#Apps Built with Flutter

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - bad intentions

warnings ; nsfw (18+!!!!!!), unprotected sex

prompt ; in which a TikTok edit sparks a desire to get absolutely destroyed by your boyfriend.

note ; hey… heyyyy *opens door* um idk what this is but I’m back with a new fandom and this random piece of writing. this is my formal request to join the bts fandom pls xoxo i promise im fun and can write hellish smut

It’s cruel that you live with someone as attractive as your boyfriend.

It’s even more evil that the world posts TikTok edits of your boyfriend to seductive songs that make your underwear soak through with arousal.

All this to say, you’re not really making your life any easier by watching every single one that stumbles across your For You Page.

You’ve been better. It was a slow Sunday: one where your boyfriend sits perched on your shared living room couch, mindlessly playing with his lip ring as he watches some Netflix show. It’s nice having him like this, all for you, in a space you two built for yourselves. But you, you’re in the bedroom, aimlessly scrolling through an app that has taken up more than enough of your time and perfectly curated content about your boyfriend and this silly little band he’s in.

But it’s when, and only when, you stumble across an edit of your boyfriend to a The Weeknd song, that you shoot up in your bed, blink rapidly, inhale a sharp breath. Your heart catches in your throat, does that stupid little flutter thing. And then.. the clench that follows down below. You replay it once, twice… a third time.

Don’t be weird. Do not be thirsty.

But, he is yours. That much, you do know.

You close the app, delete the page off your phone. It’s not like you two have a boring sex life, he takes care of you and you never feel dissatisfied. In fact it’s rather the opposite. This one time being two nights ago when he had your legs up on… never mind. You look at your black phone screen in disgust. Do not be a horny little freak.

Well, one last look at the edit won’t hurt.

You go back to the fan edit. Glance at it, slap your hand over your face, peek through your middle and ring finger. Fuck.

The arousal that had pooled before in your underwear was now a full-on ocean. Really, you should have more decorum than this. You don’t really want to bother Jungkook, he’s had a busy week with the boys… but it also has been two days since you two have had sex.

Fuck it.

You swing your legs off the bed, shuffle down the hallway of your apartment. You spot your boyfriend lounging on the couch, his back to you. Even from where you stand, you can see his build, his biceps.. Gosh. You sound like a hormonal teenage girl.

You creep up behind him, wrap your arms around his neck and press a few sloppy kisses down it. His hand flies up to caress your arm that’s hung around his neck, a little laugh leaving his mouth, “Well, hello to you too.”

You decide then and there in that moment: You’re going to die if you don’t have him. Maybe that’s a little dramatic, but you’ve lost all strength.

“Hi,” your voice is frail, weak even, as you kiss along his jaw. He sucks in a deep breaths, fingers drawing circles on your arm. His eyes are glued to the television screen like if he looks anywhere else, he might combust.

You detach your arms from around him, moving to the front, blocking his perfect view of the screen. He looks up at you with those doe eyes you love so damn much. One look at you and he gathers quickly there will be no more watching of television.

With little words, you straddle him, knees on either side of his thighs. Jungkook feels up your thighs, smirks a little, “What did I do to earn this right now?”

You are well aware of how needy and desperate you look right now, but that doesn’t matter. You let out a little sigh, pushing your lips onto his. For some reason, you feel like some little fangirl who is hooking up with her celebrity crush. The cold metal from his lip ring is a welcomed feeling, and you place your hands on his neck, feeling the structure and heat of his skin. God, you are going to cum just from this kiss if you keep it up.

Pulling away a little, you look into his eyes, “Nothing specifically… I just…”

You sigh, go back in to kissing him again. Those plump pink lips of his work against yours, shivers running down your spine as he runs his hands up and down your bare thighs. “Just what, baby?” He speaks in a low tone in between the incessant kissing.

“I’m so fucking horny,” You admit.

Upon the minute those words leave his mouth, you feel his cock begin to press against your inner thigh. You’ve got him right where you want him. And it’s not that this isn’t normal; it is. But you’ve essentially offered yourself up to him on a silver platter and the act of desperation you got going on right now is really doing it for him.

“Hmm?” He hums against your lips, his hands roaming underneath your shirt to trace your spine. And you could marry him right now for being so quick to go along with it. For not pushing you, for letting you set the pace.

You start to grind yourself down on him, the wetness soaking through your pajama shorts you have on. It is criminal how much you need this man inside of you, now. “What do you need from me, baby?” He starts to kiss down your neck as light whimpers exit your throat from the friction of your shorts on his grey sweatpants.

“N-nothing,” You exhale out. “Let me ride you.”

“Fuck.” He groans out.

“You need me that bad?” He brushes a strand of hair off your shoulder, kisses down your supple skin.

“Yes, please,” Your voice cracks. You can’t take it anymore; you think you might combust into a million little pieces.

“Well, go on, my love,” He removes his lips from your skin, smirks, sits back against the couch. “Have me.”

He does not need to tell you twice. There’s no time for pleasantries.

You move your legs off his, lower down his sweatpants enough for you to be able to access his boxers. Your shorts get abandoned next, leaving the underwear on; there’s not a single shred of a fuck left in you.

Jungkook is sat there, an amused look plastered on his face, mixed with a level of adoration you are not sure you have seen before. His arms have moved, now splayed out across the top of the couch, his biceps flexing. You straddle him again, remove his throbbing cock from the confines of his boxers.

Fuck, if you weren’t so ready for him, you would’ve taken him into your mouth.. but your brain decides pretty quickly there’s no time to waste.

You push your panties to the side, rub your juices over his length. He lets out a little moan at that, watches you eagerly get ready to take him whole.

With a gasp, you align him to your entrance in search of relief. You engulf him, take him in inch by inch until you bottom out. Honestly, you could unravel just from that. “Holy fuck, baby,” His head falls back, eyes still glued to the sight of you fully taking him to the brim.

You never really do get used to how big he is; when you two first started dating, he stretched you out so wide you were certain you would never recover. Your bottom lip is sucked in between your top teeth, rushed exhales leaving your body as you slowly begin to move, begin to gyrate your hips and lift yourself up and down on his pulsing cock. “Oh my god,” You breathe out, hands moving to his broad chest, gripping onto him to steady yourself

He’s not doing much, besides just watching you in complete and utter awe, and yet that still takes your breath away.

“You look so unbelievably sexy right now,” He says, barely even realizing the words leave his mouth, since they were mostly meant for his inner thoughts. His hands come around to land on your hips, the pads of his fingers pressing into the bone. There will definitely be a bruise there tomorrow.

You lull your head back, close your eyes tight. It’s all you can do to try and keep yourself together. You’re an absolute mess right now; pussy squelching with each stroke, his cock a mix of yours and his arousal. The only sounds that can be heard in the apartment are the slapping of skin and the moans that continually leave both of your mouths. “[Y/N]…” He moans out. You look at him, deep in those eyes that you love so much.

And there’s such… desire on his face, his pupils blown wide, his jaw slack.

He’s so undeniably hungry for you, and it’s going to kill you.

You speed up your bounces, losing a little more control with each and every passing moment. Your arms snake around his neck, pull him even closer to you. “Fuck, I am so close,” You whisper out, mostly to calm yourself down.

“Yeah?” Is the only word he can muster right now. “Need you to cum for me. Want to make sure you’re taken care of.”

It is all so filthy — the sounds, the look he’s giving you, the way your nails are digging into the flesh of his neck and leaving marks. Your half-lidded eyes meet his, gaze dropping down to his lips. You press a few sloppy kisses on them.

“You like this, hmm?” he asks, fingers digging even deeper into your hip bones that you’re certain he is leaving an imprint on your skull. “Having me like this ready for you? Does that get you off?”

His words elicit a clench around his cock, your walls tightening around him. He is absolutely correct. He knows he’s hit the mark. “Talk to me.” His tone is soft but threatening.

“Y-yes, it does. Oh my god, Kook..” you can barely think, any singular thought beside how incredible his cock feels inside you, how you can feel him penetrate your stomach with his entire length. “I’m gonna cum.”

It’s so close, it’s teetering on the edge. Every nerve ending in your body craves him to a point where you wonder if you need to be institutionalized. All you can see is that stupid edit made by that fan flash across your head, your brain unable to comprehend that that is the man you currently have inside of you. “Cum for me, darling..” He coos.

It nearly wrecks you, this orgasm. It washes over your entire being and you’re so loud you’re certain your neighbors will come knocking down your door. Your bounces go from focused to frantic, hips gyrating wildly, and he wraps an arm around your entire waist, picking you up lightly. He begins thrusting into you at a shallow, quick pace, chasing after his own release. Jungkook lets out a few grunts, eyes trained on the sight in front of him; and then he shudders, his cock throbs inside of you, head falling onto your shoulder as he feels himself empty out inside of you. You’re struggling to catch your breath, gripping onto the hair at the nape of his neck.

“My god..” You breathe out. You’re still sitting on him, cock warm inside you as he lifts his head from your shoulder, meets your fucked-out face.

“Baby, that was so incredibly hot, you have no idea,” His face is flushed, hand reaching up to caress your cheek. You entwine your arms and legs around him, holding him close, drawing him deeper into you. You stay there, hearts pounding in unison, as if they're each trying to break free from your chests, desperate to draw nearer. And still, even in this perfect closeness, you long to feel him even closer.

“Mhmm,” You hum out, quite content with yourself. You press a soft kiss to his lips.

“So… care to share what made you jump my bones?” He teases, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“Oh, nothing…” You act coy, but the heat creeps onto your face regardless. He pokes your side, eliciting a giggle from you that has you folding like origami.

“Maybe… just saw a little something on TikTok..” You trace circles on his collarbone, avoiding his gaze.

“Continue.” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Some girl made an edit of you..” It’s low when it leaves your mouth, he can barely hear it. “Just wanted to remind myself I can have you.. whenever I like.”

You bury your face into his neck in sheer embarrassment, feeling warmth and the vibration as he chuckles. “You can have me whenever. I’m yours, baby.”

masterlist + request

[plutotheplum]

Genuinely obsessed with your MMA fighter Sylus au, their dynamic was soooo good and now I have a million questions. Was he smitten since he met her? Did he have to watch her go on dates? God that man jealous would end me. You’re so talented thank you for sharing your work aaaaaaa

cw: inappropriate thoughts, masturbation

erm couldn't resist writing this, so here you are <3

Sylus sometimes wishes he knew the passcode to your phone. 

He’d been tempted to let Luke and Kieran steal it and have at it until they managed to unlock it, but that would’ve caused unnecessary problems. The twins were… unreliable, to say the least, but dating apps were even more so. 

Sure, he’d peeked over your shoulder a few times (but to no avail), even grabbed your phone a few times but you’d been so whiny and snapped at him that he couldn’t quite get his thumb to hit the little x on the wiggling app before you were hitting his chest and threatening to stop taping his hands.

What Sylus doesn’t understand is why you keep bringing your less-than-stellar picks of potential boyfriends to his matches. He doesn’t understand why you lean into the arms of another man and laugh so sweetly. Sylus thinks he might see stars in your eyes. It confuses him. 

He is more motivated when you bring a date though. It sets him off, makes his jaw tick and his fists clench. The strength of his punches increase until he loses himself, pummeling his opponent until there’s blood smeared across skin and the irritating sounds of the referee yelling at him fills his ears. 

You chastise him, of course, stand before him with your hands on your hips and brows drawn tight as you scold him. Sylus thinks you look cute when you’re angry. You get whinier too and he wants to see if you’re just as whiny when he sinks his cock into you. The thought makes him zone out, the aches in his muscles forgotten as he imagines taking you here in the locker room, skirt bunched up to your hips and legs wrapped around his waist.

Sylus would fuck you good, he knows that much. He wants to eat you out until you cry then stuff his cock inside of you until you sob and cream on his cock. He wants to spank your ass until it’s raw and reddened to remind you who you belong to. Maybe he’ll even fuck your face and see those pretty eyes peering up at him as you claw at his thighs and hump the air needily. 

He wants to claim you. Sylus thinks you’d look like a vision with his cum splattered all over your body, hips and thighs bruised with the indents of his fingers, ass red, nipples puffy and pussy slick with his cum and spit. 

He can’t do that, not yet anyways. 

What Sylus can do, however, is ward off the men that seem insistent on laying their hands on you. You might protest against it, but it doesn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around your waist and bringing you flush against his chest after a match. He’ll even hook his chin over your shoulder and shoot the man you’re with a sharp look, with his red eyes narrowed, if the man looks a little too happy. It works like a charm. 

You’re less than impressed, spewing some nonsense about being his manager and how inappropriate and indecent it is to hug a member of his team like that. Sylus finds a grin works best to shut you up, he knows you like it when he smiles at you, or pets his hand across your waist. You’re a needy, little thing. 

Sylus knows he’s wearing down your stubbornly built walls when he hears the soft hitch of your breath when he brushes past you, or the slight dilation of your pupils when he takes his shirt off after training. 

It doesn’t help that you plague his thoughts when he goes home. Sylus can hardly get through watching a shitty film before he’s imagining your face, cock hardening in his shorts. It has a sigh leaving him, hips bucking as his eyes flutter shut and he wraps his hand around his cock. Sylus fucks his hand like it’s your pussy; mumbles out a few, low words of praise under his breath.

“So good for me, baby,” he mutters, eyes squeezing shut tighter to see the image of you solidifying behind his shut eyelids.

Sylus knows your pussy will struggle to take him in. His cock is fat and girthy and you’d probably whimper and slur, claw at the bedsheets as he pushed his cock into you. “Cute, little pussy’s being stuffed full, sweetie. ‘m gonna cream this little cunt.”

He swears under his breath when he imagines you on your knees for him, cheeks puffed out and lips glistening with his cock stuffed in your mouth. Sylus knows you’d get cock-drunk fast, has seen the little dazed look on your face when he touches you teasingly.

“Good girl,” he grunts, hand stroking faster as he thinks about the swell of your breasts and your head tipping back as he bounces you on his cock, “my good girl.”

Cum spurts from his tip, smearing across his hand and Sylus shudders, letting go of his cock to let it slap against his abdomen weakly. He moans at the thought of you cleaning his cock, your tongue lapping at the head of it sweetly.

Sylus wonders if you do the same, wonders whether you shove your fingers down into your panties and rub your clit until you’re writhing and gasping out of his name. He hopes you do.

Sylus prides himself in being able to stay in control, which is why he decides to wait it out. You’ll give in soon enough, bat your lashes up at him and ask him to fuck you. He just has to wait. 

After all, patience is a virtue.

i don’t think he’d be smitten from the get go, it'd probably take him a bit of time to get used to his feelings.

oh and he definitely gets jealous haha, when he sees you talking/helping other fighters that are training. but he especially hates it when you bring your date along to watch his matches.

[hypno-matt]

Taking Notes

CW: Spirals, Edging

This morning I was talking to @mastern3ro about my love of spirals, especially being made to watch one and then post about just how blank it made you feel.

So I decided to turn that concept into an even better one.

The task I was given for this was simple. Watch a spiral for 20 minutes while repeating the phrase "I'm a needy hypnotoy." Very basic.

The fun part, however, was that i decided to track howni was doing every few minutes, in order to properly show what a sub goes through when they spend such time staring.

I figured I could use the Notes App to record how I felt every now and then, while using my PC to do all the heavy hypno-lifting.

I sat down at my desk, and put on my favourite spiral from an array of almost a dozen, pairing it with a nice looping set of binaurals.

I pressed play, and began taking notes.

"Minute 1: The spiral is pretty and the binaural is great but nothing too far out of the ordinary so far.

Succint and to the point. As every great piece of information should be.

Nothing had really happened yet, besides me starting to repeat my mantra, very quickly finding a rythm that did not require much effort on my part.

I continued staring for couple of minutes, unaware of what was going to happen down the line.

"Min. 3: mm it feels nice, its hard to focus on the spiral, the hournal, the repeatimg amd the audio. It feels lile im cinfusimg himself ><

Im a needy hyonotoy.."

And here i had encountered my first problem. I had uknowingly overwhelmed myself. The audio, the video, the repetition and the note-taking were fine on their own, but too taxing for my brain combined.

I couldn't really stop now though, I didn't want to give up on this idea so soon. Besides, this overloading, while tiring, felt pretty great.

I had to keep going.

"Min 5;

I aasumed a better position, my legs sprea andd my baxk hucnhed iver. Hunchedf. Over? Is that how you sau it? Theres so much to keep track of and my brrtain is laggign.. i thinkk

Ik. A needy hypnoyy :)"

My brain was lagging. But it felt amazing. Arousing, even. So much so that i had decided to sink into my chair and spread my legs a little.

The overloading factor of this task was in full effect. It was already hard to remember to do everything. To listen, to stare, to repeat and to jot down what i was feeling. My voice began to trail off, the cadence that i had built up going away almost immediately.

"7: i gott caught up in takimg photos thw light of the apirall is so prettty ans so is my facee"

Just after the 5th minute I had noticed how adorable I looked. How relaxed my body was, and how much my eyes were fluttering.

Plus, the light from the spiral was coloring my otherwise dark room in warm pinks and purples. I would have been a fool if i didn't take a few photos, even it if overloaded me more.

"10:ii look so pretyyy im drooling..

Im turned on the lighht so i can photo myssefl"

By this point, my mantra had escaped my mouth, now only occupying space in my quickly fading mind.

I lazily turned on the light, ready to look at myself again, only to realize that the spiral was all i needed right now.

I was halfway through. I had to stare.

"12: toyyy neewdyyt wdsgiunggg rewlwqttong is aurkmaric drooolimgg"

Toy was needy,edging and relaxing. Drooling automatically, my thoughts slowly leaking out.

When did i start edging? Or touching at all really? I had forgotten, but i did not care.

"13 ddrrooollinng ii sshhoyld kbeell.

Oii ttottyyy"

What was once "I'm a needy hypnotoy" became reduced to "I'm toy". Maybe I took "succint" too far.

It didn't really matter though. Toy had to kneel. It's what seemed most proper. It's what seemed the hottest. It had to be done.

"15 beeetyer onn. Mym kenes

Im aneedy hypnotttoot im soo good"

Toy felt better on its knees. I felt so happy, so empty, my blank face more apparent now than ever.

Toy was beggining to become completely broken.

"17 mmfmcm imm so bbapnk imm a needy hoypnotoy

I forgot ot repeatt

Mmy mouutu iiis so drooollyy.."

After a few minutes of looking at itself through its phone's camera, toy realized that he had forgot his mantra.

Its mouth was occupied with drooling. It didn't have the brainppwer to do anything else.Toy went even blanker as he stared so intently at the spiral and himself.

"18 mminnn ttook liiikeww nn hoyrr"

The 18th minute did feel like an hour. Toy's mind couldn't really grasp time anymore. It was almost there, just 2 minutes left, but the time felt like it took ages.

Toy didn't mind. It loved staring. Listening. Drooling. Taking notes.

Toy obeyed.

"220000 oiikmm gonnww

Ttoyyy

.........."

And just like that, toy was gone. Its mind completely cleaned out, its body relaxed. It finished its task, and it felt great.

Toy closed its computer, and went to bed, repeating the words "needy hypnotoy" to itself until its mind returned about 45 mins later..

It had a great idea to write all this down. Just reading through, seeing the reactions and remembering them fully, it makes toy drop all over again.

I'm a needy hypnotoy. Please use me.

[onelittlespiral]

FML: Urged

I think this was the photo that got me in. Of course I get the appeal now. But at the time I thought I was just messaging some other random torso on the apps. I was supposed to just be in and out, no strings attached. After all, he wasn’t my usual type. Looked like a roided out gym rat: bit of a gut; dark, wiry hair; and thick muscles. But muscles weren’t the thickest thing about him, and who was I to pass up a good time?

So I went over to his place. I wasn’t surprised when it was a loft above a small gym. Seemed like the ideal spot for the kind of guy. What I was not expecting was the apartment itself to be so…nice? Normal? I was prepared to get fucked on a twin-sized mattress on the floor, no frame, with sweaty clothes rotting around me. But the apartment had some character. He even offered me something to drink before we got started, in an actual glass. Maybe I needed to raise my standards. We chatted, flirted a bit as I finished my water and let things get hot from there. We kissed in the kitchen, made out in the living room, and worked our way back to his bedroom as sweatshirts, belts, shirts, pants, and straps trailed behind us.

As I positioned a pillow under myself, he took off his wife beater, the last barrier between us. The shirtless torso that seduced me was on full display as I rubbed his chest. As he leaned in to kiss me, I felt engulfed by this bear of a man, skin electric where I felt his hair ticking my bare chest. My senses felt heightened as I tasted cheap beer on his breath and smelled a deep musk of sweat, cum, and Old Spice, more in line with what I had expected from him. He ran his calloused hands over my chest and abs before finally taking up position over my trembling body. I wanted him in a way I hadn’t felt since I was a teen. Normally I would want to talk a bit more, at least give a safe word. But as he surrounded me and I felt his presence, my brain flipped a switch as my body instinctively relaxed for him. There were no thoughts to be had as my mind was consumed by his rich scent, the pleasure of his cock slowly stretching out my ass, and his intense gaze set on my fluttering eyes. At last I felt his bush pressed against my clenching ass. He lingered for just a moment, every throb of his member sending shivers through my body. He leaned in and whispered, “You feeling good, baby?”

I could only moan a bit in response. Feeling his weight bear down on me and his cock in my ass left no room for words. He shoved his pit in my face and I instinctively took a deep huff. Any resistance and tension left in my body released. I felt filled by him, just a vessel for his use. I was about to stick out my tongue when he pulled back and repositioned himself. He held my shoulders as he began moving his hips.

As he slowly began to fuck me, I felt him reach new depths within myself.

“There you go, much better. Let yourself just float”

I couldn’t resist him even if I wanted to. His cock methodically jackhammering my hole had my body riding wave after wave of pleasure. Then, I felt him tense up a bit as his cock swelled just a bit more telling me what was to come. He buried it deep as a pressure built within myself. A few more thrust from him and I shot my load over his furry chest. My mind could no longer handle it. I slipped off into a void of pure bliss, as this stranger collapsed on top of me, feeling his damp fur against my body and filling my senses once again with his musk.

I woke up the next day back in my own bedroom. No one else around. No signs of trouble. No clue how I got back. If the whole experience hadn’t been so vivid, I would have thought I dreamt the whole thing. But as I rolled myself out of bed and into the bathroom, one change became very clear.

Seemingly overnight I had lost my smooth skin and dirty blonde curls. In its place was hair. Thick, dark, course hair. It covered my chest, my arms, my back, even my crotch. I was shocked but, also, something else began to tickle at my brain. I took off my tank to get a better look at the forest. I flexed my muscles and admired the way it coated my chest and seemed to exaggerate its size. I hit a double bicep pose and smelled a familiar scent. The scent of sweat and heat and masculinity. My mind flooded with images of that night as my cock stood at attention. I shoved my face into my own pit as I bagan jacking off in front of the mirror, admiring my new body. It felt strange but satisfying, watching this stranger in the mirror mimic my every move as I lusted for him. I didn’t realize how far I had gone until I saw the stream hitting the mirror. It was hot, but something still didn’t feel right. As I cleaned up the restroom, I picked up my razor and considered cleaning myself up a bit. But as I lifted it to my face, I noticed my newly hairy pits. Exposing them, the scent of last night invaded my mind again and I couldn’t follow through. I finished getting dressed and I left for the day. With a busy schedule, maybe I could get some answers tomorrow. I think that was the last chance I had to do something, divert from the path laid out for me. But looking back, I don’t know if I would have changed a thing.

No day was as sharp a change as the first, but each morning as I looked myself in the mirror, something was a bit different. Maybe it was the sharpness of my jaw. Or were my pecs always this swoll? One week I swore my feet were growing larger. There is no way that they always slapped the ground like that. But my shoes always fit perfectly. Heck I may even need a new pair soon. My joggers were beat up as hell and reeked when I took them off after my Saturday runs. But soon it was the days that I couldn’t find anything that looked different that began to worry me most. Had I always thought so much about the bodies of the men around me? Did people always talk so fast? But as life slipped back into routine. Soon I began to question myself. Why had I worried so much about any changes? Things never actually seemed out of place, and I worked out hard to get these gains. I had been going to the gym for years and had spent years perfecting my splits. After about two months, I stopped worrying at all. Until finally, one day I woke up and looked myself in the mirror, I saw the same man who greeted me for years.

I was a sweaty gym rat. Always had been. Always would be. I took a deep huff of my own funk, and rubbed my muscles. But everything fell into place, something felt missing. I shouldn’t have to keep this godly body and musk to myself. For the first time in a while, I hopped onto the apps and started scanning through. God, all these old matches were terrible. Why did I used to have such a thing for those muscled-up college boys? They couldn’t grow a beard if their lives depended on it. Besides, I think I wanted someone a little more…submissive. Scrolling through, my eyes caught on this young 20-something twink. Something about him reminded me of someone…someone I used to know. His lithe body, tight curls, and skimpy clothes told me he was a bottom before I clicked on his profile. A few messages back and forth, and he was on his way.

He walked in the door and it was all I could do to contain myself. Something deep within me wanted my seed deep in his ass. I needed him to worship me. I wanted him to become just like me. I had no patience as my body acted on instinct. I stripped my shirt and calmly approached, placing my hand against the wall behind him. As my masculinity and musk washed over the twink, I watched as his eyes fluttered a bit and knew his mind was submitting.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” I asked plainly.

“Ye-yes, sir.”

I grinned as I understood fully now just what had happened to me, and the power I held. But watching this twink practically trembling in front of me, maybe I was even better than my captor had been.

I gave him a quick kiss as I lead him to my bedroom. I couldn’t wait to make another man in my image.

[enjakey]

The University and the Dorms We Hate

Pairing: [Jake x Fem!Reader]!University!Found-family au

I LOVED WRITING THIS FIC (14K) like it's so funny and loving and sweet and cute- yeah just read it guys. Can you tell I incorporated Loose? Try and find it, lol. I love writing 02z, they're so adorable.

So, I don't want to call this fic dark because it deals with some heavy things like depression, bullying and suicide (in context of sunghoon) and death in general. Mentions of ghosts, if you're scared of that. Lots of crack tho, It's all very funny. And soft. And found-family esque with Jake, Jay, Sunghoon and Y/N.

Please enjoy reading guys. I always appreciate feedback! Can't wait to talk and meet some of y'all. Would love making friends on this app. I can't think of anymore warnings to give so- enjoy! Also does anyone hate the whole tags thing? I swear it takes so long.

Summary: in which everyone that went to your university hated it- it was low budgeted and whoever ended up there made the worse decision of their lives. They were so out of funds that the boys dorm building collapsed, leading them to move into the girls’ dorm. Jake and Y/N hover in each other's lives before finally crashing into each other- protecting each other and their friends, Jay and Sunghoon.

Everyone hated Remnant University- the students, the faculty, the janitors, the registrar, even the pigeons that occasionally dropped dead on the quad. It was a cursed place, built not from vision but vanity- the brainchild of a man with too much money and far too much cocaine. He’d once called it his ‘gift to the people.’ The people, in return, had cursed his name into oblivion.

After his death- a coke-fueled heart attack in the university sauna, if the legends were true- the institution limped on. Tuition was cheap, admissions were easy, and something about the place drew in a strange crowd: brilliant minds with nowhere else to go, the kind of people the world chewed up and spat out.

As years passed, graduates clawed their way out through fake recommendation letters, falsified research papers, and internships that didn’t exist. Meanwhile, the next batch of the naive and desperate arrived- wide-eyed, hopeful, and doomed.

‘To all the students of Remnant University — welcome home.’

Y/N remembered staring at the banner during her orientation, its letters in gaudy bubble font, fluttering above the cracked main gate. She'd felt a flicker of awe then. Two years later, she couldn’t look at it without imagining setting it on fire. Home, my ass, she thought almost daily. She hated her classes. She hated the professors. She hated the eternal mildew stench that clung to the dorm walls and the way the lights flickered like a horror movie just before someone dies.

The campus itself was a patchwork nightmare- brutalist buildings long past their expiration date, lecture halls with ceilings that leaked when it didn’t rain, and an willow tree near the western edge that, according to campus lore, was cursed: a student had hung themselves from it every decade like clockwork. The library was missing half its books, the science lab still ran Windows 95, the food in the mess hall tasted like regret, and the only working coffee machine was in the faculty lounge, guarded like a sacred artifact.

Still, somehow, the place endured. Professors- the decent ones, anyway- stayed not out of loyalty, but out of pity. They knew Remnant had no soul, only suffering, and tried to ease the burden where they could.

And so, another semester dragged on, the sun too harsh, the wind too bitter, the future too far. And Remnant University, like a dying star, continued to pull in the lost and the brilliant, one pitiful student at a time.

That year, the boys dorm had given up, its foundation perishing.

It started with the water- or rather, the lack of it. Then came the black mold that bloomed across the ceilings like ink stains in a Rorschach test. The final straw was the collapse of the third-floor corridor during midterms, taking down three bathrooms, two residents, and the only functioning Wi-Fi router in the building.

Facilities blamed the students for “reckless behavior,” the students blamed the university for “being held together by asbestos and prayer,” and the administration issued a memo with bold Comic Sans that read: “This is an opportunity for community building!”

And so, with nowhere else to go, the boys were moved- en masse- into the already half-empty girls’ dorm.

It was chaos. Instant ramen wrappers multiplied like cockroaches, and hallways began to reek of Lynx body spray and unwashed laundry. Someone brought a pet iguana named Carl that no one could prove they owned- he just roamed freely, occasionally found sunbathing under the corridor light fixtures like he paid rent. Room assignments were haphazard; some girls returned from class to find unfamiliar boys lounging on their beanbags, raiding their snacks, or claiming, “oh, I thought this was 3B.”

The fact that each room had its own bathroom did little to soften the blow. Instead of fighting over communal showers, the wars shifted to noise complaints, door-slamming at odd hours, and passive-aggressive sticky notes about ‘the walls are thin- I can hear everything.’

One girl woke up to find her mirror fogged with the message “YOU’RE NEXT :)”- it turned out it was just her neighbor playing a prank with a Sharpie and a blow dryer, but the girl moved out the next morning anyway.

Y/N had to share her hallway with a group of engineering boys who mistook deodorant for optional and thought whispering at 2 a.m. counted as being quiet. One of them set off the fire alarm trying to microwave a boiled egg. Another kept trying to convince everyone he was the reincarnation of Tesla. The hallway now smelled like socks, rejection, and desperation.

“Community building,” Y/N muttered as they stepped over a broken chair in the common room. “They should rename this place Lord of the Flies: Campus Edition.”

Still, no one left. No one ever really left.

The university had a grip on people- not because it was good, but because once you were here, it was like the outside world forgot you existed. Transfer applications got “lost.” Emails to other universities were mysteriously flagged as spam. Even the local newspapers referred to it as “that place near the quarry” like it didn’t deserve a real name.

And perhaps it didn’t.

Remnant wasn’t just a university. It was purgatory with a vending machine and barely functioning plumbing.

Y/N just didn’t realise this shift was some sort of ironic blessing in disguise.

A few months later, the chaos mellowed out.

The loudest, messiest ones either dropped out, transferred, or mysteriously stopped showing up- whether from burnout, academic probation, or just giving up and going home was anyone’s guess. The dorm slowly emptied again, and for the first time in a while, Y/N could hear her own thoughts past 10 pm.

The air felt different- less like a frat party gone wrong and more like a hospital wing during visiting hours. Quiet, but laced with an odd sense of shared survival. The broken furniture in the hallway had been cleared. Carl the iguana had found a permanent home in someone's terrarium (rumor had it, he'd been registered as an emotional support animal). The scent of chaos was replaced by something eerily neutral detergent, maybe. Or resignation.

Just a few rooms down from hers lived Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon- three boys who, unlike most, had managed to settle in without turning the place into a war zone. They were quiet, mostly. Not the awkward kind of quiet, but the observant kind. The kind that made Y/N wonder if they were secretly plotting to escape this university and hadn’t yet told her how.

She didn’t know much about them then- just glimpses. Jake had the habit of doing late-night runs down the corridor with music blasting in his headphones. Jay always walked like he had somewhere important to be, even if he was just carrying laundry. And Sunghoon, well… Sunghoon gave off the unnerving energy of someone who was either extremely kind or extremely dangerous, and no one had quite figured out which.

Y/N and Jake didn’t really meet at first. Not properly. They just… existed in each other’s periphery.

It started with ramen. Y/N had a ritual- 11:30 pm, kettle boiled, seasoning packets dumped in without reading, and a long sigh echoing in the kitchen like a ghost with finals. The dorm’s shared kitchenette was useless, claustrophobic, and smelt vaguely like burnt cheese, but it was all she had.

That was where she first saw him.

Jake didn’t say anything. Just stood by the fridge, half-asleep and barefoot, pouring chocolate milk into a chipped mug like it was whiskey. She glanced up from her noodles; he met her eyes for a second, then looked away.

No nod. No smile. Just shared exhaustion, briefly acknowledged.

After that, it happened more often. Hallway crossings, leaving the dorm at the same time- same shoes, different direction. One would always pretend to check their phone. The other would act like the floor had suddenly gotten really interesting. But neither of them turned back.

Once, she was walking down the corridor holding a stack of textbooks too tall for her arms. He was coming from the opposite side with a wet towel over his shoulder. Their eyes locked. For a second, Jake looked like he might say something. But then he didn’t. He just shifted to the side, brushing past her like she was smoke.

Y/N told herself it was nothing. Just dorm life. Just bad timing.

But still, whatever corner she turned, he was there- leaning against a wall, tying his shoelaces in the lobby, digging through the vending machine like it owed him money.

Then, the air-conditioning in the dorms stopped working. It was bound to happen eventually- the units had been blubbering like dying whales for weeks, dripping puddles of water and emitting an odd smell that lingered like guilt after a bad decision. But for them to break down exactly when the weather decided to become an inferno? That wasn’t just bad luck. That was spiritual punishment.

The dorm quickly descended into a version of hell Dante probably left out for being too pathetic.

People started dragging their mattresses into the hallway where it was marginally cooler. Fans were hoarded like black-market gold. The guy in 207 tried to build a swamp cooler out of a mop and an old table fan. It worked. Briefly. Until it didn’t. And then the smell got worse.

The warden and management were flooded with complaints, threats, and one very poetic hate email that ended with, “This is not an institution of learning. It is a slow death simulation.”

Y/N tried ice packs. They melted. She tried sleeping on the floor. It gave her a backache and a sudden understanding of her mother’s sciatica. And of course, that was when she started running into Jake more- always shirtless, always looking unbothered by the heat, as if his body had negotiated a secret deal with the sun. And she knew he noticed her too- always in her training bra, always in her shorts, always with her hair up and neck sweating, mouth apart from panting.

It was probably the sixth day of the heat-wave. Y/N felt like she was boiling alive inside her own skin. Her shirt clung to her back, her legs stuck to the sheets, and the tiny desk fan in the corner had just given up with a sad, final wheeze. The water bottle she’d frozen earlier had melted into a lukewarm puddle beside her pillow. She had tried everything- a cold shower, lying on the floor, holding ice cubes to her neck- and still, the heat sat on her chest like a curse.

It was 02:57 am when she finally gave up.

She pulled on the first shirt she could find- which might’ve been slightly damp from sweat, but everything was- and slipped into the hallway, craving movement, breeze, anything other than her room’s still, suffocating air.

The hallway light flickered.

As soon as she stepped out, she heard a soft click- another door opening just down the corridor.

Jake- shirtless, barefoot, hair a mess of curls sticking to his forehead. He held a can of something cold- maybe soda, maybe hope in liquid form- and looked just as defeated as she felt.

For a moment, they just stood there, both caught in the dumb surprise of seeing each other again like this- past midnight, wilted by heat, lit by that awful yellow dorm light. Their eyes met. And unlike the usual glances they shared- quick, embarrassed, almost performative- this one held.

Jake lifted his chin slightly. “You heading somewhere?”

Y/N didn’t trust her voice, so she just jerked her head vaguely toward the stairwell. “Roof,” she said. “Maybe it’s less hell up there.”

He gave a tired, crooked smile. “Mind if I tag along?”

She shrugged. “Sure”

They walked in silence. The stairwell was even warmer, but there was something about the quiet- the hum of bugs outside, the faint creak of the building- that made it bearable. When they finally pushed open the roof door, a wave of hot-but-moving air greeted them.

It wasn’t cool. But it wasn’t still. And that felt like enough.

They sat on opposite ends of the low concrete ledge, legs dangling, watching the silhouettes of nearby buildings flicker in and out of the haze. The city lights blurred at the edges, like everything was melting.

Jake reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a popsicle- already halfway melted, the wrapper sticky and threatening to fall apart.

“Mango,” he said. “Don’t ask where I got it.”

He held it out halfway to her.

Y/N stared at it for a second, then leaned over, broke it in half with her fingers, and took her piece.

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence, eating sticky, sun-soft popsicle halves at 3 a.m. on the roof of a university that everyone hated.

After a long pause, Y/N said, “This place is a dumpster fire.”

Jake exhaled a laugh through his nose. “Yeah. But sometimes the fire’s kind of pretty.”

She looked at him sideways. He wasn’t smiling, not really, but his eyes had softened.

Y/N didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. The night felt suspended- like even the heat had paused, waiting for something to happen. They sat there until their popsicles were gone, until their sweat cooled into goosebumps, until the roof didn’t feel quite so unbearable. And when they finally stood up, heading back down the stairs without a word, something had shifted. They weren’t the awkward kids that bumped into each other in hallways anymore; they weren’t strangers who shared glances near the kitchen anymore.

“I need your help with this essay.”

Over the last month, as the heatwave dragged on like some biblical sentencing, Y/N and Jake had made a habit of barging into each other's rooms with whatever excuse they could make up. Sometimes it was batteries, or help with the half-dead Wi-Fi router. Other times, it was Jake showing up at her door with that half-grin, asking her to suffer through a regrettable movie because Jay and Sunghoon wouldn’t.

It had become an unspoken routine- something neither of them remembered initiating. It just… happened. Like the way dust collects on the windowsill, or how sweat clings to your back before noon. Natural. Unavoidable. Comfortable.

Now, standing at the doorway of Jake’s room was Y/N, clad in shorts and her usual training bra, waving her laptop like it was proof of a dying emergency. Jay and Sunghoon, shirtless, slouched on the floor with their phones and half a pack of chips between them, looked up with matching expressions of surprise. Not the “what are you doing here?” kind- more like the “we’ve seen this before but we’re still not used to it” kind.

Jake, catching their gazes and the sudden silence, didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed the first shirt in arm’s reach- one that had been lying crumpled on his bed for at least three days- and launched it at her face.

“Put on a shirt,” he grumbled, not meeting her eyes.

Y/N peeled the shirt off her face slowly, one eyebrow raised, and then looked down at herself like she was only now registering what she was wearing. “You’re the one with no AC. If I die from heatstroke, I’m haunting this room specifically.”

“You already live here anyway,” Jake muttered, trying and failing to suppress the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He put on the shirt that she had discarded and stood up from the floor.

“Essay, please! It’s urgent.”

Jake rolled his eyes but followed. No socks, no phone, no hesitation. Just him, trailing behind her like it was a habit carved into muscle memory.

Y/N’s room was already open when they got there. She didn’t wait. She just dropped onto the bed, cross-legged, her laptop opened before the fan like it might keep the overheating processor from catching fire.

Jake didn’t ask what the essay was about. He just sat beside her, back against the wall, shoulders barely touching, both pairs of eyes fixed on the open Word document on her laptop. She handed him the laptop, letting him take a few moments to scan the contents of her half-written, unplanned essay.

“This looks fine,” Jake raised a brow in confusion, handing her the laptop back. “What’s your doubt?”

She paused, hesitant. Then she glanced over her shoulder, hair falling in front of her face, hiding the sheepish curve of her smile. “I don’t know how to finish it,” she admitted, voice low, almost guilty.

Jake leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes with a sigh- the kind of dramatic groan he saved just for her. It was half-annoyance, half-performance, and all affection. “You, a literature major,” he said slowly, turning to face her with mocked disappointment, “are asking me, an engineering student, how to end a paper on Jane Eyre?”

“You know the best AI tools,” she shot back, defensive but grinning. “I just need help with how to use them.”

Jake gave her a look- that look- the signature one, all teasing arrogance with a hint of theatrical suffering, like helping her was both the bane and joy of his existence.

“And what do I get in return?” he asked, head tilted slightly, eyes glinting.

“Nothing,” she replied, without missing a beat, eyes not leaving his gaze, offering just as teasing a smile.

The first time Jake had said that line- what do I get in return?- she’d just asked him to grab her an egg from the communal fridge. He had said it with that same boyish grin and mock-serious tone, and Y/N, completely unprepared, had felt butterflies scramble in her stomach. She’d stammered, completely thrown off, her tongue fumbling against her words.

Jake had caught on instantly, and with wide eyes and flustered hands, rushed to explain that he hadn’t meant anything weird by it- that it was just a joke- harmless, playful. Ever since, whenever he threw that line at her, she’d shoot back with a dry “Nothing,” and he would always chuckle, always let it slide, like it was their little inside joke sealed in silence.

This time was no different. He just shook his head, a smile curling at the edges of his lips, and pulled the laptop onto his lap to open a fresh browser.

That night, during dinner, Y/N sat in Jake’s room, Sunghoon and Jay accompanying them like they do most nights. Jay cooked ramen for everyone to share, some protein and vegetables to bring out flavour. Silence, but the slurp of their ramen buzzed out the space of their room. A movie played on Jake’s laptop, some contemporary drama Jay had been dying to watch so they barged into his screening.

“Did y'all realize it’s the fourth decade,” Y/N said, mid-slurping her noodles, eyes fanning across the faces of the three boys that turned to look at her with bewilderment. “Who do you think the next victim will be?”

Jake and Jay passed each other a glance- a glance only the pair could decipher- and then looked at Sunghoon who was staring at Y/N. Sunghoon only gave her a shrug and finished the last of his ramen. “What, that willow tree-suicide thing?”

Y/N nodded.

Jake would never admit it, but he feared that the next victim of the university’s willow tree curse would be Sunghoon. He and Jay only followed Sunghoon to this godforsaken university for the safety of their friend- their friend who had been struggling with depression and suicidal tendencies since they were in middle school.

The three grew up together- the same neighbourhood, same school since kindergarten, same course interests and same love for each other as they grew up. But, in middle school, the dynamic between them shifted when Sunghoon was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder after a suicide attempt and suddenly, Jake and Jay were constantly in touch with Sunghoon’s parents to make sure he was safe and not a danger to himself.

When high school began, the two made sure, with all the power that they had, that Sunghoon wouldn’t succumb as a victim to their school’s increasing bullying issue. They were often put in positions where they had to trade their lunch to some of the bullies for Sunghoon’s safety or sleep with girls they didn’t want to, just to keep peace.

Then, it was time to apply for universities and Jake and Jay applied to every university Sunghoon had applied to, even if their ambitions were different. When Sunghoon first said he wanted to go to Remnant University, Jake and Jay shouted “same!”- like it was muscle memory, like they had been practising, rehearsing. But they didn’t really know much about the university.

Its website looked decent, offering all the courses they wanted and saying all the right things with words like world-renowned, engaging, innovative, expansive. The pictures that appeared with a quick Google search were hypnotising- a sprawling campus with expensive architecture students studying on patches of grass and canteens. It wasn’t until the day they had to move into campus that they realised they’d been baited.

As their time in the shitty university went on, the amount of rumours and legends they heard never stopped. There were rumours about the founder of the university and how he died a coke-addict and a student rapist. Then, there were the legends about the haunted computer lab and how the second computer to the left of the third row had never been used for two decades because the last time someone used it, they got hit by a bus and died in a tragedy. There was also a rumour about how the library was haunted and no one dared to stay in it past 2 am. Then, there was the legend they dreaded hearing about the most- the willow tree suicides and its ten year clock.

This was a conversation Jake and Jay had an ample amount of times after they heard the rumours. Words of concern and fright spilling out in hushed tones when Sunghoon wasn’t around to hear them- either sleeping or doing laundry. They hated thinking about it, to even visualise a world without their best friend- but their thoughts were often uninvited, like a nightmare they couldn’t sleep out of.

But was it truly a curse? Was it really something worth worrying about? It felt ridiculous, honestly- to lose sleep over an urban legend tied to a run-down university. The last so-called victim, according to the story, had died a decade ago. That meant ten batches had graduated since, and a hundred more rumors had spun into existence. No one even remembered the names of the last three. They were just stories, passed around during late-night conversations when there was nothing better to talk about- like ghost tales shared over a dying campfire.

The first victim, according to their university’s confessions account, was a girl whose name was marred with rumours and scandals of slutty behaviour and leaked sex-tapes. She had hung herself on the willow tree, her neck snapped in half with no note, no warning- just hanging there like an abrupt full-stop to a sentence. The media- or the newspaper articles, said that it was due to sexual exploitation and no one believing her. Others said that the story was bigger than that- bigger than them.

The second victim was an engineering student- much like Jake, Jay and Sunghoon themselves- who had failed his courses and had no money to pay for tuition. His scholarship was taken away from him, so he took his own life. He, too, left no note or no warning which left the public and his family in a spiral of bewilderment and confusion- no one really knew what the real story behind his death was.

The third victim was a boy in his final year of interior design. Unlike the others, there was no clear tragedy leading up to his death- no grades slipping through the cracks, no scandals or whispers of wrongdoing. In fact, most said he was the perfect student: brilliant, well-liked, always the first to show up and the last to leave. One morning, his body was found hanging beneath the willow tree, his shoes neatly placed beside him, as if he didn’t want to dirty the branches with a mess. No suicide note, no indication of struggle- just silence. Some said he was cursed with guilt, others said he saw something- something he couldn’t unsee.

In fact, they found him with his eyes open- dead and empty, horrifyingly still, like the life had been drained out from him mid-thought.

Three deaths. Three decades. Three stories, told and retold in hushed voices, embellished by fear and the passage of time. Would there even be a fourth death to add to the list of stories?

“That’s just a stupid rumour,” Jay dismissed Y/N quickly, cutting in before Jake could say anything- his loose tongue and panicked expression already halfway to betraying him. Stress had never been Jake’s strong suit, and Jay knew that better than anyone. Once, back in high school, Jake had tried talking Sunghoon down from a wave of sadness but fumbled his words so badly, it only confused Sunghoon more and triggered a full spiral. Jay had to step in, damage control already a familiar role by then.

“You don’t think it’s true?” Y/N asked, surprised.

“Nope,” confidently, Jay nodded, maintaining eye-contact like his life depended on it- like Sunghoon’s life depended on it.

Perhaps Sunghoon was too distracted, but Y/N felt the atmosphere shift around her. Her eyes darted between Jake and Jay, a question forming on the tip of her tongue, cautious and apprehensive yet curious and personal at the same time.

Jake, sensing her peaked senses, dragged her away with the empty pot of ramen and bowls in one hand and her forearm in his other. He led her into the kitchenette, two floors below their room, in the name of dish-washing duty while she struggled against his impossible grip.

“What was that?” When Jake finally let go of her and moved to wash the dishes, pretending like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, Y/N leaned against the counter with her arms crossed, staring at him like he owed her an explanation.

Jake tutted, tilting his head and staring at the remnants of ramen in the dirtied dishes, soapy water filling the basin. With his sleeves rolled up, he submerged his hands into the sink to start cleaning. “It’s just… it’s a sensitive topic for us.”

Jake refused to look at her, as though looking at her would make the conversation real, serious, heavy. He could still feel her gaze on him, now softened and apprehensive.

“Oh,” she sighed, letting her arms dangle to her sides. “Am I allowed to ask questions or do we move on?”

“It’s just,” Jake wasn’t sure what he could say- he wasn’t sure if he was even allowed to talk about it. This worry and fear for his friend was something he lived with for over seven years now, buried between blankets of secrecy between him and Jay. And now, for him to say the words out loud to Y/N almost felt wrong, illegal- like openly telling people who he voted for in presidential elections. “Sunghoon…”

“Oh,” Y/N nodded, chewing on her lips as the pieces clicked into place. It didn’t take a genius to understand why the topic was sensitive… she just kind of understood.

Sunghoon. Of course. The quiet, aloof, lost kid who looked like he carried the burden of the world most of the time- alright.

There was a moment of silence between them- just the hum of the old fridge, the soft slosh of water against porcelain, and the faint creaking of pipes somewhere in the walls. It wasn’t awkward, not quite. Just delicate.

Y/N straightened up, nudging his elbow gently with hers, her voice lighter this time. “You missed a spot,” she said, pointing at a stubborn noodle stuck to the bowl he was scrubbing.

Jake huffed out a breath, almost a laugh. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re a terrible dishwasher,” she grabbed a sponge and joined him at the sink, her presence a quiet reassurance that she wouldn’t press further.

For a moment, they just stood there, shoulder to shoulder, warm water pooling over their hands and silence settling like a truce. Their hands sloshed against each other, consciously pinching and swatting, a grin cracking against both of their lips.

Y/N had a stash of mango flavoured candy that Jake had become addicted to when she first shared some with him. She didn’t know if it was a brand or if it had a name- she told him that she’s simply grown up eating it and her parents would buy it in bulk everytime it ran out. It was sweet and sour, a mix of tangy spice settling in as the aftertaste and Jake was absolutely smitten by its flavour. Seeing how obsessive he had gotten over them, she told him that she’d ask her parents to buy extra for him but for now, he had to suffice with the single piece she’d give him everyday.

However, it meant waiting for Y/N to come back to the dorm, which she usually did really late after standing around the college canteen with her friends, gossiping or complaining about their university. By the time she’d come back, he’d get impatient and complain. There were times he even wandered back into campus in search of her and her room key and her friends would find that weird about him.

“How are you that obsessed with this candy? We’ve all had it. It’s not that great.”

“You’ve got no taste.”

So, annoyed, Y/N gave him her spare key, along with her trust in him that he wouldn’t use it for anything other than taking her mango candy. No snooping through her things, no stealing her expensive packets of ramen and no playing pranks. Jake agreed, comically desperate.

His classes had ended early and he returned to the dorm, an overheated oven as the heatwave refused to subside even after two months. They were in a dry spell- it hadn’t rained since their airconditioners had broken down and the whole town was in a water crisis. This meant that the dorm only got a limited supply of water. If someone woke up too late, all the water would be used up and they’d have to suffice with walking around sweaty and sticky, wafting with the scent of heat.

Absentmindedly, like it was in his second nature, Jake walked towards Y/N’s room instead of his own, his bag slung over his shoulder and her key already ready in his hand. When he unlocked her door, however, he wasn’t expecting to find her still in her room, sitting on her floor still in her underwear. Her back rested against her bed, hair strewn across the mattress and clinging to her neck. When she saw him, she didn’t panic in her half-naked state. She had a pillow on her lap, hiding the parts of her she was most embarrassed of, scanning her laptop screen perched on the pillow.

“Didn’t you have class?” He asked.

Jake blinked, his brain buffering, but he didn’t say anything about her state. He didn’t need to. That was the unspoken rule now: you don’t acknowledge it. Not when everyone in the dorm had seen each other wilt under the summer heat like dying houseplants. Modesty had long surrendered to survival. Shirts were optional. Doors were left ajar for cross-breezes. Even the warden had started walking around shirtless, like he'd finally accepted the heat as god.

“Class got cancelled,” she said, leaning her head against her mattress like she was fighting for her life. The evenings were the worst when it came to the heat. She squinted her eyes close, feeling sweat dribble down her already wet neck and she reached to adjust her tangled hair on the mattress.

Chewing on the candy, Jake sauntered to sit on her bed, right behind her. “Let me,” he said, crossing his legs and gathering her hair in his fist. She leaned forward to give him more space, allowing him a brief glance at her glistening back. Silently, he started raking through the strands of her hair with his fingers, eyes slyly glancing at the Reddit tab open on her laptop.

“Why are you reading that?” He asked, referring to the r/remnantuniversity tab she had open. It was about the willow tree suicides, a whole discussion on theories and rumours and urban legends that surrounded it. He wondered if those contributing to these online forums belonged to his class- it could be the quiet kid that sat in the back like he was harbouring a familial secret or the overly enthusiastic girl who acted like she knew everything.

“It’s for an essay,” she said. “For my literature and sociology class- something about Verstehen.”

“And that’s the topic you chose,” his voice was calm, unwavering. He wasn’t bothered or angry, only a little scared and wary, like she was trending unexplored and dangerous waters. His hands moved to section her hair into three, attempting to braid it.

“Yeah, I just- I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It’s kind of perfect for our topic,” she sighed. “There’s an entire subreddit, everyone’s shit scared about it- look!” She pointed at her screen and Jake squinted, leaning forward to read what she was referring to.

Then she scrolled through the subreddit and there were huge paragraphs of what he assumed were explanations or speculations, newspaper clippings of what seemed to be reports of the suicides which he couldn’t decide if they were real or AI, and a video of a new channel reporting on an unexplained suicide by hanging in an unnamed university.

While Jake looked through everything she was showing him, his hands slowly braiding her hair, she chewed her lip in caution. “They’re saying all the suicides took place on April twentieth.”

“That’s barely a month away,” Jake said.

“Yeah.”

“Y/N, there’s really no way any of this is real,” Jake sounded like he was convincing himself more than her. “You know the internet, it’ll go lengths to make their lives interesting. All those creepypastas that were debunked- I’m sure this is one of those.”

“That’s exactly what many people are saying,” she nodded. “The sane ones, at least.” Y/N reached behind her to feel her hair that he had partly braided. He wasn’t struggling, just taking his time, working with care and warmth. “Hey, you didn’t mess it up,” she pointed out, teasing him.

“You’re annoying,” he rolled his eyes, continuing to braid her hair.

“Where’d you learn to braid hair?”

“My mom, I think,” Jake hummed. “My brother and I used to love braiding her hair.”

“You have a brother?”

“Yeah, he’s in Australia now,” Jake’s eyes sparkled at the thought of his family, his smile mirrored on the glassy screen of her laptop. She watched him through the reflection, arms crossed on her chest, lips spreading a smile herself. “He’s married with kids and everything.”

Y/N, turned around to pass him the rubberband on her wrist, expression of awe. “You’re an uncle? That’s adorable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes, shuffling to lay down on her bed, his arms crossed under his head. He turned to look at her, watching her as she went back to her research.

Almost unapologetically, his eyes trailed down her exposed neck, admiring the braid he did for her, before locking onto her arms and her chest. This wasn’t the first time Jake looked at her like this, confused whether it was lust or just the fact that he was a boy staring at a half-naked girl in front of him- if it was passion or second-nature to him as a man. When he thought about it, he’d almost feel disgusted, to ever wonder what was under that pillow on her lap, what more could be discovered under those black panties she thought she successfully covered. Then there were her legs and her hands, slender and welcoming, like they were waiting for him to slide into.

Jake cleared his throat and pulled out his phone, attempting to distract himself. The heat didn’t help him and he knew if he took his shirt off now, his brain would run into overdrive.

“Jay and Sunghoon want to go bowling,” he said upon reading his missed messages. “Do you want to go?”

She didn’t say anything- just hummed like she was considering it, but was already reaching for a shirt. He knew that hum. It meant yes.

And a few hours later, they were standing under flickering neon lights in a bowling alley that smelled like bad nachos and better memories. Jay and Jake ended up destroying them- like, embarrassingly. Jake wasn’t even trying that hard. He bowled like it was something his ancestors trained him for. Sunghoon was busy trash-talking instead of actually aiming, and Y/N kept getting distracted by her opponents’ coordination- and the way Jake’s muscles flexed, the way his smile overpowered the room and the way his hair matted to his sweaty forehead made him look like something out of a magazine. But Y/N wouldn’t admit this, not to anyone, not to herself.

“Don’t laugh,” she said when the ball slid into the gutter with a tragic thud. “It curved. I saw a curve.”

“Yeah, it curved straight into failure,” Jay said, bumping Jake’s shoulder like they were on the same team in a war. They high-fived like idiots.

Later, they went out to eat at this cramped little diner Jay liked, the one with flickering menus and sticky tabletops that smelled like ketchup and some kind of old, overused oil. It was half nostalgia, half heartburn. Thank god both the bowling alley and this diner had air conditioning, because they swore they would’ve melted if they had to sit through one more minute of sticky air and heavy clothes clinging to their backs. Jake kept dramatically fanning himself with the laminated menu, Jay had unbuttoned his shirt two notches down, and Sunghoon was debating sticking his head in the freezer behind the counter.

Y/N, like clockwork, ordered ice cream mochi- the same kind she always got when they went out. It didn’t matter what mood she was in or what place they were at. If mochi was on the menu, she was getting it. She pulled apart the sticky rice covering with her fingers like it was a ritual, the cold mist clinging to her fingertips. She popped one half into her mouth and let out a small hum, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

Jake watched her without meaning to, elbow propped on the table, chin in hand.

“You’re really acting like this is gourmet cuisine,” Sunghoon said, deadpan, as he unwrapped a sad-looking cheeseburger.

“It is,” Y/N replied, all wide eyes and pure belief. “This is the good kind. The outside’s chewy and the ice cream doesn’t taste fake. Jay, taste this.”

Jay held up both hands in refusal. “I’m not about to get emotionally attached to frozen rice balls, thanks.”

Jake didn’t say anything, but when she wasn’t looking, he stole the other half from her plate and popped it into his mouth. Cold exploded on his tongue, sweet vanilla cream wrapped in the soft, elastic chew of mochi.

She caught him mid-chew. “You’re so mean,” she said, flicking a wet napkin at him.

He just grinned, cheeks full. “You’ll live.”

Then the conversation drifted, as it always did, to the three boys groaning about their engineering classes- Jay going off about a professor who mumbled formulas like they were lullabies, Sunghoon lamenting the four-hour lab that ruined his Thursdays, and Jake trying to convince them all that thermodynamics was a scam invented to humble mankind. Y/N didn’t say much, just listened, her eyes darting between each of them as they spoke, like she was watching some low-budget sitcom unfold right in front of her. She forked through her pasta lazily, twirling it around her utensil with quiet interest, smiling to herself at the way they all spoke over each other- complaining, defending, occasionally throwing fries across the table like punctuation.

Jake had a habit of overpowering his thoughts with his loud voice, like volume could somehow make his point more valid. There was always a grin on his face, dimples peeking through as he defended his case with the same stubborn energy he applied to everything else. He’d shake his head when he got frustrated, flinging his hair out of his eyes in that dramatic, boyish way that made him look like he belonged in some coming-of-age film. Jay, naturally, would shout back- voice rising almost on instinct- calling Jake delusional or dumb or both, words laced with exasperation and fondness. Their arguments were always the same mix of chaos and choreography, like they’d done this a hundred times and had the rhythm memorised.

Sunghoon would just sit back with his drink in hand, lips curled into a crooked smile, chuckling as he watched them bicker like an old married couple. He’d throw in dry commentary about how they could channel all this passion into actually studying, but that only made him a target. The teasing would shift seamlessly to Sunghoon, Jake and Jay now joining forces to poke fun at his notes or his caffeine addiction or the way he took forever to reply to messages. Sunghoon would roll his eyes, flipping them off, but his voice would get just as loud, defending himself with the same fire he mocked them for. And through it all, Y/N just watched, resting her chin in her palm, half-amused and half-softened by the sheer comfort of it all- how familiar and stupid and warm it was.

Then, like clockwork, their voices would taper off- first Jay slumping back in his seat with a huff, then Jake sighing dramatically like he’d just won a war, and Sunghoon smirking into his drink as if he’d been above it all from the start. They always found their way back to quiet eventually, their chaos softening into something slower and easier. One of them- usually Jake- would nudge Y/N with an elbow or flick a piece of napkin her way, and ask, “What about you, nerd? How’s your academic crisis going?”

Y/N perked up slightly, spearing a piece of her pasta and chewing it slowly, as if deciding where to start. “I have to write a new essay for my literature and sociology class,” she said between bites, shrugging. “I thought I’d write about our university and all those legends and rumours. There’s a lot on Reddit.”

Jay blinked. “Why?” he asked, already picturing the tab on her browser- r/remnantuniversity, a whole rabbit hole of conspiracies and dark theories, deep dives into campus lore. The willow tree suicides being one of the most talked-about topics on there, wrapped in layers of myth and fear. Jay remembered seeing the posts himself once- some of the comments read like ghost stories, others like diary entries from students who claimed to have seen strange things, heard whispers, felt watched. He found it oddly fascinating in the way only things that unsettled you at 3 am could be.

Y/N nodded, holding up her phone to show them a post she’d saved. “It’s perfect for what we’re studying. There’s so much there- collective fear, urban myth, ritualised grief. And people are still so scared of that place. Look at this: Reddit says the library isn’t actually haunted, it’s just psychosomatic, like mass suggestion. One of the seniors said they slept there overnight and nothing happened. But then someone else said their roommate went missing for four hours and turned up outside the willow tree. Like, how does that even happen?”

Sunghoon’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. “Why would you want to write about something like that? Aren’t y’alls essays meant to be filled with research paper citations and shit? You can’t cite Reddit.”

“I have my ways,” she rolled her eyes. “Besides, it’s interesting. I’ve always found conspiracies fascinating- that’s all I watch on Youtube.”

“You’re one of those girls,” Jay commented, letting a chuckle past his lips as he brought more food to his mouth.

“Screw you.”

Jake shook his head slowly, voice low and steady. “Now you want to test it out?”

Y/N didn’t say anything at first, only reached for another mochi, her fingers brushing against the cold plastic. “Just for a bit. Past 2 am, that’s when the weird stuff is supposed to happen. But I won’t go alone,” she added quickly. “I mean, unless none of you want to come.”

“You’re actually dumb,” Jay muttered, leaning in. “Like, stupid in the head.”

“She’s possessed,” Sunghoon mumbled, rubbing his temple. “This is how horror movies start. Girl writes a paper, disappears in the library, we all get haunted. No thank you.”

But Jake didn’t say anything right away. He just stared at her across the table, lips pressed together, something flickering in his gaze that wasn’t quite fear, but wasn’t exactly comfort either. Because even if he thought she was being reckless or ridiculous or completely out of her mind, he already knew it in his gut- he was going to follow her anyway.

“If I die in that library, I’m haunting you first.”

Y/N and Jake arrived at the doors of their university library at midnight, a bag of snacks and their study materials tucked under their arms, gripped not just with fear, but with the strange thrill of doing something they weren’t supposed to. The campus was quiet in the kind of eerie way that made your ears ring from the silence- no motorbikes revving in the parking lot, no late-night couples giggling behind the hostel blocks, not even the occasional scream of someone who'd just finished an assignment. The whole place felt still, like it was holding its breath just for them.

It had taken Y/N two whole days to fully convince him- two full days of persistent poking, half-hearted bribery, the promise of free candy, and a dramatic monologue about academic integrity and sociological curiosity that made Jake pretend to gag. Still, he showed up.

She had texted him “you don’t have to come, it’s okay” more than once, but he always replied with some version of “shut up, I’m already on my way.”

The library loomed ahead, grand and cold under the fluorescent lamps. The old sandstone walls cast long shadows, and the columns looked more imposing at night, like they belonged to something older than the university itself. Jake glanced sideways at Y/N as they stepped closer, her face lit by her phone screen as she reread one of the Reddit threads, eyes wide, smile crooked.

“You’re still reading those?” he asked, amused but tired.

“Just refreshing my memory,” she whispered. “Someone said if you walk in after midnight and ask the librarian’s ghost to help you find a book, you’ll see a girl in a red scarf standing in the philosophy section. But if you follow her, you disappear.”

Jake rolled his eyes, trying to hide his growing fear. “And you still chose this over writing a boring essay about Durkheim.”

“It is about Durkheim,” she grinned, holding the door open for him. “Just the cursed, Reddit version.”

They entered with hesitant steps, the automatic doors hissing behind them. The air inside was cold and clinical, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. The security guard was either asleep or didn’t care- they had a green light to wander. The library looked the same as it did during the day: rows and rows of tall shelves, the study desks with their tiny lamps, the far-off corners cast in deeper shadows. It wasn’t as hot inside, enveloped by cool wiring of a half-broken cooler.

Jake exhaled slowly and reached for a Kit-Kat from their snack bag, unwrapping it as loudly as possible just to break the silence. “You know,” he said, “if a ghost shows up and asks me about APA or MLA, I’m out,” he joked, trying to lighten his nerves.

Y/N snorted, nudging his arm as she pulled out her notebook. “Shut up and help me figure out if I’m insane or if sociology is.”

“Both,” Jake said, mouth full of chocolate. “Definitely both.”

They picked a long wooden table near the back, one with uneven legs and names scratched into its surface- past students immortalised in ballpoint pen and frustration. It was the kind of spot no one really liked during the day, too far from the outlets and close enough to the vent that it got way too cold, but tonight it felt perfect. Quiet. Tucked away.

Y/N opened her laptop and got to work, fingers tapping against the keys with the rhythm of focus, eyes scanning Reddit threads, cross-referencing journal articles, her screen glowing dim blue in the otherwise sterile yellow light of the library. Jake pulled out his textbook with the face of a man who had already accepted his own fate and flipped it open to the chapter on thermal systems. He highlighted in pink and underlined in green, switching colours like it meant something, mumbling equations under his breath that didn’t make sense to either of them.

Every ten minutes or so, Jake would glance at his phone and say something like “One hour and ten minutes till we die,” in a mock-dramatic tone that made Y/N flick a pencil at him. Sometimes, he’d whisper the most absurd lines from his textbook like it was poetry- “Entropy is a measure of disorder,” he whispered once, “just like your essay outline.” When she didn’t react, he’d nudge her ankle with his. “Laugh,” he’d whisper, “or I’ll actually start crying.” She snorted and kept typing.

Every ten minutes, they’d count down the time. Jake would glance at his phone, tap the screen, and announce the minute like they were waiting for New Year’s. “1:20,” he’d say. Then, “1:30.” Then, “1:40,” a little more hesitant each time.

By 1:50, the jokes slowed down. The air felt… weird. Not cold, exactly, but too still. Like the quiet had layered itself on their shoulders. Jake was no longer reading- he just stared at the same page, eyes unfocused. Y/N’s fingers hovered above her keyboard. The laptop’s fan hummed a little louder.

At 1:59, they looked at each other. Nothing dramatic. Just a glance.

And then, 2:00 a.m.

The moment it hit, the lights didn’t flicker. The shelves didn’t creak. No whispers crawled through the air. Nothing dramatic happened- not even a gust of wind from a cracked window or the soft echo of footsteps from an unseen hallway.

The library remained stubbornly ordinary. Books stayed tucked in their places, monitors blinked patiently, and the only sound was the quiet hum of the air conditioning and their ragged breathing. Y/N stared at the time on her laptop- 2:00 am sharp- and then looked up, almost disappointed.

Jake leaned back in his chair, stretching with a yawn. “I was kind of hoping a book would go flying off a shelf,” he muttered. “Or like… the ghost of some stressed-out PhD student would show up and slap me for not citing properly.”

Y/N snorted, pressing her fingers to her temples like she was trying to read the silence. “I’m so disappointed,” Y/N murmured, smiling a little. “Should we stay longer?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “God, no. I came for the haunting, not an all-nighter.”

Still, neither of them packed up. Not yet.

They waited until 3 am, just to be sure. Just to say they’d really done it. That they’d stayed past the hour of whispers and shadows and all those ridiculous Reddit warnings. They didn’t speak much, just packed up their things in a hurry- it felt like they were kids again, afraid of the dark and needing to run to the kitchen for water in the middle of the night to escape whatever monsters were under the bed. The air still held that heavy stillness, like the library didn’t want them to go. But they left anyway, pushing the tall doors open with a little too much caution, stepping into the cooler, quieter night like survivors of something no one else had witnessed.

Their walk back to the dorms was quieter, too. Not tense. Just… quieter. Their hands brushed more than once, knuckles bumping awkwardly in the half-lit path, and for a while, neither of them moved away. Eventually, Jake gave in. His arm came up slowly and draped around her shoulders like it was something he’d been meaning to do all night. She didn’t say anything, almost relieved- just leaned a little into him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You know there’s gonna be a shooting star tomorrow?” He said, voice low, almost sleepy. “Well, a meteor shower. Something like that.”

She hummed, looking up at the hazy sky.

“Everyone’s gonna be up on the dorm roof to watch it,” he added. “Jay and Hoon are bringing snacks and everything. You should come.”

She smiled without looking at him. “Are you inviting me, or telling me?”

Jake grinned, tightening his arm around her shoulders just slightly. “Both.”

The next night, Y/N climbed the rusting fire stairs to the dorm’s roof, drawn by the distant hum of music and the smell of sweet soda gone sharp with alcohol. The entire rooftop was full- blankets sprawled across the concrete, bodies tangled into lazy heaps, everyone dressed in their pyjamas like it was some kind of unspoken theme. Their university might’ve been falling apart at the edges, but somehow, they always knew how to make the best of it. Laughter echoed into the night, soft and unbothered, like the rooftop was a world of its own. People were singing, laughing, hugging and swaying with the music, glasses of alcohol lifted into the air. Somewhere, she saw the domestic Carl the Iguana perched politely on someone's shoulder.

She didn’t know who handed her the cup of spiked fruit punch- one moment her hands were empty, the next, something cold and red was slipping into her fingers. It tasted too sweet, a little too strong, and sticky like childhood. She moved through the crowd, eyes scanning for anyone familiar.

That’s when she saw them- Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon, walking over with the same crooked grins and half-lidded eyes. The night had painted everyone softer.

Jay raised his drink in greeting. “Congrats on surviving the haunted library,” he said, bowing slightly. “A scholar and a ghostbuster.”

Sunghoon snorted into his cup. “So… can we conclude all the legends are untrue?”

Y/N shrugged, the corners of her lips tugging up. “Probably,” she said, but she didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“Told you so,” Jake grinned and nudged her shoulder with his.

The heatwave had finally started to let up. The air was breathable again, and the rooftop was cool in that perfect way that made them forget how miserable the days had been. The sky above stretched wide and navy, dotted with slow-moving clouds and the faintest glow of city light bleeding into the edges. The first streak of silver split across the sky like a knife, sharp and sudden and dazzling. A soft gasp rolled through the rooftop, voices falling quiet as everyone tilted their heads upward, caught in the spell of it. More followed- long, brilliant trails of light cutting across the darkness, each one different. Some quick and flickering, others steady, glowing like they were made to be seen. The stars looked close enough to reach, like if you stood on your toes, they’d fall into your palms like warm coins. It was the kind of sky that made you feel small in the right way, like you were part of something old and beautiful.

Jake stood behind her, arms curled easily around her waist, the curve of his body slotting into hers like they were puzzle pieces. His breath was slow, brushing against her temple in warm waves, and when he rested his chin lightly on the top of her head, it was without hesitation. His glasses had slid halfway down his nose but he didn’t care- he was smiling too wide to notice, one of those real smiles that crinkled his eyes and pushed his cheeks up high. There was something boyish in the way he watched the sky, like all of this reminded him of something he’d once dreamed about.

Y/N leaned back into him, soft and quiet, her body folding easily into his. Her pulse, which always seemed to buzz around him, slowed into something steadier. Their hands weren’t even touching, but the closeness was warm and whole. She could feel the steady thump of his heart through his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing against her spine. It wasn’t new, the comfort, but it felt like something had settled.

Eventually, the sky quieted again, and the spell broke- softly, like waking from a dream you weren’t ready to let go of. The crowd shifted, people stretching their arms above their heads or collapsing into conversations, their voices warming back into the air. Someone from her literature class- Priya, maybe?- tugged Y/N into a half-circle of people sitting cross-legged on the rooftop floor, laughing over something mildly stupid. She smiled, nodded, and added a comment when she needed to. Her fingers were still a little sticky from the punch, and her cheeks felt flushed, but not from the drink.

Still, every few seconds, her eyes would stray- like clockwork, like gravity. Across the rooftop, past the swaying silhouettes of friends in old pajamas, through the mess of curls and blankets and blinking fairy lights tangled along the railing- until they found him.

Jake.

Leaning back against the concrete wall, hair a little messy, arms crossed. His glasses were back in place now, pushed up lazily with the back of his hand. He wasn’t smiling this time- not in that big, goofy way- but there was something soft in his face, his gaze heavy and quiet and locked onto her.

He didn’t look away. And neither did she.

It wasn’t dramatic or loud, no fireworks, no slow motion movie moment. Just a series of glances. The kind that made your stomach curl. The kind that felt like your whole chest had been pulled a little tighter. The kind that made you feel seen.

Her heart fluttered against her ribs like wings, like something light and dangerous had taken flight. And when he tilted his head at her, just slightly- like he was asking, “you good?”- she smiled. Not a big one. Not one meant for the crowd. Just a small, secret thing. And he smiled back.

The night came to a gentle, sleepy end. Laughter started thinning out as people yawned and stretched, peeling away in twos and threes, voices fading down stairwells. The rooftop cleared like a tide going out, and soon only the distant sound of someone’s playlist humming from a dorm window remained.

Y/N padded back to her room, still barefoot from the rooftop, pulse soft from the stars. Her door creaked open and the quiet inside was immediate, a contrast to the noise they’d just left. Behind her, Jake followed- not invited, not uninvited either. He leaned against the frame of her doorway, arms crossed over his chest, one shoulder raised slightly like he wasn’t sure if he was staying or just passing through. But he didn’t move.

He watched her tie her hair into a bun, the movement familiar and unbothered, like he wasn’t even there. She pulled her shirt over her head with a lazy yawn, tossing it to the chair by her desk, and moved to sit cross-legged on her bed. The room was dim, a pool of moonlight stretched across the floor, and she looked up at him like he’d been standing there forever.

She grinned. “Candy?”

Jake huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head as he stepped further in, finally letting the door close behind him with a soft click. He crossed the room, slow and deliberate, and stopped in front of her.

“Why do you seem so tense?” he asked, voice low, like a secret passed through a crack in the wall. His fingers twitched like they wanted to reach for her but didn’t.

Y/N tilted her head. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

She shrugged but didn’t argue. There was something in the way she looked at him then- barefaced and tired and warm- that made his chest pull in strange, careful ways. Like he wasn’t sure what line they were walking, only that he didn’t want to step off it.

She shifted, patting the space beside her. “Then sit. Maybe I’ll feel better.”

He sat down, his hands brushing her shoulders before he started to knead the knots there- careful, light, like he was asking permission. “You gotta let loose a little,” he breathed, eyes lingering on her exposed skin, words hanging between the space between his lips and her ear.

Y/N knew where this was headed- she wasn’t stupid. It was all the eye-contact in the hallways, the brushing on their hands, the way he hugged her, the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her like she was the most important thing in the world. And somewhere along the way, she fell into the little game he started, grinning back with tease, letting her hand snake around his arm when sitting together and watching movies, leaning into his touches.

Softly, she tilted her head towards him, eyes lowered and focused on her navy bed sheets. “You know, you don’t need to use cheesy lines, right?” She murmured, still not meeting his lines.

Jake’s hands stilled for a second on her shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the dip of her back before sliding down, slow and tentative, like he was testing gravity. His voice followed after a pause, low and uneven. “Oh, yeah?”

That made her look at him.

And he was already staring- like he always was. Like he couldn’t help it. His gaze swept over her face, soft and deliberate, until it landed on her lips and stayed there just a little too long. He’d been patient, perhaps too patient, all this while, waiting to touch her the way he was now, fingers ghosting against the clasp of her bra, lips just about to touch the curve of her neck.

There was a flicker in her chest- sharp and golden, like something about to ignite. She bit her lip, pulse stammering, and Jake exhaled like he felt it too.

“You’re not gonna kiss me, are you?” she whispered, teasing.

He leaned in, the tiniest bit, until their foreheads almost touched. His breath was warm, sweet from the leftover punch. His hands were still on her waist now, grounding them both. “Not unless you want me to.”

The silence between them was louder than music, thicker than the night. She could feel his heart pounding through the space between them, or maybe it was hers. They were close enough now to share breath, to blur edges.

“I can tell how bad you want it too,” he said, and it wasn’t cocky- just honest. The way she pressed her thighs together, fisted the bedsheet, chest heaving silently at the thought of whatever he was about to do next.

And at that moment, she wanted to close the distance. Wanted to crash into him with all the force of those stolen glances, those unfinished sentences, that first night in the library when his hand brushed hers and neither of them moved away.

But instead, she smiled- slow and lazy, like the heat of the night had melted her bones. “Then, what are you waiting for?”

And that was it. That was all the sign he needed.

Jake moved without hesitation, like he'd been holding his breath for weeks and finally got the chance to exhale. His lips crashed into hers, not rough, but urgent- hungry in the way someone is when they’ve wanted something for too long. One of his hands slipped into her hair, the other stayed anchored at her waist, pulling her in like she was gravity and he was done fighting it.

Y/N responded just as fiercely, threading her fingers through his hair and tugging him closer, chasing the warmth of his mouth, his neck, every inch of him that had lived in the corners of her thoughts. She barely remembered shifting onto his lap- just the way his hands found her hips like they’d been there before in some dream, the way he murmured her name against her skin like it was something sacred.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t messy. It was everything that had built up between them- every brush of a hand, every late-night stare, every almost-kiss, every heartbeat that stuttered when they were alone. He touched her like he was memorizing, like he was afraid she’d disappear. She kissed him like she’d been waiting for the world to stop just long enough to feel this.

They kept their voices low, stifling laughs and gasps against each other’s skin, the thin dorm walls reminding them that the world was still asleep just beyond the door. The sheets twisted under them, breaths hot and tangled, every touch deliberate- like they had all the time in the world but couldn’t bear to waste a second. It wasn’t rushed or clumsy, it was careful and full of heat, the kind of night that felt inevitable. Like the universe had been pushing them toward this moment all along, and they had finally stopped resisting. And when it was over, when their skin was slick with warmth and the room was quiet again, it didn’t feel strange or wrong. It felt like destiny.

Jake and Y/N fell into dating the way you fall asleep on a train ride home- slowly at first, then all at once, like it was the most natural thing in the world. They weren’t flashy. They didn’t need grand declarations or picture-perfect Instagram posts. What they had was quieter, deeper, built out of real things: shared glances, inside jokes, sleepy conversations at midnight when the rest of the world was still.

Most of their dates were just the two of them- Jake was big on “quality time,” as he liked to say. He’d take her to cozy little restaurants tucked away in corners of the city, the kind with dim lights and too-good desserts. They’d sit in booths for hours, sometimes just talking, sometimes just existing in the same space- knee brushing knee, his thumb tracing patterns into her palm beneath the table.

Bookstores became a frequent spot, too. Jake had a soft spot for poetry (though he’d never admit it to Jay or Sunghoon), and Y/N loved the feel of worn-out covers and marginalia. They’d walk through the aisles shoulder to shoulder, flipping pages and pointing out titles to each other. She’d lean into him as they read the backs of paperbacks, his hand resting on the small of her back like it belonged there.

Arcades were chaotic in comparison. Jake was competitive and loud, and Y/N loved the way his eyes lit up when he won. She’d laugh so hard when he lost at air hockey that she’d nearly fall over, and he’d spend far too many tokens trying to win her that one lopsided bunny plushie she swore was “ugly cute.” She still kept it on her bed.

And then there were the days they weren’t alone.

Jay and Sunghoon had a sixth sense for crashing dates. They’d text “wyd” ten minutes after Jake and Y/N sat down somewhere, and somehow always appear wherever they were, drinks in hand, ready to clown.

One night, they all ended up at a rooftop café with fairy lights strung across the beams. Jake had his hand on Y/N’s thigh, their legs tangled under the table, and Jay groaned so loud the waiter turned to look.

“Do you two have to be so disgustingly in love all the time?” he asked, sipping his drink with way too much judgment. “I came here to eat, not to watch The Notebook: Live Edition.”

Y/N just grinned and stole a fry from his plate. “You’re just jealous.”

Sunghoon leaned back, arms crossed. “Y’all make me wanna throw myself off the side of this building.”

“You love it,” Jake shot back, completely unfazed.

“Unfortunately,” Sunghoon muttered, but they all laughed.

Still, despite the teasing, the group hung out constantly. Movie nights on the common room floor, late-night walks to the convenience store in pajamas, sharing playlists and trading clothes and collapsing into each other like family.

Jake never stopped being soft around Y/N. Whether they were alone or not, he always found her hand, always kissed the top of her head, always listened like she was the only voice in a crowded room.

One night, as they sat on a park bench eating ice cream- because Y/N insisted night walks deserved dessert- Jake turned to her with a look of adoration. He had a lot he wanted to say, all sappy words of love and affection and things she loved calling “cheesy filmy lines.” But he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“What is it?” Y/N coaxed, eyes wide with curiosity, tongue poking out to lick her popsicle. A chilly breeze went past them and they welcomed it, pushing out the heat wave successfully.

“It’s the twentieth in a few days,” Jake reminded her.

“Oh, yeah,” she nodded. “Don’t wanna risk not believing it?”

“Yeah,” Jake admitted. “It all feels so stupid.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she looped her arm with his, moving closer to lean her head on his shoulder. They sat that way in silence, eating ice cream and watching the leaves of trees rustle with the wind. Cicadas grew louder and their chests rose and fell in the sync. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just a few more weeks ‘till summer break.”

April 20th fell on a Saturday.

Jake didn’t say anything when he saw the date on his phone that morning- just stared at it for a beat longer than usual. The sun was already warming the floorboards under his desk, and somewhere in the building, someone was blasting a bad remix of a pop song that had been stuck in his head for three days. But even with the normalcy, the date sat heavy in his chest. He knew Jay slept in Sunghoon’s room that night, just in case, just to protect him or make sure he didn’t go off wandering into the campus.

But the rest of the day was still left.

He sent one message to the group chat- movie night in my room. 7pm. mandatory. no excuses.

Jay replied in all caps complaining about how he had plans (he didn’t), and Y/N sent back a heart. Sunghoon left it on read, as usual.

By 7:03, they were all squished into Jake’s too-small dorm room, the air already thick with the smell of popcorn and the low hum of some indie movie playing in the background. The lights were low, a throw blanket covered every surface that could physically hold a human, and the window was cracked open just enough to let the cool evening air slip in. A quiet playlist hummed beneath the noise of Y/N complaining that Jake had no good snacks (he did, she just liked to say that) and Jay dramatically tried to balance six cans of soda in his hoodie pocket.

Y/N had kicked her shoes off the second she walked in and claimed Jake’s bed like it belonged to her. She was now half-buried under one of his sweatshirts, legs tucked underneath her, hair messy and smiling softly as she scrolled through his playlist. Jake was on the floor by her feet, back against the bed frame, watching her like she was the only thing worth looking at.

Sunghoon, oblivious as ever, plopped beside her with a bag of chips and a hoodie that clearly wasn’t his (Jake’s, of course), already halfway through the first movie of the night. Jay sprawled across the carpet like a Victorian fainting woman, holding a worn-out deck of cards in the air.

“Okay, I’m gonna need full participation,” Jay announced dramatically, flicking cards across the floor like a magician. “If I’m giving up my imaginary date night, we are playing.”

“We never said we wanted to,” Y/N grinned, but reached down to grab her hand of cards anyway.

“You never want to,” Jay deadpanned. “And yet, I’m here. Suffering. With all of you.”

Jake snorted, leaning back against the wall beside the bed, one foot propped on the edge of his desk chair. “You’re so dramatic. You love us.”

“No,” Jay said flatly. “I love cards. You’re all collateral.”

The night went on like that- easy and dumb and warm. They played two rounds of Uno before Sunghoon started cheating just to piss off Jay. Y/N made Jake pause the movie at least three times to change the playlist. Someone spilled soda on the rug. No one got up to clean it.

Then they played Speed, then Jay’s own twisted version of Poker that had way too many rules and made Sunghoon suspiciously good at bluffing. At some point, they forgot the movie was even playing in the background. Laughter bubbled out of the room like it was overflowing. And it was enough. Not a grand gesture, not a revelation. Just the four of them, tangled up in a night full of stupid games and old music, and the simple magic of still being here. Y/N fell sideways against Jake, clutching her stomach at something stupid Jay said. Jake leaned into her without thinking, resting his chin lightly against her arm, grounding himself in the closeness.

But beneath the noise, beneath the ridiculous banter and snorting laughter and snacks spilled on the rug, there was a quiet kind of watching. Jake’s eyes flickered to Sunghoon every so often- not too much, not enough to notice, but enough to make sure he was still here. Still with them. Still laughing. The way his head tilted back when Jay said something dumb. The way he wiped chip crumbs on Jake’s hoodie sleeve like it was his birthright. The way he didn’t seem to know that today mattered at all.

They didn’t talk about it. Didn’t even hint at it. There was no heavy moment, no obvious pause in the night. Just warmth. Just presence. Just staying.

As the night dragged on, Jay announced he was going to physically die if he didn’t get water, and Jake followed him out to the vending machine. When he came back, he had two bottles, one he handed to Y/N wordlessly.

She blinked, reaching out and taking it. Her fingers brushed his. “You okay?”

Jake sat beside her again, this time close enough for his thigh to press against hers. “It’s past midnight.”

Y/N looked at the clock on his desk. 12:17.

Behind them, Jay was yelling about reverse carding his own reverse card, and Sunghoon was fake-snoring on the bed.

That night, out of pure fear and dissatisfaction, Jake had pretended to fall asleep hugging Sunghoon, forcing him to fall asleep too. Jake hugged onto him so tight, he was sure he wouldn't be able to breath for the rest of the night. Y/N covered the pair in a blanket before leaving the room with Jay. They shared a glance, a small understanding and gratitude before parting ways to go to their respective rooms.

The airport buzzed with that familiar kind of chaos- luggage wheels scraping the floor, boarding announcements echoing overhead, and the constant shuffle of people going places. But in the middle of all that noise stood the four of them, frozen in their own little bubble of time.

Finals had wrecked them. Jake looked like he hadn’t slept in three days before this morning. Jay had nearly cried over his last theory paper. Sunghoon dramatically claimed he forgot how to read halfway through exam week. Y/N's fingers were sore from typing essays and projects until 3 a.m. every night, fueled by vending machine coffee and bad lo-fi playlists. But they made it.

Somehow, they made it.

Now they stood in front of the departure gate, suitcases stacked on trolleys, backpacks slung over tired shoulders, the weight of an entire semester pressing softly on their backs.

“Well,” Jay said, clearing his throat like he didn’t want to admit he was getting emotional. “Don’t die.”

“Wow. Inspirational,” Y/N snorted.

Jake laughed, slinging an arm around her and pressing a kiss to her temple like it was the most natural thing in the world. “He means: we’ll miss you. Come back in one piece.”

Sunghoon was leaning dramatically against his suitcase. “Same floor, same rooms next semester, right? I can’t have anyone else stealing my shampoo. It’s personal at this point.”

Y/N reached over to smack his arm. “I only borrowed it twice.”

“Twice a week,” he muttered, but his smile was soft.

“I’ll bring my mom’s kimchi when I come back,” Jake announced, remembering an old bet between Sunghoon and him. “You know, to prove that it’s better than the dorm’s kimchi.”

“That’s a low bar, Jake,” Jay deadpanned. “A literal shoelace would taste better than dorm food.”

There was hugging after that- tight ones, lingering a little too long. Someone may or may not have cried a little (Jay denied it firmly), and for a second it felt like a weird coming-of-age movie ending, the kind that faded out into a bittersweet pop song.

Jay and Sunghoon wandered off after that, joking about who’d forget the group chat first (Sunghoon swore it would be him, and no one argued). Jake pulled Y/N aside for one last moment before their flights were called.

Y/N looked up at him, taking in the soft mess of his hair, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes from too many sleepless nights, and the way his lips parted like he was trying to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Her throat burned, feeling her eyes water.

“Hey,” Jake, noticing her lips quivering downwards, stepped closer to her, a hand on her shoulder and head leaning closer to her face. “It’s just the summer,” he tried.

“But I won’t see you every day. Or at breakfast. Or brushing your teeth with your eyes half open.”

Jake laughed, that small, breathy kind. “You’ll miss me brushing my teeth?”

“I’ll miss all of you,” she whispered.

Jake reached out, gently tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. His touch was warm, grounding. “Y/N,” he murmured, like her name was something sacred. “I know I joke a lot, but I really mean it. I’ll come visit. I want to see your town, meet your friends, and walk the streets you grew up on. And I need that goddamn mango candy.”

Laughing, Y/N but back a sniffle. “You’re not just saying that?”

“I don’t lie about such things.”

She smiled, watery and small. “Then I’ll visit yours too. I want to see where you had your first kiss.”

“That was awful,” he laughed. “But sure, I’ll take you to that playground.”

And then he leaned in.

Not rushed, not like he was trying to prove anything. It was soft, slow, and sure- the kind of kiss that tasted like every unsaid word, like laughter under moonlight and movies shared at 1 am, like late-night card games and secret glances across the room. It was the kind of kiss that said I’ll miss you and I’ll wait for you and I’m so damn glad I met you.

Around them, the airport moved on. People passed, announcements echoed, planes took off. But for a second, they didn’t move. The world didn’t exist. There was only the warmth of his hand and the feel of her lips and the way their hearts beat just a little too loud.

When they pulled apart, her forehead rested against his.

“Go before I cry,” she whispered.

“You cry, I cry,” he muttered, trying to smile, but his voice cracked just a little. “Group breakdown in the airport.”

She laughed, even as she blinked hard. “I’ll text you when I land.”

“You better.”

And then, she turned and walked toward the gate. He stood there until she disappeared past the security check. Only then did he finally exhale, breathing words of love she couldn’t hear. Behind, Jay and Sunghoon were hollering for him to their gate, paying they needed to board “before the plane fucking leaves.”

And then there were final waves from Y/N, airport glass doors sliding shut, security checks and goodbyes swallowed by distance. But something about it didn’t feel sad.

Because they knew they’d be back.

Same floor. Same rooms. Same people. Just a little more grown.

[urbrunettebombshell]

NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE - Part 2

Part 1

Rafe Cameron x FemReader

Summary: After a gut wrenching realization, Rafe Cameron has nothing left to lose, only reader.

Warnings: 18+, jealousy, angst, mental health issues, suicidal themes, mention of eating disorder.

Important info: this is my second writing piece. still extremely personal. also english is not my first language. hope you enjoy it :) (not my gif!)

P.S.: the idea of writing this came from a character.ai bot (_nietakt on the app). not a single word in this was written by a bot! i took the initial idea of reader seeing Rafe and another girl at a bonfire. let me know if you have a problem with that.

Rafe hadn’t slept a single wink. He'd been too worried about her, her skin so cold when he'd carried her out of the water. Now, watching her sleep in his bed, a sense of relief washed over him. She was safe, at least for now.

He stood by the door, arms wrapped tightly around himself, silently watching her as she slept. The faint light of the morning sun seeped through the curtains, gently illuminating her face, but it only seemed to deepen the emptiness in the room. He remained there, motionless, as if afraid to disturb the fragile stillness of the moment. His gaze lingered on her, tracing the rise and fall of her chest with each breath, a rhythm that felt so distant, so foreign to him now. The quiet hum of the world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the weight of the quiet room. The sunlight, soft and pale, seemed to mock the darkness that had taken root in his heart.

Despite that, her body throbbed with a slow, unbearable ache. Her heart and lungs felt too heavy to bear; her head pounded as if she had collided with concrete. Every breath felt like a struggle, each minor movement a battle against the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her. The world around her seemed muffled, distant, as if she were trapped in a fog that wouldn’t lift, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t escape the relentless ache.

But the soft mattress was comforting. The familiar scent of the sheets, the faint trace of him, wrapped around her like a fragile embrace, offering a fleeting sense of peace. The warmth of the room, the quiet hum of the world outside, felt so much like home, even though home had long ago become a place she didn’t recognize.

She opened her eyes to find him standing there, unmoving, his gaze fixed on her with a quiet intensity. He was leaning against the doorframe, dressed in sweats, but there was something in the way he held himself that told her he hadn’t slept. Not a single ounce of rest had touched him. She didn’t speak. The silence between them felt suffocating, as if any word spoken could shatter the fragile stillness that had settled in the room. She was scared — scared of what might come next, of what that look in his eyes might mean.

Rafe's breath caught in his throat as her eyes fluttered open. He'd been standing there for what felt like hours, watching the rise and fall of her chest, making sure she was okay. He pushed off from the doorframe and approached the bed, sitting gingerly on the edge of it. His eyes remained fixated on her, his expression a mixture of relief and concern.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “How are you feeling?”

When he sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress sank slightly under his weight and her heart clenched in fear. A mix of longing and dread twisted inside her. She wanted him closer, desperately so, but she knew deep down that if he didn’t keep his distance, she would never be able to move on. She could never heal if he was too near.

She had always been weak when it came to him, her resolve crumbling the moment he was within arm’s reach. She folded so fast, every guard she built collapsing, every promise to herself shattering in the blink of an eye. The pull between them was magnetic, and no matter how many times she tried to push it away, it always found its way back, leaving her lost in the wreckage of her emotions.

“Weird,” she answered him in a whisper. She was feeling every little emotion yet nothing at all. Maybe she was just waiting for her heart to be broken again.

Rafe chuckled softly at her reply, his eyes never leaving her face. He shifted closer, reaching out and brushed a loose strand of hair away from her forehead, his touch tentative yet tender.

“Yeah, I imagined you would feel pretty weird after last night,” he said, his voice quiet. He paused, his expression turning serious as he spoke. “You had me pretty worried, you know that?”

That chuckle was the death of her. It echoed in her chest, a sound that stirred something deep inside, something she had buried long ago. And when his finger brushed against her forehead, she couldn’t help but let out a soft, shaky sigh. Any crumb of attention from him felt like heaven on earth, like she could finally breathe again after holding her breath for so long.

“I didn’t…” she started saying, her voice barely above a whisper, but his serious expression stopped her mid-sentence, the weight of it pressing down like a stone. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but her emotions felt like they were on the edge of breaking. Her eyebrows furrowed, the tension growing inside. “I’m sorry,” she said, the words tasting bitter on her tongue, even though she didn’t fully understand what she was apologizing for. Maybe it was just the silence between them, or the way things had always been — broken, but never enough to end.

Rafe shook his head, his hand still resting gently against her face. “No, don’t apologize. You don’t need to apologize,” he paused, his eyes searching her face, taking in every detail. He wanted to memorize every little nuance, every little mark, every fleck of color in her eyes, as if each detail was a piece of something precious, something he could never forget. The way her lashes fluttered when she blinked, the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the glimmer that flickered when her emotions shifted — it was all so much a part of her, yet so easily lost in the passing of time.

He leaned in slightly, as if trying to capture it all, the very essence of who she was, holding onto the way she looked in this moment. He was afraid that once it slipped away, it would be gone forever, that the memory would fade like a dream upon waking. Every slight movement, every breath she took, felt sacred to him, as if he was witnessing something fragile and irreplaceable. “Just…don’t scare me like that again,” his voice was firm but not harsh, filled with a mix of concern and a hint of scolding.

She allowed herself to take a long, unhurried look at all his features, every single detail she had memorized and loved so deeply. The curve of his jaw, the softness of his lips, the way his cerulean eyes held a quiet intensity even when he wasn’t speaking — each part of him felt familiar, yet it all made her heart ache in ways she couldn’t explain.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, filled with frustration, as the thought of losing him all over again gnawed at her insides. It was a fear she couldn’t escape, no matter how hard she tried to push it away. The thought of the distance between them growing again, of things unraveling like they always did, was almost too much to bear. She could feel the tears threatening to rise, but she held them back, desperate to keep some semblance of control, even though everything inside her was breaking.

She wanted to apologize for being a burden last night, for all the things she couldn’t say or control, for the way she had let her emotions spill over, overwhelming them both. She wanted to tell him that he wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore, that she would find a way to step back, to let him go without dragging him deeper into her mess. She longed to say that he was free of her, that if he truly wanted to be, he didn’t have to stay. He could walk away and never look back. She would find a way to erase him from her heart, even if it felt impossible, even if every part of her screamed to hold on.

But the words stuck in her throat, heavy and suffocating. She couldn’t bring herself to say them. The fear of losing him, of pushing him away for good, paralyzed her. How could she let him go when he was all she had ever known? How could she let him walk away when she knew deep down she was nothing without him?

Rafe noticed the conflict in her eyes, the way she averted her gaze from his, and he could practically hear the thoughts racing through that mind of hers. He knew her like the back of his hand, and he knew what she was thinking. He reached out and gently cupped her cheek in his palm, drawing her focus back to him.

“Don’t start shutting me out again,” his voice was firm yet pleading. “Not after last night.”

Her body trembled when his palm cupped her cheek, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her, forcing her to look him in the eye. He was so close once again, the space between them shrinking until it felt like the world outside had disappeared. But even with his face so near, it still wasn’t enough. The ache in her chest deepened, a longing that couldn’t be satisfied by just proximity, no matter how much she craved it.

And as she stared into his eyes, she wasn’t sure if it was entirely possible for them to ever exist again, to find that place where they could be what they once were. The fractures between them felt too deep, the silence too heavy, as if too much time had passed, too much damage had been done. The fear crept in, a gnawing thought that perhaps this was as close as they could get anymore — the edges of what they had, but never quite whole again.

“I never shut you down,” she scolded him, her voice sharper than she had meant, the words cutting through the silence more forcefully than she anticipated. She immediately regretted the tone, her chest tightening with the weight of it. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, her fingers trembling slightly as she held back the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

“You left,” she continued, her voice quieter now, but still thick with hurt. “I just did what I could to cope with it.” The words tasted bitter as they left her lips, the truth of them stinging as she realized how much she had buried, how much she had tried to suppress. She had told herself it was fine, that she was fine, but the emptiness of those days without him had left scars she could never erase. She wanted him to understand, but part of her feared that even if he did, it might be too late for them to ever find their way back.

Rafe’s jaw clenches at her words, a pang of guilt stabbing through him as she reminds him of the fact he’d left. It was a truth he was all too aware of, one that haunted him every single day. “You think I don’t know that?” He asks, his voice strained. “You think I didn’t know how much I was hurting you when I left?” He lets out a shaky breath, his thumb gently caressing her cheek. “I hated every goddamn minute of being away from you.”

She shut her eyes, squeezing them tightly to keep the tears from falling. It was hurting all over again, a familiar ache that twisted deep inside her, pulling at every fragile piece of her heart. She knew how hard it had been for him after losing his father, how he had struggled, how he had tried to carry the weight of it alone. She understood the pain, the grief that consumed him, and the way he had pushed everyone away, convinced that he was better off alone.

She knew he wasn’t doing well, that he was drowning in his own sorrow, afraid of pulling her down with him. But leaving her had been worse than all of that. The absence of him had left a void she couldn’t fill, and no matter how many times she tried to convince herself she would be okay, she wasn’t. His departure had fractured something inside her, something that hadn’t healed, something that no amount of time or distance could ever fix. It wasn’t just the leaving that hurt. It was the way he had cut himself off, the way he had silently decided that it was better to walk away than to let her in, even when she had been there, waiting for him to reach back. It was the feeling of being abandoned, not because he didn’t love her, but because he was convinced that loving her was too dangerous, too painful.

“Can we not?” She pleaded in a heartbeat. She couldn’t argue about that again, it was too much for her to handle.

Rafe’s heart felt like it was being torn out of his chest as he listened to the plea in her voice. The raw vulnerability there cut through him like a blade, each word a reminder of the damage he had caused, the silence he had let linger between them. He didn’t want to hurt her more; that was the last thing he ever wanted. The guilt that had been gnawing at him for so long twisted deeper, but he knew that ignoring it, pretending everything could go back to how it was, would only make it worse.

He drew in a slow, shaky breath, trying to steady himself, his hand still resting on her cheek, the warmth of her skin grounding him. He could feel her breath against him, the tension in her body, and it broke him to know that his actions had brought her to this point.

“No,” he said quietly, his voice firm but not harsh, careful not to let the pain in his chest spill over into his words. “We can’t just not talk about it.” His gaze softened slightly, his eyes searching her face, reading the fear, the sadness that she wore like a veil. He wanted to pull her close, to promise her everything would be okay, but he knew the truth: that wouldn’t fix this. The silence, the unspoken things between them — they needed to be confronted.

She bit her lower lip, trying to hold back the words that were threatening to spill out. She knew he wouldn’t like it if they talked about it, knew it would only make things worse. Hell, he would hate hearing her talk about it. The thought of confronting the truth — the things left unsaid, the hurt buried beneath his silence — made her stomach churn. He never liked being held accountable for his behavior, never liked facing the consequences of his actions. It was easier for him to retreat, to close off, to pretend like it never happened.

But she wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend, how much longer she could stay silent while everything between them crumbled. She had to say it. She had to make him see what he was doing to them, even if it meant pushing him further away. The weight of his avoidance was crushing her, and she knew if she didn’t speak now, she might never get the chance again.

“We will end up fighting,” she told him in a shaky tone, her fingers tracing his hand on her skin. “I’m not sure if I can keep fighting you.”

Rafe’s expression softened as she spoke, the touch of her fingers against his skin sending a jolt through him. He knew she was right — any mention of the topic would inevitably lead to a fight. But he couldn’t let this linger any longer.

“Maybe we need to fight,"” he took a deep breath, his voice slightly shaky. “Maybe if we actually talked about this, really talked about it, we could get some goddamn closure for once.”

That damn word set her off like a switch had been flipped, her mind spiraling into chaos. Closure? Fuck him. How could he even ask for that? She wanted to be respected, to feel like she mattered, and instead, he had fucked her over in the worst possible way. Every part of her burned with anger, the weight of betrayal sinking deep into her bones. She couldn’t believe she was hearing that — closure. After everything he’d done, after the silence, after the lies, after the countless ways he had turned away when she needed him most, he was asking for closure? The audacity of it made her blood boil, the sting of every painful memory rushing back with the force of a tidal wave. He had taken so much from her, and now he was trying to act like he was the one who needed answers?

It felt like a slap in the face, the one thing she never thought she would hear from him. The one thing that made all of the pain, all the sacrifice, all the love she had given feel like it had meant nothing.

“You want closure?” She asks in a scoff as she sits up in the bed, her knees shaking against her chest as she holds herself close. “I’ll give you closure.”

She was so vulnerable that anything could set her off. Her emotions were all over the place and all mixed up.

“You were a bad person, Rafe, but I kept up with your bullshit,” she said, her voice trembling with the weight of everything she had held back for so long. “I loved you like no one else did, and you did me dirty.” The words cut through the silence, sharp and bitter, and he could almost see them flowing from her soft lips, each syllable laced with the pain he had caused. “You left when things got too much for you,” she continued, her eyes burning with a mix of sorrow and rage. “You left me in pieces, alone to deal with everything. And you had the nerve to show up with someone else just a few weeks later, leaving me like I never mattered.”

Her words hung in the air, and he felt the weight of them press down on his chest, suffocating him. He had known what she was feeling, had known deep down that she was hurting, but hearing it laid out like this — raw, unfiltered — was a slap to his face. There was nothing he could say to make it right, no apology that would undo the damage. The guilt settled over him like a heavy fog, his own shame swallowing him whole. She was right. He had left her, abandoned her when she needed him the most, and now she was sitting there, her heart torn open, and he had no excuse.

Rafe’s eyes widened in disbelief as the words left her mouth, each one like a dagger to his heart. He had been bracing for a fight, but hearing she lay it all out like that was like a punch to the gut.

“You think I don’t know all of that?” He asks, his voice tight with anger and frustration. “You think I haven’t been beating myself up for it every damn day?” He runs a hand through his head, his expression a mix of frustration and pain. “You think I wanted to leave you?”

Her eyes were glued to his every movement, searching for something that could make sense of the chaos between them. She was burning in anguish, her heart twisting with every word he spoke, every shift in his posture. The anger and hurt churned inside her like a storm she couldn’t escape.

She wanted to know why everything always ended with screaming, why their relationship always seemed to spiral into nothing but pain and conflict. Why couldn’t they ever find a way to just be? Why couldn’t they hold on to the moments when things felt good, when love was enough?

The question clawed at her mind, relentless. Why didn’t he just leave her to drown? She had been struggling for so long, feeling like she was sinking deeper into despair, yet he always seemed to linger, pulling her up just enough to keep her gasping for breath — just enough to remind her how much she needed him, even when he was the cause of the drowning.

“I know nothing about what you want,” she scoffed harshly, spitting venom out of her tongue. “I just know that you did leave me. And it hurts like hell.”

Rafe’s jaw clenches, the venom in her words cutting him deep. He knew he deserved every bit of it, but it still hurt.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” he said firmly, his voice strained. “I never wanted to leave you, goddamnit. I just thought-“ He cuts himself off, his eyes drifting to the floor. He didn’t want to admit the truth out loud.

Her eyebrows furrowed at his unfinished words. Her heart skipped a beat. She knew it had more to it than what he was saying. She just thought he would never tell her.

“You just thought what?” She asks him.

Rafe takes a deep breath, his eyes still locked on the ground. He knows this is going to be the hardest part of this conversation.

“I thought you’d be better off if I left you.” The confession feels like acid on his tongue, but he forces himself to keep going. “I was such a mess after my father died, and I didn’t want to drag you down with me. I thought you’d be better off without me.”

The silence that followed the confession was heavy on them. It seemed like hours of them just staring into each other's eyes and breathing heavily. She could see the sorrow in him. She also could see her Rafe.

“You’ve always been an idiot.” She says in a chuckling whisper. What a dumb man. He left to save her and all he did was damn her.

Rafe couldn’t help but let out a dry chuckle at her unexpected reply. He had expected anger, tears, anything other than that. But that was just like her – throwing him off guard, making him feel things he thought he couldn't anymore.

He finally looked up to meet her eyes, his expression a mix of resignation and a hint of a smile. “Yeah, I’ve always been a goddamn idiot. Especially when it comes to you.”

She knew she should not have opened her heart to this again. She had promised herself she wouldn’t — promised herself she was stronger than this, that she wouldn’t let him pull her back in. But here she was, standing on the edge of the same cliff, her heart a fragile thing in her chest, ready to leap despite every warning. She knew her friends would kill her if they ever knew what she was doing right now, how she was willing to risk it all for someone who had torn her apart before.

She had been through hell since their split, enduring the long, lonely nights and the endless questions, trying to piece herself back together from the wreckage he left behind. And now, she was dancing willingly in the flames with the devil, drawn to him like a moth to a flame, knowing the pain would come again but unable to stop herself from reaching for it.

“I miss you,” she whispered, her voice trembling, barely a breath escaping her lips. Her hands shook as they hovered in the space between them, unsure whether to touch him or pull away, torn between the longing and the fear. She wanted them to make up, wanted to believe that there was still something worth saving, something that could be fixed. Yet she was so scared — scared of the same heartbreak, the same crushing emptiness that had followed in the wake of his leaving. But in this moment, her desire for him, for reconciliation, outweighed the terror that had kept her apart from him for so long.

Time seemed to stand still as the words left her trembling lips.

‘I miss you’.

Those words hit Rafe like a ton of bricks, their weight crashing down on him with such force it left him breathless. It was all he had wanted to hear from her for months, the words he had desperately wished for, even though he had never been brave enough to say them first. He had longed for those three words, ached for them with every fiber of his being, knowing that he had pushed her away and ruined what they once had. But hearing them now, soft and fragile, pulled him back to a place he thought he’d lost forever.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of her confession settle in, steadying himself as the emotion threatened to overwhelm him. When he opened them again, his gaze found hers, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was a flicker of something real — something unbroken — in his eyes. His expression was a mix of pain and hope, the raw truth of their past hanging between them like an open wound, but there was a glimmer of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time: possibility.

“I miss you too, baby,” he whispered, his voice low and thick with emotion, the words escaping him with a vulnerability he wasn’t sure he was ready for. But it didn’t matter anymore. The distance, the hurt — it all felt irrelevant now. He was here. She was here. And for this one moment, that was enough.

She can’t help but flinch when he calls her baby again. It was a warm welcoming yet a harsh pull to remind her that she wasn’t his baby anymore. Her lips tremble when she tries to talk but nothing comes out of her mouth. It was so scary to be this confused.

Rafe’s heart breaks as he sees her flinch at his use of the term. Once upon a time, it was his favorite way to address her – a term of endearment, a sign of his love for her. But now it just served as a reminder of what he'd lost.

He closed the distance between them both and slowly reached out to take her trembling hands in his. His expression was one of uncertainty mixed with a desperate hope.

“Baby, I don’t-“ He cuts himself off, his throat closing up.

She couldn’t stay there for another minute. It felt like a dream turning into a tortuous nightmare. She shut her eyes when he called her baby again. Oh, God, what would she do to be his baby again.

“Maybe I should go.” She says in a slightly more subtle tone. She should stop this from happening. They should part ways and get over it.

Rafe’s heart sank as she spoke the words he dreaded to hear. He had hoped — no, he had wanted — this conversation to go much different. He tightened his grip on her hands, refusing to let her slip away.

“No,” his voice was firm, the single word filled with a mixture of plea and determination. “Please, just…don’t go. Just talk to me, baby, please. We can work this out.”

She looked up at him through her big doe eyes, filled with sorrow, a silent plea hidden deep within them. Her gaze searched his face, desperate for something — some sign that this wasn’t just another cruel twist of fate, that they could still find a way back to each other. But all she saw was the same pain mirrored in his expression, a reflection of the brokenness that had once been shared between them. Her eyebrows were furrowed, the weight of everything that had happened between them pressing down on her chest, suffocating her. She couldn’t help it. A lonely sob slipped from her throat, the sound fragile and raw, as if it had been trapped inside her for far too long. It was a sound that broke her, that broke him, and for a moment, neither of them could move, both frozen in the echo of the pain they had inflicted on one another.

She didn’t know how to fix this, how to make it right, but all she could feel was the emptiness that had settled in her heart. The ache was too much to bear, and as the sobs wracked her body, she realized how much she had longed for him to stay, to not leave her alone with the weight of it all.

“And then what?” She asks him in an honest hope of terms. “We’ll apologize for almost killing each other and forget about all that pain? And live happily ever after?”

Rafe's heart aches at the pain in her voice and the tears forming in her eyes. He wants nothing more than to make all the hurt go away – both hers and his. He reaches up and gently brushes away a tear that escapes down her cheek, his touch tender and full of an old, familiar tenderness.

“Baby, I'm not saying it'll be easy,” he says softly, his expression a mixture of pain and determination. “But I want to try. I want us to try.” Those words were a promise, tentative but full of the hope that had been buried beneath the weight of everything they had endured. They weren’t guarantees, but they were real. And for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to each other.

She sobs once again when he holds her closer to him. It felt so right to be in his arms, it didn’t hurt anymore. But it was still terrifying. They weren’t the same anymore.

“I don’t know if I have the strength to try,” she whispered. All she ever wanted was to be his girl again. But what if he decides to leave again? She can’t handle that all over again.

Rafe's heart breaks as she sobs, as she mentions not having the strength to try. He knows he's to blame for that – he's the one who broke her strength, shattered her faith in him.

He pulls her even closer, his arms wrapping around her tightly, desperately.

“You don't have to have the strength. I'll be there, baby, and I'll be strong for both of us,” he whispers, his voice trembling with a mix of pain and determination. “I won't leave you again. I promise.”

She allowed him to hold her tightly, her head resting on his shoulder while he pleaded so dearly. He was desperate. God, she would fold in his hands.

“Do you really mean this?” She asks again. He had to be sure that he wanted this, that he wanted her.

Rafe lets out a shaky breath as she leans into him, his heart skipping a beat. He never wanted to let her go, ever again.

He takes a moment to collect himself before answering, his voice firm and unwavering. “Baby, with everything I have in me. I want this, I want you. So goddamn badly.”

Her fingers find his face, tracing his jawline ever so slightly. Her touch was so soft and slowly, almost like telling how afraid she was of him disappearing into thin air.

“We can’t be insane this time,” she whispered as she kept touching his skin. They have to do this right or not even try. “We’ll have to get to know each other again. Heal from what happened first.”

Rafe's heart skipped a beat as her delicate fingers traced over his jaw, the touch a bittersweet mixture of comfort and nostalgia. He nodded as she spoke, his eyes never leaving hers. He understood the gravity of those words.

“We can do this right,” he said softly, his voice filled with determination and desire. “We'll take all the time we need to heal, to get to know each other again. I'm not going anywhere, baby. I'll be here for as long as it takes.”

She stared into his eyes for longer than she should, keeping her silence as she tried to catch any glimpse of regret in him. But there wasn’t. He was serious. He has changed.

“Okay.” She whispered.

And just like that she was willing to go through everything again just for his sake.

Rafe's heart leapt in his chest as he heard the word leave her lips. It was such a simple word, but it meant so much.

He pulled her closer, the relief and hope flooding in his system.

“We'll take it slow,” he promised, his voice still trembling. “No more fighting. No more hurt. Just healing and rebuilding, okay?”

She nodded softly at him, her arms hugging him around his neck. She inhaled deeply into his chest, filling herself with his scent. Only God knew how much she missed this. To be his.

She could die right there in his arms. She didn’t need anything else. But she knew she couldn’t throw herself in this situation so blindly.

Rafe wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding her close against his chest. He had missed this – her – so much. The feeling of her body against his, her scent filling his nostrils, her breath against his skin.

He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing in the feeling of having her in his arms again.

“We'll be okay, baby,” he whispered softly, his voice filled with a mixture of determination and tenderness. “I won't let anything come between us again.”

She felt like she could finally breathe again. That lump in her throat going away after weeks of choking me. Her heart finally stopped hurting. She takes a deep breath as she leans her head slightly back to look up at him.

“I love you.” She tells him in reassurance. She's never stopped loving him so deeply. But he has to know that love will not be enough this time.

Rafe's heart nearly stopped at her words. I love you. He had ached to hear those words for what felt like an eternity. And now, here she was, declaring her love for him once again. It was like music to his ears.

“I love you too, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “So goddamn much.”

Their noses touched, the skin on skin sensation tingling in caress. She never wanted to let go. But she had to.

After minutes of silence, of them just holding each other, their faces touching, she says what she´s dreading to say. “I have to go.”

People may be worried about her disappearing last night.

Rafe's expression shifts instantly, his face falling. He knew this was coming, but he didn't want to let her go. Not yet.

He holds her still, his arms wrapped tightly around her, as if to physically prevent her from leaving.

“No, baby,” he responds, his voice strained with desperation. “Please, can't you stay a little longer?”

She gives him a sad smile when he holds so much tighter. He didn’t want her to go. He didn’t want to let go of her. Neither did she.

“Kie might be worried,” she tells him, her voice barely above a whisper, as if the admission might make the weight of her words heavier. She knows he’s probably heard that after they broke up, she didn’t go back to live with her parents in their mansion. She couldn’t handle the thought of being in the same world as him, surrounded by the luxury and coldness of a life that felt so distant from the one she had with him.

The thought of returning to that world, to the emptiness of it all, made her feel suffocated, as if every corner of the mansion would remind her of everything she had lost. So, instead, she stayed with her pogue friends, people who didn’t judge her, who didn’t expect anything from her but to be herself, messy and broken as she was. They had offered her a refuge, a place to breathe, away from the world that had crumbled beneath her feet.

She wasn’t sure if Kie knew just how far she had fallen, how much she had sacrificed just to stay afloat. But she also didn’t want to explain the depth of her pain, the quiet loneliness that had become her constant companion. She just wanted to move on, to find a way to piece herself together, even if it meant living in the shadows of everything she had once thought was real.

Rafe’s heart sank further at the mention of Kie. He had known, deep down, that she’d likely spent time with the pogues since leaving him. But hearing it out loud felt like a punch to the gut. The thought of her sleeping under the pogues' roof, away from everything he had ever offered, served as a cold reminder of just how badly he had messed things up.

The image of her, curled up on a worn couch or in a cramped space with people who had nothing to do with their past, made the guilt in his chest grow heavier. It wasn’t that he didn’t know the bond she had with them; he had seen it himself, the way they accepted her without hesitation, the way they had been there for her when he wasn’t. But the idea of her living with them, away from the cold comfort of her family’s wealth, told him so much about where she was now. She had chosen authenticity over comfort, warmth over distance. She had chosen the people who had shown her real care, people who saw her for who she was, not for what she could be.

She chose them because they made her feel something he hadn’t made her feel in so long: safe, understood, loved without conditions. It was like a mirror to everything he had failed to give her.

Rafe had always known that her relationship with her parents was strained, even if she never spoke about it much. He’d seen the cracks in their interactions — the cold silences, the passive-aggressive comments, the way they barely looked at her unless they needed something. He had tried, in his own way, to heal the wounds that came with her family’s neglect. He had held her when she cried, whispered promises of safety when she felt lost in the echo of their judgment, tried to show her that she didn’t need their approval to be enough.

When they were together, he thought he was helping her heal, that he was giving her something better — love, security, understanding. He had wanted to be the one who made her feel worthy, who could make her forget the emptiness her parents left in her heart. He’d believed, with all his heart, that he could be the antidote to the poison they had fed her for so long.

But when they broke up, he never realized just how deep the damage went. He had been so consumed by his own hurt, by the end of them, that he didn’t stop to think about what she was going through. She never went back to her family’s mansion after they split. He had assumed she would, like anyone would in her situation — back to the comfort and luxury of her parents' world, where everything was polished and perfect, even if it came with strings attached.

Instead, she went to the pogues. And that choice, that one simple decision, hit him harder than anything else. It was a quiet admission that the one place she should have gone for refuge, the one place that was supposed to offer her shelter, had never truly been a home. It was the realization that everything he thought was better — everything he had tried to offer her — wasn’t enough to heal the parts of her that had been broken long before he ever came into her life.

He should have known. He should have seen it in her eyes every time she talked about her parents, every time they tried to reach out to her with their hollow love. But he hadn’t, and now, as he thought about it, the weight of it crushed him. He hadn’t realized how badly she had needed that support, how deeply her family’s absence had wounded her until it was too late.

He swallowed the pang of hurt he felt within him, but his arms remained locked around her tightly.

“Yeah, she probably is,” his voice was tight. “But can’t you stay a little longer? Just a bit more?”

She catches a glimpse of him swallowing the lump in his throat, his eyes flickering away for just a moment as if to hide the vulnerability creeping up on him. She thought he was probably holding back some biting comment, something that would inevitably turn into a fight like it always did before. But to her surprise, he stays quiet, his jaw clenched but his words still stuck somewhere between them.

She keeps watching him, studying the lines of his face, trying to make sense of the mix of emotions there — pain, regret, hope. She couldn’t tell if it was the same old cycle they always found themselves trapped in, or if this time, things might be different. Her heart thudded in her chest as she tried to make up her mind. It wasn’t easy, but then again, nothing between them ever had been.

“A couple of minutes more isn’t going to hurt,” she thinks to herself, almost as if she were giving herself permission to stay in this moment a little longer. Just a little longer. Because once it was over, once she stepped away, there was no going back.

“I’ll text her that I am safe,” she tells him as her fingers brush on his cheeks. “And then I’ll stay a little longer. Okay?”

Rafe's expression softens as her fingers graze over his cheeks, his tension melting away. Her words are like a balm to his anxious mind.

He nods slowly, his grip on her relaxed a fraction. “Yeah, okay. Just a few more minutes. That's all I'm asking for.” His arms remain wrapped around her, holding her close. He couldn’t bear the thought of letting her go just yet.

She couldn’t help but leave a soft kiss on his cheek, her lips grazing over his skin ever so slightly. She didn’t free herself from his tight hold, just turned around a bit to grab her phone from his nightstand.

She smiles when she sees the clothes she wore yesterday, clean and folded neatly next to it. The sight of them brings a wave of warmth, and her mind drifts back to the moment she had worn them — how sticky and damp they had been after her most grueling day, drenched from the ocean's waves that seemed to swallow her whole.

He had also given her a bath last night, his hands gentle and purposeful, as if he could erase all the weight from her. And then, when she had finally drifted to sleep in his arms, he stayed by her side, watching over her like she was something fragile, something worth protecting.

She was wearing only one of his shirts and his boxers, the fabric too big for her frame but comforting in its familiarity. The memory of how he had tucked her in, his warmth surrounding her, made her heart flutter despite everything that had come before. The tenderness of that moment — the care he had shown — felt like a lifeline, even in the midst of everything falling apart.

Rafe watched closely as she reached for her phone, his arms still loosely wrapped around her, his touch lingering like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. Seeing her in his shirt, the way it hung off her frame so effortlessly, sent another shiver down his spine. It was a mix of tenderness and possessiveness, the soft, worn fabric a reminder of the closeness they once shared, and of how much had changed.

She typed out a quick message to Kie, telling her that she was fine but leaving out the details — where she was, who she was with. Rafe could see her fingers moving quickly over the screen, a quiet tension in the air between them. He couldn’t blame her for being vague. It wasn’t like things were clear between them. But still, watching her type, his heart pounded in his chest, unsure of what she was really thinking or what it all meant.

“So,” she says, turning her phone off and shifting her attention back to him, “Breakfast?”

Rafe lets out a small sigh of relief as she turns her phone off, the finality of it almost comforting. At least for now, it felt like they were in their own little world, no distractions, no pressing questions. He raises an eyebrow at her question, his eyes flicking to the clock above them. “I reckon it’s more like lunch by now,” he says softly, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, trying to lighten the mood. He wasn’t sure where things were headed, but in this moment, with her here, he was willing to follow wherever it led.

She giggled softly at his words, that small smirk telling her that he was so comfortable with having her around.

“Lunch it is, then,” she replied with a casual shrug, though there was something uncertain in the way she moved. Rafe’s heart skips a beat when he hears her soft giggle, the sound of it like music to his ears, familiar and comforting in a way he hadn’t realized he missed. Without thinking, he tightens his arms around her just a little, savoring the simple feeling of having her in his presence again, so close, so real.

But as he does, his eyes drift to her body, noticing the way her clothes seem to hang a bit looser than before. He had seen the subtle change in her, the way she seemed smaller, thinner. At first, he thought it was just the aftermath of the breakup, the emotional toll, but now, it made his stomach twist in concern.

She had clearly lost weight after their split, and she was just starting to try to eat normally again. Kie had practically forced her into this recovery, and she was trying — really trying — to get better. But Rafe didn’t need to know the details of that, not yet.

Without even considering how it might sound, he asks, his voice soft but laced with worry, “Have you been eating properly?”

Her eyes snap to him when he asks the question so suddenly, catching her off guard. She hadn’t expected him to notice, hadn’t expected him to see through the subtle shifts. He had caught her, and in that moment, she felt a wave of shame wash over her. She didn’t want to lie to him, but there were things she wasn’t ready to talk about, things she wasn’t sure she could.

“I am now,” she replied, her voice steady, though her gaze avoided his. It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. She was trying to eat properly now. She was making an effort to take care of herself, even if it had been a struggle. The truth felt like something she could only admit in small, guarded pieces.

Rafe’s eyebrows furrow as he sees her reaction. He can tell he’s struck a nerve, and he’s instantly filled with a sense of guilt and concern. When she responds with ‘I am now’, his heart sinks. That wasn’t a yes, and that wasn't a no. It was an answer that left unanswered questions swirling in his mind.

He takes a shaky breath and nods slowly, trying to keep his voice steady.

“But before now?” he prompts, his voice barely above a whisper.

She rolled her eyes in annoyance when she noticed that he would not drop the conversation. But she knew he was just concerned so she sighed before answering.

“I wasn’t,” she says as my eyes drop to his hands, her fingers playing with his rings. “But I am trying now. That’s all that matters.”

Rafe's heart aches as she confirms that she hadn't been eating properly. It was like a punch to the gut. He knew it was partly his fault – the breakup had taken a toll on her as much as it had on him. But the thought of her not eating, of her neglecting herself - it was enough to make his blood boil.

He takes a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady. “Why weren't you eating, baby?”

She rests her forehead against his chest for a moment, as if trying to hide from the weight of the truth. She knew she couldn’t keep quiet forever, though — the silence only made it worse. Taking a deep breath, she finally looks back up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of shame and frustration.

“I didn’t choose to not eat,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, trying to explain in the clearest way she could. She had to make him understand that she wasn’t relapsing into her eating disorder, even though the tightness in her chest felt like it might swallow her whole. “I just couldn’t get myself to do it anymore.”

The words seemed to hang between them, thick with the memories of how her struggle had always affected their relationship. There had been times before, when things were good, when she would push herself to eat just to be normal for him, for them. But there were other times — dark, quiet times — when the thought of food felt overwhelming, suffocating, and she couldn’t find the strength to make herself care. It had created a distance between them, a kind of unspoken pain. She had wanted him to help, wanted him to understand, but in the end, it felt like he had just watched her slip away, unable to bridge the gap between what she wanted to say and what she was actually feeling.

The breakup hit her harder than she had anticipated, not just emotionally, but physically too. The depression that followed felt like a heavy weight pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe, let alone take care of herself. The stress, the anxiety — it all piled up, and with it, the familiar, destructive eating habits returned. She stopped eating regularly, stopped caring about anything beyond just getting through the day. The loneliness, the sadness, made food seem like an afterthought. She would skip meals, forget to eat, or force herself to eat just enough to keep going, but never really nourish herself.

She had been trying to avoid the downward spiral that had taken over her before, but it was like she was caught in a cycle she couldn’t break. The pain from the breakup intensified everything — the way she saw herself, the way she felt about her body, the guilt of not being able to maintain any sense of control. It had felt easier to just disappear into the chaos of her thoughts than to deal with the overwhelming emotions of loss and self-doubt.

But now, slowly, she was coming back on track. She was trying to break free from the habits that had been so deeply ingrained, reminding herself that healing wasn’t just about moving on from the breakup — it was about taking care of herself, about learning to nourish her body and her spirit again. It wasn’t easy, and some days were harder than others, but she was trying. And that, she knew, was the first step to finding herself again.

Rafe swallows down another pang of guilt that wells up inside him. He knew that the breakup had shaken her, but he hadn’t considered the extent of it. The fact that she couldn’t bring herself to eat – it broke his heart.

He had seen the changes, the way she’d seemed distant and withdrawn. It was like a punch to his gut, the realization that his departure had only pushed her further into a place she had been fighting so hard to escape. He couldn’t help but feel guilty. He had always tried to fix things, to help her when she was struggling with those demons, but he had failed her when it mattered most. He hadn’t been there, hadn’t noticed the subtle signs that she was slipping back into old patterns. The guilt gnawed at him, a constant reminder of how he had walked away without fully understanding the consequences. He had thought that leaving would make things easier, for both of them, but now he saw the damage it had caused.

But then, there was a flicker of hope when she spoke about coming back on track. She was trying. And that realization — small as it was — stirred something deep within him. He knew it wouldn’t be easy for her, that recovery wasn’t something that happened overnight. But hearing her say it, hearing her take the first steps toward healing, made him wonder if there was a chance, maybe just a slim one, for them to rebuild what they had lost.

He wanted to be there for her, more than anything. He wanted to be the one who helped her through this, who supported her as she fought to find herself again. But he also knew that it wasn’t up to him to fix her, to be the one to save her. That was something only she could do for herself. Still, the thought of being part of that journey — if she’d let him — was enough to make his heart race.

He pulls her close again, his arms wrapping around her tightly, as if he could somehow make up for his mistakes.

“Nut you’re eating now, right?” he pressed gently. “You’re taking care of yourself?”

She nodded softly at his questions, forcing a smile to reassure him. She was taking care of herself even though it was a struggle.

“Yeah,” she tells him in a whisper. “My friends helped me a lot,” she says. Kie and Sarah had her back while she was slipping into that dark place.

Rafe takes a moment to process her words, his expression softening slightly. He was relieved to know that she had people there for her while she was struggling, despite how much it hurt to think of her relying on other people for support.

He let out a shaky sigh, his arms still wrapped tightly around her. “And you’re better now?” he asked, his voice filled with a mix of hope and trepidation.

She tried to take her mind off of the dark parts of what she’s been through, so she did what she did best to distract herself. Her fingers were slowly tracing and mapping every single detail of his skin. Him being shirtless helped her to focus on each little freckle on his shoulders and chest.

“I am,” she told him in honest words. She was better. Especially now that she is in his arms.

He felt a shiver of pleasure down his spine as her fingers traced over his skin, his body responding to her touch even if his mind was elsewhere.

Her answer – soft and honest, but filled with hope – made his heart skip a beat. He held her closer, the feeling of having her back in his arms and the reassurance that she was getting better lifting a weight off his shoulders.

He let out a shaky breath, his voice full of emotion. “Good. That’s good, baby. I’m glad.”

She can’t help but giggle at the sound of him calling her baby once again. Last night it felt like a distant dream to be with him again. And now it was so real. She was afraid of waking up.

She felt like staying in bed with him for eternity.

As her sweet giggle met his ears, Rafe felt a familiar warmth spread through his chest. It was a sound he had missed dearly in the time they'd been apart.

He held her tight, his arms wrapped snugly around her as if to hold her in his reality. He shared her fear of this being a dream, of her slipping out of his grasp like sand.

He chuckled softly in response. “If we stay in bed all day, we won’t have any lunch,” he teased gently.

She bit her lower lip in an attempt to hold back a big smile. Her fingers kept tracing every inch of his skin, memorizing his every spot.

“I wouldn’t mind,” she confessed in a heartbeat.

Rafe’s heart skipped a beat at her confession, his body responding to her touch with a shiver that rippled through him. He couldn’t deny that he wanted nothing more than to spend the day in bed with his girl, her body pressed against his, their hands exploring every inch of skin. But he also knew that neither of them had eaten yet, and he didn’t want to encourage her already poor eating habits. He took a deep breath, willing his heart to slow down.

“We should eat something, baby,” he said, his voice huskier than he intended.

She hummed in agreement with his statement. We should eat something. Together. God, they were together again. She couldn’t believe that.

Rafe felt his breath hitch as she leaned in and kissed his cheek again, her soft whisper sending a shiver through him. It was such a small gesture, but it carried a weight that he couldn’t ignore. He had missed this — the quiet, tender moments that had always felt so effortless between them. Now, each one felt like a fragile thread connecting them, and he was terrified of pulling too hard and breaking it.

He couldn’t help but notice the careful distance she was maintaining, though. It wasn’t physical, not entirely, but there was a hesitance in her movements, a deliberate slowness that told him she was holding back. And he understood why. Since the breakup, there had been nothing even remotely intimate between them — not a kiss, not a touch that lingered too long. It was as if they were both treading carefully, afraid of rushing into something that could crumble under the weight of their unresolved issues.

He admired her for it, though. She was right — taking things slow was probably the best way to rebuild what they had lost. But part of him struggled with the restraint. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to kiss her like he used to, to feel that undeniable connection that had always been there. Yet, he knew that pushing too hard, too fast, would only risk undoing everything they were trying to piece back together.

As much as it killed him to wait, he realized that this was about more than just what he wanted. It was about her, about earning back her trust and showing her that he was willing to do this the right way. If slow was what she needed, then slow was what he’d give her — even if every fiber of his being ached for more.

He took a shaky breath and loosened his grip on her a fraction, trying to calm the heat that was building within him.

“Come on,” he said, his voice still raspy from the weight of the morning. “Let's get something to eat.”

She let him slip from her arms as he got up from the bed, his hand reaching out to hers. His grip was soft but insistent, pulling her gently to her feet. Standing there in nothing but his shirt, she felt a pang of discomfort, not because she was self-conscious, but because of the memories it brought back. This house had once been theirs. Their sanctuary. Their home.

As they walked through the familiar halls, the silence between them was heavy with unspoken thoughts. The echoes of laughter, arguments, and quiet moments filled her mind. They had lived together for months before everything unraveled. She remembered how quickly it all fell apart — the night he told her he didn’t want her anymore, the way she packed her things in a haze of heartbreak, and how she’d walked out without looking back. Instead of returning to her parents' house, which had never felt like home, she sought refuge with Kie, burying herself in a world far removed from this one.

“It looks the same,” she mumbled as they stepped into the kitchen, her eyes scanning the room that once felt so alive with them.

Rafe walked beside her, his jaw tight as memories crashed over him. He hadn’t changed much about the house since she left. It was as if he’d been unable to. Each corner, each piece of furniture, held traces of her — moments he both cherished and regretted. Seeing her there now, moving through the space like a ghost of the past, sent an ache through his chest.

“Yeah, it does,” he replied softly, his voice tinged with something between sorrow and longing. “Nothing's changed much.”

He wanted to say more, to tell her how empty the house had felt without her, how he had tried to ignore the hollow quiet that crept in after she left. But the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he moved toward the kitchen counter, opening the fridge as if focusing on something as simple as breakfast could dull the ache in his chest.

That gut-wrenching feeling hit her like a tidal wave, threatening to pull her under. She couldn’t stop it. It was as if she was being swallowed by the sea of heartbreak all over again. Nothing’s changed much, he’d said. The words twisted like a knife in her chest. Because everything had changed for her. She had hit rock bottom, been reduced to a shadow of herself. She had turned into a mess, clawing her way back to some semblance of stability. But him? He looked the same. Untouched. Like none of it had mattered.

“I see,” she muttered, a bitter snort escaping her lips. She wasn’t trying to be cruel, but the memories stung too much. He had another girl in his arms just days after their breakup. Hell, she remembered how he had been with someone else just last night. How could he stand there now, acting like any of it meant something?

Rafe flinched at her tone, closing the fridge, a pang of guilt surging through his chest. He knew he hadn’t been fair to her — not in the breakup, not in the aftermath. He had handled it like a coward, grasping for anything to numb the pain. He saw the hurt etched on her face now, and it only deepened the regret that had been gnawing at him since the moment she left.

Running a hand through his hair, his expression crumbled into something raw and pained. “I know I messed up,” he admitted, his voice thick with remorse. “Trust me, I know.”

He stepped closer to her, closing the distance between them with hesitant steps. His eyes searched hers, desperate to make her understand. “But I was just trying to move on,” he said, the words falling heavy between them. “Just like you.”

The tears welled up in her eyes before she could stop them. Her body began to tremble, and she crossed her arms tightly over her chest, as if trying to hold herself together. She felt exposed, vulnerable, like he could see every fracture in her heart.

“I wasn’t trying to move on,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyebrows furrowed as she met his gaze, the weight of her words breaking her all over again. “I was trying to survive.”

Her admission hung in the air like a thundercloud, and Rafe felt like the ground had shifted beneath him. He hadn’t realized the depth of her struggle, hadn’t understood just how much she had endured. For the first time, he saw her pain not as an echo of his own, but as something far deeper and more consuming. It left him standing there, utterly speechless.

The sight of her tears was unbearable, a sharp dagger twisting deeper with every tremor of her body. Watching her struggle to keep herself together unraveled something in Rafe, breaking him apart in a way he hadn't known was possible. He reached out, hesitant, his hand hovering over her shoulder, as if afraid to touch and cause more damage.

“Baby...” he murmured, his voice soft, trembling with an emotion he could barely hold back.

Her words stopped him cold. I was trying to survive. Each syllable cut through the haze of his guilt, striking at the very core of him. His chest tightened as the weight of her suffering pressed on him like a physical force.

She shut her eyes, the sound of his voice too much to bear. It was all too raw, too overwhelming. She loved this man — loved him in a way that terrified her, in a way that made her feel both alive and utterly destroyed. But that love came with scars, ones she wasn’t sure she could heal.

“No, it’s fine,” she whispered on a shaky sigh, her lashes wet as she forced herself to meet his gaze again. She tried to push away the tears, to find some strength in the chaos. “I can’t give us another chance if we keep going back to the past.”

Rafe’s hand fell to his side, his shoulders slumping under the weight of her words. She was right, and the realization stung. He couldn’t undo what he’d done, couldn’t erase the nights she spent crying or the days she fought to keep herself afloat. He took a deep breath, his voice a mixture of pain and fragile hope.

“So, what do we do then?” he asked quietly, the vulnerability in his tone almost breaking her resolve.

She bit her lower lip, contemplating his question. They had already decided to take it slow, to tread carefully this time. If there was any hope of making this work, they couldn’t rush back into the storm. They needed to rebuild, piece by piece, to do things differently and finally get it right. She took a deep breath, sliding onto the kitchen counter as she tried to lighten the weight of the moment.

“Coffee?” she asked, a soft smile breaking through the tension, fragile but genuine. One thing at a time.

Rafe felt his heart skip at the sight of her smile, so small yet so full of meaning. It was a flicker of light in the darkness, a tentative promise of something better. He couldn’t help but smile back, a tenderness in his eyes that had been absent for far too long.

He glanced at the coffee machine, then back at her. “Yeah” he replied, his voice still tinged with the weight of their conversation but softening with her warmth. “Coffee sounds perfect.”

For a moment, the kitchen felt less like a battlefield and more like a haven, a fragile space where healing might begin. He walked to the coffee machine, his movements steady, deliberate. The simple act of brewing coffee was grounding, a small ritual of normalcy in the middle of so much emotional chaos.

She sat quietly on the counter, her eyes fixed on him as he worked. The way he moved — effortless, familiar — was mesmerizing. The rich aroma of brewing coffee filled the room, wrapping the kitchen in a comforting warmth that felt almost like home. It was almost cruel how easily the moment mimicked their past, as if time hadn’t pulled them apart, as if heartbreak hadn’t carved deep wounds into both of them.

Her gaze lingered, absorbing every detail of him. The concentration in his face, the way his hands moved with practiced ease. Her heart ached, heavy with the love she still carried for him. God, she still loves this man.

Rafe was painfully aware of her eyes on him. He could feel the weight of her gaze, the unspoken tension curling around them like a fragile thread. It wasn’t uncomfortable — it was grounding, like the coffee. A reminder of everything he’d missed, of the connection that still pulsed between them despite the scars.

As the coffee finished brewing, he turned to her, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “How do you take it?”

Her heart clenched at the question. Something so mundane had become a symbol of how much had changed. Once, he knew the answer without asking. Now, the question hung between them, a stark reminder of the distance they had to bridge.

“Black. No sugar,” she said, her tone clipped. Once, she couldn’t stand coffee without cream and sugar. After the breakup, it became a metaphor for survival — plain and bitter, just like her days without him.

Rafe’s chest tightened at her reply. He remembered her sweet tooth, how she used to grin as she added scoop after scoop of sugar to her mug. Now, the bitterness seemed to mirror something inside her. As he poured the coffee into two mugs, he wondered how much else had changed about her — how much of it was because of him.

He handed her a mug — her mug. The one with the Snoopy drawing. The one he had bought for her after her obsession with Snoopy began. Her fingers brushed against his as she took it, and she couldn’t suppress a soft laugh, her eyes lighting up in a way he hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

“I can’t believe you still have this,” she said, her voice touched with surprise and a glimmer of warmth. Rafe felt a flicker of relief and hope at her reaction. A small victory. He shrugged lightly, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “Of course I still have it. You love that damn dog.”

Her laugh came again, soft and melodic, like a balm to his aching heart. She held the mug close to her chest, biting her lower lip to suppress the emotions rising within her. The Snoopy mug — the symbol of something so simple, so pure — felt like a thread tying her back to him.

“It means a lot,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “That you kept it.”

Rafe’s gaze softened, and he reached out, his fingers grazing hers on the mug. His voice was low, trembling slightly with emotion. “I couldn’t get rid of it. It was a part of you.” He paused, his breath hitching as he met her eyes. “And I never wanted to forget you.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, a soft, involuntary groan escaped her throat, the sound raw and filled with yearning. There he was — her Rafe. The man who had once held her heart so carefully, now standing before her with his soul bared.

“I’m glad,” she whispered, her voice cracking with vulnerability. She wasn’t ready to say more, but her heart swelled at the thought that, even when apart, he had held space for her.

Rafe exhaled shakily, her simple words hitting him with a force he hadn’t anticipated. “How could I forget you?” he asked, his voice trembling. “You’re etched into my soul, baby.”

Her eyes closed for a moment, her body trembling at his words. When she opened them again, she looked up at him, her lips quivering. “Do you mean that?” she asked, her voice filled with desperate hope.

His hand found hers again, their fingers intertwining as though they belonged nowhere else. “Yes,” he said, his voice firm despite the vulnerability in his eyes. “You’re in every part of me. Every breath, every heartbeat — you’re a part of me.”

Rafe watched her closely, his heart pounding as she processed his words. Her silence spoke volumes — an unspoken dialogue passing between them, heavy with the weight of their shared history.

She bit her lower lip, a gesture he knew so well, trying to steady herself. When she nodded softly, her gaze falling to their joined hands, he felt a surge of emotion so strong it almost overwhelmed him. The way their fingers intertwined felt so natural, so right, as though they had never been apart.

He couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to gently lift her chin so she was forced to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed lightly against her jawline, his eyes searching hers for the answers to questions he was too afraid to ask aloud.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said softly, his voice a quiet promise. “But I need you to know... I’m not letting you go again. Not without a fight.”

Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, the vulnerability in his words threatening to break through the walls she had so carefully rebuilt. She wanted to believe him — wanted to let herself fall into the warmth of his presence — but the memories of the pain he’d caused lingered like shadows in the corners of her mind.

Still, the way he looked at her now, like she was the only person in the world, made it hard to hold onto the anger. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, her eyes glistening as she whispered, “I don’t know if I can handle being hurt again, Rafe.”

Her words were a dagger to his heart, but he understood. He knew he didn’t deserve her trust — not yet — but he was determined to earn it.

“You won’t be,” he promised, his voice firm yet tender. “I swear to you, I’ll spend every day proving that I’m not the same man who let you go.”

She let out a shaky breath, her resolve softening ever so slightly. Looking down at their joined hands again, she couldn’t deny the comfort his touch brought her. Maybe, just maybe, this time could be different. But for now, she allowed herself the smallest sliver of hope as she whispered, “One step at a time.”

Rafe’s thumb continued its gentle caress, his touch trembling slightly as though he was terrified she might pull away. His eyes, those piercing blue eyes she once got lost in so easily, were heavy with a tenderness she hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. He wasn’t just looking at her; he was baring his soul, silently pleading for her to see the man he so desperately wanted to be for her.

Her words, soft and uncertain, echoed in his mind: I don’t know if I can handle being hurt again. They struck him like a bolt of lightning, raw and real, cutting through every layer of guilt, regret, and love he carried for her. He had hurt her in ways he couldn’t even begin to forgive himself for, and yet here she was — still in front of him, still within reach.

His fingers tightened just slightly on her hand, as if anchoring himself to this fragile moment. “You have no idea how much I hate myself for hurting you,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Every day, I think about what I did. How I broke something so beautiful… so good.” He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping briefly before he forced himself to meet her eyes again. “You deserved better than me back then. And I don’t know if I’ll ever deserve you now, but I’ll spend the rest of my life trying if you let me.”

Her lip quivered as she listened to his words, the vulnerability in his voice tugging at the walls she had built so carefully around her heart. She wanted to stay strong, wanted to shield herself from the possibility of pain, but the sincerity in his eyes was disarming in a way she hadn’t expected.

“I loved you so much, Rafe,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, as though saying it too loudly might shatter her. “I gave you everything. And when you…” Her breath hitched as she blinked back the tears threatening to spill. “It felt like I wasn’t enough. Like I’d never be enough for anyone.”

Rafe’s heart broke all over again at her confession, his chest tightening with an ache he couldn’t put into words. He stepped closer, his free hand moving to cup her cheek as he gently tilted her face toward his. “Don’t you ever think that,” he said, his voice low and thick with emotion. “You are enough. You’ve always been enough. I was the one who wasn’t. I was scared, and I let my fear ruin the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She blinked, the tears slipping down her cheeks despite her attempts to hold them back. His thumb brushed them away with the same tenderness that used to make her feel safe. The warmth of his hand, the earnestness in his eyes — it was too much, and yet it wasn’t enough.

“Why now?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Why are you saying all this now?”

Rafe hesitated, his eyes searching hers for a moment before he answered. “Because I realized I was lying to myself, thinking I could live without you,” he admitted, his voice raw. “I thought it’d be easier to move on, to forget, but all I did was carry the weight of losing you everywhere I went. I don’t want to live like that anymore. I don’t want to live without you anymore.”

Her breath caught in her throat at the confession, her mind warring between the lingering hurt and the undeniable pull of the love she still felt for him. “I don’t know if I can just… jump back in,” she whispered, her eyes filled with both fear and longing. “I need to know this is real, Rafe. I need to know you mean it.”

He leaned closer, his forehead gently resting against hers. “It’s real,” he said, his voice a soft, steady promise. “I mean it with everything I have. I’ll prove it to you every day, in every way, for as long as it takes. Just… don’t give up on me. On us.”

Her tears fell freely now, but for the first time, they weren’t entirely out of pain. She didn’t know what the future held, didn’t know if they could truly rebuild what had been broken. But as she felt the warmth of his hands, the honesty in his words, and the depth of emotion in his eyes, she allowed herself to believe — if only for a moment — that maybe, just maybe, they could try.

“One step at a time,” she whispered, her voice barely steady but filled with quiet resolve.

Rafe nodded, a faint, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “One step at a time,” he echoed, his hand lingering on hers as though he never wanted to let go.

Rafe watches her struggle to steady herself, her teeth catching her lower lip as her eyes drift downward. He can see the storm of emotions swirling within her, reflecting his own turmoil. Every fiber of him aches to close the space between them, to pull her into his arms and never let go. But he knows better — they need to tread carefully, to rebuild what was broken piece by piece.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, his voice carrying a tenderness that makes her chest tighten.

She draws a shaky breath, lifting her gaze to meet his. A faint smile graces her lips, fragile but genuine. She nods, her fingers lightly tracing his in an effort to calm the unease. “Yeah,” she whispers, though her voice betrays her vulnerability. “I’m just… overwhelmed.” She doesn’t elaborate; she doesn’t need to. Rafe understands without her having to explain.

He nods, his focus never wavering from her face. He feels it too — this bittersweet tension, this dizzying mixture of hope and pain. The sheer weight of being in each other’s presence again. Gently, he lifts her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “It’s a lot, I know,” he murmurs against her skin. “But we’ll take it slow, okay?”

A quiet sigh escapes her as his lips brush her knuckles. It’s a touch so delicate, so thoughtful, and entirely Rafe. Her Rafe. “Okay,” she whispers, her gaze locking with his. The rawness in his eyes mirrors her own, as if the world around them has dissolved, leaving only this fragile moment between them.

Rafe’s heart flutters under the weight of her stare. He takes her hand to his chest, resting it above his pounding heart. “Feel that?” he asks, his voice low and trembling. “That’s for you, baby.”

Her breath hitches, her chest tightening at his words. She feels the steady rhythm beneath her palm, his heartbeat telling her all the things he can’t yet put into words. Tears prick her eyes, but she forces a weak smile as she leans in closer, resting her forehead gently against his.

“You can’t say stuff like that,” she murmurs, her voice laced with a desperate plea. Her palm remains pressed to his chest, feeling his warmth, his sincerity.

Rafe’s breath catches at the closeness, their noses brushing, their breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. His free hand moves to cradle her face, his thumb tracing soft circles against her cheek. “Why not?” he rasps, his voice raw. “It’s the truth.”

Her resolve falters under his touch, his tenderness breaking through her defenses. Their bodies draw closer, her knees parting instinctively as he steps between her legs, grounding them both in this moment. She lets her hands slide from his chest to his shoulders, up to his neck, and finally to the back of his head, her fingers grazing his buzzed hair with an intimacy that feels achingly familiar.

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” she confesses, her voice breaking. She’s raw, exposed, unable to hide the depth of her longing. “For you to hold me when it got too hard. For you to stay.”

Rafe’s heart clenches at her words, the weight of his past mistakes crushing him. His hands find her waist, pulling her closer as he buries his face into the crook of her neck. His lips brush against her skin, and his voice is a shaky whisper. “I know, baby. I know. I should’ve never left you.”

His hold tightens as his body trembles against hers. “But I won’t make that mistake again,” he promises, his voice thick with emotion. “Never again.”

A soft sound escapes her, caught between a sigh and a sob, as his desperation pulls her closer. She lets him hold her, their shared heartache intertwining in the quiet embrace. His words resonate deeply within her, but she says nothing, letting her fingers soothe the tension in his scalp, grounding him as much as he grounds her.

When he pulls back, his blue eyes meet hers, shimmering with emotion. “You’re too good to me,” he whispers, guilt and gratitude lacing every word. “I don’t deserve you.”

Her fingers trace the lines of his face, soft and reassuring. A faint giggle escapes her lips as she shakes her head. “You’re right,” she teases gently, offering a smirk to lighten the heaviness between them. “But I’m here. That has to count for something.”

Rafe chuckles softly, his heart swelling at the warmth in her words. He leans into her touch, covering her hand with his. “It counts for everything,” he murmurs. “The fact that you’re here, giving me another chance… it’s more than I could ever ask for.”

Her smile softens at his earnestness, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “We deserve another chance,” she says, her voice steady and filled with quiet conviction. She believes it, wholly and deeply.

His hand tightens over hers, his gaze unwavering. “We do,” he agrees, the words carrying the weight of his regret and the hope for a future that feels just within reach. This time, he wouldn’t falter. This time, he would hold onto her with everything he had.

"I should go now," she says, her voice quieter than she intended, her eyes flicking to the clock on the kitchen wall. It’s a quarter to one. She has plans to meet Kie soon, but that’s not the only reason.

Rafe’s heart drops at her words, an ache blooming in his chest. The thought of her leaving, of her walking out that door again, is almost unbearable. But he masks his disappointment with a small nod, trying to respect her space. “Yeah, of course,” he says, though there’s a faint tremor in his voice.

He steps closer to her, his hands finding her hips, his touch hesitant yet magnetic. He pulls her closer, their bodies aligning as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Just… promise me you’ll come back, okay?” His voice carries a plea, raw and vulnerable.

Her breath catches at the sudden closeness, her chest tightening as his warmth envelops her. His hands on her hips feel both comforting and terrifying, grounding her while stirring a panic she can’t quite suppress. She sighs, her body betraying her turmoil, leaning into the familiarity even as her mind screams to run.

She tries to smile, forcing her lips to curve as she meets his gaze. “We’ll talk, okay?” It’s the only answer she can give. She doesn’t know if she’ll come back — not because she doesn’t want to, but because she’s not sure she can survive being hurt again. Her heart is a mess, fragile and aching, and the weight of his presence only magnifies her confusion.

Rafe searches her face, his grip on her hips tightening ever so slightly, as if anchoring himself to her. “Yeah,” he murmurs, the uncertainty in her words echoing in his own. “We’ll talk.”

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. It’s tender and unhurried, a quiet act of affection that sends shivers down her spine. She closes her eyes for a brief moment, letting the warmth of his lips linger, fighting the urge to lose herself in the safety of his embrace.

But when his lips leave her skin, she feels the emptiness creep back in. Her heart clenches painfully, and she pulls back, breaking the connection. “I really should go,” she says again, more firmly this time, her voice trembling despite herself.

Rafe watches her retreat, his hands slipping reluctantly from her hips. He doesn’t stop her, doesn’t push, even though everything in him wants to. Instead, he nods, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “Okay,” he says softly. “I’ll be here… whenever you’re ready.”

She swallows hard, her emotions threatening to spill over as she takes a step back. “Bye, Rafe,” she whispers, her voice almost inaudible.

[ltash]

"Wicked" Pt-3

SimonGhostRileyxf!"Rose"reader

From her highschool bully to her wicked bodyguard, from Simon to Ghost.

Palm Jumeirah, Dubai - Midnight.

The lights inside the mansion flickered, once-just a glitch, a flutter of voltage-but Rose's pulse skipped all the same. It always did now. The walls felt too close. The air, too quiet. No house this beautiful should feel like a cage, but hers did. Behind its manicured gardens and imported marble, the mansion wasn't a home. It was a gilded prison.

Massimo had made sure of that.

She hadn't been allowed to leave in weeks. Her phone was replaced. Her laptop filtered. The staff now wore polite smiles that never met their eyes. Rose had grown used to surveillance: the cameras hidden in chandeliers, the microphones embedded in vent grilles, the locks that clicked shut when they weren't supposed to.

But she still had one ghost left in the machine.

She padded barefoot into the darkened study, the only room she was never searched in. Inside the antique desk drawer was a tiny circuit board connected to a hidden port-one she'd built herself back when she still had freedom. It looked like a piece of the HVAC system, but under the hood was a different story.

She was about to use her only remaining ally: an old AI security system she had personally installed before her staff were replaced. It's disguised under the house's climate control and lighting apps-Massimo's men never even noticed it.

Late at night, she writes a command.

A hidden SOS, encrypted and buried under code.

She can't name herself, can't give details.

Just:

Her fingers trembled as she typed into the dim screen.

>High-value civilian. Palm Jumeirah. Hostile containment. Request immediate covert extraction.

She uploads it to an old abandoned GitHub repo registered under a pseudonym she once shared with a boy who used to sit at the back of her chemistry class.

Simon Riley.

The message was anonymous. There was no name, no coordinates. Just metadata buried in lines of an old GitHub repository registered under a long-forgotten pseudonym.

A joke. A nickname from school. One she had once shared with a boy who never smiled.

She didn't even know if he was still alive.

She hit send.

And hoped the wind still remembered her name.

Location: Undisclosed SAS Safehouse, Northern England

Simon was SAS now. Special Forces.

Callsign: Ghost.

The alert came through on a cold Thursday night.

He monitors that GitHub repo out of habit. It's nothing but sentiment, a scar he keeps reopening.

He hasn't checked it in years.

Until he does.

Simon Riley sat in the quiet glow of his monitor, the rain painting war patterns against the window behind him. He barely touched the internet. Except for this.

He hadn't checked the repo in years. It was a dead habit, something he did every few months. Nostalgia with no reward.

Until he saw it.

> Last push: 2 hours ago.

Encrypted within the code wasn't just a distress call.

It was her.

Rose.

He didn't breathe for nearly a full minute.

Ghost stood slowly, fingers curling into fists as a cold burn lit up in his chest. He hadn't heard her name since he'd buried it. Since the night he left without a goodbye.

His blood runs cold.

Encrypted in the code is a name he hasn't heard in half a decade:

"Rose."

He goes to his superiors.

The request is unofficial. Shadow ops.

But the words hostile containment and high-value civilian raise flags.

It gets buried under a private bodyguard detail ordered by a powerful British defense ally with silent interest in Massimo's dealings.

No name. No address. Just Palm Jumeirah, high-value civilian, hostile containment.

Enough for an unofficial op.

And the name that gets assigned?

Lieutenant Simon Riley.

His name was the first one on the assignment.

48 Hours Later a black SUV rolled past the iron gates like it belonged there.

Rose stood in her hallway, arms wrapped around herself, watching from behind the curtains.

One man stepped out. Alone.

Massimo's guards stood straighter.

Tall. Broad. Black tactical gear that looked too sharp for Dubai's heat. A skull mask covering his face, balaclava beneath it. His eyes were cold, unreadable. Like winter.

He didn't speak as he passed the guards. Just handed a sealed letter.

Authorization for close protection detail.

One of Massimo's men, it said.

Rose didn't buy it. But she didn't argue.

She stood at the top of the stairs as he entered, heart hammering.

He looked up at her.

And she, she froze.

There was something about him.

Something terrifying and familiar.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

He stopped just a few steps from her, the skull mask gleaming under the crystal chandelier.

"Ghost," he said. Just that.

The name tasted like ash.

Her voice trembled. "You're one of Massimo's men?"

"Something like that," he answered. Low. Controlled. British accent like frostbite.

She swallowed. The fear in her blood was real. She'd seen hitmen. Thugs. Brutes.

But this one was different.

An Alpha among the wolves.

Massive, silent, lethal.

The black cargo pants hugged his powerful thighs like a sculptor's sketch in motion. Every inch of him said: do not cross.

She stepped back as he approached. He didn't follow.

"You don't have to be afraid of me," Ghost said quietly, almost too softly for a man like him.

But she was.

Terrified.

Because deep inside her, something screamed that she knew him.

And that scared her more than anything else.

The mansion was quiet. Too quiet. Not the peace of luxury, but the silence of surveillance, the kind of silence that watches you breathe.

Ghost stood by the edge of the marble balcony, framed by the dim amber of Dubai’s dying sun. The call had come. The assignment given. No backup, no fanfare, just a flight, a briefing, a skull mask, and a destination: Palm Jumeirah.

He hadn’t expected it to be real. The message hidden in the GitHub code had been too poetic to believe. Too her.

But it was real.

Rose was here.

And she was in trouble.

48 Hours Earlier, She had stared at the blinking cursor for what felt like hours.

> "High-value civilian. Palm Jumeirah. Hostile containment. Request immediate covert extraction."

No names. No cry for help. No traceable language.

Just enough to mean something, to the right person.

Rose encrypted the text in base-64, nested it into an update in an abandoned GitHub repository linked to a fake climate control API, something she and Simon had once joked about building back in school. Back when he was still just Simon. Before he disappeared like mist.

She hit commit.

And prayed.

Now...

The skull mask stepped through the threshold like a shadow that had grown legs. Black tactical gear. Gloves. Thick black cargo pants that stretched over thighs built like war machines. Combat boots that echoed like the ticking of an ending.

The guards nodded, not questioning his clearance. Massimo trusted him now. The cover had been placed well.

She was in the living room. Pale as bone, curled up in a silk robe on the ivory settee.

She looked up, and froze.

The skull.

The mask.

The height.

The weight of him was a presence.

“Who are you?” she asked, voice small, breaking.

He stood still.

"Name's Ghost," he said finally, voice deep and northern, cracked like winter pavement. "Massimo brought me in for security. I’m here to watch you."

Her brows creased, fear threading through the delicate angles of her face. “I don’t need another one of his men watching me.”

He tilted his head, slowly.

“No offense, but I’m not one of his men.”

Her throat worked. She stood, slowly. The robe fell just enough to show a bruise. Faint. But there.

His jaw ticked under the mask.

“I don’t trust anyone,” she whispered.

“Good,” he said. “That means you’re not stupid.”

A beat passed. The chandelier hummed above them.

She turned away, but not before he saw the tremble in her hands.

He had to earn her trust. Carefully. Quietly. Not with the truth, because the truth was dangerous. To both of them.

Not yet.

So he watched. And waited. And followed. Like a loyal shadow.

Simon Riley was gone.

There was only Ghost now.

And she didn’t know him.

Not yet.

But soon, she would.

The sun bled orange into the Gulf, casting golden ripples across the water as the massive white yacht sliced through the marina like a predator in silk. Palm Jumeirah, glittering like a crown in the ocean, had seen its fair share of luxury, but even here, the arrival of Don Massimo Toricelli turned heads.

Ghost watched from the top floor of the mansion through a sliver in the blackout curtain. He recognized the yacht, custom-built, three decks, helipad, and a private lounge with imported marble flooring. He’d studied it in the brief.

His yacht, a gleaming, multi-million dollar Leviathan, rocked gently in the turquoise water, tethered just off the private dock of her Palm Jumeirah estate. It gleamed like his ego, always visible, always looming.

Massimo was coming.

And that meant trouble.

The Italian stepped off the yacht with the confidence of a man who owned the world and everything in it. Black suit sharp enough to cut, sunglasses shielding eyes that never missed a detail.

The black Maserati had barely stopped outside the mansion before Massimo Toricelli stepped out, flanked by his two most loyal bodyguards. He wore his usual armour of a designer three-piece suit, sunglasses despite the low golden sun, and that chilling smirk that made Rose’s stomach turn. The man smelled of cologne and control.

He carried a box in his hand. Velvet black. The kind of box that didn’t contain anything simple.

Rose was summoned to the lobby. Always summoned, never invited.

Inside the mansion, Rose was being prepped. She didn’t want to go downstairs, Ghost could see it in her face. Her robe was replaced by a floor-length designer dress, her makeup immaculate. A doll on display.

She descended the marble staircase slowly, her every step echoing in the grand, hollow luxury of the mansion she couldn't escape. The lobby was vast, double height ceilings, Italian chandeliers, crystal vases she didn’t pick, all curated to reflect a life she no longer had control over.

He stood in the corner of the marble lobby, arms crossed, skull mask reflecting the light from the chandelier above. Every nerve in his body burned.

Then the door opened.

Massimo entered like a storm in human skin.

Massimo sat in one of the velvet armchairs like he owned the place. Because he did. Or at least, he owned the cage around her.

"Bellissima," he purred, his voice smooth and poisonous. “Dubai suits you.”

Rose managed a smile, tight, hollow. “Massimo.”

Ghost stood in the corner, near the mirrored console table. He was motionless, silent, a black sentinel in full tactical gear. Skull mask on. Hands behind his back. The perfect blend of menace and restraint.

Massimo glanced at him once, indifferent. "You can leave us."

Ghost didn’t move.

Rose lifted her chin. "He stays."

Massimo gave a faint chuckle and gestured dismissively. "As you wish, tesoro."

He reached into a bag one of his men handed him and pulled out a velvet box.

"Cartier," he said simply, like it was an apology. "For your good behavior."

She took it with stiff fingers, murmured a thank you that made her mouth taste like ash. The necklace inside was encrusted with diamonds. Cold. Lifeless. Like a chain pretending to be a gift.

Ghost’s hands curled into fists in the shadow of his sleeves.

Massimo’s eyes flicked toward him.

“And you must be the new shadow. What do they call you? Phantom? Skull?”

Ghost didn’t move.

“Ghost.”

Massimo chuckled. “Fitting. Let’s hope you’re as loyal as the last one.”

Rose shifted, her discomfort palpable. Ghost could feel it in her silence.

Massimo turned his attention back to her. “I’ve missed you. We’ll have dinner this weekend. I’ll have the chef flown in from Florence. You’ll wear the necklace.”

He leaned in closer, voice a whisper of threat and lust. “Say yes.”

She didn’t answer. Just nodded.

Massimo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You look tired. Are they feeding you well? Are you sleeping?"

Rose said nothing.

He smiled wider. "Still so stubborn. That’s what I like about you. We’ll talk again soon."

Massimo straightened, pleased with himself.

“Until then, cara mia.”

And then he stood. Kissed the air beside her cheek.

Left as quickly as he arrived.

He left the box in her hands and turned, his coat swaying as he walked out. The doors shut behind him.

Only then did Rose exhale.

Ghost stayed still. Watching. Planning. Rage crawling up his spine like wildfire.

He couldn’t move. Not yet.

He hadn’t called Task Force 141.

Because this wasn’t the moment.

But it was coming.

And when it did, Massimo wouldn’t walk away.

The moment the double doors shut and his footsteps faded, she turned and ascended the stairs quickly, almost running.

Ghost followed, his boots quiet behind her.

She reached her bedroom, the velvet box still clutched in her hand like it had burned her.

Once inside, she hurled it across the room. The lid snapped open. The necklace hit the floor with a sharp, cold clatter, scattering light across the marble.

She sat down beside it. On the floor. In her silk gown. Head bowed, fists clenched, tears pooling in her eyes like they had nowhere else to go.

Ghost stood by the door. Watching. Silent.

She didn’t notice when he stepped closer.

Until he knelt down beside her.

"You don't have to do what he says," he said softly.

She looked up, startled.

He reached forward, hesitantly, almost reverently, and wiped the tear trailing down her cheek with a gloved thumb.

Her breath hitched.

And then...

He extended his hand.

Palm up.

The same way she had, years ago, trembling in a glittering gymnasium, her heart in her throat as she offered her hand to a boy who never took it.

"You don't have to deal with this alone," he said gently.

Her eyes widened.

She stared at the hand. At the shape of it. The calloused palm. The curve of his fingers. So familiar.

Her voice was barely a whisper. "Simon...?"

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just nodded.

The silence cracked around them like thunder.

Her lips parted, her chest rising with a thousand emotions she couldn’t name.

He slowly removed the mask.

And there he was.

Simon Riley.

Older. Harder. Scarred. But still him.

His eyes locked onto hers.

"I came back for you, Rose."

And this time, when she took his hand, he didn’t let go.

[strangecreaturewrites]

mickey barnes x f/gn!reader ⊹ after your life is upended, you move to a new city to start over. you take a job at the first place that will hire you, which just so happens to be a dubious little bakery owned by two men named timo and mickey. pre-canon au. (18+) nothing crazy here, but it will be nsfw if i write more in the future. ( this fic was built off of some ideas i wrote down in my notes app over the past couple weeks, and i wasn’t sure if i wanted to develop it into something more. i could totally spin this out into something so much larger, i have several ideas for it, but i already have too many wips at the moment >.< ----- divider by saradika-graphics )

You knew the business was going to fail as soon as you set foot in the building. The place used to be a bakery, so it looked the part of a macaron shop, with its faded sea-foam green wallpaper and white counters and tables. But it lacked one crucial element: demand. No one even glanced at the storefront as they walked past, a detail you immediately picked up on during your interview.

But you needed the work, so you took the black T-shirt that would be part of your uniform and shook hands with your new employer, a man around your age named Timo. His business partner wasn’t around on your first day, but it wasn’t too long before you met him, too.

Mickey Barnes. You were obsessed from the moment you saw him, but not in the usual way. He was an awkward man, clumsy and self-conscious, but he was kind to you and easy to talk to. He had a pretty face, an unflattering haircut, and an earnest sort of demeanor you hadn’t seen in a long time, especially since you moved to the city. He was sweet, much sweeter than a lot of guys you’ve known. This sweetness pulled you in, made your heart flutter, made you curious — it even made it easier to show up for work most days, knowing you'd get to see him.

Personality-wise, your two bosses were like night and day. Timo was charismatic, witty, a people-person. A bit of a liar, a bit selfish. You didn’t trusted him too much, and working for him was… well, let’s just say, you had to deal with some dumb shit. He paid you in cash, and usually only after you hounded him for it.

While Timo stayed in the manager’s office all day doing who knows what, Mickey would stand behind the counter with you and talk. When a rare customer came in to buy something, he would box up their macarons while you rang them up.

You only worked there for a month, but in that short time, you got to know him well. You learned his favorite movies, the music he liked to listen to, the jokes that made him laugh. You knew he had no family, no relationships, no plans for more than what he already had in this phase of his life. You became familiar with the deer-in-the-headlights look in his eyes when you told him he looked good, and you knew his ears would turn red if you pointed out when a customer was checking him out.

It was no time before you found yourself thinking about him in your bed at night, spinning fantasy after fantasy. Eventually, nearly every hour of the day was consumed by thoughts of him. He was just too cute. You imagined pushing your flirtations farther, wondering what he would do or say if you pressed his buttons enough. He didn't seem shy — just awkward.

Was he a virgin? No, no, you didn't think so. You wanted to ask him...

On the flip side, you were shocked by yourself! It never used to be this hard, keeping things professional, especially with your former bosses. (Then again, you've never been this attracted to someone you've worked for before.) You tried not to cross too many boundaries, but it was just too fun to tease him. Even when he seemed embarrassed, he laughed right along with you, so why stop? It made you feel good to have his attention, and he seemed flattered by the attention you gave him.

There were some times when you thought he was a little too easygoing, though. You quickly picked up on the odd dynamic between Timo and Mickey; they were friends, roommates, and the co-owners of this failing bakery, and it was clear to see who called the shots and who fell in line regardless of whether or not those decisions made sense. You often defended Mickey from his friend’s snide comments, but half the time he didn’t seem to care that he was being insulted. He would tell you not to worry about it, smiling his good-natured smile and waving his hand dismissively.

You wondered if Mickey was really unbothered, or if there was something he wasn’t letting you see.

The day you decided to quit, you told Mickey first. It was the end of your shift, the pink-purple sunset reflecting off the shop windows across the street. You just finished cleaning out the display case and boxing up the cookies that couldn’t be saved for the next day. Timo was in his office, and Mickey had just finished sweeping the pristine floors.

You thought he might panic and beg you to stay — you even hoped he might tell you he’d miss you too much for you to leave, or ask if there was a way he could see you outside of this place — but he just nodded, scrunching up his nose in a wince.

“Okay. That makes sense,” he said, almost as if he was apologizing to you. “I wouldn’t wanna stay either if I were you.”

You gave him a confused look. “You own the place, you could close shop and leave anytime you wanted.”

“Ah, well…” A blush crept across his face as he stumbled over his words. “It’s a little more complicated than that, with money, and- and we don’t exactly, uh- ‘own it,’” he stammered out, bringing his hands up to air-quote the last couple of words. You continued to stare at him, waiting for him to explain further, until he waved his hand, as if batting the prickly topic away. “Doesn’t matter. What I’m saying is, you have so many more opportunities. I don’t know why you applied here in the first place.”

“I needed a job,” you replied curtly, looking away from him. Why you moved away from your small town to the city, why you had to find work so quickly — it was a sensitive subject for you.

Thankfully, Mickey seemed to pick up on your discomfort.

After a tense pause, he cleared his throat, then asked, “What’ll you do next?”

You laughed humorlessly, pulling yourself up to sit on the counter by the register. He took a few steps closer, resting his hand on the edge of the counter near your knee.

So close… It’s been too long since you’ve felt anyone’s skin against yours, and he has been on your mind so much lately. You imagined sliding your hand over his as you answered him.

“Applications are supposed to be opening up soon for that expedition Kenneth Marshall is attempting." You sneered a bit as you said the politician's name, causing Mickey to laugh. “I’m gonna live on what’s left of my savings ’til then, and I’ll see if I can hitch a ride on that.”

“Doing what?”

“I was a paramedic before I started working here. I was a pharm tech before that.” You quirk an eyebrow at him, a sly smile curling at the corners of your lips. “You think they’ll need medics in space?”

“Definitely,” he replied, sounding a little awed, smiling that adorable smile of his. “They’ll be lucky to have you.”

You hummed, warmth blooming in your chest. Sometimes, his sincerity made you ache. You decided to make your move and put your hand on his, squeezing it gently. You told yourself it was just a way of saying thank you, even as your thumb slowly brushed his wrist, back and forth, over and over. The tips of his ears started turning pink, his wide eyes locked on your hands, and it made you felt powerful.

“Can I be honest with you? Because you’re a good guy and I worry about you.” When he nodded, you continued, “This place isn’t gonna last, Mickey. You need to get out of here, do something else.”

He rolled his eyes, grinning a little. “Like what?”

“Literally anything else. You could… I don’t know…”

He nudged your leg with his knee, his grin growing wider. “See? That’s the problem, I don't know either.” For a moment, he looked off toward the window, lost in thought. Then he shook his head. “Nah. I’m gonna stick this out with Timo. He’s my good buddy, I trust him.”

You scoffed. “Whatever you say.”

“He’s good to me,” he replied defensively, his brows furrowing. You couldn’t help but stare at his lips, set in a little, almost pouty frown. You thought about bringing your hands to his face, pulling him closer, when the electronic doorbell chimed.

Quickly, you leapt off the counter and whipped around to see two women lingering in the doorway. By their looks, they were in their early twenties, wearing short club dresses and heavy make-up. They were bright-eyed and beautiful, giggling between each other and looking around the mostly empty room. They seemed hesitant to come inside, making eye contact with you as if they were waiting on some instructions.

“Oh, hey, sorry, we’re closing in-” Mickey looked down at his watch.

In a jarring bit of motion-and-sound, Timo breezed through the swinging kitchen doors, past the counter, toward the women. “Don’t worry, Mick, they’re here for me.” 

“Oh, okay,” Mickey said faintly, startled.

You both watched Timo nestle between the women, his arms around their shoulders. Then, as if on cue, he winced dramatically and said, “Damn, I forgot to tell you, man. I need the apartment for the night. You know, company and all. You understand.”

Mickey blinked, giving a little shake of his head, then corrected himself. “Right. Yeah. That’s fine, I’ll figure somethin’-”

The trio were already turning to leave as Mickey spoke, Timo yelling over his shoulder, his voice overlapping Mickey’s, “Hell yeah, man, you’re the best. See ya tomorrow, Mick! And uh, you too…”

Even after a month, he still didn’t remember your name. Why are you not surprised?

“Asshole,” you snarled, watching the trio strut past the window. You turned to Mickey, who still looked a little baffled. “Do you have somewhere to go?”

He shrugged. “Nah, but it’s not a big deal. Usually I just walk around for a few hours, then I sneak in at around two or three. Hell, I can sleep here if I gotta.”

You stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to say he was joking. When he only stared back, his blue eyes so full of that earnestness you’d grown to associate with only him, you grabbed the boxes of extra macarons and told him, “You’re coming home with me.”

“Oh! Uh-”

“Hush. Come. Now.”

He scrambled to keep up with you, barely remembering to lock up in his haste. You smirked, feeling that private sense of power once again. But there was also excitement — finally, you would get to have him all to yourself.

( i planned a sex scene for this, but i tragically lost focus and i don't even know if this would be interesting to anyone, so if you want to see more, please tell me! i want to write so much more for this, but i am not a self-sustaining machine, lmaoooo

update 4/3/25: here is a link to part two! thanks for reading!! <3 )

[bloodmoonmuses]

stray cats, cold spaghetti | mark lee

genre: mark lee x reader, meet cute, friends to lovers (this is unedited, so forgive any typos! happy valentine's day!)

warnings: mentions of food!

summary: your cat introduces you to your new friend, mark. he's a bit more similar to an actual cat than you initially realized.

You didn’t understand the attachment people had to their pets until this stupid cat showed up. She was a stray, with mangled fur and callous eyes, who popped up some months ago. You had checked for any postings about missing pets, and even asked a few of your neighbors, but no one claimed the ratty thing. It’s not that you disliked animals entirely- you’re not a sociopath. You just aired more on the side of nonchalance. 

The cat could sense this, ever since the first time you two crossed paths. You remember that night so vividly. You couldn’t sleep. You laid on your couch, staring at the ceiling, hoping slumber would whisk you away sooner than later. Just as your eyes began to flutter shut, you heard whining. Visceral, pained whining. At first, you tried to ignore it, but when you heard a sound that suspiciously sounded like a young child, you figured it’d be better to survey the situation just in case. When you opened your door to a begging cat, you sighed. Damn the neighbors for feeding this thing. Now she thinks she owns the place. 

“I bet you’re hungry, huh.” The cat bore into you with bright green eyes, tilting its head as if to say, “Duh!”

So you re-entered your home, Googled “What human food can cats eat?”, and came back with canned tuna and half a carrot. The brat looked right past the carrot and inhaled the tuna, this being its first real meal of the day. In between scarfing down food, the gray cat looked at you inquisitively. “Any more where that came from?” her eyes said. She sidled up next to your leg, purring and rubbing her head against it. 

“That’s all I got,” you had confessed. 

You named her June, since that’s the month she came into your life. Now, you’re best friends. June is actually pretty chill. She likes watching movies with you and, strangely, likes going on walks. After getting her groomed, she’s kinda cute too. You hated to admit it, but you love June. You imagine this is how people felt about their kids- without the initial reluctance of course. June comes and goes as she pleases as if she’s still a stray, but always comes back by dinner time. 

When June isn’t back at her usual time one day in October, you get a bit nervous. She never does this. Before breaking out into a full out panic, you remember she’s got a collar and a tracker from the vet now. No biggie. Opening the app that’s connected to June’s tracker, you meander down the path you usually walk with her when it’s warmer out. When you’re a few blocks from your place, you see her, relief flooding your system. Then you realize there’s a man petting her.

“Junie! June!” You run up to her, taking her into your arms. You snuggle her into a tight embrace, planting a kiss on her head. You’re so caught up in your reunion with June that you forget about the stranger standing in front of you. Oh yeah. You should probably say something. His hair is somewhere in between auburn and brown, making his face look incredibly warm. You hold June a bit tighter.

“Cute cat,” the stranger says. His voice is a bit hoarse. “Thought she was a stray before I saw the collar.” Um, okay? June’s a little rough around the edges, but she’s clearly cared for. 

“Yeah, she’s mine. Do you, like, follow strays around in your free time?” you ask with a bite to your tone. 

“Do you let your pet wander around like a stray in your free time?” Fair, you think, but still rude.

“She’s a free spirit,” you contest. 

“So you let her wander.” 

“This is the first time she hasn’t come home for dinner. Our relationship is built mostly on my ability to provide her food- which works for me.” You’re not sure why you’re explaining your relationship with your cat. Who cares what this guy thinks?

June jumps out of your arms, back to the ground, and walks up to the stranger’s legs. He bends down to resume petting her. From his crouched stance, he looks into your eyes. The eye contact makes you shiver.  

“She’s sweet,” he says. “What’s her name?” 

“June. She’s a charmer- and incredibly manipulative. She probably thought she could swindle you out of some food.”

“Do I look easy to take advantage of?” He asks.

You assess him. Oversized hoodie, baggy pants, sneakers covered in scuffs... Maybe he’s a dancer. Or skateboards. You’d be into that, you think. Skater boys weren’t really your thing, but they could be- as long as it’s him. If anything, the guy just looks… cozy, all bundled up like this. There’s a tinge of red on the tip of his nose from the nippy air. He’s smirking to himself at his (flirtatious) question, making his cheek look plump. You want to pinch it. 

You want to make him as warm as his eyes make you feel. 

You realize you’ve probably been staring. Geez, what was his question? Oh yeah. “Yeah. Like a pushover,” you say. “In the best way, of course.”

“Ouch.”

“Only a real sap would fall victim to June’s powers. She can sense lackeys. No offense.” 

“I’m gonna choose to believe that means you think I’m a nice guy.”

“Nice enough.”

“I’ll take it.” The two of you stand in awkward silence for a few moments, June having finally grown bored of her new friend. The guy stands from his crouching position and sways a bit as he awaits your next move.

“Well, like I said, this little lady was late for dinner. So if it’s okay with you,” you pick up June, then continue your thought, “We’ll be heading out.” 

As you turn to walk back home, the stranger says, “I… didn’t catch your name, by the way.” 

Right. You introduced June, but not yourself. Go figure. “Oh. I’m ___.” 

“Cool. I’m Mark.” He looks like a ‘Mark’-boyish and chipper.

“Nice to meet you, Mark. Well, have a nice night.” You start to walk again, but Mark interjects yet again.

“The sun’s setting,” he blurts it out like he’s trying to rid his mouth of the words as quickly as possible. “Can I walk you home?” Then he amends, “I live nearby, so I know it gets kinda dark in this neighborhood. Not many street lights.”

You think about it. You’re not getting any serial killer vibes, plus he’s already passed the June test. (And if you're being honest, he's very cute.) “Um, sure. Thanks.”

The two of you walk in silence, save for June’s purring. When you make it to your apartment building, you stop. Your gut is twisting, mind fixating on the warmth radiating off Mark’s body. Your fingertips are whirring with electricity. You have a bad idea. 

“Would you maybe… wanna come in for dinner?” Mark turns to look at you.  “I never really learned how to cook for one person, so I always have a bunch of leftovers.” 

It’s a lie, but not entirely. You like to cook enough food for the entire week. Mark doesn't need to know this, you conclude.

Mark nods to himself. “Uh, sure. I could eat.”

As soon as you place June down in your apartment, she sprints to her food bowl. Silly girl. 

“Sorry about the mess. Wasn’t expecting company,” you say. “I hope you like spaghetti.”

“Love it,” Mark responds. (You’d later find out this was a lie.)

“Perfect.”

That’s how you and Mark became friends- similarly to how June came into your life. You fed him. In all honesty, he wasn’t that fond of your spaghetti. He just liked the way you smiled each time he took a bite. The two of you continued to get to know one another while making food. Neither of you are great cooks, so you usually team up. It’s become a love language of sorts, sending recipes back and forth to try. You look forward to eating with Mark more than anything these days.

You’re more than aware of your underlying feelings for Mark, but you’ve managed to temper them. You don’t want to scare him off, but the tension is relentless. You’re making tiramisu and your shoulders touch. You’re piping flowers on a cupcake while Mark pulls tendrils of hair away from your face. You’re whisking meringue into stiff peaks while Mark hums to June in the living room. It’s heart achingly domestic. 

Oftentimes you imagine Mark as your husband. In your daydreams the two of you are wearing matching aprons, flour dusting his nose. He kisses you, a fit of giggles attacking your system. You’re absolutely smitten and unabashedly so.

 In reality, today is Valentine’s Day. Mark suggests he comes over and makes pizza. You don’t think Mark realizes what day it is until you suggest making your pizzas heart shaped. He says he forgot to buy his friend Jaehyun a birthday gift.

“This is, like, kinda romantic.” If being covered in pizza sauce and flour is romantic, then yes. This was very romantic. You have a nice spread here-  fresh basil, mozzarella, alfredo sauce, vodka sauce, roma tomatoes… It smells so nice. Mark keeps sneaking chunks of cheese into his mouth. He looks like a little mouse. June is fast asleep on the couch. You’ve finally perfected the heart shape of your dough, and begin to spread alfredo sauce on your pizza. 

“Your parameters for romance are very strange, Mark Lee.”

“If you close your eyes, it’s like we’re in Italy.” When he says things like this, they only fuel your daydreams. You blame the flush of your face on the preheating oven.

“Venice, I hope.”

“Of course.”

Mark’s pizza looks more like an anatomical heart than the kind you’d doodle in a notebook. He scoffs when you tell him this, feigning offense.

“Should I remind you of how your cinnamon rolls came out a few weeks ago?” They were awful. At a certain point, you had given up and rolled them into balls. 

“My cinnamon rolls/balls were innovative and transcendent.” 

“I don’t even know how you messed them up,” Mark says as he puts the pizzas in the oven, “We bought pre-made dough.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

When the pizzas are done baking, the two of you sit at the dinner table. It’s a different feel for the two of you, seeing as you usually eat together on the couch.  You take a bite of your pizza, savoring the taste.

“Not bad. Wanna taste?” Mark nods. Instinctively, the two of you swap plates, trying each others’ creations.

“I think you’re better at making savory foods.”

“I agree.”

You and Mark continue to eat your pizzas, taking gulps of your respective drinks in between bites. Beer for Mark, white wine for you. Jazz plays softly from your shitty phone speaker, and June’s snores fill in the gaps of silence. After a bit, Mark’s face goes red from the alcohol. You liked seeing him tipsy. He gets all wavy and fluid, unconsciously swaying side to side like a daisy in the wind. Your face feels fuzzy from the wine and you find yourself biting your tongue. 

You’ve had to be more conscious of your alcohol intake around Mark lately. It felt as if at any moment, your love for him would simply become unbearable. Recently, it’s been hard to just look at him- even while sober. Tonight, apparently, you threw caution to the wind. 

“Mark?” you say.

“Hmm….”  He’s drifting away, lethargic from the food and beer. You repeat his name again, this time getting his full attention. When his glassy eyes meet yours, the force behind them knocks the wind out of you.

“Yes?” says Mark. He takes another sip of beer. 

You can’t do this, you think, backtracking entirely. The lie escapes as a garbled mess of words: “Forgot what I was gonna say.” You take a nervous gulp of your wine.

Mark slams his fist on the table, in a drunken stupor. The sound startles you, but there’s no malice behind his motion. In fact, he’s laughing to himself. “Bullshit.”

“I really did lose my train of thought. Maybe it’ll come back to me.”

“I know you’re lying. Like you lied about that cold ass spaghetti you used to lure me in!” he says, referencing the night you met. The spaghetti wasn’t that cold…

“I really did make too much spaghetti that night! Plus, you kept June safe. It was the least I could do!” 

Mark begins to gather your plates and cups, walking over to the kitchen to place them in the sink. As he stands, he says, “I won’t force you to say it, but I know you’re lying.” 

Then he moves to run the faucet. The rushing water fills the silence like TV static, buzzing and itching in your ears. Your throat is burning. You want to talk to him openly, honestly- but something’s stopping you. Mark washes the dishes wordlessly. With his back turned to you, his words hang heavy in the air. Mark never pries but simultaneously knows you so intimately. You love being known by him. You love knowing him. 

You simply love him.

“Why’d you walk me home that night?” Your voice barely pierces the air. The question practically squeaks out of you.

“What?” Mark turns off the facet and dries his hands on a towel, turning to look at you.

“The night we met. Why’d you walk me home?”

He contemplates the question for a moment, closing his eyes to visualize the night. Then he says, “Wanted to make sure you got home safely.” 

The moment is delicate and fragile. You’re scared that if not nimble enough, if not cradled with the utmost gentleness, it will shatter. You proceed with caution.

“Mark?” At the sound of his name, Mark returns to his seat at the dining table.

“I think… I love you.” Mark chuckles. “Don’t laugh!”

“You think?” he says, now breaking out into a full-bodied laugh.

“Yeah. I think so.” 

“I love you too.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “...I think.”

“Very funny, asshole.” 

Mark reaches over the table and places a chaste kiss upon your lips. “Okay, I think I’m a little more sure now,” he says.

“Need some more reassurance?” you ask. Mark nods. 

You lean in to kiss him this time, and just before your lips touch, you hear whining. You pull back to look down, seeing June curled up beneath your chair. Her timing is always impeccable. The two of you giggle, sealing the moment with a fervent kiss. You melt into his touch, the elation coursing through your veins. When you come up for air, you meet Mark’s eyes.  

“What?” he says. “I’m a better kisser than you thought?” 

“I was just wondering… you’re still gonna wash the dishes, right?”

[divinitysotherside]

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

A GENIE TEDDY BEAR !?

ᯓ★ . teddy bear!toji fushiguro who grants your wish !

a/n . part 1 because i wrote this at 3am , toji x reader , just suggestive shit , reader is 24-ish

contents . teddy bear toji , weird reader , toji refers to reader as ‘ma’ , toji is 28-30 wtv 🤷🏻‍♀️ , i ws too tired to make this a full fic i’m sorry , no smut scenes ( mdni nonetheless )

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ — PART 1 , PART 2

You were walking by a store, searching for the perfect plushie to take home. You see pink ones, blue ones, those that are gender-colored.

You perk up when you notice a teddy bear that is very out of place. It doesn’t blend in with the rest of the teddy bears on set.

It was at least 6’2 in height, taller than you. The teddy bear itself didn’t seem weird, it was a dark gray, and it would be a normal teddy bear without its outrageous height.

“Woah, that one’s tall.” You mutter, staring at the teddy bear. It was weird. As if something was pulling you in, giving you the irresistible urge to buy it.

Walking over to the seller, you ask, “How much is that teddy bear?” while pointing at it. “That’ll be.. 20 USD.” She responded, and you rummage through your wallet to pay.

Taking the teddy bear home, you set it on your sofa, aiming to put your things down first. You lock the front door, making your way to your room.

After changing clothes and putting down your stuff, you go back to the living room to check on the teddy bear. It had fallen to the floor, face down.

“Huh? Weird, I could’ve sworn I laid you down properly.” You mutter, picking the teddy bear up. Its height towered over you, really.

“Haah, perfect. I can finally hug something while I’m fantasizing about 6-feet-tall dudes that will never be mine..” You sigh, bringing the teddy bear to your room.

Laying it down on your bed, you decided to lay down with it, phone in hand. “Come here, let’s take a picture.” You mutter, clicking the camera app in your phone and holding it up to aim at you and your newly bought teddy bear.

After taking a few selfies with the teddy bear, you laugh to yourself. “How silly.. taking pictures with a goddamn teddy bear.” You sigh, checking your clock.

Woah, it was already 9pm? How did you not notice it at the store? “Whatever, I’ll just.. go to bed.” You lay down with the teddy bear, hugging it tightly.

“I wish.. that you will turn into a handsome man that can rail me to sleep.. I’m so lonely.” You say, chuckling. “As if that’ll happen..”

However, maybe you should be careful what you wish for.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

When you were fast asleep, still lazily clinging onto the teddy bear, something happened.

Shifting, the teddy bear turned into something else. It turned into a man, one with messy raven hair, a built body, and a scar on his lip.

Smiling, he nuzzled in close to your neck, large arms enclosing you in his embrace. “Finally out, ma,” he whispered.

You stirred awake, the unfamiliar feeling of someone embracing you causing your eyes to flutter open. “Hngh..” You look up, seeing the handsome man infront of you.

You blink a couple of times, rubbing the sleep off of your eyes before looking up again. He was still there. “W–who are you!?” You scrambled, sitting up.

“What? You don’t remember what ya wished for?” He chuckled. Suddenly, you remember it.

« “I wish.. that you will turn into a handsome man that can rail me to sleep.. I’m so lonely.” You say, chuckling. “As if that’ll happen..” »

Your eyes widen. Is he really going to make your wish come true? But, you didn’t mean it! Well, maybe you did, a little..

He sat up, rubbing your arm. “Trust me, ma.”

“I.. I don’t even know who you are..” You pointed out, looking up at him.

“Well, I'm Toji. Toji Fushiguro. Remember it, ma, you’ll be screamin’ it all night.” Toji grinned.

[ginxyy]

Die for you

It's hard for me to communicate the thoughts that I hold But tonight, I'm gon' let you know

The glow from your phone screen felt warm against your fingertips, each notification pulsing with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. You had been scrolling through the endless cycle of images and stories, your heart feeling heavier with each swipe. The shadows of your past relationships loomed large, whispering insidious doubts into your mind, robbing you of the confidence you so desperately sought.

This was Joshua, after all an incredible man with an infectious smile and a heart so expansive it felt like it could cradle your insecurities and still hold space for more light. But the more you thought about it, the more convinced you became that you didn’t deserve him. The way his laughter echoed in shared moments haunted you when you were alone, forcing you to confront the stark contrast of your fluttering heart against the rigid walls you had built over the years. Each laugh reminded you of a warmth you craved yet believed to be unattainable.

It had been six months since you both had decided to embrace this beautiful, chaotic thing called love. Six months of late-night talks, stolen kisses, and promises whispered in the comforting dark. Yet, beneath those golden moments, the shadows of doubt were sneaking through the barricades you had put in place. You fought with him, convinced that self-sabotage was your only instinct. Each fight left you feeling smaller, like a flower crushed by the weight of an unyielding storm.

But tonight, after yet another storm had passed and left you drenched in guilt, your heart swelled with a different kind of urgency. You had snapped at Joshua over something trivialanother moment where insecurity festered and erupted. The memory of his disappointed frown etched into your mind like a permanent bruise. He was too good for you, you thought, and in those moments of rage, you pushed him away. Now, in the reflection of your own fragmented emotions, you could see the damage your fears had wrought.

You sank into the solitude of your room, inhaling deeply while your heart fluttered in desperation. You couldn’t let this be the end of your story with him. Not when you felt the waves of love pulsating just beneath your skin. You needed him to know the truth how completely, undeniably, and fervently you loved him. It was a longing that seeped through your soul, battling against the tide of your insecurities.

With a determined flick of your fingers, you opened your music app and searched for that song that always resonated with the depths of your emotions The Weeknd's “Die For You.” In the depths of your heart, you felt compelled to cover it, to pour all the conflicting feelings that lived within you into that melody. So, in your softest voice, you sang. Each lyric became a confession, each note a promise of change. You wrapped your sorrow around the chords, weaving your narrative into the fabric of the song, channeling your hope for redemption through every breath.

You hesitated just a moment before posting the video, your heart racing as you pressed "send." These feelings were raw, unfiltered, and vulnerable, but you believed Joshua deserved to see the real you flaws and all. After you shared it, you waited, suspended in time while your heartbeat drummed a frantic rhythm. Would he understand? Would he forgive you for the fight?

Before long, the familiar vibration of your phone broke through the silence. Joshua had seen your video, and the world outside your window suddenly felt a little less daunting. A text popped up, the words vibrating with his unmistakable energy, “I’ll be there in 10.” Hope flickered, igniting a fire within you.

By the time he arrived, your heart was hammering wildly against your chest. You opened the door to his familiar presence, and the tension in the air felt tangible, like an unfinished sentence begging for completion. The moment he stepped in, his expression was a mix of concern and a hint of hurt your heart shattered and mended all at once.

“Hey,” you said softly, the sound of your voice barely able to mask the turmoil within. As he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, the warmth of his being enveloped you instantaneously, igniting a flicker of hope in your chest.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice cautious, as if he were stepping delicately through an atmosphere thick with unsaid words. “I saw your video… you didn’t have to do that.”

You felt tears prick the back of your eyes. “But I needed to,” you whispered, taking a step closer. “I’m sorry for how I acted, for the fighting. I've been struggling with feelings I can’t seem to shake, but I can’t let them push you away.”

He sighed as if carrying the weight of the world, running a hand through his hair. “You know I care about you, right?”

“I know,” you said, feeling the rush of emotions welling up inside you. “But I can’t help but feel like I’m not enough. I don’t want to ruin this.”

“Oh, please listen to me,” he said, stepping forward, his gaze piercing through your insecurities. “You are more than enough. You are everything to me. You don’t have to change who you are. I just want you to share those fears with me instead of fighting against them.”

In that moment, all the doubt you harbored began to dissipate, the air around you charged with the warmth of his words. “I promise,” you breathed out, the weight lifting little by little. “I will work on my insecurities. I won’t let them take control anymore.”

He took your hands in his, grounding you with his touch. “We’ll get through this together. Just remember to talk to me. That’s all I ask.”

You nodded, the breath you had been holding finally escaping your lips, mingling with the hope that floated between you. In that small, intimate space, you knew this moment wouldn’t define you; it was merely a step in your journey together a promise of love, understanding, and healing, vibrant and alive as the flickering flame kindled in your hearts.

[alpha-trauma-novel-trans]

Chapter 95

Aside from Dohyun's, Wooyeon had never been to anyone's house before. Moreover, the space with the title of ‘single room’ was almost like an unknown world. To him, the idea of going to Garam's place was more exciting than the suggestion of going to an amusement park.

As soon as they finished eating, they hopped in a taxi and headed to Garam's. They could have gotten a hired car, but they didn't want to alert the house. Dohyun hailed a cab without a word and carefully dressed Wooyeon in a jacket.

“It's a little chilly out.”

After they got out of the cab, they walked side by side, sharing an umbrella. Dohyun had held the umbrella over them since they left the house, so Wooyeon had forgotten to grab an extra one. The umbrella was cramped for the two of them, and their shoulders stuck out if they weren't pressed closely together, but that wasn't bad.

“You aren't getting wet, right?”

“I'm fine, but... Hyung, aren't your shoulders getting wet?”

“I'm fine.”

One foot, then another. With each step, water droplets splashed. The light rain tapped the umbrella in time with each step. Wooyeon looked at Dohyun from the corner of his eye and grabbed his arm.

“I don't mind the rain.”

An umbrella held by someone other than Secretary Yoon. To share an umbrella with someone else. Even walking down the street on a rainy day like this.

Everything he did for the first time was okay because he was with Dohyun. Every time their shoulders brushed, his heart fluttered like it had when he had a crush on him. Dohyun smiled pleasantly and tilted the umbrella toward Wooyeon.

Garam's place was a newly built villa not far from the school. They had to enter a code at the entrance, and Garam came down as soon as Dohyun called. She was wearing a large boxy shirt and lime-colored shorts, making her presence felt even from beyond the door. 

“Oh, Wooyeon, you dyed your hair?”

She hurried downstairs with her shoes were matching. One was a pair of flip-flops and the other was a pair of sky blue slippers. They were all colorful and crazy.

“I haven't unpacked yet, so it's a bit of a mess, but just bear with it. Sungyu got here a while ago.”

Garam said in a low voice, leading the way up the stairs.

The low staircase was too narrow for two of them to climb together. Wooyeon followed her, glancing around without Garam's knowledge.

“Kwon Sungyu, the kids are here!”

“They're here.”

Sungyu sat down in the living room and greeted Dohyun and Wooyeon as if he were in his own home. So much had changed in just a week since they saw each other, but he looked exactly the same as he had on the last day of school.

“Nice place. Clean.”

Dohyun closed the front door and took a cursory look around. Wooyeon followed Dohyun and took the opportunity to look around. As soon as he took off his shoes, he was in the kitchen, and after three steps, he saw the door. He didn't realize how amazing it was to see the whole house at once.

“Have you ever been in a house this small before?”

Garam tapped Wooyeon on the shoulder and smiled warmly. Wooyeon, who was looking up at the ceiling, suddenly turned to look at Garam.

“Oh... I'm sorry.”

“I see you're not saying no.”

Fortunately, she didn't look offended. Laughing, Garam nudged the pile of stuff with her foot. 

"Just shove everything aside... But why are you two empty-handed when coming to a new house?"

"Wow, I didn't see either of you like that. I brought toilet paper."

Dohyun plopped down next to Sungyu, unperturbed by the outpouring of boos. Wooyeon also took notice and sat down cross-legged next to him. It was his first time going to someone else's house, so he hadn't thought of a housewarming gift.

“Order whatever you want to eat. I'll buy.”

“I was waiting for you to say that. Sungyu, open the app.”

The voices echoed from the lack of furniture. The house was disorganized, and you could hear the rain outside the window. Despite the unpleasant surroundings, Wooyeon felt excited.

“Shall we get some Chinese food?”

“We should eat something expensive for the guy who's paying for it.”

"When someone moves, they usually eat jajangmyeon."

“There's a bowl delivered here, do you want it?”

“No, I want something expensive.”

"Oh my."

If he hadn't come out, Wooyeon would have wasted another day. He would have stayed in the house with no one around and watched the rain fall, and as always, he would drift into depression until the rainy season ended.

"What do you want to eat? Chicken, okay?"

"Wooyeon can't eat chicken."

“Then pizza?”

“I ate pizza yesterday.”

“Kwon Sungyu can't leave it alone, really.”

"Hey, why are you only picking on me?"

Wooyeon swallowed a laugh as he listened to Garam and Sungyu chatter away. They never seemed to tire of each other, and whenever they were together, they never stopped talking, even if it was just small talk.

“What about sushi? Kim Dohyun loves sushi.”

Garam said and pointed at Dohyun. Wooyeon, who had just learned that 'Kim Dohyun likes sushi,' absentmindedly turned his gaze. Dohyun was staring at Wooyeon shyly, not paying attention to the conversation.

“...Do you like sushi?”

Dohyun's eyes were filled with a cute feeling, so he couldn't overcome his embarrassment and move his lips. Dohyun watched Wooyeon and closed his eyes gently.

“Yeah, I like sushi.”

His face felt flushed. It wasn’t the first or second time he had seen this smile, but how could it be so different every time? While Wooyeon was tugging his earlobe, Garam started choosing a menu at the sushi restaurant with the highest rating.

They chose sushi, pizza, and tteokbokki. They insisted on ordering the expensive stuff, but it wasn't much different from what they usually ate. Garam lamented the food she ordered, saying it was the food of someone who had eaten it before. 

“Speaking of which, we'll be getting our grades soon.”

“Oh my, that’s right. This is a big deal, I messed up my final exam.”

Luckily, the food all arrived around the same time, and since there was no dining table, Garam laid out the boxes roughly and unwrapped them on the floor. It was the first time he'd eaten something on the floor since the night he got drunk at M.T.

“Our study goal was 4.0, right?”

“Bullshit. I couldn't even study at the end. 4.0 is your dog's name.”

"Wooyeon, do you think you'll get good grades?"

Sungyu asked, and Wooyeon shook his head, not sure about it. He thought he did well, but since it was his first time getting a final grade, it was hard to guarantee. But since Dohyun helped him, he'd probably be in the top tier.

"Did you two go on a lot of dates? I didn't contact you on purpose to surprise you."

"I went to my parents' house, so we couldn't meet."

“Oh, well, if I'd known that, I would've called you instead of staying away.”

Wooyeon gave a vague answer to Garam, who must have been bored. When asked what he's been doing, he talked about movies, working out, and swimming, just like he did with Dohyun. Garam was interested in movies, and Seongyu's eyes widened at the mention of a pool.

“You can come over when you're free.”

“Where, your place?”

“Yeah. We can watch movies, use the pool...”

"Awesome. Ji Suhyang's house... no, it's my first time going to such a big house."

Since Suhyang is not at home most of the time, she won't mind if someone comes over. The employee is actually happier when he hears that a guest is coming. Last time, he prepared a fancy dinner when he heard that a friend was coming.

No champagne this time. Wooyeon thought to himself.

They rolled around the house long after they had eaten. They kept eating the leftover food until nightfall, and Garam bought them coffee and cake after.

All they did was eat, lie down, and chat, but before they knew it, it was close to midnight.

“Hmmmm.”

Ten minutes to midnight. Just as Wooyeon was starting to think it was time to head home, Garam coughed awkwardly. She nudged Dohyun with her foot and gestured to the front door.

“Hey, go out and get some ice cream with Wooyeon.”

It was almost like an order, but Dohyun obediently got up from his seat. When he held out his hand, Wooyeon also got up awkwardly.

“Shouldn't we be going now?”

"Let's play some more. We live alone anyway."

"That's right, that's right. Hyung, I like corn."

Wooyeon tilted his head while holding Dohyun's hand. It was hard to explain, but the atmosphere was strange. Even though the others didn’t notice, Sungyu’s expression was awkwardly frozen.

“Let's go, Yeon-ah.”

Well, it must be because of the mood. Wooyeon, who tried hard to shake off the awkwardness, put his feet into his shoes. Up until then, Wooyeon hadn’t seen Dohyun secretly exchanging glances with them.

next chapter

[din-miller]

A Little Jive Is Good for You

PAIRING: All Bad Batch Boys x AFAB Reader (gender neutral) no incest/all separate stories

Summary: Reader surprises their partner with a new sex toy called Jive. (It's a wearable g-spot vibrator)

WARNINGS: 18+, sex toy, app controlled sex toy because we fancy here, oral (cunnilingus), fingering, semi public sex (?), tiny bit of angst (sorry echo), thigh fucking, I don't know what phones are called in Star Wars so I'm using device as a placeholder for now, afab, gender neutral reader, all established relationships, tbb headcanons but it's spicy

A/N: I originally wasn't going to write for Crosshair but the setting of the fic didn't work with the others so he made the cut. Congratulations buddy.

Hunter doesn't notice the app at first. It's not until half his Caf is gone, the article he's reading is finished and his thumb swipes back to his home screen that his eyes fall upon the newest icon.

We-vibe

He frowns, never having heard of it before. For a brief second he wonders if he should get Tech to come over and look at it. Make sure it's not a virus or some kind of tracker. But his curiosity gets the best of him. It's probably some kind of prank of Wrecker's. He's done it before. So, Hunter takes his chances and opens the app and he's met with a dark purple background and a bold-all-caps word.

TOYS

Definitely Wrecker's doing.

He hits the play button and it takes him to another purple screen, this time a lighter shade. There's four squares that surround a circle and inside that circle there is a smaller one labelled JIVE.

With a little hesitation Hunter presses on the smaller circle that he's able to move around. He plays with it, swinging it around inside the big circle before moving it to the bottom left square right on top of a little wave symbol.

Three things happen at once. A faint pulsing sound comes from the cockpit followed by a gasp and a wave of arousal – your arousal – hits his nose so hard that his cup falls out of his hand and onto the floor, bouncing a few times as warm Caf spills onto the ship's flooring, but his hands are too busy clenching the table to notice.

His nostrils flair, seeking the smell of your arousal, breathing it in deep inside his lungs and his tongue darts out to taste the air. Sweet and faint, yet it sits on the tip of his tongue and his eyes close, picturing the glistening of your wet pussy, the way your walls flutter around the toy – kriff, what he'd do to have his cock buried deep in your tight cunt.

Hunter breathes out your name, a plea and you're appearing before him naked as the day you were born.

"Ner kar'ta," Hunter swallows, eyes unapologetically locked on your sex, "Look at you, so wet, so beautiful."

You're in front of him now, his head perfectly lined up with your dripping cunt and his fingertips gleefully trail up your thigh stopping just where you ache for his touch.

"Hunter, baby, please!" You beg, desperate and unashamed. He must sense your desperation, because his hand lays flat over your mons pubis and his thumb rests on your outer folds. He doesn't part them, just presses lightly against them.

"I can feel the vibrations," He grunts, eyes falling close, "I can feel the anticipation as it rushes through your body, the need for pressure, for movement against your wet pussy. It calls to me, ner kar'ta."

"Kriff, answer it then!" You growl, pushing his chair away from the table and throwing a leg over his thighs to straddle him. You rock yourself against his clothed sex, seeking friction against the throbbing of your own.

"Very demanding for someone who started this," He reminds you, but his arms wrap around your waist, device forgotten as he helps you move against his cock, "Not complaining though."

You snake a hand down between your bodies to change the vibration with the built in button. This one's stronger and your hips jerk up, separating from Hunter but the clones quick to pull you back down onto his lap.

Slowly, teasingly so, he removes the toy and presses it against your clit with the palm of his hand as his fingers coat themselves in your arousal before sliding into your cunt.

It doesn't take you long to reach your orgasm, in fact it slams into you at full force when Hunter presses against your sweat spot with just the right amount of pressure.

Then his own orgasm stains the blacks he's currently wearing, messy and so fucking hot. He rarely cums in his pants – preferring to do it in or on you – so when he does your ego inflates. At least until Hunter pulls another orgasm out of you.

Echo had figured it was Tech's doing too. His brother is always updating his technology, making sure everything works. He even programmed all the apps and keyboard to be one handed accessible.

Everyone except you and him had gone out for the next few hours, leaving the ship empty and comfortably silent. At least it was silent until Echo's curiosity got the best of him and his thumb started flicking the small circle labelled JIVE around.

He doesn't have heightened senses; he can't hear the toy, can't smell your arousal. It's not until you appear at the cargo holds door way, wide eyes locked onto the device in his hand with a desperate 'please' falling from your lips that he knew the app wasn't Tech's doing.

Echo's heard of apps like this. A way to pleasure your partner hands free. He went down the rabbit hole of sex toys when you and him first became sexually active. A fear of not being able to properly please you with only one hand plagued him night and day until you sat him down and reassured him that he satisfies you plenty.

"Please," You plead once again, crossing your leg over the other one seeking friction against your core as you squeeze your thighs shut, "Echo, kriff, I need more."

Echo's eyes flicker down to your body, clad only in panties, then to the screen in his hand. His thumb gives an experimental slide of the JIVE button and you stumble towards him, a wave of arousal soaking your panties, and without missing a beat you sink into his lap. Echo's dress in just his blacks, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants and the first brush of your sex against his is utter bliss.

His scomp snakes around your waist balancing you on his lap as he awkwardly tries to catch the device in his hand as it slides from his grip, his brain a little too distracted by the whispers of vibration against his cock to have proper coordination to hold the device.

A part of you is begging yourself to move and take off your panties, to free Echo's cock and slide your drenched folds over the wide width of his sex, but as much as you love pussy jobs you can't seem to separate yourself from your husband long enough to take them off.

So instead you unapologetically hump against his clothed cock, moaning when he moans at the feeling of the toy's vibration against his length.

Neither of you last long, which in all honesty is never a disappointment, and thankfully the night is still young and the way your husband is looking at you, you know you'll be sore tomorrow.

Wrecker finds out about the toy by feeling it. You've momentarily forgotten you were wearing it until his fingers found the tail end of the toy as his deft fingers slip into your panties.

Your back is to his chest as he brackets you in with his meaty legs, one hand palming your tit as his hips expertly grind against your ass.

You've spent the day teasing him; dirty flirting, a brief risky flash of your tits – his biggest weakness – just to build up to this moment.

"Aw, mesh'la, did you get a new toy without me?" His fingers blindly feel out the new toy, or at least the part not inside you, until he finds a small raised bump near the end of the toy. His finger settles on the button but doesn't press it, awaiting your consent.

He's always been like that, a big man who will wait hand and knees to get the go ahead. Especially when it comes to sexual activities and new toys. You admire that about him, consent being the key to everything he does, but right now? Right now you want him to hold you against his chest until the vibrations shoot through your core and leave you a sobbing mess.

The need makes you beg without embarrassment, "Press it, kriff, don't tease me!"

The moment the toy activates you're letting out a silent scream, eyes rolling into the back of your head, body arching up and away from Wrecker's chest as the vibrations pulse inside your tight cunt, right snug against your g-spot.

His hand firmly squeezes your tit before pinching your perky nipple, his breath hot against your neck as he gently nibbles against the flesh again and again, leaving marks, claiming what's his.

His finger travels down farther until it reaches his target; your dripping cunt. He coats his finger with your juices before gently guiding it inside you, right behind the back of the toy.

Nothing about Wrecker is small, his fingers are meaty, chunky, and he knows it. With one finger he curls it in into the silicon of the toy, pressing it against your most sensitive area. Your hand shoots out to wrap around his wrists, nails leaving red crested shapes in his flesh and it's all you can do to keep the tears building up at bay.

You can't stop the cry that leaves your mouth as your arousal soaks through your panties and drips onto the mattress below you. Kriff, you didn't even last half a minute before cumming. It's the quickest you've ever finished and you probably should be a little ashamed of how fast it was, but Wrecker's chest vibrates with the loudest moan you've ever heard from him;

"Mesh'la, I'm gonna–,"

"Wait," You shakingly push yourself up farther onto his torso until his cock slides through the opening of your thighs, "Fuck my thighs, baby, let me see you cum."

He groans, needing no further instructions before fucking your thighs, fast. His precum acts like natural lubricant as his cock jerks back and forth, hot and heavy between your thighs.

"Squeeze around my cock, mesh'la." Wrecker grunts breathlessly and you press your thighs together tightly. The toy is still vibrating inside you and you reach down to the built-in button to turn it off, overstimulated.

Wrecker's fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as his release paints your thighs, his cock helplessly twitching between the valley of your legs as he cries out your name.

Once you catch your breath, and can lift a finger, you'll show him the app. Show him how to use it. Maker, you can't wait.

Tech knew right away what the app meant for, his codpiece already becoming too restricting before he even opens the app.

He calls out for you, wanting to see your face as it overcomes with pleasure. Pleasure he's giving you, he's responsible for.

The moment you walk into the room and see his lust filled gaze, app open on his device, you're stripping yourself of your clothing, sitting across from him in the co-pilot's chair, legs spread wide to give him a clear view of your pussy.

He doesn't activate the toy right away, instead he's leaning forward in his chair, eye locked onto your cunt. He's studying the part of the toy he's able to see and you roll your eyes fondly before snapping your fingers together.

His eyes shoot up to yours, swallowing at the blatant need that reflects back at him. It's clear that neither of you will be lasting long. Not this time at least.

"I trust you're smart enough to figure out how to work it." You teasingly trail a hand down your body, ghosting over your sex before retreating back up to your chest to play with your breasts.

"Of course," He huffs, adjusting his goggles, "It's a basic design; clearly fashioned by humans with a basic understanding of technology–,"

With a soft chuckle you bring a hand down to hover over the built in power button, "Then you'd know I can control it with a quick press of the button right here. Really, I don't even need you–oh kriff,"

Your hips jerk up, a surprise moan falling from your lips as the toy buzzes to life inside you and your walls clench around the silicon, "Tech!"

"Too much?"

You shake your head, fingers clenching the arms of your chair, "No, it's good, it feels so good."

Tech hums, eyes once again locked onto your pussy and you know he's silently debating with himself on whether or not to take a holo. You're about to tell him to just take one but all that leaves your mouth is a pathetic whine as the vibrations change to a stronger setting.

Tech's out of his chair and on his knees before you, "I want to taste you."

That's basically all the warning you get before your legs are hooked over his shoulders, his tongue darting out to collect your arousal before spreading it over your clit. He flicks the tip of his tongue over your sex before pulling back, "You're so wet for me."

You nod, eyes rolling back as his mouth returns to your sex, "All you for, Tech. It's all for you."

Crosshair knew instantly that the new app was your doing. You're the only one who knows his passcode. He just didn't know what the app was designed for.

He had ignored it at first, letting most of the day go by before managing to corner Tech and demand his brother tell him what the app was. Of course Tech had simply explained everything about it, but when he went to go turn the toy on Crosshair shoved the barrel of his rifle under the clone's chin. Tech was smart enough to make himself scarce.

Now with the knowledge of what the app was designed for, Crosshair was in control with you willingly at his mercy. He lets you continue your faux innocent act, pretending himself that he hasn't noticed the app.

He'll wait for the opportune moment to arrive. He's a patient man, he's not weak like his brothers. We won't wait on hands and knees for you to come to him and you know that.

The moment comes almost five hours later as he volunteers himself and you to do the supply run Echo and Tech were originally signed too. Hunter had given him a questioning look, obviously wondering why he'd willingly offer to do something he'd usually bitch about doing.

Crosshair had just glared back at his brother and Hunter was smart enough to end any further questions there.

"So," You start, eyeing the man beside you as you walk side by side through the market, "Why us? Echo was relieved to be getting some fresh air, you know. You also hate people, crowds and shopping. Have to admit, I'm a little baffled."

He doesn't look at you but his words are sharp, "You're not an idiot, ner kar'ta."

"I've never claimed to be one, I– oh, you, you wouldn't," You come to a halt, pulling Crosshair with you. Your eyes are wide, full of fear and a building of desperate want, "We're in public, Crosshair."

"Best not make a scene then."

It's not an order, nor a demand, it's a challenge.

One you already know you're going to lose.

But then again this is Crosshair, the man you've spent all day unknowingly giving him a raging hard-on. He's pent up, sexually so, and that's your doing and that doesn't go unpunished.

So it doesn't really come as a surprise that when you're about to cum he turns off the device, denying you of the orgasm you're desperate for.

Because when you do cum, you'll be on your knees, mouth wrapped around his cock. Not here, in a crowded marketplace; not when he can't praise you. Not when he can't taste himself on your lips.

–

Sorry about how roughly Tech's ended. I've never been good at writing cunnilingus. Blow jobs on the other hand I'm a master at but that's mostly because I've spent ten years writing gay porn.

[mahmoud-in-gaza]

Dear friends,

My name is Mahmoud. I’m a Flutter developer from Gaza who once built apps and dreamed of a better future through my code. But everything changed in an instant.

An airstrike destroyed my home in Al-Shuja’iyya. I lost my laptop, my projects, and the future I was working so hard for. Now I live without electricity, clean water, or basic safety. I’m not just trying to survive—I’m trying to rebuild, to return to work, and to support my family with dignity.

This is my first time launching a fundraiser. It’s not easy to ask, but it’s even harder to stay silent when your family is hungry and your future is buried under rubble.

If you’ve ever believed in the power of tech, of resilience, of standing by one another—please consider helping.

Here is my fundraiser link:

https://gofund.me/7aac65b3

Even a small donation, a kind share, or a reblog could change my life.

Thank you for giving me hope.

— Mahmoud

[tisthedamngreenbriar]

windows boarded up after the storm, he built a fire just to keep me warm.

guys i'm so embarassed. so. i wrote this for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Sprint Fic Challenge, BUT THE JULY ONE. and as you may notice it is september already.

in my defense, i kinda started this one and then completely abandoned it on my drafts and never once looked back. but now is here! kinda! this is my first time ever writing a challenge, and also my first time posting my writing in here!! for the sprint challenge july 2023, I chose the social media prompt + one of the prompts from previous challenges (hope that was allowed??)

this is neither polished or revised, just fresh out the notes app so you guys will have to forgive me for errors. i fully intend to develop this aswell, but we'll see.

enjoy!

***

It was supposed to be small. A simple get together for their group, with cake and booze to celebrate Rose's birthday. But, now they were in a mansion one hour out of town and Marinette was pretty sure she could smell something burning.

But, first things first: lets not get ahead of ourselves.

***

Moving everything was a pain in the ass. They'd to be quick and through so no food or garnment was neither damaged nor left behind - also watch out for the worst case scenario, harming sound equipament -, and the threat of the storm was making Marinette mimic the thunders, rumbling with anxiety. With everything already packed in the cars, they went on their merry way, with Adrien leading the path out of the city. 

The blonde boy really was an angel. Offering to take the party to his country house when the weather became Marinette's worse enemy was so kind that the bluenette's heart fluttered a bit, reminding her why she used to have that stupid and exponentially big crush on him all those years ago. Not that that meant anything: her romantic organ also gave a little jump seeing him help Kagami, his long term girlfriend, into the car. Affection just made her goofy.

Getting to the estate was easy, since the rain wasn't really pouring yet and the traffic was on their side, for a change. Obviously, it was huge, because the Agrestes never failed in that department, and everyone immeadiately? started setting everything up on the patio behind the main house and in front of the guest one, so they could use it for bathroom breaks and personal items since no one was willying to wander in the Agreste's mansion and risk scarring his perfectly put everything. The rain didnt seem to follow them so atleast it was safe to be outside.

And then there was Luka. Going around helping out everyone, smilling and whistling to himself. Luka who was just as oblivious to her as Adrien had been, cause apparently that was just her luck. 

"Girl, stop staring, Jesus" Alya's voice broke off any coherent line of thought that Marinette could have formed, startling the smaller one. "You're gonna burn holes on that poor boys back"

"Am I that bad, or is it possible that you are just a drama queen hoping to live uncomfortable situations vicariously through me since you are on a happy and commited relationship?" Marinette arched her brown and left out a breath after going through that phrase fast so that her best friend couldn't interrupt.

"I thought you were a double  major on fashion and business, not psychoanalysis, babes" Alya's eyes closed in on her behind the glasses, the tilt of the redhead's head adding to the menacing look.

"And I thought you were on margarita duty. Where are my drinks, Césaire?"

"Here," the sound came from behind Marinette and this time the jump almost made her drop the firmly held karaoke machine. Before she could register the movement, a arm came foward to take it out of her hands, caging her in. "Where do you want these?" The voice was now in her ear, speaking so softly it could only belong to Luka. This time, the surprise made her actually jerk foward and the man stepped back to allow the reaction.

With the added space, Marinette turned to face him, carrying a pint of she supposed were margaritas on one hand and the box who she was just strugglig with on the other like it was nothing. Looking absolutely delicious doing both, not to mention it.

"Sorry for the scare, Mari," he smiled at her apologetic and she believed she could have died right there on the spot, hearing the nickname and seeing the dimples "'I was just trying to help."

"No, no, its okay! Im just... jumpy. So much to do and whatnot" she tried her best to smile back but the proximity made it wobly. she probably looked so silly that just thinking about it made her wanna scream. But Luka didnt seem fazed.

"At your service" Marinette felt like passing out. "I'm gonna find a place to put these down and then come back to help, okay?"

Not trusting herself to speak, the French-Chinese simply nodded, and at that he walked out. Alya's eyes were on her the whole time, fighting back the smirk.

"Not a word" Marinette sushed her, and the journalist cackled into the sky.

***

The party was a success, as far as last minute ones go. It made Rose so happy she teared up a little over the cake, plus she was so delighted at Marinettes dedication to making the whole arrangement work -- and fighting for the party to go on on the first place -- that the petit blond decided to gift her with the first slice of cake.

Now, it was late and they were all a little too buzzed to drive back. The lights and decorations were all still up, so they sat on a messy circle made out of lawn chairs and pillows, chating about nothing in particular.

Somehow, Marinette ended up on Luka's chair, their bodies pressed together in the small space. Looking for the perfect position, luka grabbed her legs so that they were in his lap and trew one of his arms over her shoulders, causing the girl to shiver with the contact.

"You cold?" He asked her while drawing patterns on her knee hith the hand that rested there. She took a minute to answer positively, barely registering that it was a question, concentrating too much on the way his fingers found the spot that got all her hairs standing and saluding the man that was Luka Couffaine. The second shudder was welcomed by him, who took the softly whispered "yes" and the trembling as results of her freezing and not Marinette being turned on. Thank God for small mercies.

With that, Luka got up and sprinted away after drapping his jacket all around her. She didnt quite understand what was going on until he had already organized all the firewood on the middle of the patio and was trying to light it.

He wasnt. No way.

But apparently the thought of setting stuff on fire appealed more to Luka than simply holding her. Awesome.

"Do you ever just forget they're Couffaines? But then they do something like like this." She could hear the laugh in Rose's voice before turning to meet her eye. "In the beggining of our relationship Juleka would pull the most ridiculous stunts and go the hardest lenghts to prove herself to me. It was so silly. I felt like a damsel in distress on a bad mute movie. But don't worry too much about it. Luka is far more vocal than Jules, and even if he weren't they are fast learners, the Couffaines."

...What?

Maybe the confusion was obvious in Marinettes face, or she had said it out loud cause Rose continued.

"What? Did I say something wrong? Did I meddled? Is just that you guys have been on this will they, won't the thing for so long, and neither of you would just come out and say it! It feels good to be finally able to say it, that's it." Marinettes eyes widened even more than she thought it was possible. What the hell Rose thinks is going on?

It was only when all the bluenette could do was look terrified with her mouth basically hanging open, that the blonde one realized she made a mistake.

[young1decade]

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