#I practiced with backgrounds a bit so I finally know something

[piftamere]

if it means something - atsumu x reader

synopsis : atsumu's her best friend, and maybe, one day, he'll finally be more.

content : friends to lovers, timeskip!atsumu, highschool!atsumu, flashbacks, fluff, alcohol consumption, suggestive.

wc : 2k

divider

It’s quiet on the balcony as she steps out, hugging her arms tight against her chest. Atsumu is already there, leaning lazily against the railing. He glances over his shoulder at the sound of the door, and a smile tugs at his mouth when he sees her. 

The breeze is crisp, brushing goosebumps along her skin, she shivers. The late afternoon sun catches in her hair as she settles next to him.

“Cold already? You’ve been here two seconds.”

She nudges his arm with hers. “I forgot how fast the temperature drops here.”

He offers his hoodie silently, she wrinkles her nose at it then loops an arm through his instead. “Better.” She sighs. No matter how comfortable she is around him, her heart still races, still burns, she wonders if he can feel it, if his is doing the same.

He lets her stay close, resting her head on his shoulder, like it’s a habit they never had to learn.

“I’ll never get sick of the view,” she whispers, eyes on the horizon, where the sky burns orange and pink above the city.

He doesn’t answer right away, just watches the light shift across her face. His gaze flicks back over to the horizon, “Yeah, it’s alright.”

She tilts her head up at him, quietly admiring his features. His hair, no longer yellow since she introduced him to toner in college, the small scar above his brow, from when he drunkenly swore he could do a backflip off the front porch of her house.

His eyes crinkle when he catches her looking.

“Quit starin’,” he mutters, eyes still ahead, but the tip of his ears turn pink.

“I’m just looking,” she says lightly. “Is that not allowed?”

“It’s encouraged, actually.”  

She leans in a bit more, teasing, but there’s a catch in her breath. “Really?”

Their eyes lock. He leans in too, just slightly. Like it’s muscle memory, like the sun setting on his balcony is asking them to try again. Her gaze flickers to his lips and back to his eyes, the pull between them unbearable. 

And then– 

“Holy– don’t move!” she hisses suddenly, eyes wide.

He freezes. “What– what is it?”

“There’s a spider in your hair!”

“HUH- GET IT OUT! PLEASE I’M GONNA DIE!”

She bursts into laughter, batting him away as he spins in a panicked circle, his arms flailing. The spider, long gone, never stood a chance. He slumps against the railing, defeated, and echoes her laugh.

“God,” He says, wiping a tear. “We were about to kiss, weren’t we?”

“Probably for the best the spider interrupted,” she chuckles, still grinning. “Would’ve been awkward, huh?”

“Yeah,” he replies, softer now. “’Cause, y’know… never happened before.”

She shoots him a look, fighting the fluttery feeling blooming in her stomach. “Tsumu.”

He raises a hand defensively. “Okay, okay. But, seriously… remember our first kiss?”

“Senior year,” she nods, looking into the distance. “In my parents’ basement.”

~~

A movie was paused in the background, forgotten. She sat cross-legged on the floor, hugging a pillow to her chest, like a shield.

“It’s just practice,” she whispered, trying to ease her nerves. “So I don’t look stupid when it really happens.” 

Atsumu sat across from her, legs stretched out and hands fidgeting in his lap. He nodded, too fast. “Right. Just practice.”

He was trying to act cool, passing a hand through his hair, but his voice cracked.

He shuffled closer. Her heart beat loud against her ribs. She took a deep breath, and put the pillow down by her side. His hands were sweaty and he didn’t know where to place them.

They both leaned in, hesitantly. Two kids unsure of the rules of the game they were playing. Their lips met, awkwardly. Too quick, too tense. The angle was wrong, uncomfortable. He bumped her nose.

“Ow–”

“Sorry!” he blurted, already pulling back. His ears went red.

They chuckled, nervous and breathless. 

“That felt… wrong.” she said.

He cleared his throat. “Round two?”

This time the kiss lasted longer, though still clumsy. His hand grazed her knee, she wasn’t sure if it was intentional. 

When they pulled away, the silence was overwhelming. They stared at each other for a long moment, blinking rapidly.

She broke the silence first, her voice uncertain. “So, I guess that’s it.”

Atsumu leaned back, playing it cool, though his face was flushed. “You’re welcome.” he grinned, boyish.

She groaned and threw the pillow at him, hitting him square in the face, grateful they could pretend it hadn’t meant anything.

~~

“Can I tell you a secret?” Atsumu murmures, looking almost shy.

Her brows lift, curious. “Sure.”

He hesitates, then mutters, “It might shock you, but that night in your basement… that was actually my first kiss too.”

She turns to look at him, eyes wide with mock surprise. “You don’t say.”

He groans. “Come on, at least pretend to be surprised!”

“‘Tsumu… I could tell.” She admits, her hand patting his forearm a little condescendingly.

His jaw drops, scandalized. “HUH?! Because you think you were such a good kisser??” He holds a hand to his chest, wounded.

She snorts. “No, but you were sweating bullets. And you looked terrified.”

A beat passes and they both burst into laughter, leaning against each other.

He recovers first. “Okay but you have to admit, I was better the second time.”

She rolls her eyes. “Hm, practice makes perfect.” 

~~

The bar was loud, too many sweaty bodies crammed into too little space. She only came because Atsumu asked her to. And she never said no to him.

She barely heard his plea above the deafening music. 

"Kiss me." His voice was low and urgent as he slid beside her.

"What?" She blinked up at him.

He looked almost panicked. "Please, my ex’s here." 

She started to turn, instinctively, searching the crowd.

But his hands landed firmly on her shoulders."Don't look. Quick." 

His eyes caught hers, silently begging, reflecting the colored lights hanging above.

There was no time to think, a quick breath, his forehead almost pressed against hers.

So she kissed him. It was nothing like their first. 

Warmer, hotter. More confident. One hand gently holding her face, the other gripping into the fabric of her shirt. It was soft at first, tentative. Then deeper, almost possessive.

When they pulled apart, her head was spinning. She searched his face, for a hint of what he could be thinking, but his expression was unreadable. 

She wanted to ask what it meant. But the moment passed, so she never did.

She moved away soon after.

~~

She narrows her eyes playfully. “What was her name again?”

“I have no idea.”

“Did she even exist?”

He rubs his chin and looks up at the sky, pretending to think about it for a moment. “Hard to say.” 

“I knew it! You sleaze…”

“You’re one to talk. What about Samu’s wedding?”

“Hey!” She protests, punching his shoulder. “You started it!”

~~

Going to his brother’s wedding alone seemed unbearable, but the thought of bringing just some random girl seemed even worse. 

He’d asked her last minute.

“My family already loves you. Please come with me.” He pleaded with big puppy eyes over facetime.

Still unable to refuse him anything, she agreed. She borrowed a dress, booked a train from across the country, and pretended not to be touched when his mom greeted her with a hug, like she was family.

So when Atsumu abandoned her before the ceremony even began, claiming best man obligations, she felt like an idiot.

“Osamu’s having a crisis, he’s a real groomzilla.” He explained, breathless, before disappearing behind a door. 

Before long, she was at his relatives’ mercy, being bombarded by endless questions regarding their relationship.

“Why aren’t you two dating?”

“You’re the only constant in his life.”

“He’s obviously in love with you, why else would he not already be married?”

By the time he found her again, the ceremony was done and she was exhausted. 

He’d traded his sneakers for dress shoes, his tie was loose and his hair was messy, like he passed his hand through it a hundred times.

He leaned on the back of her chair. “Hey,” he whispered in her ear, smiling, “wanna disappear?”

They took a bottle of champagne from the bar, sneaking away to a quiet courtyard behind the venue. The air was warm, and the stars barely visible.

A stone bench stood under a crooked tree, she kicked off her heels before collapsing onto it.

A few steps behind, he chuckled as he joined her. His tie was now fully undone, his jacket slung over his shoulder. He popped the cork with a grin, one that made him look eighteen again, and handed her the bottle.

“To Osamu and Rin,” he toasted, “and to you, for putting up with me.”

She grabbed the bottle from his hand and took a sip, tilting her head back.

“You clean up nice.” She pointed to his shirt.

He looked her up and down, something tender and warm in his eyes. “You look– fuck. Even with like two hours notice, you show up like this? It’s unfair.”

She hummed, pleased. “You’re gonna have to do better than that, you abandoned me.”

“My bad.” He huffed as he bumped her shoulder with his.

“Asshole.” She mumbled as her hand drifted up, brushing through his hair. 

His face was flushed–blame it on the champagne. His eyes fluttered shut when her nails scraped lightly against the back of his neck. His breath hitched. 

His lips were on hers before she could think.

Sudden. But not unexpected.

The kiss was slow, hungry, like all that built-up tension had been waiting years for this moment.

His hands settled at her waist, hers tangled in his hair, every second the distance between them grew smaller. 

They tilted over, too eager and too tipsy to stay upright.

Her dress hiked up as his knee drew higher, his jacket fell to the ground. His mouth slid along her jaw, then down her neck, whispering her name into her skin like a prayer.

“Am I interrupting?” Suna cleared his throat. 

Atsumu groaned loudly and immediately buried his face in her neck.

Suna, looking absolutely not surprised, was standing a few feet away. “You’ve got about three minutes to get your shit together. Best man speech.”

Atsumu flipped him off with one hand, muttering curses into her skin.

~~

Atsumu makes a face, sighing. “Cockblock of the year.”

“Maybe it was a good thing,” she says, laughing, but her voice is a little more shaky than she intends. “God knows what would’ve happened.”

He slumps against the railing, staring at the sky above, a frown on his lips. “I know what would’ve happened.”

She knows it’s a joke, it always is, but her heartbeat still quickens. In an attempt to slow it down, she deflects, giving him a playful shove. “Bad idea, we were so drunk.”

“I was barely tipsy. You on the other hand…” He points his finger at her.

“Hey! Do I have to remind you that you slurred all the way through your speech?”

“And you passed out in the back! I had to carry you back to your room.” 

“I was definitely asleep and not pretending because I was too lazy to walk.”

He laughs again, but this time it trails off into comfortable silence. Their shoulders are pressed together, she can feel the weight of his gaze before she turns to meet it.

Suddenly, she’s aware of every breath, every inch that separates them. Aware of how, despite everything, they keep coming back to each other, to this.

It's a good thing they’re not drunk now. Or maybe it’s worse, because the way he’s looking at her, clear-eyed and steady, is somehow more dangerous.

“Tsumu,” her voice is soft, somewhere between a warning and a prayer.

He watches her for a beat longer, then shrugs. “One more kiss can’t hurt?”

Her lips part, but no sound comes out. Her body moves before her mind, her reason, can stop her. And she hopes that if she kisses him now, it won’t be like the others. That this one will mean something.

[proteas-leaf]

I finished it y'all! Can't believe it actually came out good 👍

Details under cut

Temple:

Jellyfishes 🪼🪼

And the writing under the title that ends with a strange and imperfect colored couple of letters. :)

Now may you go and read it? Don't worry, you can find it on Wattpad too if you do not have Quotev! ❤️

[dior-luxury]

You Being Super Oblivious Of Them Flirting With You

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff/light romance - no prns .

- [𝐜𝐡.] 3rd years

- [𝐩:𝐬] slow burn . one-sided pinning (resolved) . light comedy . mild suggestiveness . teasing/banter . slight jealousy

Note: I sat down to write cute flirty headcanons and instead accidentally wrote all of these guys having a romantic breakdown in about their crush being so oblivious about the flirting. 💀 Then I thought they where good and just decided to go with that as the prompt!

Trey Clover

It had been going on for weeks.

Subtle, harmless gestures at first—sharing his homemade treats, seeking you out in the hallways between classes, and always making sure there was a spare seat beside him at Heartslabyul’s long, rose-lined table. You always took it. Smiling up at him, laughing at his jokes, even leaning against his shoulder sometimes when the evenings stretched long and drowsy under the golden canopy of dusk.

And yet.

You were completely, utterly oblivious.

“You’re really good at baking, Trey,” you complimented one day as he handed you a small, ribbon-tied box of matcha-flavored sweets, his personal recipe he never shared. You bit into one, eyes lighting up in delight. “I don’t know how someone like you is still single.”

Trey blinked.

“...Someone like me?”

“Yeah! Tall, dependable, cute smile—you’re like...dad boyfriend material.”

If he had been drinking tea, he might’ve choked.

Dad boyfriend material?!

Despite the polite, affable smile he wore, a faint twitch of disbelief rippled across his temple. Trey had dropped so many hints—letting you taste frosting off his finger in the kitchen, gently brushing your hair out of your eyes when you leaned too close to the oven, even calling you “sweetheart” under his breath when you dozed off during a study session.

And yet, here you were. Thinking he was some domestic teddy bear.

The final straw came during a Heartslabyul tea party, when you reached over to wipe a crumb from the corner of his mouth with your thumb, completely unaware of how red his ears turned.

“You’re always such a mess after eating cake,” you scolded gently.

“You do realize,” he said slowly, looking into your eyes with a rare, unreadable intensity, “that I only ever bring you the first slice.”

“Huh? I just thought I was lucky!” you grinned.

That did it.

He leaned in, lowering his voice as he caged you between the chair and the hedge behind. His gloved hand gently tipped your chin up. “I’ve been flirting with you for months,” he murmured. “How much more obvious do I have to be, shortcake?”

Your mouth dropped open. “Wha—wait, what?!”

Trey laughed softly, finally letting his forehead rest against yours, the tension melting into something warm, golden, and soft. “I swear, you’re sweeter than my tarts and twice as dense.”

Cater Diamond

“Okay, I give up,” Cater announced dramatically, collapsing face-down on the common room couch. “I’ve tried everything, and they still don’t get it.”

From behind his phone screen, he peeked at you sitting nearby, nose buried in a magazine, completely unaware of his suffering.

It had started as a game at first—light teasing, exaggerated winks, the occasional compliment laced with glittering charm.

“Looking good today, babe~” he’d say, snapping a selfie of the two of you while slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“Thanks, Cater! You look amazing too, as always!”

But you always said it like a friend. With zero hesitation, zero fluster, zero realization. You treated his affection like background noise—a quirk of his personality.

Even when he’d rested his head in your lap after a long day and looked up at you with dreamy, sleepy eyes and whispered, “You’d make a perfect boyfriend, y'know... if you’d let me,” you just chuckled and patted his hair.

“Aw, Cater, that’s sweet. You’d be a great boyfriend for someone, definitely.”

Someone.

SOMEONE.

He practically screamed into his pillow when he got back to his dorm that night.

Every day since then had been a desperate escalation. He started bringing you your favorite snacks, styling your hair for fun, sending you good morning texts with pet names like “sunshine” or “my star.” You responded with gifs. Gifs.

Finally, in a move of last-ditch desperation, he planned the boldest romantic gesture he could think of.

Cater rented out the photo booth in town, the one with the glitter backgrounds and soft lighting. He dragged you inside under the pretense of wanting “a bestie shoot,” and waited for the moment the countdown began.

Three…

Two…

One—

He turned, cupped your face, and kissed your cheek.

Click. Flash.

You blinked at him.

“Cater?? What was that for?”

He stared.

“No, seriously. Are you okay? Did you think I was sad or something? You can talk to me, y’know.”

Cater threw his hands up and groaned.

“You’re the one I like!! You! Not as a friend, not as a selfie buddy, not as a human pillow—I like you, you dense little cinnamon bun!”

Your eyes widened. “Wait. Are you flirting with me?”

He looked like he aged five years in five seconds.

“Yes. YES, BABE. That’s what the last four months were. Flirting. Full-throttle, heart-eyes, rom-com level flirting!”

“…Oh.”

A pause. Then, sheepishly:

“So… wanna take another photo? This time, maybe I kiss you on the lips?”

Cater blinked at your soft smile and the way your hand found his.

And just like that, every ounce of frustration melted into sparkly euphoria. “Oh my Seven,” he whispered with a grin. “Finally.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona was not a man known for patience. In fact, most of the time, he prided himself on getting what he wanted with the least amount of effort. He was sharp, cunning, and confident enough to know that most people would bend over backward just to get a sliver of his attention. So when he set his sights on you—you, with your soft laugh, bright eyes, and completely clueless smile—he assumed it would be easy.

It wasn’t.

It started small. He’d lounge in the botanical gardens where he knew you always came to study. He made sure to growl off anyone else who might sit nearby, leaving the two of you in your own little secluded corner. He'd toss you the occasional compliment, his voice lazy and low.

“Tch. That look suits you, herbivore. Finally got some style.”

You’d blink at him with that warm, clueless grin. “Oh? Thanks, Leona. My friend helped me pick this outfit.”

He resisted the urge to growl. Again.

Then he escalated. He’d sit closer—closer than anyone would consider “just friends.” He'd drop hints laced with suggestion, his amber eyes narrowing when you remained oblivious. He once even played with your hair, idly running his fingers through it while you yawned and continued taking notes on magical herbology.

It got to the point where Ruggie cornered you in the hallway, shaking his head in disbelief. “You seriously don’t get it? He’s basically marking his territory every time you’re near!”

“Huh? Leona? Nah, he’s just... touchy sometimes.”

Leona nearly tore his textbooks in half when he heard that.

The final straw came one warm afternoon when you plopped down beside him under the shade of a sprawling tree. You smiled and passed him a snack you'd made, and Leona, in a bold move of desperation and hunger for your attention, leaned down and bit into it directly from your hand, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

You just blinked and said, “You must’ve been really hungry!”

Leona threw himself backward into the grass with a groan, covering his eyes with his arm.

“Seven hells, you’re dense,” he muttered.

“Huh?”

He sat up again, eyes narrowed, voice husky. “Do I need to spell it out for you, herbivore? I’m not just hanging around you ‘cause I’m bored. I’m trying to get you to notice me.”

You tilted your head, confused. “But I do notice you…”

“No,” he growled, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly, tugging you closer. “Notice me. As in, I want you. You. Me. Together. You seriously didn’t get that?”

You froze. And then it hit you like a freight train. The closeness, the compliments, the touches, the possessiveness—

“Oh... OH.”

Leona smirked, fangs glinting in the sun. “Took you long enough.”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil was always graceful, always poised, always in control. He calculated every step, every glance, every smile. So naturally, when he decided to pursue you, he did it with the same precision he applied to a stage performance or a red-carpet event. Subtle glances, gentle compliments, a brush of his fingers across your shoulder. It was a slow-burning courtship that he expected would sweep you off your feet.

But instead?

Nothing.

Nothing but your charming smile and occasional, completely unbothered “Thank you, Vil!” or “You’re so sweet!” before skipping off to your next class.

He chalked it up to modesty at first. Maybe you were shy. Maybe you wanted to play hard to get. But by week three, when he sent you a handpicked bouquet of enchanted roses and you gave them to Professor Trein’s cat because “it matched her fur,” Vil nearly fainted on the spot.

So, he got bolder.

One afternoon, he strode into your dorm’s common room while you were curled up on a couch with a book. Wordlessly, he slipped beside you and sat right in your lap, settling as gracefully as ever, legs crossed, arm lazily draped around your shoulders.

You blinked. “Are you tired? You can sit here as long as you need.”

Vil’s eye twitched.

“Tired? No, darling, I wanted to sit somewhere comfortable and charming. Surely you understand the appeal.” He leaned in, his breath tickling your ear. “Or is my lap too forward for your delicate sensibilities?”

You laughed lightly. “Nope! You’re light. I didn’t even notice the weight. Kinda like a cat. A really fashionable one.”

Fashionable cat?!

Vil nearly stood up right then and there, scandalized. But no—he took a deep breath. Composure. Poise.

Until you reached up and started patting his head.

“You’re so pretty, Vil. I hope I can be as pretty as you one day.”

“…I’m not trying to be ‘pretty like you,’ I’m trying to be yours,” he hissed in exasperation, face dangerously close to yours.

You blinked again. “Wait… what?”

Vil’s patience finally snapped like a taut ribbon.

“For the love of all that is radiant—I have been flirting with you for months. I’ve complimented you, made time for you, bought you gifts, and now I am literally sitting on your lap! What more must I do? Wear a sign that says ‘I want to be yours’?”

You gaped at him.

“…I thought you were just naturally dramatic.”

Vil groaned, burying his face in your neck. “You’ll be the death of me.”

You awkwardly wrapped your arms around him, finally catching on. “Wait, so… you like me?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, expression softening ever so slightly. “I more than like you. But you, sweet potato, are so hopelessly dense.”

You laughed nervously, cheeks burning. “I’m really sorry… but, um… I like you too. I just didn’t think you’d like someone like me.”

Vil huffed, but a genuine smile curled on his lips. “Well, you’re mine now. And you’ll never be oblivious again, because I won’t give you the chance to miss it.”

Rook Hunt

To Rook, this was a challenge—a delicious, exquisite one.

He was well aware of how utterly unaware you were. The first time he realized, it was during archery club. He complimented the way your arms flexed as you pulled the bowstring, his tone sultry, his gaze locked on you like you were his prey.

You grinned and said, “Haha, thanks! I’ve been working out my shoulders. Good for posture!”

He tilted his head, lips curled in amusement. “Ah, ma colombe, you are truly a creature of mystery~”

But instead of giving up, Rook only doubled down. He started leaving flowers at your desk with poetic notes—sometimes with metaphors so thick they practically screamed “I am in love with you!”

You just thought it was a Rook thing.

“You’re so sweet! You write such beautiful stuff. Have you thought of joining the poetry club?”

Poetry club…?! Mon dieu, I am baring my soul!

He even tried the "accidental touch" method—fingers brushing yours when passing a book, hands lingering too long during sparring practice. Yet you never reacted with more than a casual smile and a “You okay?”

And Rook? He found it thrilling.

“This unawareness… this resistance… c’est magnifique!” he whispered one day, watching you from the balcony like a Shakespearean ghost. “You are like a doe in the forest, unaware of the eyes that follow you in reverent adoration…”

The final straw was when he kissed the back of your hand under the moonlight after walking you to your dorm. With an air of mystery and drama, he looked into your eyes and murmured, “Bonsoir, ma lumière…”

You giggled. “Wow, you really should join the drama club. That delivery was incredible.”

Rook clutched his chest like he’d been shot, but he was laughing too. Of course. Of course you didn’t get it.

But that just made him want you more.

“I shall make it my mission to pierce through the veil of innocence that blinds you, mon trésor,” he declared to the stars. “You will see me—not as a friend, not as a fellow student—but as the man who has adored you all this time.”

Idia Shroud

It was exhausting trying to flirt with someone who didn’t even realize you were the final boss in their dating sim.

Idia never considered himself bold—not IRL, anyway. Most of his romantic experience came from watching his OTPs go through slow-burn arcs in visual novels or tragic anime love stories. But when it came to you, he was trying. Like, genuinely. In his own glitchy, socially awkward way.

He’d wait outside your classroom “totally coincidentally” with his tablet in hand, acting like he wasn’t tracking your class schedule to the minute. He even upgraded Ortho’s AI recognition software just to find excuses to walk past you more often. He quoted romantic lines from his favorite games to you, hoping you’d get it—but every single time?

You’d just blink. Smile. Nod like he was being cute.

“Oh, that line was so poetic! Is that from a movie or something?”

“B-bro that’s from Stellar Lust IV! The confession scene where the star-crossed lovers reunite under a dying moon! Are you seriously not…? Nvm.”

One afternoon, he got bold. He invited you to his room. That alone should’ve been a confession—no one entered his sacred gaming lair unless they had maximum trust level.

He cleared off a place on the bed, installed RGB mood lighting, even had anime OSTs playing softly in the background. He hyped himself up for weeks for this. He was going to drop a flirt so obvious, even a level 1 NPC could read it.

“So, u-uh, you ever wonder what it’d be like to… y’know… date a genius tech prince who could hack into the city grid just to turn all the traffic lights green for you?”

You tilted your head. “That sounds dangerous… but also kind of cool? Is this part of your new game concept?”

He.exe stopped working.

The blue flames of his hair turned pink for half a second before sizzling back.

He mumbled something incoherent and turned back to his computer, pulling his hoodie so far over his head he looked like a turtle. “N-no, yeah, that was just… haha… worldbuilding...”

He’d keep trying though. One day, he’d craft a cutscene so perfect, even you couldn’t ignore the affection coded into every line.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus was not used to being ignored. Or overlooked. Or, heaven forbid—misunderstood. He was the Crown Prince of Briar Valley, the most feared and powerful student on campus. And yet, here he was, casting ancient spells to conjure glowing roses and coaxing fireflies into hearts over your tea cup—only for you to respond with:

“Wow, Malleus! You always make things so aesthetic!”

He blinked. "Aesthetic?"

“Yeah! Super vibey. You should be a party planner.”

He nearly short-circuited.

This had been happening for weeks. He’d memorized your schedule, just so he could “coincidentally” be where you were. He’d offer to walk you home under the stars, hoping for soft-spoken confessions—but you only asked him if he thought raccoons had hierarchies in their little trash kingdoms.

...You were enchanting. But you were driving him mad.

One day, after finding yet another love poem he’d slipped into your book returned with grammar corrections (you thought he was practicing his prose), he decided on something bold. Direct. Unmistakable.

“Child of man,” Malleus said one twilight evening as you both sat beneath a tree, “if I were to tell you that my heart beats differently in your presence, that the night air tastes sweeter when you laugh—what would you say?”

You tilted your head, thinking. “I’d say you have a really poetic way of saying you like hanging out.”

“I do not merely like hanging out,” he said slowly, brow twitching. “I wish to court you.”

You stared. “Like… on trial?”

“…Romantically.”

“Ohhhh.”

Silence.

“Wait, me?!”

Malleus closed his eyes and inhaled. Patience. He could wait a thousand years more. But hopefully not.

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia Vanrouge had seen centuries of war, peace, love, loss—and yet nothing, nothing, had prepared him for the sheer unshakable obliviousness that was you.

It started innocently enough.

He’d toss a wink your way whenever he passed by in the hallway. He brought you little trinkets from the village during his off-campus ventures—flowers woven into chains, sweets with hearts drawn on the wrappers, one time even a hairpin shaped like a bat. You had smiled and thanked him with the kind of radiant purity that could blind a mortal man. And then you tucked the bat hairpin in your pencil case.

Your pencil case. Like he was a math worksheet and not a 700+ year old fae trying to court you.

Still, he found it endearing. You were cute in a way that made his ageless heart ache, and he loved a challenge. So he tried harder.

“You know,” he drawled one afternoon, leaning over your shoulder with a voice like velvet, “in my youth, a suitor might serenade their beloved beneath the moonlight.”

“That’s sweet,” you said, eyes on your textbook. “Did they ever get noise complaints?”

He blinked. “...Noise complaints?”

“Well, if it was late and they were singing outside someone’s window… I bet a lot of people weren’t exactly swooning.”

For a moment, Lilia just stared at you. And then he burst out laughing, so hard he had to wipe a tear from his eye.

“You are either brilliantly teasing me,” he chuckled, “or heartbreakingly naive.”

You smiled at him, not understanding in the slightest.

The final straw came when he invited you for a midnight flight—romantic, intimate, just the two of you soaring above the moon-drenched trees. You screamed with laughter and clung to him the entire way, yelling about how cool it was and how friends like him were the best.

“Friends,” Lilia repeated afterward, voice soft and low as you happily ate the little picnic he’d prepared.

You looked up. “Yeah. I’m lucky to have you.”

He sighed with a small, defeated smile, but his eyes were warm. “The luck,” he murmured, “is all mine, dear.”

[lxnarphase]

g. satoru who is a massive pervert and constantly whines for you to let him touch you all the time, even when you're both around others. you've lost count of how many times he grabs you and pulls you into his lap, his warm hands slipping under your shirt while sitting next to g. suguru, who's attention is no longer on the tv.

'he doesn't mind,' satoru always comforts you, grinning into the skin of your neck. 'sugu's my best friend, he knows i can't help but touch you, baby.'

best friend or not, that doesn't explain how you always ended up with your legs spread open wide in satoru's lap, your jeans and panties discarded somewhere on the floor as suguru kisses all over your thighs. the two of them talk like you aren't even there, as if you aren't growing wetter as each second passes.

"satoru," suguru purrs, his fingers running up and down your soft lips, parting them open to watch slick slowly drip out of you. "you must be doing something else to her. i've never seen it get wet so quickly." the way he speaks so calmly makes you dizzy. it's unfair, so fucking unfair how calm and collected suguru is when he's inches away from your pussy, those pretty purple eyes focused on it.

"yeah? 's wet?" it's also unfair how riled up it gets satoru, seeing his pretty baby getting shy because his best friend is rubbing his fingers up and down her slick folds. "she's so messy, isn't she? she's the prettiest little pussy," he coos into your ear. that gets a chuckle from suguru, his eyes finally looking at you. "always the one to talk to the pussy and not about it, aren't you, satoru?"

his fingers finally focus on your clit, rubbing little circles into it. both you and satoru look pretty from this angle, suguru notices. the pure need and shyness on your face paired with that manic desperation on satoru's...it's a perfect picture, one he wants saved forever. maybe next time you'll let him take some pictures...after all, he needs a new background for his phone.

"c'mooon, sugu...give her a kiss? c'mon, c'mon, give that cunt a kiss, tell me how sticky 'n' wet she is," satoru fucking begs, acting as if he's the one spread open and dripping. but you second the thought, giving suguru the prettiest little puppy eyes.

"anything for you, princess," he coos softly, leaning down and pressing a little kiss on your clit. it's so light you barely feel it but then he's peppering kisses on it, your wetness starting to get on his lips and making each press of his lips sticker and wetter. "s-sugu-!" before you can even beg for more, his mouth is on you. his tongue is so wet and hot on your cunt, it feels like he was drooling for you.

"does she taste good? how wet is she, suguru, c'mon, tell me, tell me how that pussy tastes, pretty please?"

"mm, satoru, it's almost as if you wanted to be between her legs."

"who wouldn't? she's so pretty, she's squirmin' so cutely, my pretty baby, my needy little mochi, her pussy's always so creamy and warm and messy, god, i miss it right now."

"shit...stop talking like that, you're gettin' me flustered, should i-"

"s-sugu, please, keep going," you so politely ask. it's unbearable how cute you are, it's taking everything in him to keep being nice, to keep treating your cunt nicely. he knows satoru is mean and practically bullies your pretty slit almost every day, but he wants to be the nice one, the one who you go to when your 'toru' is being too mean. yet, you're making it so fucking hard when you look at him with lidded eyes that beg him to be rougher with you...

but he knows he's done for when satoru whispers something in your ear that has your eyes fluttering a bit and gets a pretty little gasp from you. those gorgeous eyes—oh, do you have little tears in them too?—connect with his and he's fucked.

"s-suguuu, please," you coo to him, moving your legs to hook over his shoulders and pull him closer to the apex of your thighs. "i need your mouth on my pussy r-really bad, please don't tease me." you take a pause and squeeze your eyes shut, whining a little as satoru coos for you to keep going. "g-give my...my messy cunt attention, suguru..."

suguru shakily sighs and the next thing you know, his mouth is smushed against your pussy, his tongue hungrily swirling against your clit as his hands grab onto the fat of your thighs. he doesn't know what gojo told you in order to hear you say that, but he's silently thanking him as he messily sucks and slurps at your juicy cunt.

it's so hot, all it takes is a few swipes of his tongue and you're gushing everywhere. suguru lowers his head to dip into your hole and he moans. he missed this, missed the sweet taste of your juices on his tongue as you squirmed and moaned for him, your boyfriend's best friend.

"fuck, i-i can hear how wet she is," comes satoru's pitiful whine, his hand dipping down to swipe at your clit as suguru focused on lapping up everything that dripped out of you. "lemme help, lemme help, wanna help you get her creamy, sugu." the feeling of suguru groaning into your puffy folds has you keening, arching your back against satoru's chest. oh, he's in heaven watching you both. "yeah, you didn't know she could cream, didya? put your fingers in her, sugu, put 'em in that sticky little pussy 'n' angle up."

reluctantly pulling his mouth off you with a wet sound, suguru slips two of his fingers in you. he doesn't miss the cry of his name, but he really doesn't miss the delirious giggle and moan when he angles his fingers up, rubbing against that spongy spot.

"f-fuck, she's dripping..."

"go on, fuck her with your fingers, you know you wanna see her make a mess. make her fucking cream, suguru, get her prepped. maybe t'day she'll let you put it in...oh, based on your face, she just clenched on your fingers, yeah?"

his fingers are still swirling around your clit, his other coming down to press on your abdomen. he can hear you getting wetter, your little whimpers turning to moans as you slur their names desperately. he wants you to lose all thoughts, only able to think about him and suguru...yeah, he wants you all soft and sweet so he and his best friend can try and slip into those warm, slick walls.

"mmn...she's really creaming...god, pretty girl, can you cum for me? i wanna see you cum on my fingers. satoru, move your fingers, the poor thing needs my mouth on her."

"hmmm, suddenly you know what she needs? ehehehe, you're learninggg, suguruuuu!" if you had turned to look at satoru, you'd see the charged look in his eye, blue eyes practically glowing with insanity. his hand grabs a fistful of suguru's hair and pulls his face directly into your cunt, unable to handle any more of this. he wanted to see you cum on suguru's face.

"c'mon, c'mon, kiss it, suguru, make it messy for the both of us. mmh, fuck, listen to you making out with her pussy, s' wet and sticky, isn't it? oohmygod, both of you sound so good, she's gonna cum, sugu, she's gonna cum in your mouth...fuck, i love you both so much, can't wait to see you both fucking each other."

[ivyues]

First-Night-Nerves and Quite Moments: Stray Kids' reactions to first sleepovers

Bang Chan

Chris arrived at your place after a tiring recording session but smiled when he greeted you. "You look dead on your feet," you teased, pulling him inside.

He chuckled, rubbing his neck. "I didn’t want to miss seeing you."

As the night went on, you could see his exhaustion growing. "Why don’t you just stay over? You can't drive home like this." He hesitated for a moment before responding, "Only if you're okay with it."

He offered to sleep on the couch, but you insisted that you share the bed. After a few more moments of uncertainty, he finally agreed, lying down beside you but keeping a respectful distance. He stayed rigid, his heart raced every time he heard you shift.

Finally, you whispered, "Channie, are you uncomfortable?"

He sighed softly. "I don’t want to overstep or make you uncomfortable." Smiling, you gently nudged his arm. "You’re not. Relax."

After a long pause, he put an arm around you, his voice barely a whisper. "Is this okay?" You nodded, leaning into him. "Much better."

Lee Know

Minho had suggested the sleepover a few days earlier, jokingly adding, "Bring snacks, though. And make sure they're the good kind."

The evening was full of both of your playful banter, but when it came time to settle in, he was oddly quiet. He flopped onto the bed first, leaving ample space for you. He mumbled a quick, "Goodnight," avoiding eye contact.

After a few moments, you shifted in bed, pulling the blanked tighter around yourself. 

"You cold?" he asked quietly.

When you nodded, he threw an arm over you, mumbling, "Don't hog the blanket though." His tone was playful, but you could tell he was still a bit nervous, as if trying to seem nonchalant.

You smiled to yourself in the dark, knowing he was more anxious than he let on.

Changbin

When Changbin invited you over, his casual attitude almost masked the amount of thought he’d put into it. His place was spotless, a soft playlist playing in the background, and the bed piled high with pillows.

"You didn't have to go all out," you teased, settling on his freshly fluffed couch.

He laughed nervously. "It's nothing. Just wanted it to be nice."

As the night wore on, he seemed to become more fidgety, checking everything multiple times. "Pillow good? Too much blanket? Too little blanket?"

You couldn’t help but laugh. "Everything’s perfect, Binnie. Let's just sleep."

When you settled in bed, Changbin stayed awake for a while, marveling at how surreal it felt to have you there beside him. It was a quiet, content moment, and he couldn’t help but smile softly to himself.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin suggested the sleepover during a late-night call, his voice laced with excitement. "We could paint, watch a movie, just hang out."

When you arrived, the room was already set up – soft fairy lights glowing and paints neatly arranged. The evening felt like something out of a dream, filled with laughter and gentle kisses as you painted side by side.

When it was time to sleep, Hyunjin grew quiet, nervously scratching the back of his neck. "I... uh... set up the bed for us," he said, his voice soft.

You smiled and took his hand, guiding him to lie down beside you. He laid awake for a while, stealing nervous glances at you, overwhelmed by how lucky he felt to have you there. It felt like something so special and intimate, yet so natural.

Han

Han had come over for an anime night, and after binging a whole series, it was well past midnight. You casually suggested him to stay.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

"Yeah, it’s late. I don’t want you going back."

He agreed, but the nervous energy practically radiated off him. "So, uh... where do you want me to sleep?" he asked, glancing between the couch and your bedroom door.

"The bed’s big enough for both of us. It’s no big deal." You said softly.

His eyes widened, and he nodded. "Right. Totally normal."

Once in bed, he lay stiffly, staring at the ceiling. After a few minutes, he whispered, "Thanks for letting me stay. I feared it might be... weird."

You smiled, turning to face him. "You’re overthinking it, Hannie. Just relax."

His nervous laugh was soft, and eventually, his body relaxed. By the time you fell asleep, he was already snoring lightly, a peaceful smile on his lips.

Felix

Felix had shyly suggested the sleepover after you both talked about wanting to spend more time together. "Only if you’re comfortable, of course," he’d said, his voice soft. "I’ll make pancakes in the morning."

When the night arrived, he welcomed you with a warm hug and a beaming smile. The evening was filled with cookie baking and watching your favorite movies.

Later, as you cautiously laid in bed next to each other, he hesitated before asking, "Is it okay if I...?" His hand hovered near yours, waiting for you to take it.

You smiled and nodded, and he gently wrapped his fingers around yours. As you drifted off to sleep, he stayed awake for a while, his heart full and his cheeks glowing with happiness.

Seungmin

The evening you agreed on staying over, Seungmin’s room was immaculate, every detail carefully thought out. He handed you an extra pillow with a smile. "Just let me know if you need anything."

As the night went on, his calm demeanor started to falter. When it came time to lie down, he placed a noticeable gap between you.

"You don’t have to stay all the way over there," you teased.

His ears turned bright red, but he slowly moved closer. Over time, the initial awkwardness faded, and he found himself relaxing in your presence.

By morning, you woke to find his hand resting just inches from yours, a quiet but undeniable sign of his affection.

I.N

Jeongin had been thrilled about the sleepover, texting you excitedly about movies, snacks, and possibly even a pillow fight.

When you arrived, he greeted you with an eager grin, his energy infectious. The night was filled with laughter as you watched old comedies and built a blanket fort together.

During a snack pause, Jeongin suddenly stood up and headed toward his closet.

"Here," he said, pulling out one of his favorite hoodies. He tossed it over to you, a little shy but still smiling. "You can wear it while we watch the next movie."

When it was time to sleep, Jeongin grew quieter, his confidence replaced by a shy smile. "I hope the bed’s okay," he said softly, glancing at you.

masterlist

[luveline]

i NEED anything with glasses reid or munch reid i’m literally frothing at the mouth 🙏

ty for ur request :D fem!reader

"Emily," you say weakly. "What is that?" 

Emily looks up from her desk, clearly desperate for a distraction, the lip of her coffee mug against painted lips. "What's what?" 

"That." You point. You feel sick to your stomach. "That right there." 

"Oh," Emily says happily. "You finally noticed. Yeah, Spence forgot to renew his contact prescription. He has to wear glasses for two weeks." 

Spencer stands by the photocopier with a perturbed frown, clicking a button, then another. His brow is furrowed and his hair is falling into his eyes. He has the stupidest, dorkiest, prettiest face, and practically every expression he makes has you weak in the knees.

"That long?" you ask. 

Derek looks up in concern at your pained tone, following the line of your eyes. When he realises what it is that's hurt you so, he skirts around the desk to shake your shoulder. "You could always tell him how you feel. I'm sure he'd keep the lenses forever if he knew you liked them." 

"I don't like them," you say. You sound faraway to your own ears. You hate them. They're gonna be your demise. 

Spencer runs a fingertip across the photocopier's screen, in his own world as the machine finally begins to chug out whatever it is he'd been wanting a duplicate of. The frames of his glasses sit snug on his nose. You can tell from even this distance that the lenses make his eyes look a tiny bit smaller. You could probably point out a misplaced freckle if he asked you to.

"Don't be cruel, he looks cute," Emily teases. 

Spencer collects his papers, shuffling them into a straight line as he makes his way back to the bullpen. You pretend to take interest in Emily's things. She sips her coffee too nonchalantly. Derek doesn't even bother pretending. 

"What?" Spencer asks, swift to spot your suspicious behaviours. "Is it the glasses?" 

You wince. "Of course not. You look… you look really nice, Spence." 

"You know he used to wear 'em every day?" Derek asks.

You would've died. "Before I joined?" 

"For a few years," Spencer says, looking you over. "You're unhappy. Is something wrong?" 

He looks to Derek and Emily for confirmation. Emily stutters for an answer while Derek laughs in the background, "She– you know. She just– She missed breakfast!" 

Spencer pushes his glasses up his nose by the leg and drops his copies onto the desk. "I have dried apricot in my bag. Two seconds." 

He bends over his chair to retrieve his bag from under the desk. Your eyes blow wide at his position, the sudden demonstration of well-fitted pants. Derek's laugh echoes up to the eaves. 

"And he has that twenty four seven," Emily says against the rim of her coffee. 

You scrunch your eyes closed and tilt your head back. After a few seconds, a hand touches your elbow gently, a hesitance that comes with only one member of the BAU. "You okay?" Spencer asks. 

"I'm okay. Headache," you lie. 

Spencer presses the apricot into your hands. "Maybe you should see an optician. You know they can tell if you have a brain tumour from one photo of your sclera?" He smiles morbidly, his glasses slipping down his nose. "They measure the size of your optic disk. It takes less than a minute. I can give you the name of my doctor, if you want. She's nice. Not as nice as you." 

Your throat is so dry you can't form words to answer him. He doesn't judge your rigid nodding. 

"I'll write down the number for you. And, Y/N?" 

"Yeah?" you choke out. 

"You look really nice today, too." 

Emily has to kick you in the leg to bring you back to earth. Stupid Spencer. Stupid lovely glasses. 

[ce1estiall]

come over

summary hopkins!paige x classmate!reader cramming for finals, so you decided you needed a studying break. masterlist

warnings fluff

celestial notes quick fic during my study break for finals 😅 enjoy :)

“and im crying out for anything, and the thought of something else

oh, i know you want to take my hand

so come over and dance.” come over - le sserafim

finals were something everyone has been dreading. you could feel the freedom of summer just around the corner, but not when your grades were on the line.

procrastination was your worst enemy, as you prioritized your happiness until the pressure was on at the last moment possible. however, this didn’t affect your schooling as you were a student with a 4.0.

paige on the other hand prioritized the athlete in student-athlete. she was constantly in the gym, most of the time being the last one to leave when it was pitch black outside. however, she still had amazing grades, which made her receive that offer from uconn.

you and paige met in ap lit. first week of school and transitioning into each of your classes, getting to know your teachers and any new students you haven’t met before. you sat down in your seat which was near the wall. music blasting in your earbuds in your right ear. you leaned your head on the wall and closed your eyes, already exhausted from the first week back attempting to find temporary relaxation. you didn’t feel as recharged as you thought you would by the time school started.

paige sat down, messy bun with a nike headband, with blue hopkins women’s basketball nike tech.

“hey! i’m paige” the blonde waved. you shot her a faint smile. “hi.” you introduced yourself to her briefly, as you didn’t see her before.

“cat got your tongue?” paige teased, laughing at her own joke. “nah, i’m just playing. how was your summer?”

you broke out of your shell just a little bit. still somewhat quiet, but putting yourself out there. “it was okay. i slept a lot, but went to the beach and watched the sunset.”

she was intrigued when you started talking. paige loved your voice, it soothed her worries like a cozy warm blanket in the middle of winter. “i love the beach, it’s so relaxing. i love hearing the sound of the waves crashing and the birds chirping behind. and the view? you can never beat a sunset at the beach. like at all.”

you both let soft giggles hit the air as the bell rang, signaling the start of class.

the teacher introduced herself and the class. saying how it was challenging, but it will help you in the future on how to make your writing solid. your teacher assigned a project based on the book that was assigned over the summer, in cold blood.

when the teacher said you could choose and work with partners, paige’s ears perked up, then she turned and smiled at you. a smile like the cheshire cat growing from ear to eat

that one little introduction and project that you and paige did with each other changed everything. you both became closer, and stuck like glue. she was the other half of you that you never discovered.

it was the early evening, the night before your algebra 2 final, and you were cramming, attempting to memorize formulas left and right as you gulped down a red-bull. lofi music played elegantly in the background as a lavender scented candle burned in the back, temporarily gifting you some zen from the scent. after what seemed like 700 practice problems later, you were burnt out. you called paige, praying she would give you motivation during a study break.

you picked up the phone and called her. she was on speed dial as she was one of your favorite contacts.

the phone rang 4 times until you heard a faint “hello?”

“paige.” you said in an anxious tone.

she seemed concerned, knowing you never called her out of the blue. “what’s up? what’s wrong?”

you sighed deeply from the stress that was on your chest. “i’m studying for my algebra final and i’m so fucking stressed. i feel like i’m about to lose my mind.”

silence temporarily took over. “i’ll be there in 5.”

“wait wh-“ was all you could managed to get out until she hung up the phone on you.

what seemed like seconds, you heard the buzzing of the doorbell and immediately knew who it was. you ran downstairs and pretended to act shocked when you saw the basketball superstar already in front of your doorstep. you saw the keys in her hands, knowing she drove herself here.

“what did you do? fly down the road?” you looked at her as if she were crazy.

paige laughed. “pretty much.” she entered the house and took off her slides, closing the door behind her, running upstairs to your room before jumping on your bed. a sunset light dimmed to the ceiling, fading from purple to orange and yellow. “damn this room just feels stressed.”

she got up from the bed as you sat down back at your desk, notebooks and pens scattered. she walked to your desk. “alright, what are we working with?”

“this.” you handed her the review packed, and her eyes widened as she sat back down. she was scared for you, and she wasn’t even in the same class. “yeah i’ll be praying for you.”

you gave her a sarcastic response. “thanks for the help paige.” you pushed your chair backwards towards the bed, so you could talk to paige. “i’m so fuckin’ stressed.” you head fell into your hands as you groaned. paige however knew you too well.

“okay well, how long have you had the review? and how long have you known when your final was?”

you looked up at her, guilty, knowing her lecture was about to come. “um….” you words faded like the candle slowly burning out. “two weeks ago..”

paige sighed with disappointment. paige was older than you, so of course she acted like she was the boss of you. “do i not get on your ass to do your schoolwork earlier?”

“okay i have a good excuse this time! i was too busy on my art final.” you scooted back to your desk, pen in your hand as you decided to get back to studying.

“okay here. take a breather and relax for a bit.” she patted the bed next to you.

you got up from your desk, sitting on the edge of the bed close to her. a little too close. “breathe in with your nose, out with your mouth.” and so you did, repeating it a couple of times until your leg stopped shaking from the worries. paige heard your breathing as the lofi stopped. just the both of you filled in a room with silence.

paige was magnetic towards you. you fought every urge just to not feel her touch, but you lost that battle. you rested your head on her shoulder as if it were a pillow. you arms wrapped around her neck as if you were a sloth, you didn’t want to let go of her.

her hand found your waist and rested gently there. “shhh. i got you.” her whispers faded your concerns away, as if you never had any in the first place. her fingers found your hair, gently raking your scalp through your brown curly hair. “it’s okay, i’m right here.”

you lifted your head up and looked at her icy cold eyes. they could freeze anything in sight. her pupils dialed when she saw your face. her hand trailed to yours, eventually interlocking fingers. she rubbed slow and gentle circles on your hand.

“don’t let your mind start racing and worry about anything and everything. just stay in the present right now. i’m right here.”

her words made you fluster on the spot. cheeks grew pink, and a smile started forming on your face. the way she spoke and anything she said to you was like a bandage that immediately cure you.

she smiled back at you, staring into your hazel eyes. she couldn’t stop herself from wanting you.

she placed a small peck on your cheek. it caught you off guard. you closed your eyes and enjoyed the way her lips felt on your cheek. smooth and soft, filled with loved.

she got up from the bed and sat at your desk, grabbing your notes. “here, let me help you study baby.”

baby, you could get used to that.

[shadow4-1]

I'm just imagining Ghost telling you that he'll kill anyone you decide to sleep with that isn't him. And, of course, when Soap finds out he's got a bit of a death wish.

Like, you and Simon are just friends with benefits. He drops by your place whenever he gets a leave and that's it. No strings attached. Just something quick to fill the time. At least, that's the way it'd always been.

"If you fuck anyone else m' a kill 'im."

It's hard to take him seriously when he's got you face down on floor with your ass up in the air. You groan and try to push your hips back against him. He grabs you by the scruff of your neck and cranes your head back. You whine at the discomfort but he doesn't stop. He mutters the threat into your ear again before finally letting you go.

You cum harder than you'd like to admit. But when you finally come back down to Earth, you start to wonder. You try to ask him about it but he says nothing. Whatever this is - it's supposed to be no strings attached. You're allowed to see other people. You're allowed to fuck other people.

But you've never known Simon to be anything other than a man of his word. His threat is more than likely serious. You don't know much about his background other than he's military and that he's sustained heavy trauma over the years. So, you find that you don't really want to try him.

It's easy for awhile. Simon always leaves you satiated. But, as weeks turn into months you start to feel your skin crawl. You would've already called up your other friends with benefits by now. Instead, you'd blocked them all that first week he'd left.

You try to ignore your hunger, but it festers into a deep seated need none of your toys can rid you of. You get a call from Simon one night after a fruitless tryst with your vibrator. He sounds to be in better spirits after you whine about how much you miss him. You don't even realize how you sound until the words are already out of your mouth.

"Johnny's gonna drop by t' check in on you, love." Ghost hums contentedly. "Show 'im a good time."

He hangs up.

What does he mean by that? You'd met Johnny numerous times before. You'd flirted and enjoyed yourself in his presence but...he's Simon's best friend. Show him a good time? Does he want you to screw him? But...he said he'd kill anyone you sleep with?

You try to keep your resolve when Johnny drops by later that evening. He's his usual charming self - touchy and too comfortable. You voice to him your unease, but he brushes it off with more shameless flirting over your homemade dinner. After dinner, he practically throws you up onto the kitchen table. You kick and push at his chest with outstretched arms. Whatever this is can't happen.

"No! Johnny, he'll kill you." You squawk, pushing at his jaw, trying to keep his lips off of you.

"He wouldn't dare!" He laughs as he forces off your panties with impatient hands.

He flips you over on your stomach, forces your shirt and bra off. He humps desperately against you, slipping his cock out of his jeans. He smells of sweat and musk - as if he'd run straight to your flat after receiving Simon's call.

"Johnny, please." You try to reason with him. "I don't want you getting hurt."

"Hurt? Simon'd never hurt me, love." He hums, tweaking one of your nipples with one hand while he eases open your folds with the other.

"He loves me just as much as he loves you! Besides-"

Johnny laps a long stripe from your collarbone, up across your neck and chin, before stopping to press a firm kiss directly to your lips. You shy away at first, but it isn't but a moment longer before you melt into him. It's been so long...and Johnny is willing to take the risk.

"If he did try to kill me it'd sure be one hell of a fight." He smirks, pressing himself deep inside of you. You whine, tears pricking in your eyes as he practically splits you open with how thick he really is.

"I think I could take 'im nowadays. Aye know all his secrets!"

[kingdom-of-peace]

Spotlight. | N.R

Older!News Anchor!Natasha x Younger!Female!Professor Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, one of the most recognized faces in television, finds herself under unexpected scrutiny when a young academic’s lecture on media ethics gains traction online — setting the stage for an unlikely rivalry that blurs the line between enemies and something else entirely.

Warnings: 18+, age gap (natasha late 30s, reader 27ish), language, mentions of homophobia, mentions of sex, Me not being familiar with the inner workings of network television.

Word Count: 5.6k+

A/N: Hey everyone! Long-time reader, first-time poster here. So I guess you could see this as a little thank-you for getting me through some tough times with your amazing stories. This chapter is a bit of a practice run - if you guys like it, I’ll probably be continuing this as a mini-series. The idea has been lingering in my mind for a while. FYI English isn’t my first language, so feel free to point out any mistakes!

The clock ticked toward the seven-hour mark, numbers climbing up steadily as the seconds bled into each other. The studio hummed, a cacophony of voices layered on top of one another. Producers, directors, and assistants hustling between monitors, whispering instructions and updating cues. But through it all, Natasha Romanoff the pride of the network moved like a conductor of chaos. Every step, measured. Every glance, deliberate.

She made her way to the sleek glass desk, the papers for her notes already laid out in perfect alignment— black letters against white background. The desk, like everything else around her, was immaculate, designed to make the person behind it the centre of attention. As she sat, Betty, a new member of the makeup crew, approached with a kit. The girl was eager, almost too eager, hands slightly shaking as she opened her compact mirror. Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she reached for the earpiece.

“Don’t put too much highlighter on my face,” Natasha said, her voice clipped, without a hint of softness. “Last week, your colleague made me look like a disco ball.” Betty froze eyes wide. Natasha could feel her anxiety before the words even left her mouth. “I-I’m sorry, Ms. Romanoff. I’ll try my best...”. “Don’t try your best. Do as I say,” Natasha interjected sharply, her tone biting. “Y-Yes, Ms. Romanoff,” Betty stammered. “two minutes,” someone called out from the back of the studio.

As Betty moved to step back, she quickly wished Natasha good luck. Natasha didn’t respond, merely rolling her eyes before glancing toward the producers’ booth. She could already feel the inevitable irritation building. The earpiece clicked into place, and the familiar voice of Maria Hill, her producer, filled her ear. “Finally decided to grace us with your attention, huh?”

Natasha’s eyes flicked upward to the glass wall behind which the production room was located, her lips curling into a smirk. “Maybe you shouldn’t let Sharon take a holiday whenever she wants. I know you two had a thing back at university, but those doe-eyed makeup artists turn my pretty face into a caricature. Sharon is the only one, who knows what to do with a pretty face like mine.”

Maria’s laugh crackled through the earpiece, dry and sharp." They don’t stay doe-eyed for long. Give it two weeks, and Betty will be completely head over heels in love with you, especially once you start showing off your... bedroom charm." Natasha’s smirk only deepened. “What can I say? I know what a woman wants.”

“You mean intentionally creating potential workplace conflicts the moment they realize their feelings are not reciprocated. You know Agatha from HR told me, your file is by far the heaviest on her desk.” Maria replied with a slight edge to her voice. Natasha knew Maria was not a big fan of her sexual escapades at the network but once in a while the stress of the job caught up even to her. She opened her mouth to respond, but Maria’s voice came through again, cutting the conversation short: “All channels open. 15 seconds.” Signalling that the conversation was over and no longer private. Time to focus.

The tension in Natasha’s body shifted. Taking a moment to collect herself, every inch of her posture shifting from sharp banter to the cool, controlled persona she had perfected over the years. The camera would be on her in seconds, and there was no room for anything other than perfection. Repositioning herself in her chair—back straight, shoulders squared, the very picture of professionalism. As the last few seconds ticked away, Natasha’s eyes snapped to the teleprompter, locking into the script. It was all business now. Her world contracted into that single, glowing line of text. Her fingers twitched slightly, but otherwise, she remained still.

“We are live in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1,” Maria counted down, the words cutting through her thoughts.

The red recording light snapped on, and everything else—the noise, the chatter, the chaos—ceased to exist. The iconic newsroom music blaring through the speakers. The sound that had become synonymous with what Natasha had achieved. A few quiet clicks echoed in the room as cameras shifted into position. Natasha didn’t blink. Her face settled into its trademark calm, eyes piercing the lens like twin weapons. Showtime.

“Good evening. I’m Natasha Romanoff, and this is The Hour.”

Her voice, cool and steady, carried the weight of authority. As the camera zoomed in, her gaze never wavered, her presence filling every corner of the screen. “Tonight: disinformation, climate crisis, and the story the numbers won’t tell you.”

The graphics behind her came alive in choreographed rhythm—images of protests, wildfires and talking points sliced into headlines. She didn’t look at them. She didn’t need to.

The redhead had already memorized the arc of the story: crisis, confusion, control. Natasha told it backwards, starting from what the public feared and unravelling the mess with her usual signature—calm, vaguely unforgiving clarity. In her earpiece, someone was murmuring time cues. She ignored them. She always did.

“In five minutes, you’ll hear from a senior intelligence analyst. But first—what we aren’t talking about.” That was the trick. Tell them what they didn’t know they wanted to hear. Make it feel like truth. Deliver it with a stillness so complete, it silenced doubt before it could form.

----

The lights above Natasha dimmed for a second—an automatic adjustment to keep the focus on her. From the control room, Maria watched her like a hawk, fingers dancing over her tablet, the constant pulse of the broadcast in her veins.

"She’s on fire tonight," Maria murmured to Pepper the network president’s personal assistant, standing beside her, flipping through notes. Pepper didn’t look up. She didn’t need to. Natasha always delivered, always commanded the room. “She always is.” Pepper’s voice was dry, but there was a touch of admiration beneath it. She could feel the heat even through the glass. She paused, the corner of her mouth curling up slightly. “How much do you bet that his career is over after the interview?”

Maria shrugged, her sharp eyes never leaving Natasha, who was now in the midst of her segment. The current topic a prominent politician—someone who had recently come under fire for money fraudulence now being interviewed by her.

“Senator Rumlow, you’ve been under fire recently for a report that surfaced showing you used large portions of your campaign donations for luxury vacations. These funds, which were meant to support your ‘community welfare initiatives,’ were instead spent on lavish trips to the French Riviera and resorts in the Maldives. How do you justify that?”

The senator’s mouth twitched. A quick glance to the side, a nervous swipe of his hand across his brow. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“Miss Romanoff, I... there’s been a misunderstanding. These funds were used to secure partnerships and build networks with international leaders. I was meeting with potential investors who could bring millions in funding to my community.”

Natasha didn’t flinch. Her eyes locked on his, a calculated silence hanging between them.

“So,” she leaned forward, voice cutting through the air like a blade, “you used funds intended to alleviate poverty and support struggling families for personal vacations to network? A trip to the Maldives to discuss ‘potential investors’—is that the kind of network we’re talking about?”

The senator's face flushed, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the right words.  Natasha’s expression never shifted, while the senator on the other end of the interview appeared slightly uncomfortable. She leaned in just enough to suggest she was giving him a chance to speak, but also to control the pace of the conversation. He was about to make a mistake. Maria could feel it back in the production room.

"Yeah, she’s definitely on fire tonight." Maria allowed herself a slight smile, eyes sharp. “The way she’s making him squirm, you’d think they were old enemies.”

Pepper glanced over at the monitor. Natasha was listening intently, her gaze never leaving the senator, dissecting every word he said, her expression calculated but not unkind. She didn’t need to look at the teleprompter anymore. This was where Natasha was dangerous—the moment she stopped relying on the script and instead started using her own control over the conversation.

“I never—look, these trips were necessary for the larger cause. My team and I were—”

“Your team?” Natasha interrupted, her tone cold, unforgiving. She didn’t give him a second to recover. “You’re telling me that your ‘team’ thought it was acceptable to spend taxpayer and donor money on personal luxuries under the guise of ‘building international relationships’? And those relationships just happened to involve resorts, yachts, and five-star hotels?”

The senator’s face tightened, but Natasha’s sharp, relentless gaze showed no mercy. Her posture was perfect, the epitome of control—one hand lightly resting on the table, the other folded under her chin as she leaned forward, waiting for him to crack.

“Senator,” Natasha continued, her voice low but cutting, “you’ve used the public’s trust to fund personal indulgences. You’ve done nothing to benefit the very communities that donated their hard-earned money in good faith. You’ve used their trust as a shield for your personal gain.”

The senator shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but the sweat on his brow was the only sign that he was losing his composure.

“I... I apologize for the perception this has created, but I am still working tirelessly for the people. I don’t expect you to understand the pressure we face in this position.”

Natasha’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. It was the kind of smile that signalled the end of a conversation, not the beginning.

“Understand? You’ve already made it clear, Senator. You’ve made your priorities clear. You’ve misused the public’s trust, and no amount of ‘apology’ will make up for that.” She paused, her gaze narrowing. “You’ll have a lot to explain in front of those who donated their last dollars to your supposed cause. I don’t think a few ‘networking’ excuses will make that any easier.”

The camera panned out slightly, framing the senator on the screen, defeated, under the weight of her words. Natasha sat back in her chair, her expression coldly satisfied, but there was no triumph in her gaze. Just the quiet assurance that she had exposed the truth—and in this game, truth was always her weapon.

Maria looked at Pepper. “This is going to be everywhere by tomorrow morning.” Pepper, watching the screen, nodded but said nothing. She had worked with Natasha long enough to know the pattern. She didn’t miss a single beat, didn’t flinch even when the questions cut close to the bone. She was ruthless—but always just controlled enough to keep the narrative hers.

Maria continued, her tone dropping a bit, a hint of something else in her voice. “Have you seen the video of this upcoming professor from Shield University? What do you think?”. Pepper’s fingers hovered above her phone, pausing as she considered the question. “She’s definitely been keeping an eye on Natasha,” Maria added with a knowing smile. “It’s only a matter of time before Natasha finds out—and it’s probably not going to be pretty. For that woman, or for us... I’m not sure.”

Pepper finally smirked, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Yeah, well, she’s got competition now. She doesn’t seem like the type to just back down. Maria nodded. “Let’s just hope Natasha doesn't end up too intrigued. If she starts getting personal, that’s when it gets... interesting.”

---

Natasha’s expression remained unchanged as she moved on with the interview. The camera panning back to her, flawlessly.

“Thank you for your time, Senator Rumlow,” she said, her voice a calm cadence that barely masked the satisfaction of knowing she’d just made the politician’s situation far worse. Every channel and newspaper would be jumping on this story tomorrow, no doubt splashing it across their front pages.

“Also thank you to our generous audience tonight. It’s always a pleasure to bring you the news about what’s happening in the world. And remember, stay informed, stay sharp, and never let anyone sell you a story that's less than the truth.” she said, a hint of finality in her tone. “Now, I’ll pass it over to Steve Rogers, our weather anchor, who has a much sunnier forecast for you.”

The camera switched to Steve, who was already grinning behind him a large screen displaying shifting regions and temperatures. “That’s right, Natasha. The last few days of sunshine are upon us before we officially roll into the fall season. So, grab your families, go outside and enjoy...”

As soon as the words left Steve’s mouth, Natasha pulled her earpiece out, the familiar click of the disconnect echoing in her ears. The moment she was clear from the screen, she shifted in her seat, the professional mask slipping away, just slightly—only enough for her to exhale, her expression finally softening, if only for a moment. She rose in a single, smooth motion. The producers didn’t approach immediately; they never did unless they had to.

As Natasha turned to leave the desk, a younger intern stepped forward, tablet in hand, speaking quickly, his words tumbling over each other.

“Sorry, Ms. Romanoff, I—I just wanted to say you were amazing up there.” Peter, who had joined the team last year to gain experience after his graduation, was still a bit green, though for some reason, Tony Stark—who owned the network—had taken a particular liking to him. Which is why his golden retriever-like personality felt like a constant presence she couldn’t escape.

Natasha didn’t break stride, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. A few crew members glanced at each other, nervous, hoping Peter wouldn’t get an earful for approaching her without a significant reason. But to their surprise, Natasha offered him a brief, unexpected smile. “Thanks,” she said, her voice calm and unbothered. "Keep up the good work." Though she’d never say it out loud, she’d grown surprisingly fond of him and the unshakable optimism he brought with him. Maybe it was because he reminded her of a time when life had been simpler, before everything became high stakes and expectations or perhaps it was the adrenaline rush from having just put the senator in his place.

With that, she made her way down the hallway toward her dressing room, the echo of her heels fading with each step, leaving Peter standing frozen in place—blinking, stunned. The Natasha Romanoffhad smiled at him. A real, genuine smile. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. Then, unable to contain himself, he did a quiet fist pump and half-skipped down the corridor, suddenly determined to be the best intern the station had ever seen.

-----

When Natasha stepped into her dressing room, Betty and Pepper were already there. Pepper, as always, was glued to her phone, typing away with that near-obsessive focus Natasha had come to expect from her. She often wondered if Pepper had put her phone down for more than five minutes in the last few years. Meanwhile, Betty was busy clearing the table, preparing to remove Natasha’s makeup.

“You did a good job out there,” Pepper said, glancing up from her phone just long enough to catch Natasha’s eye before diving back into the glowing screen. “Thanks,” Natasha replied, settling into the makeup chair. “I mean, it’s hardly difficult when the senator does most of the work embarrassing himself.”

Natasha smirked, enjoying the victory of another successful segment. Betty began to work on removing the makeup, her hands steady despite the usual hustle of the room. “Still, it takes talent to make people like him squirm like you did,” Pepper remarked, her eyes still glued to the phone.

“I don’t know if it’s talent or just good instincts,” Natasha replied with another sly grin. “Either way, I’m hoping he’s out of office by the end of the week.”. “Well, Maria bet he won’t last past tomorrow night, thanks to what you pulled off,” Pepper said, her tone light but amused. And just as if on cue, Maria walked in, her presence immediately filling the room. “Great show as always, Natasha,” she said, striding over to the couch and sitting down behind Natasha.

Natasha met her gaze through the reflection in the mirror. “I couldn’t do it without my tirelessly working producer.”. “Damn right you couldn’t,” Maria replied, a satisfied smirk on her lips as she picked up a magazine from the table and started flipping through it. The conversation flowed easily between the three, mostly floating around ideas about upcoming segments and possible interviewees, with Betty shyly asking Natasha to tilt her head for better access occasionally as she worked. About half an hour later, Betty finished packing up her things and, with a quick “Good bye,” exited the room, clearly relieved to have survived in the lion’s den.

“I swear, they’re more scared of you than Tony,” Pepper observed, watching Betty leave with a raised eyebrow. “It’s not my problem if they’re that easy to intimidate,” Natasha replied coolly, giving a slight shrug. “Debatable,” Maria countered, her voice teasing. “You could at least go a little easier on them.” Natasha smirked. “Where’s the fun in that?”.

There was a brief pause as Natasha rummaged through her bag, searching for her phone. When she looked up, she caught the silent exchange between Maria and Pepper through the mirror, their eyes communicating something Natasha couldn’t quite place. Turning in her chair, she raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”. Maria and Pepper exchanged one last glance, and Natasha’s patience wore thin. “You’re not going to keep it from me, are you?” she asked, her voice a low murmur. Her eyes didn’t waver from the two women, the challenge clear in her tone. She had worked with them for years and even shared pieces of her college days with them, so she knew, whatever they were about to reveal, she probably wasn’t going to like it.

Reluctantly, Maria handed Natasha the tablet, the screen already pulled up to a paused video. Natasha’s gaze immediately fell on the title: The Sociopolitical Influence of Media in Modern Society. She glanced up at Maria, eyebrow raised. “A lecture? You really think this is important?”. Pepper, not meeting Natasha’s eyes, sighed. “It’s... well, it includes you. Specifically.” Natasha’s lips parted slightly. “About me?” she repeated, voice hardening. “What are you talking about?”. Maria took a breath before responding, her voice cautious. “It’s a lecture. From a professor at Shield university. She’s young, so she wasn’t around when we were there. But she... uses you as an example in her talk.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed, the weight of the words sinking in. “She what?”. Pepper winced. “She talks about how news anchors—people with a platform like yours, aren’t just reporting the news but shaping it. And, uh... she singles you out by name.”. “Great,” Natasha said, her voice sharp. “What exactly does she say about me?”. Reluctantly, Maria tapped the screen and started the video. The camera panned to you, standing at a podium, adjusting your notes before speaking directly to the audience in the lecture hall.

“The media’s role isn’t just to inform—it constructs reality,”you began, your voice clear and confident. “Take someone like Natasha Romanoff, a news anchor with the most-watched primetime segment in the country. She doesn’t just present the facts—she defines how those facts are received. With a single word, a glance, a choice of guest or segment, she can shift the public narrative for millions.” Natasha’s jaw tightened as she listened, her fingers curling around the armrest of her chair. She’d always known she had influence but hearing it described this way, hearing herself used as an example of media manipulation, made her blood boil.

“Figures like Romanoff,” you continued, “can shape heroes or villains with a single broadcast. Their influence is vast and rarely questioned. The issue isn’t just about power, but about how and whether it’s wielded responsibly.” Natasha set the tablet down with a sharp click, her expression hardening. “So, I’m the villain in her story?”. Maria nodded slightly. “It’s more complex than that. You’re the example she’s using to critique a larger issue.”. “She might as well have painted a target on my back,” Natasha muttered, her tone thick with frustration. Pepper shifted, visibly uncomfortable. “It’s not personal, Natasha. But the way she frames it… it feels personal.”

“I don’t manipulate people,” Natasha snapped, her posture rigid. “I don’t twist the truth. I present it—clean, honest, verified. Just because I know how to deliver it doesn’t mean I’m playing puppet master.” She turned toward Maria, frustration boiling over. “Is this seriously the kind of crap I have to put up with now? Academics critiquing my work from their ivory towers?”. Maria raised her hands, trying to calm the storm. “It’s not about you. She’s critiquing the media as a whole. But yeah… you’re the example that serves her point.”

Natasha paced the room, her steps rapid and sharp. Why her? Why not the other anchors who sensationalized or fabricated? Sure, she was the highest-rated, most successful. She’d climbed the ranks quickly, but she never used her position to control the narrative, did she? She prided herself on her professionalism. She worked hard to ensure her biases didn’t creep into her delivery. She turned back to Maria and Pepper, eyes flashing with frustration. “It’s just a professor talking. The students in her class, maybe a few online nerds, will care for a few days, but that’s it.”. Maria and Pepper exchanged another glance. Maria spoke first, her tone firm. “It’s already spreading, Natasha.”. Pepper nodded, setting her phone down. “The video’s gaining traction—blogs, social media, even some paywalled articles. Small waves now, but they’re starting to grow.”

Natasha froze, her gaze shifting between Maria and Pepper. “Viral? It’s just a lecture. Seriously?”. “Not anymore,” Maria said, her arms crossed, her stance serious. “This thing spreads fast. And with the narrative it’s building, it’s only going to pick up steam. And don’t forget people are already out there who’ve held a grudge against you for years because of your success, your gender, your sexuality.”

Pepper leaned forward, her voice quiet but urgent. “You need to prepare. If this keeps going, it’s not just a lecture, it’s a movement. And once the perception shifts, you can’t ignore it.” Natasha’s gaze shifted back to the screen, her arms folding across her chest. The weight of what they were saying hit her. She’d worked hard for her credibility, for the trust of her audience. But if this narrative took root… it could undo everything. It wasn’t just about your opinion anymore, it could become public discourse, with herself at the heart of it.

“I don’t “control” the narrative,” she said firmly, almost like a mantra. “I report it.” Maria’s gaze softened, but she didn’t back down. “We know that. But the issue is how people perceive it. And right now, this perception is being built, whether it’s fair or not.”. Pepper showed her phone to Natasha, scrolling through the notifications. “See this? It’s trending right now. People are questioning your integrity, your influence. It’s not just going away.” Natasha stared at the screen, her heart sinking as the headlines flashed before her eyes of future articles that would cast her as the embodiment of everything wrong with the media landscape. 

“So, what should I do?” she asked, her voice quieter now. Maria leaned forward slightly, offering a calm but firm suggestion. “We stay low for now. The wider public hasn’t really caught on yet. You’ve built your career on credibility—don’t let this shake that. But if this picks up more steam…”

“We’ll be ready.” Pepper added, her voice calm but determined. Natasha exhaled, the reality of the situation sinking in. “I don’t want to give this more attention than it deserves. But if she continues to use my name, in her little act it won’t be pretty.” Pepper opened her mouth to protest, but Natasha cut her off. “No. She should know better. Publicly crucifying someone without context? That’s wrong, and she should know that.”

The room fell silent. Natasha stared at the tablet screen, your words echoing in her head, even as she wrestled with the weight of her own thoughts. Maria and Pepper exchanged one last look, both knowing Natasha well enough to understand she would not let go of the topic easily. If there was one thing Natasha excelled at, it was holding onto grudges. She grabbed her bag, offering both women a curt “good night” before making her way out of the room. As she stepped into the cool night air, a black SUV already waiting, ready to take her back to her apartment.

---

After a silent car ride, with a brooding Natasha sitting in the back seat, her gaze fixed out the window, too consumed by what had been said to engage. The driver, initially trying to make polite conversation, quickly fell silent after receiving a few clipped, one-word replies, enough to register that her mood was not to be tested. When they finally reached her apartment building, he offered a quiet nod as she stepped out.

She had moved into the place after the second year of her show’s success, when for the first time, she no longer had to think twice about money. The apartment was more than a living space; it was a quiet reminder of everything she had built, and everything she had once thought would bring her peace.

When Natasha finally stepped into her loft apartment, the door clicked shut behind her with a familiar, hollow finality. The view that greeted her was one she never quite grew tired of—floor-to-ceiling windows framing the river and the city skyline, skyscrapers lit like circuit boards against the night. Somewhere in that sprawl was the studio she had just walked out of, its glass tower faintly visible in the distance.

Before she could set down her keys, a soft, expectant meow echoed through the entrance hall. Liho, her long-time feline companion, padded gracefully into view and rubbed himself against her calves, tail high with dignified affection. “Hey, soldier,” Natasha murmured, crouching to run her fingers through his fur. His purr vibrated warmly beneath her hand.

She hadn’t planned to keep him. Years ago, when she was still a glorified intern running coffee for people whose names she barely remembered, she’d found him one night half-frozen in a cardboard box outside the train station near her old apartment—or rather, a shoebox-sized room. A vet diagnosed hypothermia, said he’d recover with proper care, and gently implied there was nowhere else for the tiny creature to go. Natasha, who had never seen herself as someone who owned a pet—who barely trusted herself to care for plants—had taken him home, wrapped in a soft blanket. Told herself she’d find him a nice family.

She never did. He’d stayed. Through the grind, the promotions, the late nights, and the loneliness. Liho remained the one quiet, dependable thing in her life. She named him after a figure from old Russian folklore—Likho, the spirit of misfortune and chaos. A creature you were warned not to name or challenge, but whose presence was sometimes inescapable. It was meant as a joke at first—dark humor, a habit she never quite grew out of. But over time, the name stuck and softened. Likho became Liho—less an omen and more a constant.

After giving him a generous serving of premium cat food, she microwaved some frozen supermarket pasta-dish and poured herself a glass of red wine. Dinner was quiet, save for the low hum of the television. A dusty old Western was playing, something about cowboys and crooked sheriffs. Natasha wasn’t really watching. She sat on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, Liho curled beside her like a sentient heating pad.

Her thoughts kept drifting. Back to the studio. Back to the lecture Maria had shown her.

Back to you.

She hadn’t said it out loud, but the words had stung more than she expected. The calm measured critique of how anchors like her “curated truth,” how polished delivery could sometimes mask institutional bias. The examples had been academic, but Natasha had felt it—she had been the example.

And yet… you were compelling. Articulate. Passionate in a way that wasn’t performative. You didn’t grandstand; you just believed in what you were saying.

She pushed the thoughts aside, finished her meal, rinsed her wine glass, and went through the motions of her nightly routine. Brushed teeth. Washed off the last traces of studio makeup Betty hadn’t already removed. Changed into a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized Shield University shirt she’d never admit was from Bucky her old dorm roommate. Then, finally, she slipped into bed, Liho jumping up to settle at her feet.

It should have ended there. Lights off. Day over.

But Natasha lay there in the dark, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the echo of your lecture still playing in her mind. She sighed, reaching for her phone on the nightstand, and opened the video again—not to rewatch it this time, but to scroll through the comments. Most were thoughtful. A few were aggressively supportive of her, others staunchly in your corner. Some were messy and contrarian for the sake of it.

Still, the consensus was unsettling: people were listening to you. Her curiosity piqued, she tapped your name into the search bar. Dozens of results popped up.

“Youngest Professor at SHIELD University Breaks Down Media Ethics in Viral Lecture.”

“SHIELD University Appoints Rising Academic to Faculty—Is the Professor the Future of Public Communication?”

“Bridging Theory and Practice: How the Professor Makes Media Research Accessible.”

She clicked on your university profile. A picture of you smiling at the camera greeted her. Natasha couldn’t deny you were attractive, it was a shame you seemed to despise everything she embodied. Below the picture was a brief introductory text.

We are proud to introduce Professor Y/N, who began their academic career here at SHIELD University. After completing their master’s abroad, they returned to complete their PhD and were recently appointed as the youngest faculty member in our Department of Media and Communication. Their research focuses on media literacy, narrative framing, and the role of journalism in democratic decline.

Natasha scrolled further.

Recent Publications:

• “The Myth of Neutrality: Power and Performance in Anchor-Centric News”

• “Narrative Fracture: The Battle for Public Trust in Digital Broadcasting”

• “Face of the News: Gender, Perception, and Charisma in Prime-Time Journalism”

Beneath that your contact email and Office hours.

Natasha sat back against the pillows, resting her phone on the nightstand, the soft glow of the screen now gone. It appeared that very little private information was available about you online to the public. She stared at the ceiling, the weight of your words from the lecture still lingering in her mind.

"Why the hell am I even looking at that?" she muttered under her breath, shaking her head slightly as if to dismiss the whole thing. Liho, curled up at the foot of the bed, paused mid-purr, his amber eyes narrowing as he stared at Natasha. His ears twitched, confused by her sudden outburst, but he didn’t move. Natasha let out a frustrated sigh, rolling onto her side, her fingers lightly brushing her hair away from her face. "This is ridiculous," she murmured, though the words felt hollow even to her. “She’s nothing more than an overachiever, leveraging recognizable names to draw attention to her small research hobby.’’ Liho blinked, then slowly stretched before curling up into a ball again, letting out a soft, contented sigh as he drifted off to sleep beside her, unimpressed with Natasha’s mood swing.

She didn’t like being called out. Didn’t appreciate being used as a case study for all that was wrong with modern journalism. It shouldn’t have gotten under her skin the way it did. And yet…

It wasn’t just criticism. It was smart. It was sharp.

That’s what bothered Natasha. She turned onto her side, her alarm clock faintly glowing in the dark room. She told herself she didn’t care. That it was just another critic, jealous of Natashas success. Just another overconfident academic with a limited view of how things worked in the real world. She had seen it time and again—people criticizing her without reason, trying to dismantle everything she had built from the ground up. You don’t even know me, she thought bitterly. To you, she was manufactured. Superficial. A product, not a person. Power-hungry. Egocentric. It didn’t matter how many stories she had broken, how many sleepless nights she’d spent carving out her place in a world that never welcomed her. You had already made up your mind and in the media world, that was dangerous. A single narrative, repeated with enough conviction, could become truth. The public loved a fall from grace. To you, she was nothing more than a symbol. But to protect herself, Natasha clung to the thought that you were just another fleeting presence in the endless crowd of critics—one more voice hoping to see her fall. No one had ever succeeded in pushing Natasha out and you wouldn’t be the first. But as sleep tugged at her, slow and unrelenting after an eventful workday, the cadence of your voice still echoed in her subconsciousness. And despite herself, she was already wondering what you’d say next.

-

-

-

A/N: Thanks for reading!

[yosuk-e]

i find comfort in you; ft. tsukishima

in which the reader finds him dejected after a lost practice match.

a/n: for the request i got today! had a super sudden burst of motivation to write (instead of reviewing for exams yayyy......) so i hope you enjoy this. also, i'm aware this might be a bit ooc for tsukishima, whoops. i was planning for a bokuto & kenma version of this prompt too, so let me know if you'd like that.

tsukishima

kei was never one to sulk about volleyball. you'd known that since he made it painfully clear that no, he does not care about this sport, because it's just a club. a just because, and that it was never going to be anything more than that. he'd been that way about it with basically everything for as long as you two had known each other, and you sometimes wondered whether he genuinely enjoyed anything thoroughly at all, except for maybe you and dino-shaped chicken nuggets.

tonight was different, though.

tonight, tsukishima didn't greet anybody, other than a muffled "i'm home." tonight, kei went straight to his room, in a flurry of frustration both at the fact that they had in fact lost that practice game they were working tirelessly for, but also at the fact that he even cared so much, especially after the many times that he's asserted he doesn't. on an even more concerning note, he's entirely ignored you. left you no message, gave you no call. all which left you with a growing pit of anxiety at the ring background you desperately hoped would illuminate your phone screen, "any moment now..."

6:37PM. you hummed in annoyance at the number. why is it taking him so long to call? is he busy? did something happen? you take a deep breath in an attempt to collect yourself.

ding! you scramble to your bed where you've left your phone to charge.

three new messages - kei

you hurry to read the messages in a rush.

left displeased with the interaction with your boyfriend, you huff. it wasn't abnormal for you and tsukishima to fight. arguing was sort of your love language, even. this was just odd. not an explanation, just a shutdown.

you make up your mind and rush to get dressed. there is no way he's this upset and you can't comfort him about it. you weren't going to let him grow distant when he needs you most, so you dash over to his house, in as little time as possible.

7:23PM. you make it there, standing awkwardly at the door of his room, a pit growing in you. are you overstepping? maybe he just needed some alone time, and you're acting like a pushover? what if-

creak. the door opens, and you're greeted with wide eyes and a soft voice. "yn?" you gulp. how stupid is it that you've been silently standing here for 2 minutes? "uhh... have you just been standing?" tsukishima says, with some slight, but noticeable judgement in his voice. "yeah..."

a smile (so very slightly) appears on his face, as he pulls on your arm gently to let you in the room, his door shutting with a soft click. and you both stare, awkwardly, until you finally begin, "look, i know you wanted to be left alone, but-"

but nothing, because in that same moment, the near 190cm giant you were standing next to leans over, and rests his head on your shoulder, his arms wrapped tight around you, leaving no space for movement. "i'm sorry."

"you're sorry? no, kei it's-"

"we lost the game. it was shitty. i'm mad, and i don't want to be. i want to not feel like i cared about this so much, because, well, fuck. it's just a club. it's supposed to be just a club." tsukishima holds you close, in his strong, unrelenting grasp making you feel at home. "we all put a lot of work into it. i put a lot of work into it. shit. it's whatever."

your arms free themselves from his grip gently, making their way to his hair, playing with the soft, blonde strands. "kei..."

"-and it's fucking, damn it. nothing. it was nothing."

you hum encouragingly. tsukishima might've not been the most social, the most outgoing, or the best with words. but for now, for this moment, it was enough.

your hands cup his face to kiss his forehead lightly, and press it against yours, softly saying, "it's okay. you can always tell me."

your evening is filled with rants, rambles, and complaints, but you wouldn't wish for it to be any other way.

a/n: i did NOT proofread this so if you see anything wrong hush.....

[krysmcscience]

It’s finally done, guys – five whole pages of Narilamb AU comic AND MORE be upon you! (If you have trouble reading any of the text, view the full-size! These pages are huge!)

Yeesh, this took forever. <:)

There’s probably a ton of inconsistencies and anatomy/perspective wonkeries, but this was mostly just comic practice, so Oh Hekkin Well, Lol <:D

(Yes, I am aware the Gateway’s door isn’t present in the Afterlife, and the actual way in is just a pentagram portal. Yes, I put the door in there anyway because Artistic License, i.e. it felt more impactful for there to be a prison door of sorts to walk through to freedom, rather than just a bland boring portal on the ground. 😠)

anyway, i hate backgrounds so much lmao

Alternate ending and a buttload of bonus art under the cut, followed by goofy AU rambles and headcanon stuff:

I’m calling it the Revival AU. It’s not all that creative a title, and someone else has probably used it already, but I am too lazy to really care, LOL

Alternate ending page, which you will Definitely need to view the full-size for, Whoopsie Daisy:

The alternate ending was actually the first ending I finished things off with, because I had a brief badbrain moment where I forgot the emotional beat I initially wanted the comic to end on, and I tend to write comedy, anyway. I later remembered and drew out the proper ending, but I preserved and finished this one, too, because it still makes me giggle.

They had to go back for the followers off-screen in the AU’s real ending. And by ‘they’ I mean just the Lamb, because they weren’t about to ask three newly freed cats to go back into what used to be their prison. The Lamb DID spend some time watching Narinder and the bois enjoying the outdoors first, though:

In other news, here’s the Lamb and me making fun of my anatomy-drawing ‘skills’:

Meanwhile, if you’re wondering why the Lamb is just a-okay with how things went down vis a vis Their Murder, this bonus comic should answer at least some of your questions:

Ah, yes, also this is how they get engaged outside of the alternate ending. Forgot to mention that bit. XD (I already refuse to believe that Narinder is capable of flirting normally, so why would his initial marriage proposal be any better???)

Oh, and before any of them get a chance to actually head back to the cult grounds, there is one potential problem:

And by ‘problem’ I mean something Narinder intends to ignore for At Minimum a thousand years. Cuz he’s a petty bitch like that. :D

what do you mean i drew the lamb too tall compared to the background? clearly they’re standing on top of baal and aym lmao, why else would you think those two aren’t in this one??? (aym and baal got way too excited about finally being outside, you see, and their silly modes are nothing to sneeze at)

And, speaking of heading back to the cult grounds, I’m sure y’all would love to know how the Lamb’s followers felt about the brand new change in management:

It all went better than expected. <:D Tiny ramble now, feel free to skip down to the next comic.

Before you ask, no, the Lamb does not have any actual powers anymore, other than the immortality Narinder definitely grants them. The Red Crown just thinks it’s funny to suggest otherwise, and Narinder does nothing to discourage this. Also, the Lamb and Narinder aren’t actually married here yet, but, uh. Pretty safe to say that particular ritual directly follows the events of this comic. XD

Given how quickly he mellows out in canon, Narinder probably chills out a lot in this AU once he’s in charge of the cult, too, if only because 1.) He’s finally free, and 2.) He’s equally smitten with and distracted by the Lamb. He’s definitely in charge at least 95% of the time, though, because the Lamb never actually wanted to be a cult leader and, now that their time as a vessel is done, they just want to be a normal(ish) sheep who’s wholly devoted to their hot new divine husband.

Some followers do still have some valid concerns about these two being together, though, which I’m sure at least a few of you might share…

Unfortunately for any such concerns, the Lamb is a bonafide masochist in this AU. :D

They’re also 100% a sub, obviously

Anyone at all: Your relationship is problematic and potentially toxic

The Lamb: fuck yeah it is, it’s so hot~ OuO

Here’s just the last panel, made transparent for whatever nefarious purposes y’all might have for it:

Additional exchange Narinder and the Lamb have at some point, probably after the Lamb does a fatal whoopsie while out on a mission trip or in response to things getting a little too sadistic in the bedroom, ahaha:

Look, there is a very important distinction between life and death, and if you don’t understand that, then you’re probably not worthy of being the God of Death, anyway. (At least, according to Narinder, and ONLY Narinder.)

Last but not least, have these shittens:

~Such creative naming conventions I have utilized, lololol~ :D Anyway, there's a few deets on them in the rambles down below.

The rest is all ramble, so before I get to that, I’ll just say – likes and especially reblogs are very much appreciated!!! :D If you happen to really really REALLY like my stuff, meanwhile, I do have a link in my bio to my ko-fi page, where I’m accepting commissions and donations if you’re especially generous… ÓuÒ

Now, BE FREE IF YOU AIN’T DOWN FOR READING MY GOOFY RAMBLES

First ramble is re: Baal’s question of ‘Did it really work?’, since I didn’t feel like expanding on it in the comic proper, and it’s arguably pretty vague? He doesn’t ask because he doubts Narinder or his capabilities, exactly, but because neither Baal nor Aym have ever actually seen their god at full power before (he’s still technically not at full power here, either). It’s not expressly stated how soon the brothers were brought to Narinder after his imprisonment, but whether it was early on or after a length of time for Shamura to (somewhat) recover from his attack, he must have already been weakened, since I have no doubts that there was a huge battle that accompanied the Bishops working together to trap him. So, between that fight with all four of his siblings, sharing his power with a variety of vessels over time, and being chained immobile for a thousand years, he must have been severely weakened by the time he lent the Red Crown out to the Lamb, which would have only weakened him further.

I like to think this is how the Lamb is able to defeat him if they refuse to be sacrificed, despite how it took all four Bishops working together to subdue and chain Narinder in the first place.

All that aside, the three cats have been trapped in the Afterlife for so long that Baal also wanted verbal reassurance that they are all, indeed, actually able to leave it now – something that I headcanon isn’t possible without a significant amount of power (i.e. the Red Crown’s cooperation with its bearer/vessel).

(On a semi-related note, I don’t headcanon Aym and Baal as twins. I like sweetheart big bro Baal and snarky little goth bro Aym too much to have them be that close in age.)

Ah, teeny thing: If you noticed I switched up the art style for Narinder on the second page, that was intentional. It's sort of a visual indicator that there has been a Big Change for him - that being, how much power he has after sacrificing the Lamb. As for why I changed up his arms in the grass rollin' pic, I don't really subscribe to the notion that his arms are spooky bones because they're horrifically injured (beyond chain-chafing scars, that is), but rather just because he's the Bishop of Death, so he can change how normal-to-spooky they look at will. At some point I might doodle out how I imagine his appearance to range between least to most eldritch... 🤔

Next ramble, regarding Narinder’s feelings towards the Lamb...he was initially too focused on being freed from his imprisonment to form any real attachment to them. They were a tool for his use, first and foremost, but he did notice their intense devotion towards him. It was impossible not to notice, because the Lamb was always very happy to see him, even if it was because they died during a crusade (yet again). He wasn’t originally planning to revive them once he was freed, either, because he saw no real point to it – after all, they were already dead when they first met him, just as any other mortal would be when meeting him in the Afterlife, so death has very little real consequence in his eyes. But, once the chains were off, and it really sank in that he stood to lose the most devoted follower he’s ever had, he decided…why put their soul to rest for good or leave them stuck in the Afterlife when he could just as easily revive them again? And why not reward them for their hard work, anyway? Not only would it cost him nothing by comparison, but the future devotion that could come of it would surely make up for his (bare minimum) effort in reviving them.

He wasn’t expecting to get a full dose of that devotion and a smiling face so soon after killing them, though~ :3c (because the Lamb is a bonafide freak, and not-so-secretly into the fucked up power dynamics going on here, lol)

I should mention here that I am firmly of the belief that any non-god/vessel who crosses through the Gateway and into the Afterlife just straight up dies. So, Aym and Baal? Also straight up dead, from the second Shamura brought them through. Their souls were just never put to rest so that Narinder could have some company – if only according to Shamura. Narinder kept the two around mostly out of bewilderment, because honestly, who are these kittens, and what is Shamura’s game here, anyway??? They never even explained anything, they just tossed these kittens into the Afterlife and LEFT!!! At any rate, Aym and Baal being dead is how I explain why their souls apparently become lost in the void if they’re killed, along with the added complications required to revive the two because of it.

So, with those deets in mind, and given a bit of time, if Narinder hadn’t chosen to revive the Lamb, and also hadn’t chosen to put their soul to rest, they still would have woken up at some point, despite being as straight up dead as Aym and Baal. Who, don’t worry, were also properly revived while Narinder was waiting for the Lamb to wake up. Because I am also firmly of the belief that, first, the dead cannot leave the Afterlife without the use of a ritual/relic (and can't stay in the living world for long regardless), and second, dead followers’ devotion isn’t anywhere near as potent as that of the living, given how much more the living stand to lose.

Final ramble, regarding the Lamb’s feelings towards Narinder, and why they’re so devoted to him…

Well, you don’t spend most of your life on the run with your steadily-dwindling herd, trying to evade the ongoing genocide of your species, without becoming a little fucked up in the head. Maybe a lot fucked up in the head. Life is suffering, so might as well have fun with it, right? Maybe start finding death and pain to be kind of hilarious, even a little bit hot, once everyone you know and love is dead and gone, leaving you all alone? And maybe after that, there’s something comforting in how, despite the cold, cruel uncertainties of life, at least you can always count on the inevitability of death, patiently waiting for you until your very last breath? Who knows. Either way, as soon as the Lamb was killed, and they learned that the literal God of Death was offering them a second chance at life and vengeance via effective immortality, they were 100% ride-or-die-devoted all at once. Turns out death is kinder than life – go figure. (Of course, it helps that Narinder is 100% their type.)

They weren’t put off by Narinder’s thinly-veiled sadism or manipulations, either – they’re not too different in those regards, albeit opting for vastly different methods. It’s a very ‘two sides of the same coin’ sort of deal. In order to stay alive once they were made the last of their kind, the Lamb had no qualms with using others to their advantage, and that did not change once they were revived and expected to run a cult. They didn’t care for the position of authority, though – being a sheep and all, they’re much more of a follower than a leader, and thus greatly appreciated Narinder’s need for control. With how they had to keep on their toes for so long, the Lamb was also pretty good at reading people by the time they died, so they could recognize that a lot of Narinder’s posturing was just that – posturing. Dude’s 95% bluster and only 5% bite. He could obviously be vicious when he wanted or needed to (the Bishops' injuries were clear proof of that), but underneath his outer layer of cruelty was a generous layer of tsundere, and underneath all THAT was a soft squishy middle sibling velcro cat in desperate need of attention and affection.

(Which, for the record, he Did Not feel comfortable getting from Aym and Baal – Narinder still has no idea why the fuck Shamura sent them to him, beyond acting as keepers at best or trying to sabotage his attempts to escape at worst. Which, he thought HE sabotaged in turn, by guiding the kittens into being his devoted disciples instead. He thought he was very clever for it. ‘I outsmarted Shamura!’ he thought, despite that there was never anything there to outsmart. ‘What do you mean, Shamura sent your kittens to me for company?’ he demands of Forneus later. It may or may not lead him to pull Shamura out of Purgatory just so he can shake them and scream about how they should have Fucking Explained that!!!)

But, getting back on track as to why the Lamb was so willing to be sacrificed, I cannot stress this enough – if you pay even a minimal amount of attention to what he’s saying, Narinder is REALLY NOT SUBTLE about his intentions. ‘Death is of little consequence.’ ‘Followers are for you to use to your advantage.’ ‘Sacrifice a follower to absorb more power.’ So, yeah, the Lamb knew exactly what would be expected of them once the other Bishops were dead. They knew Narinder would expect them to die for him one last time. But, after all, death is of little consequence (not to mention hot), so when the time came, they wanted to see him freed, even if it meant oblivion for them in the end.

He’d given them a second life, and the ability to avenge their kin, and they felt indebted to him for that – so, while they were still pretty glum about the possibility that they might not get to see him free of his chains, nothing beyond their devotion and debt to him mattered. They never wanted all the drama and expectations that came with the Red Crown’s power, anyway, so, better for Narinder to have it back so that he could deal with it. What he did with the Lamb afterward would be up to him, and seeing as he was their god, they’d accept his decision gladly.

Were they in love with him by that point? Oh, obsessively so, but only in the devotional sense – romance was nowhere on their mind nor radar. That is, until he unexpectedly revived them again, told them he still needed them, and then offered down his hand to help them up.

The Lamb fell HARD for him in that moment. :3c

And now, a tiny shitten ramble. Lu and Li are twins, because sheep tend to have those a lot, and are conceived not long after the Lamb and Narinder’s marriage ceremony. Lu is the minutes older one, but Li is much more mature. I have put no further thought into these two, other than that they are utter menaces, birthed by the Lamb, cling hard to both their parents but especially Narinder (who spoils them rotten), and they are both genderfluid, using whichever pronouns/names they feel like at any given time. They are also both intersex, same as the Lamb, who was initially infertile up until Something Something Vague Magic, which I have also put no further thought into ¯\_(シ)_/¯

oh, and before anyone tries to suggest i headcanon this AU’s lamb as trending more female due to them giving birth or whatever, no, no, a thousand times no, they might have a vag, but they've also got a dick, and even if it's not as big as they'd like, they still know how to use it

Finally, the very tentative name for the Lamb in this AU is Yazdi, which is really just another name for the Baluchi breed of sheep XD (Not that the Lamb is this specific breed, I just didn’t like any of the other sheep-related names I found, ahaha...)

THAT’S ALL FOR NOW (collapses into an exhausted pile of goopy limbs)

[abyssruler]

furina’s guide on the art of matchmaking

neuvillette x gn!reader

it’s no secret that furina is constantly bored of the mundanity that comes with court, but with the recent discovery of neuvillette’s crush on you, things have just gotten a lot more interesting. if only you and neuvillette would just get together, but alas, it comes down to the great hydro archon to bring justice to neuvillette’s sad, pathetic love life.

furina pov, comedy, furina being dramatic as hell

Furina knows the best way to get under Neuvillette’s skin is through you. The Iudex may seem impassive from the outside, but she knows where to look for his tells, particularly when he’s annoyed (she has, after all, been the recipient to silently judging stares, usually those of a disappointed or even irritated nature).

And she’s seen the way Neuvillette looks at you—his face softening, an almost imperceptible smile on his lips, and most damningly of all, the slightest hint of a blush whenever you stare into his eyes a little too long to be considered proper.

It’s all so entertaining to watch, if a bit miffing to endure seeing how utterly slow the two of you are. If Furina had been in Neuvillette’s shoes, she would have long since enacted a performance grander than anything Fontaine has ever seen and asked you out on a date. Not just any date though, no, she would have to pull an all-nighter to come up with the best date there is. One does not simply go on a date with the God of Justice and have it be mediocre.

But all that aside, with how boring Neuvillette is with his stricter than strict rules and views on how one must go about their day, it falls upon her to make sure he doesn’t die as a decrepit old bachelor who’s never felt the touch of another person intimately. (Not that Furina had any say on the topic of intimacy, seeing as she’s never had any experience in the romantic aspects of life, but experience means nothing compared to the wisdom of the God of Justice!)

So, after many nights spent huddled beneath her blankets, scribbling on her notebook and brainstorming the best way to get a rise out of Neuvillette, she happened upon a breakthrough. An idea so great it would not only be something worthy of the Steambird’s headlines, but also be something the people of Fonatine would speak of for years to come.

Yes, it all comes down to this very moment, standing over the highest place in the opera with hundreds of eyes watching her as she points an accusing finger at your figure standing on the very stage she’s set up.

Neuvillette watches it all with his eyes narrowed at her, hands clasped tightly around his cane, and Furina would have loved to relish in that reaction, but alas, she must continue with her script.

With a haughty smile, she meets your eyes as she yells out loud to her captivated audience.

“I charge you, (Y/N), with the crime of theft!”

The people below gasp in shock at the sudden accusation. Only natural, of course. You, an esteemed person of reputable background who most people view as a kind person, being charged with theft? How scandalous!

But that’s not all!

“You stand accused of thievery,” Furina pauses for a dramatic effect, feeling the spectators hold their breaths as they await her final verdict.

She then looks up at Neuvillette, and it takes all she has in her not to burst in hysterics at the comically pinched face he’s sporting. She moves her finger from you to Neuvillette, practically preening in place as the assembled crowd below let out varying expressions of shock.

And with a smug smile, she deals the final blow.

“For stealing the Chief Justice of Fontaine’s heart!”

One, two, three—

Screams erupt from below. Women squealing in delight while the men cheer at the sudden twist from accusation to romance.

Furina basks in the attention as the people sing praises of her.

“Of course, how could not I have seen it before?”

“Lady Furina is so sharp to have caught on!”

“Monsieur Neuvillette and (Y/N) do make a good pair, don’t they?”

“How ingenious! As expected of our Lady Furina!”

But then, Neuvillette stands, a stern look on his face as he taps his cane on the ground hard enough to rattle her eardrums.

“Order!”

His face could have been made from stone with how hard he’s looking at her. If looks could kill, she’d be dead on the spot. Yikes! Perhaps it’s time to make a swift escape…

“Lady Furina, might I remind you that charges and accusations are not to be made lightly within the court. To abuse your position in order to make a ridiculous statement. I…”

With every word that leaves his mouth, Furina slowly begins to feel that perhaps she’d been too hasty in thinking that all would turn out well. And oh, maybe she should have thought up of scenarios and what-to-dos after she finished performing her grand plan, but in her defense, she’d been too excited at the prospect of finally pushing you two together that it completely slipped her mind!

Is it too late to claim it was all an elaborate performance not meant to be taken seriously?

Neuvillette stares thunderously up at her.

She’ll take that as a no, then.

Just when all hope seemed to have been lost, a savior comes in the form of you raising your hand.

Neuvillette immediately stops speaking in favor of addressing you.

“Would the accused like to defend their innocence?”

You take a deep breath, gaze briefly flitting to Furina’s before meeting Neuvillette’s. And even without much prompt, from that single glance alone, she knew she was about to witness something extremely entertaining.

“I… I would like to press charges as well,” you say evenly, and for a second, Furina’s heart drops as she thinks you’re about to charge her for false accusations and perhaps even slander, (the first time in history that anyone has charged the God of Justice for a crime!) but then, you continue—

“I would like to press charges against you, Monsieur Neuvillette, for stealing my heart too.”

Your statement is followed by a stunned silence that only lasts for a brief moment, before it’s overcome by exclamations and whoops at the sudden turn of events.

Furina falls back on her seat and howls with laughter as she watches Neuvillette be struck speechless, red creeping up his cheeks as your statement echoes across the cavernous hall. She reminds herself to gift you something extravagant for saving her at the very last moment.

Ah, what a delightful way to end the show.

She watches you direct a besotted smile towards Neuvillette. Another day, another poor sod saved from the horrors of a nonexistent love life.

Furina mentally pats herself on the back for a job well done.

[1d1195]

Hummingbirds

~5.2k words

From me: Based on a song of the same name--you'll see the lyrics in a moment. You'll need to suspend your belief a bit. I'm not sure everything makes perfect sense, but. Some of this story takes place through emailing and I didn't have a good method for this. So bold will be Harry's emails. Pink writing will be hers.

Warnings: angst, fluff, anger honestly just fluffy. second chance love

Summary: Harry has been angry for a really really long time. Only one person ever made him confront his anger.

“Eli, baby, we have to go!”

Harry could hear her from outside. He smirked, sipping his tea while he waited for Buddy to do his business. The air was crisp just like October should be. Decorative spider webs lined the front porch and the flower bushes in front of it. He was utterly pleased with his life. So completely happy.

“Mommy! I can’t find my dinosaur sneakers!”

“I don’t know how to spell it,” Evie frowned. “I’m going to fail!”

“Just do your best and practice, my love. I believe in you,” she assured as she zipped her backpack up at the doorway and stuffed her feet into the slip-on sneakers by the door. They make me feel old, she told Harry. They’re the perfect shoes for a busy Mum, he assured her. And I think y’look hot wearing them.

“Eli, honey!” She called back. “They’re here by the front door!”

Harry couldn’t stop smiling. “How lucky am I, Buddy?” He asked shaking the leash slightly. The dog turned to him and then tugged him around the yard looking for the right spot; totally unaware or unaffected that Harry had the best life there was to live.

“I-M-P-E-R-U-T-I-V-E.”

“Close, baby girl,” she smiled encouragingly. “It’s an A, not U.”

She looked miserable as she stepped off the porch. Evie approached Harry while his wife bent to help Eli with his sneakers. “I’m going to fail, Daddy.”

He chuckled at the little nine-year-old. Crouched to her height twirling the leash tight around one hand. He straightened her little hair bow on the side of her head, pinning her hair back to one side. He kissed her forehead. “Mummy said y’were close. Y’did a great job. Y’jus’ have t’remember there’s an A,” he reminded her and then pinched her cheek gently. “Like the grade you’re going t’get, right?” He winked at her.

Evie’s sweet eyes lit up with new hope. She turned to the pretty woman at the door holding Eli’s hand to usher him quickly out of the house now that his shoes were securely on his feet. “Mommy! Did you hear what Daddy said to help me remember?”

She grinned so beautifully; it melted him. The center of his chest felt deliriously warm. It felt equivalent to being snuggled under a blanket with her, warm and close while it snowed outside their house. The kids drinking hot chocolate at the coffee table and a movie playing in the background.

It was unbelievable she was all his. “What did Daddy say, Evie?” Eli held onto her hand tight while he jumped from the second to last step of the porch while Evie explained the A she was going to get. “Well, I guess you inherited your smarts from Daddy, hmm?” Which was unequivocally a joke. She was a hundred times smarter than him. Or at least it felt that way. But he loved her so much for never making him feel less than. She was good at that. It was impossible to feel less than in her presence.

She was good at everything. Her job, being a wife, but perhaps his favorite thing, she was a tremendous mother. Something he knew she would be good at, but not to the extent he witnessed on a daily basis. Eli hurried to Harry and Buddy petting the dog’s head and giggling when he licked his face. Harry kissed the top of his head and gave his little body a squeeze. “What smarts?” Harry asked.

She rolled her eyes as she finally approached her family. “You’re plenty smart, baby,” she shook her head with a gentle smile. The two kids that looked like the perfect combination of them went to her car and climbed into their respective seats. Harry wrapped his free arm around her back and pulled her to his side. He kissed her temple, nosing along her hairline.

“Not as smart as m’beautiful wife,” he reminded her. She laughed.

“I love you.” She tilted her head up for a kiss which Harry never let her wait for.

“I love you,” he grinned into the kiss.

“Ew!” Eli called.

“Mommy, let’s go!” Evie was eager to get to school and ace her spelling test.

“Bye Daddy!” Eli shouted. She gave his cheek a final peck and she headed across the yard to take their kids to school. “See you at my soccer game!”

“Hey kitten?” He called.

“Yeah?” She asked over her shoulder.

“M’a lucky man t’have you,” he reminded her.

She shook her head, laughed. “Me too, baby. Luckiest girl in the world to have you.”

The second her door closed behind her a swarm of hummingbirds fluttered so loudly into the yard. Seemingly out of nowhere. The noise of their wings was unbelievable. A dull roar. It was hundreds of the little birds, and she paid no mind to them as she started her car. Buddy didn’t care about the intrusion either. Even the kids were indifferent. “Are y’seeing this?” He called out to her. He blinked curiously when she didn’t respond. “What’s with all the—”

*

I had a dream last night / we were married in that house you always talked about / you were rushing to get the kids to school / packing their lunches, reviewing their spelling words / it was hummingbirds

Harry’s heart was beating like he had just finished a workout. His skin felt clammy. The sheets were wrapped too tightly around his legs. He groaned as his alarm vibrated to the same hum of the birds in his dream. The music playing alongside the vibration made him grumpy. “What the fuck?” He whispered and smacked the song off. He wished he could go right back. Did Evie pass her test? Did Eli score a goal?

Did she still love him the way he dreamed about?

*

Dr. Hendren listened to Harry’s dream but very much already knew the ending. It was the same as all his dreams with the house and the girl that he had been hearing for ten years.

“Harry,” the doctor said gently as he watched Harry on his screen. “Do you know what hummingbirds symbolize?”

“No,” Harry was grumpy. He always was after a dream that was so real so lifelike. It wasn’t fair. He just wanted her back. Wanted to see her. Wanted to know.

“Healing.” Dr. Hendren was quiet while Harry processed that. He worked his jaw, swallowing, and flexing it as he tried to get the words to come out. His body felt tense. Like he was trapped inside a box that was too small. That didn’t seem right. He didn’t feel like he was healed. He was still frustrated most of the time. Work was a minor distraction, and the loneliness was crippling at times. The only reprieve was dreaming of that pretty girl he knew so many years ago.

Why did it have to be her? She didn’t deserve Harry and his bad attitude. She already suffered through it for two years at a time when life should have been fun, lovely, sweet. They were kids and Harry was an ass. He never even said he loved her back then.

“Don’t you think,” Dr. Hendren continued quietly, and Harry knew what he was going to say. “You’ve been quiet long enough about what you want?” He shrugged. “Harry,” he tutted.

“I wasn’t a good boyfriend.”

“You were a kid.”

“She deserved more.”

“Then tell her. Worst case scenario, she doesn’t want to talk to you and you’ll have some closure and you can stop dreaming about it.”

Harry remained silent, looking around his empty apartment. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright. I’ll reach out to her.”

“Harry,” Dr. Hendren said quietly. “Have you thought about the best-case scenario?”

He shook his head. Thatkind of hope could kill him. But he knew why the dreams were so powerful these days. Why they were so steady and quick.

Woke up bleeding from my mouth / I bit my tongue right through / well I broke the habit / I guess that I’d had it not saying the things I need to

The following morning, he searched his inbox from an email he hadn’t used in ten years and found the address he never thought he’d email again after he broke up with her way back when.

But Harry wasn’t twenty anymore. He was trying to move on. Trying to fix things that should have been fixed a long time ago. He sat on the couch, typed out seven different versions of the message and clicked send before he could overthink it any longer. He slapped the computer shut and rubbed his hands on his pants. He took a sip of the tea he made hoping to calm himself and told himself that it was okay if she didn’t answer.

Hey. Long time. Not sure if you use this email. I know it’s been a long while. Hope you’re well. ... I’ve been thinking of you. And truthfully, I had a pretty realistic dream that you were in the other night. Nothing weird. Just my old self and back then and... I don’t know. ... How are you?

If she was working, she might just be getting settled. Or maybe out with a friend. Running errands. He refrained from imagining a little family that was waiting on her for dinner but reminded himself anyway that there were a million reasons she—

His phone lit up on the table beside the computer and his heart skipped a beat.

Harry Styles. As I live and breathe :) I’m well! How are you?

That little smiley face made his heart ache with adoration for her. He could picture her pretty face smiling. But she answered.

Good. Yeah. I… I’ve been going to therapy regularly. Finally had to and... my doctor and I have discussed a lot of things. You were one of them. I just... wanted to chat with you. I’m sorry, this is so out of the blue and weird.

No! Not at all, Harry. I’m glad you reached out. It’s really nice to hear from you. Therapy? That’s amazing! Do you like it?

I’m a work in progress.

Aren’t we all? :)

He smiled feeling relieved. Even just reading words on a screen made him feel at ease. He could practically hear her sweet, encouraging voice.

What are you up to? Do you live in state still?

Yes! I actually just moved down the road from the college. I’m a guidance counselor at the local high school.

That’s lovely. I’m not surprised you accomplished your goals. Your students are lucky to have you. Are you doing okay? It has to be draining.

A lot of the time yeah. But it’s rewarding as hell. You know I love kids, and I love being able to help.

Harry wondered if it was possible to love her more than he ever had before.

There’s a shadow on my shoulder / always whispers in my ear / that I’m so angry all of the time / I should be alone another year / I didn’t say it how you needed it / must have written it down a thousand times / all the things I would scream at the top of my lungs / if I wasn’t so busy saying I’m fine.

Harry had a habit of not saying what he was feeling. He bottled so much of it up and hid it from the rest of the world. Even people he loved. When he was dating her back in college, he kept a lot hidden and exploded when she asked him simple questions about himself. Trying to understand him and why he was angry all the time. Her willingness to look past it, try and help, and just continue to be kind to him made him angry too. It was constant, draining. It was like he couldn’t help himself.

There was a tiny voice in his head that told him he was too angry for her. She deserved someone lovely and sweet. Someone who would talk to her and tell her things. Be the person she deserved. Because despite everything, Harry loved love. It was nearly impossible for him to show it back then. But he did. He wanted to love her the way she needed.

But he was so busy being angry and bottling his emotions he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t love her the right way.

It was so unfair to her and looking back on it made him feel like a proper ass.

So, he was grateful for the email communication. He couldn’t imagine having this conversation with her about all this in person. They chatted for days. Catching up on things, reminiscing. Their email chain was up to 100 something messages. Some messages were long. Harry chatted about his family and she about hers. There were updates on work. On friends they still spoke to and no longer did. The conversation continued over the course of a little under a week.

But the most shocking details came from her.

I mentioned I moved... my ex-fiancé broke off our engagement. Don’t feel too bad for me, it’s actually a relief in hindsight. Something I’ve been trying to figure through. It’s why I know that anything you feel you did wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it was. There’s far worse relationship enders than a little bit of anger.

Jesus, I’m so sorry, kitten.

Well, isn’t that a sweet name for sore eyes :) Don’t be sorry. It’s good. I have this cute apartment to myself and it’s for the best it happened now before there were too many variables to consider...like kids or a house or something, you know? I’m definitely sad. But he wasn’t the one for me at the end of the day.

Sorry for dumping all that on you. It’s not really fair given our past. I think a lot of my friends disagree with my choice on this to let him go so it’s nice to just tell someone non-judgmental.

Harry felt angry the way he used to. The way that made him want to scream and he felt the desperate need to message Dr. Hendren because he felt out of his depth. All he said was sorry. How could she feel he was non-judgmental. He was judgmental. He was judging the fuck out of the piece of shit that broke her heart and made her sad.

But he was no better.

The man is an idiot to lose you. I know from experience.

:) I have to head to bed, there’s a big pep rally tomorrow at school so I have to have my brain ready for chaos. Sleep well Harry.

Good night, kitten.

He reread those messages over and over and right before he was going to fall asleep, his phone lit up with one more message.

You’re not an idiot by the way. He might be, but you, Harry Styles are not.

So of course, he dreamed of Evie, Eli, and the sweet girl at the other end of his emails that night.

And hummingbirds.

Thousands of hummingbirds.

*

Most of their messages were short.

I’ve been going to therapy for three years now.

That’s wonderful, Harry. Really. Do you like it?

Yeah...it’s hard.

:( Yeah... It really is. Do you like your therapist?

Yeah. I’ve had him the whole time.

Yeah? That’s good. I’m... proud of you. I don’t want to be weird about it, but I know you were angry. Really angry. It wasn’t good. You didn’t deserve that. I’m glad you have someone to help you work through it.

...You were so nice to me. When you shouldn’t have been. I didn’t treat you right.

You were wonderful, Harry. We were practically kids. If our relationship had any faults, it was because we were too young. I don’t regret a second of time being with you.

His heart skipped a beat. He felt that frustration from back when they were young, and she was so understanding but it didn’t make him grumpy or feel inadequate. All he felt was a sense of belonging. Something he probably would have felt back then if he could have gotten out of his own way. She was willing to look past it then as she was now.

You’re much too forgiving. He wrote. Because old habits die hard.

You weren’t fine, Harry. You didn’t know. We didn’t know what we were dealing with at that age.

Harry hadn’t a clue what he was dealing with. Did he even know now?

Can... can I give you something?

Give me something?

Yes. I... I can bring it to your apartment or to school or we can meet, I just... I’ve been trying to let it go but I think... I think my dream was reminding me that... there’s more to you. More I need to do for you.

Sure, if you think it will give you closure.

God, Harry wanted anything but closure.

Just to clarify: I don’t think you owe me anything.

I kept a lot hidden from you. I held back and it wasn’t fair. All you wanted was to love me and I wouldn’t let you.

It’s a vulnerable thing, Harry. To be loved. You didn’t do anything wrong. We were just young.

But... you knew I wasn’t fine, and you tried and... I just wasn’t fair to you.

You were fine, Harry. I promise. Bring me whatever it is that you need to give me to make you believe you did what you could with what you had.

*

Her apartment had a wreath on the door. It was beautiful with an array of burnt orange and red flowers and green vines. The perfect fall wreath. Beside the door were three pumpkins of different sizes. If he didn’t have her address, he almost thought he would know it was her place. He looked at the mat in front of the door that said welcome, and he wondered if there was any other place where someone actually meant it.

Swallowing, he took a deep breath and knocked. After a minute, the door was out of the way.

At 18, Harry thought she was beautiful. The most beautiful girl he had ever met. During the time they dated, he thought she got more beautiful every second. Apparently, he was right because the woman before him somehow got exponentially more beautiful. Her smile was so inviting, so warm. Like he was seeing an old friend. “Hey Harry,” her voice was sweet. Not an ounce of distrust, frustration, nothing. Their breakup was ten years ago. Not a degree of anger was left.

Harry wasn’t angry either. Not anymore. But if she had broken up with him and he hadn’t done all this work to better himself, he would have been. He didn’t know how she could be so sweet after all she went through.

“Hi,” he swallowed. “I don’t want t’keep you. S’really nice t’see you,” his dream didn’t do her justice. Sure, she was beautiful especially with their imaginary kids. Simply stunning. But this was more. This was the beautiful angel he loved so much even when she wasn’t his to love.

“You’re not keeping me; do you want to come in?” She shifted to open the door wider. “I can make some tea. Or we can order pizza?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I jus’ want t’give y’this,” he handed her the shoe box.

She opened the lid. “Well, you know I won’t say no to shoes,” she smirked.

As much as he wanted to laugh at her joke, he felt like he made a mistake. The box was out of his hands. Not because of what was in there but because of the fear of rejection and being so vulnerable. Feelings of inadequacy were currently circulating through his bloodstream. “Um... s’not—”

“What is this?” She asked, tilting her head. He swallowed, pinched his lower lip between his fingers and took a deep breath.

“S’letters.”

“Letters?”

“I wrote t’you.”

“Me?”

He took a deep breath. “M’sure y’know m’not good at saying what m’feeling.”

She replaced the lid, leaning against the frame. “I feel like I’m a little lost here, Harry.”

He nodded, shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t fidget or reach back out to take it from her. His mouth felt dry. He wished he had taken her offer for a glass of water now.  “I know y’said y’thought we were fine. But m’not happy with how I treated you. Y’were an angel. The perfect girlfriend and I treated y’unfairly a lot. I guess I’ve really held onto that and some of those letters are old but when I hit low points I thought ‘bout what y’said back then. How I wasn’t on m’own. I was allowed t’be angry. But I had t’let people in. All that. I wrote t’you a lot over the years. M’therapist said it was actually one of the smartest things I’ve done on m’own,” he chuckled. “I want you t’read them. When y’have time. I guess. I don’t know,” he cleared his throat. “This is really scary,” he admitted.

“Okay,” she nodded encouragingly and reached out to his forearm. She squeezed it reassuringly. It was only a touch on his arm, and he felt so good feeling it. He knew it was her training kicking in. Like a broken, beaten student at her office door. “I can do that,” she assured him. “Do you want me to text you about each one? Or just a summary of all of them? Or do you want me to not say anything?”

He looked at his feet. “Fuck...” he whispered to himself. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” she took a deep breath. “Thank you,” she smiled. “I’ll start reading tonight and I’ll decide in the moment. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”

He nodded, looked at his feet. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“S’a lot.”

“I enjoy reading, Harry,” she grinned and moved her hand to his upper arm and soothingly rubbed up and down. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Of course he did. There was no one else he really did. He nodded, feeling nauseous but still lighter. “I’m gonna go now,” he swallowed.

“I’ll email you,” she assured him with a smile and headed inside.

*

Like it grows old real fast / how much you can love and not get it back / were we too attached? / It’s a shame how often goodbyes last / I thought we were better than that / I thought I was stronger at last.

The knock on the door was hurried, eager. Insistent on being heard.

At first, he felt frozen in the kitchen cleaning up the dinner he made himself and placing the dirty dishes in the sink. Maybe he imagined the knock. Maybe he was just dreaming again. Plus, she said she would email right? This wasn’t something to feel nervous about.

But the flutter of knocking continued. He hurried from his frozen position as the rapid taps hit the wood. He knew. His gut telling him exactly who was on the other side of that door. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed before pulling it out of the way.

“You bought me the house?!” She shrieked.

Harry dipped his head to avoid her eyes. “Yes.”

“Harry Styles, what the fuck?!”

He felt sick. “You hate it?”

Her eyes were red, glossy. Not what he expected at all. But why wasn’t it? This wasn’t normal. After a breakup of her own where she was sure she was going to marry the guy. Harry appeared out of nowhere. Telling her that he had a dream about her, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about her.

She covered her mouth and shook her head. “Harry,” she croaked.

“I’m—"

“You can’t buy me a house! We’re not even... Harry. This is insane! You have to see that!”

He shrugged. “I guess... but... I don’t know, kitten. I think about you all the time. I see this house in my sleep. I see our life in m’dreams every night.”

She was wearing only socks. Like she didn’t even have time to put on shoes. She held the paper in her hand wrinkled like she had read it hundreds of times already even though he had only given it to her the night before and he just knew which one was in her hands. She cleared her throat and read the date from ten years ago before she read the remainder of the letter.

To the resident(s) of 1278 Chestnut Street

My name is Harry Styles, and I am a college student in town. My girlfriend and I walk by your lovely home every day when we head to our favorite coffee shop after class. We love your home. Or I should say, my girlfriend LOVES your home. She claims it’s her dream home. The porch, the yard, the location... everything. She even loves your driveway. Every bit of your house is part of this fantastic dream she has of the life she wants in the future.

I don’t know if I’ll be with her forever. I am... working on myself. I’m not very good at all this relationship stuff. Especially when it comes to her. Quite frankly, I think she deserves way better than me. But on the off chance I am lucky enough to keep her in my life for as long as I would like, I want to make her dreams come true. She deserves that. She deserves every single one of her dreams to come true. She is the kind of girl that deserves every good thing that can possibly be provided for her.

If you ever find yourself selling, would you please consider emailing me first? Of course, if you have family that you plan on giving your home to, I understand. I can’t even promise I’ll be able to afford it, but I’ll want to know. If only to pass on the message to her somewhere down the line. She deserves the chance to have all her dreams come true.

I’m not sure where you are in life or if you have ever been in a relationship like this one. This girl is so special. She’s an angel. The kind of love that even a movie couldn’t show, or a book couldn’t write. I’m lucky to have her right now and I don’t know why she’s with me. I don’t know why I’m even sending this crazy letter other than I know I have to try. Even if she’s smart enough to leave me, I want her to know her dream home is available. Somewhere down the road. Even if we’re not on the same road anymore. That’s what she deserves.

I’m sorry to bother you like this. I hope you can understand what love can do to a guy in college with a girlfriend who is LEAGUES above him. Thank you for taking time to read this and I hope you continue to enjoy your lovely home.

Sincerely,

Harry

Her voice shook as she read it. “You sent that when we were in college.” He nodded, swallowed the lump in his throat and looked at the packet stapled together. “They emailed you,” she whispered. He nodded again.

“Dear Harry. We got your letter. When the time comes. We’ll be moving closer to our children. They’ve never expressed interest in our house the way you have. My wife and I met in college and believe me, I know a little something about finding the girl of your dreams. It’s nice you’re working on yourself. You deserve the life that fits this house too. We hope it’s with the girl that is leagues above you (although, we imagine she’d think differently). We’ll be in touch. The Andersons.”

Harry watched her flip the page as she made eye contact with him briefly before returning her gaze to the paper in front of her.

“Dear Harry. We hope life is treating you well. That you’re working on yourself, and your girlfriend is still around. If she’s not, we hope you’re not being too hard on yourself. We wanted to let you know we’ll soon be moving to a retirement community close to our son. We want to have you (and your girlfriend) over for dinner if you’re available. Let us know.”

Harry knew what was coming but he was still terrified. Why was she here? Barefoot. Reading the letters to him. What did she think.

“Dear Harry. It was so nice to meet you in person. Here is the contract we discussed. See you soon.”

He rubbed the back of his head. “Kitten,” he whispered.

“Dear Harry. We hope you get her back. Enjoy your home. Never stop giving out your love. The Andersons.”

She was teary, swallowing hard. Her hands were shaking as she held the papers in front of her. “You bought me a house.”

He nodded. There was a pause. “M’sorry I took so long.”

She dropped the papers and launched herself into his arms. He stumbled back at the impact. Her arms around his neck, her feet barely touching the floor as she tucked her face into his shoulder. “Harry,” she whimpered. Harry sighed, wrapped his arms tightly around her, one at her waist, the other hand cupping the back of her head.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” his voice felt raw. Like he was the one that was crying and shaking. Not her.

She sniffled and nodded. “I know,” because she did. She read every single letter. Watched the date change but one thing never did and that was the love she felt in each letter.

“M’so tired, kitten,” he croaked.

“Of what, baby?” She cupped his face. The emotion on his face was tender and nothing like she remembered from ten years prior. Her thumb soothingly rubbed his cheek.

“Life without you,” he closed his eyes tight. “This house is yours I want nothing more than for you t’have it, but I want it t’be ours.”

She sniffled, ducked her head briefly as she glanced around. “You decorated it for Halloween,” she whispered.

“You would have done better.”

She snorted. “Harry...”

“If this is the house that makes you happy then I want it jus’ as much, kitten. But you’re my home. You always have been.”

“I don’t know what to say Harry,” she whimpered.

“Say yes.”

“Harry...” she whispered.

“Please, I’m so tired of loving and loving and never feeling that way. I know s’how I made y’feel in college and y’jus’ dealt with it. Y’jus’ wanted love and I didn’t give y’what y’needed. But m’ready now. M’so ready t’do whatever y’need t’love you the way y’deserve. The way y’always deserved.”

Not for the first time in his life, Harry prayed that if this was a dream, he would never wake up.

He never thought he would hold her again. Never thought she would be in the house she always wanted. Or that she would know he was sorry for how he was back when he was an angry kid.

Perhaps most importantly, he never thought he would feel her lips on his ever again.

--

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[gracie-eilish]

Could you please do something where reader is like super introverted but comfortable around billie (cuz they're dating 😛) and one day reader is just yapping so much like ranting, but then she realizes she's talking a lot and gets embarrassed and starts to apologize a bunch but billie finds it absolutely adorable when she gets passionate about things since its not too often she does it?

an: thanks for the requestttt babyyyyy:) i hope u like itttt🧡🧡🧡

Heart Eyes😍

It wasn’t often that you talked this much.

Billie knew that.

She knew you were quiet, introverted—the kind of person who preferred listening over speaking, who felt more at home in the background rather than the spotlight. She never minded. If anything, she loved it, loved the way you opened up just enough for her, how you never felt the need to fill the silence when you were together.

But sometimes… sometimes when you two were alone, you got carried away.

Like right now.

You weren’t even sure what had started it. One moment, you and Billie were curled up on the couch, her fingers lazily tracing patterns against your thigh, the two of you basking in that warm, easy silence you always fell into. And then—you started talking.

It was something small at first. Maybe a comment about a show you had been watching, something that had been bothering you about a certain character.

“I just don’t get it,” you huffed, shifting against the cushions as Billie let out a small hum of acknowledgment. “Like—why would they build up this whole storyline just to throw it away? Do they not understand how character arcs work?”

Billie smirked, eyes flicking up from where her head rested against your shoulder. “Oh no,” she teased. “Here we go.”

You shot her a playful glare, but that only encouraged her grin.

“I’m serious, Billie!” You sat up a little straighter, suddenly feeling the need to gesture as you spoke. “They spent three seasons setting this up! And then what? They just—throw it away like it’s nothing?” You scoffed, hands flying in frustration. “What was even the point? It’s lazy writing, that’s what it is. They had so much potential, and they ruined it!”

Billie watched you with an amused glint in her eyes, her lips twitching like she was holding back a smile.

“I mean, tell me I’m wrong,” you pressed, turning to her expectantly. “You know it was bad. Like, objectively bad.”

Billie finally let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, babe, I’m not about to argue with you. You’re on a roll right now.”

That only fueled you more.

“Exactly! And it’s not even just this show—writers always do this! It’s like they don’t trust the audience to appreciate a slow-burn arc anymore.” You sighed dramatically, running a hand through your hair. “Like, God forbid they actually develop their characters instead of just rushing to wrap things up in the most unsatisfying way possible.”

Billie let out another hum, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles against your knee. “Mm, sounds like someone should just write their own show.”

You paused, considering. “Honestly? I could do a better job than half these people.”

Billie snorted. “No doubt.”

“I’m serious!” You shifted to face her more fully, your expression animated. “If I ever wrote a show, I’d actually respect my characters. I wouldn’t just throw out their development for shock value.”

Billie’s grin widened. “Oh, I believe you, baby.”

You went on, too caught up in your thoughts to notice the way she was looking at you.

“And another thing,” you continued, “it’s like they don’t even watch their own show. How do you write for characters you clearly don’t understand? How do you spend years creating something just to betray the entire foundation of what made it good?”

Billie bit her lip, watching as your hands gestured wildly, your eyes practically glowing with passion.

You barely stopped to breathe, completely wrapped up in your rant. “And don’t even get me started on how they completely sidelined the best character. Like, hello? They deserved way more screentime—”

Then, suddenly, mid-sentence—

You froze.

Your face went hot, your stomach flipping as you realized just how much you had been saying.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, your hands immediately retreating to your lap. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You turned to Billie, half-expecting her to look overwhelmed, or maybe even a little annoyed.

Instead—

She was staring at you.

Like, full-on staring.

Her blue eyes were impossibly soft, lips slightly parted, and if you weren’t mistaken—her cheeks were a little pink.

She looked completely entranced.

“Billie?” You blinked, suddenly very aware of how quiet the room had gotten. You shifted under her gaze, ducking your head as embarrassment settled in your chest. “I was totally rambling, I—I didn’t even let you say anything. I’ll stop now.”

But then Billie melted.

Like, literally melted.

She let out the softest little sigh, her entire body going warm against you as she reached forward, cupping your face with both hands. Her thumbs brushed over your cheeks, her expression so stupidly in love that you felt even more flustered.

“Are you kidding?” she whispered, her voice dipping into something soft, something almost dazed.

You swallowed, blinking rapidly. “W-What?”

Billie’s smile was slow, her lips curling at the edges like she couldn’t contain it.

“That was adorable.”

Your stomach flipped.

Your lips parted, but before you could even think of what to say, she was already leaning in, pressing the softest, most lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Baby,” she murmured, her nose brushing against your skin as she pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “You never talk that much, and I swear I have actual heart eyes watching you right now.”

You made a noise in protest, your face burning. “Billie—”

“No, seriously,” she insisted, grinning now, her fingers sliding down to gently cradle your jaw. “You were so passionate, I could feel how much you cared, and—ugh, you’re just so cute.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Stop.”

Billie giggled—an actual, breathless little giggle.

She pried your hands away from your face with ease, tugging them into her lap before lacing your fingers together.

“Why are you embarrassed?” she teased, tilting her head. “I loved it. Love when you talk like that.”

You chewed on your lip, still trying to process the ridiculous amount of fondness in her eyes. “…You do?”

Billie sighed dramatically, squeezing your hands. “Baby. I love everything about you.”

You exhaled slowly, the warmth in your chest growing until it was almost unbearable.

Billie beamed, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Now—go on.”

You blinked. “What?”

She grinned. “Keep talking. I wanna hear more.”

Your heart stuttered.

You hesitated, but the way she was looking at you—the way she was practically soaking up your every word—it made the nerves melt away just enough.

So you did.

You kept talking.

And Billie listened.

She held onto your every word like it mattered, like you mattered.

And maybe, just maybe—

You’d let yourself get carried away more often.

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 5

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Currently thinking this will have like 5-7 parts? (That was a nice fever dream. I am now thinking maybe 8-9?)

Max didn‘t wait until he was back at the hotel to call Colette. He was attached to his phone as soon as he got done with that horrible press conference. 

He really didn‘t care what anybody else had to say about that. As soon as he could, he called Colette.

It wasn‘t Colette that picked up though, it was Pascale, her mother.

"Max," she greeted him.

Max was surprised to hear Pascale's voice on the other end of the line. He had been expecting to hear Colette's voice, and hearing her mother instead sent a jolt of anxiety through him.

"How is she doing?" He asked. He didn't need to say more. Pascale understood.

"She's...she's not doing well," Pascale said wearily. He could hear the exhaustion in her voice. "She's been crying almost non-stop since the news broke."

Max closed his eyes, his heart clenching painfully at the news. The thought of Colette crying, of her being so upset and distressed...it was unbearable.

"Can I talk to her?" he asked, desperately needing to hear her voice.

He needed to hear that she was okay, that she was holding up. He needed to know that she was coping.

Somehow. 

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Max held his breath as he waited for Pascale to respond. He could hear muffled voices in the background, and he knew that Pascale was likely talking to Colette.

"Maxie?"

Colette had cried. That was clearly obvious in her voice, how hoarse it was...how even these two syllable seemed to take so much effort from her, her voice hitching. He could hear her shaky breathing over the phone, clearly her trying to get a grip on herself and not worry him even more.

But that had become impossible the moment George Russell had decided to get completely bananas.

"Hey, liefje," he said softly. "How are you doing?"

Colette's voice caught on a sob, and Max's heart ached at the raw emotion in it. He could practically picture her, sitting in their living room, tears streaming down her face as she tried to hold it together.

"I'm...I'm not okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Max's heart clenched in his chest, and he desperately wished he was there with her. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her. But he could only listen.

"What can I do?" he asked, his voice thick with emotions. "How can I help you?"

He needed to do something, anything to ease her pain and make her feel better. "Do you want me to come home?" He asked her. "I'll do it, liefje. Say the word."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. He could hear Colette breathing heavily, clearly trying to compose herself.

"No," she finally said, her voice sounding a bit more steady. "No, please don't. You have a race tomorrow. You need to focus."

Max's heart squeezed at her words. He wanted nothing more than to hop on the next plane back to Monaco and be with her. But he knew she was right. He couldn't just abandon his team and the race like that. "If you change your mind..." he trailed off.

"No, we are not doing that," Colette said shakily. "Your races are yours, and I'll be waiting once you come home."

"You are more important than any race ever could be," he disagreed sharply. More important than anything else to him. He loved her so much. "I want you to know that."

He needed her to know that. 

She had always been a pillar of support to him. Had never questioned how much of his time his career demanded. Had never once thrown it at his head in an accusatory way. She had always accepted it. Had supported him every step of the way, from his first practice in a Formula 1 car, through his first point finish, his first race win, four championships…

She had always supported him. 

But no race win…no trophy, no world champion title was ever going to be as important to him as Colette. 

He would happily give all of that up, if it meant that he got to come home to her. 

He heard her exhale shakily.  "I do know that," Colette said softly. "I know that. But...But even if you were here, you couldn't do anything but hold me. Everybody is..." she trailed off and he could hear another hitch in her breath. "Did you...Did you see what Arthur did?" She asked him, and he could hear the tears in her voice.

"I did, liefje," he agreed softly. "He shouldn't have done that without talking to you first."

"Or to you. This is your life too," Colette disagreed.

"Colette," he said carefully. "I don't care that the public knows. You were the one that wanted to keep this private, which was completely alright with me. I agreed to that. It didn't bother me, liefje. But I wouldn't have cared if it was public knowledge either. I am only upset with Arthur because he upset you."

Colette didn't answer. He could picture her sitting on their bed, cross legged, one hand resting on her baby bump…she took deep breaths, clearly trying to keep her tears at bay.

"I just...I feel so stupid," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. "I feel so stupid...I shouldn't be so upset by this. But I am and I..." her voice trailed off.

"Hey," he interrupted gently. "You are allowed to be upset, liefje. You are allowed to feel however you feel," he reminded her carefully.​​

There was a knock at the door and he looked up to see Gemma stick her head into the driver’s room, a grimace on her face. "Can it wait?" He demanded from her, not caring at all, that he was being rude.

"No, it can't. George Russell had some more stuff to say," Gemma said hesitantly.

Colette must have heard it, because he got to hear another choked off sob from her.

"Liefje," he said softly. "I want you to let me deal with this, alright? Don't look online. Don't search it out. Just ignore it. Your only job right now is to take care of you and our baby," he told her fiercely. "Let us take care of the rest."

Colette let out another shaky breath on the other end of the line. He could hear her trying to compose herself, trying to push the sobs back.

Finally, she said quietly, "Okay," in a small, meek voice, and he hated how defeated she sounded.

"Go cuddle with the cats," he told her softly. "Let your Mom spoil you."

"M…Maman’s making hot cocoa," Colette offered weakly, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

It was faint, but it was there. And that was all he could hope for right now."I am jealous," he teased her lightly.

"I'd save you some, but it's too good to share," she teased back before her voice caught on another sob, and he knew that this was it. This was the end of her being able to converse with him.

"Hey," he said gently. "I love you. So much."

"I love you too," Colette whispered in a broken voice. "So much."

Max hated that he couldn't be there, he hated that he had to hang up. He just wanted to hold her, to remind her that everything was alright.

"I want you to do something for me," he told her in a firm voice. "I want you to take a bath. And a long one," he told her. "One of the nice lavender scented bubble bath, I always make fun of you about. And I want you to eat dinner. And I want you to watch some of those stupid tv shows you love, and for you to relax. And rest. Can you do that?"

"I...I'll try," Colette said weakly over the line. He could hear her crying getting slightly worse again, the realization that they were ending the call obviously hitting her.

"And then you will take the best nap. And cuddle with our cats," he continued. "Alright? You'll do all that for me?"

"Yes," she answered him, her voice breaking on that one word.

Max closed his eyes, his heart hurting as he took a deep breath. "I am going to hang up now. I'm sorry, love."

"I know," she whispered, and he could hear the desperation in her voice. The need to keep the phone line between them open. But he knew that she was tired and he knew that she was distraught. And he knew that she needed rest. He needed to let her go.

"I love you," he said fiercely. "I love you so damn much, liefje. I'll talk to you as soon as I can."

"I-I love you," Colette managed back, before her voice broke on a sob again. "More than anything. Please...be careful tomorrow, okay? Be careful."

"I will," he promised her. "I swear, I will be careful. I'll come home to you in one piece, okay? I promise."

"You better," she told him in a wobbly voice. It was half pleading, half joking, and it just about crushed him.

"I swear. I'll try my damn hardest," he promised her. "And when I get home? I promise I will hold you for hours. I won't let you go, liefje."

He hung up on her then. And then he turned to Gemma. "What could Russell possibly have said that I should care about it right now?"

"How about that you have spent the last 15 years living a lie and that he wouldn't want you to date his sister, because your girlfriend probably is the one dealing with all your anger issues?" Gemma offered drily.

Max looked at her in disbelief for a moment, his mind refusing to process her words immediately, they were so completely insane.

"What?" He finally asked, his voice coming out in a disbelieving croak. Gemma handed him her phone, a grimace on her face. And there it was in black written text. Screencaps of statements George Russell had made.

 None of it making any sense whatsoever. Max had no idea what the other driver had snorted that had sent him off the rocker like that.

"They tried to get Charles Leclerc to comment as well, but he said it was insulting and that he has not once worried about you and Colette, more the opposite," Gemma said quickly. "Everybody that has ever seen the two of you together knows that it's complete bullshit, Max."

Still. He swallowed.

"I would never lay a finger on her," he said weakly. Not ever.

Colette was...Colette was everything. Colette had been his safe place before he even knew what that was or that he needed one. 

He would rather cut off his own hand than to put a finger at her in anger.

Gemma stepped over to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Everybody knows that," she told him gently. "Everyone that knows you knows that you would never. Just like everyone knows that the other stuff Russell has said is nonsense as well."

Max closed his eyes, letting Gemma's words sink in. He knew that they were true. The people in his life, the people that knew him and Colette...they knew that those accusations were completely ridiculous. That even thinking he would ever hurt Colette was laughable.

"But..." he said quietly. "Social media won't care that it's complete crap."

"It'll blow over. You know the online world has the attention span of a goldfish," she said with a shrug. "We'll send the usual suspects to talk to the media tomorrow to make it clear that you neither have anger issues nor that anybody needs to worry about you laying a single finger on Colette," Gemma promised. "I know that this is hurtful, Max, but I think it just makes it very clear that everything that Russell has said has been completely made up."

Max leaned his head against the door behind him, his mind racing, trying to process everything. He knew she was right. That everything she was saying was reasonable. But it still hurt. It hurt that somebody would come at him and his relationship with Colette like that. Especially when it was so clear that they knew nothing about them.

"I'm going to call some people," Gemma told him gently and with a final squeeze on his shoulder left the room.

Max took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, trying to process everything and calm his racing thoughts. He wanted to call Colette again. He wanted to explain again and again that he would never hurt her. That all of this was complete and utter bullshit.

But he didn't want to bother or upset her even more, if she had even been able to rest at all.

And he hated this. He hated this so much.

He really did. He hated that there was nothing he could do.

He hated that the next day was going to be a media circus. He hated that he was going to have to sit in a car for an hour and a half tomorrow, without being able to see or talk to her.

And most of all, he hated George Russell.

Bath. Lavender. Warm Water. And hot cocoa.

She felt like a child again.

Her Maman had been hovering around her all afternoon and early evening, fussing over her when she really didn't need it, but Colette was glad that her mother refused to leave her alone.

Especially when her mother tucked her into bed like she had done when she had been a wayward 6-year old. 

"Arthur didn't think," her mother said softly. "He didn't do this on purpose to hurt you."

Colette let out a shaky breath. "I know he didn't," she said thickly. "But I am just so mad at him. And it just...hurt," she admitted. It hurt more than she had thought.

"I know," her mother said softly.

Another shaky exhale, and Colette closed her eyes, just to keep the tears at bay.

"I knew it was going to come out one day," she admitted weakly. "But I never wanted it to come out like this. Not now.”

Bébé rumbled unerneath her skin, striking out to kick against her ribs once more. She laid her hand over where he had just kicked her. 

Her mother gently sat down next to her, gathering her in her arms and pulling her close. Colette melted into it and leaned into her Mom with a soft, shaky sigh.

"It wasn't right of Arthur to say anything," her mother told her quietly. "He had no right to share that picture. Nor to talk about your relationship. Not without talking to you about it first."

Colette swallowed back another bout of tears, hiding her face in her Mom's chest. "I know," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "I know, it wasn't his news to share, but...it's still just...it's just so upsetting."

Her mother ran a hand over her hair while the other circled her back in a soft, circular motion. "I know," her mother agreed, her voice kind and soft. "But this doesn't change anything. You know that, right? The important people already knew," she continued softly. "Your family and friends. They all know that Max and you are in a relationship."

A quiet nod, Colette still hiding her face in her mother’s chest, her fingers clinging onto her shirt.

"It's just...." she said weakly. "It still hurts. A lot."

Her mother's arms wrapped around her a little tighter, a gentle kiss placed atop her head. "I know," her Mom agreed again, gently rubbing Colette's back. "It hurts, and it sucks, and it's not fair that he didn't talk to you about it before. I'm sorry, Choupinette."

Colette swallowed again, and exhaled, trying to hold it together. But a few tears escaped anyway. "I just...I just wish that he hadn't. I feel so exposed now," she admitted in a half-whisper.

"I know," her Mom agreed again, letting Colette let out another round of quiet tears. "I know, Choupinette," her mother repeated, gently rubbing her back again, her arms tight around her.

Colette sniffled again, her emotions a tangled, swirling mess, and clung on tighter to her Mother. "I just...I just wish Max was here," she admitted in a broken whisper.v"He asked me if he should come home," she admitted softly.

Her mother’s hand ran gently up and down her back, still hugging Colette tight.

"What did you tell him?" she asked quietly.

Colette swallowed past the lump in her throat and breathed in shakily. "I told him to race. I told him I didn't want him to come home," she said shakily, more tears escaping her.

Her mother hummed quietly and hugged her a little tighter. "Why?" Her mother's voice was gentle and curious, no judgement and accusation to be found.

"Because I fell in love with a 12-year-old boy for whom racing was the most important thing in his life,” she answered, her voice soft. “Max has this...passion for it. This incredible love. And I promised myself then, that I was never going to be the one to take it from him," she explained softly. "I was never going to make him chose. Between me and racing."

And maybe that was also because for years...she had wondered if she was going to be the one of the two he would chose. 

Her mother was quiet behind her for a moment, only the soothing motion of her hand rubbing along Colette's back continuing.

And then her mother said, softly.

"You know he would chose you in a heartbeat, don't you?"

Colette buried her face further into her mother, her tears starting to flow again as she let her mother's words sink in.

Because she wanted to believe it. She really, really wanted to.

"He will never need to," she said simply. "He said ​​the same thing but…I would never take it away from him."

Her mother hummed again and tightened her arms around her a little.

"I know you wouldn't," she assured. "But he still wouldn't hesitate, love."

Colette took another shaky breath, trying to keep herself from completely falling to pieces just from the thought of it. It was true. She knew it deep in her bones. Max would drop everything to get to her, if she only asked. And it just made her feel like crying more.

"I just...I just miss him," she admitted in a sniffly voice, her nails digging in her mother's soft shirt.

Her mother's gentle hand was running over her hair again, trying to soothe her as best as she could. "I know, baby," she whispered. "You'll see him soon."

Colette huffed a breath against her mother’s chest, the thought both a comfort and a curse.

She wanted to see him. She wanted to crawl into his arms and just listen to him tell her everything was going to be okay, and believe every single word of it.

Another shaky inhale and exhale, and Colette's hands gripped her Mom's shirt, just to keep from completely falling apart.

It was all so overwhelming, with Max so far away, and just everything in general.

Her breath shuddered again when her mother's arms tightened around her once more, pulling her even closer to her chest, as if she was trying to protect her through sheer force of will.

Colette let her, burying her face in her Mom's soft chest and trying to hold it all together.

[loveesiren]

𝖤𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍 (𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖮𝗇𝖾)

Rafe Cameron x Reader | Pt. 2

a/n: hi my lovelies! I wrote this based on one of my favorite songs! Emergency Contact by Pierce The Veil. It ended up being really long so I decided to chop it up into three parts! Not sure if I'll write more for it but I'm just happy to get out of my writer's block and post something new. I hope you enjoy! Feedback welcome and encouraged :)

synopsis: Y/N has always been close to the Cameron family, practically a part of it after years of friendship. Beneath the surface, unspoken feelings simmer between her and Rafe, but neither of them can muster the courage to admit it. When Y/N finally decides to move on, setting her sights on a new man, he’s forced to confront the truth: losing her might cost him more than he ever realized.

warnings: slight angst

wc: 3.1k+

Rafe wasn’t used to girls like you. Sweet, kind, and angelic. His experience with women had mostly consisted of those who were after his money or his drugs, their intentions shallow and self-serving. But you were different. You didn’t want anything from him—not his wealth, not his reputation, not his vices. Your every interaction with him felt genuine, and it threw him off balance. You made him feel things he couldn’t quite name, emotions foreign and unsettling in their depth.

The first time Sarah brought you home was about three years ago. You had recently moved to the Outer Banks and met Sarah at a party at the Boneyard. You hit it off immediately, your laughter and warmth cutting through the chaos of the night. Sarah had invited you to dinner with her family, and you accepted, not knowing how much that evening would change everything.

You wore a white sundress that night, the fabric brushing against your sun-kissed skin. Your hair fell in soft waves past your shoulders, and you carried yourself with effortless grace. You looked like the picture-perfect Kook, someone destined to fit seamlessly into their world. Sarah had assured you her family would love you—and they did. But no one was more captivated than her brother, Rafe.

“Rafe, this is Y/n,” Sarah introduced as you stepped into the dining room.

“So nice to meet you!” you said warmly, your smile lighting up the space.

Sarah had expected Rafe to scoff or brush you off like he usually did with her friends. Instead, he stood there, visibly flustered. His blue eyes darted from you to the floor as he scratched the back of his head, his hair falling slightly into his face.

“I-uh-you too,” he stammered, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Sarah smirked, barely holding back a laugh. It was rare to see Rafe like this, vulnerable and unsure. Throughout dinner, he was unrecognizable—quiet, attentive, and completely entranced by you. He didn’t crack a single sarcastic remark or roll his eyes like he usually did. Instead, he listened intently as you chatted with Rose and Ward about your background, your studies, and your dreams. His heart skipped a beat every time you laughed, the sound stirring something deep inside him.

Later that night, as you and Sarah changed into pajamas in her room, she couldn’t help but tease you.

“Rafe likes you,” she said, a sly grin spreading across her face.

You blinked in surprise. “Really? He seems… shy.”

Sarah snorted. “Oh, he’s far from shy. At least, not with most people. I’ve never seen him clam up like that before.”

You bit your lip, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The thought of Rafe Cameron—the same Rafe who intimidated just about everyone—getting nervous around you sent a flutter through your chest.

Over the months, you became a fixture in the Camerons’ lives. You grew close to Sarah, sharing secrets and adventures like lifelong friends. But it was your bond with Rafe that surprised everyone—including yourself. Around you, he was different. The sharp edges of his personality softened, his temper cooled. He was kinder, calmer, and, for the first time in years, genuinely happy.

Sarah noticed the change immediately. She even started to enjoy spending time with her brother—something she’d never thought possible. Whenever you were around, Rafe seemed lighter, his dark moods kept at bay by your presence.

And while you’d never admit it out loud, you’d started to feel something too. The way his eyes lingered on you, the way his voice softened when he spoke your name—it all made your heart race in a way you couldn’t ignore. You knew it was risky, falling for your best friend’s brother. But with Rafe, it felt inevitable.

Today was an exciting day. You and Sarah were helping Rafe move into his new house, a milestone he’d worked tirelessly to achieve. It wasn’t as grand as Tanneyhill, lacking the opulence and legacy of the Cameron estate, but it was something entirely his. A charming seaside home, bathed in sunlight and kissed by the ocean breeze, a place where he could finally carve out a life of his own. With Sarah already living with John B, you knew Rafe had felt out of place staying at home at 24. Now, this house was his fresh start.

“This is gorgeous!” you called out, your voice carrying across the open space as you stepped onto the balcony off the living room. The view was breathtaking: the endless stretch of ocean meeting the horizon, waves rolling in with rhythmic grace. The sun warmed your skin, and the salty air filled your lungs, making your heart feel light and free.

Rafe followed you outside, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I thought you’d like it,” he said, his voice tinged with pride. But while the sea and sky formed a masterpiece before him, his gaze lingered on you instead, captivated by the way the sunlight danced in your hair and the way your eyes sparkled with joy.

“I mean, look at this view!” you exclaimed, leaning against the railing and spreading your arms wide as if to embrace the entire ocean. “I could look at this forever!”

Rafe’s eyes never left you. “Me too,” he murmured, so softly it was almost a whisper. His words weren’t meant for the horizon or the waves, but for you—the only view that truly mattered to him in that moment.

You turned to look at him, a grin lighting up your face. “I brought champagne! To celebrate!” you announced, practically bouncing on your feet before darting back through the house and out to your car to grab the bottles you’d picked up. Returning triumphantly, you popped one open, the cork flying with a soft “pop” and a few fizzy streams spilling onto the hardwood floor. You laughed it off, quickly pouring everyone a glass.

“To new beginnings!” you declared, raising your glass high, your eyes sparkling as they met Rafe’s.

“To new beginnings,” Rafe echoed, his voice soft but steady as he clinked his glass against yours, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than necessary.

The rest of the afternoon was a flurry of activity. John B and Rafe tackled the heavy lifting, moving boxes and furniture, while you and Sarah set to work unpacking and arranging. The kitchen was priority number one, ensuring Rafe would at least have a functional space to cook while settling in. Between trips to Tanneyhill and the furniture store, laughter filled the air, making the hard work feel less like a chore and more like an adventure.

By the time evening rolled around, the four of you collapsed onto the couch, surrounded by a sea of half-opened boxes. You leaned back, exhaustion mingling with the lingering buzz of champagne.

“How do you have so much stuff?” Sarah groaned, shooting Rafe an incredulous look.

Rafe smirked, leaning back against the couch. “Please, I seem to remember a few boatloads of crap when we moved you to Poguelandia.”

“He’s not wrong,” John B chimed in, raising an eyebrow at Sarah. “Our room is mostly your stuff. I have, like, one drawer.”

“Oh, shut up!” Sarah laughed, playfully slapping her boyfriend on the shoulder. She yawned, stretching her arms over her head. “Speaking of our room,” she said through another yawn, “I’m ready for bed.”

You giggled as John B helped her up from the couch, the champagne’s bubbly warmth making you feel light and carefree.

“Thanks for the help,” Rafe said, walking them to the door. You listened as the Twinkie’s engine roared to life, fading into the distance as Rafe closed the door and returned to the couch.

“Rafeyyyy,” you whined playfully, stretching out the nickname as you leaned into the cushions. “I think I might’ve had a little too much champagne.”

Rafe chuckled, his lips curving into an easy smile as he settled beside you. He loved the way your nickname for him rolled off your tongue, soft and endearing. “That’s okay. You can stay here tonight. Take the bed; I’ll crash out here.”

“What? No!” you protested, sitting up a little straighter. “It’s your first night in your new home! I don’t want to ruin that.”

“Trust me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and warm, “you’re not ruining anything.”

“I don’t even have a change of clothes,” you pouted, crossing your arms for dramatic effect.

Rafe’s laugh was soft, a sound that made your chest feel lighter. He reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Go shower. I’ll make the bed and find you something to wear.”

Your cheeks warmed under his touch, but you nodded, a cheeky smile spreading across your face. “Okay,” you said, hopping up and darting toward the bathroom.

You were grateful you and Sarah had spent time unpacking the essentials in the master suite. Grabbing a towel, you locked the door behind you and turned on the shower. Steam quickly filled the space, cocooning you in its warmth. As the water cascaded over your skin, washing away the day’s sweat and exhaustion, you let yourself relax, the events of the day swirling in your mind. Rafe’s soft smiles and gentle touches lingered in your thoughts, leaving your heart fluttering in a way you couldn’t quite shake.

You tried to push the thoughts from your mind. You and Rafe were close friends—nothing more. You couldn’t justify having feelings for your best friend’s older brother. Besides, Sarah had set you up on a date with JJ Maybank for tomorrow. The blonde Pogue was someone you’d grown to know well. He was carefree and fun, always ready to brighten everyone’s day with his infectious energy.

You were genuinely excited for your date with JJ. Rafe, on the other hand, didn’t see you as anything more than a friend. Sure, he’d had a small crush on you when you first met, but that had been ages ago. He’d never made a move, so you assumed those feelings had long since faded. You shook off the intrusive thoughts and focused on finishing your shower, letting the warm water wash away any lingering doubts.

Meanwhile, Rafe moved with quiet purpose. He carefully made the bed, choosing the softest sheets he could find and fluffing the pillows with meticulous care. On the edge of the bed, he laid out one of his favorite T-shirts and a pair of sweatpants for you. Comfort was his priority. It always was when it came to you. He wanted you to feel at ease, to be happy. Deep down, he was completely and hopelessly in love with you, though he’d never admit it. The thought of saying it out loud felt terrifying—what if it changed everything?

Hearing the shower turn off, Rafe quickly exited the room, retreating to the couch. He pressed play on a random movie, letting the screen light up with familiar scenes as a distraction. Ten minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in his oversized clothes, your damp hair framing your face.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” he asked, his voice soft.

You sank onto the couch beside him. “Better. Sleepy,” you admitted with a small smile. “Thank you,” you added, gesturing to the clothes you wore.

“No problem,” he replied, fiddling with his earlobe, his gaze flickering nervously between you and the TV.

“What are you watching?” you asked, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin on them.

“Uh, just some old movie,” he said with a shrug. “Put it on for background noise.”

You squinted at the screen, quickly recognizing the iconic characters. A playful grin spread across your face. “Rafe Cameron, are you watching Titanic?”

Rafe glanced at the TV, his cheeks flushing. He hadn’t even realized what he’d put on. “Oh, I… I guess so,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

You laughed softly, turning to him. There was a shy look in his eyes, but it wasn’t about the movie. It was something else, something deeper. He looked like he wanted to say something, the words hovering on the tip of his tongue. But before he could speak, he clamped his mouth shut, redirecting his attention to the screen.

“You wanna watch it?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” you said with a smile, leaning back into the couch. The comfort of the moment settled over you like a blanket.

You hadn’t planned on falling asleep, but the champagne and the long day had drained you. Before you knew it, you were slumped against Rafe, your head resting on his lap as soft snores escaped your lips.

Rafe’s heart swelled as he looked down at you, a tender smile spreading across his face. He gently played with the ends of your hair, his fingers brushing against the silky strands. As the movie reached its emotional climax, he found himself tearing up—not just at the tragic ending but at the overwhelming emotions swirling inside him. You looked so peaceful, so angelic, and he felt an ache in his chest he couldn’t ignore.

Carefully, he shifted, lifting your head to slide out from under you. Scooping you up into his strong arms, he carried you to the bedroom, mindful not to disturb your slumber. He pulled back the covers and tucked you in, making sure you were snug before clicking off the light. Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, lingering for a moment to take in your serene beauty. With a reluctant sigh, he made his way back to the couch.

Sleep didn’t come easily for Rafe that night. He tossed and turned, his thoughts consumed by you. He’d tried to bury his feelings, tried to convince himself that friendship was enough. But the more he tried, the stronger those feelings grew. In the quiet of the night, he allowed himself to daydream—a cozy little house by the sea, a dog, maybe even kids. A life with you. But reality crept in, reminding him that to you, he was just a friend. Nothing more.

The next morning, the savory aroma of eggs and bacon wafted through the air, stirring you from sleep. You rubbed the remnants of slumber from your eyes and glanced around, the unfamiliar surroundings reminding you where you were. Rafe’s new house. His king-sized bed cradled you in luxurious comfort, but the empty space beside you felt oddly hollow. For a fleeting moment, you’d hoped to find Rafe still asleep there. The thought made you frown, though you quickly reminded yourself that he’d slept on the couch—because of course, Rafe was a gentleman like that.

You padded softly toward the kitchen, following the sound of sizzling. “Smells good,” you said, your voice still heavy with sleep.

Rafe jumped slightly but turned to you with a soft smile. “Oh, hey! You’re up! I made breakfast.”

“Thanks, Rafey,” you replied with a grin, sliding onto a stool at the kitchen island. Then guilt crept into your tone. “Sorry I got all drunk and stole your bed.”

He shook his head dismissively, turning back to the stove. “No need to apologize. I’m just glad you got some rest after yesterday.” He plated eggs and bacon, setting it before you. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Like a baby,” you chuckled, picking up a crisp strip of bacon.

“Good,” he replied, his voice warm as he resumed cooking. “So, any big plans today? Wanna help me unpack more of this mess?”

You paused mid-bite, your mind flickering to the evening ahead. “I can help for a bit, but I have a date tonight, so I’ll need to head home early to get ready.”

The words hung in the air, slicing through the calm. Rafe’s hand stilled, his grip tightening on the spatula. He didn’t turn to look at you, knowing his face might betray the knot tightening in his chest. In all the time he’d known you, he’d never heard you talk about a real date. Sure, you danced with guys at parties or flirted harmlessly, but this—this was different. His heart twisted painfully, the kind of ache he couldn’t ignore.

“A date?” he asked, forcing his tone to sound casual, though the words felt like sandpaper against his throat. “With who?”

You hesitated before answering, as if bracing yourself. “JJ,” you said quietly. “Sarah set it up. I haven’t been on a date in a long time, so I’m not really sure what to expect.”

Rafe’s mind reeled. JJ Maybank. Of all people. Why would Sarah do this—when she knew how he felt about you? He plastered on a tight smile, masking his turmoil as he finally turned to face you. “It’ll be great,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.

“You think so?” you asked, chewing your lip nervously. “I’m kind of... nervous.”

He swallowed hard, shoving his feelings down where they couldn’t escape. “Yeah,” he said, the words tasting bitter. “You’re a catch. He’d be a total idiot not to like you.”

Your lips curved into a warm smile, and for a moment, your gaze locked with his. Those ocean-blue eyes of his held something unspoken, something tender. “Thanks, Rafe,” you said softly, your voice full of gratitude.

He forced a grin, though it felt hollow. “Of course,” he replied. “Tell you what—don’t worry about the unpacking. Go home and get ready for your big date. Can’t wait to hear all about it.”

You beamed, finishing the last bites of breakfast. “You’re the best,” you said, grabbing your purse and heading for the door. “Thanks for letting me crash! I’ll get your clothes back to you tomorrow!”

Rafe watched as you hurried to the door, his heart aching with every step you took away from him. He raised a hand in a mock salute, a forced smile still glued to his face. “Have fun,” he said, his voice hollow.

The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly the house felt suffocatingly empty. Rafe stood in silence, staring at the spot where you’d just been, your laughter still echoing faintly in his ears. He let out a sharp breath, his chest heaving with suppressed emotion. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed the nearest glass off the counter and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, much like the hope he’d been quietly holding onto.

His hands gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles white as he tried to steady himself. She’s gone, he thought bitterly. She was never mine to lose, but somehow, I lost her anyway.

For years, he’d found comfort in being the one you turned to—when you were too drunk at a party, overwhelmed by a panic attack, or even just bored on a lazy afternoon. You’d always come to him. But now, you were running toward someone else. JJ fucking Maybank.

And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

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