#I would have to figure out how to laminate...

[vicolette]

𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐭 !

– Warnings : English isn’t my first language, uses of y/n, part two of Brother's Admirer, not proofread

"Why did you drag me here?"

Irene gave you a look that told you everything you needed to know, awkwardly avoiding her gaze as you stared at your suddenly-very-interesting shoes. Embarrassment washed over you as you now not only had to endure her teasing, as if that wasn't bad enough already, but also meet Pau.

Pau Cubarsí – the little brother of your friend, who was the psychotherapist of your mother. You had met Irene months ago, when she had randomly approached you and asked if your mother was her patient, and that is how the two of you became best friends.

Irene and you immediately hit it off, going on dates together and sharing a love for many interests, yet you never planned this.

You were in love with her younger brother.

Now, as you stood by the gates of FC Barcelona's training ground and heard some yells from the players, you felt your heart race incredibly fast, that it almost hurt you. With a dizzy min and a shaky voice, you struggled to maintain your composure.

"Wait-" Your friend suddenly said as she tapped her chin, wondering about something that was definitely not important. Before you could ask her to drive you home and get away from here, Irene lightly grazed her hair as she looked at you.

"Hey, I need to check if I still have something in my car." At that moment, you had genuinely believed her and gave her a nod, staring at Irene for a few seconds and then looking back at the facilities. All of a sudden, you didn’t feel her presence beside you and got the hint.

She was trying to hit you up with Pau.

A few quiet curse words left from your mouth as your gaze followed her figure, until she took a corner and eventually was out of vision. Some time after, athletes from the big club started to come out to get back home, who always stared at you. Raphinha had firstly thought you were a crazy fan, before you avoided his gaze and awkwardly whistled. Kounde just nodded at you and Lamine?

Oh, Lamine.

Lamine slightly narrowed his eyes, a smirk dancing on the corner of his lips before he practically came up towards you, dragging Pau behind him. Your heart dropped to your feet, publicly shaming yourself for every single life decision that brought you here.

"Yo! I know you." Lamine said with the very same way too much enthusiasm in his voice, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he tried to remember your name. "Who were you again? Y…"

"Y/n." Pau interrupted him on instinct, his eyes completely focused on your features before he turned his head to look away, earning a slap on his back from his best friend.

"Right! Well, I see you here sometimes." You nodded and were about your speak, yet your mouth was left hanging open before Lamine realized something.

"Oh, shit. I need to go, my dad is gonna be mad." Although you hadn’t met his parents, from what the media told you, they were actually pretty chill and not too strict. However, as you watched Lamine sprint to his father's car, you had thought otherwise.

Pau, who had met his parents, didn’t think so. It was obvious that Lamine was purposefully trying to keep you two alone, even if it wasn’t much of a smart decision when their teammates continued to walk out and they could only see two teenagers not even daring to physically touch each other.

"You know where Irene is?" Pau suddenly questioned, wiping the sweat off of his hands as he saw you lightly tense up.

"Yeah, said she needed something from her car, and then she would be back." You answered honestly with a shy smile gracing your beauty, making Pau also smile and nod his head.

Nevertheless, it soon became clear that she was taking her sweet time and not beating around a bush just to talk with someone, which was definitely not what the two of you were doing.

"So, uh-" As you tilted your head to look at Pau, confusion growing while he stared at you, he mentally started to beat himself up for even speaking, feeling his cheek get redder by the minute.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Nothing! Nothing…"

And after that, it was pure silence as you stared at him with a shocked expression, before shaking your head 'no' and biting on your bottom lip. This was embarrassing.

"No?" Pau repeated, as if he couldn’t believe what you were saying, which was obvious by the way he looked at you up and down to both admire your beauty and to question every other man's choice of love.

In response, you could only laugh and shake your head in disbelief, surprised by how bold Pau was being. "No."

"Oh. Wow. Okay..?" He curiously remarked, blinking a few times to make his point clear. Meanwhile, you only felt your heartbeat speed up, feeling shy under his gaze.

"Wait, so that means that we can go on a date, right?" All of a sudden, he blabbered it out and gave you a stare that told you everything – he was dead serious.

"Well, yeah."

"No, wait." Pau raised his index finger to stop you from speaking, thinking for a while about his own words before he finally said his thoughts out loud, repeating himself. "Dear Y/n, do you wanna go out with me?"

His words were endearing to you, and even more so when you had noticed his obvious seriousness. Pau was a sweet boy, after all, but you had never seen him from this perspective. "Sure, whenever you’re free."

Pau pumped his fist and grinned at you, awkwardly rubbing his nape as he realized how odd his actions were and muttered a quiet apology. Just then, you two felt Lewandowski walk by with his phone held on his hand in a suspiciously manner.

"Lewy." The said person stopped walking, hiding his phone in his pocket while he turned around to face you two with a big smile on his face.

"My favorite teammate, Pau!" He so clearly emphasized the word 'favorite', as if it would save him from being jumped by the younger. "What do you need?"

"Delete that video, idiot."

"Uh…" Lewandowski hesitated for a moment, or at least feigned hesitation, before a wide grin grew on his face as he already took some steps back. Pau followed with slow movements, before their movements began to speed up. "Nah, good luck on your first date, though!"

"Come back here, you bastard!"

– A/N : eighth I hate this the title doesn’t even suit ts

[maydayprkr]

if i sold paper bookmarks of like. whatever. blorbos, ships (within reason lol), ocs, etc. for like 5+ US bucks would there be a market for it?

I literally need to make money some how between semesters and I could do some paper folders as well! :0

I also have other things to sell also so like. I have ideas here but I cant do it through the usual selling app I do bc it cost me more money that way.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hello! If you’re still accepting requests, would you write about Lando and his daughter and he always dresses them in matching outfits since she was a baby? Thanks!

Matching Outfits

The sun had just started rising over the circuit, casting a golden hue over the paddock. The usual buzz was already beginning to build: mechanics setting up, team members running around with coffees in hand, and media beginning to trickle in. But that morning, one figure stood out more than anyone else.

Lando walked into the paddock with a soft smile on his face, one hand pushing a sleek black stroller, the other adjusting the hood of his pastel pink hoodie. A matching pink baby bow peeked from under the stroller's blanket. Only a few people noticed at first, but the moment word got around, the drivers started appearing from every corner.

"Mate," Carlos said, jogging up beside him, wiping his hands on a napkin. "Is this the debut I think it is?"

Lando grinned. "Yep. She's finally here."

He carefully peeled back the stroller's blanket, revealing a tiny sleeping Yn, dressed in a pink onesie with a mini Quadrant logo embroidered on the chest and an oversized bow that nearly swallowed her forehead.

Carlos face melted. "No way. No actual way. She looks like a little cupcake. Look at her!"

Lando chuckled. "She drooled on the last outfit, so we had to switch to the emergency one. This is version 2.0."

Oscar appeared next, eyebrows raised. "You actually did it. The matching outfits thing."

Lando looked mock-offended. "You doubted me?"

"No, no! I expected it. I just didn’t expect it to be this cute."

Yn stirred slightly in the stroller, a tiny fist poking out from under the blanket. The drivers leaned in instinctively.

"She’s so small," murmured Charles, crouching beside the stroller.

"She’s three months. That’s still pocket-size," Lando whispered proudly. "Her main activities include eating, napping, and making me late because I get too distracted dressing her."

"How many outfits do you have for her?" George asked, peering down with a soft smile.

"Too many. But not enough," Lando answered with zero guilt. "I ordered custom onesies in every color hoodie I own. And I have more on the way."

Carlos snorted. "So what you're saying is you’ve created a fashion dynasty."

Lando smirked. "I’m building an empire."

The next race weekend, it was green.

Lando strutted into the paddock in a sage green hoodie with matching joggers. Yn sat contentedly in a baby carrier strapped to his chest, wearing a tiny green romper with little frog socks and a matching headband.

"You planned this," Alex said, pointing.

"Of course I did."

"You realize she has no idea what she's wearing, right?"

"Doesn’t matter," Lando grinned. "She’ll thank me when she’s older and sees the pictures."

"Or she’ll roll her eyes."

"Even better."

Yn, completely oblivious to the conversation, giggled and tried to gum Lando’s hoodie string.

"Hey, hey, no eating daddy’s hoodie," he cooed, lifting her tiny hand to kiss it. She squealed in return.

Pierre walked over, holding a coffee. "Alright, what’s the color this weekend?"

"Green," George answered, pointing at the duo. "Obviously."

Pierre leaned in, eyes widening as he looked at Yn. "Every week she gets cuter. It’s unfair."

Lando smiled. "It’s the power of good accessories."

By the third race, it was orange. Not just any orange, McLaren papaya orange.

Yn wore a handmade onesie in the team’s signature color, soft and breathable, with a tiny patch on the sleeve that read: Daddy’s #1 Fan. She even had socks with little steering wheels on them.

As Lando entered the motorhome, carrying her on his hip, the whole team melted.

"She’s our good luck charm," one of the mechanics said.

"She needs a team badge," added another.

"Already on it," Lando said, producing a tiny laminated card from his pocket. "She’s officially honorary team baby."

Yn responded by sneezing loudly and then blowing a raspberry.

"She speaks!" Carlos shouted, pretending to fall back in mock awe.

"Her first words will probably be ‘downforce,’" Charles joked.

"Or ‘Daddy stop matching me,’" Oscar added.

Lando rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smile. "You’re all jealous."

That night in the hotel, Lando sat cross-legged on the bed, baby monitor on one side, tiny piles of pastel onesies spread out before him.

"Okay," he muttered, holding up two outfits. "Tomorrow’s color theme. Sunshine yellow or lilac?"

Yn, lying in her bassinet and gnawing on a teething ring, offered no comment.

"Right. Lilac it is. You are such a smart baby, darling."

Each morning became a little ritual. Lando would wake up, feed her, change her, and then pull out their matching outfits for the day. The more he did it, the more he fell in love with the little moment of connection they shared, even if she couldn’t understand it yet.

Every cuddle, every gummy smile, every sleepy coo made the long nights and early mornings worth it.

And every weekend, more of the paddock caught on.

Seb came by once just to bring a knitted cardigan for Yn in Ferrari red.

"Not subtle," Lando said.

"She needs options," Seb replied with a wink.

Even Kimi gave her a tiny pair of racing gloves. "Too big now. She’ll grow."

"Thanks, Ice Man," Lando said, genuinely touched.

"Bwoah, don’t call me that."

During a rainy weekend, Lando dressed them both in little waterproof jackets in pastel purple. Yn had tiny boots (more decorative than functional), and Lando kept her tucked against his chest as they walked through the paddock.

Media snapped photos, but Lando was always careful, always keeping her face tucked safely away.

He didn’t want the world to have her. Not yet. Not fully.

Yn was his world. His quiet, peaceful world in the middle of racing chaos.

Every night, before bed, he whispered the same thing into her tiny ear:

"You’re my whole universe, little star."

She’d gurgle back, a tiny hand wrapping around his finger.

And that was all he needed.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you!

-💚🐍

[pedropascallme]

Meet The Rileys

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!Reader

Summary: "The most troubling fact was that you wouldn’t be concealed backup—a position you had become accustomed to holding on operations like this. Instead, you would be front and center, playing the housewife to Simon’s working man."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) reader is American (no other descriptors), canon typical violence but just barely, maskless Ghost, fake relationship, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, kinda soft!Dom Simon, some hair pulling, dirty talk, mild degradation, lots of praise, creampie, I still don't know how the military works or how undercover missions work, if I missed anything please let me know!

AN: To be so honest guys I'm not thrilled with this, but I did what I could. Is the plot nonsense? Perhaps. We're rolling with it.

Bonnie Riley.

The name was right there in bold typeface, printed on the fake ID Price had handed you.

Bonnie Riley, from Connecticut, who looked just like you.

But she wasn’t you. Not in a literal sense, anyway.

She was preppy and proper—presentable, in her tennis whites, her hair loose around her face.

Covert operations were awkward. At their worst, they served as a chilling reminder that so many people had no regard for life outside their own; at best, they were mind-numbing, and a bit uncanny, as you were forced into an entirely new role.

When Price had approached the Task Force with the assignment—an undercover op somewhere in Nowheresville, USA—you had been eager, made excited by the notion of returning to the states.

You missed sweet tea; you missed the rounded, drawled accents of America.

But it was only after you had agreed to the mission that it came to light what you would have to do.

One cartel was working with another, but the details of the brief got hazy from there. The country was suspicious about ulterior motives, worried by the links the domestic group had to other countries. Your job was to find out whether those suspicions were warranted.

As far as stealth missions were concerned, this one was comparatively bland.

The most troubling fact was that you wouldn’t be concealed backup—a position you had become accustomed to holding on operations like this. Instead, you would be front and center, playing the housewife to Simon’s working man.

You still weren’t entirely sure how you’d ended up in this position, or whether it was even necessary. But your hand had been forced, as had his.

Ghost’s title as Lieutenant meant a heightened level of responsibility, which was obvious, and more than fair; his consistent silence made him fit for a job that required a hefty dose of observation.

You, in turn, were given the task of having his back; paying attention to his whereabouts just as closely as you did the targets.

Plus, you were the only woman on the Task Force, and an American, to boot.

Playing house ensured that you wouldn’t garner any skepticism moving into the cul-de-sac, granting easy access to the targets.

You leaned against the window of the rented moving van, turning the ID in your hand.

Dragging your finger along the laminated edges, you found yourself thinking of the fake ID you had bought in high school. You smiled at one memory of awkwardly ordering drinks at the local bar, before your father had walked in and seen you and your friends sipping unhappily on warm beer.

You were grounded for a week, but your parents had let you keep the shoddy piece of plastic.

That fake had been adorned with your real name; it was only as fake as it needed to be.

Now, you were Bonnie Riley—faker than fake.

The name Bonnie had been your idea. It was a favorite of Soap’s when addressing you, and you figured a nickname would be easier to remember than something original and unfamiliar. Simon hadn’t been on board with the concept of an alias, stubbornly refusing to pick a name; Price had stepped in and deemed him ‘Jim.’ (“Strong British name, eh?” “S’not me.” “That’s the point, Lieutenant.”)

But when it came to choosing last names, you’d all struggled. Something like ‘Smith’ would be too ambiguous, but anything more unique might be a struggle to remember or explain, were you to get caught up in your web of lies.

When it was time to create the faulty identification, Price had grown frustrated.

“Might as well keep Riley, for all I care—” He had pinched the bridge of his nose as he addressed Simon, “If that’s something you can agree on. God's sake, you’re married.”

“Who says I’d take his last name?” You scowled, already far from pleased by what the mission entailed, but now growing frustrated that your voice wasn’t being heard.

“Aliases aren’t legally binding, Sergeant.” Price quirked a brow at you, daring you to continue your argument.

You had hesitated.

“Should we really go with one of our legal names?”

You posed the question rhetorically, not expecting a response from either of the men.

Realistically, you knew it was a fine idea—it was unassuming, common enough to go unquestioned but not common enough to seem deliberately chosen to blend in. It was easy to remember, and it’s not like people outside the barracks knew Ghost by his real name, anyway.

“Fine," you sighed, resigned. "I’ll be a Riley.”

“Welcome addition.” Simon had nodded in agreement, voice gravelly.

You winced at the memory, watching the landscape pass by as Price drove the van down the highway.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Simon—he was a fantastic Lieutenant, someone you considered a friend before you considered him a coworker. But therein lay the problem; you did like him, maybe a bit too much.

There was a heightened level of anxiety now as you realized that the time and effort you’d spent trying to ignore your feelings for him would be nullified by your need to act domestic with him.

Not to mention his phrasing when the name had been decided upon—a welcome addition. It produced a pang in your stomach not unlike butterflies, which made you more embarrassed, than anything.

You looked down at the ID again. Your picture next to the Riley name made you feel something warm in your chest.

It was an alias, sure—a sham—but the sight was gratifying, either way.

You yawned, growing wary of the silence in the van.

“I still don’t understand why this is something we have to do.” You spoke up, dropping the ID in your lap and staring at Price in the rearview mirror.

“Got somewhere t’be?” He replied with an amused huff.

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the window.

“Just doesn’t seem like our jurisdiction,” you frowned, “Cartel in Middle America? More of an FBI racket, no?”

“Usually.” Price adjusted the mirror.

“But…?” You prompted him when he didn’t continue.

“But, this cartel may be on the ins with a British operation in Wales. And the Welsh fellas are working with a group somewhere on the European continent,” Price drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, “FBI thinks collusion could lead to something bigger than just moving drugs. Already gotten word of terroristic threats.”

“So now you have Ghost and I playing Mulder and Scully?” You scoffed, still staring out the window.

“You’ll have your kit back on in no time, Sergeant.” Price chuckled.

“Good,” you smiled, finally meeting his gaze in the mirror again, “This sweater is itchy.”

“Consider yerself lucky, lass,” Soap piped up from the passenger seat, turning his body to look back at you. “Least ye got a regular sweater. Poor Ghost looks a pure fandan.”

“Nobody knows what ‘at means, MacTavish.” Simon shifted in his seat, typically stoic but clad in a sweater vest and looking just as abysmally preppy as you did.

He looked handsome, but the clothes were so uncharacteristic of him that the thought made you feel somewhat guilty.

“Sorry, LT,” Soap craned his neck to look at Ghost, “A brief translation: ye look like a dick.”

Gaz huffed a laugh under his breath next to you, and Simon clenched his jaw.

~~~

The neighborhood was so polished that it looked unnatural. Identical houses lined up in rows; yards with high, pruned bushes; shiny cars, parked carefully in front of white garages.

This was wealthy territory, and it made you uncomfortable to stare the upper class in the face after spending so much time in the barracks.

There wasn’t much to unpack, despite the number of boxes that had been loaded into the van. Most of them were empty, or filled with small items that would come in handy during the stakeout that would be occurring during the foreseeable future.

But the weightlessness was certainly beneficial, and as Gaz, Soap, and Price acted as movers, you stifled a laugh at their attempts to make it seem as though the boxes were full and heavy.

“This’s the last of it.” Gaz dropped the final box in the middle of the floor.

The cardboard made a clinking sound when it hit the hardwood, and you saw Kyle’s expression turn to one of vague panic as he opened the box to reveal a set of extension cords and small mics.

“Good,” Price didn’t seem bothered about Gaz’s carelessness over the equipment. “S’get ourselves set up here.”

You folded the empty boxes as they were unpacked, stacking them up beside you.

“Why do we all need to be here.” You quickly grew bored of unpacking in silence, mind still buzzing with nagging questions.

“Reinforcements.” Price said simply.

“For a sting operation that we haven’t even started?” You countered.

“Rather do all the work yourself?” Gaz looked up at you, smirking, and you tossed a sheet of bubble wrap at him.

It flew sideways, swaying as it floated to the ground.

“What do we do if people see you?” You voiced a larger concern, “Think they’ll buy it if we tell them the movers just...decided to stick around?”

“Tell ‘em we’re yer kids.” Soap had settled onto the floor, fiddling with an extension cord.

You looked at the Sergeants and Price; none of the three could pass as younger than you, and none of them looked like you or Simon in any capacity.

“You’re stupid.” You laughed quietly, shaking your head at the obvious faults in Soap’s idea.

“Oi—s’no way to talk to your son.” Kyle laughed.

“Big house,” Price butted in, “Nobody’ll see us. And there should be no reason anybody should come in.”

“There room for us all?” Gaz perked up, “Or is someone sleeping on the couch?”

“Not me.” Johnny perked up, ready to argue.

“There’s space,” the Captain chewed his cheek, hesitating before he looked at you, “You two are sharing, though.” He gestured to Ghost.

“Why us?” Your gaze shifted to Simon, who didn’t seem to care, or maybe he just hadn’t heard; he was busy setting up one of the monitors.

“Married.”

“Aliases aren’t legally binding.” You threw his words from weeks ago back at him. “Why can’t any other combination of us share a room?”

“Assume it’s cause the rest of us take up too much space,” Gaz smirked, “’Nd Soap snores.”

“Dinnae!”

“Just—” Price sighed. He’d clearly been anticipating your pushback. “Unless you’d rather take the couch…”

You swallowed, weighing your options.

Sleeping on the couch would be the more admirable thing to do. Simon was putting a lot of effort into this mission—and he outranked you. It felt only fair that he got the opportunity to sleep in a real bed.

Plus, you could feel your ears heating up at the mere thought of sharing a bed with him, and you didn’t want to know what would happen if it actually came to fruition.

“I can take the couch,” Simon spoke up before you had the chance to respond to Price. “Don’t plan on doin’ much sleeping, anyway.”

“Typical honeymooner.” Johnny chuckled.

“Rather keep watch ‘an stay kushy.” Ghost scoffed.

“Don’t care what you do in here. Just remember that outside this house, you’re married.” Price nodded, picking up the pile of empty cardboard boxes at your feet and tossing them by the front door.

“Right,” you sighed. “Yeah.”

~~~

You walked down the stairs slowly; it was dark, and you didn’t want to run the risk of missing a step and tripping over yourself.

Being in a new place always made you uneasy. You had become so accustomed to life on a military base—small rooms and small beds, curfews and floodlights—that anything else felt unnerving.

This house had shadows in new places, the bed was against a different wall. It all felt so liminal, and you despised it.

You remedied your discomfort by wandering the halls, trying to acclimate to your surroundings.

There was quiet chatter coming from the living room, and you turned the corner to see Simon awake on the couch, flipping through TV channels.

“What you doin’ up?” He didn’t bother turning to look at you.

“Big house,” you mumbled, not at all surprised by his knowledge of your presence; he was intuitive to a frightening degree. “Trying to...gather my bearings.”

Simon grunted a response, still not looking at you. You rounded the corner of the couch, keeping your distance.

“Why are you still up?” You chanced the question.

“Been a long time since I ‘ad cable.” He almost smiled, and you liked the way it looked; the light from the TV illuminated his face, and he seemed so docile.

“So, you’re just doing a, uh…” You looked at the TV, “A Brady Bunch rerun marathon?”

He looked up at you, not replying, but he smiled for real now, and that was just as good a response as any.

“Still in your day clothes.” You pointed out.

“My stuff’s in the room you’re sleeping in,” Simon shifted on the couch, and you tried not to focus on the way he let one hand fall over the curve of his thigh. “Didn’t wanna bother you.”

“Wouldn’t bother me,” you shook your head, “Change, LT. You’re allowed to get comfortable.”

“Who said anything ‘bout being uncomfortable?” He challenged.

“Ghost, you’re wearing pleated slacks,” you scoffed at him, “I’m uncomfortable just looking at you.”

“Miss my casual attire, love?” He smirked, and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah. Already sick of having to look at you without the mask.”

It was a deflection, really, to hide the fact that you were thoroughly enjoying being able to see him without the hinderance of the balaclava.

“You wound me, Sergeant.” He heaved a sigh, the smirk on his lips still obvious.

“You gonna change, or not?”

He stared up at you for a moment, short strands of blond hair falling over his face as he analyzed you.

“A’right,” he conceded, standing up and walking over to you. “Go on.”

You smiled, nodding in approval at his cession as you made your way up the stairs.

The bedroom was big—too big for just one person. The high ceiling and lack of any furniture, save for the bed, only served to make it seem even more spacious, which in turn made it feel even emptier.

Having Simon in it with you made it much cozier, and you couldn’t tell if it was just because he physically took up so much space, or if it was just his presence alone that soothed you.

Wordlessly, Simon grabbed the duffel he’d tossed beneath the bed. You watched on intently as he hoisted it by the strap over his shoulder.

He really did look so handsome like this. In another life, maybe this is how he’d be living; white picket fence, a nine-to-five. Maybe even a dog—you could picture him so clearly with a German Shephard by his side.

But you couldn’t imagine Simon living the domestic life in suburbia, not really. You couldn’t picture him without the scars and the grit.

It’s what made him Simon, and you didn’t necessarily think that was a bad thing.

“What’s your story?” You sat on the edge of the bed.

“Y’know enough.” He grunted, turning to you.

“No, your—” You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Your backstory. For…” You gestured between yourself and him.

He nodded in acknowledgement.

“Married two years, together f’eight—”

“You work slow, Jim.”

“I’m careful, sweetheart,” he quirked a brow at you, and you smiled, allowing him to continue. “Moved ‘ere from England cause you missed being home.”

“What do you do for a living?” You prompted.

“IT.” He gritted out.

“Nobody will believe that.”

“’Nd they’ll believe you’re a ‘ousewife?” He shot back.

You shook your head, laughing softly. “Fair.”

He shifted his jaw, and the conversation was over. He turned to leave, but you had one more thing on your mind.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch for the whole op,” you called after him quietly. “I can…we can trade off, every night. If you’d like.”

He turned to look at you again, standing in the doorway.

He shook his head. “Deserve your beauty sleep, Mrs. Riley.”

He turned to leave, closing the door behind him, and you could hear his footsteps as he walked back downstairs. You were left alone in the stupidly large bedroom, the sound of your pulse rattling around your skull.

~~~

To any outward observer, it looked like a chance encounter; people meeting, exchanging pleasantries as neighbors do, finding a sort of simpatico.

But it was a well thought out plan—as well thought out as it could be.

Price had given you the instructions over coffee that morning. You were bleary eyed and felt ill-prepared, but you had to admit, the man worked fast.

“Make sure they stop.” Price stood with folded arms as he watched you and Simon leave the house.

“Can’t really force it.” You paused in the foyer to point out the flaw in his logic, uncertain whether this would pan out the way you all hoped.

“Trap ‘em with small talk.” Price countered.

“Yeah—cause Ghost is known for his chit-chat.”

“S’why you’re helpin’ him.” Price cracked a small smile upon hearing your swipe at Simon.

“What do we do if this works?” You felt a little anxious about being in the spotlight through all of this, “You want us to walk right back inside? Cause that seems—I feel like that wouldn’t…look right.”

“Drive around,” Price shrugged, “Go wherever your heart desires.”

“Pick up some groceries!” Gaz shouted from another room, eavesdropping.

“Aye—yer kids are sick o’cereal and cheese sandwiches.” Soap added his two cents from the couch.

You rolled your eyes as you made your way out of the house in yet another uncomfortably starched outfit.

Simon was already outside, leaning against the front wall of the house. He seemed to have positioned himself fairly purposefully behind the hedges that lined the lawn; he held himself awkwardly without his kit, arms crossed and shoulders hunched.

You realized he was likely trying to find comfort in a more sniper-like position so that he wouldn’t have to face the world more than he already had to in this situation.

“C’mon,” Simon nodded at you when you closed the door. “Y’a’right?”

You nodded, sighing. “We’re getting groceries after this.”

He made a face, but he didn’t say anything as he pushed himself off the wall and followed you down to the driveway.

A few feet from the garage, Simon grabbed your arm.

“Look.”

His voice was low, a gravelly whisper as he nodded to something down the street.

You followed his gaze and saw a couple approaching—they fit the description, matched the pictures; target acquired.

Simon opened the garage door, an action that made him look busy and ensured they would take notice of the two of you.

It worked; they looked up with startled smiles.

“Oh—new neighbors!” The woman called out before she had even reached your driveway.

Her accent rang out as clearly East coast. These were city folk who had run West to avoid the prying eyes and greedy pockets of whichever police department they were under the jurisdiction of; they were finding solace in small-town ambience while they made bank off of moving goods.

“Hi, there!” You waved, smiling wide as you encouraged them closer, attempting to rope them into conversation. “Just moved in.”

“That’s so great! That house has been empty so long...”

The woman finally stood before you, and you could see now that she was older than you, probably by at least ten years or so—though she was clearly putting effort into hiding it.

“About time someone made a home out of it—I was just saying so. Rob,” she turned to her husband, who trailed behind her, “Wasn’t I just saying so?”

“You were,” he nodded, sliding an arm around her waist and reaching his free hand out to Simon. “Robert Ferguson—this is my wife, Deborah.”

“Call me Deb!” She exclaimed, feigning bashfulness.

“Jim Riley,” Simon shook Robert’s hand, nodding sideways at you. “My wife, Bonnie.”

“You’re British!” Deb looked absolutely astounded by this revelation.

“Yes.” Simon nodded, and you couldn’t help but notice how the muscle in his jaw ticked; all of his focus seemed to be on making his features behave to hide his feelings now that the balaclava was off.

“What brings you to our neck of the woods?” Robert asked, quirking a brow, and you wondered if he was already onto you.

“Missed home,” you finally found the opportunity to speak up, inching yourself closer to Simon to keep up the guise of married life. “We’ve been living overseas for so long; I just couldn’t go another day of rain and beans.”

Simon glanced down at you, the corner of his mouth twitching into a begrudging, but amused, smirk. He wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you against him.

“S’right.”

You swallowed the sound that wanted to come out of your mouth when his hand made contact with your body.

It was for show, and you knew that, but it felt nice; he was warm, and you could feel the soft rhythm of his heartbeat when you leaned into him.

You willed your blood back down when it began to rush to your cheeks.

“Overseas…You military?” Robert prodded.

“No—I’m in IT.” Simon quickly shut down any discussion of military service, which you knew was not done with any satisfaction.

“Scars are from a wonky laptop, then?” Robert laughed, but you could tell he was prying, trying to get a feel for you.

Simon cleared his throat, putting his free hand in his pocket to avoid reaching up and tracing the scars on his cheek.

He hadn’t really considered that the scars that marred him would be visible; he’d practically forgotten what his own face looked like at this point.

He didn’t think anybody would care to notice the details.

“Mining accident,” you rushed to cover for him. “We lived in Wales for a few years—when we met.”

You looked up at Simon, who looked confused, but grateful.

“Turns out, he’s not as good with a pickaxe as he is with a computer.” You forced a laugh, and Deb followed suit, wheezing out a giggle.

Robert nodded, buying the lie, and you chanced a smile at him.

“Well, if you need anything…” Robert turned from you to look at Simon, who had regained his composure—though you weren’t sure if anyone but you had noticed he’d lost it. “We’re right down the street, love to—”

“You should come for dinner sometime!” Deb butted in.

“We’d love to have you.” Robert nodded.

And just like that, you were in.

You said your goodbyes and watched on as they turned to walk back down your driveway.

Robert paused for a moment.

“You golf, Jim?”

“Once or twice.” Simon lied—he’d never so much as picked up a golf club.

“Should come down to the club sometime—meet some of the other guys in the neighborhood.” Robert smiled, rejoining his wife and walking off.

You and Simon stayed silent as you loaded yourselves into the car.

You drummed on your thigh, staring out the windshield and watching the house get smaller as Simon backed out of the driveway.

The car was nice. It matched the setting; sleek and shiny, though the vehicle didn’t feature any of the off-putting atmosphere that the neighborhood seemed to buzz with.

Simon had taken the moving van back to the lot it had come from the previous day. When he returned in the new car, you hadn’t asked anybody where it had come from, or why you needed something so flashy.

“Wales?” He finally spoke when he turned onto the main road.

“The other group Price mentioned—they operate out of Wales,” you explained, “First thing that came to mind.”

“Right,” Simon nodded, “And I worked in a mine?”

“I just associate Wales with the miner riots…” You felt flustered, maybe a bit embarrassed by the link you’d come up with.

“Where’d you learn about ‘at?” Simon smirked, shooting a glance at you before refocusing on the road.

“They teach us a little more in history class than just Paul Revere and his midnight ride.” You found yourself grinning at him.

“‘Nd you think I’m ‘at old?” He shook his head, “Old enough t’be a miner in nineteen-eighty?”

“In that outfit?” You pointed out his sweater vest, “Yeah.”

“Cheeky thing.” He dropped a hand to your thigh, patting your leg twice before removing it.

For a second time in an hour, you caught the sound that would have otherwise passed your lips. You straightened your skirt in an effort to chase the warmth his palm had pressed into your skin.

“Just thank me, LT,” you sighed, “Saved your ass.”

“Won’t be the last time, sweetheart.”

~~~

It was dark by the time you returned to the house; the streetlamps that lined the road had turned on, and the houses were unlit—save for a few bedroom lamps that glowed through curtained windows.

Simon put the bags of groceries on the kitchen island, tossing the car keys down next to them. He ran a hand over his face, pressing his palms onto the counter.

Soap wandered from his chosen bedroom when he’d heard the front door, sidling up next to Simon and sorting through the food that was still stacked in the bags.

“Johnny?” Simon sighed.

“Aye?” Soap pulled out an apple.

“C’you teach me ‘ow to golf by tomorrow?”

“Think just cause I’m Scottish I play golf?” Soap scoffed, peeling the sticker from the apple.

“Do you?” Simon quirked a brow.

Soap rolled his eyes, hesitating.

“Aye…”

“He agreed to play a round with the target.” You cut in on their conversation, pouring yourself a glass of water and kicking off your shoes.

“Didn’t agree,” Simon scowled, “Didn’t even respond.”

“Told him you’d golfed before, though,” You finished your water, putting the cup in the sink and shooing Johnny away from the grocery bags so you could unpack them. “Seems to me like you haven’t…”

“Already lyin’ about everything else.” Simon folded his arms, glaring.

“Yeah?” You quirked a brow. “You sure you weren’t just trying to fit in? To seem cool?”

“Haud yer wheesht,” Soap laughed, “Ye fight like a married couple.”

“S’the point, yeah?” Simon huffed.

“And ye still won’t share a bed,” Johnny rolled his eyes, “Shame—most couples a’least start in the same room.”

You shook your head with a laugh, trying not to let the topic of conversation get under your skin.

You were bickering like a married couple. It was one thing to keep up the act when you were in public, around people who might recount what they’ve seen to the targets, but it was increasingly obvious that the make-believe was seeping into your real life.

Ghost was on your mind far more often than you’d care to admit. But now, rather than fantasies of lust and satin bedsheets, you were imagining him as the husband he was pretending to be.

Soap put a hand on your forearm when you reached into the bag of groceries again, silently reprimanding you for doing the unpacking, and taking on the job himself.

You thanked him and made your way to the staircase.

Simon followed you, and you turned to shoot him a curious look.

“Don’t need attitude ‘bout my sleep clothes again.” He passed you on the stairs, and you sped up to meet him as he pushed the bedroom door open.

“Didn’t realize you put your stuff back up here.” You watched him wrangle his duffel from beneath the bed.

“Didn’t realize I needed to tell you.” Simon shot back, and you rolled your eyes.

“Does this mean you’re going to stay up here tonight?” You pondered aloud.

“No,” he answered simply, “Fine on th’couch.”

You nodded, slightly stung, but you could understand the awkwardness of the position you’d both been put in.

The room fell silent for a beat.

“Do you miss the mask?”

You thought back on his actions earlier in the day, when you’d watched his face morph in response to the conversation with Robert and Deb.

“I mean…you seem kinda naked without it.”

“Think about me naked a lot?” Simon stood back up, smirking; a pair of sweatpants slung over his shoulder.

“Just—” you rolled your eyes. The answer was yes, often, but he didn’t need to know that. “It’s weird seeing you without it for so long.”

“Not comfortable to ‘ave it off, ‘f’at’s what you’re asking.” He sighed, and you nodded.

“Did you pack it?”

“No.” He almost scoffed, but he seemed to catch himself when he realized that your question was genuine.

“Are you sure you want to take the couch again?” You broached the topic once more, “You can sleep up here—I’m fine with sleeping downstairs, instead of—”

“Stop,” his voice toed the line of superior rather than friend for a moment, “S’a’right.”

“Ok…” You mumbled in lieu of an apology.

“Quick thinking today,” his voiced turned softer—by his standards, at least. “Impressive.”

“Does this make me a trophy wife?” You smiled, trying not to grow flustered by his praise. “My skillful lies?”

He seemed to waver for a moment, brow creasing slightly as he thought.

“No…” He shook his head, turning to walk out of the room. “‘At’s not what does it.”

~~~

Simon struggled to feign interest in the discussion happening around him; the topic of conversation was just as showy as the country club itself.

Getting closer to the targets felt like a loss, despite the overall net gain.

The men who surrounded him—all with the same bland accents and unflattering polo shirts—pushed him into the reality that he was an outsider, no matter who they thought he was or who he was pretending to be.

It wasn’t often that he felt small, but there was a creeping isolation that came with undercover work. Though he tried not to let it get to him, Simon felt completely alien.

With golf clubs in hand, they spoke about absolutely nothing despite talking so incessantly, occasionally pausing to sip their beers.

Soap’s introductory explanation on how to properly hold a golf club had done little to assist in Simon’s actual gameplay, and he knew he must’ve looked downright miserable despite making an effort to remain upbeat.

That was never his forte, though.

He watched Robert swing his club against the green, and the loud thwack made Simon feel more comfortable; it didn’t echo in the way a gunshot would’ve, but it was a nice disruption from the tedium.

A young woman drove a cart over to the hole they were on, offering an array of concessions. When she left, slowly carting herself away, Robert let out a whistle.

“If I were ten years younger…” He sipped his beer through a smarmy expression.

“What happened to age is just a number?” One of the other men chuckled, and Simon felt himself cringe. “I like them young, they should like me old.”

The other men laughed, clinking their bottles together. They looked at Simon expectantly, and he felt cornered in a way he had never felt before.

“Mm?” He offered, running a thumb over his golf club.

“Ah, c’mon, Jim—wives ain’t here. That girl a prize, or what?” One of them nudged Simon’s arm, and he tensed.

He convinced himself that it was pressure from his obligation; that his disgust at the notion of looking at another woman lay in the act he was attempting to put up, convincing those around him that he was a diligent husband.

But he knew the truth.

“Bonnie’s all I need.” He forced a smile, trying to maintain a level of geniality.

“Give it ten years.” Robert smirked, and the others laughed.

The group of men moved on to the next hole, and Simon trailed behind them.

He already knew he hated these people. The things they did for profit, their willingness to allow everybody else’s lives to go to shit for a few extra dollars in their accounts; it was enraging.

But this anger stemmed from something else, an unfamiliar frustration that blossomed in his chest.

You were enough for him. You always had been, you always would be, and how dare they think you weren’t as perfect as he thought you were.

Not that you even needed to be—flaws and all, he’d take you over anybody; he’d choose you in a heartbeat every time.

For the mission, he reminded himself. For the mission.

~~~

Simon was active in gaining intel for several days in a row—infiltrating the inner circle, seeing what there was to see, hearing what there was to hear.

They trusted him enough to mutter when he was still nearby, and that was good enough, for now.  

Simon had been so busy that you barely saw him, rarely encountered him when he wasn’t on his way into or out of the house.

And the separation, for whatever reason, made you feel anxious. You worried that he was mad, despite the fact that there was no real interaction between the two of you in recent memory that would’ve caused any conflict.

Maybe you had crossed a boundary that you hadn’t realized was there; you had really been gunning for him to sleep in the bedroom—and with or without you there, he clearly had no interest in doing so.

But you kept pushing. You wanted to keep pushing.

You recognized that the anxiety probably stemmed from elsewhere, but you didn’t want to acknowledge your feelings more than you’d already had to lately.

Now, though, you felt alright. Better than alright, even; you felt pretty, and, what’s more, you felt eager.

It was just dinner, a meal with the targets; something that would hopefully see the culmination of Simon putting so much effort into gaining Robert’s trust. But the thought that went into your outfit, your daintily applied makeup, the inner turmoil of what you should do with your hair—it almost felt like a date. One you were excited about; one you’d call your mom to dish about at the end of the night.

You felt girlish; you felt thrilled; you told yourself it was for the mission.

The mission was what was making your heart bounce around in your ribs and your stomach flip with every step.

“Look at ye,” Soap whistled as you walked down the stairs in a dress that was only a bit less tweedy than the outfits you’d been wearing. “Hot date planned, lass?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Something like that.”

“Who’s th’lucky guy?”

“My husband.” You quirked a brow, a shy smile grazing your lips.

“Where’s the man o’the hour, then?” Soap chuckled.

“Probably fixin’ up his hair,” Gaz cut in, smirking, “Now that we can all see it.”

“Perfection takes time, Sergeant.” Simon inserted himself into the conversation, emerging from down the hall and fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt.

It was almost unnerving how good he looked.

You’d become so used to seeing him in fatigues, in a full kit and a balaclava, that seeing him in anything else felt foreign. The past few days had remedied that, if only slightly, and though the outfit he wore now was similar to those he’d been wearing for the past few days, something felt different.

Maybe it was the tautness of the sleeves around his biceps, or the fact that there was no sweater vest in sight, or that he’d gelled his hair back enough to make it seem like he put effort into it without really doing anything at all.

Whatever it was, you swallowed thickly, and tried not to stare.

“Christ…” Soap huffed, a borderline sympathetic look on his face as he gave Simon the once over.

“Never seen a man this handsome, Johnny?” Simon smirked.

“Never seen a man this outta his depth.” Soap countered, laughing.

Simon didn’t bother with a reply, grunting resentfully at Soap before turning to you and effectively shutting Johnny and Kyle out.

“Wired?”

His voice was hushed, as if he intended on keeping the conversation a secret despite the fact that Soap and Gaz had already been more than clued in on what was happening.

You nodded, unable to ignore the sticky, tight feeling of the tape on your skin where you’d planted the wire.

You were worried you might sweat it off, but the dress had a tight bodice; you hoped that if the tape did come unstuck, the fabric would keep it in place.

“Good.” Was his only reply, and then he had his hand on your waist, ushering you out the door.

You tried to think of anything other than the way his palm fit so naturally with the curve of your body.

Simon didn’t mind the perfect fit.

~~~

Dinner was nice, for lack of a better word. That was the only way you knew how to describe it; carb heavy and seasoned. It was better than anything you might get in the mess hall, and you didn’t complain when Deb offered seconds.

The conversation, though, was dreary, and you had to pinch yourself to stay awake. There was something so uninteresting about the lives these people led, despite their involvement in such high-stakes business.

After what felt like ages of trying to seem intrigued by their vacation stories and fine china, Deb piped up with a new topic of discussion.

“Rob just got the car—oh, what do you call it, baby?” She posed the question eagerly, anticipating a reason to brag.

“Wrapped.” Robert shot her a smug look, equally as interested in showing off.

“He got the car wrapped—it’s gorgeous!” Deb fawned over the thought of the newly done-up car.

“Cost a fortune.” Robert rolled his neck, looking at Simon and searching for jealousy in his eyes.

“But so worth it.” Deb swirled her glass of wine before taking a long sip.

“I bet.” Simon nodded slowly, not bothering with eye contact or compliments.

“Why don’t you show Jim, baby?” Deb swallowed the wine in her mouth before turning to Robert, “You boys go out to the garage, leave us to our girl talk.”

“Yes,” you tried not to seem too keen on her suggestion, exchanging a knowing glance with Simon. “That’s a great idea.”

Simon smiled softly, a look that was meant only for you—fashioned so as to express understanding and gratitude.

And maybe something else.

He got up with Robert, following him to the garage.

~~~

“You a big car guy?” Robert closed the door that connected the main house to the garage once Simon had made it over the threshold.

“Not particularly.” Simon shrugged; he’d never even had a car of his own.

“Should get into it—ladies love it.”

“Do they?” Simon smirked.

“You’d be surprised by how much a woman appreciates a nice set of wheels.” Robert laughed.

Simon bit his tongue; it was clear that this man knew nothing about women—then again, neither did Simon, so he just nodded through his doubts.

Robert smacked a hand down on the hood of the car. It was bright red, almost glittery, and Simon didn’t understand why it was anything to brag about.

“S’nice.” He offered, letting his eyes trail over the entire vehicle before looking back up at Robert.

“Hope so. Cost a pretty fuckin’ penny.”

“You mentioned.” Simon grunted, though he tried his best to make it seem lighthearted.

There was a pause then, and Simon waited to see if the conversation wouldn’t move; he wanted to make sure he had Robert exactly where he wanted him.

He might not know women, but Simon knew a rat when he encountered one.

“How’d you do it?” Simon’s tone bordered aloof; he let his gaze fall over the car once more, attempting to seem almost disconnected by his interest in the flashy color.

“What?” Robert leaned against the car.

“Afford it.”

“Saved up,” Robert sighed and picked his nails, “Worked for it.”

Simon nodded. “What was it you said you do f’work?”

“IT.” Robert scoffed, eyes darting over Simon’s form.

He seemed impatient, somewhat antsy; either Robert was onto this sting, or he was about to spill.

“Y’know…I been thinking, Jim,” Robert spoke slowly, straightening up from his spot on the car to look Simon in the eyes. “Don’t seem to be out of the house much unless you’re with me and the other fellas.”

“Solitary job,” Simon tilted his head, “Nice house.”

“Uh-huh,” Robert sucked his teeth for a moment before continuing. “Your wife’s a real peach—real prize.”

“She is,” Simon felt the words slip from his mouth without thinking about it, “She’s my everything.”

He barely heard himself, but he knew he’d said it, and he knew it was true, sham marriage or not.

“Never seem to wanna plant one on her.”

If only you knew, you bastard. Simon kept the thought to himself, rolling his eyes at himself; now wasn’t the time.

“Shy.” Simon offered.

“You or her?”

Simon shrugged; he didn’t care if his cover was blown now. He knew what was happening—he’d been here before, plenty of times, and he’d be here again.

He was far from scared, despite the clear attempts of intimidation on Robert’s part.

Robert seemed comforted by Simon’s casual air; the lack of any obvious fear made him settle.

He returned to a more reserved, trusting state, and Simon could only infer that the grilling was a matter of initiation—a poor method to weed out those who weren’t able to handle the truth.

“I—I like you, Jim,” Robert nodded, gaze glued to the floor and chin grazing his chest as he spoke. “I do.”

“I’m glad,” Simon grit his teeth. “Happy to have a friend in the area. Good start.”

Lure flies with honey, that was the saying. Simon was doing just that, however frustratingly slow-going it was.

“If I show you something—tell you something…” Robert seemed to ponder aloud, not quite looking at Simon as he spoke, his gaze now settled vaguely into the distance. “You be able to keep a secret?” His voice was low, his tone almost sour.

“Yeah,” Simon nodded, waiting. “Sure.”

“Sure,” Robert scoffed, “Need a yes or a no.”

“Yes,” Simon couldn’t help the smirk that crept over his face now. “Yes, I can keep a secret.”

“Good.”

Robert walked to the far wall of the garage. Simon watched on as he popped the lid off of one of the various paint cans that littered a shelf, digging around in it only to pull out a slip of paper.

Easy access: anybody could’ve reached in and found it. Further proof to Simon that these people had no clue what they were doing.

Robert handed the paper to Simon. It was obviously some sort of blueprint; an outline, incredibly amateur. But it was evidence of deeper plans.

A bomb of some kind, but messy and unfinished.

“What’s’is?” Simon feigned ignorance—the more Robert talked, the more a takedown was warranted.

“You never seen a bomb before?” Robert furrowed his brow.

“What’s it for?” Simon pressed on.

“What’s with the questions?” Robert shot back.

“’Umor me.”

Robert exhaled slowly, huffing into the air as he walked around Simon, practically stalking him.

“You wanna know how I could afford a car like that?” Robert laughed, gesturing to the garish car, “How I can afford a wife like mine?” He paused, grabbing the paper from Simon’s hand. “It’s all money, Jim—just without the trail.”

“What are you saying?” Simon was playing a little fast and loose now, but he was eager to get this over with.

“I’m saying,” Robert put the blueprint back into the paint can and sealed it shut again, “If you say anything about this, I’ll gut you.”

Robert walked back over to Simon, putting his hands in his pockets.

“What?” Simon quirked a brow, trying desperately to keep his features under control as his lips threatened to curl upwards into a smile.

Suddenly, Robert lunged, and Simon’s back was against the wall; a small knife pressed to his throat.

He almost allowed himself the joy of kicking Robert’s ass, finishing this once and for all, but he knew better.

Instead, he just stared; this was far from a dire situation. He’d had guns to his head and landmines underfoot—a dull Swiss army knife was hardly comparable.

Still, he feigned shock, putting his hands up and freezing.  

“You tell me right now if this is something you don’t think you can handle,” Robert was growling, “You tell me right now if you’re gonna cry like a bitch about this to your wife—you hear me?”

“I hear you.” Simon swallowed, and the blade dug against his Adam’s apple.

“This is bigger than you. This is something that’ll give people like us a leg up,” Robert rambled, “Give us everything.”

People like us. Simon missed his gun.

“So you’re building a bomb.” Simon kept his voice above a whisper to ensure the mic picked it up.

“That’s it.” Robert nodded.

“Why?”

“Stop with the fucking questions!” Robert was growing more agitated by the second, “You wearin’ a wire?”

“Why would I be wearing a wire?” Simon deadpanned.

“Fuck!”

Rob dropped the knife from Simon’s throat for a brief moment to reset his grip as his palms grew sweaty, quickly replacing it with a bit more pressure.

“Alright—alright. Listen…we got connections. Ok? Down in Germany, in Britain—that’s your neck of the woods, right?”

Robert smiled, as if adding humor to the situation would lessen the impact of holding a knife to Simon’s throat.

“Gonna target the airports.” Robert’s eyes were dark, but deeply uncertain.

“The airports?” Simon had a feeling that was coming—same old tired story, same old awkward plan.

“Major hubs in every country. Get to New York, London—guys in Germany can get this to Frankfurt,” Robert wiped his forehead with the back of his free hand, “No movement through the big city hubs, harder to smuggle shit in—no competition.”

Christ. This was hardly worth the FBI’s time, let alone the Task Force’s; these people had no idea what they were doing. This was the most hastily tacked together plan Simon had ever heard—not to mention completely batshit insane, and not at all logical.

“In a year, we’ll be rich. Get access to our own planes—drones, we’ll be the biggest cartel in the country.”

“Right.” Simon couldn’t stop his voice from taking on an amused lilt.

“So…you in?”

~~~

“Blond, British—and he’s so tall!" Deb shook her head with a giggle. "You are one lucky girl.”

Once Simon had followed Robert out, you found that Deb was serious about the aforementioned girl talk.

Eagerly, she poked and prodded into your personal life. It wasn’t as if you cared, but it was hard to keep your lies straight when you were faced with question after question.

At least she was tipsy—that made it easier for you to get away with things on the off-chance that you slipped up.

“Can’t complain.” Your face burned in response to the heaps of praise Deb lauded Ghost’s husband alter ego with.

“How’d you meet him?” Deb’s eyes went wide, and for a moment she looked so young, so excited. “Was it love at first sight—oh! I love that.”

She seemed to be filling in the blanks herself, and you played along.

“Something like that, yeah.” You sighed.

Deb topped off your glass of wine, and you smiled.

In another life—maybe the one where Simon had a German Shephard—you thought you might be friends with Deb for real; you were in a book club together, you drank together on Saturdays and gossiped about the other families in town.

“That’s so sweet—I love it. Love it!” She topped her own glass off. “Have you thought about kids? Got that nice big house now.”

“I…we haven’t really talked about it…”

You yourself had never considered children an option—not at the moment, anyway.

Maybe someday. Maybe when you retired; maybe if you found someone who understood all the nightmares and the adrenaline; maybe when the time was right, and the stars aligned, and you could trust yourself to properly hold an infant. 

You dared, momentarily, to imagine Simon as a father—a father to your children. Chubby babies with his piercing gaze; fat little hands that grabbed at his nose, traced his scars.

Maybe you did want kids.

“Honey, it’s just us,” Deb leaned forward over the table, “Is he…you know…?”

You stared blankly at her.

She sighed, almost giggling. “He shooting blanks? Cause Rob—”

You almost spat out your wine.

“No! No—no, it’s not—” You exhaled through a surprised smile, “…We really just...haven’t thought about it.”

“You’re young,” Deb shrugged, “There’s time.”

There was a pause as you both sipped your wine.

“So,” she glanced up at you with a smirk, “He’s good in bed, then?”

You looked at her like a deer in headlights. You tried to think of a lie, wondering if you could stall for time by chugging the wine in your glass.

“I mean—he certainly looks it. You don’t have to worry about me, but some of the women in this town—God, they’ll be all over him if they get the chance.” Deb continued, her animated gestures threatening to spill the wine over the rim of her glass.

You felt a flare of unwarranted jealousy at the thought of Simon being interested in other women; of other women being interested in him.

“I’m not worried.” You lied, unsure of why it was a lie.

Deb leaned in even further, and you could see every eyelash where they connected to her eyelid.

“He go down on you?”

Now, you did chug what was in your glass.

Before you had time to answer, Simon and Robert walked back into the dining room.

Something was wrong. Robert looked tense, but Simon seemed overly casual.

Simon was never casual.

“Grab y’coat, love,” Simon tilted his head forward a bit, which struck you as odd, but you knew better than to question it. “S’get on our way.”

“Oh,” you pouted, trying to make it seem as though you were disappointed to part from the other couple. “Alright.”

“Thank you for having us,” Simon shook Robert’s hand, and maybe his grip was a little stronger than necessary. “Was lovely. Really.”

“Come back soon!” Deb stood, swaying a bit as she placed both her hands on Simon’s outstretched one, “This was so fun.”

Robert said nothing, grunting a farewell as Simon shuffled you to the front door and out of the house.

You didn’t like how silent he was being as he walked you to the car. It wasn’t out of character—he was always quiet. But this silence seemed more anxious than anything.

You found your voice when you had gotten a good few yards from the house.

“Jim…?”

“Sh.” Simon turned his face towards you, and it was then that you realized he was bleeding from a cut on his neck.

“Jim.” You pressed on, uncertain about what to call him when you were in this strange limbo.

“Shut up.” He hissed, opening the passenger door and all but pushing you in.

When he took his seat behind the wheel, you glared at him.

“Lieutenant, you’re bleeding.”

“Not a word till we get home.” Simon was whispering.

Home. It almost felt real for a moment.

When you didn’t respond, he grabbed your face to hammer his point in.

“Got it?”

You huffed at him, and he dropped his hand. For a split second, you were tempted to ask him to replace it; to continue to hold you, even in the slightly callous way, just because.

Instead, you turned to stare out the window as he put the car in drive.

~~~

The house was calm; the lights were off, and the only sound was the faint hum of the monitors scattered about. Everybody else had already gone to bed, that much was clear.

The stillness left you and Simon to yourselves, and you weren’t sure whether or not that was a good thing.

Simon closed the door behind himself, stretching his shoulders back and undoing the top two buttons on his shirt.

“Got what we need.” He said simply, rolling his neck.

“Why’d you get all paranoid back there?” You turned to him, your discontent with his demand for silence in the car overpowering your interest in what he’d uncovered.

“’Ad to be certain.”

“About…?”

“We’re bugging ‘em—s’not crazy to think they might be doin’ the same to us.” Simon tilted his gaze down at you, and you sighed.

He had a point.

“You…” You eyed the nick on his throat with uncertainty. “You got what we need?”

Simon nodded as he untucked his shirt and peeled the tape off the wire, “Gotta make sure the mic picked it up.”

“You’re bleeding.” You mentioned once more.

“S’fine.”

“LT.”

“Enough.”

You stared at each other, tense.

“Let me clean it, at least.”

“S’not necessary.” 

“…Simon…”

“What?”

You hesitated, looking down at the floor before you could find the confidence to make eye contact.

You didn’t want to come off as desperate.

“Let’s…let’s go upstairs,” you sighed, “Let’s listen to the tape, let me just…wipe it off.” You tilted your head at him, hoping he could see that this was important to you.

Not that you knew why it was so important.

He surrendered with a sigh, dropping his head and gesturing forward with his hands. You led him up the stairs.

~~~

You put the tape into the slot, hitting play before turning your attention to Simon.

He sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread; he’d undone a third button on his shirt, and you tried not to ogle his chest.

You’d managed to locate a first aid kit, but upon closer inspection of Simon’s scrape, all you really needed was Neosporin and a band aid.

You moved to stand between his knees, fingers drifting to his chin and encouraging him to tilt his head back as you began gently cleaning the scratch and applying the Neosporin.

“Shallow.” You muttered, now clearly able to see that this was a nothing—something you’d talked up to yourself, thinking it would be more serious than it was.

He had been right—it wasn’t a big deal. But you still felt a weird obligation to patch him up, and there was a large chance that what compelled you to do so was the promise of being able to touch him.

“Mm.” Simon grunted, and you could feel the vibrations move through his throat.

You fell silent, listening to the tape.

Your hands went shaky as you heard how Robert interrogated Simon—not that it was really grounds for any anxiety; Simon could hold his own just fine, and Robert clearly wasn’t well versed in grilling someone.

“Your wife’s a real peach—real prize.”

“She is. She’s my everything.”

You chanced a glance up at Simon upon hearing his words played back on the recording.

He was already looking back at you, and even without the mask, his face was unreadable.

He waved off your attempt to put a small bandage on his scratch, and even so, you found yourself reluctant to leave your place between his legs. So you stayed, and you listened back to the whole tape like that; him sitting on the bed, you standing awkwardly in front of him.

When the tape looped, you sighed, walking over to remove it from the slot. You found a safe space for it in your luggage.

“Told you.” He seemed smug, but you knew it was in jest.  

You looked at him, rolling your eyes.

“Yes, well—thank you, LT.”

“Don’t ‘ave to be my wife anymore.” His words were sudden, and you felt a bit hurt by his apparent eagerness to be rid of this partnership.

Simon wasn’t entirely sure why he said it. He spoke mostly out of disappointment; he liked having you as his wife, even if it was pretend.

He liked to have something tangible, something that proved he could do it, someday. He liked having you. And maybe, in his own, socially awkward way, he was trying to gauge your interest; look for indicators in your reaction to see if his affection for you was one-sided.

“It’s a shame,” you laughed nervously, “I was just getting used to it.”

He smirked, still looking at you.

“Glad you got what we needed,” you were suddenly very set on changing the subject. “Deb wouldn’t talk about anything important.”

“Girl talk.” Simon echoed Deb’s earlier sentiment with a barely-there smile.

“She only cared about the kind of sex you and I have.” You winced as soon as you said it—so much for veering the conversation into less awkward territory.

“What’d you tell ‘er?” Simon seemed genuinely curious now, and you couldn’t help but imagine what you would’ve said to Deb had this been a real marriage.

“Told her it’s just pathetic missionary,” you smirked, “And I always fake it.”

Simon chuckled lowly, shaking his head.

“Let’s ‘ear it.”

“What?” Your brow furrowed.

“Tape,” he nodded to the tape player. “Showed you mine, yeah?”

“Ghost—”

“None o’that,” he huffed, smirking. “C’mon.”

You hesitated, but did as he instructed.

There was a sick part of you that was somewhat eager to see what he would do when faced with the questions you’d been barraged with.

You managed to reach into the neckline of your dress, peeling the wire from your skin. You put the tape into the machine and hit play.

This time, you stayed next to the tape player, leaning against the wall and watching Simon.

You snuck glances at him while the tape played, alternating between keeping your gaze on the floor and letting your eyes dart up at him. It was so unimportant—such awkward lies told by your recorded voice.

But you wondered if he could see through it all.

When you heard Deb on the tape player asking whether Simon went down on you or not, followed by Simon and Robert re-entering the room, you popped the tape from the slot.

“See?” You huffed as you tossed the tape into your luggage alongside the other one. “Nothing important.”

“Y’never answered ‘er.” Simon’s voice was low, almost hesitant.

“Hm?” You looked up at him, confused.

“Never answered ‘er question,” he tilted his head back, eying you up in your entirety. “Do I?”

“You…” You felt warm.

“C’mon,” he smirked, “Part o'the backstory, yeah?”

“I don’t…” You breathed, “I didn’t think that far.”

“D’you want me to?”

“To think up a backstory about our sex life?” You scoffed.

“To go down on you.” His voice was suddenly serious, and the low tone he had taken morphed from nervous to downright possessive.

You felt your heart flip, or maybe it was your stomach; your body felt too tingly to tell what was what anymore.

“I…” You took a breath, nodding slowly. “Yes.”

Simon exhaled audibly, maybe a sigh of pride. He clapped a hand down on his thigh, encouraging you to take a seat on his lap.

You practically tiptoed to him, perching yourself on his thigh and letting him wrap an arm around your waist. His other hand fiddled with the hem of your dress where it rested, just above your knee, and the subtle gesture made your pulse pick up.

He leaned in, not to kiss you, but to appreciate your proximity. You could feel his breath against your neck, your jaw; he paused just below your ear, pulling back to look down at you.

“Look pretty,” he muttered, “Don’t think I told you ‘at yet tonight.”

“Thank you…” You found the confidence to bring a hand up to his collar, fiddling with the unbuttoned part of his shirt. You still couldn’t look at him, not trusting yourself to remain collected beneath his gaze.

He smiled softly, bringing his fingers to your chin and tilting your face up to him.

“You gettin’ shy on me, Mrs. Riley?”

You swallowed, unable to stop the way your eyelids fluttered in response to his touch.

“No,” you sucked in a breath. “Just—don’t usually hear things like that from you.”

“Y’like it?” He quirked a brow, still smiling.

“Yeah,” you nodded as best you could with his hand beneath your chin. “I do.”

“Good,” he nodded back at you. “S’good…Do it more often, then.”

There was a moment of incredibly charged silence between the two of you before he finally leaned in to kiss you.

It was slow, but eager; you wrapped your arms around his neck, and he slipped his tongue past your parted lips once you’d matched the pace of his movements.

You allowed yourself the same kind exploration, pushing your tongue against his, licking into his mouth just as he did to you. You let your spit mingle, breath turning heavy when Simon brought both of his hands to your waist.

You trailed your palms from behind his neck to his chest, running your hands over the bit of exposed flesh his semi-unbuttoned shirt allowed, tugging gently on the fabric. Simon let out a quiet groan, and it spurred you on; you dipped your fingers beneath his collar, grazing your nails over his skin.

His hands wandered over your back, finding the zipper on your dress and toying with it. You made a sound of approval, soft and breathy against his lips, as a go-ahead for him to strip you of the layer. He tugged the zipper down, and you let the top of the dress fall over your shoulders, exposing your front to him.

He didn’t even look at your bare chest, too focused on pressing his mouth to yours. You, in turn, pushed your body against his—a subtle gesture, one to encourage him to lie down, and it worked well enough; he leaned back on his forearms, breaking the kiss to admire you as you looked down at him.

“Take it off, sweetheart.” He reached a hand up to fiddle with one of the straps of your dress where it hung loose over your arm.

Somewhat reluctant to rise from his lap, so content with the closeness, you obliged nonetheless.

You let the fabric of the dress pool around your feet, leaving you completely bare, save for the basic panties you had on.

Simon looked unbelievably pleased as he drank you in.

“Got a damn good-looking wife.” He teased, sitting up and reaching out to run his hand over your side.

“Yeah?” You looked down at him, responding in a similarly playful tone. “Your everything?”

“Yeah…” Simon glanced up at you, cold stare reduced to something more tender, though still serious, “Yeah, ‘at’s right.”

You smiled softly, unsure of how to respond.

Simon busied himself, playing with the waistband of your underwear.

He hooked his fingers beneath the elastic and slid your panties down your legs, exposing your core to the temperate air of the bedroom. You stepped out of them, along with your dress, and waited with bated breath for his next move.

He gripped your thighs, enjoying the warmth of your body and the sight before him; you could feel his breath fan against your stomach, his eyes glued to your form.

“Sit,” Simon commanded as he rose from his seat on the edge of the bed. “Here. C’mon.”

You took the spot where he had previously been sitting, pressing your thighs together and staring up at him with uncertainty.

With little hesitation, Simon moved to kneel before you, placing a hand on one of your knees.

“Open.”

He seemed focused, determined, and the imbalance of his title and the fact that he remained fully clothed wasn’t lost on you; it made your heart beat a little faster, head swimming with desire despite the as yet gentle, chaste touches he’d laid upon you.

You spread your legs for him, and he made a sound akin to a soft growl. He pressed a kiss to your knee before moving up your leg, nipping at the plush skin of your thigh and pulling breathy gasps from you as you watched him move further up your body.

By the time you could feel his breath fanning your bare cunt, you had grown impatient, fingers lacing in his hair and tugging gently as you combed through the strands. Simon huffed a shaky breath, glancing up at you with a look that verged a sneer.

“Fuckin’ needy,” he whispered, and you could feel the displaced air around your body as he spoke, “Use y’fuckin’ words if you want it so bad, love.”

“Simon…” You let your eyes flutter closed, letting the outline of him between your thighs fall in and out of focus, “Please…like you said you would.”

“Say it.” He was demanding, desperate to hear the words fall from your lips.

“Go—go down on me. Taste me. Just like you promised.” You felt pathetic begging for it, but you didn’t really mind, given the circumstances.

You tried to keep your voice even, but the anticipation was killing you. He smirked, a subtle expression, as he leaned his face forward into your cunt.

“Man o’my word.” He quirked a brow before all but diving into you with his tongue.

You inhaled a gasp, a choked sound that hit the back of your throat sharply. Still pulling gently on his hair, you spread your legs even wider, hungry for the feeling of his tongue on your cunt.

“Fuck—” You couldn’t find the words, content to offer brief curses of gratitude while he flicked his tongue over your clit.

He teased the bud, flattening his tongue over you before pulling back to delicately trace it with the muscle.

He wrapped his lips around you, sucking and applying pressure to varying degrees while occasionally letting his teeth threaten to close around you. It offered a sort of sinful thrill; the suspense of whether or not he’d really bite down made your back arch as you watched him.

When he pulled his mouth off of your clit, he licked a stripe up your slit before using his tongue to tease your entrance, slowly tracing your hole before pushing into you.

Simon looked drunk off you; eyes closed and groaning softly as he licked into the warmth of your cunt. He collected your slick, swallowing it as if it were a sort of heavenly ambrosia.

“Christ,” Simon pulled back for a moment, bringing a hand down to your core and spreading the messy combination of spit and slick around, admiring how you glistened. “Fuckin’ soaked, sweetheart, look’t you.”

You bucked your hips with a whimper when he swiped over your clit, and he growled at the reaction.

“You need more?” He looked so smug, “Give you a finger, see ‘ow much you can take?”

“Yes.” You breathed the one-word response, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes.

He growled at your enthusiasm, removing his hand to lick one more stripe up your cunt before pressing his middle finger to your hole and slowly pushing in.

“Fuck,” he muttered, entranced by the way you wrapped around the digit, “So fucking tight.”

He thrust his finger down to his knuckle, curling the digit upwards and letting it dance over your most tender spot.

You whined, reaching for his wrist and lazily tugging at it.

“'At's’it,” he finally tore his gaze from your cunt, “You enjoying y’self, sweetheart? You feel nice?”

“Simon I—I’m gonna cum.” You gasped as he leaned forward again to press his tongue to your clit.

“Nah, no you’re not,” Simon shook his head with a smirk, “Gonna give y’another—not fair ‘f my girl only gets to cum on one finger, yeah?”

You just mewled, letting your body fall back onto the mattress and raising your hips in submission.

Simon pressed kisses to your inner thigh as he pulled his hand back, giving himself the space to push another finger into you. He followed the same pattern, curling them up against your g-spot, sucking eagerly on your clit and watching you squirm from the stimulation.

“Still wanna cum f’me, sweet girl?” The thrust of his fingers slowed, focusing all of his energy on your sweet spot, twisting his wrist to amplify the squelch of your cunt. “Wanna show me 'ow this pretty cunt can squeeze me nice ‘n’tight?”

“Ye—es,” you sighed, “Simon, just like—like that.”

“Right ‘ere, yeah?” Simon’s gaze darted between your face and your core, as if he couldn’t decide which view was prettier. “C’mon, love—right on my 'and like this, lemme taste it.”

He brought his mouth down to you again, sucking down hard and speeding up the pace of his fingers again. He made a point to nudge your delicate spot every time, in sync with the pressure he put on your clit.

Your back arched, writhing in pleasure under him and letting your orgasm consume you all at once; it was white-hot, a culmination of your longing for him, coupled with the speed at which he’d let his walls down and allowed you the pleasure of having him.

Your legs trembled, muscles tensing rhythmically as you gasped through your high and the shivered aftershocks.

“Look’t ‘at,” Simon groaned, still nestled between your legs, “Fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart.”

You reached down to comb your hand through his hair. When he continued lapping at your slick, nose nudging your clit and refusing to let up until the experience bordered overstimulation, you yanked lightly at the strands between your fingers.

“Right,” he sighed, allowing you to pull him away from your core and placing kisses on your inner thigh instead. “Can’t get enough, love.”

“Hardly an issue…” You mumbled, staring down at him with your lust-blown eyes, cheeks flushed.

He continued to nip at the skin of your legs, alternating between each of your thighs and occasionally pulling away to admire the subtle marks his teeth left on you.

It gave you enough time to recover from your release. But just as soon as the heat in your core began to quell, you were hit with a fresh ache between your legs, amplified by his breath fanning your skin and the position he remained in, so close to where you still wanted him.

“Simon…” You sighed, propping yourself up on your elbows to gaze down at him properly.

He managed to tear himself away from you, replacing his mouth with his hands and pressing his palms soothingly against the tops of your thighs as he analyzed your expression.

He didn’t respond, staring up at you expectantly and waiting for you to continue.

“Give me more.” Your voice didn’t falter now, well aware of what you wanted and what you hoped to receive.

“You givin’ orders now, sweetheart?” He chuckled lowly, letting his fingers press a bit harder into the plush flesh of your thighs.

“Not as your subordinate,” you smiled shyly, “As your wife.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, trying to read his expression; his eyes seemed to darken just as much as his smirk widened.

“…Please?” You added in an effort to get him to respond, whether it be verbally or physically.

“S’right,” he nodded, “Knew my wife ‘ad better manners 'an my Sergeant.”

You laughed softly at his words, appreciating the uncharacteristically lighthearted approach he seemed to be taking.

But he cut your giggles off, forcing you to replace them with a gasp as he grabbed you by the ankles and stood.

“Y’want it like this?” He practically cooed, though his voice was sweet to a mocking degree, “Lemme fuck you out while you lay ‘ere?”

He rested your legs on his chest, positioning himself in a more than suggestive manner as he pressed his hips to the back of your thighs.

“S’at what you want, love? Or did you want me to bend y’over?” He let your legs fall, leaning over you so that he was close enough to let his nose press against your cheek. “Treat my sweet wife like a fuckin’ whore…”

Your mouth felt dry, breath hitching in your throat at the apparent promise he was making to treat you as gently or as roughly as you deemed fit.

“You…” You felt lost for words, turning your face and letting your nose bump his. “Bend me over.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he breathed his words softly. “Can’t leave my girl wanting.”

He left feather-light kisses over your jawline, maneuvering his hands under you to haul you up and flip you onto your stomach. You let out a soft grunt, content to allow him to manipulate your form and position to his liking.

“Christ, ‘at’s a sight…” Simon ran a hand over the curve of your ass after he’d helped you settle, his calloused fingers rubbing roughly against your softer flesh.

You laughed softly—at the gesture, at his words. There was comfort in knowing him this way; in seeing the man with the mask fall out of his stoic demeanor and into something so much more gracious and inviting.

You pushed back against his hand, chasing the heat and weight of his palm and whining slightly as you became impatient at his lack of action.

Simon tsked softly, now using both hands to knead your ass.

“Gave y’what you wanted, love,” he gave your ass a light smack, and your whine caught in your throat. “Lend me some patience, yeah? Wanna admire what’s mine.”

The sheer avidity in his voice, the quiet tone in which his possessive words spilled out, made you exhale a dreamy sigh as you surrendered to his touch.

You stretched your arms out in front of you on the mattress, resting your head on your bicep and letting your eyes drift closed.

Simon’s breath was hot against your skin, and there was a moment where you wondered if he was going to ignore your pleas and instead use this time to go down on you again—not that you would complain, but it was amusing to think that a man so tough in stature could be so easily pussy whipped.

Instead, though, after what felt like ages of him simply sweeping his hands over your body, kneading your flesh and pressing open-mouthed kisses to the back of your thighs, he seemed to vanish from behind you.

You emitted a quiet whimper in confusion, craning your neck in an attempt to look back at him from where you lay spread out on the mattress.

Simon shushed you softly, pressing his hand to the small of your back.

“Not leavin’ you,” he spoke gleefully through a growl, thrilled by your need for him. “But I can’t fuck you with my trousers done up, sweetheart.”

You nodded lazily, listening to him unfasten his pants and pull his cock from its confines.

The waiting was the worst part; you had already done so much waiting for him in the time that you’d known him.

Still, the building suspense was oddly delicious, forcing your body to acknowledge that you would finally, finally, be getting what you’d been craving.

You whined when Simon finally offered more contact, placing his cock between your ass cheeks and rocking his hips.

He was heavy against you, and the warm, smooth skin of his length urged a new flood of arousal throughout your body.

You could feel the fabric of his pants rub against the back of your thighs, and you subconsciously pushed yourself back towards him to chase the implication of his power.

“Gonna go nice ‘nd slow f’you, love.” Simon moved, fisting his cock and aligning himself with your entrance.

You sucked in a breath. “Don’t have to…”

“Can’t go breakin’ my wife in 'alf.” He answered frankly, and you wanted to point out his ego in the moment, but as his cockhead nudged your hole, you forgot all about chastising him.

“Simon—”

“Easy, sweetheart…” Simon sunk into you slowly, as he’d promised; his hands guiding your hips backwards onto him. “Jus’ take what I give you.”

You let out a shaky breath when he bottomed out, mewling softly into the bedspread as you grew accustomed to the intrusion of his cock inside you.

“’Ere you go,” he groaned, looking down to get a proper eyeful of your cunt wrapped snugly around him. “Feel nice, sweetheart?”

“Y—eah,” you kept your face buried in the comforter, the pleasure of the stretch absolutely overwhelming. “S’so good…”

“I know.” Even with your back to him, you knew he was smirking.

He pulled out quickly, eager to get it over with so that he could bury his cock back inside of you. He thrust back into you just as fast, swallowing a moan as he was hit with the pleasure that was being hugged by the warmth of your cunt.

“Fuck,” he swallowed a moan, tossing his head back, “Such a fucking—you got the most perfect cunt, sweetheart. Made f’me.”

“For you,” you moved your head, tilting your face up in a poor attempt to look at him behind you. “For you, Simon.”

“’At’s right.” His grip seemed to tighten on your hips, possessive to the point of leaving his fingerprints on your skin.

Maybe it was the way you said his name with such fierce desire, undercut only by your quiet whimpers; maybe it was your murmured promise: for him, and only him. Something about this—about you—had him completely at your beck and call, no matter what the reason.

He moved one of his hands to press against the top of your back, pushing you down and forcing your back to arch.

“What a pretty fuckin’ picture,” his thrusts were growing sloppy in the midst of his enjoyment, and he reeled himself in slightly as he spoke. “So easy to fuck you out, sweetheart—little slut of a ‘ousewife, you are.”

The position allowed him to fuck into you deeper, his cock pounding your cervix with every thrust of his hips.

You gripped the bedspread, desperate to ground yourself in the haze of such intense bliss.

“Simon—,” you felt your eyes roll back as you tried to maintain a level of composure so that you could get your words out. “So fucking—y-you’re so deep, Simon.”

“Yeah, you say my fucking name,” he leaned forward, pressing his lips to your shoulder. “You let everyone ‘ear who’s nice ‘n’deep in your pretty cunt.”

“S—imon!” You heeded his request, though you needed no instruction.

He straightened up, and his speed steadily increased.

You felt a heady sort of pleasure that traveled throughout your body and all but turned off your brain. Babbling, you reached back for him as best you could.

“What d’you need, sweet girl?” Simon took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over your palm. “’M right ‘ere.”

“…See you…” you tried to verbalize your want. “Wanna—see you.”

Simon’s hips slowed, stilling inside of you as he took in your request.

“You wanna see?” He wasn’t asking as if he’d misheard; he was teasing, drawing the scenario out before he inevitably gave into you. “Wanna watch yourself get fucked, love? Act like a whore while I treat you like one?”

You moaned in lieu of any real response, nodding against the mattress.

“Prefer to see my face, or my cock?” He queried, once again leaning forward to press kisses to your shoulder.

For some reason, although the latter option was absolutely something you’d like to see—a front row seat, watching him fuck you senseless—you felt yourself much more eager to watch him; to view the pleasure on his face as a mirror of your own enjoyment.

You wanted a domestic level of intimacy, something filthy but so pure, in its own right.

“Let me see your face, Simon,” you whined, “Please.”

He let out a sharp breath, not quite a laugh but in the same realm.

“Hoping you’d say ‘at.” Simon slid his hands down your body to grab your waist, using his grip as leverage to slowly pull himself out of you.

You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, and he stroked his palm over your back in an apparent effort to soothe you.

“C’mon. S’get you up.” He squeezed your sides, encouraging you to flip over onto the mattress.

Just as you settled onto your back, Simon moved away, dropping himself onto the bed and patting his thigh.

You turned to face him as best you could, still hazy with lust, and shot him a curious look.

“Come sit, sweetheart,” he smirked down at you, “Wanna see how you look bouncin’ on my cock.”

You smiled, “You just want me to do all the work.”

“Promise no wife o’mine’s gonna be left wanting,” Simon quirked a brow at you, leaning forward to coax you over to him. “’Less y’keep talking back like ‘at.”

You fell into his arms, allowing him to pull you onto his lap. You rolled your hips against his cock, the zipper and fabric of his pants biting gently at the flesh of your ass as you made yourself comfortable.

“All the work,” Simon huffed, reaching between your bodies to align himself with you again; you lifted your hips to provide the necessary space. “Kinda shit husband d’you think I am?”

“You—fuck—” Any retort you’d had planned was immediately subdued when he pushed you down onto his length, one hand on your hip while the other splayed out over your ribcage to keep you balanced on top of him.

“Can you manage, sweetheart?” He was teasing again, taunting you as you tried to compose yourself by pressing your hands onto his chest.

“It…” you breathed, refamiliarizing yourself with the stretch of his cock nestled deep inside of you. “Simon…”

You rocked your hips slowly, grinding down on him and letting him open you up; enjoying the tingling pressure of having him buried in your cunt.

“What’s’at?” He reached up, pressing his thumb to your bottom lip.

“I—” you kissed the pad of his thumb, gaze drifting down to his face. “I love it.”

Simon grit his teeth, pushing his thumb between your lips and letting his jaw fall open when you began to suck eagerly on the digit.

“Yeah…” His eyes drifted from your face to your figure, his free hand rubbing up and down your side as he began to pull you back and forth over him.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth, trailing the wet digit over your nipples and watching them pebble before he placed the hand on your thigh, his other hand still rubbing over your side.

Your head fell back, breath coming out in short puffs. His control was easy, comfortable to be under, and the occasional twitch of his fingers when he felt you clench around his cock was something you could get used to.

When you’d become accustomed to the position, you used your hands on his chest as resistance to push yourself up and down on his length.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart—look’t ‘at…” Simon’s voice was raspy, chest heaving as he watched you bounce your hips over his cock. “Pretty cunt’s making a fuckin’ mess on me.”

You chanced a glance down, craning your neck to get a proper look at his cock as it disappeared into you.

He was right—it was messy; slick and wet, you coated him with your arousal. You could feel the stickiness between your thighs and under your ass when you ground yourself down against him.

Simon tsked, reaching up to wrap a hand loosely around your throat, refocusing your attention on his face.

“Said you wanted t’see my face, love,” he smirked up at you, forcing the smug look as best he could through the daze of having you ride him. “You fuckin’ look at me, then.”

You moaned, eyes fluttering closed at the way his fingers felt around your neck before you quickly opened them to stare down at him.

He dropped the hand from your throat, but it stayed on your skin, roaming your body and exploring every dimple and curve of you.

“Perfect,” he was muttering to himself now, admiring you in a way that felt so unfamiliar but so natural to the both of you. “You’re fucking perfect. My sweet girl—fuckin’ incredible.”

You whined, feeling as though you could cry.

His actions were one thing; his touch, the way he raised his hips to meet you, chasing the warmth of your cunt and burying his fingers into your flesh. But the words he spoke, the tenderness you were receiving from such a typically cold man—one you’d yearned for, one you’d assumed would never reciprocate your hunger for a decent touch, a kiss—made you feel a sweeping sense of pride; a sort of validation that made your ears warm and your heart stutter happily.

It was almost too much, and you could feel the spring in your abdomen tense in the same way the muscles in your thighs did as the exertion of riding him became more than a little tiring for you.

But Simon knew—intuitive to a frightening degree—and as your hips stuttered above him, he wrapped his arms around you, pressing a hand to your back and coaxing you to curl against his chest.

“So good, sweetheart,” he mumbled into your hair, arms still wrapped around you as he bucked his hips. “Perfect little wife, did your best, yeah? Ridin’ me so nice, let me put in the work now, right?”

You whimpered into the crook of his neck, relishing in the way he used your cunt like a toy for himself; hands moving to your hips to keep you steady, he fucked into you at a much faster pace, but the comfort you found lying on his chest was unparalleled.

When he pushed you down a bit rougher, letting the head of his cock punch into your cervix and making you let out a mewl of pained contentment, your jaw went slack. You felt drool pooling beneath your cheek and over the shoulder of his shirt.

Simon all but laughed when he felt the damp spot on his shirt, craning his neck to smile at you as he slowed the pace of his thrusts enough to reach up and tug you back gently by the hair. He forced your gaze on his, letting his voice take on a sweet, taunting lilt.

“What would the ladies in the neighborhood say if they saw you dirtying my clothes like this?” He cooed, pushing his cock into you so slowly that you could feel your walls moving, contorting to take the intrusion inch by inch. “Soaking my pants ‘nd droolin’ on my shirt? What would they think, sweetheart?”

“Probably be—be jealous…” you sighed, the angle and his slow movements creating the perfect storm to properly stimulate the spot on your front wall while your clit dragged over the base of him. “Probably want you just as bad as I do.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Simon growled, voice coming out almost hoarse as he spoke, his grip on your hair tightening ever so slightly. “Only want you.”

Suddenly he was burying his face into your chest, mouthing at your breasts and offering deep, fast thrusts up into you.

You cried out, clawing at his shoulders as you found the strength to wrap your arms around him and press yourself against him.

“Pretty thing,” Simon moved to look back at you. “Only want my wife. Only need you, sweet girl.”

“Simon—” You could feel the lust reach a fever pitch, the spring in your abdomen threatening to unfurl completely.

“I know, sweetheart,” he was panting, putting all of his effort that wasn’t focused on fucking you into responding to your moans. “C’mon ‘nd give it to me. I got you, lemme ‘ave it.”

It was almost pleading, the way his words came out, and it only served to push you over the edge.

You felt a deep seated tingle, muscles spasming and stomach tightening as a soft, needy gasp of his name escaped your lips.

You felt electric, charged and satisfied, slumping into Simon and letting yourself free-fall into the warmth that bloomed from your core around his cock.

“Fuck, ‘at’s it,” Simon moaned beneath you, wrapping his arms around you tightly as his hips stuttered feverishly, chasing your release in an effort to find his own. “Talk to me, sweetheart, gotta—”

“Inside,” you breathed, already anticipating the question and dead set on your answer. “Inside me, Simon. Please.”

He groaned, head falling back and eyes squeezing closed; wanting to draw out the pleasure of being inside of you, if only for a moment longer.

“I’ll give it t’you, love, I—fuck, lemme see you. Show me ‘at pretty face. Wanna see my wife when I fill ‘er sweet fuckin’ cunt up.”

You pushed yourself up, immediately obliging.

Pressing your forehead to his, noses brushing, he captured you in a brief but bruising kiss before pulling back to admire you above him.

“Fuck—‘ere you go, my pretty fuckin’ girl,” his eyes were heavily lidded, his gaze plastered to you, hungry and triumphant but so soft. “Jus’—Christ—”

Simon met his high with a grunt, thrusting lazily into you and coating your walls with his spend.

You whimpered, melting into him once more; listening to the way your breath fell in sync with his; appreciating the warmth of his release inside of you.

Simon sighed, splaying a hand over your back and tracing shapes on your skin.

After a moment of tranquil silence, he reached for your hips and carefully eased you off of him, both of you making quiet sounds of discontent.

Just as soon as you were off of him, though, you curled into his side, slinging a leg over him and pressing your face to his chest. He wrapped an arm around you, tugging you against him in a manner that made you feel like you were made to be there, flush against him.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time, Simon,” you spoke softly, but there was already a level of playfulness returning to your tone. “Do you wanna sleep up here tonight?”

You felt him huff a breath, laughing at your question.

“Does the bed come with the woman?” He tilted his face to look down at you.

“Up to you…” You held your breath, though you were unsure why; at this point, it seemed clear that he wanted you around, that he was just as eager to share space with you as you were with him.

“I’ll stay, sweetheart,” his other hand came up to toy with your hair. “Be a damn shame to make you sleep alone, Mrs. Riley.”

“What a doting husband.” You rolled your eyes, but you released the breath you’d been holding. 

“Don’t you forget it.” He tugged playfully on a strand of your hair, and you squeaked, swatting at him just as impishly.

~~~

By habit, you woke up early.

The room was quiet, bathed in a blanket of hazy sunlight that poked in through the curtains.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, so intent on staying up and appreciating Simon’s presence next to you in this brand new, exceedingly pleasant way.

But now that you were awake, you could enjoy it again.

His arms were still wrapped around you, soft breath fanning the top of your head as you lay tucked into his chest.

Sometime during the night he’d stripped down to match your level of nudity, and you trailed a finger over his bare shoulders, admiring him. You couldn’t help but press a kiss to his skin, warming your lips with the heat that radiated from him.

He stirred slightly, grunting as he tugged you further against him. He placed a kiss to the top of your head before falling back asleep, and you closed your eyes, happy to join him.

Covert operations were awkward. Not this one, though. 

☆Like my work? Buy me a ko-fi :)☆

[barcapix]

could u do a hector fort x reader where he’s at training and during the break, one of his teammates show him multiple social media posts uploaded by his mom of her and his gf of 2-years having a girls day without him knowing prior. the whole team is teasing him and saying how locked in they are and he’s just so happy asf saying that’s wifey and stuff like that xx

✮ Tú y Mamá - Hector Fort

hector fort x fem!reader

sy: hector’s mood had been low all day, from your absent messages for hours. what he doesn’t know though, is your date with his mother was what you were up to.

a/n: this was a little crammed into my schedule to write, so im really sorry if it’s a lil stiff but ty for the req 🧡(ifykyk @n0vazsq)

warnings: nope!

the ciutat esportiva was electric, barça players scattered out amongst the pitch, immersed within a full spectrum of excersise and activities.

hector was completing goal warmups, firing past numerous balls beyond inaki. nearby, cubarsí and lamine were atop a cooler box, following every movement hector made.

“he looks sorta angry doesn’t he?” lamine nodded over, grabbing pau’s attention. “i wonder what’s up with him.”

“did you not hear what he was talking to balde and ansu about? his girl hadn’t messaged him this morning.” pau noted in all solemnity.

“what?” lamine grinned, “are you serious? de ninguna manera.”

“im serious.” pau scoffed, shaking his head. “he’s crazy over that girl.”

lamine let out an exasperated sigh, watching as hansi blew out his whistle to signal the first water break of the morning.

hector kept his head low, strutting past the two guys in a seemingly rushed hurry. his eyes were locked onto the ramp to the lockers, as lamine and pau instantly followed his footsteps.

their cleats were in a rhythmic motion, the clicks bouncing from the concrete walls onto the otherwise silent hallway. hector’s movements had stopped at this point, an eerie silence lingering.

“hey hermano?” lamine called out, his voice echoing off the bricks. they meet face with the locker room, sighting hector’s figure silhouetted in the dim light. he sat on the bench below his locker, head in hands.

his curls were messy and crumbled, his jersey clinging to his sweat-drenched body—his toned abs on display.

“why are you in here man? your bottles outside.” pau walked on closer, gently swatting his head.

hector let past a low murmur, tugging his shirt over his head. lamine frowned, taking a seat next to him.

“what’s the matter with you amigo? you don’t seem yourself today.” he further pressed, as they exchanged a knowing look.

“im alright, just tired.” he grumbled. it probably would of been believable if his voice wasn’t so threaded with tension.

“ey, the usual im tired gimmick,” pau teased but tone firm. “seriously hector, what is it?”

as hector was about to retaliate, a follow-up echo of shoes clacked against the floor, revealing a wide-eyed gavi, pedri, casado and olmo.

“coach has been looking everywhere for you three!” dani exclaimed, flailing his arms. “why are you all in here?”

pedri sighed in relief whilst muttering a small, “i told you so,” to gavi who didn’t seem to hear.

“ask him that,” lamine gestured to hector, inviting the four players near. the group drew closer, with raised brows and curious expressions upon hector’s uncharacteristic gloom.

“we saw you with that dopey look on your face earlier,” gavi tried to lighten the somber mood, grinning. “wipe that glare off man.”

hector didn’t comment, he just kept his gaze onto his lap where he was fidgeting with his jersey.

casado huffed, trying to bring reassurance. “it’s not personal H, she’s just busy with your mom.”

the words rolled off his tongue simultaneously, though by the look on hectors face, he immediately regretted it.

“she’s what?” hector abruptly stood up, voice rising and laced with confusion.

“uh, yeah, she’s been with your mom all morning.” the spaniard mumbled, stepping back ever so subtly.

“how do you know?” hector advanced onto him, his face now inches apart from marc’s. hector’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his cheek twitching.

“oh si.. she posted it on instagram,” he gulped, the colour drained from his face. “earlier.”

hector’s glare intensified, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “my question is, why do you follow her?” he interrogated.

“no reason.. i follow everybody.” he said weakly, hurriedly shoving his phone into his pocket.

hectors eyes narrowed, the type of look that made marc shift uncomfortably. as though he was about to burst, pau quickly intervened, slinging his arm over his shoulder. “don’t worry hermano, he followed my sister and her friends who he’s never even met before.”

marc let out a sigh of relief, dropping his tense shoulders. a few of the boys snickered, poking fun at casado for his internet obsession.

pau continued, slowly steering hector’s attention away, “and get this, he liked so many of her posts that her boyfriend had to step in.” pau proceeded laughing, causing casado cheeks to blush.

“ey! i was admiring her aesthetic!” marc tried to defend, though that never really stopped the rest of them making fun of him.

“can’t you do that with your own sister? i don’t blame irene for blocking you!” pedri clapped his back.

“what? irene blocked you?” lamine doubled over laughing, clutching his stomach for air. “no way!”

“okay whatever whatever, show me again.” hector interrupted the guys’ gig, motioning for gavi’s phone.

pablo protested, although dani elllbowed him into submission. reluctantly, he pulled up the post on his phone, as hector took it from his hands.

hector flicked through the numerous posts, images of you and his mother laughing, posing, and seemingly drunk off merriment.

they featured everything from coffee dates and endearingly charming selfies, to affectionate boasts about your latest matching nail sets together.

each photo possessed a natural setting, no forced chemistry, no pre-practised techniques nor any false smiles. hector couldn’t shake the swell of his heart that was multiplying with each swipe, his grin only growing wider.

the simplicity of all of the candid shots, brought an unwavering, flustering emotion over him—his earlier frustration melted away. who knew that all he needed was a few coupled images of the two women he loved most in this world, to cure his dishevels.

“look at that smile on his face,” lamine teased. “he’s so happy, it’s disgusting.”

“see the way he’s invested in them,” gavi added, him and pedri similarly leaning into eachother by snickering. “he’s completely gone.”

“she’s got you hooked man,” dani commented, also grinning ear to ear.

laughter filled the room again, but this time, hector joined in. he ran a hand through his hair, with pablo’s phone still in hand, gazing fondly at the screen.

“at least we now know who really runs your life,” pedri qipped finally.

“she’s worth it though, they both are,” he said simply, the sincerity in his voice silencing any further teasing.

the others nodded, their teasing softening into gentle ribbing. “of course she is,” marc stated. “just don’t let her forget it.”

hector chuckled, his heart now infinitely lighter than it had been all morning and his mind no longer foggy. “believe me, i won’t.”

[lcvclywon]

─── ⋆ HE WAS A JOCK, AND SHE DID BALLET

back to masterlist

playlist

where...

Jake sim was a loser. Frat boy persona and charismatic antics aside, the moment Jake was alone with a girl he would freeze. Which explains his track record of having only slept with one girl all throughout college. That was until, you came in: Decelis' top ballerina and prized possession. Following a drunken one night stand and some (shitty) advice from his friends, Jake hopes you could help him out.

pairing ── jake x female reader

genre ── strangers to lovers, fwb (no smut tho!), college au, obvious x oblivious, denied feelings, veryyy lengthy fic

wc ── 16.6k

featuring ── jay, heeseung and sunghoon of enhypen, kazuha and yunjin of lesserafim, yuna and ryujin of itzy, seunghan of riize, soobin of txt, karina and winter of aespa, jisung and hyunjin of stray kids

warnings ── mentions of sex and hooking up, implied sex, suggestive at some parts, cursing, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of family issues, yn is kinda mean and bitchy (i tried to base her off of jo yi seo so!), mentions of crying and breaking down, mentions of blood and periods, kms jokes used, mentions of food, mentions of kissing, use of the word whore once i think, jake and yn arguing a lot

DISCLAIMERS! i'm not trying to sexualize jake nor any other idols, this is a work of fiction

Beep beep beep!

Groggily you startled open rubbing your eyes trying to locate where the hell that blaring alarm sound was coming from. Finally finding the small slim black clock atop the nightstand you muttered a string of curses below your breath, slamming your hand down on it putting a stop to the shrieking rings. You immediately closed your eyes and attempted to lull yourself back to sleep pulling your black comforter over your head, arm grabbing for the pillow beneath you then- wait, you don’t own black comforters? 

Neither did you own a black alarm clock (not to be rude but who the hell even owned alarm clocks in this day and age?). Slowly you realised, you didn’t own any of this…fuck. 

Looking around trying to collect your thoughts you scanned the room to try and get a clue of which dude your drunken self managed to have a one-night stand with this time. Noticing a sleek leather wallet on the nightstand next to the alarm clock, you immediately grabbed it trying to see if there was a student ID, driver's licence, hell anything. Imagine your surprise when the first thing you saw was none other than a Decelis student ID laminated and shining with the name Jake Sim printed on it. Oh shit.

You muttered strings of curses under your breath, did you seriously have a one-night stand with Jake Sim? The proclaimed loser of the Decelis Soccer Frat? The same dude who had the reputation of trying (and failing) to let alone hold a proper conversation with the girl's gymnastic team? That Jake Sim? You scoffed under your breath, god you couldn’t believe this. Fuck you seriously needed to get a hold of your drinking problem. 

“Oh, you’re up” oh great. You were too busy trying to figure out how you got yourself into this problem that you failed to notice that said problem was standing there leaning against the bathroom door frame right in front of you. 

Whipping your head up you were greeted with the sight of Jake Sim, toothbrush in mouth, dishevelled mess, awkwardly smiling right at you. “Uh, Hi Jake.” you looked around awkwardly trying not to stare at him since he was practically half naked “Could you um, put on a shirt?” 

“Yeah, you’re kinda wearing it though…” 

You glanced down to see that you were indeed wearing his shirt, the large oversized plain black tee was so big it hung over you like a dress. 

“Right.” you said in an exasperated sigh walking past Jake into the bathroom with your clothes in hand to change

“Uh do you want breakfast? Tylenol? Are you hungover?” He was only met with the door shut in his face. 

“Yeah uh” you called out, muffled and in between grunts trying to change into your clothes as fast as possible, “No, not really! I kinda, you know, have to get back to my dorm.” 

“Oh yeah totally,” Jake replied awkwardly fuck how do you even talk to someone you just had a one-night stand with? Jesus, how did Heeseung do this shit. “Here.” you said opening the door to hand him his shirt. 

“Ah, thanks” Jake said quietly as he draped the shirt over his body. He stood there still brushing his teeth as he watched you pack your things up, shooting your head back to ask “Are the other guys still here?” 

“Nah, they all left to practise earlier” he replied watching you let out a slightly relieved sigh as you stood in front of his mirror tying your hair into a loose ponytail and touching up your makeup slightly “So…” he attempted to start before being cut off by you.

“Yeah um, thanks for whatever last night was Jake. Can’t really remember most of it, I’m sure it was good,” briskly lacing up your shoes you mentally cursed yourself for deciding to wear docs last night, “but maybe let’s not bring this up like, ever.” Finishing off with a tight knot and immediately pouncing up to only be met with Jake’s lost eyes and mouth slightly agape.

“Anyways! I really need to get going now so I’ll see you around ‘kay?” You walked backwards until your hand reached the door handle and turned it. The moment you stepped out you practically ran down the steps, cheeks and ears red, still muttering curses quietly, and regretting all the decisions you made last night. 

And there Jake Sim stood, hopeless as ever, watching the second woman he’d ever had a one-night stand with leave running. Fun. 

Not to be full of yourself but you kinda had a reputation in Decelis, top ballerina, rich mother, the whole shebang. 

And well Jake on the other hand,

Me 

I think I just slept with Jake Sim

Kazuha Nakamura

EXCUSE ME 

Me

Yeah hahaha.. LISTEN I WAS DRUNK IDEK WHY I DID IT

Kazuha Nakamura 

SOCCER PLAYER JAKE SIM? THE FRAT BOY JAKE SIM? THE APPOINTED LOSER OF DECELIS SOCCER TEAM? ARE WE THINKING ABOUT THE SAME JAKE SIM HERE.

Me 

STOP YES THAT JAKE SIM. I KNOW i’m gonna kms 

Kazuha Nakamura 

Okay but was it good at least?

You paused, well it was good, but you shook your head remembering who you were talking about here. I mean it’s not like you and Jake were complete strangers, you went to high school with him, so yeah you knew Jake. But imagine the whiplash you got entering college realising you now attended the same school as Jake Sim the scrawny physics nerd, except now he was Jake Sim, star soccer player who grew up and gained some charisma. However, all you could see was teenage prepubescent Jake who used to rant about Einstein’s law of relativity. 

Yeah, not happening, you thought to yourself closing your phone as you headed into practise desperately hoping to drown out your memories of this morning with endless classical music and exercises. 

Jake however, was still sprawled out on his bed even though it had been hours since you left. Face buried into one of his hands while the other scrolled through your Instagram profile, occasionally letting out annoyed sighs before groaning into his hand. How the hell did he even manage to screw this up.

“Jake, get up. I’m starting to actually feel bad for you” Jay let out at the sight of his friend curled up in agony, watching him with a mixture of sympathy and disappointment painted on his face.

“Dude you don’t get it, she RAN.” Jake cried out loudly sinking even deeper into his bed 

“Okay, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. Maybe she just was startled, and like seriously you couldn’t have been that horri-”

“The one-night stand isn't the problem, the problem is that it was YN!” 

From what Jake could remember you, L/N Y/N, were basically untouchable in high school. I mean head of the dance club, straight A student, and not to mention you were one of the prettier girls that attended school with him; you were practically on a pedestal. The one chance he had to interact with you when he was 1. Not drunk 2. Not surrounded by his friends giving him an extra boost of confidence, he blew it. 

“Okay, so it was YN? So what man, I think you’re overthinking this” Sunghoon chimed in from the back 

“Hey I mean, I think you’re judging the situation way too early dude. If I were you I would see this as an opportunity!” Heeseung declared as he pranced into Jake's room

Briefly looking up from his phone, Jake shot Heeseung a judgemental glare before asking with a scoff “Okay well, since you’re the self-proclaimed expert here, mind letting me in on what you mean by ‘opportunity’”

“Okay listen,” Heeseung said while sitting on the edge of Jake’s bed “Here's what you’re gonna do: you’re gonna go up to her, start small talk, then you’re gonna ask her if you guys wanna do something casual-”

“Are you seriously suggesting I ask a girl to be friends with benefits after she RAN out on me” Jake screeched throwing his pillow at Heeseung (who thankfully caught it) 

“Hey let me finish!” He replied tucking the pillow under his arms “Yeah ask for something casual, and if she was so embarrassed and humiliated as you claim she’d reject you outright, but if not you get a casual fling with a cool girl. What’s not to love?” 

“Maybe the part where this whole thing is stupid, ” Jake grumbled, adjusting himself to sit upright to face Heeseung “, and why would I listen to you exactly?”

“Because a) as you said I am the expert,” Heeseung said before tossing the pillow under his arms back at Jake “and b) you genuinely need to gain some experience talking to girls. And this gives: you said experience, no strings attached!”

Jake leaned back on his headboard sighing to look up at the ceiling. God this was stupid, Heeseung seriously just wanted to make a fool out of him. How much experience did Jake seriously need, couldn’t he do that without this whole thing? I mean he had plenty of other girls to talk to right? Well…wrong. I mean, you couldn’t be that embarrassed, could you? What other chances did he have, hell this was the second person he’d ever slept with since entering college (an astounding fact even to Jake). Was it worth a shot? 

“Fine.” Jake replied with a sigh. Fuck he was really doing this.

Closing the door behind you, your hands fiddled through your bag trying to find your pastel pink airpods, ready to blast music in your ears after a long chemistry exam. Putting them on, finger hovering over the play button, you were suddenly interrupted by a small tap on your shoulder. Turning around to see the one person you were trying to avoid all week, Jake fucking Sim.

“Oh Jake, I didn’t know you took chem?” 

“Yeah, I didn’t, well last year I didn’t…but I had to bump up my GPA a bit so I thought chem would be easy enough. But it’s,” Jake replied looking up and recalling the questions of that harrowing exam he just took “Yeah it’s ass.”

You let out a slight chuckle, well he’s funny at least. “Yeah, that test was not my best work…”  

Jake grinned at your comment, speeding up a bit to match your pace. “Hey wanna go grab some coffee?” His words laced with nervousness “I’ll pay! Well, I was the one who suggested it so I really should be paying, shouldn’t I… Anyway, my treat.”

And that’s how you found yourself seated across from Jake sipping an iced americano, legs crossed, looking around awkwardly, in dead silence. 

Jake had tried to start some small talk but was met with nothing but concise and quick answers from you. Fuck you Lee Heeseung, he mentally cursed. “So..” he awkwardly started “How was your weekend?” 

“I think you know how my weekend went Jake” you said in between sips 

“Oh, right.” Jake said remembering how it was just this Sunday when you booked it out of his apartment. “Uh about that-”

He could barely finish his sentence before you rushed to reply “I thought we weren’t going to bring that up”

“Yeah but-” 

“Listen, Jake” you let out with a sigh, placing your drink down on the table in front of you “You’re like, a nice guy and all. But I just really really can’t do relationships right now, like I’ve got a lot going on with ballet- seriously my mom is on my fucking ass about recitals…”

You realised you were rambling and looked down after briefly pausing “Anyway, you’re seriously great. I’m just not looking for anything serious right now an-”

“Me neither” Jake cut in nonchalantly while nodding diplomatically and taking a sip of his drink

“Yeah, an- wait what?”

“I mean, I’m not looking for anything at the moment either. That night was nice, I had fun” Jake explained while fiddling with the paper wrapper of his straw “And if you haven’t noticed I kinda don’t have a lot going on with me right now” 

You took a moment to register what he just said before deadpanning “Are you trying to use me for sex.” 

“What no!” Jake exclaimed a bit louder than he realised, making a few heads turn “Um, no I’m not. Seriously. I’m not a douche, I’m just…I don’t know how to really- talk. To women at least… I was hoping, well I was told, having casual hookups would fix that. Like, exposure therapy, I guess?” 

This man seriously did not just describe hooking up with you as exposure therapy. 

“You can totally decline! I was just suggesting it because a friend told me to, oh wait fuck you didn’t want anyone to know. Sorry, Jay, Heeseung, and Sunghoon know…I seriously didn’t mean to tell them it just slipped out and- yeah sorry. Uh well, Heeseung suggested it so…” Jake rambled on with his hand absently reaching for the nape of his neck, only to be met with your blank expression, mouth slightly agape, and iced americano in hand. God your face was practically a human adaptation of the Windows error screen. 

“Ummm” you trailed off playing around with the straw in your drink. Well nobody’s ever asked you to be friends with benefits, so your brain was admittedly still buffering. “Don’t you think it’s a little…weird? I mean we’ve known each other since high school, like granted we didn’t talk but- yeah you know? And like I’ve just, never done this before. Like ever.” 

“I mean I haven’t either,” Jake paused to put down his drink “Worth a shot though right?” 

Jesus Christ were you seriously going to be friends with benefits with the physics nerd? You mentally weighed out the pros and cons of his little proposal. It wasn’t like the last time was bad or anything, you just couldn't shake off the image of sixteen-year-old him at the back of the physics classroom playing with the Newton’s cradle while your teacher lectured on about waves. Recalling this you looked up at Jake sitting in front of you right now, he still had the same face but his features matured, his body was more built (probably all the training) and you couldn’t deny that even with him nervously picking at his fingernails…he definitely did grow up well. 

“I’ll-” you said with a slight sigh “I’ll get back to you on it Jake.”

“You’ll get back to him on it?! What is this a corporate meeting?” Your roommate Zuha said in between handfuls of chips.

Eyes shifting to the side to snap a dirty glare at her, you sighed in frustration before joining her atop your lofted bed. Kazuha and you were complete opposites: she was arguably way more bold than you and had an impressive list of friends spanning across the three different universities that neighboured Decelis. To be honest meeting her when you were six at ballet lessons might have been the sole reason you were able to get through university with a thankfully active social life. Truly you didn’t think your bond over Ever After High dolls would take you so far; but there you were in your second year of university, lounged across your mattress while she berated you for your lacking conversational skills.

“Hey! I was trying to be polite for your information,” you defended whilst burying your head into your pillows 

“I mean why not?” Zuha asked with indifference 

“Oh I don’t know, maybe because we went to high school together, he was and still is a huge dork, and he’s Jake Sim. Yeah just a thought.” you snapped back while digging your hands deeper into Kazuha’s bag of chips

“Well to me those all sound like pros.” she had reached in to grab a fistful of chips before munching on them between sentences, “Plus what’s the big deal, you hooked up once why can’t you do it again” she asked, tugging away the bag from you as it reached near emptiness. 

God you wished it was that easy. You sometimes envied how little she thought of things. 

“Yeah, I guess…” your hands reach for the ends of your hair, twisting them around your fingertips. “Okay but how do I even get back to him on it?” 

“Yeah well your first mistake was responding with that, but like just text him? We’re not living in the fucking 19th century, sms exists.”

“Yeah okay, am I just supposed to send ‘Hi Jake! So after much consideration, I am now getting back to you on it! And yes I would totally love casually fucking you xoxo yn!!’” you replied sarcastically 

“Okay, you know that’s not what I mean. If you’ve got the general premise down, just send it. Not like you’re opposed to it so…” Zuha said handing you your phone with her Calbee chip dust-covered fingers. 

Taking the phone and wiping the grime off, you opened your chat with Jake. Typing and retyping over and over again trying to form the perfect message your finger hovered over the send button while you battled your internal warfare. 

Too immersed in the constant back and forth fogging your mind you failed to stop Zuha from taking the phone from your grasp and sending the message for you.

“KAZUHA NAKAMURA. UNSEND THAT SHIT RIGHT NOW” you frantically cried out ripping the phone from her hands, you scrambled for the unsend button but were disappointingly greeted with a notification at the top of your screen. 

Jake Sim (Hookup)

Cool! So this Friday?

What the hell did you just get yourself into

Sure enough, Friday came and you found yourself stretched across Jake Sim’s bed dressed in one of his oversized shirts. God, you didn’t think you would be here again. Mindlessly scrolling through Instagram while Jake pulled a grey hoodie over his body before adjusting himself next to you, subtly inviting you to lay your head on his shoulder. (Obviously, you didn’t get the hint)

Putting down your phone to the side, your hands reached to fidget with the seams of his sleeves. 

“Do you-” you were cut off by the embarrassingly loud rumble of your stomach.

“Oh, are you hungry?” Jake glanced down, eyes widened and head slightly cocked to the left. 

“Um, kinda..” you responded, god wasn’t he supposed to be the awkward one. 

“Do you want some ramen?” He said propping himself a bit more before mentally cussing at himself realising the implication of his words “I mean, not in like- that way. Well I guess kinda in that way, we did just-”

“Ramen sounds great!” you quickly cut in before he could finish his sentence, ripping the comforters off your bodies already heading towards the door. 

To your surprise, Jake Sim was a pretty good cook. Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration considering it was just Chapaguri and steak, but hell was that one good bowl of Chapaguri. Spooning the noodles into your mouth, Jake placed a cut of steak onto your plate. Weird. That was, thoughtful. Probably a force of habit you reasoned to yourself. 

“So um can I ask,” you paused to wipe your mouth “Am I seriously the only other girl you’ve slept with, or is you sleeping with only 1 person before me just a rumour?”

Jake’s arm stretched towards the nape of his neck while the other placed another piece of steak onto your plate before answering. “Uh, I mean in college, yeah. I haven’t had much luck seeing too many people. Kinda the reason you’re here” 

“Well I guess that’s not too surprising” 

“Oh yeah?” Jake asked tauntingly leaning back into his chair “What’s that supposed to mean hm?”

“I’m just saying I’m not surprised that the dude who spent his free periods researching Quantum mechanics can’t pull.” you teased back with a sly smile 

“Uh-huh,” he replied putting another piece of food onto your plate “Well I’ll have you know I managed to hook up with at least like- 2 people in high school” 

“Yeah and I don’t do ballet.” you came back snarkily 

“Hey! I can even list them for you if you don’t believe me.” Jake chuckled slightly while adjusting the collar of his hoodie

“Yeah, and I bet it was real hard remembering that list of 2 people” Laughing in response Jake reached for a can of coke before opening it and placing it in front of you.

Again, weird. As you got talking you realised Jake Sim maybe wasn’t as awkward or dorkish as everyone claimed him to be. Okay well partly your fault for believing assumptions and jumping to conclusions, but after the initial nerves wore down he was pretty chill. Which led you to wonder, “Hey why don’t you talk to girls? I mean you’re pretty much a natural at this.” 

“Oh.” Jake replied a bit flattered, “Well, I don’t think I’m a natural, like when I tried to talk with Minyoung after we hooked up it was a mess.” hands now fiddling with the skin at his fingertips, “I guess with you it’s sorta, comfortable?” 

Your actions came to an instant halt, comfortable? You shook it off thinking it was because you guys knew each other beforehand, yeah definitely that. 

“So you did manage to get with one of the gymnastic girls.” you said trying to divert the topic

“Well not really, she kinda ghosted me after that..” Jake answered looking down at the marble countertop

“Why?” 

“Well as you said, I can’t really pull” you giggled in response while still forking down mouthfuls of chapaguri 

“Hey, don’t laugh with your mouth full.” Jake scolded before taking his thumb to wipe the corner of your mouth, an action you once again brushed off to be a force of habit. Still, you couldn’t deny, if you actually did like Jake in that way you would’ve folded instantly.

He smiled slightly and ruffled your hair before taking your empty bowl and beginning to wash it, weird.

Hooking up with Jake became more natural and common as time went on, it somewhat integrated itself into your routine:

Hook up, go eat, then go about your separate ways. 

Over time you got to know Jake more and more, past his initially dorky interests you learned a few things about him: 

He was a huge dog lover - similarly to you - and had a golden retriever named Layla 

He was surprisingly funny, if he got comfortable with you at least 

Despite being awkward as fuck, he was way more extroverted than you. He just needed to be around one of his friends for that to shine through.

He wasn’t called a star soccer player for nothing, you’d initially never expected scraggly little Jake Sim to win so many medals and trophies in high school. No wonder he got in with a scholarship.

It wasn’t like Jake told you these things outwardly, but you never failed to catch onto how his eyes had a slight glimmer within them when describing his ‘best friend’ who you later found out to be his childhood pet. Or how whenever there was a short silence between you two he took it as an opportunity to crack a small joke. And you knew on a surface level that Jake was a pretty friendly guy, but you just never realised how long his social battery truly lasted; that man had a motor mouth. The soccer thing however was something you always had a slight clue about, in high school most of his lunch breaks and evenings after school would be spent in the field with Jay, Heeseung, and Sunghoon. Back then you assumed he didn’t have anything better to do, so the numerous medals that spanned across the walls of his room were a bit of a shock to you. 

But it’s not like you cared about Jake like that, you were just…observant. 

Jake was nice, it was fun being his friend but you didn’t go out of your way to try and hang out with Jake in real life. Really, it’s not like you guys were close like that. Neither of you bothered to try and cross that boundary, that was until today at least.

“Hey.” Jake said, smiling as he sat down in front of you. Your eyes faltered from their usual unbothered gaze, your pupils dilating a bit in shock. Hell, there are around 200 other seats in the athlete’s dining hall, yet he had to sit in front of you.

Maybe your pastel pink Lululemon jacket was the drawing point, probably so bright it made you the first person he noticed making him sit with you out of convenience, at least you would like to tell yourself that. “Oh, hi Jake. Uh- don’t you have practice? I mean usually I never see you at the dining hall when I come to eat” You slowly realised how stalker-ish that sounded “not like. I’m tracking your schedule or anything like that. don’t get the wrong idea”

Jake let out a breathy laugh in hopes of breaking the awkward tension surrounding the table (he remained unsuccessful) “Yeah, uh practice got cancelled. So I’m here earlier than expected.”

“Cool cool” you let out nonchalantly. And there you were back to square one, the same awkward tension overwhelming the atmosphere. God how could you be this awkward with a guy you basically had a bi-weekly fuck schedule with. “So uh, you going to Soobin’s party this weekend? the whole soccer team is gonna be there, including me” he said the last part in almost a whisper.

“Oh uh, I haven’t really thought about it. Kazuha is going, so I’ll probably go with” You replied still staring down at your measly plate of japchae, barely touched. “Uh I think I should go study-” you frantically said in an exasperated sigh in hopes to remove herself from any more unwanted conversation starters you would have to pull out of her ass.

“But you haven’t even touched your food?” Jake said clearly not getting the hint. But also he was genuinely worried, I mean yeah typically soccer players and ballerinas' diets are obviously different with their portion sizes, but he still took health very seriously. “I’m not that hungry anyway.” you said slowly getting up to leave

“Wait, do you do this often? skip meals?” Jake asked, his eyes glazed over with a concerned expression, one you hadn’t seen before.

“Oh I mean, most times it's not intentional, I get busy with practice”

“Hold on” Jake muttered before getting up and heading outside. Leaving you haphazardly standing up holding your plate of food. You sat down again poking at the unfinished scraps of carrots, “This man cannot take a hint” you muttered. 

Jake then returned pocky and Pocari sweat in hand. “Uh here, it’s good for electrolytes” he said while handing you the bottle “Oh and, eat this after practice or something, you need carbs and sugar”. Slightly taken aback you slowly took both items in hand, a slight warmth forming in the pits of your stomach. “oh you didn’t really have to-”

“I wanted to.” Jake replied cutting you off, suddenly embarrassed at his boldness he absently reached to the nape of his neck (a habit you noticed he did when he was flustered) “Uh anyways, I’ve gotta go to office hours now. But try not to skip meals, it’s not that good for you, you’re an athlete so..” he trailed off mumbling the last bits to himself, all while looking down to the floor. The weird tension in the air was still there but, somehow it was a little more bearable, well for you at least. “Thanks, uh I’ll pay you back-”

“Don’t bother!” he scrambled to say shooting his head up, pushing your approaching hand back. Fuck that reply was way too quick. “Uh, it’s on me! Don’t worry about it really.” slowly backing away he failed to notice how his legs seemed to trample over each other almost knocking himself down. He (thankfully) regained his balance “Bye YN!”

Blinking in what you think is a mixture of disbelief, amusement, and confusion you managed to mutter out a small “Thank you”

Safe to say that interaction left you both pretty embarrassed.

Most times you went to Jake's house it usually ended in lighthearted conversations over a plate of food. However, some nights were just spent as the two of you lay in his bed looking up at his ceiling talking about everything and anything; these were the nights you found yourself enjoying the most. Tonight luckily happened to be one of them. 

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Jake said before settling down next to you “Have you seriously never had a friend with benefits before?” 

“Hm? Why do you ask?” you said before moving to lay between Jake’s legs, head resting upon his thigh. 

“Ah you know, Just curious” He replied looking down at you with a slight smile. Did his eyes always look that pretty?

“No actually, I wasn’t really one for keeping a casual relationship with one person for a long time. I got bored too quickly, not that I’m bored of you. I did have a lot of hookups though, those were a bit more fun” you replied; a small smile formed across your face while recalling nostalgic high school memories. 

“That’s interesting…” you noticed a slight hesitation lingering in his words. 

“Why d’you sound so confused huh” Gently nudging his thigh you laughed. 

“Nothing nothing! I just, you know, didn’t really expect that from you. I don’t know in high school you were kinda- perfect? Like the captain of the dance team, student council secretary, and straight-A student; not to mention you were practically already on the road to Decelis with a scholarship. I didn’t really expect you to…”

“What, be a whore?” you butted in jokingly 

Jake’s hand reached out to run through your hair, grinning softly before responding “You know that’s not what I meant.” 

Chuckling in response your hands reached to fiddle with the ends of your hair. “Kidding, I get what you mean though. I - well my mom - tried hard to keep up the good girl act. But I was a teenager with the whole house to myself and a huge lack of self-discipline so…yeah”

“Was your mom never really there or…” Jake asked looping your hair around his fingers, shit was that too invasive?

Thankfully you responded whilst twiddling with the hem of your (well his) t-shirt. “Uh, no not really, I guess. Well, she was there, but just always working” Jesus why were you telling him this shit, not like you wanted to it was all just kinda- spilling out. “I mean I don’t hold it against her, it’s literally the reason I got to do ballet and attend this school in the first place”

“But?” Jake asked expectantly. Fuck why was he asking you this shit? Did he seriously think trauma dumping would fill the void of intimacy you two shared? 

“No I mean there isn’t really a but- well there kinda is. I don't know, it gets kinda lonely…only child and all. But I know she did it all for my own good, she knows what's best for me” the last part coming out a bit strained, “I just was kinda on my own for a while I guess… that’s probably why she signed me up for ballet classes when I was younger”

“Oh, she was the one who signed you up?”

“Yeah, she was, actually!” voice slightly perking up as you recalled fond memories of six year old you lacing up your first ballet flats, “When I was younger I loved dancing so ballet kinda came naturally to me I guess, but yeah ballet was really fun” 

“Was?” Jake inquired curiously, his head tilting down to meet his glossy eyes with yours. 

“Oh well, I guess it is still kinda fun- but like as I got better at it there seemed to be more expectations from people. It gets kinda stressful you know” you replied with a slight chuckle, hands picking at the skin on your fingers. “It’s partly my fault for not wanting to practise so much anymore, but sometimes it's hard not to notice every little mistake I make when dancing.”

“Well,” Jake began before taking your hand in his and lacing your fingers together “, I think you’re doing just fine. Trust me I’ve never seen a better dancer than you, like you’re seriously amazing”

You giggled slightly while staring at his hand intertwined with yours. Funny, you didn’t think he’d notice that.

“You sure you’re not lying about the whole bitchless thing? Because this,” you said while gesturing to his hand holding yours “, totally not bitchless behaviour” 

“Hey, I never said I was bitchless! Just no girlfriend you know.” Jake laughed nervously , becoming all too aware of his actions. He slowly lets go of your hand. A slight blush formed across his face before he cleared his throat to ask “So what about you, no boyfriend?” 

“Well, I did have one or two. But as I said, I get bored easily” you answered, still twiddling the hem of your shirt “I dumped both of them, not like there was anything wrong with the relationship- I just kinda have this bad habit of running from things when I notice something just slightly goes wrong. Yeah, it’s stupid really I don’t know why I do it.” Trailing off you slowly became aware that you were crossing the imaginary line you established between you and Jake. Wait, what the fuck were you saying? Why were you telling him this? You didn’t tell anyone this shit. No way Jake Sim, the dude who you were casually hooking up with, was going to be the first person you let in on your issues. Nah, not happening. 

“Um anyway! Maybe I should get going now, you have practice anyways.” you sighed, frantically getting up and grabbing your clothes. 

“Oh uh, yeah sure…” Jake said slightly startled, his hand reaching for the back of his neck and scratching it while he tried to look the other way as you changed in front of him (not like his head was in between your thighs a few seconds ago)

He walked you out to the doorway of his apartment, keeping a somewhat awkward distance between you guys as he waved while watching you walk out. 

“Bye!” he called out delayed, giving you a slight jump. 

“Oh, bye!” you said awkwardly facing him, immediately turning back around to  speed walk down the hallway.

For some reason even though you had already left he couldn’t get rid of this slight buzz in his stomach, his heart racing ever so slightly while he felt his cheeks heat up. Fuck I’m an idiot, Jake sighed to himself.

“What do you think? Too much?” you asked Kazuha whilst standing in front of her to show off your outfit. You were trying to dress out of your comfort zone by switching up your usual white tank and low-waisted jeans combo to a black tube top paired with a leather miniskirt. 

“You look the same YN.” your roommate replied stoically “And what are you so nervous for anyways? What, is it because Jake is picking you up?” she added between snickers. 

“What no!” you rushed to respond “And might I remind you that the only reason he’s picking me up is because you ditched on me last minute.” 

“Heyyy, I told you I was sorry! But Yunjin won’t be in Korea for much longer and I promised to have a sleepover with her before she leaves!” Kazuha whined in a pout “Promise, next time I get invited to a party you’re number 1 on my waitlist. I swear” 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one on that waitlist right now.” you muttered before reaching for your phone after noticing a notification popping up on your screen. 

Jake Sim (Hookup)

Hey I’m waiting outside btw! Also, I brought a jacket just in case you were cold but I realised you might bring your own so uh

Jake Sim (Hookup)

don’t bring a jacket lmao

You smiled to yourself slightly after reading that, to which your roommate seemed to catch.

“Oh lover boy here already hm?” she teased in a playful tone. “Ew god don’t call him that.” you deadpanned before heading out the door. 

Now in all honesty you were perfectly fine with going to the party yourself, Soobin’s apartment happened to be a 15-minute walk away from campus and it’s not like the area was relatively unsafe. However, Jake insisted that he pick you up and drop you off, saying something along the lines of it weighing down on his conscience. You can’t say you weren’t thankful to see him jacket in hand and waiting for you in front of the doors to your dorm after you were unpleasantly greeted by the bitter wind blowing in your face. Totally just grateful for the jacket, no other reason. 

The walk there was filled with the usual lighthearted jokes and updates on your days, nothing new. You grew to truly enjoy these moments with just you and him, it somewhat felt like it was just the two of you and time stopped. It was nice, you never had someone to listen to you the way he did. However, the peaceful moment shared between you two vanished the minute you stepped into Soobin’s apartment. For a while you forgot that Jake Sim, though being called a dork by half the campus, was still a frat boy and admittedly pretty popular. So imagine the whiplash you got when he was immediately dragged away by Jay, Yuna, and Soobin before he could even say goodbye to you. Not like you cared though, you had plenty of other friends.

A couple of hours had passed and the ‘other friends’ in question seemed to disappear one by one as the night went on. Which is how you winded up in Soobin’s living room on the couch, beer in hand whilst scrolling through TikTok. That was before you heard someone clear their throat. Looking up you were met with Lee Heeseung standing in front of you, head cocked slightly to the side. 

“Hey YN, mind if I sit?” he didn’t really wait for your response before plopping himself right next to you.

“Oh, hey Heeseung” you muttered, eyes not leaving your phone. You had talked to Heeseung a couple of times before when you went to meet up with Jake, but you wouldn’t really consider yourself besties with the guy who was the sole reason Jake had even offered to hook up with you. 

“What’s up, are you bored? I assume you didn’t come here to scroll TikTok alone.” He joked with a quick chuckle. 

“Yeah well I would leave but Jake insisted on taking me back home so it feels kinda rude to leave without him. And he’s obviously very,” you shot your head up to glare at the sight of Jake chatting it up with Jay, Yuna, and Ryujin. What happened to the whole ‘bad at talking to girls’ thing now huh? You scoffed before completing your sentence with a grimace “Preoccupied.”

Heeseung seemed to catch onto your change of tone as the next thing he said was, “Don’t worry Jake’s normally just chatty like this when he’s got one of us around, he really really can’t talk to girls otherwise. Well, obviously not you though, actually he can’t shut up about you.” 

Your head perked up at Heeseung's comment “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, the guy can’t stop talking about you even when you’re gone. Like telling us about how cool your recitals looked, your favourite foods, what you guys did that day, hell he brings you into practically anything it’s kinda annoying. ‘Oh YN loves that drink’ ‘Oh can you buy one for YN too?’ ‘Hey, this is YN’s favourite song!’ ‘Hey don’t touch that, it's for YN’” Heeseung said in a mocking tone, his hands coming up to mimic small puppets pretending to be Jake.

“Really? You’re probably exaggerating, me and Jake aren’t even that close.” you commented

“Trust me YN, you don’t live with that guy. I feel like I’m even in on your whole friends-with-benefits situation by how much I know about you. Seriously I think he's obsessed-” 

“What’cha guys talking about!” you were too engrossed in your conversation you hadn’t noticed that Jake had left Jay and his friends to come join you. 

You shot a glare at him before tilting your head down at your drink “Oh you know, just keeping myself entertained” you replied before whipping your head up “Since you were obviously, pretty busy.”

Before Jake could defend himself, Soobin drunkenly called out from the kitchen “Hey guys! Who wants to play spin the bottle!” his words slurred as he held up an empty beer can. 

Great, drunk college students and spin the bottle, what could go wrong? 

Hesitantly you and Jake made your way to the circle formed on the floor sitting across from each other while everyone else gathered in.

“Okay, so the rules are: you kiss or you drink. Three shots worth of soju may I mention! Who wants to go first?” Soobin asked gesturing to the bottle

“Oooh me me me!” Yuna replied eagerly before placing the bottle down and spinning it, landing on Jisung. One after the other everyone took turns spinning the bottle whilst the rest of the crowd let out shouts and claps of encouragement. You frankly thought this whole thing was stupid. I mean, spin the bottle? What was this a cheesy highschool movie? The bottle eventually reached Karina, she took it in hand and spun it vigorously.

Karina, god how could you even begin to describe Karina? Yoo Karina was top of her class in rhythmic gymnastics, led the student body org, and not to mention was absolutely drop. dead. gorgeous. You concluded in your mind that anyone who got to kiss that woman would be the luckiest person on earth, but that was before the bottle landed on Jake. 

“Well pucker up loser” Karina said before moving towards Jake to grab his face and press her lips onto his. You tried to cheer and clap with the rest of the group but you couldn’t ignore the dreadful feeling of your heart dropping to the floor. Pulling away from Karina, you couldn’t brush off how Jake’s eyes immediately came into contact with yours causing your pupils to dilate slightly before you shot your head down to the ground. 

Why the hell did you even care this much, wake up YN! It’s Jake, so he kissed another girl, who cares? You guys aren’t even exclusive, pull yourself together! You quickly shook off the awful feeling in the pit of your stomach and joined in with the others chanting “Spin, spin, spin!” as Jake whirled the bottle around with a quick flick of the wrist.

The bottle seemed to spin in slow motion before coming to a reaching its delayed halt and pointing directly at you. Oh fuck. 

You braced yourself for the awkward aftermath of the kiss you were bound to face later tonight, god how were you even supposed to face Jake after this? I mean yeah you guys had sex, but you would argue kissing is far more intimate. Your gaze lingered on jake and you watched how his eyes widened in anticipation, his hand again reaching to the nape of his neck absently while the other grabbed the red solo cup and-

Wait what, Jake was taking the drink?

Let it be known that Jake Sim had an infamous reputation of never drinking at parties, for a while people thought he was heavily religious; until it was revealed by sunghoon that in highschool Jake was unexpectedly a huge party animal and no one could possibly keep him away from a beer. Getting into college, he apparently tried to drop the heavy drinking and decided to take his athlete career more seriously. If you were to take Jake's drink at a party you would find either 1 of 3 things: coke zero, a mixture of random fruit juices from a punch bowl that 80% of the party did not touch, or kombucha (surprising to say the least). Yet there he was, drinking about 3 shots worth of soju all in one go. All to avoid kissing you. great.

A pit formed in your stomach as the loud chants seemed to die down, somehow this made you feel like the world's biggest loser. Was kissing you that bad? Hell he was in between your thighs half the time but he would rather drink than kiss you? Why didn’t he kiss you? Why did you want him to kiss you?

Jake let out a slight groan after downing the drink whole, the circle erupted into laughs and whoas but he could only focus on the one person who hadn’t said anything, the one person who was staring straight at him in what Jake could only assume was a mixture of disbelief and anger. Fuck, this totally did not go to plan. Why was she mad? I mean you didn’t say you were mad, but the look in your eyes somewhat gave it away. Jake thought the last thing you wanted to do was kiss him, I mean this whole time you would preach about how you guys were strictly casual and how you wanted nothing to do with him romantically. Jake thought he would save you the trouble, and partly save himself from the prolonged silences on the walk back to your dorm. It’s not like he didn’t benefit from this too I mean, Jake totally could go without kissing you. It’s not like it was a piece of intimacy your “relationship” lacked, not like it was the one thing he’d been longing for. Yep, totally not. 

You broke the gaze abruptly when you soon realised how long you’d been staring. Fuck did he notice? He definitely did. Your eyes now fixated on the floor while he stared off awkwardly to the side.

“Your turn YN!” Yuna cheerfully said handing her the bottle, her breath reeked of alcohol it was making you dizzy.

“Uh I think I’ll skip, I’ve had enough drinks for tonight” you replied, accompanied by a nervous chuckle. God, why was the room suddenly spinning? “As a matter of fact,” you quickly got up from your position slowly moving away from the circle, “I think I need to use the bathroom, I’ll sit out this round, you guys can continue though”

“Okay!” Yuna responded, obviously she was too wasted to notice the hesitation lingering in your voice.

You quickly stole a glance at the group behind, more so at the man you were sitting across from a minute ago. Lo and behold, Jake was laughing hazily and chanting encouragements with the others as Ryujin and Hyunjin messily made out. His eyes had a shine which was all too familiar to you, his grin was one you recognised countless times before, and to your dismay: he was completely unaffected by the whole situation.

Great, so he couldn’t give less of a fuck. You thought to yourself. Normally this would be a relief to you, I mean you said yourself you wanted something casual, but if that was the case why did you feel so embarrassingly hollow and empty inside?

You groggily stumbled away from the corner of the room and headed over to the kitchen, maybe a drink would drown out the noises of them chanting “Kiss kiss kiss” Pft, what are they grade schoolers? You snatched a red solo cup and started pouring whatever alcohol was closest in reach, vodka, tequila, soju, beer, you did not give a fuck. You downed the drink whole, slightly gasping for air as you polished it off. Grabbing for another bottle, your hands seemed to meet another. Looking up to see who had a shared interest in… absolut vodka? God you hated that shit, but well right now it seemed tolerable, however you were greeted by the disappointing sight of none other than: Seunghan.

God what was Seunghan doing here, he didn’t even fucking go here. To give some context, Seunghan happened to be your last boyfriend; a senior you used to date who at the time was a huge ego boost to you since you were a year younger. But you inevitably broke up with him before he left for university, even though you promised you would try and make things work long distance. Hell who were you kidding, staying with a highschool senior as a college freshman? Who would want to do that? The last excuse you could spit back at his pathetic face while ending things was “You aren’t even a good fuck” safe to say that bruised his ego a bit.

“Hey YN” he looked at you with an expression you can only make out as: egoistic. You wanted to smack that smug grin off his face, but you weren’t really the one with the upper hand here. I mean who wouldn’t smirk at the sight of their highschool ex absolutely fucking hammered at a college party.

“Hi” you replied coldly, his grip on the alcohol bottle slightly loosened, which you took as an opportunity to snatch out of his hand and pour yourself another drink (probably double of what you were originally planning to pour)

“So,” He paused for a second waiting for you to finish drinking “How's it going, what are you doing here?”

“I kinda go here.” you said in between sips “and shouldn’t I be asking you that, you don’t even go to Decelis.”

“Well someone’s hostile” he let out a chuckle, face still smug “Ah yeah, my friend Soobin, actually invited me. Swim team captain, ring a bell?”

“That's nice Seunghan” your face obviously painted that you didn’t really think so. You started to slowly make your way to the bathroom, not knowing how much longer you could stand being in the same proximity of this asshole.

“Is that it?” Seunghan called out expectantly. What the hell did this man want jesus. You could feel your anger just about boiling over, that and the 4 cups of alcohol in your system just about tipped you over the edge”

“What the hell do you want, Seunghan? An apology? You see me after what 2 years and expect to coax an apology out of me? Yeah not happening. I don’t even know what you’re doing here because clearly last time I checked you didn’t go to Decelis. So yeah, I don’t really know what you want from me but if it's an apology or something, sorry to disappoint.”

“Woah woah, calm down there” Seunghan said, arms up seeming to gesture he meant no harm, the smirk on his face displayed otherwise.

You were ready to spit out another insult at him, maybe add a punch into the mixture, until a pair of hands gently grabbed your shoulder. You whipped your head backwards to see Jake smiling awkwardly at Seunghan and scratching the back of his head nervously. “Sorry about that, she's kinda drunk right now so I think we’ll get going!”

You want to retort back that you aren't, but before doing so Seunghan cuts you off “who are you again.” 

Instead of the smug grin that adorned his face earlier, a weirdly serious expression was now plastered across him. Weird. Was he trying to assert dominance or something? You giggled to yourself a bit at the idea, slowly looking up at Jake to see what his response was. Maybe they would have a standoff, battle it out like in the movies. Instead a grin was still shining on his face, except something was off. His gaze looked harsher, juxtaposing the warm smile on the lower half of his face. Something behind his eyes signalled that he wasn’t going to take any bullshit, funny you thought. You weren't used to seeing this side of Jake, it was an amusing sight to say the least.

“Jake her,” he hesitated for a second “boyfriend. But I don’t think that matters really, I've gotta get YN home now” He quickly grabbed your wrist to lead you away and out the door, seemingly a bit too quick that it had you stumbling over your steps, or maybe that was the alcohol talking.

“Woww, look at that you can actually stick up for yourself! You know that was kinda funny, what were you trying to assert dominance or something? Thanks for saying you were my boyfriend though, god I don’t think he would be able to leave me alone otherwise” you said in between chuckles whilst shutting the door behind you, but jake remained silent. Weird, was he just drunk too? 

It’s not like you weren't used to the silence, hell it’s what took up most of your conversations (well lack of conversation more like). You remained quiet until the both of you got back to your dorm, you were weirdly too intimidated to say anything. Not intimidated by him, god no. More so the situation, you’d been used to the awkward silence, the post sex silences, the comfortable silences, but this was a different silence, one you weren’t really sure how to react towards. Once in your dorm, Jake finally said something to break the tension.

“Who was that guy?” he asked, gaze averted down to the floor and hand absently reaching for the nape of his neck, there he goes again you think. ”Seunghan,” you said while pulling over your tube top to change into an oversized shirt, which you realised was one you stole from Jake a while back “, just some ass I dated in highschool, doesn’t really matter.”

Jake's gaze was still stuck on the dorm carpet, his hand now picking at his cuticles. “Was he bothering you? I mean I couldn’t really tell but you looked uncomfortable, so like…yeah I don’t know”

You chuckled, cute you think. Wait fuck did you really just find what he did cute. Did you just fucking giggle. A flustered blush seems to form across your face whilst thinking of your actions. Get a grip YN it’s jake fucking sim, hes an awkward mess, an awkward mess you’re casually fucking. You can’t be doing this.

“Uh, I mean kinda. I was going to punch him so you probably saved me the collateral. Thanks though, it was nice” you said, tucking away your boots still facing away from him; embarrassed at the thought of you being the least bit flustered over his actions.

“Ah…” Jake trailed off. Fuck what was he meant to say now, well he knew what he wanted to say. He wanted to ask if it was weird that he called himself her boyfriend, but you didn’t seem to care so it would be weird if he brought it up now. I mean, not like he cared. a little white lie to save you some trouble, no biggie.

“Are you down to..” you asked nonchalantly, turning your head around to face him. He adorned his typical lost expression, god he was really clueless.

“You know, fuck.” you assumed it was the alcohol in your system talking, you were clearly very tipsy, that plus your pent up frustration from tonight was the perfect mixture for a good hookup. Or maybe you were just plain old horny, probably the case you thought to yourself. Definitely wasn’t the way Jake's hair was a perfect fluffy mess, or how his face seemed to have a slight glow to it (probably the drinks), or his eyes that were weirdly more iridescent than usual, yeah totally not that.

Jake's eyes widened a bit, taken aback by the request but definitely not surprised. “YN you’re drunk,” he said with a sigh, grabbing your shoulders and sitting you down on the edge of your mattress, “I'd love to but, maybe next time?” he said with a gentle grin, his dimples slightly poking out.

fuck was he leaving already? Before he could go any further you quickly grabbed his wrist. Jake, startled, looked back at you like a deer in headlights. Only to be met with an equally as shocked gaze, shit all this alcohol was making your body move before you could even think.

“Uh, can you just…” you wince a bit at the thought of what would come out next, “stay. Just until I fall asleep, I feel kinda…lonely?” The end came out in a mumble as your eyes laid fixated on the floor. A blush formed across Jake's face, but he quickly snapped himself out of whatever haze he was in. She’s drunk jake. It doesn't mean anything.

He plastered on the gentle grin that adorned his face earlier, smiling at her with endearment. “Alright, uhm just scoot over a bit”

Moving awkwardly to the side to make room for Jake on the bed he shortly joined you, adjusting himself next to you moving your head to atop his arm while the other pulled you in closer allowing him to rest his chin on top of your hair. Everything about this moment felt much too intimate to be shared between two people who were just casually fucking. You could feel your heartbeat slightly quicken and your breath hitching in your throat. However as time passed on you began to feel yourself slowly relax into Jake’s touch, allowing yourself to enjoy the feeling of his hand combing through your hair whilst the other reached to trace circles along the small of your back. His warmth next to you felt all too natural, like this was meant to be. Like you weren’t just two strangers who decided to hook up, like you two were everything and more.

“Sometimes I wish this was real” you sighed out, clearly letting the liquor in your system do the talking

“Don’t know how hammered you got but you’re definitely not dreaming right now YN.” Jake said in a low chuckle. Fuck you could listen to his laugh for ages. 

“Not this, I mean us.” 

“Oh.” Jake could feel his body go stiff as heat rushed up to his cheeks. He knew you were drunk, but some part of him hoped this was sober you. 

“You’re too sweet for me sometimes you know? Makes me wish you weren’t my friend and my boyfriend instead, then again don’t think I’m ready for that either. Well sometimes you make me feel like I’m ready, I don’t know, it's weird. Being with you feels so…natural? Like I’ve known you since we were kids- I guess we kinda have known each other for a while, makes me regret not talking to you enough in highschool. You were always pretty cute despite being a dork” rambling on you nuzzled your head closer to his chest. Fuck Jake was practically begging you couldn’t hear the intense racing of his heart. 

“How much did you drink YN?” he stuttered out

“Oh you know, just enough to make me forget everything about that party. Stupid Seunghan ruined my night. You know when you called yourself my boyfriend, yeah I really liked that, some part of me hoped you meant it. I guess I like you a little more than I expected, super stupid right…” you said trailing off as you fell further into your slumber; words slurred as a mixture of drunkenness and exhaustion took over your body.

“You like me?” Jake asked stunned, after garnering no response he tilted his head down slightly to face you. Your face looked so peaceful sleeping he didn’t have the heart to wake you up. How cute, he thought to himself.

“Goodnight YN.” he whispered before pulling you closer to him and dozing off himself. 

As the sun rose, beams of light made its way through the curtains to shine brightly on your face rudely waking you up. You slowly opened your heavy eyelids before stretching out your arms, only to be met with the shocking sight of Jake passed out next to you. 

Jolting up immediately, you had to do a double take to make sure you weren’t seeing things. Unfortunately this wasn’t a dream and you really did wake up next to Jake Sim, this being the second time you’ve done this with no recollection of what happened the night before. Frantically you tried to recall all the events that happened after Seunghan approached you; slowly but surely everything from last night rushed back to you in an instant, including your drunken confession to Jake. 

Fuck fuck fuck FUCK. What the hell was your issue? Why would you say all that? Jesus you seriously needed to stop drinking, you always ended up in Jake’s bed hungover. God could he have remembered anything that happened last night, he couldn't have right? He was probably drunk too, fuck you hoped he was drunk. 

“YN, you’re up already?” Jake said as his hand groggily rubbed his eyes, the other reaching over to your wrist. 

“Oh uh yeah!” you replied, face flushed with embarrassment before you quickly snapped your hand away from his touch “Hey this is weird but did I happen to say anything weird last night, I was like really drunk.” You winced expecting him to answer with a harsh reminder of your drunken words but instead he only uttered a small “Nope, not anything out of the ordinary”

Sighing in relief you let out a small thank god before getting up to go get dressed, Jake shortly following you like a lost puppy. Still yawning out and half asleep he groaned out a small “Hey, what time is it, by the way?” 

“Oh um,” you quickly grabbed your phone to check “9:30.”

Jakes seemed to immediately wake up, shouting “Oh fuck, I’m late!” He quickly grabbed his belongings before rushing out the door, before haphazardly rushing back in quickly to tell you “Uhm if you need Tylenol let me know I’ll go pick it up for you, bye YN gotta go!” 

Despite being in a rush, Jake was always so attentive towards you, something you were always grateful for; another habit you grew to love about him. 

“He's so sweet” you whispered under your breath to yourself before snapping your head up to face yourself in the mirror. Splashing water on yourself you pointed at your reflection before reminding yourself how badly this would end if you kept going on with this little crush. 

You do not like Jake Sim. You will not like Jake Sim. 

Days passed and after that night it was safe to say things got pretty awkward between you and Jake. You were in desperate hopes of avoiding him any chance you got, that of course was a lost cause as you guys still were hooking up every other week. However, you made it your mission to not interact with him outside of his apartment, not in classes, not in the gym, not at parties, nowhere. This seemed to be your brain's deluded way of trying to help you get over your crush on him. 

Jake on the other hand had a sense of why you were avoiding him, the whole drunken confession probably didn’t sit right with you. Jake didn’t really want to push it and force his way into your life if you weren’t comfortable, even though he desperately missed the days you spent every second together like best friends, he knew he wasn’t in a position to be complaining. But as time went on your missing presence began to eat away at Jake’s mind, he couldn’t take it anymore. 

Which is how he ended up rushing to move seats over to sit next to you when you entered the chemistry classroom. 

“Hey YN.”

“Oh, Jake hi…”

“You ready for today’s presentation?” he asked after noticing you diligently reading over your flashcards.

“Oh god no, I’m cooked.” you replied with a nervous laugh. 

“Don’t worry I’m sure you’ll do great, you always do.” Jake reassured with a warm smile. How did he always manage to say the right things? 

You flashed him a quick smile before whispering “Thank you.”

Sure enough a few minutes later you found yourself in front of the three hundred students in that lecture room trying not to stumble over your words as you presented about Electrochemistry. Everything was going fine at first, not to toot your own horn but you were pretty much guaranteed an easy A for this project. That was all until it came crumbling down. You stopped dead in your tracks as you felt a familiar warm feeling gathering between your thighs. Fuck, did you just get your period? 

“And u-uh, as I was saying…” you tried to continue the presentation and ignore the fact that your period was looming over you like the grim reaper, threatening to drip down your legs and publicly embarrass yourself in front of the whole class. 

The easy A you were so sure about now seemed out of reach as a lump formed in your throat while you stuttered with tears threatening to spill over your eyes. Quickly finishing up your half assed paragraph on Faraday’s law you bolted out the classroom the moment you were excused back to your seat. 

Rushing down the hall into the bathroom to clean yourself up, you were frustratingly met with the sight of blood stained jeans. Trying to pull down your shirt to hastily cover up the stain was no use, god out of all days to not bring an extra pad. Why did it have to be today? 

Sighing in agony you decided it would be a good idea to just head home instead of returning to class, hell you’d embarrassed yourself enough after that how could you even walk back into the lecture hall after that mess? 

Leaving the backroom with your head down and hand searching your bag hoping a spare pad would manage to appear out of thin air, you failed to notice Jake standing right in front of you (well that was until you bumped into him).

“YN, you okay?” his eyes graced with concern, oh so he’s still attentive as ever it seems. “Was it your presentation? I thought it was great-”

“I got my period.” you blurt out in a rush at the same time, eyes still stuck on the ground as you didn’t have the guts to face him right now “and like, yeah it's a mess so…I kinda just want to get home and change.” you finished with a frustrated sigh. 

“Ah I see” Jake replied before looking down to notice the dark patch on your jeans. 

Before you could go any further he wordlessly stripped off his hoodie before wrapping it around your waist. No words were spoken between you two but the tension arguably spoke much louder than words ever could. 

“I’ll come get it back later okay? Don’t worry about it” he said before knotting it a final time around your waist to secure it in place. 

“Oh, thank you Jake…” you mumbled 

“Hey YN.” he started, making you finally whip your head up to meet his eyes. His face detailed with hesitation, mouth slightly agape, eyes glossed over with doubt and hand again reaching for the nape of his neck nervously, “um, sorry it’s nothing actually- just uh, don’t be a stranger you know?” he continued with a slight shrug. So he did notice you distancing yourself. 

“Oh,” you stuttered, not really sure of what to reply with “alright…”

And with that you made your way back to the dorm, uncertainty lingering in the air around you following its way back to your dorm. Sprawling across your mattress you stared up at the ceiling lost in thought. This wasn’t going to end well. 

“YN you keep doing this!” your dance teacher snapped before banging a ruler on the metal bar in front of her. You flinched slightly as the loud bang rang through your ears before going to pause the music. 

“How many times do I have to remind you?” she let out in an exasperated sigh, fingers reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose, “your legs aren’t straight and your feet aren’t pointed either! These are basic things even beginners could get, I expect more from you! What would your mother think, hm? She invested all this money in you just for you to fall short of your abilities. You’re my top student, you cannot be performing like this when the recital is just a few months away! Pull yourself together before I choose another person to take your place, lesson dismissed.” she bellowed out before storming out the classroom. Leaving you collapsed on the ground, face flushed with disappointment as you stared at your dishevelled reflection in the mirror. 

Fuck she was right, what were you doing? You should be better than this, why weren’t you improving? God your mom spent so much time and money on this and you were just letting her down, you couldn’t do anything right. You were becoming a bigger failure than you realised and you didn’t know how to stop it. How were you meant to be the perfect ballerina when you didn’t even know how to be the perfect daughter? You knew you were better than this but why couldn’t you live up to it. Why did you keep messing up?

Slowly tears began pouring out your eyes before the practice room was practically engulfed in your sobs. You however stopped your crying when you noticed the door crack open. 

“YN?” Jake murmured out with a worried look painted across his face, “what happened, what’s wrong?” he asked while rushing over to your side. 

“Oh Jake, god please don’t look I’m a mess right now” quickly you tried to wipe your tears and nervously laugh before Jake stopped you and took your hands in his. 

“YN, honestly I couldn’t care less about how you look right now. What’s wrong? Why are you crying hm?” His face had the same serious gaze from the party when he confronted Seunghan, “It’s okay, you can tell me.”

Hearing that you finally broke down sobbing as he pulled you in closer to his chest, hand running through your hair while whispering small words of comfort. “Jake I can’t do this anymore, I keep messing up in everything I do! I don’t know why I can’t just be the person everyone wants me to be, I’m a failure.” you cried out between sobs.

“Hey hey don’t say that, look at me.” he gently took your face in his hands before tilting it up to meet his gaze, “Okay so maybe you’re not the person everyone wants you to be, and hey maybe you aren’t perfect-”

“Not helping.” you deadpanned 

“Yeah well, I wasn’t done. Point is you’re not that but, you're YN. You’re exactly who you need to be right now, and you’re doing your best. Maybe that isn’t perfect but hey nobody’s perfect, you just keep such high standards for yourself you can never get a chance to breathe. It’s okay to make a few mistakes here and there, we all do, we’re only human. If it means anything, in my eyes you’re doing everything right. You’re perfect, okay YN?” 

This only made you sob harder into his chest. Jake wasn’t complaining though, he only brought you closer and tightened his grip around you. Hands still running through your hair to lull you back into a relaxed state. 

After finally calming down you wiped the remnants of tears on your face before loosening yourself from Jake’s embrace. Awkwardly laughing before asking “Uhm, why did you come here in the first place again?”

“Oh right that. I needed to get my hoodie back and Zuha said you’d be here, didn’t really expect to see you crying all alone though” he commented with a quick chuckle 

“Oh shit yeah,” you said before reaching over to your bag to try and find his hoodie, Jake however grabbed your wrist to stop you, “Never mind that okay YN? You had a pretty rough day, let’s just get you back to your dorm alright?” 

“But your hoodie-”

“And up we go!” he exclaimed before lifting you up by the arms and pushing you to get out of that practice room. 

The walk back to your dorm was filled with Jake endlessly checking up on you, asking “Are you sure you’re okay” every five minutes. You reassured him time after time that you seriously were fine before finally losing patience and snapping “Jake Sim. If you don’t stop, I will actually not be okay.” 

“Okay okay! Just checking!” he said before whipping his arms up to feign in defeat. 

Reaching your dorm, you awkwardly stood at the doorway waiting for Jake to leave and bid you goodbye but instead he just sorta awkwardly stood there staring at you.

“Yes?”

“Oh um just- call me? If you ever need someone to talk to, you know?”

“Thanks Jake, but I’m not really looking to make my friend my pseudo therapist right now.” you joked. 

“I know I know, just reminding you. You’ve got me, ‘kay?” Jesus, you could never get over how warm his smile made you feel. 

“Alright, thanks Jake” You sighed out before slowly closing your door. After shutting it you immediately dropped to the floor, head buried into your knees. You hated this. You hated how without fail, no matter how long you avoided him, Jake Sim always managed to make butterflies spawn in your stomach and your heart to beat out of your chest. He always knew the right things to say and how to make you feel like the world stopped and purely revolved around the two of you. You hated how badly you’ve fallen for Jake Sim.

To give some preface, the only times Jake and you had kissed were: 

The first time you’d two ever hooked up when you were drunk out of your mind and too blacked out to remember a thing

The second time you’d hooked up; which technically wasn’t even a kiss because you stopped him as his lips ghosted over yours, almost connecting. You argued that it would be weird for you two to kiss since you only agreed on hooking up with each other, which you added did not involve kissing. 

You two mutually agreed that your relationship would involve no kissing between the two of you. This however did not stop the fact that Jake refusing to kiss you at the party bugged you more than it should have, leading you to blurt out on a random Wednesday afternoon: 

“You didn’t kiss me.”

Jake stopped midway through unbuckling his belt. “What?”

“I mean, at Soobin’s party, you didn’t do it” your eyes glued down to the bed sheets while your hands came up to fiddle with the ends of your hair “I mean you kissed Karina, why not me?”

“I mean…I can kiss you now if you want?”

“Yeah but then you’d only be kissing me because I asked you to do it.” you grunted out in annoyance “But when you were told to kiss me in front of others you didn’t, but you could kiss Karina so easily”

“I thought you didn’t want me to kiss you?” Jake countered, his tone becoming more argumentative. 

“When did I ever say that?” you tried to say nonchalantly, but instead your words spat out like an accusation. Fuck what were you doing? 

“Yeah okay well, kissing her meant nothing” Jake said in a bit of an exasperated sigh, his brows slightly furrowing together. Well Jake knew it wasn’t just that, but hell who was he to bring that up right now

“Yeah well, we’ve been fucking for 6 months, not like that means anything” For some reason this stung a bit for Jake, god he hated that it did.

“YN why does it matter.” he retorted back, the question coming out sharper than he intended

“Technically I’m saying it doesn't.” you let out a slightly stifled breathy laugh in an attempt to break the tension, obviously it doesn’t work “What do you not want to kiss me or something?”

No. God no it was the complete opposite. That was practically the only thing he’d thought about for the past month. But Jake couldn’t admit this now, first off to save him from looking like some desperate loser, and second: you just went on to elaborate on how kissing him meant virtually nothing to you. That them kissing was nothing. Jesus, how could he tell you only now that to him, it was something.

The silence filling the room meant one of the two things you concluded: Jake was either mustering up the courage to give you the best kiss of your life or he did not want to be anywhere near your lips. You opted for the latter.

“I’ll take that as a no.”, you swiftly got up from your previous straddled position to grab your designated ‘walk of shame’ hoodie and collect your things. Clearly, this wasn’t going anywhere. “It's fine Jake really. Just forget I ever asked. It was stupid, and uh, I’ve got practice so I think i’ll get going” you said absently while touching up your makeup

Jake hastily buckled his jeans back up and pulled his grey crewneck over his head. But you were practically out the door before he could finish. “Wait, YN…” he called out stumbling behind you trying to catch up

“Jake, seriously just drop it. It was stupid okay. And I’ve actually got a lot of stretching to do today, so I’ve gotta get going.” You attempted to make the end sound cheery and like you totally didn’t have a lump forming in the depth of your throat. To your dismay, emotions ended up getting the better of you and the words left your tongue stung with bitterness.

“YN I’m sor-” he attempted to stutter out, but you were obviously not hearing him through. “Bye Jake.” 

God, she couldn’t even look at me when leaving.

“Bye.” Jake let out defeatedly, only to be met with the slam of a door in his face.

“fuck…” you both thought.

“YN come on you’ve been cooped up in the dorm for weeks! Let’s go out tonight, I doubt Jake will even be at the party. Besides you were on my ass about not going with you last time, now the invitation is practically handed to you on a silver platter and you don’t even accept it?!” Zuha said as she rolled next to your curled up body that laid like a corpse on your bed. She was right though, you spent the next few weeks skipping all your classes and only going out to eat and go to practice that the colour from your face was practically drained. You looked like a total zombie to put it lightly. 

“Yeah I won’t, I’m not in the mood to go out tonight” 

“You’re never in the mood! Come on, what good is it to stay stuck in your room pitying yourself while bingeing K-dramas? That’s never gonna help you get over it, a couple of drinks is what you need!” you partly blamed Kazuha for your excessive drinking, she always managed to help you get out of a heartbreak by getting you blackout drunk. 

“Ugh Zuha, who's even going to be at this party anyways? Isn’t it the same old people?” you argued before pulling the covers over your head in hopes it would magically make you disappear from sight. 

“No actually it’s not, a couple of people from SM are hosting. You know, the uni Minjeong goes to? I heard SM parties are like, next level. And besides you can meet some new people, don’t you think that’s the perfect way to help you get over this loser?”

“Hey, he isn’t a loser!”, you quickly argued, springing up from your previously snuggled position, “just like- yeah anyways not the point. I guess, maybe…it would help?”

Before you could even finish your thought Zuha immediately pulled you up and sprung into action. “Okay, perfect. Here, wear this.” she said before tossing pieces of clothing at your face. 

Holding them up you weren’t even sure if she gave you a proper shirt, it was way more revealing than you were used to. “Did you cut this shirt up or something?”

“No, I didn’t you prude. And besides, don't you wanna look cute? Those SM guys won’t know what’s hit them. Trust me.” she said while absently applying lip gloss. 

Hesitantly you wiggled into the outfit before checking yourself out in the mirror. No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t even convince yourself that you felt confident. Maybe some makeup would help. Propping yourself on the bathroom counter you began to cake on layers of foundation, blush, and eyeshadow. Finishing it off with a muted pink lip. 

This is good, you’re fine! You’re going to have fun tonight. You muttered under your breath, repeating it like a mantra. God you hoped you could have fun tonight. 

Entering the apartment you were immediately hit with a wave of loud music blaring through your ears, god you couldn’t even hear what Zuha was saying right next to you. She was right, SM parties are next level. You could see a couple people gathered round a table playing beer pong, seeing Minjeong and a few other familiar faces. You decided to join them, and despite being the worst one there you had to admit it was really fun. Now that a few drinks were in your system you seemed to loosen up, completely forgetting about the worries that had plagued your mind this morning. You grabbed a drink and made your way over to the kitchen where you spotted Zuha and Heeseung talking. Hold on, Heeseung? If he’s here then… 

You scanned the apartment, eyes wandering to the living room where numerous people seemed to be chatting away enthusiastically. Moving further into the area your eyes darted across each face trying to spot your target, and that was when you saw him. There he was, red solo cup in hand, looking directly at you. 

Shit, you were gonna kill Zuha, what was Jake doing here? You scrambled to try and get away from him after making eye contact, but before you could slip away you felt a hand grab your wrist. God damn it. 

“YN, can we talk?” Jake begged with pleading eyes, fuck you’d never seen him this desperate, “please.” 

You nodded your head slightly before he dragged you to an empty room.

“Okay you said you wanted to talk, so talk.” you demanded, still slightly buzzed. Your confidence fueled with alcohol and sheer pettiness

“Listen,” Jake said before pausing to collect his thoughts, “I’m sorry for, well yeah all of it. I shouldn’t have kissed Karina that night, it’s just we aren’t exclusive or anything so I figured-” 

“Yeah we weren’t, but honestly Jake I couldn’t give less of a fuck” a bold-faced lie. Jake scoffed, he was trying to patch things up and you were seriously giving him this attitude? 

“Yeah sure sounds like it” 

“Yeah I don’t, I just think it’s messed up that you don’t kiss me and then proceed to call yourself my boyfriend” 

“Please, that was because Seunghan was bothering you! What was I supposed to do just let a creep keep harassing you? Do you even remember what happened that night YN?” 

“No and as I said I couldn’t give a fuck” 

“Well, I do. You can’t just tell me you like me and pretend it was nothing” fuck so he did remember

“Okay well,” You stuttered out, anger simmering within you “I was drunk. I wasn’t in my right mind that night, so yeah it was nothing. Why does it even matter if I like you or not, you said from the start that what we had was casual.” 

God were you serious right now? Jake could feel his heart hurt a little and his previously confident stance faltering, “Yeah well we obviously haven’t been acting very ‘casual’ as of late.” 

“Why does that even fucking matter Jake, I don’t know why you care so much!” 

“Obviously because I fucking caught feelings!” Jake’s mouth seemed to work faster than his mind. Shit did he seriously just admit that. 

Everything stopped, and your gaze softened for a split second. What. He likes me? He likes me. Fuck, why would you even say all that shit in the first place? You couldn’t even sustain a casual relationship how the fuck were you meant to maintain a real one? This is stupid.

“This is stupid.” you blurt out finally “I can’t handle a relationship right now Jake, hell I couldn’t even handle a casual one. No way we could ever be a real thing.” 

“I thought you liked me.” Jake muttered

“So what if I do Jake? Look at us right now, I can’t even confess to you without running away from it. I’m not good for you Jake. I wouldn’t be able to make us work and-”

“Are you not even willing to try!?” Jake interrupted, tears slowly brimming in his eyes. Fuck, you couldn’t bear seeing him cry.

“Not if I’ll just hurt you in the process!” you shouted meeting his glossy eyes with your own “I’m sorry Jake.” And with that, you stormed past him out the room, out the door, down the stairs, and booked it back to your dorm.

Much like the first time you met, Jake Sim stood there watching you run out on him, again. Fuck.

Ice cream, americanos, and 2521.

This was how you would spend your days now that you and Jake were officially over. Well it’s not like you didn’t hangout with your other friends as well, you tried really, but even with them you couldn’t get rid of the sickeningly hollow feeling that brewed in the pit of your stomach. You felt much more content alone in your dorm room accompanied by Nam Joo Hyuk and Kim Tae Ri. Or maybe you were just trying to ignore the empty feeling in your chest for as long as you could before heading to sleep. Whether it be escapism or satisfaction, you’d become accustomed to your new little routine. That was until one fateful Saturday afternoon. 

You begrudgingly got up from your comfortable position after hearing a couple of knocks on your dorm room door. Hair a mess and wearing a 2 week old set of pyjamas, you honestly couldn’t care less who was at your door. Expecting to see Kazuha you unlocked it without thinking too much, however you were only greeted with Park Jongseong staring straight at you. 

“Oh Jay! Hey,” you exclaimed suddenly, becoming all too aware of your unkempt appearance. “What are you doing here? Were you looking for Kazuha or something because she just left for practice an-”

“Actually I’m here for you.” Jay cut in, “Could I come in?” his lips pressed together in a thin line and his hands were tucked away in his pockets.

“Oh, um” taken aback slightly by the question you stumbled over your words as he watched you expectantly “...yeah yeah sure, it’s sorta a mess though.” you admitted before moving aside to let him in. 

“So, what’s up?” you exhaled before returning to your position leaning back on your headboard

“Have you um, talked to Jake at all recently?” 

And there it was. Fuck you knew he would ask about Jake. “No, actually.” “Ah yeah, I figured.” his eyes still awkwardly scanning the room “He’s been kinda out of it too, not really going to out with us anymo-”

“If you’re just here to tell me about how badly I hurt him, you can save it.”

“Wait wait no I wasn’t! Just, okay- hear me out” he reasoned before grabbing a chair to sit in front of you 

“I know you guys had that whole argument before. And I don’t blame you, I probably would've been pissed too. But as I said, Jake is an absolute mess. And in no way am I here to make you feel bad for him, or anything! Just like- YN I’ll be straight with you. Jake has never liked a girl this much. Like, ever.”

Feeling your heartbeat flutter more ever so slightly, you glanced up to make eye contact with Jay. “Ah…”

“Yeah and, considering the fact I had to basically nurse him through his first breakup in highschool where he claimed his life was over. I think I’m a pretty reliable source right now. Point is, Jake was like head over heels over you. Still is. Despite being really tired from practice he would always try and run to the convenience store to stock up on your favourite foods. And even before you guys started this whole thing, the day you ran out of his dorm room, I swear that man was an inconsolable mess. Every moment not spent with you, he spent with us talking about how much fun he had with you.” he paused briefly to let you soak in all the things he had just admitted

“And I know I don’t know you as well as he does, nor am I close with you like, at all. But from the look in your eyes you had whenever you were with him, I think you liked him a lot too. And just saying, I don’t think Jake is totally opposed to the idea of you guys dating even after that whole incident at the party. He’s still willing to try…” he trailed off before getting up from his previously sat position, “He’s playing in tonight’s game so, think about it?” he concluded with a slight shrug

Quite honestly you were at a loss for words here, I mean you knew Jake liked you but you didn’t truly know the extent of it. You were obviously still scared about meeting Jake again but a small part of you had hope he was still as forgiving as Jay claimed.

“Thanks Jay, I’ll see.”

This was a bad idea. 

You couldn’t believe Jay Park had convinced you to dress up all pretty just to sit through an insufferable game of soccer where you had no idea what was going on. Well, he didn’t really tell you to do all that, but you reasoned to yourself passing the blame would probably make you feel better about the fact that this was how you were spending your Saturday night. 

Legs crossed over each other and eyes shooting across the field, you couldn’t really make out anything that was happening. Despite going to a university for sports you sadly had no interest in anything that involved throwing, kicking, or hitting balls around a large empty space. 

You were internally debating whether any of this was worth it in the first place, the game was almost over there was so there was really no harm in leaving now anyways. That was until your eyes locked with an awfully familiar face. There he was, clad in a navy blue jersey, sweat making his skin glisten and a few strands of hair stick to his forehead, running across the field chasing after the ball. And just like that, you felt like you fell for Jake Sim all over again. 

You could deny that even if you had no interest in the sport, Jake made it look infinitely exhilarating. Suddenly drawn in you found yourself at the edge of your seat the entirety of the last half of the game, cheering and clapping whenever Decelis scored a point. It was the final few minutes and Decelis and SM were neck and neck, both scoring a total of 10 points each. 

The ball spiralled across the field before landing in front of Jake. Steps fueled with determination he dribbled the ball further and further across the court with speed and intensity you’ve never witnessed before. Fire blazing with every step he took, he skillfully planted his foot on the ball before striking it in the opposing team's goal post. 

“And a score from Jake Sim! Ladies and gentlemen with only 20 seconds remaining of the game we may have our winners!” The commentator's voice echoed across the stadium, the crowd erupting into shouts and cheers. 

After what seemed like an eternity, the referee finally blew the whistle to announce the end of the second half, crowning Decelis the official winners of this match. The team rushed towards Jake before engulfing him in hugs and showering him with compliments. Jake let out a wide grin in response, his smile beaming brightly across the field. You missed seeing that side of him.

Making your way down the stadium steps, you rushed over to the field in hopes to catch him before his team swept him away. Unfortunately, around 20 other people seemed to have the same idea as you. Being drowned out by the crowd gathered around Jake Sim you somewhat lost hope in any chances of you speaking to him tonight. It’s fine, right? You had plenty of other chances to talk to Jake. However, whether it be fate working in mysterious ways or the glint of your silver hair clip, Jake's eyes caught sight of someone tucked away behind the crowd. 

Recognising you instantly, his heart began to palpitate ever so quickly and the confidence he adorned earlier vanished in an instant. Not wanting to ignore the other people surrounding him he mouthed a quick “Wait” before politely finishing up his conversation with the rest of his team. 

Pushing slightly through the slowly diminishing crowd Jake made his way towards you and tried to ignore the way his hands instantly became clammy while his heart was beating out his chest. Mustering every bit of courage he had left of him he let out a strained “Hey YN.”

“Hi Jake,” you started awkwardly, “Could we um, talk for a bit?”

“Yeah sure but-” he reached to the nape of his neck beginning to look around, “maybe not here? We could go back to my apartment if you want, the guys are going to the afterparty and I’m not really interested.”

“Oh uh,” your heart jumped a bit at his sudden request but after calming yourself down you responded, “yeah, sure. That sounds good.”

The walk back to his place was admittedly one of your more awkward ones, silence filling the atmosphere as you two were both obviously too scared to start any conversation before reaching his apartment. Said silence remained as you made your way into his building, following him around while your eyes layed fixed to the floor. 

Clearing his throat as he shut the door, he decided he should be the one to break the awkward tension between you two. “You wanted to talk to me about something?” 

“Oh right. Um about the other night, I’m really sorry I just…” all the lines you had practised earlier in the shower now had completely slipped your mind, leaving you to run short of things to say, standing there after an uncomfortably long pause. 

“YN it’s fine, I totally understand you not wanting anything between us anymore I get it really-”

“NO THAT’S NOT IT!” hands reaching up in front of your chest before you noticed how disastrously frantic you sounded, “What I was going to say was-” you started before letting out a deep breath. God you really had to get a hold of your nerves.

“What I wanted to say was, well what I’ve been planning to say- is that I was wrong. And I’m sorry for saying all that shit that night, I was scared shitless if I’m gonna be honest. Also admittedly, really buzzed. That obviously doesn’t really make up for it, but, yeah. Anyways– I’m getting side tracked.” you mumbled before shaking your head to snap yourself back into it.

“I told you before, but I have a very big problem with running away from anything that doesn’t have a solid 100% success rate. And relationships kinda are a big part of that? I think I’m seriously out of my mind for saying this, and hell all of this seems incredibly crazy to me. But I just…have to get it out. I’m willing to bet on, maybe not a 100% percent success rate for you Jake. I don’t care if it’s 10, 20, 30 or in the negatives. I’m willing to take that risk for you Jake.”

One beat passed, then two, then another. You stood there in agony waiting for Jake to respond with anything. A yes, a no, a laugh in your face, god you just wanted him to speak. 

“Please say something” you winced. 

“Sorry I’m just- I just- well I’ve never really had anyone ask me out before? So, I kinda am at a loss for words right now, you know?” Jake paused to look up at your hopelessly distraught image, “You are asking me out… right?”

“Yes…I think so and I’ve truthfully never done this either.” you replied sheepishly, eyes still stuck on the hardwood flooring. 

“Well YN,” his hand reached for your chin to lift your head upwards so you were eye level with him, “I would love to go out with you.” he said with a gentle smile. The same smile that had you weak in the knees everytime. 

“Oh thank fuck.” you sighed out in relief. Jake couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of all tension leaving your body. He moved his body closer to you to corner you against the kitchen countertop before moving in to whisper, “Can I do this now?”

“Do what?”

“This.” and with that he slowly closed the distance between you two to press his lips gently on top of yours before his hand reached over to cup the back of your head. It took a moment for you to register what he was fully doing, but as if he had full control over your body you melted into the kiss like butter. Lips moving feverishly against his, your hands reached over to grab his arm and pull him even closer towards you. There was barely breathing room between the two of you, your bodies moving perfectly in sync. Sighing into the kiss as his mouth parted against yours; you swore you weren’t religious but if this was what heaven felt like, you were willing to rethink your choices. 

Slowly parting from him, his lips seemed to still chase after yours as if it was attached to your mouth with a string. You let out a small giggle, redirecting your gaze at his eyes. They were glistening with a warmth you’d seen countless times before, except this time you truly knew it was meant for you. You moved your arms over to loop around his neck whilst cocking your head to the side in amusement. 

“Guess people can’t call you a loser now?” 

“You know damn well I never was,” he chuckled out, tone still low and hushed, “C’mere” he exhaled before kissing you again with even more passion and intensity than before. You smiled into the kiss allowing him to manipulate your body like butter. 

Who knew the physics nerd had it in him huh?

thoughts frm yuya 💭 hai everyone! omg this is finally out 😭 i think i grinded this fic out in like a week so i do apologize if it's bad 🙏 anyways i hope you guys enjoy it since it's my first really long fic ^^ i said this before but i'll prob go on a short hiatus since i've got my finals coming up, maybe coming back by the end of may or middle of june? nonetheless I will still try and be active on here, just no posting or new works, but i might try to queue some works up so TT hope you guys enjoyed the fic >< feedback and reblogs appreciated !

taglist ─── ⋆ @yerisrev, @nwjws, @jlheon, @k1ttylvr @iiaweirdo @mokangelic @jvjsssnaa @ms-no1kpopstan @caeqey @saursoob @shinrjj @m3chigo @eneiyri @shnnzsworld @heelariously @felixslove @vixensss @laurradoesloveu @atrirose @anormieee @jaklvbub @leep0ems @river-demon-slayer @minniejenseo @thing89 @ineedsomezzz @riksaes @iheartjayke @jinnibug @kookify @roastandtoast @fakeuwus  @junityy  @ak-aaa-li @letwiiparkjay @kashuannn @floweryang @bywons @dimplewonie @ginakam @hearts4itoshi @nctislifue @chaeyunloveeee (if ur name is bold that means i unfortunately couldn’t tag u TT)

[sometimesanalice]

Sweetest Devotion

Summary: Loving Bradley is the easiest thing you've ever done, and coming home to him is always the best part of your day. Especially when you come home with cake. But a slight mixup at the bakery leads to the sweetest of promises.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 5k

Warnings: So much fluff (side effects may include giggling and kicking your feet)

(Author’s Note: this fic was written for my one year celebration of the ‘Like I Can’ series, but it can be read on its own!)

After a long week, there was no place you’d rather be than at home with Bradley.

The two of you have been living together for a couple of months now, but seeing his Bronco parked in the driveway of the condo you shared knowing the empty spot next to it is meant for your own still made your heart flutter out of sheer giddiness.

Even if he still teased you about your practical Honda Civic’s lack of street cred. But it did have a spacious backseat with its own set of doors and an actual trunk, unlike the Bronco.

And on the rare rainy days you got in San Diego, Bradley was asking to borrow your car rather than risk the interior of his big blue baby. Those days you just got to preen as you handed over your car keys to him. Sure, you could be the one to drop him off, but it was funnier watching the way he valiantly attempted to hold back his grimace as he tried to adjust the driver’s seat to comfortably fit his bulk.

As you pull into your spot, you’re hit with that same gust of summer breeze warmth you always are as you. It was a feeling you didn’t expect to go away any time soon.

It takes a bit of finesse getting the front door open with your work tote and purse slung over one shoulder while you cradled the paper bags of bread and box of treats you’d stopped for on the way home in the other.

Bradley had texted you to let you know that he was making dinner earlier, but had forgotten the bread during his grocery run and had asked if you didn’t mind making a quick stop to grab some. He’d promised to make it worth your while, and while you would have done it for him anyways, a little extra incentive was always nice.

Especially after the way he had teased you in the shower this morning.

You picked up the baguette that he’d requested along with a couple loaves of fresh bread for sandwiches that you were planning to stick in the freezer for later. At the checkout, they’d had a few fun pink bakery boxes packed with six individually wrapped cake slices in different flavors. It seemed like more fun than the basic red velvet cupcakes you had been debating as you waited for your turn to pay, so you’d picked up one of those boxes too. Since it was Friday, you figured a little treat was very much deserved after such a long week.

The two of you had just gotten back from a little trip back home not too long ago, but you were already dying for another vacation. Ideally one that involved creamy blended beverages served in coconuts and Bradley Bradshaw wearing some 5-inch inseam swim trunks with his thick thighs on display in the golden sunlight.

It had been so nice to see your parents and to visit the sights of your childhood growing up together. You’ve always gone home for holidays, but it had been years since he’d been there with you. Some things had stayed the same like the ice cream shop where Bradley had had his first job. And some things had changed with the times like the empty parking lot where he’d first taught you how to drive was now the site of an upscale organic grocery store. Now that you and Bradley were you and Bradley, the nostalgia of your younger years felt extra sweet as you’d strolled with his hand tucked yours.

It’s a miracle you get through the door without dropping anything.

You’re waiting to hear the scamper of little paws against the laminate floor headed your way as you kick off your heels, Duck was usually the first one to greet you when you got home.

The puppy was growing all too quick for your liking. For as much as Bradley grumbled about being woken up early on the weekends by the black and white ball of fluff, you’ve caught him on more than one occasion cooing at the dog and slipping him treats. The sweet, goofy little dog was the perfect addition to your dynamic duo.

Even if Bradley still got huffy about the name and how Duck had come to be in your life.

On the occasional night when Bob’s friend Casey from the animal shelter- the man you’d been on exactly half of a date with once close to a year ago- was invited to come hang out, your boyfriend always was finding reasons to stand a little closer to you or leave his hands lingering a little longer on your hips. Those nights usually end with the two of you sweaty and out of breath, tangled in the sheets of your canopy bed.

You can hear Bradley singing along with one of his playlists in the kitchen and the sounds of drawers opening and closing as you tuck your purse and tote under the side table at the entrance. You smile to yourself as you drop your key fob into the bowl where his are already resting, the key to his Bronco was on the same keychain with the little fighter jet charm that you’d given him when you were teens when Mav had given him the Montero for his 16th birthday.

Taking the bread and box of cake slices with you, you pass through the living room you see Duck passed out belly up on his Sherpa lined dog bed. His ears flopped out to the side and his little paws twitching as he dreams about chasing balls or squirrels. It’s a good think your hands are full or you’d be collecting even more photos of your sweet boy in addition to the hundreds you already had on your phone.

“I’m home,” you greet, rounding the corner to the kitchen, the savory smell of onions and garlic growing stronger the closer you get, “And I come bearing a baguette.”

Standing in front of the stove is Bradley with a checkered kitchen towel slung over his shoulder. His curls look a little damp, still drying from the shower he must have taken earlier. The soft looking shirt he’s wearing is pulled taut across his back, and the sweatpants he has on are hugging the curve of his ass in the best way. He looks so at ease and comfortable, none of the tense strain in his body that he sometimes comes home with.

Bradley looks over his shoulder towards you with a grin on his face, “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” His pretty brown eyes rake over you in a way that has you wondering about just how he is planning on thanking you for picking up the baguette you’d stopped for. He lets out a low whistle, “Damn, I love that skirt on you.”

“I’m glad you clarified,” you say, sending him a wink and setting your bakery haul down on the island counter, “I wasn’t sure if you were talking to me or the armload of freshly baked carbs.”

He leans his hip on the side of the counter, “A little yeast and flour have got nothing on you, kid.”

“Now you know you can’t go around saying things like that an expect me not to fall in love with you,” you tease, opening the freezer to put the sandwich bread away.

“I’m failing to see a problem with that- oh shit,” he curses, hastily turning back to the stove to adjust the range knob as something spits and sizzles on the top of the convection cooktop.

You step around the island and over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind him. He’s always been the right kind of warm, the kind that makes you want to melt into him. You press your face against his back, his shirt soft against your cheek. Under the woodsy smell of his body wash there’s still a faint lingering scent of jet fuel. It’s your favorite smell.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he says, settling his big hand over yours, still stirring the sauce with the other. And you can almost see the easy, contented smile on his face just from the gentle tone of his voice.

“Hi, Bradley,” you hum, happy to be home.

“How was your day?”

“I’m glad it’s the weekend,” you say with a sigh, “The beach day tomorrow with everyone is going to be much needed.” A sympathetic sound rumbles from his chest as his thumb runs over the back of your hand. You were looking forward to sitting under the shade of the stripped umbrella and feeling the sand between your toes as you sip on an icy cold beer. “How was yours?”

“Not too bad, I took Seresin out and now he owes me $200. So overall, it’s been a pretty good day,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. “Cyclone let us out early, so I was productive. Did some errands, got the groceries. Well, most of them. I even took Duck to the dog park and let him run around for a bit. He made friends with a Great Dane, I took a few videos of them playing on my phone for you.”

The mental image of Bradley recording a video of your puppy being cute and playing in the park in the same way a proud dad would film his kid’s little league game makes you feel more than a little weak in the knees.

Pressing up on your toes, you skim a kiss against the side of his neck and prop your chin on his shoulder to peer at what he’s cooking up.

“It smells really good in here,” you tell him, taking in the pot of sauce simmering away on the stove. Off to the side there’s a cutting board with some fresh basil chopped up and a pile of papery vegetable scraps and a couple empty cans of tomato sauce.

“Yeah? It’s been awhile since I’ve channeled my inner Stanly Tucci, so I thought some homemade spaghetti and meatballs sounded good.”

Your eyebrows raise on their own, the surprise evident in your voice, “Homemade meatballs?”

“Ok, maybe those came from Trader Joe’s,” Bradley admits, “But the sauce is all me. I even put the red pepper flakes in it the way you like it.” He reaches over for a handful of basil and adds it into the pot.

You send your thanks up to Carole for making sure her son at least had known the basics of cooking. He could more than hold his own in the kitchen, and the competent way he handled a chef knife in his big hands was endlessly attractive to you.

“‘Semi-homemade with Bradley Bradshaw’ has a nice ring to it, want me to pitch it as a reboot to the Food Network?” You feel the way he chuckles under your palms, the muscles of his stomach contracting and releasing.

“I don’t think I’d make it out with my liver intact. That woman loved her cocktails strong, I’m pretty sure her sangria recipe would send me to the floor,” he jokes, “No wonder why our moms were always watching her.”

“A woman after my own heart,” you sing, “I’m so glad I inherited such good taste from them.”

Bradley shakes his head amused, “The good news for you is that there’s a bottle of red open and waiting for you, funny girl.”

The promise of wine perks you up immediately. Pasta, wine, cake, and Bradley. What more could a girl need?

“God, you’re the man of my dreams.”

“I sure hope so,” he says, squeezing your hand.

“Oh, you are so getting lucky tonight, Lieutenant.” You take advantage of the way he leans his head back and laughs to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

You slide your arms back from around his waist, only managing to take one step towards the bottle of your favorite Cabernet Sauvignon that’s breathing over near the sink with one of your wine glasses set out next to it before you’re being stopped with a gentle hand on your wrist.

“Hold up, where do you think you’re going, kid?” Bradley asks, tugging you back to him with a grin.

He doesn’t wait for your response before he is leaning in to properly kiss you for the first time since he left for work this morning.

At the press of his lips against yours, you feel every ounce of strain you’d been carrying from the day dissolve like melted sugar. A satisfied hum escapes you and you feel the way the corner of Bradley’s mouth ticks up at your reaction to him. His hands cup your face, tilting you head until it was at the perfect angle for him to deepen the kiss. You don’t even notice he’s back you up against the island until the countertop is digging into your lower back, too distracted by the way the coarse hairs of his mustache scrape along your upper lip.

If it weren’t for the sound of the timer going off the two of you might have almost would have forgotten about dinner entirely, it wouldn’t have been the first time it’s happened.

“Is there anything I can help with?” you ask, smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt from the way you’d had it clutched in your fists just moments ago before letting go of him so that he can silence the beeping coming from the oven.

“You want to make us a salad to go with it?”

“Yes, chef,” you purr as you spin on your heel taking off in the other direction.

And really you should have expected the cheeky way his hand connects with your ass in a quick, sharp slap. You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, but he’s already facing the stove and stirring the sauce again as he adjusts the seasoning with a smirk.

You take a moment to pour yourself a glass of the wine Bradley had opened for you and take a sip. The bold, juicy flavor dancing across your tongue as you set about gathering the things to make a simple salad to go with the dinner he’s made for the two of you.

This is your favorite part of the day, when it’s just the two of you together.

The back and forth has always been easy with him. Whether it’s making dinner or running errands or doing laundry together. The things that always felt mundane on their own had become some of the things you most looked forward to during the week. It’s not that you need to be around him, but you always want to be around him.

When Bradley declares the sauce to be perfect, he comes and joins you at the island. Grabbing a cutting board of his own he starts slicing up the fresh baguette you’d picked up, offering you the end to snack on.

“Oh, what’s this?” he asks, picking up the box of assorted cake slices.

You continue chopping the cucumber in front of you, “Isn’t that fun? They had a stack of those at the checkout. I think they must have made too many cakes this week on accident, but it’s so smart of them so sell them that way. Why get one flavor when you can have six? Best of both worlds for everyone.”

“That so, huh?” he sounds amused by your enthusiasm, “Is there something else you wanted to talk to me about?”

It hadn’t been a particularly noteworthy visit, other than you’d been able to score a parking spot in front of the building, “Uh, not that I can think of?”

“You sure?” Bradley prods.

“No?... Oh! I was going to pick up that marbled rye you like while I was there getting the baguette, but they were already sold out. So I got a loaf of the multigrain brown bread and some sourdough instead.”

“Mmm, interesting.”

Stopping your salad prep, you look up at him skeptically, “Ok, why are you mmm-ing me, Bradshaw?”

Bradley’s eyes are alight with playful mischief as he slides the box of the cake slices towards you and pointedly double taps on the sticker on the upper right corner of the pink box with his finger.

You hadn’t stopped to read the shiny gold label when you’d grabbed it at the bakery, the tempting layers of cake and frosting and fillings had immediately sold you on it, but you couldn’t unsee what the curly scripted font said now.

Wedding Cake Sampler

“So, when’s the wedding? I’m assuming I’ll be invited,” he grins.

You feel your face get hot as you realize your mistake. It wasn’t just a sample box, but a very specific type of sample box. A very specific type of sample box for a very specific occasion.

Suddenly the interaction with the bakery employee as you were paying makes so much more sense now.

“Oh my god, the girl at the checkout said ‘Congratulations’ and I said ‘Happy Fri-yay’ back to her,” you groan, covering your eyes with your hands, “I thought she meant it like ‘Congrats on making it to Friday’ thing.”

He laughs, “Sweet girl, that’s about the damn cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Happy Fri-yay, Bradley! She was congratulating me on our- I mean- the nonexistent impending nuptials she thought I had and I reply to her that? We need to find a new bakery, I can’t go there ever again,” you lament. It’s truly a tragedy, since they have the best sticky pecan rolls in the area.

“And you call me a drama queen,” Bradley lightly teases, “She probably thought it was funny.”

You groan again, louder this time. If he was going to call you a drama queen, you’d at least try out your best Mariah Carey impersonation.

Your face is still hidden behind your hands when you feel Bradley gather you into his arms, running a warm hand up and down your back. “C’mon, it’s not even that bad. I’m sure I did at least three things more embarrassing than that today.”

“Yeah, I bet you did too,” you grumble into his chest without heat. The way he chuckles at your surliness lets you know he doesn’t take it personally. Not only is he getting laid, but you decide you’re definitely going to give him head too for being the sweetest man alive.

He takes your wrists in his hands and pulls the away from your face, “I gotta tell you, I’m glad it was just a little mix up. It would have sucked to find out my girlfriend had a fiancé I didn’t know about.”

You can see every shade of brown in his eyes as he looks into yours, the affection and amusement rippling there the same way the light catches the surface of a cup of coffee on a Sunday morning.

At this point you really do just have to laugh at yourself. It’s such a silly thing to get worked up about, especially since you know you’re probably more ruffled about Bradley potentially thinking that you’re trying to drop a not-so-subtle hint with it. And fact of the matter is that you still probably would have picked it up anyways, you just might have peeled off the incriminating sticker off in the car before bringing it in.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, Bradshaw. I’ve got my hands more than full enough with you.”

“Yeah, you do,” he boasts, the insinuation is not lost on you.

You snort a laugh and shove at his chest lightly. He drops a kiss to the side of your head and makes his way back to the other side of the kitchen island as you get back to your salad making duties.

“Hey, just so you know, I can’t wait to eat wedding cake with you later,” he says as he continues to slice up the baguette.

You playfully toss a cucumber at him for his teasing and he pops in mouth with a grin.

A little later, when you have your steaming bowls of pasta in front of you at the dinner table, he raises his glass of wine to you, “Happy Fri-yay, sweet girl.”

And your laugh is as crystalline as the clink of your glass meeting his in cheers.

After the leftovers are put away and the dishes cleaned, the two of you are cozied up watching the new romcom that was just added on Netflix.

You’re stretched out across the couch with your feet in Bradley’s lap eating the cake you’d picked up. You try a bit of each flavor deciding which one you like the most to save it for the end, while Bradley takes his chances and eats one slice at a time before moving on to the next one. It’s truly unhinged behavior and you couldn’t help but tease him about it when you’d noticed his cake tasting methodology.

Bradley moans around a forkful of cake and you know he’s just found the carrot cake- his favorite.

He’s always been a bit of a pseudo health nut with questionable logic. “It’s got carrots and walnuts, it’s basically a superfood” he’s claimed on multiple occasions, while purposefully excluding the part about the pound of butter and cream cheese that goes into the frosting.

“I’d clear my schedule in heartbeat and take you to City Hall any day of the week as long as we get to have this carrot cake when we get married,” he says right before he licks the frosting off of his fork.

Your breath catches in your throat.

When, not if.

He says it so easily like there’s not a doubt in his mind that it’ll be you and him facing each other at the end of an aisle as vows about forever are exchanged.

He says it like a fact.

He says it like he knows.

“I didn’t realize I missed the part where you asked me,” you say, setting your plate on the coffee table in front of you, too full of the hope of it all to keep eating.

“And here I was waiting on you, kid,” he says playfully, taking another bite.

He’s teasing, you know he is. Bradley isn’t the type of man who would lead you on or play games with your heart.

“Bradley.” It’s an almost whine the way his name comes out of your mouth as you nudge his thigh with your foot. You turn your head to bury your face in the cushion of the couch, suddenly feeling very bashful.

The two of you have never talked about it, at least not like this before. Only in casual passing comments like getting a place with a bigger backyard for Duck or about setting up a joint banking account. A hypothetical future.

“Hey, c’mon. Look at me,” he coaxes, squeezing your foot. When you peek at him, the look on his face is all open sincerity, “You’re my forever girl. I love you and I’m planning on spending the rest of my life with you. That is, if you’re ok with that.”

A rush butterflies happily swoop and swirl around in your stomach.

He’s been in your life for almost three decades now. You’d known the boy, the teen, and you more than liked the man he’d become. You had absolutely no intention of ever letting him go. He was yours. Forever and always.

“That’d be ok with me,” you tell him freely. You watch as his smile gets wider and broader until it’s taking up his whole face, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “I think I could handle quite a few more decades with you, Bradley Bradshaw.”

“Is that so?” he drawls, his fingers skimming up and down the top of your calf.

“Oh, definitely. You’re stuck with me,” you grin.

“Good.”

He tugs your ankle, pulling you until your back is flat against the couch. You squeal in delight as he pins you down on the cushions, your arms and legs wrap around him on their own drawing him in even closer. Then he’s kissing every inch of your face that he can reach as you laugh in delight.

If it weren’t for Bradley’s sturdy bulk on top of you, you’re pretty sure you might have just floated away. You’ve never felt this incandescently light in your whole life.

He brushes one more quick kiss to the top of your nose before he pulls away, “But just so we’re on the same page, that wasn’t an official proposal. More like a declaration of intention.”

“I don’t know,” you muse, stroking his pink cheek, “Sounds like you’re desperate to wife me up, Bradley. Practically begging for me to take you to the courthouse.”

His hands go straight for curve of your waist, attacking that ticklish spot that’s always made you giggle and squirm. Only taking mercy on you once you’re out of breath. You’re almost positive that the smile on your face might be there permanently.

You don’t miss the intensity in Bradley’s eyes as they trace over your face as he settles himself more fully on you, “You don’t know the half of it, kid. But I’m letting you know now, I’m not going to make either one of us wait long for it.”

And then his mouth is on yours.

You feel the promise he’s making to you in his kiss. The caress of his hands along your body feels like a vow. You feel every ounce of just how much he loves and cherishes you. The cake was sweet, but his honeyed kiss tastes even sweeter.

“Tell me we can have carrot cake at our wedding, sweet girl,” he murmurs against your lips.

Our wedding.

The thought of it made you giddy.

You wanted to wear his ring on your finger just as much as you wanted to see him wearing one of his own one day. You liked your last name, but there was nothing more you wanted than to be Mrs. Bradshaw. It would be another thing you and Carole could share. A name and the everlasting love for her son.

“Ok, we can have carrot cake at our wedding,” you agree, wholeheartedly, “It’s basically a superfood, after all.”

“Damn right it is,” he beams.

The cake is quickly forgotten in favor of pulling your shirt over your head.

You might not have a ring. Yet.

But you did have a lifetime with Bradley and a carrot cake to look forward to. And that was more than enough for you.

Bradley was pretty sure that there was nothing better on this Earth than having you draped across his chest as you slept soundly in his arms. Your breathing had softened and evened out ages ago, but his mind was whirling with thoughts of his bright future with you.

He’d meant it when he’d told you he wasn’t going to make you wait long. Bradley didn’t know how much longer he could go on calling you his girlfriend when all he really wanted to call you his wife. He’s imagined you in a white dress walking towards him more times than he could count.

When he’d planned the surprised trip back to your shared hometown as a gift for your six-month anniversary, he might have had some ulterior motives. While it was nice to see the place you’d both grown up in again as adults, there had been a more pressing issue on his mind the whole time.

He hadn’t been able to control the nervous bounce of his leg or his sweaty palms when he’d ask your mom’s permission for your hand in marriage. It hadn’t been any easier the second time, when he’d had to do it all over again with you dad that sunny day at the golf course.

Bradley knew it was a bit of an antiquated tradition, but he’d never proposed to anyone before and he wanted to get it right. He wanted you and your parents to know just how serious he was about his intentions to love you for the rest of his life. He’d even asked Mav for his blessing too, just to make sure he had his bases covered.

It had thrown him through a loop when at the end of the trip you mom had slipped him the ring she’d worn while she was married to your dad. She’d told him there was no expectations or pressure to use it, she just wanted him to have it just in case.

The engagement ring his mom had worn had been tucked in the back corner of his nightstand for almost four months now. Bradley had pulled it out of storage sometime around the third month of officially dating you. It would be too soon for anyone else, but he’s already had decades with you. And he’d never been more sure about anything in his life as he was about knowing you were the one for him.

The two of you had always been perfectly right on time in your own way.

He’d dwelled on it for weeks trying to figure out if he should give them both to you at once. Or if he should propose to you with one and save the other to you during another monumental moment, like when the two of you started a family. He figured could turn one into a necklace or something for you.

Bradley could feel the presence of both rings every time he walked into the bedroom. They were both equally were important to him, he wanted to get it right.

His mom had known and loved you, he knew that she’d have been so excited to see her ring on your finger. And after his mom had passed, yours had helped him during those rough days in ways he didn’t think he could ever properly thank her for. Even though your parents’ marriage hadn’t worked out, they were the reason that you were here and he couldn’t imagine his life without you.

It wasn’t until Natasha had shown him the Toi et Moi style ring that things locked into place in a way that made his heart race at the very idea of it.

The right ring for the right girl.

He lets his fingers trail up and down your back gently as you slept soundly against him.

In the kitchen earlier that night, he might have bent the truth about his day just a little bit.

The final design had been sent to his email that morning. And it was more perfect than he could have imagined.

He did win $200 from Jake and had gone to the dog park with Duck, but he’d also stopped by the jewelers across town to give them both of the family heirlooms because he didn’t want to waste a single minute.

Two diamonds, one ring. The start of you and him. A story of your beginnings to be worn on the finger that would tie him to you with a golden thread for the rest of your lives together.

He’d even paid extra to have it engraved.

My sweet girl. My forever girl.

I genuinely thought I was one and done after I wrote my first fic in December of last year. And then came these two. 'Like I Can' was meant to be a oneshot that turned into a 3-part series that turned into half of my masterlist. I adore this couple with my whole heart. Thank you for reading along and celebrating with me!

Elle (@callsignspark) thank you for sending me the TikTok that inspired the headcanon about the wedding cake sampler, I'm showering you with shiny 'thank you' shaped confetti! And another big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for getting as giddy about these two as I do and for always enthusiastically reading the snippets I send you! You both are the best!

If you enjoyed these two, you can read their story from the start here!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[gallusrostromegalus]

AEIWAM canon fun fact for no reason: Zaraki Kenpachi 100% fully believes in, and practices, tarot reading.

The deck he's using is, of course, completely sideways of a conventional tarot. There are no suits, not properly faces, as the deck is entirely comprised of Cards* that he picked up at some point and felt a connect with.

The Garbage Tarot is accurate to the point of violence, will happily tell people about the present or past but gets huffy and sarcastic if you try to prognosticate too much or too specifically. It will never tell anyone how they will die but will practically spell the name and address of who they're going to marry. Or murder. Sometimes both. You get to figure that part out, asshole.

It also seems to work only for Zaraki- even touching the deck can lead to disaster, at least according to Renji who tried to use it once and immediately had the worst run of luck of his life for a week that culminated in a monkey attack and having to get the rabies shots.

Despite its accuracy and the fact it shares Zaraki's peculiar sense of humor, he doesn't use it often. "I ask it when it's an emergency or it tells me it's got news. Otherwise, it's resting. What would happen if you kick in my door in the middle of the night to ask me about your love life? I'd fuckin' castrate you, that's what. Leave it."

* "Cards" here meaning "approximately 3x5 inch flat rectangle-ish objects with two different sides that can be shuffled. This includes, but is not limited to: beer mats he scribbled important names and addresses on, Smutty polaroids he found in the back of a desk drawer, a Christmas card, a compact mirror, laminated natural objects like flowers and snakeskin, swathes of fabric, tile, the checkout cards from Library copies of famous literature, postcards, business cards, academic flash cards, the very small menu of a seafood restaurant, and a handful or normal playing and tarot cards just to be funny.

It makes a horrible noise when shuffled.

Mayuri despises it, calling it superstitious bullshit and refusing Zaraki's offer to do a reading before an important project. Mayuri flounced from the building in disgust, and as soon as he set a toe outside, he was strick by lightning.

Unohana was disappointed that he'd believe in cartomancy at first but she's kept careful notes on the results of the draws and how things turn out and there's always an element of confirmation bias but she's slightly alarmed that it may actually work. To be fair, that would only be the fourth or fifth most improbable thing about Zaraki.

[adore-laur]

SILENT TREATMENT

——

"Where's Harry?" 

You swear he was in the room a mere second ago. As a matter of fact, you swear he was just standing next to you playing an intense game of ping-pong while wearing only his boxers and socks.

Harry has been childishly ignoring you for the past hour by hitting the hollow plastic ball back and forth with someone from the backstage crew in complete silence. You kept stealing glances at him, hoping his expressive eyes would reveal what was irking him, but he never acknowledged you. Based on pure assumption, he's mad at you. You think he's being a bit dramatic. 

"Not sure," answers the crew member with a shrug. "He left without saying anything." 

"Great," you reply, sighing in frustration. I'll go looking for him. 

You snatch your sweatshirt from the chair in the corner and head out on a mission. Harry can't be too far, but the unfamiliar venue with mazes of hallways and covert doors could make your search quite difficult. Thankfully, plenty of workers with recognizable shirts and lanyards roam around backstage, either pushing equipment carts or having muffled conversations with people through their walkie-talkies. 

You politely raise your hand to garner the attention of an older woman casually leaning against the wall. "Excuse me, have you seen Harry Styles anywhere?" 

Her hazel eyes narrow suspiciously. "Are you a fan? How did you get back here?" 

"No, no," you say quickly with a nervous laugh, taking your specialized lanyard out of the pocket of your jeans and showing it to her. "I'm his girlfriend, and I... well, I sort of lost him." 

She walks closer and squints at the laminated card with your name and picture printed on it. "You lost him?" 

Heat prickles up your neck and travels to your cheeks. "Um, he's quiet. Sneaks right past me all the time." 

The woman smiles faintly. "I'm sure he does." What the hell is that supposed to mean? "I think I saw him going to the private bathrooms in the back," she adds, hiking her thumb behind her shoulder. "Hey, tell him to stop walking around in his boxers, will you?" 

"Sure thing," you reply distractedly with a nod, not fully comprehending what she said.

After wandering down the brightly lit hallway, you eventually reach the back area of his dressing room. The smooth walls turn into rough, white-painted bricks as the opening of the communal bathroom comes into view. There's still an hour until showtime, and you wonder what Harry could be doing there. Usually, he waits until right before he has to go on stage to get ready.

You find him standing in front of the sink, a plush robe wrapped around his sulking figure as he brushes his teeth with his lucky pink toothbrush. One look at his face tells you he's not in a good mood. 

Fights with Harry tend to be over petty things that are easily forgotten the next day. Joining him on tour has caused some lingering stress since what he does, as fun as it appears to be, is still strenuous when unpredictable mishaps can occur at any moment. You can't remember what it was you said that made him blatantly ignore you. Maybe it has something to do with jet lag, or perhaps he's just being stubborn. Either is highly possible. 

"Hi," you mutter, looming next to him. 

Harry continues brushing his teeth while avoiding eye contact with you. The air smells of spearmint and his potent cologne, but it doesn't bring you the comfort it usually would due to the palpable tension currently clouding the air. 

"You're mad at me," you say plainly, drumming your fingers along your thigh. 

He leans over the sink and spits out the residual toothpaste, then inhales heavily, almost impatiently, as he picks up his mouthwash. He grants no response and twists open the cap, taking a short swig and swishing it around in his mouth. You rest your hip against the counter and impatiently cross your arms. It doesn't feel nice when he hasn't even so much as spoken a single word to you when you've been in close quarters for the past hour. 

Since when has the silent treatment ever solved anything? 

"If you're not going to speak to me, I think I'll just go hang out in the tour bus for the night," you say, swallowing down the lump in your throat. 

Harry shrugs one shoulder without a care in the world, and you take it as your self-proclaimed cue to leave. You honestly don't have the patience or energy to start a one-sided argument right now, so with a disappointed hum, you begin walking away.

Your feet halt just before you turn the corner. "Have a good show," you mumble with burning sarcasm. 

Once you're out of his sight, you curl your fists by your head and grit your teeth, almost letting out a crazed laugh at his ridiculousness. You want to scream. He sometimes acts like such a kid, too arrogant to admit when he's sorry and too selfish to try and mend the issue before it builds into something bigger. It's terrifying to think it could become unfixable. 

After five minutes of asking around, you're led to the back parking lot, where the tour buses are lined up. The main one you ride in with Harry is guarded by two security guards. You lift your lanyard without uttering a word, and they immediately open the door.

You stomp up the stairs and throw your belongings onto the couch, trying not to let the simmering anger in your blood turn into an uncontrollable boil. No one else is around, so you shut all the interior lights off and climb into the tiny bunk bed you share with your stupidly stubborn boyfriend. The sheets are still crumpled, and his dirty socks lie by the edge. Everything smells like him, and for once, you wish it didn't. 

Exhaustion eventually kicks in, and you drift off to the distant sound of the crowd going wild inside the arena. 

——

"Psst." 

You jolt awake from the voice right next to your ear. Your hazy brain catches up to consciousness as you grumble a noise of protest. There's no need to open your eyes when you know whose body is causing the dip in the uncomfortable mattress. 

A shake is then given to your elbow. You jerk it back and hope he takes the hint. 

"Ow, bloody hell!" Harry whispers harshly. 

"Go away."

That was a bad idea. Instant regret. Harry responds by rolling on top of you, borderline knocking the air out of your lungs. You tiredly groan and push him off, his body falling next to you in the cramped space of the bunk. 

"Seriously, go away," you repeat, putting a pillow between you and him. "Stop sucking up to me and acting like everything's fine." 

Harry takes the pillow and flings it somewhere far away. "Yeah, well, I don't appreciate you just leaving and not texting me your whereabouts. That scares me." 

You roll your eyes. "I told you where I'd be, yet you decided to give me the silent treatment." 

He ironically goes silent. 

"And," you continue, kicking his leg under the covers, "I don't appreciate it when you don't speak to me. It hurts." 

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, remorse leaking into his apology. I was being an idiot. I can't even remember what I was upset about." 

You slowly turn over to face him. "Me neither." 

He's freshly showered, the hood from his sweatshirt thrown over his damp hair. His face is slightly rosy from the recent steam, and his lips look remarkably soft in the minimal lighting. 

"I hated not seeing you in the crowd," he says quietly, glancing at your mouth. "It's my fault, but still... it wasn't the same without you." 

You lean forward and kiss his forehead, making a content hum vibrate in his throat. His legs intertwine with yours as he rubs under his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. 

"Please never stop talking to me," you whisper. "Even when you're annoying, I still like to listen to your voice." 

Harry smiles fondly and places his palm against yours, admiring the size difference. "You're my favorite person to talk to. Do you know that?" 

You feign a gag at his sappy statement, and he laughs before nuzzling his face into your neck and innocently tickling your sides. He eventually stops and wraps his arms around you, planting tender kisses on your exposed skin. 

His addictive scent consumes your senses, and you let yourself drown in it until sleep drapes over the both of you like a favorite childhood blanket.

——

[pedriscroquettes]

𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐍 ✮ PEDRI

summary. your boyfriend loves you more than yesterday but less than tomorrow.

warnings. none just pure fluff. i’m so glad my starboy is back.

gabri speaks! listened to iman by maria becerra and it’s so pedri coded. had to write this immediately.

the herd of sweaty players heading through the tunnel to their respective locker rooms was a surreal sight. this was the biggest assignment you had gotten in the three years of you working for a sports journalism column. obviously you knew your boyfriend had a hand in the big step and often received sly remarks from the coworkers you had never gotten along with because of it. luckily for you, you had never been one to undermine yourself or listen to the comments of others.

there was also your boyfriend who would constantly read your pieces out loud and compliment you on your endless knowledge of the sport and plethora of creative words. it was like having your own personal editor. you yearned for the nights before his breaks where the two of you would cozy up in front of the tv revising your works in progress.

“why can’t you ever write about me like this? actually why can’t you write about me period?” he would whine with his flushed cheeks making a special appearance.

“i don’t write about you because they only have me covering the scandinavian leagues.” you said matter-of-factly.

“just tell them you’re dating me.” he would always say.

you never did but with the spanish press it was inevitable that your relationship would see the light of day. your world had flipped instantly and you found yourself on the next flight to germany. it took you a lot of reassuring words to help you understand that you deserved to be there. your boyfriend didn’t write your pieces for you, you did, you were the important figure. so, there you stood with a mic patiently waiting for the player you’d be interviewing to show up.

your co-worker had failed to mention who you’d be interviewing which had you scrambling for various questions to ask. you were fortunate to have an extensive vocabulary for different positions so you were sure that no matter who you’d be talking to your manage to make them comfortable. when you’re met with incredibly pink cheeks you realize why your cameraman was so giddy on the walk towards the tunnel. they were making you interview your own boyfriend.

“live in one!” your cameraman yells loud enough for everyone to hear.

“you’re such a dick!” you quietly scold pedri who’s currently smirking at you.

“you wouldn’t have done it if you knew.” he shrugged and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes because it was true.

you notice the cameraman counting down from three and quickly regain your composure. it’s fascinating for your boyfriend seeing how well you hide your affection for him. this is the first time he’s ever seen you in action and it’s quite mesmerizing the way the lights make you glow and how well you speak. somehow with all the chaos surrounding you two and the sweat dripping off his forehead you’re more beautiful than ever. it must be because you’re in your element he thinks.

“croatia has really done a great job of keeping the ball outside their box, do you think you guys will be able to break through?” you move the mic towards him waiting for an answer.

“of course i mean my connection with rodri is just working super for well for us i think we’ll be able to advance through the midfield more in the second half. modric will not make it easy but that’s why we’re here, to stop him.” he pants.

“lamine has been excellent throughout the first half how do you plan on using him to improve the play?” you scramble to say as time is running out.

“well lamine is excellent with the ball i think he’ll able to get us far into their zone. it’s really a team effort. he’s probably ecstatic right now and that’ll definitely help us.” he answers.

“thank you pedri. good luck in the second half.” your words contain honesty and you give him the most sincere smile.

“thank you, hermosa.” he compliments you on live television.

you want nothing more than to slap him but his hands around your hips take you by surprise. his lips are so close to yours and you immediately forget the camera is still rolling. it’s a quick peck but it’s a kiss nothing less. it’s your turn to display your flushed cheeks. in the blink of an eye he’s gone and you’re left alone to deal with the aftermath. you hear your coworkers tease you through your earpiece and the cameraman is currently laughing at you. you’re quick to redirect to the anchors back at headquarters. that night you and pedri make headlines for your performance in the tunnel.

[vicolette]

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 !

– Warnings : English isn’t my first language, uses of y/n & lovebirds, not proofread.

"Do you know where-"

Pau looked up from 'his' notes as he came face to face with you – his seating partner in class and the only girl that he actually trusted enough to fully on rant about anything and everything. It was silent for a moment, just you waiting for him to finish his sentence, when Pau gave you a big grin. "Here, your notes."

"Oh, thanks! I thought you lost them," You admitted while staring at the papers that you had prepared for yourself on a random study lesson in the public library, only for Pau to suddenly appear and tell you a story about how his teammates played a prank on him.

You remembered it vividly, only half-listening while he told you that Lamine acted as if his phone was playing music, and somehow had convinced everyone else to join into the prank and tell him that he should stop the music, as it was unprofessional to listen to it during training.

"What?" The very same person, who had once been too shy to even look at you in the eye, pouted at your odd accusation as he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms while trying to figure out why you would think of something as stupid as that. "Why? I would never."

"Remember when you lost the paper that Mrs-"

"Okay, okay! I get it." He refused to listen to your words as Pau looked away in pure embarrassment, not wanting to hear how he had once lost something important for school and then was lectured in front of the whole class.

Meanwhile, you just laughed at his ridiculous expression and shook your head, getting back to checking your notes out and try to remember what you had written in your tests, before you realized you weren’t the only one. "What do you have?"

At first, Pau seemed confused and wondered what you were talking about, watching as you reached for your bag and searched for something. Once you showed him your test results, holding multiple ones up, Pau stood frozen for a moment before he placed his own bag down.

When he had found his own exams and seen the grades on them, he beamed with excitement and proudly showed them off, earning a generous hum from you. "I'm just that smart, you know?"

"Oh, yeah, totally." You agreed, half-sarcastically at how proud he was, half-wholeheartedly at agreeing with how much he had learned. At the beginning of the school year, he had struggled with most of his lessons due to his job, yet you were there to save him.

You were there, when he needed advice on how to handle his messy schedule. You were there, when he needed study tips. You were there, when he wanted to learn vocabulary but struggled embarrassingly.

You were always there, whenever Pau needed you.

And now, as you looked at the minority of his mistakes – which were genuinely just random things that nobody would’ve known were wrong – a ground of students passed by and one of them bumped into you.

However, instead of apologizing, they turned around and looked at you dead in the eye, "Don’t stand in the middle of the hallway, lovebirds!"

"We weren’t standing in the middle of the-" Before Pau could even finish his sentence and properly let out his frustration at the situation, they turned to the corner and were long since gone, making him click his tongue. "Fucking as-"

"Yooo, we don’t curse!" You told him with a laughter following soon after, not even bothering to acknowledge the blush on your cheeks as you noticed how you were a bit too close to Pau. The said person just sighed in disbelief, rubbing his forehead before his gaze landed on your test papers.

Without thinking too much of it, he secretly took one of them and looked at your grade, his jaw dropping as a weird sound left from his mouth as he saw a big '1, amazing Y/n!' on the last paper. "Seriously? Oh my god, I could never."

"What?" You wiped some tears of joy away from your eyes while staring at him, seeing how Pau was surprised to see you have such an incredible exam. "Oh, that. Yeah, I'm just that good."

"Are you mocking me?"

"What, me? Copying you? Oh, please." You definitely were.

Nevertheless, as Pau checked each one of your exams out, his eyes only widened as his soul began to leave from his body, feeling like he had entered hell as he watched you proudly nod your head.

However, in the middle of hearing how you were flattered by his nonexistent compliments, Pau spaced out and stared right into your eyes, getting lost in them. You were everything that he wanted – smart and intelligent, beautiful and gorgeous, kind and loving.

The list could go on, yet as Pau realized that you had grown silent after a while, he snapped out of his daydreams and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You’re staring." That was your only response, moving your hair around with your hand as he rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. No biggie."

"It is, though." You quickly remarked back, holding your chin with your hand as you slightly tilted your head, looking at him up and down, which made him just the slightest bit nervous. "You were staring at my lips."

Oh.

"What?" You nodded repeatedly, purposefully pointing at your lips, which had grown into a smirk as you winked at him. It was adorable to see Pau like this, barely able to look at you in the eye, as if he had returned to his old self.

"Uh, yeah, sorry." Your mere reply was to slightly furrow your eyebrows, immediately waving him off to interrupt him before he would go into a five minutes complication of apologies.

"I have you a service to learn from my notes, mind you." As if Pau himself didn’t know it, you made it clear to make it seem like he wasn’t grateful enough for it. "You should be thankful, but I also want something in return."

Pau could only feel his cheeks get warmer as you zoom your exams papers back, stuffing them inside your bag and closing it as you them looked back at him. He didn’t seem to have the time to even blink, making you chuckle before speaking up again.

"A kiss."

– A/N : guys training yesterday was deadass SO BAD OMG, also the prank happened to me yesterday.

[themoooooonhauntsyou]

Heyo! This is my first post, something I wasn't originally planning on doing on this app since I don't know how.

@magicalbunbun has a post where reader is some kind of security or night guard that works at the museum and I just so happened to write a little story snippet of something along those lines with reader being a shifter. (Someone who goes to another reality while sleeping.)

I have my own weird experience with shifting that I used for it but I am an amateur so don't expect much.

---

—No loving arms to hold him—

Y/N woke with a jolt, blinking hard against the soft blue light flooding the room. His head throbbed faintly as he sat up, groggy and disoriented. The hum of electronics filled the air, along with the faint scent of instant coffee and disinfectant. Around him, the glow of multiple monitors flickered across his face. The room was compact and dim, cluttered with mugs, paperwork, and a rack of security tapes that looked like they hadn’t been touched since 2005.

He looked down.

Navy-blue security uniform. Black boots. A utility belt with a flashlight, keys, and radio clipped to it. His name printed in block letters on a laminated ID badge hanging from his chest.

Y/N L/N – Night Security – National Art Gallery, London.

His heart stuttered. Then he let out a slow, slightly amused exhale.

“Ah...Another one of these, huh?”

He recognized the feeling—the surreal vividness, the unshakable realism of everything. He’d experienced it before. Lucid shifting dreams where he slipped into different worlds, usually fictional and rarely reality. And this one? The details were crisp. The textures were right. He could feel the cool vinyl of the chair beneath him. Hear the slight crackle of static from the monitors. Smell the stale air.

Definitely a dream. Just a very..very intense one.

He stood up and stretched, then began poking around the room for any hints. Papers. Sticky notes. Wall calendars. Anything to tell him where exactly he'd ended up this time. But nothing was obvious. Nothing screamed sci-fi or fantasy or apocalypse. It all just looked normal.

“Alright,” he mumbled. “So I’m a rent-a-cop in a museum in dreamland. Love that for me.”

Finally, he turned to the monitors.

Most showed quiet corridors filled with statues and ancient artifacts. One camera showed the Egyptian wing—dark and eerie even with the emergency lighting on. Everything seemed still…

Then something moved.

He leaned closer.

A dark shape lurched across one of the exhibits. Low to the ground. Four-legged. At first glance, it looked like a dog. Maybe a big stray? But the longer Y/N watched, the more wrong it looked.

Its limbs were too long and bony, the fur patchy and uneven. Its back was hunched like it had broken something important and never healed. The head was elongated, almost like a weird dog or what a jackal would look like if it crawled out of someone’s nightmares. Most likely his own nightmares.

“…What the hell is thaat??” Y/N whispered, grimacing.

He squinted, trying to make out the grainy figure, but the cameras weren’t doing him any favors. No audio, of course, and the video feed looked like it was recorded on a potato. The weird dog thing paced in a jerky, unnatural rhythm—then suddenly whipped its head to the side.

Another shape darted into frame—a man. Hard to see who it was, but he seemed terrified. He stumbled and nearly knocked over a vase then ran for the opposite end of the exhibit. The jackal didn’t hesitate to follow. It howled—at least, Y/N assumed it howled; he couldn’t hear a damn thing—and gave chase, disappearing offscreen like something from a found-footage horror film he would watch in YouTube.

Y/N stared at the blank feed in stunned silence.

“What the actual fuck is going on?”

He had no idea who the guy was—grainy cameras didn’t help with identification—but clearly, whoever he was, he’d just gotten himself into a bad situation. Y/N glanced toward the radio on the desk, briefly considered picking it up and then sighed as he remembered he has free will so it wasn't his problem at the moment. At least, not until it turned into a nightmare. He hates when that happens.

Despite his better judgment and thoughts on his own safety, he found his hand drifting toward the flashlight clipped at his waist. The museum was dark, and while this was 'just a dream', he still didn’t fancy running into something that looked like it could chew through bone.

He flicked on the flashlight, watching the beam slice through the shadows.

Something about the light—how steady and bright it was—made him feel safer. Even if it was all illusion. Even if he had no idea what he was doing or where he was going.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself once again, opening the door. “Let’s go explore. Quietly. Carefully. And away from whatever Scooby-Doo-from-hell situation that was.”

The hallway was silent. Cold.

He stepped out, flashlight leading the way, and started down the corridor, each footstep echoing off marble floors. Statues lined the walls, frozen and watchful. He told himself over and over again: it’s just a dream. But the pounding of his heart, the sweat on his palms, and the way the shadows seemed to move when he wasn’t looking?

They felt real.

Y/N wandered deeper into the museum’s labyrinthine halls, his flashlight sweeping over glass displays and ancient stone. As much as he told himself it was a dream, he couldn’t help the little flutter of awe that stirred in his chest.

His dreams had never felt this real before.

The cold floor beneath his boots. The subtle echo of his steps bouncing off the marble and glass. The faint scent of aged parchment and polished wood in the air. He could even feel the weight of the flashlight in his hand like it belonged there.

Usually, things blurred around the edges in shift-dreams. Places melted into one another. Faces were fuzzy.

But here? Every little detail—the sand-worn edges of a sarcophagus, the faded reds and golds of ceremonial masks, even the old security camera silently panning above him—was painfully crisp.

He found himself drawn to a particular hallway, one lined with relics of the sun god Ra. The golden iconography gleamed faintly under the emergency lights, casting long, eerily beautiful shadows across the floor. Panels on the wall depicted Ra in his falcon-headed form, soaring across the sky on a solar barque, eternally battling darkness.

Y/N slowed, intrigued. “Damn…This is really detailed. Shout-out to my subconscious.”

He moved to read a placard near an elaborately carved bust of Ra when he accidentally bumped into a display stand behind him. The sudden clunk startled him enough that he flinched—and in doing so, fumbled his flashlight.

“oh sHIT!”

It clattered to the floor, skidding a short distance before coming to a stop—right next to a carved statue’s feet. The battery popped loose, rolling off and disappearing under a nearby bench.

Groaning, Y/N crouched down, reaching beneath the bench. “In a dream and still dropping things like a dumbass.”

He retrieved the battery, snapped it back into place, and flicked the flashlight on again.

The light shot directly into the face of a bust of Ra, casting harsh shadows across its falcon features.

Y/N jumped back with a startled yelp.

“GAH—!”

He stood there for a moment, breathing hard, then let out a laugh. “Oh, okay. Wow. Yeah. You got me. That’s fair.”

“Oh my god—I mean—Ra! Jeez—dude!” He exhaled, heart hammering. “Okay, okay. That was cheap but fair. You got me...almost kicked you to the next exhibit though.”

After a moment, he looked up at the statue again.

“Sorry for bumping into you, though. Didn’t mean to disrespect your…big bird energy. Whatever you call it.”

Heart still racing, he slowly stepped back toward the statue and gave it a sheepish glance.

“Sorry for bumping into you, my guy. Didn’t mean to be disrespectful. You look good though. Very, uh…regal.”

He kept walking, chuckling softly to himself. “God, I’m apologizing to a statue. What’s next—having tea with Anubis?”

The museum remained quiet—almost too quiet. But the more Y/N explored, the more his curiosity outweighed his nerves. Everything about the dream was stunning. Immersive. Uncanny.

Eventually, he found himself near a tiled corridor with a faded "RESTROOMS" sign overhead. A sense of mundane comfort filled him—bathrooms meant normalcy, even in a dream.

But as he stepped toward the door, something odd happened.

The flashlight in his hand began to grow strangely warm.

He paused, frowning down at it. The plastic casing was heating up—not burning, but definitely warmer than it should’ve been. The beam of light, too, was brighter now. Whiter. As if it had been infused with something more than just electricity.

“…Okay. That’s not normal.” Y/N muttered, narrowing his eyes.

He stopped in front of the restroom, staring down at the flashlight as it buzzed faintly in his palm, confused and a little unsettled.

Y/N continued staring at his flashlight, now pulsing softly with unnatural warmth, when the sound of frantic footsteps shattered the quiet.

He snapped his head up.

A blur of motion flew past him.

A man—disheveled, panicked, and unmistakably British—bolted around the corner and ran straight into the men’s bathroom.

“…Was that—?”

Before Y/N could finish the thought, another shape skidded into view behind the man. Long limbs. Twisted joints. That grotesque, jackal-dog-thing from the camera feed.

It snarled.

Y/N didn’t think—he ran straight into the bathroom after the man, just as the jackal lunged.

He slammed the door shut and threw all his weight against it.

BANG.

The jackal hit the door like a truck.

Y/N swore, bracing his feet as the entire frame buckled under the impact. The creature scratched and clawed, snarling low and guttural on the other side, as if it was peeling the metal like a tin can.

“Jesus Christ,” Y/N hissed, straining. “That thing is gonna rip this door off the hinges!”

Inside the bathroom, the other man was panicking—pacing, gasping, muttering to himself. His voice trembled, caught between terror and confusion.

“No no no—this isn't real, this isn’t happening, I can’t—”

Y/N glanced back—and froze.

He recognized that voice.

That curly hair. That accent. That panicked mumbling.

Steven Grant.

Y/N blinked, groaning internally as the full realization hit him like a truck. This isn’t just some dream. This is one of his favorite shows, Moon Knight.

Out of all the worlds he could’ve shifted into—this had to be the one with ancient gods, scary jackal monsters, and a guy with multiple personalities fighting for control through mirrors.

Don’t get him wrong—he loved the show. But watching it and living it? Two very different things. One had popcorn. The other had razor claws trying to gut him through a bathroom door.

Steven gripped his hair as he talked to marc, backing away. “I’m not letting you take over again! I can’t—please!”

Y/N turned his attention back to the door as it rattled violently in its frame. The jackal was still trying to force its way in. He reached down, fumbling with the manual lock on the door, trying to buy them any more time.

Click!

The lock slid into place.

A beat of silence—then CRASH.

A twisted claw slammed through the metal panel, swiping blindly.

One of the talons caught Y/N’s arm.

He cried out as the pain flared sharp and white-hot, stumbling backward as the jackal retracted its claw. Blood trickled down his arm in quick, hot lines, staining his sleeve.

He hit the tile floor hard, breathing raggedly.

Y/N let out a sharp, involuntary yelp as the jackal’s claw tore through the metal and raked across his arm. The impact knocked him back, and he crashed to the cold bathroom floor with a grunt.

The pain hit immediately—hot, searing, real. A white flash pulsed behind his eyes as he clutched his arm.

“Ah—damn it—!”

The wound stung, worse than anything he’d ever felt in a dream before. His fingers pressed down on the torn fabric of his uniform sleeve, now dark and sticky with blood. The pain throbbed in his muscles, sharp and insistent.

Y/N sat up slowly, back against the wall, his breath catching in his throat. He glanced down at his hand—and froze.

His palm was slick with blood. His own blood.

It stained his fingertips, his sleeve, the floor.

His heart skipped a beat.

That’s not supposed to happen.

Pain was one thing in his dreams that didn't last long, he usually woke up seconds after getting hurt in any sort of way—but seeing his own blood, thick and warm, spilling in a place that was supposed to be a dream? That was something else entirely.

A look of horror settled on his face as the realization sank in, slow and cold: this wasn’t like the other shifting dreams. Not even close.

This was real.

Too real.

Across the room, Steven spun around at the sound, eyes wide in shock.

“You’re hurt—? Oh God—!”

His gaze dropped to the blood trailing down Y/N’s forearm, and panic set in fast. “Bloody hell, you’re bleeding—you’re really—” He staggered back a step, bumping into the sinks, hands trembling.

Behind him, the mirror caught his reflection—except it wasn’t mirroring him at all.

“Steven.”

The voice was calm. Controlled. Not Steven, but Marc.

Steven’s reflection leaned forward in the glass, though Steven himself hadn’t moved. Marc’s expression was hard, focused.

“If you don’t let me take control right now, we're going to die, Steven.”

Steven’s eyes flicked to the mirror, frantic. “No—I can’t—”

Marc cut him off, voice sharp. “He'll die too.”

Steven glanced over at Y/N again, who was sitting slumped against the wall, pale, his free hand gripping the flashlight like a lifeline. Blood smeared the floor beside him.

“A civilian, Steven,” Marc pressed. “You okay with letting someone die because you were too scared?”

Steven’s breath caught. His eyes filled with conflict, horror, guilt. “But I—he’s not supposed to be here—I don’t even know who he is—”

“That doesn’t matter. He’s here. And you can’t protect him like this.”

Steven swallowed hard, hands clenched at his sides. He looked from Y/N—bleeding, confused, still bracing for another strike—to the mirror, where Marc stared back at him with grim determination.

“…You’ll stop it?” he whispered.

“I swear.”

A tense silence stretched, broken only by the snarls and pounding claws against the nearly broken door.

Finally, Steven gave a tiny, trembling nod.

“...Alright, Just don’t let him die.”

---

Hope ya liked my garbage 😍

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

No Sugar Tonight 3

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Brock Rumlow

Summary: A regular customer becomes more than just a familiar face.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your shifts are often tedious. Slow and dull. You like the night shift because it’s not as stressful. Or was.

That night you spend looking out the windows in expectation. For each customer that walks across the tiles with echoing footfalls, you wait in expectation. They come and get their treats and go. None of them are him. That stranger. The one who looms like a shadow in your mind as he had that day on the street.

Dayani is late. You give her the keys with a yawn. You get a day off and you’re more than eager for it. You’re relieved to leave shy of the dreaded encounter.

You head off through the front doors and turn down the street. The tree planted between the sidewalk blocks splits in too and as a figure emerges from the shade. Oh no.

You make to walk past the dark-haired man who prefers his coffee black. He simply turns and walks parallel to you.

You glance over at him warily. He doesn’t look back. He keeps walking, only reaching blindly to take your hand in his. You go rigid but don’t pull away. You’re jittering in terror.

“What are you--””

“You think anyone’s gonna mess with me?” He says flatly.

“No, sir, but--”

“Brock,” he says, then recites your name. “Now we know each other.”

Your mouth opens and closes. His hand is hot and a woodsy cologne wafts from his jacket. His skin is rough against yours. He squeezes as if he can sense your reticence.

“Brock,” you repeat. “Okay.”

“You got a day off.”

It’s a statement. It’s without a sliver of doubt. How does he know that?

“I told you, you’re easy to follow. You need to look around more.” He reprimands. “Too late to see me. I’m here.”

His tone is eerie. It makes your skin tingle. He drags you on but not towards your usual route. He also told you not to take the alleyways.

“Sir, er, Brock?” You murmur.

“Those muffins are too sugary. You need a full breakfast.” He insists.

“Right, that’s... okay. Erm...”

“It’s a nice place. You’ll like it,” he says bluntly.

You don’t know what to say, or do. You want to run away but can’t. His hand is a snare and you’re a helpless rabbit caught in it. You look down at his thick fingers. You don’t understand. He was always so silent. You were sure he hated you.

He takes you into a diner. You’ve never noticed it before. It’s quiet this early. He brings you to a booth and sits across from you. You fold your hands in your lap as you sit on the bench and wait. You could try then to escape but you wouldn’t want to make a scene.

“Coffee, black,” he orders as the waitress comes by. He looks at you for the first time and as you ask politely for a green tea, he doesn’t look away. His eyes bore into you. The waitress goes to get your drinks.

“Quit.” He says.

You frown, “huh? What am I doing?”

“Your job.”

“My job?” You utter.

“No need for it.” He says.

“Sir, Brock. I... I have to pay my rent.”

“No. You don’t.” He lifts his menu and drops his eyes to the laminated list. “You have to eat.”

You follow his lead, only to have something to do. You take the menu and read it. The waitress returns and puts down your drinks. He gets sausage, bacon, and eggs. You get a waffle. She goes and you’re alone again.

“Good.” He says.

Your confusion tautens in your cheeks. Good what?

“Call your boss.” He says, “then we can enjoy our meal.”

“I really can't afford to quit–”

“I didn't ask. In fact, I didn't ask a single question. I'm telling you.” He sneers.

Your heart flips and you bit your lip.

“I'm more than happy to tell him myself. He pays you shit. I'll take care of you.”

“I don't… what do you want from me?” You croak.

He snickers, the most humour you've seen in him. He reaches for his cup and drink. He grimaces at the taste. “That's dog shit.”

You sigh impatiently. You're getting frustrated by his terse way. Somehow he is straight to the point but you're completely missing it.

“You. Just you. That's what I want.” He sits back and pushes his shoulders wide.

“Me?”

He stares at you and nods.

“Are you asking me out?” You wonder.

“I don't ask,” he jabs his finger into the table with each word.

“I… I don't know you, I–”

“You're too old for roommates. The place is shit anyway. Those old wires will start a fire and the sprinkled are rusted.” He overrides you. Again.

“No.”

“No,” he echoes with a snort. “Again, no question marks here.”

“You can't do this.”

“Can't do what? It's done.”

“No.”

“Give me your phone,” he demands.

“No, you can't–”

“Give me the damn phone. Now. Or I'll burn down that box you call a home myself.” His eyes are black pools that threaten to drown you.

You reach into your purse and take out your phone. He snatches it before you can react. His thumb taps and drags quickly across the screen. He puts it to his esr as the waitress returns with your food.

You thank her quietly as he ignores her.

“Yeah, I'm calling on her behalf. She quits.” He doesn't wait for a response. He hangs up and dials again. “She's tendering notice. Moving out. Fill the lease.”

In a few fell swoops, he's cut every string holding your life up. It all comes crashing as he hands the phone back and turns his attention to his food. You're not very hungry. A glance from him changes that. You lfit your fork to ease the edge in his jaw.

“Good girl,” he says as he cuts into the sausage.

[elliespassagerprincess]

oooo how would professor ellie be and helping reader deal with baby brain??

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie masterlist

☆ Ellie immediately noticed the baby brain getting worse after Arnold’s birth—when you tried to warm up formula in the freezer.

☆ She didn’t laugh. She just kissed your forehead and said, “Okay, we’re labeling the appliances now.”

☆ She actually made laminated, color-coded labels for everything in the kitchen, even labeling the fridge "cold mama box."

☆ Ellie started carrying around a mini notepad just for you—so whenever you said “remind me to…” she’d jot it down, rip it out, and stick it to the fridge later.

☆ She downloaded four different baby apps on her phone and synced them to yours “just in case you forget the login.”

☆ Ellie started doing all the grocery shopping herself. She says it’s because she “doesn’t trust you not to come home with twelve cucumbers and no wipes.”

☆ She leaves sticky notes in the most random places—on your hairbrush, your favorite mug, your side of the mirror—saying things like:

“Brush hair, drink water, kiss your genius wife.”

☆ If you forget what day it is, she’ll tease you with, “It’s Monday, babe. I teach. You nurse. Aurora bosses everyone around. Classic schedule.”

☆ Ellie took over organizing Aurora’s school things and Arnold’s paediatric appointments without telling you—just quietly made herself the admin on everything.

☆ She keeps emergency snacks in her desk drawer for you. They’re labelled: “Reader’s sanity bites.”

☆ When you forgot your phone at home for the third time in a week, Ellie drove back from campus during her break just to give it to you—with a protein bar and a coffee.

☆ She never scolds or sighs—she just wraps you in her arms and says, “We made a whole human. You’re allowed to forget what the stove is.”

☆ Ellie started handwriting a “day summary” in a little journal next to your bed. Just a few lines like:

“Aurora told her class you invented apples. Arnold tried to poop on me. I love you.”

☆ She began calling reminders out loud like an AI assistant. “Hey babe! You were going to fold the laundry! Or…was that past-you’s mistake?”

☆ Ellie bought you matching necklaces engraved with the kids’ initials—"A & A"—because she knew you’d keep misplacing the baby bag.

☆ When you cried over losing your car keys (which were in your hand), she cradled your face and whispered, “I’d forget my own name if you weren’t around to moan it.”

☆ She started calling baby brain “Mama PhD syndrome”—so it felt less like a flaw and more like some grand cosmic achievement.

☆ Ellie writes little affirmations in your notebooks like:

“You made Aurora. You made Arnold. You are literal magic. I’ll remember everything else for us.”

☆ She never lets you apologize for being forgetful. “You pushed out a kid and made milk. My brain would have exploded.”

☆ Ellie sometimes wears a pin on her cardigan that says: “Ask me about my sleep-deprived wife.”

☆ She draws stick figure comics of your day—like the time you put a diaper on backwards—just to make you laugh.

☆ She once caught you putting a bottle in the dryer and quietly walked over, replaced it with laundry, and kissed your cheek like it was completely normal.

☆ Ellie created a shared “baby survival” spreadsheet. Color-coded. With tabs like “Did I eat today?” and “Arnold’s poop log.”

☆ When you forget to eat, she sits you down on her lap, feeds you bites of toast like she’s the professor of nourishment.

☆ Ellie calls you “mama genius” ironically when you do silly things like put your keys in the fridge—always with a teasing grin and a soft kiss.

☆ She puts tiny hearts next to your to-do list items, especially the ones you keep forgetting. “Drink water, mama. For me.”

☆ Ellie started carrying a spare pacifier in her jacket pocket “just in case you forget his again—no shade.”

☆ She lets Aurora scold you gently. “Mama, you put Daddy’s lunch in the diaper pail again.” Ellie’s behind her, trying not to laugh.

☆ When you space out during a conversation, she touches your wrist gently and says, “Hey, come back to me, space cadet.”

☆ Ellie plays memory games with you—not to fix anything, but just to be close to you. “Okay, five things you touched in the last ten minutes. Go.”

☆ She started organizing your makeup by use frequency and labeled the drawers: “Stuff for when you care,” “Stuff for five-minute glam,” and “You’re hot no matter what.”

☆ Ellie bought you memory supplements and stuck them inside a chocolate bar wrapper so you’d actually take them.

☆ She made a “baby brain emergency” bag with chapstick, mints, cash, wipes, and a picture of the kids. It’s in her office.

☆ When you forgot where you parked, Ellie just quietly activated her phone tracker on your location and found you without judgment.

☆ Ellie installed a key tracker app and pretends it’s because she loses things too. (She doesn’t.)

☆ When you forgot to pack a bottle and panicked, Ellie offered you her office coffee mug. “It’s clean. It’s desperate times.”

☆ She started a bedtime routine where she lists all the things you did remember today. Even if it’s just: “You kissed Arnold. You said ‘I love you.’ You were patient.”

☆ Ellie kisses the inside of your wrist when you say “I’m sorry, I’m just so dumb lately.” She says, “You’re exhausted, not dumb. You’re brilliant. You’re mine.”

☆ She taught Aurora to give you a kiss when you look overwhelmed. “Kiss Mama’s forehead. That’s the reboot button.”

☆ Ellie wrote a journal titled “Things Reader Forgot That Made Me Love Her More.”

☆ When you forgot your coffee on top of the car and drove off, Ellie bought you a spill-proof cup and wrote “Reader’s Lifeline” on it in Sharpie.

☆ She sets gentle alarms on your phone named “You deserve a break” or “Stretch & hydrate, my love.”

☆ Ellie started doing baby signs with Arnold early so he could "help remind Mama" when he's hungry or needs a change.

☆ She learned how to tie your shoes one-handed for when you were holding Arnold and couldn’t bend down.

☆ Ellie whispers soft reminders into your neck when hugging you:

“Keys in your purse. Phone’s on the charger. You’re not alone in this.”

☆ She makes “proud of you” playlists for when you make it through the day without crying or forgetting Aurora’s lunch.

☆ Ellie sets the GPS for you automatically, even if it’s just to the grocery store. “Not because you can’t, but so you don’t have to.”

☆ She bakes your favorite muffins with little paper flags stuck in them that say things like: “Hot mom fuel” or “Memory boost: unlocked.”

☆ When you forgot your name at the pediatrician (true story), Ellie just smirked and said, “This is my wife. She's magic, just momentarily unplugged.”

☆ She always rubs your back in the kitchen when you’re staring at nothing. “Baby brain’s a bitch, huh? Good thing I’m here.”

☆ Ellie added an extra whiteboard in the hallway just for “Mama Notes” where she writes reminders, love notes, and cute drawings.

☆ She refuses to let you feel embarrassed around her. “You can forget everything but I’ll always remember who you are to me.”

☆ Ellie got Aurora to memorize your morning routine so she can bossily direct you through it. “Mama, brush your teeth. No, your toothbrush.”

☆ She bought you a necklace with Arnold’s birthstone and said, “Now you don’t have to remember. It’s always with you.”

☆ When you forgot to change out of your pajama top before going out, she just handed you a hoodie and winked. “Still hot.”

☆ Ellie created a memory jar labeled “Things You Did Right This Week.” She puts in notes when you’re asleep.

☆ She holds your hand tighter when she feels you spiraling. “One thing at a time, babe. Just one.”

☆ Ellie started sending you gentle check-in texts:

“Hey, love. Did you eat? Hydrate? Breathe?”

☆ She gives you small tasks, like folding a single onesie, and celebrates like you just aced an exam. “Ten outta ten, Professor Mama.”

☆ Ellie learned how to braid your hair so she can do it for you when you forget or don’t have the energy.

☆ When you accidentally called Aurora “Ellie,” she just laughed and said, “We’re both obsessed with you, so it tracks.”

☆ She bought you new glasses because she said, “You keep misplacing your brain, let’s at least help your eyes.”

☆ Ellie whispers “I got you” into your temple when you’re lost in a fog, grounding you like it’s instinct.

☆ She bought a wall calendar just to put gold stars on it for every good day you had. Even if it’s just “didn’t cry before 10am.”

☆ Ellie encourages you to nap and will lie beside you, watching over you like you’re the rarest research specimen she’s ever found.

☆ She plays memory-based games with Aurora and invites you to join, saying, “Let’s all forget things together.”

☆ When you forgot your name again, she just kissed your hand and said, “Doesn’t matter. You’re mine.”

☆ Ellie started carrying around a mini photo album of you and the kids and hands it to you when you feel overwhelmed. “Proof you’re doing it. All of it.”

☆ She gives you forehead kisses more often than usual—because she says it helps "charge your RAM."

☆ Most of all, Ellie never makes you feel like your forgetfulness is a burden. She makes it feel like just another part of loving and learning each other—just another thing she remembers how to hold, so you don’t have to.

[adoresmiles]

His. Concealed Obsession.

Chapter three.

Tags: @violetmuses @onlyrealjoy @unicorndelulu @neloOwesker @liatreads @sunrisesfromthewest @deja-r @leahnicole1219 @jacobscipioswoman

AN: Y’all I’m out here making my own gifs and it’s stressing me out lol but I hope you guys enjoy chapter three! Please give feedback on how you feel about the book. Love you guys 🫶🏽

The following day.

"Conseguiste las huellas de las manos del cristal?"

"We are in the process of laminating it now. The tracker was placed underneath her car before she left to meet up with her friend yesterday."

"Perfect, Catalina  did you get the background information on her and her family?"

"Yes , Ms Powers who full name is Kanani Souline Powers. She is the youngest daughter of Noelani Storm and Daniel Ramos Powers. Her mother is a Seasoned 9-1-1 operator , while her father is a captain on the swat team. Kanani is also the sister to Jaxon Tyree and Keith Makana Powers. Jaxon is the lieutenant for the Miami fire department and Keith is a detective."

"Realmente sabes cómo elegirlos"

"Shut it."

"Alongside with her brothers , Kanani was born in Honolulu Hawai'i . She graduated from University of Michigan with a masters degree in Aerospace. Wow ... she's extremely intelligent. Base off of her social media, her hobbies include cooking, dancing , shopping and spending time with her family and friends. She is currently working on opening up her own business."

"Tell me about her past. What's the deal with that?"

Armando asked the young female as she clicked away on her mouse. A mixture of pictures showed across the screen of Kanani,  her family and friends . From what he was being showed , he can see that she was raised in a big , blended and loving family. He learned that her father had a son within his previous marriage . Which made sense to why he was seeing  the slightest bit of difference between the three siblings.

"Well she was in a relationship with the judge son who put your mother away behind bars. He also has a history of domestic violence and multiple of charges. He does have two existing restraining orders against him one is from Kanani and the other his now ex girlfriend."

"When does the restraining order ends?"

"It expires in two days boss."

"Kill him in two days , but let's make it brutal"

"Are you sure about that? He's pretty well known around in Miami."

"I killed the neighbor, I killed the others and I shot my own father. Do you think I care about him being well known ?"

"Clearly not , you are still killing people even when your dad cleared your name. How would you think he will feel if he found out about you doing this to his coworker daughter?"

"Again , do it looks like I care about what him or anyone thinks ? No it doesn't , so as I mentioned before kill him in two days and this time you do it."

"So I have her hand print laminated down, you'll be able to have access to her house once we are able to test it. You just have to figure out when her next outing is going to be."

"That shouldn't be to hard , based off her calendar in her phone she has zero meetings. I checked her emails and nothing is scheduled, she's a sitting a duck. Her meeting that she had with Galena today went right through, isn't that right Gal?"

"She's smarter than what everyone thinks. Her store is going to be extremely valuable for us to use. The only thing is that her best friend will be be helping her run the store. We need our own people in there to make sure the drugs are coming in and out."

"So you and Catalina will find some people who has the similarities of Kanani and her best friend. Send them to the store for interviews and they should get hired on the spot. This is the only we can keep the money flowing in fast and in a discreet manner."

"Catalina and I can most definitely do that. Her best friend is tough to break down though, she doesn't do funny business. So we have to do this carefully and be on our toes with this. But other than that , we're locked in with her business. Plus there's going to be a celebration tomorrow for her accomplishments. I was invited to it the dinner and the after party."

"What after party?"

"Her family will be having a cookout at the park for her and then after she will be going out to celebrate."

"Interes-"

"Boss we got movement coming from inside Kanani home."

Catalina called out to him as she expanded the screen that displayed Kanani on it. Placing his arms over his chest , he watch as the young woman dance around her kitchen without a care in the world. Which either meant that she was cleaning or was simply in a good mood. It was something he picked up on since he started watching her. On certain days she would wake up at exactly nine in the morning to start cleaning or just to put on her favorite song and dance around her house.

At first he thought it was childish but after awhile he found it interesting in way. Watching her smile and laugh as she twirl around in her home always gave him peace. Knowing that she was happy made him happy. Seeing her at peace, made him feel at peace. Armando was dangerously infatuated with her and seeing and holding her in his harms the day prior made him realize that he couldn't allow her to get away.

"Wow I'll hate to admit this but she's definitely a looker. I see why you are obsessed with her man."

"She's off limits man."

"Kanani belongs to me , she's mine and I'll gladly put a bullet through fucking your head behind her."

"He didn't mean it Armando , he was just joking . We all know that Kanani is yours and only yours."

"Galena please get him out of here before ends up dead and on his parents front porch in a gift box."

"Let's go kid , you know your mouth is going to get your ass in trouble..."

"Hey Armando I think you want to check this out."

"What is it Catalina?"

"Did you drop something yesterday? Like an earring a chain or something?"

"Why?"

"Because if I'm mistaken your babygirl is wearing your chain as we speak and it seems like she has a visitor that is fine as fuck."

"ellos son nuestros padres. Her father and family is close friends with Marcus and Mike.”

“Do you think they’re talking about what happened yesterday?”

“No doubt that they are , turn the audio on Catalina.”

Armando leaned forward onto the table as his request was answered. A soft voice filled the room followed by deeper voices. He watched as the two men take turns to hug her. Seeing their hands on her rubbed him the wrong way. Armando didn’t want anyone else but only him touching her . He didn’t care if the man on her screen was her father or not, he didn’t want him touching her. At all.

Translation

"Conseguiste las huellas de las manos del cristal?: Did you get the hand prints from the glass?

"Realmente sabes cómo elegirlos" :  you really know how to choose them.

"ellos son nuestros padres": They are our parents.

[pedriache]

If you want to — Lamine Yamal.

Pairing: Lamine Yamal x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lamine noticed you hadn’t been sleeping and offers to spend the night with you so you aren’t alone. But you hadn’t expected his presence to relax you so much.

Word Count: 1.8K

Disclaimer/s: all fluff <3 talks of not sleeping (insomnia), cursing.

A/N: This is based off “If you want to” by Beabadoobee!

A nudge to your shoulder had snapped you to attention, your heart rate skyrocketing as you’d just been woken from a half-sleeping state. Rubbing your tired eyes, you turn your attention to your best friend, your eyebrows furrowed. “What? Did I miss something?”

A quiet chuckle leaves Lamine’s lips as he nods his head to the rest of the classroom. Everyone was packing up their things before shuffling their way out of your maths class.

“You practically slept through the whole period.” Lamine notes as you begin putting your own things into your backpack.

Even then, you were moving at a sluggish pace. “My bad.” You sigh, tugging on the metallic zipper with an irritated huff. It’d got caught on the fabric, not budging no matter how harshly you tugged on it.

Before you could lose your temper, Lamine gentle takes the black backpack from your grasp. You watch with a frown as he slowly and gently fixes it, zipping it all the way down without any more of a struggle.

He hands it back with a teasing look, “next time don’t try to rip it apart and maybe it’ll cooperate?”

“Shut up.” You huff, standing up to tug the straps onto your shoulders.

Exiting the classroom, you walk beside Lamine. It was now lunch time, which meant you had the whole thirty minutes to possibly nap in the Library while the athlete got his fair share of carbs in.

“How much sleep did you get last night?” The boy beside you asks, his eyebrows dipped in concern.

Chewing on your bottom lip you reply honestly, “three or four, give or take. Probably closer to three.”

You wish you were joking, but unfortunately your insomnia was taking a tole on you. Getting worse and worse since the school year had started. It was pretty evident in your face as well, as Lamine had pointed out a few times before. Large purple eye bags and heavy eyes had now become your normal. No makeup could conceal the tired look that was always on your face.

Lamine nods his head slowly, opening the light washed doors for the both of you. He says your name in a drawled out tone, cocking his head to the side as he watches you walk past him and into the bustling cafeteria, “you gotta get more sleep, man.”

“I know that!” You groan, “but I just can’t sleep, like ever. It sucks too because I get so bored, but my brain just doesn’t shut off.”

“What if I come over tonight? I’ll hang out with you and we can study for the exam on Monday, maybe it’ll tore you out?” Lamine suggests, his smile genuine as he grabs the red trey before entering the short line for food.

“Really?” You perk up, “I mean, only if you want to, don’t feel obligated or anything.” You add on quickly, grabbing your own trey.

Lamine laughs, “if I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have suggested it.” He grins, his elbow lightly tapping your bicep, sending a flurry of something new to your stomach. Something you definitely needed to ignore.

—

That night, Lamine texted you to inform you he’d be over right after he helped his mom clean up dinner. You smiled as you typed back a quick response to let him know the door would be unlocked.

It’d taken very little convincing for your parents to give the all okay when you’d asked if Lamine could stay over, as it was a very normal thing between you since you were kids. Plus, it helped that it was a Friday night.

You were sitting comfortably on your bed, the TV on and playing season three of Criminal minds (your second rewatch of the month), when your door opened without a knock. Lamine’s pajama clad figure entering soon after.

“Hey—“ He stops short, looking to the TV with a disappointed look. “Didn’t you just finish season fifteen like.. last week?”

“Technically, five days ago actually.” You shrug, watching as he makes his way around the bed, setting his backpack on the edge of the bed before slipping onto the bed.

He grabs the remote, pausing the episode. “Have you ever considered that damn show is why you can’t sleep?” He quirks his eyebrow, pressing the red button at the top of the remote, turning the TV black.

“Hey—! I was—whatever, ugh.” You slump back onto your many pillows with a huff of air. “It is just background noise, honestly.”

“Whatever you say..” Lamine sighs, reaching for his laptop in his backpack, pausing and turning to you, “are you going to get yours or..”

You blink, realizing you’d been staring at him without a thought in your head. “Oh! Right.. Homework and studying.. how fun.” Not.

For the next thirty minutes you attempted to focus on the work in front of you, but your mind was trailing off to earlier that day. You’d felt a strange sensation at his touch, one you hadn’t felt before and it was consuming your thoughts now more than ever as he sat beside you, your legs touching.

With a defeating groan, you close your laptop. “I can’t do this. I’m so sick of school, I just want to sleep.” Your frown deepens on your lips as you tilt you head to the side, resting it against the wall as Lamine mirrors you.

“Then sleep?” He offers obviously. “Without the TV on.” He quickly adds, a small grin on his face.

“I’m gonna hit you.” You scowl, but begin to put your laptop and textbook onto the side table.

Lamine does the same, setting them aside and getting comfortable under your large white blanket. Once the two of you were settled, you close your eyes, begging sleep to find you easily.

It doesn’t.

You toss and you turn and you huff and puff, yet you cannot sleep.

A loud yelp escapes your lips as Lamine rolls over, placing an arm around your waist and securing you against him, forcing you to stop moving.

“You’re being loud.” He grumbles through a sleepy voice. And that was enough to shut you up.

Lying in his arms, your heart beat rapidly slowing in your chest the longer he held you. And then the unexplainable happened, you fell asleep, a small smile on your face at the feeling of his soft breaths on your shoulder.

—

Your eyes flutter open, immediately clamping shut as the bright sunlight that burned your eyes. Letting out a loud whine, you move to face away from the sun, only to find your movement halted by the weight of an arm around you.

Right.

You open your eyes again, slower this time as they adjust to the sight in front of you. Lamine was silently scrolling on TikTok, his phone resting against your pillow, his head still resting beside yours.

A smile creeps onto your face, “what are you doing?” You laugh, moving your head to catch sight of his.

“Watching TikTok, what does it look like?” He quips, a humor filled grin on his face as he stares into your eyes, drinking in the way the sunlight hits off your face. He finds himself getting lost in the way your eyes are twinkling with amusement.

Clearing your throat, you face his phone once again, “well turn up the sound, weirdo.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He says, clicking the side of his phone till it’s at the perfect level. Butterflies attack your stomach at his words, but you push the feeling aside as you two watch his for you page, laughing at the stupid and funny ones, occasionally teasing him when an edit of himself pops up.

It’s not until your eyes flicker up to the time when you gasp, “Lamine! It’s 1:30? Why did you let me sleep in so long!?”

“I didn’t want to wake you!” Lamine argues defensively, “you needed your sleep.” He says the last sentence a lot more softly, more out of care than to actually prove a point.

Your bottom lip juts out, “wait, thats sweet. Appreciate it.” You grin, turning around to place a peck on his cheek, which was a normal thing you did, but this time he hadn’t expected it.

Lamine turns to face you, just as your lips were supposed to connect with his cheek, his lips are suddenly in the way. Soft lips instead of soft cheeks catches you off guard, your eyes widening as you quickly pull away.

“Oh fuck—“ You stutter out, “i’m so—“

“No! No—it’s okay!” He’s stumbling over his own words, both of your cheeks are flushed as you look at each other in shock.

It’s quiet for a moment, both of you staring at one another with slightly parted lips, the silence deafening. You were still in his arms, he was still holding onto you, neither of you dared to move.

“I’m so sorry, I genuinely didn’t mean to do that.” You finally cough out, your eyes narrowing with worry. Did you just fuck everything up?

Lamine’s chocolate eyes soften, “don’t feel sorry.”

Maybe you were reading too into things, but was he trying to say something more?

“I just kissed you..?” You cringe at the way the words that come from your mouth, you sounded like an idiot. This was humiliating.

Lamine’s mouth opens, then closes, then he gives you that look. The one he gave you every time you were slow to catch a meaning behind something. The one that made his lips pull back and his cheeks puffed a little. A look you loved.

God, you loved it. You loved him.

“What? Why are you making that face?” You say through a nervous giggle.

“I don’t want you to be sorry for kissing me, I just want you to do it again.” Lamine says, a bit more confidence in his voice as he does so. He was looking at you with longing in his eyes, and you couldn’t deny him any longer.

Your lips press against his again, feeling the way his lips form a smile as he kisses you right back. His hand snakes through your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. The second you pull away, he’s peppering your lips with mini kisses, grinning like an idiot all the while.

You fall back against your pillows, a lovesick smile on your face as he leans over you, brushing stray strands of your bed hair out of your face.

“You look like a goof.” You tease, hand reaching up to touch his that was cupping your face.

“You’re not allowed to make fun of me, I just helped you get the best sleep of your life,” he points out, mater-of-factly before adding, “loser.”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his hand away, “ohhh, don’t let it get to your head.”

After a few more bickering exchanges, you both agree to start your day officially, both exiting your room to go make some ‘breakfast’.

Sickeningly sweet smiles on both of your faces as you make your way downstairs, Lamine’s hand never leaving yours.

(DT) @halfwayhearted ILY. Thank you for helping me on this my bonkkkk💟.