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nadvs · 9 hours ago

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the power play (part one)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

tags college au. fake dating. grumpy athlete/sunshine tutor. reader is bubbly, talkative, and passionate about literature. very slowburn. he falls first. alcohol use. suggestive moments, but no smut.

power play (noun)

an offensive tactic in a team sport; a deliberate attempt to manipulate someone.

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You hoped it wouldn’t feel the way it used to, but as you sit in the stands behind the home bench next to Lyla, it’s all the same.

You’re watching Beck zip across the ice with a painfully familiar sense of longing hammering into your chest. Falling for him always felt inevitable; you just didn’t expect that he wouldn’t be there to catch you.

When you and Lyla became friends in the ninth grade, you quickly grew close to her family, spending more time at their house than your own, tagging along to watch her twin brother’s hockey games.

The more you got to know Beck, the more you fell under his spell, charmed by his warmth, by every part of him that made him the most captivating person you’d ever met.

He stole your heart. Considering the way he treated you, you were sure you’d stolen his, too.

You spent most of last semester helping him with a class, even though you were in the same overwhelming throws of being a college freshman. Every study session in his dorm room drifted by with an undercurrent of certainty that he felt something, too.

It crushed you to realize that it’d all been in your head. A few weeks ago, you’d met him after his final exam, which he said he knew he nailed thanks to you.

You thought he was finally going to make the move that felt like it’d been hanging over you for years. But all he did was pull you into a side-hug and say, “You’re more of a friend to me than my own sister.”

Thinking about it still makes you cringe. You hate how weak you feel ruminating over this, trying to get over someone you were never even with.

It’s a Wednesday night two weeks into the spring semester, and you’re at the first home game you’ve been to in a while. Although you’ve always loved the loud, buzzing atmosphere of a hockey game, you’ve been staying far away from the campus arena and the man who hurt you.

You haven’t spoken to Beck. And he hasn’t reached out. What he did was an indirect rejection, his way of saying, It’s obvious that you like me and I need you to know once and for all that I don’t like you back.

Since then, every time your best friend has asked you to come to games or parties, you’ve told her you’ve been too busy, using your new position in a tutoring program as your excuse.

You prefer a distraction from Beck, and helping other students with a subject you’re passionate about has done the job.

But you can’t blow Lyla off forever, so now, you’re sitting with her in the stands among a small crowd of spectators.

The championship season begins in a month. Every seat will be full then. But you wish more people were around now. You welcome any noise to drown out your thoughts.

Everyone else cheers when Beck smashes the puck against the back of the net, securing the team’s first goal. You find it hard to join the celebration. Even though you’ve always thought of him as kind, you wonder if he could tell how much you liked him. If he consciously led you on.

For years, you’d watched him date other girls, hoping he’d finally realize you were the right one for him all along. You daydreamed far too much about him, imagining that he’d become your first boyfriend and take you on your first date and give you your first kiss.

The alarm blares to signal the end of the second period, pulling you out the haze you’ve fallen into a thousand times since that day in front of his exam room.

“You want to get some snacks?” Lyla asks.

“Sure,” you reply, doing your best impression of a girl with nothing weighing on her.

Once you walk up to the end of one of the arena’s concession stand lines, Lyla recognizes the people standing in front of you, greeting both girls with smiles and hugs.

Through introductions, you learn that Emma and Gabby are friends Lyla made at a party last semester. After some small talk as the line shuffles forward, Lyla points back to the rink.

“The seats next to us are empty if you want to sit with us,” she offers.

Emma and Gabby happily join you as you settle back in your seats soon after. You gaze ahead at the empty rink as they chat, the 3-1 score glaring above the ice in red neon numbers.

“No way the coach isn’t chewing them out right now,” Lyla says with a shake of her head.

“Why do you know on the team again?” Emma asks.

“My brother, Beck,” Lyla says. “You?”

Emma’s mouth twists into a tense smile.

“My ex,” she says, her voice lowering. “I wish he didn’t play, because I actually really love coming to these games.”

“Bad breakup?” you surmise.

“Brutal,” Gabby chimes in. You can tell by her expression that she’d supported her friend through the fallout.

“I just don’t want him to see me here and think it means something,” Emma sighs. “If he thinks that I want to get back together, it’ll be a disaster. We broke up a month ago and he’s still bothering me.”

You hardly know this girl, and you know her ex even less, but your reflex is to feel bad for him. You’re well acquainted with the pain that comes with caring about somebody who doesn’t want you.

“Oh, yeah,” Lyla remembers. “Rafe, right?”

Emma nods.

“Yikes.”

“Yeah,” Emma laughs.

The three girls share a knowing look, something unsaid passing through them.

You don’t know much about Rafe. On the rink, he’s a strong, aggressive defenseman, a sophomore who spends more time in the penalty box than any other player. You’ve seen him at a couple of parties, too, but never exchanged any words.

You don't understand the girls’ tense reactions to the mention of his name.

“What am I missing?” you half-whisper.

“You’d be missing nothing if you actually came to the parties I invite you to,” Lyla teases.

You can count on one hand how many parties you’ve been to since you started college. But it works for you. A party every few weeks is enough.

“I come when I can,” you reply, nudging her playfully. “Fill me in.”

“He’s a trainwreck,” Emma explains to you. “He has a million red flags that I ignored because I thought he was hot. Literally all we ever did was fight.”

“Yeah,” Lyla huffs, raising her brows. She looks at you. “Maybe it’s actually a good thing you don’t come to every party.”

You consider their words. They must have had a penchant for making a scene, shamelessly arguing in front of a crowd.

“I couldn’t take how mean and moody he was anymore. I dumped him and he won’t let it go.” Emma breathes a laugh. “It’s pathetic. He even called me crying the other night.”

Again, a confusing pang of sympathy for him hits you. It has to be your own heartbreak influencing you. You can’t imagine you’d normally feel bad for a guy described as having a million red flags.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“I’m over it,” Emma says carelessly.

“He’s not,” Gabby murmurs.

The players storm out on the rink again moments later, blades slicing the ice. They’re all so fast and powerful, and knowing that Rafe, the most forceful one of the group, is going through a version of the pain you are is oddly comforting.

A couple of minutes in, he gets thrown into the penalty box for charging an opponent. He skates to the opposite side of the rink, Cameron stitched across the black polyester of his jersey.

He stares at the floor as he waits out his penalty, tense, still. You think that if someone who looks so big and strong can hurt just like you, maybe you’re not as weak as you think.

════════

Rafe swings open the library entrance door with a scowl, irritated as hell that he has to be here. It’s annoying that the athletic department gives this much of a shit about players’ grades. Rafe knows he’s one of the best on the hockey team. He wishes that were enough.

Freshman year was fine, but he barely made it through last semester. He just failed his first assignment in a half-term literature course that was supposed to be an easy A.

Coach wasn’t pleased, saying it could screw up his GPA and deem him ineligible to play. Rafe tried to convince him that he’d do better on the next one, but Coach set him up with a tutor, unwilling to hear him out.

He’s already hardwired into a constant state of anger. Life has always been a storm, and now more than ever, there's no refuge in sight.

He's dealing with a coach who has no hope in him, on top of a painful breakup, on top of a shitty loss last night, on top of the fact that now he’s being forced to talk to a stranger about some boring book.

He can’t catch a break.

He looks at the email on his phone again. Study Room 205. He eventually finds the open door and taps his knuckles on it to get your attention.

You lock eyes with the person you’ve been waiting on for the last ten minutes. You had no idea who was coming up to meet you – just that the athletic department set it up.

But you know him. Or of him, at least.

A second ago, you were thinking about how you’ll have to ask whoever you’re meeting to be on time for future sessions. Now, your mind is consumed by the harsh words you heard about him last night.

“Hi,” you say politely. “Are you here for Lit Arts?”

He nods tersely in confirmation, stepping in. He drops his bag onto one of the empty chairs surrounding the square desk in the middle of the small room. You introduce yourself and when he sits down diagonally opposite to you, he murmurs, “Rafe.”

Discomfort swirls in your stomach. You’d heard something so personal about him at the rink, gazed at him in the penalty box from a distance, feeling like he’s a kindred spirit, and now you have to pretend like none of it happened.

“You’re on the hockey team, right?” you ask.

He realizes he’s seen you before. He can’t figure out where.

“Yeah.”

“I was at the game last night. Tough loss.”

Rafe doesn’t say anything. The clock ticks rhythmically. You clear your throat, figuring it’s best to skip the small talk.

“I took this class last semester. I know exactly how the prof grades, so you’re lucky to have me in your corner.”

Rafe is many things right now. Lucky isn’t one of them.

“Do you have your laptop?” you ask.

He unzips his bag and pulls out his computer.

“You can go to the course portal,” you tell him. He lets out an exhale as he navigates to the webpage. You lean closer to make sure that the class is currently on the book you brought with you.

You pull out your copy of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, page edges littered with different colored sticky tabs.

“Did you get a chance to start the book?” you ask.

He shakes his head. He’s not hiding that he really doesn’t want to be here. Nonetheless, you’re determined to crack him.

“Do you have a copy of it?”

“No.”

You nod slowly, picking up that he planned to coast through the class, not even bothering to buy and read any of the books.

“Do you like reading?” you ask.

“Nah,” he says with a grimace, as if he’s offended you’d assume that.

“You might like some of the books on the syllabus. This class is a lot of fun.”

“Fun,” he echoes with a stare that makes him look like he wants to bolt out of the door he just came through.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you reply with a smile. “Your idea of fun is skating around and getting slammed into walls. I should be the one judging you.”

He gazes at you like you’re from another planet, blue eyes hard on you. It’s nothing short of amusing.

You pull his laptop closer, hovering the cursor over the ‘My Grades’ tab, and ask, “Do you mind if I check how you did on your last assignment?”

“I bombed it,” he says.

As you gaze at the screen, Rafe clues in on where he’s seen you before. With one of the team’s freshmen.

Varsity athletes who live on campus are lumped together in the same dormitory block, and he’s seen you hanging around with Beck, going in and out of his room.

He wouldn’t consider Beck a friend. He’s a teammate and at best, an acquaintance. The guy’s a kiss-ass to Coach, and does everything by the book, skipping most parties and never drinking.

It makes complete sense that a rule-follower like Beck would date a good girl like you. Who the fuck calls a class fun?

You click to see his failing grade percentage for the first assignment of the semester in bolded red.

“Did you get any feedback on where you went wrong?” you ask. You know he’s going to shake his head before he does it. He doesn’t seem to care at all. “You have a whole semester to get your grade up. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not,” he replies stiffly.

“Well… maybe you should worry a little bit,” you say lightheartedly. “I know your coach is serious about grades.”

Rafe figures you must have heard that from your boyfriend. Maybe Beck took this class, too. It’s popular among busy student athletes because it’s supposed to be an easy way to fulfill a humanities credit.

He could just convince Beck to give him copies of his assignments. He’d have to change stuff around, but at least he’d get out of tutoring.

“Did you help Beck with this class?” he asks.

You’re taken aback by the sudden reminder of him, brows knitting together, a shift in your breezy demeanor.

“You’re his girl, right?” he says, as if it’s obvious.

“No. We’re– we’re friends.” You chew on your bottom lip. Tutoring is supposed to be a distraction from Beck, not the topic of conversation. But your curiosity burns in you and there’s no chance of putting it out. “Did he talk about me or something?”

“No,” he says, a bit too harshly for your liking. “I just figured ‘cause you’re with him all the time.”

“Right,” you say. All the time. Like a lost puppy, no doubt. Embarrassment pricks at your skin. “I helped him with another class. We’re friends.”

Rafe cracks his first smirk since he walked into this stuffy little room. You said friends twice, both times with uncertainty.

“You sure?” he chides.

“What?” you say stiffly. “Yes. I am.”

You crack open the book.

“So, A Portrait is about a man named Stephen who navigates the idea of identity,” you say quickly, trying to shake off your nerves. “We should look at the discussion question.”

You shut the book abruptly, then turn your attention to the laptop.

“You need to write a 1,500-word reflection for each book,” you ramble. “You’ll do better if you find a personal connection to the text. Maybe we start there.”

Rafe watches the nervous way your eyes dart around the screen as you scroll. His joke threw you into a tense, awkward panic that he has no interest in being around.

“You can relax,” he says. “I don’t care if you like him.”

You don’t look at him. You thought you were relaxed.

“Well, I don’t.”

You scroll to the question, one word in particular striking you.

What role does Emma play in Stephen’s growth and how he defines himself?

Of course. As if you needed another reason for this to be even more awkward.

Seeing Rafe’s ex’s name makes what she’d told you about him echo through your head again. Despite his teasing, the sympathy you felt for him comes back tenfold.

You know things about him that you shouldn’t. You feel a responsibility to balance the scales, but the air is too tense, the unfamiliarity too uncomfortable.

“Did you take a look at the question?” you ask.

He shakes his head, still slouched back. At this point, his apathy is starting to get to you.

“Listen, I can tell you don’t want to be here, but could you please try to meet me in the middle?” you say.

Rafe’s lips pull into a firm line, but he relents and leans closer to look at the screen. His body goes cold when he sees her name. He’d rather not be reminded of the girl who broke his heart right now.

“Emma is Stephen’s love interest,” you begin, trying to act like you don’t know a thing about his past relationship. “He sees her as something she’s not.”

You leaf through the book, finding a note you’d written in the margin.

“She represents idealization,” you read. You look up at him again. “Stephen sees by the end that she’s just a normal person, not this perfect girl he thought she was for so many years.”

You open a blank document on his laptop.

“We can write up some notes to start us off,” you say. “This prof grades high when you relate to the text. He likes the sentimental stuff, so until you read the book, that’s what we’ll have to work on.”

You chew on your lip again, unsure if you should bring up what you heard in the stands. It feels unethical either way.

“It doesn’t have to be a person,” you say. “It could be a place or an experience. Have you ever thought something was great and then realized it wasn’t?”

Rafe’s stomach is in a knot. The thought of being tutored and having his hand held through a class was bad enough. Now he has to get into his feelings with you?

“I don’t know,” he says.

You look at the blinking cursor, your head cocked in thought.

“Maybe relating it to a person would be easier, then?” you ask.

Nothing can make this easier. Rafe rakes his hair back, gazing down at your hands stalled over his keyboard.

“I get that this is awkward,” you say. “But it doesn’t have to be anything super personal. You could even make something up if you want.”

He only purses his lips, eyes fixed on your hands, as if he hopes you’ll give in and just do his work for him.

You take a deep breath and interlace your fingers on the desk. You figure that if you’re a little vulnerable, he might be, too.

He’s unknowingly feeling the same pain you are and saying the truth out loud to someone who gets it might even be a relief. There’s a risk of it getting back to Beck, but something tells you Rafe’s not much of a gossiper anyway.

“To be honest, yes, I like Beck. I thought he felt the same, but he doesn’t. Between you and me, sometimes I think he took me for granted and led me on. I idealized a friendship and it ended up hurting me. If this were my assignment, I’d relate to the book with that.”

Rafe is thrown off by your sudden honesty. It’s actually refreshing, considering all the bullshit he’s been dealing with lately.

He looks at you wordlessly.

“It’s just an example,” you say with a soft chuckle. “I did well in this class because I found pieces of myself in every book. All you need to do is read the material, find something you can relate to, write a decent report, and you’ll get a good grade. Well, that and prepare for the midterm and the final.”

“This class was supposed to be easy,” he finally says under his breath.

“Can you let me know when you’re going to be done complaining?” you ask playfully, looking up at the clock. “It’s been five minutes and you’re still going.”

Rafe huffs an almost-laugh. He adjusts his posture again, pulling at the collar of his hoodie.

“You really don’t have to be specific,” you reassure him. You tap your fingers over the keyboard again, just light enough to not press any buttons. “If you can relate the character of Emma to someone, you don’t have to say their name.”

Your eyes stay glued to the screen, your shoulders stiff as you wait. You’re acting weird again. The way you said Emma’s name looked like it pained you.

And it dawns on him.

“Should’ve known she’d talk shit,” he realizes. “What’d she tell you?”

“What?” you say, meeting his gaze.

“What did Emma say about me?” Rafe drawls, his deep voice reverberating through you.

Your lips part, but words refuse to form. For a guy that doesn’t like to read, he’s very good at doing it to you.

Rafe leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk. You can now see what makes him so intimidating on the ice. Every edge of his face is sharp now, apathy replaced with intensity.

“Nothing,” you reply. “It’s not my business.”

How did he not clue in before? If you run in the hockey team’s social circle, of course you heard about their breakup.

Emma never cared to keep things private. And you’re so willing to share your own personal stuff because you know more about him than you’re letting on. Because you pity him.

“Come on,” he scoffs, frustrated.

“I met her at the rink last night. She just mentioned you used to date.”

He shrugs impatiently, a silent request that you keep talking. You sigh. He’s stubborn.

“She said she likes coming to games, but it’s hard to because her ex is on the team.” You grimace. There’s no way you’d actually tell him all of it, all of the insults she muttered. “It’s not worth repeating, but… basically, she told me she broke things off and you won’t move on.”

Rafe nods, lips twisting. The way she’s been ignoring his texts and his calls to try to fix things stung enough. Talking to strangers to embarrass him hurts on an entirely different level.

He didn’t know Emma could be this cruel. This is mortifying. He’s done trying to make things work with her. No matter how hard the loneliness is hitting him.

You slide the book across the desk towards him, desperate to move past the tension.

“You can start reading,” you say. “And you don’t have to buy any of the books. I’ll just lend you mine. I’ll get some notes down for you to work from and you can do the personal connection part on your own.”

You start to type and immediately wonder if he’ll drop the class. You’ve never had that happen with someone you tutored before, but you wouldn’t blame him.

It must feel crappy to hear from a girl you don’t even know that your ex is saying bad things about you. A girl that you have to see every Thursday afternoon for the next three months.

Rafe cracks open the book in the middle to fan through the pages, a weight sitting on his chest. The pages are worn, words underlined, notes scribbled in the margins.

“You put this through the washing machine or something?” he murmurs.

“I’ve read it a few times,” you say simply. You keep typing.

Emma said he’d called her crying. It’s hard to imagine the man sitting next to you crying. It’s weird knowing something about someone that they wouldn't want you to know.

Rafe’s already bored with the first sentence. It’s long and confusing and completely uninteresting. His eyes drift up, absorbing the way your face softly creases in concentration as you type.

Now that you’re not talking at a thousand words a second, he can actually take you in.

You’re the type of girl he’d approach at a party. There’s no doubt about that. But once you’d start yapping about reading like you just did, about finding pieces of yourself in a book, he’d find a way out of the conversation.

Playing hockey at the college level is demanding; he likes the other things in his life to be fun and easy. Keeping up with a girl like you and pretending he’s interested in whatever you’re rambling about would be neither.

As he studies you, he doesn’t get why Beck friendzoned you. You’re pretty. And you’re the same type of person that Beck: straight-edge and so cheerful it’s annoying.

Rafe is typically one to outright say what he’s thinking, but he has the restraint to keep the idea he just had to himself. He needs to sleep on it. He’s done some crazy shit since Emma broke his heart and he’d rather not add to the tally.

You notice him looking at you in your peripheral vision.

“You’re not thinking of dropping the class, are you?” you ask.

“No,” he says. His eyes stay on you for another beat, then find the words on the page again.

════════

You thought Rafe came to your first session in a bad mood. Compared to how you feel right now, he was peachy.

Lyla called you on your way to the library and mentioned in passing that her brother asked about you last night. She said Beck seemed like he missed you, all sympathetic when he asked, is she doing okay?

She’s oblivious to the real reason he brought it up. And it’s irritating. Because he doesn’t even ask you himself. Because he’s right. He knows that his passive rejection left a wound.

“You’re on time,” you say in surprise when Rafe saunters into the study room.

“You talk a lot,” he mumbles. “I’m not interested in a lecture after you told me not to be late.”

Despite your bad mood, you crack an amused smile. You’d ended last week’s session telling him that tardiness was not only disrespectful to you, but to his own academic success. He rolled his eyes, but he clearly listened.

Rafe settles in the same chair as last time, holding your copy of the book he was supposed to read.

“Did you read it?”

“Mostly.”

“What’d you think?” you say with hope.

“Boring.”

“Fair,” you say. You gesture for his laptop. “Let’s see how far you got on the report.”

Your brows drop in disappointment when you see how much he added to the file. It’s a bunch of pasted summaries and disorganized thoughts, taking up only half the page.

You eventually reach the end of your hour-long session and have him read over the assignment one last time before submitting it. You check the syllabus to confirm what the next book is, then shut his computer.

“Try to have more for us to work with next time,” you tell him. “And you should have the next book totally read by then, too, okay?”

You hand him your copy of Pride and Prejudice and push your seat back, ignoring his frustrated sigh.

“You talk to Beck lately?” he asks after a beat.

“What?” you say, face screwing up. You’re reminded all over again of what Lyla said. “No. Why?”

“You’re still pissed at him,” he says. He’s confident, coming to the conclusion himself instead of waiting for you to admit it.

“Why are you talking about this? We had a perfectly nice hour together,” you try to joke.

Rafe finally gives a voice to what’s been swirling in his mind since last week. He’s used to being mad, to feeling spiteful, but the way his ex broke his heart has never made him want revenge more. He wants to hurt her as badly as she hurt him. He wants to make her regret leaving him.

“We should get back at them,” he says.

“I’m sorry?” you say, your chin dipping as you stare at him.

“Hear me out,” he tells you. “We’re going to keep seeing Beck and Emma around, right? We could make it look like we’re better off without them. Make them jealous.”

You squint, waiting for the details. Rafe draws in a sharp inhale.

“She said I’m not over her, right? And you said he took you for granted. If they think we moved on, I bet at least one of ‘em will realize they fucked up.”

You consider it. Admittedly, making Beck think you’re perfectly fine – no, thriving – after his rejection is enticing.

“Okay, how do we get back at them exactly?” you ask.

Rafe scratches the back of his neck. It’s the first time he seems kind of nervous to you.

“We pretend we’re together,” he says.

“You and…” You look over your shoulder, because he must be talking to somebody else who snuck into the room at some point. “You and me? Together together?”

“I know. It wouldn’t ever happen.”

You can’t even be offended. He’s right. He’s a skilled hockey player and undeniably good-looking, but that’s where the compliments end.

Two afternoons of working together and making small talk have shown you that you have nothing in common. And frankly, while you do laugh off his bad attitude, it gets on your nerves.

A relationship would never work, let alone even begin.

“But they don’t know that,” he continues. “All they’ll see is that someone they lost is happy without them.”

Your mind starts racing. The years of pining over Beck, the pain of his rejection, the frustration of him asking his sister how you’re holding up. They’ve all left cracks in your heart.

The more Rafe thinks about rubbing his happiness into Emma’s face, even if it’s bullshit, the more he hopes you’ll be on board. But you’re not saying a word.

“If you’re not in, fine,” he sighs, pushing his chair back to start to leave. He should have figured you’d be too uptight to do it. “I’m just saying I bet you wouldn’t hate making Beck sweat.”

He stands up, but you hear yourself say, “Wait.”

Then you hold out your hand.

Rafe breathes an amused chuckle, flashing the first sincere smile you’ve seen on his face, when he realizes what you’re doing.

Your hand slips into his, touching for the first time to seal the deal and shake on it.

“This is insane,” you say. “Count me in.”

(to be continued)

>>> new parts dropping every friday at 8:30 pm eastern

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marcyvamp1re-blog · 3 days ago

Text

ৎ୭. . . ABOMINABLE ───Powder /Jinx

⊹ ٬ Headcanon. Fate always found twisted ways to bring two souls together, only to tear them apart when they needed each other most. But not even the stars are eternal; even the most beautiful worlds are consumed by the shadow of their own history. And in that abominable cycle, love and hope are nothing more than ashes carried by the wind.

⊹ ٬ Word Count. 8k

⊹ ٬ Content. MDNI. Dark themes, violence/death, murder, trauma, invasion of privacy, Angst, disturbing content, corruption, paranoia, manipulation, emotional abuse, emotional manipulation, vulgar or strong language, mental health, toxic relationships, destruction, loss, emotional abandonment, child abandonment.

「 is the echo of something so repulsive

that it causes the heart to falter and the thoughts to twist 」

Before being Jinx, she was Powder, and everyone knew it. She was a girl with a restless soul, drawn to chaos and the spark of invention, as if a little star inside her was about to explode. And you… you were from Piltover, born into order and stability, with days written in golden ink on a scroll of privileges. Two distinct worlds, two paths that were never meant to cross. But fate is a whimsical artist, drawing constellations with improbable encounters, and somehow, it brought you two together. Like planets to meteors, destined to collide, to change each other forever.

Zaun enveloped you with its dense air, vibrant with life and danger. You walked, fascinated, with your braids adorned with delicate jewels reflecting the dim light of the neon, while dodging furtive glances and overly nimble hands. But even with all your caution, you couldn't foresee that collision. A fleeting stumble, the crack of something breaking between you, and then the saddest sound you had ever heard.

“Oh no… it’s broken…” Powder whispered, trembling hands holding the fragments of her invention.

There was something in her voice, in the way her blue eyes clouded with disappointment, that made your heart tighten in your chest. It wasn’t just an object to her. It was a dream, a part of herself shattered.

You crouched down, carefully picking up the scattered remnants. Between your fingers, the pieces were barely cold metal and loose gears, but in her mind—in her heart—they were still something more. Something alive.

You looked at her, with the determination of one who dares the universe and their own fate.

“I can fix it.”

And in that moment, without either of you knowing it yet, something else was being repaired. Something invisible, intangible. A bond born of chance and collision, but destined to be unbreakable.

Powder blinked, as if unsure she had heard correctly. Her fingers, still clutching the remains of her invention, trembled with the indecision of someone who has seen too many promises crumble before they could hold them. But in your voice, there was no doubt, only certainty. And at that moment, to her, it sounded like something more valuable than any gear or spark of gunpowder.

“Really?” she murmured, her bright blue gaze resting on yours, as if searching your face for any sign of mockery, any hint of a lie.

You merely nodded, with the same calmness with which you had solved equations and dismantled mechanisms in the safety of your home in Piltover. But here, in Zaun, amid its beautiful and dangerous chaos, that knowledge meant something different. It meant an opportunity.

“If you tell me how it works, I can understand it,” you added, gently holding one of the broken pieces. “Together we’ll fix it.”

Powder hesitated. She was used to being told that her inventions were disasters waiting to happen, that they only brought problems, that they would never work. No one had ever told her “together.”

A different glimmer crossed her expression, a mixture of surprise and something deeper, something closer to hope.

“It’s a kind of trigger,” she finally explained, her voice gaining some strength as her fingers traced the damaged structure. “But it’s not just that… I wanted it to do more, to not just fire, but to feel the weight of the air, the direction…”

Her excitement was contagious. As she spoke, the pain of having seen it destroyed seemed to dissipate, replaced by a passion greater than any loss. And you listened to her, not just with your ears, but with the mind of someone who understood what it meant to create something from nothing.

“Then we’ll need to adjust the pressure point,” you said after a moment, examining the pieces closely. “Maybe if we use a more flexible spring, we could give it a better response to movement.”

Powder looked at you, first with disbelief and then with an emerging, shy smile, as if she didn’t know whether to let herself be carried away by the emotion or if this was just a fleeting mirage.

“You know about this,” she whispered, almost more to herself than to you.

“A little,” you admitted with a half-smile. “But I’d like to learn more.”

And that was the first time Powder felt that someone saw beyond her soot-stained hands and restless mind. That someone not only tolerated her ideas but wanted to understand them.

She extended her hand to you with the naturalness of someone who has never hesitated to offer herself to the world, no matter how rough or dirty it may be. Her fingers, stained with dust and soot, trembled slightly with the excitement of the moment. But her smile—so wide, so genuine—was bright enough to eclipse any stain, any ruin.

“I’m Powder!” she said excitedly, as if her name were a promise, an explosion of possibilities contained in a single word.

You looked at her hand, then at her face, and without thinking too much, you accepted the gesture. You felt the warmth of her skin against yours, the rough trace of her fingers accustomed to gunpowder and gears. In your world, greetings were more formal, more restrained, but this… this was different.

“I’m…” you pronounced your name, and as you said it, it sounded different. As if, for the first time, it were part of something larger than your lineage, more real than the titles and expectations that had always accompanied it.

Powder squinted, repeating it softly, savoring it as if she were engraving it in her mind, making sure never to forget it. Then she nodded enthusiastically.

“I like it,” she affirmed with a smile. “It sounds elegant, like someone important.”

“I’m not that important,” you said with a soft laugh, but she shook her head immediately.

“Of course you are. You’re different.”

There was something in her tone, in the way she looked at you, that made you feel that perhaps, just perhaps, Powder saw you in a way that no one else had before. Not as a girl of high birth, nor as a stranger in her world, but as someone.

“Come,” she said suddenly, pulling your hand with unexpected confidence. “I have to show you something.”

Her energy was a whirlwind impossible to resist. Her steps were light, hurried, as if she were accustomed to moving quickly through the shadows of Zaun. And you, with your adorned braids and clothes too clean for the place, followed her without hesitation.

Because in that instant, the city ceased to be a dangerous and unfamiliar place. In that instant, Zaun was not a foreign world.

It was the beginning of a story.

From that first collision, from the moment your hands joined amidst the ruins of a broken invention, something began to build between you. A refuge, not just of wood and worn paint, but of shared laughter, whispered secrets among gears and sparkling ideas. A hideout born from your own hands, hidden in the forgotten corners of Zaun, where fate had decided that only the two of you would exist.

Powder filled it with impossible colors, with clumsy but vibrant drawings on the walls, while you added meticulous details, little inventions that made the place its own world. Here, titles and lineages didn’t matter, only the overflowing imagination of two girls who challenged the universe with each creation.

But even as you looked at her with admiration, even as you saw in her a prodigious mind capable of shaping the impossible, Powder carried the shadow of other words.

“They say I'm a Jinx...,” she confessed one night, her voice quieter than ever, sitting on the floor while she toyed with a small nut. Her face, normally lit by the excitement of a new invention, was covered by a sadness that hurt to see.

You stopped what you were doing. You couldn’t understand how someone could look at Powder and not see what you saw: her vibrant energy, her tireless passion, the light in her eyes when she talked about her ideas.

“I don’t believe that,” you stated gently, moving closer. In your hands, you held the toy you had built together, a small mechanical frog with articulated legs, which, when pressing a mechanism, would awkwardly and charmingly jump. You showed it to her and then made it jump between you, letting out a laugh when the toy fell on its back.

Powder blinked, surprised, and couldn’t help but smile.

“My mother always says that when you don’t understand something, it’s easy to fail… but if you keep trying, you learn over time and do it better,” you continued, watching her sweetly. Then, with a tenderness that you hadn’t even thought about before, you reached out and gently wiped the dust from her cheek.

She stayed still, looking at you with those huge blue eyes, filled with something you didn’t know how to describe. Maybe surprise. Maybe gratitude. Maybe a spark of something that, without realizing it, had just ignited between you.

And then you smiled, with the same certainty with which you had taken her hand that first time.

“So if you fail,” you whispered, letting the jumping frog bounce back into her lap, “it just means you’re learning.”

Powder looked down at the toy and then back at you, and this time her smile was neither shy nor uncertain. It was wide, bright, real.

Because in that hidden corner of Zaun, in a refuge painted with the colors of your friendship, perhaps for the first time, she stopped feeling like a curse.

Days in Zaun were different from those in Piltover. Here, on the smoke-filled and lively streets, there were no rules binding you, no expectations weighing you down. When you weren't in class, you were here, running alongside Powder with laughter trapped in your chest, feeling freer than you had ever been in the marble and gold hallways of your home.

Powder introduced you to Ekko—or Little Man, as she insisted on calling him. At first, he was wary of you, of your well-kept braids and your clothes too clean, but soon you earned his trust with a well-timed joke and a mind as clever as his. Together, you formed an unstoppable trio of mischief, devising plans to trick unsuspecting merchants, escaping across rooftops when things got ugly, hiding in corners where only children knew they could disappear.

Zaun became your second home, not because its streets were safe or its lights shone like those of Piltover, but because here you had something that couldn’t be bought with money or titles. Here you had Powder.

Sometimes, when the mischief ceased and only the two of you remained in your hideout, she would open up, her legs dangling from the edge of a beam and her gaze lost in the rusty gears of the ceiling.

“When I grow up, I want to build things that make people remember me,” she once told you, rolling a small sphere between her fingers, her next invention in process.

You lay down next to her, watching the flickering lights of the city.

“They will remember you already,” you assured her, turning your head to look at her. “You’re amazing, PowPow.”

She rolled her eyes, but the blush on her cheeks betrayed her.

Another time, when you noticed that coins were scarce in her house, you wanted to help her in any way possible. You spent nights designing small toys that Ekko could sell in the market, simple yet eye-catching things, and whenever you could, you gave Powder some of your belongings, whatever could make her life a little easier.

Until one day you showed up with an elaborate box, inside which lay one of your most luxurious dresses: made of golden fabric and delicate feathers, a reflection of Piltover's opulence.

“I won’t accept selling your dresses,” Powder said, pushing the box back towards you with a frown.

“I won’t take no for an answer, PowPow,” you replied with a playful smile, pushing it back to her.

“Why are you so stubborn?”

You looked at each other for a moment, frowning, but then both of you burst into laughter, because it was impossible to really get angry with each other. Finally, Powder sighed and reluctantly took the box, still unconvinced.

“If we sell this, I’ll make sure at least one of my bombs has your name,” she joked, and you couldn’t help but laugh even more.

Days in Zaun were never the same, but they were always magical in some way. Perhaps it wasn’t the kind of magic that the alchemists of Piltover studied in their laboratories, but it was the magic of friendship, of laughter, of shared secrets and whispered dreams.

And in those moments, among the gears of a city that never slept, you knew that Powder was not just your friend.

Years passed in Zaun like the wind, filled with laughter and mischief, but also with moments of deep silence and complicity. You and Powder remained inseparable, but something had changed, though you didn’t yet know it clearly. You were no longer the girls who met by accident, exploring the cracks of a world without promises or certainties. You were no longer just two small souls trying to find their place in a city that looked at them as if they were invisible. Now, you were something more. Two halves of a story that only fate could write.

Time, as always, had forged a connection between you so deep that words were unnecessary. Everything seemed simpler, clearer. But that simplicity was only a reflection of something much larger that was woven between laughter and furtive glances. It was a love that didn’t even need to be named, only felt.

One day, while walking through the dusty streets of Zaun, the echoes of everyday life were interrupted by a thunderous explosion that shook the ground beneath your feet. Everything around you staggered, and the sound of screams chilled your blood. The city, your city, seemed to be in chaos.

At first, you didn’t understand anything. The pieces of the puzzle arrived slowly, and the smoke clouded your eyes. But then, suddenly, you saw Ekko running towards you, his face more serious than you had ever seen. His breathing was frantic, and in his gaze was something that froze you inside. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“You can’t be here!” he shouted, grabbing your arm tightly.

“Ekko, what happened?” you asked, barely able to comprehend how quickly everything was changing.

His voice trembled slightly, but there was determination in his words.

“Powder… and her family, they’re… they’re in danger. And Zaun… Zaun has fallen into the hands of someone. It’s not safe for you here. You can’t stay, you can’t be here,” his voice was an urgent whisper, but filled with dread.

You didn’t fully understand, but something in his gaze told you that everything you knew was crumbling. That city you had learned to love, those friends, that chaotic life you shared with Powder… everything was about to change forever.

Before you could ask another question, a distant scream echoed, followed by a second blow that made you stagger. It was as if the whole world was about to collapse.

Ekko looked at you desperately.

“Go… please, don’t stay,” his words were like sharp thorns, cutting through the air between you.

And it was then, as you hurried away, that something crossed your mind. Something that had been latent all this time, but now became clear: Powder was your other half. Even if the city came crashing down, even if everything you knew crumbled, Powder would always be there, somehow.

Confusion, fear, and a strange sense of emptiness took hold of you as you ran, the streets of Zaun fading away. But above all, something as innocent and pure as a girl’s love blossomed in your chest. A love you didn’t fully understand, but you knew had always been there.

Maybe it was youth, maybe it was fate, or maybe, just maybe, it was the strength of a connection that even chaos couldn’t destroy. Powder… was not just your friend. She was something much bigger, something that fate could not hide.

And as you distanced yourself, the echoes of the shattered city and your shared memories with her resonated in your heart, leaving you with a certainty you could never forget: you had fallen in love with your other half, even though you still didn’t completely understand what that meant.

And with the explosion ringing in your ears, you knew that this love would continue to burn, even as the world crumbled around you.

Thus was born Jinx. Your mother called her the Blue Abomination, a title that echoed in your ears like a distant echo, but increasingly close. She, who had once been a girl so full of dreams and promises, had transformed into something unrecognizable, a monster of chaos and destruction. In her wake, she left nothing but ruins and broken hearts, but no one knew how she had become what she was. Your mother always said that Jinx had lost her mind, that rage and pain had devoured her until she became a shadow of what she had been. And though deep down you knew it wasn’t all that simple, your mother’s judgment continued to weigh on your soul.

Jinx was a criminal, a killer. There was no denying it. And worst of all was that, for her, the lives snuffed out by her hand meant nothing. The sound of explosions, the maniacal laughter amidst chaos… everything had become a mockery of the world she had once known. A broken girl, you thought, a girl trapped in her own pain and fury.

You, on the other hand, had followed a different path. You had strayed from darkness, seeking your place in a world that still seemed full of opportunities. You became an inventor, perhaps not as dazzling as the greats of Piltover, but skilled enough to open your own toy and gadget shop. Each creation was an extension of your soul, a reminder that the world didn’t have to be only chaos. You had achieved much, even collaborated with HexTech on some of its most innovative projects. You felt proud; you had worked hard to get there, leaving the shadows of your childhood behind.

But no matter how hard you tried to move forward, every time you saw or heard about the devastation caused by Jinx, a pang of shame and pain pierced your heart. The news of another attack, of another bomb exploding in the middle of the night, never ceased to frighten you. She is out there, you thought, and I… I am still me. Every time you encountered stories of her madness, with the reproachful or fearful glances of those who knew you, you felt the weight of her name crushing you. Even though you couldn’t control it, even though you knew you were not to blame, the shame wove around you like a shadow, and it was impossible to escape it.

Jinx not only embarrassed you for what she did but for what she represented. She was a constant reminder of what you could have been if circumstances had been different. Sometimes you wondered if she felt trapped too, if deep down she desired the same peace you did. But that was only a fleeting thought. The reality was much crueler, and Jinx was too far gone, too lost in her own abyss.

You had distanced yourself from her, but in every corner of your life, in every project you undertook, there was something that tied you to her chaos. And although you couldn’t help but feel ashamed, you couldn’t avoid wondering if, deep down, in some corner of your being, you still cared for her.

Time continued its course, like the cycle of seasons that repeat with inevitable precision, but the echo of what had been did not disappear. While your life in Piltover continued, the stars still shone, as distant and unreachable as ever. But sometimes, when you looked at the night sky, something within you feared that the constellations you had known in your childhood were watching you with a disturbing curiosity. As if fate, with its capricious sense of humor, were calling you back, bringing with it what you tried to leave behind.

Suddenly, one afternoon, while walking through the streets of Piltover, looking with some weariness at the windows of the technology shops, a gust of wind made you look up at the sky, as if something, an ancestral impulse, were calling you. The stars twinkled with a strange glow, a sign from the cosmos that reminded you, if only for a moment, that fate does not forget anyone. No matter how much you tried to flee from certain ties, there was something unbreakable that kept you connected to them.

Then, a sound broke the afternoon silence, a distant roar, followed by a familiar and terrifying echo of laughter. A sound that made your insides twist and your chest tighten. You turned, and there she was, like an apparition arising from the very shadows you had once tried to forget. Jinx.

Her blue hair shone under the sun, messy as always, with glimmers of madness in her eyes. The image of her was the same, yet at the same time different. Something in her face reflected pure, almost childlike joy, as if the chaos she had sown held no weight on her heart anymore. It was as if, in some corner of her being, everything she had done faded away before the only thing that mattered in that moment: seeing you again.

“Look who’s here!” Her voice, filled with overflowing exuberance, cut through the air. Her eyes sparkled with an intensity that only she could possess, and although everything inside you screamed to run away, something in her smile drew you to her, as if the stars themselves had pulled you in.

You stood paralyzed, a knot tightening in your throat. Everything about you wanted to flee, but your feet remained rooted, as if fate had aligned the stars in such a way that you could not avoid it. It can’t be, you thought, it cannot be her…

Jinx’s laughter, which had been a constant storm in your memories, resonated with a strange warmth. She, the same person who had caused so much damage, was now standing before you with an innocence unsettling. The distortion between her chaos and her joy was so great that, for a moment, you felt as if you were watching a shooting star: fleeting, bright, beautiful, and at the same time, terrifying.

“Look who I haven’t seen in ages!” Her voice was full of happiness, with no traces of regret or guilt. “Do you remember me? It’s me! Your friend!”

The world around you faded for a second. Everything you had worked for, everything you had done to escape the shadows of your childhood, crumbled in an instant. Jinx, the broken girl, the blue abomination, was now looking at you with eyes full of an emotion you hadn’t expected: happiness.

But you… you could only stand there, frozen, with a mixture of fear and nostalgia. The memories of explosions, of deranged laughter, of the darkness of Zaun flooded back to you once more. How was it possible? Fate, always so capricious, had reunited you once again, but this time the weight of the reunion was not just chaos. It was also the possibility of healing, of returning to something you had never finished understanding.

“Powder…” you murmured, your voice trembling. And upon uttering her name, a part of you realized that perhaps, just perhaps, not everything was lost.

The encounter was so unexpected that the air itself seemed to thicken, as if time had stopped for a second, leaving both of you trapped in a bubble of broken memories. Jinx, at first, appeared joyful, her wide and vibrant smile lighting up the street. But upon seeing you so still, with those eyes filled with a mix of fear and confusion, the expression on her face began to fade slowly. In her eyes, something dark and familiar flickered for an instant, something she had seen before in her own reflections: doubt.

“No… don’t be scared.” Jinx’s voice trembled, almost as if she were trying to convince herself. “It’s me, your friend… remember?”

However, the fact that the distance between the two of you was filled with discomfort, with tense silence, seemed to choke her words. The air was no longer the same; the echo of what had once been your connection had become heavy and broken, like a distorted melody played in the wind. And then, suddenly, an unmistakable whisper, that whisper that had accompanied her so many times, broke the stillness of her mind.

“They fear you, Jinx. Everyone fears you. It will always be like this.”

It was the voice. That voice in her head that spoke to her when loneliness enveloped her, the same that had guided her when the memories of her childhood were too painful to bear. The voice that told her chaos was her only friend, the only constant. But this time, the tone was different. It was no longer just a suggestion; it was a sentence, and in that sentence was a truth she could not ignore.

Jinx, feeling the weight of those words, raised a hand as if she wanted to stop the avalanche of thoughts beginning to flood her mind. But at the same time, something in her face softened. The girl she had once been, the Powder who had been full of hope and curiosity, was standing before you, broken, but with a need to heal.

“I’m… I’m sorry…” she murmured, her voice cracking further, as if the simple act of admitting it tore her apart inside.

It was then that, without thinking, without hesitation, you approached her. Not as the person who had fled from her, but as the girl who had once known her in Zaun, the girl who had also been afraid of losing someone so special. You stepped closer to her, with your breath quickening, and in an impulse that came from a much deeper place than fear, you embraced her.

Jinx’s reaction was a tense silence, as if she didn’t know what to do with the tenderness you had bestowed upon that embrace. Her body trembled slightly, and a nervous laugh escaped her lips. It wasn’t the laugh of the crazy Jinx everyone knew, but a fragile, human laugh, vulnerable. Something she had never shown before, something only you had seen.

And finally, in the midst of that embrace, between the shadows and the stars that seemed to be watching over you from above, Jinx whispered with an infinite sadness: “Will you forgive me?”

You didn’t know how to answer because part of you still feared what she represented, what she had done. But at the same time, you knew that perhaps it was time to heal, to understand that fate was not limited to tragedies. Sometimes, stars fall and reveal something we have forgotten: the opportunity to rebuild what was once broken.

And in that moment, embracing Jinx, you realized that perhaps the stars, like memories, were not always what we expected. But they could be the beginning of something new.

The air of Zaun, thick and laden with smoke, seemed to recognize you both as your steps resonated through the dark streets. The city, with its winding alleys and factories roaring in the distance, had never been a kind place. But for you and Jinx, Zaun was more than just a refuge of scrap and shadows; it was the place where you had shared laughter, secrets, and broken dreams. The place where, although circumstances had separated you, something in your souls remained tied to that forgotten corner of the world.

As you walked through the streets, the silence between you felt warmer than you remembered. Despite the scars of time and the traces of what Jinx had done, there was something in her presence that made you feel less distant from the girl who had once been. The chaos around her was palpable, but as you neared the refuge, something inside you began to heal, a whisper of familiarity that came from better times.

When you arrived at the hideout you had shared, the view was not the same. The little cave, which you had once filled with laughter and colors, was now half-destroyed. The walls you had painted with colors you both loved were covered in marks of explosions. The floor was splattered with remnants of wood and rubble, the remains of what had once been a home for two lost souls in a world they didn’t understand.

Jinx stood at the entrance, her gaze fixed on the chaos she had left behind. For a moment, the air between you was filled with tension, but then the girl still living inside her took a step forward.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her eyes shining with a mixture of guilt and frustration. “I destroyed it… I couldn’t stop myself.”

It was as if the rage, always latent within her, had dragged her once more. But she said it without aggression, without the fury she had shown in her chaotic moments. This time, her voice sounded more human, more vulnerable. The Jinx you knew, the one you wanted to protect so much, was here, standing in front of you, crumbled but with a need to heal.

“This place belongs to both of us, and you don’t destroy it so easily,” you said softly, walking towards her with a gentleness you had forgotten you possessed.

Jinx raised her gaze to you, a timid smile touching her lips, though her eyes were still filled with insecurity. No one had ever told her that before.

“Really?” she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Absolutely,” you replied, your heart swelling with the warmth of the moment. “We’ll rebuild it together. It will be even better this time.”

The silence returned to the room, heavy and profound, like a tide that slowly rises. Jinx observed the remnants of the painted walls, and for a moment, her eyes shone with a sadness she had not shown in years. She stepped closer to you, the space that separated you now minimal. Her gaze was fixed on you, and her eyes were no longer the same; they no longer reflected chaos or madness. Now, there was only a glimmer of vulnerability, of that childhood that had never stopped existing in her. The same girl who had once shared her life with you in Zaun, before everything changed, before the shadows trapped her.

“Do you know?” she said, her voice barely a whisper, as if she feared that her words could break the stillness surrounding them. “I think I always knew I cared about you more than I should. But I never understood it until now.

Your breath caught in your throat; your eyes sparkled with a mix of surprise and something deeper, something that had been latent, silent, for so long. It was a feeling that had been tucked away at the bottom of your heart, a feeling you had tried to ignore but had always been there, waiting for you to recognize it.

“I did too…” you said, the words escaping your lips with a softness you could hardly believe. “I always knew.”

There was silence, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a silence filled with understanding, with a connection that had never truly broken, despite all that had happened. Jinx took a step closer to you, and somehow, you both knew that words were no longer necessary. Everything you needed was to be there, together, in that space, broken but full of everything you had been.

Her fingers gently touched your cheek, a caress so fragile, so full of affection, that you felt as if everything that had been wrong in the world, all the suffering, all the chaos, faded away for a brief moment.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” Jinx whispered, her voice trembling, vulnerable. “I don’t want this to be another ending.”

The truth was that the future didn’t offer you guarantees. There were no promises in a world as chaotic, as unpredictable as the one you inhabited. But in that moment, in that little refuge, it didn’t matter what fate had in store for you. All that mattered was what you shared now, that small refuge where you could exist as just the two of you, without the voices, without the shadows, just with the shared heartbeat of your hearts.

With infinite softness, Jinx leaned toward you, her lips brushing against yours in a delicate kiss, filled with all that you had never said. It was a kiss that spoke of childhood, of laughter, of games and unfulfilled promises. It was a kiss overflowing with feelings that had been bottled up for too long, feelings that had never found a way to be expressed until now.

In that kiss, the world seemed to fit together again, as if everything you had lived had led you to this moment, to this place. There were no promises of salvation or redemption, just a silent understanding that, although the future was uncertain and pain was always lurking, in that moment you were together. And that was enough.

However, the reality of the world did not disappear. The light filtering through the cracks of the walls began to fade slowly, as if everything you had dreamed was just an illusion. The sounds of the streets of Zaun reached the background, a reminder that the city continued its course, indifferent to what was happening inside that small refuge.

“We’ll do it right, won’t we?” Jinx said, with one last smile that was more sorrowful than anything else.

And before you could respond, before the future could promise you anything more, something inside you knew there wouldn’t be a happy ending, not in the way you both might have wished. Fate, as uncertain and cruel as always, wasn’t going to grant you a “they lived happily ever after.” Not in this world.

With one last look, both of you knew that all that remained was to move forward, together or apart. You didn’t know what lay ahead, but in that moment, in that small refuge between shadows and light, you promised each other that, no matter what else crumbled, you would always remember what was, what you once shared.

And then, everything faded away, like the stars falling from the sky, leaving an immense void.

After all, this was not a fairy tale.

#arcane x reader #arcane #jinx arcane #jinx #jinx league of legends #jinx x reader #ekko arcane #jinx x you #jinx x y/n #x reader #fem reader #reader insert #powder #powder x reader #powder arcane

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sports-on-sundays · 1 day ago

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Hello hello, I am back with another request! It's with Oscar again but friends to lovers. Hear me out, the most cliche thing ever. Oscar loves her, she loves him but both too dense to realise it. They are out and about and another dude corners her and tries to make out with her, Oscar saves the day (make him protective and violent pls, make him punch the guy (side note: I would pay money to see Oscar actually punch someone, don't ask me why idk🙈)). So then he comforts her, takes her home and she asks him to stay. I will leave the rest of the convo to you🤗. Let there be a first kiss and cuddle I beg I am the biggest sucker for those bcs Oscar seems like the best guy to have your firsts with.

Holy hell that's a long ass request haha. Thank you for reading all that🤣 have fun with it and feel free to change things up a little bit if you want to!

be / OP81

Summary: Oscar x female!best childhood friend!Australian!reader - You and Oscar are finally forced to realize your feelings for each other.

Warnings: panicking, someone forcing himself onto another person, blood, crying, i did change up the request a little bit 🤏, feeling sick

Requested: Yes! And don't worry about the long request, I really liked it, and thanks so much for requesting! Long requests are better sometimes anyway.

Author's Note: Guys I'm starting to think I seriously need my very own Oscar Piastri....

"It wasn't even that funny-"

"It wasn't even that funny!"

Both you and Oscar look up to who it was mockingly imitating Oscar's friendly teasing, and your eyes set themselves upon Lando Norris, smirking obnoxiously.

"What's your problem?" you demand, crossing your arms, most of the laughter from Oscar's joke that he made fives minutes ago (yes, you were still laughing your head off at it) gone.

"What do you mean? I'm just kidding. It's just funny how your boyfriend can make the most dumb joke, and send you both into a ten minute laughing fit-"

"Boyfriend?" you and Oscar seem to ask incredulously in sink.

The smile falls off of Lando's face this time, and is replaced by a look of surprise and confusion. "Waaaait... So you're trying to tell me you guys aren't dating?"

Oscar blinks a few times in confusion. "Y/n and I are just friends. We always have been."

"Yeah," you add quickly, nodding. "I don't know why everyone thinks differently."

Lando's eyebrows raise in amusement. "Maybe because you guys act like you're mad in love...? Like, all the time? Or maybe the fact that you come to every single one of our races? Or maybe it's the way you look at each other with heart eyes, like the other one is the only one in the room? I mean, I don't know. It could be the way you're always giggling and talking and yapping to each other... But, oh, what do I and everybody else know?"

"Good question," Oscar deadpans. "What do you know?"

Lando shrugs, rollings his eyes, and struts away. As soon as he's gone, Oscar turns back to you with a little shrug and says, "Sorry about that. I guess nobody gets that two people can love each other as friends without feeling romantic feelings..."

You nod, shrugging. It makes sense to you, simply because that's how it's always been with you and Oscar, forever. The two of you practically slept in the same crib (not literally!). You always just assumed he's like a brother or something, and it doesn't pay to consider anything else. So you haven't. Too risky, and besides- that's not worth it to waste your time thinking about. You like things just the way they are, no need to change them.

"-Y/n?"

"Hm?!" you look up, snapping out of your pondering.

Oscar smiles at you, his brown eyes soft, like they always are when he looks at you. You smile back, eyes equally as warm as he says, "Did you hear me?" in amusement.

You chuckle, "No, sorry."

He nods, giving your shoulder a little pat as he stands up. "I've got to go now get ready for the race. First of the season. Wish me luck!"

"Luck isn't needed," you say with a little grin. "You've got enough skill alone to win it."

He grins. "I guess. But luck never hurts, does it?"

"Not at all." You stand up with him and give him a quick half-hug, saying gentler, "Drive safe, and bring it home. I'll be cheering you on."

"Like always?"

"Like always."

"Hey, Y/n?"

You look up from your phone, shutting it off. You're sitting alone, long after the 2025 season opening race, the Australian Grand Prix, has ended. You haven't seen Oscar since the race ended, and have just been sitting around, not wanting to go home until you have a chance to talk with him. And there he is, standing there, back in his regular clothes: a black sweatshirt, sweatpants, and sneakers, looking thoroughly sleepy.

You immediately stand up, smiling, saying simply, "It was a great drive."

"Well, I-"

"Hush. You scored points after what happened, and that's enough, for goodness' sake."

He smiles softly, and though his eyes say a lot more, he just nods and says simply, "Yeah, yeah, you're right. As always."

You nod promptly and say teasingly, "I know!"

He just rolls his eyes and says, already in a better mood just by talking to you, "Mum wanted you over tonight for dinner."

You grin, "She did, did she?"

"You know she always does, whenever I'm around, want me to bring you over. She adores you."

"She's the sweetest," you chuckle. "Well, I wouldn't mind one of your mum's home cooked meals."

Oscar nods, grabbing his coat, and saying, "I agree; that would hit the spot right now. C'mon."

You two make it to the car and get in, before you start heading to Oscar's mother's home. The car ride is mostly silent, but neither of you really mind. It's a comfortable, good kind of silence.

Towards the end of it, though, you ask simply, "So, that's the end of the first race week of the season. How're you feeling?"

Oscar shrugs, thinking for a few moments, before saying, "Hmm... I guess I'd have to say tired, but very hopeful."

You smile. "Good. You just need your beauty rest, huh?"

He glances at you with a cute little smile. "Right."

Dinner is nice. Warm, and reminds you of home, and your childhood, and everything good. And it's perfect for a rainy day like today.

Once he's finished eating, though, Oscar stands up, stretching, from the table, and says, "Well, I should be off to bed..."

"Oh, Oscar, you will give poor Y/n a ride home won't you?" Oscar's mother asks.

He looks over at you with a little smile and nods, saying, "Oh, right, of course."

You walk to the door together, but before Oscar opens the front door to leave, you gently grab his arm and say simply, "Osc."

He looks up from unlocking the door, meeting your eyes. "Hm?" he asks gently.

"You don't need to drive me home. I could get a cab or take the bus or whatever. It's all good. You've had a crazy week, as it is, much crazier than mine-"

"I mean, I was thinking maybe it'd be fine if I didn't drive you home, too, but you don't have to get a cab. I'm sure if I asked, my mum would be fine with you just staying the night or something."

You blink in surprise, but smile at the suggestion. "Oh. Well, I'd hate to bud in-"

He smiles. "You're family, Y/n. Don't worry." He takes your hand, tugging you back towards the dining room, calling, "Mum! Would it be fine if Y/n just stayed the night? We've both had a long day!"

"Oh, of course, honey! Tell her she can make herself just all nice and comfy and at home! Y/n's such a sweetheart, anyways. She's always welcome!"

Oscar smiles, looking at you. "You heard that, right?"

You smile back up at him with a little laugh. "Yeah, I heard that."

He nods, saying, "C'mon, let's go to my room."

The two of you head there, both of you knowing the way to Oscar's childhood bedroom from all the years you used to spend in there together. When you walk in, seeing all the dressers in the same place they always were, and all Oscar's old decorations from his karting days, memories seem to flood back, just like that, and both you and Oscar feel it. You crawl onto his bed, just like you always used to do, flopping down against his pillows, making yourself at home.

Oscar smiles and crawls in next to you. Just like he always used to do, too. "Last time we were both here was..."

"...right after you joined McLaren, right?" you smile at the memory.

"I guess so." He smiles down at you.

"I remember distinctly, one time, you had been gone so, so long, and I asked your mum if I could surprise you when you got home..."

Oscar starts laughing, clearly remembering it to. "Ohhh yeah. I threw open the bedroom door and flopped on my bed, even though you were on it. By the time I saw you and yelped, it was too late."

"Yeah, and I wrapped my arms around you and started tickling you," you say giggling.

He rolls his eyes, grinning. "I remember. By the end of it, I was gasping and near tears. God, Y/n, you know I was tired."

"I know. But I made you laugh and smile, didn't I? And I made you feel better, didn't I?"

"I mean, I was just happy to see you," he says, his gaze comfortably resting on yours.

"I was happy to see you. Do you know how much I missed you those months?"

"You miss me if you don't see me for a week, Y/n, still."

"Why do you think I come to every race that I can?"

"Because I pay for you to?"

You roll your eyes at that, crossing your arms, "I mean, yeah, but that's not the sentiment I was going for!"

He laughs, giving your shoulder a little playful tap. "I know, I know."

You sigh deeply, the sweet silence settling between the two of your for a little while, before murmuring, "And I hope you remember after that tickle attack, when your face was red and you were nearly crying from laughing, I gave you the biggest hug of all time..."

Oscar's face warms at that as he leans a bit closer to you. "Yeah... Yeah, I remember. You wanna know why that moment was special to me?"

"Why?"

"Because that was the moment I realized that there are some people in my life that never truly will leave me. Even if I leave them. And you're one of the best of them. That was when I learned what family is."

You nod slowly, thinking about that for a few moments, before saying, "That's... so sweet. I like it."

Oscar smiles. "Me, too. I like it too. I'm so lucky to have a best friend like you."

"And I so lucky to have a best friend like you."

Oscar smiles at that, nodding, satisfied, before letting out a big yawn, reminding you if a sleepy cat, before folding his hands up into fists and rubbing his watery eyes.

And, as if it's contagious, you let your own yawn, a few moments later.

Oscar smiles, this time more sleepily at you, before slipping his arm over your shoulders and pulling you a little closer to himself. You flop your head to lean against his shoulder, and murmur, "Time for us both to get the much-needed rest our bodies are begging us for?"

"Mmm-hm. Yeah. Whatever you said," Oscar murmurs as he drifts off, the hint of a smile still lingering on his mostly relaxed face.

And you both drift off, surrounded by that perfect warmth and tranquility that feels just like home.

A little under a week later, you're sleeping against Oscar in a very similar position, feeling like you're just as at home in China than you are in Australia, simply because of the person you're resting against, when you're awakened by the painful claims, "I ship it, the mechanics ship it, the other teams' drivers ship it, the fans ship it. My God, even my mum ships it! Literally everyone can see you're mad in love except you and her!"

You stretch, your eyes fluttering open, and murmur before you're even sure it's Lando's unwanted yapping torturing your ears, "Landooo shut uppp..."

Oscar gives your shoulder a squeeze, groaning to Lando in his perfectly alert awake state (contrary to yours), "Look at that, Lando, you made her wake up!"

"Oh, yeah, 'cause you'd hate for her to stop sleeping against y-"

"Lando, stop, it's not like that."

"How come every time a girl and a guy are friends, everyone ships them? I think that's society's problem," you comment as you rub your tired eyes.

Lando snorts, saying, "It's not every time. You guys are just obvious. And oblivious. You just need to admit it to each other."

"There's nothing to admit to each other, Lando," Oscar comments as he watches you slowly lean off of him, slipping his arm off your shoulders.

"Yeah, we're, like, brother and sister."

"Well, I wouldn't say that-" Oscar begins quickly.

"I mean, yeah, like-"

"We're more like just really close friends," Oscar finishes confidently.

"Yes, that's true, I agree," you say quickly, looking up at him. "We're family, but not brother and sister."

"Ah, so you're family, but it's not like siblings. What else could you be other than mad in love but just too dense to realize it?" Lando asks.

You just glare, crossing your arms, and Oscar comments, "I don't know, but it's not like that."

"Maybe it's just not like that simply because you both refuse to admit what you really want."

"Lando, I don't need you of all people being my psychologist. Could you just leave it?" you comment, feeling Oscar's eyes watching you.

Lando sighs (overdramatically), shrugs, and says, "Suit yourself. I'm just saying, you guys have got to get together soon, or else you'll drive yourselves and everyone else insane. We can all tell you guys just need to kiss already." And with that, he once again struts away.

As soon as he's gone, you whine, leaning your head into Oscar's shoulder, "I hate Lando!"

"Don't say that. He's just kidding," Oscar says gently.

You sigh. "I know... it's just..."

"Hm?" Oscar prompts gently.

"I don't want people thinking something that's not true."

"Who cares what they think? We both know how we feel about each other, and that's all that matters." But do we? Oscar's brain echoes.

"Yeah, you're right," you murmur, nodding, comforted by his words, not even picking up the way he stares forward, eyebrows knitted together, deep in thought.

You've heard what you think you want to hear, and that's all that matters to you.

The moment you see Oscar after his podium, after he stood on the first step, winning such a solid race as that, you run into his arms, causing him to laugh as he hugs you back, saying, "Hey, Y/n."

"I'm so proud of you!" you say excitedly. "Amazing drive- amazing!"

"Thank you, Y/n. It means a lot. I'm so happy you were here to cheer me on."

You grin up at him. "Me, too, Oscar. Me too."

He celebrated with his team after the race, you staying in your hotel, since Oscar promised you he'd like to bring you home with him to Monaco, and have a more low key celebration, without as many people. Besides, you'd like it that way better anyway. And this way, you can get some extra sleep and try to avoid some of the jet lag from the long flight to Monaco.

Now you stand in Oscar's bathroom back in Monaco, gazing at yourself in the mirror in your white crop top and silver skirt, knowing that when you step out of the bathroom, all you need is for Oscar to tell you it looks nice, and then all your worries will vanish.

And once you do, of course, he stands up from the living couch and says, "You look really pretty. Ready to go?"

You smile softly, sighing in relief, and nod. "Yes. I'm ready to go celebrate with the winner of the 2025 Chinese Grand Prix." You laugh a bit, and add as you head out to the car, "Oscar, you know I'm so incredibly proud of you."

He grins. "I know, I know." You know he loves your lavishing, even if he wouldn't admit it. He's never gotten enough of it; you're one of the people that appreciate him the most, you think, at least. You appreciate him a whole lot, anyways.

Soon you get to your destination, and the night starts off really fun, you and Oscar just sticking with each other, laughing, singing, drinking, and dancing. But after too long, the air becomes stale, the noise becomes too loud, and the drinks turn bitter. You're tired, and Oscar's off somewhere, swept away with his other friends. You sigh deeply, leaning against the wall, running a hand through your hair.

It's then that you feel a hand on your shoulder, and it makes you flinch. It's unfamiliar.

It's not Oscar's hand.

You look up to see a man around your age with tangled overgrown curly brown hair and dark, cold eyes. He's wearing a gold chain around his neck and a football jersey. It's then that he shows you his unflattering smirk and says in a thick French accent, "I'm Jordan."

You just kind of nod, showing a fake smile and crossing your arms, not really in the mood for any antics with any strange guys.

His eyebrows raise as he says, "Do you have a name, or am I going to have to give you one?"

Your lip immediately curls up as you look at him from the corner of your eye, still not tilting your face directly towards him. "You're not smooth. My name is Y/n."

"Pretty name for a pretty girl. A sassy girl, too, at that. I like that."

You bite your lip, rolling your eyes in utter annoyance at this guy 'Jordan.' "Good for you..." you murmur, trying to send him the message that you really don't want to talk with him.

Jordan just hums and steps closer to you. You glance up at him for the first time, really, feeling a bit sick from how close he is to you. You murmur awkwardly, "Could you please step away?"

"No, I don't think I will. I'm enjoying your reaction too much."

"Please, stop."

He roughly grabs your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. You swallow deeply.

"I really like your skirt..." he purrs, leaning in closer to you, completely ignoring your protests. His hand slips onto your thigh and grips it tightly.

"Stop... I don't care-"

"You don't, don't you? Well, what a shame... I reckon there's not much you can do about that..."

"St-"

He lips meet yours in a nasty, rough kiss. Your head pounds and spins as your knees begin to shake, panic of what's happening sinking in, your thoughts raging with anxious thoughts at the same time as your head being completely empty. You push at his chest, but he pushes his whole body up against yours, pinning you to the wall, further into a shadow.

You gasp, the panic sinking in deeper, and hardly register what happens next.

Oscar's familiar voice in all the chaos says in one of the angriest, coldest tones you've ever heard from his mouth, "Get your fucking nasty hands away from her."

Jordan tears his lips away from your mouth as Oscar grabs him, Jordan turning his head to look behind him, but before he has a chance to react, you watch as a fist comes flying across and hits him square across the face. He stumbles back and as blood begins gushing from his nose. For a moment, his eyes meet yours in shock, as if he expects you to help a dog like him, but it's then that you watch Oscar grab him by the collar and murmur in the darkest of tones to him, "I told you to get your nasty hands away from her, and you didn't. That's my girl, and no one dares to touch her like that. You better not think you can go on like this, and I hope this can be a reminder for you not to." And with that, Oscar throws another punch, hitting the guy in his eye. You slowly slip down the wall, still watching in shock as Oscar finishes him off by handing one more punch to him on his bloody jaw, before letting go of his collar, letting him fall to the floor, finishing with a yell, "The pain you're feeling right now is nothing compared to the pain you deserve!"

You watch as Jordan scampers up and, just like that, without even considering a fight, stumbles off, out of sight.

And then, everything hushed, Oscar turns, and his eyes meet yours. His hair is a little sweaty and messed up, falling over his forehead. For a moment, you see that remaining burning anger, but as soon as he takes you in, that vanishes, and is replace by the familiar warmth he seems to always look at you with.

And the moment your eyes lock, the tears start coming, and you break down.

Oscar is immediately by your side, pulling you into his arms, sitting on the floor next to you and holding you in his lap, gently stroking your hair. After a while, you hiccup, slowly leaning away, your body still shaking, and murmur, mopping up your eyes with your hands, "Os- Oscar... That was scary. I'm scared."

He gently takes your hand. "You don't have to be. I'm here. Are you ready to go home?"

You nod slowly, and Oscar helps you up, leading you out back to his car, his arm around your back protectively the entire time.

Once back in the car, as the events of what just happened replay through your head, you hiccup, more tears threatening to flow. Oscar gently takes your hand, murmuring in the dark of the parked car, "Tell me what I can do for you, and I'll do it. I hope you know I'll do anything for you to feel better."

You sigh shakily and just lean into him. He wraps his arms around you, holding you for a few minutes, before you lean away again and murmur, "Let's just get home..."

Oscar nods. "Good idea." He turns the car on and begins driving, and as soon as he does holds his hand that he's not using to drive out to you. You put your hand in his, letting the warmth from it fill you and comfort you.

As he drives, you suddenly say in the empty silence, "'That's my girl.' That's what you said."

Oscar just nods a little. "I know. I did mean to say that, you know."

You swallow, thinking for a few moments, before murmuring the simple question, "Why?"

"Because you've always been mine and I've always been yours, haven't I?"

You swallow. "I don't know what that means."

"Forget what it means. You're the most important girl- the most important person- to me. You're my girl, and I'm not going to let anyone be messing with you."

That feels right to you, and good to you, to hear that. And you're glad, in a way, that he's so confidently figured that out. It frees you to say back, "Well, yeah, then... I guess that makes you my boy, then..."

Oscar smiles very softly, giving your hand a little squeeze as you arrive at his home. Once you're both inside, before you have a chance to start worrying, Oscar says gently, putting a hand on your shoulder, "I want you to be comfortable. What do you need? I could get you something to eat, run a bath for you, get a change of clothes, all three, whatever else you need-"

"Oh, uh, don't worry about it-"

"Hush," Oscar suddenly interrupts, shaking his head. He moves to stand right in front of you, before gazing down into your eyes, and saying in all sincerity, "Look, I want you to be honest. I want to take care of you if that's what you need. I want you to be comfortable."

You swallow, nodding a bit, before murmuring, "A bath and a change of clothes might be nice... I'm not hungry, though."

Oscar nods, putting his hand on your back, leading you to his room. He opens his closet and says, "You can wear whatever you can find. I'm going to go run that bath for you; I'll call you when it's ready. I'll get a towel for you in the bathroom, too."

You nod, find one of his bigger McLaren T-shirts and a pair of black sweatpants, and head to the bathroom just as Oscar is calling for you.

Oscar smiles at you gently when you walk in and say simply, "Anything else you need?"

You shake your head 'no,' saying, "Thank you."

He nods. "Of course. I'll just be in the living room, you can come there when you're done. Call me if you need anything. And take your time, too."

You smile weakly, nodding. "Alright. Thanks, Osc."

He nods, leaving you to have your bath. You peel off your clothes and sink into the water, feeling its warmth surround you like an embrace. You let out a long sigh of relief as the water touches your sore, tense muscles, soothing them. After the night you've had, it feels good to just be. To just experience something genuinely good and calming, knowing Oscar is just in the next room.

Oscar. The way he stood up for you, was so protective of you, and beyond that, has been taking such good care of you... You know Oscar a good man... He was always a really sweet boy, and he's grown up to be a really very upright and sweet man. It was crazy- crazy- to see him go off on that stranger, and beat him up the way he did.

But somehow, it felt right. It was just proving he's good. That he cares so much about and for you, he won't let anyone hurt you without knowing the consequences of it from him.

How much does he really care about me?

The question almost feels good to ask, because you have a feeling the answer is one you like.

And then the way he so confidently called you his girl.

'That's my girl.'

Just looking back on it, for some reason, it makes your heart skip a beat. It's that chest-tightening nervous affectionate feeling you get often when Oscar does or says little things. Although this time, it's not little, and every new thing he does seems to make your stomach flutter a little more. It's a familiar feeling that you're sure you've gotten hundreds of times before with Oscar, but for some reason, you're only realising it now. Why, you have no idea, and what the strange feelings could mean, you have even less of an idea.

Soon, you finish your bath, and after drying yourself put on Oscar soft, comfortable clothes, no matter how over sized they are on you. Besides, you don't care in the slightest about that as soon as you inhale his familiar, comforting scent when you put them on. You go to the living room and see Oscar laying on the couch on his phone, now in a T-shirt and sweatpants, just relaxing. As soon as you walk in, though, he looks up.

"Osc...? Do you have a brush I could use for my hair?"

He nods, hopping up from the couch, and says, "Yeah, I do. Wait here, I'll be right back. Just get yourself comfy."

He leaves, and you shrug, taking his advice, and curl up on the couch, waiting for him to come back. He takes longer than you expect him to, but soon enough, he walks back in and sits next to you, saying, "Why don't you just relax, and I can brush it for you?"

"Seriously? You don't have to," you say immediately, secretly wanting badly for him to brush your hair for you. You love the feeling of other people playing with your hair- and if it's Oscar, even better.

He smiles at you. "I know, but I want to." And with that, to both of your delight apparently, begins gently brushing through your hair. When he's done, he slowly start running his fingers through it, starting from the bottom and going up to the top. You sigh, leaning back into him, and Oscar just simply loves it. After a while he says, softly amused, "You just seem to melt when my hands are in your hair."

You shrug, smiling a little, and say, "What can I say? It feels really good."

He chuckles that low comforting chuckle that feels just like home. "I can tell." After a few more minutes he says, "I found a hair tie I think you must've left here at one point. Do want me to braid your hair or something?"

You smile, glancing back at him, and say, "You can do that? I don't know if I can trust you."

He just smiles back at you. "You should. I'm good at it. Remember, I grew up with three sisters."

You shrug again before saying, "Well, alright..."

He chuckles softly again, before he gently begins braiding your hair, his fingers gently weaving through your locks, slowly, until he finally finishes and ties it on the end. Once he's finished, you turn around to face him.

He smiles at you.

You smile back, taking his hands in both of yours.

"You're beautiful," he suddenly says, looking right into your eyes. "I don't think I've told you that enough. Because I think it all the time, whenever I look at you."

For some reason, your friend saying that makes you blush. There are a few moments of silence, before you look down at your joined hands and murmur, "Crazy that the hands that beat up that guy are the same hands that just gently braided my hair."

Oscar shrugs, smiling a little. "They have different uses in different moments. And I don't regret what I did for a moment, not any of it. I would do the exact same thing if I had to do it all again. In fact, just thinking about it makes me really angry. But what matters most is that you're okay."

You sigh slowly, nodding, your head a bit dizzy at the thought of it all. "I'm just so thankful for you, throughout it all. You, like, saved the day..." you chuckle wryly.

He shrugs, nodding a bit. "I guess." A little laugh.

More silence.

You stare down once more at your joined hands. "But Oscar..." you begin hesitantly.

"Yes?" he prompts gently.

"...I'm sorry."

"Y/n... for what? You did nothing wrong-!" Oscar begins somewhat incredulously.

"It's just... You were celebrating your win..."

"Oh, Y/n..." Oscar begins, his tone softening. "Come on, now. Look up at me, will you?"

You sigh, doing so.

"It's not your fault, what happened," Oscar says. "It's that idiot's fault, and we both know that. What happened happened, and there was no preventing it. And if you're worried about me, don't be. I had a perfectly good time celebrating in China with my team. This was more that I wanted to do something with you, for you. But look at this right now. Here we are, sitting together, anyway. Isn't that what matters the most anyway; isn't that the point? So why don't we just make the most of this moment, right now, hm?"

You sigh again, nodding slowly, before saying, you heart almost feeling like it's being squeezed, "Okay."

"Hey," Oscar murmurs, his hand touching the bottom of your chin. "You're looking down again. Talk to me." He gently raises your chin.

You swallow, and suddenly, words that you hardly knew you even thought start coming from your mouth, and only now as you hear them in your voice do they even begin to make sense: "I guess it's just that... You're so caring and gentle with me, and protective. And we like each other so much and get along so well and we've known each other for years and... I guess sometimes I wonder about us... You know, our relationship, like, what even is it? I mean, I think we'd both readily admit we most definitely love each other, but I guess... well, I don't know..."

Oscar nods slowly, before whispering, as if it's some long kept secret, "You guess you just wonder in what way we love each other?"

You swallow, nodding. "Well, yes, exactly. Because... well, I don't know."

"Can I tell you how I feel about you?"

You study his face for a few moments- his handsome face- and nod.

"I feel about you the most deep feeling I've ever known, deeper than I ever thought I could experience. The love I have for you is beyond anything I could describe in a physical sense- it's beyond a romantic love or and family love or the strongest kind of named love I could think of. All I know is that when I look at you, I see fulfillment, and happiness. I see everything I've ever needed, plus everything I've ever wanted. I see a priceless jewel- the sort of thing that anyone would honor and protect with their life. I see beauty herself, on the inside and out. I see my best friend, my favorite person, the one I would spend any and every moment with, if I could. I see comfort, I see love. I look at you and know the great lengths I would go for you. I know it's all so cliche, but it is a love beyond words. It is. I just..." he trails off, before leaning in and whispering, "Are you crying?"

You sniff, looking away, your heart pounding. "No..."

He smiles gently, his hand leaving yours to reach up and wipe a tear away off your cheek with his thumb, "Don't cry."

"That's just so... sweet... and... everything I exactly feel, too, put into words..."

"Y/n..." he hums gently with a little chuckle. "I don't want you to cry, though."

"Don't worry," you say with a little hiccupy laugh. "They're good tears."

He smiles a bit, grabbing your hand again and giving it a squeeze. "Okay."

You swallow, before daring to ask, "What would the difference be, if you were my boyfriend instead of my best friend?"

Oscar eyes seem to light slightly at the question, and he says simply, "Nothing at all, except for one thing: we would be able to express that deep love for each other in different ways."

You nod slowly, swallowing.

Oscar leans in closer to you. "How does that sound to you?"

"I... I think it could be just what I need."

Oscar smiles softly. "I mean, I feel like... it would be nice to not just have to use my words to tell you how much I love you. You know, to be able to kiss you, or something, instead."

You find yourself smile a little at the words, nodding as pinkness gets to your cheeks. "Yeah... that doesn't sound so bad."

Oscar smiles, just gazing into your eyes. "Yeah?"

"It's just that... with tonight, with what happened..."

"Oh, I wasn't meaning we had to do anything tonight- just to think about. You know...?"

You nod slowly, before muttering, "But maybe... Just maybe tonight is the night to do it." You pause, before continuing, "You know, with all that happened, maybe if we just decided... tonight, let's just take a little step... it would help me to leave that. You know, it wasn't my fault... and I have someone who really does love me."

Oscar smiles. "And I really do."

You smile back, looking back up into his sweet brown eyes.

He slips his hand out of yours and gently brings it to your cheek, muttering, "Well, is it okay if I kiss you? Just a little kiss?"

You smile wider, feeling your stomach flutter at the sincere question. Nodding, you reply, "Yes, I reckon that is okay."

Oscar nods, his thumb stroking your cheek a bit as he leans in, his other hand gently touching your waist. His hand on your cheek shifts to cup the side of your neck, and he whispers, his warm breath on your ear, "You still okay?"

You nod.

And with that, he leans in, and, pulling you closer to himself, kisses you in the most perfect way. His adoration and love for you flows through the kiss, while still keeping it short and gentle. When he leans away, he whispers, "How was that?" with a little adorable smile.

You just sigh shakily and murmur, "I think you should do it again."

And he does without a second more of hesitation. His lips meet yours as he pulls your body closer to himself, lost in the kiss, lost in his emotions. When he pulls away again, he's pulled you onto his lap, but neither of you seem to care, both too swept up in each other's gazing eyes.

"I didn't realize for how long I needed to do that..." he whispers gently.

You smile a little. "I didn't realize how long I needed that from you."

He smiles back. "We'll call that both of our first kisses, okay?"

You nod. "Does this mean I'm your girlfriend now?"

"I like the sound of that."

You smile and throw your arms around him in an embrace. He pulls you closer to him, leaning back so that you can lay your head on him, and rubs your back, whispering, "I love you so much, Y/n. So, so much. To the moon and the stars and all the way back."

You smile up at him. "I don't know about the moon and the stars for me Oscar, but I'll tell you this: I love you enough to want to spend my life with you. I love you enough to want to grow old with you."

At those words, Oscar's arms tighten around you, and he chuckles, "See how sappy we suddenly get as soon as we decide to just give it up and kiss? My God."

You grin into his chest. "Yeahhh... But I don't mind it."

"Oh, trust me, I don't either." He shifts, moving you with him, making you both comfortable, so that you're laying together, cuddling.

"I really like this."

He hums. "Me too."

"You know we'll never hear the end of it from Lando if he finds out."

You feel the vibration of his laugh in his chest. "I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, let's just relax. I just want to be. Be with you."

"I think that sounds like exactly what I was made for. To be with you."

He smiles, and you shut your eyes, content to listen to his heartbeat and just be.

Just be with him.

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leftwound · 7 hours ago

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Nothing will ever give me the same precise feeling as stucky does even after all this time they are still a tender ache they’re in my heart forever I’m with you til the end of the line

Wild to think how invested I once was in captain america. They really put something in the winter soldier (2014). you had to be there

#and also winter soldier is just a really fucking good movie still

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sillyzeta · 14 hours ago

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die your daughter.

yandere! batfamily x neglected!reader

sipnosis: Your own desires were alien to your family, to the point where you are determined to commit an atrocious act but suddenly everything is 7 years ago when you were only 12 years old. Something has changed and you're not sure what it is.

She danced, danced and danced until she was exhausted until she finally managed to have his full attention, in her eyes he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, she didn't want money, she didn't want fame, she just wanted to spend at least one night with him, talking perhaps, everything she desired in her broken mind.

And in her mind, she wanted to at least tell him that secret she kept for a year, the secret she was so afraid to tell him because she thought he would let her go and never want to know about it. So at least she wanted to get a good life for you, a life where you eat without worrying about her eating, a life where you could sleep warm, yes... That was all she wanted.

But the tragedy happened and at least she wanted her last words to be you, her beloved daughter.

So she finally spoke to him, whispered in his ear afraid the world would hear her, in a voice that was quiet and soon faded until finally it did, she vanished into his arms. He sighed, a lump in his throat prevented him from saying a few last words to his beloved and with all the regret in his body, he got up, heading to the changing rooms in the back, in search of his little treasure.

Everyone had left due to the commotion except him, he had to find you and he did, you were hidden in the clothes of the one who was now your deceased and beloved mother, Your body was shaking even with all the layers of clothing you had on you, it seemed like it wasn't enough.

Then he held you in his arms, his expression one of pain and exhaustion as he buried his face in your hair and whispered.

‘im sorry... please forgive me...!’ he says.

You were too young to understand so you just accepted the warm embrace of the man, a man you had never seen again in your life.

After that you had been adopted, it turns out that you were his daughter all this time but it seems that he forgot it and suddenly you were left in the shadows along with the memories of your mother.

You really didn't understand how he, your father, couldn't love you? Was that even possible? And to add to your loneliness, your siblings soon ignored you, so focused on their own lives that for a moment in your life, you wanted to be selfish.

After a few years, another child came, he who was truly your almost flesh and blood brother, You thought you could at least get along with him but you found out the hard way that you could never bond with him. The wound on your back still hurts, as a reminder of your entire family's ignorance, you hated that.

More and more scars stuck to your body, one more painful than the other, and the only way to avoid feeling it was to sleep in a strange dream, so strange that when you woke up, you forgot about it.

That was your salvation.

But they say good things don't last forever, and so it was. The dreams were even crueler, you woke up with even deeper wounds, and you felt like it was no longer helping you at all. The desperation was so great that you simply decided on a last attempt of faith to get closer to your siblings, you failed miserably.

The years passed and you became so dependent on your family that you hated it, you hated it so much that you wished you were dead, and yes, it was the best.

You did it and now you're back to relive the same nightmares.

NEW SERIES LOL i feel so evil (⁠+⁠_⁠+⁠).....

fated to pretend It will only have 4 chapters, I don't have many ideas except for a few things... But nothing more than that.

And this, well, I don't have a plan for when it ends.

#yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #dc fanfiction #platonic batfam #platonic yandere batfam #yandere platonic #yandere bruce wayne #batman #yandere batman #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batboys #yandere alfred pennyworth #yandere cassandra cain

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tucsonhorse · 1 day ago

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And even the more expensive ones are still a really good deal compared to a Target shopping trip!

One of my favorite museums is a science museum that has a general public entrance fee of $35 per adult. It's an unusually good Target trip if I can get out of there paying less than $35. AND the Target trip lasts me maybe an hour, and usually involves me looking at stuff and going "I want it and it looks fun but it's too expensive 😔". Whereas the last time I visited the science museum I think we spent like 3 hours there (there was still more to do but we got tired out) and I enjoyed it the whole time. I got to play with the interactive exhibits and learn lots of new things and even the exhibits about Indigenous culture and racism/the George Floyd protests which actually made me cry left me feeling emotionally satisfied in a way no Target trip ever has.

Also museums usually have good gift shops and you can get a neat little souvenir much less expensively than at Target while also having the positive emotion from your visit connected to that souvenir forever.

A museum doesn't have to be a bunch of art hanging on walls, and it doesn't have to be boring. If art isn't your thing, find a museum about something you do like. Enjoy building stuff? Visit a historical house and examine the structure and building style. Like cars or machinery? There are lots of car and machinery museums all over! Are you a farmer? It's a good bet there's a local historical museum/center that has at least one exhibit about farming. I am personally a bit biased but I think everyone can enjoy a natural history museum, they usually have good exhibits about animals and wildlife and geology and water systems, all kinds of stuff that everyone has in their daily life and may not think about often.

Seriously, search online for a museum about your interests. I found one not far away from where we live that is all about telecommunications which my husband gets really excited about. He has always said he doesn't like going to museums on vacation because they're boring, but he had a great time and loved that museum because it was about his interests (same for the science museum).

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treefish815 · 3 days ago

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I've talked about this a lot on other sites, but as a queer man and OG fan of Kingdom Come Deliverance, I really want to talk about the canonisation of Hansry in KCD2 and just how healing it was for me as someone who escaped through this game and the ship hard as a young teenager.

Look, I just need to put out into the world how much it meant/means to me, and I think of all places, Tumblr will probably appreciate it the most. I also just kinda want to write it for myself because I've never written ALL of this out and it's something I've been thinking about for nearly 2 months now, so it's a little long, which is why it's under the cut.

So, I've been playing KCD pretty much since it released, which was when I was about 12. Living in a conservative area as an effeminate, sensitive, very obviously and loudly queer little boy, at around the age of 11 or 12 I reached a point in growing up when I think the people around me realised it wasn't just a weird little kid phase, and that I really was a faggot, and, as I'm sure you could guess, I suffered a significant amount of bullying over the next 3 years.

But, as silly as I feel saying this, KCD was an escape from that for me. I was miserable in my own life, so, between the ages of 12-15, I threw hundreds of hours into KCD1 dedicating myself to Henry's life instead. And I think there 2 big reasons why I latched onto that game in particular over others- the world was so immersive and beautiful that it was easy to get lost in it, and Henry and Hans's relationship. (It's also just a great game- but there are dozens of great games that I played in that time that never quite captivated me in the same way).

Putting aside the fact I had a fat crush on Hans, his and Henry's relationship was something I always looked forward to watching the development of every playthrough, and I would often spend a good chunk of my playthrough not actually advancing the main quest to instead make up (usually very angsty) little scenarios where their relationship evolved into something more. I'd follow Hans around Rattay and pretend he and Henry were secretly in love but could never show it, lest they be beaten and ostracised, or have conversations to myself while sitting with Theresa where I would imply that Henry had to be with her for his own safety or to distract himself from Hans, that type of thing. Considering I never thought to write KCD fanfiction until this year, I would've had a LOT of material if I'd started then, but I digress.

My point is that Hansry was something that, in a way, I think I used to cope with the homophobia I was facing. They were characters who lived in a time where they could never openly love each other, Henry was a character who could stand up for a queer monk who was being ostracised in the monastery when no one else would, Hans was a character who put on an act of arrogance and "I don't give a fuck" that we can see in more serious end-game moments isn't 100% true to his personality much as I did at a younger age to pretend what was happening to me didn't bother me, and I just... connected so strongly with them.

I've been waiting for KCD2 for 7 years. In those 7 years, I always wistfully hoped for there to be a possible Hansry path to go down, but never in a million years did I think it would ever actually happen. I'd been to KCD Twitter. I'd been to KCD YouTube. I knew the anti-woke and by extension mildly homophobic section of the fandom was far larger than I'd have liked it to be, so as much as I yearned, I knew in the bottom of my heart that Hansry would forever just be a silly little daydream of mine.

But, that brings me to 2025. I'm nearly 19, I've been living in arguably the most progressive and queer-friendly city in my entire country for 3 years, I'm openly queer and haven't heard a negative thing about it since I left my hometown, I'm happier than I've ever been and have almost no anxiety in my day to day life, and I cried for a good few hours when I watched the Hansry romance scene for the first time.

I'd seen a spoiler that Hans was the main male love interest a few days earlier, and that had WORRIED me. I thought either 1. it would be a drunk fuck that was played entirely for laughs and that ultimately meant nothing or 2. it would be a tragic story that no matter what you did, could only end badly as an attempt to uphold historical accuracy (which... could be done well, but I thought it would probably be hard for me to play through and could spark its own form of homophobia in the fandom wherein people specifically had that outcome happen to stick it to the gays, or whatever. I'd seen someone on Steam complaining that Hans was the male LI because it meant he couldn't kill him and "protect Henry from the potential of sinning" and it really stuck with me.)

Holy hell was I wrong. Daniel Vavra, you may be kind of a cunt on Twitter, but I will sit back and let you cook from now on before I make a judgement.

I cannot tell you what an incredible feeling it was to see those two characters, who I escaped through and who I adored with my whole heart not only both canonically be bisexual, just like me, but also actually have a loving, and intimate romance scene (seeing the intimate naked making out when I'd been so afraid of a drunk, no strings attached fuck was such a strange feeling of relief) after 7 years of desperately wanting that even while knowing there was no way Warhorse would ever go through with it considering their target audience. That alone would have made my year, even if they did have an unavoidable tragic ending no matter how hard Henry tried to salvage it.

But there was another thing about their romance that really really stood out to me, and that was so unbelievably healing. Their romance is generally... quite happy. They never experience homophobia first hand. They never go through the whole "it's a sin... we should stop seeing each other..." rigmarole. They're never found out and outed to the wrong people who try to tear them apart.

Sure, Hans is engaged to a woman against his will, but as a noble, that was always a strong possibility regardless of whether the person who truly has his heart is a blacksmith's son or a butcher's daughter. And it's never even a suggestion that his marriage would end his and Henry's relationship- Hans's angsting over the marriage comes more from the fact it's out of his control and will give him less freedoms than he currently has. And yes, their story is filled to the brim with angsty moments, and so much death or near death, but that's completely separate to their love story- they suffer just as much if they're best friends as they do if they're lovers. The queerness is not the angst, the war they happen to be living through the beginnings of is the angst.

Henry and Hans are two men, in love in a time when they could never openly be together, in a time when most people around them would object to them being happy together and living true to themselves, and yet they have a happy love story anyway. And, as silly as it sounds, I don't care, I'm going to say it anyway- that positive portrayal of their love felt like telling my 12 year old self that everything would be okay, and he wasn't doomed to be miserable for the rest of his life. Because if those characters he identified so strongly with could be happy in their queerness when living in arguably worse circumstances to be queer, why couldn't he? As much as I processed the trauma of the bullying I was going through through angsty plotlines involving Henry and Hans, and as much as I'm an angst lover period, that... that healed me. It was like hugging my younger self.

As much as KCD is just a game and Hansry is just a gay ship, it's always been something that means so much to me, and this silly little video game romance made me realise just how far I've come and how different things are for me, while simultaneously comforting that past version of myself who still lives deep inside me somewhere. I feel him less now than I did in January 2025, and that's insane.

"No one asked for this!" the snowflake conservatives cried on the steam discussion boards in their 1 star reviews of a game they boycotted and never bought. The 12 year old boy who processed and coped with traumatic homophobic experiences through those characters did.

Representation does matter, and always will.

#kingdom come deliverance #kcd #kcd1 #kcd2 #kingdom come deliverance 2 #Hansry #Henry/Hans #Hans Capon #Henry of Skalitz

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zaynessbeloved · 2 days ago

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It was always you (and us)

⟢ summary: You were always a trio—Caleb, Zayne, and you. Bound by childhood, laughter, and a quiet promise that none of you would ever be left behind. But things change. And somewhere between late-night study sessions and growing up, you start to realize your heart is pulling in a different direction. The three of you were supposed to stay the same. But you’re not kids anymore. And some feelings don’t stay quiet forever.

⟢ pairings: Zayne x reader, Caleb x reader

⟢ word count: 8k

⟢ a/n: Content warnings: Explicit sexual content, emotional angst, pining, past abandonment/separation, oral sex, praise kink/soft dom energy, mutual consent/ongoing verbal checks, unprotected sex (condom mentioned, reader is on birth control), loss of virginity/first time sex, emotional vulnerability/confession of love

Chapter 3

The knock at the door is firm, deliberate. Almost impatient.

I hesitate. It’s late. Too late for someone to be knocking like that unless it’s an emergency. My stomach twists as I cross the room, gripping the doorknob before I finally pull it open. And there he is. Zayne.

Standing in my doorway like a ghost from the past, like something I tried to forget but never truly could. The dim glow of the porch light catches on his sharp features, the familiar storm in his eyes—gray, unreadable, but undeniably intense. He’s changed. Taller. Broader. But still him.

I blink, barely processing it before the words spill out. “How do you even know where I live?”

He exhales through his nose, the corner of his lip twitching up like he expected the question. “Your housewarming party.”

Oh. Right. His parents were there. Of course, they knew. Before I can say anything else, he holds something up. A small bouquet of flowers—the jasmines. The ones I left behind at the restaurant.

“You forgot these,” he says simply.

I stare at him, incredulous. “You came all this way for that?”

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even shift under my gaze, but there’s something tight in his expression. Something restrained.

“Okay… thanks.” I take the flowers and step back, gripping the door. “Bye, Zayne.”

I go to shut it, but he stops me. His foot wedges between the door and the frame, halting it before it can close him out completely. “…Please.” That one word—low, raw, defeated—makes my breath catch. “I just want to talk.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and release the door, turning on my heel as I walk back into my apartment, tossing the flowers onto the counter without a second thought.

“Haven’t we done enough of that, Zayne?” I bite out, my voice sharper than I mean for it to be, but I don’t care. The words keep pouring, five years’ worth of pent-up emotions boiling over. “Or do you wanna catch up on the five years you weren’t here?”

I don’t wait for his response. I keep walking, shaking my head, my chest tight with every step I take away from him. But before I can put even a foot of distance between us, his hand wraps around my wrist. Firm. Unyielding. Then— he yanks me back. My breath stutters, my body colliding against his before I can even react. And then his lips are on mine. It’s not soft. It’s not tentative. It’s fire—all-consuming, searing, desperate.

His hand tangles in my hair, pulling me deeper, like he’s trying to make up for every second, every year, every moment we lost. Like he’s been starving for this. For me. His other hand presses against my lower back, holding me in place, not letting me slip away. And I don’t fight it. I don’t want to. Because I feel it too.

The years of distance, the tension that’s always been there, unspoken but never gone. The way he kissed me then versus the way he’s kissing me now—like he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers again. I fist my hands in his shirt, gripping onto him as my knees nearly give out from the sheer force of it all. It’s overwhelming. It’s everything.

When we finally break apart, both of us gasping, his forehead falls against mine. His eyes stay closed, his chest heaving, breaths shallow. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to. Neither of us do. Because we both know. Whatever this is… whatever we just crossed into… There’s no going back.

Your forehead stays pressed against his, the space between you nonexistent. Both of you are panting, breathless, caught in the silence stretching between you. Neither of you move. Neither of you speak.

Because there’s a war happening inside both of you. Zayne’s grip on your waist doesn’t loosen, his fingers still curled into the fabric of your shirt, as if he’s afraid that the moment he lets go, you’ll disappear. But you don’t pull away either. You kissed him back.

That realization sends a fresh wave of heat through you, your heart hammering so hard you can feel it in your throat. But another realization crashes over you like a tidal wave, sudden and unrelenting. Because now—now—it all makes sense. Not only had Caleb basically confessed to you in his own way, saying he wanted to be there for you in more than just a friends or family way… but now Zayne kissed you. And you let him. You wanted him to.

And suddenly, it hits you with terrifying clarity—it was always him. It was always Zayne you caught yourself looking at differently, the one who made something unfamiliar stir in your chest before you even had the words to define it. It was always him that ignited something different in you, ever since that day when you were just eight years old and saw him sitting alone under that tree, reading. It was always him.

Your lips part slightly, but you don’t know what to say. Do you even need to say anything? And Zayne… he notices. He notices that you aren’t running, aren’t rejecting him, and aren't pushing him away. He notices the way your fingers are still clutching onto him, gripping his shirt like an anchor, like you’re just as lost as he is.

And for the first time in five years, he finds just enough courage to break the silence. His voice is low, breathless, almost hesitant. “…Can this count as your first real kiss?” The words sink in, unraveling something deep inside you. Before you can even process them, he adds, quieter, rougher— “Not the one Caleb gave you that night?”

Your breath catches. His hands tighten against you, as if he’s bracing for impact, as if he already regrets asking but can’t stop himself. And then, just barely above a whisper— “Or did that someone important already take that spot in the five years I’ve been gone?”

His voice is strained. There’s something fragile about it, something raw. He’s giving you an out. A chance to tell him that he’s too late. That you’ve already given your heart to someone else. Your forehead stays pressed against his, both of you breathless, your hearts racing in sync. The silence stretches between you, thick with everything unspoken, with years of longing that neither of you dared to name—until now.

But the way he’s looking at you—like this moment is everything—makes you realize… There’s no one else. There was never anyone else. Not really. Because deep down, “it was always you.”

Zayne freezes. His breath hitches, his fingers twitching slightly where they still rest against your waist. It’s as if he wasn’t meant to hear those words at this moment. As if they escaped before you even had the chance to think them through. But you don’t back down. Not after tonight. Not after this. Not after the 13 years of knowing him, of loving him without even realizing it until now. Because this—this feeling in your chest, this heat rushing through your veins, this unshakable truth—isn’t something you can ignore anymore.

“Are you sure of what you’re saying?” His voice is quiet, careful. It’s almost like he’s scared to confirm if he heard you correctly, like he’s offering you an out, one last chance to take it back.

But then—he sees it.The look in your eyes. There is no mistaking it. Not anymore. His grip on you tightens, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as he takes a slow, shaky breath. His hazel eyes search yours, desperate, vulnerable, like he’s standing at the edge of something he’s feared for so long.

“Because if you are, I need you to know this.” He exhales sharply, voice trembling with the weight of the words he’s about to say. “I have loved you from the very first moment I laid eyes on you.”

Your breath stutters, but he doesn’t stop. “I haven’t felt like I could breathe for the past five years. Five years of pure torture of not seeing your face, not hearing your laugh.” His voice cracks, but he pushes through. “There has never been another one for me. And there never will be.”

A pause—just long enough for you to see the raw, unfiltered emotion in his expression. Then, finally— “I—” He stumbles over the word, like it’s been lodged in his throat for years, fighting to get out. His hands shake slightly against you, but his eyes never leave yours. “I love you.”

And there it is. A confession that has been years in the making, the one truth that has lived between you both for so long but was never spoken aloud. Zayne’s words hang in the air between you, heavy, irreversible.

I love you.

Your chest tightens. Not because of the weight of his confession—but because suddenly, you see it. You see everything. All the years, all the moments, all the ways Zayne had been holding back—the way he let Caleb take the spot, how he always seemed to step aside without a fight. Because in his mind… Caleb was the right one for you.

Zayne saw it. The way Caleb always looked at you. The way his fingers always brushed against yours a second longer than necessary. The way he protected you before you even realized you needed protecting. Even when you were kids, when none of you truly understood, Zayne saw it.

And so, he did what he always did—what he was used to doing. He stepped back. Because before he came into the picture, before you captivated his 11-year-old self with your little smile and big, curious eyes, it was always you and Caleb.

Caleb was there first. Caleb was your first friend. Caleb was your first everything. And Zayne… he was the outsider. No matter how much he wanted you—no matter how much you became the only person who had ever made his world feel warm—he had convinced himself, even back then, that when the time came… You would pick Caleb over him. You always would.

And looking at him now, truly looking at him, you realize—he never once thought he stood a chance. His whole life, Zayne believed he was the one meant to lose. But the thing is…He was wrong. Because while Caleb was always there, while Caleb made you feel safe and loved in ways you thought were irreplaceable, there was something else.

There was always something else when it came to Zayne. Something different. Something more. Your heart is hammering in your chest, the realization hitting you like a lightning strike, like something that had been waiting to break free. And suddenly, you need him to know.

You step closer, your hands reaching up to frame his face, your fingertips grazing along his jaw, and his breath stutters. His wide hazel eyes, always so unreadable, crack open, vulnerable, as if he’s terrified you’re about to prove his worst fear right. As if he’s waiting for you to break him.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, feeling the years of emotions pressing against your ribcage, threatening to spill over. Then— “I was never going to pick Caleb.” Zayne stiffens. His lips part slightly, as if he wants to say something, but no words come out. His grip on you tightens just the slightest bit, like he doesn’t believe what he just heard.

“You were never second, Zayne,” you whisper, your voice trembling, but not with doubt—with certainty. “It was always you.” His breath leaves him in a quiet, broken sound—one he doesn’t even try to hide. And just like that, everything between you shatters. The space, the silence, the years of believing this moment would never come— Because now he knows.

Now, there’s no room left for doubt. And in the next breath, his lips crash onto yours again, his hands burying into your hair, his body pressing against yours as if he’s making up for all the time he lost. Because for the first time in his life… Zayne isn’t stepping back. He’s finally stepping forward.

The tension crackles between you like a live wire, the air thick with unspoken words and the weight of everything you’ve yet to acknowledge. Zayne’s eyes, dark and stormy, bore into yours, a silent question lingering between you. Then, without breaking eye contact, he takes a deliberate step forward, guiding you backward. Your breath hitches when the small of your back meets the kitchen counter, the cool marble pressing against you even as heat surges through your veins.

For a moment, he hesitates. His hands flex at his sides, as if battling an internal war, before a silent decision flickers across his face. Then, with careful precision, he grabs your waist and lifts you onto the counter, your breath catching as your legs instinctively part to accommodate him.

And then—he’s there, between your legs, his fingers pressing into your thighs, thumbs stroking over your skin in a way that sends shivers rippling through you. You exhale shakily, fingers threading through the dark strands of his hair as his lips find yours once more. This kiss is different—deeper, more desperate. A collision of longing and uncertainty, of years of friendship melting into something raw and unknown.

His hands tighten around your thighs as you wrap your legs around his waist, drawing him closer—so close that there’s barely any space left between you. His breath hitches against your lips, and you feel it, the slight falter in his movements, the unspoken inexperience that mirrors your own.

Zayne has always been composed, unreadable, but now? Now, you can feel the subtle tremor in his touch, the way he lingers just a second too long, as if gauging your reaction. He isn’t as practiced as you might have thought. Neither of you are.

And maybe that’s what makes this all the more intoxicating. The realization that you are both treading into uncharted territory, discovering, exploring—together.

Your hands drift to his shoulders, nails lightly digging in as the heat between you grows unbearable. His lips ghost along your jaw, down the column of your throat, and you tilt your head back, giving him silent permission. There is nothing else in this moment—no past, no future. Just him. Just this.

The touch of his slender, cold fingers on your bare thighs sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, a sharp contrast to the heat pooling low in your stomach. His hands, steady but hesitant, press against your skin, anchoring you in place as the space between you vanishes entirely.

The soft, heated press of his mouth against your throat has your breath catching, your pulse hammering so wildly you wonder if he can feel it beneath his lips. And then—his lips part slightly, the damp heat of his mouth pressing against your skin as he sucks lightly, not enough to mark, but enough to send a shiver rolling through you. Zayne exhales against your neck, a low, shaky breath that betrays just how lost in this moment he is too.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice low and rough, the words vibrating against your throat. The sound of his voice like this—so close, so raw—makes something inside you unravel. You shiver, not from the cold, but from the sheer intensity of it all. He notices. Of course he does.

His hands tighten slightly on your thighs, his thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles into your skin. But he doesn’t move them higher—not yet. Maybe he’s waiting. Maybe he’s testing his own restraint. Maybe, like you, he’s caught somewhere between curiosity and desire, balancing on the edge of something neither of you fully understand yet.

His lips continue their descent, each kiss burning hotter than the last, and your head spins—whether from the intensity of it all or the sheer realization that this is Zayne, your Zayne, pressing you into the counter like you’re the only thing that matters. And right now, in this moment, it feels like you are.

Your fingers tighten around him, your grip desperate as his kisses strip away every last ounce of hesitation you once had. There’s no room for uncertainty anymore, no space for second thoughts—just heat, just need.

Your body shifts instinctively, tilting forward as your lips find his again. You don’t even realize what you’re doing until you hear it—his breath hitching, his hands faltering for just a fraction of a second. And then, you do what he did to you.

Your lips trail downward, pressing slow, searing kisses along his jaw, down the column of his throat. You don’t stop—not when you feel the way his body stiffens beneath your touch, not when you hear the breathless groan that slips past his lips, his head falling forward to rest against your shoulder like you’ve knocked the air from his lungs.

The reaction only fuels the fire burning inside you. Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him closer, and that’s when you feel it. All of it. The proof that he wants this just as badly as you do— if not more. A rush of heat floods through you at the realization, at the knowledge that Zayne, who has always been so unreadable, so careful, is completely undone because of you.

Before you can think—before you can even process—a small, breathless moan slips from your lips, muffled against the skin of his neck. Zayne stills. His hands flex against your thighs, gripping tighter, his breath coming in short, shallow pants as if he’s barely holding himself together. You don’t even have time to feel embarrassed before his voice, rough and low, cuts through the thick air between you.

“Where’s your room?” Your breath stutters. Your thoughts are a tangled, hazy mess, but somehow, the answer falls from your lips.

“Down the hall,” you murmur, barely recognizing your own voice. “To the right.”

And that’s all he needs. His hands slide under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he carries you through the dimly lit hallway. The heat between you doesn’t waver, doesn’t lessen—if anything, it only intensifies.

By the time he pushes your bedroom door open and steps inside, the air is thick, charged with years of pent-up energy, tension that neither of you ever allowed yourselves to acknowledge until now.

The second the door clicks shut, it’s chaos. Lips crash together, hands tangle in hair, bodies press together with a desperation that borders on something dangerous. This isn’t just lust—this is anger, this is frustration, this is thirteen fucking years of waiting, of suppressing, of denying. Zayne isn’t careful anymore. You aren’t hesitant anymore.

Your hands claw at his shirt, fingers desperate as you yank at the fabric, trying to get it off but failing in your impatience. He groans against your lips, his own hands just as frantic, pushing at the straps of your dress, his fingers gripping the soft material like he’s barely holding himself together. Your lips break apart only for a second, both of you panting, chests rising and falling erratically.

Then—his voice, low and strained, slips between the space between you. “Are you sure?”

You don’t even hesitate. You nod, heart hammering, body burning. But that’s not enough for him. He needs more. His hands still, his forehead resting against yours as he exhales a shaky breath. “Do you want to stop?”

Your answer comes before you can even think. “Fuck no. Do you?” The curse falls so naturally from your lips that you barely register it—until he chuckles, a breathless, almost wrecked sound, his lips brushing against yours as he grins.

“You’ve been cursing a lot today,” he murmurs, voice dripping with something almost teasing. You open your mouth, ready to snap back, but then— He cuts you off. “No, I don’t,” he breathes.

And then he pushes you onto the bed. The breath rushes out of your lungs as your back hits the mattress, and before you can fully process it, he’s climbing over you, his body pressing down against yours, caging you in beneath him. His lips find yours again, and this time, it’s hungrier. Needier. The kind of kiss that drowns you, consumes you.

And then—his leg shifts. He presses his knee between your thighs, the sudden pressure sending a sharp bolt of pleasure straight through you. A whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it, your back arching slightly at the sensation. Zayne stills. And then—he smirks. It’s dark. Breathless. Almost dangerous.

“Again,” he murmurs against your lips. Your breath catches, heat spreading through you like wildfire. And as his lips trail back down your throat, his hands gripping your waist, you know— You want him even closer. You want all of him. You don’t want this to stop. So you move.

Your back arches again, pressing into him, your hips rolling ever so slightly against his thigh, seeking more—more friction, more contact, more him. Zayne inhales sharply against your neck, his fingers digging into your waist, as if the realization of what you’re doing just hit him all at once. But he doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t dare stop you.

Your dress has ridden up now, bunched around your hips, leaving you bare against him. The friction—the press of your panties against the rough fabric of his pants—is intoxicating, a rush of heat that leaves you breathless. Your body moves on instinct, slow and deliberate, as you chase the sensation, each drag of fabric sending shivers racing up your spine.

And Zayne—God, Zayne—he’s barely holding on. His breathing is uneven, his hands twitching at your waist as if he’s torn between gripping you tighter or letting you keep moving on your own. His forehead drops to your shoulder, his lips parting against your skin as a quiet, almost strangled groan escapes him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked.

You don’t stop. You can’t stop. The feeling is too much, yet not enough, and with every slow, aching grind of your hips, you swear you can feel him tensing on top of you, his control unraveling thread by thread.

And then—his lips find your ear, his voice strained, heavy with something dark and dangerous. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

Oh, but you do. And you roll your hips again, a little harder this time. The room is hot, filled with nothing but the sound of your breathless gasps and the desperate, hungry way your hips move against his thigh. The years of tension, of waiting, of denying, all spill over into this moment—messy, unrestrained, needy.

Zayne's hands roam over you, gripping, touching, feeling every part of you he can get his hands on. And then, with one sharp tug, he pulls your dress over your head, tossing it somewhere neither of you care about right now. His breath stalls. For the first time since this started, he pauses.

You watch as his chest rises and falls, his throat bobbing as he exhales deeply, dragging a hand through his already messy hair, his dark eyes raking over you in a way that makes your skin burn under his gaze. His hands return, slow this time, as he drags them along the curves of your body—fingertips featherlight, reverent, like he’s memorizing you, like he can’t believe you’re real.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a…” He swallows hard, his voice dropping to something low and rough. “A long, long time.”

The way he looks at you, like you’re something divine, something unbelievable, sends heat flooding through you, makes your head spin with the weight of this—of him. But you don’t let him linger in awe for too long. With a smirk tugging at your lips, you grab the loose tie hanging around his neck, twisting it around your fingers before tugging him down toward you.

“Well?” you breathe, your voice teasing, taunting. “Go on, Doctor. You wouldn’t want to keep me waiting any longer, would you?”

A sharp inhale. His entire body tenses, and for a second, you think he’s going to snap. Then— His lips crash onto yours. It’s hungry, desperate, possessive—as if those words alone shattered whatever restraint he had left. His hands are everywhere—on your waist, your hips, tracing the delicate lines of your lingerie like he’s barely holding himself together.

Your own hands find the buttons of his shirt, fingers fumbling as you push it off his shoulders, eager to finally see him. And when the fabric slides away, revealing bare skin, toned muscle, the faint scars and sharp lines of a body that has grown and changed over the years— You stare. Your fingers trail over his skin, taking him in, admiring just how insanely hot he became.

Zayne watches you, his lips curling into something smug, his voice laced with amusement as he breathes against your lips— “Like what you see?”

Your lips curl into a smirk as your hands slowly trace the defined lines of his chest, your touch deliberate, teasing, enough to make his breath hitch.

“Oh, I definitely do,” you murmur, your voice laced with smug satisfaction as your fingers dance lower, skimming just above his waistband. “You got way hotter over the years, Zayne. Who knew you had this under all those damn coats?”

His entire body tenses above you. For a fraction of a second, you see it—the flicker of genuine flustered surprise flash across his face. His lips part slightly, his pupils blown wide, and he looks like he might short-circuit from your words alone.

But it’s gone in an instant. His lips crash against yours again, swallowing the smugness right out of you as he presses fully into you this time. And oh, fuck—he’s grinding against you now, his hips rolling into yours with a slow, unrelenting pressure that makes your head spin. The friction, the warmth, the hardness of him against you—it’s intoxicating, overwhelming, making your body react on instinct alone.

Your nails sink into the skin of his back, dragging down the ridges of muscle, and the sound he lets out—deep, low, almost purring—sends a fresh wave of arousal straight through you. It’s the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever heard.

Your hands drift lower, fingertips tracing down his toned back, until you reach the waistband of his pants. Your patience is long gone, your body aching with the need for more, and you don’t even hesitate as you tug at the fabric, your voice breathless, demanding— “Off.”

Zayne chuckles into the kiss, his lips curling against yours as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark with amusement, desire, hunger.

“Yes, madam,” he murmurs, the teasing lilt in his voice only making you want to wipe that smugness off his face.

His hands move to his belt, unbuckling it with ease. But as he pulls it free from the loops, the leather snaps against your thigh, the light sting making you gasp—a sharp, needy little whimper slipping from your lips before you can stop it.

Zayne freezes. Then—he groans, low and wrecked, his fingers clenching around the belt as his jaw tics. “…Shit.”

You barely have time to process that reaction before he’s on you again, his lips devouring yours like he’s losing his mind over you. Zayne exhales sharply through his nose, his control slipping with every second. But the moment that little whimper escapes your lips, his restraint shatters entirely.

He feels it—all of it. The way your body reacts to him, the way you tremble beneath his touch, the way that tiny, innocent sound just made him ache with how badly he needs you. A strained groan rumbles in his chest as he shoves his pants down, not bothering to be careful, underwear and all. And that’s when you see it. Holy fucking shit.

Your brain stalls. Your jaw goes slack. Your mouth literally waters. Because of course—of course Zayne would be that big, because the universe is cruel and has been hiding this absolute weapon of a man under layers of clothes and an unreadable, quiet demeanor.

You don’t even hesitate. Your hands fly up, grabbing his face, and you yank him back down into a desperate, almost feral kiss. He groans against your lips, caught off guard by your sudden enthusiasm, but he doesn’t dare complain.

His hands start roaming again, sliding down your sides, over the delicate lace of your lingerie, tracing the curve of your waist as he drinks in every reaction you give him. And then, one hand moves beneath you, fingers skillfully finding the clasp of your bra.

With a single flick, he undoes it. Your breath catches—because what the fuck. For the briefest moment, a twinge of jealousy creeps into your chest, an irrational, burning thought that maybe, maybe he’s done this before, that maybe you’re not the first person he’s—

But then, like he can read your mind, Zayne pulls back just slightly, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes meeting yours as he deadpans— “I’m a surgeon. I have to be good with my hands.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. And then— A breathless, almost giddy laugh escapes you, because fuck, that was smooth. But whatever comeback you had dies on your lips the moment he kisses you again—this time with pure, ravenous intent, his hands sliding up your bare skin like he’s starving for you.

A sharp breath escapes your lips, your body burning under his touch, your skin hypersensitive to the contrast between the cool air and the heat radiating from his palms.

Zayne is everywhere—his hands kneading your breasts, fingers teasing your hardened nipples with slow, calculated movements, his breath warm as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, your collarbone, your stomach. Your head tilts back, a needy sound slipping from your lips as your hips lift on instinct, begging for some kind of friction, some kind of relief.

Zayne stills. You feel him exhale against your stomach, feel the way his hands pause just for a fraction of a second before he presses a lingering kiss to your skin.

“Impatient,” he murmurs against you, amusement lacing his voice, but there’s no mistaking the rough, wrecked edge to it—the proof that he’s barely holding himself together either.

Then, his hands move again, sliding down your body, fingertips tracing the sensitive skin of your thighs, caressing, teasing, before finally stopping just below your knee. And then—he grips your leg, lifting it, spreading you open for him with ease. You swear you stop breathing.

His eyes darken as he takes in the sight before him, a quiet groan rumbling in his throat like he loves seeing you like this. And then, ever so slowly, his lips trail even lower—hot, wet kisses branding every inch of you, driving you absolutely insane as he takes his time exploring you.

Zayne doesn’t hesitate. One moment, his fingers are teasing along the edge of your underwear, and the next—he yanks them down, the fabric sliding down your legs with a swift, desperate movement. His breath catches the second he sees you, his pupils blowing impossibly wide, his expression shifting into something starved, something dangerous.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice barely more than a growl, his fingers gripping your thighs like he’s trying to ground himself. “Look at you…”

Before you can even form a response, he dives in. The first stroke of his tongue has your back arching, a strangled, broken moan ripping from your throat as pleasure crashes through you. He doesn’t start slow, doesn’t ease you into it—he’s ravenous, desperate, like he needs this just as much as he needs air. And fuck, he’s good.

He moves like a man possessed, tongue flicking and curling in ways that make your vision blur, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you exactly where he wants you. His name tumbles from your lips in breathless, high-pitched moans, your fingers threading into his hair, pulling, needing.

Zayne groans against you at the rough tug, the vibration of it sending another wave of pleasure through your body. His grip tightens, his tongue working you over with an intensity that borders on overwhelming. You’re so close, teetering on the edge of pure bliss, but then— Your dazed, pleasure-filled gaze drifts downward, and— Your breath catches.

Zayne isn’t just enjoying this. He’s fucking losing himself in it. Because he’s touching himself. One hand gripping his own cock, slowly stroking himself to the sound of your moans, to the taste of you on his tongue. Something inside you snaps. A sharp, needy whimper spills from your lips, your hips rolling against his mouth as desperation floods through you.

“Z-Zayne—” you gasp, breathless, frantic, your nails digging into his scalp as you tug him up, your body demanding more. “I need you—now.”

He groans, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips shining, his jaw slack, his expression wrecked with desire. The next thing you know, his mouth crashes against yours, hot and messy, and you can taste yourself on his tongue as he growls— “Fuck, I want you.”

Zayne is gone, lost in the heat of you, in the way you’re begging for him, in the way your body trembles under his touch.But even now— even now— he won’t let himself lose control completely. Because this is you. And the last thing he ever wants is to hurt you.

So instead of giving in immediately, he slows himself down— just enough. His lips trail along your jaw, down your throat, his free hand gripping your thigh as the other moves between your legs. His fingers trace over your clit, teasing, stroking, coaxing you with slow, deliberate movements. And then, finally, one finger pushes in—just enough to make you gasp, your body tightening at the new sensation.

“Relax, you can take it.” he murmurs against your skin, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, his voice dark, rough, wrecked.

His fingers work you open with skill and patience, scissoring inside you, stretching you, preparing you for what’s to come. And by the time he adds a second, your body is on fire, pleasure pulsing through you in waves, your breath coming in sharp, needy gasps. It’s not enough. It’s not fucking enough.

You grab at him, tugging him closer, legs wrapping around his waist as you whimper against his lips— “Zayne, please.”

His entire body shudders. He almost gives in right then and there, almost loses himself completely— but then— He pauses. His tip brushes against your entrance, teasing you, making you whimper as you try to pull him in, but instead of pushing forward, he stills—his breath coming in hard and fast.

“Oh, fuck—” his voice is strained, suddenly sharp with realization. “I—I don’t have a condom.”

For a split second, the haze clears, and you both just stare at each other, panting, wrecked, the weight of that hitting him all at once.

But then, without missing a beat, you grip his jaw, pulling him back down to you, and whisper— “Zayne, I’m on the pill.”

His pupils blow wide. For a moment, he just stares at you, like he just heard a damn choir of angels. His fingers flex against your thigh, his throat bobbing as his jaw clenches. And then— He kisses you, deep, desperate, grateful, as he finally pushes in. Slow, careful, letting you feel all of him, inch by inch, his forehead pressing against yours as he groans—

“Fucking hell—” And nothing—nothing—has ever felt like this.

A sharp gasp rips from your throat as he pushes in, the stretch overwhelming, a delicious pressure that has your eyes rolling back, your mouth parting in a silent moan. He’s big—you knew that the second you laid eyes on him—but feeling him is something else entirely.

Your walls flutter around him as your body struggles to accommodate him, adjusting inch by inch, every nerve igniting in fiery pleasure. Your breath comes in short, desperate pants, your nails digging into his shoulders as you take a moment to breathe.

Zayne is wrecked. His forehead is pressed against yours, his arms trembling as he holds himself up, his jaw tight, his breath ragged. His fingers twitch against your hips like he’s barely hanging on, like he’s using every ounce of restraint in his body not to move—because fuck, he wants to. Badly. His first time, this sensation—nothing, nothing could have ever prepared him for this.

A sharp, guttural groan rumbles in his chest, his body tensing as he struggles to keep himself from completely losing it before he even starts.

“Holy—fuck,” he rasps, his voice raw, broken, his lips hovering over yours as he squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re—shit—I almost—”

You don’t let him finish. Because despite the stretch, despite the initial pressure—you need him. Your hands slide up his back, fingers tangling into his hair, your lips brushing against his as you murmur, breathless, aching— “Move, Zayne.”

His breath stutters, his hands gripping your thighs tight. And then—he does. Slow at first, a careful roll of his hips as he pulls back slightly before pushing in again, groaning at the way you clamp down around him like you never want him to leave.

He’s shaking, his self-control hanging by a thread— but the second he hears you moan, the second he feels your hips pushing up to meet his, silently begging for more— Something inside him snaps.

The moment you start urging him on—your sweet, breathless moans filling the air, your fingers tugging at his hair, your nails clawing at his back—Zayne loses it. His slow, careful thrusts become faster, deeper, the hesitancy melting away as instinct takes over.

Neither of you know exactly what you’re doing—how could you?—but it doesn’t matter. Your bodies find the rhythm naturally, moving together, chasing the pleasure neither of you have ever experienced before. It’s raw. It’s desperate. It’s everything.

Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, needing him to give you more. The sound of your moans, the way your body arches into his with every thrust—it’s driving him to the edge, making it so fucking hard to hold on.

"Fuck," he groans, voice wrecked, his forehead pressing against yours as he tries—tries—to keep his composure, but you’re making it impossible. Then—he shifts.

The angle changes, his hips rolling just right—And suddenly, a blinding, white-hot pleasure erupts inside you. Your body seizes, your breath stutters, and a sharp cry rips from your throat as pure bliss crashes over you before you can even process what’s happening.

Zayne’s movements stutter, his grip tightening on you as he feels you clench around him, your release pulling him in, sending him spiraling.

“Holy shit, darling—” His voice is strained, broken, like he can barely handle it, barely process what just happened—but fuck, if it isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever felt in his life.

His thrusts become erratic, desperate, chasing his own release, because after feeling that, after watching you fall apart beneath him, he can’t last much longer.

Your mind is blank. No thoughts, no words—just pure, unfiltered pleasure crashing through your body, wave after wave of it rendering you completely, utterly speechless. You’re shaking, still pulsing around him, overstimulated but needing more, needing him.

And Zayne—fuck, Zayne—he’s losing it. You can feel it.

The way his thrusts turn desperate, shallow, his movements growing more erratic, his breath ragged and shaky as he chases something unfamiliar. His grip on your body tightens, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as broken groans spill from his lips, his muscles flexing under your fingertips as he fights to hold on.

But he can’t. He’s slipping.

So you urge him on—your voice soft, breathy, whispering sweet, filthy words into his ear, telling him how good he feels, how amazing this is, how much you need him to let go.

Zayne shudders. A strangled moan rips from his throat, his hips snapping forward with a newfound intensity as his control starts to unravel completely.

Then, he falters. For the first time since this started, he hesitates, his breath stalling, his voice wrecked and strained as he pants—

“Where—” He groans, his body trembling with restraint. “Where should I—fuck—where do you want me?”

The question alone sends a rush of heat through you, your body igniting at the thought of it. Your lips part, your breath catches— And you blush.

Your heart pounds, but you don’t say a word. Instead—your legs tighten around his waist, locking him in place, a silent answer.

Zayne stiffens. His whole body shakes, his arms nearly buckling as the realization hits him.

“Oh, fuck—”

And then—he snaps.

A deep, wrecked groan tears from his throat as he slams into you one last time, his body jerking as he finally lets go, spilling deep inside you as his head falls against your shoulder, his entire body shuddering from the force of it.

For a moment, neither of you move, both panting, both completely wrecked—bodies tangled, hearts pounding, skin slick with sweat.

And then, finally—Zayne lifts his head just enough to meet your gaze, his expression still dazed, his breath still uneven.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

And honestly? You couldn’t have said it better yourself.

The air is thick with the remnants of pleasure, bodies still tangled together, breaths slowly evening out. Neither of you move, still lost in the aftershocks of what just happened, of what this means.

And then— The smiles start. Small at first, lingering at the corners of your lips, then growing, impossible to hold back any longer.

Zayne lets out a quiet chuckle, his forehead pressing against yours as he shakes his head slightly, his fingers brushing lazy, absentminded circles into your hip. You can feel it—everything settling over you both, the weight of years of unspoken words, misunderstandings, and wanting to finally make sense.

Thirteen years of friendship. Five years of pushing and pulling and misunderstandings. And now, finally, you’re here—where you always should have been. Your heart swells, warmth spreading through you, and it’s only then that you realize— You never answered him. His confession. The words he’s been waiting to hear for so long.

Your fingers trace up his back, your touch soft, reverent, as your lips part—

And then, the words slip out, as easy and natural as breathing.

“I love you too, Zayne.”

His entire body freezes. For a split second, he stops breathing. His muscles tense against you, his arms tightening just slightly, as if he’s making sure he really heard you.

Then— A shaky exhale.

His lips part, but no words come out—not at first. Instead, his hands slide up your sides, slow and deliberate, as he lets out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh.

“You—” His voice is raw, like he can’t believe this is real. “You mean that?”

You smile—wide, full, true—as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him flush against you, still feeling him inside you, still keeping him there, exactly where he belongs.

His breath stutters at the closeness, at the way you hold onto him so tightly, as if he’s something precious.

“I mean it,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly, your nose brushing against his. “I love you, Zayne.”

And this—this is what destroys him.

His hands tremble as they cup your face, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss so deep, so consuming, that it makes your head spin all over again. Because finally, finally, he has you.

And this time, he’s never letting you go.

The warmth lingers between you, bodies still tangled, hearts still hammering in sync as you both try to catch your breath. The reality of what just happened is sinking in, but neither of you move just yet.

Zayne shifts first, just slightly, his lips pressing one last lingering kiss against your forehead before he finally, reluctantly, pulls away. The loss of him inside you makes you whimper softly, but then—his hands are on you again, gentle this time, soothing.

His gaze softens as he brushes the damp hair from your face, taking you in like he still can’t believe this is real. Then, with a sigh, he pushes himself up, stretching slightly before muttering, “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

You hum in response, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as he disappears into the bathroom. A moment later, he’s back, a warm, damp cloth in hand as he kneels beside you, carefully parting your legs.

His touch is so gentle now—so different from just moments ago, yet equally intimate. He moves slowly, cleaning you up with deliberate care, his fingers brushing over your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you all over again.

When he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside, then leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your inner thigh before pulling you into his arms and shifting under the covers.

The sheets are soft, cool against your heated skin, and the second you’re enveloped in them—in him—a warmth spreads through you that has nothing to do with lust.

Zayne exhales deeply as he pulls you close, tucking you against his chest, his arms strong and secure around you.

For a while, neither of you speak.

You just exist like this—tangled together, skin on skin, completely bare in every possible way.

Eventually, you tilt your head up, meeting his gaze, and a lazy smile tugs at your lips.

“You know,” you murmur, running your fingers lightly along his collarbone, “we could’ve had our first kiss a long time ago.”

Zayne huffs out a quiet laugh, shifting so that his chin rests atop your head. “Oh? And whose fault is that?”

You pretend to think, tapping your chin before grinning. “Yours.”

He snorts. “Bullshit.”

“Not bullshit,” you insist, poking his side. “Remember that day in the treehouse? When I asked you if you ever kissed anyone?”

His chest vibrates with laughter. “You asked me that. And I clearly remember you looking disappointed when I said no.”

“I was not disappointed.”

“You literally sighed like I just failed an exam.”

You groan, burying your face in his chest as he chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. But then—his voice softens, turning almost nostalgic.

“…You never said why you asked.”

You pause for a moment, tracing absentminded patterns against his skin, before admitting, “I don’t know. I guess I was just… wondering if you ever thought about it.”

His grip on you tightens, just slightly. “Did you?”

You hesitate—then nod. “Yeah.”

Zayne is quiet for a moment, then—

“What about that night?” His voice drops slightly, something unreadable in it. “When all three of us kissed?”

Your lips twitch at the memory. “You mean the most awkward kiss in existence?”

He groans. “God, don’t remind me.”

You laugh, remembering how the three of you had sat there, overthinking the entire thing before ultimately deciding, screw it—you’d all kiss each other just so none of you would go to college without having kissed someone.

It was stupid, really. A quick peck, nothing more.

And yet—

“I was happy when you agreed,” you admit softly.

Zayne tilts his head slightly, gazing down at you, intrigued. “Yeah?”

You nod, voice quieter now. “It wasn’t much, but… I guess a part of me just wanted to know what it felt like to kiss you. Even if it wasn’t real at the time.”

His breath stirs your hair, his grip on you tightening slightly, before he murmurs—

“It was real for me.”

Your heart skips a beat.

You glance up at him, lips parting slightly, but before you can say anything, he leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead.

“I think I’ve always wanted to kiss you,” he admits, barely above a whisper. “I just… never let myself think about it too much.”

A warmth spreads through your chest, your throat tightening slightly at his words.

So you don’t respond with more words. Instead, you shift up, pressing a soft, sweet kiss against his lips. No urgency. No heat. Just you and him.

And this time, finally, you both know exactly what it means.

⟢ a/n: here is chapter 3! hehe I was so excited writing this and had so much fun, I really hope I kept to their in-game personalities as much as possible. hope you guys enjoyed it! <3

taglist: @vyntheria@ixloom819@syluslittlecrows

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undercvrfan444 · 2 days ago

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The TV in your living room played on with the horror movie Satoru tricked you into watching. Somehow, your planned night of pampering and going to bed early was crashed rudely when the man barged through your front door.

You despised Satoru through and through. From your very first encounter with the silver haired man, he had rubbed you the wrong way. So when Suguru said he was coming by to keep an eye on you while he was away, you honestly felt like ripping your throat out.

“If we’re going to be in the same house together then we obviously need to spend some bonding time together, duh.” Is the excuse Satoru used when he showed up on your doorstep with drinks and snacks galore.

The longer your body pressed into the plush sofa cushions, sleep overtook you. It didn’t matter what you were necessarily tired from, just that the quiet hum of the movie lulled you deeper into a dreamy sleep. Every so often the man across from you would snicker under his breath before asking if you were awake, to which you’d reply with a grumbled “yes” or “leave me alone.”

Satoru obviously knew you were asleep. He could hear the quiet snores escaping through your lips while you clung onto the blanket you swore was for warding off the cold and definitely not being used as a shield against whatever popped up on screen. It was cute, how tough you claimed to be but couldn’t stand demonic movies. Satoru could vividly remember having a conversation with Suguru one day about all the morbid true crime documentaries you’d binge. Something never sat right with your older brother at how unfazed you were when hearing how some poor lady got hacked to death.

Getting up from his spot on the couch, Satoru couldn’t help stare at you for a minute. Any other time you’d leap up to rip his face off for looking so intently at you. That’s just how it was between you two, constant teasing and frustration. Of course he loved getting under your skin to watch you turn red and bite remarks back at him, but the other part of him wishes he would get to see the softer side of you more. Deep down Satoru knew he shouldn’t hold affection for you in the way he does. Stolen touches which leave his own fingertips tingling, secretive sniffs to catch a whiff of your perfume in passing, and his least favorite was how hard he’d get when seeing how you’ve filled out.

You were equal parts heaven and hell to Satoru.

He moves the blanket off of your sleeping body slowly before lifting you into his chest. One of his arms comes to bar underneath your thighs while the other rubs your back softly to keep you from waking. Selfishly Satoru could stay like this forever and never get sick of how your body feels wrapped around his. Your arms sleepily hug his neck to stay upright, despite the fact Satoru without a doubt had enough strength to keep you safe from falling.

The door to your room is pushed open quietly and cool air sends a chill down the silver haired man’s back. “Fuck.” He mumbles ever so softly under his breath, “Dunno how you stay warm.”

Easing you out of his arms, Satoru beds over your bed and pulls the duvet over your chest. For a second he lingers. Thinking. Before brushing a messy strand out of your face and pressing his lips to your forehead.

Your eyelashes barely flutter open before you’re calling out to him. “‘Toru?”

Feeling his heart leap from his chest, Satoru moves away and hums in response. Thankfully you aren’t able to see how flushed his face is from almost being caught due to the dark.

“‘m cold.” You whine tiredly and pull the covers closer to your face. One of your hands stick out and tugs on the hem of his sweater. “C’mere.”

Letting you guide him into bed with you, Satoru lays on his back with a quiet ‘oopmf’. Sleepy and out of it, you slide towards the seam of him chest and arm. The man wraps his arm around your waist and lifts a little to situate you ontop of him. The soft cotton feel of his top against your face coaxes you to sink deeper into the older man.

If Suguru could see his little sister now, Satoru knew he’d blow a gasket. The thin shirt you wore riding up to expose the valley like curve of your spine mixed with the sweet smell lingering on your skin sent blood rushing to Satoru’s cock involuntarily. The man had always thought you were beautiful, of course. But…the older you got, the more Satoru really noticed you. From the way your curves filled out and pushed through your clothes, to the (admittedly cute) way your face would flush a shade darker each time Satoru made a dirty joke around you. The same could be said for your own observations. But unlike Satoru, you’ve had a small crush on the man since you met him all those years ago. Only

Now he’s grown at least a foot taller, his muscles rival those of a professional athlete, the once boyish rounded features he had are now sharper; sturdier. And his voice. You’ve never enjoyed hearing your name from another person’s lips until you met Satoru and from then on every time he called out to you, tingles shot through your spine.

So truthfully, you were both guilty of being selfish when Suguru’s feelings were involved. His best friend who had wet dreams and the nastiest of thought about his little sister, who couldn’t say anything different of herself.

(uh so I kind of ran out of ideas for this)

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #saturo gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo fluff

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theclockworkjudas · 2 days ago

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Below the cut is an off the cuff, 600 word on topic essay done in a half hour to show how easy it is.

Writing 600 words is childplay. Look, I can write 600 words about this topic right now, off the top of my head. Like, I feel like in any other circumstances that collaboration should be considered a good thing, but not at the expense of doing the work yourself. Part of the issue I'm seeing is that children aren't taught properly how to learn, and therefore how to formulate their own ways of thinking about things. And this is hard, because different children learn in different ways, and it's hard to come up with a classroom style that suits all the needs of every student. So, instead, teachers are taught how to teach in a single unified way, that leads to children not having their needs met. They aren't even taught how to seek out tools to meet their own needs, so they grow up with the concept of learning, period, as being an uncomfortable thing. This leads to children taking shortcuts like the one mentioned above and going above and beyond to avoid doing the work. This might lead to a rise in cleverness in children, but not actually knowledge retention.

Add to that the rising prevelance of "fast media" constantly speeding up and shortening everything. Quick soundbites. Youtube shorts. Tiktok. Vine. Heck, I recently saw a "study aid" that played a narrarator reading out study notes over tiktok compilations. Which, that's ingenious, don't get me wrong, but these teens should have enough attention span that they shouldn't need it, damnit. It sucks that 20 minutes of focus is so unbearable to the average teen that they have to have "Cocomelon for teens" playing in the background to keep any sort of attention. And how much are they actually retaining with the constant distraction. And this isn't to say that some people (hello fellow ADHDers) struggle with keeping focus. I need a hand stim for pretty much any focused task. But a good way to hone the skill isn't by adding more input, it's by practicing focus, with medical support if necessary. 311. We're more than halfway there at this point. It's taken me 20 minutes. And believe me, focusing is hard, as someone with adhd myself.

Let's circle back to the concept of teachers only teaching a single unified way of learning. This problem, in my point of view, is caused by three things. Firstly, teachers have been taught to teach only a single way, because their teachers have taught them to teach in a single way, etc, etc, forever and ever amen. This leads to a vicious cycle in which we are stuck teaching the same teaching methods because it's "the way it's done" and if anything heaven forbid is done differently it's quickly squashed because teaching in any way that isn't beholden to standardized testing will invariably lose the school money. That's right, standardized test scores are very tightly tied into how much funding a school gets. Because if the school isn't doing a "good job" teaching their students (i.e, making sure they can pass a standardized test) the school doesn't deserve funding. Never mind the fact that consistently underfunded schools don't have the materials or staffing ability to give their students the tools they need to actually learn in any way that matters, let alone pass a test. So that leads to kids already at a disadvantage getting more and more disadvantages, and the private school kids getting a great education, but leaning towards religious based or conservative schools. Which is to say that all this is by design to keep the ruling elite on top, the poor peons on the bottom to uneducated to even realize what a disadvantage they are at or ever get the tools to get out of it. Which is why I say, hone the skills you have, and don't be to hard on the kids who the system is rigged to fail, and instead reach a hand out and help in any way you can. And that was over 600 words.

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kpopbestie96 · 2 days ago

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Prince and Princess of Versace 💖🔥

Summary: You are attending the Versace after party with your new boyfriend, hoping to not run into your ex but it's hard when you and him are labeled the Prince and Princess of Versace. See how it all turns out when you and your ex are in the same building. I really hope you enjoy it!

Pairing: Hyunjin x you, Hyunjin x reader

Genre: Fanfiction

Warnings: couples fighting, cussing. When you see words italicized it means they're speaking in Korean.

"Ready?" You were looking out the window when you heard your boyfriend, feeling his strong hand place on yours to make you break out of your thoughts.

You were trying your best all day to stay strong, to build up the confidence for tonight. You tried all day to avoid your ex but it's hard not to hear cheers for the "Prince of Versace." But you were happy to never saw him at the fashion show.

"Yeah, I'm ready." You really didn't want to walk into the after party, you wanted to skip it but you had to attend since it's part of your contract.

You gave your boyfriend a small smile as the door opened and lights immediately went off, fans calling your name while screaming on the top of their lungs. "ITS THE PRINCESS OF VERSACE!!!"

You hated the nickname since you were given it when you were dating Hyunjin but you knew there was no way to ever get rid of it. You had it now, forever.

You smiled as normal as you could while waving to all of your fans who have been waiting there all day. You grabbed your boyfriend's hand and walked inside to the party while waving to everyone.

"That was a lot," Your boyfriend made a snarky comment, another one that has added up on your annoyance bar but you decided to brush it off for now. 'I have more important things to worry about,' you thought.

Your mind was already made up that you were gonna break up with him a few days after the event, you've reached your level with him.

"Y/n!!" You heard your best friend's voice, calling for you the second you walked in. Turning around, you see her running up in her Versace designer dress that was custom made for her. She threw herself on you, hugging you tightly since you've both been busy and haven't seen each other in person in a while.

"It's so good to see you!!" You heard her by your ear. "It's been far too long! Where's your manager at??" She wondered when pulling away.

"I know, I know!! And, she said she's too old for this stuff now and wanted to take in the city by herself tonight. But, Angie, I don't know if you remember my boyfriend, Sergio," you said turning to her, even though you know she's never met him but tried to be polite with it.

Angie has only seen him on your social media or because of the media since he's a professional footballer. But she could sense something was off with you and him, kind of wishing you and Hyunjin got back together. She actually wanted to make sure you were okay since he was here tonight.

"Oh, yes. We met vaguely at a party once, it's so nice to see you," she lied to be nice but hoping this was just a phase you were going through, not thinking he will last much longer.

He put up a charming smile as he shook her hand. "Very nice to see you. Baby doll, Angie, would you both like some champagne?"

"Yes, I'd love one," you smiled, turning towards him.

"Me too," Angie politely smiled, knowing it was going to be her only chance to talk to you alone.

"I'll be back," he kissed you on the lips before taking off.

"Sooo...thanks for lying." You and Angie laughed when he walked away.

"I see that you're doing okay, dating a footballer and putting out a new album...so amazing!"

"Oh, I'm glad you liked it! But what about you? You've been busy traveling the world, winning races! Kicking guys' ass!" You slightly nudged her on the arm, gushing over how well she's been racing in Formula One.

"Ahh, just a bunch of trophies," you both laughed as Angie was a bit nervous to bring up Hyunjin. "But of course I loved your album, especially one song in particular...one that's about...you know who. You doing okay?"

Your eyes lit up since you've been telling everyone that the song it isn't about your ex; although...you've been lying to everyone.

Fixing your posture, you relaxed your shoulders and tried your best to stay clam, having a poker face. "Yeah, I'm fine," 'but am I? I low key miss Hyunjin and I'm going to break up with my current boyfriend. Yeah, doing fine,' you sarcastically thought in your mind, wanting to say it but held your tongue.

"C'mon...its me..." she look fondly at you, softly gabbing your right hand with her, "how are you doing...Princess of Versace," she smirked, knowing what she is eluding to. She is one of your dearest friends, the very few people you can trust.

"If I have to hear that name, one more time today!" You jokingly laughed, hoping that brushed it away.

"And that tells me everything I need to know."

You couldn't help but chuckle, "That obvious?"

"A little but have you seen him today at all?"

"No, I took a picture with Donatella and I was a little shocked she didn't bring us together to all take one. I was waiting for it."

"Well she's here tonight and I think Hyunjin is already here."

"Great, just gotta keep ignoring him."

"And if you run into him?"

"Smile and wave."

"Do you still think about him?"

You stared at her with your mouth open when Sergio walked back with drinks for you and Angie, wrapping his arm around your waist as you all took a sip of the drink while you felt his hand grip your waist a bit tighter. You wondered why but let it go since you were with your friend.

But what you didn't know is when he was grabbing drinks, he saw your ex. He obviously knows who he is, one of the reasons he wasn't looking forward to coming to this event with you. But he had a secret motive, hoping you introduced him to Donatella, she would sign him on.

You three began talking, some other people you and Angie all began talking as Sergio's head was on a swivel, making sure Hyunjin didn't see you.

And Hyunjin was trying his best to make sure he didn't run into ybut hearing Princess of Versace throughout the day made his heart sink to his stomach, making it form a painful knot.

He grabbed a drink to help with the worry of bumping into you. He subconsciously scanned the area; thankfully not seeing you until he was about to look back at the person talking when a someone that was blocking you and Sergio moved away.

'No....' his jaw locked and his eye brows pinched together, standing taller while looking at you and your new boyfriend he's heard so much about. He still looks at your public account every so often. When you post your new boyfriend, he always tries to look away as if he doesn't see him.

You were laughing along with friends when you could feel eyes on you, like you were being watched. You moved your head to the left but didn't see anyone, going to drop it when in the corner of your right eye, you saw him.

The man you were desperately trying to avoid all night is eyeing you and your boyfriend, seeming pissed off. 'But why do I find him so hot though...no no no. Shake your mind out of it.' Your eyes locked with his for a brief second before turning away, Angie wondering what was going on until she followed your once gaze you had towards Hyunjin.

She turned back around and gave you a look, making you shrug your shoulders while Hyunjin's eyes relaxed, he's missed you so much. Everything he's tried so hard to suppress was coming up. He couldn't take his eyes off you; 'looking so beautiful, so radiant in that outfit,' he wanted to go over just to say hi.

Although it the back of his mind he wanted to rip the outfit off and be with you once again.

Hyunjin's manager/friend that he's known for so many years, saw him staring at you with your boyfriend, making his way quickly over to make sure Hyunjin was okay.

"Yeah...I'm fine..." He couldn't help but stare over, he tried focusing on the people talking in the group he was in but it was doing no good.

Sergio saw Hyunjin looking over, making him grab your waist a bit tighter, bringing you closer to him. "How much longer do we need to stay?" he whispered in your ear, eyeing Hyunjin whom he gave a nasty look towards.

'Fuck this guy,' Hyunjin thought.

"Why?" You asked annoyed, 'This is one of the reasons I'm going to break up with you,' you couldn't help but roll your eyes, slowly moving out of his grip, wondering why he's being so clingy.

"Just want alone time with you," he lied while kissing your cheek, pissing of Hyunjin even more. He turned away and began to fake laugh with the people he was with.

The whole night you and Hyunjin tried to act like you both weren't there, occasionally stealing looks with each other but eventually you and him both moved around so you couldn't see each other anymore.

"Hey, will you go with me to the restroom?" Angie whispered to you, wanting to talk to you since she's been watching you and Hyunjin the whole night.

"Yeah, let's go!" You turned to your boyfriend, explaining how you and Angie were going to go use the restroom really quick.

"Okay, I'll be here," you both shared a kiss before turning away with your friend, heading to the restroom where you both talked about Hyunjin when washing your hands, realizing how he still sits in your heart when you don't want him to.

"Do you think we should get back together?"

"I can't make that decision for you, no one can but you. You have to listen to what's in here," she said pointing to your heart. "I like Hyunjin with you, going to be honest, not getting great vibes from Sergio."

You're glad that she spoke up, telling you the truth, something you don't hear often. 'This is why I'm friends with her.'

"If Hyunjin wants to get back together, would you?"

"I....I don't know..."

"You don't know or you don't want to say it out loud?"

You nibbled on your bottom lip as you looked towards the ground before looking back up at her with an uneasy face. "The second one..." you said in a low tone but she was able to pick up on it.

"C'mon, let's get back to the party," you followed behind her, exiting through the door when you both noticed a huge crowd in front of you guys.

Angie grabbed your hand and began to lead you back, bumping into everyone, saying sorry as you go along. You were almost out of the crowd when you and someone bumped into each other, "sor-" was all you could say when you noticed who it was.

You let go of your friend's hand, who turned around to see you stand in front of Hyunjin, who was staring at you in complete shock. It's as if time stood still for both of you. All the music, the voices were completely gone as if you two were the only ones in the room.

He wanted to reach out and bring you into your arms but instead he could only say hello, words that were a bit shaky coming out.

"Hi," you nervously smiled, your body trembling, yelling at yourself to be cool, 'just say hi and be on my way.' "It's good to see you," you waved politely, pointing your left foot towards Angie, ready to take off when he gently grabbed your hand. He did it out of muscle memory, a whole shock entered your body from his touch.

You could feel your heart pounding inside your chest while your brain was telling you to run. "You look absolutely stunning tonight." He wanted to keep you there a little bit longer, he wasn't ready for you to leave.

Your cheeks heated up, trying to hide the huge smile that wanted to come out but kept it as normal as you could. But, he could see how the small comment made you flustered, something he always loved to do.

"Um...thanks, you look good too," you said in almost a whisper, plus it didn't help with how loud it was from people talking and the music.

"What??" He asked, bending his head down to hear you. You couldn't believe his new blonde hair, eyeing how short it is.

"You look good too, I like your new hair cut! Love how you incorporated Versace on it." You yelled by his ear, making him smile; not only from the compliment but from how close you were to him.

"Thank you, I wanted to do something different," he said before rubbing his hand on his very short hair, still bent down a little towards you, subconsciously moving closer.

His face was inches from yours, a short breath escaped your lips as you both held eye contact while your friend was keeping an eye on your boyfriend to make sure he doesn't see the interaction with your ex.

Your eyes accidently dropped to his lips that you wanted to smash yours against. 'Damn alcohol,' you cursed at the few drinks you had, playing with your mind. 'But his lips look so inviting', you couldn't help but look back at them, seeing how soft and plump they are.

'Nope, don't do it!!' "I should get going, it was really good to see you," you tried your best to break out of his spell.

'Just ask her to talk some more, tell her you miss her,' "I-" was all he got out because he was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"My Prince and Princess!" Donatella called out in happiness, bringing both of you in for a hug. "I've been looking everywhere for the two of you! Come, let's take some photos together over in the VIP area."

Hyunjin and you both looked at each other with an unknowing look, him hoping you say yes so he can spend some time with you.

"Of course!" He said with a huge smile.

"Sure, let's go," you didn't want to say yes but knew Donatella's feelings would be hurt and she could terminate you contract for say no. Besides that, there was something deep down wanting to keep hanging out with Hyunjin some more.

"Fabulous!" She took your hand and his, taking you away before you could tell Angie. But she knew she had to cover for you when seeing you whisked away with Hyunjin.

She nervously walked back over to Sergio like a child who left in trouble, seeing him talking to a group of people who were asking him questions about his sport. She let out a big sigh before stepping in the circle of people who couldn't believe it was a Formula One driver entering the group. Sergio's eyes rolled when everyone began to pay attention to her.

He was listening to her talk but when he looked to his sides, looked towards Angie, realizing you were missing. 'Where the fuck is she?? Oh no...'

He was afraid his fear from tonight was coming true, he briskly made his way over towards Angie wanting to know where you went. He inserted himself between her and someone else, earning a nasty glare of the person he nudged out.

"Where's Y/n?" He quickly asked, his jaw locking in anger.

She didn't appreciate his tone and the fact he came rushing over to ask where you're at, 'she's a grown adult, she can do whatever the fuck she wants,' is what she wanted to say but decided to keep that a thought instead. "She's taking photos with Donatella."

"Donatella and who??" He knew he had to be with you and Donatella, he could feel it. But before Angie could explain, he looked right past her, seeing you, Hyunjin and Donatella through a window up above in the VIP section.

Angie's eyes quickly diverted to Sergio, "they're Donatella's favorites, ya know?" She immediately tried to defend the situation, trying to let him know it was all Donatella's idea. "They're the Prince and Princess of Versace," She tried to laugh it off but it came up sounding uneasy.

Sergio didn't like seeing you up there with him, afraid he would steal you back but he thought how it's good your with Donatella so he could finally be introduced to her.

"Where are you going?" He walked right past Angie, bumping into her to make his way towards where you were at.

"Fuck you!" She angrily stared at the back of his head while he marched his way upstairs, wondering how he was going to even get into the VIP section.

"I'm so glad to see you both here together again," Donatella smiled with delight, "us three must have lunch tomorrow!"

"Yeah, wonderful idea," Hyunjin said, loving the idea to see you again, especially where it's quiet.

Donatella turned towards you, seeing if you were up to it. 'Say no!' "Yeah, of course," 'what the fuck?!? that wasn't a no!' You yelled at yourself when smiling but quickly was thinking of a lie to get out of it.

"Perfect! I'll see you both tomorrow, I'll send everything to your managers tonight." She said goodbye, giving you both hugs before leaving you both in the VIP section.

"I guess we'll see each other again tomorrow," Hyunjin said a bit loud by your ear so you could hear him over the loud music. He felt giddy thinking of the idea.

"Yeah, I might have something else planned...." You cowardly looked away, trying to get out of the area before you keep falling for him again. "I have to go."

You were about to walk away when he yelled out, "Is it because of something planned or because of me?" He said it so loud people in the small area heard, including you. You froze in your spot before slowing turning back around.

"W-what?"

Hyunjin slowly walked up, his eyes never leaving yours as he stood tall in front of you, looking down. Everyone looked away and going back to their conversations or dancing to the music. "You don't want to go because of me."

"No," you waved your hands side to side in front of you, trying to make sure that wasn't the case, 'even though it's because of that.' "I'm just busy, I don't remember what I have scheduled tomorrow."

He could see you nibble on the inside of your right cheek, an indicator of you lying; something he's seen so many times before. "Why are you lying Y/n?"

You didn't understand why he was getting upset, making you angry. "Look Hyunjin, I don't want start anything, okay? I might not make it because of how busy I am."

"I want to see you again," he quickly through out, shocking himself.

You flinched your upper body a bit back, 'does he miss me too? No, fuck that! He broke up with me!' "Why? You ended this, you broke us up."

"I'm sorry! It was stupid of me! I should be the one mad at you for flaunting your new boyfriend in front of me!"

"I'm not flaunting anything!"

"Really? You could have shown up alone or with your manager like I did, instead you showed up with him because you knew I was going to be here!"

Your mouth dropped open, you didn't know what to say. You thought it was little hot to see Hyunjin so jealous but frustrated since he shouldn't be. "You wanted this, you wanted us not together anymore. What was I suppose to do??"

He froze this time, he remembers some of those words, they were from your new album, off one of the songs...'so that song was about me...she really did write it about me.' He knows how talented of a writer you are, so it didn't shock him too much.

His and your eyes were glued to each other, before you gave him a side eye, leaving him standing there because there was nothing left for you to say that wouldn't cause a huge scene. 'I don't need to cause any bad publicity, especially not here.'

When you walked out of the VIP area, you saw your boyfriend waiting there for you. "Hey, there you are." You tried to smile to the best of your ability but it was difficult to come off as genuine.

"You were taking pictures with your ex?" Sergio wasted no time in asking what he's been fuming over.

You rolled your eyes because you didn't want to deal with this, particularly after dealing with Hyunjin. "No, Donatella wanted a photo with the both of us. Do we really have a problem here?" You through back at him because your blood was already boiling, ready to break up with him right there.

He could sense the anger and hearing it in your tone, thinking back to what Angie said how you and your ex are Donatella's favorite, 'they're the Prince and Princess of Versace,' he thought back to Angie's words. But he really didn't want to miss out on his chance to sign with Versace so he decided to lower his tone and look past the photo problem.

"Okay, I believe you...but where's Donatella?"

"I don't know," you gave him a nasty look, 'why the fuck does he want to know, holy fuck does he think I'm still lying??' "She took off after taking photos."

Hyunjin swiftly made his way through the crowd, hoping he could reach you before you left but he saw you with you boyfriend. You gave him one quick look before grabbing your boyfriend's hand.

"Let's get going," you were exhausted from the long day and the last ten minutes drained you.

You made your way through the crowd, finding Angie to tell her you were leaving.

"Okay, bye it was so good seeing you!!" She said really loud when bringing you in for a hug. "Text me when you make it to the hotel," she whispered.

"I will," you softly said as you let go, sharing a caring look with her as she blew you kisses, waving goodbye.

You made your way outside, back to the flashing lights, where you and your boyfriend waved to all your fans.

The driver opened your door, getting in and resting your head against the headrest, wanting to forget about today. You closed your eyes, hearing doors closed and feeling the car taking off.

"You'll have to introduce me to Donatella next time."

Your hands, that were resting in your lap, clenched tightly together when he spoke. "Yeah...sure." You adjusted in your seat, knees pointing towards the door when you brought your phone out of your purse. You immediately went on to social media to see photos of you, looking at what your fan sites were saying; all gushing over you.

You were about to close out of Twitter, when you saw photos of you with Hyunjin and Donatella. You saw tweets saying:

"Are they back together??"

"OMG THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS ARE BACK TOGETHER!! I NEEDED THIS." 😭😭😭

"Told you her recent song off her album was about him!! She clearly still loves him."

"THEY ARE MEANT FOR EACH OTHER. LOOK HOW GOOD THEY BOTH LOOK!! 🥰🥰"

"This is a cute photo but people have to remember her and Sergio are dating. There were photos taken of them together all day."

"Love this but love her and Sergio together!"

You knew people would speculate you and Hyunjin but enjoyed the sane Tweets, pointing out you and Sergio were together all day. 'Thank you so much to the good fans,' you thought while Sergio saw you looking at the photos on your phone, hating that you were.

It was quiet on the way back to the hotel, no one said anything to each other until you and him walked into the hotel room. You were messaging your manager and Angie that you made it back.

You felt a sigh of relief when taking your heels off by the door, ready to take the dress, make up off so you could go take a hot shower. 'I'll text my manager and Angie for a few more minutes then I'll take my shower, take off my make up, and...'

"Do you still love him??" Your thoughts were broken up by your boyfriend's odd question.

"What??" You were taking off your earnings when he brought up this accusation.

"You still love him...I saw you looking at the photos on the car ride back."

'He's messing with me right now...right? That's the only explanation.' "Are you fucking kidding me??" You didn't hold back, you couldn't take it anymore. "I was looking at the photos of me and seeing what people are saying!"

"And what are they saying? Assuming you two are together again?"

"Who fucking cares if they are...the normal ones are saying how cute YOU and I look together! What is your problem, why are you so jealous over him??" You set your earrings down on the night stand, turning towards him.

"I'm not jealous of him! Why would I be jealous of some silly singer??"

That struck a nerve in you, your lips pressing tightly together before speaking, "You know I'm some silly singer, right??"

"You know what I mean," he tried to wave it off while you looked at him as if he had three heads before staring down at the bed. 'I don't belong with this man...I have to end this, I can't wait much longer.'

"I can't do this anymore..." your eyes were staring at the blanket, coming to the realization.

"What?" He was unbuttoning his dress shirt, stopping from your words.

"You can have the room," you slowly moved your eyes up towards him who looked angry but also seemed like he was ready to cry. "I'll stay somewhere, we're done."

"What??" 'Is that the only thing he can fucking say??'

"You heard me! We're done! When we get back home I'll give you your stuff back." You grabbed your earrings and quickly gathered your stuff, running around the room with him yelling at you.

"You can't fucking break up with me! Who do you think you are??"

You ignored him while you gathered everything as quickly as you could, to get out before it got ugly. But you felt as if it was already there with the way he was yelling at you.

"Where are you going?? Staying with Hyunjin?!" You didn't answer him as you made your way out the door, shutting in his face before he got to you.

Hyunjin was on his way back to his hotel, resting his head against the seat with his eyes closed, earning a concerned look from his manager.

"Are you okay?" He asked, even though he knows it was probably about seeing you again.

"I can't believe I made things worse between us," his eye lids tightly pinched together, seeing the scene replay in his mind.

"It will be okay."

He opened his eyes to stare up at the car's roof, "Will it? I can't believe I acted so jealous and she was right I'm the one who broke us up...I shouldn't be acting like this."

"Maybe you should text her to apologize?"

He let out a sharp chuckle, "that's if she hasn't blocked me."

"You'll never know if you don't try."

His managers words sat with him even when he made it to is hotel room, throwing himself on his bed, face down, letting out a angry scream. 'You'll never know if you don't try,' played in his mind again, knowing his manager is right.

He sat up, bringing his phone out before he began to text.

Hyunjin: Hey, I'm really sorry for the way I acted. I miss you.

'No...hate that.'

Hyunjin: I should have never said what I did, I still love you...

'No....UGH, why is this so hard!'

He turned on his back to look up at the celling, wondering what he could say. He couldn't sit still, getting up and pacing the room in hoping the correct words come to him.

'I have to man up and just do it,' he sat down on the edge of the bed and began to text, typing away at a fast pace.

He read it back, happy with what it said and sent it before it was too late. Like a scaredy cat, he threw his phone away from him on the bed and went to go take a nice hot warm shower.

Hyunjin: Hey, I know you probably don't want to talk to me right now or see my message but I'm really sorry for the way I acted. I guess I was jealous, which I shouldn't be. I'm happy to see you happy, you deserve that and the whole world. I'm sorry I broke up with you, I should have never done that, I regret it every day I miss you and hope that you do come tomorrow, I would love to see you again.

(Message not sent)

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆☆*

Thank you so much for reading this short story! I'm debating to do a part two, so if you want/need a part two please let me know and I might write it. But thank you again for reading! 💗🤗

If you wanna check out my longer stories and other Stray Kids stuff click here, if not, it's fine 🤗

#hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #stray kids #skz #stay #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fanfic #stray kids fan fic #skz fanfic #you and hyunjin

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nisbanisba · 3 days ago

Text

A little bit of the Spring Break at Gwyn’s AU. Still no ETA on this one, but it’s coming along!

“Oh, I do remember these,” says TK as they come to the period rooms. “The class a year behind me, on their field trip here, this kid Cody who had ‘impulse control issues’ just took this, like, running leap and jumped onto the bed.”

“What? No he didn’t,” laughs Carlos.

“I swear! He got our whole school banned from the museum after that.”

“Forever?”

“Foreva-evah,” giggles TK.

Carlos shakes his head. “They do look kind of comfortable.” Or he’s just tired. He’s having fun here, still, it just would be great to be able to see the museum and be horizontal at the same time. “Did you ever read that book ‘From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler?’”

“The mixed up files of what?”

“It was this book I had when I was a kid. These two kids run away from home and they hide here in the museum, and they sleep in the period room beds.”

“Oh, man, it’s a good thing I didn’t read that as a kid,” says TK. “That’s such a good idea. Does the stuff come alive at night? In the book?”

Carlos laughs. “No. That’s ‘Night at the Museum.”

“Well, I don’t know! It could have happened in your book too.”

Carlos rolls his eyes, but he’s beaming. He’s thrilled to be in this incredible, storied place with his favorite, most ridiculous person.

“Did you ever run away when you were a kid?” TK asks now.

Carlos tilts his head, considering. “One time, sort of. When I was like 6. I think I was mad at Ana and Luisa. I told my mom I was running away and she packed me a lunch.”

He’d made it to the end of his block, then plopped to the ground and started crying when he remembered he couldn’t cross the street without a grown-up holding his hand. In his memory, the moment his tears started to flow, his mother was there beside him, wiping his tears away with her thumbs. Years later, he realized she’d been watching him from the front window.

“Well, mijo,” she’d said as his quivering sobs dried up into sniffles. “Ready to go home?”

He’d nodded, cheeks still sticky with drying tears, and taken her outstretched hand.

“That’s so cute,” TK says now, intertwining his own fingers with Carlos’s.

“You’re cute,” counters Carlos, leaning in close to TK’s face. He should call his mother later. He misses her, even though he never knows what to say to her. He doesn’t want to think about his mother. He’d much rather flirt with his boyfriend.

I was tagged by @annoyingcloudearthquake ! Open tag +

@rmd-writes @thisbuildinghasfeelings @bonheur-cafe @liminalmemories21 @strandnreyes

@everlastingday

@reyesstrand @theghostofashton @ironheartwriter @emsprovisions

@sapphic--kiwi

@carlos-in-glasses @heartstringsduet @lemonlyman-dotcom

@my-beloved-lakes

@ladytessa74 @butchreyes @decafdino @never-blooms

@no-goodbyes-no-regrets @freneticfloetry @eclectic-sassycoweyes @herefortarlos

@alrightbuckaroo @tellmegoodbye e @chicgeekgirl89 @lightningboltreader r @captain-gillian

@paperstorm

@lavenderrdaughter @pimento-playing-hopscotch @goodways @literateowl @carlos-tk @welcometololaland @henrygrass @rangersoup

@futures-tense @laelipoo

#Niz writes #911 lone star #tarlos #tarlos fic #wip wednesday #911 lone star fic #carlos reyes #tk strand

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edamameimei · 5 hours ago

Text

love me like a sailor

"i don't believe in God, but i believe that you're my savior."

pairing: sophia laforteza x reader (hs friends!au)

synopsis: every school day begins with a reading led by father john. however, the note left by sophia that you've been using as a bookmark is the only thing you've been praying to lately.

tags: angst with a bit of fluff here and there. CW: religious themes, blatant homophobia, secret relationship, depictions of abuse but not very explicit. please read with caution, this one is heavy.

wc: 4659

now playing: sailor song - gigi perez

Father John continues his sermon, his voice deep and booming throughout the cathedral. He tells everyone about the gift of life, how every second counts, and it shouldn’t be wasted in sin. It’s the same testament he begins the day with and for you, it doesn’t get any easier to sit through. You feel your eyelids get heavier with every passing second, your head nodding off, begging for slumber. At some point, you succumb to your exhaustion and feel the bible in your hands slipping off your lap. However, you jump up in the pew, biting your lip to suppress a squeal when you feel a poke at your side. You turn your head and see your best friend looking at you with amusement in her eyes. Sophia looks back up at Father John, pretending she didn’t just save you from getting reprimanded by Sister Jun again. You sit back in the pew, your shoulders slouched as you try to pay attention to the sermon once more.

You feel Sophia slide something under your hands. Without taking a glance, you smile.

Your hand fiddles with the note, strategically placing it into your bible so you won’t get caught by any of the other Sisters during the service. You unfold it quietly, sliding it into the spine so it looks like any other page amongst the others. Father John calls for a hymn and you and the other students stand up, opening their bibles to follow along. It was perfect timing and Sophia knew that. She is always two steps ahead and it’s one of the many things you love about her. You look down and as everyone sings along, you read Sophia’s words that were meant just for you and only ever you.

‘We should go to the river after school. Meet me in the courtyard.

Also, Sister Jun is going to ask you about Bible Study. Tell her you’re meeting with me for tutoring or something. Remember, I love you.

Yours, forever <3’

You glance at Sophia who is singing along. As she does, she looks back at you, her eyes glancing down at the note as if silently asking if you accept the invitation. You subtly nod, looking back up at the choir. Without even seeing her face, you know she is smiling wide.

“Did Sister Jun say anything to you?” You look up from your notebook at Sophia’s question. She stands in front of your desk, holding out a can of your favorite beverage. You take it from her with a grateful smile, opening it with a pop. You shake your head and take a sip from your drink. “No. I’ll talk to her right after school.” Sophia nods, propping herself up on your desk. She sits with her legs crossed and her hands in her lap. You put a hand on her back and smile. “You’ve been spending too much time with me. You’re slouching,” You say in a teasing tone.

She immediately straightens up, fixing her collar in the process. She looks down at you, clicking her tongue as she reaches over to fix your tie. “It looks like you aren’t spending enough time with me. How does your tie always get like this in the middle of the day?” You allow her to undo it for you, her eyes dark and focused as she slides it out from underneath your collar. Your cheeks heat up when she gets closer to help you. “I oversleep in the mornings. Try putting on a tie half-asleep every day… “ You murmur, taking another sip from your drink. She finishes her knot, tightening it slightly and adjusting the tie to be straight amongst the buttons on your shirt. She tugs on it, causing you to smirk at her slightly. She smiles down at you, her bottom lip pulled back by her teeth.

Your heart skips a beat at the way she looks at you.

Sophia lets go of your tie, her hand moving to your face to push back a stray strand of hair that sticks to your forehead. She keeps her hand on top of your head as she whispers, “I love you, you know that right?” There’s an underlying meaning to her words that only you know how to decipher. It’s as if you two have come up with your own code that no one else is allowed to understand. You look at her, your eyes twinkling. You whisper, “I love you too.”

Once the break ends, you open your notebook to start taking notes. Inside, you find a new neatly folded note. You glance over your shoulder, seeing Sophia who is already looking at you, expectantly. You turn your eyes back to the front of the room, waiting for Sister Jun to turn her back so you can read what Sophia has written for you. As soon as she begins writing something new on the board, your fingers fiddle with the note, unfolding it without your eyes leaving the front. You quickly look down and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face.

‘I love you. That’s all. I love you.

Yours, forever. <3’

Sophia stands in the courtyard, waiting patiently for you to come out of the building. She lights up when she sees you, relieved that you seem to still be in a good mood after speaking with Sister Jun. She walks up to you and grabs your hands, her thumbs caressing the healing scars on your knuckles. To this day, she still doesn’t understand why Sister Jun is so hard on you. The students know of her strict rules and her strong devotion to God but Sophia has never seen her so tough on someone until you transferred to the school.

She lets go of your hands, hooking an arm around yours to pull you close to her side. “It went well?” She questions, her eyes soft as she looks at you. You walk with her toward the front gate, allowing her to take the lead. You nod, keeping your eyes forward. There is a small smirk tugging on your lips as you respond, “Yeah. She was gonna blow a fuse though, I saw it. But then I told her I didn’t want to miss our study session and she let it go…” You turn your head to look at Sophia, your eyes glinting with mischief. Sophia’s hold on you tightens as she furrows her brows with concern. “If you keep pushing her buttons, you won’t make it easy for yourself, Y/n.” You scoff, shaking your head. Her words were true though. You often gave Sister Jun hell but it was only fair for what she puts you through on a daily basis.

“What makes you think I wanna make it easy?”

Sophia stops walking, letting go of your arm. She walks in front of you with her arms crossed and her expression serious. As you look at her, you can’t help but find her adorable like this. Sophia is always so kind to the students at school. She is often praised for her leader-like personality, always taking initiative and having a way with words that charms everyone around her. What you admire most about your best friend though is how humble she is. Despite the fact her father is the sole reason why the school still stands, she does everything through her own hard work. She is truly an academic weapon and teachers think very highly of her. The Sisters within the church would never admit it but everyone knew– Sophia was their favorite.

But they don’t understand why she decided to become friends with someone like you. You’re nothing like Sophia and your devotion to God is questioned by the members of the church.

Your parents forced you to attend this school knowing it was one of the best in the new area you moved to. When you first transferred, you had no intentions of making new friends. The only thing you wanted from high school was the degree and move on with your life. However, after a long and exhausting first day, you sat at your desk at home to read the passages assigned to you by Sister Jun. When you opened your bible, a note sat in between the pages. It was neatly folded and on the front was a red, lipstick mark. You curiously unfold it, being met with the prettiest handwriting you think you’ve ever seen.

‘My name is Sophia. I sit behind you in class.

Talk to me tomorrow. I think you’re really pretty. Let’s be friends.

-S.L <3’

Since then, you two have been inseparable, attached to the hip against all odds.

And now, she looks at you sternly. You know she is only looking out for you but there is only so much Sophia could do. Even her father doesn’t think very highly of you but his daughter is stubborn. If she wants something, she’ll get it. And she has told you and shown you how badly she wanted you. Your smirk remains on your face as she grabs your tie, pulling you closer toward her. She speaks with a slight annoyance in her tone, “I want it to be easy for you, Y/n. How many times do I have to tell you that?” You chuckle, shrugging your shoulders. “Not sure, I guess we’ll have to see.” Sophia lets go of your tie, turning around to walk away.

You follow her like you always do. She allows you to hold her hand as you two walk out the front gate. When you reach the river, she pulls you by your tie again, but not to speak to you. She lets her lips against yours tell you exactly how she feels. Your hands on her hips respond wordlessly, pulling her closer to tell her that you understand completely.

When you get to school the next morning, you quickly walk to Sophia’s locker as all the other students make their way to the cathedral for the morning sermon. You glance around the hallway, ensuring no one sees you as you work on the lock. Once you get it open, you place the note you’ve written on top of her textbooks, closing it before anyone notices. You take a step back and sigh in relief. When you turn to walk to the cathedral, you are met with Sophia giving you a soft smile. You jump back a bit, surprised by her presence. You were sure she would have gone to the sermon by now knowing how punctual she usually is.

She tilts her head, pursing her lips to gesture at her locker that you were just “breaking” into. “Are you insane? You could have gotten caught by one of the Sisters.” You grin at her, leaning your shoulder against the cold metal. You bring a finger to your lips as if to shush her, whispering, “I didn’t though, right?” Sophia only rolls her eyes, grabbing your tie to pull you along with her toward the cathedral. You whine, “Soph! I just fixed it before walking inside! You’re gonna loosen it again.” She ignores you though, keeping her grip on the fabric. She teases, “Maybe later.” Her words cause your cheeks to burn, effectively silencing you from saying another word.

Once arriving at the cathedral, she finally lets go. She turns around to face you, her hands immediately reaching up to your collar to fix it along with your tie. You murmur, “This is why it keeps getting messed up throughout the day, you know?” She pats your shoulders, looking up at you with a small smirk. She surveys the area before quickly getting on her tippy toes, placing a soft kiss on your cheek before skipping inside. Your cheeks burn even more, reaching up to wipe your skin just in case before meeting her inside for the long and boring morning sermon ahead.

Although Sophia’s family speaks highly of her academics and fully expects her to become a part of some sort of medical profession, you knew deep down what she wanted.

And that was to become a star.

She was an active member of the theatre club at school. She shone brightly on the stage, playing every role as if she were made for it. Her mother was a famous actress so of course that in turn led Sophia to follow the same path. You are always in awe whenever you watch Sophia perform, going to every single one of her performances because you genuinely love watching your best friend do what she was born to do. Sophia loves seeing you in the audience but she especially loves when you volunteer your time to help build the set for the newest production being held at the school. She finds it endearing and secretly loves to watch you work so diligently along with the other backstage crew members.

After the morning sermon, Sophia drags you to the auditorium, telling you that the rest of the theatre club will be there all day to practice and continue working on the set for their upcoming production of, “Little Shop of Horrors.” You chuckle at her excitement as she talks your ear off about the latest gossip flying among her other theatre friends. However, you stop for a second, realizing you were in fact not a part of theatre and that you definitely should be heading to class before Sister Jun unleashes her fury on you. Sophia looks at you, concern in her eyes. “What’s wrong? Did I say something?”

You squeeze her hand, shaking your head with a smile on your face. “Soph. I’ve got class, remember? I’m not actually a part of theatre.” She rolls her eyes, tugging at your hand. She speaks in a matter-of-fact tone, “Come on, Y/n. You’re basically a part of the family without the label. I’m sure it’ll be fine, I’ll just tell Sister Jun I made you skip class.” For some reason, despite your words from the day before, the thought of making Sister Jun angry again makes you feel anxious. You know you should go to class for your sake but when you look at Sophia, her brown eyes shining and somewhat pleading, you can’t find the words to say, “no.”

You allow Sophia to continue dragging you toward the auditorium. When you walk inside, you feel her tugging on your tie, leading you backstage where no one seems to be. You look at her, her eyes telling you her intentions. You can’t help the smirk on your face as you nod, following her as if you were a martyr accepting their fate.

Sister Jun snaps the ruler against your knuckles. And she does it again. And again. And again.

It’s as if she believes your sins would seep out of your wounds.

When Sister Jun leaves the room, she slams the door shut. She leaves you alone at your desk, your knuckles bleeding and tears brimming your eyes due to the pain. In front of you sits your wide-open bible. The verse you repeated over and over again stares at you, tauntingly. Your lips quiver as you read it over and over again, hoping maybe God’s words would begin to make more sense. You don’t know how long you sit at your desk. You look up at the cross hung up at the front of the room and allow it to haunt you in silence, the ticking of the clock behind you being the only sound in the classroom. Suddenly, the door creaks open once more and you close your eyes, your heart beating rapidly.

“Y/n…” Sophia’s voice is quiet as she walks inside the room. She walks toward you slowly, crouching down next to you to analyze your hands. They were bloodied and bruised. Scars that were still healing from the last time are now back at square one. She grabs them carefully, mumbling an apology when she hears you wince slightly. Her bottom lip quivers and you know it’s because she’s thinking this is all her fault. You open your eyes, glancing at Sophia with a forced smile. You whisper, “Could be worse.” Sophia shakes her head, still looking at your hands. She murmurs, “Shouldn’t be happening at all…” You sigh in response. You lean forward, resting your forehead against the top of her head.

“Come on. Let me take care of you.”

You don’t respond and grip her hands with the strength you have left. When you don’t move, Sophia lets go of your hands, reaching to your face to cup your cheeks. She shifts back slightly to get a better look at you forcing you to pick your head up. There’s a pained look in your eyes and you are desperately trying to hide it for her sake, but Sophia knows you too well. She leans forward, capturing your lips in a chaste kiss. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest and you know you should pull away. You both were still in the school and anyone could walk in but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Knowing Sophia would love you this bravely despite the consequences, why would you pull away?

After a few minutes, Sophia pulls away and caresses your cheeks with her thumbs. She whispers again, “I love you, Y/n. I love you and I’m sorry.”

You feel tears forming in your eyes at her apology. You reach up to cup her cheeks as well, your voice cracking as you respond, “I’m sorry, I love you too.”

A few days later after school, you find yourself volunteering once again with the set. Your bandaged hands paint the background for one of the scenes in the show, blocking out all the chattering amongst the actors behind you as you focus on your work. Sometimes, you tune in for a second when you hear Sophia’s voice amongst the chatter. Her loud but genuine laugh rings in your ears causing you to smile every few seconds. At some point during their conversation, you overhear one of them asking Sophia about her plans after graduation.

The event that is happening in only a few months.

You stop for a moment, listening to the conversation. You feel bad for eavesdropping, but you can’t help it. Especially if it’s the girl you’ve been in love with for a year now. You hear Sophia laugh again, her response casual, “Going to college, you know, the usual.” Another one of the students spoke up, asking her, “Are you gonna continue doing theatre?” There’s a brief silence before Sophia finally responds and you notice the tinge of sadness in her voice, “Umm… We’ll see. I don’t think so since I’ll have to really focus on school, you know?”

The students express their disappointment toward her answer and it takes everything in you to not walk up to her to provide comfort. You know it’s a sore subject for Sophia. You wish she had the ability to give her dreams priority but you knew she wouldn’t want to go behind her parents’ backs like that. Her parents being disappointed in her was the last thing she could ever want. Sophia could be stubborn all she wants but when it came to school, there was no fight to give. She simply just had to do it and that’s all there is to it. The subject changes to one that always has you rolling your eyes when it’s brought up.

Everyone’s love life.

You tune everyone out again once you hear one of the girls begin talking about how disastrous a date went the night before. You begin painting again, your interest no longer piqued. The conversation usually puts you in a sour mood when everyone begins to put the spotlight on Sophia. Her words are always the same, how she is waiting for the “right one” to come sweep her off her feet. You always roll your eyes, a bitterness festering in the pit of your stomach. If it weren’t for you and Sophia’s current circumstances, you’d tell the whole world Sophia Laforteza belonged to you. But unfortunately, she’s yours behind closed doors and it takes you convincing yourself every single day that’s enough.

But her answer today takes you by surprise. You miss the question that was asked but you hear Sophia loudly announce, “I want a big family! I just want so many kids and have a big, happy family. That would literally be the dream.” Her words knocked the wind out of you, effectively causing you to freeze and stop whatever you were doing. You hear everyone tell her she will find the perfect husband one day, how she is so beautiful and any man would be lucky to have her. Before you can stop yourself, you set the paintbrush in your hand down, quickly walking away. You make a beeline toward your bookbag, grabbing it and swinging it over your shoulder.

You’re not angry at her. You’re mostly angry at yourself. You’re angry that this is your reality.

Sophia notices your absence. She looks toward the exit door and sees you leaving without a goodbye. She excuses herself from the group, worried. She quickly follows you out the door and into the hallway. “Y/n! Where are you going?” You ignore her, making your way toward the front of the school. Sophia quickly catches up to you and grabs your shoulder, pulling you back so you can look at her. She furrows her brow in confusion, “What’s wrong?” You sigh exasperatedly, looking everywhere but Sophia. You respond, “Nothing. It’s nothing.” But Sophia doesn’t take that as an answer.

She steps toward you, grabbing your wrist gently. She holds your chin, tilting your head so you’d look at her. She whispers, “Tell me…” You look at Sophia, your eyes glancing down at her lips. They glance back up and into hers. Her eyes are pleading as if giving you a confirmation to lean in and close the gap between the two of you. You nod, leaning in, your eyes fluttering close. However, the sound of a door opening causes you both to jump away from each other. You’re once again brought back to reality. “I’ve gotta go.” You breathe out and before Sophia can stop you again, you’re turning on your heel to quickly walk away.

You trudge into your room tiredly. Your body is aching and you want nothing more than to sleep so you could just do it all over again.

You place your bookbag down, unzipping it. The least you could do is prepare for Father John’s sermon in the morning. You pull out your bible, placing it on your desk before sitting down. You rack your brain to remember the verses you were supposed to review before tomorrow, but you only groan, your brain too fried to do anything. You decide to open it, hoping if you scan the pages, you’ll be able to recognize what was written on the board before the bell rang. Your bible opens immediately to not only the passage but to a note that was neatly tucked into its spine. You pull it out, wondering when Sophia even had the chance to sneak it inside.

You unfold it, the bitterness you were feeling previously disappearing as you read the newest note.

‘Once we graduate, we should run away together.

I think about it often. Sometimes when we sit by the river,

I think about grabbing your hand and just leaving all of

this behind. Would you run away with me? I think we’d

live a good life together. I love you.

Yours, forever. <3’

You take a deep breath, feeling stupid for pushing Sophia away. You fold the note again, placing it amongst the others that sit inside your desk drawer. You reach down to pull out a notebook and pen from your bookbag, ignoring your bible to write your response.

The next day, you find yourself lying on the ground, your arm wrapped around your torso in pain. You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for another blow. Sister Jun towers over you, in her hands is a yardstick and the note you planned to slip inside Sophia’s bible. You hear the yardstick clatter onto the floor and suddenly, you are being pulled to your feet by Sister Jun, her hand gripping your tie. She forces you to look at her, shouting with venom in her words, “Who was this note meant for?! I’m not going to ask you again.” But, you remain silent. You would take all the pain in the world if it meant Sophia would be safe. You would do this over and over again if it meant Sophia would live the life she deserves.

Because you love her. You love her unapologetically, you love her knowing God frowns upon it.

Sister Jun throws you onto the ground, giving up on getting answers from you. You hear her walk toward the door and before she exits, she tells you something that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Wait until Father John reads this disgusting note.”

The next day at school, you hear whispers amongst your peers. They watch you as if you were the devil himself. Your hands are bandaged and the bruises from the day before were evidence for everyone to know that what was being said was true.

During Father John’s morning sermon, Sophia sits three pews away from you.

She doesn’t look at you in class.

And she doesn’t wait for you in the courtyard. When you visit the river, she isn’t there.

It’s like this until graduation. Your knuckles have healed well and it’s as if the bruises on your body were never there.

But at what cost?

After the festivities of graduation, Sophia walks into her room and sees a small box sitting on her bed. Her mother told her a gift would be waiting for her, telling her that a friend from theatre dropped it off. She tells her, “Apparently, they’re leaving today to go to the United States.”

Sophia walks over to her bed, confused by the present. None of her friends from theatre mentioned they would be going to the States for college. She picks it up carefully, trying to figure out who the culprit could be. Sophia takes a deep breath, opening the present. She widens her eyes when she sees your tie neatly folded inside. She takes it out, feeling tears springing to her eyes when she holds it in her hands. Her fingers trace the fabric like she had done so many times before. She looks inside the box and sees a note neatly folded inside. Sophia sits down on her bed, bracing herself for the words she is about to read. She takes out the note, unfolding it.

Her hands shake as she reads it. When she finishes, she covers her mouth, trying to stifle her cries.

If God were listening, you’d be at her door. If he had any sympathy, you’d be there in her room with open arms. Father John often talked about how life should not be lived in sin, but why do your words seem more convincing than anything he ever talked about? Sophia’s tears fall onto the page as she grips it tightly in her hands. She rereads your note over and over again as the cross above her bed watches her silently.

‘I will love you wherever you go next.

I will love you when you find your soulmate.

I will love you when you start a big family,

with all the kids that will have your eyes and his.

I will love you even if it’s wrong to.

I will love you. I’m sorry, I will always love you.

Actually. I’m not sorry. I will never be sorry.

Yours, forever. <3’

a/n: i hope you all enjoyed. as someone who went to a catholic hs, i projected a bit while writing this. if this resonated w you, just know i see you. and i hope you heal from all things you dont talk about. <3

#katseye x reader #katseye imagines #megan skiendiel #daniela avanzini #manon bannerman #lara raj #sophia laforteza #jeong yoonchae #katseye #sophia laforteza x reader

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