I give in I panicked after the what happened on the live and took everything down but ive started really missing it and ive decided I dont care Im going to write it anyway whether anybody reads it or not lol
The following few days felt like living inside a glitch. I stayed in Charlie’s guest room, the space slowly filling with the scent of my perfume and the soft thump-thump of Echo jumping off the bed. I spent most of my time staring at my phone, watching the London group chat ping with life. It was a world I felt increasingly distant from, yet it was the only thing keeping me grounded.
James had been a powerhouse of support, but it was Will’s messages that I found myself returning to. They weren't heavy or demanding; they were just… Will.
Will: Just saw your Instagram story. You look like you’ve been through it. Drink some water, have a snack. I’m here if you need anything, Rosie. No pressure to reply, just letting you know that I am open for business if you need a vent. x
I smiled at my screen, the first real smile in forty-eight hours. There was something about the way Will spoke direct, a bit cheeky, but inherently kind that cut through the mental fog Morgan had left behind.
But I couldn’t leave Manchester with things hanging by a thread. I owed myself the finality of a clean break.
I text Morgan to meet me at a small, popular coffee shop in the Northern Quarter. I chose it specifically because it was loud and crowded; Morgan wouldn't make a scene in public.
When I arrived, he was already there, sitting with a latte and looking impatient. He looked up and forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Finally. You ready to come home? I’ve cleared a space in the kitchen for your... charts, if that makes you feel better."
I sat down, not ordering anything. I felt a strange sense of detachment, as if I were watching this scene play out from a balcony.
"I’m not coming back, Morgan."
He laughed, a sharp, dismissive sound.
"Right. Because of one fight? Don't be dramatic, Rosie. I told you, I’m willing to help you manage your stuff. We just need to get you on a stricter schedule."
"I was at the house yesterday," I said, my voice steady. "I heard you talking to Beano. I heard you call me a toddler. I heard you say you were 'firm' with me because I need discipline."
Morgan’s face paled for a fraction of a second before hardening into a scowl. "You were eavesdropping? See, that’s exactly what I mean. The lack of boundaries"
"The lack of respect," I interrupted. "You don't think I have ADHD, Morgan. You think I have a character flaw. You think if you just 'parent' me enough, I’ll magically become the person you want me to be. But this is who I am. My brain is wired this way. And the fact that you think I’m a burden to be managed instead of a partner to be loved... that’s why we’re done."
"You're making a mistake," Morgan said, leaning forward, his voice dropping. "Who else is going to put up with the chaos? The lost keys, the half-finished projects, the mood swings? You think you’re little friends like Will or James are going to want to deal with that when the novelty wears off?"
The mention of my friends made my blood run cold, but it also solidified my resolve.
"They already do deal with it. And they’ve never made me feel like I’m 'too much.' Only you did that."
I stood up, my legs feeling like jelly, but my heart feeling strangely light. "I'm staying at Charlie's until I figure things out. Don't call me again. We are done, Morgan."
I walked out of the café without looking back. As soon as the cool Manchester air hit my face, I leaned against a brick wall and let out a sob that was half-grief and half-relief. It was over. The Manchester experiment, the relationship, the version of myself that tried to shrink to fit into Morgan's narrow expectations, it was all gone.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Will: Just checking in. Hope the 'talk' didn't go too sideways. If you need a distraction, I’m currently arguing with Mikey about whether a Jaffa Cake is a cake or a biscuit and I need a professional opinion. Team Cake is losing. Help.
I wiped my eyes, a shaky laugh escaping me. I started typing, my thumbs moving fast.
Me: It’s a cake, Will. It goes hard when it’s stale. Biscuits go soft. Also... I broke up with him. It’s officially over.
The reply was almost instant.
Will: Good. You deserve someone who knows the difference between a cake and a biscuit, and someone who knows exactly how lucky they are to have you. Hang in there, pet. The best is yet to come.
I tucked my phone away, looking up at the grey sky. For the first time in months, the grey didn't feel oppressive. It felt like a blank canvas.
The guest room was too quiet. After months of Ginge’s heavy sighs whenever I dropped a fork or the sharp click of him closing a door to signal his annoyance, the silence of Charlie’s flat felt like a physical weight.
I sat cross-legged on the bed, buried under a duvet that smelled of fabric softener and "not-mine." My brain was doing that thing where it replayed the cafe confrontation on a loop, but with a cruel director’s cut adding in all the things I should have said, and magnifying every word he did say.
Toddler. Disciplining. Lazy.
A soft knock at the door made me flinch. Charlie poked his head in, looking cautious. “Tea’s up. And I found the stash of chocolate biscuits you like. The ones with the extra caramel.”
“You’re a saint, Charlie,” I managed, my voice sounding like it had been scraped over gravel.
I followed him into the living room. The flat was warm, lit only by the amber glow of a floor lamp and the blue standby light of his PlayStation. He handed me a mug, a chipped one with a cartoon dinosaur on it, and I sank into the corner of his velvet sofa.
“So,” Charlie said, sitting in the armchair and leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “He didn’t take the break up well, then?”
I took a shaky sip of the tea. It was perfect. “He told me I was making a mistake. He said no one else would put up with me. That he was doing me a favor by ‘managing’ my ADHD.” I looked down at the swirling amber liquid. “He thinks I’m a project, Charlie. Not a person. A broken project he was tired of fixing.”
Charlie winced, a look of genuine pain crossing his face. “God, Rosie. I’ve known Ginge for a while now, but that... that’s grim. He’s always been a bit of a control freak, but I didn't think he’d weaponize your own brain against you.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, the guilt finally hitting me. “I’ve made everything so awkward for you. I moved into your spare room, I’ve strained the friendship between you and one of your best mates, and I’m just... I’m a mess. I’m a burden. I’m exactly what he said I was.”
“Hey.” Charlie’s voice was uncharacteristically stern. He waited until I looked up. “Look at me. You are not a burden. You’re my friend. And honestly? I’ve hated seeing you shrink these last few months. You used to be the loudest, funniest person in the room, and lately, you’ve been acting like you’re trying to turn into wallpaper so he won’t notice you’ve breathed too loud.”
He reached over and nudged my foot with his. “If being your friend means I have to tell Ginge to buck up sometimes, then I’m fine with that. You stay here as long as you need. Seriously. Hide out, eat my biscuits, let Echo scratch my rugs. I don’t care.”
The tightness in my chest loosened just a fraction. “Thank you. I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me.”
“Because you’re my friend,” he said simply. “And because you're having a rough go of it.”
We sat there for an hour, the lo-fi beats from his TV filling the gaps in our conversation. He started telling me stories about the first few weeks I’d moved to Manchester, the "honeymoon phase." He reminded me of the time we got lost trying to find that underground bar and I ended up leading us into a literal construction site because I got distracted by a cool-looking mural.
“You were so convinced it was a ‘speakeasy aesthetic,’” Charlie laughed, shaking his head. “We were standing in a pile of gravel and you were like, ‘No, look at the industrial lighting!’”
I giggled, a real, bubbling sound that felt foreign in my chest. “In my defense, the crane looked very modern.”
“It was a crane, Rosie. A literal crane.”
For a moment, the heavy cloud of the breakup lifted. But as the laughter died down, my eyes wandered to the window. The Manchester skyline was beautiful, but it felt like a costume I didn't fit into anymore. Every street corner held a memory of a fight, a criticism, or a moment where I’d felt "less than."
“I can’t stay here, Charlie,” I said softly, staring at the dinosaur on my mug.
“I told you, you can stay as long as”
“No, I mean... in Manchester,” I clarified. I looked at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I need to go home. I need London. I need to be around people who... who don't think my brain is a problem to be solved.”
Charlie nodded slowly, a sad but knowing smile reaching his eyes. “I figured you’d end up saying that. You’ve got that look in your eye. The ‘I’m about to do something impulsive but right’ look.”
“Is it impulsive?”
“Maybe. But staying here would be a slow death, wouldn't it?”
He was right.
Later, after Charlie had gone to bed, I lay under the covers with Echo curled into the crook of my arm. My mind was racing, a million thoughts competing for space, where I was going to go? who I could ask for help?But one name kept surfacing like a buoy in a storm.
Will.
I looked at the clock. 1:14 AM. My thumb hovered over his name in my contacts. I knew he’d be awake, he was either editing, filming, or spiraling down a YouTube rabbit hole about obscure internet mysteries.
I took a deep breath, the air feeling cold and sharp in my lungs. I didn't want to be a burden, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was allowed to ask for help.
Hey! I’m looking for a small group of beta readers for my debut novel "Say It Was Real" its a new adult contemporary romance.🖤🏒
This is a story about falling for someone you never meant to… and what happens when it starts to feel real in a way you can’t undo
The Vibe:
Quiet girl x College Hockey Captain, sharp banter, slow burn tension, late-night conversations, and the kind of connection that sneaks up on you before it breaks you
Tropes:
• Jock x Guarded Girl
• He falls first and harder
• Opposites attract
• Found family
• Enemies to lovers
• Slow burn
• Emotional, character-driven romance
Content Notes:
• 🔥🔥 Spice (slow-build, open door)
• Strong language
• Shemes of trust, betrayal, and emotional fallout
What I’m Looking For:
Honest feedback on characters, pacing, emotional impact, and whether the romance feels real, earned, and hurts in the right way
What You’ll Get:
• Early access to the full manuscript
• My endless gratitude
• The chance to scream about the characters with me (and recover together)
if this sounds like your kind of read, send me a message or reply to this post, i’d love to have you 🖤
Okay, so here is the full chapter. Please give me some feedback it's my first time writing smut, and although I do LOVE reading it, I don't think I'm that good at writing it. So, please let me know guys.
Warning. SMUT. PinV. MDNI
2k words
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The bedroom door didn't just open; it detonated. The frame groaned as the wood smacked against the spring stopper with a violent, echoing crack that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up. I jumped back from Moose so fast I nearly tripped over his rug, my heart performing a frantic, irregular drumbeat against my ribs.
Standing there was Will.
He looked like he'd just sprinted a marathon through a war zone. His hair, usually styled with that effortless "just rolled out of bed" look, was a wild, windblown mess. His chest was heaving, his hoodie pulled taut across his broad shoulders, and his eyes, dark and burning, were locked onto mine with a terrifying intensity. He looked absolutely, categorically unhinged.
"Moose, what the fuck, man?!" Will's voice was a low growl that vibrated through the floorboards.
I stared at him, my mouth slightly agape. I hadn't even found my voice before he was stepping into the room, his gaze snapping between the two of us like he was looking for a reason to throw a punch.
"Rosie?!" he added, his voice cracking with a mix of fury and something that sounded suspiciously like panic. "She's off limits, Moose! What are you doing?"
"Off limits?" I cut in, the indignation rising up to meet my shock. I crossed my arms over my chest, my chin tilting up in defiance. "Excuse me? Since when am I a piece of restricted territory?"
Moose, who hadn't moved an inch, let out a slow, rumbling laugh that seemed to fill the room. He didn't look threatened. He looked like he was watching his favorite comedy special.
"Bro, relax your jaw before you break a tooth," Moose said, his voice a calm contrast to Will's storm. "It's not like that. Put the claws away. She needed the bathroom because Miller is currently blowing chunks in the one downstairs, and I wasn't going to let her wait in line for that crime scene."
I stepped forward, mirroring Moose's calm with a healthy dose of irritation. "I just needed to pee, Will. And I needed five minutes without someone's sweaty elbow in my ribs."
Moose threw Will a pointed, heavy look. "And, if we're being honest, you ditched her for a puck bunny."
The silence that followed was thick. Will's expression faltered, the sheer, blinding rage flickering into confusion. "A what?"
"A puck bunny," I repeated, emphasizing each syllable with a twist of my lips. "The blonde one. The one who seemed to think your bicep was a permanent armrest."
Will blinked, his shoulders dropping just an inch as the adrenaline began to recede. "I didn't ditch you, Rosie. I was being polite for exactly thirty seconds. I got rid of her the moment you walked away. I spent the last ten minutes scouring the kitchen and the deck trying to find you."
Something in my chest, that tight, jagged knot of annoyance, loosened. Just a fraction.
"You can imagine my shock and horror," Will added, dragging a frantic hand through his hair, "when Mikey tells me he saw Moose 'taking the girl upstairs.' My brain went to a very dark place very quickly."
I let out a soft, involuntary chuckle. The image of Will frantically sprinting through the house because he thought Moose was "stealing" me was objectively ridiculous. "Yeah... okay. I can see how that wouldn't look great from the outside."
"No," Will muttered, his eyes softening as they settled on me. "It didn't look great at all."
The tension in the room shifted. It wasn't gone, but it had morphed from something volatile into something quieter, something much more intimate. I held his gaze, and for the first time all night, I felt like he was actually there.
"I'm sorry," Will said, his voice dropping to a low, sincere register. "I've been wanting to talk to you all night. I've been trying to get you alone since we got here, and I haven't had a single moment of peace."
I looked at him, really looked at him, and felt the last of my anger evaporate. "Well," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "We have peace now."
A heavy, meaningful silence settled over us. It was the kind of quiet that made you aware of your own heartbeat.
Moose let out a loud, theatrical cough, breaking the spell. "Right. Fascinating as this is, I'd like my room back. If you two want to have your quiet 'conversation,' go do it in your own room, Will. I have a date with a bag of chips and a pillow."
I laughed, feeling a flush of heat rise to my cheeks as I stepped toward the door. "Bossy," I teased.
"Very," Moose replied with a wink.
The hallway was a different world. The music from downstairs was a muffled throb, and the air was cooler. Will led me across the hall to a door with a heavy deadbolt. He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked it, glancing at me with a ghost of a smirk.
"Off limits," he murmured, nodding toward the interior. "This room is strictly a no-party zone. It's the only way I stay sane."
I stepped inside. Will's room was a reflection of him. I sat on the edge of his bed, my hands gripping the duvet. Will remained standing by the door, his silhouette tall and imposing in the dim light. He looked at me for a long time before he spoke.
"Listen, Rosie. I'm sorry I went nuclear," he started, running his hand through his hair again. "But that... that drove me crazy tonight. The thought of you disappearing up here with Moose, or any guy for that matter. I couldn't breathe."
I sat up straighter, my heart hammering. "I wasn't disappearing with a guy, Will. I was trying to find a second of air. I felt like I was invisible out there while that girl was hanging off you. It was suffocating."
The honesty of the statement hung in the air, raw and exposed. Will froze. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he processed what I'd said.
"Short Stack," he said slowly, a small, dangerous grin beginning to tug at the corner of his mouth. "Were you jealous?"
My stomach did a violent somersault. "No. No! I told you, I was just irritated. People kept cutting us off, and I was tired of being interrupted."
Will moved, crossing the room in two long strides and sitting down on the edge of the bed next to me. He was so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body.
"You were jealous," he insisted, his voice a playful purr.
"I was not-"
"You were," he said, and then, before I could protest, he reached out and poked me sharply in the ribs.
I let out a startled yelp, twisting away. "Will! Don't!"
"You do like me," he teased, poking me again. I was notoriously ticklish, and he'd clearly found my weakness.
"Will, stop! I swear to god!" I was laughing now, a genuine, breathless sound as I tried to bat his hands away. We were scuffling on the bed, my legs tangling with his as I tried to escape his reach. "Stop it! I'm going to kick you!"
"Say it first," he challenged, his face inches from mine as he pinned my wrists lightly against the mattress. "Say you were jealous."
"Never!" I gasped, my face aching from smiling.
"You were jealous," he whispered, his voice suddenly losing its playfulness.
He stopped moving. The ticking of a clock on his bedside table was the only sound in the room. I was pinned beneath him, my chest heaving, my hair a wild halo against his pillows. I looked up at him, the laughter dying in my throat, replaced by something much heavier and much more urgent.
His eyes dropped to my lips.
"I was," I whispered.
He didn't wait. He leaned down and kissed me, and it was like an explosion.
It wasn't a tentative kiss. It was a collision. It was hot, steamy, and desperate, the kind of kiss that felt like it had been building for months. My hands found his hair, pulling him closer, my body arching into his as the fire in my gut flared into a full-blown inferno.
Will's hand wove into my hair, angling my head for more depth, his other palm settling on my waist, squeezing the dip. I matched his heat, tongue delving into his mouth, catching the hint of beer blended with his own taste, raw and heady. We broke for breath, but he surged back, teeth grazing my lower lip before his tongue soothed it with a languid stroke.
"God, Rosie," he rasped against my lips, voice gravelly with want. "I've craved this all night."
I nodded, breath catching as his hand slipped under my shirt, skin to skin, gliding up to palm my breast over the bra. "Me too," I breathed, bowing into his grasp.
With smooth confidence, Will peeled my shirt off, flinging it away, then snapped my bra open, letting it drop. His eyes heated as he drank in my bare breasts, nipples tightening in the room's chill. He bent, mouth latching onto one, sucking hard while his tongue lashed the tip. I moaned, nails biting into his shoulders, sparks racing down to my core.
He worked my breasts with expert focus, switching sides, sucking, licking, nipping soft, pulling gasps and whines from me. His skill shone in every calculated touch, stoking the fire slow and sure. I pressed into him, hands mapping his back, spurring him further, my own drive matching his precision. I don’t know when he took his shirt off, but im glad he did.
Will's lips ventured down, pressing kisses over my belly as he popped my jeans, easing them off with my panties in one go. I reclined on the bed, thighs parting on instinct as he knelt between, his breath teasing my skin. "You're soaked already," he rumbled, fingers spreading me open to bare my clit.
His tongue flattened, lapping up my core in a broad swipe, savoring my wetness. I arched, a sharp yelp breaking free as he swirled his tongue around my clit, then drew it between his lips with gentle suction. His grip steadied my hips, mixing long licks with pulls, plunging lower to shove his tongue into my pussy, thrusting shallow and insistent. I rocked against him, moans swelling as tension twisted in my gut.
"Will... oh fuck," I panted, fingers twisting in his hair, the other fisting the sheets. He slipped a finger inside, curling to graze that inner ridge that lit me up. Then two, driving in rhythm while his mouth battered my clit without mercy. My body thrashed under his command, and climax hit like a wave, ripping a wail from me as my walls pulsed around his fingers, flooding with release.
He eased off through the tremors, trailing kisses up my frame while stripping his remaining clothes. His cock emerged, thick and rigid, veins throbbing as he gave it a single pump, gaze fixed on mine. I reached out, hand encircling his shaft, stroking with curious pressure. I lacked his finesse, but my hunger compensated, tight squeezes blending with experimental turns that drew deep groans from him.
"Condom?" I murmured, though my body screamed for him bare.
He snatched one from the drawer, sheathing himself swift before nudging my entrance. "Say if it's too much," he said, tone thick, but I shook my head, drawing him into another kiss.
Will eased in gradual, stretching me inch by inch, my pussy yielding to his girth, snug and eager. I gasped at the stretch, nails raking his back as I settled, legs hooking his waist to pull him deeper. Fully buried, he held still, letting me adjust, then rocked, gentle at first, forging a beat that pulled moans from us both.
He excelled, hips tilting to rub my clit on every plunge, his cock spearing deep. I countered his drives, lifting to take him full, raw instinct guiding me despite my inexperience, clenching around him in ways that tested his restraint. Sweat beaded our skin as he accelerated, slamming harder, the bed groaning in protest.
"Fuck, you feel amazing" he grunted, arm braced by my head, fingers tweaking my nipple as he hammered home. I cried out, the mix hurtling me toward the edge, my pussy quivering.
In a surge of daring, I rolled us, claiming the top, impaling myself on his cock again. I rode with wild zeal, grinding fierce, tits jiggling as I chased the rhythm. Will's hands clamped my ass, steering me, thumbs parting my cheeks while he bucked up to match.
The space echoed with flesh smacking flesh, our shared cries, the slick drag of his cock through my pussy. It surged quick, overwhelming, for me, a revelation of bliss, for him, evident in his unraveling grip. He rose, arms banding me close, mouth sucking marks on my neck as he pistoned upward, his poise cracking into pure urge.
"Come with me," he ordered, fingers zeroing on my clit, circling tight. I broke first, ecstasy tearing through with a scream, pussy vise gripping him. Will chased right after, burying deep as he erupted, flooding the condom with a raw bellow, shudders wracking him.
We tumbled down, breaths ragged, limbs tangled in the haze. Will pressed a kiss to my brow, holding me tight."That was... incredible," he whispered.
I grinned against his chest, voice hushed. "Yeah. Mind blowing."
Guys, I wrote my first smut... I don’t know if it's any good... Should I post it here and yous can give me some feedback on it? It's for my book, so its like original mmc and fmc BUT the mmc is called Will... So I'm thinking I'll just post it and see how it goes lol
Hey guys! Sorry for being so quiet on here recently! I have a good reason I promise. I am writing a book! And I'm looking for some beta reader? 👀
So if you’re into spicy sports romance with some angst and Grump x Sunshine energy. Enemies to lovers and some good old fashioned smut please come and give it a read and give me your honest feedback!
I'm publishing chapters 1 - 7 today! So take a step into the world of Crestwood University with me! Here!
A/N Will is 30 now, woah. I Won't say too much because I am not far behind him lol. Wee fic for his Birthday x
The clip finds you the way most bad things do.
Casually.
You’re on the sofa, half watching something you’re not really paying attention to, scrolling without purpose. Someone tags you in a TikTok.
You tap it.
There he is. Leaned back in the studio chair. Hoodie sleeves pushed up. Relaxed. Comfortable. Laughing.
The set of The Fellas Podcast looks warm. Familiar. Easy.
Cal’s voice comes through your speakers.
“Where do you see yourself in like five years? Still grafting YouTube or are we talking wife, kids, settling down?”
You smile faintly. You remember him telling you he was filming this. He’d come home after, kissed your cheek, stolen chips off your plate.
Chip laughs. “I can’t imagine you as a dad. You’d roast your kid for crying.”
More laughter. And then Will shrugs. Smiles.
“I’m not settling down anytime soon. I’ve got way too much I want to do first. Can't be held back like that.”
The room keeps laughing. They move on. You don’t.
The clip ends. It’s ridiculous how quiet the flat feels after that. Not settling down anytime soon. Holding him back.
It wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t cruel. He didn’t say he didn’t want you. He just… didn’t include you.
You replay it once. Just to be sure you didn’t mishear. Same tone. Same shrug. Like it was obvious.
Your chest tightens in a slow, creeping way. Not sharp. Not explosive. Just heavy.
Two years.
Two years of toothbrushes at each other’s places. Of soft “one day” conversations about dogs. Of him saying, “When we’ve got more space.”
You’d never asked for a ring.
You’d just assumed when he pictured “settling down,” you were standing somewhere in that frame.
Apparently you weren't.
---
He doesn’t realise anything is wrong when he gets home. He lets himself in, calls your name lightly. You’re in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, phone face down beside you.
“Alright?” he asks, toeing off his trainers.
“Yeah.” Your voice is steady. Too steady. “Good podcast?”
He pauses. There it is.
“You saw it.”
You don’t answer straight away. Just pick up your phone, unlock it, and turn the screen toward him.
The clip.
He watches himself say it. And you see it happen in real time. The shift. The way his jaw tightens slightly. The flicker of recognition.
“Oh.”
You swallow. “Is that how you see it?”
“It’s not what I meant.”
“But it’s what you said.”
There’s no accusation in your voice. That’s what makes it worse.
He runs a hand through his hair. “They were talking about, like, kids and all that. I just meant I’m not slowing down yet.”
“I didn’t ask if you were slowing down.”
Silence.
You look at him properly now.
“When you picture your future,” you say softly, “am I there? Or am I just holding you down?”
That’s the moment the air changes. Because it’s not dramatic. It’s not a fight. It’s a genuine question. And he realises with a jolt that he’s never actually said it out loud.
“Of course you're there,” he says immediately. "You don't hold me down!"
“But you didn’t say that.”
“I didn’t think I had to.”
You let out a small breath. “I didn’t think you had to either. Until I watched that.”
He steps closer, cautious, like you’re something fragile he might mishandle.
“I panicked,” he admits. “They said settling down and my brain just went marriage, kids, suburbia. I wasn’t thinking about us. I was thinking about pace.”
“And we’re not part of that pace?”
“We are.” His voice sharpens, then softens again. “You are.”
You fold your arms loosely, not defensive, just holding yourself together.
“It didn’t sound like it.”
He exhales slowly.
“I’ve always seen settling down as… stopping. Like planting myself somewhere and not moving.”
“And you don’t want that.”
“Not yet,” he says honestly.
The word yet hangs between you.
“And where do I fit into that?” you ask.
He looks genuinely frustrated with himself now.
“I don’t see you as the thing that stops me,” he says. “I see you as the person I build it all with.”
You blink.
He steps closer again.
“When I say I’m not settling down anytime soon, I don’t mean I don’t want you. I mean I don’t want to shrink my world yet. And I don’t want you shrinking yours either.”
“That’s not what it sounded like.”
“I know.” His voice drops. “I know.”
The quiet stretches. You stare at the floor for a moment before speaking again.
“I don’t need or want a proposal tomorrow, Will. I just needed to know that when you talk about the future, I’m not… optional.”
That lands. Hard.
“You’re not optional,” he says immediately.
“But that clip felt like I was.”
He closes the distance fully now, hands hovering at your waist but not touching yet. Like he’s waiting for permission.
“You are the only person I picture when I think about doing this long term,” he says carefully. “I just didn’t articulate it because I’m an idiot who defaults to independence when I’m put on the spot.”
You almost smile at that.
“Independence is fine,” you murmur. “Just not at the cost of us.”
“It’s not.” His thumb brushes lightly against your sleeve. “When I imagine five years, I see bigger projects. Maybe different cities. More chaos.”
A beat.
“But you’re there. In all of it.”
Your throat tightens.
“You should’ve said that.”
“I know.”
Another pause.
“And for the record,” he adds quietly, “settling down doesn’t scare me because of you. It scares me because I don’t want to lose momentum. Those are different things.”
You study his face.
“Then next time,” you say gently, “make the difference clear.”
He nods once.
“I will.”
You don’t rush into his arms. You don’t dramatically cry. You just step into him slowly. He exhales when you do, like he’s been holding his breath since he walked through the door.
“I’m not in a rush to trap you,” you murmur against his chest.
“Good. Because I’d be terrible in a trap.”
You huff a faint laugh despite yourself.
“But,” you continue, “I am in a rush to feel chosen.”
He tightens his hold slightly.
“You are,” he says firmly. “Every day. I just need to get better at saying it.”
You pull back enough to look at him. He doesn’t hesitate this time.
“You’re in my future.”
Simple. Clear. No shrug. No joke. And somehow that feels more solid than any grand speech ever could. Outside, the internet keeps debating a fifteen-second clip. Inside, the version that matters is quieter. And far more certain.
Writing fan fiction is so funny because I have no clue if I’m using correct grammar. If something looks off I just throw in a dash or a semicolon and hope for the best. I don’t know if it actually belongs there, I just try to use context clues and vibes
The house felt smaller once the choice was made. Not physically, the rooms were the same, the lights still warm, but emotionally. Like something heavy had finally been set down, and now there was space where it used to sit.
People moved more slowly that morning. Conversations drifted instead of colliding. Even Joe, miraculously, seemed subdued.
We were called into the main room just after lunch.
No dramatic music. No countdown. Just everyone gathering when asked, mugs abandoned half-full, bodies slumping into the sofas like they already knew this wasn’t going to be fun.
Josh stood front and centre, clipboard in hand.
“Alright,” he said. “We’re nearing the end now.”
A quiet ripple went through the room.
“This vote matters,” Simon added. “It’s not about big moves anymore. It’s about who stays with you until the end.”
I felt Ginge’s knee brush mine, accidental, grounding.
Josh continued. “This will be a house vote. Anonymous. Majority rules.”
No one spoke. That said enough.
---
The First Vote
We voted in silence, one by one. The interview room felt different this time, heavier, more final. No jokes. No smirks at the camera. Just decisions.
When we returned, JJ waited until everyone was seated before speaking.
“Alright,” he said. “First person leaving the house tonight…”
A pause.
“…is Specs.”
Specs blinked once. Then laughed.
“No way,” he said, standing up. “Fair. Absolutely fair.”
There was a collective exhale, relief mixed with affection. He hugged people as he passed them, clapped Joe on the shoulder, saluted the room.
“Love you lot,” he said. “Even you,” he added, pointing at JJ. “Barely.”
When he left, the door closed softly behind him. The space he’d filled didn’t rush to close.
---
The Second Vote
Josh didn’t wait long.
“Second person leaving tonight…”
Another pause.
“…is Fanum.”
Fanum nodded immediately, already standing.
“Respect,” he said simply.
He hugged his boys first, then turned to me and Ginge.
“You two,” he said, smiling. “Don’t mess this up.”
I laughed softly. “No pressure.”
When he left, the house shifted again. Quieter now.
---
The Third Vote
This one hurt more.
“…Leah.”
My breath caught. Leah covered her mouth, stunned, then laughed through it.
“Oh my god,” she said. “I knew it.”
I stood immediately, wrapping her in a hug.
“You’re annoying,” she murmured into my shoulder. “In the best way.”
She pulled back, hands on my face. “You chose right. Don’t let them rush you.”
“I won’t,” I promised.
She hugged Ginge next. “Look after her.”
He nodded. “Always.”
When Leah left, the room felt emptier than it had all day.
---
Aftermath
Only a handful of us remained now. The competition wasn’t loud anymore. It was selective.
JJ clapped his hands lightly. “That’s enough for tonight.”
No cheers. No groans.
Just tired smiles and movement.
---
Later
I found Ginge sitting on the steps near the hallway, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like he was counting something invisible.
I sat beside him.
“Feels strange,” I said quietly.
He nodded. “Yeah. Like the noise has gone.”
“Do you miss it?”
He thought for a second. “Some of it.”
I leaned into his side, resting my head against his shoulder.
“I don’t miss pretending,” I admitted.
He smiled faintly. “Me neither.”
We sat there as the house settled around us, fewer voices now, fewer footsteps, fewer stories colliding. Tomorrow, there would be another vote. Another goodbye.
But for now, the competition felt less like something we were fighting and more like something we were slowly being released from. And that felt right. Because whatever was waiting at the end of this It wasn’t about who lasted the longest anymore. It was about who stayed true while everyone else quietly went home.
