#i literally cannot be perfect to each and every one of you

[blake448]

Alright shadowbringers essay time lets go i'm finally getting it out lol. So someone seriously had the audacity to say shadowbringers had an empty narrative, that it was all "hype" and "aura" and belongs ranked alongside ARR. This made me so, so irrationally angry that I came up with this rant. Spoilers for shadowbringers under the cut, seriously go play the thing. I'm going to spoil both of the emotional climaxes.

But before that, do your fucking role quests. If you put it off they lock you out of progressing during an already long enough interlude. Do the fucking role quests lol. It helps the pacing. Trust me.

The world of shadowbringers is bleak. Like post-apocalyptic bleak. Very little remains of the world, and what little does remain is plagued by twisted abominations, designed at their core to hunt us down and spread the infection. But more on that later. Shadowbringers asks at its core one simple question, "What do people do in the face of overwhelming despair." And each little pocket of Noverandt has its own answer (Other than Il Mheg, which is a little unconnected to this theme.) Do we flee searching for refuge under a beacon of hope that is the Crystal Tower, do we wallow in self pity as our life work remains decaying and broken down as the Railways? Do we dedicate our lives to care for and treat those most affected, despite the fact they're losing their minds and humanity? Do we fight and vy for privilege and power in Eulamore? Do we isolate and cling to tradition in hope our rituals bring us salvation in Rak'Tika? Do we cower in burrows and hide underground? The answer is yes. We do all these things. But far, far more importantly...

"We stand together!"

As you go through Noverandt helping those in need, you weave together a thread that connects every one in the land. Every single person comes together to build a hulking marvel to rival even the great Alexander. By uniting as one we literally ascend to the heavens, and strike down a false idol, the supposed embodiment of perfection. Humanity cleansed of flaws. And yet when we work together and unite as people not only is Vauthry no match for us, he can't run now matter how high he ascends. Together we literally rise to the occasion.

But thats not the end of the story. As we once rose to the heavens, we then descend into the depths of hell. Noverandt is united, but as the hero we're still trying to shoulder the burden of all the lands Light alone. At our darkest moment, our friends struck down one by one, there's but one light at the end of the tunnel.

"We fight as one!"

Ardbert literally fuses his soul with you, you could not be more united. The Exarch decries the thesis of this essay, explicitly, that we stand together, summons fellow warriors of light, that have undergone the same journey, that through their desire to help one another united their own world, and now come together to save themselves (I'm fucking bawling right now lmao).

The sin eaters strip us of our connections to each other, and actively punish any who tries to help by converting them into new Lightwardens. Vauthry exploits our weakness and desire for comfort and recognition by our peers as exceptional. And Emet-Selch...

Emet-Selch who has seen our lives without living it. Yes he's had families, but he never appreciated them. He would out live them, they're fragments to him, lesser beings. He's seen how we pass things on through generations and all he can see is how inferior it is to doing it himself in one continuous life. He not only lacks but belittles us for what makes us human. He fundamentally does not understand the connection we feel towards one another. The Ascians didn't band together, they sacrificed. Noble indeed, but it's not the same as the trust we give to each other, and future generations to do what we cannot alone.

And for that he underestimates us. As a group of 8, filling different roles, the gameplay fits into the narrative. You can't be a tank, and a dps, and a healer, you have to rely on other roles to help you out. You can't take on Hades solo, you have to band together, but when we do, when we trust each other, and co-operate, and communicate... He's no match for us. We are the victors, and so Shadowbringers is a story about coming together.

In the face of overwhelming despair, we stand together. It speaks to the Paladin in me! I love it. I love people and I love humanity. I love helping people. I heal my NPC's with Clemency during dungeons and solo-duties because those are my friends! I want them full health and happy. Despite how bleak the world is in ShB, it uses that bleakness to tell a genuinely beautiful story, to showcase the best in us, and I will never forget it for that.

Not to mention the post-game?!? Elidibus is far more understanding of who we are. He watched Emet-Selch get stomped. He knows how powerful we can be when we're united. So he weaponizes it. He builds everyone up to be a hero, to save the people around them. You become an idol by which they are galvanized, then he uses that energy to summon others from a different world, bound by the same desire to help, to do good, to save... And since they have no idea who you are... He makes YOU the enemy. Its insidious, gives me chills every time i think about it.

As far as the flaws in the narrative go, like i said, i think Il Mheg is a little weak. The fae aesthetic kind of plays on the same connections with hospitality and all that, but it doesn't say much about people (directly, at least) because it's mostly absent of people.

The music while being absolutely orgasmic, is somewhat devoid of meaning. The lyrics of "Who Brings Shadow" and "To the Edge" (Hades and WoL's them, respectively) are very literal, mostly recounting the events and history so far. However, I think this gives it a very "epic" feel, which when paired with just how fucking fire it is and how hard "Who Brings Shadow" hits during the final confrontation with Emet makes it probably THE standout moment from Shadowbringers. While narratively i think the music is weak, I can't argue with how fucking Hype it is, and i guess how much "Aura" it has as the inspiration for this post put it. Its still some of the best music in the series, some of the best I've ever heard, and its used just as spectacularly.

Honestly, i want to take shots at EW but this post is long enough, and i'll leave this essay hopefully without any hot takes, until i can back them up lol. God shadowbringers is so fucking good.

"what's the point of life?" glad you asked! it is of course to experience ffxiv shadowbringers and then never shut up about it

[hadesoftheladies]

went on the twitter radfem space and it was full of the most obscene racism and violent language. tiktok is absurd, too. and now radblr is just near constant in-fighting and bullying. there's just no room for black radical feminists on the internet. i think i've gotten all i was ever going to get from this place. i think it's time i just move out of here and focus on reading theory and building irl community and maybe focus on the youtube channel. any mutuals that want to keep in touch, y'all can message me and we can figure out how to stay in touch elsewhere! (like discord maybe!) those who want to follow the channel can subscribe and stay subscribed until i upload. i may just create a website specifically for blogging and my thoughts after compiling the posts i've kept on this account. not deactivating immediately, since i still have loads to figure out and arrange, but i don't think i'm helping anyone on here and i'm tired of the hostility. i don't need anymore in my life. i'd rather just curate in my own space and accumulate a volume of work that i can use for other things and not have my blog polluted by racism, homophobia and anti intellectualism. i'm tired of trying to convince the unwilling. i'd rather just be a proper essayist and have people fight about me rather than with me XD.

[dykeza]

Finally sat my white ass down and read hs2 (I left off at Sollux being reintroduced for a four years in the making joke) . So like. God I love Homestuck?

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 34: October 2024 - Part 1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

It started with Max googling “how to swaddle a newborn.”

Which led to YouTube.

Which led to a deep dive into baby vlogs.

Which somehow landed on a video titled “Our Baby’s Christening (ft. emotional godparent reveal!!)”

Max blinked at the thumbnail. “Do we have to do that?”

Belle, curled sideways on the couch with a pregnancy pillow squashed under one knee, looked up from her book. “What? Swaddle? We should probably learn that, yeah.”

“No,” Max said. He pointed at the screen. “The christening.”

She tilted her head, expression unreadable. “Ah. Right. That.”

Max paused the video and turned toward her. “You want one?”

Belle let out a breath. “My grandmother would probably claw her way out of the grave and personally haunt me if we didn’t.”

He snorted.

“I’m serious,” she added. “She made Maman promise we’d all be christened Catholic, and that our children would be too. I think the woman crossed herself more than she blinked. She literally sewed crosses into every one of Charles’ race suits.”

Max laughed again — but softer this time. “Okay. So… we do it?”

Belle gave a small nod. “I’d like to. If that’s okay with you.”

He reached for her hand without hesitation. “If it matters to you, it matters to me.”

She squeezed his fingers, then added, “But no vlog. No TikTok trend. No godparent cupcakes. That’s where I draw the line.”

“Noted,” Max grinned. “Subtle drama only.”

They were quiet for a beat, and then Belle said, without looking at him, “I want Emilie to be the godmother.”

Max didn’t even blink. “Obviously. She’ll be both protective and terrifying.”

Another pause.

“Do you know who you want?” Belle asked, quieter now.

He nodded slowly. “GP.”

Belle looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Max shifted slightly, his voice gentler now. “He’s been there for every moment that mattered. He’s steady. He’s smart. He puts up with me.”

She smiled. “That last one should qualify him for sainthood.”

Also Max, after a beat: “Plus, he’s Italian. He has a terrifying Catholic grandmother of his own. He’ll understand the stakes.”

Belle burst out laughing.

“Are you saying he’ll bring his own incense?”

“I’m saying he’s probably been guilted into mass more times than he can count. He knows the drill. He’ll kneel on command.”

Belle was still giggling as she wiped her eyes. “God, that’s perfect.”

“Exactly,” Max said, grinning. “Emilie and GP. Chaos and calm. Fire and structure.”

“They’ll balance each other out,” Belle said softly.

“Yeah,” Max agreed, smiling as he glanced down at her belly. “I think he’ll need that.”

***

Leclerc Brothers Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Charles and Lorenzo)

Charles: ok we need to talk we cannot mess this up

Arthur: bonjour to you too what is the emergency now

Charles: the baby shower, Arthur Belle’s baby shower the baby is coming in like. weeks we have to get her something meaningful something GOOD like heart-wrenching

Arthur: You’re only saying that because you forgot it’s this weekend

Charles: I did NOT forget. I just didn’t realise it was THIS weekend.

Lorenzo: You’re panicking again. This is worse than the time you tried to write your own Christmas card and cried at the word “warmth.”

Arthur: “with all the warmth of a snowy heart” 💀

Charles: SHUT UP both of you I’m being serious this is our sister’s first baby and I wasn’t the best brother for a long time but I am trying now and we CANNOT show up with like. A teddy bear and a shrug

how do we say “we love you and we’re trying and sorry we were trash for so long but now we want to be the kind of uncles that get called first before any emergency”

Arthur: ok ok calm down we won’t get her a shrug I was thinking maybe like… custom baby shoes?

Charles: how is a baby supposed to know they’re custom?? that’s just for Instagram!

Lorenzo: that is not a gift. that’s just emotional damage control. we need to get her something ACTUALLY USEFUL

Charles: ok mr tax accountant what’s “actually useful” for a baby?? diapers??

Arthur: baby monitor white noise machine one of those things that stops the baby from eating electrical cords

Lorenzo: you just googled that didn’t you

Arthur: shut up i’m TRYING

Charles: can we please just buy something cute and emotional?? like a tiny ferrari onesie??

Lorenzo: absolutely not do you want Max to fight us in the parking lot

Lorenzo: Okay then, what do you want? A monogrammed bassinet? A tiny race suit with Verstappen on the back?

Charles: you are making it WORSE I want something that says “I love you and I see you and I’m sorry for every birthday I missed and also your child will be so loved he’ll never doubt it for a second”

Arthur: so a card?

Charles: arthur i will drive to your apartment and throw a diaper at your head

Lorenzo: we could put together a basket things for her. not just the baby. like pampering stuff??

Charles: like bath salts??? she’s not allowed hot baths isn’t that a pregnancy thing

Arthur: ok so NOT that what about like a robe. nice robe. soft. hug-adjacent.

Lorenzo: robe fuzzy socks giant water bottle snacks that Max isn’t allowed to touch

Arthur: gift card for foot massage???

Charles: matching pyjamas for her and the baby 😭😭😭😭

Lorenzo: now you’re crying aren’t you

Charles: OF COURSE I AM SHE’S GROWING A WHOLE PERSON

Lorenzo: yes done group letter, gift basket, and we each pick one thing for the baby too

Charles: dibs on tiny hat

Arthur: dibs on bedtime book. i’m starting his library.

Lorenzo: i’ll sort the blanket. cashmere. he deserves cashmere.

Charles: guys we’re going to be uncles 😭😭😭

***

Belle hadn’t meant to fall in love with that stroller.

It wasn’t even on the list. She’d made a list — a sensible one, full of safety reviews and budget considerations and real-world feedback from exhausted parents online. The plan was to look at a few models, ask questions, keep it practical.

She had not planned to stand in the middle of the baby store cradling the handlebar of a €1,500 dutch-engineered stroller that folded with one hand and rolled like a dream, her heart inexplicably full.

It was beautiful.

Matte black. Compact. Sleek enough to look like it belonged on a Formula 1 grid. The kind of stroller that could survive cobblestones and airport chaos and whatever post-apocalyptic terrain a toddler might drag it through.

But it was also—

Ridiculous.

Belle let go of the handle and stepped back quickly, like maybe that would dull the sting of wanting something so wildly over-the-top. She turned toward the more modest display beside it.

“This one’s nice too,” she said, gesturing vaguely at a midrange model. “The safety ratings are almost identical and the basket is bigger. It’s more—reasonable.”

Max didn’t answer immediately. She could feel him behind her, that quiet hum of attention he always gave her even when he wasn’t saying a word.

“Schatje.”

She turned. He was still standing by the expensive stroller, one hand on the handle, frowning slightly.

“You like this one.”

“I mean, yes,” she said quickly. “But we don’t need it. It’s just—it’s a stroller, Max. It’s wheels and a seat and—honestly the cheaper one is probably better for the city anyway.”

He tilted his head. “Do you like it?”

“Max—”

“Do you like this one?” he repeated, quietly.

Belle hesitated. Then nodded, almost sheepish. “Yeah. I do. It’s stupid, I know. It’s just—smooth. And quiet. And it folds up in one hand and looks like a spaceship and I kind of imagined walking him around the paddock in it.”

Max’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile too hard. He looked at the stroller again. Gave it a slight push. It rolled half a metre in near-silence.

“You’re right,” he said. “It does look like a spaceship. I like it.”

Belle crossed her arms. “That doesn’t mean we should spend—”

“I’m not looking at the price tag,” Max said gently. “I’m looking at you.”

She blinked.

“You’re trying to downplay how much you want this,” he said, stepping closer. “Because you think it’s too much. Too expensive. Too...extra. But Belle—” His voice softened further. “You’re growing our child. You can have the spaceship stroller.”

She looked down, a little overwhelmed. “I just don’t want to be stupid about money.”

“You’re not stupid,” Max said. “You’re thoughtful. And kind. And responsible. And if the only irrational thing you do this year is fall in love with a stroller that turns like a kart, then I think we’re doing pretty well.”

Belle laughed — a short, breathless sound that cracked under the emotion welling in her throat.

“Besides,” Max added with a sly grin, “I’ve seen the way you push shopping carts. You deserve a machine with proper steering.”

She rolled her eyes and wiped at the corner of one, now-damp eye. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m absolutely helping,” he said, pulling her into a hug. “We’re getting this one. And we’ll find the car seat with the same level of unnecessarily perfect suspension while we’re at it.”

Belle rested her head against his chest for a moment, letting herself breathe.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Don’t thank me,” Max murmured. “You’re the one doing the hard part. I’m just here to carry boxes and make you laugh.”

She stepped back and looked at the stroller again — really looked at it. “Alright. We’ll take it.”

Max turned to the sales assistant. “Hi, yes, we’ll take this one. And whichever car seat she points to next, no questions asked.”

The assistant blinked. “Um. Do you want to see the matching bassinet—?”

“She wants it.”

“I do,” Belle admitted.

“Then we want it too.”

And that was that.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: you had a kid right?

GP: …yes why? what did you do

Max: nothing?? yet i just have a question

GP: go on

Max:

what’s the one thing you didn’t think you’d need for the baby

but you absolutely needed

GP: Oh. Hands down? The snot sucker.

Max: the WHAT

GP: The little vacuum thing that pulls snot out of their nose. You’ll think it’s disgusting. You’ll use it at 2am during a cold and swear it’s the greatest invention since DRS.

Max: 😭😭😭😭😭

GP: Also:

A white noise machine that doesn’t sound like an airplane

About 30 burp cloths

Nappy cream that costs more than you think it should

Somewhere to put the baby when you both need your hands free and he’s awake and plotting chaos

Max: ok writing all this down you’re like the FIA of fatherhood

GP: Don’t make me enforce a penalty for incorrect swaddling.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hülkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sargeant, Esteban Ocon, Lance Stroll, Valtteri Bottas, Pierre Gasly and Yuki Tsunoda)

Alex: any news from max + belle land? baby update?? does the baby have eyebrows yet??

Pierre: what kind of question is “does the baby  have eyebrows yet”

Oscar: technically not the worst question asked in this chat

George: …so? anything new?

Lando: not really?? they’re chill max is full dad mode already and Emilie is planning this jungle baby shower thing with victoria and it’s kind of elite actually—

George: Baby SHOWER??? EXCUSE ME??

Carlos: I wasn’t invited. Were you invited??

Lewis: …there’s a baby shower?

Fernando: What is a baby shower and is there alcohol

Lando: i didn’t say when it was or where or if it’s happening at all could be a metaphorical shower

Sebastian: There’s nothing metaphorical about you being the worst secret keeper on the grid.

Alex: Can someone confirm: is this a real event is there a dress code do I need to bring a onesie

Pierre: I WILL BRING A ONESIE

Yuki: I AM LEARNING TO BAKE COOKIES CAN I COME

David: Are we seriously doing this. Are we all going to Max’s house with pastel cupcakes and nappy cakes.

Mark: I’ve RSVP’d emotionally and spiritually. When’s the flight.

Oscar: Guys. There is a guest list…

Sergio: too late. i’m already designing a balloon arch.

George: Do we need a theme? Should I coordinate my shirt? What if there’s a group photo?

Fernando: I repeat: will there be alcohol.

Valtteri: I’ll bring gin.

Zhou: I’ll bring matching baby sneakers and also a mini car seat in Ferrari red 😌

Nico R.: As a father  I consider it my duty to attend and to offer unsolicited stroller advice

Esteban: What do babies want though?? Do they want socks? A small hat? A tiny car??

Sebastian: They want love. And safe sleep environments. And emotionally intelligent parenting. Also probably a stuffed turtle.

Lewis: i already have three gift ideas none of them are practical all of them are fabulous

Fernando: does anyone know if there’s a registry

Lance:  wait so we’re all invited???

Lando: no one’s invited i literally JUST said that

Alex: so it’s like a stealth party and we’re the chaos agents

Nico H. : i refuse to be left out i am exceptional at baby showers

Sebastian: what does that mean

Nico H: don’t worry about it

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Emilie Abadie

Lando: hi hey hello

Lando: please don’t kill me but like hypothetically how flexible is your headcount for the baby shower

Emilie: … what did you do

Lando: ok so someone asked if there was any news about max and belle and the baby and i said no not really and then i MAY have mentioned the shower and the jungle theme and victoria’s iced coffee and now i think there might be 30 more people coming?

Emilie: THIRTY?1?

Lando: it was accidental!!! they asked!!! i panicked and told the truth like a GOOD PERSON

Emilie: you are not a good person you’re a flight risk in high tops

Lando: accurate but like harmless??

Emilie: you told Fernando Alonso there’s a baby shower do you know what kind of unhinged energy that man brings to a jungle-themed event

Lando: to be fair he’s bringing his own wine

Emilie: EXACTLY. that’s not comforting. that’s alarming.

Lando: i’ll help i’ll bring chairs i’ll build the balloon arch i’ll inflate things

Emilie: you’re already inflating this situation

Lando: i’m sorry 😭😭😭 can i at least bring the mochi yuki found

Emilie: yes but you’re on damage control duty

Lando: fair 🫡

***

Belle looked tired.

Not the kind of tired Emilie was used to seeing on her — not the jet lagged, I’ve-been-working-until-3AM-on-a-pitch tired. This was slower. Deeper. A quiet sort of exhaustion that lived in her shoulders now, settled into the lines under her eyes and the cautious way she moved around the apartment.

Still, she looked happy. Different. Softer, in some ways. Sharper, in others. Like becoming someone’s mother had rearranged something fundamental in her bones.

Emilie watched her from the couch, flipping through a book of baby names that had no business being as long as it was.

“I’m vetoing anything that ends in ‘-aden,’ by the way,” she announced, drawing her finger down the page. “Caden, Braden, Jaden—no child of yours is going to sound like a forgotten High School Musical extra.”

Belle gave her a look — dry, affectionate. “You’re not even on the naming committee.”

“I’m your best friend,” Emilie replied. “I am the committee.”

Belle laughed — quietly, with the kind of smile she used to have before everything got complicated. Before the distance and the silence from her brothers. Before therapy sessions and phone calls that never came.

And then, suddenly, her expression shifted. Her hand slid to rest over her belly — protective, thoughtful — and she looked up.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

Emilie straightened. “Everything okay?”

Belle nodded. “Yeah. Just…”

Her voice faltered slightly.

Emilie felt the weight of it before she even heard the words.

“I’ve been thinking about… about the kind of people I want in his life. And I realized… it’s always been you. It was always going to be you.”

“Belle—?”

“I want you to be his godmother.”

The air seemed to still around them.

It hit Emilie square in the chest — that kind of quiet statement that felt like it split the world into before and after.

She blinked.

“Me?” she said, and hated how her voice cracked. “You want me?”

“You’ve been my person since before I knew how to fight for myself,” Belle said. “And you’ve never let me forget who I am, even when I wanted to. You’ve seen all the ugly and stayed. You’ve been my mirror and my sword and my sister in everything but blood. And now…”

She looked down, one hand covering her belly.

“…I want him to have you, too.”

Emilie didn’t trust herself to speak.

So she didn’t.

She just set the book down, crossed the room, and knelt next to Belle. Her palm flattened instinctively over the small swell of Belle’s belly, the other hand reaching for hers.

“I would be honoured,” she said, her throat tight. “And I swear to you, Belle—no matter what happens, I will always be in his corner.”

Belle let out a breath, smiling even as her eyes welled up. “Thank god. Because Max chose GP and I need someone to balance out the Italian Catholic chaos.”

That made Emilie snort, even through the emotion. “Oh god. That poor child’s christening is going to be like a Formula 1 team meeting with incense.”

They both laughed — the kind of laugh that felt like coming up for air.

And as Emilie rested her head lightly against Belle’s shoulder, she felt it.

A tiny kick beneath her hand.

A life.

A future.

And the unwavering, unquestionable knowledge: this baby was hers too, in every way that mattered.

***

***

Belle had suspected something was off the moment Emilie told her to wear something cute, but not too cute, but maybe something with a bit of jungle energy, but also neutral enough for casual lunch dining.

That sentence had seventeen warning signs in it.

But she hadn’t pressed.

Mostly because she was tired. And pregnant. And when she asked Max if he thought Emilie and Lando were acting weird lately, he just blinked at her and said, “They are always weird.”

Fair point.

So she’d put on a soft green wrap dress, pulled her hair into a loose braid, and let Max drive them to Overture, the place of their first date and wedding reception, that always looked like a painting.

“Maybe they just want to feed us,” Max had offered helpfully on the way there. “You’ve been craving that fancy tomato salad.”

Belle had narrowed her eyes. “You remembered my craving down to the exact vegetable.”

Max had shrugged. “Your cravings have a rota. It’s tomato week.”

And she’d laughed, because of course they’d made it a routine. That’s what they did—weathered things by naming them. Max kept track of her cravings like he kept track of tire degradation. Belle loved him for it more than she could ever say.

But still.

Something felt off.

Belle should’ve known something was up when Lando was on time.

Not just on time—early. Waiting outside Overture in a pressed shirt that he hadn’t spilled anything on yet, sunglasses perched in his hair, hands suspiciously empty.

Max parked the car beside him and narrowed his eyes instantly. “He’s being too still.”

Belle smothered a smile. “Maybe he’s maturing.”

“I’ve met Lando,” Max said. “That’s not maturity. That’s guilt.”

He had a point.

Lando spotted them and waved a little too enthusiastically. “Hi! Hello! You look so normal and unsuspecting!”

Belle blinked. “…What?”

“Nothing. I mean—nothing,” Lando added quickly. “Just. Great weather for… lunch. With friends. And not… other things.”

Max gave her a look that clearly read: he’s blown something up, hasn’t he?

“Where’s Emilie?” Belle asked, shifting slightly in the passenger seat. At 7 months pregnant, shifting at all required strategic maneuvering, and the sudden hush in Lando’s tone was not encouraging.

“She’s inside. Setting up—I mean—sitting down. Already. For… soup.”

“…Soup?”

“Yup!” Lando opened her door with the exaggerated cheer of someone trying very hard to pretend everything was fine. “Come on, let’s go. I hear the risotto is life-changing.”

Belle stepped out slowly, one hand on Max’s for balance, her other resting instinctively on the curve of her stomach. Max grabbed her hand and gave Lando one last suspicious squint.

“If there’s a marching band in there,” he muttered, “I’m turning around.”

***

Belle took three steps into the restaurant and immediately knew.

It was the flowers, first—bright tropical blooms clustered around a jungle of greenery and gold balloons. Then the smell of cinnamon and vanilla from the table in the corner. Then the sound of someone shushing someone else behind the doors to the private terrace.

Then—

“SURPRISE!”

A chorus of 40+ voices hit her all at once.

Belle stopped breathing.

For a second, all she could do was blink at the explosion of green and gold. Banners that said A LITTLE WILD ONE IS ON THE WAY. Monkeys hanging from paper vines. A table stacked with animal-shaped cookies,  Donuts and baby books.

And then—the faces.

Victoria. Emilie. Max’s parents. Her mother (gasping into a tissue). Half the Grid. Half the WAGs. GP and his wife. Oscar and Lily waving beside a massive jungle-themed cake. Sebastian Vettel in a pastel button-up. Mark Webber next to him. Yuki Tsunoda in a lion costume for some unknown reason. 

And Max—

Max was frozen beside her, eyes wide, expression somewhere between awe and mild existential terror.

“I knew it,” he muttered. “Lando can’t be trusted.”

Belle turned in stunned, slow motion toward Emilie, who was beaming.

“You knew,” Belle breathed.

Emilie looked smug. “Of course I knew. You would’ve cancelled if I’d told you.”

“I—” Belle looked around again. The room swam a little. “This is so much.”

“Exactly,” Emilie said. “Because you deserve everything.”

Belle opened her mouth. Closed it. And then did the most Belle thing possible: started crying.

“Oh no,” Victoria said, bustling over with a fan. “We made her cry already. You owe me five euros, Emilie.”

Max stepped forward instinctively, hand warm on her lower back, his other hand taking hers.

“You okay?” he asked, voice quiet, leaning in.

Belle nodded, overwhelmed and luminous. “Did you know?”

“Absolutely not,” he said.

Yuki trotted up in his lion onesie, holding out a tray. “Mini mochi? I made it.”

Belle laughed, finally—soft and loud at the same time.

There were flowers on every table. Jungle leaves woven into centerpieces. A hand-painted sign that said Little Wild Thing under a tiny Formula 1 flag. Max’s eyes were full of disbelief and something almost like panic, and yet—

He looked at Belle.

At the way she brought his hand to her belly. At the way her face broke open with joy she hadn’t prepared for.

And he melted.

“Okay,” Max murmured. “I think I get it now.”

Belle turned toward him. “Get what?”

“This,” he said. “All of it. He’s already so loved  loved.”

She looked around the garden again. At the friends. The family. The absurd decorations. The stupid jungle soundtrack someone had snuck into the speaker system. The paper racing bibs. The absolute chaos of it.

Then she looked at him.

And smiled. “Yeah. He really is.”

Her mother approached with a trembling smile. Charles was filming the decor like a proud brother. Lorenzo handed her a lemonade and kissed the top of her head like she was still ten years old.

And Belle—

Belle looked around the room at the people who had gathered, the people who stayed, and felt something settle deep in her chest.

Not just love.

Belonging.

“You planned all this?” she asked Emilie, voice thick.

Emilie grinned. “With a little help.”

***

Charles wasn’t prepared.

Not for the decorations (someone (he suspected Alex) had arranged a stuffed orangutan to dangle dramatically off a trellis.), not for the sheer number of people present (nearly the whole grid? really?), and certainly not for the sight of his baby sister glowing in the center of it all.

Belle stood surrounded by balloons and laughter and the kind of joy that fills a room without needing to shout. She wore a soft green dress that curved around her bump, her hair twisted up with a little gold leaf pin Charles was almost certain Max had chosen for her. Her cheeks were pink from laughing, not crying—though she’d done a bit of that too when she first walked in and realized what had been done in her name.

He’d never seen her like this before.

Comfortable. Radiant. At home.

And what truly stunned him was that everyone else seemed to have always known this version of her.

He watched from near the drinks table, cradling a lemonade someone had thrust into his hand, as Belle greeted Max’s mother and kissed both her cheeks. Belle smiled, not shyly, but easily, her hand resting on her belly like it belonged there. Like she had nothing to prove.

When did that happen? Charles thought, swallowing hard.

She used to shrink at family parties. Fade into corners. She used to hover near the kitchen while the rest of them celebrated.

Now—people gravitated to her.

He spotted Victoria Verstappen nearby, fussing over the dessert table, muttering about fondant leaves. Emilie, supervising like a general. And just to Belle’s left, Max hovered with a protective ease that would’ve startled Charles if he hadn’t already spent the last few months watching them gradually orbit closer and closer to something unshakable.

Max touched the small of Belle’s back when someone came too close. Whispered something in her ear that made her laugh. Charles felt a flicker of something bitter-sweet crawl into his throat.

And then—Jos appeared.

Charles froze. Reflex, mostly.

But Jos wasn’t the same stormfront Charles remembered from Max’s early years. The man who now stepped into Belle’s space was… soft. Not smiling, not exactly—but his eyes were kind. His voice quiet.

He said something to her in Dutch. Belle laughed, eyes bright. Jos nodded once, then—stunningly—reached forward and tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear.

Charles stared.

Jos Verstappen had never been gentle in his life.

And yet here he was, touching Belle like she was something rare and breakable and deeply his. Like family.

That realization knocked something loose in Charles.

Max’s family didn’t just tolerate her. They adored her. They saw her.

And Belle, for the first time in her life, didn’t have to shrink to fit into someone else’s frame. She had carved out a space entirely her own, and filled it with people who loved her without question.

Even Oscar.

Charles’s gaze shifted to where Oscar Piastri stood off to the side, casually handing Belle a leomnade as if it were a normal occurrence. Belle accepted it with a soft smile, and Oscar returned it.

Charles had known Oscar for years. Calm. Steady. Brilliant under pressure.

But now he watched the younger man hover near Belle like a devoted shadow. Not obtrusive. Not obvious. Just quietly, deeply loyal. Like if Belle so much as tripped, he’d catch her before Max even turned around.

And Charles realized something else then.

Max wasn’t the only one who would fight for her.

She had a battalion now.

Loving, chaotic, fiercely loyal people who had chosen her again and again, even when her own brothers hadn’t seen her fully. Charles felt shame, but also something softer curling beneath it.

Hope.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

He took a sip of lemonade. Let the noise wash over him. And quietly, for the first time in a long time, he said a silent thank-you—to Max, to Emilie, to the whole wild circle Belle had built around herself.

Because she was safe now.

Loved.

Home.

And Charles, standing just a little outside of it all, knew: he would spend the rest of his life earning his way back in.

***

Belle was already emotionally compromised before the gifts started.

She had made it through the surprise. The jungle theme. The personalized cookies shaped like lions and giraffes.

She’d smiled through it all — grateful, overwhelmed, but holding it together.

But the gift-giving?

That was where she started to unravel.

Lando was in charge of “gift passing.” A job he had appointed himself for no reason other than chaos.

“I HAVE GIFTED EXCELLENCE,” Daniel Ricciardo declared, swaggering toward her with an obnoxiously large gift bag patterned with racing flags and glitter. “You’re welcome in advance.”

Belle gave him a look of wary affection. “Do I want to know?”

He grinned, clearly thrilled with himself.

Inside the bag: a series of baby onesies, each printed with increasingly absurd slogans:

DRS = Diaper Release System

My First Sector Time

Rookie of the Year

My Other Stroller is the RB19

Belle laughed so hard she nearly knocked over her lemonade.

“Danny,” she wheezed, holding up the ‘Mini Verstappen, Maximum Chaos’ onesie, “this one might start a diplomatic incident.”

“I can live with that,” he said proudly, then pulled her into a careful hug. “Love you, Mama Verstappen.”

Oscar followed next with a sheepish smile and a much softer gift: a plush stuffed koala wearing a tiny Red Bull cap, which he presented with all the ceremony of someone handing over a national treasure. Lily leaned against him and added, “It’s not just cute. He has a little eucalyptus oil pouch inside. Calming. Baby aromatherapy.”

“I love him already,” Belle said, hugging it. “The koala, not Oscar.”

Oscar pouted. “You’re hormonal and cruel.”

Then Lando handed her the next box. No wild wrapping this time — just brown paper and twine.

“This one’s from GP and Eloisa,” he said, much softer than before. “No theme. No chaos. It’s… you’ll see.”

Belle blinked.

Across the room, GP , who had been lingering at the edge of the crowd like a seasoned tactician avoiding a PR camera — stepped forward with his wife beside him. Eloisa smiled, warm and gentle.

Belle sat a little straighter, suddenly nervous.

GP didn’t smile, not fully. But his eyes were soft, his voice steady.

“It’s not flashy,” he said. “But we thought it might be… the sort of thing you don’t realize you need until you have it.”

She peeled back the paper carefully. Inside was a leather-bound journal, thick and soft and already a little worn, like it had been handled just enough to feel like home. Tucked into the front pocket were three pens — dark blue, capped, nothing fancy.

Max went still beside her.

Belle opened to the first page. There, in looping handwriting—Eloisa’s, she thought—was a note:

Write it all down — the moments you’ll swear you’ll remember and still forget.

The 3am feedings. The accidental laughter. The time he sneezed and terrified himself.

Every version of love.

Her breath hitched.

She flipped to the inside cover and found a second note, written in GP’s unmistakable, efficient scrawl:

Max, you’ve driven through worse nights than these.

But these will be the ones that matter.

Keep track.

– GP.

Belle’s throat burned.

GP glanced down at the baby bump, his voice lower now. “I’ve known Max through every version of his life. Debut Max. Angry Max. World Champion Max. But this…”

He looked back up.

“This is the best one yet.”

Belle wasn’t crying. Not exactly. But the tears slid down her cheeks like they had permission.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For seeing him. For seeing me.”

GP nodded once, then looked to Max — who was dead silent, jaw clenched, visibly blinking faster than usual.

GP clapped his shoulder. Not roughly. Just enough.

“You’ll be good at this,” he said.

Max nodded, lips parted like he might speak — then just reached out and hugged him.

Belle didn’t know what broke her more: the hug or the fact that GP hugged him back without hesitation.

Then came the Verstappen family gifts — a beautifully wrapped bundle of Dutch baby books from Sophie, knitted booties from Max’s grandmother…A tiny onesie that looked just like Max’s race suit from Jos. A whole box of baby clothing from Victoria…

And then came the grid-wide chaos pile, which featured:

George presenting a very serious "early childhood development kit" in aesthetically neutral tones (“It's all Montessori and machine washable,” he added, gravely).

Esteban and Pierre accidentally giving her the same exact baby blanket, then arguing loudly about who bought it first. (“You saw it in my cart,” Esteban insisted. Pierre gestured wildly with a croissant. “You think you invented cashmere?!”)

Fernando giving her a velvet pouch with a gold coin in it. Nobody dared to question it. 

Valtteri gave her a small, handwritten booklet titled F1-Themed Lullabies, As Sung By a Very Finnish Man. It included suggested lyrics for hits like “Soft Tyre Sleep” and “Hush Now, No Overtake.”

Sebastian, who handed her a cardboard box filled with native wildflower seed packets and a card that said, “Plant something when he’s born. Grow something with him.”

Nico Rosberg presented Belle with a heavily annotated 40-slide PowerPoint titled “Optimizing Infant Sleep Cycles: A Performance-Based Approach.” There were charts. Graphs. Citations. (“Did you—did you run simulations?” Belle asked. “I partnered with a pediatric sleep coach,” Nico replied, like that was normal.)

Nico Hülkenberg brought a wooden toy race car with “Baby’s First DNF” carved into the underside. (“No one talks about failure enough,” he explained.)

Lance Stroll gave her a gift certificate for a baby-safe yacht cruise along the Monaco coast.  (“There’s a shaded cabana,” he said. “For naps. His or yours.” He refused to say how much it cost. Belle refused to ask.)

Alex Albon had cobbled together a custom colouring book titled Track Limits and Life Lessons, featuring adorable little race cars learning the value of boundaries, tire management, and how to ask for help.

Lando, who had been suspiciously quiet since the chaos began, finally handed her a slim envelope with a handmade card inside that simply read: or when you need five minutes to breathe. Inside: a voucher for weekly baby-free coffee runs with Lando. He'd written "I promise to drive slow" and underlined it twice.

Belle was already blinking fast by the time her brothers stepped forward.

The basket came first. Inside: soft robes. A giant water bottle. Her favorite snacks. Bath oil, a silk eye mask, cozy socks, and an absurdly soft swaddle blanket.

“I didn’t even say half of this out loud,” she whispered, tearing up as she touched each item.

“We asked Emilie,” Arthur said with a shrug, a little too casual to be believed. “She said you wouldn’t buy any of it for yourself.”

The card was handwritten by all three of them.

Lorenzo’s blocky script. Arthur’s chaotic doodles. Charles’ clean lines, reading:

We were terrible at seeing you. You deserved so much more. Let us do better — for you, and for him.

And then Charles, silent, stepped forward.

“This is for when he won’t sleep,” he said softly. “Or when you won’t.”

Belle took the USB with shaking hands. “What is it?”

“I recorded a few lullabies,” Charles said, voice catching. “On the piano. The one Maman made us all fall asleep to. I figured… maybe he should have those too.”

Her heart cracked open in real time.

“I—” she tried, but her voice wavered too much to finish.

She reached for him. He pulled her into a careful hug, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too,” she whispered back.

And just when she thought she had nothing left in her heart to be surprised by—

Her mother stepped forward.

Pascale looked elegant and nervous in equal measure, her hands clasped around a small velvet box.

“This was given to me by my mother,” she said softly. “On the day I had Lorenzo. It’s been passed down, from mother to daughter, every time a child is born.” She opened the box, and there, nestled in cream satin, was a delicate gold necklace — thin chain, warm luster, and a small heart-shaped pendant.

Belle felt her breath catch.

Pascale fastened it gently around her neck. “I haven’t always known how to be there,” she whispered. “But I want to try now. For you. For him.”

Belle blinked fast. Her throat tightened. But she nodded.

“Thank you,” she said. And meant it.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/tiregirlie:  🚨🚨 GUYS I’M LOSING MY MIND 🚨🚨 just walked past Overture in Monaco and saw like??? 3/4 of the grid??? plus SEBASTIAN VETTEL??? and possibly Nico Rosberg and David Coulthard?? leaving together????

what the ACTUAL hell???

@/tiregirlie:  updates:

i saw lando literally carrying a gift bag with vines coming out of it

pierre and esteban were arguing about something wrapped in the same paper

fernando was holding a BABY HELMET???

yuki had powdered sugar all over his shirt and looked emotionally wrecked

max walked out holding belle’s hand and looked like he’d been emotionally waterboarded

@/tiregirlie:  this wasn’t a brunch. this was a BABY SHOWER AND THEY WERE ALL INVITED even jos verstappen??? he hugged belle on the way out. i am not okay.

@/tiregirlie: someone make me a list bc i swear i saw: ✔ max (obviously) ✔ belle (STUNNING. glowing. ethereal.) ✔ lando + emilie(covered in glitter) ✔ oscar + lily (hand in hand) ✔ daniel (smiling like he committed a federal crime) ✔ seb?! ✔ george (in monochrome beige. enough said.) ✔ pierre + estaban ( fighting?? unclear.) ✔ fernando (baby helmet. zero explanation.) ✔ charles + arthur + lorenzo (looked like they’d cried.) ✔ jos (looked like he cried??) ✔ GP ???

 ✔ Nico Rosberg (??) ✔ Mark Webber??? ✔ Fernando Alonso IN LINEN?? AND THAT’S JUST WHO I SAW

@/tiregirlie:  also: Belle posted a jungle-themed baby shower pic five hours later. Victoria’s stories match the interior of the private terrace at Overture. That means— Oh my god. OH MY GOD.

We just witnessed a grid-wide surprise baby shower. Max Verstappen was ambushed. By emotions. And themed desserts.

@/tiregirlie:  final thoughts: i don’t know what that baby’s name will be but he already has 20+ honorary uncles and a literal army behind him

i hope he never forgets it. because i never will. 🐒🌿🍼

@/lilypadwithwifi: jos hugging belle is like the emotional equivalent of watching a lion become vegan

@/itsgivinggrid: the entire grid said “we will not let this woman raise a child without 37 handmade gifts, 12 breakdowns, and 4 stuffed animals” and honestly? beautiful.

@/girlsonsofts: the entire grid was invited we’re never topping this

@/teamsoftmax: This is giving — found family — quiet tenderness — emotional side quests — Daniel getting banned from baby gift shops — Belle as the axis around which the whole grid turned for one beautiful afternoon

@/tifosifangirl69: charles, arthur and lorenzo “looked like they’d cried” they DID i know it i feel it this was their apology arc and i support it

***

Instagram Stories: @/victoriaverstappen

***

Instagram Post: @/belleverstappen

Comments: 

@/maxverstappen1: 🦁🦁🦁

@/victoriaverstappen:  you deserved every balloon, every cookie, every tiny jungle leaf. and yes, max did cry. 🌿🍼💛

@/emilie_abadie: You’re the best mother already and the baby is not even here yet. ily always.

@/danielricciardo chaotic? no. visionary. (you’re welcome for the onesies) 😌🦁🔥

@/charles_leclerc:  je t’aime. toujours.

@/georgerussell63 I accept that the entire family is now neutrally toned. it was an honor.

@/landonorris: i regret NOTHING. (ok maybe the glitter)

@/sebastianvettel: plant joy, always. (He already has the strongest roots)

@/oscarpiastri: congratulations again, belle ❤️

@/babyverstappenupdates: everyone say thank you belle for soft-launching the most emotionally destructive baby shower of the decade 🐒🍼💛

@/softdrsgirl: this baby is already more emotionally supported than i’ve ever been in my life. congrats mama 🫶

@/tiregirlie: hi. it’s me. the one who saw ¾ of the grid leaving that restaurant. thank you for confirming what i felt in my soul. 🍼🌿💥

@/paddocktea: why does Belle’s baby shower look like it was planned by an elite wedding stylist, a Pinterest mom, and a race engineer who cries in secret?

@/pitlaneprophet: victoria verstappen needs to start an events company. i want my funeral to look like that baby shower.

@/leclairsintherain:  all jokes aside, i don’t think i’ve ever seen belle so loved. not by obligation. not by expectation. just… chosen. 🥹

[chaaistained]

loa is your best friend, not your crush

tldr: stop seeking loa’s validation, trust in your friendship and the love you share

so we’re gonna need a bit of backstory for everyone as to how i reached this epiphany which i could only articulate this well thanks to @faeriemarie letting me ramble on discord thnx bby

anyway, backstory :

i have a wonderful best friend from high school and she is someone that i’ve scripted into many realities (she’s one of the members in my kpop girl group dr, i love her sm). but in my cr, as can be expected, life hasn’t been easy and we hadn’t talked for quite a while.

sometimes i’d remember her with so much warmth and fondness and reminisce in the times we’d shared, the love that was so real and so precious to me, the way i’d literally see her five days out of the week and still never feel tired of her presence because at a time where i was struggling (high school) she got me like no one else did

and afterwards, after losing so much time to life and university and careers and new friendships, most of which could never even hope to reach her level, i was pleasantly surprised when she reached out to me.

two text messages later and we’d slipped back into the same energy that we’d always shared, like nothing had changed, because nothing had changed

we very quickly organised a lunch, no fuss no rescheduling, nothing blocking our paths back to each other and right now, as i type this, i’m cuddled under a blanket after a lovely meal with her and a warmth in my soul.

because she single-handedly changed the way i view loa

something about me and her — in my eyes she was always perfection and me being the anxious fool that i am, sometimes i’d spiral and convince myself that i’m not worthy of being her friend

today, at lunch, sitting right across from me, she burned those burdens and alleviated each and every facet of fear i had about it, about us.

she said “you mean so much to me, i value us and our friendship so much. i know that we go a long time without speaking and i really miss you but at the same time, i just know that i can reach out whenever, for anything, and you’ll be there for me. because you’re so genuine and so authentic. this kind of friendship is something i’ll always cherish”.

aside from the fact that i’m getting teary eyed as i remember her words, i have a point with all of this rambling and exposition — as soon as she said this and helped me rid myself of all that stress, it felt like i’d just slipped into my better cr

a reality where i’ve always scripted this kind of energy, this kind of vibe, with her

at that moment, shifting wasn’t on my mind bcs i felt like i’d achieved it ?? i felt like i was there, in my better cr, getting lunch with one of my most cherished friends, just like those scenarios i’ve scripted

and her and i have even planned another meet up pretty soon with our extended group and i cannot explain how refreshing it is to feel zero social anxiety about this plan

usually i’d have inklings of fear and doubt but right now? nothing !! absolutely nothing

i am so at peace and i haven’t felt this way about a friendship in so long ???

having lunch with her and speaking with her affirmed to me that my fears of losing our friendship were unfounded, because how can you lose something so genuine and so real?

i’ve finally learned to trust in our friendship and the love we share and dismiss my irrational fears that are baseless and are a result of my own overthinking

i don’t think you guys understand how incredible this is for me because i am without a doubt one of the most anxious people in existence it is disgustingly debilitating

but i’ve won this battle and there are gonna be more battles that i’m gonna win (anxiety-wise ahdhdhsh)

and i know i’m gonna win those because meeting up with her affirmed me of my own capabilities and my own manifestations

i’ve learned to dismiss unfounded fear and trust in my friendship with this person

why don’t we think the same way about loa???

we need to trust in your friendship with loa, one of the most genuine friendships you can ever have

the universe can throw as much at you as it wants but loa always has your back

we need to stop thinking of loa as this unresponsive crush, always seeking its validation, in need of constant attention and interaction and hoping to “run into them” to “share a moment”

stop. stand up.

loa is not your crush, for fuck’s sake, loa is your life long soulmate friendship

a friend like loa? you don’t need to talk to them 24/7 to know they love you and value you and care about you and will provide for you

that’s what loa should be, a true genuine friend who you can hit up for whatever you want (manifestation) and they’ll follow through (materialisation)

[ekybrini]

slipping through my fingers| JACK HUGHES

— ⟡ summary | in which y/n and Jake childhood best friends who've always had something there for each other. But once jack gets drafted everything changed for both of them.

— ⟡ warnings | none (that I know of)

— ⟡ word count | 17.8k (GUYS IM SORRY)

— ⟡ gabs note | hiii!!! im so excited to finally start writing again! I apologizer if this seems rushed. also this is EXTREMELY INACCURATE!!! please don't think this is literal, I don't know how some of these things work. also i apologize if this is cringe bc I CANNOT write romance for the life of me. I'm currently on spring break so I'll be trying to take advantage of being able to write a few things! if anyone wants to request or suggest anything don't hesitate to go into my inbox . i'll try to get to it and write it as soon as I can :) after spring break I may be a little inactive as i'm trying to lock in, in some of my classes before the semesters is over (ap econ and living earth are actually kicking my ass)

⟡ slipping through your fingers | jack hughes (jacks pov)

Part two

You've known Jack since you were kids. Backyard games of street hockey, summer nights spent on the lake, and watching him skate around with his brothers. you were always there. best friends through and through. 

The first time you met Jack, you were about 10 years old. You had just moved into the neighborhood and the first thing you noticed was the street hockey that was happening right outside of your house. The kids from the neighborhood were scattered in every direction, sticks raised, yelling at each other. The one who caught your attention right away was the kid with the wild hair, darting around the group with such speed that it was almost impossible to keep up. He made it look effortless. He, of course, was jack. 

You were lonely at first, standing awkwardly by the curb or watching the game through your bedroom window . Jack, always the curious one, had spotted you one day as you were sitting on the curb and skated over with a big grin.

"You gonna watch all day, or do you wanna join us?" he’d asked, not missing a beat, despite being out of breath. his eyes were full of that contagious energy.

You'd hesitated, feeling unsure. “I don’t know. I’m not really good at this... I’ve never really played before.”

"Come on! I’ll teach you," Jack insisted. "It’s easy, you just gotta push the puck this way, and then..." He demonstrated, sending the puck flying past you. "See? Just like that!"

It wasn’t perfect, but you tried. And Jack, always encouraging, cheered you on even as you missed the puck completely a few times. "Don’t worry. You’ll get it. It’s all about having fun."

From that moment on, you and Jack were inseparable. Summer after summer, it was the same routine. Jack, with his scruffy hair and infectious smile, would be the one to drag you out onto the street, even if you were just coming off a bad day at school or feeling a little down.

One of your favorite memories came when you were both about 12 years old. It was a hot, sticky summer afternoon. Jack, as usual, had the game already set up, calling the shots while the other neighborhood kids were pretending to be superstars in a game that felt far more like a chaotic free for all than a real match.

"You in or what?" Jack shouted, holding out a stick. “This game’s going nowhere without you.”

You rolled your eyes, already seeing the sweat dripping from his forehead, his shirt clinging to his back. "You know, I was just thinking about going inside and having a popsicle."

"Are you really gonna let me down like this?" Jack raised an eyebrow, grinning from ear to ear. “you promised you'd play after school." 

"Fine," you said with a laugh, grabbing the stick. "But this time, I’m definitely winning."

You didn't win, at least not that day, but you had so much fun trying. Jack was so fast, his little tricks and turns keeping you on your toes, but every time he made a move, you were there to give it your best shot. You kept pushing him, running after the puck until the sun dipped below the horizon, and both of you were covered in dirt and sweat, laughing until your stomachs hurt.

That night, you sat side by side on the dock by the lake, feet dangling in the cool water as you two ate ice cream bars. The night was quiet except for the distant croak of frogs. 

“You were so close to getting me,” Jack said between breaths, a playful edge to his voice. He tilted his head back to look at the sky. “You’ll get me next time. Just wait.”

You chuckled, watching him with a teasing smile. "Yeah, sure, Jack. Maybe when I’m 18 and you’ve forgotten how to skate."

Jack laughed loudly, nudging you with his elbow. “Not a chance. I’ll always be better. But hey, I can teach you some moves if you want.”

“Oh, I bet you would,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Teach me how to win, too?”

"Obviously," he said with a grin, though there was a genuine warmth in his eyes. “I’ll make you into a skating legend if that's what you want.”

You didn't know it then, but those summers spent with Jack would become some of the best memories of your life. Even when the seasons changed and the street hockey games moved indoors. Jack’s determination never left. You spent every Saturday watching him at the rink, your nose pressed against the cold glass as he glided across the ice, his stick flashing, eyes full of focus. He was good. Too good, in fact. And with every game, the crowd cheered louder with his dreams growing bigger.

⟡

By the time you and Jack hit your early teens, things start to feel different. It’s not obvious at first just a lingering glance here, a nervous laugh there. Jack’s still Jack competitive, loud, always pulling you into whatever chaos he’s creating. But sometimes, when his hand brushes against yours, or when he looks at you a second too long after you’ve made a joke, it feels like something is shifting beneath the surface. You notice it, even if you don’t understand it yet.

The way he seems to notice you more, how he’s always trying to catch your eye in a group conversation, how his voice drops just a little when he says your name. It’s subtle, and you try to ignore it. He’s your best friend, right? Nothing has changed between you two. You’re still the same, pulling pranks on each other, laughing at dumb things, challenging each other to stupid games on long summer afternoons.

But the moments keep building like when he reaches across the table to grab something and his fingers graze the back of your hand, leaving a warmth that lingers far longer than it should. Or when you catch him staring at you when you’re talking, and his expression shifts just a fraction of something unreadable there for a brief second before he masks it with a grin.

And then there are those times when the air feels too quiet. Like when you’re lying next to each other on the grass, watching the stars, and the silence stretches between you two in a way it never has before. It’s not comfortable anymore, this space. It’s heavy.

You’re 14 when you notice it for real. You’re both sitting on the dock, summer sun dipping low behind the trees, casting everything in a golden haze. Jack’s freshly showered from practice, hair still damp, the scent of soap and fresh air clinging to him. You’re half listening to him ramble on about a play he’s been trying to perfect, his words weaving in and out of the soft, distant hum of the lake’s waves against the dock.

But something in the air is different. It feels thicker. The kind of tension you get when you can’t tell whether the storm is coming, or if it’s already here and you’re just waiting for it to break. You can feel the weight of the evening sun on your skin, but your heart feels heavy, like it’s pounding against your ribs, a rhythm you’re trying to ignore.

“You’re not even listening,” he accuses, nudging you with his knee, and you startle, realizing you haven’t heard a word he’s said for the last few minutes.

“I’m listening,” you argue, even though you weren’t.

Jack raises an eyebrow, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “No, you’re not. You’ve been all quiet. What's up with you?”

You scoff, trying to brush it off. “Me? You’re the one who’s weird,” you tease, attempting to lighten the mood, but your words feel hollow, even to you.

He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he studies you, his expression more serious than usual. His gaze shifts from your face to your hands, and then back to your eyes like he’s trying to figure something out that you aren’t even aware of.

“Yeah, maybe.” He shrugs, leaning back on his elbows, staring out across the lake with a far-off look in his eyes. “Or maybe it’s just us.”

The words hang in the air heavy with meaning you don’t fully understand. You freeze trying to process what he’s said. It isn’t just the words, it's the way he said them. The tone in his voice is softer than usual almost uncertain. There’s something fragile in his eyes, like he’s letting a piece of himself slip past you hoping you’ll catch it, but not quite trusting you to. You don’t know how to respond.

You try to shake off the discomfort. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jack glances at you, his lips quivering at the edges, but there’s a heaviness in his gaze now. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “Just growing up.” He pauses, his voice quieter now almost too soft for the space between you two. He looks at you then, really looks at you his eyes searching for something in yours like he’s asking a question that doesn’t have an easy answer. Something you’re not ready to answer not sure you even can.

You want to say something to reach out and close that space but you can’t find the words. Everything that’s been building between you two feels like it’s teetering on the edge of something unspoken. And the closer Jack gets to this new world he’s creating for himself this future that’s already starting to pull him away from you the more it feels like you’re both standing on the precipice of it.

You don’t have an answer, so you reach over and grab his hand. It’s instinctual, a reflex more than anything else. His fingers slide easily between yours, like they’ve always belonged there. It’s familiar, comforting even. But there’s something different in the way he holds your hand this time. He doesn’t let go immediately like he always does. He holds on for just a moment longer, and in that brief pause, the weight of it hits you.

His gaze drops to your joined hands, and you see a flicker in his eyes something unreadable, maybe even a little vulnerable before he looks back up at you. The quiet between you two stretches longer than it should, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the summer air, or because of the uncertainty that’s silently wrapping itself around both of you.

“I think we’ll figure it out,” you say softly, trying to anchor this moment, even though the ground beneath you feels like it’s shifting.

Jack’s smile is small, unsure. It’s not his usual confident grin, but it’s there. Barely, but it’s there. He doesn’t let go of your hand. Not yet. 

You don’t know what “figuring it out” means, or if you even can figure it out. All you know is that in this moment, with the sun setting behind the trees and the sound of water lapping against the dock beneath you, everything feels poised on the edge of something you don’t understand.

But you’re scared that the moment you try to reach for it, Jack might pull away.

⟡

It’s late, the fire has burned down to a few glowing embers, and the crickets are the only sound beside the occasional splash of water against the dock. You’re sitting with Jack, your legs hanging over the side, toes brushing the cool surface of the lake. The night is quiet, almost too quiet, and for the first time in a long time, there’s a distance between you that wasn’t there before.

Jack’s usually carefree, his humor quick, his energy contagious. But tonight, he’s different. He’s quieter, eyes lost somewhere beyond the horizon. You’ve known him long enough to know when something’s off.

"Jack, you okay?" you ask, not pushing, just asking.

"Do you ever feel like things are changing?" His voice is low, almost hesitant, and you turn to look at him, your heart skipping a beat.

You nod slowly, sensing that this conversation is heading somewhere you’ve both been avoiding for too long. "Yeah, I’ve been feeling it." You pause, meeting his eyes, and for the first time, you really see him. His face, the way his eyes linger on you, the way his lips part like he’s about to say something more. It’s all so familiar, and yet, everything feels new. "It’s been hard to ignore."

Jack exhales sharply, as if he’s been holding his breath. He leans back, letting his head rest against the wood of the dock, looking up at the stars above. "I’ve been trying to figure it out. For a while now. What’s going on between us."

You swallow, the weight of his words settling in your chest. Your voice is barely a whisper when you respond. "What do you mean?"

Jack doesn’t look at you right away, but you see his jaw tense, like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he glances over at you, his gaze intense. "I think I’ve been avoiding it. The way things have felt. I’ve always known you meant a lot to me. But it’s more than that now. And I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it."

Your heart races. This isn’t just a fleeting moment, this is him, telling you exactly what you’ve been feeling. Your stomach flips as the words finally hit you.

"I’ve been feeling it too," you admit, your voice steady but your pulse thundering in your ears. "It’s different now, Jack. And I can’t pretend it’s not."

There’s a long silence between you two as the words settle in the space around you. You both know it’s out there now the truth that neither of you could avoid forever. The air feels thick, charged with everything you’ve been holding back.

Jack’s gaze softens as he turns fully toward you. He reaches out, his hand brushing against yours. "I’ve tried not to think about it, but it’s impossible," he admits, his thumb tracing along the back of your hand. "I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking of you as just my best friend. And now I don’t know how to go back."

You feel your breath catch in your throat. This is it. The thing you’ve both been dancing around for so long, the thing neither of you knew how to say. But now, here it is, raw and real.

"I don’t want to go back," you say, your voice soft but certain. "I’ve felt the same way, Jack. For a while now."

"You know, I keep thinking back to when we were kids," he says quietly, almost as if he’s talking to himself. "Back when things were simpler. We used to hang out, play hockey, talk about everything and nothing. I always thought that was enough."

You smile, remembering those simpler times. "It was enough. It still is."

Jack laughs under his breath, but there’s something different in it. "Yeah. But now... I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about how things feel between us lately. And I don’t know how to handle it."

Your heart picks up a little pace, and you look at him, feeling a shift in the air between you two. It’s subtle, but it's there. His eyes are locked on you now, and the usual teasing glint is gone.

"I think I’ve known for a while," you admit, voice barely above a whisper. "That things have changed. That maybe… we’ve changed."

Jack’s gaze softens, and for a second, everything feels like it’s falling into place, like the puzzle pieces are finally lining up. "I’ve been thinking about it too," he says, his voice low. "And I don’t know if I’m ready for this to be weird between us. I don’t want it to be weird."

Your stomach flips at the vulnerability in his voice. "I don’t think it has to be. It doesn’t have to be weird, Jack."

He looks at you for a long moment, and you can tell he’s weighing his next words carefully. He reaches over, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and that simple touch feels like the universe’s nudge, reminding you that things have always been easy with him. There’s no pretending with Jack. There’s never been any pretending.

"I guess we’ve always been able to figure things out," Jack says, his voice steady now. "And maybe this is just… one of those times."

You nod, your chest tight as you try to put into words what you’ve been feeling for so long. But nothing really needs to be said. This moment, this quiet understanding between you two, is enough.

Jack leans in just a little, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, but not enough to cross the final line. His gaze flickers between your eyes, lingering on your lips before returning to your eyes again, as if he’s waiting for something. The space between you both seems impossibly small, charged with everything that’s unsaid.

You can’t deny it anymore the way your heart races in your chest, the way your breath feels shallow, as if you’ve been holding it in all this time. This moment, this change between you, feels like it could either break everything or put it all back together.

His hand hovers just inches from yours, like he’s unsure whether to close the distance, like he’s waiting for you to decide. The air is thick with the weight of it. You’ve both danced around this for so long, carefully, quietly, but now it feels like everything is teetering on the edge. One move, one step, and it’ll change everything.

“You’re not nervous, are you?” Jack’s voice is almost a whisper, his usual teasing gone. There’s something softer in the way he says it, like he’s genuinely asking, genuinely uncertain for the first time.

You laugh quietly, but it doesn’t feel like the teasing kind of laugh you’re used to. It’s shaky, full of nerves. “No... Just a little confused, I guess. Not sure if this is all too much.”

Jack shifts closer, and his hand brushes against yours, the lightest touch that sends a jolt through you. It’s a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes. He doesn’t look away now, and neither do you. His breath is slow, steady, and in the stillness, you hear his heart beating in time with yours.

“I’m not sure either,” he admits, his voice low. “But I think I’ve known for a while… I don’t think we can keep pretending things are the same. I can’t. And I’m not sure what will happen next, but I know I don’t want to screw it up.”

You swallow, your own uncertainty mirrored in his eyes. Everything that’s been left unsaid finally hangs in the air between you two, heavy and undeniable. The fear of what could change, of what could be lost, and the quiet hope that maybe just maybe it could work.

"Jack…” You start to say something, anything, but the words stick in your throat. You want to say that you’ve been feeling it too, that you’re terrified of losing this, of messing it all up. But the weight of it all is too much. So instead, you just shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the uncertainty in your chest. “I don’t know what happens next either.”

You hold his gaze for a beat longer, everything inside you pulling toward him, wanting to close the space between you both. And with that final breath, that quiet understanding, you realize it doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t have to be figured out right now.

You lean in the rest of the way, tilting your head slightly, and then Jack’s lips meet yours.

It’s nothing like you expected. It’s soft, hesitant at first, like you both are testing the waters. But it’s real. And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re finally on the same page. It’s not about the future or the fear of change it’s just about right now, and the way everything feels when it’s just the two of you.

When you pull away, there’s a breathless pause, but it’s not awkward. It’s not forced. It’s just you, and him, and everything that’s been building between you finally making sense.

Jack’s forehead rests gently against yours. His eyes are still closed, and there’s a quiet smile playing on his lips. “I think I could get used to this,” he says, voice low, almost like he’s speaking to himself.

You let out a soft laugh, the tension between you both easing, and for the first time, it feels like you don’t need to say anything more. You both know. It’s not perfect, it’s not figured out yet but it’s real, and maybe that’s enough for now.

⟡

It’s almost midnight when your phone buzzes on your nightstand. You’re half asleep, barely registering the sound until it buzzes again. You squint at the screen, the glow too harsh in the dark room. It’s a text from Jack. “are you up?” 

You rub your eyes and sit up the sleepiness fading as you type back. “yeah, what’s up? Are you okay?its midnight.” The dots appear and disappear. Then nothing. You frown, already knowing where this is going. “ want me to come over?” This time, the dots stay. “You don’t have too, just want to talk to you.”

You slip out of bed, grabbing a sweatshirt and slipping on your shoes without even thinking about it. Your house is quiet as you head out the back door and cut across the yard. Jack’s house is familiar, the kind of place you could walk to blindfolded. The back door is unlocked like it always is.

You find him on the couch, the TV on low, playing some old hockey highlights. His head is tipped back against the cushion but his eyes are open dark circles shadowing his face. He looks up when he hears you, his expression softening in a way that makes your heart ache a little.

“You didn’t have to come,” Jack says, sitting up.

“You knew I would,” you reply, kicking off your shoes and sitting down beside him. Your knee bumps against his. He’s in sweats and an old usa hockey hoodie, and his hair’s still damp from a shower. He looks tired.

Jack doesn’t say anything for a long time. His eyes stay on the screen, but you can tell he’s not really watching. The hum of the commentary blends into the background. You wait, not pushing you’ve always known how to give him space when he needs it.

“I can’t sleep,” he says finally, voice low. His knee bounces restlessly. “I keep thinking about the combine.”

You lean back against the couch, watching the screen as a highlight reel of some playoff game flickers by. “What about it?”

Jack sighs. “Everything. The tests. The interviews. The scouts. If I screw up, it’s going to be everywhere.” His hand runs through his hair, leaving it messy. “I mean, I’ve trained for this my whole life, right? But now that it’s actually here I don’t know.”

“You’re not going to screw up,” you say softly.

Jack lets out a hollow laugh. “Yeah? What if I do?”

You nudge his leg with your foot. “You won’t. But even if you did it wouldn’t change anything. Not with me.”

Jack’s eyes flick toward you, guarded but searching. He’s quiet for a beat. Then, so quietly you almost don’t catch it, “It’d change everything else.”

You shift toward him, turning so your knee presses more firmly against his. “Jack, you’ve worked your ass off for this. One bad day at the combine isn’t going to erase years of training and games and scouts already knowing you’re good enough.”

Jack’s jaw tightens, his eyes falling to his hands. His thumb rubs absently along the inside of his palm. “Yeah, but what if I’m not enough?”

You don’t hesitate. You reach over, lacing your fingers through his. His hand is warm, his skin rough from years of hockey sticks and gloves. He tenses for half a second, then relaxes into the touch.

“You’re enough,” you say, quiet but steady. “You’ve always been enough, Jack. Even if you didn’t have hockey.”

Jack’s eyes lift to meet yours, wide and a little raw. His thumb grazes the side of your hand, slow and deliberate.

“You really believe that?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Jack’s mouth curves into the smallest smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s something. His gaze drops back to the screen, though his hand stays in yours, his thumb running over your knuckles.

For a while, neither of you speak. The silence isn’t uncomfortable it’s the kind of quiet that feels like home. Jack’s breathing evens out, his knee resting against yours. The highlights on the screen blur together.

“Stay?” Jack asks after a long moment. His voice is quiet, almost hesitant.

You squeeze his hand. “Yeah.”

Jack shifts, leaning back against the couch. You lean into him, letting your head rest against his shoulder. His hand stays tangled with yours, his thumb brushing back and forth along your knuckles in a steady rhythm. Slowly, the tension in his body eases.

“Thanks,” Jack murmurs. His head tips toward yours, his breath warm against your hair.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you say, eyes drifting shut. “Just remember this. When it gets hard, when the pressure’s too much, remember you don’t have to do it alone.”

Jack’s hand tightens around yours, his breath catching for half a second. Then he relaxes.

“I’ll remember,” he promises, voice low and sure.

You smile, your heart steady now as you let the sound of his breathing and the flicker of the TV lull you toward sleep. You know there’s still a long road ahead, the combine, the draft, Jack’s rookie year  but for now, this is enough.

It’s late afternoon when you find Jack on the ice, alone.

The rink is almost empty and quite the kind of quiet that makes the sound of skates cutting into the ice seem louder. Jack’s in a plain grey hoodie, a puck sliding back and forth between his stick blade as he moves through the neutral zone. His head is down, shoulders tense, and even from the stands, you can tell he’s overthinking it. His movements are sharp, almost mechanical like he’s trying too hard to be perfect.

You sit down on the bleachers, the cold from the rink seeping through your jeans. Jack’s been like this all week quiet, short answers, disappearing for extra hours at the rink. You didn’t have to ask why. The NHL Combine is in two weeks. The pressure’s been building, and Jack’s not the type to admit when it’s too much.

A sharp slap of the puck against the glass pulls you from your thoughts. Jack’s skating toward the blue line, his stick dragging behind him as he breathes heavily, a little unsteady. He circles back toward center ice, but his stride falters slightly just enough for you to notice.

“You’re overthinking it,” you call out, standing.

Jack glances up, his expression closed off but his eyes soften when he sees you. He coasts toward the boards, resting his forearms against the top. His breath comes out in sharp clouds of condensation.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says but there’s no bite to his words.

You shrug. “Figured you’d need moral support.”

Jack huffs a soft laugh but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His gaze drops to the ice. “Not really playing like someone who deserves it.”

You step closer, your hands resting on the edge of the boards. “Jack, you’re allowed to have a bad practice.”

Jack shakes his head. “Not now. Not this close.” His hands flex around his stick. “I can’t screw this up.”

“You won’t.”

Jack’s eyes flick toward you. There’s something guarded in his expression the same look he gets when he’s trying not to show how much it’s getting to him. His eyes are dark under the shadows of his helmet.

“You don’t know that,” he says quietly.

You swallow, searching for the right words. “Yeah, I do.”

Jack exhales sharply, his gaze drifting to the ice. He’s quiet for a long time before he speaks again, his voice low. “What if I’m not good enough?”

Your chest tightens at the vulnerability in his voice. He’s always been confident, cocky, even but this is different. This is the fear he doesn’t let other people see.

You rest your hand over his where it grips the top of the boards. His fingers twitch beneath yours, but he doesn’t pull away. “Jack” Your voice softens. “You’ve been working for this since you were a kid. One bad practice isn’t going to change the fact that you belong there.”

Jack’s mouth pulls into a thin line. His eyes stay locked on the ice.

“You know that, right?” you press.

Jack’s jaw tenses. He exhales through his nose and finally meets your eyes. “Yeah. I know.” But his voice is tight, like he’s still trying to convince himself.

You squeeze his hand lightly. “Come on. Take the helmet off. Let’s reset.”

Jack hesitates for a second before unbuckling his chin strap. His hair falls into messy waves as he pulls the helmet off, and you smile despite yourself.

“There’s the Jack I know,” you say softly.

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner, the smallest hint of a smile breaking through the tension in his face. He sets the helmet down on the boards and rests his forehead against the glass, his eyes closed for a long moment. His breath fogs up the glass in front of him.

“Why are you so calm about this?” Jack murmurs.

You smile, even though he can’t see it. “Because I know you. And I know you’re going to be fine.”

Jack’s eyes open. He tilts his head toward you, his cheek pressed against the glass. His gaze lingers on you longer than it probably should. His expression softens, his mouth curving into something more familiar less guarded.

“You always know what to say,” Jack says quietly.

You shrug. “It’s part of the job description.”

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner. He leans back from the glass, turning toward you. “And what job is that?”

“girlfriend” you say lightly, even though the words feel heavier than they should.

Jack’s gaze drops to your mouth for half a second before he catches himself. shaking his head slightly. “You’ve been overpaid.”

You laugh. “I don’t know. Pretty sure I’ve earned it.”

Jack’s hand slides from the boards, brushing against yours as he steps back onto the ice. The contact is brief a split second  but it’s enough to make your breath hitch.

He skates backward, his eyes never leaving yours. “Stay?”

You smile. “Always.”

Jack nods, his jaw unclenching slightly. His shoulders relax as he turns and skates toward the far side of the ice. He moves differently now, smoother, looser. It’s not perfect, but it’s him.

⟡

Jack’s in Buffalo for the Combine. He’d been gone for almost a week now, thrown into a blur of interviews, medical tests, and physical evaluations. You’d been following the coverage clips of him flashing across social media, a quick shot of him stepping into the arena or walking down a hallway with other top prospects. He looked calm on the surface, but you knew better.  The absence of him is starting to feel like a hollow ache beneath your ribs. You’ve talked to him every day, quick texts in the morning, rushed calls at night  but it’s not the same as having him there next to you. He’s exhausted you can tell even through the phone but he’s not the type to admit when it’s too much.

You’re half asleep when your phone buzzes on the nightstand. It takes you a second to realize what’s happening, the glow from the screen sharp against the dark. You blink, rubbing your eyes as you reach for it for the sixth time this week knowing it was a text from Jack “are you awake?”

You sit up, sleep slipping away as you type back. “yeah. What's wrong? it’s late.” The typing bubbles appear, then disappear. Then nothing. You frown, already feeling the tightness in your chest. “want me to call?” A pause. “I just need to hear your voice.” Jack replied. 

You hit the call button without even looking at his message. Jack answers on the second ring. “Hey,” you say softly. “Hey,” Jack’s voice is rough, low. He sounds tired.

“Did you just finish?”

“Yeah.” He exhales sharply. “Got back to my room like five minutes ago.”

“What happened?”

Jack lets out a humorless laugh. “Where do I start?” His voice is tight, and you picture the way he probably looks right now sprawled out on the hotel bed, arm draped over his eyes. “The bike test was brutal. My legs were shaking so bad I thought I was going to fall off.”

You wince. “That bad?”

“They crank up the resistance until you physically can’t pedal anymore,” Jack says. “I could barely stand afterward.” Your chest tightens. “Jack” he cuts you off. “And the VO2 max test?” Jack groans. “I thought I was gonna puke. I was seeing spots by the end.” You frown. “Did anyone else struggle that much?”

“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be better than that.” His voice sharpens. “I can’t afford to screw this up.”

“You didn’t,” you say quickly. “You weren’t there,” Jack says, his tone edged with something close to frustration. But then his breath catches, and his voice softens. “Sorry. I didn’t mean”

“It’s okay,” you interrupt gently. “What else happened?” Jack sighs. “Wingate test. They make you sprint all out on the bike for 30 seconds. My legs were already toast, so I tanked it.”

“Jack” you say once again, getting cut off “And the long jump?” He laughs under his breath, but there’s no humor in it. “I swear I’ve never jumped that short in my life.”

“Did Quinn do better?” you ask carefully. “Of course he did,” Jack mutters. “The scouts loved him.” Your heart aches at the sharpness in his tone. You know how much Jack admires Quinn, but that admiration is tangled up with the constant pressure to keep up.

“And then,” Jack’s voice lowers, frustration leaking through, “they threw me into interviews while I could barely breathe. One scout asked if I thought I deserved to go first overall.” Your mouth tightens. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Another one asked if I think I’m better than Quinn.” You sit up straighter. “What the hell?” Jack mutters “I didn’t even know what to say,” His voice is low and tight. “I think I screwed it up.”

“You didn’t,” you say firmly. Jack doesn’t respond right away. You hear the rustling of sheets, the muffled sound of the TV in the background probably an old hockey game. “I don’t know,” Jack murmurs. “I need to be better.”

“Jack.” Your voice softens. “You’ve done enough. You’ve been working for this since you were a kid. You’re too hard on yourself” Jack’s quiet for a moment. Then, so soft you almost miss it “What if it’s not enough?” Your chest tightens. This is the fear he doesn’t let other people see.

“Hey,” you say softly. “Close your eyes.” Jack’s quiet for a second. “What?” 

“Just trust me.” 

A long breath. “Okay.”

“You’re on the ice,” you say. “Just you. The rink’s empty.” Jack’s breath steadies. “You’ve got the puck,” you continue. “Skating down center ice. No pressure, no scouts, no cameras. Just you.”Jack hums quietly, like he can almost see it.“You make the shot,” you say. “Bar down. Clean.” Jack exhales. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “And you don’t even need to look, because you already know it’s in.”There’s a long stretch of quiet on the other end of the line. Then, so soft you almost miss it “I wish you were here.”

“I know,” you whisper, throat tightening. “Me too.” Jack sighs, and you hear the rustling of sheets as he shifts. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’re not going to find out,” you say, trying to sound light, but it comes out more fragile than you mean it to. Jack’s quiet for a long time. You think he might have fallen asleep until you hear him murmur, “You’re the only thing keeping me sane right now.” You press the phone closer to your ear, even though it won’t bring him any closer. “You’ve got this,” you whisper. “You’re going to be fine.”

Jack breathes out, low and even. “Stay on the phone with me?”

“Yeah,” you say, curling into your pillow. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jack’s quiet for a while after that, but you don’t hang up. You stay there, listening to the sound of his breathing as it evens out, until the line finally goes quiet and you know he’s asleep. You don’t hang up. Not yet.

⟡

Jack’s been quiet all morning. His usual easy smile is nowhere to be found, replaced by a tight line of tension in his jaw. He’s been bouncing his knee relentlessly, his leg jittering under the table during breakfast at the hotel. He barely touched his food, pushing scrambled eggs around his plate until Quinn took it away and told him to stop torturing it. Now, he’s sitting next to you on the edge of the bed, his head tipped back against the wall, his fingers tapping absently against his knee. The hotel room is bright from the mid-morning sun filtering through the sheer curtains, but it feels too quiet  too still  like the entire day is holding its breath.

Jack’s name has been everywhere since the Combine. Every hockey account, every sports network, every mock draft all saying the same thing. First overall. Franchise player. Generational talent. He should be used to it by now, but it feels different this time. Closer. Like the weight of it all is pressing down on his chest. And you feel it too, even from miles away. You saw it during the Combine  the way he tensed when people mentioned the draft, how he downplayed his scores and his interviews even when you knew he’d crushed them. Jack’s always been good at brushing things off, but this feels different. Bigger. Like it’s not just about hockey anymore. It’s about living up to something.

The draft isn’t until later tonight, but the weight of it is already pressing down. Jack’s been working toward this moment his whole life, the moment his name is called, the moment his future in the NHL becomes real and now that it’s finally here, it’s like he can’t figure out how to breathe through it.

You shift closer until your knee bumps his. “You’re thinking too hard.”

Jack’s eyes slide toward you, dark under the shadows of his lashes. He huffs out a breath. “How am I supposed to not think about it?” His voice is quiet, frayed at the edges.

You reach for his hand, your fingers slipping between his. He’s warm always is, but his hand is stiff, tense. “I don’t know. Maybe stop overthinking it.”

Jack lets out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing along your knuckles. His gaze drifts toward the window, but you can tell he’s not really seeing it. His mind is already at Rogers Arena, already running through every possible outcome. He’s been carrying the weight of this for months the expectations, the pressure, the comparisons to Quinn, to his dad and you know it’s only gotten heavier.

“Jack.” You squeeze his hand. He doesn’t look at you right away, but when he does, his eyes are wide, a little raw around the edges. You offer him a small smile. “You’ve got this.”

Jack’s mouth twitches like he wants to smile back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “And what if I don’t?”

“You will.” You don’t hesitate, don’t even think about it. You just know. Jack’s been skating since before he could walk. He’s trained for this put in the work, put in the hours. He’s ready. Even if he can’t see it right now.

Jack’s gaze stays on you, his brow furrowing slightly. His hand tightens around yours. “I’m scared,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shift closer until your shoulder presses against his. “That’s normal.”

Jack’s eyes darken. “What if I’m not good enough?”

“You are.”

Jack swallows hard, his jaw working. He looks away, his throat bobbing as he tries to steady his breathing. You can feel the tension radiating off of him, the way his chest rises and falls too quickly. His thumb rubs absently against the back of your hand.

You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” you say softly. “Even if you don’t go first. Even if it doesn’t go the way you expect  you’ll still have hockey. You’ll still have me.”

Jack’s breath stutters. He turns his head slightly, his cheek brushing against your hair. “You mean that?”

You lift your head and meet his gaze. “Of course I do.”

Jack’s hand slides from your hand to your knee, his fingers curling around it like he’s grounding himself there. His eyes search yours, and for a moment, it feels like the weight of the room shifts. The nerves are still there, the pressure, the uncertainty but some of the tension in his face softens. His eyes flick toward your mouth, then back to your eyes. He exhales slowly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” you say, just as softly.

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. “Promise?”

You smile, your hand lifting to his jaw. “Promise.”

Jack lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes for a moment, his hand tightening on your knee. The quiet settles around you both, not the heavy kind, not the tense kind  just quiet.

“Jack?” Quinn’s voice breaks the silence, followed by a knock at the door. “We’ve gotta go soon.”

Jack sighs. He lifts his head, his eyes lingering on you for a second longer before he pulls away. “Yeah, okay.”

Jack stands, adjusting his shirt and brushing his hands down his pants. His gaze flicks toward you, hesitant. “You’re coming with us, right?”

You stand too, straightening his collar. “Obviously.”

Jack’s mouth curves into something close to a real smile, small but genuine. He takes your hand again, linking your fingers as he leads you toward the door.

The car ride to Rogers Arena is quiet. Jack sits next to you in the backseat, his knee bouncing, his fingers tapping against his thigh. He’s wearing a fitted suit, his hair styled but still a little messy at the top. You can tell he’s trying not to overthink it, but the tension in his jaw gives him away.

Quinn and Luke sit in the back of the car, phone in their hand, scrolling through Twitter. The whole car feels charged, the anticipation building the closer you get to the arena. When you pull up, Jack hesitates for half a second before stepping out. His hand brushes against yours as you follow him out of the car.

Inside, the energy is palpable. The arena is packed with media, fans, scouts, the low hum of conversations mixing with the occasional burst of camera flashes. Jack tugs at the cuff of his jacket, his mouth pulling into a thin line. His eyes flick toward you.

You slip your hand into his, squeezing gently. “Deep breath,” you say.

Jack’s jaw relaxes slightly. He squeezes your hand back. His eyes linger on you for a beat before he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

Quinn steps up behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got this”

Jack’s mouth twitches. He looks toward the draft stage, toward the rows of seats, the cameras, the scouts and then back at you. His hand tightens around yours.

“You’re with me, right?” Jack asks quietly.

You smile. “Always.”

Jack breathes out. And this time, when he looks toward the stage, the tension in his jaw fades just a little.

Jack’s heart is hammering. It’s too loud in here the buzz of conversation, the hum of the arena speakers, the occasional burst of laughter from a family. His suit jacket feels too tight across his shoulders, his tie choking him a little more with each second that passes. His name has been circling the draft floor for months, repeated on every broadcast and in every article first overall, franchise player, generational talent  but none of it feels real right now. It feels heavy. Like the weight of the entire league is resting on his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs.

He shifts in his seat, his hand resting against his thigh, and feels your fingers slip between his. His head turns toward you automatically. You’re sitting beside him, close enough that your knee is pressed against his. Your hand is steady, your thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles. He doesn’t realize how hard he’s gripping you until you adjust your hand slightly, your grip soft but certain.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, low enough that only he can hear. Jack breathes out shakily. “Am I?” You smile soft, sure. “Yeah. You are.”

Jack’s gaze drops to the floor, his thumb smoothing over the inside of your wrist. He can feel the pulse there, steady beneath his touch. His heart’s not steady. It’s racing. He doesn’t know if it’ll settle until this is over until he hears his name.

Quinn is watching him. He’s sitting straight in his chair, hands resting on his thighs, but his eyes are soft when they meet Jack’s. “You’ve got this,” Quinn says quietly. Jack’s mouth twitches. He starts to nod, but then Luke leans across from Quinn. 

“Yeah,” Luke adds, his grin lopsided, a little nervous but bright. “And if you don’t, you can always blame it on Quinn.”

Quinn rolls his eyes. 

Jack huffs a soft laugh, but it fades quickly. His gaze shifts toward the stage, where the Devils’ management team is already gathering. The nerves coil tighter in his chest. His hand tightens around yours.

“You’re with me, right?” Jack asks quietly. 

You don’t even hesitate. “Always.”

Jack’s eyes soften, some of the tension fading from his expression. He breathes out and shifts closer, his knee pressing into yours beneath the table. He doesn’t have time to say anything else before the commissioner steps up to the microphone.

Jack’s stomach drops. The noise in the arena swells as the camera swings toward the Devils’ table. The commissioner is still talking, but Jack barely hears it over the blood rushing in his ears. His legs feel locked beneath the table. His chest is tight.

“And with the first overall pick, the New Jersey Devils are proud to select from the US National Team Development Program… Jack Hughes.”

Your hand squeezes his.

Jack exhales. He stands on shaky legs as Quinn claps him on the back, Luke grinning wide as he jumps up to hug him. “Dude!” Luke laughs, his arms tight around Jack’s waist. Quinn pulls them both in, his head knocking against Jack’s shoulder. Jack’s laugh comes out a little breathless.

“Go get your jersey,” Quinn says, his voice thick with pride.

Jack’s hand is still locked with yours as he turns toward you. His expression is soft, his eyes dark and bright all at once. “You’re coming with me after this, right?”

You smile. “Try and stop me.”

Jack hesitates for half a second, then leans in. He kisses you quickly  just a press of his lips against your cheek  but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. His thumb brushes over your knuckles once more before he finally lets go and steps away.

Jack walks toward the stage, his heart still pounding but his legs moving steady beneath him. He can feel Quinn and Luke’s eyes on him, your smile burned into the back of his mind. He shakes hands with the commissioner, pulls on the Devils jersey, and lifts the hat onto his head. Cameras flash. The noise swells. His chest is tight again  but this time, it’s not nerves. It’s something else. Something warmer.

He looks back toward the floor, toward the row of seats where Quinn, Luke, and you are sitting. You’re still watching him. Your hand rests against your heart. Quinn’s arms are crossed, smiling like he knew this would happen all along. Luke is grinning wide, already pointing toward the Devils logo on Jack’s chest.

Jack breathes out. And this time, he smiles.

After the photos and the handshakes, Jack ushered toward the media pit. Questions are thrown at him from every angle about expectations, about his future with the Devils, about being a franchise player. He answers them as best as he can, his gaze flicking toward the crowd every so often, searching for you. When it’s over, the team staff directs him toward the tunnel, and he barely makes it a few steps before he hears someone yell his name.

“Jack!”

He turns just in time to see you barreling toward him, arms outstretched. Jack’s barely able to brace himself before you crash into his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms come up automatically, locking around your waist. You’re laughing and crying at the same time, your face buried in his shoulder. Jack breathes out, his chin resting on top of your head.

“You did it,” you whisper.

Jack’s arms tighten around you. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You could’ve,” you mumble, pulling back enough to look at him. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

Jack’s gaze drops to your mouth. His hands settle at your waist, his thumbs brushing lightly over the hem of your sweater. His chest is still pounding, but this feels steadier somehow. Grounding.

“Hey,” Quinn’s voice cuts in. Jack glances up to see Quinn and Luke standing nearby, Luke practically vibrating with excitement. Quinn’s got that proud but pretending to be casual look on his face.

Luke steps forward first, grinning. “Dude! First overall!” He throws his arms around Jack’s waist, nearly knocking him over. Jack laughs, ruffling Luke’s hair.

“Couldn’t have done it without you either,” Jack says.

Luke pulls back, his smile wide. Quinn rolls his eyes, but his smile doesn’t fade. “Congrats, Jack.” He steps in, pulling Jack into a one armed hug and clapping him on the back. “Knew you had it in you.”

Jack’s throat feels tight. He pulls back and looks between Quinn, Luke, and you. His family. His people. His hand finds yours again, his fingers threading through yours like it’s instinct. Your gaze softens, and Jack feels his heartbeat finally settle.

“Come on,” Quinn says, nodding toward the tunnel. “Let’s go celebrate.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Let’s go.”

⟡

It’s been a whirlwind since the draft. Jack signed his contract with the Devils two weeks ago, and now he’s leaving to New Jersey for rookie camp. Jack’s flight to New Jersey is early. Too early. You’re still wrapped in blankets on the couch when he stands in the doorway, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His Devils hat is pulled low over his eyes, casting a shadow across his face. His mouth pulls into a thin line as he looks at you, hesitation flickering in his eyes.

“I should get going,” Jack says quietly.

You push yourself up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you cross the room toward him. “Are you sure you have everything?”

Jack nods, but his gaze stays on the floor. His hand tightens around the strap of his bag. “Yeah.”

You hesitate for half a second before stepping closer. Your arms wrap around his waist, and Jack exhales sharply as he melts into you. His chin rests on top of your head, and his heartbeat thrums against your cheek.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you murmur.

Jack’s hand slides up your back. “It’s not like we’ve never done long distance before.”

“Yeah, but” You trail off, the words sticking in your throat. It feels different this time. You pull back, your hands lingering on the hem of his hoodie. “Just don’t forget about me when you’re a big NHL star.”

Jack’s mouth twitches. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

Jack’s eyes soften. He leans down, brushing his nose against yours. “I do.”

You smile, even though your chest feels tight. Jack kisses you softly with a lingering brush of lips  and then pulls back too soon. His hand stays on your waist for an extra second before he steps away, his expression shifting into something steadier, more composed.

“Call me when you land?” you ask.

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner. “Always.”

You walk him to the door, watching as he disappears down the driveway and into the early morning light. Your chest feels hollow by the time his car pulls away. The silence that follows is heavier than you expect.

You try to keep busy over the next week  spending time with friends, picking up extra shifts but it’s hard to ignore how quiet it feels without Jack around. He calls every night, though, and you fall into a familiar rhythm. Jack fills you in on the details of rookie camp, the fitness tests, the long practices, and the media. He tells you about the other guys, how Nico seems nice, how Bratt’s already chirping at him like they’ve known each other for years. He tells you how much faster the game feels, how much stronger the guys are. You can hear it in his voice, the strain beneath his usual confidence.

“Hard day?” you ask one night, curled up in bed with your phone pressed to your ear.

Jack sighs. “Yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Jack’s quiet for a long moment. “I just don't know. I feel like I’m playing catch up. Like everyone’s two steps ahead.”

“You’ve barely been there for a few days, Jack.”

“I know,” Jack says. “But it’s not supposed to feel this hard.”

“You put too much pressure on yourself.” Jack huffs a soft laugh, but there’s no real humor in it. “It’s kinda hard not to.” You’re quiet for a beat. Then, “You’re not gonna figure it out overnight.”

“I know.”

“But you’ll figure it out. You always do.” Jack doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, quietly, “I hope you’re right.” You close your eyes. “I always am.” Jack’s breath crackles over the line. “Can I call you tomorrow?”

“You don’t have to ask.”

Jack’s quiet for another moment. “I love you and I miss you .”

Your heart clenches. “I miss and love you too.”

Jack sighs softly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jack.”

You keep the phone pressed to your ear until the line goes quiet.

Jack calls you after his full day of rookie camp, his voice low and tired through the phone. He sounds exhausted, more than you expected. You’re sitting on the floor of your bedroom, your knees pulled to your chest, the phone pressed to your ear. 

“Hey,” Jack says, his voice scratchy. “Hey,” you say softly. “How was it?” Jack exhales a sharp breath. “Brutal.”  

“What happened?”  

“Fitness testing.” Jack huffs a soft, humorless laugh. “Like the Combine but worse.”  You sit up a little straighter. “Worse?”  

“Longer. Harder.” Jack’s voice dips lower. “I thought I was ready for it, but I don’t know.” He sounds frustrated, and that’s what gets you. Jack rarely admits when something’s hard. 

“You’re gonna be fine,” you say quietly.  “I don’t know,” Jack says again. “It’s not just the testing. The practices everyone’s so fast. So strong. I’m trying to keep up, but it feels like I’m a step behind.”  

You can almost picture him  sprawled across his bed, running a hand through his hair the way he does when he’s stressed. Your chest tightens. “You’ve been there for what five days?”  

“ a week.”  

“A week” you repeat. “Jack, you need to give yourself some time.”  

“I don’t have time,” Jack says. His voice sharpens, the frustration cracking through. “This is the NHL. Everyone’s watching.” 

You know that’s true you’ve seen the articles, the highlight reels on social media. It’s a lot for anyone especially for Jack, who’s always carried the weight of expectation like it’s part of his DNA.  

“Hey,” you say softly. “You don’t have to figure everything out right away. This isn’t going to be easy it’s not supposed to be. But you wouldn’t be there if you couldn’t handle it.”  

Jack’s quiet for a long moment. Then, barely above a whisper: “I don’t know if I can.” You close your eyes, your heart tightening. “Jack.” 

“I’m serious,” Jack says. His voice cracks a little at the edges. “What if I’m not as good as everyone thinks I am?”  

“You are,” you say immediately. “Jack, you’ve been working toward this your whole life. You belong there.”  

“Do I?” 

“Yes,” you say. “And if you can’t believe that yet let me believe it for you.”  Jack doesn’t answer right away. His breath crackles over the line. “What would I do without you?”  You smile faintly, even though your chest aches. “You’d figure it out.”  

“Maybe,” Jack says. “But I’m glad I don’t have to.”  

Jack starts texting you more after that. Sometimes it’s a quick message in the morning on the ice or a random photo of his new locker with his nameplate above it. Sometimes it’s a rant about drills, or a chirp about one of the guys. Jesper seems to be his favorite target. 

Bratt tripped me in practice today. little rat  

What'd you do? you text back.  

chirped him about his hair  

You can’t help but smile. But there are harder messages too.  

Bag skate this morning. Thought I was going to pass out.  

Coach isn’t happy with me.  

Everyone’s so much stronger. 

You know Jack doesn’t say these things to anyone else. With the media, with his teammates he’s steady. Confident. But with you he lets the cracks show. And when he calls you late at night, his voice low and rough, you know that’s when he’s feeling it the most.  

One night, it’s past midnight when your phone buzzes on your nightstand. You’re half asleep, barely registering the sound until it buzzes again. You squint at the screen. Jack.  

“Hey,” you answer, your voice thick with sleep.  “Did I wake you?” Jack asks. “No,” you lie. “What’s wrong?”  

Jack sighs, and you can hear the tension in it. “Nothing.”  You wait. Jack’s quiet for so long you think maybe he’s about to hang up. Then he says, “I just needed to hear your voice.”  

You sit up, rubbing at your eyes. “Rough day?”  

Jack’s breath catches. “Yeah.” 

“What happened?”  

Jack’s quiet for another long moment. “Coach ripped into me.”  

You frown. “Why?”  

“Made a bad play during the scrimmage,” Jack says. “Got caught flat footed on the backcheck. Then I missed the net on a breakaway.” 

“That doesn’t sound like you.”  

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Jack says. His voice drops lower, almost shaky. “I’m trying. It’s just everything’s so much faster than I expected. I feel like I’m drowning.”  

“You’re not,” you say quietly. “You’re adjusting.”  

Jack’s breath hitches. “What if I don’t?”  

“You will.”  

Jack doesn’t answer for a long time. You hear rustling on the other end of the line, like he’s lying down. “I miss you,” he says finally.  

Your chest tightens. “I miss you too.”  

Jack’s voice gets softer. “Will you stay on the phone with me? Just for a little while?”  

You slide down beneath the covers, resting your head against the pillow. “Of course.”  

Jack breathes out. “Thanks.”  

You don’t say anything after that. Jack’s breathing evens out eventually, and you think he’s starting to fall asleep when you hear him murmur, barely audible “Love you.”  

You don’t know if he’s even awake enough to remember saying it. But your heart thuds painfully against your ribs.  

“I love you too,” you whisper.

⟡

Jack’s first game in the NHL is at home, and the crowd is louder than he expected. He steps onto the ice at Prudential Center, the Devils logo bright under the lights. The noise is deafening, the kind of sound that hits you square in the chest  and for a second it’s hard to breathe. His legs feel shaky as he skates through warmups, the ice cutting beneath his skates with every push. The energy is electric, but it’s not enough to drown out the knot in his chest. He knows everyone’s watching him, the first overall pick, the franchise’s future. He tries not to think about it but it’s impossible to ignore the weight of it.

You’re watching from Michigan. The game’s on TV in your room, your laptop balanced on your knees. Jack looks smaller on the screen somehow swallowed up by the bright lights and the size of the arena. He’s wearing number 86, and it still feels surreal seeing it on an NHL jersey. He’s buzzing with nerves  you can tell by the way he’s gripping his stick too tightly during warmups. He’s always done that when he’s nervous.

Jack texts you after warmups while the Zamboni is still clearing the ice. “Starting on the second line. My hands are shaking.”

You smile, already typing back. “You’ve got this. Just play your game.”

Jack’s response comes quickly. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“You won’t.” You pause before adding, “But maybe don’t sit next to Nico if you do.”

A minute passes before the dots appear again. “Not funny.”

“A little funny.”

Jack doesn’t respond, but the small, shaky smile he gives the camera when it passes by his bench tells you he saw it.

The game itself is rough. Jack looks fast, quick on his feet, but the Devils’ offense struggles to keep up. He gets knocked down hard in the first period, bouncing off the boards and coming up wincing. He pushes through it, but you can tell he’s frustrated the way he shakes his head after a shift, the way he skates to the bench with his head down. The Devils lose 4-1, and Jack finishes with a minus-two rating. His line gets hemmed in the defensive zone more than once, and even though it’s just one game, the postgame interviews are already talking about whether he can handle the league’s size and speed.

He calls you after the game, his voice flat. “That sucked.”

“You knew it wasn’t going to be easy,” you say softly.

“I didn’t think it would be this bad,” Jack mutters. He sighs, and you can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I was minus-two. Do you know how bad that is?”

“Jack”

“Everyone’s already talking about it,” he cuts you off. His voice tightens, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “I can’t screw this up” He trails off, his breath shaky.

“You’re not screwing anything up,” you say firmly. “It’s one game.”

“It’s not just one game.” Jack exhales through his nose, and you can hear the tension in it. “This is what I’ve been working toward my whole life. And what if I’m not good enough?”

You close your eyes, pressing your forehead to your hand. “Jack. You are good enough. You belong here.”

Jack’s quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he says eventually. But he doesn’t sound like he believes it.

The first few weeks are more of the same. Jack gets pushed around a lot, the physicality wearing on him. He’s getting hit hard, knocked off the puck more than he’s used to. He’s fast, but the guys he’s playing against are bigger, more experienced. He’s trying, you can see it but it’s not coming together the way he wants it to.

Your phone buzzes constantly after games. Jack’s name lights up the screen with texts “Minus-three. Fucking embarrassing.” “I can’t score.” “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

You try to reassure him, but the losses are piling up. The Devils are 0-4-2 to start the season, and Jack’s still scoreless. The media’s already running with it  headlines about whether he was overhyped, if he’s too small for the league. Jack tries to brush it off, but you know it’s getting to him.

It’s late one night when he calls you, his voice quiet. “I don’t know how to fix this.” You sit up in bed, clutching the phone to your ear. “You will.” 

Jack doesn’t say anything for a while. “I just” He sighs. “I miss you.”

Your chest tightens. “I miss you too.”

Jack’s breath hitches. “I hate it here,” he says quietly.

Your eyes burn. “I know.”

“I don’t know how to do this without you.”

“You’re not doing this without me,” you whisper.

Jack’s quiet for a long time. His breathing is steady in your ear. Eventually, he says, “I just want to come home.”

You close your eyes, swallowing down the ache in your chest. “I know,” you say softly. “But you can’t.”

Jack doesn’t answer, but you know he’s still there. After a while, his breathing evens out, and you realize he’s fallen asleep on the line. You stay there for a while, the phone pressed to your ear, listening to his quiet breathing.

Jack finally scores his first goal two weeks into the season, a breakaway against Vancouver. Quinn’s on the ice when it happens, and you see the way Quinn hugs him against the glass after the puck crosses the line. Jack looks lighter for a moment, his smile big and bright, but it fades quickly after the game ends. The Devils still lost 5-2.

He calls you that night, and he sounds more tired than happy. “It doesn’t matter if we keep losing,” Jack mutters.

“Yes, it does,” you say. “Jack, you scored. That’s huge.”

Jack sighs. “Yeah.” He’s quiet for a second before adding, “Quinn said you screamed when it went in.”

You laugh. “Maybe.”

Jack’s breath softens. “I miss you.”

Your heart squeezes. “I miss you too.”

Jack’s quiet for a long time before he says, “I don’t know how long I can keep doing this.”

You don’t know how to answer that. So you don’t.

⟡

Jack’s rookie season should’ve been exciting. It should’ve been everything he’s worked for. Instead, it’s November, and the Devils are on a six-game losing streak. Jack’s gone nine games without a goal, and the media’s not holding back. Every headline is brutal. Every post game interview is worse. He’s not smiling as much anymore. He’s quiet when you call, sometimes too tired to even talk. And when you visit, it feels like he’s somewhere else entirely.

The last time you saw him in person was two weeks ago. You’d flown from Michigan to see him play in Newark the first time you’d been able to since the season started. Jack had barely looked at you when you met him outside the locker room. His face was tight, his eyes tired. He’d hugged you, but it was quick. Impersonal. And when you sat with his family during the game, you saw the tension in his shoulders, the way he carried himself on the ice like the weight of it all was pressing down too hard. He’d been the last one off the ice after the loss, his head down, his mouth pulled tight.

He called you that night late, when you were already back at the hotel and apologized. “I just I’m sorry I couldn’t see you more,” Jack had said, his voice low. He’d sounded exhausted. “I’m just tired.”

Now, it’s almost midnight again, and you’re staring at your phone, waiting for him to call. He hasn’t. You’ve texted twice with no answer. You know he’s probably at home by now, maybe asleep. Or maybe not. He’s started turning his phone off after games. Less noise, he’d said. Less pressure. But you don’t know if it’s helping.

It’s hard to know what to say when you do talk to him. When he tells you he’s doing fine, even though you can hear it in his voice that he isn’t. When he tells you, “I’ll figure it out,” even though you can see him unraveling.

The next morning, you call him before class. He answers on the third ring, his voice rough with sleep. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you say softly. “You okay?”

Jack sighs. You can hear the sound of him rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot.”

Jack’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah.”

You sit down on the edge of your bed, clutching the phone a little tighter. “Jack”

“I’m fine,” he says quickly. Too quickly.

“You’re not,” you say gently. “You don’t have to-”

“I said I’m fine,” Jack cuts in. His tone is sharper than you’ve ever heard it.

You go quiet. Jack exhales. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I just don't know.”

“It’s okay,” you say softly.

Jack doesn’t say anything for a while. You can hear his breathing over the line, steady but heavy. Finally, he speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “You don’t have to fix it alone.”

Jack doesn’t answer. And after a while, the line goes quiet.

The next time you talk to Jack, it’s after another loss. This time to Toronto. Another night of him leaving the rink without a point. Another night of reporters asking him what’s wrong, why he isn’t producing.

“I’m trying,” Jack says, his voice tight. “I’m trying and it’s not, it's not working.”

“I know,” you say softly. “But it’s not your fault. It’s a team-”

“I don’t care if it’s a team thing,” Jack snaps. “I’m the first pick. I’m supposed to be the one fixing it.”

“Jack-”

“I have to be better.” His voice cracks. “I just I don’t know how.”

Your heart aches. You want to reach through the phone and pull him into you. Hold him until the tension melts away. But you can’t. You’re too far away. And Jack’s already starting to pull back.

“You’re not alone im with you,” you say quietly.

Jack doesn’t answer.

You hear him breathe out. Then the call ends.

The worst part is that you don’t know how to help him. Jack’s not letting you in the way he used to. And you can feel it the distance growing between you, like something fraying at the edges. You want to fix it. You want to be enough to hold him together.But Jack’s starting to slip through your fingers.

⟡

After a while, you notice that not only jack started to drift from you, but also your relationship with him. It starts with the little things.

The missed calls. The delayed replies. The way Jack’s voice sounds a little too thin over the phone, his laugh not quite reaching the places it usually does. He’s tired you can hear it even when he tries to hide it.

At first, you don’t think much of it. Jack’s schedule is brutal, and it’s not like he’s never missed a call before. But then it starts happening more often. You’ll text him after a game Proud of you, call me when you can? and it’ll sit there for hours. Sometimes until the next day. Or he’ll call you late, hours after he said he would, with a rushed apology and a tired “I’m sorry, babe. I just passed out after practice.”

You get it. You do.  He’s in the middle of his rookie season, grinding through the hardest stretch of hockey he’s ever played, and he’s under more pressure than he’ll ever admit. But that doesn’t make it sting any less when you see his name light up your phone after midnight and realize you’ve already given up hope of hearing from him that night. 

Or when you do pick up, and it’s not the Jack you’re used to hearing.

“Hey,” you say softly, curling up under the covers. “You okay?”

Jack’s voice is thin over the line. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He always says that. Just tired. Even when it sounds like more than that.

“You played well tonight,” you offer. “Had that sick pass in the second.”

Jack’s breath crackles faintly through the speaker. “Didn’t matter. We still lost.”

“It’s not on you.”

Jack hums. You can picture the way he’s probably lying there  head buried in the pillow, hand resting over his face, the line of his jaw tight. He’s always been hard on himself. But lately, it's gotten worse.

The games aren’t going well. The media’s been tearing into him —first overall pick and only four goals? The disappointment in the headlines is almost palpable. You’ve stopped reading the articles, but you know Jack hasn’t. He doesn’t talk about it, but you can tell from the way he’s quieter now. The way his texts have dwindled from paragraphs to one word answers. 

The last time you FaceTimed, Jack barely looked at you. He was lying in bed, hair damp from his post-game shower, and you could see the crease between his brows even when he wasn’t talking. You tried to make him smile made a dumb joke about how you’d start training to become the Devils' new enforcer but all you got was a faint chuckle and, “Sorry, I’m just-”

“Tired,” you’d finished for him, and Jack had sighed, rubbing his hand over his face.

It’s been like this for a while now. He’s slipping  or maybe you’re the one slipping away. You don’t know how to fix it when Jack’s over 600 miles away, and every conversation feels like trying to grasp sand in your hands the harder you try to hold on, the faster it slips through your fingers.  

You’re curled up in bed now, phone pressed to your ear as Jack’s voice filters through the speaker. 

“It was bad,” Jack says. His voice is quiet. Defeated. “I just I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

You sit up a little, pushing back the tight feeling in your chest. “Jack, it’s not you. The whole team’s struggling right now.”

“Yeah, but” He cuts himself off. You can hear the frustrated exhale on the other end. “I should be better. I was the first overall pick  I’m supposed to make a difference.”

“You are making a difference,” you say gently. “It’s your rookie year. No one expects you to carry the team.”

Jack’s silent for a beat too long. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Jack?”

“Yeah,” he says, but his voice sounds distant. “I know.”

You hesitate. “Do you, though?”

His breath hitches. “I just I don’t know. Feels like I’m trying, but nothing’s working. And people are starting to talk, you know? About how maybe I wasn’t ready, maybe I’m not”

“Jack,” you cut in. “Stop.”

He doesn’t respond.

“You’re not a mistake,” you say, because you know that’s what he’s thinking. “You deserve to be there. You worked your ass off for this.”

“I guess.”

“Not ‘I guess,’” you press. “Jack, you”

“I know,” he snaps, and the sharpness of it cuts through the space between you. You freeze, swallowing the knot in your throat. Jack exhales shakily. His voice softens. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

You force a small smile even though he can’t see it. “You’re allowed to be tired.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, but it doesn’t sound like he believes it.

Another stretch of silence presses down between you. You wait for Jack to fill it, but he doesn’t.

“You want me to stay on the phone with you?” you ask quietly.

Jack’s quiet for a second. “No its okay”

“I’ll stay” 

“Okay.”

So you stay. Jack doesn’t say much after that. You can hear the rustle of his comforter as he shifts around, settling into bed. His breathing starts to even out. You stay awake longer than you probably should, listening to the soft sound of him breathing on the other end of the line, wondering how much longer you’ll be able to reach him like this.

Because lately, even when he’s right there, yet he feels so far away.

⟡

It’s been months of missed calls, delayed texts, and half-hearted conversations. Jack’s always tired. Or busy. Or distracted. And when you do talk, it’s like he’s only halfway there like some part of him is already pulling away. You’ve tried not to read into it, tried to convince yourself it’s just the pressure of his rookie season, that things will settle once he finds his rhythm. But deep down, you know better. It’s not just hockey. It’s him. It’s you. It’s the quiet space growing between you, the way it stretches wider with every unanswered text and every empty conversation.

So you book a flight to New Jersey because you need to know if this is still something you can save or if you lost him completely

DAY ONE  

The cab ride from the airport to Jack’s apartment is quiet. Too quiet. The city outside the window passes in a blur of gray and headlights, but you don’t really see it. Your phone sits heavy in your lap, the screen dark except for the faint reflection of the passing streetlights. You tap your thumb against the side of it like you're expecting a message that you know isn’t coming. Jack texted you earlier to confirm he’d be home when you arrived, but that was three hours ago. No follow-up. No “Can’t wait to see you.” No little heart emoji like he used to send.  

It’s not that he’s ignoring you  at least, not outright. He’s busy, you’ve told yourself a hundred times over the last few weeks. Rookie season is demanding. New city, new team, new pressure. He’s adjusting. You should understand that. And you do. You swear you do. But understanding it doesn’t make the silence feel any less heavy.  

When the cab pulls up in front of Jack’s building, you hesitate for a second before stepping out. You’re not sure why  it’s not like you’ve never been here before but the weight sitting low in your stomach makes it hard to breathe. The driver sets your bag on the curb, and you force yourself to pick it up, shoulders tensing under the weight of it as you walk toward the entrance.  

Jack opens the door when you knock. He’s in a plain Devils hoodie and sweatpants, his hair damp like he just showered. He smiles, but it’s thin, barely reaching his eyes. 

“Hey,” he says. His voice is soft, like he's already tired.  

You smile, forcing brightness into your voice. “Hey.”  

Jack leans down to kiss you, but it’s brief. Quick. Like he’s already pulling away before it starts. His hand finds the small of your back and guides you into the apartment, but it drops as soon as the door closes behind you.  

The apartment looks the same cleaner than you expected, probably because Ellen came to visit last week but it feels off. Like someone came through and rearranged all the furniture just enough to make you notice. Jack’s shoes are in a neat row by the door. There’s a half empty coffee mug sitting on the counter. His phone is face down on the couch.  

Jack sits down on the couch, leaving a noticeable gap beside him. You sit too, trying to close it, but he doesn’t shift toward you.  

“So,” you start, your voice too bright, too forced, “how was practice today?”  

“Fine.”  

Your stomach twists. “Just fine?”  

Jack shrugs, eyes fixed on the muted TV. “Yeah.”  

You watch him for a second, the sharp line of his jaw and the way his hand rests against his knee. Normally, he'd have his arm around you by now. Normally, you’d be tangled together and he’d be rambling about plays and drills and how Nico wouldn’t stop chirping him today.  

But he’s quiet. Detached.  

And you’re hyper aware of the space between you.  

Jack reaches for the remote and starts flipping through channels. His brows furrowed in concentration, but he’s not really watching anything. It’s like his body is here, but the rest of him is somewhere else.  

“Hungry?” he asks after a minute.  

“Yeah, I could eat.”  

“Cool.” He stands. “I’ll order something.”  

And that’s it. He disappears into the kitchen without asking what you want. A minute later, you hear the soft murmur of his voice on the phone.   

You sit there, your heart beating loud in your ears, and wonder why it feels like you’ve already lost him.  

Jack comes back a few minutes later and drops onto the couch, his knee brushing against yours for half a second before he shifts away.  

“Food should be here in, like, twenty minutes,” he says.  

You nod. “okay”  

More silence. The TV hums in the background, the flicker of light reflecting off Jack’s face. You glance at him, hoping he’ll look over at you, but his gaze stays fixed on the screen. His hand is resting between his knees, his fingers pulling at a loose thread in the fabric of his sweatpants.  

You clear your throat. “Did you, um talk to Quinn today he was asking me about you?”  

Jack’s mouth tightens. “Yeah.”  

“And?”  

“He’s good.”  

You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. The seconds stretch out between you, long and tense and uncomfortable.  

“Jack.” You lean toward him, lowering your voice. “What’s going on?” Jack’s jaw twitches. “Nothing.”  

“It doesn’t feel like nothing.”  

Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just been a long week.”  

You search his face, the dark circles under his eyes, the faint crease in his forehead and you know he’s not lying. But you also know he’s not telling you the whole truth.   

“You know you can talk to me, right?” you say, your voice soft.  

Jack’s gaze flickers toward you, and for a second, you see it  the familiar warmth, the quiet vulnerability you’ve always known how to reach. His eyes soften, and he looks like he might actually say something.  

But then the buzzer for the front door sounds, and the moment evaporates.  

Jack stands quickly. “That’s the food.”  

You watch him cross the room, feeling the distance stretch wider with every step.  

He comes back with a brown takeout bag, setting it on the coffee table before sitting down. He opens the bag and pulls out containers of food  sushi, not your favorite  and hands you a pair of chopsticks without looking at you. 

You stare down at the food. “Did you know what I wanted?”  

Jack hesitates. “I just ordered something quick.”  

Your chest tightens. Jack always knows what you want. He knows you like avocado rolls, not spicy tuna. He knows you like extra soy sauce on the side and that you don’t like wasabi. But tonight, it’s like he didn’t even think about it.  

You pick at the sushi, appetite gone. Jack eats quietly, his eyes back on the TV. The sound of the game commentator fills the air, too loud, pressing into your skull.  

After a few minutes, Jack stands and starts cleaning up. He takes your barely touched container and tosses it in the trash without a word.  

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.  

“Oh. Okay.”  

Jack hesitates in the doorway. His eyes flick toward you, and for a second, you think he might come back, sit down, pull you into his arms, tell you he’s just tired and that everything is fine.  

But he doesn’t. He disappears down the hall, and a minute later, you hear the sound of the shower running.  

You sit there, hands clasped in your lap, listening to the water hit the tile. Your heart feels too big and too small at the same time, pressing against the walls of your chest.   

Jack’s phone buzzes on the table, and you glance at it. A text from Nico lights up the screen:  

Good skate today. 

 You stare at the message for a long time. 

The shower runs in the background, and you sit alone on the couch, feeling the emptiness stretch out around you.

DAY TWO

Jack sleeps with his back to you.  

It’s not the first time, but it feels different tonight. Final. His side of the bed feels miles away, the sheets cool and untouched where his body should be. You lie there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of his breathing. It’s shallow, restless. Every few minutes, he shifts, the mattress dipping under his weight.  

You think about reaching for him, curling up into his side like you always do. Your hand twitches under the blanket, fingers itching to brush over his back, to anchor yourself to the steady rhythm of his breathing. But something stops you. Fear, maybe or just the quiet certainty that if you reach for him, he’ll pull away.  

So you stay still, the space between you cold and unforgiving.  

You wake up sometime in the middle of the night to find him half hanging off the edge of the bed, his face turned toward the wall. His arm is curled beneath his head, his breathing uneven. You watch the rise and fall of his back, the way his shoulders tense even in sleep. He’s not resting, not really.   

You swallow hard and sit up slightly, brushing your hair away from your face. For a second, you think about touching him, coaxing him back toward you. But you don’t. You can’t.   

In the morning, Jack wakes up first. You know this because you hear him moving around the apartment while you lie there, eyes closed, hoping he’ll come back to bed. He doesn’t.  

Instead, you hear the distant sound of water running in the bathroom, the clink of glass in the kitchen. The low hum of the TV. You press your face into the pillow and try to breathe through the tightness in your chest.  

When you finally get up, Jack’s sitting at the kitchen counter with a protein shake. He’s already dressed in workout gear Devils issued shorts and a long-sleeve shirt that fits snug around his arms. His hair is damp, curling slightly at the ends. He glances up when you enter the room.  

“Morning,” you say, your voice coming out softer than you meant.  

“Hey.”  

You sit across from him, pulling your knees up and wrapping your arms around them. Jack’s gaze flickers toward you briefly, then drops back down to his protein shake. He spins the cup slowly in his hands, condensation trailing down the side.  

You try to find his eyes. “Sleep okay?”  

Jack nods, distracted. He taps his thumb against the edge of the cup. “Yeah.”  

“You sure?”  

“Mmhmm.” His gaze darts toward the window.  

You glance at the clock on the microwave. “What time’s practice?”  

“Ten.”  

“You want to grab coffee after?”  

Jack hesitates. His shoulders tighten. “I don’t know. We’ve got media stuff later.”  

“Oh.”  

You feel stupid for asking.  

Jack stands and rinses out his cup in the sink. His back is to you, but you see the tension in his shoulders. He’s holding it all in  the pressure, the frustration, the weight of everything this year has asked of him. Normally, he’d tell you about it. He’d talk through it, let you hold it with him for a little while.  

But now it feels like he’s trying to keep the distance intact.  

“You okay?” you ask quietly.  

“Yeah.”  

“Jack.”  

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. When he speaks, his voice is tight. “It’s just a lot right now.”  

You nod, even though he’s not looking at you.  

Jack’s hand curls over the edge of the counter. His knuckles turn white for half a second before he exhales and grabs his keys from the hook by the door.  

“I’ll see you later, okay?” His tone is light  too light. Like he’s trying to make this feel normal.  

You sit up straighter. “We could go out tonight. Dinner or something.”  

Jack pauses with his hand on the handle. His eyes flick toward you, guarded. “Yeah. We’ll figure something out.”  

Then he’s gone.  

The door clicks shut behind him, and the quiet of the apartment closes in around you.  

You sit there for a long time, staring at the spot where he stood. The sunlight spills in through the thin curtains, cutting pale lines across the hardwood floor. You think about the way he used to kiss you in the mornings, sleepy and warm, his hand curled over the back of your neck. You think about the way he used to tug you into his chest after a restless night, murmuring sleepy nonsense into your hair.  

And then you think about last night about the empty side of the bed and the quiet wall of his back facing you.  

Your phone buzzes on the table. You grab it quickly, your heart leaping in your chest. But it’s not Jack. It’s a text from quinn  

"Hope you’re having a good time! How’s Jack?" 

You stare at the message for a long moment before typing back:  

"Good. Everything’s good." 

The lie tastes bitter on your tongue.   

You sit there for a while longer, the phone still in your hand, before pushing yourself to your feet. You grab the half-empty protein shake Jack left on the counter and dump it down the sink. The hum of the refrigerator fills the silence.  

It’s only nine o’clock, but it feels later. Your eyes drift toward the bedroom  the sheets still rumpled from sleep and you wonder if you should crawl back into bed and wait for him to come home.  

But you know better.  

Instead, you curl up on the couch and pull the blanket over your legs. Jack’s sweatshirt is draped over the arm of the couch, and you pull it onto your lap, bunching the sleeves in your hands. It smells like his laundry detergent and something warmer, more familiar.  

you press your face into the fabric and close your eyes, trying to remember the last time he held you like he meant it.  

You think about how he used to look at you and really look at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.  

But that was months ago. Now, when Jack looks at you, it’s like he’s looking through you. Or worse like he’s already decided what happens next.  

Your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Jack.  

“Practice ran long. Gonna be late.” 

You type out a quick response  "Okay."  but don’t hit send right away.  

Instead, you sit there with the message glowing on the screen, wondering when it started feeling like this. Like you’re holding onto something that’s already slipping away.

DAY THREE

It was worse the next day. The air felt thicker, like it was weighing down every conversation. Jack seemed distracted, his gaze always drifting toward his phone or the TV. When you asked if he wanted to grab lunch, he hesitated for a second before saying, "Yeah, sure," like he was doing you a favor.

At lunch, he kept glancing around, not meeting your eyes. You watched him scroll through his phone between bites of his sandwich. You tapped your nails against the table.

"Jack."

"Hmm?" His eyes didn’t lift from his phone.

"Can you put that down?"

He sighed but set the phone face down. "Okay."

You wanted to ask if he even wanted you here. You wanted to ask why he wasn’t looking at you like he used to, why you felt like a ghost in his apartment. But you swallowed it all down and smiled when Jack forced another conversation about hockey that you could barely focus on.

That night, he sat at the edge of the bed, scrolling on his phone again while you sat behind him. You reached out, resting a hand on his back. He tensed.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

"Yeah," he said quickly.

"You don’t seem like it."

"I’m fine, okay?" His tone was sharp. He stood up and walked toward the bathroom without looking back.

You stared at the empty space he left behind.

DAY FOUR

You woke up before Jack.  

He was lying on his stomach, face half-buried in the pillow, hair sticking up in every direction. You watched him for a moment, chest rising and falling steadily. He looked peaceful like this like the Jack you used to know. The Jack who used to roll over and pull you into his arms the second he woke up.  

You shifted closer, brushing your hand over his back. His skin was warm under your fingertips. He stirred, groaning softly into the pillow.  

"Morning," you whispered.  

Jack’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked at you sleepily, then rubbed a hand over his face. "Morning."  

You smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to his bare shoulder. He didn’t react. Just sat up and ran a hand through his hair.  

"What time is it?"  

"Almost nine."  

Jack nodded, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I should get going soon."  

"Going where?I thought you had today off"  

Jack stood, stretching. "I do, I'm just going to go workout with some of the guys."  

"Oh." You sat up, the sheets pooling around your waist. "Can I come?"  

Jack paused, looking at you over his shoulder. "I mean it’s just going to be boring."  

"I don’t care."  

Jack hesitated. "I think we’re just gonna grab lunch after. Probably end up hanging out at Nico’s."  

You bit the inside of your cheek. "So you don’t want me there?"  

Jack’s gaze darted to the floor. "It’s not that."  

"Then what is it?"  

Jack sighed. "I don’t know. Just feels like a guys' thing, you know?"  

You swallowed. "Right."  

Jack’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. He grabbed it, checking the screen. A faint smile tugged at his mouth.  

"Who is it?" you asked.  

“Nico," Jack said, texting back quickly. He tossed his phone onto the bed, already moving toward the bathroom.  

You sat there for a moment, heart sinking.  

"I’ll be back later," Jack called over his shoulder.  

"Cool," you murmured. But Jack had already closed the door behind him.  

You sat there for a long time, listening to the shower running.  

When Jack got back that afternoon, you were curled up on the couch, knees pulled to your chest. He walked in, tossed his keys onto the counter, and sat down across from you. He scrolled through his phone without saying anything.  

You watched him for a moment.  

"How was it?" you asked.  

"Hmm?"  

"Your workout."  

Jack shrugged. "Good."  

"Anything else?"  

Jack didn’t look up. "Nope."  

Your jaw tightened.  

You shifted closer, resting a hand on his arm. "Jack."  

He tensed. "What?"  

You hated how sharp his voice sounded. Like you were annoying him.  

"Do you want to do something tonight?" you asked quietly.  

Jack sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don’t know. I’m kind of tired."  

"Oh."  

Jack’s gaze flicked toward you. "What?"  

"Nothing," you said quickly, even though it wasn’t nothing.  

Jack’s phone buzzed again. He picked it up without hesitation. You sat there, heart sinking as he smiled at the screen. He didn’t even notice the way your hand fell away from his arm.  

And that’s when it hit you.  

You weren’t the person he wanted to talk to anymore.  

You weren’t the person who made him smile like that anymore.  

You took a breath, swallowing hard. "Jack."  

"Hmm?"  

You sat up straighter, heart hammering painfully against your ribs. "Do you even want me here?"  

Jack’s head jerked toward you, brows furrowing. "What kind of question is that?"  

"You’re barely looking at me." Your voice cracked. "You don’t talk to me. When you do, it feels like you’re trying to get through it so you can go back to your phone. Just say it if you don’t want me here."  

Jack’s jaw tightened. "Jesus, you’re making this a bigger deal than it is."  

"A bigger deal?" you echoed. Your voice sharpened. "Jack, I flew to new jersey to see you. I’m trying so hard to hold this together, but you’re not even meeting me halfway. If you don’t want this anymore, just"  

"I didn’t ask you to come."  

You froze.  

Jack’s eyes widened, but the words were already out there.  

Your heart hammered in your chest. "What?"  

"I didn’t ask you to come," he repeated, softer this time. His gaze fell to the floor. "You decided to."  

You blinked hard, your throat tightening painfully. "Wow."  

Jack ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. "I didn’t mean it like that"  

"You did."  

Jack’s mouth opened, but no words came out.  

You stood up, shaking. "I can't, I can't do this anymore."  

Jack’s head snapped toward you. "What does that mean?"  

"It means I’m done." Your voice broke, but you kept going. "I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one fighting for this. If you’re not going to try, then why am I even here?"  

Jack’s eyes darkened. "So that’s it? You’re giving up?"  

You laughed bitterly. "You gave up first."  

Jack’s mouth twisted. "Right. So now it’s my fault?"  

"You know what?" you said, your breath shaking. "Yeah. It is."  

Jack stood up, his eyes hard now. "Fine. If you want to go, then go."  

"That’s it?" You took a step toward him, tears blurring your vision. "You’re not even going to try to stop me?"  

Jack’s eyes flashed. "What do you want me to say? That I miss you? That I love you? You already know that, but it’s not enough, is it?"  

"It’s not enough if you’re not going to show it!" you shot back. "You say you love me, but you act like I’m just here. Like I don’t matter."  

Jack’s expression darkened. "Yeah? Well, maybe you don’t."  

You sucked in a sharp breath.  

Jack’s face paled instantly. "I—"  

"No." You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. "You said it. And you know what? Maybe you’re right."  

"Don’t twist this"  

"I’m not twisting anything! I’m done!" Your voice cracked, but you held your ground. "I’m not going to sit here and beg for you to care about me. I deserve better than that."  

Jack’s jaw flexed.  

Your breath hitched. You waited for him to take it back to tell you to stay. But Jack just stood there, eyes stormy, hands clenched into fists at his sides.  

You nodded slowly. "Okay."  

You grabbed your bag from the floor. Jack didn’t say anything as you walked toward the door. Your hand trembled as you opened it.  

You hesitated. Just for a second.  

"Bye, Jack," you whispered.  

Jack didn’t reply.  

You closed the door behind you.  

The flight home feels like a blur. You don’t cry at least not yet  but the numbness sets in as soon as the plane takes off. Jack didn’t text you before you boarded. He didn’t call. He didn’t say anything after the door shut behind you.   

You stare out the window, watching the clouds blur beneath you, but your chest feels hollow. Four years. Gone in a single weekend. Your friendship since you were 10 of growing up together, of loving each other through every awkward phase and milestone  shattered in one conversation.  

You scroll through your phone without really seeing it. His contact sits at the top of your recent messages, the last one marked as read. I’m sorry. He hasn’t sent anything since.   

And honestly, you don’t expect him to.  

Your phone vibrates, and for half a second your heart leaps. But it’s just your mom, checking in. You let the message sit unopened and slide your phone facedown on the tray table.  

When you get home, everything feels wrong. Your room looks the same, but it’s too quiet. No FaceTime calls from Jack lighting up your phone. No goodnight texts. No “Miss you” or “Wish you were here.” The absence is deafening.   

You lie in bed that night, scrolling through old pictures, ones from Vancouver, from Michigan, from all those summers at the lake house. Jack’s smile frozen in time. Your hand in his. Quinn and Luke in the background, laughing at something Jack had said.   

Your chest tightens.  

You think about how easy it used to be how you could sit in silence for hours and still feel connected. How you could tell what Jack was thinking just from a look. How his hand would instinctively find yours without either of you thinking about it.   

But somewhere along the way, you both stopped reaching for each other. Mostly him. 

Your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Quinn.  

“You okay?” 

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, but you don’t know how to answer that.

“Yeah. Just tired.”  

Quinn’s reply comes quickly. “Jack didn’t mean it.”   

Your breath catches. A hollow feeling sinks deeper into your chest.   

You don’t answer.  

Because the worst part is maybe he did.

[happyhauntt]

— march fic recs, brought to you by happyhauntt.

a wee fic rec post for a few of the fics i read in march that altered my brain chemistry!! i've put a lil comment next to each rec because honestly writers don't get praised enough for their work these days and i wanted to show my appreciation for these talented souls!!

grishaverse.

➡ kaz brekker.

what do you want from me by @rubysunnday. notes: literally perfect wtf.

dark days by rubysunnday. notes: i reread this literally constantly, it is so perfect, kaz's characterisation is perfect, i adore it.

bloody hands by rubysunnday. notes: i devoured this whole thing like a starving person it was sO good.

when am i gonna lose you? by @crowsmybeloveds. notes: this is so beautiful honestly i have no words.

the lost princess by @ellewritesalright. notes: look it's only part one but elle is a fucking wizard and i'm a sucker for an anastasia au.

you and me (a whole lot of history) by @heliads. notes: this was so cute and such a clever concept i fell in love!!!

schat by @amourology. notes: fully choked this is so adorable.

soulmate by @magpiencrow. notes: KAZ BREKKER SOULMATE AU didn't know i needed this but now i need 100 more!!!!

➡ nikolai lantsov.

nine long years series by @ellewritesalright. notes: i am actively fucking screaming over this fic. i will never stop. this might genuinely be the best thing i've read in a LONG while. everything about it has me sobbing i actively CANNOT COPE. and it's not even finished yet.

one of us by @songofpatrochilless. notes: literally had me sobbing you don't understand the domesticity of it all!!!!!.

come on back to me by @atlabeth. notes: there is a very strong chance that i'll literally never stop screaming about this fic.

dreams of you by @wh0refornikolailantsov. notes: every cell in my body is SCREAMING.

this love by @lantsovsupremacist. notes: did not, in fact, give you permission to hurt me like this do it again.

salt in the wound by @in-my-feels-probably. notes: brain goes brrrr this has everything i need to survive tbh.

wanting was enough by @rubysunnday. notes: beautiful stunning magnificent i want to eat it.

an exhausted smile by @writing-havoc. notes: think i had an aneurysm reading this it was that amazing.

run away with me by @sumsebien. notes: i am still sobbing over this.

in emerald hearts, emerald minds by @undiscovered-horizon. notes: love love love love love. there aren't enough words in any language to describe how much i love this.

➡ alina starkov.

alina starkov x reader by @heliads. notes: alina does not get nearly enough love and this was so fucking sad and cute and brilliant.

➡ nina zenik.

the ten steps to 'i love you' by @sophierequests. notes: this was SO HEARTWARMING AND SWEET i adored it!!!

➡ zoya nazyalensky.

forget-me-nots by @syllvane. notes: not enough zoya fics on this hellsite. but also this ripped my heart out and made me sob so RUDE. i feel devastated.

➡ inej ghafa.

inej ghafa x reader by @heliads. notes: INEJ MY SWEET BABY, this fic is everything to me. everything. and it's so beautifully written!!!

➡ the darkling.

the dark side of the moon series by @myhairpintrigger. notes: this fic is ASTOUNDING. i haven’t cried this much reading something in a long time. i was FULL-BODY SOBBING. i don’t even like the darkling. i am Not a darkling girlie. but i was intrigued by concept of this fic and i can safely say it has ruined my life. this is Emotional Damage Incarnate. i will never recover. author, i salute you.

911.

through the smoke by @borntobewondering. notes: spent twenty whole minutes sobbing after reading this. i felt undone i felt hollow i felt so utterly fucked. author is a genius and that's all there is to say.

not so one night stand by @shmaptainwrites. notes: this was so fuckin adorable i'm in love.

d.c. to l.a. by shmaptainwrites. notes: bobby my guy just doesn't get enough fucking credit and this is so fucking adorable.

criminal minds.

➡ spencer reid.

trouble almost all my life by @januaryembrs. notes: this series is. it's literally. everything. i love bugsy like she's my own child. sister relationships are everything to me. i spent an hour sobbing in my bed over parts 2 and 3. i want this tattooed on my forehead.

➡ aaron hotchner.

found by @benedictscanvas. notes: DADDY i mean what. all jokes aside this was so sweet and beautiful and i'm in love the writing!!!

doctor who.

rage rage (against the dying of the light) by @morganas-pendragons. notes: felt feral after reading this. kayla just gets me in my feels every time.

heartbeat by morganas-pendragons. notes: this was the most emotional devastating thing i've ever read and i fully needed 3-5 business days to recover. rude. i want 100 more.

untitled by morganas-pendragons. notes: PAIN i love this so much.

ache by morganas-pendragons. notes: just scoop my heart out of my fucking chest i don't want it anymore after reading this.

a mind full of blissful terrors by @magiccath. notes: simply fucking amazing.

light in the dark by @i-imagine-my-doctor. notes: screaming please i adore this so much.

baby talk by @kisstherainwriting. notes: THE ABSOLUTE CUTIEST EVER. there's not enough clara fics and this had me squealing and feeling all warm and fuzzy!!!

holding my hand by kisstherainwriting. notes: angst galore this was STUNNING.

in another's eyes by @cas-kingdom. notes: PERFECTION.

where do we go now series by @theetherealbloom. notes: literally so fucking amazing i don't have enough words.

marauders.

the winner takes it all by @ellecdc. notes: brb faye is having a STROKE--

come back, be here series by ellecdc. notes: i think i had a full on stroke while reading this series. the attention to detail is insane. the characterisation is perfect.

i don't know you anymore (maybe i never really did) by @thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels. notes: SCREECHING i'm in love you don't understand.

bridgerton.

➡ anthony bridgerton.

distractions by @peterpparkrr. notes: simply immaculate.

right person, all the wrong times by @wwinterwitch. notes: did you mean one of my favourite tropes bc this is it.

right in front of me by @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69 & @thirteenisles. notes: i felt feral after reading this tbh.

➡ sibling!reader.

reluctant caretaker by @rubysunnday. notes: this fic hit my heart in all the right places okay sibling stuff means everything to me.

did she have a cookie by rubysunnday. notes: a joyous read from start to finish i CACKLED the whole way through.

moon knight.

come back to me by @mgparker. notes: still sobbing. immaculate.

the other sarcophagus by @starryevermore. notes: i literally reread this constantly i adore it so much!!

marc spector x reader by @softlyspector. notes: i had an aneurysm reading this and i haven't been the same since.

more marc spector x reader by softlyspector. notes: i am having an intense emotion hold on. anytime i see autistic stuff in canon content for any fandom i SQUEAK. and this is so well done honestly.

star wars.

heartless by @youvebeenlivingfictional. notes: i reread this constantly, it's so amazing and heartwrenching and beautiful and i want to eat it.

little talks by @light-yaers. notes: you simply do not understand how much i adore everything beff writes. i adore this fic more than i need oxygen to breathe.

right where you left me series by light-yaers. notes: personality-defining series. i LIVE for this fic. every update adds five years to my lifespan. if you're not reading this you are MISSING OUT.

a light, a song, a bluebird by @millllenniawrites. notes: made me SOB 10/10 would recommend if you like emotional trauma.

invisible string by @campingwiththecharmings. notes: pining!!! loneliness!!! i adore!!!

hard landings by @softlyspector. notes: no. no you don't understand. this fic doesn't just own my soul it is my soul. i want it tattooed on my face.

misc.

hopper x reader by @luveline. notes: you don't understand this might be the cutest shit i've ever read and jade is a fellow welsh person which automatically makes them brilliant in my book.

muña by @in-my-feels-probably. notes: alicent means fucking everything to me and this had me sobbing.

mistletoe magic by @writingsbychlo. notes: literally the cutest fucking thing ever, had me kicking my legs and squealing!!

[elllisaaa]

YOU SHOULD DO FILMING A SEX TAPE WITH ENHYPEN

yes yes yes !! the only downside of me thinking about this too much is that now i have the increasing need to write a full fanfic about filming a sextape with heeseung

HEESEUNG gets hard the second you mention the possibility of filming a sextape. he strikes me as someone who would fucking love to receive and send nudes, so having videos of the two of you would feel even better. it’s perfect for when he’s away on tour too, because he’s a visualizer and he cannot cum if he doesn’t hear your pretty moans. he’s basically down for doing everything on camera, and he will even end up creating a special folder just for these videos. he has some close up of your pussy covered in his cum, of you drooling around his cock, of your cunt swallowing his big cock. i think he’d also tease a whole lot more, being cocky about the whole situation even if he’s the one losing his mind every time he watches the footage again. anyway, he’s on the nasty side.

“- open your mouth for me pretty, show me how much of a slut you are for me… yeah, just like that.” 

JAY would literally do anything for you, so of course he is going to say yes. i don’t think he would particularly into it himself, but how much it is turning you on is what makes him hard. he’s the definition of a service dom, so it isn’t surprising. he’ll talk about it with for hours before actually doing it so that he can be sure he will fulfill your desires perfectly. and there will also definitely be a much more romantic dimension - footage of your face when he’s making you cum, of him while he’s worshiping your body and you’re the one holding the camera, or of your whole body on full display while he’s fingering you. your fantasy will slowly grow on him though. 

“- you look so beautiful, princess. i love you so much.”

JAKE is a whore, of course he’s saying yes. actually, he will surely be the one to ask you about filming a sextape, something he had always wanted to try. he’s horny all the time, and even more when he’s stressed out and far away from you - some videos of the two of you are not a want, they’re a need. though the content is a little different from the one his two hyungs like, in the sense that jake loves when you’re on top, and that’s what he wanna see when he needs to jerk off. videos of you riding him, of him whining pathetically when you’re edging him, of your hand on his cock while you’re telling him that he’s your toy. he wouldn’t be against having some footage of him destroying your pussy too, but you domming him is always what gets him going the most.

“- fuck, you’re so tight… please, let me cum inside and film it dripping from your pussy… please.”

SUNGHOON is so cocky about it, it’s actually infuriating how confident he is. the whole time you’re discussing it with him, he has that smirk on his face, and maybe he’s even sitting on the couch and manspreading and and and ! anyway, he’s down for it as long as you beg - it’s not that he’s against the idea, it’s just that he loves to see you get down on your knees for him. the majority of the videos consist of showing how much of a slut you are : ones of you being ruined from behind, of you grinding against his thigh with tears in your eyes, and of your eyes rolling to the back of your head just because of his fingers. he’s sending you those footage at the worst moments because he loves it when you’re all needy for him, he just wants to see you go crazy on him.

“- that’s it darling, fuck yourself on my cock like the dumb girl you are.”

JUNGWON is not very big on nudes, he prefers the real thing or to call you if he’s really in need of a quick release, so you’ll have to be the one to bring up the thought. but once you do, he’s actually down to try it with you. i can’t see him loving it as much as the others, but once in a while, it’s something he enjoys. with him, it’s mostly short videos focused on your boobs bouncing with each one of his thrusts, or of his cock buried deep in your cunt when he’s barely moving. what turns him on the most about it are the sounds the both of you are making. 

“- you feel so good, baby, don’t stop… say my name again.”

SUNOO is so shy at first, he’s really hesitant because he doesn’t want to disappoint you if the videos turn out to be bad. but he’s trusting you with his life, and he knows you will stop as soon as he asks you to do so. as much as he is a pillow prince, he will make the videos all about you and your pleasure. his favorite footage is the one in which he’s eating you out like a starved man and you’re moaning his name like a prayer. there will also be some shots of you caressing him while filming everything through the reflection of the mirror, or of his hands running your body up and down. he mostly does it for you because he knows how much you miss him when he’s away, but he gets to cum every time so he loves it too. 

“- i want you to remember how good it feels everytime you rewatch this.”

[northboreas]

I cannot understate how clever and beautiful Penelope's response to wyfilwma is. In the original myth, Penelope literally isn't sure if the man before her is truly her husband, so she asks him to move a bed that is impossible to move. A fact about their relationship that only he could know. When he gets absolutely flabbergasted over this request, it's proof that it IS him.

In Epic there is only one change. Instead of Penelope being unsure, Odysseus is unsure of himself and feels like he would be unrecognizable to his wife. He keeps telling her over and over again, I am not the man you knew, and it's almost as though he's trying to convince himself, too. Like since he crossed every line he's killed all the gentleness in him, and he has to force himself to accept it. Penelope knows better, Penelope knows him. Instead of using their wedding bed as a way to prove it to herself, she proves it to him instead.

"See that wedding bed? Could you carry it over?

Lift it high on your shoulders and take it far away from here"

Shes talking about their bed but she is also talking about their love, their history, everything that makes up their marriage. Its like shes asking him, if you truly are someone else- here's everything that we used to be, everything that we built together, throw it out. You're not the same, right? Then surely you can detach yourself from it all.

But he cant. he cant he cant he cant and she knows that. The shock and the outrage and the pain of being asked to do such a thing hits him with a full force and he talks of how he made the bed, what its meant to them, why he couldnt possibly move it away.

"Do you realize what you have asked me?

The only way to move it is to cut it from its roots"

To cut it from the roots would be to sever their love entirely, it cant exist without what came before and what came before was the two of them. He fears thats what she wants, a completely uproot of their life together. But the fact that he fears it, truly deeply cares like a sentimental bastard, the fact that he could never not be the man who loves her is what she's been trying to show him all along.

"Only my husband knew that

So I guess that makes him you"

like my GOD. THIS LINE. He cannot be anything but her love because he is the only man who knows what they are to each other. She says it and that is final. Moving it is impossible because seperating the man he used to be from the man he is is impossible too. They are one in the same.

"I will fall in love with you over and over again

I don't care how, where, or when

No matter how long it's been, you're mine

Don't tell me you're not the same person

You're always my husband and I've been waiting, waiting"

She is not loving him by ignoring the trail of bodies in his wake and her love does not change the carnage-- in fact she is the reason for it, she knows this and she doesnt care. This is her husband now and always. And as long as bloodied hands will still hold her weaving ones he is the same exact man she's been waiting for.

It is such a beautiful message to leave your audience with. It is so perfect for Penelope as a character and the emotional weight this song has elevated my understanding of the odyssey and their relationship. Twenty years is so long, everything has changed, we have done unforgivable things to get home to each other-- because our home is each other. You are sharp and cruel and I am cunning and so so angry and we are both so tired but guess fucking what, I love you. No matter how long its been, youre mine.

[noctiva]

hi cuteness!! I cannot wait for pt 2 of your toby fic to arrive.. I am literally refreshing every chance grahhhhh >-<

any thoughts on toby x fem reader and kind of like ur recent one of reader giving head after a long day but just the other way around??? dying and begging for soft anything with toby, penetrative or not!!! I hope you're doing well and I feel awful for requesting bc you seem so busy!

-🦇

hello my love!! thank you so so much i know this is long overdue but don’t everrrrrr feel bad for requesting! your girl is booked and busy but that’s the way I like it! constant stream of toby thirst fuel? yes puhleasee

//

Nectar

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!]

-

-

WC: 7.1k

Summary: Toby works so hard just to make it home to you. He wants to make sure you know that.

CW: mentions of death and injury, semi-detailed descriptions of murder, blood, explicit sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), dirty talk, praise and sweet talk, little bit of overstimulation, hair pulling, biting, scent kink?? I guess, unsafe sex, established relationship, they’re so in love it’s sickening.

-

NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

-

He did this all for you.

The blood on his hands, the heaviness of his muscles, how his eyelids drooped with fatigue even though his mission was hours from being over. Toby did it all for you. All just to keep you safe, comfortable, and happy.

Ever since he had met you, you had been his driving force. Knowing that being close to you was dangerous, but being too selfish to stay away anyways. Because of that, he forced himself to work overtime - picking up more missions, harder missions, proving his worth and dissuading any suspicion that might be building up around him. It was tiring work, but it was worth it, because in return he got rewarded with the warmth of your body against his.

Your soft skin, pressed against his calloused and scar ridden body. Your hair, always smelling so sweet because of that strawberry shampoo you loved so dearly. Your eyes, always warm and brimming with love as you looked up at him like he was the only man in the world. The gentle melody that was your voice, speaking his name like it was holy scripture.

It was hard to think about anything other than you, even when he was knee deep in carnage and sinew - blood caking onto his skin with each brutal swing of his hatchets. It was more like working on autopilot, barely even mentally present as his blade cracked open the skull of some unfortunate soul who had made their way onto his hit list.

He just had to get it done. Because once it was all over, he could skip right on home to you - and promptly bury himself in your warmth if you’d allow it.

He just wanted to pull you in close, nuzzle into your hair and breathe your scent in deep. Wash away the sickly smell of copper with the sweetness that clung to you daily. Wanted to sink his fingers into your soft, yielding flesh - dig into your hips and leave indentations behind. Slip down lower to rake his nails against the fat of your ass.

Part his lips and taste you. Licking across your neck to gather the taste of your perfume mixed with sweat, travel down to your cleavage and nuzzle into the valley of your breasts, feeling your heartbeat thump against his cheek.

He wouldn’t normally call himself desperate, but you brought it out in him. You were the perfect woman, in his eyes. Not a single flaw - like god had sculpted you to be someone pulled straight from his dreams. He constantly wondered how he managed to get you, constantly worried that someday he may lose you, and so therefore - constantly wanted to be as close as possible.

On days like today, when he was five hours deep into a mission two hours away from you - it was truly a taxing endeavour to not think about you every second you were apart.

“Rogers! I think he’s dead.” Tim’s voice snapped Toby out of his daydream quickly, tugging him back into the brutal present that he was unfortunately a part of. Kneeled above a mangled corpse, fingers still curled around the handles of his two hatchets, staring down at a face that was more mush than discernible features.

“H-Huh?” Toby faltered, eyes blinking slow as he took in the gruesome scene beneath him - such a stark contrast to the cushy daydream he had just been swimming through. “Oh.” He lowered his weapons and dropped them to the ground beside him, then looking up to Tim, who was staring down at him with a pretty unimpressed expression. “Y-Yeah, I guess you’re ruh-right.”

“Made such a fuckin’ mess.” Tim huffed softly as he examined the sight before him - the smashed head of Toby’s victim practically melting into the ground below it, and the perpetrator completely soaked from the chest up with blood and gore. It was no secret that Toby was the most… Eccentric, out of their little rag tag group of killers, and his victims really got the short straw, but the cleanup for this would probably tack an extra hour onto their time here. “Did you really have to turn him into minced meat?”

If Toby was being honest, he barely remembered the kill at all. Had been too preoccupied living in the fantasy world in his mind, where he was already home and nestled between your thighs. A place he would much rather be than here, and his heart ached knowing you were sat at home waiting for his return.

Were you snuggled up in one of his sweaters while having a little nap to pass the time? Maybe cozied up by the fireplace, working through that book he had bought you a few weeks ago? Whatever you were doing, he wished he was there to watch you do it. Be with you, while you did it. You always slept best curled up against his chest anyway.

“I d-dunno. Wasn’t- chirp! -wasn’t thinking.” He muttered back, slowing pulling himself up onto his feet, leaving two indents in the ground below him where his knees had once dug in.

“Clearly.” Tim snorted and rolled his eyes, before digging into his jacket pocket and pulling out a carton of smokes. He tapped two out of the pack and promptly slotted one between his lips, before lazily tossing the other one at Toby - who fumbled to catch it. “Clean this up. Me and Brian are almost ready to go.”

And so he did, grumbling in annoyance to himself as he cleared away and disposed of what was left of his victim. The longer it took, the more antsy he got, the soft buzz of nicotine not even doing anything to dissuade the impatience flowing through his veins. He just wanted to be home. Just wanted to be home with you, where everything was tenfold better. Where all the blood and grime was just a distant memory, where he could just live as a human being - not as a tool.

By the time he was done, he was aching for you.

Images of you flashing behind his eyelids the whole drive home, fingers itching and twitching with the craving to smooth against your skin. He knew it was desperate, and downright pathetic how he could barely stomach half a day away from his girlfriend - but he didn’t care. If he had it his way, you’d be at an arms reach at all times.

But maybe, time away from you just made seeing you again that much better.

Though he was tired, he made it to the door of your shared cabin in record time - fishing his keys out of his pocket to unlock it. Then, he was pushing it open, and immediately scanning the area. You weren’t in the living room, and he couldn’t hear you milling about in the kitchen. Kicking off his boots and setting his hatchets down on the bench in the entryway, he wandered through his home - peeking into the kitchen just to be sure you weren’t just being quiet.

When he didn’t find you, he padded off to your shared bedroom, absentmindedly tugging his goggles off of his head and wiping blood from the lenses with the bottom hem of his hoodie.

The door was cracked, and so he slowly pushed it open with his shoulder, before being greeted with a sight that nearly made him melt into a puddle against the hardwood flooring.

You were curled up in the sheets, lips parted and eyes fluttered shut as soft slow breaths slipped from your mouth. Your hair was fanned out against the pillow below your head, the fingers of your right hand still curled around the pages of the book you had been reading. You were wearing one of his t-shirts, the material hanging loose and flowy over your peaceful body - swaddled in his scent, which had presumably lulled you to sleep.

So beautiful. It nearly knocked the wind out of him every time he gazed upon you, but especially right now. It was as if an angel had dropped straight from heaven, and landed in his bed.

Once he broke free of the lovestruck stupor that had frozen him in place, he was moving immediately. Gravitating towards you like one magnet to another, tugging off his bloodstained sweater to leave him in just a (arguably) clean black t-shirt. His hands were still bloody, as was his face, but he couldn’t stand another moment without touching you - especially when you looked so lovely. And so, he slid into bed next to you, knowing that you’d probably chastise him for staining the sheets but not caring in the slightest.

His arms snaked around your torso, wrapping you in an embrace as he pulled you in close to his chest. Smiling softly to himself at the soft, sweet little sleepy grumble you let out from being disturbed. Next, his legs intertwined with yours, and his face found a home in the crook of your neck - wrapping you up so completely in his warmth, it seemed as if he was trying to meld into you completely.

“P-Pretty girl.” Toby murmured softly next to your ear, before planting a soft fleeting kiss against the lobe. “Missed you.”

You shift, clearly being tugged from your slumber by his presence, and so he presses further - nuzzling into your neck with a content hum, fingers drawing lazy patterns on your stomach through the fabric of your t-shirt. Then again, he kisses your skin. Again, when you start to stretch your limbs and let out a yawn. Again, when your eyes are slowly fluttering open. Peppering the length of your neck with soft pecks, so that you’d wake up while being showered in his love.

Maybe, the nicest thing to do would just be to let you sleep, but he had been restless all day. He needed to hear your voice, and see your smile, or he knew he’d barely catch a wink of sleep.

“Toby?” Is the first word you mumble when you come to, your voice raspy and thick with sleep - laced with a combination of confusion and hope.

“Who e-else?” Toby chuckles softly in reply, as his slid his hands downwards until they were resting against your hipbones - giving a gentle squeeze before tugging you in closer. Slotting you against him completely, like he’d die if he wasn’t pressed against you in every way possible. “Missed you.” He repeats again, knowing now that you’d actually hear him, before punctuating his words with yet another gentle kiss. This one, on the slope of your shoulder.

“Missed you too.” You hum back to him, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his lips dancing across your skin. Leaving a patch of tingles wherever he made contact, sweet gentle kisses that lit you up completely. Body still heavy with sleep, muscles and limbs stiff and achy, but slowly unfurling as his gentle touches coaxed out a comfortable relaxation. “Missed you more.”

A soft chuckle rumbles from Toby’s chest, and you can feel the vibrations of it against your back. He drags his nose up the side of your neck, before nuzzling into your hair and taking a deep breath in - relishing in the warmth that flooded his veins as the sweet scent of you swirled around his head.

“Y-Yeah?” He murmurs back to you. “So much th-that you fell asleep?”

“Hey!” You grumble back to him, eyebrows furrowing together as you try to crane your neck back to look at him. It’s practically an impossible venture though, with the way he’s curled up into you. “You were gone for a while. Have you checked the time?”

“I know, I-I know.” Finally, Toby peels himself from your body, but not to move away, only to shift. Rolling onto you gently, pressing you back into the soft sheets so that he could actually get a good look at that pretty face of yours. Eyes still hazy and sleepy, the cutest little pout on those plush lips. Laid beneath him all soft and sweet, like a gift to be unwrapped. All of the misfortune and gore that seemed to follow him around didn’t hold an ounce of weight during times like these, as far as Toby was convinced - he was the luckiest man in the world. “I’m just k-kiddin’, baby. I’m sorry I got home s-so late.”

He reaches up to cup your face with his stained hands, smoothing the pads of his thumbs against your cheeks. It’s the most beautiful sight, when you melt into the touch, leaning into him though the evidence of his crimes was still streaked across his skin. You never minded though, you were always so forgiving of him, even if you knew deep down how wretched he was.

“Could’ve at least showered before you woke me up.” You hum back to him softly, eyes scanning across his face - lingering on every speckle of blood that stood out so starkly against his pale skin. The thought of how it got there, what he had done before coming home to you, it should make you nauseous - but it didn’t. It never did. For reasons you couldn’t begin to try and explain, more easily just chalking it up to be because you loved him. “You’re gonna stain the sheets.”

“I’ll wash ‘em.” Toby laughs softly, eyes crinkling at the corners before he was dipping his head down to nudge into the crook of your neck once more. His breath warm against your skin, fingers rough as they trailed down your jaw to rest under the swell of your breast.

“You won’t.” You huff back to him, the annoyance in your voice a complete facade that proved obvious when your lips twitched upwards at the corners. Your hand comes up, lazily threading into the messy hair atop his head as he goes back to leaving sloppy kisses against your skin - his teeth grazing against you every now and then, causing your arms to pebble with goosebumps.

“I will.” Shifting to fully straddle you, Toby’s thighs rest on either side of your hips, caging you in. His hand wanders not enough to cross the line, but enough to make his intentions clear as he gently cups your breast with his palm - feeling the weight of it, braless in his hold. Fingers twitching and jerking as he tried his best to be as gentle as possible. It was hard to be, when you were so soft it was if your body was begging for him to sink in deep - but he didn’t want to be rough with you.

Though you did always look so lovely, marked with the evidence of his claim, he wanted to leave your skin spotless tonight. Treat you with the carefulness of someone handling fine china. Because that’s what you deserved, really, for putting up with all that you did. For putting up with him. Caring for him. Looking past all of his misdeeds like they were nothing.

You were a goddess. A saint. And so it would only be fair, to worship you like one. “I j-just really missed you.” He gently palms your breast, as his other hand trails down to cup your waist, all while his kisses slowly turned more and more insistent. Lips parting, tongue darting out to lave at your neck, savouring the flavour of your skin on his tastebuds. Breathing you in, caressing the skin his hands had ached to touch all day, unable to get enough now that you were beneath his fingertips. “Left you a-alone for way too long.”

“I passed the time.” You murmur to him, letting out a little sigh as a shudder goes down your spine, unable to help the way your body responded when Toby was showering you in such tender affection. Not being hasty, or greedy, paying ample attention to every spot before he moved onto the next.

“Yeah?” His thumb rolls over your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt, a small rumble of appreciation vibrating from his chest at the feeling of it perking up under his touch. His teeth nip your earlobe lightly, and his other hand squeezes your waist gently, before he’s asking; “W-What did you do?”

It’s a little hard to answer, when you have your boyfriend on top of you, seemingly hellbent on slowly but surely riling you up to a maddening degree. Giving you just enough to leave you wanting more, generating a heat that was trickling down your body - lower and lower until you were squeezing your thighs together. Trying to stay put together, but failing, because every touch was pulling you undone more and more - evident by the flush that had started to creep onto your cheeks.

Still though, you try anyway.

“Went on a walk.” Toby squeezes your breast gently, kneading the supple flesh in his palm as he lets out a barely audible groan against your skin. “F-Finished that scarf I was trying to make.” Your thighs were twitching, breathing growing shakier as Toby lips trailed from your neck to your collarbone - nudging the collar of your shirt out of the way to gain access to more skin.

“B-Busy girl.” He mumbles against you, making your hips jolt when his fingers teasingly dipped under the hem of your shirt - pleased to find that you were only wearing panties beneath it. “What else?” He doesn’t touch you fully, not yet, settling instead on just grazing his fingers against the lace, giving you the ghost of his touch and nothing more. He wanted you melting before he even got you bare. Wanting to savour this, not wanting to rush it after spending all day salivating over the thought of it.

This wasn’t about him though, when you peeled back all the layers of his desperation, this was all about you. Treating your body with the tenderness it deserved, working you up in an almost delicate manner, leaving you shaky and breathless before he even touched you proper. Absolutely dripping for him, by the time he got a taste.

And well, he was succeeding. You were sure that the warmth you were bathed in was radiating off of you, your impatience clear when your hips jumped at the slightest touch. Searching, begging for friction to placate the ache between your thighs. You could feel your panties growing damp, slickness pooling between your folds as Toby played your body like a damn fiddle. Always knowing just how to touch you to make you squirm, how to make your breathing go shallow in just a matter of moments.

“Practiced- ah!” A surge of pleasure ricocheted through your body the moment his fingers dipped down lower, doing nothing more than just pressing against your cunt lightly - but having you so worked up by now that it’s enough to make your entire body buzz. “Practiced piano, a- a little bit.”

“Mm, y-you’ll have to play f-for me sometime.” Slowly, he rubs gentle circles against you through your panties, his own breathing hitching as your slick wets his fingers through the fabric. “Bet you’re g-getting real good.”

He finds your clit with ease, pressing down against it and rolling it under the pad of his thumb. And you just get wetter, he can feel it, see it when he pulls his head back to look at you properly. The sheen of your arousal dampening the insides of your thighs, pussy pulsing and twitching under his touch. Crying for it, your body begging him for more so earnestly.

“T-Toby-“ You whimper softly, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as you gaze up at him. His messy hair is falling over his eyes, the freckles on his cheeks drowning in the pink flush that had begun coating his skin. His eyes are dark, hungry, yet brimming with awe as they stay locked on your barely clothed cunt. The muscles in his forearm flexing every time his fingers moved against you. The sight of him above you, just proves to take you higher, and you can’t help it when a downright pitiful little whine slips from your lips. “I need you to touch me, please.”

“I am t-touching you, baby.” His voice is low and rough as he rubs tight circles against your clit, sparking up a pleasure that rolled through your body and made your limbs feel gooey. “You n-need more?”

His gaze flicks up to meet yours, irises clouded in desire so potent he may as well have had hearts in his eyes. Then, his hand stills, leaving you yearning for more, and hopeful that you’ll get it when his fingers hook under the waistband of your panties instead. “P-Pretty pussy’s begging f-for it, hm?” He tugs, slowly tugging your underwear down your hips, pausing to let you lift a bit before he’s pulling them the rest of the way off. Fingers grazing the outsides of your thighs, leaving a trail of tingles against your skin. “Can’t-Can’t leave you hanging. E-Especially since I’ve been wanting it just as bad.”

Toby shifts his body, sliding down the bed until he finds himself at eye level with your glistening cunt, hands gripping the backs of your thighs as drool pooled in the corners of his lips. He can feel it when it seeps out of his mouth gash and drips down his jaw, but it’s the least of his worries - despite how desperate he knows it must make him look. That was alright. Desperate was exactly what he was, and you deserved to know that you had him wrapped about your finger. “Spent all day th-thinkin’ about you.”

He leans in, pressing his cheek against your thigh before he’s turning his head to plant a kiss against the sensitive skin. Parting his lips to really taste you, letting his teeth peek out just to make you jolt. “Thinkin’ about h-how beautiful you are. How badly I j-just wanted to forget it all and come home to you as soon as p-possible.”

You can feel his stubble tickle your skin as he slowly works his way down your thigh, closer and closer to your aching core - lapping up the sweat and slick smeared across you. Your head feels hazy, heart thudding in your ears, the heat within you just burning hotter and hotter each time his mouth connected with your skin. “Thought about h-how lucky I am. How much I hope I m-make that clear to you.”

“You do.” You gasp out, bringing a trembling hand down to tangle in his hair once more - curling into the fluffy brown strands and gently tugging him in closer. Impatience getting the better of you, which is rewarded by Toby giving you a sly little smile with eyes glinting under hooded lids.

Was it too much to say that Toby looked best between your thighs? Maybe, but it was simply the truth. Skin flushed and eyes dark, looking at you like you were a feast and he was nothing but a starving dog. Long lashes fanning against his cheeks, lips glistening with drool that had begun accumulating in his mouth.

And the best part? You never had to ask. He just loved being there. Loved putting all of his effort into making you feel good. He’d spend hours there, if you let him - lapping at your heat until his jaw locked up. Ignoring the ache in his own pants in favour of drinking in release after release he managed to pull from you.

And he said he was the lucky one.

“D-Do I?” He asks, before pressing a soft kiss to your already swollen clit. His grin only widens when he feels the grip on his hair tighten. “I’m glad. Sh-Should I make it even more clear?”

“Please.” You couldn’t be bothered to try and act coy right now, your mind clouded and your body reaching a fever pitch. You feel like you’re melting in his hands, slipping through his fingers as he reduces you to a pool of mush. You could barely comprehend it, having gone to sleep alone, then waking up to the whirlwind of affection Toby had swept you up in. You weren’t complaining though, far from it. You were pleading for more.

And who was Toby, to deny his girl?

“I-I’ve got you.” Toby’s voice, thick with desire, rings in your ears as his hands push against your hips - pinning them to the bed to stop them from bucking up impatiently. Keeping you locked firm in his grasp, all his for the taking. “Ju-Just lie back and r-relax, alright? You know I’ll take care of you.”

That, you did know, and he just proves it more when his tongue meets your cunt mere moments later. He licks a long, flat stripe from your hole to your clit - drinking up every drop of your essence like it was the sweetest nectar. To him, it was, so much so that it pulls a moan from his lungs as well as yours. The taste making his brain go fuzzy the moment it met his tastebuds, already getting dizzy just from the feeling of you pulsing under his tongue.

You were divine. Absolutely divine. And he would swear you just got better every time you parted your legs for him. It was no wonder he spent every second away thinking about you, when being with you made him feel as if he was ascending to a higher plane. “Taste so g-good.” He’s slurring against you, eyes fluttering shut as he wholehearted buried his face in your cunt - nose bumping against your clit as his tongue swiped through your folds. His grip on your thighs, though tight, was tender. Thumbs rubbing soft circles against you in an almost soothing motion - though all it was really doing was bringing another source of stimulation. He was gentle, so gentle as he held your legs open. Gentle, as he sucked on your clit before slipping his tongue inside you.

You, were left just a gasping mess on the sheets before him. Legs twitching and hips bucking as he licked into you with languid thrusts, burying his tongue as deep as he could with each swipe. Like he was trying to lick you clean, suck you dry of everything you had to offer. You’d give it to him, easily conceding as melting into him as he drank you in.

He was attentive. Already knowing and keeping track of every little thing that you liked the best. How your walls would tense up around him when he flicked his tongue inside of you, the way you’d cry out when he nuzzled up against your clit while doing it. He knew how to make you feel good, because that was his favourite thing in the world to do after all.

“Ah, Toby-“ That was why. Because you sounded the most beautiful when you were falling apart. Moaning out his name in a tone so sweet, that it stuck to his ears like molasses. He couldn’t get enough of it, and he quite honestly didn’t think that it was possible to. His need for you being an ache that ever persisted, a part of him that would never disappear. And that’s just the way he liked it. Being wrapped around your finger, falling at the feet of the angel he had the honour of calling his lover. “Don’t- Don’t stop-“

He wouldn’t dream of it. Toby could feel your pleasure cresting - the walls of your pussy twitching around his tongue as he licked into you. So wet, it was dripping down his chin. He couldn’t help but moan into you, absentmindedly rutting his hips down against the bed as he doubled his efforts. Barely any friction at all, but the absolute ecstasy he felt just from making you fall apart before him was enough to satiate him.

With fingers curling into the flesh of your thighs, and nails leaving shallow indentations there - you come undone. Gushing right onto Toby’s tongue, for your boyfriend to eagerly lap up. Your body arches off the bed, shoulders bowing as your thighs shake - a chorus of gasped out moans and cries slipping past your lips, red from being bitten raw.

Toby coaxes you through it, low groans rumbling from his throat as his tongue drags against your sensitive folds - flicking at your clit every so often to draw out your pleasure for as long as possible. In all honesty, it’s quite hard for him to relent, even when you start weakly pushing him away because the oversensitivity became too much for you to handle. He just wanted to keep his face buried between your legs, drawing out orgasm after orgasm until your cheeks were slick with tears.

But, he had decided already that he’d be gentle with you, and so he pulls away. Face slick with your release and hair mussed, eyes hazy with a self-satisfied little smile tugging at his lips. “F-Felt good?” He asks softly, smoothing his palms against the backs of your thighs - rubbing the sweat slick skin lovingly.

“Y-Yeah.” You manage to gasp out, your head still reeling from the intensity of your release. Basking in your post orgasm glow with your body near limp beneath him. “That even a question?” Through your blurry vision, you observe Toby, watching the way his expression crinkles when he lets out a low chuckle. How his sweat slick hair sticks up at odd angles when he pushes it off of his forehead. The sheen of your release on his chin, which he wipes away with the back of his forearm. And then, then obvious tent in his jeans that your gaze catches on when it drifts lower.

And well now, that’s just not fair is it?

So, despite how shaky they are, you part your thighs once more as you look up to meet his gaze. A silent offer that you know he wasn’t ignorant to, but you make it clear with words anyway. Just because you knew it would make that blush of his darken even more. “C’mon baby, I can’t be the only one who feels good.”

You let your legs fall open like a flower blossoming in spring, your still twitching pussy on full display for him to feast on. And he does of course, eyes widening minutely at the shameless display below him, his cock jumping to life once more. You really were a goddess. You had to be.

“You’re t-too perfect for your own g-good, you know that?” He asks you as he moves in closer once more, before reaching down to grasp the hem of his shirt and tug it over his head. After shaking his hair out, he does the same to you, stripping off your last piece of clothing and leaving you completely bare. Bare, and beautiful. Flushed all the way down to your tits, chest heaving and skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. “What did I do t-to deserve you, hm?”

You watch with bated breath as his fingers travel down to work on his belt buckle, tugging it free, too impatient to bother tugging it from the loops before he’s popping the button of his jeans.

“I think the same thing about you.” You hum back to him, unmasked desire clouding your eyes as you track the sight of him pulling down his zipper.

“You sh-shouldn’t.” He laughs dryly in response, but his tone is nothing but fond. The zipper comes down, and now you can really see how worked up he is - straining against his black boxer briefs, so hard you think it’s a miracle that he didn’t cream his pants. “I, am not a good p-person by any means.” He barely slips the rest of his clothing off, far too antsy now to be bothered with stripping completely. He needed to be inside of you ages ago, and so he just settles on tugging his underwear down enough to let his cock spring free. “You-“ He nestles himself snug between your thighs, the weight of his length resting heavy against your cunt. “You are just a s-sweet little lamb. Never done anything wrong.” He ruts against you, coating his length in your slickness as he slides between your folds. Making your breath catch every time he nudged your clit with the head.

His eyes flit up to meet yours, finally tearing away from where they had been hard focused on the sight of his cock slipping against your heat. “Except maybe g-getting involved with me.”

“I don’t regret it for a second.” You beam up at him, eyes brimming with nothing short of adoration - because you really did mean it. You knew, that the side Toby didn’t show to you was that of someone ruthless. Someone who butchered people without a second thought, or an ounce of remorse. Someone who, if you were smart, you’d stay far away from.

But you couldn’t. You knew you wouldn’t be able to, from the first day you met him.

And with you, Toby was simply a doting, devoted partner. So could he truly be so bad?

And was it selfish of you to look past it all, even if he was?

Maybe. But a little bit of selfishness is needed, if happiness is what you seek.

“G-God, I love you.” Toby breaths out, voice shaky and strained. You try to respond, but he barely gives you a second to before the head of his cock is pressing into you.

Your jaw falls slack, body going pliant as he sinks in inch after inch, bringing with it that delicious fullness he always made you feel. Stretching you open so wonderfully, your cunt yielding to him like you were simply made to take him in. Even when he sunk in so deep it made your toes curl and your brows pinch together. Even when the pressure of him inside you left you breathless.

“I- I love you.” You choke out, the words coming out strained and muddled with ecstasy. More so moaned out, than actually spoken, but that just makes it sound that much more beautiful to Toby’s ears.

“Th-That’s right.” Toby murmurs back to you hoarsely, as he slowly draws his hips back - his grip on your waist never faltering as his cock drags against your walls, just to press back in again. “Say it a-again, pretty girl.” He rocks into you gently, really letting you feel it every time your cunt stretches open to welcome him - the emptiness before he fills you right back up again. “Love hearing you s-say it.”

“I-“ You gasp when he hits your gspot, still so sensitive from your previous orgasm that it’s enough to make your head swim. Your words choke off into a moan, and it’s hard to recover when the feeling of him pressing into you again leaves you near brainless. “I love you, T-Toby.”

Toby can’t help but smile down at you, a heady mix of lust and adoration swimming through his veins at the sound of your whimpered out declarations of love. You were so beautiful that it made his chest hurt normally, but right now especially - crying out how much you loved him, looking so pretty with tears in your eyes while he stuffed you with his cock.

If any of the other proxies could see you like this, he’d bet they’d very quickly understand why his head was always in the clouds while on missions. But then again, he’d also kill them if they ever did.

You were his. His girl. His life. His reason to keep going. And though he wasn’t quite sure if he really truly deserved you, those facts were infallible. He much rather die, than ever let you go. Would willingly come close to death every single day, if it meant he’d be coming home to you.

“Th-That’s my girl.” He murmurs gently, before dipping down low to lick and nip at your jawline - hips never faltering as they rolled into you over and over again. Belt clinking every time his skin met yours. “B-But I love you more. You make me f-feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

God, you were perfect. Sucking him in so eagerly every time he pulled out. Walls wrapping around his cock like a glove, pulsing to the tune of your heartbeat, tightening up in a way that made his mind go blank each time he nudged against that sweet spot within you. Your pussy had him under a spell. Whether he was simply tasting it, or buried six inches deep into it, it brought forth an ecstasy he had never once found elsewhere.

‘Pussywhipped’, Brian had called him once, and he knew it was true. Wore that title with pride, because how the hell couldn’t he be, when he had a cunt this glorious all to himself? It felt like you were moulded to the shape of him, milking him so good that he knew he was already close.

He couldn’t help it. You just felt too good. Always did. But especially, when he had really been missing you. “Y-You feel so good, baby.” He’s groaning into your ear, breathing out hot huffs of breath against your neck that have goosebumps rising on your skin. “S-So good, fuck. This pussy was m-made for me, wasn’t it?”

“Uh huh-“ You’re gasping back to him mindlessly, head stuffed with cotton as your hands lift to grasp at his broad shoulders. Nails raking against his skin before sinking in deep as a means to ground you, but you know he doesn’t mind. He can’t feel the pain. Just the pressure. The desperation in your grip as you cling to him like a lifeline, curling your whole body around him when your legs come up to lock around his waist. “S’all yours.”

“Damn right it is.” He groans against your skin, voice cracking under the weight of the pleasure consuming him. He’s panting against you, sweat rolling off the strands of his hair and dripping onto your skin. Muscles flexing under your grip from exertion as he snaps his hips into you over and over and over again. Chasing your release, more than his, because he can feel it coming. Can feel how your walls start to convulse around him, sucking him in tighter every time he buried himself to the hilt. And if there was only one thing better than you cumming on his tongue, it was you cumming on his cock. “Y-You gonna give me one m-more?” He mumbles huskily as his lips drag against your jaw, angling his hips to hit your gspot on every thrust, relishing in the way your body jolts and your eyes roll back because of it. “Cum on my dick, sh-show me how much you missed me.”

It was like he had you under a spell, with the way the coil snapped at the sound of his voice. Burying your head in his shoulder as you cried out in ecstasy, clawing at his back as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through your entire body.

And with how beautiful you sounded, and how your pussy was squeezing him like a vice, hellbent on milking him dry - it was no surprise that he was tumbling over the edge right along side you.

Toby comes in a flurry of gasps and expletives, pulling out just in time to jerk his cock once, twice, before he’s spilling onto your stomach and chest. Rope after rope of sticky warmth coating your skin and leaving you breathless. You can feel it as it pools in your bellybutton and drips down your sides, staining the sheets below you - but well, they had to be washed anyway, so did it really matter?

“L-Love you.” Is the first thing you hear Toby murmur out when his brain starts to boot back up, face buried in your neck as his cock softens against your thigh. “F-Fucking hell, I love you so much it’s crazy.”

You let out a soft little giggle, chest feeling warm as you pull him in as close as possible without smearing the mess on your skin onto him as well, before pressing a kiss to his jawline. Nuzzling against the stubble there, you murmur;

“Love me enough to clean me up?”

Toby snorts out a laughs and lifts his head just so that you can see it when he rolls his eyes at you, and just like that you’re breaking into a little fit of laughter.

“Wh-Who do you take me for?” He scoffs. “C-Course I will.” Then, he’s sitting up, tucking himself back into his boxers before sitting back on his calves - eyes raking across your naked body as he takes in the damage he caused. “Hm, g-guess I did make a mess, huh?” He doesn’t look the least bit sorry about it. “You look good l-like this, though.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“You would think that.” You laugh, lifting your leg to nudge him softly with your foot. “Go get a towel.”

“Alright, alright.” Toby raises his hands in surrender, before slipping off the bed and retreating towards the bathroom. Not before looking back to take in the sight of you once more though. Okay, twice more. Soon though, he returns with a wet cloth, and making true on his promise - wipes you spotless.

Leaving your stomach and chest clean, dipping between your thighs to gently clean up the mess there too. Not stopping until he was sure that you were before he came and sullied you.

Then, he’s finally kicking off his jeans, and crawling into bed with you once more. Tugging you in close to his chest, just like he had when he first got home.

“You still need to shower.” You murmur to him sleepily, though make no effort to stop him as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. Easily conceding when he reached down to tug the blankets over both of you.

“Mm, t-too tired now.” He murmurs against your skin, and you can feel the way his lips curl up into a sly smile. “I’ll d-do it in the morning.”

You, also too tired to argue about it, simply let out a soft sigh before snuggling into him further - finding comfort in the feeling of his bare chest against your back.

“And you’ll wash the sheets?”

“A-And I’ll wash the sh-sheets.”

—————————————————————————☆

hi everyone!! my first post since I died and disappeared for over a week!

very happy to be back I missed u guys so much <3

thank you for readinggggg!

[dailynnt]

♡⃟࿔ BETWEEN FEIGNED HATRED AND REAL DESIRE ♡⃟࿔

𑁤 Summary: You can't stand Jungkook, your brother's arrogant, cocky friend who is just waiting for an opportunity to annoy you. He always finds a way to get under your skin, and you were sure that what you hated more than him was the idea of having any feelings for him. But one accident changes everything. Left with him in a locked, cramped room, where every breath is a fire between you two, you realizes that you hatred has always been hidden behind something deeper. Something that cannot be denied, cannot be ignored.

𑁤 Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader, Jungkook • Y/N

𑁤 Age restrictions: 18+

𑁤 Size: one shot

𑁤 Tags: best friend brother, school au, y/n Hoseok sister, from enemies to lovers, sexual tension, unprotected sex, detailed description of sexual scenes, swear words, slightly domJK.

𑁤 Dedication: A late Valentine's Day gift 💘 @myjungkookthighs, @kelsyx33, @someoneelse0109, @mskookie, @kooccult, @smokinghotstargirl , @curse-of-art, @rispwr, @kooko009, @medstudentlifestyle

𑁤 From author: Another of my fantasies that resulted in this, in my opinion, an interesting work. It seems that there are many such works, but you know each author writes in his own way 🥹💕 Therefore, please enjoy, this is a gift ( 🤫 Late gift) for Valentine's Day 💞🫶🏻💜

Your story seems is typical. You hated one of your brother's best friends. All five of the Bulletproof boys on your school's volleyball team were just perfect.

Namjoon, tall, strong, and very smart. Jin is tall, funny, and handsome. Yoongi is quiet, talented, and can always talk to you about anything. Jimin is cheerful, charismatic, and has a subtle sense of humor. Taehyung was synonymous with the word beauty, he was cute but also a tomboy.

And him. Jeon Jungkook. He was a walking nightmare who was hotter than fire, but had a temper that pissed you off. His favorite thing to do was to tease you. He would do just that when he came to your house to hang out at a party thrown by Hoseok, your brother, or when you were having lunch at school with your brother and a whole bunch of his friends sat down with you. Jungkook was always there. And you were literally sick of him.

There was tension between you because your conversation always ended with you screaming and wanting to scratch his face.

Today was Valentine's Day and you hated it. Why? Who wouldn't hate those sweet couples in love who kissed or hugged each other almost everywhere they went? Why are they so annoying on this particular day?

Physical education is over, the last class of the day. You took a shower and went to the locker room. The girls were all gathered together, talking, joking about Valentine's Day.

"Girls, let's each say who we would like to fuck today?" - Kim Sora, who was your bestie, suggested. Only the girls from your company were left in the locker room. They were all mostly cheerleaders, but you weren't. "I'd like Namjoon." - She says first. Everyone laughs and Hewon and Seolha say they would like Namjoon too.

"And I would like Yoongi. His aloof and almost bored behavior turns me on so much. I would know how to make him feel better." - Sejong says, and you burst out laughing. She's had her eye on Yoongi for a while now, but he's not paying attention.

"God, I can't decide between Taehyung and Jimin. They're both so hot, can I have both?" - Sumin asks. You laugh again as you put on your sweatpants. You look at yourself in the mirror.

"Y/N hope you'll forgive me, but I'd like to fuck your brother." - Arin says. You turn to her and grimace.

"Goshhh, Arin, I thought you had better taste." - The girls laugh, but you don't. You genuinely don't understand what girls find sexy about your brother. But fortunately, you don't have to.

"And you're Y/N? You're the only one who hasn't said yet." - Arin laughs and all the girls pay attention to you. You are a little nervous about their attention, and you walk back to the bench where your T-shirt was lying. You put it on.

"I don't know, I don't think I'm interested in any of the Bulletproofs." - You say casually.

"No, you're a liar." - Sora says, and you turn a sharp look at her. You raise your eyebrows. No. She's not going to tell you about him. "Girls, do you know who she dreams of fucking?" - Sora smiles slyly.

"Don't you dare talk about him." - You threaten your bestie , who breaks into an even more evil smile. All the girls squeal almost in unison.

"Who? Who is it?" - Arin squeals.

"Who is our impregnable ice queen dreaming about? Is it Yoongi?" - Hewon asked.

"Hey, Yoongi is mine!" - Shouted Sejong.

"No, I don't want your Yoongi!" - You said. You hurriedly started to pack your things so that you could run away before Sora said anything about him.

"No, it's not Yoongi." - Sora said. She was silent for a moment. You gave her an angry look and said with one lip, "I'm going to kill you." "It's Jungkook." - Sora finally said, and everything broke inside you. All the girls gasped.

"Jungkook?" - Hewon shouted out. "She hates him just as much as he hates her."

"I don't want him." - You said harshly. All the girls stared at you. "I barely live on the same planet as him, and you're saying this." - For some reason you were trying to justify yourself. And when you realized it, you decided it was better to leave. "Don't say stupid anymore like that. I'm going home." - You said more calmly. You stopped at the threshold and turned to Sora. "Sora, you are in trouble." - You smiled sweetly and hurried away.

You were so angry. You couldn't stand Jungkook, how could you want him? He was so horrible. You walk away with quick steps, clutching your bag. Your chest burns with anger mixed with shame. How could she do that? How could she say that out loud?

You raced down the path from the gym, clutching the straps of your bag so tightly that your knuckles turned white. Your heart was pounding and your cheeks were burning. Jungkook? Was it him? Why the hell would Sora say something like that in front of everyone?

You stopped, took a deep breath. You never want him. You can't stand him. He's been annoying you since the first day you met him. He's arrogant, self-confident, always sure of his own attractiveness.

And for some reason... You stopped abruptly when you saw him. Jungkook stood next to his motorcycle, wearing a black T-shirt that fit his muscular body and above it black bomber. He was twirling his helmet in his hands, and his eyes slid over you as if by accident.

Your face flushed even more. He raised an eyebrow.

"What?" - He said, smiling slightly. You took a step back in confusion.

"Nothing!" - You answered too sharply. His smile grew wider, almost impudent.

"You look..." - He tilted his head, studying you. "Tense."

"Go to hell, Jungkook." - You gritted your teeth and tried to walk away, but he quickly grabbed your wrist. You froze.

He took another step closer, leaning in so that you could smell his perfume. For some reason, your heart started pounding furiously.

"Wait." - He purred.

"Are you crazy? Let go of me. What do you want?" - You hissed, trying to pull your hand away, but he only squeezed your wrist tighter. His eyes darkened and a strange pleasure appeared in his voice.

"By any chance, were you thinking about me right now?" - His voice was as mocking as ever.

"You…!" - You choked with anger.

"Because you blushed." - He added hoarsely. Something tightened in your chest. You going to kill Sora.

"If you don't let go now, you'll lost your golden bells." - You threaten, and your face expresses absolute anger. He laughs, but lets go. Because you usually keep your words. You give him a scorching look and walk home.

You get almost home, and when you want to call your oppa, you are horrified to realize that there is no phone. You dig through your pockets and search your bag, but it's not there. Damn it, you must have left it in the locker room.

You swear about everything, cursing this day, and go back to school. It takes you at least 30 minutes to get to the locker room. Almost no one is in the school anymore. You look for your phone, but it's nowhere to be found. You swear again and try to figure out where you could have left it. You desperately searched for your phone in the locker room, under the benches, in your things. But it was nowhere to be found. Fuck!

You exhaled loudly and ran a hand through your hair. Someone must have found it by now and taken it away.

"Looks like that girl has sown something again." - You flinched at the familiar voice. You turned sharply to find Jungkook standing at the door, arms crossed over his chest.

"What do you want?" - You asked abruptly. He shrugged his shoulders.

"I saw you running like a madman. I figured you were in trouble again." - He said bored. But his gaze was absolutely focused on you.

"I'm not in trouble!" - You were indignant.

"Yeah, you're just running around grumbling to yourself." - Jungkook said with a slight smile. You rolled your eyes.

"I just left my phone here." - You said, irritated. Jungkook shrugged again, but suddenly started walking around the locker room, looking under the benches. You raised your eyebrows and watched him. "What are you doing?" - You asked.

"Helping you find it." - He said looking at the windowsill.

"I didn't ask you to. Get out." - You say harshly, turning away from him. Although for some reason you don't want him to leave. And you want to hit yourself for feeling this way.

"Come on." - He said, coming closer. You glanced over your shoulder. He put his hands in his pockets and tilted his head. "What's wrong with helping my best friend's sister."

You turned away and grimaced, but inside you still felt a little relieved.

A few minutes later, you walked out of the locker room, and you looked around again, trying to remember where else you might have left your phone.

"Maybe in the gym?" - Jungkook suggested.

"Maybe..." - You mumbled, holding a little further away from him. He silently turned around and headed that way. "Hey! I told you, I don't need your help!" - You said, trying to get rid of him.

"Then just don't follow me!" - He threw over his shoulder without even stopping. You gritted your teeth and followed him anyway.

The gym was empty. You walked around it, looked in all the corners, and suddenly Jungkook stopped at a small room with sports equipment.

"Have you looked here yet?" - He asks, peering in. He walks over and opens the door wider. "I saw you go in here in class to get a ball." - Jungkook remembers.

"I wouldn't leave it here." - You argue, coming up behind him. He turns his head toward you.

"I think we should check here too." - He said and went inside. You looked at him skeptically and followed him inside.

The storage room was small, filled with balls, mats, and other equipment. You cautiously walked around the small room. It was lit by a single small window, through which the rays of the setting sun were breaking through. While you were looking at the stand with the volleyballs, you suddenly heard something. A click. The door closed. And immediately there was a sound that made you freeze. A lock.

"No, no, no..." - You turned around jerkily and pulled the doorknob. But in vain. You heard footsteps outside.

"Yeah... I think this is the last one." - You heard a muffled voice. "Finally, all the rooms are closed."

You pressed yourself against the door.

"HEY! SOMEONE HELP US! SOMEONE IS HERE!" - You pounded on the door, but nothing seemed to happen. Jungkook laughed.

"Damn, that's funny." - He said leaning on the stand. You slowly turned your head to him.

"You think it's funny?" - You squeaked. He held up his hands. "We've been locked in here. And probably on purpose."

"Hey, calm down. It's an accident, who would lock us in here on purpose?" - He asked skeptically. You slammed the door with your palm.

"Damn it!!! You're to blame for this!" - You screamed.

"Me?" - Jungkook was genuinely surprised.

"You dragged me here!" - You countered. He laughed out loud.

"My baby, you chose to follow me." - Jungkook said defiantly through hysterical laughter.

"Don't call me that!" - You shouted. You were shaking with anger. You'd lost your phone somewhere, but worse than that, you were locked in a small room with a man you couldn't stand.

"What? 'My baby' this word makes you angry?" - He asked again and smiled again. You looked around frantically.

"We have to get out of here. Call someone, Hosoku or whoever, and get us out." - You said.

"Oh, of course we have to get out. Otherwise, you'll be stuck with me in a cramped room..." - He suddenly took a step closer. "...alone." - You clenched your fists. Reflexively stepping back to the door.

"Don't do this. Just pick up the fucking phone and call my brother." - You said.

"Don't do what?" - Jungkook stopped one step away. You took another step back. There must be a door somewhere. "I think you don’t want that I’m really calling to anyone." - He said, leaning closer. You froze. He smiled slightly, his gaze sliding over your face, then to your lips. "Even you don't mind?" - Your heart beat faster. But you had to control yourself. You clenched your teeth.

"If you don't shut up now..." - You threatened, losing what little self-control you had when Jungkook pinned his gaze on your lips and took another half step closer.

"What?" - He lowered his voice. You could hear the noise in your ears and the frantic pounding of your heart. Jungkook must have heard it too, because he suddenly smiled mysteriously.

"I'm going to kill you." - You tried to say in your usual tone. The one you used every time you spoke to Jungkook. But as he stood so close and looked at your lips, you heard your voice break.

"Really?" - He asked. You suddenly realized the gravity of the situation and seemed to see yourself from the outside. You were like an antelope being caught by a lion.

You were ready to kick him, but he suddenly grabbed your wrist and sharply pushed you against the front door. Your heart was pounding even faster. His face was close. Too close.

"If you hate me so much..." - His voice was hoarse. "Why are you embarrassed next to me?" - You wanted to protest. You don't get embarrassed next to him. He always annoys you, and all you do is get angry and yell at him. Jungkook leaned in even closer, his lips near your ear. "If I kiss you now, will you push me away?" - He whispered. You felt his breath on your skin and knew he was playing with you. But what was even worse was that, against your will, you began to like this game.

You leaned back against the front door, your pulse pounding in your temples, and Jungkook's breath barely touching your skin.

"I'll push you away." - You gritted out, trying to raise your hands to push him away, but he grabbed them and pinned them behind your back, intertwining your fingers. You tried to get free, but he held you tighter. His closeness and the smell of his perfume made your legs go limp. He smiled.

"Oh, you do?" - He asked boldly. Your nails dug painfully into his palms.

"Don't play with me, Jungkook." - You threaten, looking into his eyes filled with mischief. "I'm going to tell Hoseok that you were hitting on me." - Jungkook giggled softly.

"You won't." - He said confidently. "Because you like what I do." - His lips were almost touching your ear. You flinched, but tried to pull away from him anyway.

"I don't like it. You're too confident." - You said firmly. He pressed even closer, and then... backed away. You were breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath. Jungkook had stirred up something in you that you weren't supposed to feel before.

"Do you want me to stop to make fun of you?" - He suddenly asked. You raised your eyebrows and shifted on your feet.

"What?" - You asked quietly. Jungkook smiled predatory.

"I suggest we end this here. Once and for all. Here's the deal. You do one thing I ask and I'll never make fun of you again." - He offered. It sounds tempting. The prospect of getting rid of Jungkook forever is too tempting.

"What are you suggesting?" - You ask sharply.

"Kiss me." - He says. You are frozen. But then you almost laughed.

"Are you silly? What kind of nonsense is that?" - You laugh. Jungkook takes a step forward and you don't take your eyes off him.

"Just kiss me and this will be over." - Jungkook says. You clench your jaw. Should you kiss him? Only if the world ends.

"I won't..." - You say indignantly. Jungkook is close again, and your pulse is pounding in your temples.

"Why, are you scared?" - He smiles even wider. "Do you think you'll like it?"

You grit your teeth. He dares you. He's just playing with you. He won't leave you alone even if you kiss him now. The thought of kissing him is driving you crazy. If you do it now, he'll laugh forever.

But...

Why did your hand suddenly almost jerk forward? Why did his gaze seem to evoke something hot and uncontrollable inside you? You took a deep breath. Could he be serious now? You don't know if you can trust him one hundred percent, but for some reason you think he's serious.

"Okay." - You finally agree. Jungkook raises an eyebrow.

"What?" - His voice is pure surprise. You took a step toward him, grabbed him by the collar of his bomber jacket, and go on your tiptoes, slowly reaching for his lips... You could almost feel his warmth when he pulled away at the last moment.

You froze. You opened your eyes and saw his sly smile.

"You..." - You said quietly, boiling with rage. He laughed, brazenly, smugly, his eyes sparkling with pleasure. How humiliating.

"So you really want to kiss me? You said you didn't like it. You didn't really think I'd let you do it that easily, did you?" - The blood rushed to your head.

"You... asshole." - You punched him in the chest, but he just laughed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you were so determined to kiss me. Did you really? You hate me so much and you wanted to kiss me?" - He asks through his laughter. You got even more angry and started to hit him, but he quickly caught your arms and turned you around, pinning you against the wall again. He pinned you from behind and you felt his crotch pressing against your ass. You were breathing fast.

"That's enough, baby. I don't want to fight you." - He mumbled in your ear. His fingers tightened around your wrists, which he had pinned against the wall. "I thought you were so cold..." - His voice dropped to a whisper. "But you're heating up faster than I thought."

"Let go of me." - You hissed, wriggling away. But he didn't listen.

Instead, he turned you around and before you could realize it, he was kissing you. Hotly, greedily, so that your breath hitched and your thoughts were mixed. He pressed against you harder, and you... You didn't push him away.

On the contrary, your fingers tightened involuntarily on his bomber jacket. You hated him. But... You wanted it.

When he pulled away from you, his lips were still barely touching yours, and his voice sounded bold and deep at the same time.

"Should we stop?" - He asked. You were breathing heavily, your mind screaming no, but your body was reaching forward treacherously. His gaze burned you. Deep, dark, filled with something that made your body stiffen and your heart pound furiously in your chest.

Jungkook's lips barely touched your cheek, then slowly slid down to your jawline. His breath is hot and tickles your skin, making you shiver.

"I knew it." - He whispers. "You're not pushing me away."

"I..." - You stutter, not sure what to say. His hands, warm and strong, slid down your body. He slipped his hand under your sweatpants and squeezed your buttocks as if he didn't want to let go, as if he wanted to leave a mark on you-not just on your skin, but deeper, somewhere you'd never let him touch.

"Mmm?" - His lips touched your ear. "What are you going to say now?" - You wanted to say that this was a mistake. That you didn't want this. But your breath gave you away. Deep, shuddering, with an echo of desire. Jungkook smiled slightly, his other hand slowly moving up along your waist, tugging at the fabric of your T-shirt. "Do you want me to stop?"

His lips descended to your neck, a light bite, a burnt touch of his tongue that sent an electric shock through your body.

"Tell me..." - He demanded, grabbing your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. You couldn't say no. Because your fingers had already slid over his chest, you could feel the muscles rippling under the fabric, and your body was treacherously searching for him.

"Jungkook..." - His name sounded almost pleading on your lips.

And before you knew it, his lips were on yours again, even hotter, even more greedy. This kiss was no longer a game. It was real. And you already knew you had given in.

His hand that had been squeezing your buttocks slid down your thighs and came to your front. Without taking his lips from yours, he parted your folds and touched your clit with his fingers. You unconsciously moaned into his mouth. He smiled into your lips.

He massaged your clitoris so gently and so wonderfully that you thought that if he hadn't been holding you down, you would have fallen over. The circular movements on your sensitive center were driving you crazy.

Jungkook plunged his fingers into your passage and finally pulled away from your lips. You were both breathing heavily, very close together. You felt his hard cock resting against your thigh.

"You're so wet for me, baby." - He whispers breathlessly. You can't speak, because the friction from his fingers prevents you from doing so. "Do you want more? I can fuck you right now." - Jungkook offers. You raise your eyebrows, moaning softly. Jungkook pulls up your t-shirt to reveal your breasts.

You're not wearing a bra. You didn't put it on after gym class because you were sweating and didn't want to wear a dirty bra. You didn't plan to go back to school, but you forgot your phone.

"I've always wondered what those nipples taste like." - Jungkook hummed and leaned over to one of them. His lips captured your sensitive flesh and sucked. You felt him smile. You held his shoulders and tried not to go crazy with his skillful fingers inside you.

"Jungkook..." - You called out to him. He didn't answer. He just moved to your other nipple and played with it with his tongue. "Please..." - You breathed out. The Jungkook left your nipple and you felt the cold air contrasting with the licked nipple.

"What is it baby?" - He asked into your lips then. But suddenly he pulls his hand out and puts his fingers into his mouth. You breathe heavily and watch him suck his fingers soaked in your cum. "You really want me to fuck you?" - Jungkook wants to make sure. You bite your lip, unable to say it out loud. But yes. You do want him to fuck you.

Jungkook glanced between your bodies. His hard cock was already resting against your pussy. He made a few thrusts and you squeezed his clothes harder.

"Go ahead and say it, or I won't continue." - He says tensely. A hush escapes your lips.

"You're lying." - Suddenly, your voice cuts through. "You won't be able to stop now." - Jungkook laughs. You're so damn right. He's either going to fuck you or…he's going to fuck you.

"You're such a smart girl. But you have to let me." - He warns you gently. But you don't answer right away. You think again that this could be a joke. What if will you let him now and he walks away again? And then what? Or you'll let him fuck you now and he'll tell someone that you begged him.

"Do you want me?" - You asked, instead of letting him. Jungkook pulled away and looked into your eyes. He saw how much you wanted him. He wanted you too, your question was so stupid.

"Isn't it obvious?" - He asked with an arched eyebrow. You ran your fingers down his neck, took out his hair and dipped it in your hands, stroking it.

"Just say it. Do you want to fuck me right now?" - You asked, smiling seductively. Jungkook smiled back reflexively. His eyes grew darker.

"Fuck it!" - He cursed. "Yeah. I want to fuck you so hard you can't sit up." - He said with anticipation in his voice. He put his hands on your hips and squeezed them. You smile satisfied, now you can let him.

"Then do it Jeon." - You say and his lips crash against yours. His tongue enters your mouth and finds yours. You get even wetter from his kisses. You want more and he just promised you.

Jungkook breaks your kiss and in one swift movement leaves you without your sweatpants and panties. He falls to his knees in front of your pussy and his eyes are filled with lust. You breathe raggedly looking down at him. You could never have imagined such a picture in your head. Jungkook smiles at you from the corner of his lips and presses his lips to your pussy.

You grab his shoulders and squeeze them. A moan escapes your lips as his tongue traces long streaks across your folds. Your legs tremble as he sucks on the tip of your clit, and you are just in bliss. You press your head against the door and your moans fill this cramped room.

Jungkook sucks hard on your clit. At one point he plunges his fingers back into your passage to stretch you. You are almost going crazy. It's the first time you've ever been eaten, and it feels so fucking good. Jungkook's skillful tongue takes you to heaven. It doesn't take long for you to come right on his tongue. He feels you twitching and spends some more time his tongue on your clit enjoying every drop of you.

You stop twitching and he finally pulls his lips away from your pussy. You look down at him, breathing heavily. You see his chin shining with your juices.

Jungkook stands up, wiping his chin with his hand. He takes your neck with his hand, pulling you closer.

"As expected, you are as sweet as honey. I should have tasted you sooner. But you hated me." - He says and then kisses you. He puts his tongue in your mouth so you can taste yourself. And it turns you on.

Not one of your boyfriends you've dated has ever eaten you because they thought it was not normal. Even though blow jobs are commonplace for them.

But Jungkook, did it in the first. You've heard about it from your friends and have been dying to try it. You want to laugh at the thought that the first person to eat you was Jungkook and he did it so damn well.

"If I had known that your tongue could do more than just talk nonsense, I would have been more sympathetic to you." - You said with a seductive smile as Jungkook broke your kiss so you could breathe in. He laughed, sincerely and infectiously. You laughed along with him. "So what? Do I have to do to make you feel good?" - You ask and reach for his pants. Jungkook is also wearing sweatpants, so your hand sinks inside without any obstacles, successfully passing through his boxers.

Jungkook pulls away slightly and lowers the looking between your bodies. He only sees your hand disappear somewhere in his pants, but when you feel his length and your fingers pump up the it, he barely holds back a moan. You arched your eyebrows and pretended to look like "not bad."

"You're bigger than I might imagined." - Jungkook looks up at you and smiles cockily. "I thought that if you had such a long tongue, your dick was tiny." - You mock. You couldn't let this opportunity go to waste. Jungkook didn't appreciate your joke. He grabbed your face gently with one hand and he another hand leaned against the wall to steady himself.

"You're going to regret thinking that. Because my cock will make you scream." - He said powerfully against your lips, but you weren't afraid, you smiled playfully,. Before you can say anything in your defense, Jungkook kisses you again. Insistently, authoritatively, and deeply, as if he trying to prove something to you. You pull down his pants and boxers below his buttocks to have a better opportunity to jerk him off.

Jungkook moans into your mouth as you speed up your movements. He's getting hard in your hands and you can feel it well.

Jungkook pulls away from your swollen lips with all his might and stops you.

"That's enough, you better give me your pussy so that you realize how wrong you were." - You smile at his words and let him. He turns your back to him. You hear him moving behind you, obviously pulling his pants down. You press your hands against the door and wait for that moment.

Jungkook takes his cock in his hands and pumps you on buttocks several times. He slams it into your buttocks and you breathe heavily. He touches your folds with his fingers, runs them over your pussy to smear your moisture.

You finally feel the head of his cock touch your entrance. You hold your breath. Jungkook leans down to your ear and whispers one last time.

"Please be quiet, so the whole school doesn't hear you screaming from my cock." - He grabs your head and turns you around to kiss you. Your mind is foggy with lust, excitement, and his words.

Finally, you feel pressure on your passage. Jungkook holds your hips. Slowly but surely, he plunges into you. You feel pain when only his head is inside. You scream out, which makes him smile.

"So you're already regretting thinking that?" - You hear his voice somewhere behind you. You say something unintelligible and then scream again as he presses harder. His cock is really big. The biggest you've ever had inside you. Jungkook hisses. "Fuck you're tight, so tight, baby." - You want to smile but you can't, it hurts. Jungkook finally takes over completely. You both freeze to get used to the sensations. Your hot breath leaves marks on the door.

"That feels so fucking good." - You say quietly, so Jungkook doesn't hear that his cock makes you feel so good.

"Are you okay baby?" - He asks leaning down to your cheek. You smile because you're glad he didn't hear what you said a moment ago.

"Yeah. Everything is fine." - You say honestly.

"Then get ready. Because I'm going to fuck you hard." - He warns. Jungkook straightens up and moves his hips. You bite your lip to keep from screaming. The first movements are painful. The next ones are pain mixed with pleasure. And when Jungkook sets a good pace, you feel absolute bliss. You can't stop moaning. He moves his hips so well creating exactly the friction you like.

But Jungkook doesn't stay gentle for long, at some point his thrusts become sharper, deeper. His fingers touch your thighs with a certain force. The cock presses into you as much as possible and you feel he shudders in your middle.

The sensations are simply incomparable. He is so good at this. Jungkook fucks you perfectly. Like no other. It's just nonsense. The best fuck you've ever had is not with someone you love, it’s with Jungkook, who you hate, and not on white sheets, but in a school in the small room with sports equipment. It's crazy.

"That feels so fucking good. Baby, you're just perfect for me." - Jungkook compliments you. He finds your clit with his hands and you can't stand the stimulation.

"Koo... please..." - You say between exhaling moans.

"What did you call me?" - Jungkook asks as he continues to fuck you. You feel a sweet bliss brewing in your lower abdomen.

"Koo..." - You moan his shortened name.

"Damn... You can call me that whenever you want to fuck." - He offers. You raise your eyebrows and open your mouth. Does he think this is not your only time? Right now, you're almost on the verge of cumming around him. And you think that you wanted it to be more than once, too. You want this amazing sex was constantly. But what will happen when you come out from this room, and you finally realize what you've done.

But the knot in your stomach unravels and you come, clutching Jungkook's cock. He's cursing behind you, and you can feel you squeezing him. He slaps his hips mercilessly, his balls slamming against your ass, and the sinful slaps drive you crazy. Jungkook pulls out abruptly and he comes. His cum spills all over the floor and his hands.

You turn around and see him cumming. He looks over at you when he stops spewing his cum.

You are both breathing heavily. Jungkook pulls on his boxers and pants, which he has slightly polluted. You put on your thong and pants and are afraid to look up at him. Jungkook looks at you and a confident smile spreads across his face. You pretend to fix your clothes.

"You have wipes? We're did a little a mess here." - He says and you hear a smile in his voice. You reach for the bag, but your hands are shaking. The warmth of his touch is still pulsating on your skin, and your breathing seems heavier than it should be.

Jungkook seems to sense your state, so he takes his time. He watches you take out the napkins, how you avoid his gaze, and smiles smugly.

"Are you always this quiet afterwards?" - His voice drops to an almost purring tone.

You start to get angry again, but instead of answering, you just toss him the package of napkins. He catches it with one hand and runs the other through his hair, causing the dark strands to become even more disheveled.

"Are you always this obnoxious afterwards?" - You snap back, finally looking up at him. He wipes his hands and the remaining cum on the floor. He stands up. Jungkook tilts his head to the side as if he's considering your question.

"I don't know." - He slowly moves closer, making you take a step back. "But I know I want to do it again." - Your heart jumps into your throat.

"There's not going to be another time." - You say sharply, straighten your clothes, and pretend nothing happened. Even though you want there to be another time. Jungkook laughs again. Deep, low, and this sound makes you even more confused.

"Why not? You liked it." - He states. You clench your jaws and look at him with a challenge.

"Don't you have anyone else to have fun with?" - You ask. He takes another step, and now there are barely a few centimeters between you. His eyes are dark, attentive, and something dangerous is burning in them.

"No. It's just you now." - He says. Your breath catches in your throat. He kisses you and you don't resist. What could that mean? Is this an invitation to fuck without obligation? But he's so annoying when he doesn't fuck you, how do you deal with it? He pulls away from your lips.

"Just don't tell anyone. This will be our secret. You don't want your brother to kill me, do you?" - Jungkook asks, he strokes your cheekbones. You laugh slyly.

"Half an hour ago, I was dreaming about it." - You admit honestly.

Jungkook smiles, and you see something triumphant in his eyes. You hate it - how he always wins your verbal battles, how he always knows which buttons to push to get you off balance.

But you hate it even more the way your heart jumps out of your chest at his proximity.

"So now you don't dream of my death anymore?" - He touches a strand of your hair as if it were something familiar, as if he had a right to do so. You cross your arms over your chest, trying to maintain control. His fingers slowly slide from your hair to your chin, and he lifts it slightly, forcing you to look directly into his eyes. "Don't worry, baby. I'll have time to make you dream of other things." - He says this with such confidence that your skin crawls with goosebumps. You pretend not to feel it.

"We'll see." - You snap back. Jungkook lets you go. He takes a step back and then pulls your phone out of his pocket.

"I forgot to tell you that I found your phone earlier." - He smiles, and you are frozen with shock. So he set this up? You blink, not fully believing his words.

"You... you found it earlier?" - Your voice trembles a little with anger.

"Yeah." - Jungkook throws the phone to you, and you automatically catch it. "I wanted to see what you'd do when you went back to look for him."

You squeeze the phone in your hand, feeling indignation boiling inside.

"You asshole!" - You punch him in the shoulder, but he doesn't even move, just smiles smugly.

"Maybe a little. But we've had fun, right?" - He takes his phone out of his pocket now. "Let's get out of here."

[merlucide]

INSECURITIES THEY FIND ATTRACTIVE

notes: lmao I was bored, NOT proofread so ik it’s kinda wonky lmao

wc: about 200 each

warnings: cursing

!! all of these “insecurities” are beautiful and unique! I’m just using some common insecurities, just bc they are listed doesn’t mean you should be insecure! You are perfect they way you are <3 !!

SMALL BOOBS

He loves your boobs. They are just so cute! He doesn’t care about the size of them, beside’s smaller the chest, bigger the heart! He thinks they’re just the right size, he can perfectly hold them so that’s a plus! He’ll still take a nap on them, boobs are boobs, no matter the size.

NAGI, RIN, OTOYA, sendou, chigiri, ness, niko, reo

STRETCH MARKS

Pls he thinks it’s the most sexy thing ever. He’ll trace the lines up and down with his index finger, telling you how cool your marks are. It truly baffles him that you don’t like your stretch marks.  He thinks they make you look badass, like a lightning scar. 

SHIDOU, BACHIRA, OLIVER, KARASU, REO, yukimiya, barou

THICK THIGHS

The gravitational pull couldn’t keep him away from your thighs. His head nuzzled into the soft flesh, while his hands rub and squish them. After a long day, or really whenever he feels like it, he’ll plop his head down on your thighs and falls right asleep. 

ISAGI, RIN, NESS, reo, nagi, otoya, barou

Bunny/buck teeth

Omg he literally cannot function- he’ll just stare at your mouth while you talk with a big ol’ grin on. He just thinks it’s so cute! Or whenever you’re concentrating and your teeth poke out, he think his heart just might burst. If he ever catches you talking down about yourself he’ll just have to show you how much he loves them with a kiss.

BACHIRA, KURONA, NESS, YUKIMIYA, charles, 

PUDGE

Pls he literally thinks it the best. You’re just so soft and squishy! You’re his personal teddy bear! His favorite part of you is your tummy. The butterflies he gets from looking at is it is crazy. He loves resting his head on your tummy while your pet his head. He loves it when you were tighter clothing so he can see your cute little pudge. 

REO, SENDOU, SHIDOU, KURONA, bachira, nagi, barou, ness

BEING SKINNY

He thinks it’s so funny how loose his clothes fit on you. He thinks your body is so pretty and delicate. he likes hold slender hands and kiss them. He loves the feeling of holding your hands in his. He goes around smuggly telling people he’s dating a supermodel. It’s not good to lie buuut, you totally could be a model 🤭

CHIGIRI, KAISER, hiori, otoya, rin, sae, ness

THIN THIGHS

He thinks they are just the perfect! He thinks it’s cute how big his pants are on you, since his thighs are humongous. He likes to have you sit on the bed while he sits on the floor between your thighs. His cheek will be squished against you, as you combs through his hair. It’s one of his favorite things. 

ISAGI, CHIGIRI, OTOYA, SENDOU, kurona, hiori, karasu, ness, kaiser, sae 

MUSCLES

…he really wants to be dominated by you. Like manhandle, please, he is practically begging you. He thinks your muscles are so fucking hot. Seriously, he thinks it’s the sexiest thing about you, it makes him feel all sweaty and nervous watching you flex your muscles.

KARASU, HIORI, SHIDOU, NESS, reo, 

FRECKLES / BEAUTY MARKS

You cannot and will not stop him from kissing every mole you have. He thinks they make you unique, he loves connecting each birth mark to one another like constellations. He’ll give your “constellations” dumb names too and create a whole story for them. He loves kissing all of your freckles<3

OLIVER, KURONA, BACHIRA, NESS, SHIDOU, isagi, barou, karasu, (sae too but less cute cus yk, it’s sae)

pls reblog/comment! Luv to hear what y’all think! And remember you are a sexy and gorgeous, don’t forget pooks<3

Made April 18th 2024

[lascvitae]

DISTRACTION ✵ YU JIMIN

ARE YOU DOWN TO BE A DISTRACTION, BABY?

BUT DON’T DISTRACT ME, LET ME ASK YOU BABY

ᝰ.ᐟ when rising designer y/n jeon is forced to marry her rival, karina yu as pr for her upcoming fashion launch, the only thing that proves to be messier than their contract is their feelings.

ᝰ.ᐟ pairing. model!karina × fashion designer!fem!reader ᝰ.ᐟ genre. enemies to lovers, slow burn ᝰ.ᐟ warnings/tags. forced/fake marriage, kissing, cursing, mutual pining, jealous karina, unresolved tension, yall argue and bicker a LOT, one bed trope 🥳 feat. sana of twice && giselle of aespa

ᝰ.ᐟ wc 12.5k (not proofread and ik there’s sm typos cause i was working on this late nights. i apologize chat i’ll eventually get to them and fix them all 🥀)

ᝰ.ᐟ katty a birthday present for my goat ( @1luvkarina ) <3 it was so longg and very much overdue but… happy belated birthday again angel 💕

(🎧) now playing — distraction by kehlani.

masterlist.

TODAY SHOULD HAVE BEEN A good day. you slept great, had your breakfast, and the outfit you pictured in your head turned out perfect. your hair had no flyaways in sight. 

but it was too good to be true. like everything always is.

now, you’re sitting in a conference room with your mother, smiling through gritted teeth.

it’s a smile that you’ve perfected over the years. one that says you hope no one notices how your eye twitches every now and then.

across the room, karina stands like a statue. her arms are crossed and her platinum blonde hair is pulled back so perfectly it looks like she stepped off the runway. she’s flawless, and let's be real. probably completely miserable. 

there’s a strange magnetic pull about her. something about the way she carries herself that makes everyone else feel like they should be privileged to be in her presence. the cameras love her. the media loves her. and for some reason, they all buy the faux perfection she’s selling.

you, however? not so much.

karina has been in your life as long as you can remember. mostly because your mothers despise each other with their entire souls. they’ve spent decades one upping each other at every fashion show, gala, and event. your mother says karina’s family is all about “safe and boring designs” while karina’s mom says your family’s work is “overrated and hard to look at.”

you’re the only daughter from the “party” family who only made it big because of your name. karina’s the “cold, robotic model” who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else than in front of a camera, but somehow that just makes her even more untouchable.

you’re trying to launch your own fashion line while dealing with enough press coverage about your wild nights out. so yeah. this marriage? definitely not on your to do list.

but yet here you are. forced into this contract and forced to pretend everything is fine. not to mention, forced to marry a girl you literally cannot stand. 

just because your pr teams and families decided it was time for an “image overhaul.” apparently, a marriage between the rebellious daughter of a famous designer and the perfect, untouchable model would sell better than any brand deal.

“you really have to look so depressed? we’re about to sign a contract that will change both our lives and you can’t even pretend to be at least a little happy?” karina’s voice is sharp and direct but there’s an edge beneath it that makes you want to throw something at her. she’s glaring at you now.

“excuse me? maybe i don’t think pretending is worth it. i’m not the one trying to act like this is a dream.” you snap, your grip tightening around the pen. 

the blonde haired girl rolls her eyes, leaning back in her chair. "you’re not the only one stuck in this, y/n. but maybe if you didn’t make a mess of your career by partying every weekend, we wouldn’t be sitting here." 

she glances towards your mother. "oh, and your brand’s in trouble, isn’t it? before the first launch. a little too much wild behavior?"

the nerve.

you want to snap back, you really do, but there’s no point. she’s baiting you and you know it. besides, you’ve had this fight in your head a thousand times already. you know she thinks you’re a mess and you know she thinks she’s untouchable.

"don’t act like you’re any better. you’re perfect all the time. isn’t that exhausting?” you mutter, feeling the sting of her words. 

“maybe. but at least i’m not the one sabotaging my future. let’s just get this over with.” she gestures to the paper where both of your names are already neatly printed.

you stare at the page for a long while, watching your name against the white paper. your whole life is about to change. again. but this time, there’s no turning back.

"fine.” you say, voice colder than you expected. you sign your name harshly like the pen could stab through the paper (and the paper is karina).

karina follows you with the slightest flicker of hesitation in her eyes. but it’s gone before you can grasp it, replaced once more by that perfect smile you hate. 

“there. we’re done.”

“yep. we’re done.” you mutter, tossing the pen down. 

the ink dries and neither of you are looking at each other but the realization of the situation dawns on both of you.

there’s a quick, awkward handshake. and then it’s over. at least for now.

───────────────────────

you’re in the backseat of the car, soft hum of the engine doing nothing to calm your nerves. your mom sits across from you with her eyes glued to her phone as if your world isn’t about to explode. her fingers click the screen with precision, completely ignoring the fact that your life is being tossed into the fire. again. 

you think back to the past few days. the whirlwind of meetings, press conferences and forced smiles, and contracts you had no choice but to sign. now you’re on your way to the penthouse. the penthouse. the one you’re supposed to share with karina. the girl who probably wouldn’t spare a second glance at you if the press wasn’t currently making you two out to be the next power couple.

“this is ridiculous, mom. i hate this. this whole thing.” you mutter, letting your head fall against the cold glass window while watching the city pass by. your mom doesn’t even look up.

“you don’t have a choice, sweetheart. you need to get your career back on track and this marriage will make the media forget all the mess that you’ve been in.” she says. it’s not in a mean way but it’s that tone of voice she always uses when she thinks she knows better than everyone else. especially you.

you roll your eyes because you’re tired, and honestly, the last thing you need right now is a lecture on how this could be the best thing for you. “i wasn’t asking for a lecture, mom. i’m just saying — i can’t stand her. we’ve hated each other for years.”

she lets out a sigh. one that makes you feel like she’s already heard this a hundred times. and while she probably has, it doesn’t change how you feel. “i know you don’t get along with karina, but you’re both professionals. this is business. nothing more, nothing less.”

“yeah, well, it sure doesn’t feel like business. we’re basically being sold as a brand now. it’s not even real.” you shoot back in a frustrated tone.

“of course it’s not real. but you’re going to make it real. you’re a designer, y/n. this is what we do. we sell ideas. you’ve always known how to sell an image.” she says, tone softening but you can still hear that undertone that you can never lose from her.

“great. so now i’m selling myself? i didn’t know that was the plan.” you say, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.

your mom finally glances at you. “this isn’t forever, y/n. just… don’t make it harder than it has to be. karina’s a beautiful, talented woman. she’s not as bad as you think.”

“oh, trust me, she’s exactly as bad as i think.” you mutter, staring at the city lights flickering past. you’re already picturing her standing in that penthouse with her perfect, stupid blonde hair. you hate her.

but your mom is right about one thing. you don’t have a choice. at least not anymore. the car slows, tires scraping against the pavement as it turns into a sleek, minimalist building with floor to ceiling windows. your new “home.” you hate the idea of it already.

“here we are. you’re going to be fine, sweetheart.” your mom announces, looking out the window like it’s some beautiful moment. 

you don’t feel okay. you feel like running miles away in your louboutins, iggy azalea style.

but you don’t say anything. instead, you just get out of the car, heels clicking on the marble floor as you step into your future. and apparently, karina’s future too.

the lobby is so silent it’s almost unnerving. clean lines and marble floors with chrome accents. it’s gorgeous, definitely. but it’s also soulless. exactly the kind of place you would expect karina to live in. 

you’re barely through the door before a concierge appears, offering a smile and a clipboard for you to sign.

you print your name quickly, barely glancing at it. another contract, another deal.

"your wife is already upstairs." the concierge says politely, emphasizing the word wife.

you don't even correct him. you just nod and head towards the private elevator, heart hammering against in your chest in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with excitement.

when the doors open to the penthouse floor, you step out. and karina is already there. 

she's standing in the middle of the massive living room, arms crossed, eyebrows arched. her hair is still pulled back into that same sleek bun, not a strand out of place. does that shit not hurt? 

but she looks exactly like you pictured her in the car. annoyingly perfect.

you barely have time to process the room before she opens her mouth.

"what took you so long?" she snaps. 

you stare at her, already exhausted. “really? that's the first thing you're gonna say to me?"

karina shrugs like she’s already bored with you. "i mean, some of us are trying to be professional about this."

you roll your eyes so hard that it’s a miracle that they don’t get stuck. "yeah because nothing says professional like fake smiling your way through a forced marriage. stop saying that, karina.”

"you could at least pretend to be grateful. you needed this more than i did.” she shoots back.

you step further into the room, ignoring the way her words sting. "oh, i’m sorry. i must have missed the part where you were a victim here. must be hard being the golden child of the industry."

karina scoffs. it’s a sharp and humorless sound. "and it must be so hard being the family disappointment."

your mouth drops open. "wow. you didn’t even hesitate with that one."

"i call it like i see it.” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder like she’s already won.

you let out a laugh devoid of humor, crossing your arms. "good to know the fake marriage is off to a great start."

for a moment, the two of you just stand there glaring at eachother like you’re about to launch into round two. and honestly? you would — if something over karina’s shoulder didn’t catch your eye.

you squint, stepping around her to get a better look into the side hallway.

and then you see it.

one bed.

one massive, king sized bed. centered neatly in one room.

your stomach drops.

"wait. is that… is that our bed?” you say slowly, blinking like maybe you’re hallucinating. karina turns lazily to look, face the definition of innocence. "oh, did you think we'd have separate beds? how cute."

"cute?! we have to share a bed?!” you basically shriek, spinning back towards her.

"it's king size. plenty of room. just… stay on your side.” she says it like that solves everything. like you’re supposed to be relieved about it.

you stare at her, absolutely baffled. "i'm going to lose my mind."

karina just smirks, stepping past you like this is all just some big joke to her. "then hurry up and unpack. you’re already late."

you don't even have any words. how could you think of any in this situation? 

so you just stand there, fists clenched, watching her disappear down the hallway like she owns the place (she does. a little). you hope she sleeps on the couch tonight. and the night after that. and so on.

you turn back to look at the bed again, your future flashing before your eyes.

welcome to your new life.

and unfortunately for you? this is only the beginning.

───────────────────────

you step out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your chest. the bathroom is massive but whst you noticed first were the two sinks. side by side. like this is some romantic couple getaway and not your impending doom.

you eye the counter and immediately claim the left sink, unpacking your skincare bag.

you’ve just finished patting serum into your cheeks when the door creaks open and you hear the telltale sound of slippers on tile. you don’t look. you already know.

she glides to the right sink without a word with her toothbrush in hand. like this is normal. like this isn’t your bathroom now too.

you glance over once. just long enough to catch the soft smirk on her face.

“what.” you snap.

“nothing.” she says through a mouthful of toothpaste, brushing like she’s in a colgate commercial. “you just take so long.”

you scoff. “because i have a skincare routine.”

“most people do skincare before they shower.”

you pause and turn slowly. “what the fuck did you just say?”

karina gives you a blank look like you’re the crazy one. “before.”

you gasp. “you do your skincare before you wash your body?”

“yeah?”

you stare at her, completely stunned. “what are you, a war criminal?”

“it makes sense—”

“no it doesn’t! you wash it all off. that’s like brushing your teeth before drinking orange juice!”

“okay well, it’s not like i’m using bee venom and fish eggs. some of us keep it simple.” she spits and rinses her mouth, casually grabbing mouthwash.

“coming from someone who used apricot scrub in high school.”

she gasps. “you did not just bring that up.”

“oh, i did. i remember. you had texture on your cheeks for a whole semester.”

“and now i have a chanel campaign. guess it worked out.” the blonde responds, slamming her mouthwash down.

“still. if you didn’t willingly destroy your skin barrier you wouldn’t have this much to say about mine.”

“you literally steamed your face with boiling water in high school.”

you spin towards her with wide eyes. “that was ONE TIME—”

“you looked like a tomato.”

“you exfoliated with kylie skin!”

“it was natural!”

“IT HAD WALNUTS IN IT!”

you’re both standing there now, halfway through your routines and glaring at each other.

“just— stay on your side.” she reminds you.

“i am on my side.”

you both finish in tense silence, bathroom radiating with the scent of toothpaste and passive aggression. when she spits into the sink, you do too. when she opens the drawer for cotton pads, you grab yours quicker. it’s petty.

eventually, she finishes first, walking back into the bedroom. you follow two minutes later and she’s already in bed. not just in bed. she’s hogging the comforter. no pillow barrier. no separation.

you stop in your tracks. “karina.”

“what.” she says flatly, eyes closed.

“no.”

“yes.”

“we talked about this.”

“you talked. i ignored you.”

“karina.”

“what?” she’s still not even facing you. laying on her side but curled under your side of the blanket. 

“pillow barrier. peace treaty.” you remind her, climbing in and aggressively yanking the comforter. “we agreed.”

“you agreed.” she mumbles.

“well you’re cosigning the agreement.” you say, tugging harder.

“you’re doing too much.”

“you’re so annoying.”

you both have a death grip on the blanket, refusing to look at each other. then finally, you give it one final yank that sends it perfectly into the middle.

“fine.” you say.

“fine.” she repeats. annoying. 

a minute passes. then her knee brushes yours.

you both freeze before violently scooting in opposite directions.

at least you’re able to fall asleep.

───────────────────────

you’re sitting on the edge of your shared bed in a robe, phone propped against a bottle of setting spray as aeri stares back at you mid bite of her yogurt.

“i’m just saying.” you whine. “i haven’t eaten yet and i feel like i’m being exploited. this is child labor.”

“you’re twenty three.”

“and?”

karina, who is currently sitting at the vanity while a stylist infects the area with hairspray to set her hair, doesn’t even glance up. “you’re overreacting. you’ll survive a few hours without toast.”

you scoff. “says the person who stole the entire comforter last night.”

she glances at you in the mirror, arching a perfectly filled in brow. “stole? you gave it up.”

“i did not.”

“you said, and i quote, ‘fine, take it. i hope you sweat hoe.’”

you look at aeri. “see what i deal with?”

aeri smiles, spinning her spoon around. your pout returns at the thought of food. “you two are unbearable. can you both please look hot and act cordial for like, one hour today?”

karina lets out a hum that’s annoyingly calm. “i’m always cordial. it’s her that keeps trying to start shit before ten am.”

“i’m not starting anything.”

“you’re accusing me of blanket theft.”

“it’s not accusations if it’s true!”

“be grateful that i didn’t threaten to put my cold feet on you.”

“first, ew! second, you did put your cold feet on me.”

she shrugs. “then we’re even.”

you roll your eyes and drop back on the bed before groaning dramatically. “i’m gonna die before the event. tell them i was too pretty for this world.”

aeri rolls her eyes through the screen. “stand up and get in the damn dress i picked or i’m making you listen to karina’s stylist permanently.”

the blonde haired girl smirks as the makeup artist starts dabbing concealer under her eyes. “we’d get along great.”

you lift your phone just to glare at her. “she’d dump you after ten minutes.”

“she’d take one look at your crusty lip balm collection and cry.”

you gasp. “you don’t even own lip balm.”

“i do. i just don’t lose it every three hours.”

a stylist walks past, setting a dress over the bed with a whispered “two minutes.” you sigh dramatically and push yourself up.

“okay, i’m going. if i don’t make it, tell my story.”

“i’ll tell them you died trying to sabotage me.”

“i’ll tell them you use skincare before you shower.” you say before shuffling off to the bathroom with the dress draped over your arm, grumbling about lack of food and betrayal by the entire world.

“i’m still here, by the way. just waiting for you to complain about something else.” aeri calls out, voice echoing from the phone.

you stick your hand out of the doorway and flip her off.

the stylist laughs. “is she always like this?”

karina doesn’t answer right away. her gaze flicks towards the bathroom door before she shrugs. “only when she’s being dramatic.”

“…so, always?” someone mutters.

karina just smiles, eyes back on the mirror.

you enter the room again a few minutes later, tugging at the waist of the dress and already shaking your head. “i don’t know. i feel like an ugly bridesmaid.”

the fabric’s nice. sure. the color’s fine. but it’s not doing anything for your mood or your ego. and definitely not for the cameras.

karina glances over at you lazily. the stylist’s still curling a piece of her hair but her eyes move. down, then back up. she doesn’t say anything at first.

then she speaks. “you don’t like it?”

“i feel like i should be holding a bouquet and crying.”

she looks you over again, this time more directly. then she casually nods toward the rack.

“try the black one.”

you pause. “that one’s yours.”

“no, mine’s the velvet one. that’s silk.”

you look at it. its off shoulder and fitted around the waist and hips.

“i’m not trying to match with you.”

“we’re not matching.”

“we’re both in black.”

“we’re both breathing too. wanna fight about that as well?”

you shoot her a look. “you suggested it.”

“you’ll look better in it.” she says flatly.

there’s a silence that you don’t know how to fill yet. so you just walk over to the rack and grab it.

when you disappear into the bathroom again, aeri’s voice rings from the phone.

“she does this shit on purpose.” she says.

karina doesn’t respond. instead, she glances down at her phone with a tight jaw and reaches for her lip gloss.

when you come back out, you immediately busy yourself by adjusting the straps and smoothing the fabric over your thighs.

her eyes do that one thing again. they’re barely lingering, like she’s afraid of being caught. there’s no reaction or words. only a look.

you turn towards her. “too much?”

she lifts one shoulder in a half shrug gesture. “better than the bridesmaid one.”

“that’s not a compliment.”

“didn’t say it was.”

you scoff but the heat in your face betrays you. she doesn’t say anything else, grabbing her heels before standing and brushing past you without another glance.

you stay behind for a second then follow after her, grabbing the fine chain of jewelry on the rack as you go. the miu miu pendant gleams in your hand. it was delivered by the same stylist earlier.

karina’s already at the front door of the penthouse by the time you’re slipping into your heels. she doesn’t wait.

“clock’s ticking, princess.”

you roll your eyes and grab your coat, catching up with her at the elevator.

“i still think they should’ve let us go separately.” you mutter as you press the ground floor button.

“they want a show and we happen to be one.” she says simply.

“hey. can you put this on?”

she blinks, clearly surprised. “what?”

“the necklace.” you mutter, holding it out without looking at her. 

she takes it without a word but there’s something in the way she lifts her hands behind you.

you tilt your head slightly, exhaling quietly.

her fingers graze the back of your neck and you flinch. not because it’s cold, but because it’s her. you’re close enough to feel the warmth of her breath as she fastens the clasp.

“there.” she murmurs.

you glance at her reflection in the elevator wall. she’s already stepped back with her arms crossed. like she didn’t just touch you like that.

“thanks.” you say flatly, adjusting the pendant.

“could’ve said please.” she replies quickly.

“i also could’ve asked someone else.”

she hums like she’s unbothered but you see her glance at your lips before she looks away.

then the elevator dings.

you both walk out in sync, heels clicking against the floor.

“wives. stunning as ever.” the concierge greets with a knowing grin.

you groan. “he’s doing it again.”

karina offers a smile that’s too charming. “he’s just doing his job.”

you elbow her, but not too hard. “stop feeding into it.”

“you asked me to help with your necklace in an elevator. that’s wife behavior.”

“it was for the brand. don’t make me throw my heel at you.”

“right. for the brand.”

the car’s already waiting for you outside. the driver opens the door and your “wife” slips in first. you follow, adjusting your coat and smoothing the fabric of your dress as you settle beside her.

“i’m not holding your hand.” you say.

“wasn’t asking.”

“…unless someone asks for a picture.” she adds casually.

“fake couple of the year.”

“we’d win.” she says without hesitation.

you sigh and glance at her outfit. it’s good. like, annoyingly good. you hate how good she looks. or rather, you hate that she looks good standing next to you. like this whole thing is real.

the city speeds past the window in blurs of warm light and for a few seconds, neither of you speak. the only sound is the click of karina’s nails against her screen and the occasional sound of fabric shifting when your legs accidentally brush.

she’s warm beside you and it’s annoying.

you glance over and realize she’s scrolling through the event seating chart, already planning where to sit and how to pose.

you on the other hand, just want to make it through the evening without getting caught drinking too much champagne or rolling your eyes on camera.

you pull your phone out and text aeri under your coat.

you

if i disappear halfway through the party it’s because i pushed her in the fountain

aeri 🧸

Y/N U CAN’T

you

u act like she doesn’t deserve it 🙄 

aeri 🧸

this would be a perfect enemies to lovers kdrama 🥹

you 

blocked

the blonde girl glances over then, lips barely twitching. “texting your fan club?”

“plotting your demise.”

she finally looks up and when your eyes meet, it’s brief, but it lingers. long enough to make you shift in your seat and look away first.

ew. you hate that.

the car slows outside of the venue, flashes already going off like the cameras were waiting specifically for this car to pull up. and honestly, they probably were.

your phone buzzes again.

aeri 🧸

make her laugh

yk they’ll eat it up

btw you guys look scary when you’re both silent

but its rlly hot

two hot scary gays 🤤

you sigh, slipping the phone away as the driver stops the car.

karina straightens her spine and adjusts her coat collar, fingers brushing the edge of her neck “ready?”

“don’t touch me.”

she huffs a laugh. “you wish i would.”

another fake smile. but your neck still tingles where her fingers were and her gaze lingers just a little too long before you both step into the light.

the flashes are disorienting at first.

“karina yu! over here!”

“y/n, who are you wearing?”

“is it true the two of you— ?!”

questions fly like migrating birds but you keep walking. you’ve done this before. being born into this environment taught you how to smile just right. chin tilted slightly, eyes soft but unreadable, lips parted enough to look like you might be about to say something scandalous.

karina walks half a step behind you at first, hands tucked into the pockets of her long black coat. she’s practically glowing under the camera lights. you hate that you notice. hate even more how well your silhouettes match.

she leans in slightly. “you’re slouching.”

you don’t look at her. “i’ll stab you with my heel right here.”

still, you straighten up.

the event handler ushers you both up the carpeted stairs and into the line for press photos. you stand with your hands at your sides. she shifts closer, barely brushing your shoulder. cameras shout your names and the lights start again.

her smile is elegant. yours is more cocky.

“closer, please! give us one for the fans!” someone calls.

you exhale through your nose. you really don’t want to, but karina’s already doing it, stepping closer like it’s nothing and brushing your arm like this isn’t war.

she leans toward your ear, voice soft so the mics won’t catch it. “you want them to think you’re the reluctant one or the mean one tonight?”

you turn your head. “i am the mean one.”

click.

the camera catches the moment your gaze meets hers and it’s way too intense and way too pretty. and you know it’s going to be on some fan edit by midnight with a stupid caption like “the way they look at eachother.”

you’re about to step away when someone from the pr team catches you both.

“quick interview. play nice.” they say.

you force your expression into something neutral as you and karina are ushered toward the mic.

the interviewer is smiling so wide that it’s kinda scary. like she’s so excited to be the one who landed the two of you. “y/n! karina! you both look absolutely incredible tonight. tell me— was the coordination planned?”

you open your mouth, but karina beats you to it with a sugary voice. “not at all. we just think alike.”

“scary, isn’t it?” you say with a dry smile.

the interviewer laughs. “there’s been so much buzz around you lately. everyone’s obsessed with your chemistry. how does it feel to have the internet calling you the most stylish couple of the year?”

karina glances at you and hums. “i think we’ll let the outfits speak for themselves.”

you cross your arms. “speak louder than her, at least.”

karina doesn’t react. she tilts her head and looks at you like you’re a puzzle that she can’t figure out. “i think i’m getting used to the sound.”

the interviewer blinks like she caught something in that moment but she keeps it moving.

“and last question. karina, would you ever consider walking in one of y/n’s shows?”

you raise an eyebrow and turn toward her, clearly amused.

she barely hesitates. “if she designs something worth wearing.”

you scoff. “guess i’ll have to start designing dresses with no personalities.”

she smiles with teeth. “perfect. you’ll have something to wear too.”

the interviewer is too stunned to speak for half a second before nervously laughing. “you two are—” she gestures vaguely, unsure of what to say. “unreal.”

you just smile sweetly, grabbing karina’s arm for the camera. “we know.”

there’s more flashes and buzz. the interview wraps up and you’re both guided into the main venue, shoulders bumping as you step inside.

you don’t look at her again but you feel her looking.

the event is dripping in excess. chandeliers like galaxies hang overhead with velvet walls and champagne towers. you fall in step in beside karina and immediately spot the flashes of press still hovering near the entrance, but you’re safe for now. it’s more exclusive inside.

karina doesn’t say a word when a waiter passes, simply grabbing two glasses of champagne and handing you one. you take it without looking at her.

you wander towards the corner, already recognizing half a dozen industry faces. that one creative director of some company you can’t stand. there’s a singer with their latest muse on their arm. and, of course, you can’t forget the permanently lurking cameras pretending to capture all the “natural moments.”

you’re mid sip when karina’s hand brushes your collarbone and you freeze.

“what are you—”

“your necklace.” she murmurs. her fingers are careful, almost tender even, adjusting the pendant so it lies flat.

“it was crooked.”

you give the blonde girl a skeptical look. “and that bothered you?”

she doesn’t answer, offering you a slow blink and dropping her hand like it didn’t leave heat trailing down your spine. before you can say anything else, a voice steals your attention.

“y/n, you look beautiful. who let you leave the house looking like that and not put you on a runway?” it’s sana, also known as the gossip queen. she’s sipping something from a martini glass and already looping her arm through yours.

“fashion’s newest hostage. have you met my prison guard?” you deadpan.

karina lifts her glass in an idle toast. “charmed.”

sana laughs. “she’s prettier in person. meaner, too. i like her.”

“don’t encourage her.” you mutter.

you’re pulled into more greetings and cheek kisses. karina floats a few feet away, effortlessly slipping into conversations. she doesn’t hog attention. it’s just magnetized to her. designers ask who she’s wearing, some leaning in too close. you try not to look but she finds your eyes through the crowd every few minutes like she’s checking if you’re still there.

you don’t know why that makes you feel steadier.

at one point she’s beside you again, half empty glass dangling from her fingers. your own drink is gone. hou’re about to gesture to a passing waiter when she wordlessly hands you her glass.

you hesitate.

she raises an eyebrow. “scared of my lip gloss?”

you take it and sip slowly. it’s still cold, barely touched.

she doesn’t look away and you pretend not to care.

───────────────────────

the event drags on. hours feel like days. eventually, you’re pulled into one last photo and handshake with someone who couldn’t name a single piece your entire bloodline has designed.

by the time you get back into the car, your heels are throbbing. karina settles in beside you with a sigh that you swear is real.

“finally.” she mutters.

“thought you liked playing dress up.”

“i like the check that comes after.”

you don’t have the energy to roll your eyes. you tilt your head against the window, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. 

“you did good tonight.” she says softly.

you turn your head. “what?”

her gaze is forward, voice quiet. “you looked good and didn’t throw a drink on anyone. impressive.”

“…thanks?”

she shrugs. “don’t get used to it.”

you laugh under your breath and let your head fall against the seat.

when the both of you step into the penthouse, you’re done. the coat’s halfway off your figure, heels discarded by the door. you kick them towards the corner and shuffle across the floor.

karina follows wordlessly, no more interest in bickering with you.

you flop onto the bed. your shared bed. “don’t touch me.” you mumble into the blanket.

karina walks into the closet and you hear the zipper of her dress a moment later.

you don’t mean to turn your head. you don’t mean to look.

but you do.

half of her form is a shadow, hair falling out of its updo as she changes into an oversized shirt and nothing else. she effortlessly takes out her extensions and you see the curve of her back.

then she’s gone again, disappearing into the bathroom.

you stay where you are, face half buried in the comforter and dress bunched awkwardly at your waist. you can hear the shower start a few moments later, water pressure shaking the pipes like the penthouse itself is sighing along with you.

you close your eyes. not to sleep, but just to rest.

the sound of the shower doesn’t stop you from thinking about tonight. no amount of cameras or flashes could make you forget about her hand adjusting your necklace with that softness.

you hear the water turn off and stir, blinking yourself upright again.

when she steps out of the bathroom, she’s wrapped in a white towel.

she glances at you for just a second, eyes flicking from your face to your legs and back, before turning toward the closet.

“don’t slip. if you bust your ass on the floor, i’m not carrying you.” you mutter, standing and peeling off your dress. “you’d be lucky to touch me.”

you scoff, already walking past her. “delusional.” you shut the bathroom door before she can respond.

the shower still holds some warmth, and you sink into it like you’ve been waiting all night.

you dry off quickly after and walk back into the room in one of your own oversized shirts.

karina’s already in bed, lying on her back and scrolling through her phone with the brightness way too high. you flop into your side.

she doesn’t move. “you always smell like strawberries and flowers.”

“are you sniffing me right now?”

“i’m just saying. you always do.” she shrugs it off, but there’s a flicker of something in her voice.

you roll over, facing away. “stop being weird.”

she doesn’t respond immediately, but the glow of her phone finally dims.

you hear her exhale through her nose aou hear the sheets shift. her knee brushes yours under the comforter. barely.

“you snore.” she says way too casually.

“do not.”

“you did last night.”

“you’re making that up.”

“i should’ve recorded it.”

“you’re sick.”

“you like it.”

you do. and you hate how much you do.

but instead you groan and throw the comforter over your head. “goodnight.”

you hear her turn onto her side behind you. except this time, she’s closer than before.

“night, petal.”

you’re still smiling when you fall asleep.

THINGS START TO SHIFT WITHOUT warning. or perhaps the warning signs were always there, hidden behind the way she says your name and looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching.

it begins with the press. you know, photoshoots, events and interviews. before, it was your names side by side in headlines some skepticism, but now they become one. the jeon-yu duo. they refer to you as y/n yu now.

“natural chemistry.” one reporter calls it, voice dripping with fascination. obviously, karina doesn’t flinch. she’s used to pretending for the cameras.

but lately, it’s not pretending anymore. at least not completely.

the first time it catches you off guard is during a vogue shoot.

you’re halfway through a pose when the photographer sighs and mutters something about needing “more intimacy.” karina’s arm slides around you without any hesitation, hand resting against your side while her thumb grazes the bare skin above your hipbone.

she doesn’t even look at you. then she leans in and murmurs “relax, petal.” quiet and just for you.

you don’t relax, but you don’t pull away either.

then it was the variety interview.

you’re both seated across from a roundtable of hosts. she’s in a tailored white blazer with her hair down for once. the conversation trails from your projects into your “new life together.”

“you seem more in sync now. is it just practice?” one host says, half teasing.

“she knows me. it’s not practice, it’s routine.” karina replies easily, hand resting lightly on your thigh under the table. you think it’s just a reminder to behave.

you almost snap at her, until she slides her thumb in one slow circle over your knee.

you say nothing, letting her speak for both of you.

at some point, the edits go viral. there’s loads of fan compilations and screenshots. popular ones are the clips of the two of you holding hands on red carpets or sipping from the same glass at the afterparty. you’re drunk in that clip, dress hiked up slightly as you tip your glass of champagne to karina’s lips. she takes a sip without hesitation even though your lipstick is smudged onto the glass.

“do you guys even like each other?” a designer asks one night somewhere between events.

she smirks and speaks. “you’d be surprised.”

you don’t say anything. you’re still replaying the way her hand skimmed down your back when she zipped up your dress. there was no reason for her to touch you like that. there was a stylist.

but she did it anyway.

now, you’re exhausted. today’s shoot ran two hours over because the photographer was indecisive. apparently the lighting was wrong and your heels were five inches too tall. and most annoying of it all? karina’s perfume was clinging to your dress and they made you retouch your face six times.

when you return to the penthouse, it’s past midnight. you kick off your shoes so hard they hit the baseboard.

karina tosses her jacket onto the back of the couch with a sigh. “don’t throw things.”

“don’t act like you care.”

she pauses in front of the mirror, removing her earrings with the elegance of someone still being watched. “i don’t.”

“great. so stop telling me what to do.” you tug your hair free from its clip.

it’s silent for a moment before she talks again. “you looked okay.”

you scoff. “oh, good. yay! thanks for the approval, karina. must be so nice being you.” you head towards the living room, shedding your earrings with annoyance and tossing them onto the coffee table.

she turns to look at you, leaning against the island with crossed arms. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“you know. you could walk onto a red carpet in a trash bag and still make the best dressed list.”

“you think this is easy?” she asks, voice dropping.

“i think you’ve had everything handed to you on a silver fucking platter.”

“you don’t know shit about what i’ve had handed to me.”

you step closer towards the blonde. “oh, please. spare me the sob story. you’ve been the golden child since birth.”

“and you’ve been the mess everyone has to clean up after.”

that stops you.

it’s not the words, no. it’s the way she says it. like it’s been waiting on her tongue. it felt like she meant it.

your throat tightens. “wow.”

karina exhales, but she doesn’t take it back. she looks at you, tense and tired and so clearly not just angry at tonight.

“don’t act like you don’t know it. you show up late and roll your eyes in interviews. you literally can’t go one week without some crazy headline— and somehow i’m the one that’s fake? at least i show the hell up.”

your voice cracks before you can stop it. “don’t say that shit, karina. i do show up. i showed up when i didn’t want to. hell, i signed the same papers you did. i’ve been smiling through all of this shit while you just stand there looking sad and acting like i should be grateful to be in this with you.”

“you should be.”

your breath stops.

her eyes widen like she didn’t mean to say that, not like that, but it’s too late. you heard it.

you swallow. “fuck you.”

she looks at you like she’s stuck between wanting to fix it and wanting to say more.

you shake your head, throat burning and vision blurry for a second too long. “god, you’re—”

“what?” she snaps. “say it.”

“you don’t care about anyone but yourself. that’s why nobody actually likes you. they just want what you have. ” you say with a shaky voice.

her expression falters. you regret it the moment you say it, but you don’t take it back. neither of you do. not tonight.

she turns and walks down the hall.

you drop onto the couch and let the silence swallow you.

───────────────────────

the morning after, the apartment is still. the sun bleeds through the beige curtains, casting soft gold across the floor. you’re still in last night’s clothes, curled pathetically on the couch underneath a throw blanket that doesn’t even cover your legs.

you didn’t sleep much. at all, if that.

you hear her before you see her, footsteps leading into the kettle starting in the kitchen.

you stay on the couch, eyes half lidded while you fling an arm over your forehead. you can hear every little sound of movement, especially her phone buzzing on the counter.

then you hear her speak. you almost don’t register it until you realize that she’s not calling you. she’s on the phone.

“…she’s not like that.”

“no, she’s not. she’s difficult, yeah. but not— she’s not a mess.”

your stomach turns. her voice is low, but not cold. tired, maybe. it’s soft in a way that you’ve never heard when it’s directed at someone else.

“i know what people say about her, but it’s not true. she cares. she still tries when no one gives her credit for it.”

you can practically hear whoever’s on the other line doubting her.

“yeah, well. maybe i care. maybe that’s the fucking problem.”

your heart stutters and you shift slightly. the couch creaks.

fuck.

her breath catches in the kitchen.

she doesn’t say anything else. you hear the sound of her hanging up before she stands still for a long time. you stay where you are.

finally, she leaves the kitchen. her footsteps trail off toward the bedroom and the silence returns, leaving you alone with your racing heart and thoughts.

and that’s when you realize that something has already changed. you just don’t know what to do with it yet.

so you don’t bring it up.

not when she walks out of the bedroom hours later, dressed in a towel with her hair slicked back like she’s waiting for you to ask what you heard.

you don’t.

instead, you get up, allowing the day pass with minimal words exchanged. the silence between you is no longer hostile. it’s unfamiliar.

and when night falls, rain begins to as well. you’re both silent in bed again. there’s no pillow barrier this time, but your backs still face each other. you’re texting aeri.

you

you up?

we fought last night

like bad

she starts typing.

aeri 🧸

u two need to make out alr

wait til she begs tho

hollon ima call u

you let out a half silent laugh. it’s loud enough to make karina stir.

“you’re loud when you text.” she mumbles into her pillow.

“you’re annoying when you exist. stop being nosey.” you shoot back at the blonde out of habit, but there’s no threat behind it. it’s soft.

“hard to ignore when you keep sighing like someone broke your heart.”

you roll over. “bold of you to assume you didn’t.”

her head turns, eyes catching yours in the faint moonlight. the rain gets louder.

a long moment passes before she speaks. “i’m not sorry for what i said.”

“i’m not either.”

then there’s a longer silence. you can only hear the sound of rain pattering against the window.

“but i didn’t mean all of it.” she adds.

you fully turn towards her now. “which part?”

she doesn’t look away. “the mess part. i was mad, but that doesn’t mean i was right.”

“i didn’t mean what i said either.”

karina watches you with an unreadable expression. then she nods slowly, like that’s enough for now.

you both lay there for a while. she shifts closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth between you.

you want to reach for it.

“are you still mad at me?”

you stare at her. she’s been barefaced for hours, and her voice isn’t even trying to be indifferent. it’s oddly cautious. you realize that no one sees this side of her but you.

you shake your head. “no. i’m just tired.”

her shoulders slump as silence envelops you once more.

“you’re really pretty when you’re not talking.” she says, barely teasing.

you scoff, pushing her hand away. but you’re smiling and she sees it.

she shifts closer under the covers and her knee brushes yours.

you could blame the heat under the blankets, or maybe even the leftover adrenaline from the fight. but when your eyes flick to her lips, it’s none of that.

she leans in. so do you.

her hand grazes your jaw, noses brushing against eachother. both of your eyes flutter shut.

then— your phone vibrates. loudly.

you both freeze, foreheads touching.

aeri 🧸 is calling…

“seriously?” she breathes before flopping back with a quiet for fuck’s sake.

you stare at the ceiling, heart pounding.

“i wasn’t going to kiss you.” she says suddenly.

you hum, half bitter. “sure.”

“i wasn’t.” she repeats, but she doesn’t sound sure anymore. you don’t believe her.

you answer the call and karina stays next to you the whole time, one arm folded behind her head as she stares up at the ceiling too. but the difference is, she looks like she’s waiting. waiting for the next moment. the next time you look at her the way you just did.

you can’t stop thinking about how she might’ve done it if aeri waited another second. and how much you kind of, maybe, really wanted her to.

THAT WAS THREE WEEKS AGO. you haven’t brought it up, and neither has she. which means you’ve been living in that silence where everything feels like it’s leading somewhere and neither of you are willing to admit it.

but the thing is, it changed everything. because nothing’s really happened since.

you haven’t gotten that close off camera again. not even close. she’s been soft ignoring you. you barely speak at events unless someone’s watching, but she still zips your dresses and straightens your necklaces like muscle memory.

and that brings you to now, the night before your official launch. you should be panicking. refreshing your notes. checking every tag on instagram. but instead, you’re at a ysl afterparty, buzzed off champagne and dressed to match karina.

she’s somewhere in the room in a structured black ysl suit. you’ve already taken the joint pictures for press.

so you decide to distract yourself. you’re standing near one of the tall glass walls, half lit by the glow of the city. it hits your face perfectly as you tell a chaotic story to a small circle of models and minor celebrities who are visibly enraptured by you.

“…and then i realized the room wasn’t even ours. we were in the wrong suite the entire time.”

laughter erupts, drinks clinking against eachother. you’re grinning with warm cheeks, tongue looser than usual.

you don’t notice the guy step a little closer until his voice cuts in low and playful. “you always cause this much of a scene?”

you look at him, a little thrown off. he’s tall and polished, the kind of man publicists love to pose you next to. his hand grazes yours when he takes your empty glass, setting it on the nearby table.

“only when it’s fun.” you say breezily, but your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

“i feel like i should get a warning.” he says, tilting his head, and then he catches your hand. he lifts it and brings it to his lips with a kind of precision that makes your brows lift.

you let him. well. sort of.

he kisses your knuckles gently. you’re not even looking at him. you’re looking at karina in the reflection in the glass.

she’s across the room between two editors, nodding politely at whatever they’re saying. but her gaze is stuck on you. her lips ate pressed into a line that doesn’t match the outfit she’s wearing. then she starts walking.

“excuse me. she’s needed.” karina says smoothly, appearing at your side like she’s always belonged there.

“by who?” the guy says with a chuckle, clearly trying to keep the moment alive.

“by me.” she says quickly. her voice isn’t playful. it’s sharp enough to slice through the air between you.

her arm wraps around your waist then she pulls you away. you let her.

“you okay? you look a little tense.” you ask lightly the second you’re around the corner and near the exit.

she doesn’t answer, turning to face you.

you lean against the wall with a teasing smirk. “what? you jealous?”

karina’s eyes narrow. “no.”

“oh, come on. he was cute.” you continue.

“you’re not taking this seriously.”

your smile slips. “what?”

“this. us. you don’t take it seriously.” she says, gesturing between you.

you stare at her. “that’s funny. cause i’ve been showing up to every event. standing next to you and leaning into every touch like this is real.”

“it’s not just about events.”

“then what is it about, karina? because when the cameras go off, you vanish. you avoid me. don’t act like i’m the one faking it.”

“god, you don’t get it.”

“i don’t. i really don’t. because you never say anything. you just look. leave me. or pull me away like you own me.”

“what if i want to?”

you let out a breath.

karina steps closer and her voice drops. only you can hear it. “you’re not the only one confused by this. you think i haven’t wanted to kiss you since that night? i’ve been trying not to all night. but then you let him—”

“prove it.” you cut her off. “prove it then, karina.” you repeat breathlessly.

and then she leans in and kisses you. hard.

her hands cup your face, jaw tilting as her mouth meets yours like she’s been starving for this moment. your heart thuds in your ears as one hand snakes to your hip, thumb caressing it the same way it did in that photoshoot weeks ago.

you gasp against her mouth. she swallows it.

and then, just as suddenly, she breaks it. her eyes are wide when she steps back, mouth parted. she looks like she’s realizing something she can’t say out loud.

you don’t move. you just watch as she turns and walks off.

then you lean against the wall again, dizzy as you try to blink away the lightheaded feeling her lips left against yours.

she tastes like vanilla.

you fish your phone out of your bag, hand shaking.

you

aeri

karina just kissed me

you don’t even get to send a third message before aeri’s voice cuts through the air like she’s been waiting in the wings.

“oh my god, finally.”

you jump. “what— where did you come from?”

“i have ears. and i saw that. it was hot. but what the fuck took you two so long?”

you stare at her, searching for words. but your hands search for a glass. of anything. “she’s so— ugh.”

“she has a death wish, huh?” you say dramatically, eyes wide.

aeri laughs. “a fat crush. but go off.”

you throw a macaron at her. it bounces off her shoulder and lands somewhere under the couch, lost to the ysl afterparty dimension forever.

“i hate her so bad. she had to do that in a suit. with her hands on my—“ you groan, covering your face.

“say it. say ‘my waist.’” aeri says.

you screech into your hands.

“she kissed me like she meant it.”

“do you want her to do it again?”

“yes. and no. i wanna slap her.”

aeri nods, sipping from her own glass.

you groan. “this is your fault. you told me to wait til she begs. i was literally normal before i met you.”

“you’ve never been normal.” she says, patting your thigh. then she straightens suddenly, eyes lighting up.

“oh. my. god. that’s him. i have to go.”

“what?”

“that’s the actor from that french vampire show! he’s wearing the suit with the mesh undershirt. i have to go.”

“aeri—”

“drink water! look at his hair—“ she squeals, already walking away.

you’re left in a half lit corner, few drinks deep, dressed to match your fake wife who kissed you like you were her real one. and now you’re alone. again. you reach for another glass anyway.

───────────────────────

by the time your security appears at the exit with karina beside him, you’re definitely drunk. but you look good. like, really good.

and there’s definitely going to be a viral clip later of her hand wrapped around your waist as she guides you out the building in front of the flashing cameras. she holds you like you’re fragile. you smile like nothing’s wrong.

but karina sees everything. you stumble as you make it towards the entrance, fingers clinging to her jacket.

and she doesn’t say anything when the car door shuts and you slump back against the seat, barely holding yourself up.

her nails click against the screen as she opens her phone and sees it. the photo of your kiss. your first kiss.

it’s blurry and taken from a distance. but anyone can see how breathless you look as her hand cradles your jaw like it’s muscle memory.

the internet thinks it’s romantic. it starts trending immediately.

you’re still slouched against the seat, legs crossed and arms folded. you refuse to look at her. not after she kissed you like that and then walked off like it meant nothing.

you tell yourself it’s fine. that you’ve felt worse. but then she breathes and it’s like your whole body remembers.

karina sits beside you, perfectly fine in her suit. one hand rests against her thigh, the other one scrolling through her phone.

you can feel her looking through the photos. in your head, you know one of them is already trending.

“you’re going viral again.” she says coolly with the same lips that were on on yours twenty minutes ago.

“cool. add that to the list. ‘makes out with fake wife in public.’” you mutter. she doesn’t respond.

instead she leans back, exhaling like she’s already tired of this. as if dealing with you is exhausting. “you’re drunk.”

“wow, thanks for the update. next breaking story? you’re a coward.”

“you’re blowing it out of proportion.”

you scoff. “really? you kissed me like it meant something and then walked away like i had cooties.”

karina’s head turns slowly, exhaling. “cooties? y/n. god, you’re— such a problem.”

your eyes narrow. “then stop looking at me like you want to make it worse.”

she doesn’t answer. even though you want a verbal one, the way her jaw clenches is enough.

the car glides into the garage. and the second it stops, you’re out the door with your heels in hand. walking barefoot into the elevator like you’re on a mission. karina stares at them like she wants to take them for you.

you don’t wait for her. she still follows.

“you’re upset.”

“ding! next question.”

“because i kissed you?”

you spin on your heel. “because you always pull away, jimin.”

her name hangs between you. it’s the first time you’ve said it to her.

you can see her expression change.

“you always disappear. or worse, act like it didn’t happen. like i’m the one imagining shit.”

karina exhales. “we agreed not to make this complicated.”

“yeah? well guess what. you complicated it when you started looking at me like that.”

“like what?”

“like you felt something.”

her mouth opens then closes. then she backs you up without touching you until your spine hits the wall just outside of the bedroom.

“you think it’s easy for me? i told you i’ve wanted to kiss you since that night.”

“then do it again. if it mean nothing, do it again.” you glare. you’re not even sure if you’re making sense anymore.

her eyes drop down to your lips.

“you’re drunk.”

you shove past her. “like i said. coward.”

“spoiled brat.”

“you like it.”

“you wish.”

you get to the bedroom first. your fingers fumble with the zipper of your dress before you give up entirely.

karina walks in behind you.

you turn to face her, arms out. “you gonna help or keep staring like a creep?”

she crosses the room quietly, one hand lifting to the zipper. it slides down slowly, making your breath hitch.

your dress falls and then she turns, pulling the blanket back on the bed like she didn’t just undress you with her hands.

“bed.”

“make me.”

“you’re sleeping while standing up.”

“your fault.”

“you’re so annoying.”

“and you’re so obsessed with me that it’s embarrassing.”

karina looks at you and something in her expression falters. just for a second. then it’s gone.

she straightens up. “get in bed.”

you crawl in. she tucks the blanket over your legs. her fingers brush your bare thigh.

“you kiss everyone like that?” you ask.

“only the girls who drive me crazy.”

“mm. should’ve gone for him them.” you hum.

karina flexes her jaw. “i’m gonna sleep on the couch.”

“no you’re not.”

“you can’t stop me.”

“you kissed me first.”

“what does that have to do with anything?”

“nothing. everything.” you whisper. and then you both go quiet.

she stares at you for a moment. then she turns off the light. she stays beside you, but neither of you sleep for hours.

───────────────────────

“i feel like death.”

aeri doesn’t look up from her phone across from you, scrolling with her thumb. “but you look like a million dollars. and someone who’s about to have a phenomenal launch.”

“can you at least look at me when you compliment me? makes it feel authentic.” you roll your eyes.

she raises an eyebrow, giggling away at something, or someone on her phone.

“you are like papa.” you mutter once she completely ignores you.

“don’t compare me to your emotionally repressed wife.”

“fake wife.” you correct, stabbing your straw into the untouched iced coffee beside you.

“emphasis on fake. she kissed me like it was real and then left me painkillers on the nightstand like we’re married and going through a divorce.”

aeri just hums. it’s her way of saying you technically are without actually saying it.

“she didn’t even leave a note. not even a ‘good luck baby’ or something. don’t i deserve compensation for the way she tried to shove her tongue down my throat then disappeared?” you add, flopping dramatically against the back of the chair. your stylist audibly grumbles from behind you.

“maybe the pills were the note.”

you scoff. “aeri, be for real. he leaves me mints everyday. does that mean he’s in love with me too?”

you gesture to the man fixing your hair before crossing your arms.

“girl, i’m gay.” he says.

“but you treat me better than karina.”

“she’s gay too.” aeri deadpans.

you look at her. “okay? i’m just saying, being gay doesn’t make you a good person. or a good fake wife. stop defending her.”

your stylist muffles a laugh behind you.

“i’m not defending her.”

“you totally are. but it’s fine.” you sigh dramatically.

“you sound like you caught feelings.”

you glare at the pink haired girl before speaking. “what i better not catch is her walking in here like nothing happened.”

“and if she does?”

“you’re still defending her like she didn’t ghost me while we share a bed.”

“you mean the california king?”

“our shared bed.” you repeat, sipping your coffee.

aeri begins scrolling again. “i’m actually kind of obsessed with you two.”

you tap your nail against the cup. “i cursed her in my head. don’t get comfortable.”

“you’re so annoying.” aeri grins, but she sounds endeared.

you groan and glance at the time. twenty one minutes until your first collection walks down the runway. the final outfit you chose is hanging up, zipped and untouched. you haven’t even changed yet.

“i don’t even know if she’s coming. and i don’t know if i want her to.” you mutter.

“she’s in love with you. of course she’s coming.”

you try to ignore the way your pulse quickens. “maybe she’ll finally do something on brand for once.”

aeri raises a brow. “you mean something that’s oddly thoughtful?”

before you can respond, a knock echoes throughout the room from against the dressing room door.

“if that’s an interviewer, ignore them.” you say instantly.

your assistant makes eye contact with aeri then heads to the door anyway.

“don’t open it!” you repeat.

but it’s already creaking open. your stylist turns around.

“oh. it’s your wife.” she says in a surprised tone.

you whip your head around so fast your earring nearly flies off.

she’s calmly standing in the doorway, wearing a matching cream suit with stitching that looks suspiciously similar to the one you’re about to wear.

and then her eyes meet yours.

“you’re not dressed yet.”

“what happened to hello?” then you slowly look over her clothes. the realization hits you like a freight train. “you color matched our outfits?”

aeri looks between you two, silent.

karina fully steps into the room now. “yeah. you say it like i don’t watch you.”

aeri sighs dreamily.

you spin around to face her. “don’t encourage her.”

the blonde is already walking towards the hanger to unzip your piece. your stylist stares at her like he might kick her out. you kinda want him to.

“you came.” you say, quieter now.

karina doesn’t even hesitate. “why wouldn’t i?”

“maybe because you ignored me like i was a bad tinder date.”

“you were asleep.”

“that’s never stopped you before.” you mutter.

her brows rise in an amused manner. “you want me to wake you up next time?”

“i want you to stop acting like everything’s fine when you literally mouth fucked me against a wall and then left before sunrise. why did you come?”

someone coughs awkwardly in the background. aeri stands and your stylist follows, ushering out the assistant with a look. the door closes gently behind them.

karina sighs and steps closer to you. “do you want to fight or do you want to get dressed?”

“why not both?” you lift your chin in defiance.

her fingers find the zipper on the hanging bag with a sigh.

“stop doing that. you kissed me first.”

“you kissed me back.”

“you left painkillers on my nightstand like we’re divorced.”

she turns to face you again, holding your outfit in one hand. “i was trying to be nice.”

“be meaner then.”

“you wouldn’t survive it.”

you try to come up with a comeback, but your brain stops functioning when she sets the hanger down and reaches for your waist instead.

her fingers skim your sides. “arms up.”

you hesitate.

“i’m not going to try anything.” she says, but her voice is smug.

“unless you ask.”

“i’d rather die.”

you raise your arms anyway.

she helps you out of your robe with a kind of gentleness that only makes you more feral inside. her touch is light but it lingers over your skin. it’s like she knows what she’s doing.

“stop looking at me like that.” you murmur.

“how?”

“like you’re about to kiss me again.”

she fastens the hooks at the back of your dress. her mouth is near your shoulder now.

“don’t tempt me.”

you glance at her through the mirror. she’s already looking at you with fascination in her eyes.

“tighten the corset a little.” you say.

“don’t tell me what to do.”

“karina.”

“i got it.”

she tightens it, knuckles brushing against your spine.

“we still have ten minutes.” she adds quietly.

you hold her gaze. “so?”

her hands pause at your back. “so… you still haven’t said thank you.”

you scoff. “for ignoring me?”

“no. i’m basically your unpaid assistant right now.”

“you’re basically my emotionally unavailable situationship.” you shoot back.

“you say that like i’m not here right now.”

you hate how your chest aches. “showing up isn’t the same as being there, karina.”

that leaves a silence between you two. her hand lingers at the small of your back, thumb pressing into the fabric.

you turn around to face her with a sigh. “you’re so full of yourself.”

“you’re dressed like my soulmate.”

“because you picked the outfit!”

“we were gonna end up matching anyway.”

your jaw tightens. she reaches around you again, taking a necklace into her hand.

“you look good. you’re beautiful.” she mutters.

“you didn’t answer me.” you say.

“about what?”

“why you came.”

karina’s fingers still and her voice softens.

“because you’re about to walk out there and show the world exactly what you’re capable of. and if i wasn’t here, it would be the dumbest decision of my life.” she says.

you look at her.

“that’s not saying much. you’ve made a lot of dumb decisions lately.” you mutter.

“you’re my favorite one.” she replies.

your lips part but nothing comes out.

then you swallow hard. “stop saying things like that.”

“why?” her voice is low. it feels like she’s not even trying to fight you anymore.

“because it feels like you mean them.”

her eyes flicker to your lips for just a second. “would it be easier if i didn’t?”

“yes. no. maybe. fuck.” you blink too many times.

she exhales like she’s been holding her breath this entire time. her fingers move to clasp the necklace around your neck with slow and gentle movements, and it feels like an apology.

you watch her in the mirror again. you hate her. her stupid, pretty blonde hair. the way her eyes soften when she looks at you. how her lips always look so kissable. you hate everything.

“please don’t tell me you came here to make it worse.” you say.

“i guess i sort of came too because i knew i already fucked it up.”

the clasp clicks into place. you spin to face her again. she’s too close.

“and what happens after this? when you leave again?” you ask, voice quiet.

“i won’t.” she says.

“don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“i’m not promising. i’m saying it. unless you don’t want me to stay.” she tilts her head.

you hate how bad you want her to. you hesitate long enough for her to notice.

“i hate you.” you mutter.

“i know. you’re pretty when you do.” she almost smiles.

you stare at her and she stares right back. it would be so easy to just close the distance.

but your name is called from the other side of the door. “five minutes!”

“fix my hair?” you ask just to be difficult. she rolls her eyes like she already knows that, but obediently steps behind you anyway.

then she steps back. her hand slides down your waist as she does, like she doesn’t wanna let you go.

“i’ll be front row. just like we planned.” she says.

“we didn’t plan anything.”

she gives you a look, smirking like it’s already been decided.

“we matched, didn’t we?” then she walks out.

“i’m gonna punch her later.” you murmur to your ancestors, looking over yourself in the mirror. you take a few deep breaths, hands ghosting across the pendant before perfecting your smile, clearing your throat, and walking out.

──────────────────────��

flashes blind you the second you step outside.

your heels click against the pavement, seemingly louder than everyone else’s, because you’re kinda the main character right now.

your show just ended fifteen minutes ago and people are already calling it the collection of the season. cameras shout your name, karina’s too, but you don’t break stride.

she’s walking next to you, hand firm on your waist, practically glaring paparazzi out of the way as her other hand waves security forward. she’s muttering something about how some of them are getting sued tonight.

you’re just smiling.

once you reach the car, karina opens the door for you like a gentlewoman (even though security is right there?). “you take one more slow mo step for the cameras and i’m pushing you.” she grumbles.

you laugh as you slide in. “jealous they love me?”

she has to stop herself from saying “i love you.” so instead she climbs in beside you, door shutting just as your phone buzzes.

aeri 🧸

IM W THE HOT FRENCH ACTOR AYEEEEE 👅👅👅

he looked at you suspiciously tho…

BUT UR GAY AYEEEEE 👅👅👅👅

ur welcome for the emotional support this morning btw.

you

thank u 🥹

do i have to pay a fee for therapy

and don’t do anything i wouldn’t do

which is like

nothing

so go crazy ahhh

“texting your lawyer?” karina teases.

“texting aeri so she can help me sue you for emotional damage.” you say sweetly.

“gotta sue yourself first. you kissed me too.”

“don’t flatter yourself.”

she hums. “too late.”

you roll your eyes and glance out the window, city lights blurring past.

she doesn’t look at you right away. her palm rests on your knee, thumb brushing absentminded shapes against your skin.

“you were insane.” she says, quiet but sure.

“what?”

“the entire show. and that last model with the corseted jacket? your brain is perfect.” she says.

your throat tightens a little. “oh.”

then she finally looks at you. “you don’t believe me? you’re trending again.”

you shrug, eyes still on the window. “i just… haven’t heard you say anything like that in a while.”

her thumb pauses for a second before it resumes. “doesn’t mean i haven’t thought it.”

you glance over at her. she’s not teasing or smirking. you can see the devastating softness in her eyes as she watches you. it’s stupid.

you blink fast and look away again.

“you looked like you owned everything in that room. even the air.” she adds.

“and i still almost had a breakdown in the bathroom.”

“that’s the secret to your charm. you make everything look good.” she says like it’s obvious.

you huff a laugh, barely managing to hide how much that lands. “i hate you.”

“i know.”

your lips part again, useless. you have no words. she just keeps doing this. keeps showing up and saying things that make you believe she means them.

your phone buzzes again, thankfully pulling you from the tension.

aeri 🧸

he asked if we’re dating 😭😭😭

i said no but i think he’s suspicious

should i kiss him anyway???

AND pls eat something or i’ll be mad

you smile, thumbs moving quickly before she can peek.

you

kiss him

make out w him

and i’ll eat bread just for u

karina leans closer, peeking at the screen. “is that aeri? tell her to use protection.”

“the last person she needs advice from is you. you raw dog emotional damage.”

she grins. “you love it.”

you refuse to answer that.

outside the car window, more camera flashes burst like fireworks as the driver pulls up to the curb. your heart rate kicks up and karina’s hand doesn’t move from your knee. the car slows in front of the restaurant.

you hesitate. “you sure you’re ready for another round of this?”

“with you? everyday.” she shrugs.

the door opens. you step out first, letting your gaze flick to the crowd and then back at her. just briefly.

she smooths her suit and joins you, hand on your back.

the flashes keep going even after the door shuts behind you. her hand doesn’t move from your back as you walk into the venue, long marble corridor echoing beneath your heels. she nods politely at the host who leads you through the front.

your names are on the list. y/n jeon-yu & karina yu.

the room opens up with candlelit tables and a stupidly elegant floral centerpiece you know your mom picked. you spot her instantly, already waving excitedly like she hasn’t seen you in years.

your father looks unimpressed, but even he stands when you approach. karina’s hand only leaves your back once you’re pulling out your chair.

“darling! you were exceptional. absolutely amazing. it was art.” your mom gasps.

“and you. you looked like you were in love.” her eyes flick between you and karina.

you choke slightly on your water.

“she means with the clothes.” karina says smoothly, helping herself to a slice of bread.

“of course. but the chemistry? oh my god, girls. i’ve been getting messages. they think you’re soulmates.” your mom says. karina stifles a laugh. you can hear her going “that’s what i said” in her head.

you roll your eyes. “those people also think i’m secretly pregnant. somehow.”

“maybe you are. would explain all the mood swings.” karina mutters beside you.

you kick her under the table. she kicks you back.

“i’m just saying. now that you’re actually getting along, we should start planning the real ceremony.” your mom starts again, clutching her wine glass with too much force.

both you and karina speak up. “no.”

but you go “nooo…” while she goes “no, thank you.” with that ridiculous perfect politeness.

your dad sighs. “this again?”

across the table, karina’s mother appears mid sip of her cocktail and glares. “you think your daughter made my daughter less uptight? please. jimin’s the one carrying this pr disaster on her back.”

“oh, whatever. if anything, your daughter is lucky mine even agreed to go through with this—“ your mom snaps, lifting a brow.

“you act like she didn’t beg.”

you open your mouth but karina beats you to it. “okay. alright. that’s enough.”

the table goes awkwardly quiet. then she speaks up in a softer voice.

“this is her night. and she was incredible.” karina says.

your mom stares. her mom sets down her drink.

you glance at karina who’s already looking at you.

“we’re proud of you.” your dad says gruffly.

karina’s mom nods without looking at anyone. “she was very professional, i suppose.”

your throat gets tight again. karina leans closer.

“they’re annoying. but they’re right.” she whispers.

you almost smile. almost.

“wanna fake elope just to spite them?”

she shrugs. “tell me when and where.”

your mom gasps. “what was that?”

“nothing!” you both say in unison, grinning now.

karina’s hand brushes yours beneath the table. and for the first time in weeks, you let it stay there. you’ll probably fight again tomorrow. but right now, she’s here and she showed up.

taglist @saysirhc @blissfulflw @yuyuy90

[luvfy0dor]

“You Know That I'm Obsessed With Your Body ♡⁠˖” BSD Men x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

╰┈➤ Chuuya Nakahara, Osamu Dazai, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Nikolai Gogol, Sigma, H.P. Lovecraft

Warnings; Suggestive, kisses, hickeys, bite marks, allusions to self harm (Dazai), sh scars (Dazai), prolly a little ooc

Description; BSD men and their physical attributes

A/n; CAS lyric title!!! But I cannot bring myself to write reqs RN so............but guys i actually talked to a guy OMG never thought I'd have big enough balls but I got his ig ^w^

⑅Chuuya Nakahara⑅

Chuuyas arms are beautiful to you, they're not insanely buff and they're not thin, but at a perfect equilibrium. They're decorated with intricate tattoos and beautiful colors, and sometimes small dotted lines left by your teeth or maroon spots formed by your love and passion for each other. You loved feeling them wrap around your torso or waist with him leaning his head against your back, letting all the thoughts in his mind flow from his mouth like a waterfall. Other times, he'd hang his arms over your shoulders, letting you feel his biceps against the nape of your neck, ghosting over the baby hairs on your skin. His arms can carry you too, no matter your weight. If it'd make you feel better, he'd use his ability to help and reassure you that he won't drop you or let you get hurt.

“There we go, darlin', see, I told you I wouldn't let you get hurt. Literally not even the strongest gust of wind could knock me over with you right now, so quit worrying.”

⑅Osamu Dazai⑅

Dazai has such a gorgeous torso, bandaged or not. His skin is soft on contrast to the rough and volatile life he's always lead. The only patches of skin that aren't smooth are the ones that are littered with past scars, whether self inflicted or from other people. When Dazai trusts you enough, he'll ask you to help him take off his bandages before bed, letting your fingers brush over the rigid bumps and sharply inhaling while adjusting to your sweet touch in a new, naked place. He lets you kiss the scars and it helps him feel a little relaxed receiving your acceptance through soft kisses and affection instead of being pitied or shamed for his past. It's not like you encourage it, but you don't waste your breath on lecturing him on why he shouldn't have. It's in the past, so instead you'll offer your support for him now rather than dwelling on what you can't change.

“Mmnn...your lips are so soft on my back, baby...keep going, sweetheart, you know how much I love feeling your kisses on my skin...”

⑅Nikolai Gogol⑅

Nikolais thighs could resurrect a dead man, and you couldn't help but feel the same way every time you had your head between or against them. Occasionally your hands would hold them apart and squeeze or grope at them, feeling the firmness beneath the palm of your hand. The pressure from your fingertips leaves temporary pale spots with every pinch and your teeth and tongue leave red ones in your wake as you kiss, suck, and bite all over his thigh, and he loves it. Nikolai loves the harsh feeling of your teeth clamping around his skin, making him gasp and giggle in excitement with a hand on your neck encouraging you to continue. He's got a higher pain tolerance, so if you like to give lovebites, especially on thighs, he's your guy.

“Ah-! Oh, don't worry dove, it doesn't hurt. You know I have a good pain tolerance! You can keep going, hehe, I don't mind it.”

⑅Fyodor Dostoevsky⑅

Fyodors hands are thin and pale aside from some select spots with higher blood concentration. His nails are bitten down to the quick almost always and his fingers are bony and thin. They rest gently on your hips when you sit on his lap while he types or just relaxes with you, his thumbs rubbing circles into the fabric of either your top or bottoms. Sometimes they'll travel upwards, resting against your midsection and making you shiver from their low temperature. He'd laugh under his breath at your reaction and slide them further up, loving the idea that he has you squirming in his grasp. Otherwise, he'd keep a hand on your thigh, rubbing it out of habit modestly. In public he keeps his hands to himself, but in private his hands have a mind of their own.

“Are they that cold, Moya Lyubov? You'll get used to it eventually, unless you'd like to find your own way to warm my hands up?”

⑅Sigma⑅

Sigmas jawline is so defined and Everytime you look at it, an overwhelming urge to kiss along it bubbles up inside of you. Sigma doesn't dislike it, but he'll act like he does, always squirming and playfully grimacing. Eventually he'll give in though, holding your hand while you pepper soft pecks along his skin. He'll return them all over your cheeks and nose, tickling your skin and making you giggle. You can't help but watch Sigmas fingers trace over his jawline while he's deep in thought about this that and the other, admiring how perfect it looks on him.

“H-hey, knock it off, I'm in the middle of fillin' out papers! I said quit it- huff...fine, just a few though! You're really distracting, you know that?”

Bonus; ⑅ H.P. Lovecraft⑅

His hair is so long and luscious- how could you not want to run your fingers through it while your sleepy boyfriend lays his head in your lap? The upper half is smooth and straight while it changes into silky curls towards the bottom, though they're not the tightest and allow for your fingers to brush through them with minimal effort. He loves the feeling of your hands against his scalp, giving soft hums and groans of a relaxed pleasure. His face has his usual neutrality regardless of how nice it feels to get his head massaged by his lover. He frequently lets you pull it into a ponytail or put it into braids or whatever style you please. He lets you brush it, too, as long as you start at the bottom instead of ripping the brush through his hair.

“Mnn...that feels nice, dear...don't mind if I fall asleep on top of you, I can't help it.”

A/n; I feel so bad for not getting to requests, something like this was the easiest thing to do this week though because I had mock trial comp right after school so i couldn't write anything from 8am-7;30 pm some nights and it was the end of the quarter so i had to focus more on school work.

[worshipmyruin]

Van Palmer Pre-Crash Headcanons

(nsfw under the cut)

sfw

Van who doesn’t even need to ask to come over when she’s fighting with her mom, she just does. She’ll sneak through your window, which you always have open, and just lie down in next to you.

Van who confides in you in ways she’s never done before. You’re just so easy to talk to for her. It’s a blessing and a curse.

Van who crushes on you hard when she finds out you like movies in the same way as her. She’s caught off guard when you start talking about how you watched ‘Back to the Future’ so much your tape started wearing out.

Who absolutely loses it when she finds out you watch X-files! You guys talk about the smoking man and how Scully is way too good for Mulder, although you’re both just as fascinated with the slow burn of their relationship.

Van who subtly gives hints about her dyke-ness. Just sort of dropping that she ‘doesn’t see herself getting married to a man ever’. It’s not like you couldn’t tell from the way she dressed, or the way she stared.

Van who is so fucking scared to ask you to hang out, is certain she’s gonna die. She acts all non-chalant, but the tomato shade on her cheeks gives way to her true feelings. You make her nervous.

Van who asks you out on a date in the nerdiest way possible 🤭 she burns a cd for you full of songs that remind her of you, finds an ultra rare copy of your favourite movie on VHS (which she looked for for weeks!) and then invites you to the arcade 😩

Van who can’t. Stop. Looking. At. You. Seriously, it’s a problem now. She physically cannot bring herself to look away, how can she? You’re so perfect. So beautiful. So you. She steals glances while you bite your lip, trying to win whatever stuffed toy that you’re gonna waste $20 on.

Van who kisses you in your car before you drop her off, scared to shit that you don’t like her that way back and you’re actually just viewing this as being ‘best gal pals’.

Van who’s shocked when you kiss her back, smiling against her lips and muttering ‘I like you too.’ each word brushing against her mouth. She’ll be damned if she doesn’t do it again.

Van who asks you to be your girlfriend after you ramble on about one of your special interests. Who immediately turns red and tries to cover it up with “or whatever… I was just joking.”

Van who literally jumps out of her seat when you say yes. “Wait, seriously? You will? Oh my god. You’re so stupid.”

Van who always links pinkies with you under the table at Yellowjackets team-bonding dinners, needing to have some sort of touch or she’ll go insane.

Van who’s the biggest, clumsiest gentleman you’ve ever seen. Fumbling over herself to open your car door, holding her hand out in the most dramatic way ever and still managing to fall on her ass.

Just clumsy van in general ☺️

kissing all her bruises and scrapes from practice and general falling, she’s clumsy everywhere expect the field and the bedroom, and you adore her for it.

Thinking about Van doing couples costumes with reader! Something really cheesy like Han Solo (or Van solo… you get it?) and Leia or… oh she’d totally do Mulder and Scully, she’d rock a suit. She’d be Scully though. Ginger for ginger.

Always skipping class with you to hangout in her trailer (her mom’s passed out on the couch), listening to music and just trying to forget the world. Holding hands while the music fades into the background and you’re just… connected.

Van who kisses every part of you head to toe if you’re body dysmorphic/insecure/just overall upset.

nsfw

van palmer gives the messiest, sloppiest head you’ll ever receive. It’s all over-eager tongue, her lips moving at a pace unmatched to the likes of Usain Bolt. you’re a 5 course meal, and she’s starving. “slow down…” you usher her, though you’re met with a grunt and even faster movements.

she gets sooo pussydrunk and will just stay between your thighs for the whole night. She would genuinely sleep there if she could. You just smell and taste like heaven.

^^ oral fixation, definitely.

when you’re mean, she gets so turned on. Doesn’t even need to be mean to someone else, it could be her. “God, you’re such an idiot.” Ohhh I just know her clit is twitching when you insult her, she should take offense but with you looking at her like that… ugh, she could cum just from the sight.

Van is all bark, no bite. Talks a big game, says she’s gonna tease you but when you finally take off your bra… oh lord. She’s on her knees, pushing up your skirt and muttering about how good you taste.

Prides herself on the ability to make you cum so you quick! Every time you cum it’s this big ego boost for her, the next day she walks around like she’s won the lottery. In her eyes, she has.

loves loves loves your tits. you flashed her in the locker rooms once and she drooled, she actually drooled onto the floor. Will suck on them for hours, popping a tit into her mouth whenever she won’t shut up? Her dream.

Will leave hickeys all over your boobs (if given permission) because why not? No one else should be seeing them except from her, so no one should have a problem.

Grabbing your ass while you rut against her thigh, her leg pressing up against your wet cunt. The little grunts she makes when she’s trying really hard. Her head falling back in a pornographic manor. She’s soooo smitten.

Van is a pillow princess in disguise. When you wanna make her feel good, she’s a little hesitant. She doesn’t like being all… vulnerable. But when you start toying with her nipples, she’s whimpering and begging for more. “oh fuck… please, please just fuck me.”

The first time you guys have sex is like awkward fireworks. All flailing limbs and whispered sorry’s, a few head bumps too. But once you finally find that rhythm… it’s like a dam bursts inside you and you can’t help but feel this wave of love from her, knowing she’s willing to do this with you. It melts your heart.

If Van took your virginity, she’d be so so so conscious about everything. “Is this alright? Are you okay? Do you need a break? Some water?” She just needs to know you’re okay.

But when you show that you’re really, really okay. She’ll be a bit rougher, not too much to the point of pain but a gentle sort of roughness.

VAN WHO MANHANDLES YOU!!! She’ll just pick you up and push you onto the bed if you’re teasing her.

If you’re spooning and she can tell you’re horny, she’ll just stuff her fingers into your pants and play with your clit.

The night before nationals, at the party, you have some of the filthiest sex ever. Running off the high of the anticipation of going to nationals, the thought of you two having a bed to share in a room by yourself with basically no adults. It’s getting to her. And you wearing that dress is not helping.

She’d drag you away from your friends and go further into the woods, push you up against a tree and fuck you so hard you forget where you are. This is the only time you’ll see her be rough without warning to you. Maybe something in the air is making her a little wild. Wilderness calls.

thank you for reading my little headcanons!! drop any requests! Remember, these are my own personal head canons that you might not agree with <3

[yushi-ni]

𝖽𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 ෆ OH SION ෆ

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ masterlist

summary; dating oh sion - ㅤrequested!!

genre; established relationship!!! fluff, slightly suggestive

warnings; mentions of kissing - pda but no full on card games!!

notes; hiii loves!!! here’s a cute little sion headcannons. for some reason headcannons are so fun and ‘easy’ to write. i can add so many random thoughts into one thing it’s amazing hahahaha anyways!!! i hope you like this one and definitely lmk if you do. as always any form of interaction is highly appreciated. xoxo

──୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ──

⚝ dating sion means endless support and adoration as you both grow and learn about each other every single day. no matter how long you have been together, sion surprises you over and over again with his love and affection for you. sion is the boyfriend of all boyfriends and you might have actually just hit the absolute jackpot in life with him on your side

⚝ sion dates to marry (i said what i said) and is very serious about his relationship with you. you are both young adults with a very long life ahead of you and some of the most important things to him are trust and a good fundamental basis. communication, respect and being true to yourself are key to the success of your relationship together. he loves you and will do anything to make sure you know he wants you today, tomorrow and the rest of his life (i need a sion bf)

⚝ he LOVES physical affection in all forms, holding hands, linking arms, kisses, hugs etc etc he cannot get enough of it. his #1 love language is without a doubt physical touch and he is definitely not one to shy away from a little pda (always keeps it kid friendly whenever the youngsters are around) he always has his hands on you, he just loves feeling you close to him!!!!!!!

⚝ not only you, but literally everyone around him knows how much he loves you since your dear boyfie cannot shut his lips about you even if he tried his hardest. but it's cute, you are always on his mind so he can't help but bring you up in the conversation with his friends. everything just seems to remind him of you in some way and he’s just too excited to share it with whoever is around him at that very moment

⚝ sion is the best listener ever. doesn't matter what's on your mind he is always there to listen. from serious worries that keep you up at night to funny 'what if' theories that pop up at random moments of the day; he is always all ears. when something bothers you, he always encourages you to speak up about it. even if it's just him listen to your thoughts and rants, he wants to know what's on your mind so he can understand you better and maybe even help you with a possible solution to your problems. nonetheless he just wants you to feel heard

⚝ random flowers and little gifts are a common thing with bf sion. he loves the look on your face whenever he surprises you with a pretty bouquet of your favorite flowers. from gifts as simple as a cute keychain or a book you have been wanting to read to more meaningful things like handwritten letters. he loves giving you gifts because it's a way of showing you he loves and knows you and your likings, like snacks and other things in your favorite colors

⚝ sion is the type of bf to give you a necklace with his initials for your anniversary. literally kicking his feet by the idea of you wearing his initials around your neck. if he could he would give you a ring, bracelet, keychain, phone case and even an ankle bracelet with his name on it as well. but to keep it classy he will just stick to the necklace (for now)

⚝ obsessed might actually be the best way to describe your bf when it comes to you. your smile, small hands (compared to his), your giggles, the way you look so concentrated trying to follow a new recipe you found online or the way your eyes light up when you see a cute little puppy on the street; he has never seen anyone SO PERFECT in his life. he genuinely thinks you must have saved the planet in your past life because there is no way you are this perfect???? and trust me he lets you know every. single. day. again. and. again.

⚝ sion is the type of boyfriend that texts you the most random things on the daily basis. from sweet goodmorning and goodnight texts to pictures of cute cats and the food he eats. he just wants to share his day and thoughts with you. also really likes if you do the same but even if you don’t; expect a random picture of the clouds that looked like a race car

⚝ sion is a very mature person, also thanks to his role as the leader and oldest hyung of his team, he is always looking out for his members as he feels a lot better of responsibility for his team but when he's around you he feels like he can let all his worries go and just forget about it for a little while. he is also not afraid to talk to you about things that are going on in his mind and trusts you more than anything in this world. he feels like you’re always so understanding and just know exactly what to say to calm him and his worries down. your energy itself is enough to keep him from going insane

⚝ we all know he is just a little kid by nature. his bubbly personality and the permanent smile on his face are what made you fall in love with him. he still plays pranks on you every single week, just harmless little things. he loves teasing you and joking around with you and you honestly think it's so cute so you let him have his fun. also big on ijbol’ing in your face, not in a rude manner (pls he would never) but he just can’t hold back his laughter

⚝ his members are really important to him so quite early on in your relationship he introduced you to the guys. it was very important to him that you got along with them since he doesn't want to separate the most influential people in his life. but there was no need to worry about his friends but liking you because they literally treat you like the 7th member of their group. he’s genuinely so happy you all get along and the younger ones look up to you as their big ‘sister’. you also know when to give him and his members their alone time, to enjoy their free time together as buddies and not just as colleagues and he appreciates that more than anything

⚝ if you’re a foreigner - non korean person; he’s super interested to learn about you and your culture. wants to hear about all the fun childhood traditions your family has and always tries to make an effort to include them in your own life together. he moved across the country and even though it’s not even close to being in a whole different country he definitely has a sense of understanding how it feels to be away from home, at times you feel homesick he always tries to cheer you up by (attempting) to make a traditional dish from your homecountry. he will always show interest in your upbringing and would be so excited to visit your home if you get the chance!!!!

⚝ if you’re not a native korean speaker; sion always helps you with your korean. ok let’s be real he definitely giggles whenever you mispronounce a word or when you make a little mistake but only because he thinks you’re cute!!! (he can’t help it) but he always encourages you to learn new words, thinks you’re so adorable when your accent slips out but can’t hide his excitement when he teaches you some of his own satoori - dialect. overall he’s just so thankful you put in so much effort to learn his native tongue, whenever you struggle with putting your thoughts into words he’s always there to help you out. his heart just melts when he hears you speak to his mother or little sister in a comfortable manner, and just imagine that big smile on his face whenever his parents compliment your korean!!! he’s just a proud bf.

⚝ sion is the definition of clingy bf. clingy might actually be his middle name at this point. he won’t overdo it tho and will definitely respect your surroundings and your own boundaries but he just can’t help feeling so affectionate when it comes to you. (he has a serious case of cuteness aggression towards others, someone should save saku fr) he does know when to stop, if you’re feeling down or sad after a long day at work or school and you don’t feel like carrying around a literal grown man like a baby he will know, he would never push himself onto you and gives you space when needed

⚝ kisses are his favorite thing ever, YOUR kisses are his favorite. a silent way of saying ily without the actual words being spoken. and i’m not talking about the full on make outs (which he absolutely loves btw) but the little pecks have him living on cloud 9 at all times. he thinks it’s so cute the way you pucker your lips, waiting for him to lean down and close the little space between you two. or whenever he has to get up early and leave before you even get up, he will never ever leave the house without giving you a small kiss as a goodbye. super big on ‘hello’ kisses whenever he sees you, once again no tongue down the others throat but just a quick kiss. cheek kisses >>>>> he LOVES it. he could kiss your cheeks all day long. fr he would if he could..

⚝ would never admit it out loud but whenever you go on little dates he will always subtly ask you what you’re planning to wear, he says it’s just to make sure you’re dressed to ‘occasion’ or something with being warm enough for the weather (tsss he’s not that sleek tho hehe) in reality he always tries to match his outfit with yours. he’s not into a complete #twin couple fit but loves color matching or something along those lines. you know he asks so he can match his fit with yours so you always answer his questions (all 8, he just needs to be sure sure ok) without any hesitation. it’s just cute and you love it

⚝ keeps a picture of you in his wallet. he probably saw it in a movie somewhere and thought it was cute but he can’t help but smile whenever he grabs his wallet and sees your face. will also have you as his wallpaper (rotating with pictures of saku and ryo ofc) and often changes it as well. he has a new ‘fav pic’ of you every single week so obviously needs to update his wallpaper too!! also loves it if he’s your lockscreen. expect a very cute giggly sion when he sees it. on that note will also definitely sneak pictures - selfies of himself on your phone for you to find later. you can honestly make a whole book with random selfies of him

⚝ loving him is something so special and everyday is just a blessing with him by your side. being loved and feeling loved is two different things but with sion as your bf you’ll definitely feel loved day in and day out. you’re lucky to have him but more than anything he feels like he won the lottery to have you as his gf. loving you is as easy and natural as breathing. he can’t and won’t ever imagine life without you. you’re his, and he will never fail to let you know