#anyways life is a drag without live music

[asteroidaffliction]

concert season starts up again this month for me and i could not be more excited

[silverskye13]

One of these days I'm going to end up sleeping in my car

[formulaonecrumbs]

always hated the quiet

Lando Norris x university-student!reader

summary: both of them had a weird day and just needed each other.

warnings: just a kiss, swearing? ig. purely fluffy

A/N: i love soft domestic lando and i’ve been missing writing him (+ i’ve never been more motivated to write like this in my life so y’all get a lot today) enjoy!! i lovezzz uuzzz ❤️

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

the silence had been too loud all day.

you’d tried music, then turned it off. tried switching rooms. even made a cup of tea you didn’t really want just to fill a few minutes. but nothing worked—not really. the stillness of the apartment without him in it made everything feel muted, like your thoughts were running underwater.

you were supposed to be studying. there was a test next week and a stack of notes highlighted in every color under the sun, but nothing was sticking. it wasn’t burnout. it wasn’t even the material. it was just… too quiet.

so when the door finally clicked open and lando walked in, the relief hit you like air after holding your breath.

he looked exhausted. didn’t say a word as he stepped inside, just let his bag drop and wandered into the living room, limbs loose and heavy like he’d barely made it through the day.

“hi,” you said softly, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

he didn’t answer right away, just sat down beside you, his body sinking into the couch like it had been calling to him all day. he leaned forward with a quiet groan, elbows on his knees, hands dragging down his face.

“everything went wrong today,” he mumbled.

you closed your laptop, letting it slide off your lap and onto the coffee table. “want to talk about it?”

lando shook his head, curls shifting with the motion. “not really. just… wanna be here.”

“okay,” you whispered. and that was enough.

he leaned back into the cushions, and slowly—so slowly—rested his head against your shoulder. your hand found his hair without thinking, fingers brushing gently through the soft strands. his body melted a little more, like just the touch of you was enough to loosen everything wound tight in his chest.

“couldn’t focus,” you murmured after a while. “not the same when you’re not home.”

lando hummed. “missed you too.”

you stayed like that for a long time, both of you wordless and still. the weight of the day unwinding in the quiet hum between you. but eventually, his stomach let out a low, mournful growl.

you laughed softly, tilting your head to look down at him. “someone needs dinner.”

“someone,” he echoed, eyes closed, “wants to keep lying here forever.”

“you’ll starve,” you teased.

“worth it.”

you nudged him gently, but he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles, warm and unhurried. “come on,” you said. “we’ll cook something together.”

lando groaned like the idea was physically painful, but followed you anyway, trailing into the kitchen like a sleepy puppy. the two of you moved in quiet sync—nothing fancy, just pasta and garlic bread and salad, but it was enough. you boiled water while he chopped vegetables, sneaking a few pieces into his mouth when he thought you weren’t looking.

“we should open a restaurant,” he said, bumping his hip into yours.

“we’d go bankrupt in a week,” you said, grinning.

“worth it,” he repeated, and leaned in to kiss you. it was soft, slower than usual. he tasted like basil and something warm, something familiar. your fingers curled in the hem of his shirt, holding him there just a second longer before pulling away with a reluctant sigh.

“the sauce is burning,” you whispered against his lips.

lando blinked. “shit.”

you both scrambled to save it, laughing quietly as he stirred too fast and splattered some onto the counter. you threw him a towel, and he wiped it up with exaggerated flair. “chef norris to the rescue.”

“chef norris almost ruined dinner.”

“minor details.”

eventually, you both sat on the floor in the living room, dinner spread out on the coffee table like a makeshift picnic. it wasn’t fancy, but it was good. warm. easy. lando stretched his legs out, one of them draped over yours like he needed to keep touching you to stay grounded.

“feels better now,” he said after a while, poking at a piece of garlic bread. “being here. with you.”

you smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder. “me too.”

after dinner, he helped you clean up—insisting on drying the dishes with a ridiculous amount of flair that made you giggle under your breath. and when the kitchen was back to normal, he followed you to the couch again, curling up beside you like he belonged there.

“okay,” he said, peeking at your laptop. “show me what you’re stuck on.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you’re tired.”

“i’ll live.” he reached over and tapped your screen. “besides, i kinda like hearing you talk about smart things.”

you laughed. “i don’t think you’ll be saying that in ten minutes.”

but he stayed beside you, head on your shoulder again, eyes on the screen as you read through your notes. he asked questions when you stumbled. helped you work through an explanation or two. and even though he wasn’t an expert, even though half of it probably went over his head, it helped.

because he was there.

and the quiet didn’t feel empty anymore.

THE END :>

[enjakey]

This New Version of Me

Pairing: [retired idol!Jake x family friend!reader]!neighbours

Hey guys. Apparently I love writing 24k word fics. It wasn't intentional I swear. Please do read it, I think this is a very nice story (wow what a way to advertise my shit, right?)

Anyways, I think I should mention that maybe this is a anger-triggering story for some fans? It's suggested that after 2027, their contract ends and they disband because they didn't want to continue as idols. And it's suggested that it's because of terrible fans and a harsh industry. So if you have an issue with that, don't read this. This is purely fictional so I hope people can read this by putting their emotions aside. Also I've accepted that I can't write smut for shit. There's just a lot of suggestive shit on her. And maybe mentions of Jake being a bit of a pervert.

Please enjoy guys- like, reblog and comment! I'd love to know your guys' thoughts. I love when people give detailed reviews.

Summary: after most idols retire, they usually have something to fall back upon, some sort of job or hobby waiting for them to return to the layman life. Jake, however, was struggling to find his way. At twenty-seven, he knew it would be a terrible idea to go back to studying, despite his love for physics. So, he dabbled back into the world of music, exploring his talents in song writing and exploiting his contacts for help. While back at his unfamiliar home from his childhood, his family of four living under one roof again, he’s reintroduced to Y/N, the girl next door, who he spent some of his childhood with.

i. where the applause fades

With his head hung low, Jake exited the Brisbane Airport. The entire space was empty, except for himself and the crowd of netizens grouped in front of him, waving and screaming for his attention. Men of the army and police officers held the crowd back with plastic shields and battens. Camera lights flashed in hundreds, his eyes glassing at the flares. He just stood there, defeated and alone in his wallow, beads of sweat rolling down the side of his neck. This was his first time being in front of tabloids and journalists without make-up and a fully styled outfit. He felt bare, naked as the world was going to see him as nothing but himself- no fame attached to his name, no contract with a big music company, no sight of what was to come next.

From a distance, he spotted his brother, Sam, craning his neck over the crowd with a look of pure worry and disappointment- in him or in the public? He couldn’t tell. He hated that it was the first thing he saw in his brother after years. As his chest weighed heavy, Jake bowed down to the tabloids and his fans, arms swinging by his side like weightless bags. Just then, he felt a hand grabbing his bicep- his brother, dragging him away from the ruckus and gripping his lone suitcase as they pushed through insistent bodies. The security guards tried to help the pair of brothers, bodies shielding them from harm but ultimately failing as cameras and microphones pushed through the empty spaces between their arms.

“How does it feel to be back?”

“Jake, one word, please!”

“How are the rest of the members?”

“Is this your brother?”

“Is it true?” Somehow, that was the one question that had Jake looking over his shoulder. “Is it true that you disbanded because you hate your fans?”

He turned away again, letting his brother shove him into his car. Sam threw the flimsy, silver suitcase into the back seat of the car and hurried to turn on the engine. People were slamming the glass of the windows, desperate for his reaction. Jake brought his shoulders together and tried hiding his face under his leather jacket, glasses knocking off his nose in the process. As Sam slammed on the accelerator, Jake bent to reach for his glasses. Neither of them looked back as the running crowd disappeared the further they drove from the airport. For a few moments, they sat in silence, gaze focused on the road in front of them as if it would diffuse the hovering awkwardness.

“Just one suitcase?” That was probably the first thing Sam said to him in person in years.

“Dad said he’d have the rest of my stuff shipped,” Jake grumbled, sulking into his seat and staring out the window.

As he crossed his arms and chewed on his lips, he found his eyes starting to water. He told himself that it was his body getting used to Australia’s sun after not being back for so long. But then he found himself biting back a whimper, chest on the verge of bursting as he held back his hiccups. Then he tried biting his cheek, teeth pressing into the soft muscle, but even that didn’t seem to help. The tremor in his breath betrayed him, a burn in his throat.

He exhaled shakily, finding his vision blurry. The golden afternoon turned into hazy streaks. He willed himself to stop, to push it all down, to pretend that the weight in his chest was nothing more than exhaustion from the long flight. But when he blinked, a single tear slipped past his lashes, trailing warmth down his cheek.

The events of the past month rushed back to him. First, it started with the newspaper headlines, cold and merciless, dissecting his and his band member’s every move, every misstep, every strained interaction between him and the people he once called family. The flood of hate, seeping through screens and whispering in crowded spaces, turning admiration into venom. The uncertainty, the sleepless nights spent staring at the ceiling, wondering if walking away was the right choice or just the only choice left. Then started the fights between his band members and the management, screams and disrespect thrown like daggers in dimly lit rooms, voices hoarse from anger and exhaustion.

At the end came the disbandment. The final press release; the public apologies and the rehearsed words that felt more like a eulogy than a farewell, the goodbyes. He couldn’t tell who was sincere and who was distant- over time, the seven had become great actors, a skill they needed to survive in front of tabloids.

No matter how hard he tried to forget, the past seven years wouldn’t leave him. They were stitched into his skin, echoing in every quiet moment, reminding him that once, he had everything. And now he had nothing but the weight of what used to be.

Sam heard him take a sharp inhale and frantically moved his eyes between the road and his brother. Jake, who had started sobbing into his arm, his nose digging into his jacket and breath halting every few seconds. Tears were streaming down his face, his hair matted onto his skin with a mixture of sweat and stress. He didn’t hear his cry in years- apart from the public breakdown he had over the death of their grandmother.

Swiftly, Sam pulled over to the curb and parked the car. He reached his hand to grip Jake’s forearm, trying to pry his face away from his jacket but he only curled into himself further, bringing his legs up to hug his knees into his chest. It was an ugly sight, for the first thing for him to see after years was his brother’s shattering reality and breaking heart.

“Jake,” he coaxed in a soft whisper. “Jake… Jaeyun, c’mon,” he tried and tugged in the hood of his jacket. Jake didn’t budge.

So, Sam got out of the car and strode over to the other side and opened the door. With an undeniable force, a force that said you have to do what I say because I’m your brother, Sam pulled him out of the car and made him stand in front of him. Jake wasn’t even able to stand- his knees gave out and he slumped into the car, body racking with sobs.

Sam pulled his brother in for a hug, his arms and chest engulfing him in a safe embrace. At first, Jake resisted, his fists pressing weakly against Sam’s chest, a futile attempt to keep himself together. His body was tense, rigid with everything he refused to let spill over. But then, something in him cracked. The fight drained from his limbs, his fingers unclenching as his hands clutched at Sam’s shirt instead, as if anchoring himself to something real, something steady. He let his forehead drop against his brother’s shoulder, eyes squeezing shut, breath shuddering as he exhaled everything he had been holding in.

He couldn’t handle it anymore. He wasn’t even sure what it was he was supposed to handle—what he was meant to endure, what unseen force had decided he was meant to be punished. Was it for leaving? For staying too long? For not fighting harder, or for fighting at all? It felt like no matter what he did, he had lost. Lost his band. Lost his purpose. Lost himself somewhere in the mess of it all. And now, standing in his brother’s embrace, he realized just how exhausted he was of pretending to be fine. His throat tightened, his shoulders shaking slightly. Sam only held him tighter, his warmth steady and unyielding, as if to say you don’t have to hold this alone.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” Jake cried. He fisted his brother’s shirt, a desperate attempt to find some grounding in a world he suddenly found so unfamiliar. “What do you mean, it's all gone? What do you mean, I’ll never see them again? Live with them again? Laugh with them again? What do you mean, I won’t ever perform again? Sing again? What do you mean? What does that mean? No way everything we built, everything we suffered through together, just disappears like it was nothing? That the people who knew me better than anyone, the ones who were my family, are suddenly just… gone? That I wake up tomorrow and there’s no rehearsals, no stupid inside jokes, no late-night recordings that turn into early-morning breakdowns? That I don’t belong anywhere anymore?”

Sam rubbed his hand up and down Jake’s back in slow, steady motions, murmuring quiet reassurances, even if he wasn’t sure what to say. His grip was firm but gentle, grounding Jake as his body trembled with the weight of everything he had been holding in. “I know, I know,” Sam whispered, his voice soft, steady, a quiet anchor against the storm raging inside his brother. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

“What do you mean, I have to walk away? Just be okay with it?” Jake continued. “I don’t know what to do without them- I don’t know who I am without them, anymore. I want the last eight years back- take me back, Hyung. Take me back.”

Jake crumbled.

They must have spent close to an hour standing there, in the middle of the road, getting weird looks from pedestrians and other cars driving past. But Sam didn’t care. At that moment, he just wanted his brother to be happy. "You good?" Sam asked, voice low, careful not to break the fragile silence between them. He felt Jake exhale heavily against his shoulder before finally pulling back, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy, his face a mess of tear tracks and exhaustion.

Jake shook his head, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper, "I think I’m done crying for now."

Sam huffed a small, fond chuckle, squeezing Jake’s shoulder before nodding toward the car. "Come on, let’s get out of here before someone recognizes you and we end up on the news."

Jake let out a weak laugh- his first in what felt like forever- as he wiped at his face with his sleeve, taking a slow, shaky breath before finally following Sam to the car. The drive home was quiet, the kind of silence that wasn’t heavy or uncomfortable, just… there. Jake leaned his head against the window, watching the city blur past, his mind still too full, too tangled, but just a little lighter than before. And for now, that was enough.

“I feel like everyone hates me,” he mumbled.

“We don’t hate you,” Sam assured. “If anyone hates you, it’s gonna be Y/N. And that’s only because she hates everyone, so it doesn’t count.”

As soon as Jake stepped through the front door, the familiar scent of home- his mother’s cooking, faint traces of old wood and fabric softener- washed over him. It should have been comforting. But before he could even take it in, a voice from the living room caught his attention.

"In today’s entertainment news, the sudden disbandment of Enhypen-”

The sound cut off in an instant, replaced by the awkward shuffle of movement, the telltale click of a remote being fumbled with, and the kind of silence that felt too forced. Jake’s eyes flickered to the living room, where his parents and Y/N’s family sat stiffly, their faces caught in varying degrees of panic and guilt. And then there was Y/N, sitting closest to the TV, her back still half-turned toward the screen, the remote clutched so tightly in her hands that her knuckles had gone white. He could tell she was trying to play it cool, like nothing had happened, but his thoughts paced back and forth. The disbandment- like it was just another headline, another fleeting story for people to consume and move on from.

Jake stood at the entrance of the living room, the exhaustion in his face making him look older than he was. His body was still slightly tense from hearing the news, but before he could even process the awkward silence that followed, his mother was on him.

"Oh, my baby," Diane, his mother, whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she rushed to wrap her arms around him. "You're finally home." Jake barely had time to react before he was pulled into the warmth of her embrace. His mom smelled the same—lavender and something sweet, like vanilla. The familiarity of it made his chest ache. She squeezed him so tightly it almost hurt, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into it, exhaling deeply against her shoulder.

"Mom," he muttered, his voice hoarse, but she only held him tighter, like she was afraid he'd disappear again.

"I missed you so much," she murmured, running a hand through his hair like she used to when he was younger.

"Diane, let the boy breathe," Rob, his father, chuckled, though there was no mistaking the sadness in his voice. He was next, pulling Jake into a firm hug, his palm pressing against the back of his head like he was grounding him. "Good to have you home, son."

Jake swallowed hard, nodding against his father’s shoulder before pulling away. He interacted with his father the least- a few texts and calls here and there. It was his mother he talked to the most. She would send him long texts and voice notes giving him updates about what’s been happening in everyone’s lives. Jake would respond to her religiously, grateful for how well she took care of him even while miles apart.

“Look at you,” his mom murmured, pulling back to cup his face, searching for his features like she was trying to recognize the boy she had sent off years ago. “Have you been eating enough? You look so tired, sweetheart.”

He let out a breath of something close to a laugh, though it barely had the strength to form. “I’m fine, Mom.”

His eyes flickered across the room, finally landing on Y/N’s parents. They looked kind, familiar- just as he had remembered them to be. "Mr. Y/L/N, Mrs. Y/L/N," he greeted, offering a small smile, trying his best to be polite. It suddenly took a lot of energy to not let his smile falter. "It’s been a while."

"Too long," Mark said, clapping him on the shoulder with a kind smile. "We’re proud of you, kid. No matter what."

Evelyn nodded in agreement, her expression gentle. "We were worried about you."

"I’m okay," Jake lied, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides. He wasn’t sure they believed him, but they nodded anyway, not pushing further.

Then, his gaze landed on Y/N. She was standing near the couch, arms crossed, posture unreadable. The room was dimly lit, but even in the low light, her expression was sharp, her eyes piercing. She hadn’t said a word since he walked in, but she didn’t need to. It was just like her to offer presence instead of words. Her silence was unwavering, a quiet force that had always unsettled him a little when they were younger. Now, after nine years of absence, it was somehow even heavier.

Still, something about seeing her here, standing in his living room, made his chest tighten. Nostalgia, maybe. Or something else entirely.

“Welcome back, Jake,” she said, voice low and so easy to miss if he hadn’t been paying attention.

She cracked him a smile and he could tell the action was unfamiliar to her. It wasn’t that she was deliberate about her demeanour- his presence was simply foreign and understandably so. At the time of his departure, she’s been his neighbour for eight years and known him for seven; interacted with him for five years and had actually been friends with him for two years. They hadn’t spoken since he left, and even before that, their friendship had faded into the background of time. She had been part of his life in varying degrees—first as a neighbor, then an acquaintance, then something like a friend before life inevitably got in the way.

In the long text messages his mother would send him, Y/N was mentioned a considerable amount of times. She told him about the story of how her first boyfriend got her in trouble with her parents and it had become a huge thing- so much so that even she and Rob had to get involved. She told him about how she loved high school and graduated top of her class, how she excelled in her university and graduated with a scholarship. She told him that she was a film and literature geek- he wasn’t sure what her preferences were, but he understood that she was learned, based on what his mother said about her quoting philosophers and artists. Finally, she told him about how Sam helped her get a job in the company that he worked in, the company their father founded. Jake even remembered joking about how this was next level nepotism.

Sam stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He stretched out his arms with a sigh. “Man, that was a long drive.” His voice cut through the tension like a knife, effortlessly lightening the air. He glanced at Y/N, then at Jake, then smirked slightly, though there was no real mischief behind it. “I was telling him on the way here that he’s got a whole welcome party waiting.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “We’re not a party.”

“Close enough,” Sam shot back.

Jake watched the pair interact, an unexpected banter between them. He figured, in his absence, the two would become close in some manner. With Sam a staggering nine years older than her, he had somewhat become a mentor to her. There was a quiet understanding between them, one built on shared experiences and, perhaps, the same unshakable support Sam had always offered Jake.

Jake wasn’t sure why that realization unsettled him. Maybe it was because he had been gone long enough for dynamics to shift, for people to form new bonds that didn’t include him. Maybe it was because, once upon a time, Y/N had been a familiar presence in his life, and now she felt like just another part of the home he no longer recognized.

Sam turned to Jake, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You should eat. Mom’s been cooking all day like she’s trying to feed a whole village.”

Jake exhaled slowly, exhaustion catching up to him. “That sounds nice.”

His mother beamed, tugging him toward the dining room. “Then let’s get you something, sweetheart.”

Sam lingered behind, watching as everyone disappeared into the kitchen, their parents fussing over Jake like he was a child returning from war. The room slowly returned to normal conversation, but the weight of the evening still pressed down on them all.

That night, Sam found himself having a hard time sleeping. He had helped Jake into his old bedroom- his old bedroom that had been untouched with the same bedsheets he had when he was fifteen and the soccer ball that he hung on the wall against dark blue paint. He thought he’d have a hard time being back but with the exhaustion that his body had succumbed to, he crashed onto his bed and started snoring before he could even cover himself with the duvet.

Sighing, Sam went downstairs to the kitchen to find himself a cold glass of milk. It was a habit that he never grew out of- only being able to fall asleep after a glass of milk. Jake had the habit, too. He wondered if that changed.

To his surprise, and perhaps dismay, he saw his mother sitting on the dining table with her head held in her hands. She looked scared, confused and maybe even a little sad. Sam circled over to her, pulling out a chair and sitting down beside her. She didn’t lift her head, just sighed deeply, fingers threading through her hair. The kitchen light cast soft shadows across her face, making the exhaustion in her features even more pronounced.

“You should get some sleep,” Sam said quietly, his voice rough from the late hour.

She let out a soft, humorless laugh, “I could say the same to you.”

Sam huffed, glancing down at the marble countertop, “I can’t sleep.”

His mother finally looked up, her eyes glassy, “me neither.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards upstairs.

Then she spoke again, voice hesitating, "is he going to be okay?” Sam leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know,” he paused, then shook his head. “He will be. But not if we leave him to his own thoughts.” She nodded, swallowing hard. “He’s never been good at being alone.” “Exactly,” Sam said. “That’s why we need to keep him busy. Not with work—he’s had enough of that. But just… keep him around people. Keep him moving.” His mother exhaled, rubbing her arms as if warding off a chill, “what do you have in mind?” “Anything,” Sam said. “Dinners, game nights, small outings. Even just sitting with him in silence. He won’t say it, but he needs to feel like he’s not alone. The second he starts feeling like everything’s slipping away, like there’s nothing left for him here, that’s when we lose him.” His mother flinched, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater. “Yeah, you’re right.” “I’m sure everyone will help,” Sam assured her. “We’re here, Y/N and everyone is here… I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

She nodded, knowing that there was no point wallowing over her questions now. She stood up and tucked her chair back in, patting Sam on his shoulder. “Get some sleep, honey. You have work in the morning.”

ii. the art of distraction

Jake's days settled into a fixed timetable.

Every morning, before the sun would rise, Jake and Sam would drive to their neighbourhood gym. Sam was always chatty, breaking the early-morning silence with comments about Jake’s form or rambling about something completely unrelated- work, old high school stories, or how their mom had tried a new recipe and nearly set off the smoke alarm. Jake mostly listened, throwing in a smirk or a sarcastic reply here and there, but for the most part, he let Sam fill the silence. He would just focus on the burn of his muscles- something real, something tangible. It was the one part of his day that didn't require thinking.

Then, Sam would drop him home, always commenting on how he should drive the other car himself before leaving for work with Y/N. He would shower and would come downstairs to find his mother making breakfast. She would be flipping through an old, worn recipe book, even though he knew she wasn’t following it. She never did.

He would grab a knife and roll up his sleeves to help her. Cooking had always been something they did together. When he was younger, he’d stand on a stool beside her, asking endless questions about how flavors worked, why this spice was better than that, why she never measured anything properly. Even when he moved away, he had carried that love for cooking with him. But now, back in this kitchen, surrounded by the warmth of home, it felt different- like a small piece of his old self was still intact.

After breakfast, he would mostly just sit around the living room and keep his mother company. He would catch up on all the films he’d missed or watch one of the many crappy reality tv shows. Sometimes, he’d mess around on the new guitar his father bought him and see if he could get any pleasure out of it- he’d just end up learning how to play one of their old songs and cry to it. His mother had walked into him sobbing on his guitar a handful of times by now, Layla, his dog, whimpering with him at the foot of his leg.

Other times, he’d go on strolls in his neighborhood. The streets felt both familiar and unfamiliar, like a place he should know but didn’t quite belong to anymore. The same jacaranda trees lined the sidewalks, their petals scattering across the pavement just like they had when he was a teenager. The houses stood as they always had, their porches filled with potted plants and old bicycles, but the details had shifted- new fences, different cars in the driveways, fresh coats of paint that made everything feel slightly off.

The corner store where he and Sam used to stop for sodas was gone, replaced by a boutique café with sleek wooden interiors and baristas who didn’t recognize him. He’d sit inside sometimes, nursing a coffee he barely drank, watching people come and go. The world here had moved forward without him, and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to catch up or let it pass by.

Some days, he took his skateboard instead, coasting down the streets, feeling the rough pavement under his wheels. It was easier than walking. At least when he was skating, he had something to focus on. Something to keep him moving.

He passed by the Y/L/N's house often, its warm, homey feel still intact. The front door was a deep green now- had it always been? There were wind chimes on the porch, a new set of potted flowers lining the steps. It was the same house, but time had settled into its bones. Just like it had with everything else.

The inside of their house looked different than he had remembered- they must have renovated it. Their garden, which connected to the garden in his house (which it didn’t used to when Jake first left), had towering plants and flowers while his only had grass and a fence. Their walls were lined with pictures- mostly family and group pictures but also many stills of Y/N either smiling at the camera or posing with style. Their house also looked more like an office while his looked more homely- the architecture looked like it belonged in a magazine and the colors they picked definitely weren’t conventional with splashes of orange, white and black. He was told that Y/N’s room, which was on the third floor, looked completely different from the rest of the house but he never got the chance to verify. For lunch, he’d find himself at their house anyway. Everyone, including his parents and brother, would gather around their huge dining table- one he didn’t even remember them having- while Evelyn passed around freshly cooked meals. Lunch was a lively affair, filled with stories and laughter, the air thick with all the moments he had missed over the years. They told him about how Sam nearly ruined Y/N’s graduation ceremony by showing up drunk, swearing he was just “a little tipsy” before tripping over a row of chairs and nearly face-planting in front of the dean. They told him about the time Rob and Mark nearly burned down the Y/L/N's kitchen attempting to cook a “simple” breakfast- Y/N had walked in to find flames licking the stove and two fully grown men panicking with a fire extinguisher. “It wasn’t that bad,” Rob argued, shaking his head. “We handled it.” “We evacuated the house that day,” Y/N deadpanned. Then there was Y/N’s first day at the office, where the employees had tried to surprise her with a welcome cake—only for the whole thing to go spectacularly wrong when her desk collapsed under its own weight. They told him about the neighborhood barbeques, how they became a regular thing- big, boisterous gatherings where half the street would show up, filling the backyard with laughter and the smell of grilled meat. And then there was the Taiwan trip last year, when Y/N somehow got separated from the group in a crowded food street and was eventually found ten minutes later, teary-eyed and clutching a bag of dumplings on the sidewalk. Mark, being a journalist, had even more stories to tell_ wild, absurd, sometimes downright unbelievable tales from his travels, filling Jake’s mind with images of distant cities, bizarre interviews, and once, a near-disastrous encounter with a monkey in Thailand. Jake listened, soaking it all in, the warmth of it settling somewhere deep in his chest. It was strange, hearing about these moments second hand- knowing that life here had kept moving, even when he wasn’t around. One evening, Jake found himself in their backyard with Mark who told him that he’d teach him how to grill on the barbeque. That night, they were set to have a barbeque so an arrangement of raw meats and vegetables were laid out beside them with burgers and hotdog buns. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting an amber glow over the wooden deck and the neatly trimmed lawn. The air smelled of fresh-cut grass, charcoal, and the promise of a good meal. “Alright, Jake,” Mark’s charcoal-covered hands send specs of dust flying in the air as he clasped them together. “First rule of grilling- don’t burn the food.”

Jake grinned at him. “We used to grill a lot, actually,” he admitted. A sense of nostalgia and longing washed over him as he thought back to the time Niki tried his first smore or the first time everyone realised how good a chef Jay was. He remembered how Sunoo would just sit there and wait for his food to be plated and how Sunghoon would tease him for it or how Heeseung was a messy eater.

“Oh, yeah?” Mark looked at him, surprised, and it occurred to Jake that he was probably the last person to watch all the episodes of Enhypen’s variety show. En-O’clock truly had Jake experiencing all the things he would have never experienced before- if it weren’t for the other six, he would have probably been buried six feet under.

“Yeah, I helped out when I could,” Jake nodded with pride. “But honestly, I’d let Jay do the work if he was there,” he realised that throwing out names was probably a bad idea. Expecting Mark to even know the names of these people was too much to even fathom.

But to his surprise, Mark hummed and continued to fan the burning charcoal. “Jay… I think your mom has mentioned him,” she pondered in thought. “She’s mentioned all of them to us- she tells me she keeps in touch with their families, too. I think that’s quite heart warming.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jake cleared his throat and adjusted his posture, tilting his head in surprise. “I think, when we first debuted, she met Jay and Heeseung’s family.”

As Mark started placing skewers of meat on the grill, they heard grass rustling behind them, followed by a string of barks. Layla came bounding into the yard with her tongue flapping in the wind. She ran into Jake and he kneeled to hug her, ruffling her fur and kissing her head. “Hello, Layla. Did you miss me?” He chuckled.

Behind her, Y/N stepped in, looking mildly amused at the scene before her. She had her work bag slung over one shoulder, her hair slightly tousled from the wind, eyes flicking between Mark and Jake at the grill.

"Hey Dad, hey Jake," she sighed in exhaustion, setting her bag down on the patio table. She waddled into her fathers embrace and he kissed her temple. Jake smiled at their interaction. “I forgot we were having a barbeque tonight- makes sense why Diane gave me that top today.”

“A top?” Mark raised a brow in question.

“Yeah, she told me she’d seen a top online that she thought would look really good on me,” she pulled it out of the plastic bag she was holding to reveal a blue and white striped shirt, cropped at the hem and sleeves pre-folded. “She said she’d ordered it a while back and it just came.”

“That’s sweet of her- Diane has good taste,” Mark nodded. “You should go in and show mom. You look exhausted. Maybe take a nap and freshen up before you come back down, sweetheart?”

“In a minute,” she nodded and crouched down to meet Jake’s eye level, her attention going towards Layla. “How are you, Jake?” Her gaze refused to meet him as she scratched Layla’s chin and let her lick her hand.

Over the past few weeks, he realised that he and Y/N never actually conversed alone. It was always during lunch with the entire family around and she would throw a quip or acknowledgement at him. Or it was alone with Mark or Evelyn or Sam or with his parents. It was almost like Y/N had set it up that way, that he would only get to know the crumbs of her life through interactions she had with her family or his family, but never with him. Everything he knew about her was secondhand.

“I’m good,” he pursed his lips.

Before he could ask a follow-up question, she was already leading the conversation. “Rob was telling me that you started thinking about work and stuff.”

“Oh,” his voice trailed. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know if I’m allowed to talk-”

“No, that’s alright,” Jake stood up and she followed, letting Layla circle around their legs and Mark go back to grilling. “Yeah, I’m not sure if I want to work at his company, though-”

“That’s exactly what I told him,” Y/N crossed her arms. “There’s no point in forcing it.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have anything else in mind?”

“I was thinking, maybe,” he cleared his throat again, feeling his mouth drying up and turning sour. He licked his lips, running a hand through his hair. The conversation was bringing him more stress and anxiety that he liked. But he knew it was high time he started thinking about his future- he couldn’t keep living under two roofs without contributing in some way or the other. “Maybe song writing- I thought I’d reach out to people. I’ve got connection-”

“Song writing?”

Jake was startled by the way her expression contorted. Her brows raised and she tilted her head. He couldn’t tell if it was disappointment or confusion. “Yeah, I wrote a couple songs in the band and people seemed to like it, so-”

“I think that’s a great idea,” she said followed by a nod from Mark. “If you’re confident, then we’ll support you. Right, dad?”

“Yup,” Mark smiled at him.

“Alright,” Y/N clasped her hands together, looking between Layla, Jake and her dad. “So, I’m gonna go take a nap now. Call me when everyone’s here.”

By the end of the barbeque night, Jake was exhausted- mentally exhausted. He hadn’t expected that simply walking around with a beer in hand, making small talk, and reintroducing himself to old neighbors would be so exhausting. His parents led him from group to group like some long-lost son returning home, their pride evident in the way they beamed at him.

It wasn’t long before the recognition started. Some people hesitated before approaching, unsure if they should bring it up, while others were bolder—asking for pictures, throwing casual remarks about his band, even suggesting he play something for them. Each time, he forced a polite smile, shook his head, and laughed it off, but Sam, watching from a distance, could see the telltale signs. The tight grip around his beer can. The stiff nods. The way his jaw clenched just a little harder every time someone mentioned music. He wasn’t just tired. He was simmering, barely keeping it together. He didn’t realise he had to keep up the duty of being a celebrity even after retiring. It was moments like these where he wished Enhypen didn’t do that great- that maybe becoming global idols wasn’t as glamorising as people made it to be- he should know, they resigned because of it.

Most of the night, he was thinking about how much he didn’t know about his family. Or was it families? He didn’t know what to consider Mark, Evelyn and Y/N anymore. His mom was buying Y/N clothes and his father was discussing the future of his career in concern with them. Sam was spending his free time in their house, watching their television- they all had lunch in their house like it was a ritual. Y/N would visit his house first after work before going back to her home- she kissed his mom on the cheek before her own, and looked for Sam in a large crowd before her dad. She spent her mornings in his hall waiting for Sam and Rob to get ready so they could go to work and usually ate his mom’s breakfast. How much was he underestimating how close they were? How much was he distancing himself? He couldn’t tell.

That night, before sleeping, he found himself wandering into the kitchen for a soda. The house was quiet now- he wasn’t used to his house being quiet. It was usually filled with laughter or the buzz of the television, conversations on politics or another stupid topic Y/N was hyperfixating on, the barks of Layla who was now sleeping in her bed in his room.

Funnily enough, he found Sam standing by the fridge with a glass of milk in his hand, the soft glow of his phone screen illuminating his features while he scrolled through an article intently. When he opened the fridge, Sam jolted with surprise at the company. He hadn’t heard him wandering in.

Jake smirked, the light of the fridge casting a glow on his smile. “Still got that weird milk habit, huh?”

“And you still get hungry in the night?” Sam chuckled.

Jake shrugged. “People always tell me it’s unhealthy,” he started, pulling out a can of soda and popping its lid open. “But look at me, I’m shredded,” confidently, he took a sip from the can, a childlike mischief playing on his face.

Sam smiled, watching his brother slowly return to something resembling his old self. It was subtle, almost imperceptible at first- small changes that anyone else might’ve missed. But Sam noticed.

It was in the way Jake had started cracking jokes again, slipping in dry remarks like he used to. The way he joined conversations without needing to be coaxed, adding his own thoughts instead of just nodding along. He still had his quiet moments, still seemed lost in his head sometimes, but there was a shift- like the weight on his shoulders wasn’t as crushing as before.

Tonight, especially, felt different. There was something familiar in the way Jake leaned against the fridge, soda can in hand, relaxed despite the exhaustion clinging to him. Sam knew it would take time- maybe a long time- but at least now, he had hope.

“How was your day?” Sam asked.

“Good, for the most part. Hated that barbeque but I should start getting used to it, I suppose,” he shrugged. “Y/N was asking me about what I wanna do for my career today.”

“What?” Sam laughed. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, she was talking about what dad had said the other day, that I should work with you in the company. But I don’t want that,” he took another sip of his soda. “I told her that maybe I’ll dabble in song writing, composition, shit like that-”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Sam nodded and finished the last of his milk. He moved to wash it, making sure Jake caught the support in his voice.

“That’s exactly what Y/N and Mark said,” Jake mumbled. “I didn’t know you guys talked about me to her- or anyone. I didn’t realise everyone’s that concerned”

Sam didn’t know what to say for a moment. Was he meant to scold him for not realising that obviously his family would be concerned for him? Was he meant to apologize? Was he meant to feel guilty for discussing him? Was he meant to defend himself and everyone that cared about him?

“We worry,” Sam agreed. “And we don’t want to pressure you.”

“Right,” Jake nodded. “But why Y/N? She’s so young, she’s barely getting started-”

“Isn’t she the same age as Jungwon?” Sam pondered. “Wasn’t he your leader?”

It wasn’t until Sam said it that Jake realised the resemblance. Jungwon was strong-willed and while being young, he was still the most responsible and considerate of them all. Jungwon led an entire group while still figuring himself out, just as Y/N navigated a demanding career while proving her worth in a room full of people older than her. They weren’t the loudest or the most assertive, but their quiet confidence commanded respect. They adapted, learned fast, and took responsibility even when they didn’t have to- because that’s just who they were. It was like they were cut from the same cloth.

“Y/N has just always been like this,” Sam continued. “It’s been easy for most of us to talk to her about things in general- work, family, life. She’s the most unbiased. So her judgement usually isn’t cloudy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “In the company, after me, everyone expects her to take over.”

“You’re joking,” Jake quipped.

“She’s got the sharpest instincts in the room. You’d think she’s too young, but she carries herself like she’s been doing this for decades,” Sam said with pride.

“I can’t lie,” Jake finished his soda and threw it in the trash. “I see it.” It was in her mannerisms, the way she deadpanned and quipped at everyone, looked out for him when she didn’t have to, worried about him along with his parents. Jake saw it, he saw how strong-headed she was.

“And also, to be honest. Maybe there’s some bias involved,” Sam admitted. “She’s like the daughter mom and dad never had.”

“Oh,” Jake said.

“And think about it. You and I are like the sons Mark and Evelyn never had. So, yeah, I guess we’re like one big family. We’re all gonna look out for each other.”

You and I. Me. Jake was part of the equation- he always was.

iii. safety nets- distractions

Sam had always been the kind of older brother every kid wished for. Seven years older, he was more than just a sibling- he was Jake’s first best friend, his coach, his protector. It wasn’t like their parents were absent or lacking in any way, but with the age gap between them, Sam had naturally taken on the role of looking out for Jake. He made sure Jake never felt lonely, never felt like the little brother who was too young to tag along.

When Jake was a kid, Sam would spend entire afternoons with him in the backyard, coaching him through soccer drills like he was training a professional player instead of a scrawny seven-year-old who could barely kick straight. Sam never got frustrated, never told him to give up- he’d just laugh, ruffle Jake’s hair, and say, “Try again, little man.” And Jake would, every single time, because if Sam believed he could do it, then he had to at least try.

Even when Sam got older, when he had his own friends, his own responsibilities, he never stopped making time for Jake. It wasn’t forced—it never felt like an obligation. Sam just showed up. If Jake had homework he was struggling with, Sam would sit next to him at the kitchen table, breaking down math problems like it was the easiest thing in the world. If Jake needed a partner for a science project, Sam would make a mess of their living room building whatever ridiculous contraption Jake had dreamed up. And if Jake was having a rough day, Sam just knew. He wouldn’t ask too many questions; he’d just hand him a controller and say, “One round of FIFA, loser. Don’t cry when I win.”

School trips were something else entirely. When Jake was in middle school and parents were required to chaperone, it was Sam who showed up instead. He was already in college by then, but he never acted like it was a hassle. He’d lean against the classroom doorway, arms crossed, a knowing smirk on his face, and suddenly every girl in Jake’s class was whispering and giggling behind their hands. “Oh my god, is that your brother?” they’d ask, eyes wide, and Jake, half-annoyed but mostly proud, would groan and mutter, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Sam never made a big deal out of it, but he always made sure Jake had fun. Whether it was guiding their group through a museum or sitting with Jake at lunch so he wouldn’t have to awkwardly find a spot, Sam had this way of making things easy. And for Jake, who had spent his whole childhood looking up to his older brother, that meant everything.

Even now, after all these years, after everything Jake had gone through, Sam was still showing up. Still watching out for him, just like he always had. So when Jake realised Sam had the entire family looking out for him and keeping his empty space occupied, he wasn’t surprised, just grateful. They had woven a silent but careful web of distractions around him, filling every gap in his day with something, anything, so he never had to sit alone with his thoughts for too long. It was subtle, never suffocating, but now that Jake thought about it, he realized just how much effort had gone into keeping him occupied.

His mom made sure he spent time in the kitchen, roping him into preparing meals like he used to, subtly reminding him of the simple joys of cooking. His dad and Mark invited him to his workshop, handing him tools and asking for help with fixing things that probably didn’t even need fixing. Evelyn would constantly ask him to set the table or carry their groceries in, making sure it was mundane enough to not raise his suspicions, to make him feel useless. Sam dragged him to the gym with him in the mornings, making it seem like an impromptu decision every time but never once letting Jake refuse. When dragging him to malls or the theatre, he’d bring Y/N along with them, pitching new movies they could watch or propose to go to the arcade.

“You’re pushing forty,” Y/N would say every time.

“I’m not even thirty-five, yet,” Sam would respond every time.

Y/N was rather the silent one. Jake knew, from whatever Sam had told him, that she cared about him. She could pretend like she forgot him, didn’t like him, was obligated to him, but he still knew she cared. She wasn’t the type to do things or ask questions to people she didn’t care about. Everyday, without a doubt, she would ask him how his day was and if he did anything worthwhile. She would run past his room every morning to greet him, brought him a cup of coffee- his favourite, mocha latte- after work and by the end of the day, she would tell him, without fail, to sleep well. It was become a routine, predictable. And Jake didn’t know if he was allowed to find comfort in that.

She even started approaching him more often. He could be with Sam or he could be alone but she would approach him and tell him about her day- how Sam annoyed her a little more than usual or how her favourite barista in the coffee shop she visited regularly had been fired. She would tell him about how Diane and Evelyn often conference called her while she was at work, hoping to catch up with her but their timings were so bad that they’d always call her while she was in a meeting and she’d always get in trouble. She told him about how when she first started work, she used to spend longer working hours stretching into the night and how Rob used to scold her for it.

“I keep thinking I need to prove myself when I fail to realise that I already have.”

Somewhere, somehow, she became the easiest distraction. Most of the time, she didn’t even have to speak. Y/N never even liked speaking to fill the silence. She never tiptoed around him or treated him like he was fragile. If she wanted an answer, she would ask him. If she wanted to go on a walk, she invited him. If she had to run an errand, she’d drag him and Sam along. Sometimes, she didn’t even say anything- she’d just hand him a cup of coffee, sit down next to him, and that was that. No questions, no expectations. Just quiet company.

Y/N’s life wasn’t a construct of secondhand interactions anymore to him- she was starting to become clearer and clearer in his head.

That afternoon, Y/N’s words about wanting to prove herself rang in his head, repeating like a broken tape recorder while he sat on his bed, guitar in his hand. A pile of crumpled sheet music was strewn across the room, a notebook with crossed out lyrics sitting in front of him. Frustrated, he started playing his guitar, trying to find a new melody. She continued in soft, uncertain strums that didn’t quite fit together , like puzzle pieces forced into the wrong places. He played them over and over again, fingers ghosting over the strings, brow furrowed in frustration. The words were harder. Every line he wrote felt hollow, every phrase too forced, too distant from what he actually wanted to say.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair before flipping through the notebook again. The scratched-out lyrics stared back at him, taunting. Maybe he was trying too hard. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. How did he do this so effortlessly during Enhypen?

“Sounds great.”

Startled, Jake flung his head around to find Y/N leaning against his doorframe, arms crossed and a grin gracing her lips. She looked like she’d just woken up, hair in messy curls and her frame still dressed in pyjamas. They had a holiday at work, so he figured she must have slept in. Sam didn’t even wake him up for gym that morning- he went alone.

“No,” Jake shook his head. “It’s horrible,” he buried his face in his palms out of defeat. “I’m so done,” he grumbled.

“Can I help?” She sauntered into his room and he was suddenly aware of how messy it was. Jake was usually the clean type. He liked making his bed every morning. Folding his laundry and vacuuming his floors were something he loved doing during Enhypen, especially because he was roommates with Niki for a better half of their run together. But now that he was home, he had a habit of slacking and pushing everything to the last minute. It probably wasn’t a good idea.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, glancing at the pile of discarded sheet music on the floor. “I don’t even know what I’m trying to say anymore.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she wandered around his room, stepping over balled-up pages and pausing by his desk. She picked up a crumpled sheet, smoothing it out before reading the half-formed lyrics. Jake watched her carefully, waiting for her to laugh or make some sarcastic remark. But she didn’t. She just hummed under her breath, tilting her head slightly like she was piecing something together.

“This isn’t bad,” she finally said, tapping her fingers against the paper.

Jake scoffed. “That’s generous.”

She ignored him, walking over to his bed and plopping down without a care. “What’s it about?”

He hesitated, his fingers tightening around the neck of his guitar. “I don’t know yet. I thought I did when I started writing, but now…” He exhaled sharply. “Now, it’s just a bunch of words that don’t make sense together.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Then maybe that’s the problem.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “You’re trying to write something without knowing what you want to say. It’s like…” She paused, thinking. “It’s like setting out on a journey without a destination. No wonder you’re going in circles.”

Jake stared at her. He stared at the way she sulked into his headboard, her matting down on her neck. He stared at the way she didn’t think the way they were sitting was odd, with his hand only a breath away from hers, their knees on the verge of touching if either of them moved. Y/N stared back at him, unbeknownst to what was going on in his head. Sam had told him that when they were younger, after Jake had gone off to become a trainee, Y/N had fallen asleep in his room a plethora of times. She would say his room had better ventilation, that his mattress was softer and hers was old and musty. Back then, Sam and the parents thought she just didn’t like being away from Sam because she’d grown attached to him by then. Seeing her now, leaning against his bed like it was her most natural reaction, made him wonder how often she slept over.

Y/N might not tiptoe around him anymore, but he still did.

“You’re right,” Jake swallowed, gulping down his thoughts. “I’m tired.”

Y/N got up from his bed, making her way out. He wasn’t sure what else he expected her to say, just grateful that she said anything in the first place. Was he allowed to expect more from her? The girl he abandoned all those years ago to chase his idol dreams? Was he even allowed to expect things from her? He realised he never really asked, never really apologised.

“Have you eaten yet? Your dad’s calling you down for breakfast.”

Later in the day, while the sun stood at its highest point, Jake found himself crossing their garden to enter the Y/L/N’s house. He was wearing one of his better outfits- a pair black layered baggy jeans, a white t-shirt and a leather jacket to match. With a cap on his head, he sauntered into their house with his hands shoved into his pockets. Upon entering, he saw Evelyn sitting on the couch with her laptop, typing away at whatever work she had to complete. Mark and Y/N were nowhere to be found.

“Hey, aunty,” he chirped.

“Oh, Jake!” Evelyn exclaimed, surprised to find him standing in front of her. “I didn’t even notice you,” she smiled, removing her glasses.

“Sorry,” he scratched the back of her neck. “Um, where is everyone?”

“Oh Mark and your dad went out for a drink, if i’m not wrong,” Jake hummed. “Y/N is upstairs, I think. You can go check. You’re going for a movie right now, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, Sam’s waiting for her,” Jake pointed a thumb behind his shoulder as though Sam would suddenly appear. He was still sitting on the couch, surfing through television broadcasts with a lazy hand. “He sent me to get her.”

“She must be in her room, honey. Third floor.”

Shyly, he walked up the stairs, feeling Evelyn’s gaze on him until he disappeared up the corner. Jake wasn’t sure why he felt awkward about wandering their house alone. He’d done this multiple times already over the past few weeks and when he was a child- but, granted, their house hadn’t been renovated by then. It was, however, his first time seeing Y/N’s room. Sam had told him stories about her room- yes, stories; not descriptions- like it was mythical. He said her room looked like it came out of Pinterest, perfectly decorated with just the right amount of furniture and trinkets on her walls. He told him about the huge mirror that stood on one of the walls facing the balcony and how it was impossible to take a bad picture in it. He himself had only been inside a handful of times and one of those times included accidentally falling asleep on her bed. He told him that it felt like sleeping on a bag of clouds and swan feather- Jake told him to stop exaggerating. When Y/N found out he slept on her bed, she didn’t speak to him for a whole day. She hated people being in her room.

When he reached the third floor, Jake hesitated. He looked down the hallway and he just knew the door to the right was her room. He didn’t need to check or ask. It exhumed a calling towards him- Jake almost laughed to himself.

Taking a breath, he knocked on her door once. Then twice, and then a third time. He didn’t hear an answer. He frowned and shifted on his feet, wondering what to do next. It couldn’t hurt to just walk in, right?

Cautiously, he turned the knob and cracked the door open, expecting to find her asleep or listening to music on noise cancelling headphones. But he didn’t. Her room was empty but warm, lived-in, but meticulously put together. The sunlight streaming in through the glass wall illuminated the soft, neutral tones of the space- creamy whites, muted beiges, and the occasional deep green from potted plants scattered near in the balcony.

A large, unmade reading chair sat in the corner by a low bookshelf overflowing with books, some stacked haphazardly, others lined neatly. A small lamp with a warm golden glow rested atop it, its light currently off, but Jake could picture her curled up there at night, reading with a cup of tea in hand.

The walls weren’t cluttered but were far from empty. Polaroids were pinned above her desk, some curling at the edges, capturing frozen moments of laughter, travels, and blurry candids of people he recognized- Sam, Mark, Evelyn, his parents. There were a few framed prints scattered among them- ocean waves, constellations, and delicate ink sketches of marine creatures and pictures of her friends, wide smiles pointing at the camera.

The infamous mirror Sam had mentioned stood tall against the opposite wall, its frame sleek, pink and simple, catching the golden sunlight at just the right angle. The bed beside it was neatly made, adorned with soft linen sheets and an assortment of pillows in varying sizes and textures and stuffed toys, one of a shark and another of a dragon. A folded throw blanket was draped over the edge, looking inviting but untouched.

Her desk, however, was the only thing that looked truly used. Papers were stacked unevenly, a notebook left open to a page filled with scribbled notes, and a coffee mug- half full- rested dangerously close to the edge. A pair of reading glasses sat beside it, as if she had just been there moments ago.

Jake took a step inside, his gaze drifting toward the open balcony door, where sheer white curtains swayed lightly in the breeze. It smelled like her- vanilla, salt air, and something distinctly familiar yet hard to place.

Unashamed, Jake took a picture of himself through her mirror to find that Sam was right- it wasn’t possible to take a bad picture in it. It captured the lighting perfectly. Then, he let his fingers dust through the books on her shelf- some that looked brand new and others that looked mangled and lived in, a lone spiderman comic amongst them. Curiously, he opened a book titled “An Apprenticeship or The Book of Pleasures,” flipping through it to find sticky notes, annotations and doodles. It was a thin book but it seemed to be her favourite.

As Jake’s eyes roamed the room, they landed on a partially open door tucked beside the bookshelf. It was subtle, almost blending into the wall, but its presence felt deliberate. Curious, he took a few steps closer, pushing it open further to reveal a spacious dressing room. The sound of a running shower filled the air and he realised she must have been taking a shower.

The soft scent of her perfume lingered in the air, mixing with the faint traces of fabric softener. Shelves lined the walls, holding neatly folded sweaters, carefully arranged shoes, and a row of coats hanging in perfect order. A sleek dresser stood against the far side, a small jewelry stand resting on top, glinting under the warm overhead light.

It felt personal, almost too personal, and for a brief moment, he considered stepping back. But something about the space- about Y/N herself- made it impossible to ignore the quiet attention to detail, the way everything seemed placed with intention.

When he turned around, he spotted how the bathroom door was left cracked open. He didn’t mean to notice it- he almost felt guilty when he realised what his eyes landed on. But somehow, as sheer curiosity took over to him, he found himself stepping closer to the bathroom door. Through the crack, he could see the green tiles and white paint in her bathroom and a rectangular mirror that hung above the basin. In the mirror, he saw Y/N’s reflection, face calm and unmoving as she lathered soap onto her naked arms. In that moment, Jake should have ran- abort and pretend like he never saw anything.

But he couldn’t move.

His feet planted onto the ground and his eyes continued to roam, his hand clutched the center of his shirt as though he wanted to reach for his heart. He could see the perk of her nipples, the valley of her breasts and her curve of her waist- her waist that he was sure he could wrap his hands around in perfect harmony. Then, his eyes moved to her mouth- her mouth that was singing something, her lips wrapping around the lyrics of a song he couldn’t hear while she rinsed off soap with a handshower.

Jake should have left by now- he could hear his heart telling him to leave, screaming to him that this wasn’t right, that he’d seen too much already. But then his dick twitched and he didn’t know what to do anymore. He simply stood there, watching her shower and sing, her hair wet and reaching the curve of her ass, hands touching herself as the water glided down her body.

But perhaps it was when he saw her reaching the handshower between her legs that his conscience snapped back. He turned away, launching himself back into her room as quietly as he could. He left her room and ran back down the stairs, his heart pounding in his ears as though he had done something criminal- it might as well have.

He saw Y/N naked.

Y/N. Naked.

He knew about five people that would beat him to pulp if they found out he was peeping like some sort of creep. He felt creepy- he felt icky… but somehow, he didn’t feel guilty. Scared, petrified, confused at how his body was reacting, icky, disgusted even. But not guilty. So much so that he knew that night, he would end up fisting himself at the thought of her and her naked on top of him, doing all the filthy things one could imagine.

“Is Y/N not there?” Evelyn asked when he stumbled down the stairs, a dazed look on his face. She was still on the couch, doing work, her glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose.

“Um, she’s showering,” he stumbled on his words, biting his lips, then his cheek. He looked everywhere but at Evelyn, Y/N’s mother, unable to get the thoughts of her slapping him if she found out what he just saw.

“Are you going to be late for the film?”

“Oh, no, we have plenty of time,” he assured, swinging his arms around aimlessly and tapping his foot.

“Then just wait for her honey, I’m sure she won't take long.”

And he did wait for her, sitting beside Evalyn on the couch with his hands clasped on his lap, innocently scrolling through his phone while all the ocean’s waves crashed in his chest. He received a message from Sam, asking what was taking so long, but Jake didn’t reply. He was too stunned to reply, to sit there and tell him that she was showering and that he’d seen her in her shower, naked and sexy with water dripping all over her.

“Is she still not down?” Evelyn’s disappointed sigh brought Jake back to reality. He could hear her tutting, reaching for her phone, presumably to call Y/N. “It says her phone is busy. Do you mind going up and checking again, Jake?”

Hesitantly, tentatively, Jake made his way to her room again. He stood in front of her door and stared, her brown, wooden door that taunted him and ridiculed him and shamed him- he willed himself to try and forget, to move on and pretend like it never happened.

He knocked. And he heard her voice.

“Mom? I’m on the phone, could you give me a minute?” He heard her yell.

Jake gulped. “It’s Jake.”

“Oh, sorry, come in!”

So Jake opened her door for the second time, this time finding her sitting on the edge of her bed in her pajamas, her damp hair falling down her back in subtle waves. She held her phone to her ear, mumbling something to her friend before hanging up. Jake stood at the entrance, his hands awkwardly hanging on his side. He just stood there and stared and Y/N must have caught on to his off behaviour and titled her head.

“Everything ok?”

Jake opened his mouth before his brain formed words to speak. When he realised, he closed his mouth again, raising a finger instinctively to figure out what to say. Suddenly, his tongue felt too big to fit in his mouth.

“Movie?”

“Oh, right, I forgot!” Y/N jumped out of her bed and made her way back to her dressing room. “I’m so sorry, give me a minute to change and I’ll be right down.”

Relief- and disappointment but Jake wouldn’t let himself admit it- was the only thing he felt when the movie ended and he, Sam and Y/N were working their way down the mall and into the parking lot. He could hear Y/N rambling about the philosophies and cinematography that the movie held and normally, Jake would have things to say about it too. But he stayed silent, looking around the mall and focusing on the kids running around with chocolate in their hands and the couples that wandered around the shops and boutiques.

The whole drive back, all he could think about was Y/N- the way he could feel the heat radiating between them when she absentmindedly sat beside him in the theatre, how their hands would brush against each others while reaching for the popcorn or how they’re feet kicked together whenever they laughed at a scene in the film.

It was nothing, really. Just small, meaningless touches. Accidental. Unintentional. But then why did it linger? Why was he still thinking about it, even now, watching the headlights of passing cars blur into streaks?

He glanced at her in the passenger seat, illuminated by the faint glow of the dashboard. She was scrolling through her phone, completely unaware of the hurricane in his head.

He exhaled slowly, turning his gaze back to the window.

This was stupid.

But for the first time, he wondered what it would be like if it wasn’t.

iv. i can be your batman, you be robin

Unexpectedly, one evening, just as he was about to fall asleep, he received a phone call. On his screen flashed the names of people he once felt the most familiar around, ones that once made up his entire world- Jay. Heeseung. Sunoo. Niki. Sunghoon. Jungwon.

His heart clenched. It had been a while. Too long. His thumb rushed to accept the call and suddenly, the once-familiar faces filled his screen. The room was instantly flooded with overlapping voices, laughter, and exclamations.

“Jake Hyung!” He heard Jungwon screaming, his bunny-lime smile filling his screen. “Did we wake you?”

“Watch him fall back asleep, he’s always the first to sleep,” Sunoo laughed with a hand on his mouth.

“No, no. This is… this is good,” Jake chuckled and rubbed his eyes. “Hey… I’ve missed you guys.”

Jungwon grinned. “We figured we should all check in. It’s been a while, huh?”

“Too long,” Heeseung nodded. “It’s weird not seeing you guys every day.”

“We used to be in each other’s faces twenty-four seven,” Niki chimed in. “Now my mom complains that I sleep too much.”

“Same,” Sunghoon said. “My sister actually told me I’m annoying.”

They talked over each other, voices colliding in a chaotic but comforting mess. Someone was complaining about their younger sibling, someone else was recalling an old inside joke, and before long, they were all laughing- loud, raw, unfiltered laughter. The kind that tightened his chest but made it feel lighter at the same time.

They reminisced about late-night practices, the exhaustion that only they could understand, the little traditions they had before going on stage. They talked about their families, about adjusting to life outside the limelight. Everyone had found their way home, but that didn’t mean they didn’t miss what they had.

“Remember that one time we got locked out of the dorm?” Niki suddenly said, his eyes bright with mischief.

“Oh god,” Jay groaned. “Not this story again.”

“No, no, let him tell it,” Jungwon grinned.

Niki leaned forward dramatically. “So, picture this: we just finished practice at like, 2 AM, right? We get to the dorm, and guess what? No keys. No phone. No manager to save us. And it’s freezing.”

“I remember Sunoo was about to cry,” Sunghoon smirked.

“I was not!” Sunoo shot back, scandalized. “I was just- mildly concerned for my well-being.”

“Sure,” Heeseung drawled. “Anyway, we had to sleep in the practice room that night, right? I think I used Sunghoon as a pillow.”

“Worst sleep of my life,” Sunghoon deadpanned.

“Best sleep of mine,” Heeseung grinned.

Jake listened, letting their voices wash over him. He laughed along, but there was an ache in his chest, subtle but persistent. They were all home now, living different lives, adjusting to the quiet after years of chaos. But no matter how good things were, no matter how much they pretended, there was still a part of them that missed it. Missed each other.

“We really went through it, huh?” Jungwon mused after a moment, his tone softer now.

“Yeah,” Jake murmured, shifting against his pillows. His voice held something else, something unsaid.

Silence stretched for a second, not awkward, just… heavy. They all felt it.

Jay was the first to break it. “So, Jake. What have you been up to?”

Jake ruffled his bangs and mulled over the question for a minute. What was he doing? Passing his days with the aim of starting another day the same way? Letting his family members take care of him like he was still a broken child? Writing unworthy music in hopes of making a career? He was too embarrassed to even say, especially when everyone else seemed to have so much going on.

Sunghoon had started training children in ice skating and with his background, companies were flocking for him to be their employee and even raised his salary by threefold. Jay was working in his dad’s travel company like he was always meant to. Jungwon took up karate again and was hoping to partake in championships. Niki started working in a dance company with his sisters. Sunoo was looking to tie up with cosmetics brands and hopefully create a line of vitamins and skin-care. Heeseung found a job as a music teacher in a local high school and he said working with passionate students was more fulfilling than he had expected.

“Just with family, at the moment,” he admitted. “Seeing if I can write any music to send to labels.”

“That’s great, man!” Heeseung chirped. “I knew you’d get into something like this.”

“Yeah, he bet on it,” Niki laughed.

Jake chuckled. “Yeah, I hope it goes well.”

“How’s the family?” Sunghoon chirped.

“They’re all well. They’re great,” Jake nodded. “My family and my neighbours' family are really taking care of me.”

“Neighbour? Oh, Y/N’s family?”

To be honest, Jake barely mentioned Y/N to them. He was surprised when they even remembered. There were times in the night when he’d remember her existence and stalk her instagram to find recent posts of hers. He watched her grow up to be the woman she was through her instagram posts and through the group pictures and selfies his mother would send him. He showed them what she looked like once through a selfie his mom and her had taken. She was probably only seventeen at the time and he remembered everyone calling her cute and moving on.

“Yeah, her,” Jake said. “I’ve been getting close to her and my brother again, so that’s good. We spend a lot of time together.”

“That’s good, Hyung,” Sunoo said. “I’ve been getting in touch with my old friends, too.”

“It’s good to have family around at this time. I’m glad, Jake,” Jay said.

The call stretched on for longer than expected. No one seemed in a hurry to hang up, even as yawns slipped in between conversations and the glow of their screens cast soft shadows on their tired faces. They were scattered across different places now- different homes, different lives- but for a little while, it felt like nothing had changed. Like they were still the same boys who had once fallen asleep side by side in the practice room, the same boys who had spent years navigating the chaos of their dreams together.

The laughter came in waves, filling the quiet spaces between their words. Some stories were old, retold so many times they no longer needed the details- just a name or a phrase was enough to make them all break into knowing smiles. Others were newer, updates on their lives, glimpses into what came after. They made their families and pets greet everyone, parents asking children how they were doing only to be answered with feigned assurances. The rhythm of their voices, the way they spoke over each other without thinking, the ease in which they slipped back into old habits- it was comforting. But beneath it, there was something else, something unspoken.

It wasn’t the same. It would never be the same. But for now, it was enough.

Eventually, the energy began to dip, the laughter turning into softer chuckles, voices growing slower, heavier. Someone yawned, then another. One by one, they began saying their goodbyes, reluctant but inevitable.

“Let’s do this again soon,” Jungwon said, his voice laced with sincerity.

“Yeah,” Jake murmured. “Soon.”

The screen flickered as each face disappeared, until only his own reflection stared back at him in the dim light. Then, finally, the screen went dark.

Jake lay there for a moment, his phone resting loosely in his hand as he stared up at the ceiling. The room felt quieter than before, the weight of the silence settling over him like a blanket. His chest was heavy, filled with something indescribable- a strange ache, a quiet longing. All he wanted to do was hug them one last time- but at the same time, there was a lightness to it. A warmth.

Y/N barged into his room after work. She had tied her hair into a ponytail but it wasn’t so proper with loose strands of hair sticking out and her hair frizzy due to the heat. She had a LEGO set in her hand that she bought before coming to his house upon hearing that he hadn’t left his room since the morning. She hadn't seen him during lunch either, so she knew something must have been going on in his head.

“What’s that?” Jake asked. He was sitting on his bed, guitar in his hands as he went through the old songs he had sang. Layla slept in his bed, curled into a fluffy ball with her tongue poking out of her mouth.

“The Titanic LEGO set,” Y/N said, proudly smiling at him with her teeth peeking from behind her mouth.

“That’s insane- isn’t it nine thousand pieces? How much did you spend on this?”

“What? Oh, shut up,” Y/N grimaced at him. “Just start it with me, it’ll be fun.”

“Did my mom put you up to this?”

She grimaced at him again. “No. Do you think I babysit people on command?”

“Alright, Alright, sorry.”

Jake glanced at her, a small smile forming. He knew she wasn’t forcing him into this- if he had said no, she would’ve left without another word. But she had come here, straight from work, with this giant LEGO set and an easygoing smile, and for some reason, he didn’t want to say no.

They worked in comfortable silence for a while, sitting on the floor, occasionally breaking into small conversations about the day or laughing at silly mistakes they'd made. The pieces clicked together rhythmically, the scattered instruction sheets spreading around them like a map.

Half an hour later, the door creaked open again.

Sam leaned against the doorframe, eyeing them both. “Okay, I was wondering why it was so quiet. What’s going on here?”

Y/N looked up, tucking her knees under her chin. “We’re building the Titanic.”

Sam snorted. “Of course you are.” He walked in, plopping down beside them with no hesitation. “Let me guess, Jake didn’t actually want to, but now he’s taking it way too seriously?”

“I-” Jake started, then realized he had no real argument. He was taking it seriously now.

Y/N smirked. “Pretty much.”

Sam laughed, grabbing a piece from the pile. “Alright, scoot over. If we’re doing this, I’m not sitting on the sidelines.”

And just like that, the night stretched on, filled with soft laughter, scattered LEGO pieces, and the quiet comfort of being around the right people.

“You know, we had a group call last night?” Jake said while cleaning up for the night. Sam had gone downstairs to help set the table and Y/N agreed to have dinner at their place. The three were barely able to make it quarter way with the LEGO set and agreed to work on it in the coming days.

“Oh?” Y/N said, rubbing dust off her hands.

“Yeah, it was nice,” Jake nodded.

“Just nice?”

“I mean, no. Obviously, it was great,” Jake laughed. “It’s just… it feels like a terrible break up.”

“I get what you mean, Jake,” Y/N nodded and moved closer to him to test the waters. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as he collapsed into the bed.

He buried his hands in his hair. “We laughed, joked, even argued over stupid things. But the whole time, I knew the call was gonna end, and everyone would go back to their own lives. And I don’t know why, but that kind of sucked.”

Y/N didn’t say anything right away, just watched him as lay still on his bed. Over the past months, she’s been watching how his mood fluctuated. Some days, she and Sam were sure he was getting his spark back but then, something happens to bring his mood down- he’s reminded of something. He’s mentioned in the news, he reads an article about Enhypen. Y/N realised it was all about being patient with him.

“Do you think you made a mistake? Disbanding?”

Jake shook his head. “No. But it still stings.”

She nodded, letting the silence settle for a beat before she nudged a LEGO piece towards him. “Well, at least you guys haven’t disappeared from each other’s lives completely.”

Jake glanced at her, then at the LEGO in her hand. “Yeah. Guess that counts for something.”

“It’s okay to miss, Jake. I’m sure they miss you too.”

That night, before falling asleep, Jake cried into his pillow for the second time. It wasn’t the kind of crying that came with loud sobs or shaking shoulders—just a quiet, tired release. His face pressed into the fabric, muffling the uneven breaths as the weight of everything settled in. The group call had been good- really good- but it had also peeled back something he hadn’t been ready to look at so closely.

He missed it. He missed them.

And that night, through his tears, he wrote a song. He wrote a song that spilled out all his guts- about Enhypen, about his loneliness, about Y/N, about himself.

v. almost, almost- and then

The anniversary dinner was vibrant- Diana and Rob were beaming at their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary, their hands intertwined under the table as they soaked in the love around them. A grand chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, its crystals reflecting soft specks of light across the room. A grand piano hummed softly in the background, the melody weaving effortlessly between bursts of laughter and the gentle clinking of silverware against fine china.

Each table was set with crisp white linens, polished silverware, and delicate wine glasses that caught the flickering candlelight. Floor-to-ceiling windows reveal a breathtaking city skyline in the distance, the lights of the buildings shimmering against the deep indigo sky. A soft murmur of conversation fills the space, blending with the distant notes of a live jazz band playing in the corner- smooth, unintrusive, the perfect background to the night.

Servers glide seamlessly between tables, refilling glasses of expensive wine and delivering beautifully plated dishes- filet mignon drizzled with a rich reduction, fresh seafood resting on beds of saffron-infused risotto, vibrant salads topped with edible flowers. The air carries a mix of aromas- seared butter, truffle, aged wine- all adding to the indulgence of the evening.

Rob and Diane recounted how they first met as college students. Rob was a business major, Diane a hard-core history major and their paths only crossed due to an elective that neither of them took seriously. He sat behind her, always borrowing a pen and forgetting to return it, and she never let him live it down.

The first time they met outside of college, it was due to a mutual friend who invited them to a bonfire and since then, they’d become friends. Diane was the type to dissect novels over coffee, eyes lighting up as she talked about themes and subtext, while Rob would listen, teasingly pretending to understand before admitting he was just there for the caffeine. She thought he was annoyingly charming; he thought she was terrifyingly smart.

Their love wasn’t immediate- it grew in late-night study sessions, in shared laughter over bad takeout, in the quiet understanding of knowing someone will always show up when you need them.

It wasn’t until a particularly disastrous double date- where Diane was set up with someone else and spent the entire night wishing she wasn’t- that she finally realized it. She left her date at the restaurant, showed up at Rob’s apartment unannounced and professed her love for him.

They got married a few years later, not in a grand wedding but in a small ceremony surrounded by close friends and family. Their love wasn’t about dramatic declarations or fairy-tale intensity- it was about showing up, about choosing each other, over and over again.

And that’s exactly what they had been doing ever since.

When Rob finished telling their story, the table erupted in applause and sappy praises. Y/N, caught in the warmth of the moment, glanced across the table and met Jake’s eyes.

Just for a second. It meant nothing, but a small part of her wished it would.

He smirked slightly, barely perceptible, before taking a sip of his drink. She shook her head, looking away, though there was an undeniable heat crawling up her neck.

Meanwhile, Mark and Evelyn passed them their anniversary gift, a coupon for a cooking class with a famous chef that was coming into town and everyone burst into laughter.

“Mark, your cooking skills are just as bad as mine,” Rob jabbed at Mark but accepted the joke anyway.

Jake gifted them a custom made wine that they promised they’d crack open for a taste back at home. Sam got them a custom made vinyl that included all their favourite songs. Y/N gave them a handmade photo album of the pictures she’s taken of them since she’d known them- from when she was thirteen to twenty-five.

Jake nudged her with his shoulder, wiggling his brows. “That’s an impressive gift,” he praised. “How’d you think of it?”

“To be completely honest,” she started, ignoring the strength of his gaze, the heat of how close his face was. “It was last minute,” Jake laughed and leaned back, finishing the last of his drink as Y/N rolled her eyes. Sam caught sight of their exchange, signaling towards her in curiosity. She simply shook her head and tucked her hair behind her ear.

Y/N didn’t know when she started looking at Jake differently. The crush she had on him when they were children had long faded, dissolving into something distant and unremarkable. When he left, the pedestal she had placed him on disappeared too, replaced by the cold realization that life moves on, with or without the people you thought would always be there. For years, Jake existed to her only in memories- half-formed recollections of laughter in sunlit backyards, inside jokes that lost their meaning over time, and the echo of a boy who once felt larger than life.

And then he came back.

At first, he was just a fragment of the past- familiar but distant, like an old song she used to love but hadn’t listened to in years. She recognized him, but she didn’t know him anymore, not really. He was Jake, but he was also someone entirely different.

Somewhere along the way, though, things shifted. She saw him in the in-between moments- the way he loosened his tie at dinner, the way he leaned back in his chair, quiet but present. She caught the subtle changes in him: the ease in which he navigated conversation, the flashes of his old self woven into someone more composed, more grounded. And somehow, without realizing it, she had stopped seeing him as just a remnant of childhood and started seeing him as a man.

And that realization unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

The dinner wound down in a way that felt natural, warm, and just a little bittersweet.

After the last round of toasts, the servers brought out a beautifully plated anniversary dessert- a chocolate cake with the words Happy Anniversary decorated on it. Diane and Rob, still glowing from the celebration, shared a quiet moment, their hands intertwined as they took the first bite.

Conversations softened as people settled into a comfortable post-meal haze. The older family members reminisced about past anniversaries, the younger ones grew restless, and somewhere in between, Y/N, Jake, and Sam found themselves caught in the cozy lull of it all.

Jake leaned back in his chair, swirling the last sip of wine in his glass. Sam checked his watch, subtly nudging Y/N to start thinking about heading out. Evelyn and Mark joked about who would pick up the tab this year- Mark swore it was his turn, but Sam already had his card out.

Eventually, coats were retrieved, hugs were exchanged, and Diane and Rob thanked everyone for making the night so special.

Outside, the night air was crisp, and the city hummed with life. The family stepped onto the sidewalk together, still wrapped in the lingering warmth of the evening. Mark and Evelyn walked ahead, their laughter carrying through the night, while Diane and Rob strolled behind, their hands intertwined as they whispered to each other.

Jake and Y/N fell into step beside one another, a quiet comfort settling over them as Sam guided them to the car. Sam drove and Y/N sat up front, leaving Jake to his phone in the back. Occasionally, Jake would catch Y/N’s eyes looking at him through the rearview mirror and just as fast as he’d catch her, she’d look away and back at her phone.

“It’s nice to have parents that are so in love,” Sam said.

“Thirty-five years,” Jake said. “That’s crazy.”

“Do you think we’ll ever have that?” Sam mused.

“I can’t lie, Sam,” Y/N started. “I thought you’d be married by now.”

“I’m still young.”

“Mom and dad got married in their twenties.”

“Shut up, Jake.”

Sam had his fair share of love stories when it came to his dating life. He dated a few people during high school, then in college but once he started working, looking for someone that wanted commitment was like looking for a needle in a haystack. He’d been on a plethora of dates before. Some were set up by his friends, others by his parents but nothing seemed to work out. He even had a phase, not many years ago, where he was desperate to settle down and even prayed to God that he’d get married soon and start a family.

Jake didn’t know about that phase.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone, Sam,” Y/N said to him, rubbing his arm before concentrating on her phone again. “I’m sure we all will.”

“Aren’t you too young to know what you want?” Sam asked, unbeknownst. He’d forgotten what it was like to be her age, to be young and filled with hope about what the future could hold. At his age, he’d started losing hope and entered into a stage of acceptance.

“I don’t know,” Y/N shrugged. “I know what I want now. God knows how I’ll feel five years later, right?”

“Five years go by fast,” Sam sighed.

“Yeah tell me about it,” Y/N scoffed. “I can’t imagine pushing thirty- I don’t know how you did it, bro.”

“The hits just never stop coming,” Sam rolled his eyes and the other two chuckled. They caught each other’s gaze again, this time deliberate and unmistakingly.

Jake’s fingers tapped idly against his knee. “Pushing thirty can’t be so bad,” he mused, his voice just a little softer. “Depends on who you’re spending it with.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, barely perceptible.

Sam, completely unaware, let out a dramatic sigh. “If you two are gonna start getting existential, I might actually drive this car into the river.”

Y/N tore her gaze away first, shaking her head with a quiet laugh. But even as she looked away, she felt it- Jake’s stare, lingering like a thought left unfinished.

When Sam parked in their garage, he said he’d see them at the Y/L/N’s house. Their parents had already made their way there, buzzing to open the bottle of Jake’s wine. Y/N and Jake found themselves stuck in the hall, leaving them in the aftermath of the evening.

Y/N sank into the couch, exhaling as the evening settled into her bones. The soft hum of the house filled the quiet, but it felt different now- like something was brewing beneath it. She barely had a moment to gather her thoughts before Jake walked in, a glass of water in hand.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her.

His fingers brushed against hers as she took the glass, and she swore she felt it more than she should have. She lifted it to her lips, taking a slow sip, before setting it on the table. When she glanced back at him, he was still looking at her.

“You look really beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you,” she cracked him a grin, letting her hands fall to her waist to feel the fabric of her black dress, hugging her curves in all the right places. He looked at her like he knew exactly what was underneath- which he did but she didn’t know that. “You look quite dapper in the suit, too,” she said.

Jake chuckled with a nod, ridding himself of his blazer before collapsing beside her too. Jake loosened his tie, letting out a slow breath as he settled beside her. His shoulder brushed against hers, not by accident, and she felt the warmth of him seep through the space between them.

“I forgot how exhausting these things could be,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Really?”She let out a laugh. “You’ve been to bigger events than this as an idol, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “But it’s different.”

“Right,” she nodded. “What was it like? The idol life.”

Since he’d been back, this was the first time anyone in his family had asked him the question. It almost felt like everyone was tiptoeing around it- knowing but not knowing, avoiding but begging. When Y/N let the question spill from her mouth, it felt like a weight had lifted.

“Haven't you watched any of our videos? Interviews?” Jake asked and felt himself frown when she shook her head.

“I’ve listened to your music and everything,” she admitted. “But the rest… your mom watched everything. Like every single thing and sometimes, if I’m in the hall, I’ll watch with her. I’ve seen glimpses. That’s all.”

“That’s fair,” he said, bringing his lips between his teeth. “Life isn’t the way they show it on the internet, anyway.”

“I figured,” she said. “I heard it’s rough.”

“It is- especially I-Land. God I hated it,” he groaned. “But, to be honest, we had it easier than some of the other groups.”

“I don’t know how you’re surviving,” she said. “The past eight years of your life- it’s just been non-stop. Albums, interviews, tours, filming, cameras 24/7. Makes me wonder if you had time for anything else.”

“Like what?”

“Life in general, I guess?” Y/N shrugged. “You never got to experience all the normal things in life- college, dating, friends, family.”

“I meant, the members were my friends- we basically lived a lifetime's worth together,” Jake leaned over to take the abandoned glass of water. “Plus, we all have dated before,” he said, slowly bringing the rim of the glass to his lips and keeping a cheeky gaze on Y/N perked expression.

“Is it?” She raised her brows.

“Yeah, well it wasn’t like a priority,” he dabbled. “I wasn’t a monk but yeah. I’ve been with people,” he placed the glass in its previous position and rolled up his sleeves. The veins in his arms burgled, the muscle wrapped around his bones all the more evident. Y/N pretended not to notice.

“People? Plural?”

Jake shrugged, resting his arm on the back of the couch. “I mean, not a lot. I wasn’t out here having some wild double life. But it happened.”

“Who?” she pressed.

He gave her a look. “You expect me to name names?”

“Obviously.”

Jake laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “A couple were people in the industry- idols, dancers. People who got it, you know? No attachments, no drama. And then a couple outside of it, whenever I had the time.”

Y/N processed that. It makes sense. He had spent years balancing an insane schedule, under constant scrutiny. A full-fledged relationship must’ve felt impossible. Not just because of time- though that was reason enough- but because of the pressure, the expectations. The way love, for him, could never just be his. It belonged to headlines, to speculations, to strangers who thought they knew him better than he knew himself.

She could picture it now- the missed calls, the messages left on read, the late nights where exhaustion pressed heavier than longing. The way something as simple as meeting someone for coffee could turn into a scandal overnight. How could anyone sustain something real under those circumstances?

And yet… Here he was.

Sitting beside her in the quiet, where no cameras could reach, no voices could interfere. Just them. She glanced at him, at the way his fingers rested on his knee, the way he looked at her like he was waiting for something- an answer, maybe. Or maybe just for her to understand.

“What about you, Y/N?”

“What?”

“How was your life?” He continued, moving on from their previous conversation. “You know, after I left.”

“You say that like we were close,” she chuckled.

“So?” He pressed. “Go on, I wanna know.”

“I feel like you don’t really know me,” she said, resting her head on the couch. “Like, you’ve missed a lot.”

Jake blinked. “What do you mean?”

She exhaled, rolling her lips together like she was deciding whether to say it at all. “You were gone for a long time, Jake.”

He didn’t argue.

Y/N studied him for a moment, finding regret in his glassy eyes. “You weren’t there when I had my first friendship break up and Sam had to lull me to sleep- you know what I mean? Like, you weren’t there to know.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t there, I got it.”

“failed my first job interview because I was so nervous I forgot my own name.” She laughed at herself, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “And I spent a whole year thinking I wanted to be a photographer before realizing I wasn’t actually any good at it. And I took a break year after high school because I was so depressed and lost that I just wanted to rot in bed. This was after the remodeling so at least I got to do that in style.”

Jake watched her closely, his chest tightening with something complicated, something that feels a lot like regret. He should have been there for those moments. Not just the milestones, but the quiet, insignificant ones, too. The late-night doubts, the tiny victories, the way she figured herself out piece by piece.

He missed it all.

“Now, even my closest friends are scattered in different countries. The only people I ever really had were my parents and your family,” she said. “Sam was really the only person I trusted for a really long time.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not that serious, though. I know I say it like a sob story,” she laughed. “I’m so content with where I am now.”

“I’m glad, Y/N,” Jake trailed off, letting his fingers find a place on her knee. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know why it felt so weird when you left,” she continued. “I think you were my first introduction to life… you know that quote? Nothing stays the same? You made me realise that.”

Jake swallowed, hard.

“Y/N…”

“No, seriously,” Y/N smiled again, trying to assure him that he needn’t feel guilty. But talking about herself for the first time felt freeing. For the longest time, it was always about him- his problems, his issues, his needs and his protection. Now he was listening to her, all the sorrows, grieves, wins and achievements that made her who she was. “I love my life right now.”

“I should have stayed in touch,” he whispered.

Y/N let out a small scoff, but there was no real bite to it. “Yeah, well. You didn’t.”

The silence that followed was thick, stretching between them like a thread pulled too tight. Neither of them moved, neither of them spoke. The hum of the house felt distant now, drowned out by the weight of everything that had been left unsaid.

Then, softly- so softly that Jake almost didn’t hear it- Y/N murmured, “I hate you a little bit.”

His stomach twisted. It wasn’t the words themselves, but the way she said them. Fragile, unguarded. A quiet confession laced with something bitter, something vulnerable. She hadn’t meant it, not really. But it still landed somewhere deep inside him, settling in the space between regret and longing.

Jake exhaled slowly, tilting his head as he studied her. “Yeah?”

She nodded, watching him carefully. “Yeah.”

But her voice wavered just slightly, and that was when he saw it- the way her fingers tightened against her lap, the way her chest rose and fell a little too deliberately. She wasn’t just angry. She was hurt.

Jake shifted closer, just a fraction, barely enough to call it movement. But she noticed. He saw the flicker of something in her eyes, something sharp and aching. The hand that was placed on her knee pressed further into her skin and she let him, her eyes darting between his. Her lips were pulled between her teeth in curiosity, anticipating.

Her gaze flickered- to his lips, to his hands and then back to his eyes. Then, with a quiet breath, Jake leaned in just a little more, not enough to close the distance, but enough to make her heart race in her chest. He swallowed and his lips parted but it did nothing to steady him.

“Good.”

Slowly, softly, he placed his lips on hers- almost as though he was testing the waters, waiting to see what her reaction would be. And then she moved, bringing herself closer to him and her hands wrapping around his neck. His hands flew towards her waist, sliding towards her hips and their lips moved in harmony. Jake could feel the world around him come back together in one piece- perhaps this was all that he needed, her hands in his hair, his fingers buried in the skin of her legs.

Her dress limited her movements and when he realised, Jake took no time in lifting the hem of her dress to her waist and dragging her onto his lap. Yelping into his mouth, she chuckled and continued to kiss him- breathless and desperate as the air around them finally seemed to settle, as though this was what was meant to happen all this while.

“I’ve waited for this,” Jake tilted his head and placed another kiss on her lips. “For so long,” then he kissed her cheek and trailed them down her neck, playing with the strap of her dress before ultimately pulling them down.

Her tits spilled out of the dress, the dress bunching at her waist as cool air hit her skin. She let her fingers unbutton his shirt, hands trailing to feel the skin underneath- warmth and curves that she didn’t know she needed to touch until then.

“I missed you, Jake,” she found herself saying between breaths. “I really missed you.”

vi. 偷偷藏不住

The song Jake had written and perfected all those months ago? He’d finally sent it out to a list of labels and he hadn’t told anyone. And he wasn’t planning on it either. Not because he didn’t want to or because he was selfish- it was because he didn’t want to jinx. Over his time in Korea, he’d started believing in superstitions and found that sometimes, though it didn’t seem natural, they just made sense. He didn’t want to think about it.

He focused on Y/N instead. Jake leaned back in the chair, watching Y/N from across the room. She was reading, her legs tucked beneath her as she sat on the couch. She didn’t seem to notice his gaze, but he couldn’t help it. It had become almost natural to look at her, to appreciate the quiet moments when she was lost in something, anything, and how she looked when she didn’t realize he was watching.

He wanted to tell her about the song, to tell her about the labels he’d sent it to. He wanted to share this part of his life with her- something that meant a lot, something that felt like it could change everything. But he didn’t want to risk it. Not yet.

"Hey," he said softly, breaking the silence.

Y/N looked up, meeting his eyes with a small smile. "Yeah?"

He felt that familiar flutter in his chest. There was something about her presence that had become his anchor, the thing he always wanted to come back to after everything else.

“Wanna go do something?”

The pair found themselves at the beach, bikini and trunks clad as they hopped into the car in the middle of the night. The sound of waves crashing against the shore was louder, the rhythm almost hypnotic. The moon cast a pale glow over the water, and the sand felt soft beneath their feet.

Jake kicked off his shoes, and Y/N followed suit without a word. The sand was cool against her skin as they walked along the shore, the sound of their footsteps swallowed by the waves. It was peaceful, but there was an energy in the air, an unspoken current between them.

“This is exactly what I needed,” Y/N said softly, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders. She glanced up at him, her smile warm. “You always know how to pick the perfect places.”

Jake didn’t answer right away. He was too busy watching her, trying to read the subtle shifts in her expression. “You look happy,” he said, his voice low.

“I’m always happy,” she looked at him confused, though her smile refused to leave her mouth.

“You know, you should really let me take you out more. The beach, I mean. Doesn’t seem right to keep coming here alone.”

Y/N smirked, glancing at him sidelong. “Yeah? And you think I’d let you drag me around more?”

“Maybe,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “If you let me, I think I’d be able to.”

They started off just walking along the shore, the waves occasionally rushing up to their feet. It was quiet at first, the air between them still carrying the weight of unspoken things. But then, without thinking much about it, Y/N bent down and scooped up a handful of wet sand, letting it slip through her fingers.

Jake, watching her, smirked. “Don’t even think about it.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, pretending to be innocent. “Think about what?”

Jake didn’t trust her for a second, stepping back cautiously. “You’re gonna throw that at me.”

She grinned. “Am I?”

Before he could react, she flicked the remaining sand in his direction- not enough to be a real attack, just enough to be annoying. Jake let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Alright. You asked for it.”

Without warning, he lunged toward her. Y/N yelped and tried to take off running, but he was faster, grabbing her wrist and spinning her back toward him. They were both breathless, tangled in laughter, and before she could think of an escape plan, he lifted a handful of sand and let it sprinkle over the top of her head.

“Jake- ” she gasped, swatting at him. “You- ”

But he was already bolting down the beach, laughing like a kid. Y/N groaned but didn’t hesitate before chasing after him, their footprints overlapping in the sand. The chase was brief—he let her catch him. And when she did, she shoved him lightly, but instead of letting her go, he caught her hand, pulling her into a sudden spin.

They stumbled into the surf, waves washing over their ankles, the water shockingly cold. But neither of them cared. They were still laughing, breathless, eyes locked for a beat too long.

Jake’s grin softened, his hands still lightly holding hers. “Truce?” he asked, though his voice carried something else, something softer.

Y/N tilted her head, lips curving mischievously. “I don’t know. I kind of liked seeing you flustered.”

He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

And yet, he didn’t let go.

“I’m really glad things turned out this way,” Jake mumbled, sliding his hands onto her forearms.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too,” she said. “The last thing I expected to happen but- I’m glad.”

“I don’t want to mess things up,” he admitted. “I don’t want anything to change.”

“What could possibly go wrong?”

They lay there, supine on the beach, the cool grains of sand tangling into their hair and clinging to their damp clothes. The tide hummed a steady rhythm in the distance, the waves kissing the shore before pulling back.

Neither of them spoke for a while, letting the silence stretch between them, filled only by the whisper of the wind and the distant cries of seabirds. The sky, once speckled with stars, had begun its slow transformation- deep blues fading into softer shades, the first streaks of pink and gold bleeding into the horizon.

Jake turned his head slightly, glancing at Y/N. Her eyes were fixed on the sky, a serene expression softening her features. He resisted the urge to reach out, to brush the sand off her cheek, to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Instead, he exhaled, letting his fingers curl into the sand beside hers, close but not quite touching.

As the first light of morning stretched over the ocean, she finally spoke, her voice quiet, like she didn’t want to disturb the moment. “We should head back.”

Jake hummed in agreement, but neither of them moved right away. It wasn’t until the sky had fully surrendered to the dawn that they finally pushed themselves up, dusting off the remnants of the night.

It was probably one of the tiny, frustrating connector pieces that held larger sections together- the kind that looked identical to five others but somehow wouldn’t fit wherever it was supposed to. Maybe they were struggling with part of the hull, where two large sections needed to snap into place but keep misaligning, or a delicate detail like the tiny lifeboats that wouldn’t sit right.

Jake, exasperated, insisted they were missing a piece. Y/N argued that they just weren’t looking hard enough. Sam found them arguing when he walked in and it was almost comical.

“How are you so stupid?!”

“I’m not stupid, you’re just not reading the instructions right!”

“Is this how you want to spend the weekend?” He laughed, standing between the pair that were laying stomach down on the floor in Jake's carpeted room. “Have nothing better to do?”

“We’re finishing this before Monday or I’ll lose my shit, I swear,” Y/N pointed a threatening finger at both of them. “I keep seeing it half cooked sitting on his shelf and it’s driving me off the walls.”

Sam gave her a puzzled look. “You visit his room that often?” He looked between the pair.

Jake and Y/N, caught off guard, started looking at each other, wide eyes and pursed lips. They didn’t know what to say to him, allow him into their secret or gaslight him until he left. Y/N wasn’t even sure why he asked such a question.

“Sam, help us or leave!”

Sam lingered for a second, looking between them with suspicion but ultimately shrugging it off. He figured that if there was anything weird going on between the pair, he would have caught on by now. But unbeknownst to him, the pair had been dating for a couple of months now, stealing stolen moments with their hands clasped under the table during lunch, taking Layla out on walks, grocery shopping together and sneaking into each other’s rooms in the middle of the night. They felt like teenagers all over again, not having experienced such a rendezvous as children.

Sam helped them, though not without rolling his eyes first. He plopped down beside them, picking up a random piece and squinting at the half-finished model.

“You two are way too invested in this,” he muttered, trying, and failing, to snap a section into place.

Jake scoffed. “Says the guy who just sat down to help.”

Y/N smirked, nudging Sam’s shoulder. “Face it, you can’t resist a challenge.”

The room settled into a concentrated quiet, filled only with the occasional snap of plastic bricks clicking together and the muttered curses when a piece refused to fit.

At one point, Jake’s hand brushed against Y/N’s, lingering for just a second too long. She shot him a look- half warning, half fondness. He smirked but said nothing.

Sam, blissfully unaware, kept building.

“We’ve scheduled another group call tonight,” Jake piped while trying to pluck apart a pair of parts he accidentally stuck together.

“Oh?” Sam smiled.

“Yeah, I’m excited,” he continued. “It’s been a while. I think the last time was a couple months ago- before mom and dad’s anniversary.”

“Yeah, I think the last time you told me, Heeseung’s brother was getting engaged,” Y/N mulled over the details that Jake told her all those months ago but ultimately gave up.

“So everyone’s getting married but me?” Sam groaned and rolled his eyes, huffing as he continued to read the instructions of the LEGO set.

The pair ignored him. “Yeah,” Jake confirmed. “My birthday’s coming up, right? So they all said they wanted to call. I think this is gonna become a norm- I hope so, at least.”

“I hope so, too,” Y/N smiled at him and they silently went back to playing with their impossible set of LEGOs.

The group call was already in complete disarray by the time Jake joined. Sunghoon was mid-rant about something, gesturing aggressively at his camera while Jay, half-listening, scrolled through his phone. Heeseung had his mic muted, but his shoulders shook with silent laughter, probably watching something stupid on another tab. Jungwon, ever the responsible one, was trying to get everyone’s attention, but Sunoo kept cutting him off, making dramatic expressions every time someone spoke.

“Can you guys just-” Jungwon started.

“Wait, wait, do that face again,” Sunoo interrupted, pointing at his screen, barely holding back laughter.

Jungwon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is why we never get anything done.”

Meanwhile, Ni-ki, who had been quiet the entire time, suddenly leaned in, squinting at his screen. “Jake, are you in bed? Bro, it’s not even that late.”

Jake scoffed, adjusting his laptop. “It’s-” He checked the time. “It’s eleven.”

“Exactly.”

“Finally,” Sunghoon scoffed, sipping from a can of soda. “The birthday boy graces us with his presence.”

“It’s not even my birthday yet,” Jake chuckled, adjusting the laptop on his lap.

“Yeah, well, none of us are free on the actual day,” Jay pointed out. “So this is what you get.”

“Be grateful we even remembered,” Heeseung joked.

“You didn’t,” Jungwon said flatly. “I reminded all of you.”

Jake chuckled, the warmth of familiarity settling into his chest. The conversation continued in its usual chaotic rhythm—teasing, overlapping chatter, and Sunoo dramatically reenacting something that had happened earlier that week. Then, amidst the noise, Jungwon shifted in his seat, glancing away from the screen as if distracted by something off-camera.

Jake barely noticed at first, too busy laughing at whatever ridiculous claim Ni-ki had just made. But then Jungwon disappeared from his frame entirely, leaving only the top of his head visible for a moment. The others barely registered it, still caught up in their conversation, until he reappeared, this time holding something in his hands.

An actual birthday cake.

The glow of the candles flickered softly, illuminating his face as he settled back in his seat. The sight of it made the conversation stutter for a second before Heeseung let out a surprised laugh. “No way. You actually got a cake?”

Jungwon grinned, a little sheepish but mostly pleased with himself. “Well, yeah. Someone had to.”

“Jungwon, I would marry you,” Jake gasped.

“I lit the candles,” Jungwon went on, ignoring them. “But then I realized that would be kinda pointless since you’re, y’know… not here.”

Jay nodded solemnly. “Yeah, the whole blowing-out-the-candles part kinda loses its charm when we’d have to just pretend you did it.”

“We could all blow on our screens at the same time,” Heeseung suggested.

“That’s disgusting,” Sunghoon said immediately.

The whole thing was so dumb, so completely stupid, and yet Jake felt a knot in his throat. They really didn’t have to do all this, but they did. Just to make him feel a little bit like they were together again.

They spent the next hour catching up- on music, on random TV shows, on things they’d seen online that reminded them of each other. The conversation never stayed in one place for too long, always shifting like waves, full of interruptions and tangents that made no sense.

At some point, when the laughter died down just enough, Jake cleared his throat. “So, uh… I wanted to tell you guys something.”

“Is he finally admitting he sucks at Mario Kart?” Heeseung cut in.

Jake rolled his eyes. “No.”

Surprisingly, the call had ceased to a silence and everyone stared at their screen, waiting for Jake to say something. Sunoo looked the most bewildered, surprised at how silent it had gone.

“So?” Jay coaxed.

“I sent my song to a few labels,” He finally blurted out.

Silence. A split-second beat before the entire call erupted.

“NO WAY-”

“DUDE!”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL US?”

“This is huge!”

“Any news yet?”

Jake let them go on for a bit, barely holding back a smile. “Nothing yet,” he admitted. “Didn’t wanna jinx it. But… I don't know. It feels good to finally put it out there.”

“Well, we’re proud of you,” Jungwon said firmly, and the others nodded along. “Like, really proud.”

Jake exhaled, some of his nerves settling. He knew they meant it. That’s why he’d wanted to tell them- despite his stupid superstitions, despite his own fears. After they all spent a few seconds clapping, Heeseung had moved on to talking about his brother’s wedding. He told them that he was the best man and that it would most probably take place a year later- the happy couple were busy figuring out their schedules and work that delaying it felt like the best idea.

“You’re all invited, by the way,” he announced. “Mark your calendars.”

“To an unknown date?” Sunghoon sputtered out laughing.

“Be grateful I even invited you,” Heeseung deadpanned.

“I’ll probably have a date for the wedding,” Jake said. “Is that okay?”

The call ceased to a silence once more as the group processed the information. This time, Niki was the most bewildered, raising his brows and side-eyeing his Hyung with confusion. Then, Heeseung let out a scoff.

“I’m dating someone-”

“It’s Y/N,” Jungwon deadpanned.

“How the fuck did you know.”

“Dude, it was so obvious. You talk about her all the time,” Jay rolled his eyes.

“Well,” Sunoo said, dragging out the word. “Looks like Jake’s the first one of us to get a girlfriend.”

“Not surprised,” Jay snorted. “He was always the freakiest one out of all of us.”

Jake choked. “What the hell does that even mean?!”

“I thought that was Heeseung Hyung,” Niki’s voice drowned out.

“C’mon, man,” Sunghoon smirked. “We’ve all seen you in action.”

“Oh my God.”

“I’m not even shocked it’s Y/N,” Sunghoon went on. “This was bound to happen.”

Niki hummed. “Honestly, I thought it was already happening, and you two were just waiting to say something,” and Jungwon followed his profuse nodding.

Jake groaned as the teasing continued, hands covering his face. But underneath the embarrassment, he felt lighter. Like everything was finally where it was supposed to be.

vii. Happy birthday?

One thing about Jake’s family- they never did celebrations halfway. With the kind of wealth they had, extravagant parties and lavish dinners were almost expected, a given for any occasion worth acknowledging. But this time was different. This time was special.

For the first time in nearly a decade, they were celebrating Jake’s birthday together, all of them in the same place, at the same table. If that wasn’t reason enough to book the most exclusive restaurant in town for the night, then what was?

The clinking of glasses, the gentle hum of background music, the soft glow of candlelight- it all felt like a moment frozen in time, one he’d look back on and remember as nothing but happiness. His mother sat beside him, refilling everyone’s glasses, a proud smile never leaving her face. His father, usually reserved, was surprisingly talkative, sharing stories from Jake’s childhood that had everyone laughing. Sam, always the troublemaker, kept trying to sneak extra bites of dessert before it was even served, earning a playful slap on the arm from their mother.

“We went to an astrologer when Jake was born and we told her to read his future,” Rob, a drunken mess, raised his wine in the air. “She told us that he would grow up to do great things- and he did!”

Rob desperately tried making him stop drinking.

“He always used to drool as a child,” his mom reminisced. “And always picked at his lips- that habit never left.”

“God, mom,” Jaked rolled his eyes.

Y/N sat across from Jake, her eyes catching the light just right, and every so often, when their gazes met, she’d smile at him in a way that made his heart trip over itself. She was wearing the dress he bought for him and the jewelry he picked out- he told her that this was his way of showing his love and appreciation and the pair also scheduled birthday sex where he’d eventually rip everything off of her.

The table was full of laughter, teasing, and clumsy attempts at making a toast. Someone- probably Sam- had convinced the waitstaff to bring out an over-the-top birthday cake, three tiers tall, decorated with sleek gold details. They all cheered as Jake cut the first slice, feeding a bite to his mother first, then his dad, then Y/N and Sam and then Mark and Evelyn.

While they all posed for a family photo, Jake’s phone vibrated. He didn’t think much of it at first, chalking it up to a random app notification or another birthday wish from a random contact. Everyone had moved on to use the karaoke and Jake had even forgotten about checking it. He sang two, maybe three songs before handing the mic over to Mark and Sam and he settled onto a chair beside Y/N, enjoying the show.

It wasn’t until Y/N went up to sing that Jake took his phone out. His intention was to record her, maybe use the video to black mail her in the future. But then he saw the notification and he swallowed, hard. His hands quivered and his head spun- he was sure he was either being carried in cloud-nine or being buried six feet under. Both were bad, at that moment, when he realised what was at stake.

Y/N. Their relationship.

Y/N stopped mid-song, letting the karaoke machine drawl its music as her attention landed on Jake. He looked scared and she grew concerned. “Jake?” Everyone’s attention turned to head, heads snapping in unison.

“What is it?” Sam placed a hand on his shoulder, peeking past his head to find his email opened on the screen of his phone. “What is it?”

Jake swallowed, gripping his phone tighter as if grounding himself. His heart pounded so loudly he could barely hear the karaoke music in the background. “I, uh-” His voice wavered, and he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to just say it. “One of the companies I sent my song to… they liked it.”

Silence. A heavy, breathless kind of silence where the weight of his words sank in.

“They don’t just like it,” he continued, lifting his phone slightly as if to prove it was real. “They want me to come to New York. They’re offering me a job.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. Sam’s hand tightened on his shoulder. Around the room, expressions flickered between shock, excitement, and something unreadable.

“Holy shit.”

“No way.”

“Jake, that’s huge!”

His mother’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes already welling up. Sam clapped his back so hard he nearly dropped his phone. Y/N just stared at him, lips parted, and in the dim light of the private room, he swore he saw something shift in her expression.

“You never told us.”

It was the night before Jake was flying to New York. His bags were packed, tickets were booked and the family had already had a farewell dinner together. His mom cried and his father raised a toast for being blessed with two remarkable sons. Mark and Evelyn quipped about how he was already leaving, having barely been back. Y/N, however, had stayed quiet, looking at everyone through her lashes and past the rim of her wine glass. Occasionally, she would crack a smile but it was evident that it was feigned. No one bothered to ask her the matter, though, in fear of ruining the already sad night of Jake’s departure.

The night that Jake found out about his job offer, the night of his birthday a few months ago, he and Y/N came home to a huge fight. She was throwing pillows at him, almost ripping them to shreds for the feathers to come flying out. She then threw her heels at him, all out of pure anger as she cursed at him and asked why he hadn’t told her sooner, to give her a heads-up as to what to expect. Then, she broke down in tears, slumping into a ball in the corner of his room, hiding her face into her hands as sobs escaped her throat.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” She repeated her words over and over again and Jake comforted her, not knowing what else to do.

That night, he slept on the couch, mulling over all the rights and wrongs that he had committed in his life. However, he could never understand if leaving to pursue his dreams of k-pop was a right or wrong, virtue or sin. If he had never left and simply pursued his dream of engineering, maybe he and Y/N would have been planning their wedding right now. Maybe he would have been more familiar to his family.

After that fight, Y/N never brought it up again. She pretended like it never happened, spending the last of his days stuck beside him. She seemed normal, felt normal- so normal that it almost scared Jake. But he played into it, knowing he would regret it later.

When the dinner was over, Y/N was nowhere to be found- not in his room, not in Sam’s room and surely not with Layla, who was already sound asleep. So, he sauntered into the Y/L/N’s house and made his way towards her room. Her door was slightly ajar, but the room was empty. The faintest rustle of the curtains drew his attention to the open balcony doors, where a figure stood bathed in the silver glow of the moonlight. Y/N, arms resting on the railing, eyes lost in the distance.

Jake hesitated for a moment, taking in the way the night breeze lifted strands of her hair, how her shoulders rose and fell with a quiet exhale. Then, he stepped forward.

“Didn’t feel like staying?” He murmured, voice low as he leaned against the doorway.

She turned slightly, just enough for their eyes to meet. There was no smile, no teasing remark. “Needed some air.”

Jake nodded, stepping closer until he was beside her. “Mind if I join you?” She shook her head, and they stood in silence, the city stretching out before them, the weight of the night settling between them. “You’re quiet,” he pointed out.

She exhaled through her nose, a slow, deliberate breath. “Yeah.”

Something in her tone made his stomach twist.

Jake waited, hoping and praying that she would say something to fill the tension. But she wasn’t the type- she never was and never will be, now especially. So, Jake does.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like that,” he said, voice careful.

“I know,” she nodded.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way, Y/N-”

“That’s all you have to say?” Y/N shot him a blank stare. “That you’re sorry?”

“No, of course-”

“Jake, you’re leaving me,” she said. “All over again.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, knowing where this would lead. “You know it’s not like that, Y/N.”

“Sure. It’s never fucking like that,” she let out a bitter chuckle. “Then tell me, Jake, what is it like? Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly the same as last time. You left. You moved on. And now, you’re doing it again.”

“That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair? That I let myself believe this time was different? That I actually thought you were going to stay?”

Jake stepped closer, instinctively reaching for her, but she took a step back. That hurt more than her words.

“I have to go,” he said quietly, almost pleading. “This is everything I’ve been working for-”

“Yeah, I fucking know that,” her voice raised. “Just let me be hurt.”

Her voice cracked, and suddenly, all the fight drained from her body. A shaky breath, a single tear sliding down her cheek, then another. She tried to blink them away, but her body betrayed her. Her fingers curled into trembling fists, and before she could stop herself, she buried her face in her hands, hair falling forward like a curtain to shield her from the world.

Jake felt something deep in his chest tighten, like a fist squeezing his heart until it ached. The sight of her breaking apart- because of him- was unbearable. Without thinking, he closed the space between them, pulling her into his arms. His hand cradled the back of her head, his other arm wrapping around her shoulders, holding her together as best as he could. Like she would slip through his fingers if he didn’t hold on tight enough. She mumbled a string of “I hate you”s into his chest, trying her best to break free until ultimately, she succumbed into his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick, uneven. He shut his eyes as he felt his own tears welling up. “I’m so sorry.”

Y/N clung to him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if that would make him stay. She pressed her forehead against his chest, and when she spoke again, her voice was muffled against his body, but he heard every single word.

“You know,” she started, sniffling, “when you first left for training, I spent almost a month sleeping in your bedroom because I missed you so damn much. I missed you, just missed seeing you around the house every day, walking to the bus stop with you and your brother, going to the market with our moms-” Her breath hitched. “I missed you so much, I didn’t think it could hurt this bad.”

Jake’s throat closed up. He squeezed his eyes shut, his chin pressing against the top of her head as if he could will away the weight of everything she was saying.

Because he remembered too.

He remembered the way she used to run to his house every morning, dragging him and Sam out by the wrists so they wouldn’t miss the bus. He remembered sneaking extra snacks into her grocery basket when their moms weren’t looking. He remembered lying on the grass beside her on summer nights, Sam yelling at them to come back inside to shelter against mosquitoes.

He remembered the first time he left.

And now, he was doing it again.

"I remember," he admitted, his voice raw. "I remember all of it, Y/N. I didn't forget."

Y/N let out a broken breath, like she had been waiting for those words.

Jake swallowed hard and pulled back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed, lashes damp, lips pressed into a thin line as if she were trying to stop them from trembling. She looked at him like he was already gone.

“I hate it, I hate leaving you like this,” he continued. His thumb brushed against her cheek, wiping away a tear that had just fallen. "But you have to know- none of it was ever easy for me, either."

For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, the distant hum of the city beyond the balcony, the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on them.

Then, he reached for her hands, prying them gently away from his shirt. He held them between his own, squeezing.

"But I don’t want to lose you over this," he said softly.

Y/N's brows furrowed, her fingers twitching in his grasp. "You already are."

"Don't say that," he murmured. "Please."

“This is how it’s like to love someone like you, isn’t it?” Y/N pulled away from him, keeping him at an arm’s length as she wiped her nose with her forearm. He watched her through her puffy eyes and nose, her messy hair that he loved so much, and streaks of salty tears on her cheeks that looked permanent. “Someone who never feels like they have enough- who’s never content.”

“You think I’m not content with you?” Jake’s voice was laced with disbelief, his brows knitting together as he took a hesitant step forward.

Y/N let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “Jake, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” His voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it now- like he was bracing himself for something he didn’t want to hear.

She exhaled shakily, running a hand through her hair. “I mean that you’re always searching for something more. Something bigger. It’s who you are. And I love that about you, but it also means that I- ” she paused, her voice catching in her throat. “I’ll never be enough to make you stay.”

Jake’s stomach twisted. “Y/N- ”

“Don’t,” she whispered, cutting him off. “Just- don’t try to tell me that’s not true.”

Jake wanted to argue. Wanted to hold her and tell her that she was wrong, that she meant the world to him, that she represented everything good that he had going on in his life. That she was the one constant in his life, the person he always came back to, the one who knew him better than anyone else. That no matter where he went or what he chased after, she was always in the back of his mind, woven into every decision, every late-night doubt, every quiet moment when he let himself wonder what truly mattered. But deep down, wasn’t there truth to what she was saying?

“Come with me,” Jake breathed.

“What?”

“To New York. Come with me.”

She let out a breath, shaking her head before he even finished speaking. “Jake…”

He took her hands in his, gripping them like if he held tight enough, she wouldn’t slip away. “Why not? We’ll figure it out, we always do-”

She pulled her hands away. “Because I don’t want to,” she admitted, her voice thick with uncertainty. “I love my life here. My job, my family- everything. I like being the most loved person in the room at home, I like walking the same streets I grew up on. This is my dream, Jake. This,” she gestured vaguely, meaning everything- the life she had built, the people she had around her, the version of herself she had grown into.

Jake felt something crack inside of him. “So that’s it?” His voice was quiet now, the fight leaving him as quickly as it came. “You won’t even try?”

“You expect me to leave my perfect life?”

“You expect me to leave mine?”

“I never said that,” Y/N stood firm on her words. “I just asked you to let me hurt.”

That night, their bodies spoke in ways words never could. Desperation laced every touch, every kiss, as if they could etch each other into memory through skin alone. Jake’s hands traced the curves of her back, pressing her closer, like if he held her tight enough, he could somehow stay. Clothes were shed in silence, urgency melting into slow, lingering movements. He kissed every inch of her, memorizing the way she shivered under his touch, the way her breath hitched when he whispered her name against her lips. It wasn’t just love- it was grief, the kind that settled deep in the bones, knowing this was the last time they would be like this.

The drive to the airport was unbearably silent. The weight of what lay ahead pressed against them, thick in the air. Y/N sat in the passenger seat, her fingers curled into the fabric of her hoodie, staring out at the passing streets she knew by heart. Jake sat beside her, his hands curled into fists against his jeans, knuckles white. Every so often, he stole a glance at her, but she never turned to meet his gaze. She just kept staring out the window, watching the city she loved blur past, like if she memorized it enough now, she wouldn’t forget what it felt like with him here. Jake’s chest tightening with every mile that brought them closer to the departure gate. Neither of them spoke, because what was left to say?

viii. epilogue (the one with the happy ending)

Heeseung’s brother’s wedding was the kind that felt like it had been plucked straight from a dream. The venue was an elegant garden estate, sprawling and timeless, where nature and luxury blended seamlessly. Rows of white chairs lined a stone-paved aisle leading to a breathtaking floral arch, woven with ivory roses and soft greenery. As the sun dipped below the horizon, fairy lights draped across the trees flickered to life, casting everything in a golden glow. The atmosphere was nothing short of enchanting—warm, intimate, and brimming with quiet romance.

Inside the reception hall, deep forest green and champagne hues decorated the space, accented with gold detailing that shimmered under the glow of grand chandeliers. Long banquet tables were set with delicate floral arrangements, gold-rimmed plates, and flickering candle lit lanterns, making everything feel impossibly elegant. Laughter and clinking glasses filled the air as a live band played soft jazz in the background, transitioning into upbeat melodies as the night carried on. The dance floor, bathed in the warm light of hanging lanterns, was alive with movement- couples twirling, old friends reuniting, and guests celebrating love in all its forms. It was the kind of night that people would remember, not just for its beauty but for the way it made everyone feel—- ike they were part of something special.

In the middle of it all sat Jake, his hand clasped with Y/N’s, refusing to let her go. Around the couple sat the rest of Enhypen, chattering about where the newlywed’s honeymoon would be. They were all older now, busier, lives stretched across different places and paths, but sitting around the same table, drinks in hand, it felt the same. Heeseung was glowing with pride, still riding the high of his brother’s big day. Sunghoon had already teased him for getting emotional during the vows, and Jay was deep in conversation with Jungwon about how weddings always had the best food.

“So,” Sunghoon started, leaning forward with a grin. “Are we going to talk about how Jake actually managed to be in a long-distance relationship?”

“Do you guys really have such low expectations from me?” Jake snorted, bringing a rice cake to his mouth.

“I can’t lie, I'm surprised, too,” Y/N chuckled.

Jake stared at her, expressionless and feigned disappointment. “You’re supposed to be my girlfriend.”

“I love you, too.”

The pair would be lying if they said they weren’t surprised by themselves.

After Jake left, Y/N fell into a puddle of sadness that crashed into her like a wave, along with the tides of realization that her emotions would forever stay unrequited and unmatched. She would brood over her schedules and would drag herself around with a frown or heavy eyes. She no longer sat with enthusiasm while watching movies with her parents or playing with Layla. She no longer spoke with confidence during business meetings, mouthing her words like a programmed robot. And worst of all, she no longer liked online shopping with Diane.

It was painful watching the girl tut and sneer at things that would normally bring her joy- books, food, movies and even driving to the beach at night. Every night she would come home, she would mumble her greetings to anyone else in the house and go straight to bed. Sometimes she'd skip dinner, other times she'd skip breakfast and on days where her schedule was empty, she'd lay in bed all day, watching a show while not even bothering to shower.

It took two days for Sam to beat out a confession from Y/N, where he finally cried out a longing for Jake and their relationship- how everything so perfect suddenly was snatched out of her hand like a child with a stolen lollipop. She weeded and sobbed in Sam’s arms until her parents and his parents arrived in her room, confused at her disarray and begging for her to tell them what happened.

Sam finally explained it to them- how she and Jake had fallen in love, how they snuck around everyone for a few months dating and how him leaving for New York left Y/N shattered and empty. Upon hearing this, the parents had booked her a ticket to New York within a heartbeat. Before Y/N could even protest, yell at them for overreacting, tell them that she never wanted to see Jake’s face again- her bags were already packed.

Jake received an unexpected call from his brother while he was at dinner. Jay, who lived in Seattle, flew down to meet Jake for the weekend. They ate at a small restaurant that was famous for its brunch buffets. It was exactly when Jake was pouring syrup onto his pancakes that his phone rang.

“Y/N’s coming to New York,” Sam said. “Go get her.”

When Jay drove Jake to the airport, Jake finally understood why they said airports were both the place of the greatest happiness and greatest tragedy. For the most part in the past few years, Jake’s visits to the airport were filled with tragedy- disbanding from Enhypen, leaving Y/N and landing in New York for a job that costed him his favourite person. Now, he was visiting to experience what he hoped would be a miracle- that Sam’s call wasn’t just a prank and that he would see the woman of his dreams standing there, waiting for him.

Sure enough, when he arrived, he saw Y/N standing at a far corner, a look of daze and confusion as she gripped her suitcase. She looked around with glassy eyes, holding back tears in an unfamiliar environment. Then, she spotted Jake from afar as he waved at her, jumping at the sight of her. He wore his signature smile, the one that filled his face and brought out his teeth. Y/N let out a wet chuckle.

The pair ran towards each other and collided in the middle in an embrace. Jake, up until that moment, had never kissed her with that much desperation and aching.

After that, flying back and forth to visit each other had become a norm.

At Heeseung’s brother’s wedding, Sunoo asked the couple to recount their love story and he listened with heart eyes. Sunoo loved listening to people’s love stories- he had asked Heeseung to tell him about his brother’s a plethora of times by now.

“I’m so glad she’s stuck with me,” Jake grinned at her, squeezing her hand as she looked back at him.

Jungwon sighed dramatically. “Love is real, I guess.”

Heeseung groaned. “Please, not at my brother’s wedding.”

Laughter rang through the table, but even as the conversation moved on, Jake stared at Y/N, silently grateful for every moment that had led them here.

[starsjulia]

Best Birthday Ever // Leah Williamson

a/n : someone requested this but i can’t find it for the life of me… sorry!

warnings : leah and reader are caught in the act…

It was a beautiful, peaceful morning, birds chirping, the sun shining, the perfect day for your birthday celebrations.

Unfortunately, no one had informed Beth Mead that she was about to experience a horror worse than any she had faced on a football pitch.

Beth had arrived early, eager to surprise you for your birthday, thinking herself thoughtful and considerate. The plan was simple: let herself in (Leah never locked the door anyway), set up some decorations, and bask in the glory of being the best friend ever.

However, what she walked into was not a scene of domestic bliss.

No, what Beth Mead walked into was a nightmare.

A full-blown, trauma-inducing, therapy-requiring nightmare.

Because there, in the middle of the living room sofa, where guests would soon be expected to sit, was Leah Williamson. And she was on top of you.

In the act.

Beth’s entire body seized up. Her soul attempted to evacuate her body. Her mouth opened, but her brain refused to form words.

Meanwhile, you screamed like you were being set on fire.

Leah, on the other hand, simply turned her head, grinned, and greeted Beth as if she hadn’t just been caught mid-thrust.

“Oh, morning, Beth! You’re early.”

Beth finally found the ability to move and immediately hurled her house keys at Leah’s head.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL—LEAH?! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS?!”

Leah dodged them effortlessly, still looking far too amused for someone in her position.

“I mean, I’d have thought that was pretty obvious, mate.”

You, meanwhile, were in hell.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God,” you whispered, slamming your hands over your face as if that would somehow make you disappear.

Beth was now backing out of the room, as if she had walked into the den of Satan himself. “I NEED A PRIEST. I NEED HOLY WATER. I NEED TO UNSEE EVERYTHING. OH MY GOD—YOU TWO ARE VILE.”

Leah, completely unashamed, simply shrugged, still finding the whole thing absolutely hilarious.

“Oh, come off it, Mead. Bit dramatic, isn’t it?”

Beth pointed an accusing finger. “Dramatic?! DRAMATIC?! I JUST WALKED INTO LIVE ACTION PORN IN ME BEST MATE’S HOUSE! YOU THINK I’M BEING DRAMATIC?!”

Leah burst out laughing again.

You were seconds away from physically dragging Leah into another dimension where you could live in peace, away from the shame of this moment.

“Leah, for the love of God, shut up.”

Beth was now full-body shaking. “I came here to decorate. For the birthday party. I WAS TRYING TO BE NICE.” She let out a breath. “AND YOU TWO—YOU TWO WERE DOING GOD KNOWS WHAT AT TEN IN THE BLOODY MORNING.”

Leah smirked. “Well, actually, it was more like half-nine, wasn’t it, babe?”

You threw a cushion at her face.

Beth, still vibrating with horror, took a deep breath and slowly backed toward the door.

“I’m leaving,” she announced.

Leah pouted. “You just got here.”

“I AM LEAVING. I AM GOING TO GO HOME, I AM GOING TO PRETEND THIS NEVER HAPPENED, AND I AM NEVER COMING TO THIS HOUSE WITHOUT KNOCKING EVER AGAIN.”

She pointed one last, trembling finger. “And you two? You are sick, perverted freaks, and I hope you know that.”

Then, without another word, she turned and walked out the door.

Leah?

Leah was howling with laughter.

You?

You were seconds away from death via sheer embarrassment.

“I am never looking her in the eyes again,” you mumbled into your hands.

⸻

A Few Hours Later

The trauma had not subsided.

Beth had returned (hesitantly, after triple-checking that the house was safe), and the rest of the team had arrived for the party.

Unfortunately, Beth Mead was not one to suffer in silence.

The second everyone was gathered around, drinks in hand, music playing, she stood up, cleared her throat, and raised her voice so everyone could hear.

“Right, I’d just like to take a moment to formally announce that I will no longer be accepting invitations to Leah and Y/N’s house unless I have legal documentation stating that they are both fully clothed at all times.”

The room erupted in confused laughter.

You froze.

Leah smirked, immediately knowing what was coming.

“Beth, don’t you—”

“Oh, I fucking will.” Beth turned to the crowd. “Do you lot know what I had the absolute displeasure of walking into this morning?”

You slammed your face into your hands.

“BETHANY, PLEASE.”

Beth ignored you, taking a dramatic pause before announcing, loudly and proudly:

“LEAH WILLIAMSON RAW-DOGGING ONE OF MY BEST MATES ON THE LIVING ROOM SOFA.”

Silence.

Absolute, stunned silence.

Then…

Chaos.

Viv fell off her chair.

Lotte screamed.

Katie had to physically hold onto the table to keep herself upright.

You?

You were considering moving to another country.

Meanwhile, Leah?

Leah was laughing her head off.

Beth took a triumphant sip of her beer.

“Happy birthday, Y/N. Hope it was worth scarring me for life.”

[luveline]

Omg I love the hot bombshell bau reader x Spencer!! Could you write a scenario with them when the team is out drinking and she’s flirting with him even more & she can take it a lil further because they’re not in work? Thank you🥰

thank you for your request! this isn't a perfect fit of what you asked for but I hope you like it! fem!reader, 1k

"Psst! Psst!" Your perfume floats his way. "Spencer!" 

Spencer turns to your whisper shouting, much less whisper than you probably mean it to be. You're as in his personal space as you can manage without falling into his lap. Luckily, the rest of the team seem to be more interested in the previously unheard story Emily's deigned to tell about a Sin to Win weekend in Atlanta, and no one turns to investigate your secret.

"What?" he asks.

"Can you get me another drink?" you whisper. You insisted on sitting next to him, your breath sharp with cherry liqueur. If you hadn't, he would've tried to make it this way anyhow.

It's not fair. You've drunk enough to get cut off and still you look so pretty, bombshell through and through —there's no other word for it. Your eyes are glittering and unsmudged despite an evening of laughter and a pitcher's worth of bourbon bombs, and they're looking at him with this weird pinching pleading that makes his stomach twist. 

"I don't think you should have anything else." 

"Spence…" You put your hand on his thigh. Not cupping it, nowhere inappropriate, just your fingertips pressed to the fabric of his pants as you twist in your seat to beg. "Please, Spencer. Please." 

He really likes you, and this tone you're using threatens to haunt him forever. Resigned, he moves your hand off of his leg and grabs your empty glasses. "A spritzer," he says, standing up from the booth. "That's it." 

"Hey, no," JJ says, her thin brows pinching as she smiles, perplexed. "She's cut off." 

"That's why Spencer's going to get it for me. He's my angel," you brag, words tipping, tumbling all over the place. 

Spencer looks at the disapproving expressions on their faces, Hotch, Emily, Derek and JJ all looking as though they learned how to frown from the same place. Only Penelope and Rossi seem encouraging. Penelope tipsy herself, and Rossi a self-professed believer in, "Living life to the fullest. Get the girl another drink, Reid." 

"A spritzer," Spencer says again. 

You smile gleefully and follow him out of your seats toward the bar. The barkeep gives Spencer a knowing look when he orders your drink but doesn't say anything when Spencer puts the change in the tip jar, which is questionable. Spencer secures your cold beverage and hands it to you, fully intending on walking you back to the booth. 

You pull him off course. He has little power in the situation, a yelp and a yank and you're dragging him toward the bar jukebox. Your spritzer paints your hand as you put it down, lips wet with it as you beam at him from over your shoulder. 

"Pick a song?" you ask. 

"I don't know if they'll have anything I like." 

"Pick one anyways." 

Spencer has to stand directly behind you to read the titles. "Why don't you pick one?" he asks gently. 

You sway. He doesn't know if it's down to the alcohol or the five seconds of music that plays as you scroll through songs. "I don't have a dollar."

Spencer laughs and gets his wallet out, handing you two dollars from the fold. "There. Pick two." 

"You're such a nice guy, Spencer, and I don't mean it like, oh, you're a nice guy, you don't mess girls around, I mean…" You fold the dollars he gave you mindlessly. "I mean, you're just nice. In the best sense of the word. You're gentle, kind…" 

You gasp, sounding pained. Spencer's hand leaps to the small of your back, "What? What's wrong?" 

"They have Out of Touch by Hall and Oates. Hold my spritzer, handsome, I need to put this on before I die." 

Derek comes looking for you both somewhere in the second play of the same song. Spencer's cheeks are bright pink, people staring in confusion at the repeat and the pretty drunk woman speaking the words. Spencer tries to flag Derek for saving, but when Derek sees the way you've wrapped your arms around Spencer's bicep, he chuckles and waves goodbye. 

You look up to Spencer eagerly. You're close enough to kiss him. "You know how to play nine ball?" 

"In theory," he says weakly. 

"Good! If I win you can buy me another spritzer, and if you win, I'll let you take me home." 

Spencer was always going to be taking you home tonight, but for a distinctly different reason. "If you win," he says, licking his lips, "I'll give you another dollar for the jukebox." 

"And if you win?" you ask.

"I'll take you home," he says slowly. "But only to take you home." 

"That's cute." 

No matter what drunken delusion you're under, Spencer does end up taking you home after a third round of Hall and Oates. You're not so drunk as to need help standing, and you manage to get to bed without help. He just wants to make sure you lock the door. 

You kiss him on the cheek, your hand behind his neck like you might turn his lips to yours. Spencer turns his face away. 

"I'm not gonna try anything, Spence," you say, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. "Just wanted to say thanks. You'll stay, right? Don't get the train." 

Spencer sleeps on your couch. In the morning he wakes to the smell of eggs fried in sesame oil and the heavy scent of hot chocolate. Oh, and you in your tiny pyjama shorts at the helm, completely untouched by the copious booze intake of the night before. "Loverboy," you sing-song. "Come on! I'm gonna sit in your lap and feed you like a Grecian emperor. It'll be fun." 

It'll definitely be something. 

[minyard-05]

some things about aaron minyard

he doesn't like silence

the first time he cried after his mother's funeral was in the holding cell of columbia city's central police station, with drake spear's blood still staining his t-shirt

he used his phone call from that same room to call katelyn. everybody else that mattered already knew where he was, and she would too before long, so he just asked her to talk and listened to her voice until they took the phone away

he spent some of the first nights andrew was in easthaven at wymack's. katelyn hadn't been sleeping well with aaron and his nightmares, and abby would want him to talk about it, but wymack offered a free couch and no questions asked. aaron's never thanked him for it and wymack's never mentioned it

he used to want a dog when he was kid and he even asked his mother one night they were both drunk and tilda got so angry that he wanted to land them having to feed another body that she didn't leave any money when she left the next day. suffice to say aaron got good at stealing and the dog was just a stupid dream

he had a lot of those stupid dreams around age fourteen, because he was starting to drift away a lot more often. he used to drag his feet past the music rooms at school and wonder if he ever could've been the sort of person who could play piano or guitar, or be a sports prodigy, or a writer, or insanely good at math for some reason. aaron was, like, average, at most of those things. but he figured you can get through life being average, and it wasn't like he was going to make it very far anyway

he likes buses a lot. always been strangely calmed by them. trying to keep himself out of his mother's reach often resulted in planning cheap and convoluted bus journeys around the city, trying to get as far as he could without breaking the limits. he liked the routine of it, liked people-watching with the other passengers, liked the way the lights reflected in the windows when it got dark.

.once, he really did it. he left his mother and her boyfriend of the week in the living room and went to his room and packed as much into a bag as he could carry. fresh bruises on his arms and clumsily wrapped cuts on his hands only made him more certain. he was going to do it. he was going to run.

aaron left the house without anyone noticing. he walked two blocks to the nearest bus station, bought a ticket for the loop and figured he'd get off once he was far enough. for the whole ride, there was this almost giddy anticipation. he could barely sit still. he'd never been so sure of anything in his life. except, well, he didn't know what he was going to do for food. but he'd stolen a million times before, he could keep doing it. unless he ended up in a part of the city where security was tighter. his mother wasn't dating the cop anymore, so getting arrested was a more likely outcome. and aaron didn't have any shelter or anywhere to sleep aside from the streets. and he was still in school, technically. and what would happen when his mother finally broke up with whoever she'd found this time? she'd be crushed and she'd need the drugs to keep her steady and she'd need aaron to stop her from taking too much and she couldn't always cook on her own so she'd need aaron to help her and she needed aaron and didn't she always say how much she needed him how much she loved him wasn't it selfish to run wasn't it selfish to just leave her like this no note no explanation not even a goodbye this was a betrayal she surely didn't deserve. she'd always said it was the two of them against the world, so who was aaron to dare abandon her like this?

at the end of the line, aaron bought another ticket. he took the bus back to where he came and walked two blocks to his house. nobody noticed he'd gone.

[chwelz]

PAIGE BUECKERS — party 4 u

tw: emotional distress, alcohol, heartbreak.

a/n: i literally cried while making this (paige i would never do this to u)

You’ve been together for almost your whole college life, but you didn’t expect it to end. You and Paige broke up 8 months ago. The reason? Distance. You’re both busy with your own thing—Paige is focused on improving herself and her basketball, while you’re out here chasing your dream course. It didn’t end messy. You just ran out of time for each other. It was a mutual decision, and maybe that’s what makes it harder to move on… because duh, there’s nothing to hate.

And now you’re in your room, sitting by your desk—not really studying. You were supposed to, but your TV’s on, showing the NCAA tournament championship, and of course, you couldn’t take your eyes off it… because Paige is there, playing.

You bit the tip of your pencil, anxiously waiting, anticipating UCONN to win.

So far, UCONN’s got more baskets than South Carolina. There’s only 2 minutes left on the clock—still enough time for the opposing team to catch up and change everything.

The buzzer echoed and suddenly, you were on your feet, shouting—alone in your room, but shouting anyway. They won. UCONN won. Paige won.

It was worth celebrating. This was her dream. Winning the Nattys was all she ever wanted, and you were genuinely, overwhelmingly happy for her.

For a second, you wanted to message her—to tell her how proud you were. But the weight in your chest reminded you… you probably don’t mean anything to her right now.

So you just sat back down, picked up your pencil, and quietly went back to scribbling in your notebook.

The live ended, and you went back to studying, or at least, you tried to.

A few minutes later, you picked up your phone, curiosity getting the best of you. You started checking for updates—Azzi posted, KK posted, Ice posted, the whole team shared their celebration moments… everyone posted,

except her.

You wondered why, but you double-tapped and liked all their posts anyway.

Meanwhile, Paige and her teammates were out celebrating, renting out a whole bar just for themselves and a few people they were close with.

The music was loud, drinks were flowing, and everyone was having the time of their lives.

Except Paige.

She sat there, staring off into nothing, already a little tipsy when KK tapped her on the shoulder.

“Yo, you good? Drunk already?” KK teased with a grin.

Paige shook her head, letting out a small laugh, brushing it off.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she mumbled.

Everyone went back to partying, but Paige just sat there, quiet, lost in her thoughts—somehow feeling like something was missing in the middle of all the noise.

People kept checking in on her throughout the night, asking if she was okay. She just gave them a nod every time, a weak smile, brushing them off like she was fine.

Hours passed.

You were still in your room, still studying, though your eyes were starting to fail you, heavy and strained from the long night.

Meanwhile, Paige had drunk way more than she should have. No one really stopped her—they figured maybe she deserved it after winning the Nattys. Let her celebrate, let her forget whatever’s bothering her.

She stumbled her way to the bathroom, dragging her feet, the world spinning around her.

Without thinking, she pulled out her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she found your name.

“My love 💗”—it was still saved like that. She never changed it. She never wanted to.

She hovered over your name, started typing, deleted. Typed again. Deleted again.

Frustrated and dizzy, she finally just pressed call.

Your head was already falling from the palm of your hand, exhaustion creeping in, but the sudden ring of your phone jolted you awake.

You quickly wiped the drool trailing from the side of your mouth and grabbed your phone to check who it was.

Her name lit up on your screen.

Just like her, you never deleted the number. You couldn’t. You weren’t ready to.

You hesitated. What could she possibly want at this hour?

She should be out there, celebrating, surrounded by her friends, not calling you.

But your heart moved faster than your head—you answered before you could stop yourself.

And there it was.

Muffled music in the background. Her shaky breathing.

You broke the silence first.

“Hello?”

When Paige heard your voice, she choked—completely caught off guard. She didn’t actually expect you to pick up.

She quickly cleared her throat, trying to steady herself.

“Hey,” she said softly, almost unsure.

Then silence.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you hung up.

Just… silence. Sitting there, clinging to the sound of each other’s breathing, like maybe the silence was enough.

Paige finally broke the silence, her voice low and a little shaky.

“Was wondering… if you could come here… to the party,” she mumbled, her words slurring, heavy with alcohol.

On your end, it was painfully obvious—she was drunk. Hella drunk. And you couldn’t tell if the ache in your chest was from the call itself or from knowing she probably wouldn’t have called you if she was sober.

You fall silent, unsure how to even begin to answer her.

Your eyes drift to the books scattered messily across your desk, pages half-read, notes unfinished. You glance at the time—it’s late, too late.

But more than that, you realize… you don’t have an answer for her. Not right now. Maybe not anymore.

You decide to shift the topic instead.

“Congrats, by the way. I’m so proud of you,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

Those words hit Paige like a rock.

She’s heard you say them before, but it used to feel different—when you were actually there, saying it while holding her, kissing her, being with her. Back then, those words were warm, close, real.

Now?

Hearing them through the phone, through the distance—it just felt cold.

And it stung. Bad.

Paige lets out a soft, almost breathless chuckle.

“Thanks,” she says.

Then the silence creeps back in. Heavy. Awkward. Familiar in the worst way.

You break it this time, your voice calm but careful.

“Why did you call me? Shouldn’t you be out there celebrating with your team?”

“All of this… it doesn’t feel right without you,” she says quietly, her voice trembling, barely holding itself together.

She lets out a shaky breath, like she’s been carrying that weight all night.

“I won, but… it’s so fucking empty without you here.”

And just like that, your chest tightens, because you know—she means it. And somehow, that makes it hurt even more.

“All of this means nothing without you.”

You hear her breathing shift—slow, shaky—like she’s on the verge of breaking down. Like she didn’t expect this to hurt her as much as it does.

You sigh, softly, painfully.

“Paige…”

There’s a beat of silence, then her voice, small and trembling, barely holding it together—

“So… can you please come here?”

You let out a heavy sigh, the weight of everything settling on your shoulders.

“I’ll think about it…” you say quietly, that’s all you could give her right now.

“Great,” she whispers, voice thick as she tries to keep herself from falling apart. You hear her sniff on the other end, trying to hold it together.

“See you,” she says softly—like a promise, or maybe a hope—and then the line goes dead.

Before walking back to the party, Paige lingers in front of the mirror a little longer than she should.

She wipes at her red eyes. Fixes her hair. Forces a smile. Maybe if she looks okay, maybe if she looks happy, it won’t hurt as much. Maybe you’ll still show up.

When she finally steps back into the main area, everything’s still alive—the music’s loud, her teammates are celebrating, drinks are pouring, everyone’s buzzing with the high of their championship win.

The Nattys. They did it. She did it.

But Paige feels… empty.

Some people glance at her, some even ask if she’s alright, but she just nods, brushing them off with a tight-lipped smile.

She moves through the party like she’s supposed to be here, like this is enough. But it’s not.

Because she only threw this party for you.

She wanted to win. She wanted to have a reason to call you.

She wanted to celebrate this moment with you.

This whole night?

It was for you.

But you never came.

The hours dragged.

The drinks kept coming.

The people slowly left.

Still, Paige stayed. Sitting in the same chair, glancing at the door every few minutes, phone clutched in her hand like she was waiting for it to ring again—like maybe you’d call this time. Like maybe you were just late.

KK came to her gently, crouching down beside her.

“Paige, let’s go. She’s not coming.”

“It’s time to go home. You’ve waited long enough.”

But Paige shook her head, barely able to get the words out, her voice small, trembling.

“She’s coming. I know she is. I can’t leave… she’s coming.”

Her friends exchanged soft, helpless looks—but they knew better than to argue. So, one by one, they left her there, sitting alone in a room that used to be full of noise.

The music faded. The lights dimmed. The world outside moved on.

But Paige didn’t.

She stayed. She waited.

Even when there was no one left.

Even when the bartender asked if she was sure she didn’t want to close her tab.

Even when her phone stayed silent in her palm.

She won the Nattys.

She threw this party for you.

She just wanted you to come and kiss her face and tell her you’re proud of her in person. But instead, you’re somewhere far away.

[aliidarling]

i searched male manipulator music to find a song for this post LMFAOO anyways guys i dyed my hair burgundy:3 i’m in my red hair era

i need to purge my urges, shame shame shame ♡

RICK GRIMES x fem!reader

part 2

nsfw content — please scroll if uncomfortable

summary: you get taken by the CRM by total coincidence and reunite with your lover who you haven’t seen in years, only to find out he’s only a fragment of the man he used to be

tags: p in v, praise, gaslighting, toxic!rick, manipulation, i’m bad at tagging

nsfw content below !!

You were lying barely alive in a field, bleeding out from your stomach. Your eyelids were heavy as you struggled to stay conscious, not wanting to die. You had so much to live for.

Everything was a blur, the blood staining your clothes. His name echoed in your head. It had been years since you saw the man you fell in love with. Ever since that day the bridge exploded, the day you lost him.

It had been almost eight years since then.

You supposed a normal person would have moved on by now, but his face and voice still haunted you, keeping you up during late hours and not allowing you to rest.

It would only be fitting that he was the last person on your mind during your last moments. You only could hope you were one of his before the bridge took his life.

Everything started to fade slowly, your ears ringing. Your eyesight was spotty. All you wished for was to reunite with him in the afterlife.

As you finally went still, the loud noise of a helicopter nearing went unheard by you.

You had no idea what was going on. You were being carried by two large soldiers wearing all black, holding you up by your arms as your body dragged on the floor. When you awoke, you were in an infirmary, all bandaged up and feeling better.

It was like they worked magic on you. The bandages around your abdomen were the only evidence of the stab wound that was once there.

“Where the hell am I?!” You yelled, your voice almost scratchy. They ignored you and continued dragging you towards a door in the hallway.

“Listen to me you fat fucks!” A screech left you as they shoved you inside the room, slamming the door behind you. You stumbled into the room, quickly regaining your balance as you clutched your side, the aggressive treatment opening your stitches slightly.

“Jesus, what the f… Your words were trailed as you looked up and realized four people were staring at you, all of them seated in a row with one empty seat in front of them. You blinked slowly.

One of them calmly smiled at you and motioned for you to sit. You gritted your teeth, looking around the room. Soldiers were standing by the walls, guns in their hands.

You sighed and hesitantly sat down, giving them a blank look.

It had been a week since then. They explained the overall situation you were in, and how they had found you half-dead in a field and saved you. You felt a little grateful, obviously, but you couldn’t shake off the weird feeling this place gave you.

The way they didn’t let you leave no matter what you said was what freaked you out the most.

“What do you mean I can’t leave?!” You snapped, raising your voice at the tall man before you. He had introduced himself as Okafor and was one of your superiors. For the last week, you had been dragged outside by the gate, handed a sharp spear, and instructed to kill walkers without any choice in the matter.

He rolls his eyes at you and frowns, staring down at you.

“Why would you want to leave? We’re giving you a place to stay with a small fee for some labor.” He scoffs, ushering you off back towards the fence.

“You’re being brainwashed.” You grumble, reluctantly setting your spear back up and pulling your mask down.

Another few hours of just stabbing walkers in the head passes, tiring you. You’re leaning against the gate, blood all over your clothes and the jacket they supplied you with.

“Good job, rookie,” Okafor comments playfully, giving you a pat on the shoulder. You grumble and push him off.

“This place sucks ass. I just wanna go home.”

Okafor hums and shrugs at you.

“Sorry to break the news, but there’s no chance. Only one man in history has attempted to leave, and even he didn’t make it.”

This sparks your interest for a moment before you sigh and turn away.

“Am I done for the day?”

Okafor grins and immediately shakes his head, making you groan and cross your arms. You had been in the heat for half the day now, you were sweating and all you wanted to do was go home and wash all this blood off you.

“We have a commander coming to do a check-in. He’ll be here in around ten minutes, so stay put.” The words leave him smoothly, not giving you even a second to complain before he turns away and starts talking to another one of his men.

With a groan, you picked up your spear and started stabbing the walkers again. You felt like that’s all you’ve been doing recently, other than planning on how to escape this place.

A few long minutes later, you hear a name being yelled that makes your heart stop.

“Commander Grimes!” Okafor yells happily as a tall man in a tactical suit walks up to him, his back to you. Your blood ran cold as you prayed that it was some coincidence.

Even still, if it was a coincidence it would still make you feel sick. The universe always had its way of making fun of you, and now it was making you hear his name everywhere.

You stared at the man’s back, silently praying that when he turned around it would be him. Or wouldn’t. You were confused with yourself— you didn’t know if you wanted to see him alive if it meant he was working for this corrupted military.

But your heart ached, even if the cons weighed you down. You found yourself staring, walkers long forgotten.

Okafor notices you staring and frowns, turning his attention from the commander to you with a wave of his hand.

“C’mere, rookie. You gotta meet Commander Grimes.”

Oh fuck.

Your legs felt wobbly like they could buckle from underneath you at any second. With your legs working on auto drive and your mind racing at a thousand thoughts per second, you found yourself walking towards the two men.

Once you reached them, the tall man slowly turned to look at you. It felt like should have been in slow motion, but in reality, it was all going way too fast.

The commander turned to look down at you, his blue eyes and curls making you want to vomit. It was him. Of course, it was him.

His eyes were emotionless, his face completely blank. He stared at you like you were any other person. Like you weren’t the woman he shared a bed with for years. The woman who helped him raise Carl.

“Sweetheart, your mask,” Okafor comments mockfully, making you grimace. That’s probably why he’s staring at you like you were a piece of dust.

“S-Sorry, sir.” Your voice cracked slightly as you quickly pulled your mask off, your hair getting tangled slightly. You quickly brush it out of your eyes, blinking rapidly. Gulping down the nausea, you looked back up to meet Rick’s eyes.

He was frozen, his lips parted and eyes wide, not making a single noise. His back was turned to Okafor, so only you could see the expression he had. The expression of shock, realization, and recognition.

After a long moment of silence between the three of you, you held your hand up to your temple and saluted him, your fingers trembling.

“Commander Grimes.” Your voice shook as you pressed your lips together.

He stared at you for another long few seconds before nodding, so subtle you barely noticed. Everything in his body was on fire, alarms blaring and his heart pounding.

There you were. Standing in front of him. Saluting to him.

“Welcome to the CRM, consignee..” He trailed on.

You held back a laugh before muttering your name, glancing at him, the ground, and then back to Okafor.

“Am I free to go?” You said rather harshly, your fists clenching.

Okafor gave you a once-over, judging your dirty clothes stained by walker blood and messy hair from the mask. He hums before waving you off.

“Yeah, whatever, I’ll see you here at 8am tomorrow morning.” He mutters before going back into casual conversation with Rick.

As you walked away, you could feel a pair of eyes burning a hole into your back.

Just later that night, you were in your given apartment. It didn’t feel like home, like Alexandria. Your mind stayed on Judith and RJ, freaking out about whether they were alright or not.

Judith had stopped answering you a few days before you got captured. You knew a part of you was delusional for going out on a whole entire journey to find your lover when this whole time he was living luxury at the CRM. He was a commander, fuck.

What were you doing? Staying here? You needed to escape now, find Rick, and ask him what he was doing here. You wouldn’t leave without him, that was for sure.

You crawled up on your bed, hunching closer to the window. It led to a fire escape but was sealed tightly shut. For a place that says they never had anyone want to leave, they’re pretty cautious with these types of things.

Glancing at the mini kitchen, you got an idea. You grabbed one of the knives and got back on the bed and kneeled down next to the window and started to slide the knife between the slits, hoping to hear a crack or any type of noise that would alert you you’re going in the right path.

Not even mid-way through your little escape attempt, your door suddenly slammed open. You shrieked and dropped the knife, sitting up and turning towards your door.

Rick stood there, staring at you with a panicked expression. He shut the door, locked in, before turning back to you. He was wearing dark clothing still, but not tactical. Instead, he wore a button-up paired with jeans, with a leather jacket on top.

He rushed towards you and grabbed you, cupping your face with shaky hands and trembling lips. You immediately leaned back into him with the same expression, happy to finally be with him, and happy he still cared for you.

“You- you— why—“ He furrowed his brows as he patted you down in a panic, not believing the fact you sat before him. His hands were shaky as he cupped your face again and leaned down towards you, scanning every detail on your face.

“Rick, Rick— is it really you?” You gasped softly, sitting up further and pulling him in by wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He places one hand on the back of your neck while his other stays on your back, pushing you into him.

“It’s me, baby, swear. S’me.” He soothingly brushes his fingers through your hair before gently placing his other hand on your chin. His thumb picks at your bottom lip.

“What are ya’ doing here, sweetie? How’d ya’ find me?” His voice was soft and gentle, lowered. His thumb gently pulls your lip down before leaning his down. He breaths onto your lips.

“I-I— I’ve been, I’ve been looking. I swear. Almost died and CRM took me.” You muttered shakily. Rick frowns and massages the back of your head gently.

“You almost died?” He mumbled and gently pressed a kiss to your forehead. You whined softly, wanting nothing more then his lips on yours. Your hands clawed at his jacket. He giggles and pushes you down onto your bed, crawling over you and pressing your body down with his.

“You’re okay, now, right? Good girl, keep being good for me.” You nod in response as he kisses your neck, your eyes fluttering shut as your hands gently tug at his hair.

“Missed you.” You whimper into his ear, a soft moan leaving you as he nuzzles his beard into your sensitive flesh. His hips grind down on yours, the two of you desperate for each other.

“God, can’t even describe how much I missed ya’, gonna fuck you so good.” He almost whines. His hands come down by your sides and grab at you. He presses his lips against you hard.

A muffled moan leaves you as he sits up over you slightly. He pushes one of his knees between your legs and puts pressure against your core, his hand going to your shirt.

“I’m not gonna let you leave this time, kay’?” His eyes darkened as he said this, making you shiver. With a hesitant nod, Rick starts to pull your shirt off. Once you were topless underneath him, his lips pressed gentle kisses against every inch of your torso.

His breath brushed against your breasts. Your bra was the only thing separating him from your breasts. Without another second to spare, he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra.

This was all going so fast.

“Wait— Rick,” You whine softly, trying to sit up. He shushes you, cupping your breasts and pushing you back down, colluding his lips with your neck.

“Haven’t seen you in eight years, sweetheart. Nothing you do can get me off you.” He chuckles darkly, nuzzling his scratchy beard against your sensitive throat before pulling away and lowering his predatory gaze to your breasts.

A small moan left your lips as his hands started to massage your breasts, his warm palms gliding over your chest. Your nipples hardened, making him chuckle. He leans down, tweaking one of them with his finger and gently taking the other in his mouth.

Your eyes flutter as you find yourself being pleasured by the man you’ve been dreaming of for years— your body being treated like a vase. He was so gentle and soft with you, kissing every inch he could reach. His hands were soothing as they caressed you.

It still felt odd though. Something about his dark gaze and his possessive words had you shivering under him, looking up at his eyes. The new scars on his body had you wondering what he went through.

He was holding you close to his chest, hugging you tightly and humming soft little praises into your ear. His cock was buried deep inside you, your walls fitting him like a vise. He moaned into your ear, holding you so tightly you wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up with bruises.

His hips rocked smoothly, pushing himself deeper and deeper, wanting all you could offer. He wanted every inch of you and never wanted to let go.

“Good girl, so good for me, pussy so tight around me,“ He groans into your ear. His voice was raspy as his hands tightened around you, one on the back of your neck and gripping it. He held your face towards him so he could lean down to give you kisses whenever he wanted.

His other hand went down to work at your clit, humming approvingly as you clenched down at the pressure and let out an adorable little mewl under him.

“Wanna cum? Hmm?” He coos, gently rubbing your sensitive spot, leaning closer, and nuzzling into your neck. His thrusts get harder.

“P-Please, Rick, love you so much—“ You choke out, grabbing at him to steady yourself as he batters your insides. Your toes curled as your eyes rolled back, broken whines leaving your throat.

“Oh, oh, oh God— p-please! I’ve been so good..” You cried out into his ear as your words started to slur together. Your lips were quivering as he kept slamming his cock into your tight hole over and over again, sending you right over the edge.

“Yeah, you gonna cum? Mmm, good girl, just like that,” He whispers softly as he pounds into you more as you spasm around him. He feels your little cunt go tight around him and let out your juices. He grunts at the feeling, burying himself as deep as he could as he closes his eyes and leans his head back, relishing in the feeling of cumming inside you for the first time in eight heat.

“Yeah, sweet little baby. So good for me.” He groans as he fucks you gently through your orgasm, listening to your shaky moans and cries as your release keeps getting dragged on and on, more cum leaking out from your hole.

With a shaky sigh, he makes sure he has completely milked you out before slowly pulling out, small squelching sounds filling the silence. Your breaths were shaky, and so were his, both of you exhausted after the passionate love-making session.

“Rick..” You mumble tiredly, looking over at him. You lay limp on the bed, your pussy a mess with both your cums dripping out.

He smiles and looks over, now standing up and reaching for his boxers. He leans over you and pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead, his thumb squishing your cheeks together.

“I’ll clean you up, kay? Gimme a sec, hun.” He says sweetly before pulling away once again and walking off to your bathroom.

A few minutes later the two of you laid in your shitty bed together, the mess between your thighs cleaned up. You were currently receiving a back massage from him, oddly enough. You laid on your belly as his large hands worked on your back muscles.

He stared down at you, admiring every little change in your body. He wished he was there for you all those years he wasn’t.

“What happened?” You asked softly, peering at him from over your shoulder. You felt him press his thumb down on a knot in your shoulder, making you whine softly.

“…You want me to start from the start?” He chuckles dryly. You give a hesitant nod.

“…Anne found me.. half dead on the riverbank. She was working with the CRM and turned me in, saved my life.” He spoke with a small hint of gratitude in his words, masked by his deadpan tone.

You continued to lay there silently, enjoying the back massage but still wanting him to explain everything. Was that all he was gonna say?

“..And? Did they— did they force you to stay? Did they hurt you?” You stuttered, wanting some type of explanation why he never came back. You wouldn’t be able to handle it if you found out he had willingly stayed here for eight years.

He was silent for a moment, his palm pressing down on your shoulder blades and rubbing in small circles. His eyes gaze down at you, wondering what to say to make himself not sound like the bad guy.

“No.” He mutters after a moment.

You felt like your entire world had shattered again, like he was being ripped from your arms like that day on the bridge.

“Why didn’t you try to come back?” Your voice cracked, making him realize he had screwed up. He hesitates on what to do before quickly pulling you into his arms, rubbing your back gently, and nuzzling your face into his chest.

“I did, sweetheart, promise. Tried a few times, but they stopped me. Made me realize what this place was. It’s life-changing, baby, you gotta give it a chance. I want you to stay here with me, kay? For me? Please, you gotta do it. If you loved me you’d stay, wouldn’t you?” He whispers soothingly, his words like daggers as he holds you tighter with every passing second.

“W-What? Rick? No— I can’t—“ You attempted to pull away, making him growl and push you down on the bed, crawling over you and planting his arms on each side of you.

“No, you gotta listen to me.” He says firmly, his eyes dark. Who was this man? Why was he treating you like this? The Rick you knew would never speak to you like this.

“Rick—"

He shushes you.

“You’re staying here with me, got it? It’s safe here. You’ll be safe. Don’t you wanna stay with me? Don’t you want tonight to happen over and over again?” He whispers, his dark tone turning into a sickeningly sweet one, his hand coming to cup your cheek and gently caress your skin.

“I can't, Rick. What about A-Alexandria? Judith? Maggie and Daryl— they’re all— you need to come home! This place isn’t good, good for you, good for us.” You attempt to plead.

Your words fall on deaf ears as he shushes you again, the dark look in his eyes coming back. He stares down at you in an almost offended manner.

“Are you trying to manipulate me?” He scoffs, sitting up and giving you a disgusted look. You freeze, quickly sitting up and attempting to reach for him. He clicks his tongue and pushes you away.

“I cant believe you sweetheart, just got me back, and is already trying to fall for your words. I thought you loved me?” He whispers slowly, glaring at you with narrowed eyes.

Your heart stops as his words settle in your throat, your eyes wide. Panic overtakes you as you quickly pull him back in and hug him tightly, trembling now.

“N-No, no, I swear— I wasn’t, I’m sorry, I’m sorry Rick, please don’t leave me.” Your words are small and fearful, fearful of him leaving you after you just found him.

His eyes soften as he keeps the sick grin from overtaking his face, his hands going to gently cradle you in his chest. He hums sweetly, rubbing your head.

“It’s okay, I know you’re just a lil’ confused. I’ve gotcha, sweetheart. I love you, okay? I’ll keep you safe and sound, just gotta stay here with me, can you do that? For me?”

“Y-Yea— yes, yes, anything for you.” You stammer, curling into his arms with watery eyes and shaky limbs. You didn’t want him to leave you, not again.

“Good girl. Knew you’d snap back to reality.” He chuckles dryly. His large hands hold you close to him, humming gently into your ear and rocking your small body.

The two of you lay there for a long time until you were asleep and gently snoring, and he was staring down at your vulnerable form, thinking.

You weren’t gonna go anywhere, and he’d make sure of that. He had searched for you for too long to let you slip away now, he’d rather die than watch you leave. He just needs to find a way to get Judith here, and you’ll all be the happy family you once were.

He’d make sure you had nowhere to go, even if it meant hurting you and twisting your sight on the world.

lmk if u want a part 2? idk what i could make happen but there's def potential

[raspberrybesitos]

just married | frankie morales x f!reader

Main masterlist

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~2k

Summary: You and Frankie just tied the knot. Half way through the reception, your insatiable husband whisks you away for some much needed privacy.

Warnings: fluff, oral (f receiving), fingering, exhibitionism (sex in a private bathroom), unprotected PIV (wrap it up y’all), creampie, reader is female, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: happy frankie friday! this is based off this post, i could not for the life of me shake this from my head. literally wrote this in an hour, i’m telling y’all i’m actually going insane. the brain rot is actually concerning. FRANKIE NATION RISE! 🫡 anyway, i hope y’all enjoy! 🫶🏼 i loveeee me some frankie 🫠 not beta’d, all mistakes are my own. 🏃‍♀️

Divider by @saradika

“Come on, hermosa,” Frankie rasps in your ear, moving his hands from your hips and grabbing your hand, a small smirk playing on his lips. Music booms from the DJ’s speakers, the dance floor lively and vibrant.

“Where are we going, baby?” You ask, your gown flowing freely as your new husband swiftly maneuvers you through the crowd. “You’ll see,” he shouts over the thrumming music. Your body buzzing with excitement and a smile, so big it hurts, adorns your face.

Leading you out into the hall and racing up the stairs, giggling like a couple of school children. Frankie drags you to the bathroom at the end of the hall, flinging the door open and guiding you inside.

He grips your hips and crashes his lips onto yours, swallowing your dissipating giggles as he presses you up against the door and locks it. You whimper softly as his hands begin to roam your body.

His hands roam your backside, making his way down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Frankie!” You squeal, breathlessly, laughter bubbling over your lips as you pull back for a bit of air.

A toothy grin breaks out into his face. “I’ve missed you, hermosa,” he pants, the both of you breathless from running and desperately kissing each other.

“I’ve missed you too, baby.” Not having had a moment to yourselves this whole day, you two bask in this brief moment of privacy.

He brings you in for another insatiable kiss. Your hands tug at the hair at the nape of his neck, making him groan into you. Snaking his hands down your waist, he cups your mound in one hand. You moan into him as your brows scrunch in pleasure, grinding against his hand.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day, baby,” he groans, guiding you to the sink, pressing your backside up against it as he peppers kisses to the column of your throat. “You look so fucking gorgeous, baby, this goddamn dress is driving me crazy,” he whispers, nipping your neck. 

“You’re driving me crazy, Frankie,” you gasp. “Look so fucking sexy in that tux, baby.” He smiles into your skin, working his way back up to draw you in for another kiss. You moan into his mouth as he slips his tongue inside, arousal pooling in your panties and sticking to your sex. Swallowing every moan that pours into his mouth, he pulls back, your lipgloss staining his lips. 

Crouching to his knees, he bunches your gown up over his head and moans at the sight of your lacy panties paired with your garter. 

“Fuck, baby. So fucking wet for me all fucking the time,” he whispers huskily as his large, warm hands run along your thighs. He slides your garter down your leg, tucking it into his back pocket. 

Propping you up onto the sink, he spreads your legs and presses a kiss to your sex. You moan at the feeling, aching for more. One of his thick fingers prods at your entrance, parting your lips and allowing your husband a view of your glistening pussy.

“Please, Frankie,” you plead breathlessly, tossing your head back. 

“Yeah? My pretty little wife wants me to eat her pussy? Huh, mi esposa?” You moan, eagerly nodding as you clench around nothing. Frankie doesn’t miss the way your thighs squeeze together.

“What my wife wants, my wife gets.”

Without warning, Frankie dives in and licks broad stripes up your folds, gasping as you bite back a moan with your eyes rolling to the back of your head, attempting to be quiet. 

“No no, baby. I wanna hear you. They can’t even hear us with the music, it’s just us, baby - just me and you,” he says before diving back in and licking through your folds, his strong nose nudging your clit and your eyes flying open.

“Oh fuck, Frankie!” You moan loudly, eyes squeezed shut as you toss your head back, caution blown to the wind. You snake a hand into Frankie’s curls, tugging at them and eliciting a groan from your husband. The vibrations against your cunt send a new wave of arousal seeping from you, Frankie lapping up every drop as he drowns in your slick.

His tongue prods your entrance, fucking into you. He groans at the way you clench around him, chest rumbling in satisfaction. 

It’s sloppy, and hungry the way he laves at your weeping cunt. His tongue circles your clit relentlessly, your cries filling the air. His lips wrap around your swollen bud as his grip on your thighs tightens. Your hips involuntarily buck up into his face. He snakes his left hand up to your stomach, ring-adorned hand pushing you down and holding you in place. 

“So f-fucking good, F-Frankie, oh my god,” you keen above him, legs wrapping around his back as you try to brace yourself for your impending orgasm. His relentless pace creates a cloud of stars in your eyes. 

“I’m close, Frankie! So close, don’t stop! Please don’t stop, baby,” you yelp, tears of pleasure stinging the corners of your eyes as the coil in your belly tightens.

A sudden intrusion pulls a sharp gasp from you. Two of his thick, long fingers crook into that spongy spot with every stroke as he sucks on your clit. 

His fingers, his mouth, the ring on the hand which pins you down overwhelms you - he’s all-consuming. 

Your vision flashes hot white as the coil in your belly snaps, cumming all over your husband’s face and his fingers. Frankie laps at your juices as you grind your cunt into his face, thighs trembling while riding out your high. He groans as he slurps you up like the sweetest nectar, not wasting a single drop. Your whines fill the air along with a squelching sound as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. 

He pulls back and rises to his feet, his patchy beard glistening with your slick. Slamming his lips onto yours, the two of you moan into each other. The taste of yourself on his tongue makes your head spin.

Frankie ruts his hips into yours, his clothed cock brushing against your exposed cunt and a loud cry pouring from your lips at the sensitivity. Wrapping your arms around his neck to draw him closer, you buck your hips against his, seeking more stimulation.

“Lean back for me, baby.” he rasps as he pulls back, gently pushing you back against the mirror. He makes quick work unbuckling his belt and shoving his pants to his ankles. You suck your bottom lip in between your teeth, mouth watering at the sight of your husband’s angry, leaking cock. Unable to resist, you palm him in your hands, smearing the dribbles of precum along his throbbing length. Frankie stifles a moan, moving your hand away and lines up his cock at your dripping hole.

Swirling small circles around your entrance, gathering the new wave slick that pours from your cunt on his length.

“Frankieeee,” you keen. “No teasing, please, amor,” you huff, on the verge of tears as your desperation grows.

“I got you, amor, don’t worry,” he whispers in your ear. He slides in slowly, but smoothly in one go, your slippery folds allowing him easy access. Both of you moan in tandem, Frankie’s brows pinched together and your lips parted.

You’re so full, relishing in the dull sting as he stuffs your wet heat to the brim. “Move, baby. Please move, mi amor,” you plead, breathless and desperate, seeking some relief.

“Shh shh, it’s okay, baby. I’m gonna take care of you, I always will,”  He says, voice hushed and husky, placing a kiss to your forehead. 

You know his words run deeper than just the matter at hand, having promised to love you eternally just hours ago.

He slowly drags out of you ever so slightly before snapping his hips into yours, his tip punching your g-spot. His hands rest on your waist as he picks up his pace. The room sounds pornographic - filled with the sounds of your squelching pussy, skin-on-skin, moans, and pants.

“I’m the lu-luckiest man ever. Got the prettiest girl ever to m-marry me. Knew you’d make a beautiful bride, hermosa. Most beautiful f-fuckin’ bride in the world, my pretty little wife. Get to, shit, get to love you and fuck this tight little pussy every goddamn day for the rest of our lives. Fuck,” he rambles, hips canting into yours.

Clenching around him at his words, more slick drips from your weeping cunt and onto the counter. An endless string of moans tumble from you and into the air.

“S-so fucking good to m-me, baby. So l-lucky to be your wife,” you keen, pressing your forehead against his. He hungrily captures your lips in a ferocious kiss, teeth clashing together as neither of you care how messy you two will look after.

“My wife. You’re mine, baby, you’re mine forever,” he moans as his tip kisses your cervix. Your walls flutter around him, your second orgasm rapidly approaching.

“Come on, baby, come on, baby. Let go, hermosa. I know you’re close. Let me feel you, I got you, baby,” he babbles almost incoherently. You wail as your orgasm washes over you, convulsing under his grasp, twitching uncontrollably as slick endlessly streams from your cunt. “There we go, baby. Good girl. So fucking good, hermosa. Always feel so fucking good,” Frankie groans against your lips, his thrust growing sloppy as your slippery cunt sucks him in.

“Love you so much, Frankie,” you gasp. “Love you too, hermosa,” he grunts. You can feel him throb inside of you.

“Cum, Frankie. Fill me up, please, baby,” you beg, still riding out the high of your climax.

“Yeah baby? Want my cum? Want me to stuff you full and walk around our wedding with my cum dripping out of your tight little pussy?" 

A high-pitched moan escaping your lips, you squeeze tightly around him. “Yes, Frankie! Wanna feel it dripping down my legs under my dress,” you squeal, overstimulation starting to sink in.

"My dirty fucking girl,” he rasps, punctuating his words with every thrust as he shoots warm ropes of cum into your cunt, coating your walls with his seed. A guttural groan rumbles from deep within his chest. Slowing his pace, you whimper as he fucks his cum into your used hole.

He rests his clammy forehead against yours, breath fanning each other's faces. Post-coital bliss settling amongst you two, the faint humming of the music from the reception rings in the air.

“Do you think they’ve noticed we’re gone?” You ask, panting. A deep chuckle rattles his chest, making you laugh. “I’m pretty sure they have, hermosa.” You pull him in by his tie, kissing him languidly. He pulls back and presses a playful tap to your thigh.

“Come on, baby. Let’s go before the guys start talking shit,” he says, helping you to your feet, and wiping his spend from your mound and in between your legs. He settles your gown into place as you fix your makeup in the mirror. He fixes his hair while you adjust his suit and tie back into place. You beam as you lock eyes with his, love shimmering in the corners of them. He entwines his fingers with yours as he leads you out the door and back downstairs to the reception.

It seems nobody has noticed you two were gone, or just don’t question your absence, as you two mingle your way back into the crowd.

“Hey! Where the hell were you two?! It’s time for the bouquet toss!" You best friend, and maid-of-honor, screeches.

"And the garter toss!” Santiago, the best man, chimes in. They drag you both to the dance floor. Women crowd the dance floor as you toss your bouquet over your shoulder, your best friend catching it and eyeing her partner. 

Music blares as Frankie leads you to a chair in the middle of the dance floor. He teasingly lifts your dress to remove your garter, to be met with nothing. Your eyes bug out of your head, heat coursing through your veins.

“Where’s my garter?” You ask him. Santiago appears behind Frankie, taking something out of his back pocket and holding it out to Frankie. “Here it is!”

Laughter erupts amongst your guests as you hide your face in your hands, an embarrassed smile plastered on Frankie’s lips, meekly waving to the crowd. He pries your hands from your face, playfully rolling his eyes as he brushes off the embarrassment while helping you to your feet. Cheering and whooping fills the hall as you smile apologetically to the crowd as they roar, Frankie cupping your face and pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

Frankie is rotting my brain today obvi. this one's for all my Frankie girlies out there, shout out to y’all 🩷

thank you for reading! 🫶🏼

tag list: @undrthelights @gracieheartspedro @jenispunk @amanitacowboy @bastardmandennis @nostalxgic @tinygarbage @party-hearses @mandoisapunk @harriedandharassed

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiemicrofic.

A Way Out

March Prompt: Ride | Word Count: 453 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Recreational Drug Mention | Tags: Pre-S3, Pre-Steddie, Eddie is Steve's Dealer of the "It's just marijuana, Dad" He Mentions During the Scoops Troop Adventure

There's no way out. Eddie knows that.

He holds the report card on his lap, and then tears it into a dozen pieces, letting it flutter all over his room. He's sure Wayne already got a call anyway, or maybe not. He's over eighteen now. Maybe he's on his own with this one.

Nothing in his life has ever been smooth sailing, and high school has still been the worst anchor he's ever been saddled with, like, goddamn.

He hears the engine outside cut off, just great. But it didn't sound like Wayne's truck, and when he peeks out of the window, he rolls his eyes. Of fucking course.

Steve Harrington is sitting outside, music playing softly from the open windows. Eddie's told him a thousand goddamn times to stay the hell out of here. That he doesn't deal where he lives.

But he's so fucking dumb he never gets it.

Well, at least Steve graduated. So, maybe Eddie's dumber than him.

Eddie slides into the seat of Steve's rich kid car, and isn't careful of the leather. Chain and wallet dragging against it. Steve doesn't seem to care.

"I've fucking told you, I don't deal here."

"No, I know," Steve says, and Eddie can see there're bags in his backseat. Duffels, and a couple trash sacks.

"What're you doing?" Eddie asks, "It's a little early for college move-in, ain't it?"

Steve shakes his head, "I'm not going to college. My parents told me I had to get a job at the new mall, or move out."

"And you picked moving out?" Eddie asks, baffled. 

A summer job at the mall couldn't be that bad of a prospect. Eddie will probably have to go to work at the factory with Uncle Wayne, and that's gonna be worse. Eddie's stuck here in this godforsaken town, and Harrington is put out about what? A retail job?

"Okay, why are you here?"

"I'm not sure," Steve says, "It just felt wrong to leave without telling you."

Eddie laughs, and it's mean. He knows it, "I don't care where you go, Harrington."

Steve nods, "Yeah, okay."

But Eddie doesn't get out of the car. The ball is in his court, and he doesn't know why he's hanging onto it. He should shove it back into Steve's chest, and let him get the fuck out of Dodge. Good riddance, at least someone should get out of Hawkins, even if it damn well won't be him.

But here they sit. Only the shitty music to keep them company. 

Eddie reaches over and twists the dial. Steve lets him. 

"Wanna go for a ride?" Steve finally asks, breaking the silence.

Maybe there is a way out.

"Yeah, sure, Harrington. Drive."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiemicrofic and follow along with the fun! 🎢

[rafeandonlyrafe]

girls night guardian

words: 1.3k

warnings: request!, drinking, partying, violence, college au

“you sure you don't want me to come?” rafe asks, adjusting the strap on your dress for you, wishing it covered up more of your body.

“it's girls night rafey.” you shake your head. “besides, it's just a sorority party. there will barely be any guys there.”

“yeah, alright.” rafe sighs. he trusts you to party on your own without him, its everyone else that he doesn't trust. whether it's a friend encouraging you to drink more than you should or a guy dancing up on you.

“i don't wanna be out super late anyways. will probably head home around 11:30 if you wanna stay up.” you offer, knowing rafe would feel better if he was able to make sure you were home safe before falling asleep.

“definitely will.” rafe cups your face, pressing his lips to yours, smearing the lipgloss you had just reapplied.

“okay.” you smile at him, swiping your thumb across his lower lip to get some of the sparkles off. “love you baby.”

you weren't sure at first when your highschool sweetheart asked to move to the same college town as you. worried living together and attending university away from the outer banks would put too much stress on your relationship, but it's only strengthened.

“i love you so much more princess.” rafe says. you learned not to argue back about who loves who more, rafe will always insist it's him. “you sure you don't want me to walk you there?”

“thanks for the offer, but you know katie only lives three houses down.” you pat his cheek before opening the door, stepping into the cool night, the setting sun casting a warm orange glow among your neighborhood, technically off campus but steps away from the greek life houses, every house being rented by students for the course of their education.

“alright, have fun princess.” rafe says, watching you walk out the door. you close it behind you, but aren't surprised when you hear it reopen a minute later, rafe watching you until you reach katies door. 

you raise your fist to knock, but before you can even make a sound, your best friend flings the door open with a squeal.

“i am so excited for girls night.” she says, looping elbows with you and ushering you back down the steps. knowing katie, she's probably been ready to go since lunchtime.

“me too.” you smile. you love rafe and love partying with him, but it's fun to occasionally leave the boyfriends at home and just have a blast with your girls.

you reach the party quickly, it's only about a two minute walk until you see the sorority house, and hear the loud music. 

it's a rush of hugs and squeals and greetings when you enter, your friend taylor making it her mission to drag everyone towards the dance floor, which the entire living room has basically been converted into, with a makeshift bar in the corner.

you laugh and dance with your friends, occasionally downing whatever alcohol that is pushed into your hands by katie or taylor.

you aren't too drunk, but your bladder has filled so you tell katie, practically having to scream into her ear, that you were going to find a bathroom. you navigate through the hallways, not surprised that it isn't insanely packed like other parties. the sorority girls don't invite as many people as the frat houses do.

you head up the stairs and use the first open bathroom you find, glad that its so clean unlike some of the other ones you've used at parties.

you make eye contact with a man you don't recognize as you exit, causing you to quickly rush down the stairs. the university isn't that small, so it's strange and almost jarring to see an unfamiliar face.

“hey, taylor!” you call out, looping arms with her once you reach the living room, hoping being with your friend would dissuade the man from talking to you, but it clearly doesn't work when he comes up, a flirtatious smirk on his face.

“hey gorgeous.” he reaches his hand out. “im mike.”

“hi mike.” you say politely, but don't reach out to shake his hand. “i have a boyfriend.”

“damn.” he looks around. “i don't see him though.”

“he's around.” you mumble, not wanting this random persistent guy to think that you're here alone. “just giving me some space to dance with my girls.”

“if he's giving you space for your girls, how about for me too?” mike smirks, reaching out towards your waist, but you manage to step back in time before his fingers graze you, taylor in tow.

“hey, she said she had a boyfriend, why don't you just leave her alone?” taylor pipes up, and suddenly mikes eyes turn from friendly to heated, anger overtaking his expression.

“don't think i was talking to you, bitch.” he grunts out, making both of you gasp.

“what did you just call the lady?” a voice rings out from behind mike, and you let out a sigh of relief as he turns and comes face to face with rafe.

mike goes to respond, probably continuing to argue or to tell rafe to piss off, but before his words can leave his mouth, rafe decks him straight in the jaw.

you expected the punch, so you knew to move out of the way as mike falls backwards. he's an inch or so taller than rafe, but with rafes surprise and muscles, mike has no chance as your boyfriend pounces on him, making sure his face will tell the story of his behavior for the next couple weeks.

you watch with wide eyes as rafe punches him. it's not the first time you've seen rafe beat anyone up, but it's been a while, his behavior so different in college than it is when he's in the outer banks.

“okay, okay.” you pull at rafe when it's clear mike can't take much more. rafe pulls away, his eyes suddenly softening, cupping your cheeks in his warm hands. he presses a kiss to your lips as his thumbs swipe over your skin. 

“are you okay baby?” 

“yeah.” you nod. “im fine, promise.” 

“and you're alright taylor?” rafe asks. he's become the honorary defender of all of your friends, especially the single ones who he considers it his duty to protect just as much as you.

“im alright, thanks rafe.” taylor smiles at him in relief, corners of her mouth only raising higher as mike groans on the floor. you'd be worried about her reaction to him if it wasn't for everyone knowing that rafe only has eyes for you. a few girls tried to get with him when you first moved from the outer banks, but rafe made it very clear that he wasn't interested.

“oh my god, thank god you got here fast.” katie says to rafe, joining the group. “i texted him the second that guy came up to you, he just gave me terrible vibes.”

“you were definitely right for doing that.” rafe says. “now how about i get you ladies home?”

your friends nod as rafe wraps his arm around your shoulder, leading everyone out of the house. he makes polite conversations with the girls as he walks them home before continuing the couple feet back to your house.

the second rafe gets you inside, door locked tight behind you, the tension leaves his body and he lets out a deep sigh.

“it's okay, im home.” you rub your hands over his shoulders. “im safe.”

“i know.” rafe pulls you into his chest, needing to feel you. he presses kisses to the top of your head. “but you know im not gonna let you have any more girl nights, right?”

you let out a giggle. “i don't think any of the girls will mind if i haul you along with me.”

“better not.” rafe smirks as you look up at him. 

you grin up at him. “our protector.”

taglist: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland

[mrs-delaney]

Hide| Chapter 12 | Public Pressure & Private Efforts

✨ catch up on hide if you’re just getting here ✨

🌙📚 browse the masterlist for more love, mess, and maybe a little magic ✨💔

🎧 listen to salvage—the album riley swore she’d never release, and then did anyway.

pairing: joe burrow x riley carter (oc) word count: 19.5k requested: no warnings: explicit sexual content, strong language, performance anxiety and the vulnerability of laying yourself bare on stage, pre-show jitters that feel like game day nerves, the exhaustion that comes after pouring your heart out for two hours straight, finding your people in a crowded room, and the relief of being with someone who sees all of you and stays anyway.

a few quick notes: 📌 this story is only posted on wattpad and tumblr under miss_delaney. if you see it anywhere else, it’s been stolen. do not repost, translate, or share my work without permission. 📌 requests: closed! 📌 want to be added to the taglist? drop a comment or message me.

📝 author’s note: not gonna lie—this chapter took longer than i planned. writer’s block hit hard, and for weeks i stared at scenes that felt flat, dialogue that didn’t land, and a performance that just... wouldn’t come to life. thank you for being patient while i wrestled it into something real. this one is about stepping into the light—literally and emotionally. riley performs the full *salvage* album for the first time. joe brings his closest friends into her orbit. they both stop hiding. writing the troubadour sequence felt like being there—the backstage nerves, the hush of the crowd, the ache of “the smallest man who ever lived,” and the flicker of “daylight.” i wanted you to feel every song. to know why this night mattered. but it’s also about the quiet stuff: joe texting her band to make sure she’s eaten. a bathroom makeout that’s more comfort than lust. his friends loving her because she makes him lighter. thank you for sticking with me through the blocks and the delays. for cheering for these characters. for knowing some chapters take longer because they mean more. i hope this one feels worth the wait. 💛 💛

Taglist: @wickedfun9 @starsyoongi @amiets2 @palmettogal508 @throwaway12356123 @lilfreakjez @destinyg237

The warehouse in Burbank hummed with the controlled chaos of preparation. Riley's fingers moved across the piano keys, sweat already beading at her temples despite the industrial fans spinning overhead. They'd been at this for hours.

"Let's run 'Mad Woman' again," she called to Pete, who was adjusting levels at the sound board twenty feet away. "The bridge still feels muddy."

Andy groaned from his position stage left, guitar hanging loose around his neck. "We've run it six times, Riles. It sounds fine."

"It sounds good," Riley corrected, pulling her hair back into a messy knot. "But it needs to sound perfect. We've got three weeks before the first show."

Daniel, sprawled behind his kit with a water bottle pressed to his forehead, gave her a look. "When's the last time you ate something that wasn't a protein bar?"

"Riley ignored the question, already counting them in for another run-through. The opening chords of 'Mad Woman' filled the space, but halfway through the second verse, she held up a hand."

Halfway through the second verse, Riley held up a hand. "Stop. Stop."

The music cut off abruptly, leaving only the whir of fans and the low buzz from the amps.

"The tempo's dragging," she said, frustrated. "We're losing the bite."

Pete looked up from his board. "Riley, we've been at this for hours."

"So?"

"So maybe the tempo's not the problem," Daniel said gently. "Maybe we're just tired."

Riley opened her mouth to argue, then felt the weight of exhaustion hit her all at once. When had she started carrying this much tension in her shoulders?

Her phone buzzed against the amp beside her. A text from Joe.

Joe: How's rehearsal going? Taking breaks?

Despite her exhaustion, she found herself smiling. Since their conversation by the pool two weeks ago, Joe had been... different. More present, even from a distance. He texted during her lunch breaks, called when he knew she'd be driving home, asked specific questions about her day instead of generic check-ins.

Riley: Define "breaks."

Joe: Sitting down for more than 30 seconds

Riley: Does playing piano count?

Joe: Nice try. Real breaks. Away from instruments.

Riley: Then no

Joe: Riley

Joe: Go eat something real

She was typing a response when Pete appeared beside her, arms crossed.

"Joe?" he asked, glancing at her phone.

"Telling me to eat actual food," she said, still typing.

"Smart man." Pete looked over. "He showing up for you better now?"

Riley shrugged, but her voice had eased. "Yeah, we're both slammed—but we still talk every day. Calls, texts, whatever we can manage. One of us always checks in."

Pete raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Sounds like he's showing up, then."

Riley rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too. "Don't jinx it."

Before she could respond, her phone rang. Joe's name on the screen.

"Perfect timing," Pete said, then raised his voice to the others. "Twenty-minute break. I'm going to get food that doesn't come wrapped in plastic."

Riley answered on the third ring. "Hey."

"Hey yourself." Joe's voice was warm, slightly out of breath. "You sound tired."

“I am tired,” she said, sitting back a little on the bench but keeping her hands on the keys. “But we’re getting there. ‘Mad Woman’ is being a pain in the ass, but that’s nothing new.”

“That’s the one about the gaslighting,” Joe said. 

Riley’s head tilted. “You remember that?”

He gave a small shrug. “Hard not to. That line—‘Every time you call me crazy, I get more crazy’—kinda punched me in the chest.”

Riley let out a slow breath. “Yeah. That one cost me.”

Riley felt something ease in her chest. Joe hadn’t just heard the songs—he’d remembered what she told him, really taken it in. The lyrics, the stories, the weight behind them. He’d been paying attention.

"The acoustic stuff is solid," she said. "But the full-band arrangements are... it's like translating between languages, you know? Making sure what works in the studio also works live. Especially the heavier tracks."

"Makes sense," Joe said. "Like adjusting plays for different defenses."

"Exactly." She lay back on the stage, staring up at the warehouse's exposed ceiling. "How was practice?"

"Good. Productive. Dak's got me on this new mobility program that's actually hell, but I can already feel the difference."

Riley could hear the satisfaction in his voice—that particular contentment Joe got when his body was doing what he asked of it.

"You sound happy," she observed.

"I am. Focused, I guess. Things are clicking." He paused. "I miss you, though."

The simple honesty of it caught her off guard. The old Joe would have buried that admission in qualifiers or deflection.

"I miss you too," she said softly. "How much longer until I see you?"

"Three weeks until the Troubadour show."

Riley sat up, surprised. "You're still planning to come?"

"Of course I'm coming." There was something almost offended in his tone. "Why would you think I wouldn't?"

"I don't know. It's preseason. I thought maybe—"

"Riley." His voice was firm, certain. "I'm coming. Already moved things around."

She felt her throat tighten unexpectedly. "You moved things around?"

"Rescheduled a couple of meetings, shifted a training session. It's not a big deal."

But it was a big deal. A few weeks ago Joe wouldn't have rescheduled anything for a concert, even hers. The fact that he'd done it without her asking, without making it seem like a sacrifice, felt huge.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"You don't have to thank me for showing up."

The simplicity of the statement hit her square in the chest. You don't have to thank me for showing up. Like it was a given. Like it was the baseline, not the exception.

"I'm bringing some friends," Joe continued. "If that's okay. Figured it was time they met you."

Riley's eyebrows rose. "Friends?"

"Zac, Micah, Trae. My guys from home."

The guys from home. The ones who'd known him before the NFL, before the cameras, before any of it. The ones whose approval actually mattered.

"That's..." she started, then stopped, not sure how to articulate what that meant to her. "Yeah. Yes. I'd love to meet them."

“Good.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “They’ve been asking about you for months.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. They’re curious. But in a good way. I think they just want to see who’s got me this spun.”

Riley laughed, surprised by the phrasing. “Spun?”

“You know what I mean,” he said. “They’ll love you.”

In the background, she could hear voices—teammates, probably. Joe's world calling him back.

"I should let you go," she said, though she didn't want to.

"Yeah. But Riley?"

"What?"

"Get some actual food. Pete's right to be worried about you."

"You talked to Pete?"

"I may have texted him earlier. Asked what you needed."

Riley blinked, processing this. "You texted Pete?"

"And Andy and Daniel. Just... checking in. Making sure you're taking care of yourself when I can't be there to do it."

Something warm spread through her chest. Joe had reached out to her band—her family—not to check up on her, but to ask how he could help from afar. It was thoughtful in a way that felt entirely new.

"What did they say?"

“They said you’ve barely eaten all week and you keep telling them you’re fine.”

Riley exhaled through her nose. “I am fine.”

“Not according to Andy. He said you nearly passed out on Tuesday.”

“That was one time,” she muttered.

Joe didn’t let it go. “So I said I’d try to get you to eat something decent. Apparently that wins me extra points.”

Riley could picture it—Joe texting the guys, Andy giving him shit, Daniel overcomplicating, Pete probably glad for the extra set of eyes. He’d told her he’d do better, and this was proof he meant it. He’d listened, and he actually got it.

"Okay," she said. "I'll get food."

"Real food."

"Real food," she agreed. "With vegetables and everything."

"Good girl." The words were casual, affectionate, but they sent heat racing down her spine anyway. "I'll call you tonight?"

"Please."

"Talk soon, birdie."

Riley smiled at the nickname that always made her feel cared for.

"Okay, lovey."

After he hung up, Riley sat on the edge of the stage for another moment, phone warm in her palm. Around her, the warehouse had gone quiet except for the muffled sounds of crew members moving around.

Pete appeared with a sandwich wrapped in white paper. "From Joe." he said, nodding at her phone.

She accepted the sandwich gratefully. "He said you guys had a conversation."

"Brief one. He wanted to know how to help without being overbearing." Pete settled beside her on the stage. "Smart question."

"What did you tell him?"

"That you're stubborn and driven, and you'll work yourself into the ground if we let you. And that sometimes you need someone to tell you to stop, even when you don't want to hear it."

Riley took a bite of the sandwich—turkey and avocado, exactly what she would have chosen for herself. "And?"

"And that he's doing better than I expected. Making the right moves."

Coming from Pete, that was high praise. Pete, who'd been protective of her since they were teenagers, who'd watched her heart get broken and put back together more times than either of them wanted to count.

“He’s bringing his friends to the show,” she said.

Pete looked over, interested. “What friends?”

“His close friends from back home. Zac, Micah, Trae.”

Pete nodded, processing. “That’s big.”

"Yeah." Riley finished the sandwich, surprised by how much better she felt with actual food in her system. "I'm nervous."

"Why?"

She considered the question. "What if they don't like me? What if I'm too... much?"

Pete looked at her, steady. “They’re coming for him. That means they’ll show up for you, too.”

Despite herself, Riley laughed. "Fair point."

“Besides,” Pete said, “if he’s bringing them, he wants them to see you. That means something. Trust him—and trust yourself.”

From across the warehouse, Andy called out, "Break's over, shitheads! These songs aren't going to rehearse themselves!"

Riley groaned, but she felt lighter than she had all day. Fed, reassured, reminded that she wasn't navigating this alone.

"Back to work?" Pete asked.

"Back to work."

But as they ran through "Mad Woman" again, the tempo finally clicking into place, Riley found herself thinking about Joe in a training facility in Cincinnati, probably running drills with the same focused intensity she brought to rehearsals. Both of them pushing toward something, but no longer pushing away from each other.

It wasn't perfect—his schedule was more intense than it had been all spring, and the constant juggling of time zones took effort. But Joe was showing up differently now, making space for her in ways that felt intentional rather than accidental. After the rough patch in early May when everything had felt fragmented, this felt like they were finding their rhythm again.

* * *

Two weeks later, Riley sat in the sterile comfort of a Beverly Hills hotel suite, staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Hair and makeup had left her looking polished and media-ready, but she could feel the exhaustion she'd been carrying like a weight.

The interview was scheduled to start in ten minutes. Rolling Stone, a major feature tied to the album release. Jenny had assured her it would be friendly, career-focused, and maybe some questions about the creative process, the tour. Easy stuff.

Riley had learned not to trust "easy stuff."

She checked her phone one more time. A text from Joe, sent twenty minutes ago:

Joe: Proud of you. Call me when you’re finished.

She'd responded with a heart emoji, but hadn't mentioned her nerves. Joe was in meetings all day, preparing for preseason. He didn't need her anxiety on top of his own pressure.

"Riley?" A production assistant knocked on the bathroom door. "They're ready for you."

"Coming."

The interviewer, Jessica Martin, was younger than Riley had expected, with kind eyes and a warm smile that immediately put her at ease. They settled into matching armchairs in front of a wall of windows overlooking the city.

"So," Jessica began after the photographer finished capturing their setup shots, "this album feels like such a departure from the bands previous work. More vulnerable, more personal. What changed?"

Riley paused, thinking it through. “I don’t think this album is more vulnerable than our older stuff. I’ve always written from a pretty raw place—sometimes too raw. What’s different this time is the focus. Instead of writing a bunch of songs about different things, I wanted to tell a single, cohesive story, from start to finish. What it looks like to lose yourself and then figure out how to get back.”

She met Jessica’s eye, voice steady. “The honesty was always there. The difference is, now I’ve got enough distance to really see what happened, instead of just writing while it was all happening to me.”

"The honesty is striking," Jessica agreed. "Especially on tracks like 'Lilith' and 'The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived.' Those feel like direct confrontations with your past."

Riley shrugged, a half-smile playing at her lips. "They're both confrontational, but The Smallest Man is me calling someone else out—just putting it all on the table, no filter. That one's not subtle at all."

She paused, the smile fading slightly. "Lilith is different. That's me calling myself out, how I went completely off the rails when I was already lost. It's messier because it's harder to admit what you did to yourself than what someone else did to you."

She met Jessica's eyes directly. "I guess both songs are just me being done with pretending. About any of it."

Jessica nodded, making notes on her tablet. "And 'Daylight'—the closing track—feels like the emotional resolution to that journey. It's such a hopeful note to end on."

Riley's chest tightened slightly. She'd known "Daylight" questions were inevitable, but it still felt strange having strangers analyze something so personal.

"Yeah, that song..." Riley paused, searching for words that felt true but not too revealing. "It came to me right at the end of the recording process. I realized I didn't want to end the album in darkness. There had to be something on the other side of all that pain."

"It's beautiful. Very different from the rest of the album—more tender, more romantic. Was there someone specific who inspired that shift in perspective?"

And there it was. The question Riley had been dreading and expecting in equal measure.

"I think," she said carefully, "that song came from a place of possibility. Sometimes you meet someone who shows you that not all love has to hurt. That's a revelation worth writing about."

Jessica leaned forward slightly, and Riley caught a glint in her eyes that made her stomach drop.

“Speaking of new love,” Jessica said, her tone still light but with that reporter’s edge, “there’s been some buzz about you and a certain NFL quarterback. People noticed he was in New Orleans not long ago, and the timing’s got fans speculating. Any truth to those rumors?”

Riley's media training kicked in automatically. Deflect. Redirect. Maintain control.

She met Jessica’s gaze. “People can think what they want. I’m not going to feed the rumor mill. The album’s the most honest thing I have to give.”

"But listeners are curious about your personal life - you've got devastating songs like 'The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived' and then 'Daylight' which feels so hopeful. That shift suggests something changed for you personally."

Riley’s pulse quickened. The interview was tilting somewhere she didn’t want to go.

She took a slow breath. “I get why people are curious, but the album’s where I put the real stuff. That’s the only place I feel okay sharing it.”

"Were there specific people you were writing about? Your ex Ethan, or the rumored relationship with Joe Burrow?"

"Some songs are true, some are just me trying to figure out what I want. But I'm not going to connect specific songs to specific people."

"That's very diplomatic," Jessica said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "And very different from the Riley Carter we saw a few years ago—the tabloid headlines, the dramatic exits from restaurants, the public arguments with Ethan Mills..."

Well. This wasn't the friendly album interview she'd been promised.

It's really impressive how you've turned things around. Your career is at an all-time high, you seem genuinely happy..." Jessica paused, consulting her notes. "Though some industry sources suggest that songs like 'loml' and 'The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived' might be too raw, too personal. That putting that level of pain on display could be seen as... well, some would say vindictive."

Riley's expression didn't change. "People are allowed to feel uncomfortable with the truth. I'm not writing songs to make anyone feel better about what they did to me." She leaned forward slightly. "It's interesting how when men write about their relationships—their pain, their anger—it's considered art. Raw, honest storytelling. But when women do it, suddenly we're being vindictive or airing dirty laundry." 

Her voice stayed level, but there was steel underneath. "I spent years making myself smaller to protect other people's feelings. I'm done with that. If my truth makes people uncomfortable, that sounds like their problem, not mine." 

Jessica shifted in her chair, clearly not expecting this level of pushback. "Of course. I suppose what I'm getting at is - your fans have been speculating about your personal life for months. Don't you think they deserve some clarity?"

Riley's smile returned, warm but completely controlled. "You know, in the past my personal life has been very public, and I've learned that's just not something I'm interested in anymore. I think the music speaks for itself about where I am emotionally." 

"But surely you can understand people's curiosity—" 

"Of course I can," Riley said graciously. "But I've also learned that some things are worth protecting. I'm much more interested in talking about the creative process, the tour we're planning, and the incredible musicians I get to work with every day." 

Her tone remained perfectly pleasant, but the message was clear: try me.

* * *

Two hours later, Riley sat in Pete's kitchen, a glass of wine finally in front of her. Pete, Andy, and Daniel had been waiting when she arrived, summoned by her text from the car.

“So that was interesting,” Andy said, scrolling through his phone. “The interview is already blowing up.”

Riley raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Daniel looked up, grinning. “You’re getting props for not letting her push you around.”

Pete set down his phone with a satisfied look. “Twitter’s going in on the journalist. Looks like Jessica Price has a history of this kind of ambush interviewing.”

Riley took a sip of wine, processing. “Huh.”

“You sound surprised,” Pete said.

Riley nodded. “A little. She seemed cool at first—felt like a real conversation. Usually when I stand up for myself in interviews, it gets spun like I’m difficult or emotional.” She let out a slow breath. “Guess there’s something to be said for keeping your cool and letting people show who they are.”

Her phone buzzed. Joe’s name lit up the screen.

“Speak of the devil,” she murmured, then answered. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His voice was warm, but there was something underneath—concern, maybe pride. “Saw some clips from your interview today.”

“That was fast.”

“Someone on the team showed me. You handled that perfectly.”

“Yeah?” She felt a flutter of relief she hadn’t expected. “I never know how it’s going to look once it’s out there.”

"You were incredible. Professional, firm, didn't give her anything to twist." She could hear the smile in his voice. "I'm proud of you."

The simple statement hit her harder than she’d anticipated. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

There was a pause, and she could sense him choosing his words carefully. "I know that probably wasn't easy. Having to deflect like that." 

Riley exhaled slowly. "No, it wasn't. But I get why it's necessary right now."

"I appreciate you understanding that. I know it's not ideal."

"It's not," she agreed quietly. "But I'd rather protect what we have than let someone like her pick it apart for clicks." 

"We'll figure out the rest as we go," Joe said. "But today? You were perfect."

After they hung up, Daniel looked around the kitchen at the others. "No more solo interviews for Riley. One of us goes with her from now on, or we all do."

"Agreed," Pete said immediately.

"Absolutely," Andy added. "That was bullshit."

Riley started to protest. "Guys, I can handle—"

"You handled it perfectly," Pete interrupted. "But you shouldn't have to handle ambushes alone."

* * *

Riley stared at the ceiling of her LA bedroom, her phone screen glowing 2:47 AM when she checked it again. She'd been lying here for over an hour, her mind still buzzing from the day despite the wine and the reassuring presence of her friends until they'd finally headed home around midnight.

The interview kept replaying in her head—not the parts she'd handled well, but the moments when Jessica's questions had hit closer to home than she'd let on. The way her chest had tightened when Joe's existence was reduced to "speculation" and "rumors." How it had felt to smile politely while describing her own truth as something worth protecting rather than celebrating.

She rolled over, reaching for her phone. No new messages, but she scrolled through anyway, landing on Joe's contact. He'd be asleep—his schedule was ruthless was picking up now—but the urge to hear his voice was stronger than her consideration for his sleep.

Before she could overthink it, she pressed call.

It rang twice before his voice came through, rough with sleep but immediately alert. "Riley? You okay?"

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I know it's late. I couldn't sleep."

"Hey, it's fine." She could hear him shifting, probably sitting up. "What's going on?"

Riley closed her eyes, suddenly feeling foolish. "I don't know. I keep thinking about today. About having to sit there and pretend like you don't exist."

Silence on the other end, but not an uncomfortable one. Just Joe listening, the way he did.

Joe was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was softer than usual. "You know I've never been good with the public stuff. Having people in my business—it's never felt right to me."

Riley stayed silent, something heavy settling in her chest.

"It's not about you," he said quickly, like he could sense her pulling away. "It's never been about you. I just... I don't know how to be any other way."

"I know," she said quietly. "But it still feels like I have to pretend you're not mine."

The word hung between them—mine. Possessive and vulnerable all at once.

"You don't have to pretend anything," Joe said, his voice rough with something she couldn't name. "Not with me. Never with me."

"But everywhere else?"

Silence.

"I'm sorry it's hard," he said finally. "I'm trying to be different about this stuff.

She closed her eyes, hearing both the apology and the boundary. "I'm not asking you to change overnight. I just... I wish it didn't hurt sometimes."

She rolled onto her side, pressing the phone closer to her ear like she could somehow get closer to him through the connection. "Tell me something real. Something that's just ours."

Joe was quiet for a moment, and she could picture him in his bedroom in Cincinnati, probably shirtless, hair messy from sleep, those blue eyes thoughtful in the darkness.

"I've been thinking about the Troubadour show," he said finally. "About watching you perform 'Daylight' for the first time."

Riley's breath caught. "Yeah?"

“Just wondering what it’ll be like,” he said. “Hearing it live. Knowing what it means.”

The raw honesty in his voice made her heart race. "Joe..."

"I'm proud of that song," he said quietly. "Proud that you wrote it."

Riley felt her chest tighten. "Yeah?"

"It's a good song, Riley. Really good." His voice was matter-of-fact, but she could hear something deeper underneath. "I understand what you're saying in it."

She smiled faintly, her words barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

"I liked that you ended the album there," he said, his voice dropping lower. "After everything else... ending with something that sounds like that."

Riley closed her eyes, feeling something warm settle in her chest. 

"I feel like that too," he said simply.

"I miss you," she said, the words carrying more than just absence. They carried want, need, the ache of loving someone whose touch she could only remember, not feel.

"I miss you too." His voice had roughened, and she could hear the want in it that matched her own. "How much longer until I see you?"

"Eleven days." She'd been counting. "God, that feels like forever."

"Switch to FaceTime," Joe said. "I want to see you."

Riley felt her breath catch. She didn’t tease, didn’t protest. Just hit the button and waited for his face to fill her screen.

He looked half-asleep and a little wrecked, hair messy, eyes dark and open just for her. He took her in for a long moment, gaze unhurried.

“That’s better,” he said, his voice low. “I hate having conversations like this and not being able to see your face.”

Riley couldn’t help but smile, even with the ache sitting behind her eyes. “God, you look about as tired as I am. I’m sorry I woke you up. I was just… in my head.”

Joe shook his head, eyes steady on hers. “You can call me any time, you know that.”

She nodded, the silence between them suddenly comfortable, heavy with everything unspoken.

He held her gaze for a long beat. “You want to just… stay like this for a minute?”

Riley settled back, letting the phone rest beside her. “Yeah. I do.”

They didn’t talk much after that. Riley just let herself watch him, letting the quiet do the work. After a while, her eyes drifted closed, the weight of the day finally catching up to her. She was half-asleep when she felt, rather than heard, Joe say her name softly.

“Hey, go to sleep,” he murmured. She managed a sleepy hum in response.

He watched her a little longer, making sure she was really out, then smiled, quiet and private. “Goodnight, Bird.”

She didn’t answer—she was already gone. Joe ended the call and set his phone aside, the morning pressing in on his side of the world, but not minding the lost sleep.

* * *

Joe stared at his phone, rereading Riley's text for the third time. Just got to the venue. Sound check in an hour. Are you nervous about tonight?

He'd typed and deleted three different responses.

"You gonna answer that or just keep staring at it?" Trae asked from across the aisle.

Joe looked up, realizing his friends were all watching him. "What?"

"Dude," Micah said. "You've been weird since we got on the plane."

"I'm not weird."

Zac raised an eyebrow. "You rearranged your schedule to fly us to LA to meet some girl—"

"She's not some girl," Joe said, sharper than he intended.

The cabin went quiet. Zac held up his hands in surrender.

"Okay," he said carefully. "To meet Riley. The famous musician you've been sneaking around with for months."

Joe set his phone down, running a hand through his hair. "It's complicated."

"Most things are," Trae said quietly. He'd been the one Joe had actually talked to about this stuff, late-night calls when the distance felt impossible and Joe couldn't sleep.

Micah looked between them. "Am I missing something here?"

Joe was quiet for a long moment, staring out the window at the clouds below. These guys had known him since high school. They'd watched him date Olivia, seen how he kept even that relationship carefully contained. Football here, personal life there, never let them bleed together.

"I've been trying to keep her separate," he said finally. "Like I always do. But it's not working."

"Separate how?" Zac asked.

Joe struggled to find the words. "You know how I am. Football season, she stays in her lane. Off-season, maybe I visit her world a little. Keep it clean, keep it controlled."

Trae was nodding. He'd heard versions of this conversation before.

"But?" Micah prompted.

"But she's not staying in her lane," Joe said. "And I don't really want her to anymore."

He picked up his phone again, finally typing back: Not nervous. Ready.

"That's why you brought us," Zac said, understanding dawning. "Because you're done keeping her separate."

"I don't know what the fuck I'm doing," Joe admitted. "This whole... mixing everything together. I've never wanted to before."

"What's different about her?" Micah asked.

Joe thought about how to answer that. About Riley's laugh in his kitchen, about the way she'd called him out when he was being distant, about how she made his carefully organized life feel less like a schedule and more like something worth living.

"She doesn't fit in a box," he said simply. "I've tried. But she's too... much. In a good way."

Trae was watching him carefully. "And that scares you."

"Yeah," Joe said. "It does."

"So tonight..." Zac said.

"I told her I'd stop trying to manage this," Joe said. "Stop trying to figure out how she fits into my life and just... let her be in it. I want to do that for us." He paused. "I don't want to lose her because of my shit."

His friends exchanged glances. This was new territory for Joe Burrow, who planned everything, controlled everything, kept everything in its proper place.

"And if we don't like her?" Micah asked.

Joe looked at him steadily. "Then we'll have a problem."

The directness of it surprised them. Joe didn't usually draw lines like that, didn't usually put anyone ahead of his inner circle.

"But you will," he added, his voice softer. "She's... fuck, she's amazing. You'll see."

The plane began its descent, and Joe felt his stomach drop with it. Not long from now, he'd be sitting in a room full of people watching Riley perform, and he wouldn't be able to hide how he felt about her anymore.

* * *

"The private jet touched down at LAX with barely a bump, dusk settling over the tarmac. Joe could see the last light reflecting off the asphalt as they taxied toward the private terminal."

A black SUV waited at the edge of the tarmac, driver already standing at attention. Joe recognized the efficiency—this had Scout's fingerprints all over it, probably coordinated through Sarah. Riley's world meeting his in small, practical ways.

"Mr. Burrow?" The driver stepped forward. "We're heading directly to the Troubadour, correct?"

"That's right," Joe confirmed, shouldering his bag.

As they settled into the SUV, Zac looked around at the tinted windows and premium interior. "Riley's team arranged this?"

"Yeah," Joe said, checking his phone. No new messages, but he hadn't expected any. Riley would be deep in her pre-show routine by now.

The drive through West Hollywood was slower than Joe had anticipated, evening traffic thick on Sunset Boulevard. He found himself getting more aware of the time, of what Riley was probably doing right now.

"Hey," he said, turning to his friends. "I should probably give you guys a heads up about something."

"What's up?" Trae asked.

Joe chose his words carefully. "When we get there, Riley's probably going to be... focused. I don't talk to anyone the day of a game, and I'm thinking she might be the same way before a show."

He glanced out the window at the palm trees lining the street. "I've never actually seen her in her element like this before. So if she seems distant or busy, it's not personal. She's probably just in her zone."

"You want us to stay out of the way," Micah said, understanding.

"Not exactly. Just... don't take it personally if she doesn't have a lot of time to chat. I don't want you guys thinking she's rude or anything."

"Zac looked over at Joe. 'Don't worry, man. We'll be cool.'"

"Yeah, man. When's the last time you flew us somewhere to meet someone you were dating?" Trae asked quietly.

Joe considered this. "Never."

The SUV slowed as they approached the venue, and Joe could see the iconic Troubadour sign ahead. He felt that familiar pre-game focus settling over him—calm, controlled, ready. In a few minutes, he'd be walking into Riley's world for the first time, seeing her perform rather than just the Riley who was quietly his.

The driver pulled around to the back of the building, away from the main entrance where the show would begin in soon.

* * *

The back alley behind the Troubadour buzzed with pre-show energy. Crew members moved equipment between the venue and loading trucks, grabbing last-minute supplies. Security personnel checked IDs at the stage door, and Joe could hear the muffled sound of final instrument checks bleeding through the back entrance.

As their SUV pulled up, a woman with a headset and a clipboard materialized from the backstage entrance. She spotted Joe immediately and walked over with the efficiency of someone who'd been watching for their arrival.

"Mr. Burrow?" she asked, though her tone suggested she already knew. "I'm Casey, stage manager. Riley's expecting you." She pulled four laminated passes from her clipboard, handing them out. "You'll need these backstage."

She gestured for them to follow, leading them through the back entrance and into narrow gray corridors. The hallway thrummed with activity—crew members brushing past with last-minute items, someone shouting about monitor levels from a room down the hall, muffled voices calling back and forth.

"She's just getting ready," Casey said over her shoulder as they navigated toward a staircase. "Sound check wrapped a while ago, so we're in that final prep phase. You know how it is before showtime."

She led them up the stairs toward the green room. "Riley's upstairs. Fair warning—it's packed up there, and not exactly spacious to begin with."

Joe nodded, already mentally preparing himself for what they were about to walk into. 

"Joe!"

He turned to see Lola weaving through the crowd toward him, Harlow close behind. Both women looked genuinely happy to see him, and Joe felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease at seeing familiar faces.

"Hey," he said with a slight smile.

"Riley's gonna be so happy you made it in time," Harlow said. "She's up there finishing up her makeup."

Joe gestured to his friends, who'd been watching the exchange with interest. "Lola, Harlow—these are my guys. Zac, Micah, Trae."

"Nice to meet you," Lola said, shaking hands with each of them. "Riley's mentioned you."

"So you're the friends Joe's been hiding," Harlow said with a grin.

As they climbed the narrow stairs, Joe could hear Riley's laugh before he saw her—bright and unguarded, cutting through the general buzz of conversation. When they reached the top and stepped into the crowded green room, he spotted her immediately.

She was perched on the old brown couch by the windows, legs tucked under her, a small mirror balanced on her knees as she applied mascara with steady, practiced hands. Haley sat cross-legged on the floor beside her, gesturing animatedly as she told some story, while Laura leaned against the wall nearby, nursing what looked like a beer and laughing at whatever Haley was saying. Across the room, Daniel sat hunched over a small drum pad, headphones on, his sticks moving in quiet, precise rhythms.

There was no frantic energy around Riley, no last-minute panic. Just a visible buzz of excitement and genuine enjoyment. She was having a good time, completely at ease in the controlled chaos of pre-show preparations. When she finished with her mascara, she tossed the tube to Haley and picked up a tube of lipstick, continuing her conversation without missing a beat.

"Burrow! Buddy!"

Pete's voice cut through the room before Joe had taken more than a few steps inside. Both Pete and Andy looked up from where they'd been passing a joint back and forth in the corner, immediate grins spreading across their faces as they spotted him through the crowd.

"Dude," Andy said, pushing through the packed room toward them.

Pete was right behind him, navigating between crew members and industry friends. "Man, good to see you."

Andy grinned. "Perfect timing."

Joe nodded, a slight smile tugging at his mouth.

Riley's head snapped up at the sound of Joe's voice, her eyes finding his across the room. The smile that broke across her face was instant and unguarded—pure joy at seeing him there.

She set her mirror aside without looking, lipstick tube forgotten in her lap as she unfolded herself from the couch. People were packed shoulder to shoulder in the narrow space, but Riley moved through them like she had a map—ducking under someone's elbow, sliding between two industry guys deep in conversation, never taking her eyes off Joe.

"Excuse me," she said to someone, but she was already past him.

When she reached Joe, she didn't hesitate. Her arms went around his neck and she pressed up on her toes to kiss him, right there in front of everyone. It wasn't performative or showy—just Riley being Riley, unafraid to show exactly how she felt.

"You're here," she said against his mouth, like she couldn't quite believe it.

His arms came around her. "Yeah."

She pulled back just enough to look at him, not letting go. There was something about seeing him here, in her world, that made her chest feel tight with happiness.

"I missed you," she added quietly.

"I missed you too," Joe said, and leaned down to kiss her again, right there in front of everyone.

She turned to the three guys standing slightly behind Joe. "And you must be the friends."

Zac, Micah, and Trae exchanged quick glances, clearly taken aback. Joe had prepared them for Riley being focused, maybe distant, caught up in her pre-show routine. Instead, here she was, turning her full attention to them with genuine warmth.

"Zac," the first one said, stepping forward with a slight smile.

"Micah," said the second.

"Trae," said the third, and Riley could see the surprise in all their faces—not at meeting her, but at how completely present she was despite the chaos around them.

"I'm so glad you came," she said, and meant it. "Joe's been talking about you guys forever. I was starting to think you were made up."

Micah laughed. "Shit, we were starting to think you were made up too."

"Fair," Riley grinned. "Though I have to say, you guys are exactly what I pictured."

"Oh yeah?" Micah said. "What did you picture?"

"Definitely good," she said. "I promise what I had in mind is good - you're exactly like he described."

Trae was looking around, taking in the energy—people moving with purpose, the hum of conversation, the underlying buzz of anticipation. "This is incredible," he said. "You can feel it in the air."

"Right?" Riley said, lighting up at his understanding. "It's like everyone's plugged into the same current. I love it."

Zac was watching the interaction between her and Joe, how easily she moved between focusing on him and including them, how she made it look effortless despite the obvious demands on her attention.

"Joe said you'd probably be too busy to hang out," Micah said. "But you seem pretty..."

"Available?" Riley finished with a laugh. "I mean, I've got about thirty minutes before I need to start getting my head fully in the game, but until then..." She shrugged. "This is my favorite part anyway. The anticipation."

She looked back at Joe, squeezing his hand. "Plus, I wasn't about to miss meeting the people who've known this one since he was probably a pain in the ass teenager."

"Oh, he was definitely a pain in the ass," Micah said, grinning.

"Still is," Zac added, but his tone was fond.

Riley laughed, and Joe felt something settle in his chest. This was going exactly how he'd hoped—his worlds colliding without friction, Riley being completely herself, his friends seeing exactly what he'd been trying to explain about her.

She turned toward the room, still holding Joe's hand. "Come on, let me introduce you to everyone properly."

She led them toward where Pete and Andy were still lounging in their corner, Daniel having migrated over with his drum pad now silent. Haley and Laura had moved closer too, curious about the new arrivals.

"Guys," Riley called out, "these are Joe's friends from home. Zac, Micah, and Trae."

"What's up," Pete said, nodding at them with genuine warmth. "Good to meet you."

Andy was already reaching into his pocket. "Hey, I just rolled one for you guys," he said, pulling out a fresh joint.

"Thanks, bro," Zac said, accepting it with a nod.

The joint made its way around the expanded circle—Zac to Micah to Trae, then to Joe, who took a casual hit before passing it to Riley. There was nothing forced about it, no one making a big deal. Just people sharing before a show.

"So what do you guys do back in Ohio?" Haley asked, settling cross-legged on the floor near them.

"I'm in investor relations," Zac said. "Corporate stuff."

"Tech," Trae said simply.

"Fashion design," Micah added.

"Nice," Daniel said, looking at Micah with interest. "You do your own line or work for someone?" Joe felt himself settling into the easy rhythm of the conversation. Riley's hand was still in his, her thumb tracing absent patterns on his palm as she listened to his friends talk. Pete was asking thoughtful questions, Andy was making jokes that actually landed, and Laura was nodding along like she'd known these guys for years.

This was how Riley's people operated—immediate acceptance, genuine curiosity, no pretense. They didn't care about credentials or connections. They cared about the person in front of them.

As Micah started explaining his work, Joe felt Riley's hand tighten slightly in his. She leaned closer, her voice low enough that only he could hear.

"Come with me for a second?"

She led him through the crowded room, weaving between people until she reached a door he hadn't noticed before. She pushed it open, revealing a small bathroom—barely big enough for two people, but private.

"Sorry," she said with a slight laugh, closing the door behind them. "This is literally the only quiet space in the building right now."

The sudden silence felt almost loud after the buzz of the green room. Riley leaned back against the door, looking at him in the dim light.

"Okay, now I can actually look at you," she said with a slight smile.

She reached for him, her hands sliding up his chest to rest at the base of his neck. "It's been three weeks."

"Yeah," he said, his hands finding her waist. "Too long."

"Way too long." She tilted her head up toward him. "I missed this."

Joe leaned down to rest his forehead against hers. "Me too."

"So…wanna make out for a bit in this horrible bathroom?" she asked, her mouth quirking up.

Joe laughed, caught off guard but not surprised. "Only you would ask it like that."

Then he took control, his hands finding her waist as he pressed her back against the door, kissing her like he'd been thinking about it all day.

They broke apart for a moment, both breathing hard in the small space. Riley's hands were still tangled in his hair, her back pressed against the door.

"Your friends are perfect, by the way," she said quietly. "I can see why you love them."

"They're already half in love with you," Joe said. "I could tell the second you introduced yourself."

Riley smiled. "Well, they're important to you, so they're important to me."

She kissed him again, and there was an urgency to it—three weeks of distance and the energy already building for the show making everything sharper. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer in the cramped space.

Joe's hands slid up to frame her face as they kissed like they both needed this more than air. When they finally broke apart, both breathing harder, she stayed pressed up against him.

"Fuck," she breathed, her forehead against his. "I needed that."

She took a shaky breath, her hands smoothing down his chest. "But we gotta go out there so I can get my shit together. Can't fuck in this tiny bathroom..." She grinned. "Although I will say, if you haven't fucked in a horrible tiny bathroom, you haven't lived. Rain check?"

She turned toward the door, and Joe laughed, swatting her ass as she reached for the handle. "Get out of here."

When they slipped back into the green room, the energy had shifted. People were starting to move with more purpose—crew members heading downstairs, industry friends checking the time. The intimate hang-out vibe was giving way to something more focused.

"There they are," Pete said, looking up from where he was now checking his bass. "Riley, we should probably start warming up."

She nodded, already switching gears. Joe could see the performer starting to emerge—not dramatically, just a subtle sharpening of her focus.

"Guys," she said to Joe's friends, "Casey can take you side stage. If you stay off to the side by the curtain, it should be pretty private."

"Sounds good," Zac said.

Riley found a quieter corner of the room and closed her eyes, beginning to run scales—pure vocal exercises, no instruments, just her voice cutting cleanly through the space as she warmed up her range. The band sat nearby, letting her work, Pete occasionally nodding along to her rhythm.

Joe watched, fascinated, as she ran through different vocal patterns, her voice moving from low, resonant tones to higher, more powerful notes. This was purely technical—a professional preparing her instrument.

After about ten minutes, she opened her eyes, voice ready.

"Alright," Pete said, standing up. "Huddle time."

The four band members moved into a tight circle, arms around each other's shoulders. Joe could hear Pete's voice, low and steady, saying something about playing for the people who needed to hear these songs. Riley added something about honoring the music and each other. Andy made what sounded like a joke that got quiet laughs.

Then they broke apart, and Joe could see it—they were ready. Not just individually, but as a unit.

Riley walked over to Joe, rising up on her toes to kiss him. "See you after," she said quietly.

Casey appeared at the door. "Time to get everyone positioned," she said to Joe and his friends, as well as Haley, Laura, and the other non-band friends in the room.

Joe gave Riley's hand one last squeeze, then followed Casey out, leaving the band to have their final moments before taking the stage.

* * *

The last notes of "Sunshine Riptide" faded into the darkness of the Troubadour, and the crowd erupted. Riley stood at the mic, slightly out of breath, a genuine smile spreading across her face as she took in the energy radiating back at her from the packed venue.

"That was 'Sunshine Riptide,'" she said, her voice warm and conversational through the speakers. "And holy shit, it feels good to be back."

The crowd cheered, and Riley laughed, pushing her hair back from her face. "I'm not kidding—it's been almost two years since we've done this. Since we've all been together like this. And I missed you guys so fucking much."

Pete stepped closer to his mic. "We missed this too," he said, grinning. "Even if Riley made us practice that song about fifty times this week."

"Shut up," Riley shot back, but she was still smiling. "It needed to be perfect for you guys."

"It was perfect," Andy chimed in from stage left. "Now tell them about the pool house."

Riley laughed, and the sound echoed through the venue, intimate and real. "Okay, so. You guys know our contract with our old label ended last year, right? And we made a choice. We decided not to renew."

A few cheers from the crowd, and Riley nodded. "Yeah, we wanted creative control. We wanted to own our work. So we did a distribution deal with Republic instead. This record? It's completely ours."

She gestured toward Pete. "This one let us convert his pool house into a studio. We call it Sad Banger Labs—"

"Best investment I ever made," Pete interrupted, and the crowd laughed.

"Most of what you're about to hear was made right there in Pete's backyard," Riley continued. "Some of it at Electric Lady in New York, but mostly just... us. In this tiny converted pool house, staying up for days, figuring out how to say things we'd never been able to say before."

Daniel tapped his sticks together softly, a gentle rhythm that filled the brief pause.

"So tonight," Riley said, her voice dropping slightly, becoming more intimate, "you're going to hear the whole album. Front to back. Salvage. And it's... it's a journey. These songs came from a version of me I don't live in anymore, but I remember her. The girl who stayed. Who kept justifying things that weren't justifiable."

The venue had gone completely quiet, hanging on every word.

"This isn't a revenge album," she said, her voice steady but vulnerable. "It's not about one person. It's about the version of myself who stayed too long, tried too hard, and thought that was what love was supposed to feel like."

Andy adjusted his guitar strap. "It's also about coming out the other side," he said quietly into his mic.

Riley nodded, grateful. "It is. But we're going to go through some dark places first. And I need you guys to trust me on this journey, okay? Because where we end up... it's worth it."

She looked out into the crowd, and from the side stage where Joe stood with his friends, he could see the way she connected with every person in that room, making each of them feel like she was speaking directly to them.

"We made this album because we needed it to exist," she said. "And now it's yours. So let's go through this together."

The crowd erupted again, and Riley stepped back from the mic, nodding to Pete as the opening bass line of "Big Man, Little Dignity" began to pulse through the venue.

The song hit different live—heavier, more pointed. Riley's voice carried a controlled venom as she sang about smooth operators and shit-stained suits, her eyes scanning the crowd with an intensity that made everyone feel like they were part of the takedown. When she got to the bridge, her voice soared on "I memorized all your lies," and Joe felt the hair on his arms stand up.

The song built to its final chorus, Riley's voice cutting through the mix like a blade, before ending with that haunting repetition of "little dignity." The crowd was silent for a beat, processing, before exploding into applause.

Riley wiped sweat from her forehead, grinning. "That felt good," she said into the mic, and the crowd laughed. "That was 'Big Man, Little Dignity,' and it's about exactly what you think it's about."

She adjusted her mic stand, her expression growing more serious. "It's about someone who could get away with anything, so that's exactly what they did."

Pete leaned into his mic. "Riley wrote that one in about twenty minutes."

"Because I was pissed," Riley said with a laugh. "Sometimes the truth just falls out of you that fast."

She looked out at the crowd, her voice becoming more conversational again. "The next song is called 'I'm Not Mad.' And the thing is..." she paused, grinning slightly, "I was absolutely fucking furious when I wrote it."

Andy chuckled into his mic. "The title's a lie."

"Complete lie," Riley agreed. "But sometimes you have to tell yourself you're not mad before you can admit how mad you actually are. This one's got some bite to it."

She stepped back from the mic as the drum-heavy opening of "I'm Not Mad" crashed through the venue.

The drums crashed in with a vengeance, and "I'm Not Mad" exploded through the Troubadour with all the fury Riley had promised. The song was relentless—drum-heavy and sharp-edged, Riley's voice dripping with sarcasm as she delivered lines about hoping someone's back aches and knees hurt. The crowd was completely absorbed, some singing along to the chorus they'd clearly memorized from the early release.

When Riley got to the bridge about hoping he dreams of her, her voice took on this haunting quality that made the entire venue go silent except for the music. The song built to its final crescendo, Riley's voice soaring over the drums, before crashing to a stop.

The crowd erupted, and Riley laughed, shaking her head. "Okay, I feel better now," she said, wiping sweat from her forehead. "That was 'I'm Not Mad,' which is the biggest lie I've ever told myself."

"We could tell," Pete said dryly, and the crowd laughed.

Riley grinned. "The next song is called 'You Asked for This.' And this one..." she paused, looking out at the crowd with a slightly mischievous expression. "This one's about being told your whole life that you're too much. Too loud. Too intense. And also being told to grow up, be a big girl, handle your shit—and finally just saying, 'Okay, you want loud? I'll give you loud.'"

She adjusted her mic stand, her voice becoming more passionate. "It's about owning the reputation people gave you instead of trying to shrink yourself to make them comfortable. But it's also about wanting everything—wanting your cake and wanting to ruin all your plans at the same time. Like, you asked for this version of me—well, here she is."

Andy stepped closer to his mic. "This one gets loud."

"Very loud," Daniel confirmed, spinning his sticks.

"It's 90s grunge vibes," Riley said, her energy picking up again. "Because sometimes you need to scream about wanting everything and refusing to apologize for taking up space."

She looked directly out into the crowd, and from side stage, Joe found himself holding his breath.

"This is for everyone who's ever been told to be grateful for a life that doesn't fit," Riley said, taking the guitar a tech handed her as Andy's guitar came in with a grinding, distorted riff that immediately transported the venue back to the 90s.

"You Asked for This" hit like a freight train—all raw energy and rebellion. Riley's voice was powerful and unapologetic as she sang about summer feet and Levi's jeans, about wanting everything and refusing to apologize for it. When she got to the chorus, the entire crowd seemed to move as one, caught up in the song's defiant energy.

The bridge was pure chaos in the best way—Riley's voice breaking slightly as she sang about wanting a fist around her throat, wanting to cry so hard she chokes, the vulnerability mixed with the anger creating something electric. The song built to its climactic ending, Riley practically screaming the final lines before the music cut out abruptly.

The silence lasted for exactly one beat before the crowd exploded into the loudest applause yet.

Riley caught her breath as the applause died down, handing her guitar off to a tech who appeared at her side. The energy in the room was electric, but she could sense the shift coming—the move from rebellion into something more vulnerable.

"Alright," she said, her voice softer now. "We're about to take a turn here. The next song is called 'I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)." She paused, and a few people in the crowd laughed knowingly."

Pete stepped closer to his mic. "This is where Riley gets honest about her savior complex."

"Thanks, Pete," Riley said dryly, but she was smiling. "Yeah, this one's about thinking you can be the exception. About seeing someone's red flags and thinking, "But not for me. I can change him."

She looked out at the crowd, her expression becoming more serious. "It's about the delusion that love can fix anything. That if you just try hard enough, care enough, you can save someone who doesn't want to be saved."

Andy adjusted his guitar. "The bridge is brutal."

"The bridge is where I realize maybe I can't," Riley agreed. "But we get there when we get there. This one starts sweet, like a ballad, because that's how these things always start."

The opening chords rang out, gentle and almost romantic, as Riley's voice came in soft and vulnerable, singing about teaching lessons and fixing dangerous men. But as Joe watched from side stage, he could hear the building tension in the music, the way it was setting up for something darker.

When the song reached its crushing realization in the final line—"Whoa, maybe I can't"—the vulnerability in Riley's voice was devastating. The crowd was completely silent as the music faded.

Riley stood quiet for a moment, letting the weight of that song settle. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, more introspective.

"That was hard to write," she said simply. "The next one was harder. It's called 'Ego,' and it's about falling apart while trying to look like you have it all together."

She looked down at her hands on the mic stand. "This one's about imposter syndrome, about feeling like you're still just a kid playing dress-up in an adult's life. About success not feeling the way you thought it would."

Daniel tapped his sticks gently. "This one's got some bite to it too."

"Pop-punk vibes," Andy added. "Because sometimes you need to scream about feeling like a fake."

"Riley looked back up at the crowd. "It's about the voice in your head that tells you everyone's going to figure out you don't belong. That maybe you don't even like who you've become." Her voice grew stronger. "But it's also about admitting that, which is the first step to doing something about it."

A tech handed Riley her guitar as the drums kicked in hard and fast, and "Ego" burst through the venue with raw, unfiltered energy."

The drums kicked in hard and fast, and "Ego" burst through the venue with raw, unfiltered energy. Riley's voice was both vulnerable and powerful as she sang about killing her ego before it killed her, about acting like a baby while trying to be grown up. When she got to the bridge about wanting to go back to the beginning when it all felt right, her voice cracked slightly with genuine emotion.

The song built to its climactic ending, Riley practically screaming about not being happy being herself, before cutting out abruptly. The crowd erupted, but there was something different in their energy now—deeper, more emotional. They were really feeling this journey with her.

Riley took a deep breath as the applause faded, and Joe could see her gathering herself for what was coming next. The energy in the room had shifted—they were deep in the emotional core of the album now.

"The next song," she said, her voice quieter, more careful, "is called 'Lonely Is the Muse.' And this one..." She paused, tuning her guitar. "This one's about what it feels like to be reduced to just inspiration for someone else's life. To be useful until you're not."

Andy stepped closer to his mic. "This is the one that made us all cry in the studio."

"Multiple times," Daniel added quietly.

Riley nodded. "It's about realizing you've been building yourself into whatever shape someone else needed, and forgetting who you actually were underneath all that." Her voice gained strength. "But it's also about having your whole career, everything you've built, reduced to just... material for someone else's story. Like suddenly you're not Riley Carter who's been doing this for ten years—you're just inspiration. Just a muse."

She looked out at the crowd, her voice becoming fierce. "I've earned platinum records, I've built this career from nothing, and somehow I let myself become small enough to fit in someone else's narrative. This song is about remembering who the fuck I am."

The opening notes were haunting—nu-metal with a slow burn that built gradually. Riley's voice was both vulnerable and powerful as she sang about being built from special pieces she learned to unscrew, about always reassembling to fit perfectly for whoever decided she was useful. When she got to the chorus—"Lonely is the muse"—her voice carried years of exhaustion and recognition.

The song built to its devastating bridge about being a wind chime in someone's window, existing just to decorate their life, before ending with that repeated, haunting "lonely is the muse." The venue was completely silent when it ended.

Riley stood still for a moment, letting that weight settle. When she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper.

"That was hard," she said simply. "The next one's harder. It's called 'People Disappear Here,' and it's about... disappearing. About trying to let someone else be you while you just... fade away."

She looked directly out into the crowd. "It's about hurting yourself to make sure you still exist. About needing someone to tell you how to feel because you've forgotten how."

Pete's bass came in low and ominous, and the song unfolded like a nightmare—slow, grunge-heavy, Riley's voice floating over the music like a ghost. When she sang about hurting herself to make sure she existed, about pinching herself to make sure she was real, the rawness in her voice was almost unbearable. The repetition of "people disappear here" became a mantra, a warning, a cry for help all at once.

The song faded into silence, and the crowd seemed afraid to breathe.

Riley wiped her eyes quickly, and Joe could see her hands shaking slightly. "The next song," she said, her voice thick with emotion, "is called '3-17.' I wrote this song four days before my birthday, almost two years ago."

She looked down at the stage floor for a moment, then back up at the crowd. "This one's just... the truth."

The guitar came in heavy and raw, and "3-17" hit like a punch to the gut. Riley's voice was stripped bare as she sang about feeling in debt for every night spent in his bed, about words she couldn't say right. When she got to the lines about sour grapes and the same bullshit laugh, her voice cracked with genuine pain.

The song ended with devastating simplicity, just Riley's voice and guitar, singing "I didn't plan for that." The silence that followed felt infinite.

From side stage, Joe watched the crowd, many with tears in their eyes, all of them completely absorbed in Riley's journey. His friends stood beside him, equally transfixed. This wasn't just a performance—it was an exorcism, played out in front of 500 people who were bearing witness to one woman's truth.

The silence after "3-17" stretched on, heavy and profound. Riley stood at the mic, visibly emotional, looking out at a crowd that seemed to be collectively holding its breath.

"Okay," she said finally, her voice softer than it had been all night. "Everyone doing alright out there?"

A few voices called back "yes" and "we're with you," and Riley smiled, wiping at her eyes again.

"I know that was heavy," she said. "Those three songs... that's the deep end. That's where you realize you've lost yourself completely." She looked around the crowd, making eye contact with different sections. "But here's the thing about hitting rock bottom—eventually, you get pissed off about it."

Pete stepped closer to his mic. "Here comes the fun part."

"Define fun," Andy said dryly, and the crowd laughed, some of the tension breaking.

Riley's expression shifted, something harder coming into her eyes. "We're about to get angry now," she said, and there was a warning in her voice that made the whole venue sit up straighter. "The next three songs are... they're rage. Pure, unfiltered rage. And I need you to stay with me through it, because this anger? It's what saved me."

She looked out at the crowd one more time. "The next song is called 'Easier Than Lying.' And it's about what happens when you finally stop lying to yourself about someone loving you." She grinned slightly, some of her usual playfulness returning. "Also, I wrote the bass line for this one, so Pete had to learn my bass line. Let the record show - that bass line is mine."

"She's very proud of that," Pete said into his mic, but he was smiling.

"I am proud of that," Riley shot back. "It's a fucking good bass line."

The opening chords hit like a freight train—guitar-heavy with an underlying scream that seemed to come from somewhere deep and primal. Riley's voice came in powerful and raw, singing about being made into a villain, about hanging herself with rope someone else provided. When she got to the chorus about losing all faith and hope, her voice carried years of betrayal and exhaustion.

But it was the bridge that really hit—"Losing you is easier than lying to myself that you love me"—repeated like a mantra, like something she had to keep telling herself until she believed it. Joe recognized these lyrics from that night in LA, but hearing them in context, surrounded by the full emotional journey, they hit completely differently.

The song ended with devastating finality, and without pause, Riley handed off her guitar and moved to the piano.

"'Mad Woman,'" she said simply, and the piano began—restrained but simmering with controlled fury.

This was different from anything they'd heard so far. Riley's voice was controlled, almost conversational, as she sang about scorpions and mad women. But there was something terrifying in that control, like she was holding back a hurricane. When she got to the chorus—"And there's nothing like a mad woman"—her voice was both beautiful and dangerous.

The song built slowly, Riley's anger becoming more apparent with each verse, until she was practically spitting the words about taking her time because someone took everything from her. The crowd was mesmerized, watching this masterclass in controlled rage.

As "Mad Woman" ended, Riley's energy shifted again, something wilder coming into her eyes.

Riley stood up from the piano, her energy shifting to something rawer. "Lilith," she said, and that single word seemed to charge the air in the venue.

She walked back to center stage, grabbing the mic. "This one's about becoming exactly what someone said you were. About leaning into being called destructive, corrupted, disgusting - and just saying 'fine, if that's what you think I am, I'll show you what that actually looks like.'" Her voice carried an edge. "It's about the version of yourself that emerges when you stop trying to be palatable."

She looked out at the crowd, something fierce in her expression. "Sometimes you have to embrace being the villain in someone else's story. This is me doing exactly that."

The opening was industrial, grinding, unlike anything else they'd played. Riley's voice came in almost seductive before turning sharp and cutting. This was Riley at her most dangerous, singing about being corrupted and destructive, about fucking like a demon and being disgusting. The raw sexuality and anger were intoxicating and terrifying.

When she got to the bridge—"The more that you give away, the more that you have"—her voice was both broken and defiant, and Joe could see people in the crowd with their mouths open, completely transfixed by this display of unbridled emotion.

The song ended with a crash, and the venue erupted. But this wasn't just applause—this was catharsis. The crowd had been through something with her, and they were all feeling it.

As the applause from "Lilith" finally died down, Riley caught her breath, the wildness in her eyes slowly fading back to something more controlled. The crowd was buzzing with energy, but she could feel the shift coming—they were about to move into different territory.

"The next song," she said, her voice still carrying some of that edge, "is called 'Just One Yesterday.' And this one..." She looked back at Daniel, who was smiling behind his kit. "This is Daniel's favorite song we've ever written."

Daniel tapped his sticks together. "It's true. This one's special."

"It's pop-punk with heavy drums," Riley said, her energy picking up again. "It's about wanting to corrupt the voice in your head that tells you to be good. You know, choking the angel on your shoulder that says 'don't do it, be the bigger person.'" Her voice got sharper. "But it's also about giving someone all your love just so you can watch their face when you take it all away."

She paused, something fierce but controlled in her expression. "Sometimes the most devastating thing you can do is show someone exactly what they're going to lose. And then walk away."

Andy stepped closer to his mic. "The drums on this one are insane."

"Thank you," Daniel said with mock modesty, and the crowd laughed.

The drums kicked in immediately—heavy, driving, exactly what Riley had promised. "Just One Yesterday" was pure energy, all pop-punk fury and Daniel's incredible drumwork. Riley's voice was powerful and defiant as she sang about angels and halos, about trading tomorrows for yesterdays. When she got to the bridge about spilling her guts so the world would never look at someone the same way, her voice was both threatening and heartbroken.

The song built to its explosive ending, Daniel's drums absolutely thundering through the venue, before cutting out suddenly. The crowd went wild, and Riley could see Daniel beaming behind his kit.

"Daniel wrote that drum part," she said into the mic, still catching her breath. "And now he gets to show off every time we play it."

"Worth it," Daniel called out, and the crowd laughed.

"Riley's expression grew more serious. "The next song is called 'LOML.' Love of my life." She paused, walking back to the piano. "This one's... this is about mourning someone who's still alive. About realizing that everything you thought was real was just an impressionist painting."

She looked back up at the crowd. "It's about being told you're the love of someone's life about a million times, and then finding out what that actually meant to them."

The piano began, delicate and beautiful, and "LOML" unfolded like a tragic ballad. Riley's voice was achingly beautiful as she sang about waltzing back into rekindled flames, about embroidering memories and being told she was legendary. But as the song progressed, the pain became more apparent—the realization that what felt eternal was actually momentary.

When she got to the bridge about dancing phantoms on the terrace, about being second-hand embarrassed that she couldn't get out of bed, her voice cracked with genuine emotion. The final lines—she changed the lyrics, singing "I thought you were the loss of my life" instead of the recorded version—were delivered with such devastating clarity that the silence afterward felt sacred.

Riley stat still for a moment, letting that pain hang in the air. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, more vulnerable.

"The last song before we get to the end," she said, "is called 'The Lighthouse.' And this one's about survival. About realizing that maybe you never wanted saving—you just wanted to be found."

Riley stood up from the piano and walked back to center stage. "It's about swimming with the devil and meeting sailors who aren't saviors. It's about being glad you met the devil because he showed you exactly who you are."

The opening was heavy, metal-adjacent, darker than anything they'd played yet. "The Lighthouse" was haunting and powerful, Riley's voice carrying both vulnerability and strength as she sang about being cursed with rage, about lighthouses and deep ends. When she got to the lines about showing sailors her teeth and laughing out loud because she never wanted saving, her voice was fierce and triumphant.

The song built to its crushing ending with the repeated "waves come crashing down," Riley's voice soaring over the heavy instrumentation before everything cut to silence.

The crowd was on their feet, but there was something different in their energy now—they could feel they were approaching something significant. They were almost at the end of this journey.

The silence after "The Lighthouse" stretched on, and Riley stood at the mic, looking out at the crowd with an expression that was both exhausted and determined. She could feel the weight of what was coming next.

"Okay," she said, her voice cutting through the quiet. "Two more songs, and I need you to stay with me for this next one." She paused, her hands gripping the mic stand. "It's called 'The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived,' and it's... it's a lot. But it's the end of that chapter, I swear."

She looked down at the stage for a moment, then back up at the crowd. "This one starts as a ballad, and then it gets heavy. Really heavy. Because sometimes you have to burn everything down before you can build something new."

Pete stepped closer to his mic. "This is Riley's reckoning."

"This is me saying everything I never got to say," Riley said, her voice gaining strength. "Every question I never got to ask. Every piece of bullshit I had to swallow." Her eyes were fierce now. "This one's not pretty. This one's not…nice. This one's the truth, unfiltered."

Andy adjusted his guitar, and the venue could feel the tension building.

"I'm going to ask you to witness something," Riley said to the crowd. "And then we're going to walk into the light together. But first, we burn it all the fuck down."

The opening piano notes rang out, delicate and deceptively gentle, as Riley's voice came in soft and questioning, asking if any of it was true. But Joe could feel the building storm in the music, the way it was setting up for something explosive.

As the song progressed, Riley's voice grew more powerful, more accusatory. The questions became sharper, the observations more cutting. And then, when the song reached its turning point, the music exploded into something heavy and overwhelming, Riley kicking the mic stand down as her voice soared over the chaos, delivering line after devastating line.

The crowd was completely transfixed, watching this final exorcism play out in front of them. When the song finally ended with that crushing final line, the silence was absolute.

Riley stood, breathing hard, visibly shaken by what she'd just unleashed. But when she looked up at the crowd, there was something different in her eyes—relief, maybe. Or freedom.

The crowd went absolutely fucking crazy. The applause was deafening, people screaming and cheering, some crying, all of them having just witnessed something cathartic and brutal and necessary. Riley was still breathing hard, tears streaming down her face, but she was smiling through them.

"I told you it was heavy!" she called out over the noise, and the crowd cheered even louder.

She wiped her eyes, then walked over to the piano, settling onto the bench. The crowd gradually quieted, sensing this shift, this final moment.

"When I started writing this album," she said, her voice softer now, more intimate through the mic, "I was in a really dark place and I didn't give a fuck about hope or healing or any of that shit." She played a few soft chords. "But then, two years later, I wrote this next song. And at first, I wasn't gonna do anything with it."

She looked over at Pete, who was smiling at her. "I played it for this one, and he was like, 'Put it on the album,' and I was like, 'Absolutely not.'"

"She fought me hard on this," Pete said into his mic.

"But then," Riley continued, "I listened to the whole album front to back, and I was like... Jesus Christ, people are gonna want to jump off a bridge after this." The crowd laughed, some of them wiping their own tears. "So I put it at the end. Because sometimes you need to know there's light after all that darkness."

She positioned her hands over the keys. "This is 'Daylight.' And it's about letting go of all that hurt and stepping into the light with someone else. About what it feels like when love doesn't hurt anymore." She looked out at the crowd. "After everything we've been through together tonight... you've earned this."

The opening piano chords were gentle, hopeful, completely different from anything that had come before. And when Riley's voice came in, singing about not wanting to look at anything else now that she saw daylight, it felt like the sun rising after the longest night.

The song built beautifully, Riley's voice soaring as she sang about sleeping in a twenty-year dark night and finally seeing daylight. When she got to the spoken-word ending about being defined by the things you love, not the things you hate, her voice was soft but certain. The final piano notes hung in the air like a promise.

The crowd was on their feet before the last note faded, the applause thunderous and sustained. Riley stood from the piano bench, tears in her eyes but smiling, and walked back to join Pete, Andy, and Daniel at center stage. They took their bows together, the four of them who had created this journey and guided 500 people through it.

"Thank you," Riley said into the mic, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you so much."

She blew a kiss to the crowd, then walked off stage with her band, disappearing into the wings where Joe was waiting.

The moment she was out of sight of the audience, she walked straight into his arms.

* * *

The moment she was out of sight of the audience, she walked straight into his arms.

Joe caught her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her as she pressed her face into his neck. She was shaking slightly—adrenaline, emotion, exhaustion all hitting her at once after two hours of laying herself bare on stage. His own eyes were wet—hearing her sing the song she'd written about him, about them, in front of all those people had broken something open in his chest.

"Hey," he said quietly, one hand moving to the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair. "You did it baby. That was fucking incredible."

Riley pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes bright with tears but also something like relief. "Really? It didn't feel like too much?"

Joe cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears on her cheeks. "Riley. That was..." He paused, searching for words that felt adequate. "I knew these songs, but hearing you perform them, seeing you up there... that was something else entirely."

She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a moment. "I was so nervous about you seeing me like that up there."

"Like what?"

"All of it. The rage, the pain, everything." She opened her eyes to meet his. "Performing it is different than just listening."

Joe studied her face, this woman who had just commanded a room of 500 people through an emotional journey that had left everyone—including him—completely transformed.

"I saw you," he said simply. "All of you. And it was everything."

Riley's breath caught slightly. Around them, people were moving—crew members, her friends, his friends—but everyone was giving them space, understanding that this moment was theirs.

"Our song," Joe said, his voice dropping lower. "Hearing it live, knowing..."

"Knowing it's about you," Riley finished softly.

"Yeah." His hands were still on her face, and he leaned down to kiss her—soft but certain, tasting the salt of her tears and the sweetness of relief. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. "I've never had anyone write a song about hope because of me."

Riley smiled, the first real smile since she'd walked off stage. "Well, now you do."

"I'm proud of you," he said finally. "For all of it. For making this album, for tonight, for letting people see your truth."

Riley's eyes filled with fresh tears, but these were different—softer, warmer. "Thank you for being here. For bringing your friends. For making this feel safe."

Joe kissed her again, longer this time, his hands sliding into her hair. When they broke apart, both breathing a little harder, he smiled. "Come on. Let's get you some water before everyone wants to celebrate with you guys."

As Joe and Riley finally broke apart, still holding each other close, Micah was the first to approach. Zac and Trae hung back a few feet, still looking somewhat stunned.

"Riley," Micah said, his voice carrying genuine awe. "That was fucking incredible. I mean, we knew you could sing, but that was something else entirely."

Riley turned in Joe's arms to face him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Thanks. That was... a lot. Even for me."

"The whole room was with you," Micah continued. "When you got to that last song, I looked around and half the crowd was crying."

Riley let out a shaky laugh. "I was crying too."

"Zac stepped forward then, his expression thoughtful. "That song at the end," he said quietly. "That was about our boy, huh?"

"Yeah," Riley said simply, not embarrassed or defensive. Just honest.

Joe's arm tightened around her waist, and Zac could see something in his expression—a kind of quiet pride mixed with something deeper.

"We should probably let other people congratulate you," Zac said, noticing the growing crowd of people waiting to talk to her—Pete, Andy, Daniel, along with various industry friends and crew members. "But seriously, thank you for letting us be here for that."

Riley smiled, the exhaustion starting to show around her eyes but genuine warmth still there. "Thank you for coming. It means everything to me that Joe's people got to see this."

Trae, who had been quiet this whole time, just watching, finally stepped forward. "Anyone Joe brings us to meet," he said simply, "is family."

Riley's eyes brightened at that, and Joe felt something settle in his chest at the easy acceptance in his friend's voice.

As people began to approach—Pete already making his way over with a huge grin, industry friends hovering nearby—Trae caught Joe's eye and nodded toward a quieter corner of the backstage area. Joe understood immediately.

Riley's eyes brightened at that, and Joe felt something settle in his chest at the easy acceptance in his friend's voice.

As people began to approach—Pete already making his way over with a huge grin, industry friends hovering nearby—Trae caught Joe's eye and nodded toward a quieter corner of the backstage area. Joe understood immediately.

"Go," Riley said softly, noticing the exchange. "I'll be right here getting my ego stroked by everyone."

Joe kissed her temple. "Five minutes."

Trae led him a few steps away from the growing crowd around Riley, far enough that they could talk without being overheard.

"Man," Trae said quietly, shaking his head. "I thought I understood what you were talking about on the plane. But seeing that..." He paused, watching as Riley hugged Pete, who was clearly emotional about their first show back. "Now I get it."

"Get what?" Joe asked, though he seemed to already know.

"Why you've been different. Why this matters so much to you." Trae looked directly at him. "She's not just talented, Joe. She's... I don't know how to say it without sounding like a hallmark card, but she's real. Like, all the way real."

Joe nodded, his eyes drifting back to Riley, who was now talking animatedly with Andy and Daniel, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the excitement of pulling off their first show in two years.

"And that last song," Trae continued. "The way she looked at you when she was singing it..." He let out a low whistle. "Dude. She's in love with you. Like, really in love with you."

"I know," Joe said quietly.

"And you?"

Joe was quiet for a moment, watching Riley laugh at something Daniel said, her whole face lighting up. "Yeah. I'm there too."

Trae studied his friend's profile. "Good. Because after what I just saw, if you fuck this up, I might have to kick your ass."

Joe cracked a smile. "Noted."

Meanwhile, Riley was surrounded by her band and friends, everyone talking at once about the performance. Pete had his arm around her shoulders, Andy was gesticulating wildly as he recounted the crowd's reaction during "Lilith," and Daniel was just grinning from ear to ear.

"I can't believe we pulled that off," Riley said, her voice still hoarse from two hours of singing. "First show back and we do the entire album? What were we thinking?"

"We were thinking it was time," Pete said simply. "And look at that crowd—they needed it. We all needed it."

Lola and Harlow pushed through the small crowd, both of them with tears in their eyes.

"Riley fucking Carter," Lola said, grabbing her in a fierce hug. "I've seen you perform hundreds of times, and that was something else."

"The 'Daylight' moment," Harlow added, fanning her face. "I'm not okay. None of us are okay."

Joe walked back over just as a woman with silver hair and kind eyes approached Riley, pulling her into a warm hug. "Riley, honey," she said, "that was absolutely incredible. I've been in this business for thirty years and that was something special."

"Thanks, Sarah," Riley said, and Joe could hear the genuine affection in her voice. "This is Joe."

Joe shook hands with the woman, who smiled warmly. "Nice to meet you. I work with Republic on the distribution side—been following Riley's career for years. You must be so proud."

"I am," Joe said simply.

A man in his forties with kind eyes and a vintage band t-shirt joined them. "Riley! David from the label. That was everything we hoped for and more. 'Sunshine Riptide' is going to explode after people hear it in that context."

"Think so?" Riley asked, some of her performer energy returning.

"Absolutely. The way you set up the whole journey tonight, then hearing the single as part of that story..." David shook his head. "It's going to hit different when it comes out next week."

More friendly faces appeared—other musicians, a few photographers who'd been invited as friends, people from her management team. All genuine support, not business pitches. But Joe could see Riley's smile getting a little tighter with each conversation, the adrenaline starting to wear off.

Andy leaned in. “She’s running on fumes. We should probably get everyone moving soon.”

Joe glanced over at Riley, who was still smiling and nodding as someone from the label talked about radio play projections, but he could see the exhaustion creeping in around her eyes. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind the emotional weight of what she'd just put herself through on stage.

"Yeah," Joe agreed quietly. "Good call."

Andy nodded toward Riley, then looked back at Joe and his friends. "Pete's got cars waiting out back - we're all heading to his place to decompress. But listen..." He paused, glancing around to make sure Riley couldn't hear. "She's gonna crash hard in about twenty minutes. All that emotional shit she just put herself through up there? It catches up."

Joe understood immediately. "What do I need to do?"

"Nothing dramatic," Andy said with a slight grin. "Just thinking maybe you lovebirds take one car, and we'll take the other one with your boys here." He looked at Zac, Micah, and Trae. "That cool with you guys? Give Riley some space to come down from all this?"

Trae caught on first. "Absolutely. We can ride with you guys."

"Perfect," Andy said. Then he raised his voice slightly, addressing the group. "Alright, people! Cars are here. Time to move this party to Pete's."

Riley looked over from the conversation she was having, relief flickering across her face. "Thank god. I love everyone, but I need to sit down somewhere that isn't moving."

As people started gathering their things and saying final goodbyes to industry friends who weren't coming to Pete's, Andy smoothly maneuvered the logistics.

"Joe, Riley - you're in the first car," he said casually. "Rest of us will follow in the second one."

Riley shot him a grateful look that Joe didn't miss. Andy just winked at her.

"Subtle," Pete murmured to Andy as they watched Joe slip his arm around Riley's waist, guiding her toward the exit.

"I'm amazing and deeply intuitive," Andy replied with a grin.

* * *

The black SUV pulled away from the Troubadour's back alley, the sounds of the city muffled through tinted windows. Riley sank into the leather seat beside Joe, finally allowing her shoulders to drop for the first time in hours.

"God," she breathed, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back against the headrest. "I forgot how exhausting that is."

Joe watched her carefully, noting the slight tremor in her hands as she pushed her hair back from her face. The adrenaline was leaving her system, and he could see the crash beginning.

"Come here," he said quietly, lifting his arm.

Riley didn't hesitate, sliding across the seat to curl into his side. She tucked her legs up and pressed her face against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne.

"Better?" he asked, his arm tightening around her.

“Mmm.” Her voice was small. “Just let me stay like this for a second.”

They rode in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Riley's breathing gradually evening out as the tension left her body. Joe's hand moved in slow circles on her back, grounding her.

“I’m glad you brought your friends,” she murmured, still tucked into his side.

“Me too,” Joe said, his hand steady on her back.

"I kept seeing Zac during 'Lilith' and thinking, 'Oh god, Joe's friend is watching me sing about fuckin' like a demon.'" She laughed softly, but there was anxiety underneath it. "Very normal first impression."

“They weren’t judging you. They were… pretty blown away, honestly.”

Riley pulled back just enough to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "Yeah?"

"Besides, these guys have been in locker rooms before. They've heard worse."

She studied his face in the dim light from the passing streetlights. "I like them. Your friends. They feel like... like they really know you, you know? Not the public version."

"They do." His hand found hers, fingers interlacing. "Trae said you were real. All the way real."

Riley's expression softened at that.

She was quiet for a moment, her thumb tracing absent patterns on his palm. When she spoke again, her voice was smaller.

"You have to leave tomorrow."

"Yeah." The word came out heavier than he intended.

"And I really want to hang out with them tonight. Get to know them properly, not just the quick backstage thing." She paused, biting her lip. "But I also really want to just... be with you. Just us. And I'm running on fumes a bit."

Joe felt something twist in his chest at the vulnerability in her voice. This was the thing they never had enough time to figure out—how to want everything when there wasn't space for everything.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

Riley closed her eyes, considering. "I don't know. Both things? Neither thing?" She laughed shakily. "God, I'm a mess right now."

"You're not a mess. You just poured your heart out in front of 500 people for two hours. You're allowed to not know what you need."

The car slowed as they approached Pete's neighborhood, and Riley felt a flutter of anxiety. In a few minutes, they'd be back in a group, back to sharing him with other people when all she really wanted was to curl up somewhere quiet and just exist in his space.

"Maybe we can do both," Joe said quietly. "Hang out for a while, then find some time for just us."

Riley looked up at him, something grateful and tired in her eyes. "You sure? I don't want your friends to think I'm monopolizing you."

“They know I want alone time with you. Trust me, they’ll survive—and they seem pretty happy with your crew anyway.”

"Okay," she said softly. "Both things."

“I’ll tell them we’re ducking out early,” Joe said. “You don’t have to deal with it.”

Riley let out a slow breath. "Thank you, lovey. For taking care of me."

Joe squeezed Riley's hand once before reaching for the door handle. "Give me a sec," he said quietly.

Riley nodded, staying in the backseat as Joe stepped out. She used the moment to take a deep breath, pulling her small compact from her purse and checking her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup had held up well enough, though her eyes still carried that post-performance exhaustion. She could do this—a couple hours with everyone, then they could slip away.

Outside, Joe walked around to the driver's side window, which rolled down at his approach.

"Hey," Joe said, leaning down slightly. "We're gonna need you to stick around tonight. Probably a couple hours, but I'm not sure exactly when we'll be ready to go. After you drop us off at her place, you'll need to come back and take my friends to their hotel when they're ready - I'll give you the hotel info."

The driver nodded. "No problem. You want me to wait here or find somewhere nearby?"

"Here's fine, if that works for you." Joe pulled out his wallet, handing the man some cash. "For the wait time. I'll text when we need to head out."

"Sounds good, Mr. Burrow."

Joe straightened up, glancing back at the house where he could see shadows moving past the windows. Andy's laugh carried clearly through the night air, followed by what sounded like Micah's voice. His friends were already settling in.

He walked back to Riley's door and opened it, offering his hand. She took it, stepping out onto the gravel driveway. The night air was warm but carried a slight breeze that felt good after the enclosed space of the car.

"Better?" he asked, studying her face.

Riley straightened her shoulders, some of her usual confidence returning. "Yeah. Let's go see what kind of trouble your friends are getting into with mine."

* * *

Pete's house was alive with the kind of energy that only came after a show like tonight. The living room flowed into the kitchen and spilled out onto the back patio, every space filled with people Riley genuinely cared about—musicians she'd collaborated with, photographers who'd documented the band's journey, a few writers who understood what tonight had meant. Someone had queued up a playlist that was perfectly curated for the moment: nostalgic but not melancholy, celebratory without being too intense.

Riley moved through the crowd with a drink in her hand, accepting hugs and congratulations. She was genuinely happy to be here, feeding off the collective joy of people who understood what it took to put yourself out there the way she had tonight.

"That performance of 'The Smallest Man,'" said Maya, a singer-songwriter Riley had toured with years ago. "I got chills. Literal chills."

"Thanks," Riley said, meaning it. "It felt good to finally sing it the way it was supposed to be sung."

Joe stood nearby, nursing a beer and watching Riley light up as she talked to people who spoke her language. His friends had integrated seamlessly—Micah was deep in conversation with Daniel about drum techniques, while Zac and Trae were listening to Andy tell some story that had them all laughing.

"She's in her element," Trae said, appearing at Joe's side.

"Yeah, she is." Joe smiled, watching as Riley threw her head back laughing at something Pete said. "She needs this."

"But?" Trae prompted, reading his friend's expression.

Joe glanced around the room, noting how Riley's energy was bright but brittle around the edges. "She's been going nonstop for weeks. Tonight took everything out of her."

An hour in, Joe watched as Riley settled onto one of Pete's oversized couches, pulled into a conversation with three other musicians about the industry's changes over the past few years. She was engaged, animated, but he could see the way she kept shifting position, the slight tightness around her eyes that meant exhaustion was creeping in.

Andy passed by with a joint, offering it to Joe, who took a a few hits before passing it along. The weed added to the mellow atmosphere, conversations flowing easier, laughter coming more frequently.

"Joe!" Pete called out from across the room. "Come settle an argument. Who's the better quarterback—you or Tom Brady?"

"Brady," Joe said without hesitation, and the room erupted in protests.

"Bullshit," called out Marcus, a guitarist Riley had worked with. "Brady never had to rebuild a franchise from scratch."

Joe found himself pulled into a surprisingly nuanced conversation about football and pressure, his friends chiming in with stories from college that had everyone laughing. For a moment, he was just a guy at a party, not thinking about schedules or logistics.

But his eyes kept drifting back to Riley, who was now curled into the corner of the couch, still talking but with her legs tucked under her in that way that meant she was getting tired.

After another thirty minutes, Joe made his move. He caught Zac's eye across the room and nodded toward the kitchen. Micah and Trae followed naturally, the three of them stepping away from the main party.

"What's up?" Zac asked, though his tone suggested he already knew.

"I want to spend time with my girl," Joe said simply. "Tonight was huge for her, and we leave tomorrow. I want to take her home."

"Makes sense," Micah said immediately. "You should."

"Driver's gonna take us to her place, then come back for you guys. Hotel's all set—Sarah sent you the room details earlier. Everything's handled." Joe paused. "I'll meet you at the plane tomorrow."

Trae grinned. "Bathroom break at the venue, early exit from the party... I see a pattern here."

"Shut up," Joe said, but he was smiling.

"Seriously though," Zac said, "good call. She looked incredible tonight, but you can see she's exhausted."

"Plus," Micah added, "we like her people. We'll be fine here."

Joe nodded his thanks, then made his way over to where Pete, Andy, and Daniel were standing near the kitchen island, sharing what looked like a particularly strong joint.

"Hey," he said, joining their circle. "Can I talk to you guys for a sec?"

The three of them immediately gave him their attention, and Joe could see the protective instinct kick in—they were ready to handle whatever he needed to say about Riley.

"I'm gonna take Riley home," he said directly. "She's crashing, and I want some time with her before I have to leave tomorrow."

"Thank fuck," Andy said immediately. "I was wondering how long she was gonna try to power through."

"She's too polite to be the first one to leave," Pete added. "Especially when it's a party for her."

"But she needs to," Daniel said. "You can see it in her shoulders."

Joe felt something loosen in his chest at their immediate understanding. "Yeah. I figured I'd handle it so she doesn't have to be the one asking."

"Good man," Pete said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Trust me, she's ready for some quiet time with you."

"Driver's coming back for my friends," Joe added. "They're good to stay as long as you guys are up for it."

"Perfect," Andy said. "We'll take care of them."

Joe glanced back at Riley, who was now leaning heavily into the arm of the couch, her conversation with the other musicians still going but her participation becoming more listener than contributor.

"I'll go get her," he said.

"Joe," Pete called as he started to walk away. Joe turned back.

"Thanks for looking out for her," Pete said simply.

Joe nodded once, then made his way over to Riley. She looked up as he approached, a tired but genuine smile crossing her face.

"Hey," she said softly.

"Hey yourself." He settled onto the arm of the couch beside her. "You ready to get out of here?"

Relief flickered across her features so quickly he almost missed it. "Yeah, take me home, baby," she said quietly.

* * *

Riley's house felt like a sanctuary after the controlled chaos of the night. She kicked off her shoes at the front door and immediately reached for the light dimmer, bringing the harsh overhead lighting down to something softer, more intimate.

"Can we just get in bed?" she asked quietly, turning to face him. "I need to get this makeup off and I just want to be horizontal with you."

Joe smiled, understanding completely. "Yeah. Of course."

She led him toward her bedroom, already starting to work at the straps of her top. "I need like five minutes to wash my face."

"Take your time," he said. "I'll get changed."

"Joe could hear her moving around in the bathroom—the sound of water running, cabinet doors opening and closing. He found his clothes where she'd said they'd be, in the closet where he'd left them last time. Because this was how they'd been doing this—keeping pieces of each other's lives in both places, making the distance more manageable one t-shirt at a time.

When Riley emerged from the bathroom in an oversized t-shirt that hit her mid-thigh, her face scrubbed clean and hair loose around her shoulders, Joe slipped past her to brush his teeth. The familiar domesticity of it—sharing the small space, moving around each other—felt right in a way that still surprised him."

When Joe emerged from the bathroom in just his underwear and slipped into bed, Riley immediately moved to curl against him, her head on his chest, one leg thrown over his. This was what they'd both wanted all night—just this simple contact, no audience, no performance required.

His hand found her leg, fingers tracing slow lines along her thigh. Nothing urgent, just touch. Riley's breathing evened out, and she pressed closer, her palm flat against his chest.

He kept it simple—thumb brushing her hip bone, hand sliding up to her waist. When she tilted her head back to look at him, something shifted between them. The want that had been simmering all night, finally with space to breathe.

Riley moved first, leaning up to kiss him. Soft, then deeper when his hand slipped under her shirt. She made a quiet sound, and Joe felt her arch into his touch.

He rolled her back gently, taking his time. Her shirt rode up, and his mouth followed the path his hands had mapped. Riley's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

This wasn't for anyone else. Just them, finally able to take what they'd been wanting. Joe paid attention to every response, every shift, letting her body guide him.

When Riley whispered his name, breathless and needy, he knew he was exactly where she needed him to be.

His hands moved to the hem of her shirt, and she lifted her arms to help him pull it over her head. The sight of her beneath him, hair spread across her pillow, made his breath catch. She reached for him, her hands running over his bare chest, exploring the muscles she'd been wanting to touch all night.

Skin against skin, they moved together with the familiarity of lovers who knew each other's bodies. Joe's mouth found her neck, her collarbone, working his way down while his hands explored. Riley's back arched off the bed when he took her breast in his mouth, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Joe," she breathed, and the way she said his name—soft and desperate—made him lift his head to look at her.

Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted, eyes dark with want. She pulled him back up to kiss her, deep and hungry now, any trace of exhaustion burned away by need.

Joe's hand slipped between her thighs, finding her already wet for him. Riley gasped against his mouth, her hips rolling into his touch. He worked her slowly, watching her face, learning what made her breath hitch and her eyes flutter closed.

"Please, please, please," she whispered, and Joe didn't need more than that.

He shed the rest of his clothes quickly, then helped her out of her underwear. When he settled between her thighs, Riley wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer.

Joe entered her slowly, both of them breathing hard at the sensation. Riley's head fell back against the pillow, a soft moan escaping her lips. He gave her a moment to adjust, then began to move, setting a rhythm that was unhurried but deep.

They found their pace together, bodies moving in sync, hands roaming, mouths finding each other between breathless gasps. Joe buried his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin, feeling her pulse against his lips.

Riley's nails raked down his back as he hit that spot inside her that made her gasp his name. She was close, he could feel it in the way her body tightened around him, in the way her breathing changed.

"That's it," he murmured against her ear, and Riley shattered beneath him, her body arching as she came. The sight and feel of her pushed Joe over the edge, and he followed with a low groan, burying himself deep inside her.

They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard, hearts racing against each other. Finally, Joe rolled to the side, pulling Riley with him so she was curled against his chest.

"Fuck," Riley breathed, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

"Mmm," she murmured against his skin. "Thank you, baby. For knowing what I needed."

Joe pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Always."

* * *

The next morning came too early. Joe woke to the sound of his alarm, Riley still curled against him, her breathing deep and even. He allowed himself a few minutes to memorize the moment—her hair spread across his chest, the way she fit perfectly against him—before carefully extracting himself from the bed.

Riley stirred as he moved around the room, gathering his things. "You leaving?" she mumbled, not opening her eyes.

"Flight's in two hours," he said quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Go back to sleep."

She reached for him, pulling him down for a sleepy kiss. "Text me when you land."

"I will."

* * *

An hour later, Joe was in the back of the same SUV that had brought them from the venue, watching LA disappear behind them as he headed to the airport.

Joe settled into his seat on the private jet, already missing the warmth of Riley's bed. The flight back to Cincinnati would give him a few hours to decompress before training camp officially began tomorrow. His friends were spread across the cabin, Trae already asleep against the window, while Zac and Micah scrolled through their phones.

The plane had been in the air for less than an hour when Joe's phone rang. Mark's name on the screen.

"Yeah," Joe answered, keeping his voice low.

"We need to talk," Mark said without preamble. "There are rumors circulating that you were at some concert in LA last night. Riley Carter's show."

Joe glanced around the cabin, making sure his friends weren't listening. "Okay."

"Okay?" Mark's voice pitched higher. "Joe, training camp starts tomorrow. Everyone expects your full focus. The last thing we need is speculation about—"

"About what?" Joe interrupted, his tone remaining calm. "About me supporting my girlfriend?"

"About distractions," Mark said firmly. "You know how this works. Every move you make gets scrutinized, especially during the season. If people start connecting dots—"

"Let them connect dots," Joe said quietly. "I'm not doing anything wrong."

There was a pause on the other end. "This isn't like you."

"Maybe that's not a bad thing."

Bill's voice came through—they were on speaker now. "Joe, we're just asking you to be smart about this. Training camp is crucial. You can't afford to have your head somewhere else."

"My head's exactly where it needs to be," Joe replied. "I'm ready for camp."

"But—"

"I'm good," Joe said with finality. "We'll talk when I'm back."

He ended the call and set his phone aside, staring out the window at the clouds below.

"Everything alright?" Zac asked from across the aisle.

Joe looked over at his friends, who were all watching him now. Even Trae had opened his eyes.

"Management's worried about rumors," Joe said simply.

"About Riley?" Micah asked.

"Yeah."

Trae straightened in his seat. "What kind of rumors?"

"That I was at her show. Which I was." Joe shrugged. "They're concerned about distractions."

Zac snorted. "Distractions? Did they see what we saw last night? If anything, she makes you better."

"That's not how they see it," Joe said.

"How do you see it?" Trae asked quietly.

Joe was quiet for a moment, thinking about Riley falling asleep in his arms, about the way she'd looked at him when he told her he was proud of her, about how right it felt to have his worlds collide.

"I see the person I want to be with," he said simply.

Micah nodded approvingly. "Good. Because that woman is fucking incredible."

"And she's good for you," Zac added. "Like, really good for you. You were different last night. More... I don't know. Present."

"She makes you laugh," Trae said with a grin. "Makes you look relaxed. Like you're not carrying the weight of the world."

Joe felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "Yeah, she does."

"Then fuck what anyone else thinks," Micah said. "You're Joe fucking Burrow. You can date whoever you want."

"It's not that simple," Joe said.

"Why not?" Zac asked. "You're not doing anything wrong. You're not getting arrested, you're not causing drama. You're dating someone who clearly cares about you and supports what you do."

"And who's talented as hell in her own right," Trae added. "It's not like she needs you for anything. She's got her own thing going."

Joe nodded, appreciating their perspective. "Mark and Bill see it differently."

"Those mother fuckers see dollar signs and PR nightmares," Micah said. "They don't see the person who makes you happy."

"Are you happy?" Zac asked directly.

Joe thought about the question. Was he happy? Six months ago, he would have said he was content. Focused. On track. But happy?

"Yeah," he said, surprising himself with how certain he sounded. "I am."

"Then that's all that matters," Trae said. "Everything else is just noise."

Joe leaned back in his seat, his phone buzzing with a text from Riley.

Riley: miss you already. good luck at camp tomorrow. go be great ❤️

He smiled—that real smile his friends had just mentioned—and typed back.

Joe: miss you too. thanks for last night. all of it

Riley: thank YOU. for everything

Joe set his phone down and looked around at his friends, who were all pretending not to watch him text.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Zac said innocently. "Just nice to see you like this. Remember that feeling."

Joe shook his head, but he was still smiling. "Get some sleep. We land in two hours."

As his friends settled back into their seats, Joe stared out the window again. Training camp would be intense, the media scrutiny real, the pressure enormous. But for the first time in his career, he had something—someone—that felt more important than managing everyone else's expectations.

* * *

Social Media Rumors

DeuxMoi Instagram Story

💌 Spotted — Bengals QB at a certain West Hollywood venue this weekend…could it be Joe B at the Troubadour? Multiple submissions say he was seen at a Riley Carter show, but so far, no pics. If you were there, slide into the DMs! 👀 #whoswatchingwho #rileycarter #joeburrow

Twitter/X

@NFLRumors Was Joe Burrow spotted at a concert in LA last night? Multiple unverified reports saying he was at the Troubadour. Training camp starts tomorrow 👀 #WhoDey

@CincyFootballFan Replying to @NFLRumors If true, hope he's focused on football and not distractions

@BengalsBabe22 Replying to @NFLRumors Let the man live damn. It's the off-season

@RileyCarterNews Riley Carter performed her full album at Troubadour last night and it was INCREDIBLE. Also hearing rumors about a certain NFL QB being there 👀

@SportsGossip BLIND ITEM: Which NFL quarterback was spotted at his rumored girlfriend's concert last night instead of preparing for training camp? 🏈🎤

TikTok

@troubadourfan23 Video of crowd at Troubadour "okay so I was at Riley Carter's show last night and there were definitely some non-music industry looking guys side stage... like very professional looking? idk but the energy was different"

@bengalsgirl_ Text overlay: "Joe Burrow supposedly at a concert in LA????" "Y'all I'm seeing rumors everywhere but like... training camp is TOMORROW. This better not be true or I'm gonna be pressed"

@musicinsider_ "Riley Carter's show was INSANE last night. She performed the whole album and there were definitely some VIP guests. Won't say who but 👀👀👀"

Reddit

r/nfl Joe Burrow spotted at concert in LA night before training camp?

Top comment: Source? I've been seeing this on Twitter but no actual proof

Reply: DeuxMoi posted about it. Take that for what it's worth

Reply: "If this is true and he's not focused on camp I'm gonna lose it 

Reply: Come on, if he actually cared he’d make it public. No way he’s sneaking around for six months and not getting caught once. Probably just PR or wishful thinking.

r/RileyCarter Did anyone else notice the VIP guests at the Troubadour show?

Top comment: There were definitely some people side stage who weren't industry. Security was tight around that area

Reply: Omg do you think it was actually him?? That would be SO random

Reply: Not that random if they're dating lol. The timeline matches up with when the rumors started

r/bengals Burrow supposedly at concert instead of preparing for camp

Top comment: It's literally two days before. Y'all act like he needs to be in a sensory deprivation tank preparing

Reply: This is why we can't have nice things. Focus on football Joe

Reply: Let him date whoever he wants damn

Reply: Not buying it. Joe’s whole brand is low drama and Riley Carter’s been all over the place lately. Seems like Deuxmoi just recycles the same names every few months.

r/JoeBurrowGossip So Deuxmoi posted a tip that Joe Burrow was at Riley Carter’s concert at the Troubadour. No photos but multiple submissions. Anyone have any tea? Seems wild for him to be out here days before camp.

Top comment: This man has ninja-level stealth, but honestly? If true, it’s kind of cute.

Reply: I was at the show—no idea if he was there, but there were some big dudes in the back who looked like athletes.

Reply: Can’t wait for the “my QB is distracted” discourse if we lose Week 1. Hope she’s worth the drama.

Reply: I just don’t see Joe with someone who’s such a mess tbh. I’ll believe it when I see a photo. They’ve been “rumored” since February but not a single real sighting? If he was really into her, wouldn’t he want to be seen together?

Reply: She’s cool and all, but I just don’t see Burrow hiding out backstage for anyone. No pics, no proof, same old story.

Instagram Comments

@bengals latest post Training camp announcement

@cincyfan99: "Hope Joe's head is in the game and not at concerts 👎"

@whodeynation: "Y'all are so dramatic it was ONE NIGHT"

@burrowstan: "The rumors aren't even confirmed chill"

News Headlines

ESPN "Bengals QB Joe Burrow Rumored to Attend Concert Night Before Training Camp"

TMZ Sports "JOE BURROW MYSTERY CONCERT APPEARANCE?? Spotted at LA Venue Hours Before Camp"

Cincinnati.com "Social Media Buzzes with Unconfirmed Reports of Burrow at Los Angeles Concert"

Sports Illustrated "Training Camp Distractions? Burrow Allegedly Seen at Rock Show"

[orellazalonia]

Surface Tension

Summary: You, a curious mermaid gifted with a pendant that lets you walk on land, are pulled into the chaotic lives of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. With saltwater misting systems, sarcastic banter, and growing affection, you slowly find a place and a home with the two super soldiers by your side. (Steve Rogers x mermaid!reader x Bucky Barnes)

Word Count: 1.7k+

A/N: Here’s the mermaid one and I’m ngl, I kind of like writing the sarcastic personality type. If given the chance, I’d want to write more of this to expand or work out some lore or something. Regardless, Happy reading!!!

Main Masterlist

You were never supposed to be seen by humans.

The elders had rules. Ancient, unshakable rules about staying hidden. Stay deep, stay quiet, and stay forgotten. But the world above had always intrigued you. The strange music. The glowing lights. The way humans danced, clumsy and joyful, as if gravity were optional.

So, naturally, you broke all the rules.

You’d been watching the surface for a while, drifting near piers and moonlit beaches, collecting the odd things that fell into the sea like keys, rings, sunglasses, and even a flip phone that once played Taylor Swift on a loop until you buried it under a rock. Curiosity was a current you couldn’t swim against.

Then one night, everything changed.

A battle erupted near the coastline. Blinding lights, explosions, shouting. You had just surfaced for a better look when something, a chunk of debris or a misfired weapon, shot through the air and crashed into the water not far from you. Moments later, a man sank into the sea.

He was heavy, metal-armed, unconscious, and bleeding; but you dragged him to shore anyway. You didn't know who he was. You didn’t know his name. You only knew that you weren’t going to let him drown.

That was how you met Bucky Barnes.

By the time Steve arrived, yelling his name and skidding through the sand like a soldier in a panic, you were already halfway back to the sea. He caught a glimpse of your tail, just enough to shout “Wait!” before you vanished beneath the surface again.

They came back the next night. And the next. Leaving little things on the rocks like blankets, snacks sealed in waterproof bags, a book about dolphins (you rolled your eyes), even a dry erase board with a marker so you could "communicate." You tried ignoring them. It worked for three days.

Then Bucky left a note that said, I owe you my life. The least I can do is let you steal my snacks. Or my dignity. Up to you.

You showed up that night. And stayed.

You explained, slowly, how you were able to come to shore: a gift from your people. Something rare and not easily given. A small, enchanted pendant carved from sea glass, worn around your neck. It shimmered with a dull, blue-green glow, and when you whispered the right word, your tail faded into legs. Temporary. Imperfect. But it worked.

The catch? You had to stay hydrated. Saltwater was best. Too long without it, and your body would begin to ache, crackle like dry coral. Bucky took that part very seriously and bought an absurd amount of humidifiers. Steve installed a misting system in their apartment. It was ridiculous. It was sweet. You didn’t say thank you, but you didn’t need to.

Eventually, you started spending more time in the human world; testing your legs, your balance, your ability to survive wearing denim. You read books, watched movies, argued with Bucky about cereal, and asked Steve uncomfortable questions about surface-world history. (He tried explaining taxes once and got so worked up he nearly walked into a wall.)

You weren’t sure if you belonged here. Not yet. Not completely. But with them, things felt… less foreign. Less lonely. Even with your salt-crusted hair, your sharp tongue, and your deeply held belief that humans have no idea how to swim correctly.

They welcomed you. Mess and all.

-

Your first real day in the city began with a pair of stolen boots and a warning from Bucky.

He tossed them at your feet while Steve was busy packing an “essentials” backpack that somehow included a full first aid kit, five bottles of water, a travel-sized salt shaker (“just in case”), and a towel. You picked up the boots and raised an eyebrow.

“They’re not stolen,” Bucky said. “They’re… donated. Tony has a weird closet.”

“They smell like steel.”

“You smell like seaweed and drama.”

“Thank you.”

You didn’t wear shoes underwater, obviously. And walking on legs, while technically possible thanks to the sea-glass pendant, still felt like balancing on stilts. The boots helped. Sort of. If by “helped” you meant “made you stomp like an angry pirate.”

Steve smiled nervously as you glared down at the boots. “You ready?”

“No.”

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

The city was loud. It was so loud you were sure someone up there had lost control of a thunder god. Horns honked. People shouted. Music blared from tiny, sad boxes. And the smells? Gods, the smells. Fried food and trash and some sort of… hot dog vapor?

You clung to Bucky’s arm like a shipwrecked sailor. He didn’t complain, but you felt his shoulder shaking from silent laughter.

“You okay?” Steve asked, trying to guide you around a hot dog cart you were glaring at suspiciously.

“No. What is that?”

“It’s food.”

“It smells like regret.”

“That’s… fair.”

Bucky leaned down. “Want one?”

You blinked at him. “Is this a trap?”

“No. But watching you eat it might be.”

You didn’t trust the hot dog.

Instead, you became fascinated with the manholes. All round, mysterious, and clearly some kind of portal. Steve had to stop you twice from prying one open. “I just want to see,” You protested. “What if it leads to a kraken den?”

“It leads to sewage,” Bucky muttered. “Trust me. I checked once.”

“You what?” Steve snapped.

“Not important.”

At some point, you reached Central Park. It was quieter there, greener, with water nearby that helped ease the dryness creeping into your skin. You even sat by the edge of a fountain and kicked your boots off, letting your legs soak for a moment as you ignored the confused glances from some of the other passing strangers.

Steve sat beside you, glancing around like a worried dad on a field trip. “So. What do you think?”

“I think it’s loud, smelly, strange… and somehow, I like it.”

Bucky snorted. “She fits right in.”

A pause.

You turned to him slowly. “Did you just compliment me?”

“No.”

“Steve, did Bucky just-“

“Let it go,” Steve said, holding up a hand. “If you draw attention to it, he’ll stop.”

“I will stop,” Bucky grumbled, but you caught the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

And just like that, you realized you weren’t just visiting the surface anymore.

You were starting to belong.

-

Later that week, Steve had an idea. Which should have been your first red flag.

“The aquarium?” You repeated, blinking at him.

“I thought you’d like it,” He said, a little too cheerfully.

Bucky made a face behind him. “Steve, no.”

“Steve, yes,” Steve insisted. “It’s educational.”

You stared at him. “You want to take a mermaid… to an aquarium.”

Steve faltered. “I mean, technically, you're in human form-“

“Oh, good. Then my existential horror should be easier to manage.”

Twenty minutes later, you stood at the entrance, arms crossed, staring up at a banner that read: “OCEANS OF WONDER: A CELEBRATION OF MARINE LIFE!”

“They’ve trapped the wonder,” You muttered. “How tragic.”

Steve was already buying tickets. Bucky stood beside you with the dead-eyed expression of someone bracing for impact. “If you try to free the sharks,” He said, “I’m walking into traffic.”

“No promises.”

The place was crowded, echoey, and smelled like child-fueled chaos and filtered seawater. You stayed quiet at first, arms folded as you moved from one tank to the next. But the moment you reached the jellyfish exhibit, your eyes lit up.

“They’re still using ultraviolet?” You whispered, squinting at the blacklights overhead. “That’s so… primitive. But charming.”

Bucky leaned over. “You know them?”

“I used to babysit one of them.”

“You’re joking.”

You turned to him solemnly. “I named him Marvin.”

He stared at you. Then slowly pulled Steve aside. “She’s losing it. I think the chlorine is getting to her.”

You shoved him lightly. “Relax, Barnes. I'm fine. Marvin would vouch for me.”

Things escalated when you reached the “Touch Tank.”

Steve was excited. “You get to touch starfish and sea cucumbers! It’s for all ages!”

You looked at him like he’d just handed you a knife and told you to pet a toaster.

“Touch them?” You echoed. “Like… poke?”

“Gently.”

“They don’t like that, you know.”

“Well, it’s supervised-“

“I will organize a revolt.”

Steve sighed. “Please don’t.”

But it was too late. You crouched next to the tank and began whispering to the creatures. The poor aquarium staffer nearby paled visibly when you leaned over and whispered, “If anyone here speaks mollusk, blink twice.”

Bucky took one look at the wide-eyed teenager manning the tank and grabbed Steve by the elbow. “We need to leave.”

Steve was panicking. “We can’t just leave her!”

“We’re not. We’re relocating before she stages a sea-creature uprising.”

The final straw came at the dolphin exhibit.

You stood there silently, watching the dolphins flip and leap. Your expression turned from awe to deep concern. Then you slowly looked over at Steve.

“You know they think humans are idiots, right?”

Steve blinked. “Wait, what?”

“The dolphins. They gossip. They think you all wear clothes because you’re insecure.”

Steve blushed. “We’re not insecure.”

“Sure,” You said flatly, crossing your arms.

Then you made a sharp clicking sound in your throat, something quick and high-pitched, and one of the dolphins slapped the water with its tail.

The splash hit a group of college students who immediately screamed.

You turned to Bucky.

“I did nothing.”

“You did something.”

By the time you were escorted out politely, but firmly, Steve looked like he needed a nap, and Bucky was grinning like a cat who got a ton of fish.

“I told you not to take her,” Bucky said smugly as he opened the car door.

“She enjoyed it!” Steve argued.

“She got us banned, Steve.”

You slid into the back seat, still damp, still amused. “Technically, it’s just a suspension. The manager said I could return if I stopped ‘communicating’ with the animals.”

Steve groaned. “That’s not going in the report.”

“What report?” Bucky asked.

Steve gestured wildly. “The one I don’t want to write but probably have to because she weaponized a dolphin.”

You grinned, resting your head against the seat.

Honestly? You couldn’t wait to go back.

[hyunluvbug]

jealousy, jealousy

pairing: lee know x afab reader

content: 🔞NSFW MDNI!!, ex lovers to lovers?, public sex (bathroom), oral (m receiving), face fucking (f receiving), unprotective sex, possesive!minho

premise: lee know is your ex and he sees you in the club one night. he becomes jealous from all the attention everyone is giving you.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: i have been simping extra hard for this man recently (more than normal ><) and this idea kind of drove me crazy. so i had to write and share this fantasy, enjoy :>

minho. the man who once consumed every ounce of your mind. his name running circles throughout brain like a marathon. he is everywhere until he is nowhere. the cause of your breakup? it was a mutual agreement. something you both discussed. all of it came down to the both of you being too busy to see one another.

"i think we should break up." minho tells you one evening in your apartment.

"okay."

your agreement is one that shocks him. he's shocked that you both thought the exact same thing. being too busy and not seeing each other enough made it feel like there wasn't any point to the relationship. of course, you miss him like hell and he misses you too. but it is what was best in the moment.

your friends thought maybe you are insane. they know how much you both love each other. hearing you decided to break up was a shocker for them. when you two had been dating for over a year. you kept telling them you were fine and that the breakup was simple. no one's heart was truly broken and no one was left with sullen feelings. a small piece of you did wish things could be different. but life just happens.

this is what led to your friends dragging you to the club. it had been a week without him and it felt like any other day. you barely saw him during the relationship to begin with so not much was new. a part of you did begin to feel lonely. knowing that you are no longer his and he’s not yours, did hurt.

your friends wanted to drag you to the club thinking it would cheer you up when you weren't even sad. you accepted anyways since a night out could be fun.

the crowd was lively. music boomed through the room causing vibrations to buzz the floor beneath you. a cup in hand filled with vodka and your hips swaying side to side. your friends are around you dancing with one another, twirling around and giggles leaving their lips. you are tipsy. the liquor making your body feel electric.

there were many other attractive people who caught your eye. some of them even eyeing you from how great you looked tonight. you had put on what you considered to be your best outfit and it was garnering many people's attention. one person's attention was all on you and you hadn't even noticed him.

minho was at that exact same club. for the exact reasons as you. his friends didn't really understand how the two of you broke up. you were practically inseparable when you were together but they guessed his busy schedule plus yours didn't match. minho was practically fuming though as he watched you dance in the crowd. taking notice of all the other people watching you, practically eye fucking you from a distance. he felt jealousy bubble up into his chest and he was waiting for it to explode.

you don't even remember how it all happened. one minute you were dancing and another you were following minho into the men's bathroom. he walked over to you and didn't even say a word, all he did was grab your wrist and drag you along. you let him.

"minho?" you questioned as he leads you into a stall. he locks the stall door and stares at you. taking in just how great you look in your outfit. everything about it makes him lose his mind.

"do you know how difficult it is to see other people who clearly want to fuck you?"

"excuse me." you question, shocked at what he is telling you. he begins to pull down his zipper, you watch him with your eyes wide. you are tipsy but you can still understand what he is about to do.

“knees.”

“if you think i’m going to get on this dirty ass floor-“

he lightly pushes you to the floor, “i said get on your knees.”

his eyes are clouded with darkness, something you hadn’t seen before. you gulp down your words as you look up at him. he pulls his pants and boxers down, his eyes looking into yours.

“you know what to do.”

you hesitate for a moment. remembering the break up and how it all happened. it was all his idea and yet here he is practically commanding you to suck him off. you can't deny that this whole situation turns you on.

"come on baby, i know you've missed me as much as i have missed you." he sighs above you, you look into his eyes. your eyes half lidded and he smiles at the sight. you bring his cock closer to your lips and begin to lick the tip.

"fuck, that's my good girl."

you tease his tip with your tongue, his hand caresses your cheek and pulls you forward. his cock fully enters your mouth and he lets out a loud groan.

"such a perfect mouth." he holds onto your face while he fucks his cock into your mouth. your eyes are on him as you watch him bite down on his lip. many moans and groans leave from his lips as he continues to slide in and out of your mouth.

squelching sounds of your spit on his cock fills the bathroom and echoes off the walls. the idea of someone walking in and hearing it makes you wet.

minho then pulls you away quickly. he stares into your eyes, a smirk is on his face. he grabs your wrists and pulls you up off the floor. his lips come into contact with yours and it feels euphoric. being able to kiss again after so long feels amazing. it is a feeling you didn't think you would be able to experience again.

while you're making out, you feel him pull down your panties. easy access since you're wearing a skirt. he runs his fingers under your skirt to feel your wetness.

"you always get soaking for me." he whispers over your lips. his fingers prod at your folds and run over your clit. making your legs shake and a soft moan to leave your lips.

"minho please."

"don't worry, i'll give you what you want."

he places you against the cold metal stall wall. you jump up to wrap your legs around him. you feel his cock come into contact with your folds. he rubs his cock over them letting the wetness coat him.

"you're mine." he breathes into your ear and pushes inside. the feeling of his cock inside of you at this angle makes your eyes roll. he is able to hit the deepest part of you. exploring the pleasure it brings you both.

he begins to thrust, in doing so, the stall wall begins to creak. the sound of him fucking you makes your brain mushy. the thrusts become more erratic and quick, your moans egging him to go faster.

"you want someone to hear you get slutted out huh? let them hear how dumb i fuck you. come on baby, say it."

you can't even form words. what he says slips in one ear and out the other. you can only imagine how fucked out you must look right now. your eyes are half closed and practically rolling into the back of your head.

"say it." he coos and you pant loudly. his thrusts become more harsh, each one pulling out slowly and thrusting back in even harder.

"y-you fuck, you fuck m-me so stupid."

"good girl." he chuckles, his thrusts go even deeper inside. wet sounds filling the bathroom. each thrust making you even more stupid, not being able to think about anything but him.

and your worst fear happens. someone walks in.

the bathroom door swings open with a creak and you hear them unzip their pants. minho covers your mouth with one hand and continues to fuck up into you. this drives you even more insane. knowing someone can still hear the rhythmic squeaking of the stall door. they can probably guess what is happening. your moans are muffled by his hand, he looks into your eyes. a big smirk is on his face. he is reveling in the fact someone can hear you get fucked. once they finish their business, they flush and walk out. the door creaks closed.

minho removes his hand from your mouth and you let out a loud groan.

"can't let anyone hear how fucked out you sound. only i can. just me. no one else baby. i want you for myself. i own you." he whispers sweetly into your ear. each phrase matched with a hard thrust.

you let out a few more whimpers. starting to feel a little embarrassed at how he makes you feel. everything he says makes you even closer to your high. his words allow you to revisit your feelings for him, everything begins to come back to you. you don't ever want to leave him. you want to be with him no matter what it takes.

"cum for me baby." he pants into your ear, his thrusts beginning to falter as his high also approaches. he thrusts inside a few more times and you're coming undone around him.

"shit." he grunts and you feel his cum coat your walls. he wraps his arms around you, your legs still secure around his waist. he pulls out of you and you let out a low whine. he begins to breathe heavily into your neck, trying to get through his orgasm.

when his breaths slow down, he looks up at you. his eyes glossed over with love. he smiles shyly at you, "okay so maybe i got jealous."

the statement makes you chuckle. you tap his arms and he helps you down to the floor. your knees wobble a little bit but he helps you stay up. he hands you your underwear and you slide them back on.

"that was one hell of a way to show me you want to get back together." you smirk and his face flushes. now he is the one who is embarrassed. he pulls up his own boxers and jeans.

"i just missed you so much baby." your hand reaches up to his cheek, caressing his soft skin.

"well, you have me. i am never leaving your side again." he leans into your hand, his eyes welling up with tears. he sniffles a little and you coo at him.

"wow, you missed me that much? i can finally say i made the lee minho cry."

"ah shut up, you're ruining it."

you both begin to laugh together, hoping that this is what will keep you together. the undeniable love you have for one another should be enough. no one or anything could ever get in the way of that again.

[imnothanah]

The Argentina tour

Sypnosis: Oikawa was home sick when he unexpectedly met a girl from his hometown. Though they had never crossed paths before, something between them clicked instantly. They wandered through Argentina together like star-crossed lovers, sharing quiet moments and sudden laughter. She had come here to unwind after the weight of overwork and ended up finding something far more meaningful.

tags: Hurt/comfort, homesick Oikawa, Argentina settings, implied sexual content, Reader is a little bit reserved and confused with Oikawa actions, instant click, Fast relationship but not rushed W/c: 2.5k

Life gets a little boring. It’s the same thing every day.

Waking up at 7, making yourself presentable, going to work.

Working until 5, drinking with colleagues and business partners until it’s too late, dragging yourself home before 1 AM to avoid those colleagues who get too comfortable when drunk.

Running on the tiniest amount of sleep, just to wake up early and do it all over again, pretending to be perfect.

It’s tiring.

The worst part is knowing this never-ending loop might actually be the death of you. You can already imagine the headline: “Young JVA Employee Dies of Overwork and Chronic Bullshit.” Tragic. Predictable. Somewhere along the way, life got so exhausting that the idea of running away started sounding less like a fantasy and more like a necessity. Honestly, you’d trade it all just to be a kid again. Playing with kids in the neighbourhood with nothing to worry about and freeloading off your parents like there's no tomorrow. 

 At some point, the exhaustion started gnawing at more than just your body, so putting it as “burnout” is an understatement. This is an accumulation of 10 years of grief and suffering! Sure the job was quite well off and your boss was pretty easygoing, but the routine was taking its toll on your mental health.

 So you did the reasonable thing, you quit. Just like that. Walked out, went home, and stayed there, sorry Kuroo but this bs is gonna kill me. Rotting in bed, eating whatever didn’t require effort, ignoring texts until even that felt too hard.

 You were rotting away when one day, a friend dragged you out and somehow convinced you that “You need to get away.”

Next thing you knew, they were booking a trip to Argentina, and you were like “Screw it” while draining half your savings to go with them.

 What's the point of having money when you can’t spend it? You’re gonna get the money back anyways, but a hot girl’s trip to Argentina in your 20s? never!

Your trip to Argentina turned out to be exactly what you didn’t know you needed.

You and your friends made a list: tourist spots, local food to try, museums you’d pretend to appreciate, street markets to get lost in, . . .

Every item ticked off one by one, you actually did it all.

For once, life wasn’t about deadlines or expectations. It was just you, and yourself. All you needed to focus on was yourself and you were healing. You felt alive! Not just surviving. It felt like the universe was finally giving you space to exist as more than a tired version of who you used to be.

Your itinerary was nearly complete, your energy slowly coming back to life. Those days laughing with your friends, sleeping through the night, waking up without that dull, familiar ache in your chest. Now you can die knowing you’ve lived.

But then the unexpected twist came, the bullet point that wasn’t penciled into the trip notes.

The culprit?

Oikawa Tooru.

You were out with your friends at a local bar and were drunk asf, your head was blasting with the loud music, everything was messy and glowing. 

Hot girls’ vacation? Peak success.

You were tipsy off cocktails you didn’t even pay for (some guy had been trying to flirt all night and you weren’t about to say no to free drinks).

And then just as things were going out of control, you stumbled into a tall, annoyingly handsome someone.

His face was pretty and his hair curls certainly complimented his look, falling just enough to make him look like he belonged on a magazine cover.

Really can’t tell if this was the start of something great or worse. And talk about first impressions, this guy spilled water all over you.

 That brat didn’t even apologize, all he did was stare at you judgmentally.

You murmured out a cuss word in Japanese, and this guy started smirking. “Did you just call me an asshole?” he said, holding back a laugh. “No way you’re Japanese too!” he claimed.

You stared at him in disbelief “Who the fuck would drink water at a bar?” 

Turns out, he was a professional volleyball player so physical health was his utmost priority. (Coach said no drinking). 

Firstly, he apologized and offered a drink as an apology (this was going to be your third free drink for tonight).

Secondly, this guy was Oikawa Tooru! Yes, the Oikawa! Besides the bad first impression. (Being he spilled water all over you and accused you of being one of his crazy fan girls - “Wait, you look oddly familiar? are you Mr tooru? - “Woah you know me? Are you one of my crazy, die-for-me fangirls?” he said with his starry starry eyes -Wtf? (this guy didn’t even flinch saying that. Is he not embarrassed?) He was pretty tolerable. This guy talks about volleyball like he has never before. You decided to play along and entertain him for the night, you told him you knew a thing or two about volleyball and that you work at the Japanese volleyball association. Which made him blow up as he claimed  “I didn’t know they started hiring hot people to work there”. 

Third, you guys then went on talking about a lot of stuff outside of volleyball, and you guys saw eye to eye in a lot of situations and decided to exchange numbers.

Your friends couldn’t believe you met a guy in Argentina, she said this was going to be the ‘Argentina fling’ which you quickly brushed off and told her to stop making assumptions.

Ever since you met that guy, he has been showing you around Argentina, acting like a free tourist guide. You’d occasionally indulge him and follow whatever he wants and he made it his personal mission to show you everything: cafes tucked into alleyways, sunset viewpoints only locals knew, and restaurants he’d always retreat to when he's lazy to cook for himself.

You weren’t complaining… much. Just half amused, half wondering why he kept showing up like a stray golden retriever who happened to speak Japanese and flirt like it was a sport.

- “Hey, see that ice cream truck?” - “Do I look blind?” you deadpanned, staring into his soul. - He laughed, like you had grown two heads.  “That wasn’t funny, but you reminded me of an old friend.”

Sometimes, he’d get soft on you — sneakily, like it was a secret between you and the city.

- “This is my favorite spot,” he said once, pointing to a bench facing the water. - “Why?” - “Because I only bring people I like here.” - You stared at him. “...Gross.”

Or times when he just gets so irritating you consider wiping off that smug face of his in public, never in your life have you been so provoked to hit a man.

-”I travelled 18 thousand km just to be here, and you brought me to a Japanese restaurant?” - Oikawa grinned like a child caught red-handed. He winked one eye, stuck his tongue out, and threw up a peace sign. “Well you’ve never eaten Japanese food with an Argentinian in Argentina before, no?” - ? - “I mean you did agree to go anywhere as long as it has food” - “Remind me why did I indulge you again?”

But if you think that was annoying, you were wrong. Sometimes, he’d randomly come up with a hangout idea no matter what time it is.

- “Hey ik it's like 11pm which is pretty late, but there's a night market thats sells really cool stuff” - “what?” you thought the princess needed his beauty sleep, but turns out this princess cheats occasionally at Japanese night food stalls.

Despite the fact that you’d only just met, the last three weeks with him had been… unexpectedly amazing.

Sure, he had a serious case of princess syndrome of always needing things his way, pouting when they weren’t, and dramatically sighing like the world was personally attacking him.

But somehow, you found yourself going along with it.

Because when Oikawa Tooru wanted something, he asked with that smug little smile, that glitter in his eyes. And if you said no? he’d sulk like a child denied candy.

And honestly? You didn’t hate it.

 But all good things must come to an end. Kuroo called you, and though he genuinely hoped you’d keep healing and resting, he couldn’t cover for you any longer. Your boss was right though, you’re fully healed and mentally prepared to work again, if you keep on slacking off of work, you’d actually be unemployed. 

After hanging up the phone, and thinking over it. You decided to formally announce this to someone you’ve spent the most time with in Argentina. Oikawa. You asked him to meet you at the bar where you guys met. You told your friend you were gonna go out and left early. The night was long anyways so you decided to come early to wait for him.

 “Hey, beautiful. Why the long face?” Oikawa greeted with that usual sparkle in his eye. But the second you looked at him, he flinched. Just a flicker. Barely there. But you saw it.

Oikawa also came early, which was unusual for him. He must have sensed something.

 He stepped closer, tone softer now. “What happened?”

“I’m going back to Japan.” You said as you look straight at him. You decided to not beat around the bush in situations like this. A silence followed, after the news were announced, not long. Just enough. Enough for the words to settle in the space between you, for his eyes to flicker. 

But then, true to form, he took a dramatic breath, slapped a hand over his chest like you’d stabbed him, and let out the most theatrical sigh you’d ever heard. “You wound me!” he groaned, lips curled into a pout “How could you?!”

You huffed a laugh, “I haven’t even left yet.” “But you're going to,” he whispered, voice low now, vulnerable and bare. “And I don’t know how to be funny about that. This past month has been so much fun,” he sighed, dragging out the words like an actor. “How dare you leave me behind?”

You rolled your eyes “Oh please i'm just going back home. It’s not like I'm dying or anything.”

Then, as if deciding he wasn’t done with you just yet, he straightened up and grinned. “Well, but that means that we can’t hang out daily anymore and I've decided today’s my cheat day anyway. I’m drinking with you. No arguments.”

You raised an eyebrow then laughed, “Alright, it’s on the house then.”

And just like that, you were ordering drinks again. One last night. One last memory.

___

The bar was loud, the lights warm and hazy, laughter blending into music. Time didn’t feel real — just a string of moments stitched together with the sound of clinking glasses and Oikawa’s eyes on you every time you smiled.

Eventually, the world started to spin. Not violently, just enough to remind you how much you’d had. Your head throbbed, and the edges of your vision softened like watercolor bleeding into the page.

You were still conscious, still present, still you. But heavy with the weight of everything. The drinks, the goodbye, the quiet ache in your chest.

Oikawa noticed. Of course he did. “Come on,” he said gently, looping your arm over his shoulder. “Let’s get you home.”

His home.

Without a second thought, he scooped you up in a princess carry effortlessly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and carried you to his car. In your haze, you heard him grumble something under his breath about your dramatic drinking habits, but the way he tucked you in, careful not to bump your head, said more than his words ever could.

He got in beside you and started the engine. The drive was quiet. No teasing. No smug comments. No dramatic acts. Just the hum of the car, the soft lights of the city passing by, and his hand reaching across the console to find yours.

He didn’t say anything when you intertwined your fingers. Didn’t have to. His grip was steady. Warm. Like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. It was nice having someone to console to for past few days. He felt less homesick with you. And you sat there in silence.

At his door, he looked down at you, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. “You’re really leaving, huh?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Then let me be selfish tonight.”

He pulled you inside, not rushed, not reckless, just.. close. Like he needed to memorize how you fit against him before the moment slipped away.

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t playful or teasing. It was full of everything he hadn’t said over the past month. Every unspoken feeling, every quiet glance, every stolen moment.

Slow. Careful. Real.

That night wasn’t about letting go. It was about holding on, just a little longer. “Hey…” he started, his voice lower now, serious. “Would you be willing to stay here… and be my girlfriend?” He carefully said “I know we’ve only just met but—”

No.

The word left your mouth too fast, too sharp.  Probably the first time you’d ever said no to him during this trip.

Oikawa froze.

For a second, he looked genuinely shocked. Disappointed, yes but not devastated. It wasn’t like he hadn’t prepared himself for this possibility. He was dramatic, not delusional.

He looked away, jaw tightening just a little. But before the silence could stretch too long, you reached for his hand.“But…” you continued softly, “if you ever come back to Japan... and I get to show you around for once... I might make it official.”

That’s when he looked up again. and there it was. The slow, smug, relieved grin. He tried to hide it behind a roll of his eyes. “I hate you,” he muttered, but his fingers were laced with yours anyway. “You’re sure right? Like not drunk?”

You looked at him, completely deadpan. “I drink with my colleagues all the time. I’m a heavy drinker. This is light work.” You claimed.

He grinned upon hearing that, eyes gleaming, but then his expression shifted. There was something serious beneath the charm. He leaned in a little, gaze steady, voice quieter. “Then look me in the eyes,” he said, “and tell me–

If I go back to Japan with you…  Would you be my girlfriend?”

The air between you changed. His eyes were telling a story, they were searching. Glazed with a vulnerability he rarely let show. It was like he was holding his breath, he needed to hear this a second time.

You smiled. Then laughed a little but soft, a little breathless, a little surprised by how full your heart felt. “Yes,” you said. “Yes, I would.”

He hugged you tighter, pulled you in closer. Then his lips brushing against your ear, he whispered, voice low, steady, and impossibly soft: “Just wait a little longer,” Oikawa said, his voice low. “After this season… I’ll come back to Japan. I’ll live with you. I mean it.”

He didn’t hesitate. He lifted you effortlessly, You yelped, laughing harder, slighting nudging him, but his grip was firm grounding. Then he looked at you again, eyes bright with something real this time, and he carried you to the bedroom not just with desire, but with something deeper..

Like this was the start of something that might just last.