#and i wanna sit with him and talk to him and laugh with him

[daddyjackfrost]

Wanna Be Yours ; B. Barnes

Secrets I have held in my heart are harder to hide than I thought

Pairing: Avengers!Bucky x Avengers!F!Reader 

Synopsis: Bucky’s been in love with you for longer than he’ll admit. But when a moment of clarity after a misunderstanding on his part cracks the tension between you wide open, he finally gets to show you just how much.

Warnings: Fluff, minor angst, minor hurt/comfort, bucky yearns like a mf, brief misunderstandings, insecurities, friends to lovers, ft. the avengers & friends, sam being sam, minor jealousy, pining, SMUT, minor romanogers (not sorry), cursing, Bucky’s sort of shy and awkward (at first), praise kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex, MDNI, pussy pronouns, mutual obsession, kissing, switch energy, soft!dom bucky, begging, gentle possessiveness, religious imagery, oral (f and m rec), riding / WC: 7.7k

A/N: Thank you so much for this request! This was meant to be short…a drabble…but then I started to listen to Hozier and well…yeah. Title inspired by I wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys. 

Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever met someone like you.

He’s told himself it’s because you’re kind. Because you don’t flinch when he walks into a room, because you laugh at all his dry one-liners, because you bring him coffee without asking and leave notes that say “don’t forget to eat after training” like it’s the most natural thing in the world.  

But, the truth is, he likes the way you exist. The way you fill space with warmth without trying. The way you somehow make him feel like he’s part of this new world, that he can exist here too. 

With you. 

He doesn’t know when it started—not exactly. 

There wasn’t a single moment where the light shifted or the heavens parted. No slow-motion entrance, no dramatic realization. 

But somewhere between your half-sleepy smiles over morning coffee and the way you laugh at his dry sarcasm like it’s the best thing you've heard all day—he fell.

Hard.  

Somewhere between the early morning training sessions and the late night chamomile tea, his heart grew, both in size and fonder, and it became an innate feeling—the love—the want. It became embedded into his bones, in his DNA. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

And maybe it was always going to happen. Maybe it was inevitable. Because you’re the only one who never looked at him like a ghost of something broken, like he still had to search far and wide for the man he became. You don’t flinch when his fingers twitch or treat him like a ticking time bomb, or a relic, or worse—an object of pity. 

You treat him like he’s just…Bucky. Someone who deserves kindness, a friend. 

You bring his favourite kind of bagels without asking. You mock his grumpy scowls and tease him into smiling. You sit with him in silence and don’t try to fix the quiet. You seem to enjoy it with him—understand.

You once fell asleep with your head on his shoulder during a movie night, and he thought he might die from how carefully he held his breath, afraid of waking you. 

He wants you—so badly it aches.

But he’s never said anything, never dared. Not when being your friend already feels like more than he deserves. 

He gets to see you every day and that should be enough—it never is.

Tony announces it during a briefing: an Avengers Gala. Hosted at the Tower. Black tie. Heroes and allies from across the globe. Sponsored by Stark Industries and curated, of course, by Pepper. 

Bucky half listens, frowning, until you perk up beside him.

“Oh, fancy,” you murmur, nuding him with your elbow, capturing his attention, though it had always been yours. “You gonna wear a tux, Barnes?” 

He smirks faintly, something easy and familiar and yours. “Only if it comes with a hidden holster.” 

You snort, hiding part of your face when Pepper’s eyes meet yours. “As if you need a hidden holster to hide a gun. Don’t you have three somewhere on you right now?”

Bucky shrugs, lips lifting into something brighter, simply because you’re right. “Guilty.” 

You roll your eyes and blink innocently at Pepper, pretending that your attention isn’t on the man beside you. Bucky’s eyes soften into something stupid and he leans further back in the chair, pressing his arm against yours. 

You giggle and lean in close to whisper something snarky about Tony’s need for dramatics, and he feels your breath against his neck—he swallows hard. 

You turn back to the front, eyes falling on the screen, none the wiser. 

Bucky spends the rest of the meeting barely hearing a thing. 

Later that night, after you bid him goodnight, he lingers by the window of the communal lounge, half-lost in thought as city lights blur beyond the glass. 

Steve finds him like that—arms folded, jaw tense, quiet in the way only Steve knows means he’s thinking about you—something beautiful yet horrid about himself. 

“You should ask her,” Steve says softly. 

Bucky exhales, having heard Steve’s light footsteps and seeing his reflection. “It’s not that simple.” 

Steve shrugs, stepping up beside him. “Sure it is. You like her. She likes you.” 

Bucky exhales louder. “She doesn’t—”

“She does,” Steve interrupts, nuding Bucky with his shoulder. “Trust me.”

Bucky huffs a tired laugh. He would trust Steve with his life—with more, but not with this. Not when his blonde friend couldn’t see Natasha’s feelings for him. “And what? Ruin this? She’s the best thing in my life. If she says no—” 

“She won’t.” Steve gives him a look, one Bucky thinks he wore many, many years ago, back when he would Steve in alleys. “You think she touches everyone like that? Laughs like that?” 

Steve crosses his arms, raises an eyebrow. “Do you honestly think she looks at anyone else the way she looks at you?” 

Bucky doesn’t answer, just shoves Steve back with his shoulder lightly. Part of him wants to believe it, like there’s a world where you like him—love him, the way he loves you. Wants to care for him the way he wants to care for you. 

But, the other part of him, the one that often wins, is scared—scared he’ll ruin everything, that he might see the flicker of pity in your eyes. The last thing Bucky wants is for you to think that his feelings for you, his honest adoration for you comes from anything except his care, his heart. 

He loves you, but you were his friend first. He’ll always be your friend, even if he aches for more.

Steve lays a hand on his shoulder, something warm and solid. “Even if I’m wrong, I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Buck. A few weeks, and it’ll be past you.” 

Bucky hums like he agrees, but he’s not sure. He doesn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position, or feel like you aren’t safe with him. Because he cares—so much. He’d rather live in silence and the brief touches then make you feel like your friendship isn’t enough for him.

Because, God, it is. It’s everything to him, a root in his heart that’s grown into branches and leaves.

Still, that night, he lies awake for hours, hand resting over his chest, heart thudding too loudly. 

I’ll ask her tomorrow, he thinks. I will. 

He almost does. 

He finds you in the lounge the next evening, curled up with a book and a half-drunk coffee. You’re wearing one of those soft hoodies that always make you look impossibly cozy, socked feet tucked beneath you. 

He steels himself, breathes in deeply—thinks back to the lines he said over and over to himself in his bedroom. 

Then he hears it. 

“I don’t even have a date for this thing,” you’re saying to Sam, voice light and faintly exasperated. There’s something there, something familiar, something he hears in his own voice sometimes when he talks about you but he can’t register it, can’t pinpoint it. 

You shut your book with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly? I’m kinda glad. No one to impress, no pressure.”

Sam snorts and swats your feet away, pretending to shuffle back when you inch your toes closer to him. “I’ll take you.” 

You raise a brow, legs stretched weirdly. “You?” 

Sam grins, lets out a quiet laugh. “No need to look so surprised.” He shrugs, “Come on. Low expectations. No romance. Plus, I look good in a suit.” 

You tilt your head, hum thoughtfully. Sam spreads his arm, putting himself on display. “Deal. You’re my date.” 

You clink mugs, laughing. 

Bucky stops in his tracks, his stomach twists and he can’t breathe. 

He doesn’t hear the teasing edge, he hasn’t been good at noticing these things. He doesn’t see the subtle glance Sam casts toward the hallway, like he knows Bucky’s there. Doesn’t realize this is Sam’s own way of pushing him. 

No—he just hears the words. You’re my date. 

And something in him goes quiet. 

It’s quick, the way everything inside him shuts down and he almost sags against the wall. Like the wind has been knocked out of him. He’s breathing hard—but at least he’s breathing. He shuffles back, quietly, hiding in the shadows. 

He’s fine—he would have been fine if you had said no to him, if you had told him that someone else had asked—but Sam?

Momentarily, very briefly, something akin to anger—jealousy—flickers in his chest, loud and bright and instantly, it's put out, dies quickly until the ashes spread across his chest. He hears you laugh, soft, carefree, and his heart settles. 

He’d do anything for you, for that laugh. 

Bucky swallows the lump in his throat, the jealousy he’d never admit to and the question on his lips and turns, walks down the hall and tosses the single rose into the trash.

He gets you flowers often, whatever he passes by on his runs that he thinks you would like, might brighten your floor, but he’s never gotten you roses. 

It was a line he drew for himself. 

He glances at the folded rose and sighs. 

The line gets thicker. 

The gala is a blur of silk and glass and lights that glitter like champagne bubbles. 

Every year, Bucky swears that Pepper has outdone herself. And every year, she proves that she’ll always have more up her sleeve. 

Bucky wears a classic black tux. His hairs slicked back, neat, and beard trimmed. He looks sharp, clean, polished. But inside, he feels like he’s unraveling. 

Because you walk in and you look—

“Jesus,” he breathes, barely audible. 

You’re radiant, glowing and beautiful—perfect. Your dress, a deep purple, hugs you in all the right places, glittering like stardust with every step. He tries to think back to you mentioning the dress at all, but all he can remember is the way you winked at him. 

Your smile could bring a man to his knees. 

He knows, because he’s halfway there, legs weak. And all he can think is, I was going to ask her. 

I could have had this. 

He looks away, blinks a few times to remind himself of his place. If he’s caught gawking at you—well, he knows what would happen. 

He keeps to the shadows most of the night, nursing a glass of whiskey, tucked into the quiet corners. He mingles briefly, making sure to be polite, to be seen. Tony put a lot of effort into this, made sure that it curated to all of them, the least he could do was make his appreciation shown. 

But you? You’re a firecracker on the floor, bright and loud and so fucking radiant. Laughing, twirling, dancing with Clint, with Nat, with whoever grabs your hand. You’re drinking and smiling—magnetic. 

But your eyes—they’re fleeting, looking for something, someone. 

Bucky can’t look away. 

Until you find him. 

You corner him outside on the balcony, where the air is cool and quieter and he can breathe. 

“There you are,” you say, hand on your hip. “Avoiding me?” 

Bucky’s throat goes dry. He’s leaning on the railing and tilts his head towards you, resisting the urge to turn completely. “No. Just needed some air.” 

He can’t look at you—not your eyes or your dress or your smile. It’s blinding, too much. He just needs one day—one day and he’ll be fine, one day and his heart will settle, make peace with you and Sam. 

You take a step closer, head tilting in that curious way that always makes his heart soften. 

His eyes flick up. There it is—that sharp breath he always seems to take when he sees you.

You smile at him softly, lay your hands on the railing next to his. “You gonna ask me to dance” 

He blinks. Then, slowly, pushes himself off the railing, turns his whole body to face you properly. The muscles in his face smooth out and his shoulders drop, relaxed. 

“I should be the one asking you that,” he murmurs, so softly, delicate. 

Your grin tugs wider. “So ask me, then.” 

He swallows, eyes flickering between yours before he offers his hand. “May I have this dance?” 

You take it. 

The music is warm, old jazz bleeding through the speakers as bucky pulls you onto the floor. His hand is strong at your back, the other gentle at your waist. He moves like he was born to this—measured, smooth, leading you without hesitation. 

You’re laughing, a bright smile on your lips as your eyes shine. You spin, twirl, your head tilts back as he draws you close. 

“You’re good at this,” you breathe. 

Bucky leans in, lips near your temple. “Used to be the only way to get a girl to notice me.” 

You turn into him, mouth brushing his ear. “Now I know you’re lying. Steve told me you were quite the heartthrob.” 

Bucky laughs, low and deep. Your eyes flutter shut and you hold onto him tighter. He’s so warm, so solid under your hands. Your eyes meet his and you notice that the smile on his lips—while small—is the most genuine one you’ve seen on him tonight. 

“Not anymore,” Bucky says, quietly, his body guiding yours. 

“Debatable,” you answer, giving him an exaggerated glance over. “You clean up nice, Buck.” 

He tilts his head towards you, almost bashful. You breathe out a quiet laugh, soft, but it awakens something in him and he lifts his eyes to meet yours. 

Blue—electric, so deep and filled with so many unspoken things. 

“You look beautiful,” he tells you, earnest and soft. 

People have been complimenting you all night, but you only really cared about one—his. His words settle something in your chest and you smile, gloss shining under the glittering lights. 

“Thank you, Bucky.” 

He swallows, steps in line with you. His eyes glance around the room once and he frowns. 

“Where’s your date?”

You raise an eyebrow and scrunch up your nose in thought. “Date? What Date—Oh. You mean Sam?” 

Bucky’s jaw tightens and he nods, looks away when your eyes search his. You find what you’re looking for and duck your head to hide your smile, biting your bottom lip. 

You lift your head and meet his stormy eyes, a gentle smile on your lips. “He wasn’t really my date. We just came together. He immediately disappeared.” 

You look away, search the crowd until your eyes land on Sam’s familiar figure and the beautiful woman he’s flirting with. You laugh quietly, shake your head at his antics. 

Bucky’s staring at you like you’ve just stabbed him in the back.

You both sway in time, the world shrinking until it’s only the two of you. 

You lean in, pressing close. “I wish you’d asked me to the gala.” 

Your words were nothing more than a whisper, quiet, melting into the music and noise, but they were honest. As soon as Tony had introduced the idea, your heart had been set on going with Bucky. He looked at you once during the debrief—like he was trying to imprint you into memory—it gave you hope, something light and soft igniting in your chest. 

But then hours passed, a day. It was approaching fast and you had slowly made peace with the idea that he wasn’t going to ask, that he didn’t see you the way you saw him—whole, permanent—a part of your DNA. 

So, when Sam asked, you said yes. Simply to have someone there, an arm to hold.

But you had looked for Bucky all night, saved the best dance for him. 

It didn’t stop the want, though—it burned behind your fingertips, deep behind your eyes. So you let it slip, the quiet admission. “I was hoping you would.” 

His heart stops and he tenses—eyes wide. 

Before he can respond, someone whisks you away—Steve, grinning as he twirls you into the next number. 

Bucky stands there, stunned. He knows how he looks—gaping, eyes wide, heart stuttering wildly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Peter look over, concerned. He waves away the concern and walks off the dance floor, finds a seat he knows is taken, and readjusts his tie. 

Everything inside him feels tight, like his own fist is closing around his organs. Your words ring in his ears and he has half a mind to pour some water in his ear, just to drown out your voice. 

He watches as you dance with Steve, bright smile on both your faces. A drink appears in front of his face and he grabs it, mutters a quick thanks and tips it back, enjoying the burn, if just to get his mind off what he could have had if he had just not been a coward.

Sam finds him a few moments later, sipping something sweet with a mint leaf. He takes the seat next to him, leans back. 

“You looked good out there,” he says, nodding toward the dance floor. 

Bucky glances down at his empty glass before he places it on the table. “Why’d you ask her?” 

Sam shrugs, his smirk softening. “Figured if I make you jealous enough, you’d finally make a move.” 

Bucky tips his head back and squeezes his eyes shut. Of course, he thinks. It was such a Sam idea, so childish and filmy. Suddenly, Peter’s look makes more sense. He huffs, throws him an annoyed look. 

“I was going to. I had it all planned out. Then, well…” 

Sam slowly nods, smile twisting into understanding.

“She said yes to me.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky doesn’t mean to sound so defeated, he just can’t help it. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not even a big deal. He knows—now—that Sam has no romantic interest in you and you didn’t seem to have any for him. 

But, like most things of the heart often do, it felt like the end of the world. Like his life would have been so much better if he had walked in with you, his arm supporting you—his cologne surrounding you. 

“Why didn’t you ask her sooner, Buck?” Sam’s voice is quiet as he leans in a bit, wanting to hear the answer over the music. 

Bucky almost rolls his eyes but catches himself at the last second. Instead, he twists his fingers together. “We only found out about the gala the day before and it took me hours to build up the nerve.” 

Bucky swallows and Sam tries to hide his amusement. He loves seeing ex-assassin Bucky Barnes being bashful, almost shy. 

“I like her,” Bucky admits, quietly, like it wasn’t written on his heart and on his fucking sleeve. “So much. I didn’t wanna rush and ruin everything.” 

Sam goes quiet, smiling softly. “Is that why I saw a rose in the trash?” 

Normally, Bucky would have made some stupid comment about Sam going through the trash, but all he could do was sigh, pinch the bridge of his nose. 

Sam’s eyes flick up, behind Bucky, and his smile widens into a grin, eyes bright with something akin to pride and amusement. 

“Well, seems like you have a lot going on,” Sam offers, quickly. He pushes himself up, grabs two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and hands them to Bucky. Bucky stares up at him, half confused and half annoyed—a look Sam is quite familiar with. 

“Hi, Y/n.” Sam wiggles his fingers at you and briskly walks away, gets lost in the crowd, leaving Bucky with his spine straight. 

Before Bucky can turn around, or book it across the dance floor, you walk from behind him to Sam’s chair and take a seat. Bucky’s staring at you like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide. A mixture of warmth and love, soft and heavy, fills your body and your lips curl into something secretive. 

You gently take the glass from his hands and stare at him, admiring. You let the silence settle between you both, build into something welcoming before you lightly clink your glasses together. 

While you bring it to your lips, Bucky simply sets it beside him, staring at you like you might disappear any second and he rather just take you in. 

Eyes on him, you place the glass next to his, heart warm and butterflies in your stomach as you slowly stand. Everything inside you almost melts when he instinctively leans closer, hand hovering in case you need him. 

You step forward, lean in close, your breath brushing Bucky’s ear. “Can I have one last dance?” 

He doesn’t even think, just nods. He stands up slowly, lets you lead him back onto the floor. 

This time, the music is slow, intimate. No twirls, just you, in his arms, your cheek against his chest. The hand on his shoulder now rests at his neck and his fingers curl around your waist, his thumb brushing skin. 

He feels your lips near his ear, almost collapsing from the sensation alone. 

“Do you like me, Bucky?” 

Bucky’s throat bobs and his fingers curl into your skin tighter, almost like he could will the answer out of his body. Over your shoulder, Steve and Sam both gave him a thumb’s up before turning. 

Bucky clears his throat and pulls you closer. Your eyes lift to meet his and he slowly nods.

“Yes,” he tells you, quietly. “I do.” 

It wasn’t just like—it was love. He knew it was. He hadn’t felt it before but he knew it, like a stranger you saw often enough to recognize. But he didn’t want to scare you, push you away. 

Bucky was familiar with your smiles, the way you brighten when you’re happy, but it was nothing compared to now—nothing compares to the way you were glowing as he sways you, the way your eyes shine and your smile—oh, your smile, it was so soft and so loving. 

“Me too,” you tell him, just as quiet. “So much.”  

His heart slams and a shiver runs up his spine. He blinks at you slowly, lips parting. You lean back, eyes shining, wanting to take this moment in its entirety. 

Inside, everything is warm and burning. The way he holds you, like you’re something precious has your mind reeling and all you want is to hold him, for him to touch you and smile at you the way you ache for. 

Then—he smiles at you. 

It’s beautiful. Heart-breaking. 

Utterly devastating as it lights up his face, smooths out all the crevices and worries in his face. 

He pulls you flush against him and you giggle, something soft and airy but it lights Bucky up in a way you’ve never seen before. Your fingers brush the hair at his nape, nails scratching his skin. 

You lean forward, press your lips to the edge of his jaw. His eyes flutter shut and a deep rumble escapes him. The fire in your belly burns brighter and the need inside you cracks alive and all you see is him. 

“Take me home.” 

You barely recognize your own voice. The want—something you keep hidden, locked away for months or years—you hardly remember—has been pulled to the surface. 

Bucky stares, breathless. He doesn’t even know if the music is still playing because all he can see and hear is you. Everything else fades to the back and his neck is warm but he’s so happy—confused, but all warm inside. 

Your smile turns slightly wicked, the slight alcohol and confidence burns through your veins. 

“You gonna make me beg, Buck?” 

Oh, he’s in for it. 

His voice is low, a rasp, barely hanging on. “Ask nicely.” 

You laugh, bright and beautiful. 

The Bucky you know, quiet, warm, confident, is staring back at you with a small smile, heat and want and love dancing in his eyes. 

“Please, Bucky,” you whisper, teasing. “Take me home.” 

He takes your hand and leads you out, without looking back. 

The elevator doors close with a soft chime. 

The silence settles—electric. 

You’re still holding his hand—the metal one, cool and solid, familiar. 

Bucky stands opposite you—broad, strong, flushed from dancing. His chest rises and falls like he’s just run ten blocks, suit tight across his shoulders. You lean back against the mirrored wall, flushed, breathless, heart still pounding from that last dance. 

Your eyes lift to meet his. 

He’s on you in a second, hands gripping your waist, mouth slanting over yours with desperate, open-mouthed hunger. It’s not gentle, or soft. It’s heat and need and years of unspoken want bursting at the seams. 

He kisses like a man who’s been starving for you, like he’s trying to memorize your mouth with his tongue. You moan into him. His tongue slides against yours, and he groans like he’s tasting something forbidden.

He kisses with desperation. With reverence. With a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat as your hips slot against his.

You break the kiss with a gasp. “Bucky—”

He dips to your throat, tongue licking into the space just below your jaw.

“Christ,” he breathes. “You’re killin’ me.”

“Good,” you pant, fingers curling into his jacket. “You deserve it. For making me wait this long.”

Your hands fist in the lapels of his tux, pulling him closer, closer, like there still isn’t enough of him touching you. He groans into your mouth when you bite his lips, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs.

“Fuck—” he breathes. “You taste so good.” 

You gasp as his metal hand slides beneath your dress, gripping your thigh and hoisting you up like you weigh nothing. You wrap your legs around his waist, dress riding high, and thank God for the slit.

“Been wantin’ to do this for so fucking long,” he rasps against your throat, kissing, biting, sucking bruisses into your skin. “Didn’t think I could—didn’t think you’d want me—” 

“I do,” you whisper, dazed, fingers in his hair. “God, Bucky, I want you—” 

“And you’ll have me,” he kisses your neck, the skin below your ear. “You said please,” he pants, “and I listen when you ask.”

The elevator dings. The doors slide open.

He doesn’t put you down.

Your back hits the wall just outside the elevator, on his floor. He pins you there with his body, mouths at your neck like he hasn’t enough, like he’s been starving. 

You drag your fingers through his hair, tugging, pressing your chest flush against his. 

“I wanted you,” you whisper, losing your mind. “All night. I kept looking for you—” 

His voice is hoarse, Brooklyn accent thick and strong. “I was tryin’ not to fuckin’ look at you. Drove me insane.” 

You arch into him, gasping when his hips grind into yours. You can feel the thick press of him through his slacks, rubbing against the soaked lace between your legs. 

“Fuck,” you moan. “Bucky—please—” 

“I got you, sweetheart,” he whispers,  kissing your collarbone as he moves through the space blindly, holding you tight against him. “You’re mine tonight and forever. All fuckin’ mine.” 

He lays you down on the couch gently, like you’re something sacred and precious—and you are. 

Then he sinks to his knees in front of you, hands warm and pressing into your thighs as he drags them down your legs, eyes aflame. 

You barely have time to blink before he’s pulling your legs over his shoulders and pushing your dress higher, higher, until your thighs are bare and open and trembling. 

He stares at your panties—dark with wetness, delicate against your skin. His thumb rubs circles into your skin, like he can’t help but touch you, but remind you that you’re safe—loved. 

“Pretty little thing,” he murmurs, thumb stroking the damp lace. You gasp, legs trying to shut. His hands, big and warm, hold you open with little force, like he can command your body by sheer will. “Can I take ‘em off?”

You nod, breathlessly. All your dreams, fantasies you’d had but kept to yourself, were coming true. “Yes, Yes—please—” 

Bucky slides them down your legs, kissing your skin as he goes. His heart is about to jump out of his fucking chest and go barraling down the tower. He can hardly believe he’s on his knees—nose almost pressing into your cunt—can barely remember the gala itself. 

He spreads your thighs wide and groans—low and deep, almost painful. 

Bucky tried to be a gentleman, tried to be the good boy his mama raised, but some nights, when his hand wrapped around his cock, all he could picture was your pussy—how soft and beautiful it must have looked, how he’d make her drip for him.

The real thing didn’t even measure. He can’t believe he thought his imagination could do her any justice. 

“Fuck me,” he breathes, eyes wide and shiny. “You’re so wet. Fuckin’ dripping, baby.” 

“Only for you,” you whisper. 

There’s something warm in your voice that makes him look up, into your hooded eyes. You smile, nothing but love and promise on your face. It’s like you're telling him that you know—know he’s thought about you, that you want him as bad as he wants you, that you want everything he has to offer. 

His eyes are blazing, chest heaving. 

The curve of his smile presses against your skin as he presses soft, open mouthed kisses to your thighs. You barely notice his trailing hand until it lands on your ass and he squeezes hard. You yelp at the feeling and jerk forward, his other hand steadies you easily. There’s laughter in your breath as you breathe out, eyes fluttering shut. 

Bucky licks a harsh stripe of your core, holds you down as you writhe under him. He presses his face closer to your cunt as his tongue licks and suckles, laps up all your juices. The sweetness, the unique taste of you has his eyes rolling back and he knows he’ll never taste anything that would compare.

The sounds of slurping and his lips smacking around your clit make your legs shake as you try to breathe. He tilts his head further, pushes his tongue deeper within you and you moan, broken and obscene. 

He curls the tip of his tongue upwards and you almost scream, tears falling down your cheeks at the pleasure.

“Yes, yes,” you chant, words falling from your lips like praise.

Lifting his eyes, Bucky hums at the sight of your pleasure, the way the tears fall prettily down your cheeks. One of his hands slides up your body, just to feel you, but before he could bring it back towards him, you grab it with a tight grip and settle it around your throat. 

He groans into your folds and your legs shake. Needing more, you begin moving your hips feverishly against his face, grinding down on him. Bucky moans into cunt as you smear all your slick over his face, his chin dripping with drool and arousal. 

“Bucky—oh my god—fuck—”

He grunts, and the sound vibrates through you.

“Could do this forever,” he pants.

“You taste so good—so sweet—gonna make you cum on my fuckin’ tongue—”

Your sweet scent and taste overwhelm his mind and he begins losing it, ruts against the edge of the sofa like a schoolboy, his lips latch onto your clit as he pushes himself closer to your dripping cunt, nose rubbing deliciously against your bud as he slides his tongue in and out of you. 

“James,” you cry, eyes barely open as you watch him suck you dry. The hand on your throat slides down to yours and he threads your fingers together and squeezes once, twice, thrice, before your legs pulse erratically and your walls clench around his tongue.

“I’m so close, baby.” 

Bucky’s brain short-circuits at your words, at the term, and he spreads you open wider and licks at you harsher, licking long strips as he teases your clit with his nose. 

“Cum, sweetheart,” he edges, lulling you closer to your orgasm. He needs this as bad as you do. “Cum all over my face, Y/n.” 

His words are enough to break you and your vision blurs as you moan, your stomach coils and recoils as your orgasm washes over you like cold water, soaks him completely. 

Bucky continues to push his tongue into your gushing pussy, lips coaxing all your juices down his throat, making you throw your head back as you arch into him. He licks and sucks harshly, even as you mumble incoherently about it being too much. 

When he pulls away, face covered in your slick, he smiles. Your whole body trembles and you lift your head just in time to watch him coat his fingers in your juices before he plops his fingers into his mouth and sucks. 

He looks so pleased, so completely, irrevocably and ardently in love with you. 

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp, pussy fluttering. “Where the hell did you learn that?”

He grins—messy, flushed, lips shiny with your cum.

“You think I wasn’t dreamin’ about this? Every fuckin’ night?”

He lifts you easily, arms secure beneath your thighs and back. You melt into him, still dazed, as he carries you into his bedroom.

Just before he lays you down, you grip his shoulders.

“Wait,” you murmur, breath hitching. “Let me.” You unwrap your legs from around him but his hold on you stays tight, keeping you close. 

You push him until he stumbles back, landing on the bed with a grunt. He stares up at you, dazed. 

You climb into his lap, straddling him. Your dress is in bunches, and you remind yourself to apologize to Nat…she probably won’t want it back. 

Bucky tries to touch your hips, tries to breathe, but you grab his wrists and pin them to the bed. You’ve been in this position before, but it was in the training room, briefly, before he flipped you over. Now you know why. 

His breath catches when you press down on him, your wet cunt dragging across his hard bulge. 

“Hands to yourself,” your words are soft, teasing. 

He groans, tips his head back. “You’re killin’ me, sweetheart—” 

You push yourself off him and start to stop. The straps of your dress slide off your shoulders slowly. You shimmy it down your body, piece by piece, letting it fall until you’re completely naked in front of him. 

He stares like you’ve knocked the breath from his lungs, like he’d follow you anywhere—take a bite of the apple simply because you looked at him. 

He’s been cast from heaven but he doesn’t mind, because Eden stands in front of him, beautiful and soft and looking at him—like he’s worthy of it. 

“Holy fuck,” he breathes out, groanign at the sight of you. 

Grinning, you twirl for him. There’s scars on your skin, burns and patchy stitching, but you don’t care. You never really have and with the way Bucky’s looking at you, like you’re his salvation, you can’t help but move closer. 

“You like?” 

It’s a bizarre question, because you can see how much he likes it—how beautiful you are to him. But, still, because he’s always been sweet, he smiles something soft and nods, fingers twitching like he might reach out.

“You’re beautiful. Absolutely stunnin’.” 

You giggle and slide onto his lap again, kiss his throat and then move lower, kissing down his chest as you begin undoing his shirt. Bucky’s hands stay at his side, curling into fists because all he wants to do is touch.

You pull off his tie, undo the buttons slowly—torturously—and push the fabric open to reveal his bare chest. You’ve seen him shirtless a few times but every time, it knocks the wind out of you. 

Broad, defined, and hard. 

You kiss every inch. 

His abs flex as you drag your mouth down to his waistband, slowly getting to your knees. You undo his belt and pants slowly, hand grazing his cock through the fabric. 

He’s so hard—big—straining, leaking. 

You free him and his cock slaps against his stomach, thick and heavy and beautiful. It’s everything you thought it would be and more. 

“My God,” you almost whine. “No wonder you’ve got such an ego.” 

He laughs—then gasps when you kiss his inner thigh—close, so close. 

You kiss and bite his skin, etching your name into his skin so the ghost of your lips can live on. Once you’re satisfied, you lift your eyes and almost gasp at the way his cock was leaking, his tip red and veiny. Mesmerized, you lean forward and shift your eyes to his, finding nothing but darkness staring back at you. His blue eyes, the ones you love so dearly, have been replaced by something predatory, almost possessive. 

Still, you could see the softness threaded into the crinkles of his skin, the way he refuses to move, to touch you, until you make it clear that you want him to. You rest your cheek against his inner thigh and smile up at him. 

“I like you, Bucky.” Your voice is low, a mere brush of air against his skin, but he hears you. You need him to know—that this is more than lust for you, that it’s for life. “You gonna let me show you how much?”

Not trusting his voice, he simply nods. You blink up at him, unmoving. Swallowing the lust that claws in his throat, Bucky tilts his head forward. “Yes,” he breathes out. “Whatever you want.” 

Bucky barely had enough time to cry out your name before you lick a long stripe from his base to his tip, circling your tongue around him once before you repeat the action once more. All his empty words die in his throat as he releases a shaky breath at the feeling of your warm mouth taking him in completely. 

Pressing your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, you taste the salty taste of his sweat and precum. It takes over your senses and you shift forward, circling your tongue around his tip. Pooling some spit on your tongue, you let it drip down his length as you wrap your hand around him, pressing soft kisses to his tip. 

Bucky groans, breathing heavier as his legs spasm around you. He moans out your name and you look up to the sight of his eyes screwed shut, head thrown back. His chest rises rapidly and he looks so beautiful, a thin layer of sweat glistening on his forehead, hair brushed back and unruly. 

“Oh, fuck,” he moans, his voice cracking as you push him further down your throat, ignoring the burn because he tastes addictive, sounds sweeter than anything you’ve ever heard. 

You hollow your cheeks, spit dripping down your throat as you work him with your mouth, humming when he hits the back of your throat. 

“Fuck—baby—” His voice breaks, raspy. “That’s it—that’s so fuckin’ good—” His thighs tremble and his abs clench. 

He twitches in your mouth and you push him deeper, practically begging. Before he can cum—

He pulls you off, voice and body wrecked. He pants, cock standing straight and leaking and harder than it’s ever been. 

“Wanna cum inside you,” he whimpers, pulling you off the floor and into his arms. “Wanna feel you, Y/n, baby—please.” 

You’re nodding, still reeling from the emptiness in your mouth. You straddle him again and he surges forward, captures your lips in a hot, messy kiss. It’s all teeth and lips and his hands are everywhere on you. 

As he kisses you senseless, you reach between your legs and guide him to your entrance, hissing into his mouth when his tip drags between your folds. 

The satisfying tightening and burn of his veins against your gummy walls make you both moan in unison, your body falling limp into his as you sink down completely, the base of his cock hitting your core. The stretch feels amazing, so good, and all you can do is tuck your face into the crook of his neck, biting back a sob. 

His hands grip your hips, jaw slack. He can’t breathe—can barely think with your pussy wrapped around him, warm and tight and so perfect. 

“Fuck—you feel so fuckin’ good—so tight—” 

He nips at your jaw, tongue dragging across your skin as you roll your hips, bracing your hands on his chest. You feel so full, leaking all over his lap. You press a soft kiss to his neck and his hips jerks upwards, filling you to the brim, his tip reaching parts of you only he could. 

You part your lips to say something, anything, but he interrupts you by crashing his lips against yours, swallowing your gasp greedily. His lips move roughly against yours, so perfect, as one of his hands slide down to your ass, gripping tightly as he moves his hips against yours. 

He kisses down your body, pressing wet, open mouth kisses to the skin between your breasts, licking and sucking, tongue brushing against your nipples. 

You were a mess above him, head thrown back and eyes sewn shut, incoherent mumbles and whimpers leaving your lips as you pull and scrape his hair and the nape of his neck. 

He twitches inside you, against your sensitive walls and you almost cry out. As if sensing your distraught, one of his hands grip your waist protectively and he presses a soft kiss to the side of your head. 

You slowly move, sliding him in and out of your pussy. His hold on your waist helps lift you up and down, guiding you to a delicious pace. His hands slide from your waist to your ass, resting there. 

Bucky throws his head back when you begin jumping on his cock, his balls slapping against your cunt. You grip his shoulders and he can feel his skin break as you dig your nails into his skin, the creak of his bed loud as the room fills with your mixed moans. 

You slow down, press down on his length to catch your breath. Grinding on his laps, his cock brushes against all your sweet spots, stretches your walls with a delicious burn. You wiggle around on his cock and Bucky’s eyes fly open and he stares at you with a heavy gaze. 

He sits up straighter, wraps his arms around you and kisses your throat. “Can’t—fuck.” He thrusts his hips up, almost animally. “Gotta have you—” 

Holding you close, he flips you onto your back and thrusts. 

You gasp as he drives into you, pressing you into the mattress. He grips onto your hips and pulls you towards him, flush against his pelvis as he rocks his hips forward, fucking his cock into you.

Back arched, you moan when his hand travels to your throat and he holds you firmly beneath him, tilting your head backwards as he applies just the right amount of pressure to your jugular veins, making you lightheaded as he slides in and out of you at a bruising pace. 

He smiles when you whimper, teeth grazing the side of your throat as he bites down, pressing your hips flush against his pelvis, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix, making you see stars. 

His hand cups your jaw and his mouth claims yours, softer, despite the rough and messy pace of his hips. He kisses you slowly, traces his devotion into your gums. 

“I love you,” he whispers, like he couldn’t help it. “I love you.”

Your heart stutters and you wrap your arms around his neck—tighter. You kiss his nose, the edge of his lips, before his lips.

“I love you too.” 

It was inevitable, you think. You were always going to fall in love with him. There was so much to love. 

He groans like he’s about to lose it, like your words have single-handedly freed him from all of his crimes and sins. 

“Gonna cum,” he rasps. 

“Inside,” you whine, begging. “Cum inside me—please, Buck.” 

His hips stutter and he practically growls. “Fuck—my pretty girl. Gonna cum inside you,” he moans. “Fill you up—want it to stay—wanna make you—”

“Yes, yes,” you pant, his cock filling you to the brim. 

You clench around him, vision going white as you gush around him and he shudders, hips stuttering as he spills inside you with a broken moan of your name. 

He thrusts through it, panting, pressing kisses to your cheek, your neck, your lips. 

Once he’s sure he’s emptied himself completely inside you, he slows his pace and presses kisses all over your face, slowly halting the movement of his hips. You fall into a slump underneath him and he wraps his arms around you tightly, body pressing against yours, mumbling quietly to you.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered after a moment. 

You hum, eyes too tired and droopy to open. He rubs your stomach soothingly, tries to ground you before he moves. “Are you okay, Y/n? Do you need anything?” 

Slowly, you shake your head and open your eyes. He’s staring back at you with so much love in his eyes, nothing but softness and concern bright in his eyes. He nudges his nose against yours and you smile, cracking his chest open. 

“Just you,” you whisper, finger curling into his dog tags as you pull him in for a kiss. 

He laughs into your mouth but kisses you with the same fervor you kiss him with. Gently, Bucky pulls out of your sopping cunt and you both bite back a hiss. He shifts his weight and maneuvers his body until you’re laying in his arms, your chest pressing against his, legs intertwined. 

He knows he has to clean you up, get you a glass of water and maybe something to eat, but your eyes flutter shut and your hand rests on his heart so he puts it off, knows you need him more. 

He runs his hands along your arms and then your shoulders, pressing into your skin occasionally to remind you that he’s right here—for good. You snuggle into him, press a kiss to a scar above his heart. 

He strokes your spine with trembling fingers, his heart full and warm and content. 

“You’re mine now,” he whispers, voice rough and soft and questioning. 

You lift your eyes to meet his and kiss his jaw. “Was always yours.” 

He smiles—small, awestruck. 

“You’re still my best friend,” he says, quietly. Like he needs you to know. 

“And you’re mine,” you respond, just as quiet. 

He presses his lips to your forehead, holds you tight against him. 

It’s all he’s ever wanted—to be yours. In every way. 

[bxunyx]

Stack and crybaby reader who just wants to be coddled by her man and left alone

𝐀 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

Pairing-Elias*Stack*Moore x BlackReader

A/N- Idk which version you wanted so I did both modern and when sinners take place but it doesn’t follow the storyline hope you like it

You were soft. That was the first thing folks noticed about you. Soft voice, soft hands, soft little heart that bruised easy.

And Stack Moore? He wasn’t soft. Not by a long shot.

Six-foot-something and mean-looking even when he smiled, all gold teeth and sharp eyes. Folks whispered about him in juke joints and on porches, called him and his brother trouble dressed in good shoes and tailored vests. A bootlegger, a gambler, a killer, depending on who you asked.

But none of that mattered when it was just you and him.

Not when you were curled up on his bed, in one of his shirts with the sleeves rolled three times past your wrists, tear tracks fresh on your cheeks. The night was hot, even with the windows cracked. The fan clinked every now and then, useless and slow. Outside, somewhere down the road, a blues record spilled out from someone’s front porch, crackling like fire.

And you? You just wanted to be left alone—except not really. You wanted Stack.

He’d walked in not even ten minutes ago, smellin’ like smoke and gin. He had a cigarette behind his ear and a slick little grin that vanished the moment he saw your face.

“Aww, baby… What’s all this now?”

You sniffed, lip trembling. “Nothin’.”

“That don’t look like nothin’. You cryin’ again?”

“I said I’m fine, Stack.”

“Mmhmm. You fine, but you in my bed lookin’ like the world ended.”

He pulled his suspenders off his shoulders and sat beside you on the edge of the bed. His fingers found your ankle, rubbed slow over the bone.

“I ain’t mean to get on you earlier,” he said, voice low and rough. “I know I said I’d be back before supper.”

“It ain’t that,” you mumbled, staring at your hands. “You just… you always go and don’t tell me nothin’. And then I sit here waitin’ all night, wonderin’ if somethin’ happened. Wonderin’ if I’m gon’ get that knock on the door sayin’ you ain’t comin’ back.”

Your voice cracked, and Stack’s jaw tensed.

You hated that you cried so easy. Like a faucet that didn’t know how to shut off. But you were raised gentle. Raised to worry, raised to love hard.

And Stack, well… Stack wasn’t raised much at all.

He sighed, leaned down and kissed your bare knee. “You know I ain’t got no plans on leavin’ you like that.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can promise I’ll try.” He tugged you closer by your legs, gentle but firm. “C’mere. Let me hold you.”

“I don’t wanna talk right now.”

“Didn’t say nothin’ about talkin’. I said hold you.”

So you let him pull you into his lap, arms wrapped tight around your waist like you were somethin’ precious. Like you were breakable, and he was finally learnin’ how to handle you right.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips warm and sure. “You always do this,” he said, voice half amused, half fond. “Start cryin’ and then tell me to go away like you don’t want me here.”

“I don’t,” you mumbled into his shirt.

Stack laughed, deep and sweet. “Lyin’-ass girl. You want me here so bad you damn near cried me home.”

You smacked his chest with your palm—soft, not real—but he caught your wrist and kissed your fingers.

“Ain’t no shame in wantin’ to be loved on,” he murmured, rubbing circles on your back. “Not with me. You wanna cry, cry. You wanna be babied, I’ll baby you. I don’t care who sees. You mine.”

You sniffled again, trying to bury your face in his neck. “You ain’t mad I’m always like this?”

“Nah. I like my girl sweet. Soft. The world too hard for both of us to be like me.”

He kissed you again, slower this time. “But I swear to God, next time you get to cryin’, don’t sit up here by yourself. You call for me, you hear?”

You nodded. And this time when the tears came, they didn’t burn as much.

They fell easy.

And so did you—right into the arms of the only man who ever made you feel like bein’ soft wasn’t a weakness.

𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

You weren’t even mad for real. Not mad-mad. Just in your little feelings.

It had started over something dumb—like it always did. You couldn’t even remember what you were pouting about now. All you knew was that Stack hadn’t kissed you goodbye before stepping out earlier, and now everything felt wrong.

So you curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies, the sleeves swallowing your hands, and your pout growing bigger by the minute. You scrolled aimlessly on your phone, sniffled once or twice just loud enough to make sure he’d hear it if he was near—and you left your do-not-disturb on anyway.

When the front door opened and Stack walked in, the scent of weed and that clean soap he liked hit the air. His keys dropped in the bowl, his slides shuffled across the floor, and then it got quiet. Too quiet.

“…You good?”

You didn’t answer. Just let out a long, very dramatic sigh as you turned your back to him and tucked yourself deeper under the blanket.

Stack exhaled through his nose. “Here we go,” he muttered, but there was no heat in it. Just the usual amused kind of tired that came out when you were being extra.

He came around to your side of the couch, leaned over, and tapped your thigh. “Why you actin’ like I don’t always come back home to you?”

You stayed silent.

He crouched down so you were eye level. “You mad at me?”

“…No.”

“You cryin’?”

“…No.”

Stack sucked his teeth and ran a hand down his face. “Girl. What happened now?”

You sniffed again and shrugged, voice all quiet and pitiful. “You ain’t kiss me goodbye.”

His lips parted like he was about to say something smart, but then he caught your face—your real face, not the bratty one you used when you wanted to argue. Your eyes were shiny and your nose a little pink. You looked fragile. Real soft. All he could do was shake his head.

“Come here, crybaby.”

“No.”

“I said come here.”

You let him pull the blanket down just enough for him to scoop you up like a little kid. He sat back on the couch with you in his lap, arms wrapping around your waist like muscle memory. His hands were warm, rings cold against your skin, and that was all it took to make the tears start for real—for no reason at all.

“I hate you,” you mumbled into his neck, sniffling again.

Stack chuckled, rubbing your back. “I know, baby. I hate me too.”

You hit his chest softly, all useless and pouty. He kissed your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw. “You want me to coddle you, huh?”

You nodded.

“You want me to baby you.”

Another nod.

“Even when you bein’ dramatic.”

You gave a teary little “mhm.”

“Alright then.” He pulled the blanket around both of you, tucked your head under his chin. “Go ‘head. Cry it out. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

You clung to him like a teddy bear, hiccuping once or twice as your mood started to melt just being close to him. He didn’t tell you to calm down, didn’t ask you to explain. Just let you sit there on his chest while he rubbed your back, soft and slow, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“You done?” he asked after a while.

“No.”

“Aight,” he said, grinning to himself. “Take your time, princess.”

𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫- @cursed-carmine

[nanamisbbygirl]

—☆ friends with benefits!

chapter 3. sneaking around

paring: geto suguru x reader

genre: college au, drama, smut with plot

summary: a pact of pleasure between friends runs the risk of ruining everything. passionate flames burn the hardest. you and geto care about each other, but what happens when sex gets tangled with friendship?

cw: ft. choso, jealousy, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex + fingering, angst, toxic dynamics

prev. < masterlist > next

“Satoru wants to know if you wanna come out tonight?” Shoko quietly tells you while the two of you sit in the library. You look back between her and your computer screen, wondering if going out will be worth it. Midterms are around the corner, and reading week is approaching. That means a boat load of work all piling in at once. 

You shrug, you’re sure you’ll have time to get everything done eventually. “Yeah I’ll probably have most of this done by tonight anyways.” 

She hums and gets back to your friend before returning her attention to her own studies. 

Although, Shoko had failed to mention if Geto would be there, you hoped he would be. You wished you could just tell Shoko about it–how since that day in his shower, your little friends with benefits shenanigans were making you happier and hornier than ever. 

You’d been sneaking off together, letting him bend you in unthinkable positions. You’d lost count of the orgasms you’d had together. The way he’d cram his cock down your throat and paint your face with his cum. Or better yet, when you’d disappear at parties, just to find yourself in a bedroom, your legs spread and his face pussy deep in your juices. Maybe tonight would be one of those nights again, and your thighs pressed together just thinking about it. 

That was motivation alone to get your work done, envisioning what you were going to wear, hopefully something he would like. Although, before you could think so far ahead, you had to remind yourself that the whole point was to not get attached. You shouldn’t be thinking of trying to impress him. It would be in clear violation of your rules. 

So that night at the party, you dressed up– but not for him. You made that very clear to your subconscious. Your tiny skirt and low cut top were not for Geto, but simply just for the occasion of going out. In hindsight, though, you should have gone with an outfit that took into consideration the brisk fall weather. 

“Haha! Let’s take shots!” Shoko announced, holding three mini solo cups in her hand. She first gave one to Gojo, and then to you. You looked around, no sight of Geto. Gojo mentioned that they came together, and that the black haired boy was lingering somewhere. The night was still young, you shouldn't be fussing about his whereabouts. What was one shot to let loose? 

Downing the shot, the three of you laughed, in search of another one. The most famous last words, you realized, were ‘I’m just gonna have one drink.’ 

Your lips kept sipping throughout the night, and your heart beat started to mix with the bass of the speaker. The crowded rooms and hallways made your feet sway, finding yourself still looking for Geto. You hated to admit how horny the alcohol had made you, and all you could do was imagine his hands; their veins, the way they flexed, how sexy they were when they were rubbing your clit. Then, your mind wandered back to his dick; the girth, the way it pulsed inside of you, how deep it felt in your throat. 

That was when you spotted him. 

He was huddled in a corner, talking to other people, a beer in his hand. Your throat felt dry, but you still found some courage to speak to him– but why were you so nervous? Was it because the people around him were girls? Your spine shivered, whether that was from the anxiety or from the fact you were freezing, you didn’t know. 

“Hi Su!” You say, playfully tugging at the sweater he was wearing. Without thinking, you asked, “do you think I can borrow this? I’m cooold.” 

His head snapped back to look at you, he had an angry expression on. The one girl he was speaking with awkwardly smiled. 

“Oh- I didn’t realise you had a girlfriend,” she said, her friends giving him a disgusted look. You felt your face fluster with heat, a stark contrast to the chill you felt when you caught his gaze. 

“That’s because I don’t.” He grunted, scanning you up and down, “she’s just my friend.” 

The group of girls looked at you while you nodded, “yeah, we’re friends. But please Su I’m freezing my ass off!” 

“I don’t care. Go ask Satoru or something.” He shoos you away, trying to return to his conversation– or from what it seems, his little flirt session. 

“Fine.” You huff, walking away, heart stinging. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the pang of jealousy, but you wanted him to apologize. You didn’t want to find Gojo, or to borrow his sweater. You wanted Suguru. 

Your head was starting to feel dizzy, your body still cold. Gojo and Shoko had dispersed and were once again lost among the crowd. Everything was buzzing so loud, you could barely concentrate. That was until there was a gentle tap on your shoulder. 

“Hey,” he says, and it takes you a minute to recognize him. 

“Hey, Choso, right? We have Lit 112 together, with Dr. Hendrick?” He lets out a small yeah with a chuckle. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks and you shrug. 

“What’s it look like,” you smile at him, “enjoying the party– but it’s cold as hell in here.” You wrap your arms around yourself, looking away before feeling fabric against your bare shoulders. 

It’s his sweater, draping over you, protecting you from the cold of the room. Choso doesn’t seem flustered at all, standing back with a neutral look. “You wanna go talk somewhere? It’s so noisy.” 

You wanted to go with him, but before you could leave, you had to take a peek at Geto, to see if he was still with that girl. That’s when your heart dropped. Her friends had vanished, and it was just the two of them. Kissing. Geto’s hand was brushing against her neck, reaching towards her jaw. He was clearly into her, and that stung. 

“Okay, maybe we can go to a room upstairs?” you offer, tugging on his sweater properly. Even though he was distracted, you wanted to make him jealous, hoping that he would eventually notice that you had also found someone else to pleasure you. 

“Sounds good, let’s stop for a drink first.” And that’s what you do. Holding his hand, he leads you into the kitchen, the lifesource of the alcohol. 

“Anything in particular? I’m a pretty good bartender,” he says a little cockily. You only hum, requesting a vodka cran. “Aw no fun for me, but here you go, doll.” 

He hands you the drink before pouring the same thing for himself. Then, like your knight in shining armour he leads you upstairs. You have to crack open a few doors before finding one that’s actually free. Choso guides you to the bed, sitting down next to you, thigh-to-thigh. 

“Did you finish the paper for Henrick’s class?” He asks, chugging down his beverage. You nod, explaining how you had to cram it in at the last minute. “I’m just gonna accept the late penalty.” He laughs. 

“How are you finding the readings?” You ask, leaning towards him subconsciously. 

“Borning.” You giggle at his response. 

“Now can I ask you something off topic?” He, too, leaned into you. 

“Shoot.” 

“Did you come here with anyone?” 

“I mean, I came with my friends,” you swirl your cup, thinking of Geto. He was still your friend– and technically you didn’t come to the party with him. There was a growing heat in between your legs, and you wondered if Choso was picking up on it. 

“But not a boyfriend, right?” You shook your head at his question, making him grin. He lifted his arm, turning your head over to look at him with just his finger. His lips were close to yours, and you could feel your heart racing. Why did it feel so wrong to be enjoying the moment? It wasn’t like you were cheating, and it’s not like Geto would care. 

You decided to kiss Choso, to give into the desire that was a blaze within you. If Geto couldn’t satisfy you, why not look towards Choso? He seemed more than happy to help. Your kiss quickly turned into a sloppy make-out, his hands freely roaming your body, grabbing and groping. 

“God you look so cute in my sweater,” he whispered, before cracking another joke: “I’m gonna hate having to take it off.” 

With that, he removed it from you, before attacking your shirt. Without even realizing it, you were almost naked while the boy you were with was snatching your drink and putting it to the side while he was pushing you against the bed. 

His knee slipped between your thighs, crawling up towards your panties. Applying pressure, his face was hovering over yours, a smile gracing his lips before restarting your little makeout. 

You let out a small moan, letting his hands continue on their journey over your body. It’s blissful, really, except for the fact that you can’t stop thinking about Geto. He’s the only one I’ve done stuff like this with, you rationalize. It’s normal– I’m only thinking about him because I know it’s wrong, you speculate while trying to subdue the irrational thoughts. 

“Are you on the pill?” He grunts, meeting your eyes. 

You shake your head, and he sighs. 

“That’s okay, fingers it is,” he lightly laughs, and you too, smile, as his fingers meet your panties. 

He was about to push them to the side before the door opened. You didn’t get a good look, but Choso’s head turned towards the door. 

“Uh, we’re kinda busy here.” He said, and you closed your legs, trying to get a peek over his body. It wasn’t an unusual thing to happen, you and him must’ve walked in on three different couples when you were trying to find a room. 

“Sorry, man.” The voice said– his voice. You propped your body up, seeing Geto standing there, the other girl behind him, looking at the two of you shyly. 

His eyes met yours, and you tried to gulp down the lump in your throat. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, his expression blank, vision teetering between you and Choso. You watched as he gripped the door knob tighter, and it felt as though you were in a stand-off for hours instead of seconds. You hoped that this would be reason enough to make him jealous, to make him feel the way you did when he was making out with that other girl. 

That’s when his expression darkened, and before you could think straight, he had grabbed Choso, prying him off you. “Get away from her, dude.” You heard Geto say between grit teeth. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” Choso snaps. 

“I thought you said that chick wasn’t your girlfriend?” The other girl chimes in. 

“She’s not. She’s my friend, why the fuck are you trying to take advantage of her, huh?” He holds Choso up by the collar of his shirt, staring him down like he’s prey. 

You scramble to get to your feet, screaming back at Geto in the process, “he’s not fucking taking advantage of me you stupid idiot.” You try to push Geto away but his stance is firm. 

“Yeah right,” he scoffs, “you think this asshole doesn’t know you’re drunk? For fucks sake, I can smell it on you.” 

Geto’s eyes pierce into your heart as he finally drops Choso from his gasp. The boy you were with curses him, “whatever it’s not worth the trouble– I’ll see you in class, y/n.” 

“Like hell you will!” Geto shouts at him as he leaves. By then the girl he’s been stringing alone had vanished, probably fed up with the behaviour. Choso slams the door, leaving you and Geto alone. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You try to push him but he doesn’t budge. 

“What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you?” He took a step closer, sizing you up. “You’re just so desperate you’re running around with guys you just met?” 

“Oh look who's talking?” You could feel your face twisting into an angered expression, “you literally were on your way to hook up with that girl! You’re really gonna lecture me on sleeping around?” 

“You know it’s different– you’re drunk. I was just trying to look out for you, but clearly you think you know everything.” His eyes narrowed, “you were trying to get my attention earlier, just like you’re trying to do now. So go on, you got it.” 

“I can’t believe you.” You huff, turning around, trying to collect your shirt. Before you could put it back on, you continued: “first of all, you know for a fact I’m not drunk. You just don’t want me to sleep with anyone who isn’t you.” 

“Oh please,” he scoffed, “don’t be so pathetic. I could care less.” 

“Oh yeah? It doesn’t seem like it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so worked up.” 

“Don’t be so full of yourself.” He rolled his arms, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” You made your way to the door, but his large frame stopped you. 

“And you’re such a brat,” he continued to argue, his sly face looking down at you, a particular darkness shining in his eyes. 

Your breath slowed down. You were angry at him. It was obvious. But with the way he was staring down at you, it was easy to forget the whole point to this whole argument. He was close to you, closer than he should’ve been, and you felt helpless to what happened next. 

Geto kissed you, smashing his lips onto yours, cradling your head in his hands. You could feel the anger that was emanating off his own body, and the frustration that seemed to be pent up inside of him. It was difficult to pull away from him, not because you didn’t like the kiss, but because of the hold that he had over you. 

“I thought you didn’t care,” you breathed out again, only causing Geto to hold you harder. 

“I don’t.” He grunted, but that didn’t stop him from tracing over your body with his large hands, spinning you around so that your back was pressed against his chest. He rubbed your tits, face in the crook of your neck. “You’re just really pissing me off.” 

“Oh and that turns you on?” For a second, you forgot what you were mad about, feeling a surge of pleasure rushing through your veins. Although, his skillful lips were not enough to make you completely stupid to his previous actions. 

You wiggled free, turning around to face him. “What? You think some kisses will distract me from what you just did. You're literally a dickhead. I don’t even know how we’re friends.” 

“We can stop, if you want.” He hissed, his ego slightly bruised from your rejection. His voice was lined with poison, his words cutting you like a blade. 

“Perfect. Sounds good to me!” You reacted, trying not to sound upset with what you said. You wanted to hurt him back, to make him miserable like what he had just put you through. 

That’s all it took before you stormed out of the room, pushing through the people lingering in the halls. You made a swift exit, not bothering to tell Gojo or Shoko about where you were going. 

You didn’t want to talk to anyone, you wanted to hold a strong front and you knew the minute your roommate asked you what happened, you would break down and confess everything. It was embarrassing. Pathetic. Desperate. You couldn’t be bothered with it. 

The pounding of your heart made you deaf to the world around you. Everything was ringing in your ear. A mixture of rage and melancholy sat in your stomach and as you reached your room you didn’t bother to change, nor to take off your make up. 

You and Geto were done. Not friends with benefits. Not even friends. Fuck. It was the one thing you didn’t want. It was the only part of the deal that needed to stay in tack. The future became more uncertain, but you figured that at least you’d be able to go home over the reading week, and hopefully have a good enough excuse to ignore everyone. 

You could lie your way out of it for a little bit, but the precarious nature of your relationship had already been hanging by a threat. And now that the thread had snapped, the only thing you could do was cry yourself to sleep. 

taglist: [open]@bunnygorex @iwas-baby @coffee-and-geto @i2s2m @zeunys @murasakiyams @sukunasbigtiddiewifey @izluvsyou @goonforgeto @multistan-247 @chosoclub @idyllicsam @0tsukie @suckkuna @loverzxi @lilbxtchsyndrome @blombat @ll0rona @astrokenny @izluvsyou @saint-boudica @cutehobii @shadyd3ar

© all work belongs to nanamisbbygirl on tumblr, please do not plagiarize, repost or translate anywhere

[starboye]

call me yours

dean had just gotten done finding some supernatural shit (pun intended) and just wanted to talk to you, just hearing your voice was enough to calm him down from whatever he was dealing with, not having to scroll far through his contacts before seeing your name "❤️love of my life❤️" it said

pressing it and listening to it ring but it wasn't long before you answered "hey baby" dean greeted you in a sweet low voice "hey dean, how was the mission" you asked "stressful but we got through it" dean dropped his head back on the headrest with a comforting sigh "whats wrong" you question

"nothing i just love hearing your voice" dean just imagined himself next to you in bed, all cuddled up watching some shitty show that you both loved "yeah, how much" you thought this would be the perfect time to help dean release some stress after such a hard day "so much" he chuckles

"yeah what exactly" you ask "your laugh, your morning voice, your shaky voice when your nervous" he says "awww so you dont even love my moans, or my whimpers, or my whining when im riding you" you tease him a little and you could hear the shift in his voice over the phone

"oh yeah i love those" dean was already getting hard in his jeans from your comment "how much" you ask "so so so much" he pulls out his cock, wrapping his hand around it "mhm love when you pound me into the bed everytime, you just feel so good" you taunt him "y-yeah" he perks up after being silent for a little

"yeah so much, you wanna know something" you continue "mhm" he holds back a moan "i wish i was sitting next to you right now, just riding you in the backseat like old time, remember that" you ask "yep those were so much fun" you have his kind rolling with all the thoughts of those late night drives that turned into you and him pulled over on the side of the road fucking in the back seat

deans fist tightening around his cock as he gets close "i fucking love you so much" he shakily pants "call me yours" he asks you and you stifle a laugh at uis desperation "your mine, mkay" you coo over the phone, but dean imagined you were right next to him saying it, imagining it was your hand wrapped around his dick while telling him to cum

and he did, cumming all over his jeans and hand with a small moan "you good dean" you ask "i am now" a satisfied smile on deans face "well get home now i have a surprise for you" you tell him with a slight hint to your voice and dean could only let his mind run with thoughts of what you meant, maybe he's getting lucky tonight

xoxo, starboye 💋

taglist: @mailmango @boypied @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @znerac @r0mcom-8ngel @bbibbiiu @tqrgaryenfilms

[douceurrrr]

jealous sex with nic in soul ties

cw: smut, minor angst,oral (f. receiving), dirty talk, language , unprotected (p in v), reader is blk.

you had no idea it was gonna piss him off that bad.

you were just doing the challenge. just following instructions like everybody else—wrap your legs around the log, whisper something spicy, give a little performance. and yeah, maybe you went a little harder when it was jeremiah’s turn. but that’s what the game called for, right?

besides, it was blindfolded.

you didn’t even know it was jeremiah until you heard him laugh afterward.

but nic… oh, nic saw everything.

you felt it the second you came back to sit on the bench. the heat of his stare across the firepit, his jaw tight, leg bouncing, arms folded across that broad chest like he was using every ounce of strength not to explode.

and the thing is—you knew you looked good. the tiny denim shorts hugging your hips. the silk top barely tied in the front. your knotless braids pulled into a high messy bun that left your neck on full display. you were glowing.

and jeremiah definitely noticed.

but nic? he looked like he wanted to murder him.

you tried to play it cool. smiled, laughed when amaya whispered something messy in your ear. but your eyes kept flicking over to nic. and his never left you.

until he stood up. sharp. deliberate. walked right over.

“can i pull you for a chat?” he asked, voice low but carrying.

you blinked. then nodded, standing slow.

he didn’t wait for a response. just walked off toward the villa, and you followed—silent, curious, lowkey excited.

but you didn’t expect him to lead you into soul ties.

the producers must’ve given him the green light, because the door was already cracked, candles already lit, bed already made. it smelled like vanilla and something woodsy, sensual. like trouble.

he walked in first. you closed the door behind you.

the air shifted instantly.

he didn’t look at you for a second. just stood there with his hands on his hips, staring at the floor like he was counting backwards in his head.

then finally—

“what the fuck was that?”

you blinked. “excuse me?”

“that challenge.”

you tilted your head. “the one we were told to do by production?”

he looked up, jaw clenching. “you know exactly what i’m talking about.”

you crossed your arms. “i was doing my job, babe.”

“you were doing the most.”

you scoffed, more amused than offended. “so now you mad at me for winning the challenge?”

“nah. i’m mad at the way you wrapped yourself around him like that shit wasn’t national television.”

you raised an eyebrow. “it was blindfolded.”

“you were grinding, y/n.”

“nic.”

“you were whispering shit in his ear.”

“so what?”

“so what?” he stepped forward, hands still on his hips, chest rising heavy now. “he was touching you like you were single. like i don’t sleep next to you every night. like this isn’t us.”

you stared at him for a long second, letting the silence stretch. letting him feel it.

then you smirked.

“you’re jealous.”

his eyes narrowed. “i’m not jealous.”

“you are. you’re mad ’cause someone else touched what you think only belongs to you.”

he stepped even closer. “i know it belongs to me.”

your stomach fluttered. “do you?”

“you really wanna test me tonight?” his voice dropped, rough and low. “’cause i will remind you exactly who this belongs to.”

you leaned up, whispered against his mouth, “then do it.”

that’s all it took.

his mouth crashed into yours like a storm, rough and desperate and messy. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him so hard your breath caught. you kissed him back with just as much heat, letting him feel every ounce of power you had over him.

he spun you toward the bed, lips never leaving yours, hands already dragging your top over your head. you stepped out of your shorts, leaving you in nothing but your panties and gold hoops.

he groaned. “fuck. look at you.”

you crawled onto the bed, slow, sultry, spreading your legs a little as you leaned back on your elbows.

“go ahead then,” you teased. “show me.”

he pulled his shirt off fast, the soft cotton clinging to his abs before it hit the floor. his sweats followed, low on his hips, revealing a hard bulge already pressing against his boxers.

he climbed onto the bed, crawling over you, hovering with his hands planted on either side of your head.

“you made me crazy tonight,” he muttered against your skin. “watching him touch you.”

“so make it better.”

he didn’t need another invitation.

his lips trailed down your neck, sucking gently just under your ear, then harder as he moved to your collarbone. you moaned softly, your fingers sliding into his curls, tugging just enough to make him growl.

he kissed down your chest, mouthing over your nipple through your bra, before sliding it off completely. then his mouth wrapped around you, hot and wet, tongue flicking until your back arched.

his hand slid down your stomach, fingers teasing the waistband of your panties.

“these coming off.”

you nodded, breathless.

he slid them down slowly, eyes locked on yours, lips parted like he was watching art.

and then his mouth was on you — no warning, no teasing. he kissed your thighs, then dove in, licking you like it was the only way to survive. tongue flat and firm against your clit, fingers spreading you open so he could really taste you.

you gasped, hips bucking. “oh my god—fuck, nic—”

he didn’t stop. just kept licking, slow at first, then faster, swirling and sucking until your thighs were shaking.

“you gonna cum for me?” he asked, voice rough against your heat.

“yes,” you breathed. “don’t stop. don’t—”

you came with a cry, hands fisting the sheets, your whole body shivering as he licked you through it. and when you finally opened your eyes, he was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark.

“still mine?” he asked, grabbing your thigh and pulling you to the edge of the bed.

“always,” you whispered.

“good.”

he pushed his boxers down, thick and hard and already leaking. he stroked himself slowly, then leaned over you, lining up with your entrance.

“look at me.”

you did.

and he pushed in deep.

you gasped, nails digging into his arms as he filled you — stretching you open with a slow, deep stroke that made your eyes roll back.

he gave you a moment. then started moving.

each thrust was purposeful, deep, like he wanted to feel himself in your throat. his hand gripped your hip, the other pressed against your stomach as he watched his dick disappear inside you.

“you feel that?” he muttered. “that’s mine.”

“yours,” you moaned, voice shaking. “so deep, baby—”

he leaned down, kissed you again — this time soft, slow, like he remembered you were his favorite person even when he was pissed.

he flipped you over suddenly, pulled your hips back until you were on your knees. you arched, your cheek pressed into the pillow, and he slid back inside in one long stroke.

“fuck,” he groaned. “you feel too good.”

he picked up the pace, hips snapping into you, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the room with your moans.

he reached under you, fingers rubbing your clit in tight circles while he kept pounding into you from behind.

you cried out, body trembling again. “nic—i’m gonna—”

“cum on this dick,” he growled. “show me who it belongs to.”

you broke with a scream, vision white, walls clenching around him as your orgasm crashed through your body. he came right after, buried deep inside you with a long, low groan, gripping your waist like he’d never let go.

he collapsed beside you after, both of you breathless, skin sticky, hearts pounding in sync.

you turned your head, eyes half-lidded. “still mad?”

he laughed, chest rising. “hell yeah.”

you raised a brow.

he leaned over, kissed your shoulder. “but at least now jeremiah knows better.”

you smiled, pulling the blanket up over both of you.

“you’re crazy.”

“for you?” he grinned, brushing your hair back from your face. “every time.”

⸻

[myraniellejkelly]

WHC Boys and reader reacting their child’s first word

Content includes: entirely fluff but a bit of angst and swearing, a little Korean basic vocabulary words, the reader and WHC boys’ kid is named Haechan, used neutral pronouns in description while used she/he in speech text, when referring to Haechan.

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝒴𝑒𝑜𝓃 𝒮𝒾-𝑒𝓊𝓃

In most scenarios, you were always playing around Haechan more, while the same old Sieun has always been acting as his teenage self who now came back doing work on his laptop, typing the paper work.

“Appa is busy, Haechan,” you said, while placing wooden blocks. “Haechan.”

As they turn their head and tilted in confusion as they look down on the wooden blocks written: Omma. You pointed yourself with a big smile on them and said, “Haechan, it’s me, omma, say, ‘Omma,’ sweetie.”

They suck their thumb while you sigh in gently moving their thumb off from sucking, “Haechan, say omma, sweetie,” as you tell them slowly, “omma.”

All they respond was a babble and baby giggles while you felt it in defeat, Haechan has their little hands reaching towards your husband. As they were happily giggling in crawling on the floor, then they slowly trying to get up with little steps. While you pout in watching them coming towards Sieun.

“Honey! Honey!” you shouted.

But Sieun was too busy in looking at papers, then Haechan falls off but was held onto Sieun’s lap. Then he turn to them as their hands reach for him.

“Haechan, what are you doing? Eh? Should’ve you be with omma?” he said, seeing them getting so jumpy around. “Sorry, sweet pea, appa is busy.”

“Ap…” Haechan is saying something while they babbled their words. “Ap… pa… pa… Appa! Appa!”

You and Sieun were genuinely surprised as he dropped his pencil from the table, “Haechan? What did you say?” he asks, carrying them gently to his arm.

“Appa! Appa! Appa!” they giggled.

You come around and crossed your arms in pout, “No fair.”

“Omma!”

You clapped in excitement as you smile, “Okay, Omma is the second.”

Then Sieun slowly smiles with tiring eyes as he look at them in adore, “Omma? Appa?”

“Omma! Appa!” they giggled happily in reaching their arms up high.

You and Sieun laughed happily in hearing their first word.

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝒜𝒽𝓃 𝒮𝓊-𝒽𝑜

“Haechan! Say, ‘Appa,’” as he pointed at himself, but then you shove him off to the side.

“Sweetie, it’s me, say, ‘Omma,’” you said.

You and Suho were having a competition on who gets to have Haechan’s first word: Omma or Appa.

Haechan were looking at you two one by one, then they said, “…do… do…”

“Come on!” you both cheered for them.

“Don’t cross the line!”

You two quickly went silent for a moment and looked at each other, “Don’t cross the line?” you asks him.

“Oh… I guess they got it from when I was talking to someone while I was driving in the car but…” he turns to you with a smirk, “…it still count that I said it that means I’m the first.”

“Stop changing the game, Suho!”

“Don’t cross the line! Don’t cross the line! The line! Line, line, line, line!”

You both stop arguing as you scoff with a smile as you rest towards his shoulder and said, “I guess Haechan took it after you, little Suho.”

Suho laughed in grabbing him gently as Haechan giggled with a big smile on their face.

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝒪𝒽 𝐵𝑒𝑜𝓂-𝓈𝑒𝑜𝓀

It was just him while you were at work, so now he is staying in taking care over Haechan. He was sitting down on the floor while they were walking around, Beomseok must’ve been feeling tired over them crying all over the place since they missed you.

He takes a deep breath and smiled as he saw them reaching for him, so Beomseok gently carried them. As he only watch their hands pointing as a way of understanding nonverbally, that they wanna go to the family picture. “You wanna go the family photo, hm?”

Haechan giggled with a big smile as he smiled back, “Okay, okay, okay,” as he come to the family picture that was up on the wall. Then he look at their hands pointing at him in the photo, “Oh, that’s me, it’s appa and here right next to you is omma.”

All he could see was their hands reaching for you on the picture, “Om… om…”

Beomseok immediately turn to them in shock, knowing their first word is—

“Omma! Omma!”

“Haechan… can you say that again?”

“Omma! Omma!”

He quickly smiles and laughed happily, “My baby’s first word!” as Haechan giggled and babbling, while Beomseok was proud of them. “Oh… I wish your omma could hear this.”

Beomseok sat down at dinner table as Haechan sat down on his lap, while he take out his phone and FaceTime as you were waving at the camera, “Beomseok! Hi, Haechan!”

“Honey! Haechan just said (her/his) first word!”

“What?!” you quietly freak out while being at work.

“Haechan, do you want to show to omma what you said?”

Haechan look at the camera and said, “Omma!”

“Haechan!” you quietly laugh and proud, “you miss me?”

They giggled as Beomseok held their little hands and move it around, “(she/he) really miss you,” he said.

“Aww, I’ll be there soon, bye! Bye!”

“Haechan say bye! Bye!”

All they do was babble and giggled.

As you hang up, leaving Beomseok smiling at them.

“When will you ever say, ‘Appa?’”

“Appa!”

He laughed happily, “There it is! My little angel!”

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝐵𝒶𝓀𝓊 | 𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝐻𝓊-𝓂𝒾𝓃

“Bleh! Bleh! Bleh!” Baku said.

“Bleh! Bleh! Bleh!” Haechan repeated.

“That’s not a first word, Baku,” you slightly complain while watching their fun time with each other.

“Oh come on! Babe!” he said, carrying them. “(She’s/he’s) still like a few months old, you can’t just let (her/him) speak immediately. Baby steps right? I mean (she/he) already got (her/him) first footsteps, it takes time.”

You sigh and smiled down at your baby, “Since when did you become so proper and responsible?”

“Hon, I’m always come prepared before we have (her/him). I just want (her/him) to look at me and remember my face because (she’ll/he’ll) be my little (boy/girl) no matter what.”

“Right, by the time our child grows up, (she’ll/he’ll) stay as appa’s little (boy/girl) for few years, and what am I, Humin?”

“Y/N, seriously, (she’ll/he’ll) always love us equally like always,” he said, trying to make you understand, “what am I without you? Just stop being so negative, you know Haechan never liked (her/his) omma to be this grumpy all the time.”

“Omma!”

You both turned to your guys’ child as you both were surprise, “Did… did (she/he) just…?”

You were laughing happily and proud as you took Haechan away from your husband, “Haechan, did you just say, ‘Omma?’”

Haechan has their hands up and giggled.

“Did you love omma?”

“Omma!”

You laughed again while Baku laughs along, “See I told you, (she/he) needed you.”

“Omma! Ap… Appa… a chickie!”

You were confused and asks, “Appa, a chickie?”

“Oh… that… Haechan must’ve been watching me dancing or heard me singing to a chicken song.”

You laughed again and even Haechan laughed along.

“Seriously? You’re embarrassing our (daughter/son), Humin!” you laugh again and again.

“Well, I’m just the chicken dad, like what? Is my chicken outfit and dancing not funny enough for you to laugh with our little kiddo, watching me.”

“Humin, stop you’re letting me drop Haechan in accident, stop it!”

“That’s the Y/N, I’m hoping for, Haechan really take it after you, you know?”

“Stop it! Now, you’re making me feel flustered.”

He laughed, “I know.”

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝒢𝑜 𝐻𝓎𝓊𝓃-𝓉𝒶𝓀

“Appa, omma,” Gotak said, gently holding their hands and clap.

“Ap…”

Gotak was ready for it but then—

“Bleh! Bleh! Bleh!” they giggled and clap their hands.

“Haechan, you sneaky little…” he stop and sigh, then you come around with a smile.

“Darling, what are you doing to our little sweet pea?”

“Well, I’m trying to make Haechan in having (her/his) first word and all (she/he) does was trick me when (she/he) almost said, ‘Omma’ or ‘Appa.’ I can’t believe (she/he) got your mischief.”

You laughed and sat down on the floor beside your husband, “Haechan, are you having a hard time with appa?” then you saw them getting up and walked to you. While Gotak pout and watches Haechan having a deep connect with you more than he does.

They were giggling and even you giggled back.

“He… hi…”

“Hyuntak, look our baby is about to have (her/his) first word.”

“Haechan, don’t you even dea—”

“Hiyyah! Hiyyah!”

Gotak was surprised while you stayed confused, “Oh ho, ho, ho! Did Haechan just remembered me doing taekwondo just a week ago?” he slowly smile.

“Appa! Appa! Fight! Fight!”

You turn to him with a glare, “Did you got into a fight again?”

“What?! No! Haechan always love watching me doing all those kicks in the backyard.”

You scoffed and smiled as you laughed, “God, you’re embarrassing.”

“Hey, it was my training!”

“Yeah, yeah, Karate dad.”

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝒮𝑒𝑜 𝒥𝓊𝓃-𝓉𝒶𝑒

It seems obvious that all he wanted was for Haechan to say, ‘Appa’ first. You didn’t really want to get so involved and had little of time with them, but as you know you want Juntae to feel like bestest that your child could ever had. He even gave what they wanted but sometimes Haechan is a bit of turning their head around.

And when that moment happened, it occurs to him that Haechan’s first word is not Appa, it’s—

“Omma! Omma!”

He was heartbroken.

“Honey? Honey! Juntae! Juntae!”

Juntae suddenly cries as you quickly hug him and caressed his back, while your guy’s child was sitting down in their crib, chewing their toy.

“How come (she/he) gets to call you first! Not me!”

You quietly shush him, “It’s not your fault, Haechan really loves you but (she’s/he’s) tired of being treated in a way.”

“I’m such a terrible father,” he cried.

“Juntae, you’re not, honey,” you said, “you’re more than this.”

Then suddenly you heard Haechan crying and reach their hands to Juntae, “Ap… Ap… Appa! Appa!” they cried. “Appa! Appa!”

Juntae move as he wipe his tears off and notice them crying, then carried them as he shed a tear when they touched his face.

“H-Haechan…” he cried and hugged them, “my precious baby, appa forgives you!”

You sigh and began group hugging your husband and child together.

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝒥𝑒𝑜𝓃 𝒴𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑔-𝒷𝒾𝓃

Haechan ran to Yeongbin, just wanting his attention but he’s not the type of basic dad. More so, he sucks at parenting when all he does was call you, and take care of the baby.

Clearly, he maybe that of a selfish person, but he really felt bad in not doing what he possibly can do for Haechan.

“Yeongbin!”

“What?!”

“Would you even care to take care of Haechan? What’s with you in not being the father!”

“Okay, jeez! I just… I’m just gonna call my fri—”

“Absolutely not! I’ve been taking care of Haechan everyday and you… you didn’t even bother watching (her/him) all day, have you decided to become a deadbeat dad (her/his) whole life?”

He scoffs and rolled his eyes, “I’m sorry…”

“We’ve been married for four years before we even had Haechan, you said, ‘I want you to be happy,’ that I told you that time of discussing about having a child, then where’s that happiness coming from?”

Yeongbin heavily sigh, “I’m sorry… I… you… you’re better at parenting more than I do, it seems fair that you act exactly how my omma was and what’s like raising me.”

“Just try act like the appa that (she/he) ever needs in (her/his) life, you don’t want to end Haechan becoming like you.”

“You’re right…”

As you hand him the baby, then Yeongbin carefully carried them as you walked away. He doesn’t know what to do rather looking at them in the eyes, for some time as he tried to be the father in raising Haechan.

Yeongbin seems to understand and eventually he smiled when Haechan eats their food, he laughed of course. “Appa is coming for an airplane!” as he play around with them as they giggled. “And another one! Plunk!”

Yeongbin sighs and heard them burping as he laughed, “It’s hard raising you and well… I never really know what’s like being your appa.”

“Ap…” they babbled.

“Your omma was right, I guess I almost became a deadbeat dad,” he said, while they smile with energetic.

“Ap… bleh… ap…”

“Hmm… looks like you’re saying something to me, are you—”

“Appa! Appa!” they giggled.

Yeongbin was genuinely surprised as he come closer to them, and shed a tear from his eyes as he laughed with joyful tears. He couldn’t forget those words coming from them. “Yes, it’s me…”

“Appa!”

He laugh through tears and carried them.

You immediately heard your child’s first word as you laughed happily and watch them, “He’s such a dork even when he pretty cries,” you murmur.

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝒦𝒶𝓃𝑔 𝒲𝑜𝑜-𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓃𝑔

He set up his phone on the holder and record it, Wooyoung just peace sign at the camera as well as Haechan copies his movement. He laughed, “Haechan!”

They giggled and gotten so jumpy off the seat, and he smiled back as he open hands with both of his hands. Haechan tried to slap his hand left and right while giggling with happiness.

“Wow, you’re strong.”

You walked by and asks, “Wooyoung, what are you doing?”

“Making a vlog video why?”

“You do know I don’t want Haechan to be on the media for this?”

“I’ll cut that part out,” he said by the camera. “Relax, honey bun, I’m aware of that and I’ll blur (her/his) face over this video, especially I’m gonna keep on cutting this part out too afterwards.”

You sigh and rolled your eyes, crossing your arms as Haechan babbled and turn around with hands up with a smile. “Haechan! How’s my baby doing? Is appa giving you a hard time?”

“Hey,” Wooyoung glares at you a little.

You come closer to him and whispered, “Seriously what vlog do you think you’re doing?”

“Uhh… baby vlog videos…”

“Seriously? Like any other vlog.”

“Oh come on, Y/N, why do you have to be so serious this is supposed to be a family vlog not a family drama vlog.”

“Look, I know, I know, but you’re making this like any other people in the media.”

“Oh, babe, the only thing I could make for, was you and Haechan, okay?”

You heavily sigh, “Okay… okay…”

You came and pretend for the vlog, Wooyoung absolutely playing around with Haechan while you hold his phone as he gently toss them up in the air.

“Wee!” said Wooyoung. “Y/N, did you capture the video.”

“Yes.”

As Haechan laughed while you looked concerned that what if… what if he—

“Ap… Appa!”

Wooyoung laughed for a moment but didn’t realized until now, as he quickly catch Haechan and you were running after when that happen as you saw your husband fall to the ground.

He caught them just in time and mutters, “God, I hadn’t been having a limp for years before that damn surgery.”

“Are you guys okay?”

They both turned to you as Haechan giggled with a smile, “Appa! Appa!”

Wooyoung laughed and get up as he pat their head,

“You love appa?”

“Appa! Appa! Appa!”

“Aww,” you said, capturing everything on camera of his phone.

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝒩𝒶 𝐵𝒶𝑒𝓀-𝒿𝒾𝓃

Haechan was sitting in front of Baekiin's door, you came by and said, “Sweetie, what are you doing, huh?”

They reach for the door as you turn and asks, “Your appa?”

They were still reaching for the door and they jumped, “Haechan, sorry dear, but appa is really busy with business he had to work for. How about you wanna play with omma?”

But they still wanna reach for the door.

“You miss appa?”

Haechan quickly smiles and slowly get up and pointed, you laughed happily as the door was unlocked. Haechan giggled come in while Baekjin was very busy at the moment, you slowly closed the door only leaving Baekjin inside of his office.

They come around as Baekjin noticed and saw his baby walking to him, “Ah, kid.”

Haechan smiled while Baekjin sighs, “You know I’m busy today,” he continues, but unlike Haechan, they really miss him. “Hmm? You wanna sit down on appa’s lap?”

Baekjin has a soft spot for his kid, even though he has no attention or had the time. He seems very much fond with kids who’s his own.

He carried them as Haechan sat on Baekjin’s lap as their little hands pointed at his work, Baekjin slowly smile. “Well, kid, this is appa’s work… I think I recall this as some serious business, along with umm…” he doesn’t want them to know of what’s like still working at an organization of the union. “With my colleagues.”

Then they pointed at the name, “Haechan, this is the union, that’s… my work…”

Haechan turned to him with a big smile, Baekjin was unfazed of what they’re about to do. “U… Un… Un… Ap… Ap…”

“Appa! U-Union!”

Suddenly his unfazed look broke as went from a genuinely surprise look, he was speechless while Haechan smiled as their little hands placed towards his face. “Appa! Union! Union!”

He smile of course, “You miss me?” as he gently hugged them.

“Appa! Appa!”

Baekjin laughed happily like he never felt before when he first met you, and now he has Haechan.

“Appa miss you too, Haechan.”

You were outside eavesdropping and that you laughed happily about what you heard, “Haechan’s first word.”

── .✦·········──────────────────

𝒢𝑒𝓊𝓂 𝒮𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑔-𝒿𝑒

“Say, ‘Appa,’” Seongje said, teaching Haechan to talk, “say, ‘Omma,’” but all he got was them giggling babbled as they stand up from their crib.

“Kid, come on, when will you gonna start talking like your old man, ay? Just repeat after me? Okay?”

Haechan giggled with a big smile as Seongje adjusted his glasses and sighs, “Forget it, I’ll still love you but you’re making me annoyed just how much you… you…” then he come sighing and instantly said a word in front of his kid. “Shibal…”

“Honey, what are you doing?” you said, as you open the door and saw what was the commotion.

“Shi… Shibal!”

You immediately made that expression from your face, and oh… Seongje knows that he fucked up…

“Geum Seongje… care to explain what did you learn Haechan a word like that?” you calmly said while the tone of your voice spoke lower.

He raise his hands up like he was caught, Seongje was for sure a little amuse but a little frightened by you. “H… Honey, it was an accident…”

“So? You’re the father, you would’ve gave an example for your (daughter/son)!”

“Why do you have to make it such a big deal, dear, I’m trying to make (her/he) say omma or appa, not this!”

“You’re always slurring your own words and you could’ve been this cautious, like what if… what if…” you said, glaring at him in disappointment.

“(She’s/he’s) gonna remember that! (She’s/he’s) few months old, just give me a break.”

“Well, what if Haechan is gonna ask when (she’s/he’s) about eight years old, (she/he) would’ve ask what’s (her/his) first word?”

“Appa! Appa! Omma! Omma! Shibal! Shibal! Shibal!” they giggled.

He clenched his teeth while saying, “Not helping kid,” then Seongje spoke back to you. “Y/N, jeez, stop making such a big deal about this, we both know we’re gonna lie to our kid.”

“How so? (She’s/he’s) gonna cuss every 24/7 of my life in marriage with a man like you!”

Seongje gets overly exaggerated that the only thing he does was make a mockery and gesturing his hand all the way, “I’m sorry and I’m trying not to slip it off my words! When the love of my life is gonna tell me what to do about it! If only Haechan was there with you,” he spoke sarcastically.

You scoff in feeling offended, “So you call me ignorant is that so?”

“Yea—what?! No!”

“Oh, that’s it, you already have your time spending with your (daughter/son), no father-(daughter/son) time,” you said, carrying Haechan and walked away. “You ain’t having (her/him) for the rest of the week, it is me now who’s having the mother-(daughter/son) time. So off you go, go drink somewhere where you could lean onto.”

Seongje just stop you and begs you, “Y/N! Haechan needs me! Come on! Stop making things so complicated! Haechan needs (her/his) omma and appa.”

“Oh, I’m not taking her away, this is your damn punishment got that? You gonna repent on the littlest thing you did, and I hate that my own (daughter/son) is gonna stuck towards cussing out of the surface. You gonna face the consequences, just deal with only one week in not having (her/him), Seongje.”

“Are you hating me now?!”

“No, just disappointed that you’re learning things towards your (daughter/son)!”

“Oh come on!”

As you leave your husband while holding onto Haechan who giggled, “Appa! Appa! Shibal!”

Seongje scoffs and slowly pointed at himself, “Did (she/he) just…”

He stop talking but constantly screaming silently in the inside afterwards.

[xylatox]

unscripted lines where boyfriends lie

Finally getting to this! Was super excited to read and share my thoughts :) 

Immediately love how the grief is presented fron the beginning and it doesnt ease us into it making it that much more real. Love Nyla for being so present as a friend :( 

“Always,” she whispered. “No matter what.” Her fingers continued to comb gently through my hair. It doesn’t fix much, but it makes the silence feel a little less sharp. 

Like this was just a small moment but it was so sweet

Also love how Jay is introduced and I love that hes Nyla’s older brother. It genuinely makes me so happy.

Jay let out a quiet laugh, “you would cry for, like, twenty straight minutes because of a cartoon fish.”

I love this bit of comedy amidst everything. Also please tell me this is Nemo theyre talking about.

I also think the MC’s mom talking to Jay is super cute, I just wished that she didnt treat her as if she was glass. Like I get it, but it just feels as if they’re being so careful around her and it annoys me slightly lol

Also I LOVE that Nyla’s name is NyQuil thats so cute ugh

Jay’s warm hand, slipping quietly beneath the table, resting lightly on my leg. His thumb tracing small, slow circles. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at me, just kept chatting with my mom.

This would actually send me insane no joke.

Also love that Nyla is already suspicious of their whole fake dating, definitely has that sister radar on her

She chuckled, but then her voice softened, like the air between us had turned to glass. “It’s just… it’s really good to see you smile again, baby.”

This line makes me a bit sad ngl :( 

I wish I could scream at you. I wish I didn’t still miss you in the same breath as I hate you.

This line was insane oh my god, I love it

Also loving Jay’s nickname lol. And the way he noticed the way she’s tense just by how she was with her fingers makes me so soft actually.

I think its also good (and sad) to see that the manager views it as a way to just improve his publicity and it seems as if the people behind that fake social image are forgotten which I think portrays the reality of stardom well

I barely managed to mumble ‘It’s okay’ though my voice felt fragile, as if trying to convince myself more than him.

I just wanna protect her man :( 

I appreciate that with her grief she cant help it despite what her ex did to her and I love how realistic it is. Like her mom throwing away the flowers and being the final breaking point for her is what hurts me the most i think. I love that despite the fake dating relationship they have, Jay is very clearly worried for her and he goes out of his way to ensure shes cared for while also gently reassuring her to call her mom and I just think its sweet.

He kept blinking somewhere in the distance, trying to think. “I…” he began, wrestling with the words. “I feel so fucking lonely.” He confessed, whispering back to me, dropping his shoulders in defeat. As if it's that simple, but it wasn’t really that simple.

Also loving Jay’s vulnerability because hes surrounded by so many people considering his job but its also so loney for him. Specifically considering what happened to him in his past relationship also lends to this feeling, and I just feel so bad for him as hes genuinely so scared to get someone that close again.

“Rest that pretty head,” he murmured, gently brushing my hair away from my face.

I wanted to ask him to stay, to not leave me alone. But the words stayed locked in my throat, stubborn. My lips remained sealed as the door clicked softly shut behind him. And for the first time in weeks, I surrender completely to sleep.

I will genuinely pass out my god

Therapy isn’t magic. It’s slow, frustratingly slow. The sessions blend together, a couple of weeks turning into a small stretch of time. It's a process that feels more like navigating a labyrinth without a map. Some days, I show up and say nothing. I sit there in silence, letting my fingertips follow the seams of the couch cushion, feeling the texture.

Immediately I think this became my favourite paragraph in this fic. This was something I talked about with a friend of mine recently and I think the most daunting thing about therapy is that it doesnt work in the way you expect it to (at least thats how we felt). Genuinely expected therapy to be a quick fix to the problems I had for years when it in fact did not do that and I’m still stuck with all my problems. Therapy is meant to teach you how to cope with your issues and I think that was the hardest thing about it, to learn that recovery isnt linear, regardless if its death, addiction or otherwise and there may be days that you relapse and thats okay. Some days are great and others are shitty but thats the point of it I think. I genuinely just really love this paragraph, it speaks to me in a way that even these words I said dont express entirely.

Also loving her emails honestly, it makes me so happy to see

Jay’s eyes snapped open, as if mentioning me was his final straw. “She is not a fucking action figure you can just pose.” he spat out, his tone cold but restrained, each word clipped. The publicist blinked, clearly not used to seeing him this upset.

Love Jay looking out for her. He cares so much and it makes me sad

“Yes, love?”

I would pass out truly

THE TENSION HELLO WHAT IF I PASS OUT

NO WAY.

NO WAYYYYY. How do they have this sweet ass moment then the freaking media gets a hold of her past what. Also I still think its crazy that people on the internet would go so far to make sense of someone else’s life

“Come back to bed with me,” I whispered. He didn’t hesitate, just a soft kiss pressed to the top of my head and took my hand. He squeezed it once, gently, like he was making sure I was still really there. 

I really and honestly love them so much

Oh my god. I didnt expect to reach the end. I love how healing this was. In so many ways it healed me and it was just so sweet. Initially meant to share my thoughts on this so much earlier but I was in a terrible space mentally and didnt want to give a review while in a bad mood. But im honestly so glad I was able to finally make my way back to it. Im so happy I got to read this!!

the unscripted lines where the boyfriends lie

Synopsis: The city that never sleeps doesn’t quiet down for grief. Instead, it roared right through it: the restless noise of New York, the constant hum of cars, the rattling of subway trains, the sharp cry of sirens at midnight… Then, there was the quiet ache of returning to your childhood bedroom, only this time with the ghosts of “forever” and the wilted flowers from your late boyfriend’s funeral. While drowning, you’re desperately trying to convince your family — and yourself — that you’re okay.

And there he is. The last person you ever wanted to see, let alone share space with: your best friend’s older brother. Once a child star, currently a tarnished name hiding from the spotlight. When an accidental run-in leads to a viral photo, the lie begins — one of fake love, media pressure and careful smiles. All while grief and guilt simmers beneath the surface for both of you.

pairing: actor!enhypen jay x reader

Genres: actor AU, (childhood) enemies to lovers, best friend’s older brother, faking dating, slow SLOWWW burn, unsent emails

Warnings: grief and loss, mental health struggles, mentions of depression-like symptoms, relationship issues, therapy, y/n goes thru a lot ngl, causal alcohol consumption, jay is a sweet heart honestly, y/n is nicknamed a cry baby hehe, y/n has amazing parents, cheating (not between jay and y/n), v heavy on the angst but it has a lot of fluff i swear (50/50), contains smut (mdni), one scene and totally skippable, sub!jay bc that agenda needs some love, bratty!mean-ish!y/n, ice play hehe, begging (from jay), body worshipping

Word count: 19.7k

a/n: ahhh its hereee. i have been working on it since forever, i poured my heart in it. this was purely for me, but then i decided to share it with you. pls do take the warnings seriously, the last thing i want to do is to trigger someone. take care and enjoy <3

Taglist: @heestoleurgirl @stariekis @jaehoodies @morganaawriterr @luvashli@kireistrawberryjayla @annovaz @bambieheeseunglee @firstclassjaylee @flowerwinds @heekolazz @hoonslvr @cunty4hee @hazelira @sumsumtingz @bxcndd @sunnygirl-kait @amazzwon @hoonieyun @yeokii @stercul1a @ikeulove @kikidoul @k1ttyjwon @sumzysworld @deluluscenarios @sofiafromvenus @fancypeacepersona @donttellmymomlol20 @fruitchill @xylatox @riribelle @yoonjnngluvshooney @cloudzzcoffee @sunzyc (comment if you want me to add / remove you from the list <3)

⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯

The flowers died on Monday.

My childhood room feels preserved, like a museum of someone I no longer am. There is still the same faded posters curling at the edges, a bookshelf sagging under the weight of my highschool yearbooks and forgotten trophies. But the room felt smaller now, as if grief had pressed in and squeezed all the oxygen out. 

In fact, the air in the whole house was heavy with silence, like a pause between my sobs. Only the distant hum of the city broke through like the occasional blare of a taxi horn, the faint screech of the subway far below, the rhythm of footsteps and conversations echoing off brick walls. All of it muffled behind the curtains I hadn’t drawn in days. Outside, New York was still pulsing and alive in its relentless way. But in here? It was like time had folded in on itself, as if the city had moved on without me.

The funeral flowers sat dead on my desk, browning around the edges with their heads bowing down. Like a slow, quiet collapse. I have yet to throw them out. It’s been a month since the crash, two since we ended it. But I don’t think there’s a timeline for mourning someone who lied to you, then betrayed you.

My parents have been moving gently around me ever since I came back home. They seem afraid that they might shatter me if they speak too loud, too abruptly, too soon. My mom hovers like I’m made of glass, always one room away, always watching. She’ll peek her head in with a too-bright smile and a plate of cut-up fruit, “thought you might be hungry, baby. You barely touched your lunch.” My dad knocks before walking past my door, even if it’s just to grab something from the hallway closet. “Just me,” he’ll say softly, my eyes never quite meeting his.

I don’t blame them, I don’t recognize myself either. Besides, nobody’s words could really reach me because what really haunts me wasn’t just the loss — it was his lies. The way he said his promises of ‘forever’ so easily like he truly meant it. The way I used to idiotically believe them.

Nyla showed up two days after I moved back. I didn’t even hear the doorbell, just found her standing in the hallway holding a paper bag of cookies we used to get all the time. A dear friend like her doesn't need an invitation anyways. We hadn’t really talked since college started, but when she heard I was back in the city, she dropped everything and came without questions. 

She visits almost every day now and just exists beside me — on the floor, on the bed, anywhere I’ve decided to fall apart that day. Sometimes she talks, but mostly she just stays. There are entire afternoons where we don’t say anything at all. I’d lie with my head in her lap, eyes closed, and she’ll run her fingers gently through my hair, over and over, until my chest starts to loosen. 

Sometimes she'd glance at me when I wasn’t looking, that quiet worry flickering in her eyes, like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how. “Remember that time we built a blanket fort in your room?” she said softly.

I smiled faintly, nodding against her thigh. “Then we tried to watch that scary movie.”

“And you were so sure the monster was under the bed, you made me sleep at the foot of the fort.”

I chuckled quietly. “You still haven’t forgiven me for that.” A quiet minute passed. She brushed another section of my hair, careful and tender. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the warmth of her touch. “Thank you for being here.”

“Always,” she whispered. “No matter what.” Her fingers continued to comb gently through my hair. It doesn’t fix much, but it makes the silence feel a little less sharp. 

-𓍙-

It had been days since I’d stepped outside. Maybe a week — I stopped counting a while ago. But that morning, I was dragging my feet into the kitchen like usual, sleep was still clinging to my bones, just trying to get a glass of water. My mother stopped me mid-step and pressed a scarf into my hands and kissed the top of my head like she used to when I had fevers. “Just for a little while,” she said. “A walk might help.”

So I went reluctantly, but not far. Just a few blocks, turns and intersections I used to know like the back of my hand. The city was loud and busy, just like the way it always was — people brushing past, noises echoing down the avenue. It all made me feel like a ghost, like I was haunting my own hometown.

But then, halfway across the block, I stopped cold when I saw a car at the corner. It’s the same model, same deep navy blue when caught in the light just right. Even the back tail light was chipped in the same place. For a second, everything inside me went still. My feet locked to the pavement. My lungs forgot how to work. It's as if I could see the ghost I thought I'd buried with him.

I knew. I fucking knew it wasn’t him… logic screamed it at me. But my body didn’t get the memo. My heart lurched like it wanted to chase after him anyway, like grief had overruled reasons. 

My stomach started turning in on itself, warning me about that sick, familiar ache opening up in my chest like a trapdoor. Tears welled up in my eyes in the middle of a crosswalk, breath shaky and uneven. After the car zoomed away, I took a deep breath, doing everything I could to keep walking like nothing had happened.

I ducked into the nearest café just to get away from it all. Just anywhere and not that sidewalk or that stupid car. I didn’t even look at the name above the door. The warm rush of espresso scent and quiet clatter of cups didn’t soothe me, but it gave me a place to land. 

The cafe was somewhat empty, so I was pushed to order before I could scan the menu properly. My throat scratched as I said the first thing my eyes landed on, “one cappuccino please.” I said, my voice came out hoarse. I hadn’t spoken much today… or yesterday. 

The barista asked for my name and then gave me a small nod, scribbling on a cup, “It’ll be a few.” I stepped to the side, shrinking into the corner near the pick-up counter to not make eye contact with anyone. My hands fiddled with the frayed edge of my coat sleeve. 

A playlist hummed low overhead, some soft indie tracks with plucky guitar and lyrics I couldn’t quite catch. I stared blankly at the napkin dispenser, not really seeing it. It all blurred together, background noise under the heavy weight on my chest. A familiar ache settled in my ribs, the kind that prickled just beneath the surface, reminding me of things I was trying not to think about.

The barista called something out — I didn’t catch what. Just heard a name. On autopilot, I stepped forward and grabbed the cup. I took a sip as I walked to the nearest empty table.

It tasted sharp. Bitter.

I froze mid-step, frowning down at the cup. That's not my order… I was too in my head to notice my mistake. I turned the cup slightly, and there it was, scrawled in black Sharpie ‘Jay’.

I turned slowly, eyes searching for the owner of the cup. A man stood a few feet away, baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, fingers curled around another steaming coffee. 

“This isn’t mine,” I said softly, holding up the bland americano, “I think I grabbed your order.” I explained. He glanced at the cup I was holding and then at the one in his hand, “I think I’ve got your cappuccino,” he said with a small smile. 

As I was giving him his cup, I noticed it — a faint smudge of lipstick on the edge of his lid, the same shade I’d worn just that morning. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I blurted, cheeks flushing. My throat tightened, I wanted to blink away the tears gathering, but they stuck behind my eyelids. All the tears I’d been holding back all day spilled over again. Why can’t I control anything anymore?

He gave me a small, understanding smile. “Hey, it’s okay. I can just take off the lid, no worries.”

As our eyes met, I started to piece the puzzle together. The name lingered in my mind before it landed, I’d heard it before. And then, just as recognition dawned on his face, it clicked for me too. His eyes widened a little, “wait, Y/N?”

He wasn’t the kid I remembered — Nyla's smug, bossy older brother who always knew how to get under my skin. He’s much taller now, his shoulders are wider as well. The baseball cap couldn’t quite hide the way his jaw had hardened, how his smile now held a trace of weariness I hadn’t expected.

“Jay?” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice gentle but familiar, eyes softening as he studied me. “Nyla told me you were back.”

“Yeah, yeah, I am.” I wiped at my cheeks, trying to stop the tears that just wouldn’t quit. “I’m sorry...”

He fumbled a bit, awkward but kind, pulling a crumpled napkin from his pocket and handing it to me. “Let’s get you seated down.” he said, guiding me with one hand while the other carried his coffee.

We sat down at a nearby table, the noise of the café fading into the background. It was strange sitting in front of him. Not quite strangers, but not quite close either. I never liked Jay growing up, always thought he was that smug brother of my best friend. Always teasing, always a little too confident, always barging in. But now, here he was, offering me a silent kind of comfort I hadn’t expected.

“I heard about the accident. I can’t imagine…” he said softly. “I’m really sorry about... everything.”

I nodded, staring down at the napkin in my lap and swallowing the lump in my throat, “thanks.” If it wasn't for the state I am in right now, I would've laughed. The familiarity of him, as annoying as he’d always been, felt so starkly different from the version I'm seeing right now. 

“I mean,” I sniffled, “you used to call me a ‘crybaby’ every time I teared up.”

Jay let out a quiet laugh, “you would cry for, like, twenty straight minutes because of a cartoon fish.”

“He lost his dad, Jay.”

“I was ten. I didn’t understand animal nuances yet.”

I glanced up at him then — and for a second, the weight in my chest eased just enough for a smile. “You’re still a little shit,” I muttered.

Jay raised his cup with a crooked grin, “but maybe a slightly more tolerable one?” I rolled my eyes, “debatable.”

He took a sip, then set his coffee down, expression softening again. “Nyla told me you were taking time off. Gap year, right?”

“Yeah.” I picked at the edge of the napkin. “Everything was just… falling apart. I needed to step back.” Jay nodded slowly, like he understood more than he was letting on. “For what it’s worth, that’s brave.”

I gave a tired laugh. “I think it’s avoidance dressed up as self-care.”

“Still counts,” he said, and there was no teasing in his voice that time. 

I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling the urge to shift the spotlight. “What about you?” I asked. “Shouldn’t you be in LA right now?”

Jay leaned back in his chair, gave a half-smile, half-wince. “Yeah. Until my breakup got messy,” he said, not sounding angry, just tired. “Personal stuff turned public overnight. Her team got ahead of the narrative — painted me as this horrible guy before I even knew what was happening.”

“It is… a circus,” he admitted. “My team’s still cleaning it up. Brand deals are stalling. The studios are quiet. Every time I step outside, someone’s waiting with a camera. It’s exhausting.”

I tilted my head. “So you’re hiding in New York?”

“More or less. Management sent me here, thinking laying low will make the drama go away faster. But really, I just needed to get away.”

I watched him for a moment. He still looked polished, had that quiet kind of confidence that settled into a room instead of announcing itself. And yet, even with the ball cap, he looked weathered, tired shadows under his eyes. “You’re burned out.” I said, not a question, more like a statement.

He nodded. “Completely.”

“You always loved it, though. Acting.”

Jay smiled faintly. “Exactly, I love acting, not the fame.”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I get that.”

Before either of us could say anything else, my phone started vibrating against the table. I glanced down, ‘Mom <3 - incoming call…’ stared back at me. I whispered a quick apology to Jay before picking up, “hey mom.”

“Y/N, are you okay?” Her voice was light, but hovering right on the edge of frazzled. “You’ve been gone for a while. I was about to file a missing person’s report.”

“I’m okay… just ran into someone.” 

There was a pause. “Who?”

“Jay,” I said, bracing myself. “Oh, Jay,” she said, all drawn out and knowing. “Let me talk to him.”

“What? No —”

“Y/N. Hand him the phone.”

I pulled the phone slightly away from my ear as Jay looked at me curiously. I gave him a tired half-smile and held the phone out toward him. “She wants to talk to you.”

He raised his brows before taking the phone, clearly amused, “Hi, Mrs. L/N. Yeah, it’s been a while... I missed you too. Yes, ma’am. No, I swear, she’s okay. Mm-hmm... Right. I will. I’ll walk her back myself. Cross my heart.” I watched him, stunned. Somehow, he still remembered how to talk to my mom like it was a reflex. A few more soft ‘mhmm’, and then he handed the phone back.

“She says I’m your emotional support celebrity now,” he said, smiling ear to ear. “Come on. I’ll walk you.” He stood up just as I did, slinging his jacket over one arm. 

We stepped outside, into the crisp late-afternoon air. The wind tugged at my scarf and flushed my cheeks. The noise of the city was sharp after the muffled calm of the café. We didn’t talk much during the walk. Just a few short exchanges about street names and how the neighborhood had changed since we were kids. 

When we reached the corner near my block, I slowed down and paused. “Wait,” I said, patting my coat pocket to find my phone, “I don’t have your number anymore. All the ones I had are... unavailable or something.”

“Shit, yeah,” he said, rubbing his temple. “My manager nuked everything a while ago. Total reset. Here —” He held out his hand and I passed him my phone. He typed something in quickly like muscle memory, then handed it back, mumbling about saving my number as well.

I glanced down at the new name contact he added, ‘little shit’. I snorted at it, “classy.”

He chuckled, shoving his phone into his pockets. “Take care, alright?” he said, giving a small wave paired with a small smile before turning in the opposite direction. I watched him go until the crowd swallowed him up.

I just smiled and walked the rest of the way home with the wind tangling my hair, the city still buzzing around me. His contact sat in my phone, tucked between old contacts and forgotten numbers. It was like a strange echo of childhood now spun into something quieter, gentler.

By the time I got home, the sky was softening into dusk. I peeled off my scarf and slipped off my shoes. My mom stood by the stove, stirring something in a pot. The smell of garlic and onions blooming through the space. I shrugged off my coat and followed her in. The lights were warm, casting soft shadows against the tiled walls. 

“Hi, baby,” she said, quieter this time, “I made a chicken lemon orzo that you used to like. Thought you might want something warm.” She had already set a plate at my usual spot. I didn’t say anything, just sank into the chair and picked up my spoon. 

Across from me, she moved around the kitchen, humming a little under her breath as she stirred something on the stove. She didn’t comment on the fact that I cleaned the plate, making it my first full meal I’d eaten in days. But I'm sure she noticed.

-𓍙-

The soft but persistent buzz of my phone dragged me out of sleep before the sun even had a chance to climb. I groaned, half-buried beneath the covers and the army of teddy bears lay nestled in the sheets. One of my arms fumbling blindly across the nightstand until my fingers wrapped around my phone. I rolled over, still groggy, and blinked at the notification from Nyla that’s lighting up my lock screen.

“Dude. WHY are you on TMZ with Jay???” - "NyQuil", Delivered 1 min ago

My heart stuttered. I sat up too fast, the comforter tangling around my legs as I blinked at the screen. I opened Instagram still half-asleep, my thumb sluggish as it loaded.

There it was. The photo wasn’t even that sharp — one of those grainy, mid-zoom candids but it was unmistakably us. Both of us mid-laugh, his hand halfway to his coffee. Our heads tilted toward each other. We looked… intimate. Too intimate.

The caption was even worse, ‘Jay, the heartthrob ex-Disney star isn’t heartbroken for long after being spotted with a mystery girl — New Romance Already?’

The word ‘mystery girl’ stared at me like it knew something I didn’t. I kept scrolling, my thumb wouldn’t stop. More photos, all different angles. Some from the window, others from outside in different positions. 

my phone lit up again, ‘little shit - incoming call…’ I froze for a second, my thumb hovering over the screen, unsure. But then I remembered his face from yesterday, that soft concern. I huffed then answered, “hey,” I said, voice still rough with sleep.

“Hey, you’re awake, good,” he replied, a little breathless like he’d been rehearsing it. “I’m outside.”

I frowned, “What?”

“Your place,” he clarified. “I didn’t want to text in case… I don’t know. You’re probably being spammed right now.”

I glanced down at the worn out T-shirt I was wearing and the fuzzy socks peeking out from under the blanket. “Jay, I’m literally in my pajamas.”

“That’s fine,” he said, a quiet laugh in his voice. “I’ve got tinted windows. You will stay mysterious.”

“How kind of you to protect my anonymity.” I said smiling, already getting up. I crossed paths with my mirror, my hair was a mess, my eyes were puffy.

“I try,” he said, and I could hear him grinning too. “Just come down, we need to talk...” I hesitated, the apartment was quiet around me. Then I sighed. “Okay. Give me a minute.”

Still in my pajamas — and my dignity hanging on by a thread — I grabbed a coat, shoved my feet into my sneakers to crept out the front door. The apartment was still, my parents still asleep behind their closed door. The hallway was dim as I made my way down the stairs.

Outside, his black car waited at the curb of our brownstone, sleek and dark with windows that really were tinted. I pulled open the door and slid into the passenger seat, giving him a look. “I saw the photos,” I said quietly once the door clicked shut.

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes on the windshield. “So did my manager.” he said, both hands on the wheel, eyes flicking toward me for a beat. “They like it, wanting us to lean into it. The PR team thinks it’s good for me. That it softens the whole... disaster fire of my last relationship.”

I raised an eyebrow, groggy. “Come again?”

He let out a short, sheepish breath. “They think you’re a godsend, basically. They want to paint me as less of a dick and more of a guy who found something ‘real’ after everything.”

I blinked at him, stunned, the silence thickened for a beat. “So they want us to fake-date to fix your image.”

“I know how it sounds,” he said. “And I’m not trying to trap you into anything, I swear. It’s only temporary. We post a few things. Maybe one or two public appearances. No one gets hurt, and I look like less of an asshole.”

“Jay, i don't know…” I muttered, almost ready to shut it down entirely — until I thought of my parents. My mom’s voice in the kitchen, always a little too careful. Her soft smiles that never quite reached her eyes. My dad not knowing how to speak to me anymore. I hated that look in their eyes, like they were watching me drift away and had no way to stop it. They didn’t know what to do with my sadness. 

But if they thought I was fine, if they thought I had something, someone — maybe they’d stop hovering. Maybe they’d breathe easier. Maybe I could, too. This can buy me some time…

“Fine,” I said eventually, voice low. “But under one condition.” 

Jay straightened in his seat, surprised but hopeful. “Anything. Shoot.”

“You’re coming to dinner at my parents’ place,” I said. “As many times as they ask. Full performance. If we’re doing this, they gotta buy it too.”

He paused, then nodded, “okay. Deal.” He agreed. A crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “So... when’s the first command performance?”

“Tonight.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Tonight tonight?”

I sighed, rubbing my temples — still grumpy from the lack of sleep, the early hour, and the sheer absurdity of all of this. “Yes, Jay. Tonight tonight. We tell them at dinner. I will tell my parents you and Nyla are coming.”

Jay leaned back against the seat, laughing softly. “Alright. On it,” Jay said. “See you tonight… babe.”

I grimaced. “Ew, never do that again. Wait until we’re in front of them.”

He chuckled as I opened the door and stepped out. “Drive safe, little shit.” 

The door shut with a soft click, and I stood on the curb for a moment, watching him pull away into the quiet street. The early morning light spilled across the pavement. Then a gust of wind curled around my ankles, slipping right through the thin fabric of my pajama pants, urging me to go back inside. 

-*-

I told my parents that Nyla and Jay were coming over for dinner, and to my surprise, mom didn’t blink — just nodded and immediately started flipping through her endless stack of cookbooks. She hummed thoughtfully, still skimming. “Might try that spiced lamb recipe. Or maybe something with those little potatoes your dad likes.” She muttered to herself, “does Jay still like lamb? He seems like a lamb person.” It had been years since he’d stepped foot in our house, and yet she still remembered.

I found dad in the living room, half-asleep in his recliner, and gave him the same heads-up. “Jay?” he asked, blinking. I reminded him that yes, that Jay — Nyla’s older brother, the one who grew up two houses down. “Right, right, the tall one.” he nodded, like the name was slowly stitching itself back together in his brain. 

I got ready — really got ready. I pulled on a soft sweater that was only for occasions, put some color on my cheeks, and spent a little extra time with the curling iron. If we were doing this, then I wasn’t about to show up looking like grief had chewed up and spat me out. I wanted to look like a version of myself again. 

The doorbell rang just as my mom was lighting candles she definitely only brought out for company. I opened the door to find Jay and Nyla standing there with a fresh bouquet of tulips and dessert. Nyla was the first to pull me into a hug, squeezing a little too tightly before grinning at my parents behind me.

“Hi,” Jay said, stepping in and bending down to hug me too. He leaned in close, too close, the scent of his cologne filled my senses. His breath brushed the edge of my ear, “You’re gonna make it real hard to keep this fake.” he murmured.

I slapped his arm, “behave.” I warned under my breath, but my stomach still did a little flip when he just smiled.

Inside, Jay greeted my dad like he’d never left, with a firm handshake and an easy smile. My dad clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Still doing that acting thing?” with a dry edge like he was talking about an old hobby.

“Trying to,” Jay chuckled. 

Dinner was warm, louder than I expected. A little chaotic in the way that made you feel alive again. Nyla teased Jay for getting seconds before anyone else had finished their first plate, and my mom beamed every time someone complimented her cooking. I smiled and laughed but underneath it all, my nerves were humming. I was jittery, bouncing my knee beneath the table so much my chair shook. A steady, unconscious rhythm I couldn’t stop. I kept trying to ground myself: the clink of silverware, the smell of lemon zest from the tart, the sound of my dad’s voice telling a story I already knew.

Jay’s warm hand, slipping quietly beneath the table, resting lightly on my leg. His thumb tracing small, slow circles. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at me, just kept chatting with my mom.

After a beat, my nerves quieted down. I put my hand over his, making him look at me. I stared long enough, signalling him it's time. His fingers curled through mine like he’d done it a thousand times before. I gave him one last sideways glance, and he nodded subtly. Go.

I cleared my throat. “So... there’s something we wanted to tell you.” The clinking of forks and knives stopped, all three heads turned toward us.

Jay squeezed my hand gently, then added, “Y/N and I are... seeing each other.”

Silence settled over the table. Just the kind that stretches for a moment, thick with realization. My mom’s eyes flicked to our joined hands, then to my face — scanning it like she didn’t quite believe what she was seeing. 

Then, when she caught the small, nervous smile tugging at my mouth, hers broke open in full bloom. Her breath hitched. “Oh my god,” she whispered, before letting out a bubbling laugh, equal parts joy and surprise. Tears welled up instantly as she pushed her chair back and rushed around the table. She threw her arms around Jay so suddenly he flinched, nearly dropping his fork. 

“I knew it,” she said through a grin, voice cracking at the edges. “I knew it! Since you were teenagers, I had a feeling. Didn’t I say it?” She turned to my dad, who was already rising to his feet with a slow, amused shake of his head.

Meanwhile, I turned toward Nyla, breath caught in my throat. Her face was unreadable at first, a tight-lipped mask that had me bracing for impact. But then her eyes softened and pulled a reluctant smile. “As long as you’re happy,” she said, voice quieter than usual as she pulled me into a hug. Then, low enough that only I could hear, “but if he messes with you, I will set him on fire.”

I snorted into her shoulder, the sound muffled by the soft fabric of her dress. “Noted,” I murmured, voice tinged with a laugh.

As dad was sitting back across the table, beer in hand, his tone casual but curious. “So,” he began, squinting slightly like he was piecing together a puzzle, “how did you two really get together?” The chatter fell away. Even Nyla paused with her fork mid-air, equally curious.

I felt Jay’s gaze before I looked up — and when I did, it was like a silent standoff. His brows lifted, I narrowed my eyes just slightly, gripping my fork like it might save me. We didn't really speak about this…

He caved first, thank god. “We’d been talking for a while, long distance.” Jay said easily, reaching for his water like he wasn’t lying through his teeth. “And then… I don’t know, it just sort of clicked. That coffee the other day made things official, I guess.”

I kept my eyes on my plate, focusing very intently on cutting my potatoes into the smallest pieces imaginable. My mom let out a delighted little gasp, dad nodded like it all made perfect sense now. Nyla, however, arched one very suspicious eyebrow but said nothing.

And just like that, the room was buzzing again — chairs pushed back, more wine poured with dessert, my mom already asking Jay if he remembered her cousin’s wedding in 2011. Nyla was halfway through teasing my dad about his questionable music taste, and someone turned on a playlist in the background. The house felt full, but in a way that made the walls seem softer, like they were finally breathing again.

Maybe that's all it took to have my parents be happy again.

-*-

It was way past midnight now, jackets were being shrugged back on. The goodbyes began, all the hugs and kisses from my mom and a firm clap on the shoulder from my dad. Nyla slung her bag over her shoulder, gave me a quick squeeze and a tired smile. “I’ll wait for you outside,” she said to Jay, already stepping onto the porch with a quiet ‘Night, everyone’.

Jay lingered by the front door with me, his hands shoved in his coat pockets, smiling with his cheeks flushed with warmth. It's probably from the wine. My parents were still standing nearby, not quite eavesdropping, but not subtle either.

Then — as if remembering his final line in a scene — Jay leaned in, slow and easy, and pressed a kiss to my cheek. It was just long enough to draw a reaction from my parents, to confirm that they are seeing this. But before I could roll my eyes, Jay dipped a little closer, letting his lips brush just near the shell of my ear again. His voice was low and smooth, meant only for me.

“Gotta keep the illusion alive, right?” he murmured. “We were Oscar-worthy, if you ask me.”

I tried to hold my expression steady, but the heat creeping into my face gave me away. I shoved him lightly. “Now, go.” I whispered.

He only grinned, stepping back down the front steps with a wave. “Take care, babe.” he called, too loud on purpose. I rolled my eyes and clicked the door shut behind him.

I padded into the kitchen, drawn by the soft clatter of dishes and the low hum of running water. My mom was already at the sink, hands moving through soap. I stood near her, rolling up my sleeves to help. She stepped beside me with the dish towel, humming happily under her breath. She passed me a plate to rinse, then bumped her shoulder against mine. “He’s so handsome in person,” she whispered, like it was a secret.

I snorted. “Mom, you’ve seen him before. Like… a dozen times.”

She waved her hand dismissively, smiling. “Yes, but not like this. Not as your boyfriend.”

I shook my head, half-amused, half-horrified. “Okay, ew.”

She chuckled, but then her voice softened, like the air between us had turned to glass. “It’s just… it’s really good to see you smile again, baby.”

I froze for a beat, heart thudding in that strange way it does when someone hits something a little too close. My hands stayed under the running water longer than they needed to, and I kept my eyes fixed on the sink so she wouldn’t see the sudden blur.

It sounds ridiculous, maybe even unfair, but sometimes it felt like the grieving version of me wasn’t enough for her. Like she needed proof I was healing, moving on, smiling. Like pain made her helpless, but pretending made her hopeful.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I did neither. I just nodded and whispered, “Yeah. Me too.”

-𓍙-

A couple of weeks later, I was still home. Still tucked inside the same walls, the same rooms that had started to feel less like shelter and more like something closer to a waiting room. My phone stayed face-down more often than not.

When Nyla didn’t come by, I tried to keep busy. I told myself I was being productive — scrolling through job boards like something might magically spark, updating my resume, making lists I didn’t follow, reorganizing drawers that didn’t need it. I was mostly surviving in small bursts. Grief didn’t ask for permission. It came in waves: quiet one moment, crashing the next. Some days I could breathe through it. Other days, it knocked me flat, and I let it. 

I also started attending therapy — sessions that left me feeling like I’d rung my brain through a spin cycle, but somehow came out clearer. My mom had been the one to set up the first appointment, all careful smiles and ‘Just give it a try, baby’.

My therapist had the kind of voice that made you breathe slower without realizing it. She wore calming colors and always smelled faintly like peppermint tea. There was something steady about her, like she could sit in silence without rushing to fill it, like she knew how to hold space for messy feelings without flinching. 

One afternoon, after I’d stumbled through a ramble about not knowing what to do anymore, she paused. Then gently put down her glasses, “Maybe try writing him a letter. Just… to clear space up there.”

I frowned at her. “A letter?”

“Try it. Doesn’t have to be beautiful, it just has to be honest.”

I gave her a quiet nod, but never actually did it. A part of me even found it stupid, so I avoided it. But one noon, while I was hunched over my laptop and refreshing over and over my email inbox waiting for a response back for a job offer, something shifted.

Without thinking too hard, I opened a blank email and started typing. Fuck, might as well try.

To: (no recipients) Subject: (no subject) I don’t really know why I’m writing this. You’re not going to read it.  It’s been months, but sometimes it still feels like I’m waiting for you to call. Like you’d explain it all away, say it wasn’t what it looked like. You broke me in two separate ways: once when you lied, and again when you left. I wish I could scream at you. I wish I didn’t still miss you in the same breath as I hate you.

The cursor blinked at the end of the sentence. I didn’t send it, just saved it in my drafts folder. It wasn't a letter, exactly. But it would do.

I shut my laptop and slid it to the side, then turned onto my side, phone in hand. My thumb began to scroll mindlessly, the blue light casting a dull glow over my face in the otherwise dim room. It had become a habit, background noise for the quiet. Tap, scroll, double tap, scroll, until I paused.

Jay posted again for the second time this week. 

It’s a blurry mirror pic in a café, our reflection barely visible, his arm around me, face turned slightly away. The one before was less ambiguous: Jay in his hoodie, and me walking ahead of him through a street, our hands barely visible but unmistakably linked. No tag, no name, no face.

I stared at the screen, unsure how I felt. It wasn’t that I hated the photos — honestly, they were romantic. We made sure of that. We planned each shot together, turning the city into our own clandestine photo studio, all while trying to stay under cover. We spent the whole day darting down side streets, changing tops in his car, then darting back out to chase the perfect light. Jay even had asked before he posted them. “You don’t have to say yes,” he’d said, his voice gentle. “I’ll take it down in a second if it’s too much.”

I had said yes, it was my end of the deal after all. But seeing the number of likes, comments, shares — in the hundred thousands — made it all seem surreal.

Then, a message dropped from the top. 

“Wanna go out tmr and help me lie to the internet again?” - "little shit", Delivered 3 min ago

“Apparently the photos we took aren't enough for my manager.” - "little shit", Delivered 1 min ago

“what more do they want?” - "me", Delivered 2 min ago

“They want us to step out together, but make it look effortless. Natural.” - "little shit", Delivered 1 mins ago

“Just trust me. I’ll pick you up around 4pm. I’ll take care of the rest.” - "little shit", Delivered 1 sec ago

“Fine. Only if you’re coming for dinner afterwards.” - "me", Delivered 1 min ago

He didn’t miss a beat. 

“Deal.” - "little shit", Delivered 1 sec ago

-*-

The moment I got his text that he was outside, I slipped into my coat and grabbed my purse from where it rested near the door. As I padded down the stairs, I paused briefly by the window, noticing the way the clouds were starting to hang heavy in the sky, casting a soft, grey hue over everything. I slid the heavy wooden door aside and stepped out into the brisk air, tugging my collar up against the bite of the breeze. A different car, though also tinned, was already there at the curb, its engine idling quietly.

As  I slid into the passenger seat and clicked the seatbelt into place, I mumbled a quick ‘hey’ in his direction. The rich leather beneath me was smooth, faintly infused with a mixture of pine and something a little spicy — his cologne, I guessed — a scent I hadn’t yet gotten used to, but found unexpectedly comforting.

Jay didn’t say much at first. His hands rested casually on the wheel as he shifted the car into drive and we began to ease away from the curb. After a moment, he glanced over, his profile glimmering faintly in the glow of a nearby storefront. “Manager picked the spot. Some café downtown.”

I nodded, tugging my coat tighter against me, as if it might ease the nervous energy swirling in my stomach, “alright.” I murmured. He kept his gaze on the road, but I could feel his awareness slowly turning toward me. “You seem tense.”

I let out a nervous scoff, not quite a laugh, trying to sound casual. “What makes you think that?”

“You're tearing your fingers apart, for one.” he said, eyes still on the road, briefly turning the wheel to the left. I forced myself to ease my grip, placing my hands flat in my lap instead. “I’m just worried I’m going to mess something up.”

He turned his head just a fraction, his voice was sincere, a calm thread weaving through the growing nervousness. “I’ll be right there with you the whole time.” His hand briefly left the wheel and came to rest on my knee — a warm pressure that made my pulse ease just a bit.

We slipped into the flow of morning rush hour. The city slowly came alive outside the window: storefronts opening their doors, people hurrying down the sidewalks, buses rumbling past. All while we fell into a comfortable silence. The only sound was the gentle purr of the engine and the rhythmic clicking of the turn signal as we made our way forward.

We eventually turned down a side street and came to a stop in front of a somewhat busy bakery-café. The kind with a charming storefront, a riot of potted plants and a spotless glass facade. Large windows glimmered warmly against the chilly afternoon. The kind of place that guarantees plenty of eyes, plenty of buzz — exactly what his management wanted.

We exchanged a brief glance. We knew the game by now, how to put up that picture-perfect appearance for the world. “Ready?” he asked quietly, a softness creeping into his normally cool voice.

I just nodded as he hopped out first and walked around to my side to hold the door for me. I placed my hand on his arm as I stepped down, letting him guide me up the small step into the café’s bustling interior. The moment we fell into step together, I felt the rush of activity, the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee, buttery pastries glimmering under glass. I could feel the eyes turning in our direction, not in a judgmental way, but with pure, fleeting curiosity.

He led me toward a corner table by the window, handing me a heavy cardstock menu. I turned it over slowly. The names of the dishes were a sophisticated puzzle, ingredients I couldn’t even pronounce, flavor combinations I hadn’t yet tasted. Where even am I?

I let out a nervous laugh, glancing up at him from across the small café table. Our knees were nearly touching, close enough to feel his warmth through the thick denim of his black jeans. “I have no clue what to get…” I whispered, reluctantly turning the page in search of something I recognized or something I was brave enough to try.

He smiled then leaned forward, resting his forearms casually on the table, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he studied the options alongside me. I could make out the rich, woody notes of his cologne in the small space between us. His finger paused, then tapped a spot on the menu. “Go for this one. It’s a honey latte.”

After a minute, he turned to the server and placed both our orders in a clear, decisive voice. The kind that meant he knew exactly what he wanted. The server nodded and slipped away, I was left noting the way his knuckles rested against the wooden surface, strong yet relaxed — a quiet confidence that made me feel… cared for?

Fucking focus, you’re being watched.

I stirred my overpriced latte slowly, letting the creamy design get ruined with the spoon that's clicking softly against the cup’s rim; as I listened to him ramble on about the pastries he fell in love with while filming some movie in France — his voice a comfortable soundtrack against the bustling café. “Did you know there’s a hotel in France that lets you sponsor a croissant?” he said casually, pausing to take a sip of his espresso. “I’m thinking we should sponsor a chocolate one together.”

I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile. “Yeah, dumbass, those ones are called pain au chocolat.”

He paused mid-swallow, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. “Wait, that’s what they’re called?”

“That’s, like… the literal name.”

He let out a short rich laugh and I couldn’t help but break into a laugh alongside him. The kind of chuckle that starts quietly and then spills out, freeing me.

Just then, the server appeared at our table with a small plate in his hands. On it rested a delicate dessert — a rich chocolate mousse drizzled with glossy chocolate and adorned with strawberries. “On the house, a little thank you for choosing us today,” they said with a genuine smile before stepping back into the flow of the café. 

“Score, free dessert from an expensive café,” I whispered under my breath, barely able to keep from giggling. 

He glanced toward the window, where a small cluster of paparazzi was already gathering, their camera lenses catching the light like tiny, hungry gremlins. Mischievous flashes in his eyes, “wait… I have an idea,” he said, voice low but full of playful confidence.

Leaning in just a little across the table, he scooped up a spoonful of the mousse. Without a word, he lifted it to my lips, creating a picture-perfect moment — the kind of romantic snapshot his manager would love to see plastered all over the tabloids. We’re posing without posing. I fought to keep a straight face, the ridiculousness of it all bubbling up, but the warmth in the gesture melted some of my nerves.

The mousse was velvety and deep, making me let out a soft ‘Mmm’ savoring the flavor, giving him a quick smile, eyes sparkling. “Yeah?” he challenged, leaning forward to take a bite from the same spoon, his own expression softening as the taste hit him. His eyes widened just a bit, “Oh shit…”

Jay’s phone buzzed softly against the table, breaking the quiet bubble around us. He glanced down, fingers briefly scrolling through the message. I watched him, savoring the last bites of the mousse, the rich sweetness lingering on my tongue. He didn’t rush me, letting me enjoy the moment while his attention shifted to the screen.

After a beat, he looked up, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Got a message from my manager,” he said. “ ‘The paparazzi photos are everywhere now. You did well. You can leave now.’ ” he read it out for me.

I just nodded, my fingers tightening around the strap of my purse. We stood up together, Jay reached for the bill, still calm, but I could sense the shift in the air, a subtle tension creeping in.

The moment we stepped outside, it hit us all at once. The paparazzi were waiting — like vultures circling a fresh story. Cameras flashed wildly, shouting voices ricocheting off the walls, turning the quiet afternoon into a chaotic storm. 

“Jay, how serious is she?”

I froze, heart pounding, caught in the middle of it all. The bright flashes felt like they were burning right through me, and the noise swallowed everything else. 

“Jay! Is this your rebound?”

It was like being a fish trapped inside a fishbowl. Voices overlapped, a dozen different questions and jeers, some sharp, some desperate for attention. 

“Do you want to say anything to your fans about this?”

Without missing a beat, Jay took control as if he’s been through this drill more times than he cared to count. His arm slid smoothly around the small of my back, the grip steady and reassuring. He leaned in close, his voice dropping low. “Don’t look at them. Just walk with me.”

He guided me forward, weaving through the swarm of houting voices and relentless camera flashes with practiced ease, moving as if the whole chaotic scene was just another routine. And maybe it was — for him.

Finally, we reached the curb where his car waited. its dark, tinted windows suddenly felt like a small blessing. Once inside, the door clicked shut behind us, instantly muffling the noise outside. The sudden quiet was almost dizzying. My shoulders remained tight, coiled with leftover adrenaline. I kept my mouth shut, the words lodged somewhere too tangled to say.

Jay glanced sideways at me, focused on the road ahead but still searching mine for a sign. His voice was hesitant. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, the weight of the moment pressing into his tone.

I barely managed to mumble ‘It’s okay’ though my voice felt fragile, as if trying to convince myself more than him.

-*-

That evening, our dining room hummed with life — laughter bubbling up, voices overlapping in easy conversation, the comforting clink of plates and glasses weaving through the air. Around the table, my parents’ warmth was undeniable, their smiles were genuine. But as I sat there, an invisible thread inside me began to unravel.

The chatter softened, melting into a distant murmur, like a radio playing faintly in another room. Words drifted past, slipping through the cracks of my attention without ever fully landing. Faces morphed into unreachable, indistinct shapes. The steady rhythm of their world kept beating, relentless and… indifferent. Like life was moving forward regardless if I’m grieving or not.

Normalcy felt cruel at that moment. For a flicker, I felt a sharp pulse of anger. Mad at the world, mad at myself for feeling disconnected, mad that things hadn’t stopped just for me. But the anger was tangled up with guilt. What right did I have to feel this way? What exactly was I mad about? 

My mom returned to the table, balancing a beautifully plated cake, her smile warm and effortless. “Can you grab some napkins, baby?” she asked softly, resting a gentle hand on my shoulder. The touch pulled me back to the moment

I nodded and turned toward the cabinet, the low murmur of conversation trailing behind me. But as I walked away, my eyes caught a glimpse of Nyla subtly cornering Jay in the quiet hallway. Their voices were hushed, but the sharp edge beneath their words cut through the calm like a knife.

“I don’t know what this is…” Nyla’s voice was firm, skepticism woven through each syllable. “But don’t give her another lie to believe in.”

Jay didn’t argue. His silence spoke volumes. He simply nodded once, slow and deliberate, like a man accepting a hard truth. “I know,” he said softly, after a brief pause, “I won’t.”

I really hadn’t meant to overhear. I forced my gaze to stay on the cabinet, ignoring the charged silence that suddenly thickened the air around them. Every word slipped in my mind. Am I that fragile and weak in front of them?

-𓍙-

I balanced the paper bags against my hip as I turned the key in the lock. When the metal clicked, I nudged the door inward with my shoulder. Mom had insisted I get out for a bit — a chance for some fresh air, again — slipping me a sticky note filled with a list of things we needed. “Mom, I’m home. Got your stuff.”

“Thank you, baby.” Her voice was distracted as she began to unload the bags and put everything in its place.

I slipped down the hallway toward my room, eager for my safe haven. The moment I crossed the door frame, something felt… different. Something was missing. The spot by the window, where the funeral flowers had been slowly wilting in their glass vases, was completely empty. The vases were gone, the water drained, the last few dried petals tossed away.

Where the fuck were they?

“Mom… where are the flowers?” I said, keeping my voice even, or at least I tried. The words trembled just a bit as they slipped out, panic rising quietly in my chest.

She paused, a dish towel in her hand, mid-wipe of the dining table’s surface. “What flowers, baby?”

“The ones I came home with.”

"Ah…" She turned back casually. "They had a lot of bugs. I threw them out."

“Oh,” I pressed my fingertips to the bridge of my nose, “that… makes sense.” I forced out then took a shaky breath. Keep it together. 

However, it was stronger than me. When it fully hit me, I turned away, not trusting myself to keep it together much longer. My pulse was already racing, each breath a little shallower, a little tighter in my chest — the familiar start of a panic attack creeping up. 

Mom said nothing as I slipped past her, murmuring something about forgetting an item on the grocery list, a weak excuse I hoped she wouldn’t question. I stepped outside, letting the chilly air rush against my face, as if it might ease the pressure building within me.

It felt as if the last piece I had left of him had been quietly erased — gone without a trace. As if my mom had decided that it was time to clear it away, that I should be ‘moving on’ by now, that being in a relationship would just make the mourning stop. 

I turned down another side street, letting my feet carry me without direction. Just keep going forward. The world glimmered under a haze of gold from nearby storefronts and headlights, bouncing off puddles in shimmering rings. I hadn’t noticed it was pouring. 

I honestly couldn’t tell how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours? it all blended together in a cold, numbing haze. I stayed there, hunched on the bench as the rain fell harshly, soaking through my clothes, down to my skin — until I was chilled to the bone.

The world around me seemed distant, a watercolor painting smeared by the water. The colors blurring, edges fading, as if I was slowly fading alongside it. Everything felt heavy — my limbs, my mind, even my own pulse. 

Then, all at once, it felt as if the rain had been turned off. I blinked up, confused as drops still dripped from my lashes, only to find Jay. His grip on his umbrella was steady above me, creating a small tent from the downpour. He let a shaky breath escape, a mixture of relief and worry. “I was worried sick about you.”

Silence fell as I tried to process the fact that he’d come looking for me. Before I could say anything, he slipped out of his jacket — the rich, heavy fabric still holding his own heat — and draped it carefully over my shoulders. 

He paused, then said quietly, “C’mon… let’s get you somewhere warm.”

“Don’t take me home.” The words fell from my lips, desperate. I held his gaze, those brown eyes seemed to see straight through me. After a moment, he nodded, “I won’t.” he said, a vow I felt more than I heard. 

Together, we slipped into his car. The thunderous rain began to ease, fading into a gentle patter against the rooftop of his car as we drove away — the world outside is a blur of glistening city lights, bouncing off rain-soaked streets. I drew my knees up, pressed close to warmth, letting the silence wrap me up.

-*-

He turned the key in the lock and clicked the door open, pausing briefly to let me step inside first. The moment I entered, I felt a rush of warmth and the scent of his cologne enclose around me immediately. He flipped on a small side lamp near the door, casting a soft glow across the apartment. 

“I keep this place separate from everything else,” he said, tugging off his damp shoes. “So the paparazzi can’t find out where my family lives… or reach them.”

I let my gaze wander around his space. It was undeniably a place he called his own — spotless but lived-in, a little sparse, with a few taped up cardboard boxes stacked quietly in the corners, as if he hadn’t quite gotten around to unpacking them yet. The furniture was minimal, the color palette calm and neutral.

He led me further in, guiding me toward his sofa. I hesitated, I was soaked, dripping rainwater everywhere. but he nodded, murmuring a ‘It’s fine., really’.

“I’m going to get the shower ready for you, before you catch a cold.” he said, before holding out his phone toward me, the screen already unlocked. “Call your mom… let her know you’re safe. She’s probably worried.” His voice was gentle — not a command, but an understanding, a way to ease a growing knot I hadn’t even noticed I was holding.

I nodded reluctantly, taking the phone from his hand. He turned and disappeared down the hallway, his silhouette briefly backlit by the glow from the restroom.

The phone barely rang before my mom picked up. “Jay? Did you find her?” There was a softness in her voice and a nervous energy I recognized.

“Mom, it’s me,” I said, trying to steady my words. “I’m okay. I’m at Jay’s place.”

She exhaled a breath I could almost hear over the line. “Thank God. I was so worried… I called Jay earlier, asked if you were with him, and he said no...”

As I listened, I caught Jay passing by, carrying a stack of clean towels, he looked so composed. “But as soon as I said it's been a couple hours you haven't been home, he told me he was going to find you.” Mom continued, her voice a mix of relief and lingering concern.

I swallowed, feeling the weight of that unspoken trust settle in me. Jay had been out there, searching for me in the pouring rain — for who knows how long — without ever mentioning a word to me.

“I’m okay, Mom. Just… needed some air. Jay’s been helping.” I cleared my throat, trying to sound reassuring.

“Alright,” she said finally. “Just call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” I promised softly, letting the words ease some of the weight that had been sitting heavy on my chest. We exchanged our goodbyes and let the call disconnected.

I hopped into the steamy shower — though quickly, just enough to chase away the lingering chilly feeling. When I turned off the faucet and stepped back out into the misty restroom, I found a neatly folded stack of clean clothes waiting for me — they’re his, for sure, a couple sizes too large.

I padded quietly down the hallway, tugging at the cuffs of his sweater. The hardwood floors whispered under my feet, a softness that seemed to ease me forward. I turned a corner and paused in the doorway. I found him sitting out on his balcony with a glass of wine resting in his hand, the rich garnet liquid beaming a ruby color in the glow of the city’s neon. His silhouette was a lone shape against the riot of lights outside — a man separate, even in a world so full.

I slid open the balcony door, making a rush of cool night air slip in. He turned at the sound with a small, mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “You know… those look a whole lot better on you than they ever did on me.”

I let out a soft giggle and crossed the small distance between us, sinking down into the seat beside him. “Thank you… for everything,” I said, letting the words hang. “And I’m sorry… for everything as well.”

He nodded quietly, “don’t mention it.” he murmured as he filled a second glass, handing it to me. The wine was a rich garnet against crystal. I turned it slowly in my grip, letting its warmth seep into my fingertips. He kept his gaze forward, toward the city’s chaos.

“Remember that time you cried in the broom closet because Nyla and you fought?” he said softly, “and I stood outside, trying to get you to come out?”

I scoffed, the nostalgic memories tugging at me. “I think I stayed in there for… hours.”

He turned his glass slowly in his hands, eyebrows lifting in amusement as he added, “the more i think about it the more ‘cry baby’ feels very appropriate for you.”

I nudged his shoulder playfully, in that weird comfort of familiarity, “Haha,” I said, my voice dry. He tilted his head back and let out a full, easy laugh. “You’ve always hated me, anyways.”

“That’s not true.” I turned toward him, reluctantly meeting his eyes. “Not hate. Just… irritation. Childish irritation.”

He pressed his glass to his lips, smiling. “I’ll take that.”

I fell into silence, letting the moment settle — the city glowed through the balcony railings, a mosaic of golds, blues, reds. I turned slightly, letting my gaze linger on him. There was a soft, raw vulnerability that made my heart ache. His shoulders are weighed down and his jaw is set. It's as if he’s holding himself together and refusing to break down.

“What’s on your mind?” I whispered.

He kept blinking somewhere in the distance, trying to think. “I…” he began, wrestling with the words. “I feel so fucking lonely.” He confessed, whispering back to me, dropping his shoulders in defeat. As if it's that simple, but it wasn’t really that simple.

He pressed his lips together, then let them ease. “But I’m afraid to let someone close again.” His knuckles tightened faintly on his wine glass. “I’m afraid I’ll be used again.”

I let his words sink in for me, “It’s about her, isn’t it?” I asked quietly. His grip slowly relaxed, “yeah.”

“What really happened between you two?”

He stopped to choose his next words carefully. “She… turned everything we had into a commodity, basically.” His jaw tightened as he remembered. “She leaked photos. Then started spreading lies about… about us. Our sex life. Our relationship. It changed my image in front of everyone.” He then exhaled through his nose. “All the controversy, I think that’s exactly what she wanted. All the new eyes on her, it's a way into Hollywood.”

“That’s a lot to carry, especially now with your management.” I said, sympathizing. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”

“You're not the one who should be apologizing.” He sneered. He tilts his glass over his lips, draining the last sip before slowly turns to face me, his expression softer. “And what really happened between you two?”

I took a deep breath. “I… found him cheating.” I confessed, sharing my own truth as well. He kept his eyes on me, patient. “That’s when I cut everyone off. I was… embarrassed, so I kept it to myself.” I added quietly.

“And then… he died a month later.” I faltered, “I felt even more ashamed… ashamed that I was grieving someone who chose someone else. I felt… stupid for crying over him. Grief’s weird like that, It doesn’t care if someone deserved to be missed or not.” I turned to watch a drop of rain trail down the glass of the balcony railing. “Some days, I think I’m not really grieving him… but the life I thought I was going to have with him. The future I believed was mine.”

I pressed my fingertips to the base of the glass, “I think all the shame, the guilt of putting my parents through this mess, that's what made me say yes to this fake dating in the first place.”

He fell mute, allowing the city’s pulse to rise, before whispering, “I’m sorry.”

I let out a chuckle. “You're not the one who should be apologizing.”

He huffed a laugh at the irony that both of us were stranded in the wreckage of culpability, humiliation and torment. My eyes fell to my almost empty glass, “besides my therapist, you’re the only person I’ve told about the cheating.”

He nodded as an affirmation. “I’ll keep it between us,” he said quietly. “I won’t tell a soul. I promise.”

The silence that followed felt dense and weighty, so profound that every thump of my own heart seemed to echo loudly in the stillness. He's the first to cut through it, “what were you supposed to be doing this year?”

I pressed my knees to my chest and exhaled. “Grad school in Chicago. We… were supposed to move in together. We found this little apartment...” I said, thinking about that small, cute place made me smile. “I deferred the week after the funeral.”

He nodded understandingly, humming as a response. “What about you? When do you think you will go back to L.A.?” I asked. 

He smirked faintly. “Only when I want to make things even messier.” His voice was light, but I recognized the honest fibre underneath. “I’m not really in a rush to go back… the movie’s filming is not starting till next summer anyway.”

I offered a soft hum as a reply just like he did, “I will be first in line to see it.” I said, tilting my glass towards him like a cheers. He laughed and said a ‘thank you’ under his breath as he refilled his glass before settling back down.

From where I sat, I was able to study him — the strong curve of his jaw, where his sideburns sat, the way his lashes rested against his cheeks. It was the same face I’d known since childhood, but now it carried a strength that only time could carve. The boy I once teased and the boy once teased me was gone, replaced by an admirable grown man. 

I let myself slowly lean in, resting my forehead against his shoulder. I drew up my knees even closer to my chest, tugging his sweater farther down over me. He shifted just a bit just until his warmth pressed against me. 

Time seemed to slow, a moment stretched into another. He whispered, barely audible, “What is this mess we’re in?” I laughed as I turned just a little, without lifting my head. “You tell me.”

I must have drifted off while resting against him. One moment I was staring out the window, feeling the rhythm of the car and his heartbeat beside me, and the next… everything felt weightless. 

I remember how gentle he was with me as he slipped his arms underneath, lifting me with a careful grace, a reverence I hadn’t expected. I kept my eyes closed — not fully asleep, not fully conscious — just trusting him to carry me. I felt the shift of light as we passed through the hallway, then the softness of the mattress that's welcoming me. The tug of a heavy blanket placed over me with kind hands. 

“Rest that pretty head,” he murmured, gently brushing my hair away from my face.

I wanted to ask him to stay, to not leave me alone. But the words stayed locked in my throat, stubborn. My lips remained sealed as the door clicked softly shut behind him. And for the first time in weeks, I surrender completely to sleep.

-𓍙-

Therapy isn’t magic. It’s slow, frustratingly slow. The sessions blend together, a couple of weeks turning into a small stretch of time. It's a process that feels more like navigating a labyrinth without a map. Some days, I show up and say nothing. I sit there in silence, letting my fingertips follow the seams of the couch cushion, feeling the texture.

Other days, the words come in a rush of either fury or sorrow. They come out as confessions I hadn’t meant to make, like a vulnerable string I hadn’t noticed was frayed. I would talk about him — sometimes about very mundane things he did, other times about fucked up things he did. It would be about little habits I hadn’t noticed until I said them aloud, but also  about his choices that still gnawed away at me. It was as if by turning them over in my mind, piece by piece, I was slowly untangling the knot he left in me.

It was all a process of putting the pieces back together. If he doesn't want to tell me the truth, I will find it.

My therapist says that I'm making some kind of progress, naming the ghosts instead of letting them haunt me. Some days I feel that disarray in my own skin. This heartbreak feels a bit like someone opened me up, reorganized everything, and then forgot to put me back together. 

Regardless, I keep showing up. I let the stillness and words alike do their healing work. In a very sluggish manner, to be fair, until I can learn how to carry it without letting it consume me.

-*-

I looked out through the small kitchen windowpane. The rain came down hard, turning the world outside into a watercolor of silver, navy and grey. Droplets raced down the glass in wild rivulets, blurring the city’s edges. There was no way Jay could leave now, not without practically swimming his way back to his car.

We fell into a comfortable rhythm of clearing the dishes from the dining table by him stacking them neatly and me rinsing them in the sink. Up until my mom put her foot down, “the roads are awful. You’re not driving in this mess.”

Before he could protest, she was already moving toward the linen cabinet in the hallway. Her fingers sifted through the fabric until she pulled out a pair of my dad’s old pajamas, soft but well-worn. He tried to argue, stuttering something about not wanting to bother us, that he could just drive slowly. But she overruled him in about three seconds flat, pressing the neatly folded set into his hands, eyes steady leaving no room for arguing. 

Afterwards, long after everyone else had retreated to their rooms, I slipped out of the closet dressed in my own pajamas. The storm’s roar seeped through the windows, alive and restless. I found Jay standing by the window in my room, a dark silhouette carved against the angry sky, watching the rain rage on.

He was supposed to share this bed with me. It's a formality, a part of the fake dating we’d agreed upon. But now, the reality made my stomach knot. I wondered if he felt the same nervous rush as I did, or if he saw it as something less, something purely convenient. 

I pressed my fingertips against my arm, to calm the nervous energy blooming just beneath my skin. He didn’t turn when I approached the bed or when I pulled the covers back. His voice was low. “I’ll sneak out once it stops.”

I just nodded, letting that be my answer. As he settled in on his side of the mattress, I reached over and turned off my side lamp, dimming the room from its amber glow. The thunder outside rumbled quietly in the distance, the rain steady against the window.

When we shared my old queen-sized bed, the mattress felt smaller than I remembered, crowded by the weight of both of us. We lay there, barely an inch between our knees, the space tight enough to make every breath, every subtle movement feel magnified.

I was acutely aware of his warmth, his low exhales, the rise and fall of his chest — all of it was a reminder that I was not alone. I haven't laid in bed with someone else in so long… the panic forced me to stay still.

Some time passed, as I lay there staring at my furniture. Sleep remained elusive, not a wink of sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, memories tugged me back toward wakefulness. Finally, with a small breath, I turned over beneath the covers, letting myself face him in the dimly glowing room.

“Jay?” I whispered into the dark room.

“Mhm?” he responded, not opening his eyes as he lay flat on his back, one arm resting across his forehead.

“You know, you used to call me ‘Cry Baby’… but remember when I used to call you ‘Star Boy’?” I asked, playfulness creeping into my voice.

He let out a dramatic groan, but a smile was unmistakable on his lips. “goodness, no… don’t remind me.”

I chuckled, “you went so red in the face every single time I said it.” I paused to let myself smile at the memory. “It was honestly kind of cute.”

He sighs before turning to face me as well. “I hoped you’d forgotten that by now.”

As I laughed, he couldn't help but chuckle in return. As I felt my eyelids grow heavy, the world slowly blurring at the edges, I whispered into the softness between us, “Can you… stay the night?” I finally was able to ask him. 

For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then his voice came. “Yeah… I’ll stay.”

At those words, something in me unfurled peacefully. I let my eyes close, trusting that I was not alone, that when I opened them in the morning, he’d still be there.

-*-

My eyes fluttered open as the storm had faded into a soft, far away swirl. The only sound now that I can hear is Jay’s breathing, slow and even beside me. He really stayed even after the storm passed. At some point in the night, my head had come to rest against his chest, his arm draped casually — yet protectively  — around my shoulders. I didn't even feel a rush of timidity or embarrassment from being this close, from letting myself linger in his warmth. 

Instead, I noticed something I hadn’t before — a faint scar near his jawline, a small mark I hadn’t recognized until now. I wondered if it was from that bike accident he had as a kid, the one where Nyla and I cleaned him up and tended his scrapes while he fought back tears, insisting he was ‘too tough’ to cry in front of us. It was strange how different he looked in sleep. He looked softer. Yet, a faint crease lingered between his brows, as if some worries were woven into him, even at rest.

Without notice, a strange ache stirred in my chest. Not because of Jay, but it was that same old ache. It was that familiar ache I kept trying to bury.

I turned slightly and reached for my phone on my nightstand, the glow lighting up the dim room. It's only 3 a.m. Why am I even up? My fingers went to my email account, straight to the drafts folder. There sat the old unsend email for him, catching dust. I inhaled deeply and started a new email. Doesn’t have to be beautiful, it just has to be honest.

To: (no recipients) Subject: (no subject) Everyone keeps asking if I’ve ‘found closure’. As if it’s a drawer that's neatly closed, waiting for me. But it’s not.  Even when you're dead I'm too tired to explain myself to you. Your death froze betrayal in time. Anyways, hope hell is warm enough for you.

It started as borrowed words from therapy, words that had been circling in my mind. But somewhere along the way, it morphed into something less measured. They might be a little harsh and a little messy, but fuck it — they’re the truest reflection of what I’m feeling in this moment. I tucked that email alongside the other unsent one before locking the screen and slipping my phone underneath my pillow. 

As I nestled beside Jay, he stirred faintly in his sleep, unconsciously drawing me a little closer. He became my sanctuary. I’m still so afraid to let anyone close, afraid that opening up means I’m putting myself back in the path that has the kind of hurt I’m still healing from. Though I let him, I let his presence ease me back into rest. I think it’s because my mind and body are so weary from constantly putting up a fight, from bracing for the worst. 

𓍙

Time slipped by without me really noticing with our deal remaining in place. Yet, somewhere along the way… something shifted. We fell into an ease I hadn’t expected. I found myself looking forward to seeing him, looking forward to dinners with him, looking forward to when we step out and put on a performance for the paparazzi. The space we occupied side by side was growing less intimidating.

Currently, we’re in a hotel suite high above Manhattan, the city bustling far below us. Today is media junket day for Jay’s new film — the one he’s been cast in, the role that feels destined to be his big break. The room is a rush of activity: journalists setting up their equipment, publicists darting back and forth, and assistants smoothing every last detail.

His team insisted he show up with me by his side, to continue the role of the ‘supportive girlfriend’ for the interview. His management made their expectations for me clear: sit there, be pretty, smile, and nod — say as little as possible, let Jay take the lead. 

Meanwhile, Jay seemed quietly relieved I was there. His shoulders would relax ever so slightly whenever his eyes met mine during the chaos of getting glammed, I would mouth to him ‘it will be okay’. He seemed on edge all day long.

We settled into the plush velvet chairs placed side by side, directly across from a perky interviewer already poised with her microphone. The bright lights glared down from their rigs, turning the space into something that felt less like a hotel suite and more like a stage — a set designed for every expression, every word to be captured by the cameras.

After a few questions about the film, the interviewer shifted gears, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “So, the fans are absolutely obsessed with you two. Your relationship has everyone talking.”

I was kind of surprised, honestly, I barely registered the comment at first. Over the past month, I had been deliberately distancing myself from social media, scrolling past headlines and posts without really looking, shielding myself from the flood of opinions and judgments that felt both invasive and overwhelming. 

Jay gave a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something a little tight, a little forced about it. “Yeah, she’s one of the most incredible people I know.”

The interviewer leaned in with a warm grin. “How long have you two known each other?”

“Forever, kind of. She’s my sister’s best friend.” Jay’s answer came easily, almost automatic. The interviewer’s face softened as she said, “aw, full circle moment!” 

But Jay barely heard her, his mind seemed elsewhere. His jaw clenched ever so slightly, betraying the calm he tried to project.

“Cut!” The director’s sharp voice cut through the room, stopping the interviewer from asking another question. “Hold up, something’s off — the lighting's all wrong.” He rubbed his temples, clearly frustrated. “We’re pausing for now. Take five.”

Jay and I exchanged a glance and nodded silently, the cameras slowly winding down as crew members began passing around the equipment with practiced efficiency. The air felt thick, buzzing like static. 

As soon as the cameras stopped rolling, his publicist leaned in to us, voice low but eager, “that last answer was solid. Let’s keep leaning into that nostalgic romance angle. Maybe we can do a little shoot where she—”

Jay’s eyes snapped open, as if mentioning me was his final straw. “She is not a fucking action figure you can just pose.” he spat out, his tone cold but restrained, each word clipped. The publicist blinked, clearly not used to seeing him this upset.

I placed a calming hand on his arm, “Jay, it's okay… I don't mind.” I whispered to him, trying to ease the tension. 

His publicist pressed their lips together, offended, as their eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. “Cool off. I'm trying to help.”

If eyes could shoot out venom, Jay's eyes would have already done so. His jaw tightened as he rose, the legs of his chair scraping sharply against the floor. Without a word, he turned on his heel and strode toward the hallway outside the hotel room. I fell into steps just a few paces behind, not hesitating to leave the filming crew behind. 

He stood by the window at the end of the hallway, staring out into the city with his fingers raked through his hair in pure agitation. He let out a shaky breath once I was closer to him. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” I said, gently reaching for his hand.

We fell into silence together, our gazes dropping down to the bustling scene below. A small crowd of fans had started to gather on the sidewalk, eager just for a glimpse of him. A few paparazzi lingered a little farther back, their camera lenses glinting, poised to capture whatever might unfold.

He turned his head slightly, then whispered, “wanna leave?” A mischievous spark glimmered in his eyes with a smile.

I blinked in confusion. “What? Right now?” He didn’t stop to explain himself, instead, he tugged a baseball cap down over his now messy hair and then slipped his sunglasses up onto my face, tilting them just a bit. The world immediately grew a few shades darker.

“Yeah, come on. I know a way out.” He said. The moment he saw me smile — wild and impulsive — he reached forward and laced his fingers through mine. His grip was firm, a rush of warmth and jitteriness energy that made my pulse accelerate.

He turned back down the corridor and began weaving through hallways, past a storage room with its half-open metal gate, a service entrance that glowed faintly under a solitary emergency light, until we slipped out a side door into a small, sheltered alleyway outside. 

He tugged me forward gently, steering us into the streets that are in the opposite direction of the paparazzi. “As much as I love your idea of running away,” I said, trying to keep my voice light, a playful edge threading through the nerves fluttering inside me, “me doing that interview with you is kind of… a key part of our deal.”

His grip on my hand tightened as we matched pace, walking side by side. “Right now, I don’t care about the deal,” he murmured, pulling his cap lower over his face like a shield. “I just want to be with you — out here, away from all the cameras.” His eyes fixed on the path ahead.

I matched his stride as a gentle warmth rose to my cheeks. “Okay,” I breathed softly, “what do you want to do?”

He glanced back at me, that familiar troublesome gleam lighting up his face — the same boyish spark he’d carried since we were kids. “I want to play tourist.”

“Tourist?” I echoed, laughter bubbling up at the idea. “In our own city?”

He chuckled, nodding with a grin. “Come on, humor me.”

While walking beside him with the city’s heartbeat surged around us, I realized how natural this felt now — as if we had been doing this forever, regardless if there were cameras or not. We turned a corner, letting ourselves be carried by the rush of the city — the hum of honking horns blended with the chatter of hurried pedestrians weaving through the sidewalks, their laughter and conversations mixing into an urban symphony. 

Then, suddenly, a tempting aroma of street food drifted through the air, it was the unmistakable scent of our pizzeria. “Oh my god, I completely forgot about this place,” I said, glancing up at Jay’s face just in time to see his own expression brighten in recognition, the smell tugged at long-forgotten memories..

We pressed against the wooden door and slipped inside, and a rush of warmth enveloped us. The old pizzeria hadn’t changed a bit — the red-checkered tablecloths, the well-worn counter, the snapshots of smiling regulars adorning the walls. It was like a time capsule preserving a moment we hadn’t yet grown out of.

Behind the counter, the owner looked up, his face breaking into a wide smile. “Ah, my two favorite troublemakers. I’ve been waiting for you to show up again.”

Jay chuckled, nodding toward me, “all that’s missing is Nyla.” The owner laughed as he nodded, turning his attention to me. “Your mom would flip if she knew you were still sneaking in here after all these years.”

I shrugged, giggling. “That’s kinda the point, isn’t it? Your pizza’s worth it.”

He slid two paper plates across the counter, each with generously big slices. “On the house today. Consider it a reward for your continued bad behavior.”

“Oh, you’re an angel on earth.” Jay sighed with pure happiness. As we picked up our slices, a chorus of camera shutters clicked from somewhere down the block. “Paparazzi!” I whispered, tugging at Jay’s sleeve.

As his eyes widened in alarm, he gripped onto my hand with a quick ‘goodbye’ to the owner before turning us to the bustling sidewalk. 

We darted forward, weaving through the growing crowd, our shoulders bumping against strangers as we slipped through the chaos. 

“It’s Jay! Over there!”

Our nervous laughter fell from our lips, a rush of adrenaline adding a wild, giddy feeling to every step. The paparazzi pressed forward behind us as a swarm of camera flashes and raised voices, each one competing for that elusive shot of Jay. 

“Jay! Look this way! Jay, over here!” 

The flock continued to rise, punctuated by the aggressive clicking of shutter mechanisms.

“Smile for us, Jay! Just a quick picture!”

I kept my grip tight on his hand while he raised a hand to hail a cab. Just as the yellow taxi glided up to the curb, we slipped inside together, shutting the door close behind us. 

 “I think we lost them.” Jay said, falling back against the seat, exhaling a shaky breath as the cab drove forward.

I turned toward him, a smile tugging at my lips as I nod to the driver. “Where to, tourist?”

*

When he said he wanted to play the role of a tourist, he wasn't kidding. We hopped across crosswalks, darting from corner to corner. We slipped into a comic-book store in the East Village, laughing over the collectible figurines, and tasted all the snacks in different delis. We hopped into another cab just for the ride, then hopped back out to take photos by a rooftop garden.

As the clock edged closer to midnight, he insisted on taking a cab with me all the way to my parents’ brownstone — like letting me go alone just wasn’t an option.

“Oh yeah?” I teased, giggling as he hopped out first and turned back, offering me his hand with that reassuring glow.

He tightened his grip just enough as I stepped down onto the pavement. “Yes! You were terrifying.”

I raised an eyebrow, a playful smile curling at my lips. “Terrifying? When I was... what, eleven?”

The cab drove away, leaving us standing close under the soft amber of the porch light. We were still laughing, caught in that warm, quiet bubble where everything and everyone else — the city, the noise, the world — felt miles away, irrelevant. The gentle light cast delicate shadows across the stoop, a silent invitation to linger just a second longer.

For a moment, the small space between us fell into silence. He cupped my face, his thumb tracing delicate circles over my cheek. “I’ve been a coward about this for way too long.” he said, his voice dropped to a hushed whisper with honesty. 

My heart skipped a beat, suddenly vulnerable and exposed beneath his words. “For how long?” I whispered back. His thumb drifted to my lips, brushing over them softly, as if memorizing their shape.

A nervous, almost shy laugh escaped him, but his eyes stayed locked on mine. “Since we were kids...”

I gave a small, teasing smile. “Mmm, maybe I was scary as a kid.”

His grin softened, leaning down slowly, every inch electric. He was electrictic. The kiss deepened — urgent, tender, and completely consuming. His warm hands pulled me closer, while my fingers tangled in his hair, holding on like I never wanted to let go.

When we reluctantly drew apart, he paused for a minute, resting his forehead against mine. “I'm going to get murdered by my manager tomorrow.” he smiled, eyes closed as if he's trying to savor the moment, savor me.

I let out a breathless laugh, trying to mask how weak my knees feel beneath me. “Worth it?”

He chuckles, and without missing a beat, he pressed a brief peck on my lips. “Ask me again the next time I see you.”

-𓍙-

Two months slipped by in a whirlwind of dinners, interviews, and moments either hidden beneath flashing cameras or hidden behind closed doors. What had started as a carefully choreographed arrangement where two people were playing a part… slowly began to unravel all the walls we had built. Every touch began to feel less and less manufactured, less rehearsed.

He would message me, or even call, when he was supposed to be in meetings or sitting through yet another interview. I’d be stretched out in bed, pillows propped up behind me, the glow of my phone casting a warm pool of light across the mattress.

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know… working?” I asked one night, giggling as I pressed the phone tighter against my ear. 

He let out a dramatic sigh on the other end, and I could picture him tilting his head back, closing his eyes in feigned agony. “Work can wait. You’re way more interesting.”

“Mhm,” I hummed back to him, “sounds like excuses to me.”

“Maybe.” His voice dipped, growing softer. “I just can’t help myself.” He confessed. God, he sounded so desperate in that moment — so eager to please — it was honestly kind of adorable.

I felt that flutter in my chest, the same one I used to get when I was a teenager crushing hard on someone. It had been so long since I’d felt that way, like my insides buzzing with a mix of excitement and nerves.

We fell into routines that felt effortless. After those glamorous, exhausting events, instead of parting ways, we’d grab wine and food from a corner spot and hide away in his place. 

We fell into routines that felt effortless. After those glamorous, exhausting events, instead of turning our separate ways, we’d grab a bottle of wine from the corner spot down the block and escape back to Jay’s place. There, with the city’s humming quietly outside his windows, we’d kick off our shoes and sink into the pillows on his sofa.

Tonight was one of those nights, but the air hung humid enough to cling to skin and weigh down every breath and movement. As soon as we stepped in, Jay peeled off his suit jacket, letting it slide down his arms and drop over the back of a nearby armchair. His crisp white shirt followed, a few upper buttons slowly undone until a sliver of his collarbone appeared.

I fell back against the sofa with a heavy exhale, tugging at the hem of my short dress in a useless attempt to cool down. The fabric clung to my thighs.

He turned back toward me, a glass in his hand. The cubes of ice clinked quietly against the rim as he crossed the room to bring it to me. I pressed it to my lips — freezing drops of water a much-needed contrast to the warmth that filled me. 

The questions he answered today while I was sitting beside him kept replaying in my mind — especially the ones about his ex-girlfriend. It made me curious in a way…

“Jay?” I said quietly.

“Yes, love?”

“Was she your first girlfriend?” I asked, taking a sip of the water.

He nodded. “Yeah,” he responded, eyebrows furrowing in confusion about the sudden question. 

So this makes me his second girlfriend ever… “Wait, so you've never been with another woman besides her?” I pressed, turning the ice in my glass before putting one on my tongue.

I swirled one of the ice cubes in my mouth, watching him trying to form an answer. “What? Like — not exactly —” He faltered under my gaze, coloring red faintly. He was flustered, as if I'm accusing him that's he's inexperienced. 

Not that I'm very experienced either, he just looked too irresistible not to pick on. His perfect, neat hair was a mess now, a few locks falling forward, adding to his disarray. God, he looked so delicious. I inched forward, closing the distance between us, a mischievous spark rushed through me.

With the ice still resting in my mouth, I went closer to him and pressed a freezing kiss to the side of his neck. He jumped briefly at the cold sensation, then fell back against the cushions. “Don’t tease…” he whispered — a warning that fell powerless against his own growing temptation. 

I paused just long enough to appreciate the tremble in his voice before slowly kissing his neck again, “I just can’t resist.” I whispered against his skin. Honestly, it was fun pressing his button.

Gently, I drew the ice from my lips and let its chilled surface trail up his arm. “What are you doing?” he whispered, his breath shaky, close against my own. 

I smiled, curling my fingers on his waist band, “I was counting down the minutes to get you alone.”

That was completely true — all through the event, while I nodded and smiled and made small talk, I couldn’t keep my mind from straying back to him. The way his suit sat perfectly over his shoulders, the softness in his gaze when our eyes met across the room. Every moment made it that much harder to wait. 

I shifted to straddling him, until I was sitting directly across his lap. It was like a rush of warmth meeting warmth. He kissed me with an urgency I haven't seen before. I felt his knuckles brush against my inner thighs as he fumbled with his zipper, tugging it down just a little, the metal clinking. While the hem of my dress began to gather up around my hips, the fabric creeped higher and higher until it bunched softly at my waist.

I palmed his bulge from beneath his boxer, throbbing and needy. “Please, hurry.” he whispered with equally needy eyes, his temple sweating.

“Easy, boy.” I giggled as I slowly started lowering myself down until his entire cock slid inside, granting me a groan from him. "ngh… shit," I gasp at the stretch, his hands resting on my thighs as I roll my hips along his cock.

His eyes fluttered shut, letting out a pretty whine when I started moving up and down, my hips meeting his pelvic as if it was made just for him. I was relish­ing the way he struggled to form words, to make his desires known. 

“Come on, star boy, what do you want?” I teased, knowing he can't form many words, let alone sentences. The way his normally composed demeanor fell away under my touch, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but pure, uninhibited need.

As my movement continued, he looked completely pussy-drunk, a mess just for me. “Hmm? Words, baby. I need words from you." I encouraged quietly, guiding his face back to mine while resting my other hand flat against his rapidly beating heart. His grip tightened on my thighs.

“Fuck— you, i want you.” he finally choked out, sounding so vulnerable. His hands roam upwards, touching me as if I'm everything he asked God for. 

“Good, good,” I praised, pushing some of his hair out of his face. “Cum for me, baby, cum.” I urged. I could tell he's so close, I could read him as a book. The pace of my hips quickened, Jay's thrusts following close after. 

His hips stutter with his release after feeling that tightening around his length. With his own fluid mixed with mine, my body fell forward, face buried in his neck while coming down from my own high. He takes a few slow breaths before kissing my shoulder. 

“You're mean,” he chuckled, rubbing circles into my back. I turned my head just enough to press a soft kiss to his collarbone. “Mean?” I whispered. “Who, me?”

He let out a soft laugh, giving my ass a playful tap. Then he slid his arms underneath me, lifting me up effortlessly against him. I held on tighter, locking my arms around him as he carried me toward the shower.

-𓍙-

The first time he knocked, I didn’t move. Not even a breath.

I just laid there, curled under my sheets, watching the shadows on the wall shift with the hours. My phone had long since died, no battery left, somewhere in the mess on my floor. However, the notification still blinded my brain. That one fucking headline with so many comments under it, all paired by DMs I couldn’t unread.

‘Jay’s Girlfriend’s Dead Ex Cheated On Her — Source Says She Knew!’

The words burned like fresh ink behind my eyelids. They knew. They all knew, now.

About the accident, about him cheating. They thought I’d planned it, like I’d lured him into some twisted karma. That I let him die with that secret like it was something I’d authored.

The only person I had ever told the truth to was Jay. So when the knock came again — I didn’t even flinch. “Baby,” his voice was muffled through the wood of my door. “Please open the door.”

I stared at the crack between the door and the floor, I could see his shadow. “I swear it wasn’t me.” he pleaded, shaking the door handle. My throat clenched with my jaw. I could hear it in his voice — the confusion, the panic — but I couldn’t let myself believe him. Not when the betrayal felt like a bruise I hadn’t even started pressing on.

Just when I believe someone, they lie to me. I feel like I'm back at step one.

He came every day since the publication of that article. Sometimes in the morning, sometimes late at night — always with flowers. I’d hear the knock at the front door, followed by my mom’s clueless murmuring, then he’d try at my bedroom door.

“I don’t care if you scream at me,” he said on the fourth day. “Just let me see your face. Please.”

I didn’t, I never did. I stayed cocooned in my silence, wearing the same clothes in the same shame and rage. It was easier that way anyways, anger made a good blanket when grief got too sharp.

There was no pressure or interrogations with my parents — just a patient presence. When I left my room, rarely as it is, I’d always find Jay’s flowers waiting for me at the doorstep of my room, they started to pile up. I never dared to open the letters that came with them. 

My parents would leave a lamp turned on in the hallway so I didn’t have to walk through the dark. Their love wasn’t loud, but it was showing up, again and again.

One night, maybe an hour after Jay gave up and left, I finally drifted out into the living room. I didn’t even know why, I wasn’t really looking for anything. I just found my dad sitting on the couch, his glasses were slightly askew, pretending to read on his book. 

When his eyes met mine, he didn’t say anything but I saw the worry in them. Just gave me a small nod and gently patted the spot beside him, like he’d been saving it all along.

I didn’t hesitate. My body sank down, folding into the couch as I tucked myself beside him and let my head rest in his lap. His hand came to rest on my shoulder — a steady weight, familiar. The kind of touch that reminded you of being little again, when the world felt too big and your parents made it smaller just by being near.

For a while, we didn’t speak. Just the sound of his soft breathing and the occasional creak of the apartment. Then he asked, soft and even, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

I swallowed, my throat dry from not speaking in days. “I didn’t want to add to your worry.” My voice cracked before the words made it out. “I figured... if I acted okay, maybe I’d start to feel okay.”

By the seventh day, my world had shrunk down to the sound of him pacing the hallway, sometimes whispering my name, other times just sitting against the door. I could feel his presence like a stormcloud on the other side — heavy, persistent, full of noise he wouldn’t let fall.

Then, on the eighth day, it wasn’t Jay’s voice I heard, it was Nyla’s instead. “It’s me, babe,” she said gently, her knuckles tapping. “Its just me. Can I come in?”

I stayed still on the bed, staring at the crack in the ceiling where the paint had started to peel. Something in me almost reached for the knob, but I couldn’t do it. Not even for her.

“He’s outside,” she added after a long pause. From her voice she sounded exhausted and worried, I could only imagine how she looked. “He’s not eating, not sleeping. He looks awful.” I closed my eyes, an ache ripped through my heart.

“You know he wouldn’t do that to you. You know that.” My lips stayed sealed as my hands gripped the sheets like they could keep me from slipping further into guilt.

It wasn’t fair, what I was doing to her wasn't fair. Deep down, I knew Nyla had nothing to do with any of this. And still, a part of me wanted to push her away too. Like if I didn’t let anyone in, none of it could hurt me more than it already had.

She waited for exactly seven minutes, my eyes never leaving the clock near my bed, counting. Then I heard the soft sigh of her retreat, footsteps padded with disappointment as she left me behind. The guilt hit me as I heard her voice crack as she spoke with my mom.

Later on that eighth night, once the house had gone still and the muffled sound of my parents’ voices faded into quiet, I finally moved. I pushed the blanket off my legs and sat up slowly, my muscles ached from the stillness. 

My laptop sat untouched on my desk, a thin layer of dust smudged across the surface. I hadn’t opened it in so long. The screen flickered awake like it was just as surprised to see me. I sat there for a long time, facing a blank email draft, fingers hovering over the keys, unsure of what I wanted to say anymore. My hands shook a little as I typed.

To: (no recipients) Subject: (no subject) You hurt me when you were alive and when you are dead. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t know if I hate you more for leaving me, or for what you did before you left or what you did after you left.  I wish I could scream at you. You never said sorry. Not once. And now you never will.

I closed the laptop with a soft click and leaned back in my chair, the quiet humming back to fill the space I’d carved open. My eyes drifted to the ceiling again, but I wasn’t really looking at anything. Just letting the stillness soak in. The words I’d written still echoed faintly

Somewhere beyond the walls of my room, beyond the cold of my chest, I knew Jay was still out there somewhere — waiting.

-*-

The office was quiet, filled with that soft kind of tranquility that makes you feel like you have to whisper, even when no one’s told you to. I glanced at the windows, where the late morning light spilled in, brushing against the edge of the bookshelf. I sat curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked under me, picking absentmindedly at the edge of my tissue.

I didn’t even want to come here, but my mom had made the appointment after the fourth day I hadn’t left my room. Across from me, my therapist waited patiently, letting the quiet settle until I was ready. I squeezed the tissue tighter.

“I feel like everyone just lies to me,” I finally said, the words falling out more like a sigh than a statement. 

She Just nodded once, “Did you hear him out?”

I blinked, caught off guard by how quickly she got to the core of it. I swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable with how obvious the answer was.

“No,” I admitted.

“And why do you think that is?”

I let the silence stretch again, eyes dropping to the floor. “Because I am scared,” I whispered. “Because if it was him, then that would make it worse. That he said he’d protect my promise, and then didn’t. I don’t want to hear the wrong answer.”

She leaned forward slightly, her voice steady. “And what if it wasn’t him?”

The question sat in the air like a challenge — or maybe like a lifeline of hope. “I don’t know,” I said after a while. “If it wasn’t him… then I shut him out for nothing. I hurt him, for nothing.” My voice cracked around the last part.

The therapist didn’t say anything for a moment, she just nodded again. “Sometimes we protect ourselves by assuming the worst. It feels safer, more predictable.”

“Maybe it’s time to ask the question,” she added gently. “Even if the answer might hurt. You’ve already been hurting. Don’t you want to know what’s true?”

And I did. God, I did. I just wasn’t sure if I still deserved the truth.

-*-

When I got home, the apartment felt heavier than it had earlier that morning. Like it somehow knew the truth that I was finally ready to face after I’d been running from it. I dropped my purse by the door and sank onto the couch, in front of my laptop where it sat on the coffee table.

I lingered for a moment, heart somewhere in my throat. And then, finally, I reached out and let it open.

The screen blinked awake again. After a couple clicks, I found those tabs that I opened exactly where I’d left them — the articles, tweets, videos. The ones refused to look at again, but now I clicked through them again, letting the headlines scream at me all over again.

‘Jay’s Girlfriend’s Dead Ex Cheated On Her — Source Says She Knew!’

a new one for me: ‘Was It All A Setup? Internet Reacts To Shocking New Details About Y/N’s Past’ 

And another: ‘Insider Spills: Y/N’s Relationship Timeline Doesn’t Add Up’

Most of them didn’t list a source, just ‘an anonymous insider’ or ‘a close acquaintance’. Just empty words… pussies. I felt the frustration grow as I found nothing.

I almost closed it all again, feeling stupid for even trying. Until one article, messier than the others, less polished, clearly rushed in its eagerness to be first — listed an actual name.

My heart stopped. I stared at it, thinking I imagined it. But no, there it was, plain as day.

A name I hadn’t seen in months, but one I’d never forgotten. The same name I saw pop up on my boyfriend’s phone the night everything started to unravel. The name I hadn’t wanted to believe was real back then. The girl who answered when I called, smug and breathless. The one who laughed when I said his name.

Suddenly it all clicked into place.

She was the one who told them. She sold the story — for a bit of attention, for a bit of money, for a bit of fame, for a bit of something — now that people care about who I am dating. 

I leaned back slowly, the weight of it all pressing into my chest. It wasn’t Jay. It was never him.

I covered my face with both hands, trying to will back the tears that burned at the edges of my eyes. I’d pushed him away. I’d hurt him — doubted him — when he kept his word to me all along.

The cab ride felt endless. I couldn’t sit still, legs bouncing, fingers gripping the edge of my coat like it was the only thing tethering me to the seat. The city passed by in a blur, lights streaking through the windows like memories I didn’t want to keep replaying. By the time we pulled up in front of his apartment complex, my heart was ready to shoot out my chest. 

I paid the driver with shaky hands and stepped out. The street was quiet, just the faint hum of traffic in the distance. My boots echoed softly in the stairwell as I climbed to his floor.

The hallway to his apartment felt longer than I remembered. Every step forward was like peeling off another layer of the anger I had wrapped around myself like old skin. My fingers curled into fists, then relaxed again. My heart thudded in that slow, aching way, like it was trying to wake up from being numb.

I hesitated for a moment outside his door. My hand hovered over the wood. Part of me wanted to turn around and call a cab again — go home, crawl under the covers, pretend I hadn’t cracked myself open just by coming here. 

I knocked.

I am the one open to knock on his door now.

And when it opened, he looked... different, in a way that wrapped around my heart and squeezed. His shirt hung off him, too loose like he hadn’t noticed it didn’t fit right. His hair was messy, the result of too many restless nights. And his eyes were tired, ringed with shadows like sleep hadn’t touched him in days.

But the moment our eyes met, like tension unraveling all at once, a string that was pulled too tight finally snapping free. I saw it, his whole face melted in relief.

One step from him is all it took and I was in his arms.

He caught me, his hands wrapped around me like he couldn’t believe I came back, like he didn’t trust the world not to take me again. I buried my face into the curve of his shoulder, gripping his shirt, breathing him in — the faint, comforting scent of his soap mixed with his cologne.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my voice already breaking as I clung to him.

He didn’t answer right away, just kissed me. My forehead, my cheeks, my lips. Each one desperate, forgiving. His hands trembled just a little. “I thought I lost you,” he breathed against my skin.

“I didn’t even give you a chance to explain —” I said, the words thick with guilt.

“Shhh,” he cooed, pulling back just enough to look at me again. His hands gently cupping my face, thumbs brushing beneath my eye like he was checking for sadness in them. 

“You’re here now,” he said simply. “That’s enough for me.”

-𓍙-

Two weeks after Jay’s team shut down on the leak — firing off cease-and-desist letters, building walls of legalese tall enough to suffocate the tabloids — things started to settle. The headlines that once screamed my name like a crime scene began to fade from front pages to sidebars. 

The chaos didn’t disappear entirely, not overnight. But the noise dulled into background white noise. Enough that I could finally walk out the front door without feeling like I was stepping into a battlefield.

In fact, Jay made sure of it. If he wasn’t glued to my side, he made damn sure I didn’t leave home without at least three security guards. “Non-negotiable,” he’d said once, pressing a kiss to my temple before leaving me with a guard who looked more like a presidential escort. I wanted to argue, saying it was too much. But I could see his face was edged with protectiveness and guilt. Maybe love, too. So I didn’t fight him.

Still, I hadn’t said a word publicly. No carefully crafted post, no interview or side-of-the-mouth denial. I knew people were waiting, watching every paparazzi photo for signs of a breakdown or a statement hidden in an outfit or something stupid. But I gave them nothing.

They don’t deserve my grief. They’re not entitled to the softness I’ve barely learned how to hold for myself. Paraphrased by my therapist. 

Let them speculate. Let them move on. I already am. Maybe Not gracefully, maybe. But forward is still forward — one cautious step at a time.

-*-

It was late. 

The kind of late where your place falls into a deep peace which the city that never sleeps wouldn't know. Jay had finally coaxed me into bed, whispering gentle things against my temple, brushing his fingers through my hair until my breathing evened out. I didn’t even remember falling asleep, just the warmth of him and the lightness of his sheets.

But something stirred me.

I woke to the absence of him beside me. The space next to me was cold, the sheets already flattened like he’d been gone a while. A faint light spilled in from the hallway, and I sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

Then I heard him, his voice low but urgent, whispering then rising. “When I say no, it means no. Are you even listening?”

I crept toward the light, bare feet quiet against the hardwood. I could see him in the kitchen — phone pressed to his ear, hair messy like he’d raked his hand through it too many times. His back was to me, one hand braced against the counter, shoulders tight with frustration.

“I don’t care,” he snapped under his breath. “You don’t get to profit off her anymore. I’m serious, drop it.”

He paused, breathing hard. “I mean it. If this keeps going, we’re done.”

I stood there frozen, something heavy swelling in my chest. It wasn’t just the way he defended me, it was the fury behind it. The care he had for me, that he’d burn bridges just to keep the world from touching me.

 “Is everything okay?” I finally asked once the phone call ended, my voice barely above a whisper.

He flinched at the sound, just a twitch, before turning around to face me. When his eyes found mine, his jaw unclenched, the sharp lines of his face softened, and his posture loosened like a knot finally coming undone. 

“Did I wake you, love?” he said gently, voice was like velvet.

I shook my head, stepping toward him. “Just miss you,” I murmured as I wrapped my arms around him, my cheek pressing to his chest. His arms immediately came around me in return, grounding. He tucked me against him like I belonged there.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just breathed into my hair. I glanced over his shoulder, past the soft glow of the stove light, and saw the flowers he had gotten me two days ago — peonies and cream-colored roses in a wide glass vase, still slightly fresh, still trying to hold on. 

“Come back to bed with me,” I whispered. He didn’t hesitate, just a soft kiss pressed to the top of my head and took my hand. He squeezed it once, gently, like he was making sure I was still really there. 

-*-

That morning, sunlight stretched across the hardwood floors, delicate bands, like even the sun itself was treading softly. The curtains fluttered gently with the breeze, casting shifting shadows along the bed where Jay still slept beside me. His arm was slung carelessly over the side, fingers twitching slightly in a dream. His breathing was steady, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt safe. 

I watched him for a moment — not out of worry, but out of gratitude.

I slipped out of bed quietly, easing my weight off the mattress. The floor was cool under my feet. I padded through the apartment, past the hallway lined with jackets, the shoes we kept tripping over, and into the hushed kitchen, which felt like a different world from last night. 

I moved slowly. I filled the kettle, listening to the water run, then reached into the fridge for milk and a carton of eggs, going through the motions I’d adopted like second nature since I started sleeping here. 

The kettle clicked as it began to heat, but my attention was already drifting elsewhere… to the laptop on the kitchen island. Still tucked away in the corner, right where I had left it. My hand moved before I could think too much about it. I opened it.

Not to scroll, or to click through headlines or notifications, but rather to open the folder I’d been avoiding for weeks: my email drafts.

They stared back at me, all the unsent emails I had written to him. My ex, my liar. They were raw, unedited. Each one was a different timestamp. Some were just one bitter sentence, typed in a rage I didn’t know what to do with. Others were pages long of me spiraling, when sleep was impossible and silence was too loud. They bled through each other to make a mess of mourning and anger.

I re-read a few. Not all thought, I didn’t have the strength for all. I didn’t delete them either, I couldn’t, something about the weight of them didn’t allow me to.

But they didn’t cling to my chest like they used to anymore. My fingers moved over the trackpad, slowly opening a new, blank draft. The cursor blinked at me, expectant, patient. Like it already knew this was long overdue.

To: (no recipients) Subject: (no subject) I’m not okay yet, but I will be. So I’ll do the one thing you never did, I’ll choose the truth. I’m not writing to say I forgive you. I’m writing to say I’m letting you go. Consider this my last email. Sincerely, Fuck you.

I stared at the words for what felt like forever. With a breath that came deeper than I expected, I closed the laptop slowly.  was laying something to rest. Gone.

I closed the laptop slowly, the finality of it washing over me like a quiet wave, gone.

My gaze drifted then, settling on the corner of the island where the vase sat. the peonies and roses Jay had brought me three days ago now. Dull of life just last night, now wilting. The petals drooped, a few scattered.

But I didn’t feel sad at the sight, because I knew he’d bring more. I wouldn’t even have to ask.

[horny-marbles]

how would the creeps/proxies try to flirt? like, what would they say as an example? if not something to say, what cheeky things would they do to gather their love interest's attention?

WHY DIDN'T I SEE THIS ASK EJFJSKJDKWKDK

Jack: first of all. he doesn't flirt (i WISH)—not that he doesn't know how to, i think he'd be fucking lethal if he had the fucks to give (which he doesn't). but there'll be actions that you need to actively look out for. like no wait time at the "infirmary" and keeping you "under observation" longer than anyone else. like the fact that he answers you with full sentences instead of low effort grunts. like finding items you forgot around the mansion at your door. BUT, if he did try, "Ugh, this food hit me like a truck. I feel like my intestines are screaming." "They could be." or, maybe during a stitch, you wince. "Fuck, Jack!" "So that's what it sounds like. Noted."

Jeff: i've said it before, i'll say it again, he's a DOG. mental-institution-fuckboy. no filter, no decorum, no shame, no fucks. you don't even need to give him an opportunity to pipe in, he'll make one whenever he wants. you're just existing, chewing gum, "Wasting that mouth on gum when you could have my dick in your molars." you roll your eyes at something he says, "Keep playing coy, baby, I'll make 'em roll so far back you might see God." you could literally just brush past him, not even paying attention, "Uh-huh, fuckin' touch me like that again and I'll put a baby in you just to prove a point." what point? you'll never know.

Toby: the definition of plot twist. he jumps from jokes and banter to Jeff Lite™ so quick you're not sure whether you're whiplashed or clenching. "Hah, d-dude, what's w-with the fff-face? W-Why you look like that." "? Like what?" "Like you w-want me puh-put my ffuckin' hands on you." you didn't even make a face. oh, and play fighting. that's his declaration of love. he's WAY too fucking rough because he can't tell what kinda force he's using (or maybe he can and he just gets chubbed overpowering you), he'll be obnoxious on purpose so you shove him, and he just gets giddy like that's his fucking cue lol. gets you pinned and, "F-Fuck, baby, if you w-w-wanted me on t—bitch—top of you, you coulda' a-asked," or "Y-You do this shit on p-puh-purpose? Huh?" "What?? Rogers, get—" "Shit, I don't m-mind, baby."

BEN: he's a special case of "haha jk... unless", and you can never tell from the looks he gives you either because he's always sporting a half-lidded-eyes-and-permanent-stoner-smirk combo. you could be sitting next to him and laugh at something he says, "You're so fucked up for that." "For what??" "Existing? I got shit to do here, and you're out here sounding like that. Real selfish, dude." you could be smoking together, just talking about nothing, and he pipes up randomly. "If I told you I had a dream about you last night, and it was kinda illegal in like... three states. Would that be weird, yes or nah." "...Depends?" "On which states? Yeah, same." or, you'll be playing some co-op game and he'll always move his character back and forth over yours (like making them kiss lmfao), laughing through smooching sounds. "Dude you're so annoying." "That's crazy. Wanna make out about it?"

Brian: he'll show up for you in the most obvious but effortless ways possible, like driving you places or fixing your shit is just something to do. but flirting is CRIMINAL. he'll have your knees weak while he's beaming at you like you're not his crush. "You got somethin' on your face, sugar." "What? Here?" "Here, I'll get it." and he just swipes his thumb over your lips and grins, like was there even anything there to begin with??? "We gotta stop for gas, you want something from inside?" "Nah, I got everythin' I need right here next to me." you're maybe fiddling with his handycam, lens toward you, "Wouldn't mind if you hit record. You look good on camera." OHHHH YOU WANNA GET FUCKED UP MR. THOMAS. also he winks at you from across the room—not even smiling most of the time, it's just like a quick acknowledgement, but he doesn't "acknowledge" anyone else like that so...

Tim: game is crazy because it will ALWAYS seem like it just came out flirty, like it's just an afterthought. you'll have a cig between your lips and patting your pockets for a lighter, and he'll reach out and light it for you. "Thanks, I had a light though." "I know, but you look at my hands when I do it for you." and he just turns to what he was doing like he just commented on the weather. also he becomes super protective, but not even in a "hero" way (although he does look out for you during missions and altercations), just like. dadcore. like huffing and puffing when he's patching you up after getting hurt. like throwing his jacket on your shoulders with no ceremony, "You'll catch a cold, and I'd rather catch it some other way than from you coughing and sneezing 'round me." "I won't— In what other way?" "Directly from the source." like okay??? and you're just gonna keep walking after that sir??

[ari-writist]

HAVING ACE AS YOUR LOVER; IMAGINE.

[headcannon]

• Having ace as your lover? Expect touchy. Arm around your waist? Yup. Holding hands under the table? Always. Hugging you from behind while half-asleep? Absolutely.

• Ace is someone who feels deeply, but he doesn’t always know how to say it. So he shows it.

• If you’re struggling with something? He already noticed. If you’re reaching for something high, boom — he’s handing it to you like, “Careful. Let me.” He'll do things even if you don't ask.

• I think he's the type of lover, "I know you can do it but it doesn't mean you have to." Kind of guy, ya get me?

• Okay, ya'll, he's physically attentive, like, he'll fix your weapons, polish your gears, and pretends he was “just bored.” But you catch the way he smiles when you notice anyway.

• Oh, and If your hair’s messy or tangled, he’ll try brushing it for you. He’s clumsy with it, sure, but he's very gentle. He’ll pretend he’s not proud of himself when you lean into his touch — note that he's very very proud and happy about it guys.

• Remember touchy? Well, he's also cuddly — if they're not synonyms of each other. He will drag you to nap on him, you’re basically his personal pillow.

“C’mon,” he mumbles, pulling you into his lap. “Five minutes.” That always turns into two hours.

• He would — absolutely — kiss you mid-conversation just to shut you up, will tie your shoes for you with zero shame, and fights with you over who gets the blanket — but will give in with a smile.

• PDA? Absolutely. He doesn’t even think about it. Hugs, forehead kisses, sitting you on his lap or vice versa — he doesn’t care who sees.

• If someone flirts with you? He doesn’t explode right away. He'll smile, wrap an arm around you and talk a little too calmly,

“Hey. They’re with me. You should back off before I forget I’m trying to behave.”

• And if you're in danger? He’d die (cry) before he let anything happen to you. He puts you behind him in battle, and fights with terrifying intensity if you’re threatened. (I'd let the world burn ahh)

------

Sobs y'all how do you make your post aesthetic I'm struggling, I hope you guys enjoyed this tho, this was rushed and unedited forgive me for errors gah.

Also ya'll why is there so little gif ace with his greasy ahh face, pls make more or if I'm gonna be forced to, I love him so much y'all ahhhhhhhh

(he looks so smug in the gif help it's so funny I'm laughing like a mental patient I love this guy so much I wanna gobble him up in one bite)

[softscripta]

LOVE ISLAND MADNESS

EPISODE 4: IF LOOKS COULD KISS

episode 3 here!

The villa had finally quieted down.

After a whirlwind of dares, kisses, and one hell of a recoupling, the day moved slower now — like everyone needed to catch their breath. But not you. You were wired.

Sitting alone on a lounger near the back patio, your legs were tucked under you, a half-filled journal on your lap. You weren’t writing, though — just doodling hearts and lazy lines and whatever kept your fingers busy. Anything to avoid glancing toward the others.

But then Choso walked over, quiet as always — towel slung over his shoulder, hair tied back messily, water bottle in hand.

“You always sit alone?”

You looked up, and he rubbed the back of his neck, not meeting your eyes.

“Only when I’m trying to avoid the cameras,” you said.

He gave a small, quiet laugh — a breath, really. “They still catch you.”

You smiled. “You wanna sit?”

Choso hesitated like he was making sure you really meant it. Then he nodded once and sat beside you — not too close, not too far. He looked down at your notebook, voice soft. “You’re drawing?”

“Kinda,” you said. “Mostly scribbling. But yeah.”

He leaned forward slightly, hands resting loosely between his knees. “Can I see?”

You flipped to a new page instead. “Nope. But I wanna draw your hands.”

Choso blinked. “…Why?”

You gave him a look. “Because you have good hands.”

His ears turned red. “Oh.”

You tilted your head. “You okay with that?”

“Yeah.” He shifted slightly, then held one of his hands out, palm up, like he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to pose. “Like this?”

You smiled to yourself and nodded, sketching as the silence between you both grew comfortable. His knuckles were strong. Defined. His fingers twitched occasionally, like he wasn’t used to someone studying him so closely.

“You’re quiet,” you said, pencil still moving.

“I don’t… really talk much,” he admitted, eyes on the floor. “But I like listening.”

You glanced up at him. “So you’ve been listening to me?”

He paused, then gave a tiny, sheepish nod. “You say a lot of interesting things.”

That made your stomach flip a little.

You bumped your knee lightly against his, and he startled just slightly before relaxing again, his shoulder brushing yours. The contact lingered. Not rushed. Not performative.

Warm.

When you finished the sketch, you angled it toward him. “Here.”

Choso looked at it for a long time — longer than you expected.

“It’s… really good,” he said finally, still soft. “I didn’t think my hands looked like that.”

“They don’t,” you teased.

He laughed quietly, and that made something tug at your chest.

“I’m glad we got coupled up,” he said, eyes still on the page. “I wasn’t sure if anyone would… pick me.”

You looked at him — really looked at him — and leaned in slightly. “Why wouldn’t they?”

He shrugged, still not meeting your eyes. “I’m not like the others.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

For a moment, your pinky brushed his hand and when he didn’t move away, you let it stay there. The barest touch, but still something.

Later that night, Sasha found you in the kitchen sneaking strawberries off a plate.

“Soooo” she said, her grin immediate. “You and Choso.”

You gave her a look. “You love to instigate.”

“I just observe,” she said, popping a strawberry into her mouth. “He looked like you hung the moon when you handed him that drawing.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the smile creeping up. “He’s sweet. Quiet. I like that.”

From across the villa, Gojo had caught it too. His blue eyes didn’t miss a thing especially not the way Choso lingered near you by the sink, gently fixing the strap of your dress where it had slipped slightly. His fingers barely grazed your skin, but your breath still hitched.

And Gojo noticed.

Toji did too.

“You letting that soft-spoken boy steal your girl?” he muttered under his breath to Gojo, smirking.

Gojo only clenched his jaw.

Meanwhile, you glanced back at Choso. He was already looking at you.

You smiled.

Slow burn.

But damn, it was catching fire.

omg did yall see megan on love island??? the things she can do to MEE (also guys thank you for all the support I love each and every one of you THANKYOUU😽) and this lowkey was a filler episode next week I have a beautiful challenge cooking

TAGLIST- @stardollwrites @t4naiis @socutesotall @wettbaby @manifestingly @not-aya @liyahskindaweird @exepelia-chan

[oscpstri]

everything but you | bearman

bearman x fem!reader, blurb

ollie bearman had everything— the car, the dream, the career. but the one thing he wished for but never had, was you. and he hated it.

INCLUDES: reader is arthur leclerc's girlfriend, sorry we compare careers here but i love the both of them ok pls dont kill me, slight angst

NOTE: inspired by jessie's girl (the glee version again) !! this was originally supposed to be another set of drivers but i switched to ollie bcs the damn lacy edits have gotten to me again man. also im kinda wasted writing this so pls bare w me

( masterlist | more OB87 )

Ollie Bearman was in Formula 1. Arthur Leclerc was not. And that should have been enough.

He had the seat, the career, the fame, the experience. He was in every media day panel and in every post-race interview. He had casual conversations with world champions and raced wheel-to-wheel with the greats. He lived the life he always dreamed of, high at the top, only getting better.

Arthur never made it to Formula 1. He could have if time allowed him. He didn't have Lewis Hamilton's phone number saved in his phone, nor did he talk to Fernando Alonso every weekend before a race. He wasn't the one who flew private planes with the other rookies, nor laughed beside a four-time world champion during a driver's parade.

Ollie had everything Arthur wanted. Everything but the girl.

"Fuck, I'm so stupid. What if I never walk again." You sit up from the hospital bed, grimacing at the pain in your ankle.

Ollie sat in front of you on a small stool, looking at the bandages wrapped around your foot. "Ok first of all, you're being dramatic. It's a sprain."

You look up at Ollie with pursed lips, he meets your eyes with a certain tenderness that you always found comforting. "Second of all, you're not stupid. You got excited, it happens."

You groan in embarrassment, covering your face with your hands. "I can't believe I'm sitting in a hospital room because of my boyfriend."

Ollie's eye twitches at this, "Who didn't pick up, by the way."

You place your hands on your lap, slumping in the bed as you look at the Brit. "Hey, he's probably busy on the sim."

So? Ollie wanted to say out loud, but refused.

You were at home when you got the news that Arthur would be competing in more endurance racing for the rest of year. Happy for him, you started jumping up and down and landed on your foot wrong, resulting in you spraining your ankle and calling your best friend at 8 in the morning.

You insisted that you were fine but by the time Ollie got there, your ankle was swollen and he knew better than to leave you in pain. So he drove you to the hospital to get properly treated.

"Thanks, Ollie." You turn towards him, a smile on your face as he leaves the apartment keys on the table. "You didn't have to do all that, you know."

He smiles back. "Anything for you."

You see his reply as friendly, Ollie's heart skips a beat.

"You wanna go to Qualifying later? I could scrounge up a spare pass."

You shake your head politely, "No, thanks. I'm waiting for Arthur to get here for tomorrow."

Just as fast as it sped up, Ollie's heart shattered once more. Arthur, right.

It wasn’t supposed to bother him this much. You and Ollie were childhood best friends and always in the same circles. You'd been at every single one of Ollie's races in the lower Formulas and tried your absolute best to watch as many as you could now that he was in Formula 1. You were his friend first. You’d been there the whole time— before the call-ups, before the pressure, before Arthur ever made a move.

Ollie had every chance. Every moment. Every excuse to say something. But he didn’t. Too focused. Too careful. Too convinced he had time. After all, Ollie was the reason you were in the Prema garage all the time in the first place.

But Arthur? Arthur didn’t wait. He just said what he felt and you picked him.

Now Ollie was racing in front of the world while silently choking on the fact that the guy still stuck in his shadow had the one thing he didn’t.

He saw you at the race the next day. You were wearing his team colors, in his garage, with his hat on, and shouting his name from the pit lane. But no matter how loud you screamed for Ollie Bearman, the sound of your laugh resonated louder when you talked to Arthur Leclerc.

Ollie won, he had podium, he had the champagne, but he didn't have the look of love in your eyes whenever you looked at him. He didn't have his hands on your waist as the crowd screamed when he popped the champagne.

He had the seat, the headlines, the future every young driver dreamed of.

But none of it mattered when you were in the garage with someone else— someone he’d beaten a hundred times— and still lost to in the only way that mattered.

[snoopyclarkey]

audio erotica

george clarke x fem reader <3

summary: you find yourself in a bit of a predicament one night out at a pub when you finally match the voice of your favorite audio erotica creator to his face.

a/n: not really specified in the fic but george isn't a youtuber in this one. and the audio erotica app mentioned is quinn!

wc: 1.5 k

content: pretty sfw, just a few lines of dirty talk without any actual sex scene lol

a single voice shouldn’t be able to stop you in your tracks, especially when you’re surrounded by your girlfriends in a busy pub, but somehow, it does. your friends and yourself had been at the pub for a few drinks and you’d heard many different voices and many fragments of conversations, but none have made you pause like this one. at first you just thought it was a nice voice drifting over from somewhere close in the pub. but you couldn’t shake how familiar it sounded.

you, almost unconsciously at first, start listening for the voice, slowly tuning out the recognizable voices of your friends. you’re usually an observer anyways, so your friends pay no mind to you as you keep to yourself instead of participating in whatever conversation you’d already lost track of. your ears perk up every time you hear it, eyes scanning around you for the source, until you finally land on a table only a stone's throw away from yours.

there’s a handful of guys sitting at it, all dark hair, young, and unfortunately for you, attractive. you know it’s impolite to stare, but you have to figure out who the familiar voice belongs to, just to quell your raging curiosity. but you’re pulled from your search by one of your friends, poking your shoulder to get your attention, “want in on another round?”

your glass had sat empty for a while but you had made no move to get up for a refill because of your little preoccupation. finally, you managed a nod and a thank you before your friends left you back to your own devices. you felt a pang of guilt for completely losing track of what this night was for, catching up with your friends. but your eyes quickly fell back to that bloody table as one of the men exclaimed, “george!”

george. george. george clarkey.

but it couldn’t be him, could it? it couldn’t possibly be the george that you listened to on a weekly basis on your silly little audio erotica app. no, it was definitely just some guy named george, right? but, a few more minutes of monitoring their table and eavesdropping makes your stomach twist but the voice is just too spot on. you can even pick out his giggle from across the room and it’s the same one that gives you butterflies when you listen to one of his ramble audios.

“come on, poppet, i know you can do it.” you had found george a few months ago on the app, he was new and typically you didn’t venture away from your usual voice actors, but something about his profile piqued your interest. his profile picture was what looked like a selfie, but just of the lower half of his face. but his smile was bright and kind and his beard was thick and dark. your typical type.

and his voice. god, his voice. the lilt of his accent always sent a tingle down your spine. the way he could be unbelievably sweet one moment and then incredibly dirty the next was what always kept you coming back to him. you held an immense soft spot for any of his friends to lovers audios. they just seemed to fit him and, arguably what you’ve built up to be, his personality. he was attentive and caring and when his voice washed over you- you just felt so fucking good. even just for a few quiet moments by yourself, george made you feel so good.

“don’t you wanna cum for me? don’t you wanna make me proud?”

and maybe it was a little bit pathetic so that’s why you keep that part of yourself locked away until you’re at home by yourself. so - this whole situation - is your worst nightmare. george, sitting only a few metres from you, talking with his big hands and making all of his mates around him laugh, was the worst way this night could have gone.

shame washes over you as you force your eyes away from the group, feeling like some kind of unwelcome voyeur. you turn your attention back to your friends, joining the conversation with perfect timing it would seem as your closest friend tells the rest of the girls her latest work drama. she had called you earlier in the week to tell you all about it so you’re able to sit back and throw in comments when appropriate (“that place would be nothing without you”) and eventually you're enthralled in the conversation again.

but your eyes can’t help but wander when you hear a chair scrape against the floor. george gets up from his table, walking past your’s in the direction of the washroom. he looked even better up close, hair soft and curls tousled, the mullet isn’t what you were expecting but you thought it really suited him. his lips looked soft, you could imagine yourself scritching your nails through the dark hair covering his jaw and his eyes were so blue. once he was finally out of your line of sight, thought, you took a big sip of your cocktail and steeled yourself to focus.

this was supposed to be a fun catch up night with your girls. even though you didn’t mean to find the guy who is now the only thing able to make you cum, it was still useless to give it any more energy. after all, you were just some girl in a pub.

and yet, you allowed yourself one last look his way when he made it back to his table. you gazed wistfully as he settled back into his seat and as he was bringing his pint glass up to his pink lips, his eyes cut directly to yours. oh shit, he caught you staring. you immediately dart your eyes away, instead looking down at your glass, bringing your sugary drink up to your lips to give yourself tsomething o do as you try to quell your growing panic.

you turn back to your friends, jumping into a conversation you barely have the gist of, as a distraction. but turning away from him means you miss the way his lips curl over the edge of his glass, grinning at you. you miss the way his eyes rake over you and when you and your friends get up to leave you miss the way his eyes follow you all the way out the door.

the following days are frustrating to say the least and you end up falling into a cycle of remembering being caught by george, feeling so embarrassed, and then trying to push the whole thing from your mind completely. but, nothing helps. you can’t stop thinking about him. his hands, his lips, his eyes, his voice were all you could think about, it was becoming a problem.

and you were also experiencing another problem, you hadn’t been able to get off since that night. you had banned yourself from listening to any of george’s audios in the following days, but nobody else did it for you anymore, leaving you completely unsatisfied.

but, you always end up aimlessly scrolling through the app anyways, just like tonight. multiple new audios were uploaded to the site earlier that morning, but nothing sounded even remotely interesting to you but then you saw it, his damned smile in his profile picture. you couldn’t help but feel like he was mocking you. but then your stomach drops when you see the title of his audio, “Meet Cute at the Pub”. oh no. then you read the tags he included, [M4F] [Strangers to Lovers] [Banter] [Slow Burn] [First Time] [Gentle] [Praise] [Curve Appreciation]. but what really gets you is the summary, “I caught you looking from across the pub, mind if I join you?”

you’re pressing play before you can even think about what you’re doing. your ears are initially filled with mindless chatter and the clinking of glassware, background noise, before you hear george’s familiar voice, “This seat taken?” followed by the sound of him settling into what you assumed was a bar stool. “I know us locking eyes for 1.5 seconds isn’t exactly an invitation for me to come over and bother you, but I guess I’m pressing my luck tonight.”

he chuckled, he was always able to make himself laugh, something that you would have found prickish in other guys, but always found it charming when it came to him. you scroll through the comments finding the usual gushing praise he always gets. you scroll all the way down to the bottom to find that the first comment is from…george.

“Made eyes with a gorgeous woman across the pub a few days ago and haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since. Tried to get over it by recording this but nah, still thinking about her.”

the comment makes you shove your face into one of your pillows and scream. you were so fucked.

[tttt06]

👀 how aboutttttt lee know x fan reader. They meet at a cat cafe and reader has a cat aswell 👀 can she be soft spoken and a bit on the reserved end like she keeps to herself? I dont care about anything after that its up to you Kween 😛 i just rambled so bad omg let me submit this before i write an essay (can you @ me aswell if you decide to do this? Not for credits annun but like because i wanna read it 😅 im leaving fr this time byee) 💓

omg girl wtf is your pfp

I'M WEAKKK ASL OMG😭

I'm in love with you for giving me the oppurtunity to write another Lee Know fan fic YASSSSS I LOVE WRITING THIS GRUMPY OLD MAN

Order 149

IdolMinho x Blackreader

Request are open! I reply quickly. Masterlist here

Synopsis~ You pretended you had no clue who he was when he walked in. But he saw the way your face dropped with awe. He was curious why you didn't ask for an autograph. He came back, everyday. He wanted to get to know you and your grumpy cat. He was there when you needed him most.

Warning~ Shy reader, slow burn, smut at the very end, oral, virgin reader, size training, harm to animals, serial killer, mentions of underage drinking.

Word count~ 10.84k

"Hi, can I take your order?"

The customer leaned into you as he asked, "What was that?"

You were used to this. You had a natural soft-spoken voice and usually didn't yell at people. Not unless you were angry.

You don't get mad often. You were always soft-spoken. Lol.

You said, "What can I get for you?"

The guy said, "Right, can I get the iced americano with caramel on the bottom?" You tapped into the POSi. You nodded, "Name?"

He asked, "Sorry?" You said, "What's your name, sir?"

He smiled, "Right. My name is Minho." You nodded slowly as you tapped into the screen. It's a popular name.

He turned around to sit with the cats, and you were running to your co-workers.

You quietly said, "That's frigging Lee Know from Stray Kids."

Your loud-ass co-worker said, "WHAT!? NO WAY?!"

You squinted as a way to tell him to 'shut her bitch ass up.' You glanced at Minho, who was now staring at you two.

You smiled at him shyly as you walked into the employee room. You wanted to avoid him at all costs. It's mortifying to ask for his autograph.

Minsan walked in behind you, "What are you doing? Go say something! You're a huge fan of them!"

You nodded, "Yes, but I don't want to be a disturbance."

You walked back out to start making Minho's drink. The cats weren't allowed in the back because it was unsanitary. When you walked out to give them drinks, it was a free game.

All the cats ran over to you, purring. Minho looked at his drink and said, "Thank you." You smiled, ready to walk away. Weirdly, Minho started a conversation. "The cats love you. You take care of them?"

You nodded, "I'm the one who brings them here. My grandma owns the shop, and I'm on cat adoption duty."

You pointed at the pretty gray cat, "His name is Simon. Be gentle with him. He's from an abusive home and doesn't like sudden movement."

You patted your leg, and Simon jumped into your arms. He purred as you rubbed your chin against his head.

Minho said, "Simon, huh? Which cat is your favorite." You answered, "Simon. He hates everyone."

You put Simon down, and he rubbed against Minho's leg. Minho stared at the cat as a slow smirk came to his face. "I guess Simon likes me." You nervously laughed, "He betrayed me for a man."

Minho laughed, his eyes tracing over your pretty face. 

You had big round eyes. Your hair is tucked behind your ear in perfect braids. Your skin was brown, and you smelled like cocoa. 

He could get used to that smell.

"Y/N." You jolted, "How'd you know my name?" He blinked, "Name tag." You looked down, more soft-spoken than usual, "Oh."

Minho asked, "You're Korean is adorable." You quirked an eyebrow, "How so?" Minho smiled, "You talk like a child. It's your second language?"

You nodded, "I moved here to my grams." He nodded, "I'll let you get back to work. A customer walked in."

You looked at the sudden line at the register. "Oh snap."

You walked to the register and started taking orders.

Your heart was racing. You just had a casual conversation with THE Minho of Stray Kids. How the heck could you ever recover from this! You walked to the back to complete another order. 

That was the first day. You thought it'd be the last time you'd ever see him, but he came back.

Minho was back.

"Hi again. What can I get for you?"

You waited for him to answer. "Iced Americano with caramel on the bottom."

You nodded. You rang in the order as Minho asked, "No name?" You smiled, "I remembered."

He sat back with Simon as he typed on his phone. You were the only one on the shift since it was a Monday night.

You made the drink and sat it at Minho's table. "Where's that loud guy at?"

You smiled, "Minsan? He's not on today." He asked, "Is it just you?" You nodded, "I'm the best at the job."

You bit your lip as Minho sipped his coffee. "Do you have anything else to do?"

You said, "Clean the coffee machines, clean the bathroom, get all the cats groomed and ready for tomorrow, set a vet appointment for Toby because he's been walking weird, and restock for tomorrow."

Minho asked, "How long does that usually take?"

You said, "Erm, an hour and thirty minutes."

Minho smiled, "You're Korean... it's cute."

You smiled, "Thank you, I think."

Minho nodded. "Well, I'll let you get to work. Simon and I are gonna chill here." You squinted at Simon, "Betrayer."

Minho laughed as you walked off.

The smell of cocoa passed over his nose. He inhaled sharply and smiled. 

She smells good.

The next day, Minho didn't show up. You knew he was an idol. Maybe he was busy. Some guy came in and ordered a drink. You were on your phone as you waited for the coffee to brew. 

You heard Simon yell, and you jumped. "Oh no."

You walked to the café dining room to see Simon with a cut on his paw. You looked at the guy, "What happened?"

The guy looked at you. His face was unusually calm. "I injured him."

You paused, voice slightly induxed. "On purpose?" He said, "Of course not! He got cut from something because I scared him."

You ran to Simon, quickly inspecting him. He hissed. You pulled back slowly, eyes going soft. "Simon, I'm only here to help."

His back was arched high as he hissed. You said, "Sir, I'll give you the coffee, but you might have to leave after. You're scaring him."

He nodded. He got up and walked over to the counter as you followed behind him to give him his drink. 

It's a good thing the shop was closing in twenty minutes. It gave you time to check on Simon. 

Once the guy left, you were aiding Simon. "Aw, poor, baby. What happened?"

The door opened, and you looked up to see Minho walking through. Simon and you both stared at him. Simon meowed as Minho traced his paw. "What happened, little man?"

He grunted as he bent down. You said, "Some guy said he scared Simon, and Simon cut himself."

You looked around and said, "I'm gonna lock the doors."

You started locking the doors and went to the back to find the aid kits. You walked past the security camera to see Minho rocking Simon in his lap. He was talking to him. You didn't know what he was saying, but you could see his mouth moving.

An idea clicked in your head as you walked into the security room. You replayed the footage to see what happened to Simon.

The guy grabbed Simon authoritatively, and Simon scratched him. The guy pulled out a pocket knife and cut him. Your heart quickened as you stepped back.

"Oh my god."

You recorded the footage and sent it to your grandma. You ran back to the main lobby area to check on Simon. You squatted down, tears slowly streaming down your face.

Minho hadn't registered you were crying. He double-taked and said, "Y/N?"

You said, "He stabbed Simon." His eyes widened, "Who stabbed Simon?" You wept, "The guy."

Minho looked you over. You weren't panicked or angry. Only crying with a straight face.

He didn't know whether to comfort you or pretend he didn't see it.

He decided to focus on Simon. "I'll hold him down while you put the wound cleaner on him."

You nodded slowly as you wiped your tears. You opened the bottle and poured it on a napkin. You patted it against Simon's cut, and Simon hissed.

"I'm sorry, baby. It'll feel better."

Simon cried as you wrapped a bandage around his foot.

Minho let him go. Simon sped off to a cat corner. Minho said, "Why are you crying?"

You said, "Because I didn't protect Simon."

Minho stared at you. Your eyes were glistening with tears. You were visibly upset over this.

Minho reluctantly patted your back as he said, "I'll stay with you until you're done. I don't feel good about you leaving you alone when there's a cat slicer on the loose." He pats Simon, and he purred. 

You wipe your tears as you say, "I'll be fine. I know how to protect myself." Minho looked you over and said, "Hey? I'm still staying."

You nodded and got up. "I'll bring Simon to the vet first thing tomorrow morning." You bit your lip as you looked at Simon lying next to Minho. 

You began your closing duties, playing music. You purposely skipped over all the Skz songs. You didn't want Minho to be freaked out by you.

Minho was on his phone petting Simon. You swept the back. You made two teas and sat across from him. "I'm done. I made you some tea as a thanks."

Minho twirled the cup in his hand and sipped the tea. "It's good… what is it?" You said, "A chef never shares their recipes." Minho blinked at you. You confessed, "It's Lipton with milk." He laughed and took another sip. 

"It's good." You nodded and looked at Simon. He was limping a little. You said, "I gotta bring Simon with me tonight." Minho said, "You bring the cats home?" You nodded, "Simon is my cat. I let him stay here for socializing, but he's my cat."

You kissed his head, and Simon purred. You smiled and squeezed him tight. 

Minho asked, "You drive?" You shook your head, "I take a couple trains here. It's safe." Minho said, "I'll drive."You shook your head, "It's fine."

Minho furrowed his eyebrows, "You could be in danger." You said, "It's fine. I got it."

Minho looked you over. There was debating in his eyes. "I usually would let something like this go, but you have to come with me. It's seriously not safe. Someone's on the streets, and they have a knife."

You wanted to say no, but he was persistent. You nodded, "Fine. Let me clean up the tea, and we can go."

You grabbed the cups and put them in the dishwasher to clean. You grabbed your bag and walked with Minho from the store.

You followed closely behind, getting an eerie feeling. 

Minho opened the door for you, and you got in. Minho got into the driver's seat. Simon was on your lap, peacefully purring. You said, "I can put my address in my phone."

He passed you the phone and told you the password nonchalantly. You put it in, and he drove off. 

The drive was dead silent. Nothing was heard except for the zoom of passing cars.

Minho said, "When were you going to tell me you're a stay?"

You jolted. Simon jumped up at your sudden movement, and you patted him back down.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Minho laughed, "I'm on the back of your phone case." You realize that his photo card was on the back of your phone case. Holy schnitzel, you got caught.

Minho only laughed, "It's fine, Y/N. You didn't ask me questions or overstep my boundaries. I appreciate that."

You looked at Simon falling asleep in your lap. You confessed, "I'm too shy to ask for an autograph or something."

Minho smiled, "Do you want one? I'll take a photo with you if you want."

You shook your head, "I'm fine. That's not something I need. What am I gonna do with that anyway? Post it?"

Minho glanced at you and went back to the road. His watch glistened in the moonlight. It looked expensive. 

"I would expect you to, yeah?"

You shook your head, "I don't even have social media. It's meant for people who are obsessed with themselves." He glanced at you again and turned back around. 

He didn't comment because he agreed. Social media is a self-obsession. If he didn't have fans who cared, he probably wouldn't have one.

You said, "Turn here." Minho switched lanes and waited at the light. "You walk this far this late at night?"

You shook your head, "I take the train." He furrowed his eyebrows, "Why didn't you today?" You confessed, "I spent it all on your lightstick. I'm going to your concert soon."

Minho laughed, "Really? Want better seats? I can get you VIP." You shook your head, "That's too much." Minho said, "I'll do it."

You sighed. Minho said, "You're really shy and soft spoken, you know?"

You laughed, "I know. I wasn't raised to have a big personality."

Minho asked, "How were you raised then?" You said, "To survive."

The next day, you brought Simon to the vet. You worked night shifts except on Wednesdays and Thursdays. You had time to get Simon a check-up after work. You didn't bring in Simon because he was having trouble walking. 

"Hi, Chae. I'm here for Simon's appointment." She nodded and brought you two to a vet room. Chae asked, "What happened to our little baby?" You sighed, "Some guy came in and stabbed her."

Chae froze, "Dude, what?" You nodded, "It's crazy! I didn't even know what to do at that point."

You raised your hands from anger. Chae unwrapped the bandage. Usually, Simon would hiss, but he trusted Chae. 

"C'mon, little bugger, lemme check this gnarly wound out."

She opened the bandage to see the developing scab. "You did well cleaning it. It wasn't deep either." You sighed, "I'm glad. He was limping all day today."

Chae laughed, "It shouldn't hurt that bad. He's just being dramatic."

You kissed Simon, and he purred. She rebandaged it up and gave you some meds. Chae said, "To help with bacteria."

You nodded. 

Your phone dinged, and you checked it.

.

.

.

Unknown

You don't work today?

.

.

.

You furrowed your eyebrows and put your phone in your pocket. "I'll get going then. Thanks for the help."

Chae smiled, "Text me if you need anything."

You smiled and walked out. 

When you first got Simon, he was a malnourished kitten. They weren't taking care of him at his litter, so you took him in.

Chae was the vet for him, and you'd get so worried when he'd get sick. Naturally, Chae fell for the kitten, too.

Then, he started getting depressed. That's why you brought him to the cat cafè. He needed it. It shocked you to see Simon get so close to Minho. 

You walked home. Simon jumped on his cat tree as you lay on your couch. Simon meowed at you, and you said, "What baby? You in pain?"

Simon meowed again, and you walked over and picked him up. He jumped out of your arms and led you to his bowl.

"Whoops, sorry. Mommy forgot it was feeding time." You poured him his cat food and gave him some water. You sat back down on the couch and opened that message.

.

.

.

You

Who is this?

Unknown

It's Minho

Unknown

Look

Unknown

[Screenshot]

Unknown

Better seats front row🤭

You

You actually got me front row tickets????

You

Omg this is a friggin dream ☹️

Meowho

You don't curse either? You're like a kid

You

I'm offended

Meowho

Sorry

Meowho

Wait are you actually

You

No Minho. I was kidding😭

Meowho

Why don't you work today?

You

I do I work the morning on Wednesday and Thursday

Meowho

What's your schedule? I only like the way you make my coffee

You

Minho how did you get my number

Meowho

I asked Minsan cool guy

You

You mean Minsan the co worker you've never met therefore should not know the name of?😀

Meowho

You two dating or something?

You

What? No

Meowho

Just asking. I saw the way he stared at you on Sunday

You

Excuse me?? He has a girlfriend🤨

Meowho

That doesn't stop some men

Meowho

Anyways I'm at practice with my nasty watered down coffee

Meowho

See you tomorrow morning

You

Yeah ig????

Meowho

byeeeee

.

.

.

You knew Minho's personality from the SKZ codes and talkers. Dealing with it in real life was different.

This man truly does whatever he wants.

You unlocked the door. Minho was standing outside for twenty minutes, waiting.

You sighed, "Hi, Minho." He quirked his eyebrow, "You sound like you don't wanna see me?"

You yawned, "I'm tired. It's 9 AM, and I don't sleep until 3 AM. I have to be up by 7 AM to get my makeup and hair done."

Minho only laughed at you. "I see." He patted your fro of hair. You actually took your hair out, and now it was in an afro until you felt like putting your hair back in.

Minho sat down and said, "You know what I want."

You rolled your eyes, "Getting more cocky."

He looked at you and said, "I am a customer." You laughed while putting his cup under the coffee brewer. You always added spice. The coffee tastes better that way.

You didn't train Minsan or Chloe on how to do that. It was just a you thing.

You gave the drink to Minho and started wiping the windows. Minho said, "How's Simon?" You wiped the rag over the glass window. "He's better. He's still not good enough to come back yet. I'd thought I'd let him get into trouble at my place first."

Minho said, "My cats are like that too. Doongie is like that. She's a brat."

You smiled, "How many cats do you have?" He said, "Three. Soonie, Doongie, Dori." You smiled, "Really? All from the same liter?" He shook his head, "I adopted Soonie from a volunteer shelter, Doongie was from a friend, and Dori was from an abandoned cat website."

You nodded, "Same as me for Simon. The shop where they were keeping the cats was getting shut down. Simon was still a little kitten, and all the other cats were getting adopted because they knew them well. Simon was born there at the shop. So, I adopted him."

Minho sipped his drink, nodding. "The place got shut down after news broke out of malnourishment. Apparently, they couldn't afford to feed all the cats."

Minho sighed, "That's horrible. How long have you had Simon?"

You said, "He's only two now. I was still feeding him milk when I got him." He pouted, "Aw, he must've been the cutest."

You nodded, "He was so tiny because his Mom was malnourished, so he came out unhealthy. But I got him strong."

Minho anticipated. He waited for you to show him pictures, and you did. "Aw! Look at little Simon!"

You smiled, "Show me Soonie, Doongie, and Dori."

He paused for a moment. Then, he came to the realization. "Wait... you tricked me." You furrowed your brows, "How so?"

Minho laughed, "If you were a fan of me, you'd already know everything about my cats. Still, you let me talk about it."

You smiled, "I only know you as an Idol. I wanna know the real you, y'know." You said it absentmindedly, but Minho felt his heart race.

His eyes widened, and his ears went red. "Oh, someone's coming in."

He watched as you helped the other customer. The smell of cocoa followed behind you. He noticed how soft-spoken you were. You were gentle and kind.

He liked that you were reserved but strangely only opened up to him. He doesn't know why, but he was opening up to you too.

Minho had already left, and Minsan called out. Now you were taking his shift with Chloe. You girls usually are fine, especially during rush hour. 

You quickly shook the whipped cream and topped the cup. You passed it to the front and said, "Order 149?" 

You looked around as nobody answered. Chloe came upfront and yelled, "ORDER NUMBER 149?! YOUR ORDER IS READY."

The guy stood up and grabbed the drink. He made eye contact with you and smiled. But he looked familiar.

You pushed that feeling away and went back to making drinks. It was rush hour, and you had to pee so bad, but you had to keep making drinks.

When it ended, you sat down, rubbing your legs. "Jesus. It was crazy nonstop."

Chloe nodded, already lying on the floor as the cats crowded around her limp body.

"Alright, time to close."

You said, "Eh, you did an amazing job today. Can you clean the coffee machines? Then, you can go."

She excitedly asked, "Really? You don't want me to mop or anything?"

You shook your head, "Minsan opens tomorrow. I plan on leaving him with a lot to do."

Chloe said, "This is why you're the best manager ever."

You laughed, and she skipped to the back.

You got up and started locking the doors. 

Chloe threw the nozzles into the soda water. She had switched her shoes, put on her headphones, and took her apron off. 

You routinely gave the cats something to eat before bed. It helps keep them chubby.

Chloe left. You restocked the floor, rolled silverware, and swept the floor.

You texted Minsan about his chores for the morning and were getting ready to leave. 

Your hand settled on the doorknob as you reached for the lights. 

Then, you saw him.

He didn't know, but you saw him.

Order 149. 

You took a step back from the door and went into the camera room. You had this feeling.

When you rewind it to Tuesday, there it was. That guy who stabbed Simon is the same guy who ordered 149.

Your blood ran cold. You went back to the dining area. You felt safer knowing where the cat stabber was.

Can you call the cops? Will they do something? Your next bet was to call Lee Know.

Your phone dialed. You worriedly watched the outside door as it rang for the third time. 

The phone picked up, "What's up?" You said quietly, "Are you busy?"

He said, "I'm at the gym. What do you need?"

You said, "Never mind.... it's fine."

You didn't want to bother Minho then. You heard Minho move around as he said, "What's wrong? You sound... scared."

You said, "Don't worry. It's fine."

Minho said, "You're still at the café? I thought you were only opening." Minho sounded concerned. His voice was softer than usual.

You said, "Minsan called off. I had to take his shift." Minho said, "You need a ride?" You shook your head, "No. It's fine. I just-"

He interrupted you, "I'm coming."

He hung up on you, so you couldn't tell him no. 

You were scared. Yes, you could protect yourself, but if that man had a knife, you could get stabbed.

You waited patiently. Meanwhile, Minho was speeding through traffic like a crazy person.

He knocked on the door, jolting you out of your thoughts. "C'mon."

You walked out of the café, turning off the lights.

You climbed into Minho's car and closed the door. You frantically watched Minho get in. You didn't want him to get hurt.

But you made it safe and sound.

Back in the car, it was silent.

It was a comfortable silence, though. Minho interrupted it, "What happened?" You looked at him, suddenly meeker than usual. 

"The guy, he was outside the cafè."

Minho's body tensed. "What? You didn't tell me?"

You said, "Well, I don't know. I didn't expect you to show up." Minho's voice was serious, "If you need me, I'm there. It's that simple."

Your heart raced. 

What? If I need him, he's...?

You looked at Minho. Suddenly, feeling your heart flutter. The few days you've known Minho, he's only made your heart flutter once.

When you first met. 

That was before the illusion of him being an Idol wore off.

Now, Minho was an old grumpy man to you. Someone who was exciting and took you out of your comfort zone.

Your heart isn't lying. You're falling for this version of Minho. The kind and reliable.

The next day, you were closing shift. Minho didn't leave you alone for a second. He came in as soon as the sun started setting. 

He sat with you the entire time and waited until it was time to close.

"I'll help you clean the windows."

You smiled, "No need. You don't get paid to do that."

Minho sighed, "Yeah, but you bought tickets, and that's paying for my bills."

You tilted your head, "I hope you don't see me as a Stay. I hope you see me as a friend."

Minho's ears burned red as he looked at you, "I see you as a brat." You laughed as you swept the floors.

Minho's eyes lingered on you. You were so small compared to him. Personality wise, and size.

Your aura was so relaxing. It was nothing like being around Han. Han was relaxing, but he didn't make his heart flutter like this.

You said, "Minho? You're staring." Minho asked bluntly, "Why don't you call me Lee Know?"

You stuttered, "D-do you want me to?" He shook his head, "Why does it feel like we've been friends forever?" You shrugged, "I don't know what you mean, Minho."

You bumped your hip into him so he'd move out of your way.

That was the closest he's ever been to you. His face was burning red now. He cutely covered his face, and you asked, "What's your problem?"

You said it half heartedly. Minho shook his head, "I have to go pee, I'll be back."

He left, and with that, you finished sweeping.

You looked at the half-cleaned windows. Minho really did try to help you.

You smiled as you cleaned the rest. You were wiping the front door, and you heard a slam from the side window. You jumped, yelping.

Hands caught you from behind, and you threw a punch. Minho dodged it. "Woah! What happened?"

You looked out the window to see nobody there.

Your heart was racing as you hugged Minho in a panic. "I thought he was here!"

Minho was now blushing harder than before.

He comforted you after he cooled down. "We should call the police."

You said, "What could they possibly do? He won't go to jail for stabbing a cat. At least not for a long time."

Minho said, "We can try."

You said, "I'll file the police report tomorrow morning."

Minho nodded. You reached for his hand as he began to walk away. 

You've watched how Minho reacts to physical affection. He's not keen. But, his grip tightened when your hands clasped together.

"Let's go."

He tugged you out of the café and put you in the car first. You watched him get in the car. He started driving to your apartment. This time, he walked you all the way to your door. 

You were feeling uneasy, and he could tell.

You opened the door, and Simon jumped for the couch. He purred at Minho. You smiled, "Hi, baby. Missed me?" Simon rubbed his tail and body against your leg as he meowed at Minho.

Minho picked him up and said, "How's your paw, Simon?"

Simon, being the smarty that he is, put his injured paw in Minho's hand. Minho kissed his head, "You're a little genius."

He meowed at Minho, and you laughed. "He's found his Dad." You both froze. 

Minho thought, Why the hell would I say that?

Minho smiled, "As long as he doesn't have any other dads."

Your heart melted at Minho's words. Minho let the cat down, and Simon went back to the couch. Minho said, "Simon, your daddy's gotta go."

You laughed, "Don't call yourself Daddy."

He patted your hair and said, "I'll see you tomorrow. Check on you."

You nodded.

Minho left, and you got ready for the night. You grabbed your laptop, and Simon cuddled into the crook of your neck. His tail got in the way of your K-drama.

You were dozing off until you heard your front door jingle. You thought it was a dream, but Simon shot up.

He looked at you, "Meow!"

He got off the bed and walked toward the door. "Meow! MEOW!"

Simon has never talked like that before. He's usually quiet, but now he was meowing like crazy. 

You checked your doorbell camera to see someone covered it up. Who? The guy from the café. Order 149.

You shook and called the police. "There's a man outside my door! Can you please come help!"

You were shaking as you heard running footsteps. 

You wept, "Please! I'm scared."

The operator told you to stay on the phone. You waited until the cops showed up. 

.

"You got a description of the man?"

You showed him the footage from the café and your ring doorbell. "It's the same guy. He's been stalking me, I think."

The cop thought carefully about what he should say next.

"I'll be honest with you, alright. There's a serial killer on the loose. We think you're his next target. Tonight, we'll keep two cops at the front of your door. I recommend finding another place to stay. Do you have a boyfriend you can contact or something? I see you have a cat. There's not a lot of places that are pet friendly."

You can't go with your grandma. She lives too far, and you still have to go to work. You're too embarrassed to ask Chae or Chloe... You don't wanna disturb Minho anymore than you have to.

"I- I'll figure it out tomorrow."

He pats your shoulder, "Get some rest."

The next day, that's what you did.

You clocked into work and didn't tell Minho what was going on. As much as you consider him a friend, asking to stay at his place is a boundary you don't wanna step over.

Minho wiped the windows and chilled in the dining area. "You've been kinda silent today. Everything alright?"

You jumped, looking at Minho. "Y-yeah."

Minho quirked his eyebrow, "You sure? I watched you drop four cups today."

You said shyly, "You saw that? Geez." Minho walked closer. "What's been running through your mind?"

Frick.

"Well, the 149 guys came to my house. Now the police are telling me I need to stay somewhere else. I don't have anyone else! And I can't go to a hotel because most aren't pet friendly and close."

You wept, "What do I do? Should I go three hours away to my grandma's until they find this serial killer."

Minho's eyes widened, "I'm sorry. Serial killer?! This guy is a serial killer?"

You nodded slowly. "I'm spooked."

Minho shook his head, "Come to my place. I'll sleep on the couch, you can take the bed. Han won't mind that much."

You said, "I'm- No. I'm not doing that. I'll go into my savings and get a hotel." Minho reasoned, "God knows how many nights you'll be spending on that."

You sighed, "Jesus." Minho grabbed both of your hands, "We'll go to your apartment, grab Simon and your stuff, and I'll bring you to my place."

Your head was facing the floor, "I really don't like this idea."

Minho said, "Well, there's nothing else you can do."

You shuddered.

You and Minho grabbed Simon, some clothes, and toiletries and left for his place.

When you arrived, Han was sitting on the couch, confused.

"Hi? Who are you?"

Minho was quick, "My friend. I met her at the cat cafè." Han's eyes shifted. They went from friendly to mischievous. "Oh, you mean the one you won't stop visiting?"

Han saw the cat in your arms and melted, "Whose this cutie!" Simon hissed, and Han stepped back.

"The cat is angry." You couldn't believe you were standing in front of Han inside his house.

"I'm sorry, he doesn't like sudden movement."

Han nodded. You put Simon down, and he limped over to Han. Han stuck his hand out for Simon to sniff. 

Simon turned the other way. You laughed, "I don't think she likes you very much."

Minho smiled, "Nobody likes Han."

Han said, "Hey!" You giggled, and Minho's eyes lingered. Han caught that. He saw the strange affection in your eyes.

"Well, I'm heading to bed. Hopefully, the cat doesn't kill me in my sleep."

He walked off to his room as you tried to settle in. This place looks so expensive.

Minho said, "There's a bathroom in my room."

You nodded. You followed Minho to his room. Simon was already sprawled out on the bed. 

Minho laughed, "He found my room from the scent."

You laughed at Simon's shenanigans. You got ready for bed and got under his covers.

That was the safest you've ever felt in your life.

When you woke up, Simon wasn't there. You looked around, "Simon?"

You rubbed your eyes. You brushed your teeth and walked into the living room. Minho was in a black hoodie, and Simon was in his lap.

You rolled your eyes, feelings betrayed. Han walked out of his room and said, "You hungry?" You turned around, shy. "Kinda."

Simon jumped from the couch and followed Han around.

You asked, "How'd you manage to get Simon to like you?" Han said, "He invited himself into my room and slept with me until I woke up."

You said, "Did you play with him?" Han said, "He's a playful sucker. He kept smacking my phone out of my hand."

You laughed, "He does that to me too."

Han grabbed all the boxes of cereal from the pantry. "Choose what you want." You grabbed the frosted flakes, and Han made you a bowl.

Han asked, "How'd you meet Minho?" You looked at Minho's practical dead body. "He's a heavy sleeper?"

Han nodded, "When he's stressed, he talks in his sleep, too. He's a twitcher, though."

You smiled, "Well, I'm gonna be honest with you since this is also your home, and I don't want to freak you out. I think the only reason why Minho stuck around was to mess with me because he realized I was a Stay."

Han's eyes widened, "I should go put on some makeup!" You shook your head, laughing. "It's fine, really. I was going to pretend I didn't know who he was until he kept coming back."

Han looked at Minho. "He probably got curious about you."

You smiled, "Yeah. Minho's a cat man." Han laughed as he ate his bowl of cereal. "What happened to your cat? He's limping, and he has on a bandage."

You said, "Some guy stabbed him at the cafè. Apparently, he's some serial killer, and he's targetting me next."

Han looked scared for you. "What? Minho's letting you stay here because it's safe, right?"

You nodded, "The killer came to my house last night." Han shivered, "Wow, that's terrifying."

You nodded. Your head faced the cereal as you felt your face heat up. You had to say it. You were bursting, too. 

"Han?" He looked at you, "Yeah?" You said, "I also wanna admit this so you don't get freaked out, but you're my bias."

Han blushed, "Me?! Really?!" You nodded, "I really like you as a person. I like how much you try to better yourself." Han's smile spread slowly, "W-wow. Thanks." You finished your bowl of cereal and washed it in the sink. "I won't talk to you anymore if that freaks you out. I honestly don't even wanna be here. Minho is keeping me hostage.

Simon jumped back on the couch with Minho. You smiled, "Simon, too. He really likes Minho. Simon doesn't trust people."

Han said, "Don't worry about it. Shit happens, man. I'm glad Minho is here for you." You smiled, "Me too."

Simon smacked Minho in the face, and Minho turned his head. "Agh, Simon."

You laughed, going over to pick up Simon. "Simon, don't hit your Dad. He's trying to get some sleep."

Han furrowed his eyebrows, "You two together?" You turned to Han, "What? No. It's an inside joke." Han laughed at how flustered you got from that.

Your big and cute eyes got wider. 

"If you say so."

Han ended up leaving to produce stuff. It was only you and Minho left in the house. You had to get ready for work, and Minho was getting ready for practice. 

You two left together. Minho dropped you off at your job, and you worked the closing shift. 

You were locking up your doors when you saw something move past the door. Your hands started shaking as you called Minho.

"Yah? Y/N?"

You huffed, "Can you come to the cafè. I think the serial killer is here." Minho wasted no time, "Yah! Practice ending early. I need to help Y/N!"

You heard him shove his phone in his pocket and Hyunjin's voice, "Whose Y/N?!"

Han teased, "His new cafè friend."

Minho huffed, "I don't have time for this, seriously. I gotta go."

You hung up the call and waited for him to show up. You heard a bang on the window, making you jump.

The guy was standing there with a knife in his hand. Both hands pressed against the glass as he tapped playfully.

"You can't hide." 

You backed away from the window. You grabbed your phone, ready to call the police, but the guy smashed the glass.

You screamed as he ran for you. You ran out of the building, getting chased by him. Now, you were running through the street, yelling for help. 

It was late. Nobody was on the streets.

The attacker grabbed your wrist, yanking you back. Your breath was hard, and your heart was racing.

"Gonna cut you like I cut your cat!"

You screamed. The knife went to your throat. You closed your eyes as tears streamed from your eyes. 

You yanked his arm down, throwing him over your shoulder. You started kicking and punching him on the ground to keep him there.

Now, you were in a fit of anger. "HOW DARE YOU HURT MY CAT!"

You punched him square in the jaw. You screamed, "YOU DESERVE TO GO TO PRISON FOR LIFE! YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!"

You heard footsteps behind you and a familiar voice, "Y/N!"

Minho pulled you away from the attacker and asked, "Did you call the police?!"

You nodded, "I did."

Minho sighed. He looked so worried. He looked over you for cuts and bruises. Then, he did something even he didn't expect.

He leaned in and kissed you. 

You stepped back from shock, but your lips still followed his. Your hand reluctantly cupped his cheek. You closed your eyes and hummed.

Minho pulled away, "I-i'm sorry."

You just stared. 

You didn't really know what to say. You barely understood why Minho kissed you. Was it because of shock? You could only wonder.

Minho grabbed your hand and said, "C'mon. Let's get in the car."

He was dragging you to the car before you could even think twice. He closed the car door, and you sat there for at least two minutes. Then, you heard the sirens in the distance.

Minho said, "Thank god. They're here."

He got out of the car. You had to give the police officers statements. When you finished, you went home with Minho, spending your last night there.

But your story wasn't done.

You needed to understand why he kissed you. You needed to know why he would do that and pretend it never happened. You could just be delusional, but when he kissed you, you felt a spark.

You were closing the cafè. Simon was back to playing with the other cats. He was a lot more reluctant of people. 

Minho was there every day now. He didn't want to take any chances.

Per usual, you had your speaker going as you closed the store. Mopping the back as you hummed along to Collision by Stray Kids. Now, you were shameless about how much you liked his music.

When the song ended, Youth came on.

You laughed and walked out the back, "Yah, turn this off."

You shook your head, "Make me!"

You started dancing to his song. Minho laughed at you as he watched with endearment. "You're so weird. How do you even know the dance? It just came out last week."

You smiled, "You'd be surprised."

Minho spun you before dancing together with you. You sang the song. To say Minho was impressed was an understatement. "You should be a trainee under my company."

You shook your head, "I'm 23 and too old." Minho smiled, "Whatever."

He sat down, and Simon climbed on his lap. You asked, "So, what are you gonna do when you go on tour? Am I never gonna see you again?"

Minho shook his head, "No, you will. FaceTime me every time you're closing." You said, "But the time zones will be different."

Minho said, "And that's okay. I don't care about that."

You bit your lip, voice going quiet. "Why did you kiss me last week?"

Minho went quiet. His body tensed as he looked at you. His eyes narrowed. You two stared into each other's eyes until Minho tilted his head.

A smile slowly spread over your lips. Something in Minho's eyes let you know everything was going to be okay.

"I like you. I like you a lot."

You asked, "Are you sure? I'm your fan... doesn't that make you feel weird? I don't think I could date you without having prior assumptions about you."

Minho sighed, "It's okay. Y/N, I think you're my soulmate. Ew... that was cheesy."

You laughed while hitting his shoulder, "It was!"

You smiled while you looked at him, "I think so too. I'm usually really shy and reserved, but I feel like I could do anything around you."

Minho was quiet. His eyes were full of affection.

"Can I kiss you again? For real this time?"

You nodded.

Minho's hand cupped your face gently as he leaned in. His breath was warm against your nose. His soft lips seeped into yours. He pulled away with a click.

You leaned back in, hungrier. Minho kissed you gently, savoring your taste.

You pulled away and asked, "What does this mean?"

Minho smiled. He looked at you with adoration. You forgot how cute he can be when he wasn't being a menace. "It means I want you to be my girlfriend."

You asked again, "Are you sure?"

He laughed, "Yes. I'm sure."

You two have been dating for two months now. You've met the boys, his parents, and his cats.

But, there was one step the two of you were yet to take. Sex.

You didn't know how to bring it up, and you didn't want to.

You knew you'd have to tell him. He wasn't going to make a move on you.

You sat on the couch next to Chan, grabbing one of his fries. "So I'm confused about what exactly I should do."

Chan was the big brother you never got to have. He was always in the middle of your two relationships, and it might sound unhealthy, but you were never argumentative.

Chan said, "So, you don't want to talk to him about it out of embarrassment, but you want to do it."

You covered your face, "Yes!"

Chan patted your back, "I think you should talk to him about it. If not, drop hints. BUT! Talk to him."

You only heard drop hints. "Okay, so I should leave my underwear on Minho's bed or something."

Chan gagged, "Girl, what! Oh my god. I don't want to hear details."

You frowned, "I don't have any other friends to talk to this about except Minho."

Jeongin walked out of his room, "Hyung, Changbin said he'd be over in a minute. He has to pick up the food first."

The boys were having their annual anniversary cookout. You didn't think you'd be invited, but Minho was insistent. The boys say he's less grumpy nowadays.

Minho walked in with his keys, "Alright. Jagiya, let's go now so we can help set up camp. We can't leave Han and Hyunjin to do it."

You laughed, "Okie dokie."

You got up from the couch and followed Minho out. You winked at Chan before exiting the door.

You two were walking outside to the park. You could already hear the loud laughing of Han from a mile away.

Minho said, "I know you don't eat fish, so we brought beef for you. The boys also brought you mangoes."

You smiled, "Really! All that for me!" Minho corrected, "And me."

You looked around at your surroundings, "Isn't it weird that it's warm in March. Doesn't feel right."

He nodded, "It gets warmer every year. The world's ending, y'know. Gotta live to the fullest while you still can."

He waved at Seungmin, who was sticking his middle finger up at him.

You smiled, and Seungmin bowed politely to you. The boys are nice to you, mostly because they heard you defended yourself against your attacker. Minho is protective of you behind the scenes as well.

You jumped onto the blanket and lay down. "Hyunjinnie? I thought you were supposed to put up the roof?"

Hyunjin said, "Eh? I tried, but I don't know how, so I gave up."

You knew why Han didn't do it. 

Changbin and Jeongin were walking over, "I brought the snacks. Where's Felix and the Soju?"

You sat up, "Yeah.... where is Felix?"

On cue, he ran down the hill with the bottles. You cheered, "Aye!"

The boys looked at you like you were crazy. "Are you already drunk?"

You looked at Minho. "No, baby. Just excited to see Felix."

Felix got to the bottom of the hill and yelled, "Y/N! Hey!"

He walked over to give you a friendly hug. You walked past him as you helped Hyunjin put the roof on the tent.

All those times you went on camping dates with your boyfriend really helped.

Once you finished, you sat inside. Jeongin entered with you. "Chan started the grill. He asked if you wanted some grilled fruit." You gasped, "That sounds so good."

Minho was cooking the ramen and rice as Chan grilled.

You walked out of the tent to play badminton with Hyunjin and Han. Even though Han was failing miserably, he was trying.

You smacked the birdie to Hyunjin's side, and it landed on the ground. "YAY! We won!"

You high-fived Han with both hands. Hyunjin nagged, "You were cheating!"

You said, "The net is taller than me, and Han was on my team. How the heck could I cheat?"

Han said, "Hey!" You laughed. Felix yelled, "Food's ready!"

You put the ball and nets back and followed the boys to the bench and tent. Seungmin was singing on the karaoke machine as you sat on the bench. Chan passed down servings for the boys. Minho was busy making you a plate.

Felix was pouring shots, and Changbin was telling Hyunjin about this mysterious rash he had on his ass.

You interrupted, "Binnie, that's disgusting."

Hyunjin laughed as Changbin said, "You're judgmental! I'm trying to find out what it is." You said, "Ask a doctor?"

Felix passed out shots, and you downed it in a second. When you move your head back up, everyone is looking at you. Felix said, "Woah, Y/N is a drinker."

You said, "Oh, I used to drink underage... I was a bad teenager."

Minho hadn't said anything. He only sat next to you. You said, "Anyways, I heard that rashes can be caused by sitting on the toilet for too long."

Changbin nodded slowly, "It could be that." Felix asked, "Do you want another shot?" You nodded, "Hit me."

Seungmin finally sat at the table with everyone. You passed him the serving bowl. You reached for the pot, but Minho pulled your hand back, "It's hot."

You nodded and let him move it to Seungmin. You ate your food, and your face lit up. "It's that good?"

You nodded excitedly, "It's perfect!"

Minho smiled at you as you ate your food quietly. Chan said, "I can't believe we've been a team for over 8 years. You guys are really my family."

Changbin seriously said, "I agree, hyung. You've gotten better at leaning on us."

Seungmin nodded, "No more crying when the door is closed."

Han smiled, "And no more stress."

You smiled at Chan as you chewed. Jeongin said, "I'm glad you finally started taking care of yourself too. It's good to see."

Hyunjin said, "Yeah, we don't need your advice and love anymore, Chan. You do enough being there."

Minho said, "Y/N is the only one who asks you for advice." You hit him, "Not true."

Chan quirked an eyebrow, "Very true. Remember what we were talking about three hours ago?"

You went silent, and Han spoke up, "Don't bully Y/N!"

Minho laughed as he watched you. You actually got embarrassed. Minho furrowed his eyebrows and then looked at Chan, "What were you two talking about?"

You shook your head, "Nothing! Just stuff."

The table got silent. Changbin said, "That sounds hella suspicious." Chan rolled his eyes, "Eat!"

Felix poured another round of shots for everyone, "For the eight of us and  eight long years."

The boys cheered, and you drank another round.

Yes, you drink alcohol like it's water, but you were lightweight.

You finished your meals and started singing karaoke. You can hold a note. The boys were just surprised to see you so extroverted.

You cheered, "PASS THE MIC! YOU STAY! YOU STILL! YOU STAY? YOU STAY?"

Changbin sang the next part with less enthusiasm. Chan was laughing the whole time as you started doing the dance. 

You said, "Wait! Ya'll wanna see me do a back flip?!"

Oh, when you get drunk, you start babbling in English. Chan sharply yelled, "No! Y/N, sit down."

Minho sighed as you watched you lay out on the bench. Your legs were on Hyunjin's lap as you sang your heart out.

Minho came back with a water bottle, "This is not soju."

Minho grumbled, "You don't need soju. You need water."

You rolled your eyes as you yelled into the mic. Seungmin started to crack up. Jeongin said, "Time to bring her home."

Felix was concerned and also entertained. He's never heard you speak this much, this loud. You said, "I'm glad ya'll think this shit is funny. I'm so mad. I'm about to do a backflip."

Minho grabbed you, threw you over his shoulder, and called out sweetly, "Okay, we're going home."

You accepted defeat against your strong boyfriend.

The car ride was silent, but your apartment wasn't. "C'mon, stop splashing water in my face, and wash your armpits!"

Your boyfriend was beet red. He's never seen you naked, and you forced him to let you bathe. He was worried you'd drown if you were alone.

You said, "You should get in with me."

Minho said, "No, you should finish bathing so you can go to bed."

You sighed. Simon slid through the door and meows at Minho.

Minho said, "Hey, cutie. You're Mom is being a bad girl. Can you get her to comply?"

Simon hissed at you, and you jumped. "Simon!"

Minho splashed water on your face, and the sudden shock of it sobered you up.

"Jesus!"

You washed up, got in your clothes, and climbed into bed.

Minho cuddled next to you. He held you against his chest and sighed. "What were you talking about with Chan?"

Your body heated up, "N-nothing. It's really nothing. It's embarrassing."

Minho calmly said, "Don't you think it's weird that you can tell my friend, but you can't tell me?"

You heard the bubbling disappointment in his voice. You turned around to face him and said, "It was about us."

Minho furrowed his eyebrows, "What about us? Are you mad at me or something?"

You shook your head, "Not at all. I think we've been dating for a few months, and y'know..." You were beating around the bush, and Minho wasn't having it.

"What? I don't know."

You said, "Minho, why haven't we had sex yet?"

He said, "I didn't know if you were ready or not. Are you ready?"

You said, "I'm not some virgin who needs to be led into it." Minho cupped your face, "You are."

You rolled your eyes, "I'm only a virgin. I don't mind if you take it from me."

Minho shook his head, "Absolutely not. You're a romantic. You want it slow. I know you do. Don't sit here and act like you aren't."

You were silent. You looked into Minho's eyes as you carefully read him. He never told you how he truly felt, and he didn't give it away behind his eyes. 

You liked it when he got vulnerable like this. When he was exhausted, his guard was down.

You asked, "What things do I do that make you hard?"

Minho was flushed. His breath hitched, his grip tensed, and his blinking was rapid.

"Y/N?" His voice cracked a little. He didn't actually want to tell you. You said, "No, tell me. I want to know."

He looked away from you for a moment. Then, he said, "I like when you get bossy. I... want to put you in your place. Or, when you touch me... when you grab the lids at the cafè, and you have to bend down, and I get a full view of your pretty ass."

You were shocked. Minho kept going, "Recently, the way you furrowed your eyebrows at Seungmin and told him to shut up. That was really hot."

His grip on your ass was tighter than usual. You said, "You serious?"

He cupped your face and brought you closer. "You kill me." He slowly flipped over you, his eyes darting around your face. "Yeah? I'm killing you?"

He smiled, "When did you get so playful? You used to be so quiet and shy." You smiled, "You're the only person who took the time to get to know me." Minho sighed as he gave you the first touch.

His hand was on the hem of your shirt. For some reason, his hand felt hotter than usual. He was calm as he lifted your shirt slowly.

His hand was tucked under the fabric as his breathing got heavier. You whispered, "I... that feels good."

Minho smiled as his hand kept going until he touched your boob. You bit your lip, "Nng~."

He looked into your eyes. You looked embarrassed. Minho's voice softened as he asked, "Are you okay?"

Minho waited for your answer, hand staying where it is. "I'm okay. I'm really nervous."

Minho leaned down and kissed you. It was soft and full of love. Your lips caught between his teeth. He slipped his tongue in, and you practically broke.

Now, you were in it. Your tongue swiped over Minho's as you took in his kisses. So sweet, heated, and gentle.

So intimate.

His hand was now grabbing your boob. He squeezed your mounds, and you moaned in his mouth. Minho hummed back before leaning in to kiss you again. 

He was so responsive to you.

Your hand reached for his cheek, and you kissed him harder. Minho took his hand from your shirt. Now, his hand was traveling to your thigh. He squeezed.

You gasped when he started kissing your neck. His tongue licked and sucked until he found the place that made you break.

The moan caught you off guard. You've never moaned like that in general.

Minho kissed close to your collarbone. Your breath hitched, and your hands gripped harder in his soft hair.

Minho pulled away as he said, "Take off your shirt." You obliged. You threw your shirt off. Minho kissed down your chest and stopped at your breast. He slid his hand behind your back and unclipped your bra.

If only he could watch the way your breast popped out from the bra on repeat. He watched the bra slowly slide down. He looked at your brown nipples and back up at you.

"You okay? You're quiet." You nodded, "Nervous."

Minho smiled, "Don't be. Trust me, okay? I got you."

You nodded. Minho kissed your nose, and his head dove right down to your titties. He felt so good.

It started off as a small lick, but now he was sucking your breast. His tongue swirled around your nipple as his hand pinched and rolled the other. You bit your lip as you tried to hold back.

Minho sucked harder, trying to hear that voice.

He pulled away and looked at you. He was searching for something in your eyes. You asked, "What?"

Minho said, "I'm about to take your pants off."

You nodded slowly. You didn't know what to say.

Minho slid off your pants. Your underwear followed behind.

Your heart beat faster in terror. You wanted to push Minho away, but you were ready. You nervously asked, "What are you going to do?"

He said slowly, "Oral." Your eyes widened, "Wh-what if I don't taste good?" Minho said, "Not possible." You pouted as he ignored your concern.

Trivial to him but detrimental to you. "Minho, wait!"

He paused, "Baby, what's wrong?" You said, "I'm scared."

Minho sighed. He held your hand, and his tone got gentle. "I'm not going to hurt you." You said, "I know! I'm scared that I'll disappoint you. I don't know what I like."

Minho smiled, "That's okay. I'm here to learn with you. There's no judgment here." You took a deep breath, "Are you sure?"

Minho said, "Yes."

His eyes were so sincere. Minho kissed you softly. Your grip got tighter on his hand. You didn't want him to let go. 

You pulled away and said, "Maybe if you show more skin, I won't be as embarrassed."

Minho took his shirt off without hesitation. You said, "But your-"

He looked at the scar on his stomach. "I trust you."

You don't know how, but that made you completely relaxed. You knew about Minho's insecurities about his scar BEFORE you met him.

Yet, he showed you. Your hand brushed over it, and you saw his body tense. You pouted, "You sure you trust me?" Minho nodded, "Takes some getting used to."

He looked at you, and then he asked, "Why don't you pay attention to my abs?" You laughed, "Baby if I cared about your abs, you would know by now."

He rolled his eyes before touching you again. One leg was on a foot while the other lay flat. His hand traced over your thigh as he pushed your knee to your chest. You said, "I'm ready."

He nodded. Minho's head was between your thighs. He kissed your clit. Your body flinched. He watched your holes close. He kissed your clit again. You weren't used to the feeling, so you weren't sure how to feel about it.

Minho rubbed his thumb over your clit. You finally moaned. Minho said, "That's my girl."

He sucked your clit. Your stomach dropped into butterflies. You pressed your body harder against the mattress. 

Minho slipped one finger into your hole. It was slow, so it wouldn't be a problem. You bit your lip as you took in his finger.

You were already getting wet. Minho flicked over your clit, and you moaned again. Minho hummed against your pussy before curling his fingers inside of you.

You tried to squeeze your thighs together, but Minho had your knee against your chest. His muscles flexed as he pushed them farther apart.

You took a deep breath, but it came out shaky. Minho dragged his finger inside your core. You closed your eyes as your back arched.

Minho saw the way your body relaxed and took that as a sign to add another finger.

You whinced from pain, but pleasure came quickly. His fingers were slow and dug between your walls. It was so close to your hilt.

You bit your lip as you tried to slow down your moans. Minho only went harder. His mouth fucking your clit as his fingers dug into you at a slow pace. 

You felt this feeling. Your stomach felt tight. Butterflies were uncomfortably filling your stomach.

Minho spit on your clit. He swiped his tongue over your entire pussy before swirling his tongue over your clit. He slurped before sucking on it again.

Noises were what got you off. You've always been a fan of the sounds of sex.

Minho plugged one last finger into your tight pussy. You whimpered. Minho slowed his pace back down so you could handle it. 

His tongue focused on your clit. Your clit was more sensitive than anyone he's been with before. He liked that about you. How easily you fall apart.

Minho stretched his fingers in your hole, and you moaned. "Haa~"

Minho spit on his fingers, making it easier to slide in. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. 

Minho mumbled, "You like that?"

You nodded. Your hands gripped tighter onto Minho's hair as you gasped. His tongue swiped right over your clit. Now, the knot was tighter.

"I think I'm- baby, I-"

He shushed you as he sucked on your clit again. The sound rang through your eyes. The scene went black. You couldn't see as you orgasm. Your hips shaking and rolling into his mouth.

Minho kissed your clit and pulled away. Your finger went to your clit to rub over yourself. Minho smiled, "Keep touching yourself like that."

He pulled down his sweatpants. His dick was hard. The large mound in his pants was enough to know. He was thick, and it seemed long.

He pulled out his cock. It was veiny, pale, and pink. Your heart skipped a beat. You looked at Minho, and he said, "Like what you see?"

He was teasing you at this point. You shook your head, "Just put it in."

Minho raised his eyebrow, "I don't know if it'll fit."

He leaned down to kiss your soft lips. You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

Minho hummed. He was rubbing his dick as he kissed you. You pulled away and whispered, "I'm ready."

You bit your lip when he pulled away. He angled his dick into your hole as he pushed into you. You took a deep breath and relaxed.

He sank deep into you. Soft groans left his mouth as he rubbed against every part of you.

You whined, the pain of the stretch being unbearable.

Minho kissed your cheek and said, "Tell me when."

You nodded, trying your hardest to take him. You took another breath and said, "Go for it."

His first thrust went through. Sharp, intentional, gentle.

You were shaking from the feeling of him pushing against all your buttons. Minho asked, "You feel good?" Your hand was squeezing his forearm. "I feel amazing." Minho laughed. He hadn't moved since the last thrust.

"Feels good? That's good to know."

He moved again, slower. You moaned, feeling the drag of his body against yours.

Minho said, "I love you."

You froze. You didn't know what to say to that. Minho sped up, his achy groans close and hot in your ear.

You cried, "Minho! I'm gonna cum!" Minho slammed into you again. His breath came out rushed. He was panting.

Your hands clawed into his back as you said, "I'm cumming! Baby!"

Minho hard thrust against you, your tits bouncing to his rhythm. You felt his cock hit against your hilt. Your body shook as the orgasm rushed over you.

"Mmm~" Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you relaxed under him. Minho went limp on top of you as you hugged him. Your legs went over his waist. 

You panted, "Are we going to talk about that?" Minho said, "Talk about what?" Minho groaned as he rolled next to you, "You did amazing."

You said, "So amazing that you told me you love me?"

He tensed and then sighed. He was like a cat. You pulled his arm and said, "You said it." Minho turned around and hugged you, "It was a moment of weakness. You don't have to say it back."

You whispered, "But... I do love you." Minho quirked an eyebrow, "Yeah?"

He kissed your forehead and said, "Thank God." You laughed. Minho asked, "Did you feel good? Did I do everything right?"You said, "You did amazing. It felt good."

He smiled, looking at you. Both of you were on your backs now. "Can we go again?" You smiled, "I'm tired."

Minho laughed. He turned to his side and wrapped his legs and arms around you, "Fine."

A meow was heard behind the door. You said, "Come in." Simon scooted his head through the crack of the door and walked in. He purred and jumped on the bed. He curled up between you. 

You said, "Simon is happy his parents are together."

You laughed, "Yeah. I'm happy I'm not alone anymore."

Minho kissed you, and you fell asleep.

[celestialgallaghers]

White Mustang: Friday [18+]

final part omg. thank you so much for all the love and support of this series it really means a lot 💖. This isn't the end btw. I have an epilogue planned, but idk when it'll be posted. I wanna get back to writing about liam for a change lol. I hope you guys like it i had so much fun with this whole series <3.

Prelude | Saturday | Sunday | Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday | Thursday | Friday

Word count: 14.5k

Friday

The next day was sweltering. The kind of heat that clung to your skin and made the air feel thick. No one really had the motivation to do much, so eventually everyone ended up by the pool, stretched out under the sun with cold drinks in hand, slipping in and out the water to cool off.

You’d gone into town with Emily and come back armed with supplies for margaritas. By midafternoon, everyone was sun kissed and half-drunk, music drifting from the small speaker Emily had hooked up. Everything felt easy.

You were sitting cross legged in a pool chair, hair still damp, sunglasses sliding down your nose, sipping a margarita that was mostly just tequila at this point. Your dad and Noel were swapping stories, talking shit and laughing like they always did. You joined in when you could, but mostly you listened. 

But beneath it all, you were hyper aware of every glance Noel threw your way. Especially when you climbed out of the pool, water trailing down your skin, bikini clinging to you, and the weight of his gaze tracked you. If he was trying to hide it, he was doing a piss poor job.

You weren’t sure if he was serious about “going easy” on him. You’d been half-joking when you said it but then he’d agreed. Maybe it was just his way of telling you not to be a tease.

You hadn’t been trying to. Not really. You weren’t doing anything different than you would’ve if he wasn’t here. It wasn’t your fault he couldn’t stop looking…okay, maybe a little bit was your fault. But he didn’t have to look.

When everyone’s drinks started running low, you slipped inside, grateful for a reason to cool off. You made your way into the kitchen and busied yourself slicing limes, the citrus sticking to your fingers.

You didn’t hear him at first. Not until his arms bracketed the counter on either side of you, caging you in. Your breath caught as his chest brushed your back, solid and sun warmed. 

“You look so fuckin’ fit in that little bikini,” he murmured against the shell of your ear. His voice was low, stirring something deep in your core.

“It’s quite distracting,” he added, hips pressing lightly against the swell of your ass.

Your mind tried to remember where you were, who else was just outside. But all of that went fuzzy with him this close.

“We can’t do this here,” you whispered, glancing quickly toward the sliding glass door. Technically, you were out of sight. But anyone could wander in. And he wasn’t exactly being subtle.

He didn’t budge. “That’s what I said last night,” he said, amusement curling through his voice. “Didn’t stop you then.”

Heat flared in your cheeks. He wasn’t wrong. You’d been reckless. Desperate to feel him. And lucky no one had caught you. But still…

“It’s different now,” you said, the words thin, unconvincing even to yourself. “People are awake.”

“I know.” His voice was maddeningly calm, even as his hands slid from the counter to your waist, fingers grazing bare skin. Goosebumps chased their path.

Then, gently, he turned you. And just like that, you were face to face. Trapped in the full weight of his gaze. Those eyes gleamed with something unreadable. 

Was he doing this on purpose? Trying to get you to break? And he’d had the nerve to call you the tease.

“Are you trying to get me to kiss you?” you asked, narrowing your eyes, voice quiet. “Is that what this is?”

He just shrugged. Maybe he was. Maybe this was how he asked for it without the words. Or maybe he needed it just as badly as you did. 

With one last glance toward the door, you gave him the smallest concession—a soft peck before you turned back around. That was all he was getting.

Or so you thought.

Before you could even exhale, his hands were on you again. Spinning you back around and pulling you into him. His mouth crashed onto yours with far more force this time..

You gasped as he hoisted you onto the counter, the cold surface biting into your thighs. You knew better. You knew someone could walk in. But your body had already decided. Every rational thought disintegrated the moment he touched you.

And he knew it too. You felt him grin against your mouth the moment you gave in. His hand slid around to the small of your back, pushing you closer as if there were any space left. But there was. Just enough that when you locked your legs around his waist and pulled him in, it knocked the breath out of him.

He faltered, just for a second. His lips broke from yours with the faintest hint of surprise before he recovered, slipping his tongue into your mouth with maddening ease.

The sudden intensity, the roughness, the heat of his mouth, it all had you immediately worked up and throbbing for him. And somewhere in the back of your mind a thought flickered. 

By this time tomorrow he’ll be gone. 

It only urged you to kiss him harder. Your hand slid into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. You felt the way he leaned into it and the quiet sigh he let out made your stomach flip. You’d noticed it last night. The way he responded to it. Filed it away. And now you were using it against him. The thrill of it made you bolder. You tightened your grip and gave a gentle tug.

The groan he let out was quiet but hot, going straight to your core. But then he pulled away, breath ghosting against your lips. “Thought you said you’d go easy on me.” 

“Turn you on that much does it?” you teased, pulling a bit harder. 

That earned you a look. He exhaled through his nose, clearly fighting back another noise, much to your dissatisfaction. But instead of answering, he stepped away entirely.

You blinked, breath still uneven. His gaze lingered on you. Flushed. Legs spread. Head tipped back against the cabinets like you’d already been wrecked by just a kiss. Maybe you had.

It was like he was memorizing it. Memorizing you. Maybe he was. Maybe he didn’t want to forget this either. You stared right back, trying to do the same.

Then, almost casually cruel, he let out a low chuckle, patted your thigh softly, and turned to walk out without another word.

You stared after him, dazed and buzzing. Your lips tingled. Your whole body tingled. And when you finally slid off the counter, your knees almost gave out.

You tried to refocus, staring at the half-sliced limes in front of you. But your hands were still shaking and your mind was nowhere near that kitchen. You nearly sliced your finger clean off.

Back outside, Noel acted like nothing had happened. If anything, he was staring more brazenly now. But you could feel the shift.

He’d done it on purpose. Wound you up and left you wanting.

You’d been doing so well too. So controlled. But now you were buzzing again, your heart beating too fast, mind fuzzy from the drink you’d downed the second you finished passing everyone else theirs. 

You slipped back into the pool in silence, desperate for the cold shock of water to ease the heat. You let yourself drift, eyes closed, tuning out the murmur of voices nearby. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know he was still watching. You felt it. That slow burn of his gaze tracking your movements.

When you finally climbed out, you made it a point not to look at him. You toweled off slowly, letting the sun dry the rest, and made yourself your new drink. But even as you rejoined the others, you couldn’t shake the memory of his mouth. The phantom weight of his hands.

He looked entirely unbothered. Laughing at something your dad said, gesturing with his glass, legs stretched out like he hadn’t just had you pinned to the kitchen counter twenty minutes ago.

It was maddening. He was maddening.

The afternoon wore on and the heat was starting to hit everyone hard. Your dad retreated upstairs for a nap, Emily wandered off with a book, and suddenly it was just you and Noel.

You sat at the edge of the pool with your back to him, feet dangling in the water. You could hear the soft clink of ice in his glass behind you. The rustle of him shifting. And then the quiet creak of a chair.

Then came the faint splash as he settled beside you, slipping his feet into the pool too. A respectful distance away, but still close enough that you could feel the presence of him.

Your body tensed anyway. But he didn’t say anything. Not right away. For a moment, all you could hear was the gentle ripple of the water and the wind stirring the trees overhead.

“Funny how we keep ending up alone together,” Noel said eventually, his voice low, like it didn’t want to disturb the stillness.

“Funny how no one’s seemed to notice it either,” you said, still facing forward.

He gave a dry little laugh. “Nah. They’ve noticed. They just think we’ve got some sort of…special bond.”

That caught you off guard. You turned toward him, brows lifting in amusement. “Do we now?”

He met your eyes and bumped his knee lightly against yours. “’Course we do. We birthed an album together, didn’t we? Think that earns us some lifelong soul tie or summat. You owe me child support, by the way. I’ve raised it all these years on my own.”

You snorted. “So what, that makes you the mother?”

“Obviously,” he said, deadpan. “You inseminated me and ran off. Textbook absentee father behavior, by the way. Very progressive of you.”

It was so ridiculous that you laughed despite yourself. It cracked the tightness in your chest and sent something fluttering loose behind your ribs.

But then the laughter faded. Because your gaze caught on his mouth. Still curved in that lopsided grin. Lips wet from the beer he was sipping. 

You wanted to kiss him again. God, you ached to. You’d been restless with it ever since he left you high and dry in the kitchen. It was reckless flirting like this out in the open where anyone could hear. But logic didn’t stand a chance.

Your eyes trailed to the bottle in his hand.

“Give us it,” you said, nodding towards it. 

He followed your gaze then raised the bottle slightly. “What, this?”

You nodded, holding out your hand expectantly.

“No I don’t think I will,” he said smugly. 

You leaned in to grab it, but he pulled it just out of reach, eyes gleaming as your fingers caught only air. You tried again and he stretched his arm higher, smirk deepening.

You made an annoyed sound. “Do you enjoy denying me things?”

A wicked grin spread across his face as he brought the bottle back to his lips, deliberately taking a long sip, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

You snatched it mid-sip, yanking it away with more force than intended. He choked on a laugh, a splash of beer dribbling down his chin as his head tipped back.

You turned your body away from him triumphantly and took an exaggerated swig. When he reached for it again you twisted further and drained what little was left out of spite.

Then you turned back to him slowly, victorious, and locked eyes. With pointed deliberation, you dragged your tongue along the rim of the bottle, gathering the last drops. You flicked your tongue over your lips to catch the rest, just to drive it home.

His gaze dropped and you felt it like a hand across your skin. “S’not very nice to finish a man's beer y’know.”

“It’s also not very nice to kiss someone and then walk away,” you shot back. “Leave them wanting all day.” 

The tequila still hummed in your blood, leaving you loose tongued and wanton. A dangerous mix around him.

His mouth curled lazily. “You’re feisty today.”

“No,” you said plainly, tone flat and eyes steady. “I’m frustrated.”

He cocked his head, voice dropping low. “How frustrated?” 

You held his gaze. “Frustrated enough that I had to lick every last drop of you off that bottle just to stop myself from sticking my tongue down your throat.”

That wiped the smirk clean off his face.

“And?” he asked, voice dark now. “Did it work? Are you satisfied?”

“Not even close.”

The air between you tightened, snapping taut with tension. His eyes dropped shamelessly to your chest, rising and falling with your uneven breath, while yours slid over the part in his shirt that exposed a tantalizing bit of skin. You felt feral with want. Feral and deeply, maddeningly denied.

You needed him again and badly. The only question now was whether his body could keep up with your hunger. You had to find out.

“I didn’t…” you hesitated, then forced the words out. “I didn’t go too hard on you last night, did I?”

His mouth curled. “So young and naive,” he murmured. “You gave it a valiant try, but no. Gonna take a hell of a lot more than that to break me.”

You knew he was teasing, but something about being called naive struck a nerve. 

“Oh yeah?” You said, narrowing your eyes. “Can you even get it up again grandpa?”

He huffed out a laugh, clearly delighted. “Don’t act like you’re all high and mighty. We both know that you’d be on your knees in a heartbeat if I said the word.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“So eager to know when you can have another go.” he said, tilting his head. “Maybe I’ll just say no. Maybe I won’t let you.”

You hated the way your stomach dropped at that. And judging by the flicker in his expression, he saw it. He saw everything. His grin widened as your momentary panic gave you away.

“You wouldn’t,” you said, trying to sound dismissive.

“Try me.”

You locked eyes, refusing to blink. But the heat in his stare was unbearable. You looked away first.

“What if I don’t let you,” you said. Because it was the only thing you could think to say.

He leaned in until his breath ghosted your cheek, voice barely above a whisper. “Now we both know you love my dick too much to even try that.”

The words hit you like a slap. Heat rushed to your face. And then lower. You hated how much it turned you on. How much you liked hearing it. Hated that he knew it.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself, but your pulse was everywhere. Loud in your ears. Your throat. Between your legs.

He saw it. Felt the shift. And his grin turned wolfish. “No you can’t get enough of it, can you?” he murmured. “You love how deep I get inside you. I can feel it, you know. Feel how weak you get. How no one’s ever touched you like I have.”

You could barely breathe. He wouldn’t physically touch you here, but that wasn’t stopping him from caressing you with his words.

“Big talk for someone who came prematurely on my face like a teenager.” It was weak and that had been entirely your fault, but it was the only collateral you had.

He raised his eyebrows, grinning wider. “Because you couldn’t help yourself,” he said smoothly. “Couldn’t keep that mouth of yours to yourself.”

“Yeah?” you shot back. “You lost it after two strokes of my tongue.”

His grin widened into something smug and sinfully charming. “Don’t act like you didn’t love every second of it.”

Your breath caught. You had to get away from him. From this. Before you did something stupid. Like crawl into his lap, world be damned.

You leaned in, voice low enough for only him to hear. “I’m going to get in the shower,” you said. “You’re going to wait a respectable amount of time and then you’re going to follow me.”

He raised a brow. “Not sure you’re in the position to be making demands, love.”

But you were already on your feet, walking away.

The enclosed outdoor shower was warm and still. Steam curled up from the stone floor as you turned on the water, but you didn’t step beneath it. Instead, you lowered yourself onto the wooden bench and tried to steady your breathing.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer. The silence didn’t help. If anything it made the ache louder, pulsing through your body like a second heartbeat.

Maybe he wasn’t coming.

Your hand slid beneath your bikini bottoms before you could even think twice. Just to take the edge off, you told yourself.

The moment your fingers found that spot, relief bloomed through you. You leaned back against the wall, fingers circling, pressure growing. Your eyes fluttered shut. You were already so worked up from everything. His voice, his teasing, his refusal. Your legs fell further apart, pleasure shooting through your veins fast and sharp.

And then the door creaked.

Your eyes flew open just in time to see Noel slip inside, sans shirt. He froze, eyes locked on the spot where your hand disappeared beneath your swimsuit. His chest was rising and falling with shallow breaths, but the rest of him went still. 

You didn’t stop. You met his stare, never breaking rhythm, and watched as his throat bobbed with a swallow.

“What are you doing?” he asked, low and careful.

“Taking matters into my own hands,” you said, voice breathy but confident.

The way his jaw clenched sent a fresh pulse of want through you. His eyes were heavy, tracking every movement. But he didn’t move.

So you pushed further. 

You arched just enough to press deeper into your own touch, a quiet moan spilling from your lips. Then you used your free hand to tug your bikini top aside, baring one breast to the humid air. You ran your thumb across your nipple, gasping softly at the sensation.

Still nothing. Fine.

You dragged your fingers away from yourself, then reached for the tie at your hip and gave it a tug. The knot slipped loose. You mirrored the motion on the other side, teasing it undone until the fabric gave up and dropped, leaving you bare.

He still hadn’t moved. But his eyes were wild now.

You slid your fingers back through the slick between your thighs, slower this time, gathering everything you could with aching slowness. Then you raised your hand, lips parting slightly. 

You didn’t put them in your mouth. Not yet. You were taunting him now and he knew it. His nostrils flare, fingers twitching at his sides. He only muttered a soft curse as he stared, transfixed. You brought your fingers closer, just enough to graze your bottom lip.

And that’s when he snapped.

In an instant, he was on you. One hand caught your wrist, the other grabbed your thigh, dragging you forward with a roughness that made your breath catch. Then his mouth closed over your fingers, sucking them in with a low moan like something inside him had finally, violently broken.

“Knew you were all talk,” you murmured smugly, right up until his mouth crashed against yours, swallowing the rest of the sentence.

It wasn’t gentle. You moaned into his mouth as he grabbed your jaw, tilting your head to deepen the kiss and forcing the taste of yourself onto your tongue.

Then he hauled you up from the bench, your bikini bottoms falling away completely as your body followed his. He pressed you against the damp wooden wall, its cool bite a stark contrast to the heat radiating off his skin.

You grinned against his mouth, fingers sliding into his hair again, this time fisting it and yanking hard. He hissed at the sting, then bit your lip in retaliation, eyes darkening. Your hand slid down between you, cupping him through his swim shorts. You paused when you found him soft.

“You really can’t get it up, can you?” you said, half teasing, half genuinely disappointed.

“Give it time love,” he said lowly. “You’ll regret saying that later.”

The confidence in his voice sent a shockwave through you. The way he said it, not a threat but a promise, had your breath catching, heat curling low in your belly. You opened your mouth for another jab—

But then his thumb brushed over your clit, and every thought shattered.

Your head hit the wall with a soft thud, eyes fluttering shut as your hips jerked into his hand. The touch was fleeting, barely there until he slid two fingers inside you.

You gasped. But then—nothing. No movement. Just the feeling of being filled. Your eyes snapped open in confusion.

“If you’re so eager to get yourself off,” he murmured, “go on, then. Do it.”

You froze. His eyes held yours, steady and unmoving. It wasn’t a dare. It was an instruction.

So you moved. Rocked your hips forward slowly, experimentally, grinding down and dragging yourself along his still fingers. The stretch was there, but the friction was barely noticeable. His expression didn’t change, except for the faint, devilish smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He wasn’t going to help. He wanted to watch.

His fingers didn’t curl or even offer the smallest thrust. He remained completely still. You shifted your hips in frustration, trying to spark something, but only managed the faintest flicker of pleasure.

Your other hand slid down, desperate to finish what he’d started, but he caught your wrist before you got close. You gasped, staring up at him, chest rising in shaky bursts.

So you tried again. This time with the hand tangled in his hair. You dragged it down, reaching between you.

But you were barely able to touch yourself before he wrenched his fingers from you entirely and slammed your wrists back against the wall. Your chest heaved, mouth parted in a mix of disbelief and need.

He grinned and leaned in close to your face, boxing you in. “Not so fast,” he whispered against your ear. 

The quiet authority in his tone ignited your entire body. You hadn’t seen this side of him before, but now that it was here it made you thrum with hunger. You were ravenous for it, wishing you’d provoked it sooner.

You squirmed beneath his grip, chasing friction again.

“Tch,” he tutted. “Are you gonna behave?”

Something defiant flickered inside you, but it was quickly drowned out by how badly you needed more. You stilled, humbled by desire.

He grinned. “Good.”

He released one wrist, sliding his fingers back between your legs slowly. The relief made you tremble. When he let go of your other wrist, your hand rose to his neck to show that you weren’t going to act out again.

“Better,” he murmured, grazing your lips with his own.

You kissed him hard, gripping him tighter, rocking your hips against his hand. But the angle of his fingers was just shy of enough. The pressure only teased, coaxing your nerves to the edge without tipping them.

“At least angle your fingers better,” you whined after several minutes.

He laughed low in his throat, a sound that vibrated against your skin. “What, like this?”

He curled them hard. Right into that spot.

Your whole body convulsed. The breath punched out of you in a high, strangled moan as pleasure sliced through your belly and down your thighs. The buildup had been so excruciatingly slow that now the sensation came sharp and bright, dizzying in its intensity.

“Yeah,” you managed, grinding down again, more urgently now.

“All you had to do was ask.” 

And then his fingers were pistoning harder, curling with ruthless precision, knocking the breath right out of you. You hoped the water drowned out the loud moan you let out, shivering violently as pleasure flooded your nerves. His lips quickly returned to yours to smother any more sounds as he went deeper, swallowing your gasps.

Your body arched, the tension winding tighter and tighter, seconds from snapping. Your legs began to tremble, and your grip on his neck tightened.

“Noel,” you gasped, barely coherent. You could feel it cresting right there.

And then he stopped. Just like that.

You choked on the denial, your body seizing up with it. Your climax had been so close, and now it twisted painfully inside you, caught mid-breath with nowhere to go. Your eyes flew open and locked onto him.

“You bastard,” you choked. His fingers remained still inside you, making the ache that much worse. Your walls fluttered around them, begging for movement, desperate to be finished, anything.

“Ooh,” he tsked. “That’s not very nice is it? Considering I’ve got your orgasm literally in the palm of my hand.”

You exhaled hard through your nose, trying to rut against his fingers. Trying anything for just a fraction of pleasure. But he stepped back and withdrew his fingers completely.

A pathetic whine escaped you. Your body bucked forward from the loss. Your arms fell to your sides as the ghost of pleasure throbbed through you with nowhere to go. 

When you met his eyes again, the look nearly brought you to your knees. He was enjoying this. Too much.

“Look at you,” he murmured, dragging his wet fingers slowly down your inner thigh. The teasing path left goosebumps in its wake and you twitched at the contact, throat tight with a sound you refused to let out.

You glared at him, cheeks flushed. You weren’t sure if you wanted to slap him or kiss him until your lips went numb. Probably both. 

“You’re cruel,” you said quietly.

He smiled at that, then gently but firmly grabbed your jaw, tilting your head back until your mouth parted. He pressed those same slick fingers against your lips, and you didn’t hesitate, letting him slide them past your tongue. He groaned low in his throat at the sight of your mouth closing around them.

“You really thought I was just gonna give in?” he murmured, pulling his fingers back. “After all that mouth earlier?”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Then he stepped back again. Like he was done. Like he was going to leave.

You blinked, stunned. “You’re joking.”

No response.

“Fine,” you snapped, pulse thudding with rage and desperation. You slid your hand between your thighs, fingers sinking in easily, still warm and slick from him. The relief was instant, your body chasing the high it had been denied.

But you barely got into a rhythm before he spoke.

“Stop it.”

You ignored him, curling your fingers deep, pleasure returning like a tidal wave. Just a little more—

“I said stop.” 

Suddenly he was in front of you again, yanking your wrist away. You wrestled your arm from his grip, fire burning in your chest. 

“You can’t stop me from finishing myself off the minute you step out of this shower.”

He tilted his head, the curve of his mouth devilishly calm. “Can’t I?”

And god dammit, your body believed him, suddenly cold and dry. Already aching with loss. Like your nerves knew it was over before you did.

“You’ll get what you want,” he said, voice soft but edged with promise. “Eventually.”

Then he disappeared, leaving you alone with nothing but the sound of running water and the thrum of your pulse echoing in your ears.

That evening, the four of you got dressed up to go out. It was your dad’s idea. One final hurrah to celebrate before the trip came to a close. He picked a fancy rooftop bar downtown. One with panoramic views of the city and overpriced cocktails. You all agreed without much hesitation. Maybe it was the sun. Or the lingering tequila. Or that low hum of sadness that always comes with the end of something good.

You slipped into a black velvet dress—simple, but clinging in all the right places, the open back catching the breeze as you stepped into the night air. You weren’t dressing for him, not really, but you noticed the moment Noel’s gaze found you across the table. It lingered a beat too long before sliding away. A flicker of a smile tugged at your lips, but you fought it down.

You clinked glasses with Emily and threw yourself into conversation, a little guilty for how much of the trip you’d spent focused only on Noel. You rarely got this kind of time with her and she always managed to lift your mood.

Another drink in, your face was flushed with laughter, chest warm from gin. You were trying to stay present, to forget that everyone was leaving tomorrow. So you leaned into it. Let yourself forget, just a little longer.

Your dad was midway through one of his classic long winded stories, arms moving animatedly as he recalled something you’d heard countless times. You were laughing along when you felt the nudge of a knee against yours beneath the table. 

The contact was soft but deliberate and you had to fight your instinct to flinch. Your eyes snapped across the table where Noel was now very pointedly not looking at you, his tongue sweeping slowly across his bottom lip like he was trying not to smile.

Prick.

You inhaled sharply and shifted your legs out of his reach. He was not doing this here. You were still on edge from earlier. Pissed at the way he’d pushed you to the brink and left you there. And now he was testing your boundaries again.

Part of you was dangerously close to snapping and kicking him in return. The other wanted to slide your foot up his thigh and make him squirm.

Before you could decide, the waitress returned with a fresh round. She placed Noel’s drink down last, lingering just a second too long, her eyes locked on his.

“Enjoy,” she said, sweet and just shy of suggestive.

Noel offered her a warm smile. “Cheers, love.”

She grinned, tucking her hair behind one ear as she turned away, glancing back once before disappearing.

You took a long sip of your drink. This was stupid. He was stupid. You weren’t going to rise to it. But Emily had no such restraint.

“Noel,” she teased, drawing out the vowels. “Last night, now’s your chance,” she said, nodding toward the retreating waitress with a raise of her eyebrows.

Noel smirked, but covered it quickly with a sip of his drink, swirling the ice.

“Nah,” he said with a faux considerate shrug. “She’s a bit young for me, don’t you think?”

Your blood turned icy. Whether it was an intentional jab or just a casual deflection, you felt it in your gut. And you hated that it landed.

Emily just shrugged. “Some women are into that.”

Noel chuckled under his breath and looked like he was fighting hard not to send a smug smirk your way. You, on the other hand, were staring daggers at him. 

“Emily, please,” your dad said with a sigh, shaking his head. “Leave the man alone. He’s had it rough enough as it is.”

Then he turned to Noel, thoughtful now. “Though I will say, you do seem a hell of a lot more relaxed than when you first got here.”

Noel stiffened imperceptibly, but you caught the faint tension in his shoulders.

“S’pose so,” he said mildly, like it hadn't even occurred to him until now.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” your dad said, giving him a friendly clap on the back. “You’re welcome on any family trip from here on out, right girls?” He looked between you and Emily, clearly expecting enthusiastic agreement.

“Of course!” Emily said quickly, reaching across the table to pat Noel’s hand.

You were a beat too slow. The idea of Noel joining you on another trip was somewhere between absurd and thrilling. 

“Right,” you said, trying to sound casual. But your pulse had quickened. Maybe next time he’d have his own room. Maybe there wouldn’t be so many stolen moments. Maybe—

“At least sound a bit more excited,” Noel cut in, grinning now. It was the first thing he’d directed at you all evening. His voice was light, but the undercurrent was unmistakable. Like he knew exactly what kind of thoughts you were having.

Your cheeks flared. “No, of course,” you said quickly, forcing brightness into your tone. “Definitely.”

Your dad beamed. “Well, I’m just happy we could be of service.”

You nearly choked on your drink. The phrase felt too pointed, your mind spinning with all the ways it could be interpreted. Then there was that knee knocking at yours again, lighter this time. 

You coughed. “Food anyone?”

The rest of dinner went smoothly enough. Noel mercifully didn’t touch you again. But his gaze? That was another story. The weight of it kept you warmed despite the chill of the night.

It was maddening. And maddeningly effective.

By the time the plates were cleared and everyone had sipped the last of their drinks, your dad clapped his hands together, the way he always did when declaring something final.

“Right,” he said, rising from his chair. “We better head back. I haven’t even started packing.”

You and Emily murmured your agreement, chairs scraping back from the table, but Noel cut in casually, swirling the last of his drink.

“Go on without me,” he said. “Might catch up with a friend in town.”

Your stomach dipped before you could stop it.

Your dad just nodded, unfazed. “Alright, mate. Safe travels.”

You downed the rest of your drink, warm, too strong alcohol pooling at the bottom, and rose without looking in Noel’s direction. Your chair scraped a little too sharply across the floor. 

You trailed after Emily and your dad through the restaurant, the city’s skyline glowing against the dark windows, too pretty for how sour you suddenly felt. 

At the elevator, you offered a quiet excuse about needing the restroom and promised to meet them downstairs. 

Inside, you stared at your reflection, only to find a bitter woman looking back. You closed your eyes and drew in a slow breath. He didn’t owe you anything. But that didn’t stop you from feeling disappointed.

Once you’d gathered yourself, you exited, smoothing your dress as you walked out. Then your eyes landed on Noel, leaning casually against the wall opposite the bathroom, arms crossed.

You stopped in your tracks, eyes narrowing.

“I thought you were meeting a friend,” you said slowly.

“I am,” he said evenly.

You blinked. Looked around the hall, empty but for the two of you.

He grinned, just a bit. “You’re the friend.”

Your stomach flipped. It was unexpectedly…sweet of him. The two of you hadn’t spent any time alone outside of the house. It was embarrassing how quickly your mood shifted. 

You crossed your arms, mirroring his stance, rolling your eyes hard enough to sell some detachment. “You’re so stupid.”

“Come on then,” he said, pushing off the wall. 

You hesitated, glancing toward the elevator where your dad and Emily were surely waiting.

“My dad and Emily—”

“Tell ‘em you went out,” he said casually. “Met up with that guy who gave you that.” He reached out and tapped your shoulder lightly, right where the faint trace of the mark he’d left was beginning to fade.

You swallowed. “Right.” 

You fumbled for your phone and sent a quick text to Emily. Her response was almost immediate—some suggestive emojis. You smiled down at it despite yourself and slid your phone back into your bag.

When you looked up, Noel was still watching you, and the look on his face made it impossible to hide anything. He looked pleased. Too pleased.

“Where to?” 

Noel took you to a cocktail lounge that felt entirely out of your league. It was the kind of place you wouldn’t have dared enter alone—dim and decadent, every detail curated to feel intimate and exclusive. The chandeliers above were antique and low, casting a warm amber glow that shimmered off cut glass and whispered of obscene price tags.

You tried not to gawk as you followed him through the room, head slightly down, eyes flicking across velvet booths and flickering candlelight. Music floated low, barely loud enough to hear, but enough to blur voices and hush the air.

Most of the tables were filled. Small clusters of people leaned in close, talking low. Couples sat with knees brushing, fingers idly tracing stems of half-empty glasses. A flush of something warm spread through your chest. He’d brought you here. Here, where he didn’t seem worried about being seen with you. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

He led you to a curved booth tucked into the far corner. The cushions were deep purple and the candle on the table was casting patterns across the marble. Noel slid in first, settling squarely in the center like he belonged there, arm draping across the backrest.

You hovered at the edge for a second before he patted the seat next to him. He seemed utterly relaxed. You weren’t sure why you weren’t. Maybe it was because you felt out of place. 

You sat. Carefully. Not brushing too close, but close enough to feel the heat of his arm behind you, the ghost of his knee against yours.

The low light played off the sharp lines of his face, shadows catching in the hollows of his cheeks, tracing the bridge of his nose. 

His eyes, half-lidded and unreadable, cut to you. You held the gaze. He smirked slowly, leaned in just enough that his lips brushed the shell of your ear.

“It was such an effort to keep my hands to myself earlier,” he murmured. “Don’t shy away from me now.”

The words dropped like hot coals straight to your spine, melting through you. Such fierce want struck you all at once. And the way his fingers ghosted from the booth’s edge to your shoulder, playing with the velvet of your dress, told he’d seen every last bit of the effect he had on you. 

You turned toward him slightly, your hand sliding to rest on his knee. Testing. He didn’t flinch. Just watched you, mouth curled into the faintest suggestion of amusement.

Your fingers drifted higher. “As long as I’m allowed the same courtesy,” you purred, letting your nails just barely graze the fabric.

His jaw flexed. A flicker passed behind his eyes. But you pulled your hand away before he could respond and reached instead for the wine list, pretending you hadn’t just watched his control waver.

He dropped his hand from your shoulder and leaned forward slightly, peering over your arm.

“That one,” he said, pointing to a wine you couldn’t pronounce and wouldn’t dare attempt.

You nodded faintly, and he flagged a waiter down. Moments later, your glasses were filled, the bottle left between you.

You raised your glass. He mirrored the gesture and you both drank, his eyes never leaving yours.

As you lowered your glass your lips parted to speak, but the words caught when his thumb reached out and brushed the corner of your mouth.

“Just wine,” he murmured. Then he lifted the same thumb to his lips and sucked it clean without ceremony.

Heat bloomed under your skin. The place he’d touched buzzed with warmth, almost embarrassingly sensitive. You blinked, trying to summon something to say, anything to match the casual boldness of the moment.

But he beat you to it.

“So tell me,” he said casually, “did you touch yourself after I left?”

You nearly choked on your drink. One sharp cough, and you turned your head toward him slowly. He didn’t look sheepish in the slightest, just smug. Like he was picturing you, desperate and spread open.

Your cheeks flushed, but you pushed down the embarrassment. He liked it. The idea of it. 

You met his gaze, steadying your voice. “You tell me. Thought you were supposed to know these things.”

He smirked. “Oh, I know.” He paused, eyes flicking down your body like he could see through the dress. “Just wanted to hear you admit it.”

Your stomach fluttered, a little thrill twisting low. You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your pulse was drumming hard in your ears.

“And what if I did?” you asked quietly, eyes still locked on his. “What would you do about it?”

He swallowed once, throat bobbing visibly. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You turned away, lifting your glass again to buy yourself a moment. But he laughed softly, seeing right through you.

“Not so bold now, are we?”

He was too pleased with himself. The edge in his voice sparked something petty in you.

“I did,” you said coolly, lying straight to his face. “Right after you left.”

His expression faltered for the briefest second, But then it was back, lips curling into that familiar shape.

“Liar,” he said easily, taking another sip. “You’re too strung out right now. One touch and you'd come apart.”

You stiffened and tipped the last of your wine into your mouth, the rich taste lost on your tongue, too busy choking down your pride.

An hour later, your head was pleasantly fuzzy and Noel’s hand had found a home on your thigh.

His thumb traced slow, absent circles over the velvet of your dress, the bare skin just above your knee. Every pass sent a flicker of sensation through you, making it hard to focus on what he was saying.

He was leaning in close now, the wine having softened the sharper edges of his demeanor. You were learning something new about him. He was an affectionate drunk, handsy in just the right way. It suited him far too well. Made him feel even more dangerous.

But you didn’t mind. Not in the slightest.

The wine in your blood made everything feel just a little more possible. You shifted slightly, resting your arm along the back of the booth. Your fingertips grazed the nape of his neck, finding the soft hair there and you gave in to temptation, gently twisting a few strands between your fingers.

His thumb paused mid-stroke. Then continued, slower this time. With a little more pressure. The atmosphere between you shifted again.

You tilted your head and watched him, taking in his features. The face you knew too well now. The slope of his nose, the creases that held years of smirks and squints. He looked good like this. Shadowed and still with his hand on you like it belonged there.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” you said quietly, voice almost swallowed by the music and low hum of the room.

He turned to you fully, holding your gaze. “Nothing stopping you, love.”

A small smile pulled at your lips. “Really?” you asked, letting the tease flicker at the edge of your voice. “You don’t think I’m too young for you?”

It was soft, a callback to earlier. But something real lurked underneath it. Some note of insecurity you hadn’t meant to let slip.

His lips curled, eyes glinting. “Don’t you think I’m too old for you?”

You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers threaded deeper into his hair, nails grazing lightly against his scalp. You watched the way his lashes lowered, the way his breath caught subtly at the contact. It made your own heart stutter in response.

How could you explain that it wasn’t despite the age, but because of it? That it was in his calm steadiness, the depth in his eyes, the streaks of silver in his hair, the way he carried himself. Just him. All of him.

So instead of trying to say all that, you just smiled. You shook your head once. Let your eyes answer for you.

His gaze dropped to your mouth.

His hand rose, brushing a knuckle along your cheek before cupping your jaw. The warmth of his palm sent a shiver down your spine, the moment stretching just long enough for your breath to catch.

Then he kissed you.

It was warm and slow, lips plush and confident. He tasted like red wine and heat. You exhaled softly into him, eyes fluttering shut as your body leaned in instinctively, pulled by gravity or want. You couldn’t tell which.

Your hand tightened in his hair, fingernails grazing his scalp just enough to draw a low sound from him. One that made your heart thud against your ribs. You felt the sound more than heard it, a shiver that passed through his chest and into yours.

It was dizzying, how much of him you wanted. How much of yourself you were willing to give. When he finally pulled back, he lingered close, his breath warm against your cheek.

“I think we need to get out of here,” he said, voice husky. “Now.”

You barely heard him over the rush in your ears, but you didn’t need him to repeat it. Your entire body responded before your mouth could.

When he turned to flag down the waiter, his neck shifted beneath the open collar of his shirt, revealing a sliver of skin you had to physically stop yourself from sinking your teeth into.

It was an effort to keep quiet as the two of you stumbled through the front door, limbs tangled, laughter threatening to spill from your lips. Noel’s hands found your waist, firm and steady even in his wine loosened state, steering you forward with a few half-mumbled words that were probably meant to be reassuring but came out slurred with amusement.

You bent to kick off your heels, wobbling slightly. Noel crouched beside you, slowly unlacing his boots, and when he looked up at you from beneath his lashes—eyes warm, mouth slightly parted—your own mouth went dry.

Without a word, you turned on your heel and slipped down the hall. You left the door open behind you and began stripping off your dress. 

Noel lingered in the doorway, one shoulder resting against the frame, eyes following every step.

“Bit presumptuous of you,” he said. “I was just coming to wish you a good night.”

Your lips twitched as you crossed the room. “Tell that to your dick,” you murmured, palming him through his trousers.

He stilled, breath hitching. His hands found your hips but you were already pulling him in. You walked him back until his shoulders bumped the door with a soft thud. One hand reached behind him to nudge it closed with a gentle click.

You didn’t immediately kiss him. Not yet. No you let him stand there as his breathing began to get more labored. 

Then you leaned in to press slow kisses along the base of his neck. The spot you’d been thinking about all night. You could feel him go still beneath you. Then a soft shiver. 

Encouraged, you brushed your lips lower, toward the hollow of his throat, catching the edge of his adam’s apple with your mouth. You parted your lips around it, sucking gently, feeling it vibrate beneath your lips as he let out a breathy laugh.

You wanted to leave a mark. Nearly did. But you made yourself pull back. Just for a second. 

Then your hands found the buttons of his shirt. You worked them open one by one, mouth brushing over each new patch of skin revealed. His chest was warm beneath your palms, rising and falling unevenly as you slid your hands under the fabric—one over his stomach, the other around his back, pulling him closer.

He exhaled sharply through his nose as your teeth scraped the tender skin below his ear. When you finally pulled back, your breath caught.

God, he was gorgeous like this. Hair mussed. Shirt hanging open. Eyes dark and half-lidded, lashes lowered but still trained on you. Leaned back like that, against the door, he looked…undone.

And all yours. At least for the night.

His gaze dropped to your chest, where your bra still clung to your body. His thumb slipped beneath one strap and just…rested there, drawing slow circles against your skin. Not pulling. Just touching. The stillness that settled between you was heavy with heat.

Then he leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t urgent. It built gradually, like the first one you’d shared in this same spot only days ago. But this time he wouldn’t run away. 

You melted into him, fingertips curling over his shoulders as you eased his shirt off. He shifted closer, deepening the kiss. Your hand trailed down his chest until your fingers brushed the waistband of his trousers. You scratched lightly along the skin just above, feeling his stomach tense beneath your touch.

Your fingers reached his belt, pausing to savor the anticipation. It wasn’t until he let out a quiet, broken sound against your lips that you moved again, the sound piercing straight through you. You nipped his bottom lip just enough to make him gasp softly, then slowly tugged the belt free.

Then your hand was slipping inside.

He was already halfway there, hot and heavy beneath your palm. You felt him twitch and it sent a jolt through you.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” you whispered teasingly, breath ghosting against his cheek.

His lips parted, ready with some cheeky reply, but whatever it was died the second your hand cupped him fully.

His head fell back against the door with a dull thud, his breath escaping him in a sharp exhale as your hand moved again, firmer this time.

You felt him swell in your palm, the heat of him almost burning, and something about the way his body reacted to you sent a flush of pride rolling through you. It felt like the entire day had been building to this. And now you finally had him.

He groaned low, hips rocking into your hand like he couldn’t help it. You felt the shudder ripple through him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, forehead pressing to yours, breath shaky and warm against your mouth. His eyes were nearly black now, pupils blown wide, the blue of them swallowed whole.

Just as your fingers slipped lower again, he flipped you around and pinned you against the door with a soft thud that managed to knock the air from your lungs.

One of his hands slid down the curve of your body to your bare thigh, fingers pressing into the soft skin before he lifted your leg and hooked it around his hip. The change made you gasp, the heat of him slotting perfectly against your core, even with the thin barrier of your underwear between you. 

He’d let you play. Let you tease. But now that side of him, the one that had driven you mad earlier, was back. 

He hiked your leg higher, grinding into you with purpose, and you choked out a sound as the pressure hit just right. Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails dragging lightly across his skin. 

He dropped his head to your neck, open mouth dragging hot, messy kisses along your pulse point. The slight scrape of stubble, the warmth of his tongue, the barely contained noise in the back of his throat—it all hit you at once.

Your head lolled back against the door, eyes fluttering shut. But he caught your chin and guided your mouth back to his, pulling you in for a kiss that was all heat and hunger. 

He groaned into your mouth, pinning you harder to the door. The wood dug into your spine but you didn’t care. Not when every point of contact between you burned too hot to feel anything else.

Your head was spinning. Partly from the alcohol, but mostly from him. You pulled back just enough to speak, breath catching. 

“Noel,” you whispered, voice trembling with the ache he’d stirred up inside you. “I don’t think I can take it anymore.”

You hadn’t meant to sound so desperate. But it was true. He’d been teasing you, torturing you, winding you up all day and you needed him to do something about it. Now.

His hands cradled your jaw before sliding down to your hips, guiding you backwards. You moved with him until the backs of your knees hit the mattress.

“I promised I’d give you what you want, didn’t I?” he hummed.

His shirt was long forgotten on the floor. Your bra slipped from your shoulders, skin prickling as cool air hit the newly exposed flesh. You watched the shift in his expression as his eyes raked over you. 

Then he was on you again, kissing you deeply. Your hands roamed greedily over his shoulders, his back, pulling him down with you until he hovered above, his mouth trailing hot kisses along your collarbone, your chest, lower. You gasped when his hand slipped beneath your panties, the first contact making your hips jolt.

His fingers were warm and rough and perfect. He dragged slow, devastating circles over your clit, teasing you with every press. You whimpered, hips lifting to chase more friction, but he didn’t rush.

He gathered your slick on his fingers, stroking through it before finally easing one finger inside. You clenched around him, a soft sound escaping your mouth before you could catch it.

“Christ, I’m gonna miss this,” he murmured against your skin.

The words landed hard in your chest. Whether he meant to say it or not, they cracked something open inside you. But you didn’t have time to dwell because then his middle finger joined the first, stretching you open. Your hands gripped his arms, needing something to hold onto. 

Then he curled his fingers.

You let out a sharp, fractured breath, your spine arching as relief pulsed through you. He trailed hot, open kisses down your sternum, over the swell of your chest. Then his mouth wrapped around your nipple, sucking gently before his tongue flicked in rhythm with the movement of his fingers.

You cried out, hips jerking upward as sensation surged through you. He was drawing it out on purpose, keeping you balanced on a knife’s edge. You dug your nails into his back, hard enough to make him hiss and pull away. But he was grinning now, proud and knowing.

You could picture how you looked to him. Flushed, half-naked, hair wild, chest heaving beneath him. 

“If you don’t take those off right now…” you muttered, voice low and frayed, your eyes locked on the bulge in his trousers.

Noel gave you a wicked smirk. Desire burned in his eyes, but he still played coy. He leaned back just enough to make you think he was going to comply.

“These?” he asked, all mock innocence. His fly was already undone, belt hanging askew, but he only hooked a thumb in his waistband and didn’t move an inch.

Oh, he was evil.

You lunged, grabbing the band of his boxers just before he slipped out of reach. The elastic snapped back against his stomach with a sharp crack, and he laughed, low and delighted.

“Easy now,” he said, still grinning. “One might think you’re getting desperate.”

You glared, lips tight. “And if I say I am will it make you move any faster?”

He tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “No.”

You let out a dramatic groan and flopped back onto the mattress, the pillows rustling around you. Your patience was hanging by a thread.

Finally, you heard the soft creak of the mattress as he shifted his weight. You propped yourself up on your elbows just in time to see him slowly slide his trousers down.

He was down to his boxers now and for a moment all you could do was stare. It was ridiculous how good he looked. Your gaze dropped to the outline in his boxers, the clear strain of him, thick and heavy against the fabric, and you clenched, already feeling the phantom stretch.

Then he peeled those off too.

His cock sprang free, flushed and rigid, the sight of him stealing the breath from your lungs. You bit your lip hard, eyes locked on the way his hand curled around himself, stroking slowly. A tremor ran through him at the contact, his chest rising more sharply now. Your gaze finally dragged up to meet his and found him watching you just as intently. Roaming your body like he couldn’t choose where to settle first.

You slid your underwear off and tossed them aside. And just like that, you were both bare.

It struck you then—this was the first time you’d both been fully naked in front of each other. No clothes, no barriers. All the other times had been quick, frantic, with layers still clinging to your bodies. But this…this felt different.

Something shifted in your chest as you looked at him. Really looked at him. Just days ago, he’d stood in this room barely able to let himself kiss you. Now here he was, undone in front of you, completely exposed in more ways than one.

For a moment, neither of you moved. His hand fell away, and a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. You wondered if he was feeling it too. The weight of what this had become. The tenderness buried inside the lust.

You tugged lightly at his wrist and he came to you, settling onto the bed. His body hovered over yours for a moment and then he kissed you deep and slow, guiding you back down to the mattress.

His hand slid up your bare thigh, curling around it as he guided your leg over his hip again. This time, there was no barrier between you. The full heat of his skin against yours made your breath stutter in your throat. You could feel him hard against your hip and just like that the fierce heat was back with full force.

“I want you,” you whispered against his mouth. “All of you. Don’t hold back.”

He inhaled sharply through his nose.

“Do you mean that?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded, lips brushing his. “I do.”

Before you could register it, he flipped you onto your stomach, hands firmly guiding your hips up beneath him. 

The mattress dipped behind you as he settled into place. You braced yourself on your elbows, heart pounding in your ears. He lingered just behind you, not touching yet but close enough to make you ache. When he nudged your knees farther apart, a wave of vulnerability surged through you, tangled with anticipation.

His fingers slid between your legs and you flinched at the contact, pleasure shooting up your spine. His thumb dragged lazy circles over your clit making you shudder. 

You were about to start begging when you felt him brushing against your entrance. Your whole body tensed in response. 

One of his hands slid to your ass, fingers spreading you open as he lined himself up. He didn't rush. He let you feel every second of it. The tension was unbearable.

And then, finally, he pushed in.

You dropped your forehead to the mattress with a soundless cry. He filled you slowly, each inch claiming more space, more heat, more breath.

That familiar, intense stretch engulfed you, every nerve lit up. His groan rumbled through the quiet of the room and you felt the tremor of it in your own chest.

“Noel,” you gasped, voice broken and breathless.

He paused halfway, holding still so you could adjust. He wasn’t even fully in yet and you felt completely wrecked.

Then he moved deeper. He didn’t stop until he was all the way in, every inch of him buried inside.

The fullness, the heat, the pressure—it overwhelmed you. You felt your heartbeat pulsing between your legs, felt your body stretch and clench around him. After a few breaths, you pushed back, your hips seeking more, granting permission.

And he took it.

He pulled back slowly, almost all the way, before sliding in again. And again. And again. Each stroke built on the last, finding a rhythm. You met his thrusts eagerly, trying to draw him deeper, harder.

“More?” he panted, his voice choked.

You turned your head just enough to glimpse him. His hair was clinging to his forehead, jaw slack with pleasure, a flush rising along his neck and chest. You clenched around him, your body reacting to the sheer sight of him.

“I meant what I said,” you rasped. “Don’t hold back.”

Something shifted in his face. He pulled out suddenly with a hiss of breath and muttered something under his breath you couldn’t quite catch, then gripped your hips tighter and eased your knees even farther apart. 

Your chest dropped to the mattress, spine arching. He had you fully bent over for him, wide open, and then—

He slammed back into you. Hard

You cried out, a sound torn from somewhere deep. It was equal parts shock and raw, pulsing pleasure. 

His grip on your waist tightened and he began to fuck into you with unrelenting force, each thrust jolting you forward on the bed only for him to yank you back against him again. The wet, obscene rhythm of it filled the room. It was what you’d been aching for. What he’d been denying you all day.

A sharp gasp tore from your throat when he found that spot—deep and devastating. You writhed beneath him. 

He paused, adjusted his angle slightly, then drove into you again. Right there. Again and again. He hammered into it with cruel precision, grinding his pelvis into you. Your thighs trembled under the pressure, knees nearly giving out. Your hands clawed at the sheets, desperate for something to hold onto.

You met each thrust, hips snapping back to meet his, desperate to keep up with the pace he set. The sounds coming from your mouth weren’t words anymore. Just broken, desperate noises that filled the air between you.

Then he buried himself deep and leaned over your back, pressing into you with a slow, grinding motion that made you whimper. His chest was hot against your spine, his breath burning your ear.

“Not so mouthy now, are you?” he murmured, smug and wicked.

You gasped, lips trembling. “F-fuck you.”

He gave a low, amused hum. His hand slid into your hair, fingers curling at the base of your neck, and he pulled. Your head tipped back involuntarily, exposing your throat, your whole body bending to his control.

“If you insist,” he said, voice thick with heat.

And then he started again.

Using your hair as leverage, he pounded into you with a brutal rhythm that had you keening. The sharp tension at your scalp only heightened everything else. You’d never thought hair pulling would do anything for you, but now you understood. The heady mix of pleasure and pain had your nerves lit up like live wires. You were unraveling fast.

Choked moans tumbled from you in time with each thrust, body slick with sweat and heat. You could feel yourself tightening around him, pulsing at the edge of it. So close to breaking open you could hardly breathe.

And then he pulled out.

Your body convulsed with a helpless noise somewhere between a sob and a whine. No. Not again.

But his hand was already at your hip, nudging you to turn over. You moved without thought, breath ragged as your back sank into the pillow. You looked up at him, chest rising and falling in uneven waves.

“Surely you wouldn’t be so cruel as to do this to a lady twice in one day,” you managed, trying to keep your voice steady through your panting.

He met your gaze, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Just wanted to watch you fall apart.”

You didn’t need the rest of the sentence to understand it.

One last time.

Something splintered in your chest at the thought. The tension between your bodies didn’t lessen, but it shifted. Slowed.

Your expression softened as he leaned down, his body settling over yours, guiding your thigh up around his waist. His hand traced along the outside of your leg and then he pressed back inside you.

You exhaled a trembling breath.

He moved carefully, rolling his hips deep and slow. You could tell he wanted to take his time. And you let him. Secretly, you wanted that too. Needed it.

He leaned over you, capturing your mouth again in a slow, languid kiss. Your mouths parted in sync, his hips moving in time with the gentle drag of his lips. You curled your arms around his neck, pulling him closer until your bodies were nearly flush.

Your release built slowly and steadily, rising like a wave. It was deep and heavy and nothing like the frantic rush from before.

He was close too. You could feel it in the stutter of his hips, the tremor in his arms, the way his breathing grew shallow. His mouth dropped from yours, forehead pressing gently to yours as you stared at each other in the low light. His eyes were dark and heavy lidded, glassy with something he wouldn’t speak aloud.

It was too much. Too intimate.

It felt like making love.

And that thought alone undid you.

Your body clenched around him suddenly, your breath hitching as the tension finally broke. He followed, groaning deep in his chest as he drove in one last time and spilled inside you.

You trembled as your orgasm crested and rolled through you. It was a different kind of pleasure. It crept up slowly, radiating through your entire body. Not a sharp slam, but a powerful flood pulsing through your chest and limbs.

You shuddered, eyes fluttering shut as the last ripples passed through you, leaving you hollowed and heavy in the best way.

He stayed inside you for a moment longer, his breath hot against your cheek, before he gently eased out and collapsed beside you with a soft grunt, arm brushing yours.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. The silence was thick with everything you hadn’t said. Everything you couldn’t.

Your limbs felt too heavy to move, but when strength slowly returned you reached blindly for the first thing within reach, your soft sleep shirt, and wiped the mess between your legs. Without a word, you handed it over. He mumbled a half-slurred thank you before tossing the shirt across the room.

For a while, there was nothing. Just the sound of your breathing. The faint thump of your heart echoed in your ears. When you finally turned to look at him, he was asleep. His face was slack with exhaustion, the lines softened in the low light. 

You knew you shouldn’t let him fall asleep here, but your own eyelids grew heavy, dragged down by the weight of everything—the wine, your body, what you’d just done. Just a few minutes, you told yourself, already fading. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Saturday (again)

You woke with a jolt, body tensing before your mind even caught up. Something was wrong. Or rather someone. The someone that was still in your bed, limbs tangled with yours. The sunlight was streaming in far too brightly for it to be anything but late morning.

You sat up quickly and instantly regretted it. A dull, unforgiving throb pounded behind your eyes as the hangover announced itself loud and clear. You winced and brought a hand to your temple, the stale taste of wine lingering in your mouth.

A sound came from the kitchen and your heart leapt into your through. Whoever was in there had a direct line of sight to the living room. And the couch that was supposed to be Noel’s bed. Which was still perfectly made and empty.

Fuck.

You hadn’t even had the presence of mind to fold it down last night to keep up appearances. You’d been too drunk, too caught up in the way he kissed you.

Your pulse spiked as you twisted toward him. He was lying on his stomach, dead asleep. Blissfully unaware. And still completely naked.

You weren’t faring much better.

Even in the haze of alarm, you caught yourself pausing, just for a second, to look at him. His hair was slightly mussed and he looked a bit scruffy. You felt a flash of something soft and warm and far too dangerous.

Another sound in the kitchen snapped you out of it.

You shook his shoulder. “Noel. Noel wake up.”

He groaned and stretched, his limbs sprawling lazily like a cat. You shook him again, more urgently this time.

“Noel get up.” 

His eyes cracked open, bleary and slow to focus. He smiled sleepily at you, eyes drifting down to your bare chest, entirely unbothered. You look he was giving you made your face heat despite everything.

“Morning,” he rasped, voice still thick from sleep.

You stared at him.“We fell asleep. You need to get out of here. Now.”

His eyebrows furrowed for a moment before looking around and finally realizing the situation. 

“Oh. Oh fuck.”

He threw the covers off, scrambling for his clothes in all directions. The same clothes he was in last night. Shit. This was just getting worse. 

You pulled on the nearest shirt, only to spot a cum stain dead center on the front. A soft curse slipped from your lips as you yanked it off and shoved it beneath your pillow.

“No, you should wear that one,” Noel said from across the room, grinning as he fumbled with his buttons.

You shot him a glare. “Not in the mood.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, but his grin didn’t fade.

You ran a hand through your hand, trying to calm your rapidly beating heart. Trying to think. The moment you opened that door you’d have to start lying through your teeth. 

So much for a quiet last morning.

Noel was nearly dressed, shirt still wrinkled, belt halfway through the loops. You weren’t sure if the flush on your skin was from anxiety or the memory of his hands on you just hours ago.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself.

“We need a plan,” you said quickly, waving your hand like something would come to you. You started pacing, wracking your brain for plausible scenarios and alibis.

“Okay, okay—you need to go into the bathroom across the hall. Wait a minute. Then walk out like you’ve just woken up there. Greet whoever’s in the kitchen with a smile and absolutely no guilt whatsoever. You…you met someone last night. That’s it. You’re just now getting back. Which explains the clothes. And why you weren’t on the couch.”

You turned to him for input, for anything, but Noel just dragged a hand over his face, looking equal parts amused and exhausted.

Yeah,” he said slowly. “Sure. I can do that.”

He turned to leave, but you grabbed his arm before he could open the door. Your eyes scanned him quickly, checking for signs of you. No lipstick, no love bites, but his hair was a disaster. You reached up to smooth a wild piece sticking up at the crown of his head, but it stubbornly refused to lie flat.

His hand closed gently around your wrist and you stilled.

Without a word, he leaned in and kissed you, soft and steadying. It was the kind of kiss that didn’t belong to a moment like this, but to a different timeline. One where you weren’t sneaking around, making up stories, or hiding any trace of your night together.

You started to pull away, but his hand came up to cup your cheek.

“Breathe,” he whispered. “If you look like you're hiding something, they'll know you are.”

Your throat tightened. You held his gaze, trying to memorize it. The blue of his eyes, the faint crease between his brows, the steadiness of his presence. You weren’t going to be this close to him again. Not like this.

You blinked rapidly and stepped back, breaking the spell. It was already fraying at the edges anyway. You sucked in a deep breath and gave a tiny nod. 

Then he opened the door and slipped out. 

You pressed your ear to the wood, breath held. You heard the soft creak of the bathroom door, the click of it closing and then opening again, and then his voice, light and casual.

“Mornin’, Emily.”

You let out a tiny breath of relief. At least it wasn’t your dad. Although Emily was more nosy. 

“Well, well, well. Look who decided to join the land of the living,” she chirped. “Where were you last night, hmm? Just now getting in?”

“With a friend.”

To his credit, Noel’s voice was smooth. Neutral. You’d believe him if you didn’t know better.

Emily wasn’t having it. “Uh-huh. And you’re still wearing the same clothes. Was it that waitress? Oh my god—it was, wasn’t it?”

Either he didn’t reply or just made some noncommittal gesture because you didn’t hear anything else.

You bit your nail, debating whether you should go out there now or wait a bit. But if there was one thing you knew about Emily, it was that she’d keep prying until she was satisfied. 

You sucked in a breath and pushed the door open.

“Morning,” you mumbled, careful to keep your gaze anywhere but on Noel.

Emily turned, spatula in hand. “Morning,” she chirped, giving you a quick once over. “Oof, you look rough. Good night?”

Your pulse quickened, but you shot her a dry look. “Gee thanks Em.”

She tilted her head, feigning sympathy. “Oh no. Not good, was he?” she said, mock-coddling you like you were twelve and not trying to lie your way through a minefield.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from glancing over at Noel. You could feel his presence heavy in the room, but you didn’t dare look.

Emily crossed the kitchen in two strides and enveloped you in a hug, her arms wrapping tight around your shoulders. “My poor baby sister,” she cooed.

You stood there stiffly, letting her hold you until she started patting your hair like you were a dog.

“Alright get off me,” you said, wriggling out of her grip and pushing her back just enough to breathe.

She stepped away but not without narrowing her eyes a bit. Her gaze flicked over you again like she was searching for something before she turned back to the stove.

“You need a shower,” she said, her tone casual. Almost too casual. She slid a heaping plate of food toward you without another word. You gratefully took it and plopped down at the table. 

Behind you, Noel had moved into the living room, rustling through his bag. When he straightened, he had a clean set of clothes in his hands.

“You can use it after me,” he said casually, already heading toward the hall.

“Try not to use all the hot water,” you called after him, aiming for breezy. Normal.

He gave a little laugh before disappearing around the corner.

You looked back at your plate, appetite wavering. You could feel Emily watching you, even if she pretended not to be.

“Was yacht boy really that bad,” she asked, voice light, “or did you just get absolutely wrecked last night?”

“Bit of both,” you lied, shrugging. 

She hummed, unconvinced but not pressing. The two of you ate in silence for a few minutes.

“You sleep with him?”

You froze for a fraction of a second, your eyes flicking up to meet hers. Her voice had been too casual. Like she’d been working her way up to it.

“I…what?”

“Noel,” she said, enunciating his name. “Did you sleep with him?”

You nearly choked, the bite of food catching awkwardly in your throat. You coughed hard, head down, trying to buy yourself seconds to regroup.

When you finally managed to speak, your voice wobbled with forced amusement. “Why would you say that?” You even laughed a little, hoping it didn’t sound as false as it felt in your chest.

Emily didn’t smile. She didn’t even blink. “Dunno. Maybe because you smell like you’ve been bathing in his cologne.”

Shit. 

You set your utensils down calmly. “And you’re jumping straight to me sleeping with him because of that?”

“Answer the question.” Her voice dropped. Quiet, but deadly serious.

That tone. You hated that tone. It always cut the deepest. Made you feel like a kid again, caught in a lie that hadn’t even fully formed.

You hesitated, heart pounding. Mercifully you were saved by Noel himself, emerging from his shower. 

“All yours,” he said, oblivious to the sudden tension in the room. 

You stood abruptly, scraping your chair back as you rose. Your eyes flicked to Emily once more. You hadn’t said anything, not exactly, but you knew it didn’t matter. 

Not answering had said it all.

You stayed in the shower longer than you should’ve, trying to rinse away any lingering trace of him. Even though some part of you didn’t want to. You wanted to cling to every last bit of him. The scent on your skin. The feeling of his mouth on yours. 

But clinging to it wouldn’t make it real any longer than it already had been.

You pressed your forehead to the tiled wall, contemplating what to tell Emily. All you knew was that you were well and truly fucked. Every possible version of the truth, or something close to it, seemed destined to crumble under her stare. She’d find the cracks.

You only stepped out when your fingers had pruned. You moved slowly as you toweled off, dressed, and made your way back across the hall. But when you opened the door, you stopped cold. Emily was sitting perched on the edge of your bed, arms crossed. 

“Uh…hi Em can I help you?”

She didn’t smile. Not even a little bit. Just, “Your pillow smells like him. And your sheets reek of sex.”

Your stomach bottomed out. You went straight to deflection. It was all you had left.

“Why were you in here smelling my sheets you freak?”

She didn’t flinch. “And then there's this.” 

From beneath your pillow, she pulled out your shirt. The one you’d tried to hide, stain front and center. Obvious. Damning.

You snatched it from her hand. “That’s private,” you muttered, folding it like that might somehow undo the damage. “Get out.”

“You’re not even gonna deny it?”

“Why should I?” The words came out flat. “You’ve already made up your mind.” You should’ve been panicking, but you knew it was over. 

You expected her to yell. But she didn’t. She just stared at you, something hollow and quiet in her eyes.

“He’s Dad’s friend.”

You turned on her sharply. 

“He’s my friend too,” you snapped, hating how childish it sounded. Then you lowered your voice. “It’s not like I planned this.”

She shook her head, disbelief thick in her voice. “He came here for a break. He’s in a vulnerable place. He’s twice your age. Recently divorced. Famous. Are you even thinking clearly? Did you even consider what would happen if this got out? Noel Gallagher, post-divorce, shacking up with some twenty something on holiday? Do you have any idea how that would look?”

You opened your mouth and then closed it again. You hadn’t thought about that. Not really. You hadn’t been anywhere public, not where anyone could’ve seen you…except last night. 

Your stomach twisted.

“No one’s going to find out.”

Emily just stared, unreadable.

You stepped forward, trying to sound firmer than you felt. “Right, Emily? No one’s going to find out.”

She let out a slow breath. “I won’t tell Dad, if that’s what you’re asking.”

That small relief barely registered before she added, “He’d be even more disappointed than I am.”

That hurt. Your spine stiffened and you shot back without thinking.

“You’re such a hypocrite, you know that? You were pushing both of us this entire trip. To ‘live a little’. But now you’re mad because it’s not someone you approve of?”

She shook her head. “It’s more than that and you know it.”

A silence settled between you. “Whatever,” you muttered, turning away. “It’s over now anyway.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” You didn’t mean for it to sound bitter, but it did.

“Just because you slept with him once doesn’t mean it won’t happen again.”

You didn’t answer. But that was answer enough.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, realization dawning. “It wasn’t just last night, was it?”

You hesitated. Then shook your head slowly.

 “No.”

Emily stared like she didn’t recognize you. Like the pieces didn’t add up to the sister she thought she knew. “Does yacht boy even exist?”

You gave the barest shake of your head.

She scoffed. “That bite mark…jesus. I’m so stupid. I thought you were being secretive because you were embarrassed. Not because you were lying.”

“Just…don’t say anything to him. Please,” you murmured. “To Noel.”

She looked at you sharply, then softened. Barely. “I won’t. But only for his sake. He doesn’t need more shit in his life right now.”

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat.

“Thanks,” you said, barely audible.

She stepped toward the door but then hesitated. For a second, it looked like she might say something else. But then she seemed to think better of it. Her hand tightened on the knob, and she shut the door with a bit more force than necessary.

You stood frozen in the quiet that followed. Then you collapsed onto your bed, burying your face in your hands. You refused to cry. Not over this. Not over him. Because if you did it would mean it wasn’t just some fleeting thing. It would mean it mattered.

You pressed your eyes shut and focused on breathing until the ache in your throat dulled to something more manageable.

At least for now.

You were stood in the living room, the weight of goodbye hanging heavy in the air. Noel’s flight was earlier than the rest of yours and now everyone was gathered to see him off. He was making light conversation with your dad, his hands shoved casually in his pockets, though you could see the tightness in his jaw. 

Emily had put on a smile, but you could tell it was forced. You didn’t bother hiding anything at all. 

When the car finally pulled up, Noel clapped your dad on the back, said something you didn’t catch. Then he turned to Emily, offering a brief hug. She returned it stiffly, murmuring a too bright goodbye.

Then his gaze slid to you and your stomach flipped helplessly. You hadn’t spoken much since the morning. As far as he knew, things were fine. As far as he knew, no one else knew.

His embrace lingered just a few seconds too long, just enough to make your heart twist. He smelled clean, familiar, like Noel, and you had to blink rapidly to keep yourself steady.

Over his shoulder, you met Emily’s gaze. Her expression was unreadable. Frustration, maybe. Maybe even something close to protectiveness

When he pulled back, he gave you a soft, private smile. You returned it, barely. Then he stepped outside, lifting one hand in a wave as he disappeared down the steps.

You stayed frozen until the sound of the car engine faded. Then you mumbled something about packing and slipped away before anyone could follow.

You’d packed in complete silence. It was a quiet sort of cruelty. Each piece of clothing now had a memory attached to it. Your bathing suits. Last night's dress. Your stupid stained t-shirt.

It was all bittersweet. You’d had him. If only for a few days, you had him. And yet you knew it was destined to be a temporary thing. You caught yourself staring at your bed and tried not to think about how soft his features had looked this morning.

You sat on the edge then slowly slid down until you were curled on your side. Emily had been right. The pillow really did smell like him. You let yourself breathe it in. Just once. Eyes shut tight.

You must’ve dozed off, because the next thing you heard was a gentle knock at your door.

“Cars gonna be here in thirty,” your dad said, poking his head in.

You sat up, scrubbing your hands over your face. “Okay.”

He lingered. “You alright, darling?”

You glanced toward the door, heart tight. “Yeah,” you said, forcing a faint smile into your voice. “Just tired. And I don’t wanna leave.”

He smiled warmly. “Me either.”

Thirty minutes later you were in the car, the house shrinking in the rear window. You watched it until it disappeared completely.

You tried to leave everything behind with it—the touches, the kisses, the rush. But your body still remembered. And so did your heart, stubborn as ever. You could still feel the weight of his hands on your skin. You could still feel him in your bones. In the parts of you he’d touched that had nothing to do with skin.

You leaned your forehead against the window, letting the cool glass ground you. A plane passed overhead and you wondered if he was on it. Already on his way back to a different life. One that didn’t include you. If he was thinking about you at all or just moving on the way you were supposed to.

You knew it couldn’t last. You knew it the second it began. And now it was over. Just a handful of days. You hadn’t meant to feel this much. But it happened anyway. Now all that was left was the ache in your chest, quiet and lingering. Like a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing. Not forever. But for a while.

It was a strange mix of sadness, gratitude, and something a little like grief. But no regrets. Not a single one. Not the sneaking around. Not the risk. Not even the way you let yourself want more knowing you wouldn’t get it. You’d do it all again. Just to have those moments. Even if they didn’t last.

You exhaled slowly and closed your eyes. You still wanted more. And maybe he did too. Maybe not. That’s what killed you the most. Not knowing. Not being able to ask.

Part of you hoped. Clung to the looks you’d shared. You wouldn’t reach out when you got back. You couldn’t. That had to be his decision.

And deep down, you knew it was wishful thinking. To believe he’d think of you again. Not like that. Given the circumstances. Given everything. 

But that would never stop you from leaving a little space carved out for him. Just in case. 

Even if it hurt. 

[blackpantherismyish]

Slow Burn, Sharp Blade 🍃

Modern!au Elijah “Smoke” Moore X Black!OC Joya Sable

Word Count : 4K

Authors Note : 👀 Hey y’all. While I love my Smoke and Annie, I wanted to bring in this OC to give it a lil twist. If you like this enough, I’ll definitely drop a part two. Yall just have to let me know. And fun fact, that picture of the sky was taken by yours truly ☺️🙂‍↕️ I have a whole gallery full of them so you may see some more in the future. There’s some teasing in here so I wouldn’t say it’s quite smut but it definitely ain’t vanilla either. So enjoy! 😉

The bell above the east Oakland barbershop door jingles like it’s in on the city’s secrets—like it knows something’s about to go down.

Smoke steps inside slow, letting his eyes adjust to the dimmer light of the barbershop. It smells like clove oil, fresh fade spray, and something sweet—a woman’s perfume laced with warning. Stack told him this was the spot. Said “Trust me, bruh, she got hands like magic. And she don’t scare easy.”

Didn’t mention she was fine as hell too.

She’s behind the second chair, finishing a fade on a boy too young to sit still but smart enough not to move when her fingers lock his chin. Short and thick, her shape’s impossible to miss. Denim hugging hips like they owe her something. Her locs are gathered up, edges slick, gold hoops dancing when she tilts her head and a two toned Cuban that didn’t miss it’s opportunity to shimmer as she moved. There’s a dragon tattoo wrapped around her forearm, and a nameplate necklace that reads: Joya.

“Take a seat. I’ll get to you in ten,” she calls, not looking up.

That voice? Sweet heat with a bite on the end.

Smoke chooses the waiting bench near the back, watching through lowered lids. Stack didn’t just set him up with a sharp cut. He knew damn well she’d spark something. That fire. That attitude. That don’t-fuck-with-me drawl every time she tells the kid to quit twitchin’.

When she finally turns his way, it’s like she feels him watching. Eyes drag over him, from the twist in his short Afro to the scar along his collarbone. Her smirk’s small, but it’s there. Confident.

“You Smoke, right?” she asks, snapping her cape loose and shaking it once before motioning him over. “Stack said you needed someone with a steady hand. That true, or you just tryna get up under my chair and flex?”

He chuckles low, something in his chest waking up.

“I don’t need to flex. You see me.”

She narrows her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “You talk smooth, but can you sit still?”

“I can sit still real well,” he says, settling into the chair. “Especially when the view this good.”

That earns him a soft snort. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a dismissal. She steps in close, tugging the cape around his shoulders with quick fingers, then starts examining his fro and the line of his fade.

“Mmhm,” she hums, mostly to herself. “You got nice hair. Thick. Clean. I’ll keep your part, tighten your taper, touch your beard. But if you flinch, I’m nickin’ you. An’ I don’t wanna hear no lip either.”

Smoke lets his eyes close, voice warm. “Bet.”

But when her fingers start in—when the clippers buzz low and her hands guide his head like she owns every angle of him—his breath gets slow. Her touch is firm. Sure. She smells like peach sugar and something spiced, like she might knock a man out and kiss him after.

“You always this quiet when a woman got blades near your neck?” she teases, close enough for her voice to brush his ear.

“Only when I’m thinkin’ dangerous thoughts.”

Joya pauses, her wrist resting just above his jaw. “You better focus on that lineup, baby. Not that fast tongue of yours.”

Smoke smiles slow. He likes the way she holds a blade—like it’s a promise.

He might’ve come for the cut, but he’s stayin’ for the fire.

The clippers hum against his skin, but it’s her voice that makes his pulse skip.

“You got a lot of heat sittin’ in this chair,” she says, brushing hair off his temple with the back of her hand. “You always run this warm, or you sweatin’ ‘cause I’m touchin’ you an’ you get nervous around pretty ladies?”

Smoke doesn’t even open his eyes.

“I don’t sweat easy. But you? You got hands like you used to fight in a past life.”

Joya chuckles low, the sound syrupy with mischief. “Maybe I did. Or maybe I just learned to handle men who talk slick.”

“Is that right?”

She taps the top of his head twice. “Chin up.”

He obeys, letting her angle him where she wants. Her nails graze his jaw as she guides it, not gentle—but not careless either. Like she’s letting him know this chair is hers, and so is the moment.

“You from around here?” he asks, voice still soft, curious.

“Born and raised. Mama ran a salon, Daddy ran a garage. I cut hair in the morning and fix old schools on Sundays. What about you? You from here or just passin’ through lookin’ for your next conquest?”

He opens his eyes now, catches her reflection in the mirror. “What makes you think I’m lookin’ for one?”

Joya meets his gaze without flinching. “’Cause men like you don’t come into shops like mine unless they got a reason.”

“Maybe I came ‘cause Stack said you were the best.”

“Stack don’t hand out compliments unless he’s tryna set somebody up.”

Smoke tilts his head, grin creeping in. “Maybe he was.”

Joya cocks her brow, lips parting just a little, like she’s trying not to smile but it’s slipping anyway. She moves to the other side of the chair, close enough now that her hip brushes his arm. On purpose.

“You flirt with all your barbers like this?”

“Only the ones with gold hoops and a dragon on their arm.”

She scoffs, but her smirk’s telling. “You think I’m impressed ‘cause you noticed my tattoo?”

“No,” Smoke says, voice lower now. “I think you’re curious why a man like me got quiet the minute you touched me.”

That gives her pause. Just a second.

Then—click. She switches to the trimmer and leans in so close her breath fans his cheek. “Don’t get too comfortable. I still might nick you for runnin’ that mouth.”

“I’d bleed for you,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper.

Joya stills, lips inches from his ear.

Then she pulls back and flicks the trimmer off with a snap.

“Line’s clean. Beard’s tight. You can look now.”

Smoke opens his eyes slow. His reflection stares back—fresh cut, sharper jaw, eyes darker than when he walked in.

Joya removes the cape with a flourish, brushing stray hairs from his shoulders. “That’ll be forty.”

He stands, towering over her, but not looming. Just there. Present. The air between them feels different now—warmer, charged.

He pulls a crisp Benjamin from his pocket and presses it into her palm, letting his fingers drag slow across her skin.

“Keep the change.”

She tucks it into her waistband without breaking eye contact. “Next time you want a touch-up, book ahead.” She motioned her head to the stack of business cards at her station.

“I don’t just take walk-ins.”

Smoke leans down just enough to brush his lips near her ear, voice wrapped in velvet heat.

“I wasn’t walkin’ in, babygirl. I was bein’ sent.”

And with that, he’s gone, the door jingling behind him, leaving Joya standing there with clippers in one hand and a grin she doesn’t bother hiding.

——

The bass inside Velvet Ridge rolls like slow thunder through the floorboards.

It’s a Thursday night, mellow crowd but not dead—just the way Joya likes it. She walks in solo, locs out and wild this time, hugging her waist with a ribbed crop top and black jeans. No clippers tonight. Just gold hoops, lip gloss, and attitude.

She’s halfway through her first drink at the bar when Reese, her longtime friend and part-time bartender, slides over with a lazy grin.

“Well damn. You clean up all right.”

Joya smirks. “Better watch your mouth before I bring the clippers up here and leave you with a crooked line on purpose.”

Reese laughs, wiping a glass. “You only get that spicy when you got an itch.”

“I’m here for music, not men,” she says, sipping slow.

Reese lifts a brow, looking past her shoulder. “Then why you got a fresh whiskey ginger coming your way from tall, dark, and locked-in over by the pool table?”

Joya turns her head.

Smoke.

Leaning against the wall like he’s part of it, pool cue in one hand, untouched drink in the other. Same dark tee, same watch and pinky ring glinting under low light. His eyes are already on her, steady and unbothered, like he expected her to walk in eventually.

Because maybe he did.

Joya huffs through her nose and turns back to the bar, trying to play it cool.

“Stack really out here runnin’ matchmaking services now?” she mutters.

Reese whistles low, nudging the drink toward her. “If that’s Stack’s doing, tell him I owe him dinner. That man is fine and lookin’ at you like he’s picturin’ your ass back in that chair—except this time he the one doin’ the sittin’.”

Joya chokes on her sip. “Reese.”

“I’m just sayin’!”

She glances over her shoulder again. Smoke lifts his glass in a silent toast—no wink, no smile. Just that same quiet heat he carried in the shop. And now it’s pulsing between them again, thicker in the dark.

Reese leans in close, grinning. “Go talk to him before I do.”

Joya rolls her eyes, snatches the drink, and slides off the stool. “Keep the seat warm.”

“I’ll keep it icy in case he melts your ass.”

Joya’s already walking, drink in hand, hips swaying like she means it. Smoke watches every step. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, just waits.

When she’s close enough, she takes a long sip and licks her bottom lip. “Sending drinks now? You tryna impress me?”

“No,” Smoke says, voice deep and lazy. “Just thanking you for the cut. And the view.”

She bites back a smile. “Mmhm. You like women who talk back, don’t you?”

“I like women who talk real.”

“Then you better listen close.” She steps into his space, lifting her chin. “If you came here lookin’ for some easy thing, you barkin’ up the wrong tree.”

Smoke leans in just enough for her to feel the heat off his chest. “Nah, I came here hopin’ you’d bark back.”

And just like that, the air around them turns thick again. Charged. Everything unspoken stretching taut between two people who don’t scare easy.

Joya sips again, slow. Then:

“You shoot pool, or just posted up lookin’ pretty?”

Smoke breaks into the smallest smirk. “Rack ‘em.”

Smoke breaks first.

The crack echoes like a warning across the table. Stripes scatter, solids hold tight. He doesn’t say a word—just leans back, pool cue balanced lightly in his hand like it belongs there.

Joya circles the table, eyes on the felt. “Solid,” she declares, tapping the cue ball with the tip of her stick. “Of course. Strong foundation. Like me.”

Smoke watches her the way a wolf watches movement in tall grass—quietly hungry.

She sinks the two ball, easy. Then the five. Walks around him with just enough sway to make sure he notices. She lines up for the four, but the angle’s off, so she stretches forward, hips lifting just slightly, and—

Smoke clears his throat.

Joya grins without looking at him. Got him.

She misses the next shot on purpose.

He steps up, slow. “That move was cheap.”

“You didn’t call no rules,” she says, sauntering over to lean on her stick. “What’s the stakes?”

Smoke circles the table, casual but coiled. “Winner calls it.”

“Oh, you bold,” she says. “What if I ask for something reckless?”

“I’m countin’ on it.”

He sinks three in a row—smooth, patient, no showboating. Just precision and pressure.

When he misses the corner pocket on the eleven, Joya claps her hands once. “And just like that, the throne’s mine again.”

Smoke leans against the wall, arms crossed. “Make your shot, Queen.”

She drops the eight-ball like it owed her something. Stands tall. Sips what’s left of the drink he sent. Then sets the glass down like a statement.

“You owe me now.”

Smoke nods, low and slow. “Say the word.”

Joya steps in close—real close. Her voice drops an octave, sultry and bold. “Winner gets…a nightcap. Your place. But you don’t touch me ‘til I say.”

Smoke’s jaw tightens, something carnal flickering in his eyes.

“That what you want?” he asks, low.

She tilts her head. “That’s what I earned. You got a problem with that?”

He steps into her space, chest brushing her shoulder, his voice like smoke curling up her neck. “I don’t got problems, baby. Just patience.”

Her lip curls into a slow smile.

“Then lead the way.”

Joya’s car hums down the freeway, windows cracked just enough to let the warm California night wrap around her like a silk scarf. Her locs are still coiled from earlier, makeup still fresh, but her pulse? That’s not nearly as calm as the playlist floating through her speakers.

She drums her fingers on the wheel, glancing at the glowing street signs passing by like checkpoints on a map she didn’t plan to follow.

“What the hell am I doing?” she mutters, half-laughing. “Talkin’ slick and now I’m halfway to his place like I don’t got sense.”

She taps her screen, pulls up her group chat.

✨Edge Snatchers Inc✨

Joya, Tish, Kenya, Bri

She hits the voice message button.

Joya:

“Y’all. So. Y’know how Stack’s been pushin’ that one client on me? Smoke? His brother …Yeah, that Smoke—the soft spoken half of SmokeStack twins? Big, broody, quiet, tattooed up like a sin with a story? Anyway… he came through today. Sat in my chair, flirted like he got time to waste, and had the nerve to act unbothered while I was fightin’ for breath. That man don’t talk much, but when he do, it’s low and dangerous like the bassline in a baby-makin’ song.”

Her phone lights up—Tish is typing. Then another voice message comes in:

Tish:

“I told you he had that quiet fine. That ‘write his name on the lease’ fine. You got him in your chair and didn’t melt? Bitch. You stronger than me.”

Kenya:

“Wait, y’all always joked about ‘what if SmokeStack sat in your shop’ and now it’s real?! Tell me you gave him that Joya fade where you put love in the line-up?”

Joya snorts, already recording her reply.

Joya:

“Girl, I gave him the fade and the fire. He sat still like he knew I was sculptin’ royalty. Then tonight—child—ran into him at Velvet Ridge. Sent me a drink like he owned the bar. Didn’t even wink. Just looked.”

The typing bubbles go wild.

Bri:

“So now what? You goin’ home or…?”

Joya exhales through her nose and smiles to herself, tapping the next voice message.

Joya:

“Heading to his place. But I set the rules. I said don’t touch me till I say. And he said ‘I got patience.’ Y’all. He said it like he meant it. I don’t know what this is yet, but I know one thing: that man? He ain’t regular.”

Her phone pings again—heart emojis, devil faces, Kenya yelling “Fumble him and I will ghost you for eternity!”—and it makes her laugh out loud.

But as she turns off the highway and the city lights fade into the quiet of backstreets, something else stirs underneath the teasing. A different kind of hum.

That man sees her. Not just the barber. Not just the smart mouth or the hips or the gold hoops.

He sees the fire. And for once—he’s not trying to tame it. Just… match it.

She parks. Kills the engine. Grabs her lip gloss and dabs it once. Quick breath. One more voice note:

Joya:

“If I’m not at the shop by ten tomorrow… tell Stack when he come in for his line up that it was worth it.”

She slides her phone into her purse and steps out into the night, her heels clicking on the concrete like punctuation to a decision already made.

Smoke’s apartment is nothing like she expected.

No smoke and mirrors. No overdone flex.

Just clean lines. Dark leather. Low lighting. An open bottle of bourbon on the kitchen counter, two glasses, untouched. The scent of something woodsy lingers in the air like it belongs to the bones of the place.

He opens the door, steps aside, and lets her in without a word. Doesn’t crowd her. Doesn’t rush.

Joya walks in like she owns the space anyway. Slow. Confident. A queen inspecting her new throne. She doesn’t speak yet—just shrugs off her jacket, drapes it over a dining chair, and gives him a glance over her shoulder.

“You live like a man who don’t bring company home.”

Smoke closes the door behind her, leans on it for a beat. “I don’t.”

Her brow lifts just a little. “Then I’m your first?”

He nods once. “In more ways than you know.”

She doesn’t ask what he means. Not yet.

Instead, she walks to the center of the living room and turns to face him, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. “Get comfortable. I said this was a nightcap, not a sprint.”

Smoke kicks off his shoes and walks toward her, slow and measured, like he’s syncing with her rhythm on purpose. He stops just shy of touching her.

“You want music?” he asks.

“Mmhm. Something low. Grown.”

He moves to the speaker on the shelf. The playlist starts with a bass-heavy, velvet-laced groove—Snoh Aalegra, maybe. D’Angelo bleeding into the next. Joya doesn’t say a word. Just smiles.

She sinks onto his couch, crossing her legs slow, drink in hand now, which he’d poured without asking—two fingers neat. She raises it in mock toast.

“To men who sit still when told.”

Smoke chuckles low, sits across from her on the other end of the sectional. Legs open. Elbows on knees. That same quiet confidence wrapped around him like armor.

“You keep testin’ my patience,” he says, sipping.

“And you keep passin’.”

Joya watches him over the rim of her glass, letting the silence bloom between them. Letting her presence fill the room. This is what she does best—hold the line.

She’s been around men who try to lead too fast. Who rush into her space like it’s owed. But this man? This man sits in the tension, meets her energy, rises with it.

When she finally leans forward, her voice is smooth and sweet, but there’s iron under the honey. “You really let women call the shots like this?”

Smoke meets her gaze, slow. “Not always. Just the ones who know what to do with the power.”

That earns him her full smile. No games now—just heat and curiosity.

“So what would you do,” she asks, “if I said you can touch me now?”

Smoke doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe heavy. Just leans in, eyes darker than the bourbon in his glass.

“I’d ask where.”

That shouldn’t have landed like it does.

Joya’s breath catches, then releases slow, deliberate. She sets her drink down, stands, and closes the space between them until her knees brush his.

“You ask good questions,” she murmurs, tilting his chin up with a single finger. “Let’s see if your hands give the same respect.”

His fingers slide up her thighs—slow, reverent, like the build-up is better than the prize. He doesn’t grip. Doesn’t move too quickly. He explores.

Joya watches him, her hands still, body poised like royalty.

“You want permission,” she whispers, brushing her lips just shy of his. “You wait for it.”

Smoke nods, voice low and solid. “Every time.”

And that’s when she shifts.

Straddling his lap, her hands on his chest, her mouth finally—finally—meeting his in a kiss that doesn’t ask, doesn’t warn. She tastes like the bourbon he poured and the fire he didn’t know he needed.

He doesn’t take control. Not yet. But when he kisses her back, there’s something in it—heat that mirrors hers, hunger that doesn’t beg but matches. It’s not surrender.

It’s a challenge met.

A game just beginning.

The kiss doesn’t break.

It just… bends.

Slows, curves, folds into something molten.

Joya moves like a woman in no hurry—like the heat between them is best when it simmers. Her hips press down, just enough to make her presence known. Her mouth traces Smoke’s like a secret. And he stays still for her. All that muscle, all that power, waiting under command.

When she finally pulls back, her lip gloss smudged and eyes half-lidded, she speaks like she’s still tasting him.

“Not bad,” she murmurs, brushing her thumb across his jaw. “You kiss like you respect women.”

Smoke’s voice is a gravel drawl, thick and low. “I do.”

Her smile is slow and approving. “Then you’ll have no problem sittin’ right there and lettin’ me enjoy myself.”

She glides off his lap with effortless grace, rising to her full height before him. His eyes track her every motion, intent and devout, like a man absorbing sacred text.

She turns around and walks away from him. Just a few paces. Enough to let her curves sway under the low light. Then she stops, peeks over her shoulder with a knowing little smirk.

“You like watchin’ me?”

Smoke leans back, spreading his legs wider, arms resting on the back of the couch. “You already know.”

She chuckles under her breath and pulls the crop top over her head in one smooth motion. No theatrics, just confidence. Her skin gleams warm and soft in the golden light. Her bra’s a deep burnt orange lace, delicate, and meant to be seen.

She turns around slowly. “I don’t move fast for nobody,” she says. “But I do like to tease.”

Smoke’s jaw flexes. His eyes drink her in. Still—he doesn’t move.

“I’m not tryin’ to speed you up,” he says, voice barely above a growl. “Just grateful for the view.”

Joya walks back toward him, hips fluid, unhurried. She climbs onto his lap again, bare skin warm through her jeans. Her fingers trace the neckline of his shirt, dragging slow.

“You always this good at holdin’ back?” she asks, cocking her head.

Smoke’s hands rest on her thighs, his palms wide and hot but still gentle.

“I only move fast on the field,” he says. “Everywhere else? I like to take my time.”

That earns a low laugh from her, rich like honey. “Careful,” she whispers, brushing her nose against his. “You keep talkin’ like that, I might start believin’ you’re dangerous.”

He lifts his hand, finally, slow—and curls his fingers around the back of her neck. No pressure. Just a hold. A claim. The first real touch with intention.

“I am dangerous,” he says, low and clean. “But not to you.”

Something flickers in her eyes—interest, maybe. Or challenge. She leans in and kisses him again, deeper this time, slower. Her tongue traces his bottom lip like she’s drawing lines only she can cross.

Smoke groans into her mouth, a sound so soft and restrained it makes her thighs clench.

Joya pulls back and whispers, “Take your hoodie off. Slow.”

He obeys.

He shrugs off his hoodie, peeling it over his head like a man shedding a moment, not just clothing. The fabric drops to the floor, forgotten. Tattoos ripple across his chest and arms—ink etched deep into muscle, old warnings and stories carved in black. Her eyes follow every line. She reaches out, tracing one with her finger, circling a flame curling around words she can’t quite read in the low light.

“You always burn this hot?” she asks.

He tilts his head, voice low and rough. “Only when I’m invited.”

She leans in, her mouth brushing his exposed collarbone, then gliding up the side of his neck. Slow, deliberate kisses that stop just shy of giving in. When she speaks, each word skims across his skin like a spark.

“You’ll wait until I say when. And when I do… you better hold on.”

Smoke’s grip on her waist tightens, just enough to promise restraint won’t last long.

Then he smiles—that quiet, dangerous smile that means the fuse has already been lit.

“I’ve been holdin’ back for hours, ma. You tell me when, and I’ll give you everything.”

————-

Taglist: @gtf-o-m-d @spookysanta @michelley-rome @bigjh @anniensmoke3 @hdfen2474 @uzumaki-rebellion @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @killmongerdispussy @theogbadbitch @ccwpidsblog @princesskillmonger @blowmymbackout @theethighpriestess @blktinkerbell @steampunkprincess147 @diamondsinterlude @partylikemajima @theegoldenchild @mhhhhmmmmmmm @coolfoodrunworld-blog @lilchubbs @thebumblebeesworld @mastertia221b @brownskincheyenne @belleofthefloor @c0tt0ncandi @irefusetobeacasualty @cocoxciv-blog @melodyofmbaku @lb-xci

[chooppi]

07. DATE NIGHT - THROUGH IT ALL

JUNE 21ST

“i don’t think i’ve ever won a game of bowling ever,” you admit as you and ace take off your bowling shoes, finally finished with the game that he ended up winning, you weren’t even close.

the man next to you chuckles as he begins to tie his shoes. “well, you can’t be good at everything, that would be kinda boring actually,” he speaks before giving you a pat on the shoulder. “but since i won, how about i pay for the loser’s dinner?”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that forms on your lips at the sound of this date not ending just yet. “we’re getting dinner?” you ask and he nods. “of course we’re getting dinner, i can’t just let you go home hungry,” ace sits down for a little as you tie your own shoes.

it doesn’t take long until you’ve found a restaurant and ordered your food, now you’ll just have to figure out what talk about for the upcoming minutes, but ace has already opened his mouth to speak. “so, you liked our album?” he asks, catching your attention.

“mhm! i really liked it, i’m honestly surprised at least one of them haven’t gone viral yet,” you say, watching as the smile on ace’s face only grows. “and i especially liked those songs were you sang as well, like you’re amazing at the bass but your singing is also so good.”

ace hides his face with one hand and waves you away with his other. “stop it, you’ll make me blush,” he smiles, getting a giggle out of you before continuing. “no but seriously, thank you. luffy has been up my ass about me having to sing for that album so i’m happy it payed off. i prefer the bass though, it’s like my best friend at this point. you know how to play any?”

you shake your head. “i wish, but i don’t.”

he hums. “guess i’ll have to teach you then, you’d look really cool with it. you could come to our studio sometime, you can watch us record new songs and i’ll teach you how to play bass,” you put your hand under your chin and flash him a soft smile.

“you don’t think your bandmates would be annoyed having me there?” ace shakes his head immediately. “definitely not, they always have someone they know over in the studio so i’m allowed to as well.”

the food then arrives, causing you both to go silent for a short while, devouring the food in front of you, that is until you decide to ask something. “when does your tour start?”

ace looks up from him plate. “11th of august, why?” he raises a brow before continuing to clean the plate off food. “just wondered when you’d leave, guess we’ll have to see each other more often until then…”

he puts his cutlery down and nudges your foot under the table with his own. “yeah? you want to see me more?” it’s almost like his eyes are shining with stars as he looks at you, like a little kid on christmas. “well, as long as you want to as well?” you mumble, eyes flickering down to your plate again.

“i’m not stupid, of course i wanna see you more. i really like hanging out with you,” ace admits and smiles. “but you’re coming to our tour right? i heard from luffy that some of his friends were coming so i just guessed that you were coming too.”

“i’ll come to the concert in france, nami really wanted me to come with,” you say before reaching for your glass to chug some water. “and i really want you to come to,” ace speaks.

after dinner, ace walks you home and when you finally reach your place, he turns to look at you. “i’ll just stand here and make sure you get inside safe,” you can’t help but laugh a little at that, but eventually nod. “okay, but i’ll see you soon?”

he reaches for your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “definitely, i’ll text you,” he pulls you a little towards him, and you let go of his hand to wrap your arms around him for a hug. “thanks for today, ace.”

“thank you for wanting to see me, made me really happy if i’m honest,” he brushes a strand of hair out of your face, putting it behind your ear. your eyes meet for just a second before he pulls away, his hand however lingering over your back before you say your goodbyes and he watches you walking towards your place.

he stands there, giving you a little wave as you look back before opening the front door and stepping inside. yeah, he’s falling.

SIX | MASTERLIST | EIGHT

PAIRING: bassist!portgas d ace x f!reader

SYNOPSIS: being dragged to a concert when a band you have never heard of is performing may sound boring, but what if there’s a cute bassist there that’s got all eyes on him while his eyes are only on you?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this isn’t proofread so i apologize for the messy writing, i wrote this while barely awake😭

TAG LIST: @vyainide @w2mini @squishytap @rvm1ne @gojossixtheeyes @xinxinpeh @kaldurahms-lover @hlkenoace @insomniacvoidsstuff @cruziival72