A long, heavy pause fills the line, a silence that stretches on as Namjoon’s brain catches up to what Yoongi is saying. But Yoongi knows he doesn’t need to say anything else. Namjoon is a smart guy.

"Yeah,” he finally says, his sigh crackling over the line. “I did."

"Fuck,” Yoongi huffs. His hands are shaking.

"Did he tell you?" Namjoon’s voice is quiet, careful.

Yoongi closes his eyes. "Yeah."

"Is it... Is everything okay?" Namjoon asks.

What a stupid fucking question. Yoongi starts pacing, desperate to change the subject. He’s working on the fly, but he’s not at all surprised by the words that end up leaving his mouth.

"Look, I have seven songs. Book a flight for me. I’ll come show the label what I’ve come up with."

There’s another sigh on the other end of the line, like Namjoon knows better than to fight him on this. Good, Yoongi thinks.

"Okay,” Namjoon says. “Just for you?"

"I think space would be good. For a few days." Or longer.

"Hyung… What happened?"

"YN and I kissed,” Yoongi says. Might as well.

The line falls silent. Yoongi can practically hear Namjoon’s brain processing the information, the shock and confusion on the other side. He doesn’t care. He just wants the conversation over with, wants to move forward.

"What?" Namjoon’s voice cracks with disbelief, the confusion clear even through the phone.

"Namjoon-ah, I’m really sick of talking about it, okay?” Yoongi says, struggling to tamp down the impatience in his tone. “I’m gonna fix it. I just need something from you."

"What do you need?"

"Can you get in contact with YN’s manager?" Yoongi swipes into his messages with Namjoon. His fingers shake as they fly over his keyboard, and then he presses send. “I need you to relay a message.”

Namjoon is quiet for a long time, just the static crackle of soft breaths. When he speaks again, his voice is laced with exhaustion. "Okay. I’ll get it done."

"Thanks," Yoongi mutters, voice rough. He doesn’t say goodbye, doesn’t wait for Namjoon to respond. Minutes later, he’s forwarded an email with a flight confirmation. He grabs a bag and fills it.

He has a plane to catch.

★ ★ ★

The last person you expect to see when you open your door is Min Yoongi.

It’s late. Late late. Like, ‘nothing good happens after midnight’ late. Your parents used to say that a lot when you were younger, back when your obsession with live music meant sneaking into venues past curfew. It’s funny—you never believed them. Back then, your nights only got better the later it became.

Now, though. Now you get it.

Because Min Yoongi at your door when he’s supposed to be a plane ride away from you? That can only mean trouble.

But here he is, dressed in all black, a beanie and a face mask concealing his identity from your building’s security cameras. Instead of wielding a knife like you’d expect, his arms are full of crinkly takeout bags.

"Hi, dollface."

"Yoongi? What—"

"I’m not here to fight, okay?" he interrupts, lifting the bags a little as if it’s supposed to reassure you. "Look, I brought you dinner."

Going with poison, then, you think.

"How did you figure out where I live?" you ask, dreading the answer.

"Namjoon asked Seoyeon on my behalf," he explains casually, like it's no big deal. "Or, on Jeongguk’s behalf, actually."

Oh, cool. So your manager is just giving your address away. "Why—"

"Can we have this conversation inside?" he cuts in. "The food’s gonna get cold."

You hesitate, but your curiosity gets the best of you, so you step aside to let him in. He moves past you like he belongs there, setting the bag down on your kitchen counter and methodically unpacking its contents.

"It’s chicken," he says casually. "Figured that was a safe bet."

You stare at him, bewildered. “Chicken is… Yeah, chicken is fine."

"I brought beer, too." He finally turns to look at you. You can only really see his eyes, but you can’t help but notice how tired he looks. You try not to care.

"Yoongi, why are you here?" you demand.

Sighing, he pulls off the face mask, tucking it into his jacket pocket. "Jeongguk told me the truth.”

Unable to help it, your entire body goes rigid at his words. "Oh yeah? What’s that?"

"He has a girlfriend,” he says, before clarifying, “that isn’t you."

You feel the world tilt beneath your feet. So Jeongguk told him the whole truth. Cool. You really should’ve returned those calls. The ones you were avoiding.

"Why did he tell you that?" you ask, and it’s not even anger that colors your voice anymore. Just a raw, unfiltered panic that you can't hide.

Yoongi turns and leans back against the counter, watching you. "I’ve been trying to figure out why you didn’t tell me that. From the start."

Your defenses instantly go up. It’s par for the course around Yoongi at this point.

"Because he didn’t want me to,” you reply coolly, schooling your features into something less panicked. “So, what changed? What did you do?"

"I told him we kissed."

FUCK!

Well, so much for concealing the panic. "You—why?"

"I couldn’t just not tell him, YN,” Yoongi reasons. “It was killing me. I felt like the world’s biggest piece of shit all week. You’re Jeongguk’s girlfriend." He snorts, shaking his head. "Or, at least, that’s what you both wanted me to think."

You scoff, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. "Okay, fine. You told him. How did he react?"

"To the kiss?" Yoongi tilts his head slightly. "I mean, better than I expected, considering I was under the impression he was in love with you."

Your brow furrows. "So he’s not mad?"

Yoongi lets out a humorless laugh. "Not at you, don’t worry."

Ah. "But he’s mad at you," you guess.

"I’m not getting a world’s best hyung trophy anytime soon." Yoongi shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but you can tell it does.

You stare at him for a long moment, processing. Then, slowly, the words slip out. "So… You flew back to Seoul to… What? Rub it in my face in person?"

Yoongi blinks at you. "What?"

"That you were right. That you knew it was bullshit all along."

Realization flits over Yoongi’s features. He doesn’t look defensive—he doesn’t even look surprised. In fact, he seems oddly amused, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. "Mm. That’s more like a fringe benefit."

You throw your hands up, completely exasperated. "Then why are you here, Yoongi?"

"To have dinner with you,” Yoongi says, breaking into a full-blown grin now.

“I’m not hungry,” you say flatly.

"Look, I’m not exactly welcome in that house right now," he says, like that’s supposed to explain things any better.

"And you think you’re welcome in mine?"

He tilts his head, amused. "I don’t know, dollface. Am I?"

You gawk at him, your pulse thumping in your ears. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"A kiss isn’t exactly a solo activity, last time I checked."

You bristle. "You kissed me."

"Is that what we’re going with?" Yoongi asks, brow lifting.

"That’s what happened."

"Let’s say I did make the first move, then." You don’t miss the way his gaze flickers to your mouth, then back to your eyes. "You took your sweet time pushing me away."

"And then I got on a plane to get away from you,” you counter.

Yoongi hums, his eyes darkening slightly. “Couldn’t trust yourself?"

"What—"

"You think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been undressing me with your eyes lately?" He grins, clearly enjoying himself. "I’ve felt very objectified, you know."

"Fuck you," you spit, your pulse racing.

He just laughs—low, knowing. "Everything else is all out in the open now," he says. "Might as well come clean about this, too."

“There’s nothing to come clean about,” you retort, your voice sharp, but inside, you’re shaking. “I haven’t been looking at you any type of way. You should get your eyes checked.”

“So it wasn’t good for you, then?”

"What?"

“The kiss.”

You stiffen. “No.”

His smirk deepens. “Right. Okay, then.”

“You don’t believe me?” you ask, defiant.

“Don’t get me wrong, your acting has improved. But no.” He leans in slightly. “You wanna know what I think?”

“No.”

Yoongi grins. “I think it drives you crazy, how attracted you are to me.”

Your world tilts on its fucking axis, and you know it shows on your face.

“Get over yourself,” you scoff, trying to find your footing again. But Yoongi isn’t having it.

“That sound you made when my tongue was in your mouth?” His voice drops lower, rougher, and it sends a shiver through your spine. “I fucking earned that. No way you would’ve let that slip on purpose.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your body locking up. Fuck.

“I can get all kinds of sounds out of you, if you let me,” Yoongi continues. He steps closer, cocking his head at you. “I think you know that, too. I think you know I can fuck you the way you’ve been waiting to get fucked.”

Your breath stutters, heat creeping up your neck.

“No one else has gotten it right, huh?” His voice is softer now, coaxing. “Too nice, too boring. But I can. And you hate that you want it.”

His words settle into the air between you, heavy and undeniable. You can’t look at him.

“If I’m wrong, tell me.” He studies you closely, hand raising to tilt your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his. That first touch, skin on skin, stupidly makes your thighs clench on instinct. “I’ll drop it. I’ll get on a plane tonight and go right back to where I came from.”

The silence stretches. Long. Loaded.

Then, more gently, “am I wrong, dollface?”

You exhale shakily, and—slowly, reluctantly—you shake your head.

“Here’s the way I see it,” he continues smoothly. “I have no reason to stand in the way of your arrangement with Jeongguk anymore. But you and I are still going to be around each other, whether we like it or not.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t even know if your ‘arrangement’ with Jeongguk is still on, after all of this. But that’s the furthest thing from your mind right now.

“Might as well make the most of it.”

Your throat is dry. Your skin feels too tight. You force yourself to take a steadying breath, despite the heat pooling between your legs.

“Beer isn’t gonna cut it,” you decide suddenly.

You push past him, moving toward the kitchen.

Yoongi laughs, watching you. “That so?"

Wine feels right. You pour yourself a glass, glancing at him across the island. “Want one?”

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees, amusement evident in his tone.

You pour another glass before you walk to the couch in the living room, settling down with a long sip before meeting his gaze. “Let me get this straight.”

He sits beside you, taking the glass you offer to him. “Uh-huh,” he says, urging you to continue.

“You want to fuck me.”

His lips quirk. “I wouldn’t be opposed.”

You huff in frustration. “No, Yoongi,” you say. You’re over the games. If he wants to do this, he’s going to have to put a little bit more work in. “That’s what you came here for.”

Infuriatingly, Yoongi doesn’t answer right away, only taking a slow sip of his wine.

“You got in a fight with Jeongguk, and for some reason, your immediate response was to hop on a plane and proposition me,” you continue. “I’m not even gonna pretend to understand that train of thought, but I do want to hear you admit it.”

He pauses, considering. “That’s what you want?”

“Yes,” you say firmly. “That’s what I want. Why should I let you have it that easy?”

“God.” Yoongi makes a noise low in his throat, frustration and arousal combined. “Okay, yeah. I want to fuck you,” he admits, unwavering.

You let the silence linger for a moment. Then, finally, you nod. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He raises a brow.

“Okay,” you repeat. “You can fuck me.”

Yoongi’s responding laugh is quiet, amused. “Don’t sound so excited, dollface.”

Shit, if only he knew. You’re barely hanging on by a thread, shocked that you’ve made it this far without folding. You may not be Yoongi’s number one fan, but you’d be a liar if you said you don’t want to take him up on all of his offers.

“I just want you to stop acting like I’m the desperate one here,” you mutter.

“Okay. We’re both desperate, then.”

“Thank you,” you say primly, trying and failing to calm your racing heart.

Yoongi sets his glass down on your coffee table, eyes glinting as he watches you. “So… Are you gonna come over here?”

You watch the way he leans back against the couch, his denim-clad thighs spread invitingly, and you bite your lip.

Okay. This is happening.

“Fuck it,” you huff, setting your own glass down next to his and shifting your body to straddle his lap.

In an instant, Yoongi’s hands find your waist, molding to your curves. He tilts his head up, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. Not unlike last time, there’s no finesse to it, but it feels so fucking good—lips and teeth and tongues fighting for dominance, like there’s something to win.

Now that all of the cards are on the table, it’s clear that neither of you are interested in holding back. Your teeth nip at Yoongi’s bottom lip roughly, earning a grunt from him as his hands skim over your thighs, calloused fingers catching on your shorts.

Yoongi pulls back first, his eyes inky black as he feels you up. “These fucking shorts,” he mumbles under his breath, hands smoothing over the silk before squeezing harshly. “What are the chances.”

With startling clarity, you realize that you weren’t the only one looking when you were on Jeju. You left an impression on Yoongi, too.

It makes you feel triumphant.

“Like them?” you purr, rucking the hem of your shirt up to give him a better view of the damp fabric clinging to you. Slowly, deliberately, you roll your hips, feeling the way he strains in his jeans.

“Shit, you’re a tease,” Yoongi hisses, licking his lips as he helps you pull your shirt over your head. His eyes flick between your clothed core and your breasts hungrily, like he’s deciding where he wants to start first.

But your patience is wearing thin. You make the decision for him, dragging his hands up to cup your tits. Yoongi obliges, chuckling with amusement when he catches the way your nipples stand at attention already, without him even laying a finger on them.

Holding your gaze, he leans in, tongue flicking over a sensitive bud. You can’t look away—not when the cool metal ball of his piercing glides so skillfully over it, sending a sharp pulse of pleasure straight to your neglected cunt. It feels like he’s touching you everywhere, extra stimulation that forces a moan from your throat.

Yoongi doesn’t let up for a second, sucking and licking at your nipples until they’re aching, puffy and reddened. All you can do is take it, fingers threading through dark locks at the nape of his neck as you whimper for more.

“Look at you, dollface,” he rasps, replacing his tongue with his fingers to pinch and tease. “You can be sweet, can’t you?”

“Fuck you,” you gasp out, biting your lip to suppress the needy sounds that threaten to spill free. You can’t help it—he can’t win this quickly. He can’t know how badly you’ve needed this, needed him, ever since that fucking kiss.

Yoongi laughs, pinching a nipple one last time before retreating completely. “Always running that fucking mouth.” Eyes fixed on yours, he moves his hand down your hip, cupping your cunt so firmly it forces your legs to spread. “Should make you choke on my dick, shut you up for a bit.”

Your breath shakes in your lungs as he starts rubbing tantalizing circles over your folds. “You can be a nice girl, mm?” Yoongi growls, finding your clit such exacting accuracy that it makes your head spin, steals the moans from your throat. He noses along the line of your shoulder, murmuring against your skin, “be a nice girl for me.”

“Yoongi,” you moan, helpless. Without warning, Yoongi’s fingers slip under the leg of your shorts, slipping into you with an ease that makes him groan against your neck.

“So fucking wet,” he growls, fingers stroking inside you, rubbing your inner walls. You can both hear how wet you are. He curls his fingers, and you cry out. “Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

It’s his admission, the reminder that he wants this just as badly as you do, that breaks down your inhibitions. Suddenly, you’re rolling your hips, moaning as you grind down onto his fingers in a frenzied rhythm.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes appreciatively, watching you move with dark eyes like he’s imagining you bouncing on his cock. “I’m gonna fucking wreck you.”

You can’t take it anymore, single-mindedly focused on chasing your impending release. Yoongi’s fingers stroke so deeply inside of you that your eyes roll back in your head, your breath leaving you in staccato bursts of his name. His other hand returns to your breast, pinching hard at your nipple. You’re so close you can taste it.

“Go on,” he encourages. His thumb moves to rub at your clit as his fingers fuck into you over and over. “Come for me, dollface.”

That’s all it takes.

You sob as your orgasm hits you hard, your vision swimming. Your cunt squeezes around Yoongi’s fingers so tightly it earns a moan from him, but it barely registers. All you can do is moan, pulling hard at Yoongi’s hair until the movement of your hips slows to a stop.

When you finally come down, Yoongi’s fingers slipping out of you as you pant for breath, your eyes focus on him.

He looks fucking delicious.

Pouty lips bitten red. Dark locks mussed where they peek out beneath his beanie. Veiny hand squeezing around the thick bulge in his jeans.

You’ve never wanted something so badly in your life, and it’s clear the feeling is mutual. He said it himself—he wants to wreck you.

It occurs to you, suddenly, that you’re not going to let him. Not tonight.

Suddenly, you reach for your discarded shirt, slipping it back over your body. You stand on shaky legs, reaching for your forgotten glass of wine and tipping your head back to finish it off. You can feel Yoongi’s eyes tracking your every movement, waiting. It fills you with immense satisfaction that he’s waiting for something that won’t come.

“Well, thanks,” you say, barely suppressing a grin. “This was fun.”

“What?” Yoongi replies, confusion evident in his tone.

“It’s late. I have an early schedule tomorrow,” you explain coolly, tilting your head at him. “Surely, Seoyeon told you?”

“But—”

“She’ll kill me if I show up with bags under my eyes,” you interrupt. “You understand.”

A long silence stretches between you as Yoongi weighs his options. You watch with triumph as his fists flex at his sides, clenching and unclenching. Finally, he schools his features into something neutral and speaks.

“Fine,” he grumbles.

“Great,” you say, grinning as he gets up from the couch. “Thanks for stopping by. I’ll walk you out.”

The walk to the door is quiet, tension thick between you. Yoongi’s jaw is tight, his hands shoved into his pockets like he’s physically restraining himself. You revel in it, in the way you’ve turned the tables, left him aching.

You reach for the door handle, but before you can open it, Yoongi moves.

In a flash, your back is pressed against the wall, his body caging you in. His hands pin your wrists beside your head, and then his lips are on yours—hot, demanding, devastating. It’s not just a kiss. It’s a punishment. His mouth is all-consuming, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before his tongue pushes past, claiming you in a way that leaves no room for argument.

The way he surrounds you is dizzying, the hard planes of his body pressed against you all the way down. His hips roll once, slow and deliberate, making sure you feel it as the thick ridge of his cock in his jeans drags against your still-sensitive core.

And fuck, you feel it. Every. Single. Inch.

Then, just as suddenly as he came at you, he pulls back.

Breathless, you barely have time to register the wicked smirk curving his lips before he steps away, smoothing a hand down his shirt like nothing happened.

“Sweet dreams, dollface,” he murmurs, voice husky, eyes dark with promise.

And then, just like that, he steps away, yanking the door open and walking out without another glance. You stand there, dazed, lips swollen, body still thrumming from the intensity of it all.

Fuck.

What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

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angelsfat3 · 20 hours ago

Text

꽃.ㅤㅤ( 𝒥𝔲𝐬𝑡 ) ／ㅤ𝔘𝓼ᆞᆞᆞ𝔉𝓸𝓇𝑒𝔳𝔢𝒓.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗇𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝖻𝗈𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝖠𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌.ㅤ／ㅤ 𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒!𝑌𝑢𝑛𝒉𝑜, 𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑔𝑎𝑝 (4𝑦), 𝑜𝑏𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑣𝑒, 𝑠𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒.ㅤ٭ㅤ危险──𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔(𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑦 𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡), 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝒉𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠, 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑖𝑑, 𝑌𝑢𝑛𝒉𝑜 𝑠𝒉𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝒉𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑠—𝑏𝑒𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝒉𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑛.

Summer had just ended when you moved with your parents to a private neighborhood—again. A quiet place, with pristine streets, neighbors walking their dogs, elderly folks jogging, and houses that all looked eerily similar. It wasn’t the most exciting place in the world, but at least you had your own space, and the university wasn’t as far away as the others had been. Not bad.

Your parents, on the other hand, seemed thrilled about this so-called “fresh start” and, as expected, wasted no time striking up conversations with some of the neighbors.

That’s how you met him.

At first, it was just a few glances from the corner of your eye as you hauled heavy boxes from the trunk of the car. He was tall, dressed in a neatly pressed shirt, with a calm expression as he spoke to your parents at the entrance. You wouldn’t have paid much attention to him—until you heard him call your name.

“You must be [...], right?”

When you looked up and straightened, Yunho was already in front of you, wearing a... friendly smile. There was something about him—a natural confidence that made anyone lower their guard the moment they saw him.

“I’m Yunho. Jeong Yunho. I live a few houses down... Your parents mentioned you’ll be starting university soon.”

His tone was warm, too gentle, too sweet—perfect. He wasn’t giving you a single reason to be suspicious of him, was he?

Moving had never been an issue for you. Or at least, it had never affected you as much as it did now.

Maybe it was because this time, it wasn’t just about changing houses—it was an entirely different environment. A new university. Strange people. Going from the city to a private neighborhood with spotless streets, picture-perfect houses, and neighbors who seemed to live flawless lives gave you a weird feeling. Like everything was too... organized.

Too controlled. Or rather, too perfect. Almost stupidly dreamlike.

Yunho was one of the first people to welcome you. Or, more accurately, to show up at your door the day after helping you haul what felt like a thousand boxes into your new place.

You remembered it clearly. His soft voice, his polite tone, the way your parents thanked him for offering to help you get settled. It was a simple gesture, but from that day on, he never really left your side.

You still recalled the faint creak of the fence pulling you out of your thoughts. When you looked up, there he was, leaning against the wooden frame, his expression relaxed as he watched you.

“Heey, more boxes? Need a hand with that?”

His voice was calm, like he wasn’t expecting a no.

You blinked a couple of times before glancing down at the boxes in your hands—the last ones left to take up to your room. They weren’t heavy, but after so many trips back and forth, your body was starting to feel it.

“Nah, don’t worry… It’s not much. Just my room stuff, a couple of wooden shelves,” you replied, but he was already walking toward you.

By the time you thought of refusing, he had already taken one of the boxes with ease. His fingers brushed against yours in the process, but he either didn’t notice or simply didn’t care.

“You could use an extra pair of hands anyway. You look like Bambi trying to walk,” he said with a small laugh, flashing a sweet smile.

You didn’t argue. You couldn’t. Somehow, when Yunho spoke in that effortlessly casual way, it was hard to contradict him. Like he knew exactly how to make you melt, what words to use to make you say yes without a second thought.

You followed him upstairs, and as he set the box down on your bed, he glanced around the room with a neutral expression—almost like he was assessing it. Judging it, you thought.

“Have you settled in well? Feeling comfortable yet?” he asked casually, his gaze trailing over the still-unopened boxes.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s quiet, but I haven’t met many people yet.”

“Well... at least you know me now. That should be enough, right?”

His tone was light, playful, but the way his eyes lingered on yours for just a second too long made something stir in your chest.

“I suppose so,” you replied.

It wasn’t uncomfortable. Yunho didn’t make you nervous—not in the way someone dangerous would. There was something about him that made him too easy to be around, too easy to follow along with.

The silence between you both was only broken by small, nervous smiles and the quiet exhales you let out through your nose.

“You know, your mom invited me over for tea the other day,” he said suddenly, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You frowned slightly.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah... We talked a little. She said she wanted me to look out for you.” He smiled slightly, though his eyes seemed to be watching your every reaction as he chuckled.

“And what did you say?”

“The truth,” he shrugged. “That I’d always keep an eye on you. Even if she hadn’t asked.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that, so you just let out a short laugh.

“You make it sound like I’m a little kid.”

“Nah, not exactly.” Yunho tilted his head slightly, his smile barely there. “...But you are younger than me. And you just moved in. It’s normal for someone to look out for you a bit.”

Something about the way he said it sent a strange feeling down your spine, but before you could reply, he had already changed the subject.

“So… got any plans for today?”

“Nothing special. Just lying on the floor and pretending I’m organizing my stuff.”

“That’s... charming. How about we take a walk instead? I can show you around.”

His proposal was direct, without a single hint of hesitation. In fact, it sounded more like a plan than a suggestion.

There was no reason to say no. It made sense to get to know the neighborhood, and if anyone could show you around, it was him. Him.

You nodded. Yunho smiled, though for just a second, his eyes darkened.

“Good.”

You couldn't say it was annoying. Yunho wasn’t overbearing, he wasn’t intrusive, but somehow, his presence was constant—too much so.

If you went outside to take out the trash, he was in his garden.

If you came back from university, you’d see him leaning against his fence, smoking with a calm expression.

If your mother hosted a dinner with the neighbors, he was there, chatting with her as if they had known each other for years.

That was fine, wasn’t it? It was normal for a neighbor to try to be friendly, especially when you were new to the area.

But then… the little things started happening.

At first, you only noticed that he seemed to know more than he should—things you had never told him.

"Saw you leaving early today. Literature again?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah… how did you know?"

"You looked sleepier than usual. It was the same for me when I had that class. Always so boring."

Small details. Nothing that should really worry you. But then he started showing up in places you didn’t expect.

One time, after a particularly exhausting day, you decided to take a walk around the neighborhood.

Just to clear your head. You hadn’t gone far when you felt a presence behind you, making you lower the volume of your music and take out one of your earbuds.

"Oh, out for a walk? That’s a surprise." His voice startled you.

You turned your head and saw him there, one hand in his pocket while the other toyed with his keys, his usual lighthearted smile in place.

"Ah, yeah… Were you walking around too?"

"Something like that. I live close by and figured I’d take out the trash before it got too late." He shrugged, as if that was enough of an explanation.

And, in theory, it was. But the way he kept appearing whenever you were alone started to feel less like a coincidence and more like… something else.

Something too frequent, less like fate—more like… being watched?

After that night, you convinced yourself you were overthinking things. Until the café incident.

One morning, before your only class at university, you were at a café, looking at the menu when a familiar voice interrupted you.

"You didn’t ask, but I’d recommend the Americano. I remember you like really sweet things, right?"

You turned abruptly. Yunho was there, phone in hand and a cup of black coffee in the other, his expression completely at ease.

"Yunho? Wow… heh. What are you doing here?"

"Well, getting myself a coffee? I work nearby, and when I’ve got too much on my plate, I come here for a little energy boost."

There was no point arguing about it. It was a public café, after all.

But as you placed your order, something about his comment stuck with you.

‘I remember you like really sweet things, right?’

You had never told him that.

You couldn’t recall mentioning it in any conversation. Not even during dinners at home with your parents.

And yet, he knew.

Maybe you had talked too much about your preferences at some point.

Maybe Yunho was just observant.

Maybe…

Maybe you were imagining things, and your mother had simply mentioned it to him.

You didn’t want to overthink it. After all, Yunho hadn’t done anything truly strange—at least, not yet. He had never crossed a line or said anything that made you feel directly uncomfortable.

He was just a very attentive guy. A friend who was there when you needed him.

But then you started noticing more things.

No matter what time you left the house, he always seemed to know exactly when you’d be passing by. Like that time when you finished classes later than usual and, as you got off the bus, you saw him waiting inside his car.

"What are you doing here so late?" you asked, gripping the strap of your backpack tighter than necessary.

"Huh? I stopped by the store on the corner, and that’s when I saw you get off the bus," he replied naturally. "Want a ride home? I think it’s going to rain soon."

You hesitated for a second.

It wasn’t uncomfortable to go with him. In fact, it seemed like a kind gesture. He had said it in such a calm voice, always with something interesting to say, and somehow, his presence was… soothing.

But what worried you most wasn’t how he made you feel when he was with you. It was the lingering sensation afterward. As if his presence never really faded, even when he wasn’t around.

Like the lingering warmth of a hand on your skin—you could still feel it long after it was gone.

You accepted the ride that time. And then again. And again. Before you knew it, you couldn’t remember the last time you had walked home alone.

Things settled down for a while. You still saw him, but the visits and conversations became less frequent. You assumed it was because of his job, which was… a little strange? There were nights when he came home really late, sometimes past 4 a.m., looking slightly disheveled—his hair messy, his suit and shirt somewhat wrinkled.

Hmm…

Anyway… then there was another—yet another—somewhat ‘comical’ situation. Something about your phone, which had gone missing for nearly a day.

One morning, while searching for it at the bus stop, Yunho rolled down his car window, watching you.

"Looking for something?" he asked with his usual smile, holding up your phone.

Your stomach twisted.

"What. Where did you find it?"

"It was near your mailbox. I think you dropped it when you got out of my car. Your mom called me to give it to me so I could hand it back to you."

You took it with a quiet thank you, but as you checked your notifications, something stopped you.

There was a recent call in your log.

Emergency call—1 minute ago.

Your skin prickled.

You didn’t remember dialing an emergency number. You didn’t even have one saved.

You didn’t say anything, but the thought stuck with you all day.

Was it an accident? Had your mom tried to call you?

Or had Yunho checked your phone before giving it back?

The worst part was that, even if you wanted to suspect something, you couldn’t say it out loud. You couldn’t suddenly raise suspicions. There were… no real proofs.

Because Yunho had only returned your phone.

He had only been kind. As always.

As always.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ──

A few days after that incident, you tried to go on with your routine as if nothing had happened. You didn’t want to obsess over something that, in theory, didn’t make sense. Maybe you had accidentally dialed the emergency number…? Maybe Yunho really had gone to your mother to return your phone. Maybe…

Maybe… perhaps… it was all just a string of oddly coincidental events. That is, if it weren’t for the fact that his visits and conversations started increasing again—too much. It felt like he was practically living with you and your parents.

Because, seriously—God. No matter what time you left or came home, Yunho always seemed to be there. Like that time you went to the small supermarket on the corner, and as you turned past a house, there he was, holding a plastic bag with some bathroom disinfectants.

"Out again? What a surprise," he teased with a smile.

Or that time, just a day after you had casually mentioned how much you liked certain sweets that were hard to find, they suddenly appeared in your mailbox.

With a note: "Thought you’d like these. I spent so much on them, but they’re worth it. Enjoy."

There was no way he could have found them without searching through several expensive stores.

And then… there was the phantom clothing incident—at least, that’s what you decided to call it.

One morning, as you went to grab a hoodie from the basket of freshly washed clothes, you noticed it was missing.

You didn’t think much of it—until later that day, when you were heading out for a quick walk and, from a distance, you spotted Yunho on the street. He was wearing something strangely familiar—a gray hoodie, identical to yours. Too identical.

You wanted to ask him about it, but you felt ridiculous. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe he had owned it for a long time.

Everything was just a bunch of fucking coincidences.

So when Yunho invited your family over for dinner at his place, you didn’t have an excuse to refuse.

"It’s nothing formal," he said in that ever-charming tone of his. "I just… well, I wanted to thank you all for being so good to me. You’re like parents to me, and... [...] is like my little brother."

Your parents agreed without a second thought. They always spoke so highly of him—saying he was hardworking, kind, a young man with a bright future ahead. You didn’t mind going, but you weren’t exactly thrilled, either.

Because deep down, you knew: the more time you spent around Yunho, the harder it became to ignore that faint tingle of unease at the back of your neck.

And then, the night of the dinner arrived—in the blink of an eye.

A few minutes before leaving, you decided to take a quick shower. The warm water cascaded over your skin, easing the tension in your muscles, quieting your thoughts. The way it fell over your ears muted all outside noise, making it impossible to be distracted. You closed your eyes, reveling in the stillness of the bathroom.

For the first time in days, you finally felt like yourself again.

No worries.

No nagging questions.

No frustration.

Until you heard it.

Once. Then again. And again.

A continuous, sharp, but subtle noise.

Click.

Your body went rigid.

It was a small sound, but unmistakable.

You hastily wiped the remaining soap from your face, blinked, and turned toward the fogged-up window. Through the blurred glass, you saw nothing but the silhouettes of trees and the fading evening light.

You waited.

Hoping—praying—to see someone. To catch the faint glow of a red recording light.

... Nothing.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you yanked the curtain shut and rushed to finish up. You didn’t want to stay there a second longer—not when you knew someone was waiting for you to turn around.

You took a shaky breath and forced yourself through the rest of your shower—though every second felt like an agonizing eternity.

Wrapped in a towel, you made your way to your bedroom window. Outside, the street looked as peaceful as ever. Normal. Calm.

Everything was fine.

... But the unease in your chest didn’t fade.

Because if you really had heard the sound of a camera—

Who was there to take the picture?

No one knew your bathroom had a window facing the houses in the back.

No one.

Yeah. No one.

Anyway. The lingering mix of curiosity and unease didn’t fade, not even as you got dressed and made your way downstairs to join your parents.

"Took you long enough, did something happen, sweetheart?" your mother asked with a faint smile as she adjusted the collar of her blouse. "We didn’t want to leave without you."

Your father simply slipped on his coat and grabbed the car keys.

"Let’s go. I’ve been looking forward to that turkey Yunho promised me."

You said nothing as you got into the car. The uneasiness still weighed heavy on your chest, but you knew you couldn’t mention it without sounding paranoid. Or… insane.

What were you supposed to say? "I think someone was taking pictures of me while I was in the shower."

No. It sounded ridiculous.

And yet, as your father drove through the neighborhood, your gaze kept flickering toward the street, searching for something—anything—out of place. A shift in the bushes. A shadow where there shouldn’t be one. A glint of light from a camera flash.

Something to prove you weren’t imagining things.

But the street looked… normal. Cars coming and going. Kids playing, elders chatting. Normal.

Since Yunho lived nearby, the drive barely lasted a minute. When you arrived, his house was warmly lit, the glow from the windows casting an inviting hue over the façade. It was a surprisingly elegant home—bigger than one would expect for someone who lived alone and seemingly did nothing but work.

The door opened before your father got out of the car.

"Hey! You actually came. Welcome!" Yunho greeted, flashing a bright smile. He was dressed in a neatly pressed shirt and dark slacks, making him look even taller—more put together. Had he just gotten off work?

"Thank you for having us, Yunho. Your home is… lovely," your mother said warmly as she stepped out of the car.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Han." He gestured for you all to come inside.

The interior was just as pristine as you had imagined—everything in its place, not a single object out of order. Very minimalistic. You liked that. Though it felt less like a home and more like something out of a magazine.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable," Yunho said as he grabbed a couple of wine glasses and a bottle. "Hope you came hungry. I practically made a buffet."

Dinner was… perfect. Almost too perfect.

Every dish looked professionally crafted, each flavor rich and refined. The atmosphere was comfortable. The wine was expensive. And Yunho made sure the conversation never dulled. He talked about work, how he had bought the house a few years ago, how well things were going for him.

Your parents were charmed.

"That’s so brave of you, dear," your mother said, sounding almost proud. "I can’t imagine someone my son’s age living alone in a place this… new."

Yunho smiled, then—slowly—his gaze landed on you.

"Well, some people have to face the world early and learn to grow up fast. Besides… I think, after all this time, life has finally rewarded me with something truly… beautiful."

Your fingers tightened around your napkin.

You knew it was meant as a compliment.

To your parents, it sounded like one.

But the way he said it… the way his eyes lingered on you just a second too long…

That wasn’t normal. Not from someone who swore he saw you as his little brother.

Your eyes darted away from him, scanning the room instead—anything to distract yourself. And then, you saw it.

Beneath the television, on a small shelf, sat a camera.

A professional camera. With a large lens.

Its position was perfect.

From there, if the camera was turned on, it could capture a direct view of your house.

Your room.

"Everything okay, [...]?" Yunho asked, resting his chin on his hand, eyes locked on you. Your parents were looking, too.

You didn’t know what to say.

You just gripped your napkin a little tighter—trying to ignore the creeping realization that maybe… just maybe…

The fabric between your fingers wasn’t the only thing Yunho wanted you to feel.

Dinner continued through dessert without incident, though it was hard for you to focus on the conversation. Every time Yunho spoke, every time he laughed with your parents, every time his gaze flickered toward you between sips of wine, it felt like something invisible was tightening around your throat.

The camera was still there. It hadn’t moved an inch, but its presence weighed on you.

You tried to ignore it. You didn’t want to obsess. You didn’t want to think about the faint click you had heard outside your room while you were in the shower. You didn’t want to imagine that lens pointing at your window—possibly more than once. Possibly while you were sleeping.

But Yunho knew.

You realized it when, in a fleeting moment, his fingers brushed against yours as he passed you a plate. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough for only you to hear.

"You’re awfully quiet tonight. Something wrong, mmh?"

You froze.

It was a simple, harmless question. But his tone wasn’t. Neither was the way his eyes darkened, subtly shifting.

It was as if he was reminding you that he noticed everything. That he knew exactly what was running through your mind.

"Just… a little tired," you murmured, pulling your hand away and avoiding his gaze.

Yunho only smirked.

After the lavish spread of desserts, the conversation carried on between him and your parents. You barely spoke. Your mind was too busy piecing together everything that had happened in the last few days.

And then, your mother glanced at her watch and slowly got to her feet.

"It’s been a wonderful evening… but I think it’s time we head out. We’re so sorry, dear. We have work early in the morning, and someone has to go to university."

Your father nodded, thanking Yunho once again for the meal.

"You’re always welcome at our home."

"I’d love that," Yunho replied, all warmth and charm—so harmless, so polite. "Maybe… this weekend? I’ll let you know."

Your parents seemed delighted by the idea.

You, on the other hand, felt uneasy at how effortlessly Yunho was sliding back into their lives.

As he saw them to the door, his attention shifted back to you—just for a second.

"See you soon, [...]."

It didn’t sound like a suggestion. Or a farewell.

It sounded like a fact.

"See you soon..."

For the first time, you weren’t sure if it was a promise… or a threat.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ݁⠀⠀،،⠀⠀메모 ! ㅤ⸻ㅤ I'M FINALLY BACK. I'll start writing the rest of the stories. 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️.︐⠀📍

⠀𝒊. ⠀─⠀ All credits to @angelsfat3 / @foschiamara⠀𝄒

. . . ₍⠀아이디어 !ㅤ⸻ㅤfeel free to leave requests! <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>⠀₎⠀ ִֶָ

#𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡𝙨𝘧𝘢𝘵3ㅤ﹟ㅤ𝗎𝗉𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽𝖾𝖽.#＃𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗘𝗭︐ 𝑠 yunho.ㅤ／ㅤO1.#kpop x male reader #x male reader #kpop scenarios #x male oc #yandere x male reader #gay #yandere obsession #kpop x male oc #x male y/n #ateez x male reader #yunho x male reader #jeong yunho #ateez yunho

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bullet-prooflove · 10 hours ago

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Bunny: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @dizzybee03 @cosmic-psychickitty @puredicks @queenslandlover-93

Companion piece to:

Lipstick (NSFW) - Robby has never been with a woman like you.

Crisis - Robby has a bad day.

ASMR For The Soul - Robby doesn’t sleep when you’re not around.

Something To Complain About (NSFW) - You ignite the ire of Robby’s neighbour with your bedroom noises.

Noise Cancelling - Robby discovers his neighbour keeps a spreadsheet of your antics.

Robby doesn’t realise you’ve been keeping secrets, not until three months into the relationship when they all come hurtling out in the midst of one of his shifts.

It starts when an elderly resident named Bonnie King arrives from one of those upscale nursing homes. She’s been brought in with fractured skull, disoriented, crying out for Bunny. They can’t work out if the confusion she’s exhibiting is from the injury or the dementia so Robby steps in to help with the assessment.

“Whose Bunny?” He asks Bonnie, trying to gauge her lucidity after they settle her down.

“My daughter.” She responds as Whitaker cleans up the head laceration from her slip and fall in the bathroom. “She’s pro surfer out in Hawaii. She taking a shot at the world championships soon. Maybe I can set the two of you up?”

“I’ve already got a girlfriend Ms King.” Robby tells her as he flashes a penlight into her eyes to check her pupil reaction. “But thanks for the thought.”

“Oh she won’t be as pretty as my Bunny.” She guarantees as she reaches for her purse and pulls out an accordion of photographs, shoving them under his nose.

He surveys them with feigned interest, the baby pictures, the teenage years. It isn’t until he reaches the early twenties that he realises that her Bunny, holding a surfboard with a whole host of sponsorship labels attached to it, is his Allegra.

“Why do you call her Bunny?” He asks, struggling to put the pieces together because you have never mentioned Hawaii or surfing, not the entire time he’s known you.

“She was always an energetic little thing.” Bonnie said fondly as he hands her back the wallet containing your precious memories. “She used to bounce off the balls as a child…”

“…just like a bunny.” He finishes because you have ADHD and he guesses that was how it manifested as a kid.

“That’s right.” She beams and that smile, it’s definitely yours.

Robby does a little research after that, watching surf videos, reading interviews. The shit you used to do on the water it’s phenomenal, which raises questions about why you aren’t still doing it. It isn’t until he compares your mom’s medical file with a couple of articles from around the time of your retirement that he gets his answer.

Family circumstances, you’d told the interviewer. It tallies up with your mom’s initial diagnosis. She’d been clipped by a car after wandering into the street, admitted with a fractured hip and confusion.

You must have given up your career to move back to Pittsburgh and take care of her, using your winnings from the competitions to make sure she was in a top of the line care facility. He’s seen how you live, it’s not the lifestyle of someone who has hundreds of thousands of dollars in the bank.

He can’t imagine what it must have been like to give up that dream, to move to a place where the closest beach is almost three hours away when your entire life has been spent out on the water. He thinks that must be why you don’t talk about, the pain of letting that all go…

It would have destroyed a lesser person.

It’s an hour later you arrive at the hospital. You’d been out hiking at Montour Woods Conservation Area when you got the call. He realises all that outdoor shit you do, it’s a way of trying to find that peace you lost when you left Hawaii.

“My mom?” You ask, your voice raw with emotion when you appear in front of him and Dana.

“Let me take you to her, fill you in on what’s going on.” He says kindly before he guides you to her room. That reunion, it’ll be etched into his psyche forever because your mom, she’s started sundowning, she doesn’t even know who you are.

He’s waiting for you on the stoop of the townhouse apartment you rent when you get home from settling your mom back at her accommodation. There’s a fatigue in you that he recognises from his own final years with his father, the strain of being absolutely nothing to the person you love most in the world.

“If you’re going to end things with me, can you just rip off the band aid?” You ask him, in a voice completely devoid of emotion. “I’ve had just about as much as I can take tonight.”

“I don’t want to end things.” He tells you as he raises to his feet, his hands coming to rest upon your hips, anchoring you. “I just wanted to ask how you’re doing.”

You tilt your head away from him because up until now you’ve always been his sunshine girl, the one he relies on. It isn’t until now he sees how much weight you carry, how you’ve been hiding it underneath that shiny, fun girl persona.

“The only time I feel like I can breathe is when I’m with you.” You find yourself telling him. “The stuff with my mom, with Hawaii, it doesn’t matter because you see me, you really fucking see me…”

You break then, you shatter underneath his hands and Robby, he does the only thing he can do, he wraps you up in his arms and he holds on for dear life.

Love Robby? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

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0nlythrowharrybeaux · 1 day ago

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Twelve Days: The Next Step

Hello friends! This is based on a request for a check-in when Harry asks Y/N to move in with him! I feel like this take is very realistic! I hope you like it!

READ THE SERIES HERE!

Warnings: Divorce, family drama, alcohol use

WC: 4.8K

It had been a couple months since your and your sister’s reality TV style confessional in front of your parents. When you looked back at it, it made you cringe just a little bit but that feeling soon faded when you remembered what had come out of it - a relationship with Harry. Thankfully, your parents had gotten used to you being the one with him rather quickly and when they saw how different the dynamic was between you two compared to him and Julie, it was so much easier for them to support it.

After things between her and Joe got better they went back to their normal routine and she was spending half her week and the weekends at his place. And that left space for you to come see Harry from Thursday to Sunday. However, now you’d always leave after breakfast because Julie usually returned Sunday afternoons.

You recall the first time she’d seen you there she had been extremely passive aggressive about it. It had been a bit childish in your opinion, really… But you both had sensed the shift in her attitude and while she went out to get some dinner for herself you told Harry that you were going to just pack up and leave after dinner with him. When you got to the bathroom you saw your skin care and make up bag all crammed onto Harry’s side of the countertop. Even your toothbrush! Which you distinctly remember you’d left in the holder with Harry’s! And well, as you suspected, your pajamas, earrings, and charger you’d left on what used to be her side were all dumped into your carry-on luggage that you’d left near the closet. That’s also when you realized that she had washed the pillowcase you’d used with her laundry.

You remember calling Harry up to see this and you both had a huge laughing fit over the pettiness of it all. They weren’t officially divorced yet at that time and you also figured it was hormones or nesting behaviors that made her more territorial than usual. But then you got a text the next morning about her still not feeling entirely comfortable with you seeing Harry and that she’d appreciate a bit more discretion on your part. It was a bit insane, but you and Harry often made jokes about her actions and the text now.

But this also meant that sometimes she would come a little earlier than usual though, just to get you out of there sooner. But joke was on her because you’d learned to just be packed up by Saturday night and bring your own pillow. She did have a point in washing the pillowcase each time, you couldn’t argue with that logic. But ultimately you bringing your own was more for your comfort.

Anyway, it was Wednesday night and you were backing up for the weekend with Harry when you got a call from him and quickly put it on speaker.

“Hi baby!” You greeted happily as you continued to fold your clothes and cute lingerie that you’d wear for him.

“Hi, love. How are you?”

“Good, it wasn’t too bad today. How was work?”

“Good as well! We’re gearing up for the end of the school year so lots of reading and grading.”

“I could help this weekend?” You suggested.

“Sold! And when we’re in the trenches of it don’t forget that you offered…” he quipped playfully and you giggled.

“Alright…” you assured him and then heard him sigh. “You nervous for tomorrow?” You asked. It was the divorce finalization hearing, finally!

“Not nervous…just want it to be over.” He clarified. “Just don’t want any surprises. My lawyer overheard her asking her attorney about finding any loopholes in the prenup we have.” He explained and you frowned. “The only protected assets there are my retirement savings and the house.” He explained. “I know that it’s airtight, you know? But I just hope she doesn’t try to drag this out longer if they feel like there’s anything to argue over there.”

“Well, she signed it and she cheated…”

“So did I… technically.” He added and a lump formed in your throat.

“Would you hate me if I told my parents? Shame isn’t always a bad thing…and maybe this time we just…use it against her.” You suggested.

“I just…” he paused for a moment and you waited as he thought on it. He sighed audibly after a few moments.

“It just wouldn’t be fair of her at all, Harry.” You reminded him.

“You know what? You’re right…she’s playing stupid games. There isn’t even an infidelity clause or anything! Asking her lawyer to look over it to find something just proves bad intent!”

“It does! I’ll call you right back!” You said and he chuckled and let you go.

That conversation with your mom had been quite dramatic. She could not believe Julie would do something like that after what she had pulled with Harry. And when you explained that they could argue it from an angle of Harry also being unfaithful because of his relationship with you, well that got your mom going. You were sidelined as she told your dad about this who you heard laugh incredulously about it and comment about the level of entitlement Julie was displaying. You didn’t feel too great about doing this to your own sister, but the fact of the matter was that what she was suggesting was a shitty thing to do to Harry. And well, despite being relieved that everyone knew about her situation now, she had pulled away a bit from your parents. It’s like your roles had been reversed and now they would dissect her actions and behaviors and problems like they once did your own, so you knew that they would definitely reprimand her about this and have her shut it down.

Maybe it was a good thing that the hearing was scheduled for a Thursday because regardless of what happened there, you’d be with Harry for the next few days. While you were optimistic about things going exactly as planned, there was still a slight chance that there’d be a delay if Julie’s lawyer felt that the prenup needed to be entered into evidence and revised by the court. You’d been thinking on it all morning and when you got a call from Harry around 3pm you were quick to answer.

“It’s done! It’s finally fucking done!” He cheered and you felt a laugh bubbling up in your throat and you just let the joy escape you that way before you did a few little jumps up and down in your client’s kitchen.

“Congratulations! I’m so happy for you!” You cheered. “We’re celebrating tonight!”

“We are! I think I can snag a reservation somewhere…”

“Let me! I have a friend who I’m pretty sure works at Barbeño as a host! I’m sure they could help us get in.” You said and he scoffed.

“You’re just telling me this now?”

“We just recently reconnected and I let him do laundry at my place when his complex’s laundry room was being redone! So I can ask for favors now.”

“Alright, love. You do what you need to do…within the bounds of reason, of course.”

“That goes without saying…” you mumbled and he chuckled. “Alright, I have to go, don’t want my chicken to get dry. But I’ll confirm if we got it in a bit, okay? And if not, I’ll make you something special.” You assured him.

“I love you.” He said and you smiled wide, feeling your heart flipping and thumping in your chest.

“I love you too. Talk soon.” You hummed before you hung up.

***********

Thankfully, you’d gotten the reservation! So you’d have to pull out the nicer outfit you had planned for your Saturday night dinner but that was no problem. On the way to Harry’s he warned you that Julie had come by to pack up for the weekend but that she should be gone by the time you arrived. Just to kill a bit more time, you stopped to pick him up a bouquet of flowers and then headed to the house. You parked in the driveway, like always, and then hurried up to the front door with the flowers, you’d unload your stuff later…You rang the doorbell and perked up as you heard the locks turning.

“Congratulations to the hottest divorcee in Southern California!” You laughed as the door opened but then saw Julie standing there with a slightly judgmental look on her face. That didn’t dampen your spirits though.

“Celebrating a divorce? Classy.” She muttered and you shrugged.

“It actually is going to be very classy! And I’d say there’s plenty of cause to celebrate.” You said as you walked forward until she just had to let you inside. “I was imagining that if you were able to you’d be doing backflips so that you could be with the guy you’ve been wanting this entire time!” You added.

“It still sucks.” She said simply.

“I think what sucks for you is that I’m with Harry. Not that you’re divorced from him.” You pointed out and she rolled her eyes. “Look, I get that it’s…a little weird and this is definitely a unique situation but you can’t ice me out over something you wanted. And you were dragging it out and for what?” You asked simply as you headed to the kitchen to grab a vase for the flowers for Harry. Of course she followed you there.

“I don’t want Harry to be hurt.” She said and you smiled as you opened up the cabinet where you’d seen some vases before before straightening up again and setting it on the counter.

“Does he look hurt to you?” You asked before walking over to the drawer with the scissors and pulling them out to cut the stems of the arrangement down a bit. She didn’t respond and you sighed. “Look, I get that you don’t like me as a person, you never really have…but this petty back and forth shit? It’s getting ridiculous! It’s so immature, we can only laugh at it at this point…like it can’t be real life!” You exclaimed through a sardonic laugh and her features hardened further.

“While I’m flattered that you’re so invested in being weird and bitter towards me, I want you to know me being with Harry wasn’t intended to betray you! We love each other and want to be happy together! Just how I want you to be happy with your man and your baby! So whatever stick you have up your ass about me? Time to get it out, Jules. And focus on how great everything can be for you starting now!” You advised and she just stared at you for a few more seconds before she left through the garage.

You felt a little more satisfied after saying all that when you realized she’d only been waiting for you to arrive. You were feeling a little smug about what you’d said to her but beneath all of her offense, you hoped that she heard what you were saying. Never in a million years did you think that this is where you life would lead! Or that you could even have a relationship with a person of Harry’s caliber. In your mind, he was leaps and bounds away from where you were!

“Hey!” You heard him call and you glanced up from the spot on the counter you had honed in on as you got lost in your thoughts. “Why so pensive?” He asked through a smile as he approached. You could see he had just styled his hair, it was still looking a little damp.

“Oh, just Julie…I think she was waiting for me.” You explained and his brows creased as he came around the counter and reached for you. You put the scissors down let him pull you into his arms.

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t know she was gonna stick around. I had to hop in the shower and get ready for our reservation.” He mumbled before kissing the top of your head.

“That’s alright. I’m not really stuck on anything she said. More my own thoughts.” You assured him. And he reared back and grabbed your face gently instead before pecking your lips quickly.

“About?” He asked and you smiled.

“How you’re way out of my league.” You explained with a slight smile and his features turned down in confusion.

“Me? Out of your league?” He scoffed and you nodded. “That’s the craziest thing Iv’ve ever heard. You’re kind and smart. You’re an amazing friend, a hard worker. Not to mention you’re drop dead gorgeous.” He said as his eyes searched your own. “You’re perfect for me. And I love you for everything you are.” He hummed as he leaned lower and lower until your eyes were blinking closed until your lisp were meeting in a sweet and gentle kiss.

“Love you, baby.” You whispered.

“Now, were those for me?”

“Yeah. Just wanted to say congrats.” You hummed. “Let me fix this up and then we can go.” You assured him.

“Sure, baby. Did you unload your stuff?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll go get your things from the car, okay?”

“Thank you!” You chirped as he grabbed your keys and headed out. After a few moments he was hurrying up the stairs to set your things down in the bedroom. When he returned you were just fitting the flowers into the vase with a proud smile.

“They’re lovely. Thank you.” Harry said with gratitude before smooching the side of your head.

“Of course. Now, let’s go. I’ll drive.”

“Sure? You already drove all the way here.” He reminded and you shrugged.

“Fine…” he hummed and you were glad he didn’t fight back too much. You wanted to treat him tonight because you knew that he’d been a bit stressed over this. You were already ten minutes out wen he turned to you with a sly smirk.

“Now I get to pay.”

“Harry!”

“It’s going to even out!”

“We don’t need to even out. I just want this to be celebratory for you.” You reminded him.

“And I’d like to you to realize that this is celebratory for us.” He said and you briefly turned to him as you came to a stop at a red light. “This marks our new beginning officially.” He stated and you smiled.

“I quite like that.”

“Knew you would.” He chuckled as he reached for your thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze.

***************

“Baby!” You exclaimed through a terrified laugh as Harry nearly fell out of the car.

It had certainly been his mistake to make friends with the couple seated next to you and tell them that he had just gotten divorced today because he’d taken two shots of tequila before your dinner arrived. He was also drinking a rather stiff cocktail with mezcal and then before the couple had left they ordered you both a shot even though you’d already declined earlier since you were driving and had ordered the same cocktail as Harry. This led to Harry taking your shot for you and your lightweight boyfriend was drunk. Thankfully, Harry was a lovely drunk. He was sweet and flirty and very affectionate, but obviously he was not at full capacity.

“M’alright. M’fine.” He assured as he steadied himself on the car’s body as you hurried around to help him get up to the door.

“I know, you are for the most part.” You giggled as you grabbed his hand and pulled him to the door. He clung to your body, planting sloppy kisses to your neck and shoulder as you tried to get the door open. And finally, you were both making your way into the dimly lit house. Harry kicked off his shoes and you also slid out of your heeled sandals and hooked your bag onto the coat hook by the door.

“We’re gonna have some sexy time now, aren't we?” He asked smugly.

“Ew… don’t say it like that!” You laughed and he sniggered.

“Okay then. Are you gonna be getting frisky with me?”

“Me with you? I think it’d be the other way around.” You pointed out as you pushed him along towards the staircase.

“How could I, I’m inebriated!” He pointed out as you carefully guided him up. “Though, I give you full permission to take advantage of me. I consent to anything and everything.” He said as he quickly glanced back with a smirk.

“Not how that works, but okay…” you mumbled through a giggle and he laughed as well.

“Well…can we make out and get a little handsy?” He asked and you giggled.

“Sure. We can do whatever you want. We just have to get you ready for bed though, okay?”

“Kay.” He hummed agreeably.

After a few minutes he was haphazardly washing his face. You could see that he was making an effort not to make a mess but he wasn’t too successful, which was leading to a lot of laughs and some light berating until finally, he was just leaning on the counter and waiting for you. You could feel his gaze penetrating into your as you finished up your skin care. It was making you feel so nervous and it was evident in the way you were struggling to twist the top back onto your moisturizer.

“Stop staring, you weirdo.” You giggled as your eyes locked briefly through the mirror.

“I simply can’t.” He shrugged.

“You’re giving me performance anxiety!” You said and he laughed and reached for your hip. You were just in your bra and sleep shorts. And he hooked his finger into the band lightly.

“Sorry, baby.” He hummed glancing at you through his lashes.

“Sure, sure…” You mumbled sarcastically and he grinned. “You should get changed.” You advised.

“I’m waiting for you for that.”

“Need help?” You asked and he shook his head.

“No, but want your help.” He said and you smiled.

“Okay, baby.” You assured him and when you finally finished he led you out into the bedroom.

You had to reach out to flick off the bathroom lights in passing to the bedroom and were finally in the dim lighting of his bedroom. He’d left his bedside lamp on before leaving, which you were more than grateful he had the foresight to do so that he didn’t stub his toe or hurt himself on something due to his drunken state. He stopped you and angled your face up before dipping down to kiss you. Your lips met in a slow and sweet kiss but it quickly started to get a little more heated. You giggled and let your hands land over his chest before sliding up a bit to reach for his first button. And from there you started to work your way down, sniggering are he peppered kisses all around your face. When both side of his shirt were parted you were about to reach up to help him get the material off his shoulders but he grabbed your hand and pressed it to his flexed abs and let you feel him out for a bit before guiding your hand up to his chest and stopping over his heart. Your eyes met and he smiled.

“My heart beats for you.” He hummed and you glanced away with a timid smile on your face. You felt your stomach flipping and your body tingling in a nearly uncomfortable way. Not because of him but because you didn’t know how to receive this much love from someone. This was the bare minimum! He wasn’t love bombing you or anything, just simply telling you but it felt like so much. “You know that, right?” He asked and you nodded before collecting yourself enough to look back into his eyes.

“I do. I just…it’s a lot to hear it.” You explained.

“Cringey is it?” He asked with a small but nonjudgmental smile.

“A little bit, to be honest. And not because of you! But more me and just what I’m used to, you know? Being with someone like you who is so forward about their feelings…I just haven’t really had that on a regular basis before.” He nodded in understanding despite his inebriated state.

“Is it too much?” He asked, “Because if it is…I can stop. Or like tone it down, you know?” He asked more seriously. You could see him fighting not to sway a bit or to have his speech be slurred for this more solemn moment and you smiled.

“I could get used to it.” You assured him, “I do like to hear it. W-would you like me be more vocal about that too?” You asked. “Or… we can talk about this at another time when you’re not so drunk.” You suggested and he giggled.

“Maybe, yeah let’s postpone.” He mumbled and you sniggered and pressed yourself up to smooch his pretty, berry-toned lips.

“Well for now let me just say that I love you so much. I’m so fortunate to have you.” You said softly and his smiled widened before kissing you again.

When you’d finally gotten him all undressed you had cuddled up in bed, he was the little spoon this time around, face buried into your chest. And you were touching his hair and arms and back as he asked and guided while you yapped about random things over the soft sounds of the TV in the background until he brought your sister up.

“Sorry about earlier, with Julie.” He said and you tutted.

“S’not your fault, honey.” You assured.

“Might be. I ummm…I told her that I wanted her moved out completely by next week.” He explained.

“Oh… and she didn’t take it well.”

“Definitely not.” He huffed out a chuckle and you hummed, “Started spouting off about how it was you pressuring me to get her out of here while she and Joey figured out a new arrangement… it was an argument for sure.”

“Everything is to her…”

“Yeah. She doesn’t like the house he’s renting, says it’s too small. Which it’s about the same…he has two bedrooms and I have three here. But both spares are used as office spaces here. So when she’s here I’m banished to the couch!”

“In your own home…” you tutted.

“Exactly!” He defended. “Now that everything is done-done I don’t see the need for her to keep inserting herself in here. You didn’t want me, you know? And now you don’t want to leave? Like I know it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with you.”

“Stupid.”

“Yeah, it is… she said she wanted me to be happy. And I am! With you! I know she’s petty and shows up unannounced on Sundays because she wants you to feel uncomfortable. And I don’t like that one bit, baby. That makes me very unhappy.”

“I’m used to her petty things though, so they don’t get to me as much, H. But thank you for sticking up for me. S’very sweet of you.” You assured him before sponging a gentle kiss to his temple and he nuzzled further against your chest before kissing over your sternum.

“Of course, my love.” He hummed against you before you both fell silent for a little bit and then he reared back from you and you peered down at him as best as you could.

“What is it? Are you gonna be sick?” You asked with concern, ready to spring out of the bed and grab him a garbage can.

“No!” He chuckled and you laughed as he gave your hip a playful pinch.

“Then what is it? ”

“I’ve been thinking about taking the next step of…moving in with me?” He said inquisitively.

“Oh!”

“And it doesn’t have to be now! Maybe a couples months from now or even closer to the end of summer.” He explained and you felt your pulse decrease upon hearing this. “I’d like to take some time to spruce things up a bit first to something more my taste or ours even!” He explained to you. “What do you think of that?” He asked.

“Honestly, I do feel a little nervous about it! Just because you know? Not because of you or anything, it’s just a new milestone, you know?”

“Yeah, I get what you mean.”

“And you’re ready for that?” You asked.

“I am. Are you?”

“Well, I’m also thinking of those statistics about couples who cohabitate and how that leads to greater dissatisfaction in couples who are…in it for the long-term, you know?”

“You mean marriage.” He clarified and you hummed.

“And like…I want this to work.” You confessed. “Like I don’t…know where this will go…” you trailed off. You wanted to say that you wanted to marry him in the future but you couldn’t bring yourself to admit that to him just yet. “And I’m just scared to jump the gun a bit, you know? I mean, you’ve just divorced! I don’t want you to feel pressured to speed through that. I know that the dynamic wasn’t great with you guys in the end but that’s still something that you have to heal from, you know? And I understand that you’re still in a place where…it’s hard…” you trailed off, “Yeah, I just don’t want to get in the way of that.” You rambled a bit. Suddenly, Harry was pressing himself up and using his elbow to prop himself up.

“You seem to be thinking and feeling on my behalf a lot.” He pointed out with a very faint smile as his eyes met yours despite the darker lighting. “If you’re not ready for that, it’s okay, baby. You can say so. That’s why we’re talking about it.” He added and you glanced to the TV for a few seconds before finally looking back to him.

“I’m just scared.” You confessed.

“Scared of what, love?”

“Of how much I feel for you?” You said with a questioning tone and then glanced away again and he chuckled as you shivered a bit. “Ughh, there are just a lot of feelings happening!” You explained nervously.

“Do you need a bin?” He asked jokingly and you laughed nervously before looking into his eyes again.

“M’alright… just feeling is hard.” You said more quietly and he nodded. “Like I know you. I know you’d never hurt me intentionally. Like the chances are low, but never zero, you know? And like…” you sighed, “I’m scared of how much I already love you and I know it can only get worse!” You explained through nervous giggle and he chuckled. “You know what I meant.”

“I do, baby.” He assured you. “And I need to be honest with you about something. I think the things you’re saying about me needing to heal and such? You’re just projecting.” You sighed and smiled a bit.

“Yeah…a bit.” You confessed.

“I have my plan for healing. Redoing the house, that’s part of it. I think I’ve moved through a lot of the stages of grieving my marriage. I sat with it for so long, even did some of it in couples therapy. And now that it’s officially over I just feel like a weight was lifted off, you know? And I can now move forward.”

“Yeah, I get that.” You whispered.

“Obviously, I see a future with you and want that so badly. But I also get that the timing needs to be right for the both of us. I’m very patient.” He said and you smiled.

“Are you still drunk?” You asked and he chuckled.

“Yeah, a bit.” He confessed and you sniggered. “But I mean everything I’m saying to you. Been thinking about it over the last few weeks, with all this coming and going.”

“I know, me too.” You hummed. “I see a future with you too and I would like to move in with you eventually.” You smiled.

“Good. I know that it’s also your work and clientele you need to think about. So yeah, nothing rushed. We can take our time with it, work up to it. I just want to share everything with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby.” Harry assured you.

“Well, I definitely will give the timeline a bit more thought. What you initially said, about the end of the summer? I feel that's pretty realistic.” You smiled.

“Yeah?” He grinned and you nodded quickly.

“I do have one request of you.” You said and he hummed.

“Redo your bedroom first.”

“Oh definitely! And you’re gonna help me pick a new mattress since we’re gonna be getting some major use out of it.” He smirked and you giggled. “I’m serious! You’ve gotta do this with me, baby!” He insisted and you nodded.

“Okay, H.” You agreed through a chuckle.

“Deal?” He asked and you smiled.

“Deal.” You agreed.

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