#((this is getting long is anyone still here?))

[covetyou]

solstice

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader  rating: Explicit (18+ only!)  warnings: smut (PiV), competency kink, grumpy/sunshine, he falls first, yearning, angst, almost enemies to lovers, Tommy being a little shit, no use of y/n, Jackson!Joel word count: 4k  summary: Three little words. Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days least of all.

A/N: happy holidays @trulybetty! thank you for being so lovely about this being a little late. I was only going to go for one or two of your prompts for the @pedrostories secret santa, but then my brain went why not all of them, and now here we are. 

divider by @saradika-graphics

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Three little words.

"I got it."

Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days the least.

You said other things too, of course. He heard you speak to other people. Not always nicely, but he heard you. You said more to him on occasion too. Out my way or put it down were some particular favorites, but none said more so than those three, tiny, little words.

I got it.

Because you did. He had never met a woman who had got it more than you. Strong, capable, and everything he ever tried to be. He watched every day how you'd got it. Climbing up ladders with tiles stacked on your shoulder, hauling wheelbarrows full of gravel, chopping wood in bitter wind and cold. You had it, and he watched, wanting it too.

The only problem was, he wasn't too sure what it was.

To begin with, it was the respect you commanded that he yearned for. He had that, once. Not here. Fuck, never here. The people here would barely look at him for the first few weeks. But you? They listened to you. If you said move they listened, even if it was with a roll of their eyes. If you told someone to fuck off to medical, they went without a grumble. They trusted you. Even if you weren't particularly generous with your smiles.

You were the exact opposite of what Joel was finding he had to be.

In Boston, people feared him, and that kept him, and Tess, safe. It was for the best. The people here feared him too, at first. Maybe even still now, if he was to be honest with himself, but he'd worked hard to change that. He met the mumbled good mornings with as much of a smile as he could muster. He went for drinks with his brother, made small talk with the locals even when he didn't want to. He tried to get into Maria's good graces, but never quite succeeded.

And he worked. With you mostly. Jackson didn't have much use for hired muscle or someone who could smuggle shit discreetly - not outside of the daily patrol shifts they wouldn't let him on yet, anyway - but they did have use for contractors. Plumbers, electricians, carpenters, anyone who was good at doing shit with their hands. Those were things that had value behind these walls and, luckily for him, that meant he had value too. For the first time in a long time, he meant something to people.

Just not to you.

As much as he smiled, and made small talk, and helped out fixing shit in this place that was now his home, he could never get through to you. He'd try to help you out, only to be knocked aside - sometimes literally. You barely looked at him. Spoke only when necessary. Once, you'd even told him to fuck off.

He did.

At first he took it all personally. He moped, and kept his sour mood hidden from his brother and Ellie. Then, he saw how you were with, well, just about everyone else, and that lessened the sting.

But, as time wore on, Joel saw other things too. Where at first you'd seemed rude and abrasive, he now saw the kindness and compassion you treated everyone with. If you told someone to go the fuck home, it wasn't because you wanted them gone it was because you wanted them rested. If you let people struggle, strike their thumbs with a badly aimed hit of a hammer, it was to help them learn. You never did let anyone make the same mistake twice. And, because of you, no one did.

It was with the waning of spring that his desire to be you changed into something different and entirely more confusing.

As the gardens and trees exploded in the frenzy of summer, you shed your layers. Literally, not figuratively. You still stayed firmly closed up as your jacket disappeared and made way for a shirt hung loosely about your shoulders. Then, even that found its way around your waist and Joel had to come face to face with the bare, strong expanse of your back while you worked in nothing but a tank top, the patch of sweat at the small of your back blooming while he watched.

It was for the best that he didn't think about what you looked like walking towards him during those relentlessly hot months, with nothing but a thin tank top pulled across your chest. It wasn't something he should think about in public, anyway. It was something he kept for late at night, when those three little words echoed around his head and you showed him just how much you really, truly got it.

By October, Tommy had caught on. Your jacket was fastened back around you, and you were as hostile as ever. You breezed past him one morning, hooking a ladder over one shoulder, toolbag gripped in your other hand.

"I got it."

By now, Joel knew you did.

By now, he wanted to come with you anyway.

So he did, grabbing his own set of salvaged tools and heading up to the latest reno with you, only to have you square up to him the second you saw him.

"I said, I got it."

Five words. It was a good day.

So good, that he couldn't keep his eyes off you in the Tipsy Bison that night. You weren't in here often - from what he could tell, you didn't do much outside of work - but the people who shared your company seemed to enjoy it. You sat soft and quiet in the corner, listening in to their conversation more often than you contributed. But, when you did, they laughed, and Joel caught himself smiling, and Tommy caught him too.

"Never thought you'd be more of a ray of fuckin' sunshine than anyone else, but there's a first for everythin', I guess," he'd said, tilting his glass to the table in the corner where you sat. 

Joel took a swig of the last fresh cider of the season and shrugged.

"You got an eye for her."  

He sputtered, choking on the tart, sweet liquid. "No I ain't."

"Well you got somethin'," said Tommy, clinking his glass against Joel's own. "If it ain't an eye it's your-" 

A harsh kick, and a grunt loud enough to turn every head in the bar later, and Tommy dropped it entirely.

For about a week.

Tommy ribbed him at dinner, drinks, lunch and just about every time in between. Called Joel 'Sunshine' even as he scowled. Asked about his girl as if you were anything other than a person who hated him. Slung his arm around Joel's shoulder and told him all about the birds and the bees, as if he'd ever forgotten.

He couldn't forget. Not with you running around barking at him and keeping him in a seemingly permanent state of arousal. If it wasn't your voice and that angry way you talked at him, it was just about anything else. He couldn't escape it.

It was how you did everything he could do, and more. What he had in strength, you had in technique. Your hands - fuck, did he watch your hands - were rarely unblemished with dirt or scrapes, but they were adept at everything you put them to. He couldn't look away, even if he knew each minute he looked was a minute quicker he'd be when he touched himself to the thought of you later that night.

The taunts stopped with the first snowfall.

"If you're really that interested, should talk to her," Tommy said instead. "Bark's worse than her bite."

"You're still sayin' she bites, though."

"Sure she would if you asked nice enough, brother."

Joel didn't ask.

He didn't ask the morning he woke up early to see the town blanketed in thick snow either. He simply went out, picked up a snow shovel and began working until the sun came up. He didn't expect to find you at his door that evening, or for you to grab him and throw him outside, pushing him up against the side of his own house.

"What do you think you're playing at, Miller?" you growled up at him, pushing him firmly against the siding.

Joel stared, dumb-founded, your hands curled in the front of his shirt - touching him - and blinked down at you.

"I don't give a shit who you are or what you've done out there. I am not scared of you and I am not having you take my job."

You ignored him more after that. Days went by with barely a word to him - not even a scowl thrown his way if he made too much noise or offered to help someone out on a job.

As for him, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Every day for weeks that night played through his head, memory of the feel of your hands on his chest and your face so close he could feel your breath, until Christmas was on the horizon and a pit of fear began stirring in his stomach. You were a balm to it, somehow. Something to focus on when the fear got too much and kept him inside, away from the crowds of happy people.

Every single I got it was more of a comfort than the last. It could have been the familiarity of it, or the way those words came softer and softer as the season wore on. Sometimes he'd head by the workshop to ask if you needed a hand, just to hear that soft rejection one more time.

Until late one cold afternoon, it didn't come. You were alone, blowing warm air onto gloved hands, and when he asked you simply nodded, and he followed.

You worked together in silence until the sun set, when you turned to him as you parted ways.

"S'hard this time of year, but joy and grief can exist at the same time, y'know."

He didn't go to the Bison that night. Or the next. He let the grief crack open his chest instead, and let it pour out over his bedroom floor for two whole days.

On the third, he let the joy back in. Ellie reeled off new jokes from a book she found in the Jackson library. He held his nephew and rocked the teething babe to sleep. He went back to the Bison - you weren't there - and celebrated the impending holiday.

Seven months, three days, and about as many hourssince he stepped foot back in Jackson. Damn near every day he's heard those three little words, and he'll be damned if he goes another without them.

With the day as short as it could ever be, the sun tracking low in the sky, he finds you.

"I got it," you say softly, when he asks you that very same question he always does.

"I know."

He doesn't know how your lips end up on his - because it is you who kisses him. He doesn't know how his fingers find themselves under your shirt either, the coldness of them making you gasp into his mouth until you're pulling apart, both wide eyed.

He does know you taste like fruit, even in the dead of winter. He always suspected it - knew your sweet tooth by the berries you couldn't resist and the sweet treats gifted to you. He knows your fingers are as cold as his when you hand him a shovel.

He does know, even though you got it, you let him help anyway.

You clear streets and roofs of snow together until the sun goes down. He follows at your heel in the dark, cold biting through your layers as you both stomp the snow off your boots, shovels thrown down, workshop locked up. You barely even look at each other until you're staring through the fog of your own heavy breaths on Joel's front porch. He doesn't know how to welcome you in - he never was too good with words - so he simply unlocks the door and pushes it open.

You step inside.

Layers are shed before the door even closes. Heavy coats dumped on the couch, boots toed off and left this way and that. The hat on your head stuffed in a pocket - he can't remember which.

You move upstairs - worked on this house, you say - and pull him into his own bedroom before his lips even touch yours again. But when they do, they do. Joel's frantic with it, feeling the softness of you so close to the hardness of him. His hands hold your waist, rooting you to him, but then you're moving them up and under your shirt to the flair of your ribcage. The curve of your breasts fit perfectly against the cradle of his thumb and forefinger, and he thinks of everything his hands have done, this is what they were made for.

It must be. When you whine at the feel of this thumb stroking across your pebbled nipple, he thinks for the first time in a long time that maybe his hands aren't so monstrous if they can pull such pretty noises from you.

In fact, the things they've done don't seem to matter at all when he gets to touch you, to pull sounds from you so sweet he'll be tasting you on his tongue all over again just from the memory of them. For all the harm these hands have done, they could never hurt you. You would never let them. You'd tear him apart first.

And he'd let you.

You swallow his groan when you palm his length over his jeans. He stiffens beneath your touch, warm and firm, and grinds into your hand. It's been so long since he's felt the touch of anyone other than himself. He could come just grinding himself against the firm press of your hand against him, if he thought about it too hard.

So he doesn't. He focuses instead on the soft plink plink plink as you run a nail up his ice cold zipper, the way you bite his lip, tangle your fingers in his hair.

He tries to take off his own belt, cold fingers fumbling against even colder metal, but you mumble I got it into his mouth, and his knees quiver.

You do. You always do.

His belt is pulled off and you're tugging him by the loops of his pants and pushing him against his own bed, the sheets still rumpled from the morning. You slip off your own and toss it to the side too, tangling it with his on his bedroom floor. Then, you're so very close to him again, his thigh between your legs as you nip and suckle on his bottom lip. He holds you close - one hand finding its way under your shirt again, cupping your breast fully this time, and the other pulling you firmly against his strong thigh.

You warm his thigh with the burning heat between your legs, grinding yourself against him, the seam of your jeans pulling tight against you. Moans you were pulling from him a moment ago are silenced by your own, your nails digging crescents into his arm as you burrow your face into his neck in an attempt to stifle them.

You're better than he ever dreamed. Softer. Warmer. Stronger. The sounds you make so much prettier than he ever thought. Those three little words so much sweeter within these walls than any other.

Even when you strip off layer after layer, it's better than he dreamed. Summer was barely a taste of you, he realises, when your shirt, your tank, your soft bra, all tumble to the floor and you climb onto the bed behind him.

You kick your jeans off, and he pulls his down too. He can't get his shirt off quick enough, the scars on his body forgotten as he strips bare for you as you watch, lust barely turning to curiousity as you take in the sight of his body.

"Come here," you tell him, and he obeys. You're softer with him when he lies beside you then. Grasping hands turn to gentle strokes, his own hands on your bare flesh mimicking your gentle movements across his skin.

When your hand trails down to his cock, squeezing once again when you feel him throb in your palm, he has to pinch his eyes closed and pretend he's anywhere but here.

"Been a long time," he says through gritted teeth. "Long, long time."

Me too, he thinks he hears you whisper before your lips latch to his again and his soft, worn boxers are slipped down his legs, kicked to the side, forgotten.

You don't look at him, and for that he's grateful. He's less grateful when you start to play with your own nipples and toy with the edge of your panties. He presses a kiss to your shoulder instead, hiding his face against you and breathing you in.

When he opens his eyes again, your panties are off, thighs spread, one hooked lazily over his own, the other stretched out on his sheets.

"Don't have to," you mumble, when he looks down at you, stunned look obvious on his face.

"I want to."

He touches you and you let him. His hands run all over your body, rough, calloused palms dragging across your soft belly, your hips, your thighs. He's dreamed of this, and still it's better than his wildest fantasies.

When your hand wraps around his bare cock, pumping his length once, twice, he thinks that's better than any fantasy too. You practically drag him by the cock, tugging gently to pull him towards you until he's kneeling between your thighs. You lazily stroke him, swiping precum across his tip and making him jerk in your grip. His own hands play with your thighs, massaging and squeezing them, drawing his fingers closer and closer to your apex.

Seven months, three days, and twenty-something hours since he stepped back into Jackson, he slips into you for the first time.

And, fuck, is it divine.

You're slick, and wet, his cock gliding across your skin before he pushes into you, and you both gasp.

He's slow. He trembles. His fingers make dents in your thighs as he grips them. You shuffle your hips, make yourself comfortable, and he holds steady while you adjust to the intrusion. Then, you pull him in, grabbing him by the neck to steal a kiss while he makes space for himself deep inside you, rocking each tentative inch into you until he's rooted inside.

You adjust - let the tenseness in your core release - and he barely holds on. And, just when he thinks he's got a hold of himself and begins fucking you in slow, languid movements, your hand moves and you say those three little words.

"I got it."

For the first ever time, he stops you. His hand pins yours to your hip, his movements stilling as you frown up at him, a threat on the tip of your tongue. So, he begs.

"Let me. Please."

And you do. He slowly swipes a spit slicked thumb against your clit, and watches as you melt into his sheets. By the look of you, the pure relief on your face, he thinks this could be the first time you've ever truly let go, and his ego soars.

It soars again when your legs tremble, rocking his thick cock in you as his thumb works slowly over your clit. You moan his name, and he groans too. He can't keep it back. It's the first time he's ever heard you say it, and he doesn't think it could sound better. Your eyes find his when you say his name again, testing him, only to pull another groan deep from his chest.

A small nod is all you give him as a sign you want more. His thumb moves quicker, popped into his mouth to taste you just for a moment before it swipes around your cunt where you grip him, and back up to your clit.

You come on him, face turned into his sheets, brow furrowed, mouth open as you moan and shake, trembling and pulsating on his cock as you come.

For you, he keeps going. Let's you ride out the waves, fluttering against him, as he barely holds back from the brink himself.

If this is all he gets - if you push him off and walk away now - it would be a good day, he thinks. But you don't. He doesn't even get chance to ask if you want him gone when you're pulling him down, kissing him, rocking your hips against him and murmuring against his throat for him to fuck you.

So, he does.

It feels sloppy, and awkward, his hips not quite knowing how to move any more as he snaps them against yours.

"Don't stop," you whisper to him with a scrape of your teeth against his shoulder. "Don't stop."

He's never been able to disobey you, he realizes. He's never had reason let alone want to. Even now, he does as he's told, keeps fucking forward into you, mattress squeaking and bed rocking as he finally, finally, finds his rhythm.

It's easy then. You spur him on, grip him tight, wrap your legs around his waist. He grunts, growls, can barely stop himself from panting, looking down at you and how you stare back at him and he thinks fuck, this is what it's like to be trusted by you.

With a sudden gasp, he pulls out, slipping from your wet heat to rut against your sopping cunt until he's spurting ropes of come against your mound and belly.

He apologizes, tries to admonish himself for being so quick. You tell him to shut up, hitting his shoulder. He does.

You both sigh in the afterglow. Even in the before, he never had times like this, he doesn't think. It was always frantic, too quick, too drunk, too fumbling. In the after, he could never quite relax enough to enjoy it fully. In the now, it's just about the best he's ever had.

You're still covered in him. Your fingers play idly in it on your belly, and he glows. He'd trace patterns with it over your skin, if only you'd let him. But then, you're up and gone, and he fears you're gone for good until you waltz back in and throw yourself next to him, mess cleaned from your skin as you stretch and yawn beside him.

"I aint tryin' to take your job, y'know," Joel tells you some time later, when the afterglow wanes and sleep pulls at him.

"Right."

He looks to you, the roll of your eyes and tug of a disbelieving smile on your lips visible in the glow of the bedside lamp.

"I promise. I'm just tryin' to... be some place."

You're still. And silent. He thinks he's fucked up for all of one second, until you're smiling sadly up at the ceiling.

"I get that," you say softly. "This is a nice place to be, all things considered."

And, though he thinks he knows what you mean, Yes, he thinks, this is a nice place to be.

This is a good day.

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[moonlightwritingf1]

A Bold Surprise | LN4

ᡣ𐭩 summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N has been dating Lando for a month, and despite their undeniable chemistry, they haven't crossed the final line. One evening, Y/N decides to surprise him with a daring gesture—wearing sexy lingerie to show a bold, more confident side of herself. 

ᡣ𐭩 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

ᡣ𐭩 word count ━━━━━━━ 4.6k

ᡣ𐭩 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

Y/N stood in her bedroom, heart pounding in her chest as she glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Lando would be here any minute. Her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted the garter belt, making sure every detail of the crimson lace was in place. The set was a bold choice—delicate yet daring, a stark contrast to the more modest clothes she usually wore around him. But tonight, she wanted to push boundaries. She wanted to show him a side of herself she rarely let anyone see.

She took one last look in the mirror, the city lights filtering through her curtains casting a soft glow on her skin. Her cheeks were flushed, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the sheer audacity of her plan or the anticipation of how Lando would react. Probably both.

When the doorbell rang, her stomach flipped. She grabbed the silk robe draped over her chair and slipped it on, tying it loosely around her waist before heading to the door. She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady herself, then opened it.

Lando stood there, a boyish grin on his face, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. “Hey, love,” he greeted, stepping inside. His eyes swept over her, lingering for a second too long on the curve of her neck exposed by the robe. “You look… cozy.”

She smiled nervously, closing the door behind him. “Thanks. You didn’t have to bring flowers.”

“I wanted to.” He handed them to her, his fingers brushing hers briefly, sending a spark up her arm. “They reminded me of you.”

Her heart fluttered at the sincerity in his voice, but she quickly busied herself by placing the flowers in a vase. “Sit down,” she said, gesturing to the sofa. “I have a surprise for you.”

Lando’s brows shot up, curiosity and amusement dancing in his eyes. “A surprise, huh? Should I be worried?”

“Not at all,” she replied, the corners of her lips twitching upward. “Just… stay here. I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into her bedroom, closing the door softly behind her, the quiet click of the latch sounding louder than it should have. Her breathing was uneven, shallow, as she leaned against the door for a moment, willing herself to calm down. Her hands trembled as she reached for the tie of her robe, fingers fumbling clumsily with the knot.

Get it together, she told herself, though her heart continued to race, the frantic drumbeat echoing in her ears. Finally, the knot loosened, and she hesitated for a beat longer, the cool air brushing against her skin as she let the robe slip from her shoulders. It fell silently to the floor, a soft puddle of fabric at her feet, but she didn’t move right away. Instead, she stood frozen, her chest rising and falling quickly, trying to gather the courage for whatever was coming next.

Minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last. Outside the closed door, the faintest shuffle of movement signaled his impatience. A chair creaked softly, then silence, followed by a muffled sigh as he shifted again. Still, she remained where she was, the weight of her own thoughts pinning her in place, her mind racing through a hundred scenarios but finding no clarity in any of the

Y/n stood in front of her full-length mirror, taking a deep breath. The delicate lace of the lingerie brushed against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. She wasn’t used to this—showing off so much of herself—but tonight, she wanted to surprise Lando. Wanted him to see her as someone who could be bold, daring, even if it was just for a moment.

“Y/N, you’re driving me insane!” Lando groaned loudly from the couch, his voice a mix of frustration and teasing. His head tipped back, and he ran a hand through his curls. “What kind of surprise takes this long?”

From behind the closed bedroom door, Y/N’s soft laugh floated out, light and melodic. It sent a ripple of warmth through him despite his impatience.

“Patience, Lando,” she called back, her voice laced with amusement. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Lando rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the smirk tugging at his lips. He knew exactly what kind of tease Y/n was—subtle, calculated, and utterly devastating. She could make him wait all night if she wanted, and he’d be left writhing in anticipation, begging for just one glimpse of whatever she had planned.

She checked her reflection one last time, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on the sheer fabric. Her heart pounded in her chest, threatening to give away her nerves. But she reminded herself why she was doing this. Lando had been nothing but attentive, charming, and relentless in his pursuit of her. For a month, they’d been dancing around each other, their chemistry undeniable, their conversations teasing and flirtatious. Yet, they hadn’t crossed that final line. Not yet.

Tonight, she decided, would be different.

Steeling herself, Y/n walked out of her bedroom, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. The living room was softly illuminated by the glow of the city lights outside, casting a warm hue over everything. Lando sat on the edge of the couch, his back straight, his hands resting on his thighs. He looked relaxed, but there was a tension in his jaw that betrayed his calm demeanor. When he heard her approaching, he turned his head slowly, his eyes locking onto hers.

His breath hitched.

Her silhouette framed the light from behind her, casting soft shadows across her body. The lingerie clung to her curves like a second skin. The sight of her nearly robbed him of his ability to breathe.

For a moment, there was silence. Just the two of them, lost in each other’s gaze. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face, slow and lazy, like he was savoring the sight before him.

“Well,” he said, his voice low and husky, “you weren’t kidding about a surprise.”

Y/n felt her cheeks heat up, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. “Do you like it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando pushed himself off the couch, moving toward her with deliberate steps. He stopped just inches away, his towering presence making her feel small despite the confidence she’d mustered earlier. His eyes roamed over her, taking in every inch of the lingerie, lingering on the way the fabric hugged her hips, the curve of her thighs, the dip of her waist.

“Like it?” he repeated, his tone playful yet serious. “I love it. You’re… you’re art. Fucking breathtaking.''

She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to look away. “You don’t have to say that,” she muttered, though her heart raced at his words.

“I don’t have to,” he agreed, closing the distance between them until he was standing directly in front of her. His hand lifted, calloused fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. “But I want to. Because it’s true.”

His touch sent electric shocks through her body, and she fought to keep her composure. “You’re such a flirt,” she accused, her voice shaky.

“Only with you,” he replied smoothly, his thumb tracing the curve of her bottom lip. “And only because you make it impossible not to.”

She shivered under his touch, her knees feeling suddenly weak. “Stop it,” she whispered, though her protest lacked any real conviction.

“Make me,” he challenged, his lips curving into a sly grin.

Before she could respond, his other hand slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The heat of his body seeped through the thin fabric of her lingerie, making her pulse quicken. She could feel the solid length of him pressing against her, a firm reminder of the effect she had on him.

“Lando,” she breathed, her hands coming up to rest on his shoulders, unsure if she was pushing him away or holding on for balance.

“Hmm?” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. “What is it, love? Tell me what you want.”

The way he said it—so casual, so confident—sent a wave of longing crashing through her. She swallowed hard, her mind racing. Did she want this? Yes. Was she ready for it? She wasn’t sure. But the way he was looking at her, the way he was touching her, made it impossible to think clearly.

“I… I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice trembling.

“Tell me,” he coaxed, his lips trailing down the side of her neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. “Let me hear you say it.”

She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. “I want…” She paused, her breath catching in her throat. “I want you.”

His grip on her tightened, and he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Then, without warning, he dipped his head, capturing her lips in a kiss that was both gentle and commanding.

Her arms slipped around his neck as she kissed him back, her fingers tangling in his hair. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, coaxing her to open for him. When she did, his mouth moved over hers with a hunger that matched her own. He tasted like mint and something wild, something untamed that sent her spiraling.

His hands were everywhere—cupping her face, sliding down her back, gripping her hips. Each touch was deliberate, possessive, like he couldn’t get enough of her. And she couldn’t get enough of him. Every brush of his fingertips, every press of his lips, sent waves of pleasure coursing through her veins.

When he finally broke the kiss, they were both breathing heavily, their foreheads pressed together. “You drive me insane,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire.

“Likewise,” she managed to reply, her voice breathless.

He grinned, the expression lighting up his face. “Good. I like keeping you on your toes.”

Before she could retort, his hands migrated lower, pulling her even closer. She could feel every inch of him, hard and demanding against her softness. Her body responded instinctively, arching into him, craving more.

“Lando,” she gasped, her hands tightening on his shoulders.

“Shh,” he hushed, his lips finding hers again. “Let me take care of you.”

And then his hands were moving again, sliding beneath the lace, cupping her thighs, lifting her effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him as he carried her to the couch, never breaking the kiss. He set her down gently, his body pressing her into the cushions as he continued his relentless assault on her senses.

Lando’s lips trailed down her throat, his tongue flicking over the delicate skin just above the neckline of her lingerie. Y/n shivered, his touch sending waves of pleasure through her body. She could feel his hardness pressing against her thigh, a constant reminder of his desire for her. His hands roamed freely, one creeping beneath the lace to cup her breast, the other sliding up her side, his fingers tracing the curve of her waist.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her skin, his voice low and gravelly with need. “I can’t get enough of you.”

She whimpered, her breath hitching as his fingers found her nipple, teasing it into a hard peak. He pinched gently, his teeth grazing her collarbone as she arched into his touch. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on.

“Lando…” she whispered, her voice trembling with want. “Please… I need…”

He pulled back, his eyes burning with intent. “Tell me what you need, love.”

Her cheeks flushed, heat pooling between her thighs. She hesitated, her shyness threatening to hold her back. But Lando’s gaze was relentless, piercing through her defenses. She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. “I need you… inside me.”

His lips curved into a wicked smile, his hand slipping lower, brushing against the proof of her arousal. “Not yet,” he said, his tone laced with playful mischief. “First, I need to taste you.”

Before she could protest, he lifted her effortlessly, cradling her against his chest as he carried her toward the bedroom. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her body flush against his, every step bringing them closer to the edge of something explosive.

He laid her down gently on the bed, his eyes never leaving hers as he knelt between her thighs. Her heart raced, her breath quickening as she realized what he intended to do. He leaned over her, his fingers brushing the lace of her panties, tugging them aside to reveal her glistening core.

“So wet for me already,” he teased, his voice dripping with admiration. “You’re going to drive me wild, aren’t you?”

She bit her lip, unable to speak, her mind too consumed by the way his gaze lingered on her. He lowered his head, his warm breath cascading over her sensitive flesh, sending shivers down her spine. Then, without warning, his tongue darted out, swirling around her clit in slow, torturous circles.

“Oh God!” she cried out, her hips bucking involuntarily.

He chuckled softly, his tongue moving faster, delving deeper. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her steady as he explored her with an intensity that left her breathless. One hand slid up to cup her breast, squeezing gently as his thumb flicked over her straining nipple.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asked, his voice muffled against her.

She nodded frantically, her nails digging into the sheets as his mouth worked its magic. He alternated between gentle licks and firm sucks, his movements deliberate and unrelenting. Her body trembled, her orgasm building with each passing second.

“Lando… I’m… I’m gonna…” she gasped, her voice breaking.

He looked up at her, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Let it go, love,” he urged, his voice soft but commanding. “Let me feel you come apart for me.”

Those words were her undoing. With a strangled cry, her body convulsed, waves of ecstasy washing over her as she tumbled into bliss. Lando didn’t stop, his tongue continuing to work its magic as she rode out her climax, his name spilling from her lips in a breathless chant.

When she finally stilled, her chest heaving, he raised his head, beaming with a smile. 'That’s my girl,' he murmured, his voice tender. ''You’re incredible.''

She smiled weakly, still recovering from the intensity of her orgasm. “You’re unbelievable,” she managed to whisper, her voice thick with emotion.

He kissed her thigh, his lips lingering for a moment before he straightened up, his eyes locking onto hers. “Now,” he said, his voice low and husky. “It’s my turn.”

He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her legs. His cock pressed against her entrance, the heat of him almost too much to bear. She moaned, her body instinctively opening for him.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, his voice serious despite the lust burning in his eyes.

She shook her head, her hands reaching up to grip his shoulders. “I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered. “Please, Lando… I need you.”

Lando’s hands gripped her hips, his breath steady as he aligned himself with her. His cock pressed against her entrance, the heat of him radiating through her core. Y/n’s body trembled beneath him, anticipation coiling deep within her. She could feel the tension in the air, thick and electric, as if the world around them had paused to witness this moment.

“Look at me,” Lando murmured, his voice low and commanding.

She obeyed, meeting his gaze. His eyes were intense, filled with a mixture of desire and something deeper—something that made her heart race. He was always so sure, so unwavering in his focus on her. It both scared and thrilled her.

“I want you to feel every second of this,” he said softly, his words brushing against her like a caress. “Every movement, every touch… I want it to be slow.”

Y/n bit her lip, her eyes flickering down to his chest for a moment before returning to his. She nodded, her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Please… just like that.”

With a soft groan, Lando began to move, his hips pressing forward ever so slowly. His cock slid into her inch by inch, their bodies merging in a seamless union. Y/n gasped, her nails digging into his back as he filled her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, building slowly but steadily, like a tide rising against the shore.

“You feel so good,” he muttered, his voice strained with effort. He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin lightly as he continued his deliberate pace. “So tight… so perfect.”

Y/n moaned, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. She could feel every ridge of his cock inside her, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. Her mind felt hazy, lost in the sensation of him moving within her.

“Lando…” she breathed, her voice breaking. “Oh god…”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against her skin. “Patience, love,” he teased, his lips brushing against her ear. “We have all night.”

But Y/n wasn’t sure she could wait. Already, the pressure was building, spiraling higher and higher with each thrust. She wanted more, needed more. Her hands roamed over his back, her fingers tracing the curve of his muscles as he moved.

“Harder,” she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please… faster.”

Lando hesitated, glancing down at her with a smirk. “You asked for slow,” he reminded her, his tone light but teasing. “Now you want it hard? Make up your mind, sweetheart.”

Y/n groaned in frustration, her hips bucking slightly against him. “I don’t know! Just… do whatever you want,” she practically whined, her eyes narrowing playfully. “You’re driving me crazy.”

His grin widened, and he leaned down to kiss her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with an intensity that matched the rhythm of his hips. He pulled out almost completely, only to sink back in slowly, prolonging the ache between her legs. Y/n cried out against his lips, her body arching towards him as the need for release grew unbearable.

“Let me hear you,” he murmured against her mouth, his voice rough and demanding. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” she gasped, her hands gripping his arms tightly. “Only you. God, Lando… please…”

Her words seemed to ignite something within him. His pace quickened slightly, though not enough to lose the slow, deliberate rhythm she loved. He cupped her face in his hands, gazing down at her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice fierce and possessive. “Do you understand? Every part of you… belongs to me.”

Y/n couldn’t speak, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he claimed her again and again. His words echoed in her mind, stirring something deep within her—a sense of belonging, of being utterly consumed by him. Her body tightened around his cock, her orgasm building rapidly now.

“Lando… I’m close,” she managed to whisper, her voice trembling.

His hand slid between them, his thumb finding her clit and circling it gently. “Then come for me,” he commanded, his voice low and raw. “Let go, love. Show me how much you want this.”

The combination of his words and his actions pushed her over the edge. Y/n cried out, her body shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as her orgasm consumed her entirely.

Lando grunted, his thrusts slowing as he rode out her climax. His grip on her tightened, his breathing heavy as he fought to maintain control. When she finally relaxed against him, he kissed her forehead tenderly, his movements still slow and deliberate.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice soft and comforting. “Let me take care of you.”

Y/n smiled faintly, her eyes fluttering shut as she nuzzled into his chest. She felt safe, protected, and utterly devoured by him. Everything about him—his touch, his scent, the way he made her feel—was intoxicating.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Please… I need more.”

Lando’s breath hitched at her plea, his eyes locking onto hers as if searching for confirmation. He didn’t want to move too fast, didn’t want to spook her or push her beyond her comfort. But her words—her need—was a fire that burned brightly in her voice, and he couldn’t ignore it.

“You sure?” he asked, his tone low and teasing, though there was an edge of urgency to it now. His grip on her hips tightened just slightly, the only indication of how badly he wanted to give her what she asked for.

Y/n nodded, her cheeks flushing with heat as she met his gaze. She could feel the weight of his desire pressing against her, slow and steady, and it sent a shiver down her spine. “Yes… don’t stop. Please, Lando.”

His name on her lips was a whispered invitation, and he couldn’t resist any longer. With a soft groan, he began to move again, this time picking up the pace just a fraction. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the quiet room, a symphony of skin on skin that only heightened the tension between them.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his fingers digging into her thighs as he lifted her legs higher, wrapping them around his waist. The new angle brought him deeper, and Y/n gasped, arching her back as pleasure surged through her.

“God, you feel so good,” Lando murmured, his voice ragged as he fought to keep his control. He kissed her neck, nipping gently before soothing the spot with his tongue. “So fucking tight… like you were made for me.”

Y/n moaned softly, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as she tilted her head to give him better access. The way he spoke, the way he moved, it was all so deliberate, so calculated to drive her wild. And it was working. Every thrust of his hips sent waves of pleasure crashing over her, building and building until she thought she might explode.

“Lando…” Her voice broke, a mix of desperation and pleasure that made his heart race.

“What do you need, baby?” he asked, his tone dripping with sweetness and seduction. He slowed his rhythm, pulling out slightly before sinking back in, drawing out the moment just to see her reaction.

Y/n groaned in frustration, her nails lightly scratching down his back. “I need… faster. Please, faster.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Patience, love. Just let me hear you beg a little more.”

Her jaw dropped, a mixture of surprise and indignation flashing across her face. But before she could protest, he picked up the pace again, this time rocking into her with a steady, relentless rhythm. The sound of their flesh meeting grew louder, more urgent, filling the room with a primal energy that left no room for doubt about what they were doing.

Y/n’s head fell back, her breath coming in short, gasping breaths as she clung to him. The pleasure was overwhelming, cresting higher with each movement of his body. She could feel herself getting closer, the pressure building inside her like a storm waiting to break.

“Lando… I’m…” she tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat as another wave of sensation washed over her.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice softer now, less teasing and more intent. “Let go for me, Y/n. Let me feel you come apart.”

His words were her undoing. With a cry that echoed through the room, she arched her back, her body tightening around him as she reached her peak. Her walls clamped down fiercely, milking every ounce of pleasure from his cock as she rode out her third orgasm.

Lando growled, his thrusts growing erratic as he felt her pulsing around him. He had been so close already, and watching her fall apart pushed him over the edge. With one final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside her, his release hitting him like a tidal wave.

For several long moments, they remained locked together, their bodies trembling with the force of their shared climax. Lando’s forehead rested against hers, his breathing heavy as he struggled to catch his breath. His arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her close as if afraid she might slip away.

“God… Y/n,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea how much I needed that.”

She didn’t respond right away, still caught in the haze of her own thoughts. But when she finally looked up at him, there was a softness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. A vulnerability that she rarely showed to anyone.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando’s heart clenched at her words, at the sincerity behind them. He cupped her cheek in his hand, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Don’t thank me, love. This… whatever this is between us… it’s not just about tonight. It’s about everything. About us.”

Y/n’s breath hitched, her eyes searching his as if trying to find the truth in his words. For the first time since they’d met, she allowed herself to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he meant it. If he saw something in her worth fighting for, worth loving.

Before she could say anything, Lando leaned down, capturing her lips in a slow, tender kiss. It was different from before, softer and more reverent, as if he was savoring every second of being close to her.

The bed beneath her shifted slightly as he leaned closer, his hand brushing gently against her cheek. When he pulled back, his eyes searched hers, filled with warmth and something deeper that made her breath catch.

A playful smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he whispered, “Comfortable enough?”

Y/n let out a soft laugh, her cheeks flushing as she realized how easily he’d made her feel at ease despite the rush of emotions coursing through her. “I think so,” she replied, her voice light but edged with nervous excitement.

Lando grinned, clearly pleased by her response. He shifted, propping himself up beside her, his fingers trailing lazily over her arm as if he couldn’t bear to break the contact. The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, but in the best way, her heart racing under the weight of his gaze.

“Stay right here,” he said softly, his tone carrying a mix of playfulness and command that sent a shiver through her. “I’ll be right back.”

She watched as he rose from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the silence, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Her mind raced, each second feeling impossibly long as she tried to steady her breathing.

Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, a nervous habit she couldn’t seem to stop. Why am I like this? she thought, pressing her lips together to keep from laughing at herself. But just as quickly as the nerves bubbled up, they faded when the bathroom door opened, and he returned.

Lando’s smile was soft and reassuring, his movements unhurried as he crossed the room to rejoin her. He sat beside her, his hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch grounding her instantly.

“Still okay?” he asked, his voice low and filled with genuine concern.

Y/n nodded, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile. Whatever happened next, she knew she could trust him.

[purplecoffee13]

Cross The Line*

Summary: “Harry and Y/N have always had a great professional relationship, all based on one rule; a line they drew the first time they met. But when one day that line accidentally blurs, Harry finds that he doesn’t want it to go back to the way it was…”

Wc: 13k

Tropes: Boss!rry x Secretary!Y/N

Warnings: A LOT of back and forth (this is what Katy Perry wrote hot and cold about), arguing, curse words, smut, dirty talk, degradation, light ch0king, dom/sub dynamics, edging, b0ndage, and recording while… yk🤗

A/N: I’m terribly sorry to have been testing your patience so much the second half of this year, here is a long one shot to say I’m sorry🥲 and I appreciate all of you and I hope you are happy and healthy and will get everything you want in the new year xx💘💘

General Masterlist

HEADER = POV change

Harry's relationship with his secretary is completely normal.

At least, he’s always thought it is.

Sure, it may have seemed more friendly than the usual boss/secretary relationship, but that was only because Y/N was special. She was one of the kind. Smart, stealthy, and sneaky if need be. She did everything he asked for, sometimes before he even realized he should ask her, and was always ready to do more.

Of course, she was attractive as well. Shit, attractive may have even been an understatement. Y/N was drop dead gorgeous and Harry was entirely aware of it. Her ambition made her even sexier, and it's one of the reasons he hired her in the first place.

When Y/N walked through his office door that first time three years ago, he couldn't believe his eyes.

He remembers it like it was yesterday, those wide eyes staring back at him as she froze a couple feet away from him. She was quick to regain herself, though—he had to give her that. But she was nervous as she sat down, even though her movements were calm and the tone of her voice stern. He saw the slightest shake of those hands of her.

Because that job interview hadn't been the first time Harry and Y/N came across each other. It was actually a Halloween party at some high end secretive club in New York one month prior. A night that ended with them hooking up in one of the private lounges.

Even back then, when he never thought he'd see her again, he knew that he would never forget that night, nor the way her face scrunched up as she clenched around him, or the sounds that she made as he drove into her.

He could see that she remembered it as well as she sat across from him that day, but Y/N had quickly made it clear that she was serious about pursuing a career in the film industry. She said she could prove what a great secretary she could be for him, as long as they could put that Halloween night behind them and pretend it never happened. She wouldn't make him regret it, she had told him. He took the chance.

And she had been absolutely right.

Three years had passed and Harry was still thankful to himself for hiring Y/N. She was the best around; fiercely loyal as well. Y/N had been offered jobs by other companies, but she turned down every last one of them. Harry liked to think their relationship played a bit of a part in that as well.

They had become friends—if that's what you could call it—over the years. They had a playful dynamic filled with flirty jokes and random phone calls and favors that blurred that line they had drawn so carefully during Y/N's job interview.

No matter what, Y/N would be the first Harry would call, every time. Whether it was bad business news or a drunken phone call, her number was most likely to be at the top of his last calls. And she always answered, even though she didn't have to. It was a special bond, and while they always danced on it—especially Harry—they never crossed that one line.

Not that Harry needed to. As a matter of a fact, he had quite the adventurous love life. With plenty of people on speed dial and a charming smile that could make anyone's panties drop, Harry wasn't short on romantic escapades. The one thing they all had in common, though, was that it'd never last longer than a few days, and they were rarely ever repeated.

The same couldn't be said for Y/N. In fact, Harry had never seen her with anyone outside of her work, and he never heard her mentioning anything about it...

He didn't know why, but somehow, that thought popped up into his head last Friday as they sat in his office with a drink, celebrating the outstanding reviews that critics had given the newest produced film that was set to premiere next week. Before Harry knew it, he was asking about it.

"Why are you rubbing your temples?" He questioned, watching Y/N massage the side of her head with her eyes closed. He was leaned back in his seat, whiskey in hand as he observed the woman across from him.

"Tension headache." She groaned in response. Despite her grumpiness, Harry couldn't help but grin. What could he say? She was cute when she was grumpy.

"We are literally celebrating, Y/N. What could you possibly be so tense about right now?" He teased, and felt his stomach swirl as a smile painted her lips. She might have rolled her eyes, but she still thought he was funny.

"Oh you have no idea." She mumbled, grabbing her glass and leaning back into her chair. She took a big gulp, her face pulling at the strong taste of the liquor. Harry chuckled.

"You should relax more. Maybe get a hot date to take care of some of that stress for you." He suggested jokingly. Y/N scoffed at the insinuation.

Shaking her head, she said: "I get taken care of just fine, thank you very much."

The equally teasing tone in which she responded caught Harry seriously off guard. Her slight grin pressed down on his chest, and despite having started this joking banter himself, he suddenly didn't find the topic very funny anymore.

"When?"

Y/N locked eyes with her boss. “What?”

"You're here 24/7, when do you even have time to hook up with someone?"

"You know there's this thing called weekends." She joked, but the amusement faded when Harry's mouth didn't even quirk upwards in the slightest bit. It fell quiet for a second or two, and just when Y/N opened her mouth to say something else, someone knocked on the office door.

"Come in."

Harry had said, and soon enough Robin, one of the managers walked in, telling them everyone was going to the pub down the street to celebrate, and if they wanted to come along.

Harry didn't even have the chance to reject the offer—he'd rather spend his nights with his secretary—before Y/N agreed to go along. Feeling obligated, Harry reluctantly gave in as well.

He ended up going home quite early that night, not even properly saying goodbye to Y/N like he normally would before leaving, and he couldn't get the image of her wrapped around another man out of his head the entire ride home. He didn't know why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was the fact that it shouldn't, and more importantly, couldn't bother him, which made it even less bearable.

Whichever reason there may have been for it, he decided to drown out his thoughts by inviting one of his old hook-ups to his house. But even as he drove himself into her as she kept screaming his name, he couldn't stop thinking of Y/N. When she had reached her climax and he began to chase his own high—Harry was caught off guard by Y/N's face flashing through his mind, and extremely embarrassed when those images triggered his orgasm.

The next week is awkward, to say the least. It started out Monday, when Harry could barely look Y/N in the eye. She had received the sudden cold shoulder pretty well, but Harry still felt horrible about it. His attitude got less stiff throughout the week, but it was still bad.

By the time Thursday rolls around again, Harry still hasn't had the chance to get that weird feeling out of his system. So when he approaches his office and spots Y/N behind her desk smiling at him, a wave of guilt washes over him.

He curses himself as he sinks into his desk chair, absentmindedly turning on his laptop. What is he doing? Y/N is his assistant. He shouldn't let his protectiveness of her get the best of him. He does not want to lose her in any way.

Harry flinches when there is a knock on his door. He looks up, finding Y/N standing in his doorway. Immediately, he signals for her to come in. She seems a bit nervous as she nears him, and considering she's never been nervous around him, his heart sinks at the idea that the cold shoulder he's been giving her the other night might have affected her way more than he thought.

He just doesn't know how to behave instead.

"You have a meeting in conference room C in five minutes. It's the banker's son who's been proposing his script for the past year. I  know your schedule is tight, especially with the premiere coming up, but I thought you might as well get it over with." She says, putting a stack of papers on the table that Harry can only assume is the script. He nods, quirking up the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you, smart thinking." The praise falls from his lips in a casual manner, and he doesn't miss the way she physically relaxes at the positive reinforcement. She nods at him, and turns back to the door. Right before she is about to leave the office, she turns around again. Harry leans back in his seat, waiting to hear what she'll say.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped last week." She says, and Harry frowns at the apology.

"What?"

"I clearly said something that ticked you off." She explains,her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know we joke around, but I was afraid that maybe I'd accidentally crossed a line—“

"Y/N, stop it." Harry interrupts her, getting up from his seat. Her lips are locked within a second, and she stares at her boss with wide eyes. His stomach twists at the sight of it. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"But— if I said something inappropriate then I want to apologize for it." She says, straightening her posture again, biting her bottom lip so he won't see it quiver. As if he doesn't know the way her body works. As if he hasn't known for three years.

Putting his hands inside his pockets, Harry walks around his desk and stands in front of her. A little closer than he needs to, and yet not as close he would like.

"Let me ask you this: How many times have you declined booty calls for me?" He asks, tilting his head a bit. A slight smile appears on Y/N's face, and she pretends to think it over.

"Twenty-seven." Her smile crinkles her eyes, making them even more glassy. Harry quite literally feels his hand itch to touch her face, but he keeps it sternly in his pocket. "I kept track so I could count all the reasons you definitely won't get into heaven."

At that, he lets out a snort. Y/N can't help but chuckle too, and slowly but surely the weirdness dissolves from the room. When the laughter has died down, she speaks up again.

"So... we're good?"

"We're good." Harry smiles at his secretary, and his chest heats up when he spots the faint blush that appears on her cheeks. Jesus Christ, did she become even more beautiful than she was yesterday or was he just too stupid to notice earlier? Probably the latter.

"Well in that case you need to leave because your meeting is like, right now." She reminds him, and he hums in agreement as he gets up from his seat and walks towards the door with Y/N.

"Already gone, love." He winks at her, walking out the door with a lot more confidence in his relationship with Y/N. Maybe everything can go back to normal again. Maybe he was just exaggerating when he couldn't get her out of his head this weekend. Perhaps it was just a glitch, a temporary error in his brain that had come and gone in a flash.

That must've been it, he tells himself as he makes his way to conference room C. He takes a deep breath, musters a polite smile, and opens the door to the room. Harry already knows this guy is going to be wasting his time, but he made a promise to hear him out, so he will.

The guy sitting at the table is the stereotypical spoiled rich son. When John Longwell—a long-time business partner of Harry's— asked him to revise his son's script as a favor, Harry told him he'd do it if he ever found the time. He always hoped John's son would lose interest and forget about the script by the time Harry could find a free space in his agenda, but unfortunately that hadn't been the case.

And although the arc of the story had sounded absolutely horrendous— something about zombies fueled by a brainwashing radio song, which didn't even make sense to Harry because zombies don't have brains—he couldn't back out anymore. So he needs to get it over with, starting now.

Harry loudly shuts the door.

The guy—whose name he can't really remember at the moment—flinches and turns around, a big grin on his face as he gets up from his seat.

"Mr. Styles, it's a pleasure to see you." The man says, extending his hand, which Harry, in turn, takes. He only gives a slight nod before heading over to the other side of the table and sitting down.

"So, where's your script?" Harry asks, eyeing the empty table. The guy looks flustered, opening his mouth to say something, but the opening of the door interrupts that. Harry leans back in his seat when he spots his secretary walk through it, not even eyeing the other guy as she struts over to him and lays the printed out script on the glass table.

"Sorry, you forgot this. It was still on your desk." She says, finally turning to the man to throw him an innocent smile. His sheepish grin satisfies her enough to turn back to her boss and focus all her attention on him. "I also forgot to ask you— do you want to move up lunch today?"

The corner of Harry's mouth tugs up. Over the last three years, the concept of 'moving up lunch' has become a code for 'should I get you out of this early?'. Y/N came up with it a long time ago, and it has stuck ever since.

"Yes, I would very much like that. Thank you, Y/N." He says, and the way a smirk slowly creeps onto her face makes the hairs on his body rise.

"It's my pleasure, Mr. Styles." She gives one final nod before walking out of the room and closing the door behind her. Harry would lie if he said he didn't let his eyes fall onto the way her hips moved as she strolled away.

Unfortunately the fun doesn't last long, and with the slam of the door Harry is reminded that he still has to sit through this meeting a little longer. He looks down at the script.

"A Thousand Zombies

By Jason Longwell."

Right, Jason, that was his name.

"Jesus Christ, if that were my secretary I'd have her bent over my desk all day. How do you get any work done?" Jason breathed out, grinning like a stupid fucking schoolboy. Harry quite literally felt the storm cloud that came floating right above his head the second he heard that incompetent loser say those words. His hands balled up into fists at the suggestive comment, knuckles getting whiter by the second.

"Get out." Harry growls. John raises his eyebrows, looking around him as if Harry couldn't have possibly been addressing it to him.

"W— what?" He stumbles.

"I don't do business with insolent idiots. Get out." Harry repeats, getting up from his seat and buttoning his suit jacket. John follows his movements, anger starting to cloud on his face.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He exclaims in a failed attempt to sound intimidating. At least, Harry assumes that's what he's trying to do.

"I called you an idiot. Now, get the hell out of my face before I boot your sorry ass right to the front door." With one brow raised, he waits as John tries to muster a response until he eventually gives up and storms out of the room. Harry throws the script into the trash as he walks out of the conference room half a minute later. Y/N is immediately by his side.

"That was quick, I didn't even have time to think of an emergency." She jokes as they walk back to Harry's office together. He raises a brow.

"Yes you did. What was it this time? Food poisoning?" He guesses, holding the door to his office open once they've reached it. Y/N grins as she walks past him and takes a seat at one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"Actually, your car was going to get stolen in about five minutes." She responds, the blush of her cheeks revealing the slight embarrassment of having to voice this excuse out loud. Harry's eyes widen as he walks over to his desk, feeling his assistant watching his every move. He quite likes the feeling.

"No way." He laughs. "You just get more creative by the day."

"What can I say, I'm good at crisis management." She shrugs, crossing her legs and getting into a more comfortable position on the chair. Harry tries his best to not let his eyes float to her legs.

"That you are." He murmurs, the huskier sound of his voice giving a different ambiance to the conversation. As Harry feels the mood switch, he curses himself. Why did he have to ruin it?

Y/N clears her throat. "Anyway— why'd the meeting end early?"

"It ended early because Jason Longwell is a sleazy douchebag." He responds shortly, straightening in his seat in an attempt to gain control of the situation again. He can't let himself slip like this again, and she can't know the real reason he kicked out Jason. But there is no denying the sheer rage that boils his blood when that comment flashes through his memory. He hates that the asshole thought he could just speak about Y/N like that.

"Ooh, what did he say when you kicked him out?" Y/N asks eagerly, still in a playful mood. "You did kick him out right?"

"I don't have time to get into this right now. I need to sign those contracts that were sent in yesterday before I go home." Harry says sternly, avoiding eye contact with Y/N as he speaks, but he still sees the slump in her shoulders at his sudden shift in attitude.

"Right, of course." She immediately returns to the responsible secretary she always is, getting up from her seat. He hears her exit the room, heels clacking against the wooden floor. As soon as the door has shut, Harry throws his head back in frustration.

So much for going back to normal.

Playing into the teasing will only rope him further into that forbidden fantasy, and he clearly won't be able to stop himself from resisting her if he does. But he's the one who started all the playfulness, massively screwing himself over he realizes now. If he shifts his behavior, she's always going to think he's mad at her because of something.  But he's going to have to, because Harry can't go back to normal anymore.

Deciding he needs to clear his head, Harry grabs his coat and heads for the elevators without so much as a word. He pretends not to notice the way people's eyes widen when he walks by, suddenly on their best behavior, and although it used to give him an ego boost back when he started, nowadays he just prefers it if people aren't scared of him.

It turns out to be a particularly nice outside for a winter day in London. Not to get it twisted— it's still freakishly cold. It's just that the sun has replaced the endless rain of this entire month. Harry suppresses a chuckle at the irony of the sun finally being out at the very first moment where he's felt so shitty in a long time.

He doesn't know how long he's outside, so he knows it's not fair to be frustrated when he comes back and Y/N isn't at her desk, but he can't help the slight distress that washes over him at the empty seat.

"It's just a date—"

"Your second date!"

Harry creased brows don't do much to hide his feelings when he turns around to see his secretary with a co-worker. The shy smile on her face—accompanied with that blush on her cheeks she always gets when she's secretly giddy about something—disappears at the sight of her boss looking at her like she just killed a puppy.

"Ha— Mr. Styles." She is quick to catch her almost error. Her wide eyes bore into his, filled with confusion and worry. But Harry's frown doesn't give away much, aside. From the fact that he is obviously annoyed.

"I was looking for you." He states stoically, not even acknowledging the employee that is standing next to her. The woman takes the hint and gives Y/N and Harry a small nod before walking away. As soon as she does, Harry turns around and walks towards his own office. He can hear her footsteps following him inside, and with the inconsistent clacking against the floor he can tell she's having a hard time keeping up with his long strides. Still, he doesn't slow his pace.

"I need the papers for the donations printed out and on my desk. And I'll need you to move the meeting with the director of the romance movie to Tuesday evening."

"Yes, of course." The breathy response falls from Y/N's lips the second he finishes his sentence, and by the time he enters his office, she is long gone to do exactly what he asked. Harry shuts the door a little louder than intending to, accidentally shaking the framed artwork on the wall.

Y/N isn't very talkative for the rest of the day, that usual spark of hers seemingly having dimmed. Harry's chest is heavy, knowing his cold attitude was the catalyst for that, but he keeps it up nonetheless. He can't help himself from falling back into it every time he sees her face.

A date. She's going on a date. A second one at that. He can't believe it. Is this who she referred to when she said she gets taken care of? His stomach churns at the possibility.

He tries not to, but Harry still gets warped into the spiral of overthinking about 'date' Y/N has tonight. So much, in fact, that he almost doesn't notice the time flying by until Y/N knocks on his door at 6PM. Harry spots the coat that hangs over her desk chair, and he realizes the work day is over.

"Everything is done for the day and ready for next week. I also sent the papers about the donations with a courier who owed me a favor, so the documents are signed on both parts and the donations will be officially registered by Monday." She explains, hands behind her back. Her new shy behavior—while quite endearing—is excruciating to see. She had always been comfortable around Harry, until now. Until he had to ruin it for the both of them.

"Thank you." Harry gives her a firm nod.

"No problem." She responds a bit awkwardly. "So... I'm going to clock out for the day."

Y/N has already turned around by them time Harry's voice croaks out a 'no'. She whips her head towards her boss, head tilted as she awaited whatever it was that he was going to say.

"I need those contracts for that romance movie." He says before he can even comprehend his words.

"But you won't be negotiating that deal for another two weeks." Y/N retorts, her tone more stern than usual. He can tell she's tired.

"I don't care. I want them on my desk tonight." He holds his head high, despite knowing damn well what he's doing.

He's stalling. Long enough for... he doesn't know actually. For her to cancel her date? It sounds ridiculous now that he really thinks about it.

"Harry, I have an appointment tonight—"

"I said I don't care. I pay you to do as I ask. This is not something you can argue me on." He grumbles. With how Y/N's jaw is clenched, he can't say the same for her attitude. Without another word, she leaves the office.

Harry's worry begins to grow every minute that passes with Y/N out of sight. But when she returns with a stack of papers in her hand after a bit—seven minutes to be exact—that worry evolves into surprise. Walking over to his desk, she plops the papers on them a bit carelessly before speaking up.

"I had them made on Monday because I like to be a few steps ahead." She elaborates. "Now, if that's all, I'm going home."

Y/N doesn't even say goodbye when she grabs her coat and walks to the elevators. Harry sighs to himself, not knowing how the hell he should handle this. It takes him a few seconds before he realizes he really can't do this anymore. He needs to talk to her, if only just to clear the air.

And so, he gets up from his seat and hurries after his assistant.

He catches her just as she walks into an empty elevator, and he joins just before the doors close. Her knitted brows make it clear that she is not in the mood to talk to him.

"I'm sorry... about the documents." Harry confesses, but she doesn't face him. It stays quiet between them for a bit, until the biting sentence falls from Y/N's lips.

"You said we were good."

His heart cracks at her wobbly voice. He can't believe he made her feel this way. If any other person would've brought her to tears, he would've beaten the shit out of them. He reaches for her arm.

"W— we are." He lies. It's the biggest lie he's ever told her, and she knows it, because she immediately turns around.

"No we're not! I said I was sorry if I did something wrong, and you told me it was okay, and now all of a sudden you're being so... cold. I don't understand—" her eyes become glassy. "I don't understand what I did wrong."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Harry opens his mouth, ready to spout out his apologies, when Y/N's phone starts to ring. It takes them out of their little trance, and Y/N fumbles around her jacket for a bit until she's finally found her phone. He can't see who's calling her, but it can't be an expected call if he has to judge by the expression on her face.

"Marco, why are you—" her eyes widen at whatever the voice on the other side of the line is telling her, and Harry subconsciously finds himself leaning in a bit in the hope to find out what's wrong.

"What?" Y/N breathes. Her voice is small, and it sounds defeated, tired. The elevator dings, signaling they're downstairs, but Y/N doesn't move, so Harry doesn't either. She seems to notice and lets out a huff before storming out of the confined space and pacing around the lobby.

"You said we had a green light! That was months ago, Marco! Did you even—" She growls, clutching at her phone so hard Harry is afraid she's going to break it. "You know what, never mind. Give me his number."

The Marco guy seems to say something that he really shouldn't have said, because with the way Y/N's face twists Harry swears he can see steam coming out of her ears

"I don't care that they're not answering, I'll make them answer. Give me their numbers and then go find them." She orders before ending the call. And although the thought really shouldn't be crossing his mind right now, Harry can't help but notice how attractive Y/N is when she's mad. He shakes off the thought, telling himself that's the last thing he should be paying attention to right now.

Y/N paces around one more time, cursing under her breath, before striding past Harry and pushing the elevator buttons like a maniac.

"What's going on?"

Y/N shakes her head. "N— nothing. Just a little hiccup that could've easily been prevented. I won't be long."

Harry raises a skeptical brow, but she doesn't dare to meet his eye. She's lying through her teeth.

"Y/N—"

"Harry, really, it's nothing. I'm taking care of it." She tries to convince him, but he notices the way her hands are slightly trembling. "I'm sorry I was unprofessional. You're my boss. It's my job to take your orders, not question them."

Wait, no.

That aching feeling fills his stomach. His entire body, for that matter. He doesn't want her to be a silent and compliant assistant. That's not why he hired her. He needs someone to push back, to joke around with. Shit— what has he done?

Harry finds himself speechless as she enters the elevator and pushes the button of the seventh floor; the office. His brain isn't fast enough to think of what to say before the doors shut and the elevator ascends.

His feet stay glued to the ground as he ponders, his mind reeling like a rollercoaster. Frustration fills his body to his every finger tip. Everything has gone wrong, and he has no idea how to make it better.

At least ten minutes must've gone by by the time that a concierge taps Harry on the shoulder to ask him if he's okay. Still a bit wary, he nods before excusing himself and leaving the building.

Everything is going wrong.

Leaning over the desk with her face buried between her arms, Y/N is unable to hold back the tears that glide over her cheeks.

First, her boss gets mad at her, and she has no idea why. Then, just when they seemed to be okay again, he changed his attitude up again. And what does she do instead of letting it go? She starts a fight. And now Marco drops a disastrous bomb in her lap that could entirely ruin the movie premiere on Sunday. And if that wasn't enough—and she really thinks it was—this sudden crisis caused her to cancel her date of tonight.

It wasn't anything special, really. Y/N had met Jamie a few weeks ago, and they went out last week. He was a nice guy, handsome too, and she thought he was perfect for a short lived affair. Besides, her vibrator just couldn't live up to her fantasies. She was human, she needed to get off every now and then too. It was like Y/N had this itch in need of scratching, one she hadn't been able to reach in what felt like years.

But that wasn't going to happen now. In fact, she was risking being fired if she didn't solve this problem as soon as possible.

Damn! She really thought she had kept it all together, despite the extreme business this year. She thought she'd done a good job.

But that was a lie, because if she had done a good job, Marco wouldn't have ever gotten into the position where an artist on the soundtrack could manipulate the contract they signed. Y/N had told Marco to make it airtight, already having been suspicious of the artists' integrity from the moment they became part of the soundtrack. She assumed that they would try something.

'Chain' was an up and coming band known for their indie sound, but Y/N would just describe them as two pricks. Not only had they been subtly demeaning to her when Harry met with them, barely acknowledging her existence, they were arrogant as well. They came in expecting a lot more money than Harry and the rest of the company were willing to give them. It was absurd that they expected such a big number, but their cocky attitude didn't fade throughout the meeting.

It was truly a favor to the director, why Harry worked so hard to compromise with Chain. The director had been so passionate about the movie, and he had really wanted the song. If one thing was important to Harry, it's that there went passion onto the projects he produced and invested in. So, he decided to help, and eventually managed to struck a deal with the singers. It was still way above the pay grade they should've got—in Y/N's opinion—but they agreed.

Having seen first hand how greedy those two were, she had told Marco—the guy who handled all the legal documents—to make that contract airtight. She demanded to look it over, but because of her busy schedule, she let Marco have another lawyer look at it before sending the contract.

And now, because of a lazy mistake Chain's lawyer found, they are demanding more money or they'll waive their rights to the music. Something which would be absolutely detrimental because the entire climax of the movie, the cinematography and timing are all tuned to the song.

If she doesn't find a way to solve this problem, this entire premiere could fall apart, and it would all be her fault. She gave the green light to Harry, who gave it to the director. It's all her fault. 

She should've fucking read that contract herself, then this would've never happened.

Between Harry being mad at her, the fact that she was in her luteal phase, and this sudden disaster, the tears began streaming down her face, and the soft crying only turned into full on sobs the more she tries to calm herself down.

She allows herself the mental breakdown, but when she begins to regain control of her breath again after a few minutes, Y/N decides that it's enough. She has a job to get done, and no one was going to swoop in and save her.

So, she starts making call after call, ringing everyone in the immediate vicinity of the two arrogant bastards. It's crucial she reaches them before the night is over. Only forty minutes have passed by the time she is on the seventh person, but it feels like an eternity nonetheless.

She flinches when, while trying to reach Chain's tour manager, the elevator door dings and a shadow nears. Her tense shoulders sink a little bit at the sight of Harry, glad it's not some creep. Her brows crease as she watches him walk towards her. He's carrying a couple of bags with... is that food? It sure smells like it.

When the call goes to voicemail—for the third time—Y/N puts down the phone and gets up from her seat, hurrying over to her boss and stopping him before he could reach her desk.

"What are you doing here?!" She asks, blocking his way. He lifts the bags, a subtle, apologetic smile on his face.

"I brought food—" He looks up at her, and his eyes darken as soon as he takes in her face. "Have you been crying?"

Y/N raises her hands to her face, quickly glancing at the ground while she wipes her cheeks before meeting his eyes again. Harry puts the bags down, and it feels like her heart skips a beat or two when his thumbs stroke the skin under both her eyes. He leaves his hand around her face, cupping her jaw while he stares at her with such a piercing pain in his eyes that it makes Y/N's eyes water altogether again.

"What's wrong?" His voice is soft, and the feel of his big, warm hands holding her is comforting her in a way she hasn't experienced in a quite some time. Y/N only focused on his chest, afraid that the welled up water in her eyes will spill out again the second she looks at her boss. She told herself the crying was over, so why wasn't she able to control herself?

A few seconds pass, and silence runs between the thick air that makes it nearly impossible to breathe normally. Then, Y/N feels the slight pressure of Harry's hands, inching her head upwards. Automatically, her gaze flicks to that of her boss, and when she sees the worry on his face, a tear escapes her eye. His thumb catches it before it has the chance to roll down all the way down her cheek.

"I messed up." She only says, closing her eyes in shame. Harry says nothing, only letting out a sigh as he continues to caress her cheek.

Suddenly, the phone rings. Y/N reluctantly backs away from Harry's touch, and runs over to her desk to pick up the phone.

"Hello?" She says, her voice laced with such desperation that she internally cringes at it.

"Y/N? It's Marco. I found them, they're at a studio just outside the city."

She hums, grabbing a pen. "Give me the address."

"No, I'm going. This is my mess, Y/N, I'm not going to let you clean it up." Marco croaks from the other side of the line, and Y/N feels his voice tug at her heartstrings.

"Marco, listen to me. This is as much my fault as it is yours. I should've read the damn thing and notice the mistake." She replies, leaning over her desk to grab her coat.

"Y/N, I'll take care of it, okay? I found a fault in their loophole, they're stuck. Let me handle this. You just go home and enjoy what's left of your evening I ruined—" Marco tells her. "Wait, didn't you have a date tonight? Oh my god, did I ruin your date?"

"I did... but it's alright. It probably wouldn't have worked out with him anyway." Y/N chuckled awkwardly and glanced towards Harry, who looked weirdly annoyed at what she said.

"I'm so sorry, I promise I'll make it up to you." Marco shares the desperate plea.

"You can make it up to me by giving me the address of the studio." Y/N tells him cheekily.

"Y/N..." he warns.

"What? I promise I'm going home. It's just so I know where you are." She lies. Y/N is a good liar, except in front of Harry. Having a tendency to get nervous, she always betrays herself. She's lucky that this is a phone call, otherwise Marco would've known she wasn't planning on going home at all.

Hesitantly, he gives her the address, which she immediately writes down on her hand.

"Okay, thank you Marco. Good luck." She says, hanging up the phone with a lot more confidence than ten minutes ago. She can feel Harry staring her down as she puts on her coat, clearly waiting for an explanation for this whiplash-like behavior.

"I really have to go."

Harry shrugs. "I'll give you a ride. You can explain everything to me on the way to your house."

Y/N shakes her head, walking towards her boss. "No, really, you don't have to."

"Yes I do." Harry argues.

"You really don't."

"Do you have a problem with me bringing you home, Y/N?" He asks as if he's dumb, as if he doesn't know she's secretly trying to go to that studio.

"No!" She is quick to protest.

"Or does it have anything to do with the address of that mysterious studio you've written on your hand?" He teases, and Y/N clenches her jaw in frustration.

"I just— I need to make sure it's handled." She sputters. Harry shrugs.

"From what I heard it's being handled just fine." He points out. "You've got to learn to let things go sometimes, Y/N."

She shakes her head, looking the floor. "I can't. Not with this."

Harry lowers his head, trying to get on the same eye-level as her and searching for her eyes. "Why not?"

"I told you; I messed up." Her voice quivers as she tells Harry the truth. "There was a mistake in the contract with Chain. Somehow they found a loophole, and now they want more money or they'll waive the rights to their song."

"What?!" Harry growls, exactly like Y/N anticipated he'd react. God, he's going to fire her any moment.

"It's my fault. It was a reference mistake I could've easily spotted if I had taken the time to revise it." She admits, feeling extremely shameful of her lazy actions.

"What are you talking about? This is the legal team's fault, they should've seen that damned mistake! It's not in your job description to revise a contract, it's not your responsibility. It's not your fault, Y/N." He explains. She sucks in a breath, his words hitting her harder than she expected. Heart aching, the one sentence rings in her head.

It's not your fault.

That couldn't be true, could it? She was responsible for this deal, and for Harry. She should've seen this coming, even though she couldn't have possibly known. Did she not always pride herself in having this sixth sense, in being ahead of everyone else? What was she without that? What was she if not the best at the one thing that made her special, that set her apart from the crowd. What was she worth without that invincibility?

"You revise every contract, don't you?"

Her eyes flick towards her boss. She doesn't say anything, but the answer is hidden in her pupils. And it seems Harry can read them like an open book. "How long have you been doing that?"

"Two years." Y/N stammers, her arms crossed as if it will keep her body from revealing whatever her mouth won't. Harry just lets out a breathy chuckle before pulling her into his arms, taking her into a sweet embrace. With his chin leaning on her head, Y/N takes the opportunity to bury her face in his chest, trying not to bask too much in the heavenly scent of his cologne.

"Remind me to give you a raise." He jokes in a soft whisper, earning a sniff of laughter from Y/N.

For a while it seems like everything that tore her down, including what went down between her and Harry, didn't exist anymore. There was just him and her, their embrace and a distant ticking clock, the only indicator of time passing. Yet it felt like the world stopped, or slowed down at least, being in Harry's arms like that. And suddenly, that itch that she hadn't been able to scratch in so long, it felt like it was soothed by a stroking hand instead, and in a way it fulfilled her. It just so happened to be a way she did not expect.

The initial shock at the realization—this puzzle piece that suddenly clicked—made Y/N back away. She clears her throat, fiddling with her hands.

"They're supposed to be at this studio right outside the city. It's only twenty minutes away by car. I just need to be sure." She announces. Harry grabs the bags of food he put down before placing his hand on her lower back and guiding the both of them back to the elevator.

"We'll take my car." He states, and although Y/N can tell by his tone that Harry expects there to be no talking back, but she just can't help herself.

"Harry, I told you I can take a cab." She suggests as they wait for the elevator door to open. Harry doesn't respond as he guides them both into the small space and pushes the button for the ground floor. When the door closes, he turns to her, looking down at her with such an intimidating stare that Y/N feels like she's shrinking.

"And I told you: we're taking my car." He says sternly, his low voice twisting her stomach in an interesting way. When Y/N goes to open her mouth again, Harry lays his finger on her lips. He hums in disapproval, shaking his head.

"I was being clear, right?" He asks rhetorically. His gaze sweeps over her mouth before settling on her eyes again. Not daring to speak another word, let alone breathe, Y/N only nods in response.

"Good." Harry responds, a cocky smirk framing his face as he strolls out of the elevator, leaving Y/N breathless and in a slight trance. Blinking a few times, she comes back to her sense and hurries after her boss.

Richard has always been a master at reading people, and this time is no exception. The second he began driving, he raised the partition, leaving Harry and Y/N with some privacy.

Harry really has a knack for hiring the right people.

The first few minutes of the car ride are silent, and Harry spends it observing Y/N as she picked at her nail beds, frantically looking at of the window as if it would make the car move faster. She has so much tension inside that little body of hers; she is clearly in need of a distraction.

"I think I'm jealous."

Y/N's head whips to him, brows raised at the sudden confession. Her body turns with her, knees now in Harry's direction as she leans back into the seat, getting comfortable as she lays close attention.

"Of me?" She asks, utterly confused. She seems very lost, not really connecting the dots. Harry doesn't blame her; that confession was quite out of the blue.

"Of whoever gets to take care of you."

Pure silence. Harry swears he could hear a pin drop. Y/N stares at him like a deer in headlights, probably having no idea what to say or do or think. She gulps.

"What?" Her voice is so soft that he almost doesn't hear her, but since all his focus is on her, he doesn't miss it. Letting out a breath, he leans forward, placing a hand on her thigh. His face inches closer and closer until their mouths are mere inches away from each other. Checking for her reaction with every small movement, he can't help but notice how she doesn't stray away from him. In fact, she leans in, causing their lips to brush against each other.

"The idea of another man touching you, having you, it makes my fucking blood boil." He says, voice hoarse. Her eyes frantically search every last inch of his face, looking for something she seemingly can't find. Perhaps she's attempting to find the usual playfulness that always accompanies any conversation that blurs that line between them. In that case, she could keep looking forever and ever, because he is dead serious. Fuck how it used to be and fuck whatever's right or wrong.

And most of all, fuck that line, because he's crossing it.

Harry closes the small gap between them, trying to suppress the moan that threatens to work up his throat at the sole feeling of her lips against his. What a fucking idiot he was for ever agreeing to forget about that Halloween night. Not that he ever truly did forget about it. Besides her obvious competencies, hiring Y/N was a way of keeping her where he seemed to like her best from the moment they met; close to him.

With that thought in mind, he wraps his hand around her face and pulls her closer. She complies, clicking her seatbelt free to move further towards Harry when he slips his tongue inside.

Their mouths move against each other like it's both the first time and the hundredth time they've done this. So familiar and yet it's like nothing he ever felt before. A sensation so different from three years ago, one so heavy and laced with a detail his brain can't quite seem to grasp. Deep down, he knows what it is, he just can't quite lay his finger on it.

But his body can, and it does, and so does Y/N's, because her grinding against him is exactly what he needs. His hand sneaks around her neck, lips curling into a smile at the familiarity of the curves of her neck and the identical moan that falls from her lips just as it did three years ago.

Harry groans when the car suddenly stops and Y/N falls forward a little bit, the friction against his trousers being a bit too much to bear at the moment. Slowly, the partition lowers, and without so much looking at them through the mirror, Richard speaks up.

"We've arrived."

Wrong. Harry clearly hasn't.

Before Harry can catch his breath, Y/N can get off his lap, and either one can even answer, the partition rises again. Immediately, Y/N throws her face into Harry's neck.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." She wheezes out in pure, utter shame. Harry shakes his head, a faint grin on his face. He would have been laughing his ass off if he wasn't so painfully hard right now. Instead, he only pats Y/N's back, telling her it's fine. She groans and opens the car door.

"No it's not! God, I will never be able to look him in the eye again!" She says, punching the bridge of her nose. Harry shuts the door and grabs Y/N's waist, pulling her towards him. She stumbles into his chest. He lifts her face with his fingers, forcing her to look up at him.

"You're going to have to, because I don't want to fire him." He jokes, and Y/N bites her lip to keep her smile from growing too wide. Not wanting to give Harry the satisfaction that he made her laugh, she looks to the side, but her face expression falls quickly.

"This is not my apartment." She notes, looking at the huge building next to her. "This is yours."

Harry nods.

"I can't be at your apartment, I have to—" Y/N stops herself before she can say more. But Harry already knew what she was going to say. Playfully, he raises a brow.

"You have to... what?"

"To... I have to—"

"Sneak out to that studio?" He finishes her sentence, and her eyes widen. She tries to regain herself but her cheeks are flushed and there is nothing she can do anymore. He's got her. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."

With that, he places a hand on her lower back and guides her towards his building. She stumbles a bit, but eventually catches onto the pace. But her body language is apprehensive, looking back at the road where Richard is standing. Or well, was standing. Harry ordered him to drive away as soon as they got out of the car.

Still, she turns around in a quick motion, trying to get to a cab. Harry's arm catches her, however, and he pulls her back against his chest. Along with his other hand, he turns her around, catching sight of her big eyes boring into his.

"Don't try me." He speaks slowly, dipping his head down until he finds himself inches away from Y/N. "You know what happens if you try me."

His voice is lower than before, having flipped a switch now that her mouth has been on his. He got a taste for the first time in years, he wasn't going to let her get away now. Y/N's breath hitches, eyes flicking down to his mouth.

Knowing he's got her right where he wants her, Harry pulls back and strolls toward the entrance of his apartment building. Soon enough, he hears those heels behind him and he smirks.

It's silent when they step in the elevator, and for the first few seconds, as Harry leans agains't the wall and observes his secretary, it stays that way. She eyes him a couple of times, her ears getting redder.

"What?" She breathes out, looking down at her body like there must be something wrong if he's looking at her for so long. He simply shrugs.

"Nothing. Just admiring you."

At that, Y/N vigorously shakes her head and crosses her arms. A soft scoff leaves her mouth, one she didn't think Harry would hear, but he did. He takes a few steps towards Y/N, inching her against the wall.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?" He asks sincerely, searching for her eyes. When she finally looks up at him, the nervous smile on her face fades a bit.

Harry doesn't like that look on her face. Needing to fix it, he leans forward and plants his lips on hers again, grabbing her face and pulling her into him. It only takes a matter of seconds before her arms are wrapped around his neck and their bodies are impossibly close to each other again.

Tongues delving deeper into each other's mouth, Harry feels himself floating on some sort of feeling. Despite not being able to define it, he is absolutely positive that he doesn't ever want it to stop. And since kissing Y/N causes this specific feeling, the only feasible option is to never stop kissing her. It's the best plan he's had in ages.

It doesn't take long before the situation gets heated, much like it did before, and Harry's hands trail to Y/N's hips to pull her against him. Desperate for any sort of relief, Harry's hips automatically start to move, and Y/N immediately responds. His body feels like it's on fire, and he tries not to let out any sounds as his strained cock rubs against his tight pants.

Harry takes his lips off Y/N's mouth, peppering kisses to her jaw instead. Slowly, he works his way towards her ear, where he stops to whisper in her ear.

"I'm going to remind you how fucking beautiful you are." The hot breath that left his mouth had her shuddering against him, a slight whine escaping her lips. As he leaves sloppy kisses on Y/N's neck, Harry's free hand slowly travels under her shirt, finding her bra.

She gasps softly when his hand starts to massage her breast, the sensitivity of both spots leaving her hot and bothered under Harry. Fuck, she is so fucking stunning, how did she not see it herself?

Suddenly, the elevator stops, and the door opened. Taking a step back, Harry only winks at Y/N before he turns around and strolls out as if it's a casual Friday. As if he doesn't have his secretary, whom he left high and dry, trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

"Would you like something to drink?" He asks when they enter his home, Harry immediately going into the kitchen.

"Absinthe." Y/N breathes out, leaning over the kitchen island. Harry peeks inside his fridge.

"I only have white wine."

Y/N shrugs. "I'm sure it'll have the same effect if I just keep drinking."

Harry chuckles, grabbing the bottle of wine and placing it on the counter. He walks to a cabinet and takes two wine glasses out of it. Placing one in front of Y/N and the other in front of himself, he opens the bottle and starts pouring, not stopping until the glasses are halfway full. Y/N laughs at the ridiculously full wine glass that he pushes her way, but takes it gladly. He doesn't miss the way her breasts nearly spill out of her top as she leans forward a bit further than intended to in order to grab the glass.

"To the unexpected." She says it like it's a dare. Amused, Harry decides to entertain it, and nods his head.

"To the unexpected."

They raise the glasses before both taking a long sip. Y/N rests her arms on the table, giving a perfect view of her tits right in Harry's frame. She smirks when his eyes accidentally fall on it, and Harry's stomach swirls with excitement. She's trying to play.

"Crazy, how fast life can change, isn't it?" She asks rhetorically, and Harry just hums, waiting patiently for her to reveal what she's trying to do. "I mean, I got up today thinking I'd end the day in another man's bed."

There it is.

She's always been smart, and she knows how to push Harry's buttons. Though his fingers grip the kitchen counter tightly, so much that his knuckles turn white, Harry keeps the corners of his mouth lifted.

"And now you're here." He says, head tilting just a bit. She hums in agreement, taking another sip from her wine.

"Yeah, but just crazy to think that I went into the day thinking I'd hook up with someone else." She tells it so innocently, as if she's mostly talking to herself. Harry's jaw clenches as he stalks around the kitchen island and nears Y/N.

"But you're not, though." Harry notes, falling right into the trap. He knows what she's trying to do but he just can't help himself. He doesn't like the idea of her being with another man. He waits for her answer, hearing his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"I know, but I could have—"

Before the sentence has entirely left Y/N's mouth, Harry's hand flies to her neck. The amused look on Y/N's face tells him enough, but he doesn't care.

"You're not. You're in my bed tonight, and any night after that as far as I'm concerned, so I don't want to hear another fucking word about it."

Her eyes twinkle with amusement as she stares up at him. "You really are jealous."

The corner of his mouth tilts upwards, "And you've gotten feisty over the years."

Y/N bites her bottom lip, humming in agreement to his observation. Harry lets out a soft chuckle, tightening the grip on her neck. Y/N gasps in surprise.

"But do you still like to be put in your place?" He asks, inching his face close to hers. The answer is written in her eyes, and yet Y/N doesn't respond. When it's clear that she won't anytime soon, Harry's free hand sneaks around the waist of her pants. She shivers at the touch.

"Well? Do you?" He repeats himself, and slowly but surely, Y/N nods her head. Harry lets out a disapproving noise. "That's not a proper answer."

Closing her eyes, Y/N lets out a deep breath. "Yes, I like to be put in my place."

"That's what I thought." Harry laughs, taking his hands off of her entirely. She frowns, but her eyes widen when he barks out a demand. "Take off your clothes."

He watches carefully as she follows his orders, and she clearly takes her time stripping down to her underwear. When she has, she looks to him for some sign of approval, but Harry just raises his brows. His hands are sunk into his pockets as Y/N lets out a little breath and takes off her bra and panties.

His eyes trail down her body, his cock hurting at the sight of her. God, she's beautiful. He feels like an absolute idiot for not having fought for her earlier, but he reminds himself that he can't change the past and that she is here now, stark naked in his kitchen. A grin spread across his face.

"Do you remember how you addressed me all those years ago?" He asks. It takes a few seconds before Y/N answers, but she gives him a firm nod.

"I called you sir."

Harry nods. "Rules haven't changed. Now, get on the counter."

Her eyes flick to the marble countertop, shock flashing through her eyes. "But Har—"

His right brow lifts ever so slightly. Catching the hint, Y/N stops herself before she can finish the sentence and hoists herself on to the cold countertop. It must not be very pleasant to lay your naked body on that freezing surface, but it was an uncomfortable temporary obstacle. The results would be great, and in about thirty seconds, she'd forget all about that cold touch against her skin.

Harry pulls out one of the bar stools and sat directly in front of Y/N. Spreading her legs apart, he catches sight of that perfect pussy he has been waiting three years to taste again. Like a starved man sat in front of a feast, the urge to dive right in is almost too strong to bear. But before he has her writhing under him, he wants to make her shiver.

"Can't believe it took us so long to get here." Harry hums, tracing his fingers up her thigh, carefully observing the way Y/N tries to control her breathing. Her fists are balled up into curls, attempting to send her concentration to anything else than Harry. He tries not to let his smugness show too much, but he has to say he likes seeing her struggle a bit. A bit of payback for trying to toy with him just now.

"You've always been stubborn." Y/N jokes, a gasp strangling out of her when Harry's fingers ghost over her clit. He chuckles, the tone of his voice so low that it could almost be considered evil.

"If I remember correctly, you're the one who wanted to forget about that Halloween night." He notes. Y/N hums.

"I also made the condition to act professionally, but we didn't do that either." Her eyes gaze into his, catching the fond smile with which he stares at her. A faint blush erupts on her cheeks.

"You drew the line." Harry retorted, and Y/N scoffed.

"You crossed it about a hundred times." She argues in response. He only hums, that cocky smirk on his face.

"I did, and consider this hundredth and first time to be the last, because I'm not getting behind that line again."

Y/N has never been so turned on her in her entire life. Harry’s words are the epitome of determination, and the way his fingers slip inside her so easily the second he finishes his sentence only solidifies that notion. The gasp that leaves her mouth is cut short and evolves into a low moan as Harry’s lips latch onto her clit.

Sensitive would be an understatement for her current state. She is aching, and the way Harry is ravishing her almost hurt. But any pain dwells in comparison to her desire she was overcome with at the situation she currently finds herself in. She is on Harry's kitchen counter, legs spread wide open and letting him do all the things that slipped into her dreams over the past three years.

Harry sucks in all the ways that made her squirm, moving his fingers with such ease that made it seem like he has fingered her a thousand times already. As if he knows her like the back of his hand, as if he knows all her secrets, even ones she doesn't know herself.

Y/N's hand buries itself in Harry's hair when he begins to kitten lick her clit, and she feels that inevitable climax inching closer and closer. She wonders how she had been able to keep herself composed for so long, because the high that creeps up on her feels like it was long overdue.

Unfortunately, the sensation comes to a grinding halt when Harry backs away from Y/N. Her head shoots up, and finds him leaning over her body, wearing boyish half-smile that is now glimmering with her juices.

Wrapping one arm around her waist and the other one under her legs, he picks her up bridal style. She holds onto his shoulders, burying her face into his neck as he carried her to his bedroom. When she begins unbuttoning his shirt, he throws her on his bed. She lets out a soft yelp, bouncing onto the bed.

"So greedy..." Harry tuts in disapproval, but Y/N doesn't quite care. She wants him, bad, and now that she's had a preview of what's to come she doesn't want to wait any longer. She needs him and she needs that orgasm.

She pulls him closer by his pants and starts to unbuckle his belt. "You're taking too long."

Y/N is about halfway done when Harry's firm hand wraps around her neck and pulls her closer to his face. Inching down, he growls: "You'll take what I give you."

"Then give me something." She spits back, and Harry's eyes turn five shades darker at her invitation to a challenge. He slowly leans back, Y/N watching his every movement in anticipation.

"On your stomach."

Y/N stomach swirls at the command, and she obeys as quick as she can. It stays silent for a little bit, and she awaits his further actions eagerly.

"Hands behind your back."

Again, she does what he says. Y/N doesn't dare to turn her head as she hears Harry walking around his room. When she feels a silky material around her wrists, she knows enough. He's tying her up.

Knowing better than to do otherwise, Y/N keeps her mouth shuts as Harry makes an impenetrable knot with his tie. She moves her wrists, assessing how tight it really is, and gets interrupted by a punishing slap on her ass. The sting remains for a couple of seconds, and she is sure there is now a red print the size of Harry's hand on her right cheek.

"Ass up." He barks out his final order, no doubt smirking as she changes her position, slightly struggling now that her arms are of no use.

Y/N bites her lip in anticipation when Harry's hand grabs onto her hips, steadying himself behind her. She slightly flinches forward when the tip of his cock teases her entrance, and attempts to speed up the process by leaning backwards a bit. She's rewarded with another slap on her ass.

But then Harry finally sinks in, and that dreadful itch that plagued Y/N for such a long time is finally scratched, over and over again as he begins to pound into her with long, slow strokes.

"Fucking hell..." Harry murmurs, his cock suctioning into Y/N's tight, clenching pussy. He is so big, and it bruises her in all the right ways.

"Oh baby... thaaat's it." He groans when Y/N begins to bounce back on his cock, aiming to get it even deeper inside of her. She is ruthless in her movements, groaning at the overwhelming sensations. When Harry gropes her ass— and his nails bite into her skin—she loses control.

Burying her face into the mattress, Y/N screams as she reaches her peak. The sound of Harry's moans at her pussy convulsing around his cock only strengthens her orgasm. Her mind goes entirely blank as the shattering release ripples through her like an earthquake. The only thing she can think of is Harry's name, and it's the only thing she cries out as the dizzying explosion settles all over her body.

"You really are desperate, aren't you?" Harry sneers as he pulls his cock out of Y/N, letting go of her hips. She nearly falls over, her tied up hands making it difficult to catch herself. This orgasm was so intense, she could feel the three years of pent up tension as it washed over her. Her cheeks are burning red and her teary eyes makes her vision somewhat blurry.

Y/N is thrown off when Harry suddenly turns her around and she finds herself lying on her back. The way he towers over her would have been intimidating had it not been extremely hot.

"Came on my cock so fast..." he mumbles cockily, corner of his mouth pulled up like the arrogant bastard he is. "Such a slut for it."

Y/N wants to give him some snappy comeback, but her brain is still fried from the orgasm and she's always liked to be degraded in bed, so she decides to only glare at Harry while he speaks. He catches it, and his grin only widens.

"You know it's true, baby." He tells her, bringing your legs over each of his shoulders. That deviant smirk is the last thing Y/N sees before her eyes roll into the back of her head at the feeling of Harry's cock stretching her out again.

He leans forward, almost folding her in two, and reaches deeper. He stays there for a few seconds—as if he is catching his breath—then slowly backs out of her before slamming right back in. Y/N lets out a screech that, if it hadn't been for the desperation laced in its tone, would've sounded like someone was trying to murder her.

Trying to keep her own moans at a minimum, Y/N closes her eyes and listens to the harsh slaps of Harry's skin against hers, and the groans that escape his mouth with each thrust. The strength behind each movement makes her clench around Harry, who in turn hisses her name as if it were a curse word. It only causes her to clench more. 

"Fuck, such a pretty little whore." Harry praises as he drives into her. Y/N can only whine, her tits bouncing uncontrollably at the impact of his motions. She must look fucking helpless. Opening her eyes, she catches the way Harry looks at her; like she's a dream. Like she's his dream.

"My pretty little whore." He growls, leaning back and holding one of her legs with his arm while the other reaches for her breasts.

"Yes..." Y/N breathes as he begins squeezing her breasts, getting lost in the sensations of him. Somehow it feels like Harry is everywhere. As if he has latched onto a part of her soul and she feels him coming to claim that every time his cock sinks into her.

"Such a tight fucking fit." He groans, taking her nipple between his fingers. "You should see how perfectly your pussy sucks in every inch of my cock..."

Y/N bites her lip as Harry talks, trying not too get too overwhelmed by the filthy things he's telling her as he plunges in and out of her. Her eyes catch the flex of his muscles that occur with every thrust, and she wonders how she got a man so perfect to fuck her stupid like this.

"Should record it... make a little video for just the two of us. What do you think?"

Oh my god.

"Don't you want to see how perfect we fit together?" He taunts, thrusting his hips harsher than before, hitting a spot that had been untouched for quite a while now. Y/N's face scrunches up.

"F—fuck! Yes, yes..." She responds when Harry stills inside of her to await an answer. He chuckles at the apparent hurry in her voice and reaches for—what Y/N assumes to be—his phone, on the bed. His motions are slow and soft, determined to keep Y/N satisfied at least a bit while he logs into his phone and searches for the camera app. She notices the start of his recording by the sudden change of pace and force of his movements.

His camera is pointed right at her pussy as he begins thrusting deep inside of her, and Y/N screams out Harry's name. The concentration on his face as he captures how she takes him proves too much to bear, and she shuts her eyes tightly, head flopping to the side.

She can hear his ragged breathing over all the other sounds that their bodies are making. The small grunts he makes in an effort not to moan too loudly is all she can focus on, and the tension in her belly grows exponentially with each vibrations of his voice that reaches her ears.

Harry slows his pace, putting more emphasis on the impact of his moves. It allows him to bring his free hand down to touch Y/N's clit. Her legs begin to shake the second he does.

"Are you gonna come again for me? I'm so close, baby. I can tell you are too." The softness in the delivery of his words have Y/N's ovaries rattle. She can only nod, a whine that was an attempt at a 'yes' falling from her rosy lips. Harry grins, his eyes flicking from his phone to her face. Everything feels so hazy, much like a daydream.

"Please don't stop." She squeals in such a high pitch that surprises even herself. Y/N had no idea she could go that high. Harry's bringing out an entirely new side of her.

"I'll never stop, baby." Harry rasps, pressing down on her clit in such a way that Y/N becomes cross-eyed for a second. Her nails grip into the bedsheets, the second release rippling through her like a hurricane. She never quite understood the word bliss, until now. This must be it; this feeling of... pure ecstasy.

Like a blank canvas splattered on with all the bright colors that exist in the world; fresh and exciting and psychedelic in a way. Impossible to define yet such a specific feeling. Y/N let all of it tingle from her head down to her toes, wanting to remember it forever.

The continuous pounding Y/N through her orgasm comes to a grinding halt when Harry reaches his own, pulling out just in time for his sperm to coat her puffy clit and swollen tits. His camera is focused on her frame, recording every spurt that paints her. She's the canvas, he's the colors, Y/N realizes. Harry is her definition of bliss.

The words shared between the two are scarce as Harry unties Y/N's hands, picks her up and carries her to the bathroom to clean her up. But the smiles on their faces says enough, both knowing what they feel is rare, and beautiful. Y/N assesses Harry's face, concluding that the soft edges of it makes him look like a proper angel.

When he's dressed her in one of his shirts, he takes her back to the bedroom, where he pulls her against his frame. Y/N wraps one leg around his torso, hugging him from the side with her head buried into his neck. The way his chest rises and lowers fills her with pure ease, and she leaves a few soft kisses in his neck as a silent thank you. Harry only hums in satisfaction, his arm only tightening around you, as if he's afraid you might let go.

"I'm never gonna let you go now." You tell him before you can even fully comprehend your words. Your heart starts racing, afraid that might've been too soon to say.

"Promise?"

Your racing heart is now melting as you turn your head and see Harry holding up his pinky. You are quick to interlock it with your own.

"Promise." You say with a smile.

General taglist: @mema10

[dazevi]

vi x reader angst where reader and vi had something before lockup (maybe reader was desperately looking for her/a body for years and never got with anyone else because they loved vi). first time they see vi again, they’re kissing cait. vi has to make a choice (mayhaps someone tells vi how much, how long and how deep reader still loves vi)

SORRY THIS ASK IS LONG BUT NO ONE WRITES VI X CAIT X READER ANSGT AND IM FEENING FOR ITTTT CA

I’VE LOVED YOU FOR SO LONG | vi x fem!reader, angst, squint of fluff, wc: 10k | masterlist

content warnings: not much! angst!!!, brief caitvi, childhood friend!vi, firelight kinda!reader, tiny mention of blood, bit of an open ending, uhhhhh ….

note: sorry this took so long but i hope u like it! (struggled a bit with the ending so i left it kind of open and hopeful :P

Growing up in the Lanes was never easy. The air was always thick wit smog and desperation. But somehow, in the middle of all the grime, there were moments of light—moments that felt almost normal… sweet, even.

For Vi, those moments often came when she was with you.

You were the kind of person who seemed to radiate something soft, something pure, even in a place as unforgiving as here. You were always helping someone—patching up a scraped knee, sharing what little food you had, or offering a warm smile that could ease even the sharpest edges of the Lanes’ harsh reality. Vi, on the other hand, was tough as nails, like she always was. But when it came to you, that toughness often cracked, revealing a gentler side that few people ever got to see.

You met when you were both kids, barely old enough to understand the full weight of the world you were born into. Vi had just finished scrapping with a group of older kids who had tried to steal a loaf of bread from Powder. Her knuckles were bloody, and her lip was split, but she wore her bruises with pride as she swaggered down the street.

Then she saw you—someone small and delicate crouched beside a stray cat with a limp, gently wrapping its leg with a strip of cloth you’d torn from your own sleeve. Vi had stopped in her tracks, her usual bravado faltering as she watched you work with such careful concentration. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen anyone show that kind of… tenderness.

“Hey,” she had said, her voice rough but curious, “what’re you doing?”

You looked up at her, your eyes wide and a little startled, but then you smiled. “Helping,” you said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

From that moment on, Vi couldn’t seem to stay away from you.

She’d show up wherever you were, always with some excuse—she was just passing through, or she needed your help with something, or she was making sure no one was giving you trouble. In truth, she just liked being around you. You didn’t flinch when she got into fights, didn’t scold her for her temper or her stubbornness. Instead, you had this way of looking at her, like you could see past all of that to the person she really was. And Vi, who had always felt like she had to be tough to survive and protect her family, found herself wanting to be softer when she was with you.

The two of you became inseparable, spending your days exploring the winding alleys and hidden corners of the Lanes. Vi would teach you how to throw a punch, insisting that you needed to know how to defend yourself. You’d laugh as she guided your fists, her hands warm and steady against yours, though she always ended up pulling her punches when it came to sparring.

“Can’t risk messing up that pretty face of yours,” she’d tease, though her voice would always carry a hint of something serious, like the idea of you getting hurt was unbearable to her.

“You’re an idiot,” you’d say back.

And she’d laugh, nudging you playfully against your shoulder, her all ears red as she looked at you, “But I’m your idiot.”

You, in turn, taught Vi the value of kindness, though you didn’t do it with words. You did it with your actions—with the way you’d stop to help a stranger, even when you didn’t have much to give, or the way you’d bandage up Vi’s cuts and bruises after a fight, your touch so gentle it made her chest ache. She’d sit there, watching you work, and wonder how someone like you could exist in a place like this.

And it also helped that Powder adored you too.

She’d often tag along on your adventures with her wide-eyed curiosity. You had a way of making her feel seen, of treating her like she was just as capable and important as the rest of you, and that meant the world to her. Vi loved watching the two of you together, the way you’d laugh and tease each other, the way you’d patiently explain things to Powder when she didn’t understand. It made Vi’s dreams of a better life feel almost tangible, like maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something more than survival.

And then there were the jobs… or whatever she could get from Ekko.

They were never easy—running contraband, sneaking into places she had no business being. Vi loved the adrenaline of it, the thrill of a plan coming together, but there was always a part of her that thought about you while she was out there. She’d see something—a trinket, a piece of candy, a flower growing stubbornly in the cracks of the pavement—and she’d think of you.

She started bringing things back for you, little gifts she’d pretend didn’t mean anything. The first time, it was a shiny button she found while breaking into a some storage room. It was small and completely useless, but it was the kind of thing she thought you’d like. She tossed it to you when she came back, trying to act casual.

“Found this,” she said, her voice gruff. “Figured you could use it for… I don’t know, something.”

You’d looked at her, a little confused at first, but when you smiled and said, “Thanks, Vi,” she felt something warm settle in her chest.

After that, it became a habit.

She’d bring you scraps of fabric, little bits of wire and string, or a half-broken gadget Powder thought she could fix up for you. Once, she brought you a single daisy she’d found growing in a crack on the edge of the Lanes. She’d nearly crushed it during the job, and when she handed it to you, she was so embarrassed she couldn’t meet your eyes.

“It’s just a flower,” she mumbled, scratching the back of her neck. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

But you always did. Vi would pretend it didn’t matter, but her ears would turn red, and she’d fumble with excuses about why she’d brought you something in the first place.

She didn’t know how to say what she was feeling, didn’t even fully understand it herself. All she knew was that you made the Lanes feel a little less bleak, a little less hopeless.

And as the years passed, the your relationship with Vi only grew stronger. There were always moments when the certain feelings between you became almost impossible to ignore—like the time you patched her up after a particularly nasty fight, your fingers lingering on her cheek as you wiped away the blood, telling her firmly to always be careful, as your eyes search hers. Or the time she caught you staring at her with that soft look in your eyes and she felt her cheeks flush, her confidence faltering as she looked away, muttering something about how you shouldn’t look at her like that. You’d raise an eyebrow in response, then just laugh softly.

But neither of you ever said anything outright. Instead, you found comfort in the smaller things—stolen glances, the way your hands would brush against each other as you walked side by side, the way Vi’s walls would melt away when it was just the two of you.

You were more than just a friend. You were her safe place, her reminder that there was still good in the world, even in the darkest corners of the Lanes. And for you, she was your protector, your anchor, the person who made you feel like maybe you weren’t as fragile as the world wanted you to believe.

But the Lanes always had a way of taking everything good and twisting it into something painful.

The night everything went to shit was the last time life in the Lanes felt even remotely bearable. It had been tense from the start. Vander was gone, taken by Silco, and Vi’s face was set in that grim determination she always wore when she was trying to be strong for everyone else. You knew she was scared, no matter how much she tried to hide it.

You were in the back room of the Last Drop, pacing. Vi had told you to stay put, her voice sharper than usual, her gaze practically boring a hole through you.

“Don’t follow us,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Just… stay here. Look after Powder, okay? I can’t worry about you and her while we’re out there.”

You wanted to argue, to tell her you could help, that you weren’t as fragile as she thought you were. But the look in her eyes stopped you. So, you nodded, biting back the words you wanted to say, and watched her leave with Mylo and Claggor.

Powder sat on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, clutching one of her gadgets like it was a lifeline. She kept glancing at the door like she was expecting Vi to come back at any moment, triumphant and unscathed.

But you both knew better.

The hours dragged on, the silence between you and Powder filled only with the occasional sound of glass breaking in the distance or the low hum of Zaun’s underbelly. You tried to keep your hands busy, cleaning up the room, organizing scraps of whatever was lying around. Anything to stop your mind from racing. Powder didn’t really say much; she just watched you with wide, anxious eyes, her fingers fidgeting with the gears of her monkey bomb.

Eventually, exhaustion began to creep in. You figured you were working too much. You remembered Vi’s words in your head, telling you that she’s always careful, that she’ll always come back to you. And you tried to stay awake, tried to keep an eye on Powder like Vi had asked, but your body betrayed you.

Powder had been quiet the whole night, but as you drifted off, she glanced at you. She hated being left behind, hated the way Vi always told her to stay because she wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t capable enough. She wanted to prove herself, to show that she could help, that she could save them. And with you asleep, curled up in Vi’s bed, she saw her chance. Quietly, Powder slipped off the couch, grabbing her monkey bomb and a bag of supplies. She hesitated for a moment, looking back at you. She didn’t want to leave you, but she couldn’t sit there and do nothing.

Not when Vi needed her.

She crept out of the room, careful not to make a sound, and disappeared into the shadows.

The first thing you noticed as you stirred was the faint, low rumble of something distant but violent—a sound that felt like it rattled through the very walls of the Last Drop. You blinked, eyes fluttering slowly as you pushed yourself up. The second explosion was sharper, louder, and your heart leaped in your chest. It was a sound that didn’t belong to the Lanes.

Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light of the room. Everything felt too still now, too quiet, except for the faint aftershock of what you had just heard. You rubbed at your face, trying to shake off the grogginess, and then you noticed it—bright, electric blue sparks flickering in the distance, visible through the small, grimy window. Your stomach dropped as a sense of dread washed over you. Your breaths came quicker now, shallow and uneven, as you sat up fully, scanning the room.

“Powder?” you called out softly, your voice hoarse from sleep.

You looked around, the familiar clutter of the space offering no sign of her.

“Powder?” you called again, louder this time, but the silence that followed made your chest tighten.

You stumbled to your feet, nearly tripping over a discarded piece of scrap on the floor. Your eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign that she was still there—a glimpse of her small frame huddled in the corner, the sound of her fidgeting with one of her gadgets.

But there was nothing.

The couch where she’d been sitting earlier was empty, the blanket you’d draped over her crumpled and abandoned. The faint smell of oil and metal lingered in the air, but it was missing the warmth of her presence.

“No, no, no,” you muttered under your breath, your mind racing as you pieced together what must have happened.

You remembered the way she had been clutching that monkey bomb earlier, the way her eyes had flickered with something desperate and restless.

She left.

Your knees nearly buckled as you made your way to the window, pressing your palms against the cold glass. The sparks of blue still flickered in the distance, bright against the dark, polluted haze of the Lanes. The explosions hadn’t stopped, and now there were faint trails of smoke rising into the air.

“Powder,” you whispered, the weight of her name heavy on your tongue.

She had gone after Vi, you were sure of it. The thought hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless. She was out there—your sweet, fragile Powder—in the middle of whatever chaos was unfolding.

And Vi… Vi had told you both to stay behind.

Now, you were running as fast as you could.

And when you got there, everything was on fire.

Buildings were crumbling under the weight of the flames, black smoke billowing into the sky and choking the air around you. The heat was suffocating, stinging your eyes and making it hard to breathe. You stood there, frozen, your wide eyes scanning the devastation. The ground was stained with dark, wet streaks that gleamed in the firelight—blood. It was everywhere, smeared across the cobblestones, trailing through the debris, pooling in some places as if marking the spots where someone had fallen.

But there were no bodies.

No sign of Vi. No Mylo. No Claggor. No Powder. Just… nothing.

Your chest heaved as you tried to take it all in, your mind struggling to make sense of the chaos. The silence was deafening, broken only by the relentless crackle of flames and the occasional groan of a collapsing structure. You called out for them. You spent hours waiting, searching and trying.

But, there were no voices, no footsteps, no cries for help.

Just emptiness.

Nothing.

The days blurred into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years. Time moved forward, but you stayed stuck in the same moment—the night everything fell apart. The fire, the blood on the streets, the faces of everyone you loved burned into your memory like scars you couldn’t erase. It didn’t matter how much time passed. You never stopped seeing them. Never stopped feeling the weight of their absence.

Life in the Undercity didn’t wait for grief. It didn’t give you the chance to sit still and process the ache in your chest or the emptiness that had swallowed your world whole. The streets you grew up on were darker now, quieter, yet somehow more dangerous. Shimmer twisted its way into every crack and corner, poisoning the air you breathed.

You still had Ekko. He stuck close, as much as he could, and you were grateful for him in ways you couldn’t put into words. But even with him around, the loneliness lingered anyway.

Nights were the worst. The silence of your small, dimly lit room pressed down on you, and your mind replayed every memory of Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor. Sometimes, you could almost hear their laughter echoing in the distance.

Almost.

You never stopped looking for her.

At first, it was constant. Every waking moment you scoured the streets, searching for any trace of her. You asked anyone who would listen if they’d seen her, but no one had. Not a single person could tell you where she had gone or what had happened to her. Some said she was dead. Others said she’d been taken topside, to Piltover’s dungeons. You didn’t know which was worse.

You looked for Powder, too. Sometimes, you felt like you’d seen traces of her somewhere, certain colors she liked, drawings on the wall… It was like she was there, but she wasn’t… like she didn’t want to be found.

And years passed, but the hope never left you. Not fully. Even when the streets seemed colder, even when Ekko begged you to stop putting yourself in danger, you kept searching. You’d walk the streets at night, hood pulled tight over your head, hoping to catch a glimpse of her pink hair or hear her sharp voice in the crowd. Every time you saw a tall figure in the shadows, your heart would leap, only to sink seconds later when it wasn’t her.

You wondered, sometimes, if she was looking for you too. If she was out there somewhere, wondering what had happened to you. If she missed you the way you missed her. Those thoughts were the only thing that kept you going on the hardest days.

The Undercity changed around you. The shimmer trade grew stronger, its effects spreading like a disease. People you’d known your whole life turned hollow, their eyes glassy, their voices slurred. Survival became harder with each passing day. But even as the world around you crumbled, you held onto the memory of Vi.

Her voice. Her laugh. The way she used to look at you when she thought you weren’t paying attention, as if you were something more than just a friend. The way she used to bring you small, silly things from her jobs—half the time things she swore she’d found by accident, even though you knew better.

You missed her so much it hurt.

Then, one night, Ekko came to visit you.

He had news about Powder.

He’d seen her, he said. And it didn’t make sense at first.

He sat across from you in the dim, flickering light of the small hideout you’d both retreated to. His voice was almost hesitant, but heavy with something you couldn’t quite name. Regret? Anger? Grief? Maybe all three, twisted together in a way that made him seem older than he was, like the years had weighed heavier on him than they should have.

You were hunched over, elbows resting on your knees, your face buried in your hands. It had been another fruitless day, searching for a ghost you weren’t sure even existed anymore. Your body ached, your head throbbed, and the emptiness in your chest felt like it might swallow you whole.

And then Ekko said it—he said her name.

“Powder… she’s not the same anymore.”

At first, you thought he meant something else. Maybe she’d grown up like the rest of you, toughened by the streets and the weight of survival. Maybe he’d seen her, and she was angry, distant, bitter about the past. You could’ve handled that. You could’ve understood that.

But that wasn’t what he meant.

“She goes by Jinx now.”

You lifted your head slowly, confusion knitting your brow. “What are you talking about?”

Your voice was sharp, tinged with a nervous laugh that didn’t quite land.

“Powder wouldn’t call herself that. That’s not… that’s not her.”

Ekko’s gaze didn’t waver. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, his expression hard but laced with pain. “It is her. She’s with Silco now.”

The words hit you like a blow to the chest. “No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “She wouldn’t—she’d never—”

“She’s different, (Y/n).” His voice cracked, just barely, but enough to make you flinch. “She’s not the kid we knew. Silco got in her head, twisted her up. She’s… dangerous now.”

You sat back, your body rigid, your mind spinning. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Powder was sweet, shy, maybe a little clumsy, but always full of love and hope. Powder adored you. Powder idolized Vi. She’d never turn into someone like… like that.

“Where did you hear this?” you demanded, your voice low but trembling. “Who told you?”

“I saw her,” Ekko said flatly. “It’s her, (Y/n). She’s been running with Silco’s people for years. She’s the one behind half the chaos in the Lanes right now. You’ve heard about the explosions, the heists—the people disappearing. That’s Jinx.”

He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening.

“That’s Powder.”

You stared at him, the words refusing to sink in. It felt like someone had ripped the ground out from under you, leaving you floundering in freefall.

“You’re wrong,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Powder wouldn’t… she wouldn’t do that.”

“I wish I was wrong,” Ekko muttered, his voice thick with bitterness. “But I’m not. She’s gone. The Powder we knew—she’s gone.”

“No,” you snapped, louder this time, anger rising to the surface as your chest tightened with panic. “She’s not gone. She’s just… confused, or scared, or… something. She wouldn’t just…”

Ekko’s face softened, but his eyes were filled with sadness. “I thought the same thing when I first saw her. I wanted to believe she could still come back, that maybe I could fix it. But she’s too far gone. Silco’s got his hooks right into her. She’s not the kid we grew up with anymore. She’s…”

He paused, the words catching in his throat.

“She’s dangerous.”

You shook your head again, your hands trembling as you pressed them against your thighs. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Powder was your friend, your family. She was bright and sweet and full of so much love. She wasn’t… she wasn’t a monster.

The thoughts clung to you every night. Powder—Jinx—had become someone unrecognizable, and you couldn’t stop the questions from flooding your mind. What would Vi think if she knew? Would she be disappointed in you for not doing more, for not stopping Powder before it was too late? Would she think you’d failed her?

Vi. Her name echoed in your mind. You missed her in a way that was so all-encompassing it became a part of you. You missed the way she used to tease you, the way she’d smirk like she had the world figured out, even when she didn’t. You missed patching her up after a fight. You missed how she’d smile at you, telling you that things to brighten your day. You missed everything.

It was only recently that you realized why the ache felt so sharp, so endless. You loved her. You’d loved her for years, even if you hadn’t admitted it to yourself until now. It was why you couldn’t let her go, why no one else had ever been able to fill the void she left behind.

People had tried. There were a few who flirted with you, a few who asked you to dinner or drinks. But you’d always brushed them off, always found an excuse. None of them were her. None of them had her fire, her strength, the way she made you feel seen and safe all at once.

The years hadn’t been kind to you, but you’d done your best to survive, to keep going even when it felt like the world was crumbling around you. You’d thrown yourself into helping Ekko and the Firelights, finding purpose in their mission even when you felt lost.

You patched them up when they were injured, your hands steady as you cleaned wounds and wrapped bandages. You shared what little food you had, sometimes going without so they wouldn’t have to. You became someone they could rely on, even if you didn’t always feel strong yourself.

But that strength went away a couple months later—the day you saw her again. It was something you didn’t prepare yourself for. You hadn’t expected it at all.

The sunlight filtering through the cracks of the hideout’s makeshift roof caught on the edges of your hair as you worked, pulling ripe fruits and vegetables from the small garden that the Firelights had nurtured in secret. The air was damp but fresh, filled with the earthy scent of soil and the faint hum of life. You liked working in the garden—it gave you a moment of peace, a small break from the weight of everything outside.

When you were done, your hands were covered in dirt, and a bead of sweat traced its way down your temple. You wiped your brow with the back of your arm, sighing softly. A few of the others nodded at you in thanks as they carried the baskets of food away. You stayed behind, crouched by the water pump, scrubbing the grime from your hands and under your nails.

The cool water washed over your skin, and for a moment, you let yourself pause, closing your eyes as the sound of the stream drowned out your thoughts. But it didn’t last long. The quiet never did.

Once you were cleaned up, you shook off the weariness and decided to find Ekko. You’d been meaning to talk to him about something—or maybe you just wanted to hear a familiar voice. The hideout could feel suffocating at times, even though it was a sanctuary for many. Ekko had a way of cutting through it, reminding you that there was still something worth fighting for.

But as you made your way through the winding halls of the hideout, you stopped short, your breath catching in your throat.

In one of the side rooms, barely lit by the faint glow of sunlight filtering through the cracks, you saw them.

A girl with blue hair stood close to another figure, her delicate fingers brushing against the cheek of the person in front of her. You couldn’t make out their faces at first, your mind taking an extra second to register what you were seeing. But then the pink hair caught the light, vibrant even in the dim room, and your chest tightened.

Vi.

Your Vi.

And she wasn’t alone.

The blue-haired girl leaned in, her lips brushing against Vi’s in a kiss so soft, so tender, that it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Vi didn’t pull away, her hand resting gently on the girl’s waist, her shoulders relaxing in a way you hadn’t seen in years.

You froze, rooted to the spot, your feet unwilling to carry you forward—or away. Your mind raced, a thousand thoughts clamoring for attention, but none of them loud enough to break through the sudden ache in your chest.

She was here. She was alive. But she wasn’t yours.

You didn’t know whether to cry out, to step into the room and demand an explanation, or to turn and run before they could see you. You wanted to be happy that she was safe, but all you could feel was the slow, creeping weight of heartbreak as it settled over you.

Because in that moment, it was clear—Vi wasn’t yours to miss. Not anymore.

“You have some explaining to do.” The words feel foreign on your tongue, but they spill out before you can stop them.

You stand at the threshold of Ekko’s lab, chest heaving, heart racing in disbelief. The image of Vi with another woman—kissing her, holding her—flashes in your mind and it’s all too much.

Ekko stands abruptly, looking as startled as you feel. His eyes widen, and his hand instinctively scratches at the back of his neck, a nervous tick you’ve known him to do since you were kids.

“I—I was gonna tell you today,” he stammers, voice cracking slightly as he fumbles for his words. “We just got her last night… when we ambushed Jinx…”

Your breath catches, a knot of frustration and hurt tightening in your chest. “You ambushed Jinx? And now you’re bringing Vi back in like this? Without telling me?”

The words come out harsher than you intend, but it doesn’t matter right now. Your mind is spiraling.

Ekko holds up his hands, trying to calm you, his gaze softening. “I was going to tell you! I just… After everything with Jinx… I didn’t know if she was someone I could trust yet.”

His words hit you like a slap, and for the first time since you walked in here, a part of you slows down. After everything that happened, Vi could very well be someone you couldn’t trust. Someone who might have changed in ways you couldn’t understand. It stings to admit, but the doubt starts to creep in. You know Ekko—his loyalty runs deep, but he’s also careful. He always has been. You take a step back, your fists uncurling as you exhale sharply.

You swallow your frustration and let the silence settle between you, the weight of his words pressing down on you. Can we trust her?

The question hangs in the air, unspoken but felt, before you finally speak it.

“So… can we?” Your voice is quieter now, more hesitant. You want to hear reassurance, but you’re not sure if it’ll come.

Ekko doesn’t answer immediately. He exhales, a long, drawn-out sigh that betrays a weariness you hadn’t noticed before. When he finally looks up at you, his gaze holds something you hadn’t expected—a tenderness, a vulnerability. His lips curl into a small, almost wistful smile, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s seeing something you can’t.

“I think so,” he says softly, his voice quiet but steady. “I think we can.”

You sigh, blinking a few tears away.

“Who’s that… that girl she’s with?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper, though your heart is pounding in your chest.

You keep your eyes on the floor, unwilling to meet Ekko’s gaze, because the truth feels like it might crush you. The girl you’ve loved for as long as you can remember, is with someone else now. And it’s hard to wrap your mind around it, let alone confront it head-on.

Ekko’s silence stretches out for a moment, the room growing thick with the tension that neither of you knows how to ease. But then, slowly, his eyes soften, and you can hear the careful way he breathes in, like he’s about to tell you something heavy. His voice is gentle when he speaks, like he’s trying to cushion the blow without sugarcoating it.

“Her name’s Caitlyn,” Ekko says, and there’s a noticeable pause before he continues, as though he’s gathering his thoughts, picking out the right words. “She’s… She’s an enforcer, but…she’s different. I don’t think she’s on Silco’s side.”

Your stomach tightens at the mention of Caitlyn’s name, and you can feel a bitter knot in your throat.You finally glance up at Ekko, your eyes searching his face, desperate for any trace of what this means.

“Are they…?”

Ekko looks at you for a long, quiet moment, like he’s weighing your reaction against his own thoughts. He doesn’t look at you with pity, though; there’s no judgment in his gaze. Just understanding.

“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice low. “But I think Vi’s been through a lot. And Caitlyn… I don’t know what they have, but I can’t pretend I understand it. I’m still trying to figure out where Vi stands with all of this… All I know is Vi wants her sister back.”

You can’t look at Ekko anymore. The pain of it is too much, a heavy weight that presses down on you like the sky is collapsing. You back away, trying to swallow the lump in your throat, your hands trembling slightly.

“I thought… I thought she’d come back for me, for us,” you say softly, almost to yourself. The bitterness in your voice is unmistakable.

Ekko doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but you can feel the weight of his sympathy.

Finally, he speaks again, his voice quieter, softer. “I don’t think she’s forgotten you. I think she’s just trying to figure out everything for herself… Besides, she was… actually wondering if you were still around.”

“She was?” Your voice is quieter than you intended, almost shaky as you try to grasp what he just said.

Ekko nods, though his face is filled with something close to guilt, like he knows how this news might break you. “Yeah. She asked about you when she came in… said she didn’t know what happened to you after… everything.”

You let out a shaky sigh, your chest tightening at his words. The weight of it presses down on you, sinking deep.

“Where has she been… all this time?” The question slips out quietly before you can stop it.

Ekko hesitates, his eyes softening as he looks at you. There’s a long pause before he finally answers, each word like a slow puncture to your heart. ��Stillwater.”

The name hits you like a punch to the gut. You freeze, unable to process at first, the words echoing in your mind, bouncing off the walls of your skull. It’s a place that steals everything from you, even the will to remember who you were before. Your throat tightens, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

Vi… Vi was there?

The thought twists something deep inside you, like a sharp ache that spreads through your chest and down into your stomach. It felt impossible to imagine Vi—your Vi—there. The strong, fearless girl you grew up with, the one who fought for every scrap of life she could hold onto. The thought of her, trapped in that hellhole, stripped of the fire that had always burned in her… it’s unbearable.

“You should… probably be talking to her about all of this.”

You freeze at Ekko’s words, your heart pounding in your chest. The thought of speaking to her again, of standing face to face with her after all these years, makes your blood run cold. Your chest tightens, and suddenly, breathing feels like a chore.

“I…” You try to speak, but the words get stuck in your throat.

What could you say to her? After all this time? The distance between you both feels impossibly wide now, like a canyon you’ll never be able to cross. The thought of seeing her, of facing the reality of what’s changed, of all the years that slipped through your fingers—it paralyzes you. You want to see her. You want to run to her and hold her, tell her everything you’ve kept locked away for so long, but you can’t shake the feeling that you’re not ready for that.

Your hands are shaking now, and you clutch at the edge of the table for support, your palms slick with sweat.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” you say.

Your voice cracks under the weight of your own fear. The thought of facing Vi, of seeing her and realizing how much has changed, of feeling the space that’s grown between you both—it feels impossible.

Ekko watches you, his expression softening with understanding, but there’s something else in his eyes, something unreadable.

“I get it,” he says quietly, taking a step closer to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to rush into anything. I know you’ve been carrying this around for a long time.”

But the truth is, you don’t just carry the weight of all that time apart—you carry the weight of your own fear. Fear that she’ll see you as a stranger. Fear that you won’t know how to talk to her anymore. Fear that everything that once felt so easy between you and Vi will have changed beyond recognition. The thought of her not loving you anymore, or of you not being able to love her the same way, makes your stomach churn.

You bite your lip, unable to finish the thought, as your mind races in a thousand different directions.

“Does she know I’m here?”

Ekko’s gaze shifts, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He looks like he’s struggling with something, something he doesn’t want to say, but he knows he has to. He shifts on his feet, a sigh escaping him as he scratches the back of his neck again, the tension in his posture telling you more than his words ever could.

“I… I told her you’re around,” Ekko finally says, his voice soft but weighed with caution. “Not here exactly, though. I wanted to warn you before…”

Before everything changes.

But a knock at the door stills the air in the room. It’s sharp, sudden, and it cuts through the heavy silence that’s settled between you. You don’t move at first and Ekko hesitates for a moment, then turns, just as the door creaks open.

And then, there she is.

You freeze, unable to breathe, unable to move as your eyes lock onto hers. It’s like the whole world stops for a moment—your heart, your thoughts, everything. She’s standing there, in the doorway, her eyes wide as they sweep over you. It’s as if she’s seeing you for the first time, like she can’t quite believe you’re here. That you’re real.

Her gaze flickers across you—your eyes, your face, the way you’ve changed over the years. You can see the shock in her features, the way her breath catches for a split second before she can speak.

“(Y/n),” she whispers, her voice raw, as if the sound of your name in her mouth is a shock to her as much as it is to you.

There’s a long pause. Neither of you move, neither of you speak, as if neither of you knows how to start, what to say. Vi stands there, her eyes fixed on you, and you can see the wheels turning behind her expression. She doesn’t look the same as the girl you once knew, but her eyes—those blue eyes—are still the same, full of emotions you can’t quite place.

Vi’s eyes trail down your form, and you can see her struggling to hide the way her gaze softens as she takes in how you’ve grown, how you’ve changed. You’re different now—more than just the girl she once knew in the Lanes—but somehow, at the same time, you’re still the same person. The one who was always kind, always caring. The one who had a heart too big for the world they were in.

You watch as her eyes linger on you, not saying a word, just staring. A small breath escapes her lips, like she’s struggling to hold back some emotion, some surge of feelings that are too heavy for her to put into words. She opens her mouth to speak, but then closes it again, like the words are stuck inside her.

“I, um… I have work to do, Ekko.” Your voice cracks, and you can feel the tears stinging at the back of your eyes.

You tear your gaze away from Vi, your heart pounding in your chest as if it’s trying to break free. The weight of everything, of all the lost time, of everything you thought you had buried, feels like it’s crashing down on you in waves.

You can’t look at her anymore. Not like this. Not when everything in you is screaming to hold her, to ask her why she left, to beg her to stay. But you can’t. Not yet. Not when the hurt is still so raw.

You turn quickly, brushing past Vi with a sharp movement, your steps frantic, but trying to remain composed. Your heart races in your chest as you feel the heat of her eyes on your back, but you don’t look back. You can’t. The moment you do, you’re afraid you’ll break, and you can’t afford to break now.

The door slams shut behind you, and you can hear the soft echo of your hurried footsteps fading as you walk away. You don’t look up, don’t let yourself feel the weight of the emptiness in the room, even though you know it’s all there.

But you’re not ready. Not yet.

Ekko watches the door for a moment, his gaze thoughtful and a little sad. He doesn’t say anything, knowing that nothing he could say will ease the tension in the room.

Vi stands there, still frozen, her mind processing everything all at once. The way you walked out, the way you didn’t look back, how quickly you shut yourself off. She swallows hard, as if trying to force her emotions to settle. But they don’t. They’re all tangled up in her chest. She wants to go after you. She wants to explain.

“(Y/n)…” Vi whispers the name, barely above a breath, as if saying it out loud will somehow make it real, bring back the girl she thought she had lost forever. “She’s… grown.”

“We all have.”

His eyes flicker to Vi, his expression unreadable. He takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words, but nothing feels quite right. He knows how this is going to land—knows it’s going to hurt, even though he wishes it didn’t have to be this way.

“I think she saw you and Caitlyn,” he says quietly. “Together, I mean.”

Vi’s body stiffens at the mention of Caitlyn’s name, her eyes snapping to Ekko in disbelief. The shock is instant, followed by a sharp pang of guilt that twists in her chest. Her mind races, trying to make sense of the situation—of the way you had looked at her, of how you had walked out without saying anything more, as if something between the two of you had shattered. And now this. She opens her mouth to speak, but the words get stuck, tangled in her throat.

Ekko slumps back in his chair, his fingers tapping restlessly against the worn surface of his desk. He doesn’t know what to say to either of them. His gaze remains fixed on Vi, her posture still stiff, eyes distant.

“She thinks you’re together…” Ekko looks at Vi with curiosity. “Are you?”

Vi’s heart stutters in her chest, and she looks away quickly, swallowing hard.

“No,” she answers, almost too quickly. “No, we’re not together.”

Her voice wavers slightly, the truth of her feelings suddenly coming to the surface, uninvited but undeniable. Caitlyn is kind and gentle, but it’s never been like that with her. She only met her this week. Vi doesn’t know what it is, but it’s not love—not like what she’s felt, and still feels, for you.

The kiss was… a moment of comfort, of trying to hold onto something familiar in a world that’s changed beyond recognition. It meant nothing. Or at least, it shouldn’t have meant anything. But now, knowing that you’d seen it, knowing that it might hurt you—it stings. And it stings more than she’s willing to admit.

Ekko watches her for a moment and sighs. He knows Vi well enough to see that flicker of something in her eyes, that far-off look, the hesitation that’s always there when she’s thinking about you.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” he mutters, “But you do need to talk to her.”

Vi nods slowly, her gaze flicking toward the door again.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, almost as if to herself. “I know. I just… I don’t know what to say. It’s been so long, Ekko.”

Ekko exhales sharply, leaning back in his chair. “She looked for you, you know. She hasn’t stopped. And she’s been alone for a long time too, Vi. She deserves to hear it.”

Vi doesn’t respond. The words hit her harder than she’s willing to admit. She knows Ekko’s right, but the fear of rejection still clings to her like a shadow. She’s afraid of what will happen if she faces you, afraid of seeing that disappointment in your eyes, hearing the anger in your voice. Afraid that even if she tries, it won’t be enough.

She takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settling in her chest.

“I’ll go find her.”

The climb to the top of the tree feels longer than it should, but Vi knows she’s stalling. Her hands grip the wooden edges tighter than they need to as she hauls herself up, each rung feeling like a step closer to a moment she’s not sure she’s ready for. Ekko’s words still echo in her head—She’s probably already up there, and needs the space, but… she deserves to hear from you.

And now, standing at the edge of the makeshift platform high above the Firelights’ hideout, Vi spots you. You’re sitting near the edge, your legs dangling over, one hand resting loosely on the ground for balance. The jukebox below hums softly, sending the faint notes of a melancholy tune drifting up through the cool night air. The lights of the community twinkle far beneath you, and the laughter and chatter of the people below seem like they belong to another world entirely.

Vi freezes for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. You haven’t noticed her yet, and she’s glad for it because it gives her time to take you in.

It’s been years since she’s seen you like this—quiet, lost in your own world. There’s something familiar in the way you tilt your head as you gaze out at the lights below, something achingly reminiscent of the person she remembers from all those years ago. She can’t help but wonder if you’re still the same in other ways, too. If you still laugh at dumb jokes, or hum to yourself when you’re deep in thought. If you still carry that kindness in your heart, despite everything the world’s thrown at you.

But there’s also something different, something that makes her chest ache. You look older. Wiser, maybe. More beautiful than she remembers, though she feels like that’s impossible, because she’s always thought you were the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

God, you’re beautiful. The thought hits her so suddenly that it makes her chest ache. It’s not just the way you look, though that alone would be enough to leave her speechless. It’s everything about you—the way you seem so untouchable and yet so heartbreakingly human all at once. She feels like a fool for standing here and staring, but for the life of her, she can’t seem to look away.

And then there’s the way the moonlight catches on your face, illuminating the faint shimmer of unshed tears in your eyes. Vi doesn’t even need to see your expression to know what you’re feeling.

For a long moment, she just stands there, unsure of what to do or say. She wants to run to you, to pull you into her arms and tell you she’s sorry, that she’s here, that she’s not going anywhere this time. But she knows it’s not that simple. It’s never that simple.

Finally, she takes a hesitant step forward, her boots making a soft thud against the wooden planks. You stiffen slightly, your head turning just enough to catch her in your peripheral vision. You don’t say anything, but the way your shoulders tense tells her you’ve already guessed it’s her.

Vi hesitates again, her heart pounding in her chest as she moves to sit beside you. She doesn’t get too close, leaving enough space between you that you won’t feel trapped, but close enough that she can see the way your fingers grip the edge of the platform like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

For a few seconds, the silence between you is unbearable. Vi glances at you from the corner of her eye, her mouth opening as if to speak, but the words don’t come. She’s never been good at this—talking about feelings, finding the right thing to say.

But as she watches you, she knows she has to try.

“Nice spot you’ve got here,” she says, her voice softer than she intended. “It’s quiet… Beats the chaos down there.”

It’s not much, and she knows it. She winces at how lame she sounds, but she’s not sure she trusts herself to say anything more. She’s afraid if she does, it’ll all come tumbling out—the guilt, the regret, the years of wondering what could’ve been if she hadn’t been taken, if she’d fought harder, if she’d found a way back sooner.

You don’t respond right away, and she can’t tell if it’s because you’re ignoring her or because you just don’t know what to say either. She glances at you again, her eyes lingering on the curve of your jaw, the way your lashes cast faint shadows against your cheeks.

You’re so close, but it feels like there’s an entire world between you.

When you finally do speak, your voice is so soft, almost drowned out by the music drifting up from below. “It’s always been my place to think. To get away… I have Ekko to thank for it.”

Your words are simple, but they carry so much weight, and Vi feels the knot in her chest tighten. She wonders what you’ve been thinking about up here all this time. If you’ve been thinking about her. If you’ve been wondering where she’s been, what she’s been doing, why she never came back.

“I can see why,” Vi says, trying to keep her tone light even though her heart is pounding. “It’s got a hell of a view.”

She means the lights, of course, the way they twinkle below like stars scattered across the ground. But as she says it, she realizes she’s not looking at the lights at all. She’s looking at you.

You finally turn to look at her, and the look in your eyes nearly breaks her. There’s so much there—pain, anger, sadness—but there’s something else, too. Something softer. Something she doesn’t think she deserves but hopes for anyway.

“I didn’t think you’d come up here,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Vi looks at you, her throat tight, and she wishes she had the courage to tell you the truth. That she’s here because she couldn’t stay away. That she misses you.

Instead, she just nods, her voice low and a little rough when she finally speaks. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to.”

You look away again, your gaze returning to the lights below, and Vi knows she should say more, but she’s afraid. Afraid of making things worse. Afraid of losing whatever small chance she might have left to fix things.

She looks at you softly, “How have you been?”

You don’t answer right away.

The silence lingers. Vi shifts slightly, her body aching to close the distance, to somehow make things right, but she doesn’t move.

Then, it’s you who breaks the quiet after a short while, your voice soft and tentative, almost as if speaking too loudly might shatter the everything around you.

“It’s hard to think about you in prison,” you say, the words stumbling out of you before you can stop them.

Vi stiffens at the mention of it. Her chest tightens, as though she’s been struck, but she doesn’t look at you, doesn’t dare.

“I know it must’ve been hard,” you continue, your gaze still locked on the flickering lights below. “Being in there… for so long. I can’t even imagine how it felt. It must’ve been… suffocating.”

Vi can hear the way you say it, that compassion in your voice that makes her want to crumble. You’ve always been so gentle, even when the world around you was anything but.

The memories are sharp, jagged shards of regret that pierce her chest whenever she lets herself think about it. The days in that cold, lonely cell feel like a lifetime ago, but the scars—physical and emotional—are still fresh. The world had felt like a cruel, unyielding force back then. Every day in prison, every blow to her body, every quiet, restless night, had worn away the person she used to be. She couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be carefree or loved.

“I was so… lost,” Vi mutters quietly, her voice rough from the weight of years. “I spent so long… thinking about all of you, of Powder… of the mistakes I made. If i had just… If I hadn’t stepped away for one moment, maybe I would’ve still been here… Here with Powder…. Here with you.”

You glance at her then, just a flicker of movement, your eyes soft with something like pity—but more than that, something else that Vi doesn’t have the courage to name. She knows you see her now, not the image of the girl who left, but the one who came back. The one who is trying—trying, at least—not to destroy everything around her with the weight of her mistakes.

Vi’s voice breaks the silence again, this time with something raw in it, something almost painful. She shifts slightly, her hand twitching by her side, wanting to reach out but holding herself back.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you while I was in there,” she says quietly, her eyes searching your face for any sign of recognition. “The thought of you… It helped get through most of my nights. I tried to dream of you... tried to imagine what you were doing, where you were… how you’ve grown... how much prettier you probably got. I kept telling myself, ’Maybe when I get out, maybe when I find a way out, I’ll find you again.’”

She stops, her gaze falling to the ground between you both as if ashamed to even say it aloud, as if admitting the depth of her thoughts all these years will somehow make them real. But it’s there, the longing she’s buried in the back of her mind, too painful to confront but too strong to ignore.

Vi continues, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “I wondered if you thought of me, if you looked for me. If you still cared… if I even mattered to you anymore.”

You stay silent as she speaks, your chest tight with something you can’t explain. The words sting in a way you’re not prepared for, like a wound reopened, and yet there’s something strangely soothing about them, too. The fact that Vi—after everything, after all this time—had thought of you… It almost doesn’t seem real.

But you say nothing, your gaze fixed ahead, unable to meet her eyes. You wonder if it’s better this way. If silence is all you have left to offer her now. Maybe it’s easier to listen than to speak, to keep everything bottled up inside where it won’t spill over and make a mess of things.

Vi takes a deep breath, her eyes shifting between the two of you, silently asking for something, anything that might make her feel less alone in this moment. But you don’t give her the answer she’s hoping for.

For a long while, neither of you speaks. The wind brushes past you, making the leaves rustle in the trees around the hideout. Below is quiet, almost peaceful, and the sound of distant voices and music fades into the background.

Vi watches you carefully, her eyes searching for something in yours, but she doesn’t push. She knows better than that. She knows that the years have changed you, just as much as they’ve changed her. She knows she can’t expect you to just forget everything, to instantly trust her again. But she hopes, more than anything, that there’s still something left between you both, something that could grow again.

“I saw you with her,” you say. “Ekko said her name is Caitlyn.”

Vi’s eyes widen at the mention of Caitlyn, her heart stopping for just a moment. The words seem to hang in the air between you both, heavy and charged. She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out at first, as if the truth of its too much to swallow.

You feel her hesitation, the way she tenses, and it hits you in a way you weren’t prepared for. It feels like a sharp, cold pang in your chest. There’s a rawness in your voice that you didn’t even realize was there.

The way you say it feels like it cuts through the silence between you both. Vi looks at you then, eyes wide, searching, but she doesn’t speak. She knows she owes you an answer, but what answer could she give you? How could she explain everything that’s happened in the time between your separation and now?

After what feels like an eternity, Vi swallows hard, her throat tight. She looks away, her hands fidgeting at her sides.

“It’s not what you think,” she says softly, almost too quietly, the words coming out slow and hesitant. “I… I didn’t want it. She was just… trying to comfort me.”

Vi’s mind drifts back to Caitlyn, and she can’t help but sigh. She thinks Caitlyn’s a good person—for someone from topside. There’s a softness to her, a kindness that reminds Vi of the people she used to know back when things were simpler, when she wasn’t caught between the rubble of the Lanes and the ghosts of her past. But despite Caitlyn’s goodness, Vi knows one thing, something deep in her heart that she can’t escape: no one could ever be you.

No one could replace you. The girl she grew up with, the girl she used to dream about, the girl who haunted her thoughts long after she had fallen asleep. Vi’s chest tightens at the thought. The kiss with Caitlyn, the one you saw—it’s nothing more than a hollow moment, something that never should’ve happened. She wanted it to be you.

Vi shudders slightly. The kiss, the way Caitlyn’s lips felt against hers, it was nothing like the memories of you. Nothing like the way your hand used to fit in hers, how your laugh could fill a room with warmth, how you made her feel like she was worth something. Caitlyn could never make her feel the same way you made me feel, could never replace the way you made her feel alive, like everything in her life had a purpose.

“I couldn’t…” Vi murmurs to herself quietly. “I couldn’t feel that for anyone except you.”

Her hand slowly reaches out, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as they brush against yours. Her touch is gentle, careful, despite the roughness of her calloused palms, worn from years of fighting, of surviving. She holds your hand like she’s afraid you’ll slip away, like if she lets go, you’ll disappear, and she’ll be left with nothing but the echoes of a time she can never get back.

Your eyes instinctively shift to your hands, the same hands you once held as children. You remember how easy it was, how natural it felt when you were younger, sitting side by side in the dirt or on the roof of the Last Drop, fingers intertwined like nothing could ever pull you apart. Back then, it felt like the world was small, and nothing could hurt you as long as you were together.

But now—now, everything has changed.

Her fingers curl around yours, and the warmth of her touch sends a wave of memories flooding back—soft laughter, secret glances, the way her eyes would linger on you when she thought you weren’t looking. You blink, trying to keep the rush of emotions in check, but it’s hard when every inch of you feels like it’s trembling.

Vi’s eyes flicker to the ground below for a moment, her cheeks suddenly flushed, the soft red hue creeping up to her ears. It was that same familiar blush that’d show during the times she’d gift you a tiny present from those adventurous jobs she was in. She’s so close now, you can hear her breath hitch slightly as if she’s gathering the courage to speak words that she’s kept locked away for far too long.

“I’ve always loved you, you know,” she said finally. “I never got the chance to tell you…”

The words tumble from her mouth, quiet and unsteady, but every one of them feels like it’s been etched into her soul for years. She looks up at you, the faint redness still coloring her face as she holds your hand.

“I’d really like to make for the time I lost with you.”

The noise from the jukebox below, faint music playing through the speakers, the distant chatter of the Firelights—it all fades away, drowned out by the thundering silence between you both. You stare at her, your heart racing, a million thoughts running through your mind, but none of them can fully process the weight of what she’s just said. You feel the tears burn at the back of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. You just stare at her—really look at her—like you haven’t in years.

Vi’s ears are bright red now, her gaze flicking away nervously. She’s never been good with things like this, always hiding behind her strength, her toughness.

And now, it’s all laid out in front of you.

She’s always loved you.

You swallow hard, your hand squeezing hers as you finally manage to find your voice, even though it feels as if it’s been taken from you for so long. You’re not sure if you want to speak, if you’re ready to speak, but it doesn’t matter.

A single tear slips down your cheek, catching in the moonlight that spills across the roof. You huff, your breath shaky, and quickly turn your head, trying to wipe it away before Vi can see.

But you’re not quick enough.

Vi’s blue eyes are already on you, her gaze soft, understanding, and something deeper, something tender that makes your heart ache even more. She doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you quietly, her thumb gently brushing over your knuckles as she holds your hand tighter.

The silence stretches between the two of you, but it doesn’t feel heavy. It feels like the beginning of something, something you both need but are too afraid to admit.

“You’re such an idiot,” you murmur, your voice unsteady as you try to hide the way your chest tightens.

You shake your head, still unable to fully meet her gaze, the words leaving your mouth before you can stop them. The sting of the tear on your cheek fades as you try to swallow down the lump in your throat, but it’s useless.

Vi’s lips twitch, just a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She’s always known how to make you smile, even when everything else around you seemed to be falling apart. Now, it’s the same thing. She’s still that person who knows how to make your heart feel lighter, even in times like this.

“I know.”

Her voice is soft, almost teasing, but there’s no mockery in it, only the acceptance of your words—because she’s heard them before. She’s known, deep down, that you always thought she was an idiot, that she was reckless, that she made mistakes.

But none of that mattered.

She’s always loved you. And you’ve always known it, even if you didn’t want to admit it at first.

She scoots closer to you, the space between you shrinking as she leans in, her body warm against yours. You can feel the weight of her presence beside you, the soft strength that always made you feel safe. Her hand tightens around yours, pulling it into her lap, and you let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as if you can’t bear to look at her yet.

But her touch reminds you of who you were before everything fell apart, before the years, the distance, and the pain.

“I know,” she repeats softly, her smile growing. She brings your hand up to her lips, softly pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, the red still staining her ears as she nudges you with her shoulder.

“But I’m your idiot.”

And you want to laugh, want to smile and tease her like you used to, but instead, you just sit there. Just breathe.

Vi is here. She’s real. And she’s never stopped loving you.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re ready to love her back the way she’s always wanted you to.

ty for reading! | masterlist

[cosmicporos]

What would Arcane characters call their partner? What pet/nicknames would they use?

AHHHH THIS IS SO CUTE! Thank you anon :3

Synopsis: A lot of little cut scenarios where arcane characters call you by cute pet names!

Characters: Sevika, Vander, Silco, Caitlyn, Ekko, Viktor

((awkward Ekko x reader, Teasing Viktor x reader (he calls you an airhead…))

Warning: Angst for Silco, called you “Pet” but ends with comfort!

Not proofread

Sevika

Nicknames for you: Darling, Dear, Sweet thing, Babe, Dove.

Okay maybe I’m over sentimental but imagine her calling you Dove because you bring her so much peace in life. So you’re quite literally her little peace dove.

Sevika leaned against the bar, her mechanical arm resting on the counter as she watched you move around the room. It wasn't anything special-just you tidying up after a long day-but to her, it was everything. "You know," she started, her voice low and gravelly, "you've got this way of makin' the world feel... quieter."

You paused, glancing at her with a small smile. "Yeah? That a good thing?"

She smirked, pushing off the bar to walk toward you. "It's a damn miracle, is what it is. You don't know what it's like Dove… how loud it gets up here." She tapped her temple with a finger, her gaze softening. "But then you show up, and it's like everything just... stops."

Your cheeks warmed at the sincerity in her voice, but you kept your focus on folding a stray cloth. "I didn't think I was doing anything special."

Sevika snorted, stepping closer. "That's the thing. You don't even try, and still... you're it for me. My peace. My little Dove."

Vander

Nicknames for you: Peach, Love, Sweet Pea, Darling, Sunshine, Lass/Lad.

The Last Drop was unusually quiet. The usual clatter of mugs and background chatter of conversation was replaced by the occasional cough or sniffle from the makeshift beds spread around the common room. Powder, Mylo, Claggor, and Vi lay bundled in blankets, their fevered faces flushed as they sipped the herbal tea Vander had brewed.

"Peach," Vander called softly, his deep voice cutting through the stillness as he approached you. You were perched on a low stool, dabbing a cool cloth against Powder's forehead. He knelt beside you, resting his broad hand on your shoulder. "You've been fussin' over them all day. Why don't you take a break, huh? Let me handle things for a while."

"I'm fine," you said, though your hands trembled slightly as you wrung out the cloth."They need us."

He tilted his head, giving you that steady, knowing look of his. "And I need you to take care of yourself, Peach. You're no good to anyone if you run yourself into the ground."

Powder stirred, her small hand reaching out to grab yours. "Don't go," she mumbled, her voice weak.

You smoothed her hair back, glancing at Vander. "See? They need me."

Vander sighed, his lips twitching into a faint smile despite himself. "Stubborn as ever," he muttered. "Alright, Peach. We'll do this together, then."

Silco

Nicknames for you: Darling, Precious, lovely, Pet, Beloved.

After Jinx’s fiasco over at Topside it was obvious Silco was more than simply stressed.

In fact tension in the room was palpable, suffocating as it weighed down on your chest. Silco's piercing gaze bore into you, his lips pressed into a thin line. You'd overstepped-at least, in his mind-and now his sharp tongue was letting you know it.

"Stay out of matters you don't understand, pet," he snapped, the word cutting and cold as it left his mouth.

You flinched, the sting of his words settling deep. Your jaw clenched, and you refused to meet his gaze, instead focusing on the cracked edge of the table.

“I was—I was only thinking about Jinx.” You gulped down the bile that burned in your throat. “Temporary keeping her from missions is keeping her safe.” You spoke finally looking up at him with your wet pathetic eyes.

The silence that followed was deafening. Silco's breath hitched as he realized what he'd said, the regret settling in almost immediately. His tone had been cruel, and the look on your face drove a pang of guilt through his chest.

“I apologize…” he said softly, his voice no longer harsh. "That was... uncalled for." He spoke as he stood up, fixing his cuffs as he walks over towards you.

Silco stepped closer until he was within arm's reach. "I shouldn't have said that. You didn't deserve it," he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You mean too much to me for me to speak to you that way."

When you still didn't respond, he hesitated for a moment before tilting your chin up with his gloved fingers, forcing your eyes to meet his mismatched ones.

"Forgive me," he whispered, his tone sincere. "You are not my pet. You are my beloved. The only one who stands beside me, who understands me."

Caitlyn

Nicknames for you: Petal, Cheeky one, Muffin, Trouble, Dearest.

Flour completely dusted the countertop and your face as you tried to knead the dough. Caitlyn stood across from you, her sleeves rolled up, an amused smile playing on her lips.

"Petal," she said, tilting her head, "you're supposed to knead it, not wrestle it."

You huffed, brushing flour from your cheek. “It's sticking to my hands! I’m not sure how else I’m supposed to tackle this.”

Caitlyn chuckled and walked over, gently taking your hands in hers. "Here, let me show you." She guided your movements, her hands warm and steady.

When the dough finally started to cooperate, you couldn't resist smearing a bit of flour on her cheek. She froze, then slowly raised an eyebrow. “Trouble," she murmured, her voice teasing.

You grinned, backing away. "You love it."

Her soft laugh filled the kitchen as she grabbed a handful of flour. "Oh, I do. But you're not getting away with that."

Ekko

Nicknames for you: Firefly, Sugar, babe, baby, Cutie

You sat on a spinning chair in ekko’s workshop mindlessly spinning while watching him work. He was trying to fix a circuit board, but his focus seemed to drift in your direction. You caught him glancing at you a few times, his brow furrowed as though he was thinking of something important.

After a moment of silence, Ekko cleared his throat, his usual confidence wavering slightly. He set down his tools and looked at you with a small smile, hands shoved into his pockets. "Hey, uh... can I tell you something?" he asked, voice a little too casual.

You raised an eyebrow at his sudden and strange behavior. "Sure. What's up?"

He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. "Well, I've been meaning to call you something... I dunno, it's just, uh, you're always so sweet, you know?" He glanced up at you briefly, cheeks turning faintly pink. “So, I was thinking... Sugar?"

There was a long, awkward pause. You blinked, processing the nickname, unsure how to respond. "Sugar?" you repeated, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Really?"

Ekko's face reddened even more. "Yeah, I mean-because, uh, you're sweet... like sugar? You know?" He shrugged, clearly flustered now. "It's not like, weird, right?"

You couldn't help it you laughed, the sound light and teasing, but not unkind. "I don't know, Ekko. It's a bit... unexpected," you said, still grinning.

His gaze shifted, suddenly looking embarrassed. "Okay, okay, I get it. That was dumb, huh? Just trying to be smooth, but I guess it's not my thing." He shifted uncomfortably.

against his arm, your smile softening. "It's cute," you said, voice warm. "But I think you can do better."

He met your eyes, a sheepish grin finally breaking through his awkwardness. "Yeah? You think so?…Well, I'll keep working on it then."

Viktor

Nicknames for you: Beautiful, Trinket, Dearest, Cheeky, Airhead, Sweetling.

You were fiddling with a complicated piece of tech, the gears and wires all tangled in a way that made your focus drift. Viktor stood beside you, watching with a raised eyebrow as you muttered to yourself.

"Careful, darling," he teased with a sly smile, his voice smooth and mature. "An airhead might break something important."

You shot him a playful glare, a little flustered. “I'm not an airhead! Besides…I'm working on it!" you said, trying to hide the embarrassment in your voice.

Viktor chuckled, reaching over and gently fixing the wires with practiced hands. His tone softened as he met your gaze. "I didn't mean it, Sweetling. You're far from an airhead. You just... get a little lost in your thoughts sometimes." He smiled warmly. “And I think it's kind of endearing."

You felt your heart warm at his change in tone, the teasing replaced by something far more tender. "Geez thanks, Viktor." You pouted and sighed out quietly.

He smiled and chuckled softly, his hand now brushing against yours. "Anything for you, Sweetling."

HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED IT<3 thanks so much for all the support on my last post :>

FEEL FREE TO LEAVE A REQUEST AND COMMENT IF YOU ENJOYED IT! (I love reading comments and any feedback!)

[kentopedia]

˚₊‧꒰ა ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY — levi ackerman

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. your car breaks down before you can make it home for christmas. it leaves you with no choice but to call your ex-boyfriend.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. fluff, sfw, gn!reader, exes, christmas, light angst, second chance romance, soft!levi, modern au — 3.3k words

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈. dropping the annual levi christmas fic. happy birthday to my beloved, he is such a special character to me and has gotten me thru some rough times :( forever grateful u exist levi ackerman. this was going to go in a completely different direction in my head but... alas the words lead me and i must follow. hope you enjoy!

Of all the things to happen on Christmas Eve, car trouble ranked among the worst. Which, naturally, meant that’s exactly what happened to you. 

Something not too far from a blizzard had come in overnight, coating the roads in a thick, hazardous blanket. It looked beautiful, sure, but you were two hours away from where you needed to be on Christmas, and you figured — how bad could it be?

The answer was bad.

You’d skidded, blown out a tire (they were old, due for a change), and found your hood popped open with an odd smoke, stranded only 30 minutes south of where you’d come from. Your family was expecting you home by the evening, there to see everyone for Christmas Eve dinner. 

At this rate, you’d be lucky if you made it for Christmas at all.

After cursing yourself profusely for not just taking an extra day off and leaving yesterday, you started scrolling through your phone, looking for assistance.

The towing company answered the line in a sharp tone, already dismissive of your worries. It was idiots like you that kept them working Christmas Eve, and their annoyance was evident.

“What can I do for you?” a man, testy and older, answered. 

You explained the situation, and received a less than understanding response. 

“Sorry, miss, but we’ll be two hours out. There’s been a few other incidents, and we’re short-staffed. We can give you another call when we free up.”

“But I need to be somewhere tonight. There must be something you can do?”

“Sorry,” he said again, but it was clear he wasn’t very sorry at all. “If I were you, I’d start making calls… See if there’s anyone brave enough to come pick you up in this weather.”

He hung up on you.

You groaned, throwing your hands up in the air. It was unlikely that anyone would want to be your savior tonight. Your family was still 70 miles away, and everyone else you knew had other plans for Christmas Eve. 

But. 

You knew this stretch of road well, were more familiar with it than most streets along here. It was a country highway that wrapped around the smaller town before leading you onto the interstate, one direction to your hometown, the other to the city you lived in. 

Of course, it was here that your car had decided to break down, just ten minutes away from your ex-boyfriend’s house — a man you knew would be home, and certainly wouldn’t be afraid of the weather. 

In fact, he was the only one that wasn’t a tedious drive away, that could save you from the unfortunate situation you’d found yourself in.

You squeezed your eyes tight, trying not to cry. 

Calling Levi seemed your only choice — as pathetic of a choice as that was. You weren’t even sure he’d still have your number, or if he’d answer. But, your hands were becoming numb, the temperatures were dropping with the sun, and you weren’t sure how long you could stay out here without getting frostbite.

Still, on the second ring, you faltered, licking your lips. 

Maybe this was a bad idea. It’d been three years, after all. For all you knew, he could’ve had a new partner, could’ve been engaged. He could’ve moved across the country without any warning — you had no idea. 

Your hand started to fall away from your cheek, phone dropping with it. But the familiar tone stopped you, interrupting the third ring.

“Hello?” 

You exhaled, unprepared for the wave of emotions that washed over you from that simple word. Levi sounded exactly like you’d remembered, his voice even, almost monotone, nothing in it betraying his emotions. 

Still, it made your stomach twist. You couldn’t help but recall a time when that word had held a hint of affection in it.

“Levi,” you said, pushing away that line of thought to keep your voice steady. “You answered.” 

He was, apparently, just as surprised as you were. There was a long pause on the other end, before he resumed talking.

“I almost didn’t,” Levi admitted, releasing a breath of air that had to have come through his nose. “I didn’t want to. But, I couldn’t think of a good reason you’d call me on Christmas Eve unless—”

“I’m so sorry,” you cut him off, apologizing. You pinched the bridge of your nose, shivering in the cold. “I wouldn’t be calling if I weren’t desperate. but my car broke down — I was driving back to my parents’ house, and the tow company can’t come yet…” you rushed through the story, sparing too many details. “But it’s freezing, and you were the closest person I could think to call.”

He went silent once again. 

That was when you started to realize how crazy you’d been to call him. The last conversation you’d had was around this time of year, both of you stiffly walking through all the reasons you were worse for each other than you were better. 

This was a horrible idea. 

“I’m sorry,” you said again, shaking your head. Tears of embarrassment flooded your waterline. You weren’t sure they’d ever stopped. “This was stupid. Fuck. Forget it. I’ll—” 

“Where are you?” 

“What?” 

“Where are you?” Levi repeated, insistent. “I only answered because I figured it was an emergency. Looks like I was right. So where are you?” 

Your heart flipped at the notion that, even if it was a small part of him, he still cared. 

After fifteen more minutes of shivering in your freezing car, you ended up back at Levi’s house. The same house he’d lived in for ten years, and probably would live in until he died.

Levi wasn’t a homebody — in fact, he liked to spend more time outside of the house than he probably spent in it. He traveled a lot, sometimes for work, sometimes for fun. But it was a home that had belonged to his mother, until she passed away when he was freshly eighteen. 

Even if he hated living in this suburban town, you didn’t think he could stomach to part with the home he’d been raised in. One of the only things he had left of his mom.

It was almost heartbreaking, that you knew such intimate details about a person that had faded out of your life.

Levi’s house looked about the same, but Levi… Well, he looked incredible. As far as breakups went, he must have gotten the better end of it.  

His black hair was lightly dusted with snow when he helped you out of his car, red cheeks a bright contrast against his pale skin. Time may have dulled your memory of him, but you could have sworn his eyes had gotten even more blue in the time you’d been apart.

God, he was gorgeous. How had you ever been with someone like him?

“Would you like any tea?” Levi asked, taking you to the kitchen. Not like you’d forgotten how to get there. You’d spent enough time in his house to know the layout, right down to the foundation.

“Sure,” you said, still shivering, even with the heat blasting in the house. “Thank you, Levi. Not just for the tea, but for helping me. I won’t stay long, I promise.”

Levi was rummaging through his cabinet, and looked over his shoulder, back at you. Something rest on the edge of his tongue, but he said nothing, busying himself once more. 

The kitchen was the same as you’d remembered. None of the furniture had changed, but he’d added new appliances, changed out some of the cookware. Poinsettias were in the middle of the table, the only festive thing in the room.

You stared at them, and frowned, the tension between the two of you palpable. While you’d met each other once again like you’d never been parted, there still an underlying current of mistrust and uncertainty. A feeling that was expected to linger.

The break-up between you hadn’t been nasty, but you hadn’t parted on the best of terms, either. You and Levi had always argued… a lot. Half the time, it didn’t mean anything, but you couldn’t stop yourself from spitting something mean when you got angry.

It was your similarities that drove you apart, not your differences. You were both so neat, you fought over where things were meant to go. You were both independent, you grew frustrated with sharing space and compromises.

You were both stubborn, and never admitted to being wrong, even when it caused a rift between you and split you apart for good.

Of course, the worst issue was your tendency to bottle up your feelings, rather than talk through them. A problem that Levi shared — meaning that every little thing between you was brushed under the rug, only to trip you up later.

Levi brought the steaming mug over, pushing it to you across the table. You took a small sip of it, blinking at him over the edge of ceramic. 

“My favorite tea?” you asked, recognizing the taste of it immediately. “You remembered.” 

“I wasn’t sure if you still liked it, but I’ve kept it around anyway,” Levi said, and, as if realizing what he’d admitted, continued, “It grew on me. I drink it now.” 

You smiled. It was small and sad, mourning all the things you’d lost, but the sentiment warmed you all the same. You remembered Levi loved earl grey in the mornings, and chamomile before bed. In the fall, he preferred rooibos, the color and flavor reminded him of the autumn leaves. 

Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t like any of those things, anymore. 

“I’m glad you like it now,” you said, humming. “You never did, before.” 

It sounded like a jab, even if you didn’t mean it as one. Levi stiffened, only slightly, before he released the tension and snorted, tightening his grip around the mug. 

You glanced at his hands, slender and pale, veins purple under his skin. Hands that had once roamed all over your body, slipped inside you, pulling you apart from the seams. 

That wasn’t a path you wanted to go down. You blinked, pushing away that line of thought as your stomach flipped, and prayed he hadn’t noticed your staring. 

“Anyway,” Levi coughed, clearing his throat. 

You nearly shrunk from embarrassment, certain that he had discerned your thoughts, but Levi wasn’t looking at you at all. His eyes were fixed on the clock across the room, watching the hand rotate around the frame. 

“You were visiting your family. How have they been?” 

Safe conversation, easy conversation. The kind that you could have had with any stranger, even if Levi knew all your family by name, knew your Christmas traditions. You repeated old history anyway, like you were meeting him for the first time, sharing weekend plans with an acquaintance before going your separate ways. 

The two of you chatted for a while, sipping on your teas, all the while, avoiding the topic of his holiday plans — if only to sidestep the discomfort that came with hearing he had none. Not that that was shameful, of course. Plenty of people did nothing for the holidays, didn’t want to. 

But, Levi had always come home with you for Christmas, for five years. Everyone loved him. Although you’d been nervous, at first, Levi fit right in, made himself comfortable with those that you cherished. He was polite, even though his sarcasm often bled through. But, that only made him funnier, in the eyes of everyone you held dear. They’d always given him two sets of gifts — for Christmas and his birthday — excited to watch him open them. 

Levi had always been so stoic when he responded with a stiff thank you, but you could see how touched he was, how pleased to be integrating himself so easily into your life. 

He’d made your holidays better than they’d ever been.

Now, he spent them alone. 

You couldn’t help but feel like your breakup had taken something special away from him, something he should’ve gotten to keep, even whilst you were separated. Maybe you could invite him home with you, just so your cousins could play one more round of cards with him and lose.

Melancholia flowered in your chest, and you, then, yearned for those moments, the ones you’d kept so dear. 

How had everything gone so wrong?

Your conversation stalled. You looked at each other, unsure what to say next. 

Shifting anxiously in your seat, you stood, as if for the first time realizing that you were in Levi Ackerman’s house, and you shouldn’t have been. That you were having cordial conversation with a man you swore to never speak to again, and it was like falling back into a routine, it was normal. 

And that was the worst thing about it — you knew why’d you’d broken up, but right now, you could hardly recall a good reason.

“I’m sorry,” you said for the millionth time that evening, eyes flashing towards the clock. It had only been thirty minutes, but the snow was getting worse and your tea was cold. “I should call my parents and let them know I won’t be home tonight. Hopefully the roads will be—”

“Wait.” Levi reached out, grabbing your hand before you could stand and make your exit. 

Your eyes flashed down to where you touched, at the same time his did, before you uncomfortably broke away. Levi blinked, then chewed the inside of his cheek, his mouth still drawn into that unexpressive, thin line. 

“What?” you asked, after too many seconds of silence. 

Levi inhaled, then dropped his head, jaw working as he looked away. “I’ve done a lot of thinking, over the past two years.”

Your breath caught in your chest. “About?” 

You already knew the answer.

“When we—” He licked his lips, eyes narrowing at the microwave, before they met your own. “Decided to end it.” 

Decided to end it. What a harsh way of putting it, but you supposed it was true. A final round in the passionate romance you’d had. A break-up seemed too simple for what you’d been, when it had ripped your heart out of your chest. 

“Oh,” you said, swallowing. 

“I know you might not want to have this conversation,” he said, nodding to himself. “But I need to say what I should’ve a long time ago. That I’m sorry.” Levi’s eyes were on you then, a more intense shade than you’d ever seen before. You froze, feeling unable to move, locked in the storminess of his gaze. “So many things were my fault. All the times I was dismissive, the times I was angry. All the times I didn’t communicate when I should’ve.” He released a breath, and despite his bravado, you realized he was just as nervous as you were. “I didn’t know how to love you like you wanted, and I’m sorry that I did such a bad job of it.” 

You blinked, watching him shift in his chair. “Levi…” you said slowly, softly, the word agonizing as it left his lips. 

“I know that doesn’t make it right, but I need you to know. I am sorry. You deserved better.” 

That, alone, brought you close to tears, that he seemed to be taking the blame for all the things that went wrong. Putting it on himself, when it was both of you, incapable of working together. “Levi, I’m sorry too,” you blinked back your tears, setting aside your pride. You’d already lost enough dignity, what was a little more? “You loved me just fine. Maybe I just couldn’t appreciate what I had. I never tried hard enough to make it work.” 

“That isn’t true.” 

“Yes, it is.” 

“No,” Levi huffed, “it’s—” But then he stopped, gathering himself, catching the fall, right back into the same old routine. You looked down at your hands, embarrassed. “We weren’t bad for each other. Nothing we ever did was bad for each other.” It sounded like a question, even if it wasn’t.

“It must have been,” you said, in a small voice. “Otherwise…” 

Otherwise, you’d still be together. 

Levi smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His hands clenched and unclenched on the table. “I should’ve called you, when you left. I shouldn’t have let you walk away.” 

“But you did.” 

“I did,” he breathed. “And I regret it every day of my life.” 

You looked up at him, eyes shining at the realization. He still wanted you, maybe even still loved you. 

And as much as you cared for him, as much as your heart still bloomed in your chest at the sight of him, you weren’t sure how you felt about that.

“Levi—” you began, hoping to dispel the conversation. But he didn’t let it get that far, voice cracking at the start of his sentence.

“I mean it. I think about it all the time. About you. You were my friend as much as you were my partner, and I wanted you forever. I miss you. I—” Levi cut himself off, there, at the growing look of fear on your face, the knowledge that he was going to let something slip he shouldn’t. 

It tugged at your heartstrings all the same, and you looked away, wrapping yourself up in your arms. 

Silence fell across the room, the only sound the howling wind outside, a flurry of snow crashing against the window. Levi waited, patiently, for you to be the one to break the silence — and you summoned up all your courage, all your honesty, for a response.

“I would be lying, if I said I didn’t think about it too… What it would be like to try again.” 

Levi looked up, blue eyes narrow, but sharp with anticipation. “You—”

“I miss you too, Levi.” It felt like carving your heart out of your chest and handing it to him on a platter. “But it couldn’t be like it was before. Where we talked to each other about everything except for what really mattered. We can’t.” you swallowed, shaking your head. “I can’t do that again.” 

“I know.” Levi licked his lips. “Is that something… You would want?” 

Was it? Was Levi truly what you wanted, or were you not thinking clearly, only remembering the good times amongst all the bad. Were you just yearning for an idealization of love, a feeling that you’d been missing since splitting with Levi? Was it him you really wanted, or just someone to call your own?

But you knew the answer. It was obvious.

“Yes,” you answered, so quiet you weren’t sure he could hear it. “I would… I do want that. Maybe that’s why I didn’t hesitate to call you tonight.” 

Levi didn’t smile, but his eyes brightened, the storminess fading away so they looked like the sky. The cloud of grey above him melted away, and he seemed even younger than he had before, caught in the promises of adoration, akin to a boy in a schoolyard. 

“You can spend Christmas with me. Your birthday,” you said, hesitantly, not knowing if you’d even make it home, if you’d be stuck here. If that kind of invitation was not yours to give. “If that’s something you’d want.” 

“It is,” Levi answered softly, without questioning it, gripping your hand across the table. “I would’t want to spend it any other way.”

You smiled at each other, then, caught up in the glow of Christmas lights and the snow outside, a shaky vow holding between you. Maybe things wouldn’t change — maybe they would go back to how it’d been before, neither of you ever saying what you really meant. Maybe you’d hurt each other worse than you ever had before. 

But you loved him — you loved each other. And that could be enough.

thank you for reading! ❤︎ reblogs and comments are appreciated!!! i might write a pt 2 if there is enough interest, but i wanted to finish this before christmas ◡̈

[berylcups]

Me and my irl friends live a couple cities away and we don’t talk often. But we always make it crystal clear to each other that we are text or phone call away. Maybe it’s because we are older and have busy schedules? That’s not implying young adults and teens don’t have busy schedules… school, school work, and part time (sometimes full time) jobs is difficult to deal with. It’s a hard conversation to have but if you or if a friend feels left out, maybe just be transparent with them about your responsibilities and/or mental health? But it’s your own business and you should only give out that info as long as you aren’t feeling pressured to. A true friend would understand your boundaries. Friends are an important part of your life but you have to take care of yourself first before you can help others. Just my two cents, based on my understanding of the post. Because I definitely have dealt with this issue before many times and wish I went about it differently.

As someone with social anxiety— to my mutuals, followers, & people I follow : if I don’t interact with anyone or their work on here it’s only because I’m either too shy or I didn’t see it on my feed. I get excited easily and I kinda hide in my shell like a turtle. 🐢 just know if we rarely interact, I still think you’re rad AF! 🥰

every now and then the internet decides it should revamp the ole “stop texting first and see how many friends you lose” when in reality you could literally just communicate that u feel bad that ur the only one texting first

[adieutristana]

Hiiii, i have request for a fem r x jinx, so like r and jinx have known each other alll their lives, maybe r is like sevika's niece or smth close, then when jinx gets adopted by silco, they ontinue to grow close until they become lovers, now you can do whatever you want here, just req that somehow r gets seperated with jinx and joins ekko and the professor breaking into the lab, which led to r joining then in the alt uni, the same time as ekko or maybe earlier, then au!jinx(she's alr r's gf in that au) suddenly gets worried or jealous cause ekko and r suddenly without any reason becomes close and starts spending time together, you can end it however u want, just give us a happy ending!! That's it rllyyy, thank you for reading this req, and it's ok if you can't do it, no pressureee

of course!! thank you for the request <3

this one is pretty long, sorry ^^; i just wanted to include everything and do your request justice

summary; sevika’s niece, jinx’s childhood best friend becomes jinx’s girlfriend. they get separated in the alternate universe, and powder grows jealous.

characters included; jinx, powder (act iii au), sevika (familial), ekko (platonic)

tags/warnings; fluff, hurt/comfort, s2 spoilers, idk if sevika has living relatives but we're making up a sibling for the story, mentions of death, arguing, mentions of drinking and smoking, jealous powder

men dni.

sevika has never been great with children. the day you were born, your small form writhing in her brother's arms as you cried, and cried, and cried, sevika didn't know what to do with herself. this was family. sevika was loyal to family. but she just... couldn't deal.

yet as you grew older, she grew used to it. whenever you went to auntie sev's, she pulled out whatever non-alcoholic drink she had for you, pouring it in a stained glass and sitting down opposite you at her table. she'd teach you to play card games- ones appropriate for children, of course. war, go fish, the like. nothing like the blackjack or poker that gave her a thrill under dim lights, but it was honestly... nice, to have this company. even if you were small and still struggling to speak for yourself.

she found herself growing comfortable with you. she had always loved you, had always cared for you. you were her niece. but the fact that you were still learning to navigate the world, learning how to be a person, scared sevika- especially considering the state of the undercity. how was a child supposed to thrive in such a troubled city? how were sevika and her brother supposed to protect you from the harm that inevitably comes everyone's way?

and then, you found a friend. a little girl, no more than a few months older than you, with turquoise hair and warm, sky-blue eyes. powder was her name. a playful, friendly girl who would play tag with you in the alleyways of the lanes. she showed you all of her contraptions, little bombs with scribbled drawings of various animals for faces. handmade. your young mind found this incredible. how could one girl have this much talent?

each day, after your lessons, you'd go to a specific place close to a boarded up, abandoned home in the outskirts of zaun. it became yours and your friend's designated spot. a spot where powder would train, punching and kicking at the air with a wide grin, you sitting and observing. a spot where she’d sit down and whistle her favorite songs painfully out of tune. a spot where you shared secrets, talked about her adventures with her siblings, and you shared your frustrations about stupid homework. you'd brag about how cool your auntie sevika was.

"she's just so strong! and she can fight off anyone. she plays games with me, and she helps me with my reading work. even if it's hard."

powder's eyes would widen, and she'd nod enthusiastically.

"really? she sounds awesome! maybe i'll get to fight like her one day..."

"why can't you?"

and then powder would grumble, her eyes flickering down as she folded her hands in her lap.

"my sister doesn't think i'm ready. she says i'm not experienced enough."

she makes air quotes when she says 'experienced enough,' huffing and rolling her eyes. you'd reach out to squeeze her shoulder, trying to give any kind of comfort. you weren't the best at offering consolation, but you could at least do this for her.

when powder came to that same spot a mere few weeks later, she was bursting at the seams with excitement. she couldn't stay still, and as soon as the girl saw you, she bolted in your direction. throwing her arms around you and squealing. you were confused- but powder was clearly happy, possibly the happiest you'd ever seen her. so you wrapped your arms around her in return. she pulled her face back, blue eyes sparkling.

"vi finally said i'm ready. i'm going on a job, tomorrow! topside! it's gonna be a good one."

powder was positively beaming, and you could only smile. you tried to find the words for a moment, although you were ecstatic for her.

"really? that's awesome!"

"mhm! she said she's gonna take me with the others, and i can help!"

powder heard violet's voice calling for her from the end of the alley, seemingly having searched for her. she looked back at you.

"i'll see you soon, okay?"

then, radio silence.

you visited your usual spot a few times after that, your heart wrenching in your chest upon seeing the spot powder usually occupied empty. you had heard rumors swirling around of powder being caught after her job, her sister growing angry. yet, you didn't want to believe it. powder was your best friend, she was amazing! there was nothing the girl couldn't do.

but it was true. your best friend, powder, didn't pull it off. an arrest. an explosion. what caused it? what happened to powder?

it was driving your mind wild, pulling you in different directions and eating at your insides. you asked around, other children of zaun, but each one ignored you, shook their head, shrugged, muttered a quiet 'i don't know.' it was killing you.

that was, until the next time you visited your aunt. you sat down at her dining table, cheap leather peeling off of the seat. uneven legs, heightening your fear of toppling over any time you shifted. sevika brewed coffee instead of lighting her usual cigar, her back turned to you as she slowly moved through the kitchen.

"hey, aunt sev?"

you asked, voice unsure. shaking.

"huh?"

she responded, her back still turned to you.

"you know my friend, powder. you've met her, haven't you?" you saw sevika pause, leaning over to brace her hands on the edge of the counter. "she's kinda... missing. do you know what happened?"

"i do."

she responded, tone blunt with a sharp edge. you winced at this, you knew just how scary your aunt could be if provoked. but you cared too much for powder, this was too important-

"she's with silco and i. he took her in. she's a problem."

"a problem?"

your heart sunk in your chest. god, how could your best friend be a problem?

"yes. she's distracting silco, but he insists that she'll be an asset."

"please, sev, tell me m-"

the woman turned her back and slammed an empty mug onto the table.

"i'm not talking about this anymore."

✧.*

the day after your seventeenth birthday was when you found powder- ‘jinx,’ they now called her. a dark alleyway in the outermost of zaun, not far off from your spot just a few years prior. you’d begun taking morning walks to clear your head of all the bullshit that came with being a young girl in the middle of a troubled city- one with a close relative who worked for silco of all people. to get the swirling anxiety, political unrest, friends disappearing left and right, all of it- out of your damn mind.

you’d experimented with walking routes, going through the lanes, through some of the highest roads in zaun, but none were quite as… peaceful as the outskirts. much more nature, less people, more tranquil than any other area. your head hung low, hands in your pocket, gaze on the ground. whistling.

you would recognize that sound anywhere. the same song powder used to always whistle, you heard it again. the tone was a bit deeper, a bit more raspy, but god, it had to be her. your head shot up, eyes darting around for the source of the song. busted windows, trash cans… blue braids.

your feet moved quicker than your mind could. you ran to the girl, breathless, throwing your arms around her.

and then she pushed you off of her, your back hitting the ground.

“powder- powder, what the fuck?! you don’t remember me?”

she stood over you, breath heaving, blue eyes boring directly through you. searching for any sign of danger or betrayal, studying your features…

“oh. oh.”

“powder, please-”

the girl yanked you up by your shoulders and got onto her knees, immediately pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. long nails dug into the fabric of your top.

“it’s jinx now.”

oh. oh god. you’d heard that name before. the name of a master criminal in the making, under the watchful eye of silco. his prodégé, his daughter. she had been powder, this entire time? under your nose for years, and you had no idea?

you wrapped your arms back around her, tentative, so scared to break her. the way she flinched told you all you needed to know.

“po-jinx, it’s okay… you’re okay…”

she only held you, her chin resting on your shoulder.

"a lot has changed."

"i know. but it's okay." you pause. "are you busy?"

jinx has her hands resting on your shoulders, pulling back the same way that she did the day before her job.

"no... no, not right now. why?"

the corner of your lips tug into a gentle smile.

"we have some catching up to do."

✧.*

the first thing jinx did was drag you around her newfound hideout. slim floors of metal with a seemingly endless drop below them, and a lack of railings. anxiety peaked as you walked through her home, but it was... charming. black lights paired with bright, colorful graffiti enhancing each surface. her face lit up as she showed you each of her handmade weapons.

you remembered the young powder with a single braid and defected color bombs, but these..? these were fully functioning explosives and assault weapons. god, where did she learn to do this?

"hey, whatcha thinking about?"

you're pulled out of your thoughts by one of jinx's fingers poking at your forehead. her blue eyes fixed on you...

"nothing. just... this is different."

jinx swings a leg over her seat at her workbench, picking up... a blowtorch?

"well, yeah. i told you things changed."

she quips, so nonchalant. how could she be so calm about her new lifestyle? it was such a drastic change, yet you couldn't help but... admire it. the environment surrounding you was a direct reflection of the person your friend had become. pilties feared her, zaunites revered her. to be able to make such a name for herself and have the unwavering sense of justice jinx had at such a young age was incredible to you.

god, jinx. she had really been staring you in the face for all of these years.

"tell me more.”

you said, slowly settling down beside her, bracing your elbows on the cold metal.

“oh, where to start?” she grinned. “well, right now i’m doing a lot in the way of enforcers and firelights. inventing, and all that. blowing stuff up.”

she giggled, not looking at you for a second. her thin hands held one of the very blue crystals a young powder held as if a precious amulet.

“and what about silco?”

“silco? he’s great! he’s always believed in me, said i’m smart and i can do whatever i put my mind to. he thinks i’m perfect.”

she hums, continuing to tinker away. your heart sinks the slightest bit. although silco was definitely a symbol of the undercity, he was feared. it just didn’t sit right with you. for him to have somebody like jinx in his grasp was frightening, but if she turned out relatively okay in the end, it was fine… right?

“oh, and sevika’s an ass.”

“my aunt?”

jinx turns to you suddenly, lifting her goggles off her face.

“since when is sevika your aunt?”

“…since i was born?”

you reply, raising an eyebrow… the same way sevika does with jinx. she folds over in a fit of laughter, her forehead on the workbench-

“oh, oh gods! that’s too good. how did i not know?”

✧.*

october 10.

jinx’s birthday.

jinx’s eighteenth birthday.

being slightly younger than her, you didn’t know exactly what was appropriate for an eighteenth birthday celebration. you were never good at birthdays to begin with. but you had to think, think. this is for jinx.

you’d grown accustomed to her new lifestyle, the mischief that followed her everywhere she went. whether she always found trouble or trouble always found her, you were unsure, but one thing was for certain: she had grown into one of the most badass women you’ve ever met. becoming close with her again, stepping into her shoes and experiencing a taste of jinx’s world, it was almost as if nothing had changed. in terms of your friendship, at least. she would still talk about her sister (although their relationship was less than ideal now), show you her contraptions, and whistle her favorite songs.

except for when you noticed your affections for jinx becoming something more than what was appropriate for friends.

curse you, curse you for falling for your childhood best friend. that was what you kept telling yourself. how could you fall for someone you had considered your best friend for so long? the thought of losing jinx again over something as trivial as a crush made your heart ache.

so you repressed it.

you repressed the way that your heart skipped a beat when she inched closer to you on her workbench.

you repressed the way her smile brought a swarm of butterflies to your stomach.

you repressed the way you wished to call her late at night just to hear her voice.

you repressed the way those blue eyes could make you give in to anything.

but that’s not important. no. what’s important is decorating jinx’s hideout while she’s out on a job for her birthday and throwing together a cake. pink and blue banners, big balloons with the number ‘18,’ crude paper-mache iterations of her monkey bombs, and making a gift.

you were hunched over your desk for hours trying to make her a charm bracelet, representative of your history. scrap metal from crushed cans, pliers, discarded chains, and acrylic paint could take you further than you expected. a mouse, for mouser. a blue ball, for her crystals. a can of spray paint. a bomb. a monkey. all little charms representative of what made jinx jinx.

did you burn yourself? yes. did you have to bandage yourself from getting cut by thin metal? also yes. but it was for her.

and a card. you decided in the days leading up to jinx’s birthday that you had to tell her somehow how you felt. it was eating up at you from the inside out.

when jinx arrived to her hideout, kicking the door open, it took a moment for her to notice that anything was different. somehow the streamers, candles, and smell of cake didn’t give it away, but she quickly strode over to you with the same jump in her step as always.

“heya t-”

and she finally noticed. glancing around at the handmade decorations on her workbench and the balloons, the pink and blue icing on her cake…

“oh. oh wow.”

she chuckled, in mild disbelief.

“wow, all of this for little ol’ me?”

you nodded, body tense with anticipation and anxiety. you knew the second she opened that card, everything would change. she sighed in that playful way she always did, and put her hands on her hips.

“okay. where to start?”

she glanced over the workbench. the cake, card, and small wrapped gift.

“well, it’s only right to start with the card.”

she sat down, and unceremoniously began tearing the envelope open at the top with her fingernails. not even using the flap in the back. you should’ve expected as much. she finally gets through to the card and looks at the front- a drawing of the two of you sat side by side.

“oh, this is cute!”

she beamed, and eagerly flipped the card open, and that’s when you saw blue eyes beginning to scan over the words inside.

“powder, rather jinx, i’m sorry that this is so sudden. eighteen is a big feat. you’re grown! and i’m proud of everything you’ve done. all the progress you’ve made for zaun, and all of the things you’ve come over. you’re a strong, smart, wonderful girl. but i need you to know that i’ve had feelings for you for a while now, and i can’t keep ignoring them. meeting you again and getting to know the person you’ve become has been one of the best experiences of my life. i wish i could spend those days alongside you as your girlfriend.

if you want to throw this card away and forget about it, i won’t be mad. just think about what i said.

-your best friend.”

her eyes scanned over the paper. again, and again, and again. did she really have to read it so many times? her brows furrowed, then raised, then furrowed again, before she glanced up at you.

“you… mean this?”

you let out a shaky breath.

“of course i mean it, jinx.”

you then felt thin, yet strong arms thrown around you and a head buried into your chest.

“i thought i was crazy…”

she murmurs, voice muffled by the thick fabric of your top. her tone is softer than usual, a side of her you’ve grown to realize is reserved for you only.

“crazy how?”

“crazy because i feel the same way.”

did the world stop?

was time hanging over your head?

“oh, god- jinx, you’re serious?”

you laughed, returning her embrace with tears pricking at your eyes. she squeezed you even tighter to her, beginning to pepper little kisses all over your face- no doubt leaving stains in their wake.

“ah! you still have a gift to open, jinx!”

you were mockingly protesting. in truth, you felt like you were floating.

“don’t care!”

✧.*

shortly after jinx’s own, your nineteenth birthday came and passed with jinx clinging to your arm. a day of being dragged through zaun tagging walls together, your girlfriend presenting you with a barely-edible cake, and rushed kisses on her couch.

which sevika walked in on.

regardless, you woke up to the sound of jinx’s deep breathing, close to your ear. still sleeping, her ear right up against the left side of your chest. you’d noticed she liked listening to your heartbeat, especially during late nights together. the first and only time you asked about it, she just said, ‘it’s relaxing.’ if anything could relax jinx, you’d do it.

you couldn’t move, not yet. you could only look down at the sleeping girl on top of you, snoring like an old man. if it were anybody else, you’d have stopped sharing a bed a long time ago. but jinx was kind of… endearing.

“mm… what time is it, toots?”

you heard her grumble.

“uh…” you moved your wrist from under her to glance at your wristwatch. “11:20.”

“ugh… it’s too early.”

“too early?”

“yes! i need to sleep more… five more minutes.”

one of jinx’s classic lies. but you let her, regardless, because who were you to deny a little longer of the girl you loved clinging to you? your free hand came to her lower back, your thumb rubbing gentle circles over soft skin.

“okay. then while you’re here, i need to tell you something.”

“mm… go ‘head.”

there was no easy way to put this, but you had to spit it out.

"i'm going to topside later. going to jayce's lab with ekko and the professor. they said there was something... important i needed to see. something about hextech."

with this, jinx's eyes fluttered open, looking up at you. thick brows furrowed.

"why?"

"something about hextech."

you repeated yourself. she grumbled.

"why d'you have to be the one to do it?"

your eyes widened for a moment. damn. you weren't sure how to answer this question, exactly. why did it have to be you? clearly, jinx wasn't asked about it if this is the first time she's hearing about it. but you knew it was important enough if you, a relatively ordinary citizen of zaun were asked to accompany heimerdinger and his newest student.

"i... i don't know. but it's important enough. i'll be a few hours tops, okay? a few hours, then i'll come back and be right here when you're ready to sleep. we can be just like-"

you pointed to her head still laying directly over your heart,

"this, again tonight."

jinx grumbled, slowly pulling herself away from your chest, bringing herself to loom over you. unkempt blue braids on either side of your face, rosy eyes locked on yours.

"fine. but you better be back when you say you'll be."

you reached up to place your hands on pale cheeks, tracing your thumbs underneath her eyes, still heavy with sleep.

"i'll be back before you know it, baby. it'll be like i never even left."

✧.*

the lab. the lab.

that's the last place you can remember being before waking up with a gasp. you felt as if you got a punch directly to the stomach, body reeling with the aftershocks of... something. all you could do was heave, pant, use your hands to brace yourself against a... bedside table? desperately trying to find some kind of support.

you slowly gain your composure. your breath coming to you in short gasps, as your eyes finally manage to scan your surroundings. a bedside table, a full-sized bed with blue sheets, a bookshelf with various travel guides and science textbooks scattered about. a corkboard on the wall, with photos of... you? and somebody else.

you stumble over the corkboard, slowly lifting your gaze. photo strips from photo booths hang on the board, as well as post-it notes with scribbled drawings. the pictures are of you, and a girl. a girl who, upon closer inspection, looks almost exactly like jinx. but not quite. her eyes didn't have those bags you'd grown accustomed to, and her face seemed fuller. she had a wide grin or silly expression plastered onto her face in almost every picture. the jinx you knew hated her picture being taken.

this girl's hair also was chopped to her shoulders. jinx kept her hair so long she had learned how to not trip over it. a gentle breeze sweeps the room, and the air is... more clear. not as overwhelming as the usual pollution of zaun. you think you can manage a deep breath in without feeling any side effects.

"there you are, silly!"

you hear from behind you. you snap your head over your shoulder with a gasp, and it's the girl from the pictures. oh, god.

she sets down a box on the bed, a few bolts spilling out from the cushion of the mattress.

"heh, whoops."

she chuckles, placing both hands on her hips. she really does look exactly like jinx. blue hair strung up into messy space buns and a little pink streak. that's new. you glance around at the room once again, noticing the corkboard. a drawing of you and the girl on a yellow post-it, with "POWDER" scribbled beneath it.

powder?

"what... what is this?"

you manage to breathe out. the girl- powder, strides over to you and wraps her arms around your shoulders from behind.

"only materials for my next big project! i told you about this. remember?"

she giggles, voice playing directly next to your ear. a chaste kiss to your cheek and a bubbly girl holding you. you raise an eyebrow, looking back at her. your shoulders tense, eyes blown wide. how could this have happened? didn't powder adopt the identity of jinx after that job?

"this is what happens when you pull a double two days in a row. i know you need the extra time, babe, but you're exhausted."

powder pinches your cheek between her forefinger and thumb. that same playful smile unwavering.

"come on, we've still got a lot to do today. we're talking some stuff over with benzo, remember?"

benzo? the benzo whose corpse you saw?

"i... okay. just give me a minute to freshen up."

you make your way down the hall to a bathroom. this place was set up like a goddamned labyrinth, but you managed. you look at yourself in the mirror.. your clothes seemed nicer. more tailor-fit. your skin was more clear, almost no blemishes or scars. your hair was a bit longer, you still had split ends- guess you could never be bothered to trim those in any world. but... this was different. you huff, deciding to cut your losses and just go to this meeting you apparently had planned.

as soon as you arrive to the last drop, it's like being flashbanged. your eyes widen at how much more bright the place seems. new booths and tables, it seems as if it's been recently renovated for the sake of modernity. and then you noticed vander.

you knew how much vander's loss affected jinx. she talked fondly of him often, but you could tell the fact that he was no longer here was killing jinx, no matter how much time had passed since that day. yet, here he was in the flesh, chatting away with a customer behind the bar as if nothing had happened. had anything happened?

"oh, oh my god. you're here. do you know what happened?"

your body jutted forward and you snapped your head around, your first instinct being to shove whoever was behind you. but you didn't thankfully. ekko.

"you're here too? shit, i don't know, i just- i woke up, and i was here, and everything's different, and everyone is acting different."

you muttered, beginning to pace around. the boy in front of you seemed stunned, shaking his head in disbelief.

"you don't know anything?"

"i'm just as confused as you are, ekko."

"sorry! ran a little late. you know how the streets get this time of day."

you heard from behind you, powder carrying a brown messenger bag.

"...jinx?"

powder just quirked an eyebrow, one of her signature confused expressions. she shakes her head, brushing off the fact and makes her way toward the bar. benzo's sat on one of the stools, waiting.

you shoot a glance in ekko's direction, mouthing 'sorry.'

✧.*

the second the meeting is over, you grab ekko by the arm and pull him into an alleyway behind the last drop. you sigh, letting his arm go, and he's visibly peeved.

"what the hell?!"

"i'm sorry, ekko, i just... this is all so weird. apparently powder never became jinx, and benzo is alive, and so are vander and silco and things just seem so... nice. i keep telling myself it isn't real, but i'm not waking up from whatever the fuck this is."

ekko looks down, his hand pressing into the spot below his eyebrows. he shakes his head.

"i talked to heimerdinger earlier. he said this is some kind of parallel universe. no hextech, so there's not a good chance of us getting back."

you swore you could've felt your stomach drop. oh no.

"how is there no hextech? are you serious?"

"i wouldn't lie about this."

"fuck. fuck."

you're tangling your hands in your hair, once again finding yourself pacing back and forth. the alleyway is clear aside from a few palettes and trash cans, yourself and ekko being the only occupying presence.

"we're trying to figure something out, together. but it's going to take a while."

your feet still, and you take a deep breath in. your lips press into a thin line. you don't exactly have it in you to be patient right now, but did you have another option?

"shit. okay. it's not like i've got any better ideas."

ekko sighs, his shoulders dropping. you glance over to him, and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in an effort to reassure him.

"i'll try and think of something, too. just keep me updated, okay?"

ekko gives you a small grin and nods.

"i will. it'll be alright- let's hope, at least."

your eyes wander over to the last drop's back door, and it's cracked open, with powder looking out.

shit. how long has she been there?

you walked to your apartment side-by-side with powder, but she seemed so... tense. she didn't look at you much during the walk back, which made you a bit fearful. she was so chipper just an hour or two ago, what happened?

you swung open the door after taking a few tries to find the correct key, something powder also noticed. thankfully, she didn't mention it, or you'd have a difficult time explaining.

you stepped in, taking off your jacket and dropping it on the arm of a leather couch. one that wasn't peeling.

"so, when did you and ekko get so close again?"

she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. this may not be jinx, but she has the same facial expressions. she thinks you're hiding something.

"huh? we've always been friends."

"you guys fell out two weeks ago and you swore you'd never talk to him again."

oh shit.

"you don't remember? i mean... i guess it makes sense, i thought it was just a misunderstanding. you're usually the one to talk things out."

huh? you and ekko were never particularly close, but you'd never had a falling out. shit, everything really was different here.

"yeah... uh, yeah. we made up."

you say, hoping to whatever was out there that she wouldn't catch onto the fact you didn't have a damn clue what she was talking about.

"huh."

she huffs, clearly unconvinced.

"what, powder? come on, you've gotta talk to me."

"ugh- that doesn't explain why you were touching him like that!"

she snaps, her voice raising, yet not quite yelling. the look in her eyes, she looks as if she's genuinely been betrayed.

"i.. what? i was touching his shoulder, powder."

"yeah, and yesterday you were resting against it. what next, you'll be kissing his neck?"

were you really? god dammit, you had no way of knowing what this other version of you was doing before-

"no! powder, no. i... i'm sorry. but you have to believe me, we're friends. we were discussing something important to us."

she rolls her eyes, tapping her foot against the ground.

"come on. i respect your privacy, i trust you to not cheat, but you've got to ease up on him. rather, he has to ease up on you."

"powder, nothing's happening."

she sighs, her head hanging down in defeat.

"you promise?"

"i promise you."

powder slowly steps closer to you, shaky hands slowly coming to cup both of your cheeks.

"i just don't want anything to happen between us, okay? things are good."

"they are. but nothing will happen."

as... unfamiliar as this is, this version of powder, this supposed life of yours, you couldn't deny that it was welcoming. in some ways, it was a lot better than the world you came from. the overrun streets of zaun, the political unrest of piltover, thousands addicted to shimmer and more friends dead than alive. you could get used to this, but you wouldn't.

you suppose it wouldn't be so bad to indulge yourself until ekko figured something out, though.

"hey. you still like wearing braids in your hair, don't you?"

powder hums, pursing her lips.

"uh... i haven't worn one since i was a kid, but sure."

you sigh, and gently take both of her hands in yours.

"come on. i'll do some twin braids on you, braid pink ribbon into your hair. does that sound alright?"

powder seems to perk up at this, blue eyes going wide.

"ribbons?"

"yeah. you've got that pink streak going on."

"oh... okay. sure. knock yourself out."

she squeezes your hands, smiling.

[f1fantasys]

lando norris versace with 1 and 8 🙏🏻

I'M SO SORRY I haven't been posting much. Your girl has been busy BUT I'm backkk. Hopefully with a bang. Hope you enjoy this one!

Versace - exes hooking up1 - rough and filthy8 - in the shower

The breakup hadn't been messy at all. It was a mutual decision since you both had demanding jobs, and staying together would ruin whatever good was left of your relationship.

You were a mess initially, though you didn't let anyone see that side of you. You loved Lando so much and to suddenly not have him there whether it was physically or over a phone was one of the toughest things you'd been through. And what hurt more was how quickly he seemed to move on. A new girl on his arm every weekend in different countries.

Yes you had tried to go on a few dates but no one came even close to Lando. You found yourself comparing every guy to him, and half the time you made up an excuse to leave early, run home and drown in your sorrows.

So here you were, 6 months later, getting ready to go to Jimmyz for Carmen's 25th birthday. You tried to get out of it, knowing there was a high possibility of Lando being there, but she assured you he wasn't in town.

Still, you heart was hammering in your chest, nervous for whatever reason. It had been a while since you'd got proper dressed up and made an effort. You opted for a tight, lace, black mini dress that left little to the imagination, your cleavage threatening to spill out a any minute.

It was already 10p. And while you were waiting for Carmen & George to pick you up, you got a text that stopped your heartbeat. His name, popped up on your screen, for the first time in a long time.

Lan

Hey..y/n. Uhh this is random, but George is having car trouble (yes, car trouble in Monaco, that's what he said, don't @ me pls ;)) so he's asked me to pick you up. Be there in 10?

You couldn't help but smile at his humor, it was always one of your favorite traits of him.

But still, were you ready to see him? No. Did you have a choice? No

Before you let yourself think too much, you texted back.

Y/n

Car trouble for an f1 driver? lmao Sure, see you soon.

You gave yourself a few pep talks, hyping yourself up to be in close proximity, and alone, with your ex boyfriend whom you're still losing sleep over. Great start to the night, you thought.

Not 10 minutes later and there was a knock at your door. You gave yourself a once over in the long mirror by the front door, before unlocked it, pulling it open while holding your breath.

There he was, looking as handsome as ever. Dressed in a black shirt with the top buttons undone, backwards cap, slight stubble, piercing green eyes. You were swooning, your core clenching at nothing but just the sight of him.

You didn't miss how Lando's eyes shamelessly roamed your body, up and down, then back up again, licking his lips in the process. He stayed a few seconds too long on your cleavage before eventually clearing his throat and bringing his eyes back up to yours.

You both bore into each others' eyes, unable to tear your gazes away. You wanted to say something, but you were sure the words would get stuck in your throat.

All you managed to whisper was his name.

''Lando'' you said softly, biting your lip.

You didn't miss how Lando's jaw tightened and eyes darkened when his eyes caught sight of your plump lips between your teeth. And apparently that was enough to send him over the edge.

Before you could even respond, let alone comprehend what was happening, Lando had stepped forward, his hands on your shoulders as he pushed you backwards to the wall.

Your breath hitched in your throat, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body, and suddenly your legs were like jelly.

He held onto your shoulders, while yours took a hold of his biceps. His face was mere inches away from yours, his breath mixing with yours as you both were gasping for air, before he leaned slightly more forward, forehead bumping yours, nose nudging yours, lips ghosting over yours.

As if you could read each others minds, his eyes searched yours. ''Can I?'' he asked, voice deep and husky.

You quickly nodded your head, desperate, ready for whatever it was he was about to do, before his lips crashed into yours as his arms wrapped around your body, pulling you impossibly closer.

You cupped his face as your tongues battled each other in the heated kiss, spit already starting to mess your chins as Lando gave your bottom lip a few bites.

You immediately tasted the iron caused to flow freely through your mouth, whimpering when Lando continued attacking your lip with his teeth.

By now he was groping your ass, feeling the heat of his large hands through the barely there fabric of your dress.

Your hands traveled up to his hair, pulling and tugging on his precious curls as he now let our a series of his own whimpers.

You broke the sloppy kiss, desperate for air as your chest was heaving, giving Lando the opportunity to drag is mouth down to your neck and adorn it with wet kisses, biting and nipping at the sweet spots he hadn't forgotten.

You held back your moans, not wanting to let out just how desperate you were, when suddenly Lando pulled his head back, green eyes hazy but full of lust.

''Let me hear you'' he whispered, before resuming his antic on your neck while his hands slid to the straps of your dress and pushed them off your shoulders.

He groaned when he was met with your bra-less state. Your perky boobs on fully display, nipples already hardening with the cool air of your apartment.

''Fuck'' you heard him coo, more to himself, as you leaned down to connect your lips to kiss again, while he all but ripped the rest of your dress of your body.

You broke the kiss in an instant. ''Lan!"' you shrieked, but he smirked back at you.

''Don't ''Lan'' me'' he said, eyes scanning your body, lingering at the sight of your glistening pussy, dripping, clenching around nothing.

You should have done the right thing and stopped things from going any further. But do you listen to your head or your heart? The latter won out.

You quickly fumbled with Lando's shirt buttons, ridding it off his body as your hands explored his taunt muscles and V-line, before settling on his belt.

''Not yet'' he mumbled, already leaning down to latch his mouth onto your left nipple, your hands wrapping around his head again, lewd moans leaving your mouth as he butchered both your nipples.

Your chest was heaving, mind unable to form any words, except for a few that were to beg him. ''Lan, please'' you managed, pulling at his curls to get his attention.

He locked lips with you once again in a gentle, tender kiss, unlike how the last few minutes unfolded, before he hoisted you up over his shoulder, making a beeline for your room.

Not expecting him to walk into your bathroom, you hissed when he set your ass down on the cool tiles. Lando stepped between your legs and once again, you both stared into each others' souls. He took his time and let his eyes linger on your plump lips, already bruised with the destruction he gave them, while your eyes studied the scar on his nose.

You couldn't help but reach out and let your finger waltz over it, giggling when you thought back to how he'd even gotten it in the first place.

Lando couldn't keep his chuckle in either, and even if it was just for 30 seconds, the whole world faded away and it was just the two of you in your little bubble again.

But things quickly heated up again when Lando bit his lip as you finally took a hold of his belt again, and using your feet you dragged his jeans down his legs, leaving him in only his boxers.

Both your breaths were staggered again, anticipation growing between the pair of you.

Just as you were about to rid him of his boxers, Lando firmly took a few steps back, before leaning forward on his hands, head now in tow with your cunt, as he spread your legs open and wasted no time in nuzzling his face through your folds.

His actions had you gasping of hair, hands latching onto his head again as he took a deep breath in, taking in your own scent of his favorite part of you.

Lando's tongue poked out of his mouth, licking a hot strip up your cunt which had your back arching, hips bucking into his face and it wasn't long until he was lapping at you, suckling and nibbling through your juices.

You let out a series of dirty moans, grunting whenever he bit down too hard on your clit before soothing it with his tongue and blowing lightly on it.

''Missed this so much, my dirty little pussy'' he said, breath increasing with each taste he got of you.

''Lan, fuck baby, so good. Feels so good'' you moaned, already feeling the warmth build up in your stomach.

Lando knew you were close, and to tip you over the edge he let two of his fingers slide through your hole, curling them at just the right time to hit your G-spot as you squeezed your eyes shut and bit down on your lips, surely drawing blood but what the man was doing to you was surely going to end you. It felt amazing.

''Let it out'' you heard him say, somewhere at the back of your mind, and when he bought one hand up to pull at your nipples, your orgasm ripped through you in waves, your body shuddering in his arms as you came all over his face.

He didn't slow his movements though. Lando knew how much you could take, and so he didn't pull away until you came again. He stood back up, lips and chin glistening with juices as your hooded eyes took him in before pulling him closer to taste yourself on his lips.

You moaned into the kiss. ''Hmm, Lan, please'' you begged as he finally started lowering his boxers, stepping back to step out of them.

You couldn't help but lick your lips at the sight of his thick girth, bouncing around before standing tall and hard, angry.

Deciding you needed to taste him, you started sliding off the counter to sink onto your knees before Lando turned around and turned the shower on, leaving you staring with your mouth agape at his ass.

You didn't even realize you were staring until he cleared his throat with a smirk on his face. ''Éarth to y/n'' he said, taking your hands and helping you into the hot spray of the shower.

For a moment you both just stood there, holding each other. Your mind was racing, shocked at the quick turn of events, and as much as you wanted to continue, you had to take some time for your brain to catch up to what was happening.

You looked up and Lando, heart clenching at how beautiful he looked. The water soaking up his gorgeous curls which were now stuck to his forehead, the way it traveled down his perfectly contoured cheeks and jaw, and onto his thick neck that always made your legs quiver just by looking at it.

''Lando, I-''

''I know'' he said, cutting your sentence short, voice husky but weary.

You could feel tears start to prickle the corners of your eyes so you squeezed them shut.

''I know, baby'' he started again, tucking your hair behind your ear. ''But this feels so...right''

The nickname caught you off guard even thought it wasn't the first time he'd said it since he came.

''We can talk later. But for now..let me..yeah?'' he softly asked, hands already trailing over your back and ass.

Finally, you gave in, nodding your head. Because as much as you needed to talk, you also needed him in more ways that that.

That was all Lando needed to see before he pushed you flat against the wall, his hands cupping your face and kissing you hard and dirty again, sloppy, with an intent to ruin you.

And you weren't complaining. The second he had you sandwiched between him and the wall you felt his dick twitching against your stomach, so you quickly took him in your hands and started pumping him, all the while clenching your thighs together.

''Fuck me, please'' you begged as Lando's fingers found your core again, sliding them through your folds as you saw him smirk.

''What?'' you pressed.

He shook his head before chuckling. ''Just forgot how wet you are when you're needy'' he teased.

You gasped, ''I am not needy!'' you protested, though your face gave you away.

''Oh, so you're not wet for me? Not dripping for me?'' he asked, before plunging two fingers through your hole again, any words you were about to throw at him caught in your throat as you let out a lewd moan.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and leaned down to take one of his nipples into your mouth. Lando hissed at your actions. ''Fuck me'' he said, speeding up his fingers that were thrusting through your cunt.

''You could feel another orgasm approaching quickly, and you were getting more and more desperate to feel his dick slide through you.

''Lando please, need y..need you in me, fuck'' you mumbled.

''Patience baby, just stretching you out for me, yeah?'' he asked, and your mind spiraled at the thought of how big his dick was.

At that you came all over his fingers, gritted teeth as you praised his name while Lando slowed his fingers before pulling them out of you.

He brought his hand up to your mouth and pushed them in, watching with hooded eyes as you sucked them clean of your juices, moaning at the taste of yourself.

His eyes softened for a split second, ''gonna let me fuck you baby?'' he asked, in that god damn husky voice that had your trembling with anticipation in his arms.

You were sure no words would come out of your mouth if you tried to talk, so you just nodded your head like a eager one you were.

He smiled at that as he pumped himself a few times, pre-cum already oozing out of his tip.

Lando lifted your one leg to wrap around his waist as he lined himself up at your entrance, his eyes searched yours for consent as you nodded again, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss as he slid into your cunt with a forceful thrust.

The both of you breaking your kiss to grunt at the feeling of him filling you up to perfectly as Lando stayed still for a few seconds to allow your core to accept the intrusion.

''Fuck me, please'' you panted as you gave hum the go-ahead.

Lando pulled out of you completely, hissing at the loss of contact before he slammed back into you. Then back out, and in again, setting a relentless pace.

He slumped his body forward on yours as he fucked in and out, hard and rough.

''Fucking hell y/n, so tight baby. Clea-clearly didn't fuck you enough when we were together'' he said.

That was a lie, you both knew it.

The water was starting to turn cooler, but neither of you gave a fuck.

You could feel your walls start to clench painfully around his dick, pornographic moans leaving your mouth as Lando was getting all the right spots inside of you, showing you no mercy.

You lost it when his hand reached up and wrapped around your throat, gently squeezing it. His action had your orgasm taking over your body, shaking in his arms as your liquid coated his dick in a milky white cover.

Lando looked down to see exactly that, and he groaned at the sight, edging closer to his own orgasm as he picked up his pace even more so.

''Fuck, Lando. So good. Baby you're so big. God'' you moaned as you bit down on his shoulder.

Your legs were full on jelly now, so he hoisted you up, wrapping both your legs around his torso, continuing to pound into you.

''M' close Lan'' you said, not even the slightest bit embarrassed at how quickly your orgasms were washing over your body.

''Let it out babygirl'' he cooed, latching his lips to yours.

You could feel his cock start to twitch inside you, Lando seconds away from exploding as he bought his one hand down to toy at your clit, sending you into an array of filthy moans once again.

''Oh..I- fuck, baby'' you mumbled, before you were cumming again, violently so, all over Lando again.

'''Fucking hell. Where do you want it?'' he asked.

''In me, please. Cum inside of me Lan'' you said quickly, too quickly for your liking.

And within seconds Lando was emptying his load deep inside your cunt. His warm juices filling you up as he gently placed you back down and pulled out of you.

You both stood there, eyes hooded and chests heaving at what you'd just done. Lando turned the now cold water off, leaning his hands on the wall behind you for support as you were still latched to his shoulders.

You looked down and saw a milky white streak making it's way out of your cunt and down you thigh. And when Lando followed your eyes to see what you were looked at, he was quick to collect the sticky liquid off your thigh and plunge his fingers inside your cunt with no warning.

''Fuck Lan!'' you almost jumped at the unexpected thrust, cunt already sensitive.

He smirked up at you. ''You said 'in you', yeah?''

You brain short circuited, clenching your thighs together.

Lando helped you out the shower and dried both of your naked bodies off before hoisting you over his shoulder and carrying you to your bedroom, plopping you down on the bed.

The air should have been charged with awkwardness, but it was anything but that. Your brain, still fucked out, quickly came back down to earth and you gasped.

''Carmen, birthday, club?'' you said, looking at your phone which was flooded with calls and messages. One stood out.

Carmen

Well, since neither you or Lando are answering, I'm taking this as two exes fucking. Enjoy...and you owe me ;)

Lando giggled as he looked over your shoulder, and suddenly it dawned on you that were both still naked.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Lando's member, still hard as fuck. And suddenly were 'weren't sore anymore'.

Lando must have caught on to what you were gawking at, and so he came to stand right in front of where you were sitting on the bed - cock in line with your eyes.

Your cheeks flushed, and you couldn't bare to look up at him, knowing he was smirking down at you.

You watched as his dick sprang around with his movements, Lando gently collecting your hair out of your face and holding it in make shift ponytail.

Finally, reaching forward, Lando bucking into your hand as you spread the few beads of pre cum around his tip.

''Fuck me'' he whispered, watching intently as you leaned forward and let your tongue run the length of his shaft, spending more time than needed suckling on the vein bulging out, before you took his tip in, sucking at it harshly.

''That mouth of yours'' you heard him mumble as you squeezed your legs closer together.

He'd had enough of your teasing though, so Lando held the back of your neck with one hand as his other guided his dick through your lips and as far deep into your mouth as he could.

You gagged instantly, hands flying to hold onto his thighs as he fucked himself in and out of your mouth, letting out a series of moans and grunts, praising your name.

''Ug, fuck, y/n, that's it baby, taking me so good. Gonna be my slut again, yeah?'' he asked as you moaned around him.

It wasn't long until you felt him start to twitch, his movements getting sloppier and grunts getting louder.

''Not gonna last y.n, where?'' he asked.

He should have known though. You took a long of his balls now, pulling and tugging at them as you pumped the part of his cock that couldn't fit into your mouth, and in no time you felt the warm splutter of his thick cum shoot down throat.

''Fucking hell baby'' he mumbled as he pulled out, leaning down to kiss you in a messy make out session that had your spit and his cum messing both your faces.

''Need to fuck you again. But just give me a few minutes yeah?'' he asked, already pumping himself to get hard again.

Not 10 minutes later, and Lando was hovering above you, pushing his dick through your cunt again, making you cum twice before emptying his load into you.

After cleaning you both up, your lazy state pulled Lando into bed and cuddled him. You could talk in the morning, or so you thought.

Because you woke up the next day with his face between your legs, his tongue lapping at your pussy as you grabbed his hair and pulled at it, vulgar moans leaving your lips.

He looked up at you when you stirred awake, before hovering over you, letting all his weight fall on your body as he kissed you, tongue pushing into your mouth while his hands settled on your boobs.

After a lazy make out session, he finally pulled back. ''Ride me?'' he asked, eyes dark.

You scoffed but smiled at him. ''I know you just want to see my boobs bounce around'' you said, already pushing him off you so you could straddle his body.

''Guilty'' he smirked, hands already tugging at your nipples.

You reached behind your ass to take Lando's hard girth, pumping him a few times before lifting yourself slightly to slide him in.

You both groaned at the feeling, fitting together perfectly as you stayed sitting on him for a few moments.

Lando kept his eyes on yours, holding a familiar sense of security and trust, but you quickly pushed that thought to the back of your mind because you still had to talk.

Instead you focused on your task. You steadied your hands on his shoulders and started to move, up and down, quickly setting a hard and rough pace, fucking yourself on his pole as you watched him, mouth agape, his eyes trained on your boobs that were literally bouncing with each thrust of yours.

''Oh..my fuck. Missed this fucking view'' he mumbled, his hands digging into the flesh of your hips as you rode him like your life depended on it.

''Lan'' you grunted, already feeling your orgasm approaching.

''That's it babygirl, doing so well for me. Riding me like the fucking pro that you are'' he said, bringing his hand down to toy at your clit.

''Lan you feel so good, so big, fuck, fill me up, please'' you begged.

''Gonna fill you up for the rest of my life, baby'' he whispered over the sounds of your moaning.

You looked at him and allowed yourself to imagine a future of waking up like this everyday, tears threatening to run down your face as he cupped you.

''I'm serious. Not letting you go. I still love you so much y/n'' he said, and with that your tears spilled over, and so did your cum, oozing out of you and coating his dick.

''I love you too Lan'' you said leaning down to give him a sloppy kiss as you picked up your pace again, desperate to make him cum.

''Fuck, nearly there'' he said. The air charged with an anticipation of what was to come as you both beamed at each other.

You purposely clenched your walls around him, and within seconds Lando was shooting thick loads of cum through your pussy, praising your name.

Normally you'd have ridden him through it, but this time you wasting no time in climbing off him and taking his cum coated dick into your mouth, moaning at the taste of both your juices mixed.

''Fucking hell, y/n''

….and that was how the rest of your lives started 🩷

[alchemistc]

Part One

The loft is sadly undecorated. He'd tried, is the thing. Gone to the same novelty store they'd found on a random walk after a date, in late September, where Tommy had spent twenty minutes worrying a foam pumpkin in his hands while Buck tried to decide what sort of decor would fit his utilitarian loft.

They'd spent so long lingering over the sculpted white candles, Buck thrilled because Tommy's straight face broke every time Buck pointed out which ones looked like incredibly expensive dildos, that he'd felt bad enough to buy a whole set of them just to appease the girl at the counter who'd been watching them with a half annoyed, half wistful expression while Buck made a comment about dragons that had had Tommy biting his lip so hard he'd actually gone red in the face trying to hold the laughter in.

But every time he'd picked up a glass tree and thought how much fun it'd be to try to make Tommy go full Tik Tok Paramedic on him, every time he'd found something soft or plush enough that Tommy wouldn't have been able to resist running his fingers over it, plucking it up to toss it between his palms - well.

It wasn't like there'd be anyone in his loft long enough to really appreciate his decorations.

"Why'd you kiss me?" he asks, rounding on Tommy as Tommy takes a tentative step towards the kitchen.

"You were being annoying." At Buck's look, he elaborates. "Force of habit."

The finger comes up without any input from Buck, his voice tipping into that same flirty, bickering rapport he'd always pushed as far as he could. "I knew you did it to shut me up."

Tommy expression shutters. He recognizes Buck's tone. A few months ago that tone would start with a round of banter that usually ended with at least one of them with their pants around their ankles.

He looks spooked. He's staring at the island stool closest to the door like he's replaying the last conversation they had here, and Buck feels all his ire rear back up.

"You promised me clarity, Tommy." It's an accusation, and they both know it, because he looks ready to fucking bolt.

Slowly, he steps in. Half a yard closer to Buck, close enough to curl his hand over the island, and Buck is struck again by how goddamn unfair it is that Tommy looks this goddamn good in a suit.

"I did."

Buck's pretty sure he has some muffins he hasn't frozen yet that wouldn't actually damage Tommy, if he threw them at him.

"Can we...?" He gestures, vague as his half a question, and Buck wants to throttle him. Or kiss him again, which is -

"I need a beer. You?"

Tommy sighs. His grip on the corner of the island makes his knuckles go white. "Evan."

"No beer, got it." He swings the door open and doesn't wait for the reaction to either his snippy little rejoinder or the stacks and stacks of baked goods filling up the shelves of his fridge. He pops the cap with his back still turned, let's the fridge door fall closed. "Not like you drove here, but sure. One of us should be sober, I guess."

The switch back to Evan doesn't do anything for him at all.

Buck leans back against the counter and tries not to think about how he'd had this half formed idea of getting a real tree this year, finding some novelty kiosk that made those hokey ornaments for people to mark the years they'd been a family. He'd thought -

Tommy blinks guiltily when Buck catches him eyeing the way he fills out his slacks, a toe to groin drift of his gaze that makes Buck ache for when he could respond to that by dropping to his knees.

"That's a lot of bread," Tommy notes, eyes focused somewhere over Buck's shoulder.

"Why'd you break up with me, Tommy?"

Tommy freezes. Shifts from foot to foot. Sighs, and takes a few steps to the fridge, swings it open to grab a beer of his own. It's still the stuff Tommy likes. Buck's not picky, really, and it'd been habit to grab the six pack he always kept for Tommy.

The last five times he'd restocked.

Tommy takes half a step back to lean against the island, just off center from Buck, so they both have to twist their necks just a little to actually look at each other.

"You terrify me," Tommy murmurs, a few swigs in, when the silence is just starting to make Buck's skin itch. "Evan, I'm not -." He grimaces, frustrated. "I'm not some Super Gay who fights for justice and equality and the ability to make horrible television with Hummel doll sopranists."

"I don't know what that means."

Tommy's smile is wry. He'd had a running list of movies Buck's never seen on a note on his phone - every time Buck missed a reference, he'd added it to the list. They'd gotten through maybe twenty before -

"I led on a good woman for years because I convinced myself I could live my life ignoring a huge piece of myself. I hurled slurs with my buddies just to make sure no one noticed me. I fed into every toxic stereotype I could just to avoid anyone realizing I wasn't one of them. I'm not - I'm not some Gold Star Gay, paragon of the community. I didn't do shit. And even when I made the decision to let myself just be who I always was, I waited until no one in my life was close enough to me to question that I hadn't always been this way. I -." He winces. Shakes his head. "I run instead of fighting. I hide every time someone tries to see me. I'm not - this comfort you're so convinced I have I took at the cost of other people who were braver and stronger than I could ever be. Do you - is that an admirable quality, to you?"

Buck wishes they'd sat, like Tommy seemed to have been hinting at. He wishes he'd spent the ride over preparing himself for this, instead of stopping himself from crawling into Tommy's lap and getting a horrible rider rating for his trouble. He wishes -

"Do you think I don't already know all those things about you?"

It's - actually, it makes him a little furious, to think that Tommy spent six months thinking he'd successfully hid all those things from Buck. And - sure, he hadn't exactly been forthcoming about more than a few of those things, but like -

It wasn't like Buck didn't actively find ways to pry stories from Howie and Hen, even Bobby on occasion. It wasn't like Buck hadn't noticed the clipped way Tommy spoke of his past, his family, always tucking away more than he revealed. It wasn't like Buck wasn't well aware that Tommy Kinard had the capacity to be a total fucking asshole, if he wanted. Just because he'd kept it cool around Buck, made it just flirty enough for plausible deniability -

"You deserve better than that. Than me."

"Then be better than that, Tommy." It's not the best way to get his point across, but... "I've had multiple serious relationships, Tommy. I'm - I've been in love, before, and I've had my heart broken before, and I've had my trust broken before, and I've made people I love feel like shit. You weren't new and exciting, Tommy, we were - we were boring and domestic and it was the best six months of my life. It was what I -."

And this, of course, is where the words start to crest over, too many at once while his mouth tries to keep up and his throat is too tight to -

He swallows. Stares at his toes until his vision swims. Maybe those are tears, or maybe he's just stared long enough to go cross-eyed. His throat feels like he might be able to scrape a few words out

"I go too fast sometimes. I - I get scared I'm falling behind and so I clear a few hurdles too fast to catch back up and it -." Frustration rises through him as he remembers the way Tommy had levered himself up, spun away, broken things off without even a hint of the careful consideration Buck had grown so used to. "And you just - you tell me you want more than anything to be my last but you can't even give me the closure of a clean break! What the hell was that about?"

"Evan, I -."

"No! Okay, no. It's my turn to - it's my turn to be mad. It's my turn to - do you know how lonely I've been? How - how much I'm in my own head about where I went wrong, and what I could have done differently, and why you won't just fucking text me when you clearly want to? Do you know - do you know what it's like to think you've finally found something worth the humiliation of being known and then have it vanish in a single night? Over - you never talked to me about any of the shit you brought up that night, Tommy! You never - if you were so scared of not being enough to keep me interested, or so sure you weren't a good enough man, or so sure I couldn't possibly know what I wanted out of this, you could have saved us a hell of a lot of time and - and hurt by not being exactly the person I thought I could spend the rest of my life with! If that was all a - a smokescreen, some act, then why did you - are you actually so cruel that you convinced me we were falling in love while you had one foot out the door the whole time?"

Tommy's grip on the bottle looks painful.

"It's your turn to talk," Buck snipes, and he takes a little satisfaction in the way Tommy blanches. Just a little. Just enough to ignore how much he wants to rip Tommy's suit jacket at the straining shoulder seams and bite a bruise into that spot below his collarbone that even Tommy's undershirts hid well enough to keep the team at Harbor from putting him on blast for coming to work covered in hickeys.

"Six months with you was more devastating than two decades of hiding who I was, Evan," Tommy says, and it's a horrible opening that makes Buck feel like he's being drawn and quartered but he'd given Tommy the floor, so -

Tommy's eyes are a little too misty to call them anything but welling, and Buck hates it as much as it satisfies the pieces of himself he's spent weeks trying to pick up and glue back together.

"Evan, I lived with Abby for years and I don't think I saw her as much as I saw you. You -." He swipes a hand through his hair, and rustles one of his Superman curls loose to drape tauntingly over his forehead. Buck wants to bite him. He wants it to hurt. "You burrowed in and you just kept digging and I didn't take a second to question it until it was too late."

"Too late for what?"

"For me to take the cowards way out and leave before it hurt."

"Maybe I should have dug further," Buck snaps, and Tommy's gaze flits to his. Holds, for the first time all night. He's breathtaking in the best and worst way possible. He's spent weeks now trying to imagine anyone else ever making him feel the way prolonged eye contact with this man makes him feel.

"You did," Tommy admits, a confession that sounds like it's been gut punched right out of him. "You still -." Another grimace, Tommy pulling back, pulling away, hiding, running, and Buck can't -

"So what is this, Tommy? Is this - are you -?" He shakes his head to clear the cobwebs. Rears up, pushes off the counter, and Tommy's eyes widen like he's just now realized he doesn't have an easy exit. Buck just stands there, though. "If this is it, let this be it. If you don't want - if you're not willing to fight for this with me, tell me now. I know I'm - I know I'm a lot. I know I push for more when I'm scared. I know I'm overwhelming, and I sometimes can't stop talking to save my life, and I know I'm jealous and petty and - I know I'm not perfect."

Tommy sets his bottle on the counter beside him. Worries his lip between his teeth and rolls his jaw.

"You snore. You're a bitch sometimes and every once in a while it's not even charming. You hog all the covers and then you complain that it's too hot. You're vague about every single thing in your past that you think makes you seem like a bad person. You always think food needs more garlic and sometimes you're wrong. Sometimes when I spiral you just give me that stupid indulgent smile of yours and I know you stopped listening two reddit threads ago. When you're grumpy sometimes it takes everything in me not to pick a fight because you're such an asshole. You get cagey every time I pick at a thread you don't want to unravel and I - I hate it. I wanted a life with you and you couldn't stick around long enough to tell me why you were too afraid to go for it. So if - if you think I'm seeing you with rose colored glasses, or whatever. If you think I'm not - if you think being the first guy makes you too special for this to be real then just..." He sucks in a breath. Blows it out through his nose and feels the ache in his chest that's half remnants of his earlier panic attack and half fear that Tommy will actually turn and walk out at the end of this. "If you don't wanna fight for this I'll fill in the hole I dug as best I can and I'll leave you alone, okay?"

The look on Tommy's face is one he's never seen before. They've done this dance, or parts of it, at least. Tommy'd left him outside Micelli's, breathless and confused and aching, before he ever knew what it was like to hold his hand, to press his nose into the join of his neck and shoulder, to curl a hand in his hair or be filled by him - with attention, with affection, with the weight of his body and the stretch of his cock. Even then, this had felt different. Real, in a way the misty edges of his time with Abby, or the way Buck's puzzle pieces had never quite fit with Taylor's had never been. Even then, he'd just wanted so desperately to know and be known by Tommy that he'd taken his second chance and run with it.

"I don't snore," Tommy says, when the silence gets too heavy, and Buck - god, Buck has missed that tone, the snappy little tilt of his head, the blatant lie that passes over Tommy's lips so smoothly it's hard to tell sometimes that he's not being serious.

"I have audio proof," Buck says, and then doesn't immediately admit that he'd played it on a loop two nights into the breakup when he'd wrapped his entire body around the spare pillows on his bed and still hadn't been able to sleep alone in his bed.

"It bugs me that you spent days following scraps of information about a dead outlaw you convinced yourself cursed you, but you didn't even know what a Kinsey scale was."

This is - progress. This is... not Tommy bolting.

"I'm a two. If that's - is that, like, gay enough for you, or...?"

"You go too fast for me, Buckley," he says, and Buck knows that's a fucking reference to something he doesn't have context for just as well as he knows he's willing to spend the next decade waiting for the reference to pop up on Tommy's list. It's a terrifying, exhilarating thought and it's probably exactly what Tommy means.

"I can slow down," Buck says, and he tries to mean it. Nothing about how he feels about Tommy is slow.

"I don't want you to," Tommy admits, and then lets the silence stretch. They're two and a half feet away from each other and the distance feels like the farthest he's ever been from Tommy and the closest he may ever be again. "Living together, making a life together..." He swallows. "Marriage." That stops him short just long enough to recall how he'd blazed right past the I love you and straight into how he could keep Tommy. "You scare the shit out of me every goddamn minute of every goddamn day and I've never missed being terrified as much as I have since I walked out that door."

"I'm in love with you," Buck tells him, and Tommy blinks back tears. Takes a shaky breath and nods.

"That's what scares me. It's never - it's never been enough, before."

He'd sort of expected this to end with either the echo of his KitchenAid or a frantic rush up the stairs, but when Tommy meets him halfway all he does is sink his nose into the curls behind Buck's ear and breathe.

His arms drag Buck closer, his feet shuffle beneath them, his chin hooks over Buck's shoulder and he breathes, and breathes, and breathes.

---

"Your morning breath is rancid," Tommy tells him, palm centered on Buck's nose when he leans in for a kiss, pads of his fingers curled just slightly so that his hand is nearly encasing Buck's entire face. He wants to be annoyed but it's mind numbingly hot and Buck has missed it. Missed the snark, and the comfortable way Tommy will shoot him down when his head is in the clouds, and exactly how fucking large Tommy is.

"I'm so tired of avocado toast," Buck bats back, and Tommy is distracted enough by his need to make a face at that for Buck to swoop in and press a kiss to his cheek. He makes sure to make it a little wet just to watch Tommy's face crinkle in mock disgust.

He's in one of Buck's hoodies, is wearing the pair of his own sweats Buck had buried in the back of his closet in a fit of pique three days post breakup. He still looks properly debauched and Buck wants to drag him right back to bed.

Except -

"You don't have to go," Buck repeats, for the fifth time since he brought it up somewhere between peeling Tommy out of his suit pants and rolling out of bed to warm a hand towel under the sink so that Tommy could clean the cum off his abs. "But I need to shower and leave in like - twenty-seven minutes."

Tommy catches him by the waist and drags him in. "I won't be able to stay. You baked and I took as much holiday overtime as I could, but if you seriously want me there -."

"I seriously want you everywhere."

Tommy raises a brow.

"I mean that in a horny way and a codependent way."

Tommy snorts. "Good to know we're approaching this in a healthy manner."

"You told me not to slow down," Buck reminds him, and he gets a smack to his ass for his trouble.

"When Maddie pulls me aside, do you think she'll just slip me a poisoned glass of wine, or is she gonna get up on a step stool and make me stand there while she strangles me to death?"

"She won't do that." Buck leans in again, rolls a loose curl between two fingers. "She'll just stab you in the middle of the kitchen and warn my parents not to step in the blood."

"That's comforting."

Tommy takes a utilitarian shower in the downstairs bathroom and doesn't let Buck join him, and then rifles through Buck's closet until he finds all three of his button downs Buck had tucked away.

He has to borrow a pair of Buck's slacks and Buck absolutely does not mind that his ass is definitely gonna stretch them out.

With about seventy seconds to spare, Tommy presses Buck to his front door and kisses him just long enough to screw up Buck's meticulous timing - by the time he pulls back and gives Buck enough room to glance at the time on his stove, Buck knows they're gonna hit just enough red lights to make them late.

"I love you too, by the way," Tommy murmurs, and just this once, Buck decides not to be a brat about being five minutes late.

[gender-is-fake]

Witch? Sylviinae wrinkled her nose at the official-looking men in official-looking robes. She had never thought herself to be a witch. Witches had warts and summoned demons and did alchemy. Sylviinae had never done any of those things. Not that she had any say over it. She was muscled out of the room into the arms of the tiefling that had apprehended her in the first place. As much as this place had stripped her of her freedoms, she was glad she’d been put back under his supervision. He was calm, never yelled, and slow to anger.

“I am not witch,” Sylviinae murmured in her rich Sylvan accent. She repeated the phrase in her tongue, as if it would communicate the proper meaning even to someone that didn’t speak the language. “Níl witch mé.”

Tief gave her a smile with a condescending hook. “Not a witch? Then what do you think you are?”

“Is mage,” she said, pronouncing it as mahg-uh. “Pyromancer. I don’t know. Word does not exist.” She was having trouble explaining her situation. What she wanted to say was that she was a magic user, but that it wasn’t special. Most people she knew used magic. Perhaps that was unusual here.

“A witch is anyone who practices magic without formal training,” Tief said. “Isn’t that what you are?” She scoffed.

“I had teacher,” Sylviinae explained. “Old. Very wise. He worked in my home. At my home.” She gritted her teeth, very annoyed that she didn’t know what preposition was right. “Not my house… just, my home. He hid at the woods. He took me as student only.”

“In the woods where you lived?” Sylviinae started to nod and then shook her head.

“Very close. Different wood from my closest home.” Sylvie stepped over to the wall, pointing at bricks.

“Shadowglow,” she said, pointing at one chiseled stone close to her right hand. “Very dark. No sun. I was raised in this.” Then she pointed two bricks to the left, and one down. “Fairliina. I went far, at Shadowglow I was to this place.” Sylviinae grew more excited, tapping at other stones nearby. “This is Goldtrim, from where my father came. Lilycove, where mermaids live. Kokoackea, a city in the sky…”

“Sylviinae…” Tief said, with a slight grin as she pointed to different stones. “None of these places exist.” Sylviinae frowned at that and glared at Tief.

“Have you been to every place?” She asked.

Tief looked perplexed by her question. “I’ve been to many countries.”

“Not country,” Sylviinae sighed. It frustrated Sylviinae. She had studied the Common tongue in school. She knew what place meant. She knew she was using the word right. But he still seemed confused. “Have you been to every place?” She said it slowly to get her meaning across.

“No,” he admitted, though still seemed confused by her meaning. She shook her head and clicked her tongue. If he didn’t even understand the question, then surely he had not been to every place. She jabbed her index finger at him.

“Then you do not know the realness of my home. Where I am from, we are not witches. Magic is not a job that you learn. Magic is what we are.”

The door to the official-looking room with official-looking people swung open. There was a woman in the frame. She sported golden robes and long white hair tied up in such a way that Sylviinae thought it looked like smoke billowing from her scalp.

“It is a delight to meet you, Sylvie,” she said. Her tongue butchered her name. Was it so hard to say one last syllable? “I am the local authority on Mages’ Guild training program. We see much potential in reforming your magic. You will be joining our Artillery Division. And Tief… you have been promoted from Pithy Squadron General. You will be going with her.”

"She's a witch! Send her to the Mages' Guild so she can get formal education!"

[reidrum]

santa doesn't know you like i do

note: i posted and deleted this a few days ago cuz i didn't like it but i read it again and it kinda helped with how i'm feeling rn. if the holidays are a difficult time for you i hope spencer can help a little, and i'm hugging you super tightly! merry christmas/happy holidays bffs always so grateful to have you around 🎄🫂

summary: in which the holiday blues hit you harder than you expect, and spencer is there for you

cw: angst, unspecified family trauma, hurt/comfort no hurt, indirect mentions of depression around holidays, reader is just kinda going through it

wc: 1.3k

Grief is a fickle feeling. Even more so because you’re not exactly mourning the loss of anyone, but simply a fraction of who you used to be.

There was a younger you who shined with radiance and hope, to only be dulled by the world and its harsh dealings as you grew older. It’s hard to say what you would change if given the chance for a redo, for the causation of it all acted more as a fungus growing through the roots of a tree, slowly spreading and weakening its base unknowingly, rather than an abrupt chop of an axe to the trunk.

You can’t really be blamed for how you feel—wounds will heal but memories don’t.

The snow falls gently on you as you sit on a bench in the park, the flakes dissolving onto your clothes as you gaze off at the families ice skating in the rink not too far from you. In particular, you’re watching a father hold his young daughter’s hand, she can’t be more than four years old, as they skate across the rink. You watch them smile as they both tumble down, giggling and pointing at who was the culprit. It was the daughter’s, but you watch as the father shoulders the faux blame and places her back on her skate covered feet. In the distance you see the mother holding her phone up with a fond look in her eyes as she captures the core memory.

The cognitive dissonance rings loudly within you as your heart clenches at the sight. You were loved. You are loved. There are people who love you—present tense. It doesn’t stop you from wondering how you would’ve turned out if you were loved, past tense.

Your vision gets blurry the longer you stare off. You don’t even noticing the sound of snow crunching getting louder until it stops just an inch from you, a voice speaking up a moment later, “I thought I’d find you here,”

You raise your head up to meet Spencer’s amber eyes, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets and brows furrowed in concern that peek out just below his beanie.

He sits down next to you, “It’s cold.”

You shrug mindlessly. He undoes the scarf around his neck and drapes it around you, removing his beanie to place on your head after.

After a beat you mumble, “Thanks.”

He nods again, “How long have you been here?” 

Spencer knows it had to have been some time. He came home from the office a few hours ago to your open faced phone on the mail table, the screen showing a few missed calls from your family, and your shoes missing from their place near the door. 

You’re honestly not even sure yourself, after seeing the calls your feet started to move on their own and as a form of sadistic punishment brought you to the park to watch the happy families enjoy their holidays.

“Not sure.”

Spencer is no stranger to estranged familial relationships, hell he could have another degree in it if they made them. While he understands the hesitancy you have with opening up, he’s still trying his hardest to show you that you can be vulnerable in his company, that he won’t weaponize your feelings and use them against you.

“You could’ve told me.”

“I don’t need anything.” you whisper defensively, “I can handle it by myself.”

He doesn’t even flinch at your snap. “Angel,” 

“Don’t.” you sniffle.

He sighs sadly, “I know.”

You know that he knows. For all the sorrow you’ve chalked up for yourself, Spencer could and most likely would match you. You suppose that’s why you felt drawn to each other—two birds learning to fly with clipped wings.

The colder days make the loneliness stand out more, so when it was blatantly obvious neither of you had plans for Thanksgiving the year prior, you had decided to spend it together. Unknowingly, you’d both planted the root of a beautiful friendship that turned into a loving relationship. Holiday seasons spent together turned into permanent company on birthdays and special occasions in the future, and warmth to last you for years to come.

He scoots closer to you and wraps an arm around your shoulders tugging you into him, “Look at me.”

When he doesn’t see you move your eyes from the rink to him, he places two fingers on your chin and gently averts your head up, “Hi, sweet girl.”

Tears sting the backs of your eyes as you try to make your voice not wobble, “Hi.”

He smiles softly, “You know I love you, right?”

“Spencer—“

“Because I get the feeling you’re forgetting, and we can’t have that.” he talks low, “It’s important to me that you know how much I love you.”

You sigh, eyes softening. “I know.” You look back out to the rink and see that the mother has joined her family on the ice, Spencer follows your gaze there and feels his heart tighten. He knows what you want, what you’ve longed for, for too many years. It’s why you come to this bench every year during the winter. When you see what could have been, you’re only reminded of what happened to you instead.

Spencer breaks you out of your headspace. “That’ll be us one day.” he says softly.

Spencer isn’t sure if you know about the life he longs for with you. How he dreams of warm beds filled with you, getting to come home to you everyday. How one day, maybe you’ll have kids who come running into your room at five in the morning screaming about opening Christmas presents, and he’ll get to roll over and press a kiss to your forehead, pulling you closer as the kids snuggle up with you both. Maybe you’ll even take them ice skating one day.

You chuckle sadly in disbelief, “You don’t know that.”

“Of course I do,” he looks back down at you, “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” he lightly jokes.

“I know.”

“I don’t think you want to.”

“I don’t think I deserve you.”

That stops him in his tracks. “Why do you say that?”

You pause, “I—I don’t know how to be loved, or how to love. Any concept of it I had is bullshit and it’s tainted and the thought of even passing that on to children—“

“Hey. Slow down.” he placates, “Sweetheart, you are worthy of love. You may not be used to it, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it. If our children have even half the amount of love you have, they’ll turn out to be amazing humans. The way you love is so special.”

You stare at him in shock. Did he really say our children? You mumble, “Our children…”

He hums quizzically, “What?”

“You said our children, do you…think about that? With…me?”

“All the time,” he beams, “I think about it all with you.”

The familiar sting of tears returns, “All of it?”

“All of it,” he pulls you closer, “Marriage, kids, everything. Not to freak you out but I have the next twenty years of our lives planned.”

He finally gets a real laugh out of you, and he really couldn’t be more proud of himself. While you may just be a result of your circumstances, here is Spencer who is quite literally ready to spend decades with you recreating new memories. He wants a life with you. He wants every part of it, and he’ll happily help you through your rough patches when you need him. He is in love, you’re his best friend, and that is all he needs. You’ve never known a love like this, but Spencer will be here to show you that you will always be loved.

You hug him tightly and return your gaze back to the little girl skating with her father, The sight is no longer something you long for, but something you wait for.

[helioooss]

isolation caved in, i adore you; the sound of your skin

synopsis: you and minjeong get caught up in a dating scandal — all along, she realises she has been in love with you.

warnings: flufffff

w/c: 3k+

a/n: another short story…it’s 2:30am and i couldn’t really sleep.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the faint buzzing of your phone on the nightstand jolted you awake, the sound cutting through the quiet of your small apartment; the dim light from the screen cast shadows across the room as you reached for it, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

minjeong’s name lit up on display, accompanied by a string of missed calls that made your stomach twist with unease.

she never called like this, not unless something was wrong.

“hello?” your voice came out rough, still thick with sleep, as you pressed the phone to your ear.

there was silence for a moment, save for the faint sound of her breathing on the other end. you sat up straighter, the worry bubbling up in your chest.

“mindungie?” you tried again, softer this time. “what’s going on? are you okay?”

her reply was a shaky inhale, followed by a soft sniffle that made your heart drop. “i’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “i didn’t want to bother you.”

“you’re crying,” you said, your voice laced with concern. “don’t apologise, i’m here.”

another pause, heavy and suffocating. then, in a voice so small it was almost inaudible, she said: “i’m in another dating scandal.”

your chest tightened at her words. she had faced scandals before — being in the public eye in one of the most popular girl groups in the world meant she was no stranger to baseless rumours and invasive speculation but hearing her cry over it was completely new.

“what’s sm doing about it this time?” you asked, already trying to piece together a plan in your head. “aren’t they handling it?”

“they want me to take a hiatus,” she said bitterly, her voice trembling. “alongside my recent surgery; they think it’s the best way to let things settle, but it’s not just about me this time. it’s affecting other people…people who don’t deserve this.”

your heart ached at the frustration in her voice and the way she sounded so defeated. you hated this; hated how the world wouldn’t leave her alone, wouldn’t let her live without dissecting every moment of her life.

“it’ll settle down,” you reassured gently, even though you weren’t sure if you believed it yourself. “it always does. people will move on to the next thing soon enough.”

“not this time,” she mumbled, her voice quieter now, tinged with something close to despair. “this one’s different.”

you frowned, the weight of her words sinking in. “what do you mean? who are they saying you’re with?”

there was a long pause, the kind that made your chest tighten with dread. you could hear her breathing, uneven and shallow, as if she was trying to muster the courage to answer.

finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “you.”

the word hung in the air and for a moment, you weren’t sure you’d heard her correctly.

“me?” you repeated, making sure you heard correctly.

“yeah,” she said, letting out a bitter, shaky laugh. “they’ve got all these photos…ones from when we were kids and some from the last time i visited busan. they’re saying we’ve been secretly dating for years.”

your mind raced as her words sank in. you thought of all the moments the two of you had shared, ones that were so innocent but now felt heavy under the weight of her confession.

the time she’d visited you at the restaurant, laughing as she stole bites of your food; the long walks along haeundae beach, where she’d tease you about how much slower you’d gotten since you were kids.

moments that had always felt like yours alone — twisted into something you hadn’t prepared for.

“that’s ridiculous,” you replied firmly, though your voice wavered just slightly. “they’re just making things up like they always do. anyone who knows us would know it’s not true.”

“it’s not about what’s true,” she added, her voice breaking again. “it’s about what they can make people believe. and they’ve done a good job. it looks…convincing.”

your stomach twisted at her words, the dread settling deep in your chest. “have you looked at it?”

“yeah,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “and it’s bad. really bad.”

you clenched your jaw, anger and protectiveness bubbling up inside you. “minjeong, you know none of this matters, right? the people who care about you, the people who know us, you — they won’t believe it.”

“but it’s not just about me,” her voice trembled. “it’s about you, too. they’re saying things — terrible things about you, digging into your life. our lives in busan. i didn’t want this for you.”

you’d always known the risks of being close to her, of staying a constant in her life even after she became a star but you never imagined being dragged into her world like this; exposed in a way that felt so violating.

“i don’t care what they say about me,” you insisted, though the knot in your stomach told a different story. “what matters is you. we’ll get through this. we always do.”

she let out a shaky breath, her voice softer now. “please don’t look it up,” she begged. “it’ll only hurt you, and i don’t want that. promise me, please.”

the curiosity was already gnawing at you, but the desperation in her voice was enough to make you falter.

“i’ll try,” you answered eventually, though you weren’t sure if you could keep that promise. “but you’re not alone in this, okay? you don’t have to carry it all by yourself. and you’ve done nothing wrong.”

she didn’t respond right away, but you could hear her breathing slow slightly, as if your words had brought her even the smallest bit of comfort.

“can i come over?” she asked after a moment, her voice small and tentative. “i’m back in busan for a week or two.”

“of course,” you said without hesitation. “you can stay as long as you need.”

“thank you,” she whispered and for the first time since the call started, her voice carried a faint trace of relief. “i’ll be there in a minute, see you, y/n.”

“okay,” you hummed with a smile. “be safe.”

when the call ended, you set your phone down and leaned back against the headboard, staring at the faint glow of the streetlights outside your window. your mind was a storm of thoughts — worry for her, anger at the situation…and a quiet, nagging fear about what this would mean for the fragile boundary you’d built between friendship and the feelings you harboured for years.

as much as you hated to admit it; a small selfish part of you felt the weight of her words differently. they thought she was in love with you. and no matter how false the rumour was, it struck a chord in you that you tried to bury a long time ago.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the small kitchen was quiet except for the soft clink of the spoon against the teacup as you stirred the honey into the warm chamomile tea. the warm light above the stove cast a faint glow on the countertop, highlighting the steam rising from the mug.

on the side, you’d set out a small plate of chocolates — the mint chocolate ones she always liked. it wasn’t much, but it was all you could think of in the middle of the night, your hands moving on autopilot.

your mind drifted, as it often did when it came to her. minjeong. winter. her name alone carried a weight in your chest that you’d grown used to over the years but never quite knew how to handle.

you have loved her for as long as you could remember, though you’d never dared to say it out loud — not to her, not even to yourself most days.

it was easier to keep it buried, to cherish the friendship you had without risking everything by wanting more. but now, it felt like the fragile balance you’d built was falling apart.

this scandal, these rumours — they were forcing everything to the surface and it terrified you.

what if she believed it? what if she looked at you and saw the truth you’d been hiding all this time? worse, what if it ruined everything?

the thought of losing her was unbearable.

resting your hands on the counter to steady yourself, you heaved out a sigh. the fear clawed at you; relentless and unyielding. you didn’t want her to think there was any truth to the rumours or make her feel uncomfortable around you. all you wanted was to protect her.

your gaze drifted to your phone on the counter, the curiosity too strong to ignore. she’d begged you not to look, but your fingers moved before you could stop them, typing your name and hers into the search bar.

almost instantly, the top result caught your eye — a youtube link with over a million views. the title read: aespa winter and y/n: secret love through the years.

your stomach dropped as you hesitated, then tapped on the link. the video began playing, a soft piano melody accompanying a slideshow of photos.

the first few were ones you recognised: pictures from your childhood, back when you and minjeong were just kids running around the streets of busan; they were harmless, ones you’ve shared to the public.

then came the more recent ones and your breath hitched. you didn’t even know where the fans had found these photos, but they all told the same story.

the two of you, close and comfortable, looking at each other like no one else existed. in every frame, your gaze lingered on her like she held the universe in her hands.

and then came the details — the matching necklaces, the ones you’d ordered from japan for her 21st birthday, customised with her initials and a small star charm. the video even included clips of minjeong talking about you in interviews, her voice warm and full of affection as she called you her rock, her safe place.

it was overwhelming and your chest tightened with a mix of emotions — fear, longing, guilt. you hadn’t realised how obvious your feelings were, how much they’d been captured in fleeting moments you thought were private.

you closed the video quickly, the knot in your throat threatening to choke you. you couldn’t let her see the truth, not like this.

a sudden, soft knock at the door startled you, pulling you out of your thoughts. your heart jumped as you turned towards the sound. wiping your hands on your toy story pyjamas, you walked to the door and opened it slowly.

there she was.

minjeong stood in the hallway, her small frame wrapped in an oversized hoodie, the sleeves hanging past her hands. a black hat and mask covered most of her face, but her red and swollen eyes were unmistakable.

she looked utterly exhausted and before you could say a word, she stepped inside and crashed into you, her arms wrapping tightly around your waist as she buried her face in your shoulder.

her body trembled as she started crying again, her muffled sobs breaking whatever composure you’d managed to hold onto.

“i’m so sorry,” she choked out between breaths, her voice cracking. “i’m so, so sorry.”

you froze for a moment, overwhelmed by her sudden closeness, but then your arms moved on instinct, holding her tightly.

“hey,” you whispered, your voice soft and steady, though your heart was racing. “it’s okay. you don’t have to apologise.”

“it’s not okay,” she sobbed, her words coming out in gasps. “you don’t deserve this and i don’t know how to fix it.”

you closed your eyes, resting your chin gently on the top of her head. “we’ll figure it out,” you reassured, your voice firm despite the storm inside you. “you’re not alone in this. i’m here.”

she clung to you like a lifeline, her sobs slowly quieting as you held her and closed the door behind you. the scent of her floral shampoo filled your senses, grounding you in the moment. you didn’t know how long you stood there but you didn’t care. all that mattered was her and the promise you’d made to be there, no matter what.

when she finally pulled back, her face was flushed, her eyes red and puffy. she wiped at them with her sleeve, looking small and vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache.

“thank you,” she murmured, her voice hoarse. “for everything.”

you shook your head, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “you don’t have to thank me, mindungie. just…come sit on the couch. i made us some tea.”

her lips twitched into the faintest of smiles; trailing behind you. her presence filled the space with a warmth that was both comforting and heart-wrenching.

as you handed her the cup of tea and watched her take a small sip, you couldn’t help but wonder how long you could keep the truth hidden — how much further you could pretend you weren’t in love with her when every moment like this made it harder to breathe.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the cup, her favourite one; chipped and its colours fading, now sat on the coffee table as she curled up at the far end of your small couch; knees drawn to her chest, her oversized hoodie drowning her small frame. the moonlight streamed through the half-drawn curtains, bathing the room in a soft silver glow.

you just sat beside her, unsure how to navigate the weight of her silence.

finally, she broke it. “i don’t care what happens to me,” she said softly, her voice trembling just enough to make your chest ache. “but you…i’m worried about you.”

you blinked, taken aback. “me?” you said, your voice quiet. “you don’t have to worry about me.”

“how can i not?” she replied, her eyes locking with yours, wide and filled with worry. “they’re going to dig into your life, say horrible things about you. i can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt because of me.”

you sighed, leaning back against the couch. her concern was touching, but unnecessary. “minjeong, i’ve lived my whole life being just another face in the crowd. no one’s ever cared enough about me to say anything, let alone horrible things. i can handle it.”

“you don’t know what it’s like,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “you don’t know how cruel people can be when they think they know your story.”

“maybe i don’t, but i know this much: i can handle petty comments from strangers. what i can’t handle is seeing you like this. so don’t waste your energy worrying about me, okay?”

her lips trembled and for a moment, you thought she was going to cry again. instead, she looked away, her blonde hair falling messily into her face.

“you’re too kind, you know that?” she began softly. “sometimes i think you’re too good for me.”

you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of her words, but the vulnerability in her voice stopped you. before you could respond, she turned back to you, her gaze hesitant. “can you…can you hold me?” she asked shyly, her voice almost timid. “just for a while?”

your breath got caught in your throat, but you nodded, shifting closer to her on the couch. she leaned into you, her head resting against your shoulder as her body relaxed against yours. you wrapped your arms around her gently, feeling the warmth of her against you and the steady rise and fall of her chest.

the moonlight caught her features, highlighting the soft curve of her jaw, the delicate slope of her nose, the way her messy blonde hair framed her face.

even like this — tired, vulnerable, with tear-streaked cheeks and swollen eyes, she was breathtaking.

your fingers found their way to her hair, running through the strands gently and you felt her sigh against you, a soft, contented sound that made your heart ache.

“sometimes,” she murmured, her voice muffled against your hoodie, “i wish i wasn’t famous. i wish i’d chosen a normal life, stayed here in busan. with you.”

your heart squeezed at her words, but you forced yourself to keep your tone steady. “you were meant to be a star, minjeong,” you said softly. “you’ve always been destined for it. even when we were kids, you had this…this light about you. people were always going to notice.”

“but i didn’t want them to notice this,” she said, her voice laced with bitterness. “i didn’t want them to hurt you.”

you didn’t know what to say to that, so you stayed quiet, your fingers continuing their soothing rhythm through her hair. her words, though, lingered in your mind, intertwining with thoughts you’d been trying to suppress all night.

what would it be like, you wondered, if she truly felt the same way about you? if the rumours weren’t just rumours but a glimpse into something real?

you’d spent so long convincing yourself that she was out of reach — that her world was too far removed from yours for anything more than friendship.

what could you even possibly offer her? your simple life, a tiny apartment and a small restaurant?

there was nothing about you that could ever impress her, nothing that could compare to the glitz and glamour of her world.

and yet, here she was, leaning against you, seeking comfort in your arms. it felt too good to be true and you hated the way your heart clung to the moment, desperate to believe it meant something more.

“what are you thinking about?” her voice broke through your thoughts, soft but curious.

you froze for a moment, your hand stilling in her hair. “nothing.”

she pulled back just enough to look up at you, her face still close enough that you could see the faint shimmer of tears in her eyes. “don’t lie to me,” she muttered, her tone gentle but insistent. “you’ve got that look on your face, like you’re a million miles away.”

you hesitated, unsure how much to tell her. your mind raced for an excuse, something lighthearted to distract her, but the weight of her gaze made it impossible to lie.

“i was just…thinking about us,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “about how different our lives are. and how…how lucky i am to still have you in mine even though you’re a big star now.”

her expression softened, and for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in her eyes; something you couldn’t quite place. before you could dwell on it, she leaned back into you, resting her head against your chest this time.

“you’re not lucky,” she smiled. “i am.”

her words settled over you like a blanket, warm and comforting, yet heavy with meaning. you didn’t know what to say, so you stayed silent, holding her with your eyes closed as the moonlight bathed the room in its quiet glow.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the soft chirping of birds filtered through the open window, mingling alongside the morning sun spilling into the room. the first thing you noticed as you stirred awake was warmth — minjeong’s warmth, her body pressed close to yours, her head nestled against your shoulder, an arm draped across your waist and her soft breaths tickled your neck.

you froze, your heart immediately racing as the situation fully sank in. it had been years since you’d been this close to her — the space you’d carefully maintained between you was gone and the intimacy of the moment made your chest tighten with equal parts longing and fear.

as your eyes fluttered open, her blonde hair was the first thing to greet you, falling into her face in strands that glowed golden in the morning light. her cheeks were slightly flushed, lips parted ever so slightly as she remained lost in sleep. she looked peaceful, so beautiful.

for a second, you let yourself admire her.

then reality hit and panic crept in. this was too close, too much. you couldn’t risk her realising your true feelings as you carefully shifted, trying not to wake her, but your movements caused her to stir.

her eyes opened slowly, blinking as they adjusted to the light. when they focused on you, a soft smile tugged at her lips.

“good morning,” she mumbled, her voice still laced with sleep.

“morning,” you replied, your voice awkward and stiff as you immediately shifted away, creating a small but noticeable gap between you. “sorry. i didn’t mean to, uh, get so close.”

her smile faltered slightly, her brows knitting together in a small frown. “why are you apologising?” she asked, her tone soft but tinged with confusion.

“i just…i didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you sat up, rubbing the back of your neck; heart still racing. “i’ll make us some breakfast.”

before she could respond, you were already on your feet, making your way to the kitchen. she sat up slowly, watching you with a look you couldn’t decipher.

“let me help,” she offered, already starting to move.

“no, no,” you said, turning back to wave her off. “just sit on the couch, okay? i’ve got this.”

she hesitated but eventually relented, settling back onto the couch with a small sigh. pulling out her phone, she began to tap at the screen, though her gaze kept drifting back to you as you moved around the kitchen.

she wasn’t texting anyone, though — not really. instead, she found herself scrolling through the same photos and videos she’d seen the night before, the so-called “evidence” of your supposed relationship. each image showed the two of you at different points in your lives, some familiar, some she didn’t even know existed. but it wasn’t the photos themselves that caught her attention — it was you.

the way you looked at her in every single one of them. it was so obvious now, in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to notice before.

your gaze was always soft, filled with something she couldn’t quite name but felt deeply in her chest. she stared at one photo in particular, a candid shot of you smiling at her during one of her almost weekly visits to busan. the look in your eyes made her heart flutter.

it can’t be, she thought, her heart beating faster as she lowered her phone — but the thought lingered, refusing to leave. she glanced at you, watching as you moved around the kitchen with practised ease, cracking eggs into a bowl and chopping green onions with quick motions.

the smell of something sizzling in a pan soon filled the room and she couldn’t help but think about how natural this felt; waking up to you, watching you prepare breakfast as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

you were so focused, so determined to make everything perfect for her and the thought made her chest tighten.

her phone buzzed in her hand, a message from jimin lighting up the screen.

‘are you sure you and y/n aren’t dating?’

she ignored it, setting the device aside as her attention drifted back to you. her thoughts were a mess, swirling with confusion and a strange kind of hope she wasn’t sure how to name.

you turned then, catching her gaze, and the world seemed to still. her heart skipped a beat as you smiled, holding up a plate.

“breakfast’s nearly ready,” you smiled, the warmth of your voice spreading all the way to her chest. “hope you’re hungry.”

she nodded, her throat feeling tight as she tried to push down the growing emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

“i am,” she managed to say, her voice softer than she intended. “also sleepy.”

and as she watched you turn back to the stove, the realisation hit her all at once, unrelenting and undeniable.

i’m in love with her.

the two of you sat at the small dining table, plates of warm, steaming food in front of you. you made made simple dishes — scrambled eggs, leftover rice and grilled mackerel with a side of kimchi.

it wasn’t extravagant, but she ate it like it was a gourmet meal, a soft hum of satisfaction escaping her as she took her first bite.

“i missed this,” she said, her voice muffled slightly as she chewed. “your cooking, i mean. it’s so much better than anything i get in seoul.”

“don’t let your manager hear you say that,” you teased, grinning as you poured her a glass of water. “they’ll think you’re living off convenience store meals.”

“i practically am,” she admitted with a laugh, her nose scrunching in that way it always did when she found something genuinely funny. “you have no idea how much i’ve missed this.”

the conversation drifted into easy territory, the kind of nostalgic reminiscing that always seemed to happen when you were together. you found yourself laughing as she recounted a time in middle school when she’d gotten detention for climbing onto the school roof to retrieve a kite you’d accidentally let go of.

you shook your head. “you were always such a shy troublemaker, how you ended up as an idol, i’ll never know.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” she shot back, mock-offended. “i’m responsible now. mostly.”

“sure you are,” you said, smirking. “remember your first boyfriend? what was his name again? jonghoon? jinhoon?”

“it was junghoon,” she corrected, rolling her eyes but unable to hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “and we were, like, twelve. it doesn’t even count.”

“oh, it counts,” you said, leaning back in your chair with a grin. “you were so serious about him. always writing him those sappy little notes.”

“don’t remind me,” she groaned, covering her face with her hands. “i can’t believe i ever thought that was romantic.”

“hey, at least you had a boyfriend,” you said, unable to resist teasing her. “i’ve got nothing to compare to.”

she dropped her hands, her expression shifting into something more curious. “why is that, anyway? is there no one special in your life? i’ve been meaning to ask.”

the question caught you off guard, your smile faltering for just a moment before you quickly recovered.

“if there was, you’d be the first to know,” you said, nudging her foot under the table. “don’t be stupid.”

her expression softened at your words, a small smile playing on her lips, but you weren’t sure why.

trying to lighten the mood, you added with a grin, “though, if you give me jimin’s number, maybe i’ll reconsider.”

her reaction was immediate. her brows furrowed, and her smile disappeared as she stabbed at her rice with her chopsticks.

“you’re kidding, right?” she said, her tone sharper than you expected.

you blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. “obviously,” you chuckled, but she frowned deeper. “come on, winter. it was a joke.”

“well, it’s not funny,” she muttered, her gaze fixed on her plate.

“why are you getting so worked up?” you asked, tilting your head to study her. “what’s it to you if i joke about jimin?”

she didn’t answer right away, her jaw tightening as she shoved a piece of mackerel into her mouth.

when she finally spoke, her tone was clipped. “it’s just…weird, okay? she’s not even your type.”

“oh, and you know my type now?” you shot back, raising an eyebrow. “you haven’t even see me with any girl.”

she looked up at you then, her eyes narrowing slightly. “yeah, i do.”

the tension between you was palpable, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. you weren’t sure what to make of her reaction — it was so unlike her to get upset over something so small. but then, as you watched her, the realisation began to dawn on you.

she’s jealous, you thought, the idea almost too absurd to entertain.

you decided to test the waters, leaning forward with a small, teasing smile. “minjeong,” you said, your voice light. “are you jealous?”

her eyes widened slightly, but she quickly masked it, looking away with a scoff. “don’t be ridiculous.”

“you’re jealous,” you said, your grin widening. “oh my god, you’re actually jealous.”

“i’m not!” she insisted, her cheeks flushing as she crossed her arms defensively. “it’s just—ugh, forget it.”

her reaction only made you laugh, the tension between you dissolving as quickly as it had appeared. she glared at you, but there was no real heat behind it, and eventually, she let out a small, begrudging laugh of her own.

“you’re impossible,” she said, shaking her head as she picked up her chopsticks again.

“and you’re adorable when you’re mad,” you said without thinking, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

she froze for a moment, her cheeks reddening further and you felt your own face heat up as you realised what you’d said.

but instead of snapping at you, she simply looked at you, her expression unreadable, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged again, heavy with something unspoken.

“just eat your breakfast,” she said finally, her voice softer now and you nodded, your heart still racing as you focused on your plate, wondering what, exactly, had just happened.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the next few days passed in a quiet rhythm that felt almost too perfect to last. mornings were slow and easy, filled with soft conversations over coffee and the occasional sound of minjeong humming to herself as she wandered around your small apartment.

afternoons were spent watching movies, cooking together, or simply lying on the couch; tangled up in blankets and each other.

it felt normal in a way that was disarming, like the two of you had slipped into a version of life where nothing else existed — no dating scandals and pressure, just the comfort of being together.

it scared you how easily you’d fallen into this routine, how much it felt like home. every small touch, laugh, every shared glance seemed to chip away at the walls you’d spent years building around your heart.

and with each passing day, it became harder to ignore the truth you’d buried for so long — you were still in love with her and being this close to her now was both a blessing and a curse.

for her part, she seemed quieter than usual, her gaze lingering on you a little too often, her smiles softer, more hesitant. she hadn’t brought up the scandal again, but you could feel the weight of it hanging over her, a tension that never quite left her shoulders.

one night, you decided to close things out with one of her favourite movies, tenet. she was practically giddy as she set it up, her excitement a stark contrast to the more subdued moments of the past few days.

“you’re going to love this,” she geeked out, her eyes lighting up as she settled onto the couch beside you. “it’s so clever. you have to pay attention, though.”

“you realise you say that about every confusing movie,” you teased, earning a playful shove from her.

two and a half hours later, the credits rolled, and you found yourself lying on your side, facing her. your arm was wrapped loosely around her waist, her head resting against your shoulder. the movie had been a blur of time loops and action sequences, none of which had made any sense to you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

your attention had been more on her than anything else — the way her lips twitched into a small smile during her favourite scenes, the way she unconsciously leaned closer to you as the story unfolded.

“so,” she began, her voice soft and teasing, “what did you think?”

you groaned dramatically, tightening your arm around her waist. “i think i have no idea what just happened.”

her jaw dropped in mock offense and she pushed at your chest. “you’re kidding! how could you not get it? it’s brilliant!”

“oh, i got it,” you grinned. “something about going backwards in time, saving the world and…i don’t know, doing a little dance?”

“you’re impossible,” she muttered, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement.

“you’re adorable when you’re frustrated,” you replied without thinking, the words slipping out before you could stop them as you laughed.

her smile faltered, her cheeks flushing slightly as she stared at you, her expression suddenly turning serious.

the laughter that came so easily from you, the warmth of your skin pressed against hers — it all felt too much and not enough at the same time.

she didn’t know when it started. maybe it had been years ago, back when the two of you were just kids, chasing the tide and dreaming of futures that felt so far away. or maybe it was more recent, in the stolen moments when she would visit you between schedules, sitting in your tiny apartment and making her favourite dishes and feeling more at home than she ever did in her dorm.

but tonight, as the credits rolled and your soft laughter filled the quiet, it clicked.

it was you. it had always been you.

the realisation settled over her like a wave, overwhelming and undeniable. you were the missing piece, the thing she had been searching for without even realising it.

the void she’d felt for so long, the ache that no amount of fame or success could fill — it was simply you.

“y/n,” she said softly, her voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “what are we doing?”

your heart skipped a beat, her question pulling you sharply out of the playful banter. “what do you mean?”

“this,” she said, gesturing between the two of you. “us. spending all this time together, acting like…” she trailed off, her gaze dropping to where your arm was still wrapped around her. “acting like we’re more than just friends.”

you swallowed hard, your chest tightening as her words settled over you. “i don’t know,” you admitted. “but i know that i don’t want it to end.”

her eyes flicked back up to yours, wide and searching. “but what about everything else? what happens when i go back to seoul? what happens if people find out about this and they…they ruin your life?”

“minjeong,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “my life isn’t perfect, but it’s mine. and if being with you means dealing with a little chaos, then so be it. i’ve handled worse.”

“you don’t understand,” she said, her voice faltering. “it’s not just a little chaos. it’s people prying into your life, twisting your every word, making you out to be something you’re not. you have a normal life, y/n. i don’t want to be the reason you lose that.”

you reached up, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. “you’re not going to ruin anything and my life stopped being normal the second you walked into it. and there’s nothing in this world i’d trade you for.”

her breath hitched at your words, her gaze searching yours as if trying to find some hint of doubt. “but what if it’s not enough? what if i’m not enough?”

“you’re everything,” you said without hesitation, your words filled with a sincerity that left no room for doubt. “you always have been.”

her lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. instead, she watched you with so much adoration in her eyes and closed the small distance between you, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was as hesitant as it was certain.

it was soft and gentle, like the answer to a question neither of you had dared to ask.

you responded instinctively, your hand moving to the back of her neck as you deepened the kiss, pouring years of unspoken feelings into the moment. her fingers tangled in your hair and her body melted against yours as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

when you finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, you could feel her breath against your lips, warm and shaky.

“i think…” she started, her voice trembling, “i think i’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

your heart swelled at her words, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “you’re not the only one,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. “i’ve hid how i felt for too long.”

“but we’re here now, aren’t we?”

a soft, watery laugh escaped her as she leaned in again, her lips finding yours in another kiss — this one deeper, more certain, like the beginning of something neither of you had dared to hope for.

and in that moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, it felt like the rest of the world could wait.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

[amirasainz]

Hiiii, I love your blog so much. I was wondering if you could do Lando, who's girlfriend is a model. It is during the fashion weeks and she is very exhausted but boyfriend Lando takes care of her and is cheering her on the whole time. Thank you bby 💘

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 🧡

Lights, Camera and Flashes

The buzzing chaos of Fashion Month had arrived. Yn was in her element, juggling fittings, rehearsals, and back-to-back shows across New York, London, Milan, and Paris. As the world’s most sought-after model, her name was on every designer’s list. Each city meant new challenges, new outfits, and new pressures.

“Babe, are you sure you’re okay?” Lando asked as they touched down in New York for the first leg of the month.

Yn, seated beside him on the private jet, turned to give him a smile. “I’m fine, Lando. Just excited. It’s going to be a long month, but I’ve done this before.”

He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Yeah, but this year, you’re in every major show. You’re human, Yn, not a robot.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said firmly, squeezing his hand. “Especially with you here.”

Lando chuckled. “Alright, but remember, the moment you feel off, you tell me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she promised.

---

New York

The energy in New York was electric. Yn stepped into the first fitting at Alexander Wang’s studio, where she was immediately swarmed by assistants and stylists. Lando stayed close but out of the way, watching her work with awe.

“You’re staring again,” Yn teased during a break, catching him leaning against the wall with a goofy grin.

“Can’t help it,” he replied. “You’re incredible.”

Show day arrived, and Lando was front and center in the audience, holding a bouquet of red roses. As the music boomed and Yn stepped onto the runway, he couldn’t contain himself.

“Let’s go, Yn!” he shouted, drawing amused glances from nearby attendees.

Yn strutted down the runway, her confidence radiant. She caught Lando’s eyes briefly, a small smile tugging at her lips. When the show ended, Lando was waiting backstage with his bouquet, pulling her into a tight hug.

“You killed it,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Thanks, babe.”

But as they exited the venue, they were met by a sea of paparazzi. Lando immediately stepped into protective mode, wrapping his arm around Yn’s waist and glaring at anyone who got too close.

“Back up,” he barked, shielding her with his body.

“Lando, it’s okay,” Yn murmured, though she appreciated his protectiveness.

He guided her safely to their car, refusing to let go until they were away from the chaos.

---

London

The second week brought them to London, where Yn had fittings with Burberry and Victoria Beckham. Though she was still riding the high from New York, Lando noticed the subtle changes—her slightly slower pace, the way she leaned on him more often.

“Feeling alright?” he asked one evening as they returned to the hotel.

“Yeah,” she replied, but her voice lacked its usual energy.

Lando wasn’t convinced. After her first show in London, she came backstage to find him waiting with a massive bouquet of lilies.

“You didn’t have to do this again,” she said, though her smile betrayed how much she loved it.

“Of course, I did. You deserve it.”

The paparazzi were even more aggressive in London, shouting questions and shoving cameras in their faces. Lando tightened his grip on Yn’s hand, his jaw set.

“Lando, it’s fine,” she whispered, but he shook his head.

“It’s not fine. They don’t get to treat you like this.”

Once they were safely inside their car, Lando turned to her. “You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he said.

“I can handle it,” she replied softly.

“You shouldn’t have to,” he countered.

---

Milan

By the time they arrived in Milan, Yn’s energy was noticeably lower. Her flawless walk on the runway was still the talk of the industry, but off-stage, she was quieter, more fatigued.

“You’re not eating enough,” Lando pointed out one morning as she picked at her breakfast.

“I’m just not hungry,” she said.

“You’re running on fumes, Yn,” he said, his voice filled with concern.

“I’m fine, Lando,” she insisted, though the dark circles under her eyes told a different story.

Lando doubled down on his support, making sure she had everything she needed. After each show, he was there with flowers, helping her navigate the crowds and shielding her from the paparazzi.

When she came back to the hotel after her third show in Milan, she collapsed onto the bed. Lando didn’t say a word; he simply ordered room service, drew a bath, and set up her favorite playlist.

“Come on, princess,” he said, lifting her gently. “Time to relax.”

---

Paris

By the time they reached Paris, Yn was running on pure determination. Paris Fashion Week was the grand finale, and every major designer wanted her.

Lando could see how hard she was pushing herself, and it worried him.

“Yn, you need to slow down,” he said one evening as they walked back to their suite.

“I can’t,” she replied, her voice cracking. “This is the biggest week of the year.”

“And you’re the biggest model of the year. You’ve already proven yourself,” he argued. “Your health is more important.”

She didn’t respond, but he noticed the tears welling in her eyes.

On the night of her final show, Lando was louder than ever, cheering her on as she walked the runway. When it was over, he met her backstage with the largest bouquet yet.

“You did it,” he said, pulling her into his arms.

“I’m so tired,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

“I know, baby. I’ve got you,” he said, kissing her forehead.

---

When they finally returned to their hotel that night, Lando went all out to pamper her. He ordered her favorite food, prepared a warm bubble bath, and queued up her favorite movie.

“Lando,” Yn said as she sank into the bath, “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, sitting beside the tub. “You’re my princess, Yn. You deserve the world.”

As the movie played later, Yn curled up in Lando’s arms, her head resting on his chest.

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

“You don’t have to do anything alone,” he replied, brushing a kiss against her temple. “I’ll always be here for you.”

Yn drifted off to sleep, the exhaustion of the month finally catching up to her. But with Lando by her side, she felt safe, loved, and completely at peace.

And for Lando, there was no greater honor than being her rock.

[just-sg]

And if "just ignore them and write it anyway" doesn't overcome the anxiety, here's alternate advice:

Remember that these are opinions, and it is perfectly reasonable to consider others' opinions, but if you ask enough people, there WILL be mutually exclusive opinions out there. You CANNOT please everyone, as in it is literally physically not possible, you have slightly higher odds of your molecules lining up exactly the right way to jump through a solid wall. There is not a single decision you can ever make that will avoid the chance of someone not liking it; if enough people see your work, someone WILL have an issue with something, which means you don't have to worry about "what if". Might someone misunderstand? Might someone find it annoying or boring or upsetting? Immutably, yes; if the answer is ever no it just means not enough people have seen it yet. So stop trying to do the impossible!

And once you've got that part, think about what you can control. Look at the opinions you're worried about and actually break them down. Why does dirtysocks574774757 hate that trope?

If it's "overdone", is that actually a problem? Is it popular because many people enjoy it? Is it a little cliche, but something you personally enjoy seeing in other words even knowing that it is? Or if the problem with "overdone" is that it's overshadowing other good options, does anything else appeal to you? Is there a way you can add a unique twist to the trope, keeping what you like while also making it stand out and having all the more fun with it?

If it's "unrealistic", are you trying to be realistic? Is this an escapist fantasy or personal venting where making things better/cooler/gritter/edgier/whatever than real life is part of the point? Is pushing this idea harmful, and if so, what about it is the problem? Is there a way to address that part without avoiding everything even slightly adjacent to the trope with a 40 foot pole?

Remember that no one's opinion is objective law. Even if something is overdone to a point of becoming a stereotype, as long as that stereotype isn't spreading harmful misinformation or actively shitting on people, it doesn't mean you have to avoid anything that even might look close as much as possible at all costs, it means be careful.

Ex: Your gay character can be flamboyant, I promise; the problem isn't camp gays existing, it's when the one (1) gay character or couple in a series is always Like That and little if anything else. So just don't do that part! Remember context, too. It's very different having a whole group who all act a certain way vs a group where only one/some do, ya know? I know this post was more about pet peeves and stuff but I'm saying, if even stuff that can be genuinely bad doesn't have to always be, then you also definitely shouldn't be stressing harmless fun tropes.

Above all else: remember it's better to do something right than to do nothing wrong. There is no amount of effort you could put in to make your work appeal to everyone, but the closer you get to making it tolerable to everyone (still impossible to achieve fully), the less likely you are to appeal to much of anyone. So don't worry yourself to death (or worse, to a point of never making anything) avoiding everything that might be offputting. Instead, when you find yourself worried about a potential issue, examine it, weigh your options, and make a conscious choice about if you want to keep, alter, or scrap it. As long as you're being mindful about your decisions rather than just throwing things in with no regard, you should be FINE.

People relate to messy complex characters, and what one person finds "unrealistic" could just be a thing they don't get, but that makes someone else feel incredibly seen and validated. People like stupid indulgent fantasies! And if you need proof people will actively seek out and enjoy reading the same shit over and over, look no farther than "Coffee Shop AU" or "Only One Bed".

In the end, there's little more powerful than passion from a creator. Write what you like, write what you'd want to read, make the points you want to make. There will always be people who just don't like the things you like, and no amount of trying to water yourself down for them will make them anything more than tolerant. So write for you and the people who do like what you like, and put your whole body into it. Someone will always hate it and someone will always enjoy it, and the more you write something you enjoy, the more likely it is that the people who do like it will really, really like it. Don't hold yourself back!

hey, writers. especially neurodivergent writers with anxiety or OCD.

if you see one of those writing advice posts that is literally just, ‘these tropes suck’, ‘this story idea sucks’, ‘this sucks’, ‘that sucks’, ‘all of this is horrible’.. don’t dwell on it.

these are just random people on the internet, okay? they’re just acting like they know everything and that their personal preferences are universal.

you don’t have to listen to them, write whatever you want, regardless of if dirtysocks574774757 on Tumblr/Pinterest doesn’t like it.

(ahem, if a user by the name of dirtysocks574774757 from Tumblr or Pinterest actually does see this.. sorry 😅 i’m sure you understand)

[s-4pphics]

drenched in white. (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: after all your time alone, you’re finally not, but you’re definitely not prepared for your new life. [jackson AU]

WORD COUNT: 7.1K

WARNINGS: readers mute and taller than ellie, death, murder, blood, mentions of alcohol/starvation/hypothermia, a bit of gore, near death experience, trauma and sadness, brief girls kissing, some fluff because kids :)

A/N: tbh idk where this came from but i missed ellie so yeah prob wont write anymore of this but yeah 

—

Apocalypses are fucking stupid.

Humans are born into nothing, forced to run all their lives from blood-lustful beasts that can rewire their entire brain chemistry into one that sadistically matches theirs, and if that doesn’t happen, you die anyway with nothing but the clothes on your back and a horse with no rider. That’s fucking stupid. 

You weren’t alive when the world was thriving… presumably so — whatever the old world considered thriving. Those history books you stole in adolescence would argue otherwise, but there were some happy moments. On occasion. Maybe? Whatever. But you weren’t there, and you can only imagine how you would’ve turned out if you were. Would you be married? Have children? Own property? Businesses? Whatever other luxury the old world prioritized although it all seemed exhausting? 

Would you be an addict, a trainwreck, someone who had it all then nothing in the blink of an eye? That seems to be reoccurring in some of those biographies you found about people called celebrities. They have everything then die too young or way too old and eventually fade into a nobody, just like everyone else. History is so heartbreaking. Such cruel fate. 

You’ve been by yourself for a long time. Some would still consider you young, but you feel like a zombie that’s risen from the grave most of the time. You steal and live selfishly and waste your life reading because you can. You’re lucky enough to no longer have anyone you care about. Your recklessness doesn’t hinder anyone but yourself, so you read read read. Sometimes, you hunt for books more than you do for food. You’re not a fighter — it surprises you every day how you haven’t died yet — but a decent amount of people would consider you book smart. This one group you crossed paths with some years ago called you a genius because you’re self-taught in practically everything: reading and writing, starting fires, planting food, sewing, mapping plains. Whenever you’re harmed, you can heal yourself kinda. When you were 14, you stepped on a rusty nail and, instead of living the short remainder of your life as an amputee, you heroed through a disgusting infection that left you ill for 2 weeks, then sewed your own wound up. You couldn’t walk for days. 

That same group also called you mute. 

You don’t think you are, but rightfully so. There’s no one for you to talk to, so you don’t talk, simple as that. Everyone you knew died when you were a kid, maybe 7 or 8 — spending the majority of your life alone and in hiding doesn’t make for much conversation. Plus, the fucks that rule the Earth are nosy as hell. Being as quiet as possible is needed. 

Reading passes time. It’s the last phase of winter, but it’ll be Spring in no time, thanks to the bag you drag through snow: stuffed with one jacket, a rusted chef’s knife, and 46 different novels and counting. 

Your body’s gonna shut down on you. It’s so fucking cold and you’re barely layered but you haven’t finished The Cable Companies, One Hundred and One Best Songs. The pages filled with piano notes are almost enough to make you hear the songs… Or maybe the lack of nutrients is making you hallucinate. Guess you’ll find out when you finish. Just 22 more pages. 

No food, no water, no warmth, no antique piano. You’re fucked any direction you turn. 

There was a small cave somewhere around here. You used to sleep in it during the summer; the dark was always cooler. Maybe it’s buried underneath heaps of snow. You hope not. Fuck. 

The closer you get to the cavern, the grosser the air becomes. Death carries a certain mugginess. Why’d they have to die next to your one retreat? 

You drag and drag on like your legs weigh a ton all the way to the cave and… Great. 

Death and no entrance. Red coats the snow and it reminds you of the twisted tale of Snow White. The decaying carcass of a deer should alarm you, but you only sigh in defeat. Where the fuck are you supposed to read without disturbance? 

You only make it two more steps before you collapse face-first into ice. Your lungs wheeze in pain and you’re trying to get yourself up but you can’t. When you blink, you see colors. 

Is this death? Or karma? A squirrel runs past you just to rub it in. Furry little bitch. 

It’s only when your brain whispers for you to give up that you fully submerge into the snow. Small cries of pain are the only proof of your survival. 

Fuck everything. Fuck people, fuck people that turned into monsters, fuck all the stupid trivial shit that the other world loved so deeply. Call it jealousy. Everything’s for nothing nowadays. 

Your final thought before the world goes dark. 

—

Why is there annoying beeping in heaven? 

Maybe you’re naive in believing you made it there. Maybe this is hell. You thought it’d be more fucked up than this. The beeping is irritating though. Besides that, it’s peaceful. 

Is this an in between world? Half dead, half not. You remember being into paranormal shit in horror stories years ago. Ghostly entities and whatnot. Maybe you’re… that. There’s whispers in the background. Bleary and distant but you kinda hear them. Maybe someone’s conjuring you up. Why you of all people? 

“— ne… de…” 

Need? Your ears are failing. Why is everything suddenly hurting? Pain in your eyes and behind them and all the way down. It’s hurting everywhere. 

“—Jus… there… Not sure.” 

It’s hurts so bad everywhere make it stop make it stop —

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

White overtakes your vision. Too bright and too cold and you can’t stop heaving but you want to because it fucking hurts everywhere

“Hey! Hey! Calm—” 

The voices are clearer and so is the beeping and so is the pain. Gentle hands land on your shoulders and you thrash when faces, needles and medical equipment clear in your vision. There’s something sharp in your arm. Where the fuck when the fuck how —

“You needa calm down—“

You try to tell this blonde freak to go fuck herself but your voice is shot, coughing and spit flying everywhere. 

“The fuck is her probl—“

“Be quiet—“

A crackling scream ripples through you, tears streaming down your face because suddenly more hands are holding you down. Malicious intent or not it makes you fucking sick. The beeping only gets faster. 

“MY — my name’s Maria! Listen to me! My name’s Maria! Some of mine went out on patrol a few days ago and found you almost buried. We’re tryna help you!” 

You continue to sob but they’re a little less guttural. Her voice is nice. Very motherly. 

“You were halfway dead out there,” She huffs like it’s funny and you wanna throw a chair, “What’s your name? Gotta name?” 

All the hands are off you except Maria’s. Maybe because you’re not trying to kick her face in anymore. You’re trying to tell her you don’t fucking remember but nothing comes out. Just more coughing. 

“Take your time. Deep breaths, shhh, you’re alright.” 

You finally meet her eyes and they’re pretty. Pale blue like spring water. The beeping starts to slow bit by bit. It took you all this time to realize that’s your heart. You glimpse at the monitor and… those squiggly lines mean fuck all to you. Why couldn’t you just die?

Your eyes travel, albeit less frantically, but on high guard. Skeptical as ever. You couldn’t even defend yourself against these incredibly polite barbarians if you wanted to. Your bag’s gone. Everything that’s yours is gone. The beeps increase all over again. Maria must sense your anxiety. 

“Hey, hey, we have everything. We just had to make sure you were… alright to come in. No bites or nothing, ‘k?” 

… Fair. Whatever. Gimme my shit. 

“We were snoopin’,” Your vision follows the new voice. A man this time, average sized and bearded, “Ya like t’read?” 

You squint and nod. 

“‘S a good habit.” 

… Awkward. It’s quiet now. 

“How ya feelin’? Any pain?” Maria pries gently. You shrug. Not as bad as it was 2 minutes ago. You eye everyone in here, study as much of them as you can. Face, hands, guns latched around their thighs and shoved in their belts. They’re all threats while simultaneously being unthreatening. For now, at least. 

“Y’all can get on. I got it from here.” She waves the remaining people off and they leave with tense smiles. The door clicks behind them. The beeping is the slowest it’s been since you woke up. 

“Bout that name…” 

You only stare at her. 

“Don't remember?”

You scratch at your neck, and she sighs, “Not much of a talker, huh?” 

You mime writing in a notepad, and Maria quirks with interest. She searches the room before digging through a drawer on the farthest dresser. She returns with a small book and marker. 

The aches in your fingers don’t halt your scribbling. You turn the book towards her. 

ARE YOU GOING TO KILL ME? 

The corner of her mouth lifts, “No point in fixin’ ya up if that was the case. No offense, but you’re not threatening.” 

You snort. 

“You been by yourself for a while?” 

You ponder before scribbling. 

I WATCHED MY FAMILY DIE. PRETTY FUCKED UP CHILDHOOD. I’M ALWAYS ALONE. 

She stares sympathetically and shakes her head in apologies. All you can do is shrug. You’d be more surprised if a kid grew up in this world without experiencing mass destruction. Trauma practically raised you. 

“There’s not many people that can do what you do, y’know? You gotta gift.” She jerks her chin at the booklet. “Somebody taught’cha?” 

You point to yourself. 

“Don’t let that head get big now.” She smirks and you smile sorta. 

“We got kids…” Maria blindly points towards the door. 

“A lot of ‘em, and we’ve been tryna get them to read more but… I don’t know, some of these old bastards think it’s pointless and that discourages them.”

Oh. 

“I don’t know what you got goin’ on out there, but… If you choose to go back out there, I won’t fault you, but if you don’t…” 

Uh oh. 

“How do you feel ‘bout teaching toddlers their ABCs?” 

… Shit. 

You scowl. 

“I know it’s not the best… position to be in but, I don’t know, I just want something they can look forward to everyday. A new story, some new conversations… anything to get their little brains crankin’.” 

“They’re so sweet and I feel like they’d gain so much from someone who cares just as much as they do.” 

You don’t write anything. Her pupils shroud with dejection. 

“Think about it?” She’s quick to turn away, but not without one last look over her shoulder, “Rest up.” 

And the door closes. Your eyes shut in no time, and a comforting darkness overtakes you once more. 

—

Leave with nothing but your annotated novels or stay where you’re well fed and warm but surrounded by snotty nosed orphans. Something to think about. 

You’ve been in Jackson — you learned the town is called — for less than 48 hours, most of which you were recovering from a severe case of hypothermia. You don’t remember the last time you had a meal that hot. Maria had to reassure you that no one would take your plate. 

You still haven’t given Maria a clear answer for her teaching proposal, but she doesn’t bug you about it. She is very eager to show you the daycare though. She’s subtle. You respect it. 

Your books are still couped up in the infirmary because, frankly, you hate dragging them everywhere. Maria offered for you to keep them in the library, but you refused. They’re not up for grabs; You nearly died for every single one of those pages and you’ll be damned if someone touches them under your nose. They’re yours. It’s all you got right now. 

You might even leave with a horse if Maria still likes you after telling her no to teaching. Tomorrow morning will wrap up your little dead-then-alive journey. Couldn’t hurt to ask. 

It’s your first time back outside since your near-death experience. The sun is barely peeking from behind the clouds and your face is so cold it’s almost retraumatizing, but it’s pretty out. Maria was nice enough to give you new boots that weren’t hanging on by their laces. 

Jackson bustles like a real, non-apocalyptic town. Lights shine and pick-ups honk and people are fucking smiling? Maybe this is heaven. 

Those walls… They��re still high and barricaded. Scouts babysit those gates like clockwork. To think you were on the other side of their scrutiny just a day ago. The twinkling sound of joy confuses the fuck outta you. Laughter. Not only that, but from children. Not starving, nearly dead children, but well-fed, genuinely happy kids. Why does your stomach twist with jealousy? They deserve peace, of course, but so did you. So does every child. 

Your eyes search for them — curiosity overtakes your limbs and you step with determination, guided by your ears. The twinkles grow in volume — there must be at least 10 kids playing in the snow. 

“HEY! GET OFF, YOU FU—“

“Language!”

“HOW’S THIS FOR LANGU—“

“BOYS! ENOUGH! I’M SICK OF YOUR SHI—!”

“LANGUAGE, MS. DINA!”

“I CAN SAY THAT! YOU CAN’T!”

What a sight this is. Happy kids. Your heart swells. Slightly; you’re glad Maria isn’t here to catch your fondness. 

“Alright, vermins, get up, I’ll miss the party.” 

“5 more minutes, pleeease!”

“I’m not freezing for you. C’mon!” 

The kids seem to love Ms. Dina. They dangle off every single one of her limbs, begging her to throw at least 10 more snowballs. Maybe your ice-cold heart isn’t as frosty as you thought. The sight is disgustingly endearing. 

“Ms. Dina… Who’s that?” 

And the laughter stops. A bunch of eyes attached to tiny bodies all gawk at you, some with intrigue, others with fear as they cower behind their teacher… babysitter? Whoever she is. 

“Not sure, dove. You all have 10 minutes!” 

“20!”

“10 or freeze to death! Go!”

Excited screams filter through the wind when said vermins squabble in snow like puppies, pushing and shoving and chucking icy bullets at each other. You never had to worry about being the oddball out, but you sure do look like one now. 

“Hey. Maria told us about a scrounger.” 

Creases bunch in your forehead, and Dina raises her hands defensively, “Joking, relax. So, are you staying, or…?” You shrug unknowing, and Dina chuckles. 

“I think you should. If I had the option to stay here 24/7, I’d take it in a heartbeat. We could use an extra hand with the kids. Maria said you read?” 

You nod. “Cool. We have a decent amount of readers — more than most, but, uh… yeah. Our kids need help.”

Your lip twitches alongside your pondering. So many questions rest on your tongue but none can leave. Dina’s eyes are consoling. It shouldn’t spark irritation in your stomach but it does. 

“Do you sign?” 

You stare in confusion, and she elaborates, “Like… Sign language?” Her hands make a bunch of gestures you don’t understand and your head shakes. 

“Darn. No worries. If you’re ever interested in learning, just holler. We got some people that are hard of hearing so we all kinda use it occasionally. But, umm… yeah. I’m Dina.” She extends a polite hand but you don’t accept it. Your head jerks in greeting, and she smiles. 

She drops it back to her side, “What should we call you?” 

You don’t know. You don’t care. You’re not staying long. Your shoulders rise and fall nonchalantly. 

“Should I have them pick?” 

Before you can oppose, she’s hollering for— 

“DYLAN! COME HERE!”

A rascal with a beanie and bright red boots sprints towards the two of you. His cheeks are so plush and scarred. Dina fixes the color of his sweater, “Dylan, what’s a good name for a teacher?” 

“Ms. Dina, obviously—“

“Another name.” 

Chipmunk Boy ponders for a moment before snickering, “Mr. Octopus.” 

“Fucking hell—“

“Language, Ms. Dina! SWEAR JAR—“

“We don’t even do that here!”

“Okay, okay… just call them Dove or something! Don’t think we don’t notice you calling us that when you forget our names!” 

Dina’s eyes widen, “That’s not true! What the… freak!” 

Red-Boot-Ranger smirks when Dina catches herself before getting pelted at the back of the head with a snowball. 

“Little BITCH—“

Dina shouts, “HEY!—“

“MS. DINA, FRANKIE CURSED!”

“NO, I DIDN’T—“

Arguments break out between all 13 children, loud and boisterous and your head pounds. Too much for one day. 

“STOP— sorry, I gotta handle this, but it was nice meeting you! BOYS—“ 

Dina throws you one last wave before rushing off to scold Dylan and his… bully? You think that’s what they were called in some books you read. A kid messing with another kid or something like that. 

You take this last bit of alone time before you depart to explore. 

Despite your eagerness to disappear, Jackson is nice. You don’t know what Christmas entails, but it’s often described as festive: a day for togetherness and family and whatever the hell else ‘can’t be bought’ yet everyone buys. Jackson is visually festive. Celebratory scenery. What exactly they’re celebrating goes over your head. There’s nothing to be joyous over. Death traps Jackson at every corner. 

Loud music pulls you from your thoughtful stroll. One look through a very large window is enough to scare you shitless. A seemingly cozy space is filled to the brim with strangers who dance and drink and laugh their heads off; Their familiarity with one another makes you physically ill. The scene is like a bullet to the chest. Reminds you of what was once home.

Your nausea doesn’t overtake your curiosity, though. 

The moment you step into the bar, warmth suffocates you, heat sizzling through your legs as your face defrosts. The entire bar screams out lyrics to a song you never heard while cups get refilled with burning liquid and it’s overwhelming. There’s so much movement. Too much. 

Blonde hair swings out the corner of your eye and you’re instantly relieved. You hustle to where Maria chats with partygoers from across the bar. She’s shocked to see you. 

“Hey! You’re up’n moving!” 

You wave awkwardly. Gawk back at the people that gawk at you before Maria hands you a glass. 

“You drink?” You deny with a raised hand, and she smiles. 

“Probably not the best time to ask,” She hollers over the jukebox, “I’m hoping this is your initiation?” Her eyes are hopeful, and your throat dries a bit. Why are you hesitating to answer?

Maria’s nice enough… probably the nicest stranger you’ve ever met in your entire life, and it seems more comfortable in Jackson than anywhere you’ve been. It doesn’t seem so bad… but you don’t like children. You barely liked yourself at age 10; short and clumsy and vulnerable. Children are too exposed and trusting, even in this life. They get people killed because they’re not careful. It shocks you that a fortress like Jackson carries so many. 

A pen and paper get slid on wood and placed in front of you. You eye Maria, and she nods encouragingly. You waste no time. 

I DON’T THINK I’LL BE A GOOD TEACHER. DINA HAS MORE PATIENCE IN HER PINKY THAN I DO IN MY ENTIRE BODY. I’M SORRY. 

You meekly hold the note up for Maria, and you know she’s disappointed. You patiently wait for her to tell you to get your shit so she can kick you out herself. 

It never comes. 

“I hope that girl didn’t scare you,” In reference to Dina, and you deny, “I had a feeling you’d say no. It’s alright. Kids are… a lot.” 

You set the paper down in relief that she’s not angry. About that horse… 

“Doesn’t hurt to ask… You still wanna leave?” 

That stuns you. Oftentimes, large groups aren’t so welcoming to… scroungers, or whatever Dina made you out to be. The less mouths to feed, the better. If a newbie holds no purpose, they’re left out to die on their own. It’s happened to you countless times. Why does she care about a stranger so much?

Maria chuckles at your stunned expression, “It’s, um… it’s hard out there. We’ve all seen it, and we’re lucky to have found somewhere… stable. It doesn’t come often.” 

“The choice is still yours, stayin’ or goin’, but if you’re scared I’ll kick you out… don’t be. We got nothin’ but space.” 

Your mind races yet not one cohesive response comes through. Maria laughs at your slack jaw. “Here. Sleep on it tonight, and let me know in the mornin’. It’s a party! Let loose a little. Go mingle.“

You scribble on the last bit of remaining space. 

I’M NOT A PEOPLE PERSON. 

Maria huffs, “Neither’s my niece. She’s like a niece to me, that one, over there.” She points at the end of the bar to a woman, girl — looks around your age, babysitting a drink: tatted, hair pulled back, and sulking. She talks with a guy with a mullet that’s too movie-star ready. “You two’d get along, I think. Her name’s Ellie. Jesse’s the one next to her, he’s a sweetheart. Very helpful. If Dina was here, they’d be the Three Musketeers. She still with the kids?”

You nod, but your eyes are locked onto Ellie’s tattoo. You’ve never seen one in person. In romance books, people with tattoos are always trouble: good in bed with murderous tendencies. Maybe it’s wrong to assume, but Ellie doesn’t seem like that. No one that pouty would kill a fly. You wonder if her friend has tattoos. He’d fit the stereotype more.

“Wanna meet ‘em?” 

Fire bursts underneath your cheeks. You vehemently shake your head at Maria, and mischief glints in her eyes. 

“HEY, ELLIE, JES—“

You gawk at Maria, tugging at her wrist for her to stop, but she laughs, “Hey, you two!”

Your face falls into your palm. “Need somethin’, Maria?” A deep voice blares. Jesse, apparently. Fucking great.  

“No, hun. Just introducing a new friend,” Maria whispers loud enough for you to hear before tending to other patrons, “Convince her to stay?” 

Your eyes roll and your heart pulses. 

“… Hey.” 

You wave weakly. Annoyed, and Jesse laughs. “Yeah, she’s a lot sometimes. I’m Jesse.” You send him a thumbs up. 

“… Gotta name yourself?”

You shrug with agitation. If someone else asks you that, you’ll scream. 

“… Hm. Okay, then. I’m gonna get another drink. Want one?” You decline as politely as your attitude allows. 

“You, El?” 

“M’good.” 

“Alright,” He hums too uppity, “Enjoy the quiet.” He goofs before following Maria to the other end of the bar. Silence ensues between you and Ellie, and it’s fucking awkward. It wouldn’t be if you were by yourself. You pick at the piece of paper in front of you. 

Ellie adjusts her stance, attention on the dance that dominates the floor, her tatted arm propping her up against the bar. You can see the fine lines out the corner of your eye: leaves of a fern resting underneath a moth. A Polyphemus. Compulsive. A symbol of death, you once read somewhere. Regardless, it’s beautifully done. 

“Want a picture?” 

You stiffen and your gaze drops to the paper. Your eyelids squeeze shut in embarrassment. 

Ellie releases a hefty breath before sighing, “You read?” She asks, and you shrug. 

“You don’t talk?” You do nothing. 

She already sounds annoyed by you. You hope she notices you’re in the same boat. “It’s better if you don’t.” She mumbles to herself. You throw a glare in her direction, but she pays you no mind. She’s focused elsewhere, eyes much more delicate. You discreetly follow her line of vision. 

… Dina. Hilarious. Is she a god here? Good with children and the annoying and aloof? Everyone here claps and hoots at her being dipped by her partner like they’ve never seen dancing before. When did she even get here? Where are the kids? Maybe they’re all snowballed out and went to bed—

… What. What the fuck? You don’t care, what the hell. 

You turn back to Ellie when Dina waves at her, wide-eyed and princess-y, before waltzing towards Jesse to throw her arms around his neck, which he eagerly returns around her waist. Ellie’s expression goes from lovestruck to tense in an instant, jaw clenched and eyes burning through the floor. You try to hide a snicker. 

Ellie’s jealous. Adorable. 

“The fuck are you smiling for?” She grumbles at you, but her cheeks burn under the yellow light. Your laughter finally bubbles over. 

“Nothing’s funny. Shut the fuck—“

“Well, what’d I tell you! Two wallflowers hittin’ it off! Look at that smile!” 

Maria graciously interrupts Ellie’s angered mantra. Your hand hides your grin before a light hand brushes your back. You flinch away on instinct. No one notices except Ellie. 

Dina greets you first and you almost holler with joy, “Hey, Dove! Sorry I didn’t come over earlier! Had to get this circus goin’ since no one else did,” She casually takes Ellie’s glass and downs its contents with no problem, “Thank you.” 

“Such a dick.” Ellie says slowly, and Dina smiles. “You love me.” 

You pinch your smile away. 

“Dove?” Maria inquiries. 

Dina shrugs, “Better than Doe. Makes her sound like a corpse. Dove’s cute.”

“Cute for a bitch,” Ellie slips under her breath, and Dina slaps her arm in scolding. Tames her until she quiets like an actual bitch. This shit is hilarious. 

“I like that. Dove.” Maria approves. “It’s… fitting. Joel found her buried in white, so.” 

“Okay, Mrs. Poet—“

Maria’s married? Huh. 

She hushes Dina playfully. The dark-haired girl interlaces Ellie’s fingers with hers before yanking her off the bar and onto the dance floor. The music slows as if cued just for them. Dina pulls Ellie into her, and Ellie’s hands rest on her waist. 

Dina leads, surprisingly. 

Ellie’s expression doesn’t scream delight. She’s nerve wracked and her eyes flit over every body that surrounds her with anxiety. Even yours. 

Dina’s a good distraction. She's quite seductive when she brushes loose hair behind Ellie’s ear, caresses her cheek, touches her with tenderness that you’ve only seen described on paper. Only in your imagination was it real. 

Kisses her.

Oh. 

You turn away. Your skin’s hot. Maria’s distracted. Thank God. You’ve had enough mingling for tonight. You leave the bar without a trace, the pen and paper left on the stand the only evidence of your appearance. 

“Hey! HEY! Ms. Dina’s friend!”

“They’re not friends, she just got here—“

“Shut up! Ms. Dina always said respect your olders—“

“Elders, dumbfuck. And she doesn’t look old—“

Ah, the potty-mouthed bully. Although, he doesn’t seem so threatening in the darkness. Children are the bane of your existence. You’re nowhere near the infirmary. Why are they out in the cold by themselves? 

“Hey, Ms. Dina’s friend, how was the party! Ms. M said we aren’t allowed to go in because people are… drunk, whatever that means!” 

The same voice from earlier. Red-boot-Ranger. Dylan. 

“It means they’re alcoholics—“ A girl this time. Shorter than Dylan but just as expressive. 

“I thought alcohol made people happy?“

“Could be, but my aunt drank herself to death so I guess it’s different for everyone!” 

Goddamn. 

“What’s your name, miss! … Ma’am?” Dylan corrects shyly. 

“Ma'am means grandma—“

“Ruth, shut the hell up, Jesus!” 

“NO, YOU SHUT UP—“

Dylan waits expectantly while the other two kids attempt to rip each other’s heads off. You flap your hands like wings. 

“… Fly? Your name’s fly?” 

You shake your head and point upward. 

“OH! Sky!—“

You wave your hands in denial and flap your arms while squawking. 

“… Bird? Bald Eagle? Um…” 

You yank at your hair in exasperation before pointing down at untouched, white snow beneath your feet. 

“Snow? Snow bird? Uhh… Swan… Lake?”

Decent guess. This fucking sucks. 

“I don’t know what your name is, miss, I’m sorry.” Fucking Christ, the poor thing looks so upset. You’re suddenly the worst human being on the planet. “Are you mad at me?” Dylan asks, voice laced with insecurity, and something cracks in your chest. What the fuck. Your hands wave in denial apprehensively, and he exhales a held breath before smiling. 

“I like you! Why don’t you talk?” 

You sigh before scribbling on your palm like you did with Maria, and all three kids excitedly demand writing utensils from each other. 

“I DON’T HAVE A MARKER!” Frankie hisses when Ruth slaps him on the shoulder. 

“DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO BE SUCH AN ASS? FREAKO!”

“Freako! ARE YOU FIVE—“

“What are you kiddos still doin’ up?” 

“MR. JOEL!”

Ruth and Dylan practically jump onto this old man and he groans mockingly. Joel. Hm. 

“You’re all supposed to be sleep. Did Dina not tuck you in?”

“She did, but we snuck out. We’re bored! Please throw snowballs at us!” Frankie whines. 

Joel calmingly caters to the children and their hyperactivity; his voice is very soothing. Gentle enough for the kids to accept that he’s not chucking snowballs at them this late at night. 

Joel addresses you. “Maria decided to keep you ‘round?” 

It was him. His eyes are calm and welcoming, but there’s a hollowness behind them. It’s hardly noticeable, but he’s bothered by something. He masks it well enough for the kids. He must be a dad. Maybe one of them is his. You just shrug, and he chuckles; crackles like fire. Breaks a bit. His eyes grow sadder the longer he stares at you. Is this man about to cry? 

“I’ll, uh… I’ll walk ‘em back,” He nods at Dylan who’s already half asleep on his shoulder, and you nod. He gives you one last look before turning. You clutch onto his hand before he can go any further. He seems shocked by the gesture, but you squeeze it with all your might. You hope every clench reads as a thank you thank you thank you. 

He swallows before nodding down at you, returning your gentle squeezes. The last breath he takes before leading the kids home is unsteady. Who broke that poor man’s heart? 

You watch his back all the way down the trail until the door to the bar slams shut. It’s Ellie all bundled up and seemingly about to strangle somebody. You can see Dina and Jesse scrambling to follow her through the window, but Ellie’s determined to get the fuck outta range. 

You don’t know why, but you whistle loud enough to get her attention. Her cheeks are blazing and her eyes are pained and angry. 

“The fuck do you want?” Her breath frosts with each spit she throws. You’re not really sure, so you throw her a thumbs up. Two just in case she read it as good work instead of are you good? 

She scoffs a laugh that sounds like a sob, “Fuck off.” And she’s off again. The opposite direction from Joel. 

Alright. Fuck her too. 

—

The past 5 days have been a blur. 

The morning after the party, your brain wracked to put every single interaction together but came up short. So much happened that you can barely grasp it. You died, came back, met at least 100 people, experienced acute peer pressure, and got cussed out by some short, tattooed psychopath with an equivalent amount of people skills as you. 

You’ve met teachers, medical professionals, rambunctious kids with a hunger similar to rhinos, a potential dad with an insane amount of patience, but all you can think about is Ellie and her fucking tattoo. 

You think that same moth appeared in your dream last night, flapping around and pissing you off. 

Maria’s been in a good mood, at least. Maybe because you’re staying in Jackson until further notice. You’re glad she didn't make a big deal about it: the inquiry was short and over breakfast the morning after the party. You slid her note that read CAN I STAY?, she said yes, and now you have a two story home all to yourself, floor stacked to the ceiling with your books and some she lent you. 

The first thing you did after she left was scream bloody murder for no reason other than relief. After years of instability, you finally have something consistent. You don’t know how to react to that besides weeping. 

There’s only one downside. Ellie’s your neighbor. Life will always humble you. 

She’s the first person you see every morning and the last every night and you hate it. The only time you experience true peace is when she’s out on patrol. To think you assumed Ellie wasn’t violent. She returned one morning on her horse covered knee-high in blood as she wiped her switchblade on her dirtied jeans. Even Jesse seemed intimidated. 

Meanwhile, you’ve been everywhere: tending the garden, handing beers out to men twice your age, fixing lights. Joel even asked for assistance on a car repair even though you’ve never seen one in your life. You both finished, though. Drives good as new. 

You think Dylan’s grown attached. He’s very clingy and you hate it but he also has the chubbiest cheeks you’ve ever seen so you have no choice but to forgive him for his sins. Whenever he jumps on your back while you’re squatted in front of the garden, you just deal with it. He rambles enough for the both of you. 

Now you’re serving dinner with a homophobe. Yippee. 

Seth sucks gorilla balls. When Maria first introduced you both, he thought you were deaf and asked if you had to be put with him. When you glared at him, he went red in the face. You understand why Ellie hates him. Apparently he called her and Dina dykes at the party and she and Joel almost strangled him. The canteen’s already filled with people, but the patrol group hasn’t returned. They usually make it back before sunset, but it’s dark now. Seth’s set on closing the kitchen down, but you decline everytime. They’re probably starving wherever they are. 

It’s not until an hour, then 2 passes when you wrap all 12 of their individual plates. 

You’re scared shitless, but it’s time for Dylan’s bedtime story. 

—

You always have to remind Dylan to keep his volume down during story time so he doesn’t wake the other kids. 

“Why would anyone give up anything magical for a cow? Okay, sure, you’re betting that they actually are magic, but why on Earth? I’d never give away my magic! Am I wrong, Ms. Dove?” 

You smile and deny. 

“SEE! Exactly! Anyway,” He refocuses on the page. “You numbskull! I can’t eat! You ruined my appetite!” 

Dylan’s a great reader, but he loses his place very often. You showed him the follow-your-finger trick and it’s helped, but the poor thing always has to comment on everything. At least he’s entertained. 

You don’t realize you dozed off on the floor until you’re frantically awoken by a teary-eyed Dylan. The big and small babies cry while they barricade the door with blankets and dressers. Your heart sinks. 

“Ms. Dove…” Dylan whispers. 

Screams echo from outside and the windows have orange hues. Something’s burning. 

“Someone bad is outside.” 

The patrol group is back. 

—

You don't meet Clickers often. 

They come and go and kill as they please and you don’t bother them, simply take your plans in the opposite direction as stealthy as possible. Even with your avoidance, they somehow always find their way back to you. Back to everyone. 

You hear everything from the daycare; hollering, gunshots, Clickers wailing, but you can’t fucking see. Protocol for a daycare lockdown is fairly simple: turn off the lights and take all the brats up to the nursery. It’s the most child-safe section of the building while simultaneously having a locked drawer filled with glocks. Great. 

Now you’re locked up with whimpering toddlers with a weapon you barely know how to use. If Joel hadn’t done that runthrough with you yesterday, you’d be fucked and so would the kids. You rock Dylan who sits on your lap while hushing the toddlers. You’re doing whatever you can to keep them quiet, but they’re babies who cry a lot. You hum to them, braid their hair, roll scratched-up dice but nothings fucking working. You never thought you’d regret staying in Jackson this early on. 

The younger ones start wailing when pounding on wood echoes from downstairs. Dylan holds you closer. 

Protocol is simple. 

Don’t open the door. Maria told you that. Keep it locked and don’t open it. 

The thuds get louder and so do the children and panic bombards you. It’s starting to feel too familiar. Those bangs are so fucking loud. Toddlers to 13 year olds are looking to you for guidance while you’re crumbling. How do you make them stop crying why won’t they stop fucking crying— 

Someone’s trying to beat the door down. Dylan’s practically choking you with his little arms as he sobs quietly into your neck. You don’t realize you’re crying until a small hand wipes your face and tiny bodies snuggle closer to you. 

Are you going to die surrounded by children all over again? One time wasn’t enough, God? The best moment of your life turns to the worst in a matter of seconds. You’ll have to run away like you did the first time. You should’ve never slid the note asking for more time with the kids under Maria’s door, fuck fuck fuck—

3 deafening pops bang from outside, and then there’s silence. It sounds like wood is breaking and there’s footsteps rushing upstairs and the babies are screaming so loud. When the nursery door lock gets shot off, Dylan screams right in your ear. 

“EVERYBODY OUT, LET’S GO!” 

“Mr. Tommy!” Relief washes over your kids before they start hustling. 

“OUT, OUT, LET’S GO!” 

All the kids scramble to grab their coats and socks and boots before rushing out of the nursery. Your hands won’t stop shaking. You barely get onto your feet before Tommy shoves you against the wall with fire for pupils. 

“You never fuckin’ wait to die when there’s kids around, you understand me!” 

You’re nodding but you can’t hear because you’re still sobbing. “Whatever bullshit you learned outside is over with now. It don’t matter what happens, always give them a chance to live even if it means you’re done!”

Tommy doesn’t waste another second on you. He leaves with a tense back and a rifle and you allow yourself to break. You heave and sob because that’s all you could do when you were a child and your brothers and sister were all killed in front of you. 

—

You vacate the daycare hours later. The doors need fixing. 

Your head and eyes hurt terribly but nothing compares to the emptiness in your chest. Maria told you that the kids would be separated into different houses until the daycare is safe for them again. Even she stares at you with disapproval despite her indifferent tone.

You feel like a ghost on the walk back home. Your hands are clenched in fists and your breathings slow. Why didn’t you stay downstairs and check the windows to make sure there were no intruders? Why weren’t you holding the gun in preparation for battle? Why’d you allow the kids to believe you couldn’t protect them? 

Because you couldn’t. In that moment, you were a child all over again, just as lost and confused and scared as they were. It was all too familiar. 

Jackson’s asleep, minus the painful groaning coming from behind Ellie’s home. 

You’re immediately in defense. So many patrol members had to go to the infirmary after their arrival. Maria never mentioned anything about Ellie. 

Your concern carries your feet until you round the corner, and her gun’s already drawn and pointed at you. That barely shakes you; it’s what surrounds her thats confusing.

She’s leant back against the foundation of her home surrounded by towels, a large bottle of clear liquid, and her profusely bleeding, non-tattooed arm that wraps around her stomach. 

When you take a cautious step toward her, her gun clicks. Her eyes are vicious and untrustworthy, and you know she’d kill you in a second. She watches every move you make down to the ragged rise and fall of your chest. You’re unsure how long you stand there before she winces in pain. It’s slight but you catch it. You slowly point to the open wound on her forearm. 

“What.” She rasps. You mime wrapping a bandage on yourself. Her snicker is pained. 

“Get the fuck outta here. You done enough for tonight.” 

You swallow thickly, unmoving. 

“Fuck off before I blow your brains out.” 

You take 2 more steps. 

“GET THE FU—“

When your knees hit the snow in front of her, she’s stunned silent. You’re already reaching for the bandage and bottle of disinfectant. You can’t see her injury that well, but she might need stitches if it’s still that bloody. When you reach for her injured arm, she pushes you into the snow. You groan in frustration before getting up and trying again. 

Ellie swallows a pained noise and maneuvers her injury away the closer you get. You’re trying to help her! Why’s she being so difficult! You crack open the disinfectant and your nose instantly burns. You gasp before moving the bottle away from your face. 

“Just go the fuck home, goddamnit—“

That’s not disinfectant. It’s acid. 

Ellie’s gun is still on you, but she’s not as steady. There’s a tremor in her weapon and her bottom lip is pinched between her teeth. Any movement she makes seems to hurt her. 

You move closer, and Ellie wheezes like an injured gazelle. It’s not until you see the small indentation when you realize her bleeding isn’t from a knife or a gun. 

Those are teeth marks. 

Ellie got bit. Your heart thrashes and your legs beg you to run. 

You know, and she knows you know. It’s a misunderstanding, it has to be. A human or a dog or a bear bit her, not a Clicker, not one of them. 

She smirks but it’s sinister. 

“If you tell anyone, I’ll tear out your windpipe and feed it to one of those fuckers.” Her head jerks towards the gate, and as if on command, the lot of them squeal into the night like hyenas.