#while the opposite and bright side is chaos

[swan2swan]

Once again, went to an episode to get a clip, Brooklynn was waiting for me randomly, and this time...wow. Just. Wow.

The colors and shadows in this image. My goodness. My everloving goodness.

[millers-girl]

on the line

interconnected standalone/sequel-ish to bitter/sweet and fallout - a Dr. Jack Abbot (The Pitt) fanfic

pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

summary: Jack takes a six-week placement across the country. Four specific FaceTime calls—full of banter, longing, and everything unsaid—hold you two together until he comes home.

warnings/tags: grumpy x sunshine, age gap, long-distance relationship, mild language

word count: 5.0k

“What are you wearing?” 

You cracked one eye open, squinting against the soft glow of your bedside lamp. Jack was staring at you through the screen of your phone, propped up on your nightstand. His image was bright against the dim lighting, accenting the sharp set of his jaw and the smirk playing at his lips.

“You know what I’m wearing – we’re on FaceTime,” you mumbled into your pillow, voice thick with sleep. Your limbs felt heavy under the familiar weight of your comforter. “When are you coming back?” 

“You know when I’m coming back,” he echoed, mimicking your tone. “Why’re you asking – miss me?” His voice dropped an octave, teasing, and you saw his eyes flick down your form as you shifted to get more comfortable beneath the covers.

This had been an ongoing game for the last month – every time you talked, one of you tried to get the other to admit they missed them first. Neither of you had cracked. 

Now, that didn’t mean you didn’t miss him. Quite the opposite, actually. 

Jack had been gone for three weeks now, having been offered an intensive placement at UCLA Medical Center. You could still remember how he broke the news—quietly, nonchalantly, like he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it—and how you’d smiled widely and pushed him to take it even as something inside you fought every move.

This is UCLA, you told yourself. He has to take it; it’s an incredible opportunity. How many times does something like this come along?

But knowing it was the right decision didn’t make it easier.

Six weeks. Forty-two days. Nearly fifty sunsets without him. 

After spending almost every day together, the sudden absence had carved out a hollow space in your chest.

The first week, you felt his absence immensely. But you figured, with time, it’d get easier. 

Oh, how wrong you were.

The ache didn’t dull. It sharpened. Everything reminded you of him – how much he’d probably roll his eyes at a joke Eleni told during service, how he’d immediately get to cleaning your apartment if he saw how messy it had gotten, how he’d let you follow him around if he was back at the hospital when you were dropping dinner off for your sister. 

Luckily, technology was on your side. While he was in California, you texted him constantly – mostly one-sided updates on your day, the chaos of the kitchen, the new weird thing your landlord did. He replied in his usual charming fashion: a “K” here, a thumbs-up emoji there.

FaceTime was more his speed. Every night, your phone took up its spot on your nightstand while you curled into bed, half-asleep before he even picked up. He was usually just getting ready for his shift – brushing his teeth, dressing in his scrubs, sometimes sitting in the car with one hand on the wheel. 

“At least it’s regulating my sleep cycle,” you’d joked during one call, watching him frown in that subtle, concerned way he did.

“You love me doing night shifts,” he’d countered. “Said it keeps you on your toes, guessing.”

“Yeah, guessing how much sleep I’m gonna get that night,” you’d teased back, and he’d huffed a small laugh. 

Now here he was, two weeks from coming home, asking you what you were wearing in that low, steady voice of his that always had knots forming in your stomach.

“You already know I’m wearing one of your hundred black tees,” you mumbled, cheek sinking deeper into your pillow. 

“No panties?” he asked, a hint of a smirk at his lips as his eyes gleamed with mischief.

With minimal effort, you peeled back the duvet just enough for him to catch a glimpse of his boxers sitting low on your hips.

“You do miss me,” he grinned triumphantly, a quiet chuckle escaping him. You sighed through a small smile, eyes fluttering shut. His voice, even through the phone, grounded you. “Tell me what you did today.”

You took a moment to think, thoughts clouded by sleep and the warmth of your sheets. “Tried out a new truffle recipe,” you murmured. 

Sure enough, you peeked an eye open just in time to catch his nose wrinkle in disgust. He hated truffles.

The sight made you smile – even 3,000 miles away, Jack was still so Jack.

“Dinner rush was crazy – some show was going on at the theatre down the block so we were packed. Almost ran into one of the sommeliers rushing out of the kitchen. Nicked my finger on the bottle opener he was holding.”

“Let me see,” he said immediately, and you pulled your hand from under the covers and held it up to the camera, watching his eyes narrow. “Did someone at the Pitt take a look?”

“My sister did,” you said, brushing it off. “It’s fine – just a scrape.”

He frowned that familiar, pinched-brow frown.

“You should keep it wrapped,” he muttered. “Could get infected.” 

You mirrored his expression, this time out of something deeper – affection, mingled with longing. “I miss you medically scolding me.” 

Jack paused a beat, then offered softly, “I can still do it over the phone. That’s why they invented FaceTime.” 

“I’m pretty sure that’s not true,” you giggled sleepily, burrowing deeper into your sheets. The weight of him not being there settled over you again, dense and unrelenting. 

Silence stretched for a moment before you opened your eyes again. Jack was still looking at you. “What?” you asked, your voice small.

He hesitated. “Nothing… you just look tired.”

But the way he said it—gentle, weighted—made your throat tighten. 

You didn’t just look tired.

You missed him. You missed sleeping better when he was beside you, the steady rhythm of his breathing syncing with yours as your limbs tangled together. You missed the safety, the stillness. Without him, everything felt a little bit off.

Your hand drifted across the sheets, reaching for his side of the bed – cold, untouched. Your fingers curled into the empty space as if you could will it to hold his warmth. That familiar ache bloomed in your chest again, pressing hard against your ribs, forcing you to acknowledge it.

And the way he was looking at you right now—gaze just soft enough for you to see the emotion behind it—it made the distance hard to bear. 

You wanted to ask him to come back early. Just say it. Just tell him.

But you didn’t.

He was doing something important – teaching residents, working alongside brilliant attendings, contributing to something meaningful. You couldn’t ask him to give that up. So you buried it, like always.

Instead, you asked, “Any exciting cases today?” 

Jack blinked at you, then shrugged, his voice returning to that calm, clinical cadence. “Someone said a guy came in with third-degree burns from resting his hand on the grill – didn’t realize his wife had turned it on.” 

You winced, turning your face into the pillow. “Ugh, Jack – that’s gross.” 

He chuckled softly. “Reminds me of an old army buddy who met the wrong end of a crockpot once.” 

You hummed, already drifting. “Tell me about it.” 

You tried to stay awake, but the familiar and comforting tone of his low voice began to lull you to sleep. A few minutes into the story, Jack noticed your breathing had slowed.

You looked so peaceful.

He watched for a while, the silence between you warm and heavy, filled with all the things left unsaid.

Then, in a quiet voice that barely crossed the distance, he whispered a sweet good night to you and ended the call.

Four weeks into the placement, when Jack FaceTimed you and you answered with a deep-set frown and red-rimmed eyes, he could already tell it would be one of those days. 

The hard days. The days one of you missed the other so much, it was impossible to ignore. The days your heart was three thousand miles away, tucked into the go-bag of your favorite ED attending, somewhere in a cramped locker room in Los Angeles. 

“What’s wrong?” he immediately asked, making your frown deepen. 

“Nothing,” you promised, setting the phone down on your nightstand as you began to get ready for bed. The camera angle wobbled as you moved – half of your frame disappearing, your voice muffled by distance and steam escaping from the open bathroom door behind you.

This was unusual. Whenever Jack called at this time, you were already tucked in bed, cozy and glowing, hair a little messy, a smile curling at the corners of your lips the moment you saw him. 

And, you always showered in the mornings – you said showering at night would intervene with how much time you two got to spend on FaceTime. 

Yet, here you were now – hair wet from the shower, curling at the ends as you moved about your room, distracted and quieter than usual. You pulled on a soft t-shirt, then wandered off-screen, brushing your teeth with a kind of mechanical rhythm.

Jack stayed silent, watching.

He could tell something was bothering you. 

Your hands shook as you did your skincare – too much toner on the pad, moisturizer forgotten halfway through.

“How was your day?” Jack asked slowly, treading lightly, trying to gauge how you were actually feeling.

“Fine,” you mumbled, disappearing again. The faucet turned on in the background as you washed your hands, cool water grounding your overheated nerves before you slipped into bed wit a heavy sigh. 

Jack’s voice came again, cautious, “Anything happen?” He tried to sound casual, but you weren’t in the mood for it now.

You glanced at the screen sharply. “Like what?” 

“I don’t know, just… anything good? Or… something bad?” 

Your jaw tensed as you looked past the phone, voice bitter. “A critic came in today.”

“Oh?” 

You laughed humorlessly. “I didn’t even know who she was, and I told her to fuck off.” 

Jack’s brow rose at that. “And why’d you do that?”

“Because she was being an asshole – and I didn’t recognize her and I was rushing and – and I was exhausted. I just snapped and – and it wasn’t even about her. It’s just… I’m tired. I’m so tired of pretending this isn’t hard.”  

Jack paused, his face softening, the weight of your words hanging thickly between you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling like this?” 

You shrugged, unwilling to meet his eyes. “Because it’s not your fault,” you finally said. “And I didn’t want to make it your problem.” 

“You’re not a problem.” 

His voice was quiet, thick with the guilt settling into his stomach.

You immediately noticed the shift in his tone – soft and frayed around the edges.

“I didn’t say it to make you feel guilty,” you said, gaze now locking onto his, unwavering. 

“I know,” he replied, tiredly dragging a hand down his face, like he wanted to crawl through the screen and pull you into his arms.

“I just… I miss you.” 

There it was.

You’d finally said it.

And yet, it didn’t make you feel like you’d lost the game – at least, not in the way you thought. And, it didn’t make Jack feel like he won, either.

“I miss you every day,” you continued. “I miss you so much I don’t know where to put it anymore. It’s just there. Always. Like a weight on my chest. And every day, you – you pick up the phone and I see your face and you’re fine. Smiling… Happy. And, it’s just – just… Don’t you miss me? Like, even a little?” 

The moment you said it, you instantly regretted it. 

Jack could tell – the way your eyes squeezed shut in regret, like you wished you could pull the words right back into your chest. It broke his heart even more than hearing the desperation in your voice. 

He found himself looking away, swallowing hard. Then, finally, quietly, he said, “Of course I miss you. I miss you all the time. I just – I don’t let myself think about it too long. If I do, I can’t focus.” 

You knew he’d never say anything hurtful on purpose but the comment still stung. A sharp pang, like a bruise pressed too hard.

If he missed you so much, how come it felt like you were the only one falling apart? If he missed you so much, why didn’t it seem like he felt it?

Before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out. “Right. Got it. I’m over here crying in the walk-in fridge like a lunatic and you get to compartmentalize.” 

His eyes flinched shut, barely perceptible – but you saw it. Instantly regretted your words. And yet, you didn’t take it back.

And he didn’t push back either.

The silence grew too thick, claustrophobic.

After a beat, you shook your head, voice quieter now. “You’re running late – I should let you go. We can just… I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Your hand reached for the screen, heart already retreating.

“Wait!” Jack’s voice rang out, startling you.

You hesitated, still refusing to meet his eyes, but something in you paused – your ribs tightened at the strain in his voice.

“I think about you all day,” he admitted. “I know I don’t say it enough, but I do. I make a list in my head of all the things to tell you when we finally talk, and then when you pick up and give me that smile, I forget how to say any of it.”

You blinked.

That wasn't what you expected at all.

Still, he kept going. “And I bought you this mug from the UCLA store, in the shape of a smiling sunny face. I keep it in my locker, drink coffee from it before the shift – and all the residents look at me like I’m crazy. But it just… it reminds me of you. Keeps me grounded. Gets me through the shift.

“And your voice notes – I save them all. I listen to one specific one whenever I miss you more than usual – the one where you called me a broody bastard and then basically told me you missed me in the same breath.” 

That cracked something open in your chest. Like air rushing into lungs that had been holding their breath too long.

Soft tears lined your eyes. Not the frustrated kind. The aching, full-hearted kind.

You stared at the screen, heart thudding in your chest, throat thick with emotion. His face was still there – steady, honest, eyes staring back at yours, so full of you. Of all the missing he hadn’t said until now.

He missed you. Of course he missed you. Maybe not in the same noisy, unraveling way you did – but in the quiet, deliberate way only Jack could. Through mugs and voice notes. Through saved recordings and mental lists. Through showing up, every night, even when words failed.

Your lip trembled as a tear ran down your cheek.

“Jack…” you breathed, the apology catching somewhere between a sob and a sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally said, voice low and thick. “I didn’t mean what I said. I just – God – I feel everything right now, and I don’t know if it’s hormones or just the distance or – ” 

That four-letter word was at the tip of your tongue, but it didn’t feel right to tell him over the phone. This deserved to be told in person. He deserved that.

Jack’s face softened, almost imperceptibly, but you caught it – the way his shoulders eased like something fragile in him had finally seemed to settle.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, after a beat, he deadpanned, “It’s both. I checked the app earlier.” 

You stared, stunned. Then, your eyes warmed, the corners crinkling as a small, disbelieving, shaky smile touched your lips. “You track my cycle on your phone?” 

He shrugged, a little too casual. “Ever since the brownies incident – hell yeah.” 

That conversation changed things – in the best way. 

It made both you and Jack more intentional about the time apart. More creative, more present. FaceTimes evolved into something more sacred, more playful. You started doing virtual date nights, much to Jack’s technologically-deficient chagrin.

“I can barely work this FaceCall thing, you want me to do what now?”, to which you’d rolled your eyes and corrected, “FaceTime,” while suppressing a grin.

He’d grumbled, but you caught the way he cleared his evenings anyway – made sure he wasn’t on call any earlier than he needed to be, made sure his dinner (mediocre and suspiciously not homemade) was ready on time. Despite the mismatched time zones, you both made space. You’d end up eating hours apart, but “together” nonetheless. And that was what mattered.

Six days before Jack was set to fly home, you had another one of these date nights. 

The screen flickered to life and there he was – tousled hair you wished you could run your fingers through, half-zipped hoodie you wished you could burrow into, sitting cross-legged on a too-modern couch that definitely didn’t belong to him. He held up a plastic takeout container like it was an offering.

“Dinner, courtesy of the fine culinary skills I’ve learned from you.” 

You raised a brow. “That looks suspiciously like pad Thai.” 

He shrugged. “Maybe I cooked. Maybe the DoorDash guy and I are becoming best friends.”  

You snorted, curling deeper under your blanket as you reached for the remote. “What’d you do yesterday?” 

Jack leaned back with a groan, the kind that said his spine hated him and the previous night had been long. “This guy came in with a ridiculous chest injury. We had to work carefully around the nerve endings in his nipple and – what?” 

He paused mid-sentence, catching the grin spreading across your face.

“Should I be jealous by how excited you just got talking about someone else’s nipples?” you teased.

Jack coughed, nearly choking on his water. “Jesus. It was a very complicated procedure. We had to be extremely precise.” 

“Oh, I’m sure his nipples were deeply moved by your devotion,” you grinned.

“You’re insufferable.” 

“And you miss it.” 

“Unfortunately,” he deadpanned, mouth twitching.

You smiled, feeling that familiar warmth settle into your chest. God, you missed his face. You missed his voice, his sarcasm, the way he looked at you like you hung up the moon. 

You squinted at the screen. “Is it just me or are you getting a tan?” 

Jack glanced down at his arms. “Well, the sun does shockingly exist here. Unlike your vampire den of a kitchen.” 

“I work best when the lights are dim, and you know that!” 

He smirked. “Sure. That explains why every time you call me from there, you look like you’re in a hostage video.” 

You groaned, tossing a throw pillow off your bed. “Well, not all of us can soak up some West Coast rays while also being a nipple whisperer. Guess you’re just built different.” 

“I regret telling you anything about that case.” 

You smirked as The Bachelor theme started playing faintly from your TV. You both fell quiet for a beat, comfortable. It had become your ritual – playing the show in the background, pretending to care about the drama, when really, it was just an excuse to sit in each other’s orbit for a while. 

Midway through the episode, Jack stood up and walked off-screen and came back holding something. You squinted.

“Is that… a bobblehead? Of an avocado… surfing?” 

Jack held it up proudly toward the camera like it was fine art. “Picked it up at a roadside stand. Guy said it was hand-painted by his seven-year-old niece.” 

“It’s so ugly,” you commented, grinning anyway. “I love it!”

He just laughed, setting it on the table behind him so its little bobblehead eyes stared into your soul for the rest of the call. And, his heart grew every time he caught you staring at it.

Later, you rolled onto your side, shifting your phone as you got more comfortable. The new angle must’ve shown more of the room, because Jack leaned in, eyes narrowing.

“You changed the bedroom.”

You panned the camera, shaking your head. “Just been sleeping on your side lately,” you admitted through flushed cheeks, before cutting him off when he smirked and parted his lips to speak. “Don’t! Don’t ask me why. Just helps me sleep better.” 

He didn’t make a joke. Just stared at you with that soft, unreadable look that always made your chest feel like it was going to burst open.

“I missed this view,” he said gently. His voice was low, almost reverent. “That room. That bed. You in it.”

You fiddled with the comforter. “It misses you. The vibe’s been different, though. Less broody. No angry sighs every time the neighbor’s dog barks.” 

“That dog is a demon,” Jack said, on instinct.

“You’re just grumpy when you’re tired,” you teased.

“And you’re grumpy when I’m not there for you to stick those frozen toes under my legs to warm them up.” 

You opened your mouth to retort, paused, then nodded. “Okay, that’s true.” 

Jack laughed.

The show was long forgotten now. All that mattered was the glow of your screens, the way his eyes didn’t leave yours, the way his voice softened like it always did when the night got quieter.

“What do you miss the most?” he asked, almost shy.

You hesitated, then said, “I miss you hogging the blanket.” That made Jack laugh, but you shook your head, insisting, “I’m serious. In like a stockholm syndrome-y way – I miss that. And other stuff, like you leaving all the lights on or waking me up at the stupid hours of dawn when you get back from a shift… The little stuff.” 

Jack nodded, smiling in that slow, aching way. “You know what I miss?” 

“What?” 

“Sitting at the island, watching you test out new recipes – make a mess of the kitchen like you’re on some Food Network competition.”  

You smiled, fond and aching. “That’s the only way I cook.” 

“I know,” he said. “I miss it. Miss you.” 

You let that settle between you. Let it warm you all the way through.

 “In six days, I’m gonna be stuck to you like velcro,” you murmured.

He quirked a brow. “Is that so?” 

You nodded. “And you’re not allowed to leave again, by the way. And if you do, you’re taking me in your go-bag.” You lifted your pinky finger toward the camera. “Promise.” 

Without hesitation, Jack raised his pinky to match yours. “Promise, baby.” 

And for a moment, across the glow of two tiny screens, it almost felt like he was already home.

“Are you here yet?” you asked the second you picked up the FaceTime, barely able to contain the grin stretching across your face. The sounds of the kitchen clattered behind you, but your focus remained on the screen. On him.

Today was the day Jack was coming home and you were giddy with anticipation. 

“I am,” he replied, voice smooth, teasing, “but where are you?”

You groaned, “A last-minute catering order came in, so I had to stay late. Almost just brought the chef’s knife with me to work in the car and just sprint to Arrivals.”

Jack smirked, familiar and smug. “I don’t know how TSA would’ve taken that.” 

“But, I sent a good backup, huh?” 

Jack shifted the camera to the driver’s seat, where Robby sat, looking amused as he drove. “You’re lucky I’m easily bribable with food,” he said. “Picking him up on my day off was not part of the plan.” 

“Yeah, but you’d do it for the filet mignon these magic hands can make, right?” You wiggled your fingers at the screen, and Jack snorted.

“Oh, any day of the week,” Robby agreed, his grin cracking wider.

Jack turned the camera back to himself. He looked tired from the long travel day, but the way he looked at you—like he’d been waiting all day, or rather, six weeks, to see your face—made your chest ache.

You drank him in. Stubble. Black tee. Soft warmth creeping onto his features as he looked at you. 

“How was your flight?” you asked.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he replied, rubbing his jaw. “I just spent six hours sitting in front of a guy who kept stabbing at the screen like it wronged him personally. Kept me up the whole flight.”

From off-screen, Robby piped up, “Is that why you fell asleep on my shoulder in the first five minutes of the drive?” 

“Aww, is that true?” you cooed, and Jack immediately frowned, shaking his head. “Liar,” you accused with a knowing smile, before asking, “Are you close?”

“To your place?” You nodded. “I was gonna head home first, shower, sleep for a bit – ”

You were already shaking your head, correcting him, “No. You’re coming here first; not allowed to shower before you see me.”

Robby snorted, and Jack sighed in that over-it-but-not-really way before turning to his friend. “Can you drop me off at hers?” 

“Kinda already assumed,” Robby said, tapping the GPS. “Route’s set to her address.”

“How much longer?” you asked Robby, bouncing on your heels with impatient energy.

“Twenty-three minutes.”

You groaned, tugging off your apron. The clock on the wall ticked slowly, teasingly. “Can you be here already?” you whined at Jack, then paused as a mischievous glint sparked behind your eyes. “I’m ovulating and miss you being in my – ”

“Ohhhkay,” Robby cut in, clearly scarred and making your grin widen. Jack’s mouth twitched.

“I was going to say ‘arms.’ Sheesh, Jack, what kind of freaks do you work with?” you teased, grin widening as Jack broke into a full smile and aimed the camera at Robby, who groaned in defeat. 

“You’re gonna get me kicked out of this car, trouble,” Jack said, warmth bleeding into his voice at the nickname. Your chest squeezed, missing him.

Eleni walked into the office a moment later, waving at the screen. “Hey, Eleni,” Jack greeted.

“Hey,” she said, squinting. “Was that groaning I heard just now? You guys doing phone sex again or just emotionally scarring Robby?” 

“For the record, those things are not mutually exclusive,” Robby chimed in.

Eleni grinned, turning to you. “You heading out now?” 

You nodded. “Unless there’s something else – ”

She was already shaking her head. “Go. Get out of here. You’ve already cleaned the walk-in twice just waiting for Jack to land.” 

Jack perked up at that. “Aww, is that true?” he mocked, using your tone from earlier.

You glared at him, but before you could deny it, Eleni added, “She reorganized the grain bins, too!”

You were already grabbing your keys as Eleni ushered you toward the door. “Okay, I’ll see you when you get here,” you said to Jack. 

In a rare moment of vulnerability, he puckered his lips and blew you a kiss goodbye. You flushed, heart stuttering. 

“You’re getting soft on me, Abbot,” you teased.

“Pretty sure we’re way past that.”

The drive home was a blur; you could barely keep your concentration. Every red light felt like the universe was plotting against you; every slow pedestrian crossing the street made you want to scream. 

Your heart was hammering in your ears. You didn’t even remember pulling into the driveway, adrenaline surging. But the moment you caught sight of the front door – 

There he was.

Jack.

Standing at your front door in that familiar black tee, suitcase sitting on the porch as he fumbled with the spare key you’d given him. He was so focused on unlocking the door, he didn’t even hear your footsteps approaching.

“You know, for someone who saves lives for a living,” you called out, approaching him, “you’re really struggling with the concept of a lock.” 

Jack froze, then turned.

And then, a slow-spreading, lopsided smile that had lived on your phone screen for far too long was finally gracing you in person. 

“Well, maybe if someone didn’t have ten million locks on the door, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” he said, voice lower than usual, rougher in a way that made your stomach flip.

You crossed the distance in three strides. The key clattered onto his luggage as he let it fall.

And then you were in his arms. 

Not the thought of him. Not his voice through a screen. Not his pixelated smile or sleepy texts or pictures of his takeout. Him. Warm and solid and real.

His arms wrapped so tightly around you, it felt like he wouldn’t ever let go. And you didn’t want him to. You buried your face in his chest, breathing him in. 

“I forgot how good you smell,” you mumbled into his shirt. “Like middle seat and recycled plane air.” 

He tugged playfully at your ear, leaning back just enough for you to get a good look at him. Sun-kissed skin. Slight scruff that made your fingertips itch to trace it.

“You got more handsome. That’s annoying.” 

He raised a brow. “You’re only saying that because you’re ovulating.” 

“No,” you promised. “If I did, I would’ve already dragged you inside and ripped your clothes off – ”

He kissed you mid-sentence. Not hurried. Not desperate. Just… steady. Like he had all the time in the world, because now, he did.

When you finally pulled back, breath short, he rested his forehead against yours. “Missed you,” you said softly.

“Yeah,” he whispered, almost like it hurt. “Me too.” 

You leaned into him again, arms tightening, greedy now that you finally could be. “You’re never leaving again, right?” 

He chuckled, voice cracking just a little. “You going to chain me to the radiator?” 

You shrugged. “Tempting. I do own zip ties.” 

His laugh was full, unguarded, the sound of it seeping into your skin like sunlight. “Why don’t we save those for the bedroom, huh?” 

He leaned down again to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. And then he whispered, “Let’s go inside.” 

But neither of you moved. Not yet.

You’d waited this long.

What was one more minute in each other’s arms?

[player042]

HER SUN, HIS MOON | kang dae-ho.

pairing: kang dae-ho (player 388) x reader

summary: opposites attract, they say, but absolutely no one could prepare you for the impact dae-ho would have in your life. requested here.

warning: pre squid game au, grumpy x sunshine dynamics, reader has personality similar to sae-byeok's, kinda colleagues to friends to lovers, heart-melting dae-ho being utterly smitten and protective, mention of fighting and blood, prepare for banter and love that feels like the perfect balance, and please enjoy ♥️

word count: 3.7k

Dae-ho and you were written in the stars. Not in words, but through a bond that neither time nor reason could break. As if the universe itself had signed a soul contract on your behalf, interlinking the two of you forever, one bright as the sun, the other dark as the night. Because you could think of no other explanation for how you and Dae-ho had found your way to each other.

For he and you were opposites in every conceivable way. He was golden hours spent laughing, and you were the quiet serenity of midnight. He was the light on a summer day, you were the shadow on a winter night. He was a golden retriever, bounding through life with enthusiasm and a need to love and be loved, while you were the black cat, aloof and deliberate, your affection hard-earned and fiercely given. He was the proverbial sunshine boyfriend, and you? The grumpy girlfriend, even if you'd never admit it aloud.

You still remembered the early days before you were together. Back then, you had avoided entanglements, thinking emotions were too unpredictable, too messy. Dae-ho, on the other hand, had been nothing but heart, an open book that practically had shouted his feelings with every glance, every action. Easygoing. Flirty. Compassionate. Gentle. Funny. Supportive. That's how he'd always been. You had worked at the same bookstore café as part-timers, making money on the side while studying at uni, and he had been the kind of coworker who brought in homemade snacks to share, who remembered the regulars' orders, who lit up every corner of the room just by being there

And you? You had preferred the quiet. You'd worked the closing shift to avoid the chaos, stocked the shelves in peace, and only spoke when absolutely necessary. Yet somehow, Dae-ho had decided you were his favorite person in the room.

Work had been slow that day, the kind of lazy afternoon where time seemed to drag. You had been in the back, sorting through new stock, when Dae-ho had appeared like a whirlwind of energy. As usual, he had brought his sunshine into the room, whistling a tune as he had sauntered over to where you had been crouched on the floor.

"Need a hand?" he asked, grinning as he leaned casually against the shelf. His eyes sparkled with that familiar mischievous glint that always made you wary.

"No," you said simply, focusing on the stack of books in front of you. "I'm fine."

"That's debatable," he replied, crouching down next to you. "You've been glaring at those books like they owe you money. Which, knowing you, isn't completely impossible."

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling, refusing to give him the satisfaction. "They're disorganized. It's irritating."

"I think you mean it's irresistible," he corrected, emphasizing the word as he tilted his head to get a better look at your face. "Because you're clearly putting all your energy into ignoring the most charming guy in the room."

You'd turned to him then, giving him a flat look. "Charming? You?"

His hand went to his chest, mock offense lighting up his features. "Ouch. That hurts. Right here." He tapped his heart, then flashed you an exaggerated pout. "You wound me."

"Good," you shot back, turning back to the books. "Maybe it'll teach you some humility."

He let out a soft laugh, his voice dipping lower. "Nah, I think I'll keep my ego intact, thanks. It's my best feature. Or… is it my smile? You've been staring at it a lot lately, so maybe I should ask you."

Your fingers froze on the book in your hand, and you felt heat creep up your neck. Damn him. He always knew exactly how to get under your skin, and worse, he lived for it.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said smoothly, though your face betrayed you with the faintest hint of pink in your cheeks.

"Oh, come on," he teased, leaning in closer. "Don't play coy with me. I see the way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention."

You turned to glare at him, which only made him grin wider. "You're imagining things."

"Am I?" His voice was soft now, his gaze steady as he inched just a bit closer. "Because I'd bet my entire paycheck that you're thinking about how good I'd look kissing you right now."

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat at his boldness. But you weren't going to give him the satisfaction. "That's a terrible bet," you deadpanned with your best pokerface, setting the book aside. "You don't even make that much."

His laughter echoed in the small space, rich and full of delight. "See? That's exactly why you're my favorite."

"You're annoying," you retorted, standing up and dusting off your jeans.

"And yet, you keep me around." He stood as well, towering over you slightly. His boyish grin softened into something more genuine, his eyes lingering on yours. "Admit it, you'd miss me if I wasn't here."

You had rolled your eyes, "You wish."

"I do," he remarked, "And you love it," he winked at you before strolling off, whistling that same tune as before.

And damn it, you did love it.

No one understood it back then. This thing you two had. They still didn't understand. How could someone so effervescent, so outwardly bright, have chosen someone so reserved, so calculated? How could two people so different orbit each other with such ease? But honestly, they didn't need to understand. It was him and you that counted. Two sides of the same coin, perfectly balanced in your differences, inseparable in ways that defied explanation. 

And so, it began, this undefined connection between you. Gradually, you found yourselves spending more and more time together. Dinners after work became a casual routine, and weekends often led to shared nights out at bars.

On one particular Saturday night, the bar you went to was packed; the air buzzing with laughter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of a jukebox in the corner. It was one of those rare nights where you let yourself relax, even though relaxing wasn't exactly your forte. Of course, it helped that Dae-ho was there, his larger-than-life presence somehow managing to make you forget how crowded and loud the place was.

You were sitting at the bar, nursing a drink, while Dae-ho leaned against the counter beside you, a mischievous grin perpetually plastered on his face. He was in rare form all evening, tossing out jokes and one-liners, testing just how far he could push your usual stoic demeanor.

"Come on," he teased, nudging your arm gently. "I know, you're having fun. You're smiling. At least on the inside."

You shot him a sidelong glance, unimpressed. "I don't smile."

"Not true," he countered, wagging a finger at you. "You smiled that one time when I tripped on the stairs."

"That wasn't a smile," you clarified with absolutely no emotion in your face, "That was schadenfreude."

"Call it whatever you want," he replied with a wink. "It still counts."

Your lips twitched slightly at that, betraying a flicker of amusement you tried to hide. Of course, Dae-ho noticed instantly, pointing at you triumphantly.

"Aww, I'm growing on you."

"Like mold," you muttered, taking another sip of your drink to mask your expression.

Undeterred, he leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "You know, I've been told I have a certain… effect on people. Charm, charisma, devastating good looks, take your pick."

"Is that what your sisters told you?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

His grin widened. "Ah, there's the sharp tongue I love. Keep it coming, baby."

"Stop calling me that," you grumbled, even as your stomach flipped at the nickname.

As the evening went on, the two of you fell into a rhythm of teasing and banter, your words volleying back and forth like it was second nature. The bustling crowd and occasional jostle of bodies around you became background noise as your attention fixated on each other. What you did notice, however, was how close he's got. His shoulder brushed yours, his warm breath tickling your ear as he spoke in that low, teasing tone.

"So," he said casually, his eyes gleaming with mischief, "how long are you going to keep pretending you don't like me?"

You snorted, leaning back slightly in an attempt to create some distance, not that it helped. "What makes you think I like you?"

"Your complete inability to look me in the eye when I do this," he explained, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture had been so smooth, so effortlessly intimate, it left you momentarily speechless.

"Is your ego always this big, or is it just me?" you managed to ask, though your voice had sounded weaker than you intended.

"Just you," he replied, his grin softening into something more genuine. "You bring out the best in me, moonbeam."

Before you could formulate a snappy retort, a commotion erupted behind you. Raised voices and curses cut through the background noise, drawing your attention to a group of men arguing near a table. One of them shoved another, and you instinctively tensed.

"Dae-ho," you hissed, elbowing him. "Something's happening."

"Huh?" He blinked, finally tearing his gaze away from you to glance in the direction of the chaos. "Oh. Looks like a fight."

"Yeah, thanks, Sherlock," you muttered, standing up as the tension escalated. One of the men pulled out a knife, waving it threateningly.

"Let's just get out of here," you grabbed Dae-ho's arm. But before you could pull him away, the fight spilled dangerously close to the bar.

Everything that happened next was a blur. The man with the knife lunged forward, clearly aiming for his opponent, but the latter ducked, and somehow, Dae-ho, who inexplicably stepped forward, took the hit instead.

"Shit!" you yelled, catching him as he stumbled back. The knife had grazed his side, leaving a shallow but nasty wound. Blood seeped through his shirt, and panic had gripped you.

"Dae-ho!" you exclaimed, your hands gripping his shoulders. "What the hell were you thinking?"

He winced, a crooked grin tugging at his lips despite the pain. "Guess I wasn't."

"No kidding," you snapped, grabbing a napkin from the bar to press against his wound. "Who gets stabbed because they're too busy flirting?"

"Is that… your way of admitting I'm hard to resist?" he asked, his voice strained but still tinged with humor.

You glared at him, though your heart was racing for entirely different reasons. "Shut up and sit down. You're bleeding."

"I've had worse," he said, but he sank obediently into a nearby chair, his hand covering yours as you applied pressure to his wound. "Besides, I couldn't let anything happen to you."

"I was fine," you muttered through gritted teeth. "You're the one who almost got killed because you can't stop playing knight in shining armor."

"Be honest," he said with a weak chuckle. "You'd really miss me if I wasn't around."

You froze at his words, remembering the last time, he's said them, your breath hitching. But this time, the thought of losing him, wasn't so far away. Momentarily, the noise of the bar faded, replaced by the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

"Don't be stupid," you said softly.

"I knew it! I do have an effect on you," he grinned triumphantly, "I'll take my victory now, thanks." 

You rolled your eyes, but the faint tremble in your hands gave you away. "Just… try not to die, okay?"

His grin widened, despite the pain etched across his face. "If it means seeing you worried about me? Worth it."

As much as you wanted to deny it back then, he hadn't been wrong. You would miss him. And that had terrified you more than any knife ever could.

Your relationship had always been a slow burn, like embers catching fire after months of waiting for the perfect conditions. On that rainy Saturday night, after the chaos at the bar, you found yourself driving Dae-ho to the hospital, his side patched up with hastily wrapped gauze that barely held back the bleeding. He sat in the passenger seat, uncharacteristically quiet, his usual energy dampened by the pain and the rain drumming on the windshield.

"You didn't have to do this," he muttered after a while, his head leaning back against the seat.

"Of course I did," you replied without looking at him, your knuckles tight around the steering wheel. "I wasn't going to let you bleed out in some alley."

He chuckled faintly, the sound tinged with both amusement and exhaustion. "You've got a funny way of showing you care."

You ignored him, keeping your focus on the road, though your heart clenched at the way his voice sounded weaker than usual.

At the hospital, you stayed with him through the stitches, arms crossed over your chest as he cracked half-hearted jokes to distract himself from the needle. When the nurse asked if you were his girlfriend, you didn't bother to deny it, instead rolling your eyes and muttering, "Just patch him up, will you?"

By the time you were finally helping him to his apartment, the rain had turned into a steady downpour. He leaned on you as you guided him up the stairs, his weight a reminder of how fragile this moment felt despite the humor he tried to inject into it.

As you reached the cover of his apartment's awning, you let out a breath, finally releasing your grip on his arm. The warm glow of the entryway light cast over the two of you, highlighting the faint smirk tugging at his lips despite everything.

"I've got to say," he began, leaning heavily against the doorframe, "I think this is the longest you've ever willingly spent with me. Kind of feels like progress."

You shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it. "You're an idiot," you said, shaking your head. "Why do you always make everything a joke?"

"Because someone's gotta balance us out," he quipped, though his grin faltered as he studied your face. "You're always so serious, moonbeam."

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the sound of rain filling the silence. He tilted his head slightly, as if debating whether to push further. Then, in a softer tone, he said, "Why do you act like you don't care when I know you do?"

His question caught you off guard, the vulnerability in his voice digging into the walls you'd carefully built around yourself. You looked away, the words forming in your throat before you could stop them. "Because caring about people… it hurts. And I've had enough of that."

Silence stretched between you again, heavier this time. When you finally looked at him, the teasing glint in his eyes was gone, replaced by something deeper, something that made your chest tighten.

"You don't have to be scared of me," he said quietly. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I don't get it," you mumbled, more to yourself than to him.

"Don't get what?"

"You. Why you're always so nice to me."

He tilted his head as he studied you through the rain. "Because you're worth it," he said simply as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, his voice soft but certain. "And because I like you."

The words caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat. You could only stare at him, the rain a gentle soundtrack to the weight of his confession.

"Say something, moonbeam," he teased, his grin crooked but genuine.

The rawness of his words, the way he had said them like a promise, made something inside you snap. Before you could second-guess yourself, you stepped closer, your hands reaching for his collar. You kissed him, tentative at first, your lips brushing against his like you were testing the waters. He froze, clearly surprised, but only for a short moment. Then his hands were on your waist, steadying you as he kissed you back with a tenderness that belied his usual boldness.

The warmth of his lips, the faint taste of blood and rain, made your head spin. It wasn't rushed or frantic, it was slow, deliberate, like he didn't want to miss a single second of it. When you pulled back, his eyes searched yours, his expression soft but unreadable.

"That's a good start," he murmured, his fingers brushing a raindrop from your cheek.

And that was the night everything shifted.

Even now, years later, as you sat curled up on the couch in one of his oversized hoodies, that kiss lingered in your memory, replaying in these quiet moments like a favorite song. You hadn't realized it then, but that kiss had marked the beginning of a life you'd never imagined for yourself, a life with him. You were lazily scrolling through your phone, as the smell of coffee wafted from the kitchen, a comforting scent that told you Dae-ho was busy doing something, blending with the faint hum of his voice as he moved about.

You smiled to yourself, tracing the worn fabric of the hoodie with your fingertips.

"Babe," his voice called from the kitchen, teasing and light, pulling you from your thoughts, "if I bring you coffee in bed, does that make me husband material, or is it too early for that kind of promotion?"

You snorted, setting your phone down as you stretched. "You've gotta stop campaigning so hard, Dae-ho. It's getting desperate."

He appeared in the doorway, holding two mugs of steaming coffee and wearing the kind of grin that made your stomach flip. "Desperate? Honey, this is a demonstration of premium boyfriend services." He crossed the room, setting the mugs on the coffee table before flopping down next to you.

"Premium?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "You didn't even bring toast."

He gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "Are you doubting the quality of my care and devotion?"

"I'm just saying," you replied with a smirk, "a little effort wouldn't kill you."

"Oh, you want effort?" he teased, leaning over you, his face suddenly much closer than you anticipated. His arm stretched over the back of the couch, caging you in just slightly. "Name it, and it's yours."

You stared at him, biting your lip to keep from laughing. "Okay. Toast. I want toast."

He narrowed his eyes playfully, tilting his head. "You sure about that? Not, I don't know, me? Because I'm sitting right here."

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed as he leaned closer, the playful glint in his eyes softening into something warmer. "You're still annoying," you said under your breath, trying to sound in-fact annoyed, but your voice betrayed you, coming out softer than you intended.

"And you're adorable," he shot back, his lips brushing against your forehead. "I think we're even."

The warmth of his breath lingered on your skin as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His hand slid down to your waist, tugging you closer until your legs were tangled together, his thumb idly tracing circles over the fabric of your hoodie.

"You look good in my clothes," he murmured, his voice dipping lower. "Almost too good. How am I supposed to let you out of this apartment now?"

You couldn't stop the small laugh that bubbled up, even as your heart raced. "Who said I was going anywhere?"

His grin widened at your response, and before you could say anything else, he turned you with a swift motion, settling you on top of him so that your legs straddled his hips. The shift left you breathless, your bare thighs brushing against his sides as his hands splayed firmly on your waist, holding you in place.

"Good," he said, his voice lower now, a little rougher around the edges. His dark eyes held yours, their usual playfulness tempered with something deeper, something that made your stomach flutter. "Because I can't get enough of you."

His words sent a shiver down your spine. He tilted his head back slightly, his thumb tracing absent patterns along your hip. "You, moonbeam," he murmured, his gaze intense. "You're addicting. Like I'm craving something I can't ever stop wanting."

You felt your breath hitch, your heart thudding in your chest. You tried to compose yourself, to play it cool, but the way he looked at you made it impossible to be unaffected. Instead, you leaned forward slightly, letting your hands rest on his chest. "Dae-ho," you softly said his name the way you knew it drove him crazy, "You keep talking like that, and I might think you're the romantic one in this relationship."

His lips quirked into a smirk, but his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you even closer. "Don't think. Know. And I'll keep proving it until you never question it again."

You couldn't help but laugh softly, the sound blending with the warmth of his presence. "You're setting the bar pretty high for yourself, you know."

He shrugged, his hands never leaving your waist, "That just means I have to keep finding ways to spoil you."

In that moment, the world outside disappeared, leaving just the two of you tangled together. His hands slowly slid down to your thighs now, his thumbs brushing over your skin, while his gaze never left yours. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, and his arms circled back around you, holding you impossibly close as though you might vanish if he didn't.

"I told you," he murmured against your lips. "Addicting."

"I know," you said softly, capturing his lips in another slow kiss. "And that's why I love you."

His boyish grin returned against your lips, softer this time, "I love you, too. But I'm still not getting up for toast."

You burst out laughing, and he pulled you even tighter against him, his chuckle rumbling through his chest as he pressed a kiss against your jaw. Right then and there, everything felt right, like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. You smiled, letting yourself melt into him, and you thought to yourself that this was where you were meant to be. Not because he was your sun or you were his moon, but because together, you created something whole. 

Something timeless. 

Something infinite.

And you wouldn't have it any other way. 

[joemama-2]

𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 & 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚

・❥・ pairing: veteran! levi x fem reader

╰┈➤ synopsis: known as ‘marley’s darling’, your father, a high-ranking marleyan diplomat, introduced you as his pride and joy since you were out the womb. dazzling smiles, coy and subtly flirtatious remarks, an innocent but seductive allure that keeps you in the eyes of the public. with concerns for your safety, your father hires levi ackerman as your personal bodyguard, a war hero to some, a warm criminal to others. the same man who fought against your people.

・❥・ wc: 7k

・❥・ tags/warnings: age gap, levi is in his late thirties, reader is 26, angst, fluff, smut, alcohol, drugs, war veteran! levi, reader takes inspo from marilyn monroe, mentions of ptsd, depression, death, post! war, prejudice, guns, knives, violence, reader is marleyan, slow burn, sorta opposites attract?, dark themes, cussing, gross men, no titans! modern au, may have some canon divergent elements (e.g. levi has both legs still lol)

・❥・ series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

“Don’t you already have bodyguards? Multiple of them?” 

“Yes, but apparently I’m this one’s specific responsibility.” You sip from your mimosa, leaning back casually in the pool chair. The summer rays of the warm Sunday morning shine down on your little posse. Circular black shades obscure your vision, wearing a red checkered, halter, one-piece swimsuit. White manicured toes wiggling out in front of you, gazing at your French tips. God, I need a new set.  

“Is he handsome?” Isabella asks, smiling dreamily. Resting her chin on her palm, she moved a strand of red hair away from her light hazel eyes. 

You playfully roll your eyes, having grown accustomed to your best friend’s antics after years of friendship. “He is. However, he's a little on the short side.”

“Well, height isn’t everything, Y/N.” Naomi sits to your right. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She holds a cool glass of soda, opting away from any alcoholic beverages. It’s a running joke between you three, one where you and Isabella would call her the prude of the group.

“Oh, it totally is!” Isabella huffs, leaning over to look at Naomi. “A man should be tall. Tall, handsome, strong��” 

“Rich,” you add. 

“Kind,” Naomi tacks on, giving you a look. 

“And charming,” Isabella finishes off, leaning back in her chair.

You sip your mimosa once more, head tilting up towards the sky. “Well, I just met him. I can’t exactly say he’s my dream man. In fact, I’m already growing slightly irritated with his presence.”

“What? Why?” Isabella asks, standing up. She stretches before stepping into the jacuzzi. 

“Why?” You echo back in disbelief, scoffing. “For one, he’ll be all on my ass 24/7.”

Naomi pats your arm. “It’s for your protection, Y/N. It may not be completely ideal, but try to look at it from the bright side.”

You love Naomi. However, her optimism and headstrong, realistic ways of thinking tend to get on your nerves. But you suppose it’s much needed with you three. While she’s the more measured, grounded one, Isabella is all heart and heat—led by whims, wild dreams, and red wine. A flirty, extroverted bimbo, labeled by some. And you? You’re somewhere in between. Sweet enough to charm a room, sharp enough to carve through it if you had to.

You glance at Naomi and give her a soft, sarcastic smile. “The bright side? Sure. Maybe he’ll be so bored of guarding me, he’ll ask to be reassigned.”

“I don’t think anyone could be bored of guarding you,” Isabella calls from the jacuzzi, flipping her wet hair back with theatrical flair. “You’re chaos in lipstick.”

“And diamonds,” you remind her, raising your glass. “Don’t forget the diamonds.”

Naomi shakes her head but smiles all the same. “Just be careful around him, okay? Especially if he’s been assigned by your father. You know how he operates. He doesn’t place people unless they serve more than one purpose.”

You go still for a moment, her words settling over the group. You swirl the mimosa in your glass, the citrusy scent tickling your nose as your lips press into a faint smile, one without amusement. “Yeah,” you murmur, “I know.”

There’s a pause. Just long enough for the weight of unspoken truths to stretch between the three of you.

Isabella tries to lift the mood. “Well, if he’s cute, maybe you’ll get over it. Who knows—maybe he’ll fall hopelessly in love with you, and it’ll all turn into some scandalous forbidden romance.”

You laugh, but there’s no real humor in it. “If he’s smart, he’ll keep his distance.”

Naomi’s eyes narrow slightly behind her sunglasses. “You think he’s dangerous?”

You shrug, setting your glass down on the small table beside you. “I think he’s not just a bodyguard. And I think my father doesn’t hand me off to strangers unless they’re there to report back.”

Isabella sinks deeper into the water, lips pursed thoughtfully. “Then why does it feel like this one’s different?”

Because he is. You’re not sure why yet, but something about Levi Ackerman is…off-script. Off-brand. Like he’s not here to play the part your father gave him, but hasn’t told anyone what script he’s reading from. Or maybe that’s just your own trust issues coming into play, rearing its ugly head. 

“I don’t trust him,” you finally say. “But I don’t think he trusts me, either.”

Naomi tilts her head. “Then you’re a perfect match.”

You snort, reaching for your glass again. “God forbid.” But still, your mind drifts back to the moment he looked at you—not with lust, not with obedience, but with evaluation. Like he was dissecting the game before even agreeing to play. 

“Well,” Isabella wonders, tilting her head. “Where’s this short man now?”

“Meeting with my father in his study.” 

Isabella’s face lights up. “Do you think he likes redheads?”

“Sure. Or one of those Eldian freaks.” You laugh, Isabella joining in. It takes a few seconds for you both to realize the mistake you unintentionally made. Glancing at Naomi from the corner of your eye, you tone down your laughter as you notice her awkwardly looking away. 

Damn it. 

“It’s okay,” she’s quick to placate you, head shaking. “It was a joke. It was funny.”

“Dammit, I’m sorry, Naomi. It just…I didn’t mean that. I know you’re…you know, too. That was insensitive of me.”

Isabella frowns, scratching her neck. “I’m sorry, dearie.”

Naomi waves it off with a small smile, but her fingers tighten slightly around the condensation of her soda glass. “Seriously, it’s fine,” she says, eyes still averted. “You’re not the first to say it without thinking. Probably won’t be the last.”

The silence that follows isn’t hostile, it’s just… heavy. A little too honest for a summer morning by the pool.

You sit up a little straighter, mimosa forgotten. “No, but I should’ve thought. Especially around you. You know I don’t actually—” You stop yourself, biting back the hollow defense that it was just a slip. That it didn’t mean anything. Because it did mean something. To her. And if Naomi didn’t always speak up when she should, you sure as hell needed to.

Naomi finally looks at you, meeting your gaze. Her smile is faint, but warmer this time. “It’s okay,” she says again, more softly. “I know where your heart is. I just… I guess sometimes I wish people wouldn’t use ‘Eldian’ like it’s a slur. Even if it’s just for a punchline.”

You nod, a lump forming in your throat that you weren’t expecting. Guilt always hits harder when it’s deserved. “You’re right,” you say, quieter now. “I’ve grown up hearing it tossed around like nothing. I guess some of it is still stuck without me realizing.”

Naomi leans back in her seat, exhaling slowly, as if releasing something she’s been holding onto for a while. “It gets exhausting,” she admits. “Having to constantly remind people you’re not less than. That your blood doesn’t define you.”

Isabella’s expression softens, her usual airy playfulness dimming to something more grounded. “We’ll do better,” she says, and for once there’s no dramatics—just sincerity.

You glance between your friends, two women who’ve stood beside you through everything—your father’s schemes, the unbearable galas, the endless expectations—and wonder how many other things you’ve overlooked.

Then Naomi shifts the mood with a small laugh, nudging her soda glass toward the edge of the table. “But if he does like redheads, Isabella, please don’t seduce him on the first day. Let the man settle in.”

Isabella gasps, hand over her heart. “I would never—well, maybe just a little harmless flirting.”

You roll your eyes, tension easing from your shoulders. “God, imagine him trying to flirt back. He’d probably just grunt and walk away.”

Naomi chuckles. “Sounds like your type.”

You throw your head back with a groan. “Don’t start.”

But despite the heat, despite the awkward moment that still lingers in the edges of your conscience, the day begins to feel lighter again. There’s still so much unspoken between the three of you—but maybe that’s the thing about friendship in a world like yours. You learn when to speak, when to listen, and when to simply stay.

“This is Coco. You treat her as if she were me. With respect, pride, and dignity. I expect you to lay your life on the line for her, as well.”

Levi’s arms cross, staring down at the tiny Pomeranian in your arms. You’ve even got the little thing wearing some pink sweater, a sparkly collar around her neck. “Coco,” he repeats lowly, not bothering to hold back a grimace as you bring the dog up close and personal to his face. 

When he tries to pull back, you smile. “Don’t worry. She just needs to get accustomed to your smell. Almost like I do, too.”

Levi scowls, leaning ever so slightly away from the tiny dog’s excited sniffs. “I’m not getting close enough for either of you to ‘adjust.’”

“She likes you already,” you tease, nuzzling Coco’s head affectionately. “See how she didn’t bark? That’s rare. She only likes people with good instincts.”

“Or maybe she just knows I could punt her halfway across the garden.”

Your jaw drops. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His eyes narrow. “Try me.”

Coco lets out a dainty sneeze, wiggling in your arms, her fluffy tail wagging. Levi’s scowl deepens as you coo at her and plant a kiss on the top of her head like she’s royalty.

You look up at him with a sweet, dangerous smile. “If anything happens to her under your watch, I’ll tell my father you laid a hand on me.”

He stares at you, deadpan. “So you’re threatening me now.”

You shrug. “No, I’m just stating facts.”

He glances down at Coco again, who stares back with big, sparkling eyes and a crooked little smile.

“…She blinks weird.”

“She’s got a lazy eye. Don’t be rude.”

Levi exhales through his nose, hands resting on his hips. “Great. I’m babysitting a glorified dust mop with attitude.”

“And she bites.”

He raises a brow. “So do I.”

You grin. “I’m counting on it.” 

You follow your remark with an airy chuckle, walking through the foyer of the estate and into the kitchen. Levi follows. You open a pantry door that reveals seven rows of varying dog foods, treats, toys, bowls, and collars. “This is where her food is. I’ll show you her room later.”

“Your dog has her own room?” He asks in veiled disbelief. 

“Why, of course. She’s just as important, if not more, than anyone else here.”

Levi follows the sweep of your hand with a blank stare, as if processing the absurdity before him. “Right,” he mutters. “Priorities.”

You bend down to grab a bag of organic grain-free kibble, the kind that smells vaguely like roasted chicken and bankruptcy. “She also has very specific dietary restrictions. No wheat, no soy, no artificial preservatives. And she eats twice a day—sharp times, Levi. Eight a.m. and six p.m. Not a minute later.”

He watches you pour a sample into a tiny, crystal-trimmed bowl that probably costs more than a person’s monthly salary. “You know, there are political prisoners in internment camps who eat less gourmet than this.”

You glance at him, head tilting. “And that’s Coco’s fault, how?”

He doesn’t respond. He just blinks slowly, like he’s trying to disassociate from the moment.

You straighten up and gesture for him to follow again. “Come. I’ll show you her closet.”

“Her closet.”

You nod, already halfway out of the kitchen. “Yes. You need to familiarize yourself with her outfits. She doesn’t repeat looks unless it’s for rainy days, and even then, only in rotation. Oh, and she has allergies, so avoid the lavender detergent on her bedsheets.”

Levi stands there for a beat longer, as if silently cursing whatever life decision led him to this point. “Do I get hazard pay for this?” he finally mutters, trailing after you and the prancing fluff ball upstairs like a man walking toward his doom.

“I didn’t know my father hired such a comedian.” You smile, looking back over your shoulder at him. “Have you tried stand-up?” Your hand curls around the doorknob, twisting it open. 

Levi doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even blink. He just stares at you with that same unimpressed expression, as if your joke barely registered on his humor scale. “Only if the stage’s on fire,” he mutters. “And I’m dragging someone off it.”

You laugh anyway, amused by the dry delivery, the way his voice stays low and flat. “So that’s a no?”

The door swings open, revealing Coco’s room. Or rather—Coco’s suite. The small space is decked out in pastel pinks, custom pet furniture, plush carpeting, and a miniature chandelier hanging delicately from the ceiling. One wall displays an array of dog couture, another holds framed photos of Coco at various events, some of which Levi suspects had a guest list and press coverage.

You step aside proudly, gesturing. “Welcome to the queen’s quarters.”

Levi exhales slowly through his nose, staring into the room like he’s just found out this dog lives better than most humans. “She’s got better security than the embassy,” he comments.

“And now she has you,” you tease, nudging his arm lightly as you move past him again. “Aren’t we lucky?”

He looks down at the tiny pink bed with Coco’s name embroidered in gold thread, then back at you. “You mean me, right?”

You grin over your shoulder. “No, I meant her.”

Levi watches you trot around the room, grabbing a pair of nail clippers and a small comb. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Watching you fuss over your dog’s appearance as if she were your own child. Maybe in a way to you, she is. Levi’s always felt weird about people treating animals—especially tiny dogs like this one—with such lavishness. And some people can barely afford food on the table. 

“Your father never mentioned anything about this dog in my contract,” he decides to speak up, head tilting slightly. 

You glance up from where you’ve crouched beside Coco’s plush vanity stool, pausing mid-brush. “Is that so?” you hum, like it’s mildly interesting but not surprising. “Well, consider her an extension of me. Where I go, she goes. When I’m out, she stays with someone I trust. That someone is you.”

Levi’s arms remain crossed, his gaze fixed on you with a slow-burning skepticism. “I’m not a dog sitter.”

You stand and walk toward him, the nail clippers swinging loosely from your fingers. “No,” you agree, stepping close—close enough for Coco to bark once from her seat like she’s watching a drama unfold. “You’re my bodyguard. Which means you protect what matters to me. And Coco matters.”

Levi exhales, more out of habit than exasperation. “I thought I was protecting you from political threats. Not from… chipped nails and improperly brushed fur.”

You shrug, eyes glittering with amusement. “Threats come in many forms, Mr. Ackerman. A single snag in Coco’s coat could be a national tragedy. Now hold her.”

He gives you a look like you’ve lost your mind. “You’re serious.”

You place Coco delicately into his arms, ignoring how rigid he becomes. “Completely.”

As you return to her vanity to grab her tiny sunglasses, Levi stares down at the fluffy dog in his arms, now yawning in a way he’s sure is mocking him. His nose twitches, already feeling his allergies begin to act up. Walking back over, you slide the sunglasses onto her face. “So, why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?”

Levi shifts uncomfortably with the delicate weight in his arms. He cleared his throat with a small grunt. “What do you know?”

“What should I know?” You easily reply back, innocently raising your eyebrow and holding back a small smile behind your hand. 

Your attitude really ticks him off. It’s like you never fully answer what he asks you, like you’re trained to veil yourself behind an alluring persona. “I’ve been assigned to protect you, that’s all you need to know.”

“Oh? Secretive man, aren’t you?” 

“Reserved,” he corrects. 

You hum in response, eyes trailing leisurely down his stiff posture, the way his hands hover just slightly off Coco’s fluffy pink sweater like he’s afraid of contaminating her, or himself. He’s already visibly uncomfortable, the dog nestled against his broad chest with all the ceremony of a royal child, and yet you can tell he’d rather be anywhere else. It makes you smile.

“Well, reserved,” you say, tone breezy as ever as you gently reach out to adjust Coco’s sparkly sunglasses. “That doesn’t help me sleep any easier at night. You’ll be shadowing me, probably listening to every private call and watching every awkward wardrobe change. I’d think the least you could offer me is your favorite color. Or—I don’t know—what you do when you’re not threatening men in suits with your eyes.”

Levi’s jaw tightens, eyes narrowing just slightly. “I don’t need you to sleep easier. I need you to stay alive.”

You blink once, lips parted slightly at the bluntness of it. His voice is low, calm, but edged with something colder than you expected. A kind of calculated disinterest. You wonder if that’s how he’s been trained—or if that’s just how he is. The silence between you stretches long enough for Coco to give a huff, burying her snout into his arm like even she’s growing bored. You cross your arms.

“You know,” you murmur after a moment, voice a touch softer, “for a guy who’s supposed to be keeping me alive, you sure seem like you can’t stand being around me.”

“I don’t need to like you to do my job,” he says coolly, handing Coco back to you with the delicacy of someone handling an explosive.

You cradle the dog with ease, pressing a kiss to her head as she lets out a yip of approval. “Mm. That’s a shame. I was hoping we’d at least be friends.”

Levi gives you a once-over. Not suggestive. Not admiring. Just assessing. “Friends don’t let friends carry designer rats in rhinestones.”

You gasp dramatically, hugging Coco closer to your chest. “How dare you? She’s royalty.”

“She’s shedding on my shirt.”

“Your shirt should feel honored.”

Levi turns to leave the room, muttering under his breath as he goes, “This is going to be a long assignment.”

You scoff, trailing after him with Coco in your arms. “I’m counting on it, short king.”

The look he throws over his shoulder could freeze the sun.

It’s later that night that you find yourself dressed up. Hair styled neatly into pin curls, wearing your signature red lip, a neutral, subtle gray shadow coating your lids. Your figure is adorned in a satin, champagne, form-fitting gown that reaches just past your knees, with an off-the-shoulder neckline. You’re wearing a diamond choker with a shawl draped loosely across your arms. In your hand, you hold a small, jeweled clutch. And finally, you’ve topped the outfit off with red, pointed-toed, stiletto heels. 

Your father is dressed in his usual, steam-pressed suit, hair neatly swooped back. His hand finds your lower back as he leads you into the high-end casino he’s been invited to for the night. Usually, casinos aren’t your thing. Too rowdy and gross for your liking, but you have nothing else on your agenda for the night. Flashes blind your vision, people shouting out your name or your father’s. A flank of his men crowd you both as you enter, Levi closely packed to your right. 

It’s the kind of casino only the important can get into, hence the tight security and lavish building. 

Crystal chandeliers hang from the gilded ceiling like falling stars, refracting light off rows of polished marble floors and deep velvet carpets. The air smells faintly of expensive cigars and stronger egos, underscored by the delicate sound of piano keys humming in the background. Every man in this room is either rich or pretending to be. Every woman sparkles under the weight of diamonds too big to be discreet. You fit right in—and you know it.

Your father nods to familiar faces, shaking hands and murmuring greetings with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His grip on your lower back tightens as the two of you walk deeper into the opulence, a silent reminder: be charming, be seen, but don’t speak unless you have to. Levi trails behind. He blends in well in his tailored black suit, but there’s something about him that doesn’t quite match the rest of this place—maybe it’s his perpetual scowl, or the way his eyes never stop scanning the room. He’s not here for the champagne or the poker. He’s here to calculate threats. To make sure no one gets too close to you.

“Smile,” your father murmurs as you pass a pair of high-ranking politicians. “Senator Moreau’s daughter is here tonight. Keep your head high.”

You do as you’re told, turning just enough to offer a warm, practiced smile to the right people. Levi’s eyes meet yours briefly in the reflection of a mirror near the bar. 

After a while, your father excuses himself to a private table with the hosts, flanked by security. He gives Levi a nod, a silent command to watch closely over you. You’re left standing alone near the bar with Levi hovering by your side.

“Do I look like I’m enjoying myself?” you ask without looking at him, nursing a glass of something that tastes like flowers and money.

“You look like you’re about to rob this place blind,” he replies dryly, watching the room.

You laugh softly. “Flattering. But I think you just mean I look expensive.”

“No,” he says. “I mean, you look dangerous.”

Your smile lingers a moment longer before you take another sip, letting the tension between you settle somewhere behind your ribs. “You know,” you say slowly, turning to face him more directly, “you could at least pretend you’re having a good time.”

“I’m not paid to pretend,” he says, eyes still on the crowd.

“Well, that’s unfortunate.” You glance toward the roulette tables where a crowd has gathered, already making your way toward it with a small tilt of your head. “Because this is my favorite part.”

He follows without protest, his expression unreadable. And as the casino lights dance off your diamond choker and the slit of your dress glides with every step, you feel the burn of his gaze again, unmoving, attentive, and just maybe a little curious.

“Hello, boys,” you greet the small group of four men who meticulously play whatever game they’re glued to. Hand drifting to the shoulder of one in particular. “My sweet James, I haven’t seen you in ages.” With a smile, you lean in to plant a tiny kiss on his cheek. 

James Starton—son of a shipping magnate, heir to a fortune you could recite the layers of in your sleep—grins widely when he sees you. His golden Rolex glints under the lights as he chuckles, reaching up to touch the spot on his cheek where your lips just left a trace. “Y/N. As stunning as ever,” he says, leaning back in his seat with practiced ease. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about us common folk.”

The other three men offer you similar greetings, none as familiar as James's, but polite enough. They each take a moment to rake their eyes over your figure, the way the satin clings to you like a second skin. You can feel Levi’s presence close behind, a solid shadow that seems to grow heavier the longer you linger.

“I could never forget you, James,” you purr, fingers lightly trailing across the back of his chair as you circle to the empty one beside him. “But you know how it is. Daddy keeps me busy, and this city doesn’t exactly run itself.”

James laughs. “Well, I hope you’re here to play. We could use a little more luck at the table.” He gestures to the chips in front of him, plenty of them, because, of course, he’s doing well tonight. But then again, James always likes to look like he’s winning, whether he is or not.

You cross your legs as you sit, angling yourself just enough to maintain control of the room—and the conversation. “Maybe I’ll play a few hands,” you muse, glancing at the dealer. “If only for the company.”

Levi doesn’t move, but you know he’s dutifully watching. You can feel the tension radiating off of him like heat. The way his gaze probably narrows at how close James leans, or how you’re toying with the man’s cufflink like it’s a nervous tic.

James leans in just slightly, voice low. “And who’s that, then?” He nods in Levi’s direction without bothering to hide the amusement in his tone. “New arm candy? Your type’s changed.”

You smile sweetly, flicking your eyes up at Levi before returning your gaze to James. “Bodyguard,” you say simply. “And you’d do well to remember that.”

The warning is soft, almost playful—but not quite. It’s enough to make James raise his hands in surrender, even as he chuckles. “Duly noted.”

Levi remains resolute, unreadable, and silent. But when you catch his eye again, just for a moment, you could swear there’s a flicker of something there.

Levi can’t even count the number of times he’s checked his wristwatch throughout the night, holding back groans of annoyance as he’s forced to spend the entirety of his time following after you like a lost puppy. And it’s no better for him since you seem to be just a peachy, social butterfly. There hasn’t been a single minute you weren’t talking to someone, either approaching or being approached. Of course, the blatant nasty stares thrown his way piss him off even more. He ignores them to the best of his ability, but even he has his limits. Your father has been nowhere to be seen for the past few hours, and he’s debating whether or not he should just call it a night himself. He knows for sure, however, that you’re on your fourth glass of champagne and your cheeks look more flushed, definitely not the pretty pink-red blush you applied to the apples of your cheeks before leaving the estate. 

He’s unsure if this job of his entails making sure you’re not getting shit-faced. As long as you’re in one piece, everything should be good, right? 

At least, that’s what he tries to tell himself. Just keep her breathing, Levi. That’s all you’re here for. But then you laugh—loud and carefree—throwing your head back, fingers lightly brushing the arm of a tall, square-jawed politician’s son. The guy’s been hanging around your table for the past half hour, saying too many words and standing too damn close. Levi watches your champagne flute teeter in your hand as you wave it around mid-conversation, the golden liquid dangerously close to splashing over the rim.

That’s four glasses, he reminds himself. Almost five. He knows because he counted. Keeps count of everything when he’s bored out of his mind. Which is every second you’re not sitting down quietly or keeping to yourself, which, apparently, is never.

Still, he does nothing. Not yet. He’s not exactly your babysitter. If anything, it’s his job to be invisible—out of the way, just close enough to act if things go south. And this? This is just champagne and annoying men with soft hands and louder mouths. It isn’t a threat.

Until you start to sway just slightly when you get up from the table.

Levi is at your side before you can even blink. “I think it’s time to sit down,” he says, his voice low and steady as he grips your elbow, not tightly, but firm enough to halt you.

You blink up at him, lashes fluttering. “Am I wobbling?” you ask sweetly, drawing out the word like it’s part of some performance. “You know, I think the floor here is uneven.”

“Yeah,” Levi mutters. “That must be it.”

The man you were speaking with raises a brow at Levi’s interruption, but one look from the bodyguard has him shifting back in his seat. Not wanting to pick a fight. Smart.

“You’re really no fun at all, Levi,” you pout, but you don’t resist when he guides you toward a quieter corner of the casino.

“Not here to be fun,” he grumbles, pulling out a chair for you anyway. “Here to make sure you don’t end up passed out in someone’s Bentley.”

You sit with a dramatic sigh, smoothing your hands over your dress. “You’re too uptight. Have a drink. Loosen up.”

He doesn’t respond. Just crosses his arms and stands beside you like a stone wall.

But he does notice the way your smile fades a little after a few quiet moments. How your gaze trails toward the floor instead of the crowd now. And how your fingers slowly start to fidget with the edge of your clutch. Maybe you are a little drunk. Or maybe you’re just tired.

Either way, Levi doesn’t question it. Not his job. 

“Hello, beautiful.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters lowly under his breath, looking at the newcomer.  

The man standing before you is exactly the type Levi’s has grown to despise—tall, smug, with a perfectly bleached smile and a designer suit tailored to say I’ve never worked a real day in my life. He reeks of money, cologne, and confidence he clearly didn’t earn. Levi doesn’t miss the way your eyes light up, unsure if it’s with affection. You plaster on your most charming smile, the same one you’ve been wearing all night like a mask. “Hello, darling,” you purr, tilting your head just slightly. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“And miss a chance to run into you again?” the man replies, stepping closer as if Levi doesn’t exist. “Not a chance.”

Levi shifts subtly, just enough to stand half a step closer to you. Not touching, not speaking, but clearly there.

The man finally acknowledges him with a passing glance, tone dropping a notch. “Your new shadow?”

“He prefers bodyguard,” you say dryly, sipping the last of your champagne. “But yes.”

“Seems a little tense,” the man muses, eyes raking over Levi without a hint of concern. “Relax, man. You’re not needed here.”

Levi stares back, unblinking. “Try something stupid. You’ll see how needed I am.”

The smile on the man’s face falters just enough to satisfy him.

You exhale through your nose, amused despite yourself. “Alright, boys, no pissing contest tonight. I already have a headache.”

“Then maybe I can walk you out, give you some air?” the man offers, extending his hand.

Levi tenses, but he doesn’t move. Not until you decide.

You pause—a moment too long—before setting your empty glass down. “Tempting,” you hum, “but I’ve already got company tonight.” Your hand brushes Levi’s arm ever so lightly. He doesn’t flinch, but you feel the way his muscles tense beneath your touch.

“Aww, well that’s not fun.”

“I’m always fun with you, Michael.” 

Michael’s grin returns, smug and knowing. He steps back just enough to give you one final once-over, eyes lingering a little too long on the curve of your hips, the bare skin of your shoulders, the long stretch of leg revealed by the slit of your gown. “That you are,” he says smoothly. “I’ll hold you to that. Another time.”

You don’t answer—just offer a wink and a flick of your fingers as a farewell, already turning your back to him. Levi doesn’t move until Michael is a good five strides away, swallowed up by the casino crowd and whatever other equally self-obsessed suits are waiting for him.

Only then does he finally exhale, sharp and quiet. “Friends like that, huh?” he mutters.

You shrug, barely glancing at him. “He’s harmless. Annoying, but harmless.”

Levi scoffs, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’ve got a strange definition of harmless.”

You glance sideways at him, watching the stiff line of his jaw, the way his eyes are still scanning the room. Still on edge. “You really don’t like him.”

“I don’t like most of them,” he replies flatly.

“Most of whom?”

“The men who think they know you. Who think they’re entitled to touch you, look at you like you’re already theirs. Makes me sick.”

You blink at that—caught off guard not by the words themselves, but by the way he says them. Not possessively, not jealously. Just matter-of-fact, like it’s a truth he carries around all the time and only now decided to share. For a moment, you say nothing. Just let the silence settle again. And then, softer, “Is that part of your job too?”

Levi turns to you, expression unreadable. “No,” he says. “That part’s just me.”

And somehow, that answer makes your chest tighten in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“Don’t play father,” you sigh softly and stand up. 

Levi’s hands automatically move out, hovering above, actually holding your arms. “Forgive me for hoping you’d have a little more respect for yourself.”

You chuckle, eyebrow raised. “Self-respect?” You echo, fingers dancing up along his broad shoulders. “My, if I didn’t have any of that, I would’ve had my time with you the minute I met you.”

“I still barely know you.”

“Does that mean you wouldn’t be opposed?” Your arms wrap fully around his neck, he feels the soft tingle of your breath fan across his cheek as you lean in. The tip of your nose skims his jawline. 

His face remains stony, arms stiff by his sides. After a few seconds, he gently untangles your arms from his neck, stepping back enough for some space between you two. “You’re drunk, we’ll go find your father, then head back.”

The tip of your lip downturns into a frown. However, before you can respond, yet another manly voice interrupts. 

“Her father is already waiting for her outside.”

You both look to your right. Standing there, an average-height man, his blonde hair parted to the side, it reaches just before the end of his ears. Light blue eyes darting between Levi and you, narrowing just slightly in suspicion. He steps forward wordlessly, taking your hand in his and subtly stepping between you two. Levi’s own suspicion rises, confused by the way this man nonchalantly laces his fingers in yours. You twitch briefly. 

“You must be the new guy,” he says, chin tilting up like he’s silently one-upping him. 

Levi already doesn’t like him. 

“Oh, Daniel. I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“Your father sent me abroad, remember? Today’s my first day back.”

“Oh, right,” you hum, heavy-lidded eyes looking back at Levi. “Well, here’s the newest addition.”

“I can see that,” Daniel focuses on the other man across from him, lip briefly moving up in a self-satisfied smirk. He only offers Levi a nod. “Daniel Foster. Head of security for the Suzukis.”

Head of security. Levi doesn’t need to ask the obvious, the guy already seems to be trying to display some shitty air of dominance over him already. Levi crosses his arms. “Levi.”

Daniel’s smile tightens, but he keeps his tone casual, almost too casual for the tension in the room. “Levi, huh? Heard a bit about you already. Can’t say I’m thrilled to have competition, but it is what it is. Just wish it wasn’t someone of your background.”

Levi doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes locked on Daniel’s with a cool, assessing gaze. There’s something about Daniel, the way he moves, the ease in his voice, that reeks of control, authority, and a hint of entitlement. Not the type to back down easily. Not the type he can stand to be in a room with. 

You tug lightly on Daniel’s hand, your voice soft but firm. “Let’s not start a turf war tonight, boys.”

Daniel glances at you with a smirk. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to cause trouble. Just making sure you get home safe.”

Levi’s jaw tightens. “Same here.”

A quiet moment passes, the three of you standing there under the dim casino lights, an unspoken challenge hanging between Levi and Daniel like a thin wire ready to snap. You clear your throat, stepping between them with a graceful but commanding presence. “Enough of that. Tonight’s over. Let’s get out of here.”

Daniel gives Levi a final look, nods once, and then turns toward the exit, pulling you gently along. Levi falls back, watching the two of you go, his mind already working through the layers beneath this simple encounter.

The ride back home is a silent one. Sitting in the blacked-out limousine are you, Makoto, Daniel, and Levi. Unfortunately for the other two men, they’re made to sit next to one another, directly across from you and your father. You’re leaning against the door, eyes closed and softly snoozing. Makoto is on your left, holding a small glass of Brandy, looking out the tinted windows. 

“So,” Makoto speaks up, swallowing his dark liquor and looking at the two across from him. “Daniel, I don’t think you’ve formally met Levi here.”

“Not that I mind,” Daniel shrugs, grinning. 

Levi’s jaw clenches. 

“Well, he’s Y/N’s personal guard. There may be times I’ll have you two work together. So I want no issues between you two.”

Levi doesn’t break eye contact with Makoto, even as he feels the weight of Daniel’s smirk settle beside him like a bad itch.

“Understood,” Levi replies flatly, voice cool and unreadable. His arms are crossed, legs slightly apart, posture steady and grounded.

Daniel chuckles under his breath and leans back, one arm resting casually along the leather seat. “Don’t worry, sir. I play nice when I have to. Long as he knows his place, I don’t see why there’d be any trouble.”

Levi turns his head slowly toward Daniel, the flicker of a glare igniting in his steely gaze. “I don’t take up much space,” he says, voice quiet and edged, “but I don’t move for people like you.”

Makoto raises an eyebrow, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Good,” he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. “It’s about time someone made things interesting around here.”

The silence afterward is tense but calm. Heavy. You’re still asleep, blissfully unaware, your head resting against the cool glass as the city lights blur by. And Makoto, ever the puppet master, just sits back and enjoys the quiet unraveling.

When you all get back, Makoto easily exits the car. Barely moving a wave of his hand towards your slumped figure, silently communicating the order to have someone get you out of the car. Levi takes a step forward, but Daniel beats him. Opening your side of the car and carefully maneuvering you into his arms, bridal style. 

Levi halts mid-step, jaw ticking as Daniel effortlessly lifts you into his arms like he’s done it a hundred times before. You stir faintly against Daniel’s chest, murmuring something incoherent as your head nuzzles into his shoulder, completely unaware of the tension thickening behind you. “Got her,” Daniel says, glancing over his shoulder at Levi with an irritating air of familiarity. “She’s used to me doing this.”

Levi doesn’t respond immediately—he simply watches. The way Daniel’s grip is secure but deliberately gentle, the way his stride toward the estate is confident, unbothered, like he owns the ground he walks on. Like he owns you.

Levi follows at a steady pace, fists tucked into his coat pockets.

Used to it, huh?

Something about that doesn’t sit right. Maybe it’s the implication that you need rescuing this often, or maybe it’s just the casual claim Daniel seems to be making over you. Makoto is already gone, vanished behind the estate doors, leaving Levi and Daniel alone with the weight of unspoken rivalry between them. The massive entrance opens at their approach, and Daniel doesn’t wait. He strides up the grand staircase, taking you toward your wing without a second glance.

Levi stops at the base of the stairs, eyes tracking the retreating pair. 

A strange feeling resides in his gut, jaw clenching tightly. He doesn’t exactly understand why he feels so utterly put off by this guy and the way he acts towards you. It’s like he’s trying to engage in a competition of sorts, one Levi did not sign up for. Must be the way people around here work. It would probably be best not to think too much of it. After all, he’s been sought out specifically for your help. Not some pompous, Ken-looking asshole like Daniel. 

Still, as Levi watched Daniel disappear down the hallway with you in his arms, that uneasy feeling in his gut refuses to settle. It coils like a slow burn in his stomach, fed by the smug glint in Daniel’s eyes and the way you unconsciously leaned into his touch, like your body knew him—trusted him.

Levi scoffs under his breath.

He doesn’t get people like Daniel. The polished, playboy types who waltz through life with effortless charm and empty grins, hiding ambition behind every compliment and promise. He’s seen too many of them in the military and on the field—too many snakes in custom-tailored suits pretending to protect what they only want to possess. The thought irritates him more than it should. Because this isn’t his game. He’s not here to win hearts or charm anyone. He’s here to protect. To observe. To keep you alive.

And yet.

Why the hell does it matter who carries you to bed?

Levi rolls his shoulders back and exhales slowly through his nose, trying to shake the tension that’s settled deep in his bones. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t. It doesn’t. He heaves a sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face. Reading his watch, it says 2:00 am. It doesn’t help that he’s been trying to fix his disordered sleeping. 

So, with a turn of his heel, he exits the estate, heading back to the less-than-glamorous place he calls his home. 

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[cloudyluun]

Serendipity & Stumbles

Summary: Based on this request. You never expected to keep bumping into Harry Styles, single dad and bookstore owner, but fate—and your kids—had other plans. From coffee shop disasters to rainy-night rescues, your lives keep tangling together, no matter how much you try to resist. But when two very determined little matchmakers step in, running might not be an option anymore.

Slow-burn, single-parent chaos, meddling kids, and Harry in full-on dad mode? Yeah, you’re in trouble.

A/N: I dragged this slow burn out on purpose. I made you suffer. And honestly? I’d do it again. Thanks for sticking around, even when you wanted to scream at them to just kiss already. This isn't proofread, sorryyy

Word Count: 8,4k

Warnings:

Single parent struggles (exhaustion, self-doubt, balancing work & motherhood)

Mentions of past unhealthy relationships (nothing graphic, but allusions to emotional difficulty & fear of attachment)

Slow-burn romance (painfully slow at times, because I like to make you suffer before the payoff 😌)

Lots of angst, mutual pining, and missed opportunities before they actually get their shit together

Fluff so sweet it might rot your teeth

Smut!!

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around you the moment you stepped inside the bookstore café, the warmth of it a stark contrast to the biting chill outside. You shifted your bag higher on your shoulder, guiding Lily toward an empty table near the window, where golden afternoon light streamed in.

She clutched her book to her chest, her small fingers curling around the edges of the worn cover like it was something precious. “Can I get a hot chocolate, Mummy?” she asked, peering up at you with wide eyes.

You smiled, smoothing down the flyaway curls at her temple. “Of course, love. Let’s get settled first, yeah?”

Balancing motherhood and work had turned you into an expert multitasker—or at least someone who tried very hard to be. You pulled out your laptop as Lily slid into the chair opposite you, already flipping through the pages of her book. The café was busy but cozy, the low hum of conversations blending with the clinking of mugs and the occasional flutter of a turned page.

This bookstore had quickly become your sanctuary—somewhere Lily could sink into stories while you answered emails or proofread articles. It was one of the few places where you could steal a moment of peace.

At least, until peace became a fleeting thing.

One second, Lily was happily stirring her hot chocolate, her lips moving as she silently read. The next, her elbow knocked against the cup, and the dark liquid sloshed over the rim, spilling onto her dress.

She froze.

You saw the panic flicker across her face before the wobble in her lip began.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay,” you soothed, immediately reaching for the napkins. “We’ll clean it up.”

But her breath hitched, and her eyes grew glassy, the embarrassment of it all outweighing any comfort you could offer. You could see it coming—the slow build to a meltdown in the middle of a crowded café.

And then, a voice—warm, steady.

“Need some help?”

You looked up.

The man standing beside your table held out a stack of napkins, his green eyes bright with amusement but softened by something kinder. His dark curls were pushed back from his face, a few strands stubbornly falling forward. There was a quiet confidence in the way he carried himself, dressed in a sweater that hugged his frame just right, sleeves pushed up to reveal inked skin.

Lily sniffled, her tiny hands twisting in the fabric of her stained dress.

Harry Styles.

You knew of him, in the way that people who lived in the same neighborhood knew of each other. The bookstore café was his, after all. You’d seen him before, in passing—restocking shelves, chatting with customers, sometimes with a little boy by his side. But you’d never spoken beyond polite nods and murmured thank-yous.

You hesitated before taking the napkins, flashing a quick, grateful smile. “Thank you. She’s just—”

“Having a rough go of it,” he finished, nodding. “Understandable. Hot chocolate tragedies are serious business.”

Lily blinked up at him, her lip still wobbling but her sniffles slowing.

Harry crouched beside her, a small smile playing at his lips. “I’ve got a spare jumper in the back—belongs to my son. I can grab it for you, if you’d like.”

Lily glanced at you for reassurance. You squeezed her small hand before nodding. “That’s very kind of you.”

“No trouble at all,” he said before disappearing into the back of the shop.

Lily fidgeted in her chair, picking at the hem of her dress. “I didn’t mean to spill,” she murmured.

“I know, sweetheart,” you said softly. “It was just an accident.”

Before you could say more, Harry returned, holding out a navy-blue sweater. It was slightly oversized, well-loved, the sleeves a little worn at the cuffs.

“Here we go,” he said, handing it to Lily. “Theo—my son—outgrows things faster than I can keep up with, so we always have extras.”

Lily took it, her small fingers brushing against the soft fabric. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Harry smiled, standing back up to his full height. His eyes flicked to you, something unreadable in his gaze. “No need to give it back. Consider it a gift from one hot chocolate lover to another.”

A beat of quiet passed between you, something unspoken lingering in the air.

You cleared your throat, breaking the moment. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”

He shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Part of the job.”

Lily tugged the sweater over her dress, the sleeves hanging past her fingers. You expected her to protest, but instead, she let out a small giggle, wiggling her arms. “It’s soft.”

Harry grinned. “Glad you approve.”

You exhaled, finally allowing the tension in your shoulders to ease. “Well, thank you again. We really appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” he said, giving a small nod before turning back toward the counter.

You watched him go, your fingers absently tapping against your coffee cup.

You weren’t sure why, but something about the moment stuck with you longer than it should have.

Maybe it was the ease of it, the way Harry had stepped in without hesitation, like it was second nature for him to help. Maybe it was the way he spoke to Lily—not as if she were just a child, but like her feelings mattered. Or maybe it was the simple fact that for the first time in a long while, someone had made your chaotic day feel just a little bit lighter.

You thought about it again a few days later as you sat on a bench at the park, the cool afternoon air crisp against your skin. Lily was somewhere nearby, her laughter carrying on the breeze, but your eyes were glued to the screen of your laptop, fingers tapping against the keyboard as you proofread an article on deadline.

“Just five more minutes, baby,” you murmured absently, knowing she probably wasn’t even listening.

It was one of those afternoons where time felt both endless and fleeting. The playground was buzzing with energy—kids climbing, running, the occasional squeal of excitement cutting through the air. You weren’t really paying attention, though, too caught up in work, too focused on making sure the words in front of you made sense.

A few benches away, Harry was doing much of the same.

Phone in hand, he paced a few steps back and forth, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the mobile to his ear. His brows were slightly furrowed, lips pressed together in that concentrated way people had when they were trying to remain patient on a frustrating call.

Neither of you noticed at first.

Neither of you saw them.

Lily and Theo.

Two tiny forces of nature, colliding without you even realizing it.

It wasn’t until a burst of laughter pulled your focus that you finally looked up.

Your gaze landed on Lily first, standing in the middle of the grass, her hands on her hips, head tilted back in giggles. Across from her, a little boy—a year or so older, dark curls peeking out from beneath a beanie—was laughing just as hard.

They were playing together.

You blinked, momentarily thrown, scanning the area for whoever the child belonged to.

Harry’s voice was still a low murmur as he spoke into the phone, but his eyes had landed on the same scene. His expression softened instantly, the stress from his call momentarily forgotten.

Theo.

You recognized the sweater immediately—the sweater. The same one Harry had given Lily after the hot chocolate incident. It was still too big on her, the sleeves hanging past her fingers, but that wasn’t stopping her from flapping her arms dramatically while Theo doubled over laughing.

It was oddly fascinating, watching them.

Lily, typically so shy around new kids, was standing toe-to-toe with Theo, chattering animatedly, completely unbothered by the fact that they’d only just met. Theo, for his part, looked just as amused, his eyes bright with mischief, like he’d already decided they were going to be best friends.

Your lips twitched into an involuntary smile.

It was… sweet.

Something in your periphery shifted, and you realized Harry was looking at you now.

There was a moment—an unspoken, quiet kind of moment—where neither of you said anything. Just sat there, watching your kids become friends without effort, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Harry’s phone was still at his ear, but whatever conversation he was having was clearly secondary now. He shook his head slightly, amused, before rubbing a hand along his jaw, his own smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Without thinking, you spoke.

“Well, this is convenient.”

Harry huffed a laugh, finally ending his call before slipping the phone into his pocket. “Guess they’re making the decisions for us now.”

You nodded toward them. “I take it Theo is the mastermind behind this plan?”

He smirked. “Oh, definitely. He’s got a talent for roping people into whatever ridiculous scheme he’s come up with.”

Lily’s laughter rang out again as Theo dramatically flopped onto the grass, pretending to faint over something she’d said.

You shook your head fondly. “I think Lily might have just met her match.”

“Looks that way,” Harry agreed, leaning back against the bench, his posture relaxed but his gaze still lingering on his son.

You let the silence stretch between you, comfortable in a way you didn’t expect.

It was a strange thing, this… whatever this was.

Before the café, Harry had been nothing more than a familiar face. A neighbor, a bookstore owner, someone you exchanged brief smiles with but never really knew.

Now, though—now, he was sitting next to you, watching your kids become fast friends, and somehow it didn’t feel like a coincidence at all.

Just as you were about to say something else, Lily ran up to you, breathless and grinning. “Mummy! Theo says he has a dog!”

Harry chuckled, clearly predicting where this was going.

“Not just a dog,” Theo corrected, running up beside her. “A really big dog.”

Lily’s eyes went wide. “Can I meet him?”

Harry shot you a look, brows raised in amusement. “You alright with that?”

You hesitated, caught between the natural urge to say no to anything spontaneous—and the realization that, maybe, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to say yes.

After all… maybe there were worse things than a little serendipity.

That thought lingered in your mind long after the park playdate, long after Lily had chattered endlessly about Theo’s “really big dog” and how she was convinced they needed one just like him.

It was still there a week later, tugging at the edges of your thoughts as you walked into the parents' meeting at Lily’s school.

You weren’t particularly looking forward to it—these things were always a mix of too much small talk and too many emails you’d later forget to reply to—but you showed up, because that’s what you did. You juggled deadlines and grocery lists and bedtime routines, and you showed up.

Sliding into one of the chairs near the back of the classroom, you pulled out your notebook, half-listening as the teacher welcomed everyone and started discussing upcoming class activities. The words blurred a little, your mind already jumping to your to-do list for the rest of the day—until a familiar voice cut through the hum of conversation beside you.

“Didn’t peg you for the back-row type.”

Your head turned sharply.

Harry.

Seated next to you, clad in a well-fitted jacket over a soft-looking jumper, casually sprawled in his chair like he wasn’t completely throwing off your focus. His green eyes flickered with amusement as he drummed his fingers lightly against the desk.

You blinked, momentarily thrown. “I—what?”

His lips twitched. “Back row. Feels like the kind of seat you pick if you’re planning to sneak out early.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Right, because I’m clearly a rebel parent.”

Harry smirked, but before he could respond, the teacher started explaining the logistics of an upcoming field trip, and the room quieted.

You tried to focus—you really did—but awareness prickled at you, your body attuned to the fact that Harry was right next to you.

It didn’t help that every now and then, you’d catch him glancing your way when the teacher said something mildly ridiculous, his expression just amused enough to make it harder to keep a straight face.

Or that when the topic of chaperones came up, Theo’s name was read out right before Lily’s, the realization settling between you with an unspoken of course they’re in the same class.

And maybe—just maybe—you didn’t miss the way Harry muttered a quiet figures under his breath, a slight shake of his head that made you bite back a smile.

By the time the meeting wrapped up, the teacher dismissing everyone with a reminder to sign up for volunteer slots, you were already gathering your things, ready to slip out—when Harry turned to you.

“Fancy a coffee?”

You froze for half a second.

It was a simple question. Harmless. A casual offer between two parents who, apparently, kept running into each other.

But something about the way he said it—the way his voice dipped just slightly, the way his eyes stayed steady on yours—made it feel less casual.

You hesitated.

And Harry, ever perceptive, caught it immediately. His posture shifted, something careful settling into his expression, like he wasn’t quite sure whether to push or back off.

“I mean,” he added, lightening his tone, “it’s just down the road. No pressure. Could be a good excuse to talk about how we’ve accidentally ended up with kids who seem hell-bent on becoming best friends.”

You swallowed, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter.

It was tempting. So tempting.

And maybe, once upon a time, you wouldn’t have thought twice about saying yes.

But you weren’t that person anymore. You’d learned to be cautious. To tread carefully when it came to things that had the potential to turn into more than just casual conversation.

And Harry—whether he realized it or not—felt like exactly that kind of thing.

So you smiled, polite but firm. “I appreciate the offer, but I should really get back to work.”

Harry didn’t miss a beat. Didn’t let disappointment show, though something unreadable flickered in his gaze before he nodded, easy and unbothered. “Fair enough. Another time, maybe.”

You hummed, noncommittal.

But as you turned to leave, your heart did this stupid, traitorous thing—this little lurch in your chest—because something in you already knew that this wouldn’t be the last time.

And, of course, you were right.

Because one week later, you were standing on the pavement, clutching Lily’s small hand, rain drenching through your coat as you tried—and failed—not to look as exhausted as you felt.

It had been a long day.

A really long day.

Your babysitter had canceled last minute, leaving you with no choice but to bring Lily along to your late-afternoon client meeting. She’d been good—so good—sitting quietly at the café table, coloring in the pages of her book while you discussed article revisions and deadline extensions. But by the time you stepped out into the dimly lit street, the sky had split open, rain coming down in relentless sheets, and you were both soaked before you even had the chance to open your umbrella.

You exhaled, pressing your palm against your forehead as you attempted to flag down a taxi. No luck.

“Mummy,” Lily whined, shivering beside you. “I’m cold.”

Your heart clenched. “I know, baby. I’m trying—”

A honk cut through the downpour.

You turned toward the sound just as a familiar black Range Rover slowed beside you, the driver’s window rolling down.

Harry.

His curls were a little messy, his face dimly lit by the dashboard lights, one hand gripping the steering wheel as he leaned slightly toward the open window. His brows knitted together the second he took you in.

“Are you seriously walking home in this?”

You blinked against the rain. “I don’t exactly have a choice, Harry.”

He scoffed, already reaching for the unlock button. “Get in.”

You hesitated.

Not because you didn’t want to—you were cold and exhausted, and Lily was on the verge of full-body shivers—but because the last thing you needed was to owe someone anything. To let someone in, even if only for a car ride home.

Harry must have noticed the reluctance on your face because his tone softened. “Come on. No agenda. Just two parents helping each other out.”

Before you could argue, the back door swung open.

“Mummy! Theo’s in here!” Lily’s delighted voice rang out, already scrambling into the seat beside him.

You turned sharply—traitor!—but Lily was grinning, the excitement of seeing her new best friend completely overriding any of your hesitation.

You sighed, defeated. “Guess we’re getting in the car.”

Harry smirked. “Guess you are.”

You climbed into the passenger seat, the warmth of the car immediately soothing your frozen limbs. Your coat dripped against the leather as you fastened your seatbelt, and when Harry reached into the back and wordlessly handed you a hoodie—probably Theo’s again—you swallowed past the tightness in your throat before accepting it.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” He shifted the car into drive, glancing in the rearview mirror where the kids were already chatting excitedly. “Where to?”

You gave him your address, and he repeated it under his breath like he was committing it to memory.

The hum of the car filled the space between you for a moment, the rain drumming against the windshield. You were suddenly aware of how quiet it was in the front seat—how the easy banter you’d shared before wasn’t there now, replaced by something heavier.

“Long day?” Harry finally asked, his voice softer than before.

You exhaled. “You could say that.”

“I get it,” he murmured. “Some days just feel impossible.”

You turned to look at him, but his eyes stayed on the road, his fingers flexing against the steering wheel.

It would have been easy to nod and leave it at that.

But something about the way he said it—like he really did get it—made the words slip out before you could stop them.

“My babysitter bailed last minute,” you admitted. “Had to bring Lily to work with me. I know she didn’t mind, but it’s just… a lot, sometimes.”

Harry’s fingers tapped lightly against the wheel. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“It’s just you and Lily, then?”

You hesitated. Not because it was a secret, but because it was one of those questions that carried weight, even if it was asked casually.

“Yeah,” you said finally. “Just us.”

Another pause. Then, quietly—

“Same. Just me and Theo.”

You glanced at him.

There was something different in his voice now, something laced with memory, something personal.

“What happened?” you asked gently.

He inhaled, long and slow. When he spoke, his voice was even, but you could hear the emotion beneath it.

“My wife—Theo’s mum—passed away a few years ago.”

Your chest tightened. “Harry, I—”

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry.” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “It was… unexpected. One day we were planning holidays, the next, I was trying to figure out how to be a single dad.”

Your fingers curled into the sleeves of the hoodie.

You weren’t sure why, but something about hearing him say it—acknowledging it so openly, without dramatics, without self-pity—hit you harder than you expected.

“I left,” you admitted softly.

Harry turned, brow furrowing. “Left?”

You swallowed. “Lily’s dad. I left him.”

Understanding flickered in his gaze, but he didn’t say anything. Just waited.

You let out a slow breath, focusing on the rain streaking against the glass. “It wasn’t… good. I knew if I stayed, it would only get worse. So I left.” A pause. “For her. For Lily.”

Harry didn’t ask for details. Didn’t push.

He just nodded, like that was enough. Like he understood more than he was saying.

The air in the car was heavier now, but not uncomfortable. It wasn’t pity, wasn’t awkward sympathy. It was just two people, two parents, who had both lost something. Who were still finding their way forward.

When the car finally pulled up in front of your building, you turned to him, fingers hovering over the door handle.

“Thank you,” you said, meaning it more than you expected.

Harry met your gaze, something steady and unreadable in his expression. “Anytime.”

And as you climbed out, leading Lily inside, you realized that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the last time, either.

And again, you were right.

Because the universe—or fate, or whatever force kept weaving Harry into your life—wasn’t quite done with you yet.

It started as a normal evening. A school event—one of those midwinter, PTA-sponsored gatherings where the kids were running on pure sugar-fueled excitement, and the parents were running on nothing but caffeine and obligation.

You had barely stepped inside the decorated gymnasium when Lily had spotted Theo, the two of them taking off toward the craft station without so much as a backward glance.

“Yeah, sure, don’t say goodbye,” you muttered, exhaling as you peeled off your coat and shoved your gloves into your bag.

“You get used to it.”

Your stomach dipped at the sound of his voice.

You turned to find Harry standing beside you, shaking snow out of his curls, his jacket dusted with white. He looked unfairly good for someone who had just come in from the cold—cheeks flushed, green eyes bright with amusement as he nodded toward the kids.

“First time they ditch you, it stings,” he continued, smirking. “By the hundredth time, you stop taking it personally.”

You huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes. “Good to know.”

For a while, the event played out exactly as expected—parents milling around making polite small talk, kids crafting messy holiday decorations that would inevitably end up forgotten at the bottom of their backpacks.

You kept an eye on Lily, but she and Theo were perfectly entertained, alternating between cookie decorating and attempting to build a fort out of the chairs in the corner of the room.

And then, just as you were considering sneaking off to the refreshment table for a refill on your coffee, the first announcement crackled through the speaker system.

A snowstorm.

A bad one.

Roads already piling up, traffic at a standstill. Everyone advised to stay put until further notice.

A slow, collective groan moved through the crowd.

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your fingers over your temples.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Beside you, Harry let out a low whistle. “Guess we’re stuck here for a while.”

You turned to him, narrowing your eyes. “You sound entirely too relaxed about this.”

He smirked. “Because I’ve accepted my fate.” He nodded toward Theo and Lily, who were thriving in the chaos, currently attempting to organize some kind of group game. “They, on the other hand, are living their best lives.”

You sighed, watching as Lily excitedly gestured for Theo to follow her to the makeshift play area.

“Traitor,” you muttered under your breath.

Harry chuckled. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward an empty classroom that had been opened up as an extra seating area. “Might as well find somewhere to sit before we’re reduced to standing in the hallway.”

You followed him, grateful for the momentary escape from the crowded gym.

The classroom was small, with a handful of desks pushed against the walls. Harry dropped into one of the chairs, stretching his legs out in front of him, while you settled into the seat beside him, cradling your coffee cup between your palms.

For a moment, there was nothing but the muffled sound of voices from the hallway, the occasional scrape of a chair from another room.

And then—

“So,” Harry mused, glancing sideways at you. “On a scale from mild to intervention-level dependency, how bad is your caffeine addiction?”

You blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

He nodded toward your cup, smirking. “That’s, what, your third coffee tonight?”

You scoffed. “Second, actually. And I’ll have you know that my caffeine intake is perfectly normal.”

He hummed, unconvinced. “Sure.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I bet you have a thing too, don’t you?”

His brows raised. “A thing?”

“Yes. Some habit or vice you’re embarrassingly reliant on.” You smirked. “Let me guess—you’re a late-night snacker.”

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “Not even close.”

You tapped your chin, pretending to consider. “Okay. Chronic over-user of pet names?”

His lips twitched. “I mean, love, I do have a tendency—”

You groaned. “Oh, that checks out.”

Harry grinned, his dimples deepening. “You got me.”

For a moment, the conversation settled into something easy, the banter light, playful. And you—despite the exhaustion, despite the long night ahead—felt…

Good.

Harry shifted slightly, watching you. “You’re smiling.”

Your brows furrowed. “I am?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “It’s nice.”

And that—that small, simple sentence—made something tighten in your chest.

Because Harry wasn’t flirting. He wasn’t teasing.

He was just… noticing.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt truly seen.

You cleared your throat, looking away, focusing on the rim of your cup. “Don’t get used to it.”

Harry chuckled, but didn’t press.

You sat there for a little while longer, the room quieter than the ones beyond it, but filled with something else.

Something unspoken.

Something that felt an awful lot like anticipation.

That’s what had been simmering under the surface ever since that snowed-in night at the school.

You told yourself it was nothing—that it was just the circumstances, the way you’d both been forced into conversation, the way time had slowed just enough for you to forget that Harry Styles was not supposed to be part of your life in any meaningful way.

But then came Saturday.

And Saturday ruined everything.

It had been Lily’s idea to go to the bookstore café, but you didn’t exactly fight her on it.

You could pretend all you wanted, but the truth was, you liked it there. The smell of coffee, the cozy chairs tucked between shelves, the soft murmur of people flipping through books—it was one of the few places in the city where your brain actually slowed down for a moment.

So, you’d packed up your laptop, bundled Lily in her coat, and headed down the familiar street, telling yourself that Harry might not even be working today. That it wouldn’t mean anything if you ran into him.

And then you walked inside, and he was right there.

Behind the counter, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, laughing at something one of his employees had said before turning at just the right moment—seeing you.

His eyes brightened. “Look who it is.”

Your stomach flipped. Stupid. Completely ridiculous.

“Hi, Harry.” You cleared your throat, pushing past the way his smile made your chest feel tight. “Busy today?”

“Not too bad.” He leaned against the counter. “Here for your fix?”

You scoffed, already setting your bag down on the edge. “I’ll have you know I went an entire day without coffee yesterday.”

Harry placed a hand over his heart, mock-surprised. “I don’t believe you.”

You rolled your eyes, but Lily was less focused on your caffeine consumption and more on the glass case filled with pastries.

Harry caught her staring, smirking. “Hungry, love?”

She nodded enthusiastically.

“Well, lucky for you, I’ve got some fresh croissants that need a home.” He grabbed a plate and slid two onto it before adding, “On the house.”

You immediately shook your head. “Harry, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said simply, then met your gaze. “Stay. Sit down for a bit.”

It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t loaded with anything, wasn’t flirtatious or heavy.

It was just… easy.

So you stayed.

You found a table near the window, sipping your coffee while Lily and Theo—who had conveniently appeared out of nowhere—settled on the floor nearby with a pile of books between them.

And somehow, Harry ended up in the chair across from you.

It wasn’t intentional. At least, you told yourself it wasn’t.

It was just conversation—banter, sarcasm, Lily’s constant interruptions to tell you random facts about the book she was reading.

And then… it wasn’t.

Because at some point, the edges of the conversation softened.

At some point, you started talking about things that weren’t just surface-level.

At some point, he told you about the bookstore—how it had started as a risk, how he wasn’t sure if it would work, but he’d wanted Theo to have a place to grow up around stories.

And at some point, you found yourself telling him about your writing, about the way you’d stumbled into freelancing after leaving your old life behind, about how sometimes, you missed the structure of an office, but mostly, you liked this. The freedom. The control over your own world.

Harry had listened.

Really listened.

And then he’d said something—something about how he admired that, about how he could see how much you’d built for yourself.

And that’s when it happened.

That’s when you realized.

This feels like a date.

The realization hit like a punch to the ribs.

Because it wasn’t a date. It couldn’t be.

You weren’t dating. You weren’t even thinking about dating. That wasn’t part of your life anymore, wasn’t something you could afford to let yourself want.

And yet—

You were sitting across from a man who made you feel like maybe it was.

A man who made it easy. Who made you laugh, who made you forget to keep your guard up, who looked at you in a way that made you feel like more than just a tired mother balancing a thousand things at once.

And that—that—was terrifying.

So, before he could say anything else, before you could let yourself sit in the moment for even a second longer, you panicked.

You shot up from your chair so fast Harry’s brows furrowed.

“I should go,” you blurted, already reaching for your bag.

Harry blinked. “What?”

You forced a smile. “I just—Lily has a lot of homework, and I need to—”

Harry wasn’t stupid.

You could see the confusion in his expression, the way his body tensed just slightly, the way his fingers curled around his mug like he was trying to figure out where the shift had happened.

But he didn’t push.

He just nodded, slow and careful, like he was trying to let you run if you needed to.

Lily pouted as you grabbed her hand, but she didn’t argue.

Harry said goodbye to her, ruffled Theo’s hair, then glanced back at you just once before you pushed open the door and stepped out into the cold.

And as you walked away—your heart pounding, your hands trembling—you told yourself you’d done the right thing.

You told yourself that leaving was better.

That letting him get too close would only make things harder.

You told yourself all of that.

And yet—

It didn’t stop you from feeling like you’d just made a mistake.

In fact, it only made it worse.

The whole way home, Lily kept glancing up at you, brows furrowed in confusion, like she knew something had happened but couldn’t quite figure out what. And the next morning, when she asked if you were going back to the bookstore soon, you’d mumbled something noncommittal, changed the subject, and buried yourself in work.

For days, you convinced yourself you’d done the right thing. That putting space between you and Harry was necessary. That whatever this strange, unexpected thing was between you—it wasn’t real.

But while you were busy trying to ignore it, two small, scheming masterminds were doing the exact opposite.

“I think my dad likes your mum.”

Theo’s voice was quiet, but not that quiet.

Lily, crouched beside him under the slide at the park, frowned. “I know.”

Theo blinked. “You do?”

Lily gave him a look, as if obviously. “He always smiles when she’s around. And he looks at her like my teacher looks at her coffee.”

Theo squinted. “Like he needs her?”

“Exactly.”

Theo leaned back, lips pursed in thought. “Well, that’s a problem.”

Lily nodded gravely. “Because my mum likes your dad, too.”

Theo’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Lily huffed, crossing her arms. “But she’s scared.”

Theo considered this, chewing on his lip. Then, slowly, a smirk stretched across his face.

“Well, that just means we have to fix it.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “How?”

Theo grinned. “Leave that to me.”

You should have known something was up when Lily had asked—too sweetly—if you wanted to take her to the park that weekend.

You should have been suspicious when she mentioned, offhandedly, that Theo had told her he and Harry were going to be there at the same time.

But you—naive, unsuspecting, and still drowning in your own avoidance—had just gone along with it.

Which was exactly how you ended up here.

Standing at the edge of the field, watching as Theo and Lily cackled like tiny villains, while Harry—completely unaware of their plot—ran around playing soccer with them.

And you?

You were helpless.

Because, despite everything, despite every wall you had thrown up, despite every reason you had to keep your distance—you couldn’t look away.

Harry looked happy.

Really, truly happy.

His dimples were deep, his laughter loud and unrestrained. His curls were a mess from the wind, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes crinkling at the corners as he dodged Theo’s attempt to steal the ball.

And Lily?

She looked just as free.

She wasn’t shy, wasn’t hesitating—she was grinning, giggling so hard that she tripped, falling right into Harry’s arms as he caught her mid-stumble.

And that—that moment—was what did it.

Because when Harry steadied her, ruffling her hair before sending her off again, you felt something click.

Something shift.

And suddenly, the thought you had been pushing away for weeks broke through like a crack in the dam, relentless and impossible to ignore.

This could be something.

Something good. Something real. Something you weren’t sure you were ready for—but something you didn’t want to run from anymore.

Because, maybe…

Maybe it wasn’t just serendipity.

Maybe it was something that was supposed to happen all along.

That thought followed you home. It followed you through dinner, through Lily’s animated retelling of her very official soccer victory, through the quiet moments when she was curled up in bed, her breathing slow and even.

And it followed you long after that, settling in your chest, stubborn and impossible to ignore.

Because you knew what you had to do.

So, the next afternoon, after too much pacing and too much overthinking, you found yourself standing outside the bookstore café, heart hammering as you pushed open the door.

Harry was behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, a pencil tucked behind his ear as he scanned the inventory list in front of him. He looked focused, but the second he glanced up and saw you, something flickered across his face—something cautious.

You swallowed. Right. You did that.

Taking a breath, you stepped forward. “Can we talk?”

He set the clipboard down, wiping his hands on a cloth before nodding toward the back. “Come on.”

You followed him past the bookshelves, through a small hallway that led to a quieter seating area. It was dimly lit, quieter than the front of the shop, and suddenly, this felt very real.

Harry turned to you, arms crossed, waiting.

You exhaled. “I—I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

His brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze. “For running. For… whatever that was.” You sighed, rubbing your hands over your jeans. “I got scared.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted. A quiet understanding settling between you.

“I get it,” he said finally. “But I need to know where your head is at, Y/N.” His voice was even, steady. “Because I don’t do games. I don’t do halfway.”

You swallowed, throat tight.

“I know.”

He stepped closer, eyes never leaving yours. “So, what do you want?”

You hesitated, heart pounding.

But then, you thought about Lily—your Lily. Thought about how effortlessly she had let Theo in, how much brighter she had been since meeting him.

And then, you thought about yourself.

About the way Harry made you laugh. About the way he looked at you—like you weren’t just a mother, just a woman who had learned how to live cautiously, but someone he saw.

And suddenly, the answer wasn’t scary anymore.

“I want to try,” you whispered.

Harry’s shoulders relaxed. His jaw unclenched. And then, slowly, carefully, he stepped forward.

His fingers reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “Yeah?”

You nodded, exhaling shakily. “Yeah.”

His lips quirked, but he didn’t say anything.

He just leaned in.

The kiss was soft.

Lingering.

Like it was meant to happen.

And maybe…

Maybe it was.

Maybe it had always been leading to this. To a quiet evening, to wine and laughter and the slow, inevitable pull of something neither of you could ignore any longer.

You weren’t supposed to end up at Harry’s place that night. It had started with dinner—just a casual thing, an unspoken agreement that whatever was growing between you should have space to exist outside of fleeting moments and bookstore conversations.

The kids had been there, of course. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t something you had planned.

But it had felt easy.

Effortless, even.

Like the four of you were already slipping into place, like Theo rolling his eyes at Lily’s terrible knock-knock jokes was as natural as Harry stealing a bite of food off your plate, smirking when you swatted at him.

And then, somehow, it had stretched later than expected.

The kids had curled up on the couch, movie playing softly in the background, their laughter slowly fading into soft, steady breaths.

And then—

Then it was just you and Harry.

Alone.

A glass of wine, the fire crackling softly in the background.

Your legs tucked under you as you sat on the couch, warmth settling in your limbs—not just from the wine, but from this. From him.

Harry leaned back, fingers tapping against his glass. “So.”

You raised a brow. “So?”

He smirked. “Are we still pretending this isn’t happening?”

Your breath hitched.

Because this.

This was happening.

The easy way he watched you. The way your body tilted toward him without thinking. The way you felt calm here, in his space, in this moment.

You exhaled, heart hammering as you set your wine down.

“I don’t want to pretend,” you admitted.

Harry studied you for a long moment. Then, slowly, he set his glass aside, shifting closer.

And when he leaned in—when he brushed his lips against yours, just barely, just enough to give you a chance to stop this—you didn’t.

You pressed closer.

And finally, finally, you let yourself fall.

Right into him. Right into the warmth of his hands, the steady press of his mouth, the way he didn’t hesitate when you kissed him back.

It was slow at first, unhurried and exploratory, like you were both learning something new—even though this had been building for months. Even though the tension between you had been simmering, bubbling over in every stolen glance, every playful smirk, every time he looked at you like he knew exactly what you were trying to hide.

And now, you weren’t hiding anymore.

His hands found your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater, dragging you in until you were flush against him. He was so warm, the solid weight of his chest pressing into yours, his scent intoxicating—something woody, something clean, something completely Harry.

You let out a soft gasp when he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue brushing over yours in a slow, teasing stroke.

That sound—it did something to him.

Because suddenly, his grip tightened.

And then, you were moving.

He guided you backward until your lower back hit the edge of the kitchen counter. You barely had time to process the cool surface against your skin before his hands were everywhere—sliding beneath your sweater, mapping the curves of your waist, the dip of your spine, his fingers pressing just firmly enough to make you arch into him.

“Harry—”

He groaned at the way you said his name, his lips never leaving yours as he lifted you onto the counter, spreading your thighs as he stepped between them.

And that was it.

That was the moment everything tipped over the edge.

Because then, Harry was everywhere.

His mouth was hot and insistent against your neck, dragging down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone, nipping at your skin just enough to make you whimper.

“Been thinking about this for so long,” he murmured against your throat, his voice thick, husky, wrecked.

Your breath hitched. “Me too.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark, blown-out, his chest rising and falling as he scanned your face. Checking. Waiting.

You exhaled, chest tight, lips swollen from his kisses.

“I want this, Harry.” Your voice was quiet but firm. “I want you.”

Something in him snapped.

And then, he gave you exactly what you asked for.

And then, he gave you exactly what you asked for.

But not in the way you expected.

Because for all the urgency—the heat, the months of unresolved tension stretching between you—Harry didn’t rush.

He kissed you slowly, deliberately, his hands steady as they traced the outline of your body, as if he were memorizing you. Like he wanted to savor every second.

And when he finally lifted you into his arms, carrying you effortlessly through the dimly lit hallway, you didn’t protest. Didn’t question it.

You just let yourself be his.

The bedroom was dark, moonlight pooling in through the window, the sheets cool against your back when he laid you down.

And for a moment—just a moment—Harry didn’t move.

He just looked at you.

His green eyes flickered over your face, your parted lips, the way your chest rose and fell beneath him. His fingers skimmed up your thigh, teasing, light enough to make you shiver, before he leaned down, his lips hovering just over yours.

"You’re beautiful," he murmured. "You know that, right?"

Your breath caught.

Because it wasn’t a line.

He wasn’t trying to seduce you. He wasn’t saying it just to say it.

He meant it.

And you could feel yourself unraveling beneath him.

"Harry—"

But your words cut off when he kissed you again, deeper this time, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your sweater, tugging it up, peeling it off with aching slowness.

His hands traced over your bare skin, up your ribcage, over the dip of your waist. His touch was reverent, patient—like he wanted to learn every inch of you, every soft sound you made when he touched you just right.

Your hands were just as desperate, fingers threading into his curls, tugging lightly as you pressed up into him.

He groaned, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank off his own shirt, tossing it aside before meeting your gaze again.

You exhaled sharply, taking him in.

The tattoos you had only glimpsed before, now completely on display—the swallows over his chest, the butterfly below his ribs, the intricate designs that inked his arms, his stomach, his strong, solid frame.

And then, he kissed you again.

Slower this time. Deeper.

His mouth trailed lower, over your collarbone, down the valley between your breasts, his fingers working at the button of your jeans, slipping them down, kissing along every inch of newly exposed skin.

When his lips met the inside of your thigh, you gasped—gasped, because he was so close to where you needed him, but still taking his damn time.

"Harry—"

"Shh," he murmured, pressing a kiss higher, his stubble scratching deliciously against your sensitive skin. "Let me take my time with you, love."

And then, he did.

He kissed his way up your thighs, parting them further, his hands gripping your hips as his mouth finally—finally—pressed against you.

You gasped, back arching, fingers tangling into the sheets as he licked into you, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every reaction, every sound that spilled from your lips.

"Fuck," you choked out, hips jerking involuntarily.

He hummed, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you as his tongue flicked exactly where you needed it, his hands holding you open, steadying you, grounding you.

And when he slipped a finger inside you—just one, at first, then another, curling them perfectly— you nearly came undone.

Your body tightened, the pleasure mounting too fast, too intense, and you could feel it—feel yourself teetering on the edge.

"That’s it," Harry murmured against you, his voice thick with lust and admiration. "Let go for me, love."

And you did.

Your orgasm ripped through you, waves of pleasure rolling through every inch of your body as your hips jerked against his mouth, his tongue not relenting—**not even for a second—**as he worked you through it, letting you fall apart completely.

By the time he finally pulled back, his lips were wet, his pupils blown, his expression completely wrecked.

"You taste fucking perfect," he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning over you again, caging you in beneath him.

You were still shaking, still catching your breath, but you wanted more.

You needed more.

"Harry—"

He kissed you before you could finish, swallowing your words as he kicked off his jeans, rolling his hips against yours, letting you feel how hard he was for you.

And then, finally, he lined himself up, pausing—just for a second.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breathing uneven.

"You okay?" he murmured, voice ragged.

"Yes," you breathed. "I want you."

That was all he needed.

And then, he pushed inside you.

A broken sound tore from his throat the second he was buried in you—deep, slow, perfect.

And you—fuck, you felt everything.

The stretch, the fullness, the delicious ache of him sinking into you, inch by inch, until he was completely inside you.

"Fuck," he groaned, his jaw clenching, his hands gripping your hips so tightly.

He didn’t move at first. Just stayed there, letting you adjust, letting you feel him.

And then—

Then he pulled out, just enough before thrusting back in, deeper this time.

You gasped, fingers digging into his back, clinging to him.

It was slow at first. Deep and unhurried. Like he wanted to memorize you, like he wanted you to feel all of him.

But then—

Then you moaned his name.

And everything changed.

Harry growled, his grip tightening, his pace picking up, thrusting harder, faster, deeper.

"Fuck, Y/N—" His voice was wrecked, his body pressing you into the mattress, claiming you, ruining you.

And you—you didn’t care.

You wanted to be ruined.

You wanted all of him.

His hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that sent shockwaves through you.

"You gonna come again for me, love?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Yes—Harry—fuck—"

"That’s it," he groaned. "Come for me."

And you did.

You shattered around him, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, your entire body trembling as he followed right after, burying himself deep, spilling inside you, groaning your name like a prayer.

For a long moment, the room was filled with nothing but harsh breathing, racing heartbeats, the aftermath of something that felt inevitable.

And then, Harry moved.

He didn’t pull away. Didn’t let you go.

He just wrapped himself around you, holding you close, pressing a kiss to your damp temple.

"Stay," he murmured, voice soft, tender.

And this time—

You didn’t run.

The smell of coffee woke you before the sunlight did.

Your body was aching in the best way, muscles deliciously sore, the sheets warm and soft against your skin. For a moment, you just laid there, blinking slowly, listening to the faint sounds of movement coming from beyond the bedroom door.

And then you realized.

You weren’t alone.

Not in the way you used to be.

Not in the way that had felt permanent for so long.

You exhaled, stretching slightly before sitting up, pulling the duvet tighter around you.

Harry’s shirt—which you had shamelessly stolen off the floor at some point during the night—hung loosely around your shoulders, smelling like him, feeling like him.

You pushed the bedroom door open quietly, stepping into the hall, and followed the sound of voices into the kitchen.

And the sight that greeted you?

It nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

Harry stood at the stove, clad in nothing but a pair of low-hanging sweatpants, a spatula in one hand, a coffee cup in the other.

And he wasn’t alone.

Theo and Lily sat at the kitchen island, chattering away, their legs swinging as they watched him flip pancakes.

Theo snickered. “That one’s burnt.”

Harry scoffed, dramatically flipping it onto a plate. “It’s golden brown, thank you very much.”

Lily giggled. “Theo says you always burn the first one.”

Harry smirked. “Well, your mum distracted me.”

At that, you cleared your throat.

Three heads turned toward you in unison.

Theo and Lily grinned.

Harry’s eyes flickered over you—his shirt swallowing your frame, your bare legs peeking out from underneath.

And then, slowly, he smirked.

“What?” you asked, fighting back a smile.

His dimples deepened. “You like seeing me in dad mode?”

You rolled your eyes, stepping forward to grab a mug from the counter. “I think I just like seeing you.”

Harry stilled for half a second.

And then, with zero warning, he was behind you—wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the side of your neck.

Your breath hitched. “Harry—”

“Get used to it, love,” he murmured against your skin.

Your heart stumbled.

And suddenly, you knew.

This was real.

This was yours.

And for the first time in a long, long time…

You weren’t afraid.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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[lightsoutmatthews]

can you write about william nylander realizing he’s found the girl he wants forever with? i am thinking of the song look after you by the fray (when i’m losing my control and the city spins around, you’re the only one who knows to slow it down / you’ve begun to feel like home). like when things feel out of control in toronto she is always there for him and he wants her there forever. lots of fluff hehe

Thank you for this request, you saved me from dying of boredom on this Monday evening 😂

The One – William Nylander

Toronto could be loud. Not just the noise, the car horns, the crowds, the constant buzz of the city, but the pressure that came with being one of the cities brightest stars.

It shined bright on the good nights, when goals were scored and the fans cheered so loudly the walls of Scotiabank Arena were shaking, but it turned cold just as quickly. One off game, a missed pass, a goal drought and the buzz that could be the exact opposite, pressuring and relentless.

William had learned to live with it. He had to if he wanted to survive in a hockey market like this one. Ride the highs, pretend the lows don´t bother too much. Be calm in the spotlight, unshaken when the media and fans came at him like sharks.

No one ever talks about how hard the balancing act actually was. How sometimes it wore him down in places he didn’t even imagine felling tired in.

He would never tell anyone that. Not his teammates, not coaches or staff. Not even his family, at least not to an extend in which it would make them worry.

But there was you. He never had to tell you. You just knew.

He didn’t know when it happened exactly. When you went from being the girl he was dating to the one his whole heart leaned towards like instinct. He guessed it had been somewhere in the quiet moments.

It was you sitting at his kitchen counter in the morning, yawning and sipping coffee from his favorite mug, the one you had claimed as yours early into the relationship. It was your sleepy voice murmuring “good luck today” before he headed to the arena. It was the texts you sent after tough games: I´m proud of you, no matter how it ended.

You weren’t one for the loud kind of support. You didn’t yell his name from the stands or flooded social media with photos of being at games or of your relationship. You were steady. A constant. The kind of presence that didn’t just show up on the good days but stayed close when everything felt like it was falling apart.

You didn´t care about the headlines. You didn´t care if he scored or ig he missed an empty net. You cared if he ate. If he had gotten any sleep. If he was taking care of himself.

He´d come home some nights, feeling like he was still skating even though he got off the ice hours ago, the adrenaline of the game lingering long after the final buzzer rang. His thoughts were racing with what-ifs and should-haves.

Then he opened the door and saw you. Curled up on the couch, his hoodie drowning your frame, the soft glow of the TV dancing on your face, the dogs curled up at your feet. That’s when something in him would just breathe freely again.

“Hey,” you said, tucking your legs under yourself as he dropped his bag by the door.

“Hey,” he replied, and it always felt like enough.

Sometimes he didn’t even need to say much. He sunk into the couch besides you, let you curl into his side and in that silence, embracing the comfort of your warmth, everything inside him would settle.

Like you were the only thing that made sense in a world that demanded too much from him sometimes.

You didn’t ask for the version of him the fans, the media and the team wanted. You just wanted him.

One night, after a string of losses and headlines that made even his stomach twist, he found himself on the balcony, looking down at the buzzing streets while the city lights blurred in the distance. The air was cold, but he barely felt it. He was too wrapped up in the chaos of his own thoughts.

Questioning what he could do better, worrying what would happen if they didn’t win a game any time soon.

Then you came out. Barefoot, wearing another one of his hoodies that fell halfway down your thigh. You didn’t say anything right away. Just stood beside him, your presence soft but grounding.

Eventually, you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together.

“I know it´s a lot right now,” you said quietly. “But you´re not alone.”

Those six words undid him more than anything else probably ever had. Because no one ever said that. Not really. At least not in a way that felt like they meant it. But you did.

He turned to you, heart too full and aching all at once, and whispered, “I don’t want to do any of this without you.” And he meant all of it.

The wins, the losses, the spotlight, the pressure, the future, his future, wherever that led him. He wanted you in every piece of it.

You looked up at him, surprised, but not uncertain. You gave him that smile, the one that always made his pulse slow, like you had the power to quiet even the worst storm.

“You won’t have to,” you said.

That night, the two of you sat out there for a long time. The city kept spinning, the wind kept rushing past, but it felt like you were in your own little world. Like time had paused to give you a moment that would live in your memories forever.

He didn’t need grand declarations. He didn’t need fireworks. What he needed was you.

Your calm, your laughter, your way of grounding him when he felt like he was flying to close to the sun.

You made him feel like it was okay to slow down. Like it was okay to just be.

And the more he saw it, the more he knew. You weren’t just the girl he loved.

You were home.

The kind of home that didn’t have four walls or a roof, but a heartbeat that matched his, a presence that pulled him back to himself. You were the only thing that felt steady in a world that asked him to be everything all at once.

Right there he realized he found the girl he wanted forever with.

Not because you made him better on the ice, but because you made him want to be better everywhere else. For you. For you together.

He would spend the rest of his life showing you that love.

Because you looked after him, every day.

And he was going to look after you.

Forever.

[cece693]

Just an idea that suddenly came to mind. What if you (the reader) have to fight Bucky during his winter soldier programming? What if something similar occurs to you guys as it did with Vision and Wanda? I plan for this to be divided into two parts since I don't have an ending in mind and this post isn't doing it for me. Hope you enjoy!

I Forgive You

pairing: bucky barnes x gender neutral reader tags: bucky can't catch a break, you are strong (power and skill wise), takes place during infinity war, open ended

You perch on the edge of the facility’s rooftop, the evening breeze ruffling through your hair as you stare off into the distance. The compound below you hums with activity—footsteps, clanging metal, distant voices—evidence of the Avengers preparing for the battles to come. You’re one of them now, and not just any member: you’re often dubbed the “strongest Avenger.” Some might say that’s an exaggeration, but you know what you’re capable of. You’ve trained in every form of combat you could get your hands on—hand-to-hand, swords, firearms. And to cap it all off, you possess powers that make you a formidable force, even among Earth’s mightiest heroes.

Still, when you’re alone, your thoughts drift to him. James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes—your friend, your partner, the man you fell in love with. You think back to those frantic days when you found yourself on opposite sides in the battle between Tony and Steve. You were forging your own path, torn by loyalty and your own moral compass. Bucky was caught in the crossfire of past sins and present accusations. Through the chaos, you discovered each other and headed to Wakanda for Bucky to finally heal and escape the ghosts of his past. But things never were that easy.

The last 'normal' day you had with him you'll treasure for eternity. Bright golden rays washed over the Wakandan horizon the morning Shuri completed Bucky’s deprogramming. The moment felt surreal, the two of you standing among those tall grasses and budding flowers, watching the sun’s first light spread across the sky. Bucky’s hand tentatively found yours, his metal fingers brushing your palm. Despite all the horrors you’d both seen, despite the fracture lines left in his mind, he looked at you like you were his anchor to a life without darkness.

“You okay?” you asked him quietly, lacing your fingers with his.

He gave you a lopsided smile. “I’m not sure I deserve to be, but for the first time in a while, I feel almost free.”

And you believed him. You had to—he needed that belief.

Of course, that's when Thanos appeared, drawing you and Bucky into the largest battle Earth had ever faced. Battle lines were drawn in Wakanda, where countless outriders of Thanos’s army threatened to overrun the nation.

During the fray, you unleashed the full extent of your powers. Energy crackled around you, turning each of your blows into seismic shockwaves. You were almost unstoppable. At your side, Bucky fought with lethal precision, his vibranium arm glinting in the sunlight as bullets whizzed past. The synergy between you two was remarkable, like a dance choreographed through countless training hours and mutual trust.

But trust is fragile in the face of unimaginable power.

Suddenly, you felt a colossal presence. Looking up, your gaze locked onto the towering figure of Thanos. He stepped through the remnants of the battlefield, the Infinity Gauntlet glowing with stolen Stones. Even from a distance, you saw his gaze flick over your form, and something sparked behind his violet eyes—recognition. Fear, perhaps. The Titan raised his armored hand. A wave of twisted energy arced in your direction. You braced yourself, arms crossed in front of your body, channeling every ounce of power you had to shield your allies from the blast. Still, the force knocked you back, sending you tumbling across the ravaged earth.

When the shock subsided, a chill shot down your spine. You stood, shaking off the impact, and found the battlefield too quiet. Your eyes landed on Bucky just in time to see him freeze. His face contorted; his pupils dilated. It happened in a split second.

Hydra’s trigger words, carried on a faint, telepathic echo you couldn’t hear but Bucky could. An alien whisper from Thanos’s cosmic manipulations. And just like that, the Winter Soldier emerged once more. His steel-blue eyes turned ice-cold. The gentle man you loved disappeared behind an all-too-familiar mask of lethal focus. He turned away from the outriders, ignoring Thanos for the moment. His sights honed in on you.

“Bucky?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, his lips parted, eyes dark with an unspoken mission. This time, the programming was crystal clear: Take you out. Kill the one threat that even Thanos couldn't account for. Your greatest strength had painted a target on your back. You raised your hands, glowing with the power you wielded. But your heart pounded. Could you really fight him at full strength? Bucky—your Bucky—was somewhere behind that cold stare.

“Stand down!” Steve’s voice cut through the chaos, but Bucky didn’t listen. He pivoted, leveling his gun at Steve, forcing the Captain to dodge.

“Barnes, snap out of it!” Natasha shouted, but her attempts to get close were cut off by a brutal strike from Bucky’s vibranium arm. Everyone else was busy trying to fend off the onslaught of Thanos’s forces. Your team needed your power, but now you were pinned in a conflict of your own.

Bucky lunged at you, knife flashing. You parried with your forearm, each metallic clash echoing in the war-torn field. You had no intention of hurting him, so you held back, turning your power inward, using just enough to keep him off-balance. His movements were a lethal dance—calculated, relentless, unstoppable. Blow after blow, you deflected each strike, trying to talk him down. “Bucky, it’s me!” you cried, voice cracking. “You don’t want to do this!”

For a heartbeat, his eyes seemed to flicker, memories surfacing. The time you both sat under the Wakandan sunrise, the moments you’d shared—everything hung between you. Then the programming crushed it back down. His knife sliced through the air again. You twisted, sidestepping, but you were too concerned with not harming him, too torn by love and heartbreak. The blade found its mark.

A searing pain tore through your abdomen. Your eyes went wide, and a gasp tore from your throat. One heartbeat, two—time slowed. Your hands flew to the wound, crimson blooming across your fingertips. The world started spinning.

Bucky stood over you, knife still gripped in his metal hand. His expression was empty, but the second he saw your blood pooling on the battlefield, the mask began to crack. His breathing quickened; panic gripped him. Something deep within those blue eyes shattered.

“No,” he murmured, voice barely audible. “No, no, no…”

You collapsed to your knees, desperately trying to keep pressure on the wound. The pain was staggering, and your vision wavered at the edges as you fought against the darkness creeping in. The din of the battlefield—roaring explosions, clashing metal, and desperate shouts—faded into an echo, leaving only the trembling sound of Bucky’s voice. The knife clattered to the ground from his shaking hand, the cold light in his eyes replaced by raw horror.

Bucky dropped beside you, arms sliding around your body. Another wave of agony made you cry out, yet you clung to the faint relief of his warmth—even if it was stained by regret. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. His vibranium hand cradled your cheek as though you were made of porcelain. “I’m so sorry.”

The Winter Soldier façade seemed to shatter then, peeling away like a final layer of armor. What remained was Bucky Barnes—the man you loved, tears tracking down his face in heart-wrenching clarity. Meeting his gaze, you rallied the last of your strength, silently conveying what words couldn’t: You forgave him. You loved him.

In the distance, Thanos lumbered toward the heart of the battle, where your fellow Avengers continued to fight, unaware of the private tragedy unfolding. The war raged on, but in that moment, time felt suspended—for you, for Bucky, for everything else that mattered.

With trembling fingers, he pressed down on your wound, desperate to stop the flow of blood. “Not you too,” he pleaded, voice tight with fear. “Please don’t leave me.” You forced a weak smile; you refused to let your final expression be one of despair. You wouldn’t let Bucky’s last memory of you be filled with nothing but tears and regret.

Bucky’s grip on you tightened, as if he could anchor you to consciousness by sheer will. Each breath you took felt like shards of glass in your lungs, but you clung to awareness, swallowing down the pain.

“Stay with me,” Bucky begged. He looked up frantically, searching for help that was nowhere to be found—Shuri was likely in the labs, the medical units were overrun, and Wakanda’s defensive lines were collapsing under Thanos’s onslaught. “I’ll—I’ll get you to someone. We’ll find a healer—”

“Bucky.” Your voice trembled, but you forced each syllable past your dry lips. You reached up with a shaking hand, brushing aside a strand of his hair matted with dirt and sweat. “Don’t…don’t blame yourself.”

His eyes squeezed shut as tears rolled freely, wetting the blood-streaked dirt beneath you both. The regret in his gaze was heartbreaking. “I wasn’t in control,” he rasped, “but it was still my hand. And I—”

You pressed weakly against his cheek with your palm, stopping him. You didn’t have enough breath to argue, so you let your eyes speak your truth: He had been a pawn once again, manipulated by Thanos’s cruel plans. You forgave him—truly. He held your hand against his stubbled jaw, turning his face into your touch. His vibranium arm remained clamped over your wound, red seeping over silver. Every passing second felt like a lifetime.

Above you, the sky lit up with another shower of blasts, the barrier around Wakanda flickering under the assault. Your teammates were fighting valiantly—Steve, Natasha, Sam, Wanda, T’Challa—all risking their lives to push Thanos back. But you knew the Titan’s power was immense. If even your strength might not be enough to stop him, how could anyone else stand a chance? In your heart, you felt a pang of guilt for not being out there, protecting the team as you always had. But there was no denying your body was failing, and Bucky’s terrified eyes told you he could feel it too.

“Help!” His cry rose into the chaos, ragged and desperate. “Somebody help!”

[mrs-kozu]

“ANGELS HAVE PINK HAIR, I HAD NO IDEA”

the haikyuu boys with a s/o who has naturally pink hair

contains : kenma kozume, kuroo tetsuro, tobio kageyama, tsukishima kei, akaashi keiji, & suna rintarou ! ♡☆

KENMA KOZUME

kenma would be quietly enamored by your unique feature without making a big fuss about it. While he might not openly gush about how striking your hair is, he’d find himself absentmindedly playing with it when the two of you are together, running his fingers through the soft strands as a silent way of showing affection. He’d notice the way your pink hair catches the light or the way it frames your face, and though he wouldn't shout it from the rooftops, he’d find subtle ways to let you know how much he loves it—whether it’s a quiet compliment, a gentle ruffle, or simply resting his hand in your hair while he’s lost in his thoughts. His interest for your hair would be expressed in the small, intimate gestures that are uniquely his.

KUROO TETSURO

Kuroo would likely be both intrigued and charmed by the uniqueness of your look. The contrast between your soft, pastel locks and his own sharp, dark appearance would make the two of the pair of opposites attract. Kuroo, with his playful and teasing nature, would probably make lighthearted comments about your hair, calling you "cotton candy lady" or jokingly claiming your hair was the result of some wild experiment. Despite his usual teasing, he'd be protective and genuinely affectionate, always finding little ways to show how much he admires your individuality. His teasing would never cross into cruelty, always underpinned by a deep sense of pride in his girlfriend's beauty, inside and out.

TOBIO KAGEYAMA

Kageyama would be a little flustered at first, unsure how to handle such a bold and vibrant presence in his life. Your hair would catch his eye constantly, and though he'd try to play it cool, he'd often get caught staring. He wouldn’t be the best with words, but his quiet gestures—like offering you his jacket, waiting for you after practice, or getting annoyed when others stare at you too long—would show how much he cares. your bright personality and unique look would slowly bring out a softer, more open side of him that few get to see.

TSUKISHIMA KEI

Tsukishima would probably act like it didn’t faze him at first—cool and sarcastic as always—but deep down, he’d find your uniqueness oddly captivating. Your vibrant hair would contrast with his more muted personality, and though he'd tease you with his trademark dry humor, he’d quietly admire how you stood out without trying. Over time, your bright energy might soften his guarded demeanor, and while he'd never be overly affectionate in public, his subtle smiles and thoughtful gestures would show just how much he cared.

AKAASHI KEIJI

Akaashi would quietly admire your unique look, often stealing glances when he thought you weren’t looking. Your vibrant hair would brighten his calm demeanor, adding a touch of color to his otherwise composed world. He’d occasionally brush a strand behind your ear, a subtle sign of affection, and might even tease you gently about being "hard to miss" in a crowd. Though he wouldn't say it often, he’d be quietly proud to stand beside someone so unapologetically herself, appreciating the soft chaos you brought into his orderly life.

SUNA RINTAROU

Suna would probably act like it was no big deal on the surface, keeping his usual calm and deadpan self. But deep down, he'd find your look endearing and secretly enjoy how you stand out—matching his quiet but observant nature. He'd tease you lightly about your hair color in private, just to see your flustered reaction, but he’d be fiercely protective if anyone else made a comment. Subtle in his affection, Suna would show he cares through small, thoughtful gestures, always quietly appreciating the bold charm you bring into his life.

~

BONUS: For Kenma, he definitely has a fluttershy pfp for his socials because you remind him of her.

[kashverse]

kunafamily lore masterlist ☆

tennis, in theory, was meant to be a civilized sport. an elegant display of skill, precision, and agility. a game of strategy—not brute force, not rage-fueled destruction, not whatever the hell sukuna thought tennis was. yet here the sukuna family stood, in their perfectly coordinated red and white ensembles, looking every bit like a high-profile sports dynasty preparing for an international championship, when in reality, they were about to traumatize the local tennis court. 

baby and mr. pickles sat dutifully on the sidelines, serving as the family’s ever-loyal caddies. baby, bright-eyed and determined, had already sunk his teeth into a tennis ball, chewing with great enthusiasm. mr. pickles, on the other hand, had zero intention of chasing anything, merely watching the chaos unfold with the weary gaze of a war veteran.

on the court, babykuna was a natural. a prodigy. a gifted young athlete whose talent stemmed not from rigorous training, but from her many years of hurling labubus with reckless abandon. a tennis ball? please. she could hit that with her eyes closed. and she did. repeatedly.

“HAH!” babykuna screeched with the might of a thousand warriors, sending the ball flying over the net with an ungodly amount of force for a child her size.

“that’s my girl,” sukuna grinned, nodding approvingly.

now, if babykuna was talented, then sukuna was something else entirely. to say he was competitive would be an understatement. to say he was aggressive would also be an understatement. to say he was a goddamn menace would be precisely accurate. there was a reason no one wanted to play with him. “it’s just a game,” you had reminded him before the match started. “yeah, to losers.” sukuna had scoffed, already bouncing the ball with far too much force.

he did not play tennis. he dominated it. or rather, he thought he did. because what sukuna played wasn’t tennis—it was ballistic warfare. “tch, take THAT!” with a mighty grunt, sukuna swung his racket with enough force to break the sound barrier. the ball did not just sail over the net—it rocketed.

right into the chain-link fence.

through the chain-link fence.

a visible dent remained where the ball had torn through, the nearby players watching in horrified silence.

“huh,” sukuna tilted his head, unbothered. “guess i’m still too strong.”

you, meanwhile, were standing at the opposite side of the court, watching this disaster unfold with a sigh so deep it could have been mistaken for a cry for help. because, of course, you had to be the one to balance out the madness. graceful. composed. undeniably skilled. because while sukuna approached tennis like a bloodsport, you played with deadly precision. and you had to, because god forbid you let sukuna win.

"watch the form, babykuna," you instructed, adjusting her stance while completely ignoring sukuna's ego-fueled flexing in the background.

“pfft, please," he scoffed. "don’t act like you’re better than me, babe—”

you hit the next ball so hard it whizzed past his face, narrowly missing his ear.

a slow silence followed.

“...that was an accident,” you smiled, the epitome of beauty, grace, and absolutely willing to punch him in the face. babykuna clapped excitedly. “mama, you’re so cool!”

mr. pickles huffed tiredly from the sidelines. baby continued gnawing on his tennis ball. and sukuna, rattled but refusing to admit it, muttered, “...yeah, okay. maybe i’ll sit out the next round.”

[faerygrant]

knee socks - carmen berzatto x waitress reader

summary: four discoveries come about your and carmens secret relationship; he’s very into knee socks, you’re acquainted with a staff member he has a tricky relationship with, he can be possessive and weirdly enough he likes being called daddy?

You’d stayed back last night to help Carmen, despite the raging headache that had caused you to have to take a 30 minute break from waiting tables just to rest your head. Carmen appreciated that, and was not shy in showing you. Once he’d insured everyone had gone home for the night, doors locked and safety measures taken care of, he had come into the office and kissed you softly, before walking you to your apartment. Where things had escalated, resulting in you falling asleep stuffed and sated and Carmy going home with a pair of your panties.

Today however you felt refreshed, you’d woken up at the crack of dawn, showered, threw on your uniform and decided you’d wear a pair of knee socks due to the cold fall weather. You arrived to the usual chaos of The bear, Tina and Sydney getting started on prep, Marcus unloading the batter he’d made the night before and Richie barking orders at your fellow waitstaff about today’s schedule. Carmy however wasn’t anywhere to be seen, so you assumed he was in his office going over stock orders or doing payroll.

“Hey, you look pretty good this morning princess” Rich or Richie to everyone else, whispers into your ears.

“Don’t be gross Rich.” You mumble, grabbing your apron and tying it around your waist as he mockingly smiled back at you.

“Damn can’t even give out compliments anymore.” He throws his hands up in mock self defence.

Your and Richie’s relationship was simple, he was a longtime friend of your brothers and had always been mockingly flirty and playful with you, occasionally you’d reciprocate the flirtyness but it was all in good fun. Carmy however hated it, so much so that he’d ensure he did his best to put a distance between you two most of the time.

As the day went on Carmen would make subtle appearances from the office, coming into the kitchen to help Sydney with recipes she was working on, answering some of Tina’s questions, giving Marcus the green-light on some new dessert ideas, the works. But what you noticed from these appearances were the glances he kept making towards you, or specifically towards your legs. Until it finally hit you, it was the knee socks.

-

Carmen couldn’t think straight with the way you were just casually waiting tables while looking like a goddess. Your uniform clung so nicely to your body, your smile ever so bright and those god damned knee socks. He was convinced you were trying to send him into cardiac arrest. He’d never even known he had a thing for those until today and he wasn’t about to let them go to waste.

carmen 🐻

You busy right now?

you

Kinda, why?

carmen 🐻

Need your help in the office, now.

you

Alright, coming

-

"Hi" you smiled shyly, walking up to his desk and taking a seat on one of the chairs opposite his desk.

"Come 'ere " he says lowly, beckoning you forward with two fingers. You slowly get out of the chair and make your way behind the desk to his side.

"Hi, again" you say as you look down at him, with a sweet smile on your face.

"Hey, feelin' any better, since last night?" He questions as he turns his chair to face you and pulls you in between his legs, his hands holding your hips in place.

"Y-yeah a little, thank you by the way" you reply softly, flustered by the touch he was so lovingly giving you.

"Your welcome, just wanted to make sure you were alright, it was so worth it" he smiled as his hands began to roam, up and down your hips.

"Wh- why was it worth it?" You reply, voice barely above a whisper, as you look down at him though your lashes.

"I got to kiss you, touch you, and keep your panties" he smirked at the last part, knowing it was going to annoy you.

"Thanks for reminding me to kick you for that by the way." You playfully swat his shoulder and he fakes a pout. You began laughing at him.

"What?" He asks, curiously.

"Nothing" you smile as you lift your hands to play with his hair.

"No tell me" he insists, as he squeezes your hips and pulls you down, to straddle him.

"Mmm, it's just I didn't expect you to be such a softie" you smile as you move down on him a little harder, to feel his crotch.

"Of fuck- I" he tries talking but the feeling of you pressed down against him is too much.

"Fuck-“ he says your name “you're gonna kill me" he replies as he pushes his hips against you and you feel his hard on.

“These knee socks have been killing me all day, did you wear em just f’me?” He grunts the last part.

“I did, wanted to impress you.” You smile, wiggling into him.

“It worked, I’m fuckin impressed and so hard f’you.” He smiles into a kiss he plants on your lips.

"I want you now, please daddy" you weren't sure where the 'daddy' came from, but honestly you didn’t care at this point, you needed him. His eyes widen and you're pretty sure you feel him get even harder once the word leaves your mouth.

"I'm your daddy?" He questions you with a smirk on his face.

"Ye-yeah, daddy" you whispered as you continue to grind down on him.

"That's right, I'm your daddy, keep grinding on your daddy till you cum" he groans, face all red.

"Mmmm" you whisper against his neck as you continue. Just as you feel him moving to reposition you, the phone in his office begins to ring. You look up at him and he shakes his head.

"Leave it, keep goin" he groans as he pulls you down, once more. You're so close to your climax when the phone rings again.

"Mmm, just answer it" you groan as you attempt to get off him, he however pulls you back down and answers the phone.

"What?"

"Ok, and?"

"Fine"

"I'll send her in"

He slams the phone back down and kisses you hungrily once more. You oblige and bring your hands up to his hair.

"Who was it?" You ask, pulling back from the kiss.

"Dumbass Richie, he wants to see you, claims one the regulars is here and only you can help him service them" he spits, you can tell he’s annoyed by Richie’s interruption.

"Rich’s always been quite the mood stealer" you smile, as he kisses your neck lightly.

"Rich?" He questions as he pulls back from your neck and looks up at you.

"Yeah, Rich?" You reply confused, had you said the wrong thing?

"Why the fuck, do you call him that?" He asks angrily, as he lets go of your waist. Alright so Carmy’s moods did always change quickly, noted.

"He's a family friend, I've known him since I was like 18 he's like a brother to me, at-least that's how I feel about him." You reply, whilst putting his hands back on your waist.

"Alright then, Good" he says refusing to smile.

"Why the long face, hmmm?" You question as you smile at him.

"I don't want anyone else to have you, I'm territorial, possessive, I don't know call it what you want but you're mine now and I don't need anyone getting in the way of that" he smirks.

"Mmmm, I just loveeee being owned by men, it's so empowering" you say sarcastically.

"I don't mean it in that way, you know that" says Carmy quickly, afraid you misunderstood him.

"I'm just fucking with you, and this may sound a bit anti-feminist, but I like the thought of belonging to you" you whisper into his ear, leaving him groaning.

"Alright we'll, Rich’s waiting for me, bye Carmy" you say as you try to get off of him. His grip however is too strong and he manages to pull you back down.

"I want to take you out for dinner tomorrow night, somewhere nice but chill ,not too fancy." He says shyly.

"I- I would love too, also not too fancy? this doesn't sound like Michelin star chef Carmen Berzatto" you joke, and he simply smiles at you. He finally let's you out of his grip and you give him a sweet peck, before making your way to the door. Before you can leave the office he calls out to you.

"Wear something pretty ok?"

You turn around and smile at him before replying with poise, "only for daddy"

[scoupsakakitty]

Snowflakes | idol!Jeonghan x Reader | fluff

It all started as a spontaneous trip. Y/N had been a little surprised when Jiwoo, her best friend, invited her along for a ski weekend, but what really caught her off guard was the twist: Jiwoo’s boyfriend, Seungcheol, had insisted that Jeonghan come along too.

“Jeonghan?” Y/N raised an eyebrow when Jiwoo mentioned the name. “Why him?”

“Well,” Jiwoo said with a teasing grin, “you know how the fans can be. Seungcheol thought it would look less suspicious if Jeonghan came along. Plus, we need to balance it out, so I figured I’d ask you to join!”

Y/N laughed softly, appreciating Jiwoo’s thoughtfulness. “Sounds like a setup for a reality show or something.”

Despite the oddity of it all, Y/N agreed. And soon enough, they were all packed and on their way to a cozy cabin in the mountains, surrounded by the winter wonderland of snow-covered trees and icy peaks.

The first day of skiing was pure chaos everyone falling, laughing, and trying to get their bearings on the slopes. By the evening, they were all back at the cabin, warming up by the fire. A big pot of hot chocolate was waiting, and the group decided to pass the time with a friendly game of Uno.

“I’m warning you guys now,” Jeonghan said, winking, “I’m a professional Uno player. Don’t try anything funny, or I’ll catch you.”

Y/N smirked from across the table. “You’re the one who should be careful, Jeonghan. I know all the tricks.”

“Ah, is that so?” Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “We’ll see about that.”————————————————————————————-The atmosphere was light, everyone was deeply involved in the game, and the laughs kept coming. But Y/N, ever the observant one, started to notice something off about Jeonghan.

She watched as he casually slipped cards between his legs, thinking no one would notice. But Y/N wasn’t that easy to fool.

“Stop! You’re sitting on your cards! Stand up!” she suddenly shouted, her eyes locking onto Jeonghan’s suspicious behavior as she snatched the remaining cards from the table.

He blinked in confusion. “What? Me?” he asked, acting innocent, but it was too late. Y/N had caught him red-handed.

“Stand up, Jeonghan!” she repeated, a mischievous grin spreading across her face, and everyone stared at him in anticipation.

He slowly got up, and as he did, two cards fell out of his ass. With a loud plop, they hit the floor, and the room erupted in laughter.

“Oh my god, really?” Jiwoo cried out, clutching her stomach as the group burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter.

Jeonghan stood there, utterly stunned, while Y/N was bent over, practically in tears from laughing so hard. “Seriously? You thought I wouldn’t notice?” Y/N gasped between giggles.

“I… I don’t know what happened!” Jeonghan stammered, his face turning bright red as the group continued to laugh at his expense.

It was a moment they would never forget, and as they calmed down, everyone couldn’t help but tease him for the rest of the night.————————————————————————————-After their game, the group settled in for the night. But there was a problem: the cabin only had two rooms, and since Y/N and Jeonghan were the last ones to claim the second room, they were forced to share it.

“We’ll just sleep on opposite sides of the bed,” Y/N said with a shrug. The bed was large enough for the both of them to keep some space.

However, the problem was the cold. The old cabin didn’t have central heating, and the night air was bitterly cold. Y/N pulled the blanket closer around herself but still found herself shivering under the weight of the chill.

Jeonghan lay still in the darkness, hearing the soft clattering of Y/N’s teeth. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should say something. After all, they weren’t close like that… yet.

“You cold?” Jeonghan finally asked, breaking the silence.

Y/N let out a soft, embarrassed sigh. “Yeah, a little. It’s freezing in here…”

Jeonghan turned his head slightly, his voice soft. “Well… I guess there’s no harm in sharing some warmth. Come here.”

Y/N blinked at him in surprise, but without much thought, she scooted closer to him. The warmth from his body was a welcome relief, and she felt her shivering slow.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

Jeonghan, noticing the awkwardness in the air, decided to break the tension by talking. “I’m not great at keeping people warm, but I can at least tell some stories to distract you.”

Y/N chuckled. “I’ll take stories over nothing.”

Jeonghan smirked, his voice turning light-hearted. “Okay, well, I have plenty of stories from the tour. Like the time DK tried to cook for everyone and nearly set the kitchen on fire…”

Y/N laughed, imagining the chaos. “I can totally picture that.”

And so, the conversation flowed, from funny tour mishaps to embarrassing moments. But eventually, Jeonghan couldn’t help but ask, “So… how did you know I was cheating at Uno?”

Y/N grinned. “Let’s just say, I’ve used the same trick before. You weren’t as slick as you thought.”

Jeonghan snorted in disbelief. “So, you’re a cheater too, huh?”

Y/N shrugged playfully. “Only when necessary. You should’ve seen me beat Jiwoo at Monopoly once.”

“That’s my girl,” Jeonghan said, laughing softly. The atmosphere had shifted, and it no longer felt awkward. They were just two friends in the middle of a snowy mountain, sharing warmth and laughter.

Suddenly, without thinking, Jeonghan blurted out, “You have a really cute laugh.”

Y/N froze for a second, her heart doing an unexpected little flip. “Um, thanks,” she said, her voice a little quieter. She turned her face away, not sure if it was the heat from being close to him or the compliment that was making her blush.

There was a long, comfortable silence after that, and soon they both fell asleep, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.————————————————————————————-The next morning, they all piled into the car to head back, exhausted from the late-night talks and the skiing. Y/N, still tired, leaned against Jeonghan’s shoulder as the car bumped along the mountain roads. Within minutes, she was asleep.

Jeonghan, too, had his eyes drifting shut. Slowly, he leaned his head onto hers, too tired to care that it might seem strange.

Seungcheol, who was driving, glanced at the rearview mirror and caught sight of the two of them. A small smile tugged at his lips as he nudged Jiwoo, who was sitting beside him.

“Looks like our friends are getting pretty cozy,” he whispered, his voice amused.

Jiwoo peered at the backseat and smirked. “They definitely are. Maybe we’ll go on double dates soon?”

Seungcheol chuckled, nodding. “That’d be nice. But for now, let’s just let them have their moment.”

Jiwoo secretly took a picture of the sleeping pair, capturing the peaceful scene. It was a quiet, content moment one that neither Y/N nor Jeonghan had expected but would both remember forever.

As the car drove through the snowy mountains, the two friends slept soundly, completely unaware of the subtle change between them. Perhaps it was just the beginning of something more.

————————————————————————————-

[ahsxual]

Hi! Your writing is wonderful, and I wanted to wish you the best of luck on your exams in advance 🥰 could you imagine the stoic Sang-woo proposing to his girlfriend? Idk the idea of him being in a relationship and coming to terms with his emotions fascinates me. Thanks!

Sweet Proposal

Pairing: Cho Sang-woo x GN!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2,2k

A/N: Awww thank you, dear anon! I truly appreciate your kind words, it means the world to me 🥺💓 I have to say that I agree with you and I absolutely loved your idea for this request! I hope you enjoy my writing and I wish you the best <33 I wrote this request a long time ago and never posted it idk why, but here goes (my apologies🥺)

You and Sang-woo have been dating a few years now: you met him through his mother, the woman who you visited everytime you passed by her store and who you always bought something fresh to eat. Her products were of great quality, besides the fact that she was the kindest woman you have ever met in your entire life. She treated you like her own daughter/son, and since you lived by yourself in south korea, you really appreciated having someone who you could count on. Whenever you had a bad day, you would tell her and she would help you by giving you the best advices from her life experience, so your relationship was pretty close. Until one day, her son visited her, and that's when you met the love of your life.

"Good morning, miss Cho!" you greeted your second mother as you liked to call her, only for her to turn to you with the biggest smile and bright eyes on her face, as always. However, this time she had company.

"Oh, my sweet Y/N! Come here sweetie, please let me introduce you my wonderful son, Cho Sang-woo!" she seemed so excited, in contrast to her son who seemed pretty serious and uncomfortable with the whole situation.

"Hey." he simply said with a low, yet neutral tone, making you realize that he was quite the opposite from his mother: she shined even in the darkest days, while he somehow brings darkness wherever he goes to. But the fact that he had such a hard personality to deal with and understand, instead of pushing you away, only made you even more curious about that mysterious man. Besides the fact that he is incredibly handsome, but that's another story.

"Hey there! I'm L/N Y/N, nice to meet you." you put your hand in front of him so you wouldn't be just standing there looking awkwardly at each other. He looked at it for a second, before taking it and shaking it gently, like he was afraid to break your way smaller hand.

"I'm so happy you finally met my son! I'm sure you two will get along just perfectly!" her joy was contagious, yet her own son didn't seem to let his mother's charm get to him. You heard her talking about her amazing son so many times, saying how he was a kind man, and extremely intelligent and responsible. Yet, here he is, looking like his life was a complete chaos.

"Yeah, I'm sure we will." you answered shyly, only for him to look at you with a surprised expression. You simply smiled at him, making him blush slightly at your cuteness.

Now you are in bed with your soulmate by your side, watching him sleep peacefully: who would have known you two would get here? Together?? You didn't know the right answer for that as well, but the truth is that life can really surprise you.

You were Sang-woo’s first love: the only person who stood with him no matter how many problems he had, both professionally and psychologically. You would never give up on him, and that's what made him realize you were the love of his life, the soulmate he was unconsciously looking for so desperately. No one would ever guessed, but one of Sang-woo’s main goals in his life is creating a family who loved and supported him until the end, to feel the happiness and comfort of waking up every day next to his significant other. However, before meeting you, his problem was that he never had the patience or motivation to find love or to continue to please his possible partner until they fell for him. No, he wanted to focus on his professional career first, the rest just being mere details. What made him fall for you, was your dedication to be with him and build a promising life by his side, supporting him and helping him whenever he needed: you were also the first and only person who he told about his fears, insecurities and feelings about certain topics, but only after a few, long months of building trust and courage. And you did the same: you considered him your best friend, because he always helped you with the most racional advices, which were the best in your opinion.

After a few minutes of analyzing lovingly every feature that you knew so well of your loved one, you noticed him moving slightly and groaning from waking up from his precious sleep.

"Good morning, tough guy." you joked, only to receive a confused expression from him just before he rolled his reddish eyes and laugh at the nickname.

"Good morning, babe." his voice was so deep that it made you have inappropriate thoughts, however you knew he was too tired for it right now. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, I actually did. As for you, I think I don't even have to ask." you laughed at his still sleepy state, before putting your legs over him and hug his long torso. He pulled you closer, closing the space that separated your hungry lips before kissing you slowly, yet with the perfect amount of passion and love.

"Yeah, I really needed to rest my mind and body from yesterday." you shyly laughed at him before hitting his arm when he reminded you from your passionate love session from the night before.

"You silly!" the moment you called him that, he rolled you over so he could be on top.

"Call me that again and see what happens." he warned you with a serious face, yet you knew him better. He was obviously messing with you, and you would be lying if you said you didn't like his demanding behavior.

"Can you join me in the shower, babe? Please?" you decided to change the subject, giving him the pleading look that you knew he couldn't resist.

"Yeah, sure." he smiled before giving you a quick kiss on the lips. "Just wait for me, I'll be right back."

"Ok, I'll wait for you." you gave him a last peck on his lips, before making your way to the bathroom, unconscious of what was coming for you.

That day your boyfriend invited you to dinner at a fancy restaurant, so you thought it would be a simple date like the many you've had before. But this time, he had promising plans for you and your future together, something you weren't expecting to happen so soon. It was already 7:30 pm, so he called you to hurry so you could be on time at the restaurant.

"I'm coming!" you warned your handsome boyfriend, before you appeared in front of him dressing your favorite date outfit that he bought you a few days ago.

"You look gorgeous, sweetheart." his eyes were full of love, admiration and pride for you, making your heart melt with happiness. You felt so loved at that moment... you still couldn't believe you were dating that man.

"Thank you, love. Let's go." you thanked him, before leaving your house and walk to get into his expensive black car.

You and Sang-woo arrived at the restaurant 15 minutes earlier, so you took your time to sit at your reserved table. The restaurant was outstanding: everyone was dressed nicely and the environment was peaceful and romantic; it was an expensive and well known restaurant from your city, which made you feel important. You also felt really happy to know that your boyfriend took you on a date at a very welcoming and beautiful place: it meant that he really loved you and makes a real effort to build up your relationship by changing your routine from time to time, which was healthy for both of you.

A few hours passed and you talked about everything and anything: your plans for your future together, funny stories that happened in your childhood that you didn't know about, how work was going and who are the people you like or dislike... it was a really nice, yet nostalgic and interesting conversation. After that, he insisted to pay your dinner. You felt bad, so he promised next time you could pay, which you knew he was lying.

When you left the restaurant, hand in hand, he told you that his plans for that night weren't done yet.

"I need you to do something for me, honey." your future husband said as soon as you entered the car. You looked at him suspiciously, waiting for whatever was coming. "Close your eyes." he simply said.

"What? Why would you-"

"Just trust me, ok? It's not like I'll kidnap you or something." he made sure to use his sarcasm to relax you a little bit, indirectly telling you that he wasn't going to do anything bad.

"I wouldn't mind if you did so." your sassy comment made him laugh quietly, before you closed your eyes and heard his car running.

Minutes passed and you were starting to get bored with having your eyes closed for so long. At least his strong grip on your inner thigh kept you entertained during the car trip. Suddenly, you felt the car stop slowly, and that's when you realized you had finally arrived at your destination. You were about to open your eyes, when you felt a smack on your thigh.

"Ah! I didn't say you could open your eyes already, did I?" his demanding tone made you internally scream and blush hard, but you needed to remain calm to not lead things to another way, since you didn't want to ruin the plans he made for you.

He helped you getting out of the car, before putting his hand on your waist to guide you to the place where he would make the big proposal.

"Open your eyes, love." he whispered into your ear. The moment you opened your eyes, tears instantly made their way to your warm cheeks: you could watch and admire each star on the sky, shining in your direction; it was full moon night, which made you think that Sang-woo chose this specific night for that reason; in front of you, you could also see and hear the calm and relaxing dark-blue sea moving at a slow and therapeutical pace. It was the most romantic moment you ever had and even imagined. You were too focus on the ocean and the brilliant stars above you, that you didn't even notice what was written on the sand: "Will you marry me, Y/N?" was written in huge and well marked letters. This made your heart beat at an incredibly fast pace and your vision to go blurry due to the emotional warm tears that wanted to escape from your eyes.

"Baby, what's all of thi-" when you turned around in hope that the man of your life would explain what was happening at that moment, even tho you knew already, you saw him kneeling instead, looking at you nervously with a small black box on his hands which contained a shining ring inside.

"L/n Y/n, I know I'm not the best lover sometimes due to my emotionless personality, however you liberate a more loving, caring and passionate side of me that I never knew I could have until I met you. I never thought I could be so in love with someone... and to be honest, I didn't even know what was love before I kissed you for the first time. I'm sorry for all the times I made you upset, but I promise I'll be a better person for you. So... will you marry me, my love?" you never saw your boyfriend being so open with his feelings, not even towards you, so you knew this was extremely hard for him and that all what he was saying was the pure truth. Also for the first time you noticed Sang-woo cry in front of you, even though he remained with a neutral facial expression.

Deep inside, you knew he feels a lot, he just used this "mask" to hide his vulnerability and pretend he is emotionless. But with you, he doesn't feel the need to pretend to be strong all the time. And that's when he realized it was you who he was going to marry and spend the rest of his life with.

You couldn't help but cry in front of him, his action caughting you by surprise, in a good sense.

"Of course my love, of course I will marry you!! There is nothing I desire more than to have you as my husband." he smiled until his cheeks started to get sore: this moment was unique and special for both of you. You always made him forget any pain he might feel. He quickly stood up and picked up into his arms, spinning you over and over again until you both felt almost dizzy.

That night was unforgettable for both of you, and now that you had a wedding ring on your finger, you couldn't think about anything else than stepping onto the altar and marry the man of your dreams.

[emilys-bangs]

Meet the Prentiss kids!

(mid seasons Emily)

Eloise is a loveable whirlwind, tumbling her way through life in a blur of color. She is energy in a bottle. She is the girl helping up a kid who tripped over at recess and dragging them to join her friends. You look at her and immediately see Emily—cheeky smiles, mischievously glinting eyes, careless with the fierceness of her loving. Her love is poured in abundance. She’s a protector—of her friends, of her brother, of stray animals on the street. She stands tall long before her mother teaches her to, and behind her squared shoulders there is protection, a friend in your corner. There’s nothing she’s afraid to try. No one she’s hesitant to talk to. She’s fearless, hurtling towards the unknown with as much speed as she can muster, the wind whipping her hair into tangled knots. Her restlessness is soothed when she’s in Emily’s arms, curled up against her side, on her lap, her head in the crook of her neck. In her you find her mother’s bravery, her bright flame and bigger heart.

Oliver is a perpetual daydreamer. He is frequently lost in his own world. When he’s not, he’s all over his sister—teasing her, cracking jokes, a planet in her orbit. Talks in French for the pleasure of not having anyone know what he’s saying. Curls up at his mom’s side and asks her to point out the constellations in the sky, then begs her for their stories, the myths they’re named after. He is constantly spewing facts, spinning tales, making up worlds of his own and fitting his family in them. Reaches for the stars in his sleep and searches for them on dry land, looking for stardust amongst rocks and underbrush. He is Emily’s bottled up hope and the whimsy that still curls in her stomach when she has a positive interaction with a stranger, when the sky is painted with the vibrant colors of the sunset.

(single mom Emily)

Matthew is tender hearted and soft spoken. Silence is his second nature. He says little and loves to listen—most of all to his mother’s voice, to her stories and the sweet pet names she reserves just for him. From a young age, he reads into every line, overthinks the echoes of words. He’s the opposite of his mother in the way he clings to the shadows, especially hers, most at ease away from spotlight and the center of a room. He flusters easily and finds himself braver in the company of his friends. Keenly observant, boundlessly creative; he spends hours collecting smooth rocks and drawing scenes he’s imagined in his head. Emily calls him her gentle boy. He is her endless curiosity and unbreakable determination.

(mid seasons Emily)

Theo is idle in action, passionate about few things and none of them involve physical activity. He’s obsessed with video games, always has the latest gadget—game boys, Nintendo’s, Xbox’s. While James spends hours outside, Theo can most often be found hunched on the couch, tongue poking out as he tries to reach another level. Add to that being a voracious reader and he’s always slumping, always slouched. He rarely pulls the I’m older than you card but will do so if annoyed. Says I love you startlingly easily. Not competitive for anything except for leveling up and the first freshly hot muffins out of the oven. He loves solving word puzzles with his mom, an electric thrill in his veins when she pens in his answer, when she grins at him like she’d gotten it herself and murmurs that’s my smart boy. He says out loud all the things Emily holds in, a quiet assuredness in him that had been beat out of her and messily pieced back together. She’s there in his touch; in the furrow between his brows; in the intelligent sheen in his eyes when he gets what he wants.

James is chaos personified. He loves all things cars and soccer, and will chat a mile a minute about them—or anything else—to anyone who will listen. The sound of his voice can be heard across rooms, always bright with excitement, cheery with the pleasure of interacting with another soul. After school he joyously spills out all the gossip he’d heard at recess, along with a full account of everything he’d learned; what he ate (even though he takes packed lunches); who he said hi to and who borrowed his pencil. He’s the king of the playground and head feeder of the stray neighborhood cats. Always looking for things to climb, places to explore, mud to get on his shoes; he dives into adventures head first, no hesitation. He inherits his mother’s quick wit and her ability to make people feel special. He is Emily’s unrestrained laughter and who she may have been in another home, raised amongst love and acceptance.

(London/unit chief Emily)

Vivian is a shy old soul. She spends her time collecting daises in the garden and mostly speaks in mumbles, some words curled with a lilting, posh London accent that stuck from her early childhood. She dreams of baking cookies for her classmates but balks at the thought of distributing them out to everyone. She whispers her secrets to animals. Up until the age of six, she needs a thorough monster check of her bedroom every night. Fairy wings are constantly attached to her shoulders, and she kisses each of her stuffed animals goodnight before she goes to bed. There’s nothing she adores more than playing with her mom’s hair—brushing it, styling it, running her fingers through the strands. She trembles with the force of her emotions and knows nothing about how to keep them contained. She’s all the softest, most deeply hidden parts of Emily—her compassion, her great ability to love.

[hynzsn]

★ STRAWBERRY KISSES ★

☆ choi soobin x male reader

-> sunshine baker!soobin x grumpy (secretly soft) farmer!reader

꩜ .ᐟ fluff, multi chapter fic, ongoing

contents: loosely inspired by strawberry shortcake (tv show), alternate universe - modern setting, m/m, romance, slow burn, happy ending, confessions, mutual pining, opposites attract, small town setting, baking, food porn, strawberries, summer festival, jealousy, first kiss, feel-good story, sweet moments, shared kitchen shenanigans

a/n: chapter one is out!!

♡︎♡︎♡︎ likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ♡︎♡︎♡︎

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER ONE: BERRY BEST BEGINNING ꒱ ˚₊

meet soobin, the sunshine baker known for his award-winning pastries and infectious laugh. his bakery, "crumbs & co.," is the heart of your small town, especially during the annual summer berry festival. but disaster strikes – he's out of strawberries, his star ingredient! enter you, the gruff but handsome owner of "sun-kissed berries," known for your organic, mouthwatering produce. soobin, desperate and flustered, begs you for help. you, initially hesitant due to the last-minute request and your own demanding schedule, is charmed by soobin’s passion and agrees to help, setting the stage for a week of unexpected collaboration.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER TWO: FIELDS OF STRAWBERRY DREAMS ꒱ ˚₊

soobin is a fish out of water as you show him the ropes of berry farming. you navigate rows of vibrant strawberry plants, your banter a mix of teasing and genuine curiosity. soobin is captivated by your quiet confidence and connection to the land, while you find yourself drawn to soobin’s infectious enthusiasm and city-boy wonder. a playful competition erupts – who knows more about their respective crafts? the day ends with a shared picnic basket amidst the strawberry fields, a moment of quiet intimacy under the setting sun.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER THREE: SPRINKLES OF AFFECTION & MIDNIGHT SUGAR ꒱ ˚₊

back in the cozy chaos of soobin’s bakery, the real magic begins. you experiment with new recipes, flour dusting their aprons and laughter filling the air. you discover a hidden talent for pastry-making, your hands surprisingly adept at delicate tasks. soobin is mesmerized by your focused intensity, your arms brushing as they work side-by-side. as midnight approaches, a moment of charged silence hangs between you, broken only by the soft whir of the oven and the unspoken longing in their eyes. a near kiss, a stolen touch of fingertips, leaves you both breathless and wanting more.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER FOUR: BERRY FESTIVAL JITTERS & A PINCH OF SOUR GRAPES ꒱ ˚₊

the day of the summer berry festival dawns bright and bustling. soobin is a whirlwind of nervous energy, putting the finishing touches on his berry creations. you, despite your usual composure, finds yourself inexplicably drawn to soobin’s side, wanting to ease his anxiety and bask in his radiant energy. but your budding connection is threatened by the arrival of beomgyu, a charming, flirtatious artist who sets his sights on you, much to soobin’s dismay. as the festival begins, soobin grapples with a confusing mix of jealousy and self-doubt, unsure if his feelings for you are reciprocated.

₊˚ ꒰ 𖦹﹕CHAPTER FIVE: STRAWBERRY KISSES & A BERRY SWEET FOREVER ꒱ ˚₊

the festival is in full swing, a kaleidoscope of color, music, and the intoxicating aroma of baked goods. soobin’s strawberry creations are a hit, but his heart feels heavy with uncertainty. you, sensing soobin’s turmoil, finds a quiet moment amidst the crowd to confess your feelings. you gently take soobin’s hand, your fingers intertwining, and with a look that speaks volumes, leans in for a soft, sweet kiss that tastes of strawberries and promises. the chapter (and the story) ends with a final scene at the festival, the ferris wheel twinkling above you, your laughter mingling with the sounds of summer night, your love story as bright and hopeful as the stars overhead.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Rainy Season - Part 4

All You Ever

Azriel reflects on his past mistake including the night with Elain. Cassian makes a huge mistake.

A/N: Before reading this chapter please know that I am not condoning cheating or the actions of Azriel or Elain. I do not feel sorry for either of them in any way. I simply enjoy adding a little complexity to the story and selfishly love sprinkling in chaos. Also this is not proofread, I’m exhausted.

And for cauldron’s sake, please just trust the process before yelling at me!!! This is just one chapter from the two biggest idiots involved, not the whole story.

Part 3 Part 5

Warnings: Not proofread, Alcohol, Language, Unintentional ingestion of an aphrodisiac leading to sex

Azriel

He may have been a fucking idiot but Azriel’s self-awareness was painfully acute. His scar riddled hands were forever tainted with the essence of blood that even her plush lips couldn’t kiss away, his angel mate. What a cruel joke the cauldron had played the day that bond snapped between them. She was resplendent in sun shrouded glory and he was the devil who dragged her down. Just selfish enough to ignore the warning bells that he’d one day fuck it all up, just selfish enough to pull her away from her home and covet her within the walls of Velaris. In the beginning, he’d fought so hard to deserve her though she’d never asked him to. She wanted only him and knew he was unworthy of her, he always had been. It was exhausting - the mask. Constantly trying to hide from her that dark, sadistic side of him that was everything opposite of what she was.

She saw through it, of course. She always had. All she wanted was him, all of him. Begging him to show her beyond the good of him at surface level, she wanted all of his self-proclaimed bad too. She’d told him that dozens of times over the years but dropping that mask meant unpacking so much - so much more ugly than even he was prepared to reveal to himself.

At some point he began to resent her and he knew it wasn’t fair. He resented his perfect, pure, untainted mate. Wasn’t it ironic that she’d shown him everything beneath her own surface numerous times, unveiled that she herself was not the Angel he placed her on a pedestal as. She’d shown him everything and he still viewed her through that near-holy lense.

If only he could have put his stubbornness, his self-loathing aside and realized she would have done the same for him. It was too late for that now.

And now I'm without you, and it took distance to see that losing you, means losing everything

————

Something had been wrong for a while. He ignored it assuming that perhaps it was a mental blockade erected by a combination of fatigue and work tensions. He’d slowly distanced himself from his mate. He knew it hurt her, it hurt him too. His intentions were genuine, sparing her the pain of his own inner turmoil by distancing himself while he worked through it. He was simultaneously aware that he was a fucking bastard for doing so, she deserved an explanation but he couldn’t give it to her yet. He justified it as the lesser of two evils.

Unsurprisingly, the mating bond is a fickle thing. As he distanced himself, a chasm of emptiness opened within him that he’d desperately tried to fill with missions and various courtly duties. Training with the Valkyries helped, being there for Elain through her own struggles….

He took his duty to help her seriously, though it technically was not a duty even assigned to him. A distraction. It was a distraction. Ever the spymaster he spent their initial time together observing her, the things that brought a little bit of life back to those once bright eyes.

He’d sun his wings while she gardened and read across from her in the study, little things so she’d know she wasn’t alone. Eventually she began talking again. At first just a comment here or there but then there was communication, getting to know each other, small talk eventually becoming deeper topics. He learned of her resentment of the choice she felt was ripped from her, left with no time to mourn the loss of her mortal life or consider the implications on her relationship with Graysen because of it.

Not to mention the shock that one of the faces she blamed for being damned to the cauldron, one of the first faces she saw coming out of it was her mate and she was just supposed to accept it? Over time, Elain became a friend. A bright spot to the numbness created by the self-imposed gap between he and his mate. His mate….

It had taken some time to realize that he wasn’t feeling her through the bond, when was the last time he’d felt her? It was becoming fainter and fainter, more faint than it even should be with distance. He’d send feelings to her on occasion. A little spark of joy when he saw a lovely sunset or the moments when his desire for his mate heated his blood so thoroughly he had no choice but to excuse himself for relief by his hand.

He needed her to know he cared, he desired her, he loved her. A little time and space to collect everything he needed to bring to the surface, to give her all of him. He left her feeling like she wasn’t enough but she was everything. He just needed space.

Until she gave him space.

The devastation on her face the day she asked him to leave. Gods, damn him and the hurtful things he’d said. They’d be ingrained in his mind for the rest of his days along with the sound of her sobs as she fell apart before him. He’d done that to his mate. He was responsible for those tears. All because he’d been too selfish and prideful to share all of himself with her.

So, he left. She’d allowed him so much space, he could give her this.

I wish I could love you and make you believe it. It’s all you ever wanted from me

———-

The night with Elain

He couldn’t make it through dinner sober. Rhys insisted everyone get together at the River House for a friendly night of debauchery. Pouring himself a double shot of whiskey, he considered telling Cassian to send Rhys his regards and hole up in the house of wind for the remainder of the night. It was either, go to dinner and deal with all of the questions of “Where is y/n?” and “Why isn’t y/n here?” or deal with Cassian’s well-intentioned but annoying attempts of pressuring him into going, followed by a pout when he’d stand his ground on staying in, and then the inevitable intrusion from Rhys inquiring why he wouldn’t come to dinner.

He loved his chosen family dearly but they were busybodies through and through. All he wanted was to pass the time until he saw his mate tomorrow.

Begrudgingly he threw back his glass, poured another double, then headed to the River House.

Time moved slowly when all there was to do was dwell.

What had happened? He flew slowly to the River House. Going out of his way to circle far overhead of his true home, where his mate was. Was she waiting for him inside? Was she in town? Why couldn’t he feel her? Silence. Just as it had been for months. But the emotions he’d seen in her, they were so real. Shouldn’t they have sparked something in the bond?

As Azriel approached the River House he’d come to the conclusion that tonight he’d inform Elain he’d no longer be able to visit with her as he had been. He’d neglected his mate for far too long, this past week had given him the clarity needed to go home and give his mate his all. He could slowly open up to her, he could do it.

He just needed to make it through the night.

The night went by as usual. Good food, laughter, flowing liquor. He heavily indulged himself in the liquor anything to numb the impatience in waiting for tomorrow.

Feyre and Rhys sat closely together on a lounge, Feyre leaning into him, staring up at him like the stars in the sky.

Cassian and Nesta spent the entire time making bedroom eyes at one another, Cassian whispering dirty promises into Nesta’s ear that made even the queen of smut herself blush, Nesta taking any opportunity to brush her body against his in passing.

Gods, they were so in love it made him sick.

“Home.” He told himself.

“Soon.”

As the evening wound down, Cassian insisted everyone do shots to close out the evening. He was drunk enough that he stumbled carrying in the tray of shots and let out a battle cry of victory over the fact that he managed to not spill any of the liquor.

Azriel should have flown back to the House of Wind a while ago but he needed to talk to Elain.

Nuala and Cerridwen had been on duty with Nyx for the evening, compensated well to work overnight in case he awoke, giving Rhys and Feyre the now rare opportunity to go out to Rita’s. Mor, of course, drug Emerie along and went with them. Given that Amren would rather stick pins in her eyes than go out, she and Varian opted to go back to her place.

Azriel should have gone there, gone back to the River House, gone home and slept in the doorway until his mate let him in.

But he was so drunk. There was no way he was flying anywhere tonight.

Cassian and Nesta brought out a final round of shots. Elain winced, scrunching her nose as she threw it back. Azriel thought she’d be able to take her liquor better by now. Cassian and Nesta waggled their eyebrows suggestively at eachother before throwing theirs back. And damn, if Azriel didn’t wince when he took his shot too. That shit was awful. Had they drank through all of Rhysand’s good liquor? Did Cassian dig this out from the bottom shelf?

Once Cassian and Nesta left for the House of Wind, Azriel took the empty glasses to the kitchen, cleaning up a few of the remaining dishes throughout the seating area on the way. He barely made it into the kitchen before his head began spinning. That last shot had done him in. He couldn’t even remember the time last he’d been blackout drunk. Two centuries ago, maybe?

He still needed to find Elain.

The stairs felt longer and far less steady than usual, taking him more time than he cared to admit to make it up them. His hands felt tingly on the banister and damn, it was hot in the River House. No, he touched his face, flushed and hot to the touch. He was hot.

The tingling was simultaneously uncomfortable and pleasurable, spreading over his body with haste as he neared closer to Elain’s room.

He caught a glimpse of her and her scent hit him like a ton of bricks. Had she always smelled this good?

His breathing increased, nostrils flaring as he took in her scent and fuck - he was hard. It was too late to not say anything now as she stared at him expectantly. The stars in his vision cleared and all he could see was her, zeroed in on her fluttering pulse, those delicate features.

He needed to leave.

He just needed to - shit, what had he come here to say?

Azriel’s shadows whirled reminding him of his mate. His mate. He needed to go to his mate.

He needed to tell Elain something. He couldn’t think straight.

“Elain…”

And that was when she lunged at him.

Well is it too late, and are you too far to turn around and let me be

——————————

Elain

There was nothing the Cauldron loved more than Elain Archeron.

There was nothing the Cauldron hated more than Elain Archeron.

A thin line between the two, really.

She’d spend the rest of her life groveling for what conspired on that night. She never intended to sleep with him. She never, ever intended to hurt Y/N.

She remembered drinking more than usual.

She remembered Azriel finding her in the hallway.

She remembered a sudden rush of warmth, first from her chest, seeping outward through her extremities, low into her stomach and lower, lower.

She remembered Azriel having something important to tell her. She could feel nothing but heat. Her heart racing, breath becoming rapid.

Azriel’s pupils were blown wide, his nostrils flaring. Like every single sense was hyper aware of her state. His arousal wafted through the air, his irresistible cedar and chilled mist scent clinging to her like an expensive cologne.

They were so very intoxicated.

They couldn’t do this. If she’d been sober and unaffected by whatever was running through her veins, she would have left. Immediately.

She wasn’t one to wreck a home and Azriel loved his mate so, so much. The way he talked about her, it made Elain jealous. Not of them, not of her. Only jealous that Elain herself had struggled so hard to feel anything toward her own mate for so long. Lucien who played a role in her loss of humanity, Lucien who would do anything to make it up to her, Lucien who never meant for it to happen, who tried so hard to help her, to connect with her, who wanted nothing more than to love her. Lucien.

Then why was it Azriel? Azriel who was standing in front of her clearly affected by her, trying his damndest not to be. Why was she so drawn to him? A mated male.

Was she sweating? It was so hot. Her breasts ached and her blood thrummed through her veins so voraciously that she was certain she’d bleed out at any minute. And if Azriel could see beneath her gown right now, he’d see how tightly her thighs were squeezed together. How desperately she needed release and by the tightness in his pants - she knew he was in the same state.

“Elain…” Azriel spoke. His breath ragged.

And all it took was her name rolling off of his lips for her to close the distance. One kiss. She just needed one kiss to remind herself that this was wrong. To run the other way.

And it only took one kiss to remind her how much the cauldron loved her. How much it hated her.

The moment when she felt the mating bond snap between her and Azriel.

The alcohol, the liquor, the heat, the bond. A lethal combination leading to the biggest mistake of her life.

The night she’d fucked Azriel.

She could never let him know about the bond.

—————————-

Elain woke up with a brutal headache. She would have killed for some headache power. Her room was dark, shadows deepening the onyx black of night as slivers of moonlight lined the edges of her curtains. Still nighttime, then.

Her surroundings slowly came into focus, awareness sharpening as a soft sound caught her attention. Swiftly she turned her head to find Azriel asleep on the other side of her bed.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no, no, no.

This couldn’t have happened.

What had she done?

She threw on her dress and tip-toed out of the room in a state of panic. She was a sensible female. She knew too well the pain of losing Graysen, a human male, not her spouse, not her mate. But still, his rejection had hurt like hell. Elain would never sleep with another woman- female’s mate. No.

She paced through the library, back and forth, back and forth, praying she didn’t wake anyone up. The walls were closing in on her. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be.

Oh gods.

And the mating bond. How?

Her chest was tight, she couldn’t catch a full breath. She needed out.

Before she could stop herself, Elain fled into the empty street with no destination in mind. Anywhere but here, anywhere but the bed where she’d likely obliterated a marriage. She’d certainly obliterated her dignity.

The starlight illuminated streets of Velaris were endless, winding through alleys and lanes. In her panicked state, Elain had no clue where her feet were taking her as she blindly followed her gut. It wasn’t until she was in front of the door that she realized her heart had made its choice. It knew exactly who to go to, she only prayed it wasn’t too late.

She took a shaky inhale and raised a hand to knock but the door flew open revealing a shirtless Lucien, his bare, muscled chest heaving. “I felt you coming.” He gasped. “Through the bond.”

—————-

Azriel

The sun’s rays illuminated the edge of the curtains. Azriel’s stomach was tight, nausea from the previous night’s alcohol overwhelming him. His bed felt colder than usual, more stiff.

He looked around to find that he’d never left the River House. He was…

He was in Elain’s room.

“Oh, fuck!” He sobbed to himself as the previous night came pouring back to him. Setting his face in his palms, he cried. What the fuck had he done?

Azriel bathed, desperately scrubbing Elain off of him. By the time he was through, his skin was an angry red. He snuck out of the River House, flying to a grassy knoll high above Velaris. The spot where he and Y/N had first made love, where the bond snapped, where he’d proposed. He shifted uncomfortably as he tried to get comfortable, the unease settling in. It was blasphemy to desecrate such a sacred spot with his shame.

“What do I do now?” He asked aloud, the only response the whipping of the wind around him. He didn’t understand what had overcome him. He’d never been so “effected” before, even in his drunkest moments. Once Elain’s lips met his, his brain had shut down, nothing else mattered but the feel of skin on skin. His body needed release and acted on pure primal instinct.

And now, he had a decision to make. He could go home and lay it all out, slightly easing the guilt of holding in his greatest sin while completely and utterly destroying his mate.

Or, he could go home. Show his mate all of the love that he had been withholding for too long now, sweep her off her feet, take care of her and start opening up. Give her his all, even the ugly parts that he kept so deeply hidden.

Gods, she’d given him so many chances and he’d let her down at every turn. There were no excuses for the way he had treated her.

All she’d ever wanted was him, all of him, including those sides he’d never wanted her to see.

Now he could only go home and love her. Love her with everything he had and pray she believed it.

———————-

6 months after Y/N left

Azriel looked in a hallway mirror on his way to Rhysand’s study. Dark circles hallowed out his under eyes. The drink he’d had prior to flying down here did nothing to numb the violent ache within his heart. Would it ever quell? Would this puncture wound ever heal?

It wouldn’t. And he didn’t know if he wanted it to. He was a bastard and deserved every ounce of this isolated misery. Trapped in a prison of his own making. The ache in his chest a constant reminder of the love he’d squandered. And for what? A meaningless night with a pretty female. Had he not had enough of those nights in his life?

Not that Elain would speak to him. Though she had apologized, countless times. It didn’t matter. As far as he was concerned, he was the only one to blame. Occasionally he’d catch Lucien’s assessing glare, an infuriating blend of contempt and pity etched into his features. Azriel didn’t know which he hated more, he didn’t deserve pity.

Azriel’s skin had sallowed. Had he ever been this pale before? And the bargain tattoo on his arm. Fuck, he hated it. After his third attempt to infiltrate the Summer Court, Rhysand gave Azriel the option of a cell in the Hewn City or a bargain.

Ironically the bargain served as a prison of its own. He was not allowed to go anywhere near the Summer Court or communicate with Y/N in any way. The only method of communication he was able to find a loophole with was the tugs on the bond. He’d pull and pull, nothing.

If only he could try to explain, apologize, anything.

Breaking his gaze from the shell of a male in the mirror, Azriel stepped toward the study.

Cassian’s booming laugh barreled through the cracked open door.

“Trust me, Feyre will love it. I’m sure you guys could use a little spark at the end of the day. You’ll be rolling in the sheets all night.”

Rhys only chuckled.

Cassian continued, “Tastes nasty as hell though. Here’s an extra vial, just in case. The first time Nes and I tried it, it didn’t work. Not sure why.”

Azriel let out a huff, stepping into the study. Cassian and Rhys ceasing their conversation in his presence. They’d been painstakingly obvious in not talking about their mates or anything relationship related in front of him since his mate had left. He refused to speak to anyone about why she left, too embarrassed to admit to this bed of his own making. They knew it was his fault and that was all that mattered.

Azriel scowled. “You don’t have to stop talking about your mates just because I’m around.”

Cassian awkwardly raised his arm, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry brother. We just don’t want to make things harder for you than they have been.”

“Considerate.” Azriel sneered, jerking his head toward the vials. “What are those anyway?”

Cassian smirked, “Oh, just some aphrodisiac potions from a new apothecary in Velaris. Really powerful shit. Nes and I-“ Rhys elbowed Cassian. A warning to not take the conversation too far. They could talk of their happy relationships without absolutely rubbing Azriel’s face in it.

Cassian quieted for a moment before continuing. “It tastes gods awful but the payoff is totally worth it. Remember those shots we took after everyone left dinner several months ago? We mixed it into Nes and I’s glasses and didn’t notice the taste. Didn’t work either though. Must’ve been a dud. Lady at the shop gave us a replacement vial the next time we were in and…. well, let’s just say we keep it in stock at the House of Wind now.”

Azriel went preternaturally still. His shadows growing angry as he ground out, “The night you two did a parting shot with me and Elain?”

“Uh…… yeah?” Cassian replied.

And before Cassian could realize what he’d done, Azriel pummeled him. Hauling him out the study doors and onto the lawn, not even making it to the sparring ring before his fists met Cassian’s face - the two Illyrians disappearing into a frenzy of fists and feet and glowing siphons.

The only sound over the impact of their hits and feral growls was Cassian’s confused, booming voice. “What the FUCK, Az!?”

————————————————

A/N: I am sorry for giving you an entire chapter of Azriel and Elain content but I will make it up to you with fluffy Eris and reader content in the next chapter!!!

@going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @lisanna2000 @fxckmiup @sheblogs @emryb @one-big-fangirl @historygeekqueen @isa1b2h3 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @theravenphoenix26 @sidthedollface2 @i-am-infinite @caraaaaugh @evergreenlark @darkbloodsly @piceous21 @anxious-study @chessebookgirl @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @crazylokonugget @mysticalfuncollectorus @starsinyourseyes @b0xerdancer-writes @inloveallthetime

[the-kr8tor]

Movement

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word count: 3k

Summary: You see a familiar face during a protest.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, can be read as platonic, CW blood, TW violence, CW injury.

Octobie 🎸

Navigation

A/N: special thanks to @pleaktale and @thesevenofstaves!!

One second you were standing atop a cop car with your megaphone blasting while you yell at the armoured coppers below. People were rallying behind you with the same fervor you had, throat aching screams thrown at the opposition whilst banners and picket signs reign high. It was peaceful for the most part, there was no pushing or hitting on both ends, but then just one bright muzzle flash from the coppers, just one ego infested man with a gun was all it takes for chaos to reign.

Fire flies from above, curling its flames downward towards you and the crowd behind you.

With brave yells from your people that depicts all the hurt and anger for the corrupt and oppressive government— it became screams of terror as the kevlar-covered cowards marched forward. Pushing and shoving with their glimmering barrels pointed directly at them. The ear splitting sounds of gunfire and broken glass rings in your ears like a broken record. The air smells like ash and embers, and yet, your people don't back down from the violence brought about generations ago.

After a struggle, you stand arm and arm with them, you know every single face. On your right is your neighbour just across the street from your own place. And on your left is the bassist from a local band. All have stories to tell, and different lives lived, but you all stayed to fight for the same cause, to fight for what's right against the regime that never fought for you or the people who hold your arm in a tight yet shaking grip.

Smoke itches your eyes, soot covers your face as the coppers stand before you, armed to the teeth, wrapped in darkened armour against regular citizens bearing not a single weapon on them or kevlar covering their chest. Yet, they look at you behind their dark visors with fury and gritted teeth.

The car under your feet creaks as the fire cackles on the bridge, flames strategically scattered to keep you all away from your goal.

“Hold!” You yell, and everyone grips tightly to one another. One thousand strong, one thousand faces that are full of determination but with fear etched in their eyes.

Everyone has gathered to end tyranny with hope by their side as they assemble around the bridge that faces Osborn's building.

The armed men bring out their riot shields, banging it with their batons as if they would even need it when your side is the one left bleeding and burned.

You swallow thickly, inhaling the smoke filled air despite your mask as they march forward in their militaristic pace. Shields clang and boots thump simultaneously. You and everyone fighting for what's right holds on tight.

An impenetrable wall of defiance.

Glancing at the woman next to you, the same woman who watched you grow up before her very eyes— you falter when you see her tear stained cheeks.

“Hold on.” She says, palm sliding from your arm to your hand, squeezing you tightly.

You could only nod as you turned towards the marching. And in their eyes, you see fiery embers reflected, and you know they've broken the line drawn on the sand as a fire bomb comes whizzing upwards from somewhere in the tightly packed armour that quickly descends down on top of you.

You don't close your eyes nor let go, instead, you watch as the black ball twirls in the air— and for a moment, time stands still.

The weapon comes close to you until you can see the groves of the metal, and you see a reflection of yourself staring back with wide eyes.

Suddenly, as if fate itself willed you and your people to live another day— a web comes to existence, it's shaped like a hand grasping the bomb in its hold. And then as quickly as it came, it's gone in your sight as the stringy web tosses it back to where it came from.

An explosion blows you and the people around you backwards, throwing you off the car harshly. Eyes closed and arms raised in front of your face, your body doesn't hit the hard ground. An eruption blasts from up front, nearer this time, and you feel the heat of it above you. But you don't burn nor see the bright light behind your closed eyelids.

“I've got you.” A familiar voice says above you, strained and tired.

You open your eyes, and you see his gloved hand wrapped around your collar while he has flipped the car over to shield everyone from the bombs. All the while carrying the car with one hand, and at the same time saving everyone behind it.

“Holy shit, it's you!” The woman who was next to you says with hope. You turn to look at her laying on a soft laid out web to take the impact from her fall. “You okay?” Nodding briefly, you glance towards the others behind you, finding nothing but scratches and bruises on each of them as they help each other back on their feet.

You return your attention to his mask, it's ripped out from the side, suit singed and half burned, revealing his hazel eye to you. “I'm okay.” You repeat for him. Your hand bracelets around his wrist, thumb brushing along his pulse point, his heartbeat is fast, terrifyingly fast. “I'm okay, you can let me go.” You notice the scratches along his left leg, still fresh and oozing with crimson.

He sees your concerned look. “Fuckers had Rhino with them.” Smirking, he still has the energy to smile through the pain. “Now they don't. Sorry ‘m late.”

“And here I thought you were stuck in traffic.” You joke while he gently puts you down on the asphalt.

He exhales sharply with a gentle smile that you can see through his mask that tugs around the corners. “‘m ‘ere now, we can do this together.”

“Together.”

Spider-Man, you've known him for years. You run in the same crowd as him, and even befriended him after he saved you from a thug who stole a box of donations from your hands. After that, you two got close. Friends even. He volunteers at F.E.A.S.T whenever he can or when he has a quiet patrol, always wearing his spiked costume, guitar at the ready but not without a smile hidden underneath his mask. He's either helping out with the kids, or with dinner in the kitchen with you and the others that always ends up with laughter. You're thankful for him and what he has given to the community, but right now as he holds up the car on his back with increasing weakness from his injuries, he's the one who needs everyone's help.

“We need to help him! Hold!” You stand up, a bit wobbly on your feet but once you place your shoulder against the heated metal, a new fire sets a blaze inside everyone's hearts.

Everyone behind you and the leather clad vigilante pushes the car down strenuously. With all the help gathered, the car crashes down on the road with its windows shattered and its once blue paint burned to darkened ashes. Flames still lick from under it, embers curling at your boots as he pushes you back and right next to him.

“Do you have a plan?” You ask, fists clenched.

“Thought you had one?” He teases.

A ghost of a smile passes by your lips. But before you could reply to him, he leaps up into the air and over the burning car. Landing effortlessly, he stands to his full height with his cherry red guitar slung over his back. You can see the sticker you contributed on the guitar, it's a rainbow peace sign that sits next to a pair of boots. He once joked about it being too on the nose, which you then threw a chopped carrot at his mask. You still remember how the whites of his mask widend before he fought back with a piece of crumpled tissue thrown at your cheek.

Your heartbeat thumps loudly against your chest, a thudding sound akin to the beat of war drums. He seems to hear it as he looks over his shoulder and through the blazing fire just to gaze at you. Flames dance in the reflection of his brilliant eyes, orange hues twisting and curling around his form as you meet with his eyes. One masked and one that reveals himself to you. He looks other worldly in your vision as the flames seem to embrace him fully in all his spikes and leather. It doesn't singe him nor eat and burn away at him, it's as if he's used to the flames.

For one moment, you saw his very soul bared to you.

“Take cover,” is the only thing he said to you.

Turning back around, facing an entire army of armed men, he takes his guitar from his back. The same guitar he plays for the children at F.E.A.S.T, the same guitar he once taught you how to play a few chords of. And it'll be the same guitar that will put an end to years of tyranny.

He raises his arm, the silver pick in between his fingers shining in the firelight. In that moment, fire could bring hope too, not just to destroy, but to rebuild what has been destroyed.

Breath staggered in your throat, you covered your ears. Unable to look away from him. Running footsteps muffled under your palms, wind rushing towards you like a gust of hurricane. And with no time to take cover, you kneel down, cowering behind the car just as when a bright light appears in your vision. The loud guitar riff splits the ground, almost bursting your eardrums. Then the light from the blast blinds you into unconsciousness from the sheer power he alone emanated.

—

You crack open your eyes to blue skies, and the rough pavement scratching from under you. There's still smoke in the air, and shattered glass all over the ground. Your ears ring, eyes hazy as you blink away the white spots dancing in your iris. A warm hand wraps around your bicep, voice fading in and out as it calls for you.

Turning your head towards the voice, you see an old friend staring back at you. “M-May? What happened?” Your voice is hoarse like you've inhaled a pack of cigarettes worth of smoke.

“You blacked out—”

“Where is he?” You remember what transpired. Panic sets in your heavy chest, remembering how he stood alone in front of many. You should've helped him, done more despite your lack of special abilities unlike his own. Tears well up in your eyes as you see what's in front of you.

A dark ashen car, or what's left of it still sits in the middle of the bridge. Scorch marks in the shape of sun rays are left burned on the asphalt. But you don't see him anywhere, not even a sign that he was right there in front of you was left behind. You see that you're a few ways behind the car than before, maybe someone helped you, or you flew back from the blast. You don't care enough to know when he could be hurt, or worse.

You grab her arms desperately, chest heaving, hands trembling. “Is he okay?” Her mouth parts but the sound of determined shouts echo from the front of the bridge. You squint your eyes to see clearer with hope that you get to see him within the gathering crowd.

Your entire faction lays waste to Osborn's gilded tower. His men have left him, and some have either surrendered or fled by jumping over the bridge and into the freezing waters. Windows break, and fire breaks out on the other side. But your banners fly high above it all. His oppressive regime is gone, and the people have triumphed.

You've won, but where is he?

“May,” you stagger up to your feet despite her protests. You now notice that you and May aren't the only people left on the bridge. In the far end, there's a small crowd circling around something. Or someone. “Is h–he?” Someone moves to the left and you see his iconic boots on the floor, unmoving. “No!”

“You need to rest! You hit your head—!” She holds your arm, but your adrenaline pushes you to tug away from her careful grasp.

“He's hurt!” You wobble towards the crowd, with every step feels like you're walking on hot coals as pain flares up around your ankle. “He needs h–help.” Weakly, you push people to make way. May surrenders and lets you go, even helping you move past the crowd.

“He looks like he's the same age as my son.” Someone said tearfully.

“He's just a kid.” A woman utters regretfully.

“Why aren't you helping him?!” You yell at them, yanking your mask away to breathe properly.

Slowly, you see pieces of him. Someone seems to hold his hand, the spider on his chest is now all tattered, revealing angry marks on his skin. Gasping, you finally make it to his side, and you fall to your knees harshly.

“What are we going to do now?” One asks through a broken tone.

You give him a once over, his suit is marred by dark ashes. The bright hue of the spandex is no more. Eyes roaming up, you see his unmasked face. There's no trace of the mask left anywhere on his face. From his jaw up to his brows, it all seems familiar. You cry when you realize who he is.

“H–Hobie?” You've known him far longer than you thought.

The same old woman who was next to you lets go of his hand and places it atop your own. His skin is cold.

You shake your head with tears in your eyes. “I should've known, you idiot.” All the days that he disappeared from your side, it all pieces back together to this moment.

Sliding your hand down to his wrist, you tearfully kiss his knuckles. Guilt eats at you, you wish that he'd open his eyes once again and everything will be alright. “We did it,” you whisper against his skin. “We did it so please wake up so you can see.” You hold his hand against your chest, careful not to aggravate his injuries whilst trying to warm him up.

You feel his pulse thump quietly against your thumb. Hope ignites within you. “Hobie?” Scooching closer, you place your ear atop his chest. Closing your eyes, you hear his heartbeat. “He's alive!” You perk up, grinning in astonishment. Looking up at everyone, you instruct them. “Go get a doctor, a nurse or whoever—!”

“You're loud.” His gravelly voice cuts you off, hand closing around your own slowly.

Your neck snaps towards him lightning quick, gasping at his tired yet awake expression. “I–I should say that to you with your fucking guitar blast. I swear it was nuclear energy.”

“Nah, not even close.” He weakly grasps your hand as cheers erupt around you. “I would know, love.”

“You were on the brink of death and you're still cheeky.” Your wobbling lips peck each of his warming fingers.

His hazel eyes glimmer in the sun, a smile etched on his lips. “We did it?”

You nod, “we did, because of you.”

“I only helped a bit.”

“A bit?!” Someone answers for you. You recognize him as the guy who owns the local convenience store. “You have no idea, son. You're the spark that we needed.”

Hobie chuckles, but winces when a wave of pain washes over him. “I think I broke a rib, or several.”

“Someone already ran to get you help, Hobie.” You say as you loom over him, hand gently cupping his cheek.

His eyes widen for a second before softening. “I take it my mask is gone?”

“More like disintegrated.” You joke light-heartedly. “Your secret’s safe with us, don't worry.”

He reaches for the back of your hand, fingers still shaking but once he holds your hand properly, the trembling stops. His eyes look at you tenderly above the haze of pain. All the aches and gashes he attained are nothing compared to the satisfaction of triumph.

“I trust you.” He whispers to you, thumb brushing along your own pulse point. Sighing, he glances towards the crowd looking on. “I don't trust that bloke though.”

The same man who answered him before guffaws loudly. Everyone follows suit with their own amused laughter.

“I'll keep your secret, Spider-Man.” May says next to you. “My nephew needs someone like you around. I'd like to keep it that way.”

Hobie nods appreciatively at her.

“Same here,” the convenience store man says, fist placed above his heart. “I'll take it to my grave, son.”

Voices echo around the bridge as every person in that crowd promises the same thing.

Hobie grins despite his cut lip, locking eyes with you as ambulance sirens can be heard a few blocks away. He grips tighter around your hand, warmth fully coming back to his body.

“Thank you,” you sniff, your hands never letting him go as tears ebb away from his shining eyes. Taking your mask from your neck, you offer it to him before the ambulance gets to the bridge.

Hobie reaches for it, bunching it up in his grip, eyes never leaving your own. With a nod from him, you help him put it on before everyone helps him get in the ambulance. All the while never leaving him as he silently asks you to stay with him all the way. And you wordlessly promise to him that you'll never leave as long as he wants you to stay by his side.

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