#maybe I changed ? it's there something missing?

[iamactuallysocute]

I absolutely LOVED your Saja boys x assistant for your writing is honestly amazing 🙏

Sooo I wanted to know if I can ask for another one 🙏

If you don't mind can you do a scenario or story (not actually sure what it's called) for kpop demon hunters, the Saja boys when your secretly dating one of their members like Abby or Romance or baby (you can pick, or do 2 or both of them) and your apart of Huntrix and they find out and their reaction isn't good.

THANK YOU 🤍💜

HUNTR/X FINDING OUT YOU’RE DATING A SAJA BOY

cw: mentions of sex and rewinds of sex so we can technically say nsfw, secret relationships, arguments, cursing—and tell me if I missed something

PLOT: Three hunters? History says four! At least in this universe it sure does, because you’re a member of HUNTR/X, a beautiful sweetheart, the dream girl actually. That’s the exact reason a Saja Boy had interest in you. And that Saja Boy is…

JINU

It started like a joke. Like the dumb kind of thing you whisper to yourself when you’re three drinks deep after a long night of demon slaying, bruised, blood-splattered, and sore in all the wrong places, “Wouldn’t it be so stupid if I let that cocky little shit Jinu kiss me?”

Except you did. And you let him do a lot more than that.

You know damn well this is wrong.

You’re supposed to hate the Saja Boys.

But then there’s Jinu.

Oh, Jinu.

You know better. You do. But you also know how he kissed you the first time, like he was starving for it, like he’d been thinking about it for weeks, that you’ve been driving him crazy.

Every time you sneak off, telling Mira you’ve got to “clear your head”, lying to Zoey about meeting friends, making up some bullshit mission Rumi would definitely sniff out if she wasn’t so busy being ten times the badass you pretend to be, you end up in Jinu’s room. Usually on his lap. Sometimes against a wall. Once in the backseat of a staff car, which, honestly, was way too cramped for the kind of shit he wanted to try. (But did you complain? No. You just bit his shoulder to muffle the sounds.)

You keep saying it’ll be the last time. Every single time, you tell yourself:

This is it. I’m cutting it off. I shouldn’t be doing this. He’s a demon. I’ll kill him when we’re done.

And every single time, you end up under him again, hips rolling, nails dragging down his back while he whispers filth.

You shouldn’t be doing this. Every second with him is a risk. If Zoey finds out? She’ll be furious. If Rumi finds out? You’re dead. If Mira finds out? You might wish you were.

But fuck… it feels good to be wanted like that.

So no. You’re not telling the girls. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Because that boy is a demon, still.

You can see it in the yellow flickers in his eyes when too much happens to his body. The way his voice changes when he’s angry, the shadow under his skin when his temper spikes, like there’s something inside him, snarling.

Because there is. Gwi-Ma.

You hate that freak. You really, truly do.

He’s not always loud, but when he is, you feel so bad for Jinu.

Sometimes, you’ll catch Jinu zoning out—just for a second—and when he blinks back into himself, there’s this… weight. A bitter taste in the air. You know it’s Gwi-Ma.

You’ll be tangled in Jinu’s sheets, your mouth on his throat, your nails digging into his ribs while he gasps, and then suddenly he’ll choke out a laugh. You’ll ask, “What?” thinking you did something good, and he’ll groan, cover his face and mutter, “Ignore him.”

Like??? Fuck off, Gwi-Ma. (He also once called you “delicious,” which Jinu immediately apologized for by dropping to his knees and staying there for a long time. It helped.)

There was also that one time you were straddling Jinu on the couch in his dressing room, and he went real still, eyes distant, and then just groaned, “Shut the fuck up.” into your neck.

But here’s the thing. Gwi-Ma’s always there—always. Jinu can’t shake him, can’t silence him, not completely. And yet… you don’t feel the urge to pull a blade on him. Not like you would with anything else that dark and dangerous.

You should. You know that. Every instinct in your hunter-trained, scar-hardened body should scream put it down before it turns on you.

But you don’t.

Because the truth is? The demon’s a parasite. But Jinu? Jinu’s not the demon. He’s the boy fighting it. Every single day. You see it when his eyes flash for just a second and he has to swallow it down. You see it in the way he looks at you, like he’s scared you’ll see it, too. The rot inside. The crack in the mirror.

But you already do.

And you love him anyway.

No, wait, you didn’t mean to say that. Not even in your own head. But it’s out here now.

You love him.

He hasn’t said it. Not out loud. But you know. You know by the way he touches you when he thinks you’re asleep. Soft fingertips, trailing your spine, memorizing the shape of you. You know by how he always lets you go first when you argue, even if he hates it. By the way he flinches when you joke about your death like it’s just another occupational hazard.

And sometimes? When you least expect it, he says shit that almost counts.

Like, “I’d burn the world down if anything happened to you.”

Or, “I like who I am when I’m around you. I don’t hear him as much when you’re close.”

And maybe that’s what really fucks you up.

You thought you were just in it for the heat. For the adrenaline. For the sex and the secrecy and the thrill of knowing you were doing something very bad with someone very pretty.

But now? You’re in deeper.

Worse, so is he.

You’re full on dating. Dating dating.

You should be enemies.

Instead, you’re in his bed.

Heart beating fast.

Shirt already half-off.

And he’s looking at you like you’re the last light he can still see in the dark.

You don’t trust this.

You don’t trust yourself.

But when he kisses you, slow and scared and wanting, the demon in him quiet for just a second?

You let him have you.

Again.

And again.

And again.

You also like the tiger. Or cat. Or tiger-cat. Whatever. You still don’t even know what to call it.

You remember the first time you saw it, you thought it was some kind of hellbeast and went for your blade, and Jinu was like, “Waitwaitwait, he’s chill.”

And now? You’ll be at Jinu’s place, half-naked, trying to sneak in a post-mission quickie, and suddenly there’s a 600-pound animal flopping on your legs like it’s a house cat.

Like, sir. Please.

Your vibe is adorable but your mass is inconvenient.

It loves to curl around the both of you like some kind of living, purring barrier. It’d be cozy if it didn’t also come with the crushing weight of “You move, you die.”

And then there’s the crow that hates everyone. Except Jinu. And sometimes, very begrudgingly, you. But only if you bring food. Or if you’re crying, which you hate that he knows. The crow is weirdly intelligent like that.

Sometimes he lands on your shoulder and just sits there while you and Jinu are talking. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t squawk. Just watches. It’s unsettling, but Jinu swears it’s a sign of affection. (You’re not totally convinced it’s not reconnaissance.)

Then, you got caught, babe.

Now, you’re wearing a little shirt that barely reaches your navel and a little black thong. You’re barefoot on your balcony, one hand resting on the railing, the other clutching a soda you don’t even really want. Your legs are sore, your back hurts, your lip’s still split from earlier, and the last thing you need is—

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You jolt. Turn.

“What the fuck, Jinu?” you hiss, slamming your soda down and rushing to him. “What are you—how did you even get up here?!”

He’s grinning. Soft, smug, absolutely useless in his very kissable way.

“Teleported.” he says. “Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”

“Jinu. They’re home.”

“And?”

He says it so easy. So breezy. Like your heart isn’t trying to hammer through your ribs. You grab him by the arm and drag him fully onto the balcony, pressing him into the wall so he’s out of sight from the windows. Your face is close to his now, too close.

His eyes flick down your body, lazy but appreciative. “You’re not exactly dressed for company.”

You slap his chest. “Don’t make me push you off this building.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst way to die.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t move away. Your hand’s still on his chest, and he’s warm under your palm. Steady. Calm. Like nothing can touch him, not even the hurricane that’s about to slam into your life when this secret finally gets out.

“You’re insane for coming here.” you murmur, quieter now. “What if they see you?”

“I missed you.”

That’s it. No drama. No poetic nonsense. Just those three words, spoken so plainly you feel the ground shift under you.

You swallow. Your throat’s dry. Your hand drifts up, fingers brushing the curve of his jaw. “You couldn’t just text? Send a letter with your cat?”

“I needed to see you.”

He leans in, just a little, and you follow because of course you do. His lips brush yours once, just a ghost of a kiss, and it’s enough to turn your knees to—

Gasp.

You freeze.

The sound comes from inside the room.

Both of you turn your heads just in time to see the door swing open, Zoey standing there, eyes wide, mouth fully agape.

“…oh my god.” she breathes.

Then the door slams shut again.

“Oh my god.” you echo, gripping the balcony railing like it’s going to save your soul. “Oh my god. Jinu. She saw you. She saw us.”

“She didn’t knock.” Jinu says, baffled.

“WHY WOULD SHE KNOCK? IT’S MY ROOM.”

You whirl on him, panic spiking like adrenaline in your veins. Your whole face is on fire. Your body’s moving already, ushering him toward the edge of the balcony, trying to think, to fix, to stop the bleeding of this moment from leaking into the rest of your life.

“She’s going to tell Rumi. Mira. Bobby. She’s going to tell everyone. Oh my god.”

“Okay.” Jinu says, still infuriatingly relaxed. “And?”

“And?!”

He’s smiling again, like this is funny, like you’re just being dramatic. He has no idea how bad this is. You shove him toward the railing with a hand to the back of his head, not hard, just enough to make him stumble.

“Go.” you hiss. “Go, now. I’ll fix it.”

“You’re gonna ‘fix’ getting caught half naked with me on your balcony?” he laughs, holding the ledge like he’s deciding whether to leap or wait for you to calm down.

You swat the back of his head again.

He laughs harder.

And somehow… somehow, that helps.

Because he’s not scared. He’s not shaking like you are, imagining Rumi’s furious stare or Mira’s disappointment or Zoey’s lethal level gossip abilities. He’s just… there. Present. Unbothered.

You exhale hard. Press your forehead to his chest for just a second. He lets you. His hands come up, hold your waist gently, swaying with you.

“Go.” you whisper again. “Please.”

He nods. Serious now. The playfulness fades, just a little. He cups your cheek, presses one last kiss to your lips, then steps back over the balcony’s edge.

And disappears.

You’re left standing there. Heart racing. Lips tingling. Whole body humming like you’ve been plugged into an outlet.

Inside, you hear footsteps.

Voices.

Loud ones.

Zoey’s already telling them.

“Shit.” you breathe, dragging a hand through your hair. “Shit shit shit.”

But even with the panic creeping up again, you can’t stop the small, ridiculous smile that curls onto your face.

Because that dumb, beautiful demon boy came here just to see you.

You don’t even bother throwing on shorts. Just storm out of your room in the tiny shirt and thong you were already wearing, not because you’re trying to prove a point, but because fuck it, the point already proved itself.

You race down the hallway, barefoot, still breathless from the sheer velocity of your panic. The walls feel like they’re closing in with every step. And as you reach the living room, it’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Zoey’s perched on the arm of the couch. Her popcorn is real. You knew she’d have popcorn.

Mira’s sitting, arms crossed over her chest, legs crossed. Her expression isn’t angry. Not yet. Worse, it’s disappointed.

Rumi’s standing. Her arms are crossed too, and her face is blank in that terrifying way that says: I haven’t decided whether to scream or murder someone.

You stop cold in the doorway.

“…hi.”

No one answers.

You laugh. Short. Nervous. “Okay. So. Surprise?”

Zoey makes a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a cackle. “Surprise? GIRL.”

Rumi’s voice cuts through, quiet and sharp. “Sit down.”

You glance around. “I’m, uh, I’m not really dressed for a—”

“SIT.”

You sit.

“Zoey saw Jinu.” Mira says, voice like ice water down your back. “On your balcony. With you. And not in a friendly way.”

“Wasn’t a kiss on the cheek, hun.” Zoey adds, tossing popcorn in her mouth.

“Zoey.” Rumi scolds gently.

Zoey zips it. Barely. She’s vibrating with drama high. Her foot’s tapping. She’s dying to see how this plays out.

Mira leans forward. “How long.”

You blink. “What?”

Mira’s eyes are lasers. “How. Long. Has this been going on.”

You swallow. “…A while.”

“A while?” Rumi explodes, stepping forward. “Define ‘a while,’ because ‘a while’ sounds like weeks, and if this has been going on while we were out risking our asses, while we were fighting off demons and you were texting your little boyfriend under the table, I need to know that before I go to prison for launching a sword through the next Saja concert.”

You flinch. “Okay, whoa, let’s not—”

“WAS HE AT THE CEMETERY FIGHT?” Zoey blurts, her eyes wide. “Because you said you were on break that day and he was also conveniently there! Oh my god—were you hooking up behind the mausoleum while I was getting bit by that demon?”

“That was one time.” you snap.

“You just admitted it!” Zoey screams, victorious.

“Okay, enough.” Rumi says, holding up a hand. She turns back to you. “Is it serious?”

And you freeze.

Because there’s the real question.

They’re not just mad about the secret. They’re mad because they know what this means. You don’t sneak around for fun. You lie to protect. So if you were protecting him…

Then you weren’t protecting them.

“I care about him.” you say softly. “It wasn’t just sex. It isn’t. He’s not—”

“He’s a demon.” Mira says, flat. Cold. “End of sentence.”

“He’s not—” you start, then stop. Because okay. Yes. He is. But not the way they mean. “There’s something inside him, yes. Gwi-Ma. But Jinu’s fighting it. Every day. He’s—he’s not evil. He’s not one of the monsters we hunt.”

“And what if he loses that fight?” Rumi asks, quiet again. “What if the thing inside him gets stronger? What if you become the liability?”

Your throat closes. Because that’s the worst part, you’ve already thought about all of that. And it still wasn’t enough to stop you.

“I know what I’m doing.” you whisper. “I know.”

“Do you?” Rumi growls. “Because it looks like you’re playing house with a demon.”

“Rumi, stop—”

“No. You lied to us.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You chose him.”

Yeah. You did. Over and over again. Every night you crept out, every time you let him touch you, every second you looked at his face and thought, maybe this could last, you were choosing him.

Even if it meant eventually losing them.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” you say, finally.

“Too late.” Mira mutters.

“Wait.” Zoey says. “Did you say Gwi-Ma? Like the actual Gwi-Ma?”

“Yeah.” you sigh, rubbing your eyes. “Lives in his head. Won’t shut up. Kind of an asshole.”

Everyone’s silent again.

And then, Zoey: “…Does he also do the tongue thing when he kisses you? Like he looks like he does the tongue thing.”

You close your eyes. “Zoey.”

Rumi sighs. Mira pinches the bridge of her nose. And slowly, slowly, the tension in the room starts to loosen. Not dissolve. Not disappear. But… loosen. There’s still tension in the air. Still betrayal.

“You know we’re supposed to kill them. Right?” Rumi says, loud and clear so you hear it.

You have heard it. You’ve heard it a hundred times. In debriefs, in Zoey’s snide jokes, in the way Mira files her knives after watching Saja Boys interviews with a dead stare. You’ve said it yourself. Weeks ago.

You knew what they were. You knew they weren’t human. And your girls have been tracking, prepping, moving toward this for weeks.

And meanwhile?

You’ve been sleeping with the mark.

“I know.” you say, barely above a whisper.

“You knew.” Mira corrects, her voice a blade.

“I know.” you repeat, louder now. “And I didn’t—I didn’t plan for this. It wasn’t some operation gone rogue. It wasn’t a trick. It just—”

“You tripped and fell onto his dick, huh?” Zoey says, sharp and bitter.

You shut your eyes. “Zoey, not now.”

“No, I really wanna know.” she goes on. “Did you just accidentally fall in love with a guy who’s literally got a demon whispering murder in his ear while we’ve been training to put his head on a spike? Because that’s wild.”

“What was your plan?” Rumi asks, not looking at you. “What was the endgame here? That we’d kill his bandmates but leave him alone because you like his face?”

“No.” you snap, the sharpness surprising even you. “God, no. You think I don’t know how this looks? You think I haven’t been ripping myself apart every night over this? I know what we’re doing. I know what he is. But you don’t know him. Not like I do.”

“Enlighten us.” Mira says, icily. “Please.”

You blink fast, trying to push the burn out of your eyes. You weren’t gonna cry, you swore you wouldn’t, but the pressure’s building.

Silence.

Rumi closes her eyes like she’s trying not to hit something. Mira sits back. Her face has gone to that scary-silent-assassin look that means her brain is moving three steps ahead of everyone else. Finally, she says: “So when it’s time to take them out… what happens then?”

You stare at her. You hate how cold she sounds. You hate how reasonable it is.

Because that is the question, isn’t it?

What do you do when it’s your sword, and his neck, and no one else to make the call but you?

“I don’t know.” you admit, soft. “I don’t know yet.”

“That’s not good enough.” Rumi says, voice rising. “You’re not just putting yourself at risk. You’re putting us at risk. What if he turns on us mid-mission? What if he uses you to get ahead of us? What if this whole time—”

“He wouldn’t.” you say quickly. “He wouldn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t hurt any of you.”

“You can’t know that.” Mira says.

“I do.”

And you do. Deep down. Where all the fear and doubt and guilt live, even under all of that, you know.

He wouldn’t let them touch you.

And he wouldn’t touch them.

Not unless they tried to kill him.

Which they… will.

Soon.

Zoey stands again and walks across the room, pacing now. “So what, we’re just supposed to ignore this? Let you keep cuddling up with your demon boyfriend while we finish the job?”

“No.” you say. “I get it. I’m not asking you to trust him. I’m not even asking you to like me right now. I just… I just need you to understand. I’m not choosing sides. I’m choosing truth. Jinu’s not a monster. Not yet. And I don’t think he ever will be.”

There’s a pause. Heavy. Uncomfortable.

Then, softly, Mira asks: “But what if you’re wrong?”

You look at her. Look at all of them.

And you don’t have an answer.

ABBY

Look. You’re supposed to kill him. Let’s be very clear about that. The Saja Boys are your target. You’ve watched them on stage, off-stage.

The first time you saw him, shirtless and grinning, was some training clip Rumi pulled up on the mission table, purely for recon (allegedly), and even then, you felt your spine short-circuit.

He looked like a human weapon.

Except he wasn’t human.

And you weren’t supposed to want the weapon.

But, you know. Whoops.

He’s huge (like, throw-you-around-the-room, bench-press-you-during-foreplay huge). Arms like steel, voice like “what’s up, babe?” and a smile so cocky it should be registered as an actual threat.

You hated him at first.

You hated him… until you didn’t.

Until one night after a bad mission, your ribs aching, pride worse, your blood still up and nothing in the world feeling good. And then you saw him. Leaning against a wall, flexing like he didn’t know he was doing it and voice dropping into that stupid low register like, “Hey. You okay?”

Game over.

Brain fried.

Panties? Gone.

And then, somehow, you were... kissing. In a stairwell. Covered in blood. Your blood. His blood. Something's blood. Messy. Wrong. And absolutely addictive.

Now it’s… a thing. A secret thing.

Because Abby? He makes you laugh, first of all. He says dumb shit in bed. He says dumb shit all the time. And he’s so proud of it.

And yeah. He’s a demon. You see it. He doesn’t even hide it.

There’s something in him that pulses dark. Wild. Primal. The heat in his body burns wrong sometimes. The shadows cling to him longer than they should. And there are moments, fleeting but undeniable, where he looks at you like he wants to eat you.

Not in the fun way. (Though, to be clear, he definitely wants that too.)

But in the demonic, soul-thirsty kind of way.

And yet. Somehow. You’re not afraid of it. You should be. You’re trained to be. You’ve put down lesser demons without blinking. You know what he is. But something in you doesn’t flinch.

Because under all of that darkness… you know he likes you.

He really, actually likes you. In his dumbass, show-off way.

The first time he said it, he was inside you—of course he was—panting, all flushed and cocky, and he muttered, “shit, I like you too much.” Then he tried to play it off with a kiss to your neck, followed by something heinous you don’t even remember, too busy feeling all of him.

You laughed. And then whispered, “me too.”

He knows you’re a hunter. He knows who you are, what you do. But he keeps showing up anyway. Still winks. Still pulls you into dark corners and picks you up like you weigh nothing. Still teases you like none of this is real.

He trusts you. And that terrifies you more than anything.

Because when the time comes…

When the blades are drawn…

He’s not going to fight you.

And you don’t know what you’re going to do when that moment comes.

But for now? You let him pin you to the wall and mutter, “what, you gonna slay me, hunter?” against your jaw.

Because the worst part isn’t that you’re supposed to kill him.

It’s that a small, aching part of you knows you won’t.

He does shit like carrying your bag when it’s heavy, but doesn’t make it weird. He just grabs it and then slings it over those stupid big shoulders like it weighs nothing. Flexes a little, maybe, but you let him. You even look on purpose. He likes it.

He memorizes what you order from that little noodle shop you go to after late-night sweeps. The first time he brought it to you unasked, still hot, you didn’t even know what to say. He just handed it over with a lopsided grin and went, “See? I got a brain in here.” and then tapped his temple with the chopsticks he’d stolen from the shop.

He warms his hands before touching your face. Doesn’t even think about it. Just always runs them over his neck or into his sleeves first, and then cups your cheeks.

And then there's how he watches you. Not like prey. Not like the demon in him is looking for an opening. But like... you're the funniest, hottest, most precious thing in his world and he can't believe you're even talking to him, let alone letting him see you naked on the regular.

And oh my god, he tied your shoe once. One time. You’re mid-arguing, mid-huffing about something completely irrelevant, and this man bends down, wraps those huge hands around your ankle, ties your shoe with all the careful attention of someone untangling a bomb, then slaps your thigh and stands up.

You were silent for, like, ten minutes.

You hate how much you like it. Hate it. Hate it.

But not enough to stop.

Not when he’s currently got you pressed up against cold tile, his breath warm against your throat, your thigh hiked high around his hip in the almost empty bathhouse the three of you ducked into after a hunt.

You don’t even know how it happened.

One minute, you were soaking in the women’s bathhouse while Mira and Zoey argued over whose blade got the final hit, and the next, you were in the showers and Abby was there. Shirtless. He must’ve snuck in through the back.

You didn’t even try to stop him. You should’ve.

But he’d walked up to you, dripping from a quick rinse-off, and grinned. “Damn. You clean up nice.”

And that was it. That was the moment your common sense packed her bags and left.

Now? Now you’re sandwiched between Abby and the cold wall of the bathhouse’s back corridor. Your towel’s half off, your thigh’s fully up, and Abby’s mouthing your neck like this isn’t a public facility.

“Abby.” you whisper, half-laughing, half-moaning, trying to push him back even though you’re very much not trying that hard. “They’re still here. They could come back any second.”

He just kisses lower. “Then we better make it fast, huh?”

“You’re the one taking your damn time.” you snap, trying not to laugh, and he grins against your skin.

“What can I say?” he murmurs. “My girl’s distracting.”

You shove his chest. It’s like trying to move a wall of warm concrete. “I swear, if they catch us—”

Footsteps.

Voices.

You both freeze.

You don’t see them at first. But you hear them. Zoey’s laughing about something and Mira’s voice is lower, casual, annoyed maybe, like she’s mid-eye roll. They’re just coming back from the sauna. They’ll be rounding this corridor in seconds.

You shove at Abby, harder. “Go. Go now.”

But he’s LAUGHING. The fuckass is laughing, muffling it behind that dumb smug smirk like this is the funniest shit ever.

You smack the back of his head, panicked. “Are you trying to get me killed?!”

He grins harder. “If we die like this, honestly? Worth it.”

“Abby!”

Zoey’s voice: “Wait… why’s the floor wet back here? Was someone—”

She turns the corner.

She sees you.

Sees him.

Sees you, basically naked, thigh still up, Abby shirtless and pressed into you, steam rising off both of you.

Zoey screams.

Mira slams in behind her a half-second later, silent, deadly, her eyes going wide.

Abby, still shirtless, just waves. “Hey.”

You are going to die.

“YOU.” Zoey shrieks, pointing. “ARE YOU INSANE?!”

Mira? Mira’s face is stone. Pissed. Her arms are folded. Her jaw is clenched. And she’s staring directly at Abby’s glistening chest.

You, meanwhile, are red. Not pink. Not flushed. Red. Half-wrapped in a towel. Half-tangled in him. All of you exposed, literally and emotionally, in the worst way possible. You’ve barely had time to stumble back and yank your towel up around your chest when he decides to speak.

“Yo.” Abby says with the most unbothered, dumbass charm in the world. “Heeeeeeey girls.”

He actually lifts a hand. Like he didn’t just get caught shoving his demon tongue down your throat in a public women’s bathhouse.

Zoey looks like she’s about to scream a second time. Possibly kill you. Possibly him first.

And what does this stupid man say next?

“You know what,” he continues, glancing between them and then at you. “I feel like… you guys got some things to work out. Real important girl talk. Imma… just.” He gestures vaguely toward the exit, completely unapologetic. “Slide out. Give you all some space. Respectfully.”

You gape. “Abby—”

He turns, halfway out the door, then glances back at you, slow, like he’s throwing a whole-ass grenade at your friendship. And then, he calls:

“Catch you later, babe.”

Babe.

In front of them.

AND THEN THE BASTARD WINKS.

Winks, flexes without flexing, and vanishes.

You are.

So.

Fucked.

You’re clutching your towel to your chest, dripping water, heart hammering so loud it might as well be a war drum. Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No words. Just a stupid, guilty sound like, “Uh—”

“How long.” Mira says, deadly quiet,

You blink. “I—”

“HOW LONG?!” Zoey practically screams, her arms thrown up like she might start flinging bath sandals at you. “You’ve been sneaking off to tongue wrestle with a Saja Boy?!”

“It’s not like that—”

“Oh, it’s not?” she snaps. “Because from where I was standing? It looked exactly like that. Unless ‘chest licking in a sacred women’s bathhouse’ means something different in demon-speak.”

“Zoey.” Mira says again, voice low. “Let her talk.”

“Why?! So she can lie again?”

You feel it. The shame. The guilt. The sting of it.

Because you didn’t tell them. Not when you should’ve. Not when it started. Not after the first time. Not after the sixth. Not even after you knew it was something real, something that wasn’t going to just go away if you pretended hard enough. You stayed quiet. Let them think you were just normal. Still loyal. Still on-mission.

But you weren’t. You’d fallen into bed with the enemy, and now it’s your best friends staring at you like you’re the monster.

“Okay.” you say, quietly. “Okay. Look.” You take a breath. It comes out shaky. “Yes. It’s been going on. And yes. I know how it looks.”

“You lied to us.”

“I didn’t lie—”

“Bullshit.” Zoey hisses. “You snuck around behind our backs with the very thing we’ve sworn to eliminate. You let one of them turn you into his little secret side piece—”

“Stop.” you snap, louder than you meant to. “Don’t talk about me like that.”

Silence again.

“I’m not a side piece.” you say, quieter. “And he’s not just… whatever you think he is.”

Zoey’s expression warps into something like heartbreak. “You’re in love with him.”

You look away.

“Oh my god.” She covers her face.

“I didn’t plan for this.” you try, pleading now. “It just—it happened. And I know it’s wrong. I know what he is. But I also know what he’s not. He’s not—” You gesture weakly toward the steam he vanished into. “He’s not hurting people. Not the way we thought.”

Mira steps forward, eyes sharp. “And what happens when he does? When we take him out? What then?”

You swallow. You don’t answer. Because you don’t know. And they see that.

After the bathhouse blowout, the tension clung to your skin worse than the towel.

Mira and Zoey walked ahead of you the whole way home, Mira silent, Zoey muttering to herself in rage, still trying to process the abomination of seeing you with Abby’s abs all up in your personal space. You trailed behind, wrapped in shame, hair dripping, stomach doing flips that had nothing to do with guilt and everything to do with impending doom.

“Let me tell her.” you said, the second the elevator doors opened to the penthouse. “Let me tell Rumi myself.”

Mira turned to you, her jaw clenched. “You sure?”

“No.” you said. “But I’m going to.”

They just exchanged a look, silent agreement, and then headed to the kitchen like they weren’t absolutely going to lurk by the hallway to hear every single word.

You find Rumi in her room. She’s standing by the window. You almost leave. Almost. But then she turns. “You need something?”

Your throat closes.

Yeah. Just your life exploding.

“Can I talk to you?” you ask, voice trembling. “It’s… personal.”

She gestures toward the chair. You don’t sit. You can’t. You’re vibrating with nerves, practically bouncing out of your skin. You pace instead, like if you move enough, the words will come easier. They don’t.

“Okay, so—so.” you start, hands waving like you’re trying to draw the sentence into existence. “So, you’re gonna be mad. Just—please, can you let me finish first before you say anything? Just let me get it out all at once, because if I stop, I won’t say it, and I have to say it because it’s already—happened, and Zoey and Mira know, and you’re going to find out anyway, and I need it to come from me.”

Rumi’s arms cross slowly. “You’re stalling.”

“I’m dating Abby.” you blurt.

Silence.

You say it again, just to fill the space. “I’m dating Abby. From Saja. The one with the abs and the arms and the—yeah. Him.”

Still no reaction.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen. It wasn’t, like, some weird betrayal thing. I didn’t go into this planning to screw around with the enemy, I swear. It just—he was there, and he’s funny, and stupid, and sweet, and he’s not like what we thought. And yeah, I know it’s a conflict of interest. I know it’s dangerous, and I know we’re supposed to be hunting them, and it’s all wrong, but it doesn’t feel wrong when I’m with him. It just feels like… mine. Like something I chose. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

You finally stop.

You wait.

“…You’re joking.”

Your heart drops. “I’m not.”

You’ve never seen Rumi this mad without even raising her voice.

“You’re sleeping with a demon.” she says, cold. “A Saja Boy. One of the five. Our primary targets.”

You flinch. “It’s not like that—”

“Did he charm you? Manipulate you? Feed off you?”

“No! Rumi, he hasn’t even—he hasn’t taken anything from me.”

“Oh, but he took you, huh?” Her voice cuts like glass. “He gets the girl, the inside scoop, the trust, and we get what? A betrayal?”

You step forward. “I didn’t betray you.”

“You didn’t tell me. You kept it a secret. You let this go on while we’ve been risking our lives—my life—hunting down his kind. You don’t think that’s betrayal?”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Because you did. You did lie. Maybe not in words, but in silence.

“You’ve compromised our entire mission.” she hisses, turning her back on you. “You think this is just about sex or feelings or whatever he gave you to keep you quiet? It’s bigger than that. He’s dangerous. And you let him in.”

“I didn’t let him in.” you snap, suddenly defensive. “He got in because he wanted me. Because he likes me. Because I like him.”

“And when the time comes,” she says, turning back around, eyes locked on yours. “and you have to choose between us and him, what’s your play?”

You’re shaking.

You can’t answer.

And Rumi sees it.

“…Get out.”

“Rumi—”

“Get. Out. Before I say something we both regret.”

You stagger back. One step. Then another.

And as you open the door—Zoey and Mira. Absolutely planted on the other side. Zoey straightens so fast she almost falls into a lamp. Mira just steps back, arms crossed, deadpan. Neither of them says a word.

You don’t say anything either.

You just walk away.

ROMANCE

Ohhh baby. You’ve just opened Pandora’s box with Romance.

The first time you and Romance crossed paths just the two of you, it was bloody. And violent. And frankly, stupid hot in hindsight.

You were rooftop hunting, your blade humming with enchanted energy, adrenaline in your teeth. The Saja Boys were slippery—always were—but he showed up like he’d been waiting for you.

You fought.

He was strong, too strong. Slippery. Every move came with a smirk, a breathy compliment, some infuriating “ooh, I like it when you’re rough.” You were sweating, pissed, cornered on the edge of a skylight.

But you didn’t back down.

You clocked him, hard, elbow to the jaw, leg sweep, blade to his throat, and he went down. Fell like a sack of demons with a ridiculous grunt and a flutter of his pretty shirt.

You stood there panting, blade raised.

Victory. Yours.

You even kicked him, toe of your boot to his ribs. “Dead?” you muttered.

He grabbed your ankle, fast as lightning, yanked, and dragged you straight to the ground with him. The breath left your lungs. Your body slammed to his. And suddenly? You were chest-to-chest with him, both breathing hard. His smile was bloody and filthy.

“Now this,” he purred. “is foreplay.”

You tied him up after that. You had to. Found rope in the storage unit of the building, tied his wrists behind his back, looped around the support beam. He didn’t fight it, no, of course not. He just watched you. Smirked. Made comments.

“That grip.” he said. “Ever thought of moonlighting in bondage? You’ve got talent.”

You should’ve killed him. Should’ve. He was just lying there, helpless, caked in blood.

But something in you faltered.

So you left him. Said it was a warning.

Before you left, he looked at you with those bedroom eyes and said, “Next time, bring better rope. You’ll be the one staying.”

And you did.

You came back. In the dead of night, alone.

And he wasn’t tied up anymore.

No, that time you were the one in knots.

Literal ones. Spread out, mouth covered in tape, eyes wide while he knelt between your legs, chin lifted and so fucking pleased with himself.

He whispered things you still feel heat up your spine when you’re alone in the shower.

That was the real beginning.

You’re not blameless. You like it. You like the chase, the secrets, the tension in every stolen second.

Romance doesn’t ask. He offers. He tempts. He brushes his fingers along your collarbone in passing, whispers filth into your ear just to see you shiver. He invites you to meet with him night after night. You go. Every time.

You’d call him a slut, except he only ever wants you.

He’s also attentive. Not the good boy kind, no. He’s too much of a tease for that. But he knows when you’re stressed, when you’re insecure, when you need to be fucked out of your head or just held while he brushes your hair. Super senses like he has do wonders in him getting your little feelings. Romance also has a memory like a thief. Remembers everything you say, down to the way you phrased it.

He’s obsessed with you. Openly.

But he also won’t stop flirting with other people in front of you just to rile you up.

(You’ve slapped him for it. He moaned. It didn’t help.)

He knows exactly what you are. A killer. A blade. Something sacred and trained and dangerous.

And he adores it.

“God, baby,” he’ll murmur while trailing his mouth down your thigh. “do you know how hot it is that you could murder me and choose not to?”

You don’t tell the girls. Obviously. They’d lose their minds.

Because you’re supposed to be on a mission to exorcise his ass from the planet—not get your back blown out on rooftops between hunts.

For an example, you let him tie you up again last night. He read you poetry while he did it. From memory. Filthy, ancient verses in a demon tongue you didn’t know—but understood perfectly from his eyes alone.

And when he made you scream his name, you think the whole street heard it.

Even when he’s being a tease—pulling your panties to the side in an alley or teasing you with promises he has no intention of letting you walk away from—his hands are always reverent. Worshipful.

He runs his fingers down your back when you’re not even paying attention. Laces your fingers together when you’re not touching him.

Then, it started with a bra strap.

Well, a glimpse of it, really, something delicate, lacy, red, peeking just above your sports tank when you bent down to pick up your dagger from the training mat. You didn’t even notice. But Zoey did. She always does.

Zoey squinted. “Since when do you wear matching sets for patrol?”

Mira glanced up from her weights, brow cocked.

You just shrugged. Played it off. “Self-care.”

They didn’t buy it.

And then it happened again.

The next night. And the next.

A different set this time, satin, black, barely-there. They weren’t judging you for it. Please. You’re hot, you’re allowed to feel yourself. But there was a pattern emerging, and it had nothing to do with confidence and everything to do with how you were always glowing when you came back from “walks.”

Your cheeks flushed. Your lips bitten. The scent of perfume that wasn’t yours clinging to your jacket.

And the final straw? Rumi walked into your room to grab something and saw an empty condom wrapper on your nightstand. You weren’t even home.

That night, the three of them made a decision.

They were going to follow you.

It’s late.

You thought you were slick—slipping out the back stairwell in your “casual clothes” (which just so happen to include a barely-buttoned blouse and lace-trimmed thigh harness under a trench coat). Hair glossy. Lip gloss glossier.

You head toward a park a few blocks away. A little bench nestled between two massive trees. Always quiet. Always shadowed.

And sitting there, legs crossed, coat open over a shirt unbuttoned just enough is Romance.

He looks up, sees you, and grins. That slow, wolfish, I’m-gonna-undress-you-without-touching-you kind of smile.

“You’re late.” he says.

“You’re early.”

“I’m always early. It gives me more time to think about you.” He says it like a whisper. You bite back a smile, step closer, the night air curling around your ankles like it knows this is wrong and wants in.

He reaches for your hand, brushes his thumb over your knuckles. Doesn’t even glance at your dagger strapped to your thigh.

You lean in, eyes half-lidded. “What if I was here to kill you this time?”

“Then tie me up first. You know how I like it.”

You laugh. It’s soft. Intimate. Familiar.

That’s the sound that does it.

Zoey’s voice, “Whaaaaaaaat.”

You whirl around.

Rumi. Zoey. Mira. Standing just behind the tree line, like they’d been parked there for ten whole minutes, watching your little forbidden lovers’ reunion.

Your blood goes cold.

Romance just sits back, arm along the bench like this is hilarious.

Zoey’s eyes are bulging. “Are you seriously making out with Romance?! As in Saja Boy, Romance?! Mister demon dick himself?!”

Mira’s arms are crossed, her voice dry. “So that’s what all the lace was about.”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

Romance, unbothered, lifts two fingers in a lazy salute. “Ladies.”

“Don’t you ladies me.” Zoey snaps, stomping forward. “What the fuck, Y/N?!”

You stumble over your words. “I—I didn’t mean—well, I did, but not like—okay, not like this. I wasn’t using him or betraying anyone or—”

“Oh my god, are you in love with him?!” Zoey howls.

Romance leans closer to you, whispers, “Say yes.”

You elbow him in the ribs so hard he wheezes. But he’s laughing. This fucker is laughing. And that laugh? It seals your fate.

Rumi steps forward, voice cold as glass. “Go home. Now.”

You look at Romance. He gives you a wink. A wink. He’s enjoying this. He is.

You turn to leave.

And you know they’re right behind you. Their silence is heavier than their words. Zoey’s arms are flailing in disbelief. Mira’s jaw is tight. Rumi says nothing, but you can feel her disappointment.

Back at the penthouse, everything feels louder. The walls feel tighter. Every footstep echoes like judgment.

You try not to flinch as the elevator closes behind you, sealing you inside with three of the people you love the most, and who now all look at you like you’re a stranger.

No one speaks.

You want to say something, break the silence, offer an explanation, but your throat’s tight, heart hammering against your ribs like it’s trying to escape before Rumi cuts it out herself.

When the elevator dings open at your floor, it’s Zoey who moves first. Quiet. Shoulders tense. Mira walks out after her. Rumi walks last, slow and composed, her silence ten times more dangerous than if she’d yelled.

You don’t even make it to the living room before Mira turns on you. “What the actual fuck, Y/N?”

You swallow. “I was going to tell you—”

“When?!” Mira snaps. “After you fucked all of them? Or just after the Saja Boys rip our hearts out?! Which was it?!”

“I didn’t—” You exhale, hands up, trying to keep your voice steady. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t plan this. I didn’t mean to fall into something with him.” You’ve gone over it a thousand times in your head. Every rule you broke. Every kill order you ignored. Every night you slipped away when your best friends were asleep, trusting you to be one of them, not one of the fucking enemy’s bedwarmers. “I know what I did.” you say, quieter. “I know it’s wrong.”

Zoey finally speaks, voice soft. “Then why did you keep doing it?”

You look at her. And she looks like she’s not angry like Mira, not composed like Rumi. Just… hurt. Her arms are folded across her chest.

“I don’t know.” you admit. “He’s a demon. He’s everything we’re trained to kill. But—”

“But you let him charm his way between your legs and now suddenly that makes it okay?” Mira’s voice is sharp. “You endangered us. All of us.”

“No.” you snap, louder now. “I would never let anything happen to you. I’m not stupid. I’m not just lying there letting him feed off my soul—he hasn’t even touched that part of me. I wouldn’t let him. I’m not a liability, Mira.”

“You are.” Mira spits.

Silence again.

You feel it in your stomach, a cold pit of shame. But beneath it, there’s something else. Something like defiance. Because yes, maybe you’re making a mistake. Maybe you crossed every line. Maybe you’re betraying the oath, the cause, the sisterhood.

But it wasn’t just sex. Not with Romance.

He sees you. Wants you. Not your blade, not your strength, not your usefulness to the mission.

Just… you.

“He cares about me.” you say, quietly.

“That doesn’t matter.” Rumi says. Her voice is so soft. “You’re a hunter. You don’t get to fall for the monsters. You kill them. Or you compromise everything we’ve built.”

Oh Rumi, we know why you think that.

Zoey bites her lip, voice shaking. “Are you in love with him?”

You hesitate.

And that’s the answer.

Mira throws up her hands. “Un-fucking-believable.”

Rumi looks at you like she’s assessing whether or not to kick you off the team. “We’re here to stop them, Y/N. All of them. We don’t get to make exceptions because they kiss nice or talk pretty.”

You nod slowly. “I know that.”

“Do you?” Rumi steps closer. “Because the second he snaps his fingers, and decides he’s hungry, you’re the first soul he’s going to devour.”

Do you really think that Rumi, or you’re just making shit up to stop your beloved Y/N from making the same mistake your mother did?

You want to scream that it’s not like that. That Romance—for all his bullshit, his flirting, his filthy mouth—has never once made you feel prey. You’ve never seen him lose control. Never once doubted he would stop if you told him to.

But even you know that doesn’t make it safe.

You glance between them, the three people you’ve fought with, bled with, survived with, and it feels like you’re in the wrong. You are.

Zoey steps forward finally, hand brushing yours. “If you really love him… then please be careful. Don’t make us bury you because you thought he was different.”

Her voice breaks at the end.

And Mira won’t even look at you.

Rumi just turns and walks toward her room. Before she disappears down the hall, she says one last thing:

“You have one chance to fix this. Or next time, it’s me that puts a blade in his chest.”

The door slams.

Your pretty underwear under your clothes feels stupid now.

But even through all that, you know, deep down?

You’re not going to stop seeing him.

And that’s the problem.

BABY

Oh, Baby.

You hate(d) his name.

Baby.

You don’t even know when it started.

Just that one second you were fighting, and the next?

You were… not.

It was supposed to be a quick hunt. You’d gotten separated from the girls for like five minutes—five whole damn minutes—and then bam. He was there.

Backstage, right behind the curtains at some underground venue, blinking at you like you were the surprise, not him.

Did he say anything?

No.

Just smirked.

And you knew it was a smirk, even if his mouth barely moved. Something about the way his eyes narrowed, chin tilted. The unbothered little lean against the wall, arms crossed. Hair too shiny. Mouth too glossy. Pretty in a way that made you want to scratch it up.

So you drew your blade.

He didn’t move. Just blinked again. Like you were the one being ridiculous. Then you lunged. He blocked you, lazy, like your movements were predictable. A joke. Your blade barely missed his throat, and he laughed. Not even like a proper laugh. Just this airy “heh” with his head tilted like, Is that all?

And you? Furious. Mortified. Already picturing the way Mira would roast you for getting played by the baby demon.

So you kicked his leg out from under him. Hard.

The fight got into close combat from there, your blade dropped to the floor. And the two of you just… went at it. Not even fighting anymore, just grappling, rolling across concrete with all the force and heat of a catfight.

His fingers in your hair. Your hand around his throat. Neither of you speaking, just panting, growling, gritting teeth. And his face?

Still blank. Still bratty. Still beautiful.

Until your knee landed in a very strategic place and he grunted—actually made a sound—and somehow that flipped a switch.

Next thing you knew?

You were on your back, shirt pushed up, his mouth on your tits, sharp little teeth teasing your skin as you hissed at him to fucking go.

“The girls are almost on. I have to go.” You hissed.

His response? A slow blink. Like you’re so loud and he was busy. Then he kissed a bite-mark over your nipple like it was his fucking signature and pulled back, shirt half untucked, his lips all red, and not a care in the world.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t wink. Didn’t flirt. Just looked at you like he expected you to come back later. Like he knew you would.

You did.

Because Baby is… different.

He doesn’t do the “Oh, I want you so bad” stuff. That’s Romance’s thing. Doesn’t do the “I’ll protect you, angel” softness. That’s Jinu. Doesn’t even do the “Come here, babe, sit on my lap” gym rat boyfriend vibes. That’s Abby. Doesn’t let you control him like Mystery does.

Baby ignores your ass half the time.

You text him that you’re downstairs? He doesn’t even buzz you up. You have to break in. You say something flirty and he shrugs. You try to make plans and he answers with a yawn.

But when you’re alone? When you’re in the dark corners of club basements or dressing rooms or the stairwell no one uses between the 6th and 7th floors of the broadcast building?

He’s all teeth and tongue and whispers against your throat. Biting. Mouthing. Slouching against you like he doesn’t care but always pulling you closer.

He talks more with his mouth on your body than he ever does out loud.

His affection comes in weird little ways. Like slipping your favorite drink into your bag without saying anything, which he clearly stole from someone. Like swiping the exact eyeshadow palette you complimented on a make up staff member.

Like blowing off fan meetings just to sit in the dark and watch you stretch, head tilted.

And every time you call him out on it?

He gaslights you. Fully.

“What palette?”

“You bought it, didn’t you?”

“You said I could come in.”

“You didn’t say stop.”

Smug. Rude. Hot as fuck.

And for all his demon blood and dead-eyed stares, there are moments—tiny, barely-there glimpses—where you think he might actually care about you. Like really care.

He is the worst, but underneath that generally insufferable personality, he actually kinda likes you.

He still ignores the fuck out of you.

Deadass. You’ll walk into a room and Baby won’t even glance up. You’ll say hi and he won’t say anything back. Doesn’t even nod. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve told him to move. He never moves. Just slowly looks at you like you’re interrupting.

But the second you’re smiling on your phone, texting?

Laughing too hard?

Not paying attention to him?

He’s right there. Doesn’t say a word. Just drapes himself over you like a cat and sighs against your neck like this is what I had to resort to?—then nips at your collarbone.

You tell him to go away. He doesn’t.

You shove at him. He goes heavier.

You call him annoying.

His answer:

“Mhm.”

You’ll be pouring tea, being the sweet, functional human being you are, and he’ll just… slide his mug over. No eye contact. No “please.” Not even a “yo.” He just tugs on your sleeve once and you already know.

You always say the same thing: “I’m not your maid.”

To which he always responds by… waiting.

Not moving.

Just standing there like …so?

So you pour the tea.

Every. Damn. Time.

(And then he takes a tiny sip and says, “Too hot.” And you fantasize about kicking him in the shins.)

He has the nerve to walk around with that adorable, sweet little face. Wide eyes. Lashes for days. Little nose. Pink lips. He blinks at people and they melt.

“Oh my god, is he shy?”

“He’s so precious!”

“Aww, he’s like a little bunny!”

LIES.

Baby is a demon.

A predator.

A horrible little shit who absolutely uses his face as a weapon.

Don’t even get me STARTED on his voice. It does not match him. At all. It’s low and slow and filthy, like it’s meant for whispering horrible things directly into your ear. And he knows it. He uses it. He’ll say your name in that voice, right behind you, when he wants something. And every time it works, you hate yourself a little more.

You hate him.

You want to climb him like a tree.

You’re the problem.

He likes you though. He really does.

He doesn’t say it. Obviously. But you know.

He shows up at your window at 2 a.m. and does not leave you alone, that’s his love language. You wonder what Gwi-Ma thinks about that. Does he insult the poor boy in his head? Leaves the topic alone? A wonder, really.

He doesn’t care about people. Not really. Not like you do.

He’s selfish. Bratty. Condescending.

He never says “I love you.” Never writes sweet notes. Never says “I miss you” or calls you beautiful.

But he stays. He lingers. He lets you run your fingers through his hair when he’s tired. He lets you sleep on his chest when you both sneak off after dark. He lets you see the version of him no one else gets to.

You’re not sure if this is love, or madness, or both. But you keep crawling back. Keep letting him tug you close. Keep pretending it’s not dangerous, even though it’s the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done.

Yeah.

He’s terrible.

But you like him that way.

Anyways, your room is big. Like, stupidly big. The girls fought tooth and nail for this penthouse, and somehow, you ended up with the one room that had its own damn sitting area, fireplace, and balcony. Probably because you “never bring people over.”

Ha.

Right now, you’re sitting on your bed, one leg bent, your hair damp from a shower, some oversized shirt slipping off your shoulder. You’re glowing, content, the kind of comfort that only comes when your secret demon boyfriend is stretched out across your silk sheets.

Baby, flat on his back, hoodie pushed up just enough to expose his stomach. He’s got one arm under his head, and the other lazily dragging over your thigh.

And you’re telling him a story. Some stupid one from earlier. About Zoey trying to cook eggs and somehow setting off the fire suppression system, and Mira slipping in the foam and cussing in three different languages, and Rumi trying to keep everyone calm.

He doesn’t say much—he never does—but every once in a while, he makes this little “hn” sound that means he’s listening. His eyes flutter closed, long lashes brushing his cheeks, and you gently run your fingers across the curve of his bare stomach as you speak.

Just light touches. Lazy, mindless. Your thumb sweeping around his navel. Tracing the faint v-line that disappears under his waistband. And he just takes it. Like he deserves to be pet.

His hips shift just slightly, subtle little rolls into your hand. His lips twitch. He hums.

“You’re distracting.” you mutter, dragging your fingers down his side.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t even open his eyes. Just tugs on the hem of your shirt like he wants it off but can’t be bothered to do it himself.

You laugh a little and lean over him, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. He lets you. He always does. Touchy and spoiled and acting like he’s the one doing you a favor by being here.

His fingers brush the back of your knee. Slide higher. God, he is so touchy. Not in a Romance kind of way, not in a flirty, dirty whisper way. Just clingy. Needy in a wordless, bratty little way. Always tugging at you. Always reaching. Not because he wanted attention, but because he expected it.

You’re just about to crawl into his lap when he suddenly opens his eyes—not startled, not alarmed, just blank. “Behind you.”

You blink. “What?”

“Door.”

You frown, confused. Turn to look, and your soul leaves your body.

Zoey. Mira. Rumi. Peeking through your bedroom door, all crammed into the tiny sliver they must’ve pushed open while you were distracted. All of them with their mouths slightly open. Eyes wide.

They must’ve been watching you for minutes.

Baby waves to them lazily.

The second your eyes meet theirs, they jerk back like they’d been slapped and slam the door shut.

SLAM.

Silence.

You stare at the door.

Baby stretches behind you, unfazed.

“You forgot to lock it.” he says, yawning like this is the most boring turn of events that’s ever happened to him.

“You watched them watch us!” you hiss, slapping his chest.

He shrugs. “You looked cute. Figured they’d agree.”

You launch a pillow at his face. He lets it hit him and doesn’t even blink.

You shoot to your feet like you’ve been lit on fire. You’re not even fully dressed, just the shirt, some thin little shorts, no bra, and your heart is thrashing in your chest because oh my god they saw. They saw everything. “You couldn’t have warned me earlier?!”

He gives a lazy shrug. “Didn’t think they’d stay.”

You smack him in the chest, hard.

“OW—what?!” he complains, still not even bothering to sit up. “You were telling a story.”

“Get out.” you whisper-yell, frantically waving your hands. “Go, go, GO!”

He groans dramatically, sitting up like it physically pains him. “You’re so loud.” he mutters.

But he stands anyway, tugging his hoodie down and making zero effort to look guilty. His hair’s a little messy, lips pink, eyes smug. He’s glowing like a man who’s very satisfied with his life choices. He is casually stretching his arms over his head. Right before he leaves, he pauses, looks at you, and then? Then he raises his voice just enough for the hallway to hear: “BYE GIIIIIRLS.”

He snorts to himself, satisfied with how he fucked up this for you even more, and leaves you there. Alone. Staring at the spot he just vanished from.

Okay, yeah, alright. You take a deep deep breath and walk over to your door to open it.

Rumi. Zoey. Mira. All standing in the hallway, backlit by the soft pendant lights. Their expressions? Zoey looks like she’s on the verge of tears but holding it together with sheer willpower. Mira’s pacing, fists clenched so hard her knuckles are white. Rumi is just staring at you, arms crossed, completely still. That’s the scariest part.

“Okay,” you say, voice cracking like the ice you’re walking on. “that was—”

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.” Mira explodes. Her hands fling up like she’s physically restraining herself from throwing them at you. “You had him in your room?! While we were home?!”

“It’s not like I—”

“Don’t.” Rumi says. Soft. Controlled. Dangerous. “Don’t say it’s not what it looked like.”

It was what it looked like.

Zoey finally speaks. Her voice is so small it hurts. “You… you’re with him?”

“I didn’t—” you start, stepping forward instinctively, “I wasn’t gonna— I mean, I was, I just—” You sigh and rake both hands through your hair. “Yeah. I’m with him.”

Silence.

Rumi’s brows lift slightly. “For how long?”

You look at the ceiling. “A while.”

“Did he brainwash you?” Mira snaps. “Are you cursed? Are you fucking STUPID—”

“Mira.” Rumi’s voice cuts like a blade.

“No, I wanna hear her say it.” Mira hisses, rounding on you. “Do you even care that he’s a demon? That he’s probably feeding off you? That he’s probably laughing with the rest of those Saja freaks about how easy it was to get a Hunter to spread her legs—”

“Shut the fuck up, Mira.” Your voice isn’t loud, but it lands.

Mira steps back.

“…I know what he is.”you say softly. “I know what we are. I’m not confused. I’m not cursed. I’m not being controlled. I know what I’m doing.”

Zoey’s lip trembles. “Then why?”

You glance away. Chew your lip. Feel your chest ache. “Because he’s not what I thought demons were. Not all the time. Not with me.”

Mira scoffs. “Oh, my God.”

Rumi stares at you, then she says, “Go to your room.”

“I—what?”

“Go. To your room. Now.”

You pause for half a second, wanting to argue. Wanting to stand your ground. But you’ve already shredded the ground beneath your feet. So you do as you’re told. You walk back in. Close the door. Sit down on the bed.

The sheets still smell like Baby.

MYSTERY

You like him. God help you, you really do.

It started during one of their meet-and-greets. A crowd full of obsessed fans screaming over them, while you stood in line like a regular human, hair tucked under a cap and sunglasses on your face, just scoping the scene.

That’s when you noticed him in the back. Standing off to the side like he wasn’t even part of the group. His mic wasn’t on. He wasn’t smiling. Just kind of… existing.

You don’t know what possessed you, maybe it was the odd way his hands were twitching around the prop mic, or the slight crease in his brows as he watched the crowd, but you stepped toward him. Just a little. Close enough that he looked up. Or at least, lifted his chin.

He was holding a lightstick upside down.

And god, something about that made your heart ache. Because he looked so confused. So detached. So alien in that moment. Like he didn’t get what any of this was for.

So you’d whispered, “Turn it around. Other way.”

He blinked. Glanced at it. Turned it slowly, obediently.

You reached out and twisted his fingers to hold it right. “There. Like that.”

He didn’t speak. Not yet. But he watched you. All of you. Your hands, your mouth, your face.

And when you turned to go?

“…Thanks.” he said. So small. So low. Barely audible.

After that, he kept noticing you. You’d catch him watching from across rooftops during a hunt, or from the shadows of backstage areas. Silent. Unmoving. A presence. He never approached you directly—you had to do that—but he let you. Which, coming from him, was kind of massive.

You started sneaking around. Sitting next to him when you knew the other Saja boys wouldn’t be around. Leaving stupid little notes for him where you knew he’d find them. One time you brought him a chocolate bar and he ate it. Quietly. Slowly. Then murmured, “Too sweet.” and handed the wrapper back.

You’ve learned to read his silences. Every little shrug or pause or twitch is a language now. One you understand. But he also talks, like:

“You smell good.”

“Don’t go yet.”

“You looked sad today.”

He didn’t have to be sweet with you. Or quiet. Or gentle.

He just chose to be.

Once you were in the alley behind a club where both your crews had performed. The others were still inside fighting. But he had slipped out. And so had you. Not nice, you know, but it felt right.

He had his back against the wall, shoulders relaxed.

You had asked him, “Why are you always so quiet?”

He shrugged. “Nothing to say.”

You rolled your eyes. “There’s always something to say.” And then you turned toward him, shoulder brushing his, and whispered, “Like… if you wanted to kiss me.”

His breath stilled.

You watched his lashes lower behind his heavy hair. You could barely see his eyes, but you could feel them.

And then, softly:

“…Can I?”

You nodded.

He kissed you. No tongue, no hands, no hunger—not at first. Just lips.

Then you leaned in harder. Slid your hand up his chest.

Then he moved.

And after that? It was on.

It was a relationship—even if the word felt too loud, too bright, too human. You didn’t label it. You didn’t talk about it. But you felt it every time he waited for you. Every time he slipped into your space. Every time he murmured your name.

Don’t even get me started on the patterns on his dick. It’s weirdly attractive.

WHO SAID THAT?!

And then you got caught.

It had been weeks. The girls were suspicious, but they hadn’t figured him out yet. The others? Sure. But Mystery? Who could tell what he was even thinking, let alone who he was touching?

So that night, you got bold.

It was late. Everyone else was asleep. You were in the upstairs sunroom, one of your favorite places because it overlooked the whole city. Mystery was curled up with you on the wide window ledge.

Your hand was in his hair. His breath was on your neck. You had just whispered something—you don’t even remember what. Something dumb and soft and sweet.

He turns his face to you and said, “I like it when you talk.”

You blink. Smile. “That so?”

He nods once. “Your voice is warm.”

And you arw about to say something else when Zoey’s voice rang out behind you:

“…You’re kidding me.”

Your whole body jerks.

You turn so fast you almost knock Mystery out the window.

Zoey stands in the doorway, hoodie sleeves pushed up, jaw slack. Mira right behind her, looking like she was about to throw up. And Rumi is staring at Mystery.

And he—fucking audacious—is just sitting there. Calm. Not moving. One arm still around you.

He’s kinda evil so he’s definitely doing that on purpose.

“Okay—okay, listen—”

But Mira is already marching forward, murder in her eyes. “You’re sleeping with him?!”

“He’s not what you think—!”

“He’s a DEMON!”

Zoey looks betrayed. Like it physically hurts her to see you like this.

Rumi just says: “Leave. Both of you.”

Mystery doesn’t move until you move first. He stands slowly, brushing off his shirt. Then he reaches out, tucks your hair behind your ear, and whispers: “I’ll wait.”

Then he vanishes.

You walk back into your room, listening to Rumi. Like your best friends didn’t just see you wrapped up in one of the five you’ve all sworn—sworn—to destroy.

You don’t cry. You don’t know if you can. It’s just this huge, pulsing silence in your chest, like someone rang a bell inside you and then walked away.

To Rumi, this was personal.

We know why.

And she just saw you—her best friend—wrapped up in the arms of something she sees as rot.

Of him.

It’s not even about him being a Saja Boy. Not completely. It’s the idea that you’re letting something like that close to your heart. That you’re flirting with what her bloodline forced on her.

And she’s scared.

You sit there for what feels like forever.

Mystery’s scent still clings to your collar. You wonder if he’s out there waiting like he said. You wonder if the girls will ever look at you the same again.

You wonder if you even deserve it.

[catchastarorten]

—“Come back alive”

Pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x eventuallover!fem!reader

Summary: he never told you how he really felt about you, believing you deserved more than a man consumed with finding his brother and that island. But now, with the island gone, he returned home to you, and did what he should’ve done a long time ago—truly be with you.

Content: very brief mentions of s3 events, happy endings for you and Jun-ho, childhood best friends to lovers, Jun-ho having emotional conflict, kisses, a little angsty(?), fast-paced, English isn't my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.1k

You were his everything long before he ever admitted it to himself.

Jun-ho always knew that. Knew that since you were kids, voices hoarse from screaming each other’s names across the playground.

You two had grown up together, attached at the hip. Kids who met on a rainy schoolyard and never let go. He scraped his knees, and you were the one who washed the blood away. You got your heart broken in middle school, and he showed up with a small boquet he made with flowers he picked and told you that anyone who didn’t love you was a damn idiot.

As time passed by, the world changed—got colder—but you didn’t. Or maybe you did, in the same way he did. But you still looked at him like he mattered when he didn’t even feel real to himself anymore.

When In-ho disappeared, it was like the whole city turned to grey static. People offered "sorry"s, a few helped at first, but you—you stayed. You looked through police reports with him, stayed up late when he looked through footage frame by frame, and asked anyone you thought had a chance of knowing In-ho.

You never once asked him to stop. Never once told him to move on like everyone else did. You just looked at him with that patient grief in your eyes that mirrored his, and it made something hurt deep in his ribs, something too full to name.

There were nights when he wanted to say it. You’d be sitting on his couch with cups of cheap convenience store coffee, exhaustion hanging between you, and he’d look at your face—tired, steady—and want to say, I love you.

But how could he? How could he look you in the eye and ask for your heart when his was still buried under the weight of his missing brother? When he still woke up cold in the middle of the night from that dream? The cliff, the gunshot, the ocean.

He thought if he really said it, if he really let himself have you—you'd feel like a placeholder. Like comfort he ran to because his brother was gone.

And you deserved so much more than being second to his grief.

He was terrified. That loving you meant dragging you into his shadows. That you’d smile that soft smile of yours and nod, but never really feel like you meant enough to him. Because how could you be, if he hadn’t made peace with himself yet?

But he never stopped thinking about it. About you. About the things he didn't say.

And maybe you knew. Maybe that’s why you never said anything either. You never pushed. Never asked. But you were there. You were always there. You waited.

—

The night before Jun-ho left for the island again, he stood outside your apartment for five full minutes, just staring at the door. He thought about turning around. About leaving without seeing you. Maybe it would hurt less that way.

But when you opened the door—like you already knew he was coming—he forgot all of that.

You didn’t ask why he was there. You just let him in.

He stood there in your tiny living room, his eyes didn’t meet yours right away. “...I'm leaving tomorrow.”

You swallowed, your hand tightening slightly on the edge of your sleeve. But you were calm. “So you came to say goodbye.”

He hated the sound of that word in your mouth. Goodbye. It wasn’t supposed to sound so final.

“I came because I didn’t want to leave without seeing you.”

That’s when you reached for him.

A hand to his chest first, gentle and warm. Then your other hand cradled the side of his face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone like you were checking to see if he was real. Your eyes flicked to his lips for just a second.

That was all it took.

You kissed him.

Slow.

Soft.

He froze.

Not because he didn’t want it—but because he did, he wanted you ever since he was fifteen and you tackled him during a stupid pillow fight. But because he was afraid. Afraid that this would be the only kiss he would ever share with you. Afraid that he might never get the chance to have you in his arms again if he left today.

But you didn't kiss like that. You kissed him like you knew there would be more. Like you were certain he'd come back.

Then he melted.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him. He kissed you back as his chest pressed against yours, and it felt like home.

When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his.

“Come back alive,” you whispered.

He didn’t answer for a second. He just held you. Closed his eyes and imagined your life together—quiet kisses in soft-lit rooms, laughter over dinners, long nights where the only war was deciding what movie to watch.

“I will,” he finally said, and he hated how much his voice wavered.

—

The next day, he was gone with Woo-seok and the team

He could still feel the touch of your kiss. He leaned against the boat, eyes scanning the horizon, but all he saw was your face.

He thought about you the whole time they drifted on the ocean, trying to find the island. He thought about your laugh. He thought about how you never told him not to go. You just asked him to survive.

And he tried. When everyone on the boat nearly died from a betrayal. When he got the confrontation he wanted with In-ho, moments before the island exploded.

And he came back for you.

—

The second he saw you again, standing in that same doorway, he dropped everything and wrapped his arms around you.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

Your fingers curled into his back like you were afraid to let go. His lips found your shoulder, your temple, your cheek, then finally your lips.

And this time, it wasn’t slow. It wasn’t hesitant. It was years of ache and longing and quiet waiting that finally let loose.

He pulled back only once, to whisper the words he’d carried for so long.

“I love you.”

You smiled, voice breaking, but eyes steady. “I know.”

He was home.

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly | 21

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language & themes, mildly jealous!reader, possessive!rafe, silly!rafe, reader having a heart attack at the end (not literal, tho... maybe), cliffhanger bc i wanna keep things open for how i'm gonna handle the situation

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ molly got added to the girls' group chat, and while you and rafe stayed curled up watching transformers, she kept the others updated about the two of you. the girls also ended up talking about rafe leaving earlier, and pretty quickly decided it probably had something to do with ruthie. you and rafe stayed cuddled the whole movie. you suggested filling topper and kelce in on everything but you weren’t gonna tell anyone anything he didn’t want shared. he also apologized for grabbing your wrist earlier, clearly feeling bad about how he handled it. you both added each other on TrackerBuddies, the little friendship tracker app. after the movie, you rejoined the others (minus the pogues). rafe openly admitted he regretted punching topper. when cara brought up ruthie, rafe shut her down fast. not long after, sarah called cara, asking to come join you guys. you asked rafe to dip with you. as you took an uber to your place, he grabbed your dad’s corvette, and the two of you headed out for another one of those sweet late-night drives. (18+ extra summarized) rafe missed you a lot back at home and tried feeling close to you by having a little solo session. afterward, he regretted it and also came to the realization this pull toward you was more than just a sexual need.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 10k+

✿ A / N ✿ probably one of my weakest chapters yet in comparison to the previous bangers. i also feel like it's 80% dialogue but i just have way too much fun w it and yeah. PLUS not sure if i’m jumping around too much but i really wanted to squeeze all the important scenes in. hope you guys enjoy anyway and pls lmk your thoughts <3 xx ᓚᘏᗢ

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for those who skipped the extra including the aftermath of the open-air event, please go back and read it as i've decided to promote it to a main chapter as it contains way too essential info and changes in dynamics. -> Chapter 20 (former extra)

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also just to be safe: avoid the comment section until you’re finished

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W E E K T W O // M O N D A Y 6 : 4 2 A M

One week ago, your whole life had been turned upside down.

Because exactly one week ago, on a seemingly uneventful Monday, your art teacher had decided to put you and Rafe Cameron together into a group for a two-week-long project.

And exactly one week ago, you'd thought this would be the end of you.

You remembered how he’d approached you after class, that unbothered expression on his face, not even properly looking at you, as he asked you to "just get this project over with" during lunch.

God, you remembered how you'd panicked afterward, how clammy your hands had gotten at the mere thought of working—no, TALKING—to Rafe. How Molly had found you pale as hell in the girls' restroom, how you'd freaked out while waiting for him in front of the gym.

You two had been classmates, project partners, no, actually, total strangers thrown together by some twisted coincidence named Arthur Smith, who wore washed-out art smocks and hair like a bomb had exploded in his face.

And now, exactly one week later, on yet another seemingly uneventful Monday, you could call yourself Rafe’s friend.

You couldn't even begin to describe how crazy, insane, downright batshit surreal that felt. Especially considering he’d been your crush for the past few years and now, within just one week, you’d gotten so close that you EVEN FUCKING CUDDLED LAST NIGHT LIKE WHAT.

HOW.

WHAT. HOW WAS THAT EVEN—like, you didn’t know what parallel universe you’d entered last Monday but LET’S FUCKING GOOOOO.

GOOOOSH, JUST THINKING ABOUT LAST NIGHT MADE YOUR HEART THUNDER LIKE CRAZY IN YOUR CHEST.

Starting from him being such a sweet gentleman, paying for your stuff, to you first sitting on the lounge bed and then scooting closer to warm each other up (after he’d had a boner but let’s never think about that again), and how sweet and relaxed he’d seemed, just for Ruthie to ruin your little cozy bonding moment with her fucked up bullshit game.

Oh, how badly you’d wanted to find that bitch after your argument with Rafe in the parking lot and slap that stupid grin right off her face. Sure, violence was never the answer, but this bitch? She could catch hands for playing him like that.

Really quite a weird coincidence though, that she’d been nowhere to be found at the event site after she’d talked to Rafe.

You’d found out through the girlies' group chat that she’d left in the middle of Barbie and had never come back. Gracie and Samantha had followed her shortly after.

As soon as Rafe had dropped you off at home, you’d gone straight to bed and scrolled through the dozens of messages in the girlies' group chat, aka them commenting on you and Rafe while trying to solve the mystery of why he’d left you behind.

And funny enough, they’d actually kinda solved it. But you hadn’t commented on anything because Rafe had made it very clear he didn’t want anyone getting involved.

Also, not them playing fucking Sherlock Holmes and talking about you and Rafe as if you weren’t in the group chat. Like, girls, come on, at least make a secret chat for that, geez.

You’d giggled nonetheless. Happy that Molly was now in the group too and also touched by how much they were cheering you and Rafe on.

Anyway, Ruthie being the reason two poor souls had to spend half the night alone? Fucking bitch.

And that just made you feel even worse about being annoyed with Topper last night. He’d probably felt just as awful as you had ughhhh.

Though, you had absolutely zero energy to spiral over how he might’ve felt because—BECAUSE—

Because Rafe.

YEAH RAFE.

Rafe who’d placed his fucking hand just inches away from your butt when he'd nudged you forward, both when leading you back inside the venue AND when you'd left. Like, okay, it was still just your lower back but from a different angle, that was just inches from your butt.

HAHAHAHAH the butterflies in your stomach had been already screaming like crazy and ripping each other’s wings off from panic and excitement, but no, this guy had taken it one step further.

Him. Always by your side. Like. The whole night.

Always close to you in some kind of way.

Not pushy, not clingy, or in any way uncomfortable. No, it felt more like he wanted to be near you, to feel the comfort of your presence, to reassure himself that you really weren’t leaving. Maybe grounding himself after being so shaken earlier.

So, when you two had settled back in on the lounge bed (ignoring Kelce’s and Molly’s surprised, smiley glances), he’d pulled you right back under the blanket. Held it open for you to scoot closer, and when you’d hesitated to cozy back up to him, he gave you this look with his big blue eyes—equal parts amusement and confusion—and said, “Don’t you dare be shy with me now.”

Yeah.

You kinda died in that moment. He'd looked genuinely afraid you might be scared of cuddling with him again, when in reality you just didn’t want to overstimulate him or crowd him after his crashout, especially considering he’d still been a bit jittery from the coke in his system.

Somehow, that restlessness faded fast once you cozied back up to him, his arm instantly wrapping around your waist as you settled back on his chest, your hand resting on his stomach. He even picked up where he’d left off, playing with the charms dangling from your bracelet—a gesture that somehow grounded both of you.

And in that very moment, you let yourself accept the fact that Rafe liked you.

He liked being around you, liked hanging out with you, and he also seemed to like the way you handled him and his little crashout moments. Because if he didn’t, he would’ve dipped after your argument. He wouldn’t have begged you to stay and apologized. And he definitely wouldn’t have spent the rest of the night by your side AND LEFT TOGETHER WITH YOU.

Of course, deep down, in some very dark and twisted corner of your brain, there was still that fear that he only liked the feeling you gave him. That he just liked that you stuck around. That he enjoyed the idea of having some girl around. Or worse—that he was doing all this for the project. That he was only keeping you around so you’d carry him through it, boost his GPA, and then drop you the second he got what he wanted.

But those thoughts felt so absurd, so ridiculous, you were ashamed to even think them, ashamed they even surfaced for a second. Especially after Rafe had opened up to you like that, gotten emotional and vulnerable, showing a side of himself you didn’t even think Topper or Kelce had ever seen.

Nah, fuck those thoughts.

Fuck that little asshole minion in your head that even dared to speak them out loud. Yeah, mentally, you kicked that little guy’s ass.

Better.

AHDHEKJEKW you couldn’t stop grinning to yourself as you packed your bag for school, thinking about how sweet he’d been after the movie.

Sliding right next to you on the bench at the bar, KNEES TOUCHING AND HIM FUCKING PLAYING WITH THE FABRIC OF YOUR DRESS AT YOUR SHOULDER LIKE JESUS YOU HAD LITERAL GOOSEBUMPS FROM THAT.

And oh my god—him helping you into your jacket in the parking lot after you'd left the venue, complimenting your dress again followed by a dumbass comment (“You sure you not into hookups? Shit, aight, sorry, don’t look at me like that”), which you THANKFULLY hadn’t spiraled over because somehow you’d accepted that flirty, suggestive comments were just part of the Rafe Cameron starter pack.

And also, YOU KINDA LIKED HEARING HIM SAY STUFF LIKE THAT HIHIHIHHI.

Because the fact that he found you attractive, even being down to sleep with you, and showered you with comments like that... yeah, that DID something to you. Huge ego and confidence boost and let’s just say it stirred another part of you as well.

While lying on Rafe, you felt that tingling sensation surging through your whole body, a buzzing warmth low in your stomach. That desire for his hand on your waist to slide a little further down to your butt, or maybe even higher… to rest on your boobs. Or how you wondered what his abs felt like under that stupidly well-fitting polo, or what his lips might feel like on yours. How those same lips would taste, how they’d feel on your neck, shoulders, stomach, thighs, and—

HE HAD!!! HE’D LET HIS HAND WANDER FOR JUST A TINY SECOND, JUST A TINY INCH TOWARD YOUR HIP AND… then he’d pulled back.

Had you been absolutely overwhelmed in that moment? Yes. Were you still disappointed he hadn’t leave his hand there? YES. But did the fact that he did pull back—because he cared about not making you uncomfortable—make you want him to touch you even more BECAUSE HIM CARING ABOUT YOUR COMFORT WAS SO FUCKING HOT?

ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY.

You’d always found Rafe attractive (I mean, duh, even fifth-grade you had good taste), but now? This didn’t feel like just a crush anymore, like some cute guy you liked looking at. No, this was… different. Like there was this magnetic pull toward him and— okay, let’s be real, it felt like you wanted him to rip your clothes off and rock your world.

And the wildest part? Rafe apparently wanted to do exactly that, as he’d stated two days ago, and WHAT'S STOPPING YOU THEN HHAHAHAHHAHAHA.

Oh right.

Probably the crippling fear of rejection, the fact that you're a virgin with zero real-life experience outside of chaotic fanfiction, and also the sheer vulnerability of baring your entire soul and body in front of a guy while handing him the key to the most fragile little drawer of your being.

Hah. Yeah. Nope. Sex definitely wasn’t happening anytime soon.

Besides… didn’t you technically just become friends two days ago? And that only because you basically forced him into it during that horrible spiral over his intentions. And if you suddenly told him (not that you even had the balls to do that) that you’d maybe potentially be down for… something, he’d probably smash your head against the wall for being so damn indecisive and for driving him to the brink of insanity during that conversation.

HAHAHAHAHA. Yeah not happening.

Anyway.

School.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and were just about to text Rafe when your phone buzzed at that exact moment, nearly giving you a heart attack.

Seriously, this freaking guy.

How was he one of the “cool” guys at school when he didn’t even know how to use the basic features on his phone? Like, excuse me? -100 aura.

Also, him saying he hated cats for being moody when HE acted like a moody stray cat himself? The irony was almost poetic.

AND NOT HIM CALLING YOU ‘BABY’. WHAT.

Okay, yeah, he very professionally crossed the word out, but like, he could have drawn over it completely.

But he hadn’t.

WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN OMFG.

Not a single day went by without him completely messing with your head with those weird, mixed (but also not mixed at all) signals. I meaaaan, he’d made it pretty clear that he wanted to bend you over, but was also totally fine being friends who flirted for fun???

Okay, the more you thought about that, the more ridiculous it sounded soooo, let’s push that thought away before you spiraled again and Rafe ended up actually smashing your head into a wall hahaha.

So you just—

Bzzrt.

You grabbed your phone again and chuckled.

You never would’ve guessed Rafe was such a drama queen and kind of needy. Not sexually (okay, maybe a little), but more like emotionally needy?

Like, the way he'd called you out for needing reassurance during your argument, and, look at him, the very same night clinging to you like a second shadow, blowing up your phone at every opportunity like you were the only friend he had.

And honestly? It kind of made you feel… wanted. Because he did it in this passive-aggressive, caring kind of way that made your chest warm up in all the right ways.

Shit, Rafe = Doberman confirmed (again).

Also, it was really sweet how comfortable he seemed with you. The way he let his guard down, showed vulnerability and affection, let himself be attached like that. He definitely didn’t act like that with Topper and Kelce.

Well, to be fair, they also hadn’t been cuddled up to him with their boobs pressed against his chest last night sooo… yeah.

Okay, you really needed to head downstairs now before Rafe showed up and gave you some kind of speech about making him wait 0.3 seconds.

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"Your mom loves me," he said as he pulled his Benz out of your driveway, grinning so wide he looked like the Cheshire Cat.

And, well, yeah, your mom had stood at the front door waving at him with a smile when she said goodbye. Actually, she was still standing there, her grin mirroring Rafe’s.

Ughhh, why was this so embarrassing.

"I think she’s just relieved I’m not taking her car again," you said with a small laugh. You’d kinda scratched the side mirror that one time trying to park in some hellishly narrow underground lot, oops.

Rafe shook his head, still grinning, and waved back to her before driving off. "Nah. Looks more like she just found the perfect son-in-law."

A baffled laugh escaped your lips at the absurdity. "Don’t know about that."

"Yeah? And why’s that?" He raised a brow, smirking at you as he glanced over. "Seemed like your mom and your dad pretty much threw themselves at me on Saturday."

You exhaled through your nose, amused. "Well, yeah. You looked wrecked with that bruise. Still do," you said, eyeing the purple blotch on his cheek. "Plus, my dad’s a doctor. It’s literally his job to care about people."

If only he knew how deeply your parents actually cared about him. How concerned they were after speaking to him once.

Rafe scoffed. "Yeah, sure. Next time I see them, they’ll probably start planning a wedding."

"And I’m pretty sure they’d ask for my consent first," you chuckled, though your heart did a little jump at him even mentioning marriage.

And your pulse spiked even more when Rafe gave you this weirdly serious look, almost more confused than amused. "What? Am I not living up to the princess’ standards?"

OH. WHAT.

Boy, if you only knew. You were the standard.

ALSO WHY WAS THIS THROWING YOU OFF SO BADLY, WHAT THE HELL.

Oh god, how were you supposed to respond without offending him but still giving an answer that satisfied him enough to let it go, without completely exposing your feelings but maybe still dropping some kind of hint AHHHHH???

Cheeks heating up, you let out an awkward laugh, fiddling with your bracelet. "Well, I mean… you don’t exactly strike me as the relationship type."

OH GIRL.

Rafe scoffed, amused. "Shit, what? So you’re saying I’m never settling down or what?"

UMMMMM.

Heart racing like crazy in your chest, you let out a strained chuckle, shaking your head. "No! No, of course not. I didn’t mean it like that, I just… I meant right now, you know?" You fidgeted with the little key charm on your bracelet. "I’m just not sure how to say it without you taking it the wrong way."

"It's that hookup topic again, huh?" Rafe asked, not entirely clear whether he was annoyed or entertained.

You shook your head. "Yes—I mean, no! Not that exactly. I just…" You sighed, feeling your neck heat up as well. "I only meant to say it doesn’t seem like you’re interested in anything serious right now. You brought up marriage and all, but that kinda needs a relationship as a foundation, right? Not that anyone our age is actually thinking about marriage." You grimaced, cringing at yourself. "Okay, please ignore everything I've said. I'm talking nonsense."

Rafe let out a chuckle and glanced sideways at you. "You know, I can have fun now and still settle down later."

UGHHHH PLEASE DROP IT.

"Yes, of course," you said, nodding like a lunatic. "I’m not judging. I was just objectively describing how you come across to me. That’s all."

He gave a tight-lipped smile, scratching his jaw, like he was letting your words settle. "I guess."

Oh no. Oh god. You’d offended him.

SHIT.

QUICK, FIX IT.

"I didn’t mean anything bad by it," you said quietly, watching his jaw clench.

The car stopped at a red light.

Rafe nodded, lips pressed together, and squinted out the windshield as he let out a strained laugh. "I dunno. You kinda made it sound like I’m incapable of committing."

WHY WAS HE TWISTING YOUR WORDS.

You shook your head, eyes wide. "Rafe, no, that’s absolutely not—"

"I mean, family’s important, right?" he cut in, his tone softer now, meeting your gaze for a split second. You nodded and opened your mouth but he kept going: "It’s about blood, loyalty, and all that shit. That’s what you build your life around." His brows twitched. "Just actually finding someone worth sharing this shit with, that’s the part that sucks."

He scoffed, raising his shoulders. "I mean, shit, there’s not a single girl at school I could tolerate for longer than a class period. Either they’re the most exhausting person alive or the most basic, boring chick ever."

Alriiiiiight.

Okay, first of all: him having this view on family and commitment? Wow. Unexpected. But then again, okay, not that surprising considering Ward Cameron was known to value family above everything else and Rafe practically worshipped his dad. So, okay, yeah, it made sense he shared that belief.

And second: wow… what were those last words supposed to mean? Did that mean he couldn’t actually tolerate you either? Which made no sense because he clearly—

“Don’t,” he scoffed, amused.

You blinked. “What?”

“Can hear your fuckass brain minion preaching some bullshit again.”

Uh…

“Obviously I wasn’t talking about you,” he said and pulled the car back into motion as the light turned green.

OH. WHAT.

WHAT WAS THAT SUPPOSED TO— WHAT. OKAY NO, THIS JUST SENT YOUR SPIRAL INTO OVERDRIVE BECAUSE WHAT DID HE MEAN BY THAT.

A baffled little laugh left your lips. “Not sure how I’m supposed to take that.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, brows furrowed as he stared straight ahead, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. Then he shrugged. “You’re fucking weird, so you’re not basic shit. And yeah, you are fucking exhausting, but not in a ‘buy me this, why didn’t you call me’ kinda way, blah blah,” a crooked smile tugged at his lips, “more like ‘I make easy things complicated’ exhausting.”

Uh-huh. Should’ve never asked.

You nodded slowly, raising your eyebrows. “Right.”

“Right,” Rafe mocked you with a scoff. “Just told you for like the hundredth time I fuck with you. Dunno what’s so hard to understand about that.”

Man, this guy and his attempts at expressing himself. You two really needed to work on that.

You raised a brow at him, lips tugging into a small grin. “Did you just mock me?”

“Did you just mock me,” he mimicked again, only to get smacked (more or less gently) on the arm for it.

A boyish laugh escaped him as he raised his brows at you. “Shit, nearly dislocated my shoulder.”

Idiot.

“Keep it up and Cacty’s gonna be raised by a single parent,” you said flatly, your expression amused.

Yes, during your Uber ride yesterday you’d both heavily debated what kind of plant to choose for your TrackerBuddies plant and, even more importantly, what to name it.

In the end, you’d compromised (okay, Rafe had given in because you threatened to kill the seed off). He got to pick the plant (“cactus are tough as fuck, aight”) and you picked the name (“fuckass name, plant’s gonna be a loser”).

Yeah, well, and now Cacty was already on level 3 because via notifications you’d seen how Rafe had been grinding that app since 5am this morning (not him paying for in-game coins and farming XP).

Rafe shot you the most dramatic scowl alive. “Shit, I already am a single parent. You only watered that fucker once since yesterday.”

“I didn’t have time this morning,” you replied with a chuckle.

“It’s literally one tap of a button.” Rafe raised a brow at you. “Fingers busy with something else or what?”

DUDE.

Immediate heat rushed to your face as you let out a very strained laugh. “You’re nasty.”

“Imma take that as a yes.”

HELP OH MY GOD. WHY WOULD HE SAY THAT.

Wait, no—fuck that. Last night you hadn’t been shy at all, why were you acting all flustered now? He’d literally had a boner lying next to you, like????? That hadn’t bothered you but this did?

Nah.

Time to throw that shit right back.

You gathered your courage and gave him a deadpan look. “Maybe you should use yours more often. Might help keep your libido in check.”

He only scoffed in amusement but ha! You caught that tiny furrow between his brows, the way his jaw tightened as he rubbed it.

Making Rafe uncomfortable? Shouldn’t feel as satisfying as it did.

He was just about to throw a smart-ass reply back when both your phones buzzed at the same time. His in the center console, yours in your bag.

Immediately your stomach tightened with unease. You couldn’t help but think of Ruthie. Was she trying to play real-life Gossip Girl now?

Before you could reach for your phone, Rafe grabbed his and tossed it into your lap. “0510. Who’s being annoying?”

ALRIGHT. TRUSTING YOU WITH HIS PHONE AGAIN AND EVEN GIVING YOU HIS PASSCODE. I MEAN. OKAY.

Heart beating a little faster, you unlocked it and tapped on the notification, leading you straight into his email app.

You blinked. “Mr. Smith.”

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

“I think we should use the free period to work on the project,” Rafe said as he crossed his arms on the stone table, biceps flexing while he did.

Mr. Smith had very kindly announced ahead of time (10 min prior the lesson) that he wouldn’t be in today because he was going to an art exhibition out of town. But he’d left the art room unlocked for anyone who wanted to continue working on their project.

You pulled your iPad from your bag, eyes scanning the display as you skimmed through your school notes. Shit, maybe sitting in the courtyard hadn’t been the best idea. The screen was reflecting.

Ugh, whatever.

“Again, I’ve got a math test afterward and I really don’t wanna fail,” you said, glancing up for a second. “I mean, you could already head to the copy shop and we can do the rest after school.”

PROPS TO YOU FOR INDIRECTLY ASKING TO HANG OUT LATER HIHIHI.

Rafe grimaced and leaned back, scratching his jaw. “Nah, I’ve got no clue about that crap. Besides, I’ve got no time this afternoon. Need to talk to my dad.”

Your heart sank. You’d really hoped to see him again later and spend more time together, but he was right. The Ruthie situation took priority. He only had six more days till the Gloaming to convince his dad to accept the deal and get the video deleted from Ruthie’s stash.

So you just nodded, opening your math folder. “Do you already know what you wanna say to him?”

You’d offered to talk about it last night during your late-night drive around, but Rafe insisted on saving that for today.

Rafe furrowed his brows, rubbing at one. “Shit, I don’t know. I mean, I gotta make him reconsider the deal.” He exhaled and shrugged. “But it’s fucked. The terms are shit, and agreeing to it would be like submitting to a guy way below him. No way he’ll even listen to me.”

Yeah, the whole thing would’ve been way easier if Rafe had to propose a new deal. But trying to make his dad rethink one he’d already dismissed? Practically impossible.

You nodded. And good thing you’d given this some thought before falling asleep. “Okay, three options,” you said. “First, you present the deal in such a way that he has to reconsider and say yes but even I think that’s the hardest route.” You pointed your Apple Pencil at him. “Second, we get Ruthie’s dad to rethink his terms. Maybe he’s open to talk. Or, I dunno, if we’re lucky maybe Ruthie is.”

Even as the words left your mouth you knew it was stupid. Ruthie never gave in. That’d just drag Rafe deeper into the shit.

“Fuck that,” Rafe said, crossing his arms on the table again AND GOD THEY LOOKED DELICIOUS DMKNCJKNCJKDS. “This bitch can’t be trusted and I sure as hell won't give her the satisfaction of handing her even more control over the situation.”

You chuckled. “I’m just laying out all the options, okay.”

Rafe exhaled and nodded, flicking his hand. “Aight. Option three?”

The juicy one.

“We play Ruthie’s own game,” you said, snapping your Apple Pencil back into its case with a soft click. “Either we hit her with an uno reverse and blackmail her so she has to delete the video.” You tilted your head. “Or we take care of it ourselves.”

An amused scoff escaped Rafe. “Yeah sure, let’s just ask her for her phone. I’m sure she’ll gladly hand it over.”

You frowned. “Rafe, I’m just trying to help you.”

He nodded, brows furrowed, running a hand through his hair. “I know, I know, I just…” He exhaled hard and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. “Shit’s pissing me off so bad, I can’t even put it into words.”

It's not like you’re capable of putting anything into words but yeah.

Still, how badly you wanted to see Ruthie burn for distressing this already distressed boy so badly. At least—and that was the only comforting thought at the moment—he didn’t seem to be falling deeper into his addiction (at least for now). His pupils looked normal, and by Rafe’s standards, he was acting pretty normal too.

“I know,” you said softly, giving him a small smile. “But again, you’re not alone in this shit, okay? And I still think it’s a good idea to let Topper and Kelce in on it. I mean, they’ve pieced most of it together by now anyway, might as well tell them the whole truth.”

Rafe grimaced, eyes fixed on the golden ring he kept fidgeting with.

“I know you’re kinda suspicious of Topper,” you went on, “but maybe we could use his closeness to Ruthie to our advantage. You know, get him to somehow delete the video or something, I don’t know.”

Then he looked up at you, eyes holding a weird glimmer, and said the last thing you expected to hear: “Or Gracie could.”

Your smile faded instantly.

Somehow that made your heart sink right away, a sick and ugly feeling twisting in your gut, and you could physically feel some butterflies die in your stomach.

“I mean that bitch follows her around everywhere,” Rafe continued, brows furrowed. “She’s basically glued to Ruthie. If anyone could actually get to her phone, it’s her.”

Sure, he always talked shit about Gracie whenever she was brought up, and yet… she was still some kind of ex-girlie of his and—UGH GIRL PLEASE.

"Yeah," you said, your voice a little too detached. "You said it yourself: she’s glued to Ruthie. And even if you somehow convinced her to betray her best friend, how are you even planning to talk to her without Ruthie getting suspicious?"

Rafe shrugged, leaning back again. “Getting her to talk isn’t the problem. I could just hit her up, say I wanna hook up again. Should be easy enough.”

...

A few more butterflies lost their wings in that moment and your stomach practically turned inside out.

You just stared at him, genuinely overwhelmed and not knowing what to even say to that.

Shit, on one hand, that wasn’t even a bad idea. Out of everyone, Gracie did have the best shot at getting Ruthie’s phone. And Ruthie being betrayed by her own best friend? That was poetic justice.

But on the other hand...

The idea of Rafe and Gracie working together when this was supposed to be you and him, and worse—what if they rediscovered their thing again and actually went through with it?! AHHHHHHH.

No. Just no. Please don’t.

“What?” Rafe asked, clearly confused, pulling you out of your downward spiral.

You shook your head, brows furrowed. “Nothing, I… I just don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Rafe raised his brows, waiting for more.

“Well, like I said, I don’t think Gracie is that easily convinced to betray her best friend,” you said, the distant edge creeping back into your voice. “And let’s say she does agree to... talk. There's a high chance she runs straight to Ruthie the moment you even bring it up. You’d just be shooting yourself in the foot.”

That THANKFULLY made him pause.

Please say I'm right. PLEASE SAY I'M FUCKING RIGHT.

“Shit, what else am I supposed to do?” Rafe said, clearly frustrated. “It’s my only chance at getting rid of that fuckass video. Like, how the fuck am I supposed to blackmail Ruthie, huh?” He gestured to himself, shoulders raised. “Her nudes already leaked and no one cared, her dad fucking their housekeeper—no one gave a shit for whatever reason, and I bet anything else we could dig up on her, she’d just talk her way out of. This is fucked.”

He rubbed his eye and motioned with his other hand. “Might as well just go ahead and show my dad the fucking video myself.”

NO!

Your expression softened. “There’s gotta be another option. But I really feel like using sex as a last-ditch effort to get what you want is—”

“Shit, no,” Rafe cut you off quickly, shaking his head, face twisted in disgust. “I wouldn’t actually hook up with her.” He tapped both sides of his temple, eyes intense. “Bitch is fucking crazy. And I’m not talking ‘got some dumbass minions in her head’ crazy, I mean like, ‘asks to roleplay as Ruthie during sex’ crazy.”

ALRIIIIGHT WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

As much as this was the biggest relief ever, more than anything it absolutely horrified you. Then again… Gracie did seem to worship Ruthie a little too much, so this actually sounded kinda legit.

UGHHH. EW.

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “I really could’ve gone my whole life without knowing that.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Rafe scoffed. “What do you think it felt like for me? Right in the middle of bending her over, she turns around and—”

“OKAY! I believe you! No need for details,” you cut him off with a strained chuckle and—SHIT! Only twenty minutes left until math class. “So, how about we continue this after school? Or uh, after your convo with your dad?” You smiled sheepishly. “I really gotta study now.”

Rafe’s brows twitched, but he nodded. “4pm? I don’t think that talk’s gonna take long. If my dad’s even open to listening.”

Slowly, the butterflies in your stomach began to piece themselves back together. A warm smile tugged at your lips at the thought of hanging out with him again later. “Sounds good. Hoping things go well.”

And just like that, a smile appeared on Rafe’s face too.

“Aight,” he said, getting up and walking around the table to your side, practically bumping into your hip as he sat down next to you. “Now lemme see how we can save your math grade from sucking ass.”

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

"There you two cuties are," Cara said as you and Rafe arrived at the table, holding your lunch trays in hand.

Funny, haha. You both just happened to arrive at the dining hall at the same time and just happened to get your food together hihihi (they were serving wraps and you could choose your own fillings).

The other three (+ Cara, obviously) eyed you with the biggest grins ever. Molly was seated between Kelce (obviously again) and Topper, and Cara sat across from them (which, kind of weird they were seated 3 + 1 instead of 2 + 2 but um… yeahhh).

You slipped in next to Cara and Rafe moved in beside you, immediately manspreading so his knee touched yours again.

THIS JUST MADE YOUR NERVES BUZZ A TINY LITTLE BIT BUT YOU LEFT IT THERE (ANOTHER OBVIOUSLY HIHIHI).

"How was last night?" Molly was the second to speak, and you could feel how badly Rafe wanted to throw a scowl her way.

So you beat him to it with a sheepish smile: "It was nice."

"Yo, we want details," Kelce said, grinning like an idiot.

UGHHHHH THIS SOUNDED WAY TOO MUCH LIKE “DID YOU GUYS DO IT?”

"Took her dad’s Corvette and we drove around," Rafe answered, a cocky smile tugging at his lips (him not crashing out? a first).

Kelce’s eyes widened. "Shiiiii, for real? Bet it felt like sliding down clouds."

"Better," Rafe answered, still grinning, and Kelce squinted like he’d just tasted something absolutely delicious.

"Your dad allowed that?" Topper asked, directing the question to you, swallowing a bite of his wrap. His bruise somehow looked worse than Rafe’s after one day.

Cara rolled her eyes. "Duh. He’s not your mom."

The table chuckled. Only Topper frowned, but you quickly said, "Well, I figured he’d allow it if someone capable was driving."

And that actually drew a genuine smile from Rafe as he looked down at his wrap, kinda struggling to hold it together (good thing you hadn’t told him to ask for it wrapped in a paper bag, but sure, what did you know).

"So, what happened after?" Cara asked, her face way too smug.

GIRL PLEASE.

"You always this fucking nosy?" Rafe lifted his gaze from his tragic wrap to meet Cara’s eyes with an irritated smile.

EXCUSE ME SIR, that’s my bestie!

You kicked him under the table but that idiot kept holding Cara’s gaze with a straight-up challenge in his eyes.

Help. They were both stubborn as hell. This could go downhill fast.

"We got some food and that’s basically it," you said with a tense smile, hoping those idiots would get the cue. And to quickly change the topic you asked, "And what about you guys?"

WAIT NO. SARAH AND THE POGUES HAD COME OVER AFTER YOU AND RAFE HAD LEFT.

OH MY GOD. SOMEONE SHOOT ME.

"I asked out Molly for the Gloaming," Kelce said (OMG MASTER OF READING SOCIAL CUES, THANK YOU).

You smiled genuinely and turned to Molly. "I assume you said yes."

"He dragged me to the beach and gifted me a necklace," she said, giggling, cheeks pink. "So yes."

OMDNJKSCHNSDKHNCKVDSHCNKVSHVSDK.

CUTEST COUPLE IN THE UNIVERSE FR OMG (let’s ignore Rafe brooding next to you).

And now you spotted it. A silver sun-shaped necklace resting against her freckled collarbone.

I LITERALLY CANNOT.

Cara nodded. "I want at least that and a fancy dinner and the biggest bouquet of roses possible."

Lmfao, the way Topper immediately looked up from his food, probably taking mental notes. Also not Cara very obviously saying that out loud.

So she was done with JJ. After one day.

Wow. Got her cheeks clapped and dipped. Queen.

"And you?" Kelce asked, turning to you with that gleaming white grin.

You smiled sheepishly, feeling your cheeks flush. "What?"

"Well, what’s your dream ‘getting asked out’ scenario?"

OH HELL NO. YOU KNEW EXACTLY WHAT HE WAS DOING, SAYING THAT IN FRONT OF RAFE, AND THAT JUST MADE EVERYTHING. SO. FREAKING. AWKWARD. BYEEEEEE.

"Or someone already done that?" he added, eyes flicking over to Rafe for a second who was very focused on not letting his wrap fall apart (you were this close to snatching it and wrapping it properly for him).

Ummmmmmm. Literally though, if Rafe asked you out?

Dead. Instantly. Because holy shit, that? That’s what little you had always dreamed of, always hoping that the impossible would happen and Rafe freaking Cameron asking you out to Midsummers or the Gloaming.

You just let out a nervous chuckle and shrugged. "Um… no."

AND THEN THE WORST THING HAPPENED.

Kelce’s gaze shifted to Rafe again. AND YOU COULD ALREADY HEAR HIM GEARING UP TO ASK RAFE IF HE’D BE THE ONE TO ASK YOU OUT OR SOME SHIT BUT—

"Rob’s still in town until Sunday," Topper stated, and you could feel the gust of wind from how fast Rafe’s head snapped up beside you. "He’s been asking about you."

Oh… um.

A baffled smile tugged at your lips because you honestly didn’t know how to feel about this fact.

Flattered? Uncomfortable? Annoyed that Rafe hadn't asked you out for the Gloaming just after two days of befriending each other hahahahha ???

"Why the fuck is that fucker still hanging around?" Rafe asked, scowling so deep you could see the minus friends symbol appear above his head like he was a Sim.

Topper eyed him for a second, clearly still bitter about the punch, and shrugged. "High school doesn’t start for him until next week, so he’s sticking around at his aunt’s place a little longer."

Um, the tension at this table was basically tangible now. Rafe was glaring at Topper like he was more pissed at him than Rob being in town.

"And I thought if Y/n wanted a date to the Gloaming," Topper continued, "they could go together."

Cara nodded in agreement (HUH?) and turned to you. "Yeah, oh my god, you vibed so well and you’d look so cute together."

Oh, you knew what she was doing. What all of them were trying to accomplish here. And it just made you want to crawl under the table and disappear.

You knew they meant well, but trying to get Rafe to ask you out by making him jealous or competitive or whatever? Absolutely and definitely the wrong move.

And Rafe thought so too. His smile twisted with irritation, and--

OKAY GIRL LET’S DE-ESCALATE THIS.

You very politely shook your head with a smile, trying to ignore the way your palms got clammy. "That’s a nice thought, Topper, thanks, but I feel like that would just give him the wrong idea."

Topper’s brows twitched but he nodded. "Still, you could keep it in mind."

MY MIND IS FULL ALREADY, THANKS.

"Yes, thanks," you replied anyway, relaxing a little when Rafe seemed to shift his attention back to his food, finally grabbing a fork and eating his disaster of a wrap like that.

Wait.

Oh no.

You saw it. Everyone (except Rafe, who was fully focused on stabbing his wrap) looked at Molly with this quiet, knowing anticipation.

COULD THEY PLEASE DROP IT. THIS WAS GETTING OUT OF HAND.

Molly let out a small breath and gave Rafe one of her signature sweet smiles. "What about you, Rafe?"

"Huh?" He looked up, mouth full of wrap.

"You planning to ask someone out, or are you going solo?" Molly asked, and wow, instead of snapping at her, Rafe just furrowed his brows.

Molly really was an angel.

And holy shit, everyone at the table seemed to hold their breath. YOU INCLUDED BECAUSE JCDKWLSJSDHJFUJDFLS.

Rafe swallowed his bite, a deep crease between his brows, and said: "If every girl keeps being this fucking annoying—"

“Yo, dude,” Kelce cut him off firmly, and oh. My. God. The way he actually looked intimidating when he wanted to, voice soft but with just the right amount of warning. Um… kinda hot, BYE.

Molly just chuckled softly, AND THANK YOU QUEEN for not taking Rafe’s moody ass to heart.

“What?” Rafe said, gesturing to his food. “Just trying to fucking eat here and y’all keep pissing me off with annoying-ass questions. If I wanted to giggle about the fucking Gloaming, I’d have sat with a bunch of 6th graders.”

Cara snorted. “Then maybe let them show you how to eat properly too.”

All of you chuckled. Except Rafe, whose face turned into a full-on scowl (keep it up and it’ll stick like that forever). He aggressively stabbed his fork into a slice of avocado (and when it slipped off, you nearly lost it).

Then he raised the now-empty fork and pointed it at everyone, a crooked smile on his face. “You know what. You’re all fucking lucky I let yesterday’s bullshit slide.”

Duuude.

Was he seriously still salty about everyone spending a few hours with Sarah and the Pogues? Pleaseee, this weird class war in his head needed to be eradicated immediately.

The funniest part was how everyone just stared at him with the most deadpan looks ever (even Kelce and Molly BAHAHAHA) over the way this boy was acting up, and how he'd behaved yesterday.

Like, stupid idiot not realizing he was lucky they let his bullshit slide, But alright, go off, king of dramatic tantrums.

For a good ten seconds, the table was dead silent—just muffled voices from the other tables and the faint sound of the dining hall’s radio—until Molly finally spoke, her kind eyes and soft smile doing the absolute most.

“Did you guys know there’s a new museum opening in town?”

And just like that, the others jumped straight back into the convo like Rafe hadn’t said a damn thing.

You barely managed to stifle your laugh as he turned his head to meet your eyes, giving you such a fucking deadpan look like he was in The Office. “Next time we’ll fucking eat alone.”

AJSDFJKDFJKS OKAY.

The fact he kept including you in everything like it was the most natural thing in the world since Saturday? MADE YOU FEEL ALL KINDS OF SPECIAL.

Cheeks on fire, you chuckled and nodded toward his plate (which honestly looked like a bomb had gone off on it). “First, you gotta learn how to eat alone.”

Instead of snapping back, he just snorted, lips twisting into the cutest smile ever.

The rest of the lunch break actually went pretty smoothly. Luckily, the others mostly avoided any topic that might trigger Rafe (which was like, a solid two in total), and they even stayed away from talking about their night with Sarah and the Pogues.

Topper brought up the upcoming surf tournament again—the one he’d already mentioned last week at Kelce’s—and got kinda grumpy about the fact that the bruise on his face might still show up in the photos if it didn’t disappear by next week.

To which Cara simply said: “Don’t be such a baby. Just make sure they only shoot your other side. That one’s better anyway.”

“See,” Rafe added, looking at Topper. “Did you a favor.”

As soon as the bell rang, everyone got up to head to class.

Molly gave Kelce a kiss (they claimed they were only dating but yeah, wedding bells were ringing loud and clear), and headed off with Cara. You didn’t even get a real chance to say goodbye to Rafe and Topper because Kelce already started dragging you away, way too excited about the fact that Rafe was using TrackerBuddies again.

“He still hasn’t added me back, though,” he said with a slight frown as you walked down the hallway.

You chuckled, remembering they’d already had a plant together before but Rafe hadn’t watered it. “I’m sure he will. He’s probably still mourning the loss of your first plant.”

“Nah,” Kelce said, waving a hand with a grin. “He’s too busy with yours.” He nodded, impressed. “Level three already after just one day.”

Um, if he only knew Rafe kinda farmed the XP using real money. You definitely needed to tell him to stop doing that.

“Yeah, I think the only reason he re-joined that app was to beat your level with me,” you said, amused.

Kelce snorted. “Not surprised. If ‘competitive’ was a person, it’d be him.” He let out a laugh as you rounded the corner. “Back in 6th grade, he started surfing just to beat Topper.”

WAIT. RAFE COULD SURF??? OMFG.

The mental image of a wet, sunburnt Rafe in perfectly fitting shorts, riding waves and jogging back to shore with a surfboard under his arm, breathing heavy and—GIRL.

“And did he?” you asked, trying to chase away those unholy thoughts.

Kelce nodded, eyes wide. “Totally did. Dude devoured Topper with every wave. If he hadn’t quit after a month because he got bored of the sport, he probably could’ve gone pro.” His voice turned a bit more serious. “That’s the thing about him. He’s got so much potential, picks up on stuff so damn fast if he actually wants to. He could do so much more with himself but he just… doesn’t.”

Yeah, you’d noticed that too.

He crushed science and economics classes and even adapted quickly in art. Like when you were working on your collage? You only had to show him a few examples and he picked exactly the snippets you would’ve chosen. Not to mention his driving skills.

He already handled his Benz like he’d been born behind the wheel, but your dad’s Corvette? He adapted to that thing like it was second nature. Which, hot as hell.

Watching him drive in general? HOLY SHIT. That was one of the few times he got that concentrated, that focused and… ughhh you needed to chill.

“You and him are closer than he makes it seem, right?” you dared to ask, voice and expression full of genuine curiosity.

Kelce laughed. “I was his first friend in elementary school. He almost beat me up after I accidentally bumped into him.” A big grin spread across his face. “But I beat him up first and I guess that tamed him. He's still salty about it to this day.”

That made you laugh too, just as you came to a stop in front of your classroom. “I’m guessing that’s where the love-hate relationship between you two comes from.”

“Nah, that's his perspective,” Kelce replied with a soft smile, tapping his chest. “I love that guy, even if he acts like a rabid dog sometimes.”

You didn’t even get the chance to respond because Mrs. Richman was already calling the two of you into class.

Yay. Two hours of English with the way-too-enthusiastic teacher in her twenties who was already married and had two kids like OKAY.

And not even ten minutes into the lesson, your phone buzzed in your bag. Richman usually didn’t care, as long as you delivered during class.

So you fished your phone out of your bag and were immediately greeted by this absolute bomb:

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.

What a fucking rollercoaster of emotions that conversation had been. Like, the literal heart spike that first picture alone had given you should’ve been enough to get you rushed to the ER.

AND THEN HE HAD THE AUDACITY NOT TO STRAIGHT-UP SAY HE WAS ASKING YOU OUT AS A DATE FOR THE GLOAMING, HELP OMG. 

For one tiny fucking second, you’d actually thought he was asking you out to be his girlfriend (the delusions were truly getting out of hand). OH MY GOD, YOU COULD STILL FEEL YOUR CHEEKS BURNING AND THAT TINGLY FEELING UNDER YOUR SKIN JUST THINKING ABOUT IT.

Okay no. This was too much.

And here you thought you’d mastered the art of being chill around Rafe and just being yourself, which—this nonchalant persona you’d projected during the chat? Yeah, that was just you gaslighting yourself into staying calm BUT OH. MY. GOD.

Rafe Cameron. Wanted. You. To. Be. His. Date. To. The. Gloaming.

That was.

Crazy.

Insane.

Absolutely batshit impossible.

LIKE HAD THE OTHERS MANIFESTED THIS JUST EARLIER??? OR HAD RAFE ACTUALLY FALLEN FOR THEIR 'LET'S MAKE HIM JEALOUS' TACTIC????

I’m fine :) Totally fine :)

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP PASSING OUT AHHHHH.

And god, AGAIN, how freaking clingy that guy was. It was kinda sweet and sad at the same time. He seemed genuinely excited about you, but also? The way he clung to you so tightly probably meant he was scared you’d slip through his fingers or whatever angsty stuff was going on in that boy’s brain.

The broken sound of his voice as he called after you last night, begging you to stay, still echoed in your head, making your chest clench whenever you thought about it.

However, you needed to set some boundaries. As much as you loved his attention, this couldn’t spiral out of control. Clingy was just a short step away from possessive and controlling. And since Rafe only did extremes and already had a tendency to slip into that kind of stuff real quick, you needed to be careful.

Not cold or distant, just a little more mindful.

Like when he mentioned having a claim on you for the Gloaming... Sure, yeah, he was the first to ask you out, and yeah, he technically had dibs since he wanted to give it another shot (and also he was your crush...so) but calling it a claim?

Hmm. Definitely a grey area.

HAHAHAHA. FUNNY.

From not even speaking to Rafe for literal years to friendship, cuddling, and (almost) being each other's dates for the Gloaming in just one week? Yeah.

The fact that your brain had kept up with all of that without combusting or exploding? Impressive.

“Miss Y/l/n?”

Startled, you looked up from whatever void you’d been staring into.

Shit.

Mrs. Richman was eyeing you with one brow raised and that well-known face that screamed I knew you weren’t listening.

Ughhhh.

Your face immediately flushed as the whole class turned to look at you, Kelce included, who gave you a huge shit-eating grin from the side.

Okay. No other choice.

You plastered on your friendliest teacher-face, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips as you said: “Sorry, could you repeat the question please?”

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“Why don’t you two just get it over with already and fuck?”

You let out a baffled laugh at Cara’s deadpan expression.

After school, you’d met up and decided to grab some smoothies at the beach. And well, obviously you’d filled her in on everything since last night after you and Rafe dipped.

Oh, and kinda everything before that too. Your little heated conversation, how you ended up cuddling again etc. etc. (you did skip the boner incident because... yeah).

AND. You respected Rafe’s wish not to tell anyone about Ruthie’s blackmailing. As much as your whole body was itching to tell Cara—because SHE would definitely know how to beat that bitch at her own game, and also she was your bestie, you usually told her everything—you kept quiet.

Luckily, she was solely focused on the fact that Rafe had asked you out for the Gloaming anyway.

“I’m serious, Y/n,” she said, blinking dramatically at you. “Like...” she gestured randomly through the air, “you like him, he likes you. You’re obviously into him, and he’s so down bad for you, too. And god, don’t even get me started on that tension between you two.” She shook her head, pointing both hands at you. “I don’t even get why you two agreed on this whole friendship thing when you could’ve just started dating.”

UM.

Another surprised laugh escaped your lips, and Cara frowned. “I mean, you basically went on three dates already, sooo.”

“C, what are you even talking about?” you asked with a chuckle, sipping your iced smoothie.

“He took you out on Saturday,” she replied, raising her brows. “Twice, actually. And last night? That was pretty much a date.” She started counting on her fingers. “Paid for your ticket and snacks, sat down with you on one of those couple lounge beds—”

“That was just a regular lounge bed.”

“For couples, yes. Anyway,” she went on, “you fucking cuddled! I’m genuinely shocked you two haven’t kissed yet. But whatever.” She held up four fingers. “And then you dipped together afterward. Tell me that wasn’t a date.”

Okay. She had a point. But.

“Rafe’s straightforward,” you said, playing with your straw. “If he wanted it to be a date, he would’ve said so.”

Cara shook her head with a smug uh-uh expression.

“What?” you asked, raising your brows.

“He’s nervous,” she said, and you almost laughed out loud. “He’s only ever had short little things with girls. But with you? You’re not into hookups or meaningless stuff, so he knows it’s either all or nothing.” She tilted her head, smiling crookedly. “Plus, it’d be his first real relationship as well, and he’s never actually dated anyone before.”

“C, please.”

Cara blinked. “What?”

“I get what you’re saying,” you said with a small smile, “but like I already said yesterday, I don’t wanna ruin this thing with him by jumping ten steps ahead.” You let out a slightly overwhelmed laugh. “I mean, I gotta adjust to this situation at first. And I wanna get to know him properly before I even start thinking about that kind of stuff.”

Cara nodded like a maniac, motioning at you. “Exactly. That’s what dating is for. Getting to know each other, spending time together, seeing who the other person really is.”

“So basically what we’re already doing,” you said, amused.

She slapped her hand on the table. “Girl, that’s exactly what I’m telling you. Just make it official already. Talk to him, say the obvious out loud, and tell him nothing needs to change but instead of calling it your little meetings hangouts, you’d like to call them dates.”

Why was she so good at being convincing? Oh right, there was a reason she was in the debate club.

And honestly? If you brought that up at the right moment and made it sound like a little joke, you could test the waters and see how he reacted and then actually talk about it.

AGAIN: With Rafe, you never had to be afraid of doing dumb shit or embarrassing yourself.

He literally didn’t care. He might joke about it for like a second, and then drop it.

And didn’t he just say earlier during the ride to school that he’d be open to something serious with the right person? And didn’t Kie say just yesterday that you could be that person? And didn’t she also say he was probably into you (which, hello, you still hadn’t fully spiraled over)? 

AND APPARENTLY EVERYONE ELSE THOUGHT YOU TWO WOULD BE PERFECT TOGETHER TOO??????

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH. THIS WAS TOO MUCH FOR YOUR BRAIN TO PROCESS AND DIGEST.

“Just think about it,” Cara said, her tone soft this time. “I honestly think just the fact you’d have the guts to bring it up would make him submit instantly.”

You laughed. “I don’t want him to submit. Both sides should want it."

Cara shrugged, lips tugging down. “Couldn’t be me.”

“Yeah, speaking of,” you said, a huge grin spreading across your face. “How’s it going with Topper?”

And that’s how you spent the rest of the afternoon—chatting, giggling, and sipping on delicious smoothies on the wooden deck of Harry’s Smoothie Bar, overlooking the sea.

Cara told you all about how last night had gone for her. 

AKA how she cuddled with JJ during Barbie, how she later found out he shared a blanket with Pope during Transformers (jjpope confirmed?), how extremely whiny Topper had been in the first aid tent and how much he’d complained and sulked, ranting about Rafe the whole time.

How Cara had told him to shut the fuck up if he didn’t want her to leave, and how they were the only ones left after Kelce and Molly had dipped too, along with Sarah and the Pogues right after, because they wanted to go skinny dipping or something.

“God, I would've loved to join, but drama queen Topper obviously didn’t wanna come along,” she said, rolling her eyes. “So I stayed with his pitiful ass.”

Then she told you how impressed she was with Topper’s knowledge of politics and his take on the whole system, and how she’d almost considered blowing him in the toilet stalls for that but held herself back because she wanted to keep him on edge a little longer.

“He’s gotta work a little harder than just pulling this pathetic act,” she said.

You chuckled. “Don’t think it’s an act.”

“Yeah, no, me neither. Anyway…”

Eventually, you decided to head out—Cara had a hangout planned with Topper later (why was she allowed to call it a hangout??? whatever), and obviously, you were meeting up with Rafe.

Right on time, at 4 PM, you got home, said hi to your parents, and went straight to your room. HEART ALREADY RACING WITH EXCITEMENT AT SEEING HIM AGAIN (help I'm falling way too deep).

But when you pulled out your phone and sat down in your desk chair, a weird feeling started creeping into your chest.

Zero messages from Rafe.

You’d expected more weird or suggestive reaction pics he found on Pinterest, or maybe an update about how the conversation with his dad had gone but nothing?

Weird.

And you couldn’t help but wonder if it had gone that bad. Like bad enough for him to fall back into a coke-fueled high to drown his emotions like yesterday.

You'd kinda been ignoring his addiction and little criminal side hustle because just a boy doing dumb shit HAHAHAHA RIGHT, but if he was already—

The buzzing of your phone in your hand snapped you out of your near-spiral.

RAFE!

But he wasn’t texting you. NO THIS GUY WAS CALLING YOU.

HELP.

Okay okay everything’s chill, it’s not like this is the first time he’s calling me. GIRL YOU CUDDLED LAST NIGHT WITH HIM BFFR OMFG.

“Hey,” you answered, your voice pitched higher than it should be.

“Hey,” he said, chuckling. “You good?”

You nodded—AND THEN REALIZED HE COULDN’T SEE YOU—so you quickly said, “Yeah, Cara just dropped me off and I was getting ready.”

Another chuckle, though this one sounded… slightly off? “Aight. Just wanted to check if you're already home and let you know I'm gonna hop in the shower real quick, then I’ll head over. So I’ll be there in like 20.”

You very quickly pushed away the rush of images of RAFE IN THE FREAKING SHOWER and asked, totally normally: “Perfect. How’d things go with your dad?”

Oh no.

That pause said everything.

“Uh, yeah… maybe better if I tell you in person,” he replied awkwardly (?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!?!).

Um, no. He couldn't give you a teaser like that and just leave you hanging… for like a few minutes BUT STILL.

You let out a strained chuckle. “Short version?”

“Trust me, it’s better if I tell you—”

“Just tell me if it went well or not.”

Another pause. Then: “For you or me?”

UM WHAT.

Heart rate skyrocketed. Immediate panic rushed through your nerves. And you couldn’t help but wonder if this had something to do with Gracie.

“Uh, what?” you asked, forcing a smile into your voice.

ANOTHER FREAKING PAUSE.

“I mean… for me, it could be real good,” he said, sounding way too excited for some reason. “But that depends on you.”

THIS WAS GETTING WORSE BY THE SECOND.

You frowned. “Am I supposed to convince my dad to take the deal or what?”

Rafe chuckled. “Shit, no, don’t think that’s something he’d be into.”

DUDE.

“Then what? Just spit it out please.” Your nerves were about to snap if he kept dragging this out.

A cute laugh escaped his lips. “Alright, alright.”

AND THEN ANOTHER STUPID PAUSE, I’M ABOUT TO LOSE IT.

“Okay, uh,” he started, clearing his throat awkwardly. “You know the stuff Molly does around Kelce?”

Ummmmmmmmmmmmm.

“Being herself” you stated, completely tensed.

WHERE THE FUCK WAS THIS HEADING?

“Yeah, no,” Rafe said, letting out a nervous breath (HIM BEING NERVOUS ALWAYS MADE YOU 200% MORE NERVOUS). “That whole acting like she just chugged a love potion thing. Heart eyes, giggles, and shit like that, you know.”

UH-HUH.

“I don’t think she’s acting,” you said, smiling nervously, feeling your hands grow clammy. "Pretty sure that's called being in love."

Rafe let out a breath that was somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. “Yeah, whatever.”

PAUSE.

And then he dropped the biggest bomb yet:

“I kinda need you to do the same.”

w h a t .

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K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

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T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

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[magicalmatcha]

now playing ♪ something about you by eyedress

"she looks just like a dream, the prettiest girl ive ever seen"

cw: drug mention (?)

Patience was supposed to be Megumi’s strong suit.

He liked to think it still was.

Yn never had much of it, impulsive, restless, always chasing the next feeling. So back then, he’d taken it upon himself to be the steady one. The one who waited. The one who stayed calm when she couldn’t.

But now, sitting alone in a corner booth of a sleepy café filled with half-interested cats and fading jazz, his coffee long since cold, he was starting to wonder if he’d overstated his own virtue.

She was late.

Twenty-seven minutes late, to be exact.

But she wouldn’t just not show.

Right?

Megumi checked his phone again,no texts, no missed calls. Nothing but the timestamp staring back at him like an accusation.

Maybe something came up.

Maybe Yume got sick.

Maybe she changed her mind.

Or maybe this was the answer.

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

God.

She would do this.

Just to prove she still had the upper hand.

And the worst part?

It worked.

Still, he didn’t get up.

Didn’t throw out the coffee or leave money on the table or storm out like he should have. Instead, he just sat there, tired, wired, waiting, letting the silence swell around him.

Because deep down, beneath the hurt and the stubborn pride, Megumi knew something: She may always test his patience. But she never broke it entirely.

And if she walked in now, an hour late, no apology in sight, he’d still pull out her chair.

The door jingled with that soft café chime, delicate, almost too polite for the chaos it signaled.

Megumi looked up.

There they were.

Yn, hair still damp from a rushed shower, flushef from the walk over. Her oversized hoodie looked like it belonged to someone else. She had the air of someone who hadn’t had a full meal or a full night’s sleep in days, maybe weeks, but carried herself like she dared anyone to point it out.

Beside her, Yume clung to her hand, blinking curiously at the rows of cats lounging on velvet cushions. She moved with genuine curiosity, clad in a fluffy cat hoodie perfectly fit for the occasion.

“Look, Mama, a cat,” Yume whispered loudly, pointing toward a lazy calico sprawled on a nearby windowsill.

“Indoor voice, sweetheart,” Yn murmured.

Megumi stood, halfway through rising, unsure if he should wave or just stay still and look apologetic.

“You’re forty minutes late,” he said, his voice light, like he didn’t care, but the lukewarm coffee in front of him said otherwise.

Yn looked at the time on her phone. “Thirty-seven, technically.”

Yume pointed again. “That one looks like Hana's cat, the one that bit you.”

“That cat had mental issues,” Yn replied flatly, then nodded at Megumi. “You gonna keep looming or sit down?”

He sat.

Yume slid in beside her mother, tiny fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

“She’s shy,” Yn offered simply.

“I’m not shy,” Yume corrected. “I’m just watching.”

Megumi tried not to smile. “Got it.”

Yn reached for a menu. “So are we here to play with cats or to have the longest, most painfully awkward brunch in history?”

“I’m good with either,” he replied.

She glanced at him. “I bet you are.”

The calico cat slinked off the windowsill and onto the bench, curling next to Yume without hesitation. Yume looked down at it like she’d just made a new lifelong friend.

Megumi watched the way she reached out,careful, gentle, curious.

Yume reached over and stroked the cat’s back gently, fingers brushing through its fur with practiced ease.

“She’s good with animals,” Megumi said, mostly to fill the silence.

“She’s good with everything,” Yn said absently, still scanning the menu. “Except mornings. And pickles. She’s deeply opposed to pickles.”

Yume looked up. “They’re slimy and evil.”

Megumi smiled, folding his hands together on the table. “I don’t like pickles either.”

Yume gave him a look like he’d just passed an unspoken test. “Do you like pink?”

“It’s not my favorite.”

“Wrong answer.” She turned her focus back to the cat, petting it a little more seriously now, as if disapproval needed to be expressed physically.

“Try again,” Yn murmured behind her menu, not bothering to hide her grin.

Megumi chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, I like pink. Especially sparkly pink.”

Yume nodded. “Acceptable.”

A waiter came by and took their order, chicken steak for Yume, something small and overpriced for Yn, and another black coffee and a stack of pancakes for Megumi that he wasn’t sure he’d even drink.

After they left, Yume stared at him, head tilted slightly.

“What’s your name again? Sorry."

“Megumi.”

“Meh-goo-mee,” she repeated slowly. “That’s a funny name.”

“I’ve been told.”

“Do you sing for work?”

Yn tensed for a fraction of a second—barely noticeable if you didn’t know her. Megumi didn’t miss it.

“I do,” he said carefully.

"Are you famous?"

"I suppose a little bit."

“Can you sing now?”

He blinked. “Right now?”

“Yeah. I wanna hear if you’re good.”

“I think the cats would get mad.”

Yume frowned, considering that. “True. That one looks like he’d get really mad.” She pointed to a black cat curled up on a cushion, glaring at the world.

“That one looks like Maki,” Yn muttered.

Yume giggled. “You can sing outside.”

“Maybe next time,” Megumi said gently.

Yume seemed satisfied with that, shifting to lean against her mom’s side. “Mama, when are we getting a cat?”

“When someone who isn't me agrees to clean a liter box.”

“I’m four,” she said indignantly. “You won’t even let me hold the butter knife.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Megumi watched the exchange with something unnamable in his chest. There was a rhythm between them, a familiarity he had no claim to. He was watching a life that had grown in his absence, and for the first time, it hurt in a quiet, relentless way.

“So,” he said to Yume, gently. “What do you like? Other than cats and sparkly pink.”

She hummed, curling her knees onto the booth bench. “Penguins. stickers. My best friend Hana. She has a robot arm.”

“A robot arm?”

“Not a real one. But her brace is metal and she says it shoots lasers.”

Megumi nodded solemnly. “Sounds powerful.”

“She is. We’re gonna be nurses together. Like Mama."

He smiled. “That’s a good plan.”

“Or pop stars. Haven’t decided.”

“Versatility is important.”

She gave him a look like she was reconsidering him again. “You’re not bad.”

“Thanks,” he said, surprised by how much that meant.

Yn cut in dryly, “High praise, considering she once told Yuuta he looked like Serrator from Power Rangers.”

“He did!” Yume chirped.

Megumi burst out laughing, sharp, unguarded. And Yn, despite herself, smiled.

There was something in that moment, something soft and unspoken. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But a small crack in the ice.

Yume reached for her juice, then turned to him again. “You should come back next time. Hana would like you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“She likes people who know how to sing well.”

“I’m great at singing.”

“We’ll see,” she said, sipping her drink seriously.

Megumi glanced at Yn, who just raised an eyebrow and muttered, “Good luck.”

He didn’t say anything. Just watched Yume as she babbled about her preschool friends and which crayons were the superior brand. She was a storm of stories and opinions and tiny questions he didn’t know how to answer.

And he loved her already.

He just didn’t know what to do with that.

She was pretty in a way that caught him off guard, not in the way people usually meant when they said it, but in the way she scrunched her nose like Yn did when she was thinking, or the way her eyes, so clearly his, seemed to observe everything before saying a word. Her smile was crooked like his, her curiosity sharp like hers. It wasn’t just that she looked like them. It was that she was them. A mirror of all the pieces he hadn’t realized still existed in the world.

He zoned out, admiring her gently and when he zoned back in, Yume was already halfway through explaining the plot of a cartoon Megumi had never heard of when their food arrived.

“So then Princess Zuzu finds the strawberry wand, but it’s not actually a wand, it’s a key. And the door it opens is invisible unless you sing the special song in Z flat.”

Megumi blinked. “Z flat?”

“Yeah,” she said seriously, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork. “It’s a secret note that only fairy queens can hear.”

“Oh.” He nodded solemnly. “Obviously.”

Yn sipped her lemonade, not bothering to hide her amusement. “She’s testing your adaptability. Careful. She’s relentless.”

“I can tell,” Megumi muttered, watching as Yume made her ketchup dip a three-course experience.

Across the table, she studied him between bites.

“Are you Mama’s friend?”

The question was innocent. Too innocent.

Yn tensed just slightly, her hand pausing mid-reach for a napkin.

Megumi hesitated. Then met her gaze across the table before returning his eyes to Yume.

“Sort of,” he said. “We used to know each other a long time ago.”

“Oh.” Yume seemed unbothered. “Like a school friend?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

She nodded like she was filing the information away. “Did you know Mama when she had pink hair?”

Yn groaned. “Yume.”

“What? It’s in the photo album!”

Megumi’s lips twitched. “I did, actually.”

“She looked like princess bubblegum ,” Yume declared proudly. “I told her she should do it again but she said she’d rather die.”

“Still true,” Yn muttered, dabbing at her daughter’s chin with a napkin.

Yume giggled and leaned into her mom’s side, grabbing a chip from her own plate and holding it up to Megumi. “You want one? They’re extra crispy.”

Megumi blinked. “Uh, sure.”

She handed it over gently, like a diplomatic offering. Then went back to dipping her nuggets into honey mustard and humming under her breath.

Megumi watched her, unsure how something so small could take up so much space in a room. She wasn’t shy, but she wasn’t reckless either. She moved through the world like it would catch her. Like she’d never been given a reason to be afraid.

It hurt more than he expected.

“She likes you,” Yn said quietly, after Yume got distracted trying to use the ketchup packet to spell her name.

“She doesn’t even know me,” he replied.

“That’s what makes it worse.”

They sat for a while like that, Yn idly cutting up the rest of Yume’s meal, Megumi listening to her chatter about a kid in her daycare who “doesn’t know how to whisper,” and the injustice of naps being outlawed after nursery school.

Megumi couldn’t stop watching her. Couldn’t stop seeing traces of himself in the shape of her eyes, in the stubborn jut of her chin. Couldn’t stop wondering how many milestones he’d missed, how many firsts had passed him by while he was busy chasing tour buses and spotify streams .

“Do you have kids?” Yume asked suddenly.

His mouth opened, then closed.

Yn looked up, her fork pausing midair.

“No,” he said finally. “I don’t. Not officially.”

Yume tilted her head. “That’s a weird answer.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling faintly. “It is.”

She nodded like she accepted that. “You’d be a good dad. You’re quiet, but you listen. Like Hana's."

The world tilted slightly.

Megumi stared at her, throat thick. “Thanks,” he managed.

Yume wiped her mouth with a napkin, completely unbothered. “Can I go see if the cafe cat is back in the reading corner?”

“Stay where I can see you,” Yn said automatically.

Yume slid out of the booth and padded away, humming under her breath.

Megumi followed her with his eyes.

“Let’s establish some ground rules,” Yn said the second Yume was out of earshot. Her eyes stayed fixed on the little girl kneeling beside a calico cat, but every word was meant for him.

“One. You don’t tell Yume you’re her father. Not yet. She still thinks dads are a government scam to keep women from filing taxes as heads of household. I’ll… talk to her tonight. Try to unconvince her.”

Megumi opened his mouth, but she held up a hand.

“Two. You don’t post her. No pictures of her face, no name, not even her age. If you want to say you have a daughter, I can’t stop you. But leave it at that.”

She finally looked at him, and her expression was sharp in a way that didn’t invite debate.

“Three,” she said, voice quieter now. “You don’t tell her the truth unless you’re sure. Unless you’re ready. If you want to be her father, then you have to be all in. No disappearing. No ‘tour life’ excuses. No taking her love and treating it like a part-time gig.”

Her voice caught for half a second as her eyes drifted back to Yume, now gently petting the cat like it was made of glass.

“Be serious about this, Megumi,” she said finally. “She’s not an idea. She’s not your redemption arc. She’s a person. A living, breathing person who feels everything. You don’t get to break her just because you didn’t know how to show up before.”

There was a long beat of silence.

Then, softer but not any less firm. “She deserves more than what you gave me.”

Megumi swallowed hard, the weight of her words sinking deeper than he’d expected. His eyes didn’t leave Yn’s face, searching for any flicker of doubt or softness. There was none.

“I don’t want to break her,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to fail her.”

Yn’s gaze softened just a fraction, just enough to let him know she saw the honesty there, buried beneath years of absence and mistakes.

“Then prove it,” she said, voice low but steady. “Actions, not promises. If you’re going to be in her life, it’s for good. No half-measures.”

He nodded, a small gesture, but it felt like a start.

extra! extra! read all about it! (no seriously read it)

this smau was orginally an atsumu smau but not a musician one and then it was a gojo before i changed it to megumi because he fit the sombr more than Gojo

YALL ITS 21 DAYS TIL TOUR NOT 26 MB

And yume was a boy up until i made the bios on the intro pages

I only keep referencing rp10's bc that TikTok audio is stuck in my head not

It is summer so I should probably explain. If Maki or anyone else can't watch her Yume goes to daycare. Also because Yn wants her to interact with other kids

School is not in session and Yume is in like her last year of nursery school.

Yume means dream

I know she doesn't talk like a four year old but in my defense. Idk what they talk like.

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[revelboo]

You Senator shockwave angst has me soo upset but its soo good do you think he ever meets his human again😭 ik it would.e impossible but man please give him his happy ending

I have an idea…

She Is Afraid

Shockwave x Reader

• An image pulled from the recordings he’d gotten from Tarantulas. It’s a laughably simple thing to hack the human’s information network. To run that image through databases looking for a match. A name. An address. You. Servos trembling as he stares at his console screen. Because it really is that easy. Can’t remember you, but needs you. You’ve become a dangerous obsession, distracting him from everything else. Has to go find you so he can focus again. So he can figure out what’s real. You’re within reach and he’s not sure what this feeling is. Isn’t sure he likes it, but he can’t stop. Not after watching that final entry. Can’t let events play out the way they’re meant to.

• Washing dishes, you catch a glimpse of red light through the trees and you rinse your hands. A flashlight? Anger flaring, because you have work to do, your dissertation to chip away at like it’s a slab of marble hiding a masterpiece. But if someone’s out there hunting on your land? Drying your hands, you stride to the mudroom and shove your feet down in the old, oversized boots that had been your dad’s that you leave by the door, throwing on the porch light. “No trespassing means no trespassing!” You yell as you stomp out onto the porch. And a branch cracks as something moves, a flicker of unease catching your breath in your chest when you realize how high up that light is. There’s no way someone got a deer stand up that close without you noticing.

• You, but not you. Maybe not even his you. Antenna flicking as you stare up, eyes squinting trying to see, he registers the differences. You’re younger than you’d been in the recordings making him wonder how old you’d been then. If the gate’s even being built yet. Or if that you was a whole different you from some far flung timeline he can never reach. But you’re still you even if you’re the wrong you. And it doesn’t matter if your future is his past, because he’s about to change your future. Feels a pull in his spark, an ache to touch you. Hold you. Had that other Shockwave bonded you? It would have to have been a partial bond and long since withered away. So why does he still feel drawn to you like there’s an invisible tether? Like if he touches you, everything will be alright? Making him more certain that they used shadowplay on him. Carved away bits of him. Like you.

• Heart racing as a tree cracks and crashes into the yard, something massive steps out of the tree line. An enormous, metal monster with a single, baleful glowing optic. And it’s headed your way. Sees you. Turning, you run inside and slam the door locking it. Hearing the porch splinter and crack and you run screaming deeper into the house when the door and the wall around it gets torn away, big servos digging in and ripping like it’s paper.

• Can’t you feel it? Don’t you know him? But you wouldn’t know him, yet. Leaning down, he stares into the hole he made, seeing you running. Hiding from him and it hurts. So he stands and tears the roof away, hearing you screaming as he looks inside. You’re fast. Darting to avoid him, but he finally corners you, servos closing around you as you scream and fight and something in him settles at the warmth of you in his hand. The rightness of you letting him know there must have been a partial bond as he hurts. They stole that from him. Stole his future. And he lifts you, bringing you to him and pressing you close. Those memories that aren’t his roaring through him, trying to drag him under as he slides a servo against you to calm you. Because it’s alright now. That other you had learned to love that other him. You’ll love him. He already loves you. Missed you even though he can’t remember you. “Little one,” he growls softly as you wriggle in his grip, gasping and screaming for help.

Finally!! This song is so awesome for him, too 🤣

[slutty4jk]

KISS ME! | JJK › TEASER/PREVIEW

Summary: You and Jungkook have known each other your whole lives. Childhood best friends turned almost something more. He’s charming, popular, and scared of commitment. You’re ambitious, guarded, and tired of being a maybe.

After one kiss changes everything, you realize wanting him isn’t enough if he won’t choose you back. But walking away is easier said than done.

University brings distance, jealousy, and new people. You’re ready to move on. He’s finally starting to realize he can’t. Not when it’s always been you.

pairing: childhoodbestfriend!jungkook x (fem) reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, kinda toxic but delicious, mutual pining, fluff & eventual smut

rating: 18+ (mdni!!)

warnings: emotional whiplash, jealousy, possessive behavior, fear of commitment, unresolved tension, mutual obsession, brief mentions of sex, hurt/comfort, pining, lots of yearning

A/N: WHEW! Here’s a teaser for my upcoming Jungkook fic and I’m sooo excited (and nervous lol). This little preview gives you a taste of what’s coming in Part One. It’s the only part getting a teaser btw, so enjoy it while it lasts 😭 I honestly don’t know if anyone will read this but if you do, let me know what you think!! – Ivy ₍^. .^₎⟆

please like, reblog and follow for more!! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

KISSME!MOODBOARD | KISSME!PLAYLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST ⭑.ᐟ

TEASER/PREVIEW FOR PART 1

(ONE YEAR AGO)

you hadn’t seen him in months. not really. not since the daily texts stopped. not since life started pulling you both in different directions.

you were the girl in the pressed uniform with a schedule full of deadlines and essays. he was the boy who showed up to class late, hair a mess, stories on his tongue like he lived in a different world entirely. and maybe he did.

so when jungkook invited you to a house party, it caught you off guard. you thought maybe it meant something. that maybe he missed you too.

you spent an hour getting ready, slipping into your pale pink dress, smoothing down your hair, hoping he’d notice. hoping he’d say something.

he didn’t. he barely even looked at you.

and when you found him later, it was with another girl already wrapped around him, her hands in his hair, his mouth on hers like they were the only two people in the room. it stung. more than you thought it would.

you stood alone by the drinks table, sipping a coke zero to drown the lump in your throat, pretending you didn’t care, even though your chest was burning.

you went outside for air. for silence. for space.

and then eunwoo showed up.

he was easy to talk to. a little cocky, a little too smooth, but kind in a way that didn’t feel fake. he asked your name. he noticed your shoes. he said you were pretty and didn’t laugh after.

and when he kissed you, you let him. maybe you wanted to feel wanted. maybe you just wanted to forget.

what you didn’t know was that there was a bet. that his friends were watching. that they had put cash down to see if he could get you to fall for it.

you didn’t know until jungkook stepped outside and saw it all. you didn’t see his fists clench. you didn’t see his jaw tighten. you didn’t know you were his until you weren’t anymore.

he told you to leave.

you fought him on it. angry, confused, hurt. you threw the same words back at him that had been stuck in your chest all night. you asked why he brought you if he never planned to talk to you.

he didn’t have an answer.

but then he kissed you.

and it was different. not gentle. not patient. just honest. like he’d finally remembered who you were, who you’d always been. like he hated himself for forgetting.

you kissed him back. you shouldn’t have, but you did.

and later, in the backseat of his car, you let him in for the first time. not just your body, but your heart. the part of you that had waited years for him to see you again.

and for one fragile moment, you thought maybe he did. maybe this time he’d stay.

KISS ME! Coming soon on July 5th. 💋

[cait-sith]

Hey what if Starscream repainted himself post-canon

Unnecessarily long thoughts and ramblings (mostly about Starscream) under the cut.

This was originally in the tags but then it became an actual wall of text so. Keep Reading be upon ye.

So in IDW Till All Are One 12 Windblade shows Starscream his “true” form quote unquote and it's like this blue-white-and-red colour scheme. And while I don't really know how to feel about that; got some implications vis-a-vis transgender stuff, Starscream clearly took it as something that was taken from him, something that defined him, something that would have made him different (more likeable, more successful, unclear). On the other hand, I also think that Starscream sort of clings to that idea, because it's more painful to believe that he couldn't have changed anything, that it might just be a flaw in him. Something external to blame, y'know.

Windblade kinda points that out, it wasn't really the point of showing him that, but maybe that's just my personal interpretation. “I could have been so much more had I just been allowed to be born as I was meant”. Missing Windblade's point that he is still the same person in his spark, regardless of frame, it is ultimately up to him who he is. His actions define him, not his appearance. BUT. I feel like that kinda misinterpretation would be in-character for him, and so maybe in post-canon he'd... well really I think he'd reframe but maybe as like an attempt to reclaim what he thinks he should have been (even if he doesn't need to, even if he was perfectly capable of changing who he was without that). He frequently sabotages himself, because he doesn't believe in trust and he's so used to being in adverse relationships where he cannot rely on anyone being on his side. So then he gets everything he ever wanted, and it's.. not really what he wanted. Metalhawk, Wheeljack, Windblade and Bumblebee all sorta get under his plating, in different ways, and he admits to liking them, but can't bring himself to trust them. He's constantly at loggerheads with Metalhawk and Bee at the start, but Metalhawk tries and gets murdered for his troubles.

Wheeljack, well, he's just kinda mostly nice and willing to forgive and help, even while he's wary. In a way, I think Starscream gets attached to him because he's safe to get attached to, because Wheeljack doesn't take the shot when he's vulnerable, offers to help, to be on his side. From a distance. He doesn't really... actually initiate much of a friendship, but he talks about the idea.

Windblade, I think that relationship is a bit more fraught. They end up working together a lot by necessity, given their positions, and Windblade frequently has to fix or contend with Starscream's messes, and she has none of the prejudices of the others, but again, she's a threat to his power, to what he wants, can't really look past that. She tries, though, and I think he does sort of like her as time goes on. It just doesn't stop him from doing what he always does. No trust and all that. As for Bee. Bee. While he's alive, he's much like Metalhawk and Windblade: A threat to Starscream's power, with the added issues of being a major enemy and an autobot, with all the prejudices that brings. They don't make friends. Only Bee "dying" changes that, and only because Starscream is utterly convinced he is a ghost. In his own mind, he's *almost* okay with admitting to his flaws, his worries. Bee's ghost becomes his conscience, his confidante and companion, and because he's fictional, a fragment of Starscream's mind (or so he thinks), he's safe. Safe in ways none of the others are. And Bee tries, he has nothing really left to gain, no power to hold onto. For all intents and purposes, he *is* a ghost.

That was probably terrifying when Bee turned out to not be dead. Someone who saw all of Starscream's vulnerabilities, with so much power to hurt him. He can't help himself. He does have moments, though. Rare choices where he does trust, sometimes for lack of better options but still. And by the Unicron-finale, he's, well, still not friends, but he admits to everything, he comes clean, kind of.

So. We're going to ignore that he dies for the sake of this. <3 Just temporarily. In a hypothetical post-canon, I think he'd try to get a bit of agency back, try and follow that dream of his better self. And I think Windblade, Wheeljack and Bumblebee are the closest thing to friends he's had since his trine. And Metalhawk, technically, but he's kinda dead and also with the dead universe revival wasn't too happy with Starscream lmao. Perhaps Bee's the most comfortable, after that, if he ever gets over himself, because he's already spilled his guts to him, if accidentally. I don't think Starscream would ever be *easy* to get along with, and Bumblebee doesn't really take shit, but I'd like them to be friends. Squabbly-bantery friends, but still. Wheeljack seems a bit gentler, while Windblade's a bit more professional, she's kind but responsible.

Point being: this is Bee helping him repaint himself to leave the past behind.

Thanks for listening lmao

[beingbetterthanyou]

Title: A Lie Between Us

Chapter one: For Him

Summary: When Talia Al Ghul agrees to stay at Wayne Manor at Damian's request, the last person she expects to bond with is Bruce Wayne's wife, a civilian housewife.

Warning: None

*******

You didn't expect her to say yes.

The invitation was sent more out of duty than desire. A gesture made in good faith, sealed with Damian's pleading eyes and Alfred's gentle encouragement. You had half-expected Bruce to intercept it, crumple it in his calloused hands, and toss it into the fireplace with a stern, "this isn't a good idea."

But the envelope had gone untouched. And now here you were, smoothing down your blouse for the third time, glancing at the dining room clock like it might turn back and undo this entire night.

"She'll come," Damian Said with the certainty of a child raised by both shadows and kings. "she always keeps her word."

You gave him a thin smile. "That's what I'm afraid of." you muttered.

*********

Talia arrived ten minutes late. On purpose, you suspected.

She swept through the door like smoke, sharp heels, darker eyes, and a silence that filled the room before she spoke. She wore black, of course. Not mourning, not elegance- Power.

She was striking in that dangerous kind of way; the kind of woman who didn't need a weapon in hand to feel like one.

"Miss Al Ghul," you greeted. "Mrs. Wayne" she said with vemon.

And that was it. Not a handshake. Not a smile. Just an icy acknowledgement and a long silence that stretched through the foyer like a taut wire.

Dinner was a fragile performance. Talia sat across from you at the long table, her posture impeccable, her conversation minimal. Damian filled in the gaps, recounting stories from school and patrols, always careful to divide his attention between the two of you. He was trying so hard; you could see it in the way he glanced between you, measuring every word, every tone, like peace was something he could balance on a fork.

Bruce was quiet, naturally. Watching. Studying. Occasionally reaching for your hand beneath the table, grounding you in subtle ways.

"you've done well," Talia said, finally, her voice low as she picked at her salad. It took you a second to realize she was talking to you. "With Damian," She clarified, as if it wounded her to say it aloud "He's... steadier than he was."

"Thank you," you said carefully. "But he's done the work. I've just been here."

Her eyes flicked up. "That's more than most."

There was something unreadable in her expression, and it took you a moment to recognize it.

Was that...Gratitude? No. Respect.

However small, however begrudging, it was there.

***********

After dinner, the men excused themselves to the cave for a systems check. Damian offered to stay, clearly nervous to leave the two of you alone, but Bruce gave him a slight nudge.

"She's not going to stab me, Damian," You murmured, half-joking.

Talia said nothing, but a single brow rose in amusement.

Once they were gone, the silence between you settled like fog.

You poured wine. Offered her a glass. She accepted, but didn't drink."

"I didn't come here to play nice," she said finally.

"I didn't expect you to," you replied, meeting her gaze.

She tilted her head slightly, studying you. "then why invite me?"

"Because he asked me to."

Talia's expression didn't change, but something in her shoulders shifted. A breath, maybe. A tension released.

"And you always do what he asks?"

"No," you said. "But I try to do what's right for Damian."

That gave her pause. The silence between you changed then. no longer charged, but contemplative.

You landed back in your chair, taking her in more fully. There was something brittle in her tonight, something under the sleek lines and poised mask that felt... tired. Not weak. Never weak. But worn.

"I don't hate you, you know," you said softly.

She looked at you like she didn't believe you.

"I don't," you repeated. "I didn't know what to expect when I married Bruce. I knew about you. I knew about your history. I just didn't know it would feel like... carrying someone else's ghost."

That made her eyes sharpen. "I'm not dead."

"No," you said. "But sometimes I think part of him still lives in that time. when it was just you and the mission." Her grip tightened around her wine glass. "He chose you."

"I know."

you didn't say it like a victory. Just a fact. One that sat heavy on the table between you.

"I'm not here to take anything from you," she said after a long pause.

You believed her. But that didn't mean it was easy

*********

Later, as the hour grew late, Talia stodd and reached for her coat. Damian rushed in from the hall, his eyes darting between you both. "You're leaving already?"

"It's late," she said, smoothing her sleeve. "And I'm not needed here."

Damian frowned. "You're always needed." Her hand stilled for a fraction of a second, resting against his cheek. And in that brief moment, something like softness passed over her face. "You have more than you know, ibni." (My Son.)

She turned to you then. Not cold. Not warm. But real. "Thank you," she said quietly. You didn't need to ask what for.

***********

After she left, you sat alone at the table for a long time, starring at the wine you hadn't finished. You told yourself it had gone better than expected. That maybe this was the beginning of a tentative truce.

But as the night deepened and the shadows stretched across the empty seat she'd left behind, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed.

Not just for Damian.

Not just for Bruce.

But for you.

[isabelckl]

whiskey & honey 7

ranch girl ellie williams x city girl fem!reader

every summer since you were fourteen was spent in Ellie’s family ranch. your mothers are best friends, which only made it harder to understand why you and Ellie were never even friends. or maybe the question isn’t about friendship at all.

Masterlist

You were sitting cross-legged on the grass, arms loosely draped over your knees. The shade of the tree swayed above you — slow, gentle, like even the wind was in no rush.

Ellie sat beside you, her legs stretched out, hands planted behind her in the grass to support her weight. Her head leaned back, eyes fixed on the canopy above. A single strand of dried grass hung from her mouth, shifting a little each time she exhaled.

The breeze moved through the branches. A bird chirped somewhere far off. The silence felt easy.

“Don’t you miss your life back in the city?” she asked, not looking at you. “Malls? Overpriced coffee?”

You glanced over at her. Her head was tilted just slightly to the side now, waiting.

You thought about it — not because you didn’t know the answer, but because it deserved the space of a pause.

“No,” you said.

She hummed softly, the blade of grass twitching between her lips. “Why? I remember you being eager to go back a few summers ago.”

You shrugged. “Well… that was before.”

Ellie finally looked at you. Her eyes studied you for a second too long before her voice dropped low. “What changed?”

You turned to her, one hand leaning back in the grass to mirror her. The wind brushed across your face, shifting your hair just enough to make it feel like something cinematic.

You didn’t answer.

Just bit your bottom lip lightly and looked at her like maybe — maybe — she already knew.

Ellie let out a soft scoff, the grass still in her mouth twitching as she smiled. She leaned her head back again, then reached blindly into the grass beside her and threw a small, brittle leaf at you.

You dodged it with a grin, rolling your eyes. “You’re annoying.”

You flopped back in the grass with a sigh, one arm thrown dramatically over your face.

Ellie chuckled beside you. “Bold of you to say, considering I’m the reason you survived that horse ride.”

“You shoved me onto it.”

“I guided you with care and support.”

You lifted your arm just enough to peek at her, eyes narrowed. “You manhandled me off that horse like I was a sack of flour. That wasn’t patience, Ellie.”

Ellie shifted beside you, close enough that you felt her elbow brush yours. “You say that like it wasn’t the best part of your week.”

“The best part of my week was Celine’s peach cobbler, actually.”

“Ouch.”

“Honesty hurts.”

She lay back too, hands behind her head, the grass stem still between her teeth. You glanced over — the sky wide above her, her short hair spread around her.

“I’m still your favorite,” she said, voice low.

You blinked. “Who said you’re even in the top five?”

Ellie grinned slowly. “I know things.”

You turned toward her, propping yourself up on one elbow. “Like what?”

She mirrored the movement, facing you now, noses not far apart.

“Like when you’re lying.”

You stared at her, heart thudding so hard it felt personal — her eyes tracing your face while you did the same, like you were both memorizing.

And then — without breaking eye contact — Ellie flicked a leaf at your face.

You gasped, outraged. “You menace—”

You launched forward, trying to grab her hand, but she rolled out of reach, laughing because she was never going to let you win.

She scrambled to her feet in one quick motion, still grinning. “Too slow!” she called out, already backing away, steps light, teasing.

You pushed yourself up with a groan, brushing grass off your arm. Some of it stuck to your skin, caught in the sweat from the sun and your flailing. You tried to flick it off, but it only clung harder.

Ellie was already halfway across the field.

“Are you seriously running away right now?” you shouted after her.

She turned, walking backward now, still grinning. “Not running.”

You squinted at her, brushing the last stubborn blades off your thigh before bolting after her.

Your boots thudded against the dirt, sun burning at your neck, grass slapping your shins as you chased her across the field.

Ellie glanced over her shoulder once — just once — and saw you closing in.

She laughed. Not a polite little chuckle — a full-on, wild thing that bubbled up from her chest and made her pick up speed.

You tried to sprint harder, but after a minute of running — your lungs burning, your legs protesting — you finally stopped, hunched over, palms on your knees.

Your breath came in sharp bursts. “I—can’t—I’m not—built for this—”

Ellie slowed, looping back around like she was concerned.

But she wasn’t.

She stopped just a few feet away, tilted her head, and grinned down at you like the menace she was. “You good there, champ?”

You glared at her through your sweat-soaked hair. “Come here so I can slap you.”

Ellie stepped a little closer — just enough for you to reach, maybe — and then darted away again when you lunged half-heartedly.

“I swear to god—” you wheezed, turning in a lazy circle. “You’re evil.”

She grinned, still circling you like a cat. “You’re just mad I’m fast.”

You flopped down, sitting on the grass. “I’m mad you’re fast and real freaking smug about it.”

Ellie walked backward a few more steps, arms up in mock surrender. “Alright, truce. You’re too pretty to pass out in the heat.”

You glared at her from the ground. “Flattery won’t save you.”

She grinned.

It totally would.

Ellie walked back toward you, still grinning, then offered her hand. You hesitated for a second before grabbing it.

Her grip was steady and warm.

She pulled you up easily, then turned around like nothing happened and started walking — toward the end of the field, where the grass got taller and the trees began to thicken.

You frowned, brushing dirt off your palms. “Where are you going?”

Ellie didn’t answer.

She just walked straight up to an old-looking tree — wide, crooked, a little too familiar — and started climbing like it was nothing.

You raised your eyebrows, arms crossed, watching her pull herself up. Effortless. Of course.

“Isn’t that the tree you fell off when you were fourteen?”

“Yeah,” Ellie grunted, gripping the second branch, already higher than you’d ever go. “Same one.”

“Okay, well, I’m not following you up there.”

“You don’t have to.” She climbed to the third branch now. Much higher. The branch creaked under her weight.

You frowned. “Ellie... seriously. You should come down, or at least go lower. That tree looks ancient.”

Ellie glanced down, all grin. “Nah, it’s good. You should totally come up here, actually.”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes softly. “No, Ellie, I can't climb trees like you.”

Ellie pressed a hand to her chest. “Feel sorry for you.”

You rolled your eyes again. “Yeah, well, I’ll feel sorry for you when you break something. You should really get back down.”

But she just shook her head, spreading her arms out like she was flying. “It’s fun. I do this all the time.”

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face, trying not to let your nerves show. She was always like this — reckless, wild, raised half by the woods, half by instinct. It was hard to blame her for being the way she was.

A loud crack and thud broke through the air.

“Ellie?!”

You sprinted toward her, dropping to your knees in the grass beside her. Her body was still. Her eyes were closed.

“Ellie—oh my god—” You pressed your hands to her cheeks, frantically searching for any sign of injury. “Ellie? Hey—hey—wake up—please—”

No response.

“Ellie?!”

You shook her shoulder lightly, panic bubbling in your throat.

And then—

One eye popped open. A slow, smug grin spread across her face.

You froze. And then your expression dropped. You smacked her shoulder — hard.

“You asshole.”

You stood up immediately, brushing your hands off on your shorts, heart still thudding, turning to storm away.

“Wait—hey—wait!” Ellie called from the ground, but you didn’t stop.

You heard her boots behind you a second later — she was jogging to catch up.

“Hey, I was just messing with you,” she said, reaching out to grab your arm.

You yanked it away and spun around, eyes wide with fury. “You can’t do shit like that, Ellie!”

She stepped back slightly, her smirk fading.

“I... I didn’t fall,” she said, quieter now. “I jumped.” Like that would somehow make it better.

Your jaw clenched.

“I just thought—it’d be funny, y’know? To see your reaction. I didn’t think you’d take it that seriously.”

You didn’t say anything. Just stared at her, breathing hard. Hurt. Shaken. You shook your head once and started walking again, fast.

Ellie groaned under her breath and jogged forward, turning around so she was walking backward in front of you, trying to meet your eyes.

“I’m sorry, alright? I’m really—hey—can you just—look at me?”

You kept your head down.

So she leaned forward a little, tilting her head to catch your gaze from underneath.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, softer now. “I swear—”

Her voice cut off when she suddenly reached for your hand. “The horse is this way.”

You blinked, realizing you’d been walking aimlessly toward the woods.

You let her take your hand, let her tug you gently in the other direction. You didn’t say anything. Just let her pull you along as you blinked the sting away from your eyes.

You reached the tree where you’d left the horse, its reins tied loosely to the trunk, both of your hats tucked in the shade nearby.

Ellie let go of your hand quietly. She picked up your hat and held it out.

You took it without a word.

She nodded and untied the reins, guiding the horse forward with one hand. Then, without looking at you, she brought it close and waited.

You adjusted the hat on your head and silently moved toward the horse. Ellie started to reach up — to help you — but you gripped the saddle and swung yourself up without asking.

She lowered her hand again, grabbed the reins, and began to walk.

You didn’t say anything — didn’t let it show, the way your chest tightened when she didn’t climb up behind you. After the stunt she pulled, after how scared you’d felt, you’d kind of hoped she would. That she’d ride with you, say something soft, sit close — anything that might make you feel a little less rattled. A little less alone in it.

The only sound was the soft clop of hooves and the occasional swish of leaves above you.

After a while, Ellie cleared her throat.

“…You can actually walk pretty fast when you’re mad.”

You stared straight ahead.

“Shut up, Ellie.”

She nodded, shutting her mouth firmly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The silence stretched as the sun climbed higher overhead. The heat pressed down on both of you.

Up ahead, through the blur of golden grass, the large house came into view, not far now.

“You really thought I was hurt, huh?” Ellie said, her voice quieter this time.

You didn’t respond. Your brows pulled together slightly as your eyes stayed on the field, tracing the slope that led back to the house.

“I didn’t think… I don’t know. That you’d care that much,” she continued.

You shifted in the saddle but said nothing, not trusting your voice enough to speak.

Ellie looked up at you, a little slower now, like she was searching for something. “Do you?”

You sighed, still not looking at her. “I’m not answering that after you pulled that stunt on me.”

Ellie let out a small exhale through her nose, almost a laugh. “Well… you wouldn’t even be thinking about it if I hadn’t done that.”

You threw a sharp glare down at her. Ellie caught it and immediately rubbed the back of her neck, awkward.

A beat passed and then she broke the silence again. “Are you still mad?”

She cleared her throat when you didn't answer, then muttered under her breath, “You should’ve seen your face.”

You sighed, deadpan. “You should’ve seen yours if I had a shovel.”

Ellie winced playfully, lips twitching. “Fair.”

As the two of you neared the house, the barn came into view off to the side — faded red, sun-warmed, the usual spot to hitch the horse when you got back from a ride.

Ellie cleared her throat.

Once.

Then again.

And again.

You glanced down at her, unimpressed. “What?”

She blinked up at you. “Can I say something… Inappropriate?”

You narrowed your eyes and said nothing.

The horse slowed to a stop just outside the barn. You swung your leg over the saddle and dismounted on your own, landing with a soft thud in the dirt.

You turned to face her, eyebrows raised, arms crossed. “Well?”

Ellie bit her bottom lip, hesitating.

“I—uh—” she glanced at you, then quickly away. “You look… really hot when you’re mad. And mean. I mean—both.”

Her voice was quiet, awkward, like she hated how that just came out.

You tilted your head slightly, trying — and barely succeeding — not to smile. Then, still holding her gaze, you stepped in closer, slow and deliberate, chin tilted up to meet her eyes.

“Are you trying to buy me off with compliments, Ellie Williams?” you asked, voice serious.

Ellie blinked, lips parting like she was about to say something else — but you cut her off.

“Sorry, but it’s not working,” you said, eyes flicking down to her lips for just a second before lifting back to meet her gaze. “And I know I’m hot.”

You turned your back on her, walking toward the back door of the house with practiced indifference — even though your ears were burning.

You rolled your eyes, and despite yourself, the smallest grin tugged at your lips as you pushed the door open and stepped into the house without looking back.

You made your way upstairs, half-running — as casually as you could, which wasn’t very. A stupid smile stretched across your face as your cheeks burned and your heart thudded loud in your chest.

The second you reached your room, you slipped inside and went straight to the window. You shoved it open just enough, then crouched down a little, peeking through the gap like a complete creep.

Ellie was still out by the barn.

Talking.

To the horse.

Her hands moved wildly as she paced in front of it, her voice animated like she was retelling a traumatic event.

You snorted.

“Did you see that?” she asked the horse, gesturing aggressively. “She just gave me a real bad image of her.”

The horse blinked slowly.

Ellie kept going. “Like, damn. I think I saw my soul leave my body.”

You bit your knuckle, trying not to laugh, eyes still glued to the scene below.

Ellie threw her arms up. “She knew what she was doing, definitely.”

The horse shifted its weight.

Ellie pointed at it like it had agreed. “Right?!”

You grinned, leaning your forehead against the edge of the window frame, cheeks aching from how hard you were smiling.

God, you were so screwed.

tag lists:

@wwefan2002 @sulliefimmie @the-sick-habit @c1sne @darkdanixoxo @elliewillamsgf @momoloverr @piastorys @jester-loverre @adoreasellie @nishikorru @wrappedinvines @madsxh1022 @st0nerlesb0 @elliewilliamscutofffingers @bellaramseysgirlfriend @autisticratbagtm @jujueilish @sophipet @starinhereyes @pearl4oli @meeeh234 @womaniza @gracie1234567891011 @oatmatchalatte @rjfjfufjfjfuc @elliesfavtoy @nut-button-baby @lilithyys @eriiwaiii2 @gayasfffck @0phantom0 @sillyme12356 @azxteria @camcam-yass @oneinameliann @elliepoems @elslvrsworld @ssijht @sleepy--mango @liasxeatt @bilszsq @morphids @appleofmyii @elliewilliamsluvrr @wewerewildandfluorescent @angelaut0matec @princesscherryblossom15 @chappellroankisser @sabrinathewitchh982 @soldemiel @ilovelliewilliamss

[stargazedwinchester]

can you do more younger-sibling!winchester stuff? I'd love to see it <3 <3

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `family comes first, sam & dean winchester ༘♡

summary: you opted out of the family business, to follow in sam's footsteps. that's until there's a knock on your door in the middle of the night. word count: 733 pairing: sam & dean winchester x younger sibling!reader notes: this is based in s1, roughly just after sam leaves college thank you for requesting!! if you have anything particular in mind, please let me know!

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

You’ve only been asleep a few hours when the knock at your door awakes you.

Three sharp raps. You blink into the dark, your heart jumping in that way it hasn’t in years.

You sit up slowly, glancing at your alarm clock. 2:37 a.m.

Another knock.

This time, you get out of bed. Padding over to the peephole on your front door. Two tall men almost completely shield the hallway behind them.

You sigh as your shoulders relax, realising it’s just your older brothers. Sam is standing with his arms crossed against his chest, and Dean with his hands in his pockets.

You turn around, rubbing the space between your temple.

They’ve always been your biggest headache.

“It’s me.” A gruff voice raises on the other side of the door. “I know.” You tell him. You feel as if you can’t face them. Not yet. Not after the yelling, the walking away, and the huge fight that left you screaming “I want a normal life!” that split your family unevenly down the middle.

Sam and Dean took their leave in your father’s Chevy.

You open the door, they’re standing there; raindrops sit on Dean’s leather jacket, Sams’ hair curling at his ears from the drizzle outside. They both look troubled.

“What happened?” You ask. Because this isn’t a social call. Neither of them show up unless something is wrong. Especially Dean.

He doesn’t answer right away. He scans you up and down—your dorm room behind you, the textbooks piled on the desk by the back wall. You’re living Sam’s old dream, one that Dean never let himself want.

Sam steps closer. “Dad’s missing.”

The words settle in your gut like a weight.

“Went on a hunt,” he explains. “He hasn’t checked in. It’s been a week.”

“So? Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he—”

“He won’t pick up his phone. Straight to voicemail. He’s missing, Y/N.” Sam hushes, careful to not wake your roommates.

You press your lips together, eyes darting between both of your brothers. You shake your head. “No. No, this wasn’t part of the plan. I’m out. I’ve been out.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Deal’s change.”

You fold your arms, trying to hold yourself together. Trying to not burst into anger right in front of them. “So—let me get this right,” you huff, “you show up to my dorm, two thirty in the morning, expecting me to throw away my education because you need me to find dad? I’m okay, thank you.” You attempt to shut the door on them, but Dean stops you with his boot.

“Not everything is about you, kid. He’s our dad.”

“You think I don’t care?”

Dean’s jaw clenches, and Sam cuts in before either of you can escalate. “We didn’t come to fight. We just… need your help. And you’re still family.”

You look up at him. At both of them. And suddenly it’s all crashing down. The long car rides, arguing who has the better music taste—which is you (obviously). The late night hunts that included laughing over diner milkshakes and patching each other up with shaky hands.

You pushed all of those memories to the back of your mind, into a locked safe the day that you left.

“But I’ve got a mid-term on Tuesday,” you say weakly.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Great. You can study in the car.” He turns around, and Sam shows you an apologetic smile. You laugh dryly. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, a smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Sam steps closer. “You’ll be back by Monday. Promise.”

You hesitate. “Okay.”

You rapidly get changed, and grab your duffel from under the bed; still packed and untouched. Muscle memory takes over as you sling it over your shoulder, making your way to the front door.

The second you step outside, the cold hits you. So does the familiar growl of the Impala’s engine. You climb in to the middle of the back seat, slamming the door shut behind you.

“I better be back by Monday, or I’m going to kill you both.”

“You might wanna sharpen your knife, then, kid.” Dean purses his lips together as he reverses the Impala out of the car park.

The past is already catching up to you, and you hope it doesn’t last long. And you hope it doesn’t bite.

[simplyhale]

You write JJ Maybank AND Tim Bradford fics?! Idk if you’ve ever been told you’re the GOAT before, but you are.

If you are taking any requests I’d love a Tim Bradford one where maybe him and reader are married and have a few kids who say stuff like “you’re always touching/kissing mom” or “you always do what mom says”. Idk just soft domestic fluff.

˚ ‧ ⁺ ✧˚ — ˚ ‧ ⁺ ✧*

˚ ‧ ⁺ ✧˚ — ˚ ‧ ⁺ ✧*

Tim’s routine after work was always the same. He makes sure the long list of items that need to be done gets done. Each item that needs to be checked in and signed for is done.

Clocks out and changes from his uniform back into his civilian clothes.

Try to beat the L.A. rush hour traffic.

Failing to beat the rush hour. 

Text you that he did not beat rush hour.

When he does finally reach the front door of your shared home it is usually between 7-7:30 p.m. From the moment he walks through the threshold he becomes fully at your mercy. As if he wasn’t already. 

He drops his bags on the small bench by the door. Taking a seat to take off his boots, all while Kojo demands his ‘welcome home’ pets. Making sure to put his keys, pocketknife, wallet, and any other items that were in his pockets into the small dish housed on the shelf above the bench. 

Making his way to the kitchen with a slight frown of his brows. Normally your kid, a five-year-old girl, would be trying to tell him everything she did today in one single breath. While you watched from wherever the two of you had been before he walked in. Usually scoping her up into his arms and walking over to you, giving you your normal ‘back in one piece’ kiss. 

But this time was different.

Things were far too quiet.

Now normally he would assume that you two were just asleep somewhere. 

It wasn’t just any normal silences (besides the normal background house noises), it came with a sweet cinnamon smell. Along with a warmth that meant the oven was on, and you were baking something.

When he walked into the kitchen he was met with your five-year-old and you sat on the floor, watching the oven window as if it was a t.v. screen. Your girl’s face is bright and joyful with a wide smile, looking over at him. Making his own smile grow at the sight. “Daddy, you almost missed it!’ Jumping up she raced over and grabbed his head and pulled him to their spot. Turning her attention right back to the silver circle pan full of cinnamon rolls. 

You turned to him; his smile caused you to smile. “I promised her cinnamon rolls this morning, and we got busy.”

“So, this is desert?”

“See I did marry you for more than your good looks.” He shook his head slightly, still looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Reaching up and cupping your cheek he brought you into a kiss. One that you felt him melt into. All of the worries that he had from a day of work were gone. Not fully. But at this moment it didn’t matter.

“Ewwww,”

The two of you laughing is what caused you to part. Looking to seeing your child giving her parents a gross look before turning back to the glass. You simply shook your head, turning your attention back to Tim. Taking him in. He had kept his morning promise, a promise he always made before leaving the house. Making it back in one piece to you. Of course, you knew he was only a text, or call, away. Having gone a whole shift without an answer. Nearly calling the station when the words that said ‘read’ and the current time caused you to relax. You started to take in every inch of his face, as if you didn’t already have it memorized. “Hi baby,”

He caressed his thumb across your cheek, you lean fully into his hold, “Hi sweetheart,” Then he scooted over so he could wrap his arm around you, pulling you into his side. Your hand reached up and trailing your nails up and down the back of his neck, while your other hand rested on his chest. Tapping it and popping your head up from his shoulder to look at him when the thought pop into your head, “I almost forgot. I made spaghetti and your plate is in the microwave. I can heat it up if you want?”

“But you’ll miss the rise!” 

Tim nodded his head to the small girl with large pout, already knowing that she was waiting to see the dough raise up. “You heard her, we can’t miss the rise!” He exclaimed, with kiss to your temple.

“Why do you always have to touch Mommy?”

“Because I love Mommy,” He then reached forwards pulling the small girl into his lap, as your body turned so it could be touching both your child and husband. And just like that every worry that you had, rather it being Tim’s job or everyday issues was gone. Because in this moment nothing else mattered. Nothing but the three of you in this kitchen. 

— 𝜗𝜚✧* ₊˚ෆ՞ so so so sorry this took forever, i’ve been busy but i hope you enjoyed what i write! thank you for this request and thank you for enjoying my writing! i think i might be writing another JJ fic in the future and will defiantly tag you if i do! please don’t hesitate with any other especially cute fluff like this!

[thepinkpanther83]

Heyyy, I'm requesting a second part to "Error 404: Smoothness Not Found". I want to see how the date goes with them, especially with the reader's flirtatious vibe.

They would have their date in a dinner and the reader will be going back in fourth with Eddie like they were in the one-shot with him getting all flustered. Maybe they would be having their little banter and one of them spills something and they both reach for the napkins.

Their hands would brush together before one of them gets the napkins and cleans the mess. After they clean the mess, Eddie would hesitate before reaching over and holding the reader's hand or the reader would take charge and do it themselves. Something like that.

P.S.: This story was my first impression of your writing and it was a 1000/10. I'm definitely going to be reading more. 😊🌹

Error 404: First Date Loading

One-Shot Request: “Part 2, Continuation Request”

Eddie Munson x Female Reader

💌 Author’s Note: Huge thanks to @n3lly-h3artz for the sweet and flirty request for a part two of “Error 404: Smoothness Not Found.” You inspired this mess of fries, flirting, and feelings, hope it hits all the right notes. 💋

~Pinkie 🍒

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

🍔🍟🧋 Summary: Eddie Munson thought the first date jitters were behind him, until burgers, shakes, and a dangerously flirty date threaten to send his heart into overdrive. Sweet chaos, shameless banter, and one unforgettable kiss await in round two of his unexpected romance.

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

“Error 404: First Date Loading”

Eddie pulled up to your place just before 7 p.m., like you’d told him… like you expected him to. Which is precisely why he’d spent the last forty minutes panicking in his van one block over, double-checking his breath, rechecking his playlist, and then panicking again when he realized he couldn’t play the playlist during dinner unless he brought a boombox into the diner, which… no.

So now, with palms sweating on the steering wheel and his rings clinking every time he shifted awkwardly in his seat, he tried… really tried, to look cool.

And then you stepped outside of your house.

Cool, collected, unfairly attractive.

Like you hadn’t just knocked the wind out of him with one casual “See you at seven, Eddie,” and then walked away like you didn’t just rearrange his entire frontal cortex.

You stepped out onto the curb at exactly 7:00 p.m., your hair perfect, outfit killer, expression unreadable in the kind of way that made Eddie’s knees suddenly feel like they were made of soggy fries.

You spotted him in the van and didn’t hesitate. Just that casual, dangerous stroll toward the passenger side like this was your date and he was just lucky to be driving.

He scrambled out of the driver's seat so fast his seatbelt snapped behind him, nearly tripping over his own boots as he circled around to meet you at the door.

You stopped just shy of him, one hand on your hip, eyes glinting in the streetlight.

“Wow,” you purred, flirtation already dripping from your tone, “you’re exactly on time. Trying to impress me or just scared I’d change my mind?”

Eddie fumbled for the handle, nearly yanking it too hard before catching himself. “Pfft… impress you? Nah…”

You arched a skeptical brow.

He managed to pop the door open like he meant to do it smoothly all along and gave a little half-bow like the drama king he was born to be.

“I’d never recover if you ghosted me,” he admitted, all charm and nerves. “So yeah… fear works.”

That earned a little chuckle from you. Low. Dangerous.

“Smart man.”

Eddie’s heart did a full somersault.

You slid into the passenger seat without missing a beat, tossing him a glance that could disarm a small army.

“Points for punctuality.”

Eddie fumbled a little with the seatbelt, clearing his throat. “Yeah, well, I take threats very seriously.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “That wasn’t a threat.”

“Sure felt like one.”

That earned him a smile. Not the flirty smirk he’d expected, but something real. Mischievous. Like you knew exactly what you were doing to him, and you liked watching him short-circuit.

You leaned back in the seat, crossing your legs leisurely. “You’re nervous.”

He scoffed. Loud. Too loud. “Pfft… what? No. This is just my regular level of… vibrating.”

“Mhm.” You tilted your head, voice casual. “You always grip the wheel like it insulted your mom?”

Eddie looked down. Sure enough, his knuckles were white.

He forced himself to relax, flexed his fingers dramatically, and risked a glance over.

You were already grinning.

Not mean. Not smug.

Just… delighted.

And somehow that made it worse.

And better.

The drive to the diner took eight minutes, not counting the two red lights Eddie barely remembered stopping for. He mostly remembered you, the way you kept leaning just close enough to make his brain fizzle, tossing out these low-effort teases like you were toying with a cat.

And Eddie… full stray kitten mode.

When the neon glow of Benny’s Diner finally came into view, he almost sighed in relief.

Almost.

Because then you turned to him, hand on the door handle, and asked sweetly-

“You gonna open it for me, or are you gonna keep pretending not to stare at my legs every time we hit a stop sign?”

Eddie’s soul left his body.

But his hand flew to the door handle anyway.

“Chivalry’s not dead,” he squeaked.

You just smiled again, stepping out with a wink as he opened your door.

“Didn’t think it was. Just like watching you squirm.”

Inside, you slid into the booth like you owned it.

Easy. Unbothered. Like this was just another Friday night. Not a first date. Not a big deal. Not a moment that Eddie Munson had been obsessing over nonstop.

You leaned back against the red vinyl bench like it was your throne, crossing one leg over the other, drink menus untouched, fingers drumming lightly on the table as the overhead diner lights caught in your lashes.

Eddie stood there for a second too long.

Just... staring.

Not in a creepy way. In a ‘holy shit what have I done to deserve this girl looking like that and agreeing to be seen with me in public’ kind of way.

Because you looked good. Casual-good. Like you'd barely tried but still walked straight out of a teen movie that would’ve changed his life if he’d seen it when he was fourteen.

But Eddie… Suddenly aware of every thread of his battle jacket. The earned holes in his jeans. The fact that he’d fixed his hair with a combination of fingers, panic, and one prayer to Dio.

He cleared his throat and awkwardly tugged at his shirt hem as he slid into the booth across from you, knocking his knee on the table edge in the process.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You good?”

“Yeah! Yep. Totally,” he said, voice cracking like vinyl on a bad needle. “Just, uh… these tables are low. Low tables.”

“They’re diner booths, Eddie.”

“Right. That’s what I meant.”

You reached for your water, smirking behind the rim as you took a sip.

Eddie tried to shake it off, shifting in his seat like that’d help him re-center himself. He looked down at his outfit, then back up at you.

“You didn’t say it was a fancy diner.”

You tilted your head slightly, giving him that look, part flirt, part challenge.

“You planning to complain the whole time, or are you gonna get your money’s worth out of a two-dollar chocolate shake?”

He shot her that grin again.

Dorky, a little crooked, genuine.

He was already halfway in love.

“Alright,” he said, holding up his hands like you’d caught him. “You win.”

“I always do.”

The waitress dropped off a couple of laminated menus, oblivious to the minor war of charm being waged in the booth. Eddie picked his up and immediately stared at it like it was written in Elvish, just to buy himself a moment to get his brain in order.

It didn’t work.

Because you were still sitting there.

Smiling.

Wearing that sexy damn outfit.

And Eddie was wondering how the hell he was supposed to get through this date without knocking over the salt shaker, choking on a fry, or… God forbid, calling you his soulmate by accident.

You flipped open the menu with one hand, leaning your elbow on the table like you had all the time in the world. Calm. Effortless. Your fingers traced down the columns slowly, like you were really considering whether or not curly fries were going to change your life tonight.

Eddie, across from you, tried very, very hard not to stare.

And failed.

Miserably.

Because there you were, sitting across from him in this dusty little diner booth like it was a throne, casually licking your glossy bottom lip as you scanned the milkshake options, and something inside his chest imploded.

Okay okay okay… cool cool cool, don’t trip, just breathe, be normal- Oh no, she’s licking her lips. She’s actually licking her lips.

This is not a drill.

This is how I die.

His eyes snapped down to his own menu as if it could shield him from how devastatingly pretty you were just existing in his direct line of sight.

I can’t handle this. I thought I could handle this. I absolutely cannot handle this. She hasn’t even done anything. She looked at the menu and I had a full religious experience.

You glanced up from your side of the table, totally unaware of the absolute meltdown happening two feet away.

Or… maybe not entirely unaware.

Because when you caught him staring… again, you gave the smallest, most devastating little smirk.

Not mocking. Not smug.

Just enough to say “I know what you’re thinking.”

Eddie swallowed hard, almost dropped his menu, and nearly blurted “I love you!” just to make it stop.

Instead, he focused hard on the appetizer section. Safer. More boring. Less likely to ruin his life.

If I survive this date without combusting, I’m giving myself a medal.

The waitress came by with a tired smile and a half-used notepad, pen tucked behind one ear. She looked like she’d seen a lot of teenage drama in this booth and had zero patience for whatever was about to unfold.

“You two ready?”

You didn’t even look up from your menu, flipping it closed with a light snap.

“Cheeseburger, no onions. Curly fries. Vanilla shake.”

The waitress nodded, scribbled it down, then looked at Eddie.

He scrambled. “Same… wait, no… uh, chocolate shake. With the burger. And the curly fries. Definitely curly fries. I don’t trust straight fries anymore.”

You gave him a look across the table. “You had a traumatic straight fry experience you wanna talk about?”

Eddie leaned in, deadly serious. “Have you ever had a soggy straight fry? It’s betrayal in starch form.”

The waitress, already over it, just muttered, “Be out in ten,” and disappeared into the kitchen.

You waited two full seconds after she left before smirking. “So. You panicked and ordered the same thing as me.”

“Pfft, no,” Eddie said, straightening in his seat like he hadn’t absolutely blacked out under pressure. “We just have shared taste. Soul-level synchronicity. Fries are fate.”

You arched a brow, plucking the straw wrapper off your straw, balling it up and tossing it at him. “Soulmates based on side orders. That’s new.”

“Oh, I’m full of surprises,” he said, catching the tiny wrapper midair and almost tossing it back, then thinking better of it and setting it on the edge of the table like a gentleman.

You leaned forward slightly, eyes glittering with amusement.

“Okay, Fry Fate. Let me test this ‘synchronicity.’ If I order curly fries and you order curly fries, and we each give the other exactly one-third of our fries to share evenly… how many fries are we left with individually?”

Eddie blinked. “What?”

You just smiled, leaning your chin into your hand. “It’s math, Eddie. Impress me.”

“Oh my god,” he said, dropping his forehead to the table with a thunk. “This is my worst nightmare. Sexy math.”

You laughed, foot brushing his under the table.

“C’mon, Dungeon Master. Give me a number. Or a saving throw.”

Eddie sat up slowly, looking very serious as he tapped the table. “Alright. I’m gonna roll for intelligence.”

You watched him mime an invisible dice roll over the table, eyes closed.

“Seventeen. That means... I don’t know. Five fries and a deep need for tutoring?”

You snorted, full-on laughing now, eyes squinting as you shook your head.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

“I know,” he said, dramatically placing a hand on his chest. “It’s all I’ve got right now.”

Just as Eddie was about to fake-roll for Charisma next, the waitress returned with a tray balanced expertly on one hand. She slid your vanilla shake down in front of you, then set Eddie’s chocolate one in front of him with the kind of neutral efficiency only earned from years of teenaged weirdos trying to flirt in booths like this one.

“Burgers’ll be out in a few,” she said. “Kitchen’s backed up with a softball team, so hang tight.”

You gave her a polite nod. Eddie just blinked at his shake like it had dropped from the heavens.

“God bless this diner.”

You sipped yours immediately, cool, collected, smug, and arched an eyebrow at him over the rim.

Eddie picked up his cup with both hands like it might escape if he didn’t secure it.

“Okay, this is where I redeem myself.”

“By drinking a milkshake?”

“By drinking it sexily.”

He grabbed the straw, fumbled the wrapper, and immediately lost all the swagger he'd just claimed to have.

You sighed.

Then reached across the table and plucked the straw from his fumbling fingers, dropping it smoothly into his shake with a little tap.

“Here. Hydrate your brain.”

Eddie took a grateful sip of his shake, humming around the straw like it had just healed something inside him.

“Okay, yeah,” he mumbled after swallowing, “this is the best decision I’ve ever made. Milkshake. Diner. You.”

He tried to say it casually.

He did not succeed.

Your eyes flicked up from your shake with that lazy kind of amusement, like you were grading his flirting in real time.

“That was almost smooth, Munson. You get partial credit.”

“Partial credit?” he echoed, mock offended.

“You hesitated. I could hear the panic in your brain.”

“Yeah, well, your face is very distracting,” he muttered into his straw.

You smiled behind your glass but didn't argue.

Just then, the waitress returned with two sizzling burger plates, fries stacked high, curls practically glowing with golden grease. She dropped them off with a nod and vanished again, too fast for either of you to say thank you.

“Damn,” you said, grabbing a fry. “They understood the assignment.”

Eddie, meanwhile, stared at his plate like he was afraid to touch it. Not because he wasn’t hungry, he absolutely was, but because this whole thing was getting dangerously close to real. Like, “we are actively having a good time and food is just background noise now” kind of real.

Still, he picked up a fry and flicked his eyes toward you. “So, what’s the etiquette here? Are we fry-swapping already or do I need to wait until the second date to get a taste of your curlies?”

You tilted your head, expression unreadable for a second, then grinned, slow and wicked.

“Bold of you to assume there’ll be a second date.”

Eddie froze… halfway to dipping his fry in ketchup.

You let the silence stretch just long enough.

Then reached over and casually plucked a fry from his plate without asking.

“...But maybe that was my way of saying there’s a chance.”

His ears turned pink. Just poof… color.

He cleared his throat, flustered as hell, and stared down at his burger like it had suddenly become very, very interesting.

“Cool. Yeah. Awesome. I can work with ‘a chance.’ That’s more than I had this morning.”

You stole another fry, popped it in your mouth, and smirked.

“Keep being cute, and you might increase your odds.”

Eddie took a massive bite of his burger in a desperate attempt to give his mouth something to do that wasn’t nervously flirting or nervously rambling. But of course, mid-chew, you hit him with it:

“You realize you’re still blushing, right?”

He nearly choked.

Coughed once, cleared his throat like that would help, then pointed a fry at you like it was a weapon.

“That’s a side effect of being around devastatingly attractive people.”

You blinked, surprised he came back that fast.

But then you smirked. That dangerous, slow little curve of your lips that made Eddie start preparing his own eulogy.

“Well…” you said, lifting your shake to your mouth for maximum theatrical pause…

“Don’t look in the mirror… and you’ll be fine.”

Eddie froze, halfway through dragging a fry through ketchup, and just stared at you. Mouth open. Brain flatlining.

You sipped your shake, all casual, as if you hadn’t just bodied him with flirtation so sharp it should’ve been illegal.

“You…” he started, then shook his head. “You actually trained for this, didn’t you?”

“For what?”

“Flirting like it’s a bloodsport.”

You grinned, clearly enjoying his unraveling. “I’m just naturally gifted.”

He laughed, full, genuine, breathless. His head tilted back a little and you watched his rings sparkle as he wiped under his eye, like you had done something to him.

And maybe you had.

“Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I thought I was gonna be the menace on this date.”

“You were,” you said sweetly. “Until I showed up.”

He raised both hands in surrender. “Okay. That’s fair.”

“You’re cute when you surrender.”

He pointed a fry at you again. “You keep calling me cute and I will pass out.”

“Good thing I’ve got an extra straw. We can revive you with chocolate shake to the mouth.”

“Honestly? That sounds ideal.”

You tossed another fry into your mouth with surgical precision, like you were casually snacking but also maybe mentally dismantling the man across from you one well-timed smirk at a time.

Eddie, meanwhile, was unraveling by the minute.

He tried to lean back and lounge like a rock god who had everything under control while flirting outrageously, but one of his rings clinked too hard against his shake glass and startled him so bad he jumped a little in his seat.

You blinked.

He immediately tried to pass it off like nothing happened.

“So anyway… what was I saying?” he asked, eyebrows flying to his hairline as he tried to salvage whatever sentence he’d just fumbled through.

You tilted your head, lips twitching. “Something about... my eyes? Or was it the universe? I lose track.”

“Right! Yeah. Your eyes are like… uh-”

He paused.

You waited.

“...like a… uh… D&D artifact. You know. Rare. Dangerous. Probably cursed.”

You actually choked on a fry.

“Cursed?!”

“No, not cursed! I mean like… uh, not bad cursed. Like cool cursed. Like... if I look too long I roll a disadvantage on intelligence.”

You stared at him.

He stared at you.

He wiped his palms on his jeans so hard it sounded like sandpaper.

“Nailed it,” he said weakly.

You burst out laughing… actually laughing now, forehead tipped forward onto your hand as you shook your head at him.

“You are so lucky I like disaster men.”

“Correction,” he said, holding up one trembling finger. “You like this disaster man.”

You reached across the table and gently slid his chocolate shake closer to him, just enough that his rings tapped against it again.

“Drink up, Romeo. You’re overheating.”

“I’ve been overheating since you got in the van,” he muttered.

You pretended not to hear that one.

But the smile you gave him said otherwise.

You were in the middle of dismantling him again, words light, tone casual, but your eyes full of pure, unrepentant menace.

“You know, if this whole rock star thing doesn’t work out, you could always go into stand-up. Or clown school. It’s a fine line.”

Eddie, mid-sip of his shake, snorted.

Like, a full on can’t-help-it snort-laugh, right into his straw.

Which was a mistake.

Because the next thing you knew, there was a splatter of chocolate shake on the table and a rogue drop sliding down his fingers.

And somehow, ketchup had joined the party too.

“Shit-” he yelped, scrambling for the napkin dispenser at the same exact moment you reached for it.

Your fingers brushed, warm, sudden, and electric.

Both of you froze. Just for a heartbeat. Long enough to register it.

“Uh… I got it,” Eddie said, already trying to retract his hand like it burned.

“You’re slow. Move,” you replied coolly, already extracting the napkins with zero hesitation.

He made a helpless little noise that might’ve been a laugh or a small internal scream.

You leaned across the table like this wasn’t a moment, like your pulse wasn’t doing parkour in your chest, and calmly started blotting the mess.

You dabbed at the puddle of shake, then gently wiped his hand. Carefully. Deliberately.

A smudge of ketchup on his thumb. Gone with one swipe.

Your eyes flicked up.

There was a little dot of chocolate just at the edge of his jaw, near the hinge. His eyes had gone wide as he watched you notice it.

Without saying a word, you reached across and wiped it too… slowly. Softly.

Eddie didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Couldn’t.

“Clean now,” you said, balling the napkin and tossing it into the basket near the end of the table.

Direct hit.

Of course.

He stared at you like you were magic.

“You are… terrifying,” he whispered.

“And yet,” you said, smiling just slightly, “you can’t seem to look away.”

The napkin was gone. The spill was gone.

But the air between you… Still thick with static.

Eddie didn’t speak at first.

He just sat there, staring down at his freshly-cleaned hand like it might still be carrying the ghost of your touch. His fingers flexed slightly, hesitated, and then rested palm-up on the table, like he was thinking about reaching across.

You saw it.

Caught it.

And made your decision before he could talk himself out of it.

With the same calm confidence you’d had all evening, you slowly reached out and took his hand.

Fingers sliding easily into his, like it wasn’t even a question.

Like it was just meant to fit there.

Eddie’s breath caught.

His eyes darted up to meet yours, wide, uncertain, hopeful.

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. His rings pressed coolly against your skin, but his palm was warm. A little sweaty. Adorably nervous.

He let out a shaky breath, then smiled like he couldn’t help it. Like you’d just disarmed him completely.

“So this means the date’s going well, right?”

You tilted your head slightly, lips twitching.

“Depends.”

Eddie blinked. “On…?”

“You planning to spill anything else on yourself?”

He groaned, head dropping dramatically onto his free arm.

“Okay, I deserved that.”

“You did.”

You didn’t let go of his hand though.

The curlies were dwindling, the shakes nearly gone, just little trails of melted sweetness swirling at the bottom of the glasses.

Your hands were still lightly linked across the table. Neither of you had mentioned it. Neither of you had let go.

Somewhere between banter and bite, the air had shifted. Softer now. Easier.

Eddie was still grinning, but it had settled, less sharp, more real. He tapped his thumb against the side of your hand idly, like he was thinking something over.

“So… random question,” he said, not quite meeting your eyes. “What kinda music do you actually listen to? Like, when no one’s around to judge.”

You arched a brow. “You judging me already, Munson?”

“Never. Okay… well, sometimes. But not for this.”

You thought for a second, then listed a few bands. Some classics. Some weirdly niche. One guilty pleasure that made Eddie nearly spit out what was left of his shake.

“No way. No way you listen to that and still walked in here like you own the place.”

“I’m a woman of contradictions,” you replied smoothly.

“You’re a menace,” he said, eyes full of wonder. “A gorgeous, chaotic menace.”

Then, almost too quiet to hear:

“And you still said yes…”

You paused.

“What?”

Eddie looked a little startled, like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

He glanced down at the table, then back at you, and for once, he didn’t try to laugh it off.

“Just... surprised, is all,” he said honestly. “I mean, you at the Hellfire table, saying yes to this date, this place, me… it’s not exactly the picture I’d ever expect to happen outside of a fever dream.”

You studied him for a moment, all the sharpness gone from your features. Just soft, thoughtful.

“Eddie,” you said simply, “you’re easy to say yes to.”

He blinked. Mouth parted like he wanted to say something back, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. Just sat there looking at you like you’d told him the world was ending and beginning in the same breath.

You gave his hand one more squeeze.

And then, mercifully, you let the moment breathe. Shifted the topic toward music again, shared childhood favorites, weird cassette tapes found at garage sales, the first band you ever saw live.

Eddie leaned in more and more with every story. His smile grew wider with each new connection.

And something about it, about him… felt like a song you hadn’t heard before, but already knew the lyrics to.

The talk of music drifted into favorite lyrics, then into concert daydreams, who you’d love to see, which bands would be worth selling your soul to the devil (or Hawkins High’s vending machine) to see live.

Eddie was mid-rant about the time he almost scored Metallica tickets through a friend-of-a-friend-who-definitely-didn’t-come-through when you interrupted him, casually:

“Y’know… you’re cute when you get all flustered.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, still warm and playful, but they hit different.

Eddie froze, eyes wide like a deer in very aggressive headlights.

“I… I what?”

You just smirked into your straw like you hadn’t just short-circuited a fully grown man across from you.

“You heard me.”

His ears flushed immediately, and he ducked his head with a laugh, hand tugging at his hair like it might hide his face.

“Then you must think I’m adorable.”

“Mmm,” you mused, pretending to consider it as you reached for the last curly fry. “I mean… if you keep making that face, maybe.”

“What face?”

You mimicked his expression exactly, big doe-eyed, bashful, a little bit like a kicked puppy.

Eddie groaned, sliding his hand down over his face. “Okay, rude. Accurate, but rude.”

You chuckled and nudged his foot under the table.

“Can’t help it. You’re kinda fun to mess with.”

He looked up again, grin crooked.

“You’re dangerous. That’s what you are.”

“You gonna run?”

“Hell no,” he said. “But I might die trying to keep up.”

By the time the check was paid and the plates were cleared, the sky outside had gone from dusk-blue to ink-black, the diner glowing soft and golden behind you like a little time capsule.

Eddie insisted on walking you out. No surprise there, but it still earned him a smirk when he opened the front door with an exaggerated bow.

“M’lady.”

“You trying to earn extra credit?” you asked, stepping through.

“Nah,” he said, following behind you with a grin, “just trying not to screw up the curve.”

The night air was cooler now, and quieter. A breeze lifted your hair as you walked side by side toward the van. You didn't say much. The energy between you had settled into something… soft. Electric. Charged, but less chaotic.

Eddie reached the passenger side first and scrambled to open the van door for you again, this time without tripping over himself.

“Still terrified I’m gonna mess this up,” he confessed as you stepped in.

You looked down at him from your seat, grinning.

“That’s sweet.”

“It’s honest,” he said, shutting the door gently behind you.

The ride home was easier than the ride to the diner. Music low on the stereo, fingers still loosely linked over the center console for part of the drive. Neither of you mentioned it, but neither of you pulled away, either.

Eddie didn’t speed. He didn’t even pretend to. He took every turn with agonizing caution, knuckles tight on the wheel like he was driving a priceless artifact, which, to be fair, you kinda were.

When he pulled up to your place and killed the engine, he glanced over like he couldn’t believe the night had a limit.

“Still alive,” he said, hands fidgeting with his rings. “No casualties. No choking on ice cubes. I didn’t even dent the van. It’s a record.”

“High bar you’re setting, Munson.”

He opened his mouth to retort, then just chuckled, got out, and jogged around to open your door for you.

It should’ve felt awkward. It didn’t.

You stepped out, close enough that your arm brushed his, and for a second neither of you moved.

He fell into step beside you as he walked you to your door. The porch light cast a soft, golden halo over you both, just enough to show the way your eyes flicked toward him, full of amusement… and something warmer.

And that’s when the air changed.

That quiet hovering moment.

That kiss-or-not tension curling around the space between your mouths like a magnetic field waiting for one of you to cross it.

Eddie was clearly teetering on the edge. Practically vibrating with do I… should I… can I??

You made the decision for him.

Not a kiss.

Instead, you reached up and brushed your fingers lightly over the collar of his jacket, straightening it where it had gone crooked. Your touch was featherlight, but deliberate.

You adjusted the lapel. Let your knuckles graze his neck. And then, with your face tilted just barely up toward his:

“You were almost smooth tonight, Munson.”

Eddie blinked, stunned. “Almost?”

“Mhm.” Your voice dropped low, smoky, soft. “Think you can do better on the next date?”

It hit him like a train.

He actually staggered back a half-step. A full system reboot. His soul? Gone. Ascended.

“Wait… you want there to be a next date?”

You leaned in again. Let your smile bloom slow and wicked.

“I demand there be a next date.”

He was hanging on your every word.

“I want to see,” you continued, voice velvet-smooth, “if your hands shake more when I sit beside you… or when I sit on your lap.”

Eddie dies.

He stopped breathing. He opened his mouth. Closed it. His brain blue-screened so hard he forgot how words worked.

“I… I… holy shit-”

You didn’t wait for him to recover.

You leaned in.

He eagerly met you halfway.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative. But it deepened quickly, blooming with all the chemistry and chaos that had simmered all night. His hand came up to cradle your jaw. Yours gripped his jacket, holding him close. His lips were warm, a little hesitant, a little needy.

When you finally pulled away, slow, lingering, he was dazed. Breathless. Absolutely destroyed.

His jaw dropped, then snapped shut like he had to physically catch the words from flying out.

“Okay. Yeah. Yes. I mean… how’s next Friday? Or, like, tomorrow? Or whenever you want? I’m flexible. I’m… this is me being cool.”

“Pick me up at seven.”

“I’ll be here at six.”

He watched you head for your front steps, dazed, smiling stupidly, and absolutely enchanted.

The second your front door closed behind you, with a final flirty glance over your shoulder, Eddie just stood there.

Still.

Like a man in shock.

Like someone who had just seen a divine being descend from the heavens… and then kissed them.

He blinked slowly. Reached up. Touched his lips.

Still warm.

Still buzzing.

“Did that really just happen?”

He spun on his heel and walked to the van with zero coordination, like his legs were moving faster than his brain could catch up. He missed the step getting into the driver’s seat and smacked his shin on the doorframe.

Did he care?

Absolutely not.

He flopped down behind the wheel, slammed the door shut, and then-

Let. It. OUT.

“AAAAAAAAGHHHHH!!”

Full-volume scream into the void of his steering wheel.

His rings clanked against it as he thrashed once, just a little… but enough to physically eject the energy still burning off of him.

“She kissed me. She kissed me! She wants another date. She wants to sit on my lap. What the… WHAT-”

He slapped the dashboard, practically vibrating with disbelief.

“Okay. Okay. Play it cool. Be chill. Don’t ruin this. Don’t think about how soft her hands were or how good her lip gloss tasted… NO, TOO LATE, ALREADY THINKING ABOUT IT-”

He slumped back in the seat, hands dragging down his face.

Then, quietly. Gently. Reverently:

“I’m gonna marry her.”

He sat there for another full minute in silence.

Then reached for the aux cord, popped in a mixtape labeled “Courtship Bangers, Vol. 1,” and floored it out of your neighborhood like he’d just won the lottery.

Which, in a way…

He had.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list! @justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin, @ash-stardust, @meankenna, @kellsck, @chronicles-of-koystee, @micheledawn1975, @fckyeahlames, @cantstandya2000, @totallysocially, @exasperatedsighohmy, @marianaissocool, @boggerslide

Masterlist

[storiesbyshadow]

It's The Little Things

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Rating: Mature

Tags: Slight Angst if you squint, Fluff, Secret Admirer, and honestly I think that's it. Let me know if I missed one.

Word Count: 500+

Written For: @julybreakbingo

Square Filled: N2 - Secret Admirer

Dividers By: Bucky Divider - @super-marvel-dc and Support Divider - @cafekitsune

Bucky Barnes wasn’t used to kindness. Not the kind that came wrapped in ribbon and hope.

It started with a mug.

Left on the shared Avenger’s kitchen counter, it was plain black with white letters: “I Like My Coffee Like I Like My Past: Behind Me.” The first time he saw it, Bucky blinked in surprise. A sticky note was attached.

"Thought you’d get a kick out of this. No one said healing couldn’t come with caffeine." -A Friend

He washed the new one and used it anyway.

He looked around the kitchen, half-expecting someone to jump out and confess, but the room was empty. He hadn’t told anyone, but the old mug he usually used had cracked last week.

Was this just a coincidence?

The next week, a small potted succulent appeared on his windowsill in his room. Another note lay beside it.

“Even shadows deserve sunlight. Don’t forget to open the blinds.”

He stared at the plant for a long time. It was hardy, low maintenance, and something that could survive even if neglected for a while. Somehow, that felt...familiar.

More gifts followed. A first edition of The Hobbit that he mentioned in passing during a conversation with Sam. A pack of old vinyl records he thought no one cared about. A handmade bracelet woven in blue and silver was tucked neatly into his locker one afternoon. And as always, there was a note. Never signed, never a clue to who was behind them. Just warm, simple words that always managed to touch the parts of Bucky he kept hidden.

He didn’t know how to react.

The Winter Soldier had never gotten gifts. James Barnes, the man trying so hard to remember who he really was, hadn’t expected anyone to care enough.

By the time the sixth note appeared, left beside a fresh pastry on a paper plate, he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“You looked tired this morning. I hope this makes your day a little easier. You’re doing better than you think.”

It wasn’t just kindness anymore. It was someone seeing him. Someone paying attention to the way his shoulders slumped, how he lingered too long in the training room, how he sometimes forgot to eat breakfast.

He started keeping the notes in a box in his drawer.

Bucky wasn’t exactly known for subtlety, so when he asked Friday to trace fingerprints or camera footage, the AI simply replied:

“Per the sender’s encrypted privacy request, all records related to the gifts have been redacted. Respectfully, maybe enjoy the mystery?”

Bucky sighed.

But the mystery tugged at him.

Eventually, he changed his approach.

He left a note of his own, right where the gifts always appeared.

“You don’t have to stay hidden. Whoever you are... thank you. You make my days feel lighter. I’d like to return the favor. I’ll be on the rooftop at 8 p.m. tonight. If you’re not ready, I understand.”

He waited.

The sky above the compound turned golden, then indigo, and stars flickered awake. Bucky stood alone with his hands in his pockets, heart awkwardly caught between dread and hope.

Then he heard the door open.

You stepped out slowly, biting your lip and clutching something behind your back. “Hey,” you said, voice uncertain.

He turned and softened instantly. “It’s you.”

You smiled, sheepish. “I didn’t think you’d figure it out.”

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “I just hoped.”

Silence stretched between you as you walked closer. Then you held out what you’d brought. This time it was a small journal with a leather cover. Inside were empty pages, except for the first one.

“For new beginnings. For letting yourself dream again.”

Bucky looked up at you, emotions swirling in his stormy-blue eyes.

“I’ve never had anyone do what you did,” he said quietly. “All those little things... they meant more than I can say.”

You hesitated, searching his face. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you. I just wanted you to know you were cared about. That you deserve softness, too.”

A long beat passed. Then Bucky took a step closer.

“You ever think about letting someone care about you in return?”

Your breath caught. “Sometimes.”

“Well,” he said, almost smiling, “maybe we can try... together.”

He held out his hand.

And when you took it, he swore it felt like the first time in a very long time that something in his soul began to bloom again.

[thistle-wrote]

Lt’s tattoo.

(Johnny sees a little sliver of a tattoo on Ghost's waist and can’t function properly for months) GhostXSoap CW: Sexual Content, Alcohol, Minor Violence, Johnny is a little bit weirdly obsessed for kind of no reason

Johnny was no simple man. He worked hard, fought hard, and played hard. But on leave, life was different. He partied, he drank, and he brought home his little playthings for the evening, having always had an affinity for pretty things. Unfortunately for him, the prettiest thing he had found lately was his lieutenant.

He wasn't even on leave, but he found it increasingly difficult to separate his home life and carefree personality from his work. He remembered when it all truly started. It was an early morning, the day beginning as it always did, with a head nod and a grunt from Ghost as he walked into the base gym.

As the two powered through their workout, Johnny caught a glimpse of something. It was small, minuscule even, yet it mattered profoundly. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was God's design.

He glanced to his left, not just at the towering man working out, but at that same colossus stretching his arms above his head. In any other situation, it would've meant nothing. But the shirt was a couple of inches too short. Simon left little to the imagination in that fleeting moment. Catching a sliver of that tiny tattoo sent Johnny into a frenzy he didn't quite understand at the time.

The months went on, and the infatuation grew. What was the tattoo? He'd only had a peek. Why did his hulking, masculine lieutenant have ink on his waist? And more importantly, how could Johnny get him to show it?

It was a quest of sorts. Johnny loved The Lord of the Rings; it was exactly like that, a quest, but instead of a short hero, Frodo was a slag, drooling and silently pining over a man he was meant to respect.

He realized just how completely and totally fucked he was on a random Tuesday afternoon.

"Johnny," the familiar voice rumbled from behind. Johnny turned his head to face his lieutenant.

"Yes, sir?" Johnny asked, though that phrase seemed to carry a lot more meaning these days than it once had.

"Wot the fuck!" were the next words from Ghost's mouth. Johnny wished so desperately, after the fact, that he had paid attention to what Ghost was actually upset about. The only thing he could focus on was the way the taller man's muscles flexed underneath the dark fabric.

He could just imagine how it would feel to touch them, to have them wrapped around him. Yeah, he was so screwed. Somehow, he ended up getting a stern talking to for not listening. His distraction had accidentally put Ghost in a piss-poor mood for a week, and then he had half the base up his ass about it.

That's when the dreams started, not just in sleep but daydreams as well. He'd wake in a cold sweat, a cock so hard it bordered on painful, all while thinking about that obnoxious Mancunian accent grunting orders into his ear. But oh, it didn't stop there; that would be too easy. No, the fixation extended to his daylight hours as well. Who would have thought that watching his CO kill someone with a combat knife could get him so hot and bothered, making him wonder just how rough the older man could be with another kind of weapon.

And the trip to the pub after that mission? Practically torture. The booth was too small, Johnny's thigh pushed up against Ghost's. Kyle's drunken ramblings about how much he missed his girlfriend grated on him. Price made four trips outside to smoke, each one leaving them more alone in the suffocating closeness. All the while, Ghost sat there calmly sipping his whiskey as if the heat from their bodies weren't mingling.

Johnny tried to cut the awkward tension that was probably mostly in his head. They had always been able to make conversation, right?

"Think I need more drinks to deal with these idiots."

"Bit o' change, you're usually the idiot," Ghost replied, his deadpan stare following the teasing insult.

"Ha, yeah," was all Johnny could manage.

Suddenly, this man, his friend, his lieutenant, was making him so nervous he could barely string a joke together. It wasn't just being in Ghost's presence, something he knew he could muscle through. It was the fact that that meaty, muscular thigh hadn't moved an inch from his own. And it was the fact that Ghost didn't seem bothered by it one bit.

"You did good work this past week," Ghost said after a bit of silence. A compliment from him was a rare occurrence; he wasn't the type, though they did happen occasionally, especially when someone saved his ass, which was exactly what had happened.

"Aye, you too, sir." Johnny replied, and with that the conversation grew quiet again. But not without Ghost doing something that sent Johnny into a month-long spiral. Simon simply patted his thigh, a "good job" kind of pat. What was interesting was he didn't move his hand. It wasn't high up, nor was it squeezing or kneading the flesh, but it just remained there like it was no big deal.

They often flirted over comms, usually played off as a joke. Now, Johnny realized maybe he had always been serious, and he'd just pretended otherwise. But this was different. Johnny was just tipsy enough to abandon his usual caution, doing something he normally wouldn't. He rested his hand on top of Ghost's. And the craziest part? Ghost didn't react, didn't move his hand, and didn't say a word.

Johnny thought about this interaction the entire month he was on leave, the entire time he was home with his family meant to be enjoying himself. He found himself quietly thinking about how much more he would enjoy it if his lieutenant was here in the sea of redheads with him.

Johnny thought so hard about the diet handholding at the pub that he actually ended up telling his sister about it. She responded, "Next time you come home, it better be with a boyfriend," which was incredibly unhelpful. But Johnny didn't really expect her to be; he just needed to vent. All of this thinking led him to do something he possibly wouldn't normally, just out of sheer desperation for closeness. He texted him.

Johnny: "How's your leave goin?"

Ghost: "fine"

Johnny: "do anything fun?"

Ghost: "hunting"

One-word responses from him weren't shocking, but Johnny left it at that, deciding not to respond. Clearly, Johnny was interested in him. Surely Simon did not feel the same way.

As his descent into sexually frustrated madness continued, he had been sitting on his mother's living room couch, watching some old movie and listening to the snores of his father. His phone pinged again, only a few hours since the last text had been ignored.

Ghost: "How is your family?"

Johnny took a moment to think about a response. He was nervous, as if this was some kind of blooming relationship.

Johnny: "good, watching a movie, ma is cooking."

Johnny put his phone back in his pocket, trying to convince himself it wasn't a huge thing, and he didn't have to check for a message. Just the same, as soon as he felt another buzz, he nearly fell off the couch trying to retrieve it. This went on for days. They texted back and forth: Johnny sent a photo of the mountains he and his sister hiked, Ghost sent a photo of the deer he had hunted, Johnny sent a meme, and Ghost reacted to the meme. Of course, they'd always been good friends, but this was a new development.

This too came to an agonizing, frustrating head when Johnny finally worked up the courage to say something maybe a tad out of pocket; it's not like he didn't do it all the time in real life.

Johnny: "What’s the tattoo on your waist."

Ghost: "wouldn’t you like to know"

And yes, he would like to know. But he didn't push it. Ghost already knew Johnny had been looking at him enough to notice that in the first place, and Johnny didn't want to further embarrass himself. Once they were back at work, things went back to normal. The days were long, the work was hard. The paperwork was stacked. But Johnny found himself looking at Ghost in a different light. There was a potential, granted, a small one, that Ghost was actively flirting back; they were just two big, macho men too reserved to be bold with it.

Well, that was until it happened for the second time. Johnny got another glimpse of the tattoo, in the very same situation as before: the base gym, just him and Ghost. Except this time, when Johnny walked through the threshold, Simon Riley was shirtless. Suddenly, Johnny felt very thirsty; it was hot in here.

"Mornin'," Johnny mumbled as he went to put his bag in the locker room. Ghost didn't respond. He was many things, but a morning person wasn't one of them. Johnny gave himself a quick glance in the mirror before heading to his workout; he was red as a tomato. Oh god. Throughout the workout, Johnny noticed Simon glancing over at him more so than usual, noticed the mask pulled up higher over his nose, more than usual. This motherfucker was teasing him, and by the looks of it, it was on purpose.

As the two men started to slow their workout, needing to shower and get ready for the morning meeting, Simon said something that changed everything.

"Didn't stare today like you usually do."

And with that, he walked out of the room. He wanted Johnny to stare? Johnny was trying so hard not to look, because if he looked, his brain would start going and he wouldn't be able to stop. But now that seemed like not only permission, but like a request, like it was something he always did, something he was meant to do.

Three days. Three days the team spent on mission, three days thinking about the words exchanged in the gym, three days of "jokingly" flirting over comms, three days of Johnny being forced to look at this mountain of a man. He was made only of muscle and bad jokes, covered in blood, dirt, and other things that would, to anyone else, be considered a turn-off. Not Johnny though. No, not to Johnny. Lord help him.

What he didn't expect was the way that Simon looked at him the whole time, as if he knew something he hadn't previously. Like he knew the thoughts in Johnny's head. And honestly? Maybe he did. Simon has always had this weird way of getting in people's heads, his typical silence allowing him to get better reads on them or something.

"Fuckin' 'ell, stop bouncing your leg." The deep voice cut through Johnny's thoughts like a blade. He lifted his head to look at Ghost across from him in the heli.

"Sorry, sir," Johnny muttered, slowing the movement of his leg to sit still.

"The fuck are you nervous about?" Ghost began. Johnny was going to respond, probably with some unconvincing tale of him not being nervous, but Ghost interjected as soon as he opened his mouth.

"Actin' like I actually showed you the damn tattoo."

Johnny was sure he looked like a deer caught in headlights for a moment, just staring into those brown eyes as if to beg the masked man to ease up a little. It took Johnny a minute, but he got his bearings, pulled himself together. He decided to go about the situation in typical Johnny fashion.

"Aye, well, maybe if you'd stop teasing me we wouldn't have this problem."

Silence. A long stare. More silence. Not a single word from that point going forward was uttered from the lieutenant, no jokes, no nose sniffles, nothing. Not even so long as a glance in Johnny's direction during debriefing.

Johnny was absolutely certain he'd royally fucked up. He was tired though, and he'd deal with the consequences of his actions later. His limbs felt heavy, his neck sore; he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. But as the Scot made his way through the halls of base, he was stopped dead in his tracks by the feeling of a gloved hand on the back of his neck.

Despite Simon's size, he's incredibly light on his feet. To say he startled Johnny would be a massive understatement. Even still, Johnny wasn't left with a lot of time to react as Ghost pulled his body back by the scruff of his neck.

"You think I'm teasing you, s' that it?"

"Aye, think it's on purpose." Johnny is a grown man, but even he could admit his words came out more like a squeak. Simon stayed quiet for a moment before speaking again.

"You got about 15 minutes to have your arse at my door, go!" And with that, Ghost let go of him, shoving him a bit, as he always did. Johnny had never showered that fast in his life, never tried so hard to run through base without drawing attention. Never tried so hard to casually walk into his lieutenant's quarters without looking nervous. He managed anyway.

For a moment, once the heavy wooden door shut behind him, Johnny just stared at the now maskless man before him. His hair was blonder than Johnny remembered it, shaggier than the last time he'd seen it. As if Johnny wasn't already completely captivated by Ghost's general aura, he couldn't help the way his shorts tightened around his waist.

"Been practically begging like a whore for months to see the tattoo, now you're just standing there?" Simon asked, the words teasing, almost taunting.

However, the thing about Johnny is he's not embarrassed to behave like a slut.

"No, sir." Johnny quickly snapped out of it. He crossed the room to stand in front of his lieutenant. Once in front of the taller man, Johnny reached his hands out to place them on Simon's waist. He momentarily glanced up at Simon as if to check that what he was clearly about to do was okay. When he met Simon's eyes, he didn't find a head nod or a verbal 'okay', but rather a glass-eyed, starving expression.

Johnny began tugging the sweatpants down Simon's hips. There was so much to take in: the way he'd pulled the sweats down just enough to be considered indecent, revealing the dark line of hair leading downwards. Simon's cock was huge, visible through the fabric. The tattoo, however, was exactly as Johnny had imagined: cyber sigilism stretched across his torso, stopping at each hip bone. And he had the audacity to call Johnny a slut.

Johnny took his time exploring the body before him, running his fingers along the ridges of his stomach, the scars, the tattoo, the hair. Simon's breathing was no longer steady but heavy; he just stood there, not like a statue but like a man lost in lust as Johnny touched him.

At some point Simon seemingly lost patience with the soft teasing, because of course it's okay when he does it but not Johnny.

"Johnny." The words sounded more like a plea than anything.

"Yes, sir?" Johnny asked, hooking his thumb under the waistband of Simon's sweatpants, letting the digit brush the fine hair hidden behind the fabric.

"Oh? What was that, to get me back for toying with you all week?" Johnny knew in that very moment he had no idea what he'd gotten himself into. And truth be told, he didn't, not until his face was being pushed into the pillow by a huge right hand. Johnny had never in his life been this full. Simon wasn't playing with him anymore.

"Yeah? That what you wanted?" Ghost's taunting words rang through Johnny's ears as Simon pushed himself in and out. God, he could barely even think.

"I...uh." He tried, he failed badly; what came out instead was a strangled moan. Simon was rough, pulling Johnny by the hips.

"Yeah? This all it takes to get you to shut the fuck up?" Johnny didn't answer, mostly because he was having a hard time forming words. His cock-drunk brain only got worse when Simon snaked his hand up Johnny's side to grab hold of his throat.

"Fuckin' 'ell." Ghost grunted, the absolutely brutal pace in which he was fucking into Johnny was mind-numbing. Both men had spent an unreasonable amount of time thinking about this, apparently, because it came so naturally, like they'd been fucking for years. Like this was what they were supposed to be doing.

Because maybe it was. Maybe it was what they were supposed to be doing. Maybe Johnny's obsession with his lieutenant, the tattoo, the muscles beneath his shirt was, after all, a merciful act of God, the man he made for him.

Johnny's thoughts about fate and God faded quickly as his orgasm reached its peak, Ghost's following quickly behind. The two lay there for a minute, breathing heavy in the silence. Johnny for a moment thought to say something, but Simon beat him to the punch.

"Been waiting months for that."

"Yeah, me too."

CoD Masterlist

[arabella-syntax]

Between the Lines

Pairing: (Leah Williamson x Y/N)

Part 2

Summary: She’s Ellis to the world, Y/N to the ones who matter. Leah is captain, but never in control of what she felt for her.

They meet by chance in London through mutual friends. What follows is slow and full of silences: voice notes unsent, songs never released, touches that linger too long.

Word count: > 15k

Parts: Part 1

A/N: Here’s part 2 of this story. Will be posting part 3 in the coming days. Stay tuned, and in the meantime enjoy this read. Feedback and comments are always welcomed.

————————————————————————

Leah – London, February 2025

Leah didn’t normally miss the mark in training.

Positioning? Nailed.

Passes? Crisp.

Reading the pitch? Second nature.

But today, everything felt a half-second late. A pass behind. A misread overlap. A hesitation she couldn’t explain.

It wasn’t physical. Her body was fit. The physios had cleared her. Her knee held steady under pressure, her touch was there. But her mind was… elsewhere.

And football — the brutal, beautiful truth of it — didn’t forgive elsewhere.

Lia Wälti clocked it first.

“You good?” she asked during a water break, wiping her forehead with the sleeve of her thermal base layer.

Leah nodded. “Yeah. Just foggy.”

Lia raised an eyebrow. “Mental fog, or actual fog?”

“Both.”

“Anything to do with that dinner Alex made you go to?”

Leah looked up sharply. “What?”

Lia smirked. “She told me. Said she was playing matchmaker with Jess’s American singer friend.”

Alessia Russo wandered over then, grin already forming. “Wait, is this about cinnamon bun girl?”

Leah groaned. “Oh my god.”

“You’ve got that look,” Alessia said, sitting beside her on the grass. “The I-slept-three-hours-but-smiled-through-all-of-them look.”

“I did not.”

“You definitely did.”

Lia took a sip of water. “You’re allowed to be distracted, Leah. You’re also allowed to like someone.”

“I don’t—” Leah started, then stopped. She didn’t have a defense ready.

Because it wasn’t a crush. Not like the fleeting ones she’d ignored before. It was… gentler than that. Like something unfolding just out of reach. And it scared her in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

Maybe because it didn’t feel temporary.

She made it through the rest of training. Barely.

————

Afterward, she skipped lunch with the squad, claiming physio. Instead, she sat in the corner of the changing room and stared at her phone for ten minutes before finally typing:

Hey. Random but I might be in Camden later. Fancy some company?

She deleted the “might.”

Deleted “fancy some company?”

Rewrote it.

I’m near Camden. Thought of you. Coffee? Late cinnamon bun rescue mission?

She hit send. Regret settled in immediately.

But within seconds, her phone lit up.

You always “happen” to be near Camden?

I’ve got leftover takeout and a sofa. If you don’t mind messy hair and bad lighting, come over.

Leah exhaled — then smiled.

————

The flat was tucked behind a canal-facing terrace, quiet but close enough to the main street that you could hear London humming just out of reach. Y/N buzzed her in and opened the door barefoot, dressed in black joggers and a band tee too big for her frame.

Leah’s heart did something strange then. A subtle trip.

“You came,” Y/N said softly.

“You invited me.”

“I tend to regret things like that.”

Leah stepped inside. “I’m not that bad, am I?”

Y/N smiled, barely. “No. You’re just… surprising.”

The flat smelled like leftover Thai and vanilla candles. A guitar rested against the arm of the couch. The lights were dim. It felt lived-in. Comfortable.

Leah dropped her coat by the door and followed Y/N into the kitchen, where a half-finished green curry sat on the counter.

“I can’t promise it’s edible,” Y/N said. “But I haven’t died yet.”

“Excellent review.”

They sat cross-legged on the sofa, sharing takeout from the same box. Y/N offered wine but Leah shook her head. She wanted to remember everything. Every word. Every glance.

At some point, music played in the background. Not Ellis. Not anything Leah recognized. Just soft chords and layered vocals, barely above a whisper.

“This you?” Leah asked.

Y/N hesitated. “Rough demo.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s unfinished.”

“So am I,” Leah said.

Y/N looked at her then — really looked. “You’re not what I expected.”

Leah tilted her head. “What did you expect?”

“Someone guarded. Someone built for stadiums and headlines. You’re… quieter.”

“I think people confuse strength with volume.”

Y/N smiled. “Exactly.”

The room fell still.

Then Leah, quietly: “I like being here.”

Y/N didn’t respond at first. But she leaned in slightly, shoulder brushing Leah’s.

And that was enough.

For now.

————

Y/N – London, March 2025

The city was still cold, but the light had changed. It lingered longer in the afternoons now, stretched across the canal like it was learning how to stay. Spring was close enough to smell, but not quite to touch.

Y/N had always loved this part — the in-between. The slow thaw. The liminal quiet before something new.

Her birthday was in three days.

She hadn’t made plans. Not really. Just a blank square on her calendar and a silent hope that this year, she wouldn’t have to perform joy for anyone.

And then the dinner invite came.

Jess had texted casually:

Alex and I are cooking. Shockingly edible this time. Come over?

And a second later:

Leah’ll be there too, if that sways you.

It did.

————

Alex and Jess’s flat in Hackney was everything Y/N expected — tall windows, messy shelves full of records, a smell of balsamic vinegar and garlic in the air. Jess answered the door with a tea towel over her shoulder and wine in her hand.

“Right on time,” she grinned, pulling Y/N in for a quick hug. “Leah’s already judging my playlist.”

“She’s not wrong,” Leah called from the living room.

Y/N stepped inside, peeling off her coat. Leah was curled into the corner of the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over her hands, hair scraped up in that half-messy way Y/N had come to associate with late texts and early honesty.

She looked up. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Y/N replied. Her voice came out softer than she expected.

Dinner was easy. Laughter over slightly burned bruschetta. Stories about weird teammates and worse press tours. Alex made a lemon pasta that was accidentally brilliant, and Jess kept refilling everyone’s wine like they were all trying to forget something.

Y/N kept sneaking glances at Leah. It was a habit now. Noticing the way she listened — deeply, like every word mattered. The way she smiled with just one corner of her mouth. The way her eyes met Y/N’s and held, but never demanded.

After dessert — which Jess insisted was homemade but definitely wasn’t — Leah nudged Y/N gently.

“Feel like a walk?”

Y/N blinked. “Now?”

“Yeah. Before the city decides to be winter again.”

They said their goodbyes, thanked Alex and Jess for the hospitality. As they made their way out of the door, Y/N clocked Jess giving her a knowing look.

————————————————————-

The streets were mostly empty, just puddles and streetlights and the faint hum of buses in the distance. They walked side by side, not touching. Y/N shoved her hands into her coat pockets and let herself breathe.

“You always do this?” Leah asked.

“Do this, what?”

“Say yes to walks accompanied at night?”

Y/N smiled. “Only when I like the company.”

They turned a corner, the quiet wrapping around them like wool.

“Can I ask you something?” Leah said after a pause.

“Sure.”

“When you write about people, do you tell them first?”

Y/N thought for a long time. “Sometimes. But mostly I just… hope they hear it and know.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then maybe I didn’t mean it enough.”

Leah stopped walking. Y/N turned to face her.

There was a pause — long enough to fill with every unsaid thing between them.

Then Leah stepped closer, just a breath away. “I think I heard you.”

And then she kissed her.

Soft. Certain. No fanfare. No apologies.

Y/N didn’t pull back.

Didn’t flinch.

Just kissed her back — like it had been waiting in her chest for weeks, too long to ignore now.

They walked in silence afterward, both smiling without looking at each other.

When they reached Y/N’s block, Leah stopped.

“You alright?” she asked.

Y/N nodded. “More than.”

Leah shifted her weight. “What are you doing on your birthday?”

“Probably writing something I’ll delete.”

“Want company for that?”

Y/N hesitated. Then: “Actually… I was thinking.”

Leah looked at her.

“That trip you mentioned — out of town, somewhere quiet.”

“Yeah?”

“I think I want that.”

Leah’s smile was slow and stunned, like she hadn’t expected the yes even though she’d hoped for it.

“I’ll drive,” she said.

“I figured.”

————

Y/N watched her walk away from the doorway, heart thudding. Something had cracked open between them. Not loudly. Not even dramatically. Just… open.

She didn’t know what to call it yet.

But she knew she wanted more.

————

Leah – English Countryside, March 2025

They left London just after ten.

Leah drove. Y/N didn’t protest — just tossed a small overnight bag in the backseat, slid into the passenger seat in a hoodie and sunglasses, and brought along a playlist that was mostly Hozier, Joni Mitchell, and a few songs Leah suspected might’ve been Y/N’s own demos.

They didn’t talk much the first hour.

Not out of awkwardness — but something closer to reverence. Like the quiet was its own kind of closeness.

The further they got from the city, the clearer the sky became. The roads turned narrow, bracketed by stone walls and hedges. Sheep lounged in fields like they owned the place. Y/N snapped a photo from the car window and said, “This feels like a Wes Anderson film if Wes Anderson let women be soft.”

Leah laughed. “You’re soft?”

Y/N smirked. “Only sometimes.”

————

They reached the inn around one — a small, ivy-covered cottage near a cliffside trail. Leah had booked it the day before under the name Williamson, no fuss. One room, two beds, just in case.

Y/N didn’t say anything when she saw the room.

She just dropped her bag and walked to the window, eyes trailing the vast open field that stretched beyond the glass. The view was all green and gold, the light hazy like a memory.

“This is nice,” she said softly.

Leah stood beside her. “Yeah. I thought you might need space.”

“I do.”

“Me too.”

————

They walked along the cliffside path after lunch, boots crunching in gravel and wind tugging at their jackets. Leah watched Y/N in profile — the way her brow furrowed when she was deep in thought, the way she chewed her lip when the silence got too full.

“You alright?” Leah asked gently.

Y/N nodded. “It’s just strange. Feeling… safe. I don’t get that often.”

“With me?”

“With you. With the quiet.”

Leah didn’t say anything — just reached over, and for the first time, let her fingers brush against Y/N’s.

Y/N linked them without looking.

They returned to the room just after sunset, cheeks pink from wind, hands warm from each other. Leah kicked off her boots first, then peeled off her coat. Y/N moved slowly, as if every gesture mattered.

The innkeeper had left a bottle of wine and two glasses on the dresser. Leah poured one. Y/N took a sip, then set it down.

“I should be writing,” she said. “But this doesn’t feel like a day for words.”

“It’s not.”

They stood there for a long moment. Then Leah reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear.

“You’re allowed to want things,” Leah said. “Even when they’re quiet.”

Y/N’s eyes didn’t move. “What if I don’t know how to hold it?”

“Then let me show you.”

They kissed like they were still deciding if it was real.

Slow. Careful. Like drawing a line between now and not yet.

Leah’s hands framed Y/N’s face first — not possessive, but anchoring. She pulled her close only when Y/N leaned in on her own, mouth parting with the kind of soft exhale that made Leah feel like the world had narrowed to this exact moment.

Their lips met without hesitation. No rush. Just the steady pulse of breath and trust.

Y/N’s hands slid under Leah’s jumper — fingertips brushing her waist, then settling, warm against skin. Leah closed her eyes, letting herself feel everything: the texture of cotton, the subtle tremble in Y/N’s touch, the steady thrum of her own heartbeat pounding out a rhythm older than language.

They didn’t fumble. It wasn’t the clumsy chaos of urgency.

It was quiet intimacy — the kind that bloomed in the stillness between sighs and yes and please.

Leah walked her backwards toward the bed, but never broke the kiss. Not even when they laughed — once — when Y/N bumped into the footboard with an audible thunk.

“Smooth,” Y/N whispered.

“Graceful as ever.”

Clothes peeled away like paper — not all at once, but in soft layers, like shedding the day. Leah marveled at the warmth of skin against hers, how nothing about this felt rehearsed, and yet somehow it felt known.

She kissed down Y/N’s collarbone, each movement a question answered with breath.

She didn’t rush the answers.

Not when Y/N’s hands clutched at her back.

Not when her name was whispered into the hollow of Leah’s neck like a vow.

Not when they moved together — uncoordinated, yes, but perfectly in time.

Later, wrapped in covers, legs tangled beneath linen sheets, Y/N lay with her cheek pressed to Leah’s shoulder, hair spilled across both their chests.

No one spoke for a while.

There was no need.

When Leah finally did speak, it was low. “You okay?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. I… haven’t let myself be seen like that in a long time.”

“You were beautiful.”

“I was terrified.”

Leah kissed her temple. “So was I.”

Y/N looked up then. “But you were brave.”

Leah smiled. “I think we both were.”

————

That night, they didn’t talk about what came next.

They didn’t name it.

But neither of them let go.

And that, for now, was enough.

————

Y/N – Camden, March 2025

The morning after their trip, Leah drove them back to the city. The drive was comfortable, filled with side glances, shy smiles and Y/N humming a tune ever so often.

By before midday, Leah dropped Y/N off at her flat. Just as Y/N was exiting the car from the passenger side, Leah gently reached out, “I’ll be thinking about last night.”

Y/N stopped midway from going out of the door, her hand on the handle. She quipped, “You’ll be running in my mind all day.”

To which Leah smirked and dryly replied, “I will be tired then.”

Y/N gave out a laugh, shaking her head. Then she went out of the car and made her way up the flat as she heard Leah driving off.

Something about that simple exchange made Y/N smile like someone had placed sunlight in her chest.

————

The studio was quiet when she arrived — just her, a synth pad, and the weight of memory in her fingers. She sat with her guitar for a while, tuning and detuning, humming fragments until one stuck.

It started low. Sparse chords. A quiet rhythm like walking through rain.

Then she whispered into the mic:

“Two things I don’t say out loud:

I’m scared to be known, and I want to be found.

You looked at me like both were true.

Like I wasn’t a secret — just overdue.”

She paused. Listened back. Layered in a second harmony.

It wasn’t a single. Not yet. It wasn’t Ellis.

It was just her. And maybe that was the point.

————

Olivia showed up that afternoon, fresh off a flight from L.A. in wide-leg trousers and an oversized blazer, looking like she hadn’t slept and didn’t need to.

“You wrote something,” she said as she dropped her bag beside the sofa.

Y/N gave a faint smile. “I write a lot.”

“But this one you mean.”

She played it.

No explanations. Just the track, rough edges and all. Olivia closed her eyes halfway through, nodding faintly with a tension Y/N couldn’t quite read.

When it ended, neither of them spoke for a beat.

Then Olivia asked, “What does Leah mean to you?”

The question landed like a soft thud in Y/N’s chest.

She swallowed. “A lot.”

“Y/N.”

Y/N stared at her hands. “She makes me feel like I’m not performing when I’m just being.”

Olivia didn’t reply right away. She reached into her bag, pulled out her tablet, and opened a file Y/N had seen before but never read.

“Do you remember these clause?”

Y/N’s throat tightened. She nodded.

“The label’s invested millions into a brand image that places you as a universal, mainstream, emotionally available — read: heterosexual — artist. It’s not just about singles. It’s about appeal. They sell you like a mirror. Not a confession.”

“I didn’t agree to lie.”

“You didn’t. But you agreed not to contradict.”

The distinction made Y/N’s stomach turn.

Olivia’s voice softened. “If you pursue something with Leah, it’ll have to stay private. Like the others.”

“She’s not like the others.”

“I know.”

“She’s already out. People know her.”

“Exactly,” Olivia said quietly. “She’s not hiding. Not exactly public, but… not invisible. If a photo leaks, or you get spotted, they’ll come for it harder than before.”

Y/N exhaled. “So what do I do? Pretend we’re nothing?”

“No.” Olivia sat beside her. “I’m not telling you not to love her.”

Y/N flinched at the word.

“I’m just saying… the industry doesn’t protect you unless you fit the story it wants to tell.”

“I’m tired of fitting.”

“I know,” Olivia said. “I also want you to have a career.”

————

That night, Y/N felt uneasy, the conversation she had with Olivia kept popping in her mind. The contract. The clauses. Sleep was furthest away from her thought.

She played the demo again instead. Let the lyrics loop until she could no longer tell if they were hers or borrowed from a version of herself she hadn’t met yet.

Two things she couldn’t say out loud.

But they were starting to sound like music.

And that, somehow, made them feel real.

————

Leah – London, March 2025

Training was brutal. Leah made sure of it.

She showed up early. Laced her boots tight. Hit every sprint with surgical precision. Drills, passing sequences, defensive reps — no hesitation, no softness, no space for thought.

She didn’t let herself think.

Not about how it had been four days since the trip.

Not about the texts she’d sent — three, all unread.

Not about the call she made last night that Y/N answered softly, gently, with:

“Hey… I’m really wiped. Just need to rest tonight, okay?”

It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t cruel.

But it was closed.

And it echoed in Leah’s head with every whistle on the pitch.

————

Lia Wälti noticed first — again.

“Overcompensating today?” she asked during a water break.

“Just focused.”

“Focused looks a lot like punishing yourself.”

Leah didn’t answer.

Alessia Russo joined them a minute later, hair matted with sweat. “Leah’s doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” Leah asked.

“That thing where you pretend you’re fine by becoming a robot.”

Lia nodded. “Ah yes. Classic Williamson deflection mode.”

Leah rolled her eyes. “Can’t a girl just train hard anymore?”

“Not when she’s heart-eyed and haunted,” Alessia muttered into her water bottle.

“Keep talking,” Leah said. “I’ll two-foot you next drill.”

They all laughed — but Leah’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

————

She showered quickly after training. Checked her phone.

Still nothing.

She typed a message — then erased it.

She didn’t want to push. Didn’t want to pry. But the silence felt like a door slowly closing, and she had no idea what she’d done to deserve it.

Or if she’d done anything at all.

————

Alex Scott picked the lunch spot — some hidden café with too many plants and jazz playing just a bit too loud. Leah slid into the booth across from her, still damp from the walk over, hoodie sleeves pushed up to her elbows.

“You look like you haven’t slept,” Alex said.

“Can’t imagine why.”

Alex gave her that look — the one she’d perfected over years of captaining both club and country. Firm, maternal, no-nonsense.

Leah sighed. “I don’t know what I did.”

“She’s been quiet?”

“She’s been absent,” Leah muttered. “Since we got back. Texts go unanswered. I called, she said she was overworked and needed rest.”

Alex’s brow furrowed. “Did something happen on the trip?”

“No. It was good. It was—” Leah exhaled, leaning back. “It felt like something real.”

“And now?”

“It feels like I imagined it.”

Alex was quiet for a while. Then she picked up her phone.

“What are you doing?” Leah asked.

“Fixing it.”

“Alex—”

“I’m throwing you a birthday dinner.”

Leah blinked. “What?”

“You need people. You need her. And maybe she needs a reason to show up that isn’t just you.”

Alex’s fingers flew over her screen. “I’ll keep it small. You, Keira, Alessia, Lia, Mariona. Jess and I will handle Y/N.”

Leah was still staring. “You’re terrifying.”

“I know.”

“You’re also my best friend.”

Alex smiled. “I know that too.”

————

Later that day, Leah received a text from Alex:

Dinner’s set. Jess is working on her.

It’s lowkey, just your people. Let’s see what unfolds.

Leah stared at the screen for a long moment.

Then she replied:

Thank you. For knowing what I needed before I did.

She didn’t say the rest — that she was scared, that this silence felt louder than anything Y/N had sung.

But Alex already knew.

And that, for now, was enough.

————

Part 3 coming soon.

[zablife]

My Only Summer

Johnny Davis x female reader

Johnny Davis Masterlist

Summary: You're the first woman Johnny's been with since Betty and he's feeling insecure about making love to you for the first time. However, you offer to teach him exactly how to please you.

A/N: This was a request made by @mapping-out-skies based on my NSFW alphabet for Johnny.

Warnings: 🔞, language

"I don't know, Kathy," you hummed, twisting the coil of the phone cord around your fingers anxiously. "Maybe he ain't interested in me like that."

"Of course he is!" she cried, voice brimming with optimism. "You gotta remember that it's only been a year since he split with Betty. But make no mistake, he's crazy about ya."

"Yeah, I know," you conceded, trying not to sound as dejected as you felt when she was trying hard to cheer you up. "I just want to be with him, you know? I've tried everything I can think of," you added with barely concealed hunger.

"Give him time, hun!" she advised and you could picture the wink of encouragement that went with it just before the line went dead.

Her words echoed in your head as you walked over to Johnny's, poking your head in the garage and smiling to yourself as you watched him tinker with his bike.

With your perfume wafting in the breeze to announce your arrival, he looked up at you with a boyish grin that instantly welcomed you before he'd spoken a word.

"Hey baby doll, come on in," he greeted you softly, offering up a stool so you could sit beside him.

"Watcha doin?" you asked, not interested in the work so much as hearing his voice. Johnny was a man of few words, until you asked him about mechanics. Then he was more than willing to launch into a lengthy explanation about the latest bike engine, its horsepower and how that affected speed and acceleration.

You tried your best to listen closely, wanting to understand his hobby beyond the surface. However, today your attention was stolen the moment your eyes came to rest over his tools. You scrunched your nose as you realized something was missing.

"Baby, why don't you put my picture up in your tool box?" you asked, innocently twirling your hair as you mentioned the snapshots you'd gifted him weeks ago and hadn't seen since.

Johnny looked confused, as though he didn't quite understand the question so you continued, "I've seen what the other fellas keep in theirs so I was wondering..."

However, that didn't change the look. Johnny shook his head slowly to silently voice his disagreement. To him, you were sacred, a precious thing that needed to be safeguarded. There was no way he'd display those photos where every lousy mechanic in town could ogle you. "I got 'em in a safe place,” he finally assured you with a nod.

"I just thought, you'd like to show me off, that's all," you shrugged sadly before you felt his massive hands clasp your face. He guided your eyes up toward his for your full attention.

"Nobody sees you but me, understand?" he asked with a raw possessiveness that loosed hundreds of butterflies in your tummy.

You gave a swift nod, but couldn't help asking one more question. "So you do like them?"

"Think you know the answer to that, sweetheart," he replied and you didn't miss the way his hand rested over his crotch, shifting himself over his jeans with a faint cough.

"Then show me," you dared him, leaning in to place a kiss to his plump lips. "Think it's about time, don't you?" you goaded him, hoping he'd take the bait. And to your great surprise he did.

Recalling his earlier conversation with Brucie about seizing the right moment before it passed, he scooped you up and carried you toward the house with swift steps. Trying not to think about his feelings of inadequacy, he focused on his growing desire for you, hoping he could prove his love somehow.

You squealed with delight, wrapping your arms around his neck for stability as he whisked you off to his bedroom. His white t-shirt clung to his muscular chest with the light sheen of sweat he'd worked up in the garage, but you didn't mind. In fact, you preferred him with a hint of musk and gasoline, the picture of masculinity.

However, as Johnny navigated the narrow steps toward his room, you couldn't help but whisper a quiet warning, "Don't drop me!" He stopped mid step with a curious stare as he noticed the way you'd caught your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Uh-oh, losin' my grip," he exclaimed, allowing your body to drop low in his arms as he bit back a mischievous smile.

"Johnny!" you squeaked, fingernails sinking into his broad shoulders as he roared with laughter. You couldn't help but giggle as your stomach flipped, though you couldn't say if it was from his silly joke or the glimpse of his bedroom up ahead.

Hoisting you up into the security of his embrace once more, Johnny plodded up the last few stairs, laughter fading as you entered the bedroom. He deposited you gingerly just over the threshold, allowing you to survey the only room in his house you'd yet to see.

The space was tidy, but impersonal. If you hadn't glimpsed his shirts hanging in the closet, you wouldn't have known it was his at all. There was no clutter to be found on his dresser and nothing more than a souvenir ashtray from St. Louis by his bedside. Smoothing a hand over the floral bedspread Betty had likely chosen, you began to understand why the downstairs sofa looked so lumpy and threadbare.

As a solemn silence fell over the room, you realized Johnny was watching you, one hand scrubbing the back of his neck anxiously. "It ain't much," he finally mumbled apologetically.

You hadn't meant to make him self conscious so you lightened the mood by exclaiming, "Could bounce a quarter off these sheets. Maybe a pretty girl too?"

He smiled back at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. "Old habit from my Army days," he shrugged.

Raising your eyebrows in feigned shock, you teased, "Makin' beds or makin' time with girls?"

Johnny couldn't help but chuckle at your coy humor, moving closer to capture your chin between his thumb and forefinger. You closed your eyes in anticipation of a kiss when you heard him rumble, "Look at me, sweetheart."

Eyes fluttering open to see him gazing at you with serious intent, you wondered what he might say. You gulped harshly as you waited, heart rate increasing with every passing second.

"There ain't ever been any other girls...I mean, besides Betty, you understand?" he asked, searching your face for understanding.

"Wait...are you saying...?" you trailed off, watching him shift his weight uncomfortably before you. Had he truly only been with one woman his whole life?

Eyes drifting back to his piercing gaze, you watched him nod slowly. Knuckles brushing the apple of your cheek he confessed, "I wanted you from the first time I saw ya, but I wasn't sure you'd want this." His indicated toward the bed before quietly adding, "with me."

You reached down to lace your fingers through his, feeling him engulf your tiny hand as he gave it a squeeze. With thoughts of him stretching you those thick fingers, you couldn't stand the tortuous wait any longer. Perhaps Johnny could tell by the way you licked your lips as you stared back at him. However, you knew he needed to hear you say the words and so you did. "I want you, all of you," you told him with an earnestness that instantly bolstered his confidence.

Slipping a hand into your hair, he pulled you close for a passionate kiss. When you finally parted, he couldn't help but stare at the enticing sight of your swollen lips which caused all the blood to rush to his cock and make him strain uncomfortably against his jeans.

You read his unspoken desire with ease, maintaining eye contact as you removed your top to reveal a black, lace bra. Johnny's eyes grew hazy with lust and you smirked with satisfaction. Tossing your shirt aside, you confidently took a seat on the edge of the bed before reaching behind you to unlatch your bra.

The moment the globes of your breasts were revealed to him, Johnny sighed appreciatively. Running a hand through his hair he uttered, "Jesus, baby, you're perfect." He'd imagined you this way many times as he jerked off in the shower, wishing he was spraying cum onto your pert breasts instead of the cold tile.

"You okay?" you asked with a sly grin, pulling him from his daydream and back to an even better reality.

"More than okay," he agreed, sinking to his knees to capture a handful of your right breast and laved an eager tongue around your sensitive nipple. Blowing a stream of cool air over it, he delighted in the way the skin pebbled and the little bud grew erect begging to be sucked. He leaned in to close his mouth over it just as you wound your fingers into his hair, a soft moan on your lips to reward his effort. Hips undulating in time with the swirl of his tongue, you began to chase some sort of friction with each breathy sigh.

It didn't take long for the gentle rocking of your pelvis to pull Johnny's attention to your knit brow and little pout which signaled a growing neediness. Pulling off your nipple with a wet pop, he pushed you down to the mattress with a firm hand while hushing your whimpers. "You want these off?," he asked so sweetly you thought it might be his way of teasing you.

"Yeah," you agreed, watching with bated breath as he began to undress you with tantalizingly slow movements. He took his time, not to frustrate you, but to savor the exploration of your body. You realized this as his fingers slipped beneath the band of your skirt, sliding it down your waist and stopping just above your hipbone to scatter kisses along your soft skin. You wriggled as your ticklish spot was revealed to him and he instantly looked up to catch your eye.

"S'okay, I'm just sensitive there," you explained as he nodded against your stomach, moving on to your thighs and the black underwear even lower. With equal care, he ran a single index finger under the gusset, dragging a knuckle through your wet folds before withdrawing to exclaim in hushed awe, "You're soaking wet, sweetheart."

You could only whine in agreement, holding up your hips to help him remove the last obstacle between you. When you were finally naked beneath him, he inhaled deeply, taking the time to make a mental snapshot of your body spread out like an offering. "So beautiful," he hummed, hovering over you to steal a few more lazy kisses which trailed down your jawline to your neck.

"What does my baby want?" he asked, staring down at you with a look of utter devotion. You could have asked him to do anything in that moment and he would have complied.

"Let me show you," you answered, taking his large hand in yours to trace a winding pattern through the valley of your breasts, across your stomach and down to your dripping pussy. It should have felt lewd, lying there next to a fully clothed man whose hands were cupping your sex, but it didn't. It proved to you how serious he was about taking care of your needs first.

"Slow circles like this," you instructed, letting him feel the motion of your fingers beneath his. When you moved your hand aside, he continued the steady rhythm perfectly, a featherlight touch that had you pressing up into his palm for more to which he responded with greater pressure.

Just as he noticed a quickening rise and fall of your chest you begged, "need your fingers, Johnny."

He pressed a kiss to your temple as he coated two thick fingers in your arousal, watching your jaw go slack as he pushed inside you. You exhaled a shaky breath as he began pumping in out and of you, his thumb continuing to rub your clit in careful circles just as you'd directed.

Your fingertips wandered to your breast, rolling and pinching a nipple between your fingertips as your back arched off the bed to meet his increasingly powerful thrusts. However, you were becoming greedy for his touch, wanting just a bit more. "Another," you whimpered.

"Gonna stretch you out good, get you ready to take me," he promised in that soothing cadence you loved so much. The addition of another finger inside you made you moan, the mind numbing feeling of fullness short circuiting your brain until you were incapable of speech.

However, Johnny was quickly mastering the art of reading your body's cues. His watchful gaze raked over you to take in every twitch of your supple thighs. And when your hand dropped away from your breast to clutch the sheets, he knew you were close.

Finding the soft spongy area deep inside that made your legs quake, Johnny stroked upward more forcefully until the squelching sound overtook your quiet panting. He nearly missed the way you shuddered in his arms as your release approached, but not the dramatic way your head fell back against the pillows in a strangled scream moments later.

Your cunt clenched around his fingers as you chanted his name like a prayer and he became mesmerized by you coming undone from his hands alone. He was so addicted to your cries and gasps, he worked to pull more from you without realizing you'd become oversensitive.

With ears still ringing from your powerful orgasm, you clutched at his wrist to slow his movements. "St-stop, stop," you panted and he withdrew completely, studying the dripping mess he'd made of you with a surge of pride.

"Fuck that was amazing, Johnny!" you giggled as your breathing evened out. "Can I ask for one more thing?" you asked, arching your eyebrow at him playfully.

"Course you can," Johnny assured you, lovingly brushing the sweaty strands of hair from your forehead.

"Your cock?" you cooed at him, fingers reaching for his belt buckle.

Johnny's mouth went dry at the sweet sound of you begging for him and the cord of self restraint within him snapped. He'd felt the vice like grip of your cunt on his fingers and now he needed to feel his dick sliding in and out of your velvet warmth. Just the thought of it was making him feral.

He tugged his t-shirt over his head as you both worked to undress him as quickly as possible. In no time, his weeping cock was bouncing against his stomach, the impressive girth of it making you chew your lip in anticipation of having him inside you.

He reached into the bedside table for a rubber, additional reassurance that he had your best interest at heart. Then as he turned you onto your back to watch your face contort beneath him one more time, he stopped to check in. "You ready?" he asked as he began to line himself up at your entrance.

"Wait!" you cried out and Johnny's heart nearly stopped at the thought you might have changed your mind. However, he stroked your arm as he patiently waited for an explanation.

"I want to be on top," you declared. You expected him to grumble at the request as some men did, but that wasn't Johnny's style. Despite the fact that he was accustomed to missionary, he instantly agreed, eager try anything you wanted.

The palm of your hand connected with his chest as you pushed him onto his back and a huff of a laugh passed his lips at your assertiveness. He'd never known anyone quite like you, so self assured with no problem asking for what they wanted.

As you straddled his hips, hovering just above his twitching cock, you leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. He moaned into your mouth as one hand reached back to stroke him, feeling like the luckiest bastard alive as your warm hand began to slide along his length with the perfect amount of speed and pressure.

"Fuck, that feels good, baby," he praised as your hand wandered lower to fondle his balls. Another soft "fuck" tumbled out as you guided the tip of his cock to your wetness. Followed by yet another as you sank down on him, hips rocking slowly enough to steal another kiss or two.

Johnny's hands quickly found your hips, but he didn't take control of your movements, allowing you to set the rhythm. He found it incredibly satisfying to lie back and watch your tits bounce, close enough for him to fondle. He also took advantage of the easy access to your clit, stroking you as you rode him.

He tried to stave off the inevitable, but the serpentine pattern of your hips and the tight clutch of your pussy as you came for a second time were rapidly stripping away his resolve to last more than five minutes. When you noticed his grasp on you tighten and his thighs clench beneath the hand you were using to steady yourself, you leaned in to caress his face with quiet words of encouragement. "Cum for me Johnny. Fill me up," you coaxed, sucking a bruise into his neck.

That was all it took for him to dig his fingers into your hips, rutting up into you with reckless abandon which culminated in the sweetest moan you'd ever heard. Though he was quieter than you imagined as he rode out his high, you were struck by his whimper that straddled the line between pleasure and pain.

When you felt his cock cease to throb inside you, your cheek came to rest over his chest, savoring the sound of his thundering heart beat as you dusted your hand over his chest hair. Johnny's fingers trailed your spine as he savored the weight of you atop him, holding him down at a moment in his life when he needed it most.

Eventually you both stilled, so quiet in the afterglow that you nearly fell asleep with him still buried inside you. And yet, Johnny didn't sleep, too enamored by the woman in his bed who made him feel like he was seventeen again and summer had just arrived.

----------------

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